He developed a funny little half smile. “I’m his son.”
That was where she’d seen that jawline before. And the flop of dark hair. The mayor’s hair had gone handsomely salt and pepper in his middle age. Mark’s still shone.
“Ah,” she said, grinning. “Then you know all about it. I shouldn’t pry—but he wanted you to go into politics, didn’t he?”
“Not quite. He wanted me to be a lawyer, then go into politics. I got the law degree. Then, well…” He shrugged, his glance taking in the car and the flashing lights behind them. “Then I decided I wanted to be on the front lines rather than the rearguard. Make sure no one gets off on a technicality because they weren’t read their rights.”
“Cool,” she said.
“What about you? I mean, your parents—” He let out an awestruck sigh. And who wouldn’t, after meeting Spark? “They want you to go into … the family business, I guess it is?”
“Oh, they certainly did. Nature had different ideas, though. I’m the offspring of Commerce City’s greatest superhumans, and the most exciting thing I ever did was win a silver medal in a high-school swim meet.” Good thing she could look back on it now and laugh.
She still had that medal sitting on her dresser.
“It must have been amazing, growing up with them.”
“Yeah, you could say that.” The strength of her sarcasm invited no further questions.
Finally, they arrived at her apartment building. Detective Paulson insisted on walking her to her front door, as if one of the Baxter Gang splinters would leap out of the shadows and snatch her up. She had to admit, twice in a night would be embarrassing.
“Thanks for taking me home,” she said, once her door was unlocked. “I know you’ve got better things to do.”
“Not at all,” he said. “Maybe I could do it again sometime.”
Though he turned away before she could read the expression on his face, she thought he was smiling. She watched him until he turned the corner.
Closing the door behind her, she shook her head. She’d imagined it. Her head was still foggy.
Later, she sat in bed, drinking a cup of chamomile tea and watching the news. All the city’s “independent law-enforcement agents” were out in force, quelling the riot of criminal activity. Typhoon created floods to incapacitate a group of bank robbers. Breezeway swept them off their feet with gusts of air. Even the telekinetic Mind-masher and his on-again, off-again lover, Earth Mother, were out and about. Block Buster Senior and Junior were as usual directing their brute-force mode of combat toward a trio of vandals holed up in an abandoned convenience store. The two superhumans were taking the building apart, concrete block by concrete block, until it formed an impromptu jail. Block Buster Senior used to be just Block Buster until a couple of years ago, when Junior showed up. Anyone could tell he wasn’t much more than a kid under the mask and skin-suit uniform. Lots of people speculated if the two were actually father and son as their names suggested, or if they instead had a mentor/apprentice relationship. Whatever their story, Celia thought they took a little too much joy in inflicting property damage.
And if they were father and son—how had Junior managed to inherit his father’s power? Why him and not her?
Most of the coverage focused on the beloved Olympiad, who’d been protecting Commerce City for twenty-five years now. One of the stations had exclusive footage of Captain Olympus and the Bullet, the fourth member of the Olympiad, tearing open the warehouse that held the Baxter Gang’s main headquarters.
The camera could only follow the Bullet’s progress by tracking a whirlwind that traveled from one end of the building to the other, tossing masked gunmen aside in a storm of dust and debris. Guns flew from their hands and spiraled upward, shattering with the force of movement. It was all the Bullet, Robbie Denton, moving faster than the eye could see, disrupting one enemy attack after another in mere seconds.
Captain Olympus—the Golden Thunderbolt, most powerful man in the world—wore black and gold, and tore down walls with his will. He stood before his target, braced, arms outstretched, and created a hammer of force that crumpled half the building.
Celia’s hands started shaking. The warehouse district was across town. He wasn’t anywhere near here. The news reporter on the scene raved on and on about the spectacular scene, the malevolence of the criminals, the courage of the Olympiad.
She found the remote and turned off the TV.
TWO
THIS was the kind of story that made up West family lore:
When Warren West was six years old, he fell. This wasn’t a stumble and a skinned knee, a crash on a bike, or a roll down the stairs, any of which most kids had suffered by his age. No, this was a fall out of a tree—from the top of a twenty-foot tall oak in City Park. He’d landed on a bent elbow, which should have shattered his arm at the very least. A fall like that should have killed him. But Warren walked away with no injuries. He didn’t even cry. Then, his parents realized he had never skinned his knees or elbows, scratched himself, or gotten a bruise of any kind. He’d only ever cried when he was tired, hungry, or didn’t get what he wanted.
There was something special about Warren.
Celia’s parents went to high school together at the Elmwood Academy, Commerce City’s premier private school, where Celia herself had gone until she dropped out, earning her GED instead. Warren and Suzanne knew of each other all along—Warren watched Suzanne first. Suzanne was hard to miss with her bright red hair, which she wore long and rippling. Warren was captain of the football team, son of Commerce City’s wealthiest businessman, and Suzanne thought he was a snob. So she wasn’t thrilled when, while standing at her locker one day, Warren propped his hand on the locker next to her’s and gave her a jock smile.
She had a trick she used on guys who came on too strong. She’d touch his hand, give him eyes like she was coming on right back—then really turn on the heat. Within seconds he’d get the hint, usually leaping away with some sort of squeal as her power scorched him.
But Warren just stood there and took it. Her saccharine smile fell, and his eyes got wide. He held her hand and his flesh didn’t burn. He could take the heat.
After that, they taught each other, tested each other, learned to use their powers for more than high-school games. Together, they made a vow: to use their powers for good. Together, they could change the world.