After the Golden Age (Golden Age 1)
Page 93
“I suppose you’re at least making your own trouble now instead of getting wrapped up in somebody else’s.” That was a kind observation. “We’re going back to the Plaza now, right?”
“Yes. Thank you, Michael.”
TWENTY-FIVE
THE penthouse was still deserted. “Mom? Dad?” she called out. No answer. They’d been gone all day. The gauze bandage covering her stitches itched, and she felt a raw, gnawing anxiety.
She went to the Olympiad command room. There, she found Robbie—the Bullet, actually, in uniform sans mask—at the co
mmunications station, listening to police radio.
“Hey! I thought you’d be in bed asleep,” he said.
“I had work to do.” He gave her a reprimanding glance. If he offered her hot cocoa, so help her God— “Where is everyone?”
“Your dad’s at the courthouse. The jury’s taking forever, which has the good Captain worried. Spark’s trying to meet with the police chief about coordinating some kind of patrol for the city tonight, but I don’t think she’s having any luck.”
“How’s it look out there?”
He shook his head. “It’s like the whole city’s holding its breath. Something’s going to happen but no one knows what. Only thing on the radio is car accidents—people are twitchy, rear-ending each other. I can’t find the independent supers; they’ve all gone to ground, I think. Waiting.”
“Has Dr. Mentis been back?”
Robbie shook his head. “Haven’t seen him all day. Why?”
“He—” She shook her head. She was worried. She needed to see him. Robbie didn’t need to know all that.
“I’d love to know what he found out about Mayor Paulson.”
She just bet he would. Arthur ought to be here, and her stomach flipped a little. The Olympiad was in action, and he’d disappeared.
“Have you called his office?” she said.
“If he’s there, he’s not answering.”
“That’s not like him.”
“Hey, if he’s in trouble, he’ll find a way to let us know.”
He’d speak to their minds across the distance. For his closest friends, space wasn’t a barrier for the connection.
Would there come a time when he refused to ask for help?
“I’ll see you later,” she said, turning to leave.
“You’re not going out, are you? I don’t think your folks—”
“I won’t leave the building, I promise.”
“Celia, you’re still hurt. You look like you’re about to pass out.”
“I’m fine. I’ve got my cell phone. I’ll call you if I need help, I promise.”
She left before he could say anything else.
* * *
She rode the elevator down to the eighteenth floor.