The Pantheon Saga Books 1-3: A Superhero Boxset

by C. C. Ekeke

  “Superhero! Long time, no we.” She popped up from her chair and approached. Standing on her tiptoes, Presley planted a big kiss on his mouth.

  Hugo returned the kiss, for once not enjoying it. His eyes remained on Presley’s crew. Mom had a questioning expression. The kitchen suddenly felt claustrophobic—dangerous.

  When they broke for air, Hugo held Presley firmly around the waist. “Guys,” he addressed the others, the terseness barely masking his anger. “Why are we here?”

  “Been a while since you visited,” Thin Shady answered. His smile was strange, creepy. “We got worried.”

  “And Presley told us about your lovely home,” Vargas growled, startling Mom. The hulking Mexican boy studied Hugo like a slab of red meat. “We got curious.”

  Nikilesh stood, arms spread, with a grin not reaching his eyes. “We had to see for ourselves.”

  Gabby and Paul hunched in their seats, appearing very uncomfortable.

  Hugo breathed deep to calm his discontent. This couldn’t be a hostage situation. Mom and AJ would've been tied up. Or is this a show of force? Which meant Hugo had to get Mom and AJ out of here. Still holding Presley, he calmly motioned Mom over. “Get food with AJ,” he muttered. “Don't rush.”

  Mom studied these six guests anew before looking back at her eldest in alarm.

  “Everything’s fine,” Hugo assured before she could speak. “Take AJ.”

  His glare raked over Presley and her crew, challenging them to intervene. No one moved as Mom scurried out, gathered AJ, and fled.

  Once he'd heard Mom drive past two blocks, the fear left Hugo. He ushered his so-called friends into the living room. “You show up uninvited.” Hugo was trembling, beyond furious. “Threatening my family?”

  “Hold up.” Presley advanced, hands raised in peace. So petite yet with such a giant, commanding presence. “No one’s threatening anyone.” She appeared contrite.

  Hugo almost believed her. Yet the numbers tactic gnawed at his trust. “I told you I’d come over Friday.”

  “We need you today,” Vargas growled rudely, barging to the forefront. “A job we’re working got more complicated.”

  “We need your muscle, Hugo,” Thin Shady explained further.

  “And you agreed to join our crew,” Gabby chirped. She walked with a pronounced limp.

  Hugo grimaced. Dumbstruck with love, Hugo had agreed to join Presley’s crew at Fall Fling. The gift that kept on giving. The rash choice was stupid. He met Presley’s expectant gaze. “Can we talk?” Hugo glanced at the others. “Alone?”

  Nikilesh scoffed. “We’re family.” He edged closer. “Everything said to her, you tell us.”

  Presley nodded in agreement, as did Gabby, Thin Shady, and the others.

  Hugo refused to bow to peer pressure. “Not this.” He looked to his girlfriend. “Presley—”

  “I knew it,” Vargas erupted, throwing his hands in the air. “He’s flaking.”

  “I want to speak with my girlfriend alone,” Hugo threw back, done with this boneheaded asshole. “Do you need that repeated in bite-sized sentences?”

  Vargas’s eyes gleamed with pure hatred. “Smug, muscled-up pendejo!” He lunged for Hugo, fingers curled like claws.

  Hugo fleetingly recoiled in surprise, then recovered…and reacted superfast.

  In a tangled blur of motion, several things happened at once, punctuated by gasps and Vargas’s loud gagging. Seconds later, Hugo straddled a massive shaggy black werewolf thrashing like mad. Strong as Vargas was in wolf form, Hugo pinned him down with ease.

  He dug his elbow into Vargas’s throat and the struggling waned. “Did you seriously attack me?” Hugo had to chuckle. “You are as dumb as you look—aahhh.” He reared back, clutching his skull. A red-hot knife sliced into his brain, twisting deeper. Hugo lurched upright, staggering sideways.

  A glance through blurry vision revealed Nikilesh fixated on him intensely. Paul then reared back, and sneezed. The gale-force wallop slammed Hugo in the chest. Suddenly he was airborne and in agony before landing on the couch. Hugo’s world swam, excruciating pressure preventing him from standing.

  Vargas shifted back to a smaller, hairless human as he stumbled back up. Nikilesh and the others formed a wall in front of him. “Don’t touch my boy,” the telepath warned.

  Presley slapped Nikilesh upside the head. The knife-like pain in Hugo’s brain immediately vanished.

  Shame burned in its place. Hugo just got handled in his own house.

  “Jackasses!” Presley looked like she was deciding whose ass to kick first. “Don’t touch my boy! In fact…”

  Nikilesh turned in Hugo’s direction, and his eyes bulged. “Oh shit.”

  Maybe the growl in Hugo’s throat gave him away. Or Nikilesh's telepathy sensing his wrath.

  The telepath opened his mouth to yell “Move!”

  But Hugo moved first, a blur viciously ping-ponging into these intruders from all directions.

  A second later, Hugo skidded to a stop in front of Presley—the only one he didn't touch. The rest of her crew sailed across the undisturbed living room, colliding against the front door with shuddering impact. The five supers slumped to the floor in a heap.

  Presley jerked back from Hugo, then saw her fallen crew. She yelped.

  Hugo didn’t gloat. He marched forward, all business. Whatever affection he felt for these bastards was gone. “Get out. Now.” He didn’t shout, but the rumbling undertone made Gabby, Thin Shady, Paul, Nikilesh, and Vargas scramble to their feet. They turned to Presley for instructions.

  She offered no sympathy. “You idiots heard him.” She waved them off. “Wait in the car.”

  Vargas scowled. “Presley—"

  “GET OUT!” Hugo’s furious roar shook the entire house. Everyone jumped, even him. That was new.

  The rest of Presley’s crew couldn’t scramble out the door fast enough.

  “I’m so sorry,” Presley apologized again after Hugo locked the door. She took his face in her hands, searching for forgiveness. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

  “It happened. In my house.” Hugo pulled away from her, angry at this surprise visit. Even angrier about being attacked. Then something new gave him pause. “If my family had been here?”

  Presley closed her eyes. “I am sorry.” Opening her eyes, she shrugged off her guilt like a cloak. “We’re meeting our client about a new job tonight.” She headed for the door. “I’ll explain more on the way.”

  Hugo guffawed at her gall. “I can’t.”

  Presley turned with an impatient grumble. “Can’t what?”

  “I can’t join your crew.”

  Presley was initially confused. Then his words sank in, and the emotion bled from her face. “You said—”

  “I know what I said,” Hugo interrupted. It had been a stupid choice, especially after seeing how quick Presley’s crew had turned on him. “I changed my mind.”

  Presley shook her head with a sad half-smile. “Because of what I told you Sunday?”

  Now Hugo was confused. “Huh?” They hadn’t done much talking on Sunday…

  Her gaze fell. “I knew you’d freak if I said ‘I love you!’”

  Oh, that. Hugo winced. Presley had whispered those words in the throes of passion.

  Hugo had said, “Me too.” Part of him had wanted to echo her words. But fear had held his tongue. “No, Presley.” Hugo crossed the room in three strides, holding her. “That’s not the reason. I feel the same.” I love you too. Why was saying that so hard? Because I don’t want to be wrong about another girl…

  She pulled away angrily. “Then come with me!”

  “Presley…” Hugo remembered pressing his foot on Baz’s chest. The ballplayer had gasped for mercy…while his girlfriend enjoyed it. His stomach churned. “You wanted me to kill them all.”

  Presley stared up at him, unmoved. “They deserved it. Especially DeDamien with his stupid-ass name.”

  Her lack of compassion left Hugo breat
hless. “How are you so chill about murder?”

  Presley glowered as if addressing an idiot. “You’re telling me you didn’t want those punks dead? After what they did to me? After they attacked your house? After Baz peed on your face?” She punctuated each query with a finger jab to his chest.

  Hugo flinched from that last question. “Thanks for the reminder. And what I want isn’t the point.”

  “Yes, it is,” Presley threw back, arms spread. “I was trying to give you what you wanted.”

  Hugo wished he could trust her. “Is that why you recorded Baz before they attacked? Provoking him?”

  “I provoked,” Presley replied glibly, arms folded. “They reacted. No one made them attack me.”

  “Don’t bullshit me, Presley.” Hugo got in her face. He wanted honesty. “Did you set me up to kill them?”

  “Yes,” she admitted, blunt and unblinking.

  The one word drove the air from his chest. “Oh my god,” he whispered. “After what I’d told you about Baz.” The more he spoke, the louder and angrier he became. “I could have exposed myself!”

  “So?” Presley barked and scurried to his side. “Then you’ll be free. Even among supers, you’re a god, Hugo. You can do anything.” Lost in her fervor, she looked demented. “Why lower yourself to be like these baselines?”

  Baselines? Hugo’s mind reeled. His trust in Presley kept shifting further away. “Because I want a normal life! I don’t use my gifts to kill!” After Fall Fling, Hugo had never been surer about anything. “Is that what you're doing on this assignment?” Meaning, Presley has killed before? Hugo didn’t want to ask. Deep down, he already knew the answer. Another darker truth cut through his cluttered thoughts. “That’s why you wanted me to kill Baz.”

  Presley didn’t bother denying this. “The others didn’t think you could do it.” She laughed bitterly. “Clearly, they were right.”

  She’s using me. Knowing this broke Hugo’s heart. “And I was wrong,” Hugo stated. “About you.”

  Presley flinched as if he’d slapped her. She hid most of her pain hurriedly. “No, you weren’t. I meant what I said on Saturday. I love you, Hugo. Now come with me.” She moved toward him, taking his hands in hers. “You don’t have to do anything that makes you squeamish.”

  Hugo gazed at Presley’s face, into her eyes. Love radiated off her. Despite that love and his own feelings, Hugo no longer recognized this girl.

  “I’m sorry.” He stepped back, letting her hands fall. “No.”

  For a long moment, Presley looked shell-shocked. Refusal wasn't a meal she tasted often. Then, her features hardened. “If you don’t come now,” she declared coldly. “Don’t bother coming over again.”

  Hugo walked past his former girlfriend and opened the front door. “Goodbye, Presley.”

  She sucked in a ragged breath. Then she muttered, “You’re pathetic,” and marched out with head held high.

  Hugo slammed the door, locked it, and slumped onto the couch. Unlike with Brie, Hugo didn’t feel gutted by the breakup. Just hollowed out. Hugo shuddered, realizing how he’d almost become part of Presley’s crew and their wayward world. He heard the door slam shut on the van parked outside his house. Hugo listened more closely.

  “Where is he?” Gabby asked from the backseat.

  “Hugo’s not coming,” Presley said flatly, in the front passenger seat. The undercurrent of grief in her words was so subtle, no one else would've caught it. Hugo gulped, struck harder than expected.

  “Crap,” Thin Shady groused. “Why’d you attack him, Vargas!”

  “I proved my point,” Vargas bragged. “Hugo was never one of us and never will be—”

  “Shut up and drive,” Presley barked. “I don’t wanna see this house again.” The van rumbled away.

  Hugo stopped listening as soon as they left the block. Presley’s steady breaths to maintain an uncaring facade became too much.

  Chapter 35

  Several unfamiliar faces circled Quinn, covered in burnt and oozing flesh. All dying because of me.

  A dark shaggy wolf on two legs lunged at her then, yellowing teeth bared…

  …Quinn woke with a start in unfamiliar clothing without a clue where she was.

  Oh. Moments later, she recognized the unlit, unadorned walls and the stiff bed. She had been in one of Geist’s many safehouses around San Miguel for five days. She recognized the tank top and pajama bottoms recently bought by someone else since there’d been no time to grab her own clothes. She also remembered how many had died or been injured at Mistura, thanks to her. The guilt made her want to crawl back under the sheets and sleep forever. But sleep had proved no safe haven.

  Quinn had had zero contact with the outside world for days, for her safety. Meaning, she had no idea if Annie was recovering from surgery or if her family was safe. Maybe that’s for the better, she’d realized from day one. Until this killer got apprehended, being around her loved ones was too dangerous. From what Geist and Therese had told her, the police had declared her a missing person. But thanks to the security of Geist’s safehouse, no one knew her location.

  Quinn eased out of bed, wincing from sore muscles. The pain had been fifty times worse two days back. She slipped on new loafers and stumbled from her room, running into Geist.

  She jerked back, almost falling over if the vigilante hadn’t caught her by the waist. “You alright?” he asked.

  Quinn backed away from his grasp. “Fine,” she replied curtly.

  Geist without his trench coat felt like seeing a male lion without its mane. Under the well-lit safehouse, Quinn noticed new details on the vigilante’s light-armored suit. Like how the upper arms, neck, and thighs were jet-black compared to the dull-grey forearm gauntlets and boots. Two thin, long bandana ties fell from the back of Geist’s mask. Also weird was Geist remaining in costume and mask even when not out protecting the streets.

  “There’s been news,” Geist continued, guiding her down a narrow corridor. “And the team's been working through suspects. Plus, there's food.”

  “Let me guess,” Quinn stated with an eyeroll. “Beach Bum Burger?”

  “They've got drive-thru,” Geist growled. Even his simple answers sounded threatening.

  Quinn realized how ungrateful she sounded. “Thank you.”

  Geist studied her through glowing, snake-like eyes. “This will end soon."

  Quinn hoped so. By the mustiness and dampness, she guessed the safehouse was underground. Between the fear, guilt and soreness blunting her senses earlier, she hadn’t bothered discerning a location.

  Five days ago, Therese and Quinn had to escape through her bedroom window following the attack, with neighbors pounding on the door. Soon after, Therese scaled the building with a grappling hook, Quinn clinging to her. They had reentered through the roof and took an elevator to the garage. From there, they had taken Therese’s waiting motorcycle to a sewer entrance at downtown San Miguel’s outskirts.

  Presently, Quinn followed Geist into an expansive chamber with a table and some chairs. Two wide monitors were hooked to a red brick wall, displaying the Vanguard’s current roster. Quinn instinctively looked away. For years, she regarded that team with awe. Now, knowing one of them wanted her dead left Quinn in stomach-twisting dread.

  Across the room, she spotted Therese Lévesque. The archer's vigilante suit resembled a full-body hoodie, clinging to her slender frame like skin. The outfit's dark navy-blue hood and torso fading to black from the waist down. The fabric resembled flexible leather, but Quinn knew it must be some kind of Kevlar-type material to prevent serious injury. Therese didn’t have a mask or the hood drawn over her head, being inside the secure safehouse. She was twirling her recurve bow, speaking quietly with two new arrivals. Therese saw Quinn and smiled.

  Quinn nodded, studying these two vigilantes. The last few days, either Geist or Therese had been with Quinn in this safehouse. The new pair must be other members on Geist’s team. A taller and athletically-built woman stood bes
ide Therese, her golden-blonde hair pulled back in braids. She dressed in a dark-blood-red tactical suit like the archer’s but lacking a hood. Carmit Bendavid, codenamed Domino, came off reserved and had a thick Israeli accent. Next to her stood a Kodiak-sized black man in an all-black tactical suit with a short coat, half a head taller than Domino. Despite his size and rumbling voice, Jefferson Adams, aka Blackjack, seemed friendlier.

  “Blackjack and Domino,” Quinn repeated. “The crimefighting duo from the Bay area?” She’d heard of them. Quinn also learned that Domino, ex-Israel Defense Forces, and Blackjack, former Navy SEAL, met at the end of the Second Gulf War. After both had finished their tours, they’d been inseparable. What Quinn didn’t get was how that had transformed into crimefighting. “A tale best told over drinks,” Domino suggested with a wink. Two years ago, San Miguel had become their home upon joining Geist’s team.

  "I’d have joined," Clint, Geist’s tech extraordinaire, announced over the comms, “but Geist confines me to the Geist cave.”

  Quinn and Blackjack laughed. Domino rolled her eyes. Therese smirked.

  “Only you call it that, Clint,” Geist growled. “It’s a lair. Period.”

  Blackjack looked at Quinn and mouthed, “Everyone else calls it the Geist cave.” The reporter snorted.

  As Quinn sat eating her Beach Bum Burger crispy chicken sandwich, Geist and his team debated which of the Vanguard could be Titan’s killer. Quinn mostly remained silent. It was nice seeing her own research supplementing Geist’s investigation.

  They now debated Sentinel as the killer.

  “I don’t think it’s him,” Domino declared, shaking her head.

  “Same,” Blackjack said. “From Therese’s recording, his shock after Mistura sounded sincere.”

  Geist approached the monitors with arms folded. “Weston had issues with Titan toward the end. But as unbearable as he can be, Weston’s still a military man, loyal to his team. Always has been.” He turned his gleaming gaze on Quinn. “And like she stated in her notes, Sentinel would need help.”

  It was agreed that while Vulcan had the powerset, he wasn’t smart enough to devise the cover-up.