Max’s heart leaped at the realization the strange woman was a Hero. Her showing up here and referencing Max’s superhero academy applications must have meant his Hero dreams weren’t dead yet. She was probably doing an in-person background check on him. It was the only possible explanation. At least one of the rejections Max had gotten must’ve been a ruse, a way to gauge how Max would react to being turned down.

Maybe she’s here from The Crucible! Max thought, increasingly elated. He hadn’t exactly clothed himself in glory in dealing with the sheriff, but a chance of still getting into a Hero academy was infinitely better than the zero chance that had been staring him in the face moments ago.

A Hero! Right here in Rebel County! For reasons no one seemed to understand, Heroes were clustered in big population centers, places like Tokyo, Jakarta, Manila, Mexico City, and New York City. This was only the second time Max had seen a Hero in person. The first time had been two years ago when his father took him to Jackson and they ran into Brainstorm, a Delhi-based Hero visiting Mississippi on a diplomatic mission sponsored by the Indian government. The legendary Hero had even spoken to Max telepathically, though none of Max’s high school classmates had believed him.

No wonder she’s so cocky about facing the sheriff, Max thought about the diminutive woman before him. Thanks to their rigorous superhero academy training, Heroes were highly trained fighters, both with and without their Unreal powers. They were used to dealing with Villains, well-organized gangs, and natural disasters. Of course a mere sheriff didn’t scare her. Yes, Sheriff Barker ruled Rebel County with an iron fist. But he was a big fish in a small pond. Compared to him, a Hero was a whale.

Barker must’ve thought so too. Max could practically see the wheels of the man’s mind turning as he struggled to find a way to bow out of a confrontation with a Hero without losing face.

“I’m not going to fight you, lady,” Barker said to the woman. “Around these parts, men don’t fight women.”

“Strange how you have no qualms about raping women, but draw the line at fighting them,” the Hero said sardonically. “How chivalrous. Your mother must be so proud. That’s her grave over there, isn’t it? I’ve heard stories. She’s quite the local legend. Is it true what they say? That she managed to stuff . . .”

The masked woman recounted a story about Barker’s mother that Max had heard before. He thought it was apocryphal—no one was that depraved. Or that flexible.

But if the woman was attempting to goad the sheriff into attacking her, telling a vulgar story about his mother did the trick.

Red-faced with renewed rage, the sheriff rushed the masked woman.

The Hero stood her ground, seemingly unfazed by the charging beast of a man. When he was practically on top of her, she flowed out of his path, like a matador sidestepping an angry bull, lightly tapping him on the rear as he flew by.

“Olé!” she cried gleefully. “First French, now Spanish. As you can see, Opie, I’m quite the cosmopolitan.”

Barker spun around and surged toward the woman again, swinging wildly at her with his non-paralyzed hand. Each swing missed its mark as the woman effortlessly bobbed and weaved. She responded with precise, controlled strikes, each blow landing, each making Barker wince. Max watched in awe. It was like watching a master craftswoman at work.

Barker threw a massive haymaker. The woman ducked with an elegant, fluid motion, spun around him, and popped up behind him to playfully goose his big behind. Barker roared in frustration, snorting like a tired bull.

If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

“Gassed already?” The woman panted mockingly, mimicking how Barker sounded. “You sure you’re really the big bad sheriff everyone around here’s terrified of? My grandma has better cardio than you. And she's dead.”

“Damn you!” Barker roared. He tried to tackle her, but she pirouetted away, casually sticking out a foot to trip him. His momentum sent him stumbling. He fell, crashing headlong into his mother’s headstone. Max practically heard cartoon birds tweeting around the sheriff’s head as he slowly staggered to his feet.

“Hey, Opie,” the woman called out to Max as she kept her eyes on Barker. “You getting all this? Always remember, in a fight, it’s not primarily about size. It’s about skill, speed, and knowing your opponent.”

Barker had already been slowing down, and hitting his head hard slowed him even more. The woman effortlessly dodged another of Barker’s wild swipes. She used his momentum to spin him around, then lightly kicked him in the butt. Barker staggered and nearly fell again.

“See?” she chirped at Max. “It’s all about using their momentum against them.”

“Shut up!” Barker was so winded, the words came out more as a rasp than a yell.

“And deprive Opie of my decades of hard-won wisdom? Nothing doing. I believe the children are our future.”

Barker rushed the woman again, looking like he was about to collapse. He hadn’t had a chance against her when he was fresh, so he certainly didn’t have a chance against her now. Max thought that even he would have been able to avoid the sheriff’s slow-motion lunge.

But the Hero didn’t avoid it. When Barker was close, she moved as quickly as a striking snake, grabbing the wrist of his paralyzed hand, applying pressure in a way that made Barker yelp in pain. His legs buckled, and he dropped to his knees. The woman held his arm stretched out at a painful angle, still applying pressure to his wrist.

“Smarts, doesn’t it?” she said cheerily. “Pressure points, not diamonds, are a girl’s true best friend.”

Dragging his arm with her, the woman deftly swirled behind Barker, wrapping her free arm around his throat in a chokehold. Barker’s eyes bulged. His attempts to shake her were feeble, and grew feebler by the moment.

“And remember this, Opie—once you control the head, the body follows.” She tightened her grip on Barker, adding cheerfully, “That’s true of both fighting and sex. But maybe you’re too young to know about the latter.”

Max didn’t know how to respond to that absurdity, so didn’t say anything.

Barker wasn’t saying anything either. His eyes fluttered, and he slumped in the woman’s grasp. She released her holds on him, and he hit the ground like a corpse ready to be buried by the cemetery’s sexton.

The Hero kicked Barker hard in the rib cage. Max gasped. Barker didn’t stir.

“Could’ve been playing possum,” the woman explained. “Didn’t think so, but it’s best to be sure. Must’ve been about your age the last time I didn’t check. Literally got stabbed in the back for my naïveté. In this business, you live and learn. Or you don’t live long.”

The Hero beckoned Max.

“Now that the big bad man is out cold and can’t diddle you, how’s about coming closer? All this shouting’s making me hoarse, and there’s not even a hot cowboy around to take me for a ride. Darn my luck.”

Max approached the Hero with caution, taken aback by her peculiar speech and actions. How she had kicked the sheriff was unsettling. Heroes weren’t supposed to kick someone when they were down.

“Well, I think it fair to say we’ve all learned something here tonight,” the Hero said cheerfully. “Boss Hogg has learned he’s not good enough to subdue a woman who knows what she’s doing despite being over twice her size. You’ve learned that merely possessing Unreal powers is no substitute for training and experience. And I’ve learned that I’m a badass. Well, actually, I already knew that. So I guess I haven’t learned anything at all. Still, two out of three ain’t bad.”

The woman smacked her lips audibly.

“Ain’t . . . ain’t . . . ain’t . . .” she repeated, affecting a more pronounced Southern accent each time. “Am I saying it right, kid, or do I need to add more molasses and grits to it? When in Rome, you know.”

Max just shrugged. He didn’t know what to make of this strange Hero.

“Cat got your tongue, eh? No matter. You don’t need your tongue for this part of our little set-to.”

The woman produced a dagger from the folds of her black ensemble. She spun it around with a theatrical flourish and thrust it hilt-first into Max’s hand. He bobbled it, almost dropping it, before recovering. He held it like it was a dead fish.

“It hardly seems fair as I did the heavy lifting,” the Hero told him, “but finders keepers. If there’s one thing I’m a stickler for, it’s the ancient laws of the elementary school jungle. Your catch, your prize. Finish the job.”

Max stared at her.

“What do you mean?” he demanded.

“Deliver the coup de grâce. The golpe de misericórdia. The death blow.”

The Hero jerked her chin at the sheriff.

“Kill him,” she said.