After the Golden Age

“He’s just trying to get a rise out of people,” she said. “No other comment.”

“Ms. West!”

She was shocked and grateful—shocked that she was grateful—when the Olympiad swept her up and escorted her away from the journalistic horde. Mentis appeared on one side of her, Spark on the other, and the Captain and the Bullet broke through the crowd and herded them back.

Everyone stepped aside when Captain Olympus appeared.

“Conference room. This way,” Bronson said, nodding over his shoulder.

By then, the reporters were shouting at all of them, but they’d all had experience ignoring the press. They left the courtroom without a backward glance.

—Better?—

“Yeah, thanks,” Celia said, and her mother glanced at her, questioning. Chuckling to herself, Celia had to shake her head.

Once safe in the privacy of Bronson’s conference room, which was windowless and annoyingly devoid of chairs, the Captain began pacing the length of the longest wall.

“He had no business talking to you,” he muttered. He glanced at Celia and frowned. “Mentis, why’d he do it? What did he mean by it?”

“Haven’t a clue. I’ve never been able to read him. That hasn’t changed,” the telepath said.

“You must have made quite an impression on him. At some point,” Bronson said to her.

She had to take a calming breath before speaking. “It’s the same old story. He’s using me to get to them.”

“We know,” Spark said.

“I am definitely not putting you on the stand. Not after that.”

Good, Celia thought. She was a bit panicked that Bronson had ever considered calling her to testify.

Bronson thanked the heroes for being there, for giving their stamp of approval to the proceedings. Maybe now the media would stop asking why the Olympiad didn’t take justice into its own hands. The heroes were servants of the city. Not its judge and jury.

The meeting broke up after that. She was happy enough to leave Bronson’s posthearing war council. The hallway had finally cleared out, and she could navigate it in peace. Almost.

“Ms. West. Celia. I mean … Hi.” Detective Mark Paulson came from the back of the courtroom to intercept her. He had the best aw-shucks grin she’d seen in weeks.

She tried to look encouraging. “Detective, hello. What can I do for you?”

“Well, see, as a matter of fact … I’ve got a couple of tickets to the symphony fund-raiser on Friday. I know this isn’t a good time, but I don’t know when I’m going to see you again—”

“You could call.”

“I don’t have your number.”

“You’re a detective and you couldn’t dig up my phone number?” He was starting to blush. She felt like she was wearing an awfully silly smile in response. “Or you could ask for it.”

“So,” he said. “How about it?”

“My number?”

He sighed. “Yeah. And the symphony.”

“I think I’d like that. It’s formal, right?”

“Right.”

“So I should get a dress?”

“Right.” He smiled with what looked like relief. “Can I pick you up at six?”

“Sounds great.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

He tugged at the edges of his coat as he sauntered out of the room.

Wow. A real grown-up date. That was almost easy. Even the idea of looking for an evening gown before Friday didn’t seem so scary.

“What was that all about?” said a sly voice near her shoulder.

Celia turned to her mother. “I’m going on a date.”

“With Detective Paulson?” That was her father, standing by Spark and scowling.

“Yeah, with Detective Paulson,” Celia said.

All four of them were there now. Mom beamed. Robbie, her surrogate uncle, looked like he wanted to ruffle her hair and crack a joke. Arthur seemed thoughtful, like he always did. Then there was the Captain, who appeared annoyed. He’d worn the same sour, frowning expression before every date she’d ever gone on.

Time to get out of here. “I’ll see you guys later.”

Feeling intensely smug, she strolled out of the courthouse, swinging her attaché case.

* * *

She’d been kidnapped the first time when she was sixteen.

She got the call at home, at the West Plaza penthouse. Back then, no one knew that the top floor served as the headquarters of the Olympiad.

Celia knew, but if she told anyone, who would believe her?

She was doing math homework at the kitchen table when the phone rang. Sighing with frustration—she was actually starting to understand trigonometry and was annoyed at being interrupted—she answered, expecting that it was her mother asking her to start fixing supper, or a friend inviting her to a movie or party that she wouldn’t be allowed to go to.

“Hello?”

“Celia! Thank God! I need your help, come to City Park right now—”

“Dad?” She pressed the phone closer to her ear, as if that would make his voice come through clearer. He’d never sounded like this, harried and desperate. It was enough to make her panic. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t explain. I need your help, please hurry!”

What could she possibly do to help? But there must be something, or he wouldn’t have called. He must be in trouble, him and Mom both. Maybe this was her chance. He was trusting her. She wouldn’t let him down.

“Yes, yes, I’ll hurry. City Park?”

“By the fountain.”