The Pantheon Saga | Book 4 | Gods of Wrath

by Ekeke, C. C.

  Quinn entered with her copy of the keys and found a barren foyer.

  She flipped on a few lights—and yelped.

  The living room was vacant. No TV, no furniture. No decorations or journalism awards graced the walls.

  “No…no…” Quinn searched the entire house with desperate intent. “Helena?” she cried. “Helena!”

  Every room was empty, including the guest house and garage.

  An unflinching truth dropped Quinn to her knees, breathless and shaking.

  Helena Madden had left San Miguel.

  Chapter 40

  Greyson stepped around Brickhouse’s charred corpse and the car that crushed ShocKing toward Connie.

  As soon as their hands entwined, any isolation and sadness vanished.

  And Connie’s eyes radiated love.

  Greyson knew he felt the same. Faith renewed, he turned to his former teammates. Big Izzie and Tom stood silhouetted against the flames from destroyed police cars. Their stunned faces fit the horrified screams from the surrounding buildings.

  Greyson gave a faint smile. “Heroes Anonymous reunited…minus Kathy.”

  Tom flinched. “You hated that name.”

  Greyson shrugged. “Nostalgia plays tricks on the mind.”

  Izzie took a few steps back. The large man curled both fists, fixing for a fight. “What are you gonna do with us?”

  Greyson sighed and released Connie’s hand. He’d rather not kill them. “I know you won’t join me, so I’ll offer you freedom.” He watched Connie circle around behind them.

  Tom shook his head with fulsome hate. “There’s no way—UGGH.” He stumbled forward, clutching the back of his neck like someone stung by a bee. Big Izzie cried out in shock and crumpled to a knee.

  “There is a way.” Greyson calmly pointed over their heads.

  Both men turned and gaped. Connie stood behind them, tiny devices in each hand. “Just went intangible and removed those pesky implants. No government tracking.” Connie smugly crushed the devices between her fingers.

  Greyson nodded in gratitude. “You two are free to live your lives.” He forced his next words out, knowing of no way to repair these relationships. “And we never have to see each other again.”

  “No,” Tom threw back, “not after Hurricane, your ex-girlfriend, who barely survived. Your father.”

  Big Izzie groaned. “Tommy. Stop.”

  Greyson jumped away. Lauren’s alive? All this time, he thought she’d died because of him. His vision swam, long-held shame lifting. Beneath those layers, his love for Lauren Gerard was a faint ember of the passion he’d once felt.

  Regardless, Greyson’s mission remained steady.

  He spied Connie’s concern, offering an assured nod to calm her.

  “What do you mean no?” Tom barked at Big Izzie, outraged. “He’s a monster!” He jabbed an accusing finger with each indictment. “Greyson can’t walk!”

  “Tom,” Connie pleaded softly. There was genuine fear on her face. “Please let this go.”

  Tom tilted his chin up. “I can’t.” Two words laced with uncompromising defiance.

  Greyson’s patience hung by a thread. “Yes. You. Can!” He almost went off on Tom, then Greyson’s mind flashed on their last encounter. Tom had begged for his help protect St. Louis. Greyson had turned him down, leading right to this very moment.

  Greyson relaxed his posture, but not a low-level gravity field. “You ignored me before, Tommy.” He made a sweeping gesture at the surrounding carnage. “Look where that got us?” He stepped forward. “Walk away. Start a new life.”

  Connie watched Tom intensely. Big Izzie looked physically ill.

  Weariness bled off Tom’s body as he walked past Big Izzie.

  Greyson’s respite came in waves—until Tom drew a knife.

  “No!” Big Izzie said.

  Tom vanished in a burst of smoke. A VMMP sounded in Greyson’s ear. Steel flashed followed by a bite to his cheek.

  A sharp cry rang out as Greyson’s reverse gravity fields repelled something. Then came the sickening crack of bone against stone.

  Greyson jerked sideways, clutching his right cheek. His fingers came away speckled with blood

  He squeezed his eyes shut. “Dammit, Tommy,” he whispered. The sorrow was a crushing weight.

  Greyson opened his eyes.

  Tom lay slumped before the water fountain. He sucked in ragged gasps but didn’t move. By how twisted his lower extremities appeared, his spine had struck the stone lip of the fountain.

  Connie covered her mouth. Big Izzie turned away. Greyson approached, every step weighted in lead. No part of him relished what came next.

  When he knelt beside Tom, the young man remained defiant. “Someone…will stop you,” he groaned.

  Tears burned Greyson’s eyes. All Tom wanted to be was a hero. Now Greyson didn’t know if he could do it. Big Izzie was sobbing. Connie’s almond-shaped eyes were wet also. She still nodded her consent.

  With that, Greyson steeled away the grief. “Maybe. But not you.” He drew upon the earth’s gravity, pooling it into his fist. “I’ll be quick.” He punched Tom as hard as possible.

  The town square shuddered, muting the wet crunch of a shattering skull.

  Greyson stood and walked, never looking back.

  Connie rushed to him, cradling the unhurt side of his face. Her features warmed. “You had no choice.”

  Greyson appreciated her sympathy. The pain remained raw. “Doesn’t make it easy.” He almost couldn’t face Big Izzie.

  The older man stepped back, hands raised in peace. “I’m gone. You’ll nev—”

  The sun-bright blast torched Big Izzie from above, disintegrating him to ash.

  Greyson’s heart burst at what he’d just seen. “IZZIE!”

  Connie dragged him back. “Incoming!” She pointed to the dark skies.

  Greyson looked up, awash with fresh grief…and rage. A flaming comet barreled toward them.

  “MONSTER!” Diablo flew on a collision course, lobbing burst after fiery burst at Greyson and Connie.

  The couple danced and dodged the rain of solar fire. Finally, Greyson had to fling himself and Connie to safety before the whole ground around the fountain erupted in a field of fire.

  Diablo torched whatever earth he swept by and arced upward. “Those sicarios butchered fifty people before I stopped them!” The voice modulator gave his anger a fearsome timbre. “And it’s your fault!”

  Connie had a punch-drunk stare. “Izzie…” she murmured fuzzily.

  “Yeah…” Greyson put Connie behind him with surface-level calm. The plan with Delgado’s hitmen had worked perfectly. Maybe too perfectly. Diablo was unhinged and reckless.

  The vigilante swung around for another pass. “I’ll burn you alive!” His fists blazed with solar energy.

  Greyson floated a few feet off the ground. Time to give Diablo another push. “Those deaths are on you, hero!” He pointed. “You could’ve scorched your father’s cartel down in a day!” Diablo’s mistakes enraged him the more he spoke. “Instead you fly around destroying measly drug caravans and processing plants. Putting citizens in peril to feed your ego!”

  Diablo was rocked by the charge, hurling more solar bursts. “I’m squeezing the cartel of resources.”

  “But never eliminating the true problem!” Greyson rose easily over the bursts, which erupted on the ground several yards away. Diablo’s aim was usually better. “How many people died because you’re too cowardly to kill your father?”

  Diablo’s glowing eyes widened. “FUCK YOU!” He plunged in a flaming torpedo.

  Right where I want you. “No thanks.” Greyson clapped, seizing Diablo’s gravity and increasing it.

  Diablo, inches away, plummeted and slammed to the ground.

  Light bathed the vigilante’s fallen body. “Your gravity trick never works, moron.”

  Greyson glanced at Connie. “Ya sure, moron?”

  Right as Diablo broke free of Greyson’s
hold, Connie lunged forward and jammed both intangible fists through the vigilante’s upper torso.

  Diablo gave a choked grunt and fell. The glow enveloping his frame winked out before he curled up.

  Greyson landed on top of Diablo and rained down gravity-enhanced punches, unloading all that pent-up hate. Each blow snapped Diablo’s head side to side, wet smacks filling the air. Greyson relished every second. Afterward, Diablo lay motionless with a cracked mask.

  Glancing around revealed several bystanders peering from balconies or half-shut windows. Them witnessing their hero's defeat pleased Greyson intensely.

  Connie placed dampening cuffs on Diablo’s forearms. She looked proud yet puzzled. “Kill him.”

  “I need him alive to prove a point.” Greyson knelt and unfastened Diablo’s mask. The vigilante had no fight left to resist. “Now let’s take that mask off—”

  Greyson pulled the mask off, and instinctively backtracked. Shock ran down his spine as he stared at the mask in his hand and again at his downed enemy for certainty. That’s not Cristóbal Delgado…

  Connie studied his reaction and Diablo’s bloodied face. “Not who you expected?”

  Greyson shook his head. “No…”

  Interlude 3

  Ezra Michelman had sat in his BMW for half an hour, watching one house in a quiet Paso Robles neighborhood. The Adobe stucco roofing and pale-yellow walls were garden variety Californian suburb architecture. But his interest lay in the resident, who currently had company.

  Ezra was patient. One had to be in his profession. To kill the time, he had answered the urgent call of two former patients.

  “This is an insult, Dr. Michelman! An insult!” Thor roared his displeasure from the video screen on Ezra’s dashboard. With the bugling eyes and wild red beard, the Norse-themed hero looked quite demented. “Media training?”

  Ezra scratched his chin, sporting stubble from a few sleepless nights. Dealing with a sociopathic daughter who’d secretly reactivating her superpowers would cause any father to lose sleep. “This is all for your team’s benefit,” he remarked calmly.

  Another of The Elite shoved her way into the frame. Nike, sans her bronzed Greek helmet, dark hair wild and flowing. Her severe features bore a near permanent scowl. “These instructors treat us like children,” she complained.

  Ezra sighed. “Then stop acting like children.”

  Both Thor and Nike gawked at his bluntness. “Excuse me?” the Norse superhero bellowed.

  The retired hero did not so much as flinch at their anger. Aside from being a father and formerly on a superhero team, Ezra knew how to handle immaturity. “Thor, what happened in your last interview?”

  The anger drained from Thor’s face. “Well…”

  “You threatened to electrocute that news reporter.”

  “He called The Elite monstrous!” Nike replied defiantly.

  “She called your actions last week monstrous when fighting Negaton Monolith,” Ezra countered. “Then you ragdolled him around the sound studio. The poor man was traumatized.”

  “Pansy.” Thor scoffed and folded his beefy arms. Nike cackled in agreement.

  “No,” Ezra answered in a hoarse, curt tone. For a second, his calmness slipped at their stupidity. “Your behavior was unacceptable. Imagine what would have happened if Paxton-Brandt wasn’t able to bury that interview? The backlash would've ruined Elite.”

  That wiped the fire off Thor’s and Nike’s faces.

  While many loved The Elite’s uber violence in battle, Ezra found himself disgusted. I have no one to blame but myself. Ezra had supervised every step of The Elite’s creation, down to their personality quirks. Yet in his haste, he’d figured new heroes who took the gloves off against enemies would reduce crime. Yet now, Ezra felt sickened. All because Paxton-Brandt experimented on his eldest daughter without his knowledge or permission. That betrayal couldn't go unanswered. Or his role in Spencer almost killing two classmates.

  Onscreen, Thor appeared chastened. “Sorry.”

  So am I. Ezra stole another glimpse at the house he’d been casing. No one emerged. “Why do you think the company sends Apollo and Morrigan out for interviews?” he explained to the two heroes.

  “Mori’s a smokeshow. Apollo’s a kiss-ass,” Thor grunted.

  Nike glared daggers at him. “Shut up!” she snapped, defending her beau.

  “Because they make people feel safe,” Ezra reminded. It was a key thing he’d learned as December. “Keep citizens feeling safe.” He leaned close to the monitor. “Do you want people to trust you with protecting them?”

  “Yes,” Thor admitted after a moment.

  “Yes,” Nike grumbled, looking down.

  “Then do Paxton-Brandt's media training,” Ezra decided. “It will make you better heroes.”

  “Fine, we will,” Thor said with some bite. His beady eyes shone with immense gratitude.

  But Ezra’s mind was back to that house. The door had opened.

  He bid a brisk farewell to the two Elite members, ending the video call.

  A tall, fair-skinned man with fluffy hair stepped out into the early afternoon. his slacks and plaid shirt covered a solid yet doughy body. Early forties. Ezra was already bored without even hearing him speak.

  The man turned to a swarthy-skinned woman peeking out the door, Samoan for sure. She pulled him into a kiss, lingering for five seconds and then patting his cheek to see him off. No sign of her two sons.

  From there, the man hopped into his Jeep Cherokee and drove off.

  Finally. Ezra hopped out of his car, straightening his wrinkled button-down shirt and sports jacket. Then he crossed the street.

  “Coming!” a voice called from inside after Ezra had knocked. The Samoan woman opened the door wearing sweats, frizzy hair tumbling down, her features simple yet intriguing.

  The moment she saw Ezra, her expression shifted. “Dr. Michelman,” she stated stiffly.

  Ezra smiled back, despite her unwelcoming tone. “It’s been a dog’s age, Savelina.”

  Savelina Malalou wrinkled her broad nose. “Not long enough.” She hugged herself, making no move to invite him in. “Why are you here?”

  “Your very talented son,” Ezra remarked innocently. “Is he home?”

  Savelina’s mouth fell open. “No,” she murmured shakily. “He’s out on an errand.”

  On a patrol… “Then I’ll wait.”

  Savelina’s eyes widened a hairsbreadth. The reaction revealed the depth of her fear. But not for herself.

  That confirmed another of Hugo’s powers. “Don’t worry.” Ezra came prepared, revealing a noise silencer in his hand with a twenty-foot radius. “He won’t hear us.”

  Savelina hesitated a long moment before finally stepping aside, looking exhausted. “Come in.”

  Chapter 41

  “Are you an idiot?” Zelda demanded after Hugo revealed what had happened with Spencer and J-Tom two days ago. The pair, including AJ, sat huddled in Zelda’s bedroom. “And I mean mentally deficient!”

  Hugo glowered at the twelve-year-old. “I had no choice.” He still wore his Aegis costume from this morning’s patrol, hood and mask drawn back.

  Patrolling had been a godsend, distracting him from his personal chaos. But even those weren’t safe anymore with OSA hunting him. Hugo leaned forward with a heavy heart. “I told J-Tom everything except who Spencer’s parents were.”

  “Seriously?” AJ chimed in.

  Hugo considered his younger brother. “Like a major coronary, uso.” He appreciated them being back on speaking terms.

  Zelda wrinkled her nose. “Only old people say that.” AJ burst out laughing.

  Hugo smothered the itch to throttle these mouthy preadolescents. “My point,” he intoned stiffly, “don’t trust Spencer or her dad.” Paxton-Brandt corrupted everything it touched, like a plague.

  Zelda pouted, arms folded petulantly. “I can’t believe Spence didn’t tell me about her powers.”

  “And that her da
d is freaking December!” AJ added, brimming with wonder.

  Hugo was straddling between terrified and furious. The threat the Michelmans posed hung over his neck like a guillotine. At this rate, his rogues’ gallery would be the entire superhero community.

  “What about Jen Thomas?” Zelda pressed with a solemnness belying her age. “Can she keep quiet?”

  “Dunno...” Hugo gave a powerless shrug. “She’s not returning my calls.” To say J-Tom hadn’t taken Hugo’s reveal well was an understatement, going from laughter to weeping to raging.

  “You ruin everything!” she had screamed, looking ready to throw up.

  When J-Tom had finally calmed down, Hugo had whisked her back to her place.

  He mentally flinched away from the pained memory. Another rejection... “I told Jen what would happen to Spencer and me if people knew.” More than anything, Hugo craved advice. But Simon was in Seoul for another two weeks. Lady Liberty was still off the grid trying to save her powers. Geist was…gone. Their absences rankled Hugo more than he’d realized.

  “Mom will know what to do when she’s back.” Zelda’s gaze fell. She clearly missed her mom.

  Hugo stood. “I’m heading home for a nap.” He looked to his brother. “Need a ride home?”

  AJ shook his freshly buzzcut head. “Gonna hang with Zelda until Justice Jones comes back.” The beefy boy sat up straight, realizing something. “I just mentioned Justice Jones like super casually—OWW!”

  Zelda smacked him upside the head. “No fanboying!” she commanded.

  “Fine,” AJ mumbled. Zelda had him wrapped around her finger.

  Hugo chuckled. He raced to a bathroom, switched out of his costume into a V-neck shirt and boardshorts. He reentered seconds later, costume in his backpack, running fingers through his tousled hair. “Later.”

  Hugo slowed to walking speed half a block from home. Mom was probably awake after sleeping off last night’s twelve-hour shift.

  Hugo paused mid-stride near his home. An ash-grey BMW sat outside the house. Hugo hadn’t seen this car before. He dialed up his hearing and heard nothing.

  Hugo frowned, hearing nothing. It was like all sound inside had been muted…