Free Wearing The Cape: Villains Inc. by Marion G. Harmon

superheroes, Batman had a secret lair from which he could monitor the world and particularly his beloved Gotham City, but Superman had an impregnable fortress hidden as far away from the rest of humanity as it could be and still be on the same planet. A secret base of operations vs. a hideway .
     
    Dr. Mendell , On superhero psychology.
     
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    Capes are a pain in the butt, which is why most capes don’t wear them. Mine are made out of some kind of patented silk-synthetic mix that’s cool and shiny but fairly resistant to damage. Apparently they’re not resistant to being slept on; I forgot to take it off last night, and woke up tangled in cape and horse-blanket. The horse-blanket was less wrinkled.
     
    I’d had no plans last night, but I did when I opened my eyes. Back in January, when Atlas and I returned to Los Angeles I’d left behind all the civilian clothes I’d bought just for the scandal-inducing getaway. I’d optimistically anticipated a lot more time spent here. Now the mountains were green with spring, the meadows covered in wildflowers, and I had the day free. Two days if I blew off class for once.
     
    Going back inside, I showered and changed into cargo shorts and a pink cotton cami with Bow to the princess written in white sparkles. Bouncing down the stairs, I almost screamed when I ran into Artemis coming up from the cellar.
     
    “Morning, Hope. So what kind of coffee did Atlas stock, anyway?” she asked.
     
    “I— What? The who?”
     
    “Shelly thought you might need some big-girl talk, and I got to test Vulcan’s new carrier drone. He designed it to drop Galatea, but I stepped out a few thousand feet up and floated down. Thought I’d let you sleep.”
     
    She’d changed into a civilian version of her daysuit —skintight and covered by sailor pants and a long-sleeved turtleneck sweater. She had the gloves and mask ready, but with the bay-window curtains drawn she was fine inside the cabin.
     
    “Thanks? I… Coffee?” I pulled in my scattered thoughts while Artemis stood there, completely unconcerned at having invited herself to join my getaway. “Just canned stuff.”
     
    She smiled, held up a bag. “I came prepared.”
     
    Being a vampire limited Artemis to a liquid diet, so she’d become a lover of all things drinkable. Coffee, hot chocolate, wine, beer, coolers, ale , even ice-cream (frozen liquid after all). She could brew coffee that made gourmet baristas cry, and I’d kill for her chocolate concoctions.
     
    Ten minutes later, the kitchen filling with the brain-melting aroma of hand-ground bean, Artemis threw herself into a chair.
     
    “So?” she said. “Why is Shelly worried about you?” Birds sang outside, wind rattled the leaves, and my super-duper hearing picked up the soft step of a deer. Two? A doe and her fawn? When I focused I could hear the wildlife around the cabin, but I couldn’t hear Artemis’ heartbeat. Because being dead, she didn’t have one. And though she hadn’t inherited any of the traditional vampire phobias from the psychotic and delusional breakthrough who’d “sired” her, naked sunlight would burn her like a blowtorch. But she sat across from me, up in the daytime and far away from her safe urban haunts.
     
    “Hey,” she said. “Little Miss Sunshine can’t go watery on me.”
     
    I sniffed and wiped my eyes.   “And fiends of the night shouldn’t be up past their bedtimes. You still haven’t told me where you’ve been.”
     
    She’d disappeared right after the public funeral for Atlas, Nimbus, and Ajax. All Blackstone would tell anybody was that she’d been “helping the DSA with an investigation,” and although she’d texted a few times she hadn’t spilled any details.
     
    And she’d stayed strictly nocturnal since getting back two weeks ago. We hadn’t resumed our weekly outings to The Fortress, and we hadn’t really talked. About anything . I’d thought she’d been avoiding me. Which I could understand,