Ex-Purgatory, Peter Clines [top ten books of all time .txt] 📗

the sky above the water tower. It was a windy night, but not horribly so. Enough to make the world feel alive. Los Angeles was lit up below him. Houses, a few small shops, floodlights on the Big Wall and the corners of the Mount.

It was good to be home.

Things were chaotic, granted. In thirty-six hours, dozens of rumors had already sprung up about why the new mayor was shot twice and put into a medical coma. A few of them were somewhat close to the truth. For the moment, as runner-up in the election, Richard Lihart was acting as mayor. He made it very clear he’d step down if anyone had serious objections, but for the moment no one had.

The destruction of Cerberus had caused ripples, too. It had been three years since a hero had fallen. Even if no one had actually died, it was a harsh reminder the world still wasn’t safe. If anything, it was a little less safe with the armored titan gone.

Gibbs was under observation. He responded well to Freedom and was coming to grips with the suggestions Smith had planted in his brain. He’d lost most of his right foot when Zzzap burned off the battlesuit’s legs. The lieutenant seemed to be taking it as some sort of penance.

St. George heard a ripple of fabric. He looked down and saw Stealth standing on the tower below him. Her cloak whipped around in the wind. The corners of it snapped and popped like small whips.

He floated down to her. They hadn’t had any real time together since waking up from Smith’s dreamworld. She reached up and checked the bruise on the side of his face, running a gloved finger along his jawline. “Your injuries are healing rapidly.”

He nodded. “I should be fine by the end of the week.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

“Is it just me,” he said, “or do I get the crap beat out of me a lot for a guy who’s supposed to be indestructible?”

Her face shifted under the mask. He recognized the faint smile. “Considering the battles you become involved in, it is not that surprising.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck. He held her by the waist. They drifted back into the air. “I have missed you,” she said.

“You threw me out a window.”

“To be exact,” said Stealth, “I had Captain Freedom throw you out of a window.”

“Ahhh, well.”

“You were the best choice, George. You have a flexible mind and had already begun to doubt.” She shifted against him. “You were also the most likely to survive the fall if it did not cause you to wake up.”

He chuckled and shook his head. The wind shifted and her cloak wrapped around both of them. It twisted and flexed like a living thing.

“So how much of it was real?”

“How much of what?”

“Y’know,” he said, “you’re the worst person on Earth when it comes to playing dumb. For a number of reasons.”

“I concur.”

“So all that stuff about your parents. Was that all true?”

Stealth shifted her body again. One of her legs wrapped around one of his. “The majority of it,” she said. “A few minor details were changed to better fit Smith’s illusion.”

“Like what?”

Her body tensed and then relaxed. Then it tensed again and he felt a deep breath whisper against his chest. “You once asked me how long it had been since anyone had used my name. You were impressed that I knew it had been twenty-eight months, at the time.”

“I remember,” said St. George. “When we were going down to spy on the Seventeens, just before that first big battle with Legion.”

“Before I told it to you,” said Stealth, “the last person to use my name had been my father.”

“Ahhh.”

“Nine minutes later I killed him.”

They hung in the air for a few more moments. George pulled her closer. She was still tense.

“I’m guessing there’s a little more to the story than that?”

“There is. Do you wish to hear it?”

“Yeah, of course.”

She relaxed. Just enough that he could feel it. “As you have observed,” she said, “my father was not a good man. Killing him was an act of self-defense, although he had committed numerous crimes which would warrant execution.”

“Did you want to do it?”

She looked up at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“Did you want to kill him?”

Her head went side to side. Just once. St. George remembered the thin man in the hotel suite with the round spectacles and the efficient motions.

“He was a monster in several senses,” said Stealth, “and a wanted criminal in twenty-three countries. However, he was my father. I wish he had not put me in such a position. I took no pleasure from it.”

“Why did he try to kill you?”

She pressed her head against his chest. “So he would know if I was ready to succeed him or not. It is an inheritance I have attempted to avoid for most of my life.”

St. George took her in both arms and hugged her. “I would’ve stopped him for you, if I could’ve.”

“You could not have.”

“Hey,” he said, “I’ll have you know I’m an actual superhero. I used to be known as the Mighty Dragon? Maybe you’ve heard of me?”

“You are being foolish in an attempt to distract me from these thoughts.”

“Mostly, yeah.”

“Thank you.”

They drifted away from the water tower and over Roddenberry. The wind shifted again. Her cloak whipped away from them and spread out behind her.

“Speaking of supervillains,” he said, “have you thought about what we’re going to do with … Smith, I guess.”

“I have,” she said. “Dr. Connolly believes she can maintain the medical coma indefinitely, provided we can supply certain drugs she requires.”

“And if we can’t?”

“We have spoken about the possibility of performing an extended cordectomy encompassing the contralateral vocal fold, ventricular fold, and the subglottis. She has never performed such a procedure, but she feels it is within her ability.”

St. George furrowed his brow. “What’s that mean?”

“If we must, we will surgically remove Christian Nguyen’s vocal cords. This should eliminate Smith’s powers.”

He shook