Even Villains Have Interns (10 page)

The list of pros and cons burned to ash at his
touch. Love always brought a risk. Relationships brought a risk.
But something that felt this good couldn’t be wrong, could it? She
tilted her head, deepening the kiss. Alan wrapped his arms around
her and the kiss became something more, almost desperate. A
thousand unspoken words silenced at hundreds of chance meetings
fueled their collision.

Movement on the edge of her peripheral vision
was the only thing that pulled Delilah away from his embrace. She
cleared her throat as Alan wiped lipstick from his mouth. “Well.
Hi.”

Travys raised his eyebrows. “Hi.”

“Are you done?” Delilah asked nonchalantly.

“Am I interrupting something?” Travys asked.

Yes.
She made eye contact with Alan. Yes,
he’d definitely interrupted something. She just wasn’t sure what
yet. “I was distracting him. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?
Ready to go?”

“Whenever you are,” Travys said, frowning at
Alan.

“Good night, Alderman.” She smiled brightly and
walked away, low-grade panic jangling in her chest.

Travys ran to catch up with her. “What was
that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Didn’t you say you didn’t trust him?” Travys
asked, stopping short of chasing after her into the woman’s locker
room. “I swore that’s what you said.”

Delilah threw her hands up in frustration. “The
situation has changed. Okay? I need to go home and think about
this.”

Travys let the door swing closed with silent
disapproval.

Well
that
had not gone as planned. She
leaned back against a cold metal locker and stared unseeing at the
wall. She had to get that background check finished, it was the
only way out of this mess. Either Alan could be trusted, and she
was safe to fall in love, or she’d just kissed a man she was
destined to kill.

Dear Maria,

I know you’re busy with the elections and
everything else that’s coming up, but I do need an RSVP for
Christmas. It’s my year to set up the holiday fun and twist arms.
This is Phase 1 of the arm-twisting. Mom wants everyone home for
Christmas. I will beg, bribe, and threaten you with physical pain
and the destruction of all you hold dear to make sure you are
there.

Let’s start with the bribe. I know that in
your free time you happened to cross paths with a certain dark-eyed
wonder boy who goes by the name of Kon and controls the
weather.

I also happen to know that The Company has a
very extensive file on him. Sorry, had. Until this morning when I
accidentally smashed their firewall to smithereens. The file is now
in my possession. And my, but it makes fascinating reading. I may
have to give this cowboy a call, see if he likes bareback
riding.

Don’t even trying to hack my system. The data
is on a reserved hard drive and not connected to anything you can
touch, kept in an undisclosed location that even my best minions
won’t divulge.

RSVP or else.

Your evilest sister,

Delilah

Alan drifted through the shadows of the alley to
the dead drop, memories of Delilah still keeping him warm. He’d
spent all day wondering whether or not he should call her. Twice
he’d composed emails. Ads for floral arrangements had teased him,
but he wasn’t sure if Delilah would like flowers. And, if she did
like flowers, she probably wouldn’t like them delivered to her
office. Peace of mind was out of the question until he could figure
out exactly where their relationship was.

Which wasn’t going to happen until after this
meet-up.

When he’d originally joined The Company, he’d
been a distrustful teen who was unwilling to give them too much
power over him. Eighteen years of other people picking everything
from his name to the food he ate to the clothes he wore had left a
mark. He liked the freedom of adulthood, and The Company’s standard
contract was too restrictive for his liking.

The dead drop had been the compromise. A Company
operative left him messages that he’d read and leave untouched in
the forgotten space between boarded up buildings. There’d been a
dearth of communication since the death of the Wooden Wonder, but
last night there’d been a message.

Two women stood under a broken street lamp, one
rather elderly with an uptown style and primly pinned gray hair.
The other wore a leather catsuit with a slash of red that matched
her matte lipstick. Katrina, The Company boss, and the superhero
Lead Feather who often acted as Katrina’s bodyguard. The Wooden
Wonder had once said Lead Feather could kill with a touch, turn
people to stone, and stop superpowers from working. That was
probably office gossip, but he made a point of avoiding her all the
same.

“Katrina.” He stayed a shadow, hovering in the
darkness out of reach of human touch.

She turned to face him with a scowl. “The Spirit
of Chicago? You’re exactly how I imagined you.”

Lead Feather’s fingers flexed in black gloves.
“I expected more.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” Alan lied
smoothly. “How may I be of service this evening?”

Katrina glanced at Lead Feather, a sidelong
expression she probably didn’t intend him to see. “We need to know
the city is safe.”

“As safe as I can make it.”

“And you know of no other mutants here? No
rogues or villains?” Katrina asked.

“I’ve encountered none on my patrols.”

“Very good. If you find one, trap them and hold
them until we come. The Company has lost too many operatives in
recent years. We’re to the point where we have to offer even rogues
a second chance of safety with us.”

“Are fewer mutants being born?” Alan asked.

Again Katrina shared a look with Lead Feather.
“We believe so. Super powered humans can’t breed. Every experiment
and attempt to provide us with another generation has failed. I
fear the time will come when you are alone, Spirit of Chicago. The
only one who remembers us and our noble purpose.”

He and all of Delilah’s family, if he’d
understood Delilah correctly. “There are rumors of others—”

“We know,” Lead Feather cut him off with a snap.
“That’s why we’re here.”

Katrina held up her hand for silence. “We’re
aware of the Russians.”

That wasn’t what he’d meant, but Alan didn’t
correct her. Better to leave Delilah’s family out of this, though
he suspected that if they were anything like Delilah they could
take care of themselves. “You want me to follow them?” he guessed.
The only Russians in Chicago were not super-anything that he was
aware of, but if The Company knew something different, he wanted
some skin in the game.

“No,” Katrina said. “Tomorrow night you’ll come
with, unofficially. Once we have the location, I’ll place it in the
dead drop.”

“You can’t fight,” Lead Feather said in a bored
voice. “You can’t open doors or repel bullets, but you may be
useful in other ways.”

“Agreed,” he said. “What are we meeting the
Russians about?”

“They are rumored to have a black market toxin
that is fatal to even our fastest healers,” Katrina said, but the
way her eyes darted away told him it was a lie. “We need you to
watch them. Possibly follow them back to their hide out.”

Warning bells sounded in his mind, a sixth sense
that something wasn’t quite right. “If you wish. I will be as
silent as a... ghost.” That was almost the truth. Ghosts were known
for rattling around, moaning, and generally causing a raucous when
no one wanted them to, and that’s exactly what he had in mind.

Fading out of their sight, Alan watched.
Curiosity and dead cats and all. There was no logical reason for
them not to have an extra person with them unless they were trying
to limit witnesses.

“Do you think—” Lead Feather began.

Katrina waved her hand for silence again. “Not
here.”

They walked nearly a mile of city streets before
getting into a plain black four-door sedan. Alan ghosted into the
darkness behind the seats, a pool of shadow hidden from sight.

“Do you think the ghost will listen to you?”

“He’s not a ghost and I doubt he’ll listen
entirely, but he’s been reasonably good at following directions
before,” Katrina said as she started the car.

Lead Feather buckled her seatbelt with more
force than necessary. “You should have let me take him out. Any
super being not under our control is a threat to our
existence.”

“No,” Katrina said. “The ghost is expendable
enough, but not yet.”

“Do you think Locke will try to recruit
him?”

“She’s taken others like him. Amber Gris in
Maine? That had the thief’s fingerprints all over it. And the one
in New York last year, the school teacher.”

“Rage?” Lead Feather asked. “She only escaped
for a few months.”

“Long enough to put our operation in jeopardy.
We lost Arktos trying to bring her in.”

Lead Feather snorted. “He’s not lost.”

“He’s useless if he can’t fight or fly.”

The superhero snorted in disagreement. “If you
thought he was useless, he’d be six-feet under by now.”

“He’s momentarily useless,” Katrina said. “Once
we have the Grecian formula we’ll be able to bring Arktos back to
the fold, and make ten more like him if we want.”

Alan slid out of the car; he’d heard enough.
He’d always harbored a suspicion that The Company wasn’t exactly on
the side of angels; this was the confirmation he’d been waiting
for. The seller with the Grecian formula was more of a concern.
There wasn’t an outfit in Chicago that wouldn’t like a super
powered freak on their pay roll. If he didn’t get the drug off the
market, Chicago was going to be Ground Zero for World War III.

Brooding, he walked down the dark and empty
street to the train station, his body reformed around him. His
phone rang. “This is Adale.”

“Mayor Adale, this is Chasten Huntley from the
office. I was Mayor Arámbula’s social secretary,” he added in case
Alan had forgotten the hyper young man rushing around the office
like a fruit fly on a bad dose of meth.

Alan sigh with resignation. “I thought you
headed home at five.”

“Well, I was, but I came back because I... ah...
forgot something and then Mister Kalydon called.”

“Kalydon?” Alan searched his memory for the
name. “He’s an older gentleman, isn’t he? Not a native.”

“That’s him,” Huntley said. “He’s a major player
in the financial sector of Chicago. You probably didn’t meet him as
an alderman, he’s a bit of a recluse, but he’s decided to make some
time for you.”

“How generous of him.” Alan rolled his eyes.

“Great, then I’ll tell him you’ll stop by the
club for dinner at eight.”

Alan stopped walking and stared at his phone. It
was already after six. Factoring in time for dinner, he had less
than five hours before he needed to leave for the meet site.
“Listen,” he said, resuming the conversation. “Tonight isn’t going
to work for me. Tell Kalydon I appreciate his invitation, but I
can’t accept. If he’s upset, remind him I’m only the temporary
mayor. After the voting in January, if I’m elected, I’d be happy to
meet him.”

“Mister Kalydon is very influential,” Chasten
wheedled. “I’m sure he could be of great use to the mayor’s
campaign.”

Alan pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m going
to forget you said that. Any meaning would be unethical. I’m not in
the business of buying votes.”

“S-sorry, sir. Would you, um, be willing to stop
by the office again tonight? If you can’t meet him for dinner,
Mister Kalydon could stop here. Or meet you at your home.”

The last thing Alan wanted was a stranger in his
apartment. “I’m a couple blocks from the office. If Kalydon can be
there in the next twenty minutes, I can meet with him.”

“He’ll be here, sir. I’ll see to it
personally.”

Alan checked his phone, then turned it off.
Kalydon... Kalydon... The name bounced around his head as he walked
through the slush to the nearest pedway entrance. Chicago’s
underground passages, once used for bootlegging, were now the
warmest way to move around during the winter. He jogged down the
cement stairs to the crowded underground.

An Apple billboard toting the latest in home
computer equipment caught his eye. Ah ha. Kalydon was the man who
lived at 77 Wacker where Delilah had been scouting, the man
Arámbula had gone to meet the night he died.

Alan walked into his empty office twenty minutes
later. Everyone was gone for the night except for Chasten Huntley,
who was hovering out in the foyer in anticipation of their guest.
He’d made a mental note to check into Huntley’s background when he
had some free time. The boy was way too eager to please, and
inferiority complexes were a liability in politics.

Chasten knocked on the doorframe. “In here,
sir.”

An elderly man followed him into to Alan’s
Spartan office. Kalydon was an octogenarian who looked a breath
away from natural mummification. Wisps of white hair brushed across
his liver-spotted scalp. The tatty suit he wore was several decades
out of style and sewn for a younger, more muscular, man. He wore
rings, thick bands of gold and silver, but nothing else. No
glasses, no cane, even though his stride was uneven. His eyes were
filled with burning hatred.

“Mr. Kalydon,” Alan said, “it’s a pleasure to
meet you.”

Kalydon sat and lifted his chin. “You’re a liar.
A pretty liar, but still a liar.” Chasten stationed himself behind
Kalydon, broadcasting his loyalties loudly for those who cared to
notice.

Alan nodded. “Right. It’s good to know where we
all stand. Why are you here, Mr. Kalydon?”

“To see matters settled. I’m moving to Chicago,
and I was working with Arámbula to make sure my needs are met.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t follow. Why do you need the
mayor for this?”