CLAIRE

I was relieved when Julien's car finally showed up in the pickup lane. Without abandon, I pulled the door open just as it was rolling to a stop.

"Nice hustle." Julien nodded his approval as he turned down the radio. "Buckle up, because I'm not getting ticketed for you being stupid."

"I would've done it anyway," I scoffed as I buckled my seatbelt. "I'm not an idiot."

"You could've told me differently, since you decided to walk home all alone last night after a monorail crash," he retorted.

I rolled my eyes. "Nice to see you, too."

His expression softened. "Look, it's not because I don't care. I do— but I do think Mom's overreacting. I doubt Renegade's going to go after you or something. Even if he did, it wouldn't matter."

"Why not?"

"I'd kill him before he touched you, or anyone in this family," he said in a perfectly matter-of-fact tone, as if we were talking about the weather.

"That's sweet, although I doubt you could take him." I shuddered at the thought."

"Well, don't get too sappy on me," Julien shot back. "And don't count me out yet. I've got more than a few tricks up my sleeve."

"Don't tell me, I don't even want to know." 

"That's probably for the better," Julien agreed. "And again— I don't think he's going to go after you."

"I don't either."

He glanced at me using the rear-view mirror. "Care to elaborate, Claire?"

I hesitated before my confession. I couldn't spill everything— of course I couldn't. But a part of me was itching to tell someone about Renegade.

"He escorted me home last night."

"What?"

His voice was so low and quiet that I could barely hear him. 

"Renegadeescortedmehomelastnight."

He didn't ask for a repeat, he just nodded. "Of course he did. Why not. Did he say anything to you?"'

"Mostly just apologized for the whole hostage thing." I was starting to realize this was a bad idea. "Please don't tell Holly. Or Dad."

"Trust me, I have no intention of spilling that juicy detail." Julien sighed. "I'm going to be late to class, I hate this traffic."

"Sorry."

"Hey, I'm not about to go around making Mom mad," he said. "Not on purpose, anyway."

"I appreciate it, if it helps."

"It does." Julien sighed. "Look, keep your head down, let this all go away, okay?" 

"Dude, I was already planning on it," I said. "I have no interest at all in staying in this super stuff. Besides, I don't have it in me to be a hero."

"I can't really explain it," he said. "But I think this was only the beginning of something bigger."

I thought to what Stephanie had said during lunch. She had pretty much implied the same thing— about the City Fire and the monorail crash being of equally great magnitude.

Tenebrous had spent all this time, making a name of petty villainy and dodging arrests alongside real monsters like Dr. Electra. But this was his first big event, the kind of thing that had everyone asking all day about it. 

I looked down to my own shaking hands. I had power, like Warlock, and I could use it for more than ducking in the shadows. . .

No, I don't make the news, I just write it down.

I wasn't going to chase after this idea. Instead, I'd leave it to the Sentinels and the real heroes of our city. 

"I'm no hero," I said in a small voice. "And I don't want to be."

I worked on my homework for the first hour I was left alone in the house. Holly was staying later at her client's house to get some concepts reviewed and then would later be heading out for dinner with her brunch friends, since she'd had to miss it that morning. And Dad was of course, Dad and was working another long shift downtown.

By the time I'd somehow managed to finish my homework, there still was no one in the house. 

I just couldn't stop thinking about Mom, though, and the connections that Stephanie and Julien had made. As crazy as they were, they still tugged at my mind. 

I couldn't stop thinking about how I'd been far luckier than Mom was, in such similar situations. I had lived where she had died in a supervillain's attack.

It was stupid to even consider and wonder like I did if she was a superhero. 

Still, it made me oddly nostalgic, wishing for that time when I was a lot like Stephanie, able to put my faith into the heroes of New Kingsbury. 

One of the cool things about the bookshelf-walls Holly installed was that there were storage areas beneath.

I shuffled my playlist and sat down on the carpeted floor to open one of the cabinets. There was an old aesthetic storage box from the craft store that looked like a giant box, but was obviously a box because there were no pages or titles on it. 

It was one of those things Mom had kept in her office back in our Silver Spires apartment for all of the paperwork her job as an archival assistant at City Hall required. It hadn't been used, and when I came home after school the day that I learned Mom died, I took it from her office.

Inside of the box was all that remained of my superheroes phase.

I spilled a stupid amount of brightly-colored action figures onto the carpet. With them followed what had been my favorite doll as a kid.

While most little girls had Barbie dolls, my mom had given me one of those articulated Wonder Woman dolls with several removable weapons and clothes. 

I picked up Diana of Themyscira and a little plastic red brush. Her hair was a mess now, from several years of being shoved in a box. 

Still, I smiled, remembering the fun adventures I'd had with her and brushed out her hair. 

Heck, I even found myself missing the little superhero battles I'd set up in my room with all of the action figures— both Marvel and DC.

You see, Mom and Dad told me they met at a comic con, Dad dressed as Spiderman and Mom, of course, as Wonder Woman. Despite their different fandoms, they fell in love— a real Romeo and Juliet, if you know what I mean. 

As a result, they were determined to try and sway me to one side or another with various toys and t-shirts. It wasn't serious or anything— more of a joke than anything else. While they loved their fandoms, they weren't exactly rabid about it. 

Of course, Mom kind of had the edge in giving me a Wonder Woman nursery as a baby. 

At the bottom of the box, beyond a few t-shirts from when I was little, my pencil pouch, and some other things, there was the quilt my mom had made for me while she was on bed rest and bored out of her mind. 

This was not exclusively Wonder Woman like the rest of my nursery, mind you, but it represented the interest that my parents had shared, that had been the theme of their wedding. 

I held the blanket to my nose— somehow, even after eight years and a move, it still smelled like Mom.

I couldn't bear to look at any of this stuff when Mom died. Dad still collected comics and kept their shared cosplays and valuables in the former office area on the first floor— but he never really dressed in cosplay again and swore off going to cons altogether if he couldn't go with my mom again.

At the time, I didn't understand why he wanted to keep any of this stuff— but now I did as I sat on the floor, surrounded by dolls and action figures and all my old memorabilia that even in my grief-fueled rage I'd been unable to throw away.

This was Mom, through and through. 

While I put most of the stuff away that I couldn't use anymore like the t-shirts, I kept out the Wonder Woman doll, the action figures, and my old baby blanket. I tossed the blanket on the end of my bed and posed Wonder Woman on my desk.

It made me feel like maybe I'd summoned back a little of Mom's spirit, to watch over me. It made me feel like a little kid, then arranging the action figures with some of my preexisting collection on the bookshelf. 

I felt like maybe things didn't completely suck and wouldn't always be scary and that Mom and Dad would always protect me. Even if Dad worked long hours and Mom was gone.

It also made me think about something else.

What would Mom have done, if she'd gotten powers, or Dad?

After all, they spent all their lives idolizing these fictional heroes for their strength, their courage and ability to do the right thing.

Or at least, that was Mom would tell me: 

"Superhero movies and comic books are about doing the right thing, even when it's hard and requires a lot of sacrifice."

As I locked Magneto and Professor X in a passionate embrace, I couldn't help but wonder if Mom would've approved of my decision to stay under the radar.

Was that doing the right thing, to keep my powers and abilities to myself? Or could I make strides towards defeating Tenebrous, Dr. Electra, and even Renegade for good if I joined the fray?

That's assuming you don't make things worse— or become corrupted like Renegade and everyone else was.

These weren't easy questions.

But that's what makes them worth asking, whispered a part of my brain. 

Done with my fun, I put the box back and closed the cabinet on the memories of my childhood. 

This was all ridiculous, I decided. Just because I was a super didn't mean I was suddenly an amazing fighter or that I knew anything about being a crime-fighter.

Besides, I was Claire Browning— a girl who except for a nose piercing and some blue hair, stuck to the straight and narrow. I had never so much as strayed a toe out of line. That wasn't exactly vigilante material.

As soon as I'd thought that, I heard a strange series of thumps downstairs.

My breath hitched and pulse raced.

There's got to be a perfectly reasonable explanation, I told myself as I got up and off of the floor. 

"Dad?"

Nothing. 

"Julien? Holly?"

Another breaking sound.

Crap.