Civil War Prose Novel by Stuart Moore Page A

Congress, in their backyards, waiting in the bushes to overthrow the government.”
    “Were there?”
    “Oh, maybe a few. But most of them were too busy smoking marijuana to overthrow anything.”
    Peter laughed.
    “This is a little different, Aunt May. People are afraid of superhumans, and there really are a lot of them running around. Flying, too.”
    “My point is, Peter: People make very bad decisions when they’re afraid.”
    He nodded.
    “You’re fidgeting, dear. What is it?”
    “It’s—I—I have to tell you something, Aunt May. And it’s kind of, well, tricky.”
    Tricky? he thought. That’s an understatement. Get a hold of yourself, Parker.
    “Peter, listen to me.” She put a hand under his chin, forced him to look into her eyes. “Whatever’s going on out in the world, that’s out there . It doesn’t touch us. It doesn’t come inside these walls. It’s just you and me here, and you can tell me anything.”
    “Okay, but—this might be a shock.”
    Her eyes went wide. She stood up quickly, tottered once, then stared at him.
    “So it’s true.”
    “What?”
    “It’s—it’s all right, Peter. I half-saw this coming. Mrs. Cardoman’s boy just came out, and he’s so much happier now. He’s even talking about marrying his—partner, I guess you call it.” She raised a hand to her chin. “Come to think of it, he used to date fashion models, too.”
    “What?” Peter jumped to his feet. “Aunt May, I’m not—wait, Jason Cardoman is gay? Oh, of course he is. But—”
    “You have to understand, Peter. My generation didn’t grow up with…we just didn’t talk about such things.” She reached out, touched his cheek. “But times have changed. And you…you have to be your own unique, wonderful self.”
    “Aunt May, I’m not gay.”
    “Oh.”
    For a moment, she looked confused again. Her eyes darted around the room, coming to rest back on Peter.
    This is it, he thought. This is the moment.
    But I can’t. I can’t do it.
    Slowly she reached behind him. Her thin fingers closed on a small scrap of red fabric protruding from his back pocket. She tugged at it, tentatively, until a web pattern appeared. Then, in one quick motion, she yanked it free.
    They stood together for a long moment, both staring at the blank-eyed mask of Spider-Man.
    Then, to his shock, Aunt May smiled. A long, serene, wonderful smile.
    “Peter,” she said. “I’ve known about this for years.”
    He felt tears welling up.
    “You’re not so sneaky as you think, young man.”
    “Aunt May…oh, Aunt May…”
    “But why today, Peter? Why now?”
    “Because…”
    He reached out with both arms, pulled her close. Buried his head on her shoulder, like when he was a little boy.
    “…because something’s going to happen,” he whispered. “Something that will come inside these walls.”
    She reached up, patted his shoulders softly.
    “But it’s okay,” he continued. “You’ll be safe. I’ve made sure of that. No matter what, you’ll be safe.”
    “Peter,” she said, her voice a frail trill in his ear. “Dear Peter. I trust you. And whatever happens…I am so, so proud of you.”
    He hugged her tight, rocked her slowly side to side. Tears flowed down his cheeks.
    For one moment, he felt utter peace.
    Then the panic returned. Along with the thought:
    That was the easy part.

“MOBILE Bus One, we got him. The witch-kid’s down.”
    At the sound of Director Hill’s voice, Captain America’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. He spoke quietly: “Location?”
    “Brooklyn Bridge.”
    The badge on Cap’s stolen S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform read: Agent Lamont. Thankfully, Maria Hill didn’t seem to have recognized his voice.
    Cap glanced over at the burly agent in the passenger seat—Axton, that was his name. He sat tense in his full armor, smiling, tapping a stun-truncheon against his hand.
    “’At’s the last one,” Axton said.
    “Hang on.”
    Cap wrenched the wheel around as hard as he could.