Blaze of Glory (3 page)

“Yeah. Right.” I waved him away. “Ace’ll take this one, you watch.”

I had been right and he had been right. For all the good it did.

The morning traffic had started along King Street, the red streetcars rumbling along the rails set in the concrete and delivering their pedestrian loads all over the city. There was a coffee shop on the corner of Roncesvalles and King just as I remembered, and I was in desperate need of a coffee and a newspaper along with a few dozen painkillers. Stripping off my gloves, I jammed them into the back pockets of my jeans. It would seem pretty conspicuous if I were the only one walking around with gloves on, given the warm weather, and the last thing I wanted to do was draw attention to myself. Sure, I could have worn a mask, but the Agency liked to put a personal face on each of their heroes and villains, and a mask would have screwed that up. So the best I could do was try to blend in and hope that I came across as maybe a fangirl at best, a psychotic fan at worst. And I had plenty of both. If nothing else, superheroes fighting supervillains made for good reality television.

Leaving a wet trail of steps behind me, I strode into the café, tugging my fingers through my ragged ponytail to give it at least an air of respectability. At least I hadn’t landed so far into the water that I smelled like a drunk.

The shop had a handful of customers inside, two lovebirds cooing to each other over lattes and a senior citizen dissecting the daily paper while pontificating to no one in general about what was wrong with the economy. Another young man, probably a university student, was hunched over his laptop doing a two-finger tap dance on the keyboard.

I looked up at the menu as I dug in my pocket, wondering if I had enough for a coffee. We’d never worried about taking money or identification out of the suite; we just didn’t. After all, we were superheroes.

“What can I get you?” The blonde waitress smiled from behind the counter.

“Ah…” A five dollar bill appeared in my hand from where it had been hidden in the deepest darkest recesses of my front pockets. “Just a small coffee, please.” I glanced at the television set mounted behind her. “Anything big happening?”

She didn’t look up, pouring the coffee into a ceramic mug. “Other than the alien invasion, you mean?”

“Yeah, that.” I grabbed the sugar dispenser and dumped an obscene amount into the mug. “Cream, please.”

“Sure.” The waitress shoved a small metal pitcher towards me, gesturing at the television set. “Word is that they set off a bomb in New York. Killed a hundred people.”

I choked on the coffee. She spun around. “You okay, sweetie?”

“Yeah.” I coughed. “Down the wrong windpipe.” My free hand waved in the air. “Did they kill the alien?”

“Not a chance.” She shook her head. “Bruiser came out on top, floating there like he hadn’t a care in the world. Flew back into the ship and now they’re just sitting there. Got another one over Washington. The President’s evacuated to some bunker somewhere, and she’s giving a news conference later on this morning. Up in Ottawa they’re hiding out somewhere waiting for someone to save them.” Her forehead furrowed as she looked at me. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

“I’m always getting that. Got one of those familiar faces.” I smiled, ignoring the jagged pain shooting through my heart. Mike hadn’t done anything but make the situation worse, if that were possible.

The woman tapped the button on the remote. “CNN’s got the best coverage right now.” She let out a sigh. “Not looking good.”

The bleary-eyed reporter stared at the screen from behind the news desk, her expression rotating from confused to distraught to exhausted. “Reports are coming in about these ships appearing all over the world over major cities and a single…man coming out. Despite repeated team attacks by superheroes and supervillains from around the world, none of these alien invaders have retreated. And many lives have been lost.” A series of pictures flashed behind him. “Ace, Arachnia, Heavy Harry, Tan, Desperado…” For a second I saw a flash of my own press shot, smiling at the camera. “Many others are missing in action.”

I closed my eyes as the list went on and on. Some I knew, some I didn’t.

“Metal Mike, Davie Lyon…” The words punched me in the chest, stopping my breath.

“You okay?” I looked up to see the waitress watching me carefully. “You look like you’re about to faint.”

“Yeah, well…” My hands gripped the mug tightly. “A lot to take in, you know?”

“You’re telling me.” She leaned back on the counter, staring at the images as they continued the morbid roll call. “Always thought they’d be tough enough to defend the planet. I mean, they’re super, right? That’s why they call them supers.”

“Right.” A throbbing began right behind my left eye, threatening to return the coffee with interest. I’d always been prone to migraines, but since my injury and the activation of my powers I was more susceptible than ever. It usually started up when I overstretched myself in a fight and pushed my limits. Nothing some good drugs couldn’t take care of.

“Here’s your change. Don’t get too many American tourists in this part of town.” The woman stacked a pile of coins by my cup. “Just be careful. Where you from, anyway?”

I forced my head up, trying to swallow the pain. “Niagara Falls.” It wasn’t a total lie.

“Good thing it’s not New York City.” She jerked a thumb at the screen that was now showing the crater Mike had caused and the ship hovering nearby. “Not a good time to be abroad.”

“No.” My headache exploded into a full-blown migraine. Grabbing hold of the cup, I took another deep swallow of the super-sweet drink. I didn’t have any identification, no passport…hell, I had nothing. And if I flew back to the penthouse suite, the Agency would be there and they’d want to know about Mike and… I pressed my fingers to my temples, trying to stave off the pain enough to think.

“We’re receiving reports that there has also been a series of concentrated individual attacks on supers. Ann Kowalski has the story.” The screen shifted to show a blonde woman with long curly hair standing in front of a hospital. The listing named it as being in Washington, D.C.

“Tom, I’m here at Mercy of Angels hospital where there has been a startling development in the attack on the United States and across the world. Superheroes are dying both in and out of battle with the aliens; possibly from some sort of psychic attack.”

Ace’s picture returned to the screen, the warm smile and blue eyes reminding me of why he had been so popular. “While we’ve seen some of our greatest heroes struck down in the prime of their lives in this epic battle with the invaders, other heroes have been seen dying even as they rushed to the fight.”

Now I really felt nauseous. Putting down what I hoped was a reasonable tip from the fiver, I headed for the door. Behind me I heard someone, probably the old man, mutter something about “Damned illegal aliens.”

If I hadn’t been working so hard not to throw up, I would have laughed. As it was, the cool morning air helped settle my stomach but did nothing for the aching behind my eye.

And the fear growing in my gut. Reaching around to the back of my neck, I felt the plug there, waiting. Just waiting. And the clock had started.

I looked for the nearest bus stop, digging out the last of my coins. It’d barely be enough to get me to where I needed to get, the only place I might be able to survive the dangers from outside and inside until I had a chance to figure out what to do.

The streetcar was crowded and hot, the morning rush of students, businessmen and plain old hardworking people filling almost every available space. I managed to grab a single seat by the window, forcing the window open to enjoy the cool breeze and help keep the coffee down. A young man bumped into me with a thick knapsack, almost taking my head off.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, eyes on the ground. Then he glanced at me, a bit more focused. “Say, aren’t you…?”

“Nope.” The smile was forced through the throbbing in my eye and the rumbling of my stomach. “I look a lot like her, don’t I? I get that all the time from my friends, and they say that I ought to use it to get into clubs and all that…” I chirped, fluttering my fingers in the air. “I mean, it’d be so cool to be her and all, don’t you think?”

The rambling went on for two more blocks until the fellow shuffled away from me with a curt goodbye, and the rest of the passengers studiously tried to ignore me.

Leaning my head against the coolness of the pseudo-glass, I took a deep breath. The last thing I needed right now was to be recognized.

Mike had loved it. He would preen himself like a fancy peacock before we went out for dinner, the rare time that I convinced him that I was going to go stir-crazy if I had to cook one more time or have food delivered. He’d get into these tight jeans and shave off that day-old stubble that he seemed to have all the time, never enough for a full beard…

I slammed my head against the window, enough to garner an angry glare from the other passengers. Couldn’t afford to spend time there, I had to get back in the game.

Except right now I was racing the game itself.

Sweat ran down my back as I fought my way to the back doors, jostling a few kids a bit harder than I should have but I was beginning to get a wee bit claustrophobic—not only from the people but also the electromagnetic waves overlapping and crashing into each other when I tried to focus through and past the headache.

The Bookworm’s Hideout was more or less as I remembered it, a small hole-in-the-wall used bookstore sitting on Queen Street West squashed between a specialty condom shop and a fancy chocolate store. Of course when I had been the manager they had been a used CD store and an electronic surplus outlet, but you can’t have everything. The light blue paint was still peeling off in strips that tempted you to rip them off, and people had and did.

I stopped to look at the bargain bin in the front out of routine, finding the usual obscure titles. All down to a dollar, and if I knew David Tierney, he’d give them away by the bucketful if you made him a good offer.

A sudden tapping on the window caught my attention, causing me to step back a pace and nearly into a crowd of giggling schoolgirls racing along the sidewalk, too busy staring at their cell phones to notice the vagabond in their path. David smiled at me through the glass and motioned me to come inside.

“My girl!” The elderly man enveloped me in a bear hug. “I was so worried about you.” He hustled me towards the back past shelves and shelves of books, practically carrying me. “You must need a good cup of tea.”

The back of the store had been set up as a small sitting area years ago, an ancient coffeemaker spurting out what passed for coffee for anyone in the store. The rickety old table also held not only a small hotplate with a classic kettle usually full of water, but an old Brown Betty teapot, the fat body still keeping its shiny coating despite being used and abused for years.

David gently pushed me down in one of the overstuffed armchairs and rushed to turn the burner on. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? Are you in trouble?”

“Yes. No. And a definite yes.” I slumped into the cushions. “David, I screwed up. Big time.”

“Bah.” The white-haired man waved a hand in my direction as he pulled out a pair of teabags from a battered Tetley’s Tea canister. “You’re here and you’re alive and that’s all that matters.”

“Mike’s dead.”

He paused, his attention on the teapot. “Yes. I know.”

Sinking deeper into the paisley fabric, I shook my head. “I fucked up.”

He glared at me, his face a scarlet red. “Don’t say that.” His arms flew around me in another tight hug, and suddenly I realized that he was crying, had been crying since he had started heating the water. “All I could think of when I was watching that fight was where were you and what were you doing and if you were already dead…”

Burying my face in the well-worn brown cardigan, I began to sob as well, finally breaking down. The soft wool accepted my tears without comment until I forced myself out of the warmth and back into the chair.

“Kettle’s boiling.” I sniffled, giving us both a dignified exit.

“Yes.” David turned back to the Brown Betty, filling it with the hot water. Dabbing at his eyes with a faded white handkerchief, he cleared his throat. “Now, what brings you back home? I tell you, we had an awful fright here when you disappeared like that. And then suddenly you’re on the telly and we’re seeing you beat down the bad guys…” A grin touched his wrinkled face. “And couldn’t you have gotten into something with less clothing, more leather? Now, that Dominatrix chick, she…”

I chuckled, crossing my legs as he prepared the small tray. “Believe me, you don’t want to be around her when she’s in a good mood or in a bad one. She’s…” The words caught in my throat as I remembered the scrolling list from the café. “She’s dead.”

“Yes, yes she is.” He pressed the mug into my hand. “Still two sugars and cream, yes?”

My chest felt tight as if David’s hug had never ended. “You still got that nephew who does computer hacks?”

David tilted his head to one side. “Technically, he does computer security. Anything else would be illegal.” One eyebrow rose slightly. “And why would you be thinking of him after all this time?”

“Because I need him to save my life.”

Chapter Three

“Jessie’s working for Alliance Electronics.” David walked back towards the front of the store. “Here, let me close things up, give us some privacy.” Flipping the sign over, he looked out onto the street before returning, picking his way through the dusty piles of books. “Not a good day anyway.”

“Never was.” I couldn’t help smiling as the warm tea began to settle in my stomach, helped by a shortbread cookie from the stack set out for visitors. “I used to wonder how you could afford to pay me.”

“I kept you on because I needed a sexy woman at the front to lure in the boys.” He laughed. “When you worked here, I never thought of you possibly flying around and beating up supervillains. Quite a shock, as you can imagine.” Shaking his head, he sat down in the armchair opposite me, cradling his own mug of tea. “I’ll put in a call to Jessie, see if he can come on over.”