Fandemic, Page 3

  When he was satisfied that we were alone, Swifte reached up and took off his wing-shaped mask, revealing sandy-brown hair, blue eyes, and a handsome face that made my heart race even now.

  Kyle Quicke stared back at me.

  Chapter Three

  “Piper.”

  “Kyle.”

  And that was all we said to each other.

  Then again, maybe that was for the best, since words were what had come between us in the first place. My stupid, stupid words, combined with my not-so-subtle hints about Swifte.

  “Are you okay?” Kyle finally asked. “I hope I didn’t hurt you when I pushed you out of the way of that spotlight.”

  I shrugged. “I’m fine. I’m always fine, remember?”

  He grimaced. We’d dated for a year, so he was well acquainted with my propensity for being in the wrong place at the right time.

  Our relationship had started out small, the way these things so often do. I was at Quicke’s, his restaurant, ordering lunch for myself and Fiona, the way I did almost every day, and Kyle and I had started talking, for once going beyond the polite small talk we usually exchanged. He’d grinned at all my cheesy jokes, and he’d made me laugh in return with some of his own. The next day, he was waiting to take my lunch order instead of Ray, the usual waiter. And the day after that…and the day after that… Eventually, Kyle had asked me out, and I’d enthusiastically said yes.

  We’d hit it off. We liked the same movies, the same books, even some of the same music. He was kind and thoughtful and went out of his way to do small, sweet things for me, like be waiting outside my office in the morning with a cup of hot chocolate and a dozen doughnuts from Bryn’s Bakery. I appreciated the gesture, even if Fiona Fine, my boss, always ate all the doughnuts before I could get my hands on a single one.

  But most important of all, Kyle was the first person who’d ever really accepted my love for superheroes and didn’t think that I was silly or stupid or that all my collectibles were just a big, fat waste of money. He had understood that I loved a good hero-villain battle as much as the next fangirl, but that I also appreciated what the heroes stood for, how they kept fighting no matter how terrible the odds were stacked against them, and most especially the hope that they gave to all of us that we could be more than we ever thought possible. That we could help other people. That we could actually make a difference in someone’s life when it mattered most.

  Kyle might be a bona fide superhero himself, but he was still just as big a fan of heroes in general as I was, reading the same comics that I did, going to the same conventions and events, and even arguing with me about which hero had the coolest and most useful power. His appreciation, admiration, and respect for his fellow heroes—and even the villains—were just some of the things that I loved about him.

  We’d been so happy, and I had thought for sure that we would be getting engaged and moving in together soon—right up until the day that Swifte had saved me from being run over by a city bus.

  I’d been in the crosswalk outside Fiona Fine Fashions when the bus driver had suffered a heart attack and lost control of his vehicle. I’d heard the tires screech-screech-screech and had looked up to realize that I was about to be run over. But Swifte had saved me, just like he had tonight at the auditorium. One second, the bus was careening straight toward me. The next, I was standing on the opposite sidewalk, safe and clear of the bus, which had crashed into a streetlight and finally stopped.

  Nothing new there, but Swifte’s reaction was quite shocking. He’d hugged me tight and given me a deep, passionate kiss before he remembered that he was in costume and wasn’t supposed to know me at all. He had zoomed away without a word, but I’d known his kiss, his lips, his touch. In that instant, I’d realized that Swifte was really Kyle.

  And I’d been happier than ever before.

  I already loved Kyle, but finding out that he was Swifte had been the cherry on top of the awesomesauce sundae that was already him. So when I’d met him for our date that night, I not-so-casually mentioned how the superhero had saved me and how terrific I thought he was. But Kyle didn’t say anything back, and he especially didn’t confess his secret identity to me the way that I wanted him to.

  So I tried again the next day…and the day after that…and the day after that…

  I talked about Swifte nonstop over the next week, and I bought all the Swifte-themed merchandise I could get my hands on, plastering it all over my apartment. I did it all as a way to get Kyle to open up, to get him to tell me his secret identity.

  But it had all horribly backfired.

  Kyle had come over to my apartment for dinner to celebrate our one-year anniversary. But instead of sitting down to his favorite steak-and-potatoes meal that I’d cooked, he’d broken up with me, saying that we just weren’t right for each other.

  I’d been so surprised and devastated that I hadn’t even been able to speak for the better part of a minute. He had his hand on the doorknob to walk out when I’d finally found my voice again and blurted out the truth.

  Even now, all these months later, the memory rose up in my mind, as sharp and clear and painful as ever…

  “I know that you’re really Swifte.”

  Kyle whipped around, his blue eyes wide with shock. “How did you…”

  “You kissed me. I would know your kiss, your touch anywhere.” I grinned. “Even if I don’t actually have supersenses. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you by talking about Swifte so much over these past few days. By buying all his, er, your merchandise. That I was okay with it. More than okay with it. I love that you’re secretly a superhero. So if that’s why you’re breaking up with me, don’t…don’t throw away what we have over something like this.”

  I stepped forward to take him into my arms, but he backed up against the door, hurt and sadness flashing in his eyes, along with more than a little fear. The last emotion confused me. Why would Kyle be scared of me? He was the one with the superpower, not me.

  “And that’s exactly why I have to end things, why I have to end this.”

  I frowned. “Why? I don’t understand. I’m crazy about you. I love you, every part of you, including your alter ago.”

  He sighed. “You say that now, but I’ve been down this road before. More times than I care to remember, actually. Several people have found out about my secret identity over the years. Friends, girlfriends, and other folks. And it never, ever ends well. They either get obsessed with my being a superhero until Kyle Quicke just fades away and all they want to talk about, all they care about is my being Swifte. Or they get upset at how much time I spend being Swifte and want me to give up being a hero altogether. Eventually, things get so bad that I have to ask Mr. Sage to mindwipe them and erase all their memories and knowledge of my being Swifte.”

  “But I would never do either one of those things. You know that. You know me.”

  He sighed again and shook his head, more hurt filling his face. “You’re right. I do know you, Piper. You might love me, but you love superheroes more than anything else. Even me. And that…well, that’s something I just can’t live with. I can’t go through all of that. Not again. Not even for you. I’m sorry.”

  Kyle had given me a sad, knowing smile, then opened the door and left my apartment.

  Of course, I had chased after him, but by the time I yanked the door open and stepped out into the hallway, he was long gone. For the first time, I wished that he didn’t have any powers—and that I could take back every stupid thing I’d said and done over the past week.

  But I couldn’t.

  Of course, I tried to talk to Kyle after that, tried to explain that I loved him, and not just because he moonlighted as Swifte, but nothing I said changed his mind. I talked and talked and talked until I was as blue in the face as Yeti Girl, but nothing I said convinced him that I was telling the truth. That I wasn’t just some rabid SSS fangirl who wanted to make time with a hero. That I loved him for, well, him.

  But Kyle di
dn’t believe me, and he completely tuned me out. Eventually, he had stopped listening to me altogether and had started avoiding me every time our paths crossed. At Quicke’s. Charity events. Even when we passed each other on the street, whether he was in costume as Swifte or not.

  All the while, I kept expecting Mr. Sage to pop up at my office or outside my apartment building, ready to lay the whammy on me and make me forget all about Kyle being Swifte. But it didn’t happen. I’d seen the psychic superhero plenty of times since my breakup with Kyle, but Mr. Sage had never done more than give me a friendly wave. I didn’t know why Kyle didn’t tell the other superhero to mindwipe me like all the other people who’d found out his secret identity as Swifte.

  Either way, Kyle’s disbelief, his avoidance, his rejection hurt—more than anything else had ever hurt before. It hurt so much that I couldn’t even talk to him without wanting to cry and scream and kiss him all at the same time. It hurt so much that I’d started avoiding him the same way that he was me.

  It hurt so much that I’d given up trying to change his mind.

  Some wannabe superhero I was. A couple months of the silent treatment and cold shoulder and I’d lost hope and stopped fighting for him, stopped fighting for us.

  But seeing Kyle standing in front of me dressed as Swifte, but with his mask off, just reminded me how happy we’d been together and how I would never find anybody else like him. The guy who’d made me smile and laugh and who’d showed me every single day just how much he’d loved me.

  New determination surged through me, overcoming the hollow ache in my heart. Determination to win him back, to get him to really listen to me, and to finally convince him once and for all how much I loved him—every single part of him. Real heroes never gave up, and I wasn’t going to either. Not anymore.

  So I shook off my hurt and inertia and opened my mouth, ready to tell him once again how much I cared for him, whether he was wearing shimmering white spandex or not. “Kyle, I—”

  “I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” he said, cutting me off. “I’m glad you are, Piper. It’s late. I should let you go on home now.”

  His voice got faster and faster with every single word. He slapped his mask back on, pivoted on his foot, and started to zoom away. I realized that I was about to lose my chance, so I stepped up and blurted out the first thing that popped into my mind.

  “I wish things were different,” I said. “Between us.”

  Kyle, Swifte, stopped, every muscle in his body tense and rigid, as though Frost had used his infamous freezoray gun to ice him in place. After a moment, he let out a long, sad sigh. “Yeah. Me too.”

  “We can make it different. Just give me another chance—” I spit out the words as fast as I could, but I was too slow.

  WHOOSH!

  The wind whipped up, and more snow swirled against my face. I blinked, but he was already gone.

  Chapter Four

  I stood there, waiting, hoping, wishing, but Kyle “Swifte” Quicke didn’t zoom back around. And he wouldn’t, unless another runaway bus came out of nowhere to mow me down. I looked up and down the dark, snowy street. No buses in sight. Which meant that Swifte was gone, and my heart was still broken, shattered into more tiny, jagged pieces than the fallen spotlight at the auditorium.

  “Snowballs,” I muttered, echoing Wynter’s curse from earlier tonight.

  I sighed, my heart heavier and hurting more than ever before, and used my key to let myself into Abby’s building and then her loft. As soon as I opened the loft door, a squirming ball of fur hurtled across the room and pounced on my feet, licking the bits of snow off my boots.

  I laughed, bent down, and picked up Rascal, the Pembroke Welsh corgi that Abby had adopted a few weeks ago. Like all puppies, Rascal was as cute as cute could be, with sandy-brown fur that covered his back and a chubby white belly that he was more than happy to let anyone rub as long they wanted to. His liquid brown eyes could melt any heart, and even his triangular ears were adorable, even though they were still a little too large for his head.

  “Oof!” I said, hefting the puppy up in my arms. “What is Abby feeding you? You’re getting so heavy.”

  Rascal let out a loud, happy bark and licked my cheek. I laughed again, then turned my head and sneezed as my allergies kicked in. I sighed. I really wished that I could go longer than thirty minutes without sneezing violently at something, whether it was pets, pollen, or pollution. But absolutely everything made my allergies flare up. Seriously, if there was only a single blade of grass in the entire city, then I would be the person to sneeze at it, even if it was clear on the other side of Bigtime and buried under the snow that was slowly accumulating outside.

  That was another reason I wanted some sort of power. Superheroes didn’t have allergies. Toxic poisons, radioactive formulas, chemical cocktails that could enhance or take away their powers, drive them crazy, or kill them outright. Sure, that was par for the course in Bigtime. But no hero or villain worth his or her spandex was afflicted with something so mundane, so ordinary, and so exceptionally boring as allergies.

  Then again, I was no hero. Just another fangirl. Kyle used to joke and call me a fandemic, saying that I knew more about heroes and villains than anyone else. Like a scholarly academic of all things super-related. Abby had a slightly less flattering take on the word, claiming that my super-obsession was more like an epidemic of obsessive fangirling. Either way, I didn’t mind the nickname too much.

  Fandemic. Hmm. Maybe that should be my superhero name, if I ever did miraculously develop powers. Although it would be just my luck to get some lame-ass power, like the ability to make people slightly feverish or something else silly and useless. Heh.

  Rascal barked again, so I put him down while I went around the loft, gathering up his food, leash, and chew toys, including a white plush one shaped like Swifte that was among the most mangled. Maybe it was petty, but the sight cheered me up.

  I loved Kyle, really, I did, but I also thought that he’d been stupid to dump me. He was a great guy, sure, but I was pretty awesome myself. The kind of sweet, thoughtful significant other who brought him dinner after he’d been working all day at Quicke’s so that he wouldn’t have to cook something for himself. Who always made sure to have his favorite kinds of food in my fridge. Who brought him books and candy and other small treats just because I knew that he liked them and wanted to brighten his day.

  Rascal barked, chomped down on the Swifte toy, yanked it out of my hand, and started wrestling with it, growling all the while.

  “Good boy,” I said, leaning down to pet Rascal again.

  It took me longer than it should have to grab Rascal’s gear, since I had to pick my way around more than two dozen cardboard boxes strewn all over the loft. The tops on all the boxes were open, revealing stacks and stacks of vinyl records and CDs inside, along with some old cassette tapes and even a few eight-tracks. The ubervillain Bandit had ransacked Abby’s loft a few weeks ago, destroying her music collection, and Abby had been ordering replacement records and CDs like mad ever since. And she thought that I was bad with my superhero collectibles. Please. Pot, meet kettle.

  My nose scrunched up with disgust at the enormous mess, and my fingers literally itched to unpack all the boxes, or at least arrange them in some kind of order. I was a total neat freak that way. But Abby would kill me if I touched her music collection, so I resisted the urge to straighten it up, along with the rest of the loft. Abby might be great at planning birthdays, weddings, and SSS parties down to the smallest detail, but she wasn’t nearly as organized in her own personal space.

  By the time I found Rascal’s collar and leash stuffed down behind one of the couch cushions, the puppy was waiting at the door, barking and dancing around like he needed to go outside and do his business.

  “Okay, okay,” I said. “I’m coming, boy. Just hold on a minute.”

  I bent down, slipped Rascal’s collar over his head, and clipped his leash to it. Both the collar and the
leash were cobalt-blue and printed with tiny figures of Talon holding his crossbow gun. Abby had groaned when I’d given them to her last week, but I figured that Rascal should wear his hero’s colors proudly.

  I looped one end of the leash around my wrist, then grabbed the reusable cloth bag that I’d filled with Rascal’s food and toys. It too was cobalt-blue and emblazoned with Talon’s bird-and-wings logo. Another present from me to Abby.

  Rascal strained toward the door, but I looked back out over the loft, making sure that I hadn’t forgotten anything. My gaze landed on the Swifte chew toy, which Rascal had dropped a few feet from the door. I hesitated, then picked it up and placed it into the bag with the rest of the puppy’s stuff. Maybe if Rascal grew tired of it, I could get Black Samba to show me how to use it as a voodoo doll and stab some sense into Kyle, one pin at a time. Yeah, it was silly, but the thought made me smile, just a little.

  Rascal barked again, so I turned off the lights, led him outside, and locked the loft door behind us.

  * * *

  Rascal and I rode the elevator down to the ground floor, then stepped back out onto the street. It was even colder than before, but the gusting wind and blowing snow didn’t seem to bother Rascal at all. The puppy let out another excited, happy bark, then started bounding along, as though he were trying to hop from one pile of snow on the sidewalk to the next. Despite his short, stubby legs, it was all I could do to keep up with him.

  Like all puppies, Rascal seemed to have a limitless amount of energy, but his had been augmented since he’d been exposed to euphoridon, a highly addictive drug. Think crack, but with radiation. Abby and Wesley were monitoring the puppy closely to see if he developed any superpowers from the drug, but so far, he seemed to be mostly normal. Except for the whole bouncing-around-like-a-pint-size-kangaroo thing.

  “If you don’t slow down, you’re going to dislocate my shoulder with all that hopping,” I said.