The first rule for surviving as a superhero? Optimism.
I leapt from one rooftop to the next, using my jet boots to cover the distance. I did my best to land lightly, not wanting to disturb whoever might sleep beneath me.
But that’s kind of hard when chasing a supervillain.
The bale of alfalfa hovered in the air, held together by three strands of twine that pulsed to a rhythm only Farmer Ben could hear. Anxious cattle swarmed beneath it. At a mental command from Ben, the twine snapped. The bale crashed to the ground where a horde of bovine maws devoured it.
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I dive from the rooftop just before a second blast sends another explosion of bricks bursting from the building’s exterior.
Above me, Captain Tremendous shouts, “Kid, get out of there. Now.”
No need to tell me twice. I leap from the fire escape to the balcony to the rooftop to a higher rooftop where my mentor stands waiting, his red cape flowing in the night breeze. The initials “CT” shimmer across his chest. At his feet, my assailant is already tied up in CT’s signature coils. Boy, he’s fast.
The crimson explosion filled the night sky, far enough from the city to avoid any damage.
The Silver Guardian wasted no time. The police could handle the cleanup. He might have saved the day, but there was one more life that needed saving.
In a flash, the hero of Invictus City soared through the air across the metropolis, black hair and cape flapping behind him.
Arvin burst into the cabin. “We’ve got a problem.”
“And what problem would that be?” Salya knitted a few more stitches. “Has the goat escaped again? The cart hit a rut in the road and dumped the milk?”
Another overblown problem to add to the list.
“They’re back, Salya.” He shut and locked the door, and then yanked the curtains over the window. “I saw them in town.”
“If you don’t mind, Ellie,” Mr. Hill smiled pleasantly, again. “I’d rather not say anything more unless you’ve signed the non-disclosure agreement.”
An NDA seemed extreme as a requirement for a nannying job. But then, many things about this position were odd.
The bartender offered a glass of whiskey, but Kronzar turned it down. He didn’t have the coin to pay for a drink, even if he could look at the stuff without memories of flames searing his mind. Flames, and the screams of one he was supposed to protect.
“So… if you don’t drink, what’re you doing in a bar?”
Tiger slouched in his seat. Outside the crowd hummed before the white marquee set up for the Talent Quest. I shouldn’t be here. He resettled his cap backwards and glanced along the table at his four teammates. Each of them, and the others not here today, had an invisible guardian and special abilities according to their gifts.
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Two multiple-homicides in a 3-block radius, and I got the one with no survivors.
Dark backroom. Dead bodies still seated around a game of poker.
Each man was a high-ranking member of the Martinez Gang. Even if I didn’t know them from run-ins or rap sheets, the distinctive neck tattoos advertised it.
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