Part 6
Two Nights Prior.
Eva surges before me, so close we almost touch. I could take her in my arms, make her mine with the smallest motion, but she spins her back to me when the audience cheers. I wait only a moment before I bring the bottle to my lips, tracing a line up her back with my little finger.
She is gone as fast as she arrives, I barely see her move. A hand grabs my arm above my wrist, and Nepotism Baldwin’s beady eyes are shooting holes in my face.
“We shouldn’t stay here much longer,” he shouts loud enough to be heard, gaze jumping from corner to corner. “We won’t find another den of scum and villainy this far north of Westchester.” He shouts in my ear, “It’s not safe.”
“Dude, most of these people are from Westchester,” I say, directing my attention to the sweaty bodies on the living-room-turned-dance-floor we are standing in the middle of. “We just got here, I’m not ready to leave yet.”
Nepotism growls, “You’re going to get yourself in a lot of trouble if we stay here.”
“I still have a full bottle,” I snap.
“Don’t forget what the Old Priest said about talking with people from Metro City.”
“Don’t say his name!” I bark.
The smoke and incense swirls a halo to Nepotism’s face. He crosses his arms and glares up at me. “That’s what you’re taking chances with here. You think I can’t see you dancing?”
“I can take care of myself,” I grumble, barely audible over the music. It’s hard to breath in the smoke and sweat. There has to be some comfortable spots that aren’t next to Nepotism.
Superheroing was a profession that appealed to men, like whaling and iron work. Any woman wanting to break the ranks needed to be twice as tough, twice as mean, and twice as just. Becoming a supervillain was even harder with so many women competing to join. Ultimate Girl was the first major female superhero. When I left the Superhero Gang, she was 94 years old, Ultimate Girl went on weekly patrols and only recently started using a walker.
St. Eva was the type of hero that could become the next Ultimate Girl. She was strong, fast, and never hesitated to take the most dangerous adventures. Her backstory said she met the Devil, and he blessed her with a luck that never ran out. She ducked dogs, dodged bullets, and leapt from rooftops at the exact place she’d land in a canopy, tent, or dumpster of recyclable paper. Together, we were unstoppable. That was mostly her.
The music erupts from incendiary sparks into a fervent wail of thundering drum. I’m pulled and pushed, thrust and drawn, and my own sweat mingles with that of the dancers around me, maybe fifty people all shuffling and swaying. I crane my neck for one little glimpse of her.
As light as a feather, but with the force of a train, she tugs one of my dreadlocks from behind. I want to spin around, take her in my arms, kiss those slick, familiar lips, but I can’t let it be seen. Her movements are so subtle that her brief caress could not have been noticed by any of the multitude. She is a dancing ghost, eyes closed, body jiggling with the drum beat.
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