by C. C. Ekeke
The families spoke animatedly in Amaranthine, meaning Greyson understood nothing. Rodrigo translated when possible.
“Lady Nadia wants the betrothal made public before War Games,” the young man whispered out of the side of his mouth, hands folded. “Lord Gaspar wants to wait until after War Games. That way, Côte Royale won’t try anything funny.”
Greyson snorted at the fiction. He took another inspection at the guards, fearsome and hard-boiled men. He fought the urge to adjust his restraint collar. Once Lord Gaspar gave the signal, he and Rodrigo would need to act fast and slaughter these guards. Greyson steeled the self-loathing behind a blank mask and maintained focus.
“Okay,” Rodrigo whispered. “They're talking about us. Saying we be part of Thuraya’s wedding dowry.”
“Them? What about Skylord?” Lady Nadia scoffed in accented English. She gesticulated mockingly with one flabby arm at Greyson. He tried not to be offended by her disgust, since she’d be dead soon. “One is a child. The other looks like that Moby singer person.”
“Consider me unimpressed,” Landon agreed unenthusiastically. They addressed Greyson and Rodrigo with the same patronizing eyes as the Carneiros—just for being supers.
Dad would’ve loved this island. Greyson swallowed more flagrant intolerance.
Lady Martine leaned forward, taking Nadia’s hand, like a friend. A friend ready to knife her from behind. “Trust me.” She eyed Greyson and Rodrigo adoringly. “These two pack more power than our Skylord.”
Lady Nadia gave the pair a second look, much less contemptuous. “Now that’s a start.”
As the parents began speaking in Amaranthine again, Thuraya’s eyes met Greyson’s. Her hungry gaze crackled through him. Then she resumed making eyes with Landon like nothing had happened.
Greyson shook his head to clear it, yet the energy rush lingered. Startled, he did a slight test. Greyson floated half an inch off the ground. He powered down and nudged Rodrigo.
“My restraints got deactivated,” Greyson murmured under his breath, scanning the guards cautiously.
Rodrigo smiled. “Relax. Follow my lead, yea?”
His nonchalance unsettled Greyson. Rodrigo knew something and suddenly wasn’t sharing. Before Greyson could ask, a distant rumble shook the walls of the palace, almost like an explosion. The second thunderous boom halted further conversation, rattling Greyson’s skull. The guards tensed, many speaking on their comm devices.
Lady Nadia frowned at her son, annoyed. Landon barked at the guards in rapid-fire Amaranthine, no doubt asking about the tumult. The Carneiros remained the opposite of alarmed.
Lady Thuraya eyed her parents with fiendish glee. “Sounds like fireworks,” she intoned in English.
Lord Gaspar scratched his beard with a bite of impatience. “They started prematurely. No matter.” He turned to Greyson, twisting a ring on his right hand to deactivate the restraints. “The guards, please.”
Greyson raised both hands, connecting to the gravity fields of every guard in this room. He drew on his reservoir of power and clenched his hands into fists.
A discordant symphony of crushed bones, crumpled metal, and screams filled the room. Moments later, all eight guards imploded into compacted balls of flesh and armor, oozing blood all over the polished floor. Greyson gazed upon his gruesome action, remembering Dad’s compacted corpse. The memory tickled.
His admiration was broken by Lady Nadia screaming. “NO!” Her son Landon rose, mouth agape.
Nadia turned to Gaspar and Martine, appalled. “You’re attacking Bellazul…” She shook with smoldering hatred. “Two-timing bastards!”
Lord Gaspar chuckled, standing. “Did you believe I’d forgive anyone sabotaging my mines, Nadia?”
Landon looked from his mother to Thuraya blankly. The betrayal hadn’t sunk in. “Thuraya and I aren’t getting married?” he whined.
Lady Thuraya offered a rueful smile. “Apologies. I’m just not that into you.”
Her sneering tone cut so deep Greyson felt it across the room. Lady Martine nodded at Rodrigo. And he rocketed forward into a shimmery ball as if launched from a cannon.
Rodrigo smashed Landon’s torso with a sickening crack, smacking Bellazul's heir out of his chair and into a far wall. Rodrigo boomeranged back, landing in a crouch beside Greyson. Landon’s flattened corpse slid to the floor beside a few crushed soldiers.
Lady Nadia shrieked in heartrending grief. Greyson might have felt similarly if his heart wasn’t already dead. A shift in motion caught his attention. Some translucent figure, masked and clothed in all-white, rose from the floor behind Lady Nadia like some ghost out of a movie. An instant later, the ghost’s lithe frame turned brick-solid.
Greyson was too stunned to speak as the ghost drew a serrated knife and opened Nadia’s throat.
Bright red sprayed across Lord Gaspar’s and Lady Martine’s faces. Lady Thuraya clapped in approval.
Greyson stumbled back against the wall as Lady Nadia slumped to the floor. The ruler of Bellazul lay on her side gurgling, red rivers gushing from her slashed throat.
The Lord of Dourado took a napkin, daintily wiping the blood splatter from his face. He eyed his wife admiringly. “One of yours?”
“Nope!” Rodrigo crowed before Martine could answer. Tucking into a shimmery ball again, he hurtled across the chamber superfast.
The crunch of Thuraya’s skull and ribcage hit Greyson like a mule kick. The heiress’s seat toppled backward, decorated by a crushed, red ruin.
Lord Gaspar popped out of his chair. “THURAYA!” Lady Martine drained of color and clutched her pearls.
Greyson gaped at Rodrigo, seeing but not believing. “Rodrigo, What the HELL!”
Lord Gaspar shivered with volcanic hatred. “You abominations just committed suicide.” He twisted his wedding ring.
Greyson cringed back, waiting for the excruciating electric jolt.
Nothing occurred. His shock mirrored that on Lord Gaspar’s face, who kept pressing and turning his ring.
Meanwhile, the ghost walked through the table and leaped up. Landing in a solid crouch before Dourado’s rulers, the ghost drove a knife into Gaspar’s heart.
Lady Martine screamed. The Lord of Dourado grunted. He stared at the knife sticking into his chest and then his attacker, eyes dulled by confusion and pain. Someone like Lord Gaspar clearly couldn’t comprehend a superhuman orchestrating his ruin. Greyson was transfixed, unable to breathe.
The ghost gave the knife a hard twist. The light fled Gaspar’s eyes as if switched off. He sank without a sound.
Lady Martine kept screaming, now having lost a daughter and husband. She whirled to run.
The ghost caught the Lady of the City by that long mane. Snatching up another knife from the dinner table, the ghost plunged the blade into Martine’s stomach and chest, arm rising and falling. Blood spurted everywhere until the ghost’s white costume was drenched.
“NO!” That finally shocked Greyson out of his paralysis. He reached out, touching this ghost’s gravity field and altering it. Greyson flicked his wrist, yanking the ghost off the table and slamming it against the wall. The ghost slid onto a dark pool of blood saturating the chamber floor.
The room went quiet, strewn with bodies. The only noise came from outside, a battle raging between Bellazul and Dourado forces. Now Dourado had no leaders.
Greyson turned to Rodrigo, who stood triumphant over where Thuraya had sat. He swallowed an involuntary sob. Not that Greyson loved Thuraya or her entitled world view. But her death had been so abrupt and unnecessary. Had Rodrigo known this would happen? Or just taken advantage of the chaos? And that ghost?
“Rigo. I’m lost.” Greyson spread his arms, desperate for answers. “Why? And who is that psycho?”
Another blast shuddered Montesur. Greyson stumbled forward, almost tripping over a Bellazul guard's compacted corpse. He recoiled. Attacks thundered across the city, yet inside this chamber Greyson was blind to which side was winning. He kept an eye on
the fallen ghost, who’d begun stirring.
Rodrigo smirked instead of smiled. “I did that for our kind. Don’t worry, yea. Dead Carneiros are part of the plan.” There was a casual malice to his joy that Greyson hadn’t seen before.
“What plan?” Greyson demanded. “How will killing these royals protect us from the Dourado’s military…or Bellazul’s?”
Rodrigo had the gall to laugh before the chamber doors burst open. A flood of armed and military-styled figures flooded the room. Some looked American. But the majority were definitely Spanish or Amaranthine by their features and complexions. Yet none wore Dourado or Bellazul stylings.
“Stand down, asshole!” an American male bellowed.
“You stand down!” Greyson shouted, tapping into his powers and hovering off the ground. gravitational forces eddying around his vibrating fists.
More arrivals barked at Greyson to power down followed by posturing and shouting to where barely anyone could hear each other. Rodrigo shouted something. Greyson ignored it. The young Amaranthine wasn’t trustworthy anymore. Greyson counted twelve plus soldiers now with rifles pointed at him. He didn’t care.
Greyson squeezed his fists, blanketing the room with invisible gravitational waves. “I will bring his whole fucking building down!”
“Greyson!” Rodrigo looked scared now, his hands clasped and beseeching. “Stop!”
“NO, Rigo!” Greyson shouted over the tumult. Gravitational forces oozed off him. “Your intangible buddy just killed the Carneiros. You smashed Thuraya’s skull, and these fuckers are pointing guns at me.”
“Lower your guns! He’s okay!” a female voice cut through the uproar, so close the shock nearly broke Greyson’s concentration. “Hirsch, please! They’re not the enemy.”
He looked in the female’s direction. His heart stopped.
The ghost was unmasked, revealing an Asian woman with short and spiky black hair.
The crowded room faded away. Greyson didn’t notice floating to the floor until his feet touched down. He stepped back, not trusting the sight before him. But there she was on a knee. “C-Connie?”
“Yeah,” she whispered, a big smile on her face. “It’s me.”
Greyson didn’t believe it. First, he’d imagined Lauren everywhere. Now Connie. You are going crazy… “No.” He shook his head. “You…you drowned on the ferry!”
Connie’s eyes were shiny with unshed tears. “I survived. Like you.”
She sounded and looked like Connie. Greyson wanted to believe. But after everything he’d lost… He turned to Rodrigo, who’d backed away toward the cluster of soldiers. “Do you see her, Rigo?” Greyson begged for confirmation, pointing frantically in Connie’s direction. “Can you see that woman there?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Rodrigo nodded. “I can see her, man. She killed the Carneiros and Lady Nadia.”
Greyson stumbled toward her, vision blurring. “Connie…” he gasped out her name desperately.
She threw herself at him before he took another step. Holding her simply obliterated Greyson. They collapsed into each other and fell, sobbing in joy. Greyson drew away, holding Connie’s tear-streaked face in his hands.
“How did you survive?” he wept, barely getting the words out. “How?” He pulled her back into his embrace as they both sob-laughed some more.
Connie finally drew away and motioned at the group of soldiers at the dining chamber entrance. “They rescued me. Before the barge sank.”
Greyson took in these hardened military men and women. Their expressions had softened; some grew teary-eyed at the emotional reunion. A few of these soldiers wore stained versions of what resembled superhero costumes. Greyson realized what they were. Superhumans.
He rose, wary and weary, helping Connie up. An excuse to not let her go. “And them?”
One man stepped forward, Latino in ethnicity. He had a pantherlike physique with orange and black streaks in his shaggy hair. “AmeriForce,” he announced in a Mexican accent. “Tigre. We’re a resistance movement to purge Amarantha of the royal families’ oppressive regime.”
The rest of his group, Rodrigo included, nodded in agreement.
Tigre tapped a radio on his vest. “Status on the rest of House Perez?”
“Eliminated,” a female replied. “Bellazul’s entire leadership and the municipal assembly as well.”
Tigre’s smile revealed pointy-sharp teeth. “And with the military subdued, Bellazul is ours.” That brought cheers from Rodrigo, Connie and Tigre’s entourage.
“And with the Carneiro forces neutralized in the tunnel,” Rodrigo added, “Dourado falls next!” Even bigger cheers sounded.
Greyson stood and stared. Rodrigo was in on this? Between that and Connie being alive, Greyson felt like his brain had been dropped in a blender. He opened his mouth but knew only gibberish would emerge. Connie, animated beyond measure, grabbed his cheeks.
“Don’t you see, Hirsch?” she gushed. “AmeriForce are the good guys!”
Chapter 31
“Don’t touch that,” Zelda snapped.
Simon jerked his hand back from a mannequin displaying Lady Liberty’s costume like it was ablaze. He reached for a display of Titan’s famous green and yellow suit.
Zelda’s glare followed him. “Or that.”
Stymied again, Simon spied a glass display of six silvery spheres. Eyes gleaming, he reached for one.
Zelda, in suspenders and a t-shirt, darted over and slapped Simon’s hands. “Or anything.”
Hugo looked on, baffled that she was only twelve. With Lady Liberty away on superhero business tonight, Zelda was managing her costume shop.
Hugo leaned against a wall near the entrance to this display room, waiting while one of Mrs. Ortiz’s designers finished his costume. But Zelda’s intolerance for Simon's fanboying had him quaking with amusement. Hugo couldn’t blame his BFF. He’d reacted similarly when Mrs. Ortiz first brought him down here.
Zelda stepped in front of the display case. “The silvery spheres are—”
“High-impact capture beads used by The Motor City Ghoul in Detroit,” Simon answered. “Mrs. Ortiz rocks.”
Zelda glanced from Simon to Hugo, surprised. “That’s…right.”
Simon moved to four mannequins in rock star garments. One had oversized red sunglasses. He frowned. “That’s like something Bono would wear.”
“It is something Bono wore,” Zelda corrected.
Simon whirled about. “Your shop designs U2 costumes?”
Zelda’s expression darkened. “Sometimes.”
Hugo had no issue elaborating. “U2 are secretly demon-hunting superheroes,” he gushed like an eager toddler on a sugar high. “They drop references to their adventures in their songs. And U2 actually inspired Ghostbusters.”
Zelda gasped. “Way to keep a secret!”
“Relax!” Hugo scoffed, unconcerned by her kittenish outrage. “Simon keeps my secret.”
“I KNEW Bono was a superhero!” Simon cried, hopping in the air. “It was the sunglasses!”
Zelda watched his touchdown dance with unmasked disgust. “Why is your…fanboy here?”
Hugo snorted out a laugh.
“Style consultant,” Simon corrected testily. He’d moved on to another display costume.
Zelda eyed him like an ant to be squashed. “I’m speaking with Hugo.”
“I run big choices by Simon.” After the Kid Liberty mess, Hugo needed a trusted opinion on his suit.
Plus, Simon was going stir-crazy with school still closed. A visit to Ms. Ortiz’s costume boutique was the least Hugo could do.
“Wait.” Simon stopped before a mannequin in a red-white-and-orange outfit. A simple crimson mask covered the eyes and nose.
Hugo recognized the retired costume.
“The Hurricane’s OG costume when he was with the Midwestern Miracles.” Simon grew somber.
Hugo nodded with a pang of sorrow. “May he rest in peace.”
“Amen,” Simon agreed.
&nbs
p; It still rankled Hugo how little coverage Hurricane’s murder had received. Yet, Morningstar getting exposed as Titan’s killer had happened at the same time. Sad…
Randolph, one of Mrs. Ortiz’s designers, emerged from an adjacent room. Correction, skipped. He carried a perfectly folded purple-and-black outfit under one arm. Hugo’s skin prickled with gooseflesh.
Randolph was lanky with a mini-afro, dressed in black. His belt buckle, buttons, and loafers were sparkly gold. Randolph wasn’t overtly emotional. But tonight, a hint of a smile graced his lips. “It’s ready,” Randolph announced dramatically, thrusting the folded suit at Hugo.
Simon started squealing but stopped after Zelda's warning look.
Hugo took his suit from Randolph. Anticipation and fear swirled in his stomach. “Thanks.” Hugo turned to Zelda, who watched him warily. He offered a sympathetic smile. “Wish your mom was here.” Without Ms. Ortiz, none of this would be possible.
Zelda avoided his gaze. “Off-site client.” Hugo could taste the subtle loneliness in her tone.
“Alright.” he headed for the changing room, heartbeat like a jackhammer. “Here it goes.”
After a couple minutes to change and pray he didn’t look stupid, Hugo emerged. The fit and full-body style matched the Kid Liberty suit. But the coloring was per his request: purple and black boots, black gauntlets with grey knuckles. Two thick, grey angular patterns running parallel down his chest to the grey belt.
Hugo liked it yet felt disconnected from his body. He spread his arms wide and twirled. “Thoughts?”
Zelda’s shameless glee exposed her youth. “Love!” she gushed, bouncing.
Randolph gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up, visibly enamored by his own work. “Classic, young man. The material is adaptive to any speed friction you put it through. Plus, like your last costume, it’s extremely resilient to damage. Fire-resistant, bulletproof, heat resistant, laser-proof. I also have a guide to program the communications earpieces in your hood and mask.”