The Color of Courage

by Natalie J. Damschroder

  That felt right and I straightened, optimistic. One down. One group of extremists bent on our demise to go.

  “So what’s up with this Evan guy?” Trace mopped up syrup with his last bite of pancake and sat back, patting his stomach. I wondered if Adam’s abs were as well defined, then remembered he’d asked me a question.

  “What do you mean?” My fruit salad wasn’t as fresh as I’d thought. I moved a few mushy blueberries aside and forked a bit of pineapple. If I kept my face down, he couldn’t see my blush.

  “Kirby said you thought he was into Summer and investigating us for something, but all week he’s been talking to you.” He shifted with false casualness. “He was here the other day, wasn’t he?”

  “He met me first,” I fudged. “Maybe he thinks I’m his best source for whatever dirt he’s trying to get on us.” I fought not to squirm, remembering our kiss and his words about “what’s happening at HQ.” I stared at Trace, a sudden thought halting my strawberry in midair. “Do you think he’s part of CASE?”

  He shook his head. “M.O. doesn’t seem right. Tulie says he’s never heard of the guy, and all their incidents came from outside. They couldn’t trace them to anyone at all.”

  “I bet we could.” I stood and started to clear my place. “That guy who tried to jump. We should check him out. Maybe he’s a member of CASE, or they extorted him or something.”

  “Good idea. I’ll have Kirby do some research. I’ll get that.” He moved me away from the dishwasher. “You cooked.” He started removing clean dishes and stacking them on the counter. My kitchen was so small, you couldn’t get from one side to the other when the dishwasher door was down. “Nice dodge, by the way.” He grinned at me over his shoulder.

  “Dodge of what?” I grabbed the syrup and fruit to put back in the fridge.

  “Evan. Summer invited him to her dinner party as your date. So she’s not interested in him, even if he started out with interest in her.”

  “I suppose.”

  “And he’s been calling you, came to see you at HQ.” He kicked the dishwasher door up and opened a cupboard to replace plates and bowls. “And came to check on you the other day.”

  “So?”

  “So, I think he likes you.”

  A suppressed a shiver. I thought he did, too, but I couldn’t tell for sure, despite the heat of our kiss. I hated not knowing if he really liked me or if he was using me to get deeper into HQ.

  “Do you like him?”

  “What are you, my brother?” Done with my part of the chores, I leaned against the fridge and folded my arms, watching him check glasses for cleanliness before setting them in the cupboard. Ian had never done that. Someone had trained Trace well.

  “No, I’m Adam’s best friend.”

  I didn’t know what to say. That was such an abrupt segue, right into quicksand territory.

  “I don’t—”

  “I’m not going any further than that. Just think about it.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  I turned away and pretended not to hear him when he said, “Of course you do.”

  Kirby had arranged for us all to meet with our benefactor on Monday, in a private room at a restaurant called Erlinda’s. Trace was out checking apartments again. Adam’s mother had taken him to the doctor for a follow-up appointment and would drop him off, so Summer, Kirby, and I walked from HQ to the restaurant.

  “Why aren’t we meeting this guy at HQ?” Summer asked for the second time.

  “I told you, I don’t want his first impression of us to be that falling-down office.” Kirby fell back to walk behind us as the sidewalk narrowed. A line of panhandlers crowded the curb. After we’d passed them, she moved up next to me again.

  “Shouldn’t we let him see where we need improvements?” I asked.

  “Hell, no. We want to convince him we know how best to use the money, and he’s a silent partner who can rest assured he’s done a good thing for a nice tax write-off.” Her steps slowed as we approached the restaurant. “Thing is, I think I figured out Adam’s reluctance to get a benefactor.”

  I stopped walking. “Really? What?”

  She was embarrassed. “I think he’s afraid a benefactor will try to take control. Like, ‘Here’s my money, now only take the jobs I want you to take, and while you’re at it, do me these favors.’ Stuff like that.”

  It made so much sense I couldn’t believe I hadn’t understood, myself. “Why didn’t he ever just say that?”

  “You know Adam,” Summer said. “He doesn’t like to make us feel foolish.”

  “Better a moment of feeling foolish, than being stupid for real,” I grumbled. We continued, me a lot less elated about meeting this guy. “I hope you didn’t deposit his check.”

  “Not yet. It’s in the safe.”

  “Good.”

  We walked the remaining half block in silence, except for the click-clack of three sets of high heels. We’d all dressed in our best business wear. Summer wore a snug pants suit that stretched, giving her plenty of movability but also showing off her athletic body to perfection. Kirby was a little dressier, a string of pearls highlighting her royal-blue tailored silk blouse and gray pencil skirt. I wore a lightweight red suit with a white knit tank under it. I knew Trace was wearing a suit, though when he left the house his tie had already been loose. He couldn’t look polished if he tried. But Adam would make up for it. He always dressed professionally for meetings. Hopefully, together, we’d provide an impressive first impression.

  Adam’s Prius pulled up in front of the restaurant just before we arrived. We could see him talking—maybe arguing—with his mother before he opened the door, maneuvered his crutches out, and pushed himself up.

  My breath caught. I’d seen him in this suit before, I had to have. He hated to shop. But something was different. The midnight blackness of the jacket contrasted with the snow white of the shirt, both stretched wide by his shoulders. The pants broke perfectly on his polished wingtips. Or, actually, one wingtip and the cast on his broken leg. His hair was carefully combed, his face completely clean-shaven. His navy blue eyes seemed to sparkle in the sunlight, even across the several feet separating us.

  Was it the vulnerability created by the cast and his wrist brace that put so much pressure on my chest? Or was the effect due to those moments in the hospital, when he’d revealed his last thought had been of me?

  He met my gaze and didn’t look away as he moved closer, graceful even with the crutches. My pulse bounced rapidly in my wrists and neck. The traffic noise faded, and my vision seemed to narrow in on him.

  Then Trace barreled up, slapped Adam on the back, and goosed Kirby, and the spell, whatever it was, was broken.

  “Let’s go.” Adam led us into the restaurant, where the host took over, weaving through the main dining room to the private room at the back. We’d arrived early, preceding our benefactor by hopefully at least ten minutes.

  Adam sat at the head of the table and waited while Kirby and I flanked him, then Summer next to her and Trace next to me. Kirby withdrew a manila folder from her shoulder tote and slid it in front of Adam.

  “Everything I could find on Charles Auberginois,” she said.

  Adam flipped the folder open. “I could have used this sooner.”

  “I know, but it was hard to dig up anything on him. I got most of it this morning.” She fell silent as Adam skimmed, occasionally reading something aloud to the rest of us.

  Auberginois was an American of French descent, a businessman with scattered interests. Supposedly descended from French aristocracy, he was both inheritor and generator of more wealth than anyone had been able to measure.

  “Articles touting his philanthropy.” Adam set aside several printed news articles. “No criminal record. Americ
an citizenship for both him and his mother. His father immigrated as a child. Not much here.” He turned a few more pages, then landed on the final paper. His eyebrows went up. “Seriously?” he asked Kirby. She nodded. But before he could tell the rest of us, the door opened and the restaurant host ushered in a tall, gray-haired gentleman. He inclined his head in thanks to the host, nodding to Adam and Trace.

  “Greetings.”

  We’d all stood as he’d entered, and now he took Kirby’s outstretched hand in both of his.

  “Mr. Auberginois, welcome. I’m Kirby March. We met last week.”

  “Yes, much to my great joy.” He kissed both of her cheeks, then turned to Summer as Kirby introduced the rest of us. “Enchanté.” He bent over Summer’s hand, his lips grazing her skin, before he slowly released her and came around the table to shake Trace’s hand and do the bend-and-kiss thing with me. Then he finally gave Adam his attention.

  “Mr. Tarantino, the leader of this band of heroes. It is a great pleasure to meet you.”

  “And you, Monsieur Auberginois.” I wasn’t sure if Adam was being deferential or reacting to an accent more pronounced than I would have expected in a second-generation American.

  “Please, call me Charles.” He retreated to the lone seat at the far end of the table and waited, as did Adam and—surprisingly—Trace, for the women to sit before joining us.

  “It is a great shame to see you injured, Mr. Tarantino.” Charles removed his linen napkin from the table and laid it on his lap, his movements automatic. His expensive light-gray suit allowed his movements to be free and unhindered, though it was tailored to fit him even better than Adam’s did.

  “I’ll heal.”

  “Of course, and I believe it is to our Ms. Charm’s credit that you have the opportunity to do so?”

  I started as he turned his attention to me. His eyes bore into me, as if he, too, could read emotions. After a second of cringing from the invasion, I straightened my spine and stared back at him, for the first time checking his own emotions. I saw nothing but positive. Pleasure, possibly at meeting us, at helping us, though I supposed it could also be pleasure in his perception of power. A hint of anxiety, surprising in a man of his wealth and probable standing, but again, maybe just a social artifact related to how we would receive him. There was also a great deal of pride and satisfaction, but nothing malicious. Nothing like Evan’s suspicion.

  My shoulders were tight. I slowly, consciously relaxed them, and Charles looked away. His aura changed the slightest bit, reflecting relief.

  That put me on my guard more than anything else would have, and I realized he’d been staring right at me, but hadn’t been blank. I could detect generalized emotions that included me in a group, but if he’d been focusing on me, they shouldn’t have been so clear. Could what I’d seen be masking his real feelings and, therefore, intent?

  I’d told the cop at the jewelry heist that I couldn’t be fooled. People couldn’t fake their emotions. But maybe I’d been wrong.

  My stomach rolled. I was going to be no help in determining if we should accept his proposal.

  A waitress knocked on the door, then entered with a tray holding bread and goblets of water with lemon slices. We made small talk with Charles between giving our orders in turn, and a moment later the waitress retrieved her tray and backed out with a smile.

  “I am sure you have many questions, Mr. Tarantino.”

  I noticed Adam didn’t give him permission to call him by his first name.

  “I’m curious why a man like you would make such a generous offer,” he said.

  Charles inclined his head in acknowledgement. “But of course. HQ has many goals, high aspirations, but perhaps not the funding to make such things entirely possible. My patronage would allow you the benefit of technology for your uniforms, your vehicles, protective and predictive equipment—even promotion and marketing that would position you to increase your services and enlist cooperation from the populace and law enforcement.”

  My head swiveled from Charles to Adam to catch his reaction. He didn’t bother to hide his suspicion. Not that he could hide it from me, but his jaw was so tight it was almost clenched, and he didn’t blink as he spoke to Charles.

  “That does a good job of explaining why we would want a patron, Monsieur, but not why you would want to be one.”

  “I’m sure you understand that one would have intensely personal reasons.”

  “Be that as it may, it’s an important factor in our decision to accept your patronage.”

  Anger swirled in Charles’s aura. I gave Kirby a frantic glance. She hastily swallowed the water she’d been sipping and jumped in.

  “Mr. Auberginois, perhaps you would like to hear some of our cases and how a benefactor could have enhanced our success.” Before he could answer, she launched into a presentation for which she’d obviously prepared. Was this why she didn’t have the scoop on Charles before this morning? She’d been focused instead on how we could convince him he wanted to help us?

  The waitress entered with our salads, cutting off Kirby’s monologue.

  When she left, Trace picked up the conversation. “Have you been in DC long?”

  “Just a few days. I had a meeting with the Department of Homeland Security. Your article in Today’s News came to my attention, and it seemed providential. I decided to offer my services.”

  Summer spoke for the first time. “That article hardly painted superheroes in a good light.”

  “It offered some negative portrayals, of course. But not for HQ. Your group has done some great things.”

  “Why us?” Adam asked. “Why here? Why not help Chicago or San Diego rebuild their organizations?”

  “How do you know I’m not?” Charles smiled, and Adam’s aura lightened just a tad. “But a more direct answer for why you, your team, is apparent in your composition. You have strength and stamina.” He inclined his head at Trace. “Speed, agility, control.” He indicated Kirby and Summer. “Protection and detection.” A hand held toward Adam. “And perhaps the most powerful and unique ability of all.” Charles leaned forward slightly and addressed me. “Ms. Charm, I’m not sure if you are aware, but there has not been an empath such as you in this entire country, ever.”

  I didn’t know what to say about that, and Charles smoothly moved on. We refrained from further business discussion when our food was served and instead focused on local weather, tourism in France, and—believe it or not—a pirate movie, while we ate. Adam declined dessert and I think we would have followed suit, had Charles not ordered a chocolate torte with such relish the rest of us could hardly resist. Well, the rest of us besides Adam. Charles was paying, and it had been a long time since I’d eaten something this good.

  Finally, he laid his fork to the side, took a last sip of his coffee, and shifted forward in his seat.

  “Mr. Tarantino, I assure you I have no intentions of taking over your leadership of HQ. That is your main reservation, no?”

  Adam dropped his napkin on the table. “Actually, that’s not my concern. I have more respect and confidence in my team than that. However, I am wary of a benefactor who is used to buying what he wants, when he wants it. If we accepted your money, it would make us beholden to you in ways I’m not at all convinced would be beneficial to HQ or the DC area.”

  Charles nodded slightly. “An understandable reservation. I would then encourage you to have a contract drawn. It can specify the amount and frequency of my donation to HQ as well as making clear that no one serving HQ will have any obligation to me or anyone representing me, for any purpose. I will have no direct role in your day-to-day operations, except insofar as consultation may be requested and desired by you.”

  Trace, Summer, and Kirby, all with hopeful, excited auras, looked at Adam. He frowned, his colors murky. His fingers fiddled with
the spoon he hadn’t used for coffee or dessert. We all held our breath. Except Charles, who sat still, a faint smile on his face, waiting patiently.

  Finally, Adam rose. The rest of us followed. He started to walk around the table to Charles, lifting his hand like he wanted to shake, but stopped before he set his damaged foot down. Charles hurried to Adam, his innate grace and elegance making him appear as if he wasn’t hurrying at all.

  “Thank you for your very generous offer,” Adam said just before clasping Charles’ hand. His tone was much more deferential now. “We’ll consider it and have the suggested contract drawn up. Do we have your card?” He looked at Kirby, who nodded. “Then we’ll be in touch.”

  “Excellent!” Charles clapped Adam’s shoulder and beamed all around at us. “I look forward to hearing from you.”

  We waited until he left. Trace sat again, but Adam didn’t. “I want to talk about this back at HQ, where we can’t be overheard.”

  Trace bounced back up. “I have a stop to make.” He grinned at me. “Deposit on my new place.”

  “Great! When do you move?”

  “It’s not available for two weeks. Sorry.”

  I made a face of mock disappointment, and he noogied me in the shoulder.

  “I have a class to teach,” Summer said. “It’ll be an hour and a half before I can get to HQ.”

  Adam raised his eyebrows at Kirby, who shrugged. “I can use the time to dig a little deeper on Auberginois.”

  “All right. We’ll plan to meet in two hours.” He turned to me and went blank, and it was like the other three went out of existence.

  “Will you walk back with me?” He lifted his crutches and positioned them under his arms. “My mother kept my car.”