Generation Next: A Superhero Adventure (The Pantheon Saga Book 3) Read online

  Awkward tension followed her dismissal. She regretted that. Before Quinn could apologize, the waiter arrived with the wine menu. Quinn ordered a merlot. Annie asked for only water.

  Quinn arched an eyebrow. That wasn’t like her. But with Annie trying to shed weight for the wedding, going dry made sense. “The taco salad seems promising. What are you getting?” She looked up, startled by Annie’s unsmiling stare. Quinn shifted awkwardly in her seat. “Something wrong?”

  “I’m that bad,” Annie murmured, more to her than Quinn.

  Quinn jerked back, confused. “Uhhh…what are we talking about?”

  “I saw your face when I turned down the wine,” Annie accused harshly.

  Quinn grimaced. She’d avoided further criticism of Annie’s drinking. The time she’d said anything had been out of anger, right before that horrific Mistura’s attack. Quinn chose her next words carefully. “I’m just surprised. You usually order a few glasses during meals.”

  Annie grew so ashamed. “I’m trying something different. I guess you’re right about me being a drunk.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Quinn dropped her menu, stunned by the salvo. Time to de-escalate this misunderstanding pronto. “I never said that,” she said calmly. “The amount you drank that night at Carmelo’s was concerning. Did something happen, sweetie?”

  Annie hugged herself and exhaled, near tears. “I brunched with Johnny’s sister, Agnes, to talk wedding planning last week,” she began. “And she goes ‘Want something to drink? It’s early for me, but I can open some wine for my future sister-in-law.’”

  Quinn cringed. Agnes had the subtlety of a foghorn. “The Sherwoods are a fistful of A-holes.”

  Annie coughed out a laugh despite her mood. “That got me thinking about what you said. And what Johnny says sometimes about my drinking.”

  Quinn reached over and squeezed Annie’s hand. “I want you healthy and happy. If that means cutting back on alcohol, then I support you.”

  Annie’s tight-lipped smile didn’t reach her gaze, which remained distant. Worry tremored through Quinn. Food first, then we discuss whatever that is.

  Annie’s phone buzzed then. She snatched it up for inspection. “Shit.” Her eyes widened. “Gotta leave!” She lurched from her seat and grabbed her bag.

  Quinn stared up at her. “You’re kidding. We just got here.”

  “Work emergency,” Annie explained apologetically. She rounded the table, giving Quinn a quick hug. “Sorry, Quinnie. We’ll hang later.” She powerwalked out of the restaurant.

  Quinn watched Annie go, rather stung. “Guess I’m eating alone.” She flagged down a waiter. After she finished her dinner, a call came through as Quinn exited Cajun Station. The reporter saw the caller ID and answered. “Hey, you.”

  “Quinn,” said Mikaela Guerrero, the superhero named Seraph. “Can I stop by?”

  Quinn furrowed her brow. While The Vanguard member had crashed at her condo before, the unexpectedness was new. “Sure… Everything okay?”

  “I’ll tell you once I’m there.” Seraph then hung up.

  Despite the fallout from Quinn’s Titan exposé, she and Seraph’s friendship had unexpectedly thrived. Seraph arrived a few hours later. For obvious reasons, she wore baggy clothes with her long hair bundled under a baseball cap. Like another San Miguel resident on an evening stroll.

  “How are you?” Quinn greeted, shutting the door and embracing her.

  “Just came from my usual in-town church.” The angelic hero sounded downhearted. She headed for the common room with fluent ease. Seraph removed her hat, thick brunette locks bucketing down one shoulder. “Needed a familiar face.”

  “Your ‘usual’ church?” Quinn repeated in unmasked anger. That was Seraph’s code for her hookups with Extreme Teens’ leader, Blur. Quinn was in no mood for this tonight.

  “No,” Seraph corrected, plopping down on the couch. “I went to church. Luke and I broke up last week.”

  “Oh,” Quinn remarked, following her into the common room. “Good!” With Seraph engaged to Sentinel, and Blur dating K-popstar L.U.N.A., this affair had a recipe for self-destruction.

  Seraph bowed her head, eyes closed. “I broke up with Kurt, too.”

  Quinn stopped smiling. “Oh. Bad.” She parked beside the hero for more details. “What happened?”

  “Kurt’s under so much stress with hate coming from everywhere,” Seraph began, hugging herself. “And the charities rejecting us gutted him. He loved those appearances. I prayed so long for the team to rise above it. But Kurt’s running The Vanguard like a prison camp. He and Robbie fight daily. Wyldcat’s trying to drink herself to death when we’re off-duty.” Seraph turned to Quinn with accusing eyes. “Saying Lady Liberty would be a better leader didn’t help.”

  Quinn stiffened. She should’ve known this might come up. “I wasn’t trying to make things worse.”

  Seraph glared a few moments more before her eyes fell. “I know.” She stared ahead. “Kurt’s become so unkind, lashing out at the slightest things in front of the team. So yesterday I ended things.” The subject was a raw nerve, doubling Seraph over in a sobbing explosion.

  Quinn pulled her friend in, cradling her grief. Seeing this loving woman in such agony was a lance to her heart. Yet the journalist in Quinn marveled over the bombshells Seraph had unknowingly revealed. Any of these tales would dominate the news cycle for days. And destroy The Vanguard.

  But guilt overrode such thoughts. Quinn would continue protecting her friend’s secrets and provide a safe haven from the world. “Who else knows about the breakup?”

  Seraph lifted her head, pushing back wavy locks from her tear-streaked face. “Benjamin Crane and the main Vanguard team. We’re keeping that contained until our reputation improves.” She shook her head, tears spilling in torrents. “But…it just feels like our team is falling apart.”

  “How can I help?” Quinn inquired. Anything to ease her pain.

  “Stop brutalizing us on your news segments.” Not a request. A demand.

  Quinn narrowed her eyes. “No can do,” she replied, never raising her voice. “My boss called me out for going easy on Vanguard.” The thin moral line of a reporter befriending a superhero was tricky to walk.

  Shame bled into Seraph’s face at the unethical appeal. “Sorry.” She wiped away more tears with her palm. “Can I stay here tonight? I need a break—”

  Quinn waved off further explanation. “Make yourself at home, Mikaela.”

  A smile cracked Seraph’s grief. Sunshine through grey clouds. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Soon after, Quinn guided her exhausted friend to the guestroom to tuck her in. Then she read a Bible passage to help Seraph drift off.

  An hour later, Quinn finished a brief on The Elite. She felt dirty writing this while a Vanguard member dozed in the guest room. But her search produced little. A profile could shine a light if The Elite should be the next great superhero team. And Quinn always found sunlight to be the best disinfectant. She’d proof the brief again before sending to Jono and Helena tomorrow. Quinn got up and texted Colin.

  ME: A good friend needs me tonight. Tomorrow night?

  Colin was thoughtful and wonderful, promising to make up for the canceled evening. Quinn blushed, a lot, glancing from her cell to out the window.

  She dropped her device. Thank God for protective cases.

  A shadowy figure crouched on the rooftop across the street, coat whipping sideways in the night winds. Crimson eyes burned in the dark, watching Quinn like a nocturnal predator.

  It took a minute to stop hyperventilating before she recognized the Midnight Son in one of his overdramatic postures. Someone wants to talk… Quinn picked up her phone, which buzzed from a text.

  BLOCKED: Your roof. Don’t tell Seraph.

  That won a chuckle from her. Of course, he knew Quinn had company. “I’m popular tonight.” She looked out the window.

  Geist was gone from that rooftop.

  She gave hersel
f a quick onceover. Pajama pants and an old Brown University t-shirt wouldn’t keep her warm out there. Quinn threw on a peacoat and took an elevator to her complex’s darkened roof.

  Geist stood a few yards away from the door leading outside. Under overcast skies, the Midnight Son was a silhouette enveloped in his rippling trench coat. He stood in a part of the roof shielded from surrounding buildings. Quinn approached, and froze as another figure appeared from the corner of her eye. “Geist. Longshadow.” The second name nearly got stuck in her throat.

  Therese Levesque strolled toward her. “Quinn Bauer.” The greeting sounded unnaturally deep and distorted thanks to a voice modulator. The vigilante cut a slender figure in her blue-and-black bodysuit of supple leather lined in Kevlar. A hood shielded her head while a mask covered her eyes. Therese held a recurve bow at her side, a full arrow quiver slung across her back.

  Strange emotions rushed through Quinn seeing Geist and his protégé. Giddiness at Therese’s presence, annoyance at Therese presence, dread at whatever news these two came bearing.

  She gulped down her anxieties and straightened in posture. “What’s up?”

  “Avoid The Elite,” Geist snarled without preamble.

  The decree rocked Quinn back on her heels. “Excuse you?” Her reply was like a sharp slap. She couldn’t help herself. "I don’t tell you how to vigilante."

  “For your safety,” Therese added, less abrasively. She raised her free hand to mollify her explanation. “The Immortals are a dangerous unknown.”

  “Exactly why I’m taking the assignment,” Quinn threw back. Granted, she couldn’t deny how something felt off about these godlike caricatures. Sinister almost. Quinn needed to learn why. Also, The Elite were a better choice than that famewhore Tomorrow Man. “Someone needs to find out more about these muscleheads.”

  Geist made a tutting noise and faced Quinn. “Clint can’t find dirt on The Elite besides interviews, social media, and poor-quality videos of training missions in Canada.”

  Quinn shrugged, growing more irked. Even with her peacoat it was cold out here. A little challenge hadn’t stopped Geist’s quirky hacker before. “I’m sure Clint will find something eventually.”

  “Quinn,” Geist replied firmly, eyes narrowing. “Clint’s researched for months and found nothing. Real names. Dates of birth. Employment history.”

  Therese nodded, shadows dancing across her face. “As if their previous identities were erased.”

  Quinn shuddered. In spite of their modulated, intimidating voices, Geist’s and Therese’s warnings had the same undercurrent of concern. The Elite wore no masks. Any hero with a public identity should leave some online footprint. This made The Elite more intriguing to Quinn. “And the corporation behind them? Azur Solutions?”

  “Legit.” Geist moved closer. “Has offices in New York and Seattle. With actual employees.”

  Quinn frowned, sensing a ‘but.’ She’d improved at reading some of Geist’s tics. “It’s a shell company?”

  “We have a winner,” Therese snarked, pointing her bow at Quinn.

  The reporter itched to push forward with her story. The public deserved to know if these so-called Elite were hiding something shady. Plus, she’d survived worse.

  Thanks to Geist and his team… Would they protect her if she ignored their warning?

  Quinn stiffened, not eager to find out. “Fine,” she conceded, hands raised in surrender. “No Elite.”

  Therese’s relief was visible despite her hood and mask. That pleased Quinn for some stupid reason.

  Geist nodded curtly, his eyes and smooth mask expressionless, as usual. “We’ll be in touch.” He strode toward the rooftop edge, trench coat billowing out behind him.

  Therese trailed her leader, twirling her recurve bow. “Later, Quinn Bauer.”

  Quinn frowned, more bemused than amused. “Just call me Quinn. Or Bauer. Or QB.”

  Therese spun around, grinning. “Where’s the fun in that?” Soon after, both her and Geist hopped over the edge and plummeted from sight.

  “I hate when they do that,” Quinn grumbled, even though she knew they’d rappel to the ground safely. Alone on her roof, she rubbed her arms and hurried back inside.

  No nightmares visited Quinn tonight. Seraph in the guestroom apparently kept her night terrors away.

  The following morning, Quinn and Seraph breakfasted at her dining table. Seraph looked refreshed in one of Quinn’s bathrobes. While eating oatmeal, grapefruit, and biscuits, they discussed current world events, avoiding superheroics. Quinn appreciated the reprieve. And judging from her jovial mood, so did Seraph. Though she was a world-famous superhero, her innocence about the world still floored Quinn.

  Of course, a work call for Seraph shattered the peace. Some massive aquatic threat approaching South Florida.

  “Duty never sleeps,” Seraph said with a grim smile. She hugged Quinn, changed into last night’s clothing, and departed.

  As Quinn readied for her workday, a discussion on her favorite podcast caught her ear. Last night, Missy Magnificent had busted up some child trafficking ring in the heart of The Junction. Her battle with the captors had been brutal, damaging nearby buildings. But Missy had emerged victorious. Stories like this restored Quinn’s faith in the world, despite the podcast hosts’ cynicism.

  The story also sparked an idea in Quinn’s brain, which she couldn’t ignore.

  “Hey, QB,” Helena Madden answered after three rings.

  “Good morning,” Quinn sang back, merging into freeway traffic on her way to work. “I have a new exposé idea!” She couldn’t contain her eagerness the more her idea took root. “Just don’t laugh when I tell you who the subject is…”

  Chapter 13

  Hugo approached the front of the classroom, feeling unsettled as US history emptied out.

  “Something wrong, Mr. Allocco?” Had he insulted Mr. Allocco somehow? Hugo had been totally respectful after his jackassery a few months back.

  Mr. Allocco, curly-haired and slubby, leaned against his desk. “Surface-wise, no.” He smiled. “Your test grades are great. Your group aced the American Dynasty project.”

  “Okay.” Hugo relaxed somewhat. Yet something was up. “But?”

  Mr. Allocco watched him with concern. “You’ve become withdrawn. Not participating much. Everything alright?”

  Hugo stifled laughter with coughing. Allocco was one of the good teachers. “Everything’s fine. Just busy...” The understatement of the century. School, superhero training, dance practice, family stuff and Jordana left Hugo with almost no bandwidth. What bothered Hugo most had been The Elite slaughtering those gangbangers last night.

  “No problems,” he lied, surprised how easy that was becoming.

  Mr. Allocco looked relieved. “Good to know. You’re a great student and your voice is missed in class.” He knocked on the desk. “If you need to talk, let me know.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Allocco.” Soon after, Hugo was striding down the hallway, skimming his mobile alerts. He sensed several eyes on him, accompanied by feverish whispers. Hugo ignored them, reading a news story about Lady Liberty and The Vanguard in Florida this morning, fighting the sea creature, Kaijira.

  “So that’s where you were,” he grumbled. “A fucking kaiju?” He was envious…until scrolling through copious photos of the heroes and the one hundred and fifty-foot beast they’d felled. Hugo just wanted to save lives and stop bad guys. Less fame might’ve saved Titan. On a grim note, Hugo had seen news about the gang massacre in downtown last night. No mention of The Elite. How was that possible?

  Hugo looked at a wall packed with flyers for school clubs, sports sign-ups, outreach hotlines. He stopped for a closer view.

  One flyer featured the pimpled face of Kevin Coleman from US history. Kevin had missed class the last few days. Hugo had chalked that up to the flu going around. A missing persons poster changed everything. “If the cops can’t find him,” he murmured, “I’ll look.” Any responsible local superhero woul
d do that. And Lady Liberty would have to see Hugo as more than a fucking sidekick.

  He entered the sun-drenched quad, unable to ignore the rising chatter from many students studying him like a lab rat.

  “What was he thinking?”

  “Shame. He could’ve gotten it. Not anymore.”

  “Hope he enjoyed himself.”

  “Doesn’t Malalou know her reputation?”

  Hugo glanced around, completely lost. “What?” Yet most students avoided his stare. Scowling, he strode to his usual Snack period spot. No sign of Grace, Marin, and Karin, just the guys huddled close—speaking about him.

  “I’m disappointed,” Wale remarked.

  “How could he be so…careless?” Groban demanded.

  “Wish he’d asked me first,” Brent said. “She’s been passed around more times than a party joint.”

  “Can’t blame him,” Raphael added. “He shoulda double-bagged it.”

  “Don’t believe Snapchat gossip. It’s probably a lie,” Simon spoke, perched atop a bench, always defending him.

  They can’t mean Jodie… “Guys,” Hugo announced from behind them. Everyone turned, as if caught doing something wrong.

  “Hugo,” Brent greeted woodenly. Very unlike him.

  Hugo’s irritation rose at their palpable judgment. “What’s up?”

  Raphael stepped forward. “Why?”

  Hugo had no clue what he meant. “Why what?”

  “We know what you’ve been hiding, Bogie,” Groban declared like some TV lawyer.

  Wale’s mouth curled in disdain. “Think we wouldn’t find out your secret?”

  Hugo’s insides froze. Did they somehow learn about Fall Fling? Or worse, know he was a super? Hugo somehow remained blank-faced while internally panicking.

  He glanced at Simon, who mouthed, “Not your secret.”

  Hugo calmed considerably. “Still not following.”

  “You and Easy Abby?” Wale stated.

  That confused Hugo more. “Huh?” He’d seen Abby last night.

  “Bro…” Brent gripped Hugo's shoulders with a disappointed look. “What were you thinking?”