The Afrodiseum Library

Hellfire

by
Nathan C. Weber

The station van pulled up to the curb side. Erica Houston stepped out of the sliding side door. She was a young Black woman smartly dressed in a brightly colored jacket and skirt ensemble with a black blouse to offset the color. Her hair was cut short and conservatively styled. Erica surveyed the situation while her camera crew set up for the shoot. The scene was sheer pandemonium. Crowds of people were trying to get as close to the action as possible while police officers worked furiously to keep everyone back. Fire trucks were everywhere and able-bodied fire fighters did their best to extinguish the inferno before them.

"Okay, guys. Lets get started," called Erica to her staff.

The camera was set. The spot lights were turned on. Erica positioned herself so that the camera would get a good view of the burning building behind her.

"Channel 9 standing by. We're on in five...four...three...two..."

"Good evening, this is Erica Houston on location at the Stetson-Smith International Corporation Headquarters where a terrific battle is going on between a three alarm blaze and Monument City's finest fire fighters."

* * *

How could this have happened?

Emilia was running from room to room inside the burning building. There seemed to be no way out. She knew that if she is seen leaving the building, the fire would be blamed upon her. All she wanted was to confront the president of the Stetson-Smith International Corporation about his company's underhanded dealings in real estate fraud. However, after sneaking into the executive level of the building she found it empty. It was then that she notice smoke coming from one of the offices.

At first, she thought that it was a trap set for her to prevent her from revealing her earlier findings about the company, but these people probably didn't even know she existed. Emilia went into the office where she first saw the smoke. Despite the flames licking at her from every side and heat intense enough to melt steel, Emilia felt comfortable. It was this special ability that allowed her to continue her investigation. In the office on the floor were the scorched remains of a gasoline can.

So that's it, she thought to herself. This is all some kind of insurance fraud. Simply torch the building and collect the insurance money.

Emilia bent down and picked up the can. "Evidence," she said with determination. Then, after turning the can over in her hands, she tossed it aside dejectedly. "Who am I kidding? There's no way anyone would believe me. I'll just have to find something else."

Emilia continued her search going from office to office until she came upon the records office. The fire hadn't reached here yet. She went in and began rummaging through drawer upon drawer of files, records, contracts, finance reports, insurance claims...

"Whoa, hold on a minute. This looks interesting."

Emilia quickly skimmed the insurance papers. A smiled slowly broadened across her face.

"This is perfect," she said to herself. "They'll have to believe me now."

Emilia grabbed a nearby envelope and began stuffing it with the insurance papers along with financial records and a few incriminating memos she had come across. Once she had retrieved everything she felt she needed, Emilia walked over to the window. It wasn't the type that could be opened, so she grabbed a chair and smashed it. Then, with her important evidence clutched tightly within her grip, she leaped headlong through the opening.

* * *

"As you can see the fire is spreading very quickly through the building. Chances are that the fire department won't be able to put the fire out fast enough to save the building. Now, if you'll look over here..."

Erica stopped in mid-sentence. The cameraman seemed a little concerned over her sudden silence.

"Quick!" she screamed. "Swing the camera over here!"

The camera operator was taken aback by her exclamation, but nonetheless he obeyed. He then saw what it was that had gotten Erica Houston so excited. Through the camera's eye he saw a woman flying out of a window of the burning building. She looked like something out of a comic book. She wore a skin tight outfit of yellow and white with orange boots and gloves. Her "hair" was actually a plume of flame dancing on her head like an Arabian belly dancer. At first he thought that she had become a victim of the blazing inferno, but then he realized the glowing eyes and the serene face. The fire was part of her. The woman seemed to hover for a while, then she started to descend toward the ground.

"Oh my God!" said Erica. "She's coming toward us!"

* * *

As Emilia flew over the burning building, she could get a good view of the ensuing chaos that was situated below her. It was then that she noticed the Channel 9 Roving News Team doing a live spot on the fire.

"I bet they could use this information I've got. Maybe Erica Houston can help me. She's always been my favorite reporter."

Emilia began to descend toward the TV crew.

* * *

In all her years as a reporter, Erica Houston had never had anything like this happen to her. She silently hoped that the television station was still running the signal over the airwaves, as this strange woman in a flashy but scanty outfit deftly landed in front of her. Her head was covered with flames that licked at the air. Her eyes glowed like two bright red beacons. Looking into those eyes was like looking directly into the eyes of the devil. The woman carried a large brown envelope which was overstuffed with papers.

"You are Erica Houston."

The sentence was a statement not a question.

"Y-yes. That's me."

The woman smiled warmly. "Good. I need your help. I believe I have information here that will prove that the Stetson-Smith International Corporation deliberately set this blaze so that they could collect the insurance money. Perhaps you could look into it."

She handed Erica the envelope. Erica hesitated at first, unsure of what she should do. Finally, she reached out and took the envelope.

"I'll see what I can do."

"Great," answered the woman. "I've gotta go now. Bye."

"Wait! What's your name?"

The woman looked at Erica and replied, "I am Hellspawn."

With that she flew upwards and disappeared behind a group of tall buildings.

"You sure are," said Erica softly.

She had no idea what to make of all this. Unfortunately, all of Monument City saw what happened, which will probably make life a lot more difficult for Erica Houston.

* * *

Trisha sat forward in apprehension as she watched a most unusual occurrence on her television set. A woman with incredible pyrotechnic capabilities had just confronted Erica Houston, Channel 9's top investigative reporter, and handed her some startling information. Trisha watched carefully as the camera panned up to follow the strange woman until she blinked out of sight.

Now that's flashy, she thought to herself.

It was then that she noticed a pair of eyes watching her closely from the sofa. She smiled and sat back in her chair.

"What are you looking at?" she remarked using American Sign Language.

"I was just waiting for you to fall out of that chair," came the reply. "You were so much into that report, I thought you were going to jump through the screen."

It wasn't often that Kevin Brown got free time to spend with Trisha, but when he did they tried to make the most of it...unless the news was on.

Trisha cocked an eyebrow at Kevin's comment. "I take it you're ready to go out for dinner, now," she signed.

"You read my mind," Kevin chided lightly.

"Not really," Trisha returned. "I could hear your stomach growling from over here."

Kevin self-consciously put a hand over his empty stomach. "Heck, you could hear my stomach growl if I were in the building across the street."

"That's beside the point."

"You're right, the point is where would you like to eat, Mon Cheri?"

Trisha thought for a moment. "How about Ye Olde Diner? I feel like something light this evening."

Kevin stood and proffered an elbow. "In sooth that doth sound like a fine idea, milady," he said in an exaggerated Shakespearean accent. "Shall we go?"

Trisha linked her arm with his, and the two headed out for a pleasant evening.

* * *

A few hours after wrapping up her report for the late night broadcast, Erica Houston sat at her desk working diligently on the mysterious papers handed to her by a woman who wasn't quite human. At least, not in the normal sense.

"Really?" said Erica into the telephone receiver. There was a slight pause. Suddenly, she sat bolt upright. A smile slowly spread across her face. "Thanks, Paul. I owe you." She hung up the phone.

Erica couldn't believe her luck. After checking her information with a few reliable sources, she realized that what she had in her hands was a fuse that could set off a virtual powder keg of fraudulent real estate practices by the Stetson-Smith International Corporation, including a memo about the hiring of a professional arsonist to destroy the headquarters building here in Monument City.

"This is hot. Really hot."

As soon as she uttered the words, the strange flame-topped woman, who presented her with probably the biggest story of her career, came to mind.

"I wonder who she really is?"

She thought for a moment, and reached for her roller index. "I know just the person who might have an angle on it."

After flipping through several cards, the heading Monument Post appeared. A few more flips revealed the name Barbara Walsh.

"If anyone knows anything about super powered beings in Monument City, it's Barbara Walsh."

Erica picked up the telephone receiver and began to dial.

* * *

Emilia Hart walked casually down the street. A chilled wind cut through her overcoat causing her to shiver. She preferred much warmer temperatures. She thought about what had happened earlier that evening. For some reason, it didn't add up. Why would anyone want to risk going to such lengths to make money? There are certainly more lucrative and legal ventures they could have pursued. Obviously, they need a quick deluge of cash to finance something else. She would have to make a point of investigating that angle.

Since all the memos on the subject were filed, they apparently didn't expect anyone to be able to access the records room while the surrounding offices were ablaze.

She smiled inwardly. They hadn't counted upon Hellspawn showing up.

Lost in thought, Emilia failed to notice the young couple walking in the opposite direction and walked right into the young gentleman.

"Oh! I'm terribly sorry," apologized Emilia, backing off a little to get a look at the tall figure she had just bumped into. She squinted her eyes in recognition. "Say, aren't you Lt. Brown the homicide detective."

Kevin smiled at being recognized. "Guilty as charged," he replied amiably.

"I've seen you on the news lots of times," continued Emilia beaming. "I'm pleased to meet you."

"And you are...?"

"Oh! Silly me. My name Emilia. Emilia Hart."

"Pleased to meet you Ms. Hart."

Trisha gave Kevin an irritated tug on the sleeve. Kevin quickly took the hint.

"Well, I really must be going, but it was nice bumping into you."

Emilia laughed self-consciously at his remark.

"Take care," he said as Trisha began to lead him along.

"Bye," replied Emilia.

She watched them go further up the street until they turned a corner. "What a hunk," she sighed. "That woman he was with sure is lucky." She turned and continued her way home.

* * *

Kevin looked down at Trisha.

"Say, you weren't jealous or anything back there, were you? I was just being friendly."

"I'm not mad at you," signed Trisha, "but you seemed rather oblivious to the fact that she was ogling you like a school girl."

"Ogling? Was she ogling?" Kevin thought back to the friendly confrontation. "Yeah, I guess you're right. She did seem to be concentrating on me."

"Can't say I blame her," replied Trisha.

With that, she put an arm around Kevin's waist. Kevin smiled and returned the gesture. The two continued on that way until they reached the diner.

* * *

"Hellspawn," said Barbara. She turned the name over in her mind. "No, she's a new one alright, but I did happen to catch your impromptu interview."

"Do you think she's dangerous?" asked Erica.

"If for no other reason than because she's on fire," said Barbara. "Maybe if I do a little research I can come up with something."

"Thanks, a lot, Barbara."

"Hey, nothing's too good for my college dorm mate."

Barbara Walsh replaced the receiver to its cradle. This new superhuman character was definitely a mystery. So far she had been able to discern the identities of Aura, Iris, and Azura. After all, they really made no attempt to disguise themselves. The only mysteries remaining were Star Child, Obsidian, and the enigmatic Kismet herself.

Barbara turned to her computer and opened a new file titled Hellfire. Next, she called down to the newspaper morgue for any reports of unusual accidents with either fire or chemicals within the last few years. Now, all she had to do was wait until the results came through. In the meantime, she resumed working on her latest Kismet story.

"I had it figured wrong," she said to herself. "Kismet is being aided by the police, but it's not Lt. Brown. I'm willing to bet that it's Officer Harrigan."

With her new inspiration, Barbara attacked the computer keyboard with fervid voracity.

* * *

Jack Stetson, CEO of the world renown Stetson-Smith International Corporation, sat at his desk drumming his fingers. He was a tall, lean man with platinum gray hair and a weathered face like some movie cowboy. He wore a black, three-piece, double-breasted suit with a charcoal gray tie and white shirt. He absolutely hated pin stripes and any kind of color in his wardrobe was out of the question. He was a man who had clawed his way to the top in manners both legitimate and illegitimate. The last move to claim ownership of the formerly Smith International Corporation was to assassinate the late president Henderson T. Smith through an expert use of a precise amount of curare, an untraceable drug normally used as an anesthetic which induced heart attacks when overdosed. Since Smith had had a triple bypass a few years prior, everyone had assumed the old man had died of a worsening condition.

Stetson was a man who had been sitting on top of the free world for the past decade, until now. Things were going from bad to worse. First, that strange mutant woman had recovered sensitive files from the burning headquarters building. He had no idea how she knew they were there. Now, the investigative television news reporter Erica Houston was snooping around trying to dig up past improprieties performed by Stetson-Smith. Fortunately, Stetson had taken care to cover any scandalous trails that may have been left behind. It was a very elaborate and costly plan: destroying records, assassinating former employees who knew too many secrets, selling off branch companies where such secrets were created and then disavowing any knowledge of fraudulent activities. It was all taken care of, at least so he had thought. This Hellspawn creature had to be stopped.

Apparently, there was some connection between Hellspawn and Erica Houston. Yes, this had possibilities. If Ms. Houston were in trouble, then no doubt this Hellspawn would show up to find her.

Stetson leaned back into his chair. A smile crossed his lips resulting in a gargoylish effect upon his face. A plan was already forming in his mind. Since Houston was looking for some kind of tidbit on Stetson-Smith, it would be a relatively simple matter to plant some obscure reference about a fraudulent deal at some old abandoned factory. Preferably one that didn't actually belong to Stetson-Smith in case something went wrong. There she could easily be taken care of. A quick phone call to the news desk would alert the self proclaimed Hellspawn, and a quick trace of Ms. Houston's steps would lure her to the factory and dispatch her.

Of course, that would mean that Ms. Houston would have to die. A pity. Stetson admired her investigating skills. It was her tenacity that helped Stetson refine his "under the counter" business deals. The plan was ready. A few phone calls to loyal employees would set the trap and lay out the bait. All Stetson would have to do is wait for the really big snare.

* * *

Emilia was awakened in her hotel room early the next morning by a ringing phone. Groggily she reached out from under her comforter and fumbled for the receiver.

"Hullo," she managed into the speaker.

"Emilia, where the hell have you been!?"

Emilia eased herself upright.

"Is that you, Hans?"

"You're damn right it's me. You were supposed to be back in California two days ago. You've got an important shoot next week and we have to make sure you're in shape."

Emilia sighed. "I'm sorry, Hans, but something important has come up."

"What the hell could be more important than your career? This is a three hundred thousand dollar deal!"

"Damn it, Hans, you don't have to yell at me!" Emilia screamed into the phone. "I'll be back in time, now just leave me alone."

Emilia slammed the phone down. The last thing she needed was a chastising call from her agent.

Oh well, I might as well get dressed.

She took a quick shower and put on her Hellspawn costume, followed by a light jogging outfit. She grabbed her purse and headed down to the in-house deli in the hotel's lobby for a bite of breakfast. Emilia understood Hans' anger. Being a fashion model was grueling work. One had to constantly maintain an ideal figure. Being an African-American didn't help either. There are so few who make it even to her level of earnings much less the super model status. However, this business with Stetson-Smith International was more important to her. This large, world-wide conglomerate had bought up land in California and subsequently found ways to force people to leave their homes. Once everyone was cleared out, the housing was bulldozed and large factories and office buildings were put in place.

Ordinarily, Emilia wouldn't have cared less, except that two of the people who found themselves suddenly homeless after forty years of living in the same house were her parents. It was no problem putting them up in the large split level ranch house Emilia owned outside of Los Angeles, but they were emotionally distressed. All of the memories they had built up through forty-five years of marriage were subsequently run over by bulldozers.

At first, Emilia merely wanted to find out why her parent's home was destroyed. Instead, she discovered some rather interesting information about Stetson-Smith International, including the sudden death of Henderson Smith and the election of Jack Stetson as CEO of the company. It was then that large amounts of already settled land were being bought up. Most of it was being resold at higher prices to companies from foreign nations. Anything else was used to form branches of Stetson-Smith International. For some reason, both state and federal governments were allowing all of this displacement to happen without any regulation. No doubt Jack Stetson has some friends in very advantageous places.

That was when Emilia decided to do some further investigations. The more she turned up, the more nefarious Stetson-Smith became. Finally, she decided to confront the president himself at his headquarters in Monument City, New York. She told her agent Hans Friedrich that she needed to take a short vacation before her next shoot, and he agreed. So far, however, things haven't been going quite the way she had planned.

After a quick breakfast of a bagel and cream cheese with a cup of coffee, Emilia decided to check on the next logical place for Jack Stetson to be, provided he was still in Monument City. She began to go over her memorized list of major Stetson-Smith International branches in the area. Sure enough there was a smaller branch located just on the outside border of town.

Emilia's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of sirens coming from every direction. Finally, she pinpointed the source of the alarm, a nearby apartment building was burning and fire fighters were just arriving onto the scene. Emilia made a bee line for the inferno in case someone needed help. Police officers were setting up barrier tape to keep the curious away from danger. Ambulances soon appeared to tend to the injured.

Emilia caught a fragment of one woman's seemingly mad ravings.

"My boy's in there! He was sleeping in his room when the fire started! I wasn't in the building to wake him up!"

"Calm down, ma'am," assured the fire chief. "We'll get him out of there. Where is he?"

"Top floor," uttered the woman, pointing.

Emilia noticed the firemen pulling out.

"It's too much," one shouted. "The best we can hope for is to contain it."

This news didn't sit well with the worried mother as she began wail pitifully.

"Damn it," said Emilia to herself. "I've got to do something."

Quickly she ducked into a nearby alley.

* * *

Erica Houston arrived at the fire scene. Since it was early in the morning, there weren't as many people around as there had been at the Stetson-Smith headquarters fire. A quick interview with the fire chief revealed that the fire was too concentrated to put out right away. The best they could do is contain the fire and allow it to burn itself out. Unfortunately, there was a belief that at least one resident was still inside the burning building and all rescue efforts had been hampered by the flames.

Erica was giving her report to the camera when she reflexively glanced upwards.

"Oh, God," she whispered. "It's her."

"Look!" someone cried.

People were pointing to the strange airborne figure hurtling toward the burning building.

"Ladies and gentlemen," continued Houston, "the one who calls herself Hellspawn has just arrived on the scene. She is now entering the top floor of the burning building, right into the flames themselves. In all my life, I've never seen anything like this."

* * *

Hellspawn crashed head first into the a window at the top floor of the apartment building. Once she landed on her feet, she placed a hand to her flaming head.

"Ouch! I gotta remember I'm not Supergirl."

Hellspawn looked about. The flames were climbing the walls and crawling along the ceiling. There wasn't much time. She had to find the boy who was still in the building.

"Damn, I should have asked that woman what her apartment number was."

Hellspawn quickly dashed from apartment to apartment calling out for any survivors. Most of the doors had to be kicked in to gain entrance to the apartment. Halfway through her search, she heard someone crying out very loudly. It was coming from the apartment two doors down. Hellspawn located it immediately and kicked the door in. Her leg was getting sore from the constant punishment, but the adrenaline coursing through her body numbed the pain. In any case, she didn't have the time to think about it.

When the door gave way, flames shot out back at her. This did not bother her, however since fire was indeed her element. The crying had become louder now. Quickly she made her way into a small bedroom. A young boy, who looked to be about twelve years of age, sat on his bed crying as flames sprouted up around him.

Hellspawn walked over to the boy. "Hello there," she said smiling warmly.

The boy was startled from his crying and looked at Hellspawn. Then he started to scream.

"Help! The devil's tryin' to get me! The devil's tryin' to get me!"

Hellspawn was angry at herself. She should have realized that her appearance would have provoked this reaction, especially from a frightened little boy.

"Hey, it's okay. I'm here to get you out, honest. I'm not going to hurt you."

"How come you're on fire?"

Hellspawn realized that now was not the time to answer a lot of curious questions.

"I'll tell you outside. Your mom sent me to get you. She's waiting for you outside."

The boy seemed to take this in for a moment. Then without hesitation, he reached out his hand.

"Good boy," said Hellspawn as she led him to the window. "What's your name?"

"Gerald Davis. Are you a superhero?"

Hellspawn raised the pane and kicked out the window screen.

"Sort of."

"Can you fly?"

"Yep."

"Good, 'cause I'd hate to fall out of this window."

Hellspawn laughed.

"So would I, Gerald. So would I."

She sat on the sill, wrapped her arms around Gerald, and leaned backward out of the window.

* * *

"So, what exactly can you tell me about this Hellspawn character?"

Officer Lisa Harrigan was questioning Erica Houston about the sudden appearance of the unusual woman who seemed to walk through fire as easily as anyone else walks through air.

"Honest, officer, everything I know anyone who watches the news knows. I can't give you anything new."

Erica looked up at the building. She gasped as she noticed someone sitting in one of the windows.

"Quick," she shouted to the camera operator, "up there."

Lisa also looked up and saw what was so interesting. There in one of the top floor windows was a woman with flaming hair, glowing red eyes, and a strange yellow, white, and orange costume with a rather risqué die cut down the front. In her arms was a young boy. The woman who had reported her son missing in the fire began to cry out.

"That's my boy, that's my Gerald!"

Hellspawn leaned out of the window, and before everyone's astonished eyes, gently floated down to one of the ambulances like a drifting snow flake. In an instant, Lisa, Erica, and the young boy's mother all raced to where Hellspawn had landed. The mother had grabbed and nearly smothered her boy with affection. She was laughing and crying all at the same time.

"Please, miss," said Hellspawn, "the paramedics probably want to check him for smoked inhalation."

"What about you," urged Erica.

She turned to the news reporter and smiled upon recognizing her.

"Somehow, it doesn't seem to bother me as much."

Erica smiled in return.

"Why am I not surprised? You're a hero, you know."

"I'm an idiot," said Hellspawn frowning. "I didn't ask the boy's whereabouts before going in there. I just went in half cocked. Then, I scared the dickens out of poor Gerald who was frightened half to death already."

"But he's alive," said Erica. "That's what's important. So, you'll do better next time."

"I'm hoping there won't be a next time," said Hellspawn. "I'm not sure if I'm cut out for this line of work."

"Modest," chided Erica. "Incidentally, I found out some interesting stuff in those papers you gave me."

She slipped Hellspawn a business card. "Give me a call."

"Excuse me," Lisa interrupted, "but I'm quite sure that you wouldn't mind answering a few questions for me back at the station, would you?"

Lisa's tone made it clear that this wasn't a suggestion, and Emilia had no plans on being locked up by the police.

"Sorry," said Hellspawn, "no autographs."

With that she launched into the air and was gone in the blink of an eye. Lisa was red-faced as Erica tried to stifle a snicker.

"Oh, stuff it, Houston!" growled Lisa and she stormed back to her squad car.

* * *

Trisha fate was watching the fire from the tenth floor of the Monument City Computronics building. She had been there originally to do a quick check for viruses in the company's mainframe system. Then, other workers had begun gathering by the window. Curious, Trisha decided to put aside her job for the moment and join the others.

She had witnessed the appearance of Hellspawn as well as her bold rescue of the young boy from the fire's deadly flames.

Trisha smiled. So, this Hellspawn isn't an arsonist as certain news critics have speculated. She's a creature of fire who seeks to help her fellow man.

But, what was more important was that Trisha saw and recognized the one person who left the scene of the disaster. When Hellspawn put in an appearance, Trisha used her computer-like memory to make a visual comparison of body type and facial features. They were a perfect match.

Well, she thought to herself, I guess this means that Hellspawn has a crush on my Kevin.

She smiled momentarily, but soon the smile faded as Trisha became lost in thought. Still, I've seen that woman before, but I can't quite place where.

The truth was that in order for Trisha to do a full memory scan, she would need a few minutes alone, else anyone who saw her would swear she had gone into a coma and rush her to the hospital. It had almost happened before. Trisha decided to divert her attention back to her virus hunt. She would track down this mysterious woman of fire later.

* * *

After donning her street clothes once more, Emilia resumed her previous mission. Her intention was to locate Jack Stetson, if he was indeed still in Monument City, and stake him out. Perhaps he could lead her to some answers. Suddenly, a thought came to her. It was a far fetched notion, but perhaps that fire at the apartment building was also an arson job for insurance money. Instantly, Emilia made a detour to the public assessment office.

* * *

Erica sat in her office going through her prized scandal papers. Today had been a rather exciting day. She hadn't acknowledged it at the time, but she had come face to face with Hellspawn and spoke with her like a friend. Perhaps, they truly could be friends. It would certainly make her life interesting.

The phone rang. Erica quickly answered it. It was her contact Paul Dugan.

"What have you got for me, Paul?" A pause. "Alright! Great, this is just the break I've been looking for. Give me that location again....Right....Arkville...The docks....Great....Thanks, Paul."

Erica hung up the phone. A quick leaf through the papers on her desk revealed that this particular information that she had gotten from Paul was not listed in the scandal sheets. No matter, she would gladly add it to the list of real estate frauds. She started to write down a few notes. All she had to do now was wait for Hellspawn to give her a call.

* * *

A short bus trip led Emilia to the front of the Hall of Records. It only took a few questions from the front desk to locate the assessor's office. Within minutes Emilia was diving into reel after reel of microfilm, picking up clues and carrying them further.

Finally, she had triumphed. As she had suspected, the apartment was owned by Stetson-Smith International, if indirectly. The direct owner was the Future Realty Company, which was in turn owned by Nation's Home Realtors, which was owned by Freihaus International Realtors. That company was directly owned by Stetson-Smith International. It was an obvious smoke screen to prevent anyone from connecting Stetson-Smith with any nefarious deeds it might decide to perform. But, they hadn't counted on someone with Emilia's tenacity.

Armed with photocopies of this newly gained information, Emilia tried to locate the nearest pay phone. She had to get in touch with Erica Houston.

* * *

Erica was about to leave when the phone rang once more.

"Now what?"

She picked up the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Erica Houston? This is Hellspawn."

Erica's breath caught for moment. "I'm glad you called," started Erica. "One of my contacts was able to find something that we can really nail Jack Stetson with. There's something big going on at one of his storage warehouses in Arkville. I'm going up there to check it out."

"Where's Arkville?"

"It's about twenty miles north of here past the Pepacton Reservoir. It's right on the East Branch of the Delaware River."

"Well, I found out something, too. That apartment building that caught on fire today was owned by Stetson-Smith International via smaller national and international companies. Obviously, Mr. Stetson doesn't want anyone backtracking his property directly to him."

Erica smiled. "You know, we make a pretty good team."

"Perhaps," said Hellspawn. "There's one more thing I want to check on, then maybe I'll join you in Arkville. Provided I can find it."

Erica laughed. "Good luck."

She hung up the phone. This time Erica decided that it would be best to go it alone. She grabbed her shoulder bag, her tape recorder, and her personal 35mm camera and headed out of the office.

* * *

Emilia went back to the assessor's office and quickly dug up information on the warehouse Erica had told her about. To her dismay she couldn't find any connection with the Stetson-Smith International Company.

Frustrated, she gathered up her papers and headed for home. Upon reaching her hotel room, Emilia called down to room service for lunch. Then, she sat down at the small dinette table near her bed and spread her papers out. Something about the warehouse didn't add up. She looked over the information again and again and only succeed in gaining a migraine.

There was a knock at the door. Emilia opened it and accepted her lunch of vegetable soup and a chef's salad. After tipping the delivery boy, Emilia returned to the table of papers.

There was another knock, only this time it came from the window.

"Maybe there's a cat or something on the balcony."

Emilia opened the drapes and was stunned to see a tall, dark-skinned woman in a stylish dark blue and yellow costume. Although her face was obscured by a mask, it was obvious who the woman was. Emilia Hart stood face to face with the legendary Kismet.

Kismet motioned for the French door to be opened. It took Emilia a moment to regain her senses, but soon she admitted Kismet into her room.

"You - You're Kismet, aren't you?" she nearly whispered in awe. "What are you doing here?"

The stories of this woman's abilities had reached all the way to Los Angeles, California. Many Hollywood producers had speculated attempting to call Kismet and sign her up for a series of action films. They had no doubt that she would make them rich beyond the dreams of avarice.

Kismet produced a small pad and a pencil, and she began to write. When she finished, she handed the message to Emilia.

"I came to welcome Hellspawn to Monument City," read Emilia.

She nearly dropped dead on the spot.

"How did you know," she managed to utter.

Kismet retrieved the pad from Emilia and wrote another massage.

"I saw you change at that fire incident this morning."

That wasn't entirely true, however, Kismet didn't much feel like going into explaining her incredible abilities just now. If Emilia could have gone through the floor, she would have. She realized now that she never bothered to see if anyone above her was looking down. She sat down on her bed.

"Relax," wrote Kismet, "no one else saw you. I made sure of that."

"What do you want with me?"

Kismet smiled. She wrote, "Your friendship."

Emilia was speechless for a time. When she had first acquired her abilities, she had no idea that it would eventually lead to becoming friends with Kismet. Just then, she remembered what she had been doing. Emilia stood and walked over to the table with the copies of ownership records from the assessor's office. Kismet followed her and quickly glanced over the material, internalizing it with computer-like speed and accuracy.

"I'm doing an investigation of the Stetson-Smith International Corporation," explained Emilia. "I think they're responsible for some fraudulent real estate practices, including the eviction of my parents."

Kismet's eyebrows arched in interest, although Emilia couldn't see them behind the mask.

"Right now, Erica Houston is investigating a warehouse in Arkville, but I can't make a connection with Stetson-Smith International."

Kismet picked up a paper and scanned it. Then, she held it out so that Emilia could see clearly as she pointed to a stamped date at the very bottom of the paper. It designated the warehouse property as having been seized by the federal government some five years ago. It was quite abandoned.

"I don't understand," said Emilia. "Erica said she found some relation with this warehouse and Stetson-Smith. What do you think it means?"

Kismet picked up her pad and wrote one word in large letters: TRAP.

"Oh my God!" exclaimed Emilia. "Erica's heading into danger. I've got to get to her."

She started for the window and stopped dead in her tracks.

"I - I don't know how to get there."

Kismet smiled and motioned for Emilia to follow her. Kismet stepped out on the balcony and grabbed a waiting cable. Emilia stripped her jogging suit to reveal her Hellspawn costume. She followed Kismet onto the balcony and in an instant her hair ignited and her eyes began to glow bright red. Kismet nodded and began to descend down the side of the building while Hellspawn levitated alongside.

Upon reaching the sidewalk, Kismet reached up and snapped the cable loose. She gathered it up and carried over to a sleek, black sports car, the Frontier Motor Works Ibex LX. Opening the trunk, she then tossed the cable inside. Kismet looked at Hellspawn a moment and gave her a signal by patting herself on the head.

Hellspawn understood and doused her flame. The two entered the car and soon they were speeding out of Monument City. Hellspawn looked about and noticed a few small computer consoles on the dashboard.

"What all this for?" asked Hellspawn.

Kismet reached over to a small keyboard and began typing. A computerized voice emanated from a speaker nearby.

"A regular Batmobile," said Hellspawn.

<I'll pretend I didn't hear that. This is a standard model car with a few extras added on.>

Hellspawn nodded and turned to look out the window.

"I hope we can get there in time."

<Don't worry. We'll get there.>

* * *

Erica drove her car slowly into the warehouse district. The building she was looking for wasn't far ahead. She parked her car a short distance away from the warehouse. Erica grabbed her camera and her handbag which held her tape recorder and headed toward the side entrance. She slowly opened the door and stepped inside. The interior was pitch black. As soon as the door closed, two pairs of very strong hands grabbed her above the elbows.

"Hey! What the hell is this?"

A beam of light appeared across the large storage room and spotlighted a lone figure sitting in a large office chair. He was an evil looking specter in a black suit. His face was frozen in a demonic grin.

"Welcome, Miss Houston. Do you know who I am?"

"I'm just hazarding a guess here, but you wouldn't happen to be Jack Stetson, would you?"

The man stood and bowed reverently.

"At your service," he chimed.

He stood upright once more and advanced toward Erica who was being held by two rather imposing men in dark suits and wearing sunglasses.

"Where'd you get the goon squad?" sneered Erica. "Out of a comic book?"

"Yes, they are a trifle cliche, aren't they?" responded Stetson. "No matter. They suit my purposes well. Besides, one might say that I myself am a walking cliche." He circled around Houston like a vulture circles a dying animal. "You, on the other hand, are a cliche as well. The investigative reporter undaunted by any obstacle, and right along those same lines, easily trapped by your own curiosity. No doubt you've guessed by now that this whole thing is a set up to bring you here."

"To what end?" asked Erica knowing that she actually dreaded finding out.

"Why to dispose of you, of course," said Stetson in a genial tone. "But then, I suppose your question was merely academic. However, you will not die alone. You, for the moment, are the bait for a much bigger fish I wish to fry."

Erica immediately understood to whom Stetson was referring. This was an elaborate ruse to snare Hellspawn. Erica attempted to find holes in the plan.

"People saw Hellspawn hand me those papers. You've got more to worry about than just the two of us."

"Not true," responded Stetson. "In fact, the police will soon learn the truth that you were a pawn in an elaborate scheme perpetrated by this insane and dangerous mutant. No one actually saw the contents of that envelope. It was in actuality a pile of cleverly forged documents. I received several phone calls, threats to pay extortion money or be framed for the arson of my own buildings."

Stetson leaned close to Erica and feigned a wounded look. "I'm truly an innocent victim of a blackmail plot. Of course, I refused to pay and that monster began to carry out her threats. As for you, well, you discovered her plot and attempted to reveal everything unless you were paid handsomely. The mutant agrees to meet with you here in an abandoned Arkville warehouse, only once you reach your destination, she incinerates you to ashes and then commits suicide."

"Why would she do that?" asked Erica.

"Because she's unstable, who knows how the deviant mind thinks? Especially a mutant one. So, my name is cleared, and then it's back to business as usual. Channel 9 will find a new reporter and everyone will live happily ever after. Well, almost everyone."

"Peachy," said Erica despairingly.

"All we have to do now is wait for the guest of honor."

* * *

It only took half an hour to get to Arkville, especially since they had been doing two hundred fifteen mile per hour most of the way. The zig-zagging among the cars had left Hellspawn clutching her seat for dear life during the whole trip.

<We're almost there.>

Hellspawn opened her eyes.

"I think I left my heart on the road back a ways," she said shakily. "I've never gone that fast before. I don't think I own a car that goes that fast."

Kismet smiled and reduced speed to a safer limit as they entered the outer city limits. It wasn't long before the docks were in view. Having memorized the address from Emilia's papers, Kismet quickly located the warehouse. Hellspawn jumped out of the car and started toward the door, her hair already igniting. Kismet quickly jumped in front of her and stopped her progress.

"What are doing?" asked Hellspawn. "Get out of my way."

Kismet shook her head and pointed to the roof.

"Oh, I get it," said Hellspawn. "That way we gain the element of surprise."

Kismet gave her the OK sign. Hellspawn stepped behind Kismet and lifted her up as she flew to the rooftop. Once there, Kismet quickly located a skylight and cautiously peered in. Using her infra-red vision, Kismet was able to locate Erica and three other men in the warehouse. Kismet signaled to Hellspawn to enter through the skylight while she chose an alternate route through a ventilation shaft. After wishing one another luck, the two began their descent.

* * *

Stetson and his men were still waiting patiently when the sound of breaking glass announced the presence of a remarkable individual. Slender and graceful, Hellspawn descended into the warehouse like an angel of death. The fire and energy that radiated from her lit the storage room with an eerie glow that made the room seem like Hades itself.

The two men who kept watch over Erica Houston advanced and produced two high powered automatic weapons. Without hesitation, they began to spray a heavy concentration of bullets at Hellspawn. Much to their shock, all that had resulted was a sinister smile from Hellspawn and a puddle of molten lead at her feet. One gunman threw his weapon at the flaming mutant only to watch as it too melted where there was metal and vaporize where there was plastic.

The two men looked uncertain, then slowly backed away toward Erica, who was tied to a large office chair. Out of the shadows appeared an elderly man in a dark suit. His face was weathered and grim.

"Welcome, my dear," said the man, whom Hellspawn recognized as Jack Stetson. "You seem to be causing me no end of problems. Obviously, I can't kill you in the traditional manner, so let's bargain. Your life for hers."

Stetson gestured toward the helpless Erica Houston. The worried look on her face made it clear to Hellspawn that Erica was more concerned about the mutant's well being than herself.

"I don't make deals," she said sternly.

Stetson smiled. "I'd rather hoped you'd say that." He produced a small pistol and placed it against Erica's temple. "This gun contains a hollow tipped bullet, for your information. It could kill her instantly or leave her a brainless vegetable. Let's see what happens shall we?"

Erica said nothing but shut her eyes tight.

"Wait!"

"Yes?"

Hellspawn took a deep breath. "What kind of deal did you have in mind?"

Stetson straightened up and handed the gun to one of his henchmen. "Keep our guest covered." Stetson walked toward Hellspawn. "It's quite simple, Miss Hellspawn. And by the way, I do approve. Very imaginative. You must keep silent about what you know about Stetson-Smith International. To do that, you must leave the country to a place where no one cares about corporations and their ilk. If not, your friend will perish."

Suddenly, the defeated look on Hellspawn's face disappeared and was replaced with a smile.

"I don't think I like that arrangement. I'd much rather stay here where I can kick your butt around for a few laughs."

"Then she dies!" roared Stetson.

He whirled around and pointed at Erica. Except that Erica was no longer there. The two gunmen were lying on the floor unconscious. There, standing in the chair with arms folded in triumph, was Kismet.

"No! It can not end like this," screamed Stetson.

He started to make a run for the door, but Kismet immediately picked up the office chair and hurled it into Stetson's path, tripping him. Hellspawn casually walked over and grabbed him by the collar.

"Oh, you can't leave just yet," said Hellspawn. "You see, Mr. Stetson, there's this matter of my grievance with you. You destroyed my parents' home, and I'm still mad at you."

With that, she flattened him with a single uppercut. Hellspawn looked up at Kismet and grinned. Kismet, in return, gave Hellspawn a thumbs up sign.

* * *

Erica Houston never understood Barbara Walsh's dislike for Kismet. However, as far as she was concerned, Kismet could keep fighting crime for as long as she was able. She owed her life to both Kismet and Hellspawn. She leaned tiredly against the sleek, black sports car that apparently belonged to Kismet. The two women were busy trussing the three troublemakers in heavy hemp rope that was found in abundance in the warehouse.

Hellspawn approached Erica. "Are you alright?"

Erica smiled. She realized that she had come to trust this strange woman. "I'm fine, thanks to you and your friend over there. Although, for a minute I thought you were a goner when they shot those automatic weapons at you."

Hellspawn laughed. "What's funny is that I thought I was as good as dead myself. I guess I must instinctively generate a heat shield to protect myself. I didn't even know I had it, so it must be a reflex."

Erica nodded, though she wasn't exactly sure why. She wiped the sweat from her brow. Being so close to one who's literally on fire was definitely a warm experience.

"Maybe I should turn off the pyrotechnics," said Hellspawn.

"But won't I be able to recognize you?" asked Erica, a bit concerned.

"I won't tell anyone if you won't," responded Hellspawn. "I think I can trust you. You said it yourself, we make a pretty good team."

Hellspawn put a hand to her forehead and swept it back over her crown, thus dowsing the flame. What was revealed was short, dark, loosely curled hair. The red glow in her eyes dimmed to reveal dark brown irises.

"I do recognize you," Erica whispered in surprise. "You're Emilia Hart the super model."

"Well, I wouldn't go so far as to say I'm a super model," chuckled Emilia, "but I get good coverage."

"I'll say it again," said Erica laughing. "Modest."

Kismet joined the other two and informed them via her onboard console that she had notified the local authorities using a small voice synthesizer and a pay phone.

"The police will want a report," said Erica. "I think I'd better wait here for them."

Kismet didn't like the idea of leaving Erica behind with three blood-thirsty killers, even if they were tied up and unconscious.

"I'll stay with her until they get here," said Emilia. "However, I don't intend to stick around afterwards, cops make me nervous."

<Really? I'm rather fond of them myself.>

Both Erica and Emilia gave strange looks to Kismet concerning her computerized comment. She merely grinned, hopped into her car and sped off for Monument City.

* * *

"And in the opinion of this reporter, we need people like Kismet and Hellspawn. They're not out to force any moral standards on us. They simply want to give decent folks a helping hand, and that's fine by me."

Erica Houston leaned back in the large, padded lounge chair. Several large studio cameras were focussed upon her while studio lights blazed into her eyes. Behind her a large group of stylized letters ran across the wall.

They read: American Point of View, the title of the talk show she had been invited to.

"Excuse me, Ms. Houston," started the hostess, "but don't you think your view is being colored by the fact that these vigilante women saved your life."

"Absolutely," replied Houston with more gusto than the hostess was prepared to accept. "In fact, it is because of that very incident that I've come to my opinion. Everyone else, however, will just have to wait and see."

"Let's take a caller," said the hostess eager to change the subject.

A speaker crackled somewhere in the cavernous studio. The studio audience seemed to be extremely interested in the subject. Some had actually come with signs and T-shirts which read, "Long Live Kismet!"

"Hello," said the hostess, "you're on the air."

"Hi, Summer, my name's Sara Freeman. I just wanted to say that I've actually met with Kismet lots of times. She taught me a lot of things. Like how to use your head to solve your problems instead of your fists."

"Isn't that strange advice from someone who runs around trouncing people in the middle of the night," asked Summer.

"Well, Summer, ever try to carry a conversation with someone who's firing an automatic weapon at you?" asked Sara. "It's very tough. Sometimes you have to get the mule's attention with a two by four."

"I see, but aren't you contradicting yourself?"

"Not at all," said Sara confidently. "Fighting is always the last resort, but every now and then you come across someone who just doesn't want to talk. You have to be ready for every eventuality."

"Uh-huh," said Summers, obviously not sure what to make of this person. "Well, thank you for your call. Who's next?"

"Hello, Summer. This is X-Ra."

Summer Austin's eyebrow went up.

"That an unusual name," she commented.

"It provides me with anonymity," replied X-Ra.

"Of course," responded Summer.

"I just wanted to let the so called superheroes of Monument City know that X-Ra is going to exterminate them one by one."

Summer cleared her throat. She was speechless, which almost never happens.

"What do you mean?" asked Erica.

"Exactly what I said. We don't need freaks running around our cities, and I'm going to make sure of that."

A harsh click echoed throughout the studio indicating that the connection had been broken. Erica looked at Summer.

"I guess now would be a good time for a station break."

TO BE CONTINUED

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