The Pantheon Saga Books 1-3: A Superhero Boxset

by C. C. Ekeke

  He waved off her explanation. “You told me early on what this wasn’t.” A smile masked some of his sadness. “Things were fun while they lasted.”

  Quinn leaned against the van to steady her guilt. Colin giving her an out was appreciated. But disappointing a friend felt awful. How do I fix this? “You sure you’re okay?”

  Colin nodded, glancing skyward. “I’d never make things awkward. I’m not Jono.”

  Quinn laughed. “You’re better than I deserved.” Her smile faded. If only her head and heart were in alignment, Colin Garner would be a dream boyfriend.

  Colin shook his head. “You got that reversed, QB. I hope you eventually realize that.”

  The evening grew colder. But Quinn’s cheeks warmed considerably. She averted her gaze to cops loading a dazed Nightfang into a car. Farther left, Missy faced the crowds like some political candidate.

  Quinn straightened up, back in business mode. “She’s addressing the masses.”

  Colin grabbed his camera from the van. “Shall we?”

  Missy spoke with smiles and sweeping gestures, to her packed audience. “No matter what happens, I am here to protect you, the citizens of the Junction,” she vowed. That won huge applause from the crowd.

  Missy continued, her costume sparkling under the last vestiges of daylight. “The rest of San Miguel may have forgotten. I won’t.” More thunderous applause.

  Quinn wanted to puke. Not from Missy’s sincerity. Just the forces puppeteering this young hero.

  “What about my business?” a voice far back cried. “Your battle destroyed my store!”

  Missy turned, her smile fading.

  A small black woman stepped forward, her hair needing serious re-braiding. Fury radiated from her pinched expression. “I can’t pay the premiums!” The once jovial crowd had soured. Some fair-weather bystanders booed this new arrival.

  Missy looked taken aback. “I'm sorry,” she replied with pure remorse. “Things got crazy.”

  The woman wasn’t having that weak explanation. “How will that apology feed my family?” The crowd got more riled up.

  Missy recoiled from the reaction. “I’ll do better.” She looked confused, wounded. “I’m here to help.”

  “Wanna help?” said a skinny youth covered in tattoos. “Get out of the Junction!”

  With that, Montgomery Major and other flacks dragged Missy away as many in the crowd bellowed their approval. After spiriting her into their van, Quinn, Colin, and Shelley hopped inside.

  Quinn tried getting a response during the ride back to Missy’s headquarters blocks away. The hero ignored her, staring out the window in silence. Upon reaching her HQ, Missy stormed into a conference room in tears with Monty at her heels. Behind closed doors, a screaming match erupted.

  Colin, Shelley, and Quinn stood outside, fidgeting awkwardly.

  “That wasn’t fun,” Shelley commented.

  Quinn nodded in agreement. “Not even.” A buzzing vibration grabbed her attention.

  She pulled out her cellphone and beamed at the caller ID.

  “My mom,” she lied to her coworkers before darting into an empty room. Shutting the door behind her, Quinn leaned on the center table and answered. “Hey, Clint.”

  “Not quite.”

  The growling voice startled Quinn upright. “OH. Hello.”

  “Clint’s busy,” Geist replied in brusque tones. “I have his update.”

  Quinn wasn’t expecting that. “Hit me.”

  “You said that Super Solutions registered as a business last spring?” Geist clarified.

  “Yes.”

  The vigilante snorted. “The superheroes on the Super Solutions site. Six months, and none are registered with OSA or any superhuman-affiliated government agency.”

  Quinn’s throat was dry. She knew what this meant. “Any superhero or team working with a management company must be government registered. Meaning Super Solution's clients are fake.”

  “Correct,” Geist replied.

  Quinn paced the room, another memory jarred loose. “Missy told me that mid-April last year, she was in rehab considering retirement. Montgomery Major reached out, convincing her not to.”

  “Weeks later, they’re dating,” Geist added. “Montgomery honey-trapped Missy.”

  Quinn winced. “I think so.” Poor Missy, in a fake marriage trying to revive a fake career. Quinn rubbed the ridge of her nose and focused on the other malefactor. “I haven’t found much on Ultimax Insurance. Can Clint use his hacking jujitsu?”

  “He’ll look into it.”

  Quinn sighed in relief. Oh…” Another thought sized her. “Missy defeated a new ‘criminal’ an hour ago. Calls himself Nightfang. Could your police contacts see when anyone bails him out?”

  “Yes.” Geist’s irritation was tangible. “Any other orders?”

  “No,” Quinn said in a small voice, knowing she’d overstepped. “Thanks.” Quinn hung up as someone knocked outside the room. “Come in.”

  Helena Madden strolled in, wearing the daylights out of a green leather bomber and scarf.

  Quinn brightened. “Hey! What brings you here?”

  “Hey, you.” Helena gave her a one-armed hug. “Had time before an industry dinner.”

  Quinn studied Helena closely. Her striking features appeared more haggard, the crows’ feet around her eyes obvious behind those tinted glasses. Even her smile appeared brittle, as if the slightest tap could shatter it. Helena’s douchebag boyfriend, Jono McGowan, had been making a stink everywhere recently, leaving her to fix his messes.

  “You good?” Quinn inquired, glancing at the handful of people outside the conference room.

  “Eh.” Helena shrugged, smile wavering. “Everything is a lot right now.” She changed subjects before Quinn could probe deeper. “How are things here?”

  Quinn weighed if she should talk, recalling the last time she’d withheld details from Helena. With that in mind, Quinn moved past her and shut the room door again.

  Helena arched an eyebrow. “Uh-oh.”

  Reaching for courage she couldn’t feel, Quinn faced Helena. “Montgomery Major lied to us.”

  Helena looked lost. “Explain.”

  “He’s paying criminals to lose for Missy.” Quinn drummed her fingers together. “And there’s something screwy between Ultimax Insurance and our Junction sponsors.”

  Helena doubled over laughing. “You’re joking.” When Quinn replied with stone-faced silence, she stopped. “I would kill for your luck with these exposés.”

  Quinn scowled at the flippant response. “How ya want to play this?”

  “Continue like nothing’s amiss,” Helena advised, placing reassuring hands on her protégée’s shoulders. “But keep discreetly getting rock-solid proof. And keep me in the loop.”

  It was the answer Quinn had hoped for. “Okay, great.”

  Helena chuckled. “Packer might freak if there’s a sponsor issue.”

  Brief nausea washed over Quinn. “Packer’s got other interests. Like Tania and Jess.” She explained what she’d seen at the hotel a few days prior.

  Helena went slack-jawed. “Oh…shit. I’ve heard rumors, seen him at social gatherings.” Recovering quickly from her initial shock, she smirked. “Thanks for the ammo.”

  Quinn wanted no part of SLOCO Daily’s game of thrones. “If you need to talk about life stuff, I’m here.”

  A tired smile pulled at Helena’s mouth. “Noted.”

  Once Helena left, Quinn found Colin waiting in the lobby. The room Missy had been in was open and unoccupied. “Where did Missy go?” Quinn asked.

  His morose look spoke volumes as he guided her outside. They strolled down the sidewalk without words, passing the Junction’s usual sketchy vagrants and dark corners. Soon they reached a seedy bar blocks away. Quinn could hear Missy from outside over blaring eighties glamrock.

  Inside, a fully-costumed Missy stood atop the bar dancing without a care in the world. Several patrons kept buying her shots, which s
he kept downing. Montgomery Major was nowhere to be found. Quinn cringed at the countless cellphones pointed and recording.

  She held Missy’s gaze momentarily. The superhero sneered in drunken defiance before tossing back another shot.

  Quinn felt disgust, sadness, and anger all at once. She turned to Colin. “Can you—?”

  “On it.” He marched into the bar to retrieve Missy. Once Colin carried Missy out and returned her to the HQ, Quinn thought about heading home.

  But she thought of her cousin Jordana fixing a broken friendship, which took Quinn elsewhere.

  Half an hour later, she was at Annie’s front door in north Paso Robles. Her persistent knocking paid off as the door opened.

  A young man with dirty-blond hair and a full beard answered. Quinn choked back displeasure. But she’d expected to see Johnny Sherwood. “Quinn,” he said, eyes wide with surprise.

  “Jonathan,” Quinn addressed with clipped formality. “Is Annie home?”

  Johnny turned brick-red, straightening to his full height. “You’d know better than me,” he remarked sullenly.

  The rudeness was the last straw. “Whatever.” Quinn pivoted sharply and marched away.

  “Wait. Please.”

  Quinn so wanted to keep walking. Or to slap the taste out of Johnny's mouth. But his ragged plea stopped Quinn in place. She pivoted back around with a smoldering glare.

  Johnny scratched his head. He looked more exhausted than Helena. “I’m sorry,” he stated gently. “For that and a few months ago.”

  Quinn’s wasn’t fully sold. His apology was a start. “Why would I know better than you where your fiancée is?”

  The color drained from Johnny’s face. “Jesus, it’s worse than I thought.” Johnny's eyes glistened. He looked so fragile. “We had a huge fight a few days ago. Annie called off our engagement, then moved out. Now I don’t know where she is.”

  Hearing this left Quinn physically and emotionally unmoored. Annie and Johnny broke up?

  “Clearly, we should talk.” She nodded at his doorway.

  Johnny gestured inside his apartment. “Please.”

  Chapter 34

  Greyson hovered in the air under a blazing afternoon sun, sweating profusely in camouflage fatigues. Every muscle tense from exertion, his fingers curled into claws. The air around his body swelled in fluid gravitational forces.

  Day two of the Noordaal invasion. Unlike Bellazul, Dourado, and Angelique, Amarantha’s northern most city had been prepared. In fact, House Garcia’s armed forces had met AmeriForce miles outside of Noordaal. AmeriForce not only had a brigade of humans and superhumans, but they’d disabled the collars on House Garcia's supers. That had led to chaos for House Garcia’s forces when most of the supers turned on their former enslavers.

  The battle was almost over, with some holdouts. Like the resistance Greyson now faced.

  One man against a defiant gaggle of Noordaal infantry. These soldiers in light armor trembled as their city fell around them. Regardless, these brave soldiers pointed assault rifles at Greyson.

  “Don’t,” he whispered. “Don’t be stupid.”

  “Surrender, freak,” the platoon’s commander ordered, barely keeping the terror from his voice. A distant boom signaled the destruction of another Noordaal tank. “Or we’ll end you.”

  Every soldier adjusted their guns, fingers curling around the triggers.

  Greyson sighed. Fine. Be stupid. He clenched his fists, quadrupling each weapon’s gravity.

  Suddenly, the soldiers were dropping their guns, some dragged to the ground.

  Now Rodrigo attacked, tucking into a shimmery ball of kinetic energy, bouncing off walls or soldiers, shattering bones. CJ advanced afterward, twenty feet tall, punting Noordaal soldiers so hard, they went flying several feet.

  Within minutes, the fight was over.

  CJ shrank to her normal height of five-feet-five and exhaled, staring at the bodies. “It’s no fun when they’re smart,” she remarked.

  Rodrigo chuckled.

  Greyson didn’t smile. “I’ll take smart and alive over stupid and dead.” He floated to the ground, wiping sweat from his face. Greyson made an effort to not kill Noordaal’s troops. They were following orders. House Garcia and their administration were the enemy.

  Greyson scanned the city around him. “Hear that?”

  Rodrigo frowned. “No.”

  Now Greyson smiled. “Exactly. It means the battle’s over.”

  After rounding up the defeated soldiers, Greyson floated high over Noordaal for a quick sweep. Everywhere he looked in the city's rounded spires and farmlands were AmeriForce troopers. The combined forces from Dourado, Bellazul, and Angelique boosted their forces. After breaching Noordaal’s walls, victory was an afterthought. The key now was capturing city leadership. During his flight, Greyson passed by Solomon Shen.

  “Did they find the Garcias?” he asked.

  “Found Renato Garcia and his family myself, trying to escape like rats,” Solomon responded in disgust. “They'll see justice.”

  Soon after, Greyson landed in front of Noordaal’s city hall. The main plaza was packed with filthy and emaciated masses. He guessed all were recently freed superhumans.

  Tigre stood on the pink-marbled city hall steps, arms spread as he addressed the crowds like some tiger messiah. Frostknife stood behind him, beaming from ear to ear. “No longer are you slaves in your homeland,” he bellowed. By the cameras around Tigre, this speech was being broadcast across Noordaal and possibly Amarantha. “This island belongs to you. The superhumans of Amarantha now rule. Are you with us?” Tigre shot one fist into the air. Thousands roared in support, all raising their fists. Frostknife clapped loudly.

  The scene would’ve reach Braveheart-levels of inspiring if the rhetoric hadn’t rattled Greyson so much. “I thought we were toppling the royals,” he said to Rodrigo much later as they sat inside a government building eating dinner. “Sounds like Tigre wants the supers to become the oppressors.”

  The Amaranthine glanced back, shoveling down a Cuban-style sandwich. “What’s wrong with that?”

  Greyson gaped. “Everything?” He caught himself, realizing again how his outsider’s perspective might not register. “No one learns from their mistakes, and then the humans repeat what AmeriForce did to take back the island.”

  Rodrigo scoffed at those concerns. “Not happening. They be baselines, yea.”

  Greyson realized, to his sorrow, he wouldn’t reach him. “Once the Internet gets restored, read more world history, my friend.” He rose from his bench and picked up his trash before marching off.

  The sun was sinking into the rugged horizon, splashing the skies with deep red and purple. Greyson walked along Noordaal’s narrow, winding streets to clear his head. Some streets were awash with celebration. Many supers pranced around drunk, cheering House Garcia’s downfall. AmeriForce troops intermingled with locals, keeping watch yet enjoying the dancing and music. Greyson exchanged hellos with soldiers he recognized, never staying too long.

  After a time, he found himself on dirt roads away from the hubbub. Greyson appreciated the quiet, the breezes blowing in from the sea. He’d never imagined in a million years to be toppling a cruel regime. It felt good. Connie seemed in lockstep with AmeriForce’s dogma. Like butchering Gaspar and Martine Carneiro, Greyson recalled, shivering. He couldn’t back murdering the Carneiro children. Or the Mendes family that once ruled Angelique. He inhaled deeply and kept walking.

  The voices reached him then, yards away. Greyson paused. Curiosity pulled him off the winding dirt road to a huge dip in the land.

  In the bottom of the depression, a slim human hovered off the ground shining bright blue.

  “Radiant.” Greyson spotted the original AmeriForce member with a cadre of soldiers and many supers nearby. In front of Radiant was a huddle of kneeling prisoners. Greyson should’ve walked away. But unshakeable dread pushed him down that hill.

  He froze within a few yards, recognizing the
group kneeling before Radiant.

  The pudgy man was Renato Garcia with his wife and several children along with his cabinet and most of the city assembly. All were stripped naked and shivering in the evening cold.

  “Please…” Lord Renato begged. “Show mercy to my children…”

  “Like you showed mercy to the superhuman children you sold as weapons?” Radiant sounded robotic. “I'll respond in kind.” His illumination blanketed Noordaal’s former elite, forcing Greyson to look away. The night exploded with bloodcurdling screams and sizzling flesh.

  “NO!” With a flick of his wrist, Greyson doubled Radiant’s gravitational pull, yanking him from the sky.

  The light dimmed. Radiant was pinned to the ground, thrashing helplessly. His crew aimed their guns at Greyson, then relaxed after seeing him.

  “What the hell?” one asked.

  Greyson almost asked if they'd gone crazy. Half of the unclothed humans were covered in soot and gruesome burns. The soot came from the other half, blackened husks in various postures of pain and fear. House Garcia was front and center, scorched to death.

  Greyson tore his eyes away from the sight. “You’ve won,” he pleaded. “Enough killing!”

  “Not yet!” Radiant snarled, straining to stand. His increased gravity wouldn’t allow it. “Let. Me. Up!”

  Greyson glanced from the surviving humans, cowering and afraid. “Only if you stop this.” The air buzzed as soon as Greyson drew this line.

  “Fine,” Radiant decided. “Clarice.”

  Confused, Greyson looked up. A pixie-like Amaranthine woman approached, with coal-black skin and a kinky afro. Her eyes burned crimson. “Sleep.”

  Sudden exhaustion sapped Greyson's strength. “Goddammit,” he mumbled. “Didn't restrain every....” His knees buckled as he passed out.

  Greyson woke on his back, staring up at a concrete ceiling. He scrambled to a seated position, inside a four-by-four cell. Frostknife and Tigre watched him through the one transparent barrier.

  Greyson recoiled, pressing his back against a wall. “Where am I?”