Don't Be a Hero: A Superhero Novel Read Online Free

friend from school. Most of her friends were boys. But his parents stopped him from seeing her because she was Japanese. It was okay. That was just the way things were in those days. Now the boy and his parents were all dead, and their house was home to rats.
    She paused for a moment, then dropped her cigarette to the concrete, stamped it out, and walked on. She didn’t want to think about the bomb, or the fire that consumed her city. Not tonight.
    Niobe stopped outside a townhouse in a cul-de-sac. In the narrow yard outside was one of the only gardens anywhere in the Old City. Even in the darkness, she could make out the tangle of wild flowers leading up the short path. A morepork called its own name twice before falling silent. She caught a glimpse of the owl’s eyes high in the tree, and then they disappeared.
    The house itself was an old weatherboard villa, one of the few that survived, sheltered from the worst of the blast by One Tree Hill. It had seen better days, but compared to the buildings on either side, it was a palace. The windows were dark. She cast another look around the street, found it empty, and made her way up to the front door. The door was a good one—thick, solid—so she reached into her pocket for her lockpicks.
    Wait. She screwed up her nose and returned her hand to her side. He’d been upset with her last time she came in uninvited. Not that she worried much about his feelings, but he’d been careful to impress upon her his annoyance. Very careful.
    Reluctantly, she tapped the frosted glass with her middle finger. There was no answer for a few minutes, but she didn’t knock again. Solomon was a light sleeper.
    She was just about to light up another smoke when she heard the squeak of footsteps on floorboards. A light came on and the door creaked open.
    “We’ve got a job,” Niobe said.
    Solomon Doherty rested his head against the door frame and squinted at her through puffy eyes. His tree-brown hair was mussed and flattened on one side. Deep crevices ran down the sides of his cheeks. On a softer man that would’ve made him look old, but on him they gave an air of dignified permanence. A kind of inevitability, maybe.
    “Good evening to you too, Spook,” he said. “You ever think of visiting during the day? Or at least calling ahead first?”
    “And wake your kids?” Niobe pulled another cigarette from her pack, adjusted her mask, and lit up. “For a family man, you sure are inconsiderate.”
    “That’s rich coming from you, mate.” Solomon wore a set of holey grey pyjamas with the Wardens logo embroidered on the breast. They’d given Niobe a pair as well, back when Battle Jack brought her into the fold and gave her the terrible alias of Gloomgirl. She never wore them. Like hell she was going to announce her supergroup membership while she slept.
    He wrinkled his nose and shot a look at her cigarette. “The doctors say that’ll kill you, you know.”
    She plucked it from her mouth. “Cancer’s coming for us metas whether we smoke or not.” She took another draw. “Might as well have fun first.”
    Something creaked inside the house. Solomon glanced back inside and lowered his voice. “So what’s this job you had to get me out of bed for?”
    “Gabrielle picked it up on the wire. Missing persons case.”
    “In the Old City?”
    She shook her head. “Neo-Auckland proper. Mangere Central.”
    Solomon’s bushy eyebrows rose and he whistled quietly. “Pay?”
    “Dunno yet. I thought we could go find out.”
    “Does our potential client know we’re visiting him at two in the morning?”
    She shrugged. “The man’s got a missing person. I’m sure he’s not sleeping too heavily.”
    “Point.”
    “So you’ll come?” she asked.
    He appeared to consider it for a moment. It wasn’t a very convincing show. She knew he’d made up his mind the moment he opened the door. He was like a kid that way, never mind that he had a good ten years on her. Something about the old