Good Cauldron and Other Snips

Good Cauldron

Taylor woke with a start. Where? The ceiling was unfamiliar. This wasn’t her bedroom. Smells of alcohol and disinfectant. And lights, those alien lights at the edge of her consciousness, shifting in disorienting ways… Oh, god, it wasn’t a dream. She was trapped, the smells were coming back, she couldn’t move – something was holding down her arms…

“Taylor! Stop!” Someone shouted over the screaming. Who was screaming?

Taylor gasped, cutting off her screams, then looked to the person who had shouted. “Amy? What...”

“You’re in the hospital,” her sister said, quieter now that she didn’t have to shout. Amy brushed a curl of dark hair out of Taylor’s face. “You’re safe. You’re healthy. And NOTHING is going to hurt you. Do you understand?”

Taylor whimpered.

“You’ve got all of New Wave providing security right now, you know that? Fleur’s turning the hallways around this room into fucking gardens of her exploding flowers. I’m pretty sure nobody’s going to be able to get to you.”

Taylor frowned. “Why?”

Amy rolled her eyes. “My little sister got shoved into her locker, which was filled with a fucking biohazard, and the investigation is turning up a lot of dirty laundry. You think I wouldn’t get my team to make things as safe for her as possible? I’ll be damned if I lose another family member.”

Taylor looked subdued at that.

“I’m still pissed, by the way.”

Taylor startled. “What?”

“Oh, I knew something was wrong. You seemed to be doing better, and then, poof, you sink into a depression worse than Dad’s after Mom died. I figured it must have something to do with Emma, after she stopped coming by, but God, Taylor! Why didn’t you tell me they were hurting you? I’m your sister! You don’t think I could have done something?”

“Like what?” Taylor snapped back. “I went to the school. They told me I didn’t have any proof. Then they started calling me a troublemaker for bringing it up. If I’d told you, you would have done something dramatic, and things would be quiet until you thought they were settled, and then they’d punish me for involving you!”

“Like trapping you in your own locker?”

Taylor glared at Amy.

Amy sighed and sat on the bed. “If you’d told me… yeah, maybe you’re right. I probably wouldn’t have handled it well. But we could have at least got you into Arcadia.”

Taylor shook her head, picking at a loose thread on the blanket. “The secretary shredded my transfer to Arcadia.”

“She did what?”

“Excuse me,” interrupted a third voice. Taylor’s head whipped around. In a corner of the room, where she hadn’t even noticed him, an older man slowly pushed his way out of his chair. “This sounds important. Miss Hebert, can you tell me about this incident?” His voice was full and melodic, as though he had trained for public speaking, with a hint of an accent about it.

Taylor looked at him warily, then turned a questioning glance to Amy.

“Oh, right. Taylor, this is Father A. Father A, Taylor. Father A is the one who found you in your locker, Taylor.”

“Father A?”

The man chuckled. “Amy calls me that because she finds it hard to say my name,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Taylor. My name is Father Asclepius. I’m with Crucible.”

 

“Crucible?”

Father A glanced at Amy, an amused expression on his face. “I thought you said Taylor was a cape geek.”

Amy returned the look dryly. “She is. But it's not like Crucible is that well known. Most capes only see a Crucible representative once in their lives.”

Father A's lips pursed, but he nodded. “Very well. In that case, Taylor, how much do you know about trigger events?”

“Not much,” Taylor said, shaking her head.

The man nodded again. “That doesn't surprise me. Most people dislike speaking of them. Then, briefly, trigger events are highly traumatic events or situations that cause a person to spontaneously develop powers. Often, these are so bad that it results in some sort of mental trauma.”

Taylor blinked. “You mean... you mean every cape has PTSD?”

Father A chuckled at that.

Amy snorted less delicately. “PTSD, psychotic breaks, OCD, multiple personality disorder, hell, I still think Glaistig Uaine had schizophrenia.” She rolled her eyes again. “Yes, Father, I know you say she doesn't now, but I still think she used to.”

“I said nothing.”

“But I know you were thinking it.”

“Wait.” Taylor was frowning. “Are... are you saying that all the superheroes are... are mental patients?”

“Of course not,” Father A said promptly. “Would you call Amy a 'mental patient?'”

“Yeah, thanks, Sis.”

“No! I just mean... wait, does this mean... Amy, you had a... um... a trigger event?”

Amy sat back down on the bed and ruffled Taylor's hair. “Don't you remember when I got my powers?”

Taylor slapped at her hands, though without any real urgency. “Doesn't everyone? It was really public... oh.”

“Yeah,” Amy agreed. “Oh. Losing mom was the worst thing that's ever happened to our family. And I was in the car when it happened.” She sighed. “I've lost way too many parents.”

Taylor leaned into her sister, pulling her into a hug. “Sorry.”

“No worries, kiddo,” she whispered, planting a kiss on Taylor's crown.

Father A cleared his throat, drawing the sisters' attention back to him. “At any rate, you can see why it might be a good idea to have someone around to help new capes come to terms with their powers. Or, at the very least, to help them get out of whatever situation caused them to become superpowered, yes?”

Taylor thought about that. “Why wait until they become superpowered? Couldn't you stop the situation before it goes that far?”

“Ah,” Father A raised a finger. “That would be ideal, wouldn't it? But therein lies the problem. As far as we can tell, no one can predict when a trigger event will occur. The best we can do is have our thinkers and precogs determine when they have happened, and alert the cavalry. That's Crucible. We dive into the fires that forge in order to retrieve that which has been refined.” He finished with a flourish.

“Very poetic,” Amy said dryly. “In other words, hon, Crucible gets notified when someone has a trigger event, and rushes to the scene to try to help them out. Father A got told to go to Winslow at noon yesterday.”

“Someone at Winslow triggered?”

Amy stared at Taylor. So did Father A.

A shocked laugh escaped Taylor's mouth. “Wait, you think I... no, no way.”

Amy shrugged. “You've got an active Gemma, now. You didn't yesterday morning.”

Taylor's mouth fell open.

“I take it you haven't felt anything terribly out of the ordinary?” Father A asked quietly.

“No, nothing. Well, except...” Taylor paused.

“Yes?”

Her eyes watered. “I... I think I might have gone crazy,” she whispered. “I... keep seeing these... lights... in my brain. They don't feel right. Like they're alien, somehow.”

Amy hugged her again. “You're not crazy,” she said. “I can see crazy, remember? That's your power. Though I still don't really know what it means.”

Father A coughed again. “If you don't mind, I asked a friend of mine, a psychologist, to stop by, just for this sort of case. She might be able to help you figure out your power.”

Amy turned with a quizzical look on her face. “A psychologist friend of yours? You said 'she,' so it's not Jacob, and Jessica's in Chicago this week... no.”

Father A sighed. “Amy, your feud is getting ridiculous.”

“Fuck that. I don't want that bitch within ten miles of me.”

“Even if it might help your sister?”

The noise that came from Amy's throat would not have been out of place coming from a dog. “Fine,” she said.

Taylor had been looking back and forth between the two with growing trepidation. “Who are we talking about?”

Father A smiled. “It might be better to simply introduce you.” He cracked the door, just enough to poke his head out. “You can come in, now,” he said to someone outside.

The door opened more fully, and someone stepped in. She glanced around the room, and her gaze locked on Amy. “Hebert!” she said, more cheerfully than seemed warranted.

“Livsey,” growled Amy.

---

Oh, this makes me smile. I hadn't realized how misleading I was being concerning Amy and Taylor's home situation, but I'm rather pleased that that was the result. I suspect this newest snip may clear a few small things up. Also, I apologize for how much exposition there is in this one. I try to avoid overusing it when possible, but I always intended this part of the conversation to happen here.

 

“How's the girlfriend?”

Taylor could hear Amy's teeth grinding. “I could ask you the same thing.”

'Livsey's' smile suddenly became a lot more brittle. “Right. Forget it.” She glanced at Taylor. “Introduce us?”

Amy sighed. “Taylor, this is Sarah Livsey. Livsey, this is my sister, Taylor.”

Taylor waved, warily. The look the blonde was giving her was... disconcerting. Not taking her eyes off the stranger, she leaned into her sister. “Girlfriend?” she asked.

“She's the one who outed me to Vicky.”

Taylor's eyes widened. She remembered the fallout from that, even though she hadn't been told how it had happened. Amy had come home in tears. There had been talks about her leaving New Wave. Glory Girl was still wary around Amy, a year later. She glared at Sarah.

Sarah sighed. “You saw the fallout from that, right?”

Taylor nodded.

“If I hadn't pushed Amy out of the closet, the fallout would have been worse. I even double-checked with a couple of pre-cogs in WEDGDG just to make sure I wasn't coming to the wrong conclusion. So I forced the issue.”

“Without telling me,” Amy interjected.

Sarah returned Amy's flat stare for a few seconds, before her eyes flicked back to Taylor. “I made a mistake. I apologize. Truce? We've got other things to worry about.”

Amy's eyes narrowed. She glanced at Taylor, then Father A. “Mind giving us a second to hash this out?”

“Not on my part,” said Father A. “Besides, I would like to hear more about the Winslow situation from Taylor. If that would be all right with you?” he said, looking at Taylor.

She nodded, reluctantly.

“Good.” Amy grabbed Sarah by the arm and tugged her into a corner of the room.

“Wow, Amy! I'm not that sort of girl!” Sarah teased.

“Oh, shut it,” Amy growled, yanking the curtain partition closed around them.

Taylor turned back to the priest, who smiled kindly at her.

“I realize this may be difficult to talk about,” he said. “But it could greatly help the investigation.”

As he spoke, low voices were coming from behind the curtain. Taylor deliberately tried to turn her attention to Father A, and discovered something strange. Instead of losing track of the lower voices in the background, her concentration seemed to split, one part focusing on Father A, while the other remained focused on the muffled conversation. It wasn't even hard – she felt like it would be just as easy to focus on a dozen, or a hundred different tasks, if she only had the means of interacting with so many tasks.

Spoiler: Focus A

“Investigation?” she asked.

“Hm, yes. As we said before, trigger events are immensely traumatic. In fact, Dr. Manton has posited that any trigger event, if it were not for the power's inception, would result in the death of the person involved. Either the event itself would kill them, or it would put them in a suicidal state of mind that would be almost impossible to recover from. As a result of that research, and a great deal of effort on the part of Crucible and the PRT, trigger events are now legally treated as though the person involved had died from their effects.”

“How does that work? I mean, since I'm alive.”

Father A smiled. “It depends on the circumstances. A good example in this instance might be the case of Rachel Lindt. Does the name sound familiar to you?”

Taylor shrugged. “Vaguely.”

“It was an interesting situation for us. I remember it in particular because our pre-cog suggested that the best person to make contact with her was a reality television star from Los Angeles. Never mind. Rachel was a part of the foster-care system when she triggered, rather brutally. Her trigger event caused the death of her foster mother, and the maiming of several of her foster siblings. It could have been very bad for Rachel.

“But because of this policy, an inquest into Rachel's situation was begun, and it didn't take very long to discover that Rachel had been subjected to a horrendous amount of neglect. Eventually, her foster mother was posthumously charged with criminal negligence and a number of other crimes.”

“What happened to Rachel?”

Father A's smile turned sly. “Have you heard of the TV star 'Mutt'?”

Taylor blinked. “The girl on Dog Whisperer?”

“Rachel Lindt. Cesar Millan was integral in working with her after her trigger.”

“Huh.”

“Now in your case, we've got a pretty obvious case of malicious intent, which means that this is going to be treated as a murder investigation. As I understand it, the lead investigator already has suspects in the case. Just as a warning, when this goes to trial, the suspects will be charged with attempted murder. That's just to make sure you don't get outed as a cape right away. The only one that will know that you triggered will be the judge, so that he can apply the right sentencing. Are you following, so far?”

“I think so. But if you wanted to question me about the case... shouldn't I have a lawyer? Or at least my dad here? I don't think I'm supposed to talk about that otherwise.”

Father A nodded. “Well, I'm not a legal authority, so anything you say to me can't be used as evidence, but I applaud your caution. Once Sarah has walked you through getting a handle on your power, we'll let your father know you're awake.” He winked at Taylor. “Amy nearly had to beat him in order to get him to leave last night, even after she told him that you needed to sleep.”

“So why wasn't he here when I woke up?”

“Did you want him to know you have powers?”

Taylor's mouth dropped.

“I recommend it, incidentally. And since your sister is already 'out,' so to speak, it shouldn't be too hard for you. But I also realize that you may not want us to make that decision for you. So you now have the choice.”

Spoiler: Focus B

Even somehow being able to fully concentrate on the conversation, the curtain and the distance made it hard for Taylor to hear everything the two girls were being said. Though not difficult enough to keep her from hearing.

“Why should I trust you?” That was definitely Amy.

“In which sense? Why should you trust me to help your sister? Why should you trust me to keep Father Asclepius happy with me? Why should you...”

“You're not dumb – your power won't let you be. Why should I trust you to keep my sister's secrets? You didn't keep mine.”

“Ugh.” Taylor could imagine Sarah rubbing her temples. “Do you know how close I came to losing my license over that? Yes, I should have told you, and let you make the choice. I'm sorry. I won't be sharing her secrets, or anyone else's, because I now have my own personal sword of Damocles hanging over my head. I break doctor-patient confidentiality again, and I lose my license.”

“Really? Then why are you so gung-ho to help Taylor? Since you know I'll be watching you like a hawk.”

“Can't tell you. Doctor-patient confidentiality.”

“Argh!”

“Calm down! Listen, you remember when we shared trigger events? When you were... still my patient. Right. Do you remember?”

“Yeah, I remember. 'Building trust with me,' good job burning that bridge.”

“What caused it?”

“...Your brother...”

“It's why I got my degree in psychology. If I see someone in that situation, or heading in that direction, I can't handle it.”

“You're saying my sister is suicidal?”

“Can't tell you. Doctor-patient confidentiality.”

“Right.” Amy sighed. “I still don't much like you.”

“I get that. I really do. But I promise you, I will help your sister.”

There was silence behind the curtain for several seconds, which gave Taylor time to process what she'd just heard. Am I suicidal? she thought. She didn't think so, but there had definitely been moments in the last year when she thought she'd be better off dead. Mom's flute, she remembered. And she'd definitely daydreamed of dying in some sort of heroic sacrifice. Something that would cause people to remember her fondly, instead of dying in a bathtub or something pathetic like that. Shit. I really do need help.

Amy broke the silence. “I want Siobhan's phone number.”

“What? Why?”

“If you screw with Taylor, I'm going to ask her to give me an equally damaging secret about you.”

“...Fuck. She'd do it, too.”

“Wow, trouble in paradise?”

“There is no paradise. The only reason she's my 'girlfriend',” Taylor could hear the quotes, “is because it's really hard to tell the world's most powerful pre-cog that you're not destined to be together. Smurf would do it because she's a fucking troll. She'd think it was hilarious, as long as it still fits in with her plans.”

“So, do we have a deal?”

Sarah sighed. “Fine. Here.”

There was rustling.

“Thanks,” Amy said. “Let's do this.”

The curtain rattled open, and Amy and Sarah rejoined the other two. “Sarah and I have... come to an agreement,” Amy began. “Taylor, I can't say you can trust her completely, but she can help you figure out your power.”

Taylor examined the two girls – Amy's shorter figure, with the familiar face and brown, curly hair a contrast to the taller, blonde, elegant figure beside her. The only commonality between the two the freckles that dotted both their faces.

“Fine,” she said, finally. “But only to figure out my power. If I need to see a psychiatrist, we'll figure something else out. Even if I've got suicidal tendencies.”

Amy looked embarrassed, but Sarah looked intrigued. “You were listening in.” she stated.

“Really?” Father A looked surprised. “I thought I had her attention.”

“You did,” Taylor and Sarah said at the same time. Taylor glared at Sarah. “I somehow... split my concentration between both listening to you and them at the same time. Maybe that's my power? Seems kind of weak.”

Sarah snickered. “Not nearly. That could be a really powerful Thinker ability if you use it right. But my power says that not it. Or not all of it.”

“Taylor was saying something about lights in her head,” Amy offered.

Sarah peered curiously at the bed-ridden girl. “Do the lights feel like they're actually in your head, or do they feel like they're further off?”

Taylor blinked. “Uh... further off.”

“Where's the nearest one?”

Taylor pointed. “About... six or seven feet that way.”

Everybody looked where she was indicating. There was a ECG machine tucked into a corner that looked like it hadn't been moved in months.

Amy opened her mouth, but Sarah waved at her. “Hush. Taylor, can you... grab the light? Tell it what to do, somehow?”

Taylor concentrated. Which, she immediately realized, was completely unnecessary. As soon as Sarah had said the words, she'd somehow taken total control of the light. “Yeah.”

“Can you make it move?”

Taylor did, starting in surprise when a small spider darted out from under the ECG machine in time with her commands.

Sarah sat back, a satisfied look on her face. “There we go. Master power. Arthropod control.”

Father A looked up from the spider. “Arthropod? Not arachnid?”

Sarah shrugged. “Based on the trigger event, it's unlikely Taylor'd be limited to arachnids or spiders. She was being attacked by all kinds of blood-feeding insects. Her power gave her the ability to prevent that.”

Father A simply nodded, but Taylor noticed the slight look of disappointment on his face. Primarily because it was dwarfed by her own.

“Fuck. I nearly died, and what power did I get? Bug control. I'm the fucking bug girl! I'm such a fucking failure!”

A pair of hands grabbed her by the shoulders, and Taylor could feel as Amy's power started draining her of the panic inducing hormones that had started to flood her system. “Calm down, Taylor. Hysteria isn't helping anyone, especially you. Deep breaths. Calm.”

Taylor tried to follow her sister's advice, though her breathing was ragged from the hiccuping sobs still trying to make their way out her throat. She looked up, and latched on to the first distraction she could.

“Why are you looking so smug?” she asked Sarah.

Sarah's grin grew even broader. “I'm going to ask you some questions, and I want you to answer without thinking about it. Ok?”

Taylor frowned. “Ok.”

“How many bugs can you sense?”

“135, 298,” Taylor said, instantly.

“How far away is the furthest one?”

Taylor pointed toward a wall. “Three blocks that way.”

“Now, I want you to grab as many as you can, and make them take one step to the left.”

“...Okay...”

“How many were you able to grab?”

“All of them.”

“Did you have to tell them all the same command, or could you tell each one to do something different?”

That one Taylor had to think about. “I'm pretty sure I'm able to tell them all to do something different.”

Sarah grinned again. “You just gave every insect, spider, or centipede in a thirty-six block area individual orders. Hon, you may just be the most powerful master on the planet. Sure, your minions are individually tiny, but that's fucking impressive.”

---

Well, this post should address this, but I'll clarify. Father Asclepius is not Manton. In fact, while he does have a canon cognate, he isn't actually a canon character.

Ding ding! Yeah, when I was writing this, it occured to me that Amy Hebert has lost three different parents. It made sense for her to acknowledge that.

I'm not quite sure how to take this. I mean, the whole point of this series of snips is examining what happens when the secret conspiracy isn't completely incompetent. On the other hand, I always intended for there to be some fallout (past and future) from the daughter of Marquis not being held back from expressing her interest in Brandish's girl.

LOL.