I reached out to touch one of the wedding rings. It was partially melted into the surface of the edifice. I imagined someone could strike it free with a hammer.
Not that I would do that.
“Sounds so corny when I say that, but it’s how I have to frame this, you know? You lived the life you did, with a lot of bad, a little bit of horrific, and some good, and now you’re gone, and people will remember different parts of that. And I think that would sound arrogant, except, well, we’re pretty similar on that score, aren’t we? It’s where we sort of had common ground, that I didn’t have with any of the others. We’ve been monstrous.”
I let my finger trace the edge of the wedding ring.
“I’ve hurt people for touching those.” The voice sounded just behind me, in my ear. I jumped, despite the promises to myself that I wouldn’t.
Then again, she wasn’t someone you could anticipate.
“Imp,” I said.
I turned around to look at her.
She’d been attractive in that dangerous too-much-for-her-age way before, and to judge by her body alone, she’d grown fully into it. She was statuesque, wearing the same costume I’d given her two years ago, when she’d been shorter. A quick glance suggested she’d cut off portions to adjust, wearing high boots and elbow length gloves to cover the gap, and wore a cowl to cover the gaps in the shoulders and neck. It might have looked terrible, but it fit. Her mask was the same as it had been, gray, noseless, long, disappearing into the folds of the cowl as the fabric sat around the lower half of her face, with only hints of teeth at the sides marking the mouth. The eyes were angled, with black lenses, curved horns arching over her straightened black hair.
“Tattletale said you’d be back today.”
“I figured she’d know,” I said.
“Was it worth it? Leaving?”
I hesitated. “Yes.”
I hesitated, I thought.
“I told the others. They’re on their way.”
“Okay,” I answered. Fast response.
No. Too fast. I reached out with bugs, and I sensed the crowd, the way they were standing.
Here and there, there were people who shouldn’t have been paying attention to the scene. A young girl inside one of the buildings with the graffiti-mural on the exterior, holding a baby. A boy was standing a little too far away to see, but he didn’t approach to get a better view.
There were a small handful of others.
I looked at the rings on the memorial. “Heartbreaker’s.”
“He collected them. I uncollected them.”
“I’d heard he died.”
Imp nodded slowly. “Said I would. I told you I’d kill his dad for him.”
An admission. I felt a kind of disappointment mingled with relief. Not a set of feelings I wanted to explore. I suspected the sense of relief would disappear under any kind of scrutiny.
“People keep prying them loose, but there’s usually someone nearby to keep an eye out and get a photo or description. I track them down and bring the rings back. Once every few months, anyways. Kind of a pain.”
“It’s how he would want to be remembered, I think,” I said.
“Yeah.”
No snark, no humor? I wondered how much of that had been a reflection of her friendship and almost-romance with Regent.
“And you recruited the kids,” I said. I used my bugs to track the bystanders, my eyes to note more who fit the criteria. Boys and girls, some narrow in physique, most with black curls, others with that pretty set of features that had marked Regent and Cherish. Some were fit on all counts, others mingled two of the qualities and skipped a third. Heartbreaker’s offspring, unmistakably.
“I recruited some. They needed a place to go, and it’s kind of nice, having them around,” Imp said. “They’re good enough at fending for themselves. One or two, you get the feeling they’re almost like him. In a good way.”
“I’m glad,” I replied. Glad on more counts than I’m willing to say.
Then, as I realized that any number of those kids might have taken after their father in the powers department, I was struck by the thought that they might know that, that they might report that relief I was experiencing back to their de-facto leader.
If that was the case, they would also report the way I felt ill at ease, just a little creeped out, as I eyed Imp’s followers.
Imp was eyeing me. I cocked my head a little, the best expression I could give without taking off my mask, hoping it conveyed curiosity.
“I like you better than her,” Imp said.
Like me better than who? I wondered. Than Lisa? Rachel? I didn’t get a chance to ask. I was distracted as I sensed an approach and turned to look.
“Bitch is here,” Imp said, noting the turn of my head and the figure at the end of the street, ignoring traffic as her dogs made their way to us.
Rachel, I thought.
“She’s been going to the fights, helping out here when we send for her. I haven’t been going to the fights, so I dunno how much you’ve seen her there. She’s been checking in on me, wandering around here with her dogs and scaring the everloving shit out of people until I come to say hi, then she leaves for another few weeks. I’ve probably seen her the most.”
“I’ve barely seen her at all,” I said. Even with the Endbringer attacks.
The dogs weren’t running, and it took me a moment to realize why. There was one dog that was larger than the rest, with half of a bison’s skull strapped over the left side of its face, the horn arching out to one side. Armor and bones had been strapped on elsewhere. It didn’t seem like something Rachel would have done, dressing up her dog. One of her underlings?
It’s Angelica, I realized. The dog lumbered forward, moving at a good clip, but certainly not the speed the dogs were capable of when they went all-out. Rachel was controlling the speed of the other dogs to allow the wounded animal to keep up.
She was riding Bastard, I recognized. It was different from the others, symmetrical, the alterations flowing into each other better. Two other dogs accompanied her. Bentley wasn’t among them.
The onlooking crowd, Imp’s underlings included, sort of hurried on their way as the dogs approached Regent’s monument. Rachel hopped down as they reached our side of the street.
Rachel was taller, I noted, browned by sun, the jacket I’d given her tied around her waist, a t-shirt and jeans, with calloused feet instead of shoes or boots. Her auburn hair, it seemed, hadn’t been cut in the two years since I’d seen her. Here and there, hair twisted up and out of the veritable mane of hair, no doubt where tangled bits had been cut away. Only a sliver of her face and one eye were really visible through the hair, a heavy brow, an eye that seemed lighter in contrast to the darkened skin.
And damn, I thought, she’d put on muscle. I’d gained some, working out every day, but even with her frame and her natural inclination towards fitness, I suspected she must have been working hard, all day, every day. Maybe not quite what a man might have accomplished, but close.
“Rachel,” I said. I was overly conscious of how we’d parted, of the way I’d left the group and the awkward conversation during the New Delhi fight. “Listen-”
She wrapped me in a hug, her arms folding around me.
I was so caught off guard that I didn’t know how to respond. I put my arms around her in return.
She smelled like wet dog and sweat, and like pine needles and fresh air. It was enough that I knew the new environment had been good to her.
“They told me to,” she said, breaking the hug.
They wouldn’t be the Undersiders, I gathered. Her people, then.
“You didn’t have to, but it’s… it was a nice welcome,” I said.
“Didn’t know what to say, so they told me to just do. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I asked and they told me to hug you if I wanted to hug you and hit you if I wanted to hit you. Yeah.”
I’m guessing she only just decided, I thought. I’d been gambling by
wearing my Weaver costume, but then, I hadn’t expected them to converge on me like this. I would have changed before seeing Rachel.
“It’s good?” I asked. “Over there?”
“They’re building, it’s annoying to get in and out. But its good. Tattletale made us bathrooms. We’ve been building the cabins around them.”
“Bathrooms are good,” I responded.
She nodded agreement, as if I hadn’t just said something awkward and lame.
“I remember you complaining about the lack in your letter,” I added.
“Yeah,” she said.
Wasn’t the easiest thing in the world, to carry on a conversation with her.
“Others are checkpointing in,” Imp said. “Just to give you a heads up.”
“Checkpointing?”
“Teleporting, kinda. Limited. Um. We’ve only got a second, but you should know in advance that they’re married.”
“Who?”
But Imp didn’t respond.
Foil and Parian appeared in a nearby building, the same building the girl with the baby was watching from. Two others had arrived with them.
Them? I wondered, mildly surprised. Then again, it made sense.
They approached, holding hands, and a bear managed to form itself from the roll of cloth Parian had bound to her back, without anyone, the stuffed creature included, really breaking stride. They’d barely changed, but for a little more height. Foil carried the crossbow that the PRT was apparently maintaining for her, and Parian had donned less dark colors, though the hair remained black.
The two capes with them each wore red gloves as part of their costume. I knew who they were from the stuff on the forums. The Red Hands. The alliance had gone through, apparently.
“So. You draw me over to the dark side, and then you flip,” Parian commented.
“I hope it’s working out,” I said.
She shrugged. “It isn’t not working out.”
“We’re fine,” Foil said. “I suppose I should thank you. If you hadn’t left, I don’t think I could’ve come.”
“You may be the only person to thank me for leaving,” I said.
“Don’t be so sure,” Imp added.
“Huh?”
“Nevermind.”
Tattletale arrived next. Grue appeared at the location with more Red Hands as she stepped outside. Where the others had been modest, approaching with a kind of leisure, she almost skipped for the last leg of the approach. She hugged me briefly, then kissed me on the cheeks. The mandibles, really, where the armor framed my jaw. Whatever.
Of everyone, I was least surprised at the changes with her. Her hair had been cut shorter, and she wore a mask that covered the entire upper half of her face, coming to a point at the nose. Her shoulders, elbows and knees had small shoulderpads on them, and there was a definition to the horizontal and vertical lines of black that marked her lavender costume. She wore a laser pistol at her hip, which bounced against her leg as she ran. PRT issue. Extremely illegal to own.
“Jerk!” she said, after she’d kissed me on the cheeks, “You’ve barely responded to my fan mail!”
“It’s kind of hard to reply to it without drawing attention,” I said. “You don’t know how much I wanted the details on what’s being going on here.”
“Jerk,” she said, but she smiled. “But I should warn you-”
She didn’t get a chance to finish before I saw.
Grue approached. Of everyone, he was the least changed. Physically, anyways.
But the Red Hands walked in formation around him, and one, a young woman, walked in step with him, close enough that their arms touched. They could have held hands and it would have been just as blatant.
I’d faced Endbringers, the Slaughterhouse Nine, I’d taken down who knew how many bad guys… and I had no idea how to face this.
He’d moved on, and I was glad he’d moved on. He maybe needed someone to lean on, to give him emotional support, and maybe she was that. I told myself that, I tried to believe it, but I was jealous and hurt and bewildered and…
And I bit back the emotion, approaching, ready to hug.
When he extended a hand for me to shake, I had to fight twice as hard to suppress any reaction to the hurt. I could tell myself that he’d at least done it before I’d raised my arms to hug him, but… yeah.
I took his hand and shook it. Then, on impulse, I pulled on it, drawing him forward and down a little, and put my other arm around his shoulders. Half of a hug, half a shake.
“Happy birthday,” he said, after I stepped back.
The others echoed him. Welcomes and happy birthdays. He’d remembered, but… that choice of words.
I eyed the young woman. She was a rogue, in the dashing villain sense, wearing a mask around the eyes, and old-fashioned clothes with lace around her ample cleavage. Her jacket and slacks were festooned with belts, bearing utility pouches and knives. The glove that wasn’t red had a knife attached to each fingertip, a brace around it to keep everything in place.
She met my own gaze with one of her own, a narrow, hard look.
“Oh. Skit- Taylor, meet Cozen. Second in command to the Red Hand.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said. They don’t really match.
“Pleasure’s mine,” she said. “I’m meeting a legend, after all.”
Awkwardness followed.
And in the midst of that, Imp’s statements finally caught up with me.
I like you better than her.
Don’t be so sure, Imp had said. Well, Cozen would be happy I’d left.
Then, with a realization like a dash of cold water to the face, I remembered.
They’re married.
“Taylor,” Tattletale said, rescuing me before I could say something dumb. She hooked her arm around mine and led me around and away. “Much to talk about.”
“The end of the world,” I said. “Endbringers. Finding Jack, or the designer-”
Safe topics, somehow more reassuring than this.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Everyone’s playing it safe, keeping things quiet.”
“What do we do?”
“What was the plan?” she asked. “When you came?”
“I’ve got six hours before I need to be in New York. They’re swearing me into the Protectorate.”
“Congratulations,” Grue said. He sounded genuine.
“I should be saying that to you,” I said, glancing at him and Cozen.
“Oh. Thank you,” he answered, in his characteristic eerie voice. I couldn’t read his tone, and felt a little grateful that at least one of us was spared sounding awkward.
“Six hours,” Tattletale said. Another rescue.
“I was going to visit everyone in turn to catch up, visit my mom, then see my dad.”
“Well, we’re all here. We can go somewhere together,” Tattletale said. “There’re stories to tell, I’m sure.”
“I’m sure,” I said. I almost wished my original plan had gone ahead, that I could have a really short visit with Grue, a longer sit with Rachel and her dogs, then a long discussion with Tattletale about what was going on, before I headed off to see my mom’s grave and my dad.
“Come on. We’ll walk, see the sights,” Tattletale said. “figure out what to do for breakfast or brunch.”
“Okay,” I said. I glanced at the others. Would they be down, or would they back out? Parian and Foil weren’t close to me, but they were sticking around. Cozen wasn’t making an excuse and leaving, and neither was Grue. I could see him exchanging murmured words with her.
I must have looked a little too long at him, because Imp fell in step beside me.
I glanced at her.
“I was just fucking with you,” she whispered. “I thought you probably deserved it.”
My stomach did a flip flop at that. Anger, relief, bewilderment, more anger. Still more anger.
“Man, the way your bugs reacted. Hilarious. You act like you’re all stoic, but then I just have to
look over there and over there and I see bees and butterflies circling around like eagles ready to dive for the kill.”
I opened my mouth to say something, but she cut me off.
“She is pregnant,” Imp said.
My mouth shut.
“Kidding. This is fun. Come on, butterflies, I see you over there. Do your worst, I know you want to kill me.”
I considered jabbing her with my taser, and the thought was vivid enough that I imagined it buzzing at my hip.
Except it wasn’t my taser. It was my phone.
As it had so often this past month, I felt my heart leap into my throat, that pang of alarm. A very different kind of alarm than Imp had been provoking from me. More real, more stark.
I drew the phone from my belt, then stared down at the text that was displayed. A message from Defiant.
“Endbringer?” Rachel asked. Something in my body language must have tipped her off.
I shook my head, but I said, “Yes. Sort of.”
“Sort of?”
“An endbringer with a lowercase ‘e’,” I said. “It looks like Jack may have made his challenge to Theo. It’s starting.”
25.x (Interlude, Bonesaw)
July 8th, 2011
“...The reality is clear. The repercussions of what happened today will change the relationship between hero, villain and civilian. It remains up to them to decide whether it will be a change for the better, or a change for the worse.”
“Pretentious, isn’t he?” Jack asked. He was naked, covering himself with both hands, sitting on a metal bench with more brushed stainless steel behind him. With the angle of the device, he faced the ceiling.
“Likes to hear himself talk,” Bonesaw replied, agreeing. “Which do you think it’ll be? Change for the better or change for the worse?”
Jack only smiled, his eyes crinkling a bit at the edges. He was getting older. It was reassuring and spooky at the same time. He’s the daddy of the group and I’m the kid and he’s getting older which makes him more daddylike.
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