Spectra: A Cynical Superhero Page 8

  “I'll call someone on my team, and have them patrol the area. If they can find him, they can trail him,” he said. “Can you give us a description?”

  “He's a big Bleiten kidnapper with bright yellow eyes,” I said angrily. “Oh, and brown hair.”

  Davorin chuckled. “Okay, that's a good start.”

  “About six foot five,” I added. The more I thought about it, the more I remembered. “Wearing human clothes; dark jacket, jeans, and a pale blue shirt.”

  “Damn; that's pretty good. Hold on a sec.” He pulled out his phone and dialed. “Leo, we've had a Bleiten sighting. I'm helping a friend and can't leave, can you look for him?” He paused and smiled at me. “Good. Just track him; don't engage. He's six-five, yellow eyes, dark jacket, jeans, and a pale blue shirt.” He nodded as he listened again. “Yeah; he could lead us to those missing ladies. Great. Thanks.” Davorin hung up and angled his head down to look into my face. “I'm glad you thought to come here.”

  “I was on my way home when I realized that I couldn't go there,” I admitted.

  “Because of the Bleiten?” He asked.

  “No, because of the Triari,” I muttered.

  I explained it all to him; the President, my father, the elixir, the Triari, and the criminals who spoke Bleiten. If I was going to endanger him, the least I could do was tell him the whole truth. By the time I was done, Davorin was more grim-faced than I'd ever seen him.

  “That's why they're after you,” he murmured. “Fuck, Mara, you should have told me this sooner.”

  “We're not exactly close, Davorin,” I pointed out.

  “Close enough for you to come to me for sanctuary,” he shot back.

  “Yes; that's a fair point,” I conceded with a smile.

  “And the only reason we're not closer is that you're scared that you might like me too much,” he added.

  “And then you took it too far,” I huffed.

  “It's true, and you know it.” He shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it onto the chair beside him. “You think my friends and I are ridiculous. Therefore, getting involved with me would be ridiculous.”

  “Well, yes; that's true,” I agreed.

  “Why can't you understand that we just want to help people?” He asked me.

  “I do understand that,” I said. “I just think it's silly.”

  “Wanting to help people is silly?” Davorin lifted both brows.

  “I don't turn my back on someone if they're being attacked in front of me,” I said defensively. “But actively roaming the streets at night like a supernatural cop—which we already have, by the way—is just dumb.”

  “We have supernatural cops in the Market, not out there.” He waved his hand as if the human sections of the city were right outside his window. “They need our help.”

  “They have their own police force who are perfectly capable of dealing with human criminals,” I said. “You can't spend your days watching over humans; it's exhausting, you have to hide what you are while actively using your abilities, and it doesn't pay—at all. In fact, every time you do it, you risk exposing all of us and getting arrested by humans.”

  Davorin smiled softly. “Yeah; you're right. But it's also very rewarding. I saved two kids from a burning building the other night. The firemen couldn't reach them, but all I had to do was turn the surface of my skin to stone and walk through the flames.”

  “And how did you get them out?” I asked.

  “I wrapped them in a blanket and turned that to stone too.” He smirked. “Then I set them down on the sidewalk and disappeared into the smoke before anyone could reach me. I slipped into the crowd and was able to watch as their parents ran up and hugged them. They thought angels had saved their children.”

  “They sound deranged,” I muttered.

  “The children were talking about a man made of stone who saved them,” Davorin said. “I suppose it seemed miraculous, and—unfortunately—angels often get credit for miracles.”

  “As I said; deranged. So, where were these delusional parents when their building caught on fire?”

  “Out to dinner,” he said. “The babysitter abandoned the kids when smoke started seeping under the door.”

  “That babysitter needs to be beaten,” I growled.

  “No shit.” He grimaced. “But the point is; it felt good to save lives. It helps all this”—he held out his hands and shifted himself to stone and then back again—“make sense. It makes me feel less like a mistake and more like an improvement.”

  “You are an improvement,” I said as I took his hand. “You're evolved; that's what the word means.”

  “But I don't feel evolved,” he whispered. “I feel pointless. What's the purpose for a man to turn into stone, Amara? What could the possible evolutionary reasoning for that be?”

  I blinked as I thought about it. Then I snapped, “Now, you sound like one of those racist assholes.”

  “But if I don't do anything with my talent, then they might be right,” he said. “I don't want to be a parlor trick; I want to be Gargoyle—the man of stone.”

  “The superhero,” I murmured.

  “Wow; I think that's the first time I've heard you say that word without scorn.”

  “It is,” I admitted. “It's the first time I don't feel like it's something to make fun of.”

  “Then—”

  “No; I'm not joining your Scooby Gang,” I snarled and pushed him away. “Try your sappy, burning building story on someone else, Gargamel.”

  “It's Gargoyle,” he corrected me with a little smile.

  “Yes, of course, it is.” I laid my head on the arm of the sofa. “Do you happen to have any proper food in this place, Man of Stone?”

  “I might,” Davorin said as he stood. “If not, we can order in.”

  Davorin turned to head toward his micro-kitchen.

  “Dav?” I whispered.

  He looked back at me in surprise. No; I'd never used his nickname before either.

  “Thank you.”

  “Mi casa es Spectra's casa,” he said with a smirk.

  I groaned and covered my head with a pillow.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “That Triari Arc is an asshat,” Davorin declared over a plate of pot roast pork, fried rice, and orange chicken. Oh, and eggrolls, of course.

  “You know; two hours ago, I would have agreed with you,” I said. “But now that I've had some time to think it over—and filled my belly with a hot meal—I'm not so sure.”

  “He was gonna lock you in a hotel room,” he pointed out.

  “Because a prince told him to,” I said. “He's an arc; I don't think they have it in them to disobey their commanders. But here's the thing that's really given me pause; Kyrian didn't tell them what I did to him.”

  “He doesn't know what you did to him.” Davorin chuckled.

  “No, but don't you think it's odd that Kyrian didn't at least report his suspicions to the Prince?” I shot back. “Or even the incident in general?”

  “Well, Prince Dick is gonna know something is up now,” he said.

  “True.” I sighed. “Shit; I'm going to have to hide out from the President too or he'll be obliged to turn me over to them.”

  “Can't you ask for asylum or something?” Davorin asked.

  “No; I'm a U.S. citizen,” I huffed. And then I gaped at him. “I'm a U.S. citizen! My mom was human!”

  “Yeah; I know.” Dav frowned at me. “Calm down, Rosa Parks. No one's asking you to get in the back of the bus.”

  “I mean; the Triari don't have the right to detain me; even if it is for my own good,” I explained. “I can report their treatment to the Market Police.”

  “Do you think the MPD will help you?” He asked skeptically.

  “They will when I tell them that I'm working with the President and that he won't want me detained either.”

  “Maybe you should talk to the President first,” he suggested.

  “I wouldn't even know how to rea
ch him.” I grimaced.

  “He put you on that assignment with Homeland Security,” Davorin huffed. “You know how to reach your contact, right?”

  “Yes; SA Longchamp,” I said in revelation as I reached for my purse. I pulled out my cell phone and called her. “Hello, Special Agent Longchamp, this is Amara Madison, could you do me a huge favor and pass a message to the President for me?”

  Davorin sat back in his seat and chortled around his mouthful of eggroll.

  Chapter Fourteen

  President Colton personally returned my call and gave me his private number. He assured me that the Triari would not be allowed to take me into custody of any kind and that if I wished it, I could stay in the White House under his protection. I pointed out that living in the White House would be nearly as restrictive as if I'd simply stayed with the Triari. Colton couldn't argue that. So, instead, he was going to send me my own personal retinue of secret service agents. They were meeting me at the Market entrance the following morning.

  I spent the night at Davorin's apartment. He took the couch and gallantly gave me the use of his bed. He even changed the sheets for me. The room was the size of a breadbox, and the king-sized bed took up most of it, but it was clean and orderly, with a window to the left of the bed that let in a nice amount of moonlight. Except I needed darkness to sleep; light meant color, and color meant distractions. So, I pulled the drapes shut, climbed into bed, and shut my eyes.

  I didn't sleep well; not only did I require darkness, but I also needed the comfort of my own bed to fall asleep soundly. On top of that, there was the stress of angels and demons to deal with. My troubles rolled around in my mind as I rolled restlessly in bed until weariness finally won out.

  It seemed that as soon as my head hit the pillow, sunlight came peeping around the edges of the curtains.

  I stumbled out of the bedroom—drawn by the scent of brewing coffee—and came upon Davorin; standing in a pair of boxer shorts, staring out of his living room window as he sipped a cup of coffee. The sight stopped me in my tracks. The morning light brought out the red in Davorin's hair and turned his skin to golden bronze. It made lovely shadows around his muscles; particularly his biceps. The line of his back was also quite enjoyable; especially since it led the eye straight to the curves of his perfectly rounded rear end. He had a pensive look on his face and it gave his usually-youthful features some mature character; it made the angles of his jaw and the line of his nose appear more noble. In short; he looked amazing.

  “You gonna stare at me all day, Spectra?” Davorin asked in a sleep-roughened voice.

  “The sunrise does nice things for you,” I noted. “For a minute there, I thought I was in someone else's apartment.”

  Davorin chuckled as he turned to face me, and then his gaze traveled down my sleep-deprived self.

  “You look like someone else too,” he said.

  “Someone who hasn't slept well?” I asked in a self-disparaging tone.

  “Someone softer,” he corrected.

  I cleared my throat and looked away. “Is there any more of that coffee?”

  “Sure.” Dav went to the pot and poured me a cup.

  “Thank you,” I murmured.

  I took the cup, added sugar and cream, and went to sit on the sofa with it.

  “I called Leo this morning; he didn't find the Bleiten who attacked you,” Davorin said as he wandered back into his bedroom. He came out a few minutes later fully dressed. “He searched a two-block perimeter and couldn't find anyone who matched the description you gave me.”

  “I suppose it was too much to hope for,” I muttered.

  “We'll keep looking,” Davorin offered. “They can't hide forever.”

  “It doesn't seem very Bleiten of them to hide at all,” I noted.

  “You're right,” he said with a scowl. “They must really not want anyone to know they're here.”

  “That adds credence to my theory that they've hired mercenaries,” I said. “Maybe they're staying in the Market and focusing on me while they have their hired help out among the humans; stealing scientific notes.”

  “Could be,” he agreed. “Hey, when are you supposed to meet those agents?”

  I looked at my watch and frowned. “In twenty minutes.”

  “I'll walk you there,” Davorin offered.

  “Thanks,” I said as I got up to put my coffee cup in his sink. “And thank you again for letting me stay here last night.”

  “You can crash with me anytime you like, Mara.” Davorin pulled me into a hug as I turned around and whispered into my ear, “Anything you need; I got you.”

  I lifted my face to stare into his eyes; they'd gone a deeper shade of green—from ivy to moss. I didn't even want to look at his aura. Dav didn't seem so silly anymore and without that clown mask I'd put him in, his attractiveness was glaring. I was practically choking on it. I could hardly breathe, and the air I did manage to inhale was thick with his intoxicating scent. I swallowed roughly and pushed back far enough to inhale and come to my senses.

  “I appreciate it, Dav,” I murmured as I shrugged into my coat and then ran a hand through my hair.

  “Come on; let's go pick up your government goons,” he suggested; back to his carefree self.

  Davorin took my hand, led me out of his apartment, and down to the street. His place was just a block away from mine so we were still within walking distance of the Market's entrance. The hand-holding got awkward about a minute down the road, and I casually slipped my hand out of his. Davorin's lips twitched—which distracted me—and I accidentally knocked against a man who was hurrying past, carrying a box of machine parts. He had yellow scales all over his face, but I only caught a glimpse of them as we collided.

  “Shit! I'm sorry, lady,” he said as he righted his box.

  “Not at all; it was my fault.” I waved off his concern.

  “Thanks. Kind of you,” he murmured; giving Davorin a wary look.

  Dav watched the guy rush away; his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Who the hell was that?”

  And then I felt the sting.

  “Oh, fuck,” I whispered.

  “What's wrong?” Davorin looked back at me.

  I held up my right hand; the one that had knocked against the man's box. There was an inch-long gash on my hand, and it was deep. Whatever had cut me must have been razor-sharp for me not to have felt it.

  “You want a band-aid?” He chuckled. “I didn't know you were such a baby, Spectra.”

  “Davorin, I forgot to tell you,” I whispered fearfully as I pressed my other hand over the wound, “the Bleiten hired an Ungaru tracker.”

  “What?” He growled as he searched the busy street. “Shit, Amara, you should have said something.”

  “I forgot,” I repeated.

  “Hurry!” Davorin covered my hands with his and pulled me all the way to The Wilds.

  Thankfully, The Wilds was near the Market entrance so we were only about fifty feet away from it. It was too early in the day for the bar to be open, and it was too difficult for me to fish out my keys, so Dav had to pound on the door like a lunatic until Landry opened up.

  “Someone had better be fucking dying,” Landry grumbled as he swung the door open.

  “She got cut,” Davorin said as he barreled past Landry; dragging me with him.

  “Fuck!” Landry shouted as he slammed the door and barred it. “There; the fucking Penbruth! Drench the wound.”

  “It's already healing,” I protested. “I think we may be all right.”

  “Just do it, kid! You still have blood on you.”

  I shoved my hand over the bar sink as Dav poured a few shots worth of Penbruth on it. The blood washed away to reveal a closed wound but Landry set a lighter to my hand anyway. It burned the alcohol, not my skin, though it tingled a little over the healing cut and brought back some bad memories. I tried to suppress the images of bright white and bitter orange flames rising in my mind, but there were some wounds that never healed.
>
  I felt the panic and frustration again as I changed the fire to blue and purple—calming colors—but they had no effect on the way it burned. I hadn't been able to save my parents, and I had been too scared to leave that cabinet and save myself. I don't know how long I would have sat there—letting myself burn—if Landry hadn't shown up and pulled me out.

  As the flames died out on my hand, the memories faded, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Whatever blood that had been spilled today had burned; just as it had on the night my parents were murdered.

  “Thanks, Landry,” I whispered.

  “No problem, kid,” he said with as much relief as I felt. “Let me see that hand.”

  I held it out again for him to inspect. It was completely healed; not even a red spot to show where the wound had been.

  “It looks good,” Landry said with a sigh.

  I nodded as I slumped on a stool and withdrew my hand. Then I saw Davorin at the window; staring up and down the street as if he were waiting for an army to lay siege to The Wilds.

  “I think we're okay,” I called over to him.

  “Your blood is in the air already, Amara,” Dav said grimly. “We are not okay; we're just better than we were a few minutes ago. I'm hoping that when the tracker scents you, enough time will have passed for the blood trail to have dispersed.”

  “They're that good?” I asked in shock.

  “They couldn't track things by blood if they weren't,” Davorin said. “I knew an Ungaru once; he could smell when it was his girlfriend's time of the month.”

  “That's not exactly astounding,” I said.

  “From fifteen blocks away,” Davorin amended.

  “What?” I gaped at him.

  “He could smell the blood from fifteen blocks away and know it was hers,” Davorin added. “And he knew the moment she stopped bleeding too. He'd always look at me and grin; flashing me those freaky teeth.”

  “Yes; they're good with blood,” Landry said. “But if he shows up here, I'll just play stupid. It's a bar; people come here and get into fights; blood gets spilled.”