The Color of Courage by Natalie J. Damschroder

been stood up, the hostess wished me a pleasant afternoon. As I was already fifteen minutes late for our bumped-back meeting, I doubted I’d have one. Not that Adam had much of a temper. He was calm under all circumstances. In two years, I’d never heard him raise his voice. But he was the kind of guy you hated to disappoint.
    So I’d rushed halfway down the hall toward the meeting/break room when I realized he was yelling. His fury was so great the dark, throbbing red seeped around the edges of his office door. A moment later, that door flew open. A man stalked out. Not Adam, but an older, seedy-looking guy wearing plaid polyester golf pants and a sweat-stained boater’s hat. He glared at me but said nothing, just slammed through the outside door and disappeared.
    I waited, but Adam didn’t emerge. There was silence in his office. I hoped he was okay but wasn’t quite brave enough to check.
    “What the hell was that?” I asked when I entered the meeting room. Trace and Kirby sat side by side at the table, looking subdued. Summer answered me from the counter.
    “I think he wanted us to do a B and E or something.” She handed me a cup of coffee.
    I took it without thinking, my mouth hanging open. “Where on earth would he have gotten the idea that we’d do something illegal?”
    Summer looked at the table. Trace nodded toward the magazine in the middle of it. Today’s News. The new issue.
    “I thought the article was going to be out next week.”
    “Apparently, she made an earlier deadline.”
    I looked closer. On the cover was a collage of photos, some of people, some of sites of rescues in different parts of the country. Across the bottom of the page, in huge white letters, were the words, “Saviors? Or a Danger to Humanity?”
    “Oh, for God’s sake.” I snatched up the magazine. “I thought we’d convinced her.”
    “We did,” Kirby said. “Everything in there about HQ is positive. She profiled each one of us and raved about Adam’s honor and nobility.”
    “And then she trashed everybody else.” Trace looked grim as he retrieved the mag from my hand. He flipped it open and turned a couple of pages. “‘Not all superhero agencies hold to such high values. In fact, some go so far as to be villainous, perpetuating the same crimes organizations like HQ are in business to stop.’ She mentions six crimes that may or may not have had super abilities involved. Then she talks about Chicago.” He threw the magazine down. “Three columns on us. Three pages ,” he spit, “on speculation and negativity.”
    I picked up the magazine and skimmed as I sat next to Kirby, but it was pretty much as Trace had described. A sidebar talked about other groups, organizations that protested the so-called reverence and permissiveness of the government and the people who’d benefited from superhero work. There was even a group calling itself Citizens Against Superhero Existence. I shivered, imagining death squads coming after anyone with special abilities.
    “Is this what Adam wanted to meet about?” I asked.
    “Part of it.” He came into the room, still exuding so much fury I didn’t need to see the aura. I could feel it. But he appeared normal except for his eyes. I’d never seen his eyes blaze before. My skin felt scorched, and something inside me started to burn.
    When he turned to me, my breath caught. My heart paused, then thudded extra hard, once. Goosebumps pebbled my flesh. I was so shocked at my reaction I almost said, “What the fuck?”
    “I told you the interview was a bad idea,” he said, still looking at me.
    I couldn’t focus. My body was trying to tell me something my head wouldn’t compute. “I don’t think so,” I finally said. “If we hadn’t met with her, she might have painted us with the same brush. Maybe the tone of the entire article would have been anti-superhero.”
    “Maybe.” He slouched into the chair between Trace and me. His leg brushed mine and something fluttered