Fear Her Wrath II: Crucible of Glass

Chapter 1

My name is Margaret Hunt, and I'm the world's okayest detective.

Good enough to discover a sinister conspiracy hatched between the city council and the mafia to dominate Marbrose City. Bad enough not to realize my boyfriend was terrorizing the same city as my arch-nemesis. I'm also a superhero, by the way—or "costumed vigilante," if you want to get pedantic. I don't have any superpowers, just a mask, a cape, and a big stick. I also have it on good authority that calling myself a superhero could open me to legal action from several law firms in New York.

I'll let you guess who they represent.

I remember learning in English class that good stories begin in medias res—you know, right in the middle of action, like the Greeks camped at the gates of Troy, or a bunch of clowns robbing a bank in Gotham City.

So, I was on top of a moving train.

Specifically, I was clinging for dear life to the roof of the elevated train that ran from the loading docks in Chilltern Banks to Brand Hill—the terminus for all the rail lines in Fenley Island, aka the Fen. It's important to know that because of what this train was carrying: weapons. Gerard Rosinski, head of the Polish mob in Marbrose City, had apparently decided that moving them in by truck wasn't safe anymore after my police contact and I started nailing their shipments. So, with a little help from corrupt civil servants in the Marbrose City Transit Authority, he arranged for that particular line of track to be "closed for maintenance" and loaded over $2 million worth of trafficked firearms (and worse) onto the empty passenger cars.

He was also on top of the moving train. I'll come back to him in a second.

It was his brother Albert who had spoiled his plans, as usual. Albert Rosinski—you might know him as the Boyar—owned a little club on the east end of the Fen called the White Ermine, and he's not very good at keeping his mouth shut. He mentioned the shipment to his barber, Gilbert Lyons, who mentioned it to his girlfriend, Colleen Chapman, who told her brother, Mickey the Mouth.

Mickey helpfully shared the details with me while I was dangling him off the edge of Calloway Bridge.

Our plan—meaning me, Sergeant Sarah Corrigan, and Elinor Gan's plan—was to intercept the train at the Joplin Heights station, overpower the mob guys guarding the shipment, override the controls, and deliver it safely to Corrigan and her small cadre of less-corrupt cops at the station in Clearwater. All I had to do was jump onto a moving train, knock out a dozen armed guards, and not get shot.

It went pretty well—at first. I only had to endure about half a second of fear for my life before I cleared the gap and landed on the metal roof of the speeding train, and when it came to the guards, I was prepared. The city's goons had started wearing gas masks since I first took up amateur vigilantism back in January, but I had tweaked my knockout gas to be a little more potent than usual. Luckily for me, it worked like a charm, and I didn't have to try my luck against a hail of bullets. I took out the guards in the first car, and the second, before Gerard Rosinski locked himself in the driver's compartment. That meant I needed to go back out onto the streamlined silver cowl and come in through the top.

Okay, back to the roof of the moving train.

"You are persistent," Gerard Rosinski snarled. "Do you know what the reward is for your corpse?"

Rosinski was tall and vulture-like, with a hooked nose and jet black hair receding from the crown of his head. His left eye was white and cloudy. Like his younger brother, he seemed to have a thing for fur coats and expensive rings. Not that I was pondering his appearance at that exact moment—I was more concerned about his gun.

"Ask Eric Colborne how it went when he tried to collect," I said, my voice distorted into a demonic growl by my metal mask.

With one hand on my grappling hook and the other clutching my electro-staff, I inched towards Gerard Rosinski. He was trying to steady his aim, but his hands were trembling. The train was rattling unsteadily over the tracks as it rocketed towards Talton station—the last stop before it turned south towards Clearwater. Time was running out. I took a step closer to Gerard Ronsinski.