Super Bad (a Superlovin' novella) (10 page)

She frowned. “I’m not
good. I wasn’t just manipulated by Kevin. He got in so easily because I wanted
a lot of what he wanted. Oh, not the bombs and destroying the supers, certainly
not hurting my brother, but the rest of it. Creating justice out of injustice
by any means necessary, that appealed to me. I’m not going to turn hero on you,
Justice.”

“Lucien did. For
Darla.”

“Lucien always had
heroic tendencies. I never did.”

“One thing you learn
when you can sense lies is that no one is as good as they pretend they are. But
you… you aren’t as bad as you pretend you are, either. We’re all in the middle,
and even if you aren’t overcome by the need to save the day, you deserve a
chance to find your way.” He tapped the folder on her lap. “Now stop stalling.”

“Will you look with
me?”

He blinked, his chin
drawing back with surprise. “If you want me to.”

She nodded. She wasn’t entirely
sure why, but she wanted him to know everything. Almost like he could be her
impartial observer, the librarian cataloguing her life. She wanted
someone
to know her, to know it all, and her gut told her it had to be him. It couldn’t
be Lucien anymore and she had no one else. The idea of trusting him wasn’t
nearly as frightening as the idea that she could just vanish without him there,
remembering for her what she had forgotten, remembering who she was. She couldn’t
bear the thought that someday she might just disappear.

Mirage wet her lips,
concentrating so her fingers didn’t shake as she flipped back the cover.
No
more secrets
. Especially from herself.

The first few pages
were background, a concise encapsulation of her childhood. Those memories were
still solid, Kevin had used them, rather than tampering with them, and the
familiarity comforted her, though Julian’s frown was concerned as she handed
him the pages.

“You moved around a
lot. Did you ever spend a whole year at the same school?”

She gave a wry smile,
shaking her head in the negative. “Army brats and fugitives on the run. Always
the new kid.”

Her juvie record was
nothing special, though it was a bit surprising that Trident had been able to
get their hands on the files. Julian didn’t even raise an eyebrow, though he
did frown as he read each page as she passed it to him. Theft. Accessory
charges.

“How old were you when
you committed your first crime for your father?”

“About ten, I think.”

“And it never bothered
you? That he used your abilities like that?”

She shrugged. “He
always had a good reason.”

Then she flipped a page
and it was on to the college years…and Kevin.

From the moment she
read his name on the page, cracks began to appear around the edges of her
memories. Her hands shook as she tried to remember. How had it started? Had she
really gone to a speech at one of the political action committees on campus and
been swept away by his passionate words? Or was that just another false memory
he’d wedged into her subconscious when she wasn’t looking? It was such a vivid
recollection, his hands flying as he spoke, his passionate words digging deep
inside her and resonating with every helpless frustration she’d felt since her
mother’s death and her father’s descent into obsession. And his
eyes
. She
hadn’t been able to look away. Hypnotized, like being trapped by a cobra’s
stare.

A shudder ripped hard
down her spine, shaking her whole body. Suddenly Julian’s hand was there,
covering hers, tightening over the fingers that had gone white around the paper
she gripped so tightly.

“Mirage?”

She felt the tentative
pulse of his power into her flesh, like a light static charge transferring from
his skin to hers. She waited for the backlash, for the booby traps in her head
to launch him, but for a moment nothing happened. She sat, so tense she ached,
poking at the jagged memory, and then Julian gave another gentle pulse and the sharp,
painful edges smoothed and stretched. The foggy, broken glass cleared and
mended itself.

She
had
gone to
the committee meeting. A friend had dragged her along because the girl was
dating Kevin. Jenna? Jamie?
Gemma
. Yes. Victory streaked hard through
her blood as the memory became crisp and bright. Gemma with her square-framed
glasses and earnest smile. She’d been desperate to see Kevin. They’d gone to
his speech and Mirage remembered thinking how charismatic he was—in the
over-the-top way of cult leaders and dictators. His rhetoric was persuasive,
but she’d shied away from his extremism. Something had just seemed
off
. But
Gemma had latched onto her arm and bodily hauled her through the crowd after Kevin
finished speaking, bringing her forward to shake the hand of the deity himself.

The handshake
.
Oh God.

Mirage knew that most
Mind Bender abilities were amplified by touch, but she hadn’t been prepared for
the titanic force of Kevin’s powers. He’d rolled her mind before she could
blink. There’d been no hope for her then. A small part of her, buried deep
inside her mind, had remained pure, but everything else had belonged to him. As
soon as he became aware of her powers, aware of who she was behind the fake
name she’d taken to attend school, Kevin had thrown Gemma over and pulled
Mirage into his inner circle. Gemma. They’d been best friends, doing everything
together before Kevin came along, and Mirage had forgotten she even existed. Until
now.

“I remember.” She
jerked her head up, twisting to face Justice on the couch, gripping his hand
between both of hers, hard enough to leave marks if he hadn’t had the
imperviousness of superstrength. “I remember how I really met Kevin. He rolled
me, twisted my mind.”

She told him the story,
recounting every detail, reveling in the fact that there
were
details,
not foggy gaps where her recollections should have been. Julian listened, intent
and serious as he absorbed every word. Mirage could barely sit still. She
bounced on the couch. She’d
remembered.
A real memory.

“
Thank you
,” she
breathed, after she’d waxed poetic on every aspect of the meeting, Gemma, and
her
real
reactions to hearing Kevin’s first speech. That had been
her
thinking he was extremist, not Kevin making her think he was a righteous god
with genius tripping off his lips with every word. For the first time in
months, Mirage had a sense of self. An identity. Even if it was just in the
memory of how she’d felt all those months ago. How
she
had felt. Not how
Kevin had made her feel.

She clung to Julian’s
warm hands. “Thank you,” she said again, because the words just kept needing to
be spoken. “I feel like
me
again.” The words almost made her cry. Or
laugh. She was a bubble of fizzy delight wrapped in an aching pain that she had
been so lost.

Julian smiled and put
his other hand on top of hers. “Do you want to take a break?”

“God, no. I want
more
.”

The clock read three-twelve
and the black night beyond the windows made it clear it wasn’t afternoon
anymore. Hours. They’d been going nonstop for hours. She’d pushed Julian relentlessly,
working at recapturing her memories until she and the file were both exhausted,
but he hadn’t complained once. She’d known the man was a hero, but that was
above and beyond the call of duty.

He sat on the floor
beside the couch, slumped against it, and Mirage wanted nothing more than to
tumble into his lap and wrap herself around him.
My hero
. He looked
amazing, even at three in the morning. Tousled. Weary. Sexy as all hell.

He wasn’t touching her
anymore, but she still remembered. She felt clear, sharp, and downright giddy. There
were still potholes in her memory big enough to swallow a semi, but everything
that had been documented in the file, no matter how vaguely, she’d remembered. Her
time with Kevin, the original thefts, stealing the Apocalyptum for him. The
weeks in Area Nine, when she’d felt like she was in withdrawal, shivering and
hungering for his presence. The day Lucien had broken her out and the fight
they’d had when she told him she had to go back to Kevin. And she’d
needed
to return to him. She’d been an addict by then, needing a fix of his presence. She’d
recalled Kevin’s arrogance, telling her his plans to use her brother to destroy
the city. She remembered how her surface mind had cheered even as a deeper part
of her consciousness began to rebel. She’d fought herself, trying to give
Lucien clues to help him defeat Kevin even as ninety percent of her mind
obeyed, doing everything in her power to see Kevin succeed.

She knew now that the
fractured pieces of her memories hadn’t been caused by Kevin.
She
had
done that to herself, because it had been the only way she could break free of
him. The only way she could defeat him was to shatter her own mind. It had
worked. He was a vegetable. But so was she. Until tonight.

Her time at Trident was
a bit hazier, but she remembered her birthday now. She remembered some of her
therapy, having the same conversations over and over again with Lucien and
Eisenmann, watching their faces close off more each time she couldn’t remember
her own answers. And she recalled pieces of her escapes—the urge to break into
Nightwing, the bank, making herself invisible as she evaded the police.

“At least now we know
your compulsions are just echoes of previous commands,” Julian said without
opening his eyes, his head still tipped back to loll against the couch
cushions.

Mirage’s fingers
twitched with the urge to brush his blond curls back, but she fisted her hand
instead. “There are still a bunch of gaps. We can’t be sure.”

Now Julian did open his
eyes, the strain in them visible. “I’m gonna have the world’s worst power
hangover tomorrow. Let me have my false sense of victory.”

“I’m sorry. We should
have stopped hours ago.” She’d just been so excited, she hadn’t been able to
quit. And he’d never let on that he was pushing himself past his limits with
the pulses of truth compulsion.

“I could have stopped
us, but I wanted to see how much we could learn. Besides, it was fun seeing you
get all worked up over every new memory.” His weary smile filled with something
she couldn’t quite identify. Affection? Did Julian actually
like
her?

It was weird to think
that they might be friends. If he’d just been trying to get into her pants, she
would have understood it more. She certainly wanted into his. And, since her
relationship with Kevin, she knew better than most that you could be physically
attracted to someone who repulsed you on other levels. But for Julian to
actually
like
her. For him to push himself beyond his limits just
because he enjoyed seeing her happy…

Something strange and
unsettling shifted in her chest, carrying with it the realization that she
liked him too. Even if he was a do-gooder hero. He had depth she never would
have associated with the public caricature of goodness that was Captain
Justice. He was real and he was good in a quiet, driven, determined way that
had nothing to do with being smugly self-righteous.

God, she didn’t just
like him. She liked him
a lot
. Too much.

Julian cleared his throat
and Mirage blushed, averting her eyes as she realized she’d been staring at him
too long. At his lips in particular.

She didn’t think she’d
ever wanted a kiss so badly. He was the key. She’d trusted him and the pieces
started coming together, those jagged shards of jigsaw puzzle glass finally
fitting into place with smooth perfection. But the desire was more than that. More
than just an extension of the joy that made her want to throw her arms around
him and sing. She was actually falling for Captain Justice.

“It’s late,” he
murmured. “Which bedroom do you want?”

Whichever one you’re in
.
She wasn’t ready for tonight to end. Yes, her energy had long since drained
past empty, but she wanted to hold onto this feeling—this clarity accented by
the keen edge of want. She was terrified if she went to sleep, she’d wake up
blurry and muddled again. Maybe if she wasn’t alone… With him, she was more
focused. Had been since she met him, but tonight was a whole new level. Tonight
she was herself again, and whether it was her real desires or grateful
euphoria, she wanted him.

“Mirage? Do you care
which bed?”

She jerked her spine
straight, realizing with a jolt that she’d been leaning toward him, leaning in
for a kiss he obviously didn’t want to give her. “Ah, no. Whichever is fine.”

“We’ll do more in the
morning.” He grimaced at the clock. “Or afternoon. See if we can trigger some
more memories.” He reached out, almost as if he would pat her knee, but pulled
his hand back before he made contact. He lurched to his feet, not entirely
steady, but when she stood to help him, he took a quick step away from her. “Good
night, Mirage.”

“G’night,” she echoed,
watching him make his way toward the left bedroom with careful steps. “Thank
you,” she called after him, though she’d already thanked him dozens of times
tonight. He waved to acknowledge the words without turning before the door
clicked shut behind him.