Super Powereds: Year 3 (107 page)

                “And that’s the end of our qualifying round,” Roger announced, shocking Alice so much she nearly dropped the keg in surprise. Only training and a fierce grip kept it in her hands, which was good—both for not being embarrassed on stage, and for the feet she had positioned directly beneath the steel cylinder.

                “Everyone still holding a keg, please set it down. Our bartenders are going to come collect them and set the stage for the next event.”

                “One down,” Angela said, carefully lowering her side of the keg to the floor.

                “If they’re all that easy, we’ve got this in the bag,” Alice replied.

                Angela snorted, and then nodded her head to the right. “After this, we can’t just survive, though. We have to win, and your friends are still in the running.”

                Alice did a quick glance to the right and was unsurprised to see Jill and Violet lowering their keg as well. She hadn’t expected the others to be knocked out by such an easy event, and in fact, would have been disappointed if they had been. While she might not be quite as thrilled as Angela at the idea of a tough competition, she did like doing things with her friends. Even if she was set against them, Alice was happier having Jill and Violet in the fray.

                If nothing else, it would prove to keep things entertaining.

*             *             *

                Nick felt his phone vibrate against his leg and casually slipped the device out of his pocket. He was glad this was coming during an event shift; taking a text while he was supposed to be cheering for Alice would have put the others on alert. As he skimmed the contents, Nick realized that it didn’t quite matter when he’d gotten this message. It required action, more than he’d be able to pull off while sitting at the table. He needed to get clear, as quickly and as inconspicuously as he could. Since his presence would obviously be missed, that meant he had to take an approach that was overt rather than covert.

                “Aaaaaand this is the day when I learn the price of my hubris,” Nick said, reaching down and gripping his stomach. “Oh, sweet mercy. Oh, good Lord in heaven.”

                “Are you okay?” Vince asked, immediately at his friend’s side.

                “I’m fine. The gas station burrito I ate before meeting up with you guys, on the other hand, has seemingly decided that I’ve taken it prisoner like a war criminal, and it demands to be set free.”

                “You can just go to the bathroom,” Thomas said. “We don’t need every detail.”

                “Well, blame Vince for asking. I’ll be back in . . . I don’t know. This is going to take however long it takes; I’m merely holding on for the ride. If I’m not back by the next event, cheer for Alice extra—” Nick winced and tightened the hold on his stomach. “Yup, that ends my time to talk about this. Got to go!”

                Without another word, Nick slunk away through the crowd, moving with the swiftness of a man presumably on the verge of public humiliation and ruined clothes. He was nearly to the bathrooms, which were conveniently near the back exit, when he felt a small hand tighten on his arm. Before he even turned, he knew who it was. Still, he kept the pained expression on his face and the grip on his stomach as he looked at the person holding him, just in case.

                “What excuse did you use?” Nick asked.

                “I just excused myself,” Mary replied. “I’m a girl; we don’t make such spectacles of our internal functions.”

                “Normally, neither do I, but when you gotta go . . .”

                “But you don’t, at least, not in that way. Tell me what’s going on,” Mary demanded. Since they were near the restrooms, the normal racket of the club was slightly diminished, allowing for non-shouted conversation. This small measure of privacy wasn’t much, but it was enough for Nick to risk giving her a reply.

                “Jerome and Eliza have been keeping watch on this place. They just sent me word that around ten people arrived all at once and started milling about in the parking lot. This group seems a little too old and rough for Six-Shooter, and, if that weren’t enough, they have a special guest with them.”

                Mary could read it in Nick’s face easier than in his mind. He was concerned, and there were precious few things Mary had ever encountered that could worry Nick.

                “Nathaniel is with them,” she said.

                “Which is why I need to be out there,” Nick replied.

                “You said he has ten people with him. What are you going to do against that?”

                Nick shrugged, and then favored Mary with a cheerful smile. “I’ll think of something. I always do. You just keep everyone in here and out of the action. If they reveal themselves, Nathaniel wins, and I’ll be damned if I’m giving that little shit even a partial victory.”

                “I take it you think you can beat him,” Mary said, finally releasing her grip on Nick’s arm.

                “You know me; I never make a bet I don’t think I can win.” With that, Nick headed past the bathrooms, out the back door, and into the night.

199.

              Nick didn’t whistle as he walked across the parking lot, away from the line and the neon lights, and into the half-dark area where a group of large men, many in leather, were all milling about. It was tempting, and it would be a good way to show them all how unintimidated he was by their size and numbers, but ultimately, Nick didn’t feel it was appropriate to the situation. Whistling would show his usual blasé attitude toward Nathaniel’s shenanigans, and Nick wasn’t feeling particularly carefree as he trudged across the sea of concrete. It was time to make Nathaniel realize that too much more poking around would lead to him having to deal with Serious Nick, a prospect that terrified those who were fortunate enough to have survived it.

                “Evening, gents,” Nick announced as he came upon the group of wide-shouldered people. He quickly noted that none wore gang markings associated with Vegas, or Nevada at all, for that matter. So Nathaniel was either using local talent or working outside the usual resource pool. That was to be expected, though, since the Evers were no longer backing Nathaniel’s plays, but it deepened Nick’s curiosity about where these goons were coming from.

                “And a good evening to you, Nicholas.” Nathaniel stepped out from the group, his orange eyes flickering in the darkness. The effect was unsettling with the shadows surrounding him, but Nick had seen that trick too many times to be bothered by it. Even before Lander, he’d thought of Nathaniel as a half-challenge, at best. After dealing with HCP caliber students, the idea of Nathaniel being dangerous was laughable. All the same, Nick kept his guard up as he watched the young man walk away from his group and move a few steps closer.

                “If you’re all here to watch the Cowgirl Rodeo, you just missed the qualifiers, but I think you can catch the shot races.”

                “Sounds like quite a thrilling event. Tell me, is that lovely blonde you had on your arm competing?” Nathaniel asked. “She’s such a fierce one, it almost seems unfair to the other contestants.”

                “Well, life isn’t exactly fair in the first place. We both know about that a little too well, don’t we?” Nick replied. “One of us gets a good power he can’t control, the other one has control of a power that creeps people out and makes him ineligible to rise through the ranks. When you really get down to it, we probably should have been friends, given our similarities.”

                “Except that you have the sort of arrogance that not even gods could pull off, and I abhor everything about you and your family,” Nathaniel replied.

                “True; plus, you’re a creepy sociopath with no redeeming or interesting qualities,” Nick said. “Guess we weren’t meant to be friends, after all. But that’s no reason we have to be enemies like this. You and the peanut gallery can still walk away.”

                “Of course you would want to call it quits when I’ve gotten you outmaneuvered.”

                Nick carefully raised a single eyebrow and glanced toward the seemingly empty street. “Do you, though? We’ve been at this a long while, Nathaniel. Do you really think I’d just come out here, on my own, with no backup or trump card to turn things around?” Nick wasn’t bluffing, but he was also dearly hoping not to be called out. Surprise assets were better than ones the enemy knew about, after all.

                “Actually, no, I don’t.” Nathaniel’s eyes seemed to brighten, the flickering orange light casting a soft glow on his pale face. “You see, we have been at this a long time, which means I know you always have contingency plans in place. I’m sure, right now, Eliza is watching us through the scope of a rifle, Jerome is ready to jump in at a moment’s notice, you have several weapons concealed on your person, and there are probably at least three other assets ready to converge the moment I escalate our encounter beyond wordplay. Which is why I’m not going to do that. My friends and I are going to peacefully walk out of this parking lot, making no aggressive moves against you.”

                “Interesting strategy. Come all the way out here just to annoy me and try to spoil my night,” Nick said. “Honestly, I’m a little impressed. It has a subtle touch that you generally lack with your schemes.”

                “Thank you. My inspiration came from a single, simple realization about you.” Nathaniel turned and began heading back toward his group of lingering goons. As he walked, he looked back and tossed out a few parting words.

                “Even the great Nicholas Campbell can only be in a single place at a time.”

                Nimble as Nick’s mind was, it still didn’t have time to work out the meaning of Nathaniel’s words before he heard the sound of people yelling from behind him. Spinning on his heel, Nick saw dark smoke beginning to stream out of Six-Shooter’s roof.

                “You goddamned son of a bitch.” Nick didn’t bother hurling the insult at Nathaniel’s face; instead, he started sprinting across the concrete, making a beeline right for the building. As he ran, Nick pulled out his cell phone and punched a number on the speed dial. It rang exactly one time before Jerome’s familiar voice greeted with a single “Hello.”

                “I need you and Eliza down here 
now
. Nathaniel lured me out, but had people inside the club start some fires. You need to open up an escape route to get everyone out of that building as fast as possible.”

                “We’re heading down, but I think it will be all right,” Jerome told him. “All the exits still look clear, and Nathaniel’s people are leaving, so everyone inside should be able to get out.”

                “I’m not worried about people being able to get out; I’m worried about a certain someone with a knack for making fire go away deciding to play Hero. The only way to keep that idiot from doing something stupid is to make sure he sees there’s no need for it. Hence, we need to get this place empty, and fast.”

                Nick clicked off the phone as he reached the back door. Smoke was already beginning to trickle out, as were a healthy amount of people, but he managed to jostle and slam his way through the current of bodies and back into the club. As he moved, his irises began to turn from brown to a glowing, golden hue.

                Much as he hated using his power out in the open, Nick had a feeling he was going to need all the luck he could get.

200.

               Vince was the first to notice the flames. While his ability to sense energy was dim much of the time—requiring focus to lock on to anything concrete—it was still present enough for him to feel the sudden surges of heat blooming in various locations around the building. For a moment, he took it to be some aspect of the show—perhaps the women would have to do some sort of roasting meat challenge. As the fires grew, Vince’s certainty waned. They were spreading faster than any contained flames should, and his gut told him a fire alarm should have sounded by now.

                “Mary,” Vince said. “Is Roger planning any events that involve fire?”

                She looked at him from across their small table, narrowing her eyes as she sharpened her mental focus. Those same eyes grew wide as she realized what Vince was concerned about, and she quickly looked up at the stage, where Roger was calmly standing. After a moment of concentrated listening, she shook her head.

                “Not that I can tell. He seems—”

                Mary didn’t get to finish her comment, as Vince was already sprinting through the crowd, toward the stage. He mumbled apologies as he ran, keeping his shoving as polite and efficient as it could be, but prioritizing speed above all else. Better to leave someone with sore feet and a few bruises than let them be cooked alive.

                As Vince reached the stage, one of the bouncers attempted to stop him. There had been many patrons in previous years that drank too much and decided such lovely women were dying for their company, and though the bouncer saw the franticness in Vince’s eyes, he had to make a split-second judgment call as the silver-haired young man sped toward the stage. The bouncer’s meaty hand closed only on air, though, as Vince side-stepped him so easily that the large man wondered if he’d somehow blacked out for a few seconds. And then Vince was gone, on the stage and running toward Roger. Quick as the bouncer was to turn and try to catch up, he was still many steps behind the nimble young man.