CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED SIXTY-THREE

Marked for Death, Part 2

“Quiet on the set!” the director ordered. “Let’s go again!”

“Scene forty, take fifty-two,” the clapper loader announced.

“Action!” the director yelled.

Cue the music, a church choir rendition of the chorus for the advertiser’s famous theme song which signaled the appearance of the commercial’s leading man.

Sam, his mind weary from all the retakes, stepped in front of the camera, pointed a finger into its lens, and then said, “Remember, kids… crime plays—”

“Cut!” the director yelled exasperatedly.

“Oh, satyr-crap,” Sam sighed, “I’m sorry. I got tongue-tied… again.”

The weary-looking director walked up to Sam and waved off his apology with a wan smile.

“It’s okay, Herc. We can do this as many times as you need to get it right.” Her smile wavered immediately after she said it though, prompting the frizzy-haired woman to add, “But don’t forget this time. It’s ‘crime doesn’t pay’… alright?”

“Um, yeah, right.” Sam scratched at the back of his head. “Crime doesn’t pay.”

“Yes. Exactly.” She gave him two thumbs up, turned around, sighed, and then went back to her seat beside the cameraman’s rig. After another weary sigh, the director yelled, “Okay, people. We’re trying this again!”

As he waited for the clapper to sound, Sam wondered if the Fates could just rewind time and send him back to five days ago when he was neck-deep in blood and fire. Yep, that life-and-death struggle against the empousa seemed a far easier challenge than making his first commercial.

“Scene forty, take fifty-three,” the clapper loader announced.

“Action!” the director yelled.

It took Sam another two tries, but take fifty-five was finally the one where he nailed, “Crime doesn’t pay,” and, “Stay in school and don’t do drugs.”

This was followed by a final scene where Sam turned his back to the camera, glanced over his shoulder, and said, “and if you’re thirsty…”

He pressed a node on his belt and a can of soda with green wrapping popped into his hand.

“…Try Hunka-Herc’s new apple-flavored soda.” He pressed the tip of the can to his lips, made a show of taking a sip and enjoying its taste—which he did because apple was his favorite flavor of juice—and then turned an awkward smile at the camera so he could finish the shot with, “It’s the nectar of the gods… Mine too.”

Incidentally, it took Sam less than half of the previous scene’s retakes to finish this final scene. It was something the weary director proclaimed was a big achievement for a first-timer like Herculean.

“Th-thanks,” Sam said with low enthusiasm.

It didn’t help that Triple-A had no mute button so he couldn’t shut out Chiron who was laughing into his brain the whole time Sam was filming, creating a distraction that made concentrating on the job a much more challenging task than it should have been.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get so good at this every ad on TV will feature New York’s newest and coolest alpha showing off his pearly whites,” the director laughed. It was laughter that never reached her eyes though.

“Gods, please no,” Sam whispered as soon as the director left him alone in his dressing room. “I’d rather fight Apex and Bloodfyre again over another day like this… ugh.”

“Great job, boss,” said Sophie Salinger as she strolled through the door, bringing her upbeat midwestern energy into the gloom Sam had cast around this dressing room. “You’re a natural at this.”

“You clearly weren’t watching…” Sam frowned. “Didn’t you see how many takes it took?”

“Oh, it’s normal to do a couple of retakes,” she waved off his concern, “but I have to admit that I needed to sneak out a few times to answer calls. You’re getting so many new requests.”

She gave Sam the thumbs up.

“Any of them related to my actual job of saving lives?” Sam wondered.

“No, not really,” Sophie shrugged. “However, I did get a call from that brand Thunder told me you liked. And they’re seriously ga-ga over getting you to wear their sneakers.”

Sophie leaned in close to whisper conspiratorially into Sam’s ears.

“There’s even talk of getting their new item named after you,” she revealed. “Something witty like Airculean or Air-Herc. Cool, right?”

Sam perked up a little. “Um, yeah, okay. That is cool.”

“As promised, Herculean’s brand is blowing up!” Sophie said excitedly.

“Yay,” he replied without much enthusiasm.

Sam hired the blonde Wardens receptionist that he met at the Warden’s Abbey assessment hall as his part-time publicist a day after they apprehended Bloodfyre because he was drowning in emails, text messages, and calls from prospective advertisers, city officials, and his new fandom.

Yep, even though the Herald continued to disparage him in the news with headlines like NEW YORK’S NEWEST ALPHA REMAINS A MENACE, and, CAN HERCULEAN HACK IT AS A BIG TIME SUPERHERO, Sam had more fans now than he’d ever had as a vigilante.

“Oh, and don’t forget, I need your sizes for tonight’s—”

Sophie’s phone rang, prompting her to excuse herself while mumbling a hello to Thunder who walked into Sam’s dressing room looking like she’d just stepped out of a hip fashion magazine in her NY baseball cap, white sweater, skintight jeans, and all-white high-top Airforce Thunders.

“Seriously, I left you here after breakfast, saved people from a basilisk outbreak, had lunch with Farsight and Miracle Girl, stopped a restaurant in the meat-packing district from burning down, and had my fan meet-and-greet in Rockefeller Center,” Thunder enumerated her completed to-do list as she walked over to Sam’s chair, “but it took you all day to finish filming a minute-long commercial?”

Sam sighed. “I know I suck… No need to pile on.”

“Well, you do look tired,” she admitted. “Oh, yeah, I heard Sophie from outside talking about a possible shoe brand endorsement. Which one?”

“Same one you’re wearing now,” Sam admitted. He couldn’t help getting a little excited at the prospect of him and Thunder sharing an endorser too.

“Oh, hey, that’s cool.” Thunder leaned her butt against the desk next to Sam’s chair. “We can shoot an ad together or something.”

“Yeah, I like their social awareness campaigns too,” Sam agreed. “But, um, I don’t think I’m ready for another day like this… At least not right away.”

“It helps if you’re promoting stuff you’re really into, Sam.” She eyed the green soda can on the desk. “Speaking of…”

“Hey, I happen to like Hunka-Herc,” Sam protested. “They’ve got some good soda flavors and they’re not afraid to experiment. Plus, they’re named after my—you know—so it kind of feels like a no-brainer for my first ad.”

“Not to mention the catchy theme song.” Thunder began humming a tune. “Zero to hero in no time flat. Zero to hero, that’s a—”

“Stop, please,” Sam begged. “I’ve been hearing that song all day…”

He glanced warily at the room’s lone window.

“Where are the horrors and catastrophes when you need them?” he sighed.

“Don’t complain,” Thunder chided. “This job’s paying Mr. Moonday that two grand you still owe him plus your rent for the next year. Can’t earn that much just being a hero, you know.”

“Um, yes, you can… your cousin doesn’t do endorsements.”

“When he’s not out saving the world, Superion enjoys the simple life of a fisherman. He lives on a fishing boat docked at a harbor in Virginia and doesn’t need to pay New York’s exaggerated rent prices.”

Thunder took a sip of Sam’s Hunka-Herc and nearly spit it out in Sam’s face.

“Oh, gods, apple-flavored soda?”

“Um, it’s good though.”

“You have weird tastes, Sam.” Thunder frowned. “Speaking of tastes… now that you can afford to pay rent, maybe we should get you a bigger apartment.”

Sam blushed at the mention of his apartment because he suddenly recalled what happened in the hours after they caught Bloodfyre. Of course, he could never forget the magical moment when he and Thunder had shared their second kiss on his moldy couch. He recalled how unready he was for it too when Thunder leaned in and brushed her lips against his, but he had been eager to reciprocate. Very eager.

They might even have gone further than just locking lips that night if only his friends hadn’t barged into Sam’s tiny one-bedroom apartment to celebrate Miracle Girl and Ice Brand joining the crew for their next adventure.

“Are you alright?” Thunder asked.

“Um, yeah, I’m cool.”

This was a lie. Sam was far from cool. He was blushing rather fiercely. It was something Thunder pointed out to him.

“Um, I guess I’m still tired.” It wasn’t technically a lie, but Sam knew he had to switch topics quickly, so he went with, “Hey, you had lunch with Ash, right? Did she mention when the Argo VII’s upgrades will be finished?”

“Two days at the latest,” Thunder reported. “Then we can finally start the hunt for Medea and your sister.”

“Two days…” All thought of impropriety disappeared from Sam’s mind as the frustration he’d been feeling for the past four days began to swell in his chest. “We might be too late by then.”

Thunder’s touch—her hand brushing against his cheek—forced Sam to cast his gaze away from the floor and up to her blue irises.

“According to the intel Warden Salvatore shared with us, the warehouse we captured was where Chimera stockpiled their soul stones,” she reminded Sam. “Chiron also told you that those Chimera agents didn’t get away with enough soul stones to fuel a spell powerful enough to tear a hole open into Hades.”

As she leaned toward him, Thunder wrapped her other arm around Sam’s neck.

“Um,” Sam’s heart was fluttering, “what are you—”

Thunder placed a finger on his lips, shutting him up instantly.

“So, unless Medea’s planning to off herself to get to the underworld, the only way the sorceress is opening a pirate portal into Hades is if she finds more stones.” Thunder raised Sam’s chin with her fingers. “That means the black market which both the Wardens and Crow-Man’s Agency are actively monitoring.”

Then Thunder did something that made Sam’s heart beat like a drum solo at a heavy metal concert. She sat on his lap.

“Once she goes for more stones, we’ll catch the crazy bitch, reunite you with your sister, and stop the Trickster’s prophecy from coming true all in one fell swoop.” Thunder pressed her forehead against Sam’s. “Easy peasy lemon squeezy.”

“You’re that confident, huh?” Sam finally gave in to her enthusiasm and wrapped his arms around her waist.

Thunder brushed her nose against his. “Confidence is my middle name.”

“When I’m with you, I feel like I can do anything,” Sam whispered.

“I feel the same way,” she whispered back. “Now shut up and kiss me, lame-brain.”

Their lips brushed against each other with Sam’s mouth opening up for hers. They shared a passionate kiss, one that lasted quite long.

Luckily for Sam, Sophie Salinger was a good publicist, because, after noticing the action inside Sam’s dressing room, she made sure to shut their door and let the heroes have a moment to themselves before the next big crisis happened.