Sorceress Super Hero

by Darius Brasher

  The last thing I remembered was that Hero’s arm sticking through me. Or at least I had assumed he was a Hero since he had helped me fight off the wererats. Maybe he had been a Rogue. What kind of Hero went around kidnapping people? For it was clear that was what I had been: kidnapped. How else had I gotten to this strange place?

  I could not move my arms and hands enough to cast a spell. Fortunately, I didn’t need to cast a spell to get out of this chair. I examined the leather straps again. They were thick enough to restrain a mundane, but not someone like me. My magic-based super strength would make short work of them.

  I glanced around again, this time looking for cameras. I did not see any, but that did not mean there were not any around. Oh well. I certainly was not going to stay here, waiting for God only knew what to happen. If someone saw me do something no normal woman could do, then I hoped they enjoyed the show.

  I flexed, trying to raise my arms. I expected the leather bands to rip free of the chair. They did not. The bands did not do as much as quiver in fear.

  I struggled and strained against my confines, completely befuddled.

  Then I realized why I felt so weird and was so weak.

  I had lost my magic.

  CHAPTER 6

  Bound to a chair and unable to free myself, I felt like a damsel in distress. I hated feeling that way. I loathed damsels in distress. I liked to think of myself as the heroine who rushes in to save the day, and on the way there slaps the damsel in distress upside the head for being such a weak bitch.

  By the time the door opened again and the big costumed man in white who had fought the wererats with me walked in, I was ready to claw his hidden eyes out for making me feel so helpless.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” I demanded. “Let me out of here this instant.” It was not hard to play the role of an indignant mundane. Though I was no mundane, I had the indignant part down pat.

  “In time, Ms. Hawthorne,” the deep-voice man said. He carried a computer tablet that looked like a toy in his massive hands, and a manila folder containing a bunch of paperwork. Facing me, he cocked a hip over the corner of the table. “Or may I call you Sage?”

  “You may call the cops so they can arrest you. You kidnapped me and strapped me to a chair. We’re certainly not friendly enough to be on a first name basis. How do you know my name, anyway?”

  “I know a great deal about you, Ms. Hawthorne.” He flipped open the manila folder. “Born and raised in Washington, D.C., you currently live in a basement apartment on Tobacco Place in the District’s northwest quadrant. You’re behind on your rent, something that is not at all unusual. You have substantial credit card debt. Your checking account is nearly empty; your savings account is empty. You have no assets to speak of. You served three years with the D.C. Department of Corrections for assault and battery, threatening an official, and contempt of court, and you were released two years ago. Since then, you’ve been employed by Capstone Security Consultants. Age, twenty-six. Height, five-nine. Weight—”

  “Okay, okay, I get it,” I interrupted. Some things were best left unsaid. “You know all and see all. Who the heck are you? And where are we?” The nearly complete loss of my magic shook me to my core.

  “Where we are is not important. My name is Ghost. I am a licensed Hero. I am also the chief investigator of the Heroes’ Guild.” His voice was that of an educated man.

  “Bully for you. I hope your liability insurance is all paid up, because I’m going to hit you and whatever the Heroes’ Guild is with a lawsuit so big, your great-grandchildren will still be paying off the judgment.” Despite the bluster, I was scared and confused. Not only had I been abducted by a Hero who somehow knew all this stuff about me, but I had never been without my magic since it had manifested when I was a child. Despite what I had thought earlier, it was not completely gone. Just mostly. The magic I usually drew on from all around me was mostly absent here. Wherever here was. I thought I might still be able to open my Third Eye, but that was about the extent of my magical capacity right now.

  “The Heroes’ Guild is the organization that sanctions and regulates Heroes.” Ghost paused. “How much do you know about the U.S. Hero Act of 1945?”

  “Other than having heard of it, not much. I’m guessing it doesn’t suggest Heroes should go around assaulting and kidnapping private citizens and scaring them out of their wits. Just wait until my lawyer hears about this.” I didn’t have a lawyer, but decided it was something a mundane woman would say in this situation.

  Ghost proceeded as if I hadn’t spoken. “In 1945, an American Metahuman named John Tilly grew concerned about the mounting casualties of World War Two. Based on news reports, he came to believe that the Allies were losing the war.” Ghost recited all this as if it were rehearsed, like he had said it many times before. “On his own initiative, Tilly used his powers to fly to Japan. There he used his powers again to set off nuclear explosions in the cities of Nagasaki and Hiroshima. Japan surrendered shortly thereafter, bringing the war to a rapid close.”

  I vaguely remembered what Ghost was saying from school. Recess, not history, had been my best subject. “What in the world does all that have to do with anything? If John Tilly isn’t about to use his powers to blast me free from this chair, why should I care about him?”

  “Metahumans had existed before 1945 of course, but not in sufficiently large numbers that the government had seen fit to regulate them,” Ghost said, ignoring my comments again. Rude. “And before Tilly’s actions in Japan, none of them had done anything quite so . . . dramatic. What Tilly did made the powers that be realize Metahumans were potential loose cannons with the ability to change the course of history. As a result, the Hero Act sailed through Congress. It established a system for the regulation and control of Metahumans for the safety and protection of the rest of society.

  “The Hero Act established the U.S. Department of Metahuman Affairs. Under the dictates of the Hero Act, any person who manifests Metahuman abilities must register with the USDMA. Further, Metahumans are prohibited from using their powers unless they are first trained in their use and receive a license granted by the USDMA and the Heroes’ Guild. Such people are licensed Heroes like me. Or as we’re often called by laymen, superheroes. Anyone who uses their Metahuman abilities without a license is a Rogue under the terms of the Hero Act. A supervillain, in more common parlance.”

  “The history lesson is fascinating,” I said sarcastically, “but it still doesn’t explain why you, a so-called Hero and supposedly one of the good guys, has abducted me and tied me to a chair. If a guy wants to tie me up, he usually has the decency to buy me dinner first.”

  The fabric around Ghost’s mouth twitched. He was smiling. When I got free, I’d wipe the smile off his face with a brick.

  Ghost said, “It’s my understanding that a few nights ago you had an encounter with some, how shall I say, unusual creatures at the Institute of Peace in Washington.”

  Uh-oh. If I admitted he was right, I would be violating the First Rule. Again. Maybe I could bluff my way out of this. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Ghost poked at his computer tablet. He moved to stand directly in front of me. He held the tablet up to my face. A video started to play. It was of me fighting off the gargoyles. So much for the Conclave’s Magic Suppression Division having gotten hold of and doctoring all the footage.

  The video finished playing. I said, “It’s amazing what they can do with CGI these days.” It sounded lame, even to me.

  “You deny it is you in the video?” It was disconcerting to not see this guy’s eyes. How were you supposed to know how a lie was going over if you couldn’t read someone’s face?

  “Sure, it looks like me. But I didn’t get into a fight with those . . . whatever they are.” I had been about to say gargoyles before I caught myself.

  Ghost perched on the table again. “The USDMA is constantly on the lookout for reports of unregistered Metas. When news of this incident at
the Institute of Peace crossed my desk, I decided to investigate it myself. It was consistent with certain other incidents I have heard of. Incidents that cannot be explained away by Metahuman involvement.

  “Using the footage I just showed you, I ran your face through federal and state databases. Thanks to your criminal conviction, I got a ping. Locating you after that was child’s play. I have been discreetly following you for a little over a day now.” I remembered that nagging feeling of being watched when I left Capstone. “I was trying to get an understanding if you’re simply an unregistered Meta, or if you are something I do not quite understand. When those rat creatures seemed to be getting the best of you, I intervened.”

  “And thanks for that. I don’t know what those things were, but whatever they were, they were terrifying.” I wasn’t about to tell this joker what I knew about wererats. They were a mercenary race. Wererats wouldn’t piss on you unless someone paid them to do it. I wondered who had sicced these particular ones on me. The Conclave for violating the First Rule? Maybe, though it didn’t seem the Conclave’s style. The Conclave wasn’t big on due process, but there was usually some attempt at an investigation before they rubbed someone out. Willow Wilde? I wouldn’t put anything past her. Unfortunately, there were several additional people I had annoyed over the years who’d be happy to see me six feet under. My personality was not such that everyone fell madly in love with me.

  I’d worry about the wererats later. First things first. I said to Ghost, “This is all one big misunderstanding. I’m not Metahuman. If you let me go now, maybe I won’t sue after all. From what you were saying, you were just doing your job.”

  “I agree that you are not a Meta. While you were unconscious, I took the liberty of having your blood drawn so it could be tested for the Metahuman gene. You are no more a Meta than the lab tech who awakened you a short while ago.”

  “You drew my blood? You had it tested? You’ve got no right!” I was outraged by the invasion of my privacy.

  “I have every right. The terms of the Hero Act are quite clear—anyone who appears to have Metahuman abilities must be tested. Normally we seek that person’s consent before testing them, but considering your recalcitrance in the alley, I had you tested without it.”

  “Let me guess—my blood proves I’m not a Metahuman. I could’ve told you that. I’m just an ordinary and increasingly pissed-off woman. I guess I won’t have to pick out a mask, cape, and sidekick. And here’s a news flash: Even if I were a Meta and needed to select a sidekick, it wouldn’t be you.”

  The fabric of Ghost’s mask twitched again. “Since, as you say, you are not a Metahuman, that begs the question of how you were able to do the things you did at the Institute of Peace and in the alley against those powerful rat creatures.”

  I didn’t respond. The room fell quiet. Neither of us spoke for minutes. Though I couldn’t see Ghost’s eyes, I felt the weight of his gaze as he stared at me, motionless and silent. I wondered if Ghost worked as a lawyer when his costume was off. This was an old lawyer’s trick, keeping quiet in the hopes the person you were questioning would fill the silence and say something she should not. I had played this game before, back when I had my tangles with the law. Since this was not my first rodeo, good luck in getting me to talk. Loose lips sank ships and sorceresses. Lousy lawyers and their tricks! The first thing we do, let’s kill all the lawyers. Shakespeare had known what he was talking about.

  Ghost was the first to break the silence. I felt smug for a moment. Sage, one; Ghost, zero. Then I remembered I was bound to a chair, and he wasn’t. Perhaps my scorecard was inaccurate.

  Ghost said, “I’m assuming you’ve heard of Millennium, the licensed Hero gone Rogue?”

  I just glared at him and kept quiet. Stick with what works, that was my philosophy.

  Once he saw I wasn’t going to answer, Ghost said, “Millennium is an Omega-level Meta, meaning he is one of the most powerful Metas in the world. He has sullied the title of Hero by conspiring to kill another Metahuman. That conspiracy resulted in several deaths, not the least of which was that of a young Hero a couple of years ago who had barely begun her career.” As coincidence would have it, that Hero had been Willow’s security chief back in the day, but I wasn’t about to tell Ghost I knew that.

  “Maybe Millennium took a page out of your criminal handbook, Captain Kidnap,” I blurted. So much for keeping quiet. My mouth had a mind of its own.

  Ghost again continued as if I had not spoken. I wished I were married to him so I could divorce this ill-mannered clown. He said, “Millennium has always said that he drew his powers from the mystic plane, whatever that means. In short, he billed himself as a magician. For a time, I thought that was merely an affectation. Schtick. Like the Rogue Ares insisting he is really the immortal Greek god when I know for a fact he’s just a Jewish man from New Jersey.

  “Over the years though, I have heard of and seen things that cannot be explained through conventional means: Wolves transforming into men. The persistent Bigfoot and ghost sightings, in a few instances by people I know and trust. When it rained frogs in Astor City, Maryland for a solid forty-five minutes last year.”

  I obviously was not going to tell Ghost this, but Bigfoot was very much real. I had dated him briefly in my wild late teens when I spent a summer in the Pacific Northwest. Actually, “dated” is perhaps overstating things. Mainly I had been curious if there was truth to the old wives’ tale correlating foot size to penis size. Sister was there ever!

  And as for the raining frogs thing, that had been the talk of the magical world. John Woxell, an uncertified magician specializing in demonology who thought he was more powerful than he was, had tried to summon Baal, one of Satan’s chief lieutenants. The downpour of frogs had been a side effect of opening a portal to Hell. It had taken the combined might of the Conclave’s Inner Circle to close it again. The only remains of Woxell the Conclave later found was a film of greasy residue next to Woxell’s smoking summoning circle. To my eternal dismay, I knew all too well the dangers of summoning a demon you were ill-equipped to handle.

  I blinked away sudden tears at the memory, willing myself to not cry in front of Ghost. It was bad enough I had been kidnapped and tied up by this guy. I’d be darned if I embarrassed myself by bawling in front of him too.

  If Ghost noticed me getting emotional, he gave no indication. He said, “In my years of work for the Guild, I have either witnessed or heard from reliable sources of other unusual things I cannot reasonably attribute to a conventional source or to a Metahuman. Interestingly, when I checked into some of those unexplained phenomena out of curiosity, some opposing force always seemed to spring into action to throw me off the scent.” The Conclave’s Magic Suppression Division at work, I thought. “I began to wonder if I had misjudged Millennium, and if the miraculous feats he performed were indeed magic and not subject to conventional laws of reason and science as I had at first assumed.

  “Now that Millennium’s criminal conspiracy has been exposed, he is apparently on the run. I say ‘apparently’ because he is simply nowhere to be found. The Guild has focused its considerable resources on apprehending him, as have the governments of several world powers. To no avail, despite the fact we’ve looked for him for over two years now. It is as if Millennium has dropped off the face of the Earth.

  “If magic was indeed real as I had begun to believe and since superpowers were proving ineffective in locating a magician, I started to think that perhaps I need a magician to track a magician,” Ghost said. I saw the direction he was headed, and since it was toward a certain broke and bound sorceress who was already in trouble for flaunting her magic in front of mundanes, I didn’t like it the least little bit. “So, for the past several months, I have kept an eye out for any new unexplained phenomenon, hoping it would lead me to another magician who could in turn help me locate Millennium.”

  Ghost leaned forward. “And then the footage I just showed you of the incident at the Institute of Peace came
across my desk. Your abilities evidenced in that footage could be explained easily enough it you were a Metahuman. Those creatures you fought? Not so much. However, footage can be doctored, and eyewitness testimony is notoriously unreliable. That is why I placed you under surveillance, thinking that perhaps the incident at the Institute of Peace was some sort of trick or hoax. But what happened in the alley with those rat creatures I saw with my own two eyes. Those were not tricks or hoaxes I helped you fight. And now that I know for a scientific fact you’re not a Meta, I can only conclude that you are a part of this mysterious magical world that Millennium is also a part of.”

  The room fell quiet again. Then, I began to laugh. Part of it was me acting, reacting how I thought a mundane would react if she were accused of performing magic. Part of it was near-hysteria from the pain I was in, from being bound like a mental patient, and from the nearly complete loss of my magic.

  “You’re as nutty as all those Bigfoot hunters,” I said once my laughter had died down. “Maybe this Millennium guy is a magician as you say. Maybe magic is real. Maybe the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy are too. I don’t know. All I know is I don’t know the first thing about magic, magicians, or how to go about finding the one you seem to have misplaced.”

  “You and I both know better,” Ghost said. I sensed he was frowning.

  “I don’t know any such thing,” I said fiercely, not having to pretend to be angry. “I’m the victim of an attack by creatures straight out of a nightmare. I’m hurt, I’m hungry, I’m tired, I’m dirty, I smell, I’ve got a headache the size of your nerve, and yet all you can do is throw around wild accusations and treat me like I’m a criminal. Sure, I had some anger issues in my youth, but I served my time. You’ve got no right to treat me this way. You apparently have the legal authority to detain someone long enough to find out if they are a Meta. Well I’m not. You said so yourself. Now let me go. If you don’t, you’re as much of a criminal as Millennium apparently is. If you’re a hero, I’d hate to meet a villain.”