Sample Chapter One
Genre: Superhero, Sci-Fi/Fantasy
The ring was perfect.
At least, Dahlia thought so. The diamond twinkled in the evening sunset as she twirled it between her fingers. It was a modest-sized gem, two carats, set in a silver band. She’d dipped into her savings for it, and it was worth every penny. It was going to look gorgeous on Jordan’s finger.
The proposal, naturally, had to be perfect. She’d planned dinner meticulously for weeks, checking with Jordan to ensure things would be ready the moment she walked in the door, and spared no expense on the spread. Two perfect Wagyu steaks sizzled in the grill-pan. A bottle of champagne Dahlia had purchased a few years back waited in the fridge. She inhaled deeply, savoring the smell of the steaks, stomach rumbling almost as loud as the plaintive meows of the fluffy white cat that wound around her legs. She tucked the ring back in its box for safekeeping.
“Not for you, missy. Your dinner is later.” Dahlia scooped up the cat and carried her out into the living room, ignoring the sad mewling as she gently tossed her onto the couch. “Stay, Poutine. Stay.”
Mistress Poutine glared at her for maybe a second or two before settling into an indignant loaf. Dahlia gave her a boop on the nose and headed back into the kitchen to keep an eye on the meal.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket with an incoming text. Dahlia read the message as she checked the steaks.
< hey baby, be home soon. press just let us out, soooo many questions. check tv if you want a sneak peek ;) >
Dahlia smiled at her phone while she stepped back into the living room to turn on the TV. She fired off a quick reply as the news came on.
< Sounds great. Dinner’s almost ready. Hope you’re hungry. >
< mmmmm can’t wait love you, boo -3- >
She turned up the volume on the TV so she could hear it while she stepped back into the kitchen. The newscaster’s voice filtered in, professional and detached as he rattled off the reports. “... thanking the League for their tireless efforts in keeping our city safe. Minor supervillain Richter Scale was apprehended earlier today by the B-ranked team consisting of Flashbang, Crop, and Sleetstorm. Richter Scale has claimed responsibility for numerous small-scale earthquakes that have struck the city over the past few years, causing millions of dollars of property damage.”
Dahlia peeked her head around the doorway to take a look at the TV. The sight of Jordan on the screen, posing with her teammates and a huge smile on her face, filled her with pride. Even with the white superhero suit, the hood pulled low over her face, the reflective goggles obscuring her identity, Dahlia recognized her girlfriend. As the pre-recorded footage zoomed in on the heroes, however, the pride slowly faded. She saw the various rips and tears, the smudges and smears of dirt and blood staining the costumes, the bruise on Crop’s cheek above her mask and the funny way Sleetstorm held his arm at his side.
She turned off the TV. Unease tugged at her heart. Being a superhero was an unforgiving job, she knew. For every smile and story Jordan brought home, there were twice as many bruises and bandages.
Her hand drifted to her pocket where the ring sat, waiting. Maybe. Just maybe, it would be enough.
**
“And now we turn our attention to the year’s most anticipated event. The International League of Heroes is celebrating its fiftieth anniversary, and preparations are well underway in cities around the globe for the festivities celebrating the heroes who have dedicated their lives to protecting the innocent.”
Dahlia had turned the TV back on after only a few minutes of silence. Though Jordan would be home any moment, she was too nervous in the silence of the house and needed some distraction. Usually the inane drone of the reporters was enough. She lounged on the couch, feet propped on the coffee table and Poutine purring up a storm in her lap; dinner was ready to be served and her feet ached from spending the day prepping.
“This year also marks the sixth year since San Marina was freed from Siren’s reign at the hands of top-ranked hero Angelus. The fall of Siren is still considered by many as one of the most intense battles and hard-won victories in the history of the League, and if it hadn’t been for the incredible efforts of our heroes, San Marina could very well still be under the rule of one of the most dangerous supervillains in recent years. Though the League has yet to release any official statements, it’s been highly speculated that the anniversary celebration may include commendations to Angelus for his services to the city and the League.”
Dahlia sat up straighter as a montage of old images and footage played on the screen. The same figure featured prominently in the montage, wearing a simple black outfit offset by an elaborate mask and white hair intricately braided, streaks of green and gold woven in the seams.
The final shot of the montage was an old recording of the exterior of City Hall. The costumed figure stood at the top of the stairs, her hand outstretched towards a group of superheroes in the midst of an intense fight with each other. Fireballs, streaks of lightning, spears of ice, flashes of light all arced between the heroes, their expressions disturbingly slack and empty.
Siren was singing, her voice carrying over the fight. Her eyes were shut, the other hand resting lightly on her chest, like an opera singer in the middle of a performance. She was the picture of bliss.
“Here is the last recorded footage of Siren taken just days before her fall. It was also the last field test for the League’s attempts at designing earplugs to counter Siren’s powers, which despite the fallout of this event allowed them to complete the prototype that gave Angelus enough time to deliver the finishing blow.”
Dahlia’s jaw clenched as she watched the replay. Siren’s powers didn’t work over recordings, but cold pricks of sweat traveled down Dahlia’s spine as she heard the haunting, wordless melody drifting from the speakers. Her hands balled into fists. She couldn’t tear her eyes away -
Poutine dug her claws into Dahlia’s thigh and meowed. The needles of pain ripped her focus away from the TV.
“Right. Yes. Dinner time.” Her voice hitched mid-sentence. She coughed and cleared her throat several times, standing up and ripping her attention from the TV long enough to head to the kitchen. “Come on, Poutine.”
Her hands shook slightly as she removed the can of tuna from the pantry and peeled back the lid. She set it on the counter and braced her hands on either side, taking a deep breath and squeezing her eyes shut as the unwelcome memories danced through her mind.
Somewhere in her chest, a tightly wound ball of razor wire writhed and burned as it tried to burrow its way to the surface. A lump formed in her throat, making it painful to swallow. There was a pressure, a force, aching for release, but she fought it with long, careful breaths.
“It’s over,” she whispered. Her voice grated in her throat, rough and choked. “It’s over. Siren is dead.”
Poutine wound around her legs in loops, begging for the tuna. The cat stood on her hind legs and pawed at Dahlia, sharp claws pricking through her jeans. It was enough to rouse her. She straightened up and drew in a long, long breath, filling her lungs until she couldn’t anymore, and slowly exhaled. The burning in her chest subsided into a low simmer.
The ring was suddenly in her hand again. The diamond sparkled in the sunset, reflecting dots of bright light into her eyes. She studied it, turning it over and over in her fingers, trying to bury the memories again -
“Honey, I’m home!” Jordan’s voice rang out suddenly, startling Dahlia. The ring slipped from her hand and fell with a small, wet plop right into the tuna.
“Shit,” Dahlia hissed. She scooped the ring out and stuck it under the faucet with a drop of soap, scrubbing it with the sponge. She raised her voice a bit when Jordan’s footsteps became audible down the hall. “Perfect timing! I’m almost done with dinner.”
“Something smells incredible,” Jordan said. Dahlia slipped the ring back into the box, and into her pocket, moments before Jordan poked her head into the kitchen. “Holy crap, I’m starving. Press conferences are the worst, I tell you.”
Her curly brown hair was pulled into a messy bun, revealing the shine of a bruise on her jaw. Though she wore her civilian clothes, Dahlia could see the scrapes and bandaids on her arms. She leaned against the doorframe to keep the weight off her right leg, and Dahlia’s thoughts flashed back to the news - how Jordan’s teammates had supported each other as they stood for the cameras.
“You okay?” It was all Dahlia could manage; the tightness in her throat strangled her voice.
“Nothing broken,” Jordan smiled. She made no effort to move, though. Dahlia knew from the way she was leaning that she definitely had a limp. “Don’t worry, I’m fine.”
“I can’t help but worry. Isn’t that my job?” Dahlia turned back to the stove and poked the steaks with a fork, making a show of it to hide the heat creeping up her cheeks. “Go grab a seat. I set everything up in the living room.”
“Can’t wait.” Jordan’s voice was suddenly closer, almost right in her ear. She stiffened as she felt arms encircling her waist, felt Jordan’s chin rest on her shoulder. Jordan’s lips tickled her neck as she spoke. “You know I’d never do anything that would keep me from coming home to you, right?”
Dahlia felt the tension leave her body as Jordan kissed her just below the ear. She turned her head and met her girlfriend’s lips with her own. She grinned, despite herself.
“Go sit,” she murmured. “I’ll bring food.”
**
Jordan was already wrapped in a fluffy blanket and seated on the couch when Dahlia brought out dinner. Everything was plated and arranged carefully on a serving tray, the smell wafting all around her as she carried it carefully into the living room. Jordan’s leg was propped up on the table, ankle resting on a small pillow. She was busy watching the TV, which Dahlia had left on for background noise, the news replaying the segment about her team from earlier.
When Dahlia set the tray on the table, Jordan started giggling uncontrollably.
“You didn’t,” she managed between snorts.
“I did,” Dahlia replied, handing her the octopus-shaped mug as she took the cow for herself. “Unless you’d prefer something more formal.”
Jordan sipped from her mug, eyebrows raising at the taste. She looked at the tray, where the bottle of champagne sat in the middle. “Dom Perignon? What’s the occasion?”
“Well, I figured you deserved a special treat for what you accomplished today. Taking down Richter Scale deserves a congratulatory meal.” Dahlia fought to keep her voice steady, feeling the heat slowly creeping into her cheeks once more. Her heart was thumping hard against her ribs from nerves.
“Okay, but a meal like this needs prep. Forethought. The news barely broke a few hours ago. So, what else?” Jordan gave her a teasing smile as she took another sip.
This time Dahlia took a moment before answering. “Maybe I just wanted to… treat you to a nice meal?”
Jordan looked at the spread: the perfect steaks sitting on a bed of roasted vegetables, fresh baked dinner roll sitting beside it, the champagne bottle ready to pour seconds. “You really didn’t have to do all this, babe.”
Dahlia leaned forward and kissed her, hand feeling the box in her pocket. “No, but I wanted to.”
The kiss ended much too quickly when Jordan pulled back to scoop up an inquisitive Poutine, whose nose was mere inches away from her plate. She gave the cat a gentle toss towards the scratchboard tower near the window. “Guess we better dig in before she does, huh?”
“Please do, before it gets cold.” Dahlia handed Jordan a plate and took the other one. As she took her first bite, she was pleased to note the meal tasted as good as she’d made it look. They ate in relative silence for a bit, aside from Jordan’s appreciative noises from the delicious food, the TV quiet enough to not be intrusive.
Finally, Dahlia couldn’t handle the nervous energy anymore. She set her mostly-empty plate back on the table and took a big sip of champagne, side-eyeing Jordan until she was mostly done as well. “Hey, you mind if I ask you something?”
“Of course. This wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with the way you’ve been watching me all night, would it?”
Damn that smile, Dahlia thought as Jordan grinned at her, a teasing twinkle in her eye. Her hand inched towards her pocket. Alright. Let’s do this.
“Well, I -”
A dramatic musical riff from the TV interrupted her and caught both their attention. Breaking News flashed across the screen. Jordan immediately sat up, grabbing the remote and turning up the volume as the anchor came on screen, a dour expression on his face as he studied a report that was obviously just handed to him.
Solemnly, he began reading the report. “We apologize for this interruption of your scheduled broadcast. It… it is with a heavy heart that I must announce that the body of fifth-ranked hero Brazenfist, a beloved protector of San Marina for almost eight years, has just been recovered by police. First responders were unable to resuscitate him, and our correspondents in the League have informed us that Brazenfist was responding to a challenge from notoriously reclusive supervillain Alibi. This is now the seventeenth hero confirmed to have fallen by Alibi’s hand over the past nine years, and the second hero in the past five months. More updates will be released as the investigation continues.”
A lance of pure ice pierced Dahlia’s heart. Glancing over, she saw a darkness fall across Jordan’s face as she listened. Angrily, she jabbed her thumb into the remote and the TV blinked off.
“Did you know him?” Dahlia asked hesitantly.
“No. Not very well. He was solo, so my team never really interacted with him, but I met him a few times at some briefings. He was at last year’s holiday party. He’s -” She caught herself, took a steadying breath. “He was a good guy. Genuine, old-school hero attitude. Last I heard, he was on track to take first rank in a couple years if he tested above Angelus.”
“I’m… I’m sorry.” Dahlia had only ever seen Brazenfist from a distance in the past, but Jordan was clearly bothered by it.
“Alibi is a monster,” she breathed. There was an edge to her voice Dahlia had only heard a few times before. Her hands balled into tight fists in her lap, giving off a flickering glow for several seconds before she composed herself enough to keep talking. “Killing people just because they can. Thinking that just because they have powers they can do whatever they want and get away with it. People who call themselves supervillains are fucking evil, every one of them. They deserve the same fate Siren finally got. Dead and denounced.”
A chill crept down Dahlia’s spine. The anger, the conviction in Jordan’s voice was powerful; each word felt like a slap to the face, a dagger in her gut. The ball of razor wire in her chest unraveled slightly. She felt its hooks digging into her throat. The urge to say something burbled up into her mouth, forcing her jaw open. But before she could get anything out, Jordan spoke again.
“How can any of these people live with themselves, with all that blood on their hands?” She sniffed, wiping away the angry tears that threatened to fall. “I joined the League to help people. I love being a hero. But having to face monsters like that almost makes me hate that superpowers exist in the first place.”
“I - I wish I could help,” Dahlia said quietly. “Really.”
“No, no. I’m sorry. You made me this incredible dinner and I had to go and ruin the mood by talking about fucking work.” She wiped her nose with her napkin and looked over at her. “That really came at the worst time, didn’t it? You wanted to ask me something?”
“It’s nothing, really.” There’s so much I wish I could say. “It can wait. You’re tired, I’m tired; what if you get ready for bed while I clean up?”
Jordan yawned, almost on cue. “Sure. Thanks for dinner; it was great.”
**
Jordan excused herself from the couch as Dahlia stacked dishes onto the tray. She gave Dahlia a smile and a kiss as thanks for the meal, but said nothing more. The silence in the wake of the conversation spoke volumes enough for both of them. Dahlia closed her eyes and savored the kiss. It ended much too soon for her liking, and as Jordan pulled back she felt the ring box pressing into her thigh like a cruel reminder. She watched Jordan head down the hall to the bedroom, eyes trained on the limp that had become more pronounced in her exhaustion.
The dishes didn’t take long to do. The champagne, however, still had enough for at least another serving or two.
Dahlia refilled her mug to the brim, took a long sip, and topped it off again. She took the bottle with her into the living room, past the couch, and over to the sliding glass door that led to the balcony.
The balcony overlooked a small backyard that dropped off into a steep cliff. It was usually the perfect spot to watch the sunset, but the sun had already set. The sky above was almost as dark as the ocean below, save for the moon high above and a few random stars. The cool evening breeze was enough to make Dahlia retrieve her bathrobe from where it hung on the back of the couch before stepping outside.
On the balcony, she glanced to her right and saw a gentle glow emanating from the bedroom window. The shades were drawn but she could see Jordan’s silhouette moving in the light that emanated from her - having forgone the lamp and instead was using her own power to illuminate the room. After a few moments, the light winked out.
Dahlia sighed. She sipped from her mug as she settled into one of the lounge chairs. Poutine meowed, and a second later hopped into her lap, kneading her thighs before settling down with an audible purr.
“I should tell her,” Dahlia said. Her hand absently stroked the cat as she spoke. “I have to.”
The doubt in her tone made her voice waver slightly. She took another long drink. The carbonation burned as it went down, making her cough a couple times.
“You heard her, though. And she’s right. I know she’s right.” Something warm and wet splashed onto the back of her hand. Another drop fell as she glanced down to see what it was. A third tear trickled down her cheek. She blinked, partially in surprise, and wiped her face with the hem of her sleeve.
Poutine was completely oblivious, her purring continuing despite the lack of petting. Dahlia turned her gaze up at the moon hanging in the sky. It was cold and lonely without any visible stars around it.
“I can’t tell her.”