Part 20 (2/2)

Fiera came to Striker's rescue and yanked the woman back. ”That's enough of that,” she snapped. ”Have a little respect for yourself, lady.”

For once, I was grateful to the hotheaded superhero. Any other time, I would have thought Striker looked like a clown with a white bra draped over his black suit. But I wasn't in a humorous mood now.

”Time to go,” Mr. Sage said. ”Kelly, thank you for your interest and stellar reporting, as usual. Until next time.”

Mr. Sage kissed her hand. Kelly blushed and stuttered something incoherent. Smooth. Very smooth. Mr.

Sage was another hero who knew how to work the media.

The Fearless Five jogged away. The women screamed for Striker to stop. Bras, panties, and other articles of clothing sailed after the s.e.xy superhero. My hands curled into fists. A large black van skidded to a halt at the end of the street. The door slid back, and the superheroes dived inside. The van sped away, trailed by s.e.x-starved women shouting phone numbers and lewd suggestions.

I snapped off the monitor and glared into s.p.a.ce. Striker wasn't their man. He was mine. I sighed. No, he wasn't mine either. No matter how much I wanted him to be.

Another day pa.s.sed, and I was still no closer to uncovering Malefica's ident.i.ty. I threw down my pen in disgust. I'd been over and over all the information that I had. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Zero. Malefica might as well have not even existed as far as I was getting.

I picked up a Rubik's Cube from my makes.h.i.+ft desk in the library, slid the rows of colors round and round, and muttered obscenities about Malefica's parentage.

”Carmen, that's not very nice,” Henry chided, staring at me over the top of his computer monitor.

KarmaGirl.

”Well, Malefica's not a very nice person,” I snapped.

I finished the Rubik's Cube, put it down, and scooted over to the far side of my desk, where I had started a jigsaw puzzle. I'd completed the border yesterday. Now, I was trying to fill in the center of the puzzle, a picture of purple pansies. However, the cheery colors did little to ease my frustrations.

After a few minutes, the puzzle pieces blurred. My head started to throb. I groaned and closed my eyes.

”Another headache?”

”Unfortunately.” I rubbed my aching temples.

According to Chief Newman, I was still feeling the after-effects from the dart Frost had shot me with.

The chief hadn't been able to identify the exact drug the ubervillain used. I reached for the giant bottle of aspirin perched on my desk, poured out two pills, and swallowed them.

”Maybe you need a break,” Henry suggested. ”We're going to do some training this afternoon. Would you like to watch?”

”Training?”

”It's something we do once a month. We go through battle simulations, plot strategies, test our powers, things like that. War games. It's Sam's way of making sure we stay fresh and sharp.”

I eyed the piles of papers on my desk. Anything sounded better than sorting through more boring articles detailing Malefica's impeccable sense of style and expensive tastes. Plus, I was more than a little curious to see the Fearless Five in action again.

”Let the games begin,” I said.

Henry led me down a hallway I hadn't explored. This one twisted and turned like a snake writhing along the floor. It went deeper and deeper underground until it seemed as though we were in the middle of the earth itself.

We reached a thick metal door, and Henry punched in the 555 code. The door slid open, revealing a long hallway with various rooms branching off it. Sam, Fiona, and Chief Newman stood in the center of the hallway, already in costume.

”There you are, Henry. We've been waiting for you,” Mr. Sage said.

I drank in the sight of Striker. His black leather suit hugged every part of his firm body. Our eyes met.

The superhero shot me a quick smile, which I shyly returned.

”What's she doing here?” Fiera hissed. Her hair sparked and cracked with fire. ”Don't we have any secrets left?”

”She wanted to watch,” Henry said.

The tall black man went to a door marked EQUIPMENT and punched in the code. He gestured at me, and I walked inside. The others followed.

My mouth dropped open. Rows and rows of superhero suits hung behind gla.s.s doors along one side of the room. The colorful costumes provided a bright, almost gaudy, contrast to the gray, metal walls.

Another gla.s.s case contained boots and gloves and masks galore, all lined up from largest to smallest and sorted by color. Stacks of swords identical to the two Striker carried glistened from their place on steel racks anch.o.r.ed to another wall. Whips, utility belts, and various other odds and ends sat on stands in the middle of the room just waiting to be grabbed and used. The area contained enough suits and gizmos to equip an entire army of superheroes. I truly was in Superhero Central.

”This is incredible. How much money do you spend on all this stuff?” I whispered.

”Too much. Why do you think I'm such a ruthless businessman? Somebody's got to pay for all of this,”

Striker quipped. ”Being a superhero isn't cheap.”

KarmaGirl.

Fiera put her hands on her hips. ”My fas.h.i.+on designs accounted for a good portion of our budget last year. Certainly more than Henry and my father's meager contributions.”

”Yes, well, some of us aren't independently wealthy,” Henry replied. ”Ask Carmen. She knows how badly journalists are paid, especially those at The Expose. Morgana Madison has Striker beat in the ruthless category.”

”She's something, all right,” Striker said in a wry tone.

A vague thought swirled around in my mind. Something connected to karma- ”Can we get started already?” Fiera asked. ”I have clients I need to see later.”

The thought went down the drain of my brain.

Henry walked to a door marked TRAINING. He entered the code, and it slid open. We trooped inside.

The room reminded me of a recording studio. A control panel with thousands of b.u.t.tons and switches and lights lined one wall. A window situated over the panel overlooked a sunken, metal room the size of a football field. I eyed the scorch marks on the walls and floor below. Interesting.

Striker, Fiera, and Mr. Sage cl.u.s.tered around a locker. Each one grabbed a silver helmet and put it on.

The helmets had black visors that covered the superheroes' eyes, along with microphones attached to one side. Henry punched b.u.t.tons and threw switches on the control panel.

”Everybody turn his or her helmet on,” he said.

The visors darkened, and flickering lights reflected down onto the superheroes' faces. The visor seemed to be some sort of interactive screen. Curiouser and curiouser.

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