Miracle's Touch Page 3

  “Right,” I nodded. “You’re totally right. Okay, well, obviously I had to have been thrown free of the blast, away from the rest of the others, before the roof collapsed and blocked everything off. Considering the freak nature of the explosion and everything else odd about S.O.S., I think that’ll fly with the authorities. I woke up in a daze, so I made my way here.”

  “And let me just lose the rest of the office’s security footage along with it,” Jackson grumbled. “The boys in blue will bitch up a storm, but we’ve been down this road before during that Omnitech investigation of yours. I still can’t believe you pulled that kind of stunt, hiding a fugitive in our offices.”

  If I was going to be a victim, I figured I’d better lay back down. Besides, everything was still going topsy-turvy in my mind and my gut, and Jackson’s worry over me was coming off him strong. That was another thing to figure out as I laid back down. While I always had a good sense when it came to people, the way I was, well, feeling them now was something else, something deeper and more elemental. Maybe it was nerves or the surrealness of the experience, but I was betting it wasn’t.

  “Just don’t forget that story earned us a Pulitzer and also that he was an innocent man,” I said as I closed my eyes. “Do you really think this little tale of mine will work?”

  Jackson snorted, and I knew that his worry was tinged with disbelief. “No, not really, but it has enough plausibility to it that no one is going to be able to do anything about it. It’ll get you off the official radar, and that’s all we need, right?” His fingers thumped as they tapped on his desk display. “That’s not to say that people might not still give you the hairy eyeball about this.”

  “Well, we’re in New Harbor,” I grumbled as I tried to get comfortable, twinges of pain still running up and down my spine. “People always like to chase after weird new stories. It’ll give me time to get ready for, well, the hero thing.” I cracked open an eyelid and peeked over at my friend, editor, and sometime lover. “Do you want to come by my place tonight, after we clear this mess up? Help me prepare for my new life of skin-tight costumes and death-defying heroics?”

  Jackson swiveled his eyes towards me, giving me a long, hungry look. With it came a wash of emotion, again something far too strong to just be my instincts, lust, love, and still an undercurrent of concern. “The first is definitely enticing. Very enticing. I’m still trying to process the second. I mean, we don’t even know for sure yet if these powers of yours are going to stick around.” With a shake of his head, he managed to pull his eyes back to the tablet. “Fortunately, between the two of us, we have enough contacts in the hero industry to take care of getting you properly outfitted.” He cleared his throat. “Obviously, you need to agree to model the suits for me, so I can help you pick the best one for the job. Oh, and promise me you’ll wait a few days to see if these powers stick around.”

  I smirked as I closed my eyes again. “Will do, chief. With you acting like that, I can only imagine what your picks will be. All skimpy and easy access, huh?” Though I was playing with him, the attention still felt good. I’m not the vain sort, not usually, but what woman doesn’t want to have someone they care about acknowledging their sexiness?

  “We’ll figure that out.” He let out another laugh as I heard his fingers scratch at his chin again, the rough sound of calluses on stubble. “Now, I’m going to call 911. Get ready to put on our little show for the police and try to remember that you’re currently a fainting damsel, not the brand-new superheroine who saved all those people.”

  “You got it, boss. Hard sell for me, but I’ll do my best.”

  “You better. This was your idea, after all.”

  The truth was that it would be easier than I thought to play the wilting maiden. Jackson’s couch was more comfortable than I remembered and now that there was a plan of action, the last sparks of drive that had kept me going faded. What had carried me through the disaster at the lab, saving all those people, and my strange half-jump, half-flight to the Hudson Building was now urging me to rest while I could. By the time Jackson was doing a big act for the 911 operator, I was passing into a fitful sleep.

  4

  One of the advantages of living in a city where superheroes grace the sky and traffic jams caused by rampaging mole men occur frequently is how easily people accept outrageous stories. I don’t like to lie, it’s the truth-seeking journalist in me, but the tale Jackson and I spun for the police did the trick, no matter how flimsy it was.

  The doctors at St. Juliana were another story. While a lot harder to please in the answers department, the ER doctor on-duty was an old contact of mine, Nancy St. Cloud. That turned the explanations from impossible to merely difficult. After all, Nancy confirmed several things for me, and those were the real sticking points.

  Most medical professionals are prone to question how a non-superhuman survives an explosion like that with only bumps and contusions. They get even more curious when all your vital statistics come up just a hair wrong. Most people don’t grow from five foot nine to five foot eleven or gain fifteen pounds of lean muscle from an explosion.

  As if that weren’t enough, my clear skin turned into flawless alabaster, copper locks now blazed an almost unnatural flame red, and my already-expressive eyes turned into captivating emeralds set in my skull. Everything about me and my appearance were turned up to eleven, not enough to make me look like some different woman, but more than enough to turn every head that saw me. I was already trying to figure out what I could do tode pull myself back to, well, a more mundane appearance for work. Heels were definitely out.

  “You know, I’m not really buying any of this,” Nancy said with a shake of her head as she pulled off her examination gloves. She leaned conspiratorially towards me. “Let’s just say I’ve seen a fresh superhuman or two come through these doors. You say you were in that S.O.S. blast right? The one where what, a dozen people were mysteriously rescued, and you weren’t among them? It sounds fishy, unless you consider that maybe you had something to do with that whole rescuing thing. If that were hypothetically true, it would be my duty to ignore all these inconsistencies.” She gestured at the assortment of syringes she’d broken trying to draw my blood before she got the angle just right to pierce my skin. “I won’t even add a wasted material charge to your hospital bill.”

  It was a deal I was willing to take. “Then I can hypothetically say that I may have been that person.” I offered her a hand. “Thank you.”

  “No,” the doctor smiled, “thank you.” She took my hand and gave it a good shake. “Just keep doing that sort of thing and we’re square.”

  Just like that, everything on the surface seemed to go back to normal. While the explosion at S.O.S. Labs got a second-page story, it was quickly overshadowed by Paragon stopping the Lethal Duo (Executioner and the Headmistress) from turning the New Harbor Port Authority into a crater. That explained where he had been, at least. Sure, there was some brief speculation about the mystery heroine that saved the day, including snippets of an interview from a recovering Becca Blair, but that was that.

  This was New Harbor, after all. The next hero and the next story was always coming.

  Speaking of the next hero, there was nowhere else on planet Earth that I could have picked to get ready for this new life in. Decades of being the darlings of the public meant that superheroes were given some pretty wide allowances in maintaining that whole secret identity thing. A bit of discreet paperwork with City Hall, a few private testimonials from Jackson and Nancy, and some sworn statements handled registration. Powerstyles, the preeminent and super-discrete superhuman suppliers and yet another of Robert Washington’s vast holdings, was more than happy to supply costuming and equipment, well, what I could afford on my reporter’s salary.

  As long as he got some say in code name and I kept that promise to model for him, Jackson was more than willing to chip in. Who was I to say no to that generous offer, especially when he came up with the perfect code name, Ms.
Miracle?

  The hardest part was trying to discover the full extent of my newfound power. For all the allowances the city government and the businesses made for the supers set, there wasn’t any kind of public facility for testing superpowers. I knew from my work and fangirl studies that quite a few masks kept private training facilities, but I was the babe in the woods here. Still, I did what I could to try to feel comfortable in my new body.

  One of the larger scrapyards at the outskirts of the city provided a chance to at least test the limits of my strength. I could flip a full-sized car, which was pretty cool if I say so myself, and lift a compact car clear over my head. Plus, I found out I could break a four-minute mile easy, and cleanly leap to the top of a stack of five junked trucks with one go. Other things were nigh-impossible to test. Like I knew I was tougher, Nancy’s broken needles attested to that, but it wasn't like I could safely throw myself off buildings or stab myself with a kitchen knife to see how durable my skin was now.

  Well, I could but I wasn’t a crazy person.

  There was only one real wrinkle I had found so far to this new superhuman condition. That strength, speed, toughness, and heightened, well, sense for emotions (I needed to find some way to discover what it really was) brought an end to my and Jackson’s friends-with-benefits arrangement. It made me a little sad for that to go. That had been the rock I could count on for a while now. Let’s just say that our one attempt proved that your average man isn’t really equipped to deal with a woman of steel.

  Still, I had to look on the bright side. Maybe this was a sign I had grown stagnant, comfortable in the routine, both in the bedroom and in my life in general. This was a new beginning, and I was going to seize it by the horns and wrangle it into submission.

  It wasn’t until I found myself standing atop my apartment building in the heart of Bricktown, not far from Downtown proper, clad in body-hugging Duraplex that time seemed to slow down. Four crazy, furious days had passed since the pink-white flash had changed everything in my life, and here I was, looking down over the glittering lights of New Harbor, on top of the world and brimming with confidence.

  I was going to change the world, save lives, and bring people into the light. Yes, that all sounded terribly naïve, but before me was spread a city of wonders, a place where anything could happen. Everything seemed possible that night with the wind blowing through my hair, the unfamiliar but strangely exciting touch of the mask on my face, and even the faint shiver of goose flesh on the bare parts of my skin.

  At least the costume was amazing. I wanted something that was that right mix of functional, fashionable, and, let's be honest, sexy. An emerald leotard clung to the curves and sleek muscle of my body and arms, a silver insignia consisting of two stylized M's proudly displayed across my chest. Silver gloves with flared cuffs matched the thigh-high silver boots I had picked out. To finalize the look, a broad silver sash rode on my hips and my identity was concealed behind an open-haired half-cowl mask.

  Jackson had given it his full approval and when I had posed in front of my mirror, I had to admit I looked incredible.

  Taking a deep breath through my nose, I tensed my body, enjoying the sensation of the clingy supertech fabric as it stretched and rippled with my movements. As I let that crisp air out through my mouth, I let my body uncoil, leaping out into the early evening in search of trouble to stop.

  While this was my hometown and I held it in the highest esteem, trouble wasn’t that hard to find. For every good person in New Harbor, there were probably twice as many bad ones, and the darkness of night brought out the worst in humanity. I had barely gone three blocks, leaping with that strange weightlessness from rooftop to rooftop when I felt it.

  In the pit of my stomach and burning at the back of my skull, it was a raging storm of emotions. Rage, terror, embarrassment, and a sick, predatory desire, so intermingled I didn’t know if it was from one person or several.

  The intensity of it, the immediacy, hit me so unexpectedly that I almost ended my heroic career with a slip off the edge of an office building to the pavement below … if that actually would have killed me. Still, I caught my balance from the landing of a jump, forcing myself to focus through the flurry of emotions. Turning back to look over the edge of the roof, I squinted my eyes even as I tried to open myself up to this new sense, but in a controlled fashion.

  I didn’t need another psychic punch in the gut if someone was really in trouble.

  Fortunately, New Harbor never really slept, and the cascade of street lamps cast their lights even into the back alleys of Bricktown. Four stories below, a lone figure ran with reckless abandon, bumping into a robo-dumpster. From what I took to be the flaring of a skirt and the flutter of long hair, I pegged the runner to be a woman, while hot on her heels were three others, heads obscured under pulled-up hoods from their jackets. They weren’t running, not exactly, more stalking after the woman and I swore I saw the glint of metal off them.

  The feelings that pulsed off them confirmed to me that ‘stalking’ was the right word. Undiluted lust and twisted desire flooded me when I looked at the three pursuers. It didn’t take an investigative reporter to realize what I was seeing play out below me. As the girl stumbled once more, falling to her hands and knees hard on the pavement, I calculated a safe descent off of window ledges on both sides of the alley, trusting in the two years of gymnastics Mom made me do in high school to carry me safely.

  Instead of some clumsy accident, I pulled off the three leaps with effortless execution, that now-familiar lightness accompanying each landing. As I vaulted down to the ground, the three stalkers had picked up the pace, smelling the helplessness of their prey. One had picked the woman up from behind, arms snaked under her armpits to hold her tight, while the others surrounded her from the front. They didn’t see me, which would make this a lot easier.

  The woman did, though, and it was pure instinct on her part to cry out. “Help! Please!”

  I had barely hit the ground, landing in a classic superhero three-point landing next to the dumpster, when I realized that the element of surprise was gone. The two assholes in front of the girl spun, and I had the sick feeling that this wasn’t the first time they had done this. No, they were ready for someone to play hero, the one on my right with a wicked looking knife at the ready and the left one with a revolver that would make Dirty Harry proud.

  There was no hesitation on their part as there was on mine. That naïve part of me figured it’d be like when Paragon or Helios showed up on the scene, that this kind of scum would just be ready to surrender the second they saw a mask. I was so high on the moment that I forgot that a mask didn’t mean anything until people knew the name attached to it and what that hero could really do. Me, I was a newbie unknown in a colorful, if sexy, costume, and despite my bravado, I really didn’t know if I was bullet-proof.

  I saw Dirty Harry’s arm move as he aimed, and my instincts fired, prompting me to try to dodge what I knew was coming. If only I hadn’t hesitated. While my new reflexes were insanely fast, fast enough to have gotten out of the way if I had been ready, they weren’t so super as to dodge a bullet in the air.

  The revolver thundered like the hand cannon it was, and before I could blink, the bullet slammed into my shoulder. If I hadn’t been moving, the thug would have drilled it right between my eyes. That was a cup-half-full observation because the shot still hurt like holy heck, the kinetic force more than enough to spin me right around as it knocked me off my feet.

  While Nancy’s needle proved I was amazingly tough now, my skin could still be pierced. Warm blood pooled under me as I bit back the pain and tried to assess how bad it was. If I didn’t have the power I did, I think it would've wrecked my shoulder. Instead, I was sure I could still move it, still function.

  The murderous rapists behind me were apparently satisfied with their job, one of them laughing as the girl let out a fresh scream of terror. Another one, the guy with the knife I thought, snorted, “Stupid mask. They come
out of the woodwork these days, but they can’t save you, lady. Best to just give us what we want.”

  “Yeah, girl,” another, Dirty Harry I was sure, added. “Now that Hardware’s selling Tank-Buster rounds on the street, we ain’t got nothing to fear.”

  I knew the name Hardware intimately, but I’d deal with that later. For the moment, I still had a woman to save. They thought I was down, but they had no idea who they were dealing with. Certain from the waves of arrogance and triumph I felt in their hearts that the thugs weren’t watching me, I grabbed onto the automated dumpster with my good arm and pulled myself to my feet.

  This time, if the poor woman did see me stand, she realized that it was best not to say a word.

  Taking a deep breath, trying to keep the burning pain of the gunshot down so it didn’t show in my voice, I called out, “Not bad, gentlemen, but Ms. Miracle doesn’t lie down for anyone on the first date.”

  My hand never left the dumpster, my fingers now clenched around half of the split metal lid, the steel deforming in my grip. The goons’ surprise hit me before I could see their faces, the big one holding the girl tossing her roughly aside as the other two spun back to me, no doubt deciding it was time to be serious.

  Dirty Harry spat out, “That’s a stupid name,” as he brought his big gun around to finish the job. Just as I expected and just as I planned.

  I was paying attention now, and I was ready. Time seemed to slow as my heightened reflexes took over and adrenaline sang in my veins. I swore I could see the twitch of his finger on the trigger as he pulled it.

  This time, though, instead of his bullet piercing my anatomy, it ricocheted harmlessly into the alley wall, deflected by the dumpster lid I wrenched free with one hard tug. Dirty Harry’s eyes went wide as I continued my motion, turning the yank into a spin. At the end of that spin, I flung the crude shield in my hand out, putting all that speed and all my strength into the throw.