The Distort Arc: Cape High Books 1-4 (Cape High Series Omnibus) Page 6

  Max looked at me, as if fighting the urge to say something. Then he looks at the other two boys. "You aren't going to run off and tell the Hall on me, are you?" he asks.

  "No," Trent says. "Not unless you do something to deserve it."

  I say nothing, merely glancing at Sunny. Is he still planning on going to the Hall? He seems awfully eager to get rid of Max. But... has Max done anything worth tattling on him? He's stolen a slushee and made Jack sit down. Of course that means Jack knows he's a super, but Jack knows we are, too. We'd all be found out on that one.

  Other than that, well, bugging us isn't cause to call the Hall down. Not when the worst thing he's done so far is make us run home. I look at Max. "We won't tell the Hall," I promise.

  But I don't promise we won't go to talk to them. Now that we know we can get places quickly, it won't be a problem running to the Hall. I wonder if Max has any clue how he's opened a door he really didn't want opened with that bit of bossiness.

  "Fine, I'll go," Max says. "But I get to talk with Zoe first."

  "Why should we let you?" Sunny asks. "It's not like she's dating you."

  "Do you want me sleeping in a tree outside your house?"

  "I'll talk to him," I say, rolling my eyes. "Go on home, Sunny, he's not going to do anything to me." I hope. I've never actually been alone with Max, so I don't know for sure. I'm just not getting any "I'm going to smash you to a pulp" vibes, so I figure I'm safe. But when he grabs my hand and pulls me away from the others I wonder if I'm not making an idiotic move, after all.

  We stop at the park down the street, sitting on the old picnic table. "Look," he says after a moment, "I should be telling Sunny this, too--but I figure you can tell him. Today was Technico's hearing."

  "Wh--what?" I ask, shocked at the subject. I'd honestly expected him to hit on me or try and talk me into being on his team again.

  "He might be getting out of the Cape Cells," Max says, running a hand over his face. "I can't promise he will, but there's a chance of it. If he gets out, he's going to find out about you two."

  "Yeah?" I say, wondering why he sounds like that might be a bad thing.

  "I'm not exactly sure how good a father he'll be." The words seem to imply more, and so does his expression of worry. "Don't--don't go expecting him to take you in, feed you, clothe you. He's a super villain, but it's even deeper than that." Max rests his elbows on his knees and stares straight forward. "He's Superior's first born."

  "Wait, what?" I say. Superior is known by everyone, even if he's been dead longer than I've been alive. Superior is the hero of heroes, the demigod like man that stood head and shoulders over other heroes. He was the fastest of the fast, strongest of the strong, the guy that still has movies made portraying his life even today. "Is that why you called us Superiors? Wait--Superior had kids?"

  "Two of them," Max says. "You'll never hear about it among the norms, they never found out. But it... well, honestly, he sucked as a dad, far as I can tell. He just abandoned his kids to the system, left them to figure out how to use their powers on their own. I mean, it's no wonder that Technico wound up in the Cape Cells. They tell you that blood tells in the super world, but only when it comes to powers. Whether you go good or bad is up to you, in the long run."

  "Who are you, Max?" I ask abruptly. "How do you know all of this? How did you hack our email?"

  "I'm a Hall brat," he says. "I just happen to have Double M as my dad."

  "Wh--what?"

  He grins at me. "Mastermental is my father. It's sort of that movie where the hero finds out that his father's the super villain in the mask--but opposite. You can imagine how loud our dinners get."

  "You LIVE with the head of the Hall?" I yelp. Somehow this is more shocking to me than the idea that my grandfather is Superior. Honestly I'm trying to ignore that fact right now.

  "Yeah, for now. He's gone half the time, anyway," Max says, leaning back on his hands. "So we only see each other once in a while."

  "Why hasn't he beaten you for being a super villain?" I demand.

  "He's pretty laid back--as long as I don't do anything that can actually get a norm killed," Max admits. "He says that being supers is more photo-ops than black-ops, anyway. It's like pro wrestling when we aren't saving the world. You need the bad guys as much as you need the good."

  I stare at him, expecting him to admit that he's lying. When he just stares back with a little smile on his face, I have to accept that he's telling the truth. "Course, there's certain expectations we're all expected to live up to--regardless what side we're on. If you go over the line you wind up in the Cape Cells," he goes on. "No killing, no matter what side you're on, no experimenting on living beings--unless you have a signed contract and legal rights, that sort of stuff. I get lectured on it a lot."

  "What did my Dad do?" I ask.

  "Use of a weapon of mass destruction without applying for a grant first."

  "Oh."

  "Having one isn't a crime, according to Super Code," Max adds helpfully. "So if you want to build one, no one will complain. They might raid your place for publicity, but you'll get out the back just fine."

  My head is spinning. "What do you mean 'if you want to build one'?" I demand.

  "You're going to be a technopath, right? Big part of that job is building massive robots and weapons of mass destruction," Max explains.

  "I don't think I want to be a super villain, though," I say hesitantly, looking away from him. Why do I feel guilty for admitting that? "I mean, I promised myself I'd be good--as good as I could be."

  "Why?"

  "Because that's what Mom would have wanted," I say. "She's probably dead now, whether you're right about her being a super or not. But when she was alive, she gave us... so much. She gave up so much. I didn't even realize that until we were on our own. I don't want her looking down from heaven and seeing me as a super villain. I don't even want her seeing me lie, or cheating on a test, or anything like that," I admit. "Stupid, huh? Here I am, the daughter of a super villain, and I... I'm trying my best to be a good kid. She abandoned us--"

  I jerk, shocked as he pulls me into a hug. "If she was a super--if that's where your brother gets his powers, she didn't abandon you," he says, pressing my head to his chest. I can hear his heartbeat. It seems fast to me. "Don't ever think she abandoned you, okay? She didn't have a choice."

  "How do you know that?" I demand, trying to pull away. He's stronger than I am.

  "Because of what you just said. If a mom raises a kid like that she's not the type to walk away from them," he says. "Would you relax already? I'm trying to comfort you!"

  I barely hear that last line. Tears are welling up in my eyes, threatening to fall. "Bu--but--how--I just--" I can't even form a comprehensive sentence. The tears start falling, much to my frustration. "I miss her," I wail. "I can't stop! And all this time I thought--I was certain--she had--"

  He doesn't say anything, just holds me as I blubber like a child. Why? Why of all people do I have to cry in front of him? I barely know him! I'm still a bit scared of him, too! He's a super villain! Things like that are pretty black and white, okay? Either you're a hero or you're a villain in the super world, you can't be both.

  "What did you say to her?" I hear Sunny demand from behind me. "Get your hands off of Zoe!" I sniffle, knowing that my nose and eyes are red, that if I look at someone they're going to see just how ugly I am when I cry, but I feel honor bound to stand up for Max in this case.

  "Don't--he didn't do anything," I say, loudly enough to be heard without having to move. What if Trent's here, too? Do I really want all three of them seeing me look terrible?

  "We were just talking," Max says, now rubbing my back. "And Zoe needed to cry." How is he so comfortable with girls crying, anyway? I feel a hint of jealousy creeping in and firmly shove it down. No doubt he's got a girlfriend in every city. I shouldn't take any flirting he does seriously. He's probably a player.

  "I'm fine," I mutter, pulling away from Max. This
time he lets me go. I don't dare look at him, I don't want him seeing my face. Instead I look away from both of them, wiping at my tears with the back of my forearm. "Sunny... Technico's hearing is today," I say. "He might be getting out of the Cape Cells--"

  "So?" Sunny says. "I don't think it should matter to us. I've been thinking about it, Zoe. I think if he wanted to be a part of our lives--even if he is behind bars--we would have known about it."

  I go silent. "Yeah," I say as the silence stretches thin. "Yeah, I think you're right." So what do we do? I tug my knees up to my chest, resting my chin on them, still not looking at the others. "We're really all alone, aren't we."

  "No, we aren't," Sunny says, heading over to the table and sitting on the bench bolted to the table I'm sitting on. "We got each other."

  "And me," Max says.

  "And me," Trent adds, answering my silent question of whether he's there or not. "Not as a super league of evil, or anything--"

  "Who ARE you, Trent?" Max demands. "It's driving me insane--why do you look so familiar? Who's your dad?"

  "You haven't figured it out yet?" Trent asks.

  "No. So tell me."

  "Nah, don't think I will," he says.

  "Don't tell me it's Mega."

  "It's not Mega."

  "Maybe it's your mom? Are you Falconess's son?"

  "Nope."

  "Then who?"

  "There's a lot more supers to guess from," Trent says. "Keep looking. Zoe... are you going to be okay?"

  I nod, staring forward blindly and hoping that no one will try and look me in the face at the moment. Sure, I can feel Sunny leaning against me, but he's making no move to see my face. I wonder if he has an idea of what made me cry. Does he think it's Technico? I don't want him thinking that. I don't even know the man--the only reason I wanted to was because of a childish hope that a father would mean we'd be free from the home. Max is right, though. Even if Technico knows about us, there's no reason to believe he'll care. Even if he gets out of the Cape Cells, I doubt he'll ever come looking for us.

  ***

  "So this is their address?" Nico asks, looking at the piece of paper. He's a free man. Theoretically. As far as he can tell, though, he's going from one form of prison to another. Stuck with two teenage kids that he's never even heard of and a job he's never wanted. He's even expected to claim them. It wasn't like they could live in a foster home, not now. He'd protested that, too, saying he had no experience as a father, but here he is, being sent off.

  "Yes. Their caseworker has already been informed. I can only hope that she's informed the foster parents. And here's your papers--all legal and everything. You'll be staying in a three room apartment near the school grounds," Mastermental says, handing more and more papers to him. "You were in Iraq, on duty," he adds. "Your military credentials are in this file." Yet another files is plopped onto the last.

  "I've not been in Iraq for over twenty years," Nico complains. "And it was only to fly over it at the time. How am I supposed to pull that one off?"

  "Say you'd rather not talk about it," Mastermental says. "Most vets don't."

  "Fine," Nico says, sticking the massive pile of papers under his arm. "And a car?" he asks. "I can't just walk up to the house and expect them to think I'm picking up my kids."

  "There's a junkyard a few blocks down."

  Nico started to laugh--except Mastermental looks perfectly serious. "You're serious."

  "You're a technopath, I'm sure you have your pick of cars."

  "But--that--fine! I'm an ex-marine driving a jalopy and picking up kids I haven't seen--"

  "Since they were babies," Mastermental provides.

  "Since they were babies. Fine. Nice cover story," he says dryly as he walks away.

  Taking to the air he stops and scouts out the land before heading for the junkyard Double M mentioned. Half an hour later the sun is starting to set and he's driving down the street in a 1978 firebird that needs a new paintjob. It runs, thanks to him, and the interior is actually halfway decent, save for a hole in the back seat. It's only when he pulls into the driveway of an old fashioned looking two story house that he wonders if he should have gotten something with more doors.

  Too late now, Nico decides as he grabs all the papers from the passenger seat and gets out. He's wearing jeans and a t-shirt, both borrowed from Mega, so they fit well enough. It's only his boots that remain--black and sleek looking, not to mention made from the power inhibiting material that the rest of his prison outfit had been. He’ll have to go shopping for clothes, he thinks as he heads up the path to the front porch.

  The door opens about ten minutes after he rings the bell. A teenage girl with long brown hair and glasses stares at him blankly, looking at his face, then at his hair. She steps back. "Marrrrgee? We have a pro wrestler at the door!" she yells over her shoulder.

  "I'm not a pro wrestler," Nico says. "I'm an ex-marine."

  "He says he's a marine!" she yells over her shoulder again. "Hey, you're one of the bad guys, right?" she asks him. "Does it pay well?"

  He stares at her, crossing his arms over his chest and refusing to answer that. He's pretty certain this isn't his kid, thanks to the pictures. He can only thank God for that fact.

  "You look familiar, are you on WWF?" she asks. "I don't watch it, but some of the guys do--"

  A bustling noise comes from behind her and Nico looks over her head at the woman heading down the hallway. She’s a moderately heavy woman who looks like she's been cooking. "Forgive her," she says, tugging the teenage girl back. "Is there something I can do for you, Mister...?"

  "Nico Walters," Nico provides. They hadn't let him keep his last name, saying people might get curious. "I've come to claim my kids."

  "I see, and their names?"

  "Zoe and Sunny Rosenthorn," he says, digging through the folders to pull out the paperwork showing he had claim to them. As far as he could tell, the Hall had either forged them or had a very, very good person in a very high legal position. "Sorry it's such short notice--"

  "Yes, their caseworker called earlier... sounding a bit stressed," she says, looking at his hair. "So you're the reason they're... like they are."

  "What?"

  "I did start to wonder when all of the dead plants on the front porch came back to life," she says. "Please, come in, we can talk in the parlor. I was convinced when the television blew up, though. You see, I've been doing this for a very long time. In fact, I, myself was an orphan."

  "I'm not sure what you're talking about," Nico says blandly.

  "Supers," she says, turning to look at him. "Your children are supers, and I give odds, Mr. Walters, or whatever your real name is, that you are one as well. We have them, once in a while. Not nearly as strong as your two seem to be--usually it’s a small ability, one that barely gets noticed and won't interfere with their life as normal citizens, but in this case I thought to myself, those two will definitely be picked up by the Hall. I wasn't expecting their actual father, though!"

  She sits down on the couch, making herself comfortable, and pats the seat next to her. "Come, tell me where you've really been for their lives."

  For a moment he stares at the woman, wondering if she's insane. But there's a sharp look in her eyes that tells him there's a reason she can handle so many teenagers at once. Slowly he sits down next to her, turning his body so he can see her.

  "I don't believe I should," he says. "Secret identities and all that," he adds a bit tongue in cheek.

  "I'm betting you're a villain," she says abruptly. "You've got the face to be one!"

  He starts laughing, unable to help himself. "Now I'm hurt," he says in protest. "How do I look like a villain? It's the nose, isn't it?"

  "It's your eyes," she says. "The eyes say a lot. But I do believe you when you say you're their father. Usually I would demand proof. I wonder if I should this time, as well?"

  "I've got papers," Nico says.

  "Oh, papers are easy for you people, I'm sure. Even discreetl
y getting rid of troublesome caseworkers is easy, I'd say. Do you know how to handle teenagers?" she asks.

  "Not a clue," he admits.

  "Good. The ones that claim they do usually have all the wrong ideas." She stands. "Well, I would tell Zoe and Sunny to pack, but I'm afraid they haven't gotten home yet. I'm sure they'll be here soon enough. I hope you don't mind waiting here? I really need to make sure dinner doesn't burn."

  "No, it's fine," he says. So they were that obvious, huh? He waits until she's gone to open up the folders and read the information available. He's even got school evaluations, although he's sure it's not legal for him to get them from the Hall. A frown pulls at his lips as he flips through the information. He doesn't know them. He has their information, sure, but he doesn't know them. They're complete strangers that just happen to--possibly--have his DNA.

  How are they expected to become a family like this? He hasn't even seen his little sister in fifteen years, thanks to the "no super visitors allowed" rule, and she's the closest he had to a normal family life before this--

  The front door opens and he glances up, watching silently as two teenage kids walk in. The girl looks like she's been crying. She's so intent on getting to her room, or wherever, that she almost walks right past the door of the parlor. It's only when the boy grabs her wrist that she stops.

  Well, then, Nico thinks. They do know who he is.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  You know, there's got to be a word for this. I'm leaning towards "irony" but I'm not positive. The moment I'm certain that our missing father will never even think about us is the moment I'm walking into the home and seeing him sitting on the couch. I stare for a moment, since this is the first time I've seen him not behind a fence, and honestly I was right before. He looks exactly like Sunny. Older, of course, broader through the shoulders, all that, but he reminds me so much of Sunny that there's no use denying the blood ties.

  He's our father. Whoop de freaking doo. (Yes, this calls for ancient sayings to be used. I don't know why, it just does. Don't judge me!) "I don't want to talk to you," I say, starting for the stairs to my room again.