A/N: I welcome you to the first chapter of my brand new story (which I'm already 50K into. yea!). Get ready for a bright-blue haired, crime-fighting superhero that can't seem to get a break . . . from NOT fighting crime. Okay, there's a little crime. And a super-devious mystery. It wouldn't be a YA supernatural book without it . . . or a mysterious love interest. But let's not get into that just yet. ;-) Just sit back, relax, and enjoy the first chapter.

1 June 2007

THE CITY TIMES: Volt Shocks Yet Another Duel of Burglars into Justice

Volt zooms in on what could have been a devastating morning for the Prichard family. "You just never know realize that it can happen to you," said Mrs. Prichard when asked about the crime. "You are suppose to live in a safe community, yet somehow robbers still manage to break in. I don't know what we would have done if Volt didn't stop them." The burglars were reported to have attempted to steal a precious family heirloom worth over 1.2 million dollars, as well as many other items of an undisclosed amount. We were able to receive a statement from Volt himself about the turn of events: "Each robbery is different—each criminal has different motives that fuel desperation—for example I was shocked to find that one of these robbers was actually pregnant—leave the wife at home when you decide to commit a crime, people. Often times, criminals try to receive sympathy from the perpetrators. That's what makes me different; I realize it's most important to remember that each criminal should be held responsible for the actions he or she commits."

August 1, 2007

CHAPTER ONE: Check Your Passports at the Gate

Moving. I couldn't believe we were moving and not to the other side of The City, either. Thanks to my father and his promotion, I was expected to live in the wealthy suburbs in a wealthy district in a quiet little town in the middle of NOWHERE. A.K.A.: The Midwest. Everybody knows there is no crime in the Midwest. How did my parents expect me to survive?

Ten more minutes until the plane was due to take off. It wasn't too late for me to screw with the electrical systems and shut the entire place down. Maybe my parents would take it as a bad omen. Maybe they would—who was I kidding?—I was only prolonging the inevitable.

Suburbs . . . I tried the word out in my head again and almost gagged. White picket fences came to mind and perfectly mowed lawns with their cookie-cutter houses. I didn't want to leave the flavor of The City. I didn't want to be an average teenage girl. I wanted to be . . .

But it did no good thinking about it.

What made matters even worse was that Bentley was still in The City. Bentley . . . my caretaker. Bentley . . . the only one who knew my secret. Bentley . . . my partner in fighting crime.

Of course, the male nanny/sidekick didn't actually do any of the battling. He just listened to the police lines for me and chauffeured whenever I needed to get somewhere quicker than my powers could take me . . . oh, and of course what good would a manny/sidekick be if he didn't do all that boring research for me.

It was Bentley who had first given me the idea of using my powers to fight evil, and in the end, it was Bentley who decided that I should give up Volt to move with my family.

You heard me correctly: I am the famous Volt. Hater of all things evil . . . I shock my City into justice. But thanks to my father, Volt was about to become extinct and The City was going to be a lot more evil.

I thought back to the first time I ever decided that fighting evil was my calling. I was thirteen. Every since I was a child, Bentley told me stories of the golden years . . . when superheroes came to save the cities. Each night, I would struggle to keep my eyes open so that I could listen to his lilting English voice as he spun tales of superheroes. And every night, he told me that someday I would be great . . . the greatest superhero ever known to man.

It was then when I got tired of saving my Barbie dolls from the bad guys. I was ready to save the world. And save the world, I did. One moment I was lying in bed, juggling balls of lightening and the next I was jumping up to the sound of police sirens.

I climbed out my window and down the fire pipe, barefoot and in my pajamas, and rushed towards the sirens. Needless to say, it didn't go well. In fact, I ended up being used as the bank robbers' hostage, far too afraid to even think about using my powers.

Having to ride back home in the backseat of a police car wasn't in my plans for that night. I was ready to give up on ever becoming a hero. But Bentley threw that idea out of my head almost instantly.

Bentley always knew that I was special. He helped me learn to control my powers. He helped me hide it from my parents. Heck! He was closer to me than both my parents.

"It's great that you're trying to make a difference. But if you're ready to take on the world, Adaline, you are going to need a plan . . . not to mention a disguise," Bentley had said as soon as he picked me up at the police station.

And so, a superhero was conceived.

The plane took off and for the first time in a long time, I felt my powers trying to get the best of my emotions. They wanted to send bolts of lightening all through this plane. I had to reign myself in.

"Ow!" The person who sat next to me jumped slightly. I was quite the shocking seatmate.

"Sorry," I mumbled automatically, though the woman hadn't even touched me. She gave me a strange look before returning to her racy romance. At least I wasn't going to have a talkative seatmate.

A thunderstorm was brewing outside; believe it or not, I didn't cause it. The thunderstorm didn't help matters though—I was surging with so much power, I wouldn't be surprised if the tips of my hair were sparking.

Some of the people seemed worried when they saw the lightening strike so close to the plane. If I were not so morose, perhaps I'd have let them in on the fact that lightening can only strike something that is on solid ground. But as it was, I'd rather let them suffer.

I know. I am such a wonderful hero. But I was in the business of saving people's lives, not their fears. And the way things were going, it looked like I'd be out of the business of saving lives too. So basically that made me your average, ordinary teenager. The idea sickened me.

When I had finally realized that my father was serious about moving me to some hick town, I decided to become as city as possible. After all, I couldn't disappoint my new classmates. The tattoo had already been taken care of when I turned sixteen . . . a bolt of lightening on my left shoulder blade. But my pale, straight hair seemed almost hickish in itself. Thus, it had to go. I decided that blue would be a nice replacement color.

And not just any ordinary blue either. (If there can ever be an ordinary blue hair color). But bright, brilliant, blinding blue—the kind of blue that you only see in magna or anime—not that I ever read or watched it. Much.

My father—the one who was so caring, who didn't want to break the family apart by commuting—didn't even notice the change. My mother gave a saccharine smile and told me that my new hair was interesting. She had suddenly noticed that she had a daughter when I started high school and had begun enveloping herself in every book ever known to help raise one's adolescence. I was certain that she was still waiting for me to become some drug-addicted, unwed mother.

Sadly, I've yet to live up to her expectations. Be that as it may, she was glad that I chose to express my defiance to moving in such an artistic way. I couldn't draw, play an instrument, or even carry a tune, yet my mother was certain that I was an artist.

And I suppose I was one, if you considered martial arts . . . but that was an entirely different playing field.

It was the diamond stud I had pierced in my nose that worried my mother the most. I, personally, thought it was a very elegant touch to my normally dull face. For some strange reason, though, parents never saw things like facial piercing as being elegant.

The steward began to drone on about something. I believe that it was our cue to turn off all electronics and wait for the plane to land. In fifteen short minutes, I would actually be touching Midwest land. I would be in some small, Midwest airport. I would be expected to smile when I walked by people and say things like: ma'am and sir.

With any luck, my completely black outfit—for mourning—and bizarre new look would help to deny our family entrance to the rolling plains outside of the airport: the guards would take one look and toss me on the soonest airplane back to the City.

After all, don't you have to have a passport to enter Hick Country?

Our new home was white with light blue shutters and a light blue door. It was two stories with a front porch and a balcony in the back. The roof was grey and connected to the house was a garage. It would have been livable . . . if it wasn't for the fact that every single house on the block was its clone. The only way I could pick out the house in a line up was the numbers right next to the door: 5456.

Or was it 5465?

Currently, I could hear the incessant cranking of the irrigation system. As if the grass wasn't already green enough. It was so green that it hurt my eyes to look at. So I closed them and laid back on my front yard. At least the sprinklers helped to cool me from the humid heat that seemed to plague the afternoon. The air-conditioning didn't work upstairs—where my room happened to be—and the heat inside was even more stagnant than it was out here. I certainly hoped every day wasn't this hot.

Maybe I'd dye my hair this grass color green next.

"Excuse me, miss?"

"We don't want to buy it and we're not interested in being a Witness," I muttered, not even bothering to open my eyes. What was the point of living in a gated community, if solicitors still found it necessary to knock on the doors?

"Witness?" The airy voice suddenly turned confused. "I'm not selling anything. Perhaps I should introduce myself. I'm Deandra Watson. I live next door."

I opened a single eye and saw a lady in her mid-forties. Brown hair pulled back. White capris and a pink button-shirt. The craziest part was that she seemed to be holding a cake . . . an actual cake in her hands.

I do believe I was somehow transported to the twilight zone.

She was still talking. "I just wanted to welcome your family to town. I baked you one of my famous red velvet cakes."

I wasn't a big fan of most cakes, but red velvet just so happened to be my very favorite kind of dessert. I'd do just about anything for it. I stand, brushing off the back of my black cutoffs, and attempted a smile. "Thanks. My parents went to run some errands, but I'll be happy to take that cake out of your hands."

And I did. Her smile wavered slightly as she looked me up and down. "That is quite a fascinating look you got there."

I was from The City, what did she expect? I raised a single eyebrow, knowing that although I could never pull off a tough look back home (bar being Volt), it was easily done when I lived in a neighborhood that was so backward and polite that people actually baked a complete stranger a cake.

"Not meaning to offend!" She was easily flustered. "When I was a teenager, I had the grunge look down to a T. You should have seen how real I kept it." She gave one of those far off laughs that I was suppose to emphasize with. "But of course, we all grow up. The blue in your hair really brightens the green in your eyes."

It was meant to clash.

I shrugged one shoulder. "How old are you, seventeen?" I hated it when strangers correctly guessed my age. "I have a son your age. He's in Europe right now, he got a there, but he'll be coming back tomorrow. You two have to meet." That was my cue to leave. If I stayed another second, I'd find myself on a blind date with her hick son. "I need to get inside. Unpacking and chores and stuff."

"Oh, yes. Right!" She grinned brightly. "I never did get your name."

"Adaline Sparks," I said as I spun around and rushed into the house. You have my complete permission to make fun of the fact that not only was I the famous Volt, but my last name also happened to be a personification of my powers.

As much as I hated the new house, I did appreciate the instant flush of cold air when I walked inside. Per the new house rule, I slipped my sandals off at the door, but I didn't bother trying not to drip on the hardwood floors. I figured my mother would enjoy cleaning up after me later.

I went to the kitchen and opened up the first box I saw. There was silverware, but no plates. I grabbed a fork and dug right into the cake, still standing at the counter. An accumulation of water was building around my feet.

I thought back to my last fight, and despite the richness of the cake, I frowned. Things were never going to be the same.

It's hard to describe how wonderful it was to be a superhero. How exhilarating . . . how breathtaking . . . how death-defying. I couldn't even begin to tell you how much I loved my calling, but perhaps I could show you.

Take my seventeenth birthday, for example. I didn't get a party. I didn't want a party. My mother gave me her grandmother's pearl set. My father gave me a 500 cash bond. But my favorite gift was my annual, updated suit. And that night, I got the greatest gift of all . . . the chance to try out my new suit.

I had been testing the friction my new boots could generate—although, my body was always tingling with unused electricity, exercise—particularly running—helped me to generate extra power so that I could do some really badass moves. There was nothing worse than becoming exhausted in the middle of a battle.

While running through on an empty road in a ritzy part of the city, I came across something unusual . . . a window cracked slightly open. To the untrained eye, the window may seem ordinary. But I had been trained to find the out-of-ordinary in the commonplace.

The street was still abandoned. Within thirty seconds, I was through the window and sure enough, the room had been trashed. This was recent. Whoever did this was either still in the house, or he or she had just left. Being that I didn't notice anybody on the street, I chose to believe that the burglar was still in the house.

I used my beeper to page the police before creeping out of the room. By the time they got here, I would have the criminal detained and ready to be thrown in jail. I saw a dim light down the hall. An amateur . . . this was going to be simple.

The burglar was as cliché as it came. He was wearing all black with a ski cap. "Am I interrupting?" I questioned, leaning against the doorframe.

The burglar jumped and turned around, whipping a gun out. Why did they always think that they could get me with mere bullets? With a flick of my hands, I sent out bolt of electricity, stunning the gun's trigger. The man got a good shock himself; he instantly dropped his gun. "Stay back!" He warned, as if I would be afraid of him.

I ignored him as I punched him in the gut and grabbed his right arm, shoving him against the wall. The man whimpered, but I didn't care. I had no sympathy for the unlawful. I was pulling out my police-issue handcuffs—I was an honorary member of the force—when I felt the cock of a pistol against the back of my head.

"Let him go," the woman said. It had been a two person robbery . . . what every girl dreamed of for a date. Dinner and a break-in. I silently chastised myself for not securing the perimeter first.

Why did cockiness always have to be my downfall?

The gun was shaking. She was nervous. They were obviously not very experienced. "Let. Him. Go. I don't want to hurt you."

"Calm down lady," I said. I thought about just giving her a major jolt, but the idea of the jolt causing her finger to push the trigger—thus sending a lead bullet through my brain—did nothing to appeal to me.

I raised my hands in mock surrender and took a few steps away from the ostentatious offender. "Now why don't you tell me what the problem is?" The man rushed to the woman's side and I turned to face the couple.

Great. She looked to be ready to pop out at any moment. A baby? This was sure some family outing. And she was still trying to steady the gun in her hand. This was not the kind of thing I wanted to deal with. Beating up a woman, I could handle. But messing with an unborn child . . . I didn't hurt the innocent.

"Now let's talk about this . . ." I took a step forward, afraid to use my powers. I mean, what if it caused some kind of radiation poisoning?

"Volt . . . dude!" The man recognized me . . . I felt so loved. I always let the misconception that I was a man slide. It added another layer to my disguise. "We just wanna give our babies a better life." There were two of them in there? "We both know that these people have way too much money. What's a few grand to them? Nothing!"

Except that it wasn't this family's few grand. "You know that the law doesn't work that way . . ."

"Please! We just want to give a good life to our babies." The woman burst into tears and her hand was bouncing so hard that I was sure she was going to shoot the gun off at any moment. This had to stop. Screw radiation poisoning! With a flicker of my hand, the magnetics of the gun had been disabled and the shock had her falling to the ground.

"The both of you might as well stay calm. The police will be here any moment." I rushed over to the couple and cuffed them together. I really needed to invest in another pair of handcuffs. As it was, the only thing I could think to do was put an electric fence around them.

It was more like an electric cage . . . and when I say electric, I mean, electricity actually hummed all around the perimeter. I couldn't create wires or bars out of thin air. "If I were you, I wouldn't move. Or you'll get a shock that you won't wake up from."

They sat there huddled, as I waited for the police to arrive. Yes, I still had them arrested. Some may think that I was being coldhearted for pretending to sympathize with the young couple and then betraying them to the police, but the fact still remained that they broke the law. I was here to uphold justice, not cave in to mercy.

And as it was, I had gotten yet another medal of honor for my outstanding and heroic deeds. Yet another press conference. Yet another parade throughout The City. It could get a little tiring (who was I kidding? I loved the recognition), but my duty to The City was more than just fighting crime. It was projecting the face . . . even if nobody had ever seen my face before.

I didn't tell The City that I was leaving. Even after my complete makeover, I was still in denial. Even when I was on the plane, I was waiting for it to spontaneously combust, me to miraculously survive, be adopted by Bentley, and go on fighting crime. But now that I was here, in the middle of nowhere land, I realized that my stanch denial was going to cause quite a few problems back in The City.

Problems that I no longer had any way of fixing.

"Adaline!" My mother just walked in our new house. "Why is there water all over the floor?"

"I was lying under the sprinklers outside." I answered, not bothering to swallow my food first.

"We are trying to keep this house presentable. Owning a home is a very big responsibility."

"I took my shoes off."

"What is that you're eating?"

"Red velvet cake," I said between bites. "The lady next door brought it over."

"Adaline Sparks!" She knocked the fork out of my hand. It fell to the floor. Who was making the mess now? This was one of those moments in which a mother would use my middle name. Except I was blessed not to get one. Really, if you think about it, a third name is quite pointless—only good if you wanted to embarrass your child, or were angry with them.

"Watch it!" I shot back.

"That can be poisoned for all you know. You are old enough to know not to take food from strangers."

"Mom," I said. "We have entered Hick Country. Socialite women in the suburbs bake cakes for neighbors for a living. I think I'm going to be okay."

"Oh right . . ." She frowned for a moment before saying, "Couldn't you have least gotten a plate?"

"Didn't want to go through all the boxes." She was ignoring me now though. My mother had actually grabbed a fork from the box that I had opened and stood beside me to take a small bite of my cake.

"It's good. Who baked it? We should send a thank you card."

"I think she told me, but I forgot."

"Adaline." She frowned. "Didn't I teach you any manners?"

"It's not that big of a deal. I'm sure we are going to be seeing a lot of her in the future. She has a son my age." I shuddered between bites.

"Oh, that's good!" She had since set her fork down.

"No, it's not."

"You can make friends."

I didn't want to make friends! "The woman is going to spend the rest of my life trying to set me up and instead of just making my own way in the school, I'll be forced to tag behind him."

"It may be good . . . getting a boyfriend." I was positive that my mother thought that just because I have never had a boyfriend—or even been on an actual date—that I was a lesbian. She was constantly trying to set me up with her friends' sons. She just didn't understand that I spent all of my free time saving to world.

"I don't need a boyfriend." If it weren't for the red velvet cake, I would have escaped to my beige colored room—I wondered if I was allowed to repaint the room; maybe a deep red or purple—but the cake was far too good to leave, even at the sacrifice of this conversation.

"I'm sure with your blue hair and that . . . piercing, you'll be the most unique and exciting girl in school. If you find that you're not interested in the lady's son, I am sure you can find some other nice young man to date. This is not like The City. You won't be a little fish in a big sea anymore."

I hated clichés and I hated the fact that my mother just used one to try and explain my life (or lack thereof) . . . particularly since Volt had never been a little fish. I didn't bother reiterating my stance on not needing a boyfriend. It wasn't as if she was in the mood for listening anyway.

I took one last lingering bite before excusing myself from the kitchen. "Clean up your mess!" My mother hollered as I rushed up the steps. I pretended as if I didn't hear her.

A/N: I feel like I should apologize for Adaline's horrible manners in this chapter. Being torn away from The City and its crime has put her in quite the rotten mood. But eh, she'll adjust. Or at least I hope she will or I may have to make her jump off the nearest bridge . . . not that they have any in the Midwest suburbs. Be sure to drop me a review and tell me how much Adaline made you want to strangle her electric-charged neck.

Cassandra