Seven Wonders (13 page)

  "Another all-nighter at the lab, my dear?"

  "Yes, darling. Uh-huh. Whatever." There was a metallic snap and Blackbird's mask landed in the Cowl's lap. "Final transmission?" Her gloved hands found his shoulders, her hot chin resting on the crown of his head.

  "You bet. Almost done, but I thought you might like to see this bit." He pointed to the main screen, reverse-tabbing back a couple of sections. Green machine code on a black background, a large block outlined in reverse highlight.

  Blackbird pressed down on the back of the Cowl's chair as she folded her arms on its back. The Cowl could hear the saliva in her mouth move as she frowned. He smiled, then turned his hearing down to normal human levels.

  Blackbird shook her head slowly, rocking the chair just a little. "No," she said. "I might be a goddamn genius, but I'm not good with the code. You'll have to fill me in on that one."

  The Cowl pointed again, leaning in a little so his intention was clearer. He waved a finger along the lines of code in the highlighted section. "We need to steal that."

  "And what is 'that'?"

  "It's a black light converter."

  Blackbird stood up, quickly. Behind him, the Cowl could hear her laugh quietly into her hand.

  "Is that so? I think I know where we can find one."

  "Oh really?"

  "Ya really."

  "No way!"

  Blackbird playfully tapped the top of the Cowl's head with the flat of her fingers, then pushed at the corner of the chair. The Cowl raised his feet, allowing himself to be swiveled around.

  Blackbird reached into her belt with a finger and thumb, extracting a white plastic card featureless except for a black magnetic strip.

  "The Clarke Institute of Technology. I has a key, too."

  The Cowl feigned surprise. "Whoa!"

  "Shall we?"

  The Cowl looked back over his shoulder, checking the twenty-fourhour clock on the control board. His eyes flickered over the highlighted code again, and beside the monitor the light on the satellite receiver winked, showing that the transmission was ongoing but being recorded.

  "No, it's early," he said, swinging back around. "And we've both had a hard day's night." He stood, planting a kiss on Blackbird's nose. "Let's get breakfast. Wouldn't want to plan a daring heist on an empty stomach now, would we?"

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Over the next few nights, Tony's magic light hadn't reappeared. But he was waking up with new…
skills
, each morning.

  "Too hot!"

  "Oh, sorry… it's just that I…"

  "Too
friggin'
hot!"

  Jeannie pogoed around the kitchen, mouth open, tongue out, waving at Tony to keep back. She just managed to keep enough control to drop the cardboard coffee cup into the sink rather than onto the floor. It hit the stainless-steel tub and buckled, lid dislocating and the superheated contents filling the kitchen with mocha-flavored steam.

  "Are you OK?" Tony kept his distance, but reached a hand out. Seeing the heat shimmer coming off his knuckles, he stopped, squeezed his eyes shut in concentration, and dropped the temperature of his hand. "Maybe I can cool it…?"

  Jeannie stopped hopping and looked at Tony, her expression of halfsurprise, half-fear made ridiculous by her open mouth and exposed tongue. When she spoke it was like her mouth was numb from the dentist.

  "Cool id? Are you therious? You jus burd ma face off."

  Tony's shoulders rose stiffly in defense, and he decided to stuff his hands in the tight pockets of his jeans. Although he couldn't feel the heat generated by his hands himself, he felt the denim go dry and stiff over his skin.

  "You said your coffee was cold," he offered by way of explanation.

  Jeannie laughed, throwing spit at him and dribbling. This made her laugh more, and she gingerly retracted her tongue and wiped her mouth.

  "Yeah, well given the choice between cold and lava from the fiery bowels of hell, I'll go with cold next time."

  Tony smiled. "Good point." He shrugged. "But practice makes perfect, right?"

  Jeannie nodded slowly, the incredulous look spreading over her face again. "Yes, Tony, practice makes perfect. Just try not to practice on your girlfriend in the future."

  "Oh, I don't know." Tony got a little closer, hands still in pockets but raised shoulders turned into what he hoped was a cool, rock 'n' roll pose. "You said you liked it a couple of nights ago."

  Jeannie laughed as she poured herself a tall glass of water from one of the many bottles Tony had in the fridge. Taking a sip, she slapped Tony's shoulder with the other hand. "Tiger, tiger, burning bright." She walked past Tony and flopped onto the couch, just managing not to spill her drink.

  Tony turned and followed, but stopped to lean his back against the breakfast bar with his hands still deeply embedded in his jeans. "Seriously though, I seem to be getting a new power almost every day. I need to be able to control them if only to stop myself killing somebody by accident. Yesterday I got on the bus after work and almost wrenched the rail off the door as I walked on. I managed to convince the driver it must have been loose rivets, but I'd love to know what the bus garage is going to make of my hand print embossed into the steel bar."

  Jeannie finished her water, experimentally opening and closing her mouth, moving her burnt tongue around. "Point. So what do we do? Some kind of training?"

  Tony nodded and scooted over to the couch. "Yeah, why not?" He sat down and gestured around his apartment. "We can do most of it here. Hot and cold touch for example." He sat back. "The rest, well, we can do one thing at a time outside. Strength, speed, you know."

  Jeannie nodded. "You're right," she said. "Control is the key. OK, sounds like a good idea. And who knows, maybe the Seven Wonders have room for one more."

  Tony laughed. "Get out. The Seven Wonders would cut me up for experiments. They've got the city sewn up tight."

  Jeannie leaned forward, turning on the leatherette to face Tony. "I know how you feel about San Ventura, Tony, and the superteam."

  Tony's face darkened, and he shook his head in frustration. "Let's not talk about it. The Cowl is tearing the place up and the Seven Wonders are just playing his game. Won't change. Can't change."

  Jeannie tapped Tony's knee. "Can't it? You've got powers. Why don't you do something for the city?"

  Tony looked blankly at her, then blinked, then blinked again. "Take out the Cowl?"

  "Why not?"

  "Why not?" Tony sat up, back straight. "He'll kill me. I'm not a superhero."

  Jeannie shook her head and smiled. "Not yet, no." She raised her halffull glass of water to Tony's face. "But practice makes perfect. Let's start."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The city morgue was Jacqueline Chan's domain; Sam never liked it when she had to visit.

  Attached to a side of the city's central hospital that was out of public view, the morgue looked like nothing more than a loading bay and a set of concrete stairs leading up to wide double doors. The only people who really knew what the nondescript back entrance was were morgue staff and the police. And of the police, Sam was more familiar with the area than most. Being in the SuperCrime department meant cleaning up after the Cowl, and the Cowl rarely left anyone alive when he was done.

  Sure, visiting the place was sometimes part of the job, but the peculiar quietness of the loading bay was still unnerving. The only vehicles that made it around to this part of the hospital were hearses. It was purely psychological, but waiting around outside this part of the medical complex, on a grass square that passed for some weird kind of garden of the dead that nobody ever visited (complete with never-used park bench), made Sam edgy. She was already breathing through her mouth rather than her nose, her subconscious prepping her senses for the chemical stench she knew was waiting inside.

  "You never get used to it, do you? I can't imagine what it would be like to work here."

  Sam turned at the voice. It was familiar, but she couldn't place it at once without a visual cue. There was no one around, and then realization hit – she hadn't heard it at all, the voice had been inside her head. She looked up as Bluebell gracefully descended on a vertical to land on the grass next to Sam.

  "Bluebell, what can I do for you?" Sam tensed immediately; Bluebell was by far the most pleasant of the Seven Wonders to deal with in person, but her habit of intruding on your own thoughts, accidentally (as she usually claimed) or not, was deeply unsettling. Not that their paths had crossed that much: thanks to her psychic powers, Bluebell tended to act mainly behind the scenes. There was no need to get your hands dirty when you could scramble someone's brains from half a mile away. Bluebell made Sam nervous.

  Bluebell also made Sam feel… frumpy. It was a brilliant clear morning, and she was at work in a nondescript dark gray suit and white shirt. Smart, certainly, even stylish, but it was nothing next to Bluebell. The superheroine's short blonde hair was perfect, her face applied with just the right amount of make-up to make you think she wasn't wearing any at all. And in the morning light, her skintight blue and white bodysuit almost shone, the pattern of bold lines running vertically up the outside leg and curving in to the waist, then out again over her bust to the shoulder, then down each arm. On the wrong figure it would have looked like some second-rate gym costume worn by a hopeful Olympic gymnast from the Soviet era. On Bluebell, in the bright sunshine, Sam couldn't take her eyes off it.

  "Tell me about it." Bluebell smiled a film-star smile. "Appearances are important for us. But it's practical."

  Sam paused, mid-thought. Of course, Bluebell was reading every single thought that raced across the front of her cerebral cortex. Her eyebrows dipped in annoyance. She really hated it when Bluebell came to visit.

  "Sorry." Bluebell looked away politely. "I'll try not to eavesdrop. I can't turn it off, but I can point it someplace else."

  Sam sighed. Bluebell was nice, and maybe she was being too hard on her. Hearing every private thought going on around you whether you liked it or not couldn't have been the easiest of superpowers to come to terms with. "No, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude. Gray suits seem to go with the job though. I think I need a change of career!"

  Sam and the superheroine shared the joke just as a large, black Lincoln pulled into the parking lot designated for morgue staff and police only. The driver, in silhouette through the darkened glass, appeared to lean to look out the passenger window and survey the scene, then flung the driver's door open. Detective Milano's shaved head bobbed over the car roof.

  "Ladies," he said with a smile, his voice ridiculously low and husky. He flipped the door closed and swept his sunglasses off in a single cool move. Sam couldn't resist smiling at his efforts.

  "Detective Milano, I believe you've met Bluebell before."

  Joe strode towards the pair, extending a hand just a little too early for a handshake. "I have indeed, Sam. Bluebell, always a pleasure."

  He took Bluebell's hand in his, turned it over, and planted a kiss that raised Sam's eyebrow. Bluebell's smile was as wide and as white as ever. Sam really, really hoped Joe was keeping his thoughts to himself as much as possible.

  Bluebell laughed politely. Everything about her body language was posed, affected. It was all an act, the kind that film stars did on a red carpet, but Sam could see how it worked. It made Joe feel good, proud, but also submissive. He'd do anything Bluebell said, but more importantly, his mind was completely unguarded. She could
make
him do anything she wanted.

  "Detectives, I apologize for the unannounced arrival, but I understand you are here to discuss autopsy results on a recent homicide with Dr Jacqueline Chan? If you don't mind, I'd like to attend. It's just routine; we hope to take a more active role in city policing."

  Who cooked up that half-baked piece of PR? Sam instantly regretted the thought. Bluebell looked at her, clearly listening in, and nodded.

  "I understand completely. But believe me, we are always seeking ways to better support your fine work. I won't intervene, I'll just observe. Shall we?"

  Joe gestured for her to lead the way towards the loading dock, the schoolboy grin firmly plastered to his face. He said nothing, waved at Sam to follow, but as she looked at him she caught a glance, nothing more than a flicker in Joe's eyes. She nodded, allowing the corner of her mouth to raise slightly. Joe was deliberately filling his mind with lustful thoughts about Bluebell. It was drowning out everything else in his mind. He was a clever boy.

  With Bluebell walking ahead, Joe's eyes drifted to her spandex-clad rear. Bluebell's stride changed rhythm, just slightly, but Sam noticed. It was working.

  Clever, clever Joe.

It was the same every time. It didn't matter how prepared Detective Sam Millar thought she was, inside the morgue the heady mix of formaldehyde and disinfectant was rich in the air and made her cough as soon as the plastic-sealed doors flapped closed behind her. Dr Chan appeared through a side door, latex-covered hands glistening already.

  "Come on through." She waved them after her and disappeared back into the dissection room. Bluebell held back, allowing Sam and Joe to take the lead. Sam wondered why Jacqueline hadn't said anything about the uninvited presence of the superhero. Perhaps she was a more regular visitor?

  There were four slabs in the morgue; all were empty save for one, the form covered in a blue hospital sheet. Jacqueline strode up to the table and pulled the shroud off completely, revealing the naked remains of the black man from the alley. Joe instinctively looked away from the destroyed torso, focusing instead on the man's face. Sam and Jacqueline, meanwhile, bent low over the body as the pathologist pointed out individual injuries. As much as Sam thought she hated this bit, she knew she had a job to do.