Hero Stalker

Part Fifty-Five

Police barricades and checkpoints had snarled the city streets with knots of traffic. Red and blue lights flashed down almost every block. "Get that bastard, Shadowcat!" one officer shouted up at me as I leapt over an alley. My response was lost on the wind.

Only Will remained awake when I got home. He sat on our sagging blue couch, playing Call of Duty. The bag of Doritos sitting next to him spilled orange dust on the cushions. "Where have you been lately?" he asked as I ran up the stairs, my purse tucked under my arm. "It's almost midnight."

"Busy!"

I stole six hours of sleep and headed out again before sunrise. This time, my destination was Valerie's faux colonial mansion in Waterfront. The investigation at the hospital couldn't wait, but I didn't want to lose my job over it. Valerie had to stay home from work, and I knew only one way to keep her there. As a bonus, it happened to be something I'd always dreamed of doing.

I perched up on her roof and waited for her reaction. The sun rose over the ocean in a corona of orange and pink. Valerie's driveway shone gold as the first rays of light crept over the trees bordering her hilltop estate. Thirty minutes passed before Valerie stepped through her French doors, Needles yipping at her heels. She held her nose in the air as she walked to her hot pink Lamborghini. I braced myself.

Valerie's scream split the air. The seagulls rooting through her trash took flight. Her face turned purple. "Who did this?" She kicked her front bumper—well, the part of it that remained intact.

I had slashed off the front of her car.

Holding back laughter, I watched Valerie pace back and forth, screaming obscenities and kicking the bumper. At one point, she ripped off her expensive jacket, threw it on the ground, and stomped on it. Needles bit into the fabric and ripped off a sleeve.

"Bad dog!" Valerie shouted. Needles cowered at her feet. And to think, just two nights ago, you humiliated me in public so your mutt could piss.

She whipped out her phone. 'The Imperial March' rang out from my utility belt.

"What's up, boss?" I said as I answered the call.

"I won't be coming in today." Valerie kicked the bumper again. "Car trouble."

"That's terrible. I don't know how we'll deal without you." People might actually start enjoying their jobs.

She stomped back towards her front door. "I trust you. Go to the WashingtonHarbor location and check their inventory. That's where the majority of the Harbor Day traffic comes through. I'm a damn good businesswoman. I keep things so damn organized that nothing short of a fucking bomb can bring me down. So if you fuck up on me, you're more destructive than a fucking bomb."

Valerie hung up and chucked her phone over her shoulder. Needles ran after it.

Washington Harbor could wait. I ran down Old North Street, turned right on Spencer, and merged onto Wilson Parkway right where it bordered Orignal.

In daylight, you could have seen Our Lady's Will from miles away. The windows plating the central atrium shone in the morning sunlight. Sparks glared in my eyes as I climbed the white concrete walls. Cars honked. Some rubberneckers had slowed down to watch me.

Only when I vaulted onto the roof did it occur to me I could have taken the elevator.

A group of EMTs had gathered around the helicopter landing pad. "Is something wrong, ma'am?" asked a woman with curly brown hair sticking out from under her cap.

"Nope. Just waiting for a friend." Thought I'd poke some holes in your building to kill time.

To avoid their awkward glances, I turned to face the stairwell, drew my new grappling gun, and pressed the first button. Crack! The hook lodged in the concrete. A wicked jolt shot through my arm.

"Hey!" shouted an EMT.

"Sorry!" I pressed the second button. The line went taut and pulled me forward. Nope. Third button. The hook dropped out of the wall. A chunk of concrete fell with it. Guiltily, I walked over to the edge of the roof, holding down the second button to reel in the line. A park lay across the street. A group of kids in capes ran around a copse of trees.

The EMTs scattered as a humming noise filled the air. Femme's jet hovered down on the east side of the roof. Clouds of clear exhaust poured out from underneath the wings, making the air ripple. The ground trembled under my feet as it touched down.

"Morning, Shadowcat." Femme pushed the cockpit open and jumped down, clutching a cup of Starbucks like a drowning sailor clutches a lifeline. She glided right past me and kicked the stairwell door open. "Having fun with your new grappling gun?"

I'd have preferred my own jet, actually, but I couldn't expect one of those until I'd actually made the team, and saved the city a couple dozen times. "Haven't had much time to experiment yet." My boots thudded as we climbed down the steps. The stairwell rails had been painted neon green, and the bright color spiraling downward made my head spin.

"Just don't shoot it at a person. Those hooks pack a punch."

I'd seen it shatter concrete. "God, no! Who would do something like that?"

Femme sighed and shook her head. I winced. By now, these things shouldn't even surprise me. "Slasher, right? How many people has he . . ."

"Killed? Four or five while he's served in Bayton. Yes, one with a grappling gun. Only in circumstances where civilian lives were in immediate danger. He's not a monster. He's the person we send to fight the monsters. He's our combat operative."

And if I made the team, that'd be my job when he retired. I'd avoided thinking about that so far. But on ArterIsland, Slasher had given me permission to stab Harpy if I had to. Centurions weren't supposed to be above the law. They were supposed to see it carried out to its full, equal purpose. That was why I'd idolized Dark Justice. But he'd lied to everyone as well.

Maybe Femme had a point. Maybe people shouldn't know the whole truth about us. It was just too sad.

Femme must have noticed the worry under my mask. "It's not a requirement, Shadowcat. It's just a choice. One day, you'll have to make it for yourself."