The League of Independent Operatives Books 1-2: League of Independent Operatives

By Kate Sheeran Swed

HEIRESS

 

The world knows Mary O'Sullivan as a Page Six regular; she's an heiress, a playgirl, a philanthropist—and an orphan, after she survived the plane crash that killed her celebrity parents. 

 

The world knows her vigilante alter ego, too—they just don't know it's Mary behind the mask. 

 

OFFICER

 

Nathan Pearce just wants to be a hero. So when a world-famous vigilante blows through his local Boston bar, he's determined to chase her down. If superheroes do internships, he wants one. 

 

But the woman might as well be a phantom. And Nathan's quest to prove himself will endanger more lives than just his own. 

 

LEADER

 

Eloise Reyna wasn't meant to inherit a super-secret league of vigilantes, or the heirloom that grants her powers, for at least another decade. Between her motley band of cranky heroes and abilities she barely understands, she just might lose control. 

 

With a mad scientist on the loose and powerful enemies lurking in the wings, that's simply not an option. 

 

TEAM

Together with their questionable crew, these would-be heroes must untangle the past to secure the future—or allow a dangerous new world order to rise. 

 

The League of Independent Operatives is a twisty superhero saga, perfect for fans of the Avengers, Umbrella Academy, and Arrow. 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kate Sheeran Swed
• Release date: Apr 30, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223404286

Kate Sheeran Swed

Kate Sheeran Swed loves hot chocolate, plastic dinosaurs, and airplane tickets. She has trekked along the Inca Trail to Macchu Picchu, hiked on the Mýrdalsjökull glacier in Iceland, and climbed the ruins of Masada to watch the sunrise over the Dead Sea. After growing up in New Hampshire, she completed degrees in music at the University of Maine and Ithaca College, then moved to New York City. She currently lives in New York’s capital region with her husband and son, and two cats who were named after movie dogs (Benji and Beethoven). Her stories have appeared or are forthcoming in the Young Explorer’s Adventure Guide Volume 5, Electric Spec, Daily Science Fiction, and Andromeda Spaceways. She holds an MFA in Fiction from Pacific University. You can find her on Instagram @katesheeranswed.

Book preview

League of Independent Operatives

LEAGUE OF INDEPENDENT OPERATIVES

BOOKS 1-2

KATE SHEERAN SWED

Spells & Spaceships Press

CONTENTS

Exclusive Prequel Novella

Book One: Alter Ego

1. Mary

2. Nathan

3. Mary

4. Mary

5. Nathan

6. Mary

7. Mange

8. Eloise

9. Mary

10. Mary

11. Nathan

12. Mary

13. Eloise

14. Mange

15. Eloise

16. Mary

17. Nathan

18. Mary

19. Eloise

20. Mary

21. Nathan

22. Eloise

23. Mary

24. Mange

25. Mary

26. Nathan

27. Eloise

28. Mary

29. Nathan

30. Mange

31. Nathan

32. Mary

33. Mange

34. Nathan

35. Mary

36. Mary

37. Eloise

38. Mary

39. Nathan

40. Mary

41. Nathan

42. Mary

43. Eloise

44. Nathan

45. Mary

Book Two: Anti-Hero

1. Flick

2. Eloise

3. Nathan

4. Mary

5. Mary

6. Sloane

7. Eloise

8. Mary

9. Agnes

10. Nathan

11. Sloane

12. Eloise

13. Mary

14. Nathan

15. Mary

16. Agnes

17. Nathan

18. Eloise

19. Mary

20. Nathan

21. Mary

22. Agnes

23. Eloise

24. Eloise

25. Sloane

26. Nathan

27. Mary

28. Nathan

29. Eloise

30. Mary

31. Nathan

32. Mary

33. Eloise

34. Sloane

35. Mary

36. Nathan

37. Eloise

38. Mary

39. Eloise

40. Nathan

41. Mary

42. Eloise

43. Mary

44. Eloise

PREVIEW: MASTERMIND

Also By Kate Sheeran Swed

About the Author

Spells & Spaceships press logo of a spaceship

Copyright © 2023 by Kate Sheeran Swed

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Cover by Deranged Doctor Design

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Power Struggle cover image with lightning surging across a circular shield

BOOK ONE: ALTER EGO

To Moshe

I just can’t get over my luck

1 MARY

No one had tried to kill Mary in over a month, and she was starting to resent it.

Of all the sweaty prosthetic noses and tight sunglasses she’d worn during this punishment of a stakeout, nothing came close to matching the itchy horror of tonight’s black wig. Secured to her head beneath a baseball cap, the ponytail rasped at her neck as if it stood for her whole mission: boring, uncomfortable, and definitely not the right fit. She wanted to rip it off and throw it across the bar. Along with the rest of this damn assignment.

But the only way to prove herself and get back to the good missions was to kick this one’s ass, so she focused on keeping a line of sight on her mark.

You need backup out there? Her sort-of boss’s voice buzzed out of her left earring, a hidden com link of Mary’s design. Rhinestones were less conspicuous than earpieces.

I can handle babysitting, she muttered, hiding her response behind a fake sip of beer. If she needed help, she’d ask for it. She might not have enhanced abilities like everyone else, but that didn’t mean she screwed up every mission.

Just the last one, and it hadn’t even been that bad.

The bar was crowded tonight, with jersey-clad men packed so close they barely had room to punch each other’s shoulders when one of the tiny baseball players on the TV screens made a hit. The place was only a block from Fenway Park. Fan central. From her spot at the short end of the L-shaped bar, Mary had a full view of every sports fan in the room, a quick path to the back exit, and best of all, a perpetually busted light bulb in the fixture above her stool to keep her face in shadow.

Well, she might have had something to do with the busted light.

It’s OK to say yes to backup, Mary. Jenna’s a wild card, Eloise said. Mary’d been following Jenna Carpenter for a month now—her purgatory after botching that last assignment—and Jenna had pulled so many stunts that it was hard to believe the girl thought she was in hiding.

Take right now, for example. Like any bartender, Jenna’s job was to take drink orders, serve those drinks, and repeat. Staying under the radar while pulling taps and mixing martinis should not be an issue. But Jenna was in the process of climbing on top of the bar herself, with a tray of multicolored shots balanced on her palm. How she considered this hiding, and how she maintained her balance up there in those heels, were only two of Mary’s questions.

Never wear heels when you might need to run, that was Mary’s rule. Though they did leave a good mark when you kicked someone in the throat. As Jenna turned, Mary caught a glimpse of another shot tucked between her breasts. Jenna looked so young, so thin and vulnerable, with too much blush standing out on her cheekbones as if to make up for her pale skin. She’d ripped a deep V in the neckline of her Red Sox tank top.

In hiding. Uh huh. Jenna lived like she wanted to get caught, and not by the good guys. Luckily, Mary was part of the League of Independent Operatives—officially the good guys. They’d been following Jenna for months trying to decide whether to recruit her.

The sooner the better, as far as Mary was concerned, and not only because this mission-slash-punishment was starting to wear long. Every time Jenna got upset, her skin ignited. Literally.

Jenna flipped her brunette hair over her shoulder and shouted, You do a shot, I do a shot! The other bartender, an older guy with white hair, was shaking his head like he always did when Jenna started getting crazy, but he didn’t stop her. Mary had noted the fraying collars on more than one of his shirts, and the mismatched buttons that must have been salvaged from other pieces of clothing. He clearly needed cash, and Mary could see the tips doubling when Jenna got a little wild.

Mary wanted to pick her up now and start her training. How else would she learn to control her powers? Mary might be the only Operative who couldn’t fly or lift a bus with one hand, but somehow she was also the only one who understood that Jenna shouldn’t be expected to figure this out on her own.

And Mary had more important things to deal with than twiddling her thumbs over whether or not to invite a newbie into the fold. Like chasing down actual criminals, for example.

Plain baseball cap, huh? The guy sitting next to her had been quiet so far, but now he leaned toward her. Just slightly, but still closer than she liked. Mary risked a glance, a quick scan for potential threats. He had white skin and black hair, cut short. Longer than a typical military cut, but possibly the mark of an active profession, one with a dress code that allowed for a shadow of stubble across the jaw. Age, mid-to-late twenties. Relatively new smart phone on the table next to a dark draft beer. No sag in his jacket or strange outlines in his clothing to indicate a concealed weapon, not that you could ever be completely sure. She didn’t recognize him.

Mary kept her head tilted toward the game, eyes back on Jenna. No problem at this point, since Jenna was standing about halfway down the long end of the bar and sucking down a neon green shot.

Plain baseball caps make me nervous, the man continued. He had a deep voice, and some kind of accent. Sounded English, with a touch of a Northern lilt. Liverpool, maybe. I’m afraid you might be a Yankees fan in disguise.

Was that supposed to be code for I recognize you? And if so, which version of her did he recognize? He could be the unasked-for backup, a new LIO team member she hadn’t met yet, but she hadn’t survived to this point in life by assuming the best.

Are you from Australia? she asked. Most people here wouldn’t be able to pinpoint his accent, and she didn’t want to stand out any more than she already did. She’d keep him talking for a moment, hoping Eloise would get the hint and shoot her some info. If he was LIO, Mary planned to have a fit later at HQ. A big one.

He drank from his beer, keeping one hand on the bar beside his phone. Waiting for a call? No. I’m from Boston.

But not originally. From this angle, there were a few ways to take this guy out if necessary. Surprise would be best, tipping over his bar stool or unseating him with a roundhouse kick—though that would attract unwanted attention. Of course, she never traveled without her drugs. She could always slip a sedative into his drink as a last resort.

You know, I always wonder how people can tell that, he said.

You’re messing with me.

He gave her a little side smile, revealing a hint of dimple. Yeah. I’m from the U.K., actually. Lancaster. By way of London.

Lancaster. She never would have gotten that. If you’re British, then why do you care about baseball?

As it happens, I moved here for the baseball. Ten years ago. But, as a good Englishman, I also love football. Soccer.

Mary, he’s not a threat. Drop him. Eloise’s voice. Finally.

Right, Mary said. Well, good to know.

The man scooted his stool closer, bringing with him a breath of fresh pine that dispelled the stale-alcohol odor of the bar. She shouldn’t have engaged him. "You’re not a Yankees fan, are you?"

I’m visiting, Mary said.

Good. I wouldn’t want to have to break up a fight when I’m off duty. Officer Pearce. Nathan. He extended his hand to her.

A cop. She didn’t know this one, hadn’t worked with him before. She’d remember him if she had. She always remembered, and besides, he was handsome. No shame in noticing, but shaking hands was the start of a longer conversation and names were a deal-breaker. I’m not really here to talk, she said.

Right, he said, withdrawing his hand. Sorry.

She almost felt bad, but it was for the best. She couldn’t exactly give up her mission to spare a random cop’s feelings, even a good-looking one. She resettled her focus. Jenna was still on the bar.

On the television behind Jenna, a commercial for the Good Morning Show popped up, with clips peddling Mary’s upcoming appearance via pre-recorded interview. In her celebrity identity, of course. It was supposed to be an opportunity to talk about the reboot of her parents’ cause, the Sea and Stars Foundation, which was her new plan to honor their memory and do something meaningful with her famous-heiress status. In reality, she’d barely edged in a sentence about the foundation. Somehow the bubbly hostess had gotten off on the topic of how Mary curled her hair. As if she did that herself when she went on television.

I’m sorry, the cop said, sliding closer again. Officer Pearce. Nathan. She filed his name away; she’d need to check up on him later, regardless of what Eloise said she’d found. It’s just that you look so familiar.

Really? The commercial was still playing. She had to distract him from the TV before he looked too closely. That’s your line?

Yeah, I know, it sounds like a pickup. But I’m sure we’ve met. Don’t I know you?

Jenna was dancing on the bar, having apparently given up on serving drinks. The commercial finally finished, thank god.

Get rid of him, Eloise buzzed.

I’m trying, Mary thought. No. We haven’t met.

I’m sure—

Whatever Officer Nathan Pearce was sure of was drowned out by a deafening cheer in the bar. Home run.

Jenna screeched, grabbed the bottom of her tank top, and started to pull the hem toward her head.

No, no, no, Jenna, don’t do it.

Jenna ripped off the shirt, revealing another one below it. Mary let out a breath. The other bartender, the older man, looked equally relieved. He returned to celebrating the home run along with everyone else, including Officer Pearce.

Mary’s relief was shorter lived—but then, she was the only one whose eyes weren’t locked to the screen, which meant she was watching when an oak-sized tree of a dude stumbled out of the crowd and reached for Jenna’s ankle. Jenna sidestepped, somehow managing to stay on her feet, then tossed off a remark Mary couldn’t hear.

When the Tree guy said something to her in response, though, Jenna’s face turned white. Instead of telling him where to go, something Mary had seen her do plenty of times, Jenna lowered herself to sit on the edge of the bar and began talking rapidly, pointing her finger at the guy’s chest. As she spoke, a handful of men melted out of the crowd in a fluid movement and formed a half-circle around her. And the Tree. What was this, his security detail?

Everyone else in the bar was still freaking out over the home run. They weren’t paying attention to Jenna’s argument with the Tree, or his henchmen, who moved as though performing a familiar, choreographed maneuver—wolves cutting off their prey’s access to help or escape.

Mary and her friends obviously weren’t the only ones who knew about Jenna’s powers. Mary slid off of her bar stool.

Hold, Eloise said.

Mary kept her voice low. It’s time.

The Tree gripped Jenna’s wrists and pulled her off the bar, steadying her as she hit the floor. He leaned close, talking. When Jenna tried to twist away from him, he grabbed her upper arms and shoved her against the bar.

The movement caught Nathan Pearce’s attention and he stood, starting immediately toward the altercation. Mary seized his wrist to stop him, gripping tightly enough that she could feel his pulse beating beneath her fingers. She couldn’t let him barge in and get fried.

I’ll handle this, she told him.

He narrowed his eyes. I’m sorry, who are you?

In Mary’s ear, Eloise said, Don’t do anything stupid. You know the protocol.

She’s going to snap.

Officer Pearce looked at her inquisitively. Who are you talking to?

The Tree put a hand on Jenna’s shoulder and started to guide her out of the bar. But Mary had been following Jenna long enough to know what was coming next.

She couldn’t get to Jenna in time to prevent it. There were too many people in the way, their attention still razor-focused on the baseball game. Mary’s brain rattled from evacuation plans that wouldn’t blow her cover to desperate thoughts on how to stage a distraction—also without blowing her cover.

At this point, Mary doubted it could be stopped from any distance.

One moment Jenna’s hands were on the Tree’s chest, pushing him away, and then her fingers flashed red. No warning, no slow burn. An instant of blazing heat. The guy collapsed, an angry burn glaring on his chest through his ruined sweater. He hit the floor, moaning. Alive, for now.

Jenna stared at him, dazed. The customers standing closest to her began backing away.

Mary caught another glimpse of Jenna’s glowing flesh before the fire winked out, red-hot coals in the shape of a hand. For a heartbeat—several of Nathan Pearce’s, whose wrist was still locked between her fingers—the sight left Mary breathless with loss. Her mentor had had fire powers like this. She’d seen Jenna use her powers a few times now, and it still felt like being haunted. Eloise was silent on the com link. She had to be thinking of Will, too.

Nathan Pearce tugged his wrist gently, and she released her hold. I need to go help, he said.

Yes. The Tree’s followers were closing in, blocking off Jenna’s escape route. The crowd was moving for the door, most of them, but not fast enough. Time to act.

Mary shook off her shock and slid a finger under the rim of her cap to unhook the mask she kept hidden there, then secured it over the top half of her face. Nathan was about to see her in action, anyway. No sense in standing on ceremony.

I’ll deal with it, she said.

But I’m—

You’re off duty.

Using her stool as a ladder, Mary stepped onto the bar. It was the closest route to Jenna, with the now-screaming burned guy motivating the rest of the patrons to find another place to catch the rest of the game. They were bottlenecking at the door, throwing frightened glances at Jenna, who was still surrounded. The other bartender was wringing his hands and shouting for everyone to calm down.

Get out of there, Eloise said.

Mary ripped off the earring and shoved it in her pocket. She wasn’t about to leave the girl here alone. Will wouldn’t have.

She’s got no respect, one of the Tree’s followers was saying as Mary reached the circle. This one had a wide face and a huge, flat nose. Apparently he hadn’t learned much from what just happened to his buddy.

Mary jumped off the bar and landed between the group and Jenna.

Leave her alone, she said.

And you’re gonna make me?

Mary looked them over. Four henchmen, with Jenna’s down for the count. Flat-Face, Ginger Freckles, Thick-Neck Giant, and, compared to his present company, Shrimpy. Even Shrimpy was an inch or so taller than Mary’s 5’9". They all clearly knew their way around a weight room.

Good for them. Mary knew her way around a battlefield.

Yeah, Mary said. I’m gonna make you.

Flat-Face lunged, giving her knee a clear shot to his groin. She added an elbow to the temple for good measure as he folded in pain. A quick spin to the left took out Thick’s neck with a throat punch—heels not necessary—then back to the right, kick primed for Ginger’s hip.

Only Ginger wasn’t there. Instead, Mary found herself looking, again, at Nathan Pearce. He shrugged and gave her that same half smile. Ginger was crumpled in an enormous heap at his feet.

Reckless for a cop, but OK. Apparently Boston knew how to train them.

Behind you, Nathan said, and Mary whirled around. Thick Neck was still in the game, picking up a bar stool to use as a weapon. Not the brightest idea. There wasn’t much room for swinging furniture in here, even with the crowd rapidly draining from the bar. While he tried to maneuver the stool into the air, no doubt with grand plans of using it to slam her to the floor, she grabbed a full bottle of wine from the bar and lobbed it at his head.

Thick Neck’s eyes widened as he tried to duck, but the bar stool threw off his balance. The bottle struck the top of his skull with a dull smack, and he collapsed on top of his ill-chosen weapon. Down for the count.

But hadn’t there been one more thug? Mary evaluated the ring of casualties, sprawled on the floor around her.

Where’s Shrimpy? she said.

He’d inched his way toward the wall, hands above his head in surrender. The smart one.

Mary dropped her hands, and Shrimpy slumped in obvious relief.

Who the hell are you? Jenna’s voice was shaking. She was still cowering against the bar, poor girl.

Mary turned. I need to get you to safety.

I’m pretty sure safe isn’t an option for me.

You need to trust me.

Not comforting, apparently. Jenna’s eyes filled with tears.

He’s here, she whispered, her gaze shifting to focus on something over Mary’s shoulder. Mary whipped around, ready to take Shrimpy down, too, but his neck was already in trouble. A tall man in a wide-brimmed hat had him headlocked in the crook of one elbow.

Thanks for rescuing my daughter, the man said, his voice a gurgle in the back of his throat. Despite the August heat, he wore lace-up boots, a trench coat, and leather gloves. He lifted his head enough to reveal a face covered in gauze, his eyes cranberry-red where they should have been white. A gap in the gauze at his chin displayed a patch of peeling tanned skin. I guess I owe you for that, so I’ll leave you alive.

Mary fought a wave of revulsion. Daughter? You’re not looking so good, she said. Trapped in the stranger’s seemingly effortless grip, Shrimpy trembled. Why don’t you let that misguided piece of trash go so you can rest?

Your concern is uncommon for a vigilante, and I appreciate it. But I’m almost done here, the red-eyed man said. Then he twisted.

Shrimpy’s limp form slid to the floor as the man let go. Nothing to do about it now. Mary grabbed Jenna’s wrist and dragged her toward the door. She didn’t have to look back to know Nathan Pearce was staring at her. But what the hell? So was everyone else.

Mary didn’t like leaving him with the mummy guy, but she had a feeling the stranger wouldn’t stay long once she evacuated Jenna.

He found me, Jenna said, so softly Mary could barely hear her. All this time I’ve been running. All for nothing.

Jenna, Mary said. I need you to run again, OK? Now.

He’s going to follow us, Jenna said as Mary shoved the door open.

Then we’re going to move fast.

Mary swung the door open and pushed Jenna into the night.

2 NATHAN

All Nathan’s police training, his years of experience on the force, were supposed to prepare him for this moment. And he’d missed his chance.

The women were gone. In the few seconds it had taken Nathan to push his way to the street, they’d slipped into the crowd. He’d stood there like an idiot, scanning the sea of Red Sox gear for black ponytails or plain baseball caps, enduring the steamy August air for so long that the women probably could have made it to their secret hideout three times before he gave up.

She was definitely the type of woman who had a secret hideout.

Back inside, the men had vanished too, even the injured ones—even the one that should have been a corpse—while Charlie, the remaining bartender, struggled to close the pub. The stalwart people who stayed after a fight like that weren’t the type to complain about a bit of rubble on the floor. And besides, they were Red Sox supporters in the bottom of the eighth, with the Sox down by a run. To Charlie’s dismay, they’d refused to go anywhere. Charlie hadn’t wanted to call the police, and since Nathan had punched a guy unconscious himself, he wasn’t too eager to summon them, either.

So he’d ducked behind the bar, unplugged the televisions, and kicked everyone out. He was a cop. He’d seen all those fingers and gestures before, plus the U.K. versions, and it was the least he could do after participating in a row that left the place thoroughly wrecked.

Now the pub was quiet, leaving Nathan to think about his failure of an evening. He wiped a wet rag along the bar while Charlie collected splintered wood and decapitated bobble-head figures in a dust pan. The poor guy looked exhausted. Bags of skin sagged under his eyes, bruised droplets against chalky skin, and the wrinkles on his forehead were furrowed into deeper ravines than usual.

What the hell was that tonight? Charlie asked for the third time. He had one of the stronger Boston accents Nathan had heard, nasal on the A’s and lacking in most R’s.

Not sure, Nathan said. It was true that he was sketchy on the details, anyway. If he had a solid theory about the basics, Charlie didn’t need to know.

That girl walloped the crap outta those guys. You think she was one of those vigilante types?

Or maybe Charlie had the same theory.

Could be. Nathan was sure the woman who’d released holy hell on those assholes was exactly that, a ‘vigilante type.’ The cops called them independent operatives, or IOs. They tended to show up when lunatics threatened world leaders or high school chemistry teachers formed delusions of world domination. It’d been a while since they’d been needed full time, so it was hard to predict. Not too long ago, a guy in California had propped up a collapsing bridge with his shoulders while the cars evacuated, unharmed. Another had flown to a hijacked plane over the Atlantic, found a way in through the cargo hold, and restrained the bad guys until they landed safely. Had that been three months back? Four?

The woman with the black ponytail had moved fast enough to have an enhanced ability of some kind, and unless Nathan had hallucinated that flash of light, Bartender Jenna had one, too. But she’d clearly been surprised by the other woman’s presence, maybe even scared.

It was more than bizarre, though. IOs had been known to team up occasionally, back in the day, but for the last fifteen years or so—a bit less—they’d only ever shown up alone. Ever since they’d united to defeat the terrorist organization, Wave, IOs seemed to have scattered to their own hidden corners of the world. Theories on the subject ranged from power struggles and feuds to romantic entanglements, but no one really had a clue as to what might have happened.

Dunno why they had to come into my bar, Charlie said. You ever seen a vigilante in a bar?

Not that I can think of, no.

Couldn’t happen to Reggie down at Donnell’s, could it? The place is a disaster. What if the owner comes by?

Nathan plucked a shard of broken glass off the counter. IOs didn’t come into bars, at least not as themselves. And one—maybe two—had come into this one. He’d unknowingly spent some of the evening trying to flirt with one of them. How thick could a person be?

One of the guys said he saw Jenna’s hand light on fire, Charlie said. You see her hand light on fire?

Nathan hesitated. I’m not sure what I saw.

What times we live in, huh? When these fellas first started showing up in the sixties, no one trusted them. Everyone loves them now, but I’m not so sure.

Public uncertainty about IOs had shifted to a feeling just short of worship when an organization called Wave surfaced in the early nineties. They’d claimed they were the only ones capable of stopping terrorism and promptly began bullying governments into paying huge sums for their services. When they didn’t get paid, bad things happened.

At first, people had been afraid that the IOs might be affiliated with Wave. They were vigilantes, working outside the law, and authorities resisted their help. IOs still surfaced when trouble arose, but bullets rained at them from both sides when they did.

And then, in one day, everything had changed. The source of the shift still mystified Nathan. It seemed like such an insignificant incident when compared to the hundreds who were affected every time a bomb ripped apart a subway car or a national monument.

Three people in a private airplane, and two of them had died. Not exactly a victory. But when the Pearl Knife and the Inferno saved the third, they changed everything.

Maybe it was because the police weren’t around to shoot at them; maybe it was because the victims were already celebrities, faces to fight for. Whatever the reason, that incident had been the beginning of the public fascination with independent operatives—and once they were involved, they stamped out Wave’s leadership. Took them two years, but they did it.

Independent operatives had been working with law enforcement ever since, all around the world. He needed to find them. Or one. One would work. IOs were the reason he’d become a cop in the first place, the reason he always sought out big cases. He’d been looking to come in contact with one for years, which meant he’d missed a major opportunity tonight.

They do some good, Nathan said. He didn’t understand the shift in public opinion, but he knew he was lucky it had happened before Wave soldiers showed up at his grammar school in England and held it hostage for eight hours. He remembered the way the room had thickened with hot fear until he’d thought he might suffocate to a soundtrack of muffled crying, noses hastily wiped against sleeves. He remembered his little sister cowering in the first row with the littlest children while he’d been stuck dead center, distracting himself from nausea by trying—pretending—to plan an escape route, a way to reach Chloe.

For hours they’d huddled there—he still didn’t know why, or what they’d wanted—until, out of nowhere, the Pearl Knife had appeared and sliced a gun out of the lead captor’s hands. She’d saved their lives.

Nathan had amends to make for what he’d done a year later, but he couldn’t afford to go about it the wrong way. Not again. He needed to find an independent operative, because he needed to become one.

Did a good job of wrecking this place, all right, Charlie grumbled.

Maybe if Nathan called Chloe to tell her about tonight, she’d actually call him back. So much had changed since that day in the cafeteria. So much had happened between them. But if anything could entice her to be forgiving, it’d be a story about IOs.

You should go, Charlie said. I’ve got this covered.

What if the owner shows up?

Prob’ly won’t. I’m almost done here, anyway.

Nathan gave the end of the bar one more swipe. All right. If you’re sure.

I got it, Charlie said. Thanks for the hand. Wish we had more regulars like you, Officer. Get home safe.

3 MARY

Mary had never been too good at the warm and fuzzy part of this job, the part where she was supposed to convince traumatized civilians that everything would be OK. It was hard to convince anyone else of something she had a hard time believing herself. She usually handed them off to the police—that British one in the bar would probably be good at the comforting thing—or to her friend Agnes, who offered them cups of tea and listened to them blubber until they were calm.

Bedside manner, not Mary’s thing.

But Agnes wasn’t here. It’d been an hour since Mary had maneuvered the smart car out of Boston traffic, and now that she was sure they weren’t being followed—it took considerable concentration to monitor the anti-tracking devices and the road at the same time—she could tell that Jenna was nervous. The poor kid was still clenching the armrests so hard that Mary could practically see bone through the skin on her knuckles. Jenna’s freckles stood out on her pallid cheeks like they might pop off, and the dark hair she’d so recently been tossing flirtatiously over her shoulder hung limp around her face.

She seemed so young and vulnerable. A couple months short of twenty-one, according to her file. Mary was only a few years older, but the difference felt like eons.

Mary had to think of something comforting to say. What would Agnes tell her? Everything will be fine, relax, you escaped, have some tea. Mary was still trying to come up with something that wouldn’t sound fake when Jenna turned her head suddenly. You’re Coral, she said, like an accusation.

Mary hadn’t expected Jenna to speak first. Um. Yes, actually.

Jenna studied her for a moment as though trying to decide if it could be true. Where’s your black and silver outfit?

It’s mother of pearl. Like the inside of a shell. Why doesn’t anybody ever get that?

Maybe because it looks like silver.

It’s not here, Mary said. I’m undercover.

Jenna nodded and went back to looking out the window, and Mary let the silence stretch until Western Massachusetts became Albany, and the frequent streetlights of civilization dwindled into the dark highways of upstate New York, where the only artificial light stretched out from the car’s high beams. Mary could barely make out the fringed shadows of trees blurring against a moonlit sky to either side of the road. After a few weeks in a city, the darkness was a welcome cloak.

The closer they got to Niagara, the more uncomfortable the silence became. Or maybe Mary was imagining hostility emanating from the passenger seat. Mary tried to imagine herself in Jenna’s position. The girl must be scared. Mary should say something, try to connect with Jenna before they reached HQ.

You holding up OK over there?

As far as comforting went, it wasn’t the strongest move. For one thing, over there was about two inches away. She felt like she should add a champ to the end and punch Jenna’s shoulder.

What do you think? Jenna snapped, as though she’d been waiting for Mary to speak so she could lash out like a lunatic. She was still holding the armrests as though gravity might fail and catapult her into space if she let go.

Maybe you should relax, Mary said, trying to make her voice sound soothing. She didn’t have a very soothing voice. These kinds of things had a tendency to sound sarcastic coming from her. She tried again. You’ve had a rough night, and you’re stressed.

Of course I’m stressed. I just got kidnapped.

Mary stiffened. So much for gratitude. I’m not kidnapping you.

Can I leave?

No.

Jenna glared at her.

OK, you’re a little bit kidnapped. But I’m trying to help you. That guy in the bar with the bandages—

I can handle him. I’ve been handling him.

Clearly.

Shouldn’t you be off saving the world instead of breaking up bar fights?

Mary had seen annoyed or embarrassed victims before, once or twice, but this girl was bringing ungrateful to a new extreme. Hey, I saved your ass in there.

Why? Why would you do that? You don’t even have a freaking superpower. You have no idea what it’s like. So why would you kidnap me unless you wanted something?

Way to make it personal. Because the last person I knew who had fire powers was my mentor, Mary said, not bothering to keep the heat out of her voice. And he’d want me to help you. He’s dead, so I can’t ask if that still applies to a person who’s acting like an asshole.

That shut Jenna up. For a second. I remind you of him?

Mary wouldn’t go that far. He’d never have climbed up on a bar to serve shots when he was supposed to be in hiding. You do have the whole flaming hand thing going, though.

I was hiding in plain sight.

For future reference, that is a terrible plan.

Jenna slumped in her seat and rested the balls of her feet on the dashboard so her knees curled in close to her chest. I needed the cash. But thanks for the input.

The sulky-girl thing was getting old. I’m sorry, would you rather those dudes in the bar had dragged you off instead? I don’t know who they were, but they weren’t planning a trip to Disney World. Or the guy with the bandages. He hinted that you two share DNA. True?

Jenna folded her arms and closed her body into a tighter ball. Mary let her sit in silence for a few minutes. Maybe she could reset the conversation, give them a chance to start over. Jenna didn’t know it was a low blow to call out Mary’s lack of enhanced abilities, that one miserable failure in facing someone who did have them was the only reason she was here with Jenna in the first place. Mary needed to find a way to put her mind at ease.

She took a deep breath, willing herself back to calm. We’re going to help you. I promise.

Who’s we? I thought you worked alone.

Apparently Jenna wasn’t ready to be calm. You’ll see when we get there, Mary said.

Where?

I can’t tell you.

Why not?

She needed an example? Well, let’s say someone attacks us and kidnaps you—

Re-kidnaps, you mean.

—then you’ll know where we’re going and we’ll be screwed.

Can you at least take off your mask so I can see who you are?

Um, no. Same problem.

OK. Jenna’s voice was rising in pitch and volume with each question, a breath away from hyperventilating. Resetting the conversation wasn’t going so well. Then how long have you been following me?

Jenna—

A month? A year? You owe me answers. You know you do.

Mary sighed. You’ll find out soon. OK?

Jenna dropped her feet to the floor, unfolding her fetal position and leaving a wavy pattern from her shoes stamped on the glove compartment. She leaned her head on the window. Can you at least tell me what’s going to happen? Once we get…wherever?

Progress. Mary could definitely work with that question. You’ll learn to control your enhanced abilities. Use them to your benefit.

You might as well drop me off right here, then, Jenna said, though clearly without much hope of that happening. Her voice was quiet now. I’m only planning to keep my powers until I lose my father for good.

Wow. Jenna really was new to this whole enhanced abilities thing, wasn’t she? I’m sorry to tell you this, Mary said, but there’s no way to get rid of your abilities. You’re stuck with them.

No, Jenna said. I have a potion thing my dad made. It’s supposed to get rid of the powers.

Mary shook her head. I don’t think anyone can—

He made it to cure the side effects of his powers, but then he realized it does more. I stole it from his lab before I torched the place, so I have the only one. That’s part of the reason he’s following me.

So he gave you your powers?

Yeah. I mean, he refined his formula after he experimented on himself, so I don’t have to deal with the peeling face situation. But it still sucks. More for him, I guess. He calls himself Mange now. Like a sick cat or something.

That explained a lot. Mary turned onto the parkway that ran alongside the Niagara River. To the right, a patch of grass separated them from a narrow access road, then a guardrail and more trees. Beyond that, the river. They were getting close.

Jenna talked about this potion—some kind of a serum, probably—like a math teacher explaining a problem to a tiresome student. But if the serum really erased powers, it would be more on the scale of the discovery of penicillin in a disease-ridden world. Agnes might be able to use it to counteract the side effects that accompanied many enhanced abilities. And a weapon to extinguish abilities in criminals… that could certainly be useful.

Like all good weapons, though, a serum that erased abilities could also mean disaster, especially to Mary’s friends.

You shouldn’t drink a serum if you don’t know exactly what it is, Mary said. You’ll need to show it to Agnes.

Jenna lifted her head from the window to look at Mary. First of all, you don’t drink it, she said, still in her teacher voice. You inject it. And who’s Agnes?

Mary rolled her eyes—she couldn’t help it—and then she rolled the steering wheel, hard. They jetted off the highway, landed on the narrow grass median, and skidded over the access road toward the thin row of trees that separated the parkway from the river.

Mary loved this part.

Jenna, however, pulled her seatbelt tight around her waist and scrunched down in her seat. Are you sure this is a road? I was here a couple years ago. You’re supposed to follow the signs to the Rainbow Bridge.

Relax, Mary said. You’ll like this.

I think you might be headed toward the water.

Maybe there was hope for this one, after all. Good sense of direction. You do have the serum on you, right?

If you’ve really been watching me since god knows when—

Since Portland.

"—then why didn’t you know I had a potion—since Portland?"

The car slammed through a gap in the guardrail and into the trees. Jenna screeched as branches assailed the windows, but it only lasted for a few seconds before the trees vanished, and the car jerked and jolted into the tunnel.

Mary would have loved to see the charts that had gone into engineering this thing, the machines that had secretly drilled through the earth. How had they managed to hide its construction? She flipped a switch and another pair of lights flashed on, illuminating the dirt tunnel. I always forget the second lights, she said.

Oh, right, as one would, Jenna said, her voice squeaky. Shouldn’t you slow down?

Have fun. This is fun. It’s not like there’s oncoming traffic. Who wouldn’t want to enter their home via roller coaster every day? Mary bore down on the gas, and they careened forward. The car flew up a small hill, went airborne for a second, then landed and continued steadily downward. The headlight beams bounced with the car, sending increasingly frequent flashes reflecting from the end of the tunnel.

Where does this go? Jenna asked. Is that some kind of mirror?

Mary pressed a button on the dashboard. The familiar grinding sound of the car’s dome kicked into gear, like a blender crushing ice, followed by the arrival of a clear cover that descended over the windows and doors like a tight bubble.

Hold on, Mary said.

That’s water, Jenna said. You’re driving us into the water.

The car hit the river and they spiraled backward with the current. Jenna braced one hand on the ceiling, and whimpered. Please don’t kill us.

Mary flipped the lever next to the steering wheel, and a few seconds later an engine whirred to life behind the back wheels. The car stabilized and began to putter forward.

Jenna took a deep breath. Your car is a submarine?

One of my better vehicles. They pushed forward against the flow of water that rushed down from the falls, the headlights revealing two streams of white bubbles.

Yours as in owned or yours as in invented?

The patent would be all mine if I cared about that kind of thing. Which I don’t.

I can’t see anything.

Don’t need to. Mary pointed to the GPS screen on the dashboard, which displayed a grid with a bright green dot representing her car. A few other dots were scattered around the squares. She selected one, and the view zoomed in to show an especially large rock. Nothing unexpected. This thing has 360° camera coverage. No blind spots. And the computer basically drives us, anyway.

One of her best designs, this car.

Please tell me this is a shortcut and we’re going to head back to land before we hit the falls.

Nope. We’re going behind them.

Are you insane? The pressure against the car grew more intense, water assaulting them from all sides. Pure exhilaration, though Jenna obviously didn’t feel the same way. How does this tin can not cave in?

Tougher than it looks.

What if we hit rocks?

We’re not going to hit rocks.

The car jammed to a stop. "What do you call that?"

Mary grinned. I call it home, she said, and unbuckled her seatbelt.

Thirty seconds later, they were back above ground, the plastic bubble was retracting, and Jenna was leaping out of the car as though she expected something worse to happen if she stayed.

LIO Headquarters. Home. Well, home’s garage. The warehouse-sized room was a central part of HQ, where any LIO vigilante with a need for wheels could choose from the selection of pickup trucks, cargo vans, motorcycles, and even your snooze-worthy family style station wagons for triple undercover work.

Beyond this room, climate-controlling machines worked around the clock to suck the dampness from the air, making the whole place as comfortable as any office building. Here in the garage, the air was musty. The walls and ceiling still showed their original rock, too, instead of the plated steel of the interior hallways. Mary loved everything about HQ, from the titanium walkways to the ubiquitous video screens, but this room—with the underground smell and the muted sound of the rushing falls welcoming her from behind the wall—this room was special.

A pair of metal doors opened at the far end of the garage, and Mary’s friend Agnes came toward them. A petite woman with light brown skin and thick-rimmed glasses, she was still wearing her white coat from working late in the lab. It was no surprise to see her followed closely by Ire, an ex-Marine gifted with super-strength after a raid on a chemical weapons plant that went wrong. Ire’s massive size made Agnes look like a sprite in comparison, with his broad, muscular shoulders and thick legs. His red hair was rumpled into messy spikes, and he did not look happy.

Do you always have to come in this way? Ire growled. He didn’t even glance at Jenna.

I wanted to avoid customs, Mary said.

It’s hard on the smart car.

I built the thing, and I say it’s fine.

Agnes extended her arm toward the car, and a unified movement of drops shot into the air and crystallized into a sparkling dome around it for a split second before parting to cascade into a wet circle on the concrete.

Whoa, Jenna said.

Still, Ire grumbled.

Jenna, this is Ire. He likes to live up to his name, which you’ve probably heard before.

Jenna stared openly, eyes wide. The bridge guy. Sure.

Ire grunted, went to the car, and stuck his head under the hood.

And this is Agnes.

Nice to meet you, Agnes said, her voice soft. Already more comforting than Mary. Jenna shook her hand, looking wary. Agnes said, I hate to say it, but Eloise is—

Pissed I took out my com link? Mary said. I’m sure she is. But I brought her a gift.

I’m not sure she sees it that way.

Well, she should.

Agnes adjusted her glasses. I agree that things were getting out of hand, she said, always diplomatic. But we’re supposed to introduce new candidates to LIO from outside HQ. She’s not going to like it.

Sorry to interrupt, Jenna said, but I have no idea what you’re talking about, and I don’t think it’s that some person named Leo doesn’t want me in their house.

It’s L-I-O, Agnes said. It stands for—

The League of Independent Operatives, another woman’s voice echoed from the other side of the garage.

Shit. Mary hadn’t expected to face Eloise so soon. Her sort-of-boss had dark skin and hair cropped close to her head in a pixie cut. She was headed toward them with a stride that said ‘all business.’ The outfit said it, too: her best pencil skirt with a meticulously tailored suit top.

Always overdressed, Eloise.

Jenna said, Independent from each other, or from… someone else?

We don’t bring random stragglers to HQ because we feel like it, Eloise said, stopping a few feet from where Mary was standing with Agnes and Jenna. Never a part of the group anymore. Always kept herself separate.

Nice heels, Mary said.

There’s a protocol.

I’m not a straggler, Jenna said.

Mary peeled off her mask and tucked it into her pocket, then freed her hair from its bun while Eloise glared at her. When she calmed down, she’d see that bringing Jenna here had needed to happen. All Eloise talked about was building LIO back up to its glory days, and Jenna was a prime opportunity to do that. This is Eloise Reyna, Mary said. Otherwise known as the Pearl Knife.

Jenna was looking between Mary and Eloise as though her brain needed help handling the information. The Pearl—oh my god, really? You’re the Pearl Knife? When you said you worked with others I wasn’t picturing superheroes. All the superheroes.

"And this is why we have a protocol, Eloise said, folding her arms across her chest. Mary, it’s too much for her to process all at once."

Jenna set her hands on her hips. I think I can handle—wait. She squinted at Mary’s newly exposed face. Did you call her Mary? As in O'Sullivan? Coral is Mary O'Sullivan?

Like me better now, don’t you? Mary said. She had to admit, it was a rare moment of fun to see people react to that information. One of the small pleasures of a celebrity secret identity.

It was hard to savor with Eloise scowling at her.

Mary O'Sullivan is Coral. And she works with the Pearl Knife. Did you know that everyone thinks you’re each totally on your own? I mean, except for the crazy conspiracy wackos—hey, actually, unfair. Not so wacko after all. But most people think you’re like, solo, crime-preventing vigilantes? Awesome ones, depending on who you ask, but still.

Does she always talk this much? Eloise asked.

What? I process my thoughts out loud.

We’re aware, Ire said, his head still under the hood of the car.

Jenna craned her neck in his direction. You’re aware that I think out loud or that the public has no idea there’s a secret society of superheroes watching their every move?

Both, Ire said.

Mary shook her head and turned back to Eloise. I had to intervene, she said, keeping her tone level. You saw what happened.

I did. And so did that cop you were talking to right before you went rogue. You’d better hope he connects you with Coral before he connects you with Mary O'Sullivan. You could have blown your whole identity.

I’ll help him along if I have to.

Eloise wasn’t going to let this drop. Mary could tell. She’d see it as boundary testing, the way she saw everything since she’d become the head of LIO and started bossing everyone around. A challenge to her authority. In this case, she was wrong.

What if he talks? What if he saw what Jenna did?

Speaking of Jenna, Jenna said, sliding between Mary and Eloise. She’s standing right here. And she’s wondering what you’re talking about.

We should take her inside, Mary said. "It was time to pick her