“A baloo is a bear,” Ray quipped.
My teeth ground. “If I have to face another sheet of paper informing me that a yonker is a young man in my life, I will build mechanical homing carpet beetles to find her and eat her cartilage while she's still alive.”
Claire spread her hands, her smile mild and wry. “You were right about canceling today's super powered club. I don't think I did as well on these tests as last year.”
We rounded the U bend of Upper High. We'd taken our sweet time getting here, letting the high school kids clear out. Fortunately, Ray and I both knew where we were supposed to meet Lab Rat, since we took a class here. There were old wooden picnic tables out back, and little, sickly trees in concrete planters wider than a grown man.
With the smell of winter's last sprinkling rain in the air, it was a nice place. Most of the ground was set with worn, uneven cobbles, and there were always small, yellow leaves scattered around in corners and cracks. They might be from autumns years past.
Or, they might come from the square of cobblestones that crawled up out of their bed, piling themselves into a fence a few inches high around a now-open shaft. Leaves did fountain out of the hole, followed by the twitchy, suspicious face of Lab Rat.
It had been implied by the letter, but I still couldn't believe it. I stood over Lab Rat, my eyebrows trying to crawl like worms. “My new lair is across the street from the old one? Really?”
“Yes! Is tasty. Easy. So many options. This seemed most convenient.” He slithered out of the hole, long arms and legs moving like a spider's, even though his spine bent with admirable rattiness.
Claire crouched down, looking into the stone shaft and the ladder Lab Rat had crawled up. “So this is the way in?”
“One way. Many ways. Not the best way. I will show you that, now!” He stood straight, planting his hands on his lower back and stretching his spine before walking up the courtyard away from the school. Aside from being a little too stiff and too much arm swinging motion, from a distance he might look like a skinny, normal man in brown clothing.
The cobbles climbed back into place, disguising the tunnel he'd used. Personally, I was relieved. My feeble human muscles would not have enjoyed that much ladder climbing.
Instead, we trailed after him to the far corner of the school's property, next to the parking lot. An old telephone pole stood there, looking completely innocent. Next to it was one of those clunky metal cabinet things, the size of a walk-in closet, maybe, that contain transformers and other electrical equipment.
Usually, at least. By the time we reached it, nobody was surprised this was the entrance. We did let out a chorus of laughs as Lab Rat declared, “Open sesame!” and the door popped open.
Inside was only a hole in the earth, of course.
Ray did the same twisty eyebrow thing I had. “Open sesame?”
“Yes,” said Lab Rat, stepping into the hole. For less than a second, he stood on nothing, and then sank slowly out of sight.
Ray, Claire, and I formed a miniature stampede to follow. It wasn't quite as big as the elevator in my old lair, but there was plenty of room. Our feet did, indeed, set down on nothing, an invisible firmness that held us up.
How did we make it go down?
Apparently by wondering about it. Or looking down. Whatever, we drifted downwards. The elevator shaft looked like the inside of a well, more stone cobbles like on the terrace above. We went way down, too. This was deeper than my last lab. Maybe three stories? Hard to judge.
We stepped out into a decent attempt to mimic the great hall of an ancient temple. Small stone cobblestones had given way to huge stone blocks, covered in moss and dripping moisture in some places. Lit torches provided light near the (magic?) elevator, and as Ray and Claire hurried down to check out side passages, more torches lit themselves ahead.
I maintained a more dignified mien, lingering to ask Lab Rat again, “So this is really right across the street from my old lair? It's like someone made a magic themed duplicate.”
He rubbed his hands together, head shaking, teeth bared. “Not a coincidence. No. Two villains, names like… Ruler Overlord, and Archmage Supremo? Something. Hated each other. Fought for years, down here under the schools, before they try anything in public and get caught. Even doors from one base to another, but not sure where those are. This base taste better. More exits, more interesting, even entrance farther down into Undercity. Prime real estate, but regular hero or villain build base under a school, get not tasty interest when others find out. Kids using kid bases, nobody cares.”
“It is nice,” I conceded, “Way less ugly and more atmospheric. I'm not sure what I'll do about the lack of power outlets. I'll figure something out.”
Bending double, Ray fiddled with a crack in the wall. A fake stone lid popped open, revealing… a regular old pair of power outlets, like in any home. Looking me in the eyes, he grinned. Okay, he grinned slightly wider. “I think I figured something out.”
I tilted my head to one side. “A wizard with electricity?”
Claire pointed through the doorway next to her. “He needed it to watch this clunky old black and white television.”
Ray looked past her, and winced. “I bet that recliner's not safe to touch. Down here in the damp for years, it must be a mildew factory.”
Well, that settled that. Curtseying deeply, my head low, I said, “Thank you, Lab Rat. We'll take it. You found me a lair that's so tasty, it's absolutely delicious.”
He stamped his feet rapidfire, giggling, “Eee hee hee hee hee!” Dropping to all fours, he ran down the length of the hall, and I watched the glow of the torches trace his path towards some distant alternate exit.
I leaned back against one of the pillars. This place smelled nicer than the last one. There was that hint of moss in the air, and wetness, and old earth, and charcoal from the magic torches. “It looks like we've got a long weekend ahead of us. Are you two okay with spending the next couple of days bringing my equipment back here?”
Claire pumped her fist excitedly. “Yes! The sooner your lab is up and running, the sooner we're back to super powered crime! I could come up with something for next weekend, I bet.”
My hands went up in alarm. “Whoah there, pardner! I don't have any weapons, remember?”
She flapped her hand, unconcerned. “We'll take a page from that fake Bad Penny, and steal some.”
The idea had merit. “Everyone is convinced Bad Penny stole her tech anyway. If we played to type, that would reinforce my cover.”
Claire rubbed her hands together. Her eyes shone with glee, although that might be an illusion from her power peeking through. “You make yourself a toy, and I'll steal you a toy myself. I've been wanting to try solo cat burglary. I'll show my mom that I'm ready.”
Noting the hole in the conversation, I asked, “What about you, Ray?”
He was still peeking into side passages. “I'll go along with whatever.”
Absolute nonchalance fail. Claire and I both riveted our attention on him, concerned by that totally out of character answer.
“Are you okay, Ray?” I asked.
“I thought you loved supervillainy?” said Claire.
“It was great. I've always wanted to be the debonair warrior type who both charms and does the will of the intellectual role playing game princess. Then when we were in space, I realized… I've done that now. Doing it some more would be fun, but it will be fun because I'm spending time with you two.”
That might have been the most serious thing I'd ever heard Ray say, and he said it while looking straight at me. 'You two' meant 'You, Penny.'
This was it. It was time to ask him out. My heart leaped out of my chest, and I felt dizzy with how much I wanted to. We could go on a date, spend us time, let go and be whatever…
My mouth opened, and my cheeks hurt from the power of my blush. The dizziness got so bad I almost fell over.
I couldn't do it. Bad Penny was invincible. Penelope Akk desperately looked fo
r something else to talk about.
One presented itself, an inspiration as sudden and amazing as if my power had offered it up. “Hey… we need to steal some super powered equipment, right?”
“Yeeeeees?” asked Claire and Ray together.
I pointed in the direction of Northeast West Hollywood Middle. “There's an amazing super clock in the superhero club house over there. Go steal it for me, Reviled. And while you're at it, steal me some of their lab tools.”
Claire, Ray, and I all burst out laughing together.
When Monday came, I made sure to complain really loudly about the Inscrutable Machine stealing my latest invention from our clubhouse. Or maybe I didn't. When English class arrived, one thing drove everything else out of my mind.
A girl was sitting in Marcia's chair. She had black hair in a pageboy cut, a rumpled pink blouse and white skirt, and tanned skin, but not really deeply tanned. Not as tanned as before she was suspended.
It had to be Marcia. That was Marcia's face, wasn't it? She never was a natural blonde. I knew that. Who let their thirteen-year-old bleach her hair? Marcia's dad, apparently. This black would be her natural color.
When Mrs. Harpy stood in front of her desk and asked, “Miss Bradley, do you have either of your homework assignments?” the whole room gave a sigh of relief. Okay, yes, this was Marcia.
Except this Marcia shrugged, a wan smile on her face, and answered, “No, ma'am. I'll have to go from here.”
Marcia looked totally relaxed. Had I ever, ever seen her look totally relaxed? Poised, affected confidence and ease, yeah, but just mellow? Her eyes were a little bloodshot, and she did have that 'just finished crying' blandness, but no hints of tear tracks on her cheeks.
Mrs. Harpy was the one who looked totally unsettled. “I understand. With your father in his condition, you wouldn't have had time. I'll make a note to not count those assignments in your grade.”
Marcia shrugged, and smiled. It was the most wan, bittersweet touch of curl I'd ever seen applied to a mouth. Come to think of it, her lips looked raw. Maybe I was just used to seeing her with lip gloss, but the subtle kind?
“I'm sure he'll be better soon,” Mrs. Harpy added, her brow furrowed in worry.
“I hope not. If he gets better too fast, I might have to hit him again,” Marcia answered, as mildly and matter-of-fact as anything else she'd said.
Giving up on that conversation as a lost cause, my English teacher got back to teaching. I kept sneaking looks at Marcia. She ignored me and everyone, splitting her time between taking notes and doodling little pictures around those notes.
When the lunch bell rang and she got out of her chair, I saw the two tubes stuffed into her belt in back – one white, and one black.
The Popular Kids table at lunch was stony silent. None of them seemed to know what to say. Marcia's badly mussed look, plain hair, and the mild, curious way she poked at her peas stuck out like a sore thumb compared to the rest of them.
Tuesday she had a little more energy in class, and while her clothes were wrinkled, she'd combed her hair. She smiled a lot, but it was a different smile, like someone else was inhabiting her body. Someone on a lot of drugs, maybe. On the way to lunch, she chattered in the hall with those two girls she always hung out with, and at lunch she told them some kind of story. It involved making punching motions, and an animated, enthusiastic smile. She bounced up and down in her seat, even.
When Marcia pushed herself up to make a fist-into-palm gesture, Ray pointed. “Those!”
At least he hadn't stuck his arm all the way out, although Marcia hadn't reacted to anybody staring at her yet, anyway. Claire leaned past me, following his gaze. “The scrolls in her belt?”
Ray's eyes bugged out, and he lowered his voice to a hiss. “Those are the Pure Fist Scrolls. They have to be.”
He must have been onto something. Claire went just as goggle-eyed, dug her phone out of her bag, and tapped furiously at her web browser. Two seconds later, she showed us a picture.
Yes, those were the things in Marcia's belt. Two scrolls, or more like fancy scroll cases, one white with black letters and the other black with white letters. Each had an engraved rod through it, and although I couldn't see the inscriptions on Marcia's, the roughness looked about right.
Fortunately, I did not have to know everything in the world. I had minions who collected every tiny scrap of information available to the super hero and super villain fandoms. “Fill me in, guys.”
“You know Master Scorpion and Joe the Fist, right?” Ray asked. Mere curiosity had been kindled into a manic energy in both him and Claire. Their grins rather resembled Marcia's.
I gave them my best 'uh…' face. “I know they hate each other, and they're supposed to be really good at Martial Arts, and Master Scorpion still wants to train you to fulfill his grudge. I think Mom introduced me to Joe the Fist once. Is he the one who looks like a beach bum surfer dude? With the scraggly beard?”
Claire jumped in. “They both trained together. A bunch of heroes trained in their school, including the Original.” Which meant probably Marcia. “Supposedly, Joe and Scorpion were the only two in the last twenty years to become masters. When they did, the teacher let them each pick one of the Pure Fist Scrolls to study and learn its secrets. Scorpion picked the white scroll, thinking it would make him the good guy. Nobody's really sure what it did. The black scroll gave Joe energy powers on top of his martial arts skill, shooting fireballs and stuff. Scorpion was really jealous, but if you try to use both scrolls, you die. If you even touch them and you're not a master, you die.”
They switched out, letting Ray pick up the explanation, his face alive with heartwarmingly geeky joy. “Artifacts like that absorb the power they teach. They're real scrolls. You read them and learn the techniques they describe. Until that happens, just touching them forces those powers into you. If you can't handle it, instant death. You burn out like a light bulb.”
I pointed out the obvious. “Marcia seems as alive as she's ever been.”
“Maybe more,” agreed Claire, staring as Marcia continued her story.
Ray screwed up his nose. “She used to be like a doll, rather than a person. A really, really mean doll.”
The next day, Marcia was alone at what used to be the Popular Kids' table. About fifteen minutes into the lunch period, one of her girl sidekicks joined her. Whatever they said to each other, Marcia seemed no more than wryly amused, while the other girl looked haunted.
Wednesday. That was a Wednesday. I remembered to head to the club that afternoon. I kinda might have forgotten on Monday. Really, between Marcia, my super clock, and a brand new history essay to research, I had a lot on my mind, and wasn't sure where I'd been, when.
But Wednesday I definitely headed down to the super powered club. We had a new door. Laverne had made it, out of wood. Very, very hard wood, and it did a neat folding trick when you opened it. This time it was already open, with Laverne and Teddy and a couple of other kids peering out around the corner.
More club members were scattered around the fence of the yard. Everyone was watching bulky Charlie Kamachi stand out on the basketball court waving a fistful of papers.
“I'm here! Who sent these, huh? I'm sick of this. Just leave me alone!” He spotted me, and his already thick neck bulged with fury. His skin turned a few shades towards grey. “Akk! Have you been leaving these?!”
He threw the papers at me. As papers do, they fluttered in all directions, but one was crumpled enough to bounce over to my feet. As I picked it up, I shook my head. “I've got no idea what's going on.”
The straightened out paper read 'Do you want to be a loser all your life? Fight me, tomorrow after school!'
There were a lot of papers. My brow furrowed. “How long have you been getting these?”
“Since Monday! Everywhere I go, there's one of these stupid challenges. Which one of you is doing this?!”
A voice behind me piped up. “Me! It was me! I know, overkill, right? But di
dn't it make a cool mood? You had to show up.”
Marcia walked past me, out onto the recess ground. She had a visible skip in her step, grinning and massaging her fists in absolutely manic anticipation.
Charlie's arms fell by his side. He gawked at her, dumbfounded. “Bradley? I'm not fighting you again. I got in enough trouble for hurting you the first time.”
Fists turned into spread-fingered, waving hands as Marcia denied, “We don't have to fight. A fight would be great, but I just want you to hit me.”
Never a muse of superhuman banter, for one brief moment Charlie became the voice of every child watching. “What?”
“Hit me!” Marcia's head bobbed to one side, then the other, working kinks out of her neck. She pointed a finger right at her own face. “Hit me as hard as you can! I won't dodge.”
“What are you-”
“Just hit me! Hit me now!” Marcia yelled at him.
“And you'll leave me alone?”
“Yes!”
He hit her. It wasn't a very fast punch, but as promised, she didn't dodge. Charlie's fist smacked into the side of Marcia's face.
She staggered, but didn't fall. I could see her cheek turning purple already, but she just gave Charlie's barrel chest an irritated shove, shouting, “No, I said as hard as you can!” When he lifted his fist again, clearly unsure, she kept at him. “Transform! I said as hard as you can! As hard as you've ever hit anything!”
Charlie's body swelled. His shirt and pants stretched to their limits. His skin turned grey and rough, his face mashed into a hideous fishy mask, and bright red gills opened on his neck. His fist remained raised, but he stood there, awkward and unsure.
Marcia shook her head, her short black hair flopping around as she shoved Charlie's chest again, and again, to absolutely no effect. “A full transformation! I've seen what you can do. I've seen what your whole family can do. Hit me as hard as you've ever hit anything!”
Charlie's body began to deflate. He lowered his hand. “This is nuts. You're nuts. I'm not going to kill you. Send me all the notes you want. I'm out of here.”
Please Don't Tell My Parents (Book 3): I've Got Henchmen Page 10
