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I smile too, but only because he’s just given me a much better idea. “Hey, have you formulated the juice for my blood type yet?” I ask. During the lockdown, Evan had shown me his invention that we call the juice. It’s an injectable boost of energy that allows you to kinetically move other people, other villains, wherever you want them to go. The only downside is that each batch of juice needs to be formulated to match the DNA of the Super who will be using it.
“Yeah, it’s done. There are a few vials on the fourth floor. Why? I don’t think it’d be smart to use it on the Retriever Squad.”
I run across Evan’s living room and into the elevator, waiting a few extra seconds for him to join me. He punches the button for the fourth floor and then watches me as we descend. I’m glad we retired our mind reading rings. He doesn’t need to know what I’m thinking.
On the fourth floor, Evan takes me to a refrigerated box full of his nerdy research stuff. One drawer has a dozen vials of the juice. Some of them have my name on it. I collect all of them and grab a few syringes, shoving all of it into a canvas bag.
“You should put this in a vial like Felix’s drug, so I won’t have to use a separate syringe,” I say, rolling up the bag to make it compact for travelling.
“Yeah I know. Too bad I didn’t think like a villain when I was designing this stuff.” He grabs my hand as I walk back toward the elevator. His energy is anxious and hyper. “You want to tell me what you have in mind with this stuff?”
“It’s just a precaution,” I say, leaning up on my toes and planting a kiss on his cheek. “I want to have an extra bit of protection if I happen to need it.”
“Be careful using that stuff around Nova. It’s probably formulated for her blood, too.”
I nod. He sighs in a long breath and shoves his hands in his pockets while we ride the elevator down to the first floor.
“Thanks for the pizza,” I say, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. “And thanks for the juice.”
“Mhmm,” he mutters, standing stiff as I squeeze him into a hug. He walks me outside and to the KAPOW entrance on the beach. “Whatever you’re up to, you need to remember to be nice.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, fiddling with the bag of juice vials. I load up the syringes and place the protective cap back over the needle. If I can roll it up small enough, it might fit into the slim pocket on my waistband.
Evan’s lips move to the side of his face. “Just listen, okay? You need to be nice. Especially if you’re going to talk to the Retriever Squad. You can’t be abrasive or rude and expect them to help you.”
“I’m not abusive or rude,” I mutter, knowing full well that I am. That I can be. He lifts an eyebrow and I punch him in the arm. “Fine, I’ll be nice.”
“Good,” he says. “This isn’t the first time you’ve left with that look on your face.”
I smile up at him and do my best impression of a puppy face. “What look?”
His finger bops my nose and then he kisses me quickly on the forehead. “The look like you’re up to something I don’t approve of.”
I make it home with just enough time to pee and then stash my syringes of juice under my bed. Just when I’m about to collapse butt first onto my bed and sneak in a quiet afternoon nap before what is sure to be an exciting night of dealing with the Retriever Squad, my Hero alarm goes off.
The former rush of exhilaration that comes with getting a new mission is now a dreary sigh and a shuffle to get dressed and grab a bite to eat before going out. Because all my missions are the same thing lately: break up a human fight before it turns deadly.
I had tried to turn the last few fight missions into less of a waste of time. I asked questions about their drug suppliers and where they bought it and how I could find the main drug seller. I asked the humans involved if they knew who the head honcho was, the big guy at the top of the drug selling pyramid. Surely someone had to know, right?
Nope.
Most of the humans were too busy being dead or about to die, having injected themselves with so much Super power that their fragile human bodies couldn’t keep up. I had thought, in moments of weakness, about stealing some of that power for myself. Injecting it into my own depowered hand just to see if it’d give me the power I once had before it was ripped out of my skin. But I never did. That power could be Dad’s. It would be immoral to take some. Besides, I have bigger problems to worry about.
My BEEPR leads me to a suburban neighborhood on the outskirts of King City. The neighborhood’s entrance has a manmade waterfall cascading over a rocky terrain. It looks like an upscale place to live. But the dozens of For Sale signs in the yard, most of them with the word Foreclosure over it, says otherwise. This is probably another neighborhood that was built too quickly and filled with homeowners who couldn’t pay a mortgage in a recession.
I jog down Coyote Creek Circle, following the dot on my BEEPR that leads me to a gorgeous two story brick home in the middle of a cul-de-sac. The porch light is on and the driveway is filled with cars. But the rest of the lights are off. Both neighboring homes look abandoned, with ankle high grass and old newspapers in the driveways. The muffled sounds of humans let me know I’m in the right place. And that everyone is in the basement.
Switching my BEEPR to cell phone mode, I dial up Officer Plummer, the human policeman who requested Hero backup.
“I’m here.”
He clears his throat. “Great, thank you Hero Maci. I’ll be there shortly. My patrol car is parked one street over. Can you tell anything yet? Is this another drug fight?”
I step quietly up the driveway and walk to the back of the house where a basement window should be accessible. “There’s at least a dozen humans in the basement. They’re loud and cheering, so yeah, I’d say this is another drug-induced fight club.”
“Shit,” he mutters into the phone. I hear the rumble of his engine as he idles around the corner to Coyote Creek Circle, headlights turned off. He cuts the engine and I hang up the phone, choosing instead to listen to the thumping of his boots as he jogs toward me.
“I have an ambulance on standby,” he whispers. Then he nods politely and holds out a hand to shake mine. “I’m Officer Plummer,” he says. “Thank you so much for your help.”
