King Of Bad [Super Villian Academy Book 1] (5 page)

“Man, running 60 miles in a day leaves you
hungry
!”
Jeff told Pucker as he set his dirty dish on the dresser next to her fishbowl.
Pucker flapped her fluttery orange fins in response. “If swimming is anything
like running then I have a new-found respect for you. You never stop.”

Jeff dropped a couple extra flakes of food on the
scum-covered water. Pucker managed to eat them and spit the scum out. Jeff
nodded his approval.
“Talented and bulletproof.”

Tossing aside the clothes he’d worn the day before,
Jeff plopped onto his beanbag chair and grabbed his electric guitar. He
balanced the neck of the guitar on his bandaged hand and plucked out a tuneless
song. Without the amp the sound was thin and tinny, made even worse because of
the lack of notes and chords. Jeff didn’t hear it anyway. A barrage of images
flashed through his mind. Fire erupting from
his own
fingers.
Pyro fading into thin air.
The
contorted girl’s head popping out to taunt the boys into tossing her further.
The gorgeous Love Bug melting into the plain Love Bug.
Shivers went down his spine at the memory of the utter despair he’d felt when
Tubs did his psycho number on him.

“What the hell am I
gonna
do?” Out of habit, Jeff spoke to Pucker. She floated in his direction, looking
down at him from her perch on his dresser. Suddenly she represented everything
that used to be innocent in Jeff’s life.
Freshman year.
Homecoming.
Some girl Jeff didn’t even know walked up
to him in the hall and shyly shoved a fishbowl at him. The note taped to the
bowl said, “You’re the only fish in the sea for me.” He flat out refused to go
to a dance with a girl he didn’t know. In hindsight that was a foolish decision
because now she’s hot, but won’t even look at him. He was pissed having to
carry that fish around with him all day. But once he’d gotten it home and it
had stared at him for a couple days, it’d grown on him. It always looked ready
to kiss, so he decided it was a girl and called her Pucker. He rarely gave her
fresh water and frequently forgot to feed her, yet almost two years later she
was still around. “Bulletproof, that’s what I should’ve named you.”

Jeff set his guitar aside and squished himself into
the beanbag. He propped his head against the wall and his legs sprawled
forward, over sheet music, strewn clothing, shoes and various jewel cases from
his CD collection.
“I’m a
frickin
’
super villain.
I don’t even know what to do with that.”

Minutes later, Jeff was asleep.

He woke late in the morning with sore muscles either
from running sixty miles or from sleeping in his beanbag chair.
Maybe both.
He cracked open the window to air out his stuffy
room before going downstairs to pillage the pantry. Jeff couldn’t remember ever
feeling so empty of sustenance before.

“Your house has the oddest vibe,” Pyro said as soon
as Jeff got to the bottom of the stairs.

He jumped, banged his elbow on the corner of the
wall, swore under his breath and glared at Pyro. “What are you doing here?”

“Not a very nice greeting, kid. And again, I must remark
on your lack of defenses.
Astounding.”

“Oh, I’m supposed to just know you’re here?” Jeff ran
the fingers of his good hand through his hair, oddly self-conscious that he
wore the same clothes as the day before.

“You should pick up something when another S.V. is
around. No senses, no defenses. Weird.” Pyro eyed him. “You really should take
better care of yourself.”

She went into the kitchen and pulled out eggs, onion,
cheese, bread and butter. She deftly chopped onions and melted butter in a
small fry pan. While the onions softened, she whipped together four eggs and
some milk and poured them into the pan. The aroma made Jeff groan. The omelet
bubbled and popped on the stove, the bread toasted and Pyro shredded cheese. As
the finishing touch, she melted the cheese in the fold of the omelet, slid it
onto a plate and served it with buttered toast.

“Have you thought about what you want to do?” she
asked as Jeff made short work of the meal.

“Not really. I fell asleep,” Jeff said.

She took his plate, rinsed it and put it in the dishwasher.
Then she did the same with the dishes stacked in the sink.

“You don’t have to do that, Pyro.”

“I know I don’t. It’s a nervous habit. Look, we
didn’t talk about what would happen here if you decided to pursue training with
us.”

“Here? You mean my house?” Jeff hadn’t thought about
that aspect at all. He probably couldn’t just walk up to his parents and tell
them he was a super villain and would be attending a special academy to learn
how to be good at being bad.

“Yeah, that’s usually the biggest problem for S.V.’s.
Some have to just run away from home.” Pyro looked around the kitchen. “I think
your parents would probably be too upset if you did, though.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Yellow gingham curtains.
Photos stuck to the fridge.”

“Yeah, I guess they would. Dad would.” Jeff remembered
Mother’s concern over his hand last night. “Maybe Mother, too.”

“The academy has done the recruitment gag in the
past. You know, ‘your son has been chosen to attend this super special school.’
But visits are restricted. I mean, if you choose to pursue training, you mostly
cut yourself off from your current life.”

“Meaning, family?”
Jeff
asked.

“Yeah.”

“And friends?”

“Uh huh.”

Jeff sighed and leaned against the counter. Pyro
wiped off the counter tops and pushed him out of the way. Jeff smiled down at
the top of her head.

“Hey look, can we get out of here?” Pyro asked. “Your
house really has a weird feel and it’s making me jumpy.”

Jeff looked around. The same pile of papers perched
on the end of the counter. The same notebooks and binders stacked at the bottom
of the staircase since the end of the school year. The vacuum, covered in a
layer of dust, stood next to the china cabinet waiting for someone to actually
use it. They may not be the cleanest family, but there was nothing threatening
about them. Jeff shrugged and headed upstairs. “I’ve got to change clothes.
Wait for me outside if it’ll make you feel better.”

Jeff chuckled when he found Pyro walking the curb
like a balance beam in front of the house. “Maybe you should’ve waited across
the street.”

“I thought about it.” Pyro eyed the house and then
shrugged. “Let’s walk.”

“So, we could tell my parents I’ve been invited to attend
a special school or something. I think Mother would be thrilled to think
someone might straighten me out. But don’t parents usually like to check the
place out? Visit it?”

“Yeah, Tubs has stuff like that covered. A lot of
those kids you saw were in the same situation as you, Jeff. Getting in trouble,
parents always mad, strange abilities starting to show up and scare them.”

“How long would I be there?” Jeff couldn’t imagine another
four years of school. As it was, he had a hard time imagining the two he was
supposed to complete.

“However long you want, really. If things don’t work
out and you are still under age, you could try another academy or we might have
to send you home again.
Most S.V.’s get enough training to
determine which direction they want to go in before their normal graduation.
But some stay a full year longer.”

They walked in silence. Jeff thought about the gym
full of S.V.’s and was excited and nervous at the same time. Finally he
wouldn’t feel like an outcast, but what if they were all better than him?

“Why were all those S.V.’s in the gym so late at
night? Are classes 24 hours a day or something?”

“No, those kids were just putting in some extra practice
time. Classes run from 9:00 in the morning to 3:00 in the afternoon. The rest
of the time is free.”

“So, I could just live at home.” Jeff liked the idea
of not having to desert his friends or leave his sister unattended.

“No, Jeff, you couldn’t.
Too many
questions, too dangerous.
Your family or friends might decide to stop in
unexpectedly and blow our cover.”

“Right.”

Jeff was surprised to find they’d walked all the way
to the market. “Hey, you want something to drink?”

“No thanks.”

“I’m just
gonna
grab a
quick soda.” Jeff swung the door to the market open just as a guy pushed his
way out. The two collided and the bag the guy had been holding dropped to the
ground. The telltale shatter of glass made Jeff wince. “Sorry, dude.”

“What the hell are you thinking?” the guy yelled.
“Are you blind? Or is everyone supposed to get out of your way?”

“Dude, I said I’m sorry. It was only an accident.”

The guy’s face bloomed with angry purple splotches.
“Yeah, you’re sorry. That helps! You’re an idiot, that’s what you are.”

Anger coursed through Jeff. Before he knew what he
was doing a blaze of flame shot out and caught the spilled bag and its contents
afire.

Jeff and the guy jumped away from the sudden inferno
between them. Pyro stepped in front of Jeff and grabbed a handful of his shirt.
“Time to go, kid.”

Jeff looked at her in shock. “Did I do that?”

Pyro gave him a warning look.

Jeff saw that the guy had run back into the store.
Pyro skipped away, dragging him with her. “Let’s go.” She released him when he
finally sped up to catch her. They bolted like lightning. The excitement seemed
to stimulate the fire within Jeff. His hands felt like they were going to
erupt
lava.

“Pyro, my fingers!”

They skidded to a stop. Jeff barely registered that
they’d already traveled at least four blocks away from the market. He gritted
his teeth against the throbbing heat in his fingers. He expected each engorged
tip to pop like an over filled pimple.

Pyro reached out to touch his glowing fingertips, but
pulled her hands back at the last second. “Blow on them!”

Jeff puffed and spit on his fingers, grunting against
the stabbing pain.

“No, no, no! Use the ice, Jeff. Where does the ice
come from?”
Pyro’s
hands hovered around his like she
wanted to help, but knew she didn’t dare touch him.

“I don’t know.” Jeff looked between her and his fingers,
but the pulsating heat made it difficult for him to think clearly.

A siren blast startled both Jeff and Pyro. They swung
toward it, ready for flight, but the police car sped through the nearby
intersection and away from them. Pyro searched their surroundings. They were in
a typical suburban neighborhood. Every third house looked alike; boats or
R.V.’s were parked alongside garages. Basketball hoops or skateboard ramps on
the streets.

“Come on!” Pyro grabbed Jeff by the arm and pulled
him up a nearby driveway and across a front lawn. She pushed him in front of
her and shoved him over until his hands plunged blessedly into a cool fountain
of water. A hissing steam issued as his hands entered the pool. The relief was
welcome, but not complete. The heat from his hands warmed the water faster than
the water cooled his hands. But it was enough to help Jeff get his
concentration back.

“The lungs.”
He held his
dripping hands in front of his mouth and drew a breath from deep in his lungs.
He blew slowly onto his hands and a crystalline frost coated his fingers. He
giggled giddily in relief. “Oh man, thanks, Pyro.”

“Su…”

“There they are, officer!”

For a second time, Pyro and Jeff swung around in surprise.
Two police officers walked toward them. One had his hand resting on his holster.

Pyro and Jeff looked at each other and understood
that it was time to bolt. Pyro bobbed her head ever so slightly to the left and
they ghosted to the fence surrounding the neighboring backyard. Pyro cleared
the six foot fence in one jump, but Jeff vaulted over less gracefully. They
heard the amazed cries behind them as they jumped the fence on the far side of
the yard and raced off through the baseball field of the Lutheran school.

Chapter 8

“So now you see what a benefit training can be,” Pyro
said after downing the tall glass of water the waitress had set in front of
her.

“Did you have trouble controlling your fire?” Jeff
stared at his fingertips. They were a pleasant fleshy pink with no sign of
swelling, but he imagined them as the purpled throbbing masses of not long ago.

“Yeah, umm hmm.”
Pyro
drummed her fingers on the table and craned her neck, looking around for the
waitress. She waved at her when she finally caught her eye and pointed at her
empty water glass.

Jeff drained his glass too before the waitress came
to refill them.

“I caught my little sister’s stroller on fire. That
was when I admitted to myself that it was me setting the fires and not an
unusually high amount of spontaneous combustion.”

“How old were you?” Jeff asked.

“I was only fifteen when my fire came. I didn’t get
any official training for about six months though. Maybe you can appreciate
that I thought I had it all figured out by that time. Of course I hadn’t, but
it took me a while to really listen. I was really into some big time arson by
then, had figured out that I was faster than most people and could change
people’s minds for them.”

“What? You can make people change their minds?” Jeff
gawked at Pyro.

“Yeah, well, not always a cool thing.” Pyro stared
out the window; the look on her face was so haunted that Jeff didn’t dare ask
for details. “And not everyone can do it.”