Super Girls (Cape High Book 13) (21 page)

“He gave US this job,” Rochester says, sitting at the top of a tree several miles from the newcomers. “What are a bunch of kids doing here? They're obviously capes--you can feel it from here.”

“Dad, I’m hungry,” Cisco says, sitting at the foot of the tree and staring out at the RV.

“I know,” Rochester says, jumping down lightly from the tree and stretching his arms over his head, “thing is… we’re broke.” He digs in his pockets, pulling out a handful of change and two rumpled looking dollar bills. Cisco gives him the dirtiest look a twelve-year-old can manage. Rochester shrugs a bit sheepishly, grinning slightly in a guilty manner. “There are two options,” he says, holding up two long, ringed fingers, “one, we go in town an’ try t’busk.”

“What’s the other?” Cisco asks.

“We rob the newcomers,” Rochester says. “I’d say we hit the old lady up for food, but the last time we tried that she whacked me with that cane of hers.”

“Shouldn’t the HALL be paying us?”

“It’s a… ‘you get paid if’ya accomplish it’ sort of gig,” Rochester says, shoving his hands into his pockets and shrugging.

“There’s a third option,” Cisco says, getting to his feet. “We ask them.”

“What?” Rochester asks, watching in shocked silence as his son walks off, heading to the large fire pit. The fire they’ve created is massive—towering well into the sky. “Kid—” he starts off, only to curse and chase after Cisco as the boy reaches the campsite by the street. “This ain’t gonna turn out well,” he mutters.

“This is really good sa—AAARGH!” Vinny screams, jumping to his feet and then onto the roof of the RV. I’m staring. No, seriously, I’ve NEVER seen Vinny scream in my life. That Kaden’s freaking out as well is sort of ignored, because VINNY is freaking out. Vinny doesn’t freak out. This is just so weird.

“What the--” Flame asks as Vinny raises a shaky finger at the field’s edge. A blonde boy is stepping out of the field.

“Child of the corn!” Vinny whimpers.

I start to laugh. This is just TOO FUNNY!

“It’s not funny—he’s gonna kill us all,” Kaden says, only to stop and frown. “Well, no, I’m not eighteen yet,” he says after a long moment before sitting down. “Vinny, I’m eating your dinner! It won’t go to waste that way.”

Vinny panicking is funny, but I abruptly realize that I have no idea what they’re talking about. I turn my attention to the newcomer, who looks really confused. He’s not alone.

“Hi, there,” I say, getting to my feet. “Where are your parents, little boy?” I ask. He looks about ten, maybe a little older.

He gives me a sharp look, which quickly changes to a sad one. “My ma’s dead,” he says pathetically. “It’s just me and my dad, and he’s dragged me off out to the middle of nowhere, and we’re starving,” he tells me, big silver eyes looking straight into mine. “I haven’t eaten in DAYS—”

I glance back at Vinny as he drops off the roof of the RV and heads inside, coming out with a new bag of sausages. “Why don’t you sit down,” I say, motioning to one of the large logs sitting around the fire. “We’ll get you a stick and you can cook up a sausage.”

“Thank you!” the boy says, throwing his arms around my waist. I jump as I feel his hand brush my butt, a bit shocked. The hand moves to my waist and I write it off as a slip of the hand.

“It’s fine,” I say, patting him on the back a bit awkwardly. “Why don’t I get you a stick?” I offer.

“Cisco!” a man says, appearing at the edge of the campground. “Where’d you get to, y’little punk?”

“Dad! They’re going to feed us,” the boy calls back.

The man that steps into the clearing is tall, whipcord lean, long legged, and as blonde as his son. It’s so blonde that a shade or two lighter would be white. He’s got more piercings than Jack used to—both ears have them all the way up to the cartilage, and there’s a stud under his lips. He even has his EYEBROW pierced, I think, staring at him for a moment too long. His arms are almost black with tattoos, and his fingers are decorated with more jewelry than Justin tends to wear. He doesn’t look much older than Vinny, though. I mean, like, I could see him passing as twenty-one, although I bet he gets carded—but he’s got a kid that’s got to be at least ten! Seeing his dad, I bet he’s older. He totally touched my butt on purpose, didn’t he?

“Who are you?” Flame asks the newcomer, his eyes narrowed slightly. “And what are you doing on South Branch land?”

For a second the man looks over at him, a sharp expression in silver eyes that aren't as metallic looking as my Dad’s. He seems to be thinking, but his expression changes quickly, a cheerful smile on his face as he crosses over and offers Flame his hand. “Rochester Scythe,” he says. Flame looks at the hand offered, but does nothing. “There’s this crazy lady living over there that hired us,” he explains.

“Shouldn’t you be eating there, then?” Flame asks even as Vinny hands Cisco a stick and the bag of sausages.

“Well, she’s crazy,” Rochester says. “She thinks we’re here to hunt ghosts.”

“Ghosts? Seriously?” I hear myself ask. Look, I’m a Christian, sure, and I believe that there’s a spirit realm and all that—well, you know, where it can’t really be seen or heard, or anything, but ghosts? “Like in a horror movie?” I ask, still trying to wrap my mind around it. I guess I believe in ghosts, I decide after a long moment. I’ve just never seen one, other than on TV.

“Strange sounds, things bein’ moved without anyone helpin’, cold chills down your spine, runnin’ off entire construction companies,” Rochester lists idly. “I ain’t sure it’s a ghost, I won’t lie, but the old lady seems certain it is.”

“What is she still doing here?” Flame asks.

“She claims she owns the land,” Rochester says, giving up on shaking and dropping down next to his son. He steals the stick and bag of sausages. For a second he just holds the stick, looking at it thoughtfully, and then he skewers a sausage.

“She says she’s going to prove she’s not crazy and that there IS a ghost,” Cisco says, taking the hotdog bun Vinny offers, along with the condiments. “So Dad says we’re going to find the ghost. If I were you, though, I’d leave now.”

“I’m not afraid of ghosts,” I declare boldly. “I came here to do a job and I’m going to do it.”

“You’ll be sor-
rry
,” Cisco says, looking over at me. “The ghost’s ran off guys twice your size.”

“Yeah? Well they weren’t me,” I say stubbornly and grab the bag of marshmallows to make a s’more.

***

“Welp, we’re screwed,” Rochester says as they watch the group head into the RV later that night. He and Cisco had left after dinner, but they can still see the other group from their new campsite.

“What do you mean?” Cisco asks.

“The redhead? He’s Flameblaster. I brushed against him before leaving, since he didn’t wanna shake,” Rochester says, heading for their camp. “They sent in an already hired cape t’deal with the problem. What do y’think of West Branch?”

“But why is he with kids?” Cisco asks.

“Don’t even suggest Central—I ain’t nowhere near their level,” Rochester goes on, completely ignoring him. “Accordin’ to the fansite, the only A classes they got are Mega and Falconess, right? Maybe one or two others, but nobody that gets screen time. That’s the A CLASS, kid. Down here, they got Century, who’s S, Voltdrain, who’s Specialized S, an’ Flameblaster, who’s a really high A, or Specialized S, dependin’ on who you ask. The rest are my range or lower. I’m good with second fiddle, or more likely, the dirty jobs--”

“Dad,” Cisco says sharply. “I’m sick and tired of running.” He kicks a rock, sending it flying. “Why don’t we at least TRY to find the ghost? The Hall can fight it out with the old lady after that. But… if we don’t get him within a week, we can leave, okay?”

Rochester sighs, running a hand over his face and shrugging. Casually he opens his guitar case and pulls out his guitar. It’s the only thing worth money that he hasn’t sold—cherry red electric, complete with a built in amp for all the street corner playing he’s done in the past. He tunes it by ear, and starts to play one of his “thinking songs.” Cisco waits impatiently, irritated with his dad’s bad habits yet again. A part of it is guilt, he admits silently, watching Rochester stare down at his guitar with an unconscious smile. His dad would have been perfectly happy spending the rest of his life playing guitar, but because of him, they had to find a Hall.

Cisco had outed himself when he’d been grabbed by a cop and saw into his past. He’d started screaming. Seeing the memories of being shot tended to freak a guy out, okay? At least it had him. The cop had been a bit freaked, as well—he’d only been grabbing Cisco because the shop owner accused him of shoplifting. To have the kid start screaming in horror at a light grab was definitely not expected. Even after he’d let go, Cisco had been pale faced and panting. They’d let him sit in the office as they called his dad. The media and YouTube ate it up, saying that the cop was hurting him, or that something even worse was going on. It had gone viral.

Rochester and Cisco were packed and gone within half an hour, leaving no trace behind. All of their friends, all of their makeshift family (mostly old men that played in the band with Rochester) all left behind. “I miss Sam,” Cisco says quietly, speaking of the old black man that had been teaching him to play the drums.

“We’ll find you another teacher when we get into a Hall,” Rochester says, not missing a note.

“It’s more than just that,” Cisco says, his hands fisting. “I was happy—you were happy. We were finally someplace… right. It’s all my fault,” he whispers.

“It is NOT your fault,” Rochester says, finally stopping and putting the guitar away. He moves in front of his son, crouching so they’re eye to eye. “The first time it happened t’me, I did a lot like you did. I didn’t expect it, didn’t want it, an’ I sure as hell didn’t know how t’deal with it. What you did was natural,” he says, firmly. “I know anyone woulda done the same.”

“I should have kept my mouth shut,” Cisco declares.

“And now you can,” Rochester says. “Now c’mon, I can at least teach you t’play the guitar, if not the drums. Soon y’won’t even need a teacher, you’ll just have'ta touch the instrument a master’s already played.” Or a weapon, he thinks silently, but he doesn’t want his kid fixating on that part of their abilities.

“Are we going to find the ghost?” Cisco asks.

“We’re gonna find the ghost,” Rochester says reluctantly, looking up as a cold breeze brushes over them. “Prob’ly sooner than we want to.”

***

The sound of the guitar is keeping me awake. I can only assume it’s that Rochester guy—unless it’s the ghost. Okay, I might, or might not be jumping at every little sound, wondering if there really IS a ghost.

“Are ghosts real?” Kaden asks, echoing my thoughts in an uncanny manner.

“Ghosts aren’t real, go back to sleep,” Vinny says in a tired voice.

“How do you know they aren’t real?” Kaden asks him. “Maybe you’ve just never run into one before. I mean, there’s all sorts of weird stuff in the world—and Santa’s real.”

“How are Santa and ghosts alike?” Vinny asks.

“You never see them, but they exist?” Kaden offers. “They’re both sort of strange and watch you when you don’t know they are? I mean, ‘He knows when you are sleeping,’ is pretty disturbing, if you ask me.”

“Nico knows when you’re sleeping, too, you know. He’s probably listening in right now--that’s just a part of our lives, lately. Besides, we don’t KNOW that Santa exists. You’ve been listening to Carla too much lately,” Vinny says. “Zoe? You’d know, right? Does Santa exist?”

“Why would I know?” I ask, giving up on pretending to be asleep. I have no comment about Dad checking in--he’s probably right. Dad’s nosy like that. That, and why else would he let me go off with a team of almost all boys? He’s probably watching us like a hawk.

“Because Superior lives up in the Arctic Circle, where Santa’s supposed to live, right? You can’t tell me he hasn’t run into the guy.”

“Maybe Cosmic is Santa,” I say, thinking about it. “That would make Duplicitous Mrs. Claus—which would mean that Mrs. Claus is an ex-bank robber.” There’s silence for a moment before everyone in the RV, even Kate and Flame, start to laugh.

“I can’t un-see it,” Kaden says, rolling over and dragging his pillow over his head. “How can I ever sit through Carla talking about going to the North Pole, imagining Mrs. Claus the bank robber?” he demands dramatically.

“She could stick people up with a loaded candy cane,” Vinny says.

“Loaded with what?” I ask.

“Gumdrops.”

“Riiiiight,” I drawl, snorting. “I could almost see Cosmic as Santa—if he wore a wig and a fake belly suit, or something, but I definitely can’t see Duplicitous as Mrs. Claus. Besides, they’ve only been retired since, what, the eighties? Santa’s been around forever.”

“They pass the mantle down, right?” Flame offers. “Like we do as capes. Once Vinny’s a full-time South Branch cape, I plan on retiring for a while, maybe heading to the islands for an extended vacation.”

“Just for that, I’m staying Central,” Vinny says.

“I should have known you would say that,” Flame drawls.

Before anyone else says anything, though, I feel the faint hum of electricity still running through the van flip off. The others might not even notice, but I sit straight up, looking around wildly. When I sense no obvious cause—such as a blown fuse or something, I get to my feet and head to the discreetly placed power box to the side of my bunk.

“What’s wrong?” Kate asks from her bunk over the driver’s seat.

“Someone killed our RV,” I say, opening the box and touching the wires.

“I turned it off—”

“No, you turned the engine off,” I say. “I refitted the RV to run off of our energies, letting things such as air conditioning, defenses, and the Wi-Fi to continue working whether the RV is on or not. When you’ve got a car full of B and higher class capes, you should take advantage of it—one of the first things Dad taught me,” I explain, only half paying attention to my words. The rest of my mind is checking the wires for whatever I might have missed. Sure I could turn it back on, but if there IS a faulty wire, I could risk burning it down. Then we’d be stuck here.

“Nothing,” I say after a very thorough check. Mentally I start it back up, hearing the humming sound—

One of the switches under my hand flips, turning it off again.

I let out a tiny scream, jumping back and bumping into Kaden’s bunk. The RV lights up as Flame and Vinny move in front of me, their hair on fire. “What happened?” Flame demands.

“The switch went off—all on its own. It wasn’t me, and it wasn't a breaker blowing,” I say, still freaked out.