Table of Contents

Acknowledgements

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Epilogue

Other Novels by Drew Hayes

About the Author

Super Powereds: Year 2

By Drew Hayes

Edited by Erin Cooley (cooleyrevision.com)and Kisa Whipkey (kisawhipkey.com)

Cover by Barry Behannon (barrybartist.com)

Copyright © 2013 by Andrew Hayes

All Rights Reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Acknowledgements

This one goes out to Gordon Korman, whose books taught me that laughter, emotion, and fun characters can all work well when paired together. Without those novels, I’m not sure where I’d be today, but I’m almost positive it wouldn’t be writing. Thank you, for all you’ve created.

I also want to thank my beta readers for all the input and assistance. To E Ramos E, Galina and Charles, Priscilla Yuen, and Van Seunsom, your feedback helped take this whole thing to the next level. For realsies.

Foreword

(a.k.a. Some Stuff You Should Know)

Yowza, Year 2 already. For those of you who read Year 1, this section is pretty much old hat. Feel free to jump right into the story. For those of you who haven’t read Year 1, what are you doing? This is a series, you should start with the first book. Trust me. A lot happened. This book will still be here when you’re caught up.

If, for some reason, you’re set on starting here rather than at the story’s inception, there are a couple of things you should be aware of. First off, this book was originally published, chapter by chapter, as a web novel over the course of a year. That’s why there are so many chapters, and why their individual length is shorter than what one might see in most novels.

Secondly, and just a bit of fair warning, there will be cursing, drinking, and other college activities. Nothing above an R-rating, but don’t say I didn’t warn you when the first F-bomb flies.

Lastly, I just want you to know I appreciate that you picked up this book and are giving it a shot. Whether you’ve been reading these works for years, or got this on impulse, I really hope you enjoy the story. It’s been a blast to write, and there’s still two more to come. So, with no more fanfare or explanation, welcome to Super Powereds: Year 2

Prologue

Mr. Transport could smell honeysuckle through the rough cloth surrounding his face. He felt the sunshine beating down upon the black fabric, causing a light film of sweat to simmer on his skin. An insect landed lightly on his right hand, delicately straddling the steel cuff encircling his wrist. It was, by far, one of the nicest places he had been detained in the past month. From the tranquil way Mr. Numbers was breathing alongside him, it could be inferred the shorter man echoed the sentiment.

The black bag draped across Mr. Transport’s face was peeled back suddenly, blinding him as the sunlight thrust into his eyes. After some moments of blinking, Mr. Transport gained the ability to make out shapes, and soon recognized that he and Mr. Numbers were in a garden that had been etched into his memory for its vastness and beauty. The man sitting across the stone table from them was recognizable as well, though not for such aesthetic reasons.

“Care for something to drink?” Mr. Adair offered as he sipped his own cocktail. Today, he wore a blue cotton shirt with white pants, and no shoes. He was at home and relaxing, not dressing to impress. Given the day’s temperature, Mr. Transport wished he were similarly adorned, rather than entombed in his own standard wool suit.

A large man with tattoos on his face undid the cuffs shackling both him and Mr. Numbers. Mr. Transport exchanged a quick glance with his partner, but there wasn’t much to communicate beyond the obvious. They’d spent the last several weeks being grilled on their perceived failing from last spring. This, whatever it might be, was a welcome change.

“Gin,” Mr. Transport said unabashedly. He certainly wasn’t on duty, and he had no idea when an offer like this might come again.

“Water for me,” Mr. Numbers piped up. Mr. Adair handed them glasses, pausing only to alter the liquid in Mr. Transport’s, and then sat back in his chair.

“You two,” Mr. Adair said calmly, “have done quite an impressive job of pissing everyone off.”

Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport merely sipped their drinks in response.

“Sincerely, it is quite amazing in its own right. Your immediate employers believe you incompetent at best, traitors at worst. Lander is also howling for your blood, since you let three students slip away, but their protests are dulled by their own failings in the incident. You’ve angered nearly every person even remotely associated with you.”

“Nearly every person?” Mr. Transport asked.

Charles Adair looked away from them, redirecting his gaze to the impressive mansion that lay behind them. “As I have mentioned before, not only do I own a sizable portion of the corporation that employs you, but I also possess an arsenal of contacts with quite a bit of influence of their own. That is why you are here today, gentlemen. It took some doing, but I have wrangled myself the position of sole judge regarding your fates.”

Mr. Transport drank his gin a bit more enthusiastically, determined to see the bottom of the glass if it would be his last.

“On one hand, you two allowed my daughter, either through action or stupidity, to escape in a truly idiotic attempt to rescue her friend. The fact that she isn’t dead or being held captive somewhere could be taken as testament to a kind of divine plan. But, on the other hand, Alice has returned from Lander with happiness in her eyes and a measure of pluck that is reminiscent of her mother. She has flourished there, and it is you two that I have to thank for putting her in the program.”

It seemed Mr. Adair was going to skirt over the fact that he had strong-armed them into that decision—a skirting neither of the captive men was inclined to bring to his attention.

“So, after considerable thought, I have reached a verdict regarding you two,” Mr. Adair said. “I am willing to overlook the lapse in judgment you showed and reinstate you in your post as guardians. However, I offer you this on one condition.”

“Name it,” Mr. Numbers said.

“To quell Lander’s lack of confidence in you, a gesture of goodwill must be made. I happen to know they are seeking to replace the coaches who . . . let us say, creatively resigned. There is one man I know they are particularly hoping will take over George’s role, yet they have had no luck in even locating, let alone convincing him.”

“With Mrs. Tracking, I’m sure we can lend a hand,” Mr. Transport offered.

Mr. Adair reached under the table and produced a manila folder. He slid it across until it stopped at Mr. Transport’s fingertips.

“Finding him has been handled. It’s the convincing I think you two can lend aid in. If you can talk him into taking the position, even if only for a year, you will be able to reclaim your former posts.”

Mr. Numbers took the folder and flipped it open, reviewing its contents. “And if we can’t?”

“Then you no longer have any additional help to offer,” Mr. Adair said.

“We understand,” Mr. Numbers said, snapping the folder shut. “We’ll do it.”

“Of course you will,” Mr. Adair confirmed. “Now, finish your drinks and get to it, boys. The clock is ticking.”

*      *      *

The elves clustered together, their ravaged ranks quickly dividing into scouts, lookouts, and defenders as their leader wracked his head for a plan. Elster Highrange, known as Elmer in the world outside, pushed a hand past the pasted-on ear and through his disheveled hair. He couldn’t believe the way they’d swept through his troops, executing traps like they were five moves ahead and striking with such inhuman precision. When he’d taken over this role, Elmer had been told his predecessor had been a master of strategy, but he’d never really believed it. That was why he’d refused to yield his role as leader when the man had returned for the summer. That was why he’d been unfazed when the man took up the mantle as leader of the orcs. And that, in truth, was why he was losing so badly today. That . . . and the demon.

“Did you see it take out the battalion of five?” His troops were whispering, and he didn’t blame them. Practicality aside, a monster like what they had seen certainly deserved to be spoken of in hushed tones.

“I saw it take down the Cloudrage brothers. Those two were unstoppable, and it had them soaked in paint before they could finish drawing.”

Elster tightened the grip on his own blade. His “blade” was in fact a foam bat that had been soaked in a slow-drying blue paint. The spongy exterior was ridged, as were all his soldiers’ weapons, so a blow struck was easily identified and impossible to deny. The orcs wielded a different pattern and red paint; the same color splattered the tucked limbs of some of his men. Of they that remained, two were missing arms and one was on his knees, both legs taken in a scuffle with the demon.

“What was he like, Zithriel?” They asked him this again and again, but Zithriel always had the same answer.

“All I saw was a flash of silver, and all I heard was the whistle of his swords. After that, I was down.”

It was curious that the demon had left him alive. In telling the story, Zithriel had once remembered to include the fact that he’d dropped his sword in surprise. Elster had wondered, ever so briefly, if perhaps this specter of death lacked the ruthlessness to attack an unarmed man, but he’d curtailed those thoughts almost immediately. No one who cut such a swath of carnage could hold to high ideals.

“Men,” Elster said firmly, trying to regain the confidence and subservience of his troops. “How fare we on all points?”

“Clear from the north.”

“Clear from the east.”

“Clear from the south”

“Not clear from the west.”

Elster blinked. That hadn’t been Armthimarge’s voice. He glanced over to see his loyal lookout lying on the ground, red paint coating the fallen elf’s neck where his throat had been “slit.” The attacker must have been fast; Armthimarge hadn’t even called out a warning. As Elster’s eye took in the man who had slain Armthimarge, that fact made more sense. He stood short for an orc, and though the war paint obscured his face, he seemed to wear a curiously placid expression. He wielded a blade in each hand, flecks of red slowly pooling on the ground at his feet. A shock of silver hair and a set of blue eyes that would have looked more at home on an elf decorated his head, and as he stepped forward, Elster had no doubt who this warrior was.

“The demon,” Elster whispered. The next time he spoke, it was with fury, hope, and desperation all rolled together like a burrito of command. “Attack!”

His men rushed their target; they still held enough respect for their leader to obey orders. Besides, there were fifteen of them left, and only one of him. No matter how good this beast was, not even he could take all of them.

The demon twirled his blades once, then stepped forward to meet the first attacker. Yllsigard struck furiously, coming in overhead with all his might to power through the demon’s guard and take at least a limb. He swung true, but the demon slid around him like spilled mercury, taking Yllsigard at the base of his neck before he could recover from his missed blow. Rartical and Phiong came at the demon together, flanking him to split his attention. Their gambit proved futile, however; the demon simply pushed to Phiong’s side and dispatched him, then turned his attention on the remaining warrior.

Elster began backing away. The sum force of his remaining men were currently being sliced through; he needed an escape plan in the unlikely event this madman managed to hack his way to the last.

A wet, squishy sound splashed in his ear as a blade took his right arm, the one currently gripped around his weapon.

“Your first mistake was underestimating me,” said a voice from behind Elster.

Another blow cleaved away his left arm before it even had a chance to reach for his lost hilt.

“Your second mistake was backing away when your men charged. A true leader does just that. He leads.”

One final blow took Elster’s legs, and he kneeled, as was mandatory with the loss of those limbs.

“And your biggest mistake was forgetting that while a team may possess a valuable asset, that warrior alone does not make up its entire force.”

The voice spoke louder now, declaring its orders to Elster’s men.

“Your leader has had all his limbs sundered. You are completely surrounded. Throw down your weapons now and surrender, or face the inevitable.”

The elves looked around nervously, realizing that orcs were materializing out of the forest, and that they were now vastly outnumbered. They glanced over and saw Elster on his knees, paint dripping from all four appendages. They set their blue, paint-soaked bats on the ground and put up their hands.

“Your compliance is appreciated, and will be met with mercy,” said the voice, its source strolling around Elster’s left and at last entering his field of vision. He was a hefty orc, yet he moved with a strange confidence on this uneven terrain. He surveyed the domain well, eyes alert, taking in every detail. Only after he was certain that each elf was both unarmed and guarded did his vision leave the battlefield to regard his opponent general.

Elster looked up into the eyes of the man who had beaten him soundly and indisputably. He swallowed his pride, thought of his men, and spoke with as much grace as his throat would physically allow.

“Well met, and well played, Growlthberz. You are victorious.”

“I am indeed,” said the orc. “But the game is over now, Elmer. You can just call me Hershel.”

Elmer nodded and slowly climbed to his feet. One thing was certain: whatever his name might be, Elmer would certainly be yielding to this man’s leadership come next summer.

*      *      *

The man was dressed in an all white suit, with his light hair trimmed short and his nails perfectly manicured. His whole outfit, like everything he deigned to wear, had been custom made just for him. He saw no qualms with such excessive funds being channeled toward wardrobe. After all, he had the means now, and he’d lived the life of self-denial for plenty long enough.

He checked his gold watch briefly, gauging how long he should stay before making his exit. His client was clearly satisfied, there was no denying that. She’d stripped nude in front of the mirror as soon as the procedure was done, not even a fleeting thought given to modesty. Mrs. Hadingsworth was still examining herself, even after several minutes, scouring every inch of her now-taut flesh for signs that something had been missed. She would find none. The man clothed in white was exceptional at his job. For what people paid, he had better be.

Eventually, Mrs. Hadingsworth collected herself, threw on a nightgown that was now far too big for her lithe and youthful form, and joyously shook his hand in thanks. He accepted her gratitude, but only because he had already accepted her sizable sum of money, and made his departure. Mrs. Hadingsworth had a landing strip on her property, so the man had left his private plane there, rather than deal with an airport. It was as he ventured across the well-maintained garden that a tall man wearing square spectacles stepped out from behind a rose bush. The man in the white suite was hardly surprised: the bespectacled man had been trying to reach him for some time now, and he was not known for his tendency toward giving up.

“Zero,” he greeted.

“It’s just Blaine these days,” said the other man, adjusting his glasses. “Dean Blaine, if I’m at work.”

“Noted.”

“What are you going by now?” Blaine asked.

“The same as before. I do have something of a reputation associated with that name, after all.”

“So it’s still Hallow, then,” Blaine said.

“Indeed.” Hallow stepped to the side and began walking toward his plane once more. He knew this wouldn’t deter Blaine, but it would force him to get to the point.

“No small talk?” Blaine asked, turning and briskly catching up.

“I have a schedule to keep. Please cut to the quick of it; you’ve been seeking me for weeks now. Don’t waste the opportunity.”

“Very well. I want to offer you a job.”

“I decline,” Hallow said immediately.

“Don’t you even want to hear the details?”

“No. I can safely assume it has something to do with two of your teachers going rogue back in the spring. You want me to fill one of their positions, and I have no interest in doing so.”

“You have a lot to offer,” Blaine pointed out. “No healer has ever been capable of doing the things you can.”

“Which is why I make a tremendous amount of money doing it for the wealthy,” Hallow pointed out. “So much, in fact, that there is no possible way Lander could offer me comparable compensation. I doubt you could even afford what I’d normally charge for this meeting.”

“I suppose I should thank you for speaking with me pro bono then.”

“Of course. We’re old friends,” Hallow said, choosing to skim past the barb hidden in the comment. “Listen, Blaine, I understand your position, sincerely I do. You’ve had two people you trusted betray you, not to mention word has leaked out about you harboring Powereds in your program, so you need to fill those empty roles with people you know you can count on. Since I fit both that qualification and possess world renown, I would be an excellent candidate to take on the task. Unfortunately, I have no interest in teaching, or in taking a pay cut. I hope you can understand.”

“I can, though I’m disappointed.”

“Chin up, old friend. There are others from our Class of Legends you can still try.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Blaine acknowledged. The truth was that, of the few that remained active, most had turned Blaine down already. Ionics was happily married and raising her third child. And Bullrush was a successful coach in the Super Athletics Association, his football team having won four championships in the last decade. “I’ll let you get to your flight. Sorry for the delay.”

“Not at all,” Hallow assured him. “It’s always nice to chat with a classmate. One day, when my life slows down a bit, we should get together and catch up.”

“Of course,” Blaine agreed, knowing full well Hallow wouldn’t be slowing down anytime soon. Not with his particular talent so vastly in demand.

Blaine pressed his fingers to his temples as his comrade continued walking through the garden, never sparing a glance back at the man he’d called friend. Blaine had known it was a long shot going in, but that gave him little comfort. He’d exhausted nearly all the available options, leaving him with the one that he considered an even longer shot. Still, he had to try.

*      *      *

Nicholas tapped the felt gently, a subtle gesture that conveyed all he needed it to. While he was normally one who spent his time wiling and beguiling at the poker table, today, he was taking it easy and just playing some blackjack. He wouldn’t keep his winnings, of course: money won from the house just came out of the family pot, which was another reason he preferred trouncing tourists. Still, there was something relaxing about letting go of the need for guile and subterfuge, while taking in its place the pleasure of tracking a myriad of numbers.

He leaned back in his chair as a seven of hearts was laid onto his stack, placing his total at twenty. The dealer was showing eight, so Nicholas made the easy call and decided to stay. He wore gray slacks and a black button-down, and a gold tie hung loosely around his neck. Nicholas worked hard to convey an image of disheveled elegance.

Every now and then, he felt the urge to adjust the sunglasses he was no longer wearing. He’d get a new pair soon; even if his dormmates knew the reason he wore them, they still provided excellent camouflage from the rest of the students. Aside from which, they were a rather ingrained portion of the Nick character, and he was loathe to put him through major modification mid-performance. For Nicholas had indeed elected to continue his career at Lander for another year, even with his big secret leaked to the world. There was so much to learn, and so little of it from the classrooms. Besides, his dormmates had proven loyal beyond the degree of rationality in the events of last spring. That meant he could count on them to help him get by, despite his comparative lack of ability.

Those four were trusting, dedicated, and strong. They would make excellent pawns, possibly ones so good, he would be able to play his charade all the way to the end. He just had to go slow; take things one move at a time.

The dealer flipped his face-down card to reveal a jack, leaving him unable to hit on the eighteen he now held. Nick and two other players at the table raked in their winnings. Nick methodically set out a two hundred dollar bet for the next hand. By his count, the deck was about to get very hot. One of the waitresses stopped by, dropping off a new gin on the rocks for him. Nicholas gave her an acknowledging glance, then turned back to the game. She was new here; he’d remember to get to know her better later in the evening. After all of his pressing business was attended to, of course.

One move at a time, indeed.

*      *      *

This man wore all white too, but his was not a designer suit custom tailored to his frame. It was a jumpsuit, one with a number stitched on the front and a series of tracking devices woven throughout. The regular prisoners still wore orange to be easily spotted, but those like him were decked out in white. Some said it was in recognition of what they once were, or what they could have been. The official reason was that it was a safety measure to allow the guard to immediately distinguish between his kind and the regular inmates. Not that he was given much time to socialize with the others.

The man had dark, short-cut hair, and a small soul patch above his chin. He’d briefly considered growing the full goatee to match his incarcerated persona, but he’d decided that would be fringing on melodrama.

His cell was composed of rocket-proof plastic walls that afforded no privacy. After some lobbying, though, he’d been successful in gaining a curtain around his toilet area; however, even when sitting, it only came up to his shoulders as far as coverage. The most impressive feats of engineered captivity in the cell couldn’t even be seen. The air ducts that ran overhead filtered through a series of pressurized chambers before they brought fresh oxygen to his cell, and another set of them drained off the old air. This allowed for the whole system to be shut down at a moment’s notice should its inhabitant opt to go gallivanting. A similar system was used for the toilet, as well as the lone entrance to the cell.

On this particular day, a rare event occurred. The entrance swung open to reveal a tall man wearing spectacles, one the prisoner knew all-too well.

“Zero,” said the inmate. “This is a pleasant surprise.”

“Just Blaine these days. I left that name behind several years ago.”

“I know what you mean. These days, I just go by 48935.”

Blaine clucked his tongue. “I’m afraid that’s no good. We’re far too good of friends for such a dismissive title. How about Sean?”

“No one has used that one for a long time. Okay, Zero, call me Sean.”

“I told you it was Blaine.”

“I told you it was 48935. Besides, for such a ‘good friend,’ this is the first time you’ve visited me in here. You know, since you arrested me.”

Blaine walked slowly over to the bed and sat down on the atrociously thin mattress. “Can you blame me? Or any of us? You went from an honored Hero to a common thief.”

“To be fair, there is nothing common about me or what I stole.”

“A fair point. Nuclear secrets, famous works of art, closely guarded industrial patents, you had quite a run,” Blaine admitted.

“Until Zero caught up to me,” Sean pointed out.

“Until I caught up to you. You were a thief, Sean, and I was still a Hero. You had to know the way things were going to end.”

“A man can always hope. That’s a right that not even prison can take away.”

“If you sincerely believe that, then you should be thankful for where you ended up. I’ve seen prisons that most certainly do have the ability to take away a man’s hope,” Blaine told him.

Sean spread his hands. “So, consider me thankful. Let’s celebrate the occasion by getting to the point.”

Blaine hesitated. This next part was delicate; not only in what he needed to say, but in how much he could safely let out while their conversation was being monitored.

“I know you think I wasn’t listening, that night when I dragged you in. I was, and I’ve had a lot of time to dig into it since then. I’m not saying I believe your reason for all the stealing, but let’s just say I’m not as skeptical as I once was,” Blaine said.

“Wonderful; that and a cigarette will get me a cup of coffee in here,” Sean spat back.

Blaine reached into his suit jacket and produced a few folded pieces of paper. He unfurled them, but kept them in his hands for the moment.

“I know you haven’t been privy to the grapevine of our world in here, so I’m assuming you haven’t heard the news,” Blaine said. “Five of my students from last year were subjects of an experimental procedure, one that gave them enough control to be reclassified from Powereds to Supers.”

Sean’s whole body stiffened, but his voice remained calm.

“You don’t say.”

“I do say. Their secret came out at the end of the year, but they have elected to return despite the less than welcoming sentiment echoed by their fellow students.”

“Sucks to be them.”

“Yes. It sucks even more because two of my employees, teachers no less, decided to kidnap a pair of them at last year’s end. Though the students were safely recovered, that leaves us in the position of having two spots to fill. One has been conditionally handled; however, I’m still in the market for the services of an experienced Super I can trust.”

Sean laughed at this, visibly and freely. “A job? You’re here to offer me a job? And how would that work exactly? Are you going to keep me by your side twenty-four hours a day so I can’t slip away? Or better yet, maybe you’ll build me my own cage out there so the students can learn from me while I’m pinned up like a side show.”

Blaine shook his head. “No cages, no monitoring. You’d have to live on campus, of course, but you’d be free to roam the town as you like for your off time. You have five years left of your sentence. You can spend them here, or in my employ.”

“You’ll never be able to sell that to the higher ups,” Sean protested.

“I already have. Despite what you may think, I’ve garnered quite a few friends of station who trust my judgment since our time apart. If I say you won’t run, they’ll believe me.”

“Let’s come back to that point then. Trust. You need someone you can trust. But you and I aren’t exactly close friends anymore. Even assuming I’m not still bitter enough to try and attack you, how do you know I won’t run at the first chance I get?”

Blaine reached over and grasped the inmate’s forearm. Their eyes met, Blaine’s burning with intensity, like phosphorous.

“Because I trusted you enough to check out your reason for stealing. And, while I haven’t found proof, I also haven’t found anything to contradict your claim.”

Sean pulled back his arm and broke away.

“How does that stop me from running?”

“Because these five students are not some mystical batch using a resource that only existed once. They are a trial run, to test for long term side effects. In six more years, if they are still healthy and functioning, the procedure can be approved and used on other Powereds. Even then, the number of applicants they initially accept will likely be very small. Getting someone into that program will require a lot of influence. Now, tell me, who do you think has a better chance of opening that door for someone: a recently released thief, or a rehabilitated and respected professor of the Hero Certification Program?”

“You spin a pretty story, Zero. One problem: that’s a lot of ifs. If it works. If they get clearance to accept more people. If I can earn favor with the right people. Don’t get me wrong, it’s very tempting. You’re just trusting a lot to faith,” Sean said.

“I’m aware,” Blaine acknowledged. “However, there is one part I left out. Whether the program expands or not, there is still one very concrete opportunity for you to do good.” Blaine held out the papers he’d been clutching. Sean tentatively took them in his spindly fingers and began to read. It wasn’t until he flipped to page three that his body language softened visibly.

“Is this . . . ?”

“It is,” Blaine confirmed.

“My God, have I been in here that long? Last time I saw her, she didn’t even come up to my hip.”

“A lot can change in fourteen years,” Blaine said.

“I suppose you’re right,” Sean acknowledged. “So this was your ace in the hole.”

“No. I knew you would have eventually come for the other reason. No matter how slim the chances were, you would have taken them regardless. That’s the kind of man you are. This was just to help the decision along. I’m on something of a time crunch,” Blaine explained.

“Well played, Zero,” Sean said. “I suppose you’ve got yourself a new professor.”

“In that case, you will refer to me as Dean Blaine at work, and Blaine in our off hours. This is a different world than our old one, and I don’t need to muddle the two.”

“Agreed, but on one condition,” Sean stipulated.

“That is?”

“You let me keep the picture,” Sean said, gently waving the papers, where a file photo was inked onto the third page.

“Deal,” Dean Blaine agreed. “I suggest you prepare yourself. You’ll be leaving this place in the morning.”

“I’ll have the maid pack my things,” Professor Sean Pendleton replied.

Dean Blaine stepped out of the room, and Professor Pendleton plopped down on the still-awful mattress where 48935 had sat mere moments before. He gazed at the poorly-pixilated image and was carried off, out of his cell, to a glimpse of the happier life he’d once had. In his wondrous drifting, a single phrase escaped his mouth:

“I can’t believe how much you look like her.”

*      *      *

There was a whoosh of air and a jerk as they began moving forward.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Mary asked.

“You’ll be fine. Yeesh, when did you become such a chicken?” Alice replied.

“It isn’t a matter of reason; it’s a matter of fear. I’ve spent most of my life on the ground, among nature.”

“You did fine on the mountain,” Alice pointed out.

“There was ample earth beneath me.”

“What about when I flew with you?”

“That’s different,” Mary said. “I trust you more than I trust a team of poorly-paid workers commanded to slapdash wooden planks together in the hot summer sun. Besides, I was a little preoccupied at the time.”

A loud, rhythmic series of clicks began echoing from underneath them.

“Come on, try to enjoy it. This place was your idea, anyway,” Alice said.

“It was this or another day touring the shops. I chose the lesser of two evils. Plus, I like riding the teacups.”

“We’ll go on them again after this,” Alice offered. “I just can’t believe I never knew you had this phobia.”

“It isn’t a phobia.”

“Didn’t you just say it was a fear not rooted in reason?”

“Yes, I . . . but it . . . shut up.”

Alice laughed as the wind began to pull at her hair, their crest nearing its apex.

“Sorry, I just never get to see you flustered. All this time, and it turns out roller-coasters are your hidden weakness.”

“At least one of us is enjoying this,” Mary said, her grip tightening on the metal bar pressed against her lap.

“I have a feeling we both will be by the time it’s over,” Alice said. “And besides, I told you if you rode it with me, I’d go a whole week without bringing you along shopping. So don’t act like all the sacrifice is on your end.”

“Fine, fine. How much longer are we going to climb up, anyway?”

As the words crossed her lips, their car began tilting forward, revealing a lush landscape and a winding road of wood and steel.

“Off-handedly, I’d say not long,” Alice quipped before they plunged forward, all communication lost in the chaos of joyous screams.

*      *      *

The man lounging on the beach’s white sands was wholly unremarkable. Yes, his broad shoulders and strong frame hinted that he might have once been a man of some physical prowess, but the streaks of ivory salting his once dark hair assured any observer that he was well past that stage and into the one that involved daytime television and ranting at today’s youth. He wore a garish Hawaiian t-shirt despite the fact that he was in Tahiti, a pair of shorts, and no shoes. He owned a pair of flip flops for when he ventured into town, but with his home only a few paces away from the water, he rarely found the need to don them. He sipped a homemade margarita and watched the waves roll in as he kept a lazy eye trained on the book he was reading. As lax as he seemed, he was not startled one iota when a pair of suited men appeared a few feet away from him.

“Boys,” he said by way of greeting.

“Hello,” Mr. Transport replied. “How are things, Mr. V—”

“Carl. I’m retired now, so it’s just Carl.”

“Of course. Carl,” Mr. Numbers said. “This is a lovely estate.” Mr. Numbers surveyed the houses behind him, all of them at least three-story and perfectly maintained, as was their landscaping.

“Say what you will about our company, they do have an excellent retirement plan,” Carl noted. He stuck a small scrap of paper in his book and set it down. He suspected this might take a while, and he didn’t want to lose his place.

“I look forward to it,” Mr. Transport said, gazing at the pristine waters delicately moistening the sugary sand beneath his feet.

“I did too. And I’m enjoying it now. Which begs the question, what brings you two around? I’d welcome you for a visit, but I somehow doubt the policy on vacation time has become so generous.”

“Sadly, no. You see, we are here to offer you an impressive opportunity, one that would only be fitting for one with your years of tactical and—”

“None of that, Numbers. Just spit it out,” Carl cut him off.

“Fine. You’ve been offered a teaching role in the Lander University Hero Certification Program,” Mr. Numbers said succinctly.

“Thanks, but no thanks. I’m already retired and set. Why would I need to take another job?”

“You don’t,” Mr. Transport agreed. “But we sort of need you to.”

Carl gave a more scrutinizing glance to his guests. Despite their professional appearance, they looked haggard. Not just the gaunt look of ones overworked: it was that of ones who had been truly put through a wringer of shit and were scarcely holding it together. Carl had seen that look before. He’d almost worn it himself a time or two. The company had an excellent retirement package, but surviving long enough to get it was sometimes akin to walking a minefield while blind and drunk.

“You boys messed up.”

The duo nodded.

“How bad?”

“Not terrible,” Mr. Transport replied.

“But bad enough,” Mr. Numbers tacked on.

Carl sighed and took another sip of his margarita. He really did love it out here. But the ocean would still be around when he came back. It looked like the same couldn’t necessarily be said for Numbers and Transport.

“What kind of time frame are we talking about here?”

“You can accept as little as a year to fulfill our purposes,” Mr. Numbers informed him. “Though once we give you a full briefing, you may opt to stay longer.”

“Why is that?”

“Let us simply say that things have gotten very un-boring on the Lander campus these days,” Mr. Numbers replied.

“That a fact? All right then, boys; for you, I’ll come spend a year.” Carl stood from his sand-coated chair and dusted himself off lightly. “That said, since school likely doesn’t start for a few weeks, how about you two come inside? We can have a couple of drinks, and you can tell me just what is so interesting out in California.”

“I’m not sure we’re permitted time to relax and drink,” Mr. Numbers said.

“Nonsense. I haven’t signed any paperwork yet, and I refuse to do a favor for mere co-workers. I will only do one for friends. So, if anyone asks, you can honestly tell them this was a necessary step in my recruitment,” Carl said.

“Touché,” Mr. Numbers said.

“Now then, Transport, let us get you behind the bar. I’ve never had a Mai Tai that can compare with yours.”

“It would be my pleasure, sir,” Mr. Transport replied.

1.

Vince’s back popped as he stretched after the car ride. It wasn’t a terribly long trip, but it was long enough to make the former nomad feel cooped up and trapped. Thankfully, he’d held it together and now, he gazed at his reward: Lander campus, lush in the late summer as students scurried about its grounds. He didn’t recognize any of them, which was to be expected given Lander’s size, but he did recognize the looks in some of their eyes. Confused, excited, filled with wonder, and trying to piece together where the building they needed was—these were clearly freshmen. Vince would have offered them some assistance; however, he had other duties to attend to first.

Vince pulled his own backpack from the trunk of Ms. Daniels’s station wagon, then helped Hershel with his luggage. Hershel paused the unloading process when his mother approached.

“Be sure to take care of yourself,” Ms. Daniels said as she held her boy tight and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“Don’t worry, Mom, I’ll be careful,” Hershel assured her. Vince was next to receive one of Ms. Daniels’s powerful embraces, though mercifully, he was spared the cheek kiss that had accompanied Hershel’s.

“Thank you for everything, ma’am,” Vince said politely. “I really appreciate you letting me stay in your home this summer.”

“Such a proper young man. You watch out for yourself, too. I expect you both back safe and sound when the year ends.”

“I’ll do my best,” Vince said. Ms. Daniels accepted this for the honesty it was and stepped back into her car. With a quick crunch of tires and small cloud of dust, Vince and Hershel found themselves once more alone in the world of Lander.

Vince tossed his backpack on his shoulders and scooped up a few of Hershel’s bags. “It’s good to be back,” he commented as they began the brief walk to Melbrook.

“No joke,” Hershel agreed. “You think we’re the first ones?”

“Since Alice actually lives in California, and Mary was staying with her, I’m sure they beat us back,” Vince said, answering the question Hershel had clearly wanted to ask. Hershel turned a bit red in the ears with embarrassment, though why he felt the need to, he wasn’t sure. He and Mary were boyfriend and girlfriend. She’d even visited twice over the summer’s span. So while there was no rational reason for him to turn red at the accusation of missing her, the tips of his ears burned all the same.

They came upon Melbrook shortly, its familiar brick facade a strangely comforting sight. It had been freshly pressure-washed and all but shone in the afternoon sun, welcoming back those who called it home with warmth and comfort. The boys buzzed in through the front door, then walked through the hallway door and entered the common room to find they were the last arrivals.

Alice hopped off the couch and dashed over, giving first Vince, then Hershel, the powerful hugs that only a girl with her height and arm span could manage. Mary was subtler, giving Vince a quick half hug, then sidling up to Hershel and taking his hand in hers as she stood close. Mary was never one for gratuitous affection, but the understated action spoke volumes of how she’d missed her man.

The final body to shamble up from its sprawled position on the couch was a sandy-haired youth with a new pair of sunglasses—somewhat more fashionable than last year’s—seated on the bridge of his nose.

“I knew you’d come back,” Vince said, shaking his friend’s hand.

“Believe it or not, after living with you nut jobs, Vegas felt . . . boring.” Nick spat that last word, wiping his tongue across his teeth to scrape away the bad taste that accompanied it.

“Whatever you say,” Vince agreed. Nick moved on to give a quick shake of the palms to Hershel as well, and just like that, all five of the Melbrook students were reassembled.

“So, when did you guys get in?” Vince asked.

“Mary and I made it this morning; Nick only beat you two by about an hour,” Alice informed him.

“Cool, so have you gotten to talk to anyone?” Vince asked. “I spoke to Will and Thomas briefly over the summer. They weren’t exactly happy with us, but I think we’re okay with them.”

“Alex harbored no ill will at all,” Hershel added.

Alice shook her golden locks to the negative. “We weren’t as close with the others as you guys were, and we haven’t really been able to run them down and talk things out yet.”

“Why not?” Hershel asked.

A well-built man in spectacles stepped into view from their kitchen.

“I’m afraid I’m to blame for that,” Dean Blaine said, striding across the room and taking a seat in one of the area’s many chairs.

“You didn’t let them leave?” Hershel asked.

“I prefer to say that I strongly advised against it until the rest of you had arrived. You see, we have much to talk about, and I would be remiss in my duties if I didn’t give you a comprehensive idea of what to expect in this new school year,” Dean Blaine explained.

“So, what should we be expecting?” Vince asked.

“To put it bluntly: adversity,” Dean Blaine replied.

2.

“Things have calmed down a bit since your departure,” Dean Blaine elaborated. “Unfortunately, that has also given people time to truly grasp the implications of your existence. To say that I received some complaints regarding your enrollment would be a significant understatement.”

“They don’t want us here?” Of them all, only Vince could be genuinely surprised by such a statement.

“At the very least, a vocal minority of them do not,” Dean Blaine said. “I, however, do. Regardless of what you started life as, you are currently Supers. You have also shown the kind of determination and talent needed to enroll in the sophomore year of the HCP. Any information beyond that is extraneous and irrelevant so far as your admittance goes. With that said, I feel you should all be braced for a far less welcoming atmosphere than you found last year at Lander.”

“We know some of our friends are sticking by us,” Hershel said.

Dean Blaine nodded. “And I’m sure more will in time. Right now, you aren’t the people they knew, but rather a representation of one of the greatest unspoken fears in Super society. Eventually, some of them will begin seeing you for the individuals you are once more.”

“But not everyone,” Alice said somberly.

“No, Ms. Adair. Not everyone. In the meantime, I suggest you stay close, work together, and trust in the allies you still have. That mindset will be very important this year, but you’ll get the details on that tomorrow. Now, on to logistics. I’m sure you’re all wondering about Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport. I’m . . . well, not pleased, but not angered, to report that they will be returning to Melbrook as your guardians.”

There was a general expression of pleasure and relief for the five to learn that not only had the duo survived, they were also being reinstated in their post.

“The other professors and I will be keeping an eye on you as well, for extra security. I’m afraid I have to report that, despite several interrogation sessions, George has yet to divulge any information about who he was delivering Mary to, or why. That means, for the moment, that we have no idea if you are still in danger, so we’ve chosen to assume you are,” Dean Blaine continued.

Nick raised an eyebrow. “So, you’re going to be spying on us? Creepy.”

“Now, now, Mr. Campbell. There’s no such thing as privacy in the HCP facility anyway. We’ll just be more actively watching over you five.”

“We appreciate it,” Mary said politely.

“No trouble at all. I think that outlines most of what you needed to know immediately. People are angry, you’re still assumed to be in danger, same people living here as last year. Yes, I’d say that covers the high notes.” Dean Blaine rose from the chair and adjusted his glasses. “Oh yes, one more thing. Last year, you were not able to use the lifts to enter the HCP facility and instead, had to rely on Mr. Transport. I’m not sure what reason he gave you for this, but the truth is that it was because I wasn’t sure any of you should have that access. I didn’t quite know what to expect of you, and I certainly didn’t trust you.”

“Yeesh, thanks, jerk,” Nick quipped.

“The point I was driving at was that this year you will find them quite functional for all of you. You are free to come and go at your own leisure. Welcome to the Hero Certification Program,” Dean Blaine concluded. He exited through the front door, letting the cold steel lock shut with an audible thud behind him.

“Well, that was a real upper,” Nick said in the ensuing silence.

“Forewarned is forearmed,” Vince replied, picking up his bag once more and heading toward the boys’ side. “I need to unpack, but then maybe we can all grab dinner?”

“Oh yeah, me, too,” Hershel said, hurriedly gathering his own parcels. “Where should we go? I bet the dining halls are open.”

“Of course they’re open, tomorrow is the first day of class,” Nick pointed out. “We got here a day earlier last year for freshman orientation, and they were already serving up what we’ll choose to refer to as food.”

“Then let’s do that,” Hershel said as the door sealed behind him.

Nick turned to the girls. “Should I point out to him that we’re currently pariahs to a small but very powerful portion of the population, and we have to keep our abilities, along with our HCP enrollment, a secret? You know, the sort of situation that warrants avoiding densely-packed areas of students where we’re likely to encounter an antagonizing entity that could blow our cover and purposely get us booted?”

“They’d get themselves thrown out too,” Alice pointed out.

“Not if they were smart about it. Besides, even if they did, I’ll bet you money one of the other colleges would take them in. They’d be hailed as legends for keeping the Hero name pure by knocking out people like us,” Nick said.

“Maybe so,” Mary agreed. “But I for one refuse to spend the rest of my time here shaking in fear of what some jerk may or may not do. I’m going to live my life, and if anyone decides to interfere with that . . . well, I suppose at the very least we can make them work for it.”

“Easy for you to say,” Alice noted. “You can actually follow through on that threat. Nick and I are somewhat less able to take a toll on any would-be attackers.”

“Speak for yourself. I plan to curse anyone who tries to drum me out with terrible luck at sex for the rest of their lives,” Nick said.

Both girls turned to look at their sandy-haired companion.

“Can you actually do that?” Alice asked.

Nick shrugged. “Sex comes from confidence, and if someone thinks they’re cursed, they’ll sabotage themselves. So, sort of, I guess.”

“Seems a bit roundabout for you,” Mary said.

“I’ll think of something. I guess I’d better, since it seems you folks are set on going about business as usual,” Nick said.

“That we are,” Mary agreed. “Let’s go help the boys and then get ourselves some sloppy joes.”

Alice groaned audibly as they headed out of the common room, her stomach already protesting its impending culinary assault.

3.

“Feels strange to be wearing gray,” Nick commented as the Melbrook students filtered into the large lecture hall alongside the rest of the non-freshman HCP students. The black-uniformed newbies had gone through their meeting the day before; this morning had consisted of their battles for initial ranking. Evidently watching those fights was quite the spectator sport for the sophomore and older students, but the quintet had decided it was best to avoid such condensed crowds until they had a better grasp of where public opinion was leaning.

It hadn’t taken long to answer that question. Just in their journey from the surface to the locker rooms for changing into uniforms and now into the hall, they’d lost track of the number of dirty looks and furtive whispers buzzing about. There had been the occasional outright glare, as well as the all-too-rare supportive smile. It seemed the overall consensus was that no one knew quite what to make of them. For the moment, they were being regarded with the same apprehension one showed the bearded woman at a carnival: curiosity, disgust, and superiority, but not outright malice. It was actually much better than it could have been.

All five sat near the top of the stadium-style seating arrangement, unsurprised to find the once occupied spots around them quickly emptying. They were near the end of the procession, so the abandoners had only moments to relocate before Dean Blaine stepped to the podium positioned in the center area and addressed his audience.

“I’ll keep this brief,” Dean Blaine began, adjusting his glasses without noticing. This was not a speech he looked forward to giving, but it had to be done. “Normally, you are all only called together like this for emergency announcements. I want to put your mind at ease and assure you we are not under any imminent threats. This meeting is to discuss the replacement of two of our staff.”

A quick buzz whipped through the crowd; the majority of them had only heard garbled rumors about George and Persephone, even if most claimed that they were privy to knowing the “real deal.”

“I’m certain that all of you are at least partially aware of the situation, and I want to apologize that it is only now I can tell you something concrete. Due to the delicate nature of this scenario, a full investigation was warranted before any statements of certainty were issued. That investigation has been concluded, and it is now my duty to inform you that both George and Persephone attempted to kidnap one of the female freshmen last year.”

The buzz spiked in both tempo and volume. Many glances were tossed around, though it was only the sophomores who threw most of them at the five students sitting near the top.

“I won’t be going into the details, predominantly because so many of them are still yet to be fully verified, but you all deserve to know that piece of truth. They committed a crime, betrayed the trust placed in them as educators, and have been replaced. You will meet your new teachers in their respective classes; they’ve requested that I allow them to make their own introductions rather than trot them out in front of you all. I realize that this is difficult news, as many of you have grown to trust and respect your teachers over the years. To that regard, we are offering counselors on site for the next few months. Should any of you feel the need to talk, their services will be freely available upon request.”

The buzz had dulled to a simmer, as the initial shock of finding out that such outlandish rumors were true gave way to the reality of what was being said. Two of their coaches had gone rogue and had tried to steal a student away in the dead of night. After the first wave of disbelief passed through them, many of the students were hit with terror deep in the pits of their stomachs as a uniform thought echoed across the landscape of their minds: “It could have been me.”

“I want to assure you that we’ll share more information about this incident as we obtain it. For right now, that is all. The sophomores need to report to the gym for this year’s orientation. Juniors will have theirs in three hours, and of course, seniors already know what to do with their day. If you have any questions about this, please take note of my office hours and know that my door is always open to each of you,” Dean Blaine concluded. “You are now dismissed.”

“That wasn’t so bad,” Vince said. “I wonder why they didn’t have the freshmen in here too.”

“Kind of a ‘duh’ on that one. The dean just had to admit two of his own staff went off the reservation big time. The last thing the new kids need to hear at their welcoming is that the staff they’re supposed to be trusting with their lives have a recent history of kidnapping and treachery,” Nick told him.

“They don’t, not the ones that are left. The only two who were guilty are gone,” Alice said.

“You’ll forgive me, but until I know for sure what the motivation behind that fiasco was, I’m going to just go ahead and assume everyone here has a motive for wanting us kidnapped or dead,” Nick replied.

“That seems like a cynical overreaction,” Hershel said.

“Not really.” Nick shrugged. “I pretty much assume that about everyone anyway.”

“Well, Nick’s advocacy of paranoia aside, he has a point,” Mary said. “First year is already scary. The last thing they need is someone tossing on yet another thing to be afraid of.”

“Yeah, between the masses of people being drummed out, the mystery of what the classes are like, and the challenges for rank, there is already plenty to keep a freshman on their toes,” Vince agreed.

Nick snickered. “You don’t see the humor here, do you? We’re in the exact same boat. We don’t have any idea of what this year’s syllabus of examinations will be like. We’re no better off than the freshmen.”

“No, there is one big difference,” Hershel corrected. “We know we can make it through a year. We know we’ve got what it takes to survive the cuts.”

“Pretty trivial difference,” Nick said.

Hershel smiled at him. “Everything is trivial, right up until you need it. Now, let’s go see what fresh horrors this year has in store.”

4.

The gray-uniformed population of the gym had thinned slightly from its black-clad incarnation. Though Vince recognized all of his once-friends amidst the sophomores, there were definitely some faces missing. Faces of people whom he’d seen struggling and working and fighting right alongside the rest of them. Faces that wouldn’t be seen again in the HCP. It was a solemn reminder that there was a long road ahead, with plenty of opportunities to wash out. Vince shook his head and focused on the task at hand. There were six individuals clustered with Dean Blaine in the center of the room, all of them quite distinctive and unfamiliar.

“Today, we are going to talk about majors,” Dean Blaine announced, once everyone had gathered within range of his voice. “Freshman year is used as a trial by fire. We drum out those who can’t cut it and get those who can into shape. From sophomore year onward, things will be working a bit differently. For starters, we’re going to be having only a single hour of gym together each day. The rest of your time will be spent in your respective classes. Here at Lander, as well as in all schools participating in the HCP, we offer six distinctive courses designed to evolve you into field-ready Heroes. I’ll let the professors introduce themselves and their courses in a moment; right now, I just want to touch on the program as a whole.”

“This year, you will each be enrolled in three of the six courses. These were chosen by determining the areas you can best grow, as well as your performances in last year’s final exam. Come your junior year, you will be allowed to continue in the two areas you show the most promise, and in your senior year, you will devote all of your energy to a single area of focus. This final area is considered your specialty, or major, in the HCP. It will help determine what sort of Hero you’ll be and give you a good idea of where you should apply for internships.”

“Internships?” Vince whispered to Alice with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah, don’t you know? Once you graduate, you have to intern under an existing Hero for two years before you can work on your own. It gives us real-world experience,” Alice hurriedly whispered back.

“That is, of course, a long way down the road and will only concern a fraction of you,” Dean Blaine continued. “There is something else relevant to this year, however. Last year, we focused on learning to fight one on one, which is a core concept for any Hero. However, one of the great advantages we have over criminals is our ability to work together in a trusted and cohesive unit. For that purpose, tomorrow you will be split up into teams. Aside from your performance in your classes, there will be several team-based challenges throughout the school year. Your performance in these will, of course, affect whether or not you join us for the junior year curriculum. The details for that will be covered at the commencement of tomorrow’s gym period, along with the team selection, so, for now, I will defer to your professors so that they might introduce themselves.”

Dean Blaine stepped back, opening up the floor to whoever wanted to come forward. The first one to take the step was the most unassuming. She was an older woman, clearly in her sixties or seventies from the wispy gray hair and mild hunch in her spine. Already diminutive, the curve in her figure made her border on tiny. Her voice betrayed none of the frailty of her form, speaking loud and firm with the confidence only a wealth of experience could provide.

“It is a pleasure to meet you all. My name is Esme Stone, though it will be Professor Stone to you lot. I teach the subject of Focus, and those of you who enter my class will emerge with a new level of understanding regarding the inner workings of the self.”

She stepped back into line, allowing the next speaker to come forward. He was a tall man with a broad chest and jet black hair. Only his temples showed his age, bearing a few patches of white.

“My name is Professor Hill,” he barked in a loud, determined-to-be-commanding voice. “I teach the subject of Control. The privileged few who gain access to my class will be taught to command external forces on greater levels than they ever thought possible.”

The next figure to step forward was easily the most distinctive. It was covered with cloth strips on every possible exposed part of its skin, making it look like a mummy wearing clothes and a large cloak. A sizable sword hilt protruded from over its shoulder, and it walked like a snake just begging for a reason to strike. It shocked many of the students to hear a female voice emerge from the wrapped face unmuffled. It was high-pitched and delicate, but not delicate in the sense of fine china or hand-crafted porcelain. It was delicate like an unstable explosive.

“My name is Professor Cole. I teach the course on Weapons. Those of you unfortunate enough to get me will be beaten, cut, burned, sliced, skewered, and snapped. You will get strong, and those who make it to the end might even emerge as warriors.”

The next figure stepped forward quickly—a pretty woman in her mid-forties with hair somewhere between brown and red, as if it wasn’t quite able to make up its mind.

“My name is Professor Baker, and I’ll be teaching some of you Ranged Combat. I feel like my course’s name pretty much explains it all.”

She stepped immediately back in line, leaving only two figures remaining. They exchanged glances briefly, and the taller of the two took a bounding step forward.

“My name is Sean Pendleton,” said the man, his dark hair hanging forward, slightly dangling into his eyes. “Though I suppose from now on it is Professor Pendleton. I’ve been brought here to teach you in the art of Subtlety. Much like any other art, all I can really do is help develop what already exists. Some of you have the touch, while others don’t. I look forward to seeing what you can do.” Professor Pendleton gave a grand bow before retreating to the line, leaving only one figure remaining.

He took his step forward and gazed out at the students. He was an older man, probably only younger than Professor Stone. His powerful frame was largely concealed under his gaudy Hawaiian shirt, but he carried himself in a way that made it evident he was not a man to be taken lightly.

“My name is Professor Fletcher, and in addition to teaching Close Combat, I’ll also be running the gym sessions and overseeing the team events. For the slower of you, that means that yes, I am new here and was brought in to replace George. Now, this leads me to the unfortunate disadvantage I suffer from meeting you in your second year. Normally, I would have trained you all up and seen your fighting prowess on a finite level. That would let me gauge what to expect from many of you in the year to come, as well as earning your respect by demonstrating my skill as a fighter. Since I missed that opportunity, I’m afraid my most practical remaining option is simply to test you all with my own fists and get a sense of your strength from that.”

The rest of the professors and the dean began backing away from Professor Fletcher. He cracked his knuckles lightly and gave the class an oddly reassuring smile.

“Anyone who needs to shift, do so now. In ten seconds, I intend to fight you all at once.”

5.

“You’re sure you want to start things off like this?” Professor Cole asked; Professor Fletcher still hadn’t pieced together how she spoke so clearly through all that cloth.

For his part, Carl Fletcher nodded his head and took a sip of his tea. The dean’s meeting would end soon, and the students would be filing into the gym. Right now, the professors were all dwelling in the break room, discussing plans for their first introduction.

“I’m sure,” he said. “I don’t agree with a lot of George’s old methods, but he and I do see eye to eye on a few points. Having faith and respect in the people training you is definitely one of them.”

“Perhaps, but given the atmosphere and recent events, I’m not certain showing the class that not even all twenty-eight of them can beat you instills the sense of security you think it does,” Esme said, sipping her own mug filled with strong black coffee.

“It’s not ideal,” Carl conceded. “But if we’re talking ideal, I wouldn’t be here, and George wouldn’t be a turncoat. We can’t afford to treat them with kid gloves because of his and Persephone’s mistake. The students still have to learn, and to do that effectively, they need to believe we have something to teach them.”

“Which begs the question, why are you the one squaring off with them?” Blake Hill asked, his tone respectful and his eyes suspicious.

“Three reasons,” Carl replied. “First, I’m the Close Combat class teacher, so it makes sense that I’m the one to fight them. Second, I’ve got a lot of experience in bringing down Supers without doing lasting damage. And finally, because I’m the new guy. If I can beat them all so easily, they’ll think you more experienced folks can kill them with a thought.”

“A great idea,” Professor Pendleton contributed, “with one caveat. We’re talking about twenty-eight kids with pretty exceptional skills. Are you sure you can beat them?”

Carl gave an easy smile and finished the rest of his tea.

*      *      *

If last year had taught the students nothing else, it was to take the threat of violence from one of their teachers seriously. Professor Fletcher had scarcely finished speaking before Stella had adopted a more chrome-ish veneer and Hershel had gulped down the contents of his pocket flask. Others in the class took fighting poses, or brought themselves up to full alertness before Professor Fletcher took his first step. Not that it helped much.

Most of the students only saw the man in the brightly colored shirt vanish before their eyes. A select few were still conscious to see him reappear on the other side of the crowd, or rather, on the other side of the sea of collapsed bodies. They were also privy to the light show that streaked the air, wild currents of electricity hanging about like floating tinsel, searing the eyes for a moment and then fading away into oblivion. Of the seven still standing, only Chad and Sasha had been able to see everything that happened.

“Not bad,” Professor Fletcher said. “I expected to get more of you with that.”

“E-Electricity,” Sasha panted. Most of the others had remained standing due to their natural resistances. She and Gilbert, on the other hand, had actually dodged his attacks, a task which had taxed her speed and reflexes to the limit. “You turned into electricity.”

“Quite,” Professor Fletcher confirmed. “You see, of the known Supers in the world, approximately seven percent fall into an elemental manipulation category, such as the ice user over there.”

Michael’s armor of ice was melting on the ground as he lay passed out on the cold cement floor. Frozen water was an excellent barrier from physical assaults, but it came up lacking as an electrical insulator.

“Most of these can only generate or shift a certain kind of element. Of that seven percent, about a quarter have total mastery of their element. The ability to sense it, create it, control it, and alter it in any fashion they see fit. Now, of that quarter, a mere ten percent are so powerful, they can give their physical bodies aspects of their element. Stony skin, boiling touch, and even a thing like lightning speed become possible.”

“Yeah, yeah, we get it, you’re the cream of the crop, you rise to the top,” Roy said, shaking off the last attack. It had been a strong charge, but he’d remained standing. He was somewhat pleased to note that of the men’s top five ranks, only he and Chad could boast that claim. “Big whoop, we’ve heard it before.”

“The point I was trying to make, good student, is that even that ten percent of a quarter of seven percent is still classified under me. Because I don’t just assume my element, I can actually turn into it,” Professor Fletcher concluded. “So let’s see, still standing, we have two resistance and strength-based fighters, one absorber, one super speeder, one density controller, one rubber man, and one short range teleporter. Decisions, decisions.”

6.

Gilbert readied himself to leap again the moment the Professor disappeared. He knew he couldn’t win this way, but if he kept mobile long enough he might run out the clock until one of the combat capable people took him down. Professor Fletcher lurched forward, and Gilbert teleported through the world, arriving at the rear of the gym, hopefully a long way from both sight and mind. A jolt of energy surged through his body, scrambling his wits and sending him crashing to the floor.

“Teleportation is a useful tactic,” Professor Fletcher informed him. “But the limitation is that you still think and react at human speeds. Which means someone who moves fast enough can easily sneak up behind you. In the future, try to think in terms of multiple jumps so as to confuse your opponent.”

Sasha stood on the balls of her feet. She could see when he transformed and how the mass of energy moved. She alone could outmaneuver him; she alone might stand a chance. This was how she would start her year: not as the freak’s ex-girlfriend, but as a warrior on par with the new fighting teacher.

The surge of light and power flashed toward her, quick, but not so quick that she wasn’t able to slide out of the way. He was fast, but as she twisted her body around, she knew he wouldn’t overtake her. She kept knowing that right until his large hand closed around her arm.

“You are extremely fast,” Professor Fletcher complimented. “But unlike me, you still have too many physical limitations. Even with your sped up reaction times, your bones and muscles can’t match lightning. Which means you can’t match me with dodging alone; you should have used a little offense as well.” It took an impressive charge to drop the girl with pink tips in her dark hair, but she tumbled to the ground like the rest eventually.

Hector took advantage of the distraction to charge forward. He’d been waiting since he got to the HCP for a match up like this. For all the electricity this old man might be packing, there was nothing he could do against Hector once he turned his body to living rubber. Not only did it give him amazing protection from bludgeoning attacks, but it rendered him an insulator. This was his fight to win. He reached the professor just as Sasha fell, letting fly a mean left hook toward his opponent’s wrinkled face. His fist connected only with air, as he found the teacher standing to his side.

“Quite bold, and I can see why. To the untrained, this match seems heavily weighted in your favor. Of course, that ignores the fact that your defenses are ill-suited against attacks that slice or pierce, but even more importantly, it overlooks a basic piece of engineering knowledge,” Professor Fletcher said. He wrapped the rubber boy in a bear hug and held on tightly. “Namely, that there is no such thing as lightning proof, only resistant.” The gym practically glowed as Professor Fletcher coursed electricity through Hector’s body. He stopped well short of a point that would have seriously melted the rubber composition, but made certain to leave the boy a limp pile upon the floor.

Roy didn’t bother with getting ready or running forward. The guy was too fast to see. His only hope was to wait until he slowed down enough to attack, and then give him a good wallop. He braced his legs and tightened his right arm. He was still ready for the attack when the tremendous voltage struck him in the chest, sizzling through him and sending him into the realm of dreams. This same line of attack brought down Violet as well, the two sprawling out in different locations, but with similar styles.

“If I was a speeder, then they would have selected a viable strategy,” Professor Fletcher acknowledged as he came to a stop. “Those are made of flesh and bone, and as such, have to slow themselves to attack with accuracy. As a being composed of energy, I’m able to deliver as much juice as I need while simply going through them. Which brings me to you two.”

Vince stood ready, his body open to the charge of power that would soon be delivered. Chad was more relaxed, his body centered and brain running at full tilt. He couldn’t maintain such a heightened state all the time, but by over-clocking his brain, he was able to think and react at the level of a super speeder.

“The top of the class, and the leader of the group that brought down George. Do you know why you two are the only ones left?”

Neither boy took the bait, merely waiting for his next movement.

“Because I haven’t gotten to you yet.” Professor Fletcher was suddenly standing by Vince, who readied himself for the influx of energy. What he received instead was an influx of punches to his head and torso as the professor knocked him dizzy.

“You have a great defense against energy,” Professor Fletcher complimented as he delivered a right to Vince’s temple that sent the silver-haired boy toes up. “Sadly, that doesn’t help against a fighter with superior skill. In this case, I did warn you that people at my level can take on aspects of our element, such as speed, without shifting into it. Remember, just because I have a preferred method of attack doesn’t mean it’s my only one.”

Professor Fletcher turned his attention to the last remaining student. The highest ranked student from the men’s category, unofficially recognized as the strongest fighter in his whole class. He rushed to Chad’s front, sending out a few punches to gauge his speed. Chad dodged about expertly, sending back a few jabs of his own.

“You’re impressive. You have the power and endurance of a classic strength fighter, along with the perception and reactions of a super speeder. I bet there are even more techniques locked away in that head of yours. Unfortunately, I have a class coming in for gym soon, so I don’t have time to see just how far you can go. Some other time, perhaps.”

In a whirl of movement, Chad found himself encircled by electricity, a crackling fence that barred him from any escape. The circle drew tight, eventually ensnaring its prey completely.

By the time Chad’s unconscious body joined the others on the floor, Carl Fletcher was standing a few feet away, wiping the small beads of sweat that had dripped down from his salt and pepper hair onto his forehead.

“Whew. I am getting old. That almost left me winded,” he said.

Professor Pendleton, standing amidst the others who had acted as audience to the assault, struggled to keep the look of amazement off his face as he spoke to the now nearly empty room.

“Is this a good slow clap moment? Because it kind of feels like a good slow clap moment.”

7.

Vince rubbed his head as he and the others walked among the late summer foliage that decorated the Lander campus. He’d been healed, of course. They all had. But somehow, he felt like something still smarted. Were Vince the introspective sort, he might have considered the possibility that it was his pride.

“Yeesh, I feel like I’m still walking funny,” Nick complained, his own gait easily on par with the others despite his protests. “Next time, I’m pinning a note to my shirt: ‘Do not let Ed heal.’”

“Who is Ed?” Alice asked.

“One of the junior year healers,” Roy answered, and then asked, “What’s wrong with Ed?”

“His power just speeds up the body’s natural healing to light speed. I prefer the ones that make it like it never happened,” Nick explained.

“You want some cheese with that whine?” Mary said snidely.

“No, but I would like some original content in your insults,” Nick shot back. “I’m just saying, electricity can have long term effects. What if it had screwed with my nervous system, or worse, dulled my rapier wit?”

“We’d finally have proof of a just and loving God?” Alice ventured.

“Ha. Ha. Just for that, I’m not listening to your votes on what to watch for our welcome back movie marathon,” Nick snapped.

“Oh no, please, please, please be joking,” Mary’s soft voice implored.

“Come on, how else should we celebrate our return to Lander than by engaging in our traditional form of revelry?”

“Literally, I mean literally, anything else,” Alice said.

“Fine then. Whipped cream orgy it is.”

“Is it sad that I’d almost prefer that to more slasher flicks?” Mary asked.

“At this point, no,” Vince agreed as he opened the Melbrook front door. The five students piled in and down the hallway, entering the common room to find a set of unexpected guests awaiting them.

“Good afternoon,” Mr. Transport said, flashing them a wide smile. Mr. Numbers was more subdued in his greeting, merely offering a curt nod to his charges as they meandered into view.

“You guys are back!” Vince cried happily. Despite the dean’s assurance, Vince had remained worried about what repercussion the Mr.’s would face for their role in Mary’s rescue.

“Of course,” Mr. Transport confirmed. “I’m sorry we’re a bit late, there were a few final loose ends to wrap up before we were able to return. I trust you had a good orientation?”

“Good? Why, it was downright . . . shocking.”

It’s hard to say who threw the first light punch into Nick’s shoulder for that awful pun, but it was easily observable that everyone joined in before he cried out for mercy.

“It was interesting,” Mary reported more factually. “Looks like second year is a lot different from the first.”

“In more ways than one,” Roy tacked on.

“So we’ve been briefed,” Mr. Numbers said. “It will be hard. Try to keep up.”

“What Mr. Numbers means to say is that we have faith you five will make us proud and will all do well enough to make it to third year,” Mr. Transport hastily added.

“Sure,” Mr. Numbers said, in a tone that one could take as an agreement, were they feeling particularly generous.

“Well, glad as we all are to see you, we were already deep in a discussion about how to spend our evening,” Nick said, steering the conversation back toward his original goal.

“Uggggh.” The groan came from both the gathered students and, if one were listening quite carefully, was slightly augmented by a small contribution from the pursed lips of Mr. Numbers.

*      *      *

Carl sat in his new office, a formerly paper-cluttered mess that had been scrubbed clean of all documents in the course of the recent investigation. He drank a glass of water and eyed the small white pills in front of him. It was ludicrous to him that he could transform into living lightning, fight off an entire room of young bucks, and yet his doctor was still lecturing him on the importance of monitoring his cholesterol. It seemed like a horrible prank perpetrated on him by the cosmos. Still, Carl Fletcher was a pragmatic man, so he swallowed the pills along with a mouthful of water and grimaced at the bitter taste.

A light hand knocked on his door, then slid the wooden barrier open without waiting for a response. Carl glanced up to see a tall man with dark shaggy hair waltz in and plop down in a chair positioned directly before the desk.

“That,” Sean Pendleton said, “was truly stupendous. I mean, a masterful display of skill and power woven together in a tapestry of ass-kicking.”

“Thanks,” Carl replied, taking another draw from his water.

“A sight like that, it speaks to a lifetime of experience. Certainly years spent in active combat, not to mention extensive training beforehand.”

“They don’t exactly hire rookies to teach here,” Carl deflected.

“Oh no, certainly not. In fact, generally speaking, only Heroes with exceptional pedigrees and pristine records are even considered for these positions. I say generally because I believe you and I are exceptions to that rule. You see I, in case you weren’t aware, am a convicted thief on the grandest of scales. And you, well, you are a no one,” Sean said.

“Aren’t you just a charmer?”

“I don’t mean it as an insult, I meant it literally. See a talent like yours coupled with the skill you showed would hardly go unnoticed, even in the world of Heroes. But I’ve never seen or heard of any Hero with your particular talents, and I even went to the trouble of doing some digging after the spectacle. You aren’t a criminal either; I certainly would have heard of someone like you running in that circle. So that leaves you as a nobody. Which presents quite the conundrum.” Sean leaned forward at this point and lowered his voice. “Because, you see, I know why I was chosen to replace Persephone. And given the situation at hand, I can only conclude that Dean Blaine tapped you for precisely the same reason.”

“Trust,” Carl surmised, his own tone matching the low audibility of Sean’s.

“Right on the money,” Sean said. “Dean Blaine is in quite a precarious position, and as such, seems bent on surrounding himself with personnel he can count on. Now, I know why I’m perceived as loyal. You, however, remain something of an enigma to me.”

“While everything you’ve said is true, I fail to see how it’s any of your business,” Carl replied.

“Simply put? You and I were both brought here from the outside after a fantastic snafu. Now, while he would never want to admit it, two top employees going so far off the reservation must have shaken Blaine’s faith in his staff. And rightly so: we still have no real idea what the point of their little after-hours field trip was. So a logical person would be forced to assume that there is more going on than what is presented on the surface.”

“You’ve just said a lot without getting to the point.”

“My point, you cretin, is that in a program where every human cog is a potential Judas, the only people we can safely trust are the dean and one another. So I’m proposing we get to know each other a bit better, given the shaky alliance we find ourselves thrust into.”

Carl sighed and finished off his cup of water. At this rate, his doctor would have him on stress medication, too.

8.

Vince sat on one of the many benches that littered the Lander campus, looking up at the stars. The wooden slats were hard against his back, and the night was still a touch too summery to be truly comfortable, but to the former wanderer these inconveniences weren’t even noticeable. He was too caught up in thought, too enraptured in the sentiment that was washing over him—one he had felt so rarely, he didn’t even fully understand what it was. Vince was experiencing the warm glow of coming home after time away.

He hadn’t really believed it, hadn’t let himself believe it, for the whole summer. Every ring of the phone, every letter in the mail, each piece of contact that arrived would certainly inform him that he and his ilk were not welcome to return. That they were being booted to make room for the real Supers. That his wonderful but brief fever dream of becoming a Hero was coming to an end.

The call never came. Still, he didn’t trust it. He was sure Melbrook would be boarded up when they arrived. He was certain that the lifts would refuse them entry into the underground area. He was positive the other Supers would band together and drive them from the subterranean halls. Today was the first time that fear had finally vanished. Strangely enough, it was only after getting his head punched about by Professor Fletcher that Vince finally felt like a true HCP student again. He was reveling in that feeling.

The others had probably gone to sleep, but Vince had been unable. That was why he was out on the campus in the dead of night, body stretched out on a bench that was too small, looking up at a universe that was too big. Were he another student, he might have been concerned for his safety. Lander was a secure place; however, there is nowhere that is truly safe to be caught unaware in the middle of the night. Vince, however, had no such concerns, and nor should he. After all, Vince Reynolds was not a regular person.

Vince Reynolds was a Super.

*      *      *

Alice Adair’s leg flew through the air and locked into position, matching the figure on her television nearly perfectly. She took a step down on the extended leg, then snapped out the other one. She followed this up with a series of rhythmic punches, and then stepped back.

Clad in yoga pants and sports bra, Alice would have looked more appropriate in an upscale gym than her actual location, her bedroom. Playing on her TV screen was a well-built man in his early forties, taking her through a set of attacks and withdraws supposedly designed to emphasize precision over power: in other words, a fighting system built on the premise of women lacking upper body strength. This man made five separate tapes, each containing a workout that lasted about an hour. Alice was on the third one so far tonight. Over the summer, she’d done all five every night. For a normal person, it would have been ridiculously taxing. For someone who’d been physically conditioned by Coach George for nine months, it was well within the range of doable.

Alice’s arms, always slender, were now beginning to possess a shape more distinctive than simple cylinders of pale flesh. She was gaining tone and muscle across her frame, and it was shaping her into more than the pretty teen she had once been. Alice Adair was becoming beautiful. Not just for her fitness, but for the increasing grace with which she moved and the surety with which she carried herself. It was nice; however, it was nothing more than a side-effect.

Alice had always been pretty. Alice had always known how to carry her body to send certain signals. And Alice had always been dainty. Frail. Weak.

She let loose another flurry of kicks in the solitude of her room, images of last year’s fiasco sending adrenaline through her veins. All she’d done, all Alice had ever been able to do, was run away. And she hated it.

Alice stepped forward and dealt a series of deft jabs. She wanted to be stronger. She needed to be capable. Alice Adair didn’t want to run anymore.

*      *      *

Roy lifted another set of weights, this time, focusing on his biceps. At this time of night, the gym down in the HCP was nearly deserted; only an occasional upperclassman walked by to cast a curious glance at him. Let them look; Roy couldn’t give less of a shit if he tried.

Roy pulled the weight slowly upward, coming to a rest at the top of his chest and then beginning the downward descent once more. Roy sometimes felt like his right arm made the trek easier than his left. He wondered if it was him trying to compensate, to imagine his right arm was making amends for its uselessness in the fight against George. If so, it needn’t have bothered. Roy’s body had failed as a whole that day; no one part had to bear the blame on its own. Roy had fought a variety of opponents in his life, starting well before Lander. Here, the quality had increased, though. He’d seen with Chad how lacking his skills were, how much refinement he needed to play on the same field as the big boys.

His strength, however, that had never been called into question. Even against the number one ranked student in the class, it was only that Roy couldn’t make contact with him, not that the fist making the contact lacked the power to hurt. So Roy had spent the year focused on developing that skill set, on learning how to fight and knowing he was already strong enough. Until the day he wasn’t.

George had shrugged off his best attacks. All that work, all that time learning to connect, and he’d found himself lacking in the damage department, the one area in which he’d always been unstoppable. There was no denying the truth. He had been, at best, an inconvenience to George. If not for Vince’s help, Roy didn’t even know if he would have been that. Vince, who, at the beginning of the year, had been nothing more than a twig, who couldn’t light a cigar. Nick had done the planning. Alice had been the speed. And Mary, Mary had saved them all, despite the fact that she’d originally been the one in peril. That only left Roy, who realized he was, ever so slowly, getting passed by.

Roy set down the free weights and headed for the bench. He had to have it all. He had to fight with his brain and hit with his body. He needed to be better. He needed to be faster. He would not falter again.

And next time Roy Daniels met with George, he was determined not to need anyone’s help to knock the metal head cleanly from his shoulders.

*      *      *

Mary was actually asleep. She’d had quite a long day and anticipated another tomorrow, so after a light dinner and a warm shower, she’d plopped down into bed and set sail for the shores of dreamland. If only the slumber she’d found had actually been peaceful, it would have been quite a pleasant night. Sadly, such was not the case.

*      *      *

Nick clicked on a new link, a story containing an eyewitness account of a man made of lightning wreaking havoc in Minnesota ten years ago. It was, in all likelihood, a complete waste of time, but Nick hadn’t gotten this far without being thorough. Still, he was a bit surprised. Nick would have thought that, given the showy abilities of Professor Fletcher, he would have been the easiest to find information on.

That title had actually gone to Professor Pendleton; it had taken Nick less than a minute to find the opening segments of his fascinating story. The convict aspect was somewhat interesting, especially given his previous renown, but it wasn’t particularly useful. Someone else would raise that point in class; it didn’t need to be Nick Campbell. Besides, Nick wasn’t interested in extortion material or dirty laundry. The six folders lying on his bed weren’t filled with the family secrets of their subjects. They were stuffed with the limited data he’d managed to procure so far.

Having last names wasn’t all that helpful, since they would have used different handles during their Hero days. A few of them, Professor Cole especially, had distinctive appearances. Nick managed a touch of good luck with that alone. He’d know more soon; all that was required was patience. Once he saw their powers, tracking down information would be worlds easier. And Nick intended to do just that. He wanted to know every nuance of their abilities, every weakness they might possess, even discover when they’d first known they were Supers. Nick wasn’t strong, or fast, or particularly intimidating. He would never be the kind of person who struck fear into the hearts of his enemies just by stepping onto a battlefield.

Nick did know—that is to say he truly understood—the value of information, however. And that merely goes to show how misplaced the fears of others were, because that trait alone made Nick Campbell one of the most dangerous men in all of the school.

9.

“Teamwork,” Professor Fletcher said, his strong voice echoing through the gym and landing upon the receptive sophomore ears. “Teamwork is our greatest advantage. Teamwork is what gives us an edge over the Supers who break the law. Teamwork can only come from trust, which can only come from not constantly suspecting that your teammates are looking to screw you over. That’s a gift only the good guys get. Nearly all Heroes have been, or still are, part of a team. There’s a reason for that. It’s a system that works.”

The attention of the students was well captivated by Professor Fletcher. Aside from the trouncing he’d given them the day before, he had a natural charisma that people responded to. Some of the more experienced faculty at Lander immediately recognized it as the decisiveness and confidence that came from having commanded one of the very teams he was talking about. It was the aura of leadership, and his last few years spent lounging in the sand hadn’t dulled it one bit.

“For that reason, this year you will see an emphasis on teamwork. In fact, you will be assigned to a team today, and that will be your group for several events throughout the year. While you’ll attend classes as individuals, you’ll also be expected to take those skills and integrate them into the cooperative effort you’ll be building. And just so you know off the bat, this year’s final, the one to qualify for advancement to third year, will be a team event.”

There was a soft murmur of excitement amongst the students. Usually, they didn’t know this much about their tests going in.

“Now, since I did mention trust, normally we allow everyone to pick their own teams. We name some of the top ranks as captain, then have them choose their partners one by one. Yes, we realize this leads to people picking their friends, and we’re fine with that. Some captains do well with a thought out, coordinated strike team. Others choose people they can trust and depend on no matter the circumstances. I’ve seen the records, and I can tell you both strategies are viable under the right situation. That’s what we normally do. But this year’s class isn’t exactly normal, now is it?”

There was an uncomfortable squirming from some of the students and unmasked glares from others. It seemed the collective attitude was somewhere between awkward and angry, which was still far better than Professor Fletcher had initially expected.

“That’s what I thought,” Professor Fletcher said. “All right then, let’s deal with the elephant in the room. Five of your classmates were Powereds before they came here. Some of you are fine with that. Some don’t care. Some are liberally pissed off. There are probably even some of you that don’t know how you feel yet, and that’s okay. I’m not here to make everyone feel warm and squishy inside about this new development. What I am here to do is make sure we have four teams with good composition, so that the match-ups result in legitimate learning opportunities. I somehow doubt that the teamwork will really be popping if each team has a few members that generate controversy and conflict just by existing. To that effect, this year we’re making a modification to the process. The four Captains will be Mary Smith, Chad Taylor, Shane DeSoto, and Britney Ferguson.”

Britney looked surprised, though she was one of the few. Despite the humble personality of the girl and seemingly non-combative nature of her ability, she’d placed highly in both last year’s midterm and final. She was resourceful, quick-witted, and determined under pressure—the perfect candidate for leading a team of fellow Supers.

“Now then, rather than forcing anyone to be on a team they have opposition with, we’re making things simple,” Professor Fletcher continued. “Roy Daniels, Mary Smith, Nick Campbell, Alice Adair, and Vince Reynolds will all be clumped into a single team.”

“Didn’t see that coming,” Nick mumbled under his breath. He actually agreed with this strategy, even if he hadn’t been able to help himself from imagining all the possible team combinations he could build from this selection of Supers. He’d crafted a few doozies too, but he was confident this team could do pretty well. Depending on who else they got, of course.

“For those of you keeping count, you’ll remember that the teams will be composed of seven each. That leaves this one short two members. So, instead of forcing anyone to get picked via the standard process, we’re just going to give the spots to people who want them. Anyone who is willing to work with these students, pasts as Powereds now known, please step out from the line,” Professor Fletcher instructed.

It was a harsh move, admittedly, forcing people in this compact of a social sphere to publicly take sides with the outcasts. Professor Fletcher deemed it necessary, not only because they’d end up labeled as that by being on the team anyway, but because it would create a shared sense of being hated. There were few things to bring a group closer than making them feel that their members were the only ones they could count on.

The first one to step forward was a lanky boy whose brown hair had grown shaggier over the summer. Had Hershel been there, Alex would have flashed him a smile as he moved his body before the rest of the class, but since it was Roy in attendance, Alex instead focused on looking stoic. Few people were surprised; after all, the delusional telepath was barely better than a Powered himself. Of course he would side with them.

Stella, Violet, and Thomas followed suit. They’d discussed it the night before, and they’d decided to support their friends whenever they could. In truth, however, Thomas was strongly hoping not to get chosen for their team. Not because of lingering resentment, but because he very much wanted to face Vince in battle again. Vince had beaten Thomas once, and Thomas wanted to test his progress against those who had bested him.

Will felt his foot drift forward, but then pulled it back in line. He had no problems with the group, and he would have happily served alongside his friends. That wasn’t viable, unfortunately; he needed to be in the same group as Jill, and she would never take that step forward. He felt bad, and he fully intended to explain later, but his mind was set. Family came first.

Professor Fletcher was about to tell Mary to take her pick, when one more figure gently glided forward. It was a small one, easy to miss in this crowd of large bodies and egos, but its advancement sent a ripple of surprise throughout the students remaining behind, as well as the ones standing forward.

Camille, for her part, tried to look nonplussed as she felt the stares of her class pile on top of her. Her neck became flushed, and her hands started to tremble, but she kept all such nervousness off of her face. There would be time for cowardice later; now, there was only the task at hand.

“More than I thought there would be,” Professor Fletcher commented. “Mary, take your choice of two.”

“I, um, I’m not sure,” Mary said. She hadn’t expected to be handed this responsibility, and wasn’t prepared to make a strategic decision that would affect all of her comrades for the rest of the year in the space of a few seconds. Fortunately, Mary’s particular talent kept her from being alone in her head, and even more fortunately, there was a brain more cunning than hers actively lobbying to be heard from behind its stoic, sunglass-clad face.

“Camille,” Mary said, trying to sound sure of herself. The healer had been a relatively easy call; every team would have wanted her. It was the second choice that Mary was a little surprised by.

“And Alex,” she concluded. Mary wasn’t sure why Nick wanted someone who was essentially a weaker version of herself; however, she trusted his judgment in these matters. She’d just be demanding an explanation once they were away from prying eyes and ears.

“Okay, then, you seven cluster together,” Professor Fletcher said. “Everyone else, back in line. The other three Captains to the front. We’ll start based on rank, lowest going first, then up and so on until all teams are formed. You’ll have a couple of minutes to talk, and then I’ll be giving out class schedules. Starting on Monday, you’ll be showing up for gym together, and then going to your assigned lessons. Team training takes place on your own time, so I’d advocate making some plans this weekend to find days that work for everyone. Just my advice, take it or leave it.”

None of the students were so thick-headed as to imagine there was actually a “leave it” option on the table. Their final exam would take place with this group. Training was top priority in every one of their minds.

10.

“So, I guess we’re a team now,” Alice said as the seven clustered together. All across the room, the other groups were circling up as well, having a quick chat and handling formalities while everything was still fresh and new. They were trying to adjust their mindsets, going from seeing each other almost exclusively as rivals to regarding one another in the light of camaraderie and mutual goals. The transition would be somewhat tumultuous in the majority of cases.

“Great to have you guys on board,” Vince said cheerfully. He shook Alex’s hand and slapped him on the back in a half hug. He did the same with Camille, albeit far more gently. It’s fortunate that doing so turned her face away from him, because Camille’s blush and expression would have made him think he had seriously injured her.

“Glad to be with you,” Alex said. “I have to say, I was a little surprised you picked me. I mean, Thomas and Stella and Violet are all really strong fighters.”

Mary glanced at Nick, who took it upon himself to field the question.

“That they are,” Nick agreed. “But as the good professor pointed out, one of the core points of teamwork is trust. Now, while their stepping forward means the world to us, you spent more time hanging out with us last year. You were also the first one to tell Hershel that you didn’t care about the whole Powered thing. To put a point on it, the five of us have experience working together, which is an advantage. Adding a sixth person who shares in some of that experience is worth vastly more to us than just another heavy hitter.”

“I’ve got that department handled,” Roy bragged, flexing a not unimpressive bicep. “I have to tell you, the one thing that surprised me was when the little lady here joined us.”

“Definitely,” Alice concurred. “I never expected to get the only healer in class. What made you decide to work with us, Camille?”

Camille let out a low squeak barely discernible to human ears. Luckily, Vince already had his own theory about her decision.

“She’s good friends with the other three. I guess they all had the same sentiment toward helping us,” Vince said. He turned to Camille and gave her a reassuring smile. “Thank you, by the way. I know someone with your ability could have had their pick of teams to work with.”

“No, I . . . I’m happy to be here,” Camille said, her soft voice piping up with more enthusiasm than she’d expected. She really was happy, too; that much was clear to everyone with training or telepathy. Alex already suspected the actual reason, but it was Mary who proved to be the more curious. So much so that she opened her own mind and listened in on Camille’s thoughts for a moment.

“Whoa,” Mary said, taking a step backward and shaking her head. Whatever she’d been expecting, she hadn’t expected it to come with that much force, that much feeling. It was crazy that such a meek girl could be ratcheted up to that level of intensity.

“What ‘whoa’?” Alice asked.

“Oh, um, just ‘whoa, I’m really excited about our team,’ ” Mary lied lamely. “I can’t wait to get together and do some training.”

“Nor should we,” Nick leapt in. “We have a weekend before us, so I say we do a little team-building event.”

“I swear to God, if you say the words ‘horror movie,’ I’m going to forcibly remove your baby-making equipment,” Alice said.

“Perish the thought,” Nick replied. “No, I was thinking more along the lines of an outing; an excursion, if you will. Something fun for us all to do together. Shall we say tomorrow night?”

“What did you have in mind?” Alex asked.

“A classic training technique to help us learn to work fluidly and seamlessly,” Nick told him. “Wear something nice, and meet at Melbrook around eight.”

“I’m terrified, but curious,” Vince admitted.

“Have no fear, I guarantee a night that will culminate in both training and entertainment,” Nick assured him.

“I’m pretty sure that’s the part that terrifies him,” Alice said. “Well, that gives us tomorrow night. I say we get our schedules and relax a little with our evening.”

“Sounds good,” Mary agreed.

“Yeah, I’m down,” Vince said. “I’ll meet you guys there. I need to run a quick errand first.”

“We’ll try to survive without you,” Nick assured him.

*      *      *

Michael Clark was halfway across campus, heading toward the nearest dining hall, when he realized he was being followed. He kept his head trained in the same direction and tried not to give any indications he was aware. There weren’t many people around—regular classes didn’t start until Monday this year—so he didn’t have to worry about any bystanders if things got violent. Not that he would have anyway. No, his only real concern was if things got wild and he used his powers, he might get identified. That was still a big no-no, so he’d try to restrain himself.

Michael slowed his pace by a few steps, letting the muffled gait of his pursuer draw closer, then spun around on his heels with his fists up, ready to deal with the threat by any means necessary. What greeted him was a figure with familiar hair and a slightly startled expression on his face. Michael didn’t let his guard down one bit. If anything, he grew tenser.

“Trying to sneak up on me, huh? Can’t say I’m surprised,” Michael spat.

“I think I’ll gloss over the irony of that particular statement,” Vince said. “I’m not trying to sneak up on you or attack you.”

“Sure, then why are you following me?” Michael asked.

“Well, I needed to talk to you,” Vince explained.

“You’ve been following for a while just to talk.”

“I wasn’t really sure how to start things off,” Vince said. “So I kept trying to think of a good way, but stayed close, and then . . . I suppose you started things for me.”

“Uh huh,” Michael said skeptically. “Fine, then. I’ll play along: what did you want to talk about?”

“Two things, actually. First off, I wanted to know how you found out about us last year.”

“Lots of research and putting the pieces together.”

“No, that’s how you proved it to everyone else. I wanted to know what tipped you off in the first place.”

Michael stared at his opponent fiercely. There was nothing aggressive in his body language, nothing to suggest this request was coming with a threat of violence if not complied with. Still, Michael didn’t owe this freak any favors.

“There was always something off about you,” Michael lied. “I just trusted my gut and kept digging until I found the truth.”

Vince sighed. “If that’s what you want to stick with, then I can’t force you to tell me. We will find out eventually. I’d just hoped you would have been a little more helpful.”

“Hope is a beautiful thing. You hang on to that,” Michael said. “What else did you want?”

“Oh, well, the other thing I wanted to say is ‘thank you.’ ”

Michael tilted his head in skepticism.

“No, I mean it. Not only for setting me free from living a lie, but for helping me see how wrong I was last year,” Vince said.

“What do you mean?”

“I kept thinking that by limiting my power intake, I was keeping everyone else safe. I was so scared of losing control that I purposely kept myself as weak as possible. But if you hadn’t stirred up the whole campus, I doubt George and Persephone could have slipped off with our friends, and in that whole fiasco, I realized something important: I can’t keep anyone safe if I’m weak. I have to get past my fear of losing control and start using my power to its limit, and then some. If I really want to keep everyone safe, then I’ve got to be stronger than everyone and everything else,” Vince explained. “So, for that lesson, I sincerely do want to thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Michael said with a sneer. “Let me know if there’s anything else you want me to teach you.”

“Oh, I don’t think there’s any need for that,” Vince replied. His voice was the same, as was his stance, but something seemed to shift to Michael. He couldn’t put his finger on why, but he was suddenly certain something about this situation had become vastly more dangerous.

“I took that lesson to heart, Michael, and I think you’ll find I’m now far less hesitant about how much power I keep held within me. I genuinely meant that thank you, and I do hope one day you and I can become mutually respectful peers, if not outright friends. That said, until you get past whatever issues you seem to have with me, you should stay away. From me, and especially from my friends.”

“Big talk from a freak,” Michael said. “I think someone needs to be reminded which of us always wins our fights.”

Michael took a step forward and readied himself to charge. Suddenly, he felt his breath slip out of his chest as the air around him rippled with heat. In less than a second, the temperature had leapt up by tens of degrees and it was only getting hotter. He tried to gulp down new air, but it burned at his lungs and gave him little relief. He fell to a knee in hopes of seeking cooler air closer to the ground. Then, just as soon as it had started, it was over. The heat dissipated and Michael was able to take several ragged breaths to sooth his pounding heart.

“I’m not here to fight. I just wanted to ask you a question and say thanks,” Vince said calmly. “I don’t have interest in fighting you, Michael. I never did. The difference now is that I’m not going to put up with your antics anymore either. Please keep that in mind next time you decide to ambush me, because I’m done pulling punches.”

Vince turned and headed off toward his dorm, leaving Michael still panting for air and fuming with rage.

11.

It was later than he expected when a series of sharp knocks rang against Nick’s door. He glanced at the clock and saw the glowing digital numbers flashing nearly midnight. He supposed it was a Friday night, and Mary and Hershel would want to get some couple time in. Still, it was a good thing he was a night owl or else Nick might have been perturbed at the intrusion.

He opened the door to reveal Mary, dressed for the night in sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. She walked briskly past him and plopped down in his desk chair.

“Can I help you?” Nick asked.

“You sure can,” Mary replied. “We need to talk about the team.”

“Wouldn’t that require the rest of the aforementioned team to be present?”

“Don’t be an ass. I trusted your judgment on picking Camille and Alex today. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to know why you thought they were the best choices,” Mary said.

“Someone is feeling nosy.”

“Someone is feeling responsible. I got selected as Captain, which means the hard choices fall on me to make. I think I’ve got a better chance of doing that if I have the best understanding of my team possible.”

“Why, Ms. Smith, are you saying that I can offer insight even to a telepath?”

“I’m saying you’re a better tactician and strategist than anyone else in our group. And yes, part of being a good leader is surrounding yourself with smart people, and then actually listening to them,” Mary shot back. “Now, can we please end this little dance? You knew I was coming over for this, and I knew that you knew, which you knew, and blah blah blah.”

“I suppose that’s fair,” Nick said, sitting on the edge of his bed and facing Mary. “So, you want to know why I picked Alex and Camille. Well, let’s get the obvious out of the way first: Camille is the only healer in our class. Having her means that we are literally the lone team in any game that can bring pieces back onto the board after they’ve been eliminated. That single fact would have made me pick her, but she actually brings more to the table than that. She’s socially awkward enough to be accustomed to the ostracization that will accompany siding with us, and she’s one of the few people whose loyalty we will never have to question.”

“What makes you say that?” Mary asked.

“Because she’s in love with Vince.”

“How do you—”

“Oh, come on, it’s not that hard. The girl never even glances at him unless she absolutely has to, and when she does, it looks like she just swallowed a live chicken that’s trying to work its way free. She blushes every time he’s in her vicinity, and she gave up being a number one draft pick to join us. Frankly, it’s so obvious that, really, anyone could tell if they paid attention. Anyone other than Vince, I mean.”

“I suppose so,” Mary agreed. “I’m a little disappointed in myself for not knowing until today. I mean, I listened to her after we all huddled and . . . wow. I’ve never seen so much appreciation and dedication. I don’t know what the whole story is, but Vince must have done something incredible to leave an impression like that on the girl.”

“Though it pains me to sound so optimistic, that wouldn’t be much of a stretch to believe, given that it’s Vince,” Nick said begrudgingly.

“Why, Nick, that almost sounded like you were showing faith in your friend for a second there,” Mary teased.

“Moving on,” Nick said. “Alex was chosen for similar reasons, personality-wise. He’s accustomed to being an outcast and has a high level of loyalty to our group. That will keep him from buckling under the coming pressure.”

“Yes, but the same could be said for Thomas, who would have brought abilities we didn’t already possess as well,” Mary pointed out.

“Thomas would have been good,” Nick conceded. “However, the reason I chose Alex is precisely because we already have abilities similar to his. You see, you and he are the only people with any telepathic talents in the class, correct?”

“So far as I’m aware, yes.”

“You are. Which means our team now has the only people capable of hearing other students’ thoughts. While that does give us duplication in some respects, it does something far more important. It robs our opponents of any mind-reading. We are the only team that doesn’t have to worry about our strategies and plans being overheard, and we are the only ones who can pluck those same ideas from the brains of our opponents.”

“Ohhhh,” Mary said, comprehension dawning. “So it wasn’t about having Alex as much as it was about taking him away from everyone else.”

“Exactly,” Nick said. “Whether the matches are maze-style encounters like our midterms, or just out and out brawls, the ability to know our opponents’ actions before they make them is invaluable. Plus, Alex isn’t entirely duplication. He can do some things you can’t.”

“Such as?”

“It’s commonly understood that telekinesis can’t stop energy, right?”

Mary nodded. “There isn’t enough mass for us to interact with.”

“You should talk to Vince sometime about his and Alex’s fight with Thomas. I think you’ll find Alex has his own potential uses beyond being a backup for you.”

“I’ll do that. So, tell me something else, o ye who commands we pawns. You saw the other team compositions while we were in the gym, what do you think our chances against them are?”

“Better with some than others. Shane’s team is combat heavy; I mean, he got Stella, Violet, and Thomas, so if we’re put in a pure fight against them, we’ll be in trouble. Britney’s is the inverse, more stocked with unique technique-users like Gilbert and Adam. They’d have the upper hand if we did games that didn’t require conflict. Chad’s team is the closest to ours. He chose a good mix of both combat and technique-oriented students so that he’s got a viable game plan for any situation.”

“So we have the best shot against his team?” Mary asked.

“Oh no, the worst. He composed his in the same style as ours, but with much stronger people. Rich, Sasha, Selena, we’re talking about Supers that are not to be taken lightly,” Nick explained. “As it stands now, we’d have no chance of winning against his team.”

“Hmm. I suppose that only leaves us with one option,” Mary surmised. “We have to get stronger.”

“Indeed we do,” Nick agreed. “Training starts tomorrow, so get some rest. I promise, it will challenge you in ways you never expected.”

Mary was tempted to peek into Nick’s mind and see just what he had in store, but she thought better of it. She had a feeling that whatever it was, hearing about it this late would not be conducive to a good night’s sleep.

12.

Nick flipped the cards onto his desk again, staring at the hand before him with a frown. There was no doubt about it: his assessments were spot on, but in a way he wished they weren’t. He might have liked to take solace in ignorance, to quiet the machinations of his ever-ticking mind. Since that option was not presented to him, he instead looked at the other hands on the table. There were four of them, each different from the last. The arrangement would have seemed random to anyone else, which was indeed why Nick had chosen this medium for physical observation. The others didn’t need to know what he knew, not yet anyway.

They needed to bond first, and bonding meant spending time together in high spirits. High spirits were best sustained when one believed they had a significant chance of victory. Nick would have to crush those hopes soon, because, as it stood, the hand before him was the weakest one on the table. That meant, if they were hoping for a real shot at victory, there was only one course for them: changing the cards.

Nick set down the remainder of the deck and checked the time. People would start arriving soon. He needed to get ready. If things went to plan, he could use tonight to get people bonded and to lay a bit of the groundwork they’d need for the tasks ahead. If they didn’t . . . well, given the number of backups Nick had in mind, it would be quite extraordinary for things not to go according to at least one plan. He reached into his closet and pulled out a dark-colored button-down. He’d gotten most of the prep work done during the day; however, he still had a few tasks left.

*      *      *

Camille stepped nervously into the Melbrook common room to find all the others already gathered. She hadn’t been sure what Nick meant by “dress nice,” so she’d changed outfits several times, trying to strike the right chord. Initially, she’d gone with a white dress that went to her calves, but she’d opted against it in case the night’s activities required any extensive movement. Eventually, she’d settled on a light green blouse and jeans. Looking about the room at the range of clothing, from Alice’s pink dress to Alex’s flip-flops, she decided she’d struck a good medium.

“And at last, we are all assembled,” Nick declared, gesturing to the short girl’s entrance.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said weakly.

“Don’t worry about it,” Mary said. “Alice only got out here around two minutes ago.”

“I had to find the right shoes,” Alice defended.

“How do you know which shoes are the right ones? You don’t know what we’re doing,” Mary pointed out.

“Thus I selected the ones that were utilitarian in function and adorable in looks,” Alice shot back. “On that note, what are we doing tonight? Now that Camille is here, will you finally tell us?”

“I’d be happy to, once we arrive,” Nick replied with a smile. “For the trip, we’ll need to split up into three vehicles. I’ll drive, Alice will drive, and I believe Alex has a car as well.”

“I’ve got a Focus that’s a few years old,” Alex confirmed.

“We’ll do our best not to hold that against you,” Nick said. “To the cars!”

“Don’t you need to tell the drivers where we’re going?” Vince asked.

“Nope! Just follow my car!”

“This seems kind of weird, even for him,” Alice whispered to Mary as the group filtered out the front door.

“Leave it be, I’m sure he has something in mind,” Mary said.

Alice raised an eyebrow. “Did you peek?”

“No, but I mean, it’s Nick. For all his excessive eccentricity, he always has a goal behind the things he does.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Alice sighed. She wished Mary was a little less correct in that assessment.

After some quick debate, the cars were stocked with passengers. Alice, Mary, and Roy piled into Alice’s car. Camille joined Alex in his, leaving Vince and Nick to rely on the Volkswagen for transportation.

*      *      *

The knock on Dean Blaine’s door was loud and pronounced. The educator glanced at one of the many monitors hooked up to the closed-circuit camera system to see who his guest was. Despite the everyday appearance of the four-bedroom home a few blocks from campus, Dean Blaine’s house was a fortress of security. Concealed cameras covered all areas of his perimeter, the charming bay windows housed glass of a thickness rated “rocket-resistant,” and his doors and walls were all reinforced with sheets of steel in their centers. Some might have considered it a bit of overkill. Those people had never worked as Heroes. The ones who were lucky enough to retire had to take precautions to make sure they lived long enough to enjoy it.

In this instance, Dean Blaine had little to fear from his weekend caller. He unbolted the front door and swung it open, revealing Sean Pendleton dressed in a pair of slacks and a black silk shirt.

“I couldn’t get you to dress this nicely for the first day of meeting students, but you’ll do it to intrude on my time off?”

“Now, don’t be like that, Blaine,” Sean said, a cheerful smile plastered to his face. “There was a time when we tore up the town on any given weekend.”

“That time was long ago, and with a much larger group, I might add. And you can call me Dean Blaine. You’re an employee now, need I remind?”

“I am indeed, but we’re off the clock,” Sean pointed out. “Besides, I come bearing gifts.” From behind his back, Sean produced a small but very nice bottle of scotch.

“Dare I ask how you acquired it?”

“I did have a savings account with legitimate funds before my incarceration,” Sean said. “So what do you say, shall we have a drink, then perhaps go out on the town for old times’ sake?”

“Are you really that bored?”

“Dreadfully so, I’m afraid,” Sean lied. “There’s little action to be found in this town when one is on the side of authority.”

“Fine,” Dean Blaine acquiesced. “You can come in for one glass of scotch. Just one.”

“You haven’t changed a bit, dear boy,” Sean said, stepping into the tastefully decorated living room. “Still always willing to put yourself out to cheer up a friend.”

Dean Blaine shut the door and bolted it behind Sean. He let the comment pass without objection, though he couldn’t help noting just how wrong Sean was. Dean Blaine knew himself quite well, and he knew he had definitely changed in their time apart.

He just wished he knew if it was for the better or not.

13.

The bottle was nearly empty as Blaine topped off both their glasses. His head had a pleasant swim about it, but not quite so much that his senses were on leave. It was more that they were on a coffee break: not immediately active, but ready to spring at a moment’s notice, if called. It was the stage of intoxication he liked best, and one he rarely went past.

“Scotch,” Sean said, tasting the word as much as the drink. “This is one of those things you expect not to notice how much you miss in prison. Then you get out and it’s like a shock to the system, you didn’t even know how much you wanted some. That, by the way, is a crock of shit. I was keenly aware of how much I missed this and a thousand other little pleasantries from the outside world.”

“And yet it took me ample convincing to get you to leave,” Blaine pointed out.

“You’ll forgive my hesitation. Our last encounter wasn’t exactly one that captured the pinnacles of our friendship.”

“Sean . . . well, I can’t really say I’m sorry, given what you were doing. But I do still wish it hadn’t had to be me that brought you in.”

“I understand, Blaine. In the end, it had to be someone from our class, and given all that’s unfolded since then, perhaps I was lucky to be snared by Zero after all.”

Blaine shook his head a little. “Of all the futures I imagined when we were enrolled here at Lander, I must say this wasn’t one of them.”

*      *      *

“Open the door!” Sean yelled, his voice muffled by something. Blaine and Gerard both stood from the table, but Victor had already been up getting a drink, giving him the advantage of position. He flung open the flimsy apartment door to reveal Sean, arms loaded down with a case of beer and assorted snacks. He had a bag of chips in his teeth, which accounted for the distortion in his speech.

“About time,” Victor thundered. No matter how often Blaine and Gerard tried to explain to him that they had neighbors who were partial to silence, the barrel-chested young man was never quite able to restrain himself fully.

“Maybe if I’d had a little help, I could have made better time,” Sean snapped, wobbling through the entrance under the burden of his load.

“Maybe if you were better at poker, you wouldn’t have lost last week and been tasked with snack duty,” Victor fired back, one of his ham-sized hands delicately plucking a fresh beer from the case to join the one he’d already gotten from the fridge and drunk halfway down. Blaine and Gerard got up to help Sean unload, a relatively quick process consisting of putting chips on the counter and beer in the fridge. With the food settled, they sat down at the small kitchen table again, and Gerard began to shuffle. His bony fingers were shockingly delicate and deft, rearranging the order of the cards with exemplary speed.

“What we need are fresh players,” Sean proposed, settling into his own seat and popping his weary back. “That way, I’m not always getting my clock cleaned by you guys.”

“We’ve invited everyone in our class,” Blaine pointed out. “Then again, we’re seniors now, so the environment is leaning more toward outright competitive than friendly.”

“In fairness, that’s not true of everyone,” Gerard pointed out. “Phil and Joshua aren’t avoiding us out of malice; they simply prefer to spend their time training.”

“Not to mention Phil is such a Boy Scout he’d never play poker. And wherever Phil is, that’s where you’ll find Clarissa,” Victor added. He held himself back from the sigh that wanted to escape his lips. That girl was so breathtaking, yet all she ever seemed to do was follow after Phil like a puppy with an oblivious master.

“Casper comes to some of our other stuff,” Sean said.

“Yes, but he refuses to take part in anything involving gambling. The tenents of his faith label it a sin,” Gerard expanded.

“And, of course, Marianne has been dating that guy for the past couple of months,” Sean said.

“A Super like her with a human. Such a waste,” Victor said with a shake of his head.

“Love doesn’t draw distinctions between those with and without abilities,” Gerard said, his quick hands now doling out the cards one by one. “Now, how about we cease lamenting those who aren’t present and focus on the game with those who are?”

“Fine, fine,” Sean said, looking at his hand. The game was five card draw, and it was not starting out well for him. “So, you guys nervous about the final exam in a few weeks?”

“Terrified,” Blaine said immediately.

“Hell, I didn’t mean you, Blaine. Of course you’re going to make the cut.”

“Nothing is certain in our world,” Gerard corrected him. “Though I agree that there is a very high likelihood my roommate will gain the title of Hero.”

“I’m definitely going to be one,” Victor declared loudly. “No matter what they throw at me, I can handle it.”

“Oh? So what’s the plan if they make you square off against Blaine, or Joshua, or Phil?” Sean asked.

“Obviously, it’s a secret,” Victor replied. “I can’t just go telling you what my strategy is with Blaine right there.”

“I can leave the room if you like,” Blaine offered.

“No, no, that’s fine. I’ll just keep it to myself, thank you very much,” Victor said hastily.

Sean smiled. Despite his big talk and boisterous nature, Victor was actually a pretty solid guy to have on your team. He really hoped the lummox made it through. As for his own chances at graduating, he’d evaluated them to be about half and half.

“For me, I think it comes down to what the test is,” Sean speculated. “In the right environment, I can be quite impressive. In the wrong one, I can look useless.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. No one who looks useless makes it this far,” Blaine said. He set down two cards, which Gerard swept into a pile before doling out two fresh ones.

“Everything is relative,” Sean said. “Compared to some of the heavy hitters out in the world, all of us would look pretty weak.”

“Then let us be thankful none of them are enrolled at Lander,” Gerard replied, setting a small set of chips in the center. There were monetary values ascribed to the chips, just not nearly at the standard denominations. With a buy in of only five dollars, the game wouldn’t last too long without the ability to bet low values.

Victor raised by ten cents, Sean checked, and Blaine raised by another five cents. Each was so focused on the game laid out before them that they nearly jumped in surprise at the knock on the door. Blaine and Gerard exchanged curious glances. They weren’t expecting any other players at tonight’s game.

“Maybe someone decided to join us at the last minute?” Sean tossed out.

Blaine rose from his seat and crossed the short distance to the door. He pulled it open to reveal a pretty girl with wavy blonde hair.

“Hey, Blaine,” she said cheerfully. “My stupid brother forgot his wallet in my car after getting the groceries. I came to drop it off.”

Blaine stepped aside to allow entrance, giving the girl a greeting smile.

“Hey, Shelby,” Victor called.

“Good evening, Shelby,” Gerard greeted. “Would you like to join us?”

“No, thanks,” she said, making her way to Sean. “I just figured someone might need this when he loses again and has to pay up at the end of the night.” She held out a slim, black piece of leather, which Sean accepted bashfully.

“Thanks, sis,” Sean said. “But I don’t expect to lose tonight; I’m feeling lucky.”

“Uh huh. I don’t need to see the future to know how bad you suck at poker,” Shelby said with a mischievous smile.

“I’m sure it helps,” Blaine said, pulling up his own chair. “Would you like a beer or a snack?”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Shelby replied. “I need to hustle; I’ve got a date tonight.”

“Same guy?” Sean asked.

“Same guy,” Shelby confirmed.

“That’s four weekends in a row. Do I need to give this gentleman the standard ‘put the fear of big brother into him’ talk?” Sean asked.

Shelby laughed. “I appreciate it, but he’s one of Blake’s friends, so he’s already been thoroughly threatened with fraternal retribution should he hurt me.”

“Long as the job gets done,” Sean said, adding another few chips to the pile.

“You guys have fun, and don’t cream my brother too bad,” Shelby said, showing herself out and shutting the door behind her.

“See, now I feel bad, because when we totally wreck you tonight, it will feel like we’re going against your cute little sister,” Victor said.

“Don’t worry about it; regardless of what she says, I’m feeling lucky tonight,” Sean said proudly. “I’m going to win this game, then, in a few weeks, I’m going to ace the test and become one of the world’s greatest Heroes.”

“Nothing wrong with dreaming,” Gerard said. “In a perfect world, we’d all make the cut and meet together decades from now to play a game of cards and talk about all the villains we’ve brought to justice.”

“Perfect world, my ass,” Victor said. “That will definitely happen, just you watch and see.”

*      *      *

The bottle was now empty, and the two lone figures sat in Blaine’s house, watching through the windows as the wind whipped at the trees.

14.

Roy leapt for the fence, his fingers taking grip and his strong arms pulling him to safety just in time. The mother elephant was very unhappy and was making her rage known. Keeping careful hold on the phone with his left hand, Roy pulled himself up with his right. Eventually, he got his footing and began climbing the tall steel fence as the elephant rampaged beneath him. Nearby, Vince and Alex watched nervously as Roy moved. It was pretty obvious—after this ordeal—why he had had to be the one in the picture, but Roy still felt a tad bitter. When this was all said and done, he and Nick were going to have a very long talk.

*      *      *

Alice floated to the ground gently, Camille waving to her that the photo had been a success. She hurried over to the other two girls and tried to smooth her now wind-whipped hair.

“Okay, that takes care of Alice standing on a traffic light,” Mary said, dragging her pencil across the orange paper.

“How many left?” Camille asked.

“Six to go,” Mary replied. Alice checked her watch. That only left forty-five minutes until the deadline. They were really going to have to hurry.

“Let’s move then. What’s next?”

“We need Camille riding on top of a horse,” Mary said.

“Do we have any idea where to find a horse at eleven at night on a Friday?” Camille asked.

“No, but after tonight we will,” Alice said. They’d come this far, there was no freaking way they were going to give up.

*      *      *

“So, here it is ladies and gentleman,” Nick had said several hours prior, producing two pieces of paper from his pocket. One was orange, and the other blue.

“Are we doing arts and crafts?” Alice asked. She was confused and more than a little annoyed. He’d led them to a small parking lot some ways into downtown. It appeared to be for a nail salon that was closed for the weekend. Lit only by a street light, Nick’s grin was positively devilish as he addressed his teammates.

“Nope. Photo scavenger hunt, of sorts,” Nick replied. “On each page is a list of photos you need to take. There are requirements for specific people in some of them, so make sure you plan appropriately.”

“How exactly is this team bonding?” Mary asked. “Fun, sure, in the right circumstances, but I’m not certain what the point here is.”

“If it were obvious, then you wouldn’t need to do it to understand,” Nick said. “Trust me, when this is all over, you’ll be a much more effective team.”

“I guess we can give it a shot,” Vince said. Even he was having trouble concealing his disinterest.

“I’d hope so. I mean, with what’s on the line and all,” Nick baited.

“What do you mean?” Alex bit.

“Didn’t I mention? There’s a prize if you manage to complete your lists by midnight. Since it has been brought to my attention that you philistines don’t enjoy slasher cinema with the same gusto I possess . . . if you can bring me your pictures by midnight, I’ll swear never to hijack our events into horror movie marathons again.”

“Wait, seriously?” Alice said, light and hope sparkling in her eyes.

“I swear it on my love of sarcasm,” Nick replied. “But if you fail, we’ll be spending tomorrow in a day-long fright flick fest.”

“Seems like a gamble,” Alex said. He was trying to play it cool, but inside, he was burning with the desire to take the bet.

“Such is life,” Nick replied. “I’m going to be at Toady’s, the bar down the street. If you succeed, we spend the night relaxing in a nice lounge with the tab on me. If you fail, then we go over the reasons why.”

“I get it,” Vince said. “This isn’t about pictures. It’s about seeing how we organize to accomplish a common goal.”

“Always at the top of the class,” Nick said. Of course, this wasn’t nearly the extent of it, but Vince at least had the gist.

“Then I’m in,” Vince said.

“Me, too,” Alice agreed. The others signaled their affirmation, and Nick handed out the papers. They were then left to separate and distribute responsibility as desired. Once upon a time, he would have had to give out cameras too. Thankfully, the dawn of the cell phone age had rendered such additions unnecessary. He stepped into his car and left them to debate, the teams already coming together just the way he’d expected them to.

*      *      *

Alex slid down from the piece of modern art carefully, still not certain who referred to a sheer vertical wall as art. He’d gotten his picture atop it, so whatever it was, it was crossed off the list. That was a good thing too, because time was quickly running out. The pictures weren’t terribly hard to get—well, except maybe the elephant one—but they had specific requirements and took time to drive to. A tickle in the back of his mind wanted to pay more attention to that fact, along with the requirements of people in pictures. It felt like there was something there, something he should be paying attention to.

Instead, he focused on getting down safely. Next up was a Vince picture. Then two more, and they were home free.

*      *      *

Nick sat comfortably as the soft music filtered down from the speakers. Toady’s had a pleasant atmosphere with gentle lighting and comfortable seating. It was trendy enough to have people, but not so popular that it was swamped. He held down the large area with ease as he waited for his friends to arrive. A quick check of his watch told him they had fifteen minutes left until the deadline. Part of him almost felt bad for them, knowing there was no way they’d be done on time. It was necessary, though. Failure led to insight, which led to growth. They needed to fail. Better it be at some stupid little contest than somewhere that mattered.

Besides, he had some choice films selected for tomorrow.

15.

When Vince, Alex, and Roy finally arrived at the lounge, they found the girls already sitting at Nick’s side, a look of defeat on their pretty faces. Nick, on the other hand, looked like the cat that got the cream, drinking a soda and flashing them a winning grin as the three young men approached his section.

“I call shenanigans,” Roy thundered, bounding ahead of the others. “There was no way we could have done all that in the time frame you gave us. The places were all over town.”

“I hate to say it, but I agree,” Alex said. “I think you set us up for failure on this one.”

“That does sound like Nick,” Alice mumbled under her breath.

“We only beat you guys here by a few minutes,” Mary told them.

“Which was still a good half hour past the deadline,” Nick pointed out, setting down his drink. “Now, let me address your concerns. Did I set you up to fail? Well, it depends on what you mean by that phrase.”

“We’re listening,” Mary said.

“If you mean I did it knowing you would fail, then yes. If you mean it as I gave you a task that couldn’t be accomplished, then no. What I gave you was doable. I just knew you all wouldn’t be successful at accomplishing it.”

“How could you know something like that?” Camille asked, her voice only a few degrees louder than the background music.

“Elementary, my dear healer,” Nick told her. “I knew you’d go after this the same way most of you go after every problem: you’d pick a path and charge ahead blindly. At no point did it occur to you that there might be some strategy to implement in this particular task.”

“Like what?”

“For starters? You could have mapped out your routes a bit. Nearly all of my tasks had specific geographical markers required. If you all had taken the time to lay out a map, like so—” Nick pulled a folded map from his pocket and set it on the table in front of him. He unfurled it, showing a variety of dots scattered across the town’s surface. There were six different colors, each in locations the group was now more familiar with. “—you could have easily seen the natural clusters and plotted a path that had you doing one task after another, cutting down on travel time drastically.”

Alex stared at the dots, piecing together who was what color from the spots he knew various pictures had been taken. Something was nagging at him, and now that there was time to think, he let that nag mature into a full-grown thought.

“You’re lying,” Alex said. “Roy is red, Vince is blue, and I’m orange, right?”

“Correct,” Nick confirmed.

“Then there was no ideal route. No matter what we did, we’d still have to cross town at least twice. That trip alone would have put us over the deadline,” Alex pointed out.

“Correct again,” Nick agreed. “Which brings me to my next point. You formed the wrong teams.”

“How?” Roy demanded. “You gave us the papers with our requirement. All the boys were on orange, and the girls were on blue.”

“I did do that, but I never told you how to split up,” Nick pointed out. “You just accepted the format that was given to you without applying any thought of your own.”

“Shit,” Alex said, his face still peering at Nick’s map.

“What?” Mary asked.

“He’s right. If, instead of the red dot, Vince and I had been paired with the white one, we could have easily planned a route with almost no backtracking,” Alex said, pointing to the map to illustrate.

“But then, how would we have known what pictures to take? The other team would have had the paper you needed for at least one person’s pictures,” Alice said.

Vince shook his head. “We were using cell phone cameras with digital displays. It would have taken no time for us to photograph the other team’s sheet.”

“Right again,” Nick said. “I’m starting to think you folks are smarter than you look.”

“So what, if we’d done all this prep work we had no idea we needed, then we could have won the bet? That seems pretty convoluted,” Alice accused.

“Does it? Does creating a real life demonstration of your natural failings in an environment with low consequences seem convoluted? Perhaps you’re missing the point of this little display,” Nick said, rising from his seat. “I wanted you to see what you all lack, which is planning and critical thinking skills. At no point did any of you try a strategy even remotely outside the box. You ran forward recklessly, focused on just doing things faster rather than smarter. The reason you lost tonight isn’t because you weren’t intelligent enough to figure this out. It’s because you simply aren’t used to doing things that way. But you need to be, because if our previous test showed us anything, it is that these exams won’t boil down to pure power. We’ll need strategy, too.”

“Isn’t that what we’ve got you for?” Vince asked.

“Yes, and at the same time no,” Nick replied. “I’ll explain more later; right now, let’s just relax a little. The game is over, so we can sit back and shoot the shit for the remainder of the night.”

“Works for me,” Alice agreed.

“Then tomorrow will begin the slasher marathon to end all slasher marathons,” Nick finished.

“Wait, you’re really going to make us do that? I thought it was just a threat so we’d work harder,” Alex said.

“Oh no, I always honor my bets,” Nick informed him. “Besides, if there are no consequences to failure, then the lessons just don’t take as well.”

Vince turned to Camille. “If you want to jump ship to another group, I bet there’s still time.”

His tone was light-hearted and clearly meant in jest. Still, Camille turned an analytical eye toward her new comrades. Half of them were glaring at the boy wearing sunglasses indoors, and most of the others were staring fiercely at a map in dim lighting. Tonight had been one of the oddest training exercises she’d ever participated in, but she had to admit it had been successful in driving home a point to everyone. Besides which, she’d actually kind of enjoyed herself in the hecticness of it all.

Camille gave Vince a small smile. “I think I’ll stick it out for a while longer.”

16.

Vince yawned broadly as he walked into the concrete-walled classroom. After Nick’s movie marathon on Sunday, he’d slept incredibly poorly. His dreams had been stuffed with monsters to the point where they’d slipped into the absurd. Case in point: one dream had him chased by a giant pumpkin wielding knives, while a later dream had him chased by a giant knife wielding pumpkins. The first had been scarier, yet curiously, it was the second that jerked him from his slumber. He tried to shake off his weariness as he scanned for a seat; after all, this was the first day of his real classes. He wanted to be alert.

The classroom was more a circle of wooden benches than a lecture hall, all wrapping around a focal point where Professor Fletcher stood patiently. To be honest, Vince was surprised there was any seating at all in a course on close combat; he’d expected more circles and days duking it out with fellow combatants. Still, after what he’d seen Professor Fletcher do, Vince wasn’t going to question his methods. Any man with that much skill was worth listening to.

Other students began filtering into the room one by one. Thomas took a seat next to Vince, and they were soon joined by Stella and Violet. Chad and Shane entered a few minutes later, followed by Michael, close at their heels. Sasha came in with Julia and purposely walked by Vince without even a passing glance. Jill, at least, gave him a supportive smile before joining her suite mates, and Roy ambled in near the beginning of class, plopping down in the closest space he could find. But one of the last people to enter was the most surprising to Vince.

“Camille? What are you doing here?”

“They assigned me,” Camille said, glancing around the room nervously as she stepped farther from the door. Everyone seemed so much bigger than her. Bigger, and stronger.

“That can’t be right. You’re a healer,” Vince said worriedly. “Let’s go talk to the professor and see—”

“It isn’t a mistake,” Stella interrupted. She glanced at her diminutive friend and raised an eyebrow. Camille gave her head the barest of shakes, and Stella looked back at Vince. “Trust me, the girl belongs here.”

“Are you sure?” Vince’s question was addressed at Camille, not Stella. No matter what anyone said, if his teammate didn’t feel she was up to the task, he wasn’t going to let her get hurt.

“I’ll be fine,” Camille assured him. She sat down on his free side as the remainder of the stragglers came into the room and plopped down, prompting Professor Fletcher to begin his first class.

“Good morning,” Professor Fletcher said to his bright-eyed students. His stunt on Thursday had been a bit heavy-handed, but the results couldn’t be argued with. He’d won their respect if not their admiration, and they were hanging on every word he said. Professor Fletcher pitied educators who didn’t have overwhelming brute force as a teaching tool.

“Let’s start with a little background. How many of you have been training in any form of martial combat for more than the past year?” Professor Fletcher asked.

Most of the hands in the room went up.

“Good. More than five years?”

A multitude went down, and Vince was a little surprised to see the slender arm next to him remain in the air. Camille did her best to look nonplussed.

“Better than I expected. Ten years?”

Nearly all the hands went down; only Vince’s, Shane’s, Michael’s, Roy’s, and Chad’s remained airborne.

“Nice. Any of you over-achievers got fifteen under your belt?”

Chad and Shane were now the only ones with their hands aloft.

“Okay then, for anyone without at least five years of training, we’re going to treat you like newbies,” Professor Fletcher said firmly. “That means we’ll be having one-on-ones to see the way you move and selecting the martial art that is best suited to your natural talents. Anyone who has five, but less than ten, we’re going to stick with what you know. No sense in trying to break habits and reactions that are already ingrained. Those of you with ten years and up, congratulations, you just became teachers.”

“Say what?” Shane said in surprise.

“You heard me. You got your fill of pounding each other pointlessly last year, though there will be plenty more of that to come. But people with your level of experience need to be teaching as well as training to advance. I can’t be the first one to tell you this.”

“It is a commonly accepted practice,” Chad agreed. Shane did his best not to look abashed at having been ignorant of what was evidently public knowledge.

“Don’t worry, I’m going to train you as well,” Professor Fletcher assured him. “You’ll just also be responsible for helping the newbies improve in whatever art they undertake.”

“What if they choose one we don’t know shit about?” Roy queried.

“Then hand off to someone who does. Or to me. You’re not personal trainers; you’re just there to answer basic questions and give feedback. It’s not like the premise really varies that much. Hit the other guy and don’t let him hit you. The rest is details,” Professor Fletcher said. “Important details, but details all the same.”

“Still feels like a waste of time,” Roy grumbled.

“Tell you what, kid, the day you can beat me is the day you no longer have to listen to my methods,” Professor Fletcher offered. “And that goes for all of you. When you’re stronger than I am, you become the teacher.”

Chad mulled the idea over briefly. He couldn’t beat the professor, not as he was now. But the fight hadn’t been a complete loss for him. He’d been able to observe the older man’s movements and techniques to some extent. He couldn’t beat the professor yet; however, eventually that would change. It had to. Chad was aiming for a space at the very top of the mountain, a place of unassailable power.

That meant, sooner or later, Chad would have to surpass everyone, even the people teaching him. Even the friends sitting next to him. Even the Heroes out in the world already. Chad was going to pick up the name that the rest of the world seemed content to tread on, and he was going to carry it all the way to the top. He wouldn’t stop until he succeeded. No matter what.

17.

The Subtlety class was smaller than Close Combat, and had actual desks rather than a mere smattering of benches. Of course, there were only four students able to discern those differences, as very few had been selected for both courses. Julia and Sasha were both such rare cases, walking into the room and noticing they were among the last to arrive. They recognized Gilbert and Hector, both still softly simmering in sweat from the Close Combat class, lounging near the back. Sasha scanned the room further, noticing Will and on impulse, turning to join him. That’s when she noticed who he was already sitting with.

Sasha barely repressed a sneer as she altered her direction instantly. She understood that Will was somewhat insecure about the viability of his ability taking him all the way to Hero level; Jill had confided that much in her during their first year as suite mates. Still, that didn’t fully excuse his continued association with those freaks from Melbrook. It was bad enough she had to deal with Vince in her first class; now, she’d discovered that this one would be shared with the sunglass-wearing weirdo and the buxom bitch. If some part of Sasha remembered that, only four months ago, she’d counted both of those two as friends, it kept itself silent. That is not to say it allowed itself to be extinguished, merely that it recognized the fact that biding one’s time is a classic, and often beneficial, strategy.

“Good morning, class,” Professor Pendleton greeted them. “I’m glad to see you all found the classroom today. I hope you have the same luck tomorrow.” With that, he stood from the desk he had been nimbly perched upon and began handing out syllabi. The first hands went up before he’d even gotten halfway around the room. He dutifully ignored them, finishing the process and sitting back down at his desk.

“I can see you already have questions, but let’s hold those for the moment, shall we? Instead, I’d like us to read through the syllabus. Who would like to start?”

Alice was slow in lowering her hand, still not quite ready to accept that she wouldn’t get to query the strange professor for answers, so hers was the highest when he asked for volunteers.

“Thank you, Ms. Adair. Please start us off. Read the first paragraph.”

“Um, I’m not sure it’s really a paragraph. I mean, it’s just one line,” Alice said uncertainly.

“Less lip and more reading, Ms. Adair,” Professor Pendleton replied swiftly. Alice felt her cheeks flush for a moment, then turned her eyes to the page.

“Lesson One: Lie,” Alice recited dutifully.

“Adequate,” Professor Pendleton said. “Next part . . . how about Mr. Reid?”

“Lesson Two: Sneak,” Gilbert said, not bothering to question the curious nature of this process.

“Much better,” Professor Pendleton praised. “How about Mr. Weaver goes next?”

“Lesson Three: Cheat,” Rich snapped off automatically.

“And for the finale, I think we should go to Mr. Campbell,” Professor Pendleton instructed.

“Lesson Four: Think,” Nick said, eyeing the strange, lanky man at the front of the class with something bordering on respect. He had an inkling where this was going and might have actually felt a twinge of excitement deep down in his gut.

“Lie, Sneak, Cheat, and Think,” Professor Pendleton repeated. “These are the tenents of a Hero who specializes in Subtlety. Very few of us are the physically powerful types. Those of you enrolled in combat classes will likely find yourself losing this course next year. We give you the opportunity, however, because one never really knows where the seed of true talent may have been planted.”

Professor Pendleton stood from his desk once more and stepped around to the front in a short series of long-legged movements.

“Now, before we go any further, there is something you all need to know. Subtlety is considered the gray line between Hero and criminal, and those who graduate with it as their major are seen as high-risk tightrope walkers along this metaphorical division. More of us turn to crime than any other specialty. There are a multitude of theories why that is the case, but at the end of the day, the blame must be laid—at least partially—at the foot of the nature of our job. You see, those who master Subtlety do not bask in the sunlight of public acclaim and moral purity. Rather, we are the ones who must outthink, outmaneuver, and out-plan our enemies. We are the ones who steal into a South American drug compound to retrieve data on the giant robot someone built. We are the ones who seduce and con friends of criminals to learn where they are and what weaknesses they have. We dirty our hands with the jobs that must be done, but that no person with a sound moral compass would want. Because we can. We are smart enough, bold enough, and yes, gray enough, to handle the lurking and conniving. It is a thankless job, save only for others of your craft who appreciate the work you put in.”

“Then why would anyone want to do it?” Will asked, the words popping out before his sense of logic could stop him.

“Because someone has to. Without those stolen plans, without that insider information, without a weakness to exploit, people are going to get hurt. Possibly die. Not just citizens either, but fellow Heroes. As I said, most of you with combat options will leave this class behind at the year’s end. The reason is that you will have options outside of this path, and who can blame you for taking them? We are the fewest of any Hero type. We are also some of the most valuable,” Professor Pendleton explained.

Will nodded his understanding and fell silent. He felt a stirring in himself, a stirring that was echoed in the bodies of several others around him. This was an avenue he’d never known about before, one he’d never suspected existed. This was one where wiles and wit were prized over bulk and biceps. This relied on quick thought and fluid morals. This was one he might actually be able to do.

“Now that I’ve hopefully turned most of you off of the profession as a whole, let me elaborate on the syllabus,” Professor Pendleton continued. “We are going to learn the hallmarks of the field, piece by piece, throughout the year. Make no mistake; the most important part is lesson four. That one we will be doing constantly. To that effect, our classroom will be a floating one. Some days, I’ll tell you where to meet next time. Other days, I will give you a riddle, or a puzzle with the location concealed within. If you can’t solve it, you miss the class. As you can infer, missing too much class doesn’t reflect well on you when the year-end review comes around. With that said, I’d like you all to flip your syllabus onto its back.”

The students complied, revealing a strange diagram with numbers dotting the edges and something that seemed like a maze in the center, with entrances jutting from each digit.

“That will tell you where to meet for the rest of this week,” Professor Pendleton said, giving what he felt was an adequate explanation. Still, he decided to toss in some encouragement as well:

“Good luck.”

18.

Mary fidgeted nervously as she waited in the empty room. While all the underground rooms at Lander had concrete walls and a Spartan feel, the thick metal door and lack of any décor left no doubt that this was a space used for battle. She wondered why she was the only one here. She’d heard Professor Stone give her the instruction to come to this room after class, but only because she’d been listening to the older woman’s thoughts. In the rest of the Focus classroom, the only other person who might have picked up the message was Alex, and the Professor had been adamant that she not discuss her hearings with anyone else.

Mary knew she was being a bit paranoid, but given the events at the end of last year, she felt that, if nothing else, it was prudent to show some caution. So, before coming, she had let her friends know who she’d be meeting with and in what room. She’d also had them pass word to Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport. She’d felt a bit silly doing so—after all, this was probably nothing more than a quick teacher-meeting over something she needed to know. Still, she’d held out hope that someone else from the Focus class would be here, that Professor Stone had communicated with all of them in some way to send the message.

The older woman stepped gingerly through the door and extinguished any hope Mary was still holding on to that this might be a communal meeting.

“Good afternoon,” Professor Stone greeted cordially. “How were the rest of your classes?”

“Ranged Combat was enjoyable,” Mary replied. “Control was somewhat tedious.”

“Give it time. I’m sure Professor Hill will challenge you soon,” Professor Stone assured her. “Of course, eventually someone with your talents will find your specialty in Focus. That much is certain.”

“Is it now?”

“Without question,” Professor Stone reiterated. “Control is a useful course for anyone who moves the world around them, in that it forces one to elevate their geospatial thinking and their awareness of the objects surrounding them. Control, however, is ultimately the manipulation of outer forces upon outer forces. That is a poor fit for those like you, Mary, because your skill is inwardly oriented. Thus, you will find the most benefit in Focus.”

“Good to know. Is that why you asked me here?”

Professor Stone laughed, a soft tinkling sound that dried prematurely in her throat. She stepped further into the room, walking gingerly across the hard floor. “Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t waste my time telling students what should be obvious. No, I called you here because, while Fletcher has a crude sensibility to him, the man’s tactics do present a certain amount of efficiency.”

“I see,” Mary said, stepping back ever so slightly.

“Relax, little one, I don’t wish to harm you. It is simply that I didn’t get to test you last year, so I don’t know nearly enough about your limits to teach you effectively,” Professor Stone explained. “This is an evaluation, nothing more.”

“Ah,” Mary said, a trickle of relief seeping through her bones. “I suppose that makes sense.”

“A benefit of the truth: it holds together effortlessly,” Professor Stone said with a smile. The metal door to her left slammed shut forcefully, and across the room, Mary could hear a locking mechanism click into place.

“I thought this was just an evaluation.”

“It is, but we take safety very seriously here in the Hero Certification Program,” Professor Stone said.

“How does locking us in make us safer?”

“It wasn’t our safety I had in mind,” Professor Stone informed her. “I’ve seen your fights and read your file. A girl with your talents will likely cause significant collateral damage before she reaches her own threshold.”

Mary gave the elderly woman a half-smile. “Not to mention the amount of power necessary to bring me there.”

Professor Stone returned the cheerful grin. “Yes, that too.”

*      *      *

Chad was in the gym doing a bench press when he heard a distant rumbling through the walls. Briefly, he wondered if it was thunder. After a moment’s pause, he realized any thunder strong enough to be heard all the way down here would leave the topside of Lander in splinters and destruction. He considered investigating, then shrugged it off and finished his set of reps. Whatever it was, it probably didn’t concern him.

*      *      *

“Very impressive,” Professor Stone said, stepping over the newly-formed rubble at her feet. “You can pack a lot of wallop in your attacks.”

“I’ve been told I’m strong for my age,” Mary said graciously.

“Don’t be ridiculous: you’re strong, period. Age has nothing to do with it.” Professor Stone reached down and selected one of the biggest hunks of concrete, plucking it from the ground with a frail arm that couldn’t have budged the miniature boulder without mental assistance. “Of course, raw blasting force is only one aspect of our abilities. There are other things, too. Things like sustained effort.”

Professor Stone tossed the concrete into the air, and it zoomed toward Mary. Mary took hold of it when it was a little over halfway to her, slowing its movement only to discover that something was still pushing it forward.

“Think of it as an inverted tug of war,” Professor Stone explained. “We both push it toward one another until it reaches someone.”

Mary understood and ratcheted up her effort level. The concrete moved back to the middle of the space, between the two women, where it stopped abruptly. Mary tried to push it further, but Professor Stone seemed to be able to match her perfectly, increasing power when she increased, and dropping when Mary faltered. Mary adjusted her foot positioning for comfort. If the old lady wanted to make it an endurance contest that was fine by her. She’d spent the first seventeen years of her life in constant mental alertness to deal with the voices splashing through her mind. Mary could hold up a rock for days if she had to.

“You really could, too. This is almost effortless for you,” Professor Stone complimented.

Mary blinked. It hadn’t occurred to her the professor might be reading her mind.

“Of course not; you’re accustomed to being the only telepath at the party,” Professor Stone said. “That’s why you’re so prideful and careless.”

“Beg pardon?”

“You’re prideful. Despite what has happened, you still have a disproportionate sense of your abilities. Right now, you really think you can best one of your teachers in their field of specialty. Did it perhaps occur to you that George and Professor Fletcher aren’t flukes? That all of us are quite adept with our skills?”

“I just—”

“And as for careless, well, coming here alone in the first place was rather stupid of you. I know you told people, but by the time they knew you were gone, you could already have been beyond retrieving. No, you showed up, because at the end of the day, you believe that the only reason you were taken last time is because you were caught unaware. You think that if you’re cognizant, you can handle yourself in any situation.”

“I didn’t—”

“No, of course you didn’t. Well, let me lay it out for you, young lady. You are one of the strongest advanced minds I’ve ever encountered. That said, if I’d come down here to do you harm, you would already be unconscious. You need to start being cautious, you need to start watching yourself, and most importantly, you need to realize that ‘one of the strongest’ is not the same thing as ‘the strongest.’”

Mary felt the concrete tear through her own force as it sailed toward her small body. She tried to press back, but she couldn’t do more than slightly slow it down. A few feet before impact, the giant piece shattered and sent a spray of concrete shards around her. They tore against her arms and legs, but not one piece touched her torso.

Mary realized that at some point she’d closed her eyes. She slowly peeled them open to reveal Professor Stone slowly making her way toward the door, which was now open.

“I look forward to teaching you, Mary. You’ve got a lot of potential. Go see a healer before you head above ground.”

Mary glanced down and realized she had dozens of small cuts along her appendages, each one about the same length and depth. Only then did she understand what the professor had really done.

“Every piece . . . you were controlling every piece after it broke, all of them, simultaneously,” Mary said, her shaky voice betraying the shock in her words.

Professor Stone didn’t bother stopping or turning around. She’d seen how far the girl could go, and seen where she was weakest. All that remained now was to see if she had the determination to take her talents to the next level.

19.

Camille was happy to walk into her first class of the afternoon wearing regular clothes instead of her HCP uniform. As much as the underground Lander was relaxing (in that everyone knew what she was and there was no pretense), it was also such a cloistered community that slipping into the background became nearly impossible. Camille had spent years steeling her nerves to be able to fight when the situation demanded it, but in her day-to-day life, she was still much happier as the small girl few people noticed. Not to mention that up here, she was enrolled with the full Lander student populace, making her chances of running into Vince significantly lower.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like being around her silver-haired teammate; it was that she liked it far too much and was awful at hiding her feelings. Every time she flushed, every time she got all nervous and bumbley, she was sure it would be the time Vince would finally notice those things only happened around him. Mercifully, that hadn’t happened yet; however, Camille wasn’t one to push her luck. If she was going to help him, she needed to be near him, and there was surely no way to drive him off faster than revealing she cared for him as more than a friend.

Camille ascended the steps of the lecture hall, so absorbed in her thoughts that she nearly jumped a foot in the air when a well-manicured hand snaked out from an aisle and grabbed her arm.

“Gah!”

“Whoa, relax,” Alice reassured her. “I was calling your name. Didn’t you hear me?”

“Oh, I, uh, I guess not,” Camille stammered out as her heart thundered in her chest.

“Sorry about that,” Alice apologized. “I just wanted to get your attention before you went past. There are plenty of seats by me.”

“Right, of course,” Camille said as the adrenaline exited her system. She entered the row Alice was perched in and took the seat to her left. It wasn’t exactly the anonymous background she’d craved, but at least it wasn’t Vince. “So, how was your first day? I haven’t seen you since our . . . since Professor Baker’s class.”

“It was okay,” Alice replied. “I think Professor Pendleton’s will be my worst. I mean, I’m not really good at any of them, but at least the others have outlined syllabi and stationary classrooms.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that is one of the tougher subjects to excel in,” Camille replied.

“No worries there. I’m pretty sure he expects most of us to fail out of it by year’s end, which is fine by me. The hard part will be deciding which of the other two I want to try and squeak by in.”

“I’m sure it isn’t that bad. I mean, you made it to year two, after all.”

Alice sighed. “I did, but I’m still not sure if I would have if I’d gone through the normal channels.” Alice paused for a moment and seemed to steady herself mentally. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be such a bummer. I guess the stress of things is already getting to me.”

“It’s a problem I certainly understand,” Camille assured her.

“You know what the biggest issue is? It’s been all work since we got here. Even last weekend was a training exercise. I think we need to take a night off, just do activities that have nothing to do with . . . well, you know.” Alice had almost said “HCP” out loud, a slip that easily would have ended all of her worries about it if she’d been overheard.

“That sounds nice,” Camille said, her tone as noncommittal as she could manage. She didn’t have the heart to tell Alice that any night spent around Vince was unlikely to reduce her stress level, even if the activities were relaxing.

“Oh! I’ve got it,” Alice said, a spark of excitement lighting her bright blue eyes. “Let’s do a girls’ night this Friday. Just me, you, Mary, and maybe some of the others. No training, no shop talk, we’ll even skip our afternoon classes and go do a mani/pedi treatment.”

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” Camille objected.

“Oh, don’t worry. It’s the first week of classes. What’s the most we could miss? And I know a perfect little place near the ocean. I’ll make us reservations as soon as class is over.”

“I should really check my calendar,” Camille tried again.

“That’s a good idea; if you don’t have a class that runs too late in the morning, we can get lunch, too. We can practically make a whole day of it!”

Camille took a deep breath and tried to think of another excuse to throw up. Unfortunately, she was learning the hard lesson that Mary had been privy to last year: Alice may not have much in the way of special abilities, but once her mind was set on something, one would have better luck changing the course of a river.

“Sounds . . . fun,” Camille conceded. It wouldn’t be that bad. It was just the girls after all, and they were going to be teammates now, so a little bonding was in order.

“It will be, just wait. By the time Saturday rolls around, we won’t have a care left in the world.”

“Except for the coming week, and the one after that, and the one after that, et cetera . . .” Camille pointed out.

“Well, yes, but you can’t let all of that snow-pile on you. Or, if you must, you have to at least put it aside for our days off,” Alice replied.

“Days? As in multiple?”

“Of course. We’ll need more than just this over the coming year. Don’t worry; they won’t all be girls only. I just don’t want Nick to hijack our relaxation plans into some sort of ridiculous shenanigans.”

“He does that often, huh?”

“Ugh, more than you would believe. You’ll see for yourself soon. The boy is absolutely insufferable.”

Camille didn’t have a chance to reply because the professor stepped up to address the class, but even if he hadn’t, she wouldn’t have known what to say next. She certainly couldn’t say what she was thinking, which was that, for a girl who slandered Nick so readily, Alice seemed to light up noticeably when she talked about him.

That would be inappropriate, not to mention that Camille was the last person who ought to call someone out over conflicting feelings.

20.

Julia was halfway to her dorm when the tall, muscular figure fell into step beside her. She could smell him almost immediately. No frilly body wash or sickly sweet cologne; his was the smell of freshly scrubbed hard work. It set her teeth on edge before she even turned to face him. Julia had managed a fling or two over the summer, but nothing that put her through the metaphorical (and one time literal) wall like he could.

“Afternoon, pretty lady,” Roy greeted, an easygoing smile stretched out amidst the afternoon stubble on his face.

Julia’s tongue nearly betrayed her, smashing against her teeth to usher a familiar greeting, a bubbly laugh, or just an immediate invitation to the nearest secluded place she could find. Her brain prevailed, though, clamping down on the friendly muscle and issuing new orders, ones that were not optional to comply with.

“Get lost, freak,” Julia spat, her libido raging internally.

“Now, that doesn’t seem like a neighborly greeting,” Roy replied, his grin unaltered. “Sure you wouldn’t like to try again?”

“Fuck off.” Julia quickened her step, determined to make the travel run out before her self control did. She hated herself for even feeling the temptation. Yes, she’d enjoyed her time with Roy, and yes, they’d had tons of fun together, and sure, she might have developed some feelings for him over the past year. But none of that mattered. She couldn’t be the girl rolling around with a Powered. What would the other students say? Or, heaven forbid, what if her parents ever found out? No, she had to be done with Roy Daniels. Done with his stupid muscles, done with his handsome face, done with the way he bit her gently at the crux of her collarbone while his strong hand wrapped around the small of back and he . . . Julia refocused herself and increased her gait even more.

“You sure about this?” Roy asked as Julia’s walk began to verge on sprinting. No, she wasn’t, and she desperately wanted to turn around and pretend it had all been a joke. She plowed forward instead. Soon, she’d be away from him and the frustration she was feeling would be nothing more than a barbed memory that time and forgetfulness would smooth until it was bearable. Somewhere deep down, a part of Julia recognized that it wasn’t just her sexual desire railing at her for this choice, but a part buried under so much fear that its voice had no hope of rising to audibility.

Roy watched the blonde hustle toward her dorm and ceased his own walk. He’d suspected such a greeting when she’d refused to make eye contact with him in their classes, but he’d been hopeful a little personal attention would change her mind. It looked like he was wrong. Such a shame; Julia really had been one of Roy’s favorites, holding his attention for over a year. A normal man might have taken such a dismissal by a girl so formerly enraptured with him as a blow to the ego. But Roy Daniels was not a normal man, and he had no intention of letting one chick get him down. Roy might be a freak underground, but up on the surface, he still considered himself the big dog on campus.

With a swift turn, Roy headed back toward his own dorm, jogging ahead slightly to chat with a pair of coeds who weren’t a part of the HCP.

*      *      *

“You’re still stressed,” Alex accused. He and Selena were sitting in her room, dining on pizza. Selena sighed and set her third slice back in the box. If she was going to take the calories from it, she was sure as hell going to enjoy it, and it seemed that meant talking things out first.

“Yeah, Alex, I am. My boyfriend sided with the school’s collection of weirdoes in front of everyone. Can you see how that might be a little awkward for me?”

“We talked about this,” Alex defended. “They’re my friends, and they’re good people. Who they used to be shouldn’t matter.”

“Shouldn’t is the key word there,” Selena replied. “A lot of things shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter that my dad’s skin is caramel-colored instead of ivory, yet he still gets passed over for a promotion every year. Just because something shouldn’t matter doesn’t mean it won’t.”

“So that makes it all right? To treat them differently because of how they were born?”

“No, of course it doesn’t, but . . . Alex, I told you at the beginning of the year that I supported you sticking with them. I still do. But let’s not pretend that it’s some effortless choice without consequences. There is going to be blowback from taking their side—on you for doing it, and on me for staying with you.”

“So you think it was a mistake,” Alex said, half question and half accusation.

“No, not at all. I’m not saying the repercussions should change your mind; I’m just saying we shouldn’t pretend they aren’t there. So, yes, I’m stressed, because some of the people I counted as friends were assholes to me today. It’s going to happen, and probably more often than less. I’m okay with it.” Selena leaned across the cardboard container and kissed Alex gently, ending with a second light smooch on the corner of his mouth.

“You made your choice, and I made mine. Just don’t call me out on the stuff I’m trying to downplay. Pretend you’re not telepathic every once in a while,” Selena said softly.

“That should be easy enough,” Alex agreed. “After all, I’m not a telepath.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Selena said, kissing him once more for good measure. That accomplished, she turned her attention back to the greasy, cheese-covered, fat-laden pizza slice calling up at her from the box below. She was going to have to run an extra half-hour tomorrow not to feel guilty about this. Her teeth tore through the first melty bite and flavor flooded her mouth.

Totally worth it.

21.

Nick had solved the puzzle from Subtlety before his first afternoon class was done. It wasn’t all that hard, provided one had a basic level of pattern recognition and a head for numbers. No, the interesting part had been the second layer of it, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it, where a number equivalency substitution spelled out a separate code from the location-based one. This bit of information instructed the deciphering student to show up in a separate room twenty minutes prior to the start of class. It was clearly meant for only the overachievers to find, a test within a test to see who had the goods and who had the greats.

Nick felt his interest in Professor Pendleton rising even as he debated whether or not he should show up. It would mark him as intelligent and capable, two descriptors he worked adamantly to keep away from his character, but at the same time, it seemed Subtlety was his best bet for surviving into the next year. He was skilled at Ranged Combat, of course, and Weapons had gone well, however, he’d easily been outstripped by those with abilities more rooted in the physical world. No, if he was going to make it past this year’s cuts, it would have to be in Subtlety, and he did want to get as much training as possible before the descent of the proverbial axe. Still, it compromised the uselessness that he worked so hard to convey to the others, and while his secret might be blown to his own team, it was still an element of surprise he could utilize against others in the competitions.

The risk-to-reward ratio was high, but Nicholas Campbell wasn’t feared at every poker table in Las Vegas because he lacked the ability to make the hard choices. That thought put a smile on his face as a new plan coalesced in his mind. He didn’t really have to make a choice. All he had to do was outfox Professor Pendleton at his own game. That seemed a far more fitting way to demonstrate his skill in the course anyway.

Mind at ease, Nick went about working out the logistics for his plan. He only had the morning to act, but given the general disarray of such a period, he was confident he could pull it off with relative simplicity. He didn’t notice it, but he wore a grin as he worked. For the first time since he arrived at Lander, Nick wasn’t just running a con or sneaking by: he was issuing a challenge. The prospect of a genuine opponent couldn’t help but excite him.

*      *      *

Professor Pendleton opened the door to the early-meet classroom to find it jammed full of students. He’d secured this room, anticipating a three or four-person maximum attendance. The code he’d buried in the back of the syllabus wasn’t exactly government-level encryption, but for sophomore students not even looking for it, only the most adept minds would even be alerted. That said, the moment he heard the buzz of noise it was evident something had gone horribly wrong.

The ruckus subsided as soon as Professor Pendleton’s lean body stalked through the door. He surveyed the faces before him and confirmed, to his horror, that everyone enrolled in his course was here. He took a deep breath and analyzed the situation calmly. There was no way all of them successfully decoded the message of the early meeting. That left the next logical explanation.

“Perhaps I failed to properly explain,” Professor Pendleton began, his voice even thanks to his remarkable self-control. “The point of these exercises is to develop your own minds and skills. To that effect, collusion is greatly looked down upon in this class. Now, I’m sure the few of you who cracked the code only wanted to help a person or two each, to make your friends stand out, but as you can see, this is what happens when such behavior is indulged.”

“Um, what are you talking about, professor?” Alice asked uncertainly. She was seated at the front of the room, hand eagerly raised even to convey this informal query.

“The hidden message in yesterday’s puzzle that was clearly disseminated too freely,” Professor Pendleton replied.

“What message?”

“The one that told you to come here.”

“You mean the note?” Alice reached into her pocket and produced a folded piece of computer paper. Professor Pendleton snatched it from her hand, unfolded and began scanning through its contents.

“We all found them in our bags and uniform pockets this morning,” Alice added helpfully.

Professor Pendleton heard but didn’t acknowledge her; he was too absorbed in analyzing the document before him. It claimed to be a note from him, instructing the students to meet in this room at this time to discuss key changes to the syllabus. It hadn’t been signed, but of course, the students would believe documents snuck onto their person could only have been accomplished by the teacher of the Subtlety class. There was nothing unique about the ink or paper. If he had to guess, it was likely the same used in the library above ground. Someone had been thorough and thoughtful.

Professor Pendleton refolded the note and handed it back to Alice. He might not know who the culprit was, but he was able to recognize a shot across the bow. Someone was calling him out. He suppressed a smirk that tried to manifest itself at the thought that there might actually be some talent in his group after all.

“Everyone get to the classroom,” Professor Pendleton instructed them. “I’d try to split you up so only the ones who solved the puzzle could find it, however, at this point, I don’t care. Just go. I’ll be in shortly.”

“What about the syllabus changes?” Alice asked.

“You found a mysterious note on your person and blindly trusted that it was from whom it indicated,” Professor Pendleton said. “That is expertly idiotic, and the only reason I’m not dropping down on all of you like a hammer is because I don’t have any way to truthfully delineate who came here on their own and who only came because of the note. That said, Miss Adair, if you insist on asking such a relentlessly stupid question as to why I’m throwing you all out, after being clearly surprised by a note that I supposedly wrote, then maybe your day would best be spent focusing on one of the classes you have a better chance of still being enrolled in come next year.”

“I . . . I’m sorry,” Alice said softly, ducking her head down and all but bounding out of the classroom. The others followed at a respectful distance, none of them daring to pipe up after his unloading on the tall blonde girl.

As they filed out, Professor Pendleton reflected that he might have been harsher than intended. Still, the message was an important one. This might not be as physically-oriented of a major as the others, but it still demanded the same levels of excellence. Failing to analyze a situation or piece together details, even only once, could have consequences just as disastrous as failing to stop a speeding bus or catch a falling plane.

Better those who couldn’t cut it turn their eyes elsewhere sooner rather than later. It seemed that wasn’t the whole class, however. One of his students wanted to challenge Professor Pendleton and see what the old man was made of. He ran his index finger and thumb across his chin as he contemplated. He’d teach today’s class as planned. After that, it was time for a little detective work.

22.

By Friday’s end, most of the HCP sophomores were aching for the weekend, their minds nearly as shredded as their bodies had felt this time last year. They’d expected many things from the program, many obstacles to face. But of all things they’d braced for, the absolute plethora of studying was the one that took most of them by surprise.

Close Combat class had yet to involve an actual punch. So far, the emphasis had been on finding the right martial art for each member. While this sounded simple on paper, it in fact required every member to study at length the histories, philosophies, and manuals of several major martial art forms. Even the ones already trained were given this task, because, in Professor Fletcher’s opinion, knowing an enemy’s tactics was almost as important as knowing your own. In a week they’d studied Wushu, Karate, Kuk Sool Won, and Sambo, with only three students finding a style they connected to.

Weapons had been even worse, with Professor Cole demanding they know the name, traditional style, and advantage plus disadvantage of every weapon in her collection. This would have been a far more accomplishable task if her collection didn’t require a miniature warehouse in which to store it.

Ranged Combat was similar. Professor Baker had put the emphasis on learning to use ranged weapons, but she also demanded her students begin learning the principles of climatology and how to calculate the decreasing velocity of a projectile along with wind resistance.

Control was something all its own. Professor Hill instructed his students on how to view the world in little more than terms of a physics problem. Instead of weight, they were calculating mass and volume, seeing every object in terms of the space it occupied in relation to the things around it, and being drilled constantly on their spatial awareness of their own bodies. Most of the students ended this class with migraine-level headaches.

Focus was a welcome relief during the actual class. After the first day, all Professor Stone had them work on were the principles of meditation and how to achieve a clear mind. The homework, in contrast, was beyond daunting. Poets, philosophers, and artists; the students had to analyze the works of dozens of them and turn in essays with their own interpretations of or counterarguments to the pieces. These were inked liberally with a red pen pointing out the flaws in their thinking and returned to the students after meditation each class period.

Subtlety had been strange compared to the others. After the second day fiasco, the classes had consisted of a riddling tournament (which was won by Richard Weaver), an hour-long lecture on the dangers of wearing a hidden microphone, and a day where everyone was instructed to spend their class time playing jacks while Professor Pendleton surfed the Internet. The class itself was a piece of cake so far, but that left the majority of the students with the uneasy feeling that they were missing something important. After all, no class in the HCP could really be that easy.

And so it was that, when Friday afternoon rolled around, it was greeted by the student population with significant gusto. Alice had solidified her plans for a girls’ night, the scope growing to include Mary, Stella, Violet, and Selena (added at Alex’s request). Once afternoon classes were completed, the ladies took off, heading toward downtown, the spa, and a break from everything related to Lander and the HCP. This left the gentlemen up to their own devices, a gap in planning that was thankfully filled by Thomas before Nick could take the reins.

*      *      *

Dean Blaine heard his door open without so much as a knock. He sighed inwardly; whoever it was would probably require significant time, which would lead to him working yet another late night. This always seemed to be the cosmic curse of Fridays. He raised his head and saw Sean standing opposite him, patiently waiting to be acknowledged.

“Is there something you need, Professor Pendleton?”

“Indeed there is, Blaine.”

“Need I remind you that we are on school ground, and I am your boss?”

“True, but we’re off the clock.”

“No, Professor Pendleton, only you are off the clock. Some of us have much to do and would greatly appreciate being left alone to do it.”

“Fine, fine,” Sean said, tossing up his hands. “Did you get the email about what happened in Tuesday’s class?”

“I did.”

“Well, I wanted to take a look at the video footage from the entrance hall that morning. I doubt whoever did it placed the notes on everyone there, but it’s the best place to get at their backpacks. I’m sure we recorded at least one instance of them slipping in the papers.”

Dean Blaine relaxed a little. That was an easy request to fill.

“Certainly; all HCP staff has access to our archives. Go to room C-142-L and press your palm against the square pad. It will let you in, and I trust you can figure it out from there.”

“I do have a knack with computers,” Sean agreed. Dean Blaine remembered Sean’s “knack” quite well. It had resulted in many a disabled alarm system at looted crime scenes.

Sean turned to leave, but Dean Blaine spoke up to delay him.

“If I were you, I’d focus the majority of my initial video watching on Nick Campbell,” Dean Blaine advised.

“The kid with the sunglasses? Why him?”

“You don’t think he is capable?”

“Not really. He was one of the first people out in the riddle contest, so he doesn’t have much creative thinking. He nodded off during my lecture, so he doesn’t have the willpower and dedication to take in a myriad of details that seem boring. Not to mention he was terrible at jacks, so he likely lacks even the basic dexterity to skulk, sneak, and steal when necessary,” Sean replied.

“Trust me on this one. Watch him first. Just call it a hunch,” Dean Blaine insisted.

“If you say so,” Sean grudgingly agreed.

“Oh, and one more thing,” Dean Blaine added.

“Yes?”

“I know you find it tedious, but you really should read through the files of your students,” Dean Blaine told him.

“I’d really rather not. When you go in with impressions of people before you meet them, it tends to taint your judgment of someone, rather than allowing you to come to your own conclusions. Even for things like psych profiles and aptitude tests, I’d rather see those traits demonstrated than read about them. That’s your problem; you always liked charts and numbers. I prefer to learn by assessing the people,” Sean defended.

Dean Blaine smiled at him with what was probably an altruistically knowing and not-at-all-smug smile. Probably.

“If you say so.”

23.

The girls sighed with relaxation, almost in harmony, as they rested in the just-warm-enough room. Each had been scrubbed, rubbed, and hot-tubbed to the point of pure decadence. Many of the ladies had been resistant to Alice’s spa idea at first: Violet and Stella didn’t see themselves as girly-girls, and Camille was ill at ease being massaged by a stranger, but as they simmered in their state of saturated relaxation, there was no regret in the room at electing to attend.

“This is the first time all week I haven’t had my teeth clenched with stress,” Violet commented offhandedly.

“Amen,” Selena agreed. “I didn’t realize how badly my body needed to get away from that world.”

“I did,” Alice said. “I really freaking did.”

“Yeah, good call,” Stella complimented. “I wonder how the boys are burning off their stress.”

“Depends on whether Nick managed to finagle control of their outing or not,” Alice pointed out.

“Thomas said he’d already made plans,” Camille informed them.

“They’re fine then,” Violet concluded. “Thomas is ridiculously responsible and proper. He even asked permission to kiss me at the end of our first date. I bet he takes them to a crafts workshop or some crap.”

“I hope they have a little more fun than that,” Mary volunteered. “It would hardly be fair if we get this and they only get instructions on woodworking.”

“Nothing to be done for it,” Selena said. “Our boys are, for the most part, just the habitually responsible types.”

*      *      *

Blood arced through the air, sailing past the metal wires of the cage and landing on the cold concrete of the bare floor. It pooled there, joining its brethren of spittle and sloshed beer, where it would linger until an unfortunate and underpaid worker came to mop it up with a rag soaked in cleaning solution some hours later. For now, the blood lingered, slowly spreading into a stain only a few yards away from Alex’s feet.

“Holy shit!” Nick yelled as the blond fighter dropped first to his knee, and then all the way to the floor. That last punch had sent his head rocking like he was at a mid-eighties metal concert and pushed his brain straight into dreamland. Or, as was more likely in this poor soul’s case, into nightmare château.

The fighter sporting a multicolored mohawk tossed his arms skyward in victory, and the crowd screamed their approval through hoarse throats and increasingly drunken hazes.

“The other guy really should have bobbed to the side,” Alex pointed out.

“Wouldn’t have helped,” Thomas replied. “His opponent was ready for that and had his leg positioned to sweep him to the ground.” Over a year of experience in combat had honed his battle perceptions nicely, allowing him to appreciate the mixed martial arts match on a more detailed level than the average spectator. Of course, what he appreciated the most was that, for once, he was watching someone else get knocked around instead of filling that role himself.

“This is amazing,” Vince said, his voice still somewhat awestruck. “I never knew that people had made this kind of fighting into a sport. All I’ve ever seen was boxing.”

“Yeah, mixed martial arts have really come into their own over the last decade or so,” Alex informed him. “Though, I had no idea that a crew was going to be in town.”

“It was good fortune,” Thomas said. In truth, it was because one of his sparring partners from back home was in the organization and had given Thomas both free tickets and a head’s up, but if one looked at networking as a type of luck, then good fortune it was.

“I wonder if they accept challengers,” Hershel mused thoughtfully. “I’ve got a hip flask, and Roy probably deserves to have a little fun, too.”

“Even if they do, it won’t be ones like him,” Nick replied. “You know the rules: our type has to go to the SAA. Which might be a good career move for Roy if this whole college thing doesn’t pan out.”

“They actually recruit heavily from HCP washouts,” Alex said. “I got a call over the summer from a local scout who assumed I hadn’t made sophomore year.”

“For a scout, he can’t judge talent very well, then,” Thomas told him. He’d grown fond of the leaner, brown-haired boy, and after last year’s midterm, had acquired a healthy respect for his ability.

The next fighters began walking down the runway to the ring, a myriad of boos, coos, and yahoos greeting them as they descended. The crowd ratcheted up its intensity by several degrees as the combatants entered the ring, the bloodlust almost palpable as the spectacle drew nearer to starting.

“Thank goodness the chicks wanted their own night,” Nick said. “This kicks the crap out of anything they might have wanted to do.”

*      *      *

Carl Fletcher sat in the small apartment Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport had at the back of Melbrook, sipping on his fifth cocktail and feeling pretty good about life. The duo had recovered significantly since he saw them on the beach, bouncing back with the kind of vigor and determination that had led him to recruit them in the first place.

“Been a long time since we all sat together and drank,” Carl noted casually. It really had been. He’d retired over five years ago, and communication with those still active wasn’t exactly smiled upon. “How are Stop and Tracking holding up?”

“Resplendent as always,” Mr. Numbers replied. “They’re assigned to protect some diplomat’s child between situations, so they’re staying at an ultra-posh hotel in New York.”

“Tracking always did have a way of finagling the best assignments,” Carl remembered. “That girl could collect favors like they were bottle caps.”

“She has an exceptionally useful ability,” Mr. Transport said, “that calls for her services to be needed in unofficial capacities quite often.”

“Meanwhile, Mr. Transport and I get hopped around the globe frequently, since relocation is easy for us,” Mr. Numbers said, a rasp of bitterness detectable in his voice. “This is the longest we’ve managed to stay in one place since we started.”

“Chin up, Numbers, they did the same thing to me, and I wasn’t even paired with a teleporter,” Carl said. “On to happier topics: how’s that girl of yours? Still keeping tabs, I assume?”

Mr. Numbers smiled; not a grin, or a smirk, or a sneer, or a calculated pull of his lips to show teeth, but a genuine smile. “She’s doing really well. Just got her doctorate in molecular biology.”

“At her age? That’s pretty impressive,” Carl said.

“That’s my niece,” Mr. Numbers said simply, his intense blue eyes shifting out of focus as they looked beyond the physical realm of the room and into his memory.

“What about you, Transport? Still flying solo?”

“You know the job,” Mr. Transport said simply.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know the job.” Carl took a deep draw from his drink and let the line of questioning die out. There wasn’t more to say, or more that needed to be said. Carl already understood. After all, he’d had his nice home on his nice beach, which had been nice and quiet with no spouses talking or grandkids visiting.

Carl knew the job, all right.

24.

It was midway through the third week of classes when a white document appeared on the wall in front of the gym. It said very little, only listing a date and the numbers “1 vs. 4” and “2 vs. 3”. It said nothing else and was gone the next day. For its minimal appearance of importance, that one sheet of paper stirred up the sophomore class more than a pickup truck careening through a bee hive. There was excitement, titillation, trepidation, curiosity, wonder, worry, and of course, good old-fashioned fear—fear of the incoming, fear of the unknown, and a particularly poignant fear concerning the fact that the date on the paper was only three weeks away.

*      *      *

Alex and Camille arrived at Melbrook that night around the same time. No one had told them to show up after classes, because no one had needed to. It was obvious they’d need to talk with their team. They entered the dorm and found the others already sitting in the common room. Hershel had given the night over to Roy, since the weaker Daniels brother wouldn’t be participating in any upcoming events. The muscular man sat on the couch, working so hard to look carefree that it appeared more as though he were trying to quiet an upset stomach. Mary and Alice were perched on a couch, while Vince sat alone near them. Only Nick was standing, his narrow shoulders leaned against the far wall as he watched the two non-residents walk in.

“And then there were seven,” Nick quipped.

“Sorry we didn’t call first,” Alex apologized. “We just figured, with the matches being announced . . .”

“You’re fine,” Mary assured him. “We were expecting you two to come over and talk about the plan with us.”

“What plan?” Alice asked. “All we know is who we’re facing and when. We don’t know anything about what sort of match it will be, so I’m not sure how much actual planning we can do.”

“More than you might think,” Mary told her. “We don’t know what we’re facing, but we do know our team composition and the lineup of the others. That should at least allow us to come up with a few comprehensive strategies for several scenarios, so we’re not totally flat-footed when things start.”

“Seems like a waste to me,” Roy said. “There’s no type of challenge they can throw at us that can’t be beaten with enough force.”

“Oh? That why you failed my little scavenger hunt?” Nick asked.

“That was different,” Roy snapped.

“Different in that the stakes were lower, and your failure more excusable? Yeah, I suppose it was different,” Nick replied.

“Settle down, you two,” Mary commanded. “We need to have some strategies if we want to get through our first match with the kind of scores we’ll probably need. Britney is a damned fine leader and has placed well in all of our exams so far by using good tactics and plenty of forethought. Since she’s the captain of Team Four, it is safe to assume they won’t be caught in a panic, even if they get thrown a few curveballs. We should try to play in the same league.”

“Not to be a downer, but how do you propose to do that?” Alex asked. “Nick’s photo hunt did an excellent job of showing just how much we lack in the planning department. We’re all smart, capable Supers, but we don’t have much experience with having to think like tacticians.”

“Actually, I’d say that night taught us one person in the group has a tremendous amount of experience in thinking like a tactician,” Mary disagreed.

“You mean Nick?” Alex’s voice did not convey a tone of reassurance at this revelation.

“I do,” Mary confirmed. “I might be the captain, but being in charge means delegating the tasks you know you aren’t the best option for. And when it comes to strategy and thinking ahead, I’d say Nick is by far the greatest among us.”

“If you say so,” Alex said hesitantly.

“Alex, I know the image Nick gives off: that he is an irreverent, uncaring, sunglass-wearing douchebag slacker who is just here wasting everyone’s time,” Alice said.

“I feel that was a little excessive,” Nick complained.

“But,” Alice continued, ignoring Nick’s protests, “we four know him better than anyone else. We lived with him for the past year and fought against Coach George with him. The fact that we’re totally on board with Mary’s suggestion should tell you that there is more to him than gelled hair and a sack of shit where his heart should be.”

“Okay, that one was just mean,” Nick spoke up again.

“Alice is right,” Vince agreed.

“Dude!”

“Oh, sorry, Nick, not about those things, but about us knowing you and what you can do,” Vince clarified.

“I believe you all,” Alex said. “It’s just strange to hear. I don’t mean to be offensive, I just never saw you as the type to plan ahead much. Quite the opposite, really.”

“If you considered yourself a telepath, then I’d take that as a compliment,” Nick said. “As is, I’ll just appreciate the willingness to view me in a new light. I’ll even tell you what: how about before we go over my ideas for prepping for multiple types of challenges, and you listen to my overview of our situation? If you think I don’t have a comprehensive grasp on what we’re facing, then I’ll happily abdicate my newly-acquired duties.”

“That sounds more than fair,” Alex agreed, taking a seat next to Vince. Camille slipped into a chair near the door, where she had a good view, but was difficult to see.

“Good,” Nick said, stepping forward from his leaning position and taking command of the attention in the room. “I’d like to start with a simple overview of our chances at this given moment, and with the most recent knowledge of Britney’s team that I have . . .” Nick paused and thought of how to best articulate his message in order to convey a firm grasp of the situation to his teammates:

“To put it succinctly: we’re fucked.”

25.

“Would you care to elaborate?” Mary prodded as the others merely stared at Nick silently. They’d grown a bit too used to his pageantry to be surprised by such declarations anymore. Nick nodded and produced a set of playing cards from his pocket. He sat down in front of the coffee table and dutifully began setting out one card after another until he had seven different cards displayed in a line, face up.

“Let’s go with a more visual explanation,” Nick said. “Each of these cards represents a member of Britney’s team. The numbered cards represent non-combat abilities, while the face cards represent fighting prowess. Higher is, of course, more powerful.”

“So there are three Jacks,” Vince noted.

“Michael, Allen, and Hector,” Nick said. “All three at the lowest level of combat skill when compared to the rest of the class.”

“That leaves a nine, two sixes, and an eight,” Alice observed.

“Correct,” Nick confirmed. “This only takes into account the usefulness of the super abilities of the person in question, not any other extraordinary qualities they may possess. So the nine is Adam, the eight is Britney, and the sixes are Gilbert and Terrance.”

“That doesn’t seem bad at all,” Roy said.

“Oh? That’s my fault, then. I should have given you a standard of comparison.” Nick began doling cards out again, this time face down, one to each person in the room. He placed one down in front of himself and sat back down.

“Only a Jack? That’s bullshit,” Roy declared after immediately turning his over. “I’m in the top five of the men’s class.”

“So is Michael—who was initially higher than you in that ranking—but I gave him a Jack too,” Nick pointed out.

“I guess that would make me one as well,” Vince said, flipping his own card over to indeed reveal a Jack.

“If we’re so weak, then who in the class has those higher cards?” Roy demanded.

“There are a few Queens, but I’ll tell you this: since I evaluate people based on a scale derived only from the skill levels present in our class, there is only one person at the top of the heap. There is only one King.”

“Chad,” Camille said softly.

“Bingo, give the girl a prize,” Nick confirmed. “The only people we’ve seen bring him down were professors.”

“I can accept that Chad is at the top, but there’s no way that I’m still on the bottom rung,” Roy insisted.

“My evaluations are made from the latest data I have. Show me something in our match to change my mind, and I’ll happily hand you a new card,” Nick offered.

“Fine,” Roy said succinctly.

“I’m a nine?” The voice asking wasn’t loud, but it was audible and familiar all the same.

“Of course. Healing is a ridiculously useful power in almost any scenario. The only person with a more useful non-fighting power is Rich,” Nick said.

“Oh, fuck you!” Alice yelled, jumping up from her seat. “A four? The girl who turns invisible is an eight, but I’m only a fucking four? You can be such an asshole.”

“Alice—” Vince said, trying to get her attention.

“No, don’t defend him. I know I’m not the best among us, but I’ve been a little useful. My four of a power was enough to save his life.”

“Alice—” Vince tried again.

“I mean, I’m not deluded or anything. I just hate being publicly branded as the weakest, most ineffectual member of the team like this.”

“Alice, look at Nick’s card,” Mary commanded. Her instructions penetrated where Vince’s kindness had failed, and Alice swept her eyes to the small rectangle of plastic set before Nick. During her rant, he had flipped it over, revealing a two of spades for all to see.

“Like I said before,” Nick said in the sudden silence that descended. “I only took powers into account in these evaluation systems. It doesn’t reflect anything about the wiles or capabilities of the person outside of those confines.”

“You really think you’re only a two?” Vince asked.

“I know it. My power, while strong enough to get me here, is unpredictable at best. That means it can’t be relied on consistently, so it has a very limited application in any competitive scenario. That does not, however, mean I consider myself to be useless.”

“Oh,” Alice said as comprehension dawned. “I’m sorry.”

“Honesty comes with hurt feelings,” Nick said. “That’s part of why I avoid it.”

“Hey, why do Alex and I have aces?” Mary asked. “I thought everyone was either a number or a face card.”

“Most everyone is. But there are a few people whose powers are extremely useful both in and out of combat. Since an ace can represent either the top of the card progression or the bottom, I felt it was a good symbol for those with dual function,” Nick explained. “In terms of just fighting ability, Mary is a Queen and Alex is a Jack.”

“Sounds about right,” Alex agreed before anyone could raise hell at Mary’s placement above the others.

“Now, set your cards down in front of the other team and tell me what you see,” Nick told them.

They complied, and it was Mary who drew the obvious conclusion.

“In a straight-up fight, it seems like we have the advantage.”

“We don’t have an advantage, we have a slaughter,” Nick corrected. “Not only do we have an additional member of our team with fighting capabilities, but that person is a Queen. Add on the healer, and they’d have no shot in hell if this were a brawl.”

“How does that make us fucked then?” Alice asked.

“Because our advantage is so disproportional we know that it won’t be that type of event. It wouldn’t teach either group anything, and it wouldn’t force us to use our heads,” Nick explained. “By the same token, since they outclass us so seriously in the non-combat side, we know it won’t be purely about avoidance, either. No, the only kind of event they could match us in where we start on even ground is one where the strategies could be either battle or tactically-based. That way each team can choose a strategy best suited to their strengths, and the better of the two will win.”

“So again, why are we in trouble?” Roy asked.

“Because their team is comprised of lots of people who are used to having to outthink their opponents,” Alex realized. “They’re better on their feet than most of us. So, if it comes down to a game of who can come up with the best strategy on the fly . . .”

“Exactly,” Nick said. “I can give us a starting plan once we know what the test is, but a necessity in this type of situation is adapting as things change, and if we have to splinter, that will put several of you on your own.”

“How do we close the gap then?” Vince asked, eyes already twinkling at the prospect of a new challenge.

“We learn to think in teams,” Nick replied. “Circle up close, everyone, because this next part will affect us in every match for the rest of the year.”

26.

The four-bedroom house was located in a development populated almost entirely by homes rented to students of Lander. In fact, it was so synonymous with the college that the cluster of blocks by the school was called “Lander Lounge” by the locals, both for the type of renter it brought in and for the generous number of parties thrown in the vicinity. The houses were kept to code (in some cases just barely), but they were affordable and as such, had very little in the way of frills. Still, this particular house was well cared for. It had a fresh coat of paint, and the carpets were vacuumed daily. These features spoke less of the owner of the house, though, and more of the tenants who had moved in this year.

Jill, Will, and Sasha clustered around the kitchen table, a set of playing cards before them and a bottle of tequila in the center. Jill slammed her drink and set the empty shot glass upside down on the table.

“Gah! Wow that is some awful stuff.”

“You’re the one who insisted we pre-game before going out,” Will reminded her.

“Well, yeah, we’re all too young to get served, so we’ve got to get our drink on ahead of time,” Jill said, slurping down her beer to drown out the tequila’s twang in her mouth.

“You know, I keep meaning to ask you about that,” Sasha said, her own voice slurring slightly. “Between the two of you, I’d think making a fake I.D. would be nothing.”

“It would be,” Will confirmed. “But I won’t do it.”

“Why not? We’re already drinking underage.”

“In a controlled environment, with my roommates in the area should anything go wrong and a designated driver already arranged,” Will replied. “This is a level of risk I find acceptable. Engaging in these activities without such a fail-safe is another matter.”

“That’s my brother, the worrier,” Jill said, giving Will a side hug.

“It is merely an evaluation of risk versus reward,” Will said. “At any rate, Sasha, it’s your turn.”

Sasha pulled a face-down card from the circle, revealing a four. “Fours is whores: girls drink,” she declared. Both she and Jill poured themselves half shots and threw them back. The wincing was excessive.

The door to the basement opened and shut as Thomas emerged. They’d kept the lower floor bare except for some free weights and a punching bag. It was their area to work out without the use of powers. Thomas had been down there for an hour and a half, emerging in a black tank top that was soaked through with sweat.

“Boyscout!” Jill yelled by way of greeting. “Come drink with us!”

“Eagle Scout, actually,” Thomas corrected. “And I’m not much of a drinker. I’d thought the same of you, too, Will.”

“Normally, no, but I’m testing a pill I designed to block alcohol from being absorbed into the bloodstream. Instead, it’s merely excreted without any effect on the user’s body,” Will explained. “Stella will be joining us after her shower, and Violet has agreed to drive tonight, if you’d like to go out dancing with us.”

“I think I very well might,” Thomas said, opening the fridge and pouring himself cold water from the pitcher. He, Violet, Stella, and Will had decided to live together at the year’s inception. Camille had originally been invited in Will’s spot, but she had elected to get a single room in a dorm on campus. Thomas wasn’t totally certain why she’d made that choice, but he suspected it had to do with the safety the familiar setting offered and her timid nature.

“Excellent. We haven’t gone out as a large group since . . . last year,” Will said, catching himself just in time. He drew a card to change the subject—a three. “Three is me,” he announced. He poured himself a shot and kicked it back with minimal grimacing.

“You can say it, Will. We haven’t done much as a group since we found out those freaks were lying to us,” Sasha all but spat.

“Not the way I would have phrased it, but yes, that is the event I was referring to,” Will concurred.

“Whatever, it doesn’t matter anymore,” Sasha said. “This is their last year here, anyway.”

“You suspect their team will perform poorly?” Will asked.

“Of course they will. They’re just a bunch of fucking Powereds. Once Britney and her crew get a hold of them, they’ll be lucky if they can all piss out the right hole when it’s over.”

“Perhaps Sasha has had enough to drink,” Thomas cautioned.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Sasha said, waving him off. “I’m just saying what we’re all hoping. Once that team shows how worthless it is, those shits will be kicked out and the name of Hero will stay clean.”

“Sasha, you need to relax,” Jill told her former suitemate.

“Oh, come on, like you want to live in a world where Powereds can become Heroes any more than I do. I’d rather live in a world where donkeys can become presidents.”

“That’s enough,” Thomas said, his tone no longer hemmed by politeness. “Now, ignoring the fact that we have two very good, non-Powered friends on that team you’re wishing such ill, your remarks are prejudiced and ignorant beyond what can be reasonably tolerated.”

“I was just saying—”

“You’ve said plenty, Sasha, now it is time to listen,” Thomas scolded. “We’ve been patient with your attitude; we all had to go through an adjustment period as well. And we understand that the lie cut you deeper than us because of your involvement with Vince. However, you need to recognize that the company you keep is more sympathetic with that group than hateful. If you want to curse them up and down the street, then there are other social groups who will join you in that sentiment. This is not one of them.”

“Fine, then! If you prefer the freaks, then I’d rather not be around you anyway,” Sasha yelled, rising from the table to leave.

“Don’t bother; I’ll leave you to your drinking. I’ve lost my desire to go out,” Thomas said, finishing off his water. “But when you sober up, there is one thing I want you to think about.”

“What?”

“You’re so focused on Vince lying to you and the betrayal you feel over that; have you ever stopped to really ask yourself why he did it?”

“’Cause he’s a lying asshole, just like every other man,” Sasha snapped back.

“If you really believe that, after a year together, then I think this breakup might just have been the best thing that could have ever happened. For both of you,” Thomas said, walking up the stairs before the fight could turn uglier and setting his course for the shower.

Jill drew her card in the silence that followed as Sasha slumped back into her chair.

“Um, I got a four, so girls—”

Sasha grabbed the bottle and put it to her lips before Jill could even finish. Will sighed and wondered if it was unethical to slip her one of his new anti-drunk pills. Otherwise, he had a feeling it would be a very long night.

27.

Nick arrived at Wednesday’s Subtlety class to find the room empty, save for two chairs. He observed the lack of classmates, gave a half-hearted shrug, and then took one of the seats. A few minutes later, Professor Pendleton walked in and plopped down in the other one.

“Gave me a different puzzle, huh?”

“Yep,” Professor Pendleton confirmed. “The others were sent to a classroom with a set of problems on the board and instructions to solve them before I arrive.”

“They might notice I’m not there,” Nick pointed out.

“They might indeed,” Professor Pendleton agreed. “That’s really more your problem, though. Much like someone destroying my test to see who the really swift people were was my problem.”

“Oh yeah, I remember that. Strange that someone would do that.”

Professor Pendleton cocked his head to the side. “Really? You’re going waste my time with the innocent routine?”

“Never admit to any crime until you know what you’re being charged with,” Nick replied, his body language relaxed and his smile unwavering. Professor Pendleton wasn’t sure what to make of this kid. Even after seeing the tapes of Nick slipping the notes onto other students and reading the extensive file Blaine had compiled, there were just some things that didn’t seem to fit.

“Fair enough,” Professor Pendleton said. “I know it was you who organized that little stunt. I have video of you planting the papers on people.”

“So this is a disciplinary meeting then?”

“Not yet, though that option is on the table. Right now, I want to understand why you did it.”

“You’re the teacher, you tell me,” Nick said, leaning back and setting his hands in his lap.

“Not how it works,” Professor Pendleton said. “You can play these little games with everyone else on campus, but in case you missed the memo, I’m the teacher in the only class where you really have talent. If you and I are going to have productive exchanges where I’m actually able to educate you, then I’m going to need honesty on your end.”

“And if I’m not okay with that?”

“Then by the time you get back to the surface, your clearance will be revoked and your bags will be packed,” Professor Pendleton replied.

“It’s like that?”

“It’s like that. I’m here to teach. If you aren’t here to learn, then there’s no need to waste my time.”

“I see,” Nick said. “Then, to answer your question, I planted the notes because it was the best solution to my dilemma.”

“Which was?”

“I needed to be marked as exceptional, but I couldn’t have that happen in front of other people,” Nick replied.

“Because of the feelings against Powereds.”

“Partially, but mostly because it spoils the demeanor of ineptitude I’ve worked very hard to cultivate,” Nick explained. “Right now, there is a team prepping to go up against us in some sort of test. In all of the scenarios and plans they’re running through, not one will account for me being as competent as I am. They’ll write me off, and I fully intend to slip some tricks through that gap of ignorance.”

“Seems like a long way to go for a one-use element of surprise,” Professor Pendleton said.

“Who said anything about one use? Our captain is a telepath. So far as anyone knows, she’ll be the one making the plays and giving the orders.”

“Cunning. How long do you think you can keep up the charade?”

“Until the day I can’t,” Nick said honestly. “No reason to greet that day any sooner than I have to.”

“You’re an odd one, Nick,” Professor Pendleton said, slipping off his chair and walking slowly about the room. “Normally, someone with your history and way of thinking would be on the opposite side of the Hero and criminal equation.”

“You’re the expert,” Nick shot back.

Professor Pendleton paused his walk, then resumed. “Found out about that already?”

“It wasn’t exactly hard,” Nick told him.

“I guess it wouldn’t be,” Professor Pendleton admitted. “Well, Nick, I find myself with my own dilemma. You see, I want to evaluate and educate you like the rest of the class, but I know you’ll keep tanking anything I throw at you on purpose. And while, in any other class that would be career suicide, in this instance, it happens to be an outstanding example of what Subtlety should be.”

“Quite a pickle,” Nick agreed.

“I suppose I could tell you to start performing up to your potential or I’ll fail you out.”

“You could.”

“Or I could judge your performance purely on the exams that will come throughout the year.”

“Also viable.”

“But I think there’s another solution,” Professor Pendleton said, sitting back down in the chair. “Every Wednesday at five, you and I are going to meet in this room. I’ll have some class material for you, and we’ll review the week’s teachings. The only difference is that while you’re in here, you’re honest. No ducking, no tricking, no pretending. I’m putting out a lot of extra effort by doing this, so I expect you to come ready to better yourself.”

“That’s fair,” Nick said.

“One more thing: no tanking tests. When we do a practical exercise in my class, I expect you to bring your A-game. I don’t care how you sell it to the others, but those are an integral part of Subtlety, and I can’t replicate them one on one.”

“I think I can manage that,” Nick agreed. “I do have one question before I sign on. This honesty thing, does it go both ways?”

“To an extent,” Professor Pendleton said.

“Then I want to know why you’re bothering with the extra effort. I’m smart, I’m crafty, and I’ve got ability, but you and I both know that, with the contenders in this class, there is no way I’m graduating in the final ten.”

“Probably not,” Professor Pendleton concurred. “But it’s my job to help you as best I can anyway, no matter how slim the odds of you walking out of here with a cape. Besides, let’s just say I know what it’s like to be surrounded by people with way more power than one’s own.”

“That part I can believe,” Nick said.

“Anything else you wanted to ask?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

“Then let’s get to class. I’ve got some other students to teach, and you have to pretend you couldn’t solve the puzzle and show up late,” Professor Pendleton said.

“You catch on quickly,” Nick complimented.

28.

“Good work, everyone,” Professor Fletcher said to the battered and beaten students before him. Camille was already making the rounds to heal her classmates, but there were many to go before everyone would be back to normal. That was the thing about a Close Combat class: getting beaten senseless was pretty much a requirement day in and day out.

“I’ll see you all tomorrow. Class dismissed. Vince, can you hang back for a moment?”

“Sure, Professor,” Vince said agreeably. He’d already been healed up as soon as the sparring had ended. Professor Fletcher fleetingly wondered if the boy had ever noticed that his teammate always healed him before everyone else. Somehow, he doubted it.

Professor Fletcher waited until the rest of the class had finished filing out before speaking. “Vince, I’ve noticed that you use fire for both long and short-ranged attacks, but you seem to only use electricity when within grappling distance of an opponent. I just wanted to ask why that was. I mean, if you can use one type of energy at a distance, you should be able to use others as well.”

“Oh, well, I can, sort of. It’s complicated,” Vince said, shifting awkwardly in place.

“Let me guess: every time you try and shoot it too far, it splinters off and careens out of control?”

“Right. I mean, exactly, precisely right,” Vince said. “How did you know?”

“Aside from it being my element and my specialty? Electricity is one of the hardest energies to control. Everyone who uses it has those same problems initially,” Professor Fletcher explained. “They aren’t insurmountable.”

“I’d hoped not, but after Coa- George and I spent so much time working on it without results, I sort of resigned myself to only using it when I was right by my opponent.”

“George tried to teach you how to direct a ranged lightning shot? No wonder you didn’t get anywhere.”

“What do you mean?”

“George, all other things aside, is a very strong Super. That said, he only understands electricity as a power source. He never appreciated it as the wild, living force of nature that it is. That’s why he couldn’t teach you to aim it.”

“Really?”

“Well, that and he lacked any experience in actually using it himself. A flaw that I certainly don’t share,” Professor Fletcher said.

“I see. So, you think you could help me?” Vince asked hopefully.

“Generally, teaching ranged mastery would fall into Professor Baker’s domain,” Professor Fletcher noted. “But, given the circumstances, I’ll talk with her and see if we can’t set up something special to help bring that particular skill along.”

“That would be awesome,” Vince said. “Thank you, Professor.”

“Thank me if we succeed,” Professor Fletcher cautioned him. “I can teach you the techniques, but it’s going to be up to you to make them work. Electricity is one of the hardest types of energy to effectively utilize in combat. In contrast, however, it’s also one of the most effective.”

“Yeah, I remember your opening day demonstration,” Vince said, rubbing the side of his head without noticing.

“Good, then keep that memory attendant when you train. If you can get some real control over that part of your abilities, you’ll become a far more powerful opponent,” Professor Fletcher told him.

Somewhere in Vince’s mind, the image of a Jack flitted across the landscape of his thoughts.

“Don’t worry. If it’s even remotely possible for me, then I’ll do whatever it takes to make it happen,” Vince said.

Though normally one to doubt the hurried promises of other people, Professor Fletcher found himself believing the silver-haired youth’s determination. It was pure, strong, and unwavering. It reminded him of another pair of blue eyes he’d gazed upon so very many years ago, but those had had calculation where Vince’s had honesty.

“I’m sure you will,” Professor Fletcher said. “Now, go to your next class. I’ll talk with Professor Baker and let you know tomorrow how we’ll proceed.”

“Yes, sir,” Vince said quickly, practically scampering out of the room and off to his next set of educational trials.

*      *      *

Shane Desoto was nearly at the lifts when a female hand closed around his shoulder. He sighed and tried not to shrug it off. He knew quite well it wouldn’t do any good.

“I’ve got other classes to get to,” Shane said swiftly, playing the academic card.

“You have geology at two and nothing until then,” Angela replied as she walked along with her brother.

“Of course you know my schedule,” Shane said dejectedly.

“Can’t a big sister take an interest in her little brother’s academic pursuits?”

“I’d like to get lunch before class,” Shane said, breezing past her comment. “Let’s hurry this along. What do you want?”

“I wanted to talk to you about your upcoming test. I heard you’re going against Chad’s team,” Angela said.

“How did . . . never mind, it doesn’t matter. Yes, I’m going against Chad.”

“So what is your strategy?” Angela asked.

Shane sighed again. He didn’t want to get into this here, but he knew Angela wouldn’t let it, or him, go until he spoke up. “It will depend on the type of test we’re given; however, since my team has more people with martial specialties, our strategy will likely rely on forcing them into combat situations whenever possible.”

“I was afraid you’d say that,” Angela replied. “Look, I know you think I’m a meddlesome, pain-in-the-ass sister, and you’re right, but this is one of those moments you need to put that aside and listen to me.”

“Go on,” Shane said noncommittally.

“It’s bad form to reveal things about someone’s abilities that happen in private matches, so I can’t really go into detail. Still, you remember last year when I promised Chad a sparring session?”

Shane nodded.

“Well, I won, but barely, and I mean by the skin of my teeth,” Angela said, looking her little brother dead in the eyes. “Do you understand what I’m saying? I’m telling you that kid was not only able to keep up with me, he was nearly able to overtake me.”

“That is . . . impressive,” Shane admitted. What was more impressive was that Angela was admitting to such a close win. Chad must have left quite an impression on her.

“No, dipshit, it’s not impressive, it’s insane. He was able to do that almost six months ago. I guarantee he’s gotten stronger since then.”

“So?”

“Sew buttons, bitch,” Angela retorted. “So don’t lean too heavily on a martial strategy. Think non-combat whenever possible, because if any of your team goes against him, even together, they’ll be taken out.”

“Thank you for the input,” Shane said, stepping away from his blonde sibling. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” He trekked off toward the lifts, more set than ever on using this test to show everyone that he was as good, if not better, a warrior than Chad.

Angela watched him skulk off and gently shook her head. She already knew what was going through her brother’s mind, and she knew what the outcome would be.

“Dumbass,” she muttered under her breath.

29.

Hershel sat in algebra that afternoon, his brain barely able to pay attention to the equations on the board. His mind was otherwise occupied, and not in a place it often frequented. Hershel found himself worried about Roy (instead of by him) for a change. He knew he shouldn’t be; heck, if anything, there’d been a time when Hershel would have killed for Roy to be this focused and controlled. Still, there was something in Roy’s thoughts that seemed off, dangerous even. Not to others, but to himself.

Roy was set on becoming stronger at any cost. Weights, training, sparring, no one besides Hershel knew the amount of time Roy had already put in this year. He’d been fair about it, too, giving Hershel all the time for friends, study, and Mary that he wanted. When Roy’s time came, however, it was always given to training. He’d barely even seduced any girls since school started. Hershel couldn’t believe it, but he was beginning to think Roy really needed to cut loose and have a little fun.

“Need help?” The voice asking came from Hershel’s side. It was his neighbor, Steve, with whom he’d been exchanging notes since the class’s first meeting. Steve was a nice guy, crew cut and large shoulders hinting at his post college ambitions, and had been a help for Hershel in documenting formulas even as Hershel helped him in understanding them.

“Huh? No, no, just distracted.”

“Good, because if this stuff is sending you off into la-la land, then I’m hopelessly screwed,” Steve half-joked.

“It’s not that bad once you grasp the basics,” Hershel assured him.

“Then why the mental drifting?” Steve asked.

“Just a little worried about my brother,” Hershel said carefully. He didn’t want to give too much away about his and Roy’s particular circumstances.

“Ah, going through a rough patch?”

“You could say that. More that he’s been pretty focused on his work lately, to the point of neglecting things that usually matter to him,” Hershel explained.

“Such as?”

“Women and drinking.”

Steve laughed. “Well, seeing as neither of those has ever held much appeal for me, I’m not sure how to help you rekindle his interest. I’ll just say this: letting go of some of one’s more unsavory pastimes and putting that energy into self-betterment is a big part of growing up.”

“It is; it just seems like . . . I don’t know. Too much, too fast.”

“If you’re that worried, why not invite him out with me and my friends one weekend? I may not be a drinker, but they’ve been known to shut down a bar or two on occasion,” Steve offered.

“I appreciate it, but he lives out of state,” Hershel lied quickly.

“Gotcha,” Steve said. “Well, the offer stands for just you and your friends. Lord knows, after all your help, the least I can do is buy you a beer.”

“I just might take you up on that one weekend,” Hershel said. They turned their attention back to the professor as he began working on a new set of problems. But Hershel’s mind wouldn’t stay focused for long, unfortunately. His thoughts kept swirling back to Roy. He knew it was futile to worry, yet all the same, he kept remembering the night last summer when George had kidnapped Mary and him. He remembered how angry Roy had been when he’d taken over, angry that someone would hurt his brother that badly. Hershel remembered the days when they were younger, the days when Roy was always ready to appear and fight to defend his sniveling sibling.

Even if he couldn’t do much, Hershel felt himself resolve to do something, anything, to help Roy stay balanced.

*      *      *

Britney had a fly in her team’s ointment. Or rather, an ice cube. Michael had been belligerent, uncooperative, and generally subversive since she’d first formed her team. It was clear he felt he should have been one of the captains, and honestly, even with his high rank, Britney would have given anything to go back in time and trade him for another student. At this point, she’d even take the practically powerless Powered Nick over Michael. But there was no undoing what was done, not until some Super was born with time-travel powers, so as Michael sauntered into the practice room that evening, Britney steeled herself to press forward.

“Am I early?” Michael asked, already preparing himself to leave and come back later.

“No, you’re late as usual,” Britney informed him. “But this meeting is just for you and me. I called the others and cancelled.”

“Oh, so this is one of those meetings,” Michael said with a greasy smile. “I can’t say I haven’t noticed how you look at me, so I had a feeling we’d get here eventually.”

“Wow. No. Christ, no. I cannot emphasize enough how wrong you are. I called you here so we could talk about your attitude,” Britney said, doing her best to remain composed.

“What attitude? Just because I call you out—”

“You’re obnoxious, disruptive, and a disgrace to have on my team,” Britney interrupted. “So let’s cut the bullshit. You know what a pain in the ass you are. My question is, what is it going to take for you to fly right?”

“I want to be captain,” Michael replied immediately.

“Never going to happen,” Britney snapped back. “Even if it was in my power, which it isn’t, you’ve blown all credibility with the team by acting out since day one. No one would trust you; they’d all look to me, and it would split the already fragile command dynamic.”

“It’s what I want,” Michael said.

“Funny, here I thought you wanted to win,” Britney replied.

That one gave Michael pause. He did want to—need to, really—win this first match. It was against the freak team, and it was his chance to remind Vince of who the stronger one in their rivalry was. He owed him for the surprise heat wave a few weeks ago, and he was fully prepared to deliver a payload of hurt. Still, it wouldn’t do to just hurt Vince anymore. Now, Michael had to crush his friends as well, and totally destroying them in the match was a very convenient way to do it.

“Let me handle the combat training,” Michael said after some thought. “It’s deferring to me on what actually is my specialty, and most of the people with fighting capabilities are already partially with me anyway.”

“Fine, as long as you use your combat strategies only in compliance with the overall plan I produce,” Britney stipulated.

“I can work with that,” Michael agreed. He stepped forward and offered his hand. Britney hesitated, then grasped it and shook to seal their deal.

“There is one more thing,” Michael said as they were still clasped.

“Of course there is. What?”

“When the match starts, I’ll comply with any plan you put out. But you need to know that if the opportunity for me to fight Vince comes up, I’m going to take it, all strategy be damned.”

Britney stared into Michael’s chilly blue eyes and suppressed a shiver. She didn’t know what was going on between these two, and she didn’t really care. Vince had always been nice to her, nice to everyone as far as she knew. Still, it was better that he be the target of Michael’s aggression than her team. God forgive her.

“It’s a deal.”

30.

Friday has always been the blessed child of Time. It’s admired, looked forward to, and savored with each occurrence. Sure, the other days get to host occasional holidays or birthday parties—though poor Monday seems always to come up with the short end of the stick—but none have the consistent excitement and magic attached to them that Friday does. It is then all the more powerful a statement that there was little joy to be found in the HCP students on the Friday before Monday’s test. Most were worried, some were excited, but a genuine sentiment of joy was quite the rarity.

Mary noted this as her teammates piled into the lobby: a mixed emotional palette with predominantly negative overtones. She couldn’t blame them; after all, their classes were far more taxing this year. Even she had had to treat headaches after nearly every Focus class. She knew Professor Stone gave everyone the same assignments, but Mary would swear she was getting ridden harder all the same. They needed a break, and badly, but with the test in just a few days, there was simply no time for it.

“Listen up, everyone,” Nick said as the final straggler came into the room. “We’re taking a break.”

“Very funny, Nick,” Mary all but snapped.

“Very true, my petite friend, and thank you for illustrating my point,” Nick rebutted. “Let’s be honest here: we all feel like shit. We’re tired, we’re worried, and we’re just plain worn out. This year has been nothing but stress so far, and that is not a mindset that’s conducive to winning. So tonight, we’ll run through our drills and make sure everyone remembers our standard tactics. Then tomorrow, we do nothing at all test related.”

“So what do you suggest? Another slasher marathon?” Alice asked.

“While that would suit me just fine, I was actually thinking it should be something the entire team wanted to do,” Nick said with a smile.

There was a beat of silence as his words sank in. “Wait,” Vince said slowly. “You mean you want everyone to decide together? Not just for you to hijack us into whatever activities seem like a good idea?”

“That is correct,” Nick confirmed.

“Wow. You really do think we need this,” Vince surmised.

“We might need it, but can we afford it? I mean, our first test is in just a few days. Taking a night off to screw around seems downright dangerous,” Mary pointed out.

“Not nearly as dangerous as not taking it off,” Nick replied. “Humans can only toil endlessly for so long. Every now and then, we need to taste the sweeter things in life, to remember why we do the work in the first place. Much like Alice’s spa day, we need to be refreshed.”

“So what do we do then?” Roy queried.

“Consider the floor open; it’s our first matter of business,” Nick said. “Suggestions?”

“We could go bowling,” Vince said.

“We could go to a really fancy dinner,” Alice tossed out.

“Keg party,” Roy said without further explanation.

“Okay, so clearly we have some eclectic tastes,” Nick said. “Anyone else want to put in their two cents? Mary?”

“I’m fine with anything that isn’t horror movies,” Mary said.

“Easy enough to comply with,” Nick assured. “Camille? Alex? Any input from our non-resident members?”

Camille merely shook her head, but Alex spoke up.

“I do know of a party being thrown by one of the frats tomorrow night. There’s no theme, but they’re holding it on the top floor of the Rencroft building downtown, so it’s supposed to be pretty nice. They’ve got a band, dance floor, and a dress code.”

“Sounds lame,” Roy snapped.

“There’s also an open bar after the twenty dollar cover,” Alex added.

“Sounds great,” Roy amended.

“That actually could be fine,” Alice said. “The dancing and fun of a club without the insane amount of people.”

“I’d be open to it,” Vince agreed. “Can we invite our other friends?”

“Of course,” Mary said before Nick could. She was still the leader, after all. “I bet they need a night off as much as we do.”

“I do love the company of Thomas and his crew,” Nick agreed. In truth, he would have nipped the living shit out of the bud of that idea had he not been on the team with both telepaths. As it was, spending time around future competition could only be beneficial.

“It will make Selena happy; she’s been bugging me to take her out when we have time,” Alex said.

“Sounds like we’re more or less agreed then,” Nick announced. “Any objections?”

“I have one request,” Mary said. “Roy, would you mind if Hershel spent the first part of the night there with me? I’d very much like to dance with my boyfriend.”

“Nah, that’s fine,” Roy said. “In fact, he can have the whole evening. I kind of owe him: I’ve been using a lot of time for training.”

“Nonsense, you deserve to have some fun as much as the rest of us,” Mary said. “We’ll just bring you a change of clothes for after the shift.” Honestly, Mary would have preferred to have Hershel all night, but she also knew how worried he’d been lately over Roy’s need to have some fun. Much as she might have liked more romance out of the event, this was an activity for the team, and that meant putting the greater good first.

“Well then, seems like we’re all set for our break night then,” Nick said. “Now, all that leaves are tonight’s drills.”

Though the group’s spirits sank a bit at re-submersion into the task at hand, Mary had to admit that the overall sentiment of her teammates was improved. Giving them something to look forward to had salved the weariness in their bodies and sharpened their minds. All of which she would try to keep in mind when she raked Nick over the coals later.

31.

While his students drilled themselves tirelessly in anticipation of their upcoming trial, Dean Blaine flew away from the city. He did so not by means of any special ability, unless skill at booking a seat on a commercial plane is considered special in some circles. It was frustrating, at times, to see the excess and decadence some of his classmates took as part of life, while he had to simply muddle through as an average citizen. Hallow would have merely taken his own jet to run an errand, and Bullrush’s company would have at least flown him first class, but for the legendary Zero, business class was the most Lander would spring for.

Admittedly, he could have run down a teleporter to jump him to and fro; after all, he knew a few from his Hero days, but he loathed calling on people for personal favors if it wasn’t necessary. Those people had lives and jobs and problems all their own, and didn’t need constant interruption from others needing transportation. Dean Blaine had lobbied to keep a full time teleporter on staff merely for traveling situations, but the board kept dragging its feet. In the meantime, employees traveling on business got to fly like all the other humans: uncomfortably and overcharged.

It wasn’t the glamorous life he’d imagined when he was younger, no question about that, but Blaine at least had the knowledge that he was still making a difference in the world. He knew many retired Heroes who had lost that feeling, and it had crushed them. It was difficult to walk away from any career rooted in constant action, but being a Hero was even a step above that. The fame, the accolades, the respect people showed you, all of it was unparalleled. Supers had been known to suffer occasional discrimination in some professions; however, no one dared to show any negativity publicly toward Heroes. Blaine was never certain if that came from genuine respect or merely fear of what would happen if the Heroes ceased to do their job.

There was a baby three rows over from Blaine, already yelping erratically. It didn’t take years of combat and pattern recognition to see that yelps would escalate into a constant, siren-like scream once they were airborne. Blaine closed his eyes and tried to drift elsewhere.

*      *      *

Blaine and Gerard sat at the bar, a beer in front of Blaine and a whiskey on the rocks in front of Gerard. There were many college-themed bars dotting the Lander campus, places with Greek letters and loud music abounding freely. This was not one of those bars. It was too well-kept to be a dive, but too low-key to draw in most people of college age. Blaine and Gerard were, as usual, exceptions.

“How long do we have?” Blaine asked.

“About an hour,” Gerard replied.

“Until we have to leave or until we’re supposed to be there?”

“Leave,” Gerard said simply.

“Good,” Blaine said, and gulped down more beer. He would have had to quit if it was the other way, since he was driving, but he was happy to discover he could still finish his drink. “Remind me why we’re doing this again?”

“Because Clarissa was on our team back in sophomore year, because she’s our friend, and because the girl asks for so little that this is the least we can do,” Gerard said.

“Yeah, but still . . . a dinner party? And with a dress code? That seems cruel.”

“She’s a girl. She’s allowed to have fancy tastes.”

“We’re guys; we’re allowed to not have them,” Blaine pointed out.

“Yeah, but we’re also her friends.”

“I know, I know. We’re going. I’m just getting all the complaining out of my system now, so I can be pleasant when we arrive.”

“Stiff upper lip, Blaine. These are the best days of our lives, after all.”

Blaine snorted a laugh into his beer. “I certainly hope not.”

“Okay, maybe not the best days, but they are pretty good,” Gerard amended. “Who knows, there may be a point when you look back on the day of Clarissa’s dinner party with fondness and nostalgia.”

“If that’s the case, then I can only imagine what kind of nightmare I’d be dealing with that this seems pleasant by comparison.”

*      *      *

The facility was higher tech than where Sean Pendleton had been stored, with retina scanners along with well-armed and armored guards populating every door. This wasn’t a place for Supers with the propensity for escape. This was for Supers whose abilities could easily turn deadly. In most of the cases housed here, said abilities had already taken that turn. The walls were concrete, reinforced with steel, and covered in hidden wires carrying heavy voltages. The actual location of this testament to incarceration was on a mountaintop far from any nearby society. There were at least ten Heroes on site at any given time, and they were all combat-hardened and able to make the tough choices in an instant.

Blaine stepped through a final checkpoint, ignoring the suspicious gaze of the guard that let him pass. It was their job to be paranoid, and he wasn’t going to critique them for doing it well, even if the long, loud flight had left him in a bit of a foul mood. Blaine stood placidly as the heavy steel door before him slid open, revealing a room void of anything but bare concrete walls, a pot for excretion collection, and a man.

The man had every appendage locked down and was encased in a series of large metal tubes. Blaine knew those restraints each weighed in the tons and cut off all movement, even for the strongest of Supers. They also served the purpose of sealing off any lasers or other attack apparatuses the prisoner might have in his arms and legs. Had he possessed such destructive abilities in his chest or head, equally restrictive measures would have been taken for those as well.

This was not the case, so it was with a perfectly unobscured face that George gave Blaine a weary smile of welcome.

“Good to see you again, Boss. I think it’s time we talked about a cost of living raise. Not sure if you’ve noticed, but this place is kind of a hellhole.”

32.

The pounding on Nick’s door was a far cry from the delicate knock his late-night visitor had used the last time. He pulled the door open quickly, before any of his neighbors could be roused from their slumber.

“You need something, fearless leader?”

“I need to know when you decided that tactician meant the same thing as person in charge,” Mary said, walking stiffly past him and dropping into his desk chair. Nick closed the door securely before attending to the diminutive invader.

“I believe I was also declared strategist, wasn’t I?” Nick asked as he took his own lanky strides across the room.

“You were, but I don’t see how that applies here.”

“Of course you don’t,” Nick said. “You’ve been a good girl lately, not digging into people’s minds nearly as much as last year. I’m not going to ask why—it isn’t my business after all—but I will say that it’s a damn stupid idea given our present situation.”

“It’s because—”

Nick held up a hand to silence her. “I don’t want to know. It’s either emotional or ethical, and in either case, I’m not the person you should talk to about it. Let’s stick with the matter at hand. You want to know why I overstepped my boundaries.”

Mary nodded.

“Because going to tomorrow’s little party will offer us the chance to peek into the minds of the competition. Amber Dixon’s boyfriend happens to be part of the frat that’s throwing the shindig, so she will be in attendance.”

“Amber is on Shane’s team,” Mary pointed out.

“She is; however, she never goes to these events without her exceptionally close friend, Britney Ferguson,” Nick continued.

“How could you possibly know that?”

“Patience, research, and attentiveness,” Nick replied. “Unlike you lot, I made a point of eavesdropping on all the gossip-filled comings and goings of our peers during and between classes. I kept track of minuscule and pointless details methodically, and I did it for moments exactly like this. We can go pick the brain of our opponent’s leader mere days before the match.”

“It’s a sound idea,” Mary agreed. “But why couldn’t you have asked me beforehand? And how did you know Alex would suggest it?”

“Because he is a boyfriend to a beautiful woman plugged into the live-wire of the social system, and because I needed you not to be fully on board with it, which you would have been if you’d known my reasons,” Nick said.

“Explain,” Mary demanded.

“You’re the leader; you need to come off as dedicated and uncompromising in the pursuit of victory. I’m the screw-up; I’m allowed to do things like suggest we take a day off right before a big test.”

“But you got your way,” Mary pointed out.

“And you agreed to it, which allows you to keep the responsible image while, at the same time, showing you are considerate of the wishes of your team. It was the optimum way to get what we needed while framing you in the best light.”

Mary narrowed her eyes. “You put a good spin on it, but I’m still not happy at being circumvented in the decision-making process.”

“If you were, then you’d make a pretty shitty leader. What’s done is done, so how about I promise not to do it again, and you decide it’s not worth fighting over so late in the night?” Nick suggested.

“Fine,” Mary said. “Just know that if you pull something like this again, we’re going to have a problem. These matches are what decide whether or not we make it to another year in the HCP. That means the future of everyone in Melbrook rests on the decisions I make. I don’t take that responsibility lightly.”

“I’d wager a guess that’s part of why it was assigned to you in the first place,” Nick said. He walked back to the door and slid it gently open. Mary stared at it for a few moments, and then purposely walked out without so much as a backward glance. Nick eased it shut and went back to his computer.

He was back at work, finishing his Statistics assignments for November (Nick preferred to work ahead so that he had the necessary free time for finals), when another set of knocks echoed through his room. These were more subdued than the first set; he supposed Mary was feeling less cocky this time around. Nick hefted himself from his chair and walked back across the room, pulling the door open to greet his returning guest.

“Forget something?”

“Huh?” Alice said, her face sparking in surprise. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, um, nothing,” Nick said, feeling the unfamiliar sensation of being caught off-guard. “What’s up?”

“I need to talk to you,” Alice said simply.

“At two in the morning?”

“Yes,” the blonde girl replied simply.

Nick took a deep breath and tried to fully grasp the situation. He and Alice had barely spoken, let alone been friendly, ever since last year’s fiasco. A late night call was a strange and curious anomaly. Nick didn’t like anomalies; Nick liked to know what was coming so his spontaneous reaction was already prepared.

“Well then, come on in,” he said, stepping aside and gesturing to his room. “Mi casa es su casa.”

Alice couldn’t stop herself from chuckling. Nick had no idea just how accurate that statement was.

“So, Giggles, what do you need?” Nick asked as he closed the door yet again.

“I need to talk to you about, well, you,” Alice said as she started to sit on his bed, then thought better of it; she took the same desk chair Mary had previously occupied.

“Fair enough,” Nick said. “I like smooth jazz, margaritas, and long walks on the beach. That fill in the gaps?”

“Not even a little,” Alice said “I’m serious. I’ve been playing along with you this year, not raising a stink about your attempts to bail on our friends, but now that you seem to be helping Mary call the shots on our strategies, we’ve hit a problem that needs resolving.”

“And that is?”

“I don’t trust you,” Alice said simply.

“All things considered, I don’t know that I can fault you on that one,” Nick said.

“No, you don’t understand,” Alice said with a shake of her head. “Even last year, when I thought you were full of shit, when I already suspected the person you acted like was wildly different from who you really were, I still at least trusted that no matter the facade you put up, you were a good person. I thought you were a good friend. I don’t have that anymore, and it makes listening to the orders you give and the tactics you implement a lot harder.”

“What would you like me to do about that? I can tell you it was all a joke, a lie, or a farce. I can tell you it never occurred to me to not go after our friends,” Nick offered.

“More lies aren’t the answer,” Alice said. “Not that I know what is. Hell, I don’t even know why you still act the way you do. You let the cat out of the bag already.”

“Only to you,” Nick said, his voice softening slightly. “Mary and Hershel weren’t there, and Vince never believed me about not going in the first place. Or maybe he did and didn’t care. Maybe he knew all along I’d go; I’m not sure what to make of that guy sometimes. Anyway, the point is that, to nearly everyone else, including our classmates, this version of Nick is the real one, and it’s the one I prefer they see.”

“So I’m the only one with issues,” Alice surmised.

“Oh, Princess, let me assure you, everyone here has issues; they just aren’t all with me,” Nick corrected.

Alice snorted out a weak laugh. “I want to get past this,” she said. “I want to trust you, well, at least trust your core morality again. I just don’t know how.”

“Wish I could help,” Nick said. “Unfortunately, I’m the one person who can’t. Anything I say will seem suspect or manipulative, even if it’s the truth. So however you get past this, I doubt I’ll be the one to guide you.”

“You’re right,” Alice agreed. “Because I’m even asking myself if that little piece of basic logic is real or if it’s just a ruse to get me to drop the issue. Either way, it proves your point.” Alice rose from the seat and headed toward the door. “I’m sorry I bothered you. This is something I have to work through. And if I can’t . . . well, I trust Mary a lot. Maybe I can believe in her judgment enough to follow your directions by proxy.”

“Seems like a workable plan,” Nick said, unmoving from his perch.

“Best one we’ve got,” Alice answered, giving him a brief smile. She left Nick’s room silently, pulling the door closed behind her.

Nick started to get back to his work again, then gave up and merely saved his progress. Instead, he lay down on his bed and stared at the bright bulb wedged into its socket above him. He lay like that for nearly an hour before he made any motion to turn off the light.

Nick truly hated anomalies.

33.

“You look like hell,” Blaine said flatly. The truth was, aside from his shackled appearance and somewhat dirty face, George looked pretty good for a man in maximum lockdown. He showed none of the usual distress of someone who has lost all hope of ever seeing sunlight again. That was disturbing to Blaine, because the only explanation was that the current captive didn’t intend to stay that way. If it were someone else, Blaine might have suspected delusion, but if there was one thing that could be said about George, it was that he was a realist.

“If that’s true, then Hell never looked so good,” George snapped back. He didn’t bother following Blaine with his eyes as the bespectacled man walked around the room. If Blaine was the kind of man to attack someone who was helpless, then it was going to happen and no amount of watching would stop it. Besides, he’d seen his former employer a few times since his incarceration and things had yet to get physical.

“Funny. The guards treating you well?”

“We’re up to beatings three times daily. If they keep working at it, they might even leave a bruise on me by Christmas.”

“Oh, that legendary George Russell toughness. You always have been notorious for your durability. That’s part of what made you such a good teacher.”

“Cut the shit, Blaine. Of all the things I know you might be here for, complimenting my teaching skills isn’t one of them.”

“Kidnapping and assaulting students does sort of mar your previous credentials,” Blaine admitted.

“Hey, I just kidnapped. They’re the ones who assaulted me.”

“Assaulted you in an effort to retrieve the friends you had stolen away from them.”

“I didn’t say they didn’t have good reason. I just said they threw the first punch,” George pointed out.

“They also threw the last one, seeing as they beat you.”

“How kind of you to remind me.”

“As if you’d ever forget a loss. Assuming you even count it as one.”

George showed no outward reaction to Blaine’s words. Nevertheless, Blaine felt something in the bound man shift.

“No sense in pretending otherwise. They got me, fair and square,” George said with an attempt at what might have been a shrug.

“You know, I’ve read through the reports about the incident dozens and dozens of times. Several things keep standing out to me. If you were really bent on taking Mary at all costs, why bother breaking Hershel’s arm until he let go? With your strength, you could have just ripped it off his body.”

“Damn, Blaine, what do you take me for?”

“A man who will do anything to accomplish his mission. Don’t forget, I know your full file from your Hero days as well. Something like that certainly wouldn’t have been beyond you. You could have done that, you could have incinerated Roy as he clung to you, and I feel fairly certain you could have taken down Vince with a single punch. All of which brings us back to you losing.”

“People get overconfident. I thought I could get away without doing permanent damage. I was wrong.”

Blaine completed his revolution about the room and stopped in front of George so the two could see one another’s eyes. It made sense; it was certainly logical to believe that, even if a man like George was coerced into kidnapping, he would be reluctant to harm his own students beyond the necessary. It held together well, except if someone knew the real George Russell. If they knew how he changed in a battle, if they understood his tunnel vision on eliminating his enemies. His Hero moniker, Relentless Steel, hadn’t been chosen because of his easygoing ways.

“How many times does this make now, George? Five, six, something like that? I’m beginning to lose count, and I’m really getting tired of flying goddamn coach to spend my weekend chatting with you. Sooner or later, you’ll break and tell us who gave you the orders. Things can get better when you do, so what are you holding out for?”

George smiled, not at Blaine, but at no one in particular. It was just a smile at having something other people didn’t have, at holding a secret you knew would be priceless if it were to be released. That smile told Blaine more than he really wanted to know.

“I suppose I’m just too stubborn for my own good,” George said without emphasis.

“No one is coming for you, George, and even if they were, it wouldn’t matter. You know how well fortified this place is. Breaking in and stopping ten Heroes is impossible, even by our standards of impossibility.”

“Could you do it?”

“Beg pardon?”

“Come on, Boss, oh legendary Hero,” George said with a touch of venom. “Could the great Zero break in here and set someone free?”

“No. Not even I could break in here,” Blaine said forcefully.

“Then as long as there isn’t anyone out there stronger than you, I guess you’re right,” George replied.

“What are you trying to say?”

“Nothing at all, Boss. Just mulling over an old adage. How did it go? ‘There’s always someone better than you’ or something like that. Just saying.”

Blaine had an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. It was nothing more than a suspicion, but it was gnawing at him fiercely. The truth of the matter was that when he graduated the HCP, he hadn’t been top of the class. No, Blaine Jefferies had only been ranked third. Not that it mattered anymore. What he said was still true. No one could break into this place. No one who was left, anyway.

“I suppose you’ll cling to whatever delusion gets you through the days,” Blaine said. “But I’m done playing these games. I thought you might respond more amiably to someone with whom you have a bit of trust, someone who could make things better for you. I see now I should have left you to the professionals from the beginning. I’ll let the guards know to send word if you ask for me. Other than that, I won’t be coming back anymore.”

“Finally. Now that I won’t be getting interrupted, maybe I can finally make some progress on my pottery project,” George said.

Blaine paid the ribbing no attention. He merely turned around and began heading for the door.

“Hey, Blaine,” George called as his former boss was almost at the threshold. “I’m supposed to pass along a message. You still owe him fifteen dollars for getting those tea stains out.”

Blaine paused, only for a moment, and then exited with all the haste he could muster. It wasn’t the worst thing in the world—certainly not as horrible as his gut had been insisting—but George’s words still meant something bad. After all these years, another graduate from The Class of Legends had resurfaced.

The dean of the Lander HCP hustled down the hall. He was catching the next flight back, and the board could go fuck itself if they had an issue with the price. There was too much to do, too many people to reach out to. George had confirmed something that Blaine had always known would happen eventually. Raze was back, and he was already moving behind the scenes.

34.

The Rencroft building was named after Albert Louis Rencroft, a particularly bold (underhanded) investor who had helped finance several institutions of money management. This building had been one of his final projects in life, a glorious skyscraper that looked as though it had been forged of metal and glass rather than merely constructed from them. It practically glowed as the setting sun’s rays reflected in its gleaming surface, serving as a mecca for both students of architecture and art alike, beckoning them to come marvel at its beauty and draw inspiration. Tonight, however, it drew a somewhat different crowd.

“Vince, stop messing with your collar,” Nick scolded.

“Sorry,” Vince said, letting his hand drop. He wasn’t used to wearing things with collars, let alone the stiff, starchy collar of a freshly laundered button-down. Nick had helped him choose and prepare his outfit—the blue shirt that was bothering him and a pair of black slacks—citing the fact that since this was a fancy event, he needed to break his usual fashion monopoly of t-shirts and jeans. Nick had chosen gray slacks and a black shirt with soft purple pin-striping for himself. It danced closer to his actual tastes than was likely safe, but Nick figured that, given the unusual circumstances, he could slide by without issue.

The girls all wore dresses, though Alice and Selena’s were a bit more risqué than Camille and Mary’s: Selena’s was silver with a tightness near the bottom that highlighted her assets, while Alice’s was a red piece that crossed in the front and drew attention to her chest. If Alex was at all bothered by the eye-grabbing nature of his girlfriend’s garb, it didn’t show. He grinned broadly as he held the mocha-skinned girl’s hand during their saunter through the parking lot.

Hershel held Mary’s hand as well, the two more demure in their affection than Alex and Selena, yet no less heartfelt. It occurred to Vince that if things had gone differently, he’d be embracing Sasha right now. He felt a pang in his gut and tried to turn his attention elsewhere. This was a night of fun, after all. Thomas, Violet, and Stella would be meeting them at the top floor, and the group could proceed to dance the night away just like regular students.

After a long wait in line and exchange of money at the entrance, the crew was treated to quite a sight through the large oak doors separating the central room from the lobby. The area was huge, an entire floor devoted solely to serving as a party venue. There were bar stations set up at each corner of the room, along with kegs positioned at seemingly random junctions to keep the alcohol flowing freely. There was already a crush of bodies in the central part of the room, despite the early hour, their shoes nearly obscuring the hardwood floor that indicated its function as a dancing area. Music was pumping from the walls, but more subtly than at most of the clubs the group had frequented. This was a place that encouraged conversation as well as alcohol consumption.

“Wow,” Alex said as he took in all the sights. “Is this what normal college people get to do all the time?”

“Pretty sure this isn’t an everyday event, even outside our curriculum,” Hershel clarified.

“Point of fact, it’s one of the biggest parties of the year,” Selena told them. “All the frats have one. There’s the Halloween party, this one, the St. Patrick’s day bar crawl, the Cinco De Mayo rager, the Easter keg blitz, the—”

“Hang on,” Vince interrupted. “I admit I’m not really used to this kind of thing, but how is Easter a drinking holiday?”

“You spend a long weekend with your family on your best behavior while being dragged around in your Sunday finest and often stuck entertaining small children,” Nick said. “From my point of view, it provides a multitude of reasons to drink.”

“Amen,” Selena mumbled under her breath.

“And speaking of, all this talk is making me thirsty. Anyone else want a drink?” Nick asked.

Selena, Alice, and Alex all raised their hands.

“I’ll come with you,” Vince said. “I could use some water.”

“Pretty sure water is that line over there,” Mary said, pointing to a small stand with only a few people milling about it.

“Thanks,” Vince said, heading over without batting an eye. If it bothered him to be one of the few non-drinkers at a party devoted solely to that act, his face certainly didn’t let it show. Nick headed toward one of the longer lines, and the rest of the group went looking for their friends or a table, whichever they stumbled across first.

Vince stood patiently in line, receiving a clear cup with an equally clear liquid inside of it. He grabbed a few more in case anyone at the table wanted some as well, then turned around to look for his friends. What he found staring back at him was a set of familiar facial features, a configuration he never would have expected to encounter in this setting.

“Oh, hey, Chad,” Vince greeted.

“Good evening,” Chad said politely. “I see you’re not joining in the alcoholic revelry either.”

“Yeah, not really my thing,” Vince said.

“Nor mine. A body should be looked after and kept fit, in my opinion, and that means avoiding things precisely like alcohol.”

“That makes sense. I’m just not really a fan,” Vince agreed. “Truth be told, this whole scene is a bit foreign to me. It’s where the team wanted to go.”

Chad raised an eyebrow. “Your whole team is out here this close to Monday’s . . . test?”

“Sure. We decided we needed to relax a little after all the hard work. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

Chad shook his head. “This is merely part of an arrangement I made. I agreed to chaperone someone in exchange for her assistance training my team.”

The word “who” was literally halfway out of Vince’s mouth when a blonde in a shimmering gold dress practically materialized at Chad’s side. She sported a glass of wine in one hand and a frosty mug of beer in the other.

“There you are,” Angela DeSoto said, bumping Chad’s shoulder with her own to draw attention. “I swear, it takes you longer to get water than it takes me to make water, and I have to deal with the ever-present line at the girl’s room. Hey, silver-haired kid, how’s it shaking?”

“Pretty good,” Vince said uncertainly. “You’re the chaperone from last year’s river trip, right?”

“Yup, and the hostess with the mostess, not to mention widdle Shane’s big sis,” she confirmed. “Sorry to break up your conversation, but I didn’t bribe big, blond, and muscly here to come along and not move me around the dance floor.”

“I believe your exact words were that you ‘wanted to dance, but didn’t want a dude who was going to get all gropey after two beers’,” Chad informed her.

“Well, are we dancing? No, so let’s get you some freaking water, set it down at the table, and light that floor on fire. That’s a metaphor, silver-kid, don’t go pyro-wrecking everyone’s night.”

“What? But I-I would never,” Vince began sputtering.

“Ease up, kid, I’m just messing around,” Angela assured him. “Freaking A, you’re as easy as this one.”

“Perhaps it would be better to direct your energies toward dancing,” Chad said, easing her away. “Nice seeing you, Vince.”

“That’s what Momma is talking about. Later, Vince, try ditching the water and having a little fun at some point,” Angela called over her shoulder.

Vince merely chuckled to himself and went to find his friends. It was good to see someone as serious as Chad being forced to take part in some light-hearted activities.

35.

Since nearly his first day at Lander, Vince had been engaged in some phase of the courting process. Initially, it was friendship, then tentative dating, then of course the actual manifestation of a relationship. The point being that, until the end of his freshman year, he had attended every social event with either the physical presence of a romantic partner or the moral obligation of having one. On this night, Vince was realizing for the first time what it was like to be single and in a large social setting. It was largely the same from a logistical standpoint, yet somehow, it felt . . . lonelier.

It’s not to say that he was excluded or the only single one; quite the opposite, really, since Hershel, Mary, Alex, and Selena were the only dedicated couples in attendance. However, he was used to having a conversation separate from the group at outings like this, a private world that could lead him to the dance floor or to the bar or merely draw him into it as he sat in place, briefly walking away from the larger group dynamic to a more intimate one. That was gone now, and Vince found himself missing it nearly as much as he missed Sasha, which was still quite a bit.

As for the others, they seemed to be having their usual amounts of fun. Hershel and Mary were talking quietly, Selena and Alex were twirling around the dance floor (or twirling as much as one could with the limited space and large population), Thomas, Violet, Stella, Nick, and Alice were all engaged in boisterous conversation, and Camille was listening silently but attentively. Something about that girl pricked at Vince’s memory. He’d thought he had put it to rest when he recognized her as the healer from Jill and Sasha’s match, yet a bit of his brain continued to tingle when he looked at her. He shrugged it off, as usual, and let his attention wander.

“Man, I would never have guessed a girl that scary could drop it that low,” Nick noted as Angela took it to the floor and Chad looked strikingly uncomfortable. “And to see it wasted on such a fuddy-duddy. For shame.”

“Did you actually just use the word ‘fuddy-duddy’? I’d say that’s the bigger shame,” Violet accused.

“If the dud fits, use it,” Nick replied. “Seriously, he has a fairly good-looking lady gyrating against him, and he looks like he’s getting a root canal.”

“I imagine it’s a delicate line to walk, escorting one’s best friend’s sister,” Vince contributed.

“Waaaaaaait, what the shit now?” Alice said, turning her head.

“Aren’t Shane and Chad friends? I mean, they hang out so often I just assumed—”

“That’s not the juicy part,” Stella interrupted. “Did you just say Angela is Shane’s sister?”

“That’s what she told me at the water table,” Vince said.

“Wow, I guess that explains why she’s so involved in the freshman class,” Violet surmised.

“I think it’s kind of her to take an active interest in her younger brother’s world,” Thomas said.

“Mmmhmm, given how aggressively she’s dancing, I’m not sure it’s Shane’s whole world she’s interested in,” Stella said. “More like just one hunky blond part of it.”

“I don’t think it’s like that,” Vince said. “He agreed to escort her in exchange for training assistance. She said she wanted him, so that she could enjoy the act of dancing without fending off other boys.”

The table stared at him, silence on their tongues and doubts that he could possibly be serious in their eyes.

“Wait, does Chad believe that, too?” Alice asked.

“Of course,” Vince said.

Nick sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. “Holy damn, they made two of them.”

“Two of what?” Vince asked.

“Maybe it’s something about being really powerful that makes them like this?” Alice proposed.

“Nope, I’m about on par with at least Vince, and I’m not that dense,” Thomas replied.

“What are we talking about? Guys?” Vince asked.

“I’d say it’s more a factor of focus,” Mary ventured. “They commit so fully to their specialties that they find themselves mentally lacking in other areas.”

“I’m right here, you know. Perfectly in ear shot,” Vince pointed out.

“Yeah, but you don’t really know what we’re talking about, which sort of proves the point,” Nick said, addressing Vince at last. “Tell you what: the song is slowing down a bit, so I say we couple up and hit the dance floor. I want to investigate this curious little coupling further, and this is a good chance to close the distance.”

“I wouldn’t mind a dance,” Mary said as she and Hershel rose from their seats and proceeded to the floor.

Camille started to reach for Thomas, but Violet snatched him away first. She gave the smaller girl a pointed look, her eyes darting to Camille’s, then flashing briefly to Vince and back. “Come on, big boy, you can take me for a spin.”

Stella rose from her seat. “I don’t do this kind of dancing. You kids can play detective, and I’ll get us some beer.”

Alice looked at her remaining options: between Vince and Nick there was no contest. She’d rather keep her distance from the boy with the complicated moral compass. Unfortunately, her own sense of ethics was getting in the way of grabbing her simple yet honest friend and twirling him around the dance floor. It was obvious Camille liked Vince, yet the girl was too timid to make a move, and of course Vince was, well, Vince. Which meant if she snatched away this golden opportunity, heaven only knew when there would be another.

“Come on, Nick, try not to step on my heels,” Alice commanded. “And you two, don’t you dare try and just sit this out. So help me God, I will organize a complicated tea ceremony with full etiquette and formalwear and guilt you both into coming if we don’t see you on the dance floor. This is a team night out, after all.”

Vince stood up and offered Camille his hand. The girl tried not to degenerate into a glowing red beacon as Nick and Alice stepped lightly onto the floor.

“That was quite nice of you,” Nick complimented. “Such a sacrifice to help a girl you barely know.”

“At least I’m stuck with a decent dancer,” Alice replied. “Besides, I like Camille. She may not speak loudly, but everything she says is heartfelt and honest.”

“Not to mention you’re practically itching to drag her off to a salon and make her up like a doll,” Nick countered, the two falling into a softly swaying rhythm.

“Well, yes, that too.”

“So set on honesty, despite its failings as a philosophy,” Nick said.

“How does honesty fail as a philosophy? It keeps things simple.”

Nick laughed lightly and twirled Alice out to the end of his arm before pulling her gently back. “Honesty is many things, but simple isn’t one of them. Lies and half-truths keep the world simple. Truth complicates things, makes messes where there needn’t be any, and opens doors better left closed. Point of fact, it’s quite the opposite of simple.”

“Of course, you’d think that way. If you ever tried being open and honest with someone, you’d see how wrong you are.”

“Alice, believe me when I say every good liar is aptly versed in truth. Knowing where the two overlap is knowing where the spot for the greatest deception lives.”

“Jeez, you’re such a cynic. How do you live in the world, if that’s the way you see it?’

“Years of practice. But all right, Alice, if you are so determined to believe that truth makes things simpler, let’s test that theory.” Nick took her by the small of the back and executed a small dip. When he pulled her back to standing, he carried the motion a bit further than necessary, bringing her left ear within only a few inches of his mouth.

“I sincerely missed you over the summer,” Nick whispered in a voice that tickled against Alice’s neck and felt stronger than his usual flippant tones. And then, just like that, he had pulled back to a respectful distance again, though the expression he wore was more earnest than his usual half-cocked grin. Alice heard a soft thumping in her ears and realized at some point during his antics her heart had significantly sped up.

“So tell me, Alice, did that little piece of truth make your life less complicated?”

36.

Nick washed his hands thoroughly, taking time to reflect in the serenity of the restroom. He needed to step away from the world, needed to compose, needed to take assessment of what a dumb fuck he’d been. Gerry had taught him better than that, taught him that the con and the character took precedence over petty emotions. Yet here he was, only a few years since graduation, making a moronic move that flew in the face of all that. He and Alice had been rebuilding their tenuous friendship. With quiet deference and a few well-placed gestures, he could have been back on her list of trustworthy persons by the time Halloween rolled around. Not now; now, things were infinitely more complicated.

Nick had actively stoked the very fires of infatuation he’d worked so hard to douse last year. It wouldn’t make her more malleable, and it certainly wouldn’t smooth out the wrinkles in their friendship; all it would do is add unneeded layers of complication. He’d let fly with the little quip just to prove her wrong and only now were the consequences fully settling in.

Nick pulled free some paper towels and wiped away the moisture. He tossed them into the trash and readied himself to try and do damage control. Curiously, in all of his machinations, analyses, and speculations, he never once paused to wonder why he’d selected that particular piece of truth as a wrench to throw in Alice’s gears, which merely went to show that even the swiftest minds can fall into the gopher hole that is self-delusion.

*      *      *

Vince and Camille rotated slowly in place, each carefully moving his or her respective feet in an effort to avoid the other’s. They felt awkward, though for very different reasons. Vince had merely never felt quite at home in the center of a dance floor, and Camille was doing her darnedest not to hyperventilate.

“Sorry, I’m not that good,” Vince apologized. After watching Nick tip and twirl Alice about, he felt like his own slow-paced turning was somewhat inadequate.

“It’s fine,” Camille said. “I’m not much of a dancer anyway.”

Vince chuckled. “So neither of us is good at this, yet we’re both out here?”

“Alice is scarily capable of party organizing. I’m not taking the risk,” Camille replied to the unasked question.

“Very, very good point,” Vince agreed. “Actually, while we’re out here and no one can hear over the music, there’s something I’ve wanted to ask you for a while.”

“Oh?” Camille’s voice squeaked within the decibel range audible to human ears, but only just barely.

“Why are you in the Close Combat class? I mean, you work hard and do well, but given the nature of your talents, it seems like an odd fit. The rest of us have the ability to at least deal damage in some way.”

Camille weighed her words precisely, knowing she was about to walk a tightrope between lying and merely not saying the whole truth. “Healers in general aren’t a physical risk to their opponents, but they represent a giant threat when on a team. So even if a healer isn’t dangerous, they can still get targeted. Knowing how to not get hit, even a little, can make a big difference.”

“When you point that out, it seems like a stupid question,” Vince conceded. “I was wondering why they’d put you in a position to get hurt, but I guess it’s actually more about teaching you how to stay safe.”

“That is the theory,” Camille said carefully.

“It seems like a good one,” Vince said. “You know, this girl I met a long time ago had a pretty useful version of healing. She didn’t just take away damage, she absorbed it like energy. She told me she could give it to other people later on. It seems like that would be a really good combination to have, both offense and defense rolled into one.”

“Sounds that way,” Camille said, her brain sludgy with uncertainty. So he remembered her, but didn’t recognize her. What the hell? She hadn’t changed that much; she’d barely even grown. His eyes seemed far away when he talked about her, and he had a half-smile that materialized with the words. Which meant what, exactly? Camille dearly wished she was more adept at these sorts of social situations. Ultimately, her need to know got the better of her, and she pressed forward.

“This girl you knew, did she ever go into the program?”

“I doubt it,” Vince replied.

“Ah, didn’t have the guts for it?”

“Oh no, not at all,” Vince said, hastily correcting himself. “I just don’t think she would have taken such a combative route. I have a feeling she found her calling helping people. She was a very kind, gentle girl. Small, too, like you, except she had brown hair.”

Camille blinked. She’d forgotten she used to dye her normally white-blonde hair to stand out less. It seemed as well that he still hadn’t realized that she and his former girl had the same power. That explained at least some of the recognition problems.

“She seems sweet. I’m surprised you didn’t keep in touch.”

“I . . . used to travel a lot, and we kind of met in passing,” Vince said, glossing over the long explanation that was his past.

“Well, she must have left quite an impression.”

“Yeah, but then again, your first kiss usually does,” Vince replied. The song came to an end and the crowd began swapping out, people preferring the loud, rhythmic music to the slow twirls taking the dance floor, while the other type left. “I think we’ve satisfied Alice’s requirements, unless you want to . . .”

“No, thank you. I can barely manage the slow songs. I don’t think I’m cut out for the other type of dancing,” Camille said politely.

“You and I are very much on the same page there,” Vince agreed. “I’ll go get us some water.”

“That would be great,” Camille said as she moved to retake her seat at the table by Stella. It was a blessing that Vince left her side at that moment: one more piece of stimulation might have made her completely fall apart. So he remembered her after all, he just didn’t know she was that girl. It had been over ten years ago, after all. The mere fact that he remembered her would likely have been the pinnacle of her night on any other occasion, but shockingly enough, there was another chunk of data that eclipsed that fact in terms of emotional potency.

She’d been his first kiss. They’d shared an intimate first experience on that sunny summer afternoon. She’d never known that, and somehow, that little slip of information made everything a bit more bearable.

37.

As the night wore on, minds became soaked in booze, bodies were coated in a thin shimmer of sweat, and spirits lifted beyond their previously dismal locations. The dancing became more prevalent and conversation became louder as the young people began to forget their formal attire in favor of recalling their naturally informal nature. It was under the cover of this happy-hearted, dull roar that Nick slid into a chair adjacent to Mary.

“Boyfriend time is over, huh?”

“Roy’s been charming a gaggle of girls for the better part of an hour now,” Mary replied.

“I’m impressed you’ve convinced him that doesn’t bother you, since every time Roy pulls this, your boyfriend wakes up with new memories of a carnal carnival,” Nick complimented.

“I try not to think about it,” Mary said. “Besides, I know there are challenges to being with a telepath, even if I do try never to read his mind. There will always be issues if we date others like ourselves; best to meet them head on.”

“Whatever you say. But, while we’re on the subject of mental eavesdropping, gleaned anything from our fellow competitors?” Nick asked.

Britney and Amber had both shown up and begun working the room a little over an hour ago. They’d acknowledged their fellow HCP members non-verbally, but kept their distance otherwise. The groups didn’t run in the same social circles above ground, after all. Familiar greetings would prompt questions from spectators, questions that would be met with lies that could be uncovered. No, the best course of action was distance in situations like these.

“I’ll say this much: either the girl is an expert at keeping her thoughts shuffled, or Monday’s event is literally the last thing on her mind,” Mary answered.

“Really? She hasn’t thought about anything?”

“Oh, she’s thought about plenty. The flavor of the beer, how she wishes her high school friend was here, how sexy she finds Amber’s boyfriend and the implications she doesn’t want that to carry.”

“But nothing about us. Interesting,” Nick surmised.

“There is one thing,” Mary said tentatively. “I don’t know what it means, but whenever Britney looks at Vince, she feels guilty. Not a lot, just a few versions of ‘I wish I could say I’m sorry’ flit through her head.”

“That tells us something,” Nick said. “Those two were never close, so she can’t feel bad about abandoning him after the revelation, and she’s not friends with Sasha, so there isn’t any connection there. Whatever she feels about Vince must be tied to something she is either going to do or going to let happen.”

“So we should keep an eye out for Vince on Monday?”

“No, we proceed as planned,” Nick corrected.

“But what about—”

“Whatever Britney thinks she might have to do or let happen, I’m not worried about it,” Nick said. “Vince may need looking after in many contexts; however, the battlefield is definitely not one of them.”

“You sure? She’s got Michael, after all. He’s ranked number three, and Vince is only eight,” Mary pointed out. “Maybe we should give him some warning.”

“If Vince doesn’t know to watch out for Michael by now, then nothing we say is going to make him keep alert. Aside from that, neither of those rankings has been accurate for a long time,” Nick told her.

“Then why haven’t they been changed?”

“They were supposed to be, after the final exam last year. My guess is our absence and the fiasco fouled up the system too much to make an accurate ranking. Or maybe it’s because they want people operating under those old assumptions,” Nick explained. “As to why, well, it might make people create a few errors in their plans and match-ups. The smart money says those kinds of errors will be evaluated on the leader’s part as much as the individual fighter’s failure to win.”

“Seems overly contrived just on the off chance it might foul someone up,” Mary observed.

“Yes, well, it seems to be what they do best here. Speaking of contrived, have we confirmed that Chad legitimately thinks he is here in an innocent context?”

“Hard to say for certain, since I’m deaf to him, but everyone is collectively leaning toward an affirmative.”

“Shocking, quite shocking. Also, kudos to the elder DeSoto.”

“Oh yeah, I’ve been listening to her quite a bit tonight, and the girl is positively diabolical. She’s got a whole little plan for wooing Chad without his noticing,” Mary said.

“Smart girl. A direct approach on a guy as focused as Chad would only meet with resistance. I sometimes wonder what’s going on in that boy’s head to make him so relentless.”

“Go figure, I can’t hear his thoughts and you can’t deduce his motives. Who’d have believed there was someone so well-defended that even the two of us can’t get in their brain?”

“I would have,” Nick said, taking a sip from the beer he’d set on the table. Despite hollow words said about only serving those of age, as soon as the local police had done their pop-in, the bar’s serving scruples became visibly lax. “I’ve seen firsthand just how exceptionally guarded a motivated person can make their head.”

“You are quite the little mental tank,” Mary complimented. “Except for your interaction with Alice earlier, I mean.”

“I wasn’t talking about myself. And you heard that?”

“Alice is my best friend and, suffice it to say, it’s been on her mind.”

“Of course it has,” Nick sighed, taking a deeper sip.

“You know, if you ever want to talk to someone about all of this—”

“Let’s keep it professional,” Nick said, cutting her off. “I’m not the kind of person who really opens up and spills my heart.”

“Never hurts to try.”

“On that account, you are so very wrong,” Nick replied. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a fresh beer to open and a blonde girl to try and convince I was messing with her.”

“Don’t do that,” Mary cautioned.

“Why? Because such complications make life worth living?”

“Well, yes. But mostly because I know you’ve been trying to repair some semblance of trust between the two of you.”

“So?”

“So, I don’t generally talk about what other people are thinking or feeling out of respect for their privacy, but I’ll at least say that right now is the closest you’ve been all semester to achieving that goal.”

“Ah, yes, I suppose I should have tugged on her heart strings earlier.”

“No, it’s because you told her something sincerely and spontaneously honest. Alice may not be telepathic or skilled in emotional manipulation, but she’s good enough at reading people to see that much. If you go try and lie about it, I don’t know how she’ll take it, but I guarantee it won’t put you any closer to a friendship.”

Nick bit back the witty retort that tried to leap off his tongue. Instead, he merely said, “Advice appreciated,” and headed toward the bar. He wasn’t sure he agreed with Mary’s assessment, but he’d be a damned fool to ignore a telepath completely. At the very least, he could ride this apparent positivity of Alice’s through Monday’s match. After that, he would decide on the best course of action.

It was the simple, logical choice. That’s what he kept assuring himself as he carefully watched Alice clumsily swaying with her friends on the dance floor.

38.

Monday morning found the sophomore students gathered in the gym, working hard to downplay their nerves and project auras of confidence. It worked about as well as a pigeon pretending to be a peacock, but since everyone was so inwardly focused, few took notice of the others. All of their professors, along with Dean Blaine, were gathered on one side of the room, speaking quietly. Soon they would break apart, and the match would begin. Until that time, the students were left to sweat.

Nick adjusted the knapsack on his shoulder. It was so heavy that the strap kept digging into him. He doubted he would be allowed to bring all of his supplies into the test; however, it hardly made sense to have a Weapons course and disallow the use of all of them in combat possible situations.

The others prepared in their own ways. Mary was quietly listening to all of those around her, Vince was stretching, Roy was downing additional whiskey, Alex was doing some weird breathing thing, Camille was glancing around nervously, and Alice was twisting her hair around her finger. At least the other teams were showing similar tells of fear and uncertainty. Nick noted that, predictably, Chad’s team seemed the most secure. He was glad they weren’t facing the blond boy’s battalion today; it would have been such a swift loss he doubted it would even qualify as a match.

“Listen up!” Professor Fletcher said, stepping forward as the administrative crowd parted. “In a few minutes, we’re going to take you down to the levels where you will be facing each other. The events will occur simultaneously on different floors, and we will be monitoring both closely. Before we depart, I’m going to go over the rules.”

If one were so inclined, they could have listened closely and actually heard the tensing of muscles and crackling of bones as the students leaned forward to hang on Professor Fletcher’s every word.

“Today’s match will test both your combat and strategic skills. As such, we’ve opted for an activity that allows the use of both, depending on one’s technique. You’ll be playing a simple game of Capture the Flag.”

Not one student was stupid enough to believe there was anything simple about the game they were about to play.

“Now, obviously, you won’t be eliminating one another with flags or paintballs, as that would be too easy. No, if you want to take a player out of the game, you’ll have to physically incapacitate them. Be careful; while broken bones and concussions are easily mended, anyone using intentionally lethal force will automatically be disqualified. Not only does your team lose, but I can assure you we will be taking a hard look at whether or not the violators of that rule belong in this program. Beyond that, the rules are simple: all you have to do is grab the other team’s flag and you win. I know that normally there is a component of returning it to your own base area; however, this game is a bit more sudden-death style.”

The students looked at their teammates, eyes silently trying to convey ideas and tactics before such communication was feasible to transmit covertly. Every second counted; that lesson they’d already learned from their time at Lander.

“As to how you obtain the flag, that is entirely up to you. Fight the other team, sneak past them, trick them, do whatever you like. The teams can defend their flag however they see fit, but they aren’t allowed to intentionally move or touch it in any way, so the flag’s location is a constant. If you win, all that matters is the result. If you lose, well, then we’ll examine the mistakes you made and who was responsible for them. Just something to keep in mind. Any questions?” Professor Fletcher asked in closing.

A myriad of hands flew into the air, each stretched as far as the muscles and bone would allow.

“Good. Hopefully you find your answers in the thick of the action,” Professor Fletcher said with a grin. “All right, everyone, follow me.”

*      *      *

“You have got to be kidding me,” Nick said, his eyes taking in the lush landscape spread out before them. If they hadn’t just taken the lifts down several levels, he would have sworn they were back outside. Rolling hills, thick clusters of trees, even a brook that could be heard in the distance. Someone had even gone to the effort of painting the ceiling varying shades of blue to give the effect of a genuine sky.

“It is very impressive,” Mary agreed, her own amazement more subdued.

“I am seriously beginning to wonder just how many floors down this whole complex really goes,” Alice speculated. “And how it can possibly be structurally sound.”

“Given that they have access to some of the most powerful Heroes in the world as alumni, I’m guessing they may have pulled a few fast ones on physics to make this happen,” Nick said.

“No matter how they did it, it’s amazing,” Vince said in awe.

“Yeah, super nice. You do remember we need to get to our flag before the match starts, right?” Roy asked pointedly. He had never been much for appreciating the beauty of the world around him, unless of course said beauty involved long legs and an amply curved chest.

“Roy is right,” Mary said. “We need to do less gawking and more hustling. Once the starting bell sounds, we can’t very well protect our flag if we aren’t in location.”

“I can fly up and scout ahead,” Alice offered. “I’m sure that will be easier than using the map.” Professor Fletcher had dropped the teams off in different areas, giving both team captains a small slip of paper that contained instructions on how to get to their flag before he headed off with the other two teams to another floor. Mary had taken one glance at the parchment and immediately plotted their course.

“I’m actually pretty good with wilderness navigation,” Mary replied. “Besides, right now we don’t know where the other team is, only the direction they left in. Depending on how close they are, it’s possible they could see you in the air and get an idea of our location.”

“Oh yeah,” Alice said, a smattering of dejection in her voice.

“Of course, that’s only while we find our own spot. You’ll be absolutely essential in helping us track down their flag,” Mary continued.

“Right,” Alice said, perking up. “No worries, you can count on me.”

“So glad you two could have this heart to heart; now, unless my eyes deceive me, I think I see a red strip of fabric waving at us through the trees,” Nick pointed out.

Mary saw the flag too and paused briefly before heading forward. She turned back and took a hard look at her team. They were nervous, excited, scared, and unwavering all at once. There was also one trait that shone through in all of them, and that was determination. They knew odds weren’t exactly stacked in their favor and that no one was rooting for them to come out on top, yet staring into their eyes, Mary could tell they’d do everything they could to win, odds be damned. Despite what Nick might think about their capabilities compared to other ensembles, at that moment, Mary wouldn’t have traded any one of them, not even for Chad.

“All right, team, stick to the plan, follow instructions, remember the flag is the primary objective, and do your best,” Mary encouraged.

“That, and make sure you kick the ass of anyone you come up against,” Roy tacked on.

Mary gave a gentle smile. “Yes, that too.”

39.

Team One gathered around their flag, doing a quick scout of the area and getting a sense of the land. They were quick and efficient, simply because they had to be. The other team would be moving soon and time wasted was advantage lost. It would have been easier if they could have tasked someone to carry or bury the triangular shape of cloth, but one of the few rules of the game was that no team could move or touch its own flag. In a matter of minutes, the seven students had drawn all the conclusions they could and broken into their assigned units.

The core of Nick’s strategy was delegation into set teams. Vince, Camille, and Alex composed one, while Alice, Roy, and Mary composed the other. This gave each team access to a telepath, a combat-oriented person, and someone with skills useful in the field. Nick was assigned as a free radical, floating between the groups as tasks required. Should a situation call for a greater division, Alex and Mary could go off on their own, as they possessed both field and fighting skills. This was why Nick had chosen the playing card system to explain things to his team. The goal was to make sure that, at any given time, every unit was equal to an Ace, either by virtue of being one, or by pairing people who were respectively each a number and face card.

For this match, they came to the consensus that Vince, Camille, and Alex’s unit should defend the flag while the others pursued offense. The main reason was that, while Alex would still gain telepathic warning when they were being approached, Mary’s level of detailed hearing would be more useful in gleaning hints at the opposing team’s flag location. They then opted to split into two further teams, Nick and Mary going one route, and Alice and Roy taking another to increase chances of finding the flag before the other team could track down theirs. Words were brief, obedience automatic, and tactics well established. The whole strategy had been kept fluid precisely for this reason. People knew their overall unit; all that remained was assigning them specific tasks to complete. It was a methodology Nick was confident his people could execute. All that remained to be seen was if the other team employed a better one.

*      *      *

Roy and Alice skulked along the tree line, the girl floating a few feet off the ground and occasionally lifting herself higher for perspective. Mary and Nick were long out of sight, and Alice was beginning to realize just how large this area truly was. It seemed finding the flag would be more difficult than she’d expected. On the plus side, hopefully that meant their own base would remain undiscovered for some time as well. She bobbed up over the trees once more. The longer they went without encountering anyone—not just the flag, but anyone—the more Alice became concerned they were on the wrong path.

“Do you think the others are having more luck?” Alice asked as she lowered her position.

“Don’t know. Doesn’t matter,” Roy shot back simply.

“How can you say that?”

“Because I’m not on the unit with the telepath. Mary was clear: you and I go until we find a flag, an opponent, or a wall. If it’s the first one, we’re done; the second, we beat them and keep going; and the third, we change direction.”

“Doesn’t that bother you, that we’re just sent out and told ‘keep walking’?”

“Not really,” Roy said. “I’m not big on any of that forethought or tactics crap. ‘Charge until you hit something’ is a mentality I can get behind.”

“Of course it is,” Alice sighed. She wasn’t sure she would have preferred to be with Nick right now, but Roy was hardly stimulating conversation. The boy might be charming in the right element, but when offered the prospect of violence, his attention shifted completely. “At least we’ve got a good shot against anyone we encounter. I’d be a lot more worried if it was Chad’s team.”

“If we were facing Chad’s people, I wouldn’t be walking toward the other team right now,” Roy replied.

“Oh no? Then what would you be doing?”

Roy gave her a toothy smile, one that made her think of a hyena she’d once seen on the nature channel. “I’d be running toward them.”

Alice opened her mouth to reply, but a sound like falling glass interrupted her as a bolt of blue flew by and struck Roy’s left leg, freezing it in place.

“That’s very brave talk,” Michael Clark said, stepping out from behind a tree. “But maybe you should be more concerned with the opponents you actually have.”

Before he could say another word, Alice launched herself upward, working to get out of range. A few hunks of ice wouldn’t slow Roy down much, but if she got entangled, she was as good as done. The air whipped by her as she bolted higher, then the sounds of something tearing through the air just below her feet registered. She glanced down to see a flash of blue arcing through the sky and landing in the grass below. She’d barely been missed. Alice flipped around to watch her opponent. At this distance, she could sway to one side or another, and dodge with ease.

Back on the ground, Michael turned to a still frozen-in-place Roy. “Looks like your partner isn’t going to be much help.”

“What, you think she abandoned me? Don’t be an idiot. She did exactly what she was supposed to do.”

“By running away? You Powereds really are a bunch of cowards.”

“Nah, we just recognize the use of roles. Alice can go up high and spot a flag easy. I can’t do that. I have a whole different purpose.” Roy lifted his foot from the ground and brought it forcefully down, shattering its frozen encasement. “My job is to kick the ass of everyone we meet, so she can do hers.”

“How nice for you,” Michael replied calmly. “You really think you can beat someone two ranks higher than you?”

“Beat you? I have no intention of beating you.” Roy took a few steps forward and flexed his hands, a small series of pops emanating from his knuckles and joints. “I’m going to fucking wreck you.”

40.

“We’ve got two incoming, about half a mile to the southeast,” Alex said, breaking the silence as the three stood around the flag.

“Any idea who they are?” Vince asked.

“Not a clue. They seem to be weaving a bit about. I think they’re canvasing the area thoroughly, which at least means they don’t know where we are.”

“It also means, if we leave them be, they’ll eventually find us,” Vince pointed out.

“That too,” Alex agreed.

“So what should we do?” Camille asked.

“We stick to the plan,” Vince replied. “Without knowing the size of their offensive force, we can’t afford to leave the flag unguarded. Since Alex is the only one who can sense an incoming presence, we can’t risk him at the outset. That means you and I go handle these two. If we fail, then at least he’ll know they’re still coming.”

“And if we succeed, I’ll take care of your wounds and we’ll hurry back to this spot to strengthen our position,” Camille added.

“You sure you can handle this? Two versus two seems good, but only one of you is a fighter,” Alex pointed out. “I could come along and help. I don’t sense anyone else getting near yet, and it would probably take them a while to find this spot regardless.”

Vince shook his head. “Nick and Mary came up with this system for a reason. I trust them both more than myself in this sort of situation, so Camille and I will go handle things. Besides, they’re weak on combat personnel anyway. Maybe they did like us and paired people who could fight along with people who had other skills.”

“It’s something to hope for,” Alex said. “Make a wide swing when you leave. We don’t want them knowing the direction the flag is in. But most importantly, you two keep safe.”

“Don’t worry, we will,” Vince assured him. Camille merely nodded her agreement and tried to calm the intolerable churning in her stomach.

*      *      *

“Anything?” Nick asked impatiently.

“Vince and Camille are on their way to intercept Allen and Hector, Michael and Britney are still searching for our flag, Roy and Alice are fighting Adam, who I’m guessing took on Michael’s shape, and Gilbert and Terrance are blinking at random through the area, looking for any opponents,” Mary doled out concisely.

“I do adore that ridiculous range of yours,” Nick complimented. “So where is their flag?”

“No idea,” Mary replied.

“Not one of them is thinking about it?”

“Worse. None of them know where it is.”

“They don’t . . . oh that sneaky, sneaky bitch. She found a way to take away the advantage of having telepaths.”

“So it seems. They never even looked at the map, they just huddled up and established perimeters to search,” Mary elaborated.

“Getting rid of any chance of us gleaning the location and giving them a head start, a defense of ignorance that allows them to put all their resources into offense. Ballsy.”

“You almost sound impressed.”

“I’m impressed by strategies that work. Right now, it’s a gambit designed to overcome their biggest weakness. It does so, but only by opening other holes for us to exploit,” Nick evaluated. “But it could work, especially if they converge on our flag fast enough.”

“You could throw a little bad luck their way,” Mary pointed out.

“Too risky. Bad luck for one of them might be meeting Vince, who kicks their ass, but allows another to merely run past him and grab our flag. Besides, they won’t be depending on luck. If Britney was smart enough to come up with all this, she’ll have them using methodical canvassing techniques so that no stone goes unturned. Wit and skill can beat out luck when properly applied.”

“You sound like you speak from experience.”

“Let’s not pretend you’re asking questions when you’ve scoured my brain enough to know the answers.”

“Fine, we’ll just—damn it,” Mary swore.

“What, damn it?”

“She’s probably referring to us,” Gilbert said, bounding over a hill and into view.

“They teleported in and heard our voices,” Mary explained.

Sure enough, a second, taller figure came right on Gilbert’s heels. He wore his hair neatly styled and spun a coin deftly between his fingers. Terrance was a student Nick and Mary had only seen bust out his skill in Ranged Combat class; however, it had left a large enough impression that both recognized him immediately.

“Why, Gilbert, I didn’t know you could bring people along when you teleported,” Nick said casually.

“It’s a new skill I’ve developed. Funny thing about us real Supers, we just keep on improving.”

“We take out the weaker one first, then combine forces against Mary,” Terrance directed, looking dead at Nick as he said “weaker one.” If he was hoping to rile his opponent up, he chose a poor strategy. Nick was under no misimpression of where he ranked in the hierarchy of fighting prowess.

“Good idea,” Nick agreed. “You wouldn’t want Gilbert to come at me alone and lose again. Especially now that he knows he’s just fighting a Powered.”

“You handle the girl,” Gilbert told Terrance. “I owe my good friend Nick here a solid punch to the jaw.”

“He’s baiting you,” Terrance said. “He wants to split our attention.”

There was a thudding sound as a large branch dropped to the ground a few feet from Terrance.

“What makes you think I’d let you gang up on him, anyway?” Mary asked politely, mentally cracking the branch in half to drive home the point.

“Very well,” Terrance acquiesced. “I can handle her for at least some time. Be swift.”

“It’ll be over in a blink,” Gilbert promised.

“Wow, really? I mean, are you proud of that one? Is that a line you’re going to repeat when telling this story later in life?” Nick jeered.

“I . . . shut up. I’m going to kick your ass,” Gilbert said, vanishing from sight.

Nick braced himself. He didn’t know where the punch was coming from, but he knew it would be coming hard. Even worse than that, he knew that no matter what he did, he couldn’t block it. These next few minutes were going to suck heavily.

41.

Roy shook off an ice barrage and ran in swinging. Michael dodged to the side and retreated, quickly increasing the space between them. He let loose another flurry of freezing attacks that Roy didn’t even bother to avoid. They slowed him down a bit; however, the real problem with this fight was Michael’s attack style. Instead of handling things head-on like he always had, Michael was using a ranged attack style and dodging like a spider monkey every time Roy came close enough to deliver a solid blow. Admittedly, Roy hadn’t sparred with Michael often in class, and given that he didn’t have enhanced strength or endurance, it was a smart way to fight, yet something about it seemed to go in the face of the bald boy’s usual brash tactics.

Roy knew this was dragging on longer than it needed to, and the more time Alice spent up in the air, the more attention she was going to draw to them. He pushed off from his starting position and charged at Michael. It would open him up to vital parts of his anatomy getting frozen, but that wouldn’t matter if he could land a good punch. Without even his ice-armor on to absorb the impact, Michael would be slowed significantly, if not crippled outright. All Roy had to do was make sure he targeted the appendages, so he didn’t accidentally kill him.

Roy quickly closed the gap, taking a pair of freezing shots to his chest. He could feel the cold seep deep into his bones; however, it would take a lot more than that to stop Roy Daniels. He drew closer and readied himself to let fly, only to feel his footing go out from under him at the last moment. What should have been a fight-ender turned into a barely glancing shoulder blow as Michael slid away. Roy regained his balance and realized the ground beneath his run had been turned into solid ice. It was smart, it was crafty, and it confirmed what Roy had already begun to suspect.

“You had me going for a bit there,” Roy said, facing his opponent once more. “One thing, though—Michael would never think to take out someone’s footing on a charge. He’d be cooking up a way to beat them fist to fist.”

“Michael is something of an idiot,” Michael’s doppelganger agreed. “Strong, and with a useful power, but he lacks any real creative thinking.”

“I have to say, Adam, we figured you would take on Britney’s form,” Roy remarked.

“We’re weak on fighting people. It made more sense to double up on our heaviest hitter,” Adam/Michael said.

“Too bad you guys don’t have any real fighters,” Roy said. “I’m not going to take any joy in crushing you like this. You don’t have Michael’s training or experience in getting hit. You’re already favoring that shoulder. If you’d taken the form of someone like Chad or Stella, you could have at least handled a few knocks.”

“It is indeed unfortunate that there are so few people with damage resistant bodies among us,” Adam/Michael agreed. “Hector’s rubbery form offers some protection; however, it would have been quite inefficient against you. That’s all right; I’ve already found a way to put myself back in this fight.”

Before Roy could banter back, it was Adam/Michael’s turn to charge. He raced forward, freezing blasts flying ahead of him. Roy took one in the shoulder that formed into a solid block, and before he could recover another struck him directly in the face. There were a few dark, primitively terrifying moments when Roy couldn’t see or breathe. He kept his brain from going into panic mode with forced control and used his free arm to tear away the ice like it was little more than packing foam.

“Real cute, asshole,” Roy said, taking a deep gulp of air. “Too bad that’s not going to beat me.”

“Didn’t think it would,” Adam, just Adam, replied. “But as you said, for this fight to be any good, I need the form of someone who can take a super-strength punch. That meant getting close enough to touch you.” Adam’s form was already growing wobbly, his body altering itself to take on the new shape it had grazed. There was a swift sound of muscle condensing and bones rearranging and just like that, a whole new person stood before Roy and under Alice.

“What the shit?” Adam/Hershel cursed as he felt his new body settle. “Why am I the fat kid?”

“Oh my, you didn’t realize I was a conditional shifter, did you?” Roy laughed as he shook off the last of the ice. “My natural form is Hershel. It takes a trigger to bring out all the magnificence you see before you.”

“I don’t suppose you’d like to tell me what that is,” Adam/Hershel ventured sheepishly.

“Nope, but I’ll make you an offer. I don’t really fancy the idea of beating the hell out of someone who looks like my brother, so if you turn back, I’ll only break one of your legs to incapacitate you.”

“How very kind of you.”

Roy began lumbering forward. “What can I say? I’m a giver.”

*      *      *

Vince and Camille had been walking for nearly twenty minutes with no sign of the two people Alex had sensed. Admittedly, they had taken a very roundabout route in the process, but each was beginning to feel like they should have encountered someone by now. Part of it was merely mental fatigue: one can only jump at each twig snap and rustling leaf so many times before the adrenaline begins to fade. Still, they endeavored to keep up their wits, which proved to be a very good thing. It was that attention to detail that alerted Vince to the rustle of footsteps behind him, and the familiar tingle at the back of his neck roused him to impending energy being conjured. Vince didn’t have time to think, only for a single burst of movement. He grabbed Camille by her narrow shoulders and hurled her away with every bit of strength he had.

The explosion detonated directly under Vince’s feet, sending him airborne with the shockwave and dropping him into a crumpled pile on the ground. He was unconscious before he even returned to the earth, his feet singed and bleeding at the ankles and his legs shattered in various places.

“Shit, that idiot damn near got himself killed,” Allen said, his position unchanged since he had fired the green exploding blast.

“He pushed the girl away and inadvertently stepped into your attack. No one can call that intended lethal force,” Hector assured him.

“Yeah. Good thing, too. I heard that guy can be a bastard to face head on,” Allen said.

“Him? I don’t see it,” Hector replied.

Camille heard their discussion like it was far away, her ears ringing from the same explosion that had rendered Vince inert. She slowly pulled herself back to her feet. That idiot had nearly killed himself keeping her safe. He wasn’t supposed to do that. That wasn’t why she was here. She was supposed to help him, not endanger him. She took a few tentative steps forward to get her bearings.

“Sorry, Camille, can’t let you do that,” Hector cautioned her, bounding forward in a few ultra-stretchy steps and putting himself between Camille and Vince’s still slightly smoking body. “The last thing we need is him healed up and awake.”

“Yeah, we’re going to have to incapacitate you as well,” Allen said, hurrying to join his partner.

“It’s nothing personal. If you don’t struggle, I promise we’ll keep it gentle. We could probably just strand you high in a tree until the match is over,” Hector offered.

“Nah, man, they have a flier on their team. We’ll have to at least break her legs,” Allen corrected.

“How about we stick Vince in a tree and take out one of her ankles so she can’t heal him?” Hector replied.

“I guess that’s okay,” Allen agreed. It seemed soft-hearted to him; however, Camille had that aura of innocence that made hurting her feel like something akin to kicking a puppy. Besides, giving a healer a reason to hold a grudge was just plain stupid. Even Allen knew that.

Camille merely watched them as they talked, trying to make the world become steady and preparing herself for what was to come. She wished she weren’t so frail; even this little bit of dizziness could make or break the fight that was about to happen. She didn’t have time for wishes, unfortunately. Vince was hurt, and these people stood between her and helping him. She narrowed her focus down to that single fact.

Vince was hurt. Nothing else mattered. Not her shyness. Not her fear. Not her injury. Not these two warriors. Nothing else. Vince was hurt, and she was the only one here who could heal him.

Camille grabbed the coat of her uniform and clutched the zipper, racing it downward and hurling off the garment in one fluid motion.

42.

Nick spat a wad of phlegmy blood into the soft grass and wiped the remaining red trickle from his mouth. Gilbert’s punches weren’t the hardest he’d ever felt; however, the boy clearly hadn’t been slacking in combat training. After just a few of them, Nick’s vision was swimming at the edges, and he was relatively certain there was at least a fracture in his jaw. He couldn’t take a whole lot more of this pounding, not if he hoped to pull his weight in the encounter. Gilbert materialized in front of him and leveled Nick with an elbow to the nose. The blow sent him sprawling to the ground and a fresh spurt of blood poured down his face.

“Not bad,” Nick said from his prone position. “I mean, if we ignore the fact that you’ve had over a year of physical training, and a few comprehensive courses in fighting under veteran Heroes. We have to leave that out of the consideration, though, because if we included it, then your inability to take me down would be just plain pathetic.”

“You’re the one on the ground,” Gilbert snarled at him.

“And it only took you five tries to get me, the physically frail Powered, down here. If you fuck as well as you fight, I’m guessing your only successful pickup line is a chloroform-soaked rag.”

“Stop letting him get to you and finish it already!” Terrence yelled. He diverted his attention back to Mary, who had used the break in concentration to hurl a large chunk of tree at Terrance’s head. As it drew nearer, the wooden projectile began to glow, shrinking nearly out of sight as it plopped uselessly against Terrance’s uniform jacket. His fingers dipped into his pocket and emerged with three quarters. He hurled them at Mary, a glow permeating them before they even left his hand. By the time Mary deflected them, the quarters had the circumference of dining room tables. That would have been bad enough, but the increased size did nothing to decrease the force they’d been thrown with, carrying them forward like the circles of crushing currency they had become. Mary had kept them away so far; however, it was becoming clear that these exchanges were more taxing for her than Terrance. All he had to do was shrink her attacks to ineffectiveness. Her mental endurance meant she could keep it up for some time, but this was a game where a single mistake on either part would create an immediate loser. It was not the type of battle she preferred to engage in.

“You heard your boss, Gilbert, better finish me off,” Nick said, nimbly rising back to his feet. “I don’t think he wants to keep trying his luck with Mary.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Terrance is clearly winning,” Gilbert shot back.

“Only if you ignore the fact that sooner or later, he’ll run out of stuff to throw. Not to mention Mary doesn’t have to throw things at him, she can just pick him up and smash him to the ground,” Nick bluffed. She couldn’t use that strategy against someone as frail as Terrance safely, but there was no reason they needed to know that.

“If she could do that, she would have,” Gilbert said.

“Maybe. Or more likely, she’s keeping him occupied so you and I can have our little dance. See, I’m going to beat you, Gilbert, because sooner or later, you’ll make a mistake, and I’ll capitalize. If you were a better fighter, maybe you could knock me out, but since this is all you’ve got, I think we both know it’s just a matter of time.”

“You talk a lot of shit for a guy with blood all over his uniform,” Gilbert said. He kept his voice calm, but the antsy way he shifted his weight told Nick that his ploy was working.

“A brilliant red testament to your failure. Each drop a symbol of my resilience and your weakness, because even with all this loss of life fluid, I’m still awake to call you a bitch.”

Gilbert didn’t reply this time, instead, he teleported behind Nick. He resisted the urge strike him and forced himself to think smart. Nick was baiting him to prolong the battle. He wanted Gilbert to keep chipping away at him while Mary ran Terrance out of ammunition. Gilbert wasn’t going to play along; he’d shut Nick’s ever yapping face-hole using strategy. Gilbert leapt onto Nick’s back and sealed his right arm around the slender boy’s neck while his left palm drove the sandy-haired head forward. Gilbert circled Nick’s diaphragm with his own short legs and squeezed forcefully. This would drive the air out of Nick while Gilbert’s neck lock kept him from getting a new supply. It was a risky move that a trained combatant could navigate out of, however, Gilbert was certain someone as weak as Nick would be unconscious before he could work his way free.

Sure enough, Nick collapsed backward onto the ground and gasped as the majority of his oxygen was driven from his body. Gilbert smiled ruefully at his victory as he felt Nick’s body tremble on top of his own and couldn’t resist a bit of taunting.

“Where’s that constant chatter now? Don’t have anything to say before you pass out?”

Nick let out a ragged gasp that contained two barely audible words. If one hadn’t been as close as Gilbert, it would have sounded like a breath someone had stuffed syllables into. To him (in a moment that would haunt his memories), they formed two perfect conjugations that made no sense for the span of about a second.

“Got . . . you . . .”

Gilbert’s head exploded in pain as his whole body began to tremor uncontrollably. His grip was destroyed, but by the time he lost contact with Nick’s body, Gilbert was already unconscious. Nick was too, lying a few inches away with a taser clutched tightly in his hand, the metal prongs pressed forcefully against his own leg. It was the only weapon he’d been allowed to keep from his original backpack of tricks, and he’d hidden it in his pocket as soon as they were on the field. Gilbert was an impossible opponent to get the drop on due to his constant jumping about, and Nick had known that from the beginning. Even tricking him into using a hold would have been useless if he’d seen a counter coming. If the attack could be concealed, on the other hand, conducted through his own body, Nick would be able to take away the teleporter’s advantage. It was still a difficult and painful proposition, which might explain why Nick’s electrocuted and unconscious body nonetheless sported a grin some might describe as “shit-eating.”

“Well then,” Mary said calmly. “Now that those are two are done, I suppose that just leaves you and me.”

“Bring it on. I can go all day,” Terrance said. If he could make his stock last until Gilbert woke up, then this fight could still be salvaged.

“Actually, you can’t. Funny thing about keeping all of your throwing stuff in your pockets: they can be ripped open, and their contents can be covertly stolen away while you’re distracted.”

Terrance felt his stomach drop to his feet. He reached into the pocket he’d been using and found it intact, with a single dime remaining. Investigation of his other pockets revealed the unfortunate truth that they’d been torn along the seams and his entire stockpile was now absent from his body.

“I can still neutralize anything you throw,” Terrance said nervously.

“I don’t know about anything,” Mary replied. Terrance felt a firm force take hold of his coat and pants, jerking him several feet into the air. “I’m pretty sure you can’t shrink the ground when it’s racing toward you.”

“This, this is lethal force!” Terrance yelled.

“No, no, you’re only one story up. You’ll survive with a broken ankle or leg at most. As long as you land on your feet, anyway.”

“You could have done this all along,” Terrance realized. “Why didn’t you?”

“It’s been brought to my attention recently that I need to improve my level of control. Fighting you is pretty good practice at that. We should spar sometime when this is all over,” Mary offered cordially.

The grip on Terrance’s clothes vanished and he found himself tumbling rapidly toward the ground. No question about it, this was going to smart.

43.

“What the hell are you doing?” Hector asked as Camille’s coat wafted gently to the ground. She paid him no attention, seizing her pants by the waistband and undoing a series of concealed buckles on the interior of each side. She jerked outward, separating the snaps that ran down the legs and tossed her now-halved slacks to the grass. She stood before them in a pair of biker shorts and a sports bra. She felt a flush creeping over her as they stared; she was all-too aware of how little clothing now covered her. She took a deep draw of air and felt the elastic of the bra dig into her chest. Her breasts were larger than her frame would indicate, and the pressure pushing down on them made every breath just a touch more ragged.

“This took an interesting turn,” Allen said.

“Our uniforms don’t have zippers and snaps. Did you customize yours just to be able to strip it off?” Hector questioned.

Camille addressed neither; instead, she began running toward Vince as fast as she could. If she made a dash for one of her two opponents, they would suspect something. Forcing them to block her, however, would ensure at least one of them got in range.

Sure enough, Hector stretched his arms outward, cutting off any path she might have to her fallen ally. Camille never hesitated. She kept running until she careened into his right arm, his long, elastic fingers encircling her bare torso as he pulled her away from Vince.

“Nice distraction, but did you really think we’d let you—GAAAHHH!” Hector’s words were cut off by a tortured scream that was ripped from his throat. Allen could only watch as his partner released the girl and collapsed to the ground. Something was wrong. Hector was bleeding and his arms and legs were twisted in awkward directions. Generally, Hector could move his appendages without regard to joint limitations, but it was always a smooth appearance, like stretched taffy. This looked like someone had ripped that same taffy apart and haphazardly slapped it back together at all the wrong angles.

“What . . . what did you do?” Allen said slowly. “You’re a healer. You can’t hurt Hector like that.”

Camille remained silent. The only response she gave was to step away from Hector’s mercifully unconscious body and begin to approach Allen. She took three tentative steps, and then charged. Allen hurled a series of green bolts at her feet, but Camille deftly sidestepped them with grace he never would have expected. Gone was the slow-moving girl with the gentle demeanor; in her place was a relentless stampede of skin and flowing hair. She threw a hand out, as if to grab him, and Allen rolled to the side on instinct. She shouldn’t be able to hurt him, but “shouldn’t” didn’t mean a damn thing when Hector’s sundered body was less than twenty feet away.

Allen reoriented himself as he stood, barely getting a chance to leap away as Camille spun on her heels and came rushing back at him. He tried to send a bolt at her, but now, he was playing defense and aiming came second to dodging. She whirled around and came at him again. This time, Allen took an extra second to line up his shot before moving. That second cost him everything. A bolt of relatively weak energy exploded against Camille’s shoulder, and Allen slid to the side. He barely registered the small fingers that brushed his neck, but he definitely noticed what immediately followed. His left ankle bone exploded beneath the skin, dropping him to the ground in pain and hobbling his movements quite efficiently.

He looked up to see the girl pressing her hand to the burn mark on her shoulder. A gentle light came over it as the singed skin became pink and healthy once more. If he’d used a stronger blast, he could have ripped that shoulder clean from its socket; however, that would have constituted lethal force. As his ankle throbbed again, part of Allen wished he’d done it anyway.

“You’re a damn healer,” Allen cursed at her. “You aren’t supposed to be able to injure people.”

“I’m not a healer,” Camille said as she walked briskly toward him. She had no inclination to give him time to focus and fight back. The pain would mar his concentration for now, but sooner or later he’d work through it. “I’m an absorber. I hold injury the same way Vince holds energy, and healing people all last year has given me quite a supply to work with.”

“That’s why you stripped. You need to touch us skin to skin. Hector couldn’t grab you without touching some part of you,” Allen said as comprehension finally dawned. “And that’s why no one knows this about you. You spent all last year under the radar just so you could build up a backlog of damage.”

“I do apologize,” Camille said as she closed what remained of the gap between them. She hunkered down and cupped his face gently in her hand. “I’ll heal you as soon as our match is over. I don’t want anyone to suffer unnecessarily.”

“Kiss my ass if you think I’m letting you heal me. You’re not getting this damage back; I’ll use someone else. And I’m telling everyone about this so your little trick won’t work anymore,” Allen threatened. It wasn’t much, but he couldn’t go out without saying something. This defeat was already embarrassing enough; his pride refused to let him be silent.

“Do what you please,” Camille said softly. “Tell people what you want. Just make sure you understand, I have plenty of damage left to give, and I will do whatever it takes to protect my V—teammates.”

Allen might have asked about that verbal slip had his world not dissolved into a cacophony of thunderous pain.

*      *      *

From his position back at the flag, Alex felt Allen’s consciousness slip away. He glanced at his watch nervously. Alex knew Camille had been victorious, somehow, so she’d heal Vince and the two would be returning shortly. The problem was that there were two more presences coming toward him, and more importantly, toward the flag. They were using the same thorough, time-consuming pattern as the previous two, but they’d get here eventually. Alex wasn’t sure that Vince and Camille would have time to return and go scout in a roundabout enough way to conceal their direction before the enemies were close enough to find the flag. He weighed his options carefully before settling on a choice.

Alex would go meet the new people head on. Even if he failed to stop them, it would at least give Vince and Camille enough time to return. Plus, if Alex could take at least one of them down, then a lone fighter would be no match for Vince. It was the logical choice, and it adhered to the strategy. Now, he just had to hope it was the right one.

44.

“You think you might have gone a little overboard back there?” Alice asked as she and Roy trudged along.

“What do you mean? He changed back, so I kept my word. I only broke one leg.”

“Yeah, I think ‘break’ sort of fails as an accurate descriptor there. ‘Shattered,’ ‘decimated,’ annihilated,’ these are words I might apply to what you did.”

“You’re being overdramatic. All I did was grab his leg and squeeze,” Roy defended. “There’s no room for squeamish stomachs in these competitions.”

“I suppose so,” Alice said reluctantly. “Makes me a little glad I’m not responsible for handling those situations.”

“Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it.”

“I think it’d take a pretty miraculous set of circumstances for me to try it,” Alice pointed out.

“I guess so. Man, we haven’t run into anyone since Adam. Where the hell is everyone else? I’m going to be really pissed if that’s the only action I get all day.”

“They’re less combat-oriented than us. We didn’t expect them to come charging out in a full force attack.”

“I know; a man can still hope.”

“I’ll just stick to hoping we find the flag soon. The less people we see, the more I worry about them closing in on our base.”

“Nothing we can do about that,” Roy said with a shrug. “We’ve got our job, and the others have theirs. We’ll just have to hope they’re as good at it as we are.”

“On that note, I’m going to fly up and take a look,” Alice said, rising off the ground. She moved carefully, cresting the tree line slowly and scanning the world below for any signs of movement. Nothing caught her eye, but when your opponent’s captain could become invisible, that didn’t mean much. Alice lowered back to the earth after only a few seconds.

“No people visible around us, but there’s a clearing a ways ahead I want to check out. It looks similar to how the one around our base was set up.”

“Lead on, then,” Roy said cheerfully. The closer they got to the enemy’s flag, the better chance he’d get another fight. That thought made him perfectly happy to comply.

*      *      *

“You’re heavier than you look, anyone ever tell you that?” Mary asked as Nick leaned against her shoulders.

“Thanks, Mary, now on top of bruises and taser burn marks, I’ve got a weight complex,” Nick shot back. “When we’re done here, I’m going to have to purge, and it’s all your fault.”

“You’re hilarious. Seriously, I get the feeling that narrow frame is hiding more muscle than a person would guess.”

“That is sexual harassment, and I’m telling Hershel.”

“You know, I don’t have to let you lean on me.”

“No one is perfect; I guess I can let it slide this once,” Nick backtracked quickly. “How is everyone doing, anyway?”

“Roy and Alice are making good progress, Camille is about to heal Vince back from unconsciousness, but they won their fight, and Alex is on his way to intercept Michael and Britney before they get close to base.”

“Vince got knocked out, huh? I’m curious how Camille managed to pull it out of the fire. Vince must have left them barely standing.”

“Actually, it seems Vince was taken out before the fight even began,” Mary told him. “We’re going to need to have a talk with Camille about holding back on us.”

“How bad?”

“Let’s just say you’ll be giving her a new card.”

“Huh. It’s always the quiet ones. Think we’re getting close to their flag?”

“No idea, but if Alex manages to bring down the last two, then we’ve got all the time in the world to hunt,” Mary pointed out.

“Alex versus Britney and Michael. Maybe we should hurry,” Nick suggested.

Mary didn’t bother replying. Instead, she quickened her pace and wondered if Nick’s uniform was sturdy enough for her to drag him along with her substantial brain instead of her meager brawn.

*      *      *

Vince moaned groggily as he came back into the world of the waking. He found himself with his head in Camille’s lap, staring up at her as his vision cleared. She’d taken the time to change back and move him away from the battered bodies of their opponents, so as his brain began to come together, only a single thought pierced his mind.

“Are you okay?” Vince asked immediately.

“Pretty sure that’s supposed to be my line,” Camille said with a gentle grin. “I’m fine. How are you?”

“I feel good,” Vince replied hurriedly. “Should I be laying here like this? What about our enemies?”

“They’re taken care of,” Camille assured him. “We can go back whenever you feel ready to walk.”

Vince slowly pulled himself to a sitting position and found the last of his head fog had already dissipated. “What do you mean, taken care of?”

“I mean they aren’t a problem anymore. You saved me, and I was able to handle the fight.”

“You were? I mean, I don’t want to say that you couldn’t, but—”

“I did tell you I’d been doing martial arts for years,” Camille pointed out.

“I guess you did. Who did you fight?”

“Allen and Hector. Allen is the one who threw the explosion at you. How did you know it was coming, anyway?”

“It’s hard to explain. Mostly just that when you deal with energy as much as I do, you learn the little signs it gives off when impending,” Vince said.

“Well, I’m glad you noticed it. Thank you for pushing me out of the way, but you shouldn’t have put yourself in danger like that.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Vince said as he moved all the way to standing. He looked back at the kneeling girl and offered her a hand up. “I’m the combat side of our team. It’s my job to keep you out of harm’s way. I’m going to protect you, no matter what. Next time, I’ll just try to be better at it and stay conscious.”

Camille looked at him, towering over her as he smiled reassuringly. All these years, and here they were in the same position. It made her heart ache, just a bit— how much he still looked the same as he did that day. She grabbed his hand and pulled herself vertical. Vince would do anything to protect her, which just meant she had to get even stronger so he’d never have to. She wouldn’t let him get hurt anymore. Not for her.

“Let’s get back to Alex,” Camille suggested softly.

45.

Alex walked for about fifteen minutes before he began to draw near to his opponents. In truth, the travel time should have been roughly half that; however, he’d stuck to protocol and looped around as instructed. He could feel Vince and Camille heading back toward the flag, which relaxed him a little. He hated leaving the place undefended. The closer he got to the interception point, the more he hoped they wouldn’t have to do anything. If Vince and a healer could take down two, then Alex might be able to as well. At the very least, he would defeat one and hobble the other.

Alex moved silently as he drew near his enemies. He didn’t have much practice with skulking, especially not through forests; however, he did have the advantage of knowing the others were there. That would hopefully enable him to get the drop on whoever these people were. It was easier to recognize the minds of people he spent a lot of time with, but when it was just fellow classmates, all he got were hints. One of the minds was incredibly focused, straining to hear every rustle and snap in the woods around it. The other was cavalier, uncaring save for a burning, violent desire emanating deep within its reaches. Alex knew if he wanted to utilize his advantage properly, he had to prioritize which opponent to take out first. The focused one seemed the more dangerous of the two, so Alex levitated a hefty log to his side and prepared to strike.

He burst through the woods to find not two enemies staring at him, but one. Michael blinked in surprise as Alex and a floating log came vaulting from the tree line. For the barest of moments, Alex forgot that Britney could become invisible and was confused by the absence of someone he’d sensed. He let his eyes sweep across the area, trying to find the missing presence. The mistake lasted less than a full second; however, even that was too much.

The first blue blast struck him square in the chest, the cold creeping through his bones and making every breath difficult as his torso refused to expand. The next one took him in the left leg, sealing him in place before he could move. Alex whipped the log toward Michael while he still had his concentration, but the poor piece of wood splintered against the armor of ice now encircling Michael’s body.

Michael froze the other leg next, just for good measure, though, as Alex’s teeth began to chatter, it was clear fighting off the chill seeping through him would sap a healthy amount of his mental resources.

“Nice effort, weirdo,” Michael said as he closed the gap between them. Alex tried to fight through the sensation of numbness and grab hold of Michael with his power. Before he got a chance, Michael’s ice-encased fist slammed violently into Alex’s face. There was an audible crack in Alex’s head as he felt something in his cheek give way. He might have come back with a witty, if not slightly slurred, retort, had Michael not followed with two more blows to his head. His brain felt like it was filling with mercury, and his entire face burned with pain. Even if there was something to throw, Alex could barely focus on the image in front him, let alone on fighting back. It occurred to him, fleetingly, that this was why Coach George had them fight so much last year without their powers. He’d wanted them to get accustomed to working through the fog of pain. Alex wished he’d learned that lesson better.

“Take it easy,” Britney’s voice cautioned from somewhere over his shoulder.

“Fuck that; this kid can break through ice with his mind if I just freeze him. I have to make sure that brain of his is too scrambled to get back in the game.” Michael punctuated this statement with a solid left hook directly into Alex’s ear. Had he not been frozen into a standing position, Alex’s body would have tumbled to the ground as he passed out. Instead, his head merely plopped softly against his chest.

“Look, he’s out, you’re done,” Britney said, less a request than an order this time.

“I’ll decide when I’m done,” Michael said, rearing back again. An invisible hand wrapped around his elbow, pulling it back.

“We have a deal, Michael. You want to win? That means you can’t get us disqualified. Keep pounding on his brain like this, and I guarantee we get taken out of the competition.”

“I call getting tossed out for being too strong a win,” Michael spat back, not relaxing his arm one bit.

Britney sank her teeth into her lower lip. She had to get his attention off Alex or this was going to be bad. Unfortunately, she only knew one way to do that. She had to shift it elsewhere, to someone less likely to be immediately killed. She hoped that, if he were here, he’d understand.

“Fine, you want to end this, then go ahead. I just thought you were going after the big fish. I mean, Alex here is barely considered a combatant by anyone. Isn’t that why you had your sights set on Vince?”

Slowly, so damned slowly, the tension in Michael’s arm decreased. He lowered it to his side. For a moment, there was no sound except the slow drip of water running down the ice blocks encasing Alex.

“Let’s go,” Michael said at last, stepping around Alex and walking forward without so much as a single glance backward. His armor began to disintegrate, falling away in chunks that littered the grass behind him. Britney let out a breath she hadn’t realize she’d been holding. That had been far, far too close. If anyone besides herself had been here . . . she didn’t want to think about what might have happened to Alex. When this was over, she resolved herself to talk with Professor Fletcher or Dean Blaine. It didn’t matter if it weakened her team; Michael had no place in the HCP.

She only hoped she could get them through this ordeal before he bloodily proved that to everyone.

46.

“Alex is gone,” Camille noticed as she and Vince arrived back at the flag.

“He only would have left if other people were approaching,” Vince said. “The plan was always to have someone here if possible.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t be standing out in the open then, just in case,” Camille suggested.

“Good idea,” Vince agreed. “If Alex comes back, he’ll know we’re here. If someone else wanders by, well, we’ve already seen the value of surprise demonstrated today.”

“I guess we have,” Camille said. The duo headed for the tree line, where they blended in as best as their gray uniforms would allow.

*      *      *

“Hurry up,” Alice urged as Roy jogged behind her.

“Look, Floaty, some of us have to actually navigate the terrain here,” Roy said as he leapt over a fallen log and quickened his pace. True, he didn’t have to deal with normal things like muscle fatigue or shortness of breath, but that still didn’t mean he could keep up with a girl zipping through the air.

“Sorry, I’m just starting to get worried,” Alice said. “The longer we go without seeing anyone, the more I think that they all went offensive and are headed toward our base.”

“If they did, then they did. Nothing we can do to help them out at this point.”

“We can find their flag,” Alice pointed out.

“Fine,” Roy said, stepping up his jog to a flat-out run. “Fair warning, though, if we hurry our asses into an ambush, I’m blaming you.”

“That’s fair,” Alice said. She lifted up higher into the air and surveyed the landscape, looking for the slightest hint of their objective.

*      *      *

Michael saw the flag first, dashing ahead to confirm what his eyes suspected was a piece of fabric being flicked by the wind. He stepped into the clearing and stopped, a sense of disappointment filling him. There it was: the goal, the objective, the game finisher. His team was going to win, but he hadn’t gotten the rematch he really wanted.

“Fuck all,” Michael muttered under his breath. He started a slow, steady march toward the flag and his now inevitable victory.

If his opponent had been anyone else, that would have been the end of Michael’s day. Roy, Alex, even Mary would have utilized the opportunity to strike without warning. They would have brought him down before he had a chance to react. They weren’t there, however, and so what next impacted Michael was a set of words rather than an attack.

“I had a feeling you’d be on the offensive,” Vince said as he stepped out from the trees. He was slightly closer to the flag than Michael, but if the bald boy made a dash, it would be a close race. In his peripheral vision, Vince saw Camille edging along the side of the clearing. She was getting closer in case Vince needed help on the interception. He wished he could tell her to stay out of the way, where it was safe. Michael was a dangerous opponent; it was best he kept all of his attention on Vince.

“Happy birthday to me,” Michael said, showing a grin that flirted with deranged. He angled his body so that he was facing the silver-haired boy dead on. “I was hoping for this.” Fresh armor crackled over him as he spoke, splintering and fissuring in key places to allow movement. No surprise heat wave was going to stop him this time. Here, at last, they were facing each other on even ground for the first time since their initial fight all the way back in freshman year. This was where Michael would finally prove that his win was no fluke, that he was and always would be the stronger warrior.

“I guess telling you this is pointless would be a waste of my breath,” Vince sighed. He wasn’t looking forward to what was coming next.

“I don’t know about a waste. I find begging to be a fine pre-fight appetizer. But let’s be honest, both of us are really here for the main course.” Michael let fly with a series of punches, sending blue bolts hurtling across the clearing. Vince took off running, heading away from Camille, keeping barely a few steps ahead of Michael’s attacks. Most of them struck the ground uselessly, but one particular blast seemed to stop in mid-air, only a few yards away from Michael. It formed into an ice encasement and hung there, swaying gently from side to side. It only took that long for Vince to understand.

“Britney’s here! Stall her, Camille!”

Camille hurtled forward, coming to a stop with the hovering ice at her front and the flag at her back.

“Well, since my cover is blown, do you mind freezing the healer so I can grab the flag?” Britney’s question floated from the air near Michael.

In response, Michael turned to the sound and let fly with two quick blasts aimed at the ground. New mini-glaciers formed, seeming as though a set of legs were bound in them.

“What the hell?” Britney screamed, shimmering into view. She was clearly stuck in place, rooted to the ground by her ally.

“If you grab the flag, it’s over,” Michael said flatly. “I’m not letting anyone interrupt this.”

“You are out of your fucking mind,” Britney said, not in shock or outrage, but in a slow, fearful acceptance.

“You’re the one who made the deal,” Michael reminded her. He turned back to Vince and began slowly advancing. “Now, let’s pick this back up. I hope you can put up a better fight than your last friend. He was pathetic.”

“So Alex did catch up to you,” Vince said, trying to keep himself calm. There were rules to this test, people watching. Michael couldn’t have done anything too bad.

“Be careful, Vince,” Britney called, all semblance of camaraderie abandoned. “He’s not stable. He beat Alex half to death.”

“Is that true?” Vince asked as the distance between him and Michael grew smaller and smaller.

“Not my fault he can’t take a punch. Kind of reminds me of you. Maybe when we’re done here, I’ll go back and see if he’s awake. Or I can work out the rest of my energy on your little friend by the flag,” Michael said. His face was hidden behind the ice, but the madness of his voice made it clear that the unseen smile had gone from merely flirting with derangement to a full-blown grope fest.

“I see.” If some of the other Melbrook residents had been there, they would have recognized that tone. It was the voice that had come from Vince when he dealt with George last year. It was a vocal vibration that marked the end of his seemingly infinite patience and kindness. It was a set of harmonic undulations that broadcast a single message with crisp efficiency: Vince was pissed, and that did not bode well for those who had brought him to this point.

Michael didn’t notice any of this, however. He was too busy sending multiple bursts of freezing energy toward Vince at very short range. To his mild surprise, his opponent didn’t even try to dodge. Instead, Vince stood there as the forming ice engulfed him, sealing him from head to toe in a solid block within the span of a few seconds. There was a series of small pops and crackles as the frozen jail finished growing, and then a brief silence descended over the field.

“Anticlimactic, but I guess that’s the best I can expect from you,” Michael chuckled, turning around and looking to Camille, his last remaining opponent on the field.

47.

“Aren’t you curious how the fight is going?” Mary asked as she and Nick trudged through the grass, the taller boy finally able to shamble along under his own power.

“Nah. It’s Vince and Camille versus Britney and Michael. There are only two ways it can go. Either Britney sneaks past and grabs the flag, or they manage to stall and incapacitate her.”

“And what about Michael?”

Nick snorted. “Come on, you know why I paired Vince with Camille.”

“Because they represented both combat and non-combat abilities of high level,” Mary said. “Also because she’s in love with him, so I’m guessing that will make her work harder to help him.”

“True, but there’s another reason. Camille is small-statured, soft-spoken, kind, and gentle. Her only ability is to heal people and make them feel better. She comes off so decent, even I want to feel protective of her, and I don’t really go in for any of that shit. Now, given that we know Vince is the kind of guy who only goes all out when other people are in danger, how hard do you think he’ll fight to keep someone like her safe?”

“Oh, yeah, that won’t be pretty,” Mary concurred.

“I don’t know about that,” Nick said. “I’d put down my money that before that fight is over, there will be some truly stupendous fireworks.”

*      *      *

The thunderous cracking sound filled the field before Michael had made it more than two steps away. He turned around in time to see the ice splintering to the ground, falling away from Vince in rivers of steam and boiling water. The silver-haired boy stepped forth from his former frosty tomb without any overt effort. His blue eyes were locked on Michael, unwavering as he left the collapsing remains in his shadow.

“Guess I shouldn’t be surprised you keep a little more heat in you after our last fight. I wonder how many times you can pull that trick,” Michael taunted.

“Do you know why I told you this was pointless?” Vince asked calmly.

“Yeah, you didn’t want me to beat the hell out of you,” Michael said, attacking with two more bolts. Vince caught both of them on his forearm, but this time, the ice began to destruct as soon as it formed. Michael sucked in a breath of surprise. This didn’t seem to be taxing Vince nearly as much as it should have.

“You can’t freeze me anymore,” Vince told him. “No matter what you throw, I can melt through it.”

“Fine, I’ll just kick your ass the old-fashioned way,” Michael declared, charging forward. He opened with a combo of rights and a left hook designed to take Vince’s head clean from his shoulders. The freak might be able to break out of ice, but a fist wrapped in a few inches of it would still crunch his bones. At least, it would have if it connected. Instead, Vince moved around his punches easily, not even bothering to deflect, merely stepping aside as if to imply they weren’t worth the bother.

“You were already a worse fighter than I am. You might have structured your shell to let you move, but it still slows you down. You’re no threat to me physically, either.”

Something about the freak’s voice was really raising Michael’s ire. It was so distant, so unengaged. Like he really didn’t even care. Like Michael wasn’t worth his precious fucking effort. Adrenaline and rage roared through Michael’s veins. Who did this little pip-fuck think he was?

“Kiss my ass!” Michael screamed, striking faster and more violently. His fists kept connecting with nothing but air while Vince’s smug expression stayed out of reach. Michael doubled his effort, his joints screaming in their sockets as he pushed them to their limits. “You’ll tire out eventually, and you can’t even hurt me! My win is inevitable!”

Vince wove through his latest attacks and emerged several feet away. Michael paused to catch his breath, eyes never leaving his prey as he readied his body for the next flurry.

“Where did you get the idea that I couldn’t hurt you?” Vince asked offhandedly. Michael braced himself for the torrent of flame and heat. If he could keep his armor regenerating faster than Vince could pour on the damage, Michael was certain he could run out his enemy’s reserves. This was what he’d been working toward. Once the absorber was empty, he’d be as helpless as always. All Michael had to do was outlast his fire.

So it was that, when the lightning erupted from Vince’s palm and struck Michael’s torso, there was both a literal and emotional shock ripping through his system. His legs collapsed out from under him and he fell to the ground, muscles twitching but still conscious.

“When did . . . electricity . . .” Michael was barely able to talk. His throat felt ragged, and he couldn’t seem to focus. He was vaguely aware that the attack had damaged his armor, but repairing it was beyond his capacity at the moment. It took all of his effort just to pull himself up to his knees and look upon his opponent.

“The reason I told you this was pointless is because it is,” Vince said, staring down at Michael as his defense slid away in jagged, icy chunks. “You can’t freeze me. You can’t hit me. You can’t even defend against me. You’re so far below me that beating you isn’t even a challenge. You’re nothing to me, Michael.”

It couldn’t be true. He was just a freak. He’d gotten in a lucky punch on their first day. All the attention he’d gotten, all the friendships he’d managed, all the reputation he’d accrued, it had all been a mistake. It had been unwarranted. Michael was the great one. Michael was the one people were supposed to admire, like they had before he got to Lander. He was going to prove it, prove it by soaking his knuckles in Vince’s blood. So why was he the one on the ground? Why wouldn’t his brain come together and let him function?

“Normally, I wouldn’t have been so cruel as to show you this bit of truth, but you just wouldn’t let it go. So try and learn the lesson this time, Michael, and keep it at the forefront of your mind. Because if you ever threaten or touch my goddamned friends again, I’ll show you what I can really do.” Vince turned around and walked away from Michael’s still struggling body.

“You didn’t knock me out,” Michael called, his muddled mind finally forming words.

“I know. Why would I bother? It isn’t as if you can do anything.”

Those words, and the truth behind them, savaged Michael more than any of Vince’s attacks. Britney could see the devastation in her teammate’s face even as Vince walked toward her. It was strange; given what she’d just seen, she should be afraid. After all, he still had to incapacitate her. But the fear wouldn’t come; whether it was because she just didn’t see Vince being unnecessarily mean, or because she was just too drained to conjure any more emotions, it wasn’t there. And, as it turned out, there was no need for it anyway.

“Attention all students!” Dean Blaine’s voice seemed to echo from all around them, broadcasting from the sky itself. “The match between Teams One and Four has reached its end. Alice Adair of Team One has taken Team Four’s flag. Staff will be coming through for healing and extraction momentarily.”

48.

“How are you feeling?” Professor Pendleton asked.

“I’ve got one of the best healers in the school on my team; she patched me up right away,” Nick reminded him. The two were in an infirmary office, going over a post battle check-up. Healers or not, it would be irresponsible not to check a student’s mental and physical health after any combat situation. The professors handled this task not because of any extensive medical knowledge, but because they knew all too well the tell-tale signs of a student hiding something that might be wearing on them. Such was not the case today, as Nick was in rather high spirits.

“Still, electricity can have some lingering effects. Tasing yourself was pretty dangerous.”

“Not like it’s my first time on the shit end of an electrical charge. Besides, you only call something dangerous if it fails. When it succeeds, it’s called ‘innovative.’”

Professor Pendleton suppressed a sigh. He wondered if he’d been this foolhardy and brash in his youth. Had any of his own instructors been present, they would have happily informed him that this young man in sunglasses had nothing on him in the way of moronic stunts. As it was, Professor Pendleton merely continued with the exam.

“I suppose it was rather creative. I guess no one would have expected you to get the better of Gilbert in a one on one match.”

“Yeah; in fairness, even I was only giving myself fifty percent odds.”

“Yet you went ahead with such an uncertain strategy. Why?”

“Because I’ll take fifty percent over zero,” Nick said simply.

“There was another option. You could have let Mary handle both of them,” Professor Pendleton pointed out.

“Gilbert’s power makes him difficult for her to deal with. We fought him last year and found that out firsthand. If he’d been distracting enough, Terrance might have gotten in a fluke shot.”

“Why, Nick, you almost sound as though you were concerned about her.”

“I was. Mary is our strongest member; if she got taken out, it could have spelled a lot of trouble.”

“A rather cold, if accurate, sentiment. At any rate, it’s hard to argue tactics with the one who triumphed,” Professor Pendleton said. He pulled out a folder from his briefcase and set it in Nick’s lap. “You’re free to go. Consider this a parting gift. It’s a summation of what happened with each member of your team during the match. Normally, it would go to the captain, but since you’re here and I have it, you can pass it along.”

“I guess handing these out is standard?”

“Only to the teams themselves. If you want to know about the others, you’ll have to rely on gossip and hearsay like everyone else,” Professor Pendleton said, his words half statement and half challenge.

“So, we don’t get to know anything about the other teams’ match then?”

“Only their completion time. Yours, by the way, was forty-four minutes and thirteen seconds,” Professor Pendleton told him. “As for the other match, Team Two defeated Team Three in just a hair under ten.”

“That’s actually better than I’d hoped,” Nick said, his face void of the surprise one might have expected.

“You do understand that they devastated the other team in a fourth of the time it took you to win, right?”

“Sure, but look at what they were working with. Taking ten minutes to win tells me they don’t have a strong enough team dynamic or tactician,” Nick surmised, rising to his feet.

“Just out of curiosity, what do you base that conclusion on?”

“The fact that if I’d run their team, they could have won the match in five.”

Professor Pendleton started to chide him, but then thought better of it. Nick was many things: irritating, condescending, emotionally distant, all of that had been made very obvious. He wasn’t overly prideful, however. The boy seemed to look at himself with an almost clinical detachment when evaluating his personal capabilities. From everything Professor Pendleton had seen, if Nick thought he could do something, he usually had several good reasons for it.

“You should be less concerned with how to manage them and more concerned with how to defeat them.”

“Oh, come on, you and I both know those are one and the same,” Nick replied, heading for the door. “Thanks for the file. I’ll be sure Mary gets it.”

Professor Pendleton suppressed a smile. Say what you would about the kid, he kept things interesting.

“Nice to see you’re taking this job at least somewhat seriously.”

Professor Pendleton’s smile evaporated as he heard the voice from the doorway. He turned around merely to indicate he heard it; there was no need to verify its source. He knew that voice very, very well.

“Hello there, Professor Hill. All done checking on students?” Professor Pendleton asked stiffly.

“Professor Hill? Really, Sean, it is bad enough you avoid me at every turn, now you want to stick with formalities. I’m beginning to feel a bit hurt,” Professor Hill replied.

“My apologies, Blake. I suppose I just don’t think we have all that much to talk about.”

“I think we could talk about plenty. Why on earth you’ve come here, for example.”

“Dean Blaine requested I fill the vacant position, one that opened up because you allowed a pair of traitors to live under your nose for years,” Professor Pendleton snapped, his rigid tone caving to his impatience.

“So we replace traitors with a criminal. The Lander HCP is really moving up in the world.”

“If you have a problem with my employment, bring it up with the dean. Otherwise, we’re done here,” Professor Pendleton said, striding through the doorway. Professor Hill grabbed his arm before he could make it all the way past.

“Let go of me, Blake. You don’t want to do this.”

“We aren’t kids anymore, Sean, and I’ve gotten a lot stronger while you’ve been rotting in jail. Still, you’re right. I don’t want to do it. I just want to make you aware that I know the real reason you came to Lander.”

Professor Pendleton barked out a harsh laugh. “Congratulations, you figured out the world’s easiest puzzle. Of course she’s why I’m here. What of it?”

“Just letting you know to watch yourself. That one’s path has already been decided. Any attempts at interference will not be well-received.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Professor Pendleton lied. “Though, given your track record with such things, maybe I should.”

Professor Hill released Professor Pendleton’s arm and lowered his voice. “What happened was a tragedy; I’ll never disagree with you there. Placing blame doesn’t help anyone.”

“It might not, but it sure as hell helps me wake up in the morning,” Professor Pendleton said fiercely, quickly walking away before his emotions could get the better of him.

49.

“I’d just like to start by saying that everyone did an amazing job,” Mary began, standing in front of her team as they lounged in the Melbrook common room. “I was listening to the team’s thoughts throughout the match, and you all were great about staying with the plan and thinking ahead.”

“Even Roy toed the line,” Hershel agreed. The more muscular brother had opted not to attend the debrief meeting. Hershel suspected he was pouting at only getting one fight throughout the whole ordeal.

“He did indeed. In fact, it’s thanks to him and Alice that we got the flag, so an extra kudos to them both,” Mary continued.

Alice blushed as the room gently clapped for her and the absent warrior. It had been more luck than skill that she’d noticed a piece of fabric flapping in an artificial breeze; still, she was glad she’d finally contributed something to the team.

“Now then, because we only improve by learning from our mistakes and successes, Nick had a few things he wanted to address before we officially start celebrating our win,” Mary said, sitting down.

“Thank you, Captain,” Nick said with a flourishing bow. “First things first, I’d like to show you all a little motivation tool I’ve put together.” He reached behind the couch and produced a rectangular, black wooden frame. Within it were seven playing cards, each with the corresponding team member’s name beneath it.

“Oh goody, the ‘we suck’ analogy has been framed,” Alice said.

“Not exactly. You remember how I said I would update this as my data changed? Well, in light of today’s match, I have a couple of alterations to make.” Nick laid the frame on the couch and popped off the back. With surprising dexterity, he slipped away two of the cards and slid two more into their places. He refastened the back and held the frame up once more, turning it out for the room to see.

“I’m a queen now?” Vince asked uncertainly.

“I’d say adding electricity to your ranged arsenal more than qualifies you for that,” Nick replied. “Incidentally, why is it you didn’t mention that little development to any of us?”

“I don’t know. I mean, Professor Fletcher really put in a lot of work helping me learn it, and it took a good while. I guess bringing it up felt like bragging,” Vince replied uncertainly.

“For reference, telling the people who coordinated strategies for the entire team that you have a new skill is very much not bragging: it is merely reporting information,” Nick assured him.

“So, Vince I get, but why is Camille now an ace?” Alex asked. “Wouldn’t that mean she had combat abilities?”

“Indeed she does,” Nick confirmed. His eyes happened over to the small girl, who at present looked as if she might faint. Had the file Professor Pendleton provided not included her explanation to Vince about her victory, Nick might have taken her reaction merely as embarrassment at the attention. As it was, he knew she was hiding her real power from Vince for some reason. Nick didn’t know why yet, but he would very soon. Until then, he saw no benefit in upsetting one of his new heavy hitters.

“It seems Camille has quite a martial arts background she neglected to mention to us. Given how well she held her own today, I felt the card change was appropriate,” Nick explained, taking an odd pleasure in watching the relief and shock wash over Camille’s face.

“That is awesome,” Hershel said. “You have to tell us about your fight.”

“I . . . um . . . I . . .” Camille stuttered weakly.

“She would never be so bold as to interrupt me during an official address,” Nick swooped in. “To continue, while we certainly had a lot of success today, I want to bring a very key piece of information to light. We damn near lost this match.”

“What do you mean? I thought everyone won their fights except Alex, who got double teamed,” Alice said, adding the last part in a bid to spare Alex’s ego.

“We did. We came out ahead in nearly every combat situation, but if it hadn’t been for a severe fuck-up on their team’s part, I doubt we’d be celebrating right now.”

“It’s true,” Vince agreed. “Britney was invisible when she and Michael came and attacked us. If he hadn’t gotten careless and frozen her arm, we wouldn’t have known she was there. Even with that, if he’d frozen Camille instead of his teammate, I’m not sure I could have kept her from getting to the flag in time.”

“Precisely. I’m not saying this to point fingers or make anyone feel bad. You all did exactly what you were supposed to do. I just want you to be aware of the importance of keeping abreast of the enemy’s tactics. Britney’s plan removed a big part of our telepathic advantage, giving up combat losses to keep us occupied, and putting their faith in her securing the flag before we noticed she was there. It was risky as hell, and it very nearly worked. We definitely earned this win, but by no means was it the blowout it might seem to be at a glance. Don’t get overconfident, and don’t underestimate our opponents. After this little upset, I don’t expect them to be underestimating us.”

“Wow, way to be a bummer,” Alice said as silence descended.

“My apologies,” Nick said with a fast grin. “Learning from both victory and failure is the only shot we have to make it through this thing.”

“So, what do we need to do?” Alex asked, his voice more eager than he meant it to be. Being the only one who lost had left a bad taste in his mouth. He felt himself hungering to train and improve, never to be caught in such a humiliating defeat again.

“For tonight, we relax,” Nick told him. “In the coming weeks, we’ll come up with some new training, but that’s in the coming weeks. Today, we kicked ass, and I think we earned a night to take it easy. Maybe we’ll even celebrate more enthusiastically this weekend. That’s all up to you guys. As it stands, we’re winners, and I think we should bask in the glow of being on top for a change.”

The sentiment, even if not verbally articulated, was definitely exuberantly echoed throughout the room.

*      *      *

“I want to thank you for bringing this to our attention, Miss Ferguson,” Dean Blaine said gently. “I know it can’t have been easy.”

“After what happened today, it would have been a lot harder to try and sleep at night if I hadn’t told you,” Britney replied. Her eyes had grown moist during their talk; however, her voice had remained steady through the entire duration. Britney knew this had to be done. If it made her feel like a snitch or like she was betraying an unspoken allegiance to her fellow students, that was irrelevant. This was the right thing to do.

Dean Blaine regarded her with a new measure of respect. Fighting clear-cut bad guys was easy to get behind, mentally and morally. When the world was black and white, you never had to worry about feeling conflicted. In situations like this, in contrast, where there were ample easier ways out, Britney had still taken the right path, even though it would weaken her team. As an educator, he wasn’t supposed to play favorites with his students, yet all the same, he found himself earnestly glad that someone like this was placing so well in all of her exams.

“I assure you that we will take appropriate measures. In fact, Michael was already under close watch, but having one of his own peers express such concerns certainly solidifies what we’d feared.”

“I just don’t want anyone to get hurt,” Britney said. “We got lucky today. If Vince hadn’t been so much stronger . . . let’s just say I don’t think Michael would have been nearly as gracious a winner.”

“The safety of my students is paramount,” Dean Blaine told her. “This will be dealt with. I promise you.”

“Thank you,” Britney said, rising to leave.

“Please send in Professor Fletcher on your way out. He should be waiting outside the door,” Dean Blaine requested. Britney nodded her agreement and stepped outside . A few minutes later, the older man walked in, taking the seat she’d been occupying seconds before.

“I’d hoped, with a bit of a leash and some close monitoring, he would straighten up,” Dean Blaine said simply. “Since you’re the teacher of his best subject, tell me your impressions.”

“He’s talented. If he weren’t so angry all the time, he could make some serious progress with an ability like his,” Professor Fletcher said. “What is it about Vince that’s got him so twisted up in knots?”

“Mr. Reynolds is only the most recent in Michael Clark’s line of conquests. His record indicates that when he loses to someone, most importantly when he loses image, he becomes obsessed with utterly surpassing them,” Dean Blaine explained. “It was actually a strike in his favor when applying, because up until his time at Lander, that obsession manifested itself in tireless training and effort to surpass his rival. I daresay his recent shift to the psychotic revolves around his inability to make any traction in beating Mr. Reynolds, as well as a downward slide into alcohol abuse.”

“He’s drinking that much?”

“I’ve had a few covert searches of his dorm room performed. Suffice it to say, he is well beyond the limit of what a healthy liver can reasonably be expected to handle, even a college-aged one. I’ve sat him down and reached out to him in a few private meetings, however, nothing seems to be getting through.”

“Then today, he nearly scrambled up Alex’s brains,” Professor Fletcher said. “If he’d tried to throw one more punch, I was going to have to stop the whole match and intervene.”

“You were watching it?”

“Of course.”

“And tell me, Carl, with all your years of experience, what do you think?”

Professor Fletcher chose his next words carefully, all too aware that the future of the young man in question would hang on them. “He had a killing intent. I’ve seen that look in too many people’s faces not to recognize it. I don’t know if he’s aware of it himself, but he wanted to kill that telepath. Now, just a desire doesn’t mean much on its own—some of the best Supers I know were ones who had to actively control themselves to keep from letting their darker urges get the better of them in battle. Not everyone is inherently perfect. Having a monster inside doesn’t automatically make you one, provided you have the discipline and self-awareness to keep it on a chain.”

“I would agree with you on all counts,” Dean Blaine said. “In some ways, I prefer dealing with people whose darkness is more visible. It leads to less unfortunate surprises.” If his voice was a touch bitter, Professor Fletcher let it pass without comment. “The issue here is that I think Michael Clark lacks that chain, whether it is a result of the alcohol abuse or some yet undiagnosed psychosis. Regardless, he has shown himself to be an unacceptable threat to the other students.”

“So we boot him?”

“We could. However, given his skills and violent tendencies, I feel like it would merely be a matter of time before he wound up in prison for some assault crime.”

“I suppose so, but what other options do you have?”

“There is one other way to go with it. What Michael needs is more discipline and focus than he is getting in his current environment. Obviously, he won’t be making the cut for Hero, but before we resort to full expulsion, we could give him a semester or two at Lander’s east campus to get himself together,” Dean Blaine said.

“I wasn’t aware Lander had an east campus,” Professor Fletcher said.

“It’s closer to a sister school than anything else. We don’t talk about it often because we only send over students who require very special training or very strict discipline,” Dean Blaine explained.

“Sounds like a good fit for him then,” Professor Fletcher agreed. “What will you do if he doesn’t want to transfer?”

“I wasn’t planning on making it a request. Tonight, Michael Clark will either be moved to Lander East or he will be booted and banned from the HCP program,” Dean Blaine replied without inflection. “I will not give training to a man I believe will use it to harm others. Not now, not ever. Not in my school.”

“Understood,” Professor Fletcher said. He began to leave, but then a rogue thought wandered through his mind. “If I remember right, you’re a Lander graduate yourself. Ever do any time at the east campus during your days here?”

Dean Blaine turned away from his employee so Carl wouldn’t be able to see the ever so slight grin trying to break through his professional demeanor. “That will be all, Professor Fletcher.”

50.

“So, how does it feel, oh valiant captain, to have won your first match?” Hershel asked as Mary laid her head on his chest. They were in Hershel’s room, the night of communal happiness having wound down some time ago. It was a moment of couple-ness, the likes of which had become increasingly rare with all the preparations and training of late.

“Exhausting,” Mary replied. “Trying to keep up with what everyone was doing across the entire battlefield, not to mention worrying about them when things got dangerous and having to listen to Nick all day, wore me out. I’m going to sleep like a baby tonight.”

“I bet. You’re quite an amazing girl, you know that?”

“It might have come up in conversation a few times,” Mary said, her tone playful, but her smile genuine. “You’re not too shabby yourself.”

“Meh, I’m a nerd who can turn into someone awesome. That makes me less interesting and more a homework jockey for my alter ego.”

“None of that,” Mary said, lifting her head so she could look him in the eye. “You’re brave, smart, resourceful, and kind. I wouldn’t be the girlfriend of a guy who was just ‘meh,’ after all.”

“You make a strong case,” Hershel said. He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek, bringing her back down against his chest so they could lie comfortably. “On the subject of resourcefulness, I had a thought about how we could celebrate. Halloween is next weekend,

so . . .”

“Please don’t say you want to go to that giant frat costume party again.”

“Perish the thought. I was thinking we could hit one of the giant haunted houses in town. There’s one called Screamtopia that’s apparently known nationally. It has mazes, hidden passages, and all sorts of special effects. They say they even use a Super or two to really bring the impossible to life. Plus, on Halloween weekend, they have a big lounge running at the end where you can hang out and drink or just breeze through. I figure that way, it can be scary or drunken depending on what each person wants.”

“Plus, you’re hoping to have me clutched against you in fear for the duration of it,” Mary pointed out.

“I thought you didn’t listen to my thoughts?”

“Didn’t need to. I’m hoping for the same thing.” Mary reached up and kissed him, this one definitely not on the cheek. Though there were many physical boundaries the couple had yet to cross, they still kissed with enough passion that by the end, neither one was thinking about haunted houses.

*      *      *

Camille was nearly halfway back to her dorm when the figure stepped out of the shadows. She tensed immediately, turning sideways and bringing up her hands in a defensive stance. It laughed at her, and at the sound, Camille knew she wasn’t in danger. She was still a bit annoyed at the entrance, however.

“You scared me,” Camille said, relaxing her posture.

“I scared you? That’s pretty rich given the difference between us,” Nick said, walking all the way into the light. It was hard to see through his sunglasses at night, but after over a year of wearing them, he’d gotten plenty of practice. “Seriously, after what I learned today, it’s hard for me to imagine you really being scared of anyone.”

“I don’t like being startled.”

“You don’t? Funny coincidence, I’m not big on surprises either. So try and imagine my displeasure at finding out one of my teammates had been hiding a tremendously important aspect of her powers.”

“I wasn’t trying to hide, I just didn’t want—”

“Vince to know. Yes, I’m aware of your feelings, as is Mary, as is really anyone with perception. You’re in luck, because that criteria still rules out Vince. I get that you are keeping it from him, and it doesn’t bother me. What does bother me is when you hide things I need to know about in order to effectively strategize against our opponents. So let’s go ahead and clear the air. First off, why are you so set against him knowing you can give back the damage you absorb?”

“I . . . we met when we were kids. He doesn’t remember me, because I was using a nickname, had dyed my hair, and told him how I absorbed damage instead of making him think I was a healer. I’m scared if he sees my real power, he’ll figure out who I am.”

“Why is that so bad? Did the childhood version of you beat him up or something?”

“No. I was his first kiss,” Camille said, unable and unwilling to hide the blush washing over her skin. She expected a snappy comeback, but Nick was silent for some time before responding. When he finally did, his voice was softer and more amiable.

“I get it. I didn’t understand the little monologue you gave Allen at first, but now it makes sense. Vince must have left quite an impression on you as a kid. Not that surprising, I doubt he was any less foolhardy and moral then, than he is now. So you met this kid whose memory stuck with you, and then, some years later, you show up at Lander and here he is. Now, you’ve finally got your chance to be with him, as long as you can find the right angle of approach.”

“It isn’t like that!” Camille protested, her voice rising despite herself. “I don’t expect him to be with me, and I’m not trying to trick him into it. It’s just that he’s . . . he’s so reckless. He always charges into things for other people without giving any thought to his own safety. One day, he’s going to get seriously hurt doing that.”

“And you want to be there to save him when he does,” Nick finished. “Which you have a much better chance of doing as a friend than as a romantic partner. After all, statistically speaking, most relationships fall apart. I think I finally comprehend. All right then, I’ll keep your secret for now.”

“You will?”

“Yes, but understand, keeping it should never take priority over winning in one of our team’s matches. Got me?”

“Of course.”

“Then I don’t see any harm in letting you have your privacy,” Nick told her. “It’s kind of a shame, actually.”

“How so?”

“You’re selfless, protective, and dedicated. If you weren’t so set against getting involved with him, you two would be a good match for each other. Probably better for me in the long run this way. The last thing I need is a pair of you do-gooders always around. Just handling one unwavering moral compass takes enough energy.”

“Thank you, I think.”

“Not at all,” Nick said, giving her a smile that made Camille think of when her cat used to watch the fish swim in their bowl. “I’m glad we had this little chat. I think our team will be stronger for it. Be safe walking home. You never know what weirdoes are out there.” With those words and a wave, Nick headed back to Melbrook. Camille, meanwhile, started back toward her own dorm, trying with little success to reassure herself that Nick would be true to his word and keep her secret. She should have known better than to worry: Nick Campbell would never betray someone’s confidence.

Unless, of course, there was something to be gained from it.

51.

Tuesday morning found the sophomore students shuffling uncertainly to their first classes after gym. It was strange to shift gears so rapidly. Yesterday, they’d been looking at each other with the savagery only competition can bring out, but today, they were back in their normal schedules and social groups. It was uncomfortable to greet a friend that one might have had to punch in the face yesterday as if nothing had ever happened. The professors never said it out loud, but this flexibility of perspective was as much a point of the exercises as learning the initial teamwork. It was an unfortunate and undeniable fact that in the world of Heroes, sometimes you found yourself fighting a friend. Getting accustomed to it now reduced hesitation down the line.

The students soon fell back into their routine with minimal effort. It helped that the professors acted as though Monday had never happened, moving right from Friday’s lesson on to the logical continuation. There was no gain to be had in rehashing the matches; everyone knew who had won and who had lost. If the teams wanted consultation on why those results had been produced, then they could schedule office hours. For the most part, the goal was to move everyone past this last trial and get them refocused so they’d be ready for the next one. Besides, as the chilly October air suggested, it was growing later in the year. That meant midterms were fewer than eight weeks away. That thought alone was enough to put more fear in the students than any ghost or goblin. Of course, some people had other concerns on their minds.

“Hey, tall, tan, and talkative,” Angela yelled, grabbing Thomas’s attention as the sophomores headed toward the lifts. “Hold up for a moment. I need to chat with you.”

Thomas paused. HCP classes were over and he had some time before his first afternoon class, so it would be fine to listen to her. He motioned for Violet and Stella to keep going. The three of them usually had lunch together; he knew their habits and catching up would be no problem.

“How can I help you?” Thomas said politely as Angela approached.

“We need to talk about the party.”

“The party?”

“Yeah, the party. The shindig, the festivity, the kegger, the gathering. That enough synonyms?” Angela asked.

“I know what a party is; I’m not sure which party you’re talking about.”

“Look, October is winding down. That means pretty soon most of the cuts on the freshman class will have been made,” Angela said impatiently. “And, as I explained last year when you came to the party at my place, it is tradition for the sophomores to extend an invitation to a social gathering for those newbies still remaining.”

“Wait, you want me to throw it?”

“Good thing you’ve got a knack for fighting, kid, you aren’t too quick on the mental upswing. Yes, you need to throw it. You’re a sophomore, and you have one of the few houses with adequate size, location, and residents that are all Supers.”

Thomas resisted the urge to ask how she knew so much about his living space—a girl this determined probably had methods he was happier being ignorant of. Instead, he focused on diffusing the situation. “I might have the means; however, I’m not really the most gregarious person in our class. Perhaps there is a better fit for this duty.”

“You’re joking, right? Look, being a good host in this situation isn’t about creating fun. The kegs and attendees will handle that all on their own. No, it’s about being respected and powerful enough to impose order when things get out of hand, which they will. Take last year, for example; if I hadn’t broken up the pissing match that started over beer pong, a lot of bad shit could have happened.”

“If it’s power and respect, why not someone like Chad? I doubt anyone would question his authority to impose peace.”

“For one thing, he lives in the dorms and doesn’t have a place. For another, Chad, while hunky, is pretty anti-social. I don’t know how many people would show to something he organized. Having a good number of sophomore attendees makes the freshmen feel like they’ve walked into part of an existing community. If the party consists of five people, they’ll feel like they’re courted by a fringe of losers who can’t make friends with their own class.”

“I suppose I can see the point there,” Thomas conceded. “I still have some—”

“Listen, I don’t have time for this,” Angela cut him off. “The torch is passed; you have been tasked. If you want help and advice, by all means come to me. If you want to slide the burden to someone else, that’s your call. Just remember, we have this tradition for a reason. Freshman year is scary as shit, and letting those kids know that they have some support coming from higher up the ladder can make a big difference for some of them. So, if you want to blow it off, I can’t stop you. Then again, if I thought you were the type to do that, I wouldn’t be having this talk with you in the first place.” Angela turned and began to walk away.

“You don’t know me beyond the few times we’ve briefly spoken,” Thomas called after her, his words bouncing in the now empty hall. “What makes you think I’m a good fit for this?”

“Shane recommended you,” Angela replied, turning around and giving Thomas a half-smile. “Funny thing about that kid, he has an odd knack for getting a sense of people. He said you were the most responsible guy in the whole class. That was enough for me.”

Thomas took a breath and cleared his head as Angela’s sunshine-colored locks swayed off in the opposite direction. He really didn’t want to throw a party, especially not with kegs and drinking and the like. It would be a large inconvenience for him and his roommates. Despite his wants, however, it seemed this was a duty, and Thomas Castillo had a very firm understanding of duty. He set his resolve and began heading toward the lifts.

On the upside, at least Violet and Stella would be happy about the news.

52.

“I don’t understand why I can’t just be a knight again,” Vince protested as he stared at the racks of colorful ensembles arranged along the walls.

“Because Halloween is a chance to have a little image experimentation, and doing the same costume over and over is not an acceptable social practice,” Nick explained. “Plus, shopping for them is half the fun.”

“You have an odd idea of fun,” Vince said with little conviction. He’d already given up and resolved himself to this fate; he was merely making sure to officially log his protests on the way down.

“Look at it this way: if you don’t dress up, then you’ll stand out at Screamtopia. And we’re supposed to blend in,” Hershel pointed out.

“Which I could do in the knight outfit I already own.”

“You just don’t get it, Vince,” Nick said, turning his own attention back to costume selection. The three boys were at a party supply store that was decked out in appropriate Halloween decor. After some discussion, Hershel’s haunted house suggestion had won out for their October 31st plans. Team One would all be going in a few days, along with Thomas, Stella, Violet, Will, and anyone else they opted to bring. The girls had gone on a shopping trip, leaving the three boys to their own devices. This had culminated in procrastination, leading them to search the already-scoured store with mere days to the deadline.

“What about condiments?” Hershel suggested. “They have ketchup, mayo, and mustard costumes.”

“There are two problems with that. First, we’d look ridiculous. Second, we aren’t a trio of gay polygamists, so we don’t need to be dressing in theme,” Nick said.

“A ‘no’ probably would have conveyed that just as well,” Vince scolded.

“Sorry, my bad,” Nick said offhandedly. “Let’s think in terms of things that work well for us personally rather than as a team. Hershel, how do you feel about mummies?”

“Ambivalent.”

“Good enough.” Nick snatched up a mummy costume and held it out to the huskier member of the party. “Go grab a dressing room.”

“Why a mummy?”

“Because Jekyll and Hyde would be too obvious. Just go see if you like it.”

Hershel began to protest more, but then realized he didn’t have any ideas for costumes better than the one in his hand and decided to at least see how it looked.

“Okay, that’s one down; now, what to do you about you, Silver? If we play to your hair color, we could do a rave druggie or an old man. Any preference?”

“Neither,” Vince replied quickly. He’d just seen how being noncommittal had played out for Hershel, so he was making his opinions known.

“Fine, fine. So picky for someone who says he doesn’t care.” Nick kept scanning the racks, looking for anything that would provide a ready-made explanation for Vince’s hair. On campus, it didn’t stand out too much: there were plenty of people with unnatural hair colorings walking the Lander campus. Screamtopia was different. It wasn’t associated with the school, so they needed to try and look as normal as possible under the circumstances.

“How about a ghost? We get you some white clothing, dust you up with baby powder, and you make some moaning noises on cue.”

“Maybe,” Vince said cautiously. “Hey, what about this one? It seems kind of appropriate when you think about it.”

Nick glanced at the costume clutched in his friend’s hand. It was appropriate—a little too appropriate, actually—but it could account for the silver hair under the right circumstances.

“Try it on. If it fits, we’ll grab some accessories and call you done.”

“Cool.” Vince headed off toward the line at the dressing room, leaving Nick to dig through the racks for his own holiday-appropriate attire. Last year’s gunslinger had been fun, but this year, Nick was feeling a bit more mischievous, like he wanted one that showed a touch of his own personality. He ran his hands through the patterns of cheap fabric one by one, dismissing each as he passed it by.

Nick found the right costume near the end of the store, just when he was resolving himself to pick something that fit rather than something he liked. He’d seen variations of this idea already, but something about this particular one called to him. He snatched it up and made a beeline for the dressing room. There was no question he was buying it; all that remained to be seen was if it would require alteration.

*      *      *

Chad was already in the gym when Shane walked in. He ignored the blond’s presence and went over to the free weights, trying to seem indifferent. Of course Chad was already here; Chad was always here, always working on getting better. Not that he needed it.

The two boys were the only sophomores here today; most of the others had been taking a break since the test. Some were feeling smug, some were licking their wounds, and some were just too tired to put in the extra hours. Shane finished a round of curls and moved to the bench press. He was halfway through his first set when a familiar shadow fell across his face.

“Need a spotter?”

Shane checked the venomous retort that wanted to fly out of his mouth. He had to get himself under control. He’d always known Chad was stronger than him—that wasn’t new—but his team being so thoroughly trashed had still left a sour flavor in his mouth, and he hadn’t quite been able to curb the bubbling anger directed toward his friend. In truth, that was the reason he’d been avoiding him; he didn’t want to say anything that would leave a lasting tarnish between them over something as ultimately trivial as a Capture the Flag match.

“Sure.” Shane kept the bar moving, pushing himself beyond where he would have stopped had a safety net not been present. In the end, he didn’t end up needing Chad’s help. His friend stayed silently present the whole time, waiting just in case. Shane set the bar down and grabbed his water bottle to take a drink.

“Haven’t seen you around much,” Chad said. Something seemed different about him today. It took a few seconds for Shane to realize it, but Chad was awkward. It was something Shane had never seen before. Usually, the boy was so self-possessed and determined that everything he did exuded confidence. Not right now, though. No, at the moment he looked like a trout trying to blend in at a hammerhead convention.

“Been sort of busy studying for midterms,” Shane lied.

“Oh yeah, that makes sense.” Chad didn’t have to study for finals. His power allowed him to keep his brain in peak efficiency, resulting in perfect recall of anything he’d read or seen when he needed it. Cramming for tests was just one of those million little inconveniences he didn’t understand. “Doing anything for Halloween?”

“I think my team wanted to hit up the frat party they throw every year,” Shane said.

“Sounds fun. Mine is going to that haunted house downtown.”

“You going to join them?”

“Not sure yet,” Chad said.

“You should. Party nights are a good chance to build team spirit.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Um, so I was kind of wanting to check something with you. It might sound stupid, but we’re okay, right?” Chad asked, his eyes staring intently at the weight bar.

“You don’t have a lot of practice with friends, do you?”

“Not really.”

Shane took another sip of water. It was almost unnerving to see Chad like this. Still, it was helping to diffuse the remaining anger from Shane’s defeat. Staying mad at him in this state felt like being mad at a puppy three days after it peed on the floor.

“We’re fine,” Shane said. “I just needed a little time to let my pride heal. You trounced us pretty well.”

“Maybe,” Chad said. “You should be aware, if we’d faced any other team, we would have won in half the time. You guys put up a hell of a fight.”

“We did our best. You want to go grab some dinner after we finish down here?” Shane asked, extending an olive branch of his own.

Chad nodded. “Let’s run a few laps and then get some grub.”

53.

To call Screamtopia a building would be akin to calling quantum physics mildly complicated. It was a compound, a series of warehouses that had been built upon and interjoined many years previous. After the original owner’s company collapsed, a few men with vision (as well as stolen plans and financial records from other haunted houses) saw what it could become and made the necessary alterations. Now, it stood as a mecca for the Halloween devotees of California, people driving for hours to wander through its eerily enchanted hallways and yelp in terror. It wasn’t just the leaping actors that made it a special kind of scary; Screamtopia worked hard to create an entire atmosphere of fear. Visitors were allowed to come through in carefully limited groups so that they experienced a sense of isolation, a few Supers were kept on staff to bend the limits of what was and wasn’t possible in key areas, and of course, there was the maze.

“Thews a mwaze?”

“For the love of God, man, give it up,” Nick said. All of Team One was walking through the parking lot, trying not to be intimidated by the daunting line jutting out from the surprisingly well-lit building. The seven students were in anything but normal garb, each costumed into a Halloween persona, some closer to the truth than others.

“Sahwy,” Vince replied, awkwardly spitting the plastic fangs into his hand. He wore a black cape and faux crushed-velvet vest. His normally disheveled hair was slicked back, and a cheap plastic necklace hung around his neck. Even without the fangs, he was easily recognizable as a classic vampire.

“To answer your question, yeah, the maze is a big part of the appeal here. It runs across a few floors of the complex, and there are tons of routes that force you to split up. All of them eventually lead to the end, but the first one of a group to finish it gets a free drink at the lounge,” explained Hershel the Prisoner. The mummy costume had been a bust, and eventually he’d settled on a simple, orange-jumpsuit prisoner costume. It wasn’t terribly exciting, but it was functional and easy to move in, which was really all Hershel wanted. He usually got his fill of costumes from LARPing; for Hershel, Halloween was about the mystical sense of fear.

“Not that we can drink, anyway,” Princess Mary pointed out. She wore a purple dress that trailed the ground and a glittery tiara in her hair. “This is a respectable business, not a frat party with lax rules.”

“If I’ve learned one thing about this town, it’s that the local population has the resourcefulness of black ops agents when it comes to finding ways to drink,” Alice the Devil observed. She wore a tight pair of black leather pants and a black corset, pressing her noticeable chest upward. It was a corset with shoulders, and one that still left plenty to the imagination. Alice might be breaking out of her protected shell, but her risqué limit was still well below others her age. Atop her head was a pair of red horns that almost seemed natural, her voluminous locks hiding the string that held them in place.

Camille could have pointed out that such a thing could be said of college students anywhere, but as usual, she stayed silent. Her own costume was a pair of green scrubs and a white lab coat. There had been a stethoscope as part of the costume too, but she’d left it in her dorm rather than keep up with it all night. In truth, she wasn’t much of a fan of haunted houses, and had Stella and Violet not forced her to come, she doubted she would have left home. They were going to the frat party with their team, yet the two girls had been relentless in pressuring Camille to join in her group’s festivities. She craned her head, wishing she were taller so she could see her friends amidst the crowd. Her team was supposed to meet Will, Jill, and Selena near the entrance, so they could all go in together.

“In that spirit, my flask is more than decorative,” Nick said, his hand briefly touching the wooden gourd that hung on his hip next to his fake sword. He wore a flowing white shirt, black pants, and a pair of cuffed boots that were basic, but the coat, with all of its buttons and pockets, really brought the costume together. A few accessories, such as a bandanna and the flask, had been added for flair; however, they were hardly necessary. Even with the sunglasses, Nick couldn’t have been mistaken for anything but a pirate.

“Why am I not surprised?” Mary sighed. Ye gods, she really did feel like the mom of this group, and they were far from easy to parent.

“I don’t see any of the others,” Vince said, craning around. “What are they dressed as?”

“Jill is an Amazonian, and Selena is a pimp. I don’t think Will was going to wear a costume,” Alex supplied.

“I don’t suppose you can pick them out of the crowd?” Hershel asked Mary.

“You’re kidding, right? With this many people, this amped up, it’s like trying to hear one voice at a concert.”

“Just asking,” Hershel said.

“No worries, I found them,” Alex said. He was, surprisingly, not doing an encore of last year’s Jedi costume. Instead, he wore a red shirt with the Federation insignia stitched on it.

Mary gave him a speculative look. She knew he wasn’t lying, he didn’t have any reason to do so in a situation like this, but she wasn’t sure how it was possible he’d singled out those minds so easily. Mary had at first thought that she and Alex merely had different talents in different areas, but she was increasingly beginning to suspect their abilities worked in fundamentally different ways. It would be impossible to confirm, so it was ultimately pointless, yet still it nagged at her every now and then.

“Hey, guys,” Vince hollered, waving at the familiar forms as they came into view. His hand stopped abruptly and fell to his side. It didn’t take long for the others to see why. It seemed Selena, Will, and Jill had brought the others from Team Two with them. Standing there, looking equally unsure about how they would get through this line, were Chad, Julia, Rich, and the reason Vince’s hand had dropped like an anchor: Sasha.

Vince wondered if it was too late to make a run for the car.

54.

Screamtopia was proving to be as efficient as it was scary, which was very. A zombie guide led them through twisting halls with gaps that often held monsters waiting to leap out and just as often did not. It made the shocks harder to anticipate, and that made them all the more effective. The rooms themselves were decorated terror scenes; every prop and every costume spared no detail to craft an atmosphere of unapologetic horror. The walls echoed with yelps and even a few genuine screams.

The HCP students, beings who, in the back of their minds, thought themselves combat-hardened warriors already, found themselves just as prone to bouts of fright as the humans while they trod the bleary black halls. So dark was the building between rooms that one had to navigate half by touch, and even the usually unflappable Nick had to remove his sunglasses after his first several stumbles. It was a fun time overall; the telepaths even suspended their listening to better immerse themselves in the spirit of fear. The one potential blowup had been avoided so far, with neither Sasha nor Vince acknowledging each other and instead, merely moving at opposite ends of the group. Likely, they would have made it the whole night without so much as having to say “hi” if it hadn’t been for the maze. Then again, many things wouldn’t have happened that night if not for the maze.

“We have reached our parting point,” their zombie guide, Rathstein, instructed as they entered a room with five doors facing them. “I am no longer able to accompany you, for the magic that animates my putrid body will not sustain inside the Ghoul’s Labyrinth.”

His group glanced at each other excitedly. The kids always looked forward to the maze part; it was what made this haunted house truly unique. This was a bigger group than they usually took at any given time, but they’d been respectful and quiet during his speeches and spiels designed to set the mood. At this point, size didn’t matter anymore. No matter how big a group came through, the maze would see to it that every one of them felt the chill of death along their spine.

“Some parting words before you go: you may choose any door you wish and go through in whatever combinations you like. But be warned, the Ghoul’s Labyrinth is the only one who will decide your destination. Should you survive to the other side, you will find an oasis of relief waiting. For those of you who don’t . . . my corpsely comrades and I look forward to you joining our ranks.”

With that, Rathstein stepped to the side of the wall and fell silent. He shut his eyes and leaned against the wall, truly appearing to be a dead body propped up and forgotten by some killer or gravedigger with a presumably hectic schedule.

It was, predictably, Chad who went first. Without comment, he stepped to the first door and pulled it open. Waiting on the other side was an inky blackness that obscured what lay beyond, even to his enhanced vision.

“Anyone coming along?” Chad asked with a glance tossed over his shoulder. Will, Jill, and Rich walked over to join him. They filed through the opening one by one, and as the last one cleared the threshold, the door slammed forcefully shut, making the remaining people in the room jump a foot or so in the air.

When their hearts had slowed from thunderous pounding to a dull thudding, more groups split off through the doors. Alex and Selena took off through one opposite Chad’s exit point, Sasha and Julia scampered off through one of the diagonal ones, and Hershel and Mary took the other.

“Guess that leaves the lonely hearts club with the center door,” Nick commented once Hershel and Mary were gone from the room. After the initial exodus and the couples pairing off, the only people left were himself, Vince, Alice, and Camille.

“Oh joy,” Alice mumbled. Her words and tone were disappointed, even as her body language told a different story.

“Well, let’s get to it; I don’t want to fall too far behind,” Vince said, striding forward and opening the door. He plunged through without hesitation, Nick hot on his heels, followed by Camille and Alice.

Their door slammed shut like all the others, and Rathstein opened his eyes. He let out a sigh of relief at their exit; holding the corpse look took a lot of concentration. He wouldn’t have minded keeping his eyes open a bit longer, too. There had been several major hotties in that group. Most of them were spoken for, as usual, but he was pretty sure the devil girl hadn’t been leaping into anyone’s arms as they sashayed through the haunted house. Part of him was tempted to see if they lingered in the lounge once his shift was over—at that point, the staff was allowed to join the party—but he doubted he would. It was unlikely no one in that whole group had the hots for her, and all but one of the guys had been in almost strangely good shape. It was sort of weird to have a sampling of people that large and only one person out of shape, but Rathstein brushed it aside. They were probably all friends who’d met at the same gym or something.

The eerie sound of voices drifted to Rathstein’s ears. It seemed like the next group was drawing close. Not wasting any more time, Rathstein headed to the closest door and knocked three times. He waited and knocked twice more, then flung it open and hurried through. He emerged in the employee break room that led out to the lobby where they first met their groups. It was a useful little system the boss had developed; the lack of back tunnels for the staff to move through had freed up plenty of room in which to stuff more attractions. Rathstein checked his makeup in the mirror, then hustled out to meet his next group of charges.

He hoped this one would have more hot girls and fewer muscular males.

55.

When Alice first walked into the new room, she noticed the style more than anything else. It looked like an abandoned morgue. Gurneys were flipped over and left on the ground, doors to the freezer drawers hung open or had been ripped from the hinges entirely, and the whole room was bathed in a dim green light that reflected off the stained emerald tiles. Whoever built these scenes went to a lot of trouble; that was evident. There were bloody handprints scraping at the walls like someone had been dragged off, and a few scraps of clothing next to a forgotten name badge.

“Creepy,” Alice whispered to herself. Only after she’d thoroughly soaked in the eerie ambiance did she face her traveling companions. That was when she got a genuine fright.

“What the hell?”

“Yeah, that was our reaction too,” Rich said. He was dressed in a long coat with a top hat and carried a teacup in his pocket for when people asked who he was supposed to be. There were still three others besides Alice, but Vince and Camille had been replaced by Rich and Mary. “Looks like the rumors of them having a few Supers on hand are true; the doors must be portals.”

“Portals that randomize where each person comes out,” Nick added. It figured he would be the one person Alice was still stuck with. She wondered if his little luck ability had any bearing on this arrangement.

“Maybe random, maybe not,” Mary said. “All we know is they shuffled the group, possibly just to add one more element of the unexpected to the mix. It does leave one with an unstable feeling, after all.”

“Random or not, let’s just get this show on the road and head toward the lounge,” Alice suggested.

“Great idea,” Rich agreed. “Any thoughts on how?”

Alice looked around the room once more, realizing for the first time what the others had already observed. In all of the gory details that made this room come alive, one rudimentary piece was missing.

There was no door, only smooth emerald tiles rippling across every wall.

*      *      *

“Maybe we have to turn the statue’s head?” Alex tossed out.

“Good an idea as any,” Hershel agreed. He and Alex had wound up in the same room, an Egyptian-style tomb with scenes of bloody sacrifices adorning the walls. There was also a statue of Anubis in one corner, next to a few sarcophagi, so the duo headed over to investigate it.

“I still can’t believe they split us up like this,” Alex said appreciatively. “It was a hell of a slick move. These guys really go above and beyond.”

“True. At least we wound up with a friend. I’m not sure I’d have been as receptive to the change-up if I’d gotten someone I wasn’t on such good terms with.”

“Oh yeah, we totally lucked out. If we can’t run the maze with our girlfriends, running it with a buddy is almost as cool,” Alex agreed. He reached Anubis first, grasping the statue by the snout and tugging it right, then left. Anubis held fast, his stony neck offering up not even a bit of give. “No dice.”

“Crap.” Hershel leaned against a sarcophagus propped against the wall. To his surprise, he felt the lid slide a hair or so to the side. Hershel turned around and pushed the lid, moving it all the way over and revealing an exit into a dimly lit tunnel.

“Nice job,” Alex complimented. “How’d you even know that was there?”

Hershel shrugged. “Just lucky, I guess. Let’s see what’s next.”

Alex nodded his agreement, and the two boys plunged onward into mystery.

*      *      *

Vince was not one for superstitions, generally speaking. He simply didn’t have it in him to believe that throwing salt or avoiding ladders could significantly influence how life unfurled. Truthfully, until meeting Nick, he likely would have said he wasn’t even an adamant believer in the concept of luck. Be all of that as it was, Vince was finding himself rapidly becoming a believer in at least one superstitious constant: Murphy’s Law.

It wasn’t that the first room he’d wound up in was particularly challenging. It had merely been a series of plaster skeletons painted to look gory, as though the flesh had been rendered off of them. The trick to that room was finding the skull tucked away in a corner and placing it on the skeleton missing a head. Reuniting the two had triggered a switch that opened a door in the wall, and just like that, the way to the next adventure had been cleared.

It wasn’t that he was scared, either. Vince had spent most of his life walking in darkness so as not to be noticed. Remote locations, unexplained noises, dim lighting, these things were no more terrifying to him than a white picket fence would be to normal people. Even in the haunted house, it had only been the surprise of people leaping out that caused his adrenaline to surge. With that stimulus gone, his perception of terror was rapidly retreating.

It wasn’t even that he was upset about his group being rearranged, specifically. He grasped that it was part of the fun of such a place, expecting the unexpected and having one’s preconceptions turned on their head. He understood the need for such a practice; however, this specific outcome seemed to indicate that someone up in the cosmos must bear a grudge against him.

“I think I see another room ahead,” Vince said, his voice bouncing off the walls. “See how the light changes to a red glow?”

“I know what a fucking change in lighting means. It’s our third goddamned room. I’m not stupid, despite what you might think,” Sasha snapped, her teeth practically dripping in venom.

Vince opened his mouth to apologize, then thought better of it. He’d tried talking a few times, only to relay necessary information or discuss strategy, and that had pretty much been the constant reaction. So instead of focusing on communicating, he turned his attention to getting this maze the hell over with. Hopefully, if that sly old dog Murphy wasn’t up to his usual tricks, there would only be a few rooms left to go.

If Vince had been more superstitious, he would have known that such thoughts are like chum to the gods of mischief.

56.

It was no surprise to Nick that his group was the first to arrive in the rhythmically thumping lounge with red light cascading from the ceilings. He had something of a knack for mazes and puzzles, plus Rich had proven to be more observant than expected. The result was four people cutting a veritable swath through the variety of rooms after their initial slow start in the morgue (the secret had been to find the tunnel hidden in one of the corpse drawers). Nick glanced at the party-filled room, immediately assessing the variety of costumed revelers and noting that none of the others he knew were yet present. He briefly considered putting his sunglasses back on, but with only the crimson lighting and a night spent without his eyes adjusted to less light, it was a recipe to invite disaster. Besides, Nick enjoyed his pirate outfit and the glasses took away from the effect.

“I think I see a booth.” Alice pointed to a corner of the lounge with a black and orange booth that was either currently empty or populated by people in exceptional Invisible Man costumes. It looked large enough to contain the bulk of their party, which was no small feat.

Nick nodded his agreement and the four hustled over. They made it just before another set of partiers their age, these dressed like a famous rock group, arrived. Some dirty looks were exchanged, but all of the faux musicians scampered away in short order. Dim as they were, it was clear the four already in the booth were utterly unconcerned by their ire.

“We could have invited them to join us,” Mary said as the brightly-colored marching uniforms slinked away.

“Pass,” Rich said. “I don’t associate with the lower beings unless I have to.”

“Lower beings?” Alice was surprised at the shard of anger in her voice.

“Consider your audience carefully,” Nick cautioned. “It’s been a pleasant night so far.”

“Relax, I’m not talking about you guys. Previous freaks or not, you’re more important now. I’m talking about humans.”

“I’m not sure if that’s better,” Alice replied.

Rich rolled his eyes. “Fine, my mistake. But you weren’t exactly rolling out the red carpet either.”

“That’s because we wanted to save room for everyone else,” Alice said.

“Whatever, forget about it.”

“I’m not sure I want to. Do you really think of humans as lesser people?”

“It’s not an opinion, it’s fact. They’re weaker, slower, dumber, all around less-capable entities. Don’t paint me as an asshole for saying what all of us think.”

“Everyone doesn’t think that,” Mary said, her voice barely audible over the same background music that protected their conversation.

“I guess you’d know. Look, I’m done with this line of discussion. Let’s drop it, shall we?”

“I’m fine with that,” Nick agreed. He’d known enough people like Rich to see that there was no traction to be made in arguing. “How about a different topic? Tell us about the talent that makes you better than human, Rich.”

“Nice try, but I’m not doling out hints about how to beat me, either.”

“I didn’t mean like that. You don’t have to give away weaknesses; I’m just curious what exactly happens to people when you freeze them up. Are they stuck watching you or something?” Nick inquired.

“Not really. The truth is I seal them away inside their own minds. I can construct a delusion for them to wander around in, or just plunk them into their own subconscious and leave them to meander,” Rich said. A blaring note of pride was quite conspicuous in his voice.

“That sounds pretty cool,” Alice complimented.

“It comes in handy.”

“I like it, but I’m not sure how effective it would be,” Nick said. “I mean, someone with mental training could probably free themselves once they knew it was all fake.”

“Trust me,” Rich assured him, “They don’t.”

“Whatever you say, Chief. I’m getting a drink.” Nick began to scoot along the vinyl, bumping Mary to force her to move with him so he could get free.

“You think it’s that easy to overcome?”

“Not at all,” Mary said, trying to calm him.

“I’m just pointing out that the only person we’ve seen it work on is Roy, and he’s not really an intellectual juggernaut,” Nick prodded.

“Let’s test your theory, then.” Rich drove his knee upward, slamming it into the bottom of the table. The noise wasn’t loud enough to draw looks from beyond their area, but it did startle everyone at the booth into glancing in his direction. That glance was all it took; the moment they met his eyes, Rich sealed all three of them away. Their bodies froze in place, the muscles tensing enough to hold their positions. Nick and Mary were awkwardly propped against each other, the unfortunate outcome of being in movement when stopped. Alice, at least, looked a bit more natural. Rich could have let them go limp, or stowed them into some maniacal hell-dream that would have them freaking out; however, he sensed that would have led to more trouble than it was worth. Instead, he’d just chunked them into their own subconscious without bothering to give their illusion any shape. They’d still be pissed, but it would show that loud-mouth Nick just whose power was weak.

Rich looked around to see if there was a waitress anywhere near. He couldn’t very well leave them like this, yet he greatly wanted a drink. Using his power always gave him cotton-mouth, though for the life of him he could never figure out why. The unrelenting music bouncing off the walls wasn’t exactly making him more comfortable, either. Ah well, at least he didn’t have to deal with incessant yapping coupled with an overblown bass line.

*      *      *

“I haven’t found anything yet.” Vince very much wanted to ask her if she’d had more success; however, he knew if he did, she’d snap back that if she had, wouldn’t she have told him? In truth, he doubted she would. It was more likely Sasha would just open the passageway and continue on without so much as a grunt of indication.

“Keep looking.” You could have chilled a lake with the ice in her voice. The two of them had hit a frustrating snag with this latest room. It was built to look like an outdoor graveyard, complete with bursts of chilling winds, lush green grass, and gray marble headstones bursting forth from soft, malleable dirt. The designer had even engraved each of the headstones; Vince walked past one where the name had been worn away, but “1818 – 1857. Died by drowning” was still visible. The edges of the room were dark and obscured; one had to walk right up to them and grope around to feel anything solid. It was truly a masterpiece of craftsmanship, one that Vince would have probably enjoyed far more in different circumstances. Unfortunately, the room was more difficult to find a way out of than any of the previous ones, and his company was growing more and more irritable with each passing minute.

“This is bullshit. There has to be a way out!” Sasha’s wrath had tweaked her voice to a higher level than normal.

“I’m sure we’ll find it eventually,” Vince assured her. “These things aren’t meant to actually keep people in, after all.”

“Oh, fuck you, I bet you’re loving this.”

“Yes, Sasha, this is my greatest dream realized at last.”

“Just look harder, dickhead.”

Vince bit his tongue and redoubled his efforts. Baseless accusations aside, he would have rather been in a Coach George workout session than in this room with Sasha. He just hoped his patience would hold until he managed to escape to sweet, sweet freedom.

57.

Mary was in the woods. This wasn’t just any random cluster of trees though, these were her woods. She tread along the small path, one that had been carved by her own feet through the years, and breathed deep of the clean air and silence. She’d forgotten how quiet her woods were, how peaceful they made her feel. This wasn’t just a telepathic silence, either; she could now achieve that one on her own. This was a world without car horns and buzzing electric lines and humming air conditioners. This was a place of peace. Well . . . almost. Every now and then, Mary caught a sound from another direction, something like the sound her parents’ change had made when she’d knocked it from the counter as a child. Mary didn’t know why that memory crystallized so clearly; she’d barely been three at the time. But for a moment, she could swear she saw that toddler version of herself peeking back from behind a tall oak. Then she blinked, and it was gone.

The rogue sound persisted. It came in snippets, always out of sight, but always from the same direction. It was off to the east. Mary didn’t know what it could be; all that lay in that direction was the small lake she’d splashed about in when the sun grew oppressively hot. It wasn’t lake weather today: it was a perfect temperature, the kind where she could have lounged among the leaves until sunset. The noise didn’t want to let her, however. It insisted upon intruding in her woods, poaching her precious peace with its chittering tones.

It came again, and Mary adjusted her direction. She would attend to whatever it was and then resume her day. She hadn’t been home for a long time, and even if she couldn’t remember how she’d come to be here, Mary was going to damned well enjoy herself. As she walked, it seemed like the light slipping through the trees was changing. It had been a slightly overcast but bright day when she was on her path; now the sun was glowing a hot yellow overhead. The canopy began to thicken, the leaves turning from their emerald green to a steadily deepening autumn red. A curiosity splashed against the bulwark of Mary’s peace. Why were the leaves changing? It wasn’t the right season for that, was it? Mary began to realize she didn’t know what season it was, or what day it was. With every step, she was becoming increasingly aware of how little sense this all made. How had she even gotten back here? Hadn’t she been somewhere . . . doing something . . . with some people? The memories were resisting her, but Mary was becoming more dogged in her insistence that they appear.

She glanced around and realized the canopy had turned into a red ceiling, dozens of mini-suns glaring down at her from its crimson heights. No, not suns. Light bulbs; it was a ceiling with seemingly endless recessed lights. The trees were no longer very tree-shaped either. They’d thinned out and taken on a silver shimmer. Each had only a single branch, angled upward at its side like an arm raised to answer a question. The fronts seemed to have strange symbols on them; Mary stared closely at one before realizing it looked like a crude drawing of a lemon. A tickle in the back of her mind insisted she knew this peculiar shape, but she just couldn’t access it. Instead, she plodded onward, making note of what changed as she did. The trees were shrinking; the tallest ones now stood only around seven feet tall. They were getting boxier, too. As she moved forward, Mary noticed mushrooms in front of the trees were growing taller, with wider red tops and black stems. She brushed the top of one and found it soft, yet the stem was cold and hard.

“Stools,” Mary said softly. She didn’t understand why it wouldn’t come earlier; that was obviously what the mushrooms were changing into. Maybe it was because, in her forest there were no stools, so such knowledge served no purpose in this place. But this wasn’t her forest anymore; it hadn’t been for nearly half a mile. Mary rolled that thought around in her brain. She knew how far she’d walked, but her feet weren’t sore at all, and despite her brisk pace, she’d never once taken a ragged breath. This wasn’t right at all.

Mary began to run forward, the silver box trees whipping by her in an increasingly swift blur. She never could have moved this quickly before. Why was it so effortless now? The world slipped past her, the trees and mushrooms seeming to move like a flip book, each passing one becoming identical to the others around it. All at once, Mary burst forth from the trees and found herself standing in a room that positively dripped with the tinkling sound she’d heard in the woods. It was no longer a gentle annoyance, now it was an overbearing anthem encasing her. It was the sound of coins cascading onto metal, and an electronic mimic was being blared by every slot machine in the room, of which there were hundreds.

“Slot machines.” That’s what the trees had been turning into . . . why couldn’t she see that before? Mary stood on the threshold of the lobby, a row of slots to her back and a beautiful marble floor only one step away. Upon it were tables lined with green felt, bars set up strategically at key intervals, and nothing even close to resembling a window to the outside. There were people, too: big men in striped suits, older couples rhythmically tugging the arms of machines that refused to pay out, tall women in skimpy clothes carting drinks to the cheerful gamblers. Mary had heard about places like this—she’d seen them featured in movies—but never in her life had she actually been to a casino. Given the high emotion and packed population, it would have been an indescribable hell in her Powered days. She wondered how such a place had manifested in her woods, and without thinking, she took that final step onto the main floor.

Mary nearly doubled over at the bursting sensation that ripped through her head as soon as her foot made contact with the polished marble. It all came flooding back—everything that existed outside her forest. Lander, Alice, George, the match, Halloween, the look in Rich’s eye as he’d stared at them . . . and then it all made sense.

Mary picked herself up slowly, making sure there weren’t going to be any aftershocks from that mental dam breaking. Everything seemed to be responding appropriately, so she started to venture forward. She’d nearly forgotten Rich could induce paralyzing illusions in people’s minds. It seemed she had something of a travel visa; at least, this certainly didn’t seem like her mind anymore. That would explain why she was aware of her predicament, perhaps. As her sneakers trod across the ground, she made sure to take in as many details as possible. Unless Alice had a gambling problem she’d hidden exceptionally well for the past year, Mary had a strong hunch of just whose brain she was taking a tour of, and this was not an opportunity to be squandered.

58.

“Where is the fucking exit from this place?” Sasha yelled, her voice echoing outward across the marble headstones. She kicked a patch of grass and sent dirt flying into the air. They’d been stuck in the same room for nearly ten minutes, and her original demeanor was positively divine compared to the funk she’d degenerated into.

“I’m sure we’ll find it,” Vince assured her. He examined another headstone, reading the inscription, checking to see if it had any give and feeling around for hidden compartments.

“Like you’re even trying.”

“I promise you, I am doing my best to get us free from this place.”

“Oh, wow, you promise? Now, if only you weren’t a lying fuckwad who’d spent a year deceiving me that would mean something. Too bad.”

Vince held his tongue yet again and moved on to another grave. Sasha was right: he had lied to her. He’d lied to everyone, and regardless of what his reasons were, he had to accept the consequences. He just wished the consequences would let it be for a few minutes.

Sasha was in no mood to let up, unfortunately. This was her first real time alone with Vince since the revelation, and at long last, her stewing anger had an appropriate outlet. “I bet you already found the exit when we got here, you’ve just been keeping it secret.”

“You’ve looked almost everywhere I’ve looked,” Vince pointed out.

“Right, because you’d never do something like conceal the truth so others couldn’t find it.”

“Sasha, I don’t disagree that I lied to you about what I was before we met. That doesn’t mean everything I’ve told you is a lie, and it doesn’t mean that I want to stay in this fake graveyard while you yell at me all night.”

“And why should I believe that? You spent a year lying to keep me near, what makes this any different?”

“Because whoever you are tonight isn’t the girl I fell in love with. You’re angry, you’re loud, and you seem to lack empathy for anything outside of yourself. Now, I’ll take responsibility for what I did, and I’ll keep apologizing if you want to hear it, but that doesn’t mean I want to be around you like this. Trust me: no one wants to get away from here more than me.” Vince stared at her, watching Sasha’s throat bob up and down as her face flexed through a variety of emotions too quick and too complex for Vince to make out.

“Fuck this, I’m getting out of here,” Sasha said at last. She’d regained most of her composure, but some of the fire seemed to have gone out of her voice.

“How?”

“How else, jackass? I’m going to tear this whole place apart until I find the door. Shouldn’t take more than a minute.”

Vince jumped up from his position of perching over a headstone. “You can’t! Remember the signs at the front? They said every room had cameras for surveillance.”

“Who cares?” Sasha knew she was being obstinate just for the sake of it, but she couldn’t help herself.

“If anyone who watches that video goes to Lander, or is even associated with the college, you could be reported. You’d be gone before Christmas.”

Sasha looked at him; all he wore on his face was concern. Vince had come as close to calling her a bitch as someone like him was capable of, yet he still cared that she was putting herself in danger. For some reason, that made her already knotted stomach twist in a horrifying new direction.

“Worth the risk.” Sasha took a step back and prepared to start her rampage through the graves. Vince’s strong hand closed around her arm, not squeezing, but still holding her firm.

“What about Jill’s secret? Or Camille’s? Rich, Chad, Alex, all of them are your friends and you’re putting them at risk. We came here together, we all moved as a group. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that if you’re a Super, we might be too.”

Sasha pulled a little and found Vince’s grip unyielding.

“I don’t want you to do something stupid and endanger yourself, but given our past, I don’t think I have the right to stop you. However, this isn’t just about you. What you do right now can seriously impact the people who trust you. So even if this sucks for a while, just try and bear it. Please.”

“You’re so centered on Vince lying to you and the betrayal you feel over that; have you ever stopped to really ask yourself why he did it?”

“You’re such a bastard.” Sasha didn’t turn around; she kept her eyes trained on the dark edges of the room. Everything seemed a little blurrier than before, and Sasha felt something warm on her cheek. “You can’t even let me hate you properly.”

“I’m sorry.” Vince let go of her arm, but didn’t make any other motions. She was clearly facing away from him on purpose; he didn’t want to move until she was ready to be seen.

“Of course you’re sorry. You’re always sorry for things you even think you did wrong. I want you to tell me something: why did you lie?”

“Excuses don’t matter, I still did it.”

“I’m the one who got deceived. I get to decide what matters and what doesn’t.” Sasha pretended to run a hand through the side of her hair so she could wipe away the tears with her wrist. It wasn’t a very fluid motion, and she doubted it fooled him, but it was the best she could do.

“I guess that’s fair. We weren’t supposed to tell anyone for our own safety. We didn’t know how people would react. We had a hunch it would put us in danger, at the very least.”

“I’m not asking why you lied to everyone. I’m asking why you lied to me. After everything we shared, after all that time together, did you really think you couldn’t risk your secret with me?”

Vince hesitated, contemplating what to say next. He’d asked himself that question so many times over the past few months, and imagined just as many variations of what he would tell Sasha if given the opportunity currently before him. In the end, he went with the only thing that had ever seemed acceptable to answer with: the truth. “I would have taken the chance and trusted you; I really believe I would have. But it wasn’t my risk to take.”

“You were worried about the others.”

“I was. Letting this out changed everything. It’s made us pariahs and targets. For the rest of our lives, we’ll be known as the first batch of freaks, the ones who changed everything. We’ll never get normal lives, not even what passes for normal in the world of Supers. I couldn’t gamble everyone’s future on my faith in anyone, not even the girl I loved. It wouldn’t have been right. Not that what I did was right, either. I had a hard choice, and I made it. I’m sorry it hurt you.”

“Me too,” Sasha said. “Look, let’s just work together and get out of here, okay?”

“Okay,” Vince agreed.

“I’ll check the tombstones on the left, you do the ones on the right. Sooner or later, we’ll crack this thing,” Sasha instructed. She headed off toward some graves, doing her best to wipe away the remaining tears as covertly as possible. Vince noticed, of course, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he went back to work.

Though they were still trapped in a spooky graveyard room in the middle of a maze, it was curiously peaceful now that all the yelling had dispersed.

59.

The world of Nick’s mind was ridiculously detailed. Mary could hardly believe the intricate design of the tile floor, or the way the occasional table would bear scratches and scuffs, or how every person she encountered was wholly unique. It was evident they weren’t real people, of course; no matter how well-crafted the cigar-puffing men or scantily-clad waitresses were, they still grew hazy at the edges, identifying them as mere chunks of Nick’s mind rather than flesh and blood. Because of that blurring effect, Mary was instantly able to recognize Nick when she found him, which was fortunate because she likely would have missed him otherwise.

Despite the glimpses she’d had into his thoughts, Mary had always imagined the Nick she knew was just a slight variation on the real one. Surely he didn’t wear those silly sunglasses or act as purposefully confounding when he was away from Lander, but she assumed many of his other habits and fashions remained the same. As her eyes fell across the well-dressed young man raking in chips at the poker table, Mary realized just how wrong that assumption had been. His hair was styled in an expert manner, the suit that whispered across his form had clearly been crafted specifically for him, but most distinctive of all was his face. The Nick she knew generally wore a look of affable ignorance, as if he was merely wandering through the world and chuckling at the things that fell across his path. This Nick didn’t conceal his intellect; his eyes roved the world in front of him and devoured every detail they could find. There were no emotions, not even fake ones, decorating his visage. He gave away nothing and took in everything: that was the essence of Nicholas Campbell.

Mary approached slowly, taking the seat of a man who stalked away with a sad look and presumably lighter pockets. The dealer looked at her with a curious glance, and Mary suddenly realized she didn’t have any money to enter the game. The dealer motioned for her to leave, and she began to slide off the chair’s vinyl red cushion.

“She stays.” Nick’s voice wasn’t a command, nor was it a request. He spoke like he was calmly discussing geography or math, things that were simply fact. There was no room for denial in his tone; what he said simply was.

“Thank you,” Mary replied, readjusting in her seat.

“No problem.” Nick motioned in the air, and a waitress materialized at his side. She carried a clear glass with a brown liquid inside, which she placed next to Nick while collecting the empty ones he’d presumably already drained. Mary noticed the girl had long blonde hair and a familiar facial structure, but declined from mentioning it.

“So, your power lets you come into my brain now, huh?”

Mary tilted her head in surprise. “You already know where we are?”

“I didn’t originally. The owl was a good hint.” Nick pointed to the ceiling, where Mary could see a snowy white bird sailing between the chandeliers. She recognized it immediately; that species had frequented her forest since before she’d moved to it.

“How did that get here?”

“My guess is that you accidently pulled some of your world into mine when you made the trip. I didn’t start noticing the inconsistencies around here until a few minutes ago, so maybe you crossing over broke whatever part of Rich’s ability keeps us unaware that we’re in an illusion.”

“Seems closer to a dream.”

“Or a carefully controlled coma, if we’re splitting hairs. Anyway, the point is, I could sense something that didn’t belong, and that’s when I started getting a feeling that none of this was right.”

“You have to admit, this is kind of neat.”

“Of course you’d think that,” Nick scowled. “You’re not the one with a stranger traipsing around in your head.”

“Nothing we can do about it until he frees us.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Nick turned his attention back to the cards just as a pair of hulking male figures appeared behind Mary’s chair. “See, this place is a perfect replica of my casino, which means the things around here were pulled from my brain rather than constructed by Rich. Knowing that, I can’t just let you wander about. My friends here will show you to the mandatory hospitality suite until we’re both back in the real world.”

“Come on, Nick, aren’t you being silly?”

“I’ve made it comfortable and lavish, so try to take it as a courtesy. I can’t stop you from digging through my thoughts, but I’ll be damned if I’ll have you peering through keyholes into the deeper parts of my mind.”

A rough hand settled on Mary’s shoulder. It wasn’t forceful, but it was there to send a clear message.

“If you’d asked nicely, I would have promised to just sit here with you. I’m a little insulted by the goon squad; I think it’s time for them to leave.” Mary sent a blast of telekinetic energy toward each thug, enough to drive them into and through the walls. Since they weren’t real, she didn’t bother with holding back, which made it all the more surprising when neither of them moved an inch.

“Oh, Mary, did you really think your powers would work in here? This is my mind, after all.”

Mary tried again, and again, and again as the security agent on the right gently pulled her from the table and began to escort her toward a set of stairs leading downward.

“Why not just let me stay with you?” Mary called over her shoulder.

“Nothing personal, but I don’t trust you. Besides, I have things to do,” Nick replied, rising from the table and turning his back on the stack of chips resting on the green felt. “A man rarely gets lucid access to a world his own brain has created. This is an opportunity I don’t intend to squander.”

Mary struggled slightly against her muscular escorts, but found neither of them loosened their grips in the slightest. She wasn’t surprised. Nick had already made the truth evident: this was his world, she was merely visiting it. The most she could do was speculate whether he’d been serious about the luxury of her cell, hope Rich released them in short order, and think of all the ways she was going to painfully pay him back for this when they got free.

60.

“Ig and Ook?” The two suited figures continued down the hall, each one resting a hand on Mary’s closest shoulder. The hallway was sparse, nothing but stone on every surface, only interrupted by the occasional door. With each one, Mary would tense in anticipation, expecting them to hurl her inside and complete her incarceration. So far, they had merely kept walking, the final door of her journey not yet having appeared before them.

“Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum?” No reaction. Mary was amusing herself by trying to guess the names of her guards. She realized it was possible they were new creations cobbled together just for this purpose, beings who had no real names, but then again, it wasn’t like she had anything else to do. She’d already tried reading their minds and moving things with her telekinesis. Unfortunately, Nick’s words had held true; as long as she was in his mind, her powers didn’t exist. Except they did, in that they were what allowed her to be here in the first place. It was a bit confusing and had begun to give Mary a headache, hence why she’d moved on to the simpler game of name guessing.

“Watson and Holmes? Kit and Kat? Cloak and Dagger? Come on, guys, at least tell me if I’m hot or cold.” Her attendants remained silent, but as Mary glanced up at them, she noticed a large hand wrap around each of their skulls. With one swift movement and a sharp cracking sound, the two craniums had been struck together and the escorts collapsed in a heap. Mary turned slowly around, trying to figure out just who there was to help her in a place like this. Whatever she’d expected, what she found was quite different.

“I believe they’re called Tick and Tock,” said Mary’s rescuer. He was tall and lean, with a bald head, a sharp nose, and otherwise unremarkable features except for his eyes. His eyes seemed to sparkle with kindness; they made him seem like the kind of person to be instantly and completely trusted. Given whose mind Mary was currently trespassing in, it was a quality that had the effect of leaving her exceptionally suspicious. “Their names change with Nick’s moods. Mine is more stable; you may call me Gerry.”

“Thanks for the help, Gerry,” Mary said skeptically. “But I’m a little confused. Nick wants me sealed up, and everything in here is a part of Nick’s brain, so why did you knock out the guards?”

Gerry gave her a reassuring smile. “A person is made of more than singular desires. Often, they have conflicting impulses, powerful inclinations for things that are opposite in nature. Tick and Tock are part of Nick’s extensive defensive army, the part of him that keeps distance between his heart and the rest of the world.”

“So what are you?”

“I’m the part of Nick that wants to connect to other people. The real Gerry is the one who is largely responsible for my existence, hence why I look this way. He’s quite likely the only person in the world Nick truly trusts, let alone loves. His influence left a crack in your friend’s otherwise impenetrable outer shell.”

“I see. Is that why you saved me?” Mary still wasn’t sure she believed this new mental figment; however, she had to admit he was more pleasant than the last ones.

“Partially. It’s mostly because Nick is trying to find a place in here he shouldn’t go. I need you to stop him.”

“Why can’t you do it?”

“I’m a piece of him; my input was registered in the subconscious already. And it was ignored, as usual, unfortunately. So I’ve decided to pursue more drastic measures.”

“Like using a trespasser to interfere for you. Nice catch of a loophole. You really are a part of Nick.”

“Guilty as charged.”

“I have to ask: what reason do I have to trust you? I’m not certain going deeper into Nick’s mind is the safest recreational activity.”

“Mary, right now we are already under the surface layer of his subconscious, that’s why I was able to come help you. Down here, I’m an independent component. If you want to wander around without me, that’s your choice, but keep in mind that there are far more components to Nick than just myself and the twins. Very few of them are as pleasant as we, and some of them can be downright horrifying. They do have one thing in common you should be aware of, though: in this place, they’re all quite real.”

“You make a compelling case. Lead the way,” Mary said quickly. For the first time, she was beginning to understand just how vulnerable she was without her powers. Gerry might be lying out of his ass; however, he at least seemed to have a purpose for saving her. It was the kind of self-serving logic she could believe when dealing with Nick, so she was willing to acknowledge it would make sense for a chunk of his mind to work along the same lines.

At this point, all she could do was follow along and hope Rich woke them up soon.

61.

The shape of Alice’s subconscious might have surprised people who were unfamiliar with her. It wasn’t the large, lavish estate she’d grown up on. That had felt more like a prison in her formative years, a place she was sealed away lest she get too happy and go floating off. It also wasn’t anything from her later life; despite her love of Lander and the people she’d met there, everything about it tended to bubble with stress and worry. Those elements made it unsuitable for a mental stronghold; such places are meant to be points of comfort and serenity. No, Alice’s subconscious was formed in the shape of the only location where she’d ever really been able to let the world and the worries all melt away.

Alice sipped champagne as the expert beautician worked feverishly on her pedicure. She’d already sampled the spa’s mud bath and steam room, and after this she planned on a lengthy massage to get that pesky knot in her shoulder out. Once that was done, well, who could say where her whimsy would take her? This facility was massive, gleaming white, and thick with the scent of candles. It teemed with capable staff ready to accommodate her every desire. Certainly there were a few locked doors that led to deeper areas where things wouldn’t be quite so pleasant, but Mary had burst into Nick’s mind and restored awareness, not Alice’s. So Alice was just fine letting those doors stay locked; she had neither the inclination nor the capacity to go mind-spelunking.

“My, this is a strange scenario.” The voice came from behind Alice’s chair. It was foreign, yet refined and cultured. Alice prided herself on her ability to discern one’s upbringing from their speech patterns, and this one had been strongly influenced by the necessities of high society.

“I didn’t realize there were any other customers here today. Please, take a seat and join me.” Alice had no particular inclinations to share her space; however, someone with a voice like that probably had the sort of power and influence her father fastidiously cultivated. He’d be more than a little put-out if she inadvertently snubbed someone of influence.

“I appreciate the invitation.” The voice stepped forward to reveal the man it was connected to. He was tall, though not exceptionally so. His cocoa skin was clad in a well-constructed suit that eschewed the tie in favor of an open-throat shirt. He smiled at Alice with unexpected warmth, and she had the strangest sense of déjà vu.

“My pleasure. Would you care for some champagne, Mr. . . .”

“Abridail. Just call me Abridail.”

“Very well, would you care for some champagne, Abridail?”

“Gladly. Not often I see places like this. I feel like I should enjoy it.” Within moments, a fresh, sparkling glass arrived at his side. He sipped it thoughtfully, pausing to appreciate the quality of the bubbling wine.

“So, if I may inquire, your name is rather unique. Is there a story behind it, or perhaps a unique cultural origin?”

“No, it’s just a fake name I use when I’m off Walking,” Abridail replied, taking another sip. “On the rare occasion people remember me, I don’t want them able to track me down.”

“Forgive me, what do you mean by ‘off Walking’?”

“Walking through dreams. Don’t feel bad if you didn’t know this was one; most people don’t. It’s a strange one at that, even for dreams. Barely even qualifies as one. It’s more like someone stuck a blank canvas on display and called it art.”

“This doesn’t seem to make much sense,” Alice said, her relaxation bubble beginning to quiver as it neared a full-on burst.

“Don’t worry, it will soon. Once you accept it’s a dream, you get a higher level of control. You tend to like that.”

“Tend to? How would you know that?”

“I’ve visited you in many dreams, Alice. Unfortunately, you’re such a deep sleeper you never remember them. I only keep plugging away because I’m a man of my word and I have a message to deliver.”

“What kind of message can only be delivered through dreams?”

“The sort that is so delicate no one is crazy enough to whisper it aloud, lest God himself should overhear.”

Alice hesitated, and the world around them seemed to flicker. “I’m not sure I’d want to hear a message like that. It sounds like a burden.”

“I won’t lie to you, that’s exactly what it is. But once you build up your courage with a few starter questions you’ll ask about it. You always do.”

“If you say so. This message of yours, who is it from, anyway?”

Abridail gave her another warm smile and finished off his champagne. “That’s the part that generally piques your interest in the first place. The truth of it is, I’m here on behalf of your mother.”

*      *      *

“So, what is Nick trying to do that’s so dangerous anyway?” Mary’s words came easy despite the brisk pace at which she and Gerry were cutting through the hall. They’d taken a multitude of twists and turns and descended several more staircases in a very brief time. The scenery was changing as they progressed. While it was still only halls and doors, they’d ceased looking quite so inviting. Instead of red wood, most of the doors now were made from steel, with large locks securing their knobs in place. It was evident they were going into the more defended parts of Nick’s mind, which Mary might have felt some reluctance in viewing if she wasn’t being escorted by a part of Nick. It still felt a bit ethically sticky; however, she reassured herself she hadn’t seen anything but doors, so it’s not like she was snooping.

“He’s looking for a memory that doesn’t exist,” Gerry informed her. “He’s working off the belief that, while in his mind, he can view parts of his past that he can’t recall while conscious.”

Mary remembered how easily she’d recalled the sound of knocking the change from the counter when she was three. “He might be right.”

“Of course he’s right. Still, there’s a threshold; a person would have had to be old enough to interpret all the various things around them and put them in context to form a valid memory. What he’s searching for goes beyond that point.”

“If it doesn’t exist, then why are you so worried?”

“Because, while a real record doesn’t exist, he’s fantasized about it so many times that there’s a lot of realistic looking fakes down here.”

“Can’t he tell the difference?”

“If it were something he was more objective about, then probably. In this case, I have serious doubts.”

“Gerry, exactly what memory is Nick looking for?” Mary felt a cold tickle up her spine. There was a lot about Nick that spoke to more than was on the surface and hinted at a past with misfortune and complexities. She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to get too close to something that made even the ever-detached Nick too emotional to use reason.

Gerry shook his head. “I can’t tell you that. I think you need to know it, but telling you would overstep the bounds of what I can do.”

“Won’t I see it when we catch up to Nick anyway?”

“We’re not trying to catch Nick. There are too many places he could be.”

“Then where are we going?”

“We’re going to the most protected place in his entire psyche. If he senses anything foreign there, he’ll drop what he’s doing and come to intercept you,” Gerry explained.

“Won’t that make him mad?”

“Absolutely. But it won’t destroy him.”

“I’ll take that to mean this other thing could,” Mary surmised.

“Smart girl.”

“Must be one hell of a day he wants to remember.”

Gerry nodded. “You’ll understand more when we arrive.”

“I thought we were going somewhere different than the place Nick is searching for?”

“We are, but the two are connected. That’s really all I can say. Sorry, but I’m only a piece of the whole; there are limits I can’t overcome.”

“I won’t say I understand, because this is all pretty insane, but I take your meaning.”

“That will do for now,” Gerry assured her. “Keep your eyes peeled. We’re almost there.”

62.

Chad, Will, Jill, and Camille all stepped into the lounge from the maze and were overcome by the shift in scenery. Going from the forced, creepy quiet of the various scenes into the red lighting and thumping bass of the new environment was like slipping from a sunny beach into a nearly frozen, icy pool. They adjusted in short order, and set about searching for their comrades.

The group had made good time through the labyrinth—after their initial confusion at Camille’s appearance in place of Rich—but they’d found themselves stumped enough times that their exit had fallen sometime after Rich had sent the others into their own minds. Chad spotted his teammate almost immediately, walking over to the table and motioning for the others to join him. As Chad grew nearer, he noticed the stiff way in which Nick, Mary, and Alice sat. They blinked and breathed, but did little else. To someone who hadn’t worked with Rich before, they might have been mistaken for bored listeners. Chad knew better; he’d seen that posture in too many conquered opponents to mistake it for anything else.

“You sealed them.”

“Not even a hello? I’m a little hurt,” Rich replied.

“Why would you do that?”

“Nick was questioning the validity of my power, so it seemed a live demonstration was in order.”

“In the middle of a crowded room, with countless witnesses, any of whom might have seen what happened and put it all together.” Chad’s tone left no uncertainty that he was unhappy, and much as Rich liked to rib his captain, he realized he needed to get a handle on the situation soon. Chad was a nice guy, but he didn’t tolerate activities that might put their secret, and therefore their standing in the HCP, at risk.

“I’ve kept them looking natural, don’t worry,” Rich assured him. “I can let them out if you want.”

“Go slow, and do it gently,” Chad instructed. “The last thing we need is one of them freaking out and drawing more attention to us.”

“Understood,” Rich said obediently. He meant it too. Chad was the one person against whom Rich had no ace in the hole. Everyone else, it was just a matter of catching their eye, but for some reason, when it came to the blond captain, Rich’s mind mojo was utterly ineffective. He began the effort of pulling the frozen folks out from their delusions. He could have done it in a series of seconds, but if Chad wanted gentle, it would take a bit of time. Oh well, it wasn’t like it made any difference to the people he’d sealed. They were still in their own heads, blissfully killing time doing nothing important.

*      *      *

This wasn’t just a door, this was a battered vault. The entry was blocked by a circular steel front several inches thick. The walls around it had been blasted and chiseled away, leaving it slightly ajar. A multitude of chains were strewn across it, each one severed and hanging limply. The rubble from countless guards littered the ground around Mary and Gerry’s feet, some of their stone faces still twisted in the agony of their destruction. Cameras, lasers, bombs, and other defenses of the sort filled the area, all rendered useless, if not outright obliterated.

“I don’t understand,” Mary said. “Did you do this?”

“No, Nick did.”

“Then who set the defenses to begin with?”

“That was Nick, too,” Gerry told her.

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Doesn’t it? Haven’t you ever had a thought or an idea you tried to bury away, yet in moments of weakness, it would come floundering up because some piece of you was unwilling to let it go?”

Mary didn’t say anything to that. She couldn’t imagine what an appropriate response would be.

“I told you before, humans are multifaceted. Even Nick. Part of him wants to destroy this room and purge it from his head. But there’s another part that refuses to let it stay forgotten.”

“Which part are you?”

Gerry turned and smiled at her. “If it were up to me, I’d set an explosive charge in this bastard and never look back.”

Mary nodded. If Gerry was the part of Nick that wanted to connect to the world, and he abhorred this place so vehemently, then it likely meant that what lay within was part of what made Nick so, well, Nickish.

“How long until he gets here?”

“Once you step inside, I imagine it won’t be more than a few minutes.”

Mary cocked an eyebrow. “You want me to go in?”

“It’s the only way to draw him here.”

“Something this guarded . . . it sort of seems like I don’t have the right to see it.”

“Mary, this is something Nick has never even talked about with the real Gerry. It’s a secret he holds closer than any other, even though clutching it so tightly is burning him away from the inside. If he never shares the burden with someone else, I’m afraid he’ll eventually be nothing but a charred and empty husk.”

“I thought you wanted to destroy this room.”

“I do. Letting it out is the next best option.”

Mary opened her mouth, then closed it. She was, ultimately, arguing with a piece of Nick about what was best for Nick. At the end of the day, she had to defer to his expertise over her own. Besides, it would be a lie to say her curiosity wasn’t piqued. Instead of objecting, she took a tentative step forward and placed her hand on the door. It was cold, like someone had dipped the steel in liquid nitrogen before fastening it in place. Mary looked back at Gerry, who nodded his encouragement. She pulled the door farther open, noticing she could only make out shadows inside. With a tentative gulp, she stepped across the threshold.

The first thing she observed was that she couldn’t see outside anymore. It was just a half-circle of bright light to her back, so intense that nothing was discernible. The second thing she noticed was that her eyes had instantly adjusted and she could make out the room now, or at least parts of it. There were still spots of inky blackness dotting the small landscape, but the rest had become clear. Mary was shocked by what she saw. Of all the things she might have imagined lurked in the lair of Nick’s inner secret, this one would never have occurred to her.

Mary was standing in a church. The carpet was a dark maroon, the pews a faded wooden color, and a large cross hung over the pulpit. There were no stained glass windows, or any windows for that matter. The entire structure seemed to be lit by candles along the walls, as well as a large cluster of them at the front. There was something else up there, too, but it was in one of the dark spots Mary’s eyes couldn’t penetrate. Overall, the place was peaceful, quiet save for the soft sizzle of burning wicks.

Mary cocked her head. That wasn’t entirely true. There was another noise in the room, so soft she’d nearly missed it. Mary began walking forward and the noise grew louder. In a pew, only a few rows away from the front, she found a sandy-haired boy huddled in a ball on the ground. His face was tucked into his knees, muffling his sobs as he rocked slowly back and forth. He didn’t have the sunglasses or the attitude, but Mary made an intuitive leap.

“Nick?”

The boy looked up in surprise. His face was splotched, and his nose was runny. It was evident he’d been crying for a very, very long time.

“Go away.” His voice was weak and cracked, but there a surprising fierceness to it.

“Nick, it’s okay. I’m your friend.”

“I know. Now go away. I don’t want to hurt you too.” His voice cracked on the word “you” and a fresh dousing of tears sprang forth.

Mary crouched down and reached out to comfort him, but the boy slapped her hand back.

“What do you mean ‘you too’?”

Nick reburied his face in his knees, but he pointed over his head toward the pulpit. Mary stood up slowly. For the first time, she noticed that this Nick was wearing a small black suit. She turned forward. Even with it being only a few feet away, she still couldn’t see what was set in the center. She took careful, awkward steps as she advanced. A church. Candles. A young boy in a black suit. Mary wondered why it had taken her so long to understand.

She was at a funeral.

When she was inches away, the darkness dissipated. Sitting before her were a pair of closed brown coffins. There were pictures mounted on each one; the right casket evidently contained a once pretty girl with chestnut hair, and the left bore a tall, gangly man with a thick set of spectacles. She barely noticed any of that, however; it was only in memory she would discover those details. What dominated her attention was what lay behind the coffins. It was a twisted, mangled pile of steaming black metal that might have once been a car. It looked as though it had been tossed through an industrial shredder, decimated by an angry god. There was something familiar about it, but Mary couldn’t figure out what.

“What on earth happened?” Mary wasn’t able to imagine the sort of accident that could have caused this level of damage.

The whimpering behind her redoubled, but Mary heard a word being choked out. She walked back to the weeping boy and crouched down once more. “I’m sorry, Nick, I couldn’t hear you. What did you say?”

“. . . Me.”

Mary felt an icicle shoot from her heart directly into her spine. “I’m sorry?”

“Me . . . I happened.” Nick’s voice was cutting through the rasping sobs that even his knees could no longer muffle. “I killed them. I killed my mom and dad.”

Mary opened her mouth to respond, but before the words could get out, a pair of strong hands wrapped themselves around her neck from behind and began to squeeze.

63.

Nick’s right eye twitched, and Mary’s throat bobbed. It was the first signs of stirring either had shown in the last few minutes.

“About time,” Rich sighed. Even bringing them out gently, this was taking longer than he expected. He’d just dropped them in the upper layers of their heads; they should have come back within a few moments. Unless, of course, they’d somehow found their way in deeper. Rich dismissed the idea. They’d need awareness to plumb their mental depths, and he hadn’t given it to them. No, they must just be particularly stubborn.

“You’re sure they’re okay?” Vince asked. He and Sasha had been the last to join the table, getting quickly up to speed on why his friends were in a catatonic state. While neither he nor anyone else from Team One was particularly pleased with the events, it didn’t surprise any of them that Nick had riled Rich to the point of demonstrating his abilities. So long as the three came out without damage, it seemed a harmless, if inconvenient, occurrence.

“I assure you, they’re fine. The place I sent them is like the home base of their subconscious. It’s built to be safe and comforting. If anything, they’re resisting because they’re enjoying it too much,” Rich explained. “I could jerk them out, but it might be a bit jarring.”

“I can vouch for that,” Hershel added. “Last year, when Roy snapped free of the illusion you put him in, it took half an hour before he was sure of what was real and what wasn’t.”

“Precisely why I’m being more delicate,” Rich replied. “Shouldn’t be much longer now, and their relaxing little vacation will have to come to an end.”

*      *      *

Mary gagged as the crushing pressure bore down on her windpipe. The powerful hands yanked her into the air and let her dangle, her small feet kicking helplessly as she tried to quell the rising sense of panic. This wasn’t real. She didn’t even need air, so choking shouldn’t matter. That thought was little comfort as she felt a burning sensation begin to creep across her chest. She groped behind her, searching for anything tender that was within her reach. Her nails brushed something she thought was skin, and Mary drove her fingernails in with every ounce of strength she could muster.

There was a grunt of pain and suddenly Mary felt like she was flying. She realized a moment before impact that her attacker had released one hand and was using the other to hurl her down in a choke slam. Her backbone struck the wooden top of a pew, and Mary lost most of her precious remaining air in a gasp of pain. If she’d been in her real body, she was certain there would have been breaks in her spine. Her head swam, red dots blurring her vision. When they finally cleared, she could see the face of the person pinning her down on the unpadded slab of oak.

“You fucking bitch.” Nick spat the words as he glared down at her, but it wasn’t a Nick Mary had ever seen before. This wasn’t goofy Nick, pretending to be dumber than he was. This wasn’t casino Nick, master of his environment and all he surveyed. This Nick had a face twisted in hate and anger, his eyes burning with a dark golden light and three slashes of blood trailing down his cheek. All that was scary, but the thing that terrified Mary the most was the shaky way he was clutching her throat. Nick was always in control, always able to stay detached. For the first time she’d ever seen, it looked like his emotions were overtaking him, and these weren’t emotions she wanted to see play out. Mary felt the panic rise again; she began to claw uselessly at his hand.

“What fucking right do you have? I tolerate your intrusions, I bear your nosy nature, and you decide those acts of civility mean you’re free to look at any damned part of me you want.”

Mary opened her mouth, wondering if she had enough breath left for even one response. She didn’t find out; Nick jerked her up and slammed her back to the wood, smashing her head and leaving her mouth with the taste of blood.

“Don’t you fucking say a word. I don’t want to hear it. This is too much. There’s no going back from this one, Mary.” His grip grew even tighter. Mary wondered if he was really this strong, or if it was simply because he made the rules down here. She was curious what would happen if she died like this. Would a part of her stay gone when she awoke, some piece of her mind eternally obliterated? Maybe she wouldn’t wake up at all. Rich would get blamed, Nick would walk away free. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear he’d planned it all to work out that way.

“Stop it!” The younger version of Nick leapt onto the arm pinning Mary down and began trying to wrestle it away. “Don’t hurt her!”

Nick’s face flickered with uncertainty. It made sense: here he was, literally fighting with himself. That was bound to cause some confusion. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone else I care about.” Young Nick was crying again, but his voice was determined and his efforts to free her unyielding.

“Her?”

“She’s my friend.”

“You don’t have friends,” Nick barked. Mary wasn’t sure, but it seemed like his shoulders sagged a bit. “We don’t have friends.” Nick shook his head. “I don’t have friends. Friends are for marks. All I have is the Family.”

“She’s our friend,” young Nick said, staring his older version in the eyes. “Now please, let her go.”

Nick looked at the two of them, the golden burning in his eyes subsiding to reveal their usual brown irises. He slowly relaxed his hand, and Mary nearly vomited as she gulped air down gluttonously. She fell to the ground, coughing and wheezing as her body began coming back to life. As she lay there, Mary made a mental note not to die by asphyxiation. There had to be more pleasant ways to go.

Eventually, she regained enough strength to rise, getting to her feet and seeing that both Nicks were standing in front of the coffins. The older one was hugging the younger one close, like a big brother trying to squeeze in some semblance of comfort. Mary couldn’t remember if she’d ever seen Nick hug anyone before. She walked forward gently, not sure of what to say to the man who’d just been on the verge of crushing her windpipe.

“This never happened, you know.” Nick’s voice echoed through the church, reaching Mary easily even as he faced away from her.

“What didn’t?”

“All of this.” Nick made a broad, sweeping gesture. “I mean, there was a funeral, of course. I just wasn’t in attendance. They insisted on keeping me at the hospital for several weeks after the accident.”

“Wait, you were in that?” Mary came closer and stared at the hunk of metal. The idea that anything could have walked away from it was beyond mind-boggling.

“I was. They couldn’t believe I’d gotten through without some sort of damage, so the doctors had me under strict observation for some time.”

“That’s still terrible, not letting you say goodbye to your parents.”

Nick shrugged. “Given that I was only four months old at the time, I guess they figured I wouldn’t really know the difference.”

“Four months old? What about him?”

“He’s the age I was when I realized what had happened.”

Mary shuffled awkwardly. There was only one place to take this conversation, but even though he knew that she knew, it still felt like speaking the words aloud would be an act that could change everything. She decided to press on as carefully as possible.

“He seemed to think you had something to do with the accident.”

“I probably did. In all likelihood, I’m the reason my parents are dead.” His voice was hollow as it cascaded through the room.

“You were a baby, Nick; you couldn’t have caused something like that.”

Nick turned around slowly and looked at her; his lean face seemed almost gaunt in the wavering light of the candles. For the barest instant, his eyes sparked golden. “Couldn’t I?”

Mary felt a horrible, wrenching sensation as she put it all together. An accident that ravaged the vehicle, with only one miraculous survivor. The way the car resembled the wreckage that had once been the truck George tried to kidnap her in. Nick’s ability to manipulate luck, and what his life had been like back when he was a Powered. What it must have been like, always wondering if the reason you’d grown up an orphan was because of some awful curse that genetics or God had cast upon you.

“That’s the memory you were looking for. You wanted to see if it was really you who caused the crash.”

Nick raised an eyebrow. “How did you know that?”

“Gerry told me.”

“That actually raises more questions than it answers.” Nick shook his head. “Never mind, I think I’d rather not know for now. It doesn’t matter; as soon as I felt you here, I came running.”

“Nick, most people never show any symptoms of their abilities until three or four at the very earliest.”

“Most.”

The single word said volumes. Rather than continuing the debate, Mary walked the rest of the way to the front and wrapped her arms around the tall boy’s torso.

“What are you doing?”

“Hugging you.”

“Ah. Why?”

“Because I can’t think of any other way to make you feel better.”

“Thank you.” These words came from young Nick, the first he’d spoken since the altercation.

“Yes, thank you, I suppose,” Nick echoed. “And I guess I’m sorry for my reaction.”

“Don’t worry about it. The way I see it, you only imagined trying to kill me, and it would be pretty unfair of me to hold a grudge against your imagination.”

When they woke up minutes later, there would be much to talk about, things that would be conveyed through read thoughts and covert nods. For now, for only this moment, there was peace, and in this room, through that door, down this hall, peace was something that hadn’t been present in a very long time.

64.

Alice’s mouth felt dry. She blinked, nearly overwhelmed by the red lighting and loud music. Things had been so quiet only seconds ago.

“I think she’s coming out of it.” The voice was female, and familiar. Alice turned and saw tussled blonde hair atop a curious expression. “Here, drink this. The others said they had some wicked cotton mouth.” The girl held out a glass of clear liquid, presumably water.

“Thanks,” Alice mumbled. She accepted the offering, surprised by how cold it was to the touch. With two gulps, she’d drained its contents and began shaking off the jumbled feeling in her head. She looked over and realized why the voice had sounded familiar. The girl it belonged to was Jill. She and Will were sitting at the booth with her, the others nowhere to be seen.

“What happened?”

“It seems our teammate, Rich, took some offense to Nick’s questioning of his skills, thus, he decided a demonstration was in order. You have our sincerest apologies,” Will said in his usual crisp tones.

“Right,” Alice said, staring at the table as things began to mentally realign. “Right, he put us in a dream.”

“It’s a bit more complex than that: a lucid hallucination would be a better term. But for current intents and purposes, yes, he put you in a dream,” Will explained.

Alice nodded. It was all coming back to her: Nick’s insults, the spa, the pedicure.

Abridail.

Jill didn’t notice, but Will saw Alice’s grip on the table suddenly tighten, her knuckles beginning to go white. She turned her face up and forced a contorted, half-mad smile.

“And where is Rich?”

“He’s with the others. They all went to the bar to get drinks. We volunteered to sit here and keep an eye on you,” Jill supplied helpfully.

“Thank you.” Alice rose from the table and began slicing her way through the room.

“Where—” Jill’s question was cut off as Will put a hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t. Let her go. Also, interrupt the security camera footage in this place if you can.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m afraid whatever she’s about to do is the sort of incident none of us want captured on film,” Will said cryptically.

Jill got the message and began working to kill the surveillance. She managed it nearly a full minute before things went completely batshit.

*      *      *

Everyone had just finished getting their drinks when Alice found the cluster. Vince and Selena noticed her approaching, but only Alex and Mary got any forewarning of what was about to happen. Even with that, neither had enough time to both process what was emanating from Alice’s white hot mind and react to stop her.

“Yeah, holding it isn’t that hard,” Rich said, he and Nick absorbed in discussion about the finer points of his talents. “Setting it up is the only part that takes much effort. After that, it’s not much worse than—”

“YOU BASTARD!” Alice swung with all her might, cracking Rich squarely in the jaw and sending him tumbling to the floor. He was numb in surprise, trying to sort out what had just happened, when the toe of a red heel drove itself forcefully into his stomach.

“Do you think that’s funny? Do you think that’s FUCKING FUNNY?” Alice’s voice spiked as she reared back for another kick. She felt someone pulling her back by the shoulders, noticed the stares of all the strangers around her, and proceeded willfully to not give any semblance of a fuck. She struggled forward and mustered all her power into one last blow. The hands holding her were strong, but in that moment, Alice was a focused inferno just begging for release. Her long, elegant model leg slammed its foot into Rich’s ribs. There was a sickening crack from his torso; however, it was lost in the enormous crashing sound that filled the room.

Every suspended light within twenty feet of Alice came plummeting down simultaneously, shattering on the ground and sending the costumed partiers into a panic. Alice tried to get in one more shot in the confusion, her own mind not even registering the event; however, she found Chad suddenly standing in front of her. He didn’t make any move to touch her, but it was evident anything she sent at Rich would be blocked. With the bulk of her rage spent and her target cut off from her, Alice finally felt the emotional weight she’d been trying to push back. The blonde girl in the devil costume slumped and began to cry soundlessly. She turned and collapsed into the shoulder of one of the people who’d been pulling her back, shaking gently as she lost her last shred of control.

“Nick, Vince, get Alice some fresh air outside. We’ll catch up in a minute,” Mary ordered. The two boys obeyed without comment. Even Nick was quiet, though whether it was the intensity of the situation or the tall blonde weeping freely on his chest that stayed his tongue was anyone’s guess. He and the silver-haired vampire gently escorted her out the door. Few people noticed her sobbing in the still-bubbling confusion, and those that did assumed she’d been struck by one of the lights.

Mary turned her attention to Rich, who was trying to lift himself from the ground while favoring his damaged ribs. Camille stepped forward and reached out; Mary saw in her thoughts that she was going to heal him.

“Don’t help him,” Mary snapped. She had to make a conscious effort not to ball her hands into fists. She didn’t need to lose her temper, too. They’d drawn far too much attention as it was; one more curious event could get them noticed in the wrong way and booted from the HCP.

“What the fuck was her problem?” Rich had blood on his teeth, probably from Alice’s first punch.

“Rich, I heard Alice’s thoughts when she was attacking you. I know what went on in her dream. Now, the reason I sent Nick and Vince out of the room is because if they knew too, I’m afraid they might genuinely try to kill you.”

Rich stared up at her, the rest of his team involuntarily stepping closer to him. They were a unit, after all. That was fine; Mary didn’t need to settle this here and now. She only needed confirmation.

“I’m going to tell you what she was mad about, and so help me God, if Alex or I pick up one mental twinge that you had something to do with it, I’ll make you regret the day you set foot on Lander’s campus.” Mary took a breath and tried again to claim herself down. “In Alice’s dream, she was approached by a man she didn’t know, who told her that he was a friend of her mother’s.”

“I don’t see the issue here,” Chad said, trying to curtail the escalating situation.

“Alice’s mother died when she was a baby. Yet this man, this stranger who appeared in the scenario Rich constructed for her, said she was still alive, and very much wanted to see her daughter.”

A burst of panic tore through Rich’s mind. It was a sensation heavy with fear, but the fear wasn’t of Mary or Alex. She wondered what scared him more than a pair of righteously pissed off telekinetics. She didn’t have to wonder long.

“I swear, I had nothing to do with that. I just stuck her in her subconscious. I didn’t add anything!” Rich objected furiously. Flecks of blood and spit flew from his mouth as he protested his innocence. His mind supported the story; there was shock and uncertainty at what could have gone awry.

Mary looked at Alex. “Anything?” Alex said nothing, but thought the word “No.” Mary turned back to see Chad hauling Rich to his feet.

“I’m very sorry for whatever Alice experienced,” Chad said calmly. “I hope you’ve seen that Rich had nothing to do with it, at least not intentionally. We are all still learning, and it’s possible for mistakes to be made.”

“As far as we can tell, he didn’t know about it,” Mary confirmed.

“Good,” Chad said, resting his hand on Rich’s shoulder. “Because I’m certain no member of my team would intentionally do anything as horrible as playing on the emotional wounds of someone who had lost a parent.” Mary heard another cluster of fear-soaked thoughts scatter through Rich’s brain. She noticed that, while Chad’s hand might seem to be there for support, his fingers were digging rather forcefully into his teammate’s shoulder. Given how strong Chad was, Mary had to imagine that was pretty painful.

“I can absolutely assure you that such a thing will never happen again, be it accident or otherwise,” Chad continued, his tone still perfectly neutral. Mary couldn’t read his mind, and she didn’t have Nick’s talents for seeing through people, but it was still plain as day in that moment that Chad knew exactly the same kind of pain as Alice. She hoped that Rich really was as innocent as Chad believed him to be; otherwise, he was likely in for a pretty horrible couple of hours.

“We should probably go,” Alex pointed out, breaking the discussion between captains. “We can still slip out like we’re scared, but if we stay much longer, people are going to start asking about the fight.”

“He’s right,” Chad concurred. “Let’s call it a night.”

Mary agreed, and the group broke into clusters of twos and threes before heading for the doors. Rich tried to get alongside Camille, but Chad’s guiding hand kept him directly next to his captain. Together, the boys headed out into the cold night. Everyone dispersed except for Mary, Camille, and Hershel, who found the two boys and Alice at the side of the black brick building. Together, they piled into cars and headed toward home, finally ending what had amounted to another quite shitty Halloween.

65.

“Sounds like quite an eventful night,” Mr. Numbers said. He studied the board for a moment, and then moved his pawn.

“That’s one heck of an understatement,” Mary replied. Her eyes swept over each piece as she contemplated possible moves. “When we got home, Alice barely stayed awake long enough for Camille to heal her hand. She passed out on the couch; poor thing was completely wiped. I had to carry her into her room.”

“How nice of you.”

“To be honest, I was a little thankful she fell asleep. I didn’t even know what to say to her at the time. Plus, I was drained from some . . . other stuff.” Mary moved her rook a few spaces up. She’d lose it in two moves, but if she was lucky, it would give her an opening.

“Other stuff?” Mr. Numbers moved his bishop, setting his own trap for when Mary attempted to spring the one she was haphazardly constructing.

“Yeah, other stuff.” Mary and Nick had shared some brief words, mostly agreement that what had been seen in his mind was to stay between the two of them. Other than that, he had kept his distance for the rest of the evening. Of course, Alice had needed tending to, and in her distraught state, she’d barely released Nick for any extended period of time. Still, Mary had a feeling she would need to have a talk with her sunglasses-sporting teammate before long. What she’d learned was simply too huge not to affect their friendship. That would come in time; currently, she had bigger concerns.

Mr. Numbers watched Mary move a pawn, sealing the outcome of the game. He’d have her in five moves. “So, have you talked to her about the other aspect of the incident?”

Mary shook her head. “She’s been asleep, or pretending to be asleep, all morning. I’m not even sure what we do about it.”

“You should talk to the dean. He’ll direct you to the appropriate course. I assure you, Supers discovering new aspects of their abilities is hardly unheard of in the HCP.” Mr. Numbers moved his bishop.

“I guess so. She might want to keep it secret for a little while, at least until she gets a handle on it.” Mary moved another pawn quickly, hoping to step up the pace of the game and lure him into a mistake.

“Trust me, if the dean isn’t already aware of Alice’s new light-smashing developments, he will be soon. The man runs a tight ship and has been actively keeping an eye on you five.”

“Is that your way of saying you’ll tell him if we don’t?”

“Yes.”

Mary cocked an eyebrow. It was rare to get such a straightforward answer from Mr. Numbers.

“That seems a bit like prying into our business.”

“Mr. Transport and I are your caretakers. Prying is one of the main parts of the job description.” Mr. Numbers moved his knight, taking Mary’s rook. “That said, I would report this information even if it wasn’t about one of our charges. Alice needs to get training, and she needs it as soon as possible. For a regular Super or a Powered, an uncontrolled ability is already dangerous, but for someone in the HCP, it is utterly unacceptable.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Mary agreed. “We do tend to be a bit more active with our powers. I can see how Alice might hurt someone without meaning to.” Mary sent her second rook into the fray, taking one of Mr. Numbers’s pawns in the process.

“Someone, or herself,” Mr. Numbers added.

“Fine, you’ve made your point. How would I even reach him on a Saturday?”

“I have a number you can call to set up an appointment.” Mr. Numbers moved his queen into position, preparing for the final blow.

“I’ll get Alice and call after the game is over,” Mary said.

“Then I suggest you get the phone. We don’t have long to go.”

“Don’t go counting me out until it’s over.”

She was beaten in two more moves. Mr. Numbers cleared the board while Mary went to attend to the undesirable task of dragging Alice out of bed. She wasn’t surprised, not really. She never came close to beating Mr. Numbers. It was as impossible as beating Roy in an arm wrestling contest. But Mary wisely understood that losing could still teach a person quite a bit, so she persisted in her weekly habit of being clobbered despite any sense of progress. Mr. Numbers occasionally opined that such persistence was one of the habits that made her a good leader and might one day make her a good Hero. If he was being truly honest with himself, he might have admitted that these thoughts were actually less opinion than they were hope; however, Mr. Numbers was seldom that honest with anyone, especially himself.

*      *      *

Alice lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling. She was trying to sleep; however, her body had expelled her from dreamland some hours earlier and was having none of her attempts to gain re-entry. She wanted to fall back into blissful slumber because she knew that once her feet left the covers, her day had to begin. She would need to talk to the professors about the crashing lights, because, while she was skeptical she had the ability to do something like that, it seemed far too big of a coincidence to ignore. She’d probably have to find Rich and apologize at some point; Mary and Alex had confirmed that whatever had gone on in her mind probably wasn’t created by him. Alice had heard the words at the time, but they couldn’t register until after she’d calmed down. She might owe Nick a new shirt: she was fairly certain the makeup she’d had on would stain most materials when combined with tears.

All of these were reasons she was still on her back despite the slowly rising sun, but they weren’t the main one. In her heart of hearts, the reason Alice didn’t want to get up is that once she accepted this new day, her mother would be dead again. She’d had a brief taste of hope, and it had soured the whole of reality for her. It wasn’t surprising that her psyche would dream up something as twisted as a mysterious stranger telling her that her mother was actually alive. Not surprising, but exasperating. Yet, here she was, still clinging on to that little piece of her that wanted to believe it was somehow true. That part would evaporate when she got up. There was no room for such childish delusions in the cold wastelands of the real world.

There was a soft knock on her door. “Alice, are you up yet?” It was Mary. Of course, it was Mary. She was coming by to check on her, to help make things right. That was what Mary did. Alice said nothing, just kept staring at the ceiling.

“We’ve got an appointment with Dean Blaine in an hour. I’ll come back in fifteen minutes, but if you’re still asleep, I’ll have to wake you up.” There was a sound of footsteps walking away, barely discernible through the thick door.

Alice wondered how she’d make good on that threat. Could she levitate the bed without seeing it? Maybe she’d have Mr. Transport teleport her in here. She’d find a way; Alice had no doubt of that. The alarm clock was blinking ten o’clock. That meant they needed to be in the office at eleven. She could keep wasting time here and throw herself together at the last minute, or she could get up and put on her armor. Mascara, blush, eye shadow, heels, straightened hair— an hour of effort to appear as if she were effortlessly beautiful. Alice didn’t need all of that; she was naturally gorgeous. She did it because it made her feel stronger, like she had some control over the world around her. And she needed to feel stronger today. She needed it very badly.

Alice swung her feet over the edge of her bed and plopped them onto the floor. She winced, ever so slightly, and then set about getting ready for the day ahead.

66.

Roy was in the gym. He’d planned on taking some time off from training, but after Friday’s little burst of craziness, he wasn’t able to resist. He lifted the weights—ultra dense circles specifically designed for people like Roy. They made it possible to really push one’s self without having to go to a train yard or other such place.

Roy finished his set of bicep curls and grabbed a pair of weights one increment heavier. Roy took a deep breath, focused with all his will, and began to lift. The weights made it halfway up before his arms gave out. There was a thunderous crunching sound as they shattered the concrete beneath his feet.

“Damn it!” Roy resisted the urge to drive his fist into the wall, but only because of the throbbing pain already coming from his biceps. This was bullshit. He’d hit this wall over a month ago, and he’d been trying to break through it ever since. It made no sense; he’d tripled the number of reps he could do with just one weight unit lower, but he still couldn’t get even one lift at the higher level. It was like his body had reached a limit, and no matter what he did, it wasn’t willing to budge. Roy was growing concerned that this was as far as his power could go, and that fear had become stronger with each failed attempt.

Seeing Alice’s spectacle had both inspired and terrified him. It gave him hope that maybe he still had some ability that had yet to be discovered, but it also made him wonder if he was getting passed up by the others. Alice had some new skill, Vince had grown by leaps and bounds, Mary had always been stronger than he was, and it turned out Nick had been concealing a rapier intellect. All Roy could do was punch hard. He’d been okay with that, too; it was a skill that was always in demand. But if he couldn’t get stronger than this, then it was only a matter of time before he started to become useless. He hadn’t been able to hurt George, and he doubted that had changed despite his progress. There were others out there, people even stronger than his kidnapping former coach. A Hero with Roy’s power needed to be able to play on their level—a level that Roy seemed banned from.

He let his arms heal for a moment, then moved on to the bench press. There was another wall here, and on the shoulders, the legs, everything really. Roy was spinning his wheels, and he couldn’t think of any way to get traction again. Still, he pressed on regardless, if only because of an unspoken hope that soon he’d push just hard enough to break through.

That hope was getting dimmer by the day.

*      *      *

“You’ll find their complete recollections of the incident in the packets, along with some footage I confiscated from a few cell phones,” Dean Blaine said, sliding the manila envelope across his desk. Professor Hill picked it up and scanned through it quickly; there were only a few documents, along with a USB drive, taped to the inner back of the envelope.

“Confiscated, huh? Told them they’d accidently caught something classified, I assume.”

“Something like that.”

“How kind of you, especially considering that what happened could almost be looked at as a violation of the secret identity rule,” Professor Hill pointed out.

Dean Blaine raised an eyebrow. “You have an objection?”

“Not at all, you know that. I’m just bringing up a point that someone else will raise eventually.”

“If they did, I would simply remind them that the rule is designed to keep our students in line when dealing with regular humans, not punish them for having the misfortune to make a discovery about their abilities while in public. Ms. Adair’s ferocious beating of Mr. Weaver aside, she didn’t intend for the gravity spasm to occur. She’s never experienced anything like it before and couldn’t have intentionally summoned it if she tried.”

“Gravity manipulation,” Professor Hill said, turning his eyes back to the file. “Given her genetics, I always suspected that’s where her flight came from.”

“Hope is not the same thing as suspicion,” Dean Blaine corrected. “Besides, nothing is confirmed yet. It could be an aspect of Mr. Weaver’s abilities that manifested in distress.”

Professor Hill snorted. “Yeah, right. We both know that’s unlikely. He did have good reason to be distressed, I’ll say that. I’m surprised by how much damage she did. Maybe you need to pull her from Subtlety and stick her in Close Combat.”

“Mmm, I’m sure you’d like to see me redistribute the bulk of Professor Pendleton’s students in such a fashion.”

“You and I both know that specialty is all trouble. The last person you had teaching it was an undercover kidnapper, and the most qualified person to replace her is a convict. I think that says it all.”

“Subtlety walks a dangerous line, I won’t disagree with you on that. Not all the Heroes who turn to crime have their concentration in it, however. Raze and George were both specialized in Close Combat, and Globe got his HCP major in Control, just like you.”

“Three examples. The mass of them still come from Subtlety.”

“Subtlety is an established part of the HCP agenda. I have neither the power nor the inclination to remove it. As for Professor Pendleton, I heard your objections when I offered him the job. They were weighed and considered before I made my decision. Now, I’d suggest you worry less about his class and more about how you’ll assist your own student.”

“Whatever you say, Boss. I’ll start by helping her figure out how to access that part of her ability. What did Rich do to piss her off so much, anyway?”

Dean Blaine hesitated. He needed to approach this carefully, given Professor Hill’s sensitivities. “He sealed her, along with Mr. Campbell and Ms. Smith, to prove a point. Ms. Adair experienced a rather upsetting vision while so incapacitated and thought Mr. Weaver had inflicted it on her purposely. All current investigations point to that not being the case, so at the end of the day, it was a simple misunderstanding that got out of hand.”

“What was her vision?”

“I believe it was something about her mother. A false hope her brain cobbled together. Completely understandable given her past.” Dean Blaine watched Professor Hill carefully, eyes searching for any signs of repressed anger. He saw an initial flare-up, which simmered down as reason stepped in.

“I see. And we’re sure it wasn’t Rich?”

“Multiple telepaths confirmed he was surprised by the revelation,” Dean Blaine replied.

“Well, I don’t think I’ll use that route for training, but it’s good to know at least.” Professor Hill rose from his seat. “She’s expecting to stay after class on Monday, right?”

“Correct.”

“Good. Thanks for the heads up and everything,” Professor Hill said, clutching the file tightly in his hand.

“Thank you for coming in to meet me on a weekend,” Dean Blaine replied. Professor Hill gave a curt nod and exited, leaving the dean alone to wonder just what those Melbrook students would throw at him next.

67.

Monday brought, along with an extra class for Alice, a pre-class gathering for all the sophomores. They clustered together in the gym, milling about while the teachers took their damned sweet time in making whatever announcement was pending. Most already suspected that they knew the subject matter: given that they’d just crested the hill into November, the only pertinent thing looming was midterms. After last year’s labyrinth, the room was rife with rumor on what waited for them before the winter break. Some believed it would be a team match pitting them against a professor. Others speculated it would be a solo endeavor featuring grueling mental and physical punishment. Most assumed it would at least suck, and the ones who didn’t were among the few who hadn’t yet been significantly challenged by any of the tests the HCP had presented. The one thing none of them were expecting was what turned out to be the truth.

“Good morning, everyone,” Dean Blaine said, stepping forward with the six professors at his rear. “I just had a quick announcement to make. I’m sure most of you are wondering when your midterms will be. Well, as far as the HCP goes, there will not be any.”

He was met with untrusting stares, too certain of deception to even bother with murmuring. It was understandable; the HCP wasn’t exactly known for its easygoing policies.

“I can see you’re all skeptical. While that’s a good thing, in this case, it’s unwarranted. You see, we don’t do midterms for sophomores for a few reasons. First off, the midterms for students in the other years are very time-consuming to set up— so much so that adding a fourth to our schedule would likely be impossible. Secondly, all the team events that sophomores participate in give us ample data for evaluation; adding a test in the middle of the year wouldn’t make much difference either way, it would only be a poor use of time and resources. So, enjoy the free pass. It will be the only year you receive it, and I expect your grades in other classes to pick up proportionately. That will be all.”

The chorus of whispers Dean Blaine had been expecting finally materialized when he turned his back. They still wouldn’t accept it for a while, and a few would spend the next month and a half waiting for a surprise test that would never come. Hopefully, they’d put this free time to good use; heaven knows they wouldn’t get many more opportunities like this in the coming years. Free time dissolved after year two, the rest of college whipping by in a blur until there were only a few weeks until the final hurdle of graduation. Year two was the last time they’d really get to stop and catch their breath, and when they did, they’d find their chests had grown tight with fear, paralyzed with a crippling terror of what would happen if they failed—one that would only grow stronger the nearer they drew to their goal.

*      *      *

Blaine stood out on the balcony, wishing he could smoke. He’d burned a few in high school, but that habit had gotten squashed out of him after his first week in the HCP. The workouts were hard enough without a diminished lung capacity. His fingers still itched for a cigarette, especially when he was stressed or had the taste of bourbon in his mouth. He wondered if the cravings would ever completely go away. They said it happened eventually, but “they” said a lot of things that turned out to be bullshit.

Blaine heard the door open behind him and felt the cool air waft out from the apartment. Clarissa’s place had an amazing view, but the price was standing in the unseasonable heat. It was still early summer, yet Blaine was certain he’d sweated through his shirt and that only his suit jacket was concealing the shame. He wondered if that’s why a jacket was part of such fancy ensembles in the first place.

“Man, you’ve got the right idea. I need a little fresh air; that place is too loud and stuffy.” Blaine knew the voice instantly, as he knew every voice in attendance that night. All of them belonged to his classmates in the HCP, all save for one. It was the unique voice that he knew best of all, and that voice was part of why he stood on the balcony suppressing a craving instead of socializing with everyone else.

Fortunately, his new companion was not the owner of that voice. This one belonged to Joshua, who came to the railing and looked over the city with him.

“Hard to believe that in a few weeks, we’ll all be going in different directions,” Joshua remarked.

“Mmhmm.”

“Any idea who you’ll be apprenticing under?”

“There aren’t any official offers made until after graduation,” Blaine pointed out.

“Come on, man, you and I both know you’ll be one of the ten. You can’t tell me you haven’t gotten a few feelers already.”

“There may have been some inquiries. Genogong and Grey Earl have been particularly persistent,” Blaine admitted.

“Wow, those two are pretty impressive,” Joshua complimented. “All I’ve gotten so far is a vague interest from Shade Slime.”

“More will come after the test,” Blaine assured him.

“Maybe. I’m not exactly the most impressive of our lot, power-wise.” Joshua said this with an easygoing smile that never seemed to leave his lips. It was the truth, but only because of the tremendous crop of talent their class had yielded. Besides, what Joshua might lack in showmanship, he made up for in reliability and charm. He had knack for turning everyone into a friend, and given the competitiveness of their environment, that was almost more useful than his actual power.

“I’m positive you’ll get a solid offer,” Blaine said. “I can’t imagine anyone underestimating you once they see what you can do.”

“I’ll hope for the best. That’s all any of us can do.” Joshua pulled a flask from his own jacket pocket. He carefully unscrewed the top and offered the container to Blaine. “Care for a nip? I know you prefer bourbon to the wine Clarissa stocked.”

Blaine didn’t bother asking why he would have a flask of that brand on hand; the answer was evident. It was to appease the woman Joshua had come with, the one Blaine had introduced to this beverage in the first place. He accepted the flask and took a short draw.

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Joshua said, taking his own sip. He swished it around as he debated how to broach the subject on his mind. Eventually, he decided the straightforward route was the best option. “Look, not to make this uncomfortable or anything, but I just wanted to make sure you and I are cool.”

Blaine bit back a scathing retort and soothed his temper. He didn’t have any right to act that way, not when Joshua had been so honest and forthright with him from the beginning. “Of course we are. Miriam and I broke up over three years ago. I’m glad the two of you have found happiness with one another.”

“I appreciate that,” Joshua replied. “I really like dating her; I think we might have a future together. Let me know if it gets awkward, though, okay? I don’t have to bring her to all our events if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“I will make certain to tell you if that becomes an issue.” Blaine would cut out his own tongue before he’d actually let it speak those words.

“Cool,” Joshua said, taking another sip from the flask. “Cool.”

“Did Gerard have any trouble scrubbing the stain from the tea out?” Blaine was unabashedly changing the subject. He’d had a small incident during Clarissa’s serving ceremony which resulted in him spilling tea on Gerard’s pants. He’d said it was because of the heat of the cup, but the truth was he’d seen Miriam grab Joshua’s thigh. In that instant, his coordination had simply deserted him.

“He got most of it; I think a good dry-cleaner can fix the rest,” Joshua told him. “Once you do graduate, maybe your Hero name should be Butterfingers.”

“Or The Fumbler.”

“Spilltacular,” Joshua said with a chuckle. Blaine laughed too, if only because he couldn’t really think of anything else to do. “On that note, have you given any thought to your actual Hero name? We’ll have to register them right after the White Cape ceremony.”

“I’ve got a couple ideas I’ve been kicking around. You?”

“Honestly? I’ve got an idea, but I keep waffling back and forth on whether I should come up with something better.”

“You’ve still got a month,” Blaine said.

“True. Hopefully I’ll find some inspiration. Tell me one of yours; maybe it will get the creative juices flowing.”

“Well, I haven’t found one that seems perfect yet, but there are a few near the top. For example, you know how my ability affects an area around my body?”

“Yeah.”

“I was thinking of doing a play on that,” Blaine explained. “At first, I considered Radius or Sphere, but those sounded too mathematical. Then one day, I was sitting in class and it hit me. The perfect name for how my power encircles me: Globe.”

68.

Thomas hunched over his kitchen table, a large piece of paper with multiple written entries beside him and a laptop directly in front of him. His other roommates were there as well, their own checklists present; however, they hadn’t brought out personal computers to go with them.

“Okay,” Thomas said with a deep breath. “So, we’ve found a good deal on some kegs, we’ve located a place two towns over that sells plastic cups in bulk, and we’ve alerted our neighbors to the impending disturbance. What’s next?”

“Food,” Stella replied.

“We have to feed them too?” Will asked.

“You guys really haven’t been to many parties,” Violet commented. It was a point she mentioned at least once an hour. She’d been shocked when Thomas told her he’d been tasked with throwing the party the freshmen were invited to, and even more floored when he said he’d decided to do it. Despite having dated him for a few months, there were times when Violet felt she never really knew her tan-skinned friend. He’d approached it with his usual meticulous voracity, and now that they didn’t have a midterm to worry about, it seemed like they’d be able to get it on track in a matter of weeks.

“Food is there to help people sober up if they overshoot their limits,” Violet explained. “You make it things like pretzels and bread to help soak up the booze.”

“That’s actually a common myth,” Will corrected. “Food existing in the stomach before alcohol is introduced can affect the rate of absorption; however, once the alcohol has been ingested, new food would have no discernible effect. It is simple biology.”

“Fair enough, but you just said yourself it’s a commonly held myth, right?” Violet asked.

“Indeed.”

“Then people who believe it will help calm their stomachs and make them less intoxicated could very likely see those effects since they’re expecting them. Same as sugar pills in place of painkillers.”

“Ah, you’re referencing the Placebo Effect.”

“It is simple psychology.”

“Point taken,” Will said. Other men of his intelligence might have balked at being bested by a girl who specialized in brawn over brains, but Will had long ago learned that intelligence in one area didn’t make him infallible in others. He was a mechanic: he looked at the body like a machine and often forgot the less tangible components the mind could present. “I believe we can get sandwiches from The Mayo Hut at a sizable discount, thanks to the owner’s infatuation with my sister.”

“Pimping your own sister to the cause, that’s dedication,” Stella said.

“It is something of a family tradition to place one another in uncomfortable positions,” Will replied. “Besides, with as much patronage as she gives that establishment, I’d think it only good business to provide her preferential treatment.”

“Jill does love her sandwiches,” Thomas agreed. “So, we’ll let her take care of that, and I can pick up a few jumbo bags of pretzels from the same place we’re getting the cups from.” Thomas scratched a long line through one of the items on his paper as Will jotted down the details of his new task. “What’s next?”

“Guest list,” Violet said.

Thomas shook his head. “I don’t think we pick and choose. I’ll just spread the word through the freshmen and anyone who is brave enough to show up is welcome. That’s how Angela did it, and I feel it worked quite well.”

“I’d agree, but I wasn’t talking about the freshmen.” Violet looked at her friends and carefully framed her next words. “Look, there’s a bit of an elephant in the room here that none of us has brought up. We need to talk about it. Are we going to invite the Powereds to this thing?”

“They’re not—”

“I know they aren’t, Thomas, but you get what I mean.”

“I thought we agreed at the beginning of the year to treat them with the same friendship they’ve shown us,” Thomas pointed out. Stella and Will nodded in agreement.

“We did, and I still think we should, but despite the fact that we’re throwing it, this party isn’t really about us. It’s about the freshmen, and introducing them to the Lander community as a whole.”

“All the more reason to show them that we are accepting of people who may come from different backgrounds than ourselves,” Thomas rebutted. “We will set the standard for them to look to.”

“We are accepting—‘we’ being the key word,” Violet said, softening her voice so as not to seem aggressive. “Not everyone else is, and they may not want to socialize with people who started life as Powereds. It’s prejudiced and ignorant, but there’s a lot of unspoken dislike and hate for those five, even if we choose to ignore it. Now, if this were just us putting together a shindig, I’d say fuck ‘em if they don’t like our friends. But again, this is about the freshmen, and what impression do you think they’ll take from a party populated solely by the people who live in the house and the school’s pariahs?”

“She makes a valid point,” Will said. “We’re supposed to be bringing them into the larger community of Supers. Inviting the residents of Melbrook could very well limit that community.”

“I don’t like it, but I think I understand your concern,” Thomas admitted. “What’s the right thing to do?”

“I’m not sure,” Violet replied. “That’s why I brought it up. It seems like either decision is morally wrong in some aspect.”

The four sat in silent contemplation for a few moments. Each was lost in a maelstrom of their own ethical quandaries, a tornado of possible decisions and uncertainty. Curiously, it was Stella who provided the insight that allowed them to move forward.

“You know, you guys keep talking about how we’re bringing them into the Super community, but that’s not actually true,” Stella said, breaking the kitchen’s unhappy silence. “We’re not Supers, and we’re not a community of Supers. We’re a community of future Heroes. Of course, not all of us will make it, but all of us are striving to earn the title. Heroes don’t cave to the pressures of hate. Heroes do what’s right, no matter what. So what if some people don’t show up? I say it’s more important to set the example of acceptance even when, no, especially when it’s an unpopular decision.”

“That was . . . surprisingly eloquent,” Will said, mustering his own words through the fog of surprise.

“I gots my moments,” Stella quipped back.

“Right then; we invite everyone in our class, no exceptions,” Thomas said. “Agreed?” He received three nearly synchronized nods from his roommates. “Glad that’s settled. Next item of business: plastic sheeting for all the carpeted areas. Anyone have a clue where to get that stuff? Because otherwise, I see no way we’ll be getting our security deposit back on this place.”

69.

“Professor Fletcher?” The voice came from his office door, which Carl had never gotten in the habit of closing. He felt an open door policy should actually involve an open door. It was one of those pleasantries that seemed to have died away over time, and damn it, if he was going to be stuck working in his golden years, he reserved the right to live in the past. Carl glanced up from the paperwork on his desk, a bit surprised to see Roy Daniels standing in the doorway.

“Come on in,” he said, giving a curt nod to the chair. Unlike the office’s previous tenant, Professor Fletcher was fastidious in minimizing clutter and keeping the place straight. Roy had no trouble navigating to the chair or dropping into a sitting position. Once there, he did seem to have some trouble getting the conversation started, however. Professor Fletcher found himself curious; the Daniels boy never seemed to feel out of place. This must be something pretty interesting.

“I assume you didn’t just come in here to admire my impressive office.”

“No, sir.” Roy’s gaze was on the old wooden desk in front of him, so he missed the fleeting look of shock that dashed across the professor’s face. He couldn’t remember ever hearing Roy refer to anyone as “sir” before.

“So, how can I help you?”

“I’m not sure what’s wrong, not exactly,” Roy said. “But I, well, it seems like I’ve hit a wall.”

“Damn it,” Professor Fletcher said, pulling out a form from the top drawer of his desk. “I wish you physical-ability kids would learn to keep your shit under control. Okay, we’ll get a maintenance report in. Tell me where it was, and don’t you dare say it was above ground.”

Roy paused for a moment as the words clicked into place. He wasn’t as smart as Hershel, but he put it together eventually. “No, I mean a figurative wall. With my strength.”

“Ohhh, thank heavens.” Professor Fletcher put the paper away and let out a sigh of relief. He noticed the expression on his student’s face and felt compelled to explain. “Not to belittle your problems, it’s just that those forms can be a real pain in the ass if any damage occurs outside the HCP facility.”

“Gotcha.”

“Now, tell me about this non-literal wall you’ve hit.”

Roy explained about the ceiling of weights he’d been unable to break through, despite months of effort. Professor Fletcher listened attentively, nodding in the right places and keeping all his thoughts to himself. By the end, Roy was feeling more confident, trusting his professor would be able to help him get past this issue in no time at all.

“Sounds like you’ve got a real problem,” Professor Fletcher commented once Roy was done.

“Yes, sir. What’s the solution?”

“Hell if I know.”

The collapse of Roy’s confidence was as visible as the airborne plummet of a Depression era stockbroker.

“Wait, what?”

“Listen, Roy, do you know how many of your classmates have super strength and durability?”

Roy nodded. “Chad, Violet, Stella, and I have both. Others, like Sasha, have the enhanced endurance, but aren’t really the same.”

“Very good,” Professor Fletcher said, moderately impressed that the boy actually paid that much attention to his surroundings. “So, in just the sophomore class, we have four people whose powers produce similar abilities. That said, each of those powers is wholly unique. Violet increasing her density is nothing like the way Stella shifts into steel or Chad continuously renovates his body. That’s three people who, at first glance, seem to be similar, but would have to approach training and improving themselves in completely different ways. That’s one class, in one college that offers the HCP, in one country, in the world.”

“You’re saying helping me is too hard?”

“I’m saying that each of you little bastards works in your own way. Now, you came to me for help, and I’m going to give you all I can. I just want you to understand upfront that I don’t have all the answers. We’ll try every method I can uncover, but there’s a chance we won’t find the one that helps you get stronger. Hell, it’s perfectly possible that this is simply as powerful as you are able to get.”

“Oh.” Roy looked like he’d been told his dog had died. Professor Fletcher understood. The young people in this program had worked incredibly hard and progressed beyond what most Supers could ever do. Each one was easily in the top ten percent of his specialty. Unfortunately, that wasn’t good enough to be a Hero, and the closer they drew to graduation, the more they would discover where their limitations lay. Most would find a barrier they were physically incapable of passing, and it would be one of the hardest things they’d ever have to accept.

“Look, I’m not saying you’re dead in the water here. If I can find a way to help you, I’ll damn sure do it. I just want you to be ready to do a lot of work on your own time.”

“I’ll work out all day every day, sir.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Professor Fletcher leaned back in his chair. “We talked about why the others are strong. Steel body, ultra density, all that stuff. So, what makes you strong?”

“Me, I guess. I mean, when I’m Roy, I’m just stronger and tougher.”

“Just stronger and tougher,” Professor Fletcher repeated. “Roy, the key to improvement is understanding how your power works. I mean every last nuance. I’ll give you this much, you seem to have the shift down, but I think there’s more to your abilities than just a split personality and a good punch. You need to learn more about yourself. It’s the best shot you’ve got at breaking through this ceiling of yours.”

“I’m, um, I’m not really good at that touchy feely stuff. That’s more Hershel’s rodeo.”

“Then work with him. Between the two of you, I bet you can figure something out. In the meantime, how about we start going through the basic techniques I’m well acquainted with? Maybe we’ll get lucky and hit a functional one right off the bat.”

“I’d like to try that.”

“Great; come by when you finish your afternoon classes. We’ll work out a schedule that doesn’t conflict with my other duties.”

“Yes, sir.” Roy rose from his seat, the consternation and frustration evident on his face. Professor Fletcher took those as good signs. You don’t get frustrated with things you’ve given up on. If you still cared enough to get pissed off, it meant you still had hope. And hope was the difference between people who accepted their limitations, and the ones who surpassed them. Professor Fletcher wasn’t sure which one Roy would be in the end, but he was definitely curious to find out.

70.

“Fall . . . the . . . hell . . . over.” Alice hissed the words through gritted teeth as she stared at the small particle-board table. It was shoddily built and would lean to the side on its own. The weight of it was practically negligible, and it couldn’t really be used to support much more than a whisper, let alone functionally hold up anything with tangible mass. Professor Hill had built it himself, specifically so it fulfilled all of those specifications. Weak and barely stable was a good starting ground.

“Let’s take a break,” Professor Hill said, handing his pupil a bottle of water. Alice accepted it and took a deep swig. She never would have guessed doing nothing could be so draining. This was her third private training session, and she still hadn’t gotten the hang of her new abilities. Sometimes, she could send the table tumbling multiple times in a row; other times, she’d go for an hour producing not so much as a wobble. Professor Hill had been a surprisingly patient teacher, supportive during her failures as much as her successes. Alice felt she might have given up on the whole endeavor already if not for his encouragement.

“I can’t seem to get it today,” Alice said, gulping down the rest of the bottle and setting it aside.

“That’s okay; I told you on the first day, you’re going to have steps back as well as forward until you get a stronger level of control.”

“I remember, it’s just frustrating,” Alice admitted. “By the end of Wednesday, I could knock it down no problem. Now, it’s two days later and I’m getting zilch.”

“It happens to nearly everyone in this situation. You’re still learning the motions. It will get easier once you understand the coordination.”

“You sort of lost me there.”

Professor Hill gave her a reassuring smile. “Look at it like you’re learning a new exercise, like a jab. At first, you just blindly slug away on the bag with all you’ve got. Some hits seem to make it move more, some barely get it to wiggle. If you keep punching long enough, you’ll stop paying attention to just the motion of your arm and start noticing other things your body is doing. You’ll feel the tension in your abs, you’ll catch the way your back swivels slightly, and even your foot placement will become more obvious. You’ll keep taking in the details and realizing that altering these pieces makes a visible difference in how much the bag moves.”

Alice could see what he was saying. When she’d first started doing her defense tapes, she’d just been swatting at the air. After a few weeks, she had gotten the form down. More than that, she’d found herself doing it without even focusing.

“You think once I learn how to do more than just turn it on, once I get the hang of all the factors that affect it, I’ll be able to use it more reliably. Right?”

“Succinctly and intelligently put,” Professor Hill confirmed. “First you learn the motion, then you learn the system, and then you can elevate both to higher levels. So let’s get at it.”

“Sounds good.” Alice turned her attention back to the barely-balanced table and drew together her concentration. She’d tried tapping into her anger, the way she’d inadvertently done on Halloween, and found that while it drew some reaction, it was inconsistent. Applied concentration and an empty mind had been the best tools she’d uncovered so far. She wondered how anyone ever learned to use their powers as a child if this was the required effort. Perhaps it was like language: it simply came more easily in earlier stages of brain development. Even Powereds at least figured out how their abilities worked, even if they couldn’t willfully turn them on or off.

“Your mind is drifting.”

“Sorry.” Alice could never figure out how he knew when her brain started filling up with idle thoughts, but the man had a knack for it. Empty-mind turned into distracted-mind more than she would have expected. A couple of deep breaths dissolved the meanderings of her brain and put her concentration back on the ugly, leaning table.

The hardest part was reorienting the way she thought of her power. She’d always pictured her flight as severing the connections with gravity, which had left her idly tumbling through the air when she was a Powered. No, Alice didn’t ignore gravity, she repurposed it. She understood now that she oriented it in the direction of her choosing. What she could do was less flying and more incredibly-controlled falling. Alice kept that thought in mind. She wasn’t trying to push the table over: she was just trying to shift the gravity slightly to the side.

Her eyes closed as she imagined hundreds of hands all over the room, each one stretching directly from the ground and grabbing an object dead center before pulling down. The hands weren’t pulling hard, just firmly enough to bring down anything unbalanced. Alice put her attention on the hand gripping the table. Rather than trying to sever it or make it curl, she tried to slide it ever so slightly to the left. It moved in her mind, inch by inch, pulling the table at an increasingly acute angle. There was a soft thud as the table tumbled over, its mass too low to generate any more impressive sound.

“Nicely done,” Professor Hill complimented. Alice had to suppress the urge to squeal with joy. Every time she pulled it off, she still felt a rush of surprise and giddiness. The professor moved to reset the table so she could try again.

“Wait,” Alice said.

Professor Hill looked over at her. “Do you need another break?”

“No, I just want to try something.”

“By all means.” Professor Hill stepped back and kept his eyes on his pupil. Her brow furrowed in concentration as she stared at the now-defeated obstacle. He smiled to himself, perfectly aware of what was going through her head. She’d found a method that felt particularly effective, and she wanted to test it in other applications. She was trying to recreate it, just as it had been seconds ago. If she succeeded, she’d be taking a big step forward; if she failed, she’d likely waste several days trying fruitlessly to recapture that initial sense of magic.

The table leapt from the ground and rocketed to the ceiling, smashing itself to bits against a metal support pillar.

“Very impressive.”

“Not really; I was just trying to stand it up.”

“Still, you got a good bit of force with that one. Control is learned through practice, and now we know you can handle heavier and more stable objects.”

“You think so?”

A few splinters of particle board wafted down from the ceiling and settled on Professor Hill’s shoulders. He watched them land, then surveyed the other chunks of former-table that now littered the ground before him.

“I’m positive you’ll be fine.”

71.

Sasha and Julia were already sitting on the couch when Jill got back from class. They’d queued up some mindless fashion show that Jill had never truly understood the appeal of, but had learned to fake interest in all the same. For the most part, she genuinely liked her roommates, and she indulged their peculiar tastes just as she was sure they indulged hers. Today, she had good ground to mute the television, thankfully, as she came bearing news.

“Soooo, guess whose brother is throwing a big house party next weekend?”

Sasha paused the show, an image of a wafer-thin girl traipsing down the catwalk frozen across the screen. “Will is throwing a party? What’s the theme, physics through the ages?”

“Funny. No, actually Thomas is putting it on. It’s the traditional November kegger where we see which of the remaining freshmen have the balls to attend.”

“Oh yeah, I remember something about that last year,” Julia chimed in. “Didn’t we skip it?”

“We did indeed. Evidently, it was pretty decent,” Sasha replied.

“Well, you won’t be missing this year. Will has never been involved in planning a party before, so we’re going to be supportive. Plus, we want to make sure the freshmen don’t make the mistake of thinking they’ve got more good-looking girls than our class.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” Julia said. “Although, they do have a girl whose ability is to appear as your heart’s desire.”

“Ohhhh yeah, I heard about her. Seems like cheating,” Sasha pointed out.

“More cheating than a girl who eats nothing but sugar and stays thin thanks to her super-charged metabolism?”

“Touché,” Sasha yielded. It would have been hard to argue the point, as she currently had a bag of marshmallows and a bowl of chips in front of her. She popped a fluffy white treat in her mouth to illustrate the point and perhaps to rub it in just a bit.

“Who all is going to be there?” Julia asked.

“According to Will, so far they’ve gotten confirmation from Shane, Amber, Britney, and Gilbert. Chad is a probably since Shane is going, and I’m sure Stella will bully Camille into showing up. They only started spreading the word today, so the guest list will likely get much bigger.”

“And just how far are they planning to spread this word?” Julia asked.

“Everyone in the sophomore class is welcome to come,” Jill replied.

“Every person, or every Super?”

“Everyone.”

“If that’s the kind of party it is, I’m not certain we’ll be able to make it.”

“Speak for yourself,” Sasha interrupted. She looked at Jill and gave her a smile. “Please tell Will to count me as attending.”

“Really?”

“Really?” Julia echoed.

“Really,” Sasha confirmed. She popped another marshmallow in her mouth and chewed it slowly. She still wasn’t certain how she felt about Vince or any potential of a future together, but she did know the hot poker of pain and anger that used to reside in her stomach had faded. Maybe it was his apology; maybe it was seeing things from his side. Deep down, Sasha suspected the greatest cause had simply been that hating him had been easier than missing him; however, that thought was buried too deep to be consciously considered. The hate was gone, whatever the reason, and she found the idea of seeing him at a social function somewhat appealing. Especially a social function with alcohol.

“I guess I’m going too,” Julia said, slumping slightly. She’d been trying to have her friend’s back. Now, she felt like she’d just come off like a snobbish bitch. She wasn’t entirely wrong.

“I’ll let him know,” Jill replied. “So what’s the plan for tonight?”

“Fashion and ice cream,” Sasha replied, restarting the show and allowing the waif of a woman to finally finish her walk.

“Awesome,” Jill lied, hoping the ice cream would at least be enjoyable.

*      *      *

Vince had beaten a variety of challenges in his time at Lander. He’d learned to use electricity, he’d strengthened his fighting skills, and most importantly, he’d mostly overcome his fears of losing control. Those successes made the current wall he’d encountered all the more frustrating. He’d tried every trick he knew, put in hours of effort, and yet still he felt like he wasn’t making any progress at all. It was a sentiment Roy would have understood well; however, their lack of frequent communication made such sharing unlikely. Besides, while their frustrations were the same, the causes were very different.

“Uuuugh,” Vince moaned, resisting the urge to slam his head into the book. No matter how much he tried, algebra refused to make any sense to him. Part of it was his lack of traditional schooling; while his father had taught him a lot, they’d never gotten to equations this advanced. Another part was the way his brain was wired. Vince’s mind simply wasn’t one built for anything beyond basic math. The more effort he put into changing that fact, the more convinced he was that it was like trying to light a fire with a wet stone.

“My sentiments exactly,” said a voice to his side. Vince glanced over to see an unfamiliar male with the same class textbook open. They were both in the study kiosks provided by the library. There was little privacy, but since everyone was there for the same purpose, they generally worked fairly well. Many of the kiosks were available today; however, last year had taught Vince that as the semester’s end drew closer, they’d invariably grew more crowded every day.

“You having trouble too?”

“I’m not here because of the soothing décor,” the guy chuckled. “I’m Larry, by the way.”

“Vince.”

“Nice to meet you, Vince, and can I say, that is some awesome hair.” Larry’s own locks were a robin’s egg blue and hung down near his eyes.

“Yours is pretty interesting as well.”

“I try; Super-chic is hard to get down pat. It’s so easy to go too far; you have to walk the line between subtlety and opulence. I think you did a good job with yours.”

“Thanks.” Vince never understood why it was fashionable to emulate the defects that marked some people with powers, but then again, he also didn’t understand why a brown belt with black pants was considered sacrilege. Much like math, this was a subject his brain simply wasn’t built to handle.

“Look, I’m here killing time before a study group some people in my class put together. We could always use another person to add their brain power.”

“I appreciate it, but I’m not sure I’d be anything other than a drain. I’m pretty hopeless at this stuff.”

“All the more reason to come along. Maybe we’ll get lucky and one of the people will be a good teacher.”

Vince hesitated; he really didn’t want to intrude on someone else’s group. HCP students had to maintain a C average in every course, however, and if he didn’t find a way to get some handle on this material, he wasn’t sure that he’d pull it off in this one.

“I guess I could give it a try, if you’re sure it won’t be a bother.”

“Not at all, I’m absolutely positive you can’t be any worse at this than me.”

“I appreciate it, Larry.”

“No problem, but call me L-Ray.”

“That’s a unique name,” Vince commented.

“I’ll give the explanation later. Right now, we need to head over to room C-4 if we don’t want to miss anything.”

Vince collected his notes, stuffed them in his book, and followed L-Ray in the very faint hope that his study group would offer him some semblance of comprehension.

72.

“I wonder what’s keeping Walter,” Candi said as she scanned the cafeteria. With his horn-rimmed glasses and buoyantly curly hair, her fellow freshman was generally hard to miss. He was also rather prompt in his nature, making her wonder if something had detained him after their gym session finished. She knew he’d been trying to uncover information about their mysterious upcoming midterm, and an idle hope flittered through her that perhaps he’d had some luck.

“I’m sure he’ll be along,” Cameron assured her between mouthfuls of chicken. The buzz-cut sporting boy always boasted a voracious appetite after training; deep down, the others often wondered how he’d managed to stay trim before the HCP had forced him into three hours of daily exercise.

“I think I saw him talking to a sophomore when we were heading to the lifts,” Gail chimed in. The three of them, plus Walter, had bonded early in the year and tended to spend most of their time outside of class together. Candi had initially had a bit of friction with Gail, but the two had eventually come to a point of mutual respect that was evolving into admiration.

“Really? Maybe he’s making some progress on the, well, you know.” The dorm cafeteria was always filled more with humans than with their kind, so Candi made a point to use vague terms whenever possible.

“Maybe,” Gail replied. She turned her attention back to her salad topped only with oil and sesame seeds. Candi had to look away; she’d long ago accepted other people’s dietary choices, but it still turned her stomach to see such violence piled atop a plate. She focused on her own meal: two pork chops and a chicken breast. Candi got her greens when they were willingly given, not by brutally assaulting innocent plants for her own gain.

The trio ate in silence for a few minutes before a fourth figure plopped down next to them.

“Evening, all,” Walter greeted.

“About time,” Gail chastised. “We’re almost done here.”

“My sincere apologies, dear lady. I do hope you’ll forgive my tardiness. I was in the depths of conversation with one of our elder classmates.”

“Cut the funny talk and get to it,” Cameron urged. He was a good guy, but he could be a bit antsy.

“All right. One of the sophomores, a young man named Thomas, wanted to let me know about a party they’re throwing next Saturday,” Walter explained. “Evidently, all the freshmen are invited.”

“I don’t trust it,” Gail said immediately. “I bet it’s some sort of weird hazing ritual. We show up, and they make us dress like chickens or wrestle in Jell-O.”

“That actually sounds pretty fun,” Cameron pointed out.

“Speak for yourself; do you know how long Jell-O stains your skin?” All eyes turned to Candi, who began to blush immediately.

“Moving past that, though we will definitely circle back to it, my understanding is that this is something of a tradition once our class reaches its current size. It’s sort of an olive branch to let us know that we’ve lasted long enough to be part of the community.”

“I still don’t trust it,” Gail reiterated. No one was particularly surprised by her misgivings; Gail’s particular power hadn’t always led to her seeing the best in human nature. They tolerated her untrusting demeanor, if for no other reason than she had proven her ability to get past it for the sake of friendship.

“Will there be beer?” Cameron’s eyes were already shining with anticipation. If there was one thing he loved, it was beer. If there were two things he loved, it was beer and adventure. The others often joked that Cameron would have walked right through the gates of Hell if promised an open bar and a good fight.

“Multiple kegs,” Walter assured him. “It might be interesting for you three to know that I did a little extra asking around after our conversation, and this Thomas fellow is good friends with The Five.”

This drew their attention more than any other fact, with the possible exception of Cameron and his beer question. The Five were already a legend in the lower class, though none had ever dared approach them. Everyone knew the rumors: that they had been born Powereds, but had somehow become Supers, that one was so powerful two teachers had tried to kidnap her for nefarious purposes, and that The Five had been strong enough to overtake them both and rescue their friend. Many of their classmates held The Five in contempt for their origins; however, the four students currently seated felt more curiosity toward them than anything else.

“Why would they go to a party? It’s commonly known the whole sophomore class hates them,” Gail said.

“Not the whole class,” Cameron rebutted. “I’ve seen that short girl and the goofy-looking guy hanging out with them a lot.”

“Plus, it seems Thomas and his roommates have a long-standing friendship with them. They were one of the first ones to show loyalty after the big secret came out,” Walter added.

“How do you know that?” Candi asked.

Walter gave his usual noncommittal shrug. “I listen, and I ask questions.” The truth was he hung out by the older students’ rooms frequently, either under the guise of being lost or having his head crammed into a book for studying. It wasn’t very dignified, so Walter tried to craft an aura of mystery to explain his extra knowledge.

“I say we go,” Cameron volunteered. “I mean, they’ve got beer.”

“No surprise there,” Candi sighed, absentmindedly brushing her blonde bangs out of her eyes. “I want to go too. It sounds like it could be pretty interesting.”

“I’m obviously in; no way I’d miss such a networking opportunity,” Walter agreed. Three sets of eyes set upon Gail, who was finishing up her salad. She chewed slowly, savoring every bit of flavor the withered plants could offer. Finally, she set her fork down and looked at the others.

“I guess I could go for a little while. But the first sign of bullshit, and I’m out the door.”

The other three cheered, drawing strange looks from the rest of the cafeteria. The four HCP freshmen paid the stares no attention. They were well-accustomed to being weirdoes to the bulk of the world.

73.

“Yo, Shades. Wait up!”

Nick paused his solitary saunter toward Melbrook as a sprinting figure with tightly-braided hair caught up to him.

“Stella,” Nick greeted. “To what do I owe the pleasure of such demure company?”

“I’m supposed to spread the word about the annual freshman welcoming party,” Stella replied briskly. A normal girl would have been at least panting after such a furious dash. The time in the HCP gym had left her far from a normal girl.

“Ah yes, I remember our beer pong adventure from last year. Who is hosting?”

“We are. Well, Thomas is organizing it, but the shindig is at our place. It’s next Saturday. We’ll have kegs; but, we wanted ask you to bring liquor if possible. That shit can get expensive to provide.”

“Very true. How are you guys even getting kegs? None of you are twenty-one yet.”

Stella gave him a cunning smile. “Oh, Violet and I have our sources.”

“Slipped the guy at the beer barn an extra fifty bucks?”

“Plus some gratuitous flirting,” Stella admitted.

“Liquor shouldn’t be a problem. Hershel must have some sort of hook-up.”

“Hershel?”

Nick nodded. “He uses whiskey to turn into Roy, remember? He made that clear during last year’s fiasco. Given how much time he spends as Roy, it seems only logical he has some sort of source.”

“Oh yeah. I guess I never thought to wonder where he got his supply.”

“I’ve never asked him, but however he does it, I’m sure we can use it to get a bottle or two for the party.”

“We’d appreciate it,” Stella said. “So, I can count you guys as coming?”

“Of course, we wouldn’t miss it,” Nick confirmed. He wasn’t actually sure if the others would want to come, but it was an opportunity to pick competitors’ minds as well as solidify relations with the few allies they still had. Tactically, it was a no-brainer, plus it might alleviate some of the stress he’d noticed in the group. Vince was freaking out about class, Roy had been training relentlessly, Hershel seemed to be worried about Roy, Alice was occupied with trying to understand the new aspect of her powers as well as forgetting the incident on Halloween, and Mary was, well, she was actually doing quite fine. Aside from the awkwardness they’d been grappling with since her foray into his brain, they were actually the least tightly-wound of everyone.

“Bitchin’. I’ll tell Thomas. Spread the word around, would you?”

“Sure you want me to do that?”

“What do you mean?”

Nick slowed his walking and looked at Stella more pointedly. “I appreciate you inviting us; I even like the fact that you pretended it was no big deal. But let’s be honest, my group isn’t exactly the most beloved set of people in our class. Us being there is one thing, but do you really want us advertising the fact that we’re going to show up? I fear it might significantly drive down your attendance.”

“Spread the word around,” Stella said forcefully, her own expression not showing one bit of consternation at Nick’s words. If Nick had been one to show his feelings, he might have smiled. He liked the metaphorical balls on this girl. It made her more interesting than many of the others.

“Consider it done.”

Stella gave him a curt nod, then began heading her own direction. She stopped after a few steps and called back to him.

“Hey, Nick!”

“Yes?”

“No bottom barrel shit! I don’t want to lose my eyesight over a mixed drink.”

Nick laughed quietly as he continued on his way. He might actually break out a decent bottle of something for the festivities. It seemed the least he could do to repay such stalwart support.

*      *      *

“Hey there, pretty boy, how’s life treating you?” Angela slid up next to Chad as he mechanically lifted the weights with his biceps. His gaze was distant as he focused on the exercise, but he took in her presence just as he noticed everything else.

“Good,” Chad grunted. He did a few more reps before setting the weights down. “You?”

“Supercalifragiawesome, per usual,” she replied. Her smaller hands wrapped around a pair of regular weights, the kind for people without puffed-up strength, and she began to do some shoulder lifts. “So, I heard the yearly party is coming together. You going to attend?”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

“Aw, why not?”

“Not big on parties,” Chad replied honestly. He scooped up a heavier pair of weights and began a round of triceps work. “Besides, my last outing didn’t go so well.” He’d eventually gotten control of his emotions and heard Rich’s side of the story; however, the night had still turned out to be one heck of an emotional roller coaster.

“A little birdy told me about that. I can assure you this one will be more fun. I happen to know for a fact the person hosting it is a responsible and conscientious young fellow.”

“Who is putting it on?”

“Thomas Castillo and his roommates.” Angela resisted the urge to arch her back. It would have accentuated her breasts, which she was quite proud of, but it also would have been a rookie mistake. Chad wasn’t the type to have his mind distracted by some lumps of flesh; he required a more subtle touch. Besides, it would have messed with her shoulder lifts and she was here (at least partially) to get a good workout.

“Thomas is a good man,” Chad commented.

“And I’m sure he throws a good party. Which you should go to. Next Saturday.”

Chad paused his workout and turned his attention to the female currently whittling down his resolve. “Why does it matter if I go?”

Angela stopped her own exercise as well. “Look, I didn’t want to come out and say it, but I guess I have to put my cards on the table. Thomas and his friends are nice, friendly people. They’re simply not all that powerful. Not compared to Supers like us.”

Chad nodded his agreement. Most would have taken the attitude for arrogance, but in Chad’s eyes, there was nothing wrong with making valid assessments of one’s abilities. He was stronger than they, and Angela was stronger than he was when last they fought. He suspected that had changed; however, it wasn’t relevant to the discussion at hand.

“These parties are important for the freshman, but with all that alcohol and all those egos, it can get out of control. I think it would be best for everyone if someone strong enough to enforce order was in attendance.”

“I see,” Chad replied. “I am still not big on parties.”

“I know, I know. I tell you what: I’ll even give you a hand. Juniors don’t usually go, but you can bring me as your date.”

Chad raised an eyebrow.

“It’s just a pretense, moron. With both of us there, no one will dare start any stupid shit. Everybody has a good time, and we can cut out early if things go smoothly.”

Chad resumed his workout and considered the proposal. He had no desire to attend such a function, and it would eat into his time for training. That being said, he did respect Thomas for his morality, and his dedication. If anything happened to his home, Chad would feel guilty, knowing he might have prevented it. But more than that, Chad suspected Thomas was only throwing it in the first place out of a sense of duty. If he could do his part, then Chad felt he should chip in as well.

“Okay, I’ll go.”

“Great! Pick me up at six that night. We’ll grab a quick dinner, then head on over.”

Chad didn’t recall agreeing to that part; however, he was slowly learning that it wasn’t worth the effort to try and argue with Shane’s sister.

74.

“Two more rolls ought to do it.” Stella stood up and stretched, her spine letting out a series of pops that sounded as though she’d stepped on bubble wrap. Beneath her feet was thick plastic sheeting that now covered the floor of their living room. One could scarcely even make out the carpet suffocating beneath the spill-resistant protection. That was exactly as it should be, because conversations with experienced partiers had educated them on the fact that without adequate carpet coverage, their security deposit was as good as gone.

“Thank goodness, I’m about sick of this,” Violet complained from the other side. “You’re a real peach for helping out with this crap, Camille. If I was in your place, I might have made up an excuse to duck out after the first five minutes.”

“It’s not so bad,” Camille said from her spot at the opposite end of the room. She was nearly done fastening the plastic to the ground so tightly that it wouldn’t move even when tread upon by dozens of careless youths. “Sort of nice to break up the routine.”

“We appreciate it. Tell you what, on party night, you have permission to cut the line to the keg as often as desired. Anyone gives you lip, and I’ll handle it personally,” Stella offered.

“Thank you. I’m not sure if I’m going to come or not.”

“Not this again,” Violet spat. “We barely get to hang out anymore, with us all being on separate teams. We didn’t even get to spend Halloween together. There is no way you’re ditching our freaking party.”

“Besides, I’ve heard through the grapevine that your team will be coming. Alllll of them.” Stella managed to pronounce the word “them” in a way that sounded suspiciously like “him.”

Camille reddened and turned her attention back to the plastic. “I see them all the time.”

“But you don’t see them in social situations. Ones with alcohol provided to the under-aged and small rooms for ducking away from the crowd. Who knows what kinds of team-building activities could happen in such a socially lubricated scenario?” Violet pointed out.

“I don’t think that would be very appropriate in the long term,” Camille said, hands still working even though the plastic had been attached for nearly a minute.

“It wouldn’t be appropriate in the short term, either, but who gives a shit?” Stella asked. “This isn’t a professional team you’re spending the rest of your life with. These go until the end of the year, and that’s assuming the profs don’t pull some weird fastball and change them up to screw with us. A relationship can last much longer, and you won’t get more of an opportunity to start one than while you two are still teamed up.”

Camille considered denying her crush; however, at this point, it didn’t seem like it would do any good. The girls were clearly aware of her feelings and trying to help. She was already a bad liar; there was no chance she could play things off.

“A friendship will last much longer than most relationships,” Camille said in her usual muted tones.

“Friendships can end, too. At least with a relationship, you know you went for it,” Violet replied. “Plus, there are occasions when a relationship can lead back into a friendship. Thomas and I are all the closer for having dated, even after we didn’t work out.”

“That might be a bad example. I’m pretty sure he still carries the old torch for you,” Stella interjected.

“Nah, he just has a special fondness for me,” Violet said. Neither Stella nor Camille were sure whether she was playing dumb, or if she really didn’t notice the way Thomas’s eyes would linger on her when he thought no one else was looking. It was possible that not even Violet herself knew whether she was lying to them or not. Regardless, nobody pressed the issue, and instead turned their attention back to its original target.

“Look, Camille, we’re just trying to say that Vince has been single since the end of last semester. Now, while I don’t really get down on that whole overly-good-guy vibe, even I can see the boy is nice-looking,” Stella said. “Sooner or later, some girl who does dig on that will come along, and then he’ll be off the market once more.”

“That’s okay,” Camille said reflexively. “It’s probably better that way.”

“Better for who?” Violet asked. “For him, because he’ll probably be settling for a girl not nearly as great as you? Or for you, because the guy you’ve been blushing over since last year will be out of your reach? The only clear winner I see in that equation is whatever chick manages to snap him up.”

“Vince wouldn’t settle. Whoever he ends up with will be the right girl for him.”

“And if the right girl is you?”

“It isn’t,” Camille said simply. She couldn’t explain to them just how amazing he really was, how he had been acting like a Hero since he was a boy. Camille couldn’t think of a way to make them understand that he was the kind of person who made the world better just by moving through it. Any girl he picked should be like him: she should be someone that lit up everything in her path with hope and light. She knew she wasn’t the right girl for him, because she could never measure up.

“Big talk,” Stella said. “I saw your face last year. I paid attention every time he pulled Sasha in for a tender kiss, or even just referenced having a girlfriend. I know it ripped you up inside, seeing him with another girl.”

“I got over it,” Camille lied.

“Stella is just trying to point out that you seem to be setting yourself up for more pain if you don’t at least try.”

“I appreciate the advice, I really do. I just don’t see it happening, and I’m happier with things the way they are.”

“Have it your way,” Stella said, picking up another roll of plastic wrap.

“I guess we can’t force you. But you are still going to come to the party. That much we can demand.”

“I do miss seeing you two, even with the relationship badgering.” Camille gave them a small smile to show her comment was meant in good fun.

“Well then, we’ll leave it be for now. I do want you to think about how you’ll react if he makes a move for you, though,” Violet advised. “Even if you prefer that things stay platonic, not even Vince is dense enough to miss what an amazing girl he has right on his team.”

“I’ll come up with a plan,” Camille said. She would, too; however, it would be a plan that also involved unicorns from outer space flying spaceships made of candy. After all, if she was going to plan for a ridiculous scenario, she may as well make it a fun one.

75.

The Friday before the party, Nick discovered a note in his locker with coded instructions. It took him less time to decipher it than it did for him to put on his sneakers. Mentally, he made a note to talk to Professor Pendleton about upgrading the level of cipher he was using. It wasn’t that the note contained anything more than directions to meet him in a classroom within ten minutes, but it was the principle of the thing. If Nick was going to flex his brain, he may as well go for a full-on sprint, rather than just a light jog.

Professor Pendleton was reading at his desk when Nick arrived—some cheap paperback romance novel. One time, Nick had asked the teacher about his selection of literature. He’d been told that it was the only type of reading material supplied in prison, and that once one developed a taste for it, the books were actually quite enjoyable.

“Rodrigo sweeping the widow off her feet?” Nick asked as he took a load off and slunk into a chair.

“He was, but now the local bank owner has come between them in an effort to win her for himself,” Professor Pendleton replied, carefully setting in a bookmark before closing his novel. “So, you ready for your midterms?”

“If my assessment of my own understanding is accurate, I should breeze through with at least a B in everything.”

“You know, if you applied yourself, you could be valedictorian.”

“And if Einstein had put his smarts toward women instead of physics, he could have been knee-deep in trim. That’s not the way his priorities lined up, now is it?” Nick wore his usual cocky grin, however, it was slightly subdued in these sessions. He kept in character—it was something he prided himself on—but with Professor Pendleton, he showed occasional bits of respect.

“Cute. That one take you long to think up?”

“Meh, about five minutes. Had it in the barrel for over a month, though. Thanks for the set-up.”

“My pleasure,” Professor Pendleton said. “And since you’re doing so well on your academics, I think you can handle a little something extra. I’ve called you in to talk about your midterm for my class.” While aboveground classes only lasted single semesters, the HCP ones ran the duration of a school year. This meant the winter break was only halfway through the term for most of them.

“I thought we weren’t getting anything from the HCP?”

“Most students aren’t. Then again, most students aren’t half-assing their way through the public portion of my class. This is especially pertinent when my class is the only one in which they stand a reasonable chance of advancing.” Professor Pendleton stood from his desk and opened one of the drawers on the side.

“Ah, so this is my price for our arrangement.”

“I’d prefer to think of it as extra credit to keep you even with the class.” He withdrew five pieces of stiff paper from the desk, each one a blank white square from Nick’s vantage point. Professor Pendleton crossed the distance between them and extended the papers. “Pick a card, any card.”

Nick began to reach out, nearly touching one before the professor slapped his hand away.

“Sunglasses off, if you don’t mind.”

“Got a problem with a little luck on my side?”

“I prefer to leave this up to genuine chance. No weighting the odds.” Professor Pendleton smiled placidly, his face indicating that this was in no way optional.

Nick sighed dramatically as he removed his shades. Looking his teacher in the eye, he reached out and grabbed one of the papers at random. A quick flip to the other side revealed only two words were printed on it: Blake Hill.

“Am I supposed to kill him?”

“Tempting, but no,” Professor Pendleton replied. He took the paper back from Nick and slipped it into the stack. After a brief walk over to the desk, he deposited them in the drawer from whence they came. “It looks like learning about Professor Hill is your assignment.”

“What are you looking for: favorite color, if he cheats on his wife, where he buys his pants?”

“No, I want to really test your information gathering skills,” Professor Pendleton replied. “I want you to uncover the secret he keeps the closest to his heart. You’re going to find out his Hero code name.”

Nick let out a low whistle. “That’s not a bad one. I don’t have much to go on. He hasn’t even used his power in class yet; actually, no one besides Professor Stone and Professor Fletcher has.”

“Advanced mind is one of the more common abilities, so she has little risk in revealing what she can do. As for Professor Fletcher, well, I’m sure you can reach the obvious conclusion there. The rest of them guard the exact nature of their abilities to avoid someone doing exactly what I’m instructing you to do.”

“Is this above-board?”

“As above-board as anything in the Subtlety field ever is,” Professor Pendleton replied. “Information is our bread and butter; it’s what makes us truly useful. Sometimes, doing a little research on a friend in the present is good preparation for a worst-case scenario in the future.”

“People call me a cynical bastard when I say things like that,” Nick said, a splash of bitterness discernible in his voice.

“Good for them. Better that only a few of us have to think this way,” Professor Pendleton slid into his chair and picked up the book once more. “You have until the end of January. Any questions?”

“If it’s a midterm, why is the due date next semester?”

“Because it’s an off-the-books midterm, so I can set the deadline whenever I please. I thought giving you more time was a kind gesture.”

“Just checking,” Nick replied. He stood from his own chair and placed the sunglasses back on his face. “So, all you need is the codename he used when he was a Hero?”

“You got it. This is pass or fail, all or nothing.”

“Yeah yeah yeah. I’ll have it before Christmas.”

“Good luck with that.”

“That’s the one thing I know I’ll have,” Nick shot back with an exaggerated wink. Professor Pendleton couldn’t see his eye close, of course, but the muscle movements of his eyebrow left no doubt as to what he’d done. With that, Nick was gone and his tutor was left alone, save only for the company of a good book.

Before continuing to read, Professor Pendleton reached into the drawer and took out the pieces of paper again. This wasn’t his classroom, and it wouldn’t do to have anyone find five identical cards, all with Professor Hill’s name written on them. For a moment, Sean had worried Nick would ask to see the others, but it seemed denying him his luck ability had convinced him that the papers were different. He stuffed the pages in his pocket, then turned his attention back to Rodrigo, who was languishing over the seemingly insurmountable obstacle barring him from his love.

76.

It had taken Candi more tries than she cared to admit to select her outfit for the party. She’d eventually settled on a forest green top paired with a push-up bra to try and fill it out properly. Gail hadn’t bothered with more than a glance in the closet, of course; she could be as pretty as she needed to be at a moment’s notice. Candi always hated Gail a little bit for that, but she supposed if the roles were reversed, she probably would have done the same. When Walter picked them up—he’d been selected as the designated driver—it was no surprise that he was wearing a recently-pressed polo, while Cameron sported his standard t-shirt and sneakers. Candi swore that boy would show up to his own wedding underdressed, assuming he ever settled into a relationship in the first place.

They arrived at the house in question about a half hour after it would have been fashionably late. There were plenty of excuses for why, but the truth of it was that they’d wanted a thick crowd so they could blend in if desired. The party was a scary prospect for most of them, and having a little cover made it easier to cope with. They needn’t have worried: there was certainly no shortage of bodies crammed into the building.

“Glad you could make it,” Thomas said, standing sentry at the door. “Who is your DD?”

Walter raised his hand sheepishly, and Thomas slashed an X mark across the back of it before Walter could react.

“I wasn’t aware this was a bar,” Walter mumbled as he stared at his hand.

“Nothing personal, but I don’t know how responsible you typically are. As long as that mark is on, no one will give you any alcohol, but no one will give you grief for not drinking either. The ink was specially created by one of my roommates, Will, so you can try and scrub if you want, but it won’t come off for twelve hours. Now, aside from my own enforcement of the designated driver policy, there aren’t many house rules. This is an HCP party, so feel free to use your powers. It’s a safe environment. That said, please refrain from doing any damage to the house. We do have to live here after this is over.”

“Anything else?” Candi asked.

“Kegs are in the garage, liquor is in the kitchen, and there are some snack foods in the dining room. Make yourselves at home and have fun.”

Cameron darted forward in a beeline; not one of his friends had to wonder which location he was going toward. The others ambled in gradually, absorbing the scene before them as they tried to get into a party mood. There were more of their classmates than they’d expected, but fewer than they might have hoped for. Sophomores made up the bulk of the bustling bodies, and though their gazes lingered on the unfamiliar faces, the freshmen didn’t sense any hostility from the older students. After a few minutes of acclimation, they made their way to the kitchen to try a few mixed drinks.

*      *      *

“Younger girls, Vince. Younger girls are heaven’s gift to strapping lads like us: still old enough to be legal, but inexperienced enough to perceive our advanced age as maturity. Herding them all together like this and adding alcohol, why, it’s practically unfair.” Nick took a swig of his cocktail to punctuate the point.

“I still can’t believe you talked me into coming out here,” Vince fussed. “I should be studying.”

“Algebra can wait, my dear boy; you’ll be just as clueless tomorrow as you were today.”

“That’s sort of the problem,” Vince replied. It was a testament to how stressed out school had made him that a red plastic cup filled with beer was clutched in his hand. He’d even managed to drink half of it over the course of the last hour. Roy and the girls were engaged in a flip-cup tournament that was in its final matches, so he and Nick had wandered around to do more meet-and-greets. They’d both been in the tournament as well; however, their team lost in the first round thanks to Vince’s unsteady hands and Nick’s intentional lack of coordination.

“Look, you’re making progress because of that study group of yours. Try and relax a little bit. The human mind can only stay cranked up to the max for so long before something fries itself. You need to take breaks; any book on how to cram will tell you that,” Nick assured him. It was actually a little off-putting to see Vince’s nerves frayed. The guy was generally so unflappable that Nick had been starting to wonder if he could even get riled up outside of combat.

“I know, I know,” Vince muttered, taking another sip of his beer. “I just have to do well. If I want to stay in, I mean.”

“It’ll be okay. Just take tonight off, and I promise you’ll find a way. The test is still a few weeks off, and if you don’t feel secure by the time it rolls around, I’ll personally oversee your tutoring.”

“Thanks. You’re a good friend, Nick.”

“I do what I can.”

“Excuse me,” said a freshman girl with blonde hair cut short and spiky. “Could you please pass me some cups?” Another girl stood behind her, wearing clothes that looked like they’d been on the floor for a week, and behind her was a boy in glasses trying very hard to look like he wasn’t trying very hard.

“No problem,” Nick said with his trademark smirk. He nimbly plucked three cups from the top of the stack and tossed one to each student. “You all enjoying the party?”

“Well, we just got here, but so far it seems fun,” said the blonde.

“It certainly is. I’m Nick, by the way, and the gentleman nursing his beer like Florence Nightingale is Vince.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Candi; these two are Gail and Walter.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance. Vince and I will get out of your way so you can cobble together some cocktails, but if you should need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask.” Nick squeezed his way out of the kitchen, followed by Vince, who gave them a much more genuine smile coupled with a thumbs up.

“They seemed nice,” Vince commented as the duo made their way to the garage. The tournament was bound to be nearing completion and both required a refill.

“They did, and we seemed aloof yet interesting. I’m telling you, younger girls. That’s where it’s at, my protégé.”

“How am I the protégé? I’ve actually had a girlfriend in college,” Vince pointed out.

“I dated around,” Nick replied. He’d ended things with Bubbles early last summer, when he had yet to decide whether returning to Lander was in his best interests. “Now, let’s go see what other promising prospects have wandered into our den of intoxication.”

“You get wordy when you drink.” Vince finished off the remainder of his beer as they headed into the garage. He had to admit, he did feel a little less stressed about the test. Maybe he’d have one or two more.

77.

Sasha greeted Thomas with a familiar nod as she and Julia walked in the door. Neither of them needed a designated driver: this Julia was a duplicate that the original had dropped off, and Lander was scarcely more than a few seconds’ jog away for Sasha. Besides, she wasn’t here to get hammered beyond coherency. Sasha was a woman with a mission; she just wasn’t sure what that mission was yet. She’d selected an outfit of skin-tight jeans and a low-cut top paired with a push-up bra. A rare touch of makeup and some attention to her hair left no doubt that she was looking to draw attention tonight. Whose attention wasn’t the least bit in doubt, either: this sumptuous little ensemble had been crafted for a certain silver-haired individual. Whether it was meant to win him back, make him miss her, or simply prove that she still drew his attention, Sasha still couldn’t figure out. Perhaps it was some strange combination of all of them. Perhaps it was none of them. She knew she wanted him looking at her tonight, though. That thought sat in her mind with certainty.

A cursory glance of the living room was all it took to assess her competition. Jill, Selena, and Violet were chatting away near the stereo, so Will and Alex were presumably in attendance. None of the girls were an issue: Selena was gorgeous but taken, Thomas clearly still had feelings for Violet, and Jill was Will’s sister, so Vince would consider all of them off limits. Angela was leaning against a wall, making small talk with Chad. The girl was beautiful in a fearsome sort of way—the type of beauty Vince could actually appreciate—but fortunately, Angela had her predatory eyes clearly set on the specimen in front of her, so she posed little threat. And aside from a few freshmen scattered about in the kitchen and some of the men from her class trying to look less awkward than they felt, that seemed to be the entirety in attendance. A loud roar of cheers from the garage informed Sasha of her mistake, though, and she reoriented her direction almost immediately.

“Don’t you want a drink?” Julia asked, motioning to the kitchen.

“I’m more in the mood for beer.” If the crowd was in the garage, then the kegs almost certainly were as well.

“Bleh.” Julia stuck out her tongue. “I’m sick of beer. I want something sweet.”

“Lucky for you we took such delicate sensibilities into account,” Violet said. She’d detached from her group of girls to greet the new arrivals. Neither Sasha nor Julia had noticed her cross the room, but given the general levels of background noise and movement, it was hardly a failing on their part.

“We made pink panty-dropper punch,” Violet explained.

“Sounds dangerous.” Her words might have been cautious, but Julia’s smile was eager.

“It’s essentially a bunch of pink lemonade and Everclear thrown in a cooler, with a bit of fruit and additives for flavoring. We set it up near the beer.”

“You’ve sold me: to the garage!” Julia thrust a finger in the air and began a dramatic march forward.

“She’s in a mood tonight,” Violet noted.

“It’s been a long week; I think we’re both overdue for a little fun.”

Violet gave Sasha an up and down assessment. “Looks like someone is angling for more than a little fun.”

“Girl’s got the right to turn some heads.”

“Amen to that. Come on, let’s follow your roommate. I need a new beer. Plus, they’ll be playing quarters pretty soon.”

*      *      *

“Wow, this stuff is way better than beer,” Vince commented as he sipped from Alice’s cup. Her team had lost the flip-cup tournament, and as such, she was beer-bloated enough to switch to the punch for a while. The line was shorter than the line for the beer as well, which had prompted Vince’s curiosity. “I’m going to grab a cup of this, instead.” He headed over to the cooler to wait behind Amber and Britney, who were already filling their own cups with the concoction.

“I wonder if we should warn him about this stuff being stronger than it tastes,” Alice said as her friend stood cheerfully in line.

“Nah, I’m sure he’ll be fine. Vince is a smart guy,” Nick replied. He took a draw from his own drink, partially out of thirst, and partially to conceal the smile that was tugging at his lips. A year ago, it might have worked, but Alice was a wiser woman these days.

“You’re hoping he accidently gets smashed, aren’t you?”

“Obliterated.”

“That’s just mean.”

Nick shook his head. “He’s been worrying himself sick for weeks now over his math class. Add that to the normal amount of ‘weight of the world’ bull that guy carries around, and I’m scared he’ll give himself an ulcer before Christmas.”

“And alcohol is the answer?”

“Fun is the answer. Doing things you wouldn’t normally do, making a few mistakes—” Nick noticed Sasha slink into the garage, sheer sex bundled into tight jeans and topped with pink-streaked hair. “—maybe repeating a few mistakes that were particularly fun.”

“You’re awful,” Alice sighed. But she made no motion to go warn Vince. He’d probably figure it out after the first cup, and if he didn’t, then maybe that was okay, too. Things had been tightly wound lately; a little recklessness was practically demanded.

“Hey, lovebirds, if you can tear yourselves apart, Camille and I need some opponents,” Stella called, holding up a pair of darts. Camille looked properly shamed by such an inappropriate greeting, but Stella wore a cocksure grin that said she knew what she’d said and was confident she’d struck close to the truth.

“Lovebirds, huh? I think she’s trying to rattle us,” Nick said.

“She’ll need to do better than that,” Alice replied honestly. She wasn’t sure if she trusted Nick again, not yet, but after Halloween, she was done pretending she didn’t like being around him. He was the one she’d cried against for hours, and all he’d done in response was hold her close. He’d known words would be wasted; he’d gotten that there was no simple fix for what was wrong. Nick understood her, at least a little bit, and that connection was something that made her feel better when he was around. It was enough—at least for right now.

“Let’s go kick some steel-shifting ass,” Alice quipped as the duo set off to do battle on a ground of thrown projectiles.

78.

Roy was rarely impressed by anything that didn’t involve D-cups and a size zero waist, but as he watched the freshman pour yet another cup of beer down his throat, he had to admit it was something worth watching. The kid had introduced himself as Cameron, then put a hurting on the kegs that would have left a rock star envious. The boy was basically filling his lean frame with hops-brewed alcohol as fast as he could work his way through the line. Most of the freshmen in this situation were more timid or bashful about their activities. Not this kid. Roy admired that sort of bravado.

“What’s that make, fifteen?”

“Probably,” Cameron said with a shrug. “I’m not great at counting.”

“Most people at that point wouldn’t be great at standing.”

“I’ve got a high tolerance.”

“So I can see. You’re Cameron, right? I’m Roy Daniels.” He held out his hand, which the younger boy accepted and immediately shook. His grip was strong, beyond what a human would have been able to casually manage, but not overly impressive by Super standards.

“I know who you are, but it’s nice to meet you officially.”

“My legendary drinking and fighting prowess precedes me, huh?”

“Nah, everyone in my class just knows about the Powereds who got into the HCP.” If Cameron was at all aware of the subtle tension that bloomed from the people standing around him, he didn’t show it. In fact, he did nothing more than down half of another beer in a single swift sip.

Roy stared at the smaller boy with forced calm. Given his size and seeming strength, there were limited options for why he’d make a comment like that. Either he was an idiot, he was much more powerful than he seemed, or he was simply too thick to realize it might be an offensive thing to say. Before Lander, Roy would have dismissed the last one immediately, but time with Vince and Chad had shown him that, sometimes, perfectly competent people could have social blind spots the size of elephants. He decided to test the waters before selecting a reaction.

“We were Powereds. We’re Supers now.”

“Oh, my bad. The grapevine sucks at details.” He took another swig of beer and stared at Roy quizzically. It looked like it was the socially ignorant option after all. Roy was glad he’d resisted the urge to hurl the kid through the wall. Thomas probably would have never forgiven him for the repair bills.

“I think one of the beer pong tables is open. Let’s fill a pitcher and see what you’ve got,” Roy said with a charming smile.

“Cool.” Cameron didn’t worry about much as long as there was beer. For his part, Roy was confident he could keep the tone of the match more fun than the one Hershel and Nick had started last year. Not to mention, this kid had obviously come here with friends, some of whom were female. Freshman girls were easy-pickings, and establishing a bond with their buddy would be a faster way in than doing a cold approach. Despite his thick muscles and fist-first attitude, Roy Daniels could employ a bit of tact and strategy when it came to the fairer sex.

*      *      *

Candi stood out in the yard and tried to will away her tension. She wasn’t like Cameron, with his unflappable nature, or Gail, with her power to see through people, or even Walter and his clumsy schemes to ingratiate himself to others. Candi was a girl who was comfortable in solitude, who liked her own company in a way that most people would spend lifetimes trying to emulate. However, enjoying alone time and being immune to needing companionship were different things.

College, and the HCP especially, had shown her the importance of having friends. That was why she was here tonight. But her discomfort in unfamiliar situations was why she currently stood on the dilapidated grass that passed for a backyard.

The new owners were obviously working to undo the neglect of countless tenants before them; Candi could have seen that even without her abilities. There were fresh sprouts popping out of the ground, eagerly bursting forth from soil that was finally being watered with regularity. She could feel their joy, their drive to grow big and strong. Plants were so positive most of the time; it was why humans found nature so soothing. Candi liked to believe that even though everyone couldn’t hear the flora the way she could, they could still sense its goodness in some way.

“Having fun?”

Candi nearly leapt out of her sandals. She’d been so focused on the sounds of the plants around her that she’d missed the more obvious noise of a door opening behind her. Once her heartbeat slowed to a dull hammering, she turned around to see the person who’d accidently snuck up on her. He was a sophomore, short in stature with a pair of glasses resting beneath light, curly hair.

“I am, I just needed some air,” Candi said lamely.

“I completely understand. These things can be a bit overwhelming.” He sat down on a stone bench that rested near the door. Despite the fact that he carried a plastic cup, he didn’t seem to be drawing from it with the same enthusiasm as the other party-goers.

“Tell me about it. I like meeting new people and all, I guess I just wish it wasn’t all so

. . .”

“Loud?”

“Exactly. Loud.” Candi wandered over and sat down in a lawn chair a few feet away from the bench. “I like quiet conversation better. When does that become the default way to make new friends?”

“Based on my observations, long after you’ve already made the important ones.”

“I was afraid of that.” Candi chuckled lightly. “I’m Candi.”

“Will. I’m one of the actual tenants here.”

“That explains why you’re in attendance.”

“Sadly, I suspect I’d be here even if that weren’t the case. I’ve grown some friendships that encourage me to step outside my comfort zone with more frequency than I would generally prefer.” Will’s eyes were skyward, picking out the few constellations visible despite the cloudy night. “Such is the trade-off of friendship, though: you’re forced into situations you’re not secure in, but in return, you have people who assure you security in any situation. Quite a fascinating system, when you think it over.”

“Yeah, it is.”

Will rose quietly from his seat. “On that note, I should go check on my guests. Perhaps you should see what your friends are up to as well?”

“Good idea.” Candi got up and followed the shorter boy back into the ruckus-filled fray that was colloquially known as “a party.”

79.

When Sasha found Vince, he was already on the losing end of a game of quarters with Gilbert. He didn’t seem too down about it, smiling and accepting his drinks with a curiously cheerful demeanor. It didn’t take a detective to piece things together, especially when he looked up and noticed her arrival.

“Sasha!” He leapt up from his metal folding chair and enveloped her in a wide-armed hug. She stiffened with surprise initially, but then relaxed as familiarity and nostalgia swept through her heart. She’d missed his hugs, and even drunken, they still held the same reassuring quality. It was like he was trying to squeeze all the sentiments he was too awkward to articulate into a single loving gesture. Sasha let the embrace go for just a few instants longer than she might have if he were sober—they weren’t on that good of terms yet—then carefully disengaged herself and flashed him a warm smile.

“I see someone is enjoying himself.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Nick interjected, walking over from his vantage point observing a beer pong game. “Alice and I left him unattended to play some darts earlier, and before we knew it, he’d gone through two cups of the punch.”

“Is it that strong?”

“It ain’t jet fuel, but I wouldn’t feed it to an infant, either. It’s decent, but you’ve got to remember who we’re talking about here.”

“Right.” Sasha had been with Vince the entirety of last year, and in that time, she could only remember him occasionally taking sips of other people’s drinks, never indulging in one of his own. That meant, despite his well-trained physique, he had virtually no tolerance for alcohol. “What actually got him drinking anyway?”

“I found something that tastes good,” Vince replied, punctuating his sentence with a sloppy gulp of pink liquid.

“That, and he’s been worrying his ass off about one of his tests. He’s scared he won’t do well enough to stay in the program.”

“Killjoy.” Vince stuck his tongue out at Nick.

Sasha chuckled, not just at the idiocy of her former boyfriend, but at the idea of him worrying about a test. She’d seen Vince shrug off nearly everything that came his way with the same unwavering determination. He would get through any challenge, because he had to; that was just his way. To hear that a regular class had gotten under his skin was frankly, well, adorable. It was nice to see that even the seemingly unstoppable had fears.

“We should probably slow him down,” Sasha recommended.

“Tried that; he just poaches more drinks when my back is turned.”

“You’re not all that smart, are you?” Sasha turned to Vince and gently took his cup. “Hey, Vince, you want a drink that tastes really good?”

“Better than the punch?” Even intoxicated, his tone was skeptical.

“So good you’ll swear there’s no alcohol in it at all. It’s as smooth and refreshing as water, I promise.”

“Wow. Okay.” Vince yielded his cup, and Sasha flashed Nick a “told you so” look before heading toward the kitchen. Drunk or not, Vince was incredibly trusting and kind of an idiot. It made him into the sort of person who could maintain such staunch ideals in the face of a world that didn’t share them, but it also made him incredibly easy to manage if one was willing to put in a little effort.

Back in the garage, Vince looked at Nick and put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “She looked really pretty.”

Nick laughed freely, not bothering to disguise his mirth. “Oh man, I am going to get you drunk more often.”

“Sounds good!” Vince meandered off, not waiting for a reply. Nick turned to check on the status of the beer pong game and when he looked back, Vince had procured yet another cup of the colorful punch. It was actually impressive how easily he produced them, like some bizarre booze magic trick. Nick considered snatching away the new acquisition, then shrugged it off. Sasha seemed to want to take care of him, so he’d leave it to her. Besides, if ever there was a place for Vince to cut loose a little, it was in a room full of Supers who could handle any problems he might create.

*      *      *

Mary and Camille sat on a dilapidated couch that had been set alongside threadbare chairs in the hopes of creating a makeshift lounge area. It provided an excellent view of the garage, as well as a vantage point that allowed one to observe the various comings and goings at the garage door as they occurred. Neither of the small-framed girls sipped on anything stronger than soda, but after watching the way Vince and Sasha had embraced, Camille was beginning to find herself sorely tempted.

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Mary said, loud enough to be heard, yet soft enough not to be overheard.

“Sorry?” Neither girl had said much beyond the usual friendly chit-chat upon taking a seat. They were both more comfortable as silent observers than as active participants, at least when it came to situations like these.

“I wouldn’t recommend getting a drink. I don’t think it will help the situation.”

“Oh, you heard that?”

“I did. And even if I didn’t, I could have guessed it. You sort of wear your feelings on your face,” Mary explained.

“I know.” Lying to a telepath was a waste of both of their time. She tried anyway. “It doesn’t bother me that much.”

“Or at least, you feel like it shouldn’t. Like you don’t have the right to be hurt by it. He isn’t anything more than your friend, after all.”

Camille nodded.

“Did you know Roy and Hershel share memories?” Mary didn’t look at Camille as she spoke; both girls kept their eyes trained on the active people bustling through the party.

“They do?”

“Thoughts, emotions, memories; everything one experiences, the other can recall. It’s the closest thing to communication they have,” Mary explained. “That means, even though Hershel has never cheated on me, he regularly wakes up with crisp, genuine memories of sleeping with other women. My boyfriend is a virgin, but he has literally hundreds of women as a standard of comparison.”

“Hundreds?”

“Roy can be charming when he wants to be,” Mary said. “The point is, Hershel can’t help that any more than I can help hearing what people think. It’s a part of his ability, and the only way to stop it would be to deny an entire part of who he is. That’s something I don’t have the right to be mad about, if only because I knew it going in.”

“So, it doesn’t bother you?” Camille looked at her team captain with a new measure of awe.

“Of course it bothers me. It bothers me all the damn time.”

“That seems awful.”

“It is, but that’s not why I brought it up. See, it’s an example of something that can’t be helped. If I want to be with Hershel, then I can’t really complain about it. You, on the other hand, have feelings for a single man who is well within your reach. You have every right to be bothered when he squeezes his ex-girlfriend like she’s going to spurt candy. You don’t have to feel bad about feeling bad. And you don’t have to do nothing about it either.”

“Yes, I do.” Camille could have tried harder to keep the sadness off her face, but she couldn’t really see the point.

“You can take care of him. Friends do that, and the way he’s plowing through the punch, he’ll probably need it.”

“Sasha has that in hand.”

“Sasha’s first recourse was trickery. That’s not the only way to guide Vince to a conclusion. Besides, can she heal the damage his liver is taking?”

“Probably not,” Camille conceded.

“So go be his friend. Keep him safe, whatever that entails.”

Camille looked at Mary for a long minute, then set down her water and got up from the couch. She couldn’t get too close to him; she couldn’t risk losing the relationship they shared. But she could, as a friend, still protect him. That was why she’d worked this hard, why she’d come this far. She could take care of him, no matter who else was around. That much was within Camille Belden’s power.

80.

Thomas eventually left his post at the door to join the revelry, but only after he was sure the bulk of the guests had arrived. It seemed like things were going well—the general vibe was certainly more relaxed than it had been at last year’s festivities. The few freshmen who had bothered to attend looked like they were enjoying themselves. A couple milled about in the living room making conversation, some participated in the drinking games set up in the garage, and one looked to be racing Roy to the bottom of the keg. Angela and Chad greeted him with their usual nods, and Thomas thought he saw a smattering of approval in the smile Angela flashed him. He could see why: things were going as well as could be expected.

Thomas tried to take a detour to the bathroom, only to walk in on a couple getting exceptionally familiar on the counter of the sink. He closed the door before investigating identities—there were some things he was probably better off being ignorant of. It wasn’t like he blamed the duo—private places were scarce and with this much social lubricant, such instances were bound to occur.

The thought that followed on that one’s heels (not that Thomas would accept that there was any connection between the two), was that he should check on his housemates and make sure they were all doing okay. Thomas then turned his attention in search of Violet and the others, winding his way back through the rooms, snatching up a few abandoned cups as he went. Just because it was a party, didn’t mean he couldn’t get a head start on the eventual clean up.

*      *      *

The inevitable had happened, and thankfully, it had happened in a toilet rather than on anyone’s shoes. Despite Sasha’s secret water and Camille’s watchful eye, Vince’s stomach had turned after only a few more drinks. Camille had offered her services in aid to Sasha, and the two had gotten him upstairs, where he proceeded to make a valiant offering to the porcelain god. The two women stood outside during the assault, neither one particularly wanting to get the visual on such an event.

“You can probably head back down if you want,” Sasha said, partly just to verbally cover the series of sickening sounds coming from the open doorway. “I’ll clean him up, throw some water in him, and put him to bed in Will’s room.”

“That’s not a good idea until we’re sure he’s done vomiting. If he gets on his back and throws up in his mouth, he could choke to death.”

“First off, yuck. Second, what are the odds of that?”

“More than you’d think. I took some emergency care classes at the local hospital when I was younger. Apparently, there are multiple cases of people dying that way every year,” Camille explained.

“Really? I guess I’ll prop him up, then.” Sasha was interrupted by a fresh wave of audio from the restroom. “That might be a while from now. So, why did you take emergency classes? Can’t you fix everything with a touch?”

“Not everything. Illness is really hit or miss for me, depending on what kind it is. There are very few healers who can deal with all forms of infection and sickness, so learning some general treatment practices was a good idea. Plus, it never hurts to expand your knowledge.”

“I bet it also looked good on your application to Lander.” Sasha flashed her classmate a conspiratorial grin. Camille reciprocated as best she could. The noise from the bathroom began to dull, and Camille risked a quick peek to ensure his head was still above the rim.

“How is he?”

“Looks stable for the moment. Let’s give him a bit.”

“Good call,” Sasha agreed.

The two stood in silence, save only for when Camille ventured into the bathroom to give the toilet a quick flush. Vince stirred briefly, mumbled a pair of words, and then set his head back on the seat. The girls had wiped it liberally with some cleaning pads before letting him settle down, but Camille still couldn’t help wondering how sanitary a practice this really was.

“Why don’t you use some of your healing ability to make him better?” Sasha asked as Camille emerged from her unpleasant adventure.

“I did that on the way up the stairs. I healed his liver, but the alcohol is still in his system. The symptoms won’t go away until it runs its course.”

“I see. So all I can do is wait.”

“Seems like it’s our only option.”

“Gotcha. Well, while we’re standing around, I was wondering something. How long have you had feelings for my ex-boyfriend?”

Camille reddened immediately, but she didn’t look at the ground. Instead, she met Sasha’s stare dead on, even shifting her feet a bit to close the height gap between them. “What do you mean?”

“It’s okay, you don’t need to deny it. I’ve given you multiple chances to leave Pukey, and yet you stay; you even went in to flush, despite his current combustive nature. When I think about the way you’re always gazing up at him, it all falls into place.”

“I wasn’t denying it. I was literally asking for clarification on what you meant. If you mean to ask how long I’ve admired him, the answer is a very long time. How long have I been attracted to him is obviously since I saw him. If you want to know how long I’ve cared deeply for him . . . well, now that I think about it, that’s really none of your business.” Camille’s insides were churning with a fervor only Vince’s could currently equal, but she stood her ground and refused to look away.

“Look at you, getting all puffed up for a change.” Sasha attempted a friendly smile, but succeeded only in resembling a tiger showing its teeth to a house cat. “There’s no need to get upset. He’s my ex, after all. I was just making conversation.”

“Then I apologize for misunderstanding your meaning,” Camille replied, lowering her stance, but keeping her eyes locked with Sasha’s. The two might have stayed like that all night, if not for the sounds of a silver-haired young man pulling himself up from the toilet and lumbering to the doorway.

“Anybody have any mouthwash? There’s a flavor on my tongue that would curdle milk.” He gave a weak smile to his two caretakers, who immediately let the tense mood between them dissolve.

“I’ll put a cup for you by the bed. I’ll also leave a bottle of water and a trash can, just in case,” Camille volunteered. She nearly dashed from the room, while Sasha began helping Vince over to the bed. Her heart was thundering, partially because of her confrontation with Sasha, but more from fear that Vince might have overheard their discussion. They’d been speaking low; however, that didn’t mean he hadn’t at least gotten snippets.

By the time Camille had found a free trash can and a big enough bottle of water, she’d managed to calm her nerves a bit. She reminded herself that even if Vince had gotten pieces of the conversation, there was virtually no way he’d recollect them in the morning. He was well beyond “out of it”; after all, when she’d gone in to flush, he’d mumbled something that sounded like “stop, thief.” That made no sense at all. At least, that’s what she kept telling herself over and over as she climbed the stairs back to the room where the man she loved was waiting.

81.

Angela was impressed. The celebration had lasted most of the evening before any semblance of a fight broke out. She’d had to put down two half-hearted scraps before the freshmen had even arrived at her party. It was a little surprising that Thomas had managed to keep the peace for so long, though who had broken it was somewhat less shocking.

“Should we intervene?” Chad was standing next to her, looking delicious as always. For a guy who didn’t seem to care much about his looks, Angela couldn’t help noticing that his hair was always nicely styled and his complexion impeccable. Given his power, these things probably took almost negligible effort to maintain, but it was still effort he exerted. Chad could put on the dedicated, tough act all day long, but Angela knew there was a bit of vanity and ego under the calm warrior’s surface.

“I don’t see any reason to. So far, it seems to be a friendly match. Better they release their aggression harmlessly than let it loose in more destructive ways.”

Across the yard stood Roy and the freshman boy, Cameron or some such, both doing a preliminary stretch or two as the crowd of intoxicated students mingled about. A few more freshmen were speckled through the growing audience, three of them with looks of evident concern. Cameron himself seemed quite nonchalant; perhaps the gallons of beer he’d put away were the cause of such chillness.

The cluster parted as Thomas made his way outside. He looked at the two men preparing to do battle and let out a long, exasperated sigh before speaking.

“Who insulted whom?”

“Neither,” Roy said with an oversized grin. He looked like a kid waiting in line for a new roller coaster that he’d yet to scream his way through. “We were just drinking and talking, and Cameron mentioned his abilities were physical-based as well. Couple of beers later, we decided to have ourselves a match.”

“‘A couple of beers’ is something of an understatement,” Alice chipped in from the sidelines. Even half-buzzed and in the cool wind of the California air, she still looked dazzling. Angela was very thankful the girl was inept in choosing and procuring men, otherwise she might have had some real competition for her current conquest.

“We had enough,” Roy replied. “Now, hold my hat.” He tossed the ever-present gray cowboy hat to Angela, which she caught with some distaste.

“What on earth makes you think a fight in my backyard is a good idea?” Thomas inquired.

“You’ve got high fences. Besides, we’re just horsing around. No mega-strength punches or tossing each other half a mile away. Just the first to three pins wins.”

“I’ll be quick,” Cameron promised from a few feet away. He’d finished his own stretches and was hopping impatiently in place.

“This seems like an awful idea,” Thomas reiterated.

Angela waltzed forward slowly, letting the crowd register her presence and slide away appropriately. She’d learned long ago how to project an aura of power and intimidation. It didn’t come from being aggressive or showing your strength; if anything, it was the opposite. People saw true power when they witnessed someone who could move with a blissful peace, no matter what was happening around them. That confidence only came from being so strong that you had nothing that required your worry. Anyone could learn to project that image, but if you actually had the power to back it, it was dozens of times more effective. And Angela definitely had the power.

“Let them be,” she said as she slid up to Thomas’s side. “You can’t control morons. You can only point them in a useful direction. If things get out of hand, Chad and I will put a swift stop to it.” Her words were for Thomas, but both of the would-be fighters got a dose of her eyes. She made sure each understood that the consequences of her stepping in would be exceptionally unpleasant. They seemed to absorb as much of her message as their booze-addled brains were capable of. With that settled, Angela put her hand on Thomas’s shoulder and led the party host back a few steps. There was immediate bickering directly behind her; a cursory glance revealed it to be the freshmen she assumed were Cameron’s friends. She started to listen to their conversation, but her attention was drawn back to the action as it started.

Cameron kicked things off with a headlong charge right at Roy’s torso. If the older boy was surprised, it was only because he wasn’t accustomed to someone pulling his own signature move on him. Unluckily for Cameron, all of Roy’s experience with this technique had given him first-hand insight on how it could be countered. Roy struck with a quick elbow to the shoulder blade, obliterating Cameron’s balance and leaving him wide open for the knee that was driven into his hip. If it had been against a regular opponent, such a strike would only have further skewed his balance, but from someone like Roy, the blow flipped him several feet into the air. He landed chest-first in the grass with a soft thud. Roy moved to capitalize, but the freshman was surprisingly quick to recover. A single punch against the ground launched him back to his feet.

The two combatants looked at each other for only a moment before they rushed back into the fray. Cameron was good; he had speed and experience to go with his strength. But as the two cycled through holds and escapes, two things became clear: Roy was more practiced at hand-to-hand combat, and Cameron was the much weaker of the two. His speed and tactics kept him aloft for nearly a full minute before Roy landed a pivotal leg sweep that sent Cameron crashing down. Recovery might still have been possible if Roy hadn’t learned his lesson from the first attack. Such was not the case, and Roy kept after his opponent relentlessly, offering no chance for rest. A few seconds and three taps on the ground later, the first round was over.

Roy stood and brushed himself off, extending a hand to help his younger opponent up off the grass. Cameron accepted graciously, leaping up with energy to spare.

“Ready for round two?” Cameron asked with an excited smile.

“Sure, why not?” Roy now knew that there was no way Cameron could defeat him, but if the kid wanted to go again, that was fine. Chad had wasted God only knew how much time last year fighting an inferior opponent so he could learn. The least Roy could do was follow Chad’s example.

“Wait a second!” A cute girl with short blonde hair came tumbling out of the crowd. Just behind her were two more freshmen, each exchanging looks of concern with the others. “Just wait a minute, please.” The girl turned to Cameron, who looked as if he’d just discovered someone ate all of the cereal and put the empty box back in the cupboard.

“Tell me something honestly, how much have you had to drink?” Her tone made it clear she wouldn’t buy any lies or half-truths. She wanted his alcohol consumption down to the glass.

“A lot of beer,” Cameron answered, as honestly as he could.

“That it? Just beer? No hard liquor of any kind?”

“None at all.”

“Ugh, you’re such a moron.” The blonde began rooting around in her oversized purse, eventually producing a full bottle of what had to be the cheapest vodka sold in stores. She handed it to him without a word, and stared at him until he unscrewed the cap and began to guzzle it down.

“I’m really sorry about this,” the girl said, turning to Roy. “It’s just that, with only beer, he’s not going to be all that strong, and I don’t want him to get hurt.”

Roy wasn’t sure what to make of that explanation, or of Cameron’s chugging abilities, but he supposed at this point it made as much sense as anything else in his world. He gave her a shrug and motioned for Cameron to finish, which he did in short order.

“Thanks,” Cameron said, handing her back a now empty bottle. He looked back at Roy with renewed vigor. “So, round two?”

82.

The second round started in much the same way as the first, with Cameron doing a furious charge. Roy was ready for this; he hadn’t really expected the kid to learn his lesson from one loss. What he wasn’t ready for was the way his blows glanced off the freshman’s back, not to mention the tremendous power that Cameron struck him with. Roy hunched over and damned near lost his footing; it was only because of being brutally assaulted by Chad for the past year that he had the skill to stay on his feet. Rather than going for any fancy holds, Roy merely reached over and grabbed Cameron’s legs, jerking him in an arc through the air and slamming him to the ground. He should have capitalized and he knew it, but instead, he took a step back to recover his bearings and his breath.

“What the fuck, kid? Where did that come from?”

Cameron came to his feet quickly, like the blow that had left a crater in Thomas’s lawn hadn’t even registered to his skull. There was a gentle sway to the way he stood now, the effect of speed-guzzling vodka already showing itself. He smiled at Roy. His eyes were a bit foggy, but the intent therein was still sharp as volcanic glass.

“I do love me some booze.” The words slipped out just as he lurched forward, his fists flying faster than Roy would have thought possible. He got three strikes in before Roy was able to dodge and hip-toss him back to the ground.

“You’re kidding me. Alcohol makes you stronger, doesn’t it?” Roy glanced at the blonde who had produced the purse-vodka and saw her give a slight nod. He turned his gaze back to Cameron, who was scrambling to his feet once more. Before the younger boy could mount another assault, Roy threw back his head and let out a tremendous bark of a laugh.

“That is fantastic!” He hunkered down into a defensive stance and met his opponent’s slowly drooping eyes. “Any time you’re ready.”

Chad didn’t linger around to watch as the sounds of smacking flesh rang out in a series. He turned and walked back into the house, intent on getting some pretzels. Angela materialized at his side almost instantly; he still hadn’t figured out how she moved through throngs of people with such ease.

“Don’t you want to see the show?”

“No need. Roy’s going to win, and I don’t think either will let things get out of hand,” Chad said.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Cameron seems to get stronger and faster with the more alcohol he consumes. However, he hasn’t gotten as strong as Roy yet, although he is a bit faster,” Chad explained.

“Fast can make the difference,” Angela tossed back. She’d seen many a match that was determined by factors other than brute force.

“It can, but there are two problems with it being a powerful enough advantage to turn the tides. For one, Roy is accustomed to fighting people who are faster than he is. During our sparring matches, he grew quite adept at compensating for my faster movements. The other issue—”

“Yeah, I saw that already. Cameron is getting drunker the longer they fight.”

Chad stopped at a table in the now nearly-empty kitchen and scooped up a handful of chips, the pretzels having been emptied out sometime earlier. “Precisely. Assuming there are no limits on how much power he can gain from alcohol, it seems he still has to contend with the side effects of intoxication.”

“You have to admit, if there’s no cap on that power, it could be pretty useful.” Angela helped herself to the liquor section by mixing up a quick Mai Tai. She’d have preferred to drop some fresh fruit in it, but free booze was free booze.

“He is in the HCP at Lander. Despite what recent rumors might indicate, the standards for admission here are exceptionally high.”

“Getting into the HCP at any college is pretty difficult,” Angela pointed out. “Although, I suppose we’re the only ones suffering under the stigma of doubt, thanks to our recent admissions.”

“Unfounded speculation,” Chad snapped. Angela was slightly taken aback. She’d seen him shrug off all manner of trouble and insult, but this was getting under his skin. A more demure girl would have abandoned the topic immediately. A more demure girl wouldn’t have had Angela’s warrior instincts.

“It doesn’t bother you? The Powereds, or former Powereds, coming into our school and putting us in the cross-hairs of every other member of the Hero Certification Program?”

“Not in the slightest. I have no qualms with them being here. How a person acquires their abilities doesn’t matter in the slightest. It only matters how they use them.”

“That’s quite accepting of you. And if everyone else shared that opinion, we wouldn’t have to worry about Lander looking bad.”

There was a crunching sound as Chad inadvertently disintegrated the chips he’d been holding when his hand clenched into a fist. He opened his fingers and watched a fine powder drift toward the plastic-covered floor.

“Lander will come out on top. I trust Dean Blaine implicitly, and I will keep the reputation of this school pristine, if I have to personally carry it to unseen heights. I won’t let anyone tarnish it.”

“You really love this school.” Angela handed him a paper towel to wipe off the orange chip residue. Her initial urge was to put a comforting hand on his arm; however, she immediately recognized that as a mistake. Chad would loathe pity or comfort. The most he could accept was the respect and confidence of a peer, someone truly on his level. That was why she gave him something functional instead of emotional. That was kindness he could tolerate.

“I do. I didn’t even apply to any others.”

“With your skill, I guess you knew you’d get into your first pick.”

Chad shook his head. “If I’d been turned down, I would have just tried again the next year. I had to come here.”

“Look, I like Lander a lot, but I’m guessing there’s a reason for that kind of determination, aside from the mild summers and beach proximity.”

“This is where my parents met. It’s where all my father’s friends knew him best. When they visit and tell stories, almost all of them take place here. Every time I picture my dad, I always see him at Lander. I walk by places on campus, and I remember the tales I’ve heard about his time here; I can almost picture him amongst the scenery.” Chad handed her back the orange-stained paper towel. A lesser woman would have caved to her urges and embraced him in an enthusiastic hug. But instead, Angela accepted the towel and threw it in the trash.

“That makes sense to me. And, for what it’s worth, I’m glad we got you. Nice to finally have someone who is a decent sparring partner.”

Chad gave her a rare smile, his teeth perfectly aligned and just the right shade of white. “Same to you.”

“Just one word of advice: don’t get so caught up in chasing someone else’s memories that you forget to craft your own. Someday, you might have a child to pass them on to, and wouldn’t it be a shame if the only ones you could give were third-hand?”

“There is some logic to that,” Chad admitted, still facing away from her when he said it.

“Sounds like they’re finally done with the wrestling outside. Let’s go make sure no one got killed,” Angela suggested. Part of a long-term offense was knowing when to retreat after a successful strike.

“That would be a bit of a mood killer,” Chad conceded. The two walked back out into the crowd, and despite its size, Angela made damn sure the tide of people wasn’t able to separate her from her date.

83.

With the passing of the party, all that remained for the sophomore class (aside from a few awkward wake-ups with unexpected partners the following morning and one uncomfortable break-up), were their midterm exams for Lander’s standard curriculum. For some, this was a source of mere annoyance; for others, it was a hot ember of fear constantly searing their stomach lining. Vince fell into the latter of the two categories, but he certainly wasn’t alone. He still cursed himself for the night of lost studying, to say nothing of the prodigious hangover he’d suffered the next morning. Each passing day seemed to fly by faster and faster, bringing him closer to the test that could end his career at Lander without so much as throwing a punch.

“How’d I do?” Vince’s voice hadn’t had this much fear in it when he was staring down George last year.

Nick made a quick mental tally of the red marks he’d drawn on Vince’s paper. “Better. Definitely better. You got about fifty percent right.”

Vince let out a groan that, in the right environment, would have attracted a female hyena. “That’s still failing.”

“True, but it’s failing by less than you were when you only got thirty percent.”

“You think that will make a difference? A fail is a fail. I have to pass this thing to stay in the HCP.”

“I’m just saying that you’re making progress. Consistent improvement is a positive sign.”

Vince flopped across the couch and stared up at the ceiling. “I’ve only got two more weeks. I’ve barely gotten through half the backlog of stuff I didn’t really understand, and we’ve still got a week left of new material to cover. I don’t know how I’m going to pass this class.”

Nick stared at his friend’s downcast face in genuine surprise. In the time they’d been at Lander, he’d seen plenty of unexpected behavior from Vince: bravery in the face of impossible odds, trust when none was warranted, loyalty beyond comprehension. He’d never seen the guy downtrodden, though. Up until now, Nick would have thought Vince incapable of accepting defeat, let alone being able to preemptively contemplate it.

“You’ll do it with lots of effort and help,” Nick reassured him. Truthfully, he only put Vince’s odds of learning the material at around forty percent, but the silver-haired warrior was too integral to their team to let go without trying to save. Besides, it was hard to picture life here without Vince. Things just wouldn’t be as interesting, or at least that’s what Nick told himself. He was still adjusting to the idea of genuine friendship, after all.

“I just don’t know,” Vince replied.

“Lucky for you, I do know. This is my wheelhouse, Vince. I knew how to calculate a vig before I understood that the toilet was the place you went to shit. Math is for me what punching assholes in the face is for you. It’s what I do.”

“But that doesn’t mean you can teach me how to do it.”

“It means I’ve got a better shot than anyone else. Now, do you want to call it a day and pack your bags, or do you want to go over the mistakes you made on this test?”

Vince took some time to answer, enough that Nick was almost unnerved. When he did respond, all the doubt had left his voice; in its place was the steel resolve that seemed to bubble out of him when the occasion demanded.

“Let’s review. I’m not ready to leave yet.”

*      *      *

Roy was in unfamiliar territory. Oh sure, it seemed like a place he’d been a million times: he recognized the layout and the décor, he even felt nostalgic at the smell of paper that wafted freely through the air. But those were Hershel’s memories, not his. Hershel was the type to come to the library on a Saturday, and for any other project, Roy would have gladly let him. This was a little more personal, though. This was something Roy felt he had to contribute to, otherwise it wouldn’t work.

The good thing about having Hershel’s memories was that Roy didn’t have to blunder about, hoping to find what he was looking for. He automatically knew the shelving system and was intimately familiar with several sections. Sadly, the book he was looking for wasn’t science fiction or fantasy, so the latter knowledge wasn’t as useful as the former. Before long, Roy found his destination—rows and rows of books all crammed with tidbits and facts from the span of human history. A special area of these shelves was dedicated to a subject most people found frequently fascinating, especially given the special curriculum Lander was known to offer. These books were all about Supers and Heroes, ranging from autobiographies to sheer speculation. Roy loaded up his arms with a few choice selections and found a table where he set up shop.

He’d take home as many as he could, but first he needed to weed through the ones that didn’t cover his topic of interest. A quick perusal disqualified several selections, not for their style, but for their substance; they only dealt with Supers whose powers were unlike Roy’s.

A better understanding of his own abilities was key; that’s what Professor Fletcher had told him. So far, the private tutoring sessions weren’t working. Roy was still at the same weight he’d been months ago. That’s why he was wasting a beautiful afternoon surrounding himself with books. If understanding was key, then learning about everyone else whose abilities resembled his own seemed like a logical jumping off point. When Hershel took back over and looked at these memories, he would find himself surprisingly proud of his muscular brother.

More books were read and set aside. Roy was beginning to notice a pattern: while people like himself frequently dotted the landscape of Hero history, they rarely took center stage. Strongman was just a role people had in groups, much like healers. They were useful, but ultimately ancillary. After all, lifting a car was impressive to humans, but it didn’t quite have the shine of turning oxygen into atomic energy. The more he searched, the more frustrated he became. His whole suite of powers was merely an accoutrement for some Supers, a small piece of what they could do. It began to make sense why Chad was so defensive about his abilities: he didn’t want to get lumped in with people who couldn’t really do anything besides give and receive powerful punches.

There were exceptions, of course: a few like Roy who had risen high in the esteem of the public and Hero community alike. These he took note of, and set their books in the checkout pile. The last book he read concerned possibly the most famous strongman in recent history, one whose abilities bore a striking similarity to Roy’s. This book was immediately set in the discard pile and left abandoned as Roy gathered his selections and headed for the front desk. In truth, it was a testament to his emotional growth over the past year that the book was not thrown with enough force to send it through the wall. Still, regardless of how useful the information contained within might be, there was simply no way Roy would be rifling through that book’s contents.

In Roy’s opinion, he already knew far too much about its main subject: a Hero named Titan.

84.

Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport did not, to their credit, fidget as they waited in Dean Blaine’s office. They had attended far too many clandestine meetings in locations much scarier than this one to let their nerves show so easily. That said, neither man felt quite as confident as he normally would have. Some Supers looked at their abilities as a gift that was made more special by using it rarely; others considered their talents a useful skill in their day-to-day lives. Then you had Supers like the two men wearing suits and purposely not fidgeting; Supers who used their abilities so often that being denied access to them was akin to temporarily removing a leg. It was possible to still stand, even to have some sense of mobility, but it left them precariously off-balance.

Dean Blaine popped open the door and strode in without so much as a glance in their direction. He carried a stack of papers in one hand and a cup of coffee that seemed dangerously close to spilling over in the other. After a bit of brief involuntarily juggling, he managed to deposit everything on his desk and take a seat. Still, it was only after a long draw of java that he turned his attention to the men he had summoned for this meeting.

“You’ll have to forgive the mess. Things are a bit busy preparing for the various classes’ exams. The freshman’s labyrinth is particularly time-consuming.”

Both men nodded their understanding. They had enough experience to know that, despite the way the HCP staff liked to make things seem effortless, crafting that illusion took significant amounts of time and energy.

“I’ve called you here for a brief comparison of notes. As you may know, I’ve been to see George multiple times, and all I’ve managed to pull from him are sarcastic barbs and cryptic allusions. I know your company has been looking into the incident as well, and I’m hoping they have managed to have a bit more luck.”

Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport very much did not exchange a conspiratorial glance. Instead, Mr. Numbers resettled in his chair and addressed the question.

“I won’t say they haven’t found a few clues; however, that doesn’t mean they’ve shared them with us. As you may recall, we aren’t exactly considered exemplary employees these days.”

“Yet you retain your posts.”

“Only through very exceptional fortune and a lot of effort to make things better,” Mr. Numbers pointed out.

“You misunderstand. I don’t mean that because you retain your posts, I expect that the company still trusts you. I mean that because you are still tasked with watching over those students, I expect your company to give you some warning if they have any idea who might be knocking down the door to Melbrook Hall.”

“I wish they thought that way,” Mr. Transport mumbled.

“What my partner means is that despite the logic of your argument, we were given this assignment specifically because we are thought capable enough to handle any situation without the aid of a warning.”

“Just like you did last year,” Dean Blaine said, his voice pleasant, but his eyes growing steadily less friendly.

“Do try to remember that our original assignment was not so much to protect our charges from the world as it was vice versa,” Mr. Numbers said. “Keeping them safe was always a priority, of course.”

“Yes, but only in the general sense. So long as most of them were okay, then it was all right to let a small number be lost.”

“That was the company’s stance,” Mr. Transport agreed. “If you recall, it wasn’t ours.”

Dean Blaine realized he’d been inching forward in his seat as the discussion progressed. He leaned back and took another sip of his coffee to calm down. Over-protectiveness could be a good trait in a person who watched over children, but it had to be focused properly. There was no sense in getting angry at two men over policies they’d nearly lost their jobs defying, especially when they might have information that could prove vital to his efforts.

“You’re right; I apologize,” Dean Blaine said. “I suppose I’m just frustrated. After all these months, we still have almost no idea who was pulling the strings behind George and Persephone.”

Mr. Numbers resisted the urge to tilt his head forward in interest. “Almost no idea?”

“George has claimed it was everyone from the President of the United States to one of the janitors up on the main campus. He has only given me one hint that seemed like it might be more valid than the others. That’s what I was hoping to confirm in this meeting.”

A flick of his tongue across his teeth was the only sign Mr. Numbers showed of the internal war currently being waged. Information was a currency in his world, something to guard and protect more fervently than gold. Money could always be reclaimed, but once a secret was out, there was no hope of gaining a refund. Still, Dean Blaine had defended them when interviewed by the company’s agents. It had taken a lot of research to uncover this fact for certain, but Mr. Numbers knew it to be true. If there was one thing he loathed more than giving away information for free, it was being in someone’s debt. Besides, he wouldn’t mind seeing just how deep the hole George crawled out of went.

“There is one thing. They never said anything specifically; however, about a month ago, one of our fellow agents showed up while the students were in class. She installed a specialized wire system through all the outer walls, one set to trigger an alarm under very specific circumstances. We were instructed that if that alarm should go off, we would do well to grab all the students we can and teleport to a predetermined location immediately.”

“All the students you can.” Dean Blaine gulped down more coffee and stayed his temper. What they were told and what they did could be very different things. “So, what were the circumstances that would set off the alarm?”

“She didn’t tell us,” Mr. Transport admitted.

“I did a little digging afterward,” Mr. Numbers added. “As near as I can tell, the wires are programmed to detect when any part of the outer walls are destroyed without registering significant heat or impact.”

“An alarm tripped by disintegration,” Dean Blaine surmised. “That is . . . unfortunate.”

“I don’t suppose you’d like to make this a two-way street of sharing and tell us what it means,” Mr. Transport said.

Dean Blaine rose from his desk and walked to the bookshelf. His finger slid along the spines of many selections before it stopped at a thick leather one. A deft hand plucked it from the shelf and nimble fingers rifled through the pages with effortless dexterity.

“What I am going to tell you stays in the strictest confidence. It seems one of my old classmates is either running this game or is at least another pawn in it. Unfortunately, it is one I had hoped I’d never have to contend with again.”

The book made a damp thud as Dean Blaine set it on the desk. He pointed to a picture in the upper right-hand corner, one of himself and a smiling young man both clutching diplomas high overhead in a sign of victory.

“Gerard Cooper, better known to the world as Raze, has returned.”

85.

Nick flipped through the pages once more, almost willing them to hold more correct answers than they previously had. Sadly, his desire was no match for reality, and the white paper was still doused liberally in red ink. It had been over a week of constant study, practice, and effort, all of which had yielded an increase of five percent. Vince had gone from getting fifty percent of the questions right to fifty-five. If he and Vince had possessed infinite time, it would have been an encouraging trend, but with a week left, it was only slightly less depressing than a death sentence.

There wasn’t blame to be thrown about either, except perhaps at the education Vince had received as a child. Both students had burned the candle at both ends trying to bring him up to speed in time for the test; however, this particular branch of math was like a foreign language to Vince. Even if he could get a grip on the vocabulary, he was lost when it came to tenses and conjugation. The guy might know more about fighting and surviving on the run than anyone else Nick had ever encountered, but it was becoming very clear that any type of advanced math was a lost cause.

“Looks like we’re going to Plan B,” Nick mumbled to himself. He sat alone in his room, illuminated only by the light of a small desk lamp and his monitor. Vince’s latest series of practice exams sat scattered on his lap, confirming the fear he’d been nursing since beginning their endeavor. If it had been anyone else in this situation, they would have been thoroughly screwed. No passing grade on the test meant lower than a C in the class, which would get one immediately booted from the HCP. This policy had endured since the inception of the program, despite many protests from educators that it was unnecessarily harsh. Someone in Vince’s situation was effectively looking down the barrel of a gun aimed directly at all their dreams. With hard work proving a failure, he didn’t see any options left. Nick, on the other hand, was not so limited in his range of tactics.

He’d been laying the groundwork for this scheme since the first time he saw Vince struggle through a few practice problems. It would be time-consuming, and possibly expensive, but it would work. At the moment, that was all that mattered. Nick needed Vince on their team, not just because of his constantly-growing skill level, but because he brought a certain amount of heart to their efforts. The kid was inspiring, at least to those who were prone to inspiration. Losing both a competent warrior and a force to rally the troops was an unacceptable cost to playing by the rules. So Nick would do what Nicholas Campbell did better than anyone else.

He would cheat.

*      *      *

Jill’s phone began vibrating again, rattling across the table’s rough wooden surface. She silenced it without a thought, but not before Will noticed.

“How many times does that make?” He didn’t look up from the book he was making notes in, didn’t even pause the careful stroke of his highlighter.

“Four,” Jill lied. It had been seven, but she’d caught the signals from the others before the phone had been obvious in its tremors. Jill’s own book was far less written in than Will’s; her mind had been elsewhere since their cram session began.

“Four calls in the span of three hours. That seems a bit excessive.”

“He probably forgot we made plans to study and wants to grab dinner,” Jill defended.

“It’s past nine. He must be a late eater.” Will didn’t accuse outwardly; even his tone was completely neutral. It wasn’t his way to seem judgmental. He knew Jill well enough to understand that would send her running in the opposite direction just to be contrary.

“Glenn is excitable. When he wants to do or share something with me, he just gets persistent. That’s all.”

“Of course.” Jill and Glenn had been dating for three weeks now, ever since meeting in class, and Will had disliked him for two weeks and six days. He was semi good-looking and seemed affable enough, but there was something in his eyes that Will didn’t trust. There was an edge of obsession, and the possessive way Glenn had gripped Will’s sister’s hand left the twin brother with his teeth on edge. Jill had a habit for picking the ones who tried to hold her just a bit too tightly, a trait not uncommon in children who suffered abuse in their formative years.

The phone buzzed across the table again. This time, Jill didn’t silence it; instead, she flipped it open and got up from her chair. Will sat quietly, continuing his work, allowing her to relocate without so much as a glance. He could pick up snippets of the conversation, hushed reassurances like, “I told you I had to study,” and, “Yes, I’m with my brother.” Soon, she would come into the room and feign a headache or some such nonsense and say she needed to go back to her dorm. She’d actually go to see Glenn, and if Will was a betting man, he’d put down twenty dollars that Glenn would spend the night passive-aggressively making her feel like shit for having any priorities in life other than him. She was lonely, and Glenn could be nice when he wanted to be. Will understood; he’d read all the psychology texts long ago. Will didn’t blame her for falling into these patterns. He didn’t even blame Glenn for being an asshole.

Will blamed himself. If he’d acted sooner, if he’d been quicker to grasp the situation when they were kids, maybe he could have gotten her out of their mother’s house before things had reached the point they did. He had no excuses for his failure, only regret and a burning desire never to see it repeated.

“I’m pretty beat. I think I’m going to head home so I can actually wake up in time for my morning class,” Jill said as she walked back into the kitchen. She began putting her books away immediately, stuffing them indiscriminately into her backpack with no regard for which papers belonged in which books.

“Sure thing. Think you’ll want to study again sometime before finals?”

“I’m positive I’ll need it. I’ll give you a call when I think I have a free night.” Jill finished her haphazard packing job and gave her brother a quick hug. “Love you, bro.”

“Love you, too.” Will let her leave without objection; no words would rectify the situation. Instead, he closed the book he’d been working in and pulled out a black spiral. Inside were schematics and calculations that would have given a hard-on to any corporate engineer who laid eyes on them. Will rifled to the last page, where a new design was still incomplete. It seemed he needed to work faster than expected on it; he’d expected the relationship’s escalation to be more gradual.

Will’s pencil danced across the page, quickly filling the gaps in the design. By tomorrow night, he could start the building process. He’d move fast, stay up until dawn if need be. It would be ready. He would be ready. His only regret in life was moving too slowly the first time. Will was determined that there would never be a second time, regardless of what preventing it might cost him.

86.

Testing season commenced across Lander with a flurry of final all-nighters and a run on energy drinks at the surrounding gas stations. The exams were spread across a three-day period, allowing for some recovery time if one had a fortunate schedule, and a gauntlet of intellectual trials if one were not so lucky. As the days advanced, the populace dwindled, students hightailing it back home for winter break as soon as their final blue book had been handed off to a sullen TA. By the final day, only a smattering remained. And those who had tests on the last day were cursed or blessed depending on whether they prized the extra study time over the chance to take an early leave.

Vince counted himself in the blessed category as he pored over a practice test, eyes darting between failed problems and the steady progress of the clock on the wall. He was so engrossed, he didn’t even notice the sound of the front lounge door opening as Nick entered, his backpack slung low over his shoulder.

“Damn it, Vince. I thought we talked about last-minute cramming.”

Vince jumped in surprise, knocking his knee against the wooden table. He let out a mumbled curse and turned toward Nick, who was glaring at him like a father who had just caught his son looking through brochures for ballet schools.

“I know. I’m sorry. I just couldn’t resist trying to figure out a few of the things I missed.”

“A brain is just like any other muscle.” Nick crossed the room in a few long-legged strides and snatched away Vince’s papers. “You can’t burn it out right before you need it to perform at peak capacity. Train and heal. How is it you can understand that when it comes to exercise but not studying?”

Vince grinned sheepishly. “In all honesty, I’m not that good at resting when it comes to exercise either.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” Nick folded the papers and stuffed them in his back pocket. “Okay look, it’s noon right now. Your test is at two, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you are going to do some mindless bullshit until half past one. Television, porn, even comic books. I don’t care, just go and strain your brain no more.” Nick’s tone and body language made it clear that this was an order, not a request. Normally, Vince might have balked a bit more, but Nick had put in countless hours over the last few weeks helping him study. After all that work, if Nick thought he needed to rest, then Vince would trust him.

“Okay. I’ll go watch a movie.” Vince got up from his chair and started toward the boys’ side lounge.

“If I knock on your door and see you with a book open, you and I are going to have it out,” Nick called after him. It was purely for show; Vince was one of the few people who did what he said he would do, situation regardless. Besides, Nick still had his own work to complete; he didn’t have time to check in on Vince. He’d wrapped up his own final exam in exceptional time, even by his standards. He needed the hour before Vince left to finish the last of the arrangements. Most of the prep work had gone smoothly enough, but Nick knew far too well that things could fall apart at the last minute if one let details slide.

He walked back to the common room’s front door and hefted it open. Two figures walked in immediately, neither looking particularly cheerful at having been left in the entrance hall. Some of the sentiment might have been bitterness—this was their first time seeing Melbrook and its impressive accommodations. Both of them were in the HCP as well, yet they were confined to standard dorm rooms like all the other students.

“Vince should be effectively distracted,” Nick informed them. “Are there any questions before we start our operation?”

Neither Adam nor Rich spoke, which made Nick quite happy. Last-minute questions were a symptom of poor communication, and Nick did not engage in such a sloppy practice as poor communication.

“Excellent. If everyone is ready, then let’s go to work.”

*      *      *

Vince walked nervously into the classroom and grabbed a seat near the middle of the desks. He glanced around and saw that the rest of the class seemed to look more certain than he felt. No one else was fidgeting with their pencil and looking to the heavens for hope, anyway. He’d barely gotten settled when the professor breezed in the door with a stack of papers in hand. He dropped half of them on the desk of his TA and within a few moments, all the tests were disseminated through the class.

“You have one hour to complete the exam. Those who are unable to finish will turn in what they have completed when time is out. Good luck. You may begin.”

Vince swallowed a fresh wave of fear and turned over the first page. A small sense of relief tickled his brain as he realized he knew how to work the beginning set of problems. It made sense: this was what they’d first covered, so it was the building block to the rest of the class. He might not understand everything, but he’d drilled himself hard enough on the basics to be capable of working through them.

The next page revealed more questions he was able to handle, and the one after that, and the one after that. As the minutes ticked by, Vince found a sense of optimism blooming in his chest. He wasn’t getting every single problem; however, he was by far knocking out the majority of them. When he finished the last page, he glanced up at the clock and realized he still had half an hour left. Vince turned the book over and began to recheck his answers with the remaining minutes, though, for the most part, it was a futile gesture. For the first time in weeks, he was feeling genuinely confident.

He turned in his test and exited with a smile. He’d done it. Vince had no doubt he had passed that monster of a class. A joyful whistle escaped his lips as he exited the math building and never looked back.

*      *      *

A silver-haired boy slunk into the classroom quietly, dropping his backpack at a desk near the back of the room. A quick glance around showed nervous faces anxiously studying notecards and practice tests as the final seconds ticked away. There was a rapid shuffle of papers as the professor walked in and nodded to his TA, who immediately rose from her desk and began handing out the tests.

“You will have one hour to complete the exam. If there are any questions, you may come speak to me at my desk. Any unfinished problems at the end of the time limit will be counted as incorrect answers. I wish you all the best of luck. Please begin.”

The room was filled with the scratching of pencil lead as students made furious calculations and deductions, slowly working their way through each page. The first student, a bright girl with dark hair, was done within twenty minutes. After her departure, a paced parade of students made their way to the desk, dropping their exams off along with a hopeful glance and softly mumbled prayer. The silver-haired boy was among the last to finish, walking to the desk only five minutes before time ran out.

“Feel confident, Vince?” The professor had taken a bit of a liking to this student; his poor grasp of concept was redeemed by the focus and dedication he showed day after day in class.

“I feel like I did everything I could. That’s the best any one of us can offer.”

The two exchanged a friendly smile, and the professor turned his attention back to the remaining students. Soon, time would be up, and then the results would come out.

87.

Mary perched on Hershel’s bed as he haphazardly hurled various clothes into his worn suitcase. The early morning sun streamed through his window, illuminating the mess of clothes that betrayed Hershel’s procrastination in packing. Tests had wrapped up yesterday, and Mr. Transport was teleporting everyone except Alice home in about half an hour. This had required multiple assurances on the part of both Mr. Transport and Mr. Numbers that their journey home wouldn’t go by way of a mountain-climb. If not for their help at the end of last year, it was doubtful any of the students would have gambled on the trip, but between the budding trust and the supreme convenience, most had elected to take the chance.

“Am I mistaken, or are you only packing dirty clothes?” Mary noted that while the distinction between the two was largely up to interpretation, it did seem that only the most wrinkled and stained garments were making it into the suitcase.

“Yeah. Not much sense in washing clean ones at home.”

“I’m sure your mother will appreciate that.”

Hershel paused the rain of clothes to stick his tongue out at Mary. “I do my own laundry, thank you very much. I just prefer the ease of using the washer at my house to the ones in the laundromat.”

“Ah yes.” The laundry facilities at the Lander dorms were much like the ones in every other college basement. They worked in the sense that they left clothes wetter than when they came in and smelling faintly of soap, but to call anything produced from them “clean” was something of a stretch. “I might need to rethink my own suitcase composition.”

“You might be a little short on time for that,” Hershel pointed out.

“Oh, only you’re allowed to cram clothes at the last minute?”

“I’ve got more practice. This sort of thing is an art.”

“Mmmmhmm. You could just say you prefer me to stay with you until we leave, seeing as we won’t be together again for nearly three weeks.”

“Okay, then. Yes. That.” Hershel took another break from his rush, but this time, it was to kiss his girlfriend rather than sass her. Mary responded with enthusiastic affection, and it was only the impending departure time that forced Hershel to pull back from the girl he so evidently adored.

“You’re sure you’ll be okay, right?” All the flippancy was gone from his voice. In its place lay naked concern.

“I’m positive,” Mary reassured him. “Mr. Numbers arranged for some people to keep an eye on me during the break. I might look like I’m alone, but I’ll always have protection.”

“Alice’s place is still safer, and I’m sure she’d love to have you.”

“I know she would, but I’m not going to spend my life hiding from whoever these people are. It’s Christmas, and I’m going to see my family. I already had this fight with Alice, and I wound up convincing her to come visit me instead. We’ll be fine, Hershel, I promise.”

“Be sure you are,” he replied. “Otherwise, I’m going to miss a lot of school hunting you down.”

“If you don’t hurry, you’ll be spending a lot of time on a bus to Chicago.”

“I’m relatively certain Mr. Transport won’t leave without me,” Hershel said, turning his attention back to the clothes. “I think he’s scared of my mom.”

*      *      *

Mr. Transport did indeed look a bit nervous as he sat in the living room and periodically glanced at his watch. Whether that was related to seeing Ms. Daniels or a general regard for punctuality would be speculation to anyone but Mary, who wasn’t listening to thoughts at the moment. Neither Vince nor Alice paid his intermittently-shaking foot any regard: both were absorbed in last-minute luggage checks as they gathered their things by the common room couch. The only one who might have caught on was Nick, and he was occupied with a different mystery as he entered the building.

“So,” he said, swaggering through the door from the entrance hall, “I went to do a last-minute mail check and look what was sitting by the door.” From behind his back, Nick produced a small parcel wrapped in blue paper with cartoon snowmen patterned about. A light red ribbon topped the present, along with a small tag that presumably bore the name of its intended recipient.

“It seems some anonymous person wanted to wish Alice a Merry Christmas,” Nick continued, purposely answering the obvious question before anyone could ask it.

“Me?”

“Unless there is another Alice Adair at this residence.” Nick walked over and set the gift down in front of her. Rather than reaching for it, she merely stared in disbelief.

“Should we get it checked or something? I mean, we’ve been targeted before.”

“Mary was targeted,” Mr. Numbers corrected from the kitchen. “And I sincerely doubt even the most enthusiastic critic of Powereds has the gumption to send you something dangerous.”

“We could still get it looked at, just to be sure. I know a guy in my study group with X-ray vision,” Vince offered.

“No, Mr. Numbers is right,” Alice replied. She plucked the present from the table and quickly tore through the paper to reveal a plain brown box. A swift slice of her well-manicured nail destroyed the tape binding it together. Her hands carefully pulled open the top flaps, and she peered inside slowly.

“What is it?” Vince asked.

“Glitter.” Alice’s tone was no less dumbfounded than the uncertain look on her face. She pulled out a small plastic tube that sparkled with pink light. “It’s ten tubes of colored glitter. The kind you can put on like makeup.”

“You don’t generally wear glitter,” Nick noted.

“Only when I’m rocking a particularly sparkly top or dress and it pulls the look together,” Alice agreed.

“Maybe the person thought you should wear more?” Vince suggested.

“Great, now I have strangers giving me fashion advice.” Alice’s tone seemed curt, yet Nick noticed she carefully tucked the box into her luggage, making extra sure it was secure.

“Would someone please go check on Hershel?” Mr. Transport interrupted. “We’re due to leave very soon.”

“I’ll go see if he needs help,” Vince volunteered. Mr. Transport nodded and tried to push down his jangling nerves. Whatever was bothering him seemed to only be getting worse the closer they drew to departure.

88.

Nick was the first to be deposited at home, and he breathed a soft sigh of relief as the dry, scorching air of Vegas enveloped him. Despite his own assessments, Nick still hadn’t been one hundred percent sure Mr. Transport wasn’t going to drop them in some dangerous environment and leave them to survive. He’d been quite close to certain, but Nick was nothing if not a firm advocate in never believing one knew exactly how things would transpire. The element of doubt left room for back-up plans and improvisation. It was what separated a good tactician from a great one.

He sauntered down The Strip at a leisurely pace, glancing at the casino fronts to note any changes that had happened in his absence. It had only been a few months, but that was the nature of Vegas. It was constantly shifting, always striving to be novel so that no visitor had quite the same experience two trips in a row. Change was the only constant, a philosophy Nick had embraced many years ago.

As he dragged his suitcase up the sidewalk to his own casino, Nick was surprised to see a familiar face standing by the door. Gerry was generally dispatched to personally handle high-rollers and problems. As their eyes met and Gerry started forward, Nick took a guess this was a case of the latter.

“Good to see you, Campbell.”

“You, too. Want to tell me why I’m getting a handshake at the door?”

Gerry adjusted his tie, a tactic he used when he wanted to scan an area without being overt. After a moment of ensuring no prying ears were about, he leaned in close. “The Evers kid is back in town. He’s at one of the poker tables cleaning the spare change out of every tourist who sits down.”

Nick crinkled his nose in distaste. The Evers were a family similar to the Pips; they had separate holdings, but Vegas was a place where such assets butted against one another. Nathaniel Evers wasn’t part of the line that might end up being at the head of the family, but he was definitely being groomed for a leadership position. He was smart, cunning, and positively ruthless. Even worse, he was a Super. Nathaniel and Nicholas had run into one another several times throughout their lives, and the relationship was not exactly what one might call cordial.

Nicholas Campbell looked down at his Lander costume, a t-shirt and dusty jeans that he would have rather been killed in than seen here in. “I need to change.”

“That’s why I met you at the door. We’ll go around to the service entrance.”

Nicholas followed Gerry, despite knowing damned well no one would have stopped him if he’d gone through the back by himself. There was propriety to observe, however, and one never knew when someone from the Nevada Gaming Commission was watching. They were vulnerable to bribery, of course, but there was no need to incur unnecessary expenses. The two made it to the elevator without encountering anyone besides a bellboy and a chef. Gerry punched in the numbers, and then left to go back to the floor.

The floors flashed by quickly as Nicholas stood alone in the rising elevator. He’d need to take his time and truly let go of the current character. There was no room for Nick when dealing with Nathaniel; only Nicholas Campbell could handle that level of opponent. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he drew nearer to his destination. It had been four years since their last encounter, one that had found them quite evenly matched. A lot had changed in four years. Nicholas was curious to see how they measured against one another now that they were both Supers, even if his new status was a secret.

He suspected it would be quite interesting.

*      *      *

Alice didn’t bother to slow down as her silver car neared the exit that would carry her into the subdivision where her father’s estate sprawled. Instead, she kept her foot on the gas, accelerating a few more miles down the highway. When she did exit, it was onto a road surrounded by dense foliage. Lush trees dotted the roadway, with only the occasional home interspersed between them. She navigated through the worn roads carefully, being certain never to go above the posted speed limit. Eventually, she pulled into a parking lot adjacent to a wrought-iron fence. It was still early in the afternoon, so the gate stood wide open to welcome all crossing its threshold.

Alice cut a leisurely pace across the cobblestone paths, savoring the scent of fresh flowers that permeated the landscape. Some people were disturbed by places like this, seeing the constant marble markers as harbingers of their inevitable death. This particular establishment took great pains to inspire a sense of tranquility over trepidation; however, that was only a part of why Alice felt at ease here. Growing up, her home had seemed more tomblike than this place, the empty halls and echoing sounds creating an atmosphere of hollowness. Here, there was feeling; here, people wept openly and talked freely, even if no one was physically there to listen. Here, there was, ironically enough, life.

Alice found her way to the modest headstone quite easily. She’d visited this place a lot in her youth; however, her time at Lander had made such trips more infrequent. At one point, she might have felt guilty about it, but as she’d grown, she came to realize that her mother would probably have been happy that Alice possessed such a full life that she had less time to visit.

“Hey, Mom,” Alice said as she plopped down onto the grass. “It’s been a while. I hope things have been nice out here.” Looking at the headstone, one would never guess that this was the resting place of a multi-billionaire’s wife. That had been her way. She loved simplicity and nature. It always amazed Alice that Charles Adair had given her the grave she would have wanted, not the one he felt she deserved. It was a testament to how much he’d loved her; Alice’s father was not prone to doing things other people’s way.

“Things at school have been complicated, but hey, what else is new . . .” Alice sat talking to her mother until the fireflies began to dart through the sky. When she finally left, it was with grass-stained pants and a much lighter heart.

*      *      *

Mr. Transport’s hands felt sweaty as he appeared at the home of Hershel and Roy Daniels. This was the final stop of the day; he’d already deposited Mary in the quiet suburb where her parents resided. Since there was no geographic limitation to where he teleported, the order in which he dispensed his charges had been entirely up to him. It was for this reason he’d chosen to leave Vince and Hershel for last, and it factored in greatly to the phantom sensation of sweat saturating his palms despite their dry status.

“Hey, Mom,” Hershel greeted, dropping his bag on the ground and embracing his mother in a strong hug.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Daniels,” Vince said politely. The seemingly docile woman had threatened him with extensive bodily harm if he dared try to spend Christmas on his own the way he had last year. He often wondered how a single woman could exude both fastidious decorum and soul-rending intimidation. Had he grown up in the south, he would have understood.

“So good to see both of you,” Ms. Daniels said warmly. “Thank you for bringing them by, Mr. Transport.”

“Always a pleasure,” Mr. Transport replied. “If you have a moment, I wanted to speak with you about coordinating their return trip.”

“Of course. Boys, why don’t you bring your bags up to Hershel’s room, and we can see about getting supper started?”

Vince and Hershel complied automatically, dragging their suitcases up the stairs in a flurry of quick movements that only the young and enthusiastic can manage so easily.

“Classes resume on the sixth, so I assume you’ll want to pick them up on the fifth,” Ms. Daniels said, a good measure of the warmth leaving her voice as the boys vacated the room. “Or is there an HCP activity they need to be back early for?”

“No, it runs parallel with the actual Lander schedule, so the fifth should be fine.” Mr. Transport licked his lips, which had suddenly become strangely dry. There was no putting it off any longer; if he wanted to take action, he had to strike now. He wasn’t likely to get a better opportunity. “Actually, there was something else I wanted to speak with you on.”

“Oh? Anything to do with last year’s incident?”

“Nothing like that. I was just wondering if you’d allow me to take you out to dinner.”

Ms. Daniels was not an easily surprised woman, yet the wide-eyed look across her face said quite clearly that Mr. Transport had succeeded in catching her off-guard.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I want to take you on a date, if you’re willing,” Mr. Transport reiterated.

“May I ask what motivated this? Our interactions have not exactly been cordial.”

“Curiously, that’s a good part of why I’m asking you out. My job makes sustaining a relationship very difficult. In my experience, it only has a chance of working with strong, capable women. Plus, I do find you rather attractive.”

Ms. Daniels didn’t blush; she hadn’t done anything so juvenile in years. She did, however, mentally move a step back and take a fresh look at Mr. Transport. He was tall and lean, a bit more haggard than she liked her men, truthfully. He did cut a nice figure in the hand-tailored black suit, though, and she was long beyond the mindset that physicality was the only factor that mattered in a possible partner. With the exception of the mountain training, he’d done an excellent job of looking over the children, and Vince had spoken to her over the summer of the great risk he’d taken in helping to save Hershel. He seemed a nice enough sort, and the teleportation ability probably meant they could go somewhere other than the god-awful Italian restaurant around the corner.

“Let’s exchange phone numbers,” Ms. Daniels said at last. “I’ll have my hands full with Hershel, Roy, and Vince over the break, but afterward, I could probably find a free night for dinner.”

Despite the fact that his hands were still quite dry, Mr. Transport nearly dropped his cell phone in his hurry to pull it free from his pants pocket.

89.

There was no snow in southern California on Christmas day; in fact, Charles Adair found himself fiddling with the air conditioning as he settled down to work in his study. It was a rare holiday indeed that allowed Charles to be at home; however, on this occasion, his meetings had lined up in a way that made the most sense to work from his mansion for a few days. There was a Christmas tree in the foyer and some lights along the railing, but that had all been put up by a service Charles paid for maintenance and decoration. Charles had no concern for Christmas beyond the fact that it meant his American business contacts were out of commission for a few days. He was not a festive man. Not since a great many years ago.

Charles worked through the morning without pause, taking care of documents that had accumulated over the past few weeks. Some needed review, others authorization, but all were of exceptional importance. If they weren’t, then they never would have made it all the way to his large, expensive desk. His pen scratched across the papers as the clock ticked away. Charles paid it no concern; he threw himself into his work as he always had. He was so engrossed that it would have been impossible for him to say how long he been at it before he was interrupted by a sound at his door. Charles paused his writing and glanced up to deal with the disturbance.

As soon as his eyes fell upon the doorway, Charles let out a choked, strangled sound from deep in his throat. A ghost stared back at him, her dazzling green eyes accentuated by pink glitter liberally swiped across her eyelids. He felt his mouth open and close repeatedly. Dimly, he was aware of a wet sensation in his hand.

“Daddy, did you hear me? They’re going to have lunch ready soon. You should come eat.” Alice gazed at him with concern. She wore a sundress that was wrong for the season and right for the weather. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, drawing all the more attention to the sparkling around her eyes.

“I . . . yes, of course.” Charles blinked several times and reasserted his grip on reality only to. On the subject of grips, he realized that he’d crushed his pen, the spilling ink accounting for the dampness he’d felt on his hand.

“Are you okay? You look flustered.”

“I’m fine, it’s just the glitter . . .” Charles shook his head once, for good measure, and looked about for a towel to wipe his now-stained hand on. “Sorry, Alice, sometimes I forget how much you look like your mother.”

“Did Mom wear glitter?”

Charles laughed, but not with his business appropriate laugh or his boys’ club laugh or even his polite disapproval laugh. Charles Adair let out a genuine expelling of mirth. Alice couldn’t remember ever hearing anything quite like it before.

“She wore glitter all the damned time. I can scarcely remember a day when she didn’t have some on. I tried to get her to ease up a little; it got on everything and was impossible to scrub away. She refused, of course. She used to tell me, ‘Glitter is a form of anti-depressant, because it is impossible to be sad when you twinkle.’”

“That sounds . . . cheerful.” Alice wasn’t sure what tone her voice had right now. Charles never talked about his deceased wife, and Alice didn’t want him to stop now that he’d let a bit of her memory slip free.

“I suppose it does. To her credit, she might have been right about the glitter. I’ve never known a consistently happier person than your mother.” Charles gave up the search for a towel; he was the only one allowed in this room, and he knew he didn’t keep one here. With a minor exertion of will, he changed the ink into water and wiped the moisture off onto his slacks. “I think I will join you for lunch. I’m a bit peckish today.”

“I’ll tell the chefs,” Alice volunteered.

“No, I’ll go with you. I need to get a towel to clean the remaining ink off my desk anyway.” Charles stood from the table and looked at his daughter once more. “It really is shocking how similar you two are. What motivated the eye glitter today?”

“I got some as a Christmas present from . . . a friend,” Alice lied. “Since today is a holiday, I thought I’d make myself a little extra festive.”

“Well, it looks good on you,” Charles said. The two left the room, traversing the mansion’s vast halls as the West Coast sun continued to beat down on the world outside.

*      *      *

Chicago had plenty of snow and cold for the season, so much so that it easily could have shared with other cities. A fresh inch cascaded down in fierce flurries as two figures trudged their way down the street. One was shorter and husky; the other seemed to have accrued so much snow that it had turned his hair silver. They plodded on methodically, checking street signs at each intersection to make certain they hadn’t lost their way.

“I still can’t believe my cousins knocked all the gravy on the floor,” Hershel mumbled, just barely audible over the persistent wind smacking them in the face.

“They didn’t mean to. They were just playing,” Vince defended.

“Playing in the kitchen, near all the bowls, where they aren’t allowed.”

“Your mom said all she needed was a base and she could make more in half an hour.”

“I’m not doubting my mother’s culinary abilities, nor the willingness of my family to wait. I’m just annoyed because I have to freeze my butt off out here.”

“A quick drink could have let Roy out,” Vince suggested.

Hershel shook his head. “My mom’s side of the family is all normal. They know about Roy, but they’re a little put off by him. Roy tends to act out in situations where he feels like he’s being judged.”

“I take it they don’t get along.”

“There have been some strained holidays.” Hershel said something else, but Vince missed it thanks to a particularly fierce burst of wind. On instinct, he turned to look back from where they’d come; Vince’s years wandering had made the ability to retrace steps a survival instinct. What he saw was row upon row of distinct houses being drowned out by an ever-thickening shower of white.

Vince squinted his eyes a bit. There was something else there, too, a human figure a block or two back. He couldn’t make out any details, not even a sex, but there was something about the figure that tickled the base of Vince’s brain. He stopped his forward movement and could have sworn the figure stopped walking as well.

“Vince! For the third time, are you okay?”

“Huh?” Vince whipped back around to Hershel, who was looking both concerned and frosty.

“You spaced out on me and keep staring behind us. I thought maybe the cold was getting to you.”

“I thought I saw something.” Vince turned back around, only to find the snow-saturated street was empty save for himself and Hershel. “I guess I was wrong.”

“The light can play some crazy tricks when it bounces off the snow. Let’s hurry and get Mom the flour before we really do get lost in this storm,” Hershel said.

“Right.” The two quickened their pace, hurrying toward the store. Several blocks away, two other figures stepped out from the alley beside a house and watched them go. Some moments later, there was a bright light that danced across the falling flakes, and then the sidewalk was unoccupied once more.

90.

Nicholas sat at a table on a balcony overlooking the casino. The last vestiges of a superb steak dinner and half a glass of red wine rested in front of him. Normally, he would have taken Christmas lunch with Gerry; however, the older man had been swept up in handling a high-roller’s concerns for discretion and security. There wasn’t really anyone else appropriate to mix with; the casino owner’s nephew could be seen buying waitresses drinks and slinking off to their room without issue. Spending a holiday together, that was a level of familiarity that spoke of more closeness than anyone outside of a small circle was privy to.

He heard the chair next to him pull out and weight settle into it without turning from his view of the slot machines below. There was no need to look. With Gerry occupied, only one other person would have the confidence to sit down at his table unannounced.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Pips.” Nicholas’s eyes still tracked movement on the floor, specifically the movements of a black-haired waitress whose chest was precariously close to spilling out of her blouse.

“Good afternoon yourself, Angel.”

“You know I abhor that nickname.” At last, he turned to face her, a slender woman whose face was surprisingly free of her years. She wore a pantsuit and her hair back as usual, and today, she had added just a touch of makeup. People often had a fearful image of Ms. Pips based on her reputation; they rarely expected her to look so pleasant or speak so gently. Of course, after meeting her, they also didn’t expect her cold-blooded tactics or policies of swift vengeance either, so in a way, they were deceived both coming and going.

“Then you shouldn’t go so far out of your way to earn it,” Ms. Pips replied. “It seems the Angel of the Cards dealt Nathaniel quite a trouncing in poker the other night.” A waiter approached their table nervously and set down a glass of white wine. Ms. Pips rarely rested, even long enough to sit. When she did, there was a standing order for any service staff to have wine in front of her immediately. She nodded her acknowledgment to the waiter, who fled as soon as her piercing eyes were off him.

“Nathaniel Evers is the same one-trick pony he was four years ago. I’ll admit the glowing orange eyes and creepy demeanor accentuate his power, but I’d hoped that by now he would have extended his repertoire a bit.”

“The ability to see people’s fears is still enough to unnerve most players.”

“Please. My fears are the very least of my daily concerns. He’s welcome to them, just so long as I’m welcome to his chips.”

“You took quite a few of them, if reports are accurate.”

Nicholas reached across the table and took a healthy sip of his own wine. “They were.”

“Glad to hear it. Since you performed so well, I went ahead and got you a little Christmas present,” Ms. Pips said, flashing a smile that seemed too small to show so many gleaming teeth.

“Oh?”

“If you take the time to tour the casino today, you’ll find it staffed with every new—and single—female hire I’ve made in the time since you left for school,” Ms. Pips explained.

Nicholas had indeed noticed a few fresh faces treading across the floor below, but he hadn’t yet noted the extensive lack of familiar ones. He cast his eyes back down to the casino and allowed a smile of his own to bloom across his face.

“Now I feel bad. I didn’t get you anything.”

“You crushed and humiliated that Evers boy in front of everyone,” Ms. Pips reminded him.

“Yes, but I took pleasure in that.”

“Not nearly as much as I did.” Ms. Pips finished her glass of wine and rose from the table. “I’ve got to get back to work. Do try to use a little self-restraint today. You’ve still got two weeks here, and you can be a bit boorish when you run out of new distractions.”

“I’ll pace myself.”

Ms. Pips left it at that and turned back to her own matters. The boy would do as he wished; that was prerogative of those who served the family well. She was sure he’d go through more than was prudent; he was always so energetic on his first few weeks back home. Truthfully, Ms. Pips was impressed he’d managed to quell his appetite enough to stay in character while off at college. That was her nephew for you; just when you thought you’d found a weak point in his defenses, you discovered he’d refortified it years ago.

*      *      *

Mary sat in the thick heat of her trailer as a thin dusting of snow fell across her forest. She’d spent some time with her parents, but today, the rest of the extended family was over. Though Mary could stop the influx of thoughts now, she hadn’t possessed that talent when she was younger. As a result, she’d heard how they felt about her when she was growing up. There was something disconcerting for a child to see a smiling face offering presents, and yet hear them pitying her poor parents for having birthed such a freak. Mary didn’t spend time around them now; she hadn’t since she left home.

She sat in the streaming sunlight of a window with her bear perched on her lap. She’d waffled between reading a book and doing some of the practice techniques Professor Stone had taught her. In the end, she’d settled on the book, if for no other reason than she felt the holiday entitled her to at least one day of laziness.

Dimly, she was beginning to grow aware that she was a bit bored out here. Before Lander, the silence had been paradise, but after a year and a half of living at Melbrook, plus a summer with Alice, Mary suspected she’d grown used to the sound of perpetual chaos. In a small part of her heart, this saddened her—quiet had always been her refuge, and she loathed to see it lose that quality. But most of her was happy with the discovery, after some time to mull it over. Mary had spent her whole life watching people find happiness by being around one another, a feat she had envied but had never been able to replicate. Now, all this time later, she’d gone and gained the ability herself without even noticing it.

If there were any better Christmas present in all the world, Mary couldn’t have told you what it was.

91.

“Uncle!” A dark-haired young sprite of a girl came racing down the driveway, pigtails bouncing behind her with every over-enthusiastic step. Mr. Numbers didn’t even break his pace; he swept the girl into his arms with one fluid motion and gave her a solid squeeze. She hugged him back, gripping his strong neck for all she was worth.

“Hey there, Carmen. How’s my favorite niece doing?”

“I’m your only niece!”

“That’s why you’re my favorite.”

The front door Carmen had burst out of remained open, and a woman only a year or two younger than Mr. Numbers stood just inside of it. She smiled as he made his way up the driveway, giving him a much gentler embrace designed to show affection without crushing her daughter.

“Glad you could make it, Luke.”

“Come on, Sara. You know I never miss a Christmas when I can help it.” He set the small girl down with some effort, then reached into the small suitcase he’d kept gripped in his free hand. “Now then, can someone tell me where the presents go?”

“You can put them under the tree!” Carmen squealed excitedly. “You can’t miss it. The lights are using a new filament I designed that makes them three times brighter!”

“Three times brighter? That is very impressive.”

“Carmen, before we show your uncle the tree, you need to go wash up. We’re going to have lunch soon.”

“Awwwwwwwww.”

“Don’t ‘aw’ me, young lady. Clean hands at the table,” Sara reiterated.

“Fiiiine,” Carmen yielded. She sprinted up the stairs to her bathroom, where she would be torn between her inclination to dawdle and her desire to see her uncle.

“That will give us a few minutes,” Sara said, once the child-shaped cache of energy had left the room. “Let’s get you settled.” The two walked briskly down the hallway, their shared heritage evident in the way they moved and the general shape of their bodies. Sara opened a door on the right of the hall and ushered her slightly older brother through it. He set his bag on the bed, but only after removing a few crayon drawings that already littered the top of the comforter.

“So, how is she doing?” Mr. Numbers flipped through the papers, admiring his niece’s handiwork. She wasn’t much of an artist, but he did like the sketch of a pony jumping over a differential equation.

“Better,” Sara replied, moving some clothes she’d meant to put away before he arrived. “It’s still hard on her with her father on the road for work so much. But I think she’s less lonely since she got into her new courses. Some of the tenured professors there are able to speak on her level, which seems to make her feel a lot more included.”

Mr. Numbers folded the drawing and slid it into the breast pocket of his jacket. “She’s doing better than I did at her age.”

“That’s not a terribly high bar to make it over,” Sara said with a sly look. From anyone else, it would have been an insult; from his sister, it was endearing sass.

“Granted. Has she had any luck making friends her own age?”

“Not really. She gets along fine when they’re talking about cartoons and games, but sooner or later, she’ll reference the gravitational equation during a round of jump rope, and then she’s back on the outside.”

“I’ll talk to her. If nothing else, I can take her to an ice show or something while I’m here. Carmen deserves to be a kid.”

“She’ll love that.” Sara hesitated a moment, then continued. “You know, Luke, when we were children, I always thought you were full of it every time you talked about how hard it was to be different.”

“You thought I was just being a whiner.”

“I did. I couldn’t fathom how having a brain like yours was anything but a blessing. Now, raising Carmen and seeing her always trying so hard to find a place where she belongs, I get what you meant. I’m sorry I wasn’t a little more understanding back then.”

“Sara, it was absurd for me to expect you to understand. You had no frame of reference, no way to comprehend what I was talking about,” Mr. Numbers reassured her. “I’m just glad Carmen at least has a mother who can make her feel loved and accepted. Hopefully that will keep her from ending up like me.”

“Oh yes, heaven forbid she end up like her uncle, the wildly successful corporate accounts analyst,” Sara said. “Come on, let’s go put your presents under the tree. You and I both know if Carmen so much as hears them slide in the box, she’ll deduce what’s inside.”

Mr. Numbers pulled several brightly colored boxes from his suitcase and followed his sister back down the hallway.

*      *      *

There was a thick layer of snow on top of the steel roof that protected the seemingly abandoned concrete building. Occasionally, a sheet of frosty white precipitation would slide onto the ground with a muffled thump. Had there been any passers-by, they might have assumed the interior to be water-logged and decrepit. They would have, at the very best, presumed it to be cold and barren as the chill soaked through the concrete walls. They would certainly never have imagined that Christmas lights glowed along the doorways, or that the pleasant smell of cooking turkey permeated through its halls.

Persephone was in a small room that had once been an office when this place had been functional. Now, they’d stuffed it with free weights and a boxing bag to create a makeshift gym. It wasn’t much compared to the facilities she’d left behind, but it served its purpose. A series of quick blows to the bag made echoing thuds throughout the room. Persephone loved that sound; it brought a multitude of memories flooding back every time.

“You should clean up. We’re going to eat soon.”

Persephone didn’t have to turn; she knew His voice by heart. She turned anyway. He stood in the open doorway, sporting the usual unflappable smile. A few flakes of snow trickled out of His hair, remnants of His trip earlier in the day.

“I’m fine. I’ll eat when I finish up.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s Christmas. This is a time for being with family.”

“None of us are related,” Persephone quipped, turning her attention back to the bag.

“You say that like it matters.”

“Of course it matters. Isn’t that the basis of family?” Persephone could feel Him looking at her without turning her head. No, it was worse than that; she could feel Him looking through her. A gentle hand settled on her shoulder, and it was all she could do not show any reaction.

“Blood means nothing more than similar genetic markers,” He said, voice both firm and calming at once. “Family is who you care about, and I can assure you that every person at that table cares a great deal about you.”

Persephone closed her eyes. She could have called bullshit on anyone else for dropping a line like that, but not Him. It wasn’t just that He genuinely believed it—it wasn’t even that He made other people around Him desire to believe it—it was that He made it true. He didn’t merely see the world the way He wanted it to be, He actually changed the world by moving through it. All of His power, and it was still this mundane, yet impossible ability that mesmerized Persephone more than any other. It was why she’d chosen Him to believe in after her . . . incident. It was why she’d thrown away her entire career to help Him.

“Geez, you’re corny,” she said, eyes still firmly shut. “Let me shower, and I’ll come join you guys.”

“We’ll wait for you,” He assured her, releasing her shoulder with one last comforting squeeze.

92.

The dawn of the spring semester is generally a cheerful occasion, regardless of the individual campus one analyzes. Though the prospect of returning to classes looms just over the horizon, there is the promise of new friends and lovers who will be met over the coming months. There is also the joy of rejoining friends that were scattered to the wind in their own treks home. It is this unique combination of new and old that manages to overpower even the crushing ennui of facing more tests and papers. Of course, there are exceptions to every rule, and not every reunion is a welcome one.

Alex was halfway to his floor when he sensed a very familiar mind. It was three floors up and several doors over, but the minute he touched it, he knew who it belonged to. Alex contemplated turning around and going back to his car. He had very little stowed in the trunk, and nothing that was perishable. A few hours out of the air-conditioning wouldn’t do any lasting harm.

Ultimately, he decided against it and resumed his upward journey. He might have gone for the escape if he hadn’t felt the steely determination in the mind that was waiting for him. She wasn’t going to leave. She knew he could sense her before she saw his face and she was determined to wait right where she was until he gave in and went to his room. Alex knew damned well that once she was set on something, there was no turning her around. Besides, better to get this out of the way as soon as possible.

Alex stepped out of the stairwell and shifted the box he was holding. It wasn’t particularly heavy, not to someone with frequent physical conditioning at least, but he felt compelled to do something with his hands and the box was the most convenient item to fiddle with. She was sitting in front of his door, looking down the hall at him. As he drew closer, she pulled herself to a standing position.

“Hey,” Selena said softly.

“Why are you here?” Alex’s tone was harsher than he might have chosen under different circumstances; however, this was an occasion where a gentle approach would only do more harm than good.

“I was hoping we could talk. I tried to call you over the break.”

“I know. I ignored your calls.” Alex brushed past her and unlocked his door. He struggled with a moment of internal debate as he twisted the knob: should he keep Selena in the hall or let her in? If he let her in, then things could take the wrong turn and get complicated, but if they stayed in the hall, the neighbors who were returning would see far more of his personal life than Alex was comfortable with. He walked in and set his box down, leaving the door open behind him. Selena could make her own decision on what was best for the conversation.

There was a click as Selena shut the door. Alex sat down in his computer desk chair and swiveled around to face her. The bed would have been more comfortable, but it also would have been vastly more dangerous.

“I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry,” Selena said, shifting in place. She didn’t make any motion to sit. This wasn’t supposed to be comfortable for her; she understood that much already.

“You’ve already said that. Multiple times,” Alex reminded her. “I understand that you’re sorry. I’ll probably even be able to forgive you one day, once I’ve gotten some distance from all of this.”

“Alex, it was a mistake, and I know it. I came to you after it happened and told you everything. Please, I really like you. I don’t want things to end like this.”

“That might have been something to keep in mind before you fucked Allen at Thomas’s party.”

Selena didn’t draw back at the crude comment. She merely nodded her head. Later, many hours and miles from this moment, she would sob muffled tears in the dark of her room. It wouldn’t be because of his harsh words, or because he had reminded her of her sin. It would be because she’d done something so horrible that the gentlest boy she’d ever met could act that viciously toward her.

“It was a mistake,” Selena repeated. “I was drunk, and you weren’t there, and . . .”

“And you cheated on me,” Alex finished for her. “We’ve had this fight, like five times now, Selena. I know you feel bad about it, I really do, but I don’t want to be with someone I can’t trust.”

“You can trust me! I told you everything that happened the very next day!” Selena’s voice was rising; she was losing her calm demeanor. Alex felt a rising urge to comfort her. His instincts hadn’t gotten the memo that the girl he’d spent nearly a year nuzzling was now no longer to be touched. He needed to end this before desire and love overcame basic reasoning.

“I’ll admit, you did tell me the very next day,” Alex agreed, rising from his chair. “But I have to wonder, was that because you couldn’t bear to lie to me, or because you knew it would only be a matter of time before I sensed all the guilt leaking out of you and decided to dig deeper?” His eyes bore into her almond-colored irises. He wasn’t looking for any twitches or glances; he didn’t need such tricks to know the truth. He simply wanted to look into those eyes one last time before he banished them from his life.

“I didn’t want to lie to you,” Selena said forcefully. Her tone was even, her body language secure. Alex could have believed her; hell, he wanted to believe her. It would have given them someplace to work from, shaky and unstable, but not impossible to fortify. It would have been hope. But Alex didn’t believe her, because he could sense the worms of doubt wriggling through her mind. She didn’t really know for certain whether she would have come clean had her boyfriend not been telepathic. It was understandable; that kind of moral dilemma is tested in the doing, not in speculation. However, the fact remained that she didn’t know what she would have done, which meant Alex knew what he had to do. Relationships were built on trust, trust that he simply no longer possessed.

“I don’t believe you,” Alex said. There was no anger in his voice, no fierceness, only a cold sense of detachment. “I don’t trust you. Right now, I don’t even like you. It’s over. One day, maybe we can be civil to one another, but we are never going to be together again.”

“But—”

“Never. Stop calling me. Stop dropping by my dorm. Don’t even talk to me. There is nothing left between us. Now get out.”

Selena stared at him for a moment, her mouth opening once but closing before any sound escaped. She turned and walked over to the door, pulling it open slowly, as if waiting for him to stop her from walking out. He didn’t. It was only willpower and pride that kept her from taking one last glance back as she left the room and walked carefully down the hallway.

To his own credit, it was nearly a full minute after the door closed before Alex’s first tears began to fall.

93.

The first few days of classes were largely unremarkable. Syllabi were handed out, new classrooms scanned and assessed for hook-up possibilities, and stomachs were forced to readjust to dorm food after several weeks of home-cooked goodness. Below the lush grass of Lander’s campus, a relatively small percentage of the total student population were dealing with stiff bodies and sore muscles as they got back into their training regimens. The smarter ones had kept up with at least a semblance of practice during the break, but even they needed an extra-long soak in the hot tub by the time the first week was drawing to a close. Within this sum of time that was, as previously mentioned, largely unremarkable, there were two quite remarkable events that occurred.

The first was a familiar posting of paper found by the gym on the sophomores’ first day back. It read: “March 1st. Team 1 vs. Team 2. Team 3 vs. Team 4.” It was gone the next day, as expected; however, like a tanker ramming through a dock, the aftermath was abundantly evident even after the cause was no longer visible. Efforts redoubled, training increased, and stress bubbled up in even the most stoic of students.

The second event was a two-person meeting that occurred in the classroom assigned to Professor Pendleton, in which a student turned in his extra-credit assignment.

“I have to hand it you,” Nick said as he sauntered in five minutes late for their appointment. “That actually proved to be a bit of a challenge.”

“Glad to hear that uncovering information with the highest level of classification was ‘a bit’ of a challenge,” Professor Pendleton replied snidely. The truth was he was a little impressed the kid had actually pulled it off, or at least thought he had. Even for someone like Nick, it should have been almost impossible to access that information.

“What can I say? I’ve got a gift.”

“That remains to be seen. So, what is your theory?”

“No foreplay or monologue, just right to the main event, huh? Fine, Blake Hill, in what has to be the least innovative naming convention of all time, worked as a Hero under the moniker Black Hole,” Nick said with a dramatic drop into the nearest seat. He’d planned much more theatricality for the reveal, but Professor Pendleton had taken all the style out of it.

“Nicely done,” Professor Pendleton complimented. “You pass.”

“Goody gumdrops.” Nick took a moment to stretch out in the desk, sprawling across it more effectively than one might have thought logistically possible. “I thought it was a little funny, finding out he was Black Hole. It sounded familiar, and then I remembered: he was one of the Heroes on the team with Globe, Intra, and The Alchemist.”

“Most of the professors here had illustrious careers before settling into a teaching role.” Professor Pendleton could have said “all” instead of “most” if he and Professor Fletcher weren’t on the staff.

“I’m certain they did. I’m guessing all of them weren’t on an infamous team with Alice’s father.” Nick’s teeth became visible in a wicked grin. He might have been robbed of one of his reveals, but he had a feeling he’d get to enjoy the next one.

“You know about that?”

“Alice told me last year, back when we were doing a project on Globe. Strange, given how much time they spend together for her training, that Professor Hill has never once mentioned his long friendship with her dad.”

“We keep a distance between ourselves and the students. We have to be objective to be able to teach you effectively,” Professor Pendleton replied.

“Some of you do, I’ll grant you that. Still, it seemed like the kind of thing that might have come up in conversation, even casually. There were reasons why it might not, like if Professor Hill wasn’t sure that Alice knew about her father’s Hero exploits. Then I remembered something else from last year. A tidbit of info I picked up when I made a scrapbook for Alice of her mother.” Nick’s sprawl had become compact as he spoke, and he drew himself tall into a position of authority.

“That would be?”

“Her mother’s last name, or rather, her maiden name. If I recall correctly, which I always do, it was Hill.”

“Hill is a common last name,” Professor Pendleton rebutted.

“Sixteenth most common in America. It was still enough to make me dig deeper. Funny thing, county birth records aren’t nearly as secure as you’d think.”

“I do have other appointments today. Can we cut to the chase?”

“Professor Hill is Alice’s uncle,” Nick said simply, a bit of his posture slumping. The professor just kept pilfering the wind from his sails today.

“Is he? I hadn’t expected that. I’m sure you can see why he’s remained quiet on the subject, then. Professor Hill is a professional, and he wouldn’t want to raise the question of whether or not he is giving his niece special treatment.”

“Makes total sense,” Nick agreed, slowly pulling himself out of his desk. “What makes significantly less sense is why Alice didn’t already know that. I mean, she was a Powered her whole life, it isn’t as if Professor Hill could have anticipated she’d go to Lander.”

“It is a sad truth that not every member of every family gets along. Perhaps Professor Hill and Alice’s father are not on amiable enough terms for him to see his niece.”

“Maybe. But it seems sort of funny that two people who served on a team together would be that distant from one another.”

“That was decades ago. People and friendships can change tremendously in that amount of time.”

“I suppose it’s possible,” Nick acquiesced. “Anyway, it’s none of my business; I got what you asked me for.”

“That you did,” Professor Pendleton agreed. “As I said, you pass.”

“Glad to hear it.” With that, Nick threw his backpack over his shoulder and sauntered out of the room, on to his next class and deception.

As Nick exited, a small grin grew across Professor Pendleton’s face. It bloomed into the kind of smile that was often described as a “cat that got the canary” smirk. It had been a while since Professor Pendleton had seen a plan come together so well; he’d almost forgotten about the tingle that flowed through his fingers or the light euphoria that danced in his brain.

“By the by,” Nick said, sticking his head back through the door. “I figured all that out in the first two days of break. By the fifth day, I’d realized from the coincidences that you set me up to draw Professor Hill precisely so I would uncover all that information. They were all things you wanted me to know, but couldn’t tell me. So I went back and did some more extensive research. It was so extensive, in fact, that I discovered the thing you were hoping I wouldn’t find. Just wanted to let you know. Toodles.”

With that, Nick was gone, leaving only a very flustered professor whose grin had vanished like a ninja in smoke.

94.

Vince stepped out of the men’s locker room to find that he was surrounded. Stella stood directly before him (a vantage point which he would later reflect must have offered some views of what transpired inside), Violet to his right, and a somewhat uncomfortable looking Thomas was at his left. The girls had very serious looks of sternness on their faces, while Thomas looked more like he might have had a disagreeable meal that was only now making its presence known.

“Um, hey, guys. What’s up?”

“Not much,” Stella said, in a tone that made it quite clear that much was indeed up. “How about you? Having a nice day? Any big plans for the weekend?”

“It was good so far,” Vince replied hesitantly. “I’ll probably just do the usual this weekend. Train and study, and maybe catch a movie.”

“Mmmmmhmmmmm.” Violet made the sound somewhere in the middle of her throat, allowing it to sound both casual and disapproving. “I told you so, Stella.”

“Now, Violet, we agreed to give him a chance,” Stella said, moving only her eyes. Those glaring orbs soon turned back to Vince, unfortunately. “So, that’s all? Training, studying, and maybe a movie? You’re sure there’s not anything else on your schedule for this weekend? Nothing of significant importance that may have slipped your mind just now?”

“Pretty sure.” Vince found his body sliding itself into a defensive stance, even though he wasn’t certain why.

“Typical,” Violet sighed. “Even the nice ones are as considerate as rocks.”

“I’m really confused,” Vince admitted.

“One of your teammates has a birthday this weekend,” Stella explained. “We were hoping you had taken the time to at least put something together.”

“I don’t think so,” Vince disagreed. “Hershel and Nick both have theirs in the summer, Mary’s is over Christmas break, and Alice’s isn’t for another few months.”

“Typical,” Violet repeated.

Stella jabbed a surprisingly bony finger into Vince’s sternum. “Camille. You know, the small one who could have been on a top tier team, but instead, decided to help you guys out? The sweet one who goes to every practice, ignoring the fact that she has her skills down pat, because she wants to show team spirit? The girl who encouraged all of us to support you people after your little revelation, and who, evidently, you don’t think of as a teammate just because she isn’t in the guinea pig club?”

“Oh.”

“‘Oh’ is fucking right,” Stella agreed.

“But she never told any of us when her birthday was,” Vince defended lamely.

“She never tells anyone,” Violet countered. “She doesn’t do anything to draw attention to herself. You’ve worked with her for a half a year, and you didn’t notice that? We found out by invading her privacy and prying into her life, just like good friends should.”

Vince glanced at Thomas, hoping for support. Thomas squirmed in place as a response. Had it been a villain or a monster of any caliber, Thomas would happily have stood at his friend’s side and faced the impossible odds in battle. Against these two . . . even bravery has its limits.

Stella, meanwhile, was rearing for another assault. “And another thing—”

“You’re right,” Vince interrupted, his eyes falling from Thomas to the floor.

The proverbial wind seemed to slip a bit from Stella’s sails. “What was that?”

“I said, ‘you’re right.’ Camille is always so supportive of everyone, and we just take her for granted. It didn’t even occur to me to figure out when her birthday was, but I should have. Just because she didn’t used to be Powered, doesn’t mean she isn’t one of us. It was inconsiderate and selfish.”

“Well, at least this one can admit when it’s wrong,” Violet said.

Stella’s glare was still quite imposing, but she lowered her finger and Vince’s chest relaxed accordingly. “Make sure you don’t let it happen again. We love that girl, and we hate to see her go unappreciated.”

“I won’t,” Vince promised. Stella saw something in his eyes at that moment, a piece of the greater whole that was Vince Reynolds. She was not one to take people at their word, but in that instant, she had a feeling that when Vince made a promise, even the gods counted it as done.

“Good,” Stella said. “Now, since this isn’t about shaming you as much as it is about making Camille feel good, we went ahead and put something together. You’re going to invite her to a birthday dinner at Karaoke Barn on Saturday night. We’ll spread the word around to other students after you’ve told her.”

“I don’t know if it’s right for me to take credit for plans you organized.”

“What do you think would mean more to Camille, finding out we threw her another party, or finding out the team she’s been working with thought so much of her that they beat us to it?” Violet asked. She couldn’t say the other part, the piece about how it really mattered that Vince was the one who invited her. Last year, the small girl had tried every trick in the book to weasel out of her own event. If it was something put together for her especially by Vince, Violet had a feeling not even the apocalypse would keep her away.

“Then, shouldn’t the captain be the one to invite her?” Vince asked.

Stella and Violet glanced at each other. That was a good point, and one they hadn’t thought of. It was Thomas who came to their aid, accidently justifying their decision to drag him along.

“The captain isn’t the one who organizes the fun; the captain is the one who leads the team. Goof-off events should really come from someone else, if only for the sake of appearances.”

“I guess that makes sense. Usually, Nick is the one who recommends all the things we do to waste time,” Vince agreed.

“Glad you’re on board,” Stella said, retaking control of the conversation. “Karaoke Barn, Saturday night at seven. I expect to get a panicked call from her by tonight, or so help me, our next visit won’t be so pleasant.” Stella turned on her heel and began walking away, Violet only a few steps behind.

Thomas paused a moment before following. “They really do mean well.”

“I’m sure they do. Still not positive why my heart is beating so fast,” Vince noted.

“Just be glad they like you enough to take it easy. I’ve seen them come down hard on people, and it’s not a pretty sight.” Thomas jogged off to catch up with the girls, leaving a stunned Vince by himself to recover.

95.

“Mr. Murray, am I boring you?”

Will swiveled his head toward the chemistry professor, who was glaring at him as the snickers of his classmates filled the room. “No, sir.”

“Then why have you not looked at your book once in the last ten minutes?”

It was true; Will confirmed it with a dart of his eyes to the clock. He’d let his mind wander to more essential tasks, and his focus had gotten away from him. The truth was Will’s attendance in this class was purely out of courtesy. He was already well-acquainted with every concept that would be covered and could likely teach the professor a few lessons on the subject matter. That was the HCP side of Will, however; up here, he had to pass for a normal student. He had to be like everyone else.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“It’s your education, Mr. Murray. I can’t force you to take it seriously. But, if you don’t fix your attitude, I’m sure the results will be apparent by the end of this course.”

“I’ll do better, sir.”

“That remains to be seen.”

The professor began to lecture again, and Will made a point of staring at his book as his concentration ebbed away. He couldn’t help it; this morning, he’d seen Jill field a call from Glenn during a class. It wasn’t surprising that he called when he knew she couldn’t answer, or that she almost picked up the phone anyway. No, the worrying part was that when she’d glanced at the phone, Will saw The Look on her face. It was a mixture of uncertainty, worry, and just a trace of fear. It meant that the Glenn situation had progressed to the point where Jill faced repercussions for something as simple as an unanswered call. It had been a long time since Will saw The Look on his sister’s face, and he’d hoped with all he had to never see it again.

*      *      *

Snow had fallen two days ago, but the streets downtown didn’t tolerate such pleasantries for long. Heat from passing cars had turned the white powder into a gray slush that ran in dark rivers down the drains positioned at key points along the corners. It was not a scene appropriate to any holiday, let alone Christmas, but people who moved here didn’t do it in search of picturesque nostalgia. One mound of dirty slush bore a small bootprint, made by a boy no more than ten years old. This was discernible not by an exceptional means of deduction, but rather by the fact that the boy in question stood only a few feet away from his inadvertent mark.

He was a lean boy, bearing the figure of one who is either in the middle of, or just completing, a growth spurt. The store window he stood in front of was dark, but the light from the streetlamps reflected off of his thick glasses housed in quite unfashionable frames. His gaze was unwavering from the storefront set before him; even as the wind tugged at his too-thin jacket, the boy’s focus never slipped. Neither did the brick clutched tightly in his hand.

Will Murray, never Billy or Bill or even the proper William, for those names lacked a very specific characteristic, took mental inventory of the poorly-lit hardware store from his stance on the street. Power saws, sanders, chainsaws, the place had an ample supply of base mechanical parts. It also held a section for computer hardware; the owners had felt that offering both types of product would widen their demographic and hopefully double their business. What they had learned instead was that the people who work on computers and the people who work with industrial tools are very rarely comfortable around one another. It was why they hadn’t gotten a store in a better part of town, it was why their alarm system had been cheap and taken no time to disengage, and it was why Will had chosen this store out of all the others he knew about.

His arm was getting tired. Will was hesitating, and he knew it. This was the last place where he could still walk away from everything. Hurling the brick would quite literally be the point of no return. He’d have to push forward, no matter what happened. Will was a very smart child; he knew that the odds dictated almost exclusively negative endings following this course of action. Even if he succeeded, this was a serious crime. With a criminal history on his resume, it would be almost impossible to get into the Hero Certification Program one day, to say nothing of the time he’d spend in juvenile hall. It had been his dream for so long, and now that they were finally willing to call what he had a certifiable power, he was going to shatter that dream right along with this storefront window.

Jill would call him stupid. Jill would say he should think about the future, not be so impulsive. But Jill wasn’t here; their mother had won custody of her in the divorce. Jill would say she was fine. She would say they were only little bruises, and their mother so rarely lost control to that point. Jill didn’t understand patterns of escalation. Jill couldn’t fathom the depths of their mother’s instability. Jill refused to acknowledge that her injuries were getting bigger and showing up more frequently. Will saw all of it; he saw what had come to pass and what lurked on the horizon. Will had seen The Look on his sister’s face when their mother picked her up today. Will understood it was only a matter of time before Jill became hurt in a way that could never be repaired.

The glass made a tinkling sound as it rained to the ground. Will had expected something louder, more ear-catching. He supposed that was due to the exaggerations of cinema and their over-the-top sound effects. Will was surprised to realize he felt calmer than he had before the throw. Perhaps it was because there was no longer anything to fret over. The die, or in this case brick, had been cast. The ramifications were upon him regardless of how he proceeded from here. Knowing that, it was clear that the logical choice was to do his very best to save Jill before the repercussions caught up to him.

The boy stepped carefully over the jagged shards of his dream and the storefront glass. It was a shame; he had genuinely wanted to be a Hero someday. The idea was pleasant, but ultimately irrelevant. No Hero was going to help Jill. No cape-wearing champion would steal her away from the house where she regularly cowered in fear. Only her brother, only Will, would be the one to save her. There was a soft click as Will turned on his flashlight, a dim beam of light slicing through the dark interior. The time for reflection was done; now was the time for action.

Will Murray, the only moniker he accepted of all the nickname options because it appropriately rhymed with his sister’s, pulled off his mitten and began to work.

96.

“Most of you did quite well on your emotional recognition assignment,” Professor Pendleton said, handing back stacks of photos that each student had been tasked with assessing. Some of the faces were enthusiastic in their expression, while others were little more than deadpan. Each had had to be plumbed for their contents—seeing what existed beneath the surface was a key aspect for anyone in the Subtlety field, especially in regards to reading people.

“Of course, there were some students who showed significantly less competence.” Alice’s paper was dropped dramatically on her desk, just in case anyone had been wondering who the professor was referring to. She bit her lip to hold back the flush of shame that was trying to mar her normally perfect skin. This was a technique Nick had taught her; pain took higher precedence in the brain’s hierarchy than embarrassment, so it reacted to the injury instead of humiliation.

Alice hadn’t expected to ace the assignment: while she had practice reading people, her skill depended on things like tone and inflection more than just facial composition. But she had hoped not to embarrass herself at least. At this point, she just wanted to get through to the end of the year, when Subtlety would undoubtedly be dropped from her schedule. Sadly, it looked as though she had a long way to go before she reached that finish line.

“I thought, this week, we’d do something a little more active than our usual analysis work,” Professor Pendleton announced, after dropping the last stack of papers with its owner. “You are all going to be learning the art of tailing.”

The class looked at him with piqued interest. Most students would know the term, but likely wouldn’t be excited by the subject matter. Professor Pendleton’s class didn’t contain “most students.” These were the ones who adored the topics he covered and hungered for practice as they grew bloated with theory. Tailing would provide that; there was no way to master it without a fair bit of actual doing.

“This will be a game called Watching and Spotting, the goal of which is to achieve five points by this time next week. The Watching part of your assignment will be to follow someone from this class for a span of three hours without being noticed. You must document their activities carefully, as this will be the proof that you succeeded. Completing this task will earn you one point.” Professor Pendleton stepped across the room, forcing their eyes to follow. He was keenly proud of this exercise, and he wanted to make certain they paid full attention for the explanation of it.

“Conversely, Spotting occurs if you should find yourself being followed. You may document the timeframe during which you see your pursuer and turn it in for one point. This will, of course, negate the Watcher’s point.”

“Wait, so if we watch someone without getting spotted, we get a point, but if they see us, then they’re the one to actually get a point?” Alice asked.

“Correct,” Professor Pendleton confirmed. “A timeframe and activity log must be presented, along with the notice of a Spot. It will be compared to the notes the Watcher submits, and if the Spot does not match at least one hour out of the three of pursuit, then the Spot will not be counted.”

This time, it was Julia who interrupted the professor. “You’re saying, when we watch someone, we don’t know if they spot us or not? That comes out when everyone turns their stuff in. So, if we don’t know if we were caught, then how do we know if we have enough points to pass?”

“You don’t.”

“Oh.” Julia looked visibly disturbed.

“If you can’t tell whether the person you are Watching is aware of your existence, then you don’t truly deserve the points,” Professor Pendleton explained. “All information gathering is an active process. You can’t just observe. You also need to know if the person is aware you are observing. If they are, then they could feed you false information. By the same logic, if you know that they know, then you can twist the tables on them.”

“I’m confused,” Gilbert moaned from the back.

“He’s saying that a Watcher can screw a Spotter right back. Think about it: a Spot only counts if you successfully identified your Watcher and the time frame you submit consists of at least one of the three hours you were being Watched. If the Watcher realizes they’ve been seen, they can always elect not to turn in their notes on that tail, thereby depriving the Spotter of their point.” Tiffani Hunt drew many curious glances with her outburst, but the nod of approval from Professor Pendleton told her she was on the money.

“Well said. Identifying misinformation is even more important than obtaining information in the first place,” Professor Pendleton continued. “Now that we’ve covered how the game works, or at least as much as I’m willing to explain it, I’ll briefly touch on grading. Five points is the goal, so it is an A. Four is a B, three a C, two a D, and anyone with one point or less will receive a failing grade.” A familiar hand shot up from the center of the desks, and Professor Pendleton resisted the urge to sigh loudly. “Ms. Adair, I am not going to go back over how—”

“What if we get more than five points?” Alice felt a twinge of shame interrupting a teacher, but she wasn’t going to let a golden opportunity slip by.

“More than five points?”

“Yes. What if we exceed the goal?”

Professor Pendleton stared at her for a long moment, the wheels in his head turning so loudly some of the students near the front could make out a faint click-clack noise. “If, and that is a mighty big if, you are able to get over five points, then you will receive bonus credit. Each point over will raise a previous assignment by one letter grade, at a maximum of ten.”

“And what if—”

“If you exceed ten, then you have hopelessly too much time on your hands,” Professor Pendleton said, this time cutting her off. “But I’ll concede the possibility. Anyone who exceeds ten points will be invited to a special challenge session. Should someone come away from that session victorious, they will have an automatic A on the final exam for this class.”

The class buzzed; HCP course finals were notoriously difficult. Jumping through all those hoops had to be an afternoon on the couch by comparison. Many students set their will to accomplish the impossible, despite the fact that less than a minute before they’d been wondering how they would ever pull a passing grade out of this assignment. Amidst it all, Professor Pendleton wondered about the curiosity of the fact that Alice, one of the class’s worst performers, was sitting at her desk with a smug smile across her face.

97.

“This wardrobe is wasted on you,” Nick said as he sifted through Vince’s closet. The bulk of the former wanderer’s clothes had been provided for him, along with his dorm furnishings and monthly allotment. It was part of the “scholarship” that their program provided, along with tuition and class fees. The others hadn’t been provided with quite as much as Vince. But then again, they hadn’t needed nearly as much, either. Nick had always thought of it as a form of payment for letting themselves become human guinea pigs, but given that the experiment had worked, he supposed the blood money arrangement worked out in their favor.

“Over half this stuff still has tags on it.” A tumble of clothes fell upon Vince’s bed as Nick cleared the way to view more options.

“I’ve never had many clothes. I just find what’s comfortable and keep wearing it,” Vince replied from his desk. He was doing some homework before heading off to Camille’s birthday event, determined not to find himself in the same kind of situation he had last semester.

“That’s very Zen of you, but adding variety to one’s rotational ensemble isn’t always a bad thing. For instance, you might already know what to wear tonight, instead of having me help you.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t expect it to be formal.”

“Funny how that works. You’re the one who put together Camille’s shindig, yet you didn’t realize Karaoke Barn has a strict dress code.” Nick didn’t bother giving Vince the accusing glare. He’d no more believed his friend had organized this event, than he believed Bigfoot was secretly in charge of The Masons.

“It’s called Karaoke Barn! Why would I expect that to require suits and dresses?”

“The name is ironic; it’s one of the swankier places in town. Private rooms, highbrow food, I hear they do a non-complimentary valet, even though there’s tons of parking available.” Nick knew, of course, that the relevance of that last fact would be lost on someone like Vince. Really, the only person in Melbrook who might have fathomed its significance was Alice, and Nick had already found himself a bit too fond of her company lately. He needed to put a little space between himself and his blonde teammate.

“I know that, now.”

“Now” had occurred when Vince showed Nick the jeans and T-shirt he’d planned to wear that night. It had not gone over well.

“Just be glad we did a pre-screen. It would have been mortifying if you’d shown up in those rags.”

“They aren’t rags.”

“They are compared to what you should be wearing.” Nick pulled back another section of clothes and revealed a piece that demanded he let out a low whistle. “And what you should be wearing, pretty much always, is this.”

Nick plucked free a three-button suit that was still bound in plastic wrap. It was the color of smoke and had clearly been fashioned with Vince in mind. His lean frame had put on a bit of muscle thanks to his HCP conditioning, but Vince would still fit strikingly into this outfit. Nick could already visualize it, and the image made him want to pick something a little nicer than what he’d planned for himself. Nick could deal with many things, but being drab, even if only by comparison, wasn’t one of them.

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that,” Vince said, rising from his desk. “I saw it the first week I was here. Didn’t know where I’d ever wear it to.”

“You knew it was here, yet you let me spend half an hour rooting through the dregs of your closet?”

“I forgot.” Vince shrugged in that way which only the truly innocent and the truly idiotic are capable.

“Of course you did.” Nick thrust the suit at his friend, who accepted it gently. “I’m going to leave while you try it on. Add the accoutrements, too; I’m helping you itemize all afternoon.”

“Accoutrements?”

“Yeah, you know: shoes, belt, rings, watches, all the periphery shit.”

“I don’t think I have that.”

Nick jerked his thumb toward the now ravaged closet. “Go dig. If there’s a suit, then there’s at least a matching belt and shoes. As for watches, what about that pocket watch you keep on your bedside table?”

Vince didn’t glance toward where Nick’s eyes were looking; he already knew perfectly well what he meant.

“I don’t really wear that out.”

“And with your usual clothes, you shouldn’t. With this suit, on the other hand, it would be a welcome addition. Tell you what, get dressed, and I’ll show you how to run the chain. Then you can decide for yourself.”

“I guess I could do that,” Vince agreed reluctantly.

“Then hurry. Some of us have to get ready too, you know.”

*      *      *

When a room is thoroughly disheveled, the phrase “it looks like a bomb went off in there” is frequently used. This description, while popular, is wildly inaccurate. It ignores the fact that most of the bombs civilians are familiar with are not designed to create craters; rather they use a controlled amount of explosives to send fragments and shrapnel as projectiles. It also fails to take into account that even if the first condition were not true, such a situation would invariably leave scorch marks as collateral damage to the area in question. So, Camille Belden’s room certainly did not look like a bomb had gone off in it. It did, however, look as if a team of specially trained agents had scoured through it looking for illegal contraband. Unfortunately for Camille, neither of these were the case.

“Try these on next,” Violet demanded, setting a pair of heels Camille was certain she’d never bought onto the bed. Camille didn’t buy heels; she’d never even worn a pair. These must have been included in one of her mother’s care packages. She was always encouraging Camille to dress more ladylike.

“Oooooh, with the green dress,” Stella chimed in.

“Love it!” Violet agreed cheerfully.

It was a strange thing, Violent Violet and Stella Steel, as they were known in their respective hometowns, setting aside their usual rough demeanors and getting bogged down in the intricacies of hair and makeup. This was not, as some might speculate, because all women are predisposed to such passions regardless of their personality type. It was simply that people are complex creatures, and the joy of burying a fist in someone’s skull does not exclude one from also enjoying the ability to turn heads when walking into a room. Besides, bad as one might assume these girls were at such pageantry, Camille was infinitely worse.

The duo had been at this for hours, fully aware that if they didn’t go the extra mile to make Camille look irresistible, then she certainly wouldn’t do it herself. It was a testament to how much she wanted to go to a party she believed Vince had thrown for her that the small girl was tolerating such abuse. Normally, she would have slipped away in some moment of confusion, and she certainly wouldn’t have allowed her housemates to wreak such havoc on her normally well-kept room.

“I can’t walk in these,” Camille said as she turned over the new set of heels in her hand.

“HCP training spends a lot of time on balance, I bet you’re better than you think,” Stella told her.

“Plus, heels will help close the height distance between you and Vince. The boy is kind of tall,” Violet added, resisting the urge to share a conspiratorial wink.

Camille let a sigh die in her chest and began putting on the heels. Denying the truth was as useless as resisting these two. They were relentless, and she was their favorite pet project. At times, she wondered why they didn’t put as much effort into their own love lives, but it was a question Camille would never ask. Even if they could be annoying at times, she knew that all this effort came from a sincere love for her, so the last thing she wanted to do was say something hurtful. Besides, in the deepest part of her heart, Camille had to admit she wouldn’t mind standing even a few inches closer to Vince’s lips.

It bears saying that she made it all of ten steps before taking her first tumble, a tally which Stella and Violet mutually agreed had to be a first time heel-wearer record.

98.

It was a good thing Karaoke Barn offered private rooms, because the turnout for Camille’s party couldn’t have easily fit in some obscure corner booth. Her team, along with Thomas and the girls, were there, but also in attendance were some unexpected additions, such as Chad, Shane, Britney, Julia, Jill, and Sasha. All of them were trimmed in appropriate apparel, though Julia and Sasha’s necklines were treading dangerously close to defying that definition, and they piled into the large room stocked with several tables and one moderately-sized stage at the center.

People began taking seats wherever they were available, with little consideration of who they were next to. Everyone here was, if not friends, cordial enough to tolerate for the night. Vince noticed he seemed to be herded into the seat next to Camille, one he would have thought her closer friends might have prized. He accepted it with his usual blissfully-ignorant demeanor, turning his attention to the groups of people ambling in as they arrived.

“I thought Will would have come with Thomas,” Vince said as he noticed his hyper-intelligent friend was nowhere to be seen.

“Oh, he told us he was going to be late. He had an early evening lab,” Camille supplied as she pretended to browse through one of the monolithic song catalogs littering the tables. She would sooner square off against one of the professors in combat to the death than get on the stage to sing; however, the book did make a useful prop for avoiding looking at Vince. The small tolerance she’d grown, thanks to working with him all year, seemed to have dissipated when she saw him in his suit. The boy cleaned up well.

“Yeesh, I’m glad I don’t have to take any science classes.”

“You, me, and the entire chemistry department,” Nick agreed, pulling out a chair and plopping down at the table. He was dressed closer to Nicholas than Nick, what with his dapper button-down and midnight-black suit. He’d purposely avoided combing his hair too expertly or getting this particular jacket tailored, at least. They were meaningless details unless you were looking for them, and Nick assumed someone was always looking for them.

“I don’t think I’d cause too much damage,” Vince protested.

“Vince, you’re a dear friend, but you screwed up making iced tea,” Nick countered.

“He did?” Camille looked up from the songbook.

“He just didn’t know that the machine needed a filter,” Alice defended, making her way over and settling in next to Nick. Her red eye glitter matched the sparkle of her form-fitting red dress that showed just a touch of cleavage. It was beginning to look like this table would be filled only by Team One members, but the last two seats were quickly scooped up by Violet and Stella. Neither of them saw the unhappy look on Sasha’s face, but she had no one but herself to blame for being too slow.

“I’d never used one of those things before; I thought it was built in.”

“Needless to say, the tea was thrown out and we haven’t really let Vince mess around with advanced appliances since,” Nick concluded.

“Too bad. Most girls dig a man who can cook,” Violet pointed out.

“Lord knows I do,” Stella agreed. “I hate that domestic shit, I want to come home and have my meal hot and waiting for me. Maybe with a nice martini on the side.”

“So you want to be a man in the fifties, in a sitcom?” Nick asked.

“Pretty much.”

Nick turned the idea over in his head a few times. “You know what? I can actually see the appeal there.”

“I am able to cook,” Vince protested, getting his words in at last. “I’m just not good with fancy technological stuff.”

“Items you would find an abundance of in any science lab setting, circling back and proving my original point,” Nick replied.

“So, who’s going to sing first?” Violet tossed out, trampling over their repartee.

“My money says it will be whoever is drinking the heaviest,” Alice wagered.

“I don’t know. Some people actually enjoy the spotlight and the attention.”

“Oh, if it’s about being an attention whore, then Nick will probably be up there before we even order our food,” Alice predicted.

“Funny. Sorry to disappoint, Princess, but not even a river of booze could get me up there. Being genetically tone-deaf means I can’t carry a tune any more than Vince could use the popcorn setting on the microwave.”

“I feel like this is getting mean,” Vince objected.

“Wait, so the diva of Melbrook has one outlandish activity he won’t engage in? No, no, now I’ve got to hear you sing.” Alice plucked one of the books from the table and began rifling through it.

“Flip the pages as fast as you like, there’s no way I’m getting up on stage,” Nick reaffirmed, turning his attention to a menu rather than a book.

“Oh, come on, do it for Camille. It’s her birthday.”

“I’m actually okay with people not singing if they don’t want to.” Camille felt it important to establish this precedent early, in case attention was later shifted to her own lack of performance.

“Look, you want me to make an ass of myself, it’s going to have to be tit for tat,” Nick said.

“I’ll go sing,” Alice agreed immediately.

“I know you will; we’ve all heard you belting out top forty hits in the kitchen when you forget you live with other people. That’s not a fair exchange, because you wouldn’t be embarrassed by singing. You should be, but you wouldn’t be.”

“No need to be snippy,” Alice said with a glare. “Fine, if me singing wouldn’t get you up there, then how about something equally degrading?”

“I’m listening.”

“I’ll clean the boys’ side bathroom and lounge tomorrow.”

Nick raised an eyebrow. “Why exactly would that be a fair trade?”

“Because you always call me Princess, and nothing would cheer your vile little heart more than seeing someone you consider high society doing menial labor.” Alice shot him a pointed look with a light smirk underneath. She might not be as good as he was, but she still knew a thing or two about what a man’s temptations were.

“I expect a professional-level job. Plus, I get to pick the song.”

Alice contemplated the addendum to the bargain, then shook her head in a motion that sent her blonde hair bobbing about. “It’s a deal.”

“Good. Mind if I at least order my food first?”

“Don’t you need to look for a song?” Violet pointed out.

“I’ve got a good inclination of what I want to do already,” Nick replied. “I'm quite confident they’ll have my choice. That can be confirmed in a moment; the first priority here is selecting something to fill my cavernous stomach.”

The rest of the table took a lead from his good idea and began pondering their dinner options.

99.

Glenn was about fifteen minutes away from Karaoke Barn, forced to come separately from Jill due to his late class, when the stereo on his car dissolved into static. He let out an obligatory curse word and began to fiddle with the knob, paying traffic only a passing nod of attention. No matter how he switched through the stations, everything came in with the same crackling pattern. With a grunt of annoyance, he turned off the volume and put his attention back to the road. This was not a good start to the night; he could already feel the agitation growing within his belly.

There was a blast of fresh noise pollution as his radio seemingly turned itself back up to max volume. Glenn tried to mute it once more; however, this time, his button manipulations had no effect. After a few seconds, the sound died on its own, and Glenn found himself thankful for at least the blessing of silence. His gratitude was very short-lived.

“Good evening, Glenn.” The voice came crisply over the radio, mild distortion making it impossible to place without interfering with its clarity. Glenn immediately glanced around for the walkie-talkie one of his douche friends had surely hidden in his car.

“You can look all you want. You’re not going to find anything.”

That was kind of creepy. Either the voice on the radio was watching him, or it had taken a very accurate guess at what he would do. Glenn tried to turn the radio off once more, but he wasn’t surprised when it failed to show any result.

“Real funny. Dan, I’m guessing you did this.”

“I’m not Dan, and this isn’t supposed to be funny.”

Glenn swallowed hard. He might not be able to make out the owner of the voice, but he could still hear the hatred that was seething in it. It was trying to scare him, and Glenn didn’t like other people trying to make him feel small.

“Oh yeah, well then you fucked up, because it’s funny as hell. Sorry, man, but it takes more than some voice on the radio to scare me.” He’d barely finished his sentence when he noticed the car had begun to drift to the left. There was a concrete barrier only a few feet away, separated from him only by the small shoulder of a buffer zone. Instinctively, Glenn turned the wheel to the right, only to realize that nothing happened. He jerked it hard this time and slammed on the brake for good measure. Nothing.

“Am I still funny, Glenn?”

Glenn felt that hot boil of anger in his stomach suddenly turn to ice. The car was still sliding left, inch by precious inch.

“Who are you? How are you doing this?”

“This is God.”

“Sure it is,” Glenn snapped. The car moved several inches over, then pulled back to its leisurely slide.

“I control your future. I decide whether you live or die. My statement might be untrue to the rest of the world, but I’m God to you, Glenn.”

Glenn tried the wheel again, not expecting to have any impact, but twisting it furiously anyway. Whatever this person had done, they’d taken over his car completely. He tried the door and found it unwilling to unlock. Not even the window would roll down. Somewhere inside, Glenn cursed himself for getting electric windows.

“What do you want?”

“Glad you’re finally ready to listen,” the voice said. The car pulled back into the lane and resumed a reasonable speed. “I want you to stay away from Jill Murray.”

“Jill? You hijacked my car just to break up me and my girlfriend?” There was a growl from the engine as the car accelerated swiftly.

“God works in mysterious ways. He can also see the future. And the past. Even the past that some courts will seal for minors. He knows about your temper. He knows how you need to maintain control, and how angry you get when you feel like it has slipped away from you. God doesn’t like the way you process your rage, Glenn. God is ending this one before it starts.”

Fury was beginning to overwhelm fear once more. Glenn slammed his hand on the dashboard and yelled at the mysterious voice. “Fuck you! I don’t know what you’ve heard, but—”

The car whipped to the left, rushing across the shoulder and pressing against the concrete barrier. The sideview mirror was ripped away in an instant; the small bit that remained made sparks as it dragged against the cement wall.

“This is not a negotiation. This is a warning, the only warning you’re going to get. Her number has already been stripped from your phone. All calls and texts will be intercepted and responded to in an appropriate breakup manner. You will not go to see her. If she finds you, then you will run away as fast as you can. If you should fail to heed any one of my orders, then all that will be found of you is a totaled car that reeks of alcohol. No one will investigate, and no one will miss you when you’re gone. God has spoken.”

The car died all at once, righting its direction ever so slightly so it coasted away from the wall but stayed on the shoulder. Glenn’s heart was thundering in his chest, his hands clutching a wheel that had no bearing on what his vehicle did. He was dimly aware that his crotch was warm, and it would be at least ten minutes before he realized he’d pissed himself. The radio was the last piece to go dark, doing so only after one last message flickered out from the dimming system.

“Do. Not. Test. Me.”

*      *      *

Two miles away, Will Murray sat on a lawn chair in a field, next to a very strange miniature satellite. It was connected to a console system that would have boggled most minds at an initial glance and nearly all minds upon investigation. He powered down the system and rose from his perch, removing the microphone headset and setting it atop the satellite dish. Glenn would undoubtedly have his car searched top to bottom, but it wouldn’t do any good. The small node used to establish a remote link had already self-destructed into a pile of silver goo. Will couldn’t control electronics the way his sister could, but that wasn’t the same as not being able to control them at all.

As Will packed away his equipment, he wondered if this would be enough. He’d tried to be gentle, using fear over force. Last time, there hadn’t been the opportunity for a gentle touch, but hopefully, this would be different. Somehow, he doubted it. People like that weren’t ones to give up on what they considered to be their property without a fight. Nothing could be done about it. If Glenn pressed the issue . . . well, Will had given him fair warning.

Will finished packing and began dragging his things to the car. At least it was a pleasant evening. He wouldn’t even need to change; he could head right to the party from here.

100.

“They call you Lady Luck, but there is room for doubt. At times, you have a very unladylike waaaay of running out.” Nick let off a quick wink to Alice as he tread casually across the stage, microphone in hand.

“Son of a bitch,” Alice swore under her breath, though none of the other attendees at her table had any trouble figuring out the sentiment of her mumblings.

People often forget that before it was tigers and magic and family-friendly casinos with roller coasters, Vegas was a place where a different sort gathered. It was smoky bars, mafia bosses, and legendary crooners. Those things still existed, of course, just not at their former levels. For one who grew up in the dusty desert town, those weren’t just phantoms of the past; they were roots meant to be respected. Nick had been dozing off to the recorded vocal magic of Old Blue Eyes since he was a baby. While no one would mistake the sunglasses-clad young man singing “Luck Be a Lady” for the immortal entertainer, it was evident he’d put in a lot of effort learning how to work his voice until it pleased all the ears lucky enough to be around it.

“I didn’t know Nick could sing,” Camille said as he belted out the final notes and set the microphone back on the stand.

“Me neither. And I’m positive Alice didn’t,” Vince replied.

The blonde girl was out of her seat before Nick got anywhere near his. With one hand on her hip, she took the other and thrust a finger directly into Nick’s sternum. “You tricked me.”

“I said it was embarrassing. It is, having all these eyes worshipping me,” Nick shot back. His tone was defensive, but the smarmy grin plastered across his face said he knew exactly what he had done.

“I’m sure you must have been mortified, the way you pranced around up there.”

“Pranced? Now that’s just mean.” Nick pressed his hand across his heart to show how injured he felt. This led to him brushing against Alice’s malice-filled finger, which was still drilling into him. She jerked it back as if she were afraid it would be dissolved by his skin. There was a beat of awkward silence between them before Alice sat back down with a huff.

“Whatever. I should have known better than to make a deal with you anyway.”

“I won’t disagree with you there,” Nick said cheerfully. “So, who is going next?”

*      *      *

“Where the heck is Glenn,” Jill muttered, checking her phone yet again. He had promised to only be a few minutes late, yet the food had already come and gone with no sign of her boyfriend. Even Will had finished his lab, showing up only half an hour late.

“Maybe he got sick or something,” Julia suggested helpfully. In truth, she was a bit hungry for conversation; usually, she would chat with Sasha, but tonight, her super-fast roommate was preoccupied with staring at Vince and flipping through the book of song options. Shane and Chad were at their table, too, but they weren’t much at small-talk. Shane seemed distracted, and Chad was trying, unsuccessfully, to chip in with little blurbs.

“Maybe,” Jill said uncertainly. Her reverie was interrupted by Sasha, who slammed the songbook shut with a surprising amount of gusto.

“Found one!” she declared, hopping up from her seat. “Chad, get your vocals warmed up, I’m going to go put our name in the queue.”

“Beg pardon?” Chad’s words might as well not have been spoken, since the intended audience was already gone by the time they came out. He looked at the remaining girls with some uncertainty. All they offered up in return was half-hearted shrugs. Julia likely could have explained to him that Sasha had chosen a duet with a goodlooking guy in an attempt to make Vince jealous, however Chad’s befuddlement was the most entertainment Julia had gotten all evening, and she wasn’t inclined to see it end just yet.

*      *      *

“Are you going to sing?” Vince asked Camille as Will mercifully finished butchering a classic Elvis song. He handed off the microphone to Selena, who was waiting stageside since she was next to perform. As she ascended, Sasha and Chad walked over from their table and took her place.

“Not unless someone puts a gun to my head, and even then, I’m not making promises,” Camille hurriedly replied. “I don’t really flourish in the spotlight.”

“It’s not my favorite place to be either,” Vince admitted. He might have said more, but it would have been rude to chat over Selena’s singing when they were right by the stage. Her dark-brown eyes flitted through the crowd, landing briefly on Alex, then immediately turning away as the music began to swell. She’d chosen a relatively old one, a song from the nineties about a lost soul searching for its companion. Selena could have used her power to make everyone feel the sorrow as she sang, but she didn’t. She didn’t have to; her talent did that all on its own. Usually, there was at least a bit of hushed conversation as someone performed. In that moment, as the heartbroken girl projected her sadness, there wasn’t so much as a peep.

It wasn’t until Selena sang the final note that anyone dared to move in their seats, and at that, their first reaction was to applaud wildly. Camille looked over to Vince, intending to continue their conversation, when she encountered quite possibly the last thing she would have expected. A small pool of tears was glistening in Vince’s bright blue eyes, his vision still unwavering from the now-departing songstress.

“Vince?”

The silver-haired boy jerked with a start, as though he had completely let it slip his mind that there were other people around him. “I, um, um, well, this is a little embarrassing.” He fumbled around for a tissue, finding none on the cleared-off tables.

“There’s nothing wrong with tears. It was a touching performance,” Camille reassured him.

“It was, but that’s not it,” Vince replied, still scouring for something to wipe his face with. At last, he remembered Nick had made him stick a handkerchief in one of his jacket pockets just in case. After a few attempts, he pulled it out, along with his pocket watch, from the one on his right front. “The song just reminded me of someone from a long time ago.”

“I see,” Camille said. She resisted the urge to bite her lip as Vince dabbed at his eyes. If she’d been a little less absorbed in his statement, she might have heard the sudden movement behind her. It would still have been a stretch, because only a few people in the room were able to follow the burst of motion.

From Vince’s perspective, all he felt was a sudden iron grip clamp down on his wrist. He glanced up to see Chad staring down at him, a sea of unspoken emotions contorting his face.

“Where did you get that?” Chad was never what someone would call warm, but his usual tone was positively bubbly compared to how he sounded now.

“The handkerchief?” Vince felt the grip tighten significantly.

“I am not playing games. Where did you get that watch?”

101.

“Chad, I think you’re hurting Vince.” Camille’s voice was a stark contrast to the uneasy silence that had fallen over the room when Chad gripped his classmate. Little was said, and tension could be sensed in the bodies of those around them, some worried about what was happening, while others were ready to jump into action if the moment called for it. Chad could feel the stares of everyone centering on him, and ordinarily, it would have been enough to make him take a step back. Not with this. Even the innocent concern of Camille only resulted in him slightly relaxing his grip, just barely enough to allow blood flow.

“I need an answer, Vince.”

“It was a gift from my father.” Vince had no idea what the hell was going on, but even he was smart enough to see that something was wrong with Chad. The blond boy had always been reserved in his strength, never lording his superior power over the rest of the class. That didn’t make him perfect, however, and Vince knew firsthand that when someone with real skill lost control, things could get very bad, very fast.

“A gift from your father.” Chad’s face looked like it might begin to turn green. “And who is your father, exactly?”

“The man who raised me. I never knew his name; he said he’d cast it away before we met. To me, he was always just Father.” In truth, Vince would have preferred not to get into his past in such a public place, but it seemed like there was no alternative other than to tell Chad the truth. Whatever was happening, lying was bound to make it worse.

“How did he get this?”

“Chad, maybe you want to calm down a little. I don’t think Vince’s history is really your business,” Nick said, eyeing the young man carefully. Hershel had held up a shot of whiskey and Mary had given him a curt nod, so Nick knew both of them were ready to go if things went south. Still, with Chad’s strength, he could rip off Vince’s arm before anyone could react, so diplomacy was currently the strategy of choice.

“How did he get this watch? When did he give it to you?” Chad could hear the other people in the room whispering, but they didn’t exist right now. His world had narrowed down to only himself, a boy with silver hair, and a gold pocket watch.

“All he told me was that it was a gift from a very dear friend. He passed it on to me when I turned thirteen.”

Chad’s eyes narrowed just a hair. “That’s a lie.”

“It’s what he told me.”

“Then he was lying!” Vince winced as Chad’s grip tightened involuntarily, his grimace of pain causing a shift toward readiness in the people nearest to him.

“It’s what he told me, and I don’t see why he would lie. I’ve told you what I know. Now tell me why this is so important.” Vince met Chad’s stare without wavering. There was sweat beginning to bead below his blond hair and a small twitch dancing in his right eye. For someone whose power was bodily control to show signs of stress this obvious, there had to be a full-scale war waging inside him. At first, Vince didn’t think Chad was going to respond. It was only after he felt the super-strength empowered hand release his wrist that Chad began his explanation.

“There are only two watches like that in the world. They were custom made by a man whose power was metal manipulation. They were sold to his apprentices, two young Heroes who had done their internships under him. Each bought one, and then gave them as gifts to one another.” Chad reached into his own suit jacket and produced a pocket watch that was a twin to Vince’s own. Had he not displayed signs of potentially coming unhinged, there might have been a gasp of surprise from the room. As it was, everyone just tried very hard to stay quiet, lest they accidently stir his unstable state. Everyone, that is, except Vince.

“Our fathers knew each other?”

“The watches were a symbol of their friendship, of all the hardships they’d endured together,” Chad said, ignoring Vince as he gazed down at the golden timepiece in his hand. “That’s what my mother told me, anyway. See, I didn’t get mine handed off to me like you did. I inherited it as part of my father’s estate.”

“He died?”

“He was murdered by the man who carried your watch!” Chad spat angrily. Dimly, he was aware of a crunching sound. Had he looked down, he would have noticed he’d just accidentally cracked the concrete floor by shifting his weight. He might have even cared, though by this point, it would be hard to say.

“His partner. His best friend! That man drove a spike of energy through my father’s chest and left him to die in the street!”

“Oh shit,” Alice mumbled as she and Nick exchanged a glance. They hadn’t included it in the presentation, but they’d both read up about a man that died in such a way. In an instant, they both knew who Chad’s father had been.

“Look, I don’t know what you think happened,” Vince began, but the speed at which Chad whipped his ever-maddening eyes toward Vince stilled the words on his tongue.

“I know exactly what happened. It was extremely well-documented and witnessed. The ‘Hero’ Globe murdered my father before turning on the rest of his team.” This time, there were gasps. Stifled gasps, but gasps none the less. Everyone knew about that incident, but no one had ever realized Intra had a son.

“My father didn’t even have powers. He was a wanderer! For heaven’s sake, we met when I was digging food out of a trash can!” Vince’s own voice was raised as well, and he realized that, at some point, he’d gotten to his feet. There were few things that could easily rile him, but slanderous accusations at the kind man who had taken him in were near the top of the list.

“Which brings us back to how he got that watch!” Chad slammed his unencumbered hand onto the heavy marble table, shattering it at its center and sending half whipping into the air. It began descending almost immediately, its stone surface on a direct crash course with Camille’s cranium.

Vince didn’t have time to think, not that it would have changed things if he had. Flaring temper or not, his priorities remained intact. He grabbed the birthday girl in his arms and threw her to the ground, putting his spine between her and the table. The last thing he saw before shutting his eyes and waiting for impact was a look of terror rippling across her face. It was a look that would never truly leave him.

The table slammed into Vince’s back, then slid to the ground with a dull thud.

102.

Vince had been heavily injured before; it was a memory that was complex for him due to the other person involved in it. He had some idea of what to expect. Crippling pain, a ripping sensation through his muscles, and numbness that possibly would be there forever—these were all what should have come when the table landed on him.

As he cautiously opened an eye and examined the now largely-crumbled table next to him, he realized that none of that had or would be happening. He felt fine; it was as if the table had barely even touched him. Chad was staring down, his face aghast at the injury he had to believe he’d just caused. If he noticed the confusion on Vince’s face, it didn’t show in his own horror. Luckily, someone else definitely noticed, and that person sprang into immediate action.

“Nice catch, Mary,” Nick said, bounding out of his seat and putting himself between Vince and Chad. Things were calm for the moment, but with topics as sensitive as what they’d been dealing with, a return or an escalation was always possible. No, this situation needed to be guided to resolution, and it needed to get there fast.

“Huh?” Mary said, looking at him dumbly from her seat. She, like the others, had been too swept up in the sudden show to fully register everything that was happening. Nick gave her a fierce glare, and she snapped back to reality, quickly reading his mind to get a handle on the plan.

“So eloquent when you’re concentrating,” Nick continued. “Still, it was impressive. I was right by him, and I could see you had less than an inch of distance between Vince and the table when you caught it.”

“I didn’t have much time,” Mary said, playing along at last. The looks of uncertainty on the faces of their peers were slowly shifting to understanding. Of course Mary had caught it; she was an incredibly powerful telekinetic, she could make that kind of save.

“Now, as for you,” Nick said, turning to Chad. “I think you should leave.”

“I’m . . . I wasn’t . . . I didn’t—”

“I have no doubt you didn’t mean to almost cripple my friend or smash the birthday girl’s head, but you damn near came close to both, regardless of intention. You were lucky we had a private room, so no normal people were around to see it. You’re the guy whose power is control, so how about using some of it and walking away from a situation where you know you can’t keep a cool head?”

Shane appeared at his friend’s side and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Nick is right. Vince isn’t going anywhere. You can finish this later, when you’re calm.”

Chad nodded slowly, his eyes still trained on the two fellow students his single action had almost seriously injured. He hadn’t meant to hurt anyone, he’d just felt so . . . so angry. It had been a long time since his temper had gotten the better of him, and for good reason. When people with his kind of power lost their cool, innocent bystanders almost always got hurt.

“I’m sorry,” Chad said softly. He and Shane headed for the door immediately, followed by a few of their classmates who felt the party was probably over from this point on. Nick waited until they were completely gone before offering his friend a hand up. By the time Vince was on his feet, Stella and Violet had pulled Camille up as well and were checking her for any injury. As for Camille, her eyes never left Vince as he assured his teammates clustering around him that he was okay. The remaining students began to disperse, understandably not quite in a party mood anymore.

Nick slid away from the concerned crowd mobbing Vince, finding himself standing on the fringe of the group with Alice.

“Some night, huh?”

“Never a dull moment with these guys,” Nick replied.

“You did a good job calming things down.”

“Calm? Things aren’t calmed, they’re just delayed. Chad pretty much just accused Vince of being raised by the most notorious villain in recent history.”

“You’re forgetting something,” Alice pointed out. “Globe is dead. His team killed him after he murdered Intra.”

“That’s the story,” Nick agreed.

“You don’t buy it?”

“I prefer to say I have my doubts. Besides, it would certainly help explain why some random drifter was able to teach Vince to fight so well.”

“I see what you mean. Speaking of seeing, I was at about the same vantage point as you during that fiasco.”

“And?”

“And I know the table didn’t stop an inch from Vince. It hit him full-force,” Alice said.

Nick turned a curious eye to her. He wondered when his former admirer had gotten so observant. It was certainly a useful trait, but one that could create problems in the future. “Yeah, he took it right in the spine. He should have a broken back right now, yet he looks no worse for the wear, except for some bruising on his wrist.”

As Nick spoke, Camille plowed her way through the crowd and laid a hand on Vince’s. The two shared a look of understanding as the red marks on his wrist began to fade and then disappear entirely.

“What do you think it means? Has he been hiding his abilities from us?”

“Vince couldn’t hide water in the ocean. It’s not who he is. Besides, he was more surprised than we were when this night didn’t end with him in traction,” Nick explained.

“So it’s something new then, like what happened with me?”

“If I were a betting man, and I am, that’s where I’d lay my odds. But we can tackle that tomorrow. Right now, we should really get him home so he can calm down.”

“He looks fine,” Alice said. Nick smiled inwardly at her words. If she hadn’t noticed the small tremors in Vince’s hands or the nervous way he was licking his lips, then her observation skills were still at a manageable level.

“Trust me, he’s putting on a brave front. We need to get him home.” With that, Nick stepped forward and began herding the crowd with kind words and frequent assurance. He gave his apologies to the birthday girl, but was insistent that they all head out. Some were electing to stay and keep the party rolling; however, Nick spared his people from obligation with excuses, false commitments, and just the right amount of guilt. It took nearly ten minutes, but in the end, all of Team One was heading toward their respective dorms, an uncharacteristically silent Vince left alone to unwind in the back of Nick’s car.

That was the end of their party. But for two of them, it was not quite yet the end of their night.

103.

Vince stepped back into his room after a long shower, only to find his phone vibrating aggressively across his desk as the screen flashed an unfamiliar number. He let it bounce around the wooden surface as he got dressed, not in the mood to talk to anyone, regardless of who was calling. Eventually, the phone ceased its rattling, only to begin once more mere moments later. He let this call extinguish, too; however, when it began again, he couldn’t take it any longer.

“Hello?” He tried to sound curt, but deep down, he suspected he merely came off as tired.

“Hey. I’m outside your dorm’s front door. Come let me in already.”

Although the caller couldn’t see it, Vince’s face furrowed in uncertainty. He was pretty sure he recognized the voice, but he had no idea why that person would be calling on him so late. Ultimately, Vince wasn’t one to turn away someone in need, even if his own night had been a spectacular shitshow.

“I’ll be right out.” He closed the phone and headed out of his room. Both the boys’ lounge and the common room were empty, as he’d expected. No one else had been up for keeping the night going after the inadvertent showdown at Karaoke Barn. Well, almost no one, anyway. He went down the entrance hall and pushed the front door open. While a fingerprint was required to get in, getting out was less secured. This was, allegedly, in case of an emergency that required immediate evacuation. A small figure trundled through the open door, arms heavy with several grocery bags that likely would not have been so cumbersome on a larger person.

“Is everything okay?” Vince asked.

“I’d say it’s far from it,” the figure responded. It set down a few of its burdens, revealing Camille’s delicate features and pale blonde hair. Vince obliged his male duties by scooping up the bags she let down, a quick peek showing him one was filled with junk food and the other held various drinks in aluminum cans.

“If this is about the party, I’m really sor—”

Camille held up a now free hand to silence him. “First off, you threw yourself between me and life-threatening injury less than two hours ago, so even if I had been mad at you, we’d already be even. Secondly, what happened tonight was Chad’s fault, not yours. He flipped out, and you were just trying to keep up. Lastly, I’m not here because anything is wrong with me. I’m here because things are pretty wrong with you.”

Vince blinked in surprise. He couldn’t remember the last time Camille had said that many words in one go, let alone that many to him. She was holding herself taller than usual, too; not that it made much difference on her minimal height, but it was still noticeable. Had he been awake for her fight in the first team event, he would have recognized the tone and posture. As it was, he didn’t quite know what to think of it.

“I’m fine,” he said at last. “I mean, tonight was really weird and all, but I’ll be okay.”

“Merde,” Camille replied, moving her way past him and into the common room.

“What does that mean?”

“Roughly translated from French, it’s a very emphatic version of ‘bullshit.’ My mother was a second-generation American from Paris, if you couldn’t guess from my first name.” Camille made it to the coffee table and began depositing her remaining bags across its plentiful surface.

“Look, Camille, I appreciate your concern, but it is really late, and I kind of want to—”

“Toss and turn? Lay awake until dawn and gaze at the ceiling? Maybe stare at your watch until you can barely even focus your eyes anymore? If you were going to say one of those, then go ahead, I’ll believe it. But don’t insult me with some lie about going to sleep. We both know that isn’t going to happen.”

Vince had no response at the ready; she’d nailed him flat to the wall. While his body was weary, and he suspected nothing would feel better than dozing off, deep down he knew the minute he closed his eyes, all the questions would come bubbling up. There was so much about Father that Vince didn’t know, and while he certainly couldn’t believe the man who raised him had been involved with someone like Globe, it did seem evident that there was more to the wanderer than one might have originally suspected. A part of him had always wondered, only now, instead of a dulling curiosity, it was evolving into a burning ember of uncertainty.

“You’re not a big drinker, are you?” Camille’s question snapped Vince from the reverie he’d drifted into.

“Not since Thomas’s party, no. That was enough for me.”

“I figured as much, but I brought a six-pack anyway,” Camille said, setting down a carton of glass bottles that were already beginning to show condensation in the warmth of the dorm. While Vince had been musing, she’d also unpacked sodas, chips, marshmallows, cards, board games, and a small stack of DVDs. The bags had been stuffed into one another, so now, only a single bloated plastic container remained.

“What is all this?”

“Distraction. Things to keep us occupied. I figured you might want to talk about stuff, or you might want very emphatically to not talk about stuff. The first one is easy; the second one usually requires supplies, so I came prepared for either.”

“You didn’t need to do all this.” Vince sat down slowly on the couch, still absorbing the deviation his night had taken from the plan of sleep.

“I’m the healer of this team, and I take that job seriously,” Camille replied, pulling open one of the bags of chips. “But not all damage is physical, you know. Sometimes, the wounds you get are in places not even a Super can see. Those scars still need tending, probably even more than the purely physical ones. If I couldn’t tell when one of my teammates was dealing with an old injury, then I wouldn’t be much of a healer, would I?” Camille crunched through a corn chip and gave him a smile. He gazed back at her with a gratitude far beyond his meager vocabulary’s ability to express.

Looking into his eyes still made her feel flustered, still made her want to blush and hush and hide until his attention had turned elsewhere. Camille was still trapped under the weight of her own feelings for him, but at times like this, she could bear it. When he needed her, when he needed protection and help, she was no longer quite crushed by the burden of loving him.

“This . . . this is really nice of you.”

“I already told you, we’re teammates. And even if we weren’t, you’re my friend.”

“Still, it means a lot. I think I’d like to not talk. At least, not at first.”

“I suspected as much.” Camille reached down and shifted through the stacks of DVDs. “I don’t know what you usually watch, but I brought action, comedy, sci-fi, horror—”

“Anything but horror,” Vince said immediately.

“Oh yeah, I forgot about Nick’s slasher marathons.”

“Then consider yourself extremely lucky,” Vince shot back, reaching out and grabbing a handful of chips himself. Camille popped in a comedy and settled into a recliner as the opening menu appeared on screen. Part of her wished she had the courage to sit with him on the couch, where they might accidentally touch or fall asleep next to one another. Even if she could have done it, she probably wouldn’t have. Tonight was about making Vince’s life feel less complicated, not more.

*      *      *

Nick was the first one up the next morning, passing through the common room on his way to the kitchen for coffee. As soon as he stepped through the door, he saw Vince passed out on the couch, a bag of marshmallows spilling out of his hands and likely already attracting ants. Camille was asleep in the chair, a throw blanket pulled up tight over her small body. Although they were several pieces of furniture apart, he could see they were much closer than they had been when seated next to one another.

“About time,” Nick mumbled as he continued his trek to the kitchen. He’d deal with this new situation in whatever way he deemed best, but only after coffee.

104.

“You know, this isn’t as bad as I expected.” Alice surveyed the porcelain domain, rubber gloves pulled tight across her hands and an already-soapy mop to her side. She’d picked out the grittiest clothes she had for this job: a t-shirt and sweatpants that were each designer label, but from a collection now three years old. Most of the morning had been spent getting supplies and bracing for the worst, but the room before her was actually not as horrific as tales of men’s restrooms had led her to believe.

“We do have a cleaning lady that comes every few days,” Nick reminded her. “Melbrook might be cozy and odd, but it’s still a dorm. Besides, there’s less mess when you have three guys who know each other sharing the same area. Not much opportunity for diffused responsibility.”

“I don’t want to know,” Alice said immediately. “I’m here to clean, not to learn anything more about what goes on in here than I have to.”

“Fair enough. I must say, I’m surprised you still showed up for this after my mild deception.”

“You mean the fact that your singing is fantastic? Yeah, I’ll admit I thought about welching after that little revelation.”

“Stopped by a refined sense of honor?”

“Closer to pride,” Alice admitted. “When I thought about it, you were clearly leading me into this trap. The bathroom was my idea, but it could have been anything. I should have seen it; hell, you weren’t even really trying that hard. So, that’s most of why I’m here. Like you said at the slasher marathon, lessons without consequences don’t take as well. This is my way of learning not to be fooled quite so easily.”

“There’s a bit of wisdom in such a philosophy,” Nick said, patting her gently on the shoulder. “Would you like me to keep you company?”

“Much as I’m sure you’d love to ogle my ass when I crouch down in these sweatpants, you’re out of luck. Mary flagged me on my way over. She said she wants to have a chat with you, captain to tactician,” Alice replied.

“This must be my lucky day,” Nick mumbled. He’d known this talk would be coming eventually, he’d just hoped to push it off as long as possible. Mary wasn’t going to like what he had to say, not at all. “Fine, I’ll go get my lickings.”

“Heh. And here I thought I’d be having the worst Saturday out of us all,” Alice chuckled. She pulled the mop clear from the bucket and plopped it onto the tile floor, a wave of bubble-infested water rushing outward. Nick took a quick step back to keep it from getting on his shoes. He paused for just a moment to savor the sight of oh-so-proper Alice dragging a cleaning implement across the floor, then left the bathroom and headed toward the common area.

Mary was waiting for him as soon as he walked in; a book sat in her lap, clearly not being read. She glanced up and nodded to the seat across from her.

“Shouldn’t we go somewhere more private?”

“Vince and Camille went to get lunch, Roy is off doing more training, and Alice is on cleaning duty. I think we’re okay,” Mary said, nodding to the seat again. “Incidentally, when did those two start hanging out by themselves?”

“I think our little healer was working a different kind of ability last night after the party,” Nick replied. He gave in to her request before it became an order and took the seat she wanted him to. “Vince was visibly shaken up. I assume she came over and helped him feel better.”

“Feels like that should have been our job,” Mary pointed out.

Nick shook his head. “Vince doesn’t deal with vulnerability well. He admits his own weakness, faces his own faults, and even cops to his failings better than anyone else I know, but the kid hates having people worry about him. If we’d tried, all we would have done is get him to dig in deeper, insisting he was okay. Camille is nothing but vulnerability; my guess is something about that gentle demeanor of hers was enough to slip through his guard.”

“As long as he’s okay. And, while we’re on the subject of Vince . . .”

“I know you didn’t catch the table,” Nick said.

“I figured. So what happened?”

Nick shifted a bit in his seat. “How much do you know about Vince, before the procedure?”

“I’m going to guess less than you.”

“That’s a given. I meant about his ability. Did you know that when Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport found him, Vince was locked in a concrete bunker because he was going through a phase where he absorbed almost every kind of energy he touched? Heat, electricity, even sunlight.”

“Vince can absorb light? He’s never done that before.”

“Exactly. When he got control, he focused on energies that were very finite. Contained sources that would run themselves out. It’s why he still uses batteries to get electricity, instead of just draining some from a power grid. He’s a little afraid of what he can do, even a year and a half later,” Nick explained.

“That still doesn’t tell me anything about last night.”

“It tells you quite a bit, actually. We know Vince can absorb more than he’s shown us so far. We know a table stopped as soon as it touched him, and that a blow that should have broken his back didn’t leave so much as a bruise. Most importantly, we know he was putting his body between another person and danger, and when Vince is protecting someone, he demonstrates a much higher level of skill with his abilities.”

“You think he absorbed the kinetic energy of the table?” Mary’s eyes had grown wide in disbelief.

“It’s the best theory I have, at the moment. We’ll need to confirm it, but we might want to let him mentally stabilize a bit first. Give him a couple of days, and then all three of us can have a nice little talk.”

“I agree, he needs time, but I’m not sure how many days we’ve got,” Mary replied. “You know I didn’t call you here just to talk about Vince.”

“You want to know why I haven’t called a strategy meeting for the upcoming match,” Nick surmised.

“Or even come to pitch ideas at me,” Mary added. “Last time, you were all about driving home the importance of tactics, but this round, you haven’t said one word. What’s going on?”

“Firstly, last time I had to lay down the basics of team-building and get people accustomed to thinking in the right ways,” Nick pointed out. “Secondly, I do have a strategy for this round. It just doesn’t require meetings.”

“How does that work?”

“Let’s move to the kitchen,” Nick said, tilting his head slightly as he strained his ears. “This part needs to be private; I don’t want anyone walking in accidentally.”

“Is it that bad?”

“Let’s say you’re going to require a fair amount of convincing.”

105.

“I appreciate you all coming on such short notice,” Dean Blaine said, greeting the four men already waiting in his office. He’d meant to be here when they arrived; however, it seemed the board that presided over Lander wasn’t content with reaming him for just a few minutes. They’d demanded a full hour of his time for interrogation. Dealing with bureaucrats made him miss his Hero days—back then, someone trying to get information out of you only involved a few bouts of light torture. In business, things were not nearly so civilized.

“Yeah, well, nothing like the name ‘Globe’ to get people running,” Professor Pendleton said from his chair. He looked relaxed to the untrained eye, which might have been more useful had any eye in the room not been extensively trained. Professor Fletcher sat next to him, his own posture visibly tense. Across from them, Mr. Transport wore an expression of concern, while Mr. Numbers worked very hard to ascertain every detail of their situation.

“Nothing indeed,” Dean Blaine agreed. He paused as he went to his desk, tempted for a moment to pour a tall drink for himself and his guests. A heartbeat’s hesitation decided against it. The day was still young, and he might well need his wits about him. “As you all know, there was an outburst last night amidst some of the sophomore class. During this incident, Chad Taylor leveled accusations that the man who raised Vince Reynolds either may have been or might have had some connection to the criminal known as Globe.”

“Globe, who has been dead nearly sixteen years by my count,” Professor Fletcher pointed out.

“It’s not like we’ve never seen someone fake their own death before,” Professor Pendleton said. “Hell, I think I had a villain who pulled it off four times before one of his plans went a little awry and he ended up in the ground for real.”

“Yes, but Globe was killed in full view of hundreds of witnesses. By his own former team, at that,” Mr. Numbers countered. “I’ll admit that since it was Black Hole who did the deed, it presents us with the lack of a corpse; however, every possible verification method was undertaken and all confirmed Globe’s demise.”

“Did you ever deal with Globe?” Professor Pendleton asked.

“No. He was a Hero, and my job requires interaction with the other side of the spectrum,” Mr. Numbers admitted.

“Blaine and I did. We were in the same class, we graduated with him, and we knew him like family,” Professor Pendleton said. “Trust me when I say that if anyone could have pulled off a fake death in that situation, it was him.”

“While I won’t disagree with Professor Pendleton’s analysis of Globe’s skill level, that is not our most pressing concern,” Dean Blaine interrupted. “The current issue is that the board feels that training someone who might be the son, biological or not, of the world’s most well-known turncoat could turn into a PR nightmare. Not only for us, but for Mr. Reynolds himself.”

“Now hang on: there’s been a long-standing precedent for letting the children of criminals into the HCP,” Mr. Transport objected. “There’s even a rule about discriminating against someone because of their parents’ actions.”

“It’s called the ‘Sins of the Fathers’ clause,” Professor Pendleton supplied helpfully.

“Right. So how can they put pressure on you to drum someone out in violation of their own rules?”

“No one has put that pressure on me. Yet,” Dean Blaine replied. “It has only been hinted at. No, right now, I am merely being tasked with investigating the truth of these claims. The board considers it imperative that we know exactly who raised Mr. Reynolds and what, if any, his connection to Globe was.”

“And what if, worst case scenario, his father was Globe?” Professor Fletcher asked.

“Then things become decidedly more complicated,” Dean Blaine admitted.

“That’s bullshit!” Mr. Transport rose from his seat, barely resisting the urge to slam his hand on the dean’s desk. He knew Mr. Numbers would chastise him later for showing his emotions so easily, but at the moment, that didn’t matter one bit. “Vince got into this program on his own merits, and he’s stayed in by his own skill and determination. No one has the right to take that from him just because of the man who raised him.”

“Nor would they, not officially,” Dean Blaine shot back. “Mr. Reynolds is a talented young man, but he is not exactly leading the pack. His primary role in any team would be as a combatant, yet if one looked at the best warriors in the class, regardless of gender, his record would place him far from even the top five.”

“That’s enough to cut him?” Professor Fletcher asked uncertainly.

“On its own? Not yet. He’d usually get to run through his third year before being middle of the pack wasn’t good enough. With the controversy over his group being former Powereds, they’re already being looked at more closely than the others. If we were to determine he was linked in an unfavorable way to Globe . . . I’m afraid I only have so much sway over the decisions of the board,” Dean Blaine said, with a sad shake of his head. “All we can do is hope that such a link does not exist. The board won’t press me too hard on just speculation. At least, that’s my hope.”

“Which brings us to why we’re all here,” Professor Pendleton, picking up the topic. “I can’t help but notice you only called in people you either trust or believe to have the best interests of those kids at heart.”

“I have a headache bigger than your ego from dealing with this situation already. Just ask what you want to ask.”

“Are we here to investigate that link, or to cover it up?”

There was a snap of silence as the others waited for the dean’s response. For his part, he spent a full ten seconds reflecting on how much he wished he’d stopped to pour that drink.

“You are here to get to the truth,” Dean Blaine said at last. “While I may not like what will come from it, I am not in the habit of dealing in lies. Our duty is to find out everything we can, and then do our best to make sure an innocent boy is not unduly punished for it.”

“That is all well and good,” Mr. Numbers said. “But what it doesn’t tell us is why you only summoned us to this meeting. It seems like the rest of the professors would be just as capable at the task you’re presenting.”

“Unfortunately, that would be because of another strike against Mr. Reynolds—one that casts suspicion on the validity of his admission, and one which even he is not aware of,” Dean Blaine explained. “None of you have sat in on the conference we hold, deciding which applicants are allowed into the freshman class of the HCP, but the process is actually quite simple. The dean and the active professors gather together to review files of those who meet the basic requirements, and then a vote is taken on each candidate as to whether we reject or admit them. Additionally, each professor has the ability to speak on behalf of a student, who is then instantly accepted or rejected. We refer to this as their ‘auto,’ and each voter only has one per year. This allows them to bank on hunches or permit admittance of candidates that they see potential in where others do not.”

“Seems fair,” Professor Fletcher noted.

“It is a process that strives for just that description. Anyway, Vince Reynolds was brought into the HCP because of a professor’s auto. His admission was never voted on directly.”

“So what’s the problem? You just told us that was a valid part of the admission process,” Mr. Transport said.

“The issue is not that an auto was cast for him. The issue is the voter who cast it. It was cast by a professor who had not used an auto in over eleven years, who had professed he never saw candidates worthy enough to deserve his nod. This man, who opened a wide door for Vince into our HCP, was one of the attempted kidnappers of Mary Smith. It was George Russell.”

106.

The knock on Chad’s door didn’t exactly send it flying off the hinges, but it landed with enough force to make it clear that the possibility was definitely there. He glanced up from his bed, and then rolled over. Whoever it was could go away. Chad hadn’t opened the door for Shane, who had tried first thing that morning, or Angela, who had come about an hour later, so he certainly wasn’t going to disrupt his solitude for someone who didn’t even bother announcing their name. The early afternoon sun was beginning to shine through the grubby exterior of his dorm’s window, and Chad knew eventually he’d have to leave for food. That was later, when the rest of the school would be asleep. Until then, he’d turned off his brain’s ability to feel hunger.

A second knock landed, this one sending bits of wood dust hurtling off the top of the door. If they increased at this rate, the visitor’s hand would go through the cheap wood in no time.

“Go away,” Chad commanded, his head still buried in the pillow. The response was knocking that immediately became persistent and unyielding. Now that they knew he was here, it seemed the strategy was to annoy him into answering. Chad could turn himself deaf and go back to sleep; however, the way the door seemed to be shuddering told him that it would eventually cave, and then he really wouldn’t be able to get any privacy. With a fluid leap from the bed, he crossed the room in one stride and yanked open his door.

“Afternoon,” greeted Roy, left hand still raised while his right clutched a small burlap bag.

“Go away,” Chad repeated. “I’m in no mood for visitors.”

“I bet you’re not,” Roy agreed, sliding the tip of his boot a few inches forward. Chad could still slam the door in his face, but now, it would shatter the bottom of it, and Roy would be unharmed. “After a scene like yours, I’d probably be hiding in my room, too.”

“I am not hiding. I merely wanted to take some time to reflect on my actions.”

“Lucky you. I happen to have an excellent reflection assistant.” Roy lifted the canvas bag as illustration.

“I’d rather be alone.”

“I’d rather be spending the day with a supermodel. We all got shit we want.”

“You aren’t going to leave, are you?”

“Nope, and you can’t beat me senseless in the middle of the dorms without witnesses and giving yourself a hell of a lot more to worry about. So just let me in, hear me out, and then you can sulk in the dark all you want.”

Chad stepped aside without so much as a sigh. He’d fought Roy enough to know there was no changing his mind once he’d set it on something. There was still the option of incapacitating him, but Roy was correct in his assessment that it would result in significant collateral damage.

Chad’s unwanted guest plopped down in a chair and opened his canvas sack, pulling out a long brown bottle and two identical glasses. He twisted off the top and poured each glass about halfway full. Chad accepted the glass handed to him and took a seat, though he didn’t make any motions to drink from it.

“So. You’re the son of Intra.”

“Yes.” There was little point in denying it; everyone in the HCP would likely know by now.

Roy took a slow sip from his drink. “I know how that can wear on you, having that famous pedigree hanging over your head. For most children of big Heroes, it’s about measuring up, about not being a failure in comparison. You and I are in a different boat. We’re both set on surpassing ours.”

“Was your father murdered by his best friend, too?”

“No. Abandoned my mother and me when I was a kid. She says she told him to go, that she wanted him to be happy, but even if that’s true, he should have known it would destroy . . . I’m sorry. This isn’t about me. Point is, I know what it’s like to have issues with a missing dad. Not the same as yours, but still, issues.”

“Your camaraderie is noted,” Chad said. He took a gulp from the glass he was holding without thinking about it. It wasn’t as bad as he’d expected: smoother, at least, than others had led him to believe. Had Chad known anything about whiskey, he would have realized that this was more palatable because Roy had actually brought a decent grade.

“Look, I get that you’re upset about losing control last night, but you need to get over it. People get pissed off and do dumb shit. No one got hurt, so let yourself relax a little.”

“You don’t know the first thing about me,” Chad snapped.

“Yeah, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that the guy whose power is all about self-control might not handle an emotional freak-out too well,” Roy replied. “Especially when he almost knocked the brains out of an innocent person who happened to be nearby.”

Chad slumped in his chair and took another sip of the whiskey. “How is she?”

“Fine, as is Vince. Thanks for asking.”

Chad’s head jerked up, and his body tightened. “Vince—”

“Vince is a guy with a watch. Maybe it means his hobo dad was actually Globe in disguise. Maybe it means he found it on the ground or looted a corpse years earlier. Maybe he bought it at a pawn shop. I don’t know, and neither does Vince. For that matter, neither do you.”

“You want me to leave him alone. That’s why you came.”

“I want you to get a grip,” Roy clarified, draining his glass and pouring another. “You almost killed someone last night because of a watch and questions that were honestly answered. I realize your dad is a sore issue, I really do get that, but you can’t let that send you off the deep end every time. You are way too powerful for that. People will get hurt.”

“People will get hurt,” Chad echoed. He polished off his own glass and held it out for a refill, which Roy obliged.

“And you know that. My money says that’s why you work so hard to stay in control, why you keep a distance from all but the strongest people. You’re scared of slipping up, like last night.”

This time, all Chad could do was nod.

“It’s kind of funny. You and Vince are actually really similar. Both brilliant fighters, both dense as bricks when it comes to the social world, and both scared to death of hurting other people involuntarily. Oh, and both of you lost your fathers.”

“His father is dead?”

“When he was thirteen. Watched him get blown up in a train car explosion. So even if that guy was Globe—and if it was, then a whole lot of other shit doesn’t make sense—but if it was, then he’s already dead.”

“I see.”

“No, you don’t. You don’t believe me, and that’s okay. I’m not here to convince you. I’m just here to get you drunk and help you come to terms with last night’s fiasco.”

“I don’t get drunk. I’ve always just sent the alcohol directly to my bladder.”

“Maybe give the bloodstream a shot this time,” Roy suggested. “Or don’t. Your call.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes after that, the sun making the shadows shift as it descended through the sky. Eventually, Chad spoke up, realizing there was something they’d touched on in the discussion that he was still curious about.

“I just realized: you implied your dad was a well-known Hero as well. Who was he?”

Roy had a nearly full glass, which he drained in a single swig before replying. “Titan.”

“Your father was Titan?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh,” Chad said softly. “I can see how that would leave you feeling a bit fucked up.”

107.

The others had left the office after the meeting was done, but Professor Pendleton lingered. Dean Blaine didn’t admonish him or even encourage him to vacate. Instead, he poured two healthy glasses of dark liquor and slid one to his employee. The day’s revelations, real or not, struck home for these two in a way the others couldn’t truly understand. Globe might not be dead. That was a game changer. Especially for his former classmates.

“I always said it was fishy. We’ve been around too long to know that you can never confirm a kill without the body.”

“Localized gravitational vortexes don’t leave much evidence,” Dean Blaine pointed out.

“They also shouldn’t affect someone with Globe’s power.”

“I think having his arm torn off would distract even the most focused of minds.”

“Maybe,” Professor Pendleton conceded.

“Maybe,” Dean Blaine agreed.

Both men sipped their drinks in silence for a few moments. Professor Pendleton shifted uncomfortably. “You know what gives me the shivers? I mean, the real, deep-down-in-my-gut quake of fear that it might be him?”

“Do tell.”

“The kid. Vince. If Globe did somehow survive and lived off the grid as a hobo, the smart thing to do would be staying alone. Minimize exposure. Picking up some child—some Powered child at that—and raising him as your own . . . tactically, it makes no sense. It would be a tremendous risk with no logistical upside.”

“All true,” Dean Blaine concurred.

Professor Pendleton took another gulp of his drink. “And it’s exactly the kind of thing Globe would do.”

“He was always the best of us.”

“Until he killed Intra,” Professor Pendleton pointed out.

“There is one upside to this, if he is alive, you know. We have a chance to get answers, to find out why he did it.”

“I’m not sure that’s really an upside.”

“How so?”

“Because, if whatever it was could drive someone as decent and powerful as Globe to do all this, I’m afraid those might be answers we don’t want.”

Dean Blaine didn’t have a reply at the ready for that. Instead, he topped off both their glasses. Staring into the swirling brown depths, he realized how little sense his world made anymore. Things had been so different only a few decades ago.

“Globe,” he muttered to himself.

*      *      *

“Globe?”

“Yeah, because of how my powers affect things in a radius,” Blaine explained.

“They do, but you also have that direct attack thing you can do. I remember when you made Victor spend a whole weekend as a human. I thought he was going to climb the walls by the time his power came back.” Joshua chuckled.

Blaine laughed too. It might have been a bit harsh, but Victor had downed all of their beer and thrown up on the sofa. It had seemed like a harmless way to get some revenge.

“You don’t like it?”

“It’s not that. I guess, it just doesn’t seem like it fits you,” Joshua explained.

“Well, let’s hear the one you've been kicking around then.”

Joshua flashed him that award-winning smile. “Intra,” he said, spreading his hands out as if he were framing the word.

“And you gave me guff over Globe?”

“Think about it. Intra literally means ‘within.’ What better way to encapsulate my abilities?”

“I don’t know, how about Molecular Control Man?” Blaine tossed out.

“First off, I control my body down to a molecular level, but it’s more than just shifting atoms around. Secondly, there’s already a Molecule Man.”

“There is?”

“Yeah, new guy that works in Seattle,” Joshua elaborated.

“I’m out of touch.”

“Most seniors have bigger stuff on their mind. Only reason I remembered is because of my recall.”

Blaine nodded. He hated Joshua a bit for that aspect of his abilities. Being able to conjure any memory perfectly, at will, made school almost a waste of time for Joshua. He could read the textbook on the first day of class, skip the rest, and still ace every test. Not that he ever did: he was prompt and studious in every endeavor. Somehow that just made it worse.

“Well, if Globe is so bad, what would you recommend?”

“Again, it’s not bad, it’s just not right for you,” Joshua protested. “If I had to think of a good name for you, I’d go with something like Zero.”

Blaine’s eyes narrowed, and his good humor began to evaporate.

“Oh, don’t give me that look. I don’t mean it as an insult. I mean it like a mathematical zero.”

“Explain.”

“Basic multiplication,” Joshua said, turning and taking in the view off Clarissa’s balcony once more. “Anything you multiply by zero becomes zero. It turns any number, no matter how large, into an empty theoretical hole. That’s kind of what you do to the rest of us.”

“By that explanation, I’m also an empty hole, seeing as I am the zero they interact with.”

“Somebody is feeling sensitive tonight. It’s just supposed to be symbolic.”

“It seems like a stretch.”

“Better than going literal. Or do you fancy being known as The Deactivator? Perhaps something a little sportier, like Power Down?” Joshua suggested.

“Okay, okay, you’ve made your point. I still think I can do better than Zero.”

“Find what fits you best,” Joshua said. “Then ignore anybody who doesn’t get it. That’s what I’m trying to do.”

“So I should stick with Globe?”

“God, no.”

They shared a laugh at that, and Joshua turned to head back inside. Miriam would be waiting for him with a warm kiss that tasted like peppermint. Blaine still remembered that flavor; there were nights he woke from a good dream and swore he could taste it on his lips. Those kisses belonged to Joshua now. The only ones Blaine could still enjoy were in the better-preserved portions of his memories. He tried very hard not to be bitter about the happy greeting that Joshua was going back to. Sometimes, he almost succeeded.

“Hey, let me know if you do decide to use something other than Globe,” Joshua tossed over his shoulder as he reached the door.

“Why?”

“Well, it’s a bad fit for you, but I think it would be perfect for someone else.”

Blaine didn’t have to think hard to figure out who Joshua meant.

“Tell him he can have it.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I’ll find something that feels more like me.”

“Thanks, Blaine. You’re a solid guy.” Joshua shut the door carefully behind him, leaving Blaine alone with the balcony once again.

He stared off at the California sky and tried not to think about how, right now, the woman he loved was wrapping her arms around that blond bastard’s shoulders and pulling herself close to him. Part of him wanted to kick the door down and scream about how she’d made a mistake. Part of him wanted to leap off this balcony just so he would feel like he was doing something. And part of him wanted to cry. Instead, he just kept staring at the sky.

“Zero.” Blaine tested the word on his tongue. It seemed curiously appropriate, because at this moment, that was exactly what he felt like. A nothing. A forgotten, empty hole.

A zero.

108.

By Wednesday, things had calmed down a bit for Nick. He’d gotten his plan outlined for Mary, who was finally beginning to warm up to it; he had helped explain their theory of Vince’s new power to Vince, who was confused but open-minded; and he had turned in his tailing assignment for Professor Pendleton’s class. He’d done nearly all of the legwork before Camille’s party, yet it still felt good to have the papers handed in so they could be marveled at. Nick enjoyed the written assignments; they were the one area where he didn’t have to diminish his performance for the sake of keeping character. Sometimes, the professor would even call him in to talk about the methods he’d used to achieve such results. Therefore, it didn’t surprise him when he noticed his daily cipher instructed him to be at class half an hour early. What did surprise him was that he arrived to find both Professor Pendleton and Alice waiting for him.

“You know, if you’re going to stage an intervention, I think you need more than two people,” Nick pointed out.

“Can you throw an intervention because someone is a douche? Damn, I’d have put one together for you in our first week if I’d known that,” Alice countered.

“Cute as your verbal dry-humping is, I think you both know why I’ve called you here,” Professor Pendleton interrupted. He pulled two stapled stacks of paper from his desk.

“No idea,” Nick replied, for once, honestly.

“It’s because we turned in the same tailing assignment,” Alice said.

“Wrong, it is because you both turned in the same . . . wait, what?”

“Well, virtually the same, I mean. Nick probably had a few Watches I didn’t, and I know I had a bunch of Spots that weren’t on his.”

“I am just so very confused,” Nick said.

Professor Pendleton held up the twin stacks of paper, which Nick now recognized as their respective tailing assignments. As he looked at the first page, he realized something: Alice’s was identical to his own, save only for name and penmanship.

“I know you two are teammates, and I do respect a desire to help each other out; however, you must know that even in a class as morally gray as mine, you cannot allow another student to copy your work. This undermines the act of learning, which is what you are here to do.”

“Professor, I didn’t let Alice copy my work,” Nick protested.

“He really didn’t,” Alice confirmed.

“Oh? Then how did you happen to provide near identical Watches to his?”

“I stole them.”

“You stole them.”

“I stole them,” she repeated.

“How the hell did you steal my answers?” Nick asked.

“Remember when you left me alone to clean the boys’ bathroom this weekend?”

“Yes, but I only let you into the bathroom. All of my notes were in my bedroom,” Nick pointed out.

“Yeah, fun fact: when your father pays for facilities and largely lets you design the building you live in, getting universal access on all the doors actually isn’t that hard.”

“Then how . . . oh, you wily girl,” Nick said, realization dawning at last.

“Would someone care to explain the rest of this to me?” Professor Pendleton said.

“Friday night, Nick pretended he was bad at singing so I’d beg him to get on stage and do karaoke,” Alice summarized. “In return, he wanted me to do something humiliating as well. I floated the idea of cleaning the boys’ bathroom, and he accepted. When it turned out he could sing, I pouted and acted pissed, so he felt good enough about his little trick that he never thought twice about leaving me on the boys’ side unattended. I also took the precaution to make sure he’d leave by reminding our captain she hadn’t gotten his plans for the upcoming match yet. After that, it was just a matter of opening the door and taking a few photos with my cell phone.”

“So you knew I could sing?”

“I suspected, but it didn’t really matter. We weren’t making a bet, we were striking a deal, so I was obliged regardless. You were very careful to structure it that way.” Alice flashed him a smile that Nick was quite accustomed to giving and not so accustomed to seeing on other people.

“A daring and well-crafted plan,” Professor Pendleton said. “Sadly, it has nothing to do with tailing, which was the assignment.”

“The assignment was to get information, which I did. Quite a lot of it, actually: well over twenty points, even if none of my Spots count.”

“Yet you stole the vast bulk of it from another student’s efforts. What on earth would make you think that was acceptable?”

In response, Alice pulled out and unfolded a slip of paper from her uniform’s pocket, then slapped it on the desk. It was the syllabus from the first day of Subtlety class. Her well-manicured nail pointed at the third entry, a single word in bold print: “Cheat.”

“Ms. Adair, this does not—”

“I created a plan with multiple steps, I used a person’s own trick against them, I adapted to changing circumstances on the fly, and I executed it all without my target’s knowledge. The goal of this class exercise was information gathering. Tailing was just the recommended technique. Or is it your contention that methods are more important than results?”

Professor Pendleton looked over at Nick, who could only shrug. Nearly everything she’d said were Professor Pendleton’s own words and wisdom that had been dispersed throughout his class lectures. He turned his attention back to the near identical submissions and took in a very deep breath.

“Fine,” Professor Pendleton said at last. “However, if this ever happens again, I’ll be giving you a zero, Nick.”

“Who to the what now?”

“You heard me. She caught me by surprise with this stunt too, so I can hardly hold you to a higher standard. But from here on, it’s a different story. If you don’t guard your information, then you give your enemy the advantage. So if she manages to steal your stuff again, you’ll get a zero,” Professor Pendleton explained.

“What about the extra challenge to skip the final?” Alice asked.

“After your next team event. I’ll need to get the necessary permissions and, of course, finish grading, just in case anyone else qualified. Now, both of you go take a walk before class. I don’t feel like entertaining you.”

Alice and Nick took the hint and retreated into the hallway immediately. As they walked down the concrete corridors, Nick looked at the blonde girl with a new respect. She had played him. Not for anything important, and not all that well by his standards, but she’d still managed to slip one by him.

“Question,” Nick said. “You couldn’t have known I’d give you that golden opportunity last week when you asked all those questions about exceeding the point total on the assignment. So what was your original plan?”

“I had faith that, at some point, you’d set me up, especially at a nice social setting,” Alice replied. “I did have a backup plan in case you didn’t, though.”

“What’s that?”

“I was going to sleep with you.” She gave him a wide smile and a wink.

“Real funny.”

“Yeah, it is. Especially if I’m telling the truth, and you accidently traded it away for a poorly cleaned bathroom.” Alice gave him another smile, this one far less festive and vastly more desirable. It came with softly tilted eyes and just a slight flush to her cheeks. Nick stumbled, his feet going stupid as his brain kicked into overdrive. By the time he recovered, Alice was cackling freely at his expense.

109.

Vince was sitting on a bench near the English building when a shadow fell across the open book in his lap. He didn’t need to look up to know who it belonged to. He’d been sitting on this bench for at least an hour after classes all week long just to facilitate this meeting. It would have to happen eventually, and Vince wasn’t one to put things off just because he wasn’t looking forward to them.

“Want to sit?” Vince still didn’t look up, even as he spoke. Eye contact would make everything feel closer, and a little mental distance would be good for both of them.

“Thank you,” Chad said quietly. He took his position a few feet away from Vince. “I think I owe you an apology.”

“I accept. Things got out of hand. I know you didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”

“I very much did not,” Chad agreed.

“You’re a good guy, Chad. You treat people with respect, even though you’re a lot stronger than most of them. Don’t let one mistake overwhelm the whole of who you are. Trust me on this one.”

Chad was tempted to ask for elaboration; however, he suspected Vince would have given some if he’d wanted to talk about it. “I shall try hard to keep that in mind.”

“Good. You should probably apologize to Camille too. I mean, it was her party, after all.”

“I made my amends with her this morning.” Camille had been perfectly cordial when they spoke. Her two female friends, on the other hand, had been somewhat less willing to forgive. Chad suspected those two would bear a grudge against him for some time. He didn’t blame them for it, either.

“I’m glad,” Vince said. A shuffle of students meandered by the bench, forcing the two into temporary silence. This location wasn’t ideal for private conversations—too many walkways left it exposed to frequent foot traffic. That was precisely why Vince had chosen this spot to wait. They were in full view of the regular students at all times. It was a measure to make sure neither of them allowed their discussion to escalate into dangerous realms.

“So . . . about our fathers,” Chad said awkwardly, once the other students had passed.

“Your father, and his former best friend,” Vince corrected. “I don’t think my father was that guy.”

“He had the watch.”

“Even if it’s the same watch, there are still plenty of explanations. Maybe it was a gift from someone who recovered it, or maybe the Super who made them decided to craft some more. I don’t even know who this Globe person was, but I know my father. He wasn’t a Super, let alone a Hero. He was just a guy living the rails who took it upon himself to look after me.”

“Living the rails?”

“I wasn’t exactly anyone’s first choice for adoption as a child. I ran away from the foster system as soon as I could. He found me one night, digging through a restaurant dumpster for food.” Vince’s eyes weren’t looking at his book anymore; they were staring beyond its starched white pages into an alley of the past, gazing at a silver-haired child gagging down rotten fruit because he was too hungry to pass it up. “Father took me in. He taught me how to live on the streets safely and with integrity. We never stole. We worked where we could and foraged whenever possible. Does that sound like a man hiding abilities to you?”

“Only if he were working very hard to hide them,” Chad admitted. “But it’s still not impossible.”

“I can turn this bench into cinders with a thought. You could lift that statue from across the lawn and throw it half a block past the end of campus. We have a very skewed sense of what is and isn’t impossible.”

“What’s your point?”

“I’ll probably never completely convince you that the man who raised me isn’t the same as the one who killed your dad,” Vince said slowly. “Not beyond any doubt. But I’ll never believe he did anything like that, either. So, we have a homeless man with enough compassion to raise someone else’s freak of a kid until he dies in an explosion when I’m thirteen. If you prefer to think of him as a murdering former Hero in disguise, then I can’t stop you; I can only tell you that there isn’t one shred of evidence in my memories to support that theory.”

“I thought you said thirteen was the age he gave you the watch.”

“On my found-day. We didn’t know when I was born, so that was what we used to mark the passing of years. He died a few months later.”

“I’m sorry,” Chad replied. “Sincerely. Even if it was him, I’m sorry you had to lose your father.”

“Same to you,” Vince echoed.

“I think you’re right, though. I don’t know anything for sure. The watch is a damning piece of evidence, but it alone doesn’t prove anything. Globe’s body was never found; however, that doesn’t mean nothing of him survived.”

“Globe died?” Vince asked.

“His teammates killed him after he killed my father. Nick and Alice did a presentation on all of this last year for class.”

“I missed a few of them. Coach George called me into his office on one of the presentation days,” Vince explained.

Chad rifled through his memory. Sure enough, Vince had been yanked out that day. “You were gone for it. The summary is that Globe killed Intra, and then was killed off by the remainder of his team when he turned on them as well. Black Hole was the Hero who brought him down, and a side effect of his ability was that it didn’t leave a body behind, so some people have always wondered whether Globe was truly gone or not.” Chad didn’t mention how prominent a member of “some people” he was. His actions over the past week already told that story too clearly.

“He sounds like a bastard.”

“Agreed.”

“I’m sorry he killed your dad.”

“Thank you.”

“Is that why you train so hard? Because you’re afraid someone will turn on you?”

Chad shook his head. “My father was one of the greatest Heroes who ever lived. He was strong, pure, and effective. Yet all anyone knows him for is being Globe’s victim. No one talks about the people he saved or the lives he impacted. They only talk about the way he died.”

He stood up from the bench and stretched, feeling the shift of every muscle in his body as he re-centered them to perfect alignment.

“I intend to redeem my father’s abilities. I am going to show the world just how strong he really was, by showing everyone what these powers can do.” Chad turned and found Vince looking at him, the first time their eyes had met during their conversation. “I’m going to become the strongest Hero this world has ever seen. I’ll surpass everyone, no matter what it takes.”

In that moment, watching the slow dip of the sun ring Chad’s blond hair with orange light, Vince had no trouble believing him.

“I don’t think I’ll be in your way,” Vince said.

“We’ll see. If we ever do go against one another, it won’t be with any bad blood between us. I’m going to choose to believe you about your father.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Vince slid the book to his side and stood up. He and Chad were nearly the same height, two taller-than-average fellows with much greater-than-average potential. He stuck his hand out, letting it jut into open air. “Friends?”

Chad accepted it and shook. “Allies.”

“Allies,” Vince agreed. “And, in next week’s match, competitors.”

“I look forward to it,” Chad said with a grin. Vince smiled right back. He was getting excited about the upcoming battle, too.

110.

Nick sat in the boys’ lounge, pretending to read a book on statistics. The others would gather soon, and he’d have to begin his strategy meeting. It was an event that would likely be unpleasant. They were going up against Chad’s team, a proposition which meant that, from the outset, Nick knew he would have to throw a Hail Mary. It was a long shot, and while Nick was comfortable with the idea of high-risk, high-reward scenarios, that didn’t mean he was particularly looking forward to selling his team on it. Mary had been hard enough, and she had the sturdiest head on her shoulders out of the lot. Of course, that was only true because Nick had failed to account for another member of their team. Fortunately, that other team member had not forgotten to account for Nick.

“Nervous?”

Nick glanced up to see Hershel standing by the dart board. The hefty boy didn’t move with much grace or speed, but he was unobtrusive enough to come and go without raising more than peripheral awareness.

“Me? Nah, I’m a wiz with numbers. This class won’t know what hit it.”

“You’re not in a statistics class this semester,” Hershel replied. “And even if you were, it’s not like you need to study.”

There was a gentle rustling of pages as Nick shut his book. “What makes you think I’m not in a statistics class?”

“Because you’re not the only one who knows the value of listening when people talk.” Hershel took a few steps forward and sank into a chair opposite Nick. “You’re also not the only one here with experience as a tactician.”

“I see. So you’ve figured out our next move?”

“That’s why I asked if you were nervous. Not going to be easy to convince those guys to go along with that sort of plan.”

“Enlighten me. What plan have you assumed I formulated?”

“You want us to lose,” Hershel said simply.

“Please elaborate.”

“You want us to play defensively, not take risks, and do nothing more than run the clock on whatever trial they subject us to.”

“Okay,” Nick said. “Let’s presume you’re correct, and I want us to give this match away. Why would I do that?” He leaned back in his chair a bit, giving Hershel more space to think. It turned out to be unneeded.

“Because you and I know both understand the gap between this team and Chad’s. It’s a match we can’t hope to win, regardless of the rules they give us.”

“We have the element of surprise,” Nick pointed out. “Alice’s new gravitational power is coming along at a steady rate, and Vince has successfully managed to absorb the kinetic energy of two tennis balls I’ve thrown at him.”

“Two out of how many?”

A small frown tugged at the corners of Nick’s mouth. “One hundred and thirty four.”

“I figured as much. If he was doing it reliably, you would have asked Roy to join in the training. He could fill Vince with far more kinetic power than some tennis ball. That’s why you’re still on beginner exercises, and that’s also why you want us to lose. Right now, we have two trump cards, two people who can do things no one else suspects. They’re still relatively new, however. If we blow them on a match we’re going to lose, then we waste the chance to surprise another team.”

“You think it’s better to let our hidden cards evolve into Aces before setting them on the table?”

“A child thinks only about the battle; a general considers the war as a whole. Losing this match covertly gives us a much better chance of winning our third one,” Hershel explained. “And I know you reached the same conclusion.”

“I won’t deny that. If the situation was as you described it, then losing without giving our all truly would be the best idea. However, you’ve got a few facts incorrect,” Nick said. He inched forward toward the edge of his seat, reclaiming the space he had previously abandoned.

“I do?”

“Indeed. First off, we have three surprise cards, not two. Despite their indignation at the loss, it seems Allen and Hector have stayed quiet about Camille’s capacity for laying the hand-to-hand smack down. I’ve had Mary keeping mental tabs on them, and neither has spilled the beans.” Part of Nick would have liked to have discussed Camille’s real power with Hershel, instead of the fighting skill they were pretending she had, however, he didn’t quite trust Roy to keep her secret.

“Why would they do that?”

“They wouldn’t. They are worthless idiots. Britney, on the other hand, is a masterful competitor. She understands that now that they’ve lost to us, there is nothing to gain by outing one of our member’s talents. If that knowledge were to allow other teams to beat us, then it makes us appear weak, and them even weaker since we beat them. That girl grasps the simple truth that, from here on out, the better we do, the better they seem for having come so close to victory.”

“Enemy of my enemy . . .” Hershel said.

“Pretty much.”

“Camille doesn’t change much.”

“Camille’s fighting prowess does give us an unexpected advantage, in that no one realizes she’s a capable warrior. That said, I agree that she alone wouldn’t be enough to deviate from the plan of losing.”

“So what else is there?”

“A few things: how hungry Alice is to prove her worth, for one, and the rate at which Vince’s abilities accelerate in real combat, for another. But all of them go toward a single issue that prevents us from giving up the match: feasibility of execution.”

“You don’t think they could do it?”

“I don’t. You and I both know that, even with your memories of how logical a choice it is, Roy would be a longshot for such a plan.”

“He’s not the one we have to worry about.”

“Roy should always be worried about when constructing a plan. Especially when Chad is a factor. He has a soft spot for getting knocked senseless by that blond adversary.”

Hershel didn’t have a comeback for that one; he merely nodded his agreement.

“Besides, I could sooner charm the entire female population of the HCP into a massive orgy than I could talk Vince into giving up. There is not one single ounce of Quit in that boy, no matter how smart a choice it might be. Where he goes, Camille will follow, of course, and by the time three of us are fighting wholeheartedly, Alice won’t be able to hold back any longer. She’s been sidelined so much, now that she feels she can contribute, she’d obviously jump in. That, of course, means Mary will break formation to go keep her friend safe, and by this point, the only people still playing it smart are myself and Alex.”

“I think you underestimate how much they trust you. If you told them that was the plan, they’d go for it.”

“I assure you—they would agree to anything, and in the moment, they would mean it. A person’s nature in combat is not easily changed, however. No, they would never give away a victory, regardless of the odds against them. Too bad, because you were right about it being the smart play,” Nick conceded.

“So, if you can’t do the smart play, what’s left?”

“I should think that’s obvious,” Nick replied, a smarmy grin spreading across his face. “If you can’t make a smart play, you make a batshit crazy one.”

111.

“I’m pleased to see everyone looking so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed,” Professor Fletcher greeted. In truth, neither team was particularly befitting of either of those adjectives. This wasn’t due to any particular worry or case of the nerves: it was simply because all the Super abilities in the world didn’t change the fact that college students hate being up early. Still, they’d accomplished their task of rousing and now stood in the gym with bleary but eager eyes.

“As you know, today is a match between your teams. I think we all understand what’s at stake, so I won’t waste time telling you to try your best or any other such nonsense. Instead, I’ll jump right into the rules. Today’s match will be a test of how you use your team’s resources over a prolonged period of time. We’re going to be going to the cells and doing some combat matches.”

Mary winced inwardly; everyone on Chad’s team, except Will, was either an experienced fighter or had an ability that would neutralize any skill brought against it. This was the system she’d been most afraid of.

“Of course, it wouldn’t be much of a test if we just randomly threw you all in fights, so instead, you will be deciding the lineup,” Professor Fletcher continued. “Each team will take turns deciding who they want to send into the cell. The other team then gets to pick which member or members to send against them.”

The eyes of the students cleared as realization of his words dawned on them.

“You heard me right: you can send in multiple people to fight one person, or send in one person to fight multiple people. There are no rules on the match-ups,” Professor Fletcher explained. He paused for a moment, savoring the attentive atmosphere before continuing. “However, each team member can only fight one time. So if you blow all seven members on the first match, then you automatically lose the next six.” This time, his pause was less about dramatics and more about giving them time to let it all sink in. Once a few brows had unfurled, Professor Fletcher felt it was safe to move on.

“Standard HCP fight rules apply. The loser is the first one to pass out, give up, or be similarly incapacitated. Intentional lethal force will get you disqualified. Any questions?”

“How do we decide who nominates a fighter first?” Chad asked immediately. It was a sound question; the team sending a person into the cell was at a disadvantage, since their opponent got to pick their combat reactively. With seven people per team, that meant if no one used double members in a match, the first team to send someone into the cell would have four nomination matches and only three reaction matches.

“Well, normally, we just flip a coin or something like that,” Professor Fletcher admitted. “But that method is a little problematic, given the presence of Mr. Campbell.”

“Oh, really? The one way I can actually help my team, and we’re going to make it sound shameful?” Nick protested, his tone pleading and hurt.

“Strictly speaking, the only test of abilities here happens in the cells and in the decisions you make regarding them. Influencing the coin toss is technically cheating.”

“Then how about this?” Mary interjected. “Let’s just assume we’ll win whatever game of chance you play and say that Chad’s team is going to nominate first.”

“That is hardly—”

“But,” she interrupted, “my team promises to do a two-person nomination one time. If they do the same, then it reduces the total number of matches to six, which means no one really gets an advantage.” This wasn’t entirely true, since Mary and Nick understood the value of striking a victory early on and how it could impact morale.

“I’ll agree to those terms,” Chad said. He knew the importance of a fearful first strike as well, but this was as good a situation as he could hope for against someone like Nick.

“I suppose that settles it then. Okay, Team Two, who would you like to send into the cell for the first match?” Professor Fletcher asked.

There was no discussion amidst the team, nor any need for it. Most of them were just as Mary had assessed: seasoned fighters. They knew that dominating an opponent early on often broke their spirit and left them unable to rally. It was a principle rule of war, and one that made their choice effortless.

“I’ll be first,” Chad declared.

“Very well. You and your team come with me to the observation room. I’ll leave Team One here to deliberate until I return,” Professor Fletcher said. He led Chad down the concrete halls, with Rich, Julia, Sasha, Will, Jill, and Selena trailing just a few steps behind. The team didn’t bother with chit-chat. They were friends, and when this was over, they would talk and laugh and celebrate a victory or mourn a loss. That was later. In this moment, all each of them saw was the battle at hand. This shared trait, more than any particular ability, is what made Team Two such a monstrous combatant.

Chad was directed into a combat cell, one much like he’d been in back during his freshman trial. Of course, he still used these for sparring and training—it was one of the only places people like him could really use all their strength—but the ones with observation rooms above them tended to be reserved for official events like this one. Chad’s eyes swept the room and took in the scant surroundings with a single glance. There were the usual microphone holes at the corner of one wall, allowing the PA system to be heard. Two walls opposite one another had long, open slits at the top with a specially-reinforced clear material covering them. It was as easy to see through as glass, but given what that material could endure, it was compositionally as far from actual glass as was possible. Chad did recognize that the presence of two viewing holes meant the teams would watch from separate rooms. It seemed this was a trial the HCP had used before.

He was bored with the room and went to go stand in its center. A lesser fighter would have weighed the merits of ambushing his opponent when they walked through the door. That seemed like it would be grounds for disqualification, when one considered the challenge. Besides, Chad enjoyed most of the people on Team One. He saw no reason not to treat this fight with honor. As he watched his own teammates fill their observation room, Chad idly wondered who would be sent against him. Mary was the obvious choice: last time he’d defeated her, she’d been unable to see him. A visually fair fight might be more interesting. Roy would likely lobby for the right of challenge, too. That was fine; it had been months since their last match. Chad knew his sparring buddy couldn’t win, but he still took a bit of pride in watching him get stronger. It was possible Vince would want to try his luck. He and the absorber had never been in any kind of official battle. It would be an interesting, if predictable, fight. By the time the door finally opened, Chad had run through just about every opponent scenario possible. Except, of course, for the one that turned out to be correct.

“Hey there, big fella,” Nick said as he slid through the entrance and sealed the door behind him. “Looks like you and me are gonna tango.”

112.

“Did you get lost on the way to the observation room?”

Had the question come from almost anyone else, Nick would have assumed malicious intent. Given the genuine surprise and touch of concern on Chad’s face, it was evident he meant it sincerely.

“’Fraid not. I’m the guy who gets to fight you.” Nick raised both of his hands in an exaggerated pugilistic stance, moving them up and down slowly while shifting his feet.

“That seems like a poor decision,” Chad observed. “You cannot hope to defeat me.”

“Oh yeah, no way that’s happening,” Nick agreed, dropping his fighting stance with a shrug. “You’ll definitely beat me. No contest.”

“So then, why are you here?”

“Because you’d beat any of us,” Nick replied. “You are the unquestioned king of our class. No single person on my or anyone else’s team can stand against you in a one-on-one match. I’ll admit, a few of the others would put on a hell of a show, but luckily for me, this isn’t a contest of awesome battle footage.”

“It’s a contest of resource management,” Chad said, comprehension dawning at last.

“And while a two will lose to a king no matter what game you play, the fact is that this loss still takes you out of the deck.”

“Beg pardon?”

“Sorry, my team uses a card analogy when measuring ourselves and our opponents. You’re the king because you’re the strongest in our class; I’m a two because I’m the weakest. I trust you can see the humor in us opposing one another now.”

“Very clever,” Chad complimented. “Of course, this strategy would have been better used later in the contest. Now, my team and I will incorporate your logic into our own plans.”

“It isn’t a perfect scheme,” Nick admitted. “But hey, you work with what you’ve got.”

“Students, are you ready to begin?” Professor Fletcher’s voice boomed out from the wall, momentarily startling both combatants.

“I am,” Nick said, as soon as he’d recovered.

“Listen, I don’t want to hurt you. Please surrender as soon as he starts us. Someone like you, without any physical abilities at all . . . well, even with my power of control, it would be difficult to make sure I held back enough,” Chad warned. “My ability doesn’t alert me to the breaking points of your body.”

Nick sighed inwardly. This guy would be running a great game of smack talk if he weren’t so damned sincere and considerate. “You’re right, that’s probably the smart move.”

Chad smiled with relief. “I’m ready,” he called to the wall.

“Then this match has begun.”

Chad stared at Nick, who looked right back at him through his sunglasses. For a few moments, neither boy said or did anything. Eventually, Chad’s patience gave out. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Aren’t you going to quit?”

“Certainly not,” Nick shot back with a grin.

“But it’s the right call. You agreed with me that it was the right call.”

“I agreed that it was the smart call,” Nick corrected. “And unfortunately, my team has already rejected the smart method of dealing with this situation. Thus, I am forced to decline your kind suggestion. Come at me whenever you’re ready.”

Chad laughed in spite of himself. “I wish you did have a power to fight me with. Someone with your guts could have made a great opponent.”

“No argument here.”

Chad’s small burst of laughter subsided, and the calm of battle cascaded over him. It was a shame: beating up someone like Nick made him feel like a bully. Too bad, this was a match; there was no room for soft-hearted empathy. The kindest thing he could do was end it fast and efficiently, injuring his opponent as minimally as possible. In the blink of an eye, Chad was rocketing forward, closing the half-room gap between he and Nick in less than a few seconds. It wasn’t super speed, but it was coordination and acceleration that no human could hope to match. Chad threw his hand out to grab Nick’s arm and start a submission hold . . . but his hand closed around air. An abrupt stop and turn revealed the sunglasses-clad boy standing a few feet from where Chad had attacked. Not a vast difference, but a noticeable one. Chad didn’t make those kind of mistakes.

He narrowed his eyes and increased his brain’s level of perception. The world around him seemed to slow as his neurons began firing faster and faster. Mental overclocking too much was dangerous, even for someone with his power. If he accidentally damaged his brain, he wouldn’t be able to focus enough to fix it. Still, he was well below the limit of how high his perception could rise. He hurled himself forward, a hot knife through a world stuck in molasses.

This time, he saw what happened, and he understood how he’d missed it earlier. Nick waited until the very last moment of Chad’s charge, when it seemed like he was inescapably caught, before turning his entire body on his heel at a precise angle and shifting away. It was similar to the technique used on rushing bulls, though, because of Chad’s speed, Nick had to be hundreds of times more exact when he spun. For someone without a physical power, it should have been impossible.

“How did you do that?” Chad brought his body to a halt and let his mind come back to regular speed.

“What can I say? I’ve always understood the importance of good timing.”

“Seriously. I move much too fast for any untrained guy to just step out of the way.”

“First off, I’ve been in the HCP for a year and a half too. I might not be lifting cars or punching invincible people, but I did pick up some training here and there.”

“Not that much,” Chad accused.

“Secondly, it’s not like I’m not banking on a little luck with my movements,” Nick replied.

“Luck doesn’t matter in a fight.”

“Luck matters in everything.”

“No, it doesn’t. Knowing when to dodge requires judgment, timing, and experience. Luck could never compensate for all of that.”

“It could, if it was all I was using.” Nick reached up and gently plucked his trademark sunglasses off his face. Chad was curious to see what the always hidden eyes looked like, but in that regard, he was disappointed. Nick’s eyes were firmly shut, not a speck of light going out or getting in.

“You were fighting me with your eyes closed?”

“No wonder Roy says you’re so smart. Got it on the first try.”

Chad felt something bubbling in the pit of his stomach, an unpleasantly hot sensation. Had he been more emotionally actualized, he would have understood it was anger and hurt pride at Nick’s taunting words. Chad wasn’t self-aware enough to realize that, but he was far enough along to understand he wanted to end this fight. His brain sped back up as Nick put his sunglasses on. It was time to get serious.

This time, Chad didn’t just barrel forward, he did a controlled charge that slowed when he got near Nick. The sandy-haired boy tried to pedal backward, but once he was in range, Chad could easily stop the distance between them from widening. Even this close together, however, Nick kept nimbly slipping away. He twisted, folded, ducked, bent, and slid at just the right moment every time.

“You can’t keep this up forever,” Chad spat through gritted teeth.

“Oh, definitely. I don’t have your stamina. In fact, I doubt I can last another minute,” Nick agreed.

Chad didn’t have the patience to wait that minute. He brought his perception up by several more degrees, far more than he ever should have needed against someone like Nick, and let fly a flurry of attacks. This time, even Nick’s luck couldn’t save him: his arm was ensnared by Chad’s powerful hand. After that, it was a matter of seconds before he was bent to the ground, Chad trying hard not to accidentally break his arm while keeping the submission hold.

“You win,” Nick said immediately. “I give up.”

“The winner of the first match is Chad Taylor of Team Two,” Professor Fletcher’s voice boomed from the wall.

Chad released his adversary and offered him a hand up. Nick took it gratefully—his arm felt a bit wonky, despite Chad’s evident restraint.

“Why in the hell didn’t you just do that in the first place?” Chad asked.

“You know, there are a lot of bullshit reasons I could feed you right now. I could say it’s because I like challenging strong opponents who make me grow, or because I had too much pride to give up without being properly beaten. Stuff like that; stuff I’m sure you’d swallow without hesitation. But I like you; not many people with your kind of power are decent enough to also respect those weaker than they. So just this once, I’m going to do something out of character and tell you the truth. I did it to steal your overwhelming victory.”

“But you lost.”

“And you won. What you didn’t do was crush me, or anyone else on my team. You didn’t manage to demoralize us like you were hoping.”

“That seems more like you negated it than stole it,” Chad pointed out.

“A king will always beat a two,” Nick said. “It doesn’t matter what game you play. It’s a given; no one expects any different.”

“I’m missing your point.”

Nick stopped walking toward the door and stared at Chad. Despite the sunglasses, Chad could feel Nick’s eyes boring into him. “A king will always beat a two. The difference between them is so great that it should be as effortless as killing a bug. You beat me, there’s no question about that. But you didn’t do it all that easily. What my team, and yours, just saw was a two managing to keep pace with a king. They just saw the weakest member of the HCP force the strongest to really work for an unsatisfying victory. Now, you tell me, do you think something that impossible has my team feeling particularly demoralized? Or do you think it made them believe that if lowly, little old me can do something so impossible, that we might have a real shot at winning this thing?”

Chad took a moment before speaking. “You are much more dangerous than I expected.”

Nick smiled and began walking again. “This is only the first match. Wait ‘til you see what I do with the others.”

113.

“That was incredible!” Vince bounded forward to clap Nick on the back as he entered the room. The others weren’t far behind, offering similar tidings of congratulations. Nick wasn’t sure whether it said more about how strong everyone thought Chad was or how weak they viewed him to be that merely not getting annihilated drew such a reaction. Given that it was what he’d been banking on, however, he supposed either one was acceptable.

“I still can’t believe you dodged him by closing your eyes,” Alice muttered.

“Trust me, no one is more surprised that worked than me, with the possible exception of Chad,” Nick replied humbly. “I take it you folks overheard our little adversarial chat?”

“No. Mary gave us a sort of narration based on your thoughts and what you were doing,” Alex explained. “Unless you’re hooked up to the mike and speaker system, those cells are completely soundproof.”

Nick stepped away from the crowd and looked through the relatively thin slit that comprised their window. Across the cell, he could see into the other team’s prep room; they were huddling together and congratulating Chad. The blond captain didn’t look as sure of himself as he should after a win, and a warm glow of satisfaction cascaded through Nick’s mind. He’d successfully planted the seeds of uncertainty; now, he had to capitalize on them.

“Chad is the one making all the decisions,” Mary said, sidling up next to him and lowering her voice. “They figured out that strategy before he was done with the fight. Since I can’t read his mind, we’re going to be working as blind as they are.”

“Not entirely. We still know who they are on a personal level. Telepathy is well and good, but I’ve been predicting people’s actions long before I had access to a mind reader.”

“I take that to mean you’ve come up with a plan?”

“You know me so well. It’s going to get rough, though. Can you keep them together?”

“Find a way to keep us in this thing, and I’ll make sure they keep at it.”

“Let’s hope so, because this next one will be bad,” Nick warned. “Hey, Camille!”

The small girl turned and looked at the pair curiously. “Yes? Do you need some healing?”

“Nah, not right now. You have more important things to deal with. Mary and I talked it over and decided you’re our pick for the next round.” Nick took advantage of the stunned silence that followed to shift his position and brace himself. There was a good chance he really might need some healing before Camille was out of the room.

“What?” Vince blurted as realization finally struck home. “You’re pairing her with someone, right? That’s why we agreed to do a two-person round, so we could couple a strong offense with Camille’s healing ability?”

“Vince is right; that girl has no place being in the cell by herself,” Roy echoed. “You’re one thing, but she could get really hurt.”

“And if the healer gets injured, then who helps her?” Alex tacked on.

Mary held up a hand to silence them, and surprisingly, they complied with minimal grumbling. “I hear your concerns, I really do. But Nick made a compelling case, so hear him out before you decide he’s wrong.” Mary turned, ready to actually hear the case she’d pretended to know and endorse.

“We’re probably going to lose this event,” Nick said, his face unusually straightforward. “I told you all that from the beginning. Even in this format, we’re at a disadvantage. I’ve run through the lineup combinations in my head dozens of times, and in the vast majority, we lose four out of six matches. There are a couple—a very slender few—exceptions. But the only arrangement of those we have any reasonable shot at still requires a very precise order of execution, which is remarkably harder, given that our opponents get to choose their participant in three of the matches. I think I can get us there, but only if you all trust me and go in the order Mary and I decide.”

“I’ll go,” Camille said, so softly that it would have been inaudible had the room not been struck silent.

“You don’t have to do that,” Vince told her.

“She does if we want a shot at this thing,” Nick rebutted. Vince threw his friend a dirtier look than Nick would have believed him capable of conjuring.

“I’m doing it,” Camille insisted. “I’m not at this school just to heal everyone else, you know. I’m here to learn, and to fight, and to get stronger. I’m here to become a Hero, and Heroes don’t have the luxury of sitting out a fight just because it’s hard.”

“But—”

“We’re done talking about this.” Camille turned toward Nick, less because she actually wanted to speak to him and more because she couldn’t bear the look of worry on Vince’s face. “Anything I need to know?”

“I’m betting you have the same guess as me on who they’ll send against you, right?”

Camille nodded. No matter what they were planning, some opportunities were too rare to pass up. She knew who would be gunning for her.

“Then I’ll just say this: I don’t support pyrrhic victories as a rule, but on this occasion, I think there might be a bit of value to the concept,” Nick instructed, his eyes scouring Camille’s face for any signs of comprehension. The small girl was smarter than most of the others; he could only hope she knew what he was talking about. Her lashes went up, and she let out a quick breath. He wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but he’d given as much as he could with this many people in earshot.

“Good advice,” Camille said, without commitment. She turned and walked out the door, leaving behind a rising babble of voices as she exited. She could already hear them badgering Nick for more information, but she doubted he would give anything up. That boy was disturbingly clever.

Camille could see the surprise ripple through the opponents’ room as she entered the cell. Whatever they’d been expecting, it wasn’t her. That was the whole point, after all. This match’s strategy was insanity: keep the others off-balance and make it impossible for them to predict what Team One would do next. So far, so good. She hoped.

It didn’t take long for the cell door to open again. Camille considered feigning surprise, but then thought better of it. This was a rare opportunity for them to face one another plainly, with all feelings and thoughts laid bare. She wouldn’t be the one to sully it with cheap ploys.

“Good morning, Sasha. Thanks for not keeping me waiting.”

“The least I could do,” Sasha replied. “After all, if there’s one thing someone with my ability should be, it’s punctual.”

114.

Camille had never fought someone with super speed before. She’d expected the fast movements, obviously, and she knew enough about them to be aware that Sasha would be more resistant to injury than most. What Camille hadn’t anticipated was how hard her opponent could hit, which was unfortunate.

“Ooof.” Camille let out a guttural gasp as Sasha’s fist buried itself in her diaphragm. Before she had any semblance of a chance to recover, a quick jab to the cranium sent her tumbling to the floor. A punch like that should have at least cracked her attacker’s hand bones, but as she stared up at Sasha, it was clear the girl with pink-streaked hair had barely even felt it. Bitch.

“I have to say, I was expecting a little more,” Sasha chided. “I mean, I know you’re just a healer, but I would have thought all that time in Close Combat would have taught you a few tricks.”

Camille sucked in a slow breath that made her ribs ache. She’d hit the floor hard enough to bruise them, but she was pretty sure nothing was broken. Her head was largely okay; thankfully, Sasha had struck the densest part. Slowly, she staggered to her feet. These injuries would be nothing to heal; it would take almost no effort at all. That would work against her, unfortunately, and Camille was determined to strike her own version of victory.

“That why they sent down a heavy hitter? I have to say I’m surprised Chad was willing to squander such a strong fighter on little old me.”

“I convinced him. Captain or not, he understands the need to work out personal grudges with one’s fists.”

“So it’s a grudge now?”

“Not really,” Sasha replied. She flashed forward, moving too quickly for Camille to react, and swept the smaller girl’s legs while pushing back on her head. Camille was able to shift her weight mid-air to avoid a headfirst impact, but as she crunched to the ground, she knew something in her shoulder had broken. “I just thought we ought to have some girl-talk time.”

“How . . . sweet.” Camille barely got the words out as pain rippled through her. Either by mercy or sadism, Sasha backed off and allowed her to struggle to her feet once more. “I can only imagine what you’d do to someone who was actually dating your ex.”

“I don’t think it’s an issue we’ll have to deal with soon. I’ve already decided I want him back.”

“No? And here I thought you were kicking my ass for the cardio.” It was funny; for the first time she could remember, Camille wasn’t feeling self-conscious about her words. Maybe it was the pain, or maybe it was just a side effect of real battle. Either way, she found herself staring back at Sasha without any sense of shyness whatsoever. If anything, she wanted to confront her all the more. “Of course, that’s if he takes you back.”

“Don’t kid yourself, honey. You might have that damsel in distress thing that he eats up, but you could never be real competition for me.” To illustrate the point, Sasha closed the gap between them and delivered a series of quick blows to Camille’s torso. The small girl stayed standing longer than anyone would have expected, but a punch that shattered one of her ribs finally sent her back to the floor in a coughing fit of pain.

*      *      *

“I can’t believe you did this to her.” Vince’s hands were gripped into fists, his knuckles turning white as he pressed the tips of his fingers tightly against the flesh of his palms. Had it been anyone else, Nick would have been truly concerned that he might swing at him. Since it was Vince, Nick was only moderately worried.

“Did this to her? The other team picked the opponent, you know.”

“But you’re the one who sent her out there alone!” Vince turned away from the fight to jab his best friend in the shoulder, eyes blazing with accusation. Nick stared right back at him, the cool glass covering his eyes a sharp contrast to the fiery rage echoing through his friend’s.

“Do you realize how fucking condescending you sound when you say things like that?”

Vince was momentarily taken aback; he hadn’t expected Nick to go on the offensive. Nick took the opportunity to press on.

“Camille is not some puppy, or flower to be watched over. She said it herself, she’s training to be a Hero. You think that path is paved with rainbows? It’s built on pain, sweat, and failure. Getting your ass kicked is part of this process. She knows it, I know it, and when it applies to anyone who isn’t female, you know it too. Stop treating that girl with deference and treat her with the respect that a fellow warrior deserves.”

Vince glowered, but the wind had been plundered from his sails. Nick was right: Vince hadn’t objected when he volunteered to go up against Chad. He’d had faith his friend could handle whatever happened. It was wrong to put any less confidence in Camille. Nonetheless, as he turned back to what could barely be called a fight, Vince felt his hands tighten again. He had to watch her, he just didn’t have to like it.

*      *      *

Camille hacked up a phlegmy wad of blood before staggering to her feet. She was visibly swaying now; one of Sasha’s many attacks had probably injured her inner ear. The fight had been going on for only two minutes, but Camille felt like she was already at her breaking point. She had to end this, and soon.

“I’m impressed you keep getting up, even if I’m not sure what you’re expecting to accomplish,” Sasha complimented.

“Of course not. You wouldn’t understand why I can’t just lay down and lose. People like you have never been weak, or bullied. You’ve spent your whole life able to outrun or barrel through any problem.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Not for you, I guess. But there are lessons that come from being knocked down, the most important of which is learning how to get back up.” Camille spat a pink loogie on the ground, her mouth still leaking blood that was beginning to coat her teeth. “That’s why you don’t deserve to be with Vince. Things got tough, and you ran away.”

“He lied to me.”

“Boo-fucking-hoo. You made him feel like shit and broke his heart. He got through it, though, because Vince is more like me than you. He’s been weak. He’s been battered. He always gets back up. And so will I. So do your worst, bitch. It won’t change the fact that you blew it with the best man—hell, the best person—either of us will ever meet.”

The words were barely out of her mouth before Sasha’s punch collided with her teeth. This time, she didn’t stop when Camille went down; instead, she kept pressing the attack, smashing her opponent’s face and body over and over again.

“Enough.” Professor Fletcher’s voice blared through the room. “The winner of this match is Sasha Foster.”

“Hear that?” Sasha said, still clutching the small girl’s jacket collar in her hand. “I won.”

Camille looked back at her, then past her to something over Sasha’s shoulder. Despite her face being coated in blood, a smile was still visible on Camille’s busted lips.

“Did you?”

Sasha turned to follow Camille’s gaze. What stared back at her was Vince, watching from the team room with an expression Sasha had never seen on his face before—horror. Horror, mixed with disgust. And all of it aimed directly at her.

Camille saw realization dawn across her opponent’s face and felt a soft glow of accomplishment. It was her last sensation for some time, as the pain finally caught up to her and she slipped into sweet unconsciousness.

115.

There was a small break before the next match while Professor Fletcher delivered Camille to the infirmary for healing. Both teams were locked in their rooms, ostensibly so that neither could receive outside influence. In reality, it was a precaution to stop them from going at it without supervision. So far, everyone had kept their cool, but Professor Fletcher knew that watching a teammate get pummeled could provoke some unexpected reactions. By the time he returned and was ready to resume the competition, Team Two had already selected Will as their nominee.

He was only in the cell for a few seconds before Alex entered, giving an awkward wave of greeting to his friend.

“Let’s not try and imitate them, if possible,” Will said, in lieu of a hello.

“Agreed. I think both of us are smart enough to know when to call it quits.”

“True. Then again, I would have said the same for Camille.” Will was working hard to keep his emotions in check. Rooming with Thomas, Stella, and Violet meant Camille was a frequent guest in his home. In spite of being on different teams, he had taken no joy in watching Sasha administer such a ruthless beating. Not for the first time, he found himself a bit thankful that his ability didn’t require getting too up close and personal with a foe.

“She’s a strange one,” Alex said. “Most of the time, I can feel her terror from yards away. But when things get truly scary, that’s when she practically explodes with fearless determination.”

“We’ll all go visit her in the infirmary when this is done.”

“Good idea.”

“Students, are you ready to begin?” The voice crackled from the PA, and both boys nodded their agreement rather than respond verbally. “Then this match has begun.”

Alex struck first, telekinetically smashing Will back into the wall. He then pinned his opponent to the ground under a sustained blast of force. Will might have all manner of technology at his disposal, but Alex had no intention of giving him a chance to use it.

“You’re trying to make me surrender,” Will grunted from beneath the invisible bulk pressing on him.

“As painlessly as possible,” Alex confirmed. He didn’t want to hurt Will, but his team couldn’t take many more losses. One more, and all they could do was tie. Two more, and it was done.

“Good plan,” Will complimented. “Unfortunately, you got the wrong opponent.” Will made a sort of clicking noise against his teeth, hammering out a strange sequence of notes. Alex’s vision blurred, and his concentration disintegrated as the room filled with a high-pitched squeal. The floor seemed to be trembling as Alex fell to his knees and pressed his hands over his ears.

“Sonic Taser,” Will explained as he pulled himself to his feet. He tapped a small device on his belt that had a small LED light glowing green. “I installed a verbal switch for just such an occasion. Good thing I did, too. Otherwise, you would have trounced me.”

Alex was shaking now; he felt like his bones were going to vibrate out of his skin. It took almost more than he had just to mumble a strained, “How?”

“If you’re wondering how you can hear me, it’s because the sound isn’t actually that loud. It’s merely precisely calibrated to attack various parts of the inner ear. If you’re asking how I can stay unaffected, it’s because I put dampeners in my own ears before I ever came to the cell. You really should give up, by the way. While this shouldn’t do any damage that can’t be healed, the effects will continue to get worse the longer you are exposed.”

He was telling the truth. Alex could barely handle being on his knees anymore. Much longer, and he would collapse to the floor in a curled up ball. That would mean losing, and they’d already given up two fights. Alex could feel the weight of the others’ gazes, their hopes resting squarely on his shoulders. He had one shot to turn this around; the only question was if he could manage enough concentration to pull it off. Alex forced himself to take slow, deep breaths. It wasn’t easy: each gasp was like swallowing magma as the sound seemed to shred across his lungs. He kept going. This was what he had trained for. This was what separated people with powers from Heroes.

The only one more surprised than Will when Alex began to rise from the floor was Alex himself. He’d practiced this technique a few times in private; however, this was the first real trial it was getting. His body began to settle down, though he’d likely need a session with a healer before he was truly back to normal.

“How . . . ?” This time, it was Will’s turn to ask a question in shock. His confusion only grew at the crunching sounds from his waist. His Sonic Taser fell to the ground uselessly, its final death note briefly ringing across the concrete interior before sputtering out completely. Will felt himself slammed to the ground once more, but this time, the mental weight was so heavy he had to make an effort to breathe.

“You said it was unfortunate I got you as an opponent; well, I can say the same right back,” Alex declared. “I spent almost a year dating a girl who can enchant people with her song. That sort of thing got me wondering if there was a way to negate that type of ability. I figured that if I could reflect all the sound waves coming at me, then that might do it. It’s really hard; I’d never have thought I could pull it off in actual combat.”

“But . . . telekinetics . . . can only . . . touch things . . . that are solid,” Will wheezed out from the ground.

“Good thing I’m not telekinetic then. So, how long do I have to keep you pinned before you do as we promised?”

Will’s excellent mind raced through a myriad of options. He still had a few gizmos that could turn things around, but none of them could be reached or aimed while he was pinned. Besides, if Alex really could knock aside something as intangible as a sound wave, Will wasn’t sure anything in his arsenal would be able to connect. No, there was only one logical conclusion to reach, and Will Murray was a logical man.

“I . . . concede.”

“The winner of this match is Alex Griffen,” Professor Fletcher said, making the first victory of Team One official.

Alex released the pinning pressure and helped his friend up from the ground. “Sorry I broke your thingie.”

“A risk of bringing tools into battle,” Will replied. “Besides, it gives me the chance to make some improvements.”

The two shook hands and departed, leaving the cell waiting for its next set of competitors.

116.

“Thank you, sweet heaven,” Nick mumbled as he watched Alex and Will leave the cell.

“Feeling worried?” Alice asked. The others had drifted off to greet Alex upon his triumphant return, but she had remained by Nick as he stared into the now empty space.

“I was feeling screwed. For a moment there, I thought all was lost.”

“Don’t be so dramatic. We could have still pulled off a tie.”

Nick shook his head. “If they’d gotten that match, they would have shifted strategy. Played it more conservatively until they got the next win they needed. We could have gotten maybe one win out of it all, if that. Now, they don’t have that lock yet. Chad will play aggressively, trying to win rather than trying to last.”

“How can you know that?”

“Because Chad’s a winner in charge of a team of winners. They’re chasing victory because they’re used to capturing it.”

Alice chuckled lightly. “So that makes us a team of losers?”

“I prefer to think of it as a team of people who have had ample opportunity to build character through adversity.”

“Classy,” Alice complimented.

Mary meandered over and glanced at the two of them. Although she felt a bit guilty for interrupting, given the way Alice’s brain was tingling with cheer, there was business to attend to.

“One win is good. Now, who do we send out to get another?” Mary asked.

“I’m thinking the two lovely ladies in front of me,” Nick replied.

Mary and Alice exchanged an uncertain glance.

“Oh, don’t give me that,” Nick continued. “We said we’d do a duo in one of our rounds. This is the time for it.”

“I don’t disagree with you there, but why us?” Alice asked.

“Subterfuge,” Nick said. “Mary, can you do what Alex just did? Hold someone down without seriously injuring them?”

“Not unless they’ve got enhanced endurance like Roy or Chad. I’m a little too strong for it otherwise, and Alex has better finesse control than I do.”

“Exactly.”

“Exactly, what?”

“Exactly; you can’t use Alex’s technique. I know it, you know it, and now Alice knows it. Guess who doesn’t know it? Chad’s team. Alice, our little gravity guru, could probably replicate it so well that no one would be able to tell the difference, though. Not unless they’d experienced both—but thankfully, Will is unable to make a return performance.”

“Oh, you son of a bitch. You want me to keep acting helpless, even after I’ve worked my ass off to finally contribute to this team,” Alice accused.

“You’ll be contributing a great deal. You just won’t get credit for it, except from us.”

“These aren’t just contests for fun, you know. We each get evaluated, win or lose. Everything we do goes toward whether or not we make the cut for next year. I’m not against helping the team, but I haven’t had a great showing so far. Now that I can do more than float about uselessly, it’s my chance to step things up.”

“Alice, not once in any of my plans, tactics, or strategies have I ever considered you as useless.” Nick could have sold it with an emphatic addition of counterfeit sincerity, but Alice would have immediately prickled with distrust. Instead he spoke in his usual manner, making no effort to seem more genuine. Ironically, this was as close as he could get to real sincerity.

“Sure, like I’d believe that. You gave me a four, remember?”

“You’re the one who found the flag and won our last team match,” Mary pointed out. “Not to mention that, without you, they couldn’t have rescued me from Coach George. Nick is telling the truth; the only person who has ever thought you were useless is you.”

“Look, we’re on a limited amount of time, so I’ll leave it up to you two,” Nick interjected. “All I can say is that I promise you’ll get a chance to shine before the year is over, and it will be all the brighter because no one will be expecting it. If you’re really worried about making the cut, then I can’t argue with putting on a show today. Just make sure you’re doing it because you want to be here next year and not out of a desire to make everyone respect your abilities.”

Alice nodded silently; her mind was already digesting Nick’s words. No one else on the team could have made her pause. None of the others understood what it was like to stand idly by while you watched your friends do amazing things. Only Nick could know how she felt; after all, he might have given her a four, but he gave himself a two. She wanted to go into that cell and tear things up for a change. She just didn’t know if it was for her team, or her ego.

“We need to head down,” Mary said, snapping her out of her reverie.

“Let’s go,” Alice replied. They turned and headed toward the door, only now realizing that the rest of the room had fallen silent during their discussion. Soft words of encouragement were spoken, but most of their friends stood back as the duo moved closer to the exit.

“Hey, Alice,” Nick called as the girls reached the door.

“Yeah?”

“If you win, I’ll clean your bathroom.”

Alice smiled in spite of herself. The boy had a talent for lightening moods, no one could dispute that.

“Screw that. If I win, I want something better.”

“Like what?”

“You have to answer one question with complete honesty.”

Nick paused for a half a heartbeat. “Deal,” he said. Alice liked that pause; it meant he’d had to think about it. It meant he might even keep his word. She and Mary resumed their walk. It wasn’t until they were in the cell that Mary spoke, and when she did, her tone was filled with mock annoyance.

“You know, you might have asked me before turning down the cleaning offer. I bet we could have gotten him to at least throw in the girls’ lounge.”

117.

Julia and Jill stared at Mary and Alice from across the room. Unlike the previous fights, this one wasn’t beginning with anything more than a cursory greeting as they waited for permission to start. All four girls were on pleasant enough terms, though Mary and Alice tended to see more of Jill than Julia, especially after the cessation of her and Roy’s carnal acrobatics. They liked each other and in a pinch, would probably sit at the same table in a lunch room should they spot an open seat. It wasn’t devout friendship, only amiable enjoyment. And now, they had to beat the hell out of one another. No one knew exactly what to say in that sort of situation, so they’d defaulted to nothing. It was what worked best for everyone.

“Are you ready to begin?” All four girls visibly relaxed at the sound of Professor Fletcher’s voice. Horrible as battle might be, it was still preferable to standing around anticipating the carnage.

“We’re ready,” Mary replied confidently.

“As are we,” Julia added.

“Then this match has begun.”

The sound had barely subsided from the loudspeaker when everyone leapt into action. Julia produced four clones in the span of a second, all of them charging at Alice. Jill activated an electrical blaster bracer worn around her forearm and lined up a shot on Mary. Mary slammed a blast of telekinetic force into the stampeding Julias, scattering them like blonde bowling pins and sending them back toward their creator. Alice hopped into the air and tried to look like she was merely terrified, while in truth, she was focusing on increasing the gravity around her opponents. She managed to pull it off, and only just in time. The sudden increase of force dropped Julia to the ground, but only took Jill to her knees. It was enough to make her shot go wild; a crackling ball of energy crashed into the concrete only a few feet away from Mary’s vulnerable form.

“Damn,” Jill swore from under her helmet as she struggled to pull herself up. The only thing keeping her in this fight was the valiant straining of her patchwork suit’s muscle enhancers, trying to stop her from becoming effectively pinned. She said a mental prayer of thanks to Will; if he hadn’t augmented them last month, there was no way she could have handled this level of strain. Julia was useless in this situation: any clones she produced were just as powerless as her original form. What Jill—mistakenly—believed to be Mary’s technique was exceptionally effective. She’d known battling the small girl would be tough, but had hoped Alice’s uselessness would give them a two on one advantage.

“You’re beaten,” Mary said in a matter-of-fact tone. She wasn’t trying to taunt or goad her opponents; she was only conveying what she saw as the truth of the matter. Jill was having a hard time disagreeing with her, too. The girl in the gizmo suit slowly raised her right arm, trying to line it up for another shot. If Mary was using her power to push them down, then she might not be able to dodge. At least, not without letting up on the assault.

Jill succeeded in getting her arm halfway up before the intensity of the force knocking her downward increased. Suddenly, it was too much, and the delicate balance she’d managed to retain was shattered. Jill tumbled to the floor, and no amount of straining would allow her to lift a limb. The most she could hope for was to fire off a few rounds and pray one ricocheted into Mary. For a brief moment, she contemplated it, then decided otherwise. No one in the other teams knew that Will had found a way to make her blasts bounce off inanimate objects yet. She didn’t want to squander a surprise like that on a battle that was pretty much already lost anyway. Years later, when looking back at this particular match and understanding what had truly been going on, Jill would appreciate the humor of that train of thought. In the actual moment, there was only one thing she could do.

“I give up,” Jill acknowledged.

“Guess that means I do too,” Julia huffed from the floor. She had merely been holding out in case Jill came up with a way to turn things around. The clones dissolved back into formless energy, leaving only the two real girls stuck on the floor.

“The winners of this match are Mary Smith and Alice Adair.”

Alice floated down and grabbed Mary in a big hug. Jill and Julia felt the force binding them vanish, and both slowly rose to their feet.

“I’d say good fight, but it would feel like a lie,” Jill admitted to the victors. “We went down without much of a showing at all. Nice technique, by the way.”

“If Alex hadn’t given me the idea, this might have been a very different outcome,” Mary lied graciously. “Striking first was the only way we had a shot. That blaster of yours seems pretty nasty.”

“It gets the job done. I have to say, your team has done surprisingly well today.”

“You’ve also done well, but it’s not really a surprise.”

“Tell me about it,” Julia mumbled. “I’m just annoyed I had to be on the sacrificial team.”

“The what?” Alice asked.

“She means we were picked because Chad knew we would lose,” Jill explained.

“I see; he took Nick’s lesson to heart then,” Mary noted.

“That he did. So, like I said, good job so far today. It’s almost too bad you’ve got no way to win the next two matches.” Jill headed out the door, after making sure Julia was close by.

Mary and Alice waited a few moments before following suit, taking a different path once they’d left the cell—one that led back to their own observation room.

“Do you think she’s right?”

“There are two people left on Chad’s team: Selena and Rich. Both use an ability that renders their opponent unable to fight back. We’ve only got Vince and Roy left, both of whom rely on physical abilities to defeat anyone they face,” Mary surmised.

“So, we’re screwed?”

“It sure looks that way.”

“Good,” Alice said, a wicked smile curving across her pleasant face. “If it looks like we’ve got no chance of winning, then that means we’re exactly where Nick wants us to be.”

“Unquestionably. Now, we just have to hope he’s as smart as he thinks he is.”

“Oooooh. If we’re banking on that, then we really might be screwed.”

The girls were still laughing about that little joke by the time they made it back to the room.

118.

Selena didn’t have to wait long for Vince to enter the cell. She was a little surprised: when Chad had nominated her, she’d been certain they’d send down Roy and hope his ability would let him resist her song. It wouldn’t, of course; Selena had tested herself against those like Roy before she’d even hit her teens. They might be able to walk away from a speeding car crash without a scrape, but it did them no good once Selena Wilkins had them under her spell.

Vince looked determined as he moved carefully to the opposite side of the cell. She waved a hand to greet him, and he returned the gesture. Selena avoided speaking before battles, so no one could accuse her of using her power before things officially kicked off. Vince’s reason for silence was much simpler than that: he merely couldn’t think of what to say. He knew he had to win, he knew his team was counting on him, and at the same time, he wasn’t sure how he was going to do any of it. Selena’s considerable abilities aside, she was physically a normal girl. Stronger and leaner than most her age, but still quite vulnerable by HCP standards. At least Camille was in Close Combat training. Beating up Selena would leave a sick taste in Vince’s mouth, and that was assuming he could even find a way to do it. He had one idea; however, even he knew it was something of a long shot.

“Are you ready to begin?”

“I am,” Vince said immediately. A long shot was better than no shot. He narrowed his eyes and focused with all he had. No matter which way it went, this fight would be over in less than a minute.

“I’m ready.” Selena’s vibrant voice was devoid of melody, yet it still held an almost musical quality. Vince wasn’t the only one poised for action. Her tongue darted briefly across her lips, a sign of nervousness and a preparation for the impending musical onslaught all rolled into one almost imperceptible motion.

“Then this match has begun.”

Selena threw herself to the side at the same time she allowed a thick, hearty series of notes to burst forth. To her surprise, she dodged nothing, as the fireball she’d been certain Vince was aiming at her never materialized. The tan girl rolled to her feet, song continuing to flow without so much as a pause, and looked at her opponent, who seemed frozen in place. Vince hadn’t so much as twitched since the battle began; he was still clearly standing in the same spot, not even looking at her.

Selena shook her head. No, he wasn’t clear, not clear at all. In fact, the longer she stared at him, the more distorted he appeared to be, like someone had secretly drawn a wall of water between the two of them and was agitating it more and more with every passing moment. She figured it out almost a full two seconds before the heat struck her.

The massive outpouring of thermal energy washed over her like a blanket made of lava. It burned at her eyes and grabbed at her nostrils. She didn’t immediately blister, but she had a feeling prolonged exposure to this environment would cook her from the inside out. Still, she kept singing, her rich lullaby cascading across the acoustically-ideal concrete walls, permeating Vince’s ears even as his endless heat scorched across her skin. She could barely make out his form anymore; the distortion of the air and the tears in her eyes were teaming together to make seeing a cause on the edge of hopelessness.

Selena’s throat felt seared as she gasped for a breath. The air was thin and sizzled in her lungs. Had she been anyone else, the spasms wracking her chest would have become full-fledged coughs and all would have been lost. Her mind was a fog of pain, her tongue felt as if it had matches underneath it, but she knew she was still singing. The burning in her throat told her that even more clearly than the gorgeous notes still ringing in her ears. This was her last breath; the next one would be more than she could bear. Selena poured every bit of herself into her song, every thought, every sense, every emotion. It was a melody of peace, a song of slumber, and right now, there was almost nothing in the world she wished for more.

*      *      *

It was taking a lot to stay conscious and keep pouring out the heat, but Vince wasn’t quite at his breaking point yet. He didn’t know if he’d gotten more mentally fortified, or if the scalding temperature was somehow weakening the power of her song, but he’d managed to resist the ever-growing pull of sleep so far. It was getting harder; his eyes were beginning to stay closed a little bit longer with each blink. Still, Vince kept his focus aimed at the tan girl’s kneeling form.

He could still change up his tactics. One blast of electricity, and her medley would grow quiet. Throwing lightning was dangerous; it was so easy to send too much. Had he been in a more rational frame of mind, he never would have used it at all, even against Michael. Still, he knew it would work, it would definitely give them the win. Didn’t that make it worth the risk?

His eyes lingered in the closed position for nearly five seconds this time. Vince shook his head to cast away some of the mental fog. When his eyes settled again, they found themselves looking down at his feet, at a smear of red that stained the concrete beneath him. Camille’s blood. They’d cleaned it well, but it would take a professional to coax the red liquid from the porous surface. She’d been hurt so badly trying to win for them. He needed to win this, for her.

Vince looked away from the ground and back at his target. His right hand cupped as he shifted a bit of his focus. The trick to electricity had finally been revealed to him by Professor Fletcher. You didn’t aim it like fire; instead, you visualized it coming back to you from the target, creating an imaginary circuit that the energy would naturally flow along. He visualized that target on Selena’s shoulder, a safe distance away from her weary, straining face and her delicately slender torso. His stomach churned. She just looked so damn weak already. Maybe the heat would win out over the song. Maybe he didn’t have to risk hurting her like this.

Vince took another long blink, but forced himself to reopen his eyes one last time. This time, in the initial bleariness that accompanied such an act, he swore that, for a moment, it was Camille herself he was staring at. His resolution tightened, and he knew which attack path he had to take.

*      *      *

She never heard him slump to the floor. The first indication Selena got that she’d won was when the next sweet gasp of oxygen felt only painful, rather than torturous. Greedy gulps of air that were merely uncomfortable followed, and only after she’d pulled in all she could hold did she look across the cell to her opponent. He was sprawled out on the floor; a visible trickle of blood ran from under his temple. He must have fallen so hard that he struck the floor. Selena was impressed. That meant he hadn’t gone down gradually; he’d managed to stay standing until her spell overtook him entirely. Not many people had that kind of willpower.

“The winner of this match is Selena Wilkins,” Professor Fletcher called through the room. His voice sounded strange, almost alien when contrasted to the beautiful song she’d been weaving around them. She pulled herself slowly to her feet, pausing for a moment to wonder just when she’d even fallen down, then walked over to check on Vince. His chest was rising, and his breathing seemed steady. That was good; anything else could be fixed by the healers.

*      *      *

“Shit,” Mary swore under her breath. “He almost had her.”

“No kidding. I can’t believe he got so close to winning,” Nick commented. “I underestimated that guy.”

“You . . . you knew he would lose?”

“Of course. Vince against Selena? Anyone could have told you how that would end.”

“Then why send him instead of Roy?”

“Because it’s not that he lost, it’s how he lost. He did it without showing any more of his power than was absolutely necessary.”

“Damn it, Nick, did you really think that was more important than us winning this thing?”

“Don’t be silly, we were never going to win,” Nick chided her. “All I’ve been doing is making sure our losses were manageable.”

“So that’s it? It’s all over?”

“Certainly not. I’ve worked quite hard to manipulate them into giving us this final match-up.”

“Rich versus Roy? He already beat him way back in the first year trials.”

“That was a long time ago,” Roy rumbled from behind them. Both had heard him approach, but neither had felt the need to curb the conversation.

“Quite right. And I’m sure, after all this time of having a defeat nagging at his ego, Roy has put more thought than any of us into just how to overcome someone like Rich.”

“You’re damn right,” Roy agreed, flashing his teammate a dazzling grin before heading out the door. It wasn’t his usual smarmy smirk, nor was it his debonair, cowboy-charm smile. No, the smile on Roy’s face was like that of a hunting dog that had finally been let off the leash. It spoke of eagerness, of hunger, and above all, of the thrill that was currently coursing through his excited bones.

“Settle in, folks,” Nick called to the rest of the room. “I promise, this should be one interesting show.”

119.

Rich was waiting patiently when Roy entered the cell, a confident smile resting just above his dark goatee. The taller combatant moved across the room slowly, eyes watching his opponent for any signs of aggression as he took his starting position.

“Just like old times, huh?”

Roy nodded curtly. “Looks like it.”

“You folks really did an impressive job. More than any of us expected. I think we have a whole new level of respect for you all.”

“Uh huh. But you still plan on winning.”

“Well, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“Is everyone ready to begin?” Professor Fletcher asked for the final time that day.

Roy looked over at the small holes where sound entered the room. “I’m ready.”

“I was born ready,” Rich raised.

“Then this match has begun.”

Roy whipped his head back in Rich’s direction and took off at a dead sprint. He reared up his arm in a clothesline that would have taken off Rich’s head, along with a healthy portion of his torso. The aggressive attack took Rich by surprise, leaving him no time to counter. His only bit of fortune was that Roy had telegraphed the charge so blatantly he was able to throw himself to the side and roll back to his feet in a single motion. Roy’s charge kept right on going; the tall warrior never stopped until he struck the concrete wall and bounced back. It was only after seeing this collision that Rich grasped exactly what was happening.

“You’re fighting with your eyes closed.”

“Bingo bucko.” Roy wasted not a single moment; he came running at Rich once more. This time, Rich was more careful in his motions, moving to the side as quietly as possible, but staying standing the entire time. Roy bounced off another wall and came to a stop. He didn’t merely stand in place after the impact; his entire body grew still as he worked to perceive the world around him without the benefit of vision.

“This is idiotic; you can’t really expect to win with just running after me blindly,” Rich pointed out. Since he was powerful and quick, his own overwhelming ability hadn’t provided much practice with thinking in terms of strategy. Or in knowing the importance of silence when an opponent is tracking by sound.

“Actually, I can’t lose,” Roy disagreed.

“How do you figure?”

“Simple math. No time limit, plus my endless endurance, minus your very human ability to get tired, equals an eventual hit.”

“No, it . . . that’s crazy. You’re just imitating Nick’s antics.”

“Important difference: I’m not Nick, and you’re not Chad. For him, it was a way to stay in the game; for me, it neutralizes your ability completely. Sooner or later, I’ll connect, and once is all it takes.” With that, Roy rocketed toward Rich once more, powerful legs pounding quickly across the concrete. He missed by a healthy margin, running even faster as he passed Rich’s now slightly panicked form. When he struck the wall, he didn’t pause. He merely reoriented himself and dashed forward again, bounding forth like a well-muscled ping-pong ball. Rich was able to duck this charge too, but as he moved onto safer ground, he found himself taking a deeper breath than normal.

He watched the madman smack into concrete and take off again, and a slow realization began to sink through Rich’s brain. Roy was right. He didn’t get tired, hitting the wall didn’t hurt him, and there was no clock running that would end things for them. Eventually, he’d get lucky, or Rich would get worn out. It was a useless strategy in a real fight, but under only these circumstances, it was a bit of insane brilliance.

Rich’s respect for his opponent rose right along with his fear of the situation he’d put himself in.

*      *      *

“Oooh, nearly got him that time,” Nick said cheerfully as the group watched Rich flail out of the way against yet another of Roy’s assaults.

“He’s getting pretty worn out,” Mary said, narrating the battle with the aid of mental eavesdropping. “He’s already beginning to wonder how many more dodges he has left in him.”

“Doesn’t help that Roy seems to be getting more accurate,” Alex pointed out.

“It’s a vicious cycle that works in our favor,” Nick explained. “The more tired Rich gets, the harder he breathes. The harder he breathes, the easier he is to locate by sound. And the easier he is to locate by sound, the more accurate Roy gets, which leads to more dodging and more exhaustion.”

“I can’t believe beating someone like Rich is this simple,” Alex said.

“It isn’t. There are ridiculously few situations where you can close your eyes and just swing ‘til you miss. The cell, the rules, and the pairing all worked together to make this viable. Plus, of us all, Roy is the only one more or less immune to a normal human’s capacity for physical damage. That means Rich has no venue for counterattack. If it was anyone else on this team, he probably would have come up with and launched some sort of assault. Might not have worked, but he would have had a shot.”

“This was your goal all along, wasn’t it? Literally, this specific match,” Mary asked.

Nick nodded. “Most of the others would shake out more or less the same if we did them a hundred times. This was a bad team for us to fight: they had two people that used techniques we had no immunity to, and one of our best fighters was stuck on the bench due to circumstance.”

“Who?”

“Vince. The only person on Team Two with physical abilities is Chad, who would crush Vince. The others are either girls, opponents who lack any enhanced abilities regarding their body, or those who are able to nullify an opponent through sound or sight. That knack of his for taking it to another level when protecting people cuts both ways. He holds back too much when he feels like his opponent is significantly weaker. In trying not to be a bully, he would underestimate them and get caught by surprise. I thought seeing Camille go down might give him an extra push, but I guess putting him against a girl just made him determined not to see a repeat of what happened to her.”

“Hey, he almost beat Selena,” Alex countered.

“That he did, in the most non-combative way possible. Haven’t you wondered why he didn’t just blast her with electricity before he fell too deep under her spell?”

“I thought he was focusing on the heat.”

“Which would have been unnecessary with the application of a ranged Tasering. No, he didn’t want to hurt her. It would have played like that in pretty much any match. The only variable here was Rich. I knew he could beat any one of us in an open situation; however, in one like this . . . oh look, I think Roy’s about to prove my point for me.”

*      *      *

It had been a matter of inches. Rich almost wished it had been more of a margin, so that he couldn’t look back and chide himself for not moving just that little bit faster. He could visualize it perfectly. Not that it made any difference in his current situation. He winced as he felt the grip around his forearm tighten.

“Hmm, feels pretty thin. I’ll have to be careful with this,” Roy said, a note of malicious glee almost palpable in his voice.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” Rich replied. “You can’t just crush my head. You can’t use lethal force.”

“True. However, the other option is just to make you forfeit. And last I checked, nobody has ever died from repeated breaks to the arms. At least, not immediately.”

“You’re bluffing. That’s torture.”

Roy tightened his grip several degrees more. “Maybe I am. But I bet I’m willing to go further to win this than you want to find out.”

Rich looked at the calm determination etched on his opponent’s face, and all at once, he found himself believing Roy implicitly. “I give up!”

“This match’s winner is Roy Daniels,” Professor Fletcher announced.

“You’re damn right it is,” Roy agreed.

120.

Vince didn’t snap back to consciousness as much as he sluggishly drifted into it. Whether the gradual awakening was an effect of the blow to his head or Selena’s song would be difficult to determine without trial and error, a method Vince wouldn’t be terribly eager to engage in. He blinked a few times as the smooth white tiles of the infirmary ceiling slowly came into focus. It took a moment, but eventually, he figured out that he’d been laid down on one of the cushy cots for healing treatment. With great care, he began to pull himself up to a sitting position. He might not remember smacking his face on the concrete, but the dull ache at the apex of his temple and forehead told the story quite well. Vince had taken enough knocks on the noggin to know that sometimes, reorienting yourself came with dizziness and motion sickness.

This time, thankfully, he didn’t encounter any serious trouble. Now that his torso was upright, he could look around the room. The first thing he saw was also the last, because it so utterly ensnared his focus that all thoughts of observing his surroundings were abandoned. It was, of course, Camille, positioned a few feet away from him and still sleeping soundly. She’d been cleaned up and bandaged, but from the look of the scratches on her face, she hadn’t been healed yet. Her rest seemed peaceful, so Vince assumed she’d at least been given something for the pain. It still didn’t quite explain why she hadn’t been treated.

“Oh, you’re up already,” said a male voice from behind him.

Vince turned to see a fellow student who looked familiar, but whose name either escaped or had never been known to Vince in the first place. “Who are you?”

“I’m Ed, one of the healers on staff today. And you should take it easy. That was a pretty nasty hit you got.”

“I’m fine,” Vince assured him. “Why hasn’t Camille been healed yet?”

“Her injuries weren’t life threatening, so I treated her, gave her some pain meds, and made sure she was comfortable until she woke up.”

“That doesn’t explain why you didn’t heal her,” Vince said, swinging his feet to the ground and pulling himself to a standing position. He realized he might have looked more intimidating than intended when Ed took a few rapid steps backward.

“Look, I wasn’t trying to neglect her or anything. It’s just that, with those injuries to her face, I thought it would be better to let her heal herself. My power only accelerates the body’s own processes, so it can leave scars. From what I’ve seen, hers negates every injury entirely. I just thought she would prefer it that way.”

“I can understand that.” Although Vince wasn’t especially vain, he did get the concept as a whole. “I must say, it’s a little surprising that they’d have a match day with only one healer, especially one with your limitations.”

“There’s an actual healer on staff who oversees us,” Ed corrected. “She likes to let us do most of the work, since we’re the ones getting trained. Unfortunately, there was a bit of an incident with the other group, so she was pulled away to the cells.”

“I see.” Vince turned his attention back to his Camille, who stirred softly as she readjusted.

“We’ve got two other students as well, but one had her own project to work on today, and obviously, Camille was in the matches.”

“Camille works down here?”

“Sure, all the healer students do. It’s part of our training,” Ed explained. “Plus, it saves the staff from having to hire more than one dedicated person with healing abilities. Those can be pretty expensive.”

“Where does she find the time?” Vince wondered aloud. His head throbbed once more, and unconsciously, he reached up to touch the tender area. He was a bit surprised to find his fingers brushing gauze rather than skin. “You didn’t heal me either?”

“Just a bit of patching up.”

“I’d like to be healed now, please.”

“Are you sure? That gash you got along with the impact was pretty deep. If I use my power, you’ll end up with a scar by the hairline on your temple. Camille will probably be up soon.”

“I don’t care about the scar. Just heal me, please.” Vince could deal with scars; he’d had an abundance of them before the incident when he was sixteen. What he couldn’t deal with was the knowledge that something could be affecting his head. He’d come a long way in getting comfortable with his powers; however, anything that might inadvertently make him lose control was far too dangerous to tolerate. Especially with innocent people so close by.

“I guess it’s your choice,” Ed agreed reluctantly. He walked over and carefully pressed his fingers onto Vince’s forehead. There was a moment of nothing, and then Vince felt as though the wound was being swarmed by mosquito bites. It itched beyond description, beyond even understanding. Before he could cry out, let alone try to scratch it, the sensation was gone.

“Sorry about that. I know it’s pretty unpleasant, but it works.”

Vince tenderly pulled off the bandage and felt around. Sure enough, there was no tenderness or pain anywhere on his noggin. Ed’s method might not be as painless as Camille’s, but it did still produce results.

“Thank you.”

“It’s what I’m here for. You’re free to go now; we were only holding you until the wound was treated.”

“I’ll stay here until Camille wakes up, if that’s all right.” Vince’s tone and expression were both the peak of politeness; however, there was a buried edge in his voice that told Ed he was staying, one way or another, so it had damned well better be all right.

“Sure, no rules against it. But don’t you want to know how your team did?”

“I’m certain they’ll come straight here as soon the match is concluded,” Vince said. “Besides, I already know how it ended. We tied.”

Ed cocked an eyebrow of curiosity. “You a telepath?”

Vince smiled at him in reply. “No. I just know my friends.” He pulled a hard plastic chair over from the wall and set it next to Camille’s bed. It became evident within seconds that it would be an intensely uncomfortable place to sit while he waited. That was okay; Vince was well acquainted with discomfort. He settled in and trained his eyes on his wounded teammate. He would be here when she woke up.

He owed her that much at least.

121.

Nick had just finished putting on his regular shoes when Professor Pendleton entered the locker room. The uniform boots, much like the rest of the Lander mandatory outfits, were comfortable and functional, but whoever designed them didn’t have much regard for fashion. Not that Nick could throw stones: his above-ground garb was a t-shirt, jeans, and bright green sneakers. He’d have been turned away from his own casino in that outfit, but it was a necessary camouflage to blend in.

“You didn’t want to go to the infirmary with your friends?” Professor Pendleton asked.

“Nah. I know Vince and Camille are fine. We’ve got good people on staff here. Besides, standing around awkwardly, trying to acknowledge someone got hurt without talking about it, that’s not my idea of a good time. I’ll swoop by after things have settled down a bit.”

“I can appreciate the validity of that strategy. Speaking of, how do you think things went today?”

“Are you fucking kidding? We pulled off a tie against Chad’s team, and I didn’t have to sacrifice a single team secret to do it. I’m not even religious, and I feel like I should be lighting a saint candle in thanks.”

“It was a pretty surprising outcome. I got a briefing from Professor Fletcher. One thing struck me, however; it seemed like, if you’d let Camille use her full power, you would have won.” Professor Pendleton settled down on a nearby bench as they talked. Given his tall, lanky frame, he looked more like a squatting bird as he hunkered down on the low-seated wooden plank.

“First off, getting Camille to use her ability would have been a fight in itself. Even if she’d agreed, it would have been halfhearted and hesitant because Vince was watching. But if, and that’s a big if, she’d managed to win, it would have just put Chad into defensive mode. He would have played it safer, used Will or Rich in the two-person team as support instead of letting them run their own matches. If she’d done it and lost, then we’d have gotten the same outcome, plus we’d have been down a match.”

“Well-reasoned,” Professor Pendleton agreed. “I take it Camille’s match was also a play to get Will sent out?”

Nick nodded. “That kind of shit leaves a foul taste in anyone’s mouth. Will doesn’t have bad blood with any of us. Hell, we all consider him a friend. He was the logical choice to make sure there wasn’t a repeat of what happened with Camille and Sasha.”

“I think we can all be glad that was an isolated incident. The Mary and Alice pairing was quite a cunning move, I must say. You hid her new ability and utilized it at the same time.”

“Yeah, I owe Alex some thanks for that one. Until he pulled his trick, I had no idea how I was going to convince those girls to pair up for the match.”

“You intended to put them together before you thought of hiding Alice’s power?”

“Sure. My biggest fear was that Chad would play Rich in response to someone we sent out. Camille neutralized the first opportunity for that by forcing Sasha out, and Alice neutralized the second.”

“Why would Alice stop him from using Rich?”

“Because of what happened at Halloween. Assuming Chad believes Rich didn’t induce a dead-mother-based fantasy on purpose—which, given Rich’s lack of constant bruises, seems like a fair assumption—he would never willfully put Alice under Rich’s spell again. If he didn’t mean to do it, then there’s no guarantee it wouldn’t happen again. Chad has a parent he never knew, too. He wouldn’t risk putting Alice through that pain again, not unless he had to,” Nick explained.

“I see; so, Alice ensures he won’t be sent out in round two, and by then, it doesn’t matter, because if Chad nominates Rich, you play Roy, and if he uses Selena, you play Vince,” Professor Pendleton said, continuing the path of logic.

“Bingo. Selena’s match was lost to us anyway, as was anyone Vince tangled with, so I just had to make sure and condense the losses as much as possible. Little bastard surprised me, though. For a minute, I thought he was going to pull off a win.” Nick finished tying his shoes and stood up from the smooth bench. His back made a dull crackling sound as he rose, reminding him that he’d neglected his stretching exercises as of late.

“Yes. That loss was . . . unfortunate.”

Nick felt something is his mind bristle. There had been a pause, a hint of a tone, almost imperceptible, in the way Professor Pendleton had said “unfortunate.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing, nothing. Just saying that it was too bad he couldn’t have pulled that off. It would have given your team an actual win, rather than a draw. And, of course, winning against someone like Selena would have reflected well on Vince’s record.” Professor Pendleton’s smile was casual and his words were light, but his eyes were locked steadily on Nick’s face. It was the body language of someone trying to say something without actually saying it. Fortunately, Nick was well-versed in the art of subtle communication.

“True, Selena has placed quite well on most challenges. Of course, Vince is no slouch himself.”

“Well, he tries his best,” Professor Pendleton said. “His only wins during his time at Lander have been against Michael Clark, earlier this year, and when he and Alex teamed up against Thomas Castillo in the freshman midterm. You can see why it would have been quite a coup if he’d gotten the better of a high performer like Selena.”

“Only two wins? I feel like it’s been more than that.”

“You’re no doubt including last year’s kidnapping, as well as some extracurricular events which I can neither encourage nor officially know about, but unfortunately, only official matches can be used for student evaluation.” Professor Pendleton’s eyes were practically bursting out of his sockets now. Nick had to assume the professor’s fear centered on being overheard more than being watched.

“I’m sure he’ll get to strut his stuff in our last team event,” Nick assured him.

“Let’s hope so. I know nepotism and networking are considered the great forces that get one ahead in the outside world, but here in the HCP, the only factor that will get you to the next year is dedication. That goes for you, too, you know.” Professor Pendleton rose from his strange perch and headed toward the door. “Don’t forget, you have an assignment due Wednesday on code breaking.”

Once the professor was gone, Nick sat back down. Whatever he was trying to say had to have been in his parting words. This week’s assignment was in tonal recognition, so the code breaking thing had been a heavy-handed hint. That was the direction, which meant the clue was in the first part. He’d said that nepotism and networking were the great forces for advancement. That didn’t seem to pertain too much to Vince. He got along with everyone, but he wasn’t the type to use friendship to get ahead. Besides, the only teacher he’d spent truly extensive time with was Coach George, so that wouldn’t be helping him anytime soon. And as for nepotism, that was even less likely. Alice might have a dad in high places, but Vince didn’t have anyone. After all, he was an orphan with no parents. Well, unless you counted—

“FUCK!” Nick yelled, driving his fist into the nearest locker and leaving an impressive dent that would take a workman three hours to fix on Monday. Nick didn’t even notice; his marvelous brain was whirring with such intensity it was nearly audible. He’d missed it. It was obvious, it was right fucking there, and he’d missed it. Nick took a deep breath and tried to get calm. It didn’t work.

He’d missed it. And now, there was a good chance that Vince was completely fucked.

122.

“I still can’t believe you guys pulled that off,” Hershel said in awe. Mary nuzzled closer to him; the two were lounging on his bed, looking at the television without watching it.

“Sure, all it took to get a tie was two injuries and what I’m pretty sure was divine intervention in the form of Nick’s lineup working,” Mary sighed.

“Admittedly, it wasn’t perfect, but it was still impressive,” Hershel countered. “And to be honest, it was just what Roy needed. He’s hidden it well, but he’s been really down about this whole issue with hitting his limit. Finding a way to beat Rich was a pretty good morale boost.”

“I know, and I’m actually happy with the outcome, I just don’t want to get too overconfident,” Mary replied. “We had a whole lot of things break our way. Nine times out of ten, that team would beat us definitively.”

“Good thing we got the one out of ten then,” Hershel said, giving his girlfriend a loving squeeze.

“Very good thing. I’m happy Roy is feeling better, too. I’ve heard his thoughts, and I know his inability to break through that wall has been eating at him.”

“It’s getting pretty bad,” Hershel agreed. “Professor Fletcher has run through every method he knows of, and Roy’s read up on gobs of people with his power, yet so far, we’ve seen zero progress.”

“It’s not something people like to talk about, but every one of us does have limits. Eventually, we all hit a threshold we can’t cross, no matter how hard we train. We’re not gods, after all; just people with special abilities,” Mary said.

“I know, and that’s the scariest part of it. If this is it, if this is as far as Roy can go, then I’m not sure we’ll ever make it to Hero. There’s just too much of a gap between what we can do and what strongmen at that level are capable of.”

“Wasn’t your dad a Hero? I thought Roy had his ability, and usually, the second generation is equal to or stronger than the first,” Mary pointed out.

“‘Usually’ is a pretty key word there,” Hershel said. “But Roy doesn’t have my dad’s power. Not exactly. His power was adaptation. If he got injured, his body would toughen itself so the same thing wouldn’t hurt him anymore. For example, when he was a kid, he took a nasty tumble off his bike and scratched up his knees and elbows. A week later, he fell off again, and that time, his skin wasn’t even raw.”

“Didn’t he have super strength too?”

“Same principle. He’d fail to lift something, and within a day, he’d be strong enough to do it. By the time he was an adult, his defensive and offensive capabilities were already on par with famous Heroes.”

“Strange that the son of a man whose very ability was breaking through limits would hit his own so early on,” Mary said offhandedly. “Chalk another one up to the mystery of how these powers work.”

“Yeah, it is pretty weird.” Hershel’s voice had grown a bit distant, and Mary had to actively quell the desire to listen in on where his mind had wandered. She managed to resist, but if she’d tuned in, all she would have heard was him reminiscing over a memory from childhood. It was one that Roy had blocked out, but that still haunted Hershel in moments like these.

It was about a month after Roy had come into the picture. He and his father had been sitting in a park, eating ice cream on a warm afternoon. The details had grown blurry, but the one piece that was still sharp was his father’s hand patting Hershel’s head, and his voice telling Hershel that one day, the two of them would surpass him by leap and bounds. Even now, looking back, it didn’t feel like speculation. It seemed like his father knew something, something that was becoming increasingly more important as Roy stayed still while the rest of the class moved forward.

Mary poked him in the ribs. “Hey, you in there?”

“Sorry, I was just thinking about something,” Hershel said. Gazing at Mary, it suddenly sank in that if Roy couldn’t make the cut, they would fall on a very different path than Mary and the others. Hershel didn’t want to lose future memories of the HCP, even if they were secondhand. He didn’t want to live in a different world than all of his friends. Most of all, he didn’t want to feel his brother’s frustration and fear anymore. Roy had been an ass to him for a lot of their life, but when push came to shove, he’d always looked out for his weaker brother. It was Hershel’s turn to do something Roy couldn’t.

“When is spring break?” Hershel asked.

“Like, two weeks away. Didn’t you see the posters for the freshman river trip?”

“Must have missed those.”

“Why do you ask?”

“Just figuring out how I’m going to spend my time off. Wanted to know how much prep time there was.”

“I hope you come up with something fun. We could all use some stress relief after our semester so far.”

“That we could,” Hershel agreed. It was the only phrase he could come up with that sounded on the same page but wouldn’t count as a lie. His spring break would be anything but fun. It would be hard to keep from Roy, too. Fortunately, Roy didn’t often reminisce on Hershel’s memories of Mary, so if he was lucky, the other brother wouldn’t notice this harebrained idea lurking in their shared mind. It would take damn near a miracle, but after today’s spectacle, Hershel found himself a bit more inclined to hope for one.

123.

“I can’t believe you lost to a song,” Camille chuckled lightly. “Didn’t you think to just stick your fingers in your ears?” She and Vince were in the dining hall, eating a late dinner and nearly alone in the spacious enclosure. Everyone from both teams, with the exception of Sasha, had come to check on her in the infirmary; however, it was past afternoon by the time she finally woke up, so all but Vince had eventually needed to leave for other classes. The pain drugs they’d given her had evidently worked better than expected, as Camille usually classified herself as a light sleeper. Once she finally came around, it was a quick matter to heal herself, and once Vince had caught her up on the match outcomes, they’d both realized they were ravenous.

“Generally, it’s a bad idea to stick things in your ears that are putting out heat in the hundreds of degrees,” Vince pointed out. He took a bite of low-quality hamburger and swallowed it with some effort. “Besides, it wouldn’t have worked.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t totally understand it, but Alex explained to me and Nick once why you don’t have to hear Selena’s music to be entranced by it. He said it was like the way someone can turn their bass so high that you feel it rippling through your body.”

“My cousin has a car set up like that. He gave me a ride home from swim practice once, and I nearly threw up,” Camille recalled. It normally would have weakened her appetite, but if the lukewarm chicken tenders on her plate couldn’t turn her stomach, then some childhood memory of discomfort didn’t stand a chance.

“Right. Basically the same thing. Even though you might not register it, your body still absorbs her song. Evidently, that’s all it takes. It’s why Alex created a technique that pushed back all sound, not just the waves around his ears.”

“Good thing for him that he did,” Camille said. She dragged a limp, soggy fry through ketchup in the hopes it would improve the taste. It didn’t. “It sounds like Will would have had that match sewn up if he hadn’t pulled that trick out of his hat.”

“Yeah, everyone did a really amazing job today.” Vince didn’t say “except me,” because he didn’t have to. He felt like everyone was already thinking it. Instead, he cut his sentence short and gulped down some flat soda that had come with his meal. Camille heard the unspoken words in his voice anyway.

“I’m sorry, Vince. I didn’t mean to laugh. It just seemed funny because of how strong I know you are. After I saw you fight Michael, it was hard to imagine anyone beating you. Selena is powerful in her own right, though, and there’s no shame in losing to her.”

“She is. She’s incredible,” Vince agreed. “But I think I could have beaten her if I’d used electricity.”

“Let me guess, you held back because you were scared of hurting her?”

Vince looked up from his food into the compassionate stare of his dinner-mate. “How did you know?”

“It’s who you are. All this strength is still relatively new to you, so you err on the side of caution rather than risk seriously injuring someone.”

“In this case, that weakness of mine cost us an upset win. That’s what’s eating at me; I had the chance to really make a difference, and I couldn’t pull the trigger on it.” Vince noticed his hand had involuntarily clenched into a fist as it rested on the table. A smaller hand, one far more delicate than his own, settled on top of it and squeezed.

“Kindness is not a weakness,” Camille said firmly. “The fact that you care so much about other people is part of why you do make a difference. Maybe not in some stupid match, but in the world as a whole.”

“You think too much of me,” Vince replied. His hand relaxed, and it could have been his imagination, but he would have sworn Camille’s lingered on top of his for a few moments after. Then it was gone, and they were back to working their way through the culinary catastrophe set before them.

“So, what is Nick planning for celebration, anyway? Monster movie marathon, or maybe a night at some sketchy dive bar?”

“Actually, he said he wanted to take the night to reflect on the day’s events,” Vince informed her. “I guess it’s tactician stuff.”

*      *      *

Nick was well through his sixth glass of gin at the moment in question. He was at a bar far from campus; the cab ride here had been nearly forty dollars, and now he’d have to spend the same to get back. It was worth the cash to be here. This was a dark lounge with thick smoke in the air, a place where no one asked for an ID, because if you had the clout to know about it, your business was welcome. There were places like it all over America, and Nick made it a point to know the nearest one whenever he was stuck in a new city.

He sat alone in a high-backed leather chair, vision trained on a fake fireplace with a projection of flames dancing across it. There were people to talk to and things to do of which he could avail himself, but that wasn’t why he’d come here. Nick needed to be alone. He needed to drink in misery and have a night to chastise himself for such an unforgivable failure. He needed penance, and more importantly, he needed focus.

Vince was in danger of being kicked out. It made sense; all policies aside, the son of Globe would be no more welcome in the HCP than the son of Hitler at a bar mitzvah. That it wasn’t a blood relation or an official adoption was even worse; it meant the little protection that applied to children of criminal Supers could be sidestepped. It couldn’t be an easy process, at least, otherwise they would have drummed him out already.

Another hearty gulp of gin smoothed his nerves as Nick continued to work through the problem. Someone wanted Vince out based on Chad’s accusations. They probably couldn’t eliminate him based solely on something so flimsy, however. Professor Pendleton had specifically mentioned Vince’s sub-par record in official matches, so there was a good chance that was the avenue being pursued. Nick took another long drink as the false flames flickered. Vince was middle of the pack. He’d improved, but his tendency toward caution meant he never truly showcased his skills. If things kept up at this pace, he could fail to advance to third year without raising too much suspicion. Friends would be sad, but no one would be able to prove it was intentional discrimination. Not with an official record like his.

Nick cleaned out the glass and motioned for another. Clearly, the solution was to make sure that Vince put on such a display of power in the final match that failing to advance him would raise all manner of hell. It had taken Nick six drinks to figure out the “what,” now all that remained was coming up with the “how.” He suspected it would require more gin than this bar stocked, but he was willing to find out.

124.

Wednesday morning, Mary found a note inside her gym locker, resting delicately on top of her uniform. It politely informed her to get dressed and report to Dean Blaine’s office rather than the gym. She mentally flipped through recent events to see if anyone had committed a transgression their captain might be held accountable for. Nothing really stuck out to her, and she usually kept close tabs on Nick’s thoughts in case he was planning something she wanted advanced warning about. Unfortunately, he was good at controlling the direction of his mind’s wandering when around her, so it was possible she’d missed something.

She arrived at the dean’s office to find the door open and two men waiting inside. One was the dean, seated behind his expansive desk, and the other was Chad, looking as uncertain as she felt. She wondered if it had something to do with last week’s match, though she couldn’t imagine why. Everyone had recovered and moved on. Sasha still seemed to stay as far away from their team as possible during gym, but that hardly seemed like anything the dean would involve himself with.

“Good morning, Mary,” Dean Blaine greeted her. “Please shut the door and take a seat.”

“Yes, sir.” She closed it gently, then settled into one of the open chairs before the dean’s desk.

“I’m sure you’re both wondering why I’ve called you here, and I see no reason to keep you in suspense. As you both are probably aware, you represent the strongest combatants of each sex in your class. This is no small feat, especially given the impressive talents of those you are in competition with,” Dean Blaine said. Mary had a sneaking suspicion he’d given this speech before. There was something polished about it, like he’d had time to overthink the delivery.

“With such high office comes a great deal of respect,” Dean Blaine continued. “However, it also comes with certain responsibilities and obligations. As others were tasked to shepherd you, you will be watching over the next generation.”

“Excuse me, but I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” Mary admitted.

“Isn’t it obvious? I’d have thought you two noticed the posters outside the gym by now.”

“Posters? The only posters I’ve seen are for the river trip,” Chad said.

“Precisely,” Dean Blaine affirmed.

“I’m confused,” Mary said.

“Ah yes, I forgot you didn’t attend last year’s outing. The river trip is largely funded by the school; however, we do not send teachers as supervision. We instead send our top sophomore students from each sex to handle any issues that might arise.”

Mary raised a very suspicious eyebrow. “What kind of issues?”

“Last year, there were some fights, one person got lost, and Allen set the forest on fire,” Chad supplied in what he thought was a helpful manner.

“That doesn’t really sound like my cup of tea,” Mary said.

“I, too, would like to decline the honor,” Chad seconded. “I only went last year as part of a bargain with Angela DeSoto.”

“I can certainly understand the sentiment,” Dean Blaine said graciously. “Unfortunately, this isn’t something you’re allowed to decline. It is an assignment just like any other you receive in the HCP.”

“That doesn’t seem fair,” Mary shot back. “Why do we have to spend our time off doing work when everyone else gets to go have fun?”

“For one thing, the HCP is not bound by traditional school schedules. For another, most of our chaperones will tell you that even with the weight of their responsibility, they still had fun. As to fairness, it is actually very fair. Someone had to do it for your class, and two of the current freshmen will be doing it next year. And more than any other reason, this will provide a training opportunity unlike any other you’re likely to receive.”

“Training?” Chad perked up visibly at this word.

“Indeed. You’re both captains of your teams, and presuming you become full-fledged Heroes, you’ll likely continue to find yourselves in such a capacity. You are both powerful, resourceful, and trustworthy. People turn to you; that’s why you were chosen for those leadership roles. Not all teams in your life will be made up of friends, however. The Hero world is chaotic. Sometimes, you’ll have to work with people you don’t know, or even ones you dislike.”

“How does that factor into us watching Supers get drunk on a river?” Mary asked.

Dean Blaine gave her a smile that said she’d stepped exactly where he wanted her to. “My dear girl, if you can corral drunk Supers in their late teens, then there is no combination of people on this planet you won’t be able to coordinate. It teaches patience, flexibility, and working outside your comfort zones.”

Both students stayed quiet for a moment as they digested his words. It was Mary who eventually reached a conclusion and spoke. “I suppose you do make a compelling case.”

“While it is not optional, I do want you both to get something out of it.”

“Right. When you put it that way, I guess my answer is yes,” Mary said. She’d played enough chess with Mr. Numbers to know when she was beaten.

“If it is official training, I will gladly participate,” Chad added.

“Glad you’re both on board. You can go ahead and walk over to gym now. I’ll get you the details of what’s expected and where to be once the date is a bit closer,” Dean Blaine said. He gestured for them to stand, and Mary complied. Chad, however, stayed where he was.

“I actually have another matter I’d like to discuss with the dean in private,” Chad said as both people stared at him curiously.

“Very well,” Dean Blaine accepted.

Mary took the cue and departed. Part of her wanted to linger around the area, but she knew it wouldn’t have done any good. She couldn’t read the mind of either man in the room, and she had a sneaking suspicion that Dean Blaine’s office was completely soundproof when the door was shut.

Back in the office, Dean Blaine looked at Chad curiously. “What else did you want to talk about?”

“Actually, it’s still about the river trip,” Chad explained. “It really is mandatory, right? That’s not just something you said to get her to go along with it?”

“It really is mandatory. You aren’t the first reluctant chaperones we’ve had. Actually, it is more the rule than the exception, since we tend to pick responsible students for the role. Ms. DeSoto was easily the most enthusiastic person to get the job that I’ve ever had,” Dean Blaine clarified.

“All right then. If it’s an official HCP activity, then an HCP official can explain to my mother why I won’t be coming home as expected over spring break,” Chad replied. “I took enough guilt for it last year.”

Dean Blaine’s face grew a few shades paler. “Miriam is expecting you? I assumed you would be staying here to train.”

“Nope. I told her I’d be home the whole week. I hope you’ve got a good way to make it up to her.”

“I suppose I’ll have to think of one,” Dean Blaine replied. Miriam was not a woman he enjoyed being on the bad side of, especially when it came to her son. He’d miscalculated on this one, and if he didn’t come up with something pretty damn good, he’d be regretting it.

“Good luck with that,” Chad said with a wicked smile. It was a dash of humor at Dean Blaine’s expense that would have been commonplace in anyone his age, yet it left Dean Blaine with a smile of his own once the young man was gone from the office. Before coming to Lander, Chad wouldn’t have even summoned up that small spark of laughter. Either the HCP or the people in it were having a positive effect on him, and that made even Miriam’s substantial wrath worth bearing.

Dean Blaine’s eyes darted to the phone, then looked away. It might be worth bearing, but that was no reason to face it without some sort of a game plan.

125.

“That totally sucks,” Alice said, not quite whining, but not keeping too far from it either. “I was looking forward to actually hanging out with you over break.”

“Especially since you couldn’t be with us last year,” Vince added.

The Melbrook group was in the common area, clustered about in various reclining positions. Mary had waited until everyone was together to break the news of her hijacked spring break plans, unleashing a small current of surprise and disappointment through their thoughts. One mind exuded phrases of relief, and it was all Mary could to do to keep from looking shocked when she realized who it was.

“It seems unfair that they’d make you do that even though you didn’t go on the trip last year,” Hershel pointed out.

“I could have gone. Me not taking the opportunity doesn’t excuse me from the responsibility tied to getting it in the first place,” Mary replied.

“This is an unfortunate turn of events,” Nick said. “However, it shines a bright light on an issue none of us has previously addressed.” Everyone stared at him blankly. Nick let out an exasperated sigh that was only half acting. “What are the rest of us going to do for spring break? We’ve got, like, a week and a few days before it starts, and no one has put together any plans.”

“We could stay here and train,” Vince suggested immediately. He glanced at Hershel, expecting him to agree on behalf of Roy, but found the portly young man pointedly avoiding his gaze.

“Let’s just veto that crap right off the bat,” Nick replied. “Spring break is a break, as in a vacation, as in not a time for more training. We’ve gone over the resting muscle analogy before. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“I guess you’re right,” Vince agreed reluctantly. “How about camping?”

“I suppose that’s one to consider,” Nick said. “My own proposal is that we all pitch in and go rent a beach house for the week. They jack the prices up, but we should be able to afford a crappy one.”

“I hate to point this out, but those are usually all booked before February,” Hershel said. “Roy used to hang out with some kids from a local college back home, and they had to book in November to get anything decent.”

“Huh, well, I guess camping is the frontrunner then,” Nick surmised. He was actually a little surprised that beach trips required so much preparation. The entire culture of Vegas was built around the idea of last minute decisions and impromptu trips. Vacations were one of the few areas his extensive training hadn’t prepared him for.

“Not necessarily,” Alice interrupted. “Between the two, I’d prefer sun and sand over bugs and dirt. So I vote for beach.”

“I wouldn’t mind the beach,” Vince said. “It just doesn’t seem likely we can get a house to rent.”

“Yeah. So let’s just stay at mine,” Alice offered.

“Waaaaait a minute. You have a beach house?” Nick asked.

“Not ‘a’ beach house, no. We’ve got, like, seven throughout the world. One is in California, only a few hours’ drive away. They mostly go unused; my dad likes to lend them to people he’s in business with to keep relations good.” She stopped talking as she became aware of the surprise and occasional confusion peppering the faces of her friends. “What? You all know I’m rich.”

“I guess we kind of forgot,” Vince admitted. “You don’t bring it up very often.”

Alice shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter that often. This time it did.”

“The girl isn’t wrong about that one,” Nick agreed. “I assume it’s big enough for all of us?”

“It’s got ten bedrooms and two kitchens. We’ll be fine. In fact, we should probably see if any of our other friends have plans yet. No offense, but with Mary gone, I wouldn’t mind the company of a few more females.”

“We can spread the word and get a headcount through the rest of the week. For now, at least we four have something of a plan,” Nick said.

“Three,” Hershel corrected.

“Pardon me?”

“Three of you. I’ve already got something planned.”

Mary was gripped by the desire to peek inside her boyfriend’s mind and see what secret was motivating him to pass on such fun. Somehow, she resisted. Before had been an accident: she’d merely opened herself to the room. This would be intentional prying, and going down that path was the fastest way toward an awkward breakup. At least now she knew why he’d been relieved. He wasn’t going to have to miss time with her, since she’d be on the river trip anyway.

“Care to share, or is this some secret training thing?” Nick asked.

“Something like the second. Sorry, guys.”

“It’s okay,” Vince said. “We’d love to have you over break, but if you have something you need to do, then we understand.”

“Thanks.” Hershel meant the gratitude, but internally, his focus had shifted away from the room’s conversation. Roy was going to notice this memory; it centered on the beach and partying, two of his favorite things. He’d want to know why Hershel turned down the opportunity, which meant the jig was up as far as keeping Roy in the dark on what they were really doing. It had been a tenuous proposition in the first place, but he’d hoped to get at least a few more days along before this happened. At least it was the afternoon. He could talk to the HCP staff tomorrow before class started. Hopefully, they would see where Hershel was coming from. Hopefully.

“So, we three will hit up Alice’s house, along with whichever of our friends want to join. Unless you need to ask permission before we roll out invites?” Nick asked.

“No, I’ll just call the staff and tell them to prep and stock the place,” Alice replied. “My dad is in Indonesia on some trip right now, and even if he were here, I doubt he’d care.” If anyone heard the slight touch of bitterness in her voice that came with that statement, they chose to keep it themselves.

“Okay then,” Nick said, quickly paving over Alice’s temporary vulnerability. “I think we’ve got ourselves the making of one hell of a party week.”

126.

Professor Fletcher heard the knock at his open door and glanced up from the reports he’d been pretending to read. An unfamiliar, husky boy stood a step outside, looking at the professor with a healthy dollop of fear. Professor Fletcher’s brain swept through the situation to puzzle out exactly who this kid was. It was too late in the year for any of the freshmen to still be portly: three hours of gym a day had shrunk even the heaviest of them. The older students would all still be in tip-top shape as well, so this kid wasn’t a participant in the program. Add to that the fact that he wasn’t wearing a uniform, but he’d still managed to get down here and knew where the offices were, making him someone who would have comprehensive knowledge of and access to the HCP, yet clearly wasn’t participating in it himself. That narrowed down the subject pool considerably.

“You’re the other Daniels boy. Hershel, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Come on in, then. What can I do for you?”

Hershel moved through the room like a hemophiliac navigating a razor maze, eventually sitting in a chair by the professor’s desk with his back straight and his body signaling it was ready to run. “I, um, I came to talk to you about the rest of the classes before spring break.”

“What about them?”

“If it’s . . . if it’s okay with you, I’d like permission for Roy to miss them.”

Normally, Professor Fletcher would have suspected a ploy for an extra week of vacation; however, the terror tremors rippling through the kid in front of him said clearly that asking for this was one of the last things he wanted to do. Whatever the reason was, it must have been a pretty damn good one.

“Obviously, that isn’t going to fly well with all of Roy’s teachers, so I’m guessing you’ve got an explanation for that kind of request?”

Hershel nodded. “I can’t let him out until after spring break. I’ve decided to do something that will really piss—er, I mean, anger him. I don’t know how he’ll try to sabotage or stop me, so I can’t risk it.”

“Wild guess: this has something to do with the limit wall he’s been unable to break through,” Professor Fletcher ventured.

“How did you know?”

“Usually, someone goes to their favorite professor with this kind of thing, or at least the one they think likes them the best. I’ve spent the most time with him, which means putting up with his ego and his badly-articulated attempt at a Southern drawl, not to mention his tendency to call me a cocksucker when things I suggest don’t work, so I think you’re smart enough to go elsewhere for favors. Unless it concerned the very reason I have put in all that time with him, which would be working past his wall.”

“I suppose that’s fair. Roy’s grown a lot, but he still doesn’t handle frustration particularly well. And yes, I have an idea for how to break through his limit.”

“I’m all ears,” Professor Fletcher said.

“Oh. I have to tell you? I thought, if you knew the reason . . .” Hershel trailed off as he realized he didn’t have much logic to the end of his argument.

“Look, I agree that what you’re proposing is important. More than a week of HCP training, and that’s saying a lot. From the way you’re fidgeting, I think you’re hoping I’ll be the one to explain this to the rest of the professors. Which I will, if—and only if—I believe you’re doing something that could really work and not just waste more time.”

Hershel swallowed and took a deep breath. Once he said it aloud, there was no going back. Roy would be mad, beyond mad, really. This could undo all the progress they’d made in their relationship since coming to Lander. His brother might never forgive him. But . . . it was all he could do. Roy was always the one who had to face the danger, always the one who had to brave the pain of battle. Hershel would never be able to protect his brother the way Roy watched over him. He could do this, at the very least. He could undertake a mission even Roy couldn’t handle.

“I’m going to see my father.”

Professor Fletcher raised an eyebrow. “I’d gotten the impression from Roy that that option was off the table.”

“For him. Not for me. I’ll go and talk to him.”

“And you think he holds the secret to making Roy stronger? Because I’m not exactly new to this, and I haven’t found a single thing that works.”

“I think he does. He’s the first trainer Roy ever had. No one knows Roy’s power better than my father. If there is a way for Roy to improve, he would be the one to know it.”

“I can believe that,” Professor Fletcher acknowledged. “But what if he doesn’t? What if he’s just as clueless as the rest of us?”

“Then . . . then I don’t think Roy and I will be advancing to junior year, will we?”

Professor Fletcher weighed his reaction carefully. The wrong phrasing could dash what tattered hope these two were still holding on to. “At his current level, Roy performs in the upper ranks of the class as far as combat. However, limitations are an issue that is considered here. If he truly can’t get any more powerful, then he wouldn’t be able to hack it at higher levels. It would be irresponsible of us to give an advancement spot to someone we know is going to fail out.”

“I understand,” Hershel said. He really did, too. Hershel got that, strong as Roy was, if this was all he could do, then it wasn’t enough. The fight with Coach George had illustrated the problem perfectly. Strongmen had to be able to deal damage, and against the upper echelon of Supers, Roy simply couldn’t. “That’s why I have to try to do this. I have to go see my father. If he can’t help, then at least we did everything we could. If he can, well, then maybe one day Roy will forgive me.”

“For your sake, I hope so,” Professor Fletcher said. “Fine. You can miss all the classes until spring break. I’ll settle things with the dean and the other professors. And I expect a full report on what you learned as soon as you get back, obviously.”

“Of course. Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now, you should probably head back to the surface. I’ve got a class coming up, and you have a trip to plan.”

Hershel didn’t need to be told twice; he exited the room so fast that Professor Fletcher was left momentarily wondering if the husky kid had been concealing a super-speed ability.

127.

“Let me ask: do you have any swimsuits that don’t look like they were purchased from a nunnery?” Violet held up a truly awful one-piece that had body-masking ruffles perfectly illustrating her point.

“I like to be comfortable when I swim,” Camille defended weakly.

“And I’d like for the gentleman you’ve got your eye on to not be capable of taking his own peepers off you,” Violet shot back. “Come on, they invited us to a giant beach house for a week of surf, sand, and severe intoxication. The least you can do is offer up a little eye candy.”

Camille shuffled her feet and kept her eyes trained on the floor. “There will be plenty of girls for him to stare at. Half of our class is coming.”

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Violet sighed, setting down her friend’s suit. It had taken her days of wheedling to convince Camille to do a wardrobe evaluation in her dorm before setting off on the trip. “You and I both know he’s not the type to go stupid over some barely covered breasts. Honestly, he’s so non-aggressive that if not for his history with Sasha, I’d be wondering if he played for the other team.”

Camille snorted a laugh. “He can be a little a shy.”

“You can be shy. He’s just . . . I’m actually not sure what the word is.”

“He’s different,” Camille answered for her, an unexpected smile dancing across her face.

“I’ll give you that,” Violet agreed. “However, he is still male. Male, and able to be sexually engaged. So maybe let’s at least get you something to swim in that’s cute, if still modest.”

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“No, and if you don’t give in soon, I’m going to call Stella and get her involved, too.”

“Fiiiiiiiiiine,” Camille said, stretching out the word in half acceptance, half groan. “Fine. We can go to the mall. But I’m not getting anything I’m uncomfortable wearing in public.”

“Nor would I want you to,” Violet replied. “I just want everyone to be able to see how cute you really are.”

“Let’s just get this over with.” Camille hopped up from the bed and grabbed her keys. There were only a few days left until everyone departed for the beach. Better to start the hunt for a mutually satisfactory swimsuit now rather than get strong-armed into something when the deadline drew near.

*      *      *

“I have to say, I’m impressed with you,” Angela commented as her little brother haphazardly tossed clothes into a duffle bag. “I never would have expected you to skip a week of training to go lounge at the beach.”

Shane avoided looking at his sister, who was perched on his bed, idly flipping through some of his books as she talked. Angela had shown up, uninvited and unwanted, half an hour ago to talk about spring break plans. He greatly suspected she’d come with the intention of forcing him into some activity he’d hate; however, she’d been beaten to the punch on that one.

“I don’t have much of a choice,” he grumbled, digging through the shallow dorm dresser drawers for extra socks. “They gave an open invite, and my entire team jumped on it. Half of them are good friends with Team One anyway, and the rest weren’t going to give up a free beach cabin.”

“That’s why I’m impressed. Shane from a year ago would have just trudged on with his training in spite of the fact that his whole team was going off to share an awesome experience. Being a captain has been good for you.”

A witty retort smashed against Shane’s teeth, begging to be let out, but he held it in. She didn’t need to know that he’d only appreciated the importance of team unity because it made them work together better in matches. And she certainly didn’t need to be informed that Shane considered this a golden opportunity to gather information on the people he’d be most likely to face in the year’s final match. No, better she think this some silly attempt on his part to feel closer to his team.

“I’m half surprised you didn’t find a way to invite yourself along,” Shane replied, shifting the topic away from himself.

“I thought about it, but the only folks I know from your grade are you and Chad. He’s not going, and you’re a sourpuss, so it didn’t seem like it would be much fun.”

“What will you be doing with your time off, then?”

“Cancun with some people from my class,” she said with a shrug. “I do have my own friends, you know.”

“You’d never guess it from the way you hang around me,” Shane sniped.

“That’s just ’cause I like to make sure my widdle brother doesn’t get so tightly wound that he has a heart attack when he’s twenty.”

“I am not tightly wound,” Shane said, his neck tightening in annoyance. “I just don’t take life as flippantly as you.”

“Potato, potahto,” Angela said. “Speaking of, you got any grub? I’ve got a powerful hunger gnawing at my gut.”

Shane resisted the urge to try and hurl a lamp at her head. She’d just dodge it if he did, and then he’d be less one lamp. Instead, he focused on the fact that the upside of this week would be seven magical days away from the annoying interruptions of his sister. For once, Shane couldn’t wait until classes were over.

*      *      *

Nick was an hour away from Lander at a nondescript diner, eating a burger that he could only assume was the chef’s manifesto of hate against the world, when the girl walked in. Her long dark curls hung midway down a back wrapped in a red leather jacket that clung just the right amount of tightly to her chest. Her legs were sheathed in leather too, ostensibly a safety precaution since she’d ridden here on a motorcycle, but the way they hugged her noteworthy ass suggested an ulterior motive in their selection. She scanned the diner once, then walked to Nick’s booth and sat down.

“My goodness, I didn’t expect delivery from our top reproduction specialist,” Nick said by way of greeting.

“Please, you know this kind of stuff isn’t my area. Cybil did the work, but she had a bar mitzvah for her nephew, so she asked me to make the drop.”

“How kind of you.”

The girl’s eyes twinkled as her mouth twisted into a smirk. “I couldn’t pass up the chance to see the legendary Nicholas Campbell playing a good boy. Nice clothes, by the way.”

Nick bristled inwardly, but kept any annoyance off his face. He was playing a role; the fact that he looked so ridiculous spoke only to the fact that he had succeeded in creating an identity truly separate from his own.

“Eliza, much as I adore your body, your wit has never wowed me. How about we get down to business?”

“No need to be rude. Just because I’m the one girl in Vegas you haven’t been inside doesn’t mean you get a pass to be a dick. Especially not when I come bearing gifts.” She reached into her jacket and produced a thick white envelope. Carefully setting it on the table, she slid it over until it touched Nick’s plate.

Nick set down his burger and wiped his hands on the barely adequate napkin. He gently plucked up the envelope and popped it open by sliding his thumb along the seal. A quick survey of the contents seemed to satisfy him, as he laid it back on the table and returned to his meal. “Tell Cybil she’ll get her money within the week. Also, let her know the work was exceptional, as always.”

“I’ll pass it along,” Eliza replied. “Why do you need that many fake IDs?”

“Think of it as my little contribution to a truly exceptional vacation.”

“Whatever, long as Cybil gets paid,” Eliza said with a shake of her head. “I think that concludes our business. Unless you want to introduce me to some of these mysterious fellow students of yours?”

“If that were the plan, I wouldn’t have met you out here,” Nick pointed out. “Besides, you’d loathe them. Dreadfully dull compared to the company we keep.”

“I bet.” Eliza’s tone said she didn’t believe him, but her standing and heading out the door said she didn’t really care.

That was good; Nick had no intention of letting his real life and his Lander life mix. Much like the awful meal he was barely getting down, that particular combination of ingredients would produce a truly horrific flavor.

128.

Roy might have known how to ride a motorcycle, but Hershel was less certain of both his balance and his ability to shrug off a collision. Thankfully, Nick was carpooling with Alex to the beach house, so he’d offered up his car as a substitute. Hershel’s only concern as he cruised along the sun-ravaged highway was that this tiny automobile would offer scarcely more protection than a bike in a crash. Still, it wasn’t dependent on him managing not to tip over, so for that, he was thankful.

It hadn’t been a long trip from Lander campus to Colorado; despite waiting to say goodbye to Mary before departing, the afternoon sky was still bright as Hershel pulled into the gravel parking lot. It would be a few hours until the sizable building before him was open for business, but Hershel’s father would be here already. He was always a man early to rise and begin the day’s work. Hershel could have gotten here faster if he hadn’t stopped so often, but something in his stomach seemed to be twisted up. This resulted in more bathroom and antacid breaks than necessary. He was here, at last. All he had to do was get out of the car and walk in the door.

An hour later, the sun was drifting downward, and Hershel was still sitting in Nick’s car. There was no going back, not after making Roy miss class and keeping him confined for a week. His brother’s wrath would be tremendous; the only saving grace would be making this work. Still, how many years had it been since he’d seen his father? Since he’d looked at the gigantic man with his own eyes? His mother had done a tremendous job of hiding Titan’s Scandal from Hershel; it hadn’t been until after Roy went to see him that they found out what happened. Until then, he hadn’t understood why his father left. He’d only known how much he missed him.

It occurred to Hershel that if he didn’t move soon, other cars might start showing up. There were a few hours of daylight left, but that didn’t mean there couldn’t be early-birds. The idea of having his reunion with other people around was enough to finally force Hershel from the fabric seat he’d been stalling for time in. He shut the door and locked the car with the fob on the keychain.

No going back. Hershel began the long walk toward the front door.

*      *      *

Nick let out a low whistle as he took in the layout of Alice’s beach house. The ground floor was enormous, with a spectacular kitchen and living room that looked like it could comfortably seat twenty people, all with a good view of the enormous plasma television. Through a door on the side was a game room, with two pool tables and what appeared to be an old-school arcade game already visible from Nick’s vantage point. Next to the restaurant-grade refrigerator was a single tap above a knob with twenty various beer logos on it. He’d seen a similar setup at some high-end bars—one tap able to pull from multiple routed kegs—but even in the decadence of Vegas, Nick had never encountered such a system in a home.

“I’ll say this about your dad, he knows how to build a party pad,” Nick commented.

“My dad hates this kind of place,” Alice corrected him. “Like I said, it mainly exists so he can loan it out to clients or businesses he’s trying to woo.”

“Consider me wooed.”

“Wow, this place is huge!” Vince exclaimed, dragging his bag in through the door. Alex was only a few steps behind, his amazement apparent in the way his eyes flitted about the surroundings. The quartet had left earlier than the rest of the students to make sure they were there to greet arrivals. It had taken them longer than expected to arrive, though that was chiefly because Alex’s car, while roomy, wasn’t quite built for speed. They’d received more than a few middle-finger salutes as they puttered along the highway at fifty miles an hour, but they’d still managed to arrive intact.

“I recommend you guys stake out rooms on the second floor,” Alice advised. “The third floor only has three bedrooms, and one of them is just a giant area filled with bunk beds. It dominates most of the floor, so the other rooms on three are pretty cozy.”

“Don’t you want to take first pick?” Alex asked politely.

“The one that’s locked is mine,” Alice replied. “I had the cleaning staff set it up for me. It’s the only single bed in the place, so you’ll forgive me for grabbing it.”

“I think that’s fair, especially given how generous you are to let us all come here,” Vince said. “Are there any rooms on the second floor with three beds? If we bunk together, we leave more options for the other guests.”

“Up the stairs, third door to the right,” Alice informed him.

“Not so fast there, bucko,” Nick said, holding up a hand to stop Vince’s forward progress. “First things first: I brought party favors.” He reached into his pocket and produced a crumpled white envelope. A brief flurry of activity from his nimble fingers sifted through its contents and suddenly, three laminated cards were gripped in his digits. Nick extended the first to Alice, then handed one each to Vince and Alex.

“Fake IDs?” Alex’s voice sounded as confused as Vince’s face looked.

“This isn’t a college town,” Nick explained. “This is a tourist destination. There’s always places we can go back home where the drinking age is determined by whether or not you can pay your tab. Here, it’s different. Lots of places will enforce not only a drinking age, but a minimum age to enter. Now, I’m not saying you have to use them to get served alcohol, I’m just saying these ensure we can avail ourselves of any club or venue we find enticing.”

“Why does it have our real names?” Vince asked. “I admit I don’t know much about this stuff, but I thought you were supposed to use fake names.”

“Only if you’re an amateur. These are top quality. They’ll pass any test except being run through the system by an actual police officer.” Nick might have beamed a bit as he spoke; he had helped Cybil refine her process a few years back and couldn’t help being proud of the results.

“Thanks, Nick,” Alice said. “These could lead to some real fun. I’d feel bad for the others, but this place is stocked well enough to keep everyone comfortably buzzed for a month, let alone a week.”

“No need to feel bad for them, anyway,” Nick said. “In case you didn’t notice, I’ve got way more than three cards in my envelope.”

“Giant house, fake IDs, tons of alcohol.” Alex shook his head. “I didn’t ever expect I’d be having a spring break this awesome when I came to Lander.”

“Well, let’s get it started!” Nick declared, scooping up his own bag from the floor and racing toward the stairs. Vince and Alex were close on his heels, while Alice took her sweet time making the ascent. There was a whole week ahead of them, and she felt no need to hurry.

This was a time to relax and savor.

129.

It didn’t take Mary long to figure out that telepathy wasn’t much help amidst college freshmen on spring break. This wasn’t a matter of her being unable to hear their thoughts, or them being too convoluted to make sense of. No, the reason telepathy held no benefit is that everyone’s mind centered chiefly on the same two subjects: alcohol and sex. Despite never having partaken in either, by the time her charges were gathering their individual coolers and heading toward the water, Mary was thoroughly sick of both topics.

“Cameron!” Chad barked to her right. “One cooler per person.”

The freshman with the alcohol-based ability looked at his chaperone in utter dejection, then placed two of three coolers he’d been trying to haul off back on the ground. Candi scooped one of them up and patted him on the back. It seemed every class had a few sober kids to act as booze mules for the heavy drinkers. Walter and Gail weren’t far behind, the bespectacled boy trying and failing to swill down beer as though he drank it frequently. Those were the only freshmen Mary recognized; the remaining students were a blur of faces she knew from below-ground, but couldn’t have put names to without referencing a student handbook. Chad, however, had no such issues.

“Kelly! Buddy system is not optional, pair with a group. Jim! Pull your trunks up. If you want to strip, at least wait until everyone is too drunk to care.”

“How do you do that?”

“Perfect memory,” Chad said, his eyes still scanning the departing freshmen for infraction. “I always memorize the names of everyone in the HCP at the beginning of the year.”

“Why?”

Chad shrugged. “Just seemed like something that might come in useful.”

“Oh,” Mary said. “Has it?”

“Occasionally. Not as often as I’d expected,” Chad admitted. “Jim! I’m not going to warn you again.”

A sullen-looking boy with dark hair pulled his swimsuit up, then began moving with increasing speed toward the river.

“Were you guys this bad last year?”

“Probably. Although Angela and Ben were somewhat less strict with us.”

“Should we let up a little then?”

“I was planning on it once we actually got on the river. I wanted to set a firm standard initially, and then enforce it only as needed through the rest of the trip,” Chad explained. “As long as they know we’re here to keep them in line, we probably won’t have to.”

“You sound like you have practice at this.”

“None at all; Angela gave me some pointers.”

Mary tilted her head in surprise. “That doesn’t really seem like her management style.”

“It isn’t. This is the one she thought would work best for me.” Chad bent over and grabbed a cooler of his own. “I’ll take the point position if you want to follow at the rear in case of stragglers.”

“Sounds like a plan. You thinking of drinking?” Mary motioned to the cooler in his hand.

“No, but I might want a water. Besides, I’m sure some of the more daring students will loot my alcohol when they think I’m not looking.” Mary wasn’t quite sure, but she thought she saw the outline of a smile on Chad’s well-defined face. Not for the first time, she wished she could read the mind behind his inscrutable mask. Wishing did no good, so instead, she grabbed a tube and followed him down to where the freshmen were already splashing noisily into the gentle current.

*      *      *

Mr. Transport arrived at the doorstep with a bouquet of flowers freshly picked from a remote hill in Norway. It was the sort of thing that would have seemed overeager if he’d planned on telling his date where they were procured; however, without context, they merely seemed like a lovely choice from the local florist.

His suit, always pressed and fitted, was complimented with an electric blue tie rather than his usual black one. It presented a jauntier image, or at least, that’s what the salesman had convinced him. Mr. Transport was an expert on many things: geography, Australian wine, home-brewed beer, munitions, and the works of Isaac Asimov to name a few. Sadly, fashion and dating were two subjects lacking in his repertoire. He was quite fortunate, in as much as he was out of practice pitching woo, that the woman he was romancing was out of practice in receiving it.

Ms. Daniels answered the door by the third knock, her hair carefully curled and a turquoise dress draped over her figure. It didn’t hide her body entirely, and while time and childbirth had certainly softened the once sleek frame of the Southern belle, she’d logged enough time on the treadmill to keep the ultimate ravages of age at bay.

“On time as always,” Ms. Daniels said as a greeting.

“You look lovely tonight, Sally,” Mr. Transport said, handing over his meager offering of flora.

“I suppose you look a bit dashing yourself. I like your tie.”

Mr. Transport felt a goofy smile dance across his face. It was embarrassing, but his life had been cut off from normality in his early twenties, so he’d never evolved past this phase of dating. He still got flustered and cheerful by simple compliments. Unbeknownst to him, it was one of the qualities Sally Daniels found endearing.

The two had been on three dates since Mr. Transport found the gumption to ask her out, his schedule rarely meshing along with her own. Spring break offered a rare opportunity; with his charges all off on various vacations, Mr. Transport only had his regular company duties to attend to, ones which were infrequent and unpredictable. They had resolved to use this opportunity for a prolonged dating session, one to determine if they would grow sick of each other’s company or more enamored with it. It was a somewhat clinical approach to the idea of love, but both had tight schedules and little time to piss away on an endeavor that would ultimately culminate in failure.

“Come on in,” Sally said, stepping to the side. “I thought we could have a drink and catch up before dinner.”

Mr. Transport stepped inside happily, goofy grin still firmly plastered in place.

130.

The interior of the building had an industrial feel to it. The tables were metal; the stools seemed cobbled together from lead pipes and wood. Tin sheeting adorned the walls, hunks of it cut away to make room for doorways and bars. Amidst the rough décor, there were still only hints as to the establishment’s true purpose. Colorful lights ran along nearly every surface, unlit but still noticeable to the keen eye. An enormous slab of wood elevated an open area three inches up from the concrete floor, the giant speakers near it almost, but not quite, concealed from view. The truly experienced partier would notice a few holes drilled in the upper part of the sheeting just above the wooden slab, the perfect size for a fog machine to spray its contents on the area below. It was a contrast of joy and efficiency, of work and play. It had definitely been constructed by Hershel and Roy’s father.

Hershel took all this in, comparing it to Roy’s memory from so many years ago and discovering more similarities than differences. Roy had made the mistake of coming at night; so much of the fine detail had escaped his attention. The place had been more distracting, and what he’d seen more distressing. This time, Hershel knew what he was walking into, and he could handle it. Seeing his father, however . . . he was less confident in that regard. He really didn’t know what his first words would be to the man who had left them.

It didn’t take long to find out. As Hershel stood by the entrance, a large man stepped out from one of the doorways in the back. He was close to seven feet tall, his arms thicker than a bodybuilder’s legs, his legs closer to steel beams than human limbs. His dark beard was trimmed close, so as to show off his impressive jaw line and handsome face. In each hand he carried a silver keg, presumably full, although one wouldn’t have known that from the ease with which he slung them around.

Hershel found his breathing was no longer functional, and his ability to keep his knees steady had all but vanished. It had been over a decade since he’d seen this man through anything but Roy’s memory, yet he was unmistakable. This giant could only be Titan, the unstoppable monster who had left all but the most powerful criminals trembling at the mention of his name. Hershel cleared his throat accidently as he tried to suck in air and regain some semblance of mental balance.

The giant turned his head toward the sound and froze. A riotous clanking filled the air as the kegs clattered to the ground, gathering dents and ensuring that any beer inside would be undrinkable for days. It took less than five sizable strides for him to cross the room, stopping only a few inches from Hershel’s still somewhat shaky form. His father laid an enormous hand on each of Hershel’s shoulders and stared down at the boy, his face a tempest of emotions, each fighting for the right to be showcased. A single word escaped his mouth, deep and rich as a jazz singer and dripping with just as much emotion.

“Son.”

Hershel reared back and struck his father in the jaw with all the strength he had. It was a futile gesture: most Heroes couldn’t have put down this powerhouse. Still, sometime later, when Roy finally regained control of the body, he would look back on this memory and, despite all the other negative emotions that would be rolling through him at the time, feel a tremendous sense of brotherly pride.

*      *      *

It didn’t take long for the quiet tranquility of Alice’s beach house to be shattered by a slew of arrivals. Stella, Violet, Thomas, and Camille were the first ones to show up after the prep team. With the exception of Camille, everyone was at least partially intoxicated. It seemed Stella had wanted to pre-game, and Violet had jumped on the idea, cajoling Thomas into at least partial participation. By the time they’d finally gotten the three girls set up in a room, Will, Jill, Julia, and Sasha had arrived. Sasha was uncharacteristically silent, avoiding conversation and even eye contact with anyone besides Julia. It didn’t take a genius to figure out she’d been talked into coming and was clearly regretting it. For her part, Camille went out of her way to greet the speedy girl and welcome her to the event. If anything, this only seemed to make Sasha retract further into her shell.

As the day wore on, more groups showed up at the door. Shane, Rich, Adam, Britney, and Amber all carpooled together. Selena and Tiffani were the last arrivals, appearing a few minutes after two. It was bedlam at first as people jockeyed to find open rooms with their friends, eventually culminating in the last folks hunkering down in the open bunk-bed room that dominated most of the third floor. It was riotous, but cheerful in spirit. Those intent on partying realized the odds of them making it to the appropriate bed were slim, and those intent on sobriety assumed they’d be more capable of getting back to their assigned space. By the time four in the afternoon appeared on the kitchen’s clock, a variety of activities had begun.

There was a pool tournament at one of the billiards tables, complete with a tiered bracket system that would be impossible to maintain once a true zenith of intoxication was reached. Violet had organized a Power Hour in the living room, insistent that, by week’s end, they all be capable of completing a Bicentennial Club. Vince had started a beach volleyball game out in the sand—currently, he and Thomas were two points up on the team of Shane and Will. Some of the girls were sitting on the deck, catcalling their male classmates and enjoying margaritas made from an actual drum-style machine rather than a blender and ice. Shockingly, it was Nick and Camille who were in the kitchen, preparing nachos, bacon sandwiches, and other assorted foods designed to satisfy munchies and offer at least some relief from the ravages of alcohol.

It was hectic. It was disorganized. It was highly irresponsible. In short, it was exactly what everyone needed.

131.

“Drink this,” Hershel’s father said, placing a clear glass filled with a dull yellow liquid in front of him. “It will make your hand feel better.” He moved into the booth opposite his son and slid the concoction forward gently. Hershel reached for it with his right hand, winced, and switched to his left. It turned out that just because you couldn’t hurt someone with your punch, didn’t mean their jaw couldn’t still injure the small bones in your hand. It would mend eventually; one trade with Roy, and Hershel would be pain free. That would have to wait, unfortunately. Which reminded him . . .

“There’s no whiskey in this, is there?”

“Whiskey?”

“Yeah, whiskey.”

Hershel’s father shook his head. “Tequila, a few mixers, and a splash of vodka, but no whiskey.”

“Good.” Hershel took two oversized mouthfuls and gulped them down before lowering the glass. He found his father staring at him with an expression of curiosity.

“Whiskey makes you change now, right? After that weird procedure, it doesn’t just happen, unwanted, anymore; you set up a chemical trigger.”

“I see Mom has kept you up to speed.”

“Second year HCP, living as a Super. She even told me about your girlfriend. Of course, nothing she mentioned would explain why you felt the need to drive all the way out here and take a swing at me.”

“The punch wasn’t planned,” Hershel said, though he pointedly avoided anything that would make it sound like he was sorry. “I came out here for a different reason. Roy needs help.”

His father tilted his head and motioned for Hershel to continue, so he laid everything on the table. The wall he’d hit, the inability to break through, the growing frustration as well as the slowly-increasing gap between Roy and the others’ capabilities.

“So Roy is stuck at about, what, eight hundred pounds per arm, you said?”

Hershel nodded, finishing off the remainder of his drink. His father had been right; it had indeed lessened the pain in his hand.

“Well, son, it seems to me—”

“Hershel.”

“What was that?”

“Hershel. That’s my name. Let’s stay away from familial terms, okay? You’re Owen. I’m Hershel. Roy is Roy.”

“Fine,” Owen Daniels said, after a brief pause. “I guess I deserve that. Anyway, Hershel, it seems to me you’ve got a pretty big problem. Curling just under a ton would get you through a lot of fights and manual labor jobs, but I’m afraid it won’t cut it if you want to be a Hero.”

“I know that.”

“No, you only suspected it. If you knew it, then you would have drawn up a resignation in case I said I couldn’t help. Deep down, you’re hoping that, with enough skill, maybe this wall won’t matter, that there will be another method that will keep Roy as a viable candidate. I’m crushing that delusion right now. Other Supers can get by without massive strength, but they have different talents to compensate. Not ones like us. We hit the living shit out of things, and if we can’t hit hard enough to knock them down, then all we are is a liability to our teams. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Owen rose from the table and walked over to the bar with more grace than a man his size had any right to possess. He grabbed a full bottle and dumped a few pours of alcohol into a glass tumbler, then tossed in a trio of ice cubes. He came back and sat down, setting the brown drink carefully in front of him. He took a gentle sip to assess, and from the pleasure on his face, the alcohol seemed to meet his requirements.

“Good,” Owen repeated. “Because I didn’t just say all that to bum you out. I don’t want you thinking that all hope is lost, but I do feel that it’s important you keep your expectations realistic. That said, I can help you past this issue, and teach you how to deal with others of its kind that will eventually surface.”

“How? How can I do it?”

Owen held up a finger. “Not so fast. This isn’t going to be easy, and it isn’t going to be quick. I’m willing to help, but I want you to seriously commit to undertaking this training. I’ll take shit as your father, not as your teacher.”

“I’m sure Roy will—”

“We’ll deal with Roy later. I’m talking to Hershel right now. Roy isn’t some abstract entity, he’s a part of you. So if I’m going to do this, I want to hear you tell me you’ll do whatever it takes.”

Hershel slowly moved his head up and down. “If it will help Roy, I’ll do whatever I can.”

“Good.” Owen slid the glass of dark liquor across the table. Even from a distance, Hershel immediately recognized the familiar odor that wafted up from its depths. “Now, drink that.”

“I can’t. That will turn me into Roy.”

“That’s the point,” Owen said, looking unflinchingly at his son.

“That’s not a good idea,” Hershel explained. “If I turn now, Roy will just storm out of here. We need to lay out a plan and outline how to help him before there’s a shot at him playing along.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. You came to me, not vice versa. So I’m not proving myself to you. I know how to fix your problem. You obviously believe that, or you wouldn’t be here. Roy needs to believe that, too. This isn’t a case of fixing the issue and making him believe, it’s a case of him needing to believe in order to fix the issue.”

“I’m not sure he’ll listen,” Hershel said, his uncertainty written across his face.

“I promise I won’t let Roy leave here. If nothing else, I’ll subdue him until you turn back,” Owen said.

Hershel had zero doubt that he could do it, too. There were many things that had been called into question regarding his father over the years, but the man’s awe-inspiring strength was not one of them. Still, the prospect of shifting right now seemed unwise. In the end, it didn’t feel like he really had a choice. He’d come here to find a solution, and now there was one sitting in front of him. The only thing standing in the way of helping Roy was . . . Roy. Hershel wanted to help, but this was as far as he could take things by himself. The rest was up to his brother.

In a single, practiced motion, Hershel grabbed the glass and emptied its contents down his throat. He set it back on the table and looked at his father one last time before his consciousness was gone.

“Good luck.”

132.

Nick, Vince, and Will sat on the house’s deck, watching the low moon reflect off the lapping ocean waters. Nick was nursing a beer, while the other two sipped soda. Behind them, the house gave off a dull roar of constant noise. The pre-gaming had led to its eventual outcome—a localized festival of intoxication. Thankfully, they’d been able to corral most people into eating dinner, even though it had been akin to herding mosquitoes as they darted from one target of interest to another. The three were not the only ones with some sobriety, the others of their ilk merely sought sanctuary in different locations.

“Good thing Alice doesn’t have neighbors,” Will pointed out as the music increased in volume. The farthest house from them was a good six-minute walk, visible but not so close that they could make out details. It seems that Charles Adair enjoyed his space when purchasing an abode.

“Much louder and I wouldn’t be shocked if the police are called anyway,” Vince said.

“Nah. Even if they were home, which they aren’t, it’s spring break. As long as nothing is on fire and no one is dying, a little noise is low on the cops’ priority list,” Nick countered. “Admittedly, we’ve got a good party going.”

“I’m surprised you’re out here with us,” Vince said. “You like this kind of thing.”

“I do, but burning yourself out on day one is a rookie mistake. This is a marathon. If you go too hard too fast, you’ll find yourself unable to function by day three. The trick is to ease your liver into it. Besides, it’s not even eight yet. I’ve got a lot of night left to burn.”

“The way they’re going, I’d be surprised if they made it past ten,” Will pointed out.

“Guess you didn’t see the pantry full of Red Bull then, did you?”

“No. No, I did not.”

“You know, I think this is really cool,” Vince said suddenly.

“Yes, Vince, an enormous beach house stocked with friends and alcohol definitely qualifies as at least ‘pretty cool.’”

“No, not that. I mean, that is great, but I was talking about how many of our classmates came to join us.”

“It was a hard offer to resist,” Will said.

“I know, but . . . I was just thinking about the beginning of the year. We were so worried about how everyone would react to us. We even got warned that some people would treat us like pariahs and hate us. Yet, less than a year later, here we are. All drinking and vacationing together. No one really cares that we used to be Powereds. We’re all just students trying to get through this together. That’s what I think is great.”

Nick and Will exchanged glances. Despite specializing in different areas, they were easily the smartest members of their class, and as such, they’d both seen what Vince couldn’t. Some of the camaraderie was based on genuine friendship: people like Will or Thomas or Violet had all gone out of their way to show they cared more about who the Melbrook residents were than what they had been. That was far from the case with everyone. Many of the others regarded them as a science fair experiment that had encroached into their everyday lives. The only thing that preserved civility was a simple lack of concern. Every HCP student had their own fears and challenges to deal with. Right now, they were too preoccupied with their own advancement to start looking at each other as genuine competitors. As the slots grew fewer, that would change, and those undertones of hate would be sure to surface. They were living in an illusion of acceptance, and both boys knew it.

“It is pretty impressive,” Will agreed.

“True. Sort of gives you hope for the world,” Nick added.

Sooner or later, people would show themselves for what they were. Still, if Vince was lucky enough to believe he was surrounded by friends, there was no need to shatter his delusion. For now, at least, he could be happy.

*      *      *

“So far, so good,” Mary said.

“No one is dead, we’ve hydrated them enough to avoid alcohol poisoning, and the tents are up without anything being lit on fire,” Chad recounted.

“So far,” Mary pointed out.

“So far,” Chad agreed.

The two were having a brief respite around one of the unattended fires that had earlier been used for roasting hot dogs and marshmallows. The drunken teens had lost interest once their stomachs were full, choosing instead to chase the twin pleasures of booze and members of the opposite sex in swimsuits. Chad had nonchalantly hung a trash bag filled with condoms from a mirror on the bus and both chaperones were making a point of being nowhere near it. The point wasn’t to embarrass anyone; it was just to make sure no one had to drop out of the HCP due to pregnancy.

“I was expecting worse,” Mary said, after a few minutes of listening to the fire crackle.

“We were a little worse,” Chad said. “Roy and Stella had already had a scuffle by now. Not to mention Gilbert finding it exceedingly funny to teleport off with girls’ tops.”

“I am just so very glad I wasn’t here for that.”

Chad showed a rare smile, the firelight almost reflecting off the gleaming veneer of his teeth. “It didn’t last long. After he snagged Britney and Tiffani’s tops, Angela got involved. Gilbert was the model of behavior for the rest of the trip.”

“That girl is something else. I’ve never even seen her fight, but I still feel like she’d mop the floor with me,” Mary said.

“It wouldn’t be that bad, but you would lose. Angela is quite an exceptional warrior.”

“Sounds like you admire her,” Mary said carefully.

“Very much so. I’m lucky she’s taken an interest in me and helped me improve my own skills. I doubt I would have managed so much growth over this year if not for her.”

“She’s quite pretty, too,” Mary pointed out.

“That she is,” Chad agreed. His voice sounded almost . . . wistful? It was hard to tell with him, he was almost always so detached in his mannerisms. “Anyway, in spite of our antics, she ran a tight ship during our time here. Good thing, too; I’m truly amazed no one managed to hurt themselves.”

“After today, I can believe it. Weird that they don’t send a healer along on these trips,” Mary said.

“You think so?”

“Don’t you?”

“To be honest, I thought it was intentional. A way to remind us that, in the outside world, things can’t automatically be mended, be they bodies or property. It forces them to live with the consequences of their choices, even if only for a week.”

“Or the school’s healers demanded they be allowed this week off,” Mary suggested.

Chad looked back at her with another thin smile. “I suppose that makes sense, too.”

133.

Three tables were overturned, two more were broken beyond repair, and a sizable dent was visible in one of the walls, but Roy had finally been subdued. Owen held his still weakly-struggling son in a headlock from behind, giving him enough air to stay conscious, but not so much that he would get ideas of starting back up. While Owen was too resilient to be hurt by anything Roy could do, the bar was not. As it was, Roy’s first assault would cost a fair amount to fix.

“Got that out of your system?” Owen asked calmly.

“Let me go, fucker! I’m leaving.” Roy’s efforts redoubled, his muscular form clawing and swinging wildly at his captor. Not that it mattered; he might as well have been a cloud attacking a statue for all the good it did. Owen let him kick about for a few seconds before tightening his grip and cutting off Roy’s air. He loosened it again when he felt his son’s limbs begin to slacken.

“Sorry, can’t do that,” Owen replied, once Roy’s grunting had grown quiet. “I promised Hershel I wouldn’t let you leave.”

“Fuck . . . Hershel,” Roy wheezed out in ragged gasps. “Fuck . . . ing . . . traitor.”

“He thought you might feel that way. To be honest, I assumed he was overreacting. I suppose I should have known better.”

This time, Roy had no response; he merely hung there sullenly.

“So, you think Hershel betrayed you, even though he only did this because you were too proud to admit you were out of options? Even though I saw his car arrive over an hour before he worked up the nerve to come in here, and had to do I can only imagine what to find the gumption to drive out here in the first place.”

“Stupid . . . ass . . . hole.”

“Yes, Roy, your brother—who came out here on his spring break, risked his relationship with you, and confronted a man he hadn’t seen in over a decade all to help his brother—is a stupid asshole.” Owen clicked his tongue against his teeth, and Roy’s mind swirled back to childhood. He remembered hearing that sound whenever his father was scolding one of them. “You might be the one who got the enhanced muscles, but Hershel is undoubtedly the stronger of you two.”

“Kiss . . . my . . . ass.”

“Fine, smart guy, then tell me one thing: if Hershel is so wrong for coming to see me, if you really don’t need my help, then why are you hanging here helpless? I’m barely using any strength, and those punches you threw at me were worthless. I’m not saying you could take me on, even in the best of scenarios, but you’ve been in the HCP for almost two years now. You should be much stronger than this. Why aren’t you?”

Roy hung there quietly, neither words nor actions able to fully capture the amount of hatred he felt for his father at uttering that damned piece of truth.

“No answer to that one? My my, it seems Hershel might have had some good reason for doing this after all. I can tell you why you’re weak, Roy. I can tell you why, and I can show you how to get back on the right path. Or, you can keep struggling like a child and wait until you turn back into Hershel, at which point, I’ll tell him no luck. Son or not, I will not help a Super who can’t control his emotions get stronger. That just puts other people in danger down the line. So it’s your choice. Stow the violence and listen, or hang here until your best shot at being a Hero swirls down the crapper.”

There was a period of motionlessness from Roy before he slowly lifted his right arm. For an instant, Owen thought his son would hurl a waste of a punch, but instead, Roy brought it down in two swift taps on Owen’s elbow. It was their signal for giving up, a simple tap-out. Owen released his grip, and Roy slid to the floor. He went to rub his throat, but stopped before his hand was halfway there. Instead, he walked over to one of the non-damaged tables, sat down roughly, and looked over at his father. “Talk.”

It wasn’t great manners, but it was progress. “You want a beer before we get started?”

“Fuck, yes.”

Owen filled two mugs with dark ale and joined his son. His eyes flitted to the clock; he’d need to open up pretty soon, and Roy wouldn’t want to be here when that happened. Best to get on with this.

“First, a couple of conditions. You two are going to spend the rest of your break here, with me. This will require training, and I have the tools and experience to make sure it’s done right. Hershel is already committed to doing whatever is needed, but can you handle that?”

Roy nodded stiffly and took a deep drink from his mug.

“Good. Second, you don’t have to like me or forgive me; however, you will obey me while you’re here. You might consider me a shitty dad, but it doesn’t change the fact that I was a very capable Hero. This is only a week; we don’t have time for arguments and backtalk.”

Roy nodded again.

“Third, you are going to stay at a hotel a few miles up the road, which I will be paying for. We’ll train during the day, the nights are yours, but you should stay away from here. This is a legitimate bar, and we don’t allow underage kids in, even if they are the owner’s son.”

Roy snorted into his beer at the word “legitimate,” however, he gave a final curt bob of his head to signify acceptance.

Owen took a swig of his own drink and checked the clock again. “Glad we got that out of the way. Have Hershel here at seven in the morning, sharp. Tell him to skip breakfast, too. He’ll be glad he did.”

“That’s it?” Roy said gruffly. “All that talk about answers, and you’re just telling me to send Hershel back in the morning? How the hell does that help me?”

Owen stared back at the wild-eyed young man and tried to picture the feisty little boy he’d once been. It wasn’t hard; in many ways, Roy had never really grown up. Owen supposed a fair part of that might be his fault. It was time to start remedying that.

“Condition number two, obey my orders,” Owen said. “If you don’t think I’ve lived up to my part by the end of tomorrow, then you are free to leave. Until then, our bargain is still valid. Hershel. Here. Seven. Understand?”

“Understand.” Roy spat the word, killed off the rest of his beer, and stormed out the door.

Owen watched him go with a heavy heart. There was so much anger in his sons: one wore it on the outside and the other kept it hidden away, but it was there nonetheless. What’s worse, he was certain that he was the root cause of it for both of them. Some days, he wished there was a Super with the power to travel through time, someone who could help him right just a few of the many things he’d done wrong. Sadly, that was still in the realm of the impossible. All he could do now was try his best to fix what had been broken. That process started tomorrow.

Seven in the morning. Sharp.

134.

To say that Hershel was coated in sweat would give the impression that his perspiration had settled across his skin like a coating, merely encompassing him before ceasing its advancement. This image would do a great disservice to the amount of moisture being churned out by his body. To say he was dripping, that his slick coating was continually being shed and replaced, that would be far more accurate.

Hershel dripped along a track in the bar’s backyard as the early sun moved upward through the sky. “Track” was a generous term; really, it was more a semi-circular rut that had been worn in the soft dirt by countless traversals. A metal fence hid his shame, as well as a vast array of workout equipment, from the view of the world. The only witness to his exhausted stumbling was Owen Daniels, standing near the bar’s entrance with an unreadable expression on his face. Hershel had no idea why he was being made to run in laps; he’d shown up as instructed, been handed some exercise clothing, and been told to run until he was told to stop. By this point, he was less “running” than he was “plodding,” but he continued moving forward nonetheless.

After thirty minutes, Hershel was sure his legs would give out, yet it turned out he was able to conjure another five minutes of effort from his body before it fell to the ground and began to dry heave. At least he understood why Owen had told him to skip breakfast.

“That’s enough running,” Owen instructed. “Take a ten minute break, and we’ll move on to weights.”

“Why?” Hershel asked, once his mouth was no longer occupied with responding to his stomach’s futile evacuation attempts. “Why am I training instead of Roy?”

In response, Owen plucked a water bottle from his side and brought it over to Hershel. Hershel took it in small sips; he knew enough about working out to know that guzzling it would result in his body reactivating its attempts at purging.

“What do you think your power is?” Owen asked when Hershel had finally managed to drain the bottle.

“I’m a shifter,” Hershel replied. “They classified me when I was five.”

“Oh? You know any other shifters whose personalities are totally altered when they change? I’m not talking an influx of animal instinct or an increase in aggression, but a total change in who they are and how they act. The way you and Roy are.”

Hershel thought back carefully. “Not that I can recall. Dean Blaine once told us that the classifications were just general terms, that every Super and Powered was their own entity with their own unique traits. Maybe the mental change is just part of mine.”

Owen nodded. “You’re not wrong, but you’re not right either.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Clearly,” Owen said, his gaze unwavering as he looked at his son with some mixture of worry and determination. “Every Super is different, even if it’s in very small ways. That part was right.”

“Then what was wrong?”

“You’re not a shifter.” Owen took the empty water bottle from his son’s hands. “That’s ten minutes. We’re moving on to weights.”

“But—”

“Weights.” Owen walked toward the cluster of reinforced benches without casting so much as a glance to see if his son was following. Hershel struggled to his feet and stumbled along. It seemed that whatever Owen knew, he would only tell when he was ready. Until that time came, all Hershel could do was keep his promise and do as he was told. He just hoped his body would hold out as long as his determination.

*      *      *

Vince came in from a morning run to find the house still largely silent, though Stella’s intermittent snores could be heard from the billiards room. She had found the floor exceptionally comfortable the night before and shifted to steel so no one could easily carry her back to bed. Like the rest of the house, she was still asleep. Even those who’d stayed sober were taking the opportunity to sleep in a bit, with the obvious exception of Vince. He’d been an early riser for as long as he could remember; it was an important aspect of being a homeless wanderer. The last thing you wanted was for someone to come upon you unconscious and defenseless. The need was so deeply ingrained that, even in a place like this, he couldn’t shake it.

A shower sounded good to Vince, but breakfast sounded better. He decided to whip up a quick meal of eggs before washing off. Surveying the fridge, he found them in no short supply, so he cracked six in a bowl, added seasoning, and tossed them in a pan. The smells might wake some of the others, and he wanted to have enough to share if they came down. If they didn’t, then he would stick the leftovers in the fridge, and the first risers could help themselves. Vince was so intent on scraping his culinary task around the pan that he didn’t notice the presence behind him until it spoke up.

“Morning.” It was a familiar voice, one Vince probably could have picked out of an audible lineup. The tone and inflection it was sporting, though, those were of a variety he hadn’t heard in a long while.

“Good morning, Sasha,” Vince said. He turned around briefly and flashed her a small smile. She seemed unusually awkward, standing there in PJ pants and a t-shirt, trying not to show how uncomfortable she felt. “I’m making extra eggs, if you want any.”

“No, thank you. I’m not really hungry.” Both of them fell silent as the sound of sizzling filled the room, punctuated occasionally by a noise contribution from Stella.

“I wanted to talk about what happened in the match,” Sasha blurted out.

“Shouldn’t that be something you talk to Camille about?” Vince worked hard to keep his voice controlled. He reminded himself for the umpteenth time that it had been a fight, and sometimes, people lost control in those types of situations. That was a lesson he’d acquired firsthand. She clearly felt bad; she didn’t need him to add more guilt.

“I will,” Sasha promised. “I wanted to talk to you first. Come on, you know I don’t normally get up this early.”

“That’s true. I always had to rouse you with promises of food.” Later in the relationship, he’d had other methods of waking her; however, that wasn’t a healthy thought to deal with at the moment.

“Exactly. I woke up early so I could tell you something while it was just us. The reason I lost it on Camille . . . it’s because I’m jealous of her.”

Vince turned from the eggs and gazed at his ex-girlfriend with a confused look. “Jealous?”

“Yeah, jealous,” Sasha replied. “It’s obvious you two have grown closer over the year, and even if it isn’t romantic in nature, every time I see you together I just . . . I’m jealous, okay? I wish I was the one getting to spend all that time with you, and all of that built up emotion just got out of control.”

“Sasha, you broke up with me,” Vince said slowly. “You made it clear you didn’t want anything to do with me.”

“Which is why I came down here to make it clear that I was wrong. I know how you are, so I’m not going to beat around the bush. I want to be together again. Boyfriend and girlfriend, all that stuff. This is probably a surprise to you, so I’m not asking for an answer right away. Take some time and think about it. I’ll be around whenever you figure out how you feel about the idea.”

Vince heard a slight gust of air and knew if he turned around, Sasha would be gone. She’d no doubt dashed back to her room to hide after such a display of vulnerability. For his part, Vince wasn’t sure how to feel. He hadn’t been prepared for that, and had no idea what he should say back to her. There was no question he missed her; however, as time had worn on, he couldn’t help but wonder if their breakup might not have been for the best. Sasha was right. He needed to think about it.

The eggs went into a Tupperware container and were thrust into the fridge. Vince’s appetite had suddenly receded.

135.

“You’ve learned some new tricks,” Miriam Taylor commented, carefully slicing off another piece of chicken breast. She didn’t know how, but the chef had managed to impart a surprising amount of moisture and flavor without overwhelming the bird’s base taste. The asparagus side dish complimented things nicely, as did the squash puree.

“I have a bit of free time on weekends,” Dean Blaine said, beginning work on his own entrée. “It gives me time to experiment with new recipes I’ve read about.”

“Well, a few more meals like this, and I just might forget about you sending my son off over break.”

“I shall endeavor to do my best.” Dean Blaine was visiting Miriam as a poor substitute for the son she’d expected. So far, they’d taken in two plays and a museum, with plenty of time left for whatever other activities she could conceive of. She was clearly punishing him; however, it could have been worse, so at least Dean Blaine knew she understood. It would be hard for her not to, after all; despite being perfectly human, most of her social group in college had been members of the HCP.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Miriam replied. “This is impressive. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you’ve been taking lessons from . . .” Her voice puttered off as her words caught up with what she’d intended to say.

“He was an amazing cook,” Dean Blaine agreed. They’d avoided the elephant in the room so far, but he saw no point in continuing to do so now that she’d tripped over its trunk. “Of course, with his power, it’s hard to know how much was actual skill and how much was him fiddling around.”

“You said ‘was’ an amazing cook. So that means it’s not true, right? He didn’t raise that boy in Chad’s class. He isn’t . . . he hasn’t come back.” Miriam’s knife scraped loudly against the plate as her hand gave way to a slight tremor.

“All we have is a story of a homeless man with a watch,” Dean Blaine assured her. “It’s strange, but it’s hardly unexplainable. Besides, the boy he acted as a father to has no memory of him ever using an ability. We are as certain as we can be that Globe is still an unfortunate piece of the past, and nothing more.”

“Thank God,” Miriam said, steadying herself with some effort. “I don’t know how Chad would handle it; he is already so preoccupied with his father. If Globe hadn’t died, I fear my son would have become obsessed with hunting him rather than emulating Joshua.”

“I have faith he would have been put on a healthier path.” Dean Blaine knew that despite her occasional trepidation, Miriam was not a woman easily stopped, especially where her son was concerned. “But all of this is for nothing. Chad is a well-adjusted, if overly focused, young man, and Globe is dead in the ground, where he deserves to be.”

“All these years, and that thought is still strange to me,” Miriam admitted. “Even knowing he killed my husband, even seeing the videos . . . Joshua almost missed Chad’s birth, you know. He and Globe got tangled up a few miles from the city with a criminal that could turn into swarms of bugs. By the time it was resolved, there was so little time left, and Shimmerpath was with the rest of the team on another assignment. It was only thanks to Globe that Joshua made it in time. He ignored all manner of protocol to do it, but he made it happen.”

“He would have done anything for Joshua. They were best friends, since freshman year,” Dean Blaine said.

Miriam nodded and took another bite of her food. “We asked him to be Chad’s godfather, but he talked us out of it. He said it should be someone not on the team, someone who wasn’t a Hero. That way, if anything really bad happened, Chad would have someone whose life wasn’t always at risk. He wanted to do it; you could see it in his eyes. He just refused to put his desires over what was best for our son. That’s the man who killed my husband.” She looked up at him, not asking the question she’d grilled him with so many times over the years. Wasn’t there something he knew, some tidbit to give clarity on what had happened?

Dean Blaine said nothing. He had nothing he could say. It didn’t make sense to him either. It never had, and probably never would. The footage was there, grainy though it was. Several different security cameras from nearby businesses had captured the two team members’ confrontation. Intra had allegedly discovered that Globe was secretly working with a local mafia boss and had attempted to talk to him about it. Globe had become aggressive, and in the ensuing battle, Intra managed to sever Globe’s arm. Globe, unfortunately, was able to leave his best friend as nothing more than a corpse in the street. This had all been explained by their teammates later on. One could see the series of actions on the video, but not hear the words. Dean Blaine would have given damn near anything to know what those two said to one another. He was far from the only one.

“This classmate of Chad’s, the one who had Globe’s watch, what sort of person is he?” Miriam asked, bringing Dean Blaine out of his internal reverie.

“Kind,” Dean Blaine replied after some thought. “Kind, and surprisingly gentle, given the nature of his power. He is quite dedicated to all of his friends, and he seems to be a bit ignorant of people’s social wiles. Also, he’s positively dense when it comes to women.”

“Sounds like he and Chad would get along,” Miriam noted. She looked up at Dean Blaine and locked eyes with him. “He also sounds a lot like I’d expect a child raised by Globe to be—by the Globe I knew, anyway.”

“Good men are in short supply in our world, but they do exist,” Dean Blaine countered. “All it would take is one of them to raise a boy like that.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Miriam said, temporarily retreating. “Let’s move on to more pleasant topics. There’s a modern art show opening tomorrow night.”

Dean Blaine suppressed a groan. He loathed the modern stuff, but it was a small price to pay for making Miriam happy. Besides, there would probably be decent wine there.

136.

By the time Owen called the first day to an end, Hershel was barely able to stand. Weights, running, jumping, and a variety of aerobic workouts had been spread out through the day. It was enough to make him long for that first day of working out under Coach George. Despite his body’s constant protests, Hershel had stumbled on, the quality of his movements gradually deteriorating until even standing was a concentrated effort. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this weak or worn down. Owen had literally pushed him to the end of his limits several times, always backing off just enough to keep him from losing consciousness. He gulped down a few sips of water as he watched the afternoon sun on its downward trek toward the horizon.

Owen emerged from inside the bar holding a gray plastic water bottle, the kind designed to fit on the inner frame of a mountain bike. For a terrifying second, Hershel was sure that his father was going to demand a twenty-mile ride or some other terror, but instead, the enormous man just handed him the bottle.

“I think that’s as much as we have time for today.”

“Oh,” Hershel said. “So I should leave now, I guess.”

Owen shook his head. “I promised Roy proof by tonight. Now, it’s time for me to pony up.”

Hershel pulled out the stopper top on the plastic bottle and sniffed. Definitely whiskey.

“You haven’t even trained him yet. All we did today was work on me.”

“Trust me.” Owen gave his son a reassuring smile, one that made Hershel feel good, then feel guilty for feeling good. He might have been more inclined to argue, but he was sore, tired, and curious. The whiskey would cure the first two; hopefully some answers would satisfy the last one. A long drink drained the bottle of its contents and initiated Hershel’s transformation.

By the time Roy stood up, the fatigue in their muscles had completely dissipated. If anything, he felt more energetic than usual. Rather than jumping about, Roy simply looked at his father with narrowed eyes.

“Well?”

“Weights,” Owen snapped back at him. The giant of a man lumbered across the yard, stopping at a set of weights he’d used to put Hershel through the paces only a few hours previously. This time, Owen didn’t reach for any of the shiny silver ones; instead, his massive hands wrapped around a pair of dumbbells that were charcoal black. Roy recognized them as the hyper-dense weights used to train people with super strength. These weren’t quite as well maintained as the ones at Lander, but the dents they left in the ground as Owen pulled them up left no doubt that their heft was still impressive.

Roy came up to the larger man and held out his hands. Owen deposited a dumbbell in each, placing them down as easily as if they were merely awkward-shaped pillows. To Roy, they weren’t nearly so easy to deal with; his arms were straining with just the effort of holding them up. He wondered if Hershel’s workout had left him weaker than he realized.

“Let’s warm up,” Owen said. “Those are seven hundred and fifty pounds each. Even you should be able to handle them for six reps.”

There was a snapping click as Roy’s jaw set at the words “even you,” and a small vein in the young man’s forehead bulged with an effort that had nothing to do with the weights in his hands. It was successful; somehow, he managed to hold his tongue and focus on the task at hand. Roy moved the dumbbells up and down slowly, ensuring that the tension on his biceps never slacked. It took more work than he remembered seven hundred and fifty pounds requiring, but he did the six, and then did three more on top of that. Whether those last three were out of pride, spite, or some mixture of the two could be debated, but they got done with perfect form nonetheless. Roy carefully set the weights on the ground, all too aware of the damage that material could do if dropped aimlessly.

“Not bad,” Owen complimented from his sitting position on the weight bench. “You remember what I told Hershel earlier, right?”

“I’m guessing you mean that bullshit about us not being shifters.”

“That’s the part. Play devil’s advocate with me for a minute. If you weren’t shifters, what other explanation could there be for your power?” Owen asked calmly.

“I don’t know. Is being fucking awesome enough to make you a Super now?”

“You are pretty awesome,” Owen agreed. “Confident, good-looking, athletic, strong, tough, even charming when you’re motivated—all the things a male wants to be at some point in his life. You got them all. Have you ever wondered why that is?”

“What the hell are you talking about? I’m just me, why would I wonder about that?”

“If you were just a shifted form of Hershel, then why would your identities separate? Why would your personalities diverge so greatly? Heck, if you were just a version of your brother with powers, then why wouldn’t you look the same? Not all strongmen have muscular frames, after all.”

“I . . . I don’t really know,” Roy admitted. He resisted the urge to shuffle uncomfortably. That was shit Hershel would do. Instead, Roy just kept his gaze locked on his father’s eyes.

“Maybe because you’re not just a stronger version of Hershel, you’re literally everything Hershel has wanted to be, but wasn’t. Do you remember when you first appeared?”

“We were kids. Some classmates were making fun of Hershel. They were calling him fat and slow and ugly. He got really upset, and a minute later, there I was.”

“A boy who wasn’t fat, slow, or ugly. A boy who couldn’t get beat up, whose ego was strong enough to withstand their taunts.”

Roy realized he was flexing his hands into fists involuntarily. Something about this conversation was making him very uncomfortable. “Can we cut to the fucking point, old man?”

“You two aren’t shifters,” Owen reiterated. “You inherited my power, but you got a better version of it. I adapt to new challenges or injuries, my body improves itself to overcome them. There’s a threshold to how high I can take that. Sooner or later, I run out of things I can train myself to be immune to. Eventually, I can’t find heavy enough things to improve my strength with. There’s a logistical cap to my power—one that doesn’t apply to you.”

“What the—what are you trying to say we are?”

“You have the power of adaption. Hershel is the human side, the one who can always find more challenges. When he encounters a need to be stronger or tougher, your maximum potential increases in proportion. The reason you’ve been stuck in place is because Hershel didn’t need to be stronger; you’ve been fighting his battles and doing all the physical work for most of your adult life.”

“That doesn’t make sense. I only hit a wall this year!” Roy seemed unaware of the increasing volume of his voice.

“That’s because you didn’t try until you entered the HCP. You had catching up to do. When Hershel trains, it raises your potential. When you train, it increases your actual strength. You are Hershel’s reaction to the challenges of life; you get whatever he needs in a moment of failure or stress. Physical, psychological, doesn’t matter. It’s why you two are so different, and why you have separate minds.”

“I’m not some nerd’s fucking fantasy ego! I’m my own person, and if you’d actually stayed around instead of running off, maybe you would fucking know that!” Roy turned and stormed off toward the bar. “You’re full of shit, and I’ve wasted enough time here. I’m going to the beach with our friends.”

How a man his size moved so fast, Roy would never know, but Owen closed the gap between them and placed a massive hand on his son’s shoulder. The grip wasn’t too tight, but it was firm enough to send the message that this conversation wasn’t over.

“You think I’m full of shit? Then tell me something, how did you lift nine hundred pounds with each hand a few minutes ago?”

“It was seven hundred and fifty.”

“I lied. It was nine hundred.”

Roy slowly turned to face his father. Owen flashed his son a devilish grin, one that Roy wouldn’t realize until much later he’d seen on his own face in the mirror more times than he could count. It was a smile that said quite clearly the wearer had gotten exactly the outcome they wanted.

“Who’s full of shit now?”

137.

By the third day, several of the beach-dwelling students had grown weary of the amateur cooking that half-drunk college sophomores could produce, so a small excursion was mounted to a local bar and grill. Nick, Alice, Thomas, and Will managed to snare a table amidst the thick crowd of fellow college students. Whether it was due to genuine luck or a bit of Nick’s interference was anyone’s guess. Regardless, the four huddled around the polished wooden tabletop and scrolled through menus coated in a sticky substance they all hoped was spilled liquor.

“Classy joint,” Nick commented, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the dull roar of intoxicated college students. He wondered if he’d put in too much effort on the fake IDs; some of the ones he’d seen walking in the door had been little better than cardboard with photos glued to them, yet they had all garnered entrance. Hell, the bouncer hadn’t even looked at Alice’s, but that probably had more to do with the tight, tank-top half shirt and beach shorts she was dressed in.

“I offered to get us into a nice steakhouse,” Alice reminded him.

“You’ve already done more than enough,” Thomas said. “Besides, this is part of the spring break experience.”

“If only there were some other place we could have hung around a giant crowd of drunks. Perhaps some sort of well-stocked beach house,” Will conjectured.

“Oh, stop being a spoil-sport. It’s good to get out on occasion,” Alice said. “Tell you what, you guys find some appetizers we can share, I’ll go get us drinks. Beers all around?”

“Water for me,” Will corrected.

“Right. Beers all around.” Alice flashed her friend a daring smile, hopped down off her stool, and began squeezing her way through the crowd toward the packed bar.

“I suppose I’ll be drinking, after all.”

“Don’t mind her, she just wants everyone to have fun,” Nick said. “The girl thinks we’re all wound too tight, and this is her chance to help us blow off some steam.”

“She isn’t entirely off the mark on that one,” Thomas concurred. “I don’t think I’ve seen everyone let their hair down this much since the river trip. Even then, it might not have been as much, because we had to keep setting up camp and keeping together. This is just a week of pure fun and relaxation.”

“And who better to champion that spirit than our bubbly, glitter-eyed blonde,” Nick said.

“I can’t think of a soul. Well, maybe Violet,” Thomas conceded. “That girl does love her beer.”

“So much so that she’s trying to train all of us to down a hundred shots of it in the span of a hundred minutes,” Will pointed out. “Which, by the way, might very well give someone alcohol poisoning.”

“Good thing Camille will be there,” Thomas said with a shrug. He was more than accustomed to Violet’s antics by this point; the best strategy was to prep for damage control and hope things didn’t get too out of hand.

Nick started to respond, but he noticed Alice making her way back to the table. She was balancing two beers in each hand and walking carefully. Something was wrong; her eyes were downcast, and her form seemed to be pulling in on itself. Alice usually walked with assertive confidence: a stunning figure and years of cultured upbringing will do that to a person. Right now, in contrast, she seemed embarrassed. It only took Nick a quick sweep of the room and a sorting of voices to discern the reason why.

Alice was being catcalled by some drunk guys at the bar.

“Hey, come on, baby, don’t be like that. Come back and have a drink with us.”

“Fuck, you’ve got an ass, girl. I want to bounce my dick off it.”

“I love the glitter! Are you a stripper, ’cause if so, I’d like to buy a dance.”

Alice had reached the table by the last one, and Nick felt something in his gut tighten. Her eyes, beneath the smear of pink sparkles she’d taken to applying on a regular basis, were beginning to grow moist. She set the beers down silently and angled herself away from the rest of the table.

Thomas and Will hadn’t noticed the boisterous voices; they were easy to miss amidst the chaos if you weren’t listening for them, so they didn’t know why Alice had returned in a significantly sadder mood. It was only a matter of time until they pieced things together; both of them were perceptive enough to figure it out. That situation was too dangerous to be allowed to manifest.

“Guys, why don’t you go find a waitress and get us some wings,” Nick said. “Right now, if you don’t mind.”

Thomas and Will looked at each other. Something was off with Nick. His affable, silly demeanor had all but evaporated. When he spoke that request, if it could be called that, it was with absolute authority, as if even the idea of being disobeyed was a foreign concept to him. It was strange, but Nick was right: they were both perceptive. It was obvious something was going on, and they would give their friend the space he needed. For now.

“Sure,” Thomas said. “We’ll be close by, just in case you decide you want anything else.”

“Much appreciated,” Nick said, without looking at them. Thomas and Will peeled off and began wading away from their table, heading toward a small serving area near the back of the restaurant. Once they were gone, Nick leaned in toward Alice so he could lower his voice. “Alice, there’s something I’ve been wondering about.”

“What?” She still faced away from him, but he could tell her voice was thicker than normal. She was still fighting back tears.

“The glitter you wear: it’s because of your mother, isn’t it?”

Alice whipped her head around and stared at him with a surprised look.

“High attention to detail, and I got you that book of pictures of her for your last birthday, remember? You’ve never shown any interest in that kind of look—in fact, you usually stay away from it—and then, after you get some as a gift, it starts showing up on you all the time. Didn’t take a genius to figure it out.”

Alice nodded slowly. “My dad told me she used to wear it all the time. Said she believed it was impossible to be unhappy when you were sparkly.”

“I see.” Nick took off his sunglasses and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. He slid both across the table toward Alice. “When this is over, call speed dial number three on my phone. Tell the person on the other end my name, where we are, and let him know I need a Counter’s Exit.”

“What does that . . . what are you going to do?”

138.

Nick didn’t answer Alice’s question; instead, he dropped off his stool and moved toward the bar. While the others had jostled and pushed their way through the crowd, Nick flowed through it like a river across a bed of rocks. He barely got touched by the time he reached the three drunken offenders.

“Good evening, gentlemen.”

The tallest one—the frosted-tip blond who had made the stripper comment—looked him up and down. “What do you want?”

“I want you to apologize to my friend, beg her for forgiveness, and then get the hell out of this place while it’s still an option.” There was no aggression in Nick’s voice or body language; if anything, he seemed to be perfectly peaceful. The only hint of what simmered beneath his calm surface was his choice of words.

“Go fuck yourself.” This one was smaller than Tips, a dense figure with a close shave along the top of his head and a tribal tattoo encircling a sizable bicep.

“Yeah, get out of here before we get annoyed.” The third fellow was darker skinned than the other, lean with long hair.

“So, just to be clear, you are refusing to act like men and own up to your drunken acts of rudeness? Rather, you prefer to be petulant children, content to wallow in their own idiocy while giving each other congratulatory hand jobs over their perceived prowess with women?”

“What the hell did you just say?” Tattoo asked. Nick sighed; it seemed, despite their status as seekers of higher education, he was going to have to go low-brow in order to move this along. He really had hoped for a quick resolution, but the longer he delayed, the greater the risk that Thomas or Will would get involved. Well, when in doubt, play the odds. Since he was dealing with drunken adolescents trying to prove their masculinity, it didn’t take a big leap of intelligence to guess what might set them off.

“I called you cowardly morons and implied that you were gay. You know, pillow-biters, pole-smokers, fudge—”

Nick was interrupted as Tattoo stumbled off his chair and took a swing at him. “Finally,” Nick mumbled under his breath. He sidestepped the drunken punch and drove his own fist into the muscular man’s throat. Tattoo immediately began to cough and clutch where Nick had struck, which left him defenseless for the follow-up blow to his right ear. Long Hair finally began reacting, lurching forward to help his friend. Nick delivered a sharp kick to his sternum, slamming him back-first into the edge of the bar. Nick made no attempt to conceal the boredom evident on his face.

Tips finally jumped into the fray, clearly surprised at his lackeys’ inability to handle one lone challenger. He reared back and swung with all his might. Nick was disappointed; even if they weren’t intoxicated, these three were still too slow to be any kind of a challenge. As drunks, well, they were hardly worth all the training his Vegas teachers had given him in the art of quick combat. This was not a style most of his HCP peers would have been familiar with. The vast majority of their martial arts were rooted in the idea of defense, in minimizing harm to each party and subduing a threat. Nicholas hadn’t been taught that kind of fighting. He’d never learned how to win fights; he’d been too busy being taught how to end them.

Nick plucked an empty beer bottle off a nearby table and used to it meet Tips’s punch. He couldn’t hear the subtle cracking of the small bones in his hand, but the way the taller boy howled in pain confirmed that Nick had been successful. He used the time to deliver a few quick kidney blows and send Long Hair stumbling to the floor.

This had all happened in less than ten seconds, so quickly that neither the other patrons nor the bouncers had time to react. That was changing; Nick could see two massive forms slowly shoving their way through the crowd. His way of fighting was quick and efficient, built for injury and swift victory. Still, he needed to step it up if he wanted to finish in time.

Tips was still clutching his hand as Nick’s fingers snarled through his hair and jerked him to a near standing position.

“Believe it or not, today I’ve been your damn savior,” Nick hissed in the now terrified drunk’s ear. “We live in a world where gods masquerade in mortal flesh. Learn some fucking propriety.” Nick jerked the jerk’s head back, then drove it forward on a collision course with the edge of the bar. He was well-versed in the use of hard surfaces in a fight; it was one of the first things you learned handling drunks in Vegas. If he angled it right, Nick could give this asshole permanent brain damage. In another direction, it could do long-term damage to his eye. Briefly, Nick entertained both of those options; however, in the end, he remembered that Alice was watching, so it was probably best to show at least some mercy.

“Mah teef!” Tips slurred from his bloody mouth. Funny thing about people: they always clenched their jaws when anticipating a hit. If you drove that tight mouth into a hard corner, you could do quite a bit of damage along both rows of teeth. It would only be cosmetic and could easily be capped, but it would hurt like a motherfucker.

“You’re welcome,” Nick said, staring down at the victims of his carnage with a curved smile slicing across his face. As the bouncers closed around him, the smile never wavered nor faded: if anything it seemed to grow more intense. It would be years before Tips would stop seeing that smile in his nightmares, a predicament many regretful former drunken gamblers in Las Vegas could have sympathized with.

Five tables away, Alice’s mouth hung open as they dragged Nick out the door. As quietly as she could, Alice scooped up his phone and sunglasses and followed them at a distance.

By the time Thomas and Will had gotten the wings ordered, it was all over and both of their classmates were already gone.

139.

“Campbell, Nicholas. You’re up.”

Nick happily stood from the stiff wooden bench he’d been sitting on. The cell wasn’t too bad; he’d certainly been tossed in worse over the years. Plus, it was still early in the evening, so there was only one drunk accompanying him. That dapper gentleman had passed out on the opposite side of the bench before soiling himself, so Nick was quite glad the family extractor had been quick with this one.

“Never seen someone get cleared of assault so fast,” the police officer remarked as his keys jingled in the lock. “You must have one hell of a lawyer.”

“Something like that.” Nick gave him a sheepish smile, nothing like the devil’s grin he’d worn when being dragged away from his victims. The jailer didn’t need to know that the order had actually come from a local politician who either owed the family a favor or owed someone who owed them. Crime only didn’t pay if you forgot to give the politicians their piece of the pie.

“Can’t believe a little guy like you took down three fellas. I mean, you’re fit, but the report said any one of them had twenty pounds and a few inches on you.” The jailer’s face grew uncertain as he pulled open the door. “You . . . you ain’t one of those Supers, are you?”

“Man, don’t I wish. Nah, the simple truth of it is that big guys can’t fight worth a crap. They’re big, so no one ever challenges them. We smaller folks know how to scrap, because we’re the ones everyone tries to take on.”

The jailer’s face eased; this explanation clearly fit into his worldview. “Well, you’re free to go. Seems everyone saw them throw the first punch, and you didn’t have any booze in you, so this is officially self-defense.” He closed the door and re-locked it, lest the pee-soaked drunk get any ideas of escape. “By the way, there’s a girl waiting for you in the lobby. She what this whole thing was about?”

“It’s possible,” Nick admitted.

“Can’t say I blame you, then,” the jailer said with a conspiratorial wink. “Can’t say I blame you one bit.”

*      *      *

Hershel’s body was aching as he lay on the hotel’s plush bed. He could have shifted to Roy, but Owen had been adamant that the more he was able to push himself, the better the results would be. Evidently, working through pain was part of that equation. It was invaluable experience; the closer Hershel could come to complete bodily destruction, the greater the gain Roy would see. He would have to pick up an exercise regimen once back at Lander, but this kind of intense training was far too dangerous to do without experienced supervision.

Hershel found he couldn’t just sit still, in spite of his body’s fervent demands that he do just that. He decided to compromise and engage his mind. A sore walk over to the desk and a few quick button punches fired up his laptop and jumped his connection onto the hotel’s free WiFi. The hotel’s front page came up, along with a few advertisements for local businesses a weary traveler might be interested in. There, in the lower left hand of the screen, was a small ad for Owen’s bar: Tartarus.

Hershel suppressed a grim chuckle. His father never had been all that creative. Owen had only taken the name Titan at a friend’s suggestion when he couldn’t think of anything better. Naming his bar after the place where the gods had sealed away the titans of ancient myth . . . it was just so predictable. Not that it was really appropriate, anyway. The Titan Scandal had certainly changed things for him; however, it didn’t have to mean his exile. Owen made that choice himself.

A new browser window opened, and a quick search revealed countless articles about the former Hero. Amidst the hate-speech and conspiracy theories, there were a few archives of images taken of him before the scandal. There, he was knocking out a gorilla equipped in a battle suit. There, he was lifting a bus of children off a collapsing bridge. There, he was shaking the president’s hand. It always looked so effortless, in his blue jeans, red mask, and red shirt. No wonder he was considered one of America’s great Heroes. A strong, powerful man, who often talked about his wonderful family, though never with enough detail to deduce his identity. A steady anchor of decency for people of all walks to rally around. A symbol of goodness and morality. Everyone had loved Titan.

Until he was caught having sex with another man.

Honestly, Hershel was amazed his mother had kept the truth of what happened from him for so long. He’d been in his teens before he finally found out about The Titan Scandal, a few weeks after Roy’s fateful trip out here. He’d found out about the reporter who’d spied on Titan, hoping to glean some information on his identity, and instead, recorded the famous family man carnally engaged in homosexual acts. The cheating was bad, but one would think that in this day and age people wouldn’t have completely lost their shit over something like that. One would think wrong.

Hershel browsed through the articles now; it wasn’t like he was going to read anything new. Conservative groups denounced Titan as a sinner and a liar who was secretly promoting his gay agenda. Homosexual advocacy groups rallied around his image in support. Conspiracy theorists screamed to anyone who would listen that the whole thing had been set up by a shadow government. And, in the eye of the media storm, hidden away in a small house in Chicago, a family self-destructed as a piece of truth that Owen had been trying to hide from everyone, even himself, finally came to light.

No one banished Titan. There was no law that a homosexual, or any minority for that matter, couldn’t be a Hero. He was the one who walked away. He was the one who couldn’t handle being a Hero once his precious image was shattered. He was the one who left his family to come run a gay bar in Colorado. The man who had taught Hershel and Roy about honesty, integrity, and living up to one’s obligations had walked away from everyone who depended on him.

That was the only part Hershel and Roy couldn’t forgive.

Hershel clicked off the computer and walked back to the bed. Suddenly, sleep sounded far more intriguing than it had half an hour ago.

140.

Nick and Alice plodded along the shoreline, well-illuminated by the lights from the nearby street and the glowing moon overhead. Neither had said much since leaving the station; Alice had grabbed a cab to follow Nick, since Thomas had driven them to the bar, but being unable to find one nearby after Nick’s release had left them with only the options of walking a few miles to the house or calling a friend to pick them up. Explaining why they were at a police station seemed like more effort than a sand-covered trek, so off they’d gone.

“You really beat the hell out of those guys,” Alice said, after about ten minutes of walking in silence. “I mean . . . you went after them.” Her voice was weaker than usual; her worry seemed to physically weigh down her words.

“They attacked me first,” Nick replied, pausing to knock some of the sand from his flip-flops.

“Bullshit. I know you well enough to know they did exactly what you wanted them to do. They were drunk idiots, and I’m not really sorry they got hurt, but . . . I’ve never seen that look in your eyes before.” Despite the warm spring air, Alice shivered slightly. “Nick, you looked savage, scary, and happier than I think I’ve ever seen before. Is that . . . was that . . . the real you?”

Nick finished knocking away the sand and looked up at her. She was staring at him, resisting the urge to look away even though it was clear she wanted to. Her right arm was pulled across her stomach, something of a half-hug for reassurance. In this light, she looked smaller than normal, yet somehow more beautiful as the soft light illuminated her features.

“Are you cashing in your marker?”

“What?”

“Our bet, from the second team event. I promised you an honest answer to one question if you won your match. I’m asking if you want to use it for this question, right now.”

Alice was silent for a moment, then shook her head.

“Then I’m going to say no, and you’ll have to decide for yourself whether it’s the truth or not.” Nick turned to resume their journey, but Alice wasn’t done with the discussion yet.

“You didn’t have to do it that way. I was okay, it was just words. You didn’t have to hurt them.”

“Words are more powerful than people think,” Nick said, with a sigh. “As for not hurting them, I’ll admit I’m pretty new to the world of friendship— hell, I’m still grappling with the idea of even having real friends— but one thing I’m sure of is that I’m not going to stand around and do nothing while someone hurts a person I care about. Besides, it was the best outcome.”

“How was that the best outcome?”

“Thomas and Will were there too. Thomas is like Vince, overprotective to a fault. He would have knocked those guys senseless once he figured it out. As for Will, let’s just say I’ve seen the look in his eyes when he gets serious, and he’s not someone I would purposely make an enemy of. Both would have taken action; neither of them have my connections. Jail would have been a much bigger deal for them; especially if it came out that they were Supers.”

“I . . . I can’t believe I missed this. I get it now.”

“Yup. Just trying to keep things moving along nicely.”

“No. You were protecting all of us,” Alice said, some of her usual authority returning to her tone.

“Whoa now, let’s not go overboard. I just didn’t want the week to get spoiled. We’re all having too much fun. One of us getting locked up would have brought everyone down.”

“It would have. And an arrest for fighting humans would have been a serious black mark against Thomas or Will when they tried to advance to the next year,” Alice surmised. “You weren’t just hitting them on my behalf; you were doing it before the others had a chance, because you knew you could walk away.”

Nick sighed and looked out at the ocean lapping onto the shore. This was why he loathed people with unpredictable perception. He could usually slip so much by Alice, but every now and then, she caught something he didn’t expect her to see. It was quite annoying.

“Look, I think you’re giving me too much—”

“Why are you in the HCP?” Alice interrupted. Her passive posture was gone; now she moved slightly toward him, shoulders set and eyes full of steel. “And yes, I’m calling in my marker or whatever you said. Honest, complete answer. I want to know.”

“Have to admit, I wasn’t expecting that one. Mind if I ask why?”

“I just want to understand,” Alice replied. “What I saw today, that beast in your eyes as you smacked those guys around, it was kind of terrifying. But then, when I really think back, it seems like you’re always doing stuff like that. Playing the idiot or the ass and making missteps so the rest of us won’t. You go so far out of your way to act like a dick, but if someone were to look carefully, they’d see you’re always protecting the rest of us. I’m trying to figure out what’s real, and what isn’t. The HCP wasn’t a mandatory part of the program. It was an offer. I’m hoping that knowing why you took that offer might help me figure things out.”

“I suppose I can see the thought process there,” Nick admitted. He walked toward the water, and Alice followed a few steps behind. At the edge of the tide line, he kicked off his flip-flops and trod a few feet further. The water pushed itself up the shore, covering his feet then pulling away, sinking him slightly as it stole away the sand.

“The reason I told the . . . my family is that this is training I can’t get anywhere else in the world. There are big plans for me, and bringing my ability under control would go a long way toward reaching those goals. In my entrance interview, I told the school I wanted in because it was a chance to finally get control of something that had run my life for so long, to turn a handicap into an asset. Both are true, although the reasoning behind the second is different than a person who didn’t know me might assume. But if I’m being completely honest, there is a third piece of the puzzle as to why I enrolled in the HCP.”

Alice pulled her own shoes off and joined him in the water’s path. She stood close; close enough that he could feel her presence tingling along his arm, but without touching him. The waves rolled in and rolled out. Their gentle lapping was the only sound either could hear. Alice waited.

“I was a kid once. I mean, not a very normal one, and I don’t remember having a child’s mentality for long, but I was a kid once. Gerry used to tell me stories and read books to me. He loved classics. Don Quixote, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, shit like that. I read comic books too, once I could read on my own. I played pretend that I was a noble knight rescuing princesses. I put a towel on like a cape and ran around making flying noises.” Nick paused as he ran his hand through his sandy hair.

“Even someone like me wanted to be the hero, once upon a time. Dreamed about making the world a better place. Believed that one person could make a difference. All that crap. I came to Lander mostly for the logical reasons I gave everyone else. However, complete honesty, I think some part of me wanted to touch that fantasy again. Maybe a chunk of me even wanted to believe in real heroes, not just Supers with the title. Silly, especially saying it out loud, but it’s the truth, and that’s what you wanted.”

“You were a kid once,” Alice repeated. Her hand worked its way carefully into his, intertwining her digits amidst those dexterous fingers as a fresh wave washed over their feet.

“Yeah. Did that help with your dilemma?”

Alice smiled and turned to face him. “Not really.”

“Oh well. Can’t win ‘em all.”

141.

Camille lay out on the deck, staring up at the stars and listening to the waves roll across the sand. The week had flown by, her memories of it a mental collage of swimming, games, and healing lots of people’s hangovers. It had been a good time with her friends, despite the fact that she’d spent less time with Vince than she might have otherwise preferred. He’d seemed distracted since the second day, spending more time than usual off on his own. The boy probably went on three solo runs a day. Still, that was just one fly in the ointment of a wonderful week, so she couldn’t complain that much.

There was a soft thud as the door behind her opened. People had been wandering out occasionally, letting the night air bring some clarity to their thoughts before heading back into the den of chaos. So far, the night was on the tame side, but Violet had declared tonight reserved for her Centennial Club, so it wasn’t surprising that people were hesitant to pre-drink before such a booze-heavy endeavor.

“Hey.” Vince’s voice came slightly ahead of him, his familiar form drifting into Camille’s field of vision a few seconds after the word hit her ears.

“Hey yourself,” she replied. She noticed he was holding one of the many plastic cups that had been used to house beer, cocktails, and—on very rare occasions— water. “Careful; you let Violet see you walking around with a plastic cup, she’ll assume you’ve decided to drink. That makes you fair game for tonight’s challenge.”

Vince took a sip from the aforementioned cup and winced visibly. “Nick made me a screwdriver. Apparently, the orange juice is supposed to mask the taste of the alcohol.”

“Oh. Does it?”

“Not with the amount Nick poured.” Vince motioned to the empty deck chair next to her. “Mind if I join you?”

“By all means.” Camille waited until he’d settled into a reclining position before asking her next question. “What’s weighing on your mind?”

“Am I that easy to read?”

“You’ve been a little distracted all week, which admittedly, could have been you keeping away from the wild party crowd, but now you’re drinking alcohol. Last time you did that was when you were worried about losing your spot in the HCP over grades. So, in summary, yes, you are very much that easy to read.”

“When you put it like that . . .” Vince trailed off and took another swig of his screwdriver. He shook his head after the gulp. “Sweet heaven, this is awful. Want to try it?” He extended the cup to his deckchair neighbor.

“Why would I want to try something awful?”

“No idea. Seemed polite to at least offer.”

Camille accepted the plastic container, but made no motion to sip from it. Instead, she moved it from hand to hand as she looked out at the starlight-speckled dark sky.

“Sasha wants to get back together with me.”

“Oh.” Camille took a short sip from the cup in her hands. Vince had not exaggerated the awfulness of the vodka concoction. She put the drink back to her lips and took a much longer draw. “I’m guessing that’s confusing for you?”

“Very. I mean, I was in love with her last year when things fell apart, but once I saw how she felt about me, I really did my best to move on. I suppose, deep down, a part of me always hoped that she’d change her mind, but that part of me didn’t actually bother to figure out what I wanted beyond that.”

“Now that you can have her, you’re not sure if you want her?” Camille took one last guzzle and handed the now noticeably lighter cup back to Vince. With her small frame, she knew she’d already downed more than was prudent, but if this conversation went the way she was anticipating, a little numbness might be worth the other effects of intoxication.

Vince laughed lightly and accepted his cup. “No, I think it would be accurate to say that now that having her is a reality, not just a lonely fantasy, I have to face the real consequences of what making that choice would be.”

“Consequences, like having back the girl you wanted.”

“See, that’s just it. The girl I wanted. The girl I loved. I still feel things for her, I won’t deny that, but after everything that’s happened, I’m not sure that I still want to be in a relationship with her. It’s hard to tell if I want to be with her, or if I just want to be with someone.”

“That doesn’t sound like you at all.”

“Everyone gets lonely, Camille. I don’t think there’s any shame in admitting that sometimes, the desire to just have someone to be with is there, even if you don’t have a particular someone in mind.”

“No, I suppose you’re right. It’s human nature, and even we not-quite-human freaks aren’t immune.”

“Freaks,” Vince said, tasting the word before washing it away with the remainder of his drink. “I hate that word.”

Camille realized her faux pas immediately. “Vince, I’m sorry. That was just a bad choice of words, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

He looked over at her and gave his reassuring smile. “I know you didn’t. You’ve never once treated any of us like we were different just because we used to be Powereds. I bet you would have been nice to us even if we weren’t Supers.” Vince turned back to the sky and put his hands behind his head. “No, I hate that word for different reasons. When I was traveling around, I heard people talking about Supers a lot, and that was the most common word they used. Freaks. They said it with so much anger and contempt, this whole unacknowledged sentiment of hate directed toward people just for the way they were born. People think being a Powered is hard, and it is, but the world usually looked at us with annoyance or pity. People who could control their abilities, they were the ones who were despised.”

Camille nodded, not trusting herself to talk. Too many memories of her life before meeting Vince were trying to bubble up in her mind, aided a bit by the generous dose of vodka now working through her system. Camille understood how people hated Supers. She understood very well.

“Sorry, I guess I went off on a ramble there,” Vince said. “Anyway, I’ve spent the week trying to figure out what to do about Sasha, and all I’ve managed is to make myself more confused. So tonight, I’m going the opposite direction and trying not to think. Hence my letting Nick make me a drink. I’ll try not to burden you with loss of stomach control this time, at least.”

He gave her a playful wink, and just like that, the serious cloud that had settled over them was dispelled. Camille’s bad memories faded back into the recesses of her subconscious, replaced by the shining one of when she’d first looked up at the stalwart man now sitting across from her.

“If you do, then you’re in deep trouble, because I doubt I’ll be in any shape to help.”

“Screwdriver already hitting you that hard?”

“No, but the many shots of beer I’m about to take will probably push me way over the edge. Let’s go tell Violet we’re playing along.”

“Is that a good idea? Neither of us is a really heavy drinker.”

“No, it’s a terrible idea, but I think we’re both responsible enough to be allowed one of those on occasion. Besides, we won’t try to do the whole thing, just what we can manage.” The small girl pulled herself up from the chair and looked down at Vince, tapping her foot against the wooden floor of the deck.

“Yup, this is a horrible idea,” Vince said, grinning as he rose up and followed her back into the ruckus of the house.

142.

Owen’s punch sent Roy three feet in the air and twenty feet back. The younger man crashed to the ground in a rolling heap, his movement continuing until he wound up back on his feet. If not for his own levels of endurance to physical damage, that blow would likely have broken his sternum. Instead, it just felt like it had.

“You managed to deflect most of the power from that one,” Owen complimented. “Most people with our ability fight like they don’t understand the concept of injury. It’s nice to see that school of yours has at least been teaching you the basics of intelligent fighting.”

Roy patted himself down while his father talked, double-checking for any serious wounds. Even with a step back and a strike against Owen’s forearm, that punch still had enough force to warrant concern. If Roy had taken it full force, well, he was reasonably sure it wouldn’t have killed him, but that probably would have been the end of their last day’s training. Hershel was slated to drive back to Lander tomorrow morning, so this was the final iteration of Owen’s Intense Battle Camp. It hadn’t been an easy week, but the results were already showing themselves.

“They teach us a lot,” Roy said, after he was sure his bones were still in the correct number of pieces. “Plus, I had a hell of a sparring partner last year. He showed me the value in not getting hit.”

“Not getting hit is a damned fine skill to master,” Owen said with a nod. “But, for us, it comes second to being able to take one.”

“Isn’t that the exact opposite of learning not to get hit?”

“No; knowing how to avoid attacks is fine, when you have that option. Let me ask you something about this sparring partner of yours: what is his power?”

“Complete control of his body, down to a molecular level.”

“Damn, that’s a pretty fine one. I’m guessing he can do some interesting things with it.”

“He can speed up his perception of time, has perfect memory, and I once saw him heal a cut on his head in a couple of seconds. All of that on top of the fact that he’s strong as shit.” Roy might have spoken higher of Chad’s impressive punching power if not for the offhanded blow his father had dealt him. The man was redefining Roy’s very concept of strength.

“Ten to twenty, he also has a bunch of tricks you haven’t even seen yet,” Owen commented. “Things he can do that will help in a variety of situations. Probably even ways to subdue other Supers without injuring them. That’s why he knows how to avoid being hit; for him, that will always be priority one. You and I don’t have variety. We do two things well. Hit, and get hit. That’s our bread and butter. That’s where we live.”

“I don’t get it, why the hell can’t I counter or dodge?”

“You can, when it’s appropriate. But what are you going to do when your team is staring down a fully-charged energy beam that fires directly at your group? You going to dodge? Because you might get away, or at least get by uninjured. Not all of your teammates will be able to do the same.”

“What would you do in that situation?”

“Same thing I’ve always done in that situation. I’d charge the fucking thing and take the full brunt of it. Because that’s my job, just like the healer would fix whatever it broke on me and the ranged guys would tear it up before it could fire again.”

“What if it destroyed you?”

“That’s why we train like this. Not just to push our limits, but to be aware of them. A strongman who doesn’t know how much he can take won’t last very long, not unless his endurance is so top-class it might as well be invulnerability. Every Super who makes it to Hero is intimately familiar with what they can and can’t do. It’s why different teams get different assignments. It’s why strategies are altered depending on the threat. Your sparring partner will have a myriad of options for how he handles his shit. You have two.”

“Hit and get hit,” Roy echoed, nodding his head with understanding at last.

“Exactly. So you better train like hell to make sure you can do both better than everyone else you know.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Roy said. He glanced at the sun’s position in the sky. He could probably push it a while longer, but the day was definitely beginning to lose ground in the fight against evening. From the discussion they’d just had, Owen would likely come at him hard: hard enough to put him down for a while. That might mean being here during business hours, which was not a particularly desirable outcome.

“Well, thanks for the training.” Roy’s posture changed as he purposely took himself out of a ready stance. “Day is almost over, so I’m going to call it. Have a good one.” He turned and headed toward the exit, not really expecting to get out this easy, but still hoping for it.

“Wait, you’re leaving?” Roy couldn’t see Owen’s face, but the poorly-suppressed sadness in his voice made it far too easy to picture.

“Of course. Have to get up early to drive back, and we’re getting close to business hours. I believe it was one of your rules that I be gone by the time the doors open, right?”

“Yeah, I suppose it was.” Owen’s voice broke off near the end; for once, the unstoppable man was unsure about how to go forward. “Look, I know you’ve got a life to get home to, one that hasn’t involved me for a long time, but I was thinking that we could try to stay in touch—”

“Pass,” Roy said, giving in at last and turning around. Owen’s face was more controlled than he’d expected, but his eyes told the story of a man barely holding it together. “Don’t get me wrong, Hershel and I both appreciate what you’ve done for us here. It’s not an exaggeration to say that if I make it as a Hero, it will be at least partly due to you. You taught me the truth about what I am.”

Roy walked back toward his father until he was only a few steps away. It was probably less than five feet of separation, but miles stretched in between each one of those feet.

“I’m truly grateful. So grateful I’ve kept civil this whole week. But that’s it. That’s the end of it.”

“I understand,” Owen said with a heavy sigh. “I didn’t really expect you to understand any of this.” He gestured a massive hand back at Tartarus to illustrate the point.

“You think I don’t want to get reacquainted with you because of the gay thing?”

“Don’t you?”

“Fuck you,” Roy spat. “Mom raised me better than that. Look, let me ask you a question. You know the Hero, Globe?”

Owen nodded. “I met him once or twice. We never worked on the same team or anything.”

“One of the other people in my program, Vince, was raised by a guy who some people are speculating might be him. They think Globe faked his death, lived as a hobo wanderer, took in some street urchin Powered, and took care of him until his early teens. Honestly, I think it’s bullshit, but even if Vince really was raised by a psychopath murderer in hiding, I’m still jealous of him. Want to guess why?”

“I—”

“Because his father was fucking there. He taught him how to fight, how to survive, how to be a man. You should see the way Vince lights up when he talks about him. Might secretly be one of the greatest villains of our age, had no blood relation to the kid, and he was still a better dad than you. Even if he’d done a shitty job, at least he was punching the clock. You just fucking quit. That’s why I don’t want you in my life. You already made the choice to cut me out of yours.”

“Roy, you don’t understand how difficult things were. Even if the world didn’t know I was Titan, our community did. We hung out with other Heroes. Every person in my world was suddenly looking at me like . . . I don’t even have the words. And that’s to say nothing of the pain I saw in your mother’s eyes. I’m not proud of the choice I made, but I thought it was best for the family to take me out of it.”

“Bullshit. It was just easier. You had a kid who would uncontrollably turn into someone else with strength, endurance, and shitty impulse control, and somehow, you looked at that situation and decided he’d be better without anyone to teach him what it meant to be different. Better yet, to take away the person he looked up to and had wanted to be like. I’m not saying staying wouldn’t have been hard, but don’t you dare look me in the eye and tell me that you ran away for the family.”

Owen’s eyes tightened as he looked back at his son. “I guess this is it, then.”

“I guess so,” Roy agreed. “Thanks for the training, and for the mantra. Hit, and get hit. Protect the people around you. I think that’s a solid philosophy for people like us.” Roy turned and walked to the door, this time, unhindered by any outcry from Owen.

“Hit, and get hit,” Owen said softly as he watched his son walk out of his life.

143.

By the time Vince stumbled into his room at the beach house, he’d managed to put down a solid eight beers through the course of the evening. This placed him well behind the rest of the drinkers, who had completed Violet’s Centennial Club and then immediately switched to a different drinking activity, yet still left him buzzed without pushing him into the realm of being a useless vomiting heap on the bathroom floor. It was that gentle place of intoxication, where everything is pleasant and the nausea is more fun than worrying. He opened the door, expecting to tumble into his bed and allow the ever-increasing sleepiness to whisk him away from his overworked consciousness. Instead, what greeted him as he stepped through the door was a soft pair of lips pressing furtively against his own, filling his mouth with a familiar taste.

Dimly, he registered hearing the door close behind him as he was led firmly toward the bed; however, Vince suspected sleep was no longer the primary objective. Not that it would have come easily anyway; the deft hands that were running across his body had wiped away his drowsiness and left tingles of anticipation in its place. With no small effort, Vince rallied his self-control and freed his tongue for the purpose of speaking.

“Sasha, I—”

“I know,” she interrupted, her breath heavy. She looked like she’d been readying herself for bed; a thin pink t-shirt and a pair of gray sweats were draped across her body, creating an all too thin layer of separation between them. “I know you haven’t made your choice. I know you aren’t sure what you want. That isn’t what this is about.” She pressed against him and worked her hand under his shirt, her nails trailing lightly as they rose up his back.

“How can this not be about us getting back together?” He found he was having trouble remembering why he was objecting, and his beer-laden brain didn’t seem eager to dig up the reason.

“‘Together’ can mean a lot of things.” Sasha damn near purred, so close he could feel her breath in his ear. “This isn’t the complicated one.”

“Sasha, please.” Vince placed his own hand on the back of her head, trying to slow her down and steady himself at the same time. “I need to understand.”

Sasha pulled back a begrudging few inches with an exasperated huff. “For fuck’s sake, Vince, what is so hard to grasp? I miss you. Yes, I want to be together again, but I also miss the way you smell and taste and feel. I miss holding your hand. I miss lying naked and exhausted next you. I told you I wanted to be together as a couple, and I meant it, but don’t you miss being physically engaged with one another?”

“I do,” Vince admitted. “And I miss you, too. I’ve missed you all year long.”

“You don’t have to anymore.” Sasha pushed closer to Vince once more, this time, with less furtive vigor and more careful delicacy. Her kiss was almost more a brushing against his lips at first, then, as she drew nearer, the force slowly grew.

Vince’s head swam, an unexpected cocktail of hormones, vodka, and beer all catalyzing into a mind-dissolving acid that was rapidly destroying his capacity for rational thought. He knew what he wanted to do—dear lord, it was hard to focus on anything besides that— but he didn’t know if it was the right thing. Some part of him, a rapidly growing one at that, screamed that he could figure it out later. Sasha wanted this. He wanted this. It didn’t carry any implications about his choice. What could be wrong with giving in to some physical comfort?

*      *      *

“Promise me you’ll be here when I wake up.” Vince’s voice was still weak; the smoke’s damage to his vocal chords would likely have left him with a permanent rasp in other circumstances. His eyes, in contrast, were unyielding, staring up at her with absolute need.

She smiled and leaned down, giving him a careful kiss. It was strange that he never saw her apply anything to her lips, yet they still always tasted like cherries and root beer. He never would have imagined that combination before, now Vince couldn’t picture a world without it. Her dark curls tumbled against one of the burns on his face and he winced involuntarily, breaking their embrace.

“I’ll be here. You think I’m not going to stick around to make sure you’re okay? Give me a little credit here, Tights.”

Vince squeezed her hand with as much strength as he had, which was very little. “Thank you. For everything.”

*      *      *

“I can’t.” Vince pulled away, the jerking motion pushing him from a pleasant head-swim into momentary disorientation. “I’m sorry, Sasha, I can’t. Even if you say this doesn’t impact my other decision, that’s not true. If I stay with you tonight, then we’re going to get back together. I know myself well enough to know that I won’t be able to say no.”

“But . . . oh. So, I guess you already have an answer for me then.”

Vince nodded slowly, both out of respect to the importance of the situation and to let his brain regain its grasp on proper motion. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s . . . I guess I won’t say it’s okay, because we both know that isn’t true, but I understand. We had a lot come between us since last year. I get why you wouldn’t want to be with me anymore.”

“No, Sasha, it’s not that. I want to be with you. I want to be with you so bad that I’m barely able to say all this. I’ve just come to terms with the fact that I wasn’t ready for another relationship. Some of my wounds from the last one still haven’t healed all the way.”

Sasha let out a harsh snort of a laugh. “Fucking A, you’re giving me the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech?”

“The what?” Vince’s knitted eyebrows and tilted head told all the story she needed to hear. Sometimes, it was easy to forget that he’d grown up without the usual cultural experiences, like sitcoms or dating. Not to mention the fact that he was so stupidly honest. It was a bit maddening; however, it seemed that he truly meant what he said—the issues were his own, not with her.

“Never mind.” She moved a few feet away, trying to quiet her body’s vocal cries to keep at it until he touched her in all the ways she could remember too damned clearly. “This girl from your past, was it the one who took your V-card?”

“Yes. She was my first.”

“Must have been one hell of a lay. Sorry, sorry, I knew that was too much as soon as I said it.” She knit her hands together to stop them from trying to mosey across the divide between them. “So, I guess we’re just classmates now.”

“I like to think of us as friends.”

“Friends.” Of course, he didn’t know how hard that would be. He hadn’t been down this road like everyone else. He was like a child in so many ways, seeing only possibilities where everyone else had already tasted bitter failure. He had no idea what he was asking, of her or of himself. He didn’t know the odds of them being able to make that transition were staggeringly low. He just believed it was doable, like he believed in so much other stupid bullshit. Yet he was always so goddamned happy. No one else she’d ever met was able to move through life the way he did, with surety at every decision and optimism at every outcome. So, maybe there was something to be said for taking the long shots after all. Perhaps stupid bullshit deserved a chance, if only once in a while.

“I think we can manage that,” she said, giving him an earnest smile.

144.

The return of the students, both normal and members of the HCP, marked the final chunk of the school year, with only nominal holidays to break up the work until summer vacation. The home stretch was a time when most hurriedly attacked their books in an often-futile effort to raise their grades before final exams. In the HCP, it was much the same, and added into that frenzy of studying, they also honed their respective skills. The final match was approaching, and it didn’t require a genius to figure out it would likely be a large part of the test to determine who would advance to next year. With Michael Clark gone, there were twenty-seven students remaining, all competing for the twenty spots in the junior year class. Even assuming no former students managed to snare a space, that left a best case scenario of losing seven classmates.

It was a trial by fire, an emotional wringer that would test even the closest of friendships. The system had been designed not only knowing that, but expecting it. The goal was, after all, to create Heroes that were able to rise to any challenge and not falter in the clutch. Of course, there were other challenges to meet along the way, and as the students stumbled back onto campus in droves, one pair of chaperones was dealing with theirs.

“While I can certainly appreciate Ms. Robbin’s intentions, encouraging the foliage to grow in such a manner has caused no end of trouble for the park officials,” Dean Blaine said, reading through one of many folders piled up on his desk. “Were you aware that shrubbery can grow so thick, that the only efficient way to get through it is with a flamethrower? I was not, but now, I have ample complaint letters detailing how that process works.”

“Candi didn’t mean for it to go on like that,” Mary defended. “I talked to her, and she was just settling a debate on whether plants had ambitions or not. Admittedly, it got out of hand.”

“That is a spectacular understatement if ever I’ve heard one. Of course, it still isn’t as troublesome as having the very river you were on suddenly alter its course.”

“That one is my fault,” Chad said. “I had Walter shift the flow to take care of a different problem.”

“Ah, you mean the twenty-foot blazing pillar that manifested in the middle of a clearing?”

“That would be the one.”

“I suppose that is the lesser of two evils,” Dean Blaine admitted, shuffling to a different folder. “On the plus side, you seem to have gotten through without losing any students or allowing anyone to sustain serious injury. That much can be commended, especially since there are no healers in that class to cover up transgressions. Two years in a row; I suppose that makes it a hot streak.”

“There were injuries on the trip before ours?” Mary asked.

“And the year before that, and the year before, etcetera. Occasionally, we get a good year, such as the one where Ms. DeSoto imposed her unusual brand of authority and kept people safe, but two in a row is quite rare.”

“Actually, Angela gave me several pointers of how to keep things from getting out of hand,” Chad said. “In a way, she’s partially responsible for both years.”

“Quite a humorous turn of events, seeing as she was the one responsible for the injury when she was a freshman.”

“Angela got hurt?” Mary asked. Dean Blaine and Chad immediately exchanged a poorly-disguised grin. She felt the tips of her ears turn red. Being a telepath meant she was not often out of the loop. Two years ago, she would have done near anything not to have other people’s thoughts buzzing about in her brain, but now, it was quite annoying to sit next to these two pillars of mental silence.

“Very much the opposite. She got into what she would eventually describe as a ‘light tussle’ and caused broken bones in several of her classmates.”

“Angela is very powerful,” Chad added for emphasis.

“I suppose that does make more sense,” Mary said, still a bit begrudging about their inside chuckle at her expense. “So, are we in trouble?”

Dean Blaine blinked a few times in surprise. “What on earth for?”

“All the problems. The fire, the river, the super-growing grass.”

“Heavens no, you did exactly what you were supposed to do. You solved problems as they arose and kept all of your charges safe. Forgive my brusque demeanor: I only needed to get some clarification around the incidents for my reports. Truth be told, you both did an exceptional job.”

“We did?”

“We did,” Chad assured her. “Really, anytime there’s not a giant catastrophe involving the HCP interacting with the real world, it’s considered a win. A bunch of competitive people with high-level abilities tossed into a social environment is often the recipe for some serious public gaffes.”

“You’d think I’d have heard more about that sort of thing.”

“We have an excellent PR department,” Dean Blaine explained. “Luckily, it seems they will not be needed for this year’s trip. I do still have a good bit of paperwork to do, so while I appreciate you two coming down, I’m afraid I must politely request you head out.”

“Sure,” Mary said, she and Chad both rising from their seats. “Hey, Dean Blaine?”

“Yes?”

“I’ve noticed a lot of activities between the sophomores and the freshmen. The party in November, chaperoning the river trip, helping with the carnival at the end of the year, all that stuff. There doesn’t seem to be as much interaction between the other classes. Do we start doing events with the seniors once we become juniors?”

“Sadly, you do not,” Dean Blaine replied. “Once you enter your third year in the Hero Certification Program, the demands on your time increase significantly, as do the tasks required of you. We try to add a little fun to the earlier years when we can, specifically because of how arduous the program becomes.”

“So, this is the last year of fun?”

“Certainly not. It’s just the last year you’ll be able to view your classmates the same way. From here on, it will be nearly impossible to ignore the truth of your situation: that every one of your friends is battling against you for a dream only a select few of you will get to realize. Casual socialization becomes much harder when done in light of those circumstances.”

“Oh,” Mary said, not quite sure what to say or feel about Dean Blaine’s statement. He wasn’t wrong, that much was obvious, but she hadn’t really taken the time to think about it like that. As she and Chad left the office, closing the door behind her, the blond boy gave her a courtesy nod, then headed off toward the gym. In that moment, Mary realized something else she hadn’t picked up on before.

That was how Chad had been looking at all of them from the very beginning.

145.

“And that’s . . . how you fucking . . . do it!”

Roy’s voice echoed through the nearly empty gym: only the equipment and Professor Fletcher were around to provide acoustic absorption. He dropped the weights, one thousand pounds per hand, to the ground in a concrete-cracking clatter. The ultra-dense dumbbells sent up a cloud of fine dust that drifted upward, almost all the way to Roy’s beaming grin.

“Seven reps. You definitely broke through that wall of yours.” Professor Fletcher’s face was hard to read, but if Roy had taken a stab in the dark, he would have gone with curiosity as the emotion of the moment. He had no idea how right he was, or how embarrassed Professor Fletcher would have been if he’d known it was showing. “And that big of an increase in only a week? That must have been some incredible training.”

“Was it ever. Totally worth every minute of it.” Roy was glad he could say this with honesty. Although Hershel had done the lion’s share of the work over break, he knew his brother had no regrets about the effort spent. He could still feel the pride practically glowing off the memories at the end of each day. Hershel was finally part of being a Super, and for that, he would have suffered hundreds of times as much pain as a few stiff muscles.

“I’m impressed,” Professor Fletcher finally admitted. “With a few months until your final match, if you continue to improve at this pace, I expect you’ll put on quite a show.”

Roy nodded solemnly. This was their first day back from spring break, and at the entrance had been the usual nonchalant piece of paper announcing a match. The worrying thing was that this time, it was only a date: May 20. There were no lineups listed. It was possible they’d left them off because there was only one more unique combination of adversaries to pit against each other, but somehow, no one was quite willing to bank on that theory. Nearly two years in the HCP had taught them to avoid assumptions. It was best to go in ready for anything.

“I’m going to try my best. Actually, that’s part of what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I wanted to see if you could help me come up with an exercise regime that would really push someone who is out of shape. Nothing too dangerous, just enough to make sure they’re constantly hitting their limits.”

“Given the fact that you are several hundred pounds of relatively solid muscle and just curled a literal ton of weight, I’m guessing this isn’t for you,” Professor Fletcher speculated.

“No, sir. Actually, it’s for Hershel.”

“Is it now? While I can appreciate your concern for your brother’s health, especially given how he thought you would react to your trip, I’m afraid my time is supposed to be dedicated to helping those actually in the program.”

“It does help me,” Roy protested. “Look, it’s a little complicated, but I promise, this is part of my training.”

“How about you un-complicate it, and we’ll go from there?”

*      *      *

Vince thought he was the first one done with class on Mondays, so he was surprised to come back and find Nick sitting in the living room. He was reclined in a chair facing the television, and from the way his sunglasses sat slightly skewed, Vince wondered if he was taking a nap. Taking care to be quiet, Vince headed over to the boys’ side door.

“Good first day back?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Depends, is it your first day if you skip all of your classes? Aside from the HCP ones, of course.” Nick’s tone was distant, one he’d chosen specifically for this performance.

Vince shrugged off his backpack and let it settle to the ground. This was a new mood from Nick, and that usually meant things were going to get interesting. “Why’d you skip your classes?”

“Let me answer your question to my question with a question. Did you see the announcement?”

“Yeah, final match is in May.”

“Then, given that it is currently late March, you can probably take a good guess at why I skipped my classes today.” Nick jerked himself out of the chair and took a few steps away, simultaneously smoothing out his hair and straightening his sunglasses. “I’ve had a rather unexpected hitch thrown into our plans. All my previous months’ efforts have been spent devising a myriad of strategies to use against Team Three. The sheet didn’t announce any such match up, which means I now have to account for how we would beat Two, Three, Four, or any strange combination of them, not to mention factoring in surprise elements like the potential of shifting a Captain’s team members at the last minute.”

“Are you okay? You seem stressed.”

“Wouldn’t you be?”

“Sure, but that’s me. You’re very rarely stressed, and even less rarely do you show it.”

Nick let out a long sigh and desperately wished this character smoked. It would have made such a nice touch. “Damn your bouts of perception. Yes, I am stressed, because, while I expected some sort of monkey wrench, I wasn’t quite prepared for no direction at all. It invalidates all logical planning. No team can realistically prep for every scenario.”

“It’ll be okay, Nick,” Vince assured him. “We’re a strong team, and we’ve only gotten better through the year. You’ve helped us get further than we would have without you. Just believe in the team and think of some fluid strategies like you did for the first one.”

“The first one had parameters, Vince, even if they were only knowing who we would face. I will give you that we have a solid team, much better than we did at the beginning of the year. For the most part, everyone pulls their weight.”

Vince rolled his eyes. “For the most part? It’s okay to be positive, you know? I can’t think of anyone who doesn’t give their all.”

“I can,” Nick replied immediately. “You.”

“I . . . excuse me?”

“You. You don’t do your best. You don’t pull your weight. In our span at Lander, you have won two, count them, two fights. Thomas in freshman year, and Michael in our first match this year. Congratulations, that makes you tied with me.”

“But—”

“And that’s not even mentioning how long it took you to actually start using your power. Even now, I bet you’ve only got that leftover forest fire and maybe a car battery’s worth of electricity inside you. Then, there’s your supposedly new weapon—kinetic energy. Have you done any training that I didn’t lead you in? I’ll take anything, even a game of catch against a wall. Anything?”

“I . . . no, I haven’t.”

“I know you haven’t, because I know you.” Nick ran his hands through his hair again, giving the illusion that he was calming himself down. “Vince, you’re one of my best friends, and you’re probably the most selfless and loyal person I’ve ever met, but you’re always fucking terrified of going all out. From day one, you might have been one of the strongest people here, yet your record is shit, because while the rest of us are pushing our limits, you haven’t even tested yours. And that’s why I tell you all this now. You need to push yourself. I need you to push yourself. Because this last match is going to be the big one, and if we fall short, I’m positive that this dormitory will have some vacancies next year.”

Vince’s gaze had been drifting toward the floor, but at Nick’s final words, his demeanor grew stiff and his eyes rose. “Why? Our team has a win and a tie.”

“By hook, crook, and the skin of our teeth. We’ve done well, but not amazing. And remember, they don’t move us up as a team. A few of us would get through, but as for the others, they’re at risk. If we don’t kick as much ass as physically possible on that last match, then that will be the end for some of our friends. We can’t be good anymore. We have to be goddamn unstoppable.”

Nick analyzed his friend’s posture carefully, noticing the gentle gripping of his fists and the way his feet naturally shifted into a balanced stance. He’d seen it a precious few times before: it was the stance Vince took when he was pushed far enough to get serious. Of course, he would only reach that point when his friends were in danger, hence Nick’s theatrics. He needn’t have bothered with all the analytical effort. The depth of Vince’s resolve spilled out from his voice in glorious waves.

“Tell me what we need to do.”

146.

“Welcome, all, to this week’s meeting of The Loyal Order of the Water Buffaloes.” Nick stood before his teammates, hands spread open in a welcoming manner. They were huddled in the common room—their default meeting place—for what Nick had called a “necessary tactics overview conclave.” Mary had sent the texts, and the people had rallied. Nick stood there, waiting for some reaction to his announcement, before finally giving up and dropping his arms.

“Really? No one here watched The Flintstones as a kid? I’m the only one?”

“Hermit,” Mary said with a shrug.

“Wanderer,” Vince added.

“My parents didn’t have cable,” Alex chimed in.

Nick turned to the remaining three, who stared right back at him.

“What?” Alice said at last. “Not everybody remembers random details from cartoons in their childhood. So yes, you are the weirdo.”

“Well damn. Fine then, since you all want to be spoilsports, I guess we’ll actually get right down to business.” Nick’s tone was flippant, but he still looked oddly disappointed that no one had gotten his joke. “I’m sure you all noticed the notice this morning, and have all come to the conclusion that a lack of listed matches means we have no idea what to expect. I’ve given the matter ample thought, and after speaking to our dear telekinetic captain for approval, have designed a training regimen that I feel will best prepare us for whatever the challenge might be.”

“This ought to be interesting,” Roy chuckled. “You going to pull out more playing cards?”

“No need. The concept for this two-month stretch is simple enough that it requires no visual illustration. To put it simply, we will be training in pairs. You, for example, will be spending your free time fighting Vince.”

“Whoa now, I’ve already got a lot of training to catch up on, and no offense, but I don’t think fighting him would be as beneficial.”

“As beneficial as what? Weight lifting? I’m glad you found a way to advance yourself, but you do realize you were already able to pick up more than almost anyone else in our class, right? Raw hitting power is an important part of your arsenal, but it’s not the piece that’s most lacking right now,” Nick countered.

“Then what is?”

“Control. You’re so goddamned strong that we can’t fully utilize you. You ever wonder why surgeons don’t use a katana to operate? In terms of sheer cutting, it’s far more effective than a scalpel.”

“Because they need precision,” Roy said, his lips thin. He didn’t like being talked down to, but Roy was astute enough to know that Nick rarely went on these tangents without a point.

“Exactly. The only people you can really fight are ones like Chad, who you don’t have to hold back against. Everyone else is just a matter of you catching them and breaking their limbs. It’s fine for some one on one, but eventually, you’ll need to take on multiple people and be able to punch just hard enough to take them down without killing them. That’s why you’ll be sparring Vince. He’s a better fighter than you, but if you hit too hard, you can seriously hurt him. For his part, training against someone with your strength will put real risk on the line, so hopefully, he’ll get his shit together with the kinetic absorption.”

Roy glanced over at Vince. He hadn’t taken into account the risk his teammate would be taking by training with someone like him. Roy expected to see uncertainty or worry in his friend’s crisp blue eyes. All he found was restless determination. Vince wasn’t afraid to spar Roy: he was excited about it. He looked like he would start fighting right now if Nick gave the go ahead. Roy had seen Vince when he got serious; it meant the taller boy shouldn’t take their matches lightly.

“Okay. I’m in,” Roy said at last.

“Glad to hear it,” Nick said, turning back to the room at large. “Next up will be Alex, Mary, and Alice. I know I said pairs, but there are seven of us, so one team had to be bigger.”

“Why us three? Not objecting, just wondering what I’m supposed to be focusing on,” Alice said.

“A fair question. You three are put together because you and Mary need to work on your delicacy. Both of you have ample force in your powers, but neither of you have anything near the level of precision that Alex does. For his part, he needs to up his force a good bit, and training against a pair of people that can accidently tear him limb from limb should improve his raw power considerably.”

“Hang on, if those are the teams, then doesn’t that make the last one you and Camille?” Vince said, the process of elimination making the last pairing quite clear.

“Indeed,” Nick confirmed. “She and I are similar, in that we both fight from a place of weakness. Neither of us is particularly tall or strong, at least in relation to other people in the HCP. We have different styles, however, so sparring and learning from one another should significantly expand both of our repertories.”

“If Vince is in constant risk of getting his bones broken, shouldn’t I be somewhere on hand when they fight?” Camille pointed out.

“Absolutely not. The whole point of their training is to gain understanding about the consequences of failure. Roy will seriously hurt a friend if he hits too hard. Vince will get significant injuries if he doesn’t learn to absorb blows. If we remove pain as an instructor, we reduce the effectiveness of their efforts.”

“Don’t worry,” Vince told her. “I’m not going to get hurt.”

“You? I’m fighting the strongest girl in the class and someone who can bend gravity to their will,” Alex pointed out. “How about a little concern over here?”

“Yeah, I’m more worried about taking on two people with a lifetime of practicing their power, instead of mere months,” Alice joined in.

“Listen, everyone, I know this seems a little intense, and in truth, it probably will be.” Mary stood from her seat to address her team, not that it made much difference. “I had a long talk with Nick before I agreed to this, and I had those same concerns. The truth of the matter is that he’s right. Fighting people who have what we lack will be the fastest path to rounding each one of us out. Since we have no idea what the last test will be, increasing our various skills will give us an element of surprise and the ability to splinter off as needed.”

Mary took a breath to steady herself. It had been jarring that afternoon when Nick told her what was really on the line. “We’re going to win. We’re going to show everyone that we belong here.” Her eyes might have flicked tellingly to Vince, but if so, no one other than Nick noticed. “We have to.”

147.

Fighting Vince was infuriating. In his time at Lander, Roy had fought people who were more skilled than he was, faster than he was, and had unexpected talents he couldn’t utilize, but he’d never encountered someone quite like Vince. For one thing, the silver-haired young man could predict movements with startling accuracy. It was different than Chad’s method, where he reacted instantly thanks to his accelerated brain. Vince didn’t seem to react at all: instead, he anticipated. By the time Roy’s attacks were close enough to touch him, Vince had already deflected or dodged them and begun a counter. He’d talked about being trained since he was a child, but Roy had never taken the time to appreciate just how much ability came with that sort of dedication. By the end of the first day, it was clear that, from a technical perspective, Vince’s level of skill was something Roy would likely never achieve.

Of course, none of that mattered in a real fight, where Vince’s deflections and attacks would fail miserably against his opponent’s ridiculous strength. That was the even more annoying part for Roy, knowing that, if he let loose, he could win, and then having to hold himself back. Not that his attempts were entirely successful; within the first week, he accidently broke Vince’s right arm twice and cracked a few of his ribs.

Camille had not been pleased.

By the time the third week rolled around, Roy’s control had progressed enough that fractured bones were more exception than expectation, though Camille was still taking a lot of bruises off Vince at the end of each session. Roy had to admit, despite his initial hesitance to spend what little free time he had on this endeavor, it was generating noticeable results. He was getting better at fighting someone who wasn’t super tough, and he was slowly learning how to take on yet another type of opponent. The training was paying off . . . for him.

“Oooof.” Vince’s breath flew out of him as Roy punched a little too hard, broke his guard, and sent a fist deep into his torso. The smaller boy collapsed to the ground as he struggled to get air into his lungs. Roy took a few steps back to allow his friend time to recover. He’d gotten the wind knocked out of him a few times by Chad; he knew it was a very unpleasant experience.

“You okay?” Roy asked, once Vince’s frantic gasping had become less shallow.

“Been . . . better,” Vince panted. “Been . . . worse . . . too.”

“I hear that.” Roy hunkered into a squatting position while he waited; it seemed like Vince was still going to need a bit before he was ready to go again. “I have to ask something, and for once, I don’t mean to be an ass about it. Are you sure you can absorb punches?”

“In theory,” Vince replied, his words steadying along with his inhalation of oxygen. “I’ve gotten a tennis ball or two.”

“Yeah, but a fist is a fair bit stronger. Especially mine. I just felt like I should bring it up, because it’s been nearly a month, and you haven’t absorbed even one yet.”

“I know. Trust me, I know. I’m still trying to figure out the knack for it.”

“The knack?”

Vince nodded, rocking back to a sitting position instead of staying on his hands and knees. “Every type of energy is a little different. When I absorb or shoot something unintentionally, it’s all instinct, but to do it with reliability, I have to find out what strategy works best.”

“You lost me.”

“It’s hard to explain if you don’t have this type of ability, but electricity is probably the best example. Remember how I couldn’t get it to shoot straight over more than a few inches all last year?”

“I remember you frying the electrical system during our first ranged training,” Roy reminded him.

“Right. Well, in working with Professor Fletcher, I realized the problem was that I was trying to shoot it like I did fire. Flames are easy: you just point them and let rip. Electricity is trickier. If I just blast away, then I get the splitting issue.”

“So, how do you shoot lightning?”

“I picture the spot I want it to hit, focusing on all the electricity inside me and how little there is in that object by comparison. I think of it as a giant imbalance, so when I strike, all I’m doing is creating a link to achieve evenness.”

“Huh. Sounds complicated.”

“A little, but it’s what works for me. Others might do it differently. Anyway, the point is that every energy has a subtle variety, and finding the knack is just me figuring out how to interact with it.”

“Not to rush your process, but you might want to step it up on figuring out kinetic energy. We don’t have a shitload of time left.”

“I know,” Vince sighed. “I’ve been trying everything I can think of, but none of it is working. I still don’t know how I took the energy out of that table, or the tennis balls.”

“No clue on the balls, but the table is obvious: instinct. You did it because you had to, otherwise, it would have wrecked you.”

“Probably,” Vince agreed. “Too bad I can’t get the same instinct when sparring.”

“Maybe you can,” Roy said, standing back up. Vince followed suit, and the two moved back toward the area they’d been training in. “I have an idea. Don’t fight me anymore, just block.”

“What will that do?”

“On its own, nothing,” Roy admitted. “But there’s another piece to this. I’m going to try and break your arms.”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s why I don’t want you dodging or deflecting. Take the blows. This is going to help me learn how strong my punches need to be to just barely break bone.”

“I see. So either I absorb the energy, or I get a shattered arm.”

“Yup. Let’s see if your self-preservation instinct kicks in after a few fractures.”

Vince started to object, on the grounds of basic sanity, then thought better of it. Roy was right: he didn’t have many weeks left, and mastering a new technique was time consuming. If he could do this, it would mean a whole new dimension to his fighting abilities. A skill like this could easily be the difference between a win and a loss. His team needed him to be stronger. Vince was not going to let one of his friends get booted, not because of him. He raised his arms into a basic guard position.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

148.

“Are there any more questions?”

The group fidgeted on the mismatched furniture, no one wanting to speak without having something important to say. They still lived in the seemingly abandoned building where they had been for nearly a year now, but it seemed that was soon to change. For some, like the dark-haired man with the sharp features, it was a welcome relief. Others, like the boy who couldn’t possibly be any older than twelve, were clearly dismayed by the sudden change.

The next to speak was a slim, blonde woman with elfin features, her blonde hair trimmed into a pixie cut. “I still don’t think it’s smart for you to travel in the open. You can stay holed up here until we’re ready to act, then let me transport you.”

The dark-haired man in the red coat pressed his right ring and index finger to his temple. He rarely did anything with the left hand—the one concealed behind several layers of cloth and gloves—unless it was necessary.

“Then how would we get away? Part of why we’re going now is to lay the ground work for our escape. And before you offer to help with that too, let me remind you that, at this stage, we don’t want them to even know we have a teleporter, let alone that it’s you.”

“They wouldn’t have to know.”

“Shims, when this is over, we’re going to have a lot of people after us, and while you are effective as hell, you are also very distinctive.”

The delicate-featured woman leaned back in her chair, unhappy but unable to think of another solid objection. Luckily, a different female, one whose hair was styled into short dark spikes, suffered no such obstacle.

“I’d like to call bullshit on not bringing anyone besides yourself, Persephone, and Gerard. Why not let me into the lineup?”

“Because no one knows about you either,” the man said, his tone surprisingly patient given the number of times he’d heard some manifestation of this argument. “Persephone was made in last year’s extraction attempts, George was given instructions to lead his interrogators down the path to Gerard’s involvement, and as for me, well, we’ve already been over this. I refuse to open it for debate once more.”

“I could help.”

“I know you could, Joan, and you will. This is one step in a long journey. Everyone here wants to pitch in, or they wouldn’t have signed up. We have limited resources and opportunities, however, so the more we can keep close to the vest, the greater our options are in the days that follow. Trust me.”

Joan grumbled something unintelligible, but allowed herself to fall silent. She did trust him. All of them did. He’d pulled them together, shown them they weren’t alone. He’d given them a purpose, traded all the bitter disappointment in their guts for a dream that burned brightly through their minds.

“Okay, last chance for questions. Quentin? Gerard? Anything?”

The sharp-faced man and the boy both shook their heads no.

“Then with that, I think we can call this meeting adjourned.” He rose from his seat quickly, strong legs lifting him into the air as though they couldn’t bear the idea of being restrained for much longer. “I don’t know about you folks, but I’m going to get a head start on packing.”

He headed through the north door, which led into a small area populated only by himself. Gerard got up and followed suit, with Quentin a few steps behind. The women were a bit slower, so everyone else was out of earshot when Joan asked her question.

“Why does he call you ‘Shims’?”

Shims took a moment to answer, pulling herself from her chair and smoothing out the linen pants encircling her legs. “It’s short for my codename. He’s always had a penchant for nicknames.”

“No, that part I knew,” Joan said. “I mean, why are you the only one he still calls by any form of their Hero name? He doesn’t call Persephone ‘Mood Swing,’ or George ‘Relentless Steel,’ or Gerard ‘Raze.’ You’re the only one he doesn’t address by their real name.”

“It’s because she hasn’t left that life,” Persephone said, fielding the question before the other woman had a chance. “The rest of us aren’t seen as Heroes anymore. She is.”

“Still seems odd,” Joan remarked. She didn’t press the issue, thankfully, heading off instead to the section of the warehouse that constituted her room.

“Thanks,” Shims said, once Joan was gone.

“Don’t worry about it,” Persephone reassured her. “Try not to fault her for asking. For someone who wasn’t in the HCP, it seems like an innocent question.”

“I’m not the one who should be offended. She makes a good point, you know. I’m sure he would call you by your old name if you asked him.”

“I know he would. I just don’t want him to. That’s part of my past life. Besides, despite everything that happened, I still have a lot of respect for the program. It feels wrong to use a name given to me for the sake of maintaining the law while we’re conspiring to break it.”

“I must admit, I didn’t see this coming when I graduated,” Shims said, a memory from a faraway life glimmering in her eyes.

“None of us did. Hell, I don’t think a single one of my expectations panned out,” Persephone said. “Sort of makes you wish you could go back and do it all over, but this time, get things right.”

“I don’t know. If I could change the past, I’m not sure I would. It might make things better, but then again, there are worse possible realities than this one.”

“Hard to imagine how things could be much worse.”

“No, it isn’t,” Shims disputed. “Just imagine a world without him in it.” With that, she walked out of the makeshift living room, leaving Persephone alone with the mismatched furniture.

“Yeah,” Persephone said to no one. “I guess that would be pretty bad.”

149.

“That’s all for today’s class,” Professor Pendleton said, dismissing his charges. “If I could have Alice, Nick, Will, Britney, and Tiffani stay after for a few minutes, please; the rest of you are free to leave.”

His announcement was followed by the weary shuffle of papers and feet that accompanied the end of every particularly draining class. Much as the year before, the nearer the end drew, the harder the instructors seemed to be driving their students. It was crunch time, though whether the thing being crunched was their days or their brains, no student could have readily told you.

The five Professor Pendleton had named stayed behind, clustering around his desk while the remaining students exited. He waited until the last one was gone, and then a few minutes longer, before revealing the purpose of their after-class meeting.

“You five are the ones who qualified for the extra credit tailing assignment,” Professor Pendleton informed them. “Given your marks in my class, I’m sure most of you already figured that out.” His eyes might have flicked to Alice at the word “most.” If so, no one was crass enough to make note of it. “I apologize for the delay in organizing this; it has taken me a bit longer than anticipated to get my plan approved.”

He reached into his desk and produced a series of five white envelopes, laying them in a row in front of him. They bore no names or any other distinctive marks, nothing at all to distinguish one from the other.

“These will be your starting locations. Pick one, and be there Friday, at seven in the evening. If you are late, you forfeit. You’ll all have different spots, and they will each have a vantage point that allows you to see me. I am the target of the assignment. You’ll have to tail me for one hour. Once I reach my endpoint, I’ll sit down. Anyone who comes up to me while I’m sitting is considered to have passed. I’ll give you all until eight fifteen to reach me, in case some of you employ more long-ranged techniques. Questions so far?”

“Yeah, why start us at a distance? We could just run up to you and stay close for the entire hour,” Alice pointed out.

“Ah yes, thank you for leading me to my next rule. Since the essence of tailing lies in not being seen, we’re going to impose a catching disqualification. Now, I obviously know you’re all following me, so the rule is a little more simplified. If I lay a hand on you, you are out. I’m starting you at a distance for the sake of fairness. Me getting close enough to touch one of you means you’ve not only lost me, but been circled back on. If that isn’t the essence of failure while tailing someone, then I would struggle to think of a better definition.”

“You’re going to chase us?” Britney asked.

“Not overtly. This is a public area, and I have no intention of making a scene. Consider this: if you are able to stay well enough concealed while tracking me, then I will never have the opportunity to catch you.”

“You make it sound easy, but you’re a specialist at this stuff,” Alice said.

“Of course it’s not easy,” Professor Pendleton said, stifling an exasperated sigh. “This is a trial that takes the place of your final exam, should you pass. It should be goddamned near impossible given your levels of skill. Admittedly, so should achieving the point totals that got you here. Maybe one or two of you will pull it off; however, please don’t be under the impression that I’m expecting any of you to succeed.”

“There’s one thing you haven’t covered yet,” Nick said, shifting slightly toward the front of the group.

“Do tell.”

“Abilities. You haven’t said whether we can use our powers in the course of your trial.”

Professor Pendleton greeted his protégé’s question with a curiously over-sized smile. “This is the Hero Certification Program, is it not? Of course you can use your abilities; learning to apply them to various tasks is the entire point of you all being here.”

A small wave of optimism seemed to wash across the group; several of them had been wondering how they would have a hope of success. Adding in the option of their powers made it seem like they had a shot. Nick was, strangely, the only one who seemed unhappy with this news.

“So, we’re learning to tail people, incorporating our abilities as Supers?”

“I believe I just said that, yes.”

“And if it so happens that our target is a Super as well?”

“Then, of course, you could expect him to utilize his powers too,” Professor Pendleton tossed back.

The cautious optimism that had permeated the students came crashing down. In all his lessons, in all their classes, Professor Pendleton had still not shown them what his ability was. Very few of the instructors had, actually. Aside from Professor Fletcher, Professor Stone, and Professor Hill, the rest of the Lander educating staff had not used a single ability as far as the students could tell. In most cases, it led to a sense of curiosity. In this situation, it meant they had likely already failed his test before even taking it.

“It seems like you could at least tell us what your power is,” Alice said. “You know all of ours, and you can take steps to defend against them. Shouldn’t we get equal ground?”

“Miss Adair, is it your understanding that Heroes are generally low-profile individuals?” Professor Pendleton asked.

“Not particularly.”

“Then you see how my being forearmed with knowledge is quite appropriate. Were I to spot you, I would have a full suite of information about your skills thanks to the media’s love affair with our occupation.”

“But, obviously, we’d have at least some advanced information on a target we were tailing too.”

This time, it was Will, not the instructor, who corrected her.

“From whom? This is the Subtlety major. We’re the ones who do the scouting and information gathering. We’re the ones who find out what a person can do so we can warn the other Heroes. Professor Pendleton is right: if we graduate with our major in Subtlety, then this is a real world situation we can expect to see a lot of.”

“Well said, Mr. Murray. Very well said, in fact. With that, we have covered all the ground rules, and I am done with questions. Be at your starting points, promptly at seven.”

The students gathered their things and began to leave. As they reached the exit, Professor Pendleton called after them with one last snippet.

“Oh, and I nearly forgot. Good luck to you all. You’ll need it.”

150.

The knock on Nick’s door came around eight that evening. He glanced up from his computer and looked over. Her self-control was impressive; he’d expected her to arrive hours earlier. Instead of getting out of his chair, Nick yelled over his shoulder.

“We both know you can open the door yourself.”

There was a pause, then a soft buzz as his door opened to reveal Alice, clad in sweats and clearly stressed, at least judging from the state of her tangled hair and the nervous fidgeting she was unconsciously doing.

“I guess that’s my fault for letting you find out,” she said, walking in and shutting the door.

“And for copying my work in the first place,” Nick added. “Which, in retrospect, was a pretty impressive piece of misdirection.”

“I aim to please.” She hopped on the bed without any sense of self-consciousness. Nick wondered if he’d ever had people in his life less aware of social implications than his dorm-mates. Where he was from, coming to a man’s room and getting on his bed carried certain intentions, ones he was relatively certain Alice wasn’t intending to communicate. Not yet, anyway.

“I’d say you’re probably wondering why I’m here, but since it’s you, I bet you already know.”

“Sexual ravishing?”

“You always swing for the fences, I’ll give you that,” Alice replied.

“Can’t blame a guy for trying. Anyway, yes, I know you’re here because you think I know what Professor Pendleton’s ability is.”

“Wrong-o. I’m here because I know that you know his power. Hell, you probably know all of our professors’ abilities. I wouldn’t be surprised if you knew everything down to their birthplaces and favorite colors.”

“You seem to think quite highly of my investigative abilities.”

“Am I wrong?”

“I didn’t say that,” Nick shot back. He reached around and turned off his computer screen. The current research didn’t involve Alice directly, but nevertheless, he was learning more and more that discretion around this girl could save him quite a few headaches.

“So, what can he do?”

“From what I’ve gathered, he can teach a class fairly well, he can certainly see through people’s bullshit, and he is probably a reasonably proficient gymnast.”

Alice cocked her head in perplexity.

“He won a tournament when he was a teen. Plus, he has excellent balance.”

“Ooooookay. Interesting, and we will absolutely circle back to that last part, but not what I was talking about.”

“I know what you were talking about. Let me ask you something first: you know next year we drop down to two majors, right? Are you planning on keeping Subtlety?”

Alice glanced down at the bed sheets. “I haven’t really decided yet. I mean, given the whole gravity manipulation thing, I’ve got to keep Control, but Ranged Combat isn’t all that productive for me.”

“Ranged Combat isn’t productive for a girl whose abilities are perfect for staying at a distance and making objects fly all over the place?”

“We learn a lot of that in Control. Besides, I didn’t say I was dropping it, just that I’m not sure. I know I’m not the best at Subtlety, I just kind of hate to give it up. It’s always interesting, and really, it’s different from almost every other aspect of Hero duties. Once I let it go, I can’t get it back, so I’m making up my mind slowly.”

“I can understand that,” Nick said. “To answer your question: no. I’m not going to tell you what Professor Pendleton’s power is.”

“Damn it, Nick, this is not the time to go into dickhead mode.”

“Believe it or not, this is me in good friend mode,” Nick countered. He plucked a pen from his desk and began twirling it between his fingers effortlessly. “If you’d told me you were going to drop Subtlety and just wanted to ace the test so the final exam wouldn’t screw up your stats overall, then I would have happily given you the dirt. On the other hand, if you really do want to consider Subtlety as an option for your career as a Hero, then I’d be doing you a disservice.”

“How? You can’t say knowing invalidates the test, because you already know.”

“I know because I found out. I did the work. You can, too, and if you do, then you’ll get the information. My point is that I’d help you cheat if you were just getting by, but if you want to learn, then I have to say no. Professor Pendleton really did put together a great sample of a real world exercise. Yeah, you probably won’t pass, but in the act of failing, you’ll learn some things not to do. That’s all success is: screwing up over and over until you’ve learned the right way to do things.”

“Geez, you didn’t complain this much when I copied your tailing work.”

“Because you earned that one. You tricked me. If you can get the information from me without my help, then you deserve it. That’s exactly what we’re supposed to be learning to do in the first place.”

“All right, I take your point. You won’t help me. I’m guessing that means you won’t give me any assistance in the actual trial, either.”

“Not intentionally. Then again, you used some surprising levels of cunning to get here in the first place. See if you can dip into that well again, and maybe you’ll find a way to outfox us all.”

“Please, you don’t remotely believe that,” Alice said. Her posture had relaxed during their conversation. She was clearly still worried about the test; however, she seemed to have reached the point of resolving herself to whatever fate had in store. It was a skill everyone in the HCP possessed, because those who couldn’t turn off their frantic nerves had washed out within the first few weeks.

“No, I don’t. I think you got lucky on the first one. Generally speaking, this class isn’t really suited to your talents.”

“Hey, I’m not an idiot. I’m just not as good at this as some of the rest of you.”

“Precisely. Remember, the HCP isn’t looking for those who are good; they’re looking for those who are the best. You have an ability that is flat-out spectacular, one that allows you to neutralize Supers with all manner of powers. I have no doubt you’ll be a serious contender for a graduation spot if you keep plugging away at the Control course.”

“I guess so,” Alice agreed, pulling herself off Nick’s bed. “For what it’s worth, I have no doubt you’ll get one of the Hero spots, too. No one in our class even comes close to you in lying, cheating, or manipulating.”

“You sure know how to sweet talk a fella, but only time will tell. Most graduates, even those who majored in Subtlety, have other talents they bring to the table. Punchy kinds of talents.”

“Then get good at that,” Alice said. “I will not accept any excuses for failure. The five of us are going all the way in this thing. We’ll show everyone that Powereds can be viable candidates for Heroes after the procedure. All of us, together.”

“That is a very pleasant thought,” Nick concurred. “In the meantime, let’s just focus on getting to next year.”

“Deal,” Alice said, giving him a warm smile and letting herself out.

151.

In her nearly two years at Lander, Alice had faced a myriad of trials: some personal, some academic, and some heroic in nature. She was far from the head-up-her-ass-princess that had rolled into Melbrook on the first day and made snap decisions about everyone around her. She’d grown in terms of capabilities, too. Her power had evolved, as well as her willingness to use it. Alice was not quite a first-class warrior, but she no longer wasted time fretting that she was a hindrance to her team. These challenges had caused her to grow, and they had taken place in all manner of locations. So it was with some surprise that she found the one that had worried her most—Professor Pendleton’s tailing exam—was taking place on something of a home-turf for her.

She was standing on the third floor of a massive outdoor mall, looking down at a healthy crowd of people milling about a food court. Healthy, in this case, referred only to the size of the crowd, not their overall physical wellness. A small distinction, but given the quality of the food they were cramming down, an important one. Her green eyes darted through the people, rapidly scanning for any sign of her target. The location in her envelope had put her in front of a designer boutique on the third floor. She’d spotted Will arriving in front of a Radio Shack, and Nick looking bored in front of a kiosk selling sunglasses. It seemed Professor Pendleton had decided to have a little fun while doling out their starting positions. She couldn’t see Britney or Tiffani, which didn’t really mean much given their respective talents. Nevertheless, it was clear that all three of the starting positions she had ascertained had only one thing in common: their view of the food court below, which was still curiously absent of Professor Pendleton.

Alice’s nerves manifested as constant fidgeting with the brim of her pink and black baseball cap, an attempt to make herself less recognizable that would have fooled no one. Even with her mane of blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail and stuffed into a hat, she hadn’t thought to cover her striking facial features or dress in a way that concealed her distinctive figure. None of which would be of concern if she failed to even locate her tailing target. If only she knew what his damned ability was. He might be able to change his looks, or even shift size entirely. What if he was masquerading as a child? Or a woman? Alice took a deep breath to try and calm down. If he could do those things, then she was screwed. Nothing would change that. She needed to focus on the scenarios where she had a fighting shot. Like if he was just wearing a mundane disguise.

A quick glance told her that Nick and Will were still in starting position. Good. If neither of them had found him, then he probably wasn’t around to be found yet. Alice turned back to the food court, trying to let her gaze wander across everything. Assume he would be in a disguise; that was a fair bet. Okay, so if that was the case, how would she see through it? He was tall—unless it was an all-is-lost scenario, there would be no way to hide that. He could hunch over, but that would draw even more attention. She let her eyes lift upward to observe only the highest human profiles before it dawned on her that he might be sitting.

What next? Professor Pendleton wasn’t a terribly distinctive man: lean frame, clean shaven face as of that morning, dark hair—all features which he could disguise with a basic stage makeup kit, some dye, and a pillow under his shirt. It dawned on Alice that perhaps he favored his non-distinctive style specifically because it made him harder to visually pin down. Her eyes darted over to Nick, clad in a generic t-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops. Except for the glasses, he was much the same as the professor. Nothing about him really stood out. In fact, if he took off his sunglasses, Alice was reasonably sure she would lose track of him in the crowd. Maybe that was the point of them: aside from masking when he used his luck, it gave him the ability to vanish in plain sight.

Alice blinked in surprise at her own realization. That was it. That was what she should be looking for. He was already nondescript, so that’s what she’d been searching faces to find. Professor Pendleton was a professional; he knew how to divert people’s attention. They’d be looking for someone not worth looking at. Alice changed her strategy, letting her eyes be drawn by bright colors or unique people.

Guy in a giant eagle jacket: not him. Girl in light pink dress and matching shoes: not him, but Alice wondered if the girl had gotten those heels at one of the stores in the mall. Silver painted man doing the robot as people threw change into his hat: not him. Gentleman in a crisp business suit with an electric blue tie: not him. Young guy with spiked hair, spiked choker, and ripped t-shirt: obviously not . . . him.

It would have been easy to miss, even knowing what she was looking for, but the disinterested way the punk-styled man leaned his face against his hand did more than convey a sense of boredom. It also hid his key features without seeming like it was intended to. Alice felt her heart quicken with excitement. The lean frame, the dark hair, and even though he was leaning on the cheap plastic table, it was clear he was taller than most of the other people around him.

“Bingo,” she muttered under her breath. As if on cue, the target rose from his table, somehow always keeping a portion of his face obscured as he meandered nonchalantly through the food court. She risked a glance at her fellow test takers. Nick didn’t seem to notice anything, but with his control of body language and hidden eyes, that didn’t really tell her crap. Will was a better indicator, and despite trying to look nonplussed, his dark eyes were definitely darting in the direction of the meandering punk wannabe. Still no sign of the others, but that was enough confirmation for her.

Alice pulled down the brim of her cap and tried unsuccessfully to suppress an excited grin. Despite all the worry, despite the high stakes, despite the knowledge that there was almost no chance she would get a victory, Alice was still pumped up. Win or lose, this wasn’t going to be boring. The disguised professor was nearing the edge of the food court, heading toward an opening that led to the vast expanses of the mall’s main sector.

The game was on.

152.

For the first half hour, Professor Pendleton played by the rules of humans. He slid effortlessly through the crowd, a disguised grace that made him nearly impossible to keep up with unless most of his pursuers were willing to shove their way through the other shoppers. This was a bigger hurdle for some than others. Nick seemed to keep pace with the same inexplicable speed, and Alice was none too shy about bullying her way past people (she’d been to enough designer label releases to be well at home with this concept). Will was having a little more trouble, yet he seemed strangely unconcerned about it. The one having the biggest issue keeping up was the one who had to elbow her way through the crowd without the benefit of being seen. Britney briefly entertained the idea of going visible to make her pursuit more effective, but realized it was a poor trade-off. Yes, she was a little slower than the others, but she was also the one least likely to be caught and eliminated. Besides, it wasn’t like she had to keep perfect pace with the professor. When she lost sight of him, all she had to do was follow the other students taking the trial. It seemed he hadn’t really thought this through too well, or he would have realized that having them take the test all at once made it infinitely easier on them. So long as they kept each other in sight, the success of one was the success of them all.

Britney managed to catch up to them outside an upscale men’s clothing store. They were milling about, trying hard to look like they weren’t staring at the entrance. Well, Alice and Will were. Nick seemed to have lost the trail, and of course, Tiffani was even harder to find than Britney was. Logic dictated that the professor had gone inside, and they were all waiting for him to emerge. Given what they sold, it seemed a fair bet that he would leave in different attire than he entered, a standard trick to throw people off one’s trail. Briefly, the idea of entering the store and watching him shop entered Britney’s mind; however, she banished it away almost as quickly. Without a solid frame of reference for how long he’d been in there, she could easily miss him and his exit, losing track of the others to boot. No, the smart play was to wait out here, at a distance where she could resume pursuit safely. It was a good plan. Unfortunately, she hatched it at the thirty-five minute mark.

“Sorry, Britney, I’m afraid you’re out,” said a familiar voice just as a hand landed on her shoulder. She turned around to find Professor Pendleton looking down at her. His gaze was a bit off, which made sense when she realized he couldn’t see her face. She was right that he’d changed clothes: now, he wore a button-down and a blazer, but that didn’t explain how he’d managed to circle back on all of them. Of course, even that wasn’t the most pressing question at hand.

“How did you find me?” Britney realized her voice was thicker than normal. She was glad no one could see her: from the warmth cascading over her skin, she knew she was blushing fiercely.

“I chose an outdoor mall for a reason. For one thing, there are puddles from last night’s rain storm, which still splash when you walk through them. For another, lots of open spaces where shadows can be seen. Didn’t you ever notice?”

Britney looked at the ground, very confused. She didn’t cast a shadow while invisible, she already knew that. As her eyes bore into the ground, she did actually notice something. There was a very minor shimmer, like a heat distortion, in the spot where her shadow should be. It was something she’d never caught before, given that it was so subtle she could only barely see it now.

“Invisible people don’t cast shadows, but they aren’t completely translucent either. They cause a small disruption in the light, almost impossible to find unless you know what you’re looking for,” Professor Pendleton explained. “Which, obviously, I do. Still, good effort.”

“Why come after me? You can clearly see the others, so why target me first?”

“Because they know they can be seen, so they are paying extra attention to their surroundings in case I try to approach. You trusted in your ability too much and let your guard down as a consequence.”

Britney started to protest, then realized he was right. She was so certain she was safe that she’d only focused on following, not on watching out for him. It had been a mistake, and Britney wasn’t a captain because she was too stupid to learn from her failures.

“I guess I did. Can you tell me how you managed to get out of the store without us noticing at least?”

Professor Pendleton gave her a comforting smile. “Sorry, no can do. A magician never reveals his tricks.”

“Well, do me one favor then.”

“What’s that?”

“Make sure I’m not the only one to get eliminated this way. That would be humiliating.”

“Now, that much I can certainly oblige,” Professor Pendleton assured her.

*      *      *

Nick looked down at the professor seemingly talking to empty air from his hiding place a few floors up. Either his teacher had gone off the deep end into crazy, or Britney was now out of the running. Not surprising; she’d hardly been discreet as she punched her way through the crowd, leaving a trail of confused faces behind her. She’d likely assumed they wouldn’t notice one more body amidst the crowd pressing in around them. That false theory had made her exceptionally easy to track, at least as far as her general location. Add that to the fact Alice was jerking her head around every few seconds, making her look insane but also rendering her nearly impossible to catch unaware, plus Will’s easy manner which indicated he had something up his sleeve, and the rest of them had been far more difficult targets.

Not that Nick was under any misimpression that Britney would be the last one tagged out. The others were doing well, but from Professor Pendleton’s disappearing act, it was obvious he’d decided to step things up a level.

That was fine with Nick; he’d been getting bored, anyway.

153.

Dean Blaine forced himself not to look at the clock on his desk slowly counting away the minutes. He was also unwilling to give attention to the phone, which he thought he heard ring at least twice every half hour. It would be fine. Nothing would go wrong. The proper permits had been filed, the proper response teams were on standby, and the parameters of the exam had been clearly outlined. This was Sean Pendleton he was talking about; there was a time when Blaine would have trusted that man with his life in the span of a heartbeat.

Of course, things had changed a great deal since then. Others he would have laid down his own life for were now barely willing to speak with him, and Sean was far from the idealistic young man he’d been at their graduation. Blaine himself had done things he’d never have expected when donning that white cape and looking out at his family, eyes brimming with pride. So much had changed since then, and that was without even counting the most unexpected curveball of them all.

*      *      *

“Nervous?”

Blaine stopped fiddling with the clasp on his cape to look up from his chair and find Phil’s smiling face beaming back down at him. His own cape was fastened perfectly, of course, the rest of his outfit crisp and stylish enough for a job interview. Phil never had to deal with things like stains or cleaning. Everything he wore was always perfect. It was just one of the hundreds of real world applications his ability came with, ones that people like Blaine and Gerard didn’t have.

“That obvious?”

“We’re all nervous. Sort of funny when you think about it. We had to get through four years of training, torture, and testing to make it to this moment, and now, the idea of being up on stage is causing more fear than most of us felt during our final trial.”

“Public speaking is the number one fear in the world. Even comes in ahead of death. No reason why we should be immune, I guess.”

“A very valid point. Would you like some help with that?” Phil gestured to the clasp, still hanging crooked and only partially fastened. Blaine looked around the room to find the other eight graduates all had theirs on already, though he hadn’t paid enough attention to know if that was because of Phil or their own skills. Either way, the time to start was fast approaching, and Blaine would like to get at least one thing right today.

“Please.”

“My pleasure.” A moment passed, and nothing happened. “Um, if you wouldn’t mind easing back your field a bit? I can’t seem to help as it is.”

“Sorry,” Blaine said. A brief moment of focus reined in the aura emanating from his body until it ran across the surface of his skin. He could neutralize it entirely if he wanted— if he couldn’t control it, he would have been a Powered, after all—but he usually only did that when he needed healing. Blaine was accustomed to a world where he was the exception to every rule regarding Supers, and he didn’t let that go without very good reason.

“There we are,” Phil remarked, as Blaine’s clasp unhooked in the air and then reattached in the correct manner. “If you want, I can make you feel a little more relaxed too. Joshua and I have been practicing with the chemical balance in brains.”

“Wouldn’t that only work while I was near you?”

“No more than your cape will come undone if I walk away. Sure, your brain will start to go back to its normal levels, but it isn’t an instant process. You’d at least feel good through the ceremony.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I think I’ll pass,” Blaine replied.

“Understandable. So, who all is coming to see you today?”

“My parents and my grandmother,” Blaine replied. “You?”

“From outside the program? Just my mother. My dad died when I was very small.”

“I’m sorry,” Blaine said on reflex.

“No big deal. He was . . . let’s just say I don’t miss him. I might have been tempted to invite a few friends, if not for the family only rule.”

“Yeah. It’s a pain, but I see where they’re coming from. We’re getting our Hero names without wearing any masks. That could be dangerous down the line.”

“No, no, I wasn’t saying I disagreed, just talking about what I’d do in a perfect world,” Phil corrected. “On the subject of names, thanks again for letting me have the one you came up with. You sure it’s okay that I use Globe?”

“Positive. It fits you better anyway. Besides, Zero has grown on me.”

“I always liked that one for you. It’s smart, and it makes it easy to underestimate what you can do,” Phil said. “There will be a lot of criminal Supers who regret making a snap judgment about the Hero named Zero.”

“I’ll do all right. I’m good, but I’m not in the same class as people like you, or Joshua, or Clarissa.”

“That’s where you’re dead wrong, Blaine. I admit our abilities are a bit more flashy, and they do come with more fringe benefits, but those are just perks. What’s the main purpose of Heroes?”

“To neutralize criminal Supers with as little collateral damage as possible,” Blaine recited automatically. It had been the mantra of their senior year, a credo that was a question on every exam, be it verbal or written. This was not a mission statement to be ignored: this was a binding contract each Hero swore their lives upon.

“There you go. The rest of us can stop Supers, sure. But you do exactly what we’re all aspiring for. You neutralize them.”

“You can do that, too,” Blaine pointed out.

“Ah, but only if they are close enough, and stay in range, and don’t possess an ability like yours or Joshua’s that overpowers my own. I’m good, but as far as genuine stopping power, you’re better. You take away the very thing that makes them such exceptional threats. All of us are just working to get a little bit closer to what you can do naturally. You are the ideal Hero.”

“You were doing good, then you pushed it too far,” Blaine told him. In spite of his serious face, there was an undeniable hint of humor in his voice.

“Ah well. Can’t blame a guy for trying. Need help with anything else?”

“I’m set. Thanks, Phil.”

“Anytime.” With one last smile, he moved on, walking over to a stuttering Victor, who was fumbling with a set of cue cards. They had to make a speech at the ceremony, each new Hero giving thanks and stating what they hoped to accomplish in the coming years. This was more troubling for some of them than others. And for one of them, it didn’t appear to be a concern at all.

Blaine didn’t buy that; he’d known Phil for too long. The guy hated being the center of attention. Giving a speech would be something he dreaded far more than fighting villains. He worked his way amidst the others, giving encouragement or help as needed, always focused on taking care of everyone else’s concerns. It didn’t mean he wasn’t scared, though. In fact, it meant the opposite: helping others was how Phil dealt with negative feelings. His natural reaction to something bad was to reach out and make the world better.

To Blaine, that made Phil the ideal Hero. Not that he would ever say such a thing out loud.

154.

By the time it was ten minutes to eight, Tiffani had been taken out, and Will seemed to have completely lost the trail. Alice still didn’t know how Professor Pendleton had seen through Tiffani’s illusion of a large business man blundering amidst the crowd, especially since she was sure that man hadn’t been around for more than a few minutes. If she’d kept the same illusion, then it would have been one thing, but Tiffani was smart. She’d obviously been changing it regularly so that no one person seemed to be tailing the professor along with his students. He’d still caught her, and with no sign of Will in the past fifteen minutes, that meant it was down to her and Nick.

Whatever Professor Pendleton’s power was, it definitely lent itself to rapid relocation. He’d hopped between stores multiple times, changing outfits with each movement. It was only luck, frantic searching, and keeping one eye on Nick that had allowed Alice to stay in the game this long. She couldn’t figure out how Nick always knew when to walk to a new area, or always seemed to see right through the professor’s disguises, but she was willing to bet that knowing their instructor’s ability didn’t hurt. So far, her money was on teleportation, even if that seemed like a long shot. There were teleporters that became Heroes, but they generally had to be exceptionally powerful to make the cut. Something about Professor Pendleton just didn’t strike her that way; however, at the moment, she was at a loss for any better explanation.

Alice turned a corner, passing by a man in a giant cookie costume promoting a baked goods kiosk, and found herself with a sinking sensation in her gut. This was a straightaway, and even with three visible floors to search, she should be able to see at least Nick. Her eyes darted furiously about, hoping to catch a glimpse of one of them and knowing more certainly with each passing second that she wouldn’t. Damn it! She’d been so close. There were only seven minutes left until the professor stopped moving. She still had fifteen minutes after that to find him; however, in a place this size, that put her odds at pretty much crap.

A gust of wind tugged at her hair, and Alice fixed it on instinct. Stupid outdoor mall, whose idea was that, anyway? She turned her gaze away from futilely scanning the crowd and up toward the sky, where the night was beginning to shine through the day with an ever-so-subtle twinkling of stars. In the corner of her eye, the man in the cookie suit was chatting up a girl who was fighting the wind to keep her skirt down at an appropriate level.

A gentle smile slid across Alice’s face. She wasn’t much of a football fan, but if she had been, she would have known that what she was considering was commonly referred to as a “Hail Mary.”

*      *      *

Nick was the first to arrive in the gazebo where Professor Pendleton sat, his hands wrapped around a chocolate malt he’d picked up just before settling down to wait. The older man treated his student to a shake of the head as he sauntered across the finish line.

“Why am I not surprised?”

“Because you know me?” Nick tossed back. He slid onto a bench opposite the professor. The gazebo’s seating accommodations were weathered and hard. Nick was glad they wouldn’t be there for very long.

“True. Used the mirrors to track me from a distance, while also scanning a perimeter in case I doubled back?”

“Obviously.”

“What about the times when I left the area you could visually track? I changed entire sections of the mall more than once.”

“Sometimes I was able to angle the anti-theft mirror systems of the stores to expand my line of sight, sometimes I used a few techniques that are proprietary to my personal training, and once or twice, I might have just gotten lucky.”

“I find that last one hard to swallow,” Professor Pendleton said, taking a loud sip of his shake. “The rest I can buy. At least you were able to get away both times I tried to grab you.”

“With all due respect, I think we both know you could have done a lot better.”

“Maybe I was trying to give you all a fighting chance,” Professor Pendleton pointed out.

“Well, at least that worked out for one of us,” Nick replied.

“Two,” Will corrected, stepping into the gazebo. He checked the digital watch on his wrist. “Five minutes after the stopping point. I believe that means I pass?”

“That you do, but I have to ask how. You haven’t been anywhere near us for some time,” Professor Pendleton said.

Will took a seat on the uncomfortable benches with them, then explained. “I started hanging back after you got more aggressive about taking people out of the game. My tactic for tracking you was effective, but it did not possess a practical early-warning system.”

“What, did you slip a tracker on him?”

Will nodded. “At first, yes. I used a mobile reconnaissance device I designed that was able to attach itself to him and relay his position to me. The professor ditched it at the first outfit change, unfortunately.”

“This is hardly my first rodeo,” Professor Pendleton replied.

“I’d calculated for such a possibility. Since you were kind enough to provide us the event’s location ahead of time, I spent the last few days breaking into their security system and designing a program specifically to locate and track Professor Pendleton’s facial features across the security cameras.” Will pulled a small device from his pocket; it looked like a car GPS unit, to which he’d clearly done a tremendous amount of rewiring. “That’s why it took me a few minutes to get here. I was watching from far enough away to stay safe.”

“I have to say, I’m impressed,” Professor Pendleton admitted. “You planned, created contingencies, and used all the advanced information you had to construct as effective a strategy as you could. Well done, Mr. Murray.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Professor Pendleton finished his frozen treat and tossed it in the garbage, then looked at his own watch. “Four minutes left, and to no one’s surprise, it seems Ms. Adair is nowhere in sight. We’ll wait the remaining time for the sake of formalit—”

“Freeze, you lowlife,” a uniformed officer said, hefting Professor Pendleton up by his shoulder and slamming it into one of the gazebo’s ancient wooden supports. It was sturdier than expected; the pain radiating through Professor Pendleton’s shoulder served as excellent testament to that fact.

“I’m not sure what you think—”

“Did I tell you to talk?” The officer’s voice was a growl, anger barely contained as it twitched across his face. “Miss? Is this the man?”

From an entryway to the left, a familiar form stepped out of the shadows, strolling its way across the grassy outcropping before coming to rest just outside of the gazebo’s interior.

“That’s him, officer,” Alice said, faux-distress rampant in her voice. “I’d recognize him anywhere.”

“What is going on?”

“What’s going on is that this establishment does not take kindly to men who walk around snapping pictures up women’s skirts.”

“Who WHAT?”

“Don’t bother, sicko. This young lady saw you using your camera when the women weren’t looking. Thank goodness. If not for her, we might not have found you before you got away.”

Professor Pendleton looked over at Alice, who took the opportunity to pointedly take the last step into the gazebo, twisting her arm so that the face of her watch was showing. Fourteen minutes past the deadline. She’d just barely made it.

The professor continued to protest as the officer dragged him away, presumably toward some office for security footage to be reviewed. Alice sauntered past the shocked expressions of both her classmates and plopped onto the seat where their teacher had been only moments before.

“So,” she said nonchalantly. “Anyone up for dinner?”

155.

Dean Blaine’s front door slammed shut as Sean Pendleton traipsed through it, making a beeline for the dean’s fridge and pulling out a cold beer. He downed it in one practiced chugging motion, and then pulled out two more before allowing the fridge to close.

“Four hours!” Sean said loudly, a phrase he’d repeated many times on the drive back from the mall. Blaine grabbed one of the beers from Sean’s hands before it disappeared down his throat. He might need a bit of a buzz to deal with his old friend. “Four fucking hours I had to sit in that shitty little office, while they went over footage from every damn angle.”

“It would have been faster if we hadn’t had to try and explain all your outfit changes,” Blaine pointed out.

“Four hours! All because of one stupid lie that should have sorted itself out as soon as they realized I didn’t even have a damned phone on me!”

“That worked against us, actually. They kept thinking you’d ditched the evidence somewhere.”

Sean fell into a chair and greedily gulped half his beer. Blaine had been called in as soon as the arrest occurred, functioning as a cross between a lawyer and a guardian as the police combed through the footage for any evidence of Sean’s supposed crimes. They’d found none, of course, but somehow, it had still taken several hours (four, in case that wasn’t clear yet) before they were comfortable letting him go. His usual carefree disposition had melted away under the intense scrutiny and sense of time being wasted.

“And the worst part of it is that now I have to pass her.”

“That’s the worst part? You’re a prisoner on a work detail who got hauled in for a serious crime—one you didn’t actually commit—and that’s the worst part?” Blaine didn’t even try to keep the incredulous tone from his voice.

“Yes, it is. I just got manhandled for four hours, and I don’t even get to fail the girl who did it to me out of spite, because damn it if her methods didn’t produce results.”

“You know, the other majors have these things called ‘ethics’ that can be applied to the methods one uses to achieve results. I’ve heard legend they exist in regular academia.”

“Which is where they belong. Subtlety is the gray area of our work; you know that as well as I do. So long as they aren’t using torture or murder or ruining lives, I can’t very well fault one of my students for finding a novel way to succeed within the parameters I provided them.” Sean readjusted on the sofa and took another, smaller drink from his beer. “Even if it would give me a tremendous amount of personal satisfaction to do just that, it would set a bad precedent, and my inconvenient evening doesn’t rank higher than teaching my students properly. Will hacked the security system using the technological aspect, Alice hacked it using the human aspect. Deception is right there in the curriculum.”

“For a man forced into this role, you certainly have taken well to it,” Blaine pointed out.

Sean gave him a shrug. “What my people do is dangerous. I’ve got enough on my conscience without worrying if I under-trained some kid and sent them off to their death.”

“Speaking of things on your mind,” Blaine said, setting his beer on the table. “I notice you haven’t asked me anything about what we discussed in your cell on the day I offered you the job.”

“Did you have some new development to tell me about?”

“No.”

“Me neither. I sort of figured you would have mentioned it if you did, so there wasn’t much point in pestering you about it.” Sean finished his second beer and set the empty bottle on Blaine’s coffee table.

“I know, I just . . . I suppose I thought you’d be more impatient.”

“Blaine, this has been my life for almost two decades. Patience wasn’t my strongpoint when I was younger, but I assure you, I have grown much more familiar with the concept over my time waiting impotently in prison. I know Shelby is out there, somewhere. Unfortunately, what little trail there might have been was destroyed while I rotted in the slammer. If I go grasping about blindly, all I’m going to do is tip off the wrong people that I’m still looking. Sooner or later, something will pop up. Some clue, some piece of the puzzle we haven’t seen yet. When it does, I’ll be ready.”

“If it does, I’ll help you as much as I can,” Blaine replied.

“You got me out of my cell. I’d say that alone was more than I had any right to ask from you. Thank you, by the way. I know I was a prick when you came to make me the offer. I’m glad you didn’t let my jaded anger make me miss out on such an amazing opportunity.”

Blaine waved him off. “Cut that crap out. Once you’ve saved each other’s lives a few times, the smaller favors stop being much of a big deal. Besides, I always felt bad about having to be the one who brought you down in the first place.”

“It wasn’t your fault. I knew the risks I was taking when I made my choice. You did what we all promised to do: you stopped a criminal that regular people couldn’t.”

Silence stretched between the old friends after that, broken by a brief trip to the refrigerator for more beers. Eventually, the television was turned on, and though it was stared at, it would be inaccurate to say it was watched.

“What were you trying to steal?” Blaine asked as the program flickered away to a commercial break.

“Huh?” Sean’s vocal chords leapt out ahead of his brain, registering the sounds from Blaine’s mouth, but unable to piece together their meaning.

“The night I caught you. Most of what you took before that was art or mercenary theft work for money. I don’t know what you were spending it on, even if I do know the general point you were working toward. That night was different. A genetics lab didn’t really fit your target profile.”

Sean stalled, fidgeting with his beer and pretending to pay attention to the man hawking insurance on the screen. “I trust you, Blaine. I do. But this is something I don’t think you want to know. So, if you insist, I’ll tell you. Just understand me first: I haven’t kept this secret for so long because it made me feel special. Sometimes, knowing a single fact can change everything, and rarely for the better. So if you ask me again, be damned certain you’re ready for everything that comes with it.”

Blaine nodded his understanding and turned back to the television. Sean wouldn’t say that sort of thing without good reason, and Blaine had too much on his plate as it was. He would ask again, of that there was no doubt in his mind.

It would just have to wait for a bit longer.

156.

“Come in, Mary,” Professor Stone said, interrupting Mary’s intended knock before it could land on the doorframe. The diminutive girl lowered her hand and stepped into the office without comment. It was still strange for her, being the one whose thoughts were heard rather than the one doing the hearing. Fleetingly, she wondered if conferences of telepaths were like mime conventions, only verbal silence amidst the sound of a bustling hallway full of people.

“We don’t get together too often, mostly because of the strange feeling you’re currently experiencing,” Professor Stone said to the unasked question. “It’s humorous that we, of all people, are the least comfortable with having our minds read. One would think we’d be more open to it than anyone else.”

“Maybe it’s because we know what goes through other people’s heads that we don’t like it,” Mary pointed out.

“A valid point,” Professor Stone agreed. “Would you care for something to drink? I can make us a pot of coffee.” A worn-out coffee maker was plugged in at the corner of her office, the red indicator light burned out to a point where one rolled the dice on getting burned every time they touched the heating plate.

“I’m more of a tea person. Thank you, anyway.”

“Well then, would you like to tell me why you came by my office, or should we just proceed to me addressing the issue?”

“I think I’d like to articulate it,” Mary said. “That will help me keep my thoughts in order. I wanted to ask you for advice on increasing my level of precision and control with telekinesis. Training with Alex these past weeks has made me see just how great a divide rests between the two of us. Since I’ve seen your skills, I was hoping you might have some advice.”

“A perfectly reasonable question,” Professor Stone said. “One that I will likely be unable to fulfill, however, at least not to the extent you’re hoping for. The truth of the matter is that the exercises I teach in our Focus classes are what you need to be doing. They will help you improve steadily, if slowly.”

“I was worried you’d say that.”

Professor Stone sighed and shifted in her chair. “Unfortunately for Alex, there is more demand for raw power than delicacy in people of our craft. You’ll likely go much further than he will, even though his precision is at a level you won’t ever reach.”

“Never?”

“I’m not saying you won’t improve; however, even among those of us with similar powers, there is still room for individual variations and talents to shine. I assume the dean gave your group the ‘classification is meaningless’ speech last year?”

Mary nodded. It was one of the lectures that had stuck with her the most.

“Good. While I don’t agree with him on every point, Dean Blaine is right in that people are far too comfortable lumping us all together. Just as two men who are both good at directing might excel in different genres, two people with telepathy might have different aspects to what they can do. Take me, for example. I have an unusual gift with seeing people’s memories. With physical contact and time to concentrate, I can mentally experience almost anything that has happened to them.”

“So, Alex’s specialty is his level of telekinetic control,” Mary surmised. “And mine is the amount of power I can throw around.”

“Yes and no. You are gifted in how much force you can utilize, but most of that strength comes from your years as a Powered. All that time dealing with the influx of thoughts taught you to narrow your focus, which in turn translates to a stronger telekinetic strike,” Professor Stone corrected. “I’ve done similar training myself. What I’m referring to are the subtle differences, small things we can do that we take for granted others can do as well, despite the fact that such is often not the case.”

“Um . . . I did once go into my friend’s subconscious.”

Professor Stone’s eyebrows rose several inches.

“Rich put us both under,” Mary said, hurriedly explaining her strange statement. “Somehow, during that time, I was able to enter his mind and interact with him.”

“Just him? Like mind-reading?”

“No, like his consciousness, but also a bunch of deeper things. His insecurities, his fears, even what I suspect was his good side, all of them were manifested.”

“That is a unique ability indeed,” Professor Stone told her. “What we do as telepaths is akin to skimming the surface of a pool. We can only see, or rather hear, what is on top. Being able to delve into the depths . . . I’ve only ever met a few other Supers with a power like that.”

“I’ve only done it the one time. Maybe it was something about the state Rich put us in.”

“That is certainly a possibility. Our powers are comparable to chemicals. Stable on their own, but when combined, there can be all manner of unanticipated reactions. Still, if I were you, I would try and test that skill some. Perhaps your power has an aspect that’s yet to be fully tapped.”

“I’ll do that,” Mary said. “After I’m done with the final match, I mean. Just trying to better my telekinesis is time consuming enough.”

“As are all things worth doing,” Professor Stone replied. “Just be sure you are focusing on bringing your abilities to their upper level, not trying to duplicate someone else’s.”

“Message received. Work on precision, but accept that I might never be able to pull off some of Alex’s stuff.”

“Exactly. My advice is to keep up your exercises and try to find ways to work around your limitation.”

“Like what?”

“Well, in our first out-of-class meeting, I pummeled you with a barrage of rocks,” Professor Stone reminded her.

“I recall.”

“In that exchange, I was able to do it because all you tried to do was move the original hunk of concrete. With your mental strength, you could have easily done that and wrapped a bubble of force around yourself simultaneously.”

“I didn’t know I needed to.”

“Do you anticipate your enemies will tell you all of their objectives in a fight beforehand?”

“Not intentionally, but yes,” Mary countered. Professor Stone gave the small girl a thin smile.

“My point is that, while Alex can use telekinesis to interact with people without crushing them, you can use that formidable focus of yours to simultaneously do three things he could only manage to pull off one at a time. There are a bevy of tactical options besides throwing heavy objects at people. I advise you to start exploring them.”

157.

Nick’s left shoulder came out of its socket, and his wrist exploded into fragments barely contained by the skin wrapped around what had once been a solid bone. He stifled a cry of pain that even two weeks ago would have worked its way past his lips, using breathing techniques to focus through the initial blast of pain.

“Better,” he said, his voice low and strained under the considerable effort of not passing out from shock. He’d learned that he could communicate in two-syllable bursts. Any more than that, and he risked throwing up. It had not been a pleasant learning process. “Heal.”

Camille obliged, laying her hand on his uninjured right arm so as not to make the process any worse than it already was. A few seconds later, Nick’s brain was awash in pleasure as the chemicals designed to fight back pain suddenly found no injury to contend with. He took a moment to compose himself, then addressed the small girl once more.

“Again. One finger, and only a light brush.”

Nick hadn’t chosen to train with Camille for the reasons he’d listed, and while no one would be shocked to learn he’d had ulterior motives, they might had been served a healthy dollop of surprise if they’d known what he’d had planned. Sure, some of it was close to what he’d told them: helping Camille to become a better close-ranged brawler. His real emphasis was on giving her the chance to improve an aspect of her power he suspected she’d had very little opportunity to use. Nick was making Camille injure him over and over.

The emphasis they focused on initially was speed. The more damage Camille could impart in a short amount of time, the better her chances of taking someone down before they had a chance to counterattack. As they’d trained, it had become apparent that the level of touch she needed to sustain in order to inflict an injury was also a hindrance; it took a solid grip to impart more significant damage. So part of their training had become teaching her to leave larger wounds with a lighter touch. She had been making serious progress, and as a side effect, Nick’s already healthy pain tolerance was growing by leaps and bounds.

Five broken ribs, a concussion, a splintered femur, and countless bruises later, Nick finally held up his hands to signal an end to what his body could handle in a day. Although Camille could remove the actual injuries, there were certain chemical processes in the brain triggered by the barrage—adrenaline and dopamine and dozens of other things swirling together into a cocktail that would render his formidable mind useless if continued for long enough. This lesson had come after the first day, when they pushed as long as they could and Nick had then slept for eighteen hours, dead to the world and any attempts at waking him. Some quick lying had convinced the others he’d merely had too much to drink the night before, but from then on, both of them were keenly aware that certain limits had to be observed.

“Okay,” Nick said as he pulled his shirt back on. For the sake of convenience, he only wore a tank-top and shorts during their fights, but soon, he’d start adding layers to force Camille to work around them. “Good training session. While we’ve got time left, there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

“I’m all ears,” Camille replied. Nick wasn’t always the most upfront person, yet she had grown to trust that he had the best interests of the team at heart. Besides, his methods, while crazy and dangerous to him, definitely produced results.

“I had Mary stop by to end Roy and Vince’s sparring a bit early. She sent Vince back to Melbrook, and she’s currently walking the halls with Roy under the guise of getting an update as to where his skills are. What she’s actually doing is listening to both of our thoughts, waiting for you to tell her it’s okay to bring Roy in here.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Because it’s time to let him in on your little secret.”

“Roy? Why on earth would we tell him?”

“Well, we don’t have to,” Nick said. “But I have to say, I think he’ll figure it out anyway when you start breaking his bones.”

“I see. You want me to see if my powers work on him,” Camille surmised. Nick cheerfully bobbed his head in agreement; it was so much easier when he got to work with someone competent.

“Your ability is incredible; right now, it makes you one of the strongest people in our class. There’s an unknown factor, however, one we need to test. Does your ability to impart wounds get reduced or even nullified by people with enhanced endurance?”

“I don’t know,” Camille admitted. “I was the only Super in my high school, and I’ve never tried it on someone like Roy or Chad.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured. But if it can, if it somehow just creates the damage in spite of their ability, then your power is more than just incredible, it’s downright insane. To completely bypass someone else’s defense like that, well, you’re one of the smart ones. I don’t have to paint a picture for you of how big a difference it can make.”

“I understand; I just don’t know that I trust Roy to keep this secret.”

“He’ll keep it from the other teams, and I feel reasonably confident I can convince him that Vince is too naïve to be trusted with it. That said, we’re getting down to crunch time. Pretty soon, you’re going to have to make a choice about which you want to protect more, your secret or Vince.”

“You already know what I’ll choose,” Camille said without hesitation. He did, too. The girl was many things, but dedicated was absolutely at the top of the list.

“Then let’s make sure that when the time comes, we know exactly what you can and can’t pull off,” Nick replied.

“Fine,” Camille agreed, making sure she thought about her agreement in no uncertain terms so Mary would get the message.

It evidently worked, because some minutes later, the metal door to the training room opened, revealing Mary and Roy.

“Hey, guys,” Roy greeted. “What’s going on?”

“Roy, my friend, today we are going to perform a fascinating science experiment,” Nick told him. “If you’ll be so kind as to shut the door, we can get things started.” Roy obliged the request, and Camille took a moment to mentally prepare herself. Then the door was closed, and there was nothing else left but action and explanation. The conclusion would be that either Roy had an exceptional defense, or Camille had an ability that would make many a previously unassailable Super cringe in fear.

It was time to test some limits.

158.

“Thank you all for coming,” Dean Blaine said, greeting the sophomore class as they took their seats in the central auditorium, a place they hadn’t been to for some time. The dean stood at the center of the stage, an enormous screen at his back showing the cover for what most students correctly concluded was a slide presentation. Each of the professors sat in a metal folding chair, all six lined up behind the dean and below the screen. The looks on their faces ranged from bored all the way to disinterested. Given that the month had just turned to May, the sophomores would have much rather been training than attending some presentation, so they looked far from enthralled as well.

“I called you all here because, as you know, the end of the year is almost upon us,” Dean Blaine continued. “As you might also recall, that comes with more than just the commencement of our year-end exams. The upper classmen all work together to put on something of a carnival event for the freshmen, a congratulatory celebration to put them at ease before their trials.” He left out how chaotic last year’s had been, thanks to Michael Clark hijacking a microphone and outing the Melbrook residents. No need to reopen old wounds.

Dean Blaine started to speak again; however, he was interrupted by the high-pitched chirping of a cell phone. He would have admonished the owner for not turning their phone on silent had he not been said owner. He had turned it on silent, however, there were certain numbers programmed in that bypassed such restrictions, numbers so important that they were intended to never be ignored. This time, he pressed a button to mute the chirping anyway, reasoning that he had a short speech and could return the call as soon as it was over.

“Sorry about that. Now, while the juniors do the bulk of the work, the sophomores will still be participating in some committees to help out, utilizing their unique skills to—”

The high-pitched tone echoed through the room again, and Dean Blaine had to bite back a curse that tried to sneak its way across his tongue. He smashed the button to silence it, this time, far less delicately, and turned back to his audience.

“Apologies once more. Today, we’re here to allow you all to volunteer—”

More ringing, this time accompanied by a wave of curious whispers that passed through his students. It seemed this was a battle he was going to lose. Rather than continue with the vaudeville routine, Dean Blaine pulled the phone from his holster and turned his back on the audience of students.

“What is so damned important?” Dean Blaine snapped into the small black device. He stood silently as he listened, the voice on the other line too quiet to even be heard, let alone discerned. Amber was getting curious enough to try and amplify the waves, but before she had a chance, the dean lowered his phone and clicked a button to end the call. When he turned back around, she found herself very glad she hadn’t done anything of the sort. His usual good cheer and patience were gone, wiped from his face, leaving the haggard look of a man who has seen too much blood in his life and has a sense he is about to look upon more.

“Everyone stay here,” Dean Blaine informed them. “Your professors and I have something to attend to. The other HCP students will be coming in to join you shortly. Please sit quietly until we return.” He motioned to the people seated behind him, all of whom rose from their seats immediately and followed him out of the room. The thick door shut with a clang, followed immediately by the sound of a large lock sliding into place.

“Something tells me this isn’t all because a snow cone machine got delivered too early,” Nick muttered.

“Gee, you think?” Stella said, not bothering to keep her tone quiet. “Obviously, some big shit is going down. I think they just locked our asses in here.”

“If they locked the door, it is for our safety,” Chad said calmly. “There are protocols for certain events designed to maintain the safety of the student body. This structure is highly fortified, even against natural disasters such as earthquakes.”

“Wait, so something that’s important enough to have all four classes gather in here would be a pretty big deal, right?” Jill asked.

“Not guaranteed, but it would be very likely,” Chad agreed. “Why?”

“Because I’m going to see if that thing gets cable,” Jill replied, pointing at the screen that still showed the title page for the slideshow it seemed unlikely the dean would be presenting anytime soon. She closed her eyes and the screen flickered, switching through various input functions before a local television station airing a daytime soap opera filled the screen. The channels began flipping by as Jill moved through them, finally settling on a national news network.

The moment the channel came on it was clear this was not regularly scheduled programming. The newswoman’s makeup was smudged, as if she’d been throwing it on in the car ride over, instead of being professionally groomed by a trained artist. Uniformed officers milled about behind her, occasionally shooting the girl and her crew angry looks, making it clear they despised even their presence at such a scene. Her lips moved wordlessly for a few seconds before Jill turned up the sound, and when they heard what she was saying, many of the students immediately wished she hadn’t.

“—no casualties being reported so far. For those of you just tuning in, again, the breaking story today is the jailbreak that happened at the Sanderson Maximum Security Prison for Supers. One incarcerated man, being identified as the former Hero ‘Relentless Steel,’ was pulled free by a group of three Supers intent on his extrication.”

Eyes widened and nerves tightened at this announcement. Although the media was not allowed to release the names of even disgraced Heroes, it was common knowledge that the man once called Relentless Steel had the ability to transform into a living robot, a power most had observed was strikingly similar to another man they all knew, one who had also been stuck in prison after kidnapping a student last year.

The reporter blurred for a moment, the signal from her location clearly not stable. They could all see waves in the background, which made sense. Sanderson was an island penitentiary; she was probably reporting from the shoreline. The image became crisp again moments later, and she continued her report.

“Normally, this would be the most shocking turn of events, given Sanderson’s reputation for being inescapable; however, we’ve gotten confirmation that not only were two of the three criminals former Heroes Raze and Mood Swing, both already with warrants out for their arrest, but it seems they were being led by another former Hero, one who had been previously believed to be deceased.”

Vince felt a very heavy sinking sensation somewhere in his gut.

“We’ve just received security footage taken of their escape,” the reporter said, her face vanishing as four people floating on what appeared to be a giant rock filled the screen. Two of them were familiar: despite the costume and mask, Persephone’s figure would have stood out clearly in a burlap sack. George didn’t have any concealment as he kneeled on the floating piece of earth, only a threadbare prison jumpsuit. The other two men wore Hero masks as well. Even without the facial coverings, they would have still been unrecognizable to most of the students. Most, but not all.

“As you can clearly see, the man known as Globe is leading their attack and coordinating their escape. Inquiries to his former teammates who reported his death have so far been met only with silence.”

The screen zoomed in on the man; he was saying something to George that couldn’t be recorded from the camera’s distance. He wore a long red coat, tattered with time, but still highly recognizable. One student would have known it anywhere, just as he would have known the line of the man’s jaw or the way he stood when he was trying to protect someone.

“Father,” Vince whispered, his voice barely audible even to himself. It might have traveled further than he realized, because a mass of eyes turned to stare at him. Vince didn’t notice, couldn’t even see them. All he could see was the face on the screen; all he could hear was the strange ringing that filled his ears. He did notice a curious orange tint that seemed to be coloring the edge of his peripheral vision, but he couldn’t have told you what it was. Vince didn’t see anything other than the man on the screen, his face superimposed over a half-decade old memory of a burning boxcar that Vince had looked down on from a cliff. He could hear his own screams from that day, or maybe someone else was screaming. Maybe a lot of people were; it was so hard to tell.

His line of sight to the screen was cut short as a pair of fleetingly familiar eyes appeared in front of his own. That was the last image Vince got before his body fell limply to the floor.

159.

“Put him down!”

“What the fuck did you do?”

“I stopped us all from being burned to death. Some of us aren’t fucking flame retardant!”

“Roy, put him down right now.”

“I will when he lets Vince go.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Rich is right; he was having a mental breakdown. He didn’t even seem to notice the fire.”

“Then, what do you suggest? He’s got to deal with it when he wakes up, and he can’t stay out forever.”

“Can you still craft fake situations after you’ve already put someone under?”

“Sure, I just have to look in their eyes again. Why?”

“I’ve got an idea.”

*      *      *

Vince’s eyes snapped open as he jerked upright in his bed. He could still hear the voices bickering somewhere in the depths of his mind, but he couldn’t really remember what they were saying. His brain felt groggy, like he’d barely slept a wink last night. It wasn’t really surprising; that had been one hell of a detailed dream. He swung his feet out of the covers and hopped onto the floor, officially beginning his day.

Sunlight streamed through his window. Outside, the neighborhood was just waking up. It was a quiet little cul-de-sac, mostly full of three-bedroom houses cut from the same set of design templates. The exception was the Adairs’ house down the street, which had been custom-made and easily dwarfed the rest of the abodes surrounding it. Vince never understood why Charles Adair wanted to live in a neighborhood like theirs, when he clearly belonged in a higher income area. His mind slid over that question, unable to even conceive of it as something he should dwell on.

The clock was blinking seven thirty, which meant he’d managed to oversleep again. Hurriedly brushing his teeth and throwing on clean clothes, Vince paused briefly to shave in the mirror and style his light, chocolate-colored hair. It was so dull and ordinary; no wonder he’d given himself a mane of silver in his dream.

A ritualistic hunt for his sneakers—the modern manifestation of killing a buffalo— wasted five more minutes, so by the time he stumbled down the stairs into the kitchen, Vince was on the cusp of truly being late. Coach was going to be pissed.

“Morning, champ,” his father greeted him, currently poised at the stove, whipping a spatula through some recently cracked eggs. There was also the distinctive sizzle of bacon and the unmistakable scent of coffee filling the air. Father took all his meals seriously; he believed that the fall of modern society would come from a lack of home-cooked meals rather than gangs or violence. The red apron draped across his torso was worn and threadbare, not to mention a bit frilly around the edges. Vince had told him for years that he needed a new one, but it had been a gift from Vince’s mother before she passed, so Father was loathe to give it up.

As he took a seat at the table, Vince’s head throbbed, images from his dream rising unbidden from the depths of his subconscious. His father—faking his own death, only to emerge years later as some legendary criminal. It was so ridiculous, yet, for some reason, Vince felt a pang of queasiness in his stomach.

“How you feeling today? Any new symptoms?”

“Symptoms?” Vince said uncertainly.

“Well, there’s the memory loss they warned us about,” his father said with a sigh. “You got cracked on the head during practice yesterday. Minor concussion, and given that you were taken down by the Daniels boy, I’d say that was getting off light.”

“Right . . . right,” Vince said, new memories rising up to take the place of the ones from his dream. “Roy tackled me when I intercepted that pass, and I knocked my head on the ground.”

“Whew, glad that mind of yours is still working. We Reynolds men can’t afford to lose too many brain cells.” His father gave him a wink at the joke, and then slid a steaming pile of fluffy eggs onto a pair of plates. Bacon joined the former future fowls, followed by a cup of coffee on the side. He set the plate in front of his son, then sat across from Vince with his own.

The Reynolds men . . . but only Vince’s last name was Reynolds, wasn’t it?

A throb came from his temple, and Vince shook his head. Whatever thought had been perched at the edge of his mind was lost in the impromptu head-banging, so Vince turned his attention to breakfast. The food was crisp and delicious, as always. For a police officer, Vince’s dad had a surprising amount of hidden culinary talent.

“You’d better hurry,” his father said. “Nick will be here any minute, and I hate the way that boy drives when he’s running late.”

“Nick?”

“Nick Campbell. Son, are you sure you’re okay? You’ve known Nick since you were kids, and he’s been driving you to school since he got his license. If you forgot him, then maybe we need to go back to the doctor for more tests.”

“Right, no, I know Nick,” Vince said, his brain catching up to his dad’s description. “I just forgot he was picking me up. I’m fine: a little slow on the uptake, but fine.” He was, too. The concern and care in his father’s voice had banished the uneasy feeling that had been lingering in his gut. It was a stupid dream. His father was the best man he knew, whatever reason his subconscious had possessed for casting him in the role of villain was irrelevant. It wasn’t real.

Vince gobbled his food hurriedly, while his father slowly turned his own attention back to breakfast. The man kept a wary eye on his boy, checking for any further symptoms that indicated a serious issue.

“So, you nervous about your upcoming finals?” It was a blatant topic change, and Vince accepted the spirit with which it was intended.

“I guess I am. More than I realized, anyway. I had a stress dream last night that was unbelievable.”

“Oh yeah? What happened in it?”

“Well, the first part is the weirdest. It was set in a world where people actually had super powers.”

160.

Nick’s ancient VW Bug protested his attempts to turn maneuvering simple neighborhood streets into a smash ‘em up video game, but the grinding cries from its engine went unheeded as its owner jerked the wheel and sent his passenger bouncing against a door that miraculously held closed.

“Fucking shitty drivers,” Nick mumbled, revving past the blue Ford that had committed the unforgivable sin of slowing down to take a right turn. The Bug gave out a weary sputter and lurched into a higher gear, sounding as if the effort had taken several years off its already dwindling lifespan.

“Are you sure you should be going so fast on these streets?”

“Hey, I don’t want to hear shit from you. I pull up and honk, and it takes you five minutes to get to the car. You know damn well I run on a very efficient schedule with no wasted time. That five minutes has got to come out of something else now, but we both know morning practice shouldn’t be that spot. I doubt twenty laps for every minute late are good for someone recovering from a head injury.”

“Right . . . maybe I shouldn’t be practicing in the first place,” Vince pointed out.

“Of course you’re not practicing. Jesus, even your coach isn’t that big of a dickbag. He just requires everyone be present, even the injured. Thinks even the act of watching your team helps you get better at assessing strengths and weaknesses,” Nick reminded him. “I’d call bullshit, but the man produces results.”

“I guess so.” Vince was having trouble keeping the memories straight in his head. He knew their undefeated football team had won a championship that year, he could even remember holding the trophy with the rest of the team. What he couldn’t remember were the small details, like what plays they’d used to pull off their come-from-behind victory. Shouldn’t he remember something like that? Meanwhile, his dream memories kept popping up, making him wonder why Nick wasn’t wearing his sunglasses. He’d opened his mouth to ask several times, only to realize how insane that question was, since the real Nick only wore them when he was driving and it was bright out.

The Bug gave one final burst of speed as Nick maneuvered it into the east Lander parking lot. It was a sizable university, and much of the student body lived off campus, so there were parking facilities set up all over the place. With the approach of finals, many were choosing to use their daytime hours holed up at home and buried in books, which meant Nick was able to score a spot near the front of the lot, drastically cutting down on their walking time.

“All right, Cinderella, this is as far as the carriage takes you,” Nick said, snapping up his backpack from the rear seat and killing the sputtering engine. “I’ll meet you at the cafeteria in Hoffman Hall for lunch at eleven. Try not to go all mentally-deficient boy and get lost before then.”

“I’ll do my best,” Vince said, a little more honesty in the statement than he would have preferred. He was having real issues with keeping everything straight, so it seemed increasingly possible that he could get mixed up and go to the wrong place. At least his next destination had been laid out for him. The Lander Stadium loomed before them, just a few minutes’ walk from the east parking lot. He needed to get to practice. Hopefully, a little time to just sit and watch people play would give him a chance to clear his head.

*      *      *

“How’s it going?”

“How the hell should I know? All I do is provide the framework, their mind usually fills in the rest. I did what she told me, but if I had to guess, it’s probably not much fun to be him right now.”

“Why not?”

“I usually put them in a place without any doubt. The world they see is the real one. They just accept it, since the assurance is coming from their own brain. She made me keep some doubts in there this time, so I’d guess it feels a little bit like he’s losing his mind.”

“Damn. Is Mary almost ready to go in?”

“Yeah, we’re about to start.”

“Good. Fucking hell, I really hope this works.”

*      *      *

“Nice hit, Daniels!” Coach George’s voice boomed across the field; somehow, the barely-above-average-height man produced enough sound in his body to fill an entire stadium with his usually critical shouts. “But keep that shit confined to the big guys. I can’t have you cripple my whole fucking team before next season.”

“You got it, Coach,” Roy called back, helping Thomas Castillo back onto his feet. The tan boy accepted the gesture wordlessly; holding grudges for being tackled in football made as much sense as getting angry at a waiter for bringing you the food you ordered. Both lined up on opposing sides; in this scrimmage, Thomas was acting as quarterback for the jersey-wearing team, who were currently on offense. It seemed a little unfair that Coach George would put Chad, their first string quarterback, on the same team as Roy, who led their league in sacks, but he was a man who believed you forged a better blade by putting it in a hotter fire. He was demanding, unpleasant, and at least halfway insane. People fought like drunken weasels for the chance to play under him.

“How you feeling, Vince?”

Vince turned his head away from the scrimmage to see Hershel Daniels, the towel resource manager, taking a seat next to him. The world tilted for a moment as everything seemed to lose cohesion. How could Hershel be here when Roy was on the field? Right, because they were fraternal twins, not two people sharing the same body. Vince was slowly getting a handle on re-imposing reality over the dream delusions that dogged him.

“I’m better than I was yesterday,” he replied, after his brain stabilized. “The doctors don’t think it was anything too bad. Just got my bell rung.”

“Glad to hear it. Roy felt awful last night. He has a hard time gauging his strength on the field.”

“Tell him I’m fine. And remind him I intercepted the ball, so he was supposed to tackle me. That’s why we practice.”

“I’ll try and get through to him.” Hershel turned his own attention to the field. “Looks like we’ll have another strong team next year.”

No, we won’t. We’re fighting just to stay afloat. Nick says that if we don’t decimate in the final match, we could lose people from the program. They need me.

No, they don’t, because they aren’t real.

“Sure does,” Vince agreed, flashing his friend a large smile. “Hey, this may sound like a weird question, but I have History after this, right?”

161.

Vince did indeed have History of War next, though he wondered what he’d been thinking scheduling a class so far across campus with so little time to make the trip. He burst into the lecture hall, thankful the professor still seemed to be arranging notes on his desk. Professor Fletcher was an older teacher, and as such, he’d taken tenure and said goodbye to much need for impressing people or punctuality. He was still a dynamite educator, though, passionately articulating stories of the ancient Greeks’ battle strategies, or dealing with more modern examples all the way through World War Two. He knew the little pieces of history that made it interesting, breathing life into what most students only ever saw as dead people and old stories.

A quick scan of the room revealed a familiar face, and Vince plopped into a seat next to Camille as he pulled out his notebook.

“Made it by the skin of my teeth this time,” he whispered, feeling relieved that he didn’t have to do the walk of shame down the hall’s steps as Professor Fletcher lectured on. The man didn’t stop once he started, and it somehow made the awkwardness of coming in late even worse.

Camille didn’t immediately respond; instead, she glanced at him, turned bright red, and found something very interesting on her paper to stare at. That was weird; why wasn’t she talking to him? The class hadn’t started yet, and Professor Fletcher wasn’t the kind of man who cared about people chatting before he began speaking.

Then Vince realized his error. He and Camille were friends in the dream, but in reality, they only knew each other in a cursory fashion. They had several of the same friends, but rarely spoke to each other aside from rapid greetings. Their social circles were like a Venn diagram, intersecting only in a relatively small portion. He’d always gotten the feeling she didn’t care much for him, actually, but he had no idea what he’d done to offend her. In fact, he didn’t even sit here in this class; usually, he took notes up near Will.

A quick turn over his shoulder revealed his friend looking down at him, confusion evident on his face. Vince started to move, but of course, Professor Fletcher chose that moment to begin his lecture. Easing back into his seat, Vince looked over at the girl once more, catching her glancing at him from the supposedly safe corners of her eyes. Her gaze darted back to her paper immediately, and he didn’t suspect it would be journeying in his direction again anytime soon.

As Professor Fletcher droned on, Vince found himself struck by the curiousness of Camille’s role in his dream. He’d cast the girl he barely knew as someone very close to him, one of his best friends. That seemed odd, given how little they’d interacted in the real world. Maybe he’d noticed her more than he realized. Or maybe it was just that his dream had been composed of such a large cast that he’d had to pull from all over to fill every role. He’d cast his father as the villain, for goodness sake. There was no sense in reading too far into it.

Class wrapped up fifty minutes later, the professor’s dismissal followed by a flurry of activity as students shoved papers and pens into their backpacks. Vince joined in, wondering how he was going to explain his odd gaffe to Will. If he leaned on the head injury explanation too many more times, they were going to send him back to the hospital for additional testing. That would worry his father, plus, he was reasonably sure it was a waste of time. Maybe he could tell Will that he’d been hitting on Camille. Nah, Will was too smart for that one.

Vince was so absorbed in thought that he almost didn’t hear the soft mutter that came from Camille’s lips. Looking over, he saw she was red again, and her eyes were facing straight forward. She wore a look of determination, and she hadn’t made any move to put her pens or notebook away.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I caught that,” Vince said politely.

“Eleven years,” Camille repeated, this time, just barely loud enough to actually be heard. “Eleven years, and when you finally talk to me, all you say to me is some comment about almost being late to class.” She grabbed her supplies and jammed them into her bag; at least two pens and a sheet of paper were destroyed in the bout of furious packing. She stood up from her seat—though, with her height, it didn’t make much of a difference—and finally looked Vince in the eye.

“You’re an ass,” Camille spat, turning on her heels and rushing out before Vince could conjure any sort of reply. He merely stared, dumbfounded, as the small girl dashed up the stairs and ran out of the lecture hall.

“I see that legendary Reynolds charm is still as potent as always,” Will said from behind Vince, snapping him out of his stupor.

“I have no idea what I did to deserve that,” he said. He didn’t, either; neither in the dream world or this one could he remember an action that warranted such venom.

“Women, eh? Can’t live with them, and I don’t know how to cook.” Will smacked his friend on the shoulder and gave him a smile. “Come on, that was funny.”

“Huh? Uh, yeah, I guess it was.” Vince finally shook off the strange feeling he’d had since Camille’s tongue-lashing, scooping his own bag off the floor and standing from his chair.

“It still doesn’t explain why you sat there in the first place,” Will pointed out as the two began to ascend the stairs. “I know it’s been long enough since you and Sasha broke up to put yourself back out there, but maybe you should try someone a little more affable. And who doesn’t apparently hate your guts.”

“I wasn’t . . . yeah, maybe you’re right,” Vince agreed. Will had given him an out from admitting he didn’t mean to sit there in the first place. Vince might not be able to lie worth a damn, but he could certainly let someone else fill in the blanks for themselves. He was pretty sure that was morally tolerable, but admittedly not preferred. “I hope my next class goes quick. I cannot wait for this day to be over.”

“The gods listen for that sort of statement,” Will informed him. “Which means you’re in for one hell of a long day.”

162.

Vince made it to lunch without much more difficulty. His sense of a split world was reduced by the fact that his next class was Geometry, and he was awful at math no matter which reality he was currently in. He met up with Nick at Hoffman, only to discover this was a ritual involving more than just Vince and his chauffeur. It seemed all the students from Melbrook Avenue grabbed food together when their schedule allowed. Roy and Hershel were the first to arrive after Vince and Nick, followed not long after by Alice. She dropped her purse and backpack next to Nick, then immediately picked up where they’d left off in their most recent fight. It had always struck Vince as strange that people who squabbled so constantly would also continually choose one another’s company. Mary was the last to arrive, grabbing a free seat to Vince’s left.

“How you feeling today?”

“A little tired of everyone asking me that, honestly,” Vince said. He began backpedaling as soon as the words were out of his mouth. “I’m sorry; I know you’re all concerned, I’ve just been having some slight concentration issues.”

“I know how it goes,” Mary assured him. “I’ve gotten my share of head bonks from messing up while climbing trees.”

Why hadn’t she just stopped herself telekinetically? Because that was the dream, duh. Besides, even dream Mary had trouble grabbing humans with her ability; she was so powerful, it was too easy to crush them.

“How long does this last?”

“In my experience, the head fuzziness usually goes away after a day or so. The part I had trouble shaking was the dreams.”

A ketchup-covered chicken tender froze halfway to Vince’s mouth, his hunger forgotten as a single word of Mary’s sentence stole precedence from all the others.

“Dreams?”

“Oh yeah. I don’t know if it was just me or what, but man, I had some doozies after a few of my falls. Complex, detailed, somehow almost as real as my own life. In fact, after some of the really intense ones, I even had trouble sorting out what was real, and what had been part of my unconscious theatre,” Mary explained, her own appetite unhindered by the conversation.

A warm sense of relief washed over Vince, and the interrupted chicken tender finally met its inevitable fate. He wasn’t going crazy. This was all just part of dealing with a head injury.

“I see. I think I had one of those last night,” Vince eventually replied. “Did the sense of not quite keeping things straight go away with the general disorientation?”

“Actually, no,” Mary told him. “I had to be a bit more proactive with those.”

“By all means, please elaborate.”

“It’s hard to explain,” she said, setting down the veggie wrap that was already halfway consumed. “I guess I’d say that talking about it helped me a lot. For whatever reason, things were sticky in my brain, and talking to the people involved usually helped me sort things out. Especially in the cases where I couldn’t understand why I’d cast someone in seemingly strange roles. Like when I had one where I was a princess in a fairytale land, I got kidnapped by an evil dragon who talked and kind of looked a lot like Hershel. Not a usual role for the boy I secretly had a crush on.”

“Agreed, I have no idea what that means.”

“Me neither,” Mary said with a shrug. “But when I told him about it, we wound up talking for a long time, and in the course of that, I was able to sort out which Hershel was the real one.” She paused to look over at her boyfriend, busily scribbling in a notebook while cramming a hamburger down his gullet. The two had been sitting apart so he could cram for his big Biology final this week. Hershel was the kind of guy who couldn’t focus if his girlfriend so much as sat down beside him. Mary thought it was endearing.

“Huh. I’ll keep that in mind,” Vince said.

“So, what did you dream about?”

“Oh . . . um, well, we were all people with super powers, only we weren’t supposed to be, sort of, and we were going to college to try and become superheroes,” Vince explained, the tips of his ears turning red as he realized how crazy that sounded.

“Sounds a lot like our actual life, if you blended it together with comic books,” Mary pointed out.

“There were a few key differences,” Vince said. “For one thing, I cast my dad as the villain.”

“Ohhhh. So that’s the part that’s bothering you.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Vince, you adore your father. No one here looks up to a parent more than you. I can see how your subconscious sticking him in a role like that would bother you a lot.”

Vince started to protest; he’d gotten over it this morning. Hadn’t he? The more he turned Mary’s words over in his head, the more he realized that the general sense of anxiety he was feeling seemed to be inevitably tethered back to those moments just before he woke up—everyone watching as the father he’d thought he lost helped the man who’d kidnapped Mary escape from jail.

“What was my power?”

“Huh?”

“I was trying to blatantly change the subject, since you seemed uncomfortable. What was my power?” Mary repeated.

“You were telepathic and telekinetic,” Vince informed her. “Alice could fly, Nick had control over luck, Roy and Herschel were weirdly the same person, and I absorbed energy.”

“Wow, you did not half-ass this dream.”

“That’s barely even scratching the surface,” Vince told her. “Most of the people from the football team were there, along with a good portion of the cheerleaders, not to mention Will, Jill, Stella, and even that quiet girl who hangs around with Violet. Camille. That last mix-up got me in trouble earlier today.”

Mary’s look of gentle interest turned into one of puzzlement. “How so?”

“In the dream, we were friends, but apparently, in this world, she really kind of hates me.”

“That’s . . . very peculiar,” Mary said; however, Vince’s attention had drifted rapidly away from her. Instead, he was focused on the place in the dining hall where trays were returned and trash was thrown away. Or rather, what he saw there.

It was only a glimpse, but he knew his eyes hadn’t deceived him. He was up from the table in seconds, damn near sprinting across the room. It took all the self-control he had not to go vaulting over tables. Vince spun around the corner to find the area empty, save for a stack of red plastic trays. Slowly, sanity restored itself, and he realized he must have looked like an idiot dashing through the dining hall like that. He couldn’t help it. A girl with a familiar figure and a mane of tangled dark curls had gone in here, he was sure of it, and for whatever reason, he’d needed to see her. To talk with her. To touch her. She was gone; maybe she hadn’t even been there to begin with. Maybe she was just another phantom from his concussion.

Vince turned and headed back to do some explaining at his table. It seemed that was the theme of his day.

163.

Several more classes, an evening study session, more than a few gaffes, and one death-courting car ride later found Vince finally back at home as the sun began to dip below the horizon. The lights from the kitchen twinkled in dusk’s fading glow, illuminating his father scurrying about and getting dinner ready. He would have gotten off shift about an hour ago; during non-finals time, Vince would have beaten him home. He knew that to be true, yet he also knew that his father had seemingly died in a fire when Vince was thirteen. It didn’t matter that one was a dream anymore. Something in it still felt real, which meant Vince needed to deal with it.

He dropped his backpack in the front hallway, and then headed into the kitchen where he was greeted with a symphony of scents, all combining to form the unmistakable odor of baking lasagna.

“Hey, kid,” his father greeted. “Just got it in the oven a few minutes ago, so you’ve got some time before dinner. How’s the head?”

“Tired,” Vince replied, taking a seat at the table. “And a little confused, to be honest.”

“Anything serious?” His father stopped fiddling with the salad bowl he’d been filling full of greens and faced his son.

“Not in a medical way, no. I’ve just been having this weird experience where I mix up things from my dream last night.”

“The one where everyone had superpowers?”

“That’s the one.”

“Huh, it would seem like that would be pretty easy to separate from reality.”

“I’ve been getting better at it throughout the day,” Vince replied. “But it’s more what happened in it that’s bothering me. Or, I mean, the way certain people acted in it. Including you.”

His father set down his tongs and went to the fridge, pulling out a pair of sodas. He placed one in front of Vince and took the other to his seat, directly across from his son.

“Sounds like you need to talk.”

“I do, but it feels crazy trying to sort out how I feel about things that didn’t happen.”

“They happened to you. Even if it wasn’t real, you still have memory of those events,” his father pointed out. “So let’s deal with them. You can talk to me about anything.”

Vince hesitated, but the temptation grew too strong, and the words started tumbling out. He didn’t tell his father everything—the dream had been far too expansive and detailed for that—but he made sure to hit the high points involving the faked death, the kidnapping attempt, the accusations about Globe, and the shock of discovering it was all true. He talked halfway through the lasagna’s cooking time, which he could tell by the slow-moving timer perched atop the stove. When Vince was finally done, his father took a long sip from his soda before responding.

“Man, I sound like kind of a jerk in your dream.”

Vince snorted a laugh, almost spitting some of his own drink in the process.

“Is that what’s bothering you? That your subconscious would put me in the role of villain?”

“Yeah. I don’t know why it would do that.”

“Well, it didn’t. Not really.” Vince tilted his head in confusion, spurring his father to continue on. “Think about it: in your dream, all your actual experiences with me sound a lot like the ones we really have. We talked, shared openly, and had a darn healthy father-son relationship, which I feel is a good summary of how things really are.”

“I completely agree,” Vince said without hesitation.

“Now, as to all that villain stuff, it seems to me every bit of that came to you second-hand. People told you about the things I’d done, people told you Globe was a bad person, but you never actually saw me do anything particularly evil.”

“I saw you fake your own death,” Vince pointed out. “Plus, break the man who kidnapped Mary out of jail.”

“Okay, I’ll give you those are valid points. Doesn’t mean there aren’t possible explanations behind them. If I were a betting man, I’d say your dream was trying to teach you that sometimes, you have to make a choice about what you’re going to believe. You can trust what others tell you, or go with the things that you know to be true. Maybe the solution for the dream version of you is to still accept my actions for the crimes they are, but trust that the man committing them is still the same father who took you in from the streets. You know some of what he’s done, but none of the why behind those actions.”

“Doesn’t sound easy.”

“Doesn’t sound like your dream-self does anything the easy way, which matches up pretty well to the real one,” his father said, reaching across the table and squeezing Vince’s hand. “All I can tell you is how I interpret it. If that doesn’t work, then keep turning it over in your brain until you find a way to look at it that feels right.”

“Thanks. I know the whole thing makes no sense, but I feel strangely better.” It was true; the continuous weight in his stomach seemed to have been alleviated. In fact, with every passing second, Vince was having more and more trouble remembering what had made him so upset.

“Anytime. You know that. Now, how about you go grab a shower before dinner? I think a hot water submersion will clear away the last of those mental cobwebs. Also, not to be rude, but I can still smell the fear-sweat on you from riding home with Nick.”

“Sure,” Vince said, heading for the stairs and taking them two at a time.

His father got up and began messing with the salad again, pausing to put a pot of coffee on the burner. He did love a good cup of mud after a heavy Italian meal. The salad was finished by the time he heard a light knock on the front door. Not bothering to take off his apron, he walked to the door and pulled it open, revealing a somewhat awkward Mary.

“Good evening, Mary. What brings you to our home this evening?”

“I just wanted to check on Vince. He still seemed a bit out of sorts at lunch today.”

“Aren’t you a good friend? He’s doing fine, but since you’re here, I insist you come have dinner with us.” Vince’s father hustled her into the kitchen and pulled out a seat at the table. “Would you care for something to drink?”

“Tea would be great, if you have it,” she replied distractedly, her focus busy as she looked around the house. It was like it was the first time she’d ever been there.

“If memory serves, we should have some of your favorite, lavender tea,” he said, digging about in the cabinet. Discovering the bags, he laid them on the counter and set a teapot on the stove to boil. Before sitting down, he poured himself a cup of coffee, then rejoined Mary at the table. The girl he found waiting for him was in a very different mood from the one he’d brought through the door.

“How did you know that?” Mary asked, her usually cheerful face suddenly quite severe.

“My dear girl, you’ve lived four houses down since you were a child. I think I can at least remember your favorite tea.”

“Except that, until a few months ago, I drank oolong, and I doubt Vince ever knew that. I’m positive I didn’t tell him that I made the switch to lavender.”

“Well, my boy might not be very perceptive on the details; however, I make it a point to be,” he replied, sipping a bit of his coffee.

“That’s not the point. The point is that Vince didn’t know that bit of information, so there’s no way some assembled memory of his father could access it.” Mary’s hands were growing numb from gripping the table, a rising sense of unease making the temptation to panic increasingly stronger.

“Oh, come now, Mary, I wouldn’t be a very good father if I didn’t do a little research on the people my son spent all his time with.” Globe set the mug of still steaming coffee on the table and treated her to another small smile. “And as to the question you’re trying so hard not to ask, don’t tell me it never occurred to you that you’re not the only one with the power to travel into someone’s dreams?”

164.

Mary stayed calm. She’d been working hard on keeping a cool head during stressful situations so as not to let her level of precision slip. So she very calmly unleashed a blast of telekinetic force designed to send the man across the table through at least three houses before he slowed down. Mary was somewhat less calm when not even a slight shove seemed to manifest.

“No superpowers in this world,” Vince’s father helpfully reminded her. “Given the surprise on your face, I’m guessing you tried something pretty ostentatious. It’s built right into the framework. I’m afraid no ability other than the ones that allow you to enter and exit will function. Now, I’ll go see about your tea.” He stood up and walked over to the teapot, which Mary had failed to notice whistling. “Of course, you could still yell for Vince and tell him everything; however, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t. This experience will help him greatly in dealing with my recent activities. I’d hate to see it ruined.”

Mary stayed quiet as he set the cup of hot water and the bags down on a small plate, along with a small spoon, a packet of sugar, and a bottle of honey. He slid them across, making sure to keep his distance non-threatening. The cup was steaming freely as Mary looked into its clear depths.

“You don’t really expect me to drink something you handed me, do you?”

“No, I suppose I don’t, but it seemed impolite not to at least offer.”

“I could still attack you, even without my powers.”

“You certainly could, however, seeing as neither of us is here physically, I’m not sure what you would be aiming to accomplish.” He took a swig of his coffee before continuing. “I am glad for this opportunity, at least. I’ve wanted to apologize for the incident with George and Persephone since it happened.”

“Sure, and next, you’re going to tell me how this whole thing is a set-up, and you’re not really to blame for any of it.”

“No, I won’t be telling you that,” he said, the polite happiness on his face suddenly overshadowed by some ancient ache from deep within. “Are things more complex than you realize? Almost always. But I will not claim false innocence. Make no mistake, Mary, the death of Intra, your kidnapping, and much of what is to come, it is all my fault.”

She hadn’t quite expected that. The man was so open and upfront, it was like, well, it was like talking to Vince. Absentmindedly, she began dunking the teabag in her cup. “How are you here, anyway? I just saw you getting chased on the news.”

“What you saw was footage, footage that had been reviewed, censored, and reviewed again before it was ever cleared to broadcast to the general public. We’ve been holed up for over two hours. The limits on what the media can report regarding Heroes cause some pretty glaring gaps in efficiency. We’ve only got a little bit before Vince returns; I’d suggest asking me things you actually care about.”

“Fine. Why did you break out George? And why did he try to kidnap me in the first place?”

“For the first, it is because George is a friend who was only following orders. I won’t let anyone suffer on my account when I can help it. As to the second, I’m afraid I won’t answer that yet. Suffice it to say that there was a preferred Plan A, and a more realistic Plan B. We are now well within the depths of B.” The coffee was finished off in a single final gulp, and he rose to get more. While up, he stopped to check on the lasagna. “I’m guessing you’re the one who will tell them when to wake Vince up?”

“I’ll go back to my own brain and give the signal. Rich left me still able to communicate,” Mary confirmed.

“Quite a useful power that boy has. Don’t suppose I could convince you to wait until after dinner? Vince and I haven’t gotten to spend time together for a long while.”

“That happens when you fake your own death to get away from him.”

“Given what you know about me, that should be the easiest motivation in the world to figure out,” he said, sitting back down at the table. “Some people knew I was still alive. I kept thinking I could keep him safe, but after a particularly close call . . . let’s just say I pray you never have to make the kind of decision I made that day.”

Mary dearly missed her telepathy right now, because she was having a hard time not believing the sadness and concern in Globe’s eyes. She could barely even think of him that way. In fairness, not many people are able to look intimidating while wearing a frilly apron.

“I don’t understand you,” Mary admitted, after a moment. “This isn’t what I ever expected talking to you would be like.”

“To your credit, you’re handling it much better than most people would.”

“No, I mean, how can you act so concerned about Vince? You’re a damn criminal, you just admitted that, and yet, you’re still asking me to give you time to have dinner with him?”

“Mary, I know this is hard to understand, but we humans are multi-faceted beings. For example, I can bake an excellent soufflé, but I am utterly incapable of writing poetry worth reading. See the conflict?”

“Actually, no, not really.”

“Good, because there isn’t any,” he replied. “Baking has nothing to do with writing, just as me being a criminal doesn’t mean I don’t love and worry about my son. It is possible to be a bad citizen and a good father.”

Mary took a moment to stir her tea, the desire to have something calming her nerves outweighing any residual fear she felt that he might have slipped something into it. This was Vince’s mind, so he couldn’t hurt her real body, and somehow, she doubted that Vince finding her slumped over at the table suited his agenda.

“Okay, let’s strike a deal, then” Mary said at last. “What are you willing to trade if I wait a little while before I have them wake up Vince?”

“You’ve been hanging around Nicholas Campbell too much,” Vince’s father said, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. “I’ll give you three things: a promise, a bit of advice, and a message.”

“Sounds vague.”

“I could throw in another cup of tea,” he said. “Or you could listen to what I’m offering and decide if it’s worth it.”

“Couldn’t I just listen and then screw you over?”

“Yes, however, I like to think our next generation of Heroes can conduct themselves with a bit more decorum than that. So, what do you say?”

Mary added a bit of honey to her tea and stirred it in.

“Deal. Now, start talking.”

165.

Vince came back to reality slowly, grogginess tempering his perception as he sat up on the surprisingly comfortable hospital cot. The first thing he noticed was his blurry vision, but close on its heels was a sense of overwhelming thirst. Luckily, a blurry glass was shoved into his line of sight before he even had to try and articulate this problem.

“Drink it all,” Dean Blaine instructed unnecessarily as Vince grabbed the glass and begun taking the water in over-sized gulps. “Mr. Weaver’s ability has the strange side effect of leaving its victims with cotton mouth, and the longer the duration of being under, the worse it is.”

The glass was empty in no time, so Dean Blaine refilled it from a carafe on a nearby table. This process repeated three more times before Vince felt there was adequate moisture in his throat to speak.

“Rich put me under.”

“While we generally discourage the use of powers on other students outside of class, in this case, I think it was a prudent call. It seems you had a bit of an uncontrolled reaction to the news footage.”

Vince swallowed hard and felt a tickle of pain still lingering in his throat. “Did I hurt anyone?”

“Not a soul. Mr. Weaver reacted before the bit of fire you were releasing could spread. Once you were out, the flames dissipated quickly. No one even got so much as a hot flash,” Dean Blaine assured him, handing over another glass of water. This one, Vince sipped slowly, letting it wash over his throat in small increments. “They brought you here as soon as you were stable, and your friends have been watching over you ever since. In fact, once Mr. Weaver released you, there was quite a tussle getting them all to leave the room.” That was an understatement if ever he’d told one. Dean Blaine had been certain that Camille Belden was going to scratch and bite before she went willingly. Only Stella and Violet had been able to get her to temporarily retreat.

“They wanted to stay?”

“Don’t be stupid, of course they wanted to stay. You have very loyal friends, Vince. Never doubt that. I just felt it would be better if only I were here when you woke.”

“In case I was still out of control.”

“Yes, that is certainly part of it. I’m glad to see such is not the case,” Dean Blaine admitted.

“I owe that to Rich, I guess. He made a pretty incredible dream for me. I got to talk things out with my father and put everything in perspective.”

“Mr. Weaver only provides a template and a suggestion,” Dean Blaine informed him. “In this case, he told you to go somewhere safe and work through what you’d seen on the screen. He left you with a fleeting awareness of reality and a compulsion to make peace with your father. That was it, all the rest was you.”

“I think I still owe him, anyway,” Vince said.

“Unquestionably,” Dean Blaine agreed.

“So, what was the other part? You said you only stayed here in part to make sure I didn’t lose control of myself.”

“I needed to tell you that what you saw on that television has changed everything,” Dean Blaine said, his voice heavy with responsibility. “It was bad enough when you had a potential connection to a deceased former Hero, but with the revelation of him being alive, and the confirmation that he is indeed the man who raised you . . . the time to come will not be an easy one for you.”

Vince nodded and downed more of his water.

“I’ve been keeping most of the parties interested in you at bay,” Dean Blaine continued. “I will continue to do so as best I can; however, this has opened new doorways for them, ones that I cannot, and in all good conscience should not, block.”

“What will they want from me?”

“To ask you questions about Globe, to know about everything he ever said to you and what you two did together. They’ll be combing through your testimony for any clues that could lead to his capture. They will doubtlessly petition to bring in a telepath, but thankfully, courts have ruled that no person can be forced to submit to a telepathic reading unless they are charged with a crime.”

“Couldn’t they just bring one in and not tell me?”

“They could, although that information would be equivalent to breaking into a home and recovering evidence without a warrant. Not only would it be inadmissible, it would invalidate anything connected to it. Still, there are some who would try it in a case like this, which is why I’ll be with you for every interview that is conducted.”

“You don’t have to do that, sir.”

“I most certainly do, just as I’d have to do the same for any other student here. While you are enrolled in the Hero Certification Program at Lander, you are all my responsibility. That means it is up to me to protect the outside world from your untrained abilities, but it is just as much my job to protect you from factions in the outside world who would take advantage of your relative inexperience. I assure you, while these interrogation sessions are likely unavoidable, they will proceed with everything on the up and up. That much, at least, I can still do.”

“Thank you very much,” Vince said, setting down his empty glass. “I’m starting to get the feeling this is about more than just Globe.”

“It shouldn’t be, however, it probably will be,” Dean Blaine said. “What you five students are, and more importantly what you were, has gotten a lot of people very interested. It was far more manageable before Mr. Clark’s outburst last year. We’ve still managed to contain any official leaks about your existence. Sadly, that doesn’t stop rumors or determined investigators.”

“They want to know about the process?”

“They’ve wanted that since last summer. No, what they’ll want now is to know exactly what the son of Globe can do, and once they realize how strong you are, the question will shift from ‘what’ to ‘why,’ which is silly because no answer will satisfy them. That’s all to come; for right now, you need to rest and recover. Your final match is in a week, you know.”

“Oh yeah,” Vince said.

“I’ll go let your friends in now, before they decide to riot and cost me yet another door.” He was halfway across the room when Vince called to him.

“Dean Blaine, all this help . . . it isn’t just because I’m a student, is it?”

Dean Blaine sighed; the boy might not have Campbell’s perception, but he did have his father’s gift for seeing right to the bone of a person.

“Not entirely, no. Your father and I were in the same class, and we worked together on more than one assignment. Before he was a villain, Globe was a friend of mine, and he saved my life on many occasions. Heroes help each other; it’s part of the code we live by. I can’t do anything for him, since he’s just committed another crime on national television. But, if nothing else, I can at least look after his son.”

There was no more talk before Dean Blaine left the room, leaving the door open to the flood of Vince’s fellow students pouring through it.

166.

“Not so fast. I’ll have you know I’m a delicate sunflower,” Nick protested. Mary paid no heed, dragging him through the Melbrook entrance and over into the girls’ lounge. Snapping the door shut behind them, she paused to listen for the thoughts of Mr. Numbers or Mr. Transport. Both were absent, and with everyone else back at the infirmary waiting for Vince to come around, that meant they had the dorm to themselves.

Perfect.

“Are you going to tell me why you dragged me away from my buddy’s bedside or what?” Nick asked, flopping into one of the sizable plush chairs.

Mary paused long enough to gather her thoughts. What she’d learned from Globe, or even that he’d been there, all of it was too much to deal with. She didn’t know who she should tell, or how much she should reveal to other people. Too much could cause Vince to break down again, too little could result in an unexpected catastrophe. It was a morally gray area with large-scale implications, which was way out of Mary’s wheelhouse. Thankfully, she knew someone who felt right at home in these situations.

“I talked to Globe while I was in Vince’s head,” Mary told Nick.

“Can’t say I blame you; I’d be tempted too. Then again, my money says he was sort of boring, given how Vince remembers him.”

Mary shook her head. “Not Vince’s memory of his dad. Globe. The real Globe. He was there, just like me.”

Had the situation not been so dire, Mary likely would have savored the look of genuine shock that came over Nick’s face. He leaned forward slowly, his hands coming together under his chin and a slight wrinkle appearing in his forehead. It was strange how, with a few minute changes, the carefree version of Nick could seamlessly evaporate away, leaving a very serious young man in his place.

“Tell me everything.”

She did, explaining how she’d kept tabs on Vince in the dream, how she’d prodded him the right direction, went to check on him only to meet Globe, and how he’d asked her for more time with his son.

“I assume you did it,” Nick said, when they reached that point in the story.

“With that deal? I’d be stupid not to.”

“Agreed. Were the results good enough to make it worthwhile?”

Mary nodded. “They were. And I didn’t see the harm in giving Vince a little more time with his father.”

“So, what was the promise?”

“That he wouldn’t try to kidnap any of us again, nor would he allow anyone who worked for him to,” Mary recounted.

“Kind of a shitty promise, now that we’re all watching for him.”

“I said more or less the same thing. Then he reminded me that he’d just broken a heavily-guarded man out of a prison that was supposed to be impenetrable.”

“The man does know how to make a point,” Nick complimented.

“Indeed. He made another as well. What we are, and what we represent, it’s not a small thing. Many people are very interested in us, and it’s not impossible that they might try to kidnap one of us and hope he gets blamed,” Mary said. “His promise only tells us that we’re safe from him, and that if one of us goes missing, not to waste time chasing him down as a suspect.”

“I see the value, but I find it strange. What was so compelling about you last year that has now devalued so much that he won’t even try for it?”

“I get the feeling they hoped my kidnapping would succeed, but that they didn’t necessarily expect it to. Whatever piece of his plan that was, it seems like they’re past the part where it was useful. If he’s telling the truth.”

“From what you say, it sounds like Vince got his ability to lie or deceive from his father, so for the moment, let’s assume he’s being honest,” Nick concluded. “Next was the piece of advice.”

“Right. This is where it gets a little weird. The promise was given to all of us. But you’re the one he wanted to receive the advice.”

Nick’s impassive stare gave away nothing; he merely motioned for Mary to continue.

“Globe wanted you to know that Vince is much stronger than any of us realize, and that his kindness is both the cage that holds him back and the key to unleashing his potential. Does that make sense to you?”

“Did he actually say ‘any of us’ in that statement?” Nick said back.

“Yeah. Exactly those words. He even seemed to emphasize them. Why?”

“Never mind for now. I need to ruminate on that for a bit before I can give a complete answer. What about the last one? The message?”

“That’s the one I understand the least,” Mary admitted. “Since dream-walking isn’t his ability, he had to call in a favor from someone who could get him there. He just asked me to tell Alice the name of the Super who brought him into Vince’s mind.” Mary started to say the name, but she was interrupted by Nick.

“Fuck!” Nick hopped up from the chair and began prowling about the room. “I’ve been afraid this would happen. You cannot tell Alice the name until after our final match. Promise me that, Mary.”

“Why? I didn’t even tell you what it was.”

“It doesn’t matter what it was, I already know what it means, and Alice will too, the moment she hears it. The second that happens, she will be completely unreliable, at least for a while. That cannot happen right now. Especially since Vince just became the confirmed son of the world’s most wanted villain.”

“So I should keep it to myself?”

“Only until after the final match. One week, Mary, that’s all I’m asking for. After that, not only can you tell Alice, I’ll even help deal with the ramifications. For Alice’s own sake, and for the rest of ours—especially Vince’s—please just give me one week.”

“Fine,” Mary said, after a long moment to think. She’d come to Nick because she trusted his judgment in these affairs. It wouldn’t make much sense to throw out his advice, especially since he seemed to genuinely care. “What about the rest of the information? Is there something we should do with it?”

“Absolutely,” Nick replied. “The first part is to get Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport in on this. We’re going to need a lot of help with the next step, because you haven’t even realized the question that should have dawned on you by now.”

“Which is?”

Nick stopped pacing and strode over to her, far closer than Mary was comfortable with. He leaned in and lowered his sunglasses, giving her a rare stare with his naked eye.

“How did Globe know that Rich put Vince under in the first place?”

167.

There is a common discussion topic posed by philosophers who fancy themselves scientifically capable, and by scientists who have gotten thoroughly drunk: what would happen if an unstoppable force were to meet an immovable object? The folly in this discussion lies in the inescapable fact that neither of these things can exist. Both imply a limitless amount of mass or energy, and even in a world where certain humans can occasionally bend the laws of physics, all things have their limits. That said, there are objects that, while not immovable, possess sufficient staying power as to make the act of attempting to move them a highly likely exercise in absolute futility.

Camille Belden, sitting in a plastic chair at the side of Vince’s infirmary bed, was currently such an object. She’d rebuffed the attempts by the healers to get her to leave by pointing out that, as a healer herself, she was not bound by things like visiting hours. She’d politely declined invitations from Stella or Violet to go grab a quick bite while Vince slept, though she had accepted the food they eventually brought her. Dean Blaine had popped back in at one point, and while he’d given her a curious glance or two, he’d made no efforts to convince her to give up her seat. Such was the benefit of experience: he knew a hopeless battle when he saw one.

Vince had been predominantly resting since the departure of the crowd of friends checking on him. Evidently, whatever Rich did was different from sleep, because Vince had quickly realized how exhausted he was. The others had noticed the yawns and left. Camille had pulled up her chair and sat. She’d offered a weak excuse of staying in case he had any unexpected side effects and needed healing. She doubted even Vince was naïve enough to buy it. Camille knew she wasn’t doing a good job at hiding how she felt. Eventually, she would probably care about that.

There was no gentle holding of his hand as she watched him, nor any carefully placed touches against his forehead. Camille’s dainty hands lay in her lap, their tremendous potential to heal or hurt restrained with the lack of physical contact. Those sweet gestures were things a lover would do. That was not her. She had no illusions about her role in his life. Camille had gone to great lengths to cast herself this way, a pillar of support in his trying times, a friend he could always lean on. It meant she could always be near him, and the cost was that she could never close the final bit of space and touch him. Not the way a lover would. Not the way she wanted to.

Vince didn’t need a lover; there would always be women drawn to his strong character and simple, honest manner. What he needed was someone to watch over him, because despite all his good traits, the boy didn’t have more than a thin flicker of self-preservation. He would always charge headlong into situations where people were in need, not paying more than a passing heed to whether or not he could actually survive. It was the thing that Camille loved the most about him. It was also the thing she knew would ultimately kill him. There was no hope of changing him, of making him more cautious. Even if she could, that would just be a crueler way of killing off Vince Reynolds. No, all she could do was stay close and push back that inevitable day for as long as possible. What she might have wanted to be to him, with him, in a perfect world, was irrelevant. Not when it was weighed against the risk of seeing him leave this world even one instant sooner than was avoidable.

He stirred, rolling over and blinking the groggy remainders of sleep from his eyes.

“Hey,” he said, his voice rougher than normal. “How long was I out?”

“You’ve been sleeping for around five hours,” Camille replied.

“Feels like I just nodded off.” He sat up in bed and took a long stretch. “You weren’t here the whole time, were you?”

“Of course not,” she lied. “All the healers have been taking turns keeping an eye on you. It looks like we weren’t needed.”

“Doesn’t seem so,” Vince agreed. “Sorry you guys wasted time watching me.”

She gave him a small smile. “Vince, people with my kind of ability are always happier when we don’t have to use it. It means no one had to suffer in the first place.”

“Never thought about it like that.” He finished stretching and pulled off the covers. The uniform he’d been wearing was wrinkled nearly beyond recognition. Thankfully, they’d taken his jacket off before putting his body in bed. That was, by far, the hardest part to iron.

“How are you feeling?”

“Still a little tired, but overall, I think I’m fine,” Vince informed her.

“I didn’t mean physically.”

“I know.” He looked away from her, his eyes wandering to a clock slowly ticking and tocking from its perch on the wall. “I think I’m going to need some time to really make peace with everything. I mean, Rich’s dream thing helped me get past the worst of it, but it’s still a lot to deal with. But at least it’s not all bad.”

“It’s not?”

“My father is alive,” he said, turning back and giving her a wide grin. Vince had no talent in hiding his feelings, or perhaps his talent was simply that he felt no compulsion to do so. Although the worry and uncertainty were still evident on his face, so was the unequivocal joy he was feeling at that realization. “I might get to see him again, to talk to him. I admit, it’s not exactly a perfect situation, but it’s still more than I ever really could have hoped for.”

“You know this is going to make things harder on you, right? The fact that you were raised by him would have been a big deal even if he were still dead. Him being alive compounds that times ten.”

“I know. Dean Blaine and I had a chat about it earlier,” he said. “Still, if my choices were this situation or my father turning out to not have been Globe but still being dead, I’d be sitting in this infirmary bed after a literal meltdown every time. Just knowing he’s alive makes it worth it, no matter how much trouble or pain comes along with it. Think that’s crazy?”

“Not at all,” Camille said. She understood exactly how he felt.

168.

Chad tried to ignore the steady repetition of knuckles against his dorm room door. He’d been doing well for half an hour, but it was plain the person on the other side wasn’t giving up. He could have turned himself deaf, but then he might have missed a call from his mother. She would have been at work all day, and she wasn’t one to watch the news, but it was inevitable that she would see what happened, that he was still alive. Chad could ignore a lot of things with impunity, today especially. The call she would surely make to him was not one of those things.

Giving up, he walked over to the door and pulled it open. Shane and Angela stood on the other side. A quick glance at the light bruising on their hands told him they’d been trading off turns knocking on the door. It spoke volumes that these two siblings had been able to work together with such efficiency and without dissolving into bickering. Chad said nothing; he simply walked back to his bed and sat down. Angela plopped down in his desk chair, while Shane seemed to prefer standing. The door swung shut and silence regained its sovereign rule, which proved to be only a brief respite.

“How you doing there, Slugger?” Angela asked, spinning slowly in the chair as it made circles.

“Slugger?” Shane’s voice was exasperated, but not surprised.

“You think I should have gone with ‘Sport’, or ‘Ace’?”

“I think you should, maybe just this once, show a situation the respect it’s due.”

“Ohh, you mean be boring and gentle and tiptoe around the fact that the guy who iced Chad’s dad just showed up alive on the news. Or maybe you think I should ice-skate over the fact that he has a kid in class with you two.”

“For God’s sake, Angela, do you have any bit of sensitivity in you?”

“Only in spots I am damned sure not going to talk about with my brother in the room. If you want to get scarce, I might be willing to do some divulging with Chad.”

There was a snort of sound that interrupted them, a noise more foreign to Shane than Angela. It took him a moment to realize that Chad had allowed a small laugh to escape from his solemn face.

“There we go, I knew you were alive in there after all,” Angela said, bringing her spinning chair to a careful halt. “See, that’s the problem with you, Shane. You go into a serious situation and want to make it more serious. Friends lighten shit up.”

“Right, hinting that you’d bang my friend if I left is clearly what every psychologist in America would recommend doing in this situation.”

“This situation? You say that like this happens three times a month. I think we’ve officially set sail into uncharted waters.”

“Green Genes.” This one came from Chad, and managed to quiet the siblings’ sniping immediately. “Happened twenty-seven years ago. A Hero known as Green Genes lost control during a battle and accidently killed another Hero called The Chairman. Rather than face charges, he faked his own death in order to undertake a covert mission infiltrating a gang of criminal Supers. Five years later, he returned from the dead. The Chairman had two children that had to find out the man who killed their father was still alive. So, not entirely uncharted waters.”

“Why in the hell have we not taken you to do trivia night at one of the bars around here?” Angela asked.

“What happened to Green Genes?” Shane added, working in vain to try and keep his sister focused on the issue at hand.

“He died in the line of duty three years after coming back from his fake death. No foul play was suspected.”

“Here’s a better question: what happened to The Chairman’s kids?” Angela tossed out.

“Neither of them were Super, so they went about their lives normally. There are reports that Green Genes visited the family frequently, helping out in whatever ways he could. He spent the rest of his life trying to make up for what he’d taken away from them. By all accounts, it was as cordial a relationship as you can have with your parent’s killer. When he died, they even went to his funeral.”

“I think we have a very different situation, then,” Shane observed.

Chad shrugged, his face still largely impassive. “The man who killed my father is alive. I don’t expect he’ll be stopping by to beg my forgiveness, but then again, I didn’t expect to see him on the news today either. I don’t know how to go forward from here. I know I want to meet him, to fight him, probably even to kill him. More than anything, I want to ask him why.” Chad’s voice did not crack on the word ‘why’, nor did any moisture appear in his eyes, which only demonstrated the true extent of his power over bodily control.

“Maybe one day, you’ll get the chance,” Shane said.

“True. Or we could go beat up his kid and see if he knows anything,” Angela suggested.

“If Vince knew his father was Globe, or that he was alive, then he is an actor of such spectacular talent that we would never be able to glean any truth from him,” Chad replied. “I don’t bear him any ill will in all of this. In a strange way, I suspect he and I are going through a lot of the same feelings.”

Angela opened her mouth, no doubt with some sarcastic barb or inappropriate quip; however, she was interrupted by a crisp knock on Chad’s door. She and Shane exchanged glances of confusion. Chad was their friend, but the rest of his social circle was somewhat limited. They knew Roy had stopped by to help last time, but it seemed more likely he’d be with his own people, looking after Vince. Shane walked over, gave a quick glance through the peephole, and pulled the door open.

“Thank you, Mr. DeSoto,” Dean Blaine said stiffly. “Chad, I was wondering if I could have a word with you?”

“Sure,” Chad replied, not looking at the door.

The dean stood still for a moment, then turned his gaze toward Angela and Shane. He said nothing, but the message could not have been clearer.

“We’ll swing by tomorrow for breakfast,” Shane said, heading toward the door.

“Or anytime tonight if you need to talk. Or spar, I know how you love to spar. Just call me. Anytime. I mean it.” The genuine concern and lack of lightness in Angela’s voice stunned everyone in the room. It was one of the secrets she knew well: if you gave very few things weight, then the ones you did were all the more powerful.

Dean Blaine shut the door behind the DeSotos, and turned to Chad. “I’ve gotten an old friend to teleport us to your house whenever you’re ready. She’s aware of the news and is waiting for us. You’re excused from the next week of classes, but I’m afraid it’s not in my power to get you out of the final match.”

“That’s fine,” Chad said, his voice still calm and detached. “Thank you. When do we leave?”

“As soon as you feel composed enough to go.”

“Composed?” Even as he said it, Chad noticed the sudden rush of thickness in his voice, and the way the room had grown blurry. People often forgot that emotions come with, and often from, chemical shifts in the brain. Unless he was caught by surprise, Chad’s ability allowed him to keep such things under constant control. With Dean Blaine in the room, that control had been suspended, and now Chad was subject to all the things he’d been working so very hard not to feel.

Chad placed his face in his hands as the last shreds of his composure dissolved in a torrent of tears.

169.

It was Tuesday when Nick slid into a seat adjacent to Vince, both of them currently in the boys’ lounge of Melbrook. Vince was studying for his last final exam, or at least, he had been before Nick arrived. The sophomores had been blessed with more free time than expected, their duties at the carnival had been absorbed by the juniors. Officially, this was because the committee meeting had been interrupted before tasks could be assigned. The actual reason could be speculated on, but since Dean Blaine was immune to both telepathic probing and idle dissemination of information, speculation was all it would remain.

“Working hard, or hardly working?”

Vince closed his book. Whatever Nick wanted, it was likely going to require Vince’s full attention. “Just trying to squeeze in as much as I can.”

“You never learn, do you? Cramming doesn’t . . . screw it, a fight for another time. I wanted to see how you were holding up.”

“Better than I would have thought myself capable of. Honestly, with the stress of finals and the impending match, I haven’t had much time to think about the Globe incident.”

“That’s great, but that’s actually not what I’m talking about.”

Vince’s brow furrowed. That was all pretty much anyone had asked him about since it happened. It hadn’t occurred to him Nick might be concerned about something else.

“Don’t give me that look. You’re obviously fine with the whole ‘Globe being your father’ issue; otherwise, you’d be holed up in your room, crazier than a shithouse rat. That’s not the sort of thing you can fake your way through.”

“I guess?”

“You guess right.” Nick leaned forward and plucked the book from Vince’s hand. “What you carry under the surface as it eats at you is the same problem we’ve been fighting against since day one: your fear of your own power.”

“I thought I’d been making progress.”

“Tremendous strides. But what no one seems to have talked about yet is your fiery freak-out before Rich put you under. That shouldn’t bother you; I daresay nearly anyone in your situation would have lost some form of control. You being you, I’m betting it’s been slithering around in the back of your mind, making you wonder if you’ve really gained as much control as you think you need.”

“Oh.” Vince studied his hands intently. No one had mentioned that incident save for his discussion with Dean Blaine. He’d hoped, well, he didn’t know what he’d hoped. Maybe that he could pretend it didn’t happen. “Yeah, it scared me. I could have really hurt someone. It’s just lucky that Rich stopped me.”

“I don’t blame you for being a little scared,” Nick said, opening the book and leafing through it. Whether his eyes were on the pages or not, only the sunglasses knew. “All of us have that little phobia ticking away somewhere inside of us. Wondering if we’ll go back, if this has all just been a sweet, teasing taste of a life we can never have. You and I, we have a greater fear than the others. If we suddenly revert, it might not just be ourselves that suffer.”

“This isn’t really making me feel better,” Vince said.

“I’m saying that you don’t have to be ashamed of having that fear. What should shame you is if you let it hold you down. Mastering your ability is the best defense you have against losing control of it.”

“You realize I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen you use your power, right?” Vince pointed out.

“You can count on one hand the number of times I’ve told you I used my power,” Nick corrected. He gently jiggled the sunglasses stretched across his face. “These bad boys aren’t just for making me look cool. Of course, they do that pretty well too. None of which is the point of this discussion. I just want to make sure you aren’t backsliding into the Vince who shows up carrying the energy equivalent of a lighter. We’ve got days until we’ll be facing who knows what, and I’m counting on you being in fighting form.”

“I’m not going to let you down,” Vince said. Despite the flighty body language he’d displayed during the talk, Nick recognized a familiar resilience in his voice. Years ago, he would have mistaken it for Vince trying to convince himself that he would be able to follow through. After all they’d been through, Nick now knew it was the sound his friend made when things got serious. He liked that tone; it meant the realms of possibility were about to dramatically shift.

“Good. Our team is counting on you.” Nick set the book back in Vince’s hands, then began to rise from his seat.

“It’s me, isn’t it?”

Nick froze in mid-air, his long arms still pressing against the chair as he propelled himself upward. Slowly, he lowered back into the warm and waiting cushions below his posterior. He debated lying, or trying to cover with misdirection, but neither of those would likely succeed. Vince was easily led and deceived most of the time; once he found the truth, however, there was no separating him from it.

“Yeah. It’s you. It’s been you ever since your secret got out at Camille’s birthday party. There were people who wanted you gone, and that was when the whole thing was a crazy rumor.”

Vince nodded; clearly this meshed with whatever had already been in his head. “Why didn’t you just tell me? Why pretend it was about protecting the others?”

“Firstly, protecting the others wasn’t pretend. This is an elimination game, don’t ever forget that. Just because you were in the crosshairs didn’t mean a poor showing wouldn’t push some of us out the door along with you. As to why I emphasized that part, well, I mean, come on. You have to have noticed this about yourself by now. You never fight as hard as when you’re protecting other people.”

“Everyone is like that,” Vince said. “We all fight hardest when others are on the line.”

Nick opened his mouth with a smartass reply, then glanced in his friend’s eyes. They were teeming with a sentiment of honest belief. The stupid kid really thought the rest of the world functioned like he did. He didn’t understand that most people looked out for themselves first and most vehemently, and only then gave consideration to the rest of the world. Sure, a reasonable percentage might go to the walls for their family, but it didn’t match the raw, animal savagery they would use when fighting for their own life. Nick had seen it time after countless time. People looked out for themselves. Well . . . most people.

“Then why are you surprised that I emphasized it?” Nick said at last. There was no need to try and rupture Vince’s pretty image of the world, not that Nick was certain he could even if he tried. “You know people work that way, so obviously, that’s why I would have used it to motivate you.”

“It does make sense, when you put it like that,” Vince replied. He reopened his book, flipping through the pages until he returned to his spot. “You don’t have to worry. I have no intention of letting anyone on this team get kicked out. Myself included.”

“Now that’s what I like to hear,” Nick said, patting his friend on the shoulder and leaving him to his studies.

170.

“Good morning to you all,” Dean Blaine greeted, his strong voice rebounding off the gym walls and crashing into the twenty-seven students clustered before him. Gathered around them were their six professors, each standing at strategic points, as though they were anticipating a sudden stampede toward the exits. It had happened before.

“Today is the final team match of your sophomore year, and it will also serve as the examination for entrance into the junior class. Of those gathered today, at best only twenty will be returning. I encourage you to do your best, for the sake of yourself and those who share a team number with you. After today, the teams will cease to exist; however, I hope you will all remember this experience, and understand the importance of trusting, depending on, and working with other Supers. It is our greatest advantage over the criminal element, and one we should utilize at every opportunity. Captains, raise your hands!”

Four hands went up, some higher than others, but all without an instant of hesitation. Chad’s outstretched fingers were the tallest, and if any lingering worries or neuroses from last week’s revelation remained in him, they were certainly not discernible in the blond boy’s steely gaze. Four of the professors—Stone, Hill, Cole, and Fletcher—moved through the crowd and deposited an object in each of the raised hands.

“Your instructors are currently handing each of you a single orb with your team number inscribed in it. That orb will remain in your possession until the match begins,” Dean Blaine continued. “Once we start, you are free to give it to anyone on your team as you see fit. You will all be dropped at various locations in the arena. Your goal is to get that orb to a depository at its center. Finding it will not be difficult, I assure you of that much.”

The captains were turning the orbs around in their hands, examining them. Each was cold and metallic, with a single digit carved into the smooth surface.

“There will be no traps or obstacles blocking you from the goal—save for the natural terrain. No, the challenge you face is much greater. It is each other. The depository will indeed be easy to find; however, it will also only be open for five minutes, occurring exactly two hours after the match begins. Any orbs not placed inside before that time is up will not be counted. Additionally, placing any ball in the depository will gain your team five points, whether it belongs to you or another team.”

There was a murmur of understanding that rippled through them. Dean Blaine greatly preferred the students he dealt with once they reached this point. They’d been through enough that hand-holding during explanations was required far less often.

“I see you already understand what that means. I would like to remind you that your professors and I will be watching, and that use of intentionally deadly force will lead to a student’s immediate disqualification. Such a ruling would not bode well for their evaluation on entrance into next year’s class. Keep it civil, and do your best. You have five minutes before we leave for the arena.”

The crowd, already gathered close to their teams, immediately split off to separate corners of the gym. It wouldn’t stop people like Chad and Amber from overhearing their words, or Alex and Mary from listening to their thoughts, but it was still an ingrained habit to create distance when discussing sensitive issues.

“Seven Card Stud?” Mary asked Nick as soon as Team One had arrived in the southwestern section of the gym.

Nick scratched his head. “That might be for the best. Optimum coverage and all.” They’d developed a few terms for their strategies the night before in preparation of being overheard. Without knowing what they were facing, it was better to have at least a couple of pre-arranged strategies in their hip pocket. “Seven Card Stud” meant all of them going off on their own; “Five Card Draw” was five respective teams, with Roy, Alice, and Alex all going off on their own. “Hearts” would have meant they defaulted to the same pairs as the first match, and “Fifty-Two Pickup” meant they were fucked and had to think of something on the fly.

“No.”

It took Nick a minute to figure out who had spoken, he was so unaccustomed to hearing the voice speak without prompting. Camille was staring up at him—in fairness, she’d have had to stare up to look any of her team in the eye—with an uncompromising gaze.

“Don’t like that one?”

“I don’t. I think it spreads us too thin. We’re better with at least a few pairs.”

“I see,” Nick said, resisting the urge to tug down his sunglasses and meet her stare. “There are dangers to that plan, too. Are you fully prepared for everything that it might entail?”

“Completely.” If there was any doubt or fear in her, Nick couldn’t find it. Still, it never hurt to double check. He glanced over at Mary, who gave him a firm nod. If, between himself and a telepath, they couldn’t sense any hesitation in her to do what was necessary, then it either wasn’t there, or she had a tremendous career ahead of her in espionage.

“Fine; Camille raises a relevant concern. We don’t want to get caught with our pants down on this one. Five Card Draw.”

“Who holds the orb?” Vince asked.

“We’ll figure that out once we’re in the arena, or at least, far enough from people who can overhear us,” Mary informed him. “Our team is the only one that can keep the element of surprise, so I have no intention of wasting it.”

“Nicely said,” Nick concurred. “Okay, folks, that hits the high points, the rest is self-explanatory. Mary will figure out who has the orbs. Hunt for those people, avoid everyone else. Oh, and one more thing.” He leaned in, inciting them to do the same. It wouldn’t do anything to damper those who could hear them, but it would put emphasis on his words. That was what mattered right now. He scanned the team as he spoke, but made sure to let his concealed gaze fall on Alice, Vince, and Camille especially.

“This is our last team match. Hold nothing back. Leave everything out there. All the games, and dances, and careful tricks we’ve used throughout the year have officially come to an end. Give it everything you’ve got, and let the chips fall where they may.”

171.

“Crafty,” Mary said, her eyes closed as she listened to all of her competitors spread throughout the field; the rest of her team milled around her quietly, trying to keep their thoughts as silent as possible so as not to add to the mental ruckus. The starting bell had gone off a few minutes ago, but rather than dash off all at once, they were waiting for her to figure out who would be holding each team’s orb. As for where to go, that much at least was quite evident.

Some distance away, impossible to judge through the trees of the arena, a giant beam of red light stretched from the ceiling down to below the tree line and, presumably, to the floor. It didn’t take a great leap of intuition to figure out this was the depository Dean Blaine had told them about. Unfortunately, knowing where they needed to end up wasn’t the same as knowing where to go until then.

“Okay, I’ve got it pieced together,” Mary said at last, opening her eyes and getting to her feet. “Team Two is trying to make me think that Chad has it, but a few of them slipped up and thought about the truth. They gave the orb to Julia. Sadly, that’s not a big help, since she’s split off into about a dozen clones, all of whom share the same mind. If you see one, then go for it. Just know that as soon as one sees you, the others will know your location, and a clone is going with every member of her team to pass along information.”

“Instant communication. Damn, that’s pretty good,” Nick complimented.

“Yes, but we always knew Chad’s team was going to be a beast to contend with. Shane came up with a pretty effective strategy as well. He gave the orb to Tiffani and paired her with Amber. Between Tiffani’s ability to make illusions and Amber’s sound manipulation, those two are going to be effectively invisible to everyone but myself and Alex,” Mary continued.

“Plus, Amber is a pretty heavy hitter in her own right,” Roy added. His pride wouldn’t let him forget how easily she’d dropped him during the maze fight freshman year.

“Very true. Britney took the most expected strategy; she held on to the orb and went invisible. She’s staying hidden and mobile while her team hunts for other orbs. Adam copied Allen, so they have two people able to fire ranged energy explosions.”

“What do we do?” Vince asked.

“First, we figure out who’s going to hold on to our orb,” Mary said. “The obvious choices are myself, and Alice.”

“Me?”

“You can fly up to the top of the arena and wait out the match in relative safety,” Nick pointed out. “That strategy isn’t perfect; there are still ways you could get reached if the other teams get creative. Besides, I hate to take one of our stronger abilities out of the game.”

“This from the guy who gave me a four,” Alice teased. They both knew the girl whose power had ranked so low on that relative scale was long gone. What she could do now was nothing short of tremendous.

“I agree. Alice should stay in,” Alex concurred. “Especially since no one knows what she can do. Her power and the element of surprise are too good to give up.”

“Suggestions are heard. All right then, I’ll hold the orb. Any objections?” Mary asked.

“It’s what they’ll all expect,” Nick pointed out. “But that’s because it’s the smart call to make. You’ve got the range to detect people approaching, and the power to knock them back if they get near.”

“Mary keeps the orb then; what do the rest of us do?”

“Alex should hunt down Britney; Mary and I will go after Amber and Tiffani,” Nick replied. “The rest of you fan out in your formations and hope we get lucky enough to find the right Julia. I’ll supply what help I can in that regard.”

“I think I should go after Amber and Tiffani,” Alex protested.

“Alex, Amber is very powerful,” Camille said gently.

“Which is why it should be me. In case you guys forgot our last match, I’m the only one with practice deflecting sound waves. Mary has gotten a lot better in training, but I don’t think she’ll be able to pull it off. Sorry.” He said the last part to her, with a look of slight embarrassment. Alex took no joy in pointing out the shortcomings of others; he merely wanted to give his team the best chance it had. Luckily for him, Mary had already made peace with the fact that there were some things he could do that she never would.

“No, you’re absolutely right,” Mary agreed. “You go after Amber and Tiffani. Nick and I will hunt for Britney.”

“Wouldn’t it make more sense for Nick to crank up his luck and find the right Julia?” Alice asked.

“And if I did, and she was with one of the combat members of her team, what purpose would that serve? I got skills, but they aren’t enough for me to take down a trained Super,” Nick said.

“Except for all the times you’ve done just that,” Vince added.

“That was just Gilbert. Mary made the right call on this one. First, we hunt Britney, and then we go after Julia.”

“If the three of you are going to try and get the orbs, then why don’t we stay with you?” Camille pointed out.

“This is a numbers game,” Nick explained. “If we can find Britney, and if my luck happens to work the way I’m hoping and leads me to Julia, and if that clone of Julia isn’t guarded by someone like Chad, and if we can do all of this in time to make it to the depository, then sure, it would be a great plan. But that’s a lot of ifs. It makes more sense to send you guys out separately and increase our chances. Besides, this isn’t just about what we do; it’s about how we do it. Going off in different directions increases our chances of showcasing our various skills.”

“Makes sense to me,” Roy said. Vince and Alex nodded their agreement as well. Camille merely stepped to Vince’s side in preparation for departure.

“Looks like we’ve got a plan, then,” Alice quipped.

“That we do. The others have already begun to move while we were talking, so everyone stay alert and keep safe,” Mary cautioned. “And move fast. We’ve got less than two hours to show everyone what this team can really do.”

172.

Roy didn’t have much of a plan as he jogged through the patches of forest. He knew he didn’t want to get near the giant pillar of red light; it was too early for anyone to be congregating around it. He also knew that any attempt at stealth was a waste of time. Roy didn’t want to go unnoticed, he wanted to fight. So, instead of creeping and crawling along the ground, he just jogged casually in a wide circle around the beacon. He figured sooner or later, he was bound to run into someone. If it was Julia, that would work, and if it was anyone else, he would make do. What he really wanted was to run into someone like Chad or Shane, someone he could truly pit his new strength against. Roy didn’t exactly get his wish, but it wasn’t too far off.

He felt his leg go out from under him as it was jerked quickly into the air. He found himself hanging upside down, a bright orange hand of energy wrapped around his ankle and leading along a glowing path back to Thomas. The two looked at each other in silence for a moment, two warriors taking the measure of their opponent. Roy had never fought Thomas, but he knew the boy’s ability from Vince and Alex’s match against him in the maze. He didn’t imagine this would be too hard.

“You aren’t very quiet when you run,” Thomas observed.

“Nope,” Roy agreed.

“I suppose that means they didn’t give you an orb.”

“Go figure, they didn’t think I would do a good job of staying hidden.”

“You’re going to tell me which of your teammates has it.”

Roy flashed Thomas an upside down grin. “You’re welcome to make me try, but I gotta warn you: I’ve gotten a lot stronger since the last time anyone saw me fight.”

“You don’t say.” Thomas gathered his internal energy and prepared for the impending battle. Roy was a powerful opponent; he always had been. But unbeknownst to Roy, his team didn’t have a monopoly on people finding new ways to use their skills.

*      *      *

Vince and Camille were walking with care through the brush, trying as best they could to muffle their movements. He was far more adept than she was: a life of sneaking onto and off of railway lines will impart a generous amount of talent in stealth. However, even Vince wasn’t quite good enough to avoid detection. Neither of them heard their attacker approach; neither of them saw the practiced flick of his wrist. The first clue Vince had that they’d been attacked was the searing pain that ripped through his left leg. He let out a gasp and tumbled forward. Camille reached for him, but found herself thrown backward, landing in a heavy heap ten feet away from her fallen friend.

“I loathe sneak attacks,” Shane said, stepping out from a small pine cluster and into a clear area. “I sincerely do. Even knowing they’re a recognized piece of strategy, they still make me feel dirty. I’m sorry I had to use one, but Vince is simply too dangerous to fight head on.”

The dangerous man in question was currently pushing through his pain. He tried to pull himself up and discovered that his right leg was worthless. Somehow, Shane had cut his Achilles tendon, leaving the appendage unable to bear any of his weight. He ignored it, years of training kicking into place as he steadied his mind and began to take aim.

“None of that,” Shane said, another jerk of his hand precipitating a yelp of pain from Vince. This time, Camille saw what happened: Vince’s shadow contracted into a thin blade of vibrating darkness, leaping up from the ground and cutting into his shoulder.

“I don’t mean to be cruel, but I’m not letting you work past the pain enough for a clear shot. Just surrender your orb if you have one, or tell me who I should be hunting. I’ll still have to incapacitate you, but there is no reason to make that process any more painful than it has to be,” Shane explained. He jerked his hand once more.

This time, it was Camille who had to stifle a shout as she felt her leg go numb. This sent her crashing to the ground face first, since she’d been trying to sneak over to Vince and Shane.

“I can’t let you do that either, Camille. Look, you are both very pleasant people, and I bear you no ill will. Please don’t make this hard on yourselves.”

Had Vince’s face not been pointed toward the ground, Shane would have seen the silver-haired boy’s eyes nearly watering with effort. He might not have understood that Vince was thinking of all the people counting on him, of having to stand by while Shane incapacitated Camille, of feeling useless. What he would have gotten, almost assuredly, was some sort of warning about what Vince was trying to do. It likely wouldn’t have made much of a difference. Vince was already resolved. If Shane wouldn’t let him get off a clean shot, he would just have to settle for a dirty one.

Vince clutched his hands into fists and summoned up a torrent of fire that would have made a volcano feel impotent.

*      *      *

Alice decided after the first few minutes that Mary’s idea to take the high ground wasn’t such a bad one. After all, anything she saw would be available to the telepaths, which would help them coordinate their search for the orb holders. Besides, Alice was a flier at heart; trudging along on the ground when the air was accessible just held no appeal to her.

She shot above the trees quickly, lest one of their ranged opponents get off a lucky shot, then slowed her ascent as she got clear of a surprise attack range. The ceiling was still some ways above her, though, as she rose higher, she could make out the blue paint and spaced-out lights used to illuminate the field and create the illusion of a sky overhead. It was an impressive piece of work, but one that lost its luster when one drew too close. Alice was so absorbed in looking at the ceiling that she nearly missed the other human figure floating over to her.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Violet greeted. “Guess we had the same idea.”

“You can fly?”

“I can do a lot of things. Now, how about you hand over the orb I’m sure you’re packing, and I won’t have to show them to you.”

Alice felt her lips draw tight as a mischievous grin crept across her face. Oh hell yes, this was going to be good.

173.

When he looked back on it later, Alex would realize that it was the same innocent curiosity formed during their relationship that allowed Selena to sneak up on him. Just as he had wondered if it was possible to deflect her ability, she’d tried to see if there was a way to avoid detection from his. It would take him some time longer to understand just how she’d done it, that she’d figured out he sensed the emotions and general sense of a person more than their specific thoughts, and that she’d sung a song of emptiness to push those things down in all who heard it, but none of that information was available to him at the moment. All Alex knew was that he should have been safe, should have been far from anyone else as he moved toward the direction of Tiffani and Amber; however, he still rolled to the side when he heard a crackling sound from behind him.

The training with Alice and Mary might not have increased his raw force as much as they’d hoped, but it had damn sure helped to train his reflexes. Alex jumped up and spun around, noticing a small smoking spot on the ground where he’d been standing, and faced the opponent who’d managed to sneak up on him. Jill stood there, her arm still raised and a small device glowing on her gauntlet. She was barely recognizable; the suit she wore had clearly undergone some serious modifications. It gleamed in the fake sunlight, dark metal flowing across her body, little notches and bumps giving away the various devices she could call to action with a mere thought. All of it was topped off by a helmet with two barely-visible eye slots. It should have greatly obstructed her vision, but Alex knew Will’s craftsmanship too well to count on such an oversight.

“Nice dodge,” Jill said, her voice somewhat muffled by the apparatus enclosing her head. “You’re getting better.”

“You too. You’ll have to tell me how you managed to avoid my mental detection,” Alex replied. As he spoke, he brought down the same telekinetic force he’d used on Will in the second match, pressing on her like she was a sandwich in a Panini press. Unlike Will, she didn’t immediately buckle. Her suit had either been formatted to increase her strength or to somehow counter this exact strategy; knowing Will, it was probably both. She did begin to go down slowly, her shoulders hunching and knees buckling outward. He was about to turn up the pressure when the song hit his ears. It was a song of slumber, one that made his head swim with visions of soft pillows and thick blankets.

He glanced to the tree line, and sure enough, there was Selena, singing her siren’s lullaby. Alex switched into sound repelling mode, but the necessary focus meant he had to release Jill, who immediately called forth two new glowing devices from the gauntlets around her wrists.

“You were right,” Jill called to her teammate. “Having Will create a sound negation device was a good idea.” The handy doodad allowed her to fight in close proximity to Selena without falling under her spell unless Jill willingly deactivated the system. It was a good thing, too. Alex’s ability meant he could very effectively counter either one of the girls in combat. Both of them working in tandem, on the other hand, now that was a task they doubted he’d be able to handle.

*      *      *

“Things aren’t going too hot, are they?”

Mary glanced at Nick, whose face wore an expression of practiced disinterest. If he’d been asking because he cared, one wouldn’t know it from looking at him. Mary was used to that part; what concerned her was how unsurprised he seemed at the idea that their team was in trouble. It was especially impressive, since she hadn’t given him any updates since they separated.

“How did you know?”

“I didn’t. I merely suspected. You’d be feeding me information about each person’s victories if they were having any. Since you’re silent, I’m assuming it means they’ve hit a few obstacles.”

“Too soon to tell,” Mary replied. “But a few of them are in some tough fights. Vince and Camille are facing Shane, Alice is squaring off with Violet, Roy and Thomas are about to throw down, and Alex just got ambushed by Selena and Jill, with one of Julia’s clones watching from a safe distance.”

Nick made a clicking sound somewhere in his throat. “Fuck. That is not an ideal lineup for us.”

“A couple of them could swing our way.”

“Sure, but not the most important one.”

“I think you’re underestimating Vince,” Mary said.

“I doubt it,” Nick shot back. “I’ve spent more time working with him than anyone else in this group. I’ve run endless scenarios in my head to try and prep him for as many of them as possible. I think it’s safe to say that, right now, I know Vince’s abilities better than anyone else, himself included.”

“Except his father,” Mary pointed out.

“Allegedly. That cute little tip hasn’t been proven yet.”

“Yet?”

Nick gave a curt nod. “Keep me updated on their fight. Once I know how it shakes out, I’ll know how to proceed.”

“You have a plan for if he loses?”

“I have a plan for everything. I have a plan for Zeus blasting down through the ceiling and declaring himself the king of Naples. Just because I have one, doesn’t make it particularly good.”

“I see.” They walked in silence for a bit longer, Mary redirecting them a few times as their target changed course. Eventually, Mary’s curiosity was too much, and reading Nick’s mind was no help, as he was purposely obfuscating by doing complex math in his head.

“Are you going to tell me what the plan is?”

“Make an offering to Nyarlathotep, one of the ancient dark gods of the abyss, to come and challenge Zeus for the throne. I figure if one god is real, why not others? While they duke it out, I hightail myself to safety. Then avoid Naples for the rest of my life.”

“I meant what’s the plan for if Vince loses?”

“Oh, I’m not going to share that one,” Nick said. “You’d hate it, anyway. Far too much of a long shot.”

174.

The trees were on fire, that much was evident to anyone nearby, as well as to any students who took notice of the rising smoke and orange glow. Although Vince hated to damage property, he would have doubtlessly found the sacrifice to be worthwhile in exchange for defeating Shane. Unfortunately for him, that was not the case.

Vince’s arms were both extended, his hands open with small waves of heat still emanating from them. Rather than being aimed near Shane, which he’d intended, they were facing a cluster of trees that were crackling as the flame turned them into kindling. Vince couldn’t see them; he could only feel the vine-like appendages that had wrapped around his arms, jerking them to a new target at the last minute. Before he could even think of shifting his focus, those same restraints flexed against his arms. The next sensation Vince was aware of was searing pain and a sticky dampness down to his elbows.

“You always use your hands to aim,” Shane commented. “It makes you predictable.” His irises and sclera were gone, or at least, they had turned so dark that they may as well have vanished. It gave the illusion that Shane’s face bore empty sockets, ones that opened to a twisted void of a dimension encompassed in utter blackness. It was, to say the least, a bit unnerving, and not just because of the strange visage it gave him. Even after spending the year with him in Close Combat class, Vince and Camille were both impressed by his shadow manifestation and manipulation ability.

Vince was currently thinking less about how impressive it was and more about how much pain he was in. His arms were hanging uselessly: whatever muscles Shane cut had taken away Vince’s ability to lift them above his waist. Trying to focus through the pain, Vince set his eyes on Shane and began to draw upon the electricity stored within.

“Enough.” Shane made a quick hand motion, and Vince felt his feet go out from under him. A few attempted motions confirmed that several muscles in his legs had been severed. This time, Shane hadn’t tried to wound, he’d gone for incapacitation. Vince lay in the grass, his eyes still focused on his opponent, but another quick motion flipped him over and changed that as well.

“I hate to do this,” Shane said, turning his attention to Camille. “I actually sort of enjoy both of you. You support your team, you train hard, and you conduct yourselves with behavior appropriate for aspiring Heroes. Regardless of Vince’s origin, I respect his ability. That’s why I have to take him down; he represents too great an unknown factor in this game. Camille, you are simply collateral damage, since you could revive him.”

As Shane spoke, he manipulated the shadow on one of the larger trees, first turning it into a blade with which he sliced off a branch, then thickening it into a tendril which he used to heft up the tree limb he’d just cut down. He carted the branch over and set it, surprisingly carefully, on top of Camille.

“There, that should keep you from going over to him,” Shane said, once the task was done. “You can breathe, right?”

Camille couldn’t form words; the seething rage at seeing Vince sliced into ribbons had her head pounding and her tongue thick. Instead, she stared daggers at him, but took a strained breath to ensure she was capable. Anger was well and good, but if she asphyxiated, she wouldn’t be able to go help Vince once Shane left.

“Okay then, on to the next task.” Shane walked over to Vince, careful to keep a healthy distance, then flipped him onto his back and pinned him down with the same branch-acquiring technique he’d used on Camille. While his power was similar to Thomas’s, the ability to strike from any area and to manipulate his shadows into bladed weapons made Shane a far more deadly opponent. Had he taken a different route, he could have been a world-class assassin. As it was, he spent much of his training learning to utilize his ability in ways that wouldn’t be deadly. That was why his major was biology; it was why he studied anatomy in his free time. That was why he knew what muscles he could cut without causing a target to bleed out.

“There are a lot of stories about you, Vince,” Shane said as he lowered the branch in place, making sure it rested heavily but didn’t crush his captive. Shane was careful to move around as he talked, changing direction frequently. Even injured and pinned, giving Vince a stationary target was asking for trouble. “How you stood your ground against Coach George, how you dominated Michael in the first match this year, and, of course, your neat trick against Thomas during last year’s midterms. You’re a strong guy, and I’ve trained with you in combat enough to know you’ve got hand-to-hand chops.” Shane finished adjusting the branch and stood a few steps further back.

“That said, you need to understand the gap between those in the middle, and those at the top. Dean Blaine outlined it for us during the first year. Only the strongest can move on, because only we have a place in the Hero world. People depend on us, I know you know that. You’re the kind of guy who fights all the harder when there are people who need him. I respect you for that.”

“Thanks,” Vince gasped from under the limb. “Didn’t seem to help much.”

“You’ve got a Hero’s heart,” Shane said. “You just don’t have a Hero’s strength. I’ve taken you out as painlessly as possible, much more gently than some of the people who don’t share my sentiment would have. Just tell me who has your orb, and I’ll be on my way.”

“No,” Vince rasped. “I’m not telling you anything.”

“Can’t say I’m really surprised,” Shane sighed. “You’re the type that would let me peel off his skin before he said a word that might lead to his friends being hurt. I had to try, at least. I could probably get it out of you, but it would take far too long to be worth it. Oh well, I suppose taking out two of my rival team’s most useful members will have to be good enough.”

He moved quickly and carefully, being certain not to enter Vince’s field of vision. Even in exiting, Shane’s motions were deliberate and thought out.

Vince tested the heft holding him down and found it unmoving. If he’d had both arms, he might have been able to pull something out, but with his injuries, there was no chance of conventional escape. His head thudded softly as it fell backward onto the grass. It felt strangely good to lay there, motionless, staring up at the false sky. Time was running out, and he needed to think of something.

It was either that, or accept that this was his last day at Lander.

175.

Violet couldn’t really fly. It would be more accurate to say she floated, decreasing her density until she was able to stay aloft on air currents. Upping her speed or changing direction was just a matter of increasing a small part of her body’s density and casting it in the direction she wanted to travel. For example, she could punch to the left while making the nail on her index finger heavier for half of a second, resulting in her whole body being moved forcibly. This technique, while effective, was also very strange to see in action: Violet’s navigation mimicked the jerking of an epileptic squid. That said, it worked.

Alice dashed to the side as Violet whooshed by, hand clutched into a fist that would have no doubt become much heavier right before impacting Alice. Violet kicked backward and reversed trajectory, reorienting herself and coming around for another attack. So far, Alice had managed to dodge effectively—she had more practice thinking in three-dimensions than her opponent—however, she also knew she was in very real trouble if Violet should manage to land a blow. She could increase the gravity around Violet, but that was difficult given the girl’s constant movement. Not to mention that Alice didn’t know how much of that force Violet could ignore by becoming less dense. The one thing she did know was that she was only going to have the element of surprise once, and then it was gone.

“You’re quick,” Violet said, pausing her formerly ceaseless barrage to catch her breath. “To be honest, I’m a little impressed. I thought you’d have tried to escape by now.”

“Now, why would I do that?”

“Because you don’t have any way to win. Your power only lets you fly, and now that I’ve come into your world, it’s just a matter of time before I catch you.”

“I suppose it’s just not in me to walk away from a fight.”

“It most certainly is, and you’re neither stupid nor overly prideful. Which means you think you’ve got a shot at winning this.” Violet’s smile was wide, showing too many teeth for it to be taken as a friendly gesture. “You’ve been sandbagging.”

“I’d prefer to say that I just haven’t had the chance to showcase my talents,” Alice replied.

“Then consider this your opening night. There’s nothing I enjoy more than a good tussle, so bring it on. Let’s see what you can really do.”

This time, it was Alice who surged forward, utilizing her superior speed and maneuverability to come down on Violet, dropping a fist directly toward her throat. She almost pulled it off; however, what Alice had in flying practice, Violet had in battle experience. She rolled to the side at the last moment, sending Alice’s punch into her shoulder. The blonde girl was momentarily thrown off kilter, and Violet used that opportunity to wrap both arms around her torso. As soon her grip was firm, Violet turned up her own density, sending them downward and dragging Alice out of the sky.

“Good effort,” Violet said as their pace began to increase. “A little quicker, and you might have gotten me.”

“It isn’t over yet,” Alice snapped. “I’m betting this landing hurts you, too.” She focused on decreasing their gravity, slowing the descent as much as possible. She still had a plan, but it required Violet to be much denser.

“You’d be surprised how tough I am when I get heavy.” Violet was impressed the blonde could haul this much weight. She turned up her own ability, making herself even heavier. They began to fall faster, and Violet cranked it up even more. She would be sure to cushion Alice from the blow, but it should be enough to keep the girl grounded for some while.

Alice didn’t reply this time; her attention was on the approaching tree tops. She had to time this perfectly: otherwise, Violet would just shift back again. Her mind grew empty as she focused on the gravity that enveloped them. Alice had already done more in practice than just excuse herself from its hold or turn up the knob on others: she’d also changed the very direction it pulled in. It hadn’t been easy, and she’d never tried something this delicate before. They passed the first tip of a tree, and there was no more time for debate or doubt.

It was showtime.

Violet’s arms were ripped away from Alice’s body as an unseen force yanked them in opposite directions. At the same time, she felt her own rate of descent increase dramatically. This wasn’t just losing the counterforce of the flier: she was moving much too swiftly for that to be the case. As Alice bobbed overhead, a quickly shrinking point in Violet’s line of sight, it all came together.

“Gravity. You sandbagging bitch,” she muttered. The next sound was the tremendous crash of a college-aged girl whose weight was currently in the hundreds of tons smashing into the ground. It caved into a crater of impressive size, uprooting a few trees and sending who knows how many rocks flying. She’d have likely fallen much farther, if not for the special material Lander’s walls, and more importantly floors, were made from.

A less dense item would have been damaged beyond repair. As it was, Violet felt like she’d gotten her bell rung pretty noticeably. It would take her a few minutes to shake it all off, but she wasn’t out of the fight yet. She looked up from her giant crater and saw Alice still floating above her. It was hard to see at such a distance, but Violet noticed the floating form seemed to be making motions with its arms. She had just enough time to wonder what on earth the girl was doing before she noticed the rumbling sound that was filling her ears.

Trees, rubble, and other sizable debris began careening over the lip of the crater, crashing down the slope to land at the lowest point, directly on top of Violet. Violet felt the burdens fall on top of her, not heavy enough to do any damage, but certainly making her inevitable escape more difficult. She could lower her density enough to become insubstantial, but that meant a brief moment where she’d be normal and pinned under an ever-increasing mountain of crap. Her only other option was to weaken each hunk of debris piece by piece until she was able to get out.

Well, she had told Alice to bring it. Violet made a note to congratulate her friend when this was all said and done. Assuming she made it out before the start of summer vacation, of course.

176.

Roy and Thomas had never squared off before, though they’d spent enough time in the same social circle that each was familiar with the other’s abilities. At least, that’s what Roy thought before their match began. He’d expected to be battling against energy tendrils or maybe some straight up blast attacks. What he hadn’t expected was that Thomas might have been expanding his own repertoire since the match with Vince and Alex over a year ago.

The tree shattered as Roy was hurled through it, splinters tearing his uniform but failing to pierce his skin. Idly, Roy wondered if he’d be holding up so well had this fight happened earlier in the year. He highly doubted it; right now, the only thing keeping him conscious was the amount of damage he could take, and even that was beginning to reach its limit. He pulled himself up from the grassy ground and looked around, trying to locate his opponent. It didn’t take long; the one drawback of Thomas’s technique was that it made him easy to spot.

Thomas was walking toward Roy, ignoring any challenges the terrain might have presented to slow him down. It would be impossible to say what expression was draped across his face, since it, along with the rest of his body, was hidden beneath the orange energy that enveloped his entire form. It moved with him, surrounding and protecting the body beneath. Roy suspected he might be able to punch through it, but that would require getting up close and personal, a task at which he had thus far been highly unsuccessful.

Roy sprinted forward, closing the gap between him and Thomas as quickly as possible. He made it to within ten feet before a beam of energy leapt forth from Thomas’s hand and enveloped his legs. The taller boy was swept off his feet and chunked into another poor tree, which exploded on impact. A quick hop to his feet, and Roy was running again. They’d been playing this game for some while now, and it didn’t seem like it would end anytime soon. Still, Roy hadn’t quite lost hope yet. The first time, he’d only been able to get within fifteen feet of Thomas.

He was getting closer. Now, he just had to close the gap before Thomas found a way to put him down for good.

*      *      *

Alex grabbed the biggest thing near him—in this case, a smoldering hunk of tree from Jill’s last missed shot—and telekinetically tossed it in Selena’s direction. The throw was wild; however, it landed near enough that she had to scramble to stay clear. That created a break in her song, which gave Alex a much needed moment of respite.

Sweat poured down his face, and the beginnings of what would ultimately culminate in a hellacious headache were starting to manifest. A year ago, he wouldn’t have even been in this good of shape. Mary always envied Alex’s level of control, but at the moment, he was more thankful for his ability to multitask. Fending off Selena’s song and Jill’s blasters simultaneously was taking every bit of focus he could muster. He was managing not to go down; however, using all his resources for defense also left him no opportunity to counterattack. If he didn’t think of something soon, then it was just a matter of running down the clock to his inevitable defeat.

Jill fired off another few rounds, two of which Alex dodged and the other he deflected. Without his telepathy, he might have been hosed: fighting back all the sound around him meant he didn’t get any audible warnings of her movements. Only keeping tabs on her mind was giving him notice to defend. Even that strategy had a downside, because in this small of an area, listening to her mind meant feeling Selena’s as well, something he’d been trying very hard not to do since their breakup.

There was no softness in that head of hers, no inclination to go easy on him for the sake of old emotions. Selena was a sophomore in the HCP; she never would have gotten this far if she couldn’t divorce duty from sentiment. There wasn’t any anger, either, something he’d honestly expected, despite the reason for breaking up. It wouldn’t have been rational, but in Alex’s experience, people very rarely were when the heart was involved. No, none of that was bouncing around in Selena’s mind, likely because there was no room for it. Instead, her head was overflowing with love and regret.

He could feel it all: the depth of love she’d been surprised to find she had for him, the fear at something so serious so soon, the hasty rebellion to try and distance herself through a stupid drunken action, and the loss she’d been gripped with upon realizing what she’d destroyed. In a different time, in a different place, it might have motivated him to have a cup of coffee with her, to see if there was anything left for them to put back together. Unfortunately for both of them, this was not that time or that place. All Alex could feel at that moment was a wish that she would bottle her shit up so he could concentrate.

A flurry of excitement overtook Jill as she took aim for another volley. This time, there were only two shots. One was far enough away to sidestep; the other would have to be deflected. He was about to grip it when he realized that only the first shot had been energy; the one heading toward him was a metal canister the size of half a soda can. Before Alex was able to react, the small canister exploded, and his entire world went white.

It took a moment to realize he wasn’t burned or harmed, but from the searing sensation in his eyeballs, it felt like he had been.

“Flash grenade Will designed. You should regain vision in five to ten minutes,” Jill informed him helpfully.

Alex had just enough time to wonder how he was able to hear her, realizing that his concentration had been disintegrated along with his vision as Selena’s song took hold. He slumped to the ground wordlessly.

Selena ceased her singing and walked over to him. She took off his jacket, singed in a few places for shots Jill nearly landed, and folded it into a thick square. Delicately lifting his head, she tucked the makeshift pillow under his cranium before turning back to her teammate.

Julia came up to them during this time, one of many clones scattered with the teams. She had to keep away from the actual battle, since, if she was seriously hurt, she would dissipate and they would lose their connection to the rest of the team.

“Let’s go find another one,” Selena said, her face largely expressionless.

Jill nodded her agreement, and the three set off for their next battle.

177.

“You orange-glowing bastard!” Roy screamed as he went sailing through the air yet again. He’d lost count of his flights somewhere in the teens, not because it was too hard to keep up, but because there was no point. Each had thought one of them would break, run out of steam, or come up with a new strategy to end things. As it was, they were dancing the same tango they’d been shimmying since they started.

Thomas’s own sentiment wasn’t much more positive. By his assessments of Roy’s power, Thomas should have prevailed by now, but the taller young man had gotten much stronger in a short time. When things were over, Thomas would ask him how he’d pulled that off. For the moment, he was simply trying to figure out a way to finish this pointless battle. The problem was that Roy had the advantage in his endless energy. Thomas was beginning to feel the first signs of fatigue, signs he knew his opponent would never suffer at this pace. He still had a lot of gas left in the tank, but that wouldn’t matter if he didn’t find a way to hurt Roy. At this pace, the most he could hope for was a clean escape.

Thomas blinked beneath his orange armor as the realization hit him. Why not escape? This test wasn’t predicated on winning individual fights, only on who got the most points through orbs. He wasn’t helping his team right now; in fact, he was wasting himself as a resource. The beginnings of suspicion began to tickle in his brain. This was probably part of the exam: not only winning when it was possible, but also walking away when it wasn’t. It was what the second match had been meant to teach them. The more he thought about it, the more certain Thomas grew.

A snapping of branches alerted Thomas that Roy was charging again. He enveloped his opponent’s legs in energy, just as he had countless times before. But this time was different. Instead of chunking Roy at the nearest object, Thomas put more power into the throw and aimed higher. He cast Roy with all of his might, sending him sailing over the tree line far from their current position. By the time Roy found his way back, Thomas would be long gone.

Distantly, almost imperceptibly, Roy’s voice could be heard screaming obscenities as he flew through the air.

*      *      *

“Results are in,” Mary whispered. She was reasonably certain she and Nick were alone, but the way things were going, she wasn’t up for taking any risks. “One win, two losses, and a draw.”

“How did we get a draw? Wait, never mind, let me guess: Thomas and Roy?”

“Nailed it. Thomas realized he was wasting his time, so he headed off to find a better fight. Roy is less than thrilled.”

“I can imagine.”

“Anyway, Alex lost, so did Camille and Vince. Alice, thankfully, pulled her match off rather impressively,” Mary reported.

In spite of the bad news, Nick allowed himself a small smile at news of Alice’s victory. The girl deserved a win, and putting one up against an opponent like Violet was no small matter. As honest as his joy was, it was equally brief. Immediately, his brain began assessing the news of the losses and adjusting his plan.

“How are they holding up?”

“Alex is knocked out; Camille is largely unhurt but stuck under a tree branch. Vince is pinned, too, but he’s been torn up pretty bad.”

“Shane separated and trapped them so Camille couldn’t heal Vince. Smart guy. I hate other smart guys.”

“Should we go help them?”

Nick shook his head. He’d suspected this might happen, not just when he heard they were facing Shane, but from the very beginning. Vince had gotten so much stronger than he’d been even a few months ago, but it wasn’t as if he were going up against mere humans. Everyone else was growing too, getting better at what they did. Vince might one day be the strongest of them all; however, that day wasn’t this one. And if he didn’t find a way to showcase Vince’s real potential, then that day might very well never come. The only guidance he had was Globe’s advice, about the fact that they were all underestimating Vince’s real power and how kindness was both the cage and the key. Understanding it hadn’t been difficult, but discerning a good way to utilize it had left Nick with precious few options.

“Okay, Mary, here’s the plan. First things first, I’m calling in the twenty-four hours of non-mental listening you owe me.”

“What?”

“Freshman year, I did you a favor by taking Alice shopping, and that was my price. I’m calling it in, effective immediately. Do not, under any circumstances, listen to my thoughts for the rest of this day.”

“Can I ask why?”

“You can ask anything, you just won’t get answers. Next, I need you to tell me where Rich is currently.” As he spoke, Nick reached up and removed his sunglasses. He carefully applied pressure to one of the lenses until it snapped, leaving a slightly jagged edge.

“About fifteen minutes to our east,” Mary replied, pointing despite the fact that she was certain Nick knew the direction in question.

“Perfect. Now, keep hunting our invisible girl, but if you haven’t found her in thirty minutes, refocus on making sure Alex and Alice get to the deposit site before the timer ends. Stay out of sight until I get there.” Nick took the jagged edge of plastic and used it to cut a section of his uniform’s coat, then ripped along the tear until he had a long, if ragged, piece of gray cloth.

“They’ll make you pay for that, you know,” Mary pointed out, having honestly no idea what else to say to his strange behavior.

“I’m aware of the rules.”

“Are you sure I shouldn’t go help Vince and Camille, instead of hunting Britney? What if they don’t get free in time?”

“Vince will get them free,” Nick replied simply. “Trust me.”

“I guess, at this point, I pretty much have to.”

“And words cannot say how much I appreciate it.” Nick was finished making his cloth strip, so he tucked it into his right pocket. He put the jagged plastic in his left and let the remains fall to the ground. He didn’t need them any longer.

Nick looked at Mary; she was staring up at him with perplexed annoyance. She was true to her word: if she’d been listening to his thoughts, she would have worn a very different expression. Good. He’d have hated for her to get caught up in this. When the dust settled, she was going to need to be able to honestly say she had no idea what he was planning. Ignorance was the only protection he could give her.

“While I’m doing all this running around, what are you going to do?”

“Very simple, my dear Captain,” Nick replied. “I’m going to build a pyre.”

178.

Vince lost consciousness for a few minutes after Shane left. It might have been the blood loss, though Shane had been careful not to leave wounds that risked Vince bleeding out. It might have been the sizable branch weighing on his torso, but it was not so heavy as to leave him unable to breathe. It might have even been shame. After all that training, all that discussion and planning and bravado, he’d still been trounced like he was nothing. He was supposed to be a force that his team could rely on. Instead, it seemed like he spent most of his time lying on the ground, defeated.

“Are you all right?” Camille asked, raising her voice slightly to be heard. It risked them being discovered, but that didn’t matter much at the moment. It didn’t make any student look more skilled to beat up defeated opponents. No, the worst they could suffer upon discovery was humiliation, and that was low on her list of current concerns.

“I’m stuck, but I think I’ve stopped bleeding,” Vince answered. There was no more sensation of warm, sticky blood tickling down his appendages. The muscles were still cut; nothing short of Camille was going to fix that.

“Don’t move too much, you don’t want to reopen your cuts. I’ll heal you as soon as this is over, and we get free.”

And there it was. They had to sit and wait; they were out of the match. Camille was too weak to lift her branch, and even if Vince had been at full strength, he doubted he could have budged his. He tested his appendages and found them largely unresponsive. He could move them, but with the severed tendons, it was painful and hard to direct them. Lifting was out of the question; the only thing he could get to move in even a semblance of control was his left arm. He flopped it against the branch and felt the rough bark press against his palm.

“Damn it, what did I just tell you?”

“Sorry, I . . . I think I have an idea.” He couldn’t push it away, and using a kinetic blast was too dangerous. Aiming was impossible, so the branch might easily land on Camille. But he did have another option. One that would be uncomfortable, one that was risky, and one that was certain to hurt. Still, it would get him a chance to get back in the game. He’d promised Nick the team could count on him. And . . . to be perfectly honest, he knew that if he failed here, it was over. No third year, no hopes of being a Hero. Once he was ousted, they would never let the son of Globe back in. He either got back up, or he may as well go back to sleep and accept these two years for the dream they were.

“Camille, you might want to look away.”

“What are you going to do?”

But Vince had already done it. Fire burst forth from his left hand, a surge of flame cascading across the branch’s surface. His own flame didn’t hurt him as it exited, but as the branch began to burn in earnest, he noticed the temperature rising. Immediately, he started to sweat, the heat so close and so forceful that it was all he could do not to pull it back. Not yet.

“Vince!”

He could hear the panic in Camille’s voice; he wished she’d listened to him and looked away. His uniform was on fire, the flames were beginning to lick against his skin. Vince had imagined all the severed muscles would restrict his ability to feel pain. Either he was wrong, or the pain was so great it didn’t matter. He set his jaw and resisted the urge to scream. This had to be hard enough for his teammate to watch; he wouldn’t let her know how badly he was hurting. He’d been burned before; he knew what was still in store for him.

The smoke was getting overpowering; it was growing steadily harder to breath. Good. Only a little bit longer. He needed to be certain the tree was burning on its own. He couldn’t hear Camille’s words anymore, but he could definitely hear her yelling at him. The fire was too loud, or he was too close. God, he wished she’d looked away. Vince glanced down and realized that his left hand was turning charred and black; the proximity to the fire had burned away all the nerves before he’d noticed it. His vision was getting blurry. Time was up; it was now or never. He could only pray it had been long enough.

Vince absorbed the fire in an instant, the branch dissolving into ash as he took both its current energy and all the energy it would have generated as it burned. His jacket was taken too. Mercifully, his pants hadn’t caught fire in time to be absorbed. He saw that his torso was sooty and black. At least, he hoped that was soot.

“What is wrong with you? Why would you do that?” Camille wasn’t yelling anymore; from the rasp in her voice, it sounded like she’d screamed herself hoarse. Her cheeks were wet, glistening with tears that still flowed freely from her eyes. Poor girl. Vince would apologize afterward. He couldn’t respond yet; he needed all his focus for the last part.

Carefully, he rolled onto his side, aiming as best he could. He pressed his ruined hand onto the charred ground that had once been grass. He owed a thank you to Nick for forcing him to gain some semblance of control over this new aspect to his powers, and to Roy for charging him up. With a grunt of effort, he blasted the solid ground with kinetic energy, sending him hurtling across the grass and leaving a trail of partially cooked flesh where it scraped against him. He nearly passed out again, this time, unquestionably from pain, but he fought back the sensation of slumber and rolled himself over. He was close to Camille now, almost within arm’s reach. With one last burst of effort, Vince rolled over once, twice, three more times. The third was the last he had in him: as his vision turned skyward, the screaming pain finally overwhelmed his willpower, and he slipped into the blissful darkness.

“You fucking idiot.” A pair of dainty hands fell on his forehead, the only part of him she could reach. Camille choked back a sob as she looked at him. He was a wreck; he was destroyed. He’d gotten to her at the cost of God only knew how much pain. She began healing the burns first, watching his skin turn back to its normal pink hue. Then she healed the muscles, and finally, the cuts Shane had left on his body.

It took only a moment, and his eyes fluttered open. He pulled himself upright and gave his body a quick once-over. Satisfied he was healthy, he turned to Camille.

“Thank you, yet again,” he said with a smile.

He pushed his restored hand under her branch, then blasted it away with a kinetic burst. Since he was now able to aim, there was no fear it would come down on her like his branch might have. It crashed into a tree and shattered into little more than splinters. Camille pulled herself up, ignoring his outstretched hand. She took a brief moment to heal her own injuries and wipe her face, then she turned to face him.

Had he known it was coming, Vince probably could have dodged her punch. As it was, it struck him squarely in the jaw, leaving him with watering eyes of his own.

“Fuck you! Fuck you for doing that! Fuck you for taking that risk! Fuck you for . . . FUCK YOU!” Camille was shaking, and her face was red, but for once, it had nothing to do with embarrassment. “You could have died, you idiot. If you’d passed out from pain or smoke inhalation, you could have burned to death under that branch. Did you even think of that? I can’t heal the dead, you goddamned pigheaded moron. We’d have been fine; we’d have survived.”

“I would have been eliminated,” Vince said softly, avoiding her eyes. “If I don’t give them some reason to keep me, if I go down again, I won’t come back next year.”

This time, Vince did see it coming, but he purposely didn’t avoid it. Camille slapped him on the cheek with all her might, adding to the already noticeable pain in his jaw.

“So what! You’d have moved on. There is life after Lander. But you can’t help anyone if you die. You can’t be there for the people you care about in any capacity, Hero or otherwise. Did you think about that? Did you really consider the consequences for everyone else while selfishly risking your life for some stupid job? Life doesn’t end if you get kicked out. Life definitely ends if you burn yourself to death in some dumbass escape attempt. The next time you do anything like that, I’m not going to heal you. I’ll pull you back from death, but then I’ll leave you to suffer.”

Her shaking was getting worse. Vince reached his arms around her and pulled her in close. It wasn’t a conscious decision: in that moment, it was merely what he knew she needed him to do. She struggled briefly, then allowed him to hold her until the shivering subsided.

“I won’t help you kill yourself,” she whispered into his chest.

“I’ll be more careful,” Vince told her. “I promise.”

She stayed in his arms for a few moments more, then pulled away. “What’s done is done. We should get moving. We made a lot of noise.”

Vince nodded wordlessly, and they set off back into the battle. Camille made no offer to heal the blows she’d dealt, and he didn’t dream of asking for it.

179.

Rich might have heard his assailant coming if he hadn’t been distracted by Julia’s clone talking. He might have seen him if his gaze hadn’t been drawn by smoke rising to the north. He might have still had a shot if he’d gotten that prickling sensation of being watched before the taser sent its searing voltage into his back. None of those things happened, which only goes to show that a power which can merely affect probability still has its uses. By the time Rich recovered, he realized his hands had been bound behind his back, and a thick strip of cloth was tied against his head, covering his eyes.

“Julia! Call for help!”

“So sorry, your energy clone has been disconnected. Please pick up a fresh one, and try again later.”

Rich felt the tension he hadn’t noticed in his shoulders loosen. Being captured was bad. Having his eyes covered was worse. But if he was only caught by Nick, then he didn’t have much to worry about. The guy had caught a few lucky breaks, obviously, but he was nothing to get worked up over.

“Did you shock her too?”

“Cracked her over the head with a branch. I’m afraid she’s completely dissipated already.” Nick’s voice was coming from behind Rich, and it was calm. Actually, this was the first time Rich remembered Nick not coming off as flippant, joking, or sarcastic in some manner.

“That was stupid. If it had been the real one, you might have gotten disqualified, not to mention seriously hurt her.”

“A calculated risk. I needed access to you, and I couldn’t risk her relaying to the others what was about to happen.”

“You leaving me captured and useless?” The tension was creeping back in. Something wasn’t right. Ambushing him might have been Nick’s style, but the rest of this, the careful bindings, the ruthless dispatching of Julia’s clone, it didn’t sit right.

Nick laughed, and something in Rich’s stomach turned. “I’m not leaving you anywhere. You’re going to be a very helpful part in making sure my team wins.”

Rich snorted and felt Nick draw closer. Nick leaned in, his mouth less than an inch from Rich’s ear. Briefly, he contemplated a head butt; however, he doubted Nick was as open as he seemed. This was all too calculated for him to make an error like that.

“I don’t want anyone to overhear this part,” Nick whispered, his breath hot on Rich’s ear. “It also wouldn’t do for them to read my lips later from some hidden camera’s video, so forgive the proximity. When they ask you about this later, you should tell them this is where I threatened to kill you.”

Rich gulped, not because he thought Nick was actually making that threat, but because some part of him understood he wouldn’t be telling him to lie if he wasn’t about to threaten something worse.

“In fact, this is where I tell you that I also employ a hidden camera or two from time to time. Like that time before winter break where I paid you and Adam to come incapacitate and then impersonate Vince to take his test for him.”

“But—” Rich’s next words never left his mouth; they were superseded by a cry of pain as Nick reached down and pulled back his pinky until it snapped.

“Your mouth isn’t covered. You don’t get to talk. Sorry about that, but at least that will make this look real.”

Rich whimpered softly, but otherwise took the cue and remained silent.

“Now then, I’m sure you were going to say that if I really did have that tape, then turning it in would get both Adam and me in trouble, too. You’re certainly correct there; however, you’re also operating under the delusion that I give two fucks about staying here. In that regard, you are woefully wrong. So here is what is going to happen. You will stand up and loudly protest that you’re not telling me where the orb is. That will keep the professors from intervening when they notice I’ve taken you prisoner. If you try and yell about me threatening your life right now, then they’ll save you. And then, I’ll show them you committing extreme academic fraud for money, all but guaranteeing the end of your career as a Hero. If you play along, on the other hand, I promise to give you that video file and make sure you come out blameless when the dust settles. Your choice.”

Rich felt himself being pulled up, and while the force was rough, there was evidently care to make sure he got his footing and didn’t fall down. A sharp pain came from the broken finger in his hand. This was insane; this couldn’t really be happening. He was a Super, a skilled warrior. He couldn’t have been taken prisoner, have been made utterly useless so easily. And by Nick, of all people! But . . . the scam to help Vince had been smart. The more Rich thought about it, the more it started making sense. Despite his demeanor, didn’t Nick always seem to come out ahead? Everyone had brushed it off as luck, but maybe . . .

Nick cleared his throat and brushed Rich’s broken finger, sending more pain through it. He was supposed to deliver the line about the orb: that was Nick reminding him. He could still call for help. The professors would let a certain amount slide—this was a brutal game by its nature—however, this had to be more than they’d tolerate. He could get free, but if Nick was telling the truth, his career as a Hero would be destroyed. So it came down to whether or not he thought Nick was so cunning a person that he would record his own illicit activities in case he needed to blackmail his compatriots later. Rich didn’t think he was. Of course, he also didn’t think Nick was the type to do any of the things that had passed in the last five minutes. So, was he willing to risk it?

“Let me go, damn it! I’m not telling you who has the orb!”

“Fine then; I’m still keeping you with me to make sure you don’t get free,” Nick replied loudly. Rich could imagine the smug look on his face, and to his credit, he got it almost exactly right. The part he missed, he can hardly be blamed for: only a select few people knew that Nick’s eyes glowed with golden light when he used his power.

Right now, resting atop that calculated, smug expression, they blazed like a pair of twin suns.

180.

Alice was surprised to see a rock floating up to her, given her location in the air and the general lack of buoyancy associated with dense minerals. Then she realized someone had etched “Follow Me” across the flat front of it and grew suspicious. This looked like Mary’s doing, but it could be a trap. Violet could have made a rock light enough to get up here, but she couldn’t have made it guide her back to an ambush. Agatha could make inanimate objects move; however, she was unable to change their properties. Alice was reasonably sure Tiffani’s illusions didn’t have this good a range, but just to be sure, she poked the stone with her finger. It wasn’t a high-minded or fancy test, but the stone was solid, so she knew it was real.

That left the combination of Will and Jill, who might have made this using some crazy technology. Alice was reasonably certain she could get the drop on them if it was. Besides, this was a weirdly specific gizmo to have up their sleeves. At last, she realized the easiest way to get confirmation. She thought about how, if it were really Mary sending this, it should start doing loops. Sure enough, the stone began floating in tight circles through the sky. That was as good as Alice was going to get, so she thought about how she was ready to follow it, then floated after as it began to descend.

The stone drifted down to Mary, who was waiting in a small clearing just large enough for Alice to land in safely.

“Find Britney?”

“Sadly, no. She used Gilbert to hop about periodically, making tracking her all but impossible. I managed to avoid everyone else and hang on to our orb, at least.”

“That’s something. So, why the rock?” Alice’s feet settled gently on the ground, using a controlled maneuver that the Powered version of her could never have imagined.

“I need to round up as many of us as possible. We’re supposed to meet at the depository before it goes active,” Mary explained.

“Are we laying an ambush?”

“Honestly? I have no idea what we’re doing,” Mary sighed. “We’ve got enough time to grab Roy on the way, so we should get moving. Alex woke up a little while ago; he got the message from me, and is already on his way.”

“What about Nick?”

“No idea where he is, or what he’s doing. I owed him a day of not listening to his thoughts from a favor last year, and he called it in during this match. He’s the one who wants us to meet with him, so I feel safe assuming he has something planned.”

“Nick always has something planned. It’s just not always something we should want to go along with.”

“Vince and Camille lost to Shane, Alex lost to Selena and Jill,” Mary informed her. “You’re the only winner; the rest of us have been safe, or gotten a draw. No one has stolen an orb yet, so right now, we’re all getting evaluated on our performances in this match.”

“Some of us might make it,” Alice said, though she didn’t know which of them she was trying to comfort.

“Some of us. Might,” Mary replied.

“Damn it. So we either resolve ourselves to losing some friends, or we go with Nick’s plan, whatever it might be.”

“Or we try to make a grand last stand at the depository,” Mary countered. “However, I’m pretty sure Nick is already thinking of something along those lines.”

“Funny, he’s not really the ‘go out in a blaze of glory’ type,” Alice mused. “I say we go along for now. Time has to be getting close, so we’d need to go anyway. We can always tell him no if we don’t like his idea.”

Mary nodded and the two set off, but inwardly, she wondered about such a notion. She’d been deeper in Nick’s head than anyone else; she appreciated the extent to which he planned, the lengths he was capable of going to in order to reach success. She had a nagging feeling that, by the time they knew what Nick’s plan was, it would already be too late to do anything but watch.

*      *      *

“This isn’t looking good,” Professor Pendleton muttered as they watched the various students fight, sneak, or trudge across an expansive display of monitors. He kept his voice low, audible only to Dean Blaine, who stood next to him. Behind them was a room half-full of people. Most were the other professors and staff; however, a few were people dressed exceedingly professionally. Two of them were board members, and one, an older man whose hair was just beginning to gray, was their guest. He’d showed no badge, offered no job title; he’d merely been quiet and watched the students on the monitor. Or, rather, one student. His sunken eyes had never wavered from whatever monitor was currently displaying Vince Reynolds.

“The thing with the branch was impressive,” Dean Blaine replied.

“Would have been more impressive if coupled with a win,” Professor Pendleton shot back.

“Shane is second only to Chad among the males. That would have been the result against nearly any other student.”

“Too bad it was against Vince.”

“Agreed.” Dean Blaine kept his sympathy for the silver-haired boy off his face and out of his voice. Right now, he did his student more good by seeming objective, whatever little difference it might ultimately make.

“They’re heading for the depository. Think they’ve got any shot of pulling this one out of the crapper?”

“My answer depends largely on your thoughts about something. On monitor seventeen, you’ve surely noticed Nick Campbell leading a captured Rich Weaver toward the same place as the others. He’s avoided detection so far, and the audio indicated he took Rich prisoner to keep him from getting back into play.” Dean Blaine hesitated, checking to be certain they weren’t currently being overheard. At least he didn’t have to fear telepaths or super-hearing; thank heaven for small favors. “Do you believe that is actually what he’s doing?”

“Not a chance. That’s a stupid plan. The kid might be a lot of things, but he isn’t one to use stupid plans.”

The lightest twitch of a smile played at the corner of Dean Blaine’s mouth.

“Then I suspect this show has not yet reached its final act.”

181.

Vince and Camille didn’t talk much as they moved through the arena. They’d run into Alex, who had told them of the need to move toward the depository; however, after that brief discussion they’d lapsed back into silence. One could make the argument that this was out of necessity, since they were sneaking across terrain where enemies could come from any direction. That theory wasn’t wrong, at least not entirely, but it failed to capture the true awkwardness of the silence that had descended upon them.

Vince turned at every noise, halting their progress. He was on alert, beginning to verge on paranoid, determined not to be taken by surprise again. It might not have made a difference against Shane, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t make a difference against the next opponent. He was out of second chances. If he screwed up again, failure was inevitable.

The two crept past a thick patch of bushes, walking into a clearing they hadn’t expected to be there. Waiting for them was a pair of figures, quite possibly the last coupling they’d expected to see.

“Nick?” Vince pulled himself to a standing position. His dorm mate smiled back at him, but it wasn’t the smile Vince was used to seeing. There was something different about him, something far more disconcerting than the glowing eyes.

“Just in time,” Nick said, jerking his prisoner to his feet. “By my count, we have less than twenty minutes until the depository becomes active.”

“Why did you tie up Rich?” Vince asked. He heard Camille walk into the clearing behind him, then felt her tense unexpectedly. This was their friend, so why were both of them getting such a sense of danger from the situation?

“For what it’s worth, Vince, I didn’t want to do it this way. I sincerely hoped you’d be able to pull things off on your own. Unfortunately, sometimes even the purest of intentions need a little help from people on my side.” Nick made a quick motion with his hand, one so subtle Vince barely noticed it.

Vince opened his mouth to ask for clarity then saw a more attention-catching movement—a flutter of gray cloth floating to the ground. He glanced at it, only for a second, but a pair of eyes was waiting to meet his, and then it was over.

Nick snatched the cloth from the air as Vince froze, securing it once more around Rich’s eyes in a manner of moments.

“You gave him exactly what I told you to, right?”

“I included the entire framework. His own mind has to supply the details,” Rich answered, his voice strained. “For now, he’ll follow basic direction. Once I look into his eyes again, his subconscious will start the scenario, and he’ll begin moving on his own.”

“That gift of yours never ceases to amaze me.”

“Nick,” Camille said hesitantly, noticing the way Vince had frozen in place. “What did you do?”

“I made a bet against long odds,” he replied simply. “Come on, we need to get moving. The rest of the teams will be gathering around the depository soon.”

“I would really like to know what you’ve done.” Camille was working hard to keep calm, but after her day so far, she could hardly be blamed for a bit of worry.

“You’ll know soon enough,” Nick said, moving Rich toward the clearing’s edge. “Everyone will know quite a bit, in fact.” His prisoner set for movement, Nick walked back over to Vince, who was unmoved from the spot he’d been standing.

Nick patted his frozen friend on the shoulder. “I suppose we should get you into position. I know you can hear me right now, although, I have no idea if you’ll remember any of this. If so, I just wanted to take the opportunity to tell you that you’ve been a great friend, and I’ll do all I can to watch over you out there.”

“Nick, seriously, you are freaking me out,” Camille said.

“Babe, you aren’t nearly as freaked as you should be,” Rich muttered under his breath.

“That’s enough,” Nick snapped. “Complain afterward. Right now, it’s time for action.”

*      *      *

Roy, Alice, Mary, and a somewhat downtrodden Alex huddled together near the edge of the tree line that faced the depository. The bright beam of red light surged from a metallic box in the center of the clearing all the way up to the ceiling. Mary could hear the thoughts of others drawing near, hiding themselves amongst the trees until some signal was given. It would be a mad dash for the box. Theoretically, someone could easily go stand atop it now, but giving away one’s position would be suicide. Too many of their classmates had ranged abilities, and until an orb was deposited, it could still be stolen.

Mary heard the thoughts of an impending trio and prepared to get everyone in defensive formation, then realized there was no need. Nick, Camille, and a blindfolded Rich reached them a few minutes later, all but Nick looking some manner of peeved or disheveled.

“Where’s Vince?” Alex whispered. No one should be close enough to hear them, but with Amber in the mix, it was always better to play it safe.

“He ran off,” Camille whispered back. “Nick made Rich put some vision on him, and he went darting off.”

“Rich’s visions immobilize people,” Alice reminded her.

“Only if he wants them to,” Nick corrected. His own tone was as loud as usual; he made no attempts to lower it. His eyes had dimmed as he appeared, going almost back to their normal, boring color of brown. Finding the group had taken some luck, as had locating Rich and running into Vince. So far, his luck had panned out, giving him the outcomes he was hoping for. There was still one last task to complete, and he was going to need every scrap of energy he had to pull it off.

“Okay, so where did you send Vince?” Mary asked, her tone curt. She was clearly getting tired of not knowing what was going on.

“Um, I think I can answer that one,” Roy said, pointing past a thick trunk they were using to stay hidden. The others followed the direction of his finger, and what met their gaze was not a sight any of them would have hoped to see.

Standing next to the depository, in full view of all the opponents watching and waiting, was Vince Reynolds. He should have been bracing for attack, but instead, he was staring down at the metal box as though it held the secret to eternal life.

“Nick, you had better come up with a real good explanation, and I mean now,” Mary threatened.

“I would, if only there were time. I’m afraid we should get moving. The show is about to start.”

182.

She was beyond bloody. Cuts ran across her fair skin, savage rips in her flesh that had been made by tooth and claw, rather than something as precise as a scalpel. There was blood. There was so much blood. Vince wouldn’t have believed anyone could be alive after losing so much, but she was still moving, motioning him toward her as words desperately tried to escape her damaged throat. He moved in slowly, carefully brushing aside a tangle of dark curls. A few strands of pale blonde hair fell away. When he remembered this discontinuity, it would cause him many nights of sleeplessness as he tried to puzzle out its meaning. That would come later; right now, there was only her.

Her . . . and the wretched sound of growling from the shadows that surrounded them.

*      *      *

Team One rushed forward; they could already see some of their competitors edging into the clearing. If Vince registered movement from any source, it didn’t show on his face. His eyes were laser-focused on the depository, his lips moving slightly, as if he were engaged in a conversation with the metal box.

“What the hell did you do to him?” Mary asked yet again as they sprinted.

“The long and short of it is, I freed him,” Nick replied. He would have been slowed by having to lug along Rich, but thankfully, Roy pitched in and helped heft the prisoner as they ran. “He won’t see any of us as human; he won’t even register what’s going on. He sees the box as something he’ll want to protect with his life, and he’ll see anyone coming toward it as something intent on harming it. Well, except us. He should register us as allies.”

“Do you know what it is he’s seeing the box as?” Camille asked, using all the subtlety she could, which was clearly very little.

“Rich only conjures concepts. Vince’s mind will fill in the details. It’s more effective that way than if we tried to guess what would get his motor running.”

“Right, and why exactly is Rich helping us again?” Roy asked.

“I’m a powerful motivator.”

“Cryptic as that is, I don’t see the point in any of this,” Alice said, able to speak more easily since she was coasting through the air rather than dashing across the ground. “Why go to all the trouble? We could have tried to stop people from depositing their orbs without brain-jacking Vince.”

Nick and Mary exchanged a quick glance. They hadn’t told the others about her talk with Globe, and now sure as hell wasn’t the time to bring it up. Mary nodded, almost imperceptibly, and Nick took the cue.

“Call it a hunch. It’s no secret that Vince’s recently uncovered parental origin puts him at risk to be cut from the program.” That actually came as a surprise to several members of the team; however, they stayed silent and allowed Nick to continue. “Vince’s biggest weakness has always been himself. His goodness. He’s afraid of hurting his opponents, so he holds back. Sometimes it’s on purpose, sometimes it’s unconsciously. Either way, he can’t afford it this time. If Vince is ever going to show those people watching how strong he really is, then this is the moment for it. All I did was try and set up a scenario with the greatest chance of him doing that.”

“Still seems like a lot of effort for a minimal change,” Alice remarked.

“Wait until you see the change before you assess how minimal it is,” Nick replied.

“I’m on board,” Roy said. “Do we go over and help?”

“No. Vince needs to hold the line up there by himself. What we need to do is hold back as many as we can so they don’t converge and overwhelm him,” Nick explained. “Alice will lay down gravity fields to pin the weaker or dumber ones. Roy, you bat cleanup and knock away what you’re able to. Alex and Mary will try and make sure none of the long-range people are able to land a shot on him. Camille will stay with me, since I’m largely helpless and will be lugging along a hostage. As for my job, I’ll be laying down as much luck as I can to give him an edge.”

“If we do all of that, then won’t we be stopping the others before they can get to Vince?” Roy pointed out.

“Not possible,” Mary told him. “There are too many opponents with too much strength. At best, we can slow some of them down. The truly strong ones will get through regardless.”

“Precisely,” Nick agreed. That was, in truth, a calculated piece of his plan. Vince needed to show off, and he needed to do it against students with high rankings for it to matter. There was also another reason Nick only wanted the strongest of their class to make it to Vince. Nick had a very high opinion of what Vince could do when letting loose, yet Globe had specifically said that none of them had the true measure of Vince’s power. That had been a message for Nick, telling him that his estimates were off. He didn’t know that he quite believed the mysterious villain, but it would be folly not to take into account the possibility that he was right. That was the real reason Nick wanted to keep the weaker students away from Vince.

Because, if Globe was right, there was a very real risk that Vince might kill someone.

Nick was snapped out of his reverie by the sound of a loud horn being broadcast through the arena. All at once, the red light that had been shining down on the depository turned blue. The five minute window had started. Game on.

*      *      *

“Vince . . .”

Her voice was a rasp, a whisper on the winds of impending death. She was so broken, so bloody, yet she reached up and carefully took his hand in her own. Her fingers were slick with blood, all of it her own.

“Vince . . . they’re coming back for me. Get away. Run.”

Something in his stomach twisted. A cold sensation he’d felt only once before began to seep through his brain. The world started dissolving. All his uncertainties, all his fears, all his concerns melted away from thought. All that remained was the girl. The girl, and the monsters who had done this to her.

From all around, a hideous belting sound filled the air. The beasts in the shadows clacked their jaws together in hunger. Vince didn’t know what they were saying, but he understood that the sound had been a signal.

She pawed at him desperately. “They’re . . . coming.”

She was right; he could already hear their movements. They were drawing closer, but there was still some distance to cover. That was good. That gave him space to work in.

Vince leaned in and tenderly kissed her forehead, his mouth filling with the taste of copper.

“Don’t be afraid. I’ll protect you. I promise.”

He rose and faced the wall of shadows, out of which the twisted creatures had begun to emerge. They were coming all right, and coming fast. That was fine with Vince. Let them come. Let the bastards who had done this make the mistake of drawing close to him. He reached down within himself and felt the energy stored there.

Let them come. Vince was ready to show them what a true monster was.

183.

The explosion-like sound surprised all of the students, even those who had possessed some inkling of the hallucination occurring in Vince’s brain. In one moment, he had been calmly muttering to a steel box, the top of which had twisted open at the sound of the horn. He’d risen slowly and purposefully taken several strides forward. His breathing was even, his eyes were focused, and his body was taut with anticipation. It was evident he was calmly awaiting any challengers.

Then came the blast, a tremendous sound that was, in fact, a thunderclap from the bolt of electricity Vince hurled into the tree line where some of the students were emerging. That smoking ruin was less eye-catching than Vince himself—at least, the Vince they could see once their eyes adjusted to the sudden increase in light. Vince, or Vince as they knew him, was gone. In his place stood a wraith of fire, a human shape exuding continuous flames from his body. Columns of fire lanced the ground in front of him, creating a charred and burning landscape that would be treacherous even for most of these Supers to cross. Electricity crackled at his fingertips, dancing along his digits in a malicious foxtrot of anticipation. For most, that was all they saw. For the poor few with gifts of vision, they were able to catch a glimpse of more. They could pierce the flames and see the face of the young man working to burn the world, and what lay on his visage was nothing that gave them comfort. Vince was not regretful, nor worried, nor fearful of what was to come.

Vince was eager. Furiously eager. He couldn’t wait for them to come closer. The fire was only the beginning. He wanted to show them the rest.

*      *      *

“Sweet fucking Christ,” Roy cursed, ducking instinctively at the loud sound and sudden burst of flame.

“I think that’s our cue,” Nick said, his eyes darting through the field of competitors to gauge their reactions. Most were surprised, some were afraid. A few were stalwart, but cautious. Nick noted the last group particularly. In the end, that information wouldn’t make a large difference, but it might make a small one. “You all know what to do.”

“Kick ass until the bell sounds or we’re all knocked out,” Roy surmised, pulling himself back up and dashing off toward a cluster of opponents still recovering their wits.

“I do love his enthusiasm,” Nick remarked.

“He does have spunk,” Alex concurred. He and Mary darted toward Vince; they needed to be close enough to deflect things hurled at him while staying far enough away to avoid his sweeping flame attacks.

“Nick, is this really going to work?” Alice floated a few feet from him, almost close enough to touch. He took his time answering her, pretending to be mulling it over. In truth, he already knew what he would say; he was taking this time to stare unabashedly at his blonde dorm mate. She was truly beautiful: he could finally admit that to himself. It wasn’t just the golden hair, the stunning body, or the wide blue eyes. It was her tenacity. Alice had turned from a spoiled princess into a determined warrior, and she’d done it mostly through her own gumption and relentlessness. He admired that. He adored that.

He was going to miss that.

“It will work,” he assured her at last. “At least, if we all do our best, it has a hell of a good shot. That’s all any of us can really hope for.”

Alice nodded her understanding. “I’ll try to keep my gravity fields off you, but I can’t make promises when dealing with this many people in this big of an area. Watch the grass; if it’s bending back on itself, stay clear of that area.” With that, she rose into the air and darted toward the center of the clearing. She would be a sitting duck, but Nick had a feeling most of the people who could bring her down would have their attention focused on Vince.

“Nice speech,” Camille said. They were alone now, save for Rich, who seemed to have decided long ago that silence was his ally in this precarious situation.

“Thank you.”

“One thing I can’t help but notice: you’ve put Vince in a situation where he is using lethal force without hesitation. Don’t you think that might put a damper on his chances of advancing, seeing as it’s an immediate disqualification?”

“It certainly would, were he doing it by choice. But when a man stabs someone, you don’t arrest the knife. That would be senseless. No, all the blame here lies not on the instrument of force, but on the man wielding it.”

“I reached the same conclusion,” Camille admitted softly. “You know, you’re a pretty terrible person.”

“You’re not the first to accuse me of such.”

“I didn’t imagine I would be. Still, in spite of that, or maybe because of it, you’re also a really good friend.”

“On that account,” Nick sighed, “I am nearly certain you are the first to utter such words. Now shush, the other teams have nearly reached our defenders. Once they do, we’ll be in for one heck of a show.”

*      *      *

The observation room, previously filled only with softly whispered comments and observations, was now erupting into a din of noise as the situation below unfolded. Dean Blaine kept his cool; he had seen situations far worse than this one during his long career as a Hero and educator. That said, he also recognized the beginnings of a first-class shitstorm when he saw them.

“That boy really put his dick in the beehive now,” muttered Professor Cole from under her cloth wraps. Dean Blaine was inclined to agree; however, he kept that particular thought to himself.

“Now, everyone, please settle down. We’re all experienced combatants here; the concept of ‘shock and awe’ is not one that should be new to any of us. What Mr. Reynolds is doing, while unexpected, is a perfectly acceptable tactic in trying to drive off enemy forces.”

“And what are we going to do if it escalates beyond just a show?” Professor Hill asked.

“We’re going to keep the students safe, as we always have,” Dean Blaine replied. “In order to do that, we need to keep a close watch on them, however. So I would appreciate it if we could cut the chatter and keep focused on the matter at hand.”

With that, the assembled individuals turned their attention back to the screens.

The sight that greeted them was pure chaos.

184.

Many of the students would one day look back at this day, their final match of sophomore year, as the moment when they finally understood what it was they were aspiring toward. The matches they’d had previously, while difficult, had been controlled by their very nature. There were always safeguards, always rules, always a set number of variables to be accounted for. In the last five minutes of this match, none of that was true. It was their first taste of true battle. There was no order, no simple objectives. There was only chaos, and fear, and violence.

And fire. All of them would remember that quite clearly. There was so very much fire.

*      *      *

Sasha held back until the first wave of people crashed together, Roy in the center, smacking away bodies like yappy dogs at his feet. She waited because she was smart, because she knew the real action was up at the area marked by the blue beam, with her ex-boyfriend impersonating a bonfire just in front of it. Sasha didn’t know what was going on with him, but it didn’t matter. Chad had their orb; all she needed to do was intercept any other team’s depositor who looked like they might get past Vince. She needed to reposition herself, so once the initial fray began, she took off from her hiding place.

Sasha was only running for a couple of seconds when she felt her legs give out from under her. She crashed heavily to the ground, the pain slapping across her body far worse than it should have been from a mere fall. She was tough, she was a speeder; she didn’t get hurt from simple tumbles. With great effort, she pulled herself up onto her elbows, only to fall right back down. It was insane; it was like something was pulling her down, like her body weighed hundreds of pounds. Remembering her team’s match with Team One, she searched her limited field of vision for Mary, certain she was the cause of her sudden immobility. There was no sign of her, not that it would have mattered if there had been. Sasha’s real problem, and the problem of many students similarly sprawled across the ground, was floating twenty feet overhead, fists clenched in concentration.

*      *      *

Stella made it past Roy’s ruckus and steered clear of the areas where everyone seemed to have become forcibly enamored with studying the grass. The burning ground licked at her feet, but it wasn’t hot enough to melt her metal body, so it was easily ignorable. She didn’t have her team’s orb—that had been entrusted to Amber and Tiffani—however, she wasn’t certain those two would be able to approach with Vince laying down random blasts of fire. They could move without being seen or heard; that didn’t mean they were immune to heat stroke or sudden incineration. As if on cue, Vince lanced the ground with twin blasts of fire, one from each palm, narrowly missing Hector and Allen. Damn, Vince was not fucking around: he’d really been trying to hit them.

Her pace quickened. He might have a great offense, but once she got in close, Vince had no chance. She just needed to make it another dozen feet or so. A bit of ground gave way beneath her weight, and her eyes flickered away from her target, only for a moment. It was long enough to miss the attack, not that it would have made any difference.

Stella’s body went limp, and her brain became useless as a barrage of electricity coursed through her. For all the protection her metallic form offered against the fire, it left her more vulnerable to attacks that could be measured in voltage. Her consciousness faded away, though not before she felt a foot step on top of her for the briefest of instants. Someone had been running behind her, using her as cover. There were only a few candidates who would try to pull off such a ballsy maneuver, but she had a hunch it was one in particular. Stella greeted the unconscious world with a smile on her lips. At least her efforts hadn’t been for nothing.

*      *      *

Mary mentally knocked a marble the size of a sedan back at Terrance, who hurriedly dodged out of the way. Checking to be sure the coast was clear, she hustled to the depository and placed her team’s orb inside. She’d circled around to approach from the rear, thankful Nick had programmed Vince’s delusion to see them as allies. Briefly, she wondered how they appeared to him. Occasionally, she would peek at his thoughts, but they were convoluted and wild; it was hard to get more than general impressions of what he was seeing. One thing she did know: however he was viewing their competitors, it was not favorably.

Vince jerked at a sudden noise and let fly a bolt of electricity directly into Stella’s torso. Strange, he had only used fire until now, but he changed tactics exactly as he should have against his opponent. Mary wondered if he was still able to discern their abilities through the haze of his hallucination. She might have investigated, but at that moment, she noticed something that had escaped her attention before: Chad had been running behind Stella during her ascent, using her loud approach and attention-gathering nature to hide his own assault. When the metal girl went down, he never even broke stride, stepping directly on her as he continued to approach.

For the briefest of moments, Mary was tempted to intervene. Chad was incredibly powerful, no doubt about that, but at this range, she still had a good chance of sending him sailing away. Mary readied herself to let fly with a telekinetic blast, then stopped. He might be able to dodge, just as he was avoiding the fireballs Vince was hurling at him. Beyond that, Nick had said all they were doing was pushing back the weaker students so Vince could face the strong ones. If ever there was a chance for Vince to prove himself, it was against Chad Taylor. Mary redirected her focus toward the rest of the students heading in their direction. She needed to keep them at bay.

If Vince was going up against Chad, he was going to need every last bit of concentration he could muster.

185.

Chad was more than observant, more than intuitive, and more than able to recall any memory in perfect detail. Oh, Chad was certainly all of those things, but he was something else as well: Chad was intelligent. He possessed the kernel of brilliance that allowed him to take in the details of a situation and make the leap from curiosity to explanation. In this case, however, it had been closer to a short hop.

Rich was bound and blindfolded, Nick was smiling like the Cheshire Cat, and Vince was on nothing short of a rampage. They’d brain-jacked his silver-haired opponent. Chad didn’t know the how or the why; however, the evidence that it had happened spoke for itself. At the year’s inception, he would have ruled out such a theory, deeming it beyond Nick’s capacity to execute. That had been before their team’s match-up. Now, Chad knew better than to discount Nick’s ability to scheme. None of which changed the objective before him; it only informed on it.

The orb had to go into the depository. He’d taken it back from Julia to ensure its delivery. Vince was his obstacle. For a moment, Chad had been certain Mary would join in the fracas as well, but she’d peeled off and focused elsewhere. They weren’t underestimating him; this team was far too self-aware for that sort of folly. No, they sincerely believed Vince could challenge him one on one. That wasn’t supported by what Chad knew of Vince’s previous fights; however, that didn’t make them wrong. The electricity that hit Stella had been perfect, center mass and with more than enough stopping power. Fire was raining down on Chad with such ferocity that it was all he could do to regulate his body temperature, even when avoiding the main thrusts of flame. No, this Vince wasn’t fighting to win: he was fighting to end his opponents.

Chad increased his speed as he drew closer. A strange sense of happiness filled his brain just before the conflict began in earnest. Here, at last, was the potential for a decent challenge.

*      *      *

Roy sank his fist into another Julia clone, watching it dissolve into energy. Spinning on his heel, he caught some sort of energy blast from Jill in his shoulder. There was a sizzling sound as his uniform and body hair were disintegrated at the spot where it struck. There was no pain beyond that, thankfully, only a sort of greasy feeling. Jill changed weapons, but Roy didn’t give her the chance to fire again. Bounding toward her, Roy seized the bracers on her forearms and squeezed until he heard the soft popping of breaking electronics. Before she could respond, he grabbed her helmet and pulled it in opposite directions. He split the complicated contraption like a pistachio, revealing a sweaty face and spilling blonde hair in all directions.

“Hey!”

“Don’t bring toys you don’t want broken,” Roy replied, hurling the pieces of helmet in different directions. He didn’t know if this would really mess up her system, or merely be an inconvenience, but in truth, he was okay with either. There might have been more gloating if not for the massive grip that seized his leg and lifted him into the air.

Roy found himself dangling from the clutches of an exceptionally large tree. Credit where it was due: Agatha had definitely stepped up her animation ability over the course of the year. This was far more useful than some paper dolls. From the corner of his eye, Roy noticed an orange streak blur past his position. Oh hell no, there was no way he was missing out on a chance to finish things with Thomas.

“Sorry, Mr. Tree, but I’m afraid I don’t have time to make this gentle.” Roy reached out, grabbed the thickest part of the branch curled around his legs, and went to work.

*      *      *

Vince seemed to realize he couldn’t hit Chad with ranged attacks; the other Super was just too quick on his feet. Rather than keep pounding away with useless tactics, Vince retreated several steps, until he was directly in front of the depository. The air in front of him became thick and hazy as he blasted it with heat, creating a barrier no being of flesh could safely pass through. He lanced the ground with fire for good measure; however, this he was more careful with, lest some accidently spread to the depository he was defending. It was a good plan, and against a great many opponents, it would have been effective.

It was only through misfortune that Vince’s opponent was Chad Taylor.

The wall of heat struck him suddenly, grabbing at his skin and prickling across his lungs. It would have seared him instantly; however, Chad began releasing moisture at an accelerated rate. The water evaporated as quickly as it came, but it created a buffer that offered some protection. Small fires broke out across his uniform as bits of it spontaneously combusted at the slightest friction. Chad quickened his step and his senses. He needed to make it through soon; not even his bodily control could counter so much heat indefinitely. Bursting forward, he came within arm’s reach of Vince, who had turned down the outpouring of flames in favor of creating his heat barrier.

Chad sidestepped a punch aimed at his head and stepped over a sweeping leg meant to take his footing out from under him. He could see the hole in the depository meant to receive their orbs; it was almost in reach. He used a quick-step movement forward, extending his right arm and dropping the orb into its final destination. Vince was attacking during this, of course; Chad used his left arm to deflect a few jabs aimed at his torso, then spun it around to intercept the head-shot he was certain was coming. It was a solid assumption, one built on years of training against a variety of martial styles, and against a great many opponents it would have been effective.

It was only through misfortune that Chad’s opponent was Vince Reynolds.

The punch connected with Chad’s ribs, and Vince poured every last bit of kinetic energy he still had stockpiled into it. For the span of a heartbeat, it seemed like there would be no effect. Then, almost at once, Chad was airborne as the unexpected force lifted him from his feet and blasted him toward the false sky.

He would be more or less okay once he landed, although that would not be for quite some time.

186.

Shane had been approaching quietly, trying to get in range to take down Vince once more. He wasn’t certain how the silver-haired student had gotten free: likely with help from his teammates. Still, he’d put Vince down once, and he would do it again. That had been the plan, at least. As soon as Chad was sent rocketing off into the horizon, Shane found himself locked in a moment of indecision. There was still time to act; Vince was still vulnerable. Yes, the cloak of flames would impede Shane’s shadow attacks, but parts of Vince were still unprotected. It wasn’t fear or lack of strategy that stalled Shane’s advance. It was friendship.

Logically, he knew Chad was okay. This was Chad, after all. No one knew him better than Shane; they’d spent the last two years working out, training, and generally hanging around with one another. Of course he would be fine. There was no tactical reason to go scurrying after him just because he’d taken a solid blow. A solid blow that had blasted him beyond the distant tree line.

“Goddamnit,” Shane muttered under his breath. He shifted trajectory and tried to estimate where his only friend had landed. It was all manner of stupid, but he supposed that was part of the bargain one got with friendship. Oh well; it wasn’t as if he were holding an orb, anyway.

*      *      *

“Holy crap,” Mary said, as she watched the blond figure go sailing off. “I didn’t expect that.”

“I doubt Chad did either,” Alex chuckled. His mirth was cut short as a sudden, piercing wail sliced past his eardrums and began carving up his brain. He didn’t have time to deflect or react, only to fall to his knees in pain. Through bleary eyes, he saw Mary do the same, then noticed most of the combatants in his line of vision dropping one by one.

The exception was Amber, walking confidently forward with her lips puckered in what appeared to be a whistle. There was no cheerful springtime tone, only this hellish, audible assault tearing through them. It didn’t take a brilliant intellect to make the connection, but many of the students were in too much pain to spare the brain cells it would require.

One exception was Alice, floating above the crowd with an excellent viewpoint for what was about to transpire. Amber’s ability was good, but it had limits. If she’d tried to cast her painful sound all the way up to Alice, then it would have been weakened in the area as a whole. Instead, she allowed the supposedly useless girl to go unaccosted and focused on her perceived threats. This would have been a vital mistake, had it ever had the chance to become one.

The sound reached Vince, and at first, it seemed it would affect him just like the others. His fire nearly extinguished as his knees began to buckle. The ground loomed before him, and a collapse looked inevitable. He glanced at his attacker, undisguised hatred etched in his face, and made a motion with his hand.

The sound, all sound, in fact, was immediately gone. Instants later, the crackling of wild fires and general din of battle reasserted itself; however, for one brief instant, their world was completely and utterly quiet. It was for that reason that no one heard the stretching of muscle or creaking of bone as Vince pulled himself back to a standing position, eyes locked on the woman who’d tried to bring him down.

Amber was stunned, both figuratively, then, moments later, literally, as she was struck by a high voltage of electricity. A fireball on its heels smashed into her shoulder, burning her left side and sending her rolling back several feet onto the ground.

*      *      *

Thomas slowed his approach. His energy armor had protected him from Amber’s noise—after he’d taken some previous damage, he’d reoriented it to keep out sound. The energy was malleable by its nature; however, in the middle of a fight, there was usually no advantage in stopping sound. In fact, such an action would be detrimental. It was because of this protection that he didn’t notice the shock of quiet, nor did he understand the implications of it. Instead, all he saw was Vince momentarily succumb to the pain, then rally his strength and fire back at Amber, ending her attack and taking her out of the fight. This was strange, but Thomas had known Vince for years. The silver-haired boy had shown impressive depths of strength and resolve before. These actions still fit within what Thomas considered possible.

This mistake, unlike Amber’s, would very much come back to haunt him.

*      *      *

“Did you know Vince could absorb sound?” Camille asked as they hauled themselves up from the grass.

“Not specifically, but I never saw any reason why he wouldn’t be capable of it,” Nick replied. He picked up Rich with as much care as he could; their captive was having trouble reorienting himself after Amber’s attack. “There’s not much principle difference between sound and some of the other energies he uses. Once we found out kinetic was on the table, I assumed there were other things Vince either didn’t know about or wasn’t using.”

“Would have been great in his fight with Selena.”

“Agreed.” Nick looked at the recovered form of his friend. The flames had increased back to their blinding point, making him hard to look at directly. “Still, I was expecting more.”

“More than this?”

“Yes, actually. This exceeds what most people would have considered possible from Vince, but not me.”

“Why would you expect something beyond what you considered possible?” Camille asked pointedly. Nick almost forgot that the small girl had honed instincts where Vince was concerned. That was good: the big dope needed looking after, and once this was done, she’d have more of it to do.

“Never mind that for now,” Nick replied. “Follow me. There’s one last thing we need to do before this is all over.”

Camille didn’t like it, but she followed anyway. She’d come too far to turn back now.

187.

While the bright orange glow enveloping Thomas would normally have made stealth a distant impossibility, the downside to Vince’s outpouring of flames was that orange light didn’t exactly stand out in his field of vision. In fact, given the circumstances, Thomas’s energy armor was quite possibly the best camouflage he could have asked for. That was why he was able to close the gap and draw near his opponent without having to waste too much energy diverting fire or electricity. The area around him still required dealing with; however, Vince offered no direct assaults before Thomas got in range for his own attack.

He wasted no time, slamming Vince with a fist of orange energy, then immediately enveloping the silver-haired student in a cocoon of the stuff. Unlike during their fight freshman year, Thomas did not grab only his opponent’s torso. This time, he wrapped Vince from head to toe, with a few open spots beneath the feet to allow air flow. Thomas had been taken by surprise when Vince fired from his eyes once before; it was a not a mistake he was eager to repeat.

It wasn’t until Vince was entirely imprisoned and suspended ten feet above the ground that Thomas allowed himself any sense of relief. This hadn’t been how he wanted a rematch with Vince, but his friend was causing too much damage and firing too indiscriminately. If no one stopped him, there was a good chance he would really hurt somebody. Deep within Thomas’s core, he might have been willing to admit that part of the reason he’d undertaken this fight was to see if he had what it took to bring down the man who had so far deflected all challengers. Call it hubris, pride, or simple curiosity: Thomas had wanted to test himself, and he was rather pleased with the results.

A crackling sound filled the air, originating from the cylindrical sphere that was currently encasing Vince. The next thing Thomas knew, a strange sensation was filling his body. He would struggle for months to accurately describe it, never quite managing to put into words how it felt. Many would suggest it was a sense of being drained, but that didn’t fit with what he’d experienced. Thomas would ultimately land on the word “peeled” to encapsulate the sensation. It was like someone was peeling apart the layers of his very existence. It didn’t occur to him until after the fact to wonder where those layers were going.

Vince fell to the ground, landing carefully on his feet. He’d ceased the barrage of flames, yet he still glowed with an orange light, a strange effect from the arc of energy flowing to him from his former captor. Thomas’s armor dissolved, swept into the transfer before he had a chance to even think of an attempt at salvaging it. Then it was over; the arc had vanished, and Thomas found himself staring across an all-too small distance at his friend, who was still glowing softly from the cascade of stolen power. He stared into those eyes, seeing the absolute malice naked within them. Thomas was never proud of his next action; however, he refused to be ashamed of it either. Given all that had happened to him in less than a minute, it was a perfectly sound tactical decision.

Thomas spun on his heel and ran like hell.

*      *      *

“Now that, I was not expecting,” Nick admitted, his breathing still surprisingly even for the speed at which he was moving while hauling along a prisoner.

“He really did what it looked like, right? He just absorbed Thomas’s energy,” Camille said, unable to keep the shock from her voice. She’d thought knocking away Chad had been the game-changer they were hoping for, but this was on a whole other level. Energy absorbers were rare, but Vince was hardly one of a kind. Her own type of absorption was far less common than his, in fact. That said, his kind were almost always limited to certain types of energy, and natural kinds at that. For him to be able to absorb such a broad spectrum was one thing. For Vince to be able to absorb the crafted energy of another Super, that probably put Vince in the top tier of known Supers.

“He did it all right,” Nick said. “Now, let’s just make sure everyone gets the implications.” He came to a stop before a female form lying on the ground. It fluttered its eyes open at his approach; clearly, the seeming slumber had only been a facade meant to make her appear helpless.

“How are you feeling, Amber?”

A painful groan was all that met their ears—clearly, either the shock or the fire had impacted her ability to speak—though Nick noticed she was moving the fingers on her left hand into a position to snap if needed.

“No need for that; we come in peace. In fact, I’m going to offer to make you feel a lot better. You see, this is going to be over pretty soon, and when it ends, there are a lot of people who will need healing. You’re in pain, but you’re far from critical, so who knows how long it will be until your turn comes up? If you do me a small favor, however, I’ll have Camille heal you right here and now. Poof, no more burned skin.”

Amber stared at him with hard eyes; however, she moved her fingers in a twirling motion, indicating for him to continue.

“All I want is for you to amplify my voice. I have an announcement to make, and it’s going to take a lot to be heard over this ruckus.”

She continued staring at him, giving no indication of acceptance or rejection. Nick could see the wheels spinning in her head, trying to figure out if this was some trick.

“We’ve only got around thirty seconds left, and if you think me yelling is going to do anything that Vince’s rampage hasn’t, then you give me far more credit than even my impressive ego thinks I deserve,” he told her.

Finally, Amber nodded her agreement. The nerves on her shoulder were too damaged to feel the light touch of Camille’s finger, but she immediately noticed the sense of relief as her pain began to wither into nothingness. Nick allowed her to be almost entirely patched up before motioning that he was ready to begin.

He took a deep breath and surveyed the landscape one last time: his friends, still battling fiercely as time ran low; the scent of burning foliage that had become thick throughout the arena; the familiar sounds of combat, even as the point of it all became increasingly obscured. This was a madhouse, a place of carnage and insanity and utter disconnection from the real world. He’d loved it here.

“HEY, YOU FUCKING SUITS WATCHING THE SHOW!” Nick yelled, his already-hollered words blasting through the arena with incredible clarity. Amber had definitely lived up to her side of the bargain, no question about that. He adjusted his tone slightly to allow for variation. “This is Nicholas Campbell. The silver-haired demon I’ve mind-controlled into beating the shit out of everyone who gets near him is Vince Reynolds. Former Powered. Adopted son of the villain Globe. Ass-kicking machine. My best friend.”

The last words Nick said more to himself than his audience, although Amber’s power carried them just the same. A brief chime sounded as the beam centered on the depository turned back to red. The window was closed. The match was over.

“You all just watched him knock back several top ranks, including Chad Taylor, our current king of the combat mountain. So I just wanted to ask you a quick question, while I had the opportunity.” Nick filled his lungs and raised his voice for one last bit of his speech.

“WHO’S MIDDLE OF THE PACK NOW, MOTHERFUCKERS?”

188.

“If I didn’t know better, I would swear your real ability is creating giant shitstorms,” Dean Blaine said as he walked in the door. He was worn and weary; the last few hours had taken a toll equivalent to several days’ worth of work. Professor Pendleton was hot on his heels, shutting the door behind them as they entered. To his credit, Nick sat calmly at the table where he’d been restrained since the climax of the match.

It had been about three hours since the incident that had left a large chunk of the arena smoldering and many of the sophomores bound for the infirmary. Dean Blaine had done his best to handle the fires, both literal and metaphorical; however, the surprisingly nonplussed young man sitting in front of him was still the biggest issue to deal with.

“I don’t think I need to tell you why you’re here,” Dean Blaine continued, taking a seat across from Nick. Professor Pendleton chose to remain standing. “However, for the sake of procedure, I’m obligated to do so anyway.” He produced a small device from his pocket and clicked a button near the top. A red LED light flickered on immediately. Nick had seen enough recording devices to recognize them with ease. This one hadn’t been concealed at all, and he had no doubt there were a few scattered around this concrete room purposely placed out of sight.

“Nicholas Campbell, you have been accused of threatening the life of Rich Weaver, using improper force on a clone of Julia Shaw without confirming whether it was the real student, and overtaking Vince Reynolds’ brain in order to make him use dangerous levels of force on his fellow classmates,” Dean Blaine recited. “Do you understand the charges that have been leveled at you?”

Nick spoke at last, the first words he’d uttered since his amplified monologue on the battlefield. “Not only do I understand them, I confess to all of them.”

Dean Blaine resisted the urge to show any outward signs of surprise. “Are you sure you want to do that?”

“Positive,” Nick replied. “I told Rich I’d cut his throat with the broken plastic shard from my sunglasses. You can check my coat pocket if you don’t believe that I’ve got it. I whacked Julia in the cranium with enough power to do serious brain damage if it hadn’t been a clone. I might have even killed her. As for Vince . . . well, I think my confession there has already been witnessed by plenty of people. Still, for the sake of record, I admit to forcing Rich into placing Vince in a delusion where he believed he was fighting inhuman beasts to protect someone innocent. Vince is no more accountable than any other victim of mind or body control; any crimes he committed are considered to be mine under the precedent set forth in The State versus Magical Mind Master. If you need to check the case for it, I believe it occurred in nineteen sixty seven.”

“Of course you already memorized the legal precedents,” Dean Blaine muttered to himself. “Okay, Nick, you’ve confessed. I don’t suppose you’d care to tell us why you did all this?”

“The first two crimes were merely to facilitate the third. Vince needed the chance to show what he could do. I wanted to give him that chance. This was the best method I could come up with.”

“Bullshit,” Professor Pendleton snapped. “I’ve taught you for a year, I know how brilliant you really are. There were other ways to do this, and you could have found them.”

“Maybe there were better ways,” Nick conceded. “Then again, maybe those ways came with different costs. Ones that I didn’t think were worth paying. Or maybe, I’m not quite as smart as everyone seems to think, and I couldn’t find them. I guess we’ll never know.”

“Actually, we will,” Dean Blaine corrected him. “This investigation will certainly merit the use of a telepath.”

“I think my lawyer will disagree,” Nick replied. “Telepaths can only be officially used against the subject’s will when they are under investigation. You can’t claim to be investigating me, I already confessed. In fact, official use of a telepath on any of the parties involved in this, now that all the charges have been confessed to, would be a violation of their fourth amendment rights and grounds for a very aggressive lawsuit.”

Dean Blaine felt his hand clench into a fist involuntarily. “Let me guess: you’ll be sharing your legal resources with all involved should that occur.”

“It is the least I can do to make amends for my awful actions in the arena today,” Nick said, sincerity all but dripping from his voice. The educators were not impressed.

“I suppose that’s all there is to say, then,” Dean Blaine noted. He reached over and turned off the small device with a casual gesture. Once the light was off, he turned back to Nick with a firm look in his eyes. “All right, Nick, now it’s just the three of us. You want to tell me what the hell you were really thinking out there?”

“The truth is very close to the lie,” Nick said. “I wanted to help my friend. This was the path that minimized risk and maximized potential for success.”

“You torched your potential future to try and save Vince’s,” Professor Pendleton summarized.

“Gentlemen, the time for deception is over; let’s not pretend I had a clear path to graduation. I might be smart, fast, and adaptable, but my power is never going to place me in the same class as people like Chad, Vince, or Alice. I probably would have made it through this year, and even that would only be due to Professor Pendleton’s glowing recommendation. Passing third year would have been a long shot, and making it into the final ten was almost a certain impossibility. I was never going to walk down the stage and hear them call me a Hero. Vince, on the other hand, has a real chance at that dream. More importantly, he’s the kind of person who should be wearing that title.”

Nick paused for a moment, a rare unintended theatricality. Honesty was hard for him; it took actual effort to coax the words forth.

“It’s no secret to you two where I come from, or how I was raised. I spent most of my life believing everyone had an angle, that even the best people in the world were still capable of selfishness and deception. Vince is the first person I’ve ever met who doesn’t fall into that category. He isn’t perfect, but most of his mistakes are due to lack of understanding or fear of hurting someone else. I’ve seen him put other people first without a second thought more times than I can count. The way I see it, if someone is such a decent human being that he can make a guy like me have a little faith, then that’s the kind of person who people should be looking up to and calling Hero.”

“I get it,” Dean Blaine said, much of the fire gone from his voice. “Sean and I came up through this program, too. I understand how you can arrive at the decision to put someone else’s well-being above your own. The problem facing us right now is how to deal with the fallout from your actions.”

“You have to expel me,” Nick said plainly. “I have to be forcibly ousted from the Hero Certification Program.”

Dean Blaine and Professor Pendleton exchanged a brief glance. “That would be standard protocol; however, there is something you need to understand about what happens when we do expel a student.”

“I figured it out already. I’ve known since freshman year.” Nick sighed and reached up to adjust the sunglasses that were no longer on his face. Well, at least he didn’t have to worry about breaking that habit.

“You’re going to erase my memory.”

189.

Vince heard the door to the infirmary open softly, then close quickly. He didn’t bother opening his eyes or getting up from the bed where he was lying. It was time for another round of questioning. They’d been coming at irregular intervals to ask what had happened, what he had seen, why he’d done the things he’d done. No one really seemed to like his answers. It wasn’t his fault that the details were fuzzy; it had been a hectic battle. Add in the natural strangeness of coming back from a Rich hallucination, and it was a miracle he could remember anything besides the hellish fighting. He hadn’t even believed their accounts of his actions at first; they seemed well beyond the limits of what he could do. The videos they showed him silenced those objections immediately.

“Hey, Silver, how you feeling?”

Vince’s eyes shot open, and he jerked upright. He’d been expecting a professor or the dean again, maybe even one of his teammates. The absolute last person he’d expected to step through the door was Nick, who was currently walking toward him at a careful pace. That was understandable; Nick probably didn’t know how Vince would react to what he’d done. For that matter, Vince wasn’t all that sure either.

“Healed, but shaken up,” Vince replied honestly. “They let you come see me?”

“I convinced them I wanted to come apologize,” Nick lied. “Sort of a last request, since there’s no time to cook me a meal.”

“They’re kicking you out.” For once, Vince was quick on the uptake. Nick was thankful for that; he hadn’t been looking forward to walking him to the appropriate conclusion.

“Yeah. There are people at Melbrook packing my bags as we speak. I’ll be on the road before sunset.”

“That’s so quick. Isn’t there some sort of trial, or investigation they have to go through?”

“There would be, if I hadn’t confessed,” Nick replied. “I admitted guilt on all charges and offered no excuse for mitigation. My expulsion was pretty much a lock anyway; I just saved people the time and energy they’d spend justifying it.”

“Oh.” Vince looked down at his sheets, idly wondering how many times he’d been in this infirmary during his second year at Lander. He seemed to have lost count. “So, are you going to do it?”

“Do what?”

“Apologize.” Vince looked up, meeting his friend’s eyes without the tinted plastic divider. “You took over my brain. You made me hurt our classmates. Some of them were even our friends. And the things I saw . . . it was not a pretty vision.”

“I didn’t imagine it would be,” Nick admitted. “I made Rich give you a structure that would get rid of that pesky need to hold back you’re always plagued with. I had a feeling it was going to be something nasty. I’m sorry for the guilt you feel, Vince. That I can say with honesty. As for the rest, I wouldn’t recommend holding your breath.”

“You don’t feel bad about it?”

“I don’t feel bad about most things. Until I got here, I could say I felt bad about almost nothing. For all the things I have begun to experience guilt over, this will never be one of them. Yes, I gave you the fuel for some nightmares, but you already have plenty of that. Yeah, I added some guilt to the burden you walk around with, but it’s a fraction of what was already there. That stuff sucks, but you know what doesn’t? Right now, everyone is talking about how to deal with me, and whether the battle system needs reform to stop the kind of hijinks I used from being repeated. You know what not one person is talking about? Vince Reynolds being cut from the program. Because after what you did in that arena, no one is so fucking stupid to think that suggestion could get any traction.”

“What I did in the arena,” Vince repeated. “What I did in there was brutal. It was horrible. I didn’t even think about whether the enemies I was attacking could withstand the attacks I was giving them.”

“Yet everyone survived just fine,” Nick pointed out. “I’ve been telling you, these people are stronger than you give them credit for. That said, when you finally went at it full force, you were unstoppable.”

“I was a monster,” Vince said, his voice somewhere between a whisper and a pained sigh.

“Vince, do you know what the difference between monsters and angels is? It’s whether they’re on your side or not.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“Sure it does. Let’s take you, for example. You say that you were a monster out there. I won’t deny that. The power you displayed, the things you accomplished, they were inhuman. So yes, when you stop holding back, you could most certainly be considered a monster. Now, let’s look down the line. One day, ten years from now, when you’re a professional Hero, you get a call about a Super trying to rob a bank and taking hostages. You show up, pissed off, and you show him the same beast that everyone saw today. To that criminal, to that poor stupid bastard, you would certainly be a monster that haunts him for the rest of his life.”

“If you meant this to be comforting, then you really missed the mark,” Vince interrupted.

“Let me finish,” Nick said. “The point is that, to him, you are a monster. To the hostages in that bank, on the other hand, you would be an angel. The same things that make you so scary to the bad guys will make you comforting to the innocent people. When someone says you’re on the way, everyone in the right will know things are going to be okay, and everyone in the wrong will be getting on good terms with any god that will have them. Don’t be afraid of how dangerous your power makes you. That fear belongs to the people who have to reckon with you.”

“You have a knack for speeches,” Vince said, shifting his gaze slightly.

“One of my many talents. So, do you forgive me?”

“I thought you weren’t apologizing.”

“I’m not. But since when have you needed an act of contrition to forgive someone?”

Vince smiled at his friend. “I forgive you. And thank you for helping me. Not to mention showing me what I could do. For the life of me, I can’t figure out how you knew I had all that in me. I didn’t even realize I could absorb sound or someone else’s created energy.”

“Honestly, I didn’t know any of that either,” Nick admitted. “I just had faith in you.”

“That is some impressive faith.”

“I learned from the best.” Nick patted his best friend on the shoulder. He was going to miss this crazy bastard. Vince definitely made things less predictable. “You know that, from now on, things are going to get harder, right? I’ve worked in the background to try and keep you guys sheltered from a lot of crap, but I won’t be able to do that anymore.”

“Well, I’ll say this much,” Vince said. “After watching that video and seeing the way people are acting around me, I’m feeling strong enough to handle any challenges that come our way.”

Nick dearly hoped his friend was right.

190.

“How’d it go?” Professor Pendleton asked as Nick emerged from the infirmary. The visit had been quicker than he anticipated, yet Nick seemed considerably more upbeat leaving than he had going in. Certainly, he was happier than he should have been, or than Professor Pendleton was feeling. In the year he’d been teaching, he’d come to care about many of his pupils; however, Nick was something special. It galled him to see his prized student being flung out the door, but there was nothing to do for it. Nick had chosen his path, and he’d structured it so well that it was all but impossible to stop him.

“We’re good,” Nick replied. “Although, I’m not sure what his sentiment will be toward me once he finds out the full extent of my punishment.” The two began walking down the hallway. Professor Pendleton was officially his escort, unofficially his prison guard. Not that anyone really thought Nick would make a run for it after going to such great lengths to put himself in custody, but they’d all been around him long enough to know that the minute you thought you knew what Nick was planning was the moment he had you right where he wanted you.

“You didn’t tell him about the policy?”

Nick shook his head. “He’ll find out soon enough. No reason to break it to him without his friends around.”

“It’s not too late,” Professor Pendleton told him. “You could still lobby for just failing the year, rather than a full expulsion. The wipe is far less extensive for that.”

“Good to know, but I’m okay with this. It’s the best way for me to leave.”

“With no memory of your experiences or your friends?”

“Look, I just willingly gave up a sweet cover I’d maintained for two years and got myself booted from this program in order to help someone, all with no payoff for me,” Nick grumbled. The duo took a turn and began walking down a different hallway. “These people, this place, all of it has infected me with . . . sentiment. It’s been fun, but I have to go back to my real world now. And going back as a softer, kinder Nick is likely to get me into serious trouble. If I’m going home, it’s better I go back as the cunning, efficient version of myself.”

“You really want to burn away all the progress you’ve made in your time here?”

“That’s why I built a pyre. What you witnessed in that arena was the funeral of Lander’s Nick Campbell.” They took another turn; it was only a few minutes to the room where Nick would make his final exit from Lander. “For what it’s worth, thank you.”

“Because I tried to talk you out of it?” Professor Pendleton asked.

“Because you really went out of your way to be a good teacher to me,” Nick explained. “Even though my cover made it hard, you still made sure I got a solid education. I wish I could say I won’t forget that, but we both know it wouldn’t be true.”

“You’re welcome,” Professor Pendleton said. “As a student, you are a colossal pain in the ass, but you also have more skill and potential than I’ve ever seen in someone your age. I was looking forward to teaching you next year.”

“Maybe one day, in the future,” Nick said. “Speaking of the future, I have a goodbye present being delivered to you later today. Consider it my version of an apple on the desk.”

“That’s an unexpectedly kind gesture,” Professor Pendleton said.

“Wait until you see it before you say that,” Nick rebutted.

“Well, it at least evens the score for us. I got you something, too.”

They turned the final corner; however, instead of just an open hallway leading to a thick door, there stood a blonde girl five feet down it, tapping her foot on the ground and looking fifteen shades of pissed off.

“You dick,” Nick muttered. He raised his voice to deliver his greeting. “Hey, Alice. How’s it hanging?”

“I’ll leave you two to talk,” Professor Pendleton said. “I think I’ll stand a few feet down the last hallway. You’ve got a couple of minutes.” With that, he turned around and headed back in the direction they’d come from. His coat had barely vanished behind the corner before Alice spoke.

“You’re leaving.”

“It seems you caught me,” Nick admitted.

“You’re leaving without saying goodbye.” She began walking toward him, posture somewhere between preparing to deck him and grabbing him in a hug.

“School policy. They tend to be brutally efficient when kicking someone out the door.”

“They also tend to fog over their memories so they can’t divulge any other students’ identities,” Alice added, her approach slowing as she drew within arm’s reach of him. “Didn’t think I’d know that, right?”

“Your father filled you in, I assume,” Nick sighed. “Did you tell the others?”

“No, but I would have if Mr. Transport had told me what was going on. Evidently, Professor Pendleton sent a message to get me down here with no explanation. I put the pieces together while I was waiting.”

“Alice Adair, always too smart for her own good.”

“Were you just going to leave us? No hugs, no notes, no nothing?”

“Like I said, policy,” Nick defended. “At least they were nice enough to let me talk to Vince. As for the rest of you, well, I left something as a sort of farewell. You’ll see later tonight.”

“You knew you were doing this. You could have said something before it all went down.”

“Actually, I couldn’t have. Keeping you all in the dark was the best method I had for protecting you. None of you knew what I had planned, so they can’t try and spread the blame around. It was all me. I did the crime, now, I’m doing the time.”

“I . . . ah fuck, I guess I already knew that deep down,” Alice said, her voice dropping several octaves. She reached out and took his hand, gently resting it in hers. “I realize you did all of this for Vince, and for us. What about you, though? What about the things you said on the beach? How even a man like you once wanted to be the hero. To make the world a better place.”

“Alice, this was that moment. Someone like me could never really cross over, never let go of how he was raised and the things he’s done. Even if I had made it to Hero, I wouldn’t have done the role justice, not the way Vince could. So I put all my chips on Silver. If he makes it, then I get to know that every life he saves is in part because of me.”

“That sounds far more noble than the Nick I know,” Alice chuckled, moving in closer.

“Like I said, too smart for her own good,” Nick agreed. They were very close now; he could smell the shampoo coating her long hair and spot the red areas around her eyes that told him she’d been crying. “Alice, you know I won’t remember any of this.”

“I know.”

“But you will.”

“So be it.”

With that, she closed the gap, and for the first time in over a year, they were kissing. It was slower than last time, less frantic than in Alice’s intoxicated attack. This wasn’t a kindling, or a beginning. This was a kiss goodbye.

It is impossible to say how long they were like that, only that they were interrupted by the coughing of Professor Pendleton. The two pulled away from each other, then exchanged a glance more awkward and genuine than either would have believed themselves still capable of. Professor Pendleton started forward, heading toward the room.

Time was up.

Alice started to move away, but Nick pulled her in once more, placing his lips carefully against her ear and speaking in the softest of whispers.

“Never forget who I am.”

Then he was gone, closing the gap to Professor Pendleton and walking through the door that would seal his fate.

191.

Mr. Numbers stepped carefully around the workers diligently packing away Nick Campbell’s belongings. They’d just arrived, but from the speed with which they were moving, it wouldn’t be long until they were finished. It made sense; the HCP booted a lot of students in their freshman year. Having a competent moving staff would be an absolute necessity. Mr. Transport had agreed to teleport the cargo to Vegas once it was ready; at least they could save Nick the trouble of hauling it in his small car.

Weaving through the rapid workers, Mr. Numbers made his way to a modest shelf positioned above Nick’s computer. Stacked neatly, in alphabetical order, were at least two dozen DVDs, all of them terrible slasher films perfectly suited to Nick’s tastes. Reading through the titles, Mr. Numbers located the film he needed, Brazilian Bloodsuckers 6: The AB Negative Wars, and pulled it from the shelf. It made a brief journey into his coat pocket, and he turned to exit the room. No one made any move to stop him, nor had he expected them to.

Mentally, Mr. Numbers checked the item from his to-do list. This was his only acquisition; the next three tasks were deliveries. Normally, he was not the type to run errands for others, but in light of Nick’s actions, he had allowed himself to be talked into it. Still, when Nick had given him the sealed envelope of instructions and the two packages, he’d never expected the sarcastic student to actually go through with any of the plans that got him thrown out. He was certain there would be some last minute twist, which only went to show that, despite his age and ability, even Mr. Numbers could occasionally be surprised.

*      *      *

“Nick Campbell,” Dean Blaine said, his voice purposely raised and clear. There were only four people in the room, so it was a bit more effort than was necessary, but he made a point to keep everything in these proceeding as open and filled with clarity as possible. “For the violations to which you have confessed, you are being expelled from the Hero Certification Program. This means that you cannot reapply for junior year, or any year, at any location. You are forever barred from this program. Do you understand?”

“Crystal clear,” Nick said. Professor Pendleton sat next to him, trying to keep his face neutral. It was more effort than he would have expected.

“Good. Now, whenever a student leaves our program, it is necessary to take certain precautions to ensure they cannot divulge information about the facilities or their fellow students. Professor Stone is here to facilitate those precautions.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re going to wipe my memories so that I won’t know the secret identities of any of the Supers I trained with, in case some make it to Hero.”

“Not the whole thing,” Dean Blaine corrected. “Admittedly, it will be more extensive than if you’d simply failed. Then, we would only obscure memories of individuals, blurring out their names and faces, if you will. You would still retain all memory of your training, classes, and exercises. As is, you will still retain some memories from the last two years. Legally, we cannot obscure any of your regular curriculum Lander classes. This meeting will also be preserved, so that you understand why there is a giant gap in your recollection. Everything else will be stripped away. Right now, the packing team is also editing any photographs or documentation in your room. There will be no record of anything you experienced here in the HCP, mental or otherwise.”

“So, just to be clear, is this a psychic thing or a brain damage thing?” Nick asked. “I know it won’t change the outcome, but if you’re blowing up brain cells, I think I’d like to schedule an MRI for when I get home.”

“Your brain will be fine,” Professor Stone informed him, her voice softer than Dean Blaine’s, though not by much. “My particular telepathy allows me to interact with people’s memories. I can view them or obscure them; however, that last part is generally kept confidential.”

“I assumed it was someone on staff,” Nick replied. “You can’t very well have every bitter young adult you kick out of this thing go off with full knowledge of everyone’s names and abilities. Secret identities wouldn’t last five minutes after a new Hero’s debut.”

“I’m glad you understand the reason why we do this,” Dean Blaine said. “Now, as for your academic record, you’ve maintained good grades in Lander’s regular classes, and those will transfer to any university you’d care to attend, should you decide to continue your education. Your time in the HCP will count for various elective credits: gym, humanities, that sort of thing. You’ll have a transcript that will keep you on track for a four-year college career.”

“That’s awfully kind of you.”

“It’s policy. Just because someone didn’t make it in the HCP, doesn’t mean they deserve to have their regular education set back. Besides, elective requirements are largely bullshit anyway.”

“Amen,” Nick agreed.

“So, you understand what will happen, and what your options forward from here are. When we finish, you’ll be free to go. Your things have already been packed and delivered, and we will help you find your car in case the memory of that is stricken as well. Do you have any questions or statements before we begin?”

“Sort of feels like you’re asking me if I have any last words.”

“In a way, I suppose I am,” Dean Blaine admitted. He disliked this portion of the job more than almost any other. It was part of the agreement each student signed, to sacrifice bits of their memory in the event they didn’t make it, but still, it always nagged at Dean Blaine. He felt like he was stripping away a piece of each person, tearing out chunks of what comprised them. It was a necessary sacrifice, he knew that, because it was better to lose a tenth of a person than to watch a whole one be killed through leaked information. That didn’t make him hate it any less.

Nick smiled. “You guys put on a good program. I had a lot of fun in my time here. I learned more than I ever expected to. I made friends, which surprised even me. I guess, if I had to give one statement to summarize the whole experience, it’s that I have no regrets about coming here.” He turned in his chair to face Professor Pendleton. “That, and I hope that when you get your gift, you’ll be able to forgive what I’m about to do.”

“What do you mean?” Professor Pendleton asked.

Nick gave no verbal response; instead, he rose from his chair and crossed the room, walking around the large wooden table and coming to a stop in front of Professor Stone. He sat down next to her and closed his eyes.

“Let’s get this show on the road.”

192.

There was a light knock on the door of Rich Weaver’s dorm. He pulled himself from his bed without much enthusiasm. After the day he’d had, all he wanted to do was go to fucking sleep. The only silver lining was that his roommate had already left town, since he was not obligated to stick around for questioning on today’s fiasco. The official stance on who passed and who failed was that, if you weren’t spoken to, then you should assume you had a place to come back to next year. New rankings would be announced at the start of next year, pending the results of the investigation into the Vince incident. With all that out of the way, the only thing Rich had left on his mind was rest, but now, some knocking asshole had taken even that from him.

Rich jerked open the door to find a relatively short man in a dark suit staring at him.

“What do you want? I don’t have to be out until tomorrow at noon.”

“I brought you a package from Nick Campbell,” the man said. He pulled a small envelope out from his jacket pocket and handed it to Rich. It was thin, with only a single bulge in the lower left corner. As Rich’s fingers closed around it, he realized it was about the right size for a flash drive. Probably one containing a video file.

“Is this the only one?” He’d have preferred to play it cool; however, this was too important to have signals get crossed.

“To my knowledge,” the man said simply.

Rich grunted his acknowledgement and closed the door. He’d have liked a little more reassurance, but it looked like this was all he was getting. At least Nick had lived up to his part of the bargain. He’d turned over the evidence and managed to keep the telepaths off of Rich’s back. The day had been terrible, and with the small envelope in his hand, he could finally put the whole thing in the past.

Rich reared back and smashed the envelope down on his dresser, making sure his palm drove the device into the hardest corner. He repeated this motion a dozen times, until all that would eventually come tumbling out were bits of plastic and hunks of metal.

*      *      *

Professor Pendleton sat at his desk, a glass of whiskey in front of him and a romance novel to his side. Not even the dashing adventure of Rodrigo could take his mind off the day’s events, though the whiskey was having a good bit more success. He swallowed another wretched mouthful. It was swill he’d picked up at the corner gas station. Good booze was for celebrating; it was meant to be joyfully toasted with. There was nothing he found worth celebrating today. This was whiskey for mourning.

“Afternoon,” said a voice from his doorway. Professor Pendleton looked up to see Mr. Numbers standing there, strangely unbothered to walk in on an educator drinking at his desk.

“Afternoon,” Professor Pendleton echoed. “Can I get you a glass?”

“Thank you, but no; I’ve still got some errands to run,” Mr. Numbers replied. He was thankful he’d been given this task instead of Mr. Transport; that man would have sat here drinking and commiserating through half the night.

“Ah, I take that to mean you come bringing my goodbye present. I don’t suppose Nick told you what it was?”

“I’m afraid not,” Mr. Numbers replied. He produced a wide envelope, one made for greeting cards, with a thick wax seal on the back. “In fact, he was very adamant I not open it. Said it would defeat the entire purpose.”

“Cryptic and effective. The kid was good.” Professor Pendleton took another gulp as he realized he’d referred to Nick in the past tense. It wasn’t incorrect; he just hated himself for adapting to the change so easily.

Mr. Numbers set the envelope on the desk. Professor Pendleton made no motion to pick it up. He would eventually—no man could resist such temptation of curiosity—but for the moment, he was content to dwell in his misery.

“Have a good night,” Mr. Numbers said, knowing the sentiment was wasted, yet trying to express it anyway. Perhaps Mr. Transport was rubbing off on him after all these years.

Professor Pendleton nodded his understanding and refilled his glass.

*      *      *

It took some hours for quiet to settle in Melbrook Hall. News and comprehension of Nick’s departure was greeted by railing, frustration, and even some tears. Eventually, as evening overtook the afternoon, the four remaining Melbrook students, along with Camille, sat in the common room in silence, punctuated by an occasional thought or recollection. It was only then that Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport appeared, emerging quietly from their apartment in the rear of the building.

“I see everyone has come to terms with the loss of one of our own,” Mr. Numbers observed.

“What Mr. Numbers means to say is that we know this is a trying time for all of you, so we wanted to come out and make sure everyone was holding up all right,” Mr. Transport corrected.

There was a chorus of mumbled groans; however, nothing remained to be said. It had all been vocalized earlier on. Now, the weary din of acceptance had settled in.

“Since no one seems to have any pressing issues, we can move on,” Mr. Numbers surmised. “Before his departure, Nick made certain preparations in case this series of events played out. One of those was requesting me to relay a message to you all.”

He couldn’t have gotten their attention faster if he’d announced a giant dinosaur was attacking the campus.

“What was it?” Vince asked, his voice half hopeful and half terrified.

“Nick knew you’d all be saddened by losing him; however, he hated the idea of you all moping about. He said he’d rather be remembered with joy and annoyance, the same things he’d worked so hard to bring into your boring lives.” Mr. Numbers paused as he surveyed the looks he was getting. “Those are his words, not mine. Anyway, to that effect, he had me take one of his DVDs before it was packed. It was his sincere last wish that you all watch it together, instead of sitting about moping. Again, his words.” Mr. Numbers pulled the DVD from his jacket pocket and set it on the coffee table.

“It’s a dumb slasher movie,” Alice noted. “That son of a bitch. He got us one last time.” And then Alice did something she would have thought impossible only moments before. She laughed. Not a sweet giggle, or a half-hearted chuckle: a full-bodied gale of laughter that shook the chair she sat on. Before long, the others had joined in, and it was quite a while before the mirth finally subsided enough for someone to put the disk in. Alice undertook this task, setting up the TV and DVD player before returning to her seat.

The title screen rose before them, a trio of dark-skinned women with cheap plastic fangs set in their mouths. Hershel grabbed the remote and hit the Play button. What appeared on the screen was not a government warning about piracy, or a preview for another movie. It was, in fact, the last thing any of them expected to see.

“Hey there,” Nick called from the screen. “Damn, I wish I could see your faces right now. I bet you all look so shocked, it’s ridiculous.”

He would not have been disappointed.

193.

Nick was sitting in the computer chair in his room, his back to the window which showed just a hint of the dark sky outside. His sunglasses were still on his face, which made sense, since this must have been done before everything happened. He wore his usual easygoing grin as he paused for effect, letting everyone adjust to the sight of him suddenly on the television screen. After a few seconds, he continued.

“I’m sure you’re wondering what the hell this is about. If you’re watching this, then I had to go with my less enjoyable plan at our final match, which means, assuming Mr. Numbers didn’t fuck up the timing, by now, my memory of this place and all of you has been erased.”

There was no mumble of surprise; Alice had shared her findings with the group, and they’d already been forced to make peace with it.

“I know that fact probably saddens all of you; hell, it sort of saddens me too, but I need you guys to know that it was absolutely necessary. With the reemergence of Globe, and Vince’s connection to him, we were all going to be under increased scrutiny. My devious shenanigans would have put me on their radar as well. That means they’ll try to bring in telepaths, likely unofficially, if they think they can get away with it. Now, I’m sure I gave you all noble reasons for everything I did, and those are likely all at least partly true. Actions can be motivated by many things, and in this case, there is one I know I didn’t tell any of you about. The things I’ve put together can, under no circumstances, be allowed to get picked up by some thought-pillaging mind delver. No offense, Mary.”

“A little bit taken,” Mary mumbled.

“For most of you, this doesn’t make sense, but you need to think of things in a larger perspective. Once I realized it was almost unavoidable that they’d bring in telepaths under the radar, it became a question of not if I would give away too many secrets, but when. I can control what I say all day long; marshaling my thoughts is a different story. So, when faced with a situation that holds an inevitable outcome, what do you do? Simple, you change the situation. In my case, I got rid of the very thing that would have caused us the most grief: me. Or rather, all the knowledge I’d accumulated.”

Nick paused on the tape, reaching over to his desk and making a few quick keystrokes. “Sorry, had to reply to an email. At any rate, I’m sure you guys are wondering why I bothered to make this, if I’m just going to be cryptic. While sharing everything I know would defeat the purpose, there are a few truths that I need to get out there before I go. These are for you guys only. If anyone else is in the room, make sure you trust them implicitly or ask them to leave. I’ll wait.”

All eyes turned to Camille, who pulled herself off the couch without a word.

“No,” Vince said, reaching over and stopping her. “I trust you. Whether you like it or not, you and Alex are pretty well lumped in with us. I think you should be here. Any objections?”

The room was silent, so they looked back at the screen and waited for Nick to continue.

“Okay, if we’re done with that, then first things first. Vince, when this is over, I want you to melt this DVD. I’m talking no remains. And don’t get lazy and smash it; you can still recover data from that, if you know what you’re doing.”

Vince nodded. A moment later, he wondered why he was responding to a pre-recorded message.

“Now that we’re set there, Vince, I guess I may as well start with you. I debated for a long time whether it was appropriate to tell you this or not, and in the end, it was caution that led me to decide it was the right call. I don’t want someone using this information to throw you off at an inopportune moment, so it’s better to let you deal with it in advance. The father you met and talked with in Rich’s hallucination wasn’t some piece of your psyche. It was actually him. Globe entered your dream and assumed a role, just like Mary. They had a conversation which she can fill you in on. We kept it from you because we weren’t sure how you would react, and to be honest, we needed to get you in fighting shape as soon as possible. It was a judgment call, and I’m sorry if you don’t agree with it.”

Vince kept his emotions far more contained than they would have expected. Two months ago, this would have sent him reeling; however, with how chaotic his life had become, he’d grown exceptionally more adept at rolling with such surprises. In fact, it made a strange sort of sense when he thought about it. This would still take time to deal with, but at least he wasn’t setting the couch on fire in a breakdown.

“On the subject of Globe’s little mental visit, his talk with Mary yielded three things: a promise not to kidnap any of us, some advice to me about how to help Vince reach his potential, and a message for Alice.”

“Wait, did he say me?” Alice asked the room.

“Alice, Mary wanted to tell you this right away, but I convinced her not to. I had a pretty good hunch on what it was meant to tell you, and I knew your focus wouldn’t be on the match if I was right. If you’re mad at the delay, blame me, not Mary. She didn’t understand the point of Globe’s message, so she had no idea what she was keeping from you. Mary, I’ll pause here so you can give Alice her message.”

Alice turned to Mary, who seemed to be studying the floor with intense scrutiny. “Globe wanted me to tell you that he can’t walk into people’s dreams on his own, not like I can when Rich puts me under. He had to call in a favor from another Super to get him into Vince’s head.”

“Why on earth would I care about something like that?”

“I don’t know. He was just insistent that I tell you the name of the Super. Evidently, he goes by a strange codename, but Globe was sure it would be familiar to you. The name was Abridail.”

“I’m not sure why he thought that would be familiar. Sounds like a stupid, made-up word. Where would I have even—” Alice’s eyes grew wide, and her breathing grew rapid as the name triggered a memory from earlier in the year. There was so much confusion and anger surrounding that recollection that she’d nearly managed to bury all the fine details. Some, evidently, hadn’t gone as deep as she thought. Things like that name, or the man who’d used it.

“When Rich put me under at Halloween, when I had that dream about someone telling me my mom was alive and that they knew her, he told me his name was Abridail.” Alice’s hands had begun to shake without her noticing. “I never told any of you that name. I don’t think I told it to anyone at all.”

“In case Alice is having trouble remembering where the name Mary told her comes from, I assume it would match the name of the man who visited her on Halloween,” Nick said from the screen. “Otherwise, there would be no reason to give it directly to her as a message. This brings us to my final topic, one that I suspect is at the center of more than even I’ve fully realized: if I’m correct, and I have ample reason to believe I am, then Alice’s mother is alive.”

194.

Esme Stone sat with a damp cloth in her lap. It had previously contained ice to soothe a headache; now, all that remained was a slightly wet forehead and a well-soaked cloth. Memory alterations didn’t usually take so much out of her, but for all his insistence that the procedure occur, Nick Campbell’s brain had fought her tenaciously. She sipped a glass of ice water as Dean Blaine entered his office and took a seat. He was anxious to hear her report, but he’d still allowed her time to recover before interviewing her. Esme was thankful they’d chosen him for this position; he wore it better than many others had. She trusted him, trusted both his intentions and his judgment, even without being able to read his mind. That was why she’d honored his request, when she’d have refused anyone else.

“How did it go?” Blaine probed gently. His body language was relaxed; he sat back in his chair with his hands resting on the desk. Eager as he was, he forced himself to be calm for her. Things like this were why she also liked him, as well as respected him.

“It went rough, obviously,” she said at last. “I’ve met minds more willful than his, but not often, and not for a very long time. I think I was able to get everything, but I could only manage to see bits and pieces of it.”

“Such as?”

“Such as, he’s taken precautions against having his mind wiped. He documented his activities in extensive summaries at the end of each semester. Names, powers, histories, everything he learned about his classmates was recorded. Even wrote one about this semester last week and messengered it to himself. He’s counting on that to reconstitute his memory.”

“We knew he’d try something,” Blaine reminded her. “Since he figured out the memory wipe, it was inevitable he’d attempt to circumvent it. Still, written records, that’s surprisingly risky.”

“He used a code,” she elaborated. “One he made up, one with no cypher. If he doesn’t remember it, then he’ll have to crack it before he can access those files.”

“Great, that should buy us all of ten minutes,” Blaine sighed. “Professor Pendleton appraises his cryptanalysis skills at a genius level, and I’ve got no inclination to disagree.”

“There’s ample time before he gets to Vegas. We can have them destroyed before he arrives. It’s not like this is our first time facing such a hurdle.”

“True.” Blaine drummed his fingers on the desk without any bit of rhythm. “Let’s proceed here first. Was there anything else worth noting?”

“I’m not sure. I told you, he was able to block me from seeing all his memories of his time here.”

“Yes, though that shouldn’t have impacted the obfuscation.”

“It didn’t. No, the thing is, he chose a few spots to fight me off the hardest. Obviously, I don’t know what they were, but the strange part is that he didn’t bother defending the things that most other students try to hide. Minor violations of the rules, interpersonal relationships, even a psyche delve he took over Halloween; those he gave no significant defense to keep hidden. Nothing more than his mind’s rebellion in general.”

“So whatever he wanted to keep secret, it probably wasn’t something as inane as who he has a crush on, or what bartenders in town don’t check for ID.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Esme concurred.

“That means either it was important, or he just thought it was important. Given who we’re talking about, I’m more inclined to bet on the former. I’m also sure it pertained to the HCP, if he was determined to keep it from you. That damned kid, why not just come tell us?”

“Maybe he thinks we can’t be trusted,” Esme suggested. “He liked you and Sean, but he was also keenly aware of how people can be compromised without even knowing it. Even for someone immune to telepathy.”

“Maybe,” Blaine grudgingly admitted. Three years ago, he would have called bullshit. Three years ago, he also would have sworn he could trust George and Persephone with his life, let alone with his students.

“There’s one other thing I should probably mention,” Esme said, interrupting Blaine’s drifting thoughts. “When he sent his latest summary, he also sent instructions for certain pages of the older ones to be torn out and burned. He was very emphatic that no trace of them remain.”

“Well, that about cinches that, then. Looks like he purposely got himself memory wiped,” Blaine surmised.

Esme nodded. “That was my conclusion too. Sometime between winter break and now, he realized a piece of information that he felt was too dangerous for anyone to have, even himself. That was probably why he protected certain memories from being seen. He didn’t want us putting together what he realized.”

“Sounds likely, but I’m surprised he’d go to such trouble, then allow someone who can see his memories access to them.”

Esme let out a chuckle. “That part was a surprise to him. He didn’t know you had someone who could view memories; he thought all we could do was erase them.”

“Too bad it didn’t give us an edge,” Blaine said. He quickly caught the possible meaning of his words and clarified. “Not that you didn’t do great work as always, Esme. I know it’s much harder for you to see protected memories than to obscure them. We all have to work within our limits, and I thank you for what you did.”

“Anytime,” she replied. “For most of it.”

“Ah. I take that to mean you were successful?”

“I believe so. It wasn’t easy, but I think it’s done. You know that if the board finds out about this, even that you asked me to do it, it will be the end of both our careers?”

“You’re tenured,” Blaine reminded her, giving a gentle smile. “So I think I’d be the only one out on his ass.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know. I appreciate what you did, and I promise I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t think it necessary.”

“Good. Try not to make a habit of this.”

Blaine held up his right hand. “Hero’s honor.”

“That you won’t ask again?”

“That I’ll try.”

“At least you’re honest,” she said, setting her damp cloth on his desk. “I’m going to bed so I can rest. Want me to have a crew of Cleaners dispatched to Nick’s casino on my way out?”

“No, I don’t think that will be necessary,” Blaine said. “For now, I’m going to play along. I want to see just what it is the boy has up his sleeve.”

“Maybe what’s up his sleeve is a plan to blackmail future Heroes with the information he’s stockpiled,” Esme pointed out.

“Maybe,” Blaine agreed. “But I somehow doubt it. Nick is, if anything, more ambitious than that. And if I’m wrong, well . . . we have a contingency program for those situations as well.”

195.

The day of departure for the sophomores of Melbrook arrived to find a strained, gloomy atmosphere had settled over the dorm. Nick’s last message had left Alice and Vince with a lot to think about; both had retired that night without saying much to their fellow dorm mates. Come morning, they’d all had breakfast together, although the affair had been a largely silent one. Once eating was accomplished, they’d all turned their attention to finishing the last bit of packing.

Mary was nearly done when Alice knocked on her door. She opened it quickly and allowed her blonde friend to enter.

“I was thinking we should talk about what the plan for summer is,” Alice said, walking in without any sort of formal greeting.

“I had a feeling that would come up,” Mary said. She shut the door firmly and headed toward the small pile of bags sitting atop her bed. “Assuming Globe was telling the truth, there isn’t any reason for me to hole up in the Adair fortress this year.”

“You’d know better than anyone else if we can trust his promise. You’re the only one who had a conversation with him and knew it,” Alice pointed out.

“I know, and believe me when I say that is pressure I really wish I didn’t have,” Mary admitted. “But if I’m being honest, I don’t think Globe was lying. I know he’s supposed to be this master of deception and all, so it’s quite possible I’m wrong—”

“But you don’t think you are,” Alice interrupted.

“Yeah. I can’t even explain it, not rationally. I just don’t think he’d go to all that trouble to deceive us.”

“I trust your judgment,” Alice assured her. “I guess this means you’re going back to the woods, then.”

“That was pretty much my plan.”

“Good. Do you mind if I tag along?”

Mary jerked her head back in surprise. “Beg pardon?”

Alice sat on Mary’s bed and composed her thoughts for a moment before speaking. “If we assume Globe was telling the truth, then that means my mom is really alive, out there somewhere. I need to process that. I need to figure out what my next step is. And most of all, I need to not be around my father while I do it, because if she really is out there, then he’s been lying to me for my entire life.”

“Alice, I’d love to have you around, but you know my outdoors life is rougher than you’re accustomed to, right? I hunt my own food, gather my own firewood, walk just about everywhere. The nearest place to get any supplies is ten miles from my trailer.”

“I think that sounds like exactly what I need for right now,” Alice said. “Keeping busy, staying active, not letting all these thoughts overtake my ability to function. Besides, I could use a tougher environment to train in.”

Mary nodded. She would have preferred a bit more solitude over the summer—in fact, she’d been looking forward to it—but Alice was her closest friend. If she needed help that only Mary could provide, then Mary was going to take care of her. She would, and had, done the same when the positions were reversed.

“You should let me look over what you packed,” Mary suggested. “I’ll make sure you put in the sort of clothes you’ll need.”

*      *      *

Ms. Daniels pulled into the parking lot near Melbrook to find one of her expected passengers already waiting for her. She took her time turning off the car and extricating herself from the driver’s seat. From the look on his face and backpack slung over his shoulder, she had a hunch about what this meeting would be about, and she was not looking forward to it.

“Hey there,” she greeted, pulling the taller young man in for a hug. He’d gotten thicker in the shoulders since Christmas—not much of a surprise, given his age and the HCP training program. As they pulled apart, she realized Vince’s face had changed slightly, too. His jaw was thicker, and his cheekbones had shifted. He was still handsome, but he was beginning to shed the telltale signs of youth.

“Good morning, Ms. Daniels,” Vince said, polite as ever. “I’m sorry to greet you so suddenly, but I needed to talk with you before you saw the others.”

“You’re going to tell me that you’re not coming home with us this summer, right?”

Vince cocked his head slightly. “How did you know?”

“I got a briefing yesterday about everything that happened. They told me about your . . . about what happened in the match, even showed me some of the footage, and informed me that Nick was no longer in the program. I’d hoped it wouldn’t weigh on you too much, but when I saw you out here, I had a pretty good idea of what was going through your head.”

“I don’t mean to be ungrateful,” Vince said. “You’ve been wonderful to me, welcoming me into your home and treating me like a part of your family. I just need to be by myself for right now. I need to deal with what I saw myself doing.”

“Vince, that wasn’t you.”

“Except that it was. I was in a hallucination, and my emotions were manipulated, but everything I did was my own reaction to it. I was, I am, capable of that kind of destruction. I didn’t even realize my ability allowed me to do some of those things. I’ve been at this for two years with ploddingly slow results, and then, in five minutes, Nick helped me see more of my potential than all my classes combined. I can’t waste that. I need to start getting a grip on what my power really is, and how far I can take it. I need to train.”

“You could train in Chicago,” Ms. Daniels pointed out, even though she knew this debate was already lost. She’d married a Hero, after all. She’d seen the look of resolute determination glowing in Vince’s eyes before, and she understood that it meant his mind was set, no matter what.

“Not without endangering a lot of innocent people,” Vince pointed out. “I’m sorry, but I have to do this.”

Ms. Daniels pulled him in for another hug, this time, squeezing his muscular frame. “You’re a good boy, Vince. No matter what anyone says about you, or the man who raised you, don’t you ever forget that. And once you’re done with this training of yours, I expect to see you at our house. No excuses.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Vince agreed, squeezing her back.

Epilogue

Nicholas Campbell walked through the opulent lobby of the casino and tossed a set of car keys to a man in a red vest.

“Park it somewhere way in the back; I don’t want to see that thing again unless I need it,” he instructed. The valet scampered off without a word, efficiency incarnate. Truthfully, Nicholas would have preferred to have the car demolished, retribution for the ridiculously uncomfortable drive from the Lander campus; however, a car was a car, and there was no sense in being wasteful. Maybe he’d need it again one day for a different character. He certainly hoped not. Whatever had possessed him to decide on a Bug in the first place was a mystery, but then again, so was the vast majority of his past two years.

He made it to the elevator where Gerry was waiting. A brief nod passed between the two as they moved through the polished metal doors, and then they were rising through the world.

“How do you feel?” Gerry asked after a few moments.

“It’s hard to gauge. I can’t really tell a difference, but since I don’t know what I was like before the wipe, that’s not surprising.”

“I see. So is it like there’s a hole in your memories?”

“No, it’s all still there, I just can’t access it,” Nicholas told him. “How can I describe this . . . it’s as if all the HCP memories have been covered with fog, or ice. They’re blurry, and when I try to focus on them, everything slips away.”

“Strange. Ms. Pips will want you to get some tests done, just in case,” Gerry informed him.

“I assumed as much. Try and buy me a day, if you can. Did you get all the files together like I asked?”

“Pulled up from storage at your request,” Gerry said. “The last addition arrived by courier two days ago. You’ve got quite a bit of reading ahead of you.”

“At least I enjoy the author’s style,” Nicholas replied, with a grin. The elevator dinged and he departed, leaving Gerry to return to his duties.

“Hey, Campbell,” Gerry called before the doors closed. “Ms. Pips wanted me to tell you that it’s good to have you back.”

“Tell her I said, ‘Good to be back’,” Nicholas replied. Once the doors shut, he resumed his path down the luxurious hallway to his room. The day was young, and he had a lot of work to do.

*      *      *

Sean Pendleton—he wouldn’t think of himself as a professor again until the new school year began—was lying on his bed, staring at the television. The screen was dark, not due to any underlying technical issue, but because the power was off. He’d worked his way through more whiskey than was healthy last night, intending it to be just a few drinks to settle his brain. That plan had gone out the window when he’d read Nick’s card. It had actually been a birthday card; Sean assumed Nick had used it because the thick paper made it less likely someone like Mr. Numbers would be able to deduce the contents by feeling for a pen’s impression. That was Nick, going five miles further to obfuscate than anyone would ever consider following.

It had been a birthday card with four words written inside, below the cartoon duck wishing the recipient a “flocking good” birthday. Four words was all it had taken to send Sean’s wheels off the track; four words that begged so much for explanation, for clarification, for verification, all of which was now impossible. He finally understood Nick’s apology. His former student was apologizing because whatever bit of information had allowed him to write those words was gone now, and Sean was stuck with only this echo of might-be truth.

The effort was grueling, but Sean slowly raised himself from his bed and walked over to his kitchen table. On it were two pieces of paper, one being the birthday card that had been such a large factor in the hangover Sean was currently dealing with, the other, the piece of paper Blaine had shown him in his cell all those months ago. The paper had a large picture taking up half the space, the rest was used for bits of information about the subject in the photograph. Sean had taken great care of it, even though it was now almost a year out of date. They grew up so fast.

He sat down at the table and pulled both papers over to him. The photo drew his attention first. It truly was amazing how much Alice looked like her mother. His half-sister had always had her own look: Shelby never resembled him, and only bore a passing similarity to her fraternal twin, Blake. Both Sean and Blake had taken their features from the mother they all shared, while Shelby took hers from her and Blake’s father. The young girl in the picture definitely took after Shelby, which had just made being around her this year all the harder.

The photo went down as the card came up. Sean had pored over it already, searching for some clue, some hidden message Nick might have left him. He came up short yet again. Nothing but a cartoon duck, a bad pun, and those same four words that filled him with hope and uncertainty in nearly equal measures. Four simple words that changed the entire course of his plans:

“Shelby is still alive.”

*      *      *

Hershel and his mother made it nearly an hour into the drive before he brought up a thought he’d been lingering on for some time.

“Mom, do you still keep in contact with any of Titan’s old training partners?”

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, always a safe driver out of habit and necessity, then replied. “I might know of a couple. Mr. Winston down the road used to do lifting exercises with your father from time to time. As for the others, well, plenty of people in our neighborhood have gifts, but few could have trained alongside Titan. Most of his partners were out of state. They had a teleporter on the team at the time, so it wasn’t much of a bother.”

“Oh,” Herschel said, turning his eyes out the window to the passing billboards.

“I assume you wanted to do some training over the summer?”

“Yeah,” Herschel admitted. “Now that Roy is finally seeing progress, he wants to make up for lost time.”

“And what about you?”

“About me,” Hershel echoed, turning his attention back to his mother. “This year, I found out that I’m actually a part of my own power. I’ve spent fifteen years feeling like the unwanted tagalong in my own body. I mean, Roy is better at pretty much everything. But now, now I know I am a critical part of it, and that my effort matters. So yeah, I want to keep going, too. I want to help make both of us stronger, because I caught a glimpse of what sort of power gets you to the top of the heap, and Roy and I have serious catching up to do.”

“I was afraid you’d say that,” Ms. Daniels sighed. “I know someone I can call when we get home. No promises, but I think he’d be willing to take on a temporary student.”

“Is he strong?”

At this, Hershel’s mother let out a bark of laughter that filled the car. “Honey, he’s powerful enough to go toe to toe with your father. If he agrees to train you, then the question isn’t if you’ll get stronger, the question is whether you’ll last the whole summer.”

*      *      *

Vince crossed the line of brush and stepped out of the foliage. It had taken him most of the day to walk here, but it had been enjoyable. Of course, he could have just had Mr. Transport drop him off in this spot, but he’d needed a little physical exertion to get his head clear. Besides, he wanted to take his time.

The train tracks were the same as they always were, the metal still warped in several places from the explosion Vince now knew hadn’t claimed his father’s life. Briefly, he wondered how the man had escaped, but then he surmised some aspect of his power must have helped him. It suddenly occurred to Vince that in all the discussion about Globe and his crimes, the silver-haired boy had never stopped to inquire what Globe’s power actually was. It seemed like a glaring oversight in review, but he’d had more pressing concerns.

Vince walked around the area slowly, not drawing attention to himself, but not trying to stay hidden either. It was a longshot, he understood that, yet some part of him still demanded he come to this place. To come and see if his father would be waiting for him where their last life together ended. The chance was slim, but still, as he looked around and saw nothing, he couldn’t help feeling the weight of disappointment settle in his gut.

“Well, well, looks like I owe Persephone twenty bucks,” said a familiar voice. “I bet you wouldn’t show.”

Vince turned slowly, the rock in his stomach quickly turning into magma. Twenty feet away, still in the outfit he’d been wearing on television, was the man Vince had once known as Coach George.

“Why are you here?”

“I’m the escort, if you’re willing to come,” George replied.

“Where would we be going?”

“Can’t tell you that. Can’t tell you anything. You just have to decide right now if you’re in or not.”

Vince stared at the former-teacher for several moments, then gave a small nod of his head.

“And that’s forty I’m out,” George sighed. “Oh, one more thing. You don’t get to be conscious for the trip.”

That statement set off some alarms in Vince’s head. He reached for the energy inside himself, but before he could summon even a flame, Vince’s vision went blurry, and he felt his body grow weak. In a span of seconds, it was all he could do to stay standing, and moments later, even that was impossible. His consciousness abandoned him as he tumbled toward the ground.

A pair of strong arms caught him before he could bash his head open against a rock; George had crossed the distance between them as soon as Vince had shown signs of dizziness. He set the boy on the ground carefully, then pulled the small dart Vince hadn’t even noticed out of the boy’s shoulder. That done, he produced a cell phone from his pocket and punched in a few numbers.

“Hey,” he called gruffly over the phone. “It’s George. I’ve got him, so get my ride over here.”

Almost instantly, a crackling sphere of white light appeared a few feet away from him. George closed his phone and hefted the muscular form of Vince Reynolds onto his shoulder. He stepped through the light without any fuss, and moments later, it vanished, leaving only the scent of electrical discharge in the air.

Other Novels by Drew Hayes

About the Author

Drew Hayes is an author from Texas who has now found time and gumption to publish a few books. He graduated from Texas Tech with a B.A. in English, because evidently he's not familiar with what the term "employable" means. Drew has been called one of the most profound, prolific, and talented authors of his generation, but a table full of drunks will say almost anything when offered a round of free shots. Drew feels kind of like a D-bag writing about himself in the third person like this. He does appreciate that you're still reading, though.

Drew would like to sit down and have a beer with you. Or a cocktail. He's not here to judge your preferences. Drew is terrible at being serious, and has no real idea what a snippet biography is meant to convey anyway. Drew thinks you are awesome just the way you are. That part, he meant. You can reach Drew with questions or movie offers at NovelistDrew@gmail.com Drew is off to go high-five random people, because who doesn't love a good high-five? No one, that's who.

Read or purchase more of his work at his site: DrewHayesNovels.com