Free Seven Wonders by Adam Christopher Page B

entrusted with individual elements of a single secret. He imagined the superteam scrambling in a blind panic as the bank job went down.
      The Cowl allowed himself a smile. All too easy.
      The second "vault" was just feet away. Despite the heat of the night, the elderly man was wrapped in a heavy woolen overcoat, black homburg pulled down tight. He wore glasses with thick plastic rims that were probably new in 1963. His cane was a thick walking stick, the expensive kind, fashioned out of a single natural shaft of wood. The Cowl could see the grain and the knots of the branch that were left in the surface as a decorative touch, and was pleased to note his supervision was still in operation.
      The man passed by, walking slowly but not shuffling. The Cowl observed his movements. He was old, sure, but seemed in good shape. The coat was filled out, the shoulders straight, the head up if it weren't for the deep tilt of the hat. The walking stick was being used for the intended purpose rather than just for show, but aside from the slow pace, he looked like a rather spry elderly gentleman. Something like an ex-boxer, or maybe someone who had served his country in an overseas theater back in the day.
      The Cowl pushed himself off the alley wall, allowing his cloak to fall away. Although he knew he'd be silhouetted by the light streaming into the alleyway's entrance behind him, his costume would still keep him featureless and dark. And if the man were to turn around, there was nothing wrong with a touch of fear instilled by the sweeping shadow of San Ventura's resident supervillain.
      Immediately the old man in front of him stopped. The Cowl stood still, completely silent. It occurred to him that perhaps another reason why the vault was untouchable was because, perhaps, he wasn't just a regular old man. Although he knew about the failed attacks, how various members of the Seven Wonders would appear as if by magic as soon as their secrets were threatened and fight off any attacker, other stories of dead gang members and failed muggings crossed the Cowl's mind.
      He dismissed them. Mr Ballard had just been a man, after all. And while there were more than enough retired superheroes in the world, the whole purpose of the vaults was to hide the information out of the reach of those who may be tempted to use it.
      The Cowl smiled again. Even the Seven Wonders themselves probably didn't know about it, mindwiped by that stuck-up bitch, Bluebell. Hide the secrets in the city, mindwipe everyone so not even they can remember anything about it, but leave a latent post-hypnotic suggestion to protect the locations at all costs.
      Although…
      The old man shuffled. Still the Cowl didn't move.
      Although none of them had shown up at the bank. Maybe the Seven Wonders were sleeping on the job.
      Or maybe they had an eighth member, that mystery speedster. The Cowl frowned again. He'd have to look into that. First things first…
      "I figured you'd try it sooner or later, boy." The old man coughed, clearing his throat wetly before continuing. He didn't turn around. "Didn't figure on it being so damned long, though. You got some patience, I'll credit you that. I guess that's part of why you're in charge of this otherwise mighty fine city." He turned slowly until he was facing his ambush, then switched his walking stick over to his other hand.
      The old man harrumphed. His accent was deep, molasses-dipped, each word drawn out like an oil painting. He wasn't a local. Alabama perhaps. Somewhere south-east.
      The Cowl took a step forward, stopping when the old man raised his stick up and pointed it directly at him.
      "Now hold on there, fella," said the old man. "You might be faster than a speeding bullet and stronger than a locomotive, but even you might want to think twice afore you do anything you might regret in the morning."
      The Cowl swept his cloak behind him, intended to intimidate, but the old man just