by Ekeke, C. C.
The island sported a few derelict houses, several yapping sea lions waddling away, and endless blue sea rippling around him.
“I flew here.” Hugo shivered, still amazed. Had Titan had ever flown just because? He'd forgotten to ask. And now, I’ can't.
The epiphany overpowered Hugo.
A quaking sob dropped the teen to his knees. Then another. He hadn’t cried like this since Presley. Hugo never really grieved Titan's death. That made him weep harder and just surrender to it.
The afternoon sun was starting its descent when his grief finally ebbed. He sat cross-legged, zoned out on the ocean crashing into the shores. His mind swirled with thoughts, none fully formed.
A buzz startled him from his stupor. He cursed, having forgotten to leave his cell at home. The call had an 805-area code. Against his better judgement, Hugo answered. “Hello?” The hoarseness in his voice surprised him.
No reply, besides someone’s breath hiking in fear.
A prank caller? Hugo scowled, about to hang up.
“Bogie?”
Hugo sprang upright. “Briseis.” His heart race into a gallop. “Hi…Hello. How are you?”
“Better, kinda,” she said with more strength. But a hesitance remained. “How are you?”
Hugo sighed and sank down in a crouch. “Went for a long run.”
The pleasantries felt wooden, like with someone he barely knew. Countless untended wounds lingered between them.
“I called to thank you.”
Hugo made a face hearing the praise. “Brie—”
“You saved my life twice,” she insisted. “So, thanks. For everything.”
Hugo almost protested, only to stop.
Brie wasn’t done. “And I’m sorry for how much I hurt you.” Her voice grew frail and shaky. “I said and did terrible things.”
Hugo wearily rubbed the bridge of his nose. After everything that had happened between them, those words sparked something in his soul. Joy? Relief? Holding on to such bitterness had been…exhausting. And Briseis wasn’t the only one at fault. “I’m sorry, too. For how I’ve been,” he confessed. Only one way could they move forward. “Can we try, I dunno, a fresh start? As friends?”
No reply besides a gasp.
Hugo stared at his phone. “Brie?”
“Still here!” Her excitement was palpable. “I…that’s all I’ve wanted.”
An hour later, Hugo touched down in the heavily wooded stretch of Paso Robles’s Liberty Park. That landing was much better. “Still needs work.”
From there, Hugo supersped toward his destination.
He braked half a block from Brie’s house and walked the rest of the way. The homes in this Paso neighborhood were towering and palatial with vast front yards.
He spotted her sitting on the front porch, scanning the street while fidgeting. She looked worryingly thin in her black-and-white striped dress, dark auburn hair in a loose ponytail. Yet her face—the kind of face that drew attention away from anything else—remained so beautiful it hurt. The meeting had to be at her place. After her disappearing stunt days ago, Brie's parents had grounded her indefinitely.
Hugo approached slowly, heart hammering against his ribcage.
As soon as she spotted him, her blank green eyes sparked to life.
She jerked upright. “Hey,” Brie greeted in a small voice.
Hugo stopped just outside her yard. So much anticipation prickled up his spine. “Hey yourself.” He strode forward to meet her.
Brie ran from the porch, launching herself at him.
Her gusto stunned Hugo. But he recovered quickly, gathering her up in his arms, her feet dangling off the ground. She was feather-light.
Hugo closed his eyes, stunned by how much he’d missed her. And by how fiercely Briseis hugged back, the feeling was mutual.
Chapter 58
For days, National News Network had begged for Quinn’s take on San Miguel’s newest hero.
She’d repeatedly declined, swamped at work and low on sleep.
Jono had supported her pushback only after she’d promised an op-ed about Aegis. Quinn likened compromising with Jono to swallowing battery acid. But he was Managing Editor.
After sleeping ten hours last night, Quinn sat in a small SLOCO Daily studios. The Beyond the Cape panel was host Ben Halbrook and Quinn's nemesis Rebecca Reyes. The reporter went with an orange short-sleeved turtleneck and hip-hugging white jeans for today’s outfit. Strangely, Reyes didn’t throw her usual vitriol at Quinn. But she remained wary.
“After all the scandals, defeats, and now Wyldcat’s death? The Vanguard's toast.” Quinn felt genuine sadness saying that truth.
Wyldcat’s funeral was scheduled next week. Quinn didn’t know her well but hoped that Danneel Wyndham Wallace had finally found peace.
“My sources say the same,” Reyes added, not to be outshone.
“Don’t forget Paxton-Brandt,” Quinn emphasized. While anything in SLOCO Daily’s shelved exposé were off-limits, the Elite and the deaths they’d caused were fair game. “That company’s greed caused this.” From what she’d heard, backlash against Paxton-Brandt had been deafening. It wasn't enough.
“Look. Everyone’s grateful The Hood stopped The Elite,” Halbrook began, dapper in his pinstriped grey suit. He’d put on his serious journalist face today. “But this isn’t the 1990s where a bright and shiny new hero shows up, saves the day with no questions asked. What’s his angle?”
“Where’s he been for five days?” Rebecca scolded. Her spray-tanned features were smoother than a baby’s bottom from recent injectables. “Already taking siestas after one night? Bad move.”
Quinn itched to slap Reyes’s half-frozen face off. Luckily, they weren’t in the same room. Quinn’s inner den mother seethed at anyone smearing Hugo's accomplishments.
“After those lightning strikes he took,” Halbrook laughed nervously, “The Hood deserves a break.”
“Aegis,” Quinn corrected.
Halbrook stared as if she’d grown a second mouth. “What?”
“His name is Aegis.”
“How would you know?” Rebecca demanded rudely.
“He helped catch Morningstar,” Quinn countered with ease. “Aegis stopped Damian Hazard from leveling the Junction, saving thousands of lives.” She smiled broadly. “He’s protected San Miguel countless times without fanfare.”
Halbrook’s eyes narrowed. “And we're just hearing from him?”
Knowing defensiveness wouldn’t help, Quinn relaxed and explained. “Aegis doesn’t want fame. He wants to save lives, stop criminals.” Quinn went further. “But The Vanguard’s out of commission, Tomorrow Man faceplanted spectacularly and The Elite went rogue. Aegis had to go public.”
Halbrook seemed convinced. “In Greek mythology, an aegis was a shield used by Zeus and Athena.”
“Aegis is the hero this city needs,” Quinn said proudly. “A shield of justice.”
Even Rebecca found nothing to insult. “What are you, his publicist?” she sneered.
After the panel ended, Quinn mechanically checked her phone. Her Aegis op-ed had gone live during Beyond the Cape. And she’d gotten a new text.
HeroBoy: On the roof.
Quinn beamed, hurrying for the nearest elevator to SLOCO Daily’s rooftop. The morning sun burned bright gold, cool winds rolling in from the seas. Despite the beauty, her gaze landed on a single hooded figure hovering in the air.
Quinn waved. “Hi!”
Hugo, aka Aegis, touched down before her. His purple-and-black suit was crisp and untouched. A powerful, unyielding building of a man. “Hey Quinn,” he greeted in his cavernous Aegis voice.
Quinn threw her arms around Hugo, who readily returned her embrace. “I was so worried.” When Jordana had mentioned seeing Hugo recently, her cousin had no idea why she’d gotten so emotional. The reporter craned her neck back to look up at Hugo. “How do you feel?”
“Crappy.” His expression dimmed. “Still yakking a lot,” he admit
ted wearily.
Quinn backtracked, hand over her mouth in dismay. “Oh no!”
To her shock, Hugo threw his head back and howled. “I’m joking.” He laughed harder. “I feel great.”
Quinn slapped him upside the hood, which stung her palm. “Butthole!” But his boyish grin was too infectious to stay mad.
“I watched you on Beyond the Cape."
“Ooph.” Quinn cringed at how she’d fangirled over Aegis like a thirsty tween. “Was I too extra?”
Hugo shook his head. “I’m flattered.” Worry colored his face beneath his hood and mask. “Seems like I got big expectations to reach.” He sighed. “As the Shield of Justice.”
Quinn rolled her eyes. “I know you’ll rise to the occasion,” she assured. “It popped into my head when I wrote my op-ed. You like?”
“Catchy.” His gaze turned solemn. “Thank you.”
“Always,” Quinn whispered. Helping this hero’s ascent was an honor.
“And if I can help find your friend.”
“I’ll tell you,” Quinn lied. Hugo didn’t need to be in OSA’s crosshairs.
“Hold on.” His eyes glazed over. He was listening with his superhearing. “Gotta go. Superhero business.” He clearly liked saying that.
Quinn needed no further explanation. “I got a work thing soon.” Jono had booked an editorial all-hands meeting to announce a new editor-in-chief. Quinn ignored the painful reality. “Be safe.”
As she watched Hugo soar into the skies, her cell vibrated. She read a new text.
Strauss: Can you meet today?
Quinn made a face. Devon Strauss texting this soon meant bad news.
ME: I’ll ping you after lunch.
The all-hands meeting took place in the vast central space on the fourth floor, packed with journalists, editors, and producers. Jono stood in the center with a poorly-fitting black suit, shaggy hair greasy with excessive product. He basked in the spotlight.
Quinn spotted Creed Samuels and other friends on the periphery. A great spot for a quick exit. “Did I miss anything?” she asked, sidling up beside him.
“Besides Jono verbally blowing himself?” Creed replied, thin arms folded across his chest. “No.”
“Thanks, Creed,” Quinn murmured, stomach crawling up her throat. “And gross.”
“We know you’ve heard rumors,” Jono continued, addressing his subordinates. “I’m here to confirm a few things.” He lifted a finger. “One. Paxton-Brandt has purchased SLOCO Daily.”
A tidal wave of shock and anger flooded the room.
“What the hell?” Creed whisper-yelled. “That’s why your exposé got killed.”
Quinn said nothing, focused on Jono. Best to wait for the next bomb before reacting.
Jono raised his hands for quiet. “Don’t worry. Besides a few tweaks, SLOCO Daily will remain unbiased and independent.”
“Bullcaca,” Quinn murmured. Creed and others chuckled loudly.
Jono ignored them. “Second announcement. Let’s welcome our new Editor-in-Chief.” Jono gesticulated to the far left of the room. All eyes followed.
Quinn gawked, briefly unable to breathe. “Oh. My. Effing. God.”
The uproar dwarfed that of Paxton-Brandt’s purchase. Many people watched for Quinn's reaction as the new editor-in-chief crossed the room to shake Jono’s hand.
“Hello, everyone,” Rebecca Reyes greeted, all smiles in her white sleeveless blouse and matching jeans with a red belt. “It’s an honor to join your team. A lot needs changing.” Reyes’s gaze raked over Quinn. “But I’m looking forward to taking SLOCO Daily higher than ever.” She continued discussing her plans for the site, which included monetization or something.
Quinn heard only gibberish. Rebecca, Jono, and Paxton-Brandt running SLOCO Daily would end badly for everyone. “NOPE.” She shouldered her way toward the nearest exit.
During lunch, she saw Rebecca in Helena’s glass office. Another painful reality to swallow. Quinn forced herself to approach.
Reyes brightened when she entered. “The legendary Quinn Bauer,” she snarked. “What do you want?”
Quinn slapped a folded letter on her desk. “I quit. Effective immediately.”
Reyes recoiled. “You’re under contract,” she warned. “Any breach will result in legal action.”
Quinn smiled and sprung the trap. “Here’s the thing,” she countered. “My contract allows me to leave within a ninety-day window after a purchase is announced. No non-compete clause. Paxton-Brandt’s sale was announced today. Thus, I quit.” Quinn had her Aunt Cecilia to thank for suggesting that loophole, and Helena for allowing it. “I can show you where on the contract.”
Rebecca dismissed the offer with a furious, two-fingered slash. “Get out.”
While driving home later, a box of desk belongings in the trunk, Quinn had never felt more liberated. Or terrified. But her priorities converged around an arriving guest.
She opened her condo door carrying her box. Her guest was early, lounging on the couch like she owned it, inspecting a tablet. God, was she easy on the eyes, her leggy and athletic figure obvious beneath dark slacks and blue button-down with rolled-up sleeves.
Also visible, the OSA badge on her belt. “Hey, Bauer.”
Quinn glared at her. “Make yourself at home, Strauss.” She put the box on the countertop.
Devon Strauss rose with a face-splitting grin. “You invited me over. And gave me a spare key.”
"Well…" Quinn blushed, vividly recalling how Devon had obtained a key. Their encounter days before Annie’s nuptials. “You’re very persuasive.” A cocktail of emotions overwhelmed her; uninvited hunger, confusion, and soul-ripping shame. She no longer felt that with Therese.
Quinn pushed the memories aside. “You said you got something?”
“A location.” Devon ran nervous fingers over her golden tresses, pulled tight in a low bun. “I’d have replied sooner. But there’s shitloads of cleanup from The Elite debacle.”
Quinn’s jaw dropped. Finally, a ray of light after last week’s gloom. “Where?”
“OSA satellite facility in Torrington, Wyoming.” Devon studied her. “Helena’s no longer considered a threat, so I’m flying there to request her release.”
No longer a threat. The insinuation chilled Quinn. “I’m coming, too.”
Devon bristled. “Absolutely not. You’re a civilian—”
Quinn waved off the rejection. “You’ve already risked your job as one of my sources.” She looked away, barely containing herself. “I can’t let you keep doing that.”
“Hey…” Devon cupped Quinn’s jaw, guiding it up until their eyes locked. Her green eyes warmed, full of want. “For you, I’d risk much more.”
Quinn’s thoughts jumbled up. Devon never was subtle. And I’d never betray Therese. She gripped Devon’s hand, gently removing it from her face. “When are we leaving?”
Displeasure crossed her friend’s face. “Tonight.”
“Let’s leave now,” Quinn suggested. The sooner Helena was freed, the better. And with Therese out of town on an errand for Geist, her girlfriend wouldn’t need to risk her life once more.
Devon glanced at the box on the countertop in growing recognition. “They fired you, again?”
“I quit!” Saying that made Quinn insanely giddy.
“You’re exhausting.” Devon rolled her eyes exasperatingly. “Fine.”
Quinn beamed and dashed toward the bedroom. “Come help me pack!”
FIVE WEEKS LATER
Interlude 4
Midnight in Atascadero.
A decrepit office building at the suburb’s edge appeared peaceful on the outside.
Inside, its cluttered fifth-floor was a warzone.
Twenty-six armed thugs in black ninja gear vs. two very skilled vigilantes.
Unfair odds…for the wannabe ninjas, the vigilante called Longshadow mused. They’d gotten the jump on these ninjas, easily taking them apart despite superior firepower and numbers. T
heir foes peppered the floor in hails of bullets.
But Therese Lévesque remained in constant motion, dodging, somersaulting and striking. She’d stop briefly to notch/draw/fire arrows or unleash successions of rapid-fire strikes on her foes. The close-range combat, the crunching of bones and screaming enemies, the power she felt behind the mask…Therese loved every second.
The adrenaline shock to her system surpassed any high. She hadn’t been able to cut loose like this since before Shandon.
And Geist was never far, a shadowy panther carving through enemies with vicious, rapid-fire kicks and baton strikes. He’d be everywhere yet nowhere at once, overwhelming whomever he attacked, ferocity made flesh. Geist in action was a beautiful, brutal dance that Therese never tired of watching.
She clubbed another foe down using her bow. Bodies were piling up, distractions from the real mission.
Benji Nakamura, three hundred pounds of gross humanity, was a captain in San Miguel’s charter of the Crimson Dragons gang. And the Dragons had made it their mission to avenge humankind.
This building was Nakamura's base to attack Atascadero’s superhuman district, per Geist street network. He planned on murdering one super for every human killed during The Elite’s attack on downtown—now called 'Black Wednesday.'
Luckily, Therese and Geist had found Nakamura in time. But he'd vanished once the battle started.
“God’s Eye!” Geist called out, back-elbowing one ninja. “Visual on Nakamura!”
“Heading for the elevator with two cronies,” God’s Eye, aka Clint, replied over the comms.
“Get Nakamura, Longshadow,” Geist ordered, hip-tossing another ninja into a desk.
Therese stared back, firing blindly behind her. “And you?” The anguished wail confirmed that her arrow struck.
“I’ll handle the ninjas.” Geist crouched, drawing his handguns. He sprayed four ninjas with bullets. “Go!”
Therese ducked out through the nearest exit, dropping a pair of ninjas sneaking up on Geist with two arrows. Then she went hunting, a new arrow notched and drawn in her bow. She searched through poorly lit hallways for Nakamura, finding nothing.