Lady Superior (2 page)

Kristen’s heart hammered against her ribs. “Right. Why?”

“Can you deflect bullets?”

The passing traffic suddenly seemed louder, and the gentle summer breeze roared like a gale wind in Kristen’s ears. Every passing second felt like an hour. Finally, she answered. “No.”

Bernice blew out a long dragon’s breath. “Stay safe then, alright?”

Kristen stared straight ahead. She supposed it wouldn’t have been hard for someone who knew her so well to connect the dots, but was that really the conclusion anyone would draw? That their friend was special?  That word—special—made her feel silly. But so did every alternative. Calling herself a superhero felt particularly ridiculous sitting outside of a comic book shop. She wasn’t sure there would ever be a time it didn’t feel ridiculous, whether it was accurate or not.

Otherworlds’ front door swung open. A man Kristen didn’t recognize stuck his head out. “Hey, are you Kris?”

“Yeah. You the new guy?”

He was tall and clean shaven with strong, slender features. He smiled when he spoke and Kristen found herself drawn to it. She knew better than to fall into the belief that all nerds were unkempt monsters, but Joel had a certain way of setting expectations in regards to the men who worked at Otherworlds. She didn’t think Joel was a monster, either. He was just something of a bear-man-beast who had a habit of hiring within his archetype. Mister Handsome All-Smiles was a nice change of pace. “Yeah, I’m Jack. I’ve got your stuff if you’re ready to get rung up.”

“Sure, I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Yeah, no rush.”

Jack ducked back inside. Kristen glanced up at Bernice. “New guy’s pretty hot.”

“I guess. Not my type, though.”

“You don’t get to have an opinion. Your type isn’t men.”

“Just go get your stuff. And keep your nerd love outta my store.”

Kristen hopped to her feet and downed the last of her Coke. She pitched the can into the trash nearby, jerked her hoodie over her head, and reentered the shop.

Jack beamed from behind the counter. “That was quick.”

“Just had to finish my drink. Bernice would kill me if I spilled on the merchandise.”

He laughed. “Yeah, I learned that day one. Joel told me I could drink whatever. I opened a water when Bernice was showing me the arcade corner and she looked like she was gonna tear my arms off.”

Kristen sauntered to the counter. Keeping some hip out of her step was impossible—but this time, she didn’t even try. “What’s my damage?”

Jack splayed a stack of comics out on the counter, scanning the five barcodes with a practiced rhythm of beeps. “Twenty-oh-six.”

“Did you get my discount?”

“Do you work here, too?”

“No, but Joel gives me a discount.”

Jack glanced to the register, swiveled toward the back of the store, then to the register again. Kristen read the dilemma on his face: ask Joel or trust her? He cleared his throat. “I don’t think I’m actually allowed to give discounts, so…should I go get him?”

Kristen shrugged and pulled her wallet from her hoodie pocket. She held out her credit card. “No, it’s cool. I’ll just pretend the extra paid for the Coke.”

“Cool.” Jack swiped her card. “I’ll talk to him, make sure I can take care of you next time. Are you his girlfriend, or…?”

She winced. “No. We grew up together. Joel and Bernice opened the store. I just hang out sometimes.”

Jack passed her card back along with a pen and receipt. “They opened shop and didn’t offer you a job, too? Kind of messed up.”

Kristen leaned over and signed; for once, she regretted the sweatshirt. “They did, but I didn’t take it. I’m cool with it being a hobby, you know? And Joel calls me up whenever he needs someone to lift something heavy.”

Jack laughed. Kristen eyed him, sliding back the pen and paper. He bagged her books and passed them over. “Same time next week?”

She flashed a toothy smile. “Yeah, definitely. Can’t wait.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the counter. “In that case, Joel did say we’d go out drinking tonight. You could come along. Bernice is going, so…it’s not just the guys.”

Kristen brushed a lock of hair from her face. “I’m guessing barcade?”

“We wouldn’t be enough of a stereotype if we went anywhere else.”

“I work nights, so I wouldn’t be able to drink. Could get some food, though. I’ll think about it?”

A bell rang, heralding an opening door. Bernice’s voice shouted through the opening. “Kris, your ride’s here. She won’t take
Kris is flirting with my employees
as a good enough reason to wait.”

Kristen winced, flashed Jack a nervous smile, and scurried from the store. “I hate you.” she muttered, passing Bernice.

“Love you too, sweetie.”

A black Chrysler sedan sat perfectly parked within the rectangle of shade beneath the massive Otherworlds sign at the far end of the lot. A woman leaned against the vehicle, her dark brown hair into a ponytail. A pair of Ray-Ban aviators covered her eyes. She wore a white tank, heavy boots, and what appeared to be black leather biker chaps over her jeans. “Hop in,” she called, popping open the driver’s side door and sliding in.

Kristen jumped in the passenger’s side, tossed her bag into the back, and removed her hoodie. She buckled her seat belt and glared. “You told me that wasn’t going to be on TV, Jane.”

Jane started the car and the AC. “I know I did, and I’m sorry about that. My boss decided to let them run it. It wasn’t up to me.”

Kristen started shouting the moment the car rolled out of the parking lot. “Your boss? Who’s that? You didn’t tell me anyone else knew about this. And holy shit, is picking me up in a car like this supposed to be inconspicuous? Is it your job to screw me over?”

Jane kept her eyes on the road, easing into traffic. “You weren’t a fan of my bike, so I took the company car.”

“The company car? What company? What the hell, Jane?”

Jane glanced at her in her peripheral vision, then turned back to the road. “Uh, Temple Financial? You know, the company where I gave you a job?”

“You didn’t give me that job. You told me they had an opening.”

“Yeah, an opening I made for you. You seriously didn’t figure that out?”

Kristen threw her arms out as far as the confines of the car would allow. “I shouldn’t have to figure it out! You should tell me these things. So what, I work for some creepy bankers now? That’s why you sent me after those guys yesterday? And Jesus Christ, you forgot to mention the fucking bomb in that building.”

“Look, it doesn’t matter who pays you, alright? There were people who needed your help. I helped you help them. And no, I didn’t forget to mention the bomb. There was no bomb. I took care of that myself.”

Kristen’s face fell into her hands. “Ho-ly shit. What did you get me into? Who even are you?”

“I told you who I am.”

And she had—in a sense. The first time Kristen ended up on the news—three months prior—she’d intervened in a domestic issue, if a wife and two kids taken hostage by her estranged husband at gunpoint could be called a domestic issue. After a few hours of SWAT inaction, Kristen had walked in the back door and knocked his block off before he could even think about pulling the trigger. She thought she got away clean, but someone had recorded her visit on their phone’s camera. The second time, there hadn’t been an opportunity for caution. Not beyond taking off her wig and putting on her so-called costume, anyway. There had been a pileup on I-94, and she had happened to be close enough to help. The media was all over the place. Footage from a dozen different angles were on the news for days. In hindsight, tearing cars to pieces to get trapped people out of them wasn’t the most inconspicuous way to help. By the time she got home, dashing through the city to lose anyone trying to follow her, Jane was already there waiting.
I’m Jane,
she’d said.
I know who you are, but that’s okay. Don’t worry. I help people like you.

Jane knew everything, too. Not just Kristen’s name and where she lived, but her height and weight, the schools she had attended, and the name of the hospital where she’d been born. Jane even knew at what time—not just what day—she’d been born. Kristen had never been more creeped out in her life, but Jane had repeatedly stated she only wanted to help. If Jane’s business was blackmail, she was a master of the craft.

Jane pushed her sunglasses onto her head. “Here’s the thing. There are some questions I can answer. There are some I can’t. We won’t know which is which until you ask them, and as far as I’m concerned, you haven’t been asking nearly enough questions given the situation. For example, I told you I’d pick you up today. I asked you where you’d like me to do that. You told me where, and you didn’t ask why.”

“Does it matter? I figure the first time I tell you I’m not doing something, you’ll go running your mouth.”

“I already told you it isn’t like that.”

“Then why did your boss put me on TV again?”

“Because you aren’t the only one like you. You want to use what you have to help, but not everyone like you does. My boss decided it would be a good idea if everyone knew about you—or who they think you are—before they know about the bad ones. And we’ve busted our asses to make sure the bad ones are dealt with before anyone knows about them. We won’t be able to do that forever.”

Kristen jerked her head toward Jane. “Wait, there are other people like me?”

“As far as I know, there isn’t anyone just like you. None I’ve met, anyway. But there are others who are… special, yes. A lot of them. Statistically insignificant when you consider the entire human population, but if you put them all in one place, you could fill every seat in the Bradley Center.”

“I have no idea how many people fit in the Bradley Center.”

“About nineteen thousand.”

“Oh.”

“And as far as we can tell, there are more people like you born every year. The number was stable until 1975. That’s when it started to outpace global population growth. Why? We have no idea. If something that happened in 1975 put fuel in that particular fire, we haven’t been able to make a connection. But what’s happening could go public at any time. That’s why it’s important we make sure people know there are people like you who are good people—especially now that superheroes are mainstream. Fiction reflects, and shapes, reality. It’s more possible now than ever before for people to accept people like you as a real thing. Now, are you going to ask me where we’re going before we get there or what?”

Kristen slouched in her seat. Even when she ripped doors off overturned cars, she had a hard time convincing herself it wasn’t something everyone could do. She couldn’t convince herself it wasn’t one hell of a dream. It was pretty bad when she was just a young girl with a secret. It was a lot worse knowing she was being set up as some sort of mascot. “Fine. Where are we going?”

“Ice cream.”

Kristen peered out the window and boggled. All of that drama for ice cream? Sure enough, Jane took a turn at the sign labeled 76th Street and pulled into the driveway beneath the Kopp’s Frozen Custard sign. The digital marquee flashed as they approached: FLAVOR OF THE DAY: BIENENSTICH KUCHEN

She squinted. “What’s a Bienenstich kuchen?”

The marquee blinked to read FEATURED SUNDAE: BLUE MOON as Jane glanced up. “What?”

“It said Bienen-whatever.”

“It says Blue Moon.”

“It changed.”

“You’re seeing things.”

“I’m not. I swear to god.”

“Well, have fun ordering a bienen-whatever.”

Jane pulled into the parking lot and found a slice of shade to park in. A stone wall separated the restaurant from the lot and surrounding roads, vibrant green ivy engulfing the barrier from top to bottom. They stepped through a hole in the wall that looked like a fairy’s archway, its edges rough and irregular. Passing through an immaculate stone courtyard with a roaring waterfall, they walked to the shop proper.

Jane directed her inside. Where the exterior was a vision of natural beauty, the interior stood in stark contrast: a stainless steel warehouse with no walls to block sight of the kitchen, grills and fryers sizzled while a dozen ice cream machines whirred. Frozen custard oozed its lazy way down stainless chutes into basins to await scooping. Menus the size of roadside billboards hung from a ceiling of corrugated steel, gently rocking back and forth from the breeze generated by massive fans and vents. Jane leaned to Kristen. “I can never tell whether ice cream machines look cool or like they're taking the worst craps of their lives.”

Kristen grimaced. “You're pretty gross for a badass.”

“I'm a badass?”

“Oh, come on. Biker chick walking everywhere like she owns the place, keeps a gun in her trunk? You’re a badass or you’re trying way too hard to be one.”

“My bike doesn’t have a trunk. It has saddlebags.”

“Whatever. Are you paying?”

“Yep.” Jane strode to the counter. No one behind the counter looked like they’d made it out of high school yet—teenagers working summer jobs. An acne-pocked boy offered Jane a smile and a croaky, pubescent hello. His eyes didn’t stay there long: he noticed Kristen, then her chest. Kristen glared death. It was one thing when people stole a glance. She still noticed—and it was still irritating—but the ones who glanced at least pretended they weren’t at a meat market. Relentless.

“Are you listening or what?” Jane asked. The boy looked up with an embarrassed flush. “Thank you. I’ll have the Blue Moon shake.”

“What’s the flavor of the day?” Kristen asked. One part curiosity, one part spite.

“Uh…” The boy croaked. “Bean-in-kitchen?”

“What’s in it?”

“Honey, sliced almonds, Bavarian creme, and pieces of yellow cake.”

“I’ll have that.”

Jane peered down at the stack of flavor-of-the-day calendars in front of the register. She frowned. “What’s it called again?”

“Bean-in-kitchen?”

“That’s definitely not how you say that word.”

“Sorry? Is that everything?”

Jane looked to Kristen, who nodded. Jane nodded to the boy in turn. He recited their total, accepted Jane’s cash, and gave them their receipt. They stepped back and Jane showed Kristen the slip of paper: #233. She shook her head. “You’d think people living a predominantly German town would know how to pronounce German better.”