Despite established opinion at school, Will Stronghold is not stupid. Sure, he's not as smart as Warren or Ethan or his girlfriend, but he has a 3.3 GPA.
He's not stupid.
He is the third generation of an unbelievably successful power line and the only child of two of the world's greatest superheroes. Will learned that crying after seeing his father smash into a building or his mother getting hit by volts of electricity (thanks CNN) just made everything worse. A sensitive child, Will hated it when his parents were unhappy, and felt worse when they quarreled.
He was too little to understand it wasn't his fault.
He learned to be cheerful, using humor and drama to mask his fears – sometimes even from himself. The downside of this was a high anxiety level; the upside was the ability to keep a cool head in a real crisis.
He didn't badger or entreat Layla for information she was too emotionally drained to share. His Mom was like that after a really bad day. It wasn't easy. She was leaning against the concrete wall, arms clasped around her bent knees in a heartbreakingly defensive stance. He ignored the jackhammering of his heart; he clenched his teeth so he wouldn't hyperventilate. He scooped her up from the cold concrete floor and carried her over to the mattress.
Once on the saggy mattress, she grabbed at a navy blue sweatshirt. Peterson had dropped two off yesterday. Will had put one on, but Layla had wrinkled her nose at it -- it stank of tobacco. Now she pulled it over her head. Will got a good view of her long upraised white arms, they were grimy but not bruised. He swept her hair back for her and took a good look at her neck and shoulders. No bruises.
Other than her swollen lip she didn't seem to have any injuries.
Layla rolled up the sweatshirt sleeves with brisk efficiency. "I'm just a little shaken up."
"And Boomer's just a little egomaniacal."
She cleared her throat and tried to steer the conversation into less torturous waters. "What do you remember?"
"There was a woman, just gorgeous, but not in a modern way. She gave a pretty typical gloating villain speech. She . . .." his brow furrowed. One memory was dominant. "She had a beautiful voice."
"Was it low pitched, high pitched?" Layla asked.
The memory was elusive. He knew the voice as well as his own, but there were no words to describe it. "I don't know. Next thing I remember is you looking like all your plants had died."
Or that I killed them.
"She must be a mesmerist or something similar. " Layla crossed her legs and rested her chin in her palm. There was a contemplative expression on her face. "That's a textbook description of falling under that power."
"I finally get to be typical." Will grabbed an almost clean washcloth and went to the faucet. At least the water was cold. He handed Layla the cloth. She pressed it gingerly against her throbbing lip.
"Why did I do that?"
"I wouldn't answer her question."
Will's shoulders slumped.
"It's very difficult for mesmerists to control more than one person at a time. Don't be so hard on yourself."
Despite everything he smiled. "You're incredible, you know that."
She rolled her eyes. "If I can survive half the Hero girls gossiping about your slumming every time I go to the bathroom, I can survive anything."
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"Isa, as radiant as ever," Maximus ushered the Scarlet Witch and her companion into his lab. He had been working toward this moment for two long years. There had been a few dark nights when he had nearly given up, had nearly taken the neutralizer her kept in his desk drawer and put it to his temple. But he had persevered through trials, as do all great men, and soon he would be rewarded.
When the Scarlet Witch was the most feared villain in both the new and old world, when others flocked to her banner, he would establish himself as the great intellect behind the new power structure.
It was the oldest axiom on earth, survival and propagation of the fittest.
There was a distinct clearing of the throat. Maximus nodded to Peterson who in turn activated the door's closing mechanism, sealing the room. Both he and Peterson were wearing filtration plugs. It would dilute the witch's power of persuasion.
"I hope your journey wasn't too arduous."
A long suffering sigh. "It was a nightmare. I was smuggled into this country in a flea bitten merchant ship.
Fleetingly Maximus wondered if there were any suicides or brutal slayings among the crew of that ill-fated vessel. Isa's taste in pleasure was unorthodox, to say the least.
Peterson, usually so reticent, had been annoying persistent that he shouldn't allow her near his hostages.
"I think you will find any temporary hardship to be a small price to pay for what I have to offer you."
"I have heard that line before. Generally those who say it live another month." She seated herself in the vinyl chair like it was a throne.
Maximus handed her what a civilian might have mistaken as futuristic jewelry. It was part necklace-part collar. Large knobs were attached to both ends, preventing the formation of a circle. They were dark gray in color and crackled with static electricity.
The Witch could tell by the gleam in his eyes that the scientist was preparing a long-winded and mind numbing speech. She held up one immaculate hand. "I do not dispute that your breakthroughs are the work of unparalleled genius, but I have a bit of a headache and would like to go back to my room and rest.
He flushed darkly. She noticed his eyes did not blink for at least 30 seconds. He was insulted. She smiled brilliantly at him. "There is no need to sulk. You will receive your just accolades."
"I know," he snapped. "Please forgive my bad temper. I suppose I've missed intellectual discourse more than I realized."
She fingered the power device. "Is this gold?"
"I thought you would appreciate it."
She picked up the necklace. It was heavy and stiff. It just barely fit over her head.
"The circuitry will project your power ten fold. You may be able to control three to five people at one time, and once you have established a link, you will be able to trigger it for up to twenty-four hours as long as your voice is audible. You do not need line of sight."
"Ten fold," her eyes glinted. "I will not be able to rule the world with a ten fold projection of my power."
"I've already told you, this is a prototype. I just need better resources and the next one will be a hundred fold. I need to run some tests before I begin stage II."
One delicate hand messaged her temple. "How long will the tests take?"
Maximus gritted his teeth. "It would be best to do them over a matter of days. Everything is set up. We can start now. I've also prepared a room for you."
She thought for a moment. "You have never disappointed before. I will play your guinea pig, but I expect a boon in return."
"Just don't damage them irreparably. They may still be needed."
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Warren absentmindedly rolled a tennis ball to Lily Rose before heading upstairs. He just had one more thing to do before heading home to his own bed. One of Mrs. Williams's co-workers had stopped by. She said she'd stay the night. He'd spent the last two hours on the phone – his mom, Zach, Magenta, Ethan, their parents. He called them because it's what hippie would have done. He spoke to Medulla (the mad scientist had gotten his cell phone number from Mom) for a good fifteen minutes. He said he'd relay the information to the teachers who were interested. Mr. Boy was taking it very hard. He was Layla's faculty adviser.
He came to Layla's bedroom. The door was still open. He could see a bit of moonlight streaming through the open curtains. He crossed the threshold, carrying a large watering can.
A good half dozen flowers and plants decorated the room. He tipped the can's nozzle into each plant. Mrs. Williams said she just couldn't deal going into Layla's room.
Warren Peace – plant savior. He thought about charring a leaf or two, just to let hippie know that he hadn't completely sold out, but decided to avoid the redhead's wrath.
He was already planning on killing Stronghold for this entire fiasco.
Something in his chest tightened. All those stuffed shirts, those holier than thou Heroes who had called up the Strongholds – he wondered how many of them had given Layla a second thought.
He drew a shaking hand over his face. There must have been a few drops of water on his hand because there is no way he was crying.
He turned and left the room. He went downstairs quietly, leaving the watering can on the kitchen counter. He exited through the back door.
It was a nice night. He headed over to the Stronghold's (he should start paying them rent). That's where he'd left his bike.
It was by mere chance more than anything else that he saw Will's parents, dressed in civilian clothes, leaving the house. He took off at a dead run.
Mrs. Stronghold saw him just before getting into the car.
"Stark just called," she told him. "They know where Will is?"
Warren didn't answer; he just jerked open the side door and folded his lanky frame into the back.
Josie climbed into the car. She was about to tell Warren that he didn't need to come when Steve grabbed her arm.
"We might need someone we can trust."
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They'd barely said a word over the last hour. Will had been lethargic – another symptom of mesmerist control. Layla had curled up against Will. She couldn't help thinking Will's Mom would handle this so much better than she was. Jetstream would have karate chopped Peterson, stolen his keys, single handedly taken out a half dozen guards before rigging a communication device from spare bits of wiring and her earrings.
Layla's big achievement was not becoming a sobbing wreck. Go girl power.
As if the universe didn't hate her enough already, she felt like she was coming down with a cold.
She looked at Will's watch. It was one o'clock in the morning. She'd gone two days without seeing sunlight.
Suddenly the sound of footsteps reverberated down the hall. Layla knew she would have nightmares about footsteps echoing down corridors for the rest of her life.
However long that was.
She poked Will sharply in the stomach. He jerked awake immediately – Layla had spent enough nights with him when they were children to recognize a sign of nervousness. He jumped to his feet. Without realizing it, and for just a minute, he was the spitting image of his father.
Layla followed him up.
Peterson came in first, followed by THE woman, then another man – her sidekick?
"Who are you?" Will asked quickly, hoping he would get an answer.
"I'm called the Scarlet Witch. Have you ever heard of me?"
Will shook his head. Layla thought the name sounded familiar.
"Obviously your school thinks your tender ears are not ready to hear about big bad me." She laughed. Will felt the sensation of cool air rush past him. So strong was the feeling of flight that his feet levitated off the ground. Will tried desperately to focus on the room. It wasn't his best skill. He could feel her power encroach on his mind like poisoned tendrils of smoke."
"You have attention deficit disorder, don't you, Mr. Stronghold," she asked.
"A mild case," Will replied. "It is somewhat difficult for me to focus."
"Your parents also had you hypnotized to inhibit speaking of their dual life when you were little." It wasn't so much a question as statement of fact.
"They had no choice." Will replied quickly. "They couldn't let me blow their cover."
"And they didn't treat your ADD."
"I said I had a mild case. I did fine without medicine."
"I just want you to know, untreated ADD and childhood hypnotism render you vulnerable to my powers."
"Did you hear that Layla? Another childhood trauma I get to blame on Mom and Dad.
He continued, "you talk about your power, but I have a power too. I punch stuff. I know it's not refined or intellectual, but I can break your neck."
She seemed to ponder what he said. "Do you wish to hurt me?"
"I want to go home. I want to see my parents. I want to keep Layla safe. I will do what I have to. You know, there was another pretty brunette who had me wrapped around her finger, or at least she thought she did. That woman is serving a thirty year sentence at Maxville Penitentiary."
"Why are you interested in Will?" Layla got up the nerve to speak. "Surely a woman as sophisticated as you seem to be wouldn't be interested in a high school junior."
"The typical high school junior couldn't catch a runaway train – or have lovely chocolate brown eyes.
"Look," Will said desperately. "Whatever you want, there's no reason to drag Layla into it."
"But you need a playmate." She untied a crimson silk pouch from her waist. She pulled open the ties and proffered it first to Will. Eyeing her guardedly Will put his hand into the bag. It felt like it was filled with marbles. He pulled one out.
It was white.
"Now your turn Layla."
Layla's marble was red.
The Witch clapped her hands. "You've won the first round."
"Don't suppose it's a one way ticket out of here," she muttered.
"Come now," she cooed. "Play pretty with me and you may keep all your fingers." She looked pointedly at her servant. He handed her a leather pouch. She undid the strap and pulled out a knife. It gleamed sharply in the room's harsh light.
"This knife is the same material, though lesser grade, as the chains that are keeping Mr. Stronghold away from me," she said. She leaned toward Layla. "Surely you're upset with him for his rude behavior."
Bright spring sunlight poured on the earth. Layla closed her eyes and luxuriated in the warmth. She had started to fear she'd die in his concrete tomb.
Her eyes first shown bright green, then went slack.
Will watched her warily.
She clumsily grasped the knife's handle and walked a few steps to him.
"Try to disarm her and I'll give you the knife, William," the Witch told him from across the room.
He easily avoided her first two thrusts. The third time Layla tripped over her own feet. Instinctively, Will grabbed her. Layla raised the knife.
A thin ribbon of blood ran down his arm.
With a gasp, Layla woke, swaying slightly. The servant took the knife from her slack grip.
Will grabbed a towel and held it against his arm. This wouldn't be a good time to pass out.
"Madam," Peterson spoke. "Maximus told you to not do any damage."
She pouted. "Oh all right." She held up the pouch to Will again.
He looked at her with furious eyes. "Go to Hell."
She rattled it. Finally, with poor grace, Will pulled out a red marble. He tried desperately to concentrate on his arm. They said pain was a wonderful motivator. As much as he tried, he was little match for the Scarlet Witch.
She handed him a sharp knife. "Do not draw blood." She looked pointedly at Peterson.
Absolutely terrified, Layla trembled, but managed to stay still. She repeated the woman's words like a mantra. She told him not to draw blood.
"Will," she couldn't help trying to elicit a response. He very gently gathered large chunks of her hair in his fist and used the knife like a saw.
She stood completely still. She could feel the blunt edge of the knife tickle the back of her neck.
"That will do, William" the Witch snapped. Will stopped immediately.
She seemed rather put out. Will blinked. Maybe it was Layla's imagination, but he seemed to pull himself together faster than before.
"The arm, I suppose," she muttered to herself.
Suddenly Layla sneezed.
If the Witch had been irritated before, her response to this was outright dread. She took a rapid step away from Layla. The redhead coughed again.
She pressed her hand against Will's forehead. He tried to jerk away from her.
She starred balefully at the palm she had used to touch him. "He's feverish."
She turned furiously to Peterson. "Put the heat up. I want them healthy as soon as possible."
She hurried out of the room.
