Hero Stalker

Part Ten

I yelped as my seat yanked me backwards, around, and behind her chair. The roof above our heads folded away, revealing a glass dome. The hood twisted into a black cone and violet wings shot out above the wheels. Femme Fatale stepped on the gas and the car shot forward like a bullet from a gun. My hands dug into the armrests as we soared up, up, and away.

I've got to be dreaming. The streets of Slatefort fell away beneath me. My heart raced. I hadn't known the Centurions' jets transformed like that—or how insanely fast they could fly. We passed over Orignal in seconds. I glimpsed Ward Stadium on my left, and then Femme Fatale yanked on a weird-looking lever, sending us up and over the skyscrapers of the financial district. James's old BaytonUniversity dorm appeared, absolutely miniscule. The zoo vanished in an instant. The jet flew over the gaudy mansions of Waterfront, banked over the historic district of southern WashingtonHarbor, and leveled out over the water.

I'd seen these jets pass over my head dozen of times and wondered what it felt like to ride in one. No one on The Worldley Fewe had even gotten close to one. I held my breath, trying to freeze this moment in my memory. I never wanted to forget this, and we had almost arrived at our destination.

CenturionTower poked up from the water like a giant thumbs-up to the sky. Cobalt blue walls reflected the waves and sparkled in the sunlight. Just below the edge of the roof hung the Centurion logo: a red C locked in a yellow diamond with a blue border, five stories tall. The jet headed straight for it.

Femme Fatale pressed a button on the dashboard. The C turned sideways and unfolded from the tower, sticking its arms out over the bay. "Hold on."

The jet hit the metal arm and shot toward the inside of the Tower. Retrorockets fired, thrusting us backwards so fast my heart didn't have time to skip a beat. We had stopped dead in the middle of the building. The sudden stillness left my head spinning

"Don't touch anything," Femme Fatale said. The top of the jet popped open, and I caught a whiff of salt air from the harbor. She leapt out. Rows of lights turned on as the C rotated back into closed position—lights on the edge of the runway, on the circular walls, in the ceiling. My heart raced. This is actually happening. In the Tower, with the captain of Bayton's Centurions . . . Annabelle would freak out when I told her. I quickly composed a post in my head, although no one on The Worldley Fewe would believe me. Play it cool, Gloria. You're a witness to a serious crime. Be cool and collected.

Femme waved at me. I clambered out of the cockpit and whispered a silent prayer of thanks I'd worn slacks today. I walked along the concrete to where she stood. "So, what—"

The floor shot up under my feet, launching us skyward at dizzying speeds. I yelped and froze, since the floor under my feet lacked rails or any other safety precaution. Maybe Centurions didn't need it. The roof of the hangar grew closer and closer. I squeezed my eyes shut. Then, with a whooshing noise, a panel opened above us, and the and the rising section of floor slowed down.

That's how I found myself on the top floor of the Tower. And any prayer of me being cool and collected went out the window.

The other four Centurions sat at a giant hardwood table.A muscular Latino man dressed in black spandex with yellow gloves, boots, floor-length cape, and a do-rag style mask munched on a sandwich. Cypher. Eleven year member. Class: Intelligence. Power: technopathy. A teenage boy sat in the chair next to him, dressed in purple spandex covered in orange and white stripes that zigzagged down his body. His full-facial hood was pushed up, revealing a pale, zit-covered face and a mop of curly brown hair. He was playing a game on his phone. Pulse. First year. Class: support. Power: telekinesis.

 Then came Slasher, lean and muscular in a royal blue costume, with thick grey bracers around his arms and legs, his mask little more than a grey strip of fabric around his eyes. He was carving a wood figurine with a single foot-long blade. I couldn't even remember all the cities he'd served in over his forty-eight year tenure. Class: Combat. Powers: superspeed, psi-blades. Peregrine sat next to him, drumming her fingertips on the table. Two years in Bayton, four in Baltimore, three more in Bayton. Class: Support. Powers: Flight, supersonic scream.

Femme Fatale coughed. Fourteen years in Los Angeles, alias Dominatrix, eight year leave of absence, seven years in Bayton. Class: Intelligence. Powers: clothing metamorphosis, mind control. Considering her stilettos, superbalance should be added to the list. "Peregrine picked up an unrecorded surge on a patrol last night. I checked and double checked the scans. She's coming. Worse, she's absorbing on Slasher's exact wavelengths."

"Impossible." Slasher stood, staring at me. His hard grey eyes looked like they'd been chipped from flint. "How old are you, girl?"

"Twenty-two." Why'd he want to know? And what the hell had she meant by absorbing?

"I was in Canada when I was forty, Femme. Establishing Arctic Patrol. I was with Mankiller the whole time. I never cheated on her."

"You sure?"

"Of course I'm sure."

Femme sighed. "Well, then we've got a big problem, because that means our new friend Harpy's running around with technology that permanently alters genetic codes."

"We've got an even bigger problem than that." Slasher popped open the top of one of his thick blue bracers and pulled out a four pointed ninja star. He tossed it from hand to hand and frowned. "Don't suppose the Council will mark her insufficient."

Femme shook her head. "You're far too useful to them."

"Thought so." Slasher threw the star at my head.

Metal glinted. Some reflex I didn't know I had took over. My legs threw me sideways. I slammed into the wall behind the table.

Only it wasn't a wall, I realized when I opened my eyes. My hands were pressed against a glass-enclosed case of memorabilia. A giant robotic eye that could only have come from Gorillath. An unmelting block of ice that Ice Queen probably made. A taxidermied tentacle tip of Cracken's. Was that Dark Justice's grappling gun? I nearly fainted.

Then I looked at the blades sprouting from my fingertips. And I fainted.