Wearing the Cape 4: Small Town Heroes (5 page)

“You can relax, ladies,” he assured us as we settled and he got us moving. “Traffic is clear, and certain sources assure me that there is zero chance of paparazzi tailing us tonight.”
 
That let me breathe easier, but I suddenly wished I’d thought to borrow a pair of Anonymity Specs, anyway. Professional paparazzi might not be the only problem.

Dane and Annabeth had officially set a date for next spring, and tonight was supposed to be both a girlfriends’ celebration and the meeting when Julie handed us all our responsibilities. Annabeth’s mom was long-divorced from her dad and not in the picture, and Annabeth changed her own mind as often as she changed everything else but Dane so she’d thankfully surrendered to Julie’s usurpation.

And it all might not be as
private
as we wanted.

Of all the complications I’d dreaded from being outed as Astra last year, having fans put my
friends
’ lives under a microscope hadn’t been one of them. Facebook pages, Twitter accounts, the fact that every phone was a camera, meant that anyone could know almost as much about you as your closest friends—and be loudly judgy about it.

It wasn’t all one-sided and the Bees were using the exposure to develop an amazing platform from which to launch their fashion business once they graduated. But complete strangers now knew Megan was gay and got to comment on it. Not that she’d kept it in the closet, but she didn’t exactly fly her gay flag or join the campus clubs or demonstrations—she voted Republican, although
that
might be from a desire to shock. And so she got criticized for not being
proud
enough or showing solidarity.

Ugh
, and so bizarre.

And even Dane and
Annabeth
got unfair criticism; they were marrying too
young
, making Big Decisions before they were even old enough to drink. Did it matter that they’d been Danabeth for nearly five years, Dane had a promising soccer career, and neither of them was hurting for money to start a family with?
No
. Annabeth even got grief for never having dated anyone else, for announcing she wanted babies and soon, for planning to change cities if Dane didn’t get picked up by our local Chicago Fire.

Double Ugh.

All of that was a big reason for choosing Fancies; special occasion aside, the establishment catered to a lot of rich and celebrity patrons so we could count on privacy.

New Tom pulled us up under Fancies’ front canopy and a valet attendant opened our door. The Bees waited for us in the lobby, just as glittering as Shell and me, and we stopped for hugs all around. They embraced Shell with the same enthusiasm (they already knew about her new look), but I frowned. Julie was always determined that Megan’s current romantic partner be included in our circle, but I didn’t see Clare anywhere.

I looked at Julie. She hovered behind Megan but wasn’t giving off any
Megan’s fragile right
now so don’t ask
vibes, so I relaxed.

Since Julie, Annabeth, and Megan lived in Palevsky Commons, we mostly hung out in the Pizza Cellar or Calvert House or one of the just-off-campus coffee shops or burger joints, but all of us came from money and were “poor college students” only in theory. Still, Fancies was upscale even for us; our hostess seated us in one of the smaller dining rooms, and since we were underage, the sommelier recommended a variety of spring and sparkling waters with fruit slices for each course.

And there were a
lot
of courses. Fancies boasted a tasting menu, which meant a parade of dishes; my favorites were
a chilled crab starter with roe and fragrant herbs, a cold milk soup with scallops and nasturtium, Wagyu beef ribeye with mustard seeds, the basil waffle fancy bread, and a dessert of rich custard garnished with coconut. There were lots of others, some very strange (can you say
molecular gastronomy
?). Some were definitely an acquired taste, like the oyster with huckleberries and lavender or broth garnished with edible flowers. And of course there were desserts, desserts, desserts.

All through the courses, Julie kept up a running monologue of wedding notes and plans, happily seconded by an Annabeth who only really cared about her wedding dress—provide Dane and the dress of her dreams and she’d be happy to be married by an Elvis in Las Vegas.

But it was off. Julie wasn’t as
intense
about her plans as she should have been. She kept looking at Megan, and Annabeth kept watching
me
. Shell didn’t pick up on anything, but she hadn’t had my three school years with the Bees.
What is going on
?

I finally put my fork down and asked just that.

“Guys?”

Julie dropped her spoon, looking caught. “Um. What?” Annabeth sighed, giving Megan a look that practically shouted
Tell her
.
 
I tried not to panic.

Megan sipped her soup. “Julie and I are together now. We picked tonight to tell you.” They shifted, obviously clasping hands under the table, while I opened and closed my mouth. My fingers tingled and my face felt cold.

Megan and Julie were together. Megan and Julie were together
and they hadn’t told
me
. They were staring at me, I wanted to cry, and it was the most selfish reaction in the world.
 
I almost blurted
How long?
but my social brain ruthlessly crushed it.
But Julie’s straight!
didn’t make it to my mouth either. When my inner editor gave up I did the only thing I could think of; I stood up, dashed around the table, and
hugged
them. As long as I was holding onto them, my inability to form a coherent sentence wouldn’t be taken horribly horribly wrong.

Julie cried, Megan laughed, Annabeth just smiled, happily misty, and we were good. My brain finally unlocked enough for me to manage a clichéd “How wonderful!” And I meant it, really. The rest of party went much more smoothly; obviously the wedding-date celebration had been an excuse in case Julie and Megan got cold feet—it had been a case of Annabeth’s riding them to “Tell Hope!” I managed to make all the right noises while feeling completely detached. The perfect cap on the night came as we were leaving, when a bottom-feeding paparazzi jumped out of the bushes and snapped shots of us outside, shouting questions about why I was partying when people’s homes were underwater.

New Tom almost shot him before he realized he wasn’t a threat. Annabeth punched him and then burst into tears. I was so numb I didn’t even think of asking Shell to wipe his camera’s memory.

Back at the Dome, Shell made herself scarce and I changed into workout clothes. Aches from my sparring match with Brian still lingered, but I had to punch something hard—and maybe scream where it could be mistaken for power-punching.

Screaming and punching is therapeutic, but it narrows your situational awareness; I didn’t hear Jacky until she said my name. My final scream wasn’t a power-punch.

“Sweet—! Jacky, are you
trying
to kill me?”

“What, no ‘great to see you’?” She stood there in full Artemis costume, hood back and black mask dangling from her hand.

“How did you— You got a ride, didn’t you?”

“Argonaut. That Jamaican boy knows how to fly and owes me a favor or two. I didn’t want my trip showing up on the DSA’s radar yet.”

So she’d recruited New Orleans’ resident Atlas-type to give her a lift. I nodded, shaking out my stinging fists.

She cocked an eyebrow. “No questions? Okay then, mind telling me what’s got your panties in a twist? It can’t be what Shell thinks it is.”

I grabbed my towel and wiped my forehead. “And what does Shell think it is?”

“Shell thinks you’re upset that Julie has discovered Megan is the love of her life—which makes no sense to her, either.”

“
No
.” I threw the towel at the wall. “If I’ve never had a problem with Megan’s orientation, why would I have one with Julie? None of the Bees are Catholic, even if Julie’s mom did make her go to catechism class. I’m upset because I didn’t
know
. I
missed
it! And they weren’t sure I’d be
happy
for them. Dammit!” I wiped my eyes. Maybe they weren’t any more sure of my feelings than Shell. Well, they would be.

Jacky nodded like she followed all that. “Right. More information?”

“Julie was Megan’s first crush, way back in middle-school. But Julie was straight, right? She picked out a boyfriend each year, just one, even if he didn’t last till spring. I’m pretty sure she traded in her ‘V’ senior year.”

But she hadn’t had any college boyfriends. Um.

“And?”

I blinked and refocused. “Megan didn’t have
any
romantic partners till our first year at U of C. She cycled through a bunch of them, then, but this year it’s just been Clare. I actually managed to meet Clare a couple of times, but she dropped out of the picture over winter break, at least that’s what Annabeth said.”

“So, you’re upset because you didn’t know Julie was bi?”

“
No
. Yes.
Nobody
knew in high school, not even Julie.” I laughed, not happily. “Megan—”

Had it been rooming together that did it? Or seeing Megan have a serious girlfriend for the first time? I scrubbed my face. Julie had the most solid sense of self-identity of anyone I knew—going from
I’m straight
, to
I’m in love with my BF
, must have been terrifying, and I was being horribly selfish making it about
me
.

Taking a deep breath, I let it out with a sigh.

“They might have needed me, they might— We were supposed to be roomies, and I was
here
. I’m upset because they didn’t share, and I’m upset because I’m upset, and I’m upset because I can’t
change
it. I
can’t
be there, and that won’t change any time soon.
Damn
it!”

I retrieved the towel, dropped it in its bin.

It always came around to this, and I was tired of it. I knew it would get better; Ajax had managed to balance wearing the cape with family and a successful academic career. U of C had just named the new Superhuman Studies department for him, unveiled his statue on the campus quad.
Hero, Scholar, Teacher
: not a bad memorial, not a bad life. The tradeoffs still sucked, but I was done thinking about it.

“Let’s just—let’s just go.”

“Good.” Jacky could see I’d moved on, and approved. She fell into step beside me. “Because I’ve been to the town you dreamed about, and if your dream was prophetic then we’re in deep shit.”

“Oh. Joy.”

“A historical fact: In FDR’s last speech, the one he never gave because he died the day before he was scheduled to give it, he concluded ‘Today we have learned in the agony of war that great power involves great responsibility’. It’s a ringing statement of an unoriginal declaration. A famous fictional superhero’s uncle said it more recently. Voltaire said it, and Jesus Christ long before him: ‘To whom much is given, much is expected.’ Clichés become clichés because they state human truths; the power to act is the responsibility to act, or not to act, but most of all to act wisely. If there is no God to hold us accountable, we do the job ourselves.”

Prof. Charles Gibbons (Ajax), Class Lectures.

Having something else to think about actually improved my mood, not that it could have gotten much worse.

Jacky took us down to her rooms. She still used them; last fall when she’d come back to Chicago to help find me during my accidental “abduction,” she’d stayed a couple of weeks to do a little cleanup in her old neighborhood.
 
Goons, minions, local street-gangs, they’d all had to be retaught that engaging in business or recreation in
Artemis’
territory was a bad idea. Now she came back for random nights every week or three.

How did she sow that much terror with a short drop-by? Nobody died, and more than that I didn’t want to know. Cowardly? Yes, but I
liked
Jacky, a lot. I didn’t want to know anything that might make me have to judge.

And she’d moved her coffee shrine to her rooms—she didn’t trust the newbies with it—so I got to sit and watch her work. It was almost like watching a formal tea ceremony; she measured and prepared ingredients with ritual precision. Ozma said Jacky would make an excellent witch if she’d had a spark of magic, and the air filled with the brain-melting aroma of roasted and ground coffee bean fine enough to make the most exacting gourmand cry.

“Irish Ka’u,” she said, setting my cup down.
 
“Hawaiian Ka’u bean, one jigger of Irish cream and Irish whisky, a little chocolate and nutmeg. One cup would knock out someone as light as you if you weren’t, you know, the Iron Maid.”

That got a tired giggle; the first time she’d called me that in range of my dad’s—
Iron Jack’s
—hearing had been a treat. I cautiously sipped—not a fan of liquor—and sighed. Perfect.
 
Before she settled down with her own cup, Jacky put a ring-sized jewelry box on the dining nook table. Flipping it open, she touched the elegant pearl-cluster ring inside and nodded. I ignored the weird procedure, even when the pearls started glowing.

“A gift from Shell.” Sipping her drink, she watched the pearls. “I use it when I talk to her from home. Twenty-second century tech from the Teatime Anarchist’s box of tricks, absolutely unbreakable anti-bugging countermeasure.”

“Oh.
Oh
.” I couldn’t help looking around. If Jacky didn’t think that even the
Dome
was secure…

Jacky shrugged. “She didn’t recognize the water-tower. That tells me it’s a secret that managed to even stay out of the Anarchist’s future-files. I don’t know if that’s good or not, but before we talk to anybody else about this,
you
need to decide whether or not opening this door is a good idea.”

“A good—what— Jacky!”

“What if I told you to just leave this door closed? No more questions? I don’t know what game that freaky ghost-fox is running, but… You get enough scrutiny from Certain People because of Shell. This is a secret that might take it to another level. Serious Need-To-Know stuff.”

“What would they do if they decided I don’t need to know?”

“Probably send someone like me to make it so that you
don’t
.”

And that opened a whole different can of worms; I didn’t ask if she used her vampiric mind-powers on people, and she didn’t tell. I touched my neck, jerked my hand down when I realized what I was doing.

If I say the wrong thing, will I remember this conversation?

Her mouth twisted as she followed the thoughts I couldn’t keep out of my face, but she didn’t instantly reassure me. She looked suddenly dark and dangerous, watching me over the rim of her cup, and I shivered. Being her friend made it too easy for me to forget she wasn’t
safe
, and I waited till I could keep my voice steady. Not that she’d ever hurt me, just…

“Do I get to know what you might make me forget?”

Her face didn’t change, but the
danger
drained away and I wondered if she’d been mentally pushing me already, testing. Why?

“Have you ever heard of
Guantánamo Bay?”

I blinked. “No… Is it in Mexico? It sounds Spanish.”

She snickered. “Good guess—the Spanish held it until we took it from them in the Battle of Guantánamo Bay. The Spanish-American War? It’s the war nobody ever remembers, and anyway Guantánamo Bay is on the south end of Cuba, which means it’s the ass-end of nowhere as far as the public is concerned. It’s ours under a perpetual lease. We don’t trust the new Tyrant of the Most Serene Republic of Cuba any more than we did Castro, but we’re willing to leave His Tyrannical Excellence alone as long as he leaves Guantánamo Bay alone.”

“
Why?
”

I couldn’t help but shiver again, for a different reason. Last year Shell and I had helped intercept and knock out a missile launched by an insane Verne-type supervillain—a missile what would have triggered a high-orbit EMP attack and killed millions in the power-crash. The Overlord had been hiding on the tiny island of Celubra and it had been our Caribbean Fleet that had taken him out. The after-action intelligence had given it a good bet that he’d been funded or at least tolerated by the mysterious superhuman master of Cuba.

“Because we can’t afford to lose the place. It’s where we tucked Camp Necessity.”

“And Camp Necessity is…”

“My home away from home. Since the Event, DARPA has used the naval base as an isolated and totally hush-hush superhuman research facility. They’re the people who accidentally created Camp Necessity. The US Marshals Service uses the camp as a sanctuary for Witness Protection subjects, but it’s bigger than that. It’s a place that isn’t there—which is why we have to keep it.”

I tried to see the joke, but she wasn’t laughing and I put my cup down with a sigh. “Too much has happened today, Jacky, so keep it short or I’m going to shake you so bad—”

“Okay, it’s where the DSA sent me for testing when they thought I might be ‘contagious’. They moved the labs
into
Camp Necessity because it’s really not there. It’s a place that one of DARPA’s less stable Verne-types accidentally created because Cuba’s too hot in the summer. We can’t move it so we have to keep the bay, and besides the Witness Protection residents it hosts maybe half of DARPA’s Verne-Type scientists with their projects. It’s more Top Secret than anywhere else that
I
know about, and it’s bad that you saw it at all. If you saw it being
destroyed
…

In the end I agreed not to say anything to anyone else without her go-ahead. Not that I really thought she’d try and stop me if I wanted to. Jacky wasn’t a government agent; she acted as a “civilian contractor” to the DSA and in return they looked the other way so she could take care of her dietary needs without creating fang-addicted blood donors.

(It said a lot about Jacky’s world that she considered it more moral to assault random strangers, steal their blood, and then wipe their memories of the attack than to get their consent and let them remember the mind-blowing rush it gave. It said more that I
understood
that decision. From
experience
.)

So if Jacky thought I was in danger of attracting the wrong kind of attention from the Powers That Be, I wasn’t going to ignore her. Besides, the Irish Ka-something tasted great, but I was yawning and ready for bed and Jacky was absently staring at my neck. I left so she could change for her evening out, but didn’t get halfway to my own door before Virtual Shell popped up.

“You have a caller…”

“Who?”

“Just Superintendent of Police Big ‘The Fixer’ Red.”

I closed my eyes and groaned, then opened them and looked down at myself. My workout shirt had dried, but I felt
sticky
and was sure to shine on the image-feed. “Phone?” I asked hopelessly.

“Nope. He’s being nice with full video.”

“Swell. Could you—”

“I’ll make it so you’re in uniform, no worries.”

“Thanks.” I stepped inside and closed the door, smile ready. Shell switched on the flatscreen TV in my living room, camera-rigged like every other screen in the Dome. Superintendent Sean Redmond appeared and I barely kept the smile on. The unhappy line of
his
mouth put deep creases in his cheeks. As late as it was he still wore a three-piece suit, perfectly knotted tie and shiny lapel pin, making me feel even grungier.

“Superintendent. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“To Eric Litner. I apologize for the lateness of the call, Astra. How are you holding up?”

“Okay. As Atlas would say, it’s not my first rodeo.” A small exaggeration; After-Action reviews were routine, IA reviews not so much.

“No, it's not,” he agreed. His grimace deepened, working his mustache. “However, that’s not why I called.”

“Eric Litner?”

“The gentleman of the press you met this evening. From what they tell me a real piece of work.
 
However, he has filed an assault complaint against you.”

That
killed my smile. “Wait, what?”

“What indeed. According to his statement, your friend—Annabeth?— hit him and then you pushed him down. Hard enough to inflict injuries.”

“That’s, that’s…”

“Yes. Of course any time there is a complaint against one of the city’s contracted superhumans, there is an investigation. Did you touch him?”

“He fell against me and tripped. I helped him up.”

“And broke his camera?”

“I—” I didn’t
think
so.

He nodded unhappily.

“Of course it would be highly improper of the Superintendent of Police to speak to a CAI cape under investigation. I don’t know yet if the investigating officer—who is not Inspector Fisher—will find enough to warrant formal charges. However, I wanted you to know…”

He stopped, pursed his lips like he tasted something sour. “My predecessor had a problem with ‘superheroes’, and that affected the relationship between the CPD and our city’s CAI teams. I do not hold his prejudices, and I hope that you know that. But this is a matter of politics and media optics, Astra. Your high-profile image…”

I nodded, stomach sinking.
Even with everything that had happened since Atlas’ death, some people just couldn’t let our “scandalous” romance go; I’d become a scandal-generator and they latched onto every little thing that might smell of favoritism or super-celebrity entitlement.
Other
people talked about me like songbirds should be following me around, and I honestly didn’t know which was more embarrassing. I had yet to acquire my own feathered chorus, although I
had
seriously freaked more than a few innocently migrating flocks in passing.

“I understand, sir. And I appreciate the courtesy. Naturally the CPD has to take the allegations seriously. Is there anything I can do?”

At last he smiled. A little, showing dimples deeper than his scowl lines. “For the investigation? No. Just be forthcoming. Personally? I would
like
it if you let your mother know that she need not speak sharply to me the next time we meet over catered chicken, but of course this conversation never took place.”

“Of course.”

“Well then. Good night, Astra. And thank you.” He didn’t say for what, and I didn't ask.

“Aaah!”

I lurched upright in bed, every muscle quivering and my heartbeat loud in my ears. It took long breaths for me to realize I wasn’t still dreaming, and then I had to gulp air to keep from bursting into tears.

It had been a dream.
The
dream, again, but this time part of me had been desperately trying to
move
, to get off the freaking grass and fly to the burning town. Forget detachment; every rational thought had drowned in rising certainty that horrible things were going to happen if I couldn’t break out of my stasis and act.

I lay back, working on breathing normally. My sleep-top was drenched in sweat, and a distant part of me was surprised I hadn’t woke up bumping the ceiling.
Only a dream
.

I didn’t sleep again until night officially became morning, and then the Dispatch alert threw me out of bed.