Both robberies coincided with her kidnapping attempts—just like her kidnapping off the bus coincided with a city-wide crime spree. She didn’t think she rated classification as a valuable cultural artifact. But in all three cases, she’d provided a distraction. Law enforcement and the supers had been looking at her, not at any robberies.
Until the Strad Brothers were caught, this was likely to happen again.
Now that she knew what to look for, she could spot her bodyguards. The next day, gazing upward, she caught a glimpse of Breezeway jumping from one building to the next, across the street from where she waited for the bus. He had a good view of her and all the streets around her. She almost waved hello.
Back in college, Celia had taken perverse delight in walking across campus alone in the middle of the night. As a freshman she’d gotten tired of the women’s groups and security activists insisting that no girl should ever venture forth into the darkness without a can of mace and a uniformed cop escorting her. That reeked of regressive Victorian thinking. Celia made a point of walking alone, with enough of a badass attitude that no one ever approached her.
One night, a breeze kicked up autumn leaves as she marched from the library to her dorm, half a mile away. It was a nice night for a walk. Her peasant skirt swished around her legs, her oversize cotton tunic was cozy. In another month the air would be too cold for comfort.
Or in another hour it would be too cold. The breeze turned into a gust, a harbinger of a storm. It whipped her hair into her face, she had to hold her skirt down, and she started leaning into the wind to walk.
Across the street, the trees weren’t blowing at all.
Her feet slipped, and she yelped. Cushioned by a whirlwind pounding around her, she floated a few feet off the ground. Her backpack slipped off her shoulder. She flailed her arms; it felt almost like swimming. The pocket of wind held her like a hand. Thank God she was wearing tights; her skirt tossed around her hips.
From above her, a man floated down, arms outstretched, riding the breeze like it was a surfboard. He wore the unmistakable sleek costume of a superhuman vigilante—or villain. A strip of silk ran along the insides of his arms, down his torso, rippling like sails. He wore a mask on the top part of his face. His frame was thin—barely postadolescent. He had overgrown brown hair and a shit-eating grin.
Celia struggled, but she only flopped like a fish out of water.
“You’re Celia West?” he said, calmly hovering before her.
“Who the hell are you?”
“Hm,” he murmured, like he was all macho or something. “I expected you to be more…”
“More
“I don’t know. More
“What do you want with me?”
“You’re going to tell me how to join the Olympiad.”
She rolled her eyes. This was the most dangerous type out there: smart enough to track her down, and stupid enough to think she was worth something. Eager enough to want to save the world—but not a clue as to what he was trying to save. To him it was all one supercharged cinematic adventure.
“You think I know how? I can’t help you.”
“But Captain Olympus is your father.”
And she hadn’t spoken to him in a couple of years now. “We don’t get along. Now put me down and go send a résumé to West Corp.”
He pursed his lips thoughtfully for a moment, then gave his head a decisive shake. “No. I’m too close. Can’t back down. If I bring you to them, they’ll see what I can do. They’ll have to take me.”
Stretching forward, he swooped toward her and scooped her up. Cradling her in his arms, he soared up, over the campus, toward downtown. They weaved around buildings like they were trees in some immense forest, the streets dwindling beneath them.
He could fly. Easily, like he was taking a stroll across town. He used the wind somehow; a swell of air carried them along. She might have been impressed, if she hadn’t been so pissed off and scared. She clung to him, because if she struggled now and he let go, she’d drop a couple hundred feet to the ground.
He aimed his flight toward West Plaza. The glowing blue logo shone as a beacon.
Cruising along one side of the tower, he flew up, straightened, and gracefully touched down on the helipad, feet first. He set her down beside him. She stumbled; her legs were shaking. She wanted to run away, but she couldn’t.
The service door by the helipad opened and the Bullet jogged onto the roof, no doubt called by the West Plaza alarm system. He took in the scene, glancing at the masked guy, then at Celia, and back.
“What’s going on?” Robbie said, half-directing the question to Celia.
“The Bullet, just who I want to see,” the stranger said. “I want to join the Olympiad.”
Robbie rounded his shoulders and crossed his arms, donning an annoyed frown. “What makes you think we have any openings?”
“You’ll take me.” He nodded, clenched his fists. “You’ll take me, or I’ll drop her.”
The wind snatched Celia off her feet again, wrenching a shriek out of her. She tried to clamp her mouth shut, wanting to be brave and quiet so she wouldn’t distract Robbie. But the handlike breeze scooped her up and carried her over the edge of the building. She hung there, suspended, a hundred stories over cold pavement, nothing between her and the ground. Her scream was blood-curdling.
The stranger reached toward her, guiding the power that kept her aloft.
He looked at Robbie. “What do you say?”
“I say you’re going about this all wrong.”
“Get Captain Olympus and Spark up here. I bet they won’t have any hesitation.”
Robbie’s arms uncrossed, his gaze narrowed. “I wouldn’t make that bet if I were you.”
“I mean it! I’ll drop her!”
Mouth clenched closed, she stared up at a stark, washed-out sky.
The Bullet disappeared.
Another wind came out of nowhere and smacked into her gut, knocking the breath from her. It heaved her in another direction, snatching her from the stranger’s grip and dragging her back to the roof.
When she opened her eyes, she was standing on solid roof and leaning against Robbie, whose arm held her around her middle. The Bullet had run so fast, he’d dashed into the air itself, using his own special talent to fly, grabbed her, and carried her to safety. Her lungs heaved, trying to catch a breath.
“You okay, kid?” he whispered.
She could only nod. When he let her go, she managed to stay standing, for which she was grateful.
He turned to the stranger, who backed away a couple of steps. “You want to talk about this now? What made you think that dangling his daughter off the roof would convince the Captain to trust you enough to bring you onto the team?”
The Bullet was being far nicer than Celia would have been.
The stranger shook his head, still backing away, glancing over his shoulder to judge his distance from the edge, which didn’t add anything to his impressiveness. “I had to make them—you—listen!”
Robbie stepped toward him, hastening the other’s retreat. “I’m listening now. So, you have any other talents besides summoning winds and kidnapping girls? Come on, I’m listening.”
He sputtered for a moment, like he wanted to say something. Then, he jumped. He’d reached the edge, and rather than stay put, he threw himself over it. A wind picked him up and carried him off. He flew away, his body stretched out flat and streamlined.
“We’re going to have to keep track of that one,” Robbie said, hands on hips. He looked at Celia. “You really okay?”
She’d found her breath and voice by then. “Yeah, I think so. Thanks for the save.”
“No problem. You should come inside, get warmed up. You look like you could use a drink.”
“Only if it’s bourbon.”
“I was thinking hot cocoa.”
