Read Cape High Christmas: A Side Story (Cape High Series) Online
Authors: R.J. Ross
Cape High Christmas: A Side Story (Cape High Series) (27 page)
Crimson snorts. “You’re smelling the animals. One walk through the gorilla enclosure over there and the stench will fry your nose hairs right off.” She elbows me in the arm. “Good thing we heal instantly.”
“You’ve been here before?” It occurs to me now that spending the last twelve years in Hero training has left exactly zero time for me to have done anything out in the real world. All I know is Central, the underground city of the Super people, and how to fight imaginary villains in the training room called HQ.
“Not this zoo, but one in San Diego. Remember that earthquake?”
I nod, recalling how Crimson and my brother, Max, were dispatched to the same mission about a year ago. I had waited anxiously for them to get back and tell me all about it. Crimson and Max are two years older than I am. We all grew up together and spent thousands of hours in Hero Training at HQ. But they both got Hero status at the same time and since then, I’ve had to get used to training alone while they go on awesome Hero missions and continuously save the world. Now, finally, we will all be together again.
“This is more of a passive mission,” Crimson explains. She leads the way into the aquatic center and the cool dark air is a welcome relief from the sun outside. We’re surrounded by aquariums where fish of all colors and sizes swim around in their vibrant habitats. “The best missions are the ones where you arrive on the scene and start kicking ass.” She flashes me a devilish smile as we round a tank of neon orange fish. “These recon missions suck. You’d think Central would let you go on a fun mission on your last day of training. Maybe they don’t want you to get worn out before your big Hero exam.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me.
“This is actually my fault,” I admit. “They were going to send me with Max but I asked to go with you instead.”
“Aww, shucks,” she says, placing a hand over her heart. “You’re such a good bestie.”
I shrug. “All Max does is lecture me on the rules of being a Hero. I’m so sick of being told to watch my back and feel the air.” I make air quotes over the last part. Sarcastically, I say, “Feel the air, Crimson! Feel the air!”
She laughs. “Hate on Max all you want, but that’s good advice. Super power often leaves a tingling presence in the air. Some of the petty villains haven’t honed their power much so you can’t feel them, but the really bad villains? You can feel their power a mile away. It’s satisfying as hell when they get depowered.”
A shudder runs through me. Depowering is the process of ripping out the power veins in a Super—the silvery veins that pump power from our chest into our body. The details of the process are confidential, but everyone knows it’s agonizing. Depowering leaves the villain covered in spidery scars from fingers to toes, a grotesque shadow of their former selves.
“Retriever hooks do the same thing with the power in the air,” I say. I practiced hooking Hero Ernesto and his power immediately shut off. I didn’t even know his power was in the air until I couldn’t feel it anymore.
We reach an open area of the building where an albino alligator stares at us from his glass enclosure. A sign near the glass directs patrons to try out the new
Glass Glove
, which allows you to press your hand into the glass and feel the alligator. Cartoon images on the sign depict a child pressing their hand to the glass and having it bend and mold around his fingers, forming a pliable glove inside the wall.
“I bet that alligator loves being fondled by his own cage,” Crimson mutters.
“It’s a Felix invention.” I point to the King City crown logo at the bottom of the sign.
Glass Glove was donated to the Lone Star Zoo by Felix of Felix Industries & Research.
“That guy invents the weirdest things,” Crimson says.
In just a few years, Felix went from being one of Central’s unknown research scientists to a human icon, practically worshipped by lovers of technology. He’s gifted the human race with medical devices, batteries that never die, and holograph projections that follow you around, complimenting you all day.
Someone clears their throat behind us. Crimson and I turn away from the alligator. Two girls stare at us, their hair in matching red ponytails tied with a blue ribbon bow that matches their blue dresses. They’re each holding a massive snow cone, one pink and one blue. If I had to guess, I’d say they were about eight years old.
The girl with the pink snow cone takes a cell phone from her dress pocket. “Um, Miss Hero Crimson, ma’am?”
Crimson bends to their eye level, resting her hands on her thighs. “That’s my name. What can I do for you girls?” She flashes a heroic smile and some of their trepidation melts away.
The girl holds up her phone and two identical sets of syrup-stained lips gaze in awe at us. “Could we maybe take a picture with you, please? You’re our favorite Hero.”
“Are you a Hero, too?” the other girl asks, studying me with furrowed brows. “Wait, are you President Knight’s daughter?”
I don’t know how to be light and charming like my best friend, so I just smile and nod. “Yes, but I’m not a Hero.”
“But you will be?” she asks.
I nod and she bursts into a wide, crooked-toothed grin. “Can we get a picture with you, too?”
“Of course you can,” Crimson says, taking the phone and pointing it toward me. I squat down, wrap my arms around the girl’s shoulders and pose for the camera.
“Feels good to be a Hero, eh?” Crimson whispers in my ear after she snaps a photo and hands me the phone, swapping places with me. I take their photo and give the phone back to the girls, who run to their parents to show off their souvenir.
“We need to keep going,” Crimson says, tapping her Codex.
“I think that’s the first time I’ve seen twins in real life,” I say, as we wander throughout the rest of the building. Twins are exceptionally rare in the Super community, and it’s for the best. Although human twins aren’t anything to fear, it is guaranteed that one sibling from every set of Super twins will turn villain. The last twins born to my species was over a hundred years ago and the only thing they taught us in school was that both of them are dead.
“There are a ton of human twins,” Crimson says, seemingly unaffected by the same topic that makes my stomach churn. “Just one more reason I’ll never have kids. The odds are really slim, but,
ugh
. Can you imagine?” Her perfectly arched eyebrows rise and she shudders.
I nod. “Having twins in Central would be the saddest thing ever.”
“I know,” Crimson says. “I mean, even though one of them will turn villain, I’d hate to kill my own kid.”
“I don’t think you have to personally do it,” I say, feeling the tightness in my stomach again. “Pretty sure Central takes care of it.”
She rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean.”
We both stop in our tracks. And it isn’t because we’ve finally stumbled upon the aquarium with the Largetooth Sawfish, an otherworldly fish with what looks like a terrifying hedge trimmer as a snout. It’s the atmosphere. That unmistakable feeling of power sizzling, radiating outward in the air conditioned air all around us. I never realized how strongly I could feel a Super’s power until I was surrounded by humans who don’t have it.
Crimson motions for me to follow her, taking cover behind a model shark. As we watch, a black man in a tailored suit approaches the fish’s tank, talking to a man wearing tan zookeeper’s scrubs—Oliver Toca. The power flows out of him in all directions.
“It is imperative that I bring this fish to the aquatic center in Austin,” Oliver says, glaring at his companion.
“Sir, there is nothing about a relocation on the agenda,” the man says. “The fish goes nowhere without official documentation and regulation transport.”
“You’re making this very difficult,” Oliver says in a huff. A muscle in his jaw twitches.
The other man shakes his head and reaches into his breast pocket, retrieving a cell phone. Oliver grabs the phone right from the man’s hand, crushing it into tiny pieces beneath his grip.
The man’s eyes widen in horror. Crimson looks back at me. “Sorry this is such a boring mission,” she whispers, then steps out into the open. “That wasn’t very nice at all, Oliver Toca. You’ll be buying this man a new phone as soon as you’re depowered.”
Oliver spins around to face her, his teeth gritted and gleaming in the spotlight. Crimson was right—his eyes are gorgeous, but his grimace and penchant for crime really ruin his handsome features. He swings a fist at her and she grabs it, yanks him forward, and slams her head directly into his nose. The few humans in the area quickly shuffle backward and out of the way.
“I am Hero Crimson Barlow,” she says with a practiced authority. “And you know exactly where you’re going.”
Oliver’s nose is flattened into his face and he winces while the power in his body works to heal all the shattered cartilage. Crimson grabs his wrist and twists, breaking the bones as easily as snapping a pencil. She takes a pair of Retriever hooks from the side pocket of her Hero suit.
These hooks are a Hero’s best friend. Made of magnetic material that temporarily paralyzes a villain on contact, they work like handcuffs. When a villain doesn’t cooperate, the hooks snap apart in the center, becoming two horseshoe-shaped throwing devices with very sharp points on the ends.
Difficult villains get the hooks shoved into their skin.
She dangles the hooks from her index finger. “Want to do the honors, trainee?”
I snap them up, eager to try my hooking skills on a real, live villain. I slap one around his broken wrist and then grab his other wrist, yanking it behind his body. He curses under his breath but doesn’t put up a fight. I close the other hook in on itself and step backward. Crimson scans him with her Codex and sends the word to Central. Soon, a Retriever will arrive and take the incapacitated villain back to Central where he’ll be depowered.
The man in the suit puts a hand over his heart. “Thank you so much, ladies. I knew something was wrong when he demanded to move the fish so quickly.”
I pretend to be humble. “That’s what we’re here for.”
“Another villain off the streets,” Crimson says, her eyes sparkling with satisfaction.
“This feels better than I thought it would,” I say, grabbing the center chain of the hooks and shoving Oliver Toca toward the back exit of the building.
Crimson throws an arm over my shoulder, the scent of her cherry lip-gloss briefly overriding the stench of fish tanks. “So, Maci Knight . . . think you have what it takes to pass your Hero exam?”
I know she’s not talking about the hours of training I’ve endured over the last decade and this last week of performing skill tests for the examiners to prove I’m ready. Crimson’s question goes deeper than that. She’s talking about the core of being a Hero. Placing my life on the line to save people I don’t even know. Throwing away the idea of a normal life, all to uphold an oath of protecting those who can’t protect themselves.
The Hero Brigade is the most elite group on the planet. I meet her gaze and the corner of my mouth twists into a grin. “Hell yes.”
~About the Author~
R.J. Ross has been writing since junior high, when she discovered that it could help her keep an A in English Class. She lives in Missouri, where she works as a secretary for the family business and spends all of her free time writing. If you would like to see more of her work, you can find several short stories at amazon.com/author/rjross!
Like her on Facebook for bonus material such as character profiles, unpublished information, and status updates at https://www.facebook.com/capehigh! Or check out her blog for free Cape High short stories at https://capehigh.wordpress.com or follow her on twitter @rjrosscapehigh
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~About the Cover Designer~
Cheyanne is a native Texan with a fear of cold weather and a coffee addiction that probably needs an intervention. She loves books, sarcasm, nail polish and paid holidays. She lives near the beach with her family, one spoiled rotten puppy and a cat that is plotting to take over the world, one scratched up welcome mat at a time. A recent day-job quitter, Cheyanne can be found furiously typing on her computer, probably complaining on Twitter about how she should be writing. When she’s not honing her procrastination skills, she’s writing books for teenagers. She is the author of several books for teens and recently turned her love of superheroes and writing for teens into books about teenage superheroes. Find more about her books at www.CheyanneYoung.com or follow her on Twitter @NormalChey
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