Superheroes Anonymous (14 page)

His hand stilled on the suction cups. “You're probably the last person I want to talk to about this, okay?”

I understood. It was my fault, indirectly, that he was here. So I nodded.

“Don't move your head, I'm still getting these on you.”

“I'm sorry,” I said.

He caught the subtext. This time, he sighed, a drawn-­out noise. He stepped back to look at me. Not intensely. Just so that he could make eye contact. “Oh, well,” he said. “It's not like it's your fault, really. Not like you were asking to become Hostage Girl, right?”

“Yeah, that was a gift I always wanted to return.” And now I was living and existing near said superhero and that was a little weird for me. I frowned when Jeremy pulled out his cell phone and aimed it at the suction cups on my head. “What are you doing?”

“Calibrating the interface.” Something buzzed in the back of my head, and I frowned. It hurt a little, but the pain faded almost right away.

So instead I stared jealously at Jeremy's phone. “I wish I had one of those.”

“A holographic interface?”

“No, stupid. A phone.”

He lowered the phone. “Davenport didn't issue you one?”

I grumbled under my breath. “I'm in a media blackout. My TV doesn't even work, and they're not telling me anything, so I have
no
idea what happened to the guy who did this to me. It's really annoying.”

“Is it? I'm feeling really disconnected from everything, but mostly I just want a phone so I can play games again.” I wasn't the gamer that Jeremy was—­he liked first-­person shooters and role-­play games, and I was content trying to get to new levels on Happy Pigs—­but I bet with my new, isotope-­given reflexes, I'd have some killer high scores. “You never really know how much you miss having a phone until you don't have one.”

“Media blackout? That's weird, even for them.” He pocketed the phone and adjusted something on my headset, and the buzzing in the back of my head started up again.

“How'd you lose the old one?”

“Not sure, but I'm going to guess Dr. Mobius trashed it.”

Thinking about Dr. Mobius made me wonder again. My memories from the night he'd woken me up and drugged me were still patchy, but I distinctly remembered that he'd said “they're here,” not “Blaze is here.” Though maybe it was a good thing that my memory wasn't the greatest as I really didn't want to relive getting hit with a minivan in stark detail, honestly.

“Girl.” Something touched my shoulder, and before I knew exactly what I was doing, I'd grabbed it and twisted it around. Jeremy yelped when I shoved his arm behind his back, expertly pinning him to the wall. “Uncle! I give! Let go!”

“Oh.” I dropped him and stumbled back a step. “Sorry—­sorry, reflex. I, ah. Just, sorry.”

Jeremy wiggled his arm to bring circulation back and whistled. “Wow. I am
never
sneaking up on you.
Ever
. Damn.” He hopped around, still shaking his shoulder and arm. “What were you even thinking about?”

“I, ah, I got distracted, sorry. I didn't mean to, just now, with you and the wall . . .”

“Either way.” He sounded a bit strangled, and naturally so. His five-­foot-­tall ex had pinned him to the wall. Something in his eyes told me he hadn't really put it together that I was superhuman now. He kept a healthy distance from me. “I've connected the electrodes, and they've started their currents. How do you feel?”

“I think I'm okay.” The buzz was growing a little, but I figured that was just part of the hologram program.

“Okay. I'm just going to be in the other room. If it gets to be too much, just shout, and I'll end the program.” He grinned. “But yeah, let's see how you fly without a superhero carrying you.”

He left me alone, closing the door behind him. I didn't see any observation windows in the walls, but that didn't surprise me. There were cameras in the corners. After a second, I heard the tiny whine that preceded an announcement over a loudspeaker, and Jeremy's voice filled the room. “Activating the program now. Brace yourself, okay? It's a bit of a shock.”

I nodded, since I figured he could see me, and settled into a resting stance.

“Three . . . two . . . one . . . Activating.”

The lights in the room dimmed. My fingertips started to twitch inward, a tic I'd never noticed before. “Is, um, something supposed to be happening?”

“I'm not—­actually, just wait for it, it's taking a minute to load . . .”

“Okay.” My insides began to tingle, starting in my chest. I felt a bit short of breath as the twitch in my fingertips grew bigger, moving from my palm, traveling up my wrists and into my elbows. My arms began to shake.

“Jeremy, I don't think this is such a good ide—­” was all I got out before darkness crashed in, taking me away from the room and its eternity walls.

 

Chapter Fourteen

“D
ID
I
SAY
it was okay for you to try the simulators?”

“No, Angélica.”

“Did I in any way, shape, or form even
hint
that it was okay for you to go anywhere near the simulators?”

My back hurt. “No, Angélica.”

“So what I want to know, in that case, is why you did, when you knew full well that you've got an isotope that has to be considered in every move you make?”

“Angélica.” From where he sat, across the room, Guy looked up from his book. “Give it a rest. She had no idea what the simulators would do to her.”

While I was grateful for Guy's support, I had to bite my tongue before I pointed out that I could fight my own battles. He had two years' worth of anecdotes to prove that wasn't actually the case. And besides, my battle at the moment was with a very irate Angélica, and I'd already learned trying to win against her was a long charge headfirst into futility. At least she'd stopped swearing at me in Portuguese.

“In my defense,” I said, wanting to move my feet and knowing better, “I told Jeremy that I didn't think it was a good idea. I just realized it too late.”

Angélica scowled and did another backflip. That was how she controlled her anger, I'd discovered. She'd been at it for hours while I worked on my standing strength. Oh, yes. Hours and hours. I knew that because we were rounding hour three. Guy's watch, on my wrist, said so.

I'd woken up in a strange room to find Kiki at my bedside. “You have visitors,” she'd said once she'd checked that I was awake and cognizant. “Jeremy sent you flowers. I said that it wasn't a big deal, but he was pretty insistent. I kept them on the nightstand for you.”

“Thanks,” I said, and promptly tried to crack my jaw open with a wide yawn. “Where am I?”

“Medical. You've been out for twelve hours or so. Want me to let the visitors in?”

“Um, who are they?”

“Angélica and Guy.”

Slowly, I sat up. For the first time in forever, I appeared to have woken up in a hospital room and nothing hurt. “Can I take a rain check on that? I need a hairbrush and a minute.”

“No problem.” As if by magic, Kiki produced one from her satchel.

“You must be psychic,” I said as I tackled my curls.

“You're hilarious.” She'd brought breakfast with her, and she sat with me, chatting about what had happened. Apparently Jeremy had short-­circuited me by accident. When I finished relating my take on the incident, Kiki gave me an assessing stare.

“And why didn't you try to stop Jeremy?” she asked.

I felt an invisible pressure against the front of my head, so I leaned back, away from her. “I thought it was part of the simulation.”

She paused. “You felt that, just now?”

“Yeah, it was weird. What was it?”

“Your brain is a fascinating one, that's all,” Kiki said.

“Was that
you
? Were you—­were you trying to read my mind?”

She rose and brushed crumbs off of her pants. “I'm going to let Guy and Angélica in. Brace yourself. She's on the warpath.”

“What for?” I asked. I hadn't done anything wrong. It hadn't been my fault that I'd blacked out.

Angélica hadn't seen it that way. Which was why, hours after sharing breakfast with Kiki, I was back in the training room, working on my standing strength with my trainer routinely doing backflips to control her temper and my own personal superhero sitting across the room with a book in his lap.

His reaction, by the way, had been the opposite of Angélica's ire. He'd come into my room that morning with her and laid his single rose on the bedside table by my empty breakfast plate. And had said in a mock-­weary voice, “I go away to play guardian of the city for
one night,
and you manage to get yourself in trouble.”

“Just proves I don't need you around to make trouble, that's all,” I had said.

He'd laughed.

Now, six hours later, Angélica gave him a narrow-­eyed look. “Why aren't you at a board meeting or whatever it is you spoiled rich boys pretend to do during the day?”

Guy looked absolutely relaxed in his khaki shorts and T-­shirt. His feet were bare, just like mine. “I called in sick. I missed you and your sunny personality,” he said, smiling sweetly at her.

“Hah,” she said, but I felt her laugh. “You're just here for Girl.”

“Too right I am,” he said, and I felt a trill of excitement up my spine.

Angélica whipped around to glare at me. “Let's review,” she said, and Guy shot me a sympathetic look that she ignored. “Are you allowed anywhere near the simulators?”

“No,” I said, not bothering to sigh. She would only scold me for it. “And if I'm thinking about changing my diet, sleep schedule, workout schedule, if I want to have sex”—­I did not look at Guy—­“if I want to go on a three-­day bender, if I want to visit Miami and dance naked on the beach. Any of that, I check with you first.”

“Damn right you do,” she said.

I noticed that Guy was staring rather intently at his book. He hadn't turned the page in a while. I wondered if he was thinking of the Negligee Fiasco. Great. And
I
was thinking about the Negligee Fiasco. And about just how well Guy filled out that T-­shirt, and his skintight uniform and . . .

To make myself focus on my stance and back on matters at hand, I took a deep breath. “Why do superheroes wear such bright colors?” I asked without thinking. “I mean, you have to admit most of the outfits aren't the least bit fashionable. Look at Shark-­Man.”

“Sharkbait,” Angélica said fondly, grinning.

Guy's intent look turned into a scowl.

“His outfit has to be the dumbest thing I've ever seen,” I said, trying not to concentrate too much on the fact that Sharkbait was the one Guy had beaten up over my life-­or-­death odds chart. Whoops. “I mean, does the man just love the color gray or something?”

“Sharkbait's the odd man out,” Guy said, closing a finger in his book to mark his place. He regarded me. “We wear bright colors so that ­people will see us coming.”

“But won't the villains see you coming, too?”

“That doesn't matter.” Guy shrugged at my dubious look. “Bright colors signify the hope we're bringing to the ­people we rescue.”

I remembered how safe I'd always felt whenever I'd seen the flash of green streaking the horizon, knowing that Blaze had arrived at long last to pull me out of whatever stupid situation the villains had created. And I totally understood Guy's point.

Guy wasn't finished. He nodded at Angélica. “If you want to talk about bright costumes, ask this one here.”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “Don't you dare.”

“Bright, burns-­your-­corneas red,” Guy said. “A one-­piece with a little red sash and a red headband. Quite a fashion statement.”

I turned my head to gawk at Angélica. “You were on active duty? How come you didn't tell me? And why are you in here training me when you're good enough to be out there saving the day?”

“One question at a time,” she said, still glaring at Guy in a way that promised payback. “Yes, I was on the front lines, as you put it. I was happy there, but you have to follow your calling. My calling, Gail, is to help my fellow superheroes. Many of us come here without a clue of what we can do, how far we can push ourselves. If we know that, then we know what we can do to help. I like helping ­people discover that.”

“By punching them in the face?” I asked.

“We do,” Angélica said, “what we can do to help. And for that little bit of attitude, you can spread your feet wider.”

I sighed and obeyed, though my thighs ached like nothing else.

“And you've never heard of me unless you're familiar with the Rio de Janeiro lineup of superheroes, so there's no need to bother you with my alias,” Angélica said in a tone that signaled that this was all she was going to tell me about that.

I was dying of curiosity, but I nodded. Pushing Angélica to tell me something she didn't want to usually ended in bruises. “Red, huh? How bright was it?” I asked instead.

“My outfit was not as garish as Guy claims. I like color. I do not feel there is anything wrong with that.” She batted at her ear so that the silver dangles with the bright yellow beads glittered and sparkled in the light. “And Guy had better stop giving away my secrets if he knows what's good for him.”

Guy snickered. “She's probably right, but you know how it is, Gail. It's fun to bait her.”

“If you say so,” I said. “What about you, Guy? What's your calling?”

I didn't see him tense; I felt it. It was like the air currents between us electrified and jumped to life. I'd stumbled upon a touchy subject.

Angélica rescued me this time. “He likes to save the pretty girls,” she said, and tapped my shoulder with the back of her hand. “Step your right foot forward more and stretch out your hips.”

I asked the question that always seemed to be on my mind nowadays. “When's lunch?”

“Stretch your hips, kid.” Angélica mock-­scowled. “Now, for one more time, let's review. Somebody says, ‘Hey, let's go play in the simulators,' and you say . . .”

I sighed. “No, Angélica.”

“Good.”

“But seriously. Lunch?”

A
FTER L
UNCH,
A
NGÉLICA
declared herself tired of me, and headed back to talk to Cooper and Kiki about the effects of my stunt the night before.

“How do you feel?” Guy asked, as we left the cafeteria.

“Like I had a tiny, terrifying Brazilian woman glaring ferociously at me all morning.”

He grinned at that. “She really likes you.”

“If you say so. How long did you have to train with her before you went into the field?”

“Not long. I was . . . a special circumstance is probably the best way to put it. I was already seeking out villains to fight before Davenport discovered me.”

“So was I, though I didn't actually seek anybody out,” I said. “Davenport wouldn't have nabbed me if not for Chelsea. And if it hadn't been Chelsea, it would have been some other villain some other day. I'm foolhardy that way.”

“Where are you getting that idea?”

“I don't know. Past experience, probably.”

His frown deepened. “You don't think the villain attacks are your fault, do you?”

“I didn't always help things along,” I said. “You remember what happened with Shock Value—­”

“Let's not talk about Shock Value.” He made a face.

“Yeah, his costume, talk about design flaws.”

“No, I mean . . .” He broke off and cleared his throat. “Gail, do you know why you're a legend?”

I turned my head to give him a look, trying to figure out where he was going with this. I wasn't sure I liked being a legend within a secret society like this one. “Because there's a chart betting on whether I'll survive the next villain attack?”

“Who told you about that? Actually, never mind, I know who. You're a legend because you've survived things that not even a cockroach could.”

I wrinkled my nose at that mental image. “Yuck.”

“I mean it. If it had been anybody else in all of those hostage situations and train derailings and every other thing those bastards put you through . . .” For a moment, he looked to be in actual pain. I almost reached up to pat his arm or something, but pulled my hand back. We weren't on that level yet. “If it had been anybody else, they wouldn't have survived it.”

“I don't know about that,” I said.

Guy shook his head. “And you're selfless. After all you've been through, you'd think you would be the first one out through the doors when the bank's held up, or a madman takes over the mall. But you always insist on others going first. Every time.”

“Whoa, whoa, wait a minute. You're giving me way too much credit.”

“Am I?” Guy continued to stare at the floor. I wished he would look at me.

“You are,” I said. “I made the others go first because I knew you would be there. Corny as it sounds, until you went to Miami, you had a perfect batting average of saving my life. Others might not have been so lucky. So it's not selfless if I know I'm going to be okay.”

“What if you hadn't been okay?” Guy asked.

“I had faith that you were going to be there. And you were.”

Guy finally looked up from the tiles to meet my eyes. “You really did,” he said, tilting his head. “Didn't you?”

“I tend to be honest to the point of blunt,” I said. Something fluttered low in my belly. Without the mask, his eyes looked different. Not as vibrant, and softer and friendlier. “I'm not that complex. If I like a person, I tend not to lie to them.”

Slowly, he smiled. “So you like me, huh?”

“I mean, you're okay, I wouldn't get a big head or anyt—­hey!” I laughed when he gave me a tiny shove to the shoulder. “So that's how it is, huh?”

Guy bit his lower lip, but he was smiling now instead of looking serious. “You asked about my place,” he said. “Would you like to come see it?”

“Sure. It's not like I have anything else to do.”

“I heard. I've got a fix for that.”

And he led me in the opposite direction of my modest little suite.

“W
OW.
J
UST—­JUST WOW.
All of this is
yours
?” In wide-­eyed wonder, I did a slow rotation in the middle of Guy's loft, drinking in the sheer amount of space.

Guy shifted his feet, a bit embarrassed now that I was gawking like a tourist. “Not all mine. I share it with Sam.”

“War Hammer,” I said, and earned a surprised look. “Vicki had a date with him last night.”