The Color of Courage

by Natalie J. Damschroder

  “Not unexpected.” I started changing, annoyed when Summer “warmed up” by taking her clothes off and putting on her workout gear in about ten seconds.

  “I’ll meet you out there!” she called, whipping her hair into a ponytail and jogging through the side door into the gym.

  “Yeah, fine,” I muttered, pulling on a sport bra and shorts and lacing up a pair of sneakers. Just to be ornery, I took my time putting my wavy, dark-blond hair up in a knot. Summer usually tried not to use her abilities when it wasn’t necessary, at least around other people. I wondered what she was so eager to get to.

  I entered the gym where she was addressing a mixed group that was heavy on the men. She made eye contact with every person except one, and her entire body projected personal emotion for the dark-haired, well-built guy on her left. Insightful people watching closely would probably read her body language as antipathy, but the lavender glow told me it was desire. And he returned the feeling.

  I blocked the auras before I could see any more. It was almost automatic. Desire, lust, attraction were the emotions I was least comfortable seeing. Even though they appeared no differently than any other emotion, it was too intimate, too personal, and not something I wanted to explore.

  I could forgive Summer for ditching me. He was a near-perfect specimen. But what about Frank, her boyfriend? I ignored her introduction, which I could recite for her, and studied the new guy. He stood like a lot of the men, with his feet braced a couple of feet apart and his arms folded across his broad chest. He wore a very faded navy blue T-shirt with cracked yellow FBI letters, but I didn’t think he was law enforcement. At least, not anymore. He was full of confidence, and I detected no swagger in him. But he wasn’t here for training. The fact that I could tell that meant he was projecting very strongly, and it wasn’t hard to figure out why. As I watched, his purple tinge swelled in certain areas, but darkened to gray in others.

  He wasn’t just interested in Summer, he was suspicious of her.

  A few minutes later, Summer had arranged us in sparring groups with four men and a woman in each. She walked around for a minute to get us all started, then began one-on-ones, fighting at about half speed and taking every one of her partners.

  I’d managed to finesse my way into FBI Guy’s group. He was a natural leader, easily taking charge without offending anyone. Well, not right away, anyway.

  “Nice to meet you all. I’m Evan. Jim, Mark, you attack me. Split my focus. Tom, you work with Haley there.”

  “Daley,” Tom corrected him, grinning at me. “And I think you might want to switch that around.”

  Evan frowned. “Switch what around?”

  “The partners. Maybe you and I should take on Daley, and Jim and Mark can spar.”

  “Whatever you guys want is fine with me.” I didn’t want to get into a pissing match with anyone today. I was just here for a workout.

  But Tom and I had attended several classes together, and sometimes worked out with the free weights at the same time. He had respect for me, which I appreciated even if I’d only earned it by putting him on the mat with my knee in his neck.

  “All right,” Evan finally said. “Let’s do it.”

  I ignored the cheesy, overused line and closed my eyes. Tom’s amusement was a yellowy shimmer on my right, Evan’s lavender and gray on my left, now tinged with brownish confusion. I liked using my skill in a fight like this. I could see the emotion because it was generated by the situation, not by me personally. It also masked any perceived disadvantages, like how much taller they were than my five-four.

  If I were mugged, of course, I likely wouldn’t have the luxuries I had here. For instance, the muggers would probably attack much sooner than these two, instead of wasting time circling me, one teasing, the other wary.

  “Come on, guys. We don’t have all night.”

  They obeyed me instantly, rushing me from front and back. I waited until the last second, feinted left, and dodged right. Their auras had told me exactly how far away they were, something easier to gauge for me that way than by sight. The human eye often misjudged speed and distance, and though a lot of people who got physical on a daily basis adjusted, I never had been able to. Not to the level I needed to be as a superhero. So I just adapted my super skill for the situation.

  When I ducked right, I spun around behind Evan, whose right arm had clamped around Tom instead of me. He didn’t hesitate but spun to his own right, trying to circle around behind me. I dove forward, under Tom’s cocked left arm—he was a fist-fighter and liked to do things the heavy-duty way—and punched my fist into his groin as I went. He wore a cup, but reacted as if he wasn’t. As he jerked to protect his treasures, I shoved him in the direction he’d started to move. He stumbled but didn’t fall.

  Evan was still behind me, still reaching. I hadn’t pushed Tom in the right direction to get in Evan’s way, so I reversed direction and slipped past Evan on his right, using my left foot to catch his ankle. He went down on one knee. I opened my eyes, slammed the heel of my hand into the side of his head, and followed him down with my knee to his neck.

  “You like that move, don’t you?” Tom said from behind me. But he’d been too engrossed in his own humor. The fight wasn’t over as long as he was standing.

  I came up fast, the back of my head slamming into his face, then reached up and around his neck to yank him down to the ground while he howled.

  “You broke my damn nose!” He covered it with his tented hands and rolled on the floor.

  “Don’t be such a baby,” I scoffed, but he was really writhing, his yellow turned to a bright, hot red. I knelt next to him. “Tom, I’m sorry, I didn’t think I hit you that hard.”

  Like lightning, his hand flew up and grabbed me on the back of my neck, flipping me over his body and rolling so he half-covered me.

  “That’s the problem with women,” he said, grinning. “Too much compassion.”

  “If you were a real attacker, I wouldn’t care,” I told him. “I’d have kicked you in the head.”

  “Good point.” He jumped up and held his hand out for me.

  I glanced around. Evan was back in his Mr. Clean position, folded arms making his chest and shoulders bulge. Jim and Mark reclined on the floor next to him. All three were watching Summer now.

  I moved up next to Tom to see what was happening. She was the center of a circle, taking on all five attackers in her first group. It was incredible to watch.

  Summer’s abilities have to do with the contraction of her muscles or something. The smaller the muscle and the lighter the weight, the faster she could move. So running was above average, but she was no Flash. Kicking was a little faster, but still visible.

  But her arms and hands were the amazing part. She moved around and across the circle, fast but not so fast her opponents couldn’t catch her. She kicked, and one guy deflected the move, to cheers from the watchers. Spun away from another, and found a third in her face. But when he aimed a punch, her arms blurred as she blocked it, brought his arm down and to the side, then up behind his back. She finished with a push that knocked him into the group, and applause erupted.

  Flushed, Summer shook her head. “You’re supposed to be working, not watching. Next group.”

  That was us. Evan bent his head a little toward me as we walked across the room.

  “You work with Summer at HQ, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” It wasn’t a secret, but I didn’t like saying even that much, not without knowing why he was suspicious of her.

  “I want to talk to you after class.”

  I stopped walking, but he and the others continued to the mat where Summer waited. What was that about? Was he going to try to get an in with me because he was interested in her? Or did he think I’d tell him something he could use against her?

  I wished I co
uld talk to her, but she was already setting us up. I knew from experience that she’d be held up long after class was over, with half the attendees—it was hard to think of these people as students—clamoring for a little extra attention or assistance.

  “Go.”

  I focused on the group and tried not to think about Evan and what he wanted. Summer was at her mid-point: not yet tired, but not fresh and smooth, either. She’d have more trouble taking us all on.

  Tom and Jim, more experienced in fighting her, moved in first. She dropped Jim to the mat and got a fist on the side of Tom’s head before he backed off without landing any of his own. While her attention was still on Tom, Evan tried to sweep her legs. He’d obviously noticed that was her weak point, and he was right. But also wrong, because weak was relative. She jumped before his leg reached hers, simply lifting her feet without moving her body. When he was off-balance, she knocked him down.

  He bounced right back up, his eyes gleaming, and I realized I was more intent on watching than on participating. Mark, next to me, bounced on the balls of his feet, waiting for his chance. When Summer turned toward us he charged, his shoulder down, aiming for her midsection. She dodged, and he missed. She grinned at me, and I, knowing her real weakness, just waited. When she’d turned to deal with Mark and Evan, who were double-teaming her, I moved slowly up behind her, grabbed her ponytail, and tugged.

  She fell, her arms still holding off Mark and Evan, one foot kicking out at Tom, but fell nonetheless, flat on her back. She glared at me, then smoothly got to her feet.

  “Daley just demonstrated my favorite lesson. That sometimes girl-fighting is the best. Most fighting men, like you guys, don’t even think about hair-pulling or scratching or biting, because you’re macho and can do it all with your fists or strength. Even those of you who prefer finesse”—she nodded at Evan—“still don’t think of the less honorable techniques. But as you just saw, pulling someone’s hair, especially when they seem invincible, can put them right where you want them so you can get the upper hand. Okay, let’s go again.”

  The fight resumed with more determination and earnestness. I stayed on the sidelines and watched, amused, as all the guys except Evan kept trying to grab Summer’s chestnut ponytail. She kept the thing twitching and moving and even when Tom got his hand on her, she jerked her head and it slid right through his fingers.

  After a few minutes, I joined back in. I was here for exercise and training, after all, and standing around wasn’t getting me any fitter. Summer got me in the cheek hard enough to make my nose water, but I avoided her leg-sweep and even jabbed her in the side before she halted us and called in the next group. The five of us took turns sparring with each other for another half hour, giving each other pointers and bruises and an overall excellent workout.

  I cornered Evan by the water cooler after Summer dismissed the class. He glanced impatiently over my shoulder, but Summer had a line of at least four people waiting to talk to her. She always did.

  “What do you want with her?” I mopped my face and neck with a towel while I watched his colors go even murkier.

  “With who?”

  I didn’t correct his grammar, though my mother’s voice whispered through my head going, “With whom . . .”

  “You know who.” I moved toward the water cooler, but he didn’t budge. So I shoved him out of the way. “It’s pretty obvious you want something.” I snatched a paper cone from the holder and filled it.

  “Then it should be obvious what I want.” He tried a leer, and even with as little as I knew about him, and as mixed as his emotions were, I knew he was too noble for that crap.

  “That’s the thing. I know you want her, but you also want . . . what, to put her in jail?”

  He scoffed into his cup, and I narrowed my eyes. “Worse?”

  “Look, Haley—”

  “Daley.”

  “Yeah, whatever. I don’t think it’s your business what I want with your friend.” He crumpled his cup and tossed it, hard, into the can next to the cooler.

  I cocked my head. “Would it be your business if I wanted something from your sister?”

  I was ready for him to say he didn’t have a sister, but he paused with a flare of orange anxiety. Then he nodded.

  “Fair point. Okay. I don’t want to throw your friend in jail. As far as I know, she hasn’t done anything wrong. Whatever I do want from her, that’s her decision, not yours.”

  “Of course it is.” I wondered what else could make him suspicious, if not for Summer herself. I couldn’t think of anything off the top of my head, so I focused on the other. “She has a boyfriend. A serious one.”

  Evan stared down at me, his face inscrutable, his murky aura unchanging. The anxious flare had faded. He didn’t care that she had a boyfriend. My eyes narrowed as I contemplated him. He was perhaps the most emotionally complex male I had ever encountered.

  “Why did you want to talk to me?”

  He turned away. “Forget it.”

  I raised an eyebrow. Had he expected me to be willing to dish dirt on my friend, and when I wasn’t, I lost my appeal? Or was it something else?

  After a few minutes, when it was clear Summer was going to be a while, Evan left. He didn’t speak to anyone on his way out of the room, including me. He didn’t bother with the locker room, and he had no bag. If he hadn’t been dressed appropriately, I’d think his attendance of the class had been spur-of-the-moment. It was clear that he’d been here for only one purpose, anyway.

  I wondered what the hell that purpose was.

  Chapter 3

  Today’s News, July 21st

  The group sitting around the battered Formica table in the HQ break room looks nothing like the classic Justice League members. No tights or Lycra. No brilliant primary colors, lassos of truth, or even capes. This five-member team looks like a study group of post-graduate students at any college in the country.

  “So, who wants to tell me a little of the history of the organization?” The reporter for Today’s News, Caitlyn Munroe, was very young and very perky. Neither would matter much if I didn’t feel ancient after a sleepless night, and if it weren’t half-before-coffee in the morning.

  No one responded immediately, as Caitlyn perched on the counter next to the molasses-slow coffee machine and expectantly scanned the room.

  Summer was nearly as perky as the reporter, but she and I were the newest members of HQ and not the best people to answer. Trace had his head pillowed on his arms, and Kirby looked as disgruntled as I was.

  “Adam should,” I finally said. “It’s his organization.” But Adam hadn’t wanted to do the interview, and I thought he was indulging in a little silent protest.

  He shot me a look, then finally sat forward. The coffeemaker gave its “I’m done!” burp and I leapt up, tuning them all out while I made my coffee and sucked down half a scalding mug.

  The leader, Adam Tarantino, sits like a slacker and is reluctant to talk about himself. The others reveal that he began HQ six years ago when he met Trace Kovalch, now 28, and Kirby March, 27. Two years older than Trace, Adam took him under his wing when Trace finished a marathon looking as fresh as he began it. He revealed his own impenetrable skin and super hearing, apparently the result of an experimental drug his mother took while pregnant.

  “I had the idea of going into business,” Trace offered when Adam remained silent. “But Adam had the brains and determination to actually do it.”

  “And he had me,” Kirby spoke up. “Trace and I knew each other in college, and he knew what I can do. As soon as Adam met me, he launched HQ.”

  Caitlyn scribbled on her pad, then looked at me. “And you’ve been with HQ . . .?”

  “Summer and I joined at the same time. About two years ago.”

  Caitlyn scribbled some more. “Okay, let’s back
up a little. Adam, what did you hope to accomplish with HQ?”

  Though he was careful to talk around it, it seemed clear that Tarantino’s main purpose was giving a home to those like him, with special powers no one else could understand. The purpose turned outward almost immediately, however, when they realized they could help others with little danger to themselves.

  “What was the first mission each of you went on?” Caitlyn asked.

  I tried to fade into the background with my coffee. My first mission had been an embarrassment. I wasn’t at all confident that my empathy could be a super power. Lack of confidence was probably a factor in all of our failures, to one extent or another. But none as bad as my first mission. I’d been a tagalong with Adam to a building where a guy was threatening to jump out a window if his wife didn’t change her mind about leaving him. Adam was supposed to stop the jumper. I was supposed to try to figure out the undercurrents. I’d mixed up the emotions coming off the three people there. Turned out the guy threatening to jump didn’t really want his wife to stay with him. No, he was in love with the guy she was leaving him for.

  Not your typical love triangle.

  Trace didn’t seem to mind telling all his stories, though, and he jumped right in.

  “They weren’t really missions at first.” He stood to pace. “The very first was accidental. Adam and I had been in a bar on a Friday night and couldn’t find a cab. So we were walking, and saw a couple of guys dragging a woman into an alley. We saved her.” He shrugged. “That’s when things started heating up.”

  It wasn’t the first attempted rape ever to be stopped by passersby, but the fact that a gun had been fired without anyone being hurt was remarkable. Especially when police learned Tarantino had covered the muzzle of the gun with his hand, causing the bullet to back up and explode the gun. The rapist lost three fingers. Tarantino had not a scratch.