Lying prone in the middle of the Carlsons' wet yard, the red-clad girl raised her head from the wet grass, giving it a quick shake to get her equally wet hair out of her face.
At least she was on the ground now, and as many pilots have said, any landing you can walk away from is a good landing. Getting up to her feet and picking up her backpack, she unconsciously brushed herself off --- a futile gesture at best in the rain --- and looked back over the hedge into her own yard.
Mary Chandler knew she could easily fly over the hedge. But that would leave her with the same problem again --- how to get back down. She obviously needed to work on honing her flight skills. But this was neither the time nor the place to do so.
She thought about jumping over the hedge. But then she saw an image of herself sailing high over the yard --- and the other neighbor's, and beyond. Who knew where she would come down? She glanced down at her long shapely legs --- legs that probably were capable of launching her several blocks in a single leap. What was it they said about Superman? Able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, wasn't it? She looked down at her own legs, so much longer and shapelier in this form, knowing that they could probably do the same.
She was really going to have to learn how to control this new body of hers. But again, not now and not here.
For now, she would just walk through the hedge. She'd already torn a swath through it, she should be able to walk through the gap, climbing over the hedge only a little.
She did so, ignoring the prickly leaves tearing at her legs and moving into her yard. Once she was on the lawn, she sprinted for the back porch and the shelter of the roof, making it in a fraction of a second. She started to reach for the doorknob and stopped, remembering what she'd done to the big metal head in the therapist's office, again feeling the hard metal yielding to her strength as if it was made of the softest modeling clay. She didn't want to do the same thing to the doorknob.
Mary Marvel might crush the doorknob. Mary Chandler certainly wouldn't. She couldn't.
Not only that, but if her mother wasn't yet home the door would still be locked, and Mary's keys were buried somewhere in the side pocket of her backpack.
She set down the backpack and then said, "SHAZAM!"
Magic lightning descended through the ordinary lightning of the storm, transforming Mary Marvel back into Mary Chandler.
A dry Mary Chandler. Nothing to indicate that she'd flown through the heart of a thundershower. Nothing to indicate that she'd just walked through a wet hedge.
Though she was beginning to get wet now, the roof only providing partial shelter from the wind-driven rain. Retrieving the key from her backpack, she opened the door and stepped inside. Her mother wasn't home yet, but the clock on the wall said she could be home any minute now.
"SHAZAM!" she whispered, setting down her backpack.
Magic lightning instantly transformed a slightly damp Mary Chandler into Mary Marvel. Complete with the red dress, and the magnificent body within.
She brought both hands up to her chest and discovered that both she and the dress were completely dry now, as if she hadn't just flown home through the heart of a thunderstorm and then crashed through a hedge.
Wow, this is neat, she thought, reaching up to finger first her clothes and then dry hair. It was as if she'd never been out in the rain at all.
Just to try it out, she dropped her hand from her hair and repeated the magic word, and she was once again Mary Chandler, dressed in the clothes she'd been wearing when she first transformed into Mary Marvel in Dr. Dominique Vasquez's office. But this time, she was damp from standing out on the porch.
She repeated the experiment, transforming into a dry Mary Marvel and then back to damp Mary Chandler. Apparently Mary Marvel always started out fresh, but Mary Chandler resumed right where she'd left off. She did it again, dry Mary Marvel and then back to damp Mary Chandler.
And just in time, for she heard the rumble of the garage door opening. Mary quickly tore a couple of paper towels off the roll above the sink and cleaned up the puddle on the floor by the door.
Nora Chandler came in from the garage, a briefcase in one hand and a dripping raincoat in the other. "Mary!" she said upon spotting her damp daughter. "Did you have to walk home in the rain? The storm's really picking up. Did you hear the thunder?"
"Um, not exactly," Mary answered, walking over and picking up the photograph of her father. Except she now knew that he wasn't her father. She turned the photo around so her mother could see it. "He wasn't my father, was he?
"Not now, Mary." Nora hung up her raincoat on a hook by the door and turned to go into the living room.
"Now, Mother." Mary moved to block the way, holding the photo in front of her as if it was some kind of shield. "Nick Anderson, or Chandler, or whatever his name was, wasn't my father, was he?"
"Of course he was," Nora said, though her voice lacked conviction.
"I think not!" Mary pushed the photo at her mother, leaving Nora no choice but to take it. "And I can prove it!"
"Prove it?" She looked down at the photograph then back up at her daughter. "How?"
"With just one word." Mary stepped back and said that one word, voice low but enunciating clearly.
"SHAZAM!"
The sudden flash of magic lightning made Nora drop both the photo and her briefcase and raise her hands to cover her face. When she lowered her hands, she saw an older and taller red-clad figure where her daughter had been standing just a moment earlier.
Arms spread wide, Mary Marvel pirouetted once and then stood facing her mother, her feet planted wide. She started to raise her hands to her face to preen herself and then thought better of it, instead putting her hands on her hips and giving her head a quick toss to settle her hair.
"M-Mary?" an amazed Nora Chandler stammered, taking a step back.
"I know who my father really was," the World's Mightiest Girl said. The voice was deeper and richer, but to a mother it was still undeniably that of her daughter.
Nora stooped and picked up the photo. Running a finger along the glass where it had cracked in the fall, she crossed the kitchen and stood the frame back on the shelf where it belonged, but turned around so the back of the frame showed. She then sat down at the table, burying her face in her hands.
Mary Marvel took a step forward and reached for her mother, then stopped. "Mother?" she said, suddenly afraid to move any closer. A memory flashed through her head of the last person her hands had touched. The last two, actually.
Nora dropped her hands and looked up at the red-clad young woman towering over her.
"Mother?" Mary Marvel asked again.
Nora nodded. "Why don't you change back and then sit down?"
This time, even though she'd been expecting it, Nora couldn't help but flinch when the magic lightning flashed again, bringing her hands up to cover her eyes. When she lowered her hands and blinked her eyes to clear the afterimage, she was clearly relieved to see her daughter standing before her.
Nora waited until Mary had pulled up a chair and sat down before speaking. "I don't know where to begin." She clasped her hands in front of her, but didn't raise her head.
"Why didn't you tell me who my father was?" Mary asked. "Were you so ashamed to have..." --- she couldn't say fucked to her mother's face --- "... to have Captain Marvel's child?"
"Cap...?"
"Why didn't you tell me Captain Marvel was my father?" Mary said. "I mean, that's so awesome! To have a real superhero for a father!" She bounced on her chair, all but jumping into the air, feeling as if she could fly even without changing into Mary Marvel.
"Mary." Nora gave her head a slow shake. "Captain Marvel wasn't your father." She took a deep breath and lowered her voice. "At least I don't think he was."
Mary stopped bouncing and slumped in her chair. "But ---"
"Mary, I don't know who your father was."
"But ---" Mary slumped further in her chair. "You're my mother. How can you not know who my father was? And how else could I have gotten his powers?"
"You didn't get those powers from your father, Mary. You got them from your mother."
"My mother?" Mary was confused now. If Captain Marvel wasn't her father, if her powers came from her mother and not her father, then... And then it struck her, and her eyes lit up with a new glow. "But that means... you're the original Mary Marvel! The World's Mightiest Girl!"
Nora smiled weakly and hung her head. "No, I'm not."
Mary was confused. "You're not really Mary Marvel?"
"No, I'm not," Nora repeated, shaking her head.
"But ---" Mary looked into her mother's eyes and saw the tears. Nora shook her head again.
"You're not really my mother?" Mary asked, realization beginning to dawn.
"No, I am not." Nora reached for her daughter's hand. No, not really her daughter.
Mary took it in hers and squeezed. With all of Mary Chandler's strength, not that of the World's Mightiest Girl.
"Captain Marvel was your uncle, Mary." Nora said, looking up at Mary. "Your real mother was Mary ---"
"Mary Marvel? My mother was the World's Mightiest Girl?"
"I suppose that title's yours now. But your mother was also Mary Bromfield." There was a flash of recognition in Mary's eyes. "Yes, she was of those Bromfields."
Who in Fawcett City didn't know the Bromfields, or at least know of them? If they weren't the most prominent and richest family in Fawcett City, they were certainly in the top three. They were to Fawcett City what the Luthors were to Metropolis or the Waynes to Gotham. One of the oldest buildings on the Fawcett State University campus bore the family's name. So did one of the wings at the hospital Nora worked at. As did one of the newer wings of the art museum. The Bromfield mansion was the largest among the stately mansions in the exclusive Bayshore Heights district, a veritable palace. Mary had seen it from a distance, but had never dreamed of being inside it. And now, to learn that she belonged there...
"I'm a... I'm a Bromfield?" Mary stammered, rolling the name on her tongue as if it was a particularly fine piece of chocolate.
Nora could also all but see the dollar signs dancing in the girl's eyes. "Don't get your hopes up," Nora cautioned her. "Apparently Mary'd had a falling out with her family over her baby."
"Me?"
"Well, you weren't yet born. Mary's family didn't approve of her lov... uh, your father. They gave her a choice --- her family or her lov... uh, your father. As much as she loved her adoptive family, she insisted on having you anyway. She stayed with your father."
"My father?" If Captain Marvel wasn't her father, then who was? "So you know who my father is?"
Nora shook her head sadly. "Mary wouldn't tell us. And when we contacted the family, they refused to even acknowledge that Mary had a child." She sighed and shook her head again. "And your father never even came to the hospital to see Mary. We never found out who he was. And there was no record of a marriage. At least we never found one."
"And so you got stuck with me." My mother's family threw her out. And my father abandoned me. And I'm illegitimate.
Nora reached out and placed her hand over her daughter's. "Don't ever think that, Mary. I wouldn't trade you for all the Bromfield's wealth."
"A Bromfield..." Mary murmured to herself, still trying to absorb what she'd just learned.
"You have to remember, Mary's family didn't know that she was Mary Marvel."
"But you knew."
"I didn't at first. None of us did."
"How did you find out?"
Nora took a deep breath before starting the story. "It was a Friday night when the ambulance brought your mother in. She'd been hurt in a car accident, and was in pretty bad shape."
"Mary Marvel? Hurt in a car accident?"
Nora shook her head. "Not Mary Marvel. Mary Bromfield. To all outward appearances, she was a normal woman in her twenties. The doctors performed a Cesarean section in an attempt to save her, but they weren't successful." She looked at her daughter. "Not completely. They saved you, but they couldn't save your mother."
"But she was Mary Marvel! The World's Mightiest Girl! How could she die from a hospital operation?" C-sections were rather routine, weren't they? More than one of her classmates had been delivered that way, and they and their mothers were fine.
"You have to remember, she wasn't Mary Marvel. You're not really Mary Marvel's daughter, you're Mary Bromfield's daughter."
"Huh? What's the difference? They're the same person, right?"
"Mary Bromfield was pregnant, not Mary Marvel. At least we didn't think so. She was afraid to change for fear of losing the baby... you."
"But ---"
"You have to realize, Mary, nobody knew for sure. She was afraid that if she changed to Mary Marvel, the baby wouldn't make the change with her, wouldn't come back when she returned to being Mary Bromfield. And it wasn't as if we'd ever had any pregnant superheroines in our emergency room before. I don't think anyone'd ever had one."
"But ---" She remembered her own sequence of changes, between dry Marvel and damp Mary Chandler. If that happened on the outside, who knew what happened on the inside?
"She was afraid that the Mary Marvel form would reject the baby in her womb. You see, she hadn't used her powers at all during her pregnancy because of that fear. And she continued to refuse, even to save her own life. She was heroic to the very end. And then we had to be the heroes. We fought to keep you alive, to keep something of your mother alive. After your mother died, I took you as my own. We never found out who your father was." She sighed and looked down. "You spent the first month of your life in an incubator."
"My dream! The glass!"
"It could be," Nora agreed, looking back up. Her daughter had told her of the dream, many times. "Under hypnosis, many people have reported memories of their own birth."
The mention of hypnosis brought back memories of the afternoon's events. Mary debated whether to tell her mother --- her foster mother --- about it. She would have to sometime, she knew, but decided now was not that time. "Who's Nick Anderson?" she asked instead, looking toward the photograph on the shelf.
"A guy I knew at Fawcett State. We dated a few times, though it was never a serious relationship. He was nice. And after I moved back here with you, I learned from the alumni magazine that he'd been killed in an accident. I had the magazine photo enlarged and put it in a frame. Through... through professional connections, I was able to obtain a birth certificate and everything else you'd need to enter school. I invented a history to tell you when you were old enough to ask questions. I guess it wasn't very convincing." She smiled sadly. "I never had much of a creative imagination."
"But didn't you think I'd ever find out?"
"Not really, because there was no reason at all for you to suspect. You were a bright baby, healthy, beautiful, but normal. And there was no reason to believe you'd inherit your mother's... uh, ability. Remember, you were Mary Bromfield's daughter, not Mary Marvel's."
"But now ---" Mary murmured.
Nora continued. "Yes. Now, my little girl has started to become a woman."
So Tanya was right, Mary thought. Everything can be blamed on puberty, apparently. "Did my mother first become Mary Marvel when she reached puberty?" she asked.
Nora thought about it for several moments before shaking her head and answering. "I don't know."
Another thought struck Mary. "If my mother was a Bromfield, then Captain Marvel would also have been a Bromfield, wouldn't he?"
Nora shook her head. "I don't think so. When I found out about Mary, I wondered about that, too. But I checked the records, and discovered that Mary was a Bromfield by adoption. So you're not really a Bromfield by blood, either."
The last hint of dollar signs disappeared from Mary's eyes. "So what do we do now?"
"Do?" Nora looked startled at the question. "Do?" she repeated, looking at Mary.
Mary just looked back.
"Does anybody else know about you?" Nora finally asked.
Just the hypnotherapist, and she didn't count. Not anymore. And this wasn't the time to mention anything about it. "No," Mary answered, shaking her head.
"Tanya?" Nora asked quietly. She knew her daughter kept no secrets from her best friend.
Mary continued shaking her head.
Nora looked at Mary until the girl stopped shaking her head and met her gaze. "Well then, as I see it, you can do one of three things." She held up a hand, and extended the forefinger. "You can tell the whole world about it, in which case your life as you know it is over." Mary started to open her mouth but Nora continued on, extending the middle finger. "You can choose to never say the word again, in which case we pretend we never had this conversation and try to continue with our lives." She then extended the ring finger. "Or you can choose to use your powers and continue your mother's legacy, in which case you have to be careful when you do say the word, in order to protect your secret."
"It's our secret, Mother," Mary said.
"Our secret, but your choice."
"And there's really only one choice, isn't there?"
"Your choice," Nora repeated, pushing back her chair and standing up. "And I have to choose what to make for dinner." She glanced down at her daughter. "And why don't you go and get out of those wet clothes?"
It was a long time before Nora Chandler fell asleep that night.
She'd always known that the time would eventually come when she'd have to tell her daughter that she wasn't. Not her biological daughter, that is. She'd accepted that, yet had kept putting it off.
And while Nora had known who Mary's biological mother was --- the girl had been named after her mother, after all --- she'd never actually expected the girl to inherit her mother's powers. No more than she'd ever expected the girl to inherit any of the Bromfield fortune.
Nora had often wondered what it would be like to have Mary Marvel's magical powers. What young woman in Fawcett City didn't in those days? Just as the young men all wished that they could become Captain Marvel by uttering but a single word.
To have all that strength, the invulnerability, and yes, the beauty, of the World's Mightiest Girl. All by uttering but a single word. She couldn't remember the number of times she'd said that word, hoping against hope, wishing that, just even once, it would work for her.
Of course it had never worked, not even once. Not for her, and not for any of her friends, male or female, no matter how many times they said the word.
She'd whispered it again tonight, retiring to her own bedroom after making sure Mary was asleep and closing the door behind her. No magic lightning came. Her clothes didn't change. She didn't change. The word didn't work for her, and she hadn't really expected it to. The gift belonged to her daughter, not to Nora.
But little Mary was Mary Bromfield's daughter, not Mary Marvel's. There was no real reason to believe that the magical powers would be passed on from mother to daughter. Like everyone else in Fawcett City, Nora had been led to believe that the old wizard had specifically bestowed those powers on Mary Bromfield and whoever it was that became Captain Marvel as individuals. Those gifts shouldn't have been genetic, passed along to any offspring. It was like the discredited Lamarckian theory of genetics, which held that since a blacksmith had broad shoulders from working at the forge day after day, his sons would also have broad shoulders. Or, in more modern terms, that a girl would grow to have big breasts because her mother'd had her own augmented through plastic surgery.
And now, to learn that Mary had in fact inherited those incredible powers, that she was now the World's Mightiest Girl...
Apparently the power of SHAZAM was genetic, able to be passed on from parent to child. Passed on to Mary from her real mother.
Nora couldn't have loved Mary more if she'd been born of her own body. And she was certain Mary felt the same way about her. And yet, how much would this change their relationship?
Whispering the word one more time, Nora Chandler rolled over and tried to sleep.
"That was some storm last night," Tanya Carlson said as they set off for school.
The morning had dawned clear and quiet, as if Nature was making up for last night's violence. There was hardly a cloud in the sky, though puddles here and there gave evidence of last night's precipitation.
"Uh-huh," Mary Chandler replied, not looking up at her best friend as she skirted one such puddle on the sidewalk.
"Did you see that hole in the hedge?"
"Uh-huh."
"I don't know how something like that could happen. Dad said it looked like an elephant ran through it."
"Uh-huh." Thanks a lot. Now I'm an elephant.
"You know, you're being awfully quiet today"
Mary was brimming with things she wanted to tell her best friend, yet knew she couldn't. Before she could give another grunt in reply, however, another voice spoke up.
"That's the way it should be. Girls should be seen and not heard."
Mary all but jumped at the male voice, then her heat skipped a beat and the breath caught in her throat as she recognized the source. Neither girl had noticed Rick Carlson coming up behind them. Now, he shouldered his way past the girls, deliberately forcing his way between them instead of going around.
"Get lost," Tanya said, taking a swing at her older brother as he shoved her to one side.
"Hey, I read that in a book somewhere," Rick explained, easily dodging Tanya's off-balance swing.
"And you believe everything you read?" Tanya asked, recovering her balance and taking another swing.
Rick dodged again and then took off, joining a friend across the street. The two boys traded a series of air punches and then walked on toward school, both of them gesturing wildly as they talked about something that the girls couldn't hear.
Mary had stopped, looking after Rick as he and his friend walked off.
"C'mon, Mary." Tanya grabbed Mary's arm. "What do you want with him, anyway? He's such a jerk."
"He's not that bad," Mary said with a sigh.
"No," Tanya said, giving Mary a tug and resuming their way toward school, "he's worse. Believe me, I know. I've known that jerk all my life."
So have I, almost, Mary thought, looking at Rick's rapidly receding back. But not as well as I'd like, she added, before resuming the walk with her best friend.
Mary Chandler had trouble concentrating on her classes that day. And who could blame her, after yesterday's revelations? Not even William Atkins's presence in her math class could distract her. Not that he did anything in particular to get her attention, other than merely being present.
So her mother really wasn't her mother. Not in the biological sense. But that revelation didn't really change their relationship, did it? It wasn't as if her biological mother was out there somewhere. Nora Chandler had been Mary's mother for Mary's entire life. She'd been a good mother, overall. And that was what really mattered, not who'd carried Mary in her womb.
But Mary Bromfield had given her daughter more than just life. More than a name. She'd passed on her legacy, the incredible powers of SHA... Mary stopped herself from forming the complete word. Just thinking the word wouldn't call down the magic lightning, probably, but she didn't want to take the chance.
Temptation really struck Mary in gym class, as the girls jogged a lap around the field to loosen up. She wasn't the slowest kid in her class, but she was also far from the fastest. But just say one little word, and she knew she could blow them all away without even trying, leave them in her dust.
As Marvel, she'd not only be faster than anybody else in school, she'd be the strongest as well. Stronger than any of the girls. Stronger than any of the boys. Far stronger. Stronger than the whole football team combined.
What would the boys think if she was to try out for the team? What would the coach say?
Then Ms. Crenshaw, the gym teacher, was calling out names, lining up the girls four at a time on the track to run over the hurdles. Mary came in third in her heat, but at least she got over the hurdles without running into any of them. Last year, she had skinned one of her knees when she failed to clear one of the barriers.
As much as Mary liked Tanya Carlson, a part of her mind was glad that she this year wasn't in the same gym class with her best friend. Carlson and Chandler probably would have ended up in the same heat, and Mary had no doubt which of them could come out ahead. Tanya was an excellent athlete and would not hold back anything, not even for her best friend.
As she caught her breath and watched the other girls run their heats, Mary again thought about what she could do if she was to just say the word. No need to go over the hurdles one at a time. Even without flying, she could probably jump over the whole set in one bound.
Classes after gym passed in a blur pretty much the same way as had the ones before.
Tanya Carlson was checking out the French Club this afternoon. Her brother Rick was at football practice. That left Mary Chandler on her own for the rest of the day when school let out, and she didn't feel like going home, not while her mother was still at work.
She remembered a thought she'd had back during gym class. Show up for football practice, and then say the magic word. There was no way Mary Chandler could make the team, but it would be a completely different matter for Mary Marvel. There wouldn't be a boy who could tackle her. The whole team wouldn't be able to tackle her.
As fun as that might be, Mary knew she couldn't do that. For one, it wouldn't be fair. And two, it would ruin any chance of keeping her secret. She and her mother had agreed last night that Mary couldn't go public with her identity as Mary Marvel's daughter. Once the world knew that she was the heir to the powers of SHAZAM, she would never get a moment's rest. Reporters and photographers would be all over her day and night.
And then there would be the bad guys, waiting for an unguarded moment to knock off Mary Chandler. Or trying to strike at Mary through her mother. No, Mary had to keep her abilities secret.
Still, it was a fun fantasy. With nothing else to do for the afternoon, she started making her way toward the practice field where the football players would be practicing.
Watching practice wasn't as exciting as she'd thought it would be. It seemed to be nothing more than various groups of boys doing calisthenics, sprints, and other drills while the coaches blew whistles and shouted instructions. Nothing that looked even remotely like a football play. And from up in the bleachers, she couldn't even see their faces well enough to make out Rick.
Quickly growing bored, Mary wondered what else she could do. She still didn't feel like going home. As she rose from her seat in the bleachers and turned around, the sight of a city bus pulling away from its stop in front of the school gave her an idea.
If she remembered correctly, another bus would be by in about ten minutes, going in the opposite direction, toward downtown. And on the other side of downtown lay Bayshore Heights.
Bayshore Heights. The place to live in Fawcett City. That is, if you had the kind of money the Bromfields had.
Mary knew that she wasn't really a Bromfield. Not by blood. She was just the illegitimate daughter of an adopted and later disinherited member of that wealthy clan. She didn't belong to them. Yet something was pulling at her, drawing her. She was barely conscious of her feet taking her to the bus stop, where she arrived about two minutes before the bus.
She boarded the bus, paid the fare, requested and received a transfer. Getting off at the downtown terminal, she boarded another bus. Five minutes later, the bus lurched into motion and slipped into the downtown traffic.
The bus didn't go very far into Bayshore Heights itself. The people who lived there, or called upon those who did, drove their own fancy cars. Or more likely, had someone else drive the fancy cars. Getting off the bus, Mary slung her backpack over a shoulder and started walking up the wide, tree-lined boulevard. Some of the estates were so large that Mary thought her entire townhome community might have fit into one of them. She felt like a tourist; the only thing she was missing was a camera.
Bayshore Heights wasn't Hollywood; there were no guided tours and no tour maps pointing out the residences of the rich and famous. The Bromfields weren't listed in something as mundane as the phone book. Most of the mansions didn't even have numbers visible from the street anyway; if you were coming to see someone, you were supposed to know where you were going.
Mary had spent her free hour in the school library looking up the Bromfields, so she knew where they lived. It took about ten minutes on foot from the bus stop before she came to the ornate wrought iron gates of the huge palatial estate.
At the end of the wide curving driveway, Mary could just see the garage, a converted carriage house that was larger than the Chandler's townhome.
The mansion itself stood atop a low hill, surrounded by acres of perfectly manicured lawns that would have made a golf course look shabby and gardens that would have made a florist turn green with envy.
Mary couldn't even begin to imagine what it would be like to live here. Servants taking care of laundry and cleaning, gourmet chefs preparing every meal. Going to school in the back of a chauffeured limousine instead of walking or riding your bike. Of course the Bromfield children didn't attend public schools; they went to the finest private schools.
And her mother had given all this up for the man she loved. And for her baby. For her. The thought made Mary wonder if she'd ever meet anyone for whom she'd ever make that kind of sacrifice. As if I'll ever have anything like this to sacrifice.
Mary resisted the urge to just walk up, ring the bell, and announce herself. Having cast out their adopted daughter in a dispute over her lover, they had no reason to take in the couple's illegitimate child. Casting a final glance at the mansion, she turned and headed back the way she'd come.
The next bus going her way wouldn't be by for nearly half an hour. Not that she had to catch that particular bus, since she had the whole evening free. Now that she had seen where her mother had lived, she was in no particular hurry to return to her own home.
Tucked in between Bayshore Heights and the bustling waters of Fawcett Bay was the Bayshore district. Once a fashionable residential district --- though not as fashionable as Bayshore Heights, of course --- the elegant Victorian buildings now housed art galleries, trendy boutiques, and jewelry stores. It was a popular shopping district for tourists and other people with money to spend.
Mary didn't have a lot of money to spend. And even if she did, this wouldn't be where she'd be doing her shopping. Still, she decided she could kill some time here browsing and window-shopping. Maybe, if only for an hour, she could pretend that she was truly a Bromfield, able to buy whatever caught her fancy.
Of course, the salespeople didn't act like she was a Bromfield. They were courteous and polite enough, but they weren't fawning over Mary as a couple of them were doing with an older woman in one of the boutiques.
Coming out of the boutique, Mary was at the corner waiting for the light to change when a black car shot through the intersection and turned right, nearly running down a couple of tourist types standing at the corner. Even without a driver's license of her own, she suspected the car had to be going faster than the speed limit, much faster. That suspicion was confirmed seconds later when a police car showed up at the far end of the block, lights flashing and siren wailing as it pursued the black car.
Everyone on the sidewalk turned their heads to follow the two vehicles as they roared down the street and then turned left at the next intersection, but the thoughts running through one observer's mind differed from those of the others.
Mary's mother had told her that she shouldn't show off her powers in public until she'd had some experience using them. But she couldn't just turn away when there was something to be done. And just how was she to gain any experience with her powers if she never used them?
Fortunately, the pedestrians were all looking toward the action and not toward a girl backing away from the corner, her backpack slung over one shoulder as she stepped out onto the street, raised her arms to the sky, and said a single word.
"SHAZAM!"
Thunder boomed and lightning crackled out of the clear blue sky. But it was not ordinary thunder and lightning that came down and struck the girl. Mary could feel the power flowing into her body even as she grew in size, her school clothes magically replaced by the red-and-gold dress and white cape of the World's Mightiest Girl. But this was not the time to savor the feeling. Before anybody could wonder at the apparent sudden change in the weather, Mary took off after the car.
Not quite literally. By now both the black car and the pursuing police car had disappeared around a corner and even though she thought it would be easier to find the car from the air, Mary hadn't had a chance to practice her flying and thus remained on the ground. Even then, her long legs ate up the ground, following the sound of the police siren. Her legs a blur, she rounded a corner and quickly caught sight of the police car and its quarry a block further on. Quickening her pace, she caught up to the police car and passed it. Now she was gaining on the car in front, each stride bringing her a little closer.
She was almost there when, approaching an intersection, the car suddenly slowed. Caught by surprise, she tried to slow down and then lunged forward, making a grab for the rear bumper.
Her outstretched fingertips just brushed the end of the bumper as the car turned right, nearly taking out another pedestrian on the sidewalk, and accelerated away. Caught off balance, she plowed face first into the street, her speed such that she slid more than twice her body length along the pavement.
An ordinary girl would have skinned her knees and torn up her face --- or worse. But she was no ordinary girl. Almost before she'd stopped sliding, the World's Mightiest Girl lifted herself to her feet even as the police car swung wide to avoid hitting her. Then, not even bothering to catch a breath, she was in motion again, running after the fleeing car.
Embarrassed by her ungraceful header, she didn't even notice the two round grooves her breasts had carved in the asphalt.
Soon, Mary was gaining on the car again. But then, without even slowing down for a red light, the car shot through another intersection. Just as she reached the intersection, an SUV came in from the right, cutting her off. Mary started to slow down but immediately realized that she wasn't going to make it. There was only one thing she could do. She regained her stride, and then her feet left the ground.
Emilio Hernandez had been married for four years, eleven months, and three weeks. And he still hadn't bought his wife anything for their fifth anniversary. Which was why he had left work early and driven into the city. He intended to buy her something really nice from one of the upscale shops in Bayshore. Something better than the pasta maker he'd given her for their fourth anniversary.
Something with diamonds this time, or at least rubies or emeralds. Else there might not be another anniversary.
Busy scanning the storefronts to either side of him in a search for a parking spot, he hadn't been paying too much attention to the road in front of him, just enough to note that the light had turned green. Thus, stepping on the accelerator and starting to move through the intersection, he was taken completely by surprise when a black car ran the red light and crossed his path just in front of him. Taking his foot off the accelerator, he stomped on the brake. At the same time, he reached for the horn with his left hand.
Before either limb could complete its action, something flashed over the hood of his SUV, just in front of his windshield. He wasn't quite sure what it was, but it sure looked like a pair of red panties under a short red skirt, flanked by a pair of long beautiful feminine legs. His wife's legs, as nice as they were, had never looked like that.
Stunned by the vision, he slowed and stopped on the other side of the intersection, barely aware of the police car passing behind him, lights flashing and siren wailing as it pursued the vision following the black car.
The World's Mightiest Girl hurdled the car as easy --- easier --- than Mary Chandler had gone over the hurdles in Ms. Crenshaw's gym class earlier that day. Coming back down on the other side of the intersection, she resumed running. Quickly making up for the time she'd lost hurdling over the other car, she again began to close the distance.
Her first attempt and its resultant tumble had taught Mary not to take to the air. Not until she'd had more control over her flight powers. Coming up on the right, she ran until she was even with the rear of the car before reaching down to grab hold of the bumper. Then she started to slow down.
The driver was obviously in no mood to slow down. He stomped on the accelerator, and the car tried to shoot forward. The front tires spun and slipped, losing some of their grip on the asphalt as they tried to continue propelling the car forward against the girl pulling from behind, the bumper bending under her hand as she held on.
As she slowed down to about half her previous speed, she started trying to raise the rear end of the car off the ground. As the weight was suddenly transferred from the rear tires to her slender arm, the weight of the vehicle threatened to tear the rear bumper loose from the car. That was when Mary realized that she would have to get the front wheels off the ground if she wanted to stop the front-wheel-drive vehicle. Releasing the bumper, she let the car drop to the ground.
The springs groaned in protest as the car bounced, but the front tires caught hold and the car shot forward once again. But the World's Mightiest Girl was faster. Easily racing ahead, she turned around, planted her feet, bent down to catch hold of the front bumper, and braced herself. The driver started to turn the wheel to avoid her, but he had neither enough space nor enough time to turn, and the bumper smacked into her waiting palms.
The car was no match for the World's Mightiest Girl. It may as well have run into a brick wall, coming to a very abrupt halt, the airbags deploying to cushion the impact for the driver and his passenger.
Mary wasn't even pushed back so much as a single inch as she stopped the car, but there still remained a problem. The engine was still running in a futile attempt to propel the vehicle over the obstruction, tires slipping on the pavement. Keeping her hands on the bumper, she turned them one at a time until her fingers were under it.
The wheels continued turning as she straightened up, lifting the front end of the car completely off the ground. With nothing offering resistance, the engine revved back up to full speed again.
Even Mary was surprised by the ease with which she held the car. The car may as well have been a pillow for all the effort it was taking her to hold the wheels off the ground. She hadn't really had the time to wonder about the extent of her powers while chasing the car, though a corner of her mind had been thrilled with the ease with which she'd chased it down, hurdling over another vehicle in the process. But now that she was standing still, she wondered just how powerful she had become. Deciding to experiment a little, she raised her arms higher until her hands were about at the level of her waist. The car still felt practically weightless in her hands. Experimenting a little more, she loosened her left hand and drew it back, ready to make a grab for the bumper should it start to drop. When it didn't, she placed her hand on her hip.
It was no harder holding the car with one hand than it had been with two. Looking down at the slender arm projecting from the short sleeve of her red top, she could see that her biceps were barely flexed as they supported most of the weight of the car. She raised her hand to the level of her chest, rolling the rear wheels a little closer, then lowered it back to its previous position, pushing the car back.
She put her left hand back on the bumper about a foot to the left of where it had been. Letting go with her right hand, she slid it over next to the left. Repeating the process, she walked her hands to the end of the bumper, sliding the car to her right in the process. Reaching the end of the bumper, she continued to hold the front end off the ground with just her right hand, placing the left back on her hip.
She was still holding the car with one hand, playfully raising and lowering the front end, when the police car slowed and stopped behind the now fully immobilized car. The policemen got out of their cars and approached cautiously. "Mary Marvel?" the younger of them asked. He was much too young to have been in uniform when the original Mary Marvel had last been seen in Fawcett City but he obviously recognized the outfit with the gold thunderbolt on the front. Maybe he'd seen her in action when he was just a kid. Or perhaps he was simply entranced by the magnificent chest behind the thunderbolt.
"I believe you were looking for this," Mary replied, raising the car higher, the front wheels continuing to spin as the rear wheels rolled forward, coming closer to her as she raised the front bumper over her head.
The older officer looked as if he might have been on the force when the original Mary Marvel and her twin brother patrolled the city. "It's great to see you back in action again, Mary," he said as if it was an everyday occurrence in Fawcett City to see a girl holding a car off the ground with just one hand. "We missed you."
"Just glad I could help," Mary said, lowering the car back down to her waist and then giving her shoulders a shrug. The latter action caused the car to rock from side to side, the rear tires nearly coming off the ground one at a time. Seeing the motion, she began turning her wrist from side to side, rocking the car in earnest, the rear tires now actually coming off the ground one at a time.
The younger officer continued to stare at her. Or perhaps he was simply staring at the secondary motions her shrug caused along the front of her chest. Whatever he was looking at, he was beginning to make Mary feel a little uncomfortable. Yet at the same time there was something exciting about the way he was looking at her, as no boy or man had ever looked at Mary Chandler before.
The older officer went to the driver's door and, as Mary held the car steady once more, knocked on the window. It took several tries before he could get the terrified driver's attention. The officer pointed to the key in the ignition and pantomimed turning it. The driver eventually got the idea and shut off the engine.
Once the engine was off, Mary set the car back down on the ground. The driver opened the door and staggered out, not taking his eyes off the girl who had so easily overpowered and stopped his car.
"Jimmy!" the officer called to his partner.
The younger officer gave a start, finally managing to take his eyes off Mary. He blinked a couple of times as he looked around, then looked at Mary once more before moving around to the passenger side as the other man got out of the car.
Both men continued to stare at the red-clad girl even as they placed their hands on the car's roof and the officers patted them down. They both were carrying guns, but, stunned at how they'd been captured, offered no resistance as they were relieved of their weapons. Nor did they offer any resistance as their wrists were pulled behind their backs and handcuffs were applied.
The older officer reached into the car and pulled out what looked like a white pillowcase. "Thanks, Mary," he said to her, carrying the pillowcase as he and his partner guided their prisoners past her to the squad car. The prisoners continued to stare at her and didn't offer any resistance as they were put into the back seat. The pillowcase went into the front passenger seat.
When he emerged from the car, he held a microphone in his hand. The two officers conferred, the older one frequently speaking into the mike. The younger officer's eyes continued to flicker in her direction as the two officers conferred.
Even though she hadn't been invited to join the conference, Mary could hear her name being mentioned. Or rather, the name of her biological mother. She also recognized the name of a jewelry store, a high-end emporium even by Bayshore standards. As she continued to eavesdrop, she realized that she'd foiled the getaway of two men who'd just held up the jewelry store.
Then the conference ended. The older officer glanced at the two jewelry thieves in the back, and then, after a "Thanks again, Mary," slid in behind the wheel of the squad car. The younger officer walked over to the getaway car, glancing back at Mary about every other step. Closing the passenger door, her circled around, slid in behind the wheel of the getaway car, and started the engine.
A crowd had gathered, as crowds always seemed to gather wherever red lights were flashing. Now that the action was over and the police gone, they lingered. Even though they were jabbering in hushed, almost awed, voices, Mary could clearly hear them saying her name. Or rather, again the name of her biological mother. Turning her head and looking around, she could see people pointing at her. Some of the tourists had their cameras out.
This was exactly the kind of situation her mother had told her to avoid, keeping from drawing attention to herself. Since the police officers seemed to have everything under control, it was time for her to leave.
She couldn't just say the magic word and transform back to Mary Chandler. Not out here in front of all these people --- and cameras. While she didn't think anybody would recognize a freshman from Hillcrest High School, she didn't want her picture appearing in the newspapers and on the evening news. Somebody from school would be bound to recognize her then. She would have to find someplace where she could transform unobserved.
Mary thought about launching herself into the sky, but almost immediately rejected the idea. Getting into the air was no problem, she knew. It was the thought of getting back down on the ground again that kept her from leaving her feet. Instead, she turned and started jogging down the street, back the way she had come, skirting the cars that had stopped at the sight of the flashing red lights. One block and then another passed under her untiring legs.
As she ran, Mary was a superhuman blur to anyone who may have seen her. And if they did, they didn't see her for long. She was moving so fast everything else seemed to moving in slow motion. She could easily weave in and out of traffic and up onto sidewalks without the slightest difficulty or thought. She felt exhilarated.
Mary became absorbed in the thought that she was running faster than anyone ever before, even faster than she'd run when chasing down that car. As she looked down, she became lost in thought over the power she possessed and became practically hypnotized watching her legs churn at superhuman speed. To ordinary eyes, her legs would have been nothing more than a blur.
It was truly an exhilarating feeling. A part of her mind wished she could remain as the World' Mightiest Girl forever, instead of transforming back to plain Mary Chandler. Just never say the magic word again, and she could remain in this form.
Even with her now superhuman reflexes, Mary almost didn't see the flatbed tractor trailer that was turning into the intersection ahead of her. With no time to stop, she again did the only thing she could do.
White cape fluttering behind her, the red-clad girl hurdled gracefully over the truck and came back down to the street nearly half a block beyond. Making a perfect landing and, without any kind of a stumble, she continued running, her long legs once again becoming nothing more than a blur.
Another couple of blocks found Mary overtaking a bus. That reminded her of how she'd gotten to Bayshore, and how she'd planned to go home. While running was faster, traffic was beginning to build up, and she couldn't keep running on the street. And there was always the chance that somebody would see what direction she was going. If enough people saw her, they might at least track her down to the right neighborhood.
Halfway down the next block was an alley. Turning into it, Mary stopped and looked around. There was nobody in sight. Walking to the other end, she said the magic word.
The World's Mightiest Girl had entered the alley at one end, but it was Mary Chandler who emerged from the other, her backpack slung over a shoulder exactly where it had been during the first transformation.
Walking back around the block, the girl reached the bus stop at the same time as the bus. She waited as two people got off, then climbed on, paid the fare, requested and received a transfer. None of the other passengers spared a second glance at the schoolgirl as she found a seat and sat down. Ignoring the other passengers, she stared out the window as the palatial estates of Bayshore Heights disappeared from view and the office towers of downtown replaced them.
As he drove the jewelry thieves' getaway car, following his partner to the impound lot, Officer Phil Johnson couldn't help but think about the girl who'd actually done the work stopping the car and capturing them.
Almost since the first day at the police academy, he'd heard the veterans talk about the good old days when the Fawcett City Police Department had enjoyed the services of two extraordinary auxiliaries. And now, to actually meet one of them...
He'd always thought the old-timers had been exaggerating, that the stories had grown with each telling, as urban legends always did. But now, Johnson knew better. In reality the stories hadn't done the Marvels justice. The way she'd flown over the SUV and chased down that car, stopping it and holding it with just one hand, as if it was nothing more than a plastic toy. That had been truly awesome, an incredible display of strength.
And while all the storytellers had agreed that Mary Marvel was a beautiful girl, and the photos had borne out that claim, neither the stories nor the photos had done her justice there, either. Without a doubt she had to be the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen, apparently not having aged a single day during her long absence. He couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to work with her full time, to have her as his partner.
Just let any of the bad guys try to mess with her. She'd quickly set them straight. What chance would any street punk with a switchblade, or even a Saturday Night Special, stand against the World's Mightiest Girl?
And if things got really rough, why, she'd be better than an entire SWAT team. An entire gang wouldn't stand a chance against her.
Hell, an entire army probably wouldn't stand a chance against her.
And then when they were off-duty, when their shift was over...
She would proceed to show him that under her invulnerable exterior, under the façade of the World's Mightiest Girl, the operative word was girl.
The World's Most Desirable Girl. The World's Sexiest Girl.
The image of the beautiful girl wouldn't leave his mind. Holding the car with just one hand, her arm barely flexed as it supported the weight. Those gorgeous long legs under that short red skirt, showing absolutely no strain from supporting the weight. The red top clinging to every curve of her incredible body, accentuating rather than concealing her gorgeous figure.
She'd looked really great in that outfit. He was sure she'd look equally great in uniform. And out of uniform...
She would let him know just how soft those big beautiful bulletproof breasts could be in his hands. And then she would proceed to show him that she knew how to use them --- along with the rest of her strong, invulnerable body --- to give him pleasures that no other girl on Earth ever could. And when he was drained, too exhausted to continue, she would hold him in her arms through the night, keeping him safe from harm.
His last girlfriend hadn't been able to cope with him being a cop. Worrying about whether he'd come home at the end of the day. Worrying about whether she'd next see him in the hospital... or the morgue.
With a girl like Mary Marvel, he wouldn't have to worry about visiting her in the hospital --- or the morgue. And with her as a partner, he wouldn't have to worry too much about ending up in the hospital --- or the morgue --- himself.
Having her as a partner --- that would be better than wearing a bulletproof vest. She could protect him from the punks with Saturday Night Specials. And, when their shift was over, he'd show her his gratitude. Oh, yes, he'd show her his gratitude.
Fidgeting in his seat, unable to cross his legs while driving, he turned into the impound lot. Finding a vacant spot, he parked the car, tugged at his trousers, got out, tugged at his trousers again, and began walking stiffly toward the office.
His gait was almost back to normal when he entered the office and turned in the vehicle to the sergeant behind the desk.
As his partner drove to headquarters, talking nonstop about his earlier encounters with Mary Marvel more than a decade ago, Phil Johnson sat quietly, wondering when he'd see the shapely superheroine next.
Hearing the news on his police-band scanner, Larry Wilson drove as fast as he could, pounding his hand against the steering wheel in frustration at the mounting early evening rush-hour traffic. If what he had heard was correct --- and there was no reason to doubt the police band --- Mary Marvel had just appeared in Bayshore.
Despite having acquired a bit of a reputation as a partier, Larry had graduated from Fawcett State University near the top of his class. Now he was a rookie reporter for the Fawcett City Post. Though he'd just been a kid when any of the Marvels had last appeared in Fawcett City, like most natives he had grown up with stories about the World's Mightiest Girl and her brother. As a summer intern with the Post a couple of years ago, he'd helped put together a special retrospective on the super siblings. And now, if one of them really was back... well, he just had to track her down and have a talk with her.
As usual, Nora Chandler had the radio in her office tuned to station WHIZ. Normally it was there just for background noise. But now nearing the end of the working day, she was listening with half an ear for a traffic report. Not that it really mattered; traffic out of downtown was almost always a mess. She almost missed the news bulletin when it first came on.
But the announcer's words eventually sank in. When they did Nora froze, her fingers still poised over the computer keyboard, her eyes staring unseeing at the quarterly budget on the screen, her attention now focused completely on the news coming out of the radio.
"And to recap the top story of the hour, Mary Marvel made an appearance in the Bayshore district of the city, where she'd apprehended two fleeing jewel thieves and turned them over to the police. This was Mary Marvel's first appearance since she mysteriously disappeared fifteen years ago."
The announcer then went on to give a brief history of Mary Marvel and her brother, Captain Marvel, ending with her mysterious disappearance and his death at the hands of Doomsday.
"Stay tuned to station WHIZ, where we will bring you more on this breaking story as it develops."
As the radio went into a commercial, Nora broke out of her paralysis. She blinked a couple of times, shook her head, and placed her hands on her lap.
Her first impulse was to jump into her car and drive home to the Bayshore district to search for her daughter. But would Mary still be there? How could she hope to find her?
No, the only way to find her daughter would be with powers to match her own. And, as often as Nora had wished in her younger years, she simply didn't have them.
Or did she? Closing her eyes and clenching her fists, she said the word anyway: "SHAZAM!"
No thunder drowned out the commercial. No lightning struck inside the office. Nora Chandler remained seated behind her desk, not Nora Marvel.
She gave her head another shake and reached over and shut off the radio. Too bad genetics only worked one way, from parent to offspring. There was no logical reason why Mary's adoptive mother would have those same powers. The only thing adoptive parents got from their children was gray hairs.
She clamped down on her maternal instincts. If there was any girl who could take care of herself, it was Mary Marvel's daughter.
Eyes open but unfocused, Nora sat there for several minutes until movement directly in front of her brought her out of it. She blinked a couple of times and fought to focus her eyes. Her budget spreadsheet had dissolved, and the hospital logo was bouncing on her screen.
She reached out and jiggled the mouse. The screensaver disappeared and the spreadsheet returned. She saved the spreadsheet, checked her e-mail a final time --- there was nothing that couldn't wait until tomorrow --- and shut down the computer.
The girl might be Mary Marvel's daughter by blood, but she was Nora Chandler's daughter in every other way. And that girl was going to need her mother. Gathering her purse, briefcase, and jacket, she left her office and made her way to the parking lot.
By the time Larry Wilson finally arrived at the scene and found a place to park his car, it was too late. Even though there were no signs of any television news vans yet, neither was there any sign of the World's Mightiest Girl. The police were gone as well. The few pedestrians he spoke to hadn't seen anything.
He spent an hour going from store to gallery to boutique, talking to employees who had seen Mary Marvel in action. Unfortunately, none of them had actually seen Mary stop the car. The only thing any of them had seen was a beautiful young woman matching the description conferring briefly with the police officers before running off.
As he trudged back to his car, he thought about going to the jewelry store that had been robbed but eventually decided against it. Mary Marvel had apprehended the thieves as they were making their getaway, well after the theft itself. He didn't think the people there would have anything to add.