Who's Afraid of Amy Sinclair by Jenn Gott

Author:Jenn Gott [Gott, Jenn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Lesbian, Lgbt, female superhero, woman superhero, superhero, women's adventure, parallel world
Publisher: Jennifer Gott
Published: 2019-06-22T17:00:00+00:00

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In the early days, the newly formed Heroes took up residence in the halls of the Maxwells’ mansion at Charlotte’s Landing like a fleet of feral cats. They spread themselves through the house, claiming rooms at random. The rest of the Maxwells—Mr. and Mrs., Allison, the household cleaners and the new Latina cook—were packed up and living in a brick Victorian in an elite corner of Grand City. Rumor was that Mr. Maxwell was turning his aspirations toward the public sector, and anyone running for mayor needed to have a residency within city limits. So maybe it was that. It was as good an explanation as any, she supposed, for the empty halls, the plastic-covered furniture, the disconnected fridge. No one else needed to know about the resentment leaching through the walls, the fights that hung like ghosts in the dining room and master suite. Amy did her best not to pry, carving out a space for herself in the rooms that hadn’t been splashed with emotion. It was a big house, after all.

In theory, training started at 6:30 sharp. Cal was on leave from the Marines, training the rest of them in the time he had, but he refused to get up quite as early as he did on active duty. He’d wanted to bump the start even later, but . . . well, Jane had spoken. Certainly she was always ready that early, in black Nike spandex, her hair contained in a french braid, a towel slung around her neck. She was usually already stretching by the time Amy showed up, 6:28, 6:29, 6:25. Jane greeted her with a curt nod, barely breaking stride. Her body was already toned from years of 5Ks and half-marathons and yoga, ab muscles flexing as she held her arms high, as she leaned one direction and then another. Amy always averted her eyes, but somehow it never felt quite fast enough.

Cal was usually the next to arrive. 6:35, 6:40, always claiming to be right on time. By this point, Jane had usually worked her way to a warmup routine, often jumping jacks to start. Cal’s ogling was overt, his neck twisting as he passed her, a low whistle here or there. His excuses rotated whenever Jane yelled at him for it—he was paying her a compliment, he was admiring her form, she was overreacting, he was only human—and one day, Amy knew, Jane would simply get tired of trying.

So because of their early start, breakfasts were everyone-for-themselves, and lunches tended to be fast and cheap in the gap between training sessions. But dinners, now . . . dinners were another story altogether.

In the kitchen, Marie reigned supreme. Her parents were ultra-conservative, and had raised Marie under a strict worldview that it was a woman’s duty to handle the cooking with a skill of a master caterer. She may have resented every moment of it while she was growing up, but her talents couldn’t be denied, and even she wasn’t willing

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