Dreams of the Golden Age (Golden Age 2)

“Only most of it,” she said, wearing her polite mask. “Really, it was a long time ago. The torch has passed on.”

“You’re settling for other kinds of influence, I suppose,” Majors said, glancing to take in the room and its players.

She shrugged with false innocence. “I’m just carrying on the family business.”

“Your plan seems to have struck a chord. It’s pretty radical, I take it.” He nodded at the wall screen, where her urban renewal images were still on display. She’d planned that, too.

“Only if people weren’t paying attention.”

“I only have one question,” he said. “What do you get out of it?”

One rarely heard the question asked so bluntly. The last thing most people ever said was exactly what they were thinking. Motivations in particular had to be squirreled away if they didn’t conform to standard moral values. Of course Celia had an angle. Everyone assumed it, even if they didn’t know what it was.

Which meant that Majors might or might not believe her answer when she said, “I get to live in a nice city.”

* * *

Mark walked with her to the building’s lobby. “My father always wanted me to go into politics. Looks like he finally got his wish.” Mark’s father had been the infamous Mayor Anthony Paulson, who in addition to serving two terms as mayor, was the city’s last great supervillain, who’d attempted to literally blast the city into submission so he could then mold it to his will. Those plans must have looked so good on paper. Celia thought it just as well Mark hadn’t followed in the man’s footsteps.

“I’m sorry to put you through this,” she said. “But it really helps having a friendly face in the crowd. Not to mention you have this air of respectability. You’re the only one in the room who doesn’t have imaginary fangs sticking out of his mouth.”

“Thanks. I think. I just hope we can get something going soon. We needed a redevelopment plan ten years ago.”

“How’s it looking out there?”

“Edleston may be clueless, but he’s a little bit right—without a powerful team of superhumans like the Olympiad on the streets, criminals are bolder. I know we’ve still got vigilantes working, but they can’t protect the whole city. And the younger generation of crooks doesn’t remember what it was like. Hell’s Alley, the harbor district—they’re getting worse. It feels like trying to hold back the tide with sandbags.”

She knew the argument: superhuman vigilantes as deterrent. But she also knew a team that wasn’t dominant could be worse than no team at all—see Teddy Donaldson’s outing.

It was too early to tell if the kids would grow up to be any kind of deterrent.

“You have time to grab lunch?” Mark asked.

“No, I have to get back,” she answered. “Get through the afternoon’s pile of emergencies.”

“Greasing those wheels?”

“More like fleeing the avalanche, some days.”

He’d aged more than his almost fifty years warranted, his hair gone salt and pepper, furrows lining the corners of his eyes. He worked too hard, even after an early near-miss heart attack scare slowed him down. He took the desk job, finally. He still worked too many hours, but at least he wasn’t trying to chase down muggers anymore. He’d even found himself a serious girlfriend, a court clerk he’d met during a trial related to one of his cases. Celia and Arthur had been to dinner with them a couple of times.

But no kids. He’d had

a vasectomy and ended relationships over the issue. He just couldn’t be sure, he’d always explained. How could he ever be sure what his genes would pass on? She thought he was being overly cautious, but she couldn’t blame him. His father may have been the Rogue Mayor, but his grandfather had been the Destructor himself. No matter how good a man Mark was, the shadows of his predecessors stood over him. She often wondered if he thought he had to make up for them. He probably looked into the mirror every day and wondered how much he looked like former mayor and archcriminal Anthony Paulson, or mad scientist and master villain Simon Sito. More alike than he wanted, probably.

Celia and Mark had dated, back in the day. Not for long, just a few months, which meant they hadn’t accumulated so much baggage between them that they couldn’t be friends after enough time and space had passed. He was one of the few people in her life who knew the secrets. Most of them, at least.

“Car picking you up?”

“No, taking cabs today,” Celia said.

“Still keeping touch with the common folk?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “I’ve got Tom riding herd on the kids this week.”

He laughed. “Poor girls! I hope it’s nothing serious.”

“They’re teenagers. They’re acting like teenagers. I don’t know why I thought I’d somehow avoid this phase.”