Alea Iacta Est - a Worm AU Fanfic

This is an Alt!Power Taylor story. Canon diverges almost immediately ...

A/N: The title refers to Caesar's quote as he prepared to cross the Rubicon and enter Rome: "The die is cast".
A/N 2: 'Oracle' changed to 'Navigation Cluster' at suggestion of Biigoh

1) This story is set in the Wormverse, which is owned by Wildbow. Thanks for letting me use it.

2) I will follow canon as closely as I can. If I find something that canon does not cover, I will make stuff up. If canon then refutes me, I will revise. Do not bother me with fanon; corrections require citations.

3) I welcome criticism of my works, but if you tell me that something is wrong, I also expect an explanation of what is wrong, and a suggestion of how to fix it. Note that I do not promise to follow any given suggestion.


Index
Part One: Discovery
Part Two: Enlightenment
Part Three: Random Encounter Table
Part Four: Looking For Group
Part Five: Roll for Initiative
Part Six: The Plot Thickens
Part Seven: Sneak Attack
Part Eight: Boss Fight
Part Nine: Luck is in the Eye of the Beholder
Part Ten: New Pieces on the Board
Part Eleven: Critical Flail
Part Twelve: Cashing in a Diplomacy Check
Part Thirteen: Team Building Exercise
Part Fourteen: Turning the Tide
Part Fifteen: Initial Foray
Part Sixteen: Rolling High, Rolling Low
Part Seventeen: Speed Bump
Part Eighteen: Whack-a-Lung
Part Nineteen: Expanding the Team
Part Twenty: A Man With a Gun
Part Twenty-One: Backlash
Part Twenty-Two: Recruiting Assistance

 

Alea Iacta Est

A Worm AU Fanfic

The entity prepared the shards and sent them forth. The Administration shard would go to a leader of men, to be passed to a girl child near to him when the conflict around her became too much.

The Navigation Cluster shard also went to a man who gave other men orders. He also had a girl child close to him, surrounded by conflict, ripe for a trigger.

Thus seeded, they awaited final activation.


Part One: Discovery


"Merry Christmas, Taylor."

"Merry Christmas, Dad."

The rustle of tissue paper being unwrapped from gifts was loud in Taylor's ears; too loud. There was no other sound to compete; no happy chatter, no banter between ... between ...

Looking back, Taylor could mark the points when her family began to disintegrate. First was that terrible day, two and a half years before, when she learned that her mother was dead in a car accident. Emma had been her best friend then, as close as a sister. Her parents had taken Taylor in, until Danny had recovered enough to function. Taylor had still grieved, of course, sobbing into her pillow far into the night, but deep down there was the knowledge that Emma, her friend, her confidante, would always be there.

And then, she wasn't. Between one week and the next, while Taylor was at summer camp, Emma turned away from her. But the true nature of the betrayal only showed when they began high school; Emma joined forces with other girls to torment, to pester, to bully Taylor, until she didn't know which way to turn.

She lost the friend who was as close as a sister, then. A part of what she saw as her family, breaking away, distancing itself. And during school hours, returning to attack, to harass, to single her out and to hurt her with well-chosen barbs.

That first Christmas had been the worst, but at least Emma and her family had been there. On the next one, Alan Barnes had made excuses; the mutual Christmas get-together, tradition for so many years, vanished without a trace. Taylor had no doubt but that Emma had been behind it; perhaps she was uncomfortable with the idea, or perhaps she just wanted to deny Taylor even that level of happiness. Worse, Danny had barely noticed, caught up in his own troubles, when he wasn't remembering her mother, his wife. On what was supposed to be a day of jollity and togetherness, Taylor and Danny had been alone; the two of them certainly together, but still very much alone. Danny brooded, while Taylor was still trying to come to terms with what her best friend had become. Neither of them was in possession of the support, the emotional toolkit, that would have helped them accept it, assimilate it, put it behind them and move on.

And now it was Christmas once more, their second as just father and daughter, without wife and mother, without friends of whatever age. This year, they'd barely made the effort; a ratty tree in the corner, a couple of wrapped presents. Yes, it's Christmas, let's get it over with. No egg-nog, no Christmas carols. When the day was done, Danny would pack the tree up and store it back in the basement until next year; privately, Taylor doubted whether it would even make an appearance again.

She'd done her best to get him presents that she thought he'd like; a history of Brockton Bay and an antique-looking pocket watch. In return, she got a silver locket – while pretty, she couldn't wear it to school, or it would disappear, just as surely as her mother's flute had disappeared – and a detective novel that she'd already read. But she didn't want to hurt his feelings on this day of all days, so she put the locket on, and began to read the novel with every evidence of interest.

<><>​

"Remember how your mother used to decorate the house?"

Taylor looked up, a little confused; that had come out of nowhere. Danny was smiling a little sadly as he handled the pocket watch; perhaps it reminded him of quirky gifts from Christmases long gone. "Uh, I guess?"

He seemed to come to a conclusion. "This isn't the sort of Christmas we used to have, sitting around all gloomy. We can do better than this." Stowing the watch in his pocket, he stood up.

For a moment, she thought he was going to suggest decorating the house after all. This could be good, or it could be bad.

But he had something else in mind. "Want to get the photo albums down, look at the ghosts of our Christmases past?"

No. Say no. "Sure, Dad. That sounds like fun." Coward.

The next-but-last thing she wanted to do was trawl through the static, frozen memories, to recall moments painful in their emotional clarity. To happen across a candid shot of her mother – or worse, Emma – happy, smiling, laughing, unaware of the changed circumstances that three or four years would make.

But the very last thing she wanted to do was to hurt her father's feelings, and so she sat down with him, and they paged through the albums. Christmas decorations aplenty, a tree almost scraping the ceiling, weighed down with the tinsel that a younger Taylor, an Emma as yet innocent of betrayal, had competed to hang upon it. Silly expressions, funny hats, people wearing odd hand-knitted sweaters from obscure relatives; they all reminded her of days forever gone.

Tears welled in her eyes at the happiness that she had lost, that had been torn away or leached out of her life; not understanding, Danny put a comforting arm over her shoulders. "It's okay to cry, kiddo. I loved her too."

She couldn't explain; he wouldn't understand. Or worse; maybe he would. He might call Alan Barnes, demand retribution. She did not want this day to be spoiled even further with anger, recriminations. And besides, she's been easing up. Maybe she's lost interest.

<><>​

Later that night, she lay in bed, memories swirling around her. Memories of a mother who was gone, and a friend who may as well be; of a family torn apart by death and betrayal. She had trouble comprehending how thoroughly her life had gone downhill in less than three years.

If I knew then what I know now ... It was a familiar lament, but none the less true for it.

With that thought troubling her, she rolled over and sought elusive sleep. Eventually, she found it, or it found her.

Dreams came to her, dreams that she would never remember.

<><>​

Morning came, and with it, a strange obsession. She found herself flipping coins, silently calling the throws, getting it right, time after time. More; she needed more. "Dad, where are the board games?"

Danny looked up from where he was browsing the book that he had gotten her. "You want to play a board game?"

"No, I just want to get the dices."

An odd look. "It's 'dice'.”

“Huh?”

“Singular is 'die', plural is 'dice'. What do you want them for?"

"It's hard to explain." It was more than that; it was literally impossible for her to say why she needed them; the explanation was on the tip of her tongue, but the words would not come to her. “I just need them.”

A shrug, as he carefully marked his place in the book and put it down. “Let's go find them then.”

She wanted to tell him why she needed the dice, but the words refused to form themselves, so instead she gestured back at the book. “You like it, Dad?”

He smiled and ruffled her hair. “It's pretty good, kiddo.”

<><>​

The warm feeling from that lasted while they located the board games – some, rat-chewed, in the basement, while others resided in the closet in the spare room – and extracted the dice from those games that had them. The dice were of the standard type; six-sided, white with black dots. She weighed them in her hand, felt them moving around in her grasp.

Downstairs once more, Danny eyed the half-dozen dice she held. “So what are you going to do with those?”

She didn't answer, just threw them; they landed on the kitchen table. Every one turned up a single dot. Snake-eyes times three. Danny's jaw slowly dropped.

“How … how did you do that, kiddo?”

She shrugged, retrieving the dice. “I just do it.”

“Can you do it again?”

“What would you like?”

“Uh … all sixes.”

She threw; boxcars as far as the eye could see. She picked the dice up again.

“Okay, now from one to six.”

Without apparent effort, she threw one more time. The dice were scattered on the table, but each one showed a different face. One through six. Danny pulled out a chair, sat down, staring at the dice. “Holy shit. You know what this means, kiddo?”

“That I could make a fortune at Vegas?”

He barked a short laugh. “Hah. No. They'd have people on the lookout for that exact thing. I doubt that you're the only person who's ever been able to influence the roll of a die. No, but this does mean that you're a parahuman. What you just did … that was virtually impossible. Three sets of six, each one called.”

She drew out her own chair, sat down. The dice spilled from her hand, rolled into a circular formation. “Yeah, but I can't see being able to roll dice being a world-beating superpower. I can just see it; I go out in costume and challenge bad guys to best-of-three.”

“Maybe it means that you're a telekinetic,” he suggested. “Try it with something else.”

A spoon lay near her hand; she concentrated on it. Nothing happened; she picked it up, dropped it. It bounced once, lay still.

Danny shrugged. “Something smaller?”

Toothpicks failed to bend to her will as well; as with dice, she could make them neither levitate from her hand nor move without her touching them. She could make them land wherever on the table she wanted, but that didn't promise to be very important.

They went back to the dice, ascertaining that she could indeed throw them, for whatever result she desired – to a point. They would land either showing the numbers she wanted or in the formation she wanted, but not both.

“Great,” she declared at last. “I can totally cheat at Yahtzee. Wonderful.” Morosely, she set a die to spinning on one corner.

Danny suddenly got up. “I'll be back in a second, kiddo.”

“Okay.” Taylor watched the die spin down. Six, she thought. It landed on a six.

Danny came thumping back downstairs with a cardboard box in his hands. “I haven't even looked at this stuff since your mother and I started going out, but you might be interested.” Blowing the dust off of it, he lifted the lid.

Inside were pencils worn to a stub, three-by-five index cards with arcane scribblings on them, and folded sheets of paper. Underneath that, as Taylor lifted out the papers, were red books, softcover, with imaginative pictures of dragons on them. But she didn't have eyes for that; also scattered from one side of the box to the other were dice. Lots of dice. Dice of a sort that she had never seen before.

“Dad,” she breathed. “What are they?”

<><>​

She sat with the odd-shaped polyhedrons before her in a row. The 'd-four' – Danny had explained the terminology to her – looked like a triangular pyramid while the d-six was the standard die, though these had numbers rather than pips. Then there was the d-eight, the d-ten, the d-twelve and the d-twenty. Each of them performed as readily the original dice she had gotten; the d-twenty rolled naturally off of her palm and ended up on whatever number she wanted.

But it was the d-tens that caught her attention. “Why do some of these have one number on each side, while others have two?”

So then he explained percentile dice to her; once she understood that zero-zero-zero equalled one hundred, while zero-zero-one equalled one, it all became clear. She rolled the percentiles, and each time, the number came out at whatever Danny called it.

And then she had a thought. “Dad, write the number down. Don't let me see it.”

He did what she said; she rolled the dice. His number came up.

“Are you reading my mind?” His expression was a little concerned, not very much to her surprise. The only known 'real' telepath in the world was the Simurgh; to be associated with the angel-winged Endbringer in any significant way was a very bad thing. The upcoming trial of the parahuman singer known as Canary was proof positive of that.

"Not that I know of," she told him. "I was just thinking 'whatever number he wrote down'."

"You still could have read my mind and not consciously known it," he mused. "Okay, let's try something else." He tore out three pages from a notebook he found in the box. "Write a number on each of them, then fold them so I can't see. I'll mix them up so you don't know which one I've picked."

Duly, she wrote the numbers; 23, 54 and 71. Behind his back, Danny scrunched up each folded paper into a ball, then placed one on the table. Taylor rolled; the dice came up fifty-four. Carefully, Danny opened up the piece of paper. It was the one with 54 on it.

"Okay, that rules out telepathy," Danny noted with some relief. "So you're using clairvoyance?"

"I could still be using some sort of hyper-effective recognition," Taylor objected. "Really tiny patterns on the paper, even though I folded it and you crumpled it."

"Do you think you are?"

Taylor shrugged. "I don't know. It feels like I'm just throwing randomly; if I want the dice to roll one number or another, I get that number, but when I'm trying for an outside result, there's no actual answer in my mind until the dice land."

"Mm. Okay." Danny held out both hands, closed into fists. "What's in my right hand?"

She rolled the dice, and frowned at the result. "No, that's not right. I didn't write down a hundred."

Turning his hand over, Danny opened it; it was empty. "Not a hundred, kiddo," he pointed out. "Zero zero zero. The dice were telling you that there was nothing in my hand."

"Huh." Taylor eyed the dice. "They're smarter than they look."

"They certainly are." Danny handed her a third die, also a d-ten. "I'm going to try something. Roll the dice but don't let me see the result. I'm going to go and open that book you gave me at a random page."

She frowned. "How's that different from me writing the numbers down?"

"Just humour me, okay?"

"Okay." She picked up the dice. "Let me know when."

He entered the living room. "Okay!"

The dice clattered on the table; although they landed in a rough triangle, she had no trouble in reading the order; three two five. Covering them with her hand, she called out, "Okay, what did you get?"

He re-entered the kitchen with the book in his hands, unopened. As she watched, he closed his eyes, opened the book, riffled the pages, and put his finger on a page. Opening his eyes, he read off the page number. "Three hundred and twenty-five."

"Dad."

"Yes, Taylor?"

"You opened the book after I rolled."

He nodded. "Yes."

"The dice predicted what page you were going to open the book to."

This time, he shook his head. "No. You made the prediction. You just rolled the dice to get that number."

"But I didn't know what page number it was going to be, before I rolled!" she protested.

Reaching out, he tapped her on the top of the head, not hard. "You didn't. The part of you that knows how to roll dice to order ... that part did."

“That doesn't make sense,” she complained.

“Legend can make lasers that go around corners and freeze water,” he retorted. “Name one thing about super-powers that does make sense.”

She stuck out her tongue at him.

<><>​

“Okay,” he decided, some little time later. “Random page numbers are easily predictable by you. When I roll dice, you can roll exactly the same numbers before I roll. You're a precog, sure enough. But is that all you can predict?”

She frowned. “What are you getting at?”

“Simple.” He gestured through the open door at the TV in the living room. “I'm going to go through there and turn on the weather channel. What's the temperature going to be?”

“I dunno,” she responded, and rolled the dice. “Sixty-five.” She frowned. “Does that sound right for you?”

“We'll see.” He got up, and Taylor followed him into the living room, bringing the dice with her. Picking up the remote, he turned the TV on, then flicked it over to the appropriate channel.

“- and we've got a warm front moving up from the south, bringing the temperature up to a balmy sixty-five for today - “

On the screen, the weather announcer was gesturing to the state map, with '65' over the area of Brockton Bay. Danny switched the TV off again. “Well, looks like that works too.”

Taylor stared at the dice in her palm. They looked so innocuous, so normal. But they allowed her to do things that she'd never been able to do before. And still, something was nudging at her.

“Percentiles.”

“What?” Danny was looking at her.

“Percentiles. They can be used to determine the chance of something happening, right?”

“Uh, yes?” He blinked. “Holy crap, yes. Taylor, you're a genius.”

“But how do we determine the actual percentage chance of something happening, so we can test this?” she asked practically.

He grinned. “By picking something we already know the percentage chance of first.”

“And where can we find something like that?”

“You'll see.” He led the way back into the kitchen. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a quarter. “Sit down and get ready to roll. Grab two more d-tens.”

She did as she was told, cradling the four dice in her hand. “What am I predicting this time?”

“The chances of me getting heads every time if I flip this coin five times in a row.” Taylor paused to try to calculate that in her head, and Danny clapped his hands. “Don't think, roll!”

Instinctively, she rolled the dice. Percentage chance of five heads in a row.

They tumbled across the table, and rolled to a halt. Three – she instinctively knew that there was a decimal point there – four five zero.

Danny was staring at the numbers. “Is that right?” she asked. “Is that what you expected?”

“No,” he declared with a frown. “It's not. It should be three point one two five.”

Taylor applied her mind to the math, and nodded. “Yeah,” she agreed. “It should be … but … “

“But what?”

She pointed at the coin he was holding. “What if that coin wasn't absolutely true? It might have a marginal bias toward heads. That would throw things out, and give a higher number, right?”

He scratched his chin. “Huh. That could explain it. Okay. Percentage chance of getting heads on one flip of this coin."

She rolled the dice; they came up as fifty-one percent. "That look about right to you?"

"As close as we're going to get, I guess." He dropped the coin and picked up the d-twenty. “Odds of rolling this five times and getting evens every time.”

Taylor rolled her dice. This time, they agreed with Danny's initial summation; three point one two five percent.

“Well, damn.” Danny summed up their thoughts quite neatly. “You can predict the odds of something happening. To decimal point accuracy. That could be … “

“Scary.” Taylor didn't even need to think about that. “Really scary.”

Danny nodded. “We tell nobody.”

Taylor agreed silently. It's not like I've got anyone to tell.

<><>​

That evening, Taylor sat cross-legged on her bed and stared at the innocuous-looking dice that lay in the palm of her hand. This is a lot of power, right here. Do I dare use it? What can I use it for?

Drawing a deep breath, she grabbed a magazine and laid it on her bed to make for a rolling surface. For a few moments she sat, eyes closed, as she tried to think of what questions to ask.

Will Emma ever be my friend again? Opening her eyes, she rolled the dice.

Five point one three four percent.

This time, the deep breath was more like a sigh. Well, it's not entirely unexpected.

She concentrated again. Chances that Emma and the others will leave me alone?

The dice left her hand, rolled on the magazine cover. One point zero one three percent.

And there's my answer for that.

She paused, eyes opening slightly as the possibilities finally clicked into focus. Wait a minute. Chances that they'll pull something on me before lunchtime.

The dice rolled across the magazine. Ninety-nine point nine six percent.

Shit. Fuck. Chances that it will happen before third period.

Ninety-nine point nine six percent.

Chances that it will happen before second period.

Ninety-nine point nine six percent.

She was starting to feel panicky. The same numbers kept cropping up on the dice.

Chances that it will happen before first period.

Ninety-nine point nine six percent.

Her heart was hammering now. How bad will the prank be, on a scale of one to one hundred?

This time, she rolled just the two dice. They came to a stop. Zero zero zero. One hundred. Fuck.

Leaving the dice where they were, she flopped back on the bed, letting her head fall on the pillow. Oh god. If I'm to believe this, they've got a prank set up to spring on me before first period on the third. And it'll be worse than everything else they've done.

What do I do?

Closing her eyes, she reviewed her school route. Bus. They don't ride on the bus with me. But they might. Or they could get someone else to. She opened her eyes and sat up. Chances that the prank will happen on the bus? She rolled the dice.

Zero point zero one zero percent chance.

Not the bus. Okay, at the school proper. Um … walking across the parking lot.

The dice rolled once more. Zero point one three nine percent chance.

Not the parking lot, then. She tried to think hard. Before first period … my locker?

She watched as the dice rolled off of her palm. For a moment she thought they were going to settle on to another low-probability number, but then they rolled into position.

Ninety-nine point nine six percent chance.

A chill settled around her heart. Fuck, they've done something to my locker.

Will this prank harm me? Surely not … But she rolled the dice anyway.

Forty-three point seven six percent chance.

Chances that there'll be something in my locker that I didn't put in there?

Ninety-nine point nine six percent.

<><>​

She picked up the dice and dropped the magazine on the floor, then lay back on the bed, thinking hard. Okay, they'll be putting something in my locker – or they've already done it – that's got a chance of harming me, and it'll be the worst prank that they've ever done to me. What the fuck do I do now? What can I do with this information?

Rolling over, she leaned over to look down at the floor. Chances that the prank will happen if I don't open my locker?

The dice rolled across the magazine. One point three zero four percent.

Okay, that would be good news if I didn't need my books.

Another point clicked into place. Chances that I can prove they did it?

Two point zero nine four percent.

She didn't like this next idea, but she had to know. Chances that I can prove they did it if I let them pull the prank on me?

Ten point six one percent.

Damn. Okay, good to know. No sacrificial play for me.

She thought about it for a moment. Chances of being transferred to Arcadia because of this?

The dice rolled to a stop. Seven point four nine three percent. Not great.

And then she had another thought, and she rolled the dice.

This time, she smiled when she saw the result.

Getting up, she put the dice carefully on her dresser, before switching off the light and climbing into bed.

I'm going to need to run some more numbers, but I think I can work this out.

<><>​

“Dad?”

Danny looked up from his perusal of an ancient yellowed set of rules. “Yeah?”

“I've been … using my power.”

He put down the rules and looked at Taylor. They had decided to give one of the board games a whirl, now that they'd unearthed them – they'd picked a non dice based one, for obvious reasons – but Taylor's expression was more serious than normal. “And what did you find out?”

“Some pretty serious stuff.” She took a deep breath. “I've been … getting bullied. At school. It's pretty bad. And it's going to get really bad when I go back.”

“What?” He had trouble getting his head around this. “How? Kiddo, if you're having trouble, get Emma to back you up.”

“I can't.” Her expression was pained. “Emma's behind it.”

The words didn't register for a moment, then he shook his head. “That can't be right. She's your best friend.”

“Not since we started at Winslow, Dad.” Her voice was dead level. “She's changed. She's a bitch, and she's been bullying me ever since.”

“Fuck.” It was starting to make sense; Taylor had been becoming more withdrawn, uncommunicative. Come to think of it, she hasn't been spending any time out of school with Emma …

Danny cursed himself for being a blind fool. “I'm going to call Alan right now and -”

But she was shaking her head. “No, Dad. That's got a less than nine percent chance of working.”

“You've run the numbers?”

“I've run the numbers.”

“So what can we do?”

She smiled.

<><>​

Principal Blackwell turned over the pages of the thick document, reading a line here and a line there. Finally, she put it down and looked at the man across the desk from her.

“Mr Hebert, this is potentially very serious.”

He looked almost offended at the phrasing. “Potentially? Principal Blackwell, that, right there, is what has been happening to my daughter since September. And what she says has been happening to her for a year before that.”

She cleared her throat. “What she says and what might have happened are two different things. I need proof to take action.”

“Fine,” he retorted; she could tell that he was less than thrilled, but he held his temper well. “What you've got there, does that constitute proof enough that she's being bullied?”

“It could,” she allowed; in truth, it was dauntingly thick. “With an admission from one of the people named here, or eyewitness evidence from a third party, it could definitely be classed as such.”

“So my daughter's word that she wrote down just what happened to her isn't enough?” he asked, allowing just an edge of sarcasm to colour his voice.

“Mr Hebert, bullying is a very serious matter,” she replied. “As such, false accusations of bullying can get innocent people in deep trouble. And so we must investigate such allegations carefully before deciding punishment.”

“What if Taylor didn't want the bullies punished?” he asked. “Just for her to be transferred to Arcadia?”

Carrie Blackwell was taken just a little aback. “I – there are procedures - “

“The Christmas break has just ended,” he pointed out. “It won't interrupt her education.”

“I'm not sure if I could support -”

“ … or, you know, if it was proven that the staff of Winslow were criminally negligent in letting this go on, I think I could have the school sued pretty damn hard,” he went on. “I have a friend in the media. We could get a guilty verdict before it ever gets to court.”

She swallowed. “That's a serious threat.”

“I'm serious about my daughter's safety.” He met her eyes, and, weak chin or not, she flinched.

“I – we'd have to set up a meeting - “

He flicked a glance at his watch. She had noticed him doing this before, and had thought that he was anxious to get out of there. But he seemed in no hurry to end the meeting.

“Tell you what,” he suggested easily. “Why don't you and me go and talk to Taylor? She should be getting in just about now. Maybe she can point out people to ask about whether this is all true.”

Blackwell hesitated; his words, his actions, seemed almost rehearsed. But then, if it would get him out of her hair …

<><>​

Taylor swallowed and checked her watch. Almost go time. She climbed the front steps of Winslow and entered the main doors. Ahead lay the harsh fluorescent lighting, the classrooms, the bullies … her locker. Behind lay the parking lot, the bus stop … I could walk away now.

I can't. I need to make this work.

Resolutely, she moved forward. Her heightened state of awareness seemed to encompass everyone in the hallway. Moving, laughing, pushing, jostling. Ignoring her. Except for a select few. They didn't move as much as the others, and their attention was covertly on her. As she moved toward her locker, they moved as well, zeroing in on her through the crowd.

She pushed her hair back from her face, sneaking a glance at her watch. Almost …

Her locker was coming up; she let herself be jostled, losing a step. Moving around a couple of rowdy seniors, mumbling an apology that they never heard.

As she came closer to it, she could smell the reek; people were actually avoiding it. That it was her locker, she had no doubt. On a scale of one to a hundred … one hundred. Whatever the prank they were pulling was, it had to be horrendous to actually rate a forty percent chance of doing her harm.

What have they put in my locker? It had to be something pretty noxious; she hadn't been able to figure out how to narrow down the exact thing or substance. But just knowing it was bad was enough.

Out of the corner of her eye, only because she was looking, she could see Emma and Sophia. Madison was probably there as well. She paused at the edge of the empty area, took a deep breath of relatively clean air, held it. Stepped toward her locker. Bent over the combination lock, and fumbled with it. First number in place. Click. Second number in place. Click. Third number in place. Click. Fourth number. Click. The lock opened. She pulled the locker door open.

Reeking muck sludged out, on to her feet. She did not take a breath; even so, the smell assaulted her nostrils. It looked like … pads. Tampons. Used ones. Covered in bugs of all kinds. Crawling, buzzing, fluttering out.

Fuck, they went all-out.

She was expecting it, but even so, when the hand grasped her hair and shoved her toward the locker, the other hand in the small of her back, she was almost taken by surprise.

'Almost', however, was not enough.

Her arms were up, braced against the sides of the locker, and she shoved back, turned, turned her head, so that her assailant – Sophia Hess – was no longer pushing against her, but instead awkwardly pulling sideways. Sophia adjusted her balance, her teeth set, and shoved Taylor toward the locker again. Taylor, losing her footing due to the gunge on the floor, fought back, but it was a losing proposition -

- until the arm went around Sophia's neck from behind. The adult arm. Sophia was strong, for her age and size, but she had no chance against an angry father. Especially one with an unexpectedly strong arm locked around her throat from behind, lifting her off the ground. She was dragged back, the arm tight around her neck, unable to get her own footing. Taylor followed, left the suddenly increased radius of stench before she finally took a breath; even tainted, air never tasted so good.

“Mr Hebert, you can release Ms Hess now.” Principal Blackwell had never looked so angry. She raised her voice in the sudden hush. “Ms Hess, Ms Barnes, Ms Clements, my office, immediately. Ms Hebert, you as well.” Her eyes went to Taylor's feet. “Wash your shoes first, of course.”

Taylor kicked her shoes off, then peeled off her tainted socks and left them there. The vinyl flooring was cold under her feet. “I think I'll just go barefoot.”

“As you wish.” She turned and started toward her office. Taylor followed, along with Danny; the other three girls trailed along behind. After a few paces, she took his hand; he squeezed it, hard.

Emma stepped past them, moved up alongside Principal Blackwell. “My father … “

“Will be contacted.” Blackwell's voice was hard-edged. “And I will tell him exactly what I saw.”

“But I didn't -”

“You were there,” Blackwell snapped. “And you were watching. And you were not helping Ms Hebert. Now, be silent, or I will start handing out detentions.”

Silence fell, until Danny cleared his throat.

“Yes, Mr Hebert?”

“When we get there, I would like you to call the police. This was a clear case of criminal assault.”

“Surely we can keep this as a private matter … ?”

“No.” Taylor's voice was firm. “If Dad thinks it can go to the cops, then by all means, call them. I'll testify against Sophia myself.”

“I need to make a phone call.” Taylor's head turned; it was Sophia speaking.

“No, you do not.” Blackwell.

“Yes. I do.”

What the hell? Taylor knew that she wouldn't talk to the principal like that, so why did Sophia think she could?

Blackwell stopped and turned. Held out her hand. “Your phone, Ms Hess. And yours, Ms Barnes. And yours too, Ms Clements. Now. I will make all the phone calls that I deem necessary.”

“My social worker -” began Sophia.

“- will be contacted. As will your mother. And everyone's parents. And the police. And anyone else I need to call.” Blackwell's voice was harsh. “Phones. Now.”

Silently, the phones were handed over; Madison meekly, Emma hesitantly, and Sophia brimming with a rage that seemed only barely concealed.

They continued on to the office.

<><>​

“But surely we can reach some sort of arrangement -”

“Yes, we can, Mr Barnes. But not one that involves your daughter walking free and clear.” Principal Blackwell's voice was adamant. “We won't be pressing criminal charges against her, not unless Ms Hess decides to name her as a co-conspirator, but she will be undergoing in-school detention until such time as we've either decided that she has been sufficiently punished for her indiscretions, or we decide that we no longer need her in this school.” She gestured to where Madison sat silently, subdued, with her parents. “The same goes for Ms Clements.”

Alan Barnes' hand came down hard on the conference room table; everyone jumped. “This is ridiculous! You're taking one girl's word against three?” He gestured to the stack of papers that sat before Blackwell. “That could have been concocted over the Christmas holidays. Taylor's been barely speaking to Emma recently. Maybe she decided to prank her. Maybe she decided that she was no longer Emma's friend.”

“Shut up, Alan.” Danny's head came up.

“Danny, keep out of this -”

Danny stood. “No, Alan. I won't. I wondered why you didn't want to spend Christmas with us. And the year before. But it was Emma, wasn't it? Didn't want to spend time with Taylor, her ex-best friend?”

“I, uh -” Alan's eyes cut to Emma, and he hesitated, for a fatal moment.

“Right.” Danny's voice was cutting. He sat again. “Emma hasn't been associating with Taylor outside of school for more than a year. They used to sleep over all the time. Not since they started high school. Not since Emma met … that one.” His voice was full of distaste as he looked toward Sophia.

Sophia returned the gaze venomously; she opened her mouth to retort, but the blonde social worker beside her murmured something, and she shut her mouth again.

“So this isn't just a one-time thing.” Blackwell's voice was contemplative, as she looked down at the pages in front of her.

Alan Barnes tried again. “There's no way you can try and convict these girls on one person's say-so, and on the evidence of something that could be so easily faked.”

“Mr Barnes.” Blackwell's voice was hard-edged again. “The only trial and conviction will be of Sophia Hess. The police are on the way, to take her into custody. But as for these papers, I've checked Ms Hebert's email accounts; she's had seventeen of them filled up with horrific abuse since September of two thousand nine. This speaks to a protracted bullying campaign. These papers are not the primary evidence against your daughter and Ms Clements, but they are corroborative evidence; in short, they back up what Ms Hebert's been saying, and what I myself saw. That is, Sophia Hess trying her best to stuff Ms Hebert into her own locker, which was contaminated with toxic waste, and both Emma and Madison standing by, watching, with every evidence of enjoyment.”

“But you can't prove that Emma had anything to do with -”

“No, I can't,” Principal Blackwell replied. “Which is the only reason that she's not being charged as well. However.” She tapped her finger beside the three phones that she had laid out on the table. “These will be handed in to the police as evidence. A court order should be able to get permission to open these phones for inspection, and any cross-talk referring to plans to bully Ms Hebert might just change matters.” She leaned forward. “Mr Barnes, I suggest that you avail yourself of a good lawyer. You might just need one.”

"I am a lawyer." His eyes locked with hers; the threat was implicit.

To her credit, she didn't blink. "Like I said, a good lawyer."

Her phone rang; not taking her eyes from Alan's, she answered it. “Yes?” A murmur. “All right. Send them in.”

The door to the conference room opened, and two police officers entered, a man and a woman. Blackwell rose and rounded the table to meet them. “I'm Carrie Blackwell.”

The male officer shook her hand. “Sergeant Lawrence. What's the exact situation here?”

Blackwell took a breath. “Well, you would have seen the mess in the hall?”

From the look on his face, Lawrence would have been happier not seeing it. “Yeah. We've got officers investigating it right now.” His whole bearing suggested Better them than me.

“The locker belongs to that girl, Taylor Hebert. The mess was placed inside of it by a person or persons unknown. We have our suspicions, but no proof.”

Lawrence nodded. “Understood. If that's the case, why have we been called in?”

Danny's voice was flat. “Because we caught that girl, Sophia Hess, trying to shove Taylor into the locker. Into the mess.”

The female police officer spoke up. “They found a pair of shoes on the scene.”

Taylor nodded. “Mine. I was that close to being pushed in, yes.”

“And you're pressing charges against Sophia Hess?” Lawrence looked at Sophia.

“We are, yes, on behalf of the Heberts.” Blackwell spoke firmly.

The female officer looked at Taylor. “You're willing to testify?”

“Oh god, yes.” Taylor's voice was flat. “In a heartbeat.”

“Good.” The female officer moved over to where Sophia sat. “On your feet.”

Reluctantly, Sophia stood.

“Your name is Sophia Hess?”

Even more reluctantly, she nodded.

“I'm going to take that as agreement. Sophia Hess, I'm placing you under arrest for aggravated assault, attempted deprivation of liberty, and suspicion of placing toxic waste in a public area.” She pulled a card from her pocket. “You have the right to remain silent. If you give up that right … “

<><>​

Taylor watched as Sophia was read her rights, and then led out the door. The social worker rose and followed; Sergeant Lawrence took the phones with him.

Blackwell turned to Alan Barnes. “Go. Take your daughter with you. She is suspended for the rest of the day, and begins in-school suspension tomorrow.” She gestured toward Madison's family. “Her, too. Go. I just need to speak to the Heberts, now.”

“This isn't over.” Alan Barnes just had to have the last word.

“No, it isn't.” Blackwell's tone was biting. “I may just have Emma charged as well.”

Mrs Barnes – Zoe – tugged on Alan's arm, and they left, following the Clements', who had already gone. The door closed behind them.

Principal Blackwell turned to Danny. “Is that enough?”

“Not quite.” Danny leaned forward. “I think this has proven that Winslow is an unsafe environment for my daughter.”

“But Sophia is being charged – the other two are suspended - “

Danny nodded toward the pages before Blackwell. “I think you'll find that they were not the only ones. And being in in-school suspension means that they will have plenty of time to plan revenge. Taylor needs to leave Winslow.”

“But – where will she go?”

Danny smiled grimly. “Arcadia, for preference.”

“There's a waiting list -”

“I didn't want to do this,” Danny told her quietly, “but when this hits the media, how would you like it spun? 'Beleaguered principal doing her best for her students'? Or 'Uncaring school administrator blind to the crimes of her students'? Because it can go either way.”

Blackwell's expression was suddenly hunted. “This is extortion -”

“Let's put it this way,” Taylor observed. “When Dad's media friend interviews me, I'll be able to give them some really good soundbites.” She looked Principal Blackwell in the eye. “It's up to you how they go.”

<><>​

“So you're going to Arcadia.”

Taylor grinned. “I'm going to Arcadia.”

“But first, we have to go to the precinct and give our statements.”

“I'm fine with that.”

Danny put his arm around his daughter's shoulders. “You worked all this out with your powers?”

“I did.”

“Looks like they came in handy after all.”

“Yeah.” Taylor leaned against her father as they walked out through the corridors of Winslow. “They did.”

I wonder what else I can do with them.


End of Part One

Part Two

 

Alea Iacta Est

Part Two: Enlightenment

[A/N: Dinah's dialogue assisted by a friend of mine with teenage daughters.]

Dinah Alcott wished that her headache would go away. It lay across her brain like a malevolent kitten, digging in claws that felt like railroad spikes. Painkillers barely dented it; she could hardly eat, and she had to drag herself up the stairs to her room while the latest round of her parents' ongoing argument echoed from the living room.

Her parents had been fighting about stuff since Christmas, but she had only started getting the headaches since the yelling and slamming doors had begun happening. A couple of weeks ago, just after New Years', she had come downstairs to find her father sleeping – rather uncomfortably, it seemed – on the sofa. He had awakened at her startled gasp, and made a joke about 'camping out'. But she had gone to school terrified that when she got back, one of her parents would be gone forever.

I don't want that to happen.

The screaming downstairs was reaching a crescendo, and – wait for it – a door would be slammed, any moment SLAM now. She had heard these arguments so often that she could read the pattern, the flow, of them. It was as if she didn't even need to hear the words; she just knew what was coming next.

It's so stupid.

The thought bobbed up into her mind, and waited for her to notice it.

She frowned. Stupid how? Well, she knew it was stupid; she just didn't know how to fix it.

They're arguing about two different things, and they can't see it.

That revelation was enough to get her out of bed. Cautiously, she climbed out of bed and tottered out of her room, to the top of the stairs. Sitting down, she hugged the bannisters for support. Now, she could hear the words that were being shouted at each other.

She blinked; she could hear the words behind the words. The words that they weren't saying.

I know what's wrong.

I can fix this.

Carefully, she pulled herself to her feet, and stumbled downstairs. Her parents were in the living room, facing each other; they turned to look at her as she entered the room.

“Honey, what's up?” asked her mother. “Did we disturb you?”

“Of course you disturbed her, Anna,” her father muttered gruffly. “Screeching like a banshee -”

“Mom,” Dinah interrupted him. “Dad. I know why you're arguing. I know why you're mad at each other.”

That brought a few seconds of pause, as the two adults looked at one another, then back at her.

“Sweetie, it's really complicated -” her father began.

“No, Dad, it's actually not,” she interrupted him again. Looking at him, at her mother, she could see the network of what was going on. The stress patterns. The deep issues. The reasons. And she could see how to fix it. If only they would let her.

“Honey, it's late,” decided her mother. “You should be in bed.”

She stood her ground. “Why, so you two can keep arguing?” she asked, with a tremor in her voice. “Is this what you really want, that you get so mad that you can't stop?”

“We're pretty well there now,” her father muttered.

Her mother shot him an angry look, then knelt down before her. “No, of course we don't, honey. We love each other, we really do. It's just that there are some things -”

“It's gonna be all over between you two if this keeps going,” Dinah stated clearly. “You're not gonna be able to help yourselves. You'll start thinking about divorce. And that's the last thing I want.”

Her mother hugged her; Dinah hugged her back. “Oh honey, we're not going to go that far.”

“Oh, yes, you are,” Dinah insisted. “But I know what's wrong, and if you're willing to listen to me, I can fix it.”

Her father looked dubious, but said nothing. Her mother pulled back and looked at her carefully. “What do you mean, honey?”

“I mean that I can see what's happening to you,” Dinah told her simply. “And excuse my French, but it's crap.”

"You can ... see ... what's happening?"

Dinah nodded earnestly. "You think Dad's mad at you for spending your money, right?"

Anna Alcott nodded. "Well, that's part of it ... "

"Not even close." Dinah shook her head vigorously, her straight brown hair waving back and forth.

Her mother paused. "No?"

"Nope." Dinah pointed at her father. "He's mad because he thinks you like someone else."

Slowly, her mother turned to look at her father. " ... what?"

He shuffled his feet and looked a little embarrassed. "I don't really think that, but with all the new clothing you've been buying, and the new perfumes ..."

"You think I might be looking around?" Her mother's mouth opened in shock. "No. God, no. There's no-one but you. There's never been anyone but you."

"So why the new perfumes, the new hairstyles, the new clothes?"

She looked at him blankly, as if she were unable to figure out how he couldn't understand this.

Dinah went to her rescue. "For god's sake, it's for you, Dad. She wants to make herself look good for you."

"You look just fine as you are?" he ventured, frowning in puzzlement.

"So why haven't you been paying attention to me?" she burst out.

"What? Sure I've been paying attention." He looked almost indignant at that.

"No. You really haven't. You've been working late since mid December, and when you're home you're really distracted."

"No, I've been working extra hours to earn a bonus, so …" He trailed off.

His wife picked up on that immediately, of course. “So …?” she prompted.

Defeated, he slumped. "So I could take you away for a weekend on our anniversary."

"Which you missed," she snapped.

“Yeah.” He sighed. “I got too caught up in stuff, and it happened before I was able to make arrangements. Sorry.”

Her lips tightened. “That's not -” She stopped herself.

“That's not what?” he asked.

“Mom thinks that you're hiding something,” Dinah supplied. “And she's not wrong, is she?”

They both looked at her, then at each other.

“Are you hiding something?” she asked.

“Sort of,” he admitted. “But I didn't want it to come out like this.”

“Like what?” When he didn't answer, she compressed her lips together. “I found a receipt in your pants pocket when I put it in the wash. It was from a jeweller's. What did you buy … and who was it for?”

“Why didn't you ask me when you found it?” he demanded.

“Because I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt!” she shouted.

“Mom! Dad!” Dinah's high voice rose over both of theirs. Again, they looked at her. “Dad, please, will you just shut up and give it to her?”

He took in a deep breath. “Right. Okay. One second.” Turning, he vanished into his study. Moments later, he emerged with a box in his hand; a few inches wide by several inches long, it drew the attention by the fact that it lacked any sort of ostentation.

“I wanted to keep this for until we were doing better,” he explained in a vague tone of apology. “Didn't want it to seem like a bribe to make you be happy.” Running out of words, he handed the box over.

Carefully, she opened it; the first thing that came to her eye was a small card. Open, it read, To my dearest Anna. This is my apology for missing our anniversary. I promise that I'll do better next time.

Beneath it, glinting softly in the living room lights, was a necklace of intertwined gold and silver chains. Dinah's mother caught her breath as she stared at it. “Oh,” she murmured. “Oh my.”

He lifted it from the box. “Do you want me to put it on you?”

Her eyes lifted to his; they were soft, lacking the anger of moments before. Her lips slightly parted, she breathed, “Yes. Please.”

As Anna turned her back to her husband, carefully sweeping her hair out of the way, Dinah backed out of the room and crept up the stairs. The rift between her parents was almost closed; the hurt would heal in time. They were willing to listen to each other now. They're willing to listen to each other. My job is done. Now, who should I send the bill to, and how many zeroes should I put on it?

As she settled back into bed, hugging her pillow and listening to the gentle murmur of her parents conversing downstairs, she realised that her headache was gone; it had vanished without a trace.

Mom and Dad are talking again, and I think I've got super-powers.

Best. Day. Ever.

She fell asleep with a smile on her face.

<><>​

“I want to do that!”

“Carly, you're doing the gluing.”

“Because no-one else is gonna do it.”

“Dinah, are you okay?”

Dinah opened her eyes at that; she realised that she'd been sitting back with her eyes closed and her fingers pressed into her temples. Blonde-haired Briony was looking at her with some concern. Behind Briony, she could see Xavier doodling on the corner of the piece of paper he was supposed to be cutting shapes out of, and Hank whispering something to Kayla to make her giggle. Carly, with a glue pot in one hand and a mutinous expression on her face, was staring daggers at Briony's back.

“Got a headache,” she mumbled.

“Should I get Mrs Smith?”

Dinah shook her head. “Wouldn't help. But I think you might be doing it wrong.”

“That's what I said!” Carly broke in. Dinah winced at her tone.

“You mean I don't know what I'm doing?” Briony retorted, her tone hurt.

“No, I mean that you've got the right idea, but there's a better way to do it.” She waved her hand. “Everyone else is half done, and we're barely started.”

“That's because me and Carly are the only ones who are doing anything,” Briony retorted. “You've got a headache, Xavier's scribbling and Hank and Kayla are playing house over there.”

Dinah took a deep breath. “Carly, I'll take over gluing, okay?”

“All right!” crowed Carly. “Scissors please!”

“No,” Briony told her. “It's Xavier's job to do the cutting.”

It was all so clear to Dinah now. “No, Carly's got smaller hands. She'll do a neater job. Xavier, you're good at drawing. Can you trace some shapes for Carly, then draw decorative designs on the bits you've already cut out?”

“Uh, sure,” Xavier replied in surprise. “Briony?”

“Uh, yeah, that's a good idea,” Briony belatedly agreed. She turned to Dinah and hissed, “I'm in charge of this project!”

“I know,” Dinah told her at once. “My dad taught me about 'delegation'. It's how you get people to tell people to do stuff for you. You're just delegating me to do the job.”

“ … oh.” Briony thought about that. “Delegation. Yeah, that sounds about right. So, how do we delegate Hank and Kayla to do stuff?”

“Well,” Dinah replied, as if she hadn't already thought it through, “how about Kayla colours in the drawings that Xavier's making, and Hank sorts the pieces out, so that we know what goes where?”

Kayla had already perked up at the mention of colouring; Briony nodded. “Yeah, that makes sense. So is there anything I can do?”

Dinah shrugged. “Uh … hold the pieces together so that I can glue it more easily?”

Briony smiled. “I can do that.”

When Mrs Smith passed by their table a few moments later, everyone was busy; Carly was cutting out the shapes drawn for her by Xavier, who was busily decorating the pieces already cut out. Kayla was carefully shading in crayon work to enhance Xavier's line drawings of dragons and castles. Briony was helping Dinah attach the finished shapes, put in order by Hank, to each string in turn.

“Well, I am impressed, Briony,” she murmured to the blonde. “I hadn't thought you were this organised before, but here you are.”

“Thank you, ma'am,” the girl replied. “It's all about delegation. Dinah told me about it.”

“Well done, Dinah,” praised Mrs Smith. “And you too, Briony. And the rest of you, too. It looks like you're really working together. I can't wait to see your finished piece.”

As she walked off, Briony punched Dinah lightly on the shoulder; surprised, Dinah looked around to see the other girl grinning at her. “What?”

“She's right. We're all really working together. And it's all because you saw how we should do it.”

Dinah ducked her head to hide a slight flush. “Dad says that a good boss knows when to delegate.”

“Well, when I'm running the world, I know who I want working for me.”

Dinah giggled. “Well, how about we finish making this mobile first?”

Briony rolled her eyes. “Details, details.” But she picked up the next two pieces and held them together for Dinah to glue. “Say, isn't your headache bothering you?”

“Uh, no.” Dinah blinked, a little surprised herself. “No, it's gone away.”

“Good. I was wondering if you were faking it so you wouldn't have to play sports this afternoon.”

“Faking it?” Dinah shook her head. “Uh, no. No, I'm fine.”

“Good.” Briony smiled. “I want you on my team. I like the way you think.”

“Oh.” Dinah looked at her, then nodded. “Okay.”

And they went back to building the mobile.

<><>​

Briony was not happy, Dinah decided. It wasn't hard to figure out why; she had been counting on being picked as a team captain, but this hadn't happened. Instead, Samantha and Gretel had ended up as captains, and had commenced picking out their teams for the upcoming soccer game.

“Same team,” murmured Briony from beside her. “Same team.”

Dinah shrugged. “If I can,” she agreed. It didn't really matter to her; she wasn't good at the game. Half the time, when she went to kick the ball, it just wasn't there.

Briony, being tall and reasonably athletic, was an early pick for Samantha's side. She trudged to her captain's group, and was handed the red cloth that she was supposed to tie around her arm to mark her as part of that team. Other girls were picked for each team; once she had the cloth tied properly, Briony began to talk insistently to Samantha, gesturing in Dinah's direction. Samantha, however, had other ideas, and picked out Kayla instead.

Gretel picked Carly, who grinned at Dinah as she departed for the team sporting the blue cloths.

Samantha picked Francine; Briony looked unhappy as Gretel cast her eye over the remainder of the girls. The ones who were actually good at sports had been taken; of the remainder, Jasmine was painfully thin and used an inhaler, Ingrid wore Coke-bottle glasses, Helen was more than a little overweight, and Dinah was … Dinah. Ordinary, average, everyday.

As Gretel opened her mouth, Dinah started coughing heavily, finishing off with a hawking sound that didn't actually bring anything up but sounded positively disgusting. Gretel closed her mouth and switched her gaze. “Helen,” she called.

“Okay,” Helen agreed, and trundled over. “I can't run much.”

“That's all right,” Gretel told her. “You can be the goalie.”

“Okay.”

Briony prodded Samantha and gestured toward Dinah again. Samantha looked her over dubiously; Dinah smiled slightly and nodded back. She needs to see confidence. After a long pause, Samantha called out, “Dinah.”

Over she trotted; Briony slapped her on the shoulder, but she barely noticed. The team was standing around, some bored, some alert. She could, more than ever before, see the potential there. Each of them had strengths and weaknesses, some more obvious than others. She could see how to get them to work together, how to weld them into a cohesive whole.

If only they would let her.

<><>​

A few minutes before half-time, it wasn't going well. Jasmine and Ingrid, by general agreement, had been tapped to keep track of the score; Ms Hendricks was watching to ensure that the rules were adhered to, and that no fights broke out.

Samantha had a lot of enthusiasm, and was a fair soccer player herself, but she had trouble accepting that the others in her team lacked her skill and capabilities. Briony was good, and a few of the others also knew what they were doing, but for the most part, they seemed to be just blundering around the field, looking around for the ball.

Dinah's headache had returned in full force; as she watched the players run around the field, she could see how it could be made to work. Each player's capabilities were mapped out in full to her eye, both Samantha's side and Gretel's. She could see how Gretel was organising her players, the strengths and weaknesses in the opposing side's strategy. She knew how to break it; all she needed was the chance to do so. But each time she saw how it could be done, and didn't do anything about it, the pain increased yet again.

Talking to Samantha wouldn't help; she could see that. Their side was down four goals to nil already, and the bigger girl was not going to listen to guidance from her. Briony, however ...

"Briony," she gasped, finally catching up to the girl. "I can fix this. But I need your help."

Briony eyed her, then at where the ball was heading for their goal again. Samantha was urgently screaming and gesturing for her to intercept it. "Talk to Samantha," she told Dinah, then ran off. Dinah watched as she was body-blocked by two of Gretel's bigger players, allowing the ball to get past. By the time Dinah caught up with her, she was picking herself up off of the ground, and a yell from the opposing side signalled yet another goal. At the same time, Ms Hendricks blew her whistle to signal half-time.

"I can't," Dinah responded. "Samantha won't listen to me. But she'll listen to you."

"She didn't before," Briony stated flatly, as they started back toward their goal line.

"Try it now," Dinah urged her. "But say this to her ... "

She spoke, and Briony listened.

<><>​

"Okay, guys, we're being murdered out there," Samantha pointed out, pushing sweaty strands of hair back from her face. "Seriously, we need to stop slacking off and get into position, and kick the damn ball. Not just wave your feet in its general direction."

"We're doing our best," Francine protested. "Gretel's got her people all over us."

"Well, you're obviously not doing your best," Samantha shot back, "or we'd be winning."

"Uh, Samantha," Briony ventured before an argument could start. "I've been watching them, and I think I've got them figured out."

Samantha turned to her. “Okay, let's hear it. How do we beat them?”

“Okay, first off, we put Dinah in as goalie.” Briony nodded to Dinah. “We all know she isn't that great out on the field.”

Dinah shrugged. “It's true.”

“Okay,” Samantha agreed. “Dinah, you're goalie. It's not like you can do a worse job than Francine.”

“Hey, I never asked to be goalie,” Francine objected.

Dinah said nothing. To speak up now would do more harm than good, especially if she revealed that Francine had not tried at all to stop any of the goals. That Francine was deliberately letting the side down because of her friendship with some of the girls on Gretel's side. No-one would believe me. Better to just get her out of the goalie position, where she can do a lot less harm.

“So, you got any other ideas?” asked Samantha.

“Yeah, I got ideas for plays,” Briony told her. She pointed at those girls who were best at handling the ball; this did not include Francine. “Come on, I'll fill you in.”

“Hey, what do the rest of us do?” asked Francine.

“Get in the way of their players,” Briony suggested.

“I'm still team captain,” Samantha warned Briony as they walked off a little way with the picked players.

“Well, yeah,” Briony agreed. “You're just delegating strategy to me.”

Dinah waited with the others; she had explained it clearly enough to Briony that the other girl was able to impress on each of the others what her role was to be. It would be a rough and ready system, but she should be able to make a difference if she played it right.

“What's that all about?” complained Francine, gesturing to the group with Samantha and Briony. “What are they talking about?”

“Don't know, don't care,” lied Dinah. She knew full well that if Francine was in that group, that she'd do her best to disrupt the instructions with questions and chatter. Which is why she's here, rather than there. She's a blue cloth in the red team. We're just gonna have to play around her.

All too soon, Ms Hendricks' whistle blew, and the team gathered together once more.

“Okay, team,” Samantha addressed everyone. “You're clear on what we're gonna do?”

Serious nods greeted her; predictably, Francine spoke up. “What are you gonna do?”

Briony answered her, grinning broadly. “We're gonna win this game, that's what we're gonna do.”

<><>​

With the kickoff, given that the blue team had scored the most recent goal, Samantha's team had the ball. She passed it immediately to Briony, then fell in before her, moving forward to prevent anyone from marking her. Just as a player slipped past Samantha toward Briony, the ball was passed sideways to where a flying wedge of three of the other players was waiting toward the edge of the field. They started moving fast up toward the blue goal, kicking the ball between them.

The players designated as cover started moving among the blue players, getting in their way and making it hard to get to the ones who had the ball. But Gretel saw what they were up to, and had a phalanx of her heftiest girls ready to come in hard.

Just as they were about to hit, one of the girls dropped back; Briony glanced back, Dinah gave her the hand signal, and Briony nodded to Samantha. Samantha called out, one of the girls kicked the ball backward just before they were overwhelmed by weight of numbers, and the third one out booted it sideways through the air. Samantha, waiting midfield, headed it forwards, to where Briony had run to; Briony trapped it, then kicked hard, lofting it into the blue team goal net, inches away from Helen's reaching fingers.

There was an instant of surprise, then shock, before the red team erupted with cheering. One goal to five wasn't a great score by any stretch, but it was a start. As the red team came walking back toward the midline, Gretel went over to her goalkeeper, and appeared to be having words with her. Briony sought out Dinah with her eyes and gave her a discreet thumbs-up.

Okay, they'll be looking for that one now. Let's hope the next one works as well as that did.

As the teams set up for the kick-off, Dinah read the blue team's intent, and figured out which play was best needed. When Briony looked around at her, she made a great show of scratching her right ear; Briony nodded, then turned to Samantha. Samantha gave orders, and some of the team members started fading backward toward the goal line.

The play worked almost perfectly, with red team players frustrating the blue team's attempts to come downfield. It would have worked perfectly, except that Francine, running right instead of left, 'accidentally' blundered in front of Samantha, just before the team captain would have booted the ball back upfield. Dinah pursed her lips as the ball got through the red defence at last and came blasting downfield, with the blue team thundering after it. Again, she read their intent, and figured out a play to beat it. Fortunately, it was one of a few simple patterns that she had communicated to Briony. She rubbed her nose vigorously as the ball came closer and closer; then, she had no time at all.

Gretel was coming in for the kick; it looked to be a smash into the slightly larger section of net to Dinah's right. But Dinah's power read the deception loud and clear; Gretel was going to double-step and kick with her other foot. She held until Gretel was committed, then moved left; the ball left the toe of the blue captain's boot, and flew straight into her hands. She threw it back again, over the heads of the closest blue players, to where Briony was waiting. Samantha, alerted by her friend, took it from there; between her and Briony, they shepherded it most of the way up the field before the blue team even caught up with them. Even without Dinah's direction, they pulled off a feint-and-kick that put another goal on the scoreboard for the red team. Dinah found herself yelling shrilly, pumping her fists in the air. They scored that time, and I didn't even have to help them!

<><>​

The red team were grinning like maniacs as they came back to the midline for the kickoff once more; Gretel's teammates were looking somewhat more grim. Two goals to five was a little more substantial than one goal to five. They still didn't consider that they were going to lose, but it looked like they were in for a fight.

This time, Gretel had a different strategy in mind, and Dinah alerted Briony accordingly. Samantha had severe words with Francine about getting in her way; the girl slunk off to her allotted place with more than one glare back at the red captain.

With the kickoff, Gretel's team came blasting through in a bull-rush, intended to overwhelm the defences of the red team. But Dinah had planned for that; she barely had to give Briony any direction at all, as she and Samantha coordinated a response that saw the ball taken away from the blue team when it was barely five yards from the red goal. Back upfield it went, back and forth between the red players, who were really starting to hit their stride now. It nearly fell prey to an interception near the blue goal, but Samantha bulled her way through and nailed another goal that bounced off the top bar and ended up in the rear net.

Back to the midline they went once more; as the blue team was assembling, and Dinah was studying them to figure out their next play, she was startled when Francine planted herself directly in front of the goal area. Directly in front of Dinah, to be more precise.

Dinah read her intent immediately; she wanted to block Dinah's view of where the ball was, under the pretext of 'covering the goal area'. Which also blocked her view of what was going to happen, so she couldn't clue Briony in on what play to use.

“Francine, get out of the way. I need to see what's going on.”

“No, I'm good right here.” Francine threw her a snarky grin. “Just think of me as a second goalie.”

Dinah moved to the right; Francine moved that way as well. “Francine, I need to see.”

“Give it a rest,” Francine told her. “Just because you fluked a catch doesn't make you Goalie of the Year.”

Dinah was getting desperate. The kickoff had gone, and the mob was stampeding toward the goal line, and she couldn't see, couldn't formulate a play. Taking a chance, she darted forward, past Francine and out of the goal area, so that she could see what was happening.

It was bad, but it wasn't totally lost. Gretel was being strategic, but Briony was thinking on her feet and coordinating with Samantha. The ball was getting close, but -

“For crap's sake, if you're gonna be the goalie, get in the goal area!” Francine grabbed Dinah and almost threw her backward; Dinah stumbled and caught herself on the rear net.

At that moment, Samantha yelled out, “Francine! Stop that ball!”

Francine looked around at the sound of her name, and Dinah lurched to the side; the ball was in free flight, heading for the goal area. Francine ran toward it, intending to kick it not away from the goal area, but into it. And kick it she did; right into Dinah's arms once more.

She threw it back out again, right to the point where Samantha's boot was ready and waiting. Briony barely needed the signal for the play, and the ball was heading up-field once more. Gretel's team was all out of place, and once again, the red team romped in a win. As they came back once more for the kickoff, Dinah took a chance; she pointed at Francine, who hadn't strayed much away from the goal line. Catching Briony's eye, she drew her finger briefly across her throat.

As the team got ready for the kickoff, Briony spoke to Samantha. Samantha listened, shook her head. Briony spoke again, more urgently. Eventually, Samantha nodded, and spoke to Francine. The girl wanted to argue, but Samantha pointed firmly at the side of the field. Reluctantly, Francine trudged off, and the underweight team prepared once more for the kickoff.

<><>​

Even down a player, the game result was no longer in doubt. Red team scored two more goals in style; a last-ditch effort by Gretel's team to force a tie was foiled at the last moment by a concerted play by both Samantha and Briony. Just as it looked like the blue team was going to try again, the whistle blew for full time.

“Well, that was some inspired play,” Ms Hendricks announced as she strolled on to the field. “Samantha, your first half was pretty lacklustre, but you certainly pulled it together in the second. What changed?”

Samantha scratched her head. “I think it was Dinah,” she announced. Dinah froze; she hadn't thought anyone had realised what she was doing, apart from Briony. She studied the girl; no, she didn't know either. So what does she mean?

“What do you mean? The way she saved those goals?” Ms Hendricks studied Dinah. “I have to admit, you were pretty good there.”

“Well, it certainly helped,” Samantha noted. “If she'd let them through, we'd still be behind.”

“See, I told you she was good luck,” Briony told her team captain, putting her arm around Dinah's shoulders and squeezing.

“Yeah well, I should've listened earlier,” Samantha agreed. She put her hand on Dinah's shoulder. “You did good out there. Briony did the right thing, putting you in as goalie.”

Dinah ducked her head and shrugged. “It was easier than it looked.”

“Yeah well.” Samantha mussed Dinah's hair playfully. “You can play on my team any time.”

“Come on!” Briony grabbed Dinah's hand. “Race you to the showers!”

As they pounded up the path toward the school buildings, Dinah felt a warm glow of pride. My power helped win that game.

I wonder what else it can do?


End of Part Two

[A/N 2: Dinah has the QA shard. Once she has a goal in mind, she can assess the motivations and capabilities of people, as regards the goal at hand, and she knows how to integrate them into a team best suited for reaching that goal.]

Part Three

 

Alea Iacta Est

Part Three: Random Encounter Table


“So, you ready for your first day at Arcadia, kiddo?”

“Eh,” Taylor murmured. “It's no big deal.” This was a blatant lie; she was trying to lean back casually in her chair, but one of her feet kept kicking the chair leg repeatedly. Danny noted that she'd hardly touched her breakfast.

“You do realise that it's still school.” His tone was gently teasing.

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, Dad, I know. But it won't have Emma or Madison or Sophia there. I'll have half a chance to get my schoolwork done, and my homework finished on time.”

“Do you foresee any problems?”

“Nope.” Sitting up and digging into her inside jacket pocket, she produced a small cloth drawstring bag. She'd sat up for more than an hour, carefully hand-sewing it to a design she had found online. Pulling the drawstring open, she poured several dice out on to her hand. “I ran the numbers, and there's less than five percent chance of anything happening before lunch, and less than ten percent for the whole day.”

“Were you going to take them to school with you?” he asked, amused, nodding toward the dice.

“Uh, sure?” she replied. “I mean, it's okay, isn't it?”

“Well, you don't want to lose them,” he pointed out, “and in my day only gamer geeks took dice to school.”

“What, like Über and L33t?” she asked, puzzled. “Why would they carry dice?”

He chuckled. “No, I mean gamers as in the roleplaying games that I had in the box. We used to bring our character sheets to school so we could play during recess.”

“Huh. Okay. Well, I don't know anyone like that.”

“Going to a new school, kiddo. There might actually be people who play the dice games there; you never know.”

“I wonder if they'd let me sit in?” she mused.

He snorted. “Right up until you rolled your sixth natural twenty in a row, sure.”

“But I wouldn't cheat like that!” She must have seen his amused expression, because hers became indignant. “Well, I wouldn't!”

“Kiddo, when you get right into a game, the morality of 'do I cheat or not' becomes more about 'can I roll high enough to hit that werebear or not'. There's people who would cheat straight off the bat without even thinking about it; I'm pleased that you're at least understanding how bad it is. But don't underestimate the temptation of rolling your dice just a little higher in the middle of a pitched battle.”

She was frowning at him now. “Werebears? Really?”

“Yeah, you know how I found out what they were in the game?” Time for the oldest joke in the book.

“How?”

“Oh, well, we were walking along and we ran into a bunch of them. So we asked them what they were. And they said, 'we're bears'.”

It took her a second or so to get it, then she rolled her eyes and groaned. “Dad. That's worse than your usual jokes.”

“Trust me, you'll run into worse than that.” He shrugged. “Mind you, there might not be anyone who plays those sorts of games at Arcadia. And they might not even allow that sort of thing at the school.”

“Let's find out.” She sorted the dice out, dropping most of them back into the bag. Three were left sitting on her palm, all ten-siders. “Okay, chances that I'll encounter someone there who plays these sorts of games.” The dice rolled off of her palm, and clattered on to the table.

“Taylor, I really don't think -”

“And that's a seventy-eight point three percent chance.”

He blinked. The dice were indeed showing a seven, an eight and a three. “You sure it's in that order?”

“When you get in the car, are you sure you know which is the brake and which is the accelerator?”

“I … okay, you're sure. But it might still be against the rules.”

She scooped the dice up. “Chances that we'd get in trouble for playing games like that in school?”

Once more, the plastic polyhedrons rattled across the tabletop. One, seven and five.

“I can't even guess at that one,” he admitted.

“Five point one seven percent chance,” she clarified.

“Oh. Right. I'm guessing that's for if you keep playing once lunch break is over, or try to sneak in a bit of gaming in class.”

“I'd never do that!” She managed to look even more shocked than at the suggestion that she might cheat.

He was inclined to believe her; after all, she was smart and conscientious. But he'd known others like that too. “Don't assume that the temptation wouldn't be there. Playing RPGs is fun, a lot of fun. You've got a whole peer group who's enjoying it along with you. And the temptation to push the boundaries just a little bit would indeed be there.” He pointed at her dice-bag. “Just remember what you've got to lose. For anyone else, those are just dice. For you, they're quite a bit more.”

Soberly, she nodded. “Okay, Dad. I'll remember.”

“Good.” He glanced at the clock. “It's just about time to go. I'll take you in today; once we've got the bus schedule worked out, you can go in yourself.”

“Okay, thanks, Dad.” She stood and slung her backpack over her shoulder. It was about half-full; most of the books she needed would be waiting for her when she got to Arcadia.

“Oh, and check the mailbox on the way out, will you? I'm waiting on some progress reports.”

“Okay, Dad.” She trotted out through the front door, pulling it closed behind her. Skipping over the rotten step, she headed down to the mailbox. A few letters, and a card from the post office. She was puzzling over the latter when she got into the car.

“What have you got there, kiddo?”

“Not sure.” She handed it over. “Were we waiting on a parcel?”

“Oh, right.” He looked it over, then tucked it into his pocket. “I know what this is. I'll pick it up this afternoon.”

“So what is it?”

He grinned. “You'll see.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “You're no fun.”

“Hey, even if you're able to tell the future with dice, there should still be some surprises left, right?”

“So it's something for me?”

He started the car and pulled it out of the driveway. “Mayyybe.”

“It's something for me, isn't it?”

“Refer to previous answer.” He was grinning broadly now.

“Come on, tell me.”

“Mmmmnope.”

“You're mean and horrible and I hate you.”

“And I'm still not going to tell you.”

“I'll use puppy-dog eyes on you.”

“Those haven't worked since you were eight.”

“I'll roll the dice and find out.”

“Good luck with that.” By now he was chuckling.

“I'll report you to my union rep.”

He laughed so hard that he nearly missed the next turn.

<><>​

They bantered back and forth all the way to Arcadia; by the time they got there, she wasn't even really trying to find out any more. It was just a fun way to pass the time, which they were both rather enjoying. He pulled up outside the front gates of the school, and turned to her. “You okay to find your way home, kiddo?”

“I should be, Dad,” she agreed. “Don't forget to pick up that parcel.”

“Eh.” He gestured carelessly. “I might leave it a few days. It can't be that important.”

“Da-ad. Seriously?”

“Nope, not seriously.” He chuckled. “But the look on your face.”

She stuck out her tongue at him, and climbed out of the car. “See you this afternoon.”

“See you then.” She closed the door; he drove off. Re-settling her backpack on her shoulders, she turned and walked in through the gates of Arcadia.

It was a large school, for all that it held less students than Winslow. From the map she had gotten, it was shaped roughly like the letter 'H', with four wings extending from a central bar. She wasn't quite sure what was between the wings on the other end of the 'H', but on this end there were trees, lunch tables, a couple of basketball hoops and the staff parking lot. She recalled the administration area as being in the middle bar between the wings; hopefully if she went there, someone could tell her where she was supposed to be.

Other students were already wandering around, despite the fact that she was supposed to be early. Don't want to make a bad impression on my first day. She got the odd curious look, but there wasn't the hostility that she was used to; given that it was part way through the school year, a new face would be a source of interest rather than dislike. Also, Emma doesn't attend here. Which makes it a thousand percent better already.

“Hey, get that, would you?”

Jerked abruptly out of her reverie by the shout, she became aware that she had been walking past a group where several guys – plus a couple of girls – had been shooting hoops. They were all looking at her now, as their ball bounced in her direction. Instinctively, she caught it, and walked back toward the group with it. Bouncing it experimentally on the ground a few times, she got a feel for it.

“Hey,” greeted one of the guys. “Thanks. You're new around here?” He was a little taller than her, with dark-blond tousled hair. Almost immediately, she picked him as a jock; he was wearing a singlet and shorts, which did little to disguise the sheen of sweat over his muscular torso.

“Uh, yeah,” she replied after a moment, jerking her eyes away from his chest. A couple of the guys, and one of the girls, chuckled. Oh god, and here I was worried about making a bad impression. “Taylor. Taylor's my name. I'm new here.” She bounced the ball on the ground again, just to draw attention from the blush that she could feel creeping over her cheeks.

“Well, it's nice to meet you, Taylor,” the guy replied cheerfully. He probably gets that all the time. “I'm Rob. That's Nick, Carlos, Kelly, Dean, Sasha and Bernice.” He gestured at the ball. “You play much? You've got the height for it.”

“No, uh, I've never been much for sports.” Her face heated even more. Stop it! “I'm not all that fit.”

“Well, you want to have a shot?” He pointed at the hoop. “If you want, you can come a bit closer.”

I wonder. “I, uh, okay. But I've never done this before.”

Hefting the ball, she threw it. It flew through the air on the arc that she had designated, bounced off the backboard, ran around the hoop once, then fell through. In the silence that followed, punctuated only by the sound of the ball bouncing on the ground, she fancied that she could hear jaws dropping in the entire group.

Rob was the first to speak. “Holy crap. That's the best case of beginner's luck I ever saw.”

“Wow, that was pretty good.”

“Good, hell, that was awesome!”

“Come on, see if you can do it again!”

The others were now crowding around her, offering their congratulations and patting her on the shoulders. She felt nervous; every other time she had been surrounded like this, it had turned out badly for her. “I, uh, I've got to get to the office. It's my first day.”

“That's probably a good idea,” Carlos noted; he was a solidly-built Hispanic boy. “So, Taylor, what year are you in? Junior?”

“Sophomore,” she corrected him.

“Huh. You're tall for it. Well, nice meeting you.” He offered his hand; she shook it.

“Thanks,” she replied. “I'd stick around, but I've really got to get going.”

“Feel free to join in any time we're shooting hoops,” Kelly offered. “Even if that was beginner's luck, you've got an eye for it. I can tell.”

“Yeah, okay, I'll think about it,” she temporised, and made her escape. As she headed for the office, she heard the sound of the ball rebounding off of the backboard once more. An eye for it, hah. I've got a whole power for it.

But it had felt good, really good, to make the ball go where she wanted it. She had an idea what Dad had meant now, the temptation to make herself look just a little better in the eyes of others.

That she could shoot hoops with the best of them, she had no doubt now. She wasn't fit enough to play a full game yet, but she was pretty certain that she could put the ball through the hoop from anywhere she could reach it. Of course, she couldn't join a basketball team; she could imagine her father's reaction if she did that. They'd both know that every time she scored a hoop, she would be cheating with her power.

No. I'd better just pass it off as a fluke. Next time I do that, I need to miss.

<><>​

“Hello, Taylor,” the principal greeted her. “It's always good to meet a new face. But can you tell me something?”

“Uh, what's that, sir?”

“I've seen your scholastic aptitude marks from middle school.” He tilted his head slightly. “You were good enough to get a place here when you began your freshman year. What made you go to Winslow instead?”

Taylor ducked her head. “My best friend was going there, so I went there to be with her.”

“Hmm. And she's not there any more?”

“She's not my best friend any more,” Taylor replied. “She's friends with the girl who tried to shove me into the locker.”

“Ah,” he noted, in tones of enlightenment. “That. Well, I've been filled in on what was going on at Winslow, and I will repeat what I told your father; we do not condone that sort of thing at all here.”

“Uh, thank you,” she replied awkwardly. “I've already met some of the students here. They were nice.”

“That's good, that's good,” he told her heartily. “Now, is there anything you wanted to know? Any questions?”

“Not really. I just came here to get my final class schedule and my locker number, stuff like that.”

“Ah, for that sort of thing, I'll have to pass you on to my overworked and under-appreciated vice principal.” He stood up and offered his hand. “Very pleased to meet you, Taylor. I have a feeling you'll get along here.”

She shook it. “Well, so far? It's looking pretty good.”

He was still chuckling when she left his office.

<><>​

Vice Principal Howell wasn't all that impressive looking, but she was certainly competent. Taylor had her class schedule in one hand, and a map of the school with the pertinent classrooms shown in coloured marker in the other, as the vice principal led the way to the locker that she would be using.

“We've got half an hour before the bell rings for the first period,” Ms Howell informed her briskly. “Bathrooms are marked out on your map. I've taken the liberty of placing the books we're supplying you with into your locker. Your locker combination, as well as your school email address and password, are on this piece of paper.”

Taylor accepted it. “Uh, thank you, ma'am.”

Howell, a mildly unattractive woman with bleached blonde hair, wearing a floral blouse and colourful scarf, offered an austere smile which seemed to pass for humour with her. “You're welcome, Miss Hebert. Now, I'll leave you to settle in.”

Taylor watched her walk away, then turned to the locker. Entering the combination, she opened it up; it was of a different pattern to the Winslow model, with multiple shelves that would prevent anyone from being shoved into it. As the vice principal had indicated, a few of these shelves were already laden with books. She unloaded the books she already had, as well as her lunch box, placing the latter on a shelf on its own. Then, consulting her class schedule, she located the books for her first three classes and put those back into her bag, along with the papers she had been given. Finally, she pulled off her jacket and stuffed it into the bottom shelf, that being the only empty one left.

“Oh, hey,” someone commented from beside her. “Just transferred?”

Looking around and up, she saw a red-haired girl eyeing her with a certain amount of curiosity. Her first impression was Emma? What's she doing here? But then she looked again, and saw that it wasn't Emma; the girl's features were pleasant rather than striking, and she wasn't nearly as well-developed as Taylor's ex-best friend.

“Uh, yeah,” she agreed, standing up once more and pushing her locker closed. It didn't want to go, so she opened it, and saw that her dice-bag had fallen out of her jacket pocket and was getting in the way of the door. Bending down again, she retrieved it and closed the door properly this time. Turning to the redhead, she went on, “Is this place always so clean?”

The other girl looked around. “I guess. We have a roving janitor. He doesn't miss much. Where'd you come in from?” She leaned more closely, and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Are you a Ward?” Her eyes sparkled with mischief and interest.

Taylor had to smile. “Uh, sorry, no. Not a Ward. And I'm here from Winslow. It was a case of them transferring me, or suffering a massive lawsuit. Bullying.”

“Well, that explains the cleanliness comment then,” the redheaded girl observed. “I thought that there might be ninja cleaners, polishing the corridor behind me, and I never knew about it.”

Taylor snorted. “Ninja cleaners? Really?”

“Well, it could happen. So, what's your first – ooh. Is that a dice bag?”

Taken aback, Taylor glanced down at the bag she still held. “I, uh, yes?”

“So what do you play? Do you have glitter dice? I love glitter dice. Do you prefer meat shields or rogue types? Or wait, I bet you prefer clerics. Back, foul creature!” she proclaimed, striking a stance. “Or hey, it's fine if you like casters instead. Casters are cool, too.”

“Wow, no, I don't actually play, or rather, I've never played,” Taylor protested, trying not to laugh at the other girl's rapid-fire delivery.

The redhead frowned. “So what are you doing with the dice?” Before Taylor could react, the girl had plucked the bag from her hand and poured out the contents into her own palm. “Yup, that's gaming dice, all right. And not brand new either. These babies have seen some use.”

“Yeah, they're my dad's,” Taylor admitted, retrieving the dice and putting them back into the bag. “He's showed me the games he used to play, but I have no idea how to play them. I just like carrying the dice around. It's fun to roll them.”

The girl tilted her head. “Well, I have to admit, that's different. But hey, I've got a few different systems. They're not hard to learn. Would you be interested in playing? I'm trying to get a group together, and it's so hard to get people to commit. Say yes, please please please.”

Taylor had to admit that she had a very effective line in puppy-dog eyes. “I … suppose,” she agreed, somewhat dubiously.

“Yay!” Taylor found herself being spontaneously hugged. It wasn't something she was exactly prepared for. “This is so awesome!”

She was quite literally saved by the bell; at that moment, the chiming sounded through the halls of Arcadia, and the redhead let her go. “Aw darn.”

Taylor took pity on her. “Look, I've got to get to home room, but I'll see you at lunch, right?”

“Sure thing.” The other girl lit up all over again. “Say, what's your name, anyway?”

“Taylor. Taylor Hebert.”

“Cool. I'm Annette Campbell. See you at lunch.” And off she dashed, leaving Taylor to shake her head and pull out the map to find her home room.

Well, it's certainly not going to be boring around here.

<><>​

Sophia Hess leaned back in her chair at the Wards monitor station; part of her attention was on the screens before her, but mainly she was intent on her phone.

• can't believe they let us have our phones back. That was Madison.
• Yeah, I know, right? But whats with Emma?
• Dunno. She hasnt talked to me either.

Sophia frowned. Better clear your phone. Wipe all those texts about Hebert.

• Wipe everything? She thought she detected a tone of doubt in the letters on the screen.
• Fuck yes everything. If they get her phone but ours are clear, they cant prove shit. All we have to do is say we dont know anything about it.
• Crap. I got some good pics too.
• Wipe them as well. She shook her head. Dumbass, she thought but did not type. Everything.
• Okay ill do it now.

“Sophia.”

The voice behind her was mild, but she still whirled around, screening her phone with her hand. “Christ, Aegis. Did you want to give me a heart attack?”

“Sorry.” He didn't look sorry. He looked like he was secretly pleased with himself for making her jump. She suspected that he'd flown up behind her so as not to make any noise. “The Director wants to see you.”

She made a rude noise. “What's Miss Piggy want now?”

He frowned. “You're on shaky ground as it is, Sophia. I wouldn't get in the habit of saying things like that. It's disrespectful to a woman who's put her all into leading the PRT here for the last ten years.”

“Can't have been,” she snarked. “If she'd put her all into it, the Empire Eighty-Eight and the ABB'd be all behind bars, and the Merchants would be selling souvenirs down on the Boardwalk.”

“Sophia.” There was a warning tone in his voice now. “I know you're going through a difficult time. That's why I asked you to not disparage Director Piggot. Now I'm telling you.”

“Or what?” she challenged him. “You'll report me?”

He met her gaze steadily. “Yes. I will. If you keep going the way you are.”

She glared back at him for a long moment. “Fine. What does Her Highness Madame Piggot the Director want from me?”

“For you to go to Conference Room Six, up on -”

“I know where ConSix is,” she interrupted him. “I've been here six months, not six days.”

<><>​

“Well, Corporal McKenzie's waiting outside to escort you there anyway,” Aegis told her.

Predictably, she grimaced. “I just told you, I know my way around. I don't need a nursemaid. For fuck's sake, I was on my own for more than a year before I joined the Wards!”

“Not my call.” He took refuge in bluntness. “But you are currently in the shit, so I'd suggest that you don't kick up too much trouble. Just let the corporal escort you to where you need to be, and make it at least look like you're cooperating. Okay?”

Again, she glared at him. “Fine.” Turning back to the monitor console, she picked up her mask and put it on. “Someone better take over from me. Wouldn't want the console to be unmanned.”

“I'll take care of it,” Aegis assured her. He watched her head over to the doors and slap the contact panel. They hummed open, then shut solidly behind her.

“Wow, what's going on?” asked Vista; she was sitting at one of the tables, playing cards with Clockblocker.

“I'll explain on the way; you're coming with me.” He headed for the doors.

“What?” exclaimed Clockblocker, as she got up from the table. “I had a killer hand, too.”

“Which reminds me,” Aegis noted, turning back toward Clockblocker. “You're on monitor duty till I get back.”

“Aw, man,” complained the white-clad teen. “I just got off monitor duty when Sophia got here.” But he got up anyway and headed over to the console.

“I'll make it up to you,” Aegis promised, slapping the contact panel. “Come on, Vista. We haven't got much time.”

“But where are we going?”

He grinned. “You'll see.”

<><>​

Corporal McKenzie seemed to be a typical stolid PRT guard; he escorted her into the lift then stood, watching the doors as it ascended. I haven't got much time. Behind his back, Sophia slid her phone out, and scrolled through the options until she reached 'factory reset'.

The lift came to a halt, and the corporal turned to her. “Shadow Stalker, down this way please.”

“Coming, coming.” She pressed the button to go ahead with the factory reset, then shut the phone down and replaced it in her belt pouch. Now read anything off of it.

With a lighter step – a weight taken off of her shoulders, if not a lighter conscience – she strode along the corridor, ignoring Corporal McKenzie's directions, until she came to the door in question. He went to open it for her; she darted forward and grabbed the handle first, turning it and pushing the door open.

Conference Room Six was on a corner of the building; floor to ceiling windows dominated two walls. She entered, then stopped short when she saw who was waiting for her. Behind her, Corporal McKenzie stopped at the door.

"What's going on here?" she demanded. "I've been on monitor duty for the last week, with no-one telling me nothing, and now this?" She turned to Director Piggot, sitting next to Deputy Director Renick at the head of the table. "You brought my mother in on this?"

"I contacted her, Shadow Stalker," Renick informed her firmly. "She chose to attend. Come in and sit down, please."

She didn't really have much of a choice; the guard behind her was blocking the doorway, and she was pretty sure that the repercussions would be a little more stringent than a week of monitor duty if she cut and ran, now. Bluff and deny. They can't prove anything really bad against me. And I just wiped my phone, so that's off my back as well.

"Fine." She walked down the length of the table, her mother watching her with worried eyes, past the PRT twit who was supposed to be her minder, past Triumph. There was a chair set up between her mother and the PRT drone, with her back to the windows, but she grabbed another one from where it sat against the wall, and pulled it into position at the far end of the table from Pig-oh. Pulling her cloak into position, she seated herself, then rested her elbows on the table and stared up its length at the Director. "So let's talk," she invited.

The Pigmeister looked as though she'd been sucking on a lemon, which didn't change matters very much, in Sophia's opinion. "Shadow Stalker," she began. "Last week, you were caught attempting to force a girl into her locker, said locker containing a significant amount of biohazard waste. Caught by the victim's father, and the principal. What do you say to that?"

"It was a prank," Sophia explained, her voice earnest. "You know, pranks? Funny stuff?" Sense of humour? Oh wait, you had yours surgically removed. To make way for all the fat.

"It was anything but a prank," Renick declared, tapping a sheaf of papers in front of him. "The material in her locker was tested, and found to be highly toxic. Had she gotten it into any cuts, there would have been a significant chance of infection. Serious infection."

Sophia gestured airily. "Hey. Not my problem what Hebert chooses to keep in her locker."

"So this is your contention, that the Hebert girl had somehow emptied the contents of no less than three biohazard containers into her locker, sometime over the Christmas break." This was Piggot again, putting her oar in.

"Well, how else would it have gotten in there?" asked Sophia. "And before you ask me why she would've done it, who knows? She's a loner weirdo freak."

"Well, here's the thing," Renick stated. "We have a large amount of material from Taylor Hebert, dating from before this incident, accusing you, one Emma Barnes, and a Madison Clements, of many more bullying activities. Now, we know that you have a connection with Ms Barnes through her father, and anecdotal evidence has you being friends with both girls at Winslow. Do you deny that you know both of them well?"

"Oh, I know 'em," Sophia agreed. "But any accusations are bullshit. She probably wrote that shit up over Christmas after filling her locker full of shit, just so that she could point the finger at us and say that we did it."

"True," Piggot agreed. "She could have. This is a valid point." She paused, just long enough for Sophia to begin to relax. "Shadow Stalker, please pass me your phone."

"What?"

"Your cell phone. You carry it in costume. Pass it to me. Now."

All of a sudden, Pig-oh didn't seem so useless and flabby any more. Her eyes bored into Sophia's. Sophia pulled out the work phone and skidded it down the table. "Here you go."

Piggot captured it with her hand without looking. "Now your other one."

"What?" Apprehension washed through Sophia, despite the fact that she'd just cleared it. Can't be seen to be giving up too easily. "No way. That's my private, personal phone. You can't touch that."

Piggot slapped a sheet of paper on to the table. "This outlines my duties and capabilities as Director of this branch of the PRT. You will find that I most certainly can confiscate and examine any item that you carry as part of your costume. If you have that phone on you right now, pass it down to me." Her voice took on a harsher note. "Or I can have you searched. Whichever you prefer."

Sophia's doubts that Piggot would do such a thing were rapidly fading. "Okay, fine."

Piggot didn't let up on her. “I will give you fair warning. We will be searching both phones for any evidence of bullying activity regarding the Hebert girl.”

Carelessly, Sophia shrugged, as she got the phone out. “Won't find anything.”

“I wouldn't be so sure.” Piggot indicated Armsmaster and Kid Win. “Our resident Tinkers seem to think that they can dig out the most buried data on a phone, even information that's supposedly been wiped.”

Oh shit. Chris is a dweeb, but he's a smart dweeb. And Armsmaster's been doing this as long as I've been alive. Fuck, I should have lost the phone. Destroyed it. At least removed the SIM.

She paused, juggling the phone as she thought rapidly. “Look, can I just -”

"No." The word was final. "You can't just anything. Interfere with that phone in any way, and I will be forced to presume that you are destroying evidence."

She tried to force an embarrassed expression; it didn't seem to be working. "Look, there's stuff I've got on there. Delicate stuff. Selfies and stuff like that. Pics of me pretending to make out with other girls. Stuff I don't want anyone seeing. I've just got to delete that stuff, all right?"

"No, it is not all right. Triumph, confiscate Shadow Stalker's phone and bring it to me. Immediately."

Rory got up and moved down toward her. "Sophia, hand it over. Don't make this hard on yourself."

Jumping up, Sophia backed off, her cell-phone behind her back. "Get away from me. They're trying to railroad me, can't you see that?"

"Sophia, I just want to sort this out." Triumph came closer, his hand out. "This doesn't have to get any worse. Give me the phone."

Sophia brought the phone around in front of her, made as if to hand it over, but pulled it back at the last moment. Triumph advanced on her; she jumped back, going to shadow for a moment, and reforming in the corner of the room, where two windows met.

"You realise, the more we dance around like this, the worse it looks for you," Triumph pointed out. "You really want Kid Win and Armsmaster looking at your selfies?"

"Well, fuck you, and fuck Kid Win," she spat. Turning to the window, she went to shadow and stuck her hand through the glass, then let the phone go. Pulling her hand back again, she resumed normal form. "Whoops, I accidentally dropped it. Sorry about that." It was a long way to the pavement; she wasn't quite sure if the phone would turn solid first, and shatter into a million pieces, or if it would carry on into the concrete and be lost forever. Either way, there's no way they'll find the SIM.

Triumph advanced on her, what little she could see of his face was set in grim lines. "Sophia, that was monumentally stupid. Hold out your arms. I want to check your pouches."

"Sure. Want me to bend and spread 'em, too?" She knew that she was still in trouble, but without the phone, they had no real evidence against her. I'll just have to keep my nose clean for a while …

"No. Just the pouches." He delved into each of the pouches, then turned to the Director. "She dropped it all right, ma'am."

"Very well," the Director responded. "Be seated, the both of you." She seemed remarkably calm, considering that Sophia had just put one over on her. "Shadow Stalker, you've just proven that you can't be trusted in this matter."

"So I texted Emma and Madison a few times. So what?" Sophia shrugged. "Doesn't mean we conspired against Hebert."

Renick leaned forward. "The information we've been given indicates otherwise."

"But it's her word against mine. Mine, Emma's and Madison's. Plus any number of other people. Or don't eyewitness accounts matter here?"

"Given that several people just saw you throw your phone away to avoid it being examined for evidence, I would say that they do," Piggot noted.

"There was nothing on that phone that was illegal, and you can't prove that there was," Sophia stated flatly. "Burden of proof is on you, not me."

"So, about that," Aegis announced, opening the door and entering. "One phone, in good condition, Director." He strolled over to where Piggot sat, and handed her a phone; Sophia identified it, to her growing consternation, as the one that she had just dropped out the window.

"Well done, Aegis," Renick praised him. "You had no trouble catching it?"

"A little," admitted the Ward. "Needed some tricky work by Vista to make sure it didn't fall through the pavement, but I managed to catch it without breaking it. Screen's cracked a little, but it seems to be working fine otherwise."

"What the fuck?" blurted Shadow Stalker. "What the actual fuck? You fucking set me up?"

"No, you set yourself up," Triumph snapped. "We just let you do it. If you'd handed your phone over to start with … "

"No!" screamed Sophia. "No fucking way! You don't beat me! I don't lose!" She launched herself forward along the length of the table, going to shadow, reaching for the phone …

… and the Director lifted a taser from under the table, and shot her with it, at point-blank range. The charge from the batteries grounded through her immaterial form, and she turned solid, juddering with the shock. Vaguely she was aware of being bundled from the table, and her arms being secured together.

<><>​

When she came back to herself, she was seated between her mother and the PRT twit. The PRT guard was standing behind her chair. Aegis was sitting where she had been. Her mother was looking at her with a mixture of pity and resignation on her face. Sophia hated that look. Her phone was still sitting on the table; Armsmaster and Kid Win were no longer in the room. Her wrists were fastened together in front of her, with high-tech cuffs; they were humming slightly. She didn't need to guess what they did.

“What …?” she mumbled, gesturing at the phone.

“Oh, are you wondering why we aren't opening up your phone and having a good look at all your dirty secrets?” asked the Director. “It's because we already have.”

Sophia blinked. “... uh?”

Piggot sighed. “We looked into your phone, and the other two girls', when they were first confiscated, a week ago. We got all the text messages.”

This wasn't adding up. “Madison -”

“- never got her phone back. We've had a police officer answering your texts. This has all been a sting with a single, solitary aim in mind.”

Her head was clearing; when she spoke, her voice was bitter. “To entrap me.”

“No.” Renick's tone was firm. “To give you a chance to give yourself up. To see if you were salvageable. I talked the Director into it -”

“ - against my better judgement, I must say,” muttered Piggot.

“- but between us, we chose to allow you a week to come to your senses, to confess what you'd done, to accept your punishment.”

Sophia shook her head. “So wait, you've sharpened the axe, and you were waiting on me to put my head under it? Fuck that.”

“Well, it was either administrative punishment, if you had confessed before we faced you with it, or back to juvenile detention,” Renick stated. “This little charade today was intended to make you jump, one way or the other.” His tone was regretful. “It looks like you made your choice, sorry to say.”

Director Piggot raised her head. “Wards do not act in this way, not on my watch. Your probation has been violated, and you will be going back to juvenile detention."

Sophia shook her head. "No."

Renick raised an eyebrow. "Actually, I think the word is 'yes'. Because we can."

"No," repeated Sophia. "I didn't do it as Shadow Stalker. I did it as Sophia Hess. You can't violate my probation on that."

"A legal fiction," Renick stated. "You did it; whether you did it as Shadow Stalker or as Sophia Hess is beyond the point."

"No, actually, there is a legal separation," the Director corrected him. "I wanted to be sure about this, so I looked it up. The only way we can prove that she did this as Shadow Stalker would be if she used her powers to do it. It's to do with the 'use of powers in the commission of a crime' clause."

"Well then, I didn't," Sophia declared. "Easy, done."

"Indeed?" queried Piggot. "So how exactly did you get all that toxic waste into her locker?"

Sophia saw the trap coming, and thought fast. "Opened her locker. Put the stuff in. Closed the locker."

"That would've been difficult at the best of times," Renick objected. "To leave nothing lying around … "

"We cleaned up, after. It's how we did it."

"So, you opened the locker. Not Ms Barnes, not Ms Clements. You." Piggot's voice was intent.

Sophia nodded. "Yeah. Me."

"Very well, what was the combination?"

"What?"

"It's a simple question. What was the combination?"

Sophia felt herself trapped. "I … uh, I don't remember."

"Well, you obviously went to the lengths to find it out, so that you could remember it at the time," Piggot pointed out, almost reasonably for her. "And now you're going to tell me that you've forgotten it in the meantime? If I had Ms Barnes or Ms Clements questioned over this, would they also say that you opened the locker, using the combination? Would they be likely to remember the combination that you used?" Her voice rose to a shout at the end. "Or would they simply state that you used your powers?"

She glared at Shadow Stalker. "Your life is going to be investigated. Every last bit of it. We will be prosecuting you. You will be going to juvenile detention." A gesture. "Take her away."

The last thing she saw as Corporal McKenzie lifted her from her chair and marched her from the room was her mother's look of pity.

She hated that.

<><>​

Lunch break at Arcadia was a more pleasant affair than at Winslow. Taylor had retrieved her box lunch, gotten a bottle of fruit juice from a vending machine, and met up with Annette. The redhead had promptly decided that they'd eat outside, so they found a free table. Despite the time of year, the sun was pleasantly warm. While Taylor started on her lunch, Annette began searching through her backpack.

"Annette's an interesting name," Taylor commented idly. "How did you end up with it?"

"Oh, that's simple," the redhead told her, still rummaging. "I got named after Mom's BFF in college. They were really close for years, then she got married and they drifted apart."

"What, your mom?"

"No, the bestie. Mom's a free spirit. She does what she wants. Marriage isn't her thing."

"Oh, uh … " Taylor felt awkward. "Sorry, I didn't mean -"

"Don't worry about it," Annette assured her. "I never do. Oh, hey, here we go." She plopped a stack of paper on the table between them. "Character sheets."

Taylor eyed them; they bore a certain amount of resemblance to the sheets that her father had stored in his 'gaming box' as he called it. These ones, however, hadn't been filled out. "They're all different."

"Because they're from different games, duh. I've got the rules for 'em all. We can play any one you like."

This was beginning to look daunting. "Uh, I don't know anything about any of them."

"Okay, we can work with that." Annette singled a sheet out. "This one's from Earth Aleph. It's pretty good. It's derived from this one, but they've sorted out some of the problems."

"Okay, if you say it's all right, we can do that one." Taylor picked up the sheet and looked at it. "What's a, uh, 'bab'?"

"That's an acronym. It stands for 'Base Attack Bonus'. It's basically how good you are at hitting things. Depending on what your character's class and level are, that sort of thing."

"Uh, class?" Taylor had a mental image of a fantasy warrior, complete with ridiculously oversized sword, hunched over a desk in a schoolroom, learning … what? How to fight dragons?

"Her occupation, that sort of thing. Fighter, paladin, ninja, whatever. Fighter types get a high BAB, while squishy classes like spellcasters get a lower BAB." She actually spelled it out, and Taylor felt a little silly for pronouncing it like a name.

"Oh." Taylor thought about that. "So if you're playing a Brute type class, you get a higher BAB, is that it?"

Annette considered that. "Yeah, pretty much. But this isn't about capes. Though I have to admit, some of the stuff they get up to in the higher levels is pretty cape-worthy."

"Okay, sounds interesting," Taylor conceded. "I'll want to read the rules, of course."

"All right." Annette pumped her fist in the air. "We'll have you kickin' ass and takin' names in no time."

Taylor had to grin; the redhead's enthusiasm was infectious. "We'll see."

<><>​

Annette's friends were just as geeky as she was, and just as fun. As soon as the redhead introduced her as “Taylor, who's interested in gaming,” she was more or less instantly included in the group. A lot of the terminology went over her head, but her dice bag was mentioned, so she brought it out and the dice were examined carefully. She even got a few admiring comments when she admitted to making it herself.

They strolled out through the school gates, chattering animatedly; not only about gaming, but also about books, comics, TV shows and movies that they were interested in. Taylor could hold her own on the book side of things, and a few of the TV shows and movies were ones she'd seen, but by the time they got outside, she had a dozen or more titles that she 'just had' to see.

To her surprise, she saw her father waiting for her in the parking lot. “Oh, wow,” she blurted.

“What? What's the matter?” asked Annette.

“Nothing. Just that Dad's here to pick me up,” Taylor replied, waving to get his attention.

“Aww, I was looking forward to riding on the bus with you,” the redhead replied with a mock pout.

“It's only for today,” Taylor hastened to explain. “After this, I'll be using the bus.”

“Excellent,” Annette declared. “More gaming time for all.”

“Well, I'll see you later, guys,” Taylor told them.

“Yeah, I'll bring the rulebook tomorrow,” Annette promised. “It's pretty solid. You'll be a couple of days reading it.”

“My mom was an English professor,” Taylor informed her. “Reading is not something I have a problem with.”

“Sounds good. See you tomorrow.” Annette surprised her with another hug; Taylor awkwardly hugged her back.

“See you then. Bye, guys.”

In the midst of a chorus of 'bye, Taylor', she jogged over to where her father was waiting.

“Well,” he commented. “It looks like you haven't wasted any time making new friends.”

“It's more like I got ambushed,” she confessed. “Annette – the redhead girl there – kind of grabbed me and wouldn't let me get away.”

“Annette, huh?” Dad asked as she got into the car.

“Yeah, she's pretty hard to stop once she gets going. A lot of fun, though. She introduced me to all of her friends, and they're all a bit nerdy like me, so we've got stuff in common.”

“Well, that sounds really nice.” He started the car and began wending his way out of the parking lot. “School fees are going to be a little higher for Arcadia, but I think it'll be well worth it.”

“Yeah, I've got a good bit of homework, but I think it'll be cool.” Taylor leaned back and sighed. “Wow, it's been a tiring day. Tiring but good.”

Dad's voice was teasing. “So, too tired to swing by the post office?”

She sat up immediately. “No, god no. Post office, now, please.”

He grinned at her; she wrinkled her nose at him.

<><>​

“Hi.”

Taylor opened her eyes and looked up from where she was leaning against the wall outside the post office. Dad had gone inside to pick up the parcel, but she had chosen to enjoy the sunlight some more. A girl of about twelve or thirteen was looking at her intently.

“Uh, hi?” she replied. “Can I help you?”

“Sure you can,” the girl replied, then glanced around. “We can help each other. You've got super-powers, and so have I. I'm looking at forming a team; with our abilities, we can do a lot to help this city and the people in it. I'd like you on the team. Are you interested?”


End of Part Three

Part Four

 

Alea Iacta Est

Part Four: Looking for Group


Taylor

I tried to control my reaction, but my eyes still widened in shock. “I – what?”

“You've got powers,” the girl repeated, her voice steady. “So have I. I'm recruiting for a team. Are you interested?” Her expression matched her voice, calm and confident; a little unsettling on someone who didn't even look to be in high school yet.

Hastily, I shook my head. “No, I think you have the wrong person. I don't have powers.” Who is this person? How did she find out?

Her voice was relentless. “One of my powers is to find the right person for the job. No matter what the job is. The 'job' I'm looking to recruit people for right now is to be a part of a superhero team. You pinged on my radar as soon as I saw you. Your power is to tell the future, by rolling dice or other random data generators. You would be a tremendous asset.”

I blinked. She actually knows my power. Dammit, I only ran the numbers for during school hours. I didn't check for trouble after school. “What if I'm not interested in joining your little superhero club? What if your power's wrong?”

Her expression never changed. “I don't think it is. Are you willing to at least listen to what I have to say?”

God, I want to just roll the dice now, and see which way I should jump. “Uh, can I at least think about this?”

“Take as long as you like.” She extended her hand; in it was a folded piece of paper. “Ring this number when you make up your mind.”

Numbly, I took it, and unfolded it. In a neatly printed hand, it read:

After that it had a phone number, and a final sentence: “Destroy this note.”

I looked up from the slip of paper. “Uh, what if -”

But she was gone. In the few seconds I had spent perusing the note, she had slipped out of sight. Looking around, I couldn't see her at all.

“What if what, Taylor?”

It was Dad's voice; I turned to see him standing in the doorway of the post office.

“Uh, nothing, Dad,” I replied, then thought better of the evasion. “Did you see a girl, about yea high? She was here just now.”

“No, I don't think so,” he responded, a puzzled tone to his voice. “Why, is there something wrong?”

I frowned. “Not sure. Can we go home now?”

“Sure thing.” He led the way to the car and unlocked it for me.

I got in, then pulled the dice bag from my pocket. “I need a flat surface. I need to make a roll.”

“What's the matter, Taylor?” he asked as he folded himself into the car. “What's happened?”

I took a breath, then related the incident as precisely as I could, handing him the piece of paper when I was finished.

He read it through, twice, carefully. “Well,” he murmured. “That's kind of interesting.”

“Interesting? It's terrifying.” I held up my hands; they were shaking. “Dad, she knew my powers. Just from looking at me.”

“Does she know who you are? Did she address you by name?”

Tentatively, I shook my head. “No. No, she didn't.”

“Well, that's a start.” He passed me the package that he'd gotten from the post office. “There's your flat surface. Roll away.”

I opened the dice bag and pulled out the three d10s that I'd been using up till then. “Chances … ” I began, trying to think it through. “Chances that I'll be better off if I call her back and accept her offer.”

I rolled the dice. They came up with a three, a six and a seven.

“That … doesn't look too good,” Dad observed.

“Better than you'd think,” I disagreed. “That's seventy-three point six percent.”

“Of you being better off for accepting her offer,” he noted.

“Yeah.” I shot him a worried glance as I gathered up the dice. “I still want to think about this for a bit.”

“I don't blame you, Taylor,” he agreed. “I don't blame you at all.” He started the car. “Let's go home.”

<><>​

Dinah

I watched the car pull out of the parking lot. The man and his daughter had sat talking for a few moments; they were most likely discussing me and my offer to her. I wasn't worried; her intent showed reluctant acceptance toward the idea. She would probably think about it for a while, then call me back.

Well, I think that went reasonably smoothly.

My disappearing act hadn't been much of a trick; as soon as her attention had been diverted by the note, I had ducked into the post office, just before her father had emerged. His attention had been focused on the package he was carrying, so I had escaped his notice. I hadn't wanted to be there when she spoke to him about me; besides, I figured that a slight air of mystery couldn't hurt.

Pulling out my notepad, I wrote “Dice Girl” and put a tick next to the name. Closing it again, I dropped it into my bag and headed for the bus stop; I had already wandered around the mini-mall and found no other candidates. My all-day bus pass and I were going to visit every major after-school hangout for teenagers before I was done.

Still, encountering the girl on my first stop had to be a good omen. I have a good feeling about this.

<><>​

Taylor

“I'm not so sure about this,” Dad told me. “Who was that girl, anyway?”

“I have no idea,” I admitted. “She never gave me her name. Just the note with 'Management' written on it.”

“I have an idea how we can find out,” he offered.

I looked at him, confused. “How?”

“Open the package,” he advised me; reminded of it, I set to work pulling off the wrapping.

It came away to reveal a featureless cardboard box, which I opened. Inside … “What the heck are these?”

There were a dozen of them, each in its own little niche in the box. Each of them was a little over an inch in diameter, bulky plastic shapes. Almost like d20s except … “Dad, these things have letters on them.”

“Well, fancy that,” he observed blandly. “Will wonders never cease?”

Snorting at his dry tone, I plucked one from the box and examined it more closely. It had more than twenty sides; looking at it carefully, I counted thirty. All the letters from A to Z, plus an ampersand, a hyphen, a full stop and one blank side.

“Ooh,” I murmured. “I can work with these.”

“Well, I hope so,” he replied with a grin. “Otherwise I might regret having ordered them in. Happy birthday, Taylor.”

“My birthday isn't till June,” I told him absently as I picked more dice from the box and rolled them in my hands.

“Then merry Christmas.”

“That was last month.”

“Very late Christmas,” he amended. “Whatever. I hope you like them.”

I smiled at him. “Thanks, Dad. I do. They're great.”

“Good.” He nodded toward them. “So, can they tell us the name of the mystery girl?”

“Oh, good point.” I emptied the dice into my lap and pulled out the little dividers as well, then scooped up as many as I could fit into my hand. In the event, this was four of them. Taking a deep breath, I prepared to roll them inside the box. “What will I find out the name of this girl to be?”

The dice clattered into the box and came to a stop; I read them off as D-I-N-A.

“That's an odd name,” I muttered.

“Maybe there's more to it,” Dad offered.

“Oh. Yeah.” I scooped up the dice and prepared to roll them again. “Uh, the rest of her name?”

Once more, the dice rolled on the cardboard. This time, I read them as H-blank-A-full stop.

“Okay, her name's Dinah then. Last name starts with A. Huh. I'm actually kind of surprised that worked.”

“You're surprised,” Dad observed. “I'm just plain impressed.”

“Hmm.” Replacing the divider,I put the dice away, and pulled out my standard dice bag again. Out came the three d10s. “Chances that we'll be able to help people and do some good if I join this team of Dinah's?”

The dice rolled across the box; to my practised eye, they came out as 83.2%.

“Okay,” I mused. “And the chance that they'll be able to help people and do some good if I don't join?” Again, I rolled the dice, and stared at the result. Thirty-six point one percent. Crap.

Dad hadn't been watching the rolls, given that he was driving, but now he glanced across at my face. “I know that look, Taylor. That's the look that says, 'I'm going to do the right thing if it kills me'. I've seen it on your mom's face too often to mistake it.”

I looked up at him, worried. “I don't think I've got a choice, Dad. If I join, it raises their overall chances of being a successful team by nearly fifty percent.”

“You've always got a choice,” he pointed out. “Always. If you don't want to do it, then you don't have to.”

Okay, one more question. “If I don't join the team, what chance will I have of using my power to make a real, positive difference in the city?”

The dice rolled. The numbers came up. I grimaced and scooped the dice up.

“What did you get?” asked Dad.

“Nine point six three percent,” I replied, putting them away. “So if I want to help people, and if I want to help Dinah's team help people … “

“You'll have to join,” Dad agreed, as we pulled into our driveway.

“Ugh,” I muttered. “I hate being forced into things.”

“Well,” he commented as he turned the engine off, “you know I'll support you in whatever you do. But I would like to meet this Dinah at some point. Just to make sure she knows what she's doing. Such as not planning to put you into danger.”

“I'll second that,” I agreed fervently. “I just got out of a dangerous environment.” I paused, thoughtful. “Though you know … I could just check every day.” I mimed rolling dice. “'Is there going to be a problem today?'”

“Huh.” He rubbed his chin. “You could, at that.”

I grinned at him and hefted the box of alphabet dice. “Okay, let's get inside so I can test these things out some more.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

<><>​

Dinah

If I find anyone else, it'll be in the Market.

I stepped off the bus, adjusted my backpack, and started off along the Boardwalk. The larger shopping malls had their attractions, but the cheaper prices of some of the shops within the Market were a definite draw. Add in the subtle air of almost-danger from the patrolling enforcers – they weren't quite security guards, and they weren't quite cops – and teens were almost guaranteed to flock to the place.

I personally didn't see the thrill in it, but I wasn't there for that. I was there to see if any of the thrill-seeking teens were parahumans; more specifically, parahumans who would fit into my paradigm for a superhero team. Spotting them would be no trick at all; my power would point them out to me, just as I had been guided to speak to the girl outside the post office. Talking to them was a bit more of a challenge, as my power only gave me broad hints as to which approach to take.

If I can find someone who's good at talking to people, my problems will be solved.

Casually, I strolled down the walkway between the shops, my hand in my pockets, obviously window-shopping to any casual observer. Which I was, in a way. But it wasn't bargains that I was shopping for.

And then my phone rang. Ah. I bet that's Dice Girl. I stopped to get the phone out of my backpack, then answered it. “Hello?”

“Hello, Dinah.”

The voice was that of 'Dice Girl', but I was more than a little surprised to hear her address me by name. But then …

“Ah, hi. You've uh, checked me out, I see.” After all, I had wanted to recruit her because of how useful her powers could be.

“You could say that. Your name is Dinah Alcott and you're the mayor's niece.”

“Your dice told you that? I'm impressed.”

“Nope. My Dad did. He knows your family, vaguely.”

“Ah. Right. Still impressed. So, what's the verdict?”

“I ran the numbers. If I join the team, we could really make a difference together. Without me, you've got a less than forty percent chance to make it work.”

I blinked. “That bad, huh?”

“Yeah. That bad. Worse, if I try to go it alone, I've got a less than ten percent chance of helping people and changing things for the better.”

That sounded hopeful. “So … you'll be joining?”

“I will be, but the numbers tell me that I need to be more than just a member. I need to have a say in leadership.”

“Wait, what? You've only just heard about this thing, and already you want to run it?”

“Have a say in how it's run. There's a difference. You say you can manage people; that's fine. But there's more to leading a team than managing people.”

“Ah, right, now I see what you're getting at. Well, we can definitely talk about that.”

“Good. Well, you're going to spot your next prospect really soon. But she'll be a tough sell.”

“How do you know that?” If the girl told me that I was going to spot a prospect soon, then I would trust her in the matter; I began to look around.

“I ran the numbers. Five … four … three … two … one … now.”

On 'now', my eyes fell on the prospect she was telling me about. Just walking out of a shop ahead of me. In fact, there were three prospects; a tall black guy, a shorter white guy with a pretty face and curly hair, and a blonde with her hair done up in a complicated braid. It was the blonde I was looking at; the other two only registered as vague prospects, given that they had loyalty elsewhere, and would be hard to break away. The blonde also had the outside loyalty, but with her it was a lot weaker; I was pretty sure there was resentment there. Forced into working for someone?

Not for the first time, I wished my power supplied me with names; not knowing who they were loyal to could be a problem. Wait. “Yeah, I see her,” I replied into the phone. “She's with a couple of others. They look like a group. Maybe a team.”

"Wait, you mean other parahumans?"

"That's what my power's telling me."

"I don't get it. I only came up with one prospect, a girl."

"Well, there's one girl and two guys. But they're all three powered, so I'm guessing they're a team of some sort. They've got a group loyalty, anyway."

“So what do you want me to do?”

“Well, you know how you found out my name ...” I paused meaningfully.

She didn't take long to get it. “You want me to find out her name too?”

“If you can, as well as the team she's currently with.” If I can look her up on PHO, that might be useful ...

“Okay, one second.” There was a pause, and then a clatter of plastic on wood. “Okay, I'm reading her name as 'Lisa'.”

“Okay, great, that's awesome. What's her team name?”

“Ow, dammit.”

“What? What happened?”

“Got a cramp in my hand. Ow.”

“What does that mean?”

“Not sure, but I think it means that I just tried to ask a question that my power can't answer. Or won't answer.”

“What do you mean, your power can't or won't answer it?”

“I'm not sure. Sometimes I get this cramp. Maybe it's because I'm trying to ask a question that I normally couldn't get the answer of. Maybe when I use my power, it's checking stuff that I would've learned in the future without my power. And I'm not going to find that answer out without using my power, so I can't find the answer out.”

“So you can't find out stuff that you wouldn't have found out normally?” This could make things difficult.

“I guess.”

“Well, thanks for the name, anyway. Uh, by the way, talking about names; you know mine. What's yours?”

There was a muffled snort of amusement on the other end of the line. “What, you're only just asking me now?”

I felt my cheeks heating up. “I've had things on my mind, okay?”

“Heh. True. It's Taylor. Taylor Hebert.”

“Okay, cool. Nice to meet you, Taylor.”

“Likewise, I guess.” I heard another clatter of plastic on wood. “Hm.”

“What?”

“You'll probably find your pitch a lot easier if you talk to her away from the others.”

I smiled dryly; I'd already figured that one out. “Yep, thanks. Anyway, I'll talk to you later.”

“See you then.”

I ended the call, and was just about to store Taylor's number on my phone when I realised that Lisa had increased her pace, and moved ahead of the other two. Shoving my phone in my pocket, I moved up and past them; they paid me no attention at all, which was perfect for me. Up ahead, there came the flicker of Lisa's blouse as she rounded a corner. When I lost line of sight on her, my power also lost track of her; all I caught was a certain intensity of purpose. She wanted to do something, but I wasn't sure what; my power only measured intent that specifically had to do with the job at hand.

Hurrying onward, I rounded the corner as well, but slowed when I realised that Lisa was nowhere to be seen. Darn, I've lost her. Moving along, I pulled my phone from my pocket again; if Taylor could tell me where she'd gone, maybe I could catch up -

- and then an access door opened, and Lisa yanked me inside. Closed the door. Slammed me up against the wall.

Oh crap oh crap oh crap.

<><>​

Taylor

I put the phone back in the cradle and went to sit on the sofa with Dad.

He looked at me as I sat down. “So what was that about? I heard you rolling dice on the kitchen table.”

“Oh, that was Dinah,” I replied. “She wanted me to give her some information.” I shook my hand; the cramp was just about gone, thankfully.

“So she's looking for other recruits, huh?”

“I guess so,” I agreed. “I hope she's careful about it.”

“Yeah, me too.” He paused. “That friend of yours from Arcadia. Andrea, was it?”

“No.” I shook my head. “Annette. Her name's stuck in my head because of Mom, you know?”

“Yeah, that's the funny part,” he mused.

“Funny how?” I asked.

He smiled reminiscently. “Back when I was just a bit older than you, I went to the college to see about signing up for summer classes. I kind of met this girl in line, and we struck up a conversation. Once we'd settled our business in admissions, we kept on talking.”

“Wait,” I interrupted. “Was this … Mom?”

“Yes, it was.” Another smile. “We must have talked for an hour before she invited me to the Club for a meal and a drink. While I was there, she introduced me to a friend of hers called Andrea. Andrea Campbell. And she had red hair, just like your friend Annette.”

“Wait a minute,” I blurted. “Campbell. That name sounds familiar. I think it might be Annette's last name too.”

“Somehow, that doesn't surprise me,” he observed. “Did you ask her about where she got her name from?”

“Um, yeah. She said that she was named after her mom's best friend, after the friend got married. And that her mom is kind of a free spirit. So I guess that means after Annette's mom got pregnant, she just had Annette and didn't bother getting married.”

Dad snorted. “Free spirit. Yeah. That fits, all right. As far as I could tell, Andrea did exactly what Andrea wanted. She never hurt a soul, but she couldn't be bothered with things like shame, either.”

There was a tone in his voice that I'd never heard before. “Wait a minute, Dad.” I paused, not sure how to word this. “Did you and Andrea … were you and her -”

“Oh god no!” He burst out laughing. “No, she flirted with me, but she flirted with everyone. No, when we met, it was your mom she was involved with.”

I blinked, as my worldview shifted. It was a very weird feeling. “Wait. You're saying that my mom and Annette's mom were -” I shut my mouth. That was not something I was going to say out loud.

Solemnly, he nodded. “Yeah. They were. I didn't even realise until after, of course. Your mom and I were an item, and Andrea just … accepted it. Smiled, and wished us the best of luck. Even had a hug and a kiss for me.” He sighed, a little nostalgically. “She made our lives a lot more fun. And a lot weirder. We did a lot of stuff together, but she moved to Boston in Anne-Rose's last year. I wonder what happened to her.”

“Well, I could ask Annette,” I offered, still a little dazed at the revelations he had given me.

“I suppose you could,” he agreed. “Just … you know … be tactful about it, okay? Just in case it's not the same person.”

I smiled and opened the dice box. With three of the alphabet dice in my hand, I leaned forward. “Tomorrow, will I find out that Annette's mom is Dad's friend Andrea?”

“Wait -” Dad began, but it was too late; I had rolled the dice. He stared at the result as they clattered to a halt. With a Y, an E and an S, the answer was all too easy to make out.

<><>​

Lisa

In my years on the streets, I had learned to pay attention when my powers told me that I was being watched or followed. Admittedly, I hadn't been paying quite enough attention when Coil's goons got their hands on me, but then, those had been professionals, and I had been focused on stealing that one guy's phone. In retrospect, not my finest hour.

Since becoming a professional supervillain, of course, I'd had to up my game. Not only did I have to keep an eye out for people who I'd wronged in my private life, but there was always the chance of someone recognising us for who we were when we were out of costume. The chance of any sort of facial recognition was minimal for three of the four of us; Brian wore a helmet with a full-face visor, Alec had a mask that covered most of his face, and I'd carefully chosen a mask that hid my freckles and changed the shape of my face. I also took care to wear my hair differently and pick out clothes that didn't evoke the lavender and black of my costume; unwritten rules or no, there is such a thing as giving people too many clues.

Rachel, of course, was the one weak point in all of that. As a known face, a publicly wanted villain, we had to take care not to appear on camera with her too obviously in our civilian identities. She had that dog mask thing she wore when out as Bitch, but sometimes she forgot it, sometimes she pulled it off, and sometimes she just didn't care.

The fact also remained that her face and identity were known to the PRT and police; she could walk her dogs along the Boardwalk a dozen times without trouble, but on the thirteenth time a police cruiser might spot her, or she might see someone mistreating a dog, and then it would be on for one and all. Which was why she wasn't with us at the Market; she hadn't really wanted to come, and there was actually a fair chance that someone would recognise her and call it in. Or sic the enforcers on us; this would not turn out well, specifically for the enforcers, but we didn't need that sort of publicity, or the chance of having our faces becoming known as well.

But even with all the precautions, I was still keeping a certain level of awareness up, and shortly after we left the video game store, I started to get that feeling. Turning as if to listen to the good-natured argument between Brian and Alec as to the respective merits of their favourite games, I glanced behind us.

There she was; a girl, twelve years old, straight brown hair. She was talking on the phone, and pretending to look anywhere but at us -

Not looking at us. Looking at me.

Talking on the phone. Talking to someone who knows something about me. Getting information.

Not interested in the others. Just in me.

Doesn't know me, doesn't know much about me. Knows I have powers.

Interested in me because of my powers.

Knows I have powers because she has powers.

Has powers but isn't a current cape.

Wants to talk? to me.

I didn't have enough in the way of data to determine why she wanted to talk to me, but it wasn't hard to work out that she didn't want to talk to me in the company of the other two. Nor, I thought, did she mean me any harm.

For a moment, I considered cluing the other two in and grabbing the girl, but I decided not to go there. After all, there was her mystery confederate, the one who knew something about me. I'd be much better at handling an interrogation without the other two getting in the way, anyway.

So I hurried my pace, moving forward faster. She followed, as I knew she would.

Around the corner, with an access doorway just up ahead – rarely locked, try the handle, opens smoothly, duck on in – and then I waited counting seconds in my head. Footsteps approached the door, of the right weight and speed to be her. Flinging the door open, I grabbed her; she barely had time to yelp before I dragged her into the access corridor and closed the door again.

Inches shorter than me, she was pounds lighter. She wasn't any kind of fighter, which was good, because nor was I. Her hands weren't instinctively reaching for weapons; she wasn't armed. Good.

Pushing her up against the wall, I put my face close to hers.

“Okay, talk. Why were you following me?”


End of Part Four

Part Five

 

Alea Iacta Est

Part Five: Roll for Initiative


Dinah

I looked up at her, trying to appear calmer than I was. Being yanked into a service corridor and shoved up against the wall was kind of a new experience, but I tried to roll with it. “Because I wanted to talk to you, Lisa,” I replied. “Away from your friends, if possible.”

She eyed me sharply, but showed less in the way of surprise than I might have expected from having me know her name. Well, duh. She's got Thinker powers, giving her high-end intuitive capabilities.

“You got my name from your friend on the phone,” she stated flatly. “You weren't looking for me; you were looking for someone with powers. I fit the criteria.” Her eyes narrowed. “You can tell that I've got powers, just from looking at me?”

From outside, I heard a voice, possibly from the older boy, “Okay, where did Lisa get to now?”

“Search me,” the younger boy replied. “Off on one of her tangents, I guess.”

Okay, so that's how I was going to learn it. “Yes, I can,” I told her quietly. “I want to recruit you. My team needs someone like you, which is how -”

“- you know what powers I have,” she finished for me. “It's an analytical Thinker power. Picking out powers is a secondary function. It seeks out people to fulfil a need, a goal. So if you're seeking parahumans, you find parahumans.”

“You're right, of course,” I confirmed. “Now, I know you're not totally free to join. You and those guys are with a pre-existing team, but you're not on it by choice. However, you're still unsure whether to take me up on it, or to walk away. Because …” I paused. “I don't know the because.”

“Huh,” she mused. “It's not often that I get analysed. The because is simple. I don't want to end up with a bullet in the head and I don't know if your team can protect me. Scratch that; I appreciate the soft sell, but I'm pretty sure your team – how many members so far? Three?” Her eyes searched mine. “Huh. Two. You and one other. Pretty sure your team can't protect me.”

“You might be surprised,” I retorted. I was getting a feel for her technique; she liked to push and prod and find weak spots, then exploit them for all she was worth. “I'm really good at organising people according to their strengths. I'm basically the Alexandria of team coaches."

“According to the task at hand, right,” she finished for me. “So what's your friend do? Thinker as well?” I didn't react, or at least I didn't think I had, but she nodded anyway. “Right. Some sort of information gathering. You spot prospects and your friend gives you what information she …? … Right, she can about them.”

“Exactly,” I retorted, nettled. “And if you can give me any information about whoever's likely to shoot you in the head, I can work out a plan to get around that problem for you.”

She stared at me. “Holy shit, you really think you can. No way, kiddo. It's not going to happen. This isn't just some ganger. We're talking about major Shaker or Thinker powers that you're going up against. Reality manipulation, at the very least. So walk away while you still can.”

I shook my head. “I'm not just some kid. And this isn't some wannabe team. For instance, check this out.” Pulling out my phone, I dialled Taylor's number.

"Hello?"

I cleared my throat. "It's me. Lisa isn't convinced. Tell me the random number she's about to guess."

Listening carefully to the phone, I could hear dice clattering, but Taylor didn't speak. I watched Lisa expectantly, then put the phone on speaker and mute. "Well?" I asked.

She crossed her arms and looked back at me. “Not gonna give you one,” she stated.

“But you have to,” I protested.

“Nope.” She folded her arms. “I don't have to do anything. Let's see what your friend says about that.”

“Wonderful.” Sighing, I took the phone off of mute. "What've you got?"

"No number given. She's being a bitch." A grin spreading across my face, I watched as her expression changed. She pointed at the mute button, so I hit it again.

“Okay, so you've got a precognitive,” she admitted. “Useful. How accurate is she?”

“Accurate enough to let me know that you were going to be a bitch,” I pointed out.

“There is that.” She rubbed her chin. “Okay, what makes you think you can go up against a guy who has dozens of well-trained minions with automatic weapons? Pretty certain that he's not gonna let someone just poach his best Thinker, not without some serious argument.”

I frowned. “Who is this guy, anyway? It's not Lung, because you're not Asian. Could be Kaiser, but you haven't mentioned the obvious heavy-hitters and I don't know of anyone in that gang with probability manipulation. It's not Uber or L33t, unless they've had a total competency upgrade.”

Lisa snorted. “No, it's not those two losers. Look, if I tell you who it is, will you walk away then? You seem like a nice kid and you've got some serious cojones, trying to poach me for your team, but I don't want to see you hurt.”

“Maybe,” I allowed. My phone chimed; I didn't look at it. “Depends who it is.”

“That's fair.” She nodded. “It's Coil. Satisfied?”

“Coil?” I frowned, then took the phone off of mute. "What do you have on -"

"Coil? He's supposed to be a mid-level crime boss. PHO rates him as not very high on the scale."

“Damn, that's got to be super useful.” Lisa sounded mildly envious.

“Yeah.” I raised my voice slightly. "Anything there about probability manipulation?”

"Nope. Says he's not a cape at all."

Lisa rolled her eyes. “Well, duh. If you could alter the chance of something happening or not happening, would you broadcast the fact, or just let your enemies – of which he has more than a few, let me tell you – think that they're all suffering from shitty luck? All the time?”

I had to admit it, she had a really good point. “Okay, so Coil's got you in a really bad situation. And he's got guys with guns, not to mention those two guys I saw you with, working for him. What are they, your minders?”

“Huh? Oh, no. No. Those are my teammates. I'm in the Undersiders.”

“Which is owned by Coil.”

"None of which is on the page for his gang."

“Which is, as you say, owned by Coil.” She pointed at my phone. “It won't say anything about it on PHO. He comes across as an unpowered gang leader, but he pays us to do stuff for him, stuff that he doesn't want connected to his operation.”

“Ahh.” Comprehension dawned. “So if he wanted to pull something against one of the other gangs, he'd use the Undersiders, leaving him in the clear.”

“More or less, yeah.” She eyed me. “So, you figured out yet that it's a good idea to walk away right now?”

I looked right back at her. “What if we could do it? Would you join? We could be helping people and there wouldn't be a gun to your head.”

“You don't get it.” She shook her head. “He'll always have a gun to my head.”

“I mean, if Coil wasn't a factor. Would you join us then?”

She raised an eyebrow; there was a bemused look on her face. “Kid, I gotta hand it to you. You've got big brass ones. If and only if Coil's out of the picture, I'll join you. But it's a really, really bad idea to try to bring him down. Like I said, he's got probability manipulation or something really similar to it. I've never seen him caught short. It's like he can change events to suit his needs.”

I nodded. “Got it. We're not going to do anything silly. But if I came to you with a plan of action, would you at least consider it?”

Lisa leaned up against the door leading out of the service corridor, peeking out. “Christ, you're persistent. Yeah, sure, I'd look at it. But I wouldn't commit to it unless I really thought it had a good chance of succeeding.” She looked back around at me. “Because make no mistake, Coil doesn't play patty-cake. You cross him and lose, you either get a really sharp warning as to why you shouldn't – and I can't even pick out your chances of surviving that – or you end up with the same deal as me; work for him or eat a bullet.”

“I understand, I really do.” Holding up my phone, I continued, “So can I get your number so I can get back in contact with you?”

A smile quirked her mouth. “Okay, sure, kiddo.” She recited her number and I entered it into my phone. “So, you got a name, or do I just call you 'kiddo'?”

I finished saving the number and looked back up at her. “Why don't I get back to you on that one.” I need to check with Taylor on the wisdom of letting her know that. “For now, call me 'Management'.”

Her smile widened; it was almost as if she'd read my mind. “Yeah, you got a point. I guess I'll see you around.” Opening the door, she slipped out, closing it behind her. I leaned against it, realising for the first time that my heart was racing. Wow, that was just intense.

<><>​

Lisa

Brian looked around as I came up behind him. “Hey, where'd you get to? You just vanished.”

I gave him my patented mischievous grin. “Sorry about that. I saw some stuff that I just had to check out. I knew you boys would be able to handle yourselves without me for just a few minutes.”

“So what'd you steal?” That was Alec.

“Steal? I don't do that any more.” I put on a carefully calculated look of wounded innocence. I wasn't very good at it, but that was all right; it wasn't supposed to convince them. “I can afford shit now.”

“Yeah, but it's more fun to steal.” I had to admit, Alec had a point.

“Which we don't want to be caught doing and maybe draw attention to ourselves.” So did Brian. The party pooper. “Like you said, we can afford whatever we want. So no shoplifting.”

“Even if it's for a really good cause?” I was just arguing for fun now.

“What cause would that be?” He wasn't.

“The cause of me proving I'm smarter than store security, duh.”

“I think we've already proven that one.” He'd figured out that I was teasing him; a reluctant smile was crossing his face now. “You don't need to rub it in.”

“Fine. Be a spoilsport.” Having successfully diverted attention from my disappearing act, I put the ball back in his court. “So what are we gonna do now? See a movie?”

The discussion moved on, but my thoughts were busy.

That 'Management' kid really thought she could cut me loose from Coil. If she can pull that off, I want to be in on that, but I'm not so sure that she can.

She seemed pretty sure of herself. And having a precog to back up your guesses has got to be useful. Actually, I wonder if Coil doesn't already have a precog he can call upon. It would make a lot of sense.

I'm just hoping that Management's plan is actually worth carrying out. Somehow, I think it might be. She doesn't strike me as someone who does things half-assed.

I guess I'll just have to wait and see.

<><>​

Taylor

“So, you all right?”

As I asked the question, I rolled the dice. Chances that Dinah has problems in the next half hour?

“Been better, been worse.” Her voice came over the phone as the dice rolled to a stop. Seven point three four percent.

“That doesn't sound like a yes to me. Are you sure she's worth it?” I still remembered the massive cramp that had seized my hand and wrist when I went to roll the random number. So I had rolled the alphabet dice instead, with my other hand, ending up with the “she is being a bitch” message.

“Not a yes, not a no. You heard what she was saying about Coil, yeah? I'm gonna need you to run some numbers for me.”

“Ready to roll.”

“Okay then. What are the chances of retaliation from Coil if we just walk away right now?”

I rolled and checked the numbers. “Zero point four three one percent.”

“Okay, she's not gonna tell him. Good. I didn't think so, but you never know.” She took a breath. “Chances that we'll be successful in our chosen goals if Lisa joins us.”

The dice rolled off of my hand. “Eighty-six point three percent.”

“Right. Chances that we'll be successful if she doesn't join us?”

I regathered the dice and rolled them. “Sixty-one point nine percent.”

“Shit. A twenty-five percent drop.” She paused, I assumed, to think. “What are our chances of peacefully extracting Lisa from Coil's organisation?”

The dice clattered on the table. “Uh, four point one three percent.”

“I was afraid of that. Chances of getting away with an extraction if we don't totally neutralise Coil in the process?”

I fixed the question in my mind as I rolled the dice. “Twenty-two point one percent.”

“Dammit. Right. Chances of neutralising Coil and extracting Lisa with the resources we have at the moment?”

Now we were going down the rabbit hole. “Seventeen point five percent.”

“Chances of being able to successfully neutralise Coil and recruit Lisa if we expand our operations?”

My hand cramped. “Uh, the dice won't roll on that one. Probably too many indeterminates.”

“Okay, sorry. How about this one, then. Is Coil really a cape?”

For that one, I picked up three of the alphabet dice with my other hand. The clatter they made on the table was more definitive than the d10s. “Signs point to yes.”

“Well, that's a start. Is Lisa correct in assuming that he's a probability manipulator?”

Clatter, clatter went the dice. I stared at the result. “Well, damn. I got a big fat NO here.”

“Really?” I could hear the interest quicken in her voice. “Can you get a reading on what his powers really are?”

This one was gonna be a doozy. I picked up four alphabet dice, fully expecting to feel the paralysing pain of a cramp at any second. But the dice rolled off my hand smoothly and bounced on the table. I stared at the result, scribbled the letters down, then rolled again. Then I picked up the phone.

“Well, that's interesting. And by interesting, I mean terrifying.”

“What? Why?”

“Direct quote from the dice. PRECOG.”

“What, like you?”

“One second.” I rolled the dice. “Uh, nope. Not like me.”

“So he's got precognitive abilities that let him pretend to be a reality manipulator. That's really interesting. How would you pull something like that off?”

I thought about it. “Well, he's not omniscient. Otherwise he would already have warned us off. So maybe he's really good at asking 'what if' questions and seeing how scenarios play out. Then he does what he needs to do to make one particular scenario happen.” Absently, I picked up the d10s again. Chances that I'm accurate with this guess? The dice clattered once more on the table. “ … and that's eighty-one point six percent accurate.”

“So mostly right, but with some factors that we don't know about yet.”

“Yeah, basically.”

“I have a question for you.”

“What's that?”

“What are the chances of us taking down Coil and recruiting Lisa, now that we know more about his powers?”

“Ooh, interesting question.” I recaptured the dice and rolled them. “Shit, they've gone up to thirty-one point three percent.”

“Wow, they nearly doubled. Because now we know more about what his powers are.”

“That's a huge jump. But still pretty low.”

“Because we don't know anything else about him. How many men he's got, where his base is, anything like that. Plus, we don't have any heavy hitters. If we make just one mistake, we're dead.”

“Okay, I've got a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Are we sticking with the original goal of 'recruit more members for the team' or focus on 'bringing down Coil so we can recruit Lisa'? Because it seems like we're aiming more for the latter, now.”

She paused. “ … that's a really good question. I'm gonna need to think about that. It's almost certain that we'll need to recruit more members before we're in the position of being able to take down Coil.”

“Right. So it's a nested quest.”

“Okay, you're going to have to explain that one.”

“You get them in fantasy stories. Ann – a friend at school told me about them. Say you need a magical pendant to defeat the evil wizard. In order to get the blacksmith to create the magical pendant, you need to get the jewel that will go into the pendant from the giant that lives in the hills. In order to get the jewel from the giant, you need to deliver a flock of sheep for his afternoon meal. In order to get the sheep, you need to give the shepherd something. And so on.”

“Oh, I get it. In order to get our eighty percent success rate, we need Lisa. In order to get Lisa, we need to take Coil out of the picture. In order to take Coil out of the picture, we need more recruits. Yeah?”

“Yeah, basically.”

“Right. Okay, well, I'll keep looking.”

“Keep me posted.”

“Will do.”

<><>​

The Next Day

“Okay, I never would have picked you as a rogue type,” Annette observed. “Paladin, yeah. Fighter, maybe. Cleric, possibly. But rogue? That's kinda out of left field, isn't it?”

“Hey, she made a totally rockin' rogue,” interjected Kay. I didn't comment; it felt weird talking about my character as a 'rogue' when I wanted to be a hero. But Kay was still talking. “I notice you went with point buy for your stats instead of rolling. How come? Most starting players prefer to roll.”

I shrugged. “Oh, uh, it's something Annette told me about making a balanced character. This way I know I can place my numbers where I want them.”

I was, of course, lying; as Dad had put it, the temptation of rolling whatever numbers I wanted for my character's attributes may have been too much. Until I knew I could keep it in check, I had decided to go with a less random system.

“Though I'm curious as to why you went with a half-elf instead of a halfling,” Cameron noted as Kay slid my sheet back over the table to me. “Ever since Lord of the Rings came out, nearly everyone goes with halflings for rogues. It's kind of a trope.”

“Oh, that's easy,” I told him, trapping the sheet with my hand as an errant breeze threatened to blow it away. The tables outside were great for eating lunch, less so for leaving character sheets unattended. “If I'm going to be sneaking around in the dark and looking for stuff, I want that low-light vision thing as well as the perception bonus. Halflings don't get low-light vision. I checked.”

“Really?” Kay frowned. “I was sure they did.” She pointed at Cameron. “Your last halfling character did, I remember.”

“No, no,” Annette reminded her. “That was his dwarfling character in the Mountain Realms campaign. Remember?”

I frowned. “Dwarfling? I don't remember that race. Is that in a different book?”

“Hah, no.” Annette grinned at me. “It was gonna be an all-dwarf game, but Cam wanted to play something different, so we let him make up a dwarf-halfling crossbreed.”

“Yeah,” Cameron supplied. “We've got the hybrid rules, so we worked out the stats. It was a kickass character.”

I tried to envisage such a pairing. “It would be short, for sure,” I ventured.

“Short and tough,” agreed Annette. “But it got the job done.” She nodded at my character sheet. “Well, we've got Krystara statted out and equipped. You understand what all the numbers mean?”

“Kind of, but not totally,” I admitted.

“Ah, you'll be fine.” Her grin was infectious. “Once we start play, you'll -”

At that moment, the bell went for the end of lunch break. A flash of motion overhead caught my eye, I looked upward. “What's that?”

Annette shaded her eyes against the sun. “Oh, that's Vicky and Amy. They probably went down to the Boardwalk for lunch or something.” She made a rude noise, but sounded amused as she continued. “Showoffs.”

“Wow,” I commented as I carefully packed the character sheet away. I knew that she meant Victoria and Amy Dallon, otherwise known as Glory Girl and Panacea. Sisters, they were perhaps Arcadia's most famous attendees. “The Boardwalk isn't that close.”

“Glory Girl can get up to seventy or eighty miles an hour, you know,” Cameron informed me seriously. I detected the tone of a hardcore cape geek; it wasn't hard, because I was pretty much a cape geek myself.

“And just think, she doesn't have to worry about slowing down for corners or stopping at traffic lights,” Annette added, just a little facetiously. “So yeah, she can cover distance pretty quickly if she has to.”

“Huh.” A thought struck me and I picked up my three d10s; we hadn't been rolling them seriously, but somehow they had found their way on to the table. Without saying a word, I rolled them.

“Hey, you want to get all that packed away,” Kay advised me. “The teachers don't mind if we game down here, but if we linger after the bell, we're in trouble.”

“Coming, coming,” I told her, scooping up my dice and dropping them into the bag, then tightening the drawstring and stowing it in my backpack.

Chatting among themselves, the others headed back inside. I went with them, but didn't contribute much to the conversation; my thoughts were occupied with the roll I had just made. The question I had asked myself on the spur of the moment was, chances that Glory Girl or Panacea would be interested in joining our superhero team?

And the answer had been fifty-one point three percent.

That can't mean both of them, I decided. So one of them has to be interested in leaving New Wave. I wonder who.

<><>​

“Hey, wait up a second.”

Annette looked around. “Taylor, hey.” Her welcoming smile gave me the impression that I was the one person she'd been wanting to see. “You lost? Need a hand finding your way around?”

I gestured with the school map I was carrying in my hand. “No, I'm good. For the moment.”

“So what's up?” She checked her watch. “You don't want to be late for class.”

“No, I'll make this quick.” I paused, trying to figure out how to say it. “You know how you were named after your mom's best friend?”

Annette nodded. “Yeah?”

I took a deep breath. “My mom's name was Annette. Annette Rose Hebert. Anne-Rose. I think she might've been your mom's friend.”

Her eyes went wide. “Holy shit, that's awesome! Our moms were besties!”

“I'm not a hundred percent sure,” I told her, “but … “

“No.” She stared at me. “Is your dad's name Danny?”

“Uh, yeah, yeah.” I nodded. “That's him.”

“Oh. Oh, wow!” She grabbed me; I felt myself being squeezed tightly. “This is so awesome! I can't wait to tell Mom!”

“Uh, it might get a bit awkward,” I cautioned her. “Just so you know.”

“Awkward?” She let me go so she could see my face. “Why awkward?”

I shrugged, feeling more than a little awkward myself. “Uh … Dad says that when he met them, my mom and yours were … uh, kind of seeing each other.”

“Hah, that's not awkward.” She rolled her eyes. “Relationships are normal and natural. That's what Mom always says.” She grinned. “You wait; she'll ask us if we're interested in each other.”

I stared. “You're shitting me.”

“I shit you not.” Another flashing grin. “It's okay; I'll tell her we're not serious.” Before I could even think of how to respond to that, she checked her watch again. “Whoops, gotta go. See you later.” Off she dashed, leaving me with one thought uppermost in my mind.

What the fuck just happened?

<><>​

Dinah

“You have to be kidding.” I held the phone tightly to my ear. “Panacea?”

“You heard me. I flipped a coin.” Taylor's voice was definite; I could hear it through the phone line. “Glory Girl was heads, Panacea was tails, and I got tails.”

“Wow, holy shit, Panacea is unhappy with where she was, enough to want to maybe leave her team?”

“That's what the dice said. Of course, they didn't tell me exactly why. Or at least, not yet. I mean, I only just got home, so I decided to call you.”

“Well, fifty-one percent is pretty marginal.” I gnawed on a fingernail. “It's nowhere near enough to make a good pitch and hope that she takes me up on it.”

“I was thinking.” Taylor's voice was contemplative. “Maybe the fifty-one percent is because New Wave is an established team and we don't have costumes, a name, anything. It's one thing to be recruited into a new team. It's another to step into a group that hasn't even thought of a name yet.”

“That's – you're right. It's exactly right.” In my mind, I changed the goal for the job at hand, from 'recruit new members' to 'recruiting Panacea'; one of the steps in the plan was now to get the team established, give us costumes, a team name, an air of legitimacy. “Doing that would make it a lot more likely that she'd come across.”

“So how do we do that?”

“One thing at a time, Taylor. One thing at a time.” I curbed my own excitement. “If we're going to recruit Panacea, we need Lisa on the team.” That was the other thing my power had told me. “Her insights would be really useful to us, there. Give us an idea of how to approach her.”

“Okay, so to get Panacea, we need Lisa. To get Lisa, we need … who?”

“Still working on that one.” I paused. “Actually, what if you made a list of the parahumans in the Bay, and rolled off against each one, to see who'd be interested in joining?”

“Leaving out the ones we don't want in the team, I hope?” Her voice was slightly sarcastic.

“Yeah, leaving them out.” I grimaced. Some people we just did not want in the team.

“I can do it. It'll take me a while.”

“Don't push yourself too hard. It's only our second day.”

A snort. “Yeah, yeah. I'll let you know what I come up with.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

After I ended the call, I got up and wandered into the kitchen to make myself a peanut butter sandwich. Taylor was not the only one working hard; I had a job to do myself.

After all, our budding superhero team wasn't just going to name itself.


End of Part Five

Part Six

 

Alea Iacta Est

Part Six: The Plot Thickens


Kayden wanted to swear as she wrestled with the shopping cart on her way out of the supermarket. As opposed to the norm, where the cart had one wonky wheel, she had somehow managed to find one with four wheels, all of which insisted on trying to roll in different directions. On top of that, Aster was fussing and Kayden couldn't give her the full attention that she demanded, causing her to fuss all the more.

There was a mild slope in the parking lot and the cart, despite its previous inclination to not want to go anywhere without a great amount of shoving and determination, now decided that it wanted to roll downhill, away from Kayden's car and toward a very expensive-looking BMW. Three times she hauled it back and placed it in a different orientation and three times it managed to line up its wheels and make an escape attempt.

The temper and frustration building in Kayden matched and then surpassed Aster's own. Were it not for her secret identity, she was becoming more and more tempted to blast the shopping cart to very small pieces; groceries be damned. At the very least, she was definitely going to go out after she got Theo over, and find some ABB drug house to take out her irritation on. There won't be much more than a crater left …

“Excuse me, ma'am? Can I help?”

She looked around in surprise; a young girl, twelve or thirteen at best, was standing next to her cart, steadying it. At first, Kayden suspected a potential thief, but the girl was well dressed and her hands were holding the outside of the cart.

“Oh, if you could, that would be wonderful,” Kayden told the girl. “Thank you so much.”

“That's all right,” the girl said with a smile. “I've seen my mom having trouble with these things as well. You end up needing about four extra arms and without powers, that's a little difficult.” Her smile morphed into an infectious grin.

How little you know. “You have a very good point. Okay, Aster, come on.” Kayden lifted the infant from the shopping cart. “If you could please hold it while I get her into the car?”

“No problems at all. My name's Dinah.”

“Kayden.” Leaning into the car, she put Aster into the baby seat. In the cool of the shade and with the comfortable surrounds of the seat, Aster began to settle down. Kayden smiled and kissed her gently on the forehead, eliciting a gurgle of happiness. At that moment, she wouldn't have cared if the girl had intended to make a run for it with the groceries; just being able to get this part sorted out was almost worth it.

But when she straightened up, Dinah was still patiently holding the cart. Maybe she really does just want to help.

“So are these going in the back seat or the trunk?”

“In the trunk, I think.” Kayden reached into the front of the car to pop the trunk lid and then helped Dinah move the cart around to the back. “I really do appreciate the assistance.”

“That's okay,” Dinah said as she began to hand Kayden the bags. She even managed to do it in the order that Kayden preferred, without having to ask. “But to be honest, I do have an ulterior motive. There's something I'd like from you.”

Kayden stopped and gave her a hard glare. So she does want something. “What?”

“Five minutes of your time, once we're done here.” Dinah's expression was polite and open. “It's got nothing to do with money or anything illegal. You're under no obligation to say yes. And,” she chuckled, “no, I'm not with Amway. Or anything like that. I just need to say something, then ask you a question. Fair enough?”

Kayden considered that. “And if I say right now that I'm going to say no, no matter what?”

“Then I keep helping you load groceries, then put the cart away and go my own way,” Dinah replied imperturbably. “Like I said, no obligation.”

She had to admit, Dinah had a good selling technique. No pressure, ready to back off at a moment's notice. It made her honestly curious about what the girl had to say.

“So it's not Girl Scout cookies then?” Her question was more to do with idle chat than actual information gathering.

“No. Although I am actually in the Scouts,” Dinah answered readily enough. “It's way more important than that.”

This only piqued Kayden's growing curiosity. She took the last few bags from Dinah and watched the girl trundle the cart away toward the collection area. How she managed to make it roll so smoothly, Kayden wasn't so sure; maybe it was because there was nothing in it.

“Okay,” Kayden said once Dinah returned. “What's so important that you were willing to help me load groceries to talk to me about?”

Dinah glanced around. Nobody was really nearby, but she frowned anyway. “Can we sit in the car?” she asked. “More private that way.”

Suspicions began to surface once more, but Kayden held her peace. If she thinks she can carjack me, she's in for a very rude surprise. “Okay, let's do that.” It was, after all, a very small concession.

<><>​

Once in the car, with the windows wound up, Kayden turned to Dinah. “You have your privacy. Let's hear what you have to say.”

“Thank you.” Dinah nodded to her. “It's simple. I want to recruit you.”

The words hung in the air for several beats while Kayden tried to puzzle them out. “I'm missing something here,” she eventually admitted. “Recruit me for what? Who are you?”

“To answer your questions in reverse order,” Dinah replied carefully, “I'm a parahuman. I'm forming a team and I would like you to be a part of it.”

Kayden's thoughts raced. If she's asking me to be a part of her team, whatever that team is, it means that she knows who I am. As she tensed up, her voice went very quiet so as not to disturb Aster. “I think you'd better explain yourself very quickly. Leave nothing out. Including how you know what you know.”

To her credit, Dinah did not show any sign of fear. “As I said, I'm a parahuman. Specifically, my power allows me to figure out the perfect person for a specific job and how the job can be done most efficiently. If I have a job in mind, my power will point out people and give me information about their capabilities, specifically to do with the job at hand.”

“Including whether or not people have powers,” Kayden filled in.

“If having powers would help with doing the job, yes,” Dinah agreed.

“And you were looking for people who could do the job of being a member of your team.”

“Well, specifically, I was looking for heavy hitters,” came the surprising confession. “We've already got Thinkers and we're looking to get a healer type, but we're light on throw weight.”

“And you just chose to walk up to the first flying Blaster you saw.” Kayden raised her eyebrows. “Pretty ballsy. You're not even out of middle school, are you?” A thought struck her. “Please tell me you're not the oldest member of your team.”

“No, the youngest. But I'm the best organiser by far.” Dinah grinned at her. “I'm twelve. That's young, I know. But powers happen when powers happen.”

“This is true,” sighed Kayden, recalling her own trigger event. Even though it had happened more than ten years previously, it was still vivid in her mind. If her powers hadn't manifested, she would have died of thirst, trapped in her crashed car. “Okay, so how did you know that I wouldn't react badly?”

“Because my power tells me that you at least have the temperament to think about it. As for specifics, I have a friend who can give me a percentage chance that you'll hear me out and accept it.”

“One of these other Thinkers you were talking about, right.” Kayden rubbed her chin. “Okay, so you really didn't know who I was before you approached me.”

“I knew your powerset, so I could guess fairly easily who you were, given that you're not Lady Photon,” Dinah agreed. “But no, I didn't know your name.”

“Okay,” Kayden decided. “This is not me saying yes, but here's a hypothetical. If I joined, would I get to have my own agenda in the team or would you be deciding the team goals?”

“It would depend on that agenda,” Dinah replied frankly. “We're aiming to be superheroes, so nothing illegal.” She looked at Kayden questioningly. “What agenda are you referring to?”

“It's the ABB,” Kayden said. “I've been trying to whittle them down for months, but every time I think I'm getting somewhere, more pop up.” Despite her best efforts, the frustration showed in her voice. “I just don't know where I'm going wrong.”

“Wow,” Dinah exclaimed, softly so as to not wake Aster, who was dozing. “It sounds like you could do with the help of a Thinker or two, to figure out where to hit and to organise matters so you do it most efficiently. Now I wonder where you could find someone like that?”

Kayden blinked. “You could do that? You would do that?”

Dinah shrugged. “They're villains. We want to be heroes. And there's not much use in recruiting someone to be the heavy hitter if you're not happy in your work.”

“So wait,” Kayden stated, trying to keep the newfound note of excitement out of her voice, “you could define 'bringing down the ABB' as a task and let your power figure out how to best get it done? It's that easy?”

“Well, first I'd have to find and recruit the right people but … hmm.” Dinah paused for a moment. “My power's saying that you're definitely one of the right people for the job. But I'd need more information about how they operate, where they operate and so on. On the upside, for this we'd need Thinkers; we already have one and we're looking to bring another on board.” She gave Kayden a broad smile. “So yeah, we can really do this.”

“And you'd have no problem with me going after Asians?” asked Kayden, probing the idea like a tongue would a loose tooth. “I'm trying to cut ties with the Empire Eighty-Eight, but people see me attacking the ABB and seem to think it's a racial thing.”

Dinah gave her a frank, open look. “You were a member of a racist gang for ten years and that stuff sticks, whether you like it or not. People are gonna see what they want to see. Trust me, it's schoolyard politics all over again. The point is, these Asians are criminals so I don't see the problem. Just so long as you've got no problem with going after white crooks as well … ?” She let the question hang in the air.

“Oh, I've got no problem with that,” Kayden assured her. “Though it might get a little awkward if we went up against members of the Empire.”

“I can see that,” Dinah agreed. “We'll do our best to avoid that, okay?”

“I like that idea,” Kayden said, then paused. “So, about team leadership.”

“I know what you're going to say,” Dinah stated. “I'm young but you've got the experience. Well, we can work with that. I'm good at directing operations but I'm not a front-line fighter. How about I tell you what needs doing and I leave the actual how it gets done to you, with maybe a few suggestions from my power for more efficiency.” She shrugged. “As far as I can tell, you already know how to use your powers, so I won't be telling you anything new.”

Kayden blinked. One of the reasons she had split from the Empire was Kaiser's need to be in total control all the time. Dinah seemed aware of her own limitations and was willing to give her a free rein in how she did things. In return, she would have the chance to be a hero and take down the ABB in the process. Two birds, one stone. Do I really want to even think about saying no?

“I … well, I can't see a problem with the idea as it is,” she confessed. “But can I think about it and get back to you?” She gestured with her head toward the back seat. “With Aster in the equation, I really have to think everything through first. Her needs come before mine, every time.”

Dinah grinned. “Well, that's another benefit of joining the team. More potential babysitters.”

And Theo could do with friends of his own age. “It's definitely sounding more and more attractive by the moment.” Kayden took a breath. “But I still have to think it over. Do you have a -”

“- phone number? Sure.” Dinah held out the card to her. On it was written “MANAGEMENT”. Below the name was a number. “Take your time. We don't want to rush into this.”

“Thanks. I appreciate this.”

Dinah nodded. “And thanks for taking the time to listen to me.” She opened the car door and began to get out. “I hope you take my offer up. We really do need you.”

You already know I will, you little wiseass, Kayden thought with a mental smirk. This is just for appearances, and we both know it. “We'll see,” she added out loud.

The car door closed. As Kayden watched the slim form walk away, the mental smile became a physical one. We'll talk again really soon, kid.

<><>​

Danny looked up at the knock on the door. “Taylor, were you expecting someone?”

“Uh, no.” Taylor turned from where she'd been rolling dice at the kitchen table. She closed the exercise book where she'd been noting the information she was getting. “Not that I know of.” Picking up the dice, she rolled. “Huh. It's Annette.”

Danny froze in the act of getting off the sofa. “What, your friend from school? The one whose mom is -”

The knock came again. “Yeah, that's who it is,” Taylor said. She headed into the front hall.

“Did you invite them over?” Danny felt as though events were going too fast for him. I'm not ready for this. “You could have warned me.”

“Dad, come on. I'm sure it'll be fine.” Reaching the door, Taylor opened it.

“Taylor!” A redheaded whirlwind blitzed in through the open door, wrapping Taylor in a spontaneous hug and spinning her around. “Wow, I love your house, it's so awesome. Hey, is this your dad? Hi, Mr Hebert! I've heard so much about you, it's good to meet you.”

“Uh, hello, Annette,” Danny replied cautiously. She looks so much like her mom. “Taylor's said a lot of good things about you. I'm pleased to meet you too. Uh, is your mother -”

“Right here, Danny.” Andrea spoke from the doorway, causing his heart to freeze momentarily. Dear God, her voice hasn't changed a bit. Swallowing hard, he turned to face the door. The intervening years had quite failed to dim the sparkle in her green eyes or the life in her expression; Danny lapped up both without meaning to. But where to go from here?

She seemed to be having the same problem; her voice was almost tentative as she spoke. “Got a hug for an old friend?”

She was only about five feet tall; when she wrapped her arms around Danny, her head rested against his chest. He held her tightly, not knowing what to say, but it was too awkward to stand there in silence. Someone had to break the ice. “My God, Andrea … it's been so long. Where were you?” And where were you when I needed you, after Anne-Rose died?

Her grip around him tightened, as though she had read his mind. It wouldn't be the first time. She didn't meet his eyes as she spoke, which was unlike her. “I'm really sorry, Danny. I was working in Boston. I always meant to come back to Brockton Bay to see you and Anne-Rose again, and I should have. Sooner. A lot sooner.” For the first time, she peeked up at him. “Forgive me?”

By way of answer, he grinned down at her. Of course I do. “You had a girl, I see.” From the noises coming from upstairs, Taylor was taking Annette on a tour of the house. “She's very like you.”

“Thank you, Danny,” she said with a snort; she surreptitiously wiped one eye. “Taylor's a lot like you too.” Pulling his head down to hers, she planted a quick kiss on his lips. “Yoink!”

Yyyup, that's Andrea all right. “Wow, okay, what was that for?”

“Oh, just something I promised myself I'd do when I saw you again.” She tilted her head with the old familiar grin. “Well, I said I'd kiss Anne-Rose, but given the circumstances, you're the next best thing.” They gravitated toward the sofa; he wasn't quite sure who was doing the leading. “So, you're killing me here. How's things going with you? Taylor seems to be a nice girl. She's certainly inherited your attitude toward sex. Annette says she's made a couple of passes and Taylor never even noticed. Did Anne-Rose actually get to talk to her about sex?”

Danny felt his brain seize up. “I, uh, no, that is, uh, Taylor, I, I mean -”

Andrea laughed, high and free and clear. “Oh god, you gave her the Talk, didn't you? Now, let me guess. It went along the lines of 'you can't have sex till I'm dead'. Or something like that, yeah?”

“No.” Danny's face was red and getting redder by the second. She could always do this to him. “But I made sure that she knew to be careful -”

“Pfft. Careful, schmareful. Don't get pregnant, don't catch an STD. Those were my only rules. Well,” she rolled her eyes toward the chattering going on from upstairs. “I kind of accidentally broke one of them. Fortunately, it was the one I got something good out of. So I named her after the other best thing that ever happened to me.”

Reminded of Anne-Rose, Danny went silent. Andrea wrapped her arms around him. “Danny, I'm really sorry. I just didn't hear about it until really recently. It hit me really hard, so the first chance I got to request a transfer to Brockton Bay, I did. But then I didn't even know if you'd want to see me again. Until Annette came home talking about her new friend Taylor Hebert and how she thought I'd been sleeping with her mom. And then I told myself not to be such a fucking wimp and came on over.”

“Wow.” Danny shook his head. “I never thought you were scared of anything.”

She leaned her head against his chest as a thundering herd descended the stairs then went along the front hall. From the sounds of it, they then headed down into the basement. “I just never let it show. And I was terrified of turning up on your doorstep and you not wanting to see me. That would have been too much to take.”

His arms went around her in turn. “I'm always glad to see you, Andrea.”

“Good.” The impish look was back in her eye as she reached up and kissed him again. “And that one was for you. Because I still don't know why you never slept with me in all the time I knew you.”

He felt himself flushing again. “Because I was married,” he explained patiently. “To Anne-Rose. Your best friend. I wasn't going to do that to her.”

“You do realise that you two never got married while I knew you, right? And that she slept with me at least three times before you two got really serious?” Andrea's eyes were bright with mischief. “If you had offered to sleep with me, she would have joined in. The only reason she didn't suggest a threesome herself is that I guess she thought you'd say no.”

“I -” Danny stopped; he literally did not know how to go on from that. The revelation that Anne-Rose had slept with Andrea while they were dating was a surprise but not a huge one, knowing the both of them. What am I gonna do? Get mad, fifteen years after the fact? "That can't be right. Surely we were married -"

"Not while I knew you." She grinned at him. "Must've been around the same time you knocked her up with Taylor. Which was around the same time I, uh, left. So another excuse, please?"

Options flashed through his mind. I was kind of a prude and I didn't know how to get past that? I didn't know she wanted to as well? I was a total idiot? Finally, he settled on what seemed safest. “I don't know what I would have said.” Probably no. Because I was an idiot.

Andrea rolled her eyes. “When you're faced with a situation like that, there's only one answer that's applicable. And it's not 'let me think about that and get back to you in twenty years'.”

“I'm sorry. I was an idiot.” The words popped out of his mouth before he had a chance to rethink them.

“Yeah, well, there's a lot of that going around.” She smiled kindly and put her hand to his cheek. “I should have come back a lot sooner, but there was Annette and my job and I kind of let that get in the way of more important things. Like maintaining friendships.”

He tilted his head. “You say that like Annette and your job had something to do with each other. I mean, Anne-Rose and I didn't even know you were pregnant. One day you just left town with barely any kind of explanation. What happened?”

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Met a guy while I was out and about one night. I liked the look of him, he liked the look of me, he bought me drinks, and we woke up at my place. He was only a kid, really, just out of high school and starting at his dad's company. I mean, I was happy to keep it casual, but he wasn't a 'casual' sort of guy. Very fixated on what he wanted and what he wanted was me. So when I got pregnant – and I'm not entirely sure he didn't do that on purpose – he pulled me in front of his dad and said he wanted to get married.”

Danny blinked, fascinated. “What happened?”

She snorted. “His dad hit the roof. Read him the riot act, tore off a strip ten feet wide. Told me in no uncertain terms that no gold-digging hussy was gonna get a piece of his company. I yelled right back at him, told him I didn't want it. Made sure he knew it was his kid's idea and not mine. I would've been happy just going along as I was.”

“I bet that went down well.”

“Actually, it went kind of better than I expected,” she said thoughtfully. “He sent his kid out of the room and asked me a few questions about my education, then moved me to Boston and put me into a job at a subsidiary firm that he owned, on the firm condition that I'd never make any claim to his kid, the company or the family name. With the unspoken but absolutely agreed-on kind of understanding that I wouldn't come back to Brockton Bay any time soon. Which I was an idiot to agree to, but he was kind of scary, you know? The sort of guy who's a legitimate businessman but you can tell there's more going on under the surface.”

“Holy shit.” Danny stared at her. “That actually happened? Who was this, anyway? Who was the guy who did this to you? And how come you're back?”

“Oh, the guy died years ago,” Andrea said cheerfully. “By that time I was kind of settled in the job and had Annette to care for. But when I got the chance to come on back, especially once I heard what had happened to Anne-Rose, I came back.” She paused. “As for who he was, like I said, he died years ago, but the kid's still around. Running his dad's company now, actually. He got married a few years ago, so I'm pretty sure I'm just one of those mildly embarrassing memories that you wish you could forget about your college years.” She paused. “Well, you guys wish you could forget, anyway. Me, I relish them. Best time of my life.”

“Yeah, I don't think I could forget that about you,” Danny agreed ruefully. “But the kid's now in charge of the company?”

“Yeah,” she said. “You probably know of him. He's kind of a big wheel. His name's Max, Max Anders. And I'm still working for him, in a roundabout way. So yeah, I was my boss' college fling. Yay me.”

<><>​

“So what do you think they're talking about?” Taylor asked as Annette poked curiously about the old workbench in the basement.

“Don't know, don't care,” was the casual answer. “Mom'll tell me if she thinks I need to know. Or if I ask. Think he'll start sleeping with her?”

“Annette!” Taylor stared at her friend, her cheeks heating. “What the hell sort of question is that?”

“Just a question,” Annette said cheerfully. “I mean, does he have someone else?”

“No!” Taylor realised that she'd spoken too sharply. “I mean, sorry, no, he doesn't. Not since Mom died.”

“So what's the problem? Him and Mom already know each other, so that's out of the way. They were pretty good friends back in the day. She likes him and I think he likes her, so why make it harder than it has to be?”

“God, you can't just come out with questions like that.” Taylor's face felt as though it was going to catch on fire. Annette's questions, as innocent as they sounded, were not something she was ready for.

“Why not?” Annette grinned at her. “It saves all kinds of confusion if you can ask a straight question and get a straight answer. That's what Mom always says, anyway.”

“But not about … about that.” Taylor wanted to hide her face in her hands. Instead, she stared fixedly at the cover over the old coal chute. If I levered that off, maybe I could hide in there until she went away …

“But why not?” Annette's voice was persistent.

“Because you don't, that's all.” Taylor knew that the answer was inadequate in the extreme, but she couldn't think of a better one.

“Okay, so here's another one. Did you know that I actually think you're kinda hot?”

It was right about then that Taylor's brain exploded. Dimly, over the roaring in her ears, she heard Annette ask, “Uh, Taylor?”

Suddenly able to move again, she swung back toward Annette. “What. No. You did not just say that.” She was pretty sure that her blush was all the way down to her shoulders by now.

Annette seemed to be enjoying herself hugely. “Well, duh. Remember when I told you I'd tell Mom we were only casual? That was me giving you the chance to say something. And other times I've left it open for you to make a move on me. But you just aren't wired to notice that sort of thing, are you?”

“Annette.” Taylor was very proud of her self-control. She would really rather be shouting or screaming or hiding under the workbench, but instead she spoke carefully and steadily.

“Yes?”

“Let's please not talk about this any more. Ever again. Okay?”

Annette's sigh was almost disappointed. “Okay, fine. But you know, all you had to say was no, you're not interested. I would've dropped it.”

“No.” Taylor forced the words out. “Not interested.”

“But we can still be friends?”

Taking a long breath, Taylor nodded. “Yes. Still friends.”

“Yay!” Happily, Annette hugged her.

Reluctantly, Taylor hugged her back, not wanting Annette to think that she was totally rejecting her. A thought struck her; she really didn't want to raise the topic, but if she didn't ask now, she knew she never would. Not that I'm certain that I want to know. “So …”

“So?” asked Annette brightly.

“Have you, uh, made moves on anyone else in the group?”

Annette raised an eyebrow cheerfully. “Sure you want to know?”

No. “Yes.”

“Well, yeah, okay. I've gone out with Cam a few times. He's nice, but once he and Kay met, they've been more interested in each other than in branching out. Kay's got this whole rock-solid hetero vibe going on, so she's a non-starter.”

“Oh.” Well, that was about as frank as it gets. “Have you and Cam, uh …”

Annette grinned at her. “You don't really want to know that, do you?”

Abruptly, Taylor's nerve gave way. “No. No, I don't.”

“Then nothing happened between us.” Annette's voice was firm. Taylor didn't trust it for a moment.

However, it did give her a much-needed out from the hole she had dug for herself. “Good. Now let us never speak of this again.”

Annette shrugged. “Okay.”

“In fact, we didn't even talk about this at all.”

Annette's expression said loud and clear that she thought Taylor was making too much of this, but she shrugged and agreed once more. “Okay.”

"Good." While Annette watched with mild interest. Taylor took a deep breath, trying to regather her scattered composure. "So, uh, what do we talk about now?"

Annette's expression became impish. "Well, I guess a discussion of the literary merits of Fifty Shades of of Grey is off the table?”

This time, Taylor did cover her ears with her hands. “No. God no.” Taking her hands away again, she stared at Annette. “Please tell me you haven't actually read that.”

“Well, no, not seriously. But Mom did recommend it as a primer for how not to do bondage.”

“Not even going to ask. Just nope.” Taylor took a deep breath. “Okay, how about the second Star Wars movie? Gonna be going to see that when it comes out?”

“Sure. Wanna come with?”

Taylor raised an eyebrow. “Only if you don't discuss the potential sex lives of the characters on screen.”

Annette rolled her eyes. “Okay, fine, we'll do it the boring way.” She gave Taylor another spontaneous hug. “This'll be so much fun.”

Taylor's voice was dry. “I think the fun for you is how much you can shock people.”

Annette blinked and spread her hands, as if the point was obvious. “Well, duh.”

<><>​

“Yeah, it has been a while, hasn't it? Last we saw each other, you had all your hair.” Andrea's voice was teasing but the smile on her face was genuine. She raised her hand to his cheek; it lingered there a moment before smoothing back the thinning hair on his scalp.

“Lots of things have changed.” His voice was unintentionally gruff. “A lot of water under the bridge. Taylor … Anne-Rose …”

“I am so sorry for not being here for you when that happened.” Her voice was soft.

He gave a half-shrug, his eyes not quite meeting hers. “It happened. We survived. Mostly.”

“So, are you seeing anyone?” she asked directly.

Danny hesitated. “I -”

“Well, of course not.” She rolled her eyes. “Danny Hebert, I love you dearly but you're such a typical male. I bet you haven't even considered dating again, have you?”

Whether or not she intended for her tone to be quite that scathing, she certainly succeeded. “I, uh. I've been busy, and Taylor -”

“Taylor is a big girl,” she informed him dryly. “She'll know you're not trying to replace Anne-Rose in your heart or hers. But we all need companionship and I'm sure she'd be thrilled to see you getting out and about, having fun instead of working yourself to a frazzle every day.”

“I, uh, I've had no real time -”

“Then make time.” Grabbing him as though he were a rag doll instead of an adult man, she shook him vigorously. “You need to go out, meet people, have sex. Getting laid at least once a week has amazing health bonuses. All those endorphins running around in your system. You'll sleep better, be more alert at work, and you'll feel a hell of a lot better too.”

“I, uh -” He hesitated. “Are you trying to tell me you want to sleep with me?”

“Well finally the penny drops,” she exclaimed, though the grin on her face took the sting out of the words. “I was just trying to make sure you didn't have something lined up with someone else. But apparently don't, so yes. I am telling you exactly that.”

“What, here? Now?” Events were outrunning his brain again.

Her grin became downright suggestive. “Well, we could if you wanted to. But I've got places to be, so if you're not in the mood right now, we can stick a pin in that.” Delving into her bag, she scribbled on a piece of paper. “My number. Call me up sometime, and Annette and I can come over for a sleepover.”

He hesitated. “Won't she know -”

“That I'm coming over to have sex with you? Well, yes. Will she care? Not at all. Except maybe to give points for style if we're too noisy.”

He hesitated. “If this is none of my business, please tell me right now, but is she -”

“Having sex?” Andrea paused. “To be honest, I make it my business not to know. I mean, she knows about sex. When I gave her the Talk, I gave her the Talk.”

Danny shuddered to think about it. Knowing Andrea, the Talk probably involved instructive filmclips. Annette was almost certainly far more informed about sex than he had been at that age. “Yeah, I had figured that much,” he agreed.

Andrea nodded. “So yeah, I filled her in on all the important details, then made sure she knew exactly what my rules were and why I had them. Then I arranged for birth control, and let her go her own way.” She shrugged. “I presume she has, but if so, she's been discreet about it. No pregnancies, no medical visits for other reasons. So that seems to be working out.”

“And that was far more information than I needed,” he said. “A simple 'yes', 'no' or 'not sure' would have sufficed. Anyway. Will it be weird if she's made a pass and Taylor's turned her down?” He refused to think about the possibility of Annette making a pass and Taylor not turning her down. I'll cross that bridge if I come to it, and not a moment before.

“Shouldn't be,” Andrea decided. “It never got weird between us, did it?”

“Well, no more than normal,” he agreed.

“So you'll call me sometime?” she pressed, eyes bright.

Reluctantly, not knowing even why he was being reluctant, he nodded. “Yeah. I will.”

“Yay!” She grabbed him and kissed him again. This time, he kissed her back.

<><>​

Danny set the stove on low and turned around. “Taylor?”

“Mmm?” She looked up from the exercise book and the dice.

“You look like you want to ask me a question. In fact, you've had that look on your face ever since they left.”

“I … oh god.” She took her glasses off and buried her face in her hands; her voice came out somewhat muffled. “I don't even know where to begin.”

His was somewhat amused. “Not an uncommon reaction when dealing with Andrea Campbell, I've found.”

“And Annette. Her too. Trust me.” Moving her hands from over her face, she locked them together in the hair on top of her head, looking down at the table. “I don't even know how to begin to process what happened between us.”

He pulled out a chair and sat down on the other side of the table. “So talk to me about it. Or did things happen that you aren't comfortable talking about?”

Looking up at him, she flushed slightly. “You mean, did she make a pass at me? Yeah, she did. Did anything more happen? Nope. I turned her down.”

“And how did she take it?” His voice was as neutral as he could make it.

The slightest shrug. “She … took it really well, actually. Wanted to know if we were still friends. We talked about other stuff then. It didn't come up again.”

“So are you still friends?” There was no judgement, no pressure in his tone.

She took a deep breath. “Yeah. I guess. There's no getting over the fact that this sort of thing does make things just a bit weird. I mean, your best friend telling you she -” She coughed, then steeled herself, “- she thinks you're hot? I mean, how do you even get past that?” Her eyes were on the table again.

“You just do.” His tone was firm. “I learned to, years ago, with her mother.”

That got a reaction; her eyes jerked upward to meet his. Without her glasses, they were still slightly unfocused, but she did it anyway. “What?”

He smiled wryly. “Andrea's always been that way. Very open, especially about who she was attracted to and, well, stuff like that.”

“Uh, yeah, I saw that with Annette,” she agreed. “Boy, did I see that.”

The smile became a chuckle. “No, you saw the watered down version. Andrea in college was like the Andrea you met, only with the brakes off and full steam ahead.”

She blinked a couple of times. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah. That was kind of my reaction, many times.”

She took a deep breath. “Annette seems to really enjoy shocking people. Is that …”

“ … what Andrea does?” He shook his head. “She just doesn't care about other people's judgement of her actions. She does what she does. As far as she's concerned,” he coughed, “uh, sleeping with people is just something that happens. It's what people do. There's no need for hangups or emotional scenes.”

“Wow. And we left you alone with her.” She gave him a searching look. “Can I ask what happened between you two? Or don't I want to know? You looked a bit shell-shocked when we got back upstairs.”

He looked a little uncomfortable. “Well, yeah, it was a bit of a shock to the system to have all her attention on me for the first time in years. She's very direct. I'd kind of forgotten that.”

“And?” The question was asked reluctantly.

He took a deep breath. “And, well, yes. I'll be seeing more of her. In fact, she might be coming over sometime, to, uh, stay the night. And bringing Annette for a sleepover. If that's okay?”

“Wait.” Taylor's voice was flat. “Annette's mom is going to be staying the night. With you.”

He cringed slightly. “I, uh, yes?” A long pause. “I mean, I did love your mother and all, I still do, but it has been more than two years, and Andrea kind of reminded me that I do have needs, and -”

“Ew. Okay. Please stop talking now.” Taylor made a 'time-out' gesture. “I do not need to hear about your 'needs'.”

“Okay. Sorry. Fine. But is it okay if …”

“... if Annette's mom comes over to spend the night?”

“If they both come over. Annette has a sleepover, and well they both do, I guess.” His forced levity tried to make it into a joke, and failed.

“And you're asking my permission.” She put her glasses on so that she could see him clearly. “Is that what you're doing?”

He looked more than a little hunted. “Uh … yes?”

She took a long moment to consider that. “Well. Um.”

“Uh -”

“Sh. Still thinking about it.”

She let him hang for a few moments longer, then spoke, carefully and considering every word. “Annette's my friend. It is gonna be a little bit weird between us, but she's still my friend. My best friend, really. She was the first one to help me out at Arcadia and she's been nothing but nice to me. Even if she is attracted to me. Which I'm still having a hard time processing.”

Her father looked at her, waiting for her to go on. Finally, she nodded. “So yeah, I think having a sleepover might help. Let me come to terms with how things are. And if Annette can have a sleepover, then … well, everything you said is true. And I like her mom. She's really nice. So yeah.” She gave him a warning look. “It's not gonna be any less weird for all of that, but I can accept that.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.” He turned back toward the stove.

“Uh, Dad?”

He turned back. “Yeah?”

“One more thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Is this likely to be a permanent thing? I mean, am I expected to call her 'mom'? Because I don't think I can do that.”

Hastily, he shook his head. “No, no. Andrea doesn't do permanent. And she won't expect that. And I won't either.”

She took a deep breath. “Good. Well, I can accept that.” A pause. “When's this likely to happen?”

“When I finally get up the nerve to do it.”

She chuckled. “Yeah, well, give me warning before you do. So I can get used to the idea too. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“Thanks.” She went back to the exercise book.

He sighed. “It'll be good having them in our lives, I think. Andrea was always fun for me and Anne-Rose to be around. And at least there won't be any awkward complications. Andrea's about the most uncomplicated person I know.”

“Don't I know it,” she agreed ruefully. “Annette's so straightforward you could use her as a ruler.”

He tasted the stew. “Well, what with your superhero activities, it'll be good to have something uncomplicated to deal with around here.”

She stuck out her tongue at him.

<><>​

Max Anders sat in his office, staring at his computer screen. On it, a name stared back at him, on a list of transfers between his subsidiary companies. It was a name he had almost forgotten, but one that brought back memories of a simpler time, a happier time. An infectious laugh, flashing green eyes and a riot of red curly hair. His first true love.

I always wondered how Father managed to make her disappear so completely. He hid her inside Medhall.

She had been the first thing, the first person, he had truly wanted. And his father had taken her away from him. She wasn't a member of the Empire, so she had been deemed to be not a suitable match for him.

Well, now I'm in charge.

And I want her back.


End of Part Six

Part Seven

 

Alea Iacta Est

Part Seven: Sneak Attack

[A/N: The final conversation between Danny and Taylor in the previous chapter has been expanded.]

Max Anders paused when the alert popped up on his computer screen. Clicking the link led him to his email browser, where a new message awaited him. The title was deliberately banal; “Report on Requested Feedback Forms”.

Of course, there were no feedback forms. There was only one thing that he had requested – or rather, ordered – recently that would require such a misleading title. He let a quiver of anticipation run down his spine; this was what he had been waiting for.

Opening the email revealed an attachment, somewhat on the large side. A .zip file, it was labelled in the same manner as the email. He downloaded the file, transferred it to a thumb-drive, then erased all evidence of the email and its contents from his computer. Flipping a switch manually turned off the wi-fi router servicing his office; for the next few minutes, his computer would be utterly unable to access the internet.

Pulling the .zip file from the thumb drive, he opened it; it requested a password, which he duly typed in. Then, and only then, did the contents reveal themselves to him.

The pictures came first. Images of a woman; petite, red-haired, vivacious. Her hair wasn't quite as vivid as he recalled it, nor her figure as slender, but she was definitely the woman he had fallen in love with all those years ago. His surveillance team had been thorough; picture after picture of her, at work, at the park, out shopping, trying on clothes with a teenage girl – wait, what?

He had been skimming through the pictures, drinking in the images, remembering exactly what she had meant to him, what she had been for him, when he ran into the image. A girl, maybe Theo's age, laughing at something Andrea said while they checked themselves out in front of a department store mirror in what were obviously new-bought outfits. Even without the red hair – not quite of Andrea's shade, but still very red, if not quite as curly – the familial resemblance was definitive.

Sister, perhaps? Cousin? But he knew somehow, deep down, that it was neither of those. This girl was Andrea's daughter.

Theo's age.

What his father had done still rankled, even after sixteen years. Tearing down his dreams of a life with Andrea, with just a few harsh words. Bundling her out of Brockton Bay, out of his life.

You don't need that red-haired hussy, Richard Anders had told him. She's not Empire. She's not one of us. The Empire has women in plenty for you to marry and father your children with. All you need to do is pick one. Or I'll pick one for you.

And so he had been introduced to Heith. She had been a little younger than him, a little more unsure of herself. While she was attractive enough, she was no Andrea, but Richard had made matters clear; he would take the cards he was dealt and play his hand.

Heith had made no objection to being matched with the heir apparent to the Empire Eighty-Eight. He would not have expected her to; marrying the second most powerful man in the organisation had its perks, after all. Neither was it a totally unpleasant situation for him; she was pliant to his wishes, the ever-dutiful wife. She fell pregnant almost immediately; their son, Theo, was born within the year.

But the Empire Eighty-Eight was embroiled in conflict, then and later. First Heith was killed and then Allfather himself, leaving Max, as Kaiser, fighting to consolidate the organisation before it fragmented altogether. There were pretenders to the throne, as there always are, but he dealt with them savagely enough that his position was soon secure.

By this time, Andrea Campbell was merely an occasional recollection in the back of his mind. He never quite forgot her, but nor did he think long about her when she did resurface in his thoughts. The truth was, he was simply just too busy to spend time on what-might-have-beens.

However, his fortunes were changing on the generational front. Theo was turning out less than satisfactory, despite all of Max's attempts to coax some personality out of him. Purity had split with him, taking their daughter with her. He knew that he could take Aster back at any time; Kayden knew it too, but he also knew that to play that card would change matters between them, perhaps forever. Nothing would ever be the same again.

Just when it seemed that he was out of options, here was something altogether new. Andrea Campbell, back in town … and she had a child. A girl, yes, less satisfactory than a son, but a child nonetheless. Her mother's strong personality was written all over her face; in the few pictures he had of her, she was laughing, smiling, full of life. Compared to the dull lump that Theo was becoming, this was compelling stuff indeed.

Just one question remained. Fingers rattling on the keyboard, he sent off a very specific set of orders. I need to know.

<><>​

One Week Later

Kayden picked up the phone, then paused. What she was about to do had a very final feel to it. Once I do this, I acknowledge that I'm going to be committing to this team. Drawing a deep breath, she dialled the number.

The phone at the other end rang several times, then the connection went through.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Dinah. This is Kayden. We spoke the other day.”

Dinah's voice was bright and chirpy. “Oh, hi, Kayden! It's good to hear from you. How's the little munchkin?”

Smiling despite herself, Kayden turned to look down at Aster, who was currently playing with her toes. “As adorable as ever,” she said. “Listen, I've been thinking about what we spoke about. I think I need to meet your other members before I make a final decision.”

“That's fair,” Dinah agreed. “So, when would you like to do that?”

“I know this is short notice,” admitted Kayden, “but could it be this evening? I was thinking about what you said about offering babysitter duties and I need to go out to meet with a client. So maybe you and the others could come over and I could meet you all, before I go … ?”

There was a very brief pause. “Uh, there's only one other member, but she's kind of having a social night. But she could bring her friends over, if that's okay? They're pretty cool. They won't make a mess or break stuff.”

Kayden pursed her lips. This was a little bit of a twist that she hadn't been prepared for. On the other hand … “How old are these people? Boys or girls?”

“One boy, two girls. The boy's seventeen, the girls are fifteen and sixteen. The other member of the team is a girl; she's fifteen too.”

“What sort of a social night are we talking about here?”

“Playing a fantasy roleplaying game, actually.”

“What, like, uh, Dungeons and Dragons?” Kayden had never played, but popular culture had made her at least aware of it. Then something else that Dinah had said nudged her. “Wait, you said you only had one other member? You gave me the impression you had more.”

“Yeah, sorry. I did kind of fudge that a bit. But I wasn't lying when I said we were looking to recruit more. There are two others that we've got a good chance to recruit, especially if you come on board.”

Kayden paused. “Wait … you need me to recruit them?”

“Yeah. One's gonna need some serious throw weight to protect her from the asshole who's currently got her under his thumb. The other's gonna need to see a solid team, not just some half-assed mix of no-hopers, before she'll agree to join. And for that, we're gonna need you.”

The situation was rearranging itself in her head. “So you manipulated me.”Anger was growing within her, although somewhat mitigated by the mention of the potential member currently under the thumb of some 'asshole', as Dinah had so eloquently described him. Still … I hate being manipulated.

“Yeah. Sorry. With you on board, we've got an eighty to ninety percent chance of fixing what's wrong with Brockton Bay. Without you? Forty to fifty.”

She was still seething. “I should hang up right now.”

“I wouldn't blame you if you did. But we're still willing to help you with the ABB.”

“ … wait. You meant that bit?”

“Hah, god, yes. Between you and me and our precog, we can make a real start on making the ABB all kinds of sorry. Once we get the other Thinker on board, we can step it up to the next level.”

Kayden felt her anger ebbing. “So … you need me more than you made out, before. But the rest of it's on the level?”

“Absolutely and one hundred percent. Yeah, sure, the team's gonna need you for credibility as well as firepower. That shouldn't really come as a surprise. You'll be the only adult, plus the biggest hitter. But we'll all do our level best to back you up in whatever you do.”

“Hmm.” Kayden's mouth twisted. Is she still manipulating me? She thought about it, then shook her head. Max manipulated me for years. This doesn't feel like that. Besides … “This roleplaying game thing. It's a social situation, you say?”

Dinah adjusted quickly to the change in topic. “Sure. I don't play much, but I have fun when I do.”

“Could other people do it, or is it already closed off?”

“Oh, uh, other people could join, sure. Why, are you thinking of trying it out?”

Kayden snorted. “No, I think I'm too old for that sort of thing. But I have a stepson who's around that age. He might be interested.”

“Sure, the more the merrier. They're always willing to show a newbie how to play.”

“They won't tease him for getting stuff wrong?” She had heard that some computer game cliques did that. Which reminded her. “Does he need his own computer?”

“Oh, no, no, no. This isn't a computer thing.”

“What, really?”

“No, it's tabletop. Pencil, paper and dice.”

“Oh.” Kayden felt her heart sink slightly. “I don't think he's got any dice.”

“Pfft, that's not a problem. Nor did Taylor when she joined. He'll get loaned some and then if he wants to keep playing, he can get his own.”

“But you're sure he'll be welcome.”

“I will personally make certain of it.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“That's okay. When should we turn up?”

“As early as possible in the evening would be good. Does any of you have experience baby-sitting?”

The slightest pause. “Yeah, Kay's done it before. She's pretty good at it.”

“And you won't get engrossed in the game and forget to keep an eye on Aster?”

“Hah, if I know these guys, they'll have her rolling dice by the end of the night.”

The mental image made Kayden smile for just a moment. “Just don't let her put any in her mouth. She might choke on them.”

“I'll set my power to the job of 'babysitting Aster' for the night. She's gonna be the most comprehensively cared for child in Brockton Bay.”

“Oh. You can do that?”

“It's a job. My power can handle it.”

“Oh. Well. I'll see you when you get here, then.”

“See you then.”

Kayden put the phone down, then paused. I never told her my address.

She sighed. Thinkers.

<><>​

“So hey, Taylor. Got Dinah's message. Why are we gaming here tonight?”

Taylor looked around at Cameron as she got out of the car. “Babysitting,” she lied concisely. “Dinah got me the job, but tonight's game night so she asked if we could have the game over here instead.”

“Plus, the lady's got a stepson,” Dinah added, climbing out of the car after Taylor. “Apart from the one Taylor's gonna be babysitting. About you guys' age. She said he might like to join the game.”

“Wait, so she's good with us gaming at her place, with her kid, while Taylor's babysitting her other kid?” Kay's expression was one of bemusement.

Dinah shrugged. “'S what she said.”

“Well, this should be fun.” Where anyone else's voice would have been resigned, Annette's was full of enthusiasm. “Wonder what he'll want to play?” She bounced on her toes.

Andrea gave her a fond look. “Well, why don't we just find out? Cameron, Kay, got your stuff?”

“Sure thing, Ms C,” Cameron told her, hefting his backpack on to his shoulder. “And thanks again for the lift.”

“Pfft, it's nothing.” She gave him a grin. “Annette has fun at your games, so making sure you all get there on time is a good thing.”

Danny cleared his throat. “So, where are we going from here?”

Dinah checked a piece of paper. “This way.” She led the way toward a nearby apartment building.

<><>​

Theo had the TV turned down low so as not to disturb Aster; he had fed the baby while Kayden put the final touches on his dinner, a large pan of lasagne. While he appreciated it – he rather liked lasagne – he was beginning to wonder exactly how much she thought he needed to eat. I'm not that fat, am I?

He was still mulling on that when he heard the door buzzer go.

“Theo, get that, will you?” Kayden called from the kitchen.

“Okay,” he agreed readily enough. Getting up from the sofa, he headed for the door and pressed the intercom button. “Who is it?” he asked.

“Hi, my name's Dinah. Could you tell your stepmom we're here?”

Theo frowned. The voice sounded like a girl. Not one he knew; he certainly didn't know anyone called Dinah. And who was 'we'?

“Hello? Theo, are you there?”

He blinked. She knows my name? How does she know my name? “Oh, uh, yeah. Okay, I'll tell her.”

Puzzled, he headed into the kitchen. “Uh, it's someone called Dinah.”

“Oh, good, she's here.” Kayden smiled at his look of confusion. “It's okay. I've just arranged for some people your age to come over and help you babysit. They play one of those Dungeons and Dragons games. If you're interested, you could join in.”

His confusion only increased. “What? I've never needed help baby-sitting before. What's going on here?”

Studying his expression, she sighed. “Okay. It's a cape thing. But I don't think most of them know about it. They're just here for the game, all right?”

At the phrase 'cape thing', he relaxed. Growing up in the Empire Eighty-Eight, he was aware from an early age that most of his close relatives were capes, and that sometimes things got a little confusing in the name of cape business. A bunch of kids coming over to help him babysit Aster and play some game or other didn't even trip the radar on his personal weird-shit-o-meter.

“Yeah, sure, okay, I can do that.” He paused. “Dungeons and Dragons?”

“Apparently they play it.” She shrugged. “Have you ever …?”

“Uh, no.” He spread his hands. “I doubt my father would even allow something like that in the front door.”

“You may just be right,” she agreed. “Well, if you're interested, now's your chance to learn. But you might want to go let them in at some point.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah.” Hustling back to the door buzzer, he blurted, “Sorry about the wait,” and pressed the button to open the door downstairs.

“They're on their way up,” he called back to the kitchen, softly so as to not wake Aster.

“Good,” she said. “Just remember, this is not a reflection on you as a baby-sitter. That's just the excuse.”

“Thanks, Kayden.” He meant it; his father had long had a habit of belittling any effort he made to assert himself; he had once referred to it in Theo's hearing as 'character building', but Theo personally wondered whose character was supposed to being built, here. Kayden, on the other hand, was nice to him. Considerate.

As her stepson, he didn't think she actually liked him all that much – to be constantly reminded of your ex-husband's previous wife could not be a good thing – but she had a maternal streak a mile wide and thus she could not help but care for him. For his part, he appreciated the baby-sitting job, giving him the opportunity to get out from under his father's thumb for the evening and sometimes the weekend. He wasn't sure if he'd ever see Kayden as his mother, but he liked her for herself. And Aster, of course, was just adorable.

When the knock came at the door, he opened it, then involuntarily stepped back. Five kids of varying age, as well as two adults, were crowded into the corridor; he felt a little panic rising. I'm not good with people, especially not this many.

“Hi!” the girl at the front greeted him brightly. She was younger than him by a few years, he estimated absently. Long straight dark hair framed a face that was cute now and would be pretty in a few years. “I'm Dinah. You must be Theo.”

He blinked. “I, uh … hi?”

Kayden rescued him. “Come on in,” she called out, bustling through from the kitchen. “Dinah, thank you for coming.”

Oh, good, Kayden knows them. With a profound sense of relief, Theo stepped aside to let his stepmother deal with the visitors. Maybe I can hide in my room with a book …

“Well, someone had to show Taylor where your place was,” Dinah was saying to Kayden. “Taylor, this is Mrs, uh …”

“Russell,” Kayden put in. “Ms Russell.”

Huh. I knew she had split with my father, but she's using her maiden name and all. It must be serious. Theo didn't know what to think about that.

“Ms Russell, okay. This is Taylor Hebert. She's gonna be doing the baby-sitting tonight. And we're gonna help,” Dinah finished with a grin.

“Wow,” remarked the red-haired girl who had entered with the rest of them. As she spoke, she looked around the apartment with a bright and interested eye; something about her struck Theo as being vaguely familiar, although he couldn't quite pick it out. “This kid's gonna be the most baby-sat rug-rat in Brockton Bay.” Despite Theo's efforts to fade into the background, she stepped toward him. “Hi, I'm Annette. Theo, right?” She held out her hand.

“I, uh, yes,” he agreed, shaking her hand. Her grip was firm; the attention she was giving him was almost daunting. It was as if she had decided that he was the most interesting person there. Which has never happened before, in a good way anyway. “How, uh, how are you?”

Her smile lit up the whole room. “I'm just great, Theo, thanks for asking.” She pointed at the other teenagers. “That's Cam, Kay and the skinny one is Taylor.”

Cam was tall, broad-shouldered and had dark blond hair; he looked to be a couple of years older than Theo. Kay was maybe sixteen, quietly pretty with long black hair held back in a scrunchie. Taylor was definitely skinny, possibly Theo's age, with round-lensed glasses, long curly dark hair and a wide smile.

Theo found himself once more on the back foot. He simply wasn't used to being the centre of attention among his peers, unless it was as the butt of some joke. But the expressions weren't cynical or malicious.

Behind Annette, the two adults had finished introducing themselves to Kayden; he hadn't heard either of their names, but he guessed he would find them out, sooner or later. “So yeah,” Dinah said to Kayden. “Does Aster have any special needs that Taylor needs to know about?”

Despite his current distraction, Theo recognised that as cape code for you need to talk to Taylor in private. Apparently, Kayden got the message loud and clear; she nodded and turned to Taylor. “Come into the kitchen for a moment, please?”

“Sure thing, Ms Russell,” Taylor agreed; she followed Kayden out of the room.

“Okay then,” Dinah announced. “Theo, got a question for you. Have you ever played pencil and paper roleplaying games?”

Theo blinked as everyone turned to look at him again. He was well used to being silently judged by members of Empire Eighty-Eight, with the wordless commentary being along the lines of he'll never measure up to his old man, but this was a different kind of scrutiny; less condemnation, more curiosity. “I, uh … no …?”

“Okay, that's fine. Everyone's gotta learn sometime. Cam, you brought the books, right?”

“I did,” the older boy declared, slapping his backpack. Despite himself, Theo perked up slightly. Books? I can relate to books.

“Excellent,” Dinah told him. “Get 'em out. Kay, you're better at explaining things to people. Try and figure out what Theo would enjoy playing. Annette, you brought extra dice, right?”

“Well, duh,” the red-haired girl said cheerfully. “Let me guess, get them out so I can explain the difference between two d-ten and percentile, right?”

“Exactly.” Dinah grinned at her. “Just don't get the metal d-twenty out, okay? That tabletop looks like it could dent.”

Annette rolled her eyes and grinned back. “Spoilsport. When I roll that die, everything gets out of the way.”

“Including other dice, furniture and small household pets,” Cam interjected, pulling books from his backpack. “So, Theo, have you ever read -”

“Shush, sweetie,” Kay reproved him gently. “We both know I'm better at explaining things. You'll just confuse the poor guy.”

“And you've got no idea about what's going on, do you?” Annette said. Her expression was sympathetic; he got the impression that she really did understand.

“Uh, yeah, nope,” he agreed.

Dinah turned to the tall skinny man who had come in with the others. Balding, with glasses and a weak chin, he didn't look like much. Theo metaphorically shook himself. That's what my father would think of him. I am not my father.

“Uh, Mr Hebert, you're the old-school gamer here, right? How about you help out?”

“Right then,” the man stated. “Come on, Theo, take a seat and I'll give you a quick run-down.” He suited action to word while the petite red-headed woman – surely Annette's mother, given the resemblance – stood back, watching everything with a grin on her face.

Cautiously, Theo sat down beside him. “Okay, what am I looking at?”

“Right then.” Mr Hebert cleared his throat. “This is an interactive game. Those rulebooks explain how to make up the character you're going to be playing in the setting. Cameron, you're the game master?”

“Usually,” the tall blond boy replied. “Unless Annette takes a turn.”

“And then the game takes a turn for the silly,” Kay added. Annette stuck her tongue out at her. “Hey, nothing wrong with silly. I laughed so hard I fell out of my chair, the last time.”

“Anyway,” Mr Hebert went on. “You have the game master, who runs the game and describes the universe around you. He's got books that give him information on how to do it, but he'll be mainly running it out of his head. If he wants something to happen, that something will happen. With me so far?”

Theo was very familiar with this sort of concept. Like my father on a typical day. “Sure.”

“What your character can do is put down on your character sheet,” Kay added helpfully, holding up a piece of paper covered in arcane scribblings. “Your name, what he or she is in the game, what you can do and what you currently own.”

Theo took it and looked at it. He frowned as he looked at the top line. “So your name in the game isn't the same as it is in real life?”

“Oh god no,” Annette chuckled. “You can call yourself anything in-game.”

“Within reason,” Cameron amended.

“For instance, Princess Frilly-pants is right out,” agreed Kay. “Isn't that right, Annette?”

“Still think you two are total spoilsports,” Annette said, grinning broadly. “She was a princess and she did wear frilly pants.”

“Yes,” Cameron replied patiently, “but it might have helped if she didn't try to seduce every man she met.”

Annette's grin turned into a smirk. “I still think you were unfair in not giving me more of a chance to succeed. I rolled awesomely against that high elf lord that one time.”

Kay rolled her eyes. “She was a half-ogre, Annette.”

“And?”

“You were in chains at the time. In his dungeon. About to be whipped for trying to steal his jewelled family crest.”

Annette's eyes were dancing with mischief. “Hey, some guys are turned on by whips and chains. I figured I had half a chance.”

“Moving right along,” Danny interjected before Theo's brain could seize up altogether. “You've got the game master. You've got the rulebooks, which will incidentally help you make up your character. And you've got the dice.”

On cue, Annette opened the drawstrings on a large velvet bag and upended it on the table. Multi-coloured polyhedrons bounced and clattered across the wooden surface. Theo stared at several of them as they came to rest before him. “I've heard of these things,” he admitted. “They're not like normal dices.”

“Nope,” Annette agreed. “These are much cooler. Gamer dice. So much fun to play with.” Expertly, she picked out several of different shapes and displayed them on her palm. “Okay, quick notes here. One die, several dice. But instead of saying 'six-sided die' we just say 'd'. Like 'd-six'. Okay?”

Theo blinked at her rapid-fire delivery. “Okay, sure. Die, dice. D-six. Got it.”

Annette grinned at him. “Great. Doing well so far. We've got the d-four, the d-six – same shape as your ordinary mundane Monopoly dice, and in fact you can use those instead if you have to – the d-eight, the d-ten, d-twelve and d-twenty.” By way of illustration, she rolled the last one, which seemed to have far too many sides. It bounced on the table, then came up showing the number 17. “Darn. I was hoping to get a natural twenty. That would have been awesome.”

Theo eyed the d-twenty and picked it up. Turning it over, he inspected the numbers. “So how will I know what, uh, dice to roll at any time?”

“It'll be on your character sheet,” Cameron advised him. “You'll figure it out pretty quickly.”

“Now, there's one wrinkle with dice I'm gonna have to show you,” Annette said, handing him a pair of them “See if you can tell me what's different about them.”

Theo examined them carefully, turning the pieces of molded plastic over in his hand. The first thing he registered was that they were the same colour, a pale green with yellow flecks. Then he noted that they were a weird shape, not as regular as the others, with a distinct point on each end. Still, he was beginning to think that they were identical, until he noticed something odd about the numbering on them. “Hey, that one's got ten, twenty, thirty on it while this one's one, two, three. Why is that?”

“Well done. Because if you roll them together, you can generate a number from one to a hundred.” Annette's expression was pleased, as though she was proud of him. It was an odd feeling. “Go ahead, roll them.”

<><>​

Taylor watched Kayden – Ms Russell – as she closed the kitchen door then leaned up against the counter, arms folded. The petite woman – Taylor realised that she was actually taller than Aster's mother – eyed her for a long moment.

Obscurely aware that this was some sort of test, Taylor didn't fidget or blurt out the first thing that came to mind. Instead, she waited, only moving to hitch the backpack up on to her shoulder.

“So, you're the precog.” Ms Russell may have been commenting on the weather. So, it might rain tomorrow.

Taylor jerked her head in what might have been a nod. “Uh, yes, ma'am.”

Ms Russell eyed her. “Show me. Make a prediction.”

“I, uh, need dice. Or something.”

A frown. “What?”

Taylor cleared her throat. “I need to roll dice or flip a coin or something similar. It's how my power expresses. I can't just make the prediction.”

There were several slow blinks as Ms Russell digested this, then she looked toward the door into the living room. “Meanwhile, out there, they're playing a game which involves specialised types of dice. Please explain this coincidence to me.” Her expression had no give in it whatsoever. I guess she really wants to make sure we're serious and not trying to play her.

“I, uh, discovered my power just around Christmas.” She took a deep breath, trying to order her thoughts. “Flipping coins, actually. But Dad used to play those games and he got out his old dice. I found out I could do some pretty good predictions with them. They even got me out of Winslow and into Arcadia when they predicted trouble for me.”

“And what does this have to do with what's going on out there?” Ms Russell's tone had eased only slightly.

“Well, at Arcadia, I met Annette, who spotted my dice bag. She games, so she recognised it and introduced me to the other guys. We play regularly. Tonight's our game night.”

Ms Russell rubbed her lower lip. “All right. Tell me how your power works.”

Taylor shrugged. “I can roll dice or flip coins to answer questions. That's the really short version.”

“A slightly longer version, please.” Ms Russell's voice was sharp. “One that includes how Dinah knew things she shouldn't.”

“Oh, uh, Dad got me alphabet dice. So I can ask for verbal answers instead of just percentile chances. And I can also make dice or other things land where I toss them, or make them land the way I want. But not both. Dad says it must be a power thing.”

Ms Russell frowned. “Please demonstrate.”

Taylor took the bag from her shoulder and unzipped it to get her dice-bag out, then shook out a couple of the dice into her hand; one six-sided, the other eight-sided. “Seven.” She threw the d8. It landed, of course, on seven. The next die was a d6. “On top of the d8.” Tossing it casually, she watched it land neatly on the other die.

“Impressive.” Ms Russell picked up the dice and examined them, then rolled them experimentally. They came up three and eight. “You can do this with anything?”

“Anything I can toss,” Taylor amended. “Lightly, with just enough force to get it there.”

“How about weapons? Can you throw them to hit whatever part of the target you want?”

Taylor shook her head. “I can toss things lightly. We tried with darts. I'm no better than anyone else with those.”

“But you could theoretically drop things on top of people.”

“Well, yeah, but that would require a fairly specific set of circumstances,” Taylor agreed.

“How about electronic random number generators?”

“Uh, no. I need to physically have contact with the thing I'm tossing. Some level of control.”

Ms Russell nodded slowly. “Very well. How about an actual prediction now?”

“Sure.” Taylor emptied the rest of the dice into her hand, then selected three d10s. “Think of a number between one and a thousand.”

“Thinking of it.”

Taylor tossed the dice on to the kitchen counter and then covered them with her hand. “What was the number?”

“Seven hundred and thirty-two.”

Taylor lifted her hand; two of the dice read 'seven' and 'three'. The third was sitting on 'five', but the movement of her hand rolled it on to a two. “Seven three two, right there.”

Ms Russell blinked. “I was going to go with seven thirty-five but I changed my mind. How did you do that?”

“My power handles the heavy lifting,” Taylor said with a shrug. “I just make the rolls. I have no idea how it works.”

“How much information can you get?” Ms Russell picked up one of the d10s and examined it carefully. “What are your limitations?”

“Well, I can't find out anything that I wouldn't have been able to learn without tossing the dice,” Taylor told her frankly. “And whatever information comes up presumes that I'm not going to be tossing the dice again. Also, if the fact of my rolling changes the information I'm rolling to find out, I don't get a meaningful roll; my hand cramps up instead.”

Ms Russell nodded. “So we don't let anyone know we have a precog on the team. That sounds like a relatively easy way to disable you.”

“It goes away after a bit, but it still hurts when it happens,” Taylor agreed. “But if it's information that's set in stone, or will be set in stone when it happens, and I'd find out some other way anyway, then yeah, I can pull it up for you. Down to the fractions of a percentile, if I feel like it. And if I ask the right questions, in the right order, then I can find out more information.”

“That sounds … very useful. Very useful indeed.” Ms Russell handed the d10 back to Taylor. “You mentioned alphabet dice. What are your limitations there?”

“Okay, give me a second.” Taylor rummaged in the backpack, then came out with the box containing the alphabet dice. “I've been meaning to make a bag for these too, but I haven't had the time yet.” She kept talking while putting the other dice back in the dicebag, which she left on the counter. “Dad got these for me online. They're fairly large, so I can't hold many at once.”

Opening the box, she demonstrated, pulling out four of the dice and showing how they just barely fit into her hand.

“And with these you can garner verbal information rather than numerical?”

It wasn't really a question, but Taylor treated it as one anyway. “Yeah. My power abbreviates as much as it can, but I can understand it because, you know, it's me. But if I have to use more than eight or twelve letters, it tends to trail off. So I have to keep it short and sweet.”

“Have you considered using something like Scrabble tiles?” asked Ms Russell. “Surely you could fit more of them into your hand.”

“Yeah, but I can't guarantee on having the letters I need,” Taylor said. “With alphabet dice, I can.”

“So make me a prediction with them,” Ms Russell proposed.

“Such as?”

Ms Russell considered. “Is there likely to be trouble with Kaiser?”

Taylor winced. “Yeah, that's a biggie. You want a yes or no answer, or percentile?”

“Yes or no answer.” She indicated the alphabet dice. “I want to see how those go.”

Taylor rolled; the dice clattered on the countertop. They came up YES.

“Oh shit.” She looked at Ms Russell. “This could be bad.”

“Not necessarily. I can talk to him, make sure he knows that we're not going to go head to head with the Empire.” Ms Russell pointed at the dice bag. “Can you get a percentile chance of trouble between this team and the Empire Eighty-Eight if I do that?”

“I can try.” Taylor dug out all five d10s and rolled them.

Ms Russell eyed the results askance. “I can't tell if it's good or bad.”

Taylor, on the other hand, smiled. “It's good. Three point six one nine two percent chance that there will be trouble between the Empire Eighty-Eight and our team if you explain that to them.”

“Less than four percent? Good. Excellent.” Ms Russell breathed a slight sigh of relief. “Well, I think we dodged a bullet there.”

“Yeah, wow. I'm so glad you thought to ask about that. I was under the impression that you and the Empire weren't even working together any more.”

That earned her a grimace. “Trust me, once you're in Kaiser's ambit, if he decides that you're someone he wants to keep around, he'll go far beyond what's normally considered reasonable to keep hold of you. Even if it's not what you want. Ruthlessness is his stock in trade.”

“And he still let you go?”

“Not too far.” Ms Russell indicated the door, and the living room beyond, with a tilt of her head. “He's made sure that he can have Aster taken away from me with one phone call. And if I go too overtly against his wishes, he will. Which is why I'm treading very carefully indeed around this idea.”

“Oh. Wow.” Taylor considered that. “That could be really, really bad.”

“To say the least.” Ms Russell's mouth set in a hard line. “Aster is my life. I won't do anything that has even a remote chance of me losing her.”

“Ah.” Taylor raised a finger. “With our plans as they are right now, what are the chances of anything taking Aster away from you?” Before Ms Russell could comment, she rolled the dice. As they clattered to a halt, she watched, her heart in her mouth.

“Well?” The older woman's voice was almost hushed.

Taylor's smile was broad and heartfelt. “Two point one three eight four percent.”

“And your predictions are exactly that accurate?”

A shrug. “Dad had me roll on the chances of a heads or tails for a series of coin flips. It was actually slightly off the fifty-fifty chance and my prediction showed that.”

“Well, that's a huge relief.” Ms Russell smiled for the first time since entering the kitchen. “I really have to go now, but I'm glad we spoke. I will admit that I had reservations about teaming up with, well, middle-schoolers, but you've impressed me. Both of you have.”

“Good.” Taylor tried not to heave a sigh of relief; she didn't point out that she wasn't actually in middle school. “I know that as kids, we're likely to have a credibility problem. Plus, I'm not in any way a front-line anything. Nor, truth be told, is Dinah.”

“But you're aiming to get more members in?”

“Yeah.” Taylor nodded. “If you join, that'll help our chances of recruiting the others considerably. I ran the numbers and there's no doubt about it.”

“Well, just so long as your numbers can help me clean up the ABB from this town, I don't mind who you recruit,” Ms Russell told her warmly. Opening the oven, releasing a waft of fragrant steam, she pulled out a large pan of lasagne. “Just by the way, I made this for you all. Do you and your friends like lasagne?”

Taylor grinned. “Signs point to yes.”

<><>​

“Okay, so now you add your Dexterity bonus to that number for your Reflex save.” Annette tapped her fingernail on the character sheet.

“Ah, right.” Theo was already scribbling in the space provided. “I see how it works. And my, uh, Wisdom bonus to that number there for my Will saving throw, right?”

“Right, exactly.” She ruffled his hair playfully. “You're a natural at this.”

He flushed, ducking his head slightly. “It's all pretty easy to figure out.”

Danny smiled tolerantly as he watched the byplay. “Still, some people never figure out even the basics. I remember one guy, we had to explain what THAC0 meant, every single game. He just never got it.”

Kay frowned. “What's THAC0?”

“Wasn't it something like BAB, only different?” asked Cameron.

“Possibly,” Danny hedged, only having the vaguest idea as to what BAB was. “It was a number that you calculated for your character, that you had to roll to hit Armour Class zero.”

“That can't be right,” objected Taylor. “Armour Class starts at ten and goes up from there, right?”

“Ah, we did it differently back in the day,” Danny said. He opened his mouth to say more, but at that moment, the kitchen door opened, releasing the odours of freshly-cooked food into the room.

“Wow,” Annette breathed. “That smells awesome.”

“It does,” Taylor agreed. “It really does.”

“This is for you kids,” Kayden stated as she placed the pan of lasagne in the centre of the table. “Theo knows where the plates and cutlery are. And it'll be nice if one of you can help him wash up after.”

“Oh, I think we can manage that,” Dinah remarked cheerfully; Taylor elbowed her surreptitiously.

“Good,” Kayden said. “I've got to go now. Taylor, if you have any problems with Aster, ask Theo for help; he's done this all before.”

“Okay, no worries,” Taylor replied promptly.

“I suppose it would probably be a good idea for us to go too,” Andrea prompted Danny. “After all, the idea of having a baby-sitter is so the adults can go do their thing.”

Annette nodded; cheekily, she made a shooing motion toward her mother. “Yeah, go on, get out of here. We got this.”

Danny glanced at Taylor and she nodded in agreement. “Trust me, Dad. We're good.”

“Okay then,” he said. “We'll be back in a few hours to pick you up.”

As he closed the door behind himself and Annette – Kayden was already ahead of them – he heard Kay saying, “Right, now let's get your Armour Class sorted out …”

Together, they descended the stairs; the sun had set by the time they stepped out on to the street, with dusk spreading over the sky. Kayden gave them a wave as she got into her car; moments later, the engine started and she drove off.

“Well,” Andrea observed brightly.

“Well,” Danny repeated, for want of something better to say.

“They'll be at that for hours,” she pointed out. “Till nine or ten, I think Kayden said.”

“Uh, yeah, she did.” He paused awkwardly. “Did you, uh, want to go and do something?”

“Why, Danny,” she said, giving him a very arch look. “I'm surprised at you. Pleased, but surprised.”

He felt his cheeks heating. “I, uh, meant a movie or something. Or coffee. Or a movie then coffee,” he blurted. “Not that.”

“Ah.” Slowly, she sighed; for perhaps the first time, possibly due to a trick of the light, he saw her age on her face, along with a little sadness. “Maybe I came on too fast for you. You've had time to grow up, to mature. I gotta say, there's not that many guys that like me – and I know you like me – that have turned me down. But hey, I can read the writing on the wall. Let's leave sex out of the picture for the time being, okay?” She put her hand on his arm. “We can just talk. If you want. Start fresh.”

Slowly, he nodded. “Yeah. Let's talk.”

“My car or yours?” she asked.

“What?”

She shrugged. “Well, if we're both going to the same place, why waste gasoline?”

With the sense of someone stepping off a tall cliff, he nodded. Her logic was unassailable. “I'll drive.”

She grinned, the usual animation back in her face. “Shotgun.”

“Uh … you're the only one here. You get 'shotgun' automatically.”

“And?”

He rolled his eyes as he dug out his keys. “You'll never change, will you?”

“Darn tootin',” she agreed.

<><>​

Max Anders sat at his ease in the darkened apartment, the two manila envelopes on the sofa beside him and the framed picture on his lap. There would not be long to wait; his sources had told him that she was already on the way back. However, she was not alone.

A minor irritation. Easily dealt with.

His pose was calculated, that of a man in complete control of the situation. He was a man who worked hard at being in control of every situation in which he found himself. Being the leader of the largest cape organisation in the city led to a certain tendency toward being proactive rather than reactive. A week of forward planning, he maintained, was far preferable to a month of scrambling to catch up.

The lock clicked and the front door opened. Andrea's laughing voice became audible; a little throatier than when he had first met her, but still so recognisable that it brought back old memories, one after the other. This was the one thing the surveillance didn't get me.

“- you'd better stand back. I have no idea how big this thing gets!”

“Oh god,” a male voice interjected. “That was worse than my jokes. And Taylor complains about those.”

A switch clicked and the apartment was flooded with light as Andrea entered. She was followed by a tall man, skinny, balding, wearing glasses. Recognition didn't take long; Max prided himself on knowing all of the political movers and shakers in the city. Danny Hebert wasn't much of a mover or shaker, but as a prominent member of the Dockworkers' Association, he had some little influence. Pity he's wasted it all trying to get the ferry up and running again. He's beating a dead horse there.

Andrea turned to face Danny. “Yeah, but it was funny. I saw you smile.”

“Yeah, but I -” It was then that Danny noticed Max as he sat on the sofa. “What? Who the hell are you?” Max saw the frown on his face clear as recognition took over.

Puzzled, Andrea looked around. “Huh? What? Who -” She paused for a long moment. “Wait – Max? Is that you?”

Slowly, feeling the power and the control, Max stood. “Yes, Andrea,” he said softly. “It's me.”

She frowned. “What do you want? What are you doing in my apartment?”

“So sorry for the intrusion,” he murmured, sketching a slight bow. “When I heard that you were back in town, I just had to see you. A slight gratuity to the building superintendent allows me to greet you in style.” Gesturing to the side, he drew her attention to the vase holding a huge bunch of flowers.

“Oh. Oh wow,” she gasped. “Max … really, you shouldn't have.”

“But I really should,” he said. “You can't deny that back when we were last together, we meant something to each other.”

“Well, we had fun, sure,” she admitted. “But I -”

“Then why waste another moment?” He reached into an inside pocket and drew out a set of keys with a label attached. “These are yours.”

Slowly, as if they would bite, she stepped forward and took them. “What are they?”

“Keys to your new apartment,” he explained. “Five minutes from your office.”

“What? But I …” She paused, looking at the label. “Uh, no, it's not.” She frowned. “And this address … I won't be able to afford the rent. Or anywhere near it.”

“Oh, didn't I mention it?” He smiled winningly. “You've been promoted. You'll be working as my executive assistant from now on, in the main Medhall building. With a paycheck to match, of course.”

She paused for a long moment. “But what about your previous assistant? I don't want anyone bumped on my account.”

“Andrea, Andrea, Andrea, you're just as sweet and considerate as I recall,” he said cheerfully. “Nobody's getting bumped anywhere. My current assistant is being moved to bigger and better things, a long overdue promotion. I've just been on the lookout for someone I can trust in his place. And that someone is you.”

She stared at him. “Max,” she implored. “Stop and think for a moment. You don't know me. Sixteen years ago we barely knew each other. You thought I was hot, I thought your pushiness was kinda cute, the spoiled rich kid trying hard to prove he wasn't a spoiled rich kid. But that's no basis for a business arrangement.”

He blinked, then regained his place on the internal script. “That doesn't matter. You won't have to do any more than you're doing now. What matters is that we'll be back together. I wanted you to be a part of my life then. My father can't send you out of town this time. What do you say?”

“So wait, all this is to get back together with me?” She tilted her head. “Just so you can sleep with me again? Hell, asking me out for a date would have worked for that.”

“Long term,” he reminded her. “You and me.” A flickering glance at Hebert. “Nobody else.” And if I catch any other man sniffing around her …

“I … Max, no. I don't do long term.” Andrea spread her hands. “I'm in it for the fun, not for commitment. If there's anything about me you should know, there's that.”

“But …” He could not parse what she was saying. “The apartment. The money. I can send Annette to the most exclusive of private schools. If you want, I can pay for the apartment. All you have to do is say yes.” He held out his hand to her, open, an invitation anyone would take. I win.

The look on her face was not one he had seen from anyone in a very long time; at least, not directed at him. It took him a moment to recognise it.

Pity.

“Max,” she told him softly, stepping forward. “I'm sorry, but I don't go that way. What you're saying you want to do is buy me for sex. I don't have many lines, but that's one that I'll never cross. I'd be happy to see you socially, but I don't do exclusive. I never have.”

Stunned, he watched her drop the keys back into his unresponsive hand. He stared at them and at her. For several long seconds, his brain fought to comprehend exactly what had just happened.

“So I guess I'll stay in my poky little apartment,” she told him with a brave smile, “and do my lower-middle-management job and muddle along as best I can. Thanks for the offer, Max. But I'm going to have to say no.”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Uh, yeah, that's what I said,” she agreed, looking a little confused. “No.” She gestured toward the door. “Uh, I think it might be a good idea for you to leave.”

A deep breath served to clear his head. The carrot's been thrown back at me. Time for the stick, it seems. “No. You misunderstand me. You don't have the option of saying no.”

“Uh, yeah,” Hebert put in. “She does. Free country and all.” He pointed at the door, more forcefully. “And I believe that the lady asked you to leave.”

Another deep breath centred him. “Allow me to ask you a question,” he said, picking up the framed photo he had found on the coffee table. It showed a slightly younger Annette scoring a winning goal in a girls' hockey team. “Is she mine?”

She stared at the picture and then at him. The pause before she answered told him that she knew the truth. “No,” she retorted. “She's mine. Now go, please.”

A faint smile crossing his face, he shook his head. “Sorry, my apologies. That was a trick question.” Picking up one of the envelopes from the sofa, he dropped it on to the table with a slap. “I've already had a DNA check done. I am the father of your child. There's no doubt about it.”

Her jaw dropped. “Wait – what – how -”

His smile broadened. I love the reveal, when they realise just how screwed they are. “Janitorial staff are so very bribable. I blame the economy, myself. Suffice to say that I have had genetic samples procured and checked against my own, and she is indeed my progeny.”

“Okay, so yeah,” she admitted. “I'm still fairly sure that you messed with my pills to get me pregnant. Which, by the way, was a pretty shitty trick. Annette was born after I left Brockton Bay. You're the father. But it doesn't matter. Your dad made me sign all sorts of papers to ensure that I'd never make any claim on you for that sort of thing. You're not the father of record.”

“Paperwork,” he stated flatly, “can be undone with appropriate inducements. But that doesn't even matter. I am provably her natural father. I want my daughter back.”

“Well, you can't have her.”

His sigh was one of strained patience. “This wasn't a request, Andrea. Either you and Annette move into the apartment – or better yet, I have rooms spare at my home – or I take her anyway and we start negotiating visitation rights. For you.”

“No!” she shouted. “You can't take Annette away from me! I'm her mother!”

The second envelope, somewhat thicker, joined the first with a solid thud. “The weight of evidence in here,” he observed coldly, “could get you declared an unfit mother in any court I cared to name. In fact, one phone call from me is all that is needed to set that exact train of events into motion. Now, you can lose custody of our daughter or you can move in willingly with me. It's your choice.”

“Now wait just a minute,” Hebert began. He stepped forward, fists clenched. “You might be rich, Anders, but you leave Andrea alone or I'll -”

Max barely glanced at him. “Back off, Hebert. Better yet, get out. I never want to see you near Andrea again.”

Goaded by the carefully chosen words and the sneering tone, Hebert stepped in and swung a punch. It wasn't a very expert one; despite his father's long-ago reputation on the docks as an all-in brawler, Danny Hebert had not apparently inherited the old man's prowess.

Max, on the other hand, had taken boxing lessons at his father's insistence; his experiences as Kaiser had merely honed his fighting skills. He blocked the clumsy punch and returned one to the point of Hebert's jaw. Danny Hebert went down like a felled tree, crashing to the carpet and sprawling limply on to his back. His glasses, jolted free of his face, skidded across the floor. He lay there, dazed and groaning, while Max looked dispassionately down upon him. Surreptitiously, he worked his hand; Hebert's jaw had been harder than it looked.

“Hebert,” he stated coldly, “if you ever try that again, I will ensure that you lose your job, your house and everything you care about. I can do it. I will do it. Don't push me.”

“Leave him alone, you bastard!” Andrea shouted, pushing him from the side. Surprised, he staggered, then recovered himself. She came at him again; he caught her wrists. She tried to knee him in the testicles; he interposed his thigh, just in time.

“Stop,” he grated. Squeezing her wrists, he leaned his weight on her, forcing her to her knees. Pain twisted her face and she stopped struggling. “Better,” he murmured, easing up on the pressure.

She stared at him, panting. “What do you want from me?” she demanded.

“I thought I'd made that clear,” he replied, as urbanely as he could manage. “If I let you up, will you cease attempting to assault me?”
She took a deep breath. “Okay.”

Slowly, wary of treachery, he let her up, releasing her wrists. She made no move against him, rubbing her wrists carefully. “Just go,” she told him. “I won't call the police or anything. Just go.”

He chuckled warmly. “Andrea, seriously. The police in this city are a joke. I'm a regular contributor to their benevolent fund, and I have an army of lawyers at my beck and call. In the very unlikely event that it actually went to court and you won, I could appeal you into bankruptcy, very quickly indeed. In addition, in very quick succession, you would lose your job, your apartment, custody of Annette, and Mr Hebert here would lose … well, everything.” He shrugged, the very image of magnanimity. “I don't want to do it, but you've exhausted all the other avenues. So we can go down that road, but I do want you to be aware of the consequences.”

“But I don't understand,” she pleaded. “Why? Why this? Why me? You can have any woman you want. And why Annette?”

His lips thinned at the memory. “I had you. I wanted you. You were taken away from me. I want you back. And Annette is my daughter. My daughter. It's just that simple.” Danny was groaning and beginning to sit up; Max glanced at him and decided that he was no threat. “Now are you going to come with me, or do matters have to get unpleasant?”

Andrea hesitated. “I -”

“Andrea.” His voice was compassionate, warm, caring. “Please. I don't want to have to do any of this. But if you don't do as I ask, well, I'll have no choice.” By way of illustration, he indicated the photo of Annette.

“So that's how it is,” she retorted bitterly. “I do exactly as you say, or you destroy me and Danny both. That's not a choice at all.”

“No,” he agreed. “It's really not. So, do we have an agreement?”

He watched her expression change, saw the moment that she faced the truth of what was going on. Her grimace was pained as she drew a deep breath, then nodded. “Okay. I agree. I'll go with you. On one condition.”

Impressed by her nerve, even now, he raised an eyebrow. “I don't believe I left any contingency for you to make conditions.”

She looked him straight in the eye. “It's a really simple one. You leave Danny alone. You want me, you got me. But no matter what happens, Danny's out of this.”

It wasn't exactly earth-shattering; he nodded. “Very well. Mr Hebert is out of this. Just as soon as you tell him, to his face, that you never want to see him again.” His tone sharpened. “If he contacts you, or you contact him, your condition is null and void.”

She went over to Hebert, picked up his glasses and handed them back to him. Slowly, clumsily, the skinny man climbed to his feet, with what assistance she could give him. “Andrea?” he asked. “Are you okay?”

Max saw her bite her lip. “Yeah. I'm fine, Danny,” she choked out.

“Go ahead,” Max prompted. “Tell him.”

Andrea took a deep breath. “I – I want you to go, Danny. I don't want you to see me again, or contact me. It – it's better for both of us. You do understand, right?”

Hebert looked at her, then at Max. Comprehension crossed his face. “You bastard,” he whispered.

“One more outburst like that and I will be taking measures on my own account,” Max stated flatly. “You heard the lady. Get out.”

For a long moment, Max thought Hebert was going to try something anyway. Then he turned toward the door.

"Danny." Andrea's voice stopped him. He turned back toward her.

"Andrea?"

There were tears in her eyes. “Danny. Please. Just remember that the sex we had was never serious. It was only ever fun. Just that. Fun.”

"The sex?" Hebert looked confused. "But ..."

Andrea shook her head. "Go. Just go."

The door closed behind Max's rival. Triumph swelled in his chest. One down, one to go.


End of Part Seven

Part Eight

 

Alea Iacta Est

Part Eight: Boss Fight

[A/N: the scene between Danny, Kaiser and Andrea at the end of the last chapter has been altered slightly.]

Danny

Danny stumbled out toward his car. It was overcast; a cool breeze lifted pieces of scrap paper from the gutter. His head was still ringing and his jaw aching from the punch, but that wasn't his main concern. Where his thoughts were focused was on the apartment he had just left.

The cool night air cleared his head a little, but it wasn't enough to temper his anger over what just happened. Max Anders had Andrea, and he would stop at nothing to get his hands on Annette. It pained him, knowing that he couldn't do a damn thing to help Andrea, but that didn't mean Annette would have to share her mother's fate. If he went to her right now and warned her, got her to stay with Kurt and Lacey or one of the other Dockworkers, it could buy them some time to sort this issue out.

As he got up to the car, he was struck by another thought, about what Andrea had told him. It puzzled him: he never had sex with her, so it made him wonder why she would say that. Was it to make Anders jealous? To make him reject her? The first reason didn't seem very 'Andrea' to him, and the second had been very clumsily handled, if that was her intent. Either way, Max had ignored her words.

He obviously knows she's had many sexual partners. He just doesn't intend for her to have anyone else apart from him, from now on.

He was just reaching into his pocket for his keys when it registered on him that the car was sitting a little lower than normal. Stepping back, he looked at the front driver's side tyre. It was flat.

“Crap,” he groaned. “This, with everything else?”

What a lousy stroke of luck, he told himself as he went around to the trunk. But then, on the way, he glanced at the rear tyre. It was also flat. A quick circuit of the car told him that all four tyres were in the same condition. There was no way that this could be a coincidence.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He slumped against the side of the car, about ready to give up altogether. Max had my tyres slashed so I couldn't go for help. I can't go anywhere. I can't help Andrea. I'm fucking useless.

After a few moments, he became aware of a lump prodding him in the ribs. That's funny. I'm pretty sure I didn't put anything in my jacket pocket. Reaching into the pocket, he located the offending item. This turned out to be solid and rectangular; specifically, a cell-phone.

What the hell is a phone doing in my pocket?

It actually took several moments for the realisation to filter through to him. Andrea put it there, while she was helping me up. Thinking back, he could actually recall her brushing him down; it must have been then that she slipped her phone into his pocket. A line from one of Taylor's favourite Earth Aleph movies came to mind: Clever girl.

With a phone, he could call Annette and warn her. If her number was on there. And if the phone wasn't PIN-locked. He hit the power button. The screen powered up, then a message formed. Please enter your PIN.

His heart sank. What the heck would Andrea use for this? I used to know her, but it's been more than fifteen years. My life's changed and so has hers.

He shook his head. “She wouldn't have given it to me if I couldn't figure out the PIN for myself,” he muttered. “Okay, think. What does she know about me that she's certain that I can work this out?”

There's only one thing I have in common with her, really. Taking a deep breath, he tapped in four digits. Anne-Rose's birthday. It has to be.

The phone beeped, rejecting the code. A polite message popped up. PIN error. You have 5 more attempts.

“Crap,” he muttered. “Crap crap craaaap.” Maybe I'm not supposed to even open the phone. Maybe I'm supposed to give it to Annette?

“No,” he answered himself out loud. “That doesn't make any sense.” He eyed the keypad. Letters decorated it as well as numbers. “Hm. What if ...”

Carefully, he pecked out 2-6-6-3. “A … N … N … E,” he mumbled. Her daughter and her old girlfriend in one. Again, the phone beeped. PIN error. You have 4 more attempts.

Closing his eyes tightly, he jammed the heel of his hand against his forehead. I can get this. I have to get this. Arrgh. Maybe it's Annette's birthday? But I don't know that, and Andrea knows it. Maybe it's Andrea's birthday? With a sense of dwindling hope, he entered the four digits, hesitating on the last button. Eleventh or twelfth? I could never remember. Grimacing, he pressed '2'.

PIN error. You have 3 more attempts.

“Come on, come onnn,” he told himself. Maybe it's the eleventh. Four more digits; this time, he ended with a '1'.

PIN error. You have 2 more attempts.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “Fuck fuck fuuuuck. I suck at this.” The phone continued to taunt him with its message.

Abruptly, he shoved it into his pocket and pulled out his keys. Opening the car door, he climbed in, trying to relax into the seat. Closing his eyes, he did his best to recall the conversation they'd had on the way over. Nothing jumped out, but he recalled the other thing that had puzzled him. Why did she say we'd had sex?

His eyes slammed open. “Wait a minute,” he muttered, scrabbling for the phone. “Wait a son of a bitching minute.” He eyed the keypad, thinking out loud. “Sex is a three letter word. You'd fill in the space with a zero. O-kay then.” Taking a deep breath, he tapped in the code. 7-3-9-0. “S … E … X … zero.”

Beep. PIN error. You have 1 more attempts.

“No,” he growled. “No, no, no no. It's gotta be it. Okay, not sex-zero. Sex-one? Sexy one? Maybe 'sexy' is the PIN?” Almost, he tried that, then he restrained himself. “No, wait, I'm missing something. Sex-two? Sex-three? Sex-four? Sex-six? Sex-nine? No, nothing's better than any other one.” Slumping back in the seat, he closed his eyes again. “If that's not it, why did she say it?”

The breeze blew past the open car door, cooling the interior somewhat. It smelled like rain. He breathed deeply of it, trying to relax, to remember her words. “She said … the times we had sex … it was just fun. Nothing but fun.” His eyes opened. “Nothing but … fun. Only fun. Fun. Fun!”

The phone had gone dark while he sat there; he pressed the power button again. “Fuck, I'm dense. She told me the PIN. Right in front of Max. She told me exactly what it was.”

With shaking fingers, he pressed the keys. 3-8-6. “F … U … N …”

For a long moment, he paused. If this was wrong, the phone was locked, and Andrea's plan was foiled. Am I certain about this?

No, but I can't think of anything better.

He pressed the zero button.

The phone lit up.

<><>​

Theo

“Okay then, Theo,” Cameron announced. “This is just a practice battle to show you what your character can do. Karg the Destroyer – love the name, by the way – is third level, so I'm gonna put him up against a reasonable challenge. Just so you know, even if you lose, I'm not gonna kill off your character for real. Practice only, yeah?”

“Sure,” replied Theo seriously. “So what do I do?”

Taylor leaned back in her chair and popped a handful of peanuts into her mouth. “Kick ass and take names,” she mumbled indistinctly as she chewed on them.

“Pfft,” Annette retorted. “You don't need to know their names.”

Amid chuckles, Cameron nodded. “I'll present the challenge. You tell me what you're doing. Annette can coach you in basic player tactics, but you get the final say on your character's actions.”

Annette grinned. “Arright then. Woo. Let's do this.”

Cameron cleared his throat. “Karg is making his way through a winding series of caverns when -” He stopped as a phone went off, playing a risqué song currently popular on Youtube. One eyebrow raised. “Really?”

“Whoops, sorry, that's mine.” Annette's face was almost as red as her hair as she dived into her bag. “Just … one … second … hi, Mom? What's – oh, Mr Hebert? What's the mat- uh, Taylor? She's right here. Sure, okay.” She turned to Taylor, who had sat up at the mention of her name, and was brushing peanut crumbs from her shirt. “It's for you. Your dad.”

“Oh, okay.” Taylor accepted the phone and got up from the table. She wandered away toward the kitchen as she answered it. “Yeah, Dad? What's up?”

Cameron caught Theo's attention. “As we were saying, Karg's in a winding series of caverns. He turns a corner and is confronted by two orcs and a goblin.”

“Uh, are these like Lord of the Rings orcs? Because I'm not sure Karg can take those,” Theo confessed. “Those guys looked tough.”

Annette shook her head, grinning. “Nope. These are their wimpier cousins. Orcs and goblins are the Über and L33t of the fantasy world. Dangerous in large numbers, but not so great one on one.”

“Well, right now they're three on one,” Theo pointed out. “What should I do?”

“Okay,” Annette decided. “First thing you want to do is -” She broke off as Taylor returned to the table. “Wow, Taylor, you look like you've just heard the Endbringer sirens. What's the matter?”

“Tell you in a second,” Taylor replied. “Dinah, I need to talk to you in the kitchen.”

Theo blinked. He'd only met Taylor this evening, but up until now she'd been pleasant to talk to, if a little quiet. Now, she was focused, her expression serious. This was a whole new side to her.

Dinah didn't hesitate; she stood up from the table and followed Taylor into the kitchen. The door closed behind them.

“Whew,” chuckled Kay, but it sounded a little forced. “That was kinda intense. Wonder what that's about?”

“Eh, someone probably took the last slice of pie or something,” Annette said. She tilted her head. “Gotta say though, I've never seen Taylor like that before. All super serious and stuff.”

Theo didn't comment. He'd seen that look before. When members of his extended family took on that expression, used that tone of voice, and held hurried conferences behind closed doors, it could only mean one thing; cape business.

Which means that Taylor and Dinah are the capes here, and the others aren't in on it. But Taylor's dad is. Is he a cape too? Wonder what the problem is? He made a private bet with himself that when they emerged, they'd make some excuse and leave.

Though it was kind of odd, now that he came to think about it, that Taylor's dad had called Annette on her mother's phone in order to contact Taylor. If they've got a cape thing going, then they really should have some way to keep in touch with each other.

“Theo? You still with us?” He looked around with a start; Annette was grinning at him. “Wow, you must've caught the super-serious bug. Right then, you looked like you should be brooding on a rooftop somewhere.”

Yeah, right, me a hero. That's gonna happen. Right after Behemoth and Leviathan team up for a song and dance show, with the Simurgh playing honky-tonk on the piano. “Nah, just thinking about stuff,” he temporised. “So, where were we?”

“Well, you're currently facing off two orcs and a goblin,” Cameron reminded him. “Annette, you were just saying that he should do something. What was it?”

“Oh, uh, to make sure they don't flank him,” Annette said. “Because if they do that -”

The kitchen door opened again. Everyone looked around. Here it comes, Theo decided. Wonder what the excuse is gonna be?

“Annette, Theo, could you come in here a moment please?” asked Dinah, the oddly formal speech sounding downright weird coming from a twelve year old. “We need to talk to you.”

“Uh -” Theo glanced at Cameron.

The older boy raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Is this really that important?” he asked. “Trying to run an encounter, here.”

Taylor nodded. “It's really that important, Cam. Sorry.”

Cameron nodded and gestured to Theo; Annette was already half out of her seat. “Go. See what's the matter. We'll take five.”

Okay, so what's going on here? Apprehension was beginning to overtake his curiosity as Theo got up and followed Annette into the kitchen. Why do they need me? A moment later, it clicked. Mom. This has some kind of connection to Mom. But why Annette then? Every time he thought he had the situation figured out, another factor threw him off again. Okay, I'll wait and see what's going on.

<><>​

Andrea

“Ah, we're here.” Max's voice was satisfied, that of a man whose plans were working out to the last decimal place. “Andrea, would you prefer to wait in the car or come up with me?”

She gritted her teeth at his pretended consideration. He was persuasive, very much so. But it had been a very long time since a man was able to pull the wool over her eyes, and Annette was the single most important person in her life. “I'll come up.” God, I hope Danny figured out what I was trying to tell him.

“Very well then.” He climbed out of the car, then offered his hand to assist her out. She ignored it; after a moment, he stood back and waited for her. Overhead, clouds loomed low. Spots of rain hit the pavement here and there; thunder rolled far above.

As with the hand, she rebuffed his proffered arm. “Pretty sure I can walk on my own.”

“As you wish.” His eyes hooded, belying his light tone. “For now.”

As they walked toward the front entrance to the apartment building, Andrea slowed her pace just a little. Max glanced across at her, lips thinning slightly. “If you wish, you can go back to the car. I won't be long, anyway.”

“No, I'm coming along,” she said stubbornly. I don't want him alone with Annette at any time, ever. But hopefully, Danny warned them in time and she managed to sneak out the back.

Max strode up to a couple of men who stood near the front door. “Report.”

“She hasn't come out since we got here, sir,” stated one of the men. “No teenagers, and definitely no redheads.”

Andrea stared at him. “You've had the building watched?”

“Well, of course,” he retorted. “I didn't want to run the risk of someone tipping her off. You didn't think I did all this on the spur of the moment, did you?”

“Well, no,” she admitted. “But why?”

“Why Annette?” He spread his hands. “Because she is my daughter. She has the will and the drive to carry on my business interests. My only other two potential heirs are either too young or lack any sort of drive. I need to show her what sort of a life she can have with me as her father.” He smiled thinly. “Also, because I desire you in my life once more, and what I want, I tend to get.” Turning toward the front doors, he moved up the steps. “We have delayed long enough. I want to meet my daughter.”

Hoping against hope that Annette had gotten the message, Andrea followed.

A few more spots of rain, heavier now, fell on to the pavement as she mounted the stairs.

<><>​

Theo

The kitchen wasn't all that roomy, especially with four people in it. Theo closed the door and leaned against it, while Annette hitched her butt on to the counter. “Okay, spill,” she observed brightly. “What's all this super-top-secret stuff about? Are aliens invading?”

Taylor took a deep breath. “No. Annette, there's a big problem. It's your mom.”

Theo watched the colour drain from the redhead's face until her freckles stood out in stark relief. “No,” she protested. “What about Mom? Is she hurt? Is she in the hospital? What happened?”

Dinah shot Taylor a sharp glance and took over. “As far as we know, she's fine,” she assured Annette. “But … it's a long story, but it turns out that Max Anders is your dad, and he's found out that you and your mom are in town, and he wants her back, and you with her.”

The bottom fell out of Theo's world. The blood roared in his ears as he felt his knees beginning to give way. Annette is my sister? Holy shit. She's my sister. The tone of his thoughts changed. Oh god, she's my sister. I need to stop looking at her butt in those jeans.

Dimly, he became aware that he was sitting on the floor, and the other three were looking down at him with more than a little concern. “Theo?” asked Taylor. “You all right?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess,” he mumbled. “That was a bit of a shock, that's all.” He couldn't stand up from where he was, so he rolled on to his knees and took hold of the counter to climb to his feet.

“Why is it a shock?” asked Dinah, looking at him carefully. “That Max Anders is her dad?”

Annette seemed to be recovering. “Uh, who's Max Anders, exactly, and why is it such a bad thing that he wants me and Mom back? I mean, she just tells him no, right?”

Theo shook his head. “No, that's not gonna work. Trust me on this.”

“But why not?” Annette spread her hands. “Mom doesn't do the monogamy thing. Even if he's my dad, he should know that.”

“Max Anders is a very rich man,” Taylor supplied. “He's an influential businessman, and Dad says he's determined to make her stay with him. Even if he has to use blackmail.” She looked at Annette. “Which is why Dad called up to warn us, so we could sneak you out of here, so Mr Anders can't get his hands on you.”

“No, that's crazy,” Annette protested. “Blackmail? Who does that?”

“Max Anders,” Theo put in. “Trust me, I know.”

Dinah frowned but said nothing. Taylor went to speak, but Dinah put a hand on her arm; she shut up again. “Okay, I'll bite,” Annette said. “How do you know Max Anders?”

Theo half-smiled, though there was little humour in the situation. The next words, he knew, would change everything. “He's my father too.”

Taylor stared. Dinah tilted her head slightly, looking at him in a calculating manner; oddly enough, she didn't seem overly surprised. I wonder why? Annette's eyes opened wide. “You're my brother?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, not bothering to quibble about 'half'. “And Aster's your sister.”

“Wait, wait, how's that work?” Annette looked confused. “I thought Ms Russel was your stepmom or something.”

Theo took a deep breath. “Mom died when I was really young. Then he met Kayden, and married her. They had Aster. She divorced him a little while ago.” He dragged his mind back to the current situation. “But if my father's on the way over like Taylor says, we don't have much time. We've gotta get you out of here.”

“Uh …”

Everyone turned to look at Taylor, who was peering out the window.

“What?” asked Dinah sharply.

Taylor rolled a die on the counter; Theo hadn't even known she was holding one. Her lips thinned. “He just pulled up outside.”

Theo was momentarily confused. How could she know … oh wait. Cape powers.

“You sure?” asked Annette.

“Absolutely certain,” Taylor replied. “Dinah, what do we do?”

“Wait a second, wait a second,” Theo told them urgently. “Something you need to know. Um, Annette, you might want to cover your ears for a bit.”

Annette looked offended. “No way,” she protested. “If they can stand to hear it, so can I.”

There was no time to argue; Theo took a deep breath, then lowered his voice so that it couldn't be heard through the door. “Guys. Max Anders is Kaiser. Just so you know.”

“Holy shit,” Annette blurted. “You're Kaiser's kid? Wait. I'm Kaiser's kid? Wow. Crap.”

Taylor was beginning to look apprehensive. “Dinah?”

Dinah nodded. “Theo. Call Ms Russel, right now. Tell her everything.”

“Uh, what can she do?” ventured Annette.

“More than you'd think,” Dinah said grimly. “Annette, you won't be able to get away. He'll have people around the building. I need you to hide. Theo, show her where to hide while you're talking to Ms Russel. Taylor, come out with me. We're gonna play dumb.”

Theo found it bizarre that a girl not even out of middle school had so readily taken control of the situation. It must be her cape power or something. However, he wasn't inclined to argue; so long as someone had a plan of action, he was happy. Turning to Annette, he pulled his phone from his pocket. “Come on. We haven't got much time.”

She wrinkled her nose. “It would've been a lot more fun playing hide and seek with you if you weren't my brother.” But she came along anyway.

<><>​

Kayden

“You have a beautiful house, Mrs Meyer,” Kayden commented. “I can tell that I'm going to have to work hard to improve on what you already have.”

“Thank you,” her client replied with a smile. “My dear Henry, God rest his soul, would be pleased to hear you say that. He -” She broke off at the sound of a ringing cell-phone.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Kayden said. She delved into her handbag. “My stepson is taking care of my baby daughter. Do you mind very much if I take this?”

“Oh. Indeed, indeed.” Mrs Meyer gestured in the affirmative and moved off to the sideboard where she took out a glass decanter.

Kayden looked at the phone screen. It was Theo's number, so she hit the button to answer the call. “Theo?”

“Kayden, hi. I don't have much time, but it's really important.” Theo's voice was rushed and breathless. In a more indistinct tone, she heard him say, “Through here.”

“Theo, what's the matter? What's going on? Is it about Aster?”

“No, it's not.” Her eyes widened as he went on to tell her exactly what was happening, about Annette's true parentage, and Max's intentions.

Oh, no, she decided. You don't get to ruin someone else's life as well. You don't get to crush that girl's spirit just like you did Theo's.

“Hold tight,” she told Theo. “I'll be right over.”

“Hurry,” he replied. “Please.”

Snapping the phone shut, she turned as Mrs Meyer returned from the sideboard. “I'm sorry,” she said, “but I have to get home. Family emergency. Can we reschedule, please?”

Mrs Meyer frowned. “I'm not sure. I'm travelling overseas soon -”

“I'll call you,” Kayden promised, and hurried toward the door.

Hold on, Theo. I'm coming.

<><>​

Taylor

When the knock came on the front door, the group was gathered once more in the dining room. Taylor had gotten the lasagne out of the oven and was busy slicing it. Theo was washing his hands in the bathroom. Dinah was setting the table.

“Coming!” Theo called from the bathroom, although he didn't appear immediately.

After a few moments, another knock resounded through the apartment. “Maybe one of us should get that?” Cameron asked.

“Nope,” said Taylor, just as Theo emerged from the bathroom, wiping his hands on a hand towel. “Theo lives here, not us.”

Dinah looked up. “Actually, Taylor, you answer it.”

Taylor frowned. “Me? But -”

“I really think you should,” Dinah interrupted. Taylor read the implicit message. This is a job for Taylor Hebert.

“Ah, right,” she agreed. “Theo, take over? I'll get the door.” She lowered her voice a little. “And if anyone asks, you haven't seen Annette for a while.”

“But wasn't she just -” began Kay.

Dinah shook her head. “It's a parental custody thing. Her dad's a jerk. As far as we know, Annette's gone home or something.”

Cameron and Kay glanced at each other. He shrugged; she nodded. “Okay,” she agreed.

At that moment, the knock sounded a third time, loud and peremptory. Taylor handed the knife over to Theo, who tossed the hand towel back into the bathroom.

“Hold your horses,” Taylor called out. “I'm coming.” She went over to the door; carefully putting it on the chain, she unlocked it.

The door opened with a jerk, then hit the end of the chain and stopped dead. A man whom she had never met, but whose face looked vaguely familiar, glared through the gap. “Open this door at once.”

Taylor tilted her head curiously. “I'm sorry. Who are you again?”

The man's features rearranged in an instant, once he seemed to realise that he wasn't looking at Theo. He beamed at Taylor with an abundance of charm. She didn't trust it for an instant. Emma had charm in buckets too. “My apologies. I'm Max Anders. Theo's father? He may have spoken of me?” He paused for a moment. “And may I ask who you are, young lady?”

“Oh, uh, I'm the babysitter,” Taylor replied innocently. “Can I help you, Mr Anders?”

“Yes, actually,” he said smoothly. “I'm just here to pick up my daughter Annette.”

Taylor blinked, affecting surprise. “Wait, so you're Theo's father as well as Annette's?”

“So you do know her,” he returned. “Yes, as it happens, I am.”

“That's funny,” she told him. He's probably been keeping tabs on her, so I wouldn't be surprised if he already knows my face and that I'm Annette's friend. “She's said nothing to me at all about you.”

His smile had to be forced, but she was damned if she could pick it. For all that she knew he was on the back foot, he was acting like someone totally in charge of the situation. “Oh, that's understandable,” he agreed. “Her mother and I were estranged for almost all of Annette's life. But now that's changed. She's going to be getting the best of everything from now on.” He tilted his head. “Could you perhaps open the door so I can come in and get her?”

“I don't know,” she hedged. “I mean, I've got no reason to disbelieve you, but Ms Russel would be really upset with me if I just opened the door to any stranger who happened to walk up with a good story. And I kind of need this job.”

“Ah, well, that part's easy.” Max Anders smiled and withdrew. “You've met Annette's mother, I presume?”

Andrea stepped up to the gap in the door. “Hello, Taylor,” she murmured, eyes downcast. The contrast to when Taylor saw her last was shocking. Wow, this guy really did a number on her. Taylor's dislike for Anders grew exponentially.

“Ms Campbell,” Taylor greeted her. “How are you?”

Andrea's bright green eyes flicked a moment back to Anders before she looked at Taylor for the first time. Taylor saw the pain in them. “I'm doing better than some,” the woman allowed.

She's talking about Dad. He didn't say much about what happened. I wonder how badly Kaiser beat him. I really don't like that man.

Taylor heard Max Anders murmur something. Andrea flinched very slightly. “Taylor, sweetie, could you be a dear and open the door for us?” she asked; it was obvious that she didn't want to say the words.

He's good. I've got no real excuse to not open the door for Andrea.

“Um, okay,” she agreed. “But Mr Anders should wait outside. I don't know him, after all. And Dad always told me that I shouldn't ever let strangers in.”

“I'm Annette's father,” Anders reiterated. “Besides, I'm Kayden's ex-husband and Theo's father as well. I'm the very opposite to a stranger.”

“Has Annette even met you?” retorted Taylor. “Does she want you for her dad?” Outside of the line of sight from the door, she saw Dinah making negatory motions. Tone it down, tone it down.

“I'm sure that we'll get along well, once we get to know each other,” Anders replied. “Now please open the door, as Andrea has asked you to do.”

“Okay, but you don't come in. Only Ms Campbell comes in,” stressed Taylor. “Because I'm the babysitter, and I'm in charge. And I don't know you, so you don't come in.” Behind her, she heard Dinah whispering to the others, but she didn't turn her head.

“Very responsible,” he praised her, and she almost believed his words, so smooth was his tone. “I understand.”

Pushing the door closed, she took the chain off then stepped back. It was well that she did, for the door was pushed open almost immediately under the impetus of Max Anders' hand.

“Now then,” he declared, taking a step into the apartment.

Taylor glanced over her shoulder then stepped to the side. “I told you that you weren't allowed in,” she stated, raising her voice slightly. “Please leave.”

“Once I have my daughter,” he replied urbanely. “I -” He stopped as he looked past her. Cameron and Kay were standing by the table, facing him, with phones out and aimed at him. Dinah, seated at the end of the table, was doing the same. Only Theo didn't have a phone out. Given that he has to go back to his father at some point, probably a wise move.

“Are you recording me?” he asked, slightly disbelievingly.

“Currently, sir, we're recording trespass by someone who was asked not to enter,” Cameron replied steadily. “This isn't going online yet, but that can happen.”

“Don't threaten me, boy,” Max said tightly. “Do you know who I am?”

Cameron nodded. “I know exactly who you are, sir. Do you know who I am?”

Max frowned. “I have no idea.”

“Good.” Cameron smiled briefly and tapped buttons on his phone. Beside him, Kay kept recording. “Video of Medhall CEO Max Anders performing a home invasion going online in five … four … three …”

On 'two', Anders stepped back over the threshold. “Get in there,” Taylor heard him say.

Andrea stepped in through the doorway. Her gaze darted about the dining room of the apartment; after a moment, she relaxed ever so slightly. Taylor didn't need to have Dinah's powers to know what she was thinking. Oh good. She's not here.

She tried to close the door behind Andrea, but Anders was too quick and too strong. “Let go,” she told him, grunting with the effort.

“I have to stay out here,” he retorted. “I don't have to let you close the door. Andrea, get Annette and let's go.”

“I'll just get her,” Andrea promised, and went to step away from the door. However, Max closed his hand over her upper arm, stopping her from moving too far. “What? Max, let go.”

“Call her,” Max told her, not moving from his position. “Call her now.”

“Mr Anders,” Taylor told him, “I'm pretty sure that what you're doing right now is assault.”

He shot a glare at her. “I'll take your assault charge and turn it into felony kidnapping on your part if my daughter doesn't come out right now. Andrea, call her.”

“Annette,” Andrea said, not raising her voice. “Come on. It's time to go.”

Annette totally failed to appear.

Andrea shrugged. “She's not here.”

“Call her on your phone,” gritted Max.

After making a show of searching her pockets, Andrea shrugged again. “I don't have it. I must have dropped it, back in the apartment.”

Taylor wanted to grin, but she kept a straight face. Yeah, when you slipped it to Dad.

Max sighed, aggravated. “Fine. I'll do it.” With his left hand, he pulled a phone from his pocket.

“Wait, how do you have Annette's number?” protested Taylor.

“I'm her father,” Max informed her. “It's my job to know things like that.” One-handed, he called up a number and pressed the button to call it. A phone began to ring. All eyes turned to Theo. Slowly, the pudgy boy pulled Annette's phone from his pocket. It continued to ring loudly; from the sour look on Anders' face, he recognised the song.

“What?” asked Theo. “She asked me to take care of it for her.”

Max shut off the call; after a moment, the song stopped playing on Annette's phone. “All right, this is getting serious,” he stated. “Annette's mother has called out for her, and she hasn't appeared. Her phone is in someone else's pocket. I am choosing to believe that something untoward has happened to my daughter and that you five are covering it up. So unless you bring her out to us right now, I'm going to assume that her life is in immediate danger, and I'm coming in to look for her.”

Crap.

<><>​

Kayden

Maybe I should have flown.

Kayden clung to the steering wheel as she negotiated Brockton Bay's night time traffic. It was still early in the evening, and there seemed to be far too many cars on the road. The rain didn't help, cutting visibility and making the road slippery. She pulled to a halt behind three cars at a red light. Come on, come on. Thunder boomed; the rain increased dramatically.

She would have flown, but her power made her flight extremely visible, especially at night, and she most assuredly did not want to quite literally draw a huge glowing arrow toward the apartment block where she lived. Besides, it was only a five minute drive. Well, ten minutes, given this traffic. Rain sheeted on her windshield, defying the wipers' best efforts to clear it once more. Maybe fifteen or twenty, the way this is going.

The car in front of her stopped; she pressed her brakes, skidded slightly, then stopped as well. All she could see were red tail-lights, dimly filtered through the rain. Christ, I'll never get there in time.

Making a snap decision, she turned the wheel, pulling into a parking spot. Getting out was like stepping into a cold shower at full blast, but she did it. Closing the door, she locked it, then sloshed through the ankle-deep water to the pavement. Well, that's it for those shoes.

Already, the rain was concealing her from anyone in a car, and there were no pedestrians. Just her, and the rain. Closing her eyes for a moment, she let the power flow through her. Light flooded the pavement, refracting through a million raindrops, as she took off straight up through the gathering storm.

<><>​

Taylor

Max Anders pushed his way past Andrea. He stopped in front of the table, eyeing the people standing around it. “One last chance,” he told them. “I want to see my daughter, now.” He was good at this; his every movement projected the image of a reasonable man put upon by circumstances beyond his control. Taylor had to fight to prevent a feeling of guilt from overcoming her. “Where is Annette?” Even the tone of his voice projected 'reasonable parental figure' rather than 'ruthless parahuman villain'. He's really, really good at this.

Taylor shrugged slightly, trying to ignore the butterflies rapidly multiplying in her stomach. “I'm sorry. I have no idea. I haven't seen her in a while.” All of which was true. She had no idea where Theo might have helped her friend hide, and a minute or so was a 'while', wasn't it?

Max's eyes narrowed slightly; he met Taylor's gaze directly. She read his expression without any problem. So, we're going to play it that way, are we?

His attention moved on to Dinah. Probably because she's the youngest. He thinks she's the most likely to talk. “I'm sorry; I don't know if we've been introduced. I'm Max Anders. Perhaps you've heard of me?”

Dinah gave him the most utterly brainless smile that Taylor had ever seen on anyone over the age of six. “Oh, yes, Mr Anders! You're really rich and important! And I met you once before, at the 'gustus Country Club! My uncle's the mayor, you know! We had the shrimp! It's really good!”

Holy shit. Is this Dinah speaking? Wow. Surreptitiously, Taylor glanced at Anders. Is he even buying this?

It appeared that he was; either that, or he held a low opinion of the intelligence of preteen girls in general. In any case, he changed the tone of his voice to one which he obviously imagined was suitable for speaking to small children. “Yes, it really was good shrimp, wasn't it? But I need to ask you a question. Do you know where Annette is? The red-headed girl?”

Dinah pointed at Andrea, who was eyeing her in some bemusement. “She's got red hair! It's really pretty!”

Max sighed. “Yes. That's Annette's mom. I want to know where Annette is. Can you tell me that?”

“Um …” Dinah put her hand to her chin and tilted her head to one side. “She was here. But she's not here now.”

The amount of patience in his voice was amazing. “Yes, I know that, dear. Did you see where she went?”

“I don't know!” Dinah replied brightly. “I was setting the table!” She held up a knife and fork, one in each hand. “I'm good at setting the table! Mommy taught me!”

Taylor had to bite the inside of her cheek to avoid laughing. Oh god, if I didn't know better …

<><>​

Max

Is Christner's niece a congenital idiot, or is she just playing me? Max had started out with the assumption that it was the former, but was beginning to wonder if the latter situation might be the case instead. If it was, she had a future with any PR firm he cared to name; the artless babble was almost enough to convince him that the girl really did know nothing at all. Even how to tie her own shoelaces.

Either way, he knew, he wasn't going to get anything useful out of her. Not allowing his irritation to show, he turned to the boy who was still holding his phone. “Young man. What's your name?”

“Cameron, sir.” The boy lifted his chin slightly, but his tone was respectful. Well, that's a start.

“Good evening, Cameron.” Max allowed a slight smile to cross his features. “Perhaps you can help me.”

“No, sir,” Cameron replied stolidly. “I don't believe that I can.”

“Surely you can do better than that, Cameron.” Max made his voice hearty, man-to-man. “This is my daughter we're talking about. My flesh and blood. I only want to give her a good home.”

“I understand that you think so, sir.” The boy was still respectful, even while denying him what he wanted. Why can't Theo be more like him? “But I still can't help you.”

Max hardened his tone slightly. “Can't … or won't?”

Cameron shook his head. “Take your pick, sir. The result's the same either way.”

Max switched his attention to the last person at the table, a teenage girl with her hair in a scrunchie. Before he could speak, she shook her head and pressed her lips together. Well, I won't be getting anything out of her. Time to play hardball.

“You all probably think that you're helping your friend,” he stated flatly. “You couldn't be any further from the truth. The fact of the matter is that Annette is my daughter. Our daughter.” He reached out and gathered Andrea to his side, ignoring the almost subliminal shudder that went through her. “We are her parents. Keeping her from us is kidnapping. Do you really want to go down that path?”

<><>​

Taylor

His words hung in the air for a long moment, then Taylor cleared her throat. “Actually, no. It doesn't work like that. We're minors. We can't be charged with kidnapping. And besides, she's here of her own free will.” I finally got something out of knowing Emma and her father. Who knew?

His mouth twisted as though he had bitten into something sour. “Very well. I choose to believe otherwise. I am going to look for her. I suggest that none of you get in my way.” He turned to Theo. “Where do you have her hidden?”

He's already figured out that Theo's the one who would have helped her hide, because he lives here. I'm not sure how long we're going to be able to pull the wool over his eyes.

Theo pressed his lips together and shook his head, not looking at his father. But nor was he looking at the bathroom doorway, which was where Taylor suspected that he had taken Annette to hide. Taylor's first thought was Where could she hide in there? Her second was more serious. Unless he's being really subtle, he's just told his father where she is. And I don't think he's that subtle.

Max Anders nodded. “Thank you,” he said, even though Theo hadn't spoken a word. “You're not off the hook, though. Don't go anywhere.”

Stepping into the bathroom, he opened the linen cupboard. It was stacked with folded sheets and towels, which Max began to pull out with careless abandon, strewing them on the bathroom floor. There were several shelves there, any one of which could have accommodated Annette; with sheets or towels stacked against her, she would have been invisible. That's probably what I would have done.

Theo's father obviously thought the same way, as he methodically removed every stack of towels and sheets from the cupboard, a slight sneer of triumph on his face. This sneer lasted until the last shelf was clear and it was obvious that Annette was not in there.

… Okay. So he didn't do the obvious. Where's she hidden, then?

<><>​

Max

She's not in the cupboard. Where is she?

He took a pace back and looked around the bathroom. It wasn't all that large and there really were not that many places to hide. The cupboard had been the most logical place, which made it the first place he would look, so Theo hadn't picked there. I may have underestimated my son.

Still, Theo's refusal to look at the bathroom had made it the most likely place for Annette's hiding place so where could the girl be?

There was a large tub alongside the washing machine; he really didn't think anyone could fit in the storage space beneath, but Anders considered himself a logical man, so he looked. Quite a few cobwebs, a few daddy-long-legs scuttling in a panic from the light, but no Annette.

The washing machine was right there; again, he did not consider it likely that she was crammed into the machine itself, but there was the faint chance, so he looked.

She wasn't there, either.

The dryer had an even smaller volume than the washing machine, so he almost didn't bend down to look through the window in the front. His daughter wasn't in there, but it did hold a load of clothing. Normally, he wouldn't have bothered, but there was a mystery here, and he was determined to get to the bottom of it. So he opened the door, reached in, and pulled out the first item of clothing that presented itself; as it happened, this was a t-shirt.

Once he had it in his hand, he knew the trick of Annette's disappearance. More to the point, he knew exactly where she was. He didn't even need to sniff at the shirt to know that it hadn't been recently laundered. This shirt belongs in the hamper. Which means …

Dropping the shirt, he turned toward the laundry hamper, sitting innocently next to the door. The flicker of fear across Theo's face was all he needed to know that he was right. The boy had pulled out clothing from the hamper, she had gotten in and then been covered over again. Theo had stuffed the excess clothing in the dryer; he'd almost gotten away with it, too.

<><>​

Annette

When she heard the dryer door open, she figured that the jig was up. A rustle of cloth and a slight lessening of the weight of the laundry that Theo had piled on top of her warned her that Anders was indeed investigating the hamper. In another second or so, he'd be down to her level.

Tensing her legs, she came to her feet as fast as possible. Items of clothing flew in all directions. She flipped the fitted sheet in her arms over Anders' head, then tried to jump out of the hamper. Unfortunately, the cramped position had taken its toll and she wasn't as limber as she was used to. The hamper tipped over, taking her with it. Scrambling out of it, she pulled herself to her feet and took one step toward the door before a hand closed over her arm.

“Got you,” Max Anders snapped, sounding more than a little aggravated. “Now, there'll be no more of -”

He got no further, as she grabbed his arm with her other hand, backed up hard into him, bent over forward, and pulled off the best approximation of a hip throw that she could in the cramped surroundings. He landed on his back; the impact was cushioned somewhat by the sheets and towels on the floor, but he still let go of her arm.

Leaping over him, she dashed out into the dining area. One plate had lasagne on it; with a silent apology to Kayden – it did smell delicious – she hefted the plate and spun around. Anders was just sitting up, his expression murderous. With all the strength she could manage, Annette let fly.

Her aim was impeccable; even as Anders clawed at the lasagne now decorating his face – the plate had fallen to the floor – she ran for the window. There was a fire escape outside; she figured that she could be down to the ground before he was even out the window. This plan lasted right up until she got on to the escape; the rain was coming down in buckets, but she was able to make out the shape of a man standing next to the fire escape, looking up. He's probably not waiting for the bus.

She also doubted that she'd be able to pull off a throw like that again, against an opponent ready and waiting for her. So she headed up the fire escape. Up the fire escape, into the roof access.

The roof access, she knew, would probably be locked, but she knew tricks around that.

Then I go down the stairs. There's gotta be some place I can hide inside the building.

Within seconds, she was soaked to the skin. Good. He will be too, if he follows me.

<><>​

Max

He wiped the last of the pasta dish off his face. Some distant part of his mind noted that it was delicious – Kayden hasn't lost her touch – but it was drowned out by the rage that encompassed most of his being. Nobody does that to me. I'm going to enjoy bringing her to heel.

For a moment, he considered going up the fire escape after her, but then he thought better of it. She wants me to pursue. She has a head start. Better to cut her off at the pass, so to speak.

He swept a glare over the people in the room. “Stay. Here.” Shoving past Andrea, he wrenched the door open and dashed down the corridor to the stairwell. She'll be coming down the stairs. I'll be going up the stairs. It works for me.

There was nobody on the stairwell all the way up; as he got to the top, over the noise of the rain, he heard someone fumbling with the access door. He smiled grimly as he hit the bar to open the door. Checkmate.

The door opened; Annette was standing there, looking like a half-drowned cat in the heavy downpour. She took a step back as he moved forward.

“You didn't think you could get away that easily, did you?”

Max was angry, but that was by no means the only emotion he was feeling. Irritation at the girl was balanced by pride at the fight she was putting up – she's an Anders, all right – and satisfaction at having out-thought and out-manoeuvred her. She needs to know who's calling the shots, once and for all.

The rain was ruining his suit, he knew. But he didn't care; he had a dozen just like it. In any case, the stains from the lasagne would have already gone a long way toward achieving that end. He stepped forward, reaching for her; she moved backward again, avoiding his grasp.

“Maybe not,” she retorted defiantly. “But you can't keep me locked up. And soon as I'm gone, Mom's gone too. You know it and I know it. So why don't you just go take a long walk off a short pier and save us all a lot of trouble?”

“Annette, you misunderstand the situation,” Max replied, not letting her see his growing irritation. “I want to take care of you and your mother. You're my daughter; I wish to show you just where that can take you. All of your needs will be met.”

“All the ones you think need to be met, anyway,” she said, still backing away from him. “What about what I want to do? What if I want to go out with a boy? I can just tell you'd be the overbearing father type.”

<><>​

Kayden

It took her a moment to recognise her apartment building in the pouring rain; she had to swoop low over the roof to even see it properly. As she did so, she saw two figures next to the roof access. While she couldn't make them out at all well, she had a good idea as to who they might be. Coming around in a sharp turn, she landed on the rooftop and shut down her powers.

“Kayden.” Max's voice was not pleased. “What are you doing here?”

“Ms Russel? You're a cape? Wow! I never even guessed!” By contrast, Annette's voice held more than a little fangirl-squee in it.

Kayden stepped forward, planting herself between Max and the redheaded girl. “Max. This stops now.”

Max shook his head. “No. This is none of your concern. Step aside.”

Her entire being rebelled against defying Max, but she took a deep breath and stood firm. “No. I'm not going to let you do this.”

He frowned; even with his hair plastered to his head, water running down his face and what looked like pasta stains on his suit, the expression was still enough to make her swallow. “Kayden, you don't know what's going on here. This is my daughter.”

“I know exactly what's going on here,” she retorted. Behind him, the roof access door opened. Theo stepped out into the pouring rain, followed by Andrea. The sight gave her strength. “You want to ruin that girl's life, just like you ruined Theo's. You want to get into her mother's head, just like you did mine.” She paused. “What I don't understand is why you're being so bull-headed about this. This is remarkably clumsy, Max, especially for you.”

He chuckled. “Blame Andrea for that. Unlike you, she doesn't think things through and come to a reasoned, logical answer. All too often, she acts far too much on impulse. I can't reason with her. I've never been able to.”

Translation: I can't twist her head around to make her agree with me.

The answer was simple. “So let her go. Let them both go.”

He shook his head. “Andrea is my one great love. Annette is my daughter. I can't let them go. Surely you can see that.”

She didn't take her eyes off of Max, but from the corner of her eye, she could see Theo and Andrea moving off to the side, and Annette joining them. The red-haired woman wrapped her arms around her daughter.

“You're going to have to, Max,” she replied steadily. “If you keep forcing them to accept this, you'll break them. They don't deserve this. I'm not going to let you do it.”

Slowly, Max shook his head. “Kayden. Kayden, Kayden, Kayden. When are you going to learn? You can't stop me from doing anything. Nobody can, but most especially you. Or would you like a reminder of why this is?”

Aster. Kayden firmed her jaw. “No. You can't hold that over my head any more. I'll fight -”

“And lose.” His voice cut across hers, hard and confident. “Like Annette, she's my daughter by blood. Financially, I'm far more capable of caring for her than you are. It might prove a little more tricky to show you up as an unfit mother, but -”

Kayden lit up like a flashbulb as her power activated. “No!” she shouted. Almost, she launched a blast at him. The last lingering shreds of his influence held her back; the power flared around her hand but she held it in check.

Max, on the other hand, had no such compunctions. The steel blade grew from his hand in an instant and he lunged forward; she felt the pain as the blade punched into her abdomen. It withdrew once more; she felt the light leave her body as she fell to her knees. Her hands clasped over the wound, red spilling between her fingers. “Max …” she whispered, the word drowned out by the rain.

<><>​

Theo

Oh no, no, no.

Horrified at what he was seeing, Theo opened his mouth to plead for Kayden's life. Even as he did so, Max stepped to her side.

“I can stand initiative.” Max's voice was harsh. “I can stand defiance, at least for a while.” He raised the blade as her head slumped forward. “But one thing I cannot countenance is betrayal.”

Oh god, he's going to -

The sword was at its highest point when there was an ear-splitting crack and a violet flash of light so bright that Theo could not look at anything without spots crowding his vision. For what seemed like seconds, but had to have been less, Max convulsed on the spot, lightning grounding in the tip of the sword, crackling through his body.

Even as the lightning strike ended, the body of the former leader of the Empire Eighty-Eight slumped to the rooftop. His sword fell nearby, the red-hot tip raising steam from a puddle.

Holy shit. Did that just happen?

Overhead, as Theo dashed forward to see what he could do for Kayden, the rain began to ease off.


End of Part Eight

Part Nine

 

Alea Iacta Est


Part Nine: Luck is in the Eye of the Beholder


[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal. Certain descriptive passages are entirely thanks to her.]


June 16, 2010
Off the Florida Keys

“Janet!”

She clung to the safety rail with both hands, hauling her way along it toward the stern. The Avalon pitched deeply into the oncoming waves, blue-green walls of water riding over the deck to smash into her, doing their best to wrench her free and send her flailing into the water. Given that she had neglected to don her lifejacket before venturing out on deck, this would almost certainly result in her death.

“Janet, come back! It's not safe!”

Harvey's voice was barely audible over the roar of the sea and the howl of the wind through the halyards. Of course it's not safe. None of this is safe. But she knew what she had to do. The mainsail had come free during the storm and was now fouling the rudder, making it hard to keep the bow into the wind. Worse, if it tangled the prop, their only means of making headway in these heavy seas would be gone. They would broach-to in moments, and capsize shortly after that.

On her belt was the heavy clasp-knife that her father had given to her when she first began going to sea; she knew that she could cut loose the errant sail, if only she could reach it. All she had to do was reach it.

Slitting her eyes against the howling wind and the abrasive spray, she reached the point where the twisted sail ran over the rail and into the heaving ocean below. Pausing to secure her safety line properly, she pulled the knife from its pouch and opened it with her teeth. The blade, more than four inches long and kept razor-sharp, would do the job. She began cutting, more and more of the tough fabric parting with each stroke.

When the mainstay gave way, she felt it more than heard it. Looking up, she saw the mast tilt and begin to fall. But it fell sideways, not backward. Even as it splashed into the chaotic swells, she felt the change in the yacht's movement.

The loss of the mast spelled the loss of the boat; she knew that in her bones. No matter what she did with the sail, the mast would act as a sea anchor, dragging Avalon around until she was beam-on to the driving rollers. The yacht wouldn't last long after that.

“Harvey!” she screamed. “Abandon ship! We're going down!”

Already, the boat was coming around. She couldn't wait to see what Harvey did, and she couldn't haul her way back to the cockpit in time. All she could do was save herself, and trust that he would do the same. A life-belt was attached to the rail; she grabbed it and slashed through the safety line that held her to the boat. In another moment, she was overboard, smashed into the ocean by the waves.

Salt water slapped her in the face, and she held her breath. Dragged under, into a cool world of green with bright bubbles, the waves a distant thunder overhead, she felt the pressure on her ears. The life-belt, tugging her toward the surface, began to slip from her grip. She had no choice; dropping the knife, she wound the line from the life-belt around her left forearm as tightly as she could.

But the surface seemed to be getting farther away, not closer. Pressure built in her ears. She kicked desperately, to no avail. Precious bubbles escaped her lips. She opened her mouth, desperate to breathe …

<><>​

Present Day
Brockton Bay, NH

Water filled her lungs and pressure surrounded her arms. No! Fight! Fight, dammit! Janet surged upright, her hands and feet striking out against the danger. She was up on her knees then her feet, whirling in tight circles with her hands flailing, until her knuckles crunched against the wall and the pain broke through her panic.

Alive. The word took a few seconds to sink in, and when it did, she fell to her knees with her head pressed into the mattress edge. Holy shit. Her heavy breathing against the sheets bounced back into her face, reminding her that she was on dry land. It wasn’t real any more. She was alive. She was safe.

She finally reached a shaking hand out to the right and miraculously found the touch lamp she had bought a week earlier. Blessed light filled the room, confirming her safety. Somehow, she found enough strength to crawl back on to the bed and flop face first on to the pillow.

Long minutes later, she rolled over to check the display on the cheap digital clock residing on the motel nightstand. Her left forearm jolted against the edge of the stand, making her hiss with pain. Lifting it, she examined the end of the stump, just short of where the wrist would have been. She had made it to the surface, but the boat was gone, as was Harvey. With no life-jacket, no food, no water, she should have died.

For seven days and six nights she had drifted, at the mercy of the wind and the water. The life-belt which had saved her life had taken her hand; so tightly had she wound the rope around her forearm, she had cut off blood circulation, and by the time the Coast Guard cutter had picked her up, the hand was a dead loss. Six months on, and the stump was still tender.

“Christ,” she muttered, still eyeing the clock. “This early?”

The numbers mocked her; it got dark early, this far north. She had thought that it was later than that. But already, despite the cool breeze sweeping through the window, she was covered in sweat. This wasn't due to the non-existent heat of the night, but to her own fears. The odour of incipient rain came to her nostrils. Fuck off, she told it silently.

For a long moment, she considered getting the bottle out of her duffel bag and using the contents to lull her to sleep. It would not be the first time she'd done that, nor would it be the last. But she had no desire to wake up in a strange town with a hangover, so instead she decided on a shower. I stink, anyway.

Rolling off the bed, she skinned out of the brief top and mid-length pants which served her as pyjamas. It only took a few steps for her to reach the motel bathroom, where she turned on the light and surveyed herself with disdain.

Her short-cut auburn hair was messier than it had any right to be and her face was still flushed with the aftermath of adrenaline. There were bags under her blue-green eyes, which she did her best to ignore. I need more sleep. I really do. An image of the bottle in the bag came to her once more; she gritted her teeth and shook her head.

Shorter than most, she stood five foot three on the cold tiles of the bathroom. Broad shoulders and a certain amount of muscular development robbed her of the 'petite' descriptor, although thanks to the lack of a hand, her left arm was losing its condition.

But that was only the beginning of her problems.

<><>​

Janet let the hot water wash over her back and shoulders, flushing away the stink of her terror. A shower she could handle, but not a tub. She didn't like any situation where she could be submerged and drown. Swimming pools gave Janet cold shivers, and she never went near large bodies of water if she could possibly help it. But even in a shower, she didn't like having water running over her face. Wetting a washcloth, Janet wiped it over her face and scalp, shuddering at the feeling of water trickling down her cheek.

Those cold, uncaring waters had swallowed the man she loved as well as the Avalon, and she could not help but feel that they wanted her as well; that she was living on borrowed time. And it was even worse when the water reached for her.

She clenched her eyes shut, trying to rein in her swirling emotions. Overhead, there was the mutter of thunder. Rain sounded on the roof, over the noise of her own shower. Stop it, she told it silently. No rain. No thunder. No lightning. No storm. Not today. Please.

By the time she finished the shower, the rain had passed. She was feeling calmer. With luck, it will settle down again. I have a good feeling about this city.

Briskly, she towelled herself dry – her left arm couldn't do much except pin the towel to her body, but at least it could do that much – then put on clean underwear. I think I'll watch some TV then go back to bed.

When she stepped out of the bathroom into the main area of the motel room, there was a stranger sitting in the room's only chair.

<><>​

“Who are you?” Janet retreated a step, fear burning in her guts. They found me. Oh god, they found me. “What do you want?”

The woman, whose fedora and belted trench-coat gave her a slightly dated appearance, looked up from her book. Janet registered it as The Lonely Sea; once one of her favourites, it was now a book she couldn't even pick up without shuddering. “Oh, there you are,” the woman said. “Just in time.”

“Just in time for what?” demanded Janet. “What are you doing in my motel room?”

“So that you could come with me and help save the world, of course,” the woman explained. She stood up from the chair without a single wasted motion – a feat deserving of respect, Janet knew, after having nearly been permanently trapped by the thing – and slipped the book into her coat pocket.

Janet shook her head. “No. No way. Nope. You want me to use my powers. I'm not going there.”

The woman raised one perfect eyebrow. “Are you so worried about losing control?”

Clenching her fist so strongly that her short-trimmed nails almost cut into her palm, Janet shook her head. “I've never had control,” she snapped. “I get worried about something, it starts to drizzle. I wake up after a nightmare and it's raining. I walk past a swimming-pool and the water reaches for me.” She took a deep breath. “I hate water!”

“Are you aware that your powers won't let you drown?” The woman's voice was quiet. “Or that they saved your life after the yacht went down? Did you honestly think the fact that you survived for a week drinking seawater with so few ill effects was a coincidence?”

Janet blinked. “My powers saved me?”

The woman smiled. “Yes. They saved you.”

“Oh. Uh …” Janet frowned. “But I'm not going to use them. I know what'll happen to me as soon as people realise I've got the same powers as … as him.”

“You could use your powers to mitigate the damage he does.” Her tone was softly persuasive.

“No way. Uh-uh.” Janet shook her head violently. “I'm not looking to fight anyone or anything with my powers. Least of all, Leviathan.” Fear boiled up in her guts at the mere thought. “So you can go away. Now. Please.” She was all the way back into the bathroom now, her butt pressed up against the washbasin.

The woman didn't move forward. “Nobody is chasing you. There's nothing to be worried about. They're not going to lock you up just for having water powers.”

“Tell that to Canary!”

A grimace. “Canary is … a special case. Unfortunate, but necessary. You, on the other hand, haven't hurt anyone. Nobody really knows you even have these powers.”

Janet took a deep breath, forcing down her fear. “And yet, you're here. Talking to me about them.”

“Well, yes.” The woman's smile was warm, conspiratorial. “I'm a special case, too.”

“Why are you here?” Janet demanded again.

“I told you.” The woman tilted her head slightly. “To help save the world. Or rather, to take one small step on the path toward saving the world. In this case, to help save a teenage girl from an emotionally abusive father.” She paused. “And of course, there is the matter of money. You're short on it. I can pay you ten thousand dollars to do this, right here, right now.”

Janet frowned. She could feel the initiative slipping away from her. “So … I don't have to fight Leviathan.”

The woman chuckled. “Well, no. I would hardly ask you to do that, when you've barely got a grasp on your powers. All you have to do in this situation is make it rain.” She reached into one of her trench-coat pockets and pulled out a thick wad of notes. “Ten thousand dollars, going once …”

<><>​

“I'm still not saying I'll do this.” Janet awkwardly pulled the top over her head, slid her arms through the sleeves.

“I understand.” The woman stepped out of the bathroom with Janet's toiletries in her hands. “You might need these.”

Janet frowned. “I'm not coming back?”

The woman snorted. “Hardly. You can afford much better accommodation now.”

There was no arguing with that. The ten thousand dollars – a hundred hundred-dollar bills – now rested securely inside her duffel bag. “So where are we going?” She tucked her top into her jeans, a little awkwardly.

“Not far, actually.” The woman waited until she had hoisted the duffel on to her shoulder, then murmured something that sounded like 'doorway'.

That was when Janet knew for a fact that things would never be the same again, as a rectangular portal opened in midair. On the other side was … a rooftop. A very mundane rooftop, but still a rooftop where no such thing should be.

The woman gestured toward the impossible opening in space. “Shall we?”

Numbly, Janet stepped forward.

<><>​

Gravel crunched beneath her sneakers. She looked around; as far as she could tell, she was standing on the roof of an inner-city building, maybe five or ten storeys high. Shrugging her shoulder, she shifted the weight of the duffel slightly. “So what are we doing here?”

She wasn't quite sure where the woman had acquired the golf umbrella from, but there it was. The woman opened it expertly and held it up over the two of them. “You're making it rain. As hard as you can.”

Janet blinked. “But … what if I can't make it stop?”

Her companion smiled. “Trust me on this. You can make it stop.”

Ten thousand dollars. I can do this.

She took a deep breath and began to concentrate. Overhead, thunder rolled. The sky was already overcast; the clouds thickened as if by magic. Or by my power. She was already more than a little agitated; it wasn't hard to push it just a little more.

One by one, then harder and faster, the raindrops began to fall. They drummed on the umbrella. Thunder rolled again. The rain became a downpour.

<><>​

“How long do I keep it raining for?” She had to raise her voice to be heard over the tumult of rain on the roof access, much less the real thunder overhead. “And is it safe for us to be out like this?”

“It's safe.” The woman's voice held absolute conviction. “Your power won't let the storm hurt us. And just a bit longer. How are you holding up?”

“I – I'm not sure.” Janet felt that she should be repulsed by the water surrounding her on all sides. But at the same time as it made her skin crawl, it whispered to her. Let the power flow, it told her without words. Embrace it. Reach your full strength.

It was tempting. Oh, so tempting. But she couldn't. A stray droplet splashed on to her face and she shuddered, hastily wiping it off.

Then she heard a sound from the direction of the fire escape. The rain was hammering on it already, but this was different, as though someone was climbing up – or down – the metal steps. Up, she decided. It was getting louder.

She knew when whoever it was reached the top of the fire escape because the clanging noise stopped and a splashing began; the person was running across the rooftop. Toward the roof access. Toward her.

She stepped back; the woman holding the umbrella did the same thing. I don't want to be seen. Don't want to have to explain what I'm doing here. The rain was still very heavy, but if someone came close enough, she would be visible to them.

And then the roof access door opened. Whoever had been running across the roof stopped. Janet heard a man's voice, barely audible over the rain.

“You didn't think you could get away that easily, did you?”

“Maybe not,” a girl's voice retorted defiantly. “But you can't keep me locked up. And soon as I'm gone, Mom's gone too. You know it and I know it. So why don't you just go take a long walk off a short pier and save us all a lot of trouble?”

<><>​

For one heart-stopping moment, when the curtains of water had parted to show her the man and the red-headed girl, she thought that the rain had stopped and that she was in full view. But the water continued to pound on the umbrella and neither one turned to look at her. The conversation, which she had been straining to hear, was now easily audible.

“Annette, you misunderstand the situation,” the man said smoothly. Janet didn't trust him for a moment; at first, she thought he had blood on his shirt, but then she realised that he had been splattered with pasta, and it was just the sauce she was seeing. “I want to take care of you and your mother. You're my daughter; I wish to show you just where that can take you. All of your needs will be met.”

“All the ones you think need to be met, anyway,” she said, still backing away from him. “What about what I want to do? What if I want to go out with a boy? I can just tell you'd be the overbearing father type.”

In the next moment, a bright light flashed past, the source indistinct through the pouring rain. It circled around, then came in for a landing on the roof; the light went out again, leaving Janet unsure as to what had just happened. She concentrated on seeing in that direction; as before, the concealing rain seemed to fade away, and she could see a woman standing there.

The newcomer was petite, with mousy brown hair that was even now plastered to her scalp by the downpour. She stepped forward, obviously coming within view of the man and the girl, to differing reactions.

“Kayden.” The man's voice was not pleased. “What are you doing here?”

“Ms Russel? You're a cape? Wow! I never even guessed!” The girl's voice held more than a little fangirl-squee in it.

“What's going on?” murmured Janet to the woman who still held the umbrella. “What am I even doing here?”

The woman's voice was just as quiet. “You'll see, in just a moment.”

Janet looked back at the standoff. The newcomer – Kayden – had put herself between the man and the girl. “Max. This stops now.”

The man shook his head. “No. This is none of your concern. Step aside.”

“No. I'm not going to let you do this.”

“Kayden, you don't know what's going on here. This is my daughter.”

“I know exactly what's going on here,” she retorted. The roof access door opened again, but Janet couldn't see who was there.

Kayden was still talking. “You want to ruin that girl's life, just like you ruined Theo's. You want to get into her mother's head, just like you did mine.” She paused. “What I don't understand is why you're being so bull-headed about this. This is remarkably clumsy, Max, especially for you.”

The man might have chuckled. “Blame Andrea for that. Unlike you, she doesn't think things through and come to a reasoned, logical answer. All too often, she acts far too much on impulse. I can't reason with her. I've never been able to.”

“So let her go.” Kayden's voice was matter of fact. “Let them both go.”

He shook his head. “Andrea is my one great love. Annette is my daughter. I can't let them go. Surely you can see that.”

A pudgy boy and a petite redheaded woman, shorter even than Janet herself, moved away from the roof access and around to the side. The girl went to meet them; Janet presumed that she was the woman's daughter. Is this the 'Annette' and 'Andrea' that he just mentioned?

“You're going to have to, Max,” said Kayden. “If you keep forcing them to accept this, you'll break them. They don't deserve this. I'm not going to let you do it.”

Slowly, Max shook his head. “Kayden. Kayden, Kayden, Kayden. When are you going to learn? You can't stop me from doing anything. Nobody can, but most especially you. Or would you like a reminder of why this is?”

Janet didn't know what he meant, but Kayden obviously did. “No. You can't hold that over my head any more. I'll fight -”

“And lose.” He cut her off. “Like Annette, she's my daughter by blood. Financially, I'm far more capable of caring for her than you are. It might prove a little more tricky to show you up as an unfit mother, but -”

Even after seeing Kayden fly in using powers – which had been a shock – it was still a surprise when she lit up once more, the glare lighting up the raindrops for yards around. “No!” shouted the glowing woman.

Holy crap, she's gonna -

But she did nothing. It was Max who stepped forward when she hesitated, Max who grew a steel blade from his hand in an instant. Oh shit, he's a cape too!

Janet, frozen to the spot, watched the blade flicker forth, ending its stroke in Kayden's stomach. The petite woman collapsed to her knees, holding the wound. It was a bad one; blood was already staining her dress.

“Max …” whispered Kayden. Only Janet heard it; for anyone else, it would have been too quiet to hear through the storm.

Numbly, she watched as he stepped to the side of the stricken woman. “I can stand initiative.” His voice was harsh. “I can stand defiance, at least for a while.” He raised the blade as her head slumped forward. “But the one thing I cannot countenance is betrayal.”

The woman's voice was just a murmur in Janet's ear. “Are you going to just let him murder her?”

The horror Janet felt at the scene being played out before her crystallised in an instant, catalysed by those words. She took a deep breath. No.

The blade had just reached the limit of its upward arc when the streamer from the clouds above stretched down, seeking a conductor of electricity. It touched the tip of the sword that Max held; this was a very good conductor indeed. Over the next few fractions of a second, faster than Janet could perceive, the link strengthened.

Then the lightning surged upward from the ground, through the building, through Max and ultimately through the sword. With an ear-splitting crack and a blinding flash, it leaped skyward along the path that had been opened, discharging itself into the clouds above. In the process, it directed an infeasible amount of electricity through the body of the man holding what had turned out to be an excellent lightning-rod.

Max fell, the sword clattering from his hand to lie a short distance away; the tip of the blade, still glowing red, hissed as it lay in a puddle. Half-blinded by the flash, ears still ringing from the close-range thunderclap, Janet turned to ask the woman what do I do now? But somehow, it turned out that she was holding the umbrella. The woman was gone.

Without her conscious will behind it, the rain began to ease off. Oh shit, they're gonna see me! There was no way she was going to be climbing down any ladders one-handed, so her best bet was to hide. Turning to look for someplace to conceal herself, she felt her foot push something across the gravel; it was heavy and unyielding. She looked down, and saw a medical kit, the type that paramedics took into the field. Or the type that she'd taken on board the Avalon, once upon a time.

Where the hell did that come from?

A moment later, she realised just how stupid the question was; the woman in the trench-coat had procured it, in the same way that she had produced the golf umbrella. Probably using that damn doorway, or whatever she called it.

On a whim, she muttered 'doorway' herself, just to see what would happen.

Nothing did, of course. And I have no idea what I would've done if something had happened.

The rain had stopped altogether now; overhead, the clouds were melting away like snow in the sun. And kneeling on the roof was the woman. She had her hands pressed to her stomach, but blood was pumping out between her fingers. The red-headed woman knelt down beside her, talking urgently to her, her voice too low for Janet to hear what was being said.

Shit. I killed that guy to save her, but she'll die if I don't do something.

If I step forward now, they'll know that something's up. It's not like people just hang out on rooftops in rainstorms with medical kits, waiting for someone to get stabbed.

But if I don't, she'll die.

She took a deep breath and steeled herself. Time to own this shit and stop being a pussy about it. I've been running too long anyway.

Discarding the umbrella, she took up the case – it was heavy, but she could carry it one-handed – and stepped forward. Her feet crunched on the wet gravel, and the two teenagers looked around.

Before they could say or do anything, the roof access door opened again, and two more teenagers spilled out. One, a tall brunette, held a squalling baby; the other one looked about twelve.

“Theo, the thunder woke her up, and she won't -” began the older girl, before she took in the scene before her. “Holy shit! Ms Russel!”

“Who are you?” asked the pudgy boy, looking at Janet and ignoring the girl's exclamation. “What are you doing up here?”

The younger girl looked around and her expression just lit up. A smile spread across her face. “She's here to help,” the girl chirped. “Taylor, give Aster to Theo and help this lady with her medical kit. Theo, take Aster downstairs and get her settled. Annette, go down and bring one of Kaiser's men up here. They need to know he's dead. Ms Campbell, call nine-one-one and tell them we've got a woman with a traumatic penetrating wound to the abdomen. They'll respond faster if it's an adult calling.” She pulled a phone from her pocket and tossed it to Andrea. The red-headed woman stared at it as if she had no idea what it was.

Looking around at everyone, the girl stopped talking. Then she clapped her hands twice. “Well, come on! Ms Russel's not gonna save her own life, here!”

People started moving again; the tall brunette handed the baby to the pudgy boy, who hurried inside with her. Then she came over to Janet. “Uh, hi, I'm Taylor. What can I do?”

“I can always do with an extra hand or two,” Janet said briefly. “Do what I tell you and she might just make it through this alive.” She pointedly ignored the corpse of Kaiser lying not two yards from the woman he'd tried to murder. Not only could she not help him, but even if she could have, she would not.

The red-headed woman got out of her way, tapping numbers into the phone that the girl had given her. As Janet knelt beside Kayden, she heard Andrea say, “Ambulance, please. And police. And, uh, PRT, I guess.”

Janet's nerve nearly failed her right then. The very last people she wanted to talk to were the PRT. I'm pretty sure that killing a cape, even defending someone else, is something they won't be happy about. It didn't help that her brain was just starting to make the connection; while she wasn't exactly clued-in to the cape scene in Brockton Bay, Kaiser was a name that she'd heard before. And I killed him. There's a lot of ways that this could go badly wrong.

But if I do nothing, she'll die anyway. “Taylor,” she said urgently. “Help her lie down, on her back. We have to get pressure on the wound.” But even if she did, she knew that Kayden could still die from lack of blood. I got my advanced first aid certificate before we went out on Avalon, but that was months ago.

Unfastening the lid on the kit, she opened it, and blinked. Who leaves bags of blood expander in a medical kit? But there they were, right where she needed them. Okay, we might just win this.

<><>​

Annette took the stairs two at a time, one hand on the rail to steady herself. Her head was buzzing with the events of the night, the adrenaline still pumping from the confrontation with … well, with Kaiser. Holy shit, my dad was a supervillain. And holy shit, he got struck by lightning, right in front of me. She wasn't sure how she felt about that; he was a dick, and a murderer, but she wasn't totally sure that he needed to die because of that. Okay, so he was gonna kill Ms Russel. She decided to shelve the ethical dilemma for later.

Pushing the doors open, she stepped out on to the front stairs of the building. Kaiser's car was there, with two men waiting next to it. Or if it wasn't Kaiser's car, then some other pretentious rich bastard had chosen to take up two car spaces with a stretch limo.

Both men looked around as she trotted down the steps, then stepped forward. “That's her,” she heard one of them mutter to the other.

“Hey, which of you is Scooby Doo and which one's Shaggy?” she asked.

The one on the left, slightly taller and more muscle-bound, stared at her. “Fuckin' say what?”

“Thanks, Scoob,” she retorted cheekily. “Just so you know, your boss is dead.”

The two goons stared at each other, then back at Annette. “What the fuck are you talking about?” demanded the one that she'd christened 'Scooby'.

She rolled her eyes. “Well, apparently, he decided it was a good idea to wave a big metal spike around in a thunderstorm. One order of crispy fried Max Anders, to go.”

“Fuck.” That was Scooby.

“Think she's fucking with us?” Shaggy looked at her suspiciously.

“Well, there was that fucking great lightning strike.”

“Wow, Scoob, you found the clue!” Annette clapped ironically. “You see how my hair's a bit frizzled? You hear me talking a bit loud? I was about as far away from him as you are from me when he got fuckin' struck by lightning. I mean, he coulda got more dead if he went and nutsacked Behemoth, but not much more, know what I mean?”

<><>​

Joseph Kellerman had never considered himself to be an overly intelligent man. But the way this kid – who, if he understood things right, was the boss's daughter – was talking, the boss was dead. He wasn't quite sure what the 'waving a metal spike' thing was all about, but there had been a big fuck-off lightning strike just before the rain stopped, so …

“What do we do?” asked Lars. He was the dumber of the two. They were both tough enough and ruthless enough to do what the boss said without worrying too much about who got hurt in the process. Unfortunately, smarts hadn't been on the criteria when they were being picked for the job, and with Lars it showed. Which meant that, with the boss not there and possibly dead, Joe was in charge. So he had to decide what to do next. What would Mr Anders do?

Joe made his decision. “Stay here,” he ordered Lars. “If the kid or the woman comes out without me, stop 'em.” He paused, then decided to make things absolutely clear. With Lars, you had to do this. A stupid, violent man, he tended to do things in stupid, violent ways unless he was given careful instructions. “Don't. Hurt. Them. Got me?”

Lars nodded. “If the kid or the woman come out, stop 'em. Don't hurt 'em. Got it.”

“Good.” Joe turned to the kid. “Okay, kid. Show me. But don't try anything funny. 'Cause the boss already told us that a few bruises were forgiveable if you tried to make a break for it.”

“Wow, Scoob, it's almost like you don't believe me,” she snarked. “Come on then.”

He followed her into the building. “And don't call me Scooby.”

“Fiiiine.” Somehow, he just knew she was rolling her eyes. “You're Fred, he's Barney. Better?”

It was like she was trying to push his buttons. “Listen, you little shit -”

She stopped and whirled on him. Halfway up the first flight of stairs as they were, she was on the same eye-level as he was. The chirpiness had gone from her voice, replaced by a cold, deadly tone. “No, you fucking listen. Max Anders is my fucking father. If I know his type, he's already registered the paperwork to make it official. So I'm legally his daughter. Which means that as his oldest child, I'm in line for every fucking thing he owns and runs. Which includes the Empire fucking Eighty-Eight.” She leaned closer. “So if and when I end up giving you your orders, how do you really want me to remember this conversation?”

Before he could answer, she turned and kept climbing the stairs. It was only because of his longer legs and because he spent so much time in the gym that he managed to keep up with her. Not that he had anything to say; in his mind, he was churning over the information that she'd given him. If she ends up as the boss …

Politeness, he decided, was the best course of action for now.

<><>​

He followed her out of the roof access, which had been propped open by a brick. It was amazingly dry up here, he decided. There was no water pooling anywhere, especially near where - “Fuck! Is that Mrs Anders?”

“Yeah, that's her,” the kid said flatly. “Your boss stabbed her just before he got made into a Tater Tot. There he is, over there.”

Joe didn't look where she was pointing, at first. It was Kayden Anders, sure enough. The boss's wife. She was lying on her back, covered in blood. A woman he didn't know was applying a bandage to her stomach, while a teenager with glasses taped it into place. Another kid, this one maybe ten years old, held an IV bag that fed into Mrs Anders' arm. Andrea Campbell, the one person in this group that he actually knew, was standing by, talking on the phone.

“Who are they?” he asked, pointing at the people working on his boss's wife.

The kid gave him an impatient look. “Do you want me to introduce them all to you, or do you want me to show you where your damn boss is?”

Oh, shit. Yeah. Joe looked around, and saw him. He was lying on his back, sightless eyes staring up at the sky. There was a red stain on his shirt that made him reach under his jacket. “I thought you said he got struck by lightning.”

“He did.” The scorn in her voice was evident even to him. “That's pasta sauce. I hit him in the face with a plate of lasagna.”

It was evident to him that she was leaving a lot out, but then, he wasn't the cops. Why did you do that? and Why did he stab Mrs Anders? and What was he even doing on the rooftop? all paled before one important question. Is he really dead?

Max Anders' normally immaculate hair was all standing on end, but that didn't prove anything. Joe bent down and felt for a pulse; it was one of the few medical things he knew how to do. There was nothing, but as he got closer, he could smell a persistent odour of cooked meat. Oh, shit. I think that's him. Fighting down the urge to turn aside and throw up, he kept looking.

Near Mr Anders' outflung hand was indeed a long metal spike, though on closer inspection it seemed to be more like a blade. Where he'd gotten it from, Joe had no idea; he certainly hadn't been carrying it in the car. He must have found it up here.

There was a burn on the palm of Anders' hand, continuing around on to his fingers. About what someone would get if they were holding a metal rod that got struck by lightning, Joe figured. He took another look at the tip of the spike, where the first six inches were charred and blackened. “Is that where -”

“The lightning struck, yeah.” She was looking away, breathing shallowly. “He was dead before he knew it.”

Yeah, I can believe it. Straightening up, he looked down at his boss's body. Well, shit. What the fuck do I do now?

Taking a deep breath, he tried to steady his whirling thoughts. Okay, first things first. Pulling out his phone, he dialled Lars' number.

“Hello?”

“It's Joe.”

“Oh. What's happening? Nobody's come out.”

“No, they're both up here. So's Mr Anders.”

“Oh. What's he say to do?”

“He's not … he's dead. Mr Anders is dead.” He felt a hollow space in his chest at those words.

“ … what.”

“The kid was telling the truth. Mr Anders got struck by lightning. He's dead. I'm looking at his body right now.”

“What the fuck do we do now?”

He wanted to answer Fucked if I know, but he knew that he couldn't. Lars was depending on him to know what to do. Taking a deep breath, he cast around for inspiration. “Uh, right, okay. We'll, uh, withdraw for the moment. Pull back. Call the other higher-ups, let them know about this. They'll have plans for this sort of thing.” At least, I fuckin' hope they do.

“Do we grab the woman and the kid?”

Joe eyed the people on the rooftop. “No, not a good idea. Too many witnesses.” And if the kid's gonna be my boss someday, I don't want to piss her off now.

“What about the boss? We just gonna leave him?”

He considered that. “Yeah, I think we're gonna have to. Pretty sure the cops have been told about this, so if the body just disappears, they'll be looking for us.”

“So we're just going, then?”

“Yeah. I'll be down in a second. Call the other guys. Tell 'em we're pulling back.” Truth be told, he wasn't a hundred percent sure that leaving the woman and the girl was the best idea, but the boss was dead now, and whatever plans he had for them would have to wait. Shutting down his phone, he knelt beside the boss's body and gently patted him down.

“What the hell are you doing?” That was the kid, almost standing over him. “He's dead, you freak!”

“Getting his phone,” he said shortly, lifting up one side of Max Anders' jacket to reach inside.

“Hey, if I'm gonna be the boss, then that's my phone, so leave it.”

Still kneeling, he looked up at her. “If you're gonna be the boss, then I'm taking it so the cops don't get their hands on it. You'll get it back. If you're not … then I'm taking it so the next boss gets it. Either way, I'm not leaving it here, kid.”

“But …” She trailed off, probably trying to figure out a counter-argument. In the meantime, he felt his fingers close over the thing that he sought. Pulling it out of Anders' jacket, he slid it into his pants pocket.

“But nothing. Maybe you'll be my boss someday and maybe you won't.” He stood up and brushed his knees off. “Either way, I'm protecting the Empire. See you around, kid.”

He headed for the roof exit, leaving her staring at his back. The phone in his pocket seemed to burn a hole in his very skin; he couldn't wait to pass it on to someone higher up the line. I hope Mr Fleischer is answering his phone.

<><>​

Andrea looked down at Kayden's pale face, partially obscured by the breathing mask. “So, is she going to make it?”

The paramedic finished hooking the IV bag on to the tree in the ambulance. “Well, I don't like to make snap judgements, but her vitals are pretty good for someone who's just been stabbed. If you and your friends hadn't been here to patch her up and put fluids into her, she'd likely be dead by now.”

“Yeah.” She nodded, smiling wanly at the man. “I didn't do much helping. I just called you guys.”

He chuckled as he double-checked the clamps holding the gurney in place. “Trust me, calling nine-one-one is one of the best things you can do in an emergency. Sometimes it's the only thing. And it's never a bad thing. You did all right.”

“Thanks.” She watched as he pulled the doors shut. A moment later, the ambulance started up and moved off down the street.

“She going to be okay, Mom?” That was Annette, beside her.

“I hope so, honey.” Andrea put her arm around her daughter's shoulders, then pulled her into a full hug. Annette responded in kind; they shared a moment of closeness, reaffirming their strong bond. “You did good tonight. Just saying.”

“I hope Taylor's dad's gonna be okay.” Danny had shown up around the same time as the police, a bruise already forming on his jaw.

“He should be all right.” She looked across at where Danny stood close to his daughter, talking quietly to her. “They should be all right.”

“You like him a lot, don't you, Mom?” As always, Annette was very direct.

“Yeah, honey, I like him a lot.” She sighed softly. “He tried to fight Max to help me. Even if Max put him down, he still tried. That means a lot to me.”

“Me too.” Annette looked around, first at where the police were still interviewing everyone they could find, then up at the apartment building itself. “So what's gonna happen now?”

Andrea smiled. “I don't know, but I think we're gonna have fun finding out.”

<><>​

Emily Piggot gripped the phone a little more tightly. “Repeat that, please.”

“We believe that Kaiser is dead, ma'am. We were called to an apartment complex with a dead man and a wounded woman on the roof. Witnesses at the scene positively identified the dead man, Max Anders, as Kaiser. There was a metal blade nearby, essentially identical to Kaiser's usual creations. The lab is currently testing it. Every indication shows that he died from being struck by lightning. Our current supposition is that the wounded woman is Purity. She has the right body type.”

“ … right. So were they fighting a lightning-generating cape? Do we even have one of those in Brockton Bay?” As far as Emily knew, there wasn't one, but that sort of thing could change at any moment.

The officer on the other end sounded positively apologetic. “Uh, no, ma'am. It seems like a legitimate lightning strike. From the thunderstorm we had earlier this evening.”

“So how was Purity wounded? Was she struck by lightning as well?”

“No, ma'am. She's been stabbed. We're reasonably certain that Kaiser is the perpetrator, considering that there are traces of blood on the blade. This is also being tested for a match.”

Piggot blinked for a long moment, then leaned back in her chair. “So what you're telling me is that Kaiser and Purity clashed on top of an apartment building. He stabbed her, then got struck by lightning.”

“That's essentially it, yes, ma'am.”

She sat forward again. “Well, I'm not buying it. Keep digging. Something like this just doesn't fall into our laps. There's more to it, and I want to know what it is.”

His voice was resigned. She didn't care. “Yes, ma'am.”

Piggot hung up the phone, and turned her chair to look out over Brockton Bay's nightscape. However it happened, Kaiser's dead. This is going to cause a lot of problems.

It might solve a few, she knew, especially now that the PRT was aware of Medhall's Empire ties, but more would crop up than be solved.

Such was the way of the world.

<><>​

Janet sat nervously on the sofa with her duffel on her lap, the medical kit on the floor in front of her. Danny Hebert sat in an armchair opposite her; Andrea perched on the arm of the chair.

“Okay, so we covered for you with the cops,” Andrea said simply. “You didn't want to talk to them, which I can kind of understand. But we need to understand now. What's going on? What were you even doing on the roof?”

I've gotta trust someone, sometime. Taking a deep breath, Janet made a leap of faith. “I've got powers,” she began.


End of Part Nine

Part Ten

 

Alea Iacta Est

Part Ten: New Pieces on the Board



[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]



“ … and when I looked around, she was gone,” Janet concluded. “But then I saw the first-aid kit, so I brought it over.” She paused to sip at the cup of tea that Andrea had made for her. “The rest, you know.”

Silence fell, broken only by the ticking of the clock on the wall. Danny glanced up at Andrea, the movement making the bruise on his jaw more obvious. A silent communication passed between them, before Danny looked at Janet again. “Normally, I'd call bullshit on everything you've said,” he said evenly. “But that approach falls down in the face of the overwhelming evidence. You showed up at exactly the right time, with exactly the right power to deal with Anders once and for all. In addition, you had a fully stocked first-aid kit, which is all that stood between Ms Russel living or dying.”

“Which would've been impossible to carry up the fire-escape one-handed, I might add,” Andrea added cheerfully. “So there's that too. Which leads us to the next problem.”

“Next problem?” Janet asked, becoming suddenly wary. She didn't think that Danny and Andrea meant her actual harm, but the word 'problem' wasn't one she liked.

“Yeah.” Danny didn't seem to have consulted with Andrea, but he picked right up on her train of thought. “The bit about saving the world by getting Annette loose from Max Anders. That's kind of … ominous.”

“She did say 'one small step on the path',” Janet reminded him. “It's not the whole of the thing. From the sound of it, there's more that needs to be done.”

“It's not that,” Andrea said, sounding somewhat aggrieved. “I made a deal with Annette years ago. No destroying or saving the world before she's twenty-one, and to give me adequate warning before she does so. And there goes your mysterious woman in a fedora, just coming in from left field and ruining my entire schedule.”

Janet stared at the petite redhead, then looked at Danny. “Is she serious?”

Danny shrugged and spread his hands helplessly. “This is the most I've seen of her in sixteen years, but from what I recall of her, it's something she'd do.”

“What, you mean you haven't made a deal like that with Taylor?” Andrea gave Danny an extremely concerned look. “Seriously, you have to be kidding. You know how teenagers can get. If you don't get a promise like that out of them, the next thing you know they're beating the Simurgh at six-dimensional chess or inviting the Queen of Air and Darkness over for afternoon tea. And you know how she is about her light snacks.” She glanced over at Janet, who was wondering just what the hell was going on. “If you offer her anything low-fat or gluten-free, she goes totally off the deep end. It's just not worth it.”

Danny raised his eyebrows. “So, has Annette actually done any of that?” He sounded as though he wouldn't be surprised if she had.

“Well, not yet,” conceded Andrea. “Like I said, I made a deal with her. Mind you, I forgot to ask her to warn me before introducing old not-quite-boyfriends back into my life, which was entirely my fault.” She gave Janet a cheerful grin. “As for rain goddesses, well, that's not something I can really blame Annette for, so she's off the hook for that one.”

“I'm not a rain goddess.” It was about the one thing Janet was sure of in all of this. “I'm just a cape that controls water and weather.” As uncomfortable as she was with doing either.

“And you're wound about as tight as the mainspring on Rip Van Winkle's alarm clock,” Andrea decided. “When was the last time you had a good night's sleep? I mean, slept all the way through the night with no bad dreams?” The redhead was now looking at her intently.

Janet wondered if Andrea was a Thinker who could see into her head. “Uh, not recently.”

“Translation: not since I got my powers.” Andrea's voice was utterly certain. She slid off the arm of Danny's chair and strolled over to where Janet sat. “So, have you had sex since then?”

Janet blinked, her brain refusing to process the last question. “ … what?” Is she coming on to me, or just asking a really intrusive question?

“Sex.” Andrea's voice was patient. “Love. Lust. Screwing. Fucking. The beast with two backs. The horizontal mambo. Or, you know, standing, if that's your thing. Or are you into women?” Her wink was perhaps the single most salacious facial gesture that Janet had ever seen. “I mean, I'm more that way inclined myself, but I'm gonna be making an exception for Danny when we get the chance. Just saying.”

“Uh. no.” Janet managed to coax her brain into forming words, where it just wanted to run away and gibber in the corner. Well, I got my answer. Both. “Not into women.”

“Oh, well. Pity.” Andrea sighed. “Anyway, you haven't gotten laid once since you got your powers? Geez, no wonder you're all messed up in the head. That's what you need, I bet. Sex, and lots of it. Relaxes anyone.”

“Andrea.” Danny's voice was mild, but it held a note of censure. “Ease off on her. She's not used to you. Hasn't been immunised yet.”

Andrea blew a raspberry at him. “No fair. You know how I get around women with muscles.”

That got her an eye-roll. “Yeah. The same way you get around everyone else.”

“Hey! I resemble that remark!” Andrea almost sounded angry, until Janet actually thought about what she'd just said. “Just because I'm open about what I like …”

“No.” Danny's voice was patient. “Normal people are 'open'. You run a street fair with dancing girls, carrying placards that spell out your preferences in detail.”

“Dancing girls in bikinis,” Andrea said patiently. “Get it right.”

Janet rubbed at her right temple with her fingertips. Her life had been getting more and more surreal since she walked out of the bathroom to see the woman in the trenchcoat and fedora, but since meeting the redhead, she felt as though it'd taken a sharp right into the Twilight Zone. I'm not sure who's worse, the mysteriously appearing and disappearing woman, or the red-headed sex maniac. On second thought, she deleted the word 'sex'. Andrea seemed to be intent on making Janet question her sanity in general; while the redhead's preoccupation with sex was a little unsettling, it wasn't the weirdest thing about her.

Danny sighed. “Andrea, come here, please.” His voice was firm, but Janet was still somewhat surprised when the redhead obediently returned to her seat on the chair arm. His arm slid around her waist, but whether it was for closer contact or to make sure that Andrea didn't get up again, it wasn't entirely clear.

Either way, Andrea wasn't protesting; instead, she grinned and slid part-way off the chair arm so that she was half-sitting on Danny's lap, one arm behind his neck. “About damn time,” she said, just loud enough for Janet to hear.

“I'm sorry about that,” Danny said to Janet. “Andrea tends to act out when she's been having a shitty day. Are you okay?”

“I'll be fine.” Janet felt that this was almost true, for a given definition of 'fine'. “Things are just moving really fast right now. Uh, thanks for not telling the cops about me.”

“We wanted to keep the situation as simple as possible,” Danny pointed out. “Bringing you into the mix, especially before we knew exactly what was going on with you, would have potentially made things very complicated.” He paused. “Also, my daughter and her friend advised me strongly against it.”

“Uh, I'm sorry,” confessed Janet. “I don't know who was who up there. There was one girl who was ordering everyone around. Is that your daughter?”

“No, that was Dinah. My daughter's Taylor. The one who helped you save Ms Russel's life.” Danny gave Janet an approving look. “She said you knew exactly what to do. You've done this sort of thing before?”

“No.” Janet shook her head. “But I'm certified in advanced first aid. Your daughter was extremely helpful. I couldn't have done it alone.” She tried to imagine applying the appropriate first aid without the assistance that Taylor had given her, and knew it couldn't be done.

Danny nodded in agreement. “I'll be sure to tell her. But in the meantime, we have other issues to deal with. First off, what are your plans right now? Are you looking to leave Brockton Bay, or are you going to hang around for a while?”

Janet examined the carpet as she considered the question. She didn't really have anywhere to go and, while being in a seaport wasn't exactly her first choice for where she wanted to be, this was the first place she'd encountered people who were willing to see past her powers to the person beneath. Not that she'd really given anyone else a chance to even do that much, but Canary's arrest and impending trial had a way of realising her worst fears. And then there was the bizarre woman who had dumped her into this situation without so much as a fare-thee-well. Janet could think of half a dozen ways that the Kaiser situation could have been resolved without her assistance, which meant that her part in this situation wasn't over yet. And I am so very tired of running …

She raised her eyes to meet Danny's. “Suppose I decided to hang around. What's the next step? Because I have a strong feeling that the 'other issues' which you just mentioned also involve me.” Which, in its own way, was even more ominous than Andrea's daughter being essential to saving the world. She had to wonder what he wanted from her.

He tilted his head. “You're not wrong. The other issues I was talking about involve the formation of a new superhero team in Brockton Bay. And you joining it, if you're interested.”

Janet's speculations came to an abrupt, screeching halt. Whatever she'd thought he wanted from her – admittedly, the list was extremely short – joining a superhero team was not exactly at the top of her expectations. In fact, it was hanging somewhere off the bottom. She shook her head, staring at him. “... Come again?”

Andrea's face creased with impish glee. “That's what he said!”

Danny rolled his eyes. “Okay, that joke is getting old. Janet, I've spoken to Taylor and Dinah about this, and they're good with you knowing it. They're both capes, and they want to form a team. With you as a member, if you're interested.”

And the surprises just keep coming. “Wait.” Janet made a masterful effort to keep up with current events. “Your daughter's a cape. And so is Dinah. The bossy one. And they want to form a team. With me.”

“Not just you,” Andrea interjected. “There are others, but that's the basic situation, yeah.” The ditzy attitude wasn't gone, Janet noted. Just … in abeyance. “They're good kids. Smart.”

“Hold on a second.” Janet held up her hand, as if to prevent any more unwanted revelations from reaching her ears. “How can you be sure it's even safe telling me about this? I could be a total asshole, or worse. Sure, I've got powers. But that means jack.” It wasn't that she had the slightest intention of unmasking either of the kids, but she needed to know that Danny wasn't prone to doing things half-assed. And just blurting all this out to her felt really half-assed.

Danny chuckled and shook his head in good humour. “You didn't ask what powers they had.”

This didn't seem to be any sort of answer to the question she had just posed, but she bit anyway. “Okay, what are their powers?”

Andrea grinned. “Dinah's insanely good at figuring out the right people for any sort of job. Including people she's never met before.”

Janet thought back to the confusion on the roof, and how the young girl had sliced through the chaos with a few well-chosen orders. They had gone from a disorganised mob to a functioning team within seconds. “Okay,” she ventured. “I can kinda see that. And Taylor?”

“Taylor's a Thinker too,” Danny replied. “More specifically, she's a precog. With an accuracy measurable in the fractions of a percentile. So when she predicted that you wouldn't betray our trust if we told you about them, we believed her. Were we wrong?” His eyes, enlarged by the glasses he wore, bored into hers.

Janet sighed. “No. You weren't wrong. I'd never out them.” She paused for a moment to collect her thoughts. “And Dinah's sure that I'd make the perfect addition to your brand-new superhero team?”

“Yup,” Andrea said at once. “But if you're worried about being the only adult on the team, don't be.” Her ever-present grin came to the surface again. “Because like the man said; 'but wait, there's more'.”

“Please tell me you're not on it.” Janet didn't dislike Andrea – the woman's heart seemed to be in the right place – but she wasn't sure if she could take the redhead in concentrated doses. At least she's stopped hitting on me.

Andrea blew a raspberry. “Me? Hah! Nope, I'm normal. Or as normal as this fabulous bod ever gets.” She stretched as much as she could in the confined space, kicking her legs out in front of her. “But we've got other prospects. Prospects who kind of required a heavy hitter already on the team as a prerequisite for joining themselves.”

Janet could connect the dots as well as anyone. “And I'm that heavy hitter.” Oh, great. So if I say no, the whole team's gonna fall apart. Way to guilt trip me.

“Actually, no.” Danny shifted Andrea so that she was fully on his lap. “Dinah was already talking to Purity. We're pretty sure that she was strongly considering joining. It's just that while she's in the hospital, she's unable to come out and be a hero.”

Janet frowned. “Purity's the glowing one, that Kaiser stabbed, right? I thought she was a villain too.” At least, that was her understanding from half-recalled TV spots.

“Well, yes and no.” Danny tilted his head. “She was a member of the Empire Eighty-Eight for about ten years, but Dinah says she's been trying to break away from them in the last year or so. Maybe because of her baby.”

“Baby?” Janet was startled. “What baby?” But then she recalled; when the teenagers had spilled on to the roof, one of them had been carrying a crying baby. Taylor, give Aster to Theo and help this lady with her medical kit. Theo, take Aster downstairs and get her settled. “Aster. Aster's her baby?”

“Ding!” Andrea held up her finger victoriously. “And the lady wins a prize. I can kind of understand her wanting to be a hero, too. Before I had Annette, I was all kinds of wild and crazy. Now, I've settled right down.”

Janet blinked a few times. She tried to imagine Andrea being even more 'wild and crazy' than she'd been just a few minutes before. Good God. How is Brockton Bay still standing?

“That remains to be seen.” Danny's voice was exceedingly dry. Oh, good. I'm not the only one who thinks that. “But be that as it may, it's still your choice whether or not to join the team, even if it's only until Purity's on her feet. If you wanted to move on tomorrow, I honestly wouldn't blame you; even by Brockton Bay's standards, tonight's been traumatic as hell. But if you wanted to stay, you'd be welcome.”

Janet had to take a few moments to get her head around that. These people know what I can do. They accept it, and they want me to stay. They even kept my name away from the police. They don't know me from Adam, but they're putting themselves out for me.

Cynicism took that opportunity to rear its ugly head. Yeah, they just want me for what I can do for them. I'm just a set of powers for their new team.

For a long, frozen moment, she was on the verge of getting up and walking out. But something held her back. At first she wasn't sure what it was, but then she registered the expression in Danny Hebert's eyes. It wasn't calculation, or any sort of self-satisfaction. It took a second or so for her to recognise it, but her task was made easier by the fact that Andrea had the same look in her eyes. They were looking at her with hope and expectation.

“Suppose I joined,” she began hesitantly, then stopped and thought about what she was saying. “I mean, I could leave at any time, right?”

“Well, duh,” Andrea began, only to be shushed by Danny. “What?” she protested.

“We need to be serious about this,” he told her, then switched his attention to Janet. “I'm hoping you'll join. I mean, Taylor's only fifteen. Dinah's only twelve. Every time I think about them out there going up against the worst that Brockton Bay has to offer, I get the cold shivers. But ultimately it'll be your decision, to join and to stay. Nothing less is fair to you.”

She thought about his words, then nodded. “Not saying I'll join,” she said. “But I'll think it over and give you my answer in the morning. You know a place I can get a room at this time of night? I mean, morning?”

“Sure,” said Andrea promptly. “You can sleep here tonight. I'll be staying over at Kayden's, keeping an eye on Annette, Theo and Aster.” She flicked a glance up at Danny, along with a gamine grin. “You can stay over too if you want.”

Danny shook his head with what seemed more than a little reluctance. “No, I've got to get Taylor home and … damn it. My car.” His face creased in annoyance, and Janet recalled that his tires had been slashed.

“Take my car,” Andrea offered. “Bring it back in the morning.” She fished out a set of keys and dangled them in front of his eyes.

“I can't take your car,” he protested. “I mean … it's your car.”

“Hey, I'm gonna be sleeping with you,” she pointed out. “That means I already trust you. Take the damn keys.”

The logic was weird, but Janet couldn't fault it. Though she had to be sure. “Uh, and you're willing to leave me overnight in your apartment because you already trust me?”

Andrea gave her a brilliant smile. “Got it in one. Plus, you got stuff you need to work through, without anyone waiting around for an answer. I'll show up tomorrow sometime, but I'll call the landline first so you can get dressed.” She gave Janet that wink again. “Or undressed. Your choice.”

Janet felt her cheeks heating. “Dressed. It'll definitely be dressed.”

“Oh, well. Your loss.” Andrea shrugged, then scrambled off of Danny's lap. “Lock up when we leave.” She paused to give Janet an unusually serious look. “Also, if you're interested, I'm not bad at back and shoulder massages. Which don't always lead to sex!” She stuck her tongue out at Danny, even though he hadn't said a word.

He raised an eyebrow. “To hear Anne-Rose talk, that was the main reason you gave them.” Danny stood up. “Though, to be fair, you were pretty good at them, from what I remember.” He turned to Janet. “I'd actually recommend it. Just whack her on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper if she tries to hit on you again.”

“Hey!” Andrea managed to put on an outraged tone. “She said no. I know what 'no' means.”

“She had to say it twice.” Danny's tone was mildly censorious.

“Sometimes people don't realise I'm making a move the first time,” she pointed out. “Like you, for instance.” She grinned at Janet. “I hit on him on a weekly basis while he was dating Taylor's mom, and he only just realised it now. Sixteen years later.”

Janet stared at Danny. “You didn't realise? Okay, I get that guys can miss the signs when we're being subtle, but she's about as subtle as a brick through the windshield.”

“Hey!” protested Andrea.

“Well, yeah, but when you've been exposed to her for a while, you kind of filter out the flirting,” Danny explained, ignoring the outburst. “Sometimes I think she only does it to make sure we're paying attention.”

“Which you weren't,” Andrea said severely. “You didn't even get it the time I offered to give you a lap dance.”

“When the hell did that happen?” demanded Danny. Janet was also curious; it took a certain amount of obliviousness to miss something like that.

“Oh, wait, no, that was Anne-Rose,” Andrea recalled. “She took me up on it, too.” Her face took on a beatific expression. “That was a fun night.”

“I have no doubt,” Danny said dryly. “But anyway, I really need to get home. Janet, you'll be okay here on your own?”

Janet nodded. While she still wasn't a hundred percent on board with crashing in Andrea's apartment, it was the best of a limited series of options. “I'll manage.”

“Feel free to snack out of the fridge,” Andrea said as she headed for the door. “Also, Annette's bed might be a little cosy, so you can use the master bedroom, through there.” She pointed at one of the doors.

“Andrea, she's an adult,” Danny chided the redhead, nudging her toward the door. “Let her be. We have to go.”

The door closed behind them, leaving Janet alone in the apartment. Carefully, she put the duffel to one side, then got up. The first thing she did was lock the door and set the deadbolt; powers or no, she didn't want to tempt fate. Then she went in search of the bathroom. Despite her dislike of water, a long hot shower seemed ideal right at that moment.

As she readied for the shower, she mulled over the conversation. Danny seemed … reliable. Solid. Someone she would like to have on her side. Andrea, on the other hand was ditzy as hell, and seemed to thrive on saying whatever weird thing came to mind. The fact that the woman had hit on her twice was … she wasn't quite sure whether to class it as 'irritating' or 'flattering'. On the one hand, Janet was not into women. On the other, it was obviously something Andrea only did with people she considered to be completely trustworthy. So, kind of a weird back-handed compliment? Raising the stump of her left wrist, she contemplated it. She never mentioned this, except to mention how hard it would have been to carry the kit up the fire escape. No jokes about it. And she still found me attractive, even with it. Which was a weird thing to be pleased about, but there it was.

As she stepped under the torrent of water – this shower had about three times the power of the motel room ones she was used to – Janet nodded to herself. I think I'll stick around. Just to see what happens.

<><>​

The Next Day

Kayden lay in silent darkness. She wasn't quite sure what was going on. Her throat was dry, bringing back memories of the accident. Was she still trapped in the car? Were all those hazy memories just products of delirium? Had she only hallucinated getting powers? Am I going to die here? The fear that thought produced was overshadowed by a more visceral terror; Did I dream Aster? Am I going to wake up and find out that she never existed? If that was the case, she would welcome death.

“I think she's waking up. All her readings just jumped.”

“Kayden? Kayden? Can you hear me?”

The voices were vague. She wasn't quite sure if she was imagining them or not.

“Kayden, can you open your eyes for us?”

Oh, that's right. She'd closed her eyes to keep out the burning sun. She didn't want to open them, not if it meant losing the dream where she'd had the most beautiful baby in the world. She scrunched her eyes more tightly shut, and turned over in bed to escape from the voice. There was a stab of pain from her midsection.

Wait a minute. I'm in a bed. I'm not in the car any more. And my stomach hurts. Why does my stomach hurt?

“Did you see that? She moved.” The voice was closer now.

I have to find out where I am. Carefully, gradually, she opened her eyes. There was no dazzling; she hadn't had to blink her eyes to adjust to the light since … since I got my powers. I'm me. Everything I remember is real. So why can't I remember where I am? Why does my stomach hurt?

Slowly, she raised her eyes. She was indeed in a bed; unless she was badly mistaken, this was a hospital. A nurse stood next to the bed, looking down at her with a combination of personal concern and professional interest.

“How do you feel, Kayden?” asked the nurse. Even as she spoke, she took up Kayden's wrist and checked the watch hanging from the front of her uniform.

“Where am I? Where's Aster?” Kayden tried to ask, but all that came out was a husky rasp.

“Wait a moment,” the nurse said briskly, then a water bottle came into view. The nurse fitted the nozzle between her lips and squirted a little lukewarm liquid into her mouth.

Kayden swallowed greedily, feeling it soaking into her parched throat. “Where am I?” she asked again. “Where's Aster?”

“You're in Brockton Bay General Hospital,” the nurse said with a warm smile. “I was given a message to give to you. Andrea is taking care of Theo and Aster. Does that help?”

It did, somewhat. While Kayden wasn't quite sure of Andrea's maternal capabilities, Theo had already proven himself capable of caring for his sister. However, the last thing she could remember was trying to get home in the pouring rain, against heavy traffic. “Yes, thank you. What happened? Why does my stomach hurt?”

At that, the nurse's expression became a little guarded. “What do you remember?”

Kayden grabbed the nurse by the wrist. The sudden moment jolted her whole body, eliciting a jolt of pain from her stomach, but she didn't care. “Tell me. Now.”

“You – you were stabbed,” the nurse blurted, a little fear shading her voice. “By Kaiser, they said.”

Kayden blinked, her grip going slack. She didn't have much strength as it was. “What … what happened then?” She thought she could recall the event, but it was hazy in the extreme. She said that Andrea was taking care of the children. I can't see Max leaving me alive or leaving Aster in someone else's hands. What happened?

“Let me answer that one.” The curtain behind the nurse parted and Miss Militia stepped through. Kayden tensed up, even though this elicited another warning message from her stomach. She'd thought there was another voice in the room.

“What's this?” she demanded. “What's going on?” But she knew. It couldn't be anything else. The PRT knew exactly who she was. She was just surprised that she wasn't waking up in a PRT cell with containment foam covering her from head to toe.

“Take it easy, Ms Russel.” Miss Militia stood there, hands curled loosely at her sides. Her famous weapon was currently in the shape of a cavalry sabre in a scabbard at her waist, but Kayden knew just how fast the PRT second in command could change it to something else, or just draw it and use it. As it was, crippled by her wound, she was essentially helpless. “I'm just here to make sure nothing … untoward … happens.”

“What the hell does 'untoward' mean?” Kayden's eyes flickered from point to point, looking for anything that could give her an advantage if a fight started. “What are you talking about?”

Instead of answering immediately, Miss Militia gave her a long, speculative look. When she did speak, her question was nonsensical. “Do you know of anyone with lightning powers in Brockton Bay?”

“What?” Kayden stared at the hero. “Lightning powers?”

“I'll take that as a no, then.” Without looking, Miss Militia hooked a chair over with her foot, and sat down in it. Her eyes never shifted from Kayden's, even as she made the entire action look casual. “I'm asking because Kaiser's dead. Just as he was about to finish you off, his blade was struck by lightning. From every indication, he died instantly.”

Kayden blinked. It had been raining, but … “Yes, I see what you mean. Just a little coincidental. Still, waving a metal blade around in a storm is kind of asking for it.” Behind her eyes, she was exulting. Max is dead! He can't take Aster away from me any more! Later, she knew, she would regret the passing of the man she had once loved, but for now all she could think of was her baby.

“That's one way to put it, yes.” Miss Militia's tone was remarkably dry, though Kayden really couldn't see if she was smiling or not.

“Okay, so we've cleared the air.” Kayden met the hero's gaze directly. “Why are you here, exactly? What does 'untoward' mean in this situation?”

“It means that we're in a difficult situation,” the hero said, her tone candid. “Why did Kaiser stab you? Why were you even on that roof for him to stab you?”

“I'm sorry, but I can't recall exactly what happened,” Kayden said, suddenly glad that this was the exact truth. “Except that I do happen to live there, so I've got any number of reasons to be on my roof. As for why … well, I can also think of several reasons, none of them really valid to anyone but Max Anders.”

“So you knew that Kaiser was Max Anders?” Miss Militia sounded less than surprised.

“Well, duh,” Kayden forced her tone to remain casual. “I was married to the man for eleven months. I also divorced him, just as soon as I discovered the side of him that I didn't like.” Which is even kind of true. She spread her hands on the covers. “You'll find that's a matter of public record as well.” She had a sinking feeling that her act wasn't fooling Miss Militia in the slightest, but the hero never showed a hint either way.

“Granted.” Miss Militia leaned back in her chair. She knew all along. “So, back to possible reasons that Kaiser might have had for stabbing you?”

Kayden, thankful for the respite, responded promptly. “One: I knew his secret identity. I suspect I only survived the divorce because I never even hinted at a willingness to tell anyone.”

“Given Kaiser's crimes, keeping quiet about his real identity and whereabouts could be seen as being an accessory,” Miss Militia observed quietly. “By some people. Just so you know.” Her manner made it clear that she wasn't one of 'those people'. In fact, she seemed to be uninterested in being aggressive or accusatory. Her attitude was more along the lines of a chat between old friends … or old enemies.

“I married the man, so those people can take their 'accessory' and shove it up their ass,” Kayden retorted. “He fathered my daughter. I wasn't going to help him stay out of prison, but he'd earned that much from me, at least.”

Miss Militia tilted her head thoughtfully, but she didn't argue. “And the other reasons?”

“The second reason would be that he wanted Aster to be raised in his image,” Kayden said. “I wasn't going to allow that. He has an older boy, who's … flat. No real personality. Max ground him down. He tried to do the same to me, but I got out.”

“Hm.” Miss Militia straightened the scarf over her face minutely. “And the third?”

“Oh, the third?” Kayden rolled her eyes. “I'm just spitballing here, but if the Empire Eighty-Eight as a whole decided that I was a danger, they might've pressured Kaiser into killing me. Just to tie up loose ends. He'd have taken Aster, of course, because Max Anders always gets what he wants.” She tried and failed to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

“Whoever called down that lightning bolt would disagree,” Miss Militia said, with a crease of the eyes that may have signalled a grin. “He'll never threaten you or your child again. He's in the PRT morgue, downtown.”

Kayden didn't want to ask the next question, but she knew that if she didn't, it would look decidedly odd. Not to mention that she was curious about the answer herself. “So why are you here, anyway? I'm pretty sure that the PRT doesn't normally send capes to sit at the bedside of the exes of dead villains. And you never did explain what you meant by 'untoward'.”

While the scarf hid a great deal of Miss Militia's expression, the woman still managed to look somewhat uncomfortable. “We're rarely in the position of having someone fall into our laps who's been indirectly implicated in the death of a major villain, and who are themselves suspected of being a parahuman. If you are who we think you are, then this would be an ideal time to take you into custody. However, if you're just a semi-innocent bystander, then there's a good chance that your life's in danger from the rest of the Empire.” She held up her left hand and waggled it from side to side. “Two different potential outcomes, both of them fitting the definition of 'untoward'. You see our conundrum.” Her tone never varied from the conversational. It was almost as though she didn't really mean what she was saying, and was reading from a script.

“Wait, what now?” Kayden knew she was reacting slowly to Miss Militia's casual statement, but she wasn't reacting quickly to anything at the moment. She wondered if that was due to the painkillers, and then she wondered how much of it was due to the painkillers. “Suspected of being a parahuman? Me? Since when?” Okay, they only suspect so far. Play the wounded innocent.

Miss Militia had the unmitigated gall to tilt her head slightly in appreciation of Kayden's acting skills before her eyes narrowed slightly over the flag-printed bandanna. “Well, you see, while no good photos have ever been taken of Kaiser's associate Purity due to her ability to glare out lenses with her power, we have managed to determine that she's got the same body type as you. There are also rumours that Purity was elevated to second-in-command of the Empire Eighty-Eight within days of your marriage to Max Anders. A little coincidental, don't you think?” Her tone said loud and clear coincidental, my flag-covered ass.

“What do I think?” Kayden glared at the hero with all the venom at her command. “I think that whatever I say here is inadmissible in court, because I'm under the influence of painkillers. I think that you're just fishing, because you'd love to slap the cuffs on me but you can't quite make your case add up. I think that if you had a real case, I would've woken up behind bars. I think that anyone can make up a good story by adding up any two coincidental dates and slapping on a healthy dose of conspiracy theory. And I think that Max Anders may well have had a type, and that type was petite women. Anything else you want to add?” She fell back against the pillow, panting a little; as slight an effort as her tirade had been, it still left her feeling as though she'd just run a marathon.

“Not at the moment,” Miss Militia said, sounding entirely unsurprised by what Kayden had just said. She was probably expecting that. “Though we can offer you official PRT protection if you believe that your life is in danger from the Empire Eighty-Eight.” She let the moment draw out, raising her eyebrows interrogatively. And, Kayden realised, this was the first time that she had put emphasis behind her words.

She knew from the start that I was lying through my teeth, but didn't want to push it, probably because they've got no actual proof. Probably trying to edge me into accepting a plea deal for informing on the rest of the Empire. Well, screw her.

Kayden looked her straight in the eye. “Even if I was, I wouldn't accept it from you.” There. Let her wonder if I'm referring to her personally or the PRT. “Get out.”

Miss Militia sighed and stood up. “If that's what you want. In case you change your mind, this is my card.” She produced a rectangle of white pasteboard from her belt and placed it on the rolling tray table. “Have a good day … Ms Russel.”

“Fuck you.” Kayden clawed the card off the tray and threw it at the trash can. She wasn't even sure if the hero heard the words as the curtains closed behind her. Once she was gone, Kayden was left to ponder over exactly what the visit meant. They're on to us. All of us. Max's death has outed more than me. Every one of his associates is now under suspicion. All the PRT has to do is find one piece of proof, and they'll be watching us like hawks to slip and give them that proof. The conclusion was sobering. This could spell the end of the Empire.

The nurse slipped back in through the curtains. With her came a doctor, who eyed Kayden with concern. “Ms Russel,” he said at once. “I'm sorry about that intrusion. I wasn't informed of it until just now. Are you feeling all right?”

For a moment, Kayden considered telling the doctor that she wanted to sue the Protectorate for harassment, but decided that it probably wouldn't be the best idea in the world. “I've been better,” she said cautiously. “How bad was it?”

“It could have been much worse than it was,” he said, his professional smile obviously intended to allay her fears. “While the injury was quite serious, the surgery to repair the damage went very smoothly and I expect you to make a full recovery.”

She raised her chin, fully aware of what a snow job sounded like. “Define 'quite serious'.” A broken leg was quite serious; she was reasonably sure that what Max had done to her surpassed that particular bar.

He cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. “The weapon pierced a blood vessel. You were bleeding quite badly. Fortunately, you were given excellent first aid on site, and the paramedics were able to keep you stable until we got you into theatre.” He didn't so far as to say you could have died, but he didn't have to. She could connect the dots for herself.

“So how long till I get out of here?” Kayden didn't really believe that she was in danger from the Empire Eighty-Eight – they would be too busy scrambling to save their own skins to bother with her – but she knew that she'd feel much more secure standing on her own two feet and able to use her powers without knocking herself out.

“Well, that's not something I can make a firm estimate on,” he said, and rubbed his chin. As he did so, the nurse stepped around him. She withdrew an electronic thermometer from her pocket and switched it on. With gestures, she indicated that Kayden was to open her mouth. The thermometer was cold at first, but the metal and plastic warmed almost immediately; a moment later, the device beeped and the nurse retrieved it.

“A simple stab wound would take about a week and a half to two weeks to heal,” he pronounced, accepting the thermometer from the nurse and inspecting the readout. “Oh, that's good. Your temperature's down again. You did have us a little worried for a while there.”

“A week and a half to two weeks to heal,” Kayden prompted him.

“Oh, yes.” He handed the thermometer back to the nurse. “With a wound of this severity, I would consider releasing you as an outpatient in about a month, plus or minus a week or so, depending on how well you respond to treatment. This would not mean that you are fully healed, of course. Just that you're able to go home and finish your recuperation there. With frequent checkups to make sure that nothing's going wrong.”

In other words, forever and a day. Kayden hadn't known until now exactly how dependent she'd been on Othala to get her back to health after a battle had gone wrong. She didn't even know if the Trump and her husband would stay in Brockton Bay, much less the Empire; while they weren't publicly known to be close associates of Max Anders, the organisation itself was likely to undergo a considerable shakeup now that he was dead. I wonder if I can get a message to them for old times' sake …

“Mind you, it could be much worse,” the doctor assured her. “There have been minimal signs of infection, and you're a healthy woman. I've seen patients in worse shape than you pull through with no trouble whatsoever.” He gave her a professional smile. “Trust me, you're in good hands here.” The nurse leaned over to him and murmured something, and he brightened. “Oh, and before I forget, you have visitors. Do you want to see them?”

Kayden frowned. More visitors, you mean. “That depends. Are they wearing masks or suits?” Protectorate or PRT, in other words.

He shook his head. “No, I believe not.”

She allowed a tiny thread of hope to spring to life in her heart. “Sure, let them in.” If it was someone else here to bother her, she could always send them away again.

The doctor and nurse both left; a moment later, the curtains parted, and Theo stood there, holding … “Aster!” she gasped, her eyes opening wide and her hands going up instinctively, reaching out for the most precious thing in her existence.

“Hi, Mom,” Theo offered, apparently unoffended by her focus on his sister. He placed her baby in her arms, careful not to let the infant rest on her abdomen. The baby's eyes opened and she smiled; Kayden's heart melted on the spot. Inhaling her child's fresh scent, she listened to Aster's happy gurglings and felt at peace.

“How are you feeling?” Theo asked, watching her face.

“Better, now,” she said with a matching smile. Then what he'd said registered on her. “'Mom'? Really?” Up until now, he'd called her 'Kayden'.

He shuffled his feet awkwardly. That's Theo, all right. “I, uh, got to thinking after you got hurt. If I lost you, I've got no parents at all. And I don't want that. So I'm just gonna call you 'Mom', if that's okay?”

She smiled again, this time at him. He was socially unadapted, a little on the chubby side, and had little to nothing of Max's good looks. But he was devoted to Aster, and had always shown her unfailing respect. I could do worse for a son. “That's okay, Theo. Family needs to stick together.”

“So, that mean me too?” The new voice came from behind Theo, but Kayden recognised it immediately. Annette moved all the way around the bed to come up on Kayden's other side. “I mean, I've already got a mom, but I'm down with having two moms. Even if you aren't a couple.”

Kayden choked a little on that one. “Uh, I hardly think that's going to happen.” While she didn't think she was about to start looking for another man in her life – Max had poisoned that well for good and all – nor was she even remotely considering the concept of starting a relationship with a woman instead. While Kayden had never held strong views on the subject, apart from a general feeling of ewww, she knew that others in the Empire did.

“Wow, did I just get rejected before I even walked into the room? That's a first.” Andrea slipped into the enclosure and grinned at her past Theo's shoulder. “Oh, well, your loss. Leaves more time for me and Danny.”

Kayden blinked at her. “What? You and Danny? But you … didn't you just move back into town?” She was sure she'd heard something of that sort.

“Sure.” Andrea beamed at her. “But hey, catching up on lost time and all that. He's a good guy, and Taylor's just a sweetie.”

“They said to say hi, by the way,” Annette chimed in. “Taylor said they'd be along a little later. Something about her dad getting the tires replaced on his car. And Dinah said to say she hopes you get well soon.”

But they barely know me. Kayden felt her eyes start to prickle with the emotion she was feeling. She rested her cheek against Aster's head. “Tell them all … tell them, thank you,” she managed.

The way ahead would be anything but smooth, she knew. Between the Protectorate and PRT prying into her affairs and the Empire fragmenting and possibly lashing out at Brockton Bay, there was a strong chance of trouble in the future. But she had … friends? Friends who didn't seem to care about her past, who were willing to give her a second chance. Even if some of them were a little on the weird side, like Andrea and her daughter. Who was also Max's daughter, which made her family, in the same way that Theo was family. Kayden was still coming to terms with that bombshell. When did life get so complicated?

She wasn't sure about the answer to that one, but she was certain about one thing.

She couldn't wait to see what happened next.



End of Part Ten

Part Eleven

 

Alea Iacta Est

Part Eleven: Critical Flail



[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

[A/N 2: Queries were raised over how the Empire would react. This is in answer to that.]



“So Kaiser's dead.” The words hung in the air as Krieg leaned back in his chair, looking at each of the attending members of the Empire Eighty-Eight in turn. “What's our next move?”

They weren't in their usual meeting room; that room was within the Medhall building, which had been locked down by the PRT in the early hours of the morning. Fortunately, this move had been signalled by one of the contacts the Empire still maintained within various law-enforcement agencies, which had given them sufficient time to prepare. In the main, said preparation had involved evacuating essential personnel – those left behind were going to be rather surprised to find out who they'd been working for all these years – and relocating computer servers. Those would have been problematical, had the PRT gotten their hands on them. He had no doubt that the combination of Armsmaster and Dragon would have cracked even the strongest encryption like a walnut under a sledgehammer.

“What's our next move?” Hookwolf, his metal mask on the table before him, repeated the question mockingly. “Well, we can bleat to the world that it's not fair, or we can get back up and show 'em that we're not to be fucked with. And I'm all out of bleats.”

Victor, a little way down the table, tilted his head slightly. “So what do you have in mind? Storm the PRT building and proclaim ownership of Brockton Bay?” His tone was just short of derisive and if Krieg was any judge, the skill-thief was doing it on purpose. Othala put her hand on her husband's arm and murmured something, causing him to subside. “Right now, a grand gesture could go very wrong indeed.” He tapped the side of his head, as if anyone needed reminding that he was more politically astute than ninety percent of the people at the table.

Not that everyone was there. Menja and Fenja were both absent, as were Cricket and Rune. He could imagine the twins being guilt-stricken over Kaiser's death; even if Kaiser had ordered them to stay away while he confronted Purity, they would still feel responsible for not being there. Rune had had to go to school to keep up appearances, but he wasn't sure why Cricket chose not to attend. Perhaps she was assuaging her grief by beating up members of some convenient ethnic minority. Of course, she and Kaiser had never been close … nor, for that matter, did she ever require an excuse to do anything like that.

Hookwolf rolled his eyes. “Fuck grand gestures. We take care of the bitch who betrayed Kaiser! We send a message that nobody does that shit and lives!” His fist, thankfully not clad in metal at the time, crashed on to the table.

“Take care of …” Krieg narrowed his eyes. “What are you talking about? Are you saying we should murder Purity? One of our own?” He had never believed that Purity had really split with the Empire. In fact, he was certain that in time, she would've seen the error of her ways and returned to the fold. Kaiser had always maintained this, and Krieg tended to trust his judgement. Well, had trusted his judgement.

“One of our own, like fuck.” Meadows was distinctly uncouth, to say the least, but he could definitely put his point across. “She abandoned us. That was bad enough. But she kills Kaiser and you're saying we do nothing?”

“Wait.” Alabaster didn't speak much, so that when he did, people looked around. “The report said he was struck by lightning. Was it wrong?”

“It wasn't wrong.” Krieg made his voice firm. “Kellerman even confirmed that there had been a lightning strike.”

“Well, obviously she didn't strike him with fuckin' lightning.” Brad's tone was dismissive. “But it was raining hard as shit, and she got him up there. Deliberate, if you ask me. Bitch set him up.”

“Hold on a minute.” Victor was leaning back in his chair, elaborately casual. “You're saying that Purity deliberately set up Kaiser to be struck by lightning?” His entire attitude radiated disbelief. “Do you think she forced him to hold up a metal spike, too?”

The murmur that went around the table was not missed on Hookwolf, who shot Victor an ugly look. “It's fuckin' obvious what happened. She got him up there, and lit up, gettin' ready to zorch him. But she either choked, or he just beat her to the draw. One metal spike later, and he punched her ticket.”

“And then he got struck by lightning,” Victor reminded them all. “I mean, that's grade-school stuff. You don't stand around on buildings in a thunderstorm holding a metal spike over your head. I know that. You know that. Kaiser knew that. Except that, you know, he did it anyway.”

“Which brings up another problem,” Krieg added. “It's already hit the street. People already know that Kaiser got himself electrocuted by holding up a metal spike in a thunderstorm. It's not doing our credibility any good.” Such an ignoble end, he knew, would haunt Kaiser's memory forever.

“So we get it back.” Hookwolf hit the table again, and his mask juddered against the wood. “Purity was the reason Kaiser was on that roof. If we put her in the ground, it'll show our strength. Nobody'll want to fuck with us.”

“Well, actually, no,” Victor said. “When she was upright and healthy, Purity was a good target. Right now, she's in a goddamn hospital bed with a stab wound. If we take her out, we look like petty assholes. She's got a kid, for Chrissakes. Kaiser's kid. Two of 'em, if you count Theo.”

“There's a third, actually,” Krieg pointed out. “I've been over the police reports.” There were exclamations of surprise around the table, but he didn't think it was over the fact that he had access to police reports. “And I've been looking at the paperwork Kaiser had with him when he died. He's got an heir who's neither Theo nor Aster. A girl, a few months older than Theo. She's actually why he was there in the first place.”

“The fuck?” demanded Hookwolf. “When the fuck did this happen?” Metal shards slid out of his skin then retracted again.

“About seventeen years ago, while he was still in college, apparently,” Krieg said. “The narrative, as far as I can determine, goes like this. Kaiser was seeing the girl's mother back then, and she fell pregnant to him. He also fell for her, hard. But Allfather disagreed, so he sent the woman away. Kaiser recently located her, and discovered she had a daughter. She works for Medhall, so he had her transferred back, along with her daughter. By some odd coincidence, the girl was at Purity's apartment with a group of friends when Kaiser showed up, seeking to take her away. The girl was unwilling, and hit him in the face with a plate of pasta before making a run for it.”

He paused as chuckles made a round of the table. The mental image of the ever-immaculate Kaiser with pasta on his face was somewhat amusing.

“So she got up on to the roof,” Victor said thoughtfully.

“Correct,” Krieg agreed. “He followed. Purity had arrived home sometime around then – the details are sketchy on that point – and she confronted him. So he stabbed her. According to the witness statements, she didn't light up at all. Just stood there, between him and the girl. She went down and he was about to decapitate her when lightning struck the blade.” He paused. “Oh, and there's also a police report about Kaiser showing up to the mother's apartment and assaulting the man she was with. Beating him quite badly, in fact.”

Silence fell around the table, as each of the capes digested this. “Well, shit,” Crusader remarked. “That kind of puts a different spin on things, doesn't it?”

“It does indeed,” Krieg said. “It appears that Kaiser's judgement regarding this woman and her daughter was … flawed. In fact, I'm wondering if we shouldn't step back from this whole episode and distance ourselves from it.”

“What?” Hookwolf stared from face to face around the table. “You're shitting me! This isn't how the Empire does business! We get fucked over, we go after whoever did the fucking, and we make a fucking example. We make sure nobody ever thinks to try that shit again!”

“There comes a point in business, as in everything else, when you have to step back and cut your losses,” Krieg said, trying not to lose his patience with the shirtless man. “If we 'avenge' Kaiser, we then have to accept the rest of the narrative. The girl he was killed over has been named as his heir, his successor. Are you willing to have a sixteen year old girl as your boss? Because that's what the paperwork says.”

Victor rubbed his chin. “What's the other option? We just … disavow Kaiser? Write him off?”

“It would've been far harder while he was alive,” Krieg admitted. “And in fact, I wouldn't even be considering this course of action if he was. But look at the facts. He screwed up massively in more ways than one. He died because he forgot an elementary rule of safety. I have no doubt that the jokes are already circulating on the Internet.”

“So what do we do?” Crusader asked the question for them all.

“We close ranks. Move on. Spread the word that Kaiser had become dangerously erratic, and paid the ultimate price for it. We might even spread the rumour that we dealt with him ourselves, so as to contain the damage for the good of the Empire. It's not even too far from how I suspect he took over from Allfather, back in the day.” Krieg straightened his cuffs. “If we distance ourselves from him fast enough, all this stops being an Empire thing and starts being a Kaiser thing. Yes, we take a hit, but not as big as if we publicly accept Kaiser's stupidity as our own. We present strong leadership and we move on. We did it when Allfather died, and we can do it now.”

“And the heir?” Victor asked the question, his eyes intent.

Krieg smiled coldly. “If we disavow him, we disavow her. It's doubtful that she'll try anything publicly. If she does try anything, we can ignore her or disappear her, whichever is more convenient. I'm certainly not going to be handing over the reins of this organisation to some teenager who hasn't the first idea of what the Empire is all about.”

“And what about fuckin' Purity?” demanded Hookwolf. “She killed Kaiser!”

“Well, actually, she didn't,” Victor pointed out. “He waved his blade around in a thunderstorm. After he chased a teenage girl on to the roof.”

“She was there!” raged Hookwolf. “She was standing against him when he died! If she'd just stepped aside, he'd still be alive!”

Krieg frowned. “I find your logic tenuous at best. If she'd been actively opposing him, she could have blasted him into his component atoms before he ever laid a blade on her. She obviously didn't. And in fact, she didn't even light up.”

“Bitch was married to him.” Hookwolf's tone was as surly as his expression. “She knew not to fuck with him.”

“That doesn't make his actions look any better.” Victor shook his head. “In fact, it looks like him turning on her, rather than the other way around. Stabbing the mother of his child. That's not the image we want to embrace.”

“Well, you can 'embrace' all the 'image' you want, but I still say she needs to die,” Hookwolf stated stubbornly. “And since I figured you weren't gonna do shit, I already took care of it myself.”

Krieg half-stood, foreboding spreading through his mind at the cage-fighter's triumphant expression. “What have you done?” He glanced around the table again. “Where's Cricket?”

Hookwolf leaned back in his chair and showed his teeth in a lazy grin. “Doing what you shoulda already done. Takin' care of business.”

<><>​

At the Same Time

Cricket eased her way over the ceiling tiles, careful not to rest too much of her weight in any one area. Dust drifted down around her, but she refused to let herself sneeze. It hadn't been the easiest thing in the world to infiltrate the hospital, but she had managed it. She'd even pulled it off without killing more than one or two people, too. Not because she was concerned about killing people, but because dead bodies lying around could raise the alarm just as readily as live ones could.

She was fully aware of Hookwolf's ideas about the 'warrior code' and all that shit; she just didn't think that way herself. There was no guilt in her mind over the fat security guard who'd nearly gotten his hand on his radio before she silenced him, and if the nurse she'd choked out failed to recover, that wasn't her problem either. They were standing between her and a certain bitch who needed to die, so they suffered the consequences.

Carefully, she hooked the tip of her kama under the edge of one panel and levered it upward. Once she could get a grip with her fingertips, she lifted it farther and peered through the gap thus opened. The information she'd wrung out of the nurse was correct; if that wasn't Purity in the bed down below, she'd eat both her sickles without salt. Tucking the sickle away in her belt, she soundlessly lifted the panel out of its seating and slid it aside. She wouldn't be coming back this way, but there was no sense in alerting the target before time.

Purity was still lying in bed, eyes closed, by the time Cricket was ready to make her move. Some might consider that killing an injured enemy was somehow wrong. Hookwolf would've come in loud, depending on his durability to survive long enough to land a hit. Cricket didn't share his 'warrior culture' ideas, either. Her view was that the best time to kill someone was when they didn't expect it, especially if that someone was able to blast you into a fine mist. Pulling herself forward, she let her upper body fall forward through the gap, catching the edge of the hole at the last moment to bring her legs around. An instant later, she released her grip on the ceiling frame and dropped lightly on to her feet, five feet from the bed. The moment her feet hit the floor, she drew the right-hand sickle.

Purity was just starting to blink her way awake when Cricket lunged forward, kama raised. The weapon slashed down with all the force in her arm, razor-edged blade on target toward Purity's heart. Purity being awake was an extremely dangerous proposition for her. While the ex-Empire cape's blinding glow wouldn't work against Cricket's sonar, one blast would quite literally take her apart at the seams.

At what had to be the last possible instant, Purity rolled away from the strike. Already fully committed, Cricket felt the blade bury itself in the mattress. Before she could pull it out, Purity rolled back into place with a pepper-spray canister in her hand, her back pinning the kama into the mattress. Despite the unexpected development, Cricket reacted fast; even as the canister hissed and dispensed its load, she let go the kama and dropped to the floor, rolling under the bed.

Cricket didn't waste time castigating herself. Purity was awake and aware of the danger, which made the situation one of extreme peril. She wasn't sure exactly how badly the stab-wound inflicted by Kaiser was affecting Purity, but she knew just how powerful the petite woman's blasts could be. Basically, she had two options; kill Purity fast, or get the hell out. While 'get the hell out' was actually her preferred choice right at that second, she didn't rate her chances as being very high, so 'kill Purity fast' was going to have to be it.

With that in mind, she kept rolling, heading for the other side of the bed. Hiding wasn't going to cut it. When it came to Purity's blasts, buildings only counted as visual cover. So she had to get within arms' reach, preferably without a mattress between them. Fleetingly, she considered kicking the bed over, but she didn't quite think she could pull it off fast enough to disable Purity. Her second kama was already in her hand as she came up on the other side. Strike first, strike fast, keep hitting her till you know she's dead.

With that thought in mind, she came up on to her knees – right into a cloud of that damn spray. It felt like her eyeballs had caught fire; just in time, she remembered to let go her kama before clawing at her eyes through the metal cage. The hasty roll had depleted her air and she involuntarily sucked in a breath, searing her nasal passages and lungs with yet more of that shit. Some part of her demanded that she retrieve her weapons and finish the mission, but she didn't have the eyesight or the breath to do so.

Vaguely, she felt her wrists being cuffed behind her. She tried to fight, but the agony permeating every square inch of her mucous membranes was too great. As she was half-carried, half-dragged away, she was aware of two things. One, everything from the neck up was in flaming agony. Two, she had failed.

She wasn't sure which hurt more.

<><>​

Kayden

As the PRT goons finished bagging Cricket's weapons – the villain herself had already been dragged out – Kayden looked up at Miss Militia. “Yes?”

The hero sighed. “Now will you take the threat seriously? Cricket could've easily killed you if you weren't paying attention at the right time. The PRT can protect you.” Either she was a good actor, or she actually cared about Kayden's well-being.

However, Kayden still wasn't buying it. “You did a great job this time. Oh, wait. You didn't. A supervillain waltzed straight past you and made a serious attempt on my life. I had to stop her with consumer-grade pepper spray.” Which was the story she'd be telling everyone. After all, the only people who needed to know the truth were the ones who already knew it.

“The next time, you might not be so lucky.” Miss Militia took a deep breath. “Please, accept PRT protection so that we can take you someplace more secure.”

“I'm going nowhere with you,” Kayden stated flatly. “Not while you're still accusing me of being a supervillain myself. Who knows, someone might get the idea to lock me up on suspicion. And if I can't get access to a lawyer, I can't prove my innocence.” It's probably what I'd do, in her place.

From the way the hero's mouth twisted under the scarf, the implication had not gone unnoticed. “My other reason for wanting to move you is that Cricket killed a man getting in here, and hurt a nurse while questioning her about your whereabouts. While I can't force you to come with us, I'm reasonably certain the hospital administration will be along very shortly to ask you to vacate the premises, for the good of all. Where else will you go?”

Kayden shrugged; not an easy trick while lying down, but an effective one. “Anywhere but to the PRT.”

“Fine. Just be aware, the PRT can't maintain a guard on the hospital for too long, and we can't maintain a guard on you anywhere else at all. We have other duties.”

Kayden waved in the general direction of the door. “Take them away, already. I'll be fine.” She held up the expended pepper-spray capsule. “You've got a prisoner. Go talk to her.”

Miss Militia turned on her heel and stalked to the door. On the point of opening it, she turned back toward Kayden for a moment. “One more thing. Where did you get the pepper spray from?”

That was actually a very good question, but Kayden had no intention of answering it. “Oh, somewhere around about. A woman has to be aware of her own safety, you know.”

“I see.” Miss Militia's tone was sour. She stepped out of the room and closed the door behind her.

A long moment passed, then the door to the tiny bathroom opened. Janet emerged and crossed the room to Kayden's bed, walking quietly. She sat down in the chair that Miss Militia had vacated. “You all right?” she asked.

“No new stab wounds,” Kayden assured her, trying to make a joke of it. “That's a very impressive power you have. How did you make the pepper spray move around like that?” It had been downright uncanny; moments from dispersing, the cloud of pepper spray had condensed back together and streamed back over Kayden without quite touching her, just in time to take Cricket in the face.

“It's carried in a mist of water droplets,” Janet said tonelessly. “And that's my power, right there.” She took a deep breath. “I could've locked her limbs and clonked her over the head with something, or even frozen her diaphragm and made her suffocate. But Taylor warned me that being too cute with my powers could lead to me being revealed too soon.” Her right hand rubbed over the stump of her left wrist, a habit Kayden had noticed earlier. “So I decided to do it this way.”

Kayden frowned. “Locked her limbs? The same way you moved me?” She paused. “Thanks for that, by the way. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have been able to move fast enough.”

“Got it in one,” Janet agreed, acknowledging the thanks with a wan smile. “My range for that level of control isn't great, but you were both inside it. The human body's about sixty percent water, which gives me plenty of leverage.” The way her expression changed, however, told another story.

“You didn't want to,” Kayden guessed. “Is there a reason why? Did something bad happen when you got your powers?” This was more than a cliché; if the news was to be believed, it happened more often than not.

Janet shook her head. “I got my powers when something bad happened, not the other way around. But … I don't like using them. I never will enjoy it. And using it on someone's body … ugh.” She shuddered feelingly. “Pass.”

“But you did it with me … wait.” Kayden frowned. “Sixty percent? Really? I thought it was more like seventy-five or eighty or something.”

“That was to save your life. Anything short of that, not if I can help it.” Janet shook her head. “And nope, it's only sixty. Blame the same people who keep spreading the ten-percent myth about the human brain.”

“Right. Well, thank you for saving my life. Again.” Kayden gave Janet a smile. “And I'm sorry you had to use your power if you dislike it so much, but on the other hand I'm grateful that you saved me with it.”

Janet's return smile was tentative. “Well, if I'm going to be joining the team, I might as well make myself useful, right?” It was almost a joke.

Kayden decided to take her words at face value. “Well, that makes sense. And it's somewhat of a relief.”

“A relief?” Janet tilted her head questioningly. “How so?”

Kayden rolled her eyes. “I was dreading being the only responsible adult in a team composed of teenagers. Wouldn't you be?”

“Oh.” For a moment, Janet looked startled. “I hadn't thought of that.” From the look on her face, she was now imagining it. She didn't seem to be enjoying the prospect. “Do me a favour? Get well soon?”

Kayden chuckled, then regretted it as a spasm of pain reminded her of the injury. “I'll do my best.”

<><>​

Krieg

“You had no right!” bellowed Krieg, his face red with anger. He stood at his place, his chair forgotten behind him. Alongside him stood Victor and Othala. “That kind of unilateral action was rash and unnecessary!”

“I had every fuckin' right!” Hookwolf retorted, also on his feet. Steel plated most of his torso, and sharp points decorated the rest. Metal claws were already defacing the varnished wood before him. “Kaiser's death was her fault! She had to pay!”

“Oh, come on,” Victor snapped. “Kaiser stabbed her, then waved his sword around in a thunderstorm! You can't honestly say she planned that through!”

“She confronted him on that roof,” Stormtiger said, adding his voice to Hookwolf's. “The guilt is at least partly hers.” He jerked his chin up. “And in any case, if you were really serious about saving her life, you would've already called the PRT.”

“The cost would be too great.” Krieg felt no shame in admitting this. “If it got out that the Empire had knowingly colluded with the enemy, our name would be reviled throughout Brockton Bay and beyond. The Empire would lose far too much face. Better we wait to see how it goes down, then act accordingly.”

“Which might just involve a news story about Cricket being blasted through a skyscraper.” Crusader's voice was thoughtful. “Are we ready for something like that?”

Krieg made his mind up. “If Cricket is captured or killed in an attempt to assassinate Purity, we will disavow her. Purity walked away from us once already; on balance, I suspect that she'll be willing to leave us alone if we do the same.”

“The fuck?” Hookwolf gouged fresh holes in the table. “We're not gonna just drop Cricket like a hot potato! If she goes down, we go after whoever did it! If she gets captured, we break her out!”

“Well, let's hope it doesn't …” Krieg paused as his phone rang. With some small relief he pulled it out. This argument had been circling around the same points for the last ten minutes, and he despaired of ever convincing Hookwolf. “Hello?”

“Sir, this is Brooks on Intake. I just got word that they're bringing in Cricket.”

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. “Please say that again.”

“They're bringing Cricket in. She tried to kill someone at the Brockton Bay General Hospital, and got taken down hard.”

So he hadn't misheard. “Thank you. Keep me posted.”

“Yes, sir. Uh, gotta go.”

Krieg ended the call and placed the phone on the table. “Well, the time for what-ifs is over. It's time for the hard decisions.”

“The fuck's that supposed to mean?” Hookwolf glared at him suspiciously. More metal slid out and covered his upper shoulders.

“Cricket just tried to kill Purity.” Krieg took another deep breath. “She's now in PRT custody.” Hookwolf began to speak, but Krieg raised his voice to speak over him. “I don't know if she succeeded, but I don't think so. Our big question here is this: do we own this, or do we step back and leave her to the consequences of her actions?” He already knew which way he was going.

“The fuck?” Hookwolf was already leaning forward over the table. “You're even asking that? We get her out! She's Empire!”

“But if we break her loose, we tell everyone we're okay with her trying to murder Purity,” Victor pointed out. “Do we want that?”

Hookwolf stared at him, as if he were unable to understand what the skill-thief was saying. “I told her to fuckin' do it! Of course I'm okay with that!”

Krieg loosed a pulse of kinetic energy that jolted the room and made everyone turn toward him. “The last thing we need right now is divisiveness in the ranks. The Empire has to show a unified face to Brockton Bay. I will permit no more unilateral action until we've worked out where we're going with this. Is that clear?”

“No, it isn't fuckin' clear.” Hookwolf jabbed his thumb at his chest. “I was Kaiser's second in command, just like you. You don't 'permit' shit around me.” Turning away from the table, he knocked his chair over on his way to the door.

“Where are you going?” Krieg's voice cracked across the room like a whip.

“To do what needs to be done.” Hookwolf didn't look around. “Bust Cricket out and fix up your fuckin' mess.”

“If you walk out that door, don't bother coming back.” Krieg knew the threat wasn't likely to work, but he had to try.

This time, Hookwolf did turn around. “Fuck you.” He surveyed the rest of the Empire, still at the table. “Who's with me?”

Stormtiger reacted immediately, followed by Alabaster. Krieg had expected the first, but not the second. As they moved to join Hookwolf, he tried one more time. “Walk out that door and you're out of the Empire. This isn't something you can come back from.”

Hookwolf was already out the door. As Stormtiger exited, Alabaster turned to look back at Krieg. “What the hell. It sounds like fun.” Then he was gone, too.

There was a long moment of silence as their footsteps died away, then Crusader spoke. “Well, shit. That happened.”

Looking at the remnants of the Empire Eighty-Eight, Krieg could only wonder what was going to happen next. Whatever it was, he wasn't looking forward to it.



End of Part Eleven

Part Twelve

 

Alea Iacta Est

Part Twelve: Cashing in a Diplomacy Check

[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]



Weymouth Mall Food Court
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Amy Dallon

The churro was still warm from the oven, but they'd over-sugared it slightly. Amy wiped some of the sweet powder from the corner of her mouth, then spotted something that turned down her enjoyment of the day a little. “Don't look now, Vicky, but I think you've got fans incoming.” Specifically, zeroing in on the Dallon sisters were two girls; one was almost certainly still in middle school, while the other was a couple of years older.

“Hey, can I help it if I'm a celebrity?” Vicky turned toward the two girls, displaying her most brilliant smile and quite literally turning on the charm. Amy felt the aura as it pushed out; not at full strength, thankfully. She didn't feel like having to bring around someone who'd fainted from sheer excitement at meeting their idol … again. Idol. Yeah, as if. She knew she could shock anyone who held Vicky on a pedestal with the news that Glory Girl was nowhere near perfect. But with all that, Amy still loved her helplessly. Shows what an idiot I am.

“Hi!” It was the redhead, taller than her friend, with brilliant green eyes and a personality almost as forceful as Vicky's own. “I'm new in town, and when Dinah here told me that the actual real Glory Girl was here, I just had to meet you. Seriously, I've got all your action figures and your pyjama line and every t-shirt they ever made. Oh my god, you're even prettier in person!”

Amy couldn't be certain, but she was pretty sure the girl had said all that without stopping for breath even once. Vicky was drinking up the adulation as always; while the younger girl wasn't quite as vocal—not to mention, she didn't really have the option of getting a word in edgewise—she was still quite attentive, holding out a notepad and pen. Autograph time again.

Vicky would be at this for quite a while. As her sister laughingly replied to the redhead with a question about where she was from, Amy wandered over to find someplace to sit and finish her churro. So much for a quiet day out with my sister. She would've thought that the Weymouth Mall—quiet if not totally deserted on a Sunday—was perfect for such an outing. This was apparently not the case. Not for the first time, she envied other capes their secret identities. Though, to be honest, she wasn't sure exactly how long Vicky would be able to maintain something like that. She loved the attention too much.

“Hi. Can we talk?” The question caught Amy by surprise, and she looked around to see that a girl of around her own age had sat down on the same bench, leaving a discreet spacing between them. Skinnier than most, she had long black curly hair and round-lensed glasses, which only intensified her serious expression. Her gaze was steady and unwavering, making Amy wonder briefly if there was something caught between her teeth. There was also something vaguely familiar about her, but Amy couldn't quite tell what.

“Uh, who are you?” Amy stared at the newcomer, then over at the other two, who were talking with Vicky; or rather, the redhead was chatting nineteen to the dozen, while the younger brunette was interjecting the occasional word here and there. By accident or design, they'd moved in such a way that Vicky was facing away from her, so she couldn't even get her sister's attention by waving. “What do you want?” Carefully, she reminded herself that if this girl was a creepy stalker fan, it would only take one touch to disable her.

“Relax.” One corner of the slender girl's mouth crept upward in a brief half-smile. “This is nothing bad. I just want to talk to you about superhero matters, actually.” She turned to face Amy, bringing one knee up on to the bench seat and resting her arm on the back of the seat. Amy, noting that this would make it harder for them to get closer, let a little of the tension out of her body.

“So talk to Vicky.” She didn't try very hard to keep the bitterness out of her voice. “She's the Alexandria package.” Everyone else in New Wave had a bright, flashy costume and powers to match. Panacea, on the other hand … could heal people. Well, she could do a lot more than that, but it was all about public perception. And while she did get a certain amount of recognition, it was all about being able to heal people. She couldn't, or rather didn't, do anything to people who weren't already injured or unwell. Vicky, on the other hand, could bench-press an SUV for an admiring crowd, and had done so on more than one occasion.

“Actually, we've already got a heavy hitter.” To Amy's ear, the girl's voice held a certain amount of amusement. “We're interested in recruiting you, not Glory Girl. That's if you're interested, of course.” She leaned back a little, as if to watch the effect her words had on Amy. Behind her glasses, her eyes hadn't lost any of their intense nature.

Amy blinked, then shook her head. “Wait, what again now?” She stared at the teenager in front of her. “You can't be seriously saying what I think you're saying. You want to poach me from New Wave?” A small part of her mind tried to figure out when she'd last been made an offer like that, and fell short. It had been a long time; maybe years? Certainly nothing recently, and definitely not by any of the Brockton Bay capes.

The closest that she could recall of anyone suggesting that she leave New Wave would've been the time Youth Guard had checked out the team. She'd been briefed, along with Vicky and Crystal and Eric, by Carol and Aunt Sarah; to say and do nothing that might give the activist group the slightest excuse to come down on them. Thereafter, she'd spoken to an oddly intense woman who (in Amy's opinion) talked down to her like a child. This hadn't endeared the interviewer to her, and her replies had been brief and very much to the point, despite attempts to draw her out. Much later, she'd realised that much of the questioning had been aimed at coaxing her into an admission that New Wave wasn't supplying her needs as a person. While Amy hadn't been entirely honest with the woman, she justified it by noting that she already lied to Vicky, the public and herself; what was one more? And if anyone was going to cut her ties with New Wave, it was going to be her, not some overly-officious busybody.

“I … guess so?” the girl replied, after apparently giving the matter a little thought. “Though 'poaching' sounds weird. I'm just asking if you'd like to be a part of our team at some point.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, as if she were offering to share a sandwich with Amy. Want some of my lunch? Want to be a part of our team?

Amy glanced around, but there was nobody within listening distance. “Okay, so you're a cape,” she said quietly. “And you're forming a team, and you want me on it.” She glanced toward Vicky, then did a double-take. She had no idea where Vicky had gotten the marker pen from, but the red-headed girl had pulled up the back of her t-shirt, and Vicky was carefully autographing the girl's lower back. Shaking her head slightly, she turned back toward the brunette. “Are your friends capes too, or are they just the designated distraction? Is this whole thing just an excuse to get bragging rights for having me as a bestie? Because I don't do besties.”

“One of them is, yes,” the girl confirmed at once. “But this is a legitimate team we're forming. We don't have a name or even costumes yet, but one of us is a Thinker who specialises in … well, management. She's got a power that lets her pick out the very best people for a specific job, and advise them on how to do it most efficiently. And apparently 'being part of our team' is a job she can zero in on.” She smiled and spread her hands. “Also, I'm a precog. My power gave us a better than fifty percent chance of recruiting you, but with a strong chance you won't say yes immediately, so this is more of a heads-up than a full recruitment pitch.” She held out her hand. “And I just realised that I never introduced myself. I'm Taylor. It's nice to meet you.”

Automatically, Amy shook the proffered hand, wondering if she should get up and go over to Vicky, or let Taylor keep talking. Glancing in that direction, she could tell that the redhead, her shirt back in place, was telling some sort of dirty joke. The younger girl—Dinah, if she recalled correctly—was blushing to the roots of her hair, and Vicky was of course laughing her head off. When she looked back at Taylor, the respite had allowed her to collect her thoughts; some less than pleasant notions were suggesting themselves to her. Her voice was a little more curt as she replied. “Yeah, hi. I'm guessing you already know who I am. One more question; did you pick my name out of a hat, or were you simply interested in getting a team healer for free? Because I don't do personal requests, and I don't join other teams out of the blue just because someone asks.”

“Actually, neither.” Taylor leaned forward, her expression earnest. “I wouldn't even be here if my power hadn't given the result that it did. We just got the impression that you'd do a good job with us, and you'd be happier and better off as a result. We've been letting our powers guide us to our potential recruits and as a result, we've got two definites and a maybe.” The corner of her mouth quirked upward again. “I think you'll be kinda surprised when you learn who else is going to be on the team.”

Amy began to wonder exactly who she might be referring to; there weren't all that many independent capes in Brockton Bay, after all. More to the point, who would the heavy hitter be? Even if they could convince someone from the Protectorate or Wards to join their group (yeah, as if), the honest truth was that nobody on either team was really in Vicky's league as far as being a 'heavy hitter' went. She rejected out of hand the notion that they might have recruited Lung or someone from the Empire (because hahahahanope), which left the pickings rather bare. This train of thought ended up in a logical conundrum; if Taylor was telling the truth, her team had managed to recruit a heavy hitter Amy had never heard of. But everyone had heard of the heavy hitters out there. It was kind of a factor in being a heavy hitter.

The trouble was, her handshake with Taylor had given Amy an insight into the shape of Taylor's thoughts, as well as other aspects. While she shied away from actually affecting peoples' brains, she had no problem looking at them and interpreting what was going on in there. As such, it was easy for her to determine that yes, Taylor had an active gemma. However, she was also exhibiting all the telltales of cautious honesty; while she wasn't lying, or even being directly deceptive, there were things she wasn't telling Amy yet. Which made Amy kind of curious; although she knew she should get up and walk away—the very idea of trying to recruit her was ridiculous—she didn't feel like it, quite yet. I'll listen to her spiel, then shoot her down before we go. Besides, Vicky seemed to be in the middle of telling one of her favourite cape stories, the one about Mouse Protector and the jello monster. It would be mean to make her go before she got to the punchline.

“Well, if you're gonna keep me in the dark, I'm never gonna know, am I?” Amy let some of her inner snark out with that line. She usually kept it leashed up, only to be inflicted on suitable targets, but none of the New Wave adults were around and Taylor had kind of asked for it. “And anyway, just a heads-up? Probably not the best idea to tell me your secret identity after revealing you're a cape.” Taylor didn't have to know Amy could tell she was one just from touch, after all. “You're kind of new at this, aren't you?”

“Oh, you knew I was a cape as soon as you touched me,” Taylor replied breezily. Ignoring the look of shock on Amy's face—the fuck? How did she know?—she went on as if discussing nothing more important than the weather. “And we go to the same school, so I doubt very much that a mask would help for very long. So I decided to come clean straight up. Anyway, I ran the numbers, and you've got a very low percentage chance of deciding to out me.”

Amy stared at Taylor as a memory finally clicked into place. “That's where I've seen you before. You do go to Arcadia. I've seen you in the halls a few times. You transferred in just after the beginning of the semester, right? Someone said something about coming in from Winslow?” There'd been more than that; Amy had heard rumours about bullying and a locker, but she didn't know how much was true and she wasn't sure she wanted to pry.

“Something like that, yeah.” Taylor cleared her throat then grimaced, looking more than a little uncomfortable. “Um, I know you just said you don't do private requests and I understand if you're not interested in joining us right now, but what's your view on healing people injured by parahumans, especially if by doing so you'd almost definitely save their life?” By the time she finished saying this, she was back to her intent look; this was obviously something that was important to her.

Wait, what now? “Uh, you know you could've led with that.” Amy felt more than a little off balance. “This person is dying of their injuries, and you're wasting your time talking to me in a mall?” This didn't make sense; Taylor was altogether too calm for someone whose friend was in such a precarious state. When they'd made physical contact, she'd detected no real urgency in the skinny teen's mind.

“It's a little more complicated than that.” The uncomfortable look came back, but only for a moment before switching out for a more measured expression, as if Taylor had changed her mind about what she was going to say at the last moment. “You know Kaiser's dead, right?”

“Well, yeah.” If anyone in Brockton Bay hadn't heard, it was because they were living under a rock. An actual, literal rock. The PHO boards were full of reactions to the event, mainly hilarious; there was a whole thread dedicated to memes based around the fact that he'd apparently been struck by lightning in the middle of a thunderstorm while using his metal manipulation powers on a rooftop. Amy herself was curious about how he'd been killed; according to her high school physics textbook, the metal armour he habitually encased himself in should've conducted the electricity around him, especially if it was wet. Even if it cooked him a little, he should've survived the experience. But, for whatever reason, he obviously hadn't. Now the Empire Eighty-Eight was reportedly undergoing a certain level of chaos. “How is this connected to your friend?”

“She was on the rooftop, too. About ten seconds before he was struck by lightning, he stabbed her in the stomach,” Taylor said in a totally matter-of-fact tone. “She's in good condition at the moment but there's already been one attempt on her life, and my power tells me Hookwolf and a couple of others are likely to try again. Meanwhile, she's flat on her back in a hospital bed, and there's only so much we can do to protect her.”

This was too much. “Whoa, time out,” protested Amy, even going so far as to form the 'T' with her hands. “Details. I need details. What was your friend doing on that rooftop? What was Kaiser doing there? Why did he stab her? Why is the Empire trying to kill her if she had nothing to do with how he died? What aren't you telling me?”

Taylor took a deep breath. “Yeah,” she said unhappily. “This is the bit you aren't going to like. But I want you to do me the favour of hearing me out before you make a judgement, okay?” Her eyes probed Amy's carefully. “It's really important. Please?”

Amy bit her lip. She hated being blackmailed emotionally; Taylor wasn't Vicky, but she was still managing to pull it off somehow. “Okay, fine,” she said grudgingly. “I'm listening.” After all, what was the harm in finding out what Taylor wanted to tell her? If she didn't like it, all she had to do was say no. And from what Taylor had said, she wasn't going to like it. Still, she'd said she'd listen, so she was going to listen.

“Okay.” Taylor paused for a moment. “I was going to open with how Kaiser was trying to kidnap a teenage girl, and the woman he stabbed was trying to stop him, but that's leaving out some very important details, and I don't want to make it look like I'm manipulating the narrative here, so this is the straight story.” Ignoring Amy's double-blink at the phrase 'manipulating the narrative', she went on. “Our heavy hitter is Purity. She's Kaiser's ex-wife and the mother of one of his three children. She left the Empire when she divorced him, and she been trying to become recognised as a hero ever since. We recruited her earlier this month, and it all happened at her apartment building. The girl Kaiser was trying to kidnap is his teenage daughter by a woman he knew years ago, who didn't want to go with him. He wanted to have her in his power to force her mother to come back to him. But she—”

“Whoa!” Amy made the time-out gesture again. “Run that past me again, slowly. Purity is your heavy hitter? Empire Purity? And she's trying to go straight? How am I even supposed to believe that?” She stared at Taylor suspiciously. Was this some sort of con job to try to bring her into a villain team? Had Taylor even specified that she and her friends were heroes?

Taylor shrugged. “I believe her. She got right into his face to prevent him from kidnapping his other daughter, and he nearly killed her for it. In fact, he was just about to finish the job when he was struck by lightning.” Which sounded frankly incredible, but something about the tale rang true. “Unfortunately, although my powers assured me the Empire wasn't going to cause trouble with Purity over this matter, it seems Hookwolf and a couple of his more violent friends have broken away from the organisation to take matters into their own hands. By killing Purity for 'betraying' Kaiser, as it happens. Cricket's already tried, and been brought into custody, but that was only the start. And in a hospital bed, Purity's kind of vulnerable.”

Even though Amy had never encountered a precog with the level of precision Taylor seemed to be displaying before, it wasn't the first time she'd heard of Thinker powers being problematic with overly-specific answers. Asking the right questions, it seemed, was key to getting the right answers. Of course, knowing exactly what to ask was also very useful. In the meantime, this caused a useful query to occur to her. “So how come you haven't called in the PRT and Protectorate? If Purity honestly wants to go straight and needs protection at the same time, they should jump at this.” She didn't know that she would—Carol's views on villainous capes were hard to scrub out of her brain—but it was obvious that they needed all the heroic capes they could muster.

“You'd think, but no.” Taylor crossed her arms, looking irritated. “She's been telling them for a while that she wants to go straight, but they're refusing to let her just step over the fence. They want her to turn herself in and face trial for her crimes first. Meanwhile, she's got a little baby girl who'd go to Kaiser, or would have anyway. And of course, after she got out, she'd never get her baby back. Kaiser was an asshole like that. And even though she never unmasked to the PRT, they've figured out who she is in her secret identity, but they just can't prove it. So they're pressuring her while she's flat on her back, trying to get her to out herself. And once again, if she gave herself up, she'd lose her kid to Child Services.” Taylor leaned closer and lowered her voice a little. “Just between you and me? If her baby ever got taken away, I think Purity would level a lot of Brockton Bay trying to get her back.”

“Holy shit.” Amy shook her head slowly, her head spinning from the rapid-fire revelations. It seemed that Taylor's up-and-coming team had indeed recruited a member of the Empire—or at least an ex-member, which was still kind of ballsy—who the PRT could've had on their side, if they'd just pulled their heads out of their asses. She'd seen this sort of thing happen before; it seemed to be a failing of the bureaucratic mind, or something like that. But back to the matter at hand. “So … Hookwolf wants to kill Purity for defying Kaiser and getting him killed? And you just want me to … what? Heal her so she can be on her feet and able to defend herself when he comes for her next?”

“It would be nice,” Taylor allowed. “Especially given that she's our only combat cape at the moment. There's one other, but that one's …” She paused, obviously trying to think of a word. “ … reluctant to fight,” she finished at last. “It's a special situation.” Her posture was more tense now that the elephant in the room had finally revealed itself. “Will you help? Please?”

Amy rubbed her chin. “So, let me get this straight. You want to recruit me, because your precognition apparently said I might be interested in joining your team at some point. But more importantly, you want me to heal your one combat-capable member—who happens to be an ex-supervillain wanted for serious crimes in the service of the Empire—so that when Hookwolf tries to execute her, she's not a sitting target. Is that about it?” It was, she had to admit, a fairly unique situation; definitely not one she'd ever encountered before. And to be honest, the idea of quitting New Wave held an unexpected appeal. The only thing holding her in the team at the moment was Vicky, and even that was based around her pseudo-incestuous attraction to her sister, which she was going to admit to nobody.

But if she moved teams, she'd no longer be near Vicky, and maybe she'd be able to attain some distance from that problem as well. She might even be able to move forward on her own. And given that at least two of the other members of the team were around her own age, she could have friends with whom she wasn't hopelessly in love. The idea of being on the same team as Purity was something she'd have to come to terms with, but if the woman wanted to be a hero, that was a good thing. Maybe she can give me tips on not giving in to bad impulses.

Taylor nodded seriously. “That's about the long and the short of it,” she agreed. “I can take you to meet her and talk to her first, if you want. And, you know, meet the rest of us. Get to know us before you decide.” It wasn't obvious whether she meant the decision to heal Purity or to join the team, or perhaps both. “It's just that Hookwolf isn't gonna wait forever.”

“Yeah, I got that.” “Amy rubbed her thumb over her lips, collecting the last of the sugar from the long-finished churro. She licked her thumb absently as she considered Taylor's words. “Give me your phone number,” she said at last. “I'll think about it and call you back.”

Wordlessly, Taylor handed her a card with a cell-phone number on it. The speed with which she produced it was almost suspicious. Like she knew what I was going to say before I said it. Frickin' precogs. Amy took it and tucked it away. “Nice talk,” she said, and stood up.

“Thanks for listening,” Taylor replied. Amy could see her wanting to reiterate her request, but she apparently had more self-control than that. “See you later?” Or maybe not.

Amy already knew what her decision was going to be. “I said I'd think about it.” Raising her voice, she called out to Vicky. “Hey, if you're quite finished making out with your fans, Mom's expecting us home.”

“Ames, geez, wow. Snarky much?” Vicky broke away from the other two, a broad grin on her face. “I'll call you guys, okay? We'll get together sometime.”

As they walked from the mall, Amy could almost feel Taylor's gaze on the back of her neck as a palpable thing. She didn't turn around to confirm it, instead addressing her sister. “You were having a lot of fun there. Autographing another girl's butt? Is there something you need to tell me about?”

“It wasn't her butt,” Vicky protested. “It was her back. And it was her idea, anyway. She said she was gonna get a photo taken, and get it tattooed on later. She was an absolute hoot. Dunno why you didn't come on over. I think you'd have liked her.” She chuckled reminiscently. “And wow, she tells rougher jokes than Uncle Neil does when he's had a few. I thought Dinah's eyebrows were gonna catch on fire, she was blushing so hard.”

Amy didn't reply. At first she'd thought the redhead's attention to Vicky was merely a ruse to get her attention, but thinking back … asking someone to autograph her butt, or near enough, was more a groupie thing than a fan thing. Of course, Vicky didn't see it at all. She'd thought they were just chatting and having fun.

Do I really want to get involved with these people, if that girl's got a thing for Vicky? What if Vicky decides she likes her back? She'd already told Taylor she'd think about it; of course, at that time her mind had been made up. But now, a tendril of jealousy was starting to worm its way into her certainty.

I really am going to have to think about this.

<><>​

Monday Night (2330 Hours), 31 January 2011
Outside Brockton Bay General Hospital
Alabaster

“Are you sure about this?” If it wasn't the fourth or fifth time Stormtiger had asked the question, it was probably the tenth or eleventh; Alabaster had lost count half an hour ago. He didn't have quite the same problems that the burly chain-wielding cage fighter did with waiting; for instance, he never suffered from cramps or loss of circulation. The boredom, on the other hand, was doing his head in. It only helped a little that he'd taken care to call shotgun in the van they'd 'liberated' for this job, given that the front seats were always more comfortable than the back. And of course, he could wind down the window for ventilation. That was really important, right now.

“Certain.” Hookwolf didn't even seem to notice Stormtiger's irritation. Lounging in the driver's seat, he kept his eyes on the little-used side entrance to the hospital. “The receptionist I bribed told me for sure they were gonna be booting her before midnight. Cricket might not've gotten her, but she flushed the bitch out for us, all right. And once we take care of Purity, we see about busting Cricket out.” He leaned to one side, and Alabaster winced as a sound not unlike ripping canvas echoed through the van.

The parking lot across the road from the hospital was deserted at this time of night, save for the van. Alabaster knew Hookwolf had picked the vehicle with that in mind; as a very common type of commercial vehicle, it would almost certainly go unnoticed parked overnight in a lot behind a series of shops. The location itself also offered an unparalleled view of the side entrance, which was the one good thing about it.

There were two serious problems with being on stakeout like this. The first, of course, was the boredom. Alabaster liked to be active, a trait he was sure he shared with the two men in the vehicle with him. They couldn't have the internal lights on to read or play cards, because it would make the vehicle stand out in the parking lot like a beacon. A few beers might've helped, but Hookwolf had vetoed that idea; of the three of them, only Alabaster could guarantee to be able to hold his booze. In addition to not wanting any of them to be affected by alcohol at the wrong time, Hookwolf had said he didn't want people having to climb out for a piss every ten minutes. Which was bullshit in Alabaster's mind; if Stormtiger and Hookwolf wanted to be pussies, that was up to them, but he wouldn't have minded a cold one about then.

They had brought along sandwiches and water, which was where the second problem had arisen. These was supposed to last them until the action started, but not being entirely on board with the idea of self-control—they were villains, after all—they'd eaten the lot in ten minutes. And he wasn't sure what Hookwolf had put in his, but the man had been farting on and off ever since. The hassle with having a body that renewed itself every four and a bit seconds was that Alabaster's sense of smell couldn't get desensitised to it. But as bad as he had it, Stormtiger had it worse; in the back, he was trapped with anything that wafted back there. No wonder he was bitching so much.

“Fuck it,” Stormtiger said abruptly. “I'm getting out. I can't take—”

“Shit! There she is!” Hookwolf pointed out of his window. Boredom forgotten—though he was never spending more than ten minutes in a car with Hookwolf ever again—Alabaster leaned over and peered across the road. Sure enough, visible through the glass sliding doors was a petite figure slumped over in a wheelchair, being pushed by a nurse. In the street outside, a sedan was just pulling to a halt. Alabaster had no idea where she'd gotten a ride from, given that Night and Fog were still out of town, but he didn't care all that much. Purity was in no shape to fight, and Hookwolf wasn't going to give her the chance to get away.

Hookwolf turned the ignition key, but the engine refused to start. From the sound of it, the engine was turning over strongly, but none of the cylinders were firing. “Let it off and try it again,” Alabaster advised; he wasn't a mechanic, but he'd picked a few things up here and there. Sometimes, all that was needed was to give the engine a chance to start fresh, or at least that was the way he thought of it.

It didn't work. The rhehr-rhehr-rhehr-rhehr of the van's engine fruitlessly turning over echoed from the rear of the shops, and Hookwolf cursed luridly. Alabaster saw his leg working and figured he was pumping the accelerator. Which sometimes worked, but sometimes made the problem worse.

“You've fuckin' flooded it,” Stormtiger snapped from where he was sitting. “Ease off, you'll warn her.” Standing up from his seat, he slid open the side door with a bang. “You'll never get this piece of shit running in time. Let's just go get her.” Which was good advice, Alabaster decided, though he wondered how much of it was common sense thinking and how much was Stormtiger not wanting to share the back of the van with Hookwolf's flatulence any more.

Opening his own door, Alabaster got out and headed around the nose of the van to join Hookwolf, while Stormtiger caught up with them a moment later. Across the road, the fall of the ground outside the side door necessitated steps for ambulant pedestrians, which meant a wheelchair ramp consisting of four switchbacks. Purity, still being wheeled by the nurse, was about halfway down to the second switchback. Alabaster checked that his pistol was still in its shoulder holster and quickened his pace; while he had no intention to rob Hookwolf of his prey, nor did he intend for her to get away for want of trying.

They crossed the road at a brisk walk, with Hookwolf in the lead, Alabaster flanking him to the left and Stormtiger to the right. Stormtiger seemed to be breathing deeply of the night air, his chains clinking softly as he strode along. For his part, Alabaster wasn't sure about the sedan which was apparently there to pick up Purity. “What do we do about that?” he asked, indicating the car with a jerk of his head.

“Tell 'em to fuck off,” Hookwolf said curtly. He didn't even look over at the car as he spoke, his attention fixed firmly on the figure slumped in the wheelchair. For a moment, Alabaster wondered if they were the victims of some hoax, until the light fell on her face and he recognised Kayden's features. She looked to be horrifically pale, worse than could be attributed to the harsh yellow glare of the street-lights, and her head lolled from side to side as the nurse rolled her along.

Obediently, Alabaster peeled off toward the sedan, which was still waiting with its lights on and engine running. As he came up, the driver's side door opened and a skinny balding guy started to get out. Alabaster pulled his pistol and showed it to the guy. “Fuck off and you get to live,” he said bluntly. “Call the cops and you're a dead man.” Not that he could carry the latter threat through any time soon, but it was occasionally useful.

The man scrambled back into the car and threw it into drive. Revving the engine, he powered it away from the curb, heading down the street. Alabaster watched it go, then looked back at Purity. The nurse pushing her had stopped on the last switchback and was watching them with a terrified expression on her face. She looked really young to be a nurse, and he wondered briefly if she was pre-med.

Alabaster joined Stormtiger as the latter waited at the side of the road. Alone, Hookwolf approached Purity's wheelchair. He said something to the nurse, and she let go of the handles and backed off. The chair rolled forward a little, until Hookwolf stopped it with his foot. “Purity!” Alabaster heard him say. “You killed Kaiser. This is why you're gonna die.” There was no response from the woman in the chair. He shook the chair with his foot. “Purity!”

“Why doesn't he just kill her?” Alabaster asked in an undertone. He hadn't killed all that many people, but to him it didn't matter whether they were awake, asleep or drugged out of their brains.

“It's a thing with him,” Stormtiger said, equally quietly. “He likes them to see it coming.”

“Purity!” Hookwolf's voice was louder. “You're going to die now!” He shook the chair again, blades sliding from his hands until they were masses of metallic talons. More metal covered his body, building him up until he was a hulking monstrosity. “Can you hear me?”

And then Purity sat up in the chair. “I can hear you,” she said clearly. In that instant, she lit up to flashbulb levels of brightness … and Hookwolf exploded. Or rather, Alabaster realised as he picked himself up from the ground and pulled a length of metal from his abdomen, he'd been made to explode. As the ringing died away from his ears and his vision cleared, he saw that the chair was empty, but the brilliant light circling overhead made it all too clear where Purity had gotten to. Also, that Hookwolf's assessment of her not being in any shape to fight was fatally out of date. Still, she wasn't bulletproof, and he was holding a pistol. Raising the weapon, he shaded his eyes and aimed the gun at the brightest point in the sky. A moment later, just as he was about to squeeze the trigger, his hand cramped up and twisted in on itself. Unable to maintain his grip on the pistol, he let it clatter to the ground. What the fuck is going on here?

Up above, Purity curved around and swooped in for an attack run. Alabaster was reasonably sure he'd survive anything but a direct hit. The trouble was, Purity's power wasn't exactly pinpoint, and he couldn't guarantee that she wouldn't get a direct hit on him, even if she was aiming at Stormtiger. That was why he turned and ran away from the tiger-masked man; without his pistol, he was of no use to anyone when it came to fighting the flying Blaster. It was not for nothing that she'd been the Empire's go-to big hitter for ten years.

He was looking over his shoulder at her when she cut loose at Stormtiger. For an instant, he thought she'd missed altogether, as the spiralling blast of energy smashed into the street at Stormtiger's feet. But then, he realised her strategy; chunks of asphalt and concrete, blasted free by her energy beam, were raining in at Stormtiger like particularly lethal hail. Stormtiger was able to deflect small projectiles such as the bits of Hookwolf with his aerokinesis, but this was too much for his power to deal with. As Purity flashed by overhead, Alabaster saw that Stormtiger was out cold in the street, partially buried by the woman's ad-hoc missile barrage.

This was getting weirder by the second. First, his hand just hadn't worked right when he tried to shoot at her—although it felt fine now—and then Purity showed more mercy than he'd known her to do before. What she'd done to Hookwolf was far more in line with the Purity he knew and feared.

He kept running. By now he was certain that he wanted no part of this; any thoughts of revenge were tempered with the rock-solid certainty that pulling this sort of crap would cause his power-instigated invulnerability to be given a severe workout. After all, he had no guarantees that whatever caused her to show mercy to Stormtiger also applied to him.

Actinic light blazed overhead, and then he was looking up into it. As Purity came down in front of him, he slowed and stopped. Shading his eyes, he stared at her, or tried to. “What the fuck do you want?” he demanded; if she was going to kill him, just as well make it quick. And if not, he might actually get answers.

“To be a hero.” It wasn't the answer he expected. It was common knowledge among his fellow Empire capes that she'd left Max, but he basically figured she was still out and about, fighting the good fight on her own terms. He didn't much care if she went after the ABB under the Empire flag or not, so long as it got done. Of course, the situation following Kaiser's death had changed the game board somewhat. Belatedly, he realised she was talking again. “What do you want?”

“Not to die right now.” It wasn't something he'd ever expected to need to say in all seriousness. Against almost anyone else, he had a good chance of resetting from whatever wounds they caused him. He wasn't so sure about surviving an attack from someone who could literally vaporise his body from the waist up and down. “I guess I surrender?”

“Yes. You do.” There was a vague shifting in the intolerable brightness, and he guessed she was pointing back toward the hospital. “Get back there now, so you can wait for the authorities. Or I will hunt you down, and I will make you regret it, very briefly.”

After what had transpired with Hookwolf, he had very little doubt that she'd do exactly what she threatened. It occurred to him that the threats weren't very much in line with her stated aim of becoming a hero, but he didn't really feel like pointing this out to her, in case it made her change her mind about letting him live. So he turned around and began trudging back toward the imposing building.

As they got closer, Alabaster saw a woman on the scene who hadn't been there before; wearing a baseball cap pulled low over her eyes and a simple bandanna to mask her lower face, she was kneeling beside Stormtiger. As Purity approached with her captive, the woman stood up. Her posture was a little awkward, as she kept one hand in her jacket pocket; Alabaster assumed as a matter of course that she had a weapon of some sort in there. “He'll live,” she told Purity. “Probably has a severe concussion, and almost certainly several broken bones, but his vitals are strong. I figure he'll make a complete recovery, given adequate medical attention.”

“Good,” said Purity. “Got a zip-tie I can use?” She strolled over to the other woman, who reached into her jeans pocket and pulled some out, all without removing her other hand from her jacket. “Thanks.” Taking the ties, Purity went back to Alabaster. “Now, I'm going to zip-tie you to this rail. You can cooperate, or I can blast you unconscious and do it anyway.” By which she meant, Alabaster figured, blowing off enough body parts that he passed out.

“I'll cooperate,” he said hastily, sticking his hand through the rail and putting his wrists together. After all, jailbreaks were a thing. And ironically enough, he'd probably be safer in jail than on the outside.

“Good,” she replied curtly. A moment later, the zip-tie went over his wrists, then she pulled hard to tighten it. He winced as the plastic bit into his skin; she wasn't messing around. Then she put a second one on, and third.

“Hey, a bit tight, aren't they?” he complained, then swallowed as her head turned toward him. “Uh, never mind. I'm sure it'll be all right.”

“Good.” Purity addressed the masked woman. “You've called the PRT?”

“Just now. The first capes will be along at any moment.” The woman tilted her head. “You coming?”

“In a moment.” Purity's light died away and she leaned close to Alabaster. “Now, I'm sure they're going to ask all sorts of awkward questions about peoples' identities. What are you going to tell them?”

He looked into the soft brown eyes of the petite woman before him, and saw death looking back at him. “Nothing, nothing at all.”

“Good boy.” With a razor-edged smile, she patted him on the cheek, then turned and walked away. Together, she and the other woman strolled out of sight.

As the first sirens became audible in the distance, Alabaster was left alone to wonder exactly what the fuck had just happened.



End of Part Twelve

Part Thirteen

 

Alea Iacta Est
Part Thirteen: Team Building Exercise


[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]


Tuesday Morning
February 1, 2011
PRT ENE HQ
Director Emily Piggot

In Emily Piggot's expert opinion, mornings existed for the sole purpose of taking bright and hopeful souls and showering them with toxic, radioactive explosive diarrhoea. Not that she had a soul that could be called either bright or hopeful. After surviving Ellisburg and Nilbog, and ten years of subsequently overseeing the seething mass of existential self-hatred collectively known as Brockton Bay, her soul was not in great shape. In order to safely collect it when her time came, whichever higher (or lower) power had been designated for the task would need to make use of a hazmat suit and a biohazard container. But still, mornings seemed determined to shit all over her anyway.

She took a sip of coffee, and her internal rhetoric dialled itself back down to a less scathing level. Picking up the photo before her, she eyed it unfavourably. “So Hookwolf's dead, and Stormtiger and Alabaster are in custody.” The photo portrayed none of the three except perhaps Hookwolf, represented by several pieces of metal in the medium distance, but it was nice to be able to make the observation all the same. Closer to the camera, a large section of the street had been blasted away to the depth of a yard or more. Chunks of concrete with asphalt attached, some with dirt still clinging to them, lay haphazardly all over the field of view.

“They were on scene when we arrived,” Armsmaster confirmed. “Stormtiger has a number of broken bones and a few internal injuries. I can't see him being up and around within at least two months, maybe three. Alabaster, of course, is perfectly healthy. Hookwolf was … as far as I can tell, they've collected enough pieces to determine that it was indeed Hookwolf, and he is indeed dead.”

Emily wondered briefly which of the forensic pathologists had landed the unfortunate job of jigsawing the extremely deceased Hookwolf back together, in an attempt to determine exactly what had disassembled him so thoroughly. Of course, she knew what it was, as did Armsmaster. Or rather, they knew in the absolute sense but not in the legal sense. Which was where the feeling of being shat on from a great height came from.

Hookwolf's demise was something she felt capable of coming to terms with. Even if the man technically hadn't had a kill order up against his name (which made this murder), he was still a killer who had been sentenced to the Birdcage. His sentence, thanks to last night's events, had been abruptly and unexpectedly upgraded to death with no remission for good behaviour. Brockton Bay was measurably safer for his passing, especially for any ethnic minorities in Empire territory, not to mention stray dogs.

Likewise, Emily would shed no tears for Stormtiger's broken bones. The man had inflicted far worse on far more innocent people. He would even survive and recover, in time.

Alabaster was the one least deserving of sympathy, having come out of the experience with nothing but mussed clothing. Interestingly enough, though, he'd said exactly nothing to the PRT troopers who had carefully collected and transported him back to the headquarters. In her experience, villains who had been so thoroughly trounced (especially with a death) were the ones who sang the loudest about who had done this to them, as though outraged by the idea that they could be targeted with the same violence they were used to inflicting on others. So Alabaster's resolute silence on the matter should have been speaking volumes to her. She just had to find the decryption key.

“Are we sure it was Purity?” She asked the question out loud for the first time. This was what burned her the most. They'd had a member of the Empire—a powerful member of the Empire—in a weakened position. Or rather, they'd had someone they very strongly suspected in that position. The right push, to get her to give herself up to them, and they could have turned her. Even if she gave up nothing on the Empire—and to be honest, with Kaiser dead, the Empire seemed to be disintegrating anyway—there was a possibility they could have rebranded her into a hero. But on their terms, not on hers. In order for the higher-ups to be comfortable with such a situation, they had to have the leverage, not her.

“It fits her capabilities to within a few percentiles,” Armsmaster noted. “There is one worrying discrepancy, though.” One metal-clad finger pointed at the gouges in the street. “She could've ripped a hole clear down to bedrock if she'd wished. This was her using her powers with a very light hand, which should've been impossible with the drugs they were using to help manage the pain. So when she left the hospital, she was healthy enough to fly and deliberately smash Stormtiger with chunks of debris to bring him down.”

“But Hookwolf walked right up to her, close enough that when she powered up, she blasted him across three city blocks,” Emily agreed. “He had to know she was aware that he was planning to kill her. Why did he let her get so close? Why did he even give her a chance to get a shot off, if she was on her feet?” She didn't even posit the idea that Purity had been too weak to blast deeper into the street; the devastating power of the shot that had killed Hookwolf gave the lie to that idea.

“So who helped her, and where did she go?” Armsmaster wanted to know. “Even with those three out of the way, she still couldn't be certain that the rest of the Empire wasn't likewise gunning for her. Someone helped her out. Someone healed her. There's no word on the street about any new schisms in the Empire, so it probably wasn't Othala. So who was it, and where did they take her?”

Emily shrugged. The list of parahumans with healing powers wasn't very long. It was only by statistical coincidence that two of them resided in Brockton Bay. On the downside, one of them was a villain. She considered this to be compelling evidence that the universe had a sick sense of humour. The next most prominent cape whose power could technically be used for healing was Bonesaw, of the Slaughterhouse Nine; Emily's opinion of this fact was obscenely unprintable.

“I suppose we could ask Panacea if she knows anything about this?”

“We can try.” Armsmaster's tone was doubtful. “She gets irritated when anyone asks who she's healed recently.”

<><>​

Andrea Campbell's Apartment
Taylor

“Seriously, what the hell?”

The small apartment was somewhat crowded, made even more so by the fact that Panacea was pacing back and forth across it. Taylor and Annette sat on the sofa along with Kayden, while Danny took up the apartment's sole armchair, with Andrea lounging across his lap. Janet, wearing clothing donated by Andrea, stood just inside the kitchen nook as if unsure if she was supposed to be there.

“I still can't believe I agreed to do it. And I just lied to the PRT and said I didn't!” Panacea paced once more across the living room. On reaching the far wall, she turned and planted her back against the firm surface. “You were supposed to leave the hospital without anyone getting hurt once you were healed. But you killed Hookwolf! Why didn't you just fly away?” Arms folded, she glared at Kayden.

“Because he would never have stopped,” Relaxing on the sofa, Kayden seemed unfazed by Panacea's anger. “If he hadn't seen me leave, he would've decimated the people in the hospital. Even if he did, he would've tortured a few to find out where I might've gone. People like him are very final about people they consider to have betrayed them. I would've always been looking over my shoulder.”

“But you didn't betray him,” Danny protested from where he sat. “Or even Kaiser. He came looking for a fight with you.”

Andrea shrugged, then wriggled her shoulders under Danny's arm. “With Max, there was never much of a difference between saying no to him and betraying him.”

Kayden shared a look of understanding with the redhead. “And Hookwolf was all about making sure nobody disrespected the Empire twice. Or even once, if he could manage it.”

“Well, I'm glad you're alive,” Taylor said, trying to lighten the mood. She looked across at where Janet lurked half-hidden in the kitchen nook. As per usual, the careworn blonde had her left wrist pushed into her jacket pocket. Taylor wondered briefly why Janet hadn't asked Panacea to grow the hand back for her, then decided it wasn't her business. “And I'm glad you were there to help out.”

Janet shrugged briefly. “The kid was really persuasive.” The ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “You'd almost think it was her power, or something.”

“She is good at finding the right person for the job,” Taylor agreed with a smirk. “We wouldn't be where we are without her.” She paused, unsure of how to continue. “I don't want to push, but …”

“After last night?” Janet grimaced. “You guys have got a lot of problems here in Brockton Bay. Confrontation's not my thing, but I don't think I could live with myself if I walked away now, then found out later you got killed because I wasn't here.”

“That's a relief,” Kayden gave Janet a genuine smile. “Actually, there's something I was wondering. I know you don't like using your powers, but how did you stop Alabaster from shooting at me? For a second there, I thought I was going to have to smear him across the street as well.”

Janet held up her right hand and spread the fingers. “Same way I helped you out against Cricket. The human body's got water everywhere. Muscles need it to work right. I migrated water from his hand and wrist into his arm until all the muscles froze up.”

“Wow, damn.” Danny shook his head. “I'm just glad their van wouldn't start. It might've made things a lot messier.”

This time, Janet smiled slightly. “I used to own a yacht with an auxiliary motor, and I know just about all the ways a little moisture in the wrong place can shut a diesel engine down almost instantly. Besides, it was a crappy motor. Almost didn't need my help at all.”

“Okay, seriously? I'm even more impressed than I was before,” Annette said. “So, could you migrate water inside people anywhere you like?”

“Technically, yes.” Janet's smile was replaced by a frown. “I'm not about to kill anyone, though.” She tucked her right hand under her left arm, possibly as a substitute for crossing her arms. “It's bad enough using my powers at all.”

“No, no,” Annette retorted with a wide grin. “Could you make someone want to pee, real bad?” Her grin morphed into her mother's trademark smirk. “Can you imagine the look on Armsmaster's face if he's giving you a hard time and you're just increasing the pressure a little at a time until he has to go? And then he's trying to make excuses, and you're like 'actually, I do have questions', and he's trying to get away without seeming like he's trying to get away.”

Taylor shook her head. “Only you. Only you could think of using a power like that for a prank.” It would be a mean and horrible thing to do to Armsmaster. Did it make her a bad person that she now wanted to see it happen?

Annette nodded proudly. She and her mother spoke up at the same time. “Darn tootin'!”

“I could probably do it,” Janet said. “But it's a bad idea. If he got the idea I was messing with him—and from what I've heard of Armsmaster, his suit's probably lined with sensors that might detect something like that—then I'd be in ten times whatever trouble I was in before.”

“Plus, he probably uses a catheter,” Danny put in. “If I was going to be locked in a steel shell for eight to twelve hours a day, I'd certainly consider one.”

Annette pouted. “Aw, you're no fun. I was enjoying the mental image of Armsmaster having to pour pee out of his boot.”

“As amusing as that might be,” Danny noted, “we do have a more important matter at hand.” He nodded toward Panacea, who was still glowering at Janet, though not as intensely as before. “Miss Dallon, you've aired your complaint against Kayden. She's explained why she did what she did. Is there still an issue to address, or are you satisfied?”

Panacea huffed but her arms relaxed a little, moving own until her left hand clasped her right wrist. “I guess she's got a point. Dad and Mom always told me to never get too close to him. I'm a noncombatant, but that wouldn't necessarily stop someone like him.”

Taylor got up from the sofa and went over to her. “I get it that you're upset someone died. I mean, you're a healer. It's kind of what you want to prevent. But if you were interested in joining, we'd have more options to go on with.” She tilted her head. “Want me to roll the numbers for and against you joining?” Opening her hand, she showed Panacea the five ten-sided dice resting there.

“Wait, you use actual real dice?” Panacea stared at the plastic polyhedrons. “They look really weird. How does that even work?”

Taylor shrugged. “I ask a question about probabilities and roll the dice. They give me the percentage chance of what I'm asking about.” She decided not to bring up the alphabet dice for the moment. There was no sense in overloading Panacea with information. “Like I told you when we met, I'm a precog, but it expresses through dice rolling and stuff.” She grinned. “As a bonus, I can make dice do basically anything I want.”

“Anything, huh?” Panacea's expression was still a little dubious, though it was thawing. “Show me.”

“Sure.” Taylor tossed all five dice over her shoulder, in the general direction of the table. She heard them hit, and saw the look of scepticism on Panacea's face dissolve into disbelief. Still sitting on the sofa, Annette audibly snickered.

“Oh, no fucking way.” Panacea stepped past her and stared at the perfect stack of dice on the table; five dice, one on top of the other. “You weren't even looking.”

“It's my power.” Taylor scooped up the dice again. “Name a possible outcome of you joining.”

Panacea frowned, but the expression was more contemplative than dubious. “Okay, what are the odds of me joining your team and not having it screw up things for New Wave?”

Taylor nodded. “Okay, rolling.” The polyhedrons clattered on the faux-wood surface. She eyed the result. “Okay, eighty-seven point one nine four percent chance that they won't suffer from you leaving.”

“That's what, a one in six, one in seven chance of problems? I'm not sure I like those odds.” Panacea didn't look happy at that.

“Chance she'll be happier in the team than in New Wave,” sang out Annette from the sofa.

Taylor picked up the dice. “I can do that. You good with that question?”

Reluctantly, Panacea nodded. “Go ahead.”

Again, Taylor rolled. The dice came to a stop, and Taylor nodded. “That's … huh. Seventy-nine point one three one percent chance that you'll be happier in this team.”

“How do you even know which one is which?” asked Panacea, pointing at the dice. “I mean, that could be eleven or thirty-one, or ninety-seven.”

Taylor shrugged. “How do you know how to heal someone? I look at the roll, and I know how the numbers go.” She picked up one of the dice and tossed it over her shoulder in the direction of where her father shared the armchair with Andrea. “Dad, think quick.”

“Got it,” her father reported. “What do you want me to do with it?”

“Pick a number and hold it up so Panacea can see it,” Taylor said, still not looking. “Don't tell me what it is. I will then roll that number.”

Panacea looked past Taylor at her father. “Okay, got it.”

“Good.” Taylor rolled the other four dice on the table. They came up showing different numbers.

When Panacea turned to look at them, she burst out laughing. “Uh, sorry to burst your bubble, but not one of these dice is what your dad showed me. They're not even in sequence! You've got a one, two twos and a three.”

Taylor nodded. “I know. What's on the one he showed you?” She'd never tried this particular trick before, but she thought it should work.

“Eight,” Panacea said triumphantly.

“Uh huh,” said Taylor, and gestured at the dice on the table. “What do those add up to?”

Panacea looked at the dice again and her lips moved silently. Just as her expression changed, Annette burst out laughing, as did Andrea. “Fuck!” the healer spluttered, looking back at the die Danny was still holding. Taylor looked over too, to see the '8' still showing. Staring once again at the four dice, Panacea shook her head. “How the fuck?”

“I told you. Precog and total control of thrown dice.” Taylor shrugged.

“Okay, got it.” Panacea shook her head ruefully. “Just one more question. How do I know you aren't rigging the predictions to show what you want?”

Taylor took a deep breath, reminding herself how it must look from the outside. “I can't. If I call the roll for a prediction, intending to lie about it, I get hand cramps.” She'd only tried it once, but if it got Panacea on board, she was willing to undergo it again. “Here.” She held out her free hand.

Tentatively, Panacea took it. “Okay …”

Taylor gritted her teeth in anticipation. “This roll is to determine …” She cast about for something. “Tomorrow's weather on TV. The temperature.” Two of the dice she put down, leaving two in her hand. “I intend to manipulate the roll and lie about it.” Drawing back her hand, she went to throw the dice. In her mind, she told the dice to come up '99', which was basically impossible, even in Brockton Bay, on a winter morning. But, exactly as had happened when she tested this before, a painful cramp locked on to her hand, bending the wrist over and forcing the fingers into a claw. Involuntarily, her hand closed over the dice, preventing them from accidentally falling to the table. “Fuck, aaarrrgh!” Pulling her other hand free of Panacea's, she clutched at her spasming fingers.

“Jesus,” blurted the healer. “I felt that. That was your power?”

“Taylor!” Danny started to his feet; Andrea twisted adroitly, managing to scoot her butt on to the chair arm instead of landing on the floor. Barely slower than him, Annette and Kayden also stood up. “Are you okay?”

Taylor held up one finger in a 'wait' motion and silently counted to ten. By 'twenty', she felt capable of coherent speech. “Yes,” she gritted as an answer to both questions, her breath hissing between her teeth. “It really, really doesn't like me lying about the rolls I make.” Slowly, she managed to prise her fingers apart to retrieve the dice. “It's not like a normal cramp. It's already easing off. Give me five or ten minutes and I should be good again. Maybe.”

“Can I help?” asked Panacea, her tone and expression showing concern for the first time.

“If you can make it hurt a bit less, that'd be great,” Taylor said. She held out her hand to Panacea, hoping the healer could actually do something about it.

Panacea put her hand on Taylor's cramped fingers and the pain eased right off. Taylor began to uncurl her hand. “Wow, that's—” The moment they lost contact with each other, the pain flared up to what it had been before Panacea tried to fix matter. Her fingers locked up again. “Ow. Ow, ow, owww.” She cradled the clawed fingers with her other hand. “That was not a great idea.”

“What the hell?” Panacea frowned. “I turned off the cramp and scavenged away the waste products that caused it. Can I look?”

“Uh huh.” Taylor gingerly held out her hand again. “I think it'd be best to let it sort itself out.”

“Don't worry, just looking.” Panacea touched it once more. “Huh. Wow. It looks almost like it reversed everything I did for you.”

“Told you.” Taylor's breath hissed between her teeth as she massaged her hand. Gradually, it began to uncramp again. “It doesn't like me lying about rolls. I've heard of Thinker headaches but for me, it's my hands.”

“Okay, I guess you're on the level,” Panacea said slowly. “Still, I need to think about this. I don't want to rush into making a decision this far-reaching.”

Taylor recalled the rolls which had informed her that Lisa would be required to induce Panacea into making the final decision. “That's fair,” she agreed. “The last thing I want to do is push you outside your comfort zone.”

Panacea nodded, looking just a little relieved. “Thanks. Even if I do join you guys, I have no idea how I'm gonna break it to Carol and Mark. Or Vicky.” From the expression on her face, she wasn't anticipating that specific revelation with any particular joy.

“That's okay. You take your time.” Moving over to put his hand on Taylor's shoulder, Danny gave Panacea a reassuring nod. “Whichever way you choose, we'll definitely owe you for healing Kayden. So don't ever feel that you're obligated to join.”

“I appreciate that,” said Panacea. She gave Kayden one last unreadable glance, then turned back to Danny. “Would I be able to get a lift home, please? I don't want my folks worrying, and I'm pretty sure you don't want them to know about you yet.” Her lips twisted in wry amusement. “Because if you think I'm a hardass when it comes to villains, you ain't seen nothin' yet when it comes to Brandish.”

Danny grimaced. “I haven't got my car back from the garage yet.”

“That's okay,” Andrea told him, standing up from the chair arm. Pulling her keys from her pocket, she spun them on her finger. “I can give you a lift.” She shot Panacea a brilliant smile. “You okay with that?”

Her smile was infectious. Panacea shrugged and gave her a half-smile back. “Uh, sure, Ms Campbell. That would be nice.”

“Ooh, can I come too?” asked Annette eagerly. “I didn't get to talk to Panacea the last time we met.” She gave the healer a grin. “I think you're even cooler than your sister.”

Taylor smirked inwardly at Panacea's double-blink. Annette's personality was almost as forceful as her mother's, and this was the first time the healer had been hit with the full brunt of it.

“Yeah, that's why you were talking to her and not me, before,” Panacea retorted. “You got her to sign your butt!”

Annette rolled her eyes. “Lower back, lower back. Anyway, that was just to keep her occupied so Taylor could lay it out for you without any interruptions.” She got up from the sofa. “Anyone can be cool with an Alexandria package and a short skirt—not the best choice for a flyer, just saying. But to have a behind-the-scenes power like yours and keep doing it, day after day, that takes serious dedication. So, can I come along? Pretty please with sugar on top?” She batted her eyelashes at Panacea in an almost cartoonish fashion.

The healer hesitated, looking bemused. “I … guess so?” she ventured.

“Cool, it's settled then.” Andrea tossed the keys into the air and caught them again. “Let's go, kids.” She headed for the door, with Panacea trailing behind. Andrea paused just long enough to give Taylor a wink, then followed on.

Taylor waited until the door closed, then snorted with amusement. Janet and Kayden looked at her, their expressions curious. On the other hand, Danny didn't seem at all surprised by this turn of events.

“Did I miss something?” asked Janet, sounding puzzled.

“I think Annette's got a crush,” Danny explained. From the twinkle in his eye, he'd come to the same conclusion as Taylor; that there was more than a simple crush going on. Taylor wasn't sure if Annette would actually be hitting on Panacea on the car drive home or just flirting, or even if there was a difference when it came to the redhead.

“Hm.” Janet's look of enlightenment morphed into amusement. “She's very … direct, isn't she?”

“Wait, she's gay? Does her mother know?” Kayden sounded concerned.

Taylor couldn't help it. She burst out laughing, half a second ahead of Danny.

“What?” Kayden frowned. “What's so funny?”

Shaking her head and still giggling, Taylor looked over at Kayden. “Annette's whatever she wants to be. And yeah, her mom knows.”

“And she's okay with this?” Kayden looked at Danny. “You're okay with this?”

Danny sobered up almost immediately. “Yeah, I'm okay with it.” He eyed Kayden sternly. “What's your problem with it?”

Kayden blinked at the intensity in his voice. Taylor flicked a look at Janet. The blonde was watching the interaction, her expression wary.

“Uh … it's not … usual?” ventured Kayden. Taylor got the impression that she'd been about to say something else, then changed her mind at the last moment.

Danny shook his head. “That's Kaiser talking, right there. Being gay isn't a crime, or even a sin. It's just another way people do things. Andrea's been interested in women as long as I've known her, and Annette seems to be much the same way herself. There's nothing wrong with it. If you believe otherwise, then there's less difference between you and the rest of the Empire than you seem to think.”

Wow. Taylor was taken aback by the harsh tone in her father's voice. She hadn't heard him take a stance like this in … forever. But if she was startled, Kayden was astonished.

“What?” The petite brunette stared at Danny. “How can you even say that? I'm making an effort, here. That sort of thing is …” She paused. “Wait, Andrea's gay too? But … she was sitting on your lap!”

“Oh boy, yeah, she's definitely into women,” said Janet unexpectedly. “She hit on me the other night. But once I made it clear I wasn't interested, she backed right off.”

“But they're driving Panacea home,” Kayden looked at Danny then Janet. “There's nobody else in the car with them. What if …”

“Do not finish that sentence,” Danny growled. “Panacea's a cape, with the ability to put people to sleep at a touch. You think anyone could lay a hand on her without her permission?”

Kayden didn't seem convinced. “But what if …” Her voice trailed off again.

Now Danny looked more than a little pissed. He took a step closer to Kayden. “But what if what?”

“What if Annette makes a move and Panacea doesn't say no?” asked Kayden.

“Well, if that happens, it's between the two of them,” Danny snapped. “None of my business, none of yours. Now, what's your problem with gays or lesbians?”

It took Kayden a moment to answer. “Uh …” She looked from Danny to Janet and back again. “I've got no problem with them as people, but … I just don't approve of that sort of thing.”

Danny rolled his eyes. “Well, can you keep that attitude to yourself, or is this going to be a problem?”

“I don't know; is it?” Kayden met his gaze with a defiant stare. “We'll never be an effective team if Andrea keeps hitting on me—”

Janet snorted with amusement. “Yeah, that's gonna happen.” When Kayden stared in her direction, she shook her head. “She's not gonna be hitting on you. You're not her type.”

“Type?” Kayden shook her head. “That sort of person doesn't have a 'type'.”

Danny raised a single finger, then turned and stomped to the front door. Opening it, he exited then slammed it behind him with enough force to rattle the pictures on the walls.

“Well, congratulations,” Taylor observed dryly. “I've only ever seen him this mad once before in my life.” She didn't explain exactly when that had been.

“What did I say?” Kayden looked puzzled.

“Did you even hear yourself just then?” asked Janet, moving out of the kitchen nook. “Everyone has a type. That's a fact. I've only known Andrea a couple days and even I can tell that. She likes people who are tall or muscular, or both. You're neither. Trust me, you've got nothing to worry about on that front.”

Taylor tried not to stare at the blonde. This was the most that Janet had asserted herself since Taylor had met her. Up until this point, the one-handed woman had been diffident to the point of fading into the background. Making a firm statement about Andrea's preferences was a small step, but it was definitely a new look on her.

“What?” Kayden turned toward Janet. “How can you defend—”

“Knock it off!” Janet interrupted her with a horizontal chop of her good hand. “I'm not 'defending' her, because she's done nothing wrong. I'm telling you how things are.”

“But she hit on you! You said so yourself!” protested Kayden.

“And so have hundreds of guys, and I turned them down just as flat too!” Taking a moment to calm down, Janet went on in a quieter voice. “Yeah, it threw me at the time. But once I made it clear I wasn't interested, at least she backed off. Can you say that about the men in your life? About Kaiser?”

Kayden opened her mouth. Taylor even saw her lips begin to form the word 'yes'. But then she closed her mouth as her brain caught up with her automatic reaction. She glanced at Taylor, who raised an eyebrow. Slowly, she took a deep breath.

“Well, no,” she admitted reluctantly, letting her breath out in a long sigh.

In the long silence that followed, Taylor became aware that the front door had opened again. Danny was standing in the doorway silently. She wasn't sure how long he'd been watching and listening.

“Kayden,” he said, drawing her attention. “You stood up for Annette, which we all appreciate. If Max had taken her, Andrea would've had an impossible task getting her out of his clutches. You stood in his way, and you nearly died for it. I get that you have no interest in women. Are you able to step back and allow Andrea and Annette their own preferences, or are you going to insist on trying to enforce your views on them?”

“God damn it,” muttered Kayden. She scrubbed at her face with her hands. “It's really hard to separate what I think from what the Empire's been telling me to think for the past ten years.” Lowering her hands, she looked up at Danny and Janet. “Part of me wants to condemn them for being like that. But I can hear what you're saying, and I get it that you think I'm wrong to think that way.”

“So what are you going to do about it?” asked Janet. “Are you just going to let a bunch of Nazis keep dictating to you?”

Kayden's lips quirked sideways in ironic amusement. “Yeah, okay, I get it. They're Nazi assholes. Kaiser was a control freak of the highest order. I don't know if that was him being a Nazi or just him being an asshole. But I'm not going to let him keep controlling me after he's dead. So I'll do a deal with you. If I say or do something that's offensive to you, call me out on it. If I think you're justified, I'll stop doing it. Okay?”

Danny stepped into the apartment and closed the door, then glanced at Janet. “I think it's a good deal. What do you think?”

“What are you asking me for?” asked Janet, looking somewhat surprised. “I'm not in charge, here.”

“You stepped up and made a few good points,” Danny reminded her. “And you're the only other adult cape on the team. Your opinion counts.”

“I was just saying what I thought needed to be said, but okay.” Janet looked at Kayden. “I think it's a good deal. If you're willing to not let your past rule you, I'm willing to do the same with mine.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Danny held out his hand to Kayden. “We're good?”

“We're good,” Kayden agreed. “Thanks for giving me this chance.” She clasped Danny's hand.

“And me, too.” Janet put her hand on top of theirs. “I've been hiding away from people for too long. I think it's time I stopped.”

Taylor slapped her hand on top of Janet's. “Let our powers combine!” she proclaimed, raising her other hand up, fist clenched. All three adults looked at her in varying levels of surprise. “What, am I the only one who's watched Captain Planet?” she asked. “You were getting way too serious here, and I asked myself 'what would Annette do?'.”

Her words broke the tension, and Kayden was overcome by a fit of giggles. Janet just looked bemused. Danny looked at Taylor and sighed. “Well, you certainly channelled Annette and her mom.” He shook his head as Kayden dropped into the armchair, still giggling. “At least this team isn't going to be boring.”

<><>​

Tuesday Afternoon
Tattletale

Strange things were happening in Brockton Bay. This wasn't odd in and of itself, given the city's standing population of parahumans, but in the last few days, things had gotten stranger than normal. Between being approached for recruitment by a middle-schooler, Kaiser being struck by lightning, and Hookwolf being literally blown to bits by Purity (or so Lisa's power told her), the 'weird-shit' quotient of life in Brockton Bay was way higher than normal. Worse, her power kept insisting that all three incidents were connected, but she didn't have enough data to fill in the gaps.

She was in the process of trawling through the tinfoil-hat sections of PHO in the hope that one of the lunatics on there might let slip something that was actually true when her phone rang. She picked it up; there was no name on her caller ID.

“Hello?” she asked cautiously, leaning back on the sofa.

“Hi. Can you speak freely?” It took her a moment to recognise the voice, then her power filled in the blanks.

It's the kid I met in the Market.

She's calling me about Coil.

She thinks she has a working plan to bring Coil down.

She's going to need me to give her information to do this.

She's got a major heavy-hitter on her side to do it with.

It's not just Purity.

She glanced around, trying to appear casual. Rachel was out, Alec was playing his computer game with headphones on, and Brian was off somewhere. She was reasonably sure her phone wasn't tapped at the moment. “I can,” she replied cautiously. “How solid is your plan, and what do you need from me?”

The kid didn't miss a beat.“Pretty solid. I just need some information. And a way of contacting the PRT so they can clean up the mess.”

This call was becoming more and more surreal. “What information?” At that moment, her phone beeped, and she looked at it. Crap, it's Coil. “Hold on, I have another call.” Her asshole boss got all kinds of testy if she failed to answer her calls in a timely fashion.

“Don't answer it. Coil wants you to come in, which will screw the whole plan up.” The kid's voice was matter-of-fact. “Worse, you'll end up telling him about us.”

“I wouldn't … would I?” Lisa had a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Is this your precog in action?”

“She spent a lot of time running the numbers over the last day or so,” 'Management' confirmed. “Can you come meet us before he calls one of your teammates?”

Lisa gritted her teeth, fully aware that this was a tipping point for her. If she left the base right now, she was committing to Management's plan. Coil would quickly learn that she'd turned against him. Every previous effort she'd made to escape his grasp had fallen through. Did she dare try yet again?

The beeping continued.

<><>​

Boardwalk
Janet

“Coil's a precog for sure,” Taylor decided. “There's no way he would've known to call Lisa like that.” She gripped the rail and looked out to sea. “You doing okay?”

“Surviving.” Janet concentrated on looking away from the ocean. The usual 'pull' wasn't there. It hadn't been for the last couple of days, ever since the thunderstorm and the death of Kaiser. She still didn't like being this close to a large body of water, but there was something different. Now she was aware of the actual presence of the water as it moved and surged. Even the tiny droplets in the air glittered in her mind's eye, as did the water within people. Before Kaiser, she wouldn't have been able to focus this clearly, because all of her concentration had been aimed at denying her power. Now that she'd used it in a major way, she was able to keep from using it in a major way. If she didn't know better, she would've described her power as being satisfied for the moment.

“Excellent.” On Taylor's other side, Annette hung upside-down from the railing by her legs, supporting the rest of her weight on her hands. To Janet's relief, she was wearing cargo pants and a crop-top, both of which assisted in maintaining her modesty. “So what's Dinah's plan, again?”

“She doesn't have one, not really.” Taylor turned around and leaned her back against the rail, rubbing it up and down, probably to scratch an itch. “She just knows that taking down Coil is going to require Janet and Kayden. Once we find out what we need to from Lisa, she can hopefully make a plan that works.”

<><>​

Dinah

“You know I can hear you guys, right?” Dinah didn't look around, but she raised her voice just enough to be heard by Taylor and the other two, about twenty feet away from the bench she was sitting on. Her eyes never stopped scanning the passers-by on the Boardwalk. She was on the lookout for one particular person; with every second that passed, more and more unpleasant scenarios crowded through her mind.

Coil brought her in and she told him everything.

She went to Coil and told him everything.

She's going to show up with Coil's minions and act as bait to capture us.

She's not going to show.

He's precogged everything and is manipulating events from behind the scenes.

And then her eyes settled on a shock of messy blonde hair. Lisa was wearing sunglasses, but her eyes had to be darting all over the place, checking everything out. Dinah didn't blame the teenager for being cautious to the point of paranoia, especially after being forced to work for someone like Coil. She wondered what it would've been like for herself if she'd gotten a different power and ended up without the support base that Taylor and her dad offered. Probably not good.

“Here she comes,” she warned them. “She'll probably know that you're with me, but don't do anything threatening. We want her cooperating willingly, not feeling like she has no choice.”

“Got it,” Taylor called back. Dinah didn't turn to look at them, because her attention was fixed on Lisa. If there was any nasty surprise in the offing, Janet would have to take care of it.

Lisa strolled up to the bench and sat down, as casually as if she'd done it every day. “I'm here.” Tension vibrated in her voice, echoed in her posture. “What do you need from me, and why couldn't we have done this over the phone?”

“Because phones aren't secure enough for this sort of thing.” Dinah looked pointedly at Lisa. “You've got yours turned off?”

“Pulled the card and dumped the handset in the trash, a hundred yards back,” Lisa said. She tilted her head toward Taylor and the others. “Who're they?”

Dinah was almost certain that she hadn't made any motion that would've clued Lisa in on the others, but it apparently hadn't mattered. “Friends. Teammates. Here to keep this meeting honest.” She turned her head properly and met Lisa's eyes. “So, the first bit of information I need. Director Piggot's direct office line.”

Lisa's eyes opened wide and she let out a startled snort that turned into a chuckle. “Whew, you really don't play around, do you? What do you need … holy shit, you're going to call the PRT in to mop up Coil's guys once you're done with him? You're that certain this is going to work?”

Dinah let a grin expand across her face. “That depends on you, and how much you know about his base.”

The answering grin on Lisa's face held a few more teeth. “Try me.”

<><>​

Not Far From Coil's Base
Annette

Never in her wildest dreams had Annette Campbell thought that she might one day play any sort of role with a superhero team taking down a supervillain base. Of course, she also hadn't thought that her real dad might end up being a supervillain himself. That was comic-book thinking, and this was real life.

So yeah, her life was looking more and more like a comic book every day. Who was she to argue with that?

“Okay.” Lisa pointed at the map that was spread over the hood of the car. Janet watched every motion of her finger carefully from one side, and Kayden from the other. “Main area of the base is right under … here. Exits are here and here, parking garage exit here, and Coil's escape tunnel is here.” She looked at Kayden. “You'll probably be able to blast down to it but not collapse it. It was built using the same engineering as an Endbringer shelter.”

Dinah perused the map carefully as well, her lips moving silently, then she looked up at Lisa. “Is he there right now?”

“She's right.” Danny Hebert stood on the other side of the car hood, his arm around Annette's mom's waist. “If he gets away, he can start up again, and we'll never know until he comes after us.”

“One way to find out. Once we do, we're on a timer.” Lisa pulled a brand-new phone from her pocket. Annette had watched her put her old card in it, fascinated by how easy she made it look. “So be ready to roll.”

Kayden nodded. Janet followed suit. Annette hefted her own phone.

Taking a deep breath, Lisa made the call. It was answered in short order. Even from a couple of yards away, Annette could hear the raised voice of someone whom she assumed to be Coil. “Hey, it's me,” Lisa said. “I've been busy. What's up?” She paused, listening. “Right, right, right. I'll look into that straight away. Come in? Okay, gimme an hour. Okay, half an hour. Okay, see you as soon as I can.” She shut the call down. “Okay, he's there. The echo patterns in that place are unique.”

“Good.” Dinah tapped the map. “That exit and that exit first. Then the escape tunnel. But first …” She nodded to Annette. “Make the call.”

Annette grinned. “Oh, boy.” She pressed the speed-dial on the phone.

It rang exactly twice, then was picked up on the other end. “Who is this?” asked a suspicious voice. “How did you get this number?”

“Director Piggot, hi,” Annette said chattily. “I'm calling on behalf of the Girl Scouts. I'd be selling you cookies but we're all out, so I was thinking as a consolation prize we'd offer you one somewhat waterlogged supervillain. If you're interested, you can come and pick up Coil. Bring some friends, because it might get a little busy. I'll just email you the address, k-thanks-bye.”

Hanging up the call, she switched to email and hit Send on the pre-prepared message, then looked up at the circle of faces looking at her. “What?”

“That was not exactly what we told you to say,” Danny remarked. “In fact, that's entirely unlike what we told you to say.”

“Bet it gets her out here even faster, though,” Andrea said with a smirk.

“My power told me to nominate Annette for the job of notifying the Director,” Dinah reminded Danny. “She did it the way she felt like doing it. I'm not going to second-guess her.” She nodded to Kayden. “You're up.”

The ex-Empire cape smiled grimly. “Time to cause some property damage.” A glow built up around her body and she shot into the air. Within seconds, she was out of sight over the rooftops. But not out of earshot; it didn't take long before they they heard the not-so-distant sounds of her blast tearing into concrete and earth.

“Is it just me,” Taylor observed, “or does she really enjoy her work?”

Andrea shook her head. “Nope. It isn't just you, hon.”

It didn't take long for Kayden to finish her attack run. Lisa leaned into the car and turned up the radio scanner. It was no coincidence that the scanner was set to the PRT alert frequency. “The good guys are incoming,” she pointed out, over the crackle of messages coming through. “I think it's time for Stage Three.”

“Stage Three it is,” Dinah decided. She turned to Janet. “You know where the base is?”

Janet nodded. “I can feel the people in it.”

“And there's water nearby?”

“Yeah. Lots of it.”

“You can make the water go where you want?”

“Easily.”

“Good.” Dinah grinned. “Go ahead. Fill her up.”

Janet grinned back. Annette got the impression this was the first time the blonde had smiled in some time. “You got it.”



End of Chapter Thirteen