by C. C. Ekeke
Herman gazed back, glassy-eyed. “Definitely.”
Quinn, while grateful for her friend’s move, was confused. How’d she do that?
“Good.” Seraph smiled, showing perfect white teeth. The ex-nun’s gaze had pinned Herman in place. “Was Lord Borealis at Paragon’s on June 26th?”
“Yes,” Herman answered. “He came here before ten, alone. Borealis usually comes twice a week, has some drinks, tells stories to anyone who’ll listen, and leaves before midnight.”
Seraph, never breaking eye contact, gestured for Quinn to chime in.
“Was he drunk that night?” the reporter asked.
“The old fart got hammered.” Herman chuckled. “Regaling everyone about his glory days and shit.”
Quinn glanced at Seraph, unsure how her friend made Herman so compliant. Presently, she didn’t care. “What else did Borealis do?”
“He juggled chairs magnetically,” Herman said. “Did some other magnetic tricks.” The bartender shrugged, eyes glued to Seraph’s. “Everyone was egging him on, buying him drinks.”
Triumph surged through Quinn, and dread. This lined up with Borealis’s story. She went in for the kill. “In your opinion, was he in any condition to fight?”
Herman snorted. “My cousin in preschool could’ve kicked his ass.”
“Borealis wasn't lying,” Quinn murmured, both gratified and horrified. "He didn’t kill Titan." She knew it in her bones. But she needed a little more reasonable doubt. “Then what?”
“Borealis kept falling off his barstool…wha…?” Herman shook his head, eyes refocusing. He blinked and turned pale. “I should’ve kept quiet!” Herman whirled and ran, shoving some patrons aside to reach the back entrance. Another overwhelmed bartender squawked in disbelief at his exit.
“Wait!” Quinn moved to sprint after him. But she spotted Seraph cradling her forehead, swaying dangerously. “Whoa…Mikaela!” Quinn dove and caught her from spilling off the barstool. She guided the dazed superhero back to her seat. “Are you okay?”
Seraph leaned forward with her eyes squeezed shut. “Just need a few minutes….” She sounded so weak, barely audible over the crowd. “Herman’s getting...away.”
Quinn turned in the direction Herman had fled and saw masses of writhing drunks. But she couldn’t leave Seraph like this. And her friend’s current state seemed tied to Herman’s brief chattiness. “How did you make him talk?”
Seraph looked at Quinn wearily. “Purity Stare,” she admitted. “I amplify…someone’s guilt over a topic, making them…confess their sins. Using it intensely…is taxing.”
Quinn was stunned. She’d never heard about Seraph having that power. “Whoa.” A memory dislodged from her brain, confessing to Seraph about her Lord Borealis investigation. “You used that Purity whammy on me the other day, didn’t you?”
Seraph rubbed the back of her neck, shrugging limply. “Maybe…”
Quinn recoiled as if slapped. “Bitch!”
Seraph had the gall to look miffed. “Hate me later, Quinn. I didn’t get a full confession…” Her shoulders slumped. “Someone…interrupted my connection.”
That broke through Quinn’s anger. “Like…a telepath?”
“Yes, and somewhere in Paragon's.” Seraph met Quinn’s gaze, looking less woozy. “You have to find that bartender so we can get his full confession.”
Quinn’s gaze roved across the drunken, rowdy masses. Someone in this bar was trying to keep the truth hidden. Someone who might have killed Titan. This unseen threat frightened Quinn anew. She had to find Herman, get his whole story. Then Quinn studied her slumped-over friend. “I’m not leaving you.”
Seraph sat up, glaring at Quinn. “I’ll be fine. Go.”
Before she could reply, a large and furry wall pushed up behind her. Then came loud sniffing from a canine-like nose brushing against her hair. Quinn jerked away from the personal invasion. She turned and looked up, then looked up again at a shaggy black tower of lupine menace.
The wolfman. He was HUGE, easily seven feet tall.
Quinn swallowed her fear and wrapped a protective arm around Seraph. “Excuse you!” she fumed.
The wolfman’s yellow eyes gleamed. “Excuse you…baseline.” His snarl provoked images of ripped, bloody flesh. “You don’t belong here.”
Quinn struggled to stay calm and looked around. This confrontation was drawing too many eyes. “We’re leaving.” She drew Seraph closer, moving to go.
The wolfman blocked their path. “Not until I make sure you don’t return, baseline.” A growl rumbled out as he advanced.
Quinn’s terror skyrocketed. Pinned against the bar, she saw no escape routes through the thick crowd.
Seraph lurched in front of Quinn defensively. “Get away from us—UGH!”
Wolfman lashed out lightning-fast with a backhand. Seraph went sailing over the bar, slamming into the liquor wall with an earsplitting KEESH of shattered bottles. Her ragdoll body spilled to the floor behind the bar, showered in sheets of liquor and bottle shards. Seraph didn’t move.
“MIKAELA!” Quinn cried.
The bar hushed, music stopping. Everyone watched the confrontation.
Wolfman’s gaze stabbed into Quinn, stripping away her courage. “Where were we?” He pointed a finger at Quinn, popping a long, dirty claw. “You owe me a scream.”
She had nowhere to run.
A brawny blue-skinned man reached over, spinning the wolfman around. “Are you kidding?” he protested, gesturing at Quinn. “That’s no way to treat women.”
Wolfman grabbed his throat, shoving him away violently. “Outta my face!” he roared.
The blue man toppled onto a table, knocking over its drinks in thick sprays. The supers sitting there rose angrily.
“Those were our drinks!” a butch female at the table barked.
The wolfman ignored them, his attention back on a petrified Quinn. “Put it on my tab!”
Another member of the group banged his glowing fists together. “We’ll pull it from your hide!” That group charged at the wolfman, pushing through others. Angry words were exchanged, someone shoved another person. The first punch was thrown.
The next thing Quinn knew, the barroom erupted into a full-scale brawl.
She scrambled behind the bar on all fours toward an unconscious Seraph.
“Oh my Lord!” Quinn cradled the superhero in her arms. Seraph had a reddening bruise on her cheek. Worms of red trickled from Seraph’s forehead. Several minor cuts from bottle shards marred her smooth arms and legs. Meanwhile, World War Super exploded on the other side of the bar.
Quinn had seen her share of New England bar brawls, but never with a pub full of supers. She peeked over the bar and jerked back down, nearly beheaded by a fiery torch blast. Reminding herself to breathe, she slung Seraph’s arm over her shoulder and dragged the superhero toward the exit, ducking her head. “I’m getting us out of here, Mikaela…WHOA.” Green electric forks speared the wall in front of Quinn, blocking her path.
More energy blasts punched holes through the barroom’s walls and roofs, scorching gouts of flames and thick beams of radiance. Quinn squealed, cradling Seraph closer. If this continued, the whole bar would collapse.
She then heard surprised screams and a familiar voice in the chaos, calling Seraph’s real name. “Kaylie, where are you?”
Quinn frowned, laying Seraph down on an area not covered in glass. She peeked over the bar again.
In the eye of the skirmish was a strapping squared-jawed man with short blond hair, wearing a t-shirt and jeans. This chiseled slab of Americana bulldozed through several bar patrons like it was his job. He fought with too much skill and precision for a simple brawler.
Quinn knew him. “Kurt!”
Sentinel dropped another patron with a vicious uppercut before turning. “Bauer?” he called out, surprised. “Why are you here? Where’s Kaylie—AHH!”
The distraction cost him.
Half a dozen brawny supers pounced on S
entinel and struggled to hold him down. When that didn’t work, every brawler turned their focus on Sentinel.
Quinn screamed his name as he got buried.
She then sensed someone behind her climbing onto the bar. Blinding light suddenly doused the entire space. “ENOUGH!” a voice rang out, like a noon church bell.
Quinn gawked.
Seraph stood on top of the bar with an unforgiving glare, bleeding from several cuts, black dress soaked in liquor. But with her radiant wings unfurled and spread wide, she was a heavenly sight.
“Holy shit…it’s Seraph,” someone pointed out unironically.
“Meaning, that’s gotta be Sentinel.” Suddenly, everyone dogpiling the supersoldier scrambled off like he was on fire. Several patrons rushed for the exits.
Sentinel climbed to his feet, shirt torn and lip busted. He leveled angry looks at Seraph and Quinn. “Come.” Seraph stepped down from the bar and helped Quinn over. No one tried stopping them. Once the trio was outside, Seraph retracted her wings into her back. With Sentinel there, Quinn noticed her shrinking in submission.
“How did you find us?” Quinn asked after Paragon’s was far behind them.
“We have a mission in Manhattan.” Sentinel glared at his fiancée, who couldn’t meet his gaze. “Kaylie wasn’t answering her communicator, so I went to pick her up at her chapel. She wasn’t there. Ramon tracked Kaylie here. With you.”
Quinn flinched from his accusing tone. But her concern was for Seraph. The blood dripping from her forehead wasn’t abating. “You’re bleeding.” She reached for her liquor-soaked friend.
Sentinel yanked Seraph away, like property. “You’ve done enough.” He glanced around the dark streets. They reached the border of Colony Square and Supertown. “Go home.”
He grunted a command at Seraph. She obediently unfurled her angel wings, illuminating the streets. Wrapping both arms around Sentinel, she flew skyward.
Quinn looked up to see the orange glow of a V-Jet’s repulsor engines hovering several miles overhead.
Once they’d entered the jet’s rear hatch, the V-Jet zoomed into the night to save the world again.
Quinn remained earthbound, staring at the heavens. Her brain spun with questions and guilt.
Chapter 35
Across the dark gymnasium, Connie lay supine and unconscious.
Tom was sprawled nearby, barely moving.
Further away, Kathy dangled in Brickhouse’s one-handed grip, gasping for breath.
Greyson watched his fallen teammates through hazy, wounded eyes. He curled in a fetal position, muscles seizing from ShocKing's electric blast. Crackles from Letty’s fried communicator filled his ear, meaning they were on their own. Some heroes we turned out to be.
ShocKing loomed over him smugly. The Illusionist flanked his left, cracking his knuckles. A sneering Mr. Silk crouched between them panther-like.
The team’s only hope was either OSA busting in, which would expose Greyson and his friends, or Tom teleporting everyone to safety. But he was down and out.
“Get up, Bravo,” Greyson hissed at Tom. “Get—”
Mr. Silk jerked Greyson upright by the collar. Before he could react, Mr. Silk doubled him over with a piston-like blow to the stomach. Greyson’s ribs screamed. Another blow to the head nearly decapitated him. Greyson crumpled to hands and knees. His vision swam, the desire to vomit overwhelming.
“No one’s going anywhere, hockey puck,” Mr. Silk hissed in his ear.
ShocKing laughed. “Hockey puck. NICE.” He and Mr. Silk bumped fists.
The Illusionist looked fully recovered. His pudgy face lit up as he rubbed both hands to generate a massive dragon illusion, scaly wings and all. Under different circumstances, Greyson would’ve marveled. But as the dragon stomped its paw on Connie, Greyson only felt horror.
The Illusionist squatted and held Greyson’s gaze. Those beady eyes held zero remorse. “If you think this ends with the heroes saving the day, then you’re reading the wrong story.”
Greyson shivered in shame. How could he have arrogantly thought his inexperienced group could defeat these monsters? Now we’re gonna die... At least most of the kids escaped. Lennox and Randall had run somewhere else.
Brickhouse tossed Kathy aside like a sack of meat. The older woman tumbled several feet and lay still. Greyson couldn’t tell if she was alive or dead. He was too afraid to guess…
“Hurricane never showed,” Brickhouse whined, like she’d been ghosted. “Can we please kill someone?”
“Absolutely!” ShocKing exclaimed, pleased by the idea. He pointed at Tom, who’d fought to a kneeling position. “Rip the teleporter’s spine out before we kill them.”
“No…” Greyson struggled to rise, only for Mr. Silk to slap a headlock on him. He struggled feebly, muscles still spasming. Connie wriggled to free herself, but the dragon illusion had her pinned.
Brickhouse reached Tom in four strides and cocked her fist.
“NO!” That drew stares from around the gymnasium, save a motionless Kathy.
Randall and Lennox burst from their hiding spots, stepping between Tom and Brickhouse. The former rivals stood together with hands raised to stay Brickhouse. Greyson’s blood froze.
“Don’t hurt him!” Lennox cried. He looked terrified but refused to run.
Same with Randall. “Please! They only wanted to help.”
“Goddamn it!” Greyson swore, struggling to reach those boys and levitate them out of harm’s way. But his powers were spent. “Lennox. Randall. Run!”
ShocKing looked from Greyson to the boys with a cruel smile. “Brickhouse. Flatten the pipsqueaks first.”
The powerhouse beamed. “Gladly, lover.” She drew back her fist.
Randall and Lennox instinctively raised their hands to shield themselves from the superpowered punch.
Greyson, trapped in Mr. Silk’s headlock, screamed in horror as Brickhouse swung.
Until the floor beneath her abruptly rippled and flung the powerhouse aside. She sailed across the gymnasium, flailing her beefy limbs, landing hard on the floor.
Greyson stared stupidly at the flat floor where Brickhouse stood. Lennox and Randall also stared, unharmed. ShocKing looked pissed. His fingers crackled with electricity. “Who—?” The floor swelled like ocean waves right in ShocKing’s face, smacking him off his feet.
The swell of paneled wood swept onward, simultaneously slamming into the Illusionist and Mr. Silk.
Suddenly, Greyson was free. He sank to his knees, sucking in greedy gulps of air. With the Illusionist down, the dragon pinning Connie vanished. She popped to her feet.
Tom seemed to regain more awareness, looking from the boys to their downed foes.
Greyson scrambled as rippling wood panels surged toward him. Until the rush stopped, shrank, and morphed from wooden to human form.
Greyson gaped at the familiar face. “Izzy? You came!”
The older man hauled Greyson upright, frowning in plain regret. “Wish I’d come sooner.”
“You're here.” Smiling beneath his mask, Greyson clapped Big Izzy’s shoulders. “That’s what matters.” Connie and Tom both beamed. Randall and Lennox looked confused.
The older man glanced over his shoulder. The Illusionist, Mr. Silk, and ShocKing were starting to recover. His smile disappeared. “Imma handle these fools.” Izzy tapped a grey metal ring on his finger. Immediately, his brown skin shifted to iron grey.
Greyson smiled. “Be my guest.”
Izzy charged headlong at the trio, swinging his gleaming fists. The sounds of bloodcurdling cries as metal crunching against bone filled the gymnasium.
Lennox stared at Tom, who finally regained his footing. “Who are you guys?” the black teen asked, considering their St. Louis Blues jerseys with a mix of wonder and mockery.
Tom actually did a hands-on-hips superhero pose. “Just a team of anonymous heroes.”
“BRAVO!” Greyson and Connie barked.
“Okay!” Tom grabbed both Lennox an
d Randall, disappearing in a smoky burst. The last worry bled out of Greyson. Glancing right, he saw Izzy standing like an iron statue over the groaning forms of the Illusionist, ShocKing, and Mr. Silk.
Greyson flexed his fingers experimentally. The spasms were fading.
“So what if we lost the hostages?” Her nearby voice startled Greyson. He turned. Brickhouse charged at him, hatred contorting her square features. “I’ll settle for killing you.” She closed the distance between them at frightening speeds. Greyson stood frozen, thoughts in a jumble—
Until Connie launched herself at Brickhouse like a missile, colliding with such force, Greyson’s teeth rattled. Brickhouse went skidding across the floor, stunned.
Connie stood beside Greyson, fists clenched. “No one dies today, bitch.”
He watched her in awe. She nodded, but Greyson sensed she was smiling under that hockey mask.
Brickhouse struggled to a knee. That tackle noticeably dazed her. But she remained defiant. “Think you’ve won?” She bared her teeth like some animal. “We’re goddamn Excessive Menace!”
“And?” Greyson was sick of their arrogance. Sick of their violence. Sick of them. He tapped into his core, digging deep. Soon Greyson’s whole body illuminated, burning bright. Energy pulsed through his arms and legs, flooding his chest. He pointed at Brickhouse, who no longer looked so arrogant.
Greyson discharged a radiant yellow burst, striking Brickhouse with a thunderous clap. The blast rocketed her straight through the roof. She kept soaring into the night skies, becoming a blip, then vanished.
Connie and Izzy gaped upward. Tom returned in a smoky swirl, following their gazes. “What did I miss?”
Greyson laughed. “Something…excessive.”
“Brickhouse!!” ShocKing cried and clutched his sides. Possibly broken ribs. He glared at Greyson, eyes crackling with blue electricity. “If you hurt her—”
Big Izzy slapped him upside his afroed head. “Quiet, punk,” the older man growled.
“We need to go,” Tom announced. “With the hostages out, OSA’s about to storm this place.”
That snapped Greyson from his victory afterglow, He glanced around the gymnasium. Kathy was still unconscious. His joy faded. If she was hurt or worse… “Bravo. Get Kilo, Echo and Izzy outta here.”