Eighteen
League of Comics used to be more low-key.
It had been closet-sized, made from black brick with long windows.
Tall wardrobes had held hundreds of collector’s edition comics: Marvel, D.C.
, Dark Horse, and Valiant. There had been an extra-special collection in the back from local artists who created original art and stories.
Now, the original store exists inside the first four stories of a towering, mega-building that’s half comic store and half café.
The owners replaced the vintage wardrobes with high, paneled shelves that mechanically deposit books into buyers’ shopping carts, like a vending machine.
One positive aspect of the expansion, however, is that the stock of comics multiplied exponentially. Capital City is more obsessed than ever with the fictional heroes from humanity’s past.
Hallowfest is tomorrow night, and the store might be closed then, so I need to visit League today.
It’s a perfectly normal and total coincidence that could not have worked out better if I’d aligned every star in the galaxy and planned this trip for years, that Damian Scott Jr. is working tonight.
He fiddles with receipts by the first-floor register and spots me the moment I walk in.
“Oh, hey, Madeline.” He plasters on a gorgeous smile. “Haven’t seen you in here for a while. What can I help you find?”
Damian’s work uniform is a navy-blue polo and mustard khakis, the same colors as Batman.
Is that on purpose? It must be. The forks at the cafe have Spiderman webs on them, Wolverine claws stick out from shelves as makeshift coat hangers, and beanbag chairs shaped like Wonder Woman’s tiara occupy every corner.
“Yeah,” I say, “Do you have a section on Aquaman? Or anyone like him? My dad’s birthday is coming up, and he’d love a comic with, um, that type of hero.”
“For sure. Like water manipulation?” Damian leads me to the elevator, past stacks and shelves of red and orange magazines. This quarter of the store, in fact, is only red and orange comics.
“We used to sort comics alphabetically by protagonist, but when we expanded everything got more corporate,” Damian explains. “Now we’re arranged by color, which is prettier, I guess, but makes it impossible to find things without a guide. Is there a particular series you wanted?”
He presses the button for the elevator, and takes us to the fourth floor. There are only four buttons that he or I could have pressed, but several more exist beside a scanner that someone with a key could unlock. Those must be where the comic stash is, the rare ones. This place is legit.
“Um,” I respond.
Damian’s light brown eyes never leave mine.
He must sell millions of comic books. When people come in the store, that is, presumably on the weekends.
“If you want more historical comics, based on Supers that Capital City has seen, we have a section for those too. Poseida’s the only water-powered Super, I think. ”
“Yes, that,” I say.
“Sweet.” The elevator dings and Damian leads me to the farthest part of the store from the entrance.
A circular table holds a tower of comics in all colors, surrounding a model skyscraper from Capital City’s historical district that still features the in-tact Milligan mansion.
A fitting display for the historical section.
Damian peruses the piles, then hands me a thick, glossy book.
“Here’s the tale of Materio versus Poseida.
If you have time, I can round up some more water-Super stories. ”
“That would be great,” I reply. When he leaves, I flip through Poseida’s story.
I came to League of Comics hoping to learn more about Supers and my powers situation.
I hope they can give me ideas of what to test, since all I know is that my powers have something to do with water.
I don’t think I’ll ever get used to remembering: I have superpowers.
Absolutely unbelievable. And awesome. And terrifying.
Poseida doesn’t wear a mask in the comics, just like in real life, and she wears purple lipstick that matches her deep sea-colored spandex.
Poseida battled Materio for two days, and her goal was to control Capital City’s treasury.
The book doesn’t delve into why, but I remember Kristen’s always argued that Poseida’s motives were genuine, even though no sources could confirm it.
History being written by the victors, and all that.
Poseida threatened to pull tsunamis over the city if she couldn’t get what she wanted, which seems nefarious enough to me.
By the comic’s account, Poseida almost bested Materio by conjuring floods and throwing powerful jet streams. She could also use water to shield herself from attacks and falling debris.
According to the comic record, Materio finally bested her by transfiguring the tops of skyscrapers into angled trampolines, which directed her water jet back at her.
“Alrighty,” Damian says, pulling me out of the story.
He holds a considerable stack of about fifteen different books.
“These have about every variety of water-Super that there is. You got your standard hydro-telekinesis, which is using water to lift or throw objects; water propulsion, controlling water to levitate oneself; water detection, the ability to find water; water attacks, healing—”
A loud beep blasts from the walls. I jump from the sudden noise.
“One sec,” he says, and walks to the ledge of the fourth floor, which overlooks all the others.
“I’ll be right with you,” he calls down to someone.
He runs his free hand through his hair as he returns.
“Sorry. We’re never this busy. I rarely get any customers after dinner time.
The store owner, Mrs. Wayne, is usually here, but this is like the only night she’s ever had off.
She’s at some charity function, I think.
She loves to help Supers and Capital City. ”
“Wait, is that—”
“—her real name?” Damian beams. “Not sure, but it’s awesome. Anyway, do you think your dad will like any of these?”
“Can I buy them all?” I ask. “This’ll make me set for his next fifteen birthdays.”
“I get a commission, so indeed you can,” he says, his voice velvety and full of laughs.
Damian leads me back to the elevator, and I force myself to come up with something to say. Come on, small talk.
“How do you know so much about powers?” I ask.
He brightens, as if there’s nothing he’d rather discuss.
“From working here. Again, we’re not normally busy during the week, so I have a lot of free time to read, and we have twenty-thousand different Supers in this store.
Some Supers have awful powers, like this one guy, Hot Dog Man, whose power is straight-up turning things into hot dogs. And guess what his weakness is?”
“Ketchup?” I offer.
“Close. Mustard.”
“Gross.”
When we’re back on the first floor, Damian leads me to the register, still going about Supers.
“Who’s your favorite Super?” I ask.
“That’s like asking me to pick my favorite child. I can’t give you a top three.”
I knew Damian was a nerd, given his grades and high-achieving personality, but I never could have predicted him to be this into comics. Then, I remember what Golden Ace was like when I discovered my powers: very different from what I had expected.
“Do Supers ever have secret powers—that might not be in the comics?” I ask.
“I’m not sure,” he says, frowning. “I suppose it’s possible. What do you mean?”
That Golden Ace can read minds, but I can’t tell Damian that.
“Suppose you have a fire Super, like Flare. Can she do anything else with fire? Like, more than she might in the comics, or what she’s shown us in her battles?
Or what about Materio? He can transfigure almost anything, but does he have other powers?
“Gotcha. It’s possible. Only Supers know the full extent of their powers, or if they warp over time. I’m sure you’ve heard some theories about how Supers get powers.” He laughs again. “Some of them are pretty crazy.”
“Seriously,” I say. “Like Kristen thinks Supers are the descendants of a frog-eating princess.”
“Not the hoppiest of theories,” he cracks. While I stand motionless, stunned at his pun, Damian points to the cash register. “That’ll be $215.89. Do you want to use my discount?”
“Really? That would be great, thanks.” I hadn’t realized you could put a price on learning about Superpowers, but apparently this was it. I doubt they even consider this expensive in the comic-book world.
“No probs.” The keyboard clacks as he types into his computer.
“$107.95. And, if you want my theory, I think powers can warp over time, especially as Supers get stronger. Take Golden Ace. He has strength-based powers like fighting, speed, and flying… but only in the last few years he’s also been able to sense danger.
I think that suggests some degree of telepathic power, but we can’t know if he has the full gamut of telepathic powers or only extra sensory perception—”
“What’s the full gamut of telepathic powers?” I interrupt. I know a lot about Golden Ace, but this is the first I’m hearing of his telepathic powers, from a fellow Goldie. “Like moving things with your mind?”
“That’s telekinesis ,” says Damian.
“Oh. Right.”
“Telepathy, or telepathic perception, is the ability to receive information mentally, like having super heightened senses, empathy, possibly thought detection, or predicting the actions of others. Memory reading could be possible, for a powerful telepath. I’m not convinced Golden Ace came to Capital City with any of those, and it seems like he’s only now able to sense where the bad guys are.
That’s my far-fetched conjecture. I hope your dad has a happy birthday,” he adds.
If my theory is correct that Golden Ace is about twenty, he might seem like an older brother to someone as Super-obsessed as Damian has turned out to be.
The amount Damian and I would have in common if that were true…
but before I can ask, the latest customer in the store approaches the counter and Damian straightens.
“Have a glorious night,” he says more boldly, like he’s building himself up to appear more threatening.
I turn to leave and find none other than Zane Milligan blocking my path. Zane is pretty tall, with broad shoulders and a clean shave. I look back at Damian. Why does he seem scared? Zane is big, but he isn’t dangerous.
“Roberts.” Zane nods to me as I pass.
I shoulder my bag and head for the door.
Zane knows who I am? I’ve never had a conversation with him, and definitely hadn’t expected him to know my name.
I’m even more shocked when, as I step onto the empty sidewalk, Damian’s bold voice sounds a warning.
“The answer’s no. Not when you’re caught up in that stuff. It’s way too dangerous.”
I glance behind me. Damian stands his ground, arms crossed. Zane has his hands on his hips, and I almost gasp. It’s a normal posture, but the crook of his elbow and tilt of his feet look exactly like one of the figurines on my dresser… at that height and build… Zane looks just like Golden Ace.
No way. Could Zane be Golden Ace? No. Probably not. But… Maybe . He’s the right age and has the right connections.
If Zane is Golden Ace, then the obvious candidate for Dark Static would again be Aaron, given what Fox had told me about Aaron’s meeting with Zane the night of the fire.
It fits for Zane to have helped Dark Static set fire to Dr. Milligan’s house.
Zane could have acquired a fire insurance policy beforehand, and made sure his mom wouldn’t get hurt.
If Zane is Golden Ace… he just heard us discussing him.
Footsteps thud on the floor behind me. Damian has gotten Zane to leave, after they reached some sort of agreement. Damian calls after Zane, “It’s my pleasure to do that specialness for you,” a phrase I’ve only ever heard one person say.
Dark Static.