The Pantheon Saga Books 1-3: A Superhero Boxset

by C. C. Ekeke

  Nothing occurred. His shock mirrored that on Lord Gaspar’s face, who kept pressing and turning his ring.

  Meanwhile, the ghost walked through the table and leaped up. Landing in a solid crouch before Dourado’s rulers, the ghost drove a knife into Gaspar’s heart.

  Lady Martine screamed. The Lord of Dourado grunted. He stared at the knife sticking into his chest and then his attacker, eyes dulled by confusion and pain. Someone like Lord Gaspar clearly couldn’t comprehend a superhuman orchestrating his ruin. Greyson was transfixed, unable to breathe.

  The ghost gave the knife a hard twist. The light fled Gaspar’s eyes as if switched off. He sank without a sound.

  Lady Martine kept screaming, now having lost a daughter and husband. She whirled to run.

  The ghost caught the Lady of the City by that long mane. Snatching up another knife from the dinner table, the ghost plunged the blade into Martine’s stomach and chest, arm rising and falling. Blood spurted everywhere until the ghost’s white costume was drenched.

  “NO!” That finally shocked Greyson out of his paralysis. He reached out, touching this ghost’s gravity field and altering it. Greyson flicked his wrist, yanking the ghost off the table and slamming it against the wall. The ghost slid onto a dark pool of blood saturating the chamber floor.

  The room went quiet, strewn with bodies. The only noise came from outside, a battle raging between Bellazul and Dourado forces. Now Dourado had no leaders.

  Greyson turned to Rodrigo, who stood triumphant over where Thuraya had sat. He swallowed an involuntary sob. Not that Greyson loved Thuraya or her entitled world view. But her death had been so abrupt and unnecessary. Had Rodrigo known this would happen? Or just taken advantage of the chaos? And that ghost?

  “Rigo. I’m lost.” Greyson spread his arms, desperate for answers. “Why? And who is that psycho?”

  Another blast shuddered Montesur. Greyson stumbled forward, almost tripping over a Bellazul guard's compacted corpse. He recoiled. Attacks thundered across the city, yet inside this chamber Greyson was blind to which side was winning. He kept an eye on the fallen ghost, who’d begun stirring.

  Rodrigo smirked instead of smiled. “I did that for our kind. Don’t worry, yea. Dead Carneiros are part of the plan.” There was a casual malice to his joy that Greyson hadn’t seen before.

  “What plan?” Greyson demanded. “How will killing these royals protect us from the Dourado’s military…or Bellazul’s?”

  Rodrigo had the gall to laugh before the chamber doors burst open. A flood of armed and military-styled figures flooded the room. Some looked American. But the majority were definitely Spanish or Amaranthine by their features and complexions. Yet none wore Dourado or Bellazul stylings.

  “Stand down, asshole!” an American male bellowed.

  “You stand down!” Greyson shouted, tapping into his powers and hovering off the ground. gravitational forces eddying around his vibrating fists.

  More arrivals barked at Greyson to power down, followed by posturing and shouting to where barely anyone could hear each other. Rodrigo shouted something. Greyson ignored it. The young Amaranthine wasn’t trustworthy anymore. Greyson counted twelve plus soldiers now with rifles pointed at him. He didn’t care.

  Greyson squeezed his fists, blanketing the room with invisible gravitational waves. “I will bring his whole fucking building down!”

  “Greyson!” Rodrigo looked scared now, his hands clasped and beseeching. “Stop!”

  “NO, Rigo!” Greyson shouted over the tumult. Gravitational forces oozed off him. “Your intangible buddy just killed the Carneiros. You smashed Thuraya’s skull, and these fuckers are pointing guns at me.”

  “Lower your guns! He’s okay!” a female voice cut through the uproar, so close the shock nearly broke Greyson’s concentration. “Hirsch, please! They’re not the enemy.”

  He looked in the female’s direction. His heart stopped.

  The ghost was unmasked, revealing an Asian woman with short and spiky black hair.

  The crowded room faded away. Greyson didn’t notice floating to the floor until his feet touched down. He stepped back, not trusting the sight before him. But there she was on a knee. “C-Connie?”

  “Yeah,” she whispered, a big smile on her face. “It’s me.”

  Greyson didn’t believe it. First, he’d imagined Lauren everywhere. Now Connie. You are going crazy… “No.” He shook his head. “You…you drowned on the ferry!”

  Connie’s eyes were shiny with unshed tears. “I survived. Like you.”

  She sounded and looked like Connie. Greyson wanted to believe. But after everything he’d lost… He turned to Rodrigo, who’d backed away toward the cluster of soldiers. “Do you see her, Rigo?” Greyson begged for confirmation, pointing frantically in Connie’s direction. “Can you see that woman there?”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Rodrigo nodded. “I can see her, man. She killed the Carneiros and Lady Nadia.”

  Greyson stumbled toward her, vision blurring. “Connie…” he gasped out her name desperately.

  She threw herself at him before he took another step. Holding her simply obliterated Greyson. They collapsed into each other and fell, sobbing in joy. Greyson drew away, holding Connie’s tear-streaked face in his hands.

  “How did you survive?” he wept, barely getting the words out. “How?” He pulled her back into his embrace as they both sob-laughed some more.

  Connie finally drew away and motioned at the group of soldiers at the dining chamber entrance. “They rescued me. Before the barge sank.”

  Greyson took in these hardened military men and women. Their expressions had softened; some grew teary-eyed at the emotional reunion. A few of these soldiers wore stained versions of what resembled superhero costumes. Greyson realized what they were. Superhumans.

  He rose, wary and weary, helping Connie up. An excuse to not let her go. “And them?”

  One man stepped forward, Latino in ethnicity. He had a pantherlike physique with orange and black streaks in his shaggy hair. “AmeriForce,” he announced in a Mexican accent. “Tigre. We’re a resistance movement to purge Amarantha of the royal families’ oppressive regime.”

  The rest of his group, Rodrigo included, nodded in agreement.

  Tigre tapped a radio on his vest. “Status on the rest of House Perez?”

  “Eliminated,” a female replied. “Bellazul’s entire leadership and the municipal assembly as well.”

  Tigre’s smile revealed pointy-sharp teeth. “And with the military subdued, Bellazul is ours.” That brought cheers from Rodrigo, Connie, and Tigre’s entourage.

  “And with the Carneiro forces neutralized in the tunnel,” Rodrigo added, “Dourado falls next!” Even bigger cheers sounded.

  Greyson stood and stared. Rodrigo was in on this? Between that and Connie being alive, Greyson felt like his brain had been dropped in a blender. He opened his mouth but knew only gibberish would emerge. Connie, animated beyond measure, grabbed his cheeks.

  “Don’t you see, Hirsch?” she gushed. “AmeriForce are the good guys!”

  Chapter 31

  “Don’t touch that,” Zelda snapped.

  Simon jerked his hand back from a mannequin displaying Lady Liberty’s costume like it was ablaze. He reached for a display of Titan’s famous green and yellow suit.

  Zelda’s glare followed him. “Or that.”

  Stymied again, Simon spied a glass display of six silvery spheres. Eyes gleaming, he reached for one.

  Zelda, in suspenders and a t-shirt, darted over and slapped Simon’s hands. “Or anything.”

  Hugo looked on, baffled that she was only twelve. With Lady Liberty away on superhero business tonight, Zelda was managing her costume shop.

  Hugo leaned against a wall near the entrance to this display room, waiting while one of Ms. Ortiz’s designers finished his costume. But Zelda’s intolerance for Simon's fanboying had him quaking with amusement. Hugo couldn’t blame his BFF. He’d reacted similarly when Ms. Or
tiz first brought him down here.

  Zelda stepped in front of the display case. “The silvery spheres are—”

  “High-impact capture beads used by the Motor City Ghoul in Detroit,” Simon answered. “Ms. Ortiz rocks.”

  Zelda glanced from Simon to Hugo, surprised. “That’s…right.”

  Simon moved to four mannequins in rock star garments. One had oversized red sunglasses. He frowned. “That’s like something Bono would wear.”

  “It is something Bono wore,” Zelda corrected.

  Simon whirled about. “Your shop designs U2 costumes?”

  Zelda’s expression darkened. “Sometimes.”

  Hugo had no issue elaborating. “U2 are secretly demon-hunting superheroes,” he gushed like an eager toddler on a sugar high. “They drop references to their adventures in their songs. And U2 actually inspired Ghostbusters.”

  Zelda gasped. “Way to keep a secret!”

  “Relax!” Hugo scoffed, unconcerned by her kittenish outrage. “Simon keeps my secret.”

  “I KNEW Bono was a superhero!” Simon cried, hopping in the air. “It was the sunglasses!”

  Zelda watched his touchdown dance with unmasked disgust. “Why is your…fanboy here?”

  Hugo snorted out a laugh.

  “Style consultant,” Simon corrected testily. He’d moved on to another display costume.

  Zelda eyed him like an ant to be squashed. “I’m speaking with Hugo.”

  “I run big choices by Simon.” After the Kid Liberty mess, Hugo needed a trusted opinion on his suit.

  Plus, Simon was going stir-crazy with school still closed. A visit to Ms. Ortiz’s costume boutique was the least Hugo could do.

  “Wait.” Simon stopped before a mannequin in a red-white-and-orange outfit. A simple crimson mask covered the eyes and nose.

  Hugo recognized the retired costume.

  “The Hurricane’s OG costume when he was with the Midwestern Miracles.” Simon grew somber.

  Hugo nodded with a pang of sorrow. “May he rest in peace.”

  “Amen,” Simon agreed.

  It still rankled Hugo how little coverage Hurricane’s murder had received. Yet, Morningstar getting exposed as Titan’s killer had happened at the same time. Sad…

  Randolph, one of Ms. Ortiz’s designers, emerged from an adjacent room. Correction, skipped. He carried a perfectly folded purple-and-black outfit under one arm. Hugo’s skin prickled with gooseflesh.

  Randolph was lanky with a mini-afro, dressed in black. His belt buckle, buttons, and loafers were sparkly gold. Randolph wasn’t overtly emotional. But tonight, a hint of a smile graced his lips. “It’s ready,” Randolph announced dramatically, thrusting the folded suit at Hugo.

  Simon started squealing but stopped after Zelda's warning look.

  Hugo took his suit from Randolph. Anticipation and fear swirled in his stomach. “Thanks.” Hugo turned to Zelda, who watched him warily. He offered a sympathetic smile. “Wish your mom was here.” Without Ms. Ortiz, none of this would be possible.

  Zelda avoided his gaze. “Off-site client.” Hugo could taste the subtle loneliness in her tone.

  “Alright.” He headed for the changing room, heartbeat like a jackhammer. “Here it goes.”

  After a couple minutes to change and pray he didn’t look stupid, Hugo emerged. The fit and full-body style matched the Kid Liberty suit. But the coloring was per his request: purple and black boots, black gauntlets with grey knuckles. Two thick, grey angular patterns ran parallel down his chest to the grey belt.

  Hugo liked it yet felt disconnected from his body. He spread his arms wide and twirled. “Thoughts?”

  Zelda’s shameless glee exposed her youth. “Love!” she gushed, bouncing.

  Randolph gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up, visibly enamored by his own work. “Classic, young man. The material is adaptive to any speed friction you put it through. Plus, like your last costume, it’s extremely resilient to damage. Fire-resistant, bulletproof, heat resistant, laser-proof. I also have a guide to program the communications earpieces in your hood and mask.”

  Hugo turned to Simon expectantly.

  “Epic,” his best friend approved. “Put on the hood and mask.”

  Hugo reached back, pulling the hood and mask over his face. It felt like it was a second skin like the rest of the costume, snug but comfortable. A slight reddish film covered his vision. He didn’t find it too distracting.

  Simon nodded with satisfaction. “Criminals beware!”

  Hugo walked around, adjusting to the costume. Damn, this was easy to move in. “I was iffy on not using goggles to better hide my face,” he admitted, “but this is much better.”

  Randolph shook his head vehemently. “With the mask and hood, the goggles might’ve been too much.”

  “Yeah,” Simon agreed. “One layer over your eyes won’t hamper your hypersensitive vision.”

  That drew surprised stares from Randolph and Zelda.

  Hugo grinned proudly. “Simon knows things.”

  “Do a pose,” Simon urged.

  Happy to oblige, Hugo straightened with fists on hips, staring off majestically. The pose was pure Titan, which Hugo had practiced for years, even before getting powers.

  “Classic,” Simon crowed, clapping. “Do another!”

  Hugo hunched as if in mid-run, muscles flexed dramatically. The pose was a little too Blur, but cool.

  “HAHA!” Simon hopped up and down, to Randolph and Zelda’s distaste. “Boss-level shit!”

  Hugo stood up. “King level,” he corrected.

  Zelda rolled her eyes. “You two are why aliens seem to hate us.”

  “Don’t hate the bromance, kiddie,” Simon chided. Zelda shook her head, unable to hide a smile.

  After changing back into his Henley and jeans, Hugo shook Randolph’s and Zelda’s hands. “Zelda. Tell your mom I owe her.”

  The girl blushed.

  “You’ll have three spares by the end of this week,” Randolph promised.

  “WAIT!” Simon bellowed. “Codename! You said you had one.”

  “Right!” Hugo cringed at his faux pas. “Aegis.”

  Randolph, Simon, and Zelda waited, until realizing Hugo had just said it.

  Simon clapped. Randolph nodded. Zelda looked like she’d smelled rotten cheese. “That kinda sucks.”

  “A-E-G-I-S,” Hugo detailed. “It’s spelled cooler than it sounds.”

  Zelda beamed as the dots connected. “OH! That is good.”

  “Right?” Simon gestured up and down his friend. “I mean, look at him. He’ll be a shield to protect San Miguel. Or something.”

  Randolph and Zelda stared at him.

  Hugo chortled. Every superhero needed a hype man. “A cool superhero name is enough.”

  Later, Hugo was back home finishing dinner before heading out for another search. With his new costume, he was no longer hampered by getting recognized. AJ was locked in his room upstairs. Hugo’s brother was still devastated by Uncle Sione’s departure two days back. Hugo, now feeling guilty, had tried consoling AJ. But his brother had pushed him away. Hugo decided then to let AJ come to him.

  Hugo was having more luck with Jordana, keeping in touch via phone or text. She and Briseis were mending fences, which meant he and Jodie could only be friends. The sadness of that had messed with his head for days. Still, Hugo was happy for them. No amount of petty drama was worth losing a best friend. Mom had also been in touch with Brie since the explosion.

  “Briseis remembers you protecting her before blacking out,” Mom had reassured this morning. “And when she woke up in the hospital, your wellbeing was her first concern.”

  Hugo felt mostly relieved, despite Mom foolishly holding out hope for Brie and Hugo to make amends. Brie knowing about Fall Fling meant he’d keep his distance—permanently. Hugo had heard from another friend that Jordana and Briseis would be hanging out at a varsity basketball party tonight intended to restore school spirit. And Brent was taking Jordana as his da
te, per Hugo’s encouragement.

  ME: You and Lefty at the party yet?

  Jodie: Only if Brent ever gets here.

  Jodie’s anger jumped off the screen. Hugo frowned. That was weird, since Brent really liked Jordana.

  ME: What happened?

  Jodie: Brent’s forty minutes late. I’ll probably stay home. Easy Abby will be there hunting her next victim. But I wanna hang out with Brie.

  Hugo winced seeing the Abby mention. She already found her next target.

  ME: Let me know how it goes. Have fun.

  Hugo immediately speed-texted Brent, wanting to smack him halfway across California.

  ME: WTF, brosef? Jodie’s waiting for you.

  Twenty minutes passed. No response. A call went straight to voicemail. Hugo’s anger became concern. “Something’s up.” He dialed Brent’s mainline.

  “Hi, Hugo!” Brent’s mother had such a mom voice, like in those prehistoric 1980s sitcoms.

  “Hey, Mrs. Longwell,” he replied, masking his fear.

  “Brent’s been so worried about you,” she said with pitch-perfect Mom concern. “Glad you’re okay!”

  “Is Brent at the basketball party?” Hugo asked.

  “Why, yes,” Mrs. Longwell answered. Brent’s younger brothers were roughhousing in the background. “He’s getting food at Beach Bum Burger first for himself and his date.”

  Hugo exhaled in relief. So why was he an hour late? “When did he leave?”

  “Two hours ago.”

  Despite the warm kitchen light bathing him, Hugo went cold all over. “I’m guessing he took the Escalade to impress his date?” he asked in shaky tones.

  Mrs. Longwell gave a big, honking laugh. “Brent’s dad and I were iffy after he got pepper spray all over the insides. But after some begging, we caved.”

  Hugo squeezed his eyes shut at the emotions that Escalade evoked, when Brett had showed his true character. “Which Beach Bum Burger did he go to?”

  “The Templeton location.” Suspicion colored Mrs. Longwell’s jovialness. “They have those pineapple milkshakes he loves. Why?”

  Hugo chuckled to deflect. “No reason. Goodnight, Mrs. Longwell!”

  Three minutes later, Hugo zoomed to the Beach Bum Burger in San Miguel’s Templeton suburb. He scanned the parking lot, hoping the white Escalade wasn’t there. Hugo reached the lot’s farthest edge, bordered by a wall of shrubbery.