After the Golden Age - Softcover

Vaughn, Carrie

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0765364603 ISBN 13: 9780765364609

Publisher: Tor Fantasy, 2012

Synopsis

After the Golden Age, a stand-alone urban fantasy by bestselling author Carrie Vaughn features the thoroughly mundane daughter of two famous superheroes, who finds in herself an unlikely hero.

It's not easy being a superhero's daughter....

Carrie Vaughn has captured legions of fans with her wildly popular Kitty Norville novels. Now she uses her extraordinary wit and imagination to tell a sensational new story about superhuman heroes―and the people who have to live with them.

Most people dream of having superheroes for parents, but not Celia West. The only daughter of Captain Olympus and Spark, the world's greatest champions, she has no powers of her own, and the most exciting thing she's ever done is win a silver medal in a high school swim meet. Meanwhile, she's the favorite hostage of every crime boss and supervillain in Comemrce City. She doesn't have a code name, but if she did, it would probably be Bait Girl, the Captive Wonder.

Rejecting her famous family and its legacy, Celia has worked hard to create a life for herself beyond the shadow of their capes, becoming a skilled forensic accountant. But when her parents' archenemy, the Destructor, faces justice in the "Trial of the Century," Celia finds herself sucked back into the more-than-mortal world of Captain Olympus―and forced to confront a secret that she hoped would stay buried forever.

About this title

About the Author:

Carrie Vaughn is the New York Times bestselling author of the Kitty Norville books, including Kitty's Big Trouble, Kitty Goes to War, and Kitty and the Midnight Hour. She is also the author of the stand-alone novel Discord's Apple, and the young adult books Voice of Dragons and Steel. Vaughn had the nomadic childhood of the typical Air Force brat, with stops across the country from California to Florida. She earned her B.A. from Occidental College in Los Angeles, and a master's in English from the University of Colorado at Boulder. She has worked as a Renaissance Festival counter wench, a theater usher, an editor, a buyer at an independent bookstore, and an administrative assistant. She lives in Boulder, Colorado.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:

ONE
CELIA took the late bus home, riding along with other young workaholic professionals, the odd student, and late-shift retail clerks. A quiet, working bunch, cogs and wheels that kept Commerce City running.
Only a block away from the office, the person in the seat behind her leaned forward and spoke in her ear:
“Get off at the next stop.”
She hadn’t noticed him before. He was ordinary; in his thirties, he had a rugged, stubbled face, and wore jeans and a button-up shirt. He looked like he belonged. With a lift to his brow, he glared at her over the back of the plastic seat and raised the handgun from his lap. Without moving his gaze, he pushed the stop call button by the window.
Damn, not again.
Her heart pounded hard—with anger. Not fear, she reminded herself. Her fists clenched, her face a mask, she stood. She could hardly move her legs, wanting only to turn and throttle the bastard for interrupting her evening.
He stood with her, following a step behind as she moved forward toward the door. He could stop her before she called to the driver for help. And what could the driver do, but stand aside as her kidnapper waved the gun at him?
She was still two miles from home. She could try to run—in pumps and a dress suit. Right. Really, she only had to run far enough away to duck into a corner and call 9-1-1. Or her parents.
9-1-1. That was what she’d do.
She didn’t dig in the pocket of her attaché for her phone. Did nothing that would give away her plan. She stepped off the bus, onto the sidewalk. Her kidnapper disembarked right behind her.
“Turn right. Walk five steps.”
She turned right. Her muscles tensed, ready—
The bus pulled away. She prepared to launch herself into a run.
A sedan stopped at the curb. Two men jumped out of the back, and the kidnapper from the bus grabbed her arm. The three surrounded her and spirited her into the car, which rolled away in seconds.
They’d planned this, hadn’t they?
In the backseat, one of the men tied her hands in front of her with nylon cord. The other pressed a gun to her ribs.
The one from the bus sat on the passenger side of the front seat and looked back at her.
“You’re Warren and Suzanne West’s daughter.”
Not like this was news.
“What will the Olympiad do to keep you safe?”
“You’ll have to ask them,” she said.
“I will.” He grinned, a self-satisfied, cat-with-the-canary grin that she recognized from a half-dozen two-bit hoodlums who thought they’d done something clever, that they’d figured out how to corner the Olympiad. As if no one else had tried this before.
“What are you going to do with me?” She said it perfunctorily. It was a way to make conversation. Maybe distract him.
His grin widened. “We’re going to send your parents a message. With the Destructor out of the picture, the city’s wide open for a new gang to move in. The Olympiad is going to stay out of our way, or you get hurt.”
He really was stupid enough to tell her his plan. Amateurs.
Wasn’t much she could do until he’d sent the message and the Olympiad learned what had happened. She’d leave the hard work to them. She always did.
Then, of course, they blindfolded her so she couldn’t keep track of their route. By the time they stopped, she had no idea where they were. Someplace west, by the docks maybe. The air smelled of concrete and industry.
A stooge on each arm pulled her out of the car and guided her down a corridor. They must have parked inside a building. Her feet stepped on tile, and the walls felt close. Finally, they pushed her into a hard wooden chair and tied her wrists to its arms.
The blindfold came off. Before her, a video camera was mounted on a tripod.
The man from the bus stood next to the camera. She smirked at him, and his frown deepened. He’d probably expected her to be frightened, crying and begging him to let her go. Giving him that power of fear over her.
She had already been as frightened as she was ever likely to be in her life. This guy was nothing.
“Read this.” He lifted a piece of paper with large writing.
She just wanted to go home. Have some hot cocoa and cookies. Supper had been microwave ramen and her stomach was growling. The blindfold had messed up her short red hair, making it itch, and she couldn’t reach up to scratch it. Irrationally, she thought of her parents, and her anger began to turn toward them. If it wasn’t for them and what they were ...
Thinking like that had gotten her in trouble before. She focused on her captor. This was his fault.
She skimmed over the text, groaned. They couldn’t even be a little creative. “Are you kidding?”
“Just read it.”
In a frustrated monotone, she did as she was told.
“I’m Celia West, and I’m being held in an undisclosed location. If the Olympiad has not responded to their demands in six hours, my captors cannot guarantee my safety—”
“Wait. Stop.”
She glared an inquiry.
“Couldn’t you sound ... you know ... Scared or something?”
“Sorry. But you know I’ve done this before. This isn’t exactly new to me.”
“We’re different.”
“They all say that.”
“Shut up. Finish reading.”
She raised her brow. He waved her on.
She said, “If you really want to scare everyone you’d cut off one of my fingers and send it to them. Of course, then you’d really piss them off. That whole nonlethal force thing might not apply then.”
He stepped forward, fists clenched, like he might actually hit her. “Unless you really want me to do something like that, just stick to the script. I know what I’m doing.”
“Whatever you say.” She read out the usual list of demands: the Olympiad was to leave Commerce City and not interfere with the actions of the Baxter Gang— “Baxter Gang?” she added in a disbelieving aside, then shook her head and continued. They’d let her go when the Baxter Gang had the run of the city. They’d send another video in six hours to show just how mean they could be, etcetera.
The plan must have sounded so good on paper.
She made a point of not looking at the men with guns who seemed to fill the room. In truth there were only five. Even so, if she did anything more aggressive than mock the man she assumed was Baxter, they just might shoot her.
There was a time when even that wouldn’t have bothered her. She remembered. She drew on that now. Don’t reveal anything to them. No weakness.
She didn’t want to die. What an oddly pleasing thought.
Finally, she reached the end of the script and Baxter shut off the recorder. He popped the memory card out of the camera, gave her a final glare, and left the room. The men with the guns remained.
All she could do was wait.
*   *   *
How it usually worked: the kidnappers sent the video to the police. The police delivered it to the Olympiad. The kidnappers expected Warren and Suzanne West to be despondent over the imminent danger toward their only child and to cave in to their every demand.
What the kidnappers never understood was that Celia West was expendable.
She’d understood that early on. When it came to choosing between her own safety or the safety of Commerce City, the city always won. She understood that, and usually even believed it herself.
She thought she might try to sleep. She’d been losing lots, with the late nights at the office. Leaning back in the chair, she breathed deeply, closed her eyes, and tried to relax. Unfortunately, relaxing in a hard-backed chair you were tied to was difficult at best. Though she imagined her falling asleep in the midst of her own kidnapping would annoy Baxter, which made her want to do it even more. But she was sweating inside her jacket and wanted to fidget.
All the breathing and attempts at relaxation did was keep her heart from racing, which was enough. She could meet the gazes of the gun-toting stooges in the room and not give in to blind panic.
Eventually, Baxter returned to the room. He eyed her warily, but didn’t approach, didn’t speak. He broke his minions into shifts, sending one of them for fast food. The food returned a half hour later, and they sat around a table to eat. Her stomach rumbled at the smell of cheap hamburgers. She hadn’t eaten, and she needed to use a restroom.
Just breathe. She’d had to wait longer than this before. Her watch said that only three hours had passed. It was just now midnight. She had a couple more hours at least. More dramatic that way.
She might say a dozen things to aggravate Baxter. She figured she could annoy him enough to get him to come over and hit her. That was the bored, self-destructive teenager of yore talking. And a little bit of revenge. If she ended up with a big black eye, things would go so much more badly for him later on.
Then, the waiting ended.
—Celia, are you there?—
It was odd, an inner whisper that felt like a thought, but which came from outside. Rather like how a psychotic must feel, listening to the voices. This one was understated, with a British accent. She’d felt Dr. Mentis’s telepathic reach before. She couldn’t respond in kind, not with such articulate, well-formed thoughts. Instead, she filled her mind with a yes, knowing he’d read it there. Along with a little bit of, It’s about time.
—I’m going to put the room to sleep. I’m afraid I can’t pick and choose. You’ll feel a little dizzy, then pass out. I wanted to warn you.—
She kept herself from nodding. Mustn’t let the erstwhile archvillains of Commerce City know...

About this edition

• Publisher: Tor Fantasy
• Publication date: 2012
• ISBN 10: 0765364603
• ISBN 13: 9780765364609
• Binding: Paperback
• Number of pages: 352