Hero Stalker

Part Sixty-Two

By five o'clock, my knee still hurt far too much to run. Thankfully, Femme walked in, dressed in a matronly yellow housedress with thick-framed glasses.

"You get really creative with your disguises," I told her as we climbed in the blue and grey sports car. Slasher's vehicle stood out more than hers had, but the explosion at the hospital had destroyed her jet. I had a hunch that the explosives had come from her trunk.

Femme's dress morphed into her costume. The glasses transformed into her mask. "That was my work outfit."

***

I donned my mask as soon as we reached CenturionTower. My shredded uniform sat securely in the bottom of my purse, but walking in with a bare face felt wrong.

You could hear the hollow pounding of hip-hop from the hangar. On the top floor, Pulse lay on the table, drinking champagne straight from the bottle. The music drowned out the noise from our giant TV. Footage of our battle with Harpy played on every news channel Pulse flipped past.

"I am the champion!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. "Nice skirt, Shadowcat. You selling Bibles?"

"Pulse," Slasher said from over by the training mats. His voice sounded more tired than normal. "If I throw you out the window, can you levitate back up?"

"Why not? I'm the motherfucking man!"

"Shit. There goes my best hope."

I hobbled over to Slasher. "You let him drink?"

"Kid can't handle his alcohol. He'll be out cold in fifteen minutes. Hopefully, he'll stay that way through Harbor Day."

"We need Pulse awake and happy. He's too important." Femme joined us on the mats. She had dark circles under her eyes. "Even if Harpy really died, that machine is still out there. Mayor Hollis wants people to think it's over. He ordered Commissioner Mann to end the police blockades. Harbor Day will continued as planned. We won't get any help from him."

If Harpy really died? I looked at Slasher, hoping he'd confirm it for me.

But he just shook his head. "Let's get you in costume. Benny—shit, I hate that damn thing—initiate subroutine Get Me Shadowcat's Costume Or I'll Shred You."

A glass case rose out of the floor. Oh, baby. In this version of my costume, a grappling gun hung in a green holster over each of my legs. The gloves and boots looked as thick as Slasher's. The green slash over my collarbone now extended into a thick collar that would enclose my neck. My new cape would hang down to my feet. I whistled. "Now that's what I call a costume."

"Bulletproof. Fireproof," Femme said. "The micro-healing fabric can repair minor damage to itself. The titanium plates in your boots and gloves will block knives and swords."

"Not psi-blades. Remember that," Slasher said.

"When am I gonna fight someone with a sword?" I asked.

"That's what Greywood said before she died."

Shit. Greywood had served as captain before Femme. The official reports insisted she'd died of a heart attack. According to The Worldley Fewe, someone had stabbed her through the chest thirteen times. I'd been hoping that wasn't true.

I changed. Padding in the soles of my new boots added an two inches to my height. The weight of the armor around my arms and legs made me feel like a human tank. Gadgets hung from my utility belt: handcuffs, tracking chips, plastic ties, smoke bombs, flash bombs and flares.

"Can I get knock-out needles?" I asked.

"Absolutely not," said Femme. "Knock-out needles must be individually calibrated. You've got to estimate a man's weight on the fly. Get a supernarcotics certification from the Council and we'll talk."

"You've got a decent haymaker. You'll be fine with that," Slasher said. He pointed at a button on my belt. "Press that."

I did. Immediately, my new cape flew outward and snapped onto my wrists and ankles. Strong magnets anchored it in place.

"Gliding rig," Slasher continued. "Keep climbing tall buildings, might come in handy one day. Plus, you can shield your head with it."

"Got that." I paused. "Why don't you have gear like this?"

"Not an amateur. Don't need it. Go home. Rest your knee. Meet me at Harrison's tomorrow night. Nine PM. I've got some weapons dealers to shake down, and I can teach you the patrol routes for Governors and The Vineyard while we're at it. You'll need to learn them all before I retire."

Had he just said what I'd thought he'd said? A smile spread across my face. Hope bubbled up in my chest. "You mean—"

"Welcome to the Centurions, kid." He extended his hand. I shook it, feeling like I'd fallen into a dream. But I'd earned this. I might not be a hero, according to Peregrine's bitchy definition. Who gave a fuck? I could call myself a Centurion with pride.

"What the fuck?" Pulse slurred from atop the table. "Guys, this isn't fair!"

On the giant TV screen, Melinda March, Bayton's Channel Nine Today anchor, pointed at a blurry freeze-frame of the hospital explosion. "This seemingly humanoid figure fell from the armor into the rubble . . ." Two black shadows could be seen right next to each other. Harpy's armor and another person.

"If Harpy's still alive," Pulse said, "I'll throw CenturionTower at him next."

"Hate to think I blew up my car for nothing." Femme frowned.

"If that's a man, he still fell twenty stories. He's dead," Slasher said. I caught a hesitant note in his voice.

I'd done it. I'd really done it. I'd made the team. I had amazing powers, a badass costume, I'd won Slasher's respect . . . and all I could think about was how this was bound to blow up in our faces.

"I fell that far," I pointed out. "Still breathing."