After the Golden Age

“Come on!” the one in the front said, grabbing her arm.

By then, the water was ankle deep and still rising. No longer just covering the floor, it flowed toward them, in opposition to the law of gravity.

The kidnappers crowded her out of the women’s locker room, to the pool annex, and toward the door to the men’s locker room. That must have been how they snuck in here, and how they planned on spiriting her away.

A tidal wave, a wall of water, rose up from the swimming pool and fell toward them. It might have had a mind of its own, the way it homed in on them.

In fact, Celia was sure it did. Typhoon.

She turned her back to the wave and hunched over, not hoping to keep her feet but trying to protect herself. It slammed into her—and it slammed into the kidnappers. They screamed, she noted. She thought she hit the wall. She hit something, then she was floundering, splashing across the cement of the pool deck, which scraped her up as she tumbled.

The water carried her toward the pool, then set her down at the edge as it spilled away, over the side, back where it came from. The four kidnappers ended up dunked in the middle; every time they tried to swim for the edge, a wave surged over them. The surface of the water churned and thrashed, like the ocean in a storm, and they were using all their effort to keep their heads clear.

Typhoon leaned on the wall near the annex by the locker rooms, arms crossed, admiring her handiwork with a satisfied glare. Her suit shone with condensation, her mask was slick and gleaming, and her hair was swept back, like an extension of her costume. Celia only recognized Analise because she knew what to look for.

Celia stayed sitting on the pool deck, catching her breath, and glowering. Good thing she’d still been wet when this happened. It would have been just her luck to have dried off and dressed, then gotten picked up by one of Typhoon’s waves.

“You okay?” Typhoon said. Her tone was cautious.

Celia supposed she expected a thank you. It had been too much to hope for, to get out of here without talking to anyone.

She said, “How is it I always get caught in whatever offensive you guys use to take out the bad guys?”

“Nonlethal force. You don’t have to be too careful about bystanders.” She shrugged. “And you always seem to be standing in front of the target.”

“They put me there.”

“Kinda dumb of them, trying to kidnap you at a swimming pool,” she said.

“Not really. They knew to find me here. You’re the only one who could have soaked them like that, and what are the odds you would have been within easy range to get here and—”

What were the odds, indeed? The familiar hint of anger crawled through her heart and tightened her gut. “You’ve been watching me. Following me.”

Typhoon looked like she was going to deny it—she set her jaw in a scowl and returned Celia’s glare. But she waited too long to say anything.

Finally, she said, “We all have. We’ve been taking turns.”

Celia’s voice caught, and she had to swallow the lump in her throat before trying again. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t anyone tell me you were … were babysitting me?”

“It wasn’t babysitting. You were bait. We were hoping they’d try for you again, and we could catch them. If you knew, you’d have acted differently. Word might have gotten out, and they might not have tried.”

The four in the pool looked caught, to say the least. There was her hidden talent. Celia West: Bait Girl. Hostage Lass. The Captive Wonder.

The police arrived then, right on schedule, a dozen of them stomping out of the locker rooms, guns out and pointed at the would-be kidnappers.

Of course, Mark was with them. How could he not be? She didn’t want him here. She didn’t want him to see her angry.

Before any well-meaning officers could try to help her, she got to her feet. Her towel was gone—probably a sodden mess washed up in a corner somewhere. Never mind. She’d stand under the wall dryer if she had to.

“Celia!” Mark called and ran to her. She took a deep breath and was calm by the time her counting reached seven. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she said, her voice flat. “Just a little shaken up.”

He held her arms, studied her, then kissed her forehead. She let him, but her skin crawled. She just wanted to get out of here.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Really. I’m sorry, I’m not thinking straight.” She tried a brave smile. He was trying to be nice. Being very gentlemanly, really.

The surface of the water had settled; the kidnappers dog-paddled awkwardly to the ladder, and the cops fished them out. Typhoon gave Mark a haphazard salute.

“I’m out of here, boys. ’Til next time.” She ducked out through the locker room. She’d be out of the building and out of her costume in minutes.

“She sure got here quick,” Mark said.

“They’ve been following me. My parents, the other supers—they thought this would happen again.”

“You don’t sound happy about it.”

“I’m … never mind.”

“Give me ten minutes. I’ll drive you home.”