The Color of Courage (3 page)

I ignored the cheesy, overused line and closed my eyes. Tom’s amusement was a yellowy shimmer on my right, Evan’s lavender and gray on my left, now tinged with brownish confusion. I liked using my skill in a fight like this. I could see the emotion because it was generated by the situation, not by me personally. It also masked any perceived disadvantages, like how much taller they were than my five-four.

If I were mugged, of course, I likely wouldn’t have the luxuries I had here. For instance, the muggers would probably attack much sooner than these two, instead of wasting time circling me, one teasing, the other wary.

“Come on, guys. We don’t have all night.”

They obeyed me instantly, rushing me from front and back. I waited until the last second, feinted left, and dodged right. Their auras had told me exactly how far away they were, something easier to gauge for me that way than by sight. The human eye often misjudged speed and distance, and though a lot of people who got physical on a daily basis adjusted, I never had been able to. Not to the level I needed to be as a superhero. So I just adapted my super skill for the situation.

When I ducked right, I spun around behind Evan, whose right arm had clamped around Tom instead of me. He didn’t hesitate but spun to his own right, trying to circle around behind me. I dove forward, under Tom’s cocked left arm—he was a fist-fighter and liked to do things the heavy-duty way—and punched my fist into his groin as I went. He wore a cup, but reacted as if he wasn’t. As he jerked to protect his treasures, I shoved him in the direction he’d started to move. He stumbled but didn’t fall.

Evan was still behind me, still reaching. I hadn’t pushed Tom in the right direction to get in Evan’s way, so I reversed direction and slipped past Evan on his right, using my left foot to catch his ankle. He went down on one knee. I opened my eyes, slammed the heel of my hand into the side of his head, and followed him down with my knee to his neck.

“You like that move, don’t you?” Tom said from behind me. But he’d been too engrossed in his own humor. The fight wasn’t over as long as he was standing.

I came up fast, the back of my head slamming into his face, then reached up and around his neck to yank him down to the ground while he howled.

“You broke my damn nose!” He covered it with his tented hands and rolled on the floor.

“Don’t be such a baby,” I scoffed, but he was really writhing, his yellow turned to a bright, hot red. I knelt next to him. “Tom, I’m sorry, I didn’t think I hit you that hard.”

Like lightning, his hand flew up and grabbed
me
on the back of
my
neck, flipping me over his body and rolling so he half-covered me.

“That’s the problem with women,” he said, grinning. “Too much compassion.”

“If you were a real attacker, I wouldn’t care,” I told him. “I’d have kicked you in the head.”

“Good point.” He jumped up and held his hand out for me.

I glanced around. Evan was back in his Mr. Clean position, folded arms making his chest and shoulders bulge. Jim and Mark reclined on the floor next to him. All three were watching Summer now.

I moved up next to Tom to see what was happening. She was the center of a circle, taking on all five attackers in her first group. It was incredible to watch.

Summer’s abilities have to do with the contraction of her muscles or something. The smaller the muscle and the lighter the weight, the faster she could move. So running was above average, but she was no Flash. Kicking was a little faster, but still visible.

But her arms and hands were the amazing part. She moved around and across the circle, fast but not so fast her opponents couldn’t catch her. She kicked, and one guy deflected the move, to cheers from the watchers. Spun away from another, and found a third in her face. But when he aimed a punch, her arms blurred as she blocked it, brought his arm down and to the side, then up behind his back. She finished with a push that knocked him into the group, and applause erupted.

Flushed, Summer shook her head. “You’re supposed to be working, not watching. Next group.”

That was us. Evan bent his head a little toward me as we walked across the room.

“You work with Summer at HQ, don’t you?”

“Yes.” It wasn’t a secret, but I didn’t like saying even that much, not without knowing why he was suspicious of her.

“I want to talk to you after class.”

I stopped walking, but he and the others continued to the mat where Summer waited. What was that about? Was he going to try to get an in with me because he was interested in her? Or did he think I’d tell him something he could use against her?

I wished I could talk to her, but she was already setting us up. I knew from experience that she’d be held up long after class was over, with half the attendees—it was hard to think of these people as students—clamoring for a little extra attention or assistance.

“Go.”

I focused on the group and tried not to think about Evan and what he wanted. Summer was at her mid-point: not yet tired, but not fresh and smooth, either. She’d have more trouble taking us all on.

Tom and Jim, more experienced in fighting her, moved in first. She dropped Jim to the mat and got a fist on the side of Tom’s head before he backed off without landing any of his own. While her attention was still on Tom, Evan tried to sweep her legs. He’d obviously noticed that was her weak point, and he was right. But also wrong, because weak was relative. She jumped before his leg reached hers, simply lifting her feet without moving her body. When he was off-balance, she knocked him down.

He bounced right back up, his eyes gleaming, and I realized I was more intent on watching than on participating. Mark, next to me, bounced on the balls of his feet, waiting for his chance. When Summer turned toward us he charged, his shoulder down, aiming for her midsection. She dodged, and he missed. She grinned at me, and I, knowing her
real
weakness, just waited. When she’d turned to deal with Mark and Evan, who were double-teaming her, I moved slowly up behind her, grabbed her ponytail, and tugged.

She fell, her arms still holding off Mark and Evan, one foot kicking out at Tom, but fell nonetheless, flat on her back. She glared at me, then smoothly got to her feet.

“Daley just demonstrated my favorite lesson. That sometimes girl-fighting is the best. Most fighting men, like you guys, don’t even think about hair-pulling or scratching or biting, because you’re macho and can do it all with your fists or strength. Even those of you who prefer finesse”—she nodded at Evan—“still don’t think of the less honorable techniques. But as you just saw, pulling someone’s hair, especially when they seem invincible, can put them right where you want them so you can get the upper hand. Okay, let’s go again.”

The fight resumed with more determination and earnestness. I stayed on the sidelines and watched, amused, as all the guys except Evan kept trying to grab Summer’s chestnut ponytail. She kept the thing twitching and moving and even when Tom got his hand on her, she jerked her head and it slid right through his fingers.

After a few minutes, I joined back in. I was here for exercise and training, after all, and standing around wasn’t getting me any fitter. Summer got me in the cheek hard enough to make my nose water, but I avoided her leg-sweep and even jabbed her in the side before she halted us and called in the next group. The five of us took turns sparring with each other for another half hour, giving each other pointers and bruises and an overall excellent workout.

I cornered Evan by the water cooler after Summer dismissed the class. He glanced impatiently over my shoulder, but Summer had a line of at least four people waiting to talk to her. She always did.

“What do you want with her?” I mopped my face and neck with a towel while I watched his colors go even murkier.

“With who?”

I didn’t correct his grammar, though my mother’s voice whispered through my head going, “With whom . . .”

“You know who.” I moved toward the water cooler, but he didn’t budge. So I shoved him out of the way. “It’s pretty obvious you want something.” I snatched a paper cone from the holder and filled it.

“Then it should be obvious what I want.” He tried a leer, and even with as little as I knew about him, and as mixed as his emotions were, I knew he was too noble for that crap.

“That’s the thing. I know you want her, but you also want . . . what, to put her in jail?”

He scoffed into his cup, and I narrowed my eyes. “Worse?”

“Look, Haley—”

“Daley.”

“Yeah, whatever. I don’t think it’s your business what I want with your friend.” He crumpled his cup and tossed it, hard, into the can next to the cooler.

I cocked my head. “Would it be your business if I wanted something from your sister?”

I was ready for him to say he didn’t have a sister, but he paused with a flare of orange anxiety. Then he nodded.

“Fair point. Okay. I don’t want to throw your friend in jail. As far as I know, she hasn’t done anything wrong. Whatever I do want from her, that’s her decision, not yours.”

“Of course it is.” I wondered what else could make him suspicious, if not for Summer herself. I couldn’t think of anything off the top of my head, so I focused on the other. “She has a boyfriend. A serious one.”

Evan stared down at me, his face inscrutable, his murky aura unchanging. The anxious flare had faded. He didn’t care that she had a boyfriend. My eyes narrowed as I contemplated him. He was perhaps the most emotionally complex male I had ever encountered.

“Why did you want to talk to me?”

He turned away. “Forget it.”

I raised an eyebrow. Had he expected me to be willing to dish dirt on my friend, and when I wasn’t, I lost my appeal? Or was it something else?

After a few minutes, when it was clear Summer was going to be a while, Evan left. He didn’t speak to anyone on his way out of the room, including me. He didn’t bother with the locker room, and he had no bag. If he hadn’t been dressed appropriately, I’d think his attendance of the class had been spur-of-the-moment. It was clear that he’d been here for only one purpose, anyway.

I wondered what the hell that purpose was.

Chapter 3

Today’s News, July 21
st

The group sitting around the battered Formica table in the HQ break room looks nothing like the classic Justice League members. No tights or Lycra. No brilliant primary colors, lassos of truth, or even capes. This five-member team looks like a study group of post-graduate students at any college in the country
.

“So, who wants to tell me a little of the history of the organization?” The reporter for
Today’s News
, Caitlyn Munroe, was very young and very perky. Neither would matter much if I didn’t feel ancient after a sleepless night, and if it weren’t half-before-coffee in the morning.

No one responded immediately, as Caitlyn perched on the counter next to the molasses-slow coffee machine and expectantly scanned the room.

Summer was nearly as perky as the reporter, but she and I were the newest members of HQ and not the best people to answer. Trace had his head pillowed on his arms, and Kirby looked as disgruntled as I was.

“Adam should,” I finally said. “It’s his organization.” But Adam hadn’t wanted to do the interview, and I thought he was indulging in a little silent protest.

He shot me a look, then finally sat forward. The coffeemaker gave its “I’m done!” burp and I leapt up, tuning them all out while I made my coffee and sucked down half a scalding mug.

The leader, Adam Tarantino, sits like a slacker and is reluctant to talk about himself. The others reveal that he began HQ six years ago when he met Trace Kovalch, now 28, and Kirby March, 27. Two years older than Trace, Adam took him under his wing when Trace finished a marathon looking as fresh as he began it. He revealed his own impenetrable skin and super hearing, apparently the result of an experimental drug his mother took while pregnant.

“I had the idea of going into business,” Trace offered when Adam remained silent. “But Adam had the brains and determination to actually do it.”

“
And he had me,” Kirby spoke up. “Trace and I knew each other in college, and he knew what I can do. As soon as Adam met me, he launched HQ.”

Caitlyn scribbled on her pad, then looked at me. “And you’ve been with HQ . . .?”

“Summer and I joined at the same time. About two years ago.”

Caitlyn scribbled some more. “Okay, let’s back up a little. Adam, what did you hope to accomplish with HQ?”

Though he was careful to talk around it, it seemed clear that Tarantino’s main purpose was giving a home to those like him, with special powers no one else could understand. The purpose turned outward almost immediately, however, when they realized they could help others with little danger to themselves.

“What was the first mission each of you went on?” Caitlyn asked.

I tried to fade into the background with my coffee. My first mission had been an embarrassment. I wasn’t at all confident that my empathy could be a super power. Lack of confidence was probably a factor in all of our failures, to one extent or another. But none as bad as my first mission. I’d been a tagalong with Adam to a building where a guy was threatening to jump out a window if his wife didn’t change her mind about leaving him. Adam was supposed to stop the jumper. I was supposed to try to figure out the undercurrents. I’d mixed up the emotions coming off the three people there. Turned out the guy threatening to jump didn’t really want his wife to stay with him. No, he was in love with the guy she was leaving him for.

Not your typical love triangle.

Trace didn’t seem to mind telling all his stories, though, and he jumped right in.

“
They weren’t really missions at first.” He stood to pace. “The very first was accidental. Adam and I had been in a bar on a Friday night and couldn’t find a cab. So we were walking, and saw a couple of guys dragging a woman into an alley. We saved her.” He shrugged. “That’s when things started heating up.”

It wasn’t the first attempted rape ever to be stopped by passersby, but the fact that a gun had been fired without anyone being hurt was remarkable. Especially when police learned Tarantino had covered the muzzle of the gun with his hand, causing the bullet to back up and explode the gun. The rapist lost three fingers. Tarantino had not a scratch.

Let’s examine that for a minute. Not a scratch, from a bullet fired not only at point blank range, but solidly against his palm. How is such a thing possible? No one knows. But after that, local police started quietly consulting with Tarantino and HQ. Especially when Kovalch chased the other would-be rapist for fifteen blocks, caught him, and dragged him back to the alley to meet the police the victim had called on her cell phone.

The criminal was driving a car.

Caitlyn scooted off the counter and moved closer to Trace, her aura shimmering with rose-colored admiration. “You ran down a guy in a car? How—”

His grin was movie-star charming, and he even added a drawl to his next words, despite the fact that he’d grown up in Vermont.

“Well, darlin’, that’s my thing. Endurance and concentration. Unlike some of the others, I don’t know where it comes from. But I can run across the country if I want to, without breakin’ a sweat.”

The reporter lapped it up. I could just see her thinking of all the
applications
of such a power. I snorted into my coffee. Like she was the first to think of it. Trace got laid more than anyone I’ve ever met, just because of women’s imaginations.

Caitlyn heard my snort and turned to me, her dazzled eyes narrowing. She glanced at her pad, then back up. “Haley, right?”

“Daley,” everyone corrected.

“Did you have something to add about Trace’s powers?”

It was far too early in the morning for me to endure snideness. I knew she was subtly jabbing at my own powers, and I wasn’t in the mood.

“Just that everything you’re thinking is true. He can use that endurance for more than running. It will ruin you for any other man.”

Trace laughed.

Kirby threw him a mutinous look, while Adam seemed to have swallowed his tongue.

I wasn’t done. “Actually, Caitlyn, while the men in this group have the macho powers, the women have the subtle ones. Would you like a demonstration?”

She nodded, her expression finally closing, but of course I knew what she was feeling. She was embarrassed—maybe at her obvious attraction to Trace or her unprofessionalism—but she was also jealous. It flared every time she focused on Summer and Kirby. She’d tried to marginalize the three of us as less powerful, and she wasn’t the first. It wouldn’t be hard to change her viewpoint, though.

I led the group down the hall to our workout room. When we were hired for specific, non-emergency jobs, we often had to demonstrate our abilities. No one was going to take our word for anything. I wasn’t part of the display, as the only member whose power wasn’t physical or visual, but I had my own methods of demonstration.

The others went into the workout room while Caitlyn and I stood outside at the observation window. She’d covered her typical bubbly persona with what she probably figured was a more remote reporter mode, and to most people it would be. While the others gathered gear and got into position, I watched her out of the corner of my eye.

“I’ve read your work,” I said after a minute. “There’s no reason to fear this will be considered a puff piece.”

She didn’t turn. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do.” I folded my hands in front of me, no longer annoyed at her. I
had
read her work, and she was incisive and focused and often hit on the most important, least observed facet of her subject. “You’re afraid your natural personality is going to get in the way of your goals. That something like your interest in Trace will be obvious to everyone and you’ll be disregarded. And that he has the wrong idea about you.”

Despite herself, she laughed. “I thought you were an empath, not a mind reader.”

I shrugged, still facing forward. “Sometimes it seems like the same thing. Emotion is very complex. I can only read your emotions, not your thoughts, but it’s not hard to figure out what the emotions mean.”

“Look, Haley—”

“It’s Daley.” I swallowed the new surge of annoyance. “I apologize for getting irritated back there and embarrassing you. I don’t like being patronized, and you think what I can do is less important than what the others can do. You’re not alone in thinking that. But it’s a mistake to let it color your approach to this story.”

“Fair enough. I’ll keep that in mind. But you have to open up a little if you’re going to convince me.”

I grinned. “I already have, Caitlyn.” When she sighed, I pointed toward the window. “They’re ready.”

Trace’s abilities manifested more over time or distance, so he played the dummy. He stood at one end of the room while Adam, Kirby, and Summer grouped at the other. A vast expanse of dark blue and gray mat separated them. We couldn’t hear anything through the glass, but we could see Adam give the cue a moment later.

Trace pulled a gun. Kirby held up a hand, her brow tightening slightly, and the gun flew across the room into it. Trace ran toward them, a knife flashing into his hand. Summer stepped in front of Kirby, who had no natural protection. Her arms moved at top speed—in other words, invisible—and Trace changed direction and raised the knife. Adam deflected the strike with his forearm, then turned his shoulder into Trace’s follow-through. Summer moved in. The knife disappeared, then reappeared on the table next to Summer. An instant later, Trace was in handcuffs, Kirby summoned a ten-pound hand weight from the floor, and Summer took it from her and hit Trace on the temple. He hit the floor before we could assimilate what had happened.

Caitlyn gasped and ran for the door. I tried to tell her it was okay, but she was inside before I had a chance. Trace grinned up from where he lay on the mat, not a mark on him.

“It was foam,” Summer said, wiggling the fake dumbbell. “We wouldn’t hurt him.”

Caitlyn didn’t move. Her sheepishness and awe floated around her, and I knew that, as short as the demonstration was, she was impressed.

“Let’s go get some brunch,” she said after a minute. “This is going to take longer than I thought.”

On the way to a nearby restaurant, Caitlyn admitted she’d planned an exposé at the beginning. But the demonstration had convinced her, as had Adam’s arm and shoulder. She’d checked the knife and examined his arm, then, unexpectedly, swiped the knife at his hand. Of course it did nothing, and she was convinced.

One wonders how such things can happen. Tarantino has a collection of scientific articles with a variety of theories for the increase in enhanced abilities worldwide. This magazine has some such writings in its archives, as well. They range from pollutants, to chemicals in our food and water that were originally designed to purify and preserve it, to hormonal influences and even the increase of global warming. Sometimes experimentation has unexpected results. Probably all of these causes are represented in the members of HQ, though it is impossible to know for sure. And does it matter? Isn’t it enough that these people are out there, working for our protection and the betterment of our society?

The team regaled Caitlyn with stories of rescues and miscues on the way to the restaurant. I could see her trying to give us all equal attention, though her interest in Adam and Trace was still stronger.

“Who came up with the name? HQ?” she asked.

“Adam did.” Trace grinned and his eyes sparkled at our boss.

Caitlyn’s head swiveled between Trace and Adam, who glowered. She could tell he didn’t want to explain. I liked the name, liked the story, but I didn’t want Adam to be embarrassed.

“It just stands for—” I began, but Adam cut me off.

“Certain other people in this organization,” he said, and I was stunned to see amusement in his aura, “believed we needed a high-concept name.”

“Like the Hyperbolic Quintet.” When Caitlyn looked confused, Trace prodded, “You know, hyperbolic like soaring? And Quintet ’cause there are five of us?”

“Oooo-kayyy.” She turned back to Adam.

“That was Trace’s contribution. And since he
was
responsible for our inception—”

“Oh, pshaw.” Trace waved him off and patted his cheeks like he was blushing. “You do go on and are far too modest.”

“I wanted to honor his suggestion. Except it was stupid.”

Everyone in the car laughed as we rolled to the curb in front of the restaurant.

“So HQ stands for . . . Hyper-what?” Caitlyn hovered her pen over her pad, struggling to follow us, but confusion still swirled around her.

“It stands for headquarters,” I said, taking pity on her. “The story is true, and yes it’s stupid, but every superhero organization has to have a headquarters, and we were always saying ‘I’ll see you at HQ tomorrow’ or whatever, so we just left it at that.”

Delight cleared her aura, and she grinned. “I love it. You must have more stories like that.”

We did, and for a while there was laughter and curiosity, but by the time our food was served the tone had gotten serious.

“How do you convince people you’re the real deal?”

“By doing what we can do.” Adam toyed with a piece of bacon. “Over time, we’ve built relationships with area law enforcement and the government. Being in DC helps. We’ve consulted with all the letter agencies.”

Caitlyn cocked her head at me. “You’ve got to have the most difficult time convincing people.”

“Sometimes. I consult a lot with businesses on their hiring, and with banks and accountants in their investigations.”

“Do you ever work with psychologists and psychiatrists?”

I forced a small smile. Those were my most lucrative personal cases, and the ones I loved the most. They were also the most private, and I didn’t talk about them. “Sometimes.”

“How about national cooperation?”

Adam glanced at me. I’d been pushing him to contact other teams for training, referrals, marketing, and jobs, and we didn’t see eye to eye on the subject. He was still far too protective.

“It’s in our plans,” he told her.

I opened my mouth to add my usual spiel, then froze. Fear shuddered through me, then malice. I knew everyone was waiting for what I’d been about to say, but my mind had gone blank. All I could see was the shimmer of black, the dull, muddy yellow, from the front of the restaurant.

“Something’s happening,” I whispered, but Adam heard me. Kirby did, too, and shushed Caitlyn’s next question.

“Where?” she asked.

Adam’s hand on my forearm grounded me as the emotions soared. I hadn’t been prepared for them, and they were intense. They had to be, to penetrate the blocks I automatically put up in public.

“Up front. Something . . . threatening. Fear. He . . . someone wants to hurt someone else.”