After the Golden Age (Golden Age 1)

“You are constantly drawn to me, aren’t you? Like a moth to a flame. I should be flattered.”

She waited for a flush of anger, for the defensive stiffening of her back. For the feeling that she was sixteen years old again, and nothing would change. None of that happened. Her skin felt cool. She was on a mission.

She said, “I need to know about the experiment you were running at the Leyden Industrial Park fifty years ago.”

He tsked her, shaking his head. “That part of my life is muddled, you know. The psychiatrists did a wonderful job of wiping me clean. Tabula rasa.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Then I can’t help you. You’ll believe what you believe.”

“I think I know what you and my grandfather were trying to do. I’m only here looking for confirmation. The technical reports from the lab have disappeared. All I know is who was in that room and what happened to them after. Did you ever check up on what happened to them?”

“I told you, that part of my life is murky.” He glared at a spot below the window. He wouldn’t meet her gaze, though she was desperate to see some sort of recognition in his eyes. Some sort of shock. Any expression at all beside that intense deliberation.

“Most of them had children. Jacob had a son, Warren. Anna Riley had a daughter, Suzanne. Robbie Denton’s father was the machinist who helped build the generator. One of your techs moved to England and married a man by the name of Nicholas Mentis. Their son was Arthur. Are you noticing a pattern here? I’m not finished researching the lab personnel, but I bet I could discover a few of the secret identities of Commerce City’s heroes by tracing those family trees.

“You and my grandfather were trying to create superhumans, weren’t you? You were trying to induce the physiological anomalies that lead to those powers. When your generator malfunctioned, you dosed everyone in that room. Their genes carried the anomaly to their children and their grandchildren.”

He licked his lips, but didn’t twitch a muscle otherwise. He might have been frozen in that spot for days. “If you’re right, the mutation skips generations, I can’t help but notice. You probably can’t help but notice.”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. Not everyone in that room developed a power. Not all their children or grandchildren developed powers. But many did.”

Sito’s cold gaze struck her hard. She remembered it, searching her, stripping her without him ever laying a hand on her. He’d kidnapped her, strapped her down, would have used his machine—based on that old research—to peel away her mind. He could do it here, just by looking at her.

She refused to flinch.

He stood in a movement so quick it shocked her. She quelled an impulse to step back.

“You’re wrong. We weren’t trying to create superhumans. I never tried to create anything. Anything I created—it was a side effect. Unintended. I should have followed up. Your grandfather might have continued my funding. That would be a project worth pursuing: a machine to create superhumans. Or—supervillains?”

He paced, his hands fidgeting, typing on air. She hadn’t thought of him as ill until now.

“Why are you here asking these questions?” he said. “Why not your father or that telepath of his?”

She said, “They’re busy.”

“Is that the reason, or are you afraid dear old Warren won’t listen to you?”

“He’ll listen to me.”

“Like he always did before? I wonder, if I’d had the chance, would I have made a better father than Captain Olympus?”

He continued. “You’ve had such a terribly hard life, poor little rich Celia West. I read the papers, you know. I saw what happened to you after your testimony. And they think I can’t destroy anything from in here. Your life is a tiny little thing to ruin, but it’s so wonderful because I can keep ruining it over and over again.”

He was on the other side of a locked door. He couldn’t hurt her. He was a pitiful old man, taunting her as if they were children in the schoolyard. That was what he was reduced to—childish taunts. She almost smiled.

“Poor little Celia. No one has ever had any faith in you, have they? No one trusts you, no one is proud of you—”

That wasn’t true. One person had always had faith in her. One person had stood by her, even at her lowest. She hadn’t had the wits to accept that trust.

“Good-bye, Mr. Sito,” she said, and turned away.

“I’m not finished!” He pressed himself to the door now, shouting at the window. “I still have plans for you. You have a boyfriend, don’t you? The mayor’s son. I’ll have a go at him next! You’ll see! I can still hurt you!”

I could tell him, she thought. I could tell him everything, about his son, his grandson. But she didn’t.

His voice faded as Celia walked away.