Free Seven Wonders by Adam Christopher

hand. Her grip was light but there was strength in the fingers. "Tony. So, genie in a bottle?"
      She smiled and sipped her drink, carefully this time, really only letting the liquid bathe her lips. Tony found himself imagining that she enjoyed the warmth the strong spirit imparted, the hint of bitterness as she ran her tongue around her mouth. He took another sip of his own drink and found his hand was shaking, just a little, and the front of his jeans were suddenly uncomfortably tight.
      "Wow, a Fortune 500 retail monkey and a comedian as well?" Jeannie's smile was like a summer's day. "This is my lucky night."
      "You and me both, huh?"
      "Wanna dance, monkey?"
      Before Tony realized what he was doing, realized that dancing was the most horrible thing that he hated the most, Jeannie had slipped off the barstool, grabbed his hand, and dragged him onto the dance floor.

CHAPTER SEVEN
     
 
    The night belonged to the Cowl; he owned it. It was his kingdom, his domain; everything he did revolved around it. His costume was black, non-reflective, and the long scalloped cloak could envelop his entire body with a twist of an arm, reducing him to nothing more than a shadow. The famous hood, pulled forward, could hide most of the lower part of his face, the only section of bare skin visible. Give him an alleyway, a rooftop − hell, give him the shadowed overhang of a shop front − and the Cowl could vanish, becoming one with the blackness.
      He'd been doing it a long, long time, and life on the night side of San Ventura was easy. Indestructible, invulnerable, able to fly, to run, to manipulate energy, to see through people and walls, to eavesdrop on every conversation on the West Coast of North America. Life was easy.
      Or had been. His powers were ebbing, one by one, almost according to some predefined checklist. The unexpected curtailment of the bank job had come as something of a surprise, the lack of power a terrifying, paralyzing moment of realization. As much as he tried to pretend it was age, or tiredness, or just some weird phase that would pass, he knew, really, that something was up. It wasn't natural. It occurred to him that perhaps it was some kind of act of God, that He was judging him. But… no, he was doing God's work, he knew that. And besides, there was a probable cause much closer to home.
      The Seven Wonders. It had to be. They'd finally found a way to take him down without getting their brightly colored hands dirty.
      But the Cowl was the Cowl. And so he ignored his fading powers, pushing the problem to the back of his mind. He didn't need powers to rule the night. He was an expert in terror and combat. Nobody could touch him, superpowers or no superpowers.
      And… and in a way, it added something. A new thrill. It was almost like he was doing it himself, getting his hands dirty, going back to basics like he did when he first started on his mission to control the city ten years ago. Maybe this needed to happen. Strip it down, take it back to basics. The feeling was strange, but it drew him close to his beloved city, the city he had guided, shaped and terrorized for a decade. San Ventura was his city, and nobody could take that from him. And, for the moment at least, he could still heal, although it was slower now. He'd recovered from his drop in the ocean, but his shoulder still ached if he lifted his arm too high.
      He thought of this as he waited in the shadows of the alley, a dozen blocks south of the main strip, heading out towards the less salubrious suburbs but still within the city limits. An area of dark parks where crackheads did deals with prostitutes, where police calls often went unanswered, where the law feared to tread after a certain hour thanks to the Cowl's personal fan clubs. If only he'd thought of it first, it would have been a genius piece of marketing: all you needed was a black hooded sweat top and a black bandana to tie around your face, and some red spray