Damsel[ed]: Some Rescue Required (#2 of the Damsel[ed] series)

Chapter Twenty-One: Rescue

Heaven.

When you're a superhero, you can only respond to screaming in two ways: bracing yourself to do some serious first aid and bracing yourself to knock a bruiser out. As my body tenses to spring, Cat grabs my arm and yanks me back against her. I bite into my cheek to hold back a sound of pain. Cat snaps around, and when she looks at me, her brown eyes are expressionless and cool. "Heaven, I know you were Galaxy and all—"

"Were?" Heat rises into my face. "Were!" I'm still a superhero, no matter what she says. No matter what anyone says. My powers will come back, I'll pick up a new suit, and I'll fight these supervillains off. That's what I'm meant to do.

Cat sighs and grips my elbow. She's my same size, but my powers take a lot of energy and leave me with a lot of lean muscle. She may be a villain and I may be powerless, but she can't hold me back, not if I put some elbow grease into my escape.

The sound is louder now. I shoot off, but it seems I miscalculated. Apparently, Jaylin can hold me back, and she does a pretty good job of it. Her fingers dig into my flesh, and with a sharp jerk, she sends me stumbling. I can hardly keep on my feet when she clouts me over the side of my head. Normally, hits like that don't hurt much, but I'm aching something terrible and the blow nearly sends me to my knees.

Instead, I suck in a sharp breath and hobble until I still, her manicured nails nearly drawing blood. "We're getting Angel and Kitten back, and that's that. Understood? You. Are. Done. Playing. Hero."

I grind my teeth. My head is still throbbing. It wasn't a glancing blow or a playful, "golly, Heaven, if you take another fry I'll knock your lights out," from Gats.

She's threatening me with actual threats. Another shrill scream pierces the air, and it cuts me like an executioner's blade. "No," Cat says. She grips me so hard my I can actually see bruises welling up around the places she presses her fingers.

I hang my head. I can't fight her, not with brute strength like I usually do. I don't know what's happening to me, why I'm so weak. It can't be the obsidian. Cat was the last person affected by it, so, logically, she'd be weaker than I am.

And yet, here we are.

"You win," I say, and her eyes light up and her lips quirk into a smirk. They always do. I have my weaknesses and she has hers.

I snap my hand away and copy the usual snotty 'humph' she gives. The screams are muffled now. Cat rolls her eyes and steps toward the driver's side. In that moment, sweat glistening on my brow, I decide all supervillains are the same. She may think I'm an "uncomplicated brute"—most villains I've come in contact with have said something along those lines about me—but she is no different. What a villain wants is control. What a hero wants is freedom. And because of that, we will never get along.

"Hey!" The moment she looks away, I run. Every step, every breath, every thought hurts. But the pain's okay. I can deal with pain. What I can't deal with is someone getting hurt because I didn't do anything to stop it.

There are trees here and the air smells fresh like flowers and fruit. This is where Starlight gets less "city" and more "Suburban Dream." It's pretty, all white clapboard houses and tire swings and sycamores. Were I not slapping through the woodland in search of a screamer, my chest would swell up with pride.

What can I say? Us Starlighters are very proud of our homes, and the news-people like to blab about our history all the time. Toby used to fall asleep to the old radio programs about Nebula and her sidekick, Taurus, the leaders of the golden-age heroes. I would curl up on the floor and listen to the superhero stories, eyes squeezed shut in an attempt at copying Toby's sleep.