Hero Stalker

Part Thirty-Eight

Dan shoved his body between me and the direction of the noise, pulling me so close that Needles yelped in pain. "Get out of here!" he shouted, dragging me over to the stairwell. I stumbled in my heels, heart pounding and head spinning. Who fired?

He wrenched open the stairwell door and pushed me down two steps at a time. A horde of men and women in formal dress poured out of the ballroom doors, screaming, running into each other. One of the mayor's bodyguards shielded Hollis with his back while the other bulldozed a path through the crowd.

A gap in the exodus let me see into the ballroom. Cracks webbed a window with a round hole in it. Ed Mann lay prone on the fancy carpet.

"No!" Dan yelled.

I hadn't seen a dead body since my grandfather's wake seven years ago, but I had no doubt Ed was dead. Blood poured from a hole in the back of his head.

"My dog!" Valerie's face glowed red as she lunged out of the fleeing crowd and ripped Needles' bag off my shoulder. She clutched the dog tightly as she barreled down the steps. Dan swore.

"Gloria, stay here. I'll be right back." He ripped open the door of a janitor's closet and pushed me inside. His hand shook as he shut the door.

No, you won't be right back. Not with that look in his eyes. Everything I'd learned about Dan told me he wouldn't let anyone get away with killing his friend. But he was unarmed and unequipped. I couldn't let him do this alone. I might have been the worst superhero in Bayton's history—but if I abandoned him now, I'd be the worst person.

The bullet hole had been in a west-facing window. The shooter would have needed to fire from inside Randolph Tower. He'd have to go down a bunch of stairs to get out. Whoever made it across the street first would have the advantage.

I stripped off my dress and kicked off my shoes. Sliding into my leotard cost me precious time. Sweat made my arms sticky as I rolled on my gloves. My boots felt too tight. I clipped on my cape and snapped on my belt. My fingers trembled as I pulled on my mask.

"Shadowcat to Tower," I said on the radio. "There's been a shooting at Le Hotel Gran Orignal."

"On my way," Femme answered. "Five minutes."

When I ran back into the ballroom, Ed's father, the police commissioner, sat frozen next to his son's body. Commander Ayer had his phone out and was shouting at someone on the other line. Discarded champagne glasses covered the floor. Waiters and waitresses had dropped trays of sushi as they'd fled. Some people had made footprints in Mann's blood. I wanted to throw up.

Instead, I ran at the window with the bullet hole in it and threw myself through the glass.

It shattered around me. One blunt chunk hit me in the jaw, but none penetrated my costume. Gravity sucked me down and momentum pulled me forward. I briefly glimpsed streetlights twinkling beneath my feet before my blades sunk into the walls of Randolph Tower. They screeched as they caught in the concrete. I slid ten feet down before stopping.

Blood pounded in my ears. Cool wind washed over my face. Sirens rang out in the streets below. Don't look down. Jesus, Gloria, don't look down. I pressed my body flat against the wall and began to climb, sinking my blades deep into the concrete walls between the windows. Hopefully, the dark walls and night sky would lend me some camouflage.

Faster, faster, faster, I told myself. I had to beat Dan to the crime scene. Even if the shooter was still there.

My hand brushed shattered glass. The floor-length window just above and to my left had been broken. I held my breath as I climbed up alongside it.

The red and blue lights of police cars shone distorted off the windows of Le Gran Hotel Orignal as I looked back at it. More sirens joined the chorus. The police would lock down the neighborhood in minutes. But the shooter would have anticipated that reaction. Either they'd fled or prepared to fight. One thing was certain—they had no qualms about murder.

But this city was my home. I wouldn't let these things start happening here again. Dark Justice charged in without any powers to protect him. What's your excuse? So I took a deep, possibly final breath and swung myself through the open window.

My feet hit carpet. I crouched and quickly scanned the room. It looked like a normal conference room, save for a rifle mounted on a tripod. The gun pointed straight across the street, but no sign of the shooter remained. Where did he go and why didn't he take the murder weapon with him? Then I saw the red paint on the conference table. Someone had written 'You Care When It Happens Here'.

Harpy.