The Pantheon Saga Books 1-3: A Superhero Boxset

by C. C. Ekeke

  “Don’t be silly.” The woman loosened her death grip and pulled back. Looking Quinn over, she grimaced when her hazel eyes found the stitches above the reporter's eyebrow. “I already took care of checking you out.” She stroked Quinn’s face affectionately.

  The reporter suppressed a shudder. She was a good liar.

  Quinn glanced back at Johnny, her thoughts returning to Annie. “But—”

  “Just go. You’ve done enough.” His face left no room for discussion. Quinn opened her mouth angrily.

  But this strange woman dragged her away. “C’mon,” she purred. “There’s nothing more you can do tonight.”

  Once they entered the hall, hospital floor traffic rushed around Quinn. Her worries grew more immediate. All affection drained from this stranger’s features. Quinn saw a vacant mask with sharp cheekbones as the woman steered Quinn along with a firm hand on her back.

  Did I choose wrong? “Who are you really?” Quinn murmured, sidestepping a powerwalking nurse.

  “Not here,” the woman snapped, forcing her toward an elevator.

  Quinn twisted from her grasp. “Not good enough.”

  The woman advanced threateningly. “Quinn…” she warned.

  “I will make a scene,” Quinn warned, backpedaling into a wall. Her ribs and shoulder throbbed. “And my voice carries.”

  The woman bucked her teeth and swore in French. “Therese Levesque,” she said after composing herself. Therese slinked closer, unnervingly occupying Quinn’s personal space. Her raspy voice lowered. “Our nocturnal friend will explain more when I take you to him.”

  Quinn’s heartbeat hiked at their proximity. Therese moved like someone who could handle herself in a fight. The woman stepped back, offering her hand.

  Quinn accepted, somewhat less wary. With Annie in recovery, what more could she currently do? The pair walked arm in arm into an open and empty elevator. Something about Therese’s face sparked familiarity in Quinn’s memory. “I’ve seen you before.”

  Therese’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “Did you watch the 2012 Olympics?” she asked coolly.

  “Yeah…”

  A hint of pride filled Therese's face. “Gold Medal in archery at eighteen.”

  Quinn knew her. “You’re that record-setting Canadian archer.”

  Therese glanced her way. “French-Canadian.”

  Quinn rolled her eyes at the amendment. “A Canadian who speaks French. How rare.”

  Therese snorted, as if about to laugh. “Let’s say Quebecois and call it even,” she remarked, a puzzled smile on her mouth.

  Quinn looked her over, charmed despite the circumstances. An Olympic-level archer working with Geist. “Quite the career change.”

  The elevator opened. “Long story,” Therese stated vaguely, guiding her out.

  Quinn nodded. “Always is.”

  Therese was right about being checked out when they reached administrative services. Even curiouser, the Vanguard had paid all Mistura survivors' medical bills, including hers and Annie's.

  Therese guided Quinn to the exit as the ER entrance nearby swung open and closed. The waiting room was packed with glammed-up teenagers. Her gaze landed on a small cluster of mournful girls. Quinn blinked. Briseis El-Saden sat hunched forward, an icepack pressed on her skull. Who could forget that face, even tearstained? A curvy black girl sat beside Brie’s sobbing frame, consoling her.

  Quinn gawked, recognizing her cousin. “Why is Jordana here?”

  Therese practically shoved Quinn forward. “She’s fine. Some mishap at her school.”

  Quinn twisted her head back toward the ER entrance. “But…”

  “Move,” Therese urged upon reaching the exit. “We need to get you out of here.” They walked to the parking lot without another word.

  Quinn’s brain felt ready to implode between Annie, Johnny marking his territory, this Therese woman, and now Jordana in the ER. What the heck??

  They reached a car in the parking lot: ash grey 2015 Toyota Camry hybrid. Exactly like Quinn’s. She checked the license plate and glared at Therese. “That’s my car.”

  “Yes,” Therese replied indifferently, opening the door and plopping into the driver’s seat. “You can't drive with that shoulder.” She pushed open the passenger seat and beckoned Quinn inside.

  The reporter, too stunned to argue, took the passenger's seat. “How—?”

  She gestured at the backseats, where Quinn’s and Annie’s purses lay. “You dropped those at Mistura.”

  “My cell’s in there.” Quinn lunged for her purse. “I have to call—”

  “No one.” Therese hauled Quinn back and strapped her in with one fluid motion. Her expression was stony. “Not until you’re in a secure location.” She started the car and pulled out of the parking spot.

  And Quinn thought she was paranoid. The reporter remained silent while they exited the lot and into street traffic. Night had fallen, the roads awash with headlights and overhead streetlamps.

  Another realization struck Quinn. “You’ve been tailing me.” How else would Therese know Quinn’s car and her purse?

  Therese nodded. “Geist had me keeping an eye out after learning you’re being watched.”

  Quinn almost forgot that fun fact. “The Midnight Son was too busy to come himself?”

  “As his nickname implies,” Therese reminded archly, “he doesn’t operate well in daytime.”

  Quinn found the answer lacking. “What is he, a vampire?”

  Therese’s features spasmed. She tried speaking, and a chuckle escaped. For the first time, Therese seemed…human. “No,” she managed, forcing all humor from her response. “Kinda shatters the whole urban myth if Geist is jumping off roofs at noon.”

  Quinn wasn’t amused. “Then you failed. Annie and I…” What happened to Annie struck so hard, the pain was acute. “We nearly got killed.”

  Therese’s brow furrowed. “I’m sorry. I came as quickly as I could once the attack started.”

  Seeing her genuine contrition, Quinn softened. “Thankfully the Vanguard arrived. Not sure what you could’ve done.” What could arrows have done against those robots? Quinn stared out the windows, not recognizing the streets Therese drove down. She straightened. “Where are we going?”

  “Grabbing essentials from your place,” Therese replied. She hung a sharp left faster than Quinn felt comfortable with. “Then to one of Geist’s safehouses. Your apartment isn’t safe.”

  Quinn had no response. What could she say with Titan’s killer or their go-between spying on her? That left her feeling…violated.

  “Isn't it curious how the Vanguard arrived so quick?”

  Quinn found Therese’s question oddly accusatory. “They’re superheroes. Swift intervention is their job.”

  Therese wasn't moved. “Maybe they were covering their asses?”

  Quinn felt her stomach sour, not liking the direction of these questions. “What do you mean?”

  “That attack wasn’t random.” Therese looked her way. “You were the target.”

  “What…?” Quinn felt like boiling hot water had been poured down her back. It took her a minute to find her voice. “All those people injured and killed…Annie…”

  Therese shrugged as if discussing new film releases. “Collateral damage to throw off suspicion.”

  Quinn swayed, feeling sick. Annie’s injuries were my fault. “I…what…?”

  “Titan’s killer realizes you’re onto them,” Therese continued, taking a hard right. “And I’m guessing SLOCO Daily’s editor-in-chief visiting your apartment twice in a week confirmed it.” The woman made another sharp turn, glancing at a speechless Quinn. “Razing a restaurant where you and several innocent civilians were eating solves their ‘you’ problem.”

  It was too much. Quinn suddenly wished she’d never met Lord Borealis’s wife. All she wanted right now was to go back to how things were. When she still had her job. When Annie wasn’t in the hospital. By sheer force of will, she refused to cry aga
in. One question lingered in her scrambled thoughts. “H…how does the Vanguard figure into this?”

  Therese smirked, pulling something rectangular from her pocket and tossing it into Quinn’s lap. A voice recorder. “I recorded this while the Vanguard were helping attack victims.”

  Quinn picked up the recorder with her good arm and clicked play.

  “How did this happen?” Sentinel spoke in hushed anger. By the surrounding noise, he was clearly outside.

  “I don’t know,” Dynamo’s computerized voice answered. “These are based off training android specs. Someone must’ve accessed one of my foundries to mass-produce this many.”

  “Find out before someone else does,” Sentinel ordered brusquely.

  Seraph sounded like she’d been crying. “One of our enemies did this.”

  “Over twenty dead.” Wyldcat sounded emotional. “If we hadn’t gotten the heads-up, this could've been much worse.”

  “Another problem,” Dynamo added. “This wasn't a random attack. The robots had a target. Look.” Whatever the android showed his teammates caused gasps of disbelief.

  “Sweet mercy above,” Seraph breathed. “Why her?”

  “Maybe because of her Lord Borealis investigation,” Dynamo suggested.

  “What do we do?” Morningstar inquired, conspicuously shaken.

  “We get ahead of this,” Robbie Rocket chimed in. “Protect Ray-Ray, find the real culprit—”

  “Oh my God.” Quinn couldn’t listen anymore, clicking stop. This explained Seraph’s visit, her odd questions, the Vanguard paying everyone’s hospital bills. Quinn’s brain turned to mashed potatoes. “They knew.”

  “Ramon Dempsey built the tech behind those robots,” Therese said, pursing her red lips. A passing street lamp illuminated her knowing expression. “Geist doubts he was behind the attack. But you do know what this means.”

  “Someone on the Vanguard wants me dead,” Quinn stated. The words made even less sense out loud.

  Therese nodded, turning onto Quinn’s street. “And that someone has to be Titan’s killer.”

  Chapter 29

  “I could do this quicker alone,” Therese claimed as they stepped off the elevator.

  Baffled, Quinn arched an eyebrow at her. “How? I’d have to show you where everything is.”

  “Geist and I already canvassed your apartment,” Therese remarked nonchalantly as they walked.

  Quinn stumbled. “Wha…?” she almost snapped, then realized the futility. “Let’s just do this.” What exactly did Therese do for Geist, besides tracking and home invasion? And why was she carrying that long sack? She’d pulled it out from Quinn’s trunk, refusing to reveal the contents other than “the essentials.”

  Weirdo, Quinn fumed. She reached her door first and waited. Therese, holding Quinn’s purse, handed over the apartment key.

  Quinn stuck the key in the lock, but more alarming thoughts gave her pause. “Is my family in danger?” she asked, her tone wavering. Because of me? If anything happened to her aunt, uncle, or cousins…

  Therese gripped Quinn’s shoulder with surprising gentleness. Her hazel eyes softened. “Attacking anyone else connected to you draws unwanted attention after Mistura. Others would start connecting the dots.” She turned Quinn’s hand to twist open the first lock.

  Reassured by that supposition, Quinn relaxed and opened the second lock.

  When Quinn flicked on the lights, her apartment looked the same as this afternoon. Before Mistura. Now it felt foreign, unsafe. She shuddered.

  Therese reached Quinn’s desk with brisk, conversant strides. “Need your computer?” she called over her shoulder.

  “Most of my research is on a secure Cloud,” Quinn answered. “But yes.”

  Therese brushed aside stray locks, giving Quinn an approving onceover. “Smart girl.” She snapped the laptop shut.

  Quinn looked away, ignoring the strange warmth in her cheeks. She unclasped her sling and rubbed her sore shoulder. The drugs were easing the tenderness, which should make packing easier. She moved toward her closed bedroom. “I’ll pack a small suitcase. Shouldn’t take—”

  Therese crossed the apartment frighteningly quick, suddenly in Quinn’s face. Grabbing the reporter’s shoulder to stop her with one hand, she pressed a silencing finger on Quinn’s lips using the other. Quinn hushed, too stunned to digest this latest weirdness.

  A stone-faced Therese removed her finger from Quinn’s lips, pointing at the bedroom door.

  Quinn immediately understood. Someone’s inside. Goosebumps prickled her flesh. Another violation. She nodded more vigorously than intended.

  Therese nodded back and drew her away from the bedroom. Somehow Quinn didn’t unravel at another attempt on her life. Yet her heart pounded loud enough to wake the dead as the two women backtracked for the front door. Therese put herself in front of Quinn, unzipping her black bag.

  They were halfway across the apartment before the bedroom door exploded open.

  A mass of black shaggy fur lunged out, plowing Therese aside. She and her bag got thrown into the wall with bone-jarring impact.

  A heartbeat later, the hairy mass tackled Quinn off her feet, knocking the wind out of her. The floor rushed up, slamming against the reporter's back. Her injured shoulder screamed in protest. She never got to scream herself before paw-like fingers wrapped around her throat.

  Now Quinn couldn’t breathe. She thrashed her body, clawing at a furry wrist of corded muscle. A furry, wolfish face loomed overhead, familiar yellow eyes glaring down.

  “You owe me a scream, baseline,” he snarled, displaying dagger-like teeth. His grip tightened. And Quinn’s struggles started weakening. Dark spots danced at the edges of her vision. Glancing in Therese’s direction as everything darkened, she spied the archer kip up to her feet with arm drawn back.

  There was a wet thunk, followed by a howl. The gigantic wolfman reared back in pain. And Quinn could breathe again. She gasped greedily, clutching her throat.

  Quinn rolled over as her limbs regained strength. She saw Therese holding a bow notched with another arrow, a full quiver strapped on her back. Quinn’s oxygen-starved mind didn’t understand where those came from.

  Oh, she realized, seeing the discarded bag on the floor.

  Therese drew her arrow back farther. “Back away from her,” she ordered.

  The wolfman, probably that Vargas kid, yanked the bloodied arrow from his lower back with a grunt. He rose up, dwarfing Therese in every way. “Over her dead body.” Vargas advanced on her.

  “Yours first.” The archer coolly let the arrow fly.

  Vargas slapped it aside. The arrow clattered onto the floor. Therese notched and loosed another arrow lightning-quick. Again, the wolfman slapped that aside.

  Therese fired off another arrow, then another, then another in rapid succession. Her expression remained stone-cold as she kept notching, drawing and firing so fast Quinn could barely keep up.

  Yet Vargas kept advancing and swatting away arrows, forcing the archer to backpedal. Now Quinn panicked for Therese, not herself.

  Therese crouched and fired lower, impaling Vargas’s right thigh. He grimaced, his leg buckling.

  She sprang up, loosing another arrow. Vargas swung his mitt-sized paw wildly and missed. The arrow pierced his left shoulder. He jerked sideways, his roar vibrating through the apartment.

  When Therese fired at Vargas’s torso, Quinn shrieked, fearing she’d kill him in her apartment.

  Instead, the arrowhead exploded upon impact. Countless rope-like tendrils snaked out and wrapped around Vargas’s massive arms, restraining him.

  As he struggled, Therese sprinted forth and slid across smooth flooring on her knees. Slamming her bow into Vargas’s stomach doubled him over. Then Therese popped off the ground with a backflip kick to his jaw. Vargas’s mouth snapped shut as he toppled backward. Now Therese loomed over him, another arrow pointed at his neck.

  Quinn stared, head swimming with shock, respect, and won
der. Now she understood what Therese did for Geist. She’s a vigilante, like him…

  “You okay?” the archer asked curtly, eyes locked on Vargas.

  Quinn mistakenly tried speaking. “Goodness gracious, great balls of fire,” she gibbered, her brain a mess.

  Therese flashed a brief grin. “Sounds like a yes.” Vargas thrashed and strained against the cords binding his arms, even with an arrow lodged in his shoulder and another in his thigh.

  “Alright, wolf-boy,” Therese declared with predatory eyes. “Who hired you?”

  Vargas bared his teeth defiantly. “Like I’d tell you, baseline—ahhhh!”

  Therese leaned her foot on the arrow impaling Vargas’s thigh. Quinn clapped a hand over her horrified mouth. She then worried about what her neighbors must think.

  “We can do this the easy way or the painful way,” Therese continued with no visible amusement. “I assume there’s a preference.”

  Vargas drew in labored breaths, straining at his binds. “Go to hell, puta pera!” he snarled at Therese.

  “Not today, putain de loup,” she replied with a cold smile.

  Engrossed in the interrogation, Quinn initially ignored the blood pooling from Vargas’s injuries…. Until a trail of footprints tracked across that pool.

  Quinn’s jaw dropped. Another intruder. The invisible girl. Warning Therese might make the intruder strike earlier and kill them both.

  “Still not talking?” Therese continued, oblivious to the nearby danger. “I can get really creative.”

  With seconds to spare, Quinn searched for a weapon and found Therese’s arrows scattered on the floor. Snatching one up, she speared the arrowhead inches above the moving footprints.

  A shriek sliced the air. A chubby Asian girl suddenly appeared out of nowhere beside Therese. The butcher knife in her gloved hand clattered to the floor as she clutched her wounded ankle.

  A startled Therese quickly aimed her notched arrow at this new threat. “What the—?”