The Pantheon Saga Books 1-3: A Superhero Boxset

by C. C. Ekeke

  The streets making up the Junction neighborhood of downtown San Miguel were very lively on Saturday nights. To be safe, Hugo slowed down a few blocks from Presley’s place so they could walk hand in hand through crowded, rowdy boulevards. But Hugo was a million miles away, still stuck on his savagery. On Presley wanting him to kill Baz. Why would she want him to cross that line? He sensed her occasional, worried glances in his direction, but remained silent. Probably a good thing.

  The cell buzzing jolted Hugo out of his daze. “Hey, Simon,” he answered. “You still at the dance?”

  “Yeah, man.” Simon sounded eager to spill news. “You’re not gonna believe this. Someone beat the shit outta Baz, TJ, and DeDamien. And DeDamien’s leg is all kinds of fucked up.”

  A chill ran through Hugo. Did Baz stay quiet? “Whoa,” he feigned shock.

  Simon continued briskly. “They got jumped by several people. Cops are everywhere. Obviously, Fall Fling’s over.”

  Police... Jesus. Hugo wanted to tell Simon everything. But not over the phone. “Let’s talk tomorrow.” Presley tugged his arm. They’d reached her foreboding apartment complex. “We just reached Presley’s.”

  “Oh…okay,” Simon concluded. “I’ll tell you what I find out.”

  They took the elevator up in silence and reached her residence.

  “Everyone’s asleep,” Hugo said, listening beyond the doors with his superhearing. He kissed Presley’s forehead. “Have a good night, babe.” He turned to leave, desperate for some breathing room to clear his head. But could he ever unsee Baz turning purple? Or his lover egging him on to kill someone?

  Presley clung to his arm, like Brie had. “Come inside.”

  Hugo shook his head, adamant in needing space. “It’s late.”

  “I need you,” Presley begged. “Please.”

  The naked vulnerability on her face, rarely displayed, cracked Hugo’s heart open. Cursing his own weakness, he let Presley pull him inside to her bedroom.

  A few hours later, Hugo watched Presley sleep after they’d finished. Tranquil and lovely as she was in the darkness, he couldn’t stay. His mind was stuffed with questions, fears. What did I almost become? He crept out of her room and dressed, quiet as a mouse.

  Hugo moved to tiptoe across the gloomy foyer and almost ran right into Vargas. The bald werewolf was in human form, taller and thick with muscle. He glared at him with burning yellow eyes. The two never got along, which probably wouldn’t change. Hugo was more creeped out by why Vargas had been standing by Presley’s door. “Were you outside the whole time?” he whispered.

  “I’ve never seen Presley like this about anyone,” Vargas snarled in reply. His eyes never left Hugo. “Don’t you dare break her heart.”

  Hugo narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing that scalding passion. “You’re in love with her.”

  Vargas wordlessly turned and headed out the door. Gabby’s door opened, but Hugo only heard hasty footsteps. She remained invisible as she followed Vargas outside.

  Hugo stood in stunned silence a long time before departing, more confused than ever.

  It was almost one in the morning when Hugo got home. He sat at the dining table, untangling tonight’s events in his brain. But he kept growing more lost.

  Minutes later, Mom returned from her nursing shift. She flicked on the kitchen light, suppressing a squeal at Hugo's presence. He’d taken care to change from his bloodied clothing into PJs.

  “Hi, Bogota,” Mom greeted after recovering. “Why aren’t you in bed?”

  Hugo shrugged listlessly. “Can’t sleep.”

  “I had a hell of a night at the hospital…” Mom noticed her son’s mood and frowned. She placed her bags down. “What’s wrong?”

  Hugo considered his mother’s concern. “Mom, I…” For a moment, he wanted to lie about his troubles. But something in him couldn’t. “I almost did something unforgivable for Presley. I didn’t, though,” he stated quickly off Mom’s widening eyes. “Presley’s not who I thought she was.”

  Mom moved closer, draping an arm around his shoulders. “Then end things with her.”

  “It’s not that simple…” Not just the fact that Presley knew what he’d done to Baz and his friends. “I love her, Mom,” Hugo admitted without uncertainty. “And she loves me.”

  Mom didn’t seem convinced. She pulled the scrunchie holding her wavy hair up. “How can you be sure?”

  Hugo shrugged. “With Brie, I was always guessing. But I was never sure about how she felt,” he admitted in a hoarse voice, drained by all this tumult. His thoughts filled with Presley gazing at him that morning on the roof after they’d had sex. Her love still made him lightheaded and giddy. But what she’d almost pushed him into doing…murder…tainted everything. “With Presley, I know. I just know.” Tears blurred his vision. “What do I do, Mom?”

  She said nothing. But Mom drew Hugo’s head against her chest and cradled his grief with all her effusive love.

  Chapter 28

  Nurse Richie, a lanky, handsome black man in green scrubs, had just finished examining Quinn. He adjusted her sling to support her throbbing left shoulder. She sat on a bed, her legs hanging off the side in a private room away from the flood of Mistura victims. The room's pale lights were devoid of warmth for some reason, the sanitized hospital smell making her nauseous. Quinn now wore baggy grey Paso Robles Medical sweats, since her own clothes had been torn and bloodied. RIP one of my fav outfits.

  Out of context, Quinn’s injuries seemed drastic—strained left rotator cuff, bruised ribs, sprained right ankle, small cut over her right eye. And Quinn couldn’t forget the pounding headache. But compared to the carnage she’d seen before Dynamo whisked her and Annie away, Quinn had gotten lucky.

  Her TV provided grim tidings, the news reporting new US sanctions on the island nation Amarantha for human rights violations.

  But Nurse Richie provided a perfect distraction from her injuries, pain meds notwithstanding. But the pretty nurse couldn’t distract Quinn enough from so many victims she’d seen hours ago.

  And Annie…

  Quinn squeezed her eyes shut, barely able to think about Annie without her chest constricting. If the Vanguard hadn’t come… The thought of what had almost happened was too unbearable.

  Richie’s hand on her good shoulder jarred Quinn from her sorrows. She opened tear-blurred eyes to find his thoughtful gaze. “You’re free to go, Ms. Bauer. But we recommend staying the night.”

  Quinn’s own welfare was the furthest thing from her mind. “What about my friend? Giaconda Machado?”

  “Still in surgery,” Nurse Richie replied, leaning down to clean Quinn’s stitched-up brow with an alcohol wipe. She winced. “I’ll make sure the surgeon finds you when there's an update.”

  Quinn recalled them taking Annie straight to surgery to address the puncture wound and internal bleeding. That had been almost five hours ago. Way too long unless something was seriously wrong. Quinn winced again, but not from physical pain.

  “Do you need me to call anyone, sweetie?”

  “You can call…oh geez.” Quinn’s throat tightened almost saying her emergency contact’s name—Annie. The realization speared through her gut. Quinn hadn’t memorized her auntie or uncle’s digits. And she’d lost her purse during the Mistura attack, which had her cellphone. Then a name and number popped into her head. “Call Jonathan Sherwood, Annie’s emergency contact.”

  Nurse Richie smiled knowingly. “After you provided both yours and Ms. Machado’s insurance info, he’s already been contacted.”

  One less worry for Quinn. Johnny was rock-solid under pressure. Still, she dreaded telling him about today.

  Nurse Richie then left, taking Quinn’s pain distraction with him. Dang!

  She swung her legs onto the bed, easing onto her back to avoid aggravating her bruised ribs. Quinn was staying put until Johnny arrived and Annie got out of surgery. It wasn’t like she could go anywhere. Quinn's apartment and cars keys were in her purse, somewhere in O
ld Town Paso like her car. Two more headaches to manage.

  Soon Quinn’s eyelids grew heavy, the room darkening.

  “Quinn…” The voice jolted her awake.

  She blinked and sat up. A young woman stood at her bedside, wearing a plaid shirt with figure-hugging jeans, long brown hair in a high ponytail. Quinn didn’t recognize the visitor at first, until a smile brightened her lovely, makeup-free face. “Mikaela!”

  Seraph, aka Mikaela Guerrero, world famous superhero, was almost unrecognizable in civilian clothes.

  She wrapped Quinn in an affectionate hug, careful to not hurt her injured arm. “How are you?” the superhero whispered.

  Quinn was too busy melting to reply. Seraph’s embrace infused much-needed warmth into her. She almost teared up again. “The drugs are good,” she quipped when they pulled apart.

  Seraph had company. Hanging back was a young, lithe Argentine woman somewhat older than Seraph, wavy golden locks slung high atop her head. Wearing a green tee, grey jeans, and a brown leather jacket, she stood behind a wheelchair-bound black teenager.

  Quinn gaped, recognizing both. “Alexis! And Ray? Hi!” Alexis Refel, codenamed Morningstar, was the Vanguard’s newest member. Ramon Dempsey was the fourteen-year-old genius who’d created the Dynamo android. Quinn had never expected to see them again. But their presence was beyond welcome. Morningstar approached first, all smiles and hugs. They exchanged pleasantries.

  Ramon wheeled up and burst into tears. Quinn ignored her aches, sliding off the bed to crouch beside him. “Ray…” She cupped his cheek with her free hand. “What’s wrong?”

  “I…” Ramon removed his glasses, wiping away tears with the back of his hand. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

  Quinn was genuinely touched. “You and me both.” She kissed his forehead.

  “Ramon insisted on seeing you and your friend,” Alexis explained, watching him like a big sister.

  “All three of us.” Seraph gestured to her companions. “Kurt, Robbie, Vulcan, and Wyldcat send their well-wishes.”

  Ramon scratched his close-cropped hair and sniffled. “The people who got hurt…the deaths…”

  “I know,” Quinn whispered sadly, wrapping the boy in a one-armed hug. She kept her eyes open so images of this afternoon didn’t replay in the darkness. The warm reception from these Vanguard members eased today’s awfulness.

  “How’s your friend?” Seraph asked, helping Quinn back into bed.

  “Still in surgery.” She wouldn’t discuss Annie further and become a blubbering mess. Quinn clung to her rage about the Mistura attack to keep composed. “What was the death toll?”

  “Twenty-three,” Ray recited mechanically. “Four died en route to the hospital.” Not shocking the kid knew those stats offhand.

  Quinn wasn’t satisfied. “Why did those robots attack? Where did they come from?” She wanted a name behind whoever almost killed her and Annie.

  Morningstar exchanged a look with Seraph before replying. “Still investigating that,” the superhero detailed, voice husky. She masked her sadness better than Seraph or Ray, but the Argentine’s striking features still seemed pale and drawn.

  Quinn noticed Seraph looking oddly anxious. “Can Quinn and I have a moment?” she requested.

  Morningstar and Ray seemed surprised but complied. “Sure.” The teen waved. “Bye, Quinn.”

  Quinn waved back to Ray, happy to have seen him.

  Alexis shook Quinn’s hand, her grey eyes mournful. “Sorry we met again like this.”

  Once they were alone, Seraph watched the door a few moments longer to make sure no one else was coming. Worry crawled up Quinn’s throat, knowing what Seraph couldn’t discuss with coworkers present. “I’ve said nothing about you and Blur if that’s what you’re wondering,” she said tartly.

  “No!” Seraph recoiled in surprise. “I wanted to ask if you’re okay. I nearly had a heart attack when I saw what those robots almost did to you.”

  Quinn wanted to believe Seraph’s concern went beyond just doing her job. But she couldn’t forget Seraph lying about the Paragon’s incident. “I’m fine,” Quinn replied, curt and clipped.

  “I want you to know.” Seraph sat on her bedside. “Vanguard believes you and Geist about Lord Borealis. We’ve begun our own investigation.”

  Hearing someone admit Geist’s existence shook Quinn. Of course other superheroes know about Geist, she chided herself, feeling less crazy yet more angered. “You finally believe me? After throwing me under a bus?” Quinn planned on nursing this grudge liked a rose garden.

  Seraph looked away in shame. “You have every right to hate me. But we’re on the same side.” She turned back to the reporter with desperate eyes. “Can you tell me about your investigation?”

  Quinn tore her gaze away and rolled over to face the window. She didn’t trust Seraph, recalling the superhero's use of that Purity Stare to make her confess about Lord Borealis. “I’d like to be alone.” Quinn was tired, done.

  “Okay.” Seraph’s reply sounded so hurt, Quinn briefly hated herself. But she refused to concede. “My personal number is on the nightstand,” the superhero said, her voice whisper-soft. “Call me when you’ve changed your mind.” The door opened and closed, signaling Seraph’s departure.

  Several minutes passed before Quinn turned back over and snatched up the Post-it with Seraph’s number. She wanted to rip it up.

  The door opened again, forcing her to stuff the Post-it in her pocket.

  “Quinn?”

  Johnny Sherwood, dressed in workout attire, was a ray of light. Quinn pushed off the bed with her good arm. Johnny enveloped her in his arms for several minutes. Her eyes watered again.

  “What happened?” Annie’s fiancé asked once they broke apart. Quinn gave him the short version of the attack, omitting the argument beforehand.

  Johnny looked justifiably baffled while digesting the story. “A swarm of robots attacked Mistura?”

  “I tried getting Annie to safety and…” Quinn had to stop, again growing emotional. She clung to Johnny for support, struggling to explain. “Annie got hurt real bad…” The horror on Johnny’s bearded face forced Quinn to avert her eyes or else she’d break.

  The room door swung open again. “Ms. Bauer,” a man called in accented tones.

  Quinn turned. In walked a lanky Indian man in scrubs and a surgical cap. Annie’s surgeon. Fear squeezed Quinn’s heart. “Yes?” she asked in a small voice.

  The surgeon smiled. “Giaconda’s out of surgery.”

  Relief overwhelmed Quinn. She thanked the surgeon profusely.

  “I’m her fiancé,” Johnny announced, shaking the surgeon's hand. “How is she, post-op?”

  “There was more internal bleeding than we anticipated,” the surgeon noted with a touch of caution, “but Ms. Machado's a fighter. She’ll recover with no lasting issues.”

  Quinn and Johnny collapsed onto each other and laugh-cried. Johnny then dragged the poor surgeon into the hug.

  “Thank God,” Quinn gushed, burying her face in Johnny’s chest.

  The surgeon politely extricated himself with an understanding chuckle. “If Dynamo hadn’t brought her in when he had, she might’ve not made it.”

  Quinn instantly felt Johnny’s posture stiffen, his arm slipping from her body. A knot formed in her gut as she spotted the odd, closed look on his face. Johnny only got that expression before a volcanic outburst. “When will she be moved to the recovery unit?” he asked flatly.

  “They’re wheeling Ms. Machado there as we speak,” the surgeon replied, not seeming to notice the rise in tension. “But she’ll be out for a couple hours. We’ll tell you when she can have visitors.”

  Both Quinn and Johnny thanked the surgeon again before he departed the room.

  Then Johnny whirled around. “Dynamo? From the Vanguard?” His blue eyes gleamed with heat.

  Quinn grimaced. She’d planned on telling Johnny about the Vanguard’s arrival before the surgeon appeared. “The Vangu
ard saved our lives. Dynamo got Annie and me here as quick as he could.”

  Johnny clutched at his hair, seething. “What did you get Annie into?”

  Quinn gasped. Was he really blaming her? “Nothing. We got attacked—”

  “Which wouldn’t have happened if not for your friendship!” Johnny yelled in her face.

  Quinn stepped back, flabbergasted. “That’s unfair.”

  “Do you know how worried she’s been since that Paragon’s debacle?” Grief bled into Johnny’s rage. “Now she almost died because of whatever story you’re obsessed with!”

  Quinn adored Johnny, but his accusations had crossed a line. “I didn’t put her in jeopardy,” she refuted, keeping her calm. “Annie’s like my sister.”

  “Then stay the hell away from her!” Johnny ordered.

  Now Quinn was angry. “Not gonna happen, Jonathan,” she replied with pointed disdain. This heinous attack wasn’t her fault. “Annie’s been my friend before you two ever met.” And long after you two break up, she almost added. But her big mouth had plagued her enough today. Quinn glared up at Johnny, not backing down from his caveman douchbaggery. He opened his mouth to reply.

  The hospital door burst open again. Good Lord. “Quinnie! Thank gawd!” a woman cried.

  Quinn and Johnny jerked about at the untimely interruption. A young woman approached oozing exasperated relief, lanky, fair-skinned with sharp features. Her trim figure was evident under her red leather bomber coat and destroyed blue jeans. Her glossy long bob of dark-brown hair, parted right, fell perfectly to neck-length. Quinn had no idea who she was.

  “I came as soon as I heard.” She walked up to Quinn with an overly familiar hug. “You okay?”

  Quinn frowned, squirming in this stranger’s arms. “Who—"

  The woman’s grip tightened, sending a spasm of pain through Quinn’s shoulder. “Geist sent me,” she hissed in Quinn’s ear. “Act like we’re friends.”

  Quinn went rigid. Geist again. Paranoia told her not to believe this stranger. Then she recalled Geist having a team of associates. And Johnny was eyeing them with marked concern. Taking a leap of faith, Quinn relaxed and smiled. “Hi…you! You didn’t have to come.”