The Pantheon Saga Books 1-3: A Superhero Boxset

by C. C. Ekeke

  Quinn hadn’t gone looking for a nemesis. Enough people in the public still despised her or sent occasional death threats over her Morningstar exposé. But Rebecca had sparked this feud after seducing Robbie Rocket into sabotaging Quinn’s Vanguard interviews. When that had failed, she’d gone on many N3 shows trashing Quinn’s journalism skills. After N3 had asked Quinn to join Beyond the Cape as a contributor, Reyes’s jabs had grown less frequent and subtler. Aside from extra cash and recognition, Quinn knew this side gig provided more SLOCO Daily exposure. But Reyes’s obsessive bitterness was tainting what should be an amazing experience.

  Quinn then recalled Helena Madden’s advice. “Stay classy. You look worse reacting in anger.” Despite little sleep and excessive coffee fraying her tolerance, Quinn refused to take the bait.

  She focused on Halbrook’s question. “Can the Vanguard salvage their reputation, or should another superhero team step up?”

  “No team can replace the Vanguard.” Rebecca’s expression veering between belittling and flirty. “My experience with them revealed a drive for justice absent in today’s ultraviolent brutes.” She loved reminding everyone about her past with the Vanguard.

  As Reyes kept pontificating, Quinn considered her next words. In the two-plus months since she’d printed her Titan exposé and the Vanguard’s enabling his misogyny, the team’s popularity had plummeted. Various charities had severed ties. Even as The Vanguard kept saving lives and fighting criminals, the news harpooned the tiniest mistakes. Wherever they appeared, crowds gathered now to heckle instead of cheer. Quinn didn’t want to keep kicking them while they were down. She found an opening once Reyes finally shut up. “The Vanguard are larger-than-life, main-event heroes. No matter how dire the situation, once they arrived, you knew everything was okay. In time, they can regain that goodwill.”

  Halbrook seemed unconvinced. “A long time.” He furrowed his brow in serious deliberation. “The Vanguard should recapture the Sensational Seven magic from the 90s.”

  Rebecca shook her head at this. “Not sure that’s possible, Ben. Vanguard’s golden age was Titan, Lady Liberty, Severine, Tsunami, Sentinel, December, and Whiz Kid.” Her doe-brown eyes went nostalgic for a moment. “Lightning in a bottle.”

  “Rebecca’s right,” Quinn said with a curt nod, surprising Reyes. “They've been coasting off past glory for years. Titan’s murder shattered that illusion. Morningstar’s arrest and Ramon Dempsey’s retirement revealed a shorthanded team that has made very public mistakes. Unless the reserve team has any promising rookies, Vanguard needs fresh talent from outside their ranks.”

  Rebecca reclined in her seat, pouting like a sullen teenager. “The Vanguard wouldn’t be in this position if not for certain people.”

  Quinn stiffened at Reyes’s veiled insult. Helena’s advice filled her brain before she replied. “Would you rather the Vanguard still have Titan’s killer or atone for its litany of mistakes?”

  “Someone read a thesaurus this morning,” Reyes threw back as if addressing a preschooler. “Charming.”

  Quinn fought to keep her face neutral. “Preparation never hurts.” The response came through clenched teeth.

  Halbrook’s eyes darted eagerly between the pair. “The Vanguard should do a complete reorg,” he interjected. “Starting with leadership.”

  Quinn disliked where this was heading, as Sentinel was the current team leader. “A roster change, maybe. But Sentinel is a proven field leader on a team going through a rough patch. It happens even with the best heroes.” Supporting Sentinel, aka Kurt Weston, was the least she could do after her exposé had made his job harder. Which was partially Sentinel’s fault.

  “Weston’s damaged goods, thanks to Bauer,” Reyes emphasized with a barbed smile. “A leadership change could steer Vanguard back on track.”

  Quinn swallowed the vitriol in her throat. Stay classy, she told herself yet again.

  “Then Sentinel can focus on his relationship,” Halbrook teased, adding unneeded gossipy froth to the panel. “My sources say that’s not looking great.”

  As Rebecca critiqued Sentinel and Seraph’s frequent cancelled weddings, Quinn stayed quiet. That relationship was in trouble, but not for reasons anyone knew. But besides Annie, Quinn would never tell. She steered the conversation away from tabloid fodder. “If Sentinel steps down, I could only see Lady Liberty leading. She’s a legend and former Vanguard member from the Sensational Seven era, covering your point, Ben.” Quinn winked at Halbrook, who grinned. Reyes rolled her eyes in disdain. “Plus, which superhero can you name that inspires hope and compassion like Lady Liberty? The Vanguard needs her more than she needs them.”

  “Good point.” Halbrook drummed the desk. “Though I’m not sure Lady Liberty wants that burden.”

  Rebecca cocked her head sideways with understanding. “Sounds like Bauer has her next victim.” She sized Quinn up, seemingly unimpressed. “I’m sure you’ll find some dark secret to ruin her with.”

  It was the final insult. Quinn zeroed in on Rebecca heatedly. “I don’t hide my agenda from my interviewees. Nor do I trade bedroom journalism for scoops.”

  Ben looked like he’d swallowed a chicken bone. “Now, ladies…”

  “That’s your best shot, Bauer? Clichéd Titan insults?” Rebecca mocked, taking the bait.

  Quinn smiled innocently, springing the trap. “Who said anything about Titan?”

  The set grew deathly quiet, some crewmember offscreen choking back laughter. Rebecca turned bone-white. Quinn was shocked the veteran showed any emotion with all that plastic surgery. Exposing Reyes’s Robbie Rocket liaisons was juvenile, but Quinn was sick of her constant broadsides. Payback’s a beyotch, she gloated as Reyes reeled and stammered from the counterstrike.

  “And we’ll be back,” Ben Halbrook blurted out in scandalized shock.

  Show producers scolded Quinn during a commercial while complimenting her poise regarding Reyes. “We’ll talk to Rebecca about her language,” one producer promised via phone. Yet Quinn vs Reyes segments generated ratings gold. So, N3 scheduled her in for two more show panels next week.

  Helena, though, wasn’t pleased. “I caught hell from N3 higher-ups!” the editor-in-chief barked on the phone, up in San Francisco for a news media summit. “I said stay classy!”

  “I didn’t call Rebecca a whore on-air,” Quinn retorted, returning to her desk. “That’s the definition of classy.”

  Helena sounded ready to respond angrily, only to cough out amusement. “I appreciated your delivery. Still…” She softened. “This opportunity could lead to bigger things, QB. Rebecca Reyes has friends in high places. Be careful who you stomp on.”

  “I know.” Quinn leaned against a wall and sighed, more tired than she realized. A quick lunch nap might help. “But her insulting my journalistic integrity insults SLOCO Daily as an organization.”

  “Sneaky millennial,” Helena teased. “Appealing to my SLOCO Daily love to win your argument. By the way,” her tone sobered, “the Vanguard’s eating shit because they enabled a misogynistic pig. Stop pulling your punches on them.”

  Quinn cringed. “You noticed.”

  “I always watch your N3 segments. Protégé bragging rights.” Helena had been merciless with recent Vanguard criticisms in her weekly op-eds. She'd especially ripped into Titan, despite once being a huge Titan-iac. But Helena didn’t have friends on the Vanguard. Still, the editor-in-chief was right. Quinn couldn’t feel guilty for doing her job. “I’ll do better.”

  “I know.” Helena’s pride was palpable. “My keynote’s about to start. We’ll talk later about your next assignment.”

  After the call, Quinn found solace in friends texting their approval of her segment.

  Annie: ROTFLMAO! You savage, Quinnie!

  Creed: That comeback killed me, QB! Who did Reyes screw?

  Quinn scoffed. “I’m not telling you.” Creed Samuels was a walking gazette. Before she could reply, a new text she hadn’t expected appeared.

 
; TL: Glad you DESTROYED that Reyes bitch.

  Giddiness flooded Quinn at Therese’s praise.

  ME: When they go low, I go subterranean.

  TL: LOL

  TL: You looked hot today. And Saturday night.

  Quinn’s throat went dry. So you were watching on Saturday. She hadn’t expected that compliment or this heart-dropping-into-stomach reaction. She squashed the sarcastic reply forming in her brain.

  ME: Thanks.

  Quinn stuffed the phone in her purse to end the interaction, heading for the elevators. Her thoughts landed on someone she hadn’t spoken to in weeks.

  Hugo Malalou.

  With his powerset, he could help so many. Maybe fill Titan’s shoes. Quinn had heard from the teen once since their Beach Bum Burger run-in; a text with his number and that he’d begun superhero training. The ensuing silence had disappointed Quinn. She respected Hugo’s privacy but hoped he’d become the hero this world needed.

  The elevator opened as Quinn advanced. Two women inside saw her and squealed. “QB!” Jess Richardson-Palmer cried. The bubbly woman-child with dirty-blonde hair dragged Quinn into the elevator. “Ad Sales watched on Beyond the Cape!”

  Tania Navarro hugged Quinn from behind. “You cancelling that old cape-chaser was like a touchdown!”

  “Thanks, girls.” Quinn had been befriended by Tania and Jess from Ad Sales since the Titan exposé. These members of Dave Packer’s “harem” now regularly invited her to lunch and Ad Sales happy hours. Quinn suspected these two were using her to boost their profiles around SLOCO Daily. Yet the Ad Sales girls were fun to hang out with.

  “We’re grabbing an early lunch with Scott,” Jess declared, hazel eyes glittering.

  Tania ran eager fingers through her disheveled mane. “Wanna come?”

  Quinn longed to refuse. Her lack of sleep was blurring her vision. But it was known around SLOCO Daily to stay on Ad Sale’s good side. Keep your friends close and your happy-hour crew closest. “Let’s go,” Quinn complied.

  More ear-piercing squeals from Jess and Tania.

  So that’s how I’ll stay awake. Quinn winced as the elevator closed.

  Chapter 7

  “Please eat something!”

  Connie was getting on Greyson’s last nerve. He wanted to bask in the good memories of him and Lauren. But in this tiny room on this rickety barge, Connie kept pushing and prodding Greyson about fucking food.

  He swallowed his irritation, staring at the wall before him. “I already ate.”

  Connie moved directly into his eyeline. “Then eat more." Connie looked weary from the voyage, but her tenacity wouldn’t die. “You look like a corpse, sleeping half the day. I’m worried…”

  She continued as Greyson noticed another presence. Looking like Lauren, wearing her penguin pajamas, ash-blonde hair cascading down her shoulders. But this Lauren was over Connie’s henpecking.

  “You should’ve let her get arrested,” Ghost-Lauren griped, arms spread in bother. “It’s her fault you’re in this mess.”

  Greyson squeezed his eyes shut, desperate for this illusion to disappear. After Tom took the fall for Heroes Anonymous’s crimes and the real Lauren had gotten the rest of the team jailed, Greyson couldn’t lose another teammate.

  Connie kept yapping, her words becoming white noise.

  “She’s useless,” Ghost-Lauren continued with a devious smile. “Dead. Weight. Unless you need a warm body to stop missing me—”

  “Greyson?” Connie grabbed his shoulders. “Are you even listening?”

  “SHUT UP!” Greyson barked.

  Ghost-Lauren vanished, leaving only him and Connie, who recoiled from his outburst. “Don’t talk to me like that!” she ordered, visibly hurt.

  She hadn’t been the target, but Greyson didn’t care. He couldn’t listen to Connie anymore. “Shut the HELL. UP!” he barked again, popping to his feet.

  Connie backpedaled like a kicked puppy.

  And Greyson unloaded weeks of misery on her. “What do you want, huh? For me to enjoy being on this stinky boat?” Greyson demanded. “You want to see a touchdown dance?”

  Connie shook her shaved head, unable to look away. “I never—”

  “I lost everything,” Greyson bowled over her response, pointing at her accusingly. “My home, my friends, my family, my lover. Because of you! I killed the Hurricane…because of you!” These words, festering inside so long, exploded out of Greyson rapid-fire, and he couldn’t take them back.

  Connie’s eyes glistened. “What?” she asked, whisper-soft.

  Greyson got in her face, digging in his heels. “You and Izzie didn’t listen when I told you not to attack the Bashems,” he scolded. “Now everyone got fucked! Because of you!” He jabbed her shoulder to emphasize his last point. “You ruined my life!”

  Ugly and poisonous silence hung between the pair. Connie stood there trembling, tears shrink-wrapping her eyes. In that hushed moment, Greyson grasped the damage he'd done. The heartbreak on Connie's face pierced through the fog of pain and self-pity clouding his psyche for weeks. Now only awful guilt remained. “Connie—”

  She fled from the room as sobs overtook her, slamming the door shut.

  Greyson clutched his skull. What have I done? He moved to pursue his friend and caretaker. “Connie, come back! I’m sorry!”

  Behind him, Ghost-Lauren chuckled. “Toldya she’d crack.”

  Greyson glared at the reappearing hallucination, which she was.

  She folded her arms scornfully. “Admit it. You meant every word!”

  Greyson turned his head away in shame. Was she right? His hatred had come from somewhere.

  Ghost-Lauren inched closer, eyes glittering in triumph. “How did it feel, dropping the dead weight?”

  Greyson’s fury reignited, at Connie, at this illusion, at himself. “Get out my HEAD!” he roared. Immediately, everything in the room went weightless. Greyson froze, fascinated yet disturbed as the bed, clothes, and other souvenirs littering the room all hovered. His first power usage in weeks.

  Greyson swore. He raised trembling hands to restore every object’s normal gravity. That’ll never happen again… Once everything lowered to their previous location, Greyson exited to find Connie. He had to make this right. Whatever Greyson’s plan was after escaping this hellhole ship, he'd never lay his choices on someone else. But he just did to poor Connie. Closing his bedroom door, Greyson ran into darkened corridors…colliding with a wall.

  He bounced backward, so feeble that his bones jarred.

  It was Briggs with three equally large cronies. “I told your scrawny ass to keep quiet,” he declared.

  Greyson backtracked. “Sorry.” A glance around revealed doors slightly ajar. Several passengers peeked out to watch the confrontation. “Me and a friend were having a disagreement.”

  Greyson moved to sidestep the four. But their bulk blocked the passage.

  Briggs dragged him forward by the throat. “You keep apologizing,” the large man snarled. “Yet nothing changes. I’ll just shut you up myself.”

  A piston-like punch sank into Greyson’s stomach. He collapsed to his knees, stomach on fire. Briggs and his lackeys surrounded him. Greyson sucked in tortured breaths as Briggs seized the scruff of his neck.

  Greyson’s enthusiasm surged at the opportunity. Give them proper motivation. When pulled upright, Greyson headbutted Briggs.

  The big man stumbled back, roaring curses and clutching his nose.

  His lackeys grabbed Greyson. Despite superior numbers, he could’ve easily freed himself. Greyson wasn’t looking for freedom.

  Briggs clutched his nose, which gushed red. The huge man’s eyes glittered. “You just fucked yourself.”

  Good. Greyson braced himself for a hellacious beating—until the whole barge flipped. Suddenly, Greyson was tumbling in a tangle of limbs with Briggs and his lackeys.

  When the world stopped spinning, Greyson lay prone and aching, bleeding from a cut tongue. Passengers nearby wailed, undoubt
edly injured from what felt like an outside attack.

  Greyson pushed up, staggering as the barge rocked side to side. “What the…?”

  A foghorn blasted away coherent thought. “All passengers,” a voice called over the comm system. “Return to your rooms immediately!”

  Greyson’s thoughts went to Connie. He had to protect her. After one last look at Briggs, Greyson stumbled away down the halls.

  He encountered other passengers crying for help, lurching about in awful shape. No sign of Connie.

  Greyson called her name, but his voice got lost in tumult and foghorns.

  In the chaos, Greyson saw a dreadlocked black man with whom he’d exchanged occasional pleasantries in the communal bathrooms.

  “Jared!” Greyson grabbed his arm. “What happened?”

  Jared turned, wide-eyed. “We’ve been boarded. Pirates or traffickers!”

  The reply stunned Greyson. Should’ve let Briggs beat me to death. “Did you see Connie go this way?”

  Jared shoved him off. “I got bigger concerns than your girlfriend.”

  Greyson flinched back. “She’s not—” He caught himself. Who cared what people thought? Especially if Connie was hurt…or worse. He moved to keep searching.

  Another shuddering boom from the barge’s other side sent Greyson flying. Then another, and another, flinging him like a ragdoll.

  Before his scrambled brain could adjust, ice-cold, briny waves smashed into his aching body.

  Hull breach, Greyson realized as churning ocean water dragged him under.

  Greyson made the blunder of trying to scream. Salty water rushed into his mouth. Dark silhouettes all around flailed as swirls of furious sea dragged everyone from the barge into a pitch-black expanse.