Star Harbor Nights

"...and so I said, 'Look, asshole, I don't care what your shirt says... nobody appreciates the Muppets on a deeper level than I do.'," Lily said to the interviewer, "and then I threw his stupid face right through a..."

The Hex Kittens were arrayed on a comfortably overstuffed sofa in the corner of a quiet Crescent Bay coffee shop. The reporter interviewing them was seated in a large wicker chair, a notebook on her lap and a big leather messenger bag snapped shut by her feet.

"Heh heh," Dandy chuckled nervously. "We're going to get a chance to see this before it goes to print, right?"

"Oh, don't sweat that," Andi Markham told her. "This is just a little piece for the weekend supplement, not ambush journalism. You're not dealing with Top Story here. I'll, uh, skip the amusing anecdotes and stick to the easy, obvious questions. Like your names?"

"Oh, yeah," Dandy said. "Those."

"Dandelion, Tigerlily, and Pussywillow... unusual names, and I understand those are your actual birth names, not just stage names," Markham said. "Is there a story behind them?"

"They're actually old family names," Lily said.

"Really?"

"Yeah," she said. "Dandelion, for instance, is of the family Asteraceae, and Tigerlily is family Hemerocallidaceae..."

"Have you ever considered changing them, to something more ordinary?" Markham asked.

"I did have my name legally changed," Willow said in her lazy, languid voice. "To Pussywillow Is Awesome Binder. Because... I am awesome."

"You did not, you big liar," Lily said.

"I did so," Willow said. She shifted around on the couch and slid a plastic card out of her pocket. "Check my driver's license."

"When did you get a driver's license?" Dandy asked.

"How did you get a driver's license?" Lily asked, snatching it out of her hands. "Hey! You just took somebody's else's license and put Pussywillow Is Awesome over it with a label gun."

"Willow!" Dandy shouted.

"Whose is this, anyway?" Lily asked, peeling the red plastic strip off. "Andrea Markham... uh, wow. You do not photograph well."

She handed it back to its rightful owner.

"I'm so sorry, Ms. Markham," Dandy said. To Willow, she hissed, "Where did you even get a label maker?"

Willow shrugged, holding it up limply in one hand.

"Found it," was all she had to say on the subject.

"It's okay," Markham said with a laugh. "Um, I think I've got enough here that I can edit together a nice little fluff piece. I'll just have my photographer get a few pictures. How about you all stand up over..."

"How about no?" Willow asked.

"Willow!" Dandy hissed again.

"Or on the couch is fine," Markham said. "If I can get you all to lean in close together. Raoul, we're ready!"

"Um..." Lily said, who was suddenly feeling very fidgety. She looked around the room, which was empty except for them. "Shouldn't there be more people in this cafe?"

"That's why I like doing these in the afternoon," the interviewer said as the photographer came over. "It's so much quieter."

"Where'd the counter girl go?" Lily asked, jumping to her feet.

"Take it fast," Markham whispered fiercely to Raoul, who raised his big, bulky, old-fashioned camera and pointed it at the three sisters. Before he could get it aimed properly, it was knocked out of his hands by Willow's label maker. It landed on the tiled floor with a resounding crash and a too-bright flash of light.

"No aura," she growled at Raoul, suddenly full of energy and life.

She leaped up off the couch, slamming into him and throwing him to the ground... knocking his head off in the process. Heedless of its headlessness, the photographer grappled with Willow, reaching for her neck with strong, cold fingers. They rolled over each other on the floor, Willow clawing and scratching at his bloodless plasticine body.

Lily and Dandy gaped at the spectacle in a mixture of horror and fascination before they turned towards Markham as one.

"Okay, so maybe this is ambush journalism," she said, opening her bag. A horde of five inch plastic trolls jumped out of it and began swarming all over the sisters as she ran to the door, leaving the shocked musicians to deal with the playthings.

After Markham had made her getaway, she called into headquarters. 

"Should I take it that the cats are in the bag?" the thickly German-accented voice asked.

"You call this operational intelligence?" she cried. "Nobody told me the fat one could see auras!"

"Nobody knew," Drosselmeier said. "So, this was not an entire waste. At least we have confirmation that they are powered, which is more than your government can say for certain."

"Wait... you sent me after them not even knowing for sure that they had powers?"

"It was a calculated risk. I did some fascinating work with twins and triplets, during the war years," Drosselmeier said. "I still see much promise in that area."

"You'll love the one that my stringers in Star Harbor found, then," Markham said. "Why settle for two or three when you can have a baker's dozen?"

"You are pulling my leg."

"She's a multiple mutant," Markham said. "Stephanie Duke, a.k.a. Daisy Chain. One mind, thirteen bodies."

Drosselmeier gasped.

"How are you handling her?" he asked. "This one could be absolutely vital to my research... we cannot let her slip away."

"Oh, no worries. We made her a job offer and she jumped at it. She has, as she put it, 'a lot of mouths to feed.'"

"What is the job that you offered?"

"Research assistant," Markham said.

Drosselmeier laughed.

"That is very good," he said. "If this is true, it will more than make up for your failure today. What of our other acquisitions?"

"They should be going off as we speak," Markham said. "We decided on simultaneous captures in order to minimize the fallout from a... negative outcome."

"Excellent."

Cynthia Connors loved living in the country, even though it limited her job prospects. She was a sociable person, but she liked having a place she could come back to and be alone in. Even more, she liked having the wide open spaces to run in. Her morning and afternoon jogs were among her favorite parts of the day. She'd run along the shoulders of the country roads and highways, never quite the same way twice... though she always went back the same way she came, to make it easier to figure her mileage.

She was on her way back from her afternoon run when she spotted a big rusted-out boat of a car stopped on the shoulder, the left front tire blown out. A man cursed and struggled to work the jack underneath it.

"Hi!" she called. "Having a little trouble?"

"Yeah, I got a flat, and the dam... darned jack's rusted tight, or something," he said, getting to his feet and taking off his battered orange cap sheepishly.

"Would you like some help?" she asked, clapping her hands together to brush off the sweat. She was properly warmed up, after all.

"Oh, I'm in a pickle, all right but I don't see what a little lady like yourself could do," the man said with a gap-toothed grin. "Unless, you've got a cell phone somewhere in those shorts."

"No, no cell phone," Cynthia said, giving him a thin smile. "But why don't we see what I can do, anyway? I'm Cynthia, by the way."

"Name's Floyd," he said. "What... what are you doing?"

She squared herself off in front of the car, bent her knees, hooked her hands underneath the body below the fender, and then straightened up, easily lifting the front end of the vehicle clear of the ground.

"Wh... whoa!" Floyd exclaimed. "How on earth are you..."

"Oh, well, any time I need to lift a car, I just imagine that my helpless child is pinned underneath it," Cynthia said. "You know that kind of thing always gives us 'little ladies' superhuman strength. Seriously, though, if you want to just get that tire changed... I can do this for a while, but not forever."

"Oh, don't worry," the man said, hefting the tire iron in his hand and stepping up behind her. "Won't take but a moment..."

Bertha Johansen didn't make a habit of hanging out alone in quiet, smokey bars. She preferred to be surrounded by friends and the sounds of laughter and music. She was here on somebody else's dime, though... that somebody had to be the paper-thin man with the air-dried hair and the suit that looked like it had been formed around him who was approaching her.

"Mrs. Johansen? I'm Preston Freeman, attorney at law," he said, offering her his hand.

"Attorney?" she asked. "Should I be worried?"

"Not at all. My employers were very impressed with the way you handled yourself on American Hero. We know that you've already been made an offer to... assist... Pummella in her new career, but frankly, we think they're missing the boat. We see you as a star."

"Do your 'employers' know they made us sign exclusive contracts?" Bertha said.

"Contracts can be broken, Mrs. Johansen, and that's where I come in," Freeman said. "But that all depends on you, anyway. Are you willing to settle for being second banana?"

"I'll take the job if I think I can do some good in it," Bertha said. "But I'm not going to be anybody's token anything. I made that clear to them, and I'm telling it to you now... if you're looking for someone to appeal to the 'urban demographic', you can go back where you came from 'cause I don't have a clue what that's even supposed to mean."

"See? And that's what I'm talking about. The people I represent don't want you because you represent large black women, Bertha," Freeman said. "We want you because you represent every woman. You're bold, and smart, and self-assured. You know who you are and what you stand for, and you're not afraid to..."

"You can can the patter, I get the idea," Bertha said. "Who exactly are you working for here?"

"A multinational conglomerate and Fortune 500 company," the lawyer said. "I'm not at liberty to say more until you've agreed to hear their proposal, and you'll have to sign a non-disclosure agreement, of course. I'm sure you're familiar with those."

"Am I ever! When do I hear this proposal?"

"I've got a car outside."

"My momma didn't raise me to get in cars with strangers," Bertha said.

"Is your momma as strong as you are?"

"Little man, she could break you without trying."

"Well, then," Preston Freeman said. "You don't have anything to worry about, do you?"

Slam opened the door on the first knock.

"Hey, Cindee," he said, grinning ear to ear at the gorgeous blonde woman.

"Hey, yourself," she said. "It's all set up... we've got the beach house all to ourselves, all week long."

"Awesome," he said. "You know, it's freaky... you look just like my favorite porn star."

"Flatterer," she said, giggling. "Are you ready to go?"

"All packed," he said, holding up his bag. "Don't need a surfboard when you've got a power like mine, you know."

"What about clothes?" she asked.

"What about them?"

The phone rang in the apartment behind him.

"Do you have to get that?" Cindee asked.

"That's what the machine's for," he said, closing the door and locking it. They were already down the hall and heading down the stairs when the machine picked up.

"Hi, uh... Slam?" a female voice said a little uncertainly. "This is Echo, from... remember, we, uh, 'met' during American Hero? I'm just calling to... well, I wanted to make sure you're alright. There's an alert going around about somebody abducting heroes, and I got a weird phone call yesterday, and... well... I took my savings and I'm flying out to California. Try not to do anything stupid before I get there. I'd feel bad, if something happened to someone that I... know. I'll call you again when I get there. Bye."

After Echo hung up, she checked her watch. She still had another twenty minutes before her plane boarded. She dialed another number. It was supposed to be a voice mail box for the Pantheon of Heroes. There was no recorded greeting. After one ring, she heard a beep.

"Hi, this is Echo Chambers," she began. "Yes, that's my real name and no, I'm not a supervillain... I'm calling in regards to the, uh, disappearances..."

There was a click on the line. Echo thought she'd been disconnected, but then a male voice, very calm and smooth, said, "I'm listening."

"I... uh... got a call from someone called Andi Markham, who said she wanted to meet me for an interview. She said she was with Top Story, but she hung up when I tried to check her story..."

"Go on."