The Secrets of Supervillainy (The Supervillainy Saga Book 3) Read online

  Bounty and pardon? Hello. That was an interesting twist. Who had the kind of connections to pull that sort of thing off?

  “Too many, I’m sorry to say,” Cloak said, sounding regretful rather than truly upset. “Supervillains with connections to the government are a sad reality. Politicians are too easily bought in this day and age.”

  “They were always easily bought,” I said, knocking away one of the Bokor’s hex-blasts with a wave of my hand. I wasn’t much in the way of a wizard but it turned out the Bokor wasn’t either. “Besides, it could be a superhero paying for this hit rather than someone on my side.”

  “You think a superhero would do this?” Cloak said.

  “You don’t?”

  “I didn’t used to,” Cloak said, sighing. “Today? I’m not so sure. Many of my former associates have shown darker sides I didn’t think they were capable of.”

  “Only Ultragod is completely clean,” I muttered. “Okay, let’s kill these jackasses.”

  “Any ideas?” Cloak asked.

  “Not a one,” I muttered.

  “I’ve got this fool!” The London Werewolf said, salivating as he talked. It was kind of disgusting really.

  The London Werewolf growled as it slammed itself up against the side of the wall, climbing toward me by smashing its claws into the stonework. It had grown twice as large as its previous self and looked to be weighing in at around six-hundred pounds of muscle and fur. Angry muscle and fur. The Bokor, meanwhile, was casting some sort of enchantment I suspected was designed to remove my powers or, at the very least, do me no good. I was out of rational options. So it was time for some irrational ones.

  “Geronimo!” I shouted before leaping off the burning beam right as the London Werewolf jumped at me. I slammed right into the creature, feeling like I’d jumped into a brick wall, but successfully redirecting his momentum downward. The two of us fell down toward Sister Christian, three stories of muscle and weight coming down on her.

  “What the—” the London Werewolf hissed, too confused to use that moment to rip my head off.

  “Burn!” Sister Christian hissed, turning up to fire against me. I used my levitation to push myself to the right, throwing me to the ground where I landed with a thud against the cobblestones. Above my head, the London Werewolf screamed as he was consumed utterly in the fireball generated by Sister Christian. Only a few scattered charred bones and a burnt-out lupine’s skull remained to clatter against the floor.

  “One down, three to go,” I muttered through pained breaths. I was partially invulnerable but that didn’t keep me from getting my ass kicked.

  The heavy body of the Fruitbat was thrown in front of me, its muscular frame covered in small cuts and showing signs of being burned with an industrial strength Taser. The beast, despite possessing low-level super-strength had well and truly gotten its ass kicked.

  “Two down,” Cindy said, stepping forward.

  The Bokor, between us, was suddenly aware of how the odds had shifted.

  “I love an unfair fight,” I said, grinning.

  Chapter Two

  Where We Meet My Vampire Wife

  Cindy Wakowski a.k.a Red Riding Hood was, in my opinion, one of the most beautiful women I’d ever known. With porcelain white skin, wide blue eyes, and strawberry blonde hair tied in bunches, she managed to combine a girl-next-door vibe with the kind of slutty punk girl you dated in college (or maybe that was just me since Cindy had lived next door while being the slutty punk girl I’d dated in college).

  I was perhaps being overly generous on her looks since Diabloman and others considered her pretty rather than beautiful, but Cindy had started getting lovelier in my eye over the past year. I even loved the little scar on the lower side of her chin and her badly-healed broken nose, from her battles against zombies during the Fall.

  Cindy had altered her costume from last year. Previously, she’d gone for style over function, wearing a sexy version of her namesake’s attire. There were still elements of that, but she’d added pants under her dress, a gadget belt, and anti-ballistic mystic runes woven into her hood, and incorporated her extra-dimensional picnic basket into a satchel on her side. Cindy still wielded a fire axe but had enchanted it to be non-lethal against anything but monsters. She was less Sexy Red Riding Hood and more Red Riding Hood, Werewolf Hunter. Ironic, given I’d just killed the werewolf. Oh well, I’m sure her fans would give her half credit for the assist.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, watching the confused group turn around.

  “Five-by-five, chief. How about you?”

  “A little singed, but okay. Sorry for bringing you into this.”

  “Eh, I love Mandy too,” Cindy said. “I’ll do anything to bring her back.”

  For some reason, that made me sad. “Alright, we should—”

  “I will burn you in the name of the one true God!” Sister Christian hissed, charging with enough psychic power to level the entire block. Unfortunately, I was about out of juice. There was no way in hell I was going to be able to stand against that kind of firepower. “The Dark Christ empowers me to strike you down with a furious vengeance that—”

  Cindy lifted up her left arm as a miniature crossbow popped out from her wrist and shot a bolt into Sister Christian’s chest. A set of bolas popped out and wrapped themselves around the deranged nun before electrocuting her and sending her to the ground.

  “We’re Jewish,” Cindy said.

  “Ooo, good one,” I said, standing up.

  The few remaining zombie goons aimed their guns at us and unleashed a hail of bullets. I turned insubstantial while Cindy just stood there, unafraid. Half of them passed through me harmlessly while the others bounced against Cindy like raindrops.

  “Enough!” the Bokor shouted. “Destroy him my minions!”

  The zombies looked at him, taking note of the fact they were all that was left of the dozen or so undead gangbangers he’d brought to join him in this little fracas. I snapped my fingers and caused both of them to burst into flame. The zombies fell to the ground, sounding almost grateful in their dying gurgles for being released. That was, among other duties, part of what my job for Death entailed. Really, if the dead refused to stay dead, where would the living stay? I just wanted one person to come back.

  My wife.

  Was that too much to ask?

  “You should have dealt fairly with me, Bokor,” I said, debating whether or not to just kill him right now. Doing so had seemed like a good idea a few minutes ago, but I really didn’t want to damage the stone. Also, despite what recent events implied, I wasn’t a mad dog killer. I only killed when I had to, or when it was in the defense of someone I liked, or when I wanted to.

  “Smooth,” Cloak said. “A real ringing endorsement.”

  “Shuddap,” I whispered to my cloak.

  I was pretty sure the actual fight portion of our conflict was over. The Bokor’s henchmen had been brought on because the mid-level wizard wasn’t exactly known for his serious punching power. He was more a “curse ‘em from a distance” sort of guy. I suspected he was planning on running, but honestly, that would just mean he’d die tired. His only option now was to negotiate, and that gave me a moment to catch my breath and appreciate what a loyal wonderful henchwoman I had beside me. Also, what kind of horrible things I was going to do to this bastard. You did not screw with me when I was trying to bring back my wife.

  “The Stone of Elderrah is priceless,” the Bokor said, taking a few steps back. “I couldn’t bear to part with it, even for the money you were offering. It would diminish my power too much, and with the recent rash of supervillain deaths, I had a chance of becoming a real power in the city.”

  I clenched my fists, wondering if he really didn’t get why I wanted it. “I don’t want it forever; I just want it to restore my wife’s soul.”

  The Bokor paused, clearly rethinking his situation and realizing he might not walk out of this alive. It did wonders for his attitude. “I see. Perhaps w
e can come to an accommodation then.”

  “First, tell me why you betrayed me,” I said, wanting specifics more than money and power. Those were the typical motivations for supervillainous betrayal and things I was accustomed to.

  “I was offered twice as much as you were willing to pay me for the Stone of Elderrah to kill you and your associates.” The Boker looked over to his fallen thugs. “I was also offered a pardon if I could kill you, Red Riding Hood, and Diabloman. I told my associates they would all be pardoned if they helped.”

  I’d say there was no honor among thieves, but that was self-evident these days. Also, the amount of money he was talking about was huge. There was over ten million dollars’ worth of diamonds in my briefcase. Who hated me enough to pony up that kind of cash? Also, who was that stupid? I could name five or six top-tier assassins who’d work for a twentieth of that. Someone wanted me bad, but didn’t care enough to purchase a quality assassin. It meant someone who had money to burn and was kinda dumb—which pointed to the government as the party responsible.

  “I’m not hearing a name, Bokor. Also, it’s hard to spend money when you’re dead. Think on that,” I said, deciding to take a different track. “How about you tell me who hired you and put my wife’s soul back into her body. Then I’ll pay you the ten million in diamonds I owe you and they can find someone else to do their dirty work.”

  “You’re not going to kill me,” the Bokor sneered. It was clear he was thinking of trying something else. His employer must have really put the scare in him, or I wasn’t putting nearly enough of one. “Even your crazy girlfriend there isn’t a killer anymore. She’s one of the good guys now.”

  “I ain’t that good,” Cindy said, chuckling. An evil, almost insane grin appeared on her face and I was reminded why I loved her in a strictly platonic boss-to-henchwench way.

  “Keep telling yourself that,” Cloak said.

  Cindy smiled and then pulled out and tapped the side of her crossbow, causing the electrical charge on Sister Christian to return, only much stronger. A brief strangled cry filled the air before all that was left was a melted corpse.

  “Where do you get those wonderful toys?” I asked, smiling at Cindy.

  “Heistbay.com,” Cindy said. “You can get some really amazing deals there.”

  “I saw you sold your old costume there. It’s a shame, I really liked it,” I said, crossing my arms and waiting for the Bokor’s reaction.

  “If you like Halloween-themed strippers,” Cindy snorted.

  “Who doesn’t?” I said, stopping myself only when I realized I was flirting.

  Cindy grinned. She then laughed and turned back to the Bokor, clearly ready to murder the criminal if he tried anything.

  “Stand down, Cindy. Here’s my new offer, Bokor. Help me and you get the diamonds and the Stone back.” I was decent at necromancy but by no means an expert. “Don’t help me and I’ll look for another sorcerer. Oh, and I’ll kill you. I want to know everything about who paid you to double-cross me. Someone is rich and stupid if they’re throwing that kind of cash around just to take a hit out on me.”

  The Bokor raised his hands in surrender, thus proving he was smarter than the majority of supervillains out there. As the immortal Marcellus Wallace said in Pulp Fiction: Pride never helps it only hurts. In the fifth your ass goes down. “Very well, Merciless, it’s a deal,” he said. “I’ll help you with your wife and tell you everything I know.”

  That was when the stained glass window above his head shattered and flaming debris fell from the ceiling. A motorcycle on the rooftop of a neighboring building had made the leap through and landed with a thump on the ground in front of us before spinning around and charging at the Bokor.

  A woman in a long dark coat, form-fitting catsuit, and black helmet was riding on the back. The motorcycle was heavily modified with alien, magical, and unusual properties tech with the word Nighthuntress on the side.

  Oh shit.

  “No!” the Bokor shouted before the woman lifted up a sawed-up shotgun with her right hand and spewed hellfire from it, causing him to dodge or explode in flames. She then knocked her motorcycle to the ground, spun it across the ground and used it to knock the Bokor down while leaping off the top to tackle him.

  The Bokor let forth a brief scream before the woman ripped off her helmet and buried her fangs into the side of his neck. It was my vampire wife, Mandy. She was the reason the already-diminished supervillain population of Falconcrest City had taken a dramatic downswing over the past twelve months.

  “Fuck!” I shouted, feeling a dozen conflicting emotions at once. “He was about tell to us who hired him!”

  “What the hell kind of entrance is that!?” Cindy shouted. “This isn’t a music video!”

  “Kind of missing the point, isn’t it?” I asked, looking at Cindy.

  “Not really,” Cindy said. “He’s still got the stone and we’ve got Mandy right here.”

  She had a point.

  Mandy looked up from the Bokor’s still form, her mouth soaked with gore and her eyes a predatory shade of yellow. A once-beautiful brown-haired Eurasian woman in her thirties, all of the gentleness and sweetness was gone from her features, leaving only a feral hunger. Her skin had lost its previous shine and was now the texture of dried paper and her fingernails were grown to the length of animal claws. Even her hair was stringy and dirty, looking like it hadn’t been washed in days.

  Those individuals who spoke of vampires as naturally beautiful had obviously never met one in person. They were monsters, and seeing one wearing the face of someone you loved was like someone kicking you in the gut until you were ready to vomit.

  “Hello, Mandy,” I said, trying to hold back the all-consuming sense of loss that filled me. Seeing her filled me with dozens of memories: laughing around the breakfast table, sex, playing Xbox games, walking our dogs, and every joyous moment of our marriage. This, this was just a mockery of the person I’d loved. Mandy had been a hero, not a murderer.

  “That’s not Mandy, Gary,” Cindy said, reloading her wrist crossbow with a wooden bolt. “That’s just the thing we need to put her soul back in.”

  Mandy responded by wiping her mouth off on the Bokor’s sleeve, using his limp arm like a napkin, then licking her mouth clean. “Are you two still at this ‘cure me’ thing? I would have thought you would have gone off to do something else with your lives.”

  “Mandy died for me,” Cindy said, staring. “It leaves an impression. I now only kill assholes who deserve it, rob people who have it coming, and beat up police officers who are trying to stop Insane Clown Posse concerts. Because those guys are awesome.”

  “I could have gone my entire life without knowing you were a juggalo,” I said, keeping my eyes squarely on Mandy.

  “Give em a chance!” Cindy said.

  “No.” I was trying to distract myself from the pain but couldn’t. “Mandy, give us the stone. We can use it to fix this and be together again. You, me, the dogs, and everyone else we love.”

  Mandy reached into the Bokor’s jacket and removed the crystal ball I’d come here looking for. The object wasn’t terribly impressive, looking little different from a glass trinket you could buy at any New Age store. The kind of power it radiated, though, if you know what you were looking for, was the kind Terry Brooks wrote about in his Elfstone books. “You mean this stone?”

  “Yes.” I nodded, stepping forward. The ball was mesmerizing, but not nearly so much as the prospect of getting back my wife. “Remember who you are. Remember what you used to feel. Do you really want to live like this? Killing people, living in the darkness, and sleeping in filth? You only kill people who deserve it, so there’s still something of the old you inside what you’ve become. Vampires only think about hunger, fear, and hate. Think of all you’re missing and what you could feel again.”

  Mandy looked at the crystal ball, holding it up to the moonlight coming in through the shattered window above. “You have such an idealized view of
our marriage, Gary. The old me always hated that. You put her on a pedestal and adored her, never bothering to think about all the very real problems you faced. You wanted kids, she didn’t. You hated living a normal life, Mandy pretended she wanted one. You were mismatched from the day you walked down the aisle and broke the glass.”

  I was about halfway across the cathedral floor now. I just needed to get the stone from her and then it wouldn’t matter what happened. “I don’t care about any of that.”

  “You were never happier than when you were a supervillain, knowing she would never approve. Mandy was never happier when she was a superhero, away from you.”

  “I was happy in our relationship and she was too. You’re not going to convince me otherwise. We loved each other.”

  Mandy stared into the crystal orb and held it in front of me, offering it back. “Love? Yeah, I supposed you did love each other. Warts and all.”

  I was close enough to grab it. All I needed to do was take the stone to an appropriately spooky spot, summon Mandy’s spirit with it, and then bind it to her walking, talking corpse here. It would be as good as any resurrection spell—better even, as she would have all of the powers of a vampire but none of the weaknesses. The fact I had gotten this plan from Buffy the Vampire Slayer didn’t mean it wasn’t a good one.

  “But it isn’t enough,” Mandy said, pulling the stone out of my reach and hurling it at the wall beside the doors.

  “No!” I shouted.

  The Stone of Elderrah shattered against the masonry, sending sparks of crystal in every direction.

  I fell to my knees, staring.

  Chapter Three

  Where Mandy Becomes My Ex-Wife

  “No,” I whispered, gazing down at the Stone of Elderrah’s ruined fragments. The stone had been my last lead after almost a year of research.

  I’d poured over the entirety of the Nightwalker’s collection of magical books and codices. I’d researched like a madman on vampires, the Great Beasts, curses, Death, necromancy, magical artifacts, and resurrection. I’d stored time in bottles and used his time machine to give myself extra days when my attempts to prevent Mandy’s vampirism failed.