Corpies (Super Powereds Spinoff Book 1) (38 page)

“You’re wrong,” Owen said, standing and walking over to his teammate’s hunched form. “Not about all the bad shit coming—you’ve got a pretty firm grasp on that—but about the mistake. You never made one. You’re an adult who had consensual sex with another adult. The only mistake anyone made was this Corbin guy for lying about being single. These next few days are going to suck, and the weeks to come will be rough, but don’t you dare think for a minute that you’re to blame.”

“Maybe not, but I’m going to be the one who pays for it,” Bubble Bubble said. “Corbin’s a successful director and a human. I’m nothing but a corpie and a genetic freak. Who do you think people are going to side with?”

“Probably the wrong person, as they often do,” Owen admitted. “But we can’t control them. No Super can make the world think the way they want it to. All we can control is who you think is really responsible here. Some of the blame goes to whoever leaked that video; most belongs to Corbin for making this a scandal-worthy incident. Tell me the truth now, do you really think you did anything wrong?”

Bubble Bubble didn’t answer. Instead, she began to cry again, leaning forward and pressing her already tearstained face against Owen’s borrowed sweatshirt. It was coated in a thin film of concrete dust, but she didn’t pull back. She wrapped her arms around his sizable torso and pulled herself closer. He hugged her back carefully, marveling at how slender and delicate this woman he’d seen save dozens of people truly was. She was just a damn kid, only a few years older than his sons, and this was what the same media that had torn him down was reducing her to. Anger tried to well up in him, but Owen forced it down. There was no place for rage right now. It might make him feel better but it wouldn’t do anything for Bubble Bubble.

“I once crapped myself during a skateboarding competition.”

Zone’s words broke the melancholy spell that Bubble Bubble’s tears had cast, as everyone in the room, Bubble Bubble included, turned to stare at the chiseled, spiky-haired man who was staring at the floor in red-faced shame.

“Whaaaaaaaaat the fuck now?” Hexcellent’s eyes were so wide they seemed to have physically grown.

“I had the flu, but I was just starting out and it was my first paid gig. I
really
needed the money. After I did my tricks, and I mean
right after
, my body let me know that the floodgates were opening no matter what, and I could do with that information as I pleased. I managed to duck behind some bushes, but. . . things happened and then there I was, standing around in a competition with my jeans ruined. I was sure my life was over, so I decided to go big. I stripped naked, fastened my helmet over my junk, and streaked past the stands. I lucked out and people thought I was a bad boy instead of realizing what had really happened.” Zone finally looked up from the floor to find the entire room staring in rapt attention. “I just. . . my point is that we all have things that are embarrassing. Like, career-wrecking embarrassing. It really blows that the media got yours, so I thought it might help if you knew one of mine.”

Bubble Bubble stared at him for a long moment, then snorted out a snotty, half-cough of a laugh. It was a bit disgusting after all the tears, but it was also beautiful to hear. Owen realized it might be the first time he’d ever heard Bubble Bubble laugh, or do anything, without carefully measuring her response.

“I was in a porno,” Galvanize said slowly. “Not as an actor—well, I mean, I acted but. . . I was the guy who found the real performers in the ball pit, and no, that is not a play on words.”

“Holy shit!” Hexcellent yelped. “Mr. Fly Right was in a skin flick. Please tell me you used a fake name.”

“I didn’t choose one, but they listed me as Rock Thruster.” Galvanize hung his head in shame while the rest of the laughed and hooted nearly uncontrollably. “It was before I decided to do rescue work, and I had a friend on set. You all get the idea.”

Eyes turned slowly to Hexcellent, who was enjoying her chuckles so much she didn’t notice until the stares had gotten awkward. “Oh! Um. . . shit. You all pretty much know my dark and dirty secrets. Drugs, sex, rock-and-roll, all paired with a nice side of petty crimes.” She looked at Bubble Bubble who, was, in spite of everything around her, smiling just a touch.

“But. . . oh fuck it. Like most Supers I got my powers when I was a kid, so my first summon wasn’t Impers. It was a bunny I named Hopcules, because he was strong and brave, and I called him up because I was afraid of the dark.”

“You are shitting us,” Bubble Bubble said. “You,
you
had a summon that was a fluffy bunny? I have to see this to believe it.”

“Sorry, but I can’t call it up anymore,” Hexcellent said. “Summons are pretty tied up in who summoners are mentally, and I haven’t been that naïve little kid for a long time. I swear on my tattoos and vintage albums, though, it’s the god’s honest truth.”

“As for me, everyone here knows my big secret: destroyed my own marriage because I couldn’t be honest about who I was, even to myself,” Owen said. “I wasn’t like you, Bubble Bubble. I fucked up my own life; you’re just caught in someone else’s blowback. If it’s too much and you have to go, I definitely understand. But if you want to stay and fight to keep that image you worked so hard for, know that everyone in this room has got your back.”

Bubble Bubble looked around to see all of her other teammates nodding and a fresh set of tears came to her eyes. It had been so very, impossibly long since anyone had ever looked out for her. Ten minutes earlier she would have bet all her money that no one cared about her beyond what she offered business-wise. Now that she realized she might be wrong, Bubble Bubble wasn’t quite so keen to give these people up just yet.

72.

               “I need a favor.”

“Are we going to just replace ‘hello’ with that now? First you’re trying to set me up on a public speaking gig at Zero’s behest, what can be worse?” Lenny sounded tired, which surprised Owen even with the late hour. Given that the city had seen some actual Hero action during the day, he imagined Lenny would still be up, wheeling and dealing and making sure his clients came out looking great.

“That one wasn’t even for me; I was just passing along the message since you don’t take phone calls from retired Heroes.”

“Now, now, be fair. I take them if they’re from my old clients,” Lenny reminded him. “But I can’t go returning every message I get during the day. I’d spent all my time talking to wanna-be clients instead of working for the ones I’ve got.”

Cold as it seemed, Owen knew Lenny was actually being more honest than arrogant. There were tons of agents in the Hero world, some okay, some awful, and a few tremendous. As a man who fell into the third category, Lenny was in high demand. He could have taken on every Hero that was willing to sign. Others before him had. But it would have dropped the amount of attention he could give each one. Lenny had chosen quality of clientele over quantity throughout the years, and his reputation had flourished for it. Unfortunately, that meant if he actually did grant Owen’s favor then Owen would owe him
huge
.

“It’s actually kind of about that,” Owen said, gathering up his nerve to charge the verbal hill. “I’m assuming you saw what happened to my teammate, Bubble Bubble, on the news today?”

“Sadly, yes. Scouring tabloids and skeevy news sites is one of the many fringe benefits of my illustrious job. Give the gal my condolences, by the way. She’s getting a raw fucking deal and anyone with half a brain in their head knows it.”

“Maybe so, but I want to drill it in to the ones with less than that half.” Owen idly ran his fingers over the battered sweatshirt he’d taken off, getting more concrete residue on his hand. It was now or never; the worst Lenny could say was no. “That’s the favor I need. I want you to take her on as a client.”

Silence screamed at him through the phone for several long, lingering seconds. When Lenny finally spoke, it wasn’t with annoyance, as Owen was expecting. In fact, even the weariness seemed to have disappeared from his agent’s voice. If anything, he seemed to be barely holding back chuckles of mirth as he responded.

“Sometimes, just sometimes, I honestly forget how big a pair of brass ones you’ve got swinging down there. To be clear: you want me to take on as a client, for the first time ever, a corpie. And not one that’s prime real estate, but one going through a media shitstorm that will likely end up torpedoing her career.”

“She’s probably toast,” Owen agreed. “Unless someone with real skill, a legendary level of talent, were to take her on and steer her to safe shores.”

“Flattery, a nice touch. Little overt, but that’s about what I expect from you.” Owen could hear Lenny sigh. He imagined his agent pacing about, weighing the pros and cons while time was pitted against potential income in that balding head of his. “Listen, Titan, you and me go back a long way, and there’s not much I wouldn’t do for you if needed, but that’s for you. This girl is going to need a hell of a lot of work to keep afloat, and even more if she wants to come out ahead. Truthfully, that might not be a bad thing, though. I’ve been thinking about taking on a few of the corpies with real earning power out there, and pulling her from the fire would be the best exposure I could ask for to show them what I bring to the table. That said, this one isn’t going to be free.”

“Tell me what you want,” Owen said.

“You know damned well what I want,” Lenny shot back. “This year’s Intramurals have two of the supposedly heaviest hitters to come out of the HCP in a decade squaring off against each other. I want what no other agent gets: a seat at the show to judge them for myself.”

“This year it’s being held at Lander, I’ve got almost no clout there. If it were Sizemore, sure, I could swing a few things, but all I’ve got at Lander is kids who won’t talk to me. Why not do the talk for Blaine? He’s more likely to be able to get you in.”

“Already agreed to that, but he’s not sure he can swing it. All he could promise was support. Now, if someone still active in the field, someone who might still have a few markers to call in were to ring old friends in the Intramural Committee, that could give me the extra push I need to watch this firsthand.”

“I. . . can make some calls. That’s the most I’m able to promise, Lenny. A lot of people voided their chips to me when things went south and you know it. I’ll do everything I can, and I’ll take on some favors if needed, but that doesn’t mean I can make you a promise.” Owen had once been a man who prided himself on never breaking his word. Despite the fact that this character feature had ultimately unraveled along with the rest of his life, he still made it a point not to make a promise unless he truly believed he could keep it.

“Tell you what: you promise me that you’ll do your best and I’ll let it ride for now.” A soft
fwump
of sound filled the receiver, and Owen knew that Lenny had just let himself fall into his favorite easy chair.

“Really?”

“Really. I’m not dumb, I know you can only do so much. Still, you’re a determined guy. If you say you’ll give it your all, then that’s the most I can ask for. Make me that promise, and you can send the girl by tomorrow morning. I doubt she has any other pressing appointments to make. I’m not agreeing to take her on whole hog just yet, but I can at least help get her through the rough patch.”

Owen let out a long sigh of relief. Just knowing Lenny would help made the whole situation less scary and more manageable. He wondered if this was how people felt when they saw a Hero drop in on a scene, like suddenly things might just be okay after all.

“I promise, Lenny. Anything I can do to get you a seat, I’ll do it. Calls start going out tomorrow.”

“Then tell your girl she has a new ally. It’ll be a hard road, but I’ve got a few ideas for how to spin things. Now if I can just make that damn dean push from his side, I might get treated to a real spectacle.”

“These kids supposed to be that strong?” Owen asked.

“Remember Hank Rhodes? One of them is his son.”

Owen indeed remembered Hank Rhodes; while the man hadn’t become a Hero, he was a Super of incredible power and often helped train Heroes when asked. He’d never met Hank’s son, but if his power was close to his father’s, he would be hell to defeat.

“Who’s the poor bastard going up against him?”

“Graham DeSoto’s granddaughter,” Lenny replied. “Both, by the way, undefeated in their entire time at the HCP. That’s something that, correct me if I’m wrong, not even the great Titan managed to accomplish.”

“No need to be mean about it,” Owen said. “I came a long way in those four years, and it’s not in how you start a race. It’s about how you finish.”

“Heh, well, you definitely finished strong. That was another Intramural I had to scheme, bribe, and favor my way in to watch. Worth it, though. You made for one hell of a show.”

“I like to think I still do.”

73.

              Owen was faced with a problem, one he wasn’t quite sure how to deal with. Despite having come up against this dilemma several times before, he still found himself semi-flummoxed each time it reared its head. In fact, it occurred with such regularity that it was amazing he managed to continue being surprised by it.