Don't Be a Hero: A Superhero Novel (12 page)

She made up her mind.

“Deal,” she said.

Solomon lowered his head so his hat covered his eyes. The Blind Man nodded. There was hunger in his face. She didn’t know what he did with the memories. Were they some sort of energy to him, or did they just fulfil his desire for knowledge?

It doesn’t matter,
she thought.
They’re just shadows of the past. I’ve got the future to worry about.

“Payment will come later,” the Blind Man said. He put down the empty beer glass, levered himself out of the chair with the aid of his staff, and lowered himself until he sat cross-legged on the ground in front of the photograph of Sam Julius. He beckoned. “Come.”

She didn’t meet Solomon’s eyes as she got out of her chair and sat on the floor opposite him. Her heart started to hammer.
Do it for Gabby.

The Blind Man’s left hand hovered over the photo and the arm hair. He extended his right arm towards her, palm extended. “Spook.”

She’d seen this done to Solomon before; she knew the drill. Still, her stomach clenched. She searched the room with her eyes, but it was just the three of them. That didn’t make it any less uncomfortable to pull off her hat, goggles, and mask in such an exposed place. Her short black hair came free and tumbled around her cheeks, and she suppressed the urge to cover herself like she was naked. Solomon had seen her face before, and the Blind Man was, well, blind. But if someone came in….

She shook her head slightly. Some things had to be risked.

The Blind Man’s palm found her forehead. His skin was cool, or maybe she was just warm. She was conscious of the dried sweat on her skin. Distantly, she registered the ache of her shoulder where Quick-fire had hit her.

“Open your eyes, Spook.”

The voice came from far away. She didn’t realise she’d closed her eyes. But yes, it was dark now. When had that happened?

The dark was comforting, as it always was. Darkness and shadows. She was drowsy. Thoughts swirled and collided with each other in her head, but she couldn’t hold onto them long enough to make sense of anything. Where was she?

“Open your eyes.”

There was that voice again. It was deep, familiar, but she didn’t want to obey it. Her eyelids were so heavy, and it was warm here.

No,
she thought.
You can’t stay. You have a job to do.

“Open your eyes.”

Wake up, hero.

She opened her eyes, but they weren’t her eyes. She was standing in a small room with wooden panelling. Below her feet, the floor rocked slowly back and forth. She moved with it, maintaining her balance. A faint banging, wood against wood, came from somewhere outside. Where the hell was she?

She tried to move her arms, but they wouldn’t budge. Her eyes wouldn’t do what they were told either. Then they started moving by themselves. The sensation sent a ripple of panic through her, but she quickly suppressed it. Her gaze darted around the room without any input from her brain, giving her a strange sense of motion sickness that had no root in her gut. Instinctively, she began taking in details: the ticking of a numberless clock on the wall to her left and the faint smell of salt in the air.
I’m taller,
she thought.
And heavier.
Her proportions were all wrong.

A pile of old paperbacks sat on a shelf next to her, all well worn. A quick glance revealed titles like
The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes
and
Gods of Mars.
None of the books looked like they’d been published in the last few decades. As the gaze passed across them, she felt something comfortable and familiar wash over her.

Her vision lurched as the head that wasn’t hers swivelled to take in the narrow bunk beds in the corner. The covers of the higher one were thrown back. Had she just got out of bed? And why was the roof so low? The smell of salt hit her again, mixed with petrol this time, and she felt the slow rolling of the floor beneath her. Then it clicked. She was on a boat.

“Uncle?” The voice that left her mouth wasn’t hers. It was younger and deeper. And was that an American accent?

Where is he?
The thought came from another part of her brain, so faint it was almost an echo. Something else lurked beneath it. A kind of chronic desperation. Loneliness?

That was it. She remembered the Blind Man now. He’d done something to her. The photo and hair she’d given him were what he needed to make a link to Sam Julius. She was in the boy’s head.

She tried to probe the unfamiliar mind. She could detect curiosity and unease, but no fear. The boy hadn’t been taken. So where was he?

The body lurched again and she lumbered out of the cabin, moving through the space with practised familiarity. Niobe had no choice but to go along with it.

Sam climbed a narrow set of stairs and emerged into daylight. He shielded his eyes against the glare. The boat bumped against the wooden marina with the slow movements of the swell. She took in the sight of the boat’s exterior while she could. It had another two floors above the deck, and thick white fabric covered the top, acting as a sun shade. The boat was big enough to use as a house, if the close quarters weren’t a problem.

Sam turned on the spot, giving Niobe a view of the ocean and marina. The skyline was instantly recognisable. He was within sight of the Old City. That nailed his position down to somewhere in Waitemata Harbour. A few dozen private boats rocked in the marina, deserted. Half a mile or so away, a container ship buzzed with the hurried movements of dock workers, but she couldn’t spot anyone closer.

Through the echoes of his consciousness, a dull longing called.
He wants to talk to someone,
she realised.
Anyone.
An image drifted into her head, like another channel coming through the static of a TV set. A pretty dark-skinned girl, maybe fourteen or fifteen, was swimming in the ocean beside a sandy beach. She began to wade out of the sea, her shoulders glistening while she squeezed the water from her hair. In the memory, Sam’s heart pounded as he watched her from the boat. He wanted to talk to her so badly. Maybe even kiss her, if she liked him too. But he couldn’t do any of that. He wasn’t allowed to talk to anyone. Not even a pretty girl he’d never see again.

Sam shook his head, and the image disappeared. But the longing remained, so strong Niobe almost felt like she’d fallen in love with the girl too. She thought back to the cabin with the two bunk beds. His uncle said he was sheltered. But just how sheltered? Was it really just the two of them? He had no friends at all?

She tried to tap his memories further, but she got nowhere. Everything was too different, too far away. It was just noise, and she could only pick out the strongest signals. Giving up, she tried to identify a landmark to further pinpoint the boy’s location. But before she found anything, he turned again and made his way back inside. His feet trudged through a different door and up a narrow flight of stairs.

“Uncle?” he said again. His stomach churned with growing unease. He passed a mirror, and Niobe confirmed the boy’s identity. It was clearly the same kid from the photo. Narrow face, but with strong cheekbones. His short dark hair was cropped close in a serviceable fashion. Maybe he cut it himself. His clothes were unremarkable: a T-shirt and jeans that looked like he’d slept in them.

How long did I sleep for?
The boy’s thoughts intruded again.
If he went out, why didn’t he leave a note?

Something creaked on the deck outside. Niobe shifted into a state of hyper-awareness, but the boy just turned, the muscles of his face relaxing. He didn’t notice that the creak was made by someone heavier than Frank Julius. She tried to tense her muscles and suck in a lungful of air, but the boy’s body didn’t respond. Why didn’t he hear it, goddamn it?

“Oh, there you are,” Sam called out, walking back towards the stairs. “Where were you? I looked—”

A shadow filled the doorway. Big, broad-shouldered. She could make out the shape of a pistol in his hand.

Run,
Niobe willed the boy.
His eyes haven’t adjusted to the dark in here yet. Take the back exit, improvise a weapon, circle back, use the space, neutralise him. Bloody hell, move!

But Sam remained stock-still. His heart lurched, and his thoughts stopped. Time slowed.

“Who—?”

The figure dashed forwards and slammed his elbow into Sam’s throat. A desperate pain exploded inside him, like his entire world was shattering. The agony drove straight into Niobe’s soul. The room grew fuzzy.

The man came forwards as Sam toppled. Even through the pain, Niobe picked out weaknesses. Knees. Eyes. Throat. But Sam could do nothing. He crumpled, adrenaline coursing through him. He’d never known fear like this. She could taste vomit, and she felt his throat close up, cutting off his air.

For a moment, something sparked inside Sam. It shot through him like bottled lightning. The pain dulled and his muscles rippled. Strength flooded him. Even though it was different from anything she’d felt before, she recognised it. The awakening of a superpower.

But before Sam could act, the man came at him again. She caught the glint of the silver buttons of the man’s tunic as he drove his fist into Sam’s side. The lightning disappeared and a new wave of pain crashed through him. She couldn’t see the man’s face. Her vision was fading in and out. Something was pulling her away from Sam’s consciousness.
Or am I being pushed out?
She couldn’t tell.

The last thing she saw was a thick burlap sack being pulled over Sam’s head. Then the world lurched once more, and there was nothing.

Niobe’s mind crashed back into her own body. She flung herself backwards, away from the Blind Man’s cold palm. Sweat soaked her costume, and strands of hair clung to her cheeks. She was back in the refitted bar. She sucked in air like a drowning woman and tried to still the hammering in her chest. The details were burned into her mind, right down to the smell of the attacker’s sweat.

The Carpenter was at her side in a second. She bent over and swallowed down her queasiness. “I’m okay.” She brushed off his hand. “My mask.”

“Spook, take a second, let it wear off.”

Her vision was coming right now. She took a long, slow breath. “My mask.”

Solomon shook his head, but he passed her the goggles and mask. She pulled them back on without wiping the sweat from her face, then picked up her bowler hat and gripped it tight. She tried to get her thoughts straight. Where were the answers she’d been hoping to get? She’d been through all that, and what did she have? Bugger all, that’s what.

“The guy who took the kid,” she said, “I didn’t get a good look at him.” The bloody boy should’ve run. Poor stupid Sam. “But he wore a uniform. He was Met Div.”

The son of a bitch didn’t need to be that rough with Sam. The kid didn’t stand a chance. The fear running through him had been so dense she practically bathed in it. She knew what it was like to feel terror like that.

Solomon grunted, but said nothing. She tried to get up, but her knee buckled, and she was only saved from falling by Solomon’s grip on her shoulders.
Goddamn it
.

She expected the Blind Man to have his smug half-smile in place, but his face was slack and his eyelids drooped. He looked like he’d aged a decade while she was in Sam’s head. The old man was bent over, drawing deep, wheezy breaths. He looked nothing like the wise and treacherous wizard he usually resembled. Had he ever looked that knackered before?

The trail must’ve been fainter than she’d assumed. He’d only been able to give her a snippet of Sam’s past. Niobe felt a twinge of sympathy for the Blind Man. She and Solomon had come asking for help, after all.

“I hope you got what you came for,” the Blind Man said, using his stick to support himself while he returned to his seat.

Niobe shook her head and winced at the pain that shot through her brain. “It was only a fragment. The past. A few minutes.”

The Maori man exhaled noisily. “Something parted the flow. Some sort of barrier prevented me from channelling the boy’s present.”