The Pantheon Saga | Book 4 | Gods of Wrath

by Ekeke, C. C.

  Johnny’s mirth faded. “I’m not working on The Elite account anymore. But I’ll answer what I can.”

  Thankful, Quinn dove into the questions. “Did you work directly with Paxton-Brandt?”

  Johnny scratched his growing stubble. “Never directly. Always through Genex Laboratories.”

  Quinn frowned at the name. “Never heard of Genex.”

  “Most people haven’t. Another Paxton-Brandt subsidiary.”

  Quinn clenched her jaw so hard it hurt. “Shocking.” What didn’t these people own?

  “In fact...” Johnny raised a pointer finger. “I’ll send you a list.”

  Quinn beamed. “Please do. And thanks. What do you know about The Elite’s secret identities?” Paxton-Brandt hadn’t released any info on this.

  Johnny looked stumped. “Paxton-Brandt kept that locked down. The Elite loved their personas twenty-four-seven. Kinda creepy. And, this might not matter, but The Elite was supposed to have seven members.”

  “Seven?” Quinn repeated.

  “Yep,” Johnny confirmed. “Their nickname was gonna be the Superior Seven to rival The Vanguard’s Sensational Seven.”

  Quinn flashed on The Elite’s press announcement months ago. Their minder had promised that the team would surpass The Vanguard’s Sensational Seven era. “Who’s the seventh member?”

  Johnny exhaled. “No idea. They scrapped that months ago and went with six members.”

  “Huh.” Another item for Quinn to ask her sources. “Can you send everything to me using that encrypted cloud link?”

  “Sure.” Johnny leaned closer to the screen. “If my firm finds out I gave you anything—”

  “Of course,” Quinn answered before he finished. “You’ll stay anonymous.”

  Johnny’s shoulders sagged. “Thanks.”

  With business out of the way, Quinn’s interest veered to her person. “Is Annie awake?”

  Johnny winced. “She’s out with some new friends from our Vatican tour.”

  Quinn deflated. “Oh.” The anticipation of speaking to Annie beyond texts had buoyed her for days.

  Johnny offered a sympathetic smile. “She misses you like crazy.”

  “Same.” Quinn missed Annie so badly the pain bordered on unbearable. “Tell Giaconda I love her.”

  Johnny chuckled. “Absolutely. I’ll send over the Elite stuff.”

  As soon as the call ended, an epiphany straightened Quinn’s spine. “The Titan clone was the seventh member.” It made perfect sense for a ‘Superior Seven.’ Why did Paxton-Brandt scrap that? Quinn had to tell the Spotlight team. None of her sources had info on a Titan clone or imposter. Even Walt Greenwald, her best source, hadn’t replied for days.

  Quinn left her room to tell Therese that she was off to work. The archer laid passed out on the couch. Quinn’s heart throbbed. Therese looked so tranquil and young. Well, she was only twenty-five. Quinn draped a spare blanket over Therese, then grabbed her purse before departing quietly and reluctantly.

  The evening drive to SLOCO Daily would have been ideal to process Therese’s intrusive question. But as the queen of emotional avoidance, Quinn instead called Seraph who’d returned from a Vanguard mission in Australia.

  “The dress fittings this weekend will be in Los Angeles. Just come with me via private jet,” Seraph said.

  “Mikaela, you don’t have to,” Quinn begged off. A Los Angeles flight wasn’t pricy or long.

  “I want to,” Seraph insisted.

  Quinn sighed, knowing she wouldn’t win. The streetlamps doubled as Quinn passed into San Miguel proper. “Does the wedding have contingencies for world-ending emergencies?” Global threats and supervillains had interrupted Seraph and Sentinel’s prior two weddings.

  “Oh yes!” The angelic hero had a smile in her voice. “Protectorate and Dominion will be on standby.”

  That pleased Quinn. “Well planned.”

  While the pair continued wedding talk, Quinn wondered if Seraph knew about Geist. His absence had been noticed by San Miguel’s underbelly, evident by a recent crime uptick.

  “Did you handle the other thing?” They hadn’t discussed Blur since the sex incident which Quinn couldn’t unsee.

  “No time.” Seraph’s curt reply sounded borderline irritated. “Between wedding planning, missions, and media appearances—”

  Excuses. “Mikaela,” Quinn interrupted. “You need to break up with Blur. Permanently.” She assumed that the so-called Princess of Purity was still sleeping with the teen speedster.

  “I know,” Seraph said in a small voice.

  “Yet you haven’t."

  “I know!”

  Seraph’s snappish tone irked Quinn. “Why not?”

  “It’ll break his heart. And mine.” Seraph’s voice grew emotional.

  Quinn sighed, feeling for all three parties, especially Sentinel. She spoke again in softer tones. “But you’ve made your choice, right?”

  “Yes.” Seraph sounded like she was convincing herself still. “I’ll break up with Blur tomorrow.”

  “Good.” Quinn had just reached the office. “See you in a few days.”

  Johnny had uploaded his data by the time Quinn reached her desk. The office floor was quiet as a tomb, pockets of writers populating some cubicle islands. Quinn sat down and started opening Johnny’s documents in the cloud server. The sheer volume of documents surprised her. Johnny had totally won more friend points. This might take her a while to get through. She shot an email off to the Spotlight team about her finds. Quinn then planned to follow up with Walt—

  “QB?”

  She turned around, startled yet pleasantly surprised. “Hi, Rhonda.”

  Rhonda Malo approached her desk, silvery hair straight with blunt bangs, wearing a white button-down and pink tie with a black blazer. She'd worked with Helena for years before the latter had brought her to SLOCO Daily as Managing Editor. In her early fifties, Rhonda's quirky design acumen complemented Helena’s journalistic talents.

  By the worry on the older woman’s lean and lined face, something was amiss. “Have you seen Helena? We're supposed to leave for the CCNA dinner. And meet Mike Hale’s potential replacement.”

  Quinn did recall Helena planning to attend tonight's Central California News Association dinner. “I got here like twenty minutes ago,” she said. “She hasn’t answered her phone?”

  Rhonda shook her head. “No text or cell. I figured you might know since you two are tight.”

  Quinn fought down an eye roll. Rhonda wasn’t the first person to use her as a Helena conduit. “Hold on.” She dialed Helena’s personal cell. Hopefully, the Editor-in-Chief was just running late.

  Helena picked up after one ring. “Hi.”

  “Hey,” Quinn greeted quietly. “Rhonda’s looking for you.”

  “In the parking lot. Can’t make the dinner.”

  A flush crept up Quinn’s neck. Helena sounded...off. And woozy. “Alright.” She hung up and turned to Rhonda. “Helena isn’t feeling well. She asked if you can go solo.”

  Rhonda nodded, visibly concerned. “I’ll give her a recap tomorrow.”

  “Thanks.”

  Quinn waited until she left before heading down to the garage. Helena’s white BMW was in its reserved spot. Quinn saw the Editor-in-Chief in the driver’s seat, looking gorgeous a silvery tube dress, hair falling in stick-straight sheets. Helena was also teetering in her seat and nodding off.

  Quinn’s concern spiked as she opened the passenger door and sat down. “Helena? What’s wrong?” She touched her bare shoulder. The Editor-in-Chief flinched away.

  Helena stared at Quinn with glassy and unfocused eyes. “Saw him flirting with one of Packer’s whores.” Her words came out slurred. “And…it just hurt. Didn’t wanna feel the pain.”

  Quinn winced away from Helena’s ragged grief. Jono had been very blatant in flirting with other females in the office recently. Expected and gross. So, Helena had been self-medicating to cope with the breakup. Quinn sometime
s hated being right. She spotted the orange bottle in Helena's lap and gasped. A much fuller hydrocodone bottle.

  Anger pooled in Quinn’s stomach. “I thought you were nearly done.”

  “Doyle got another…” Helena nodding made her nearly pitch forward onto the steering wheel.

  Quinn guided her back into the seat. “What?!” When telling Doyle to impress Helena, she hadn’t meant becoming her pill connect.

  “Don’t blame her, please,” Helena mumbled with a limp handwave, batting Quinn’s afro. “I asked Doyle to.” She blinked hard as if trying to think straight. “Can’t go to the CCNA dinner like this.”

  Quinn had bigger fears beyond the CCNA. “How many more bottles do you have?”

  “There’s another in my desk."

  Quinn stuffed the pill bottle into her purse. She took Helena by the shoulders so they were facing. “No more. Okay?”

  Her mentor nodded like a chastened little girl. The shift in dynamic jarred Quinn emotionally. She glanced around the parking level. Her car was one level down. But any of their many colleagues still leaving the office could see Helena.

  “Okay…” Quinn laid out her plan. “Once traffic’s better, we’ll go down a level and drive you home in my car.”

  Helena’s face crumpled. “I’m so goddamn embarrassed,” she said in quivery tones, so raw and ashamed. Helena started crying.

  Quinn embraced Helena fiercely to cradle her mentor’s grief. Going into den mother mode was the only thing keeping her from coming apart with Helena. “It’s okay,” she assured in soothing tones. “We’ll figure things out.”

  Chapter 25

  Hugo was scouring Atascadero in vain for more Paxton-Brandt clinics when Domino called. But besides their business complex in downtown with that ugly spiraling tower, the megacorp had vacated its minor properties around the City of Wonder.

  Hugo supersped to the Claremont & Houser building. Domino was in a catlike crouch behind the air-conditioner units. She swiveled around in surprise when Hugo slowed down beside her but regained composure quickly. Domino wore her maroon getup with dark-red goggles, hair pulled back in various knots. “Thanks for coming.” A voice modulator diluted her Israeli accent.

  “Of course,” Hugo said. Out of Geist’s team, he wasn’t as close with Domino. But Hugo would never ignore her call. He looked to the opposite end of the rooftop. Plumes of light floated up from the sprawling cityscape below. A lone figure, silhouetted against that dazzling skyline, teetered dangerously on the edge.

  Hugo listened. The man’s heartbeat conveyed fear. But his steady breaths revealed resignation. He was about to jump. “How long has he been there?”

  “Twenty minutes.” Domino peeked around the air-conditioner units. “I’d approach. But seeing me from behind might make him jump.” Fatigue bled into her modulated words. Understandable. With Geist gone, Longshadow and Blackjack on the shelf, Domino alone in fighting San Miguel’s street-level underbelly. Hugo had assisted when possible.

  “Superspeed in and grab him,” Domino decided.

  Hugo found this reasonable. “Alright.” In a split-second, he cut the distance between himself and the potential jumper.

  Up close, the bald and well-dressed man shivered and psyched himself up. “A little pain, and it’s over. Can’t hurt more than now.”

  Those words struck Hugo with startling force. He’d been in a similar place a year ago, destroyed emotionally over Briseis’s rejection and physically from Baz’s beatdown. Every moment of his life since then had been thanks to Titan’s intervention.

  This needed a more personal touch. Hugo dashed forward and grabbed the man’s arms from behind. That startled him senseless. But Hugo had a steady hold, drawing him gently off the ledge. “That’s a long way down, sir,” he remarked, using his Aegis voice.

  The man thrashed around. “Let go!” Downtown’s bustling symphony drowned out his protests.

  Hugo spun the man around so they were facing. He looked in his mid-twenties, generically handsome, dark-skinned and athletic. Hugo couldn't fathom why he’d be suicidal. Seeing the man’s tears, the hero chastised such narrow thinking. Depression doesn’t pick favorites.

  “I know how you feel. Not wanting to be here anymore?” Hugo nodded to the roof. “And that’s the only escape?”

  The man stilled. His defeated gaze seared. “For five years, she was my everything,” the stranger admitted hoarsely. “Then she dumps me like trash. It just…hurts.”

  Hugo had known such heartache, a distant but dull pain. “This doesn’t have to be the end.” The words flowed out of him. “You’ll celebrate and mourn other loves.”

  The young man shook his head, stuck in his own misery. “You don’t know that!”

  “I do,” Hugo pressed, “more than you know.” His throat grew thick, but he stayed grounded and composed. “Just…believe in your heart that there’s more to experience. Take one step every day toward happiness.” Hugo let go and stepped back. Across the rooftop, Domino’s breath caught.

  Hugo knew the risk here. But maybe letting this man choose would start the healing. Hugo held out a hand. “Can I take that first step with you?”

  The moment stretched unbearably long. The man stared back as if never seeing anything like Hugo before. “Yes…” he gasped, a drowning man coming up for air, throwing himself at Hugo. “Yes!”

  The teen returned his embrace for as long as necessary.

  Hours later, Hugo was in bed in a fitful sleep. He’d gotten the man, Greg Daughtry, down to street level before departing. But Hugo had watched from afar until Greg returned home safely. It had been a win.

  Yet in his dreams, Hugo was back on that rooftop watching Brie with her lifeless eyes instead of Greg. She turned and swan-dived over the edge—jolting Hugo awake.

  The next morning, he groggily trudged downstairs, scratching his disheveled hair. Mom was in the kitchen, prepping for work. Her boyfriend, Dan, had left an hour ago.

  Mom smiled at him while closing the fridge.

  Hugo almost mentioned Brie. But knew Mom would push for a reconciliation. Besides, another issue nagged at him. “Mom?”

  “Yes, love."

  “Zelda is Titan’s daughter.”

  Mom froze in visible horror.

  Whoa, Hugo mused.

  She straightened and gave him her full attention. “Betty doesn’t talk much about Z’s father.” She studied him cautiously. “Did Betty tell you?”

  Hugo shook his head. “I found out accidentally.” Saying more would betray Spencer’s trust.

  “Who else knows that you know?” Mom’s intensity took Hugo aback. Like an interrogation.

  “No…one.” Before he could ask more, familiar footsteps approached from outside. “Simon’s here.”

  Mom left shortly after Simon entered with breakfast from Apple Farms. She was probably protecting Zelda’s identity, but the overreaction felt odd.

  Hugo and Simon were mapping crime hotspots around San Miguel before his best friend left for South Korea in a week.

  While devouring pancakes in Hugo’s bedroom, he skimmed through the SLOCO Daily app's headlines. Seeing Rainmaker strike in San Diego rankled. Not seeing the Paxton-Brandt exposé annoyed. He spotted an interview with Greg Daughtry about some mysterious vigilante rescuing him. Hugo would’ve been pleased, if Tomorrow Man hadn’t taken credit. He almost hurled his cell into orbit—literally. “Motherfucking Tomorrow Man stole credit. Again!” he seethed.

  “And?” Simon remarked from his seat on Hugo’s bed, eating a bite of sausage. “No one thinks it’s you.”

  Hugo glared. How did he not get this? “Tomorrow Man’s a liar!”

  “But no one suspects you,” Simon repeated.

  “Yeah. But…”

  “Do you want secrecy or not?” Simon interrupted, putting his plate on Hugo’s desk.

  That cut through Hugo’s outrage. “Kinda… Maybe.” He'd been firm about staying anonymous. As long as lives got saved and criminals got stopped.
Despite hating this caped fraud taking all the credit, the personal costs of spotlight made him recoil. “I’m staying anonymous.”

  Simon rapped him gently upside the head. Any harder and his friend would’ve broken his hand. “Let Tomorrow Toolbox lie. You can keep handling business low-key.”

  Hugo rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” Despite his better judgment, he had to discuss his Brie encounter. “I saw Brie on the way to L.U.N.A’s concert.”

  Simon cringed. “How bad? Not counting the L.U.N.A concert.”

  “Fuck you, the concert was amazing,” Hugo snapped. “The Brie thing was super awkward. I mean, we enjoyed the concert, but it killed the mood.” Hugo leaned forward. The memory of Brie’s skeletal appearance remained fresh. Like someone with one foot in the grave. “She looked terrible, which I never thought I’d say.”

  “Well…” Simon pulled out his laptop, bored. “Not our problem.”

  Hugo longed to return to that apathy and disdain. But concern had taken root. “You didn’t see her.”

  Simon sighed and placed his laptop aside. “I saw her around campus. Sometimes I felt bad.” His moon-shaped features hardened. “Then I remember the long months Brie strung you along and played with your emotions for her own amusement.” Simon scowled. “Or her laughing when Sebastian and his cronies slapped me around like a pinata. Or that gross stunt she tried on Jordana.”

  Hugo couldn’t dispute those truths. He reclined.

  Simon stood, placing a hand on Hugo’s shoulder. “Your life’s good now. Fighting the good fight. Awesome friends. Swimming in women.” That made both boys grin. “And you like yourself. To hell with that spoiled, poisonous brat.”

  Hugo sighed. Why did he give a damn about Brie? The answer that surfaced was something Hugo hadn’t told even Simon. “I lied to you, Simon.”

  Simon looked baffled. “What do you mean?”

  "I didn’t lose my virginity to Presley." Hugo never realized the weight of this admission until it sat on the tip of his tongue. "Briseis and I were each other’s firsts.”

  Simon collapsed into a seat onto the bed. “When?” he barked.

  Hugo glanced away from his accusing glare. “Six weeks after my dad died. Then a few times after that.”