"Keep your mouth off my daughter!"
The snarl broke the intercom into another wave of crackles and pinched noises. I flinched, putting my hands over my ears. At least he still cared about Emma. "I used to babysit her. Those of us who know her? We all love her. You know we do; just as much as you do. Don't let her go fatherless, Scribe. Don't do that to her. We end up with enough superheroes in that situation after their folks abandon them to us."
"Like yours did."
I rolled my eyes. "Is that the best villainy banter you've got? Suggesting the Clarks cast me off? Because I got over that a long time ago and it's the weakest-"
The floor beneath me electrified, my muscles hardening to rock. I screamed. I know I did because my throat tried to close up against the trauma. But crying about it wasn't going to do anything other than make me unable to talk. I couldn't move to grab the nearest stair rail or attempt to displace the electric, all I could do was suffer.
When he turned it off, I coughed and crumpled to the floor. The intercom popped to life again. "I think I have a few more tricks than just snapping at you, Strikeout. Care to try me again? I'd love to see what happens if you make it up to the next floor, girl. Even you can't stand against something like that."
The next floor was boobytrapped somehow, then. I dragged myself upright and glared at the railings. I wasn't going to enjoy it, but it had to be done. I grabbed it, hauled myself over, and began the steep, entirely unsafe climb toward the next level. The electric went off again but it was only an annoying buzz, the metal unaffected.
I heard Scribe curse and slam the microphone down. I shivered. If he was coming for me, if he had a book nearby and he'd lied about his powers, I was absolutely fucked. No one would know what had happened to me, and it was entirely possible that no one would remember me enough to care. Scribe was capable of that at his worst, and I didn't know if he'd been pressed to that level yet.
When I didn't disappear into the nothingness by two floors up, I hopped back across to the solid concrete stairs. Nothing electrocuted me and I spent the rest of that time racing up the stairs two to three at a time, in gaps as long as my legs would allow me, trying to get to him before he did something that none of the rest of the surviving members of the Yarborough Alliance would forgive him for.
The door to the floor his office was on was barricaded and I shivered. Everything in my body already screamed, could I really put myself through some huge adrenaline rush just to get through a door? I'd need that power to face him down, to try to pin him to the wall and stop this madness. If I could just get him to stop, just get him to listen, I could probably stop everything from going to hell and maybe I could save my lovers from having to deal with it.
I didn't want to be some national hero for shutting down Scribe.
I just wanted to protect the people I loved.
My fist connected with my face and white-hot lightning surged through me, then puttered out. I drove my forehead into the nearby cinderblock wall and saw stars, but that was enough to do it. Riding an adrenaline high that threatened to blow my powers out of whack again, I threw myself at the door and snarled as it broke beneath me.
A hundred boxes of canned food and assorted other junk went blasting across the landing in front of me. So much for making a quiet, secret entrance, I guessed. My vision tunneled and I grabbed a can of peaches that had been punched open by the attack, poured the syrupy juice into my mouth, and stalked toward those tall, mahogany doors I knew so well.
Then I pushed one open and entered the office.
Which was absolutely abandoned except for the ghost of my cousin.
Allison sat on Scribe's chair, staring up at me. Chains held her there, both spectral and physical. Tears rolled down her cheeks. "I don't want to do this to you; to any of you. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Cassie. But he won't let me go. He won't let me pass on."
How the hell do you comfort a ghost? I took my time walking through the room, careful to note any oddly smooth places in the rugs or freshly cleaned areas. There was rubble everywhere. What kind of man tears apart the building to install shock panels but doesn't bother to set up traps in his own office?
There was nothing I could find. I tore apart the physical chains with the last of my adrenaline but that was all I could do for her. "If you don't want to do it, why are you? You can stop this. Hell, you could probably stop him."
"I loved him so much," she said.
"That's not an answer."
She sniffled at me. "It's kind of an answer.
