After the Golden Age (Golden Age 1)

She went around him and climbed the steps. Laughing, Breezeway launched himself skyward.

The judge barred cameras from the proceedings, under much protest from the media. It seemed like every reporter in town was here to cover the trial. Add to that the massive prosecution team, dozens of witnesses, and an army of law enforcement officers, there was barely room to move in the gallery. No one seemed concerned with the fire code today.

To the side of the bench, standing with the bailiff’s crew, was the Olympiad, in all their four-color glory, though in recent years they had dispensed with masks. The Captain stood tall, his arms crossed, frowning, ready to deal with whatever trick the Destructor had planned for the morning. To his right, Spark, hands on hips, thick hair rippling in the light, surveyed the courtroom. To his left, the Bullet, short and compact, bronze skin, salt-and-pepper hair, leaned on the wall with practiced nonchalance. That was a ruse, of course.

Dr. Mentis was the only one of them who didn’t wear a skin-suit uniform. Until all their identities were revealed, no one even knew he was a member of the Olympiad. He was their ace in the hole. As always, he wore a suit and coat, seemingly old-fashioned, an eccentric academic out of place in the real world. One looked at him and never knew what to expect. He was easy to underestimate.

The courtroom was restless. Every moment Sito didn’t appear left more time for people to imagine what was going wrong, how he was escaping, what disaster was about to befall. Nothing went as planned where the Destructor was concerned. The proceedings were already a half hour late starting. And this was just a preliminary hearing, for him to enter his plea. What would the actual trial be like?

A door at the side of the courtroom opened. Half the people in the room stood, craning their necks for a view into the holding area, wanting to be the first to see the great villain.

He appeared small, old. Anyone would walk right by him on the street, or maybe smile to themselves at the memories he evoked of their own aged grandfathers, who taught them how to fish or brought candy at Christmas. He was harmless, they would think.

Celia stayed in her seat, staring at her hands. She didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to see him. In the second row, she was too close to the front. She should have sat farther back.

A squad of police officers escorted him. It seemed absurd, a dozen men in full riot gear surrounding a bent, pale figure, who shuffled because of the manacles chained to his hands and feet. Yet, the cops were tense, wary, and all held Tasers ready.

They hurried him past the Olympiad, who stood like stone guardians. Simon Sito appeared not to notice them.

His defense team—and they were his, bought and paid for—wearing tailored suits, looking intent and sinister, shepherded him to their table. He seemed hunched, trembling almost. Only wisps of his hair were left.

Then a gap opened in his protective circle. As if drawn by some vague instinct, he turned, looked through that gap, saw her, and stared.

She let her gaze be caught by him.

He smiled, and in any other situation the expression might have seemed kind. Celia saw only malice.

“Celia, how good to see you again. You’re looking well.”

The voice crawled into her gut and inspired nausea. She shouldn’t have come, she shouldn’t have—

Captain Olympus started to move forward, but Spark held him back with a hand on his arm.

Celia didn’t move, didn’t speak. Calm. Stay as cold and unremarkable as ice.

Then he was gone, his circle of ha

ndlers closing in around him. Sito gazed ahead and didn’t look back at her again.

The bailiff stepped forward. “All rise for the Honorable Judge Berkley.”

Celia had to unlace her fingers. She hadn’t realized she’d been squeezing her hands tightly together.

The judge, a middle-aged woman with graying hair and stylish wire-frame glasses, sat at the bench.

The rest of Sito’s courtroom appearance was blessedly dull. He didn’t speak again, not even to his lawyers, who entered a plea of not guilty by reason of insanity, as expected.

The judge announced when jury selection would begin, set trial dates, demanded that everyone behave themselves in the meantime. Then, the cops led Sito away, back to whatever hole they were keeping him in.

The room seemed to refill with air as soon as he was gone, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

Celia felt like she’d been holding her breath the entire hour Sito was in the courtroom.

As soon as the judge disappeared to her chambers, reporters accosted Celia, pressing close and trapping her against the row of seats. Faces and digital recorders formed a bristling wall in front of her.

They seemed to speak with one voice. “Ms. West! Ms. West! Why did the Destructor talk to you? What did he say? Ms. West, do you have any idea why the Destructor singled you out?”

Calm. If she could face down the Destructor, she could face down them.