The Pantheon Saga Books 1-3: A Superhero Boxset

by C. C. Ekeke

  Quinn waved off further explanation. “Make yourself at home, Mikaela.”

  A smile cracked Seraph’s grief. Sunshine through grey clouds. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Soon after, Quinn guided her exhausted friend to the guestroom to tuck her in. Then she read a Bible passage to help Seraph drift off.

  An hour later, Quinn finished a brief on the Elite. She felt dirty writing this while a Vanguard member dozed in the guest room. But her search produced little. A profile could shine a light if the Elite should be the next great superhero team. And Quinn always found sunlight to be the best disinfectant. She’d proof the brief again before sending to Jono and Helena tomorrow. Quinn got up and texted Colin.

  ME: A good friend needs me tonight. Tomorrow night?

  Colin was thoughtful and wonderful, promising to make up for the canceled evening. Quinn blushed, a lot, glancing from her cell to out the window.

  She dropped her device. Thank God for protective cases.

  A shadowy figure crouched on the rooftop across the street, coat whipping sideways in the night winds. Crimson eyes burned in the dark, watching Quinn like a nocturnal predator.

  It took a minute to stop hyperventilating before she recognized the Midnight Son in one of his overdramatic postures. Someone wants to talk… Quinn picked up her phone, which buzzed from a text.

  BLOCKED: Your roof. Don’t tell Seraph.

  That won a chuckle from her. Of course he knew Quinn had company. “I’m popular tonight.” She looked out the window.

  Geist was gone from that rooftop.

  She gave herself a quick onceover. Pajama pants and an old Brown University t-shirt wouldn’t keep her warm out there. Quinn threw on a peacoat and took an elevator to her complex’s darkened roof.

  Geist stood a few yards away from the door leading outside. Under overcast skies, the Midnight Son was a silhouette enveloped in his rippling trench coat. He stood in a part of the roof shielded from surrounding buildings.

  Quinn approached and froze. Another figure appeared from the corner of her eye. “Geist. Longshadow.” The second name nearly got stuck in her throat.

  Therese Levesque strolled toward her. “Quinn Bauer.” The greeting sounded unnaturally deep and distorted thanks to a voice modulator. The vigilante cut a slender figure in her blue-and-black bodysuit of supple leather lined in Kevlar. A hood shielded her head while a mask covered her eyes. Therese held a recurve bow at her side, a full arrow quiver slung across her back.

  Strange emotions rushed through Quinn seeing Geist and his protégée. Giddiness at Therese’s presence, annoyance at Therese presence, dread at whatever news these two came bearing.

  She gulped down her anxieties and straightened in posture. “What’s up?”

  “Avoid the Elite,” Geist snarled without preamble.

  The decree rocked Quinn back on her heels. “Excuse you?” Her reply was like a sharp slap. She couldn’t help herself. "I don’t tell you how to vigilante."

  “For your safety,” Therese added, less abrasively. She raised her free hand to mollify her explanation. “The Elite are a dangerous unknown.”

  “Exactly why I’m taking the assignment,” Quinn threw back. Granted, she couldn’t deny how something felt off about these godlike caricatures. Sinister almost. Quinn needed to learn why. Also, the Elite were a better choice than that famewhore Tomorrow Man. “Someone needs to find out more about these muscleheads.”

  Geist made a tutting noise and faced Quinn. “Clint can’t find dirt on the Elite besides interviews, social media, and poor-quality videos of training missions in Canada.”

  Quinn shrugged, growing more irked. Even with her peacoat, it was cold out here. A little challenge hadn’t stopped Geist’s quirky hacker before. “I’m sure Clint will find something eventually.”

  “Quinn,” Geist replied firmly, eyes narrowing. “Clint’s researched for months and found nothing. Real names. Dates of birth. Employment history.”

  Therese nodded, shadows dancing across her face. “As if their previous identities were erased.”

  Quinn shuddered. In spite of their modulated, intimidating voices, Geist’s and Therese’s warnings had the same undercurrent of concern. The Elite wore no masks. Any hero with a public identity should leave some online footprint. This made the Elite more intriguing to Quinn. “And the corporation behind them? Azur Solutions?”

  “Legit.” Geist moved closer. “Has offices in New York and Seattle. With actual employees.”

  Quinn grimaced, sensing a ‘but’. She’d improved at reading some of Geist’s tics. “It’s a shell company?”

  “We have a winner,” Therese snarked, pointing her bow at Quinn.

  The reporter itched to push forward with her story. The public deserved to know if these so-called Elite were hiding something shady. Plus, she’d survived worse.

  Thanks to Geist and his team… Would they protect her if she ignored their warning?

  Quinn stiffened, not eager to find out. “Fine,” she conceded, hands raised in surrender. “No Elite.”

  Therese’s relief was visible despite her hood and mask. That pleased Quinn for some stupid reason.

  Geist nodded curtly, his eyes and smooth mask expressionless, as usual. “We’ll be in touch.” He strode toward the rooftop edge, trench coat billowing out behind him.

  Therese trailed her leader, twirling her recurve bow. “Later, Quinn Bauer.”

  Quinn frowned, more bemused than amused. “Just call me Quinn. Or Bauer. Or QB.”

  Therese spun around, grinning. “Where’s the fun in that?” Soon after, both she and Geist hopped over the edge and plummeted from sight.

  “I hate when they do that,” Quinn grumbled, even though she knew they’d rappel to the ground safely. Alone on her roof, she rubbed her arms and hurried back inside.

  No nightmares visited Quinn tonight. Seraph in the guestroom apparently kept her night terrors away.

  The following morning, Quinn and Seraph breakfasted at her dining table. Seraph looked refreshed in one of Quinn’s bathrobes. While eating oatmeal, grapefruit, and biscuits, they discussed current world events, avoiding superheroics. Quinn appreciated the reprieve. And judging from her jovial mood, so did Seraph. Though she was a world-famous superhero, her innocence about the world still floored Quinn.

  Of course, a work call for Seraph shattered the peace. Some massive aquatic threat approaching South Florida.

  “Duty never sleeps,” Seraph said with a grim smile. She hugged Quinn, changed into last night’s clothing, and departed.

  As Quinn readied for her workday, a discussion on her favorite podcast caught her ear. Last night, Missy Magnificent had busted up some child trafficking ring in the heart of the Junction. Her battle with the captors had been brutal, damaging nearby buildings. But Missy had emerged victorious. Stories like this restored Quinn’s faith in the world, despite the podcast hosts’ cynicism.

  The story also sparked an idea in Quinn’s brain, which she couldn’t ignore.

  “Hey, QB,” Helena Madden answered after three rings.

  “Good morning,” Quinn sang back, merging into freeway traffic on her way to work. “I have a new exposé idea!” She couldn’t contain her eagerness the more her idea took root. “Just don’t laugh when I tell you who the subject is…”

  Chapter 13

  Hugo approached the front of the classroom, feeling unsettled as US history emptied out.

  “Something wrong, Mr. Allocco?” Had he insulted Mr. Allocco somehow? Hugo had been totally respectful after his jackassery a few months back.

  Mr. Allocco, curly-haired and slubby, leaned against his desk. “Surface-wise, no.” He smiled. “Your test grades are great. Your group aced the American Dynasty project.”

  “Okay.” Hugo relaxed somewhat. Yet something was up. “But?”

  Mr. Allocco watched him with concern. “You’ve become withdrawn. Not participating much. Everything alright?”

  Hugo stifled laughter with
coughing. Allocco was one of the good teachers. “Everything’s fine. Just busy...” The understatement of the century. School, superhero training, dance practice, family stuff, and Jordana left Hugo with almost no bandwidth. What bothered Hugo most had been the Elite slaughtering those gangbangers last night.

  “No problems,” he lied, surprised how easy that was becoming.

  Mr. Allocco looked relieved. “Good to know. You’re a great student and your voice is missed in class.” He knocked on the desk. “If you need to talk, let me know.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Allocco.” Soon after, Hugo was striding down the hallway, skimming his mobile alerts. He sensed several eyes on him, accompanied by feverish whispers. Hugo ignored them, reading a news story about Lady Liberty and the Vanguard in Florida this morning, fighting the sea creature, Kaijira.

  “So that’s where you were,” he grumbled. “A fucking kaiju?” He was envious…until scrolling through copious photos of the heroes and the one-hundred-and-fifty-foot beast they’d felled. Hugo just wanted to save lives and stop bad guys. Less fame might’ve saved Titan. On a grim note, Hugo had seen news about the gang massacre in downtown last night. No mention of the Elite. How was that possible?

  Hugo looked at a wall packed with flyers for school clubs, sports sign-ups, outreach hotlines. He stopped for a closer view.

  One flyer featured the pimpled face of Kevin Coleman from US history. Kevin had missed class the last few days. Hugo had chalked that up to the flu going around. A missing persons poster changed everything. “If the cops can’t find him,” he murmured, “I’ll look.” Any responsible local superhero would do that. And Lady Liberty would have to see Hugo as more than a fucking sidekick.

  He entered the sun-drenched quad, unable to ignore the rising chatter from many students studying him like a lab rat.

  “What was he thinking?”

  “Shame. He could’ve gotten it. Not anymore.”

  “Hope he enjoyed himself.”

  “Doesn’t Malalou know her reputation?”

  Hugo glanced around, completely lost. “What?” Yet most students avoided his stare. Scowling, he strode to his usual Snack period spot. No sign of Grace, Marin, and Karin; just the guys huddled close—speaking about him.

  “I’m disappointed,” Wale remarked.

  “How could he be so…careless?” Groban demanded.

  “Wish he’d asked me first,” Brent said. “She’s been passed around more times than a party joint.”

  “Can’t blame him,” Raphael added. “He shoulda double-bagged it.”

  “Don’t believe Snapchat gossip. It’s probably a lie,” Simon spoke, perched atop a bench, always defending him.

  They can’t mean Jodie… “Guys,” Hugo announced from behind them. Everyone turned, as if caught doing something wrong.

  “Hugo,” Brent greeted woodenly. Very unlike him.

  Hugo’s irritation rose at their palpable judgment. “What’s up?”

  Raphael stepped forward. “Why?”

  Hugo had no clue what he meant. “Why what?”

  “We know what you’ve been hiding, Bogie,” Groban declared like some TV lawyer.

  Wale’s mouth curled in disdain. “Thought we wouldn’t find out your secret?”

  Hugo’s insides froze. Did they somehow learn about Fall Fling? Or worse, know he was a super? Hugo somehow remained blank-faced while internally panicking.

  He glanced at Simon, who mouthed, “Not your secret.”

  Hugo calmed considerably. “Still not following.”

  “You and Easy Abby?” Wale stated.

  That confused Hugo more. “Huh?” He’d seen Abby last night.

  “Bro…” Brent gripped Hugo's shoulders with a disappointed look. “What were you thinking?”

  “And why hit that raw?” Groban exclaimed.

  Raphael spread his burly arms. “I know you wanted to improve picking up girls. But her?”

  “It’s not true,” Simon interjected. “Right?”

  Hugo raised both hands to calm his worried friends. “What about Abby?”

  “You two are banging,” Simon replied. “And she gave you an STD.”

  “NO!” Hugo protested. No wonder girls were giving him salty looks. Countless pitying expressions littered the quad. Hugo then saw Brie, dolled up in couture and flanked by her squad. She promptly turned away, exchanging a fiendish sneer with Kendall Caruso. Spencer’s dark eyes lingered, burning with barely restrained fury.

  Hugo gulped hard in comprehension. This rumor sounded like Natalie Rodriguez’s handiwork—meaning Brie was behind it. He turned back to his friends. “Where’d you hear this?”

  Groban held up his phone for Hugo. “The Bearcats Chatter Snapchat and IG accounts before Snack period.”

  Easy A Does it Again, Spotted at Apple Farms with her Latest Victim, the caption read. The Snapchat post had a picture of Hugo and Abby from last night standing dangerously close.

  He laughed, confusing his friends. One of the Paso High kids he’d seen at Apple Farm must've spread the bogus rumor. “Nothing’s happening with Abby. She’s my brother’s best friend’s older sister. Last night was the first time we’d met.”

  Brent, Raphael, Wale, and Groban all visibly relaxed.

  Simon gawked. “Abby is Dallas’s sister?”

  “My reaction exactly,” Hugo exclaimed. Hopefully, Jordana doesn’t believe this. Angry footsteps advanced from behind. Hugo’s smile vanished. “Shit.”

  “Seriously?” Jordana barked. “Easy fucking Abby?”

  Hugo squeezed his eyes shut. “For the love of Jehoshaphat…”

  Simon and Raphael backed away, offering zero support. “Ruh-roh,” Wale murmured. Groban resembled a deer in headlights.

  Only Brent didn’t understand. “Huh?”

  Hugo turned slowly. Jodie’s rage dwarfed Hugo, despite him standing over a foot taller.

  “If you’re banging that bargain basement slut,” Jodie fumed, wagging her finger, “then you and I are done!”

  Raphael took a seat. “Oh, I’m watching this drama.”

  Yards away, Brie and her crew cackled.

  Hugo focused on Jordana, cheeks burning at her affronted tone. His deep-rooted urge to pacify surged. Like with Brie… He caught himself in time. As a superhero, Hugo couldn’t be a people-pleasing doormat. Same with his personal life. “First off,” Hugo started with surging confidence, “nothing happened with Abby.” He should’ve stopped there. But Hugo wanted to clarify this relationship with Jordana. “And if something was, it’s not your concern.”

  Jordana recoiled as if she’d been slapped. “Excuse you?”

  “Ooph,” Simon remarked.

  “Not good,” Groban murmured.

  Hugo internally flinched at his boldness but kept plowing ahead. “Secondly, I told you I wasn’t looking for a girlfriend. You said you were cool. Are you or are you not?” He waited, secretly hoping she’d chill and move past this.

  Jodie blinked, unsatisfied. “Ya wanna know something? I don’t need this.” Adjusting her topknot, she stormed off.

  Fear crawled up Hugo’s spine, warning that he’d never attract another hottie like her. Fear demanded that he chase Jordana and beg forgiveness. The old me would, another voice said. Pathetic and desperate for a girl's love. The reminder helped Hugo kill that fear. He stayed put.

  Simon ambled to his side. “You gonna fix that?”

  “Nope.” Hugo was done chasing self-involved drama queens.

  “Good call,” Simon murmured proudly.

  As Jordana crossed the quad, Briseis watched with relish. Of course, she and her minions were watching. Only Jen Thomas looked dejected by the drama.

  “Backstabbing bitch,” Brie coughed as her former best friend passed.

  Jordana snarled something in Spanish without slowing. Natalie cringed, understanding whatever she’d said. Spencer burst out laughing.

  Brie glared after Jodie, then her friends. “What'd she say?” she demanded peevishly.

>   Hugo turned to his friends, who stood in shock and awe. “Jordana Buchanan?” Groban nodded approvingly. “Bogie, you filthy animal!”

  Brent didn’t join the praise. Betrayal burned in his blue eyes.

  Hugo’s stomach curdled. “Brent—”

  “I’m grabbing a churro.” Brent strode away, seething.

  Hugo moved to follow until Simon blocked him. “I got this.” The Korean boy scurried after Brent.

  “He never made a move,” Hugo rationalized to the others. “Never even said he liked Jodie.” The defense was thin. A blind man could see Brent liked Jordana. Some friend you are.

  “There’ll be other girls.” Raphael patted his back evenly. “Brent will calm down.”

  “But will he forgive me?” Hugo really liked Brent. Losing him over a girl sucked.

  The STD rumor still had legs by lunchtime. But many saw the rumor as bullshit. Still, Brent hardly said two words to Hugo. Jordana ignored him. Hugo disliked the tension disrupting their social circle. He decided to text a more sympathetic ear.

  ME: Can we talk?

  Marshmallow: Go fuck yourself. Or Abby.

  Hugo winced from the text’s rancor. A glance around the quad revealed no sign of the sender.

  ME: You know the STD rumor isn’t true.

  Marshmallow: I’m not stupid! You know why I’m pissed.

  Marshmallow: Think I wouldn’t find out about Jodie???

  Hugo couldn’t believe his eyes.

  ME: Hypocrite much? And why are you mad? You ended things a month ago!!

  Marshmallow: Lose my number, asshole.

  ME: Were you and Brie behind the STD rumor?

  No response. “Should’ve expected that,” Hugo murmured. That didn’t make the rejection any less wounding. After eating, he figured a walk might clear his head. While shouldering his backpack, Hugo noticed Taylor von Stratton watching him with a puckered brow, as if deciding something about him. Taylor sat with the Songs team, her blue-and-white cheerleading dress fitting delectably. Golden hair fell down her shoulders in sleek sheets. Jesus, Taylor looked good.

  She probably believes the rumors. Hugo then noticed her blushing under his gaze. She glanced away and then back, batting those long lashes. Sex in her eyes.