Playing For Keeps

by Mur Lafferty

  24

  The Librarian had a large head start on Keepsie, but Keepsie was wearing sneakers and the Librarian still wore her sensible pumps. Keepsie started gaining on her almost immediately, and barely paused when she saw her quarry enter the smoking ruins of the Academy.

  Guttering fluorescent lights illuminated the corridors. The building had been proudly sculpted mostly of stone and metal, which meant little fire damage—that seemed to come from the lower levels of the Academy—but contributed to a lot of rubble in the halls. Chunks of cracked marble and crumbling concrete made the way through the hall slow going.

  Offices lining the outer wall smelled of acrid smoke and ozone, and one open door revealed a desktop computer that still sparked feebly, a chunk of concrete imbedded in the top of its case. The monitor, also a victim of pieces of the ceiling breaking free, had blown outward, showering the room with glass.

  Keepsie dodged a piece of falling debris and entertained the thought that she might die here after all, no matter what Peter said about her immortality. He had said nothing about whether she could survive concrete caving in her skull.

  The Librarian picked her way towards a red EXIT sign at the end of the left hall. She opened a door with a key and tried to slam it behind her, but Keepsie caught it. The Librarian ran then, clattering down the stairs. Keepsie swore and picked up her pace.

  The stairwell went up for only three floors, but down for an indeterminate number. Keepsie jumped the stairs three at a time to catch her. After two flights the Librarian paused for breath and Keepsie tackled her and they fell heavily on the landing.

  “You bitch,” Keepsie said, panting. “Unbelievable bitch.”

  The Librarian struggled underneath her, but Keepsie sat on her. The woman wilted, fighting no more, her hair coming free from its immaculate bun.

  Keepsie found her exhaustion creeping up on her too. What was she planning on doing? Beat up the Librarian until she, Keepsie, felt better about Alex’s death, the hell she and her friends had been through, the destruction to the city, the very small fact that most of this was her fault?

  “Alex is dead, you know,” she finally said.

  “I know,” the Librarian said. “That’s why I ran.”

  “Nice,” Keepsie said. “Why is it really so important that you come back to this dump?”

  The Librarian met her eyes. “Research.”

  * * * * *

  Keepsie had no weapon, but she trusted the fact that she had youth and speed on her side, and the Librarian seemed much the worse for wear than Keepsie. The hero kicked off her shoes and padded down the hallway—this one much darker than the ones above. Sometime along the way she had suffered a cut to her foot and she left unfortunate bloody footprints in the dust. She coughed and squirmed against the iron grip Keepsie had on her upper arm.

  “Dr. Timson’s private records are kept here, the trick will be getting in,” The Librarian said.

  “I thought you remembered everything, why do you have to go back to old records?” Keepsie asked as the Librarian stopped at a plain brown wooden door.

  “She doesn’t let me read everything. But I see some things. And sometimes it takes me some time to connect things,” she said, running her hand over the smooth wood, ignoring entirely the doorknob.

  “Like?” Keepsie prompted.

  “Like a folder entitled ‘Contingency Plans.’ One entitled, ‘Eric Timson’s Training.’ Mixing those with what I know about the Zupra testing and this is not a good combination.”

  “Ohhhkay...” Keepsie said, watching her touch the door. “You do know the door has a doorknob, right?”

  “Timson had Doodad create her a mechanical door to protect her office. This was, of course, when she still had control of him. It has a pressure-sensitive tab somewhere...ah.” She pressed her thumb into the wood next to the uppermost hinge. Keepsie didn’t see the door change in any visual way, but it swung silently inward.

  The dark office was largely unaffected by the damage done by the exodus of Light of Mornings. Large file cabinets lurked along the walls. It was immaculate, entirely unpolluted by trash or even a desk. The tightly packed file cabinets and bookshelves were full to bursting.

  “Has Timson ever heard of computers?”

  “Yes,” The Librarian said, entering the dark room. “And since Doodad came around, she has also heard of hackers. She’s somewhat old fashioned.”

  “How are we going to find the files in the dark?” Keepsie asked as they stepped into the office.

  The Librarian turned to face Keepsie, and the light from the sole emergency light flashed off her glasses. “I am a hero, Laura. This is what I do.”

  * * * * *

  Keepsie paced the hall. The Librarian had immersed herself in Timson’s files and was not surfacing for air. Keepsie had tried to watch, help, and ask questions, but it was clear that The Librarian didn’t need her.

  A stab of worry pierced Keepsie’s chest as she realized she’d abandoned Tomas and Ian and Alex’s body on the street with three mechs. They could take care of themselves, she told herself, not quite convincingly.

  Her thought process was broken by a curse inside the office. She ran to the door and said, “What? What did you find?”

  The Librarian sat on the floor, surrounded by files. Keepsie couldn’t make head or tail of her system, if she had one.

  The older woman was shaking her head slowly, running her fingers over the documents. “This is unbelievable. I didn’t know she was capable of this.”

  “What?” Keepsie asked.

  “The new chemical compound isn’t designed to make new heroes in the womb. It’s designed to make heroes of normal people. Or enhance the powers of an existing hero.”

  Comprehension dawned on Keepsie. “Oh! That’s how Jack freed Light of Mornings and how Doodad built the mechs that work on their own.”

  The Librarian nodded. “The compound isn’t safe, though. There are still side effects that are not acceptable risks. Doodad stole the compound before it was done.”

  “So Doodad and Jack could soon have erectile dysfunction or drowsiness or vomiting?”

  The Librarian began gathering paper into a folder. “What concerns me is why she kept the information from me. And if she did, who else did she keep it from? I’ve known for a while that Timson had an inner circle of heroes she could trust. I had thought I was in that circle.”

  “Who else was in it?”

  “White Lightning. Ghostheart. The Crane, Tattoo Devil, Heretic.”

  Keepsie snorted. “So nearly everyone involved with the Third Wave roundup and torture? What about Pallas?”

  “Pallas was sent to New York City last week to liaise with its city government.”

  “Convenient. She’s the only heroic one around here.”

  The Librarian didn’t answer.

  “So the heroes really want this,” Keepsie pulled the unassuming metal ball from her pocket.

  “Let’s go, there are better places to talk,” The Librarian said. “We need to keep this file safe, and you’re the best for that.”

  As she stretched out her arm to hand Keepsie the file, a bright light flared between them. Keepsie flinched back and shielded her eyes. The file had burst into flame and the Librarian gasped and dropped it. It was already ash by the time it hit the floor.

  “Heretic? Are you here?” The Librarian whispered into the silence. Keepsie still felt the heat between them from the fire.

  The hallway lit up again, and a figure encased in flames rose slowly out of the floor. It was a female figure, clothed only in fire. Keepsie gasped and staggered back.

  The Librarian’s cataloging voice took over. “Dr. Elizabeth Timson has no powers.”

  The figure laughed with a sound like a trees falling during a forest fire.

  Keepsie squinted at the bright figure. It was tough to tell without the lab coat or the glasses or the crow’s feet around her eyes, but the face did look like Dr. Timson.

  The Lib
rarian shook her head. “You’ve never had powers. The drug is too volatile to take right now. “

  “This is why you never made the inner circle,” the figure said. “You lack common sense and the ability to keep your mouth shut.”

  Keepsie heard the malice in the flaming figure’s voice, but the Librarian remained stoic. “I am how I was made. Perhaps look at yourself if you see flaws in me. You are what engineered me, after all.”

  Timson spread her hands wide. She threw back her head and laughed. Rivers of fire ran down her back. “I see no flaws in myself. Elemental control. Teleportation. And lucky enough to catch you with any damning evidence.”

  “You forget my memory, Doctor,” The Librarian said.

  “No, I haven’t,” Timson said.

  Keepsie didn’t know why the Librarian wasn’t crying for mercy. Timson was clearly out of her mind. Keepsie edged her way quietly down the hall, away from Timson and her prey.

  The Librarian did not have time to scream. Timson did nothing but sink into the floor and give Keepsie a false sense of relief before she rose again, in the same space as The Librarian. The hero was engulfed immediately, the flames burning white hot.

  Keepsie ran down the hall, stumbling frequently, bright spots blossoming in her vision. The flames behind her died along with the Librarian, making the suddenly dark hallway treacherous. Keepsie tripped over a piece of rubble and went sprawling.

  She lay gasping, trying to will air into her lungs and strength into her legs. The silent hallway showed no sign of the brief violence that Keepsie had just witnessed.

  She had regained her feet and reached the doorway to the stairwell when she hissed in pain. Something that felt like a lit cigarette had jabbed into her shoulder, burning a hole in her shirt. Keepsie ventured a look behind her, squinting in anticipation.

  Timson stood there in her normal work attire, only her finger aflame where she had poked Keepsie.

  “We need to talk,” she said.

  Keepsie swallowed her panic back. Timson opened her mouth again, but vomited a great gout of water, splashing over Keepsie’s shoes. Keepsie edged back as Timson continued to vomit until she became a gush of water herself, flooding the floor.

  The water moved back and forth as if moved by a tide, looking as if it strained to find a form.

  Keepsie ran.

  25

  Peter slipped into the kitchen. Colette stood at the stove, stirring something in a pot. It was a thick, brown liquid and smelled like a fall afternoon. The tension left Peter’s shoulders and the breakdown that had threatened since seeing Alex fall and Keepsie run off retreated a bit.

  Colette didn’t look at him. “Best to get Alex into the freezer.”

  “The freezer,” Peter repeated blankly.

  “I’m no coroner, but I know what happens when something dies. You don’t know how long we’re going to be down here. We owe it to Alex’s memory to give him a decent burial or burning, and we owe it to ourselves not to stay here with a rotting corpse. Go get the body, I’ll make room in the freezer.”

  She stopped him before he left. “Wait, what about those robots?”

  “They stopped outside the door. They’re not doing anything yet. I don’t know what they’re waiting for.”

  She grunted and went back to the stove.

  Well, he’d wanted her to know what to do.

  Barry and Tomas were drinking sodas at the bar, talking quietly. Michelle and Ian kept watch on the door, sitting close together.

  Ian looked up when Peter approached. “It’s just not moving.”

  “Where is the other one?”

  “Dunno. Back door? Can’t watch that one without opening the door, in which case we might as well just slit our wrists ourselves.”

  Peter squinted at the mech. “What are they waiting for? The door can’t hold them back.”

  Michelle got up. “It’s scanning us.” She pointed to a small red light that danced over the door and window.

  Peter watched the red light. “Well, keep alert, I guess.”

  “I wish Keepsie were here,” Ian said. “At least she’s immortal. We could throw her at the robots or something.”

  Peter pursed his lips and sighed. They had forgotten Keepsie’s still-human vulnerability to accidents, pain, kidnapping, and the like.

  One thing at a time. He touched Tomas on the shoulder. The large man was in the middle of a toast to Alex’s memory, and Peter waited till he was done.

  “Tomas, I need your help,” he said. “We need to move Alex’s body into the freezer to keep it—fresh.” He stumbled over the last words. Alex—or rather, his body—lay by the door with a jacket over his head. It was hard not to think of him as Alex, not to rail against putting him into the freezer because it was too cold in there.

  Tomas nodded solemnly and went to the body. He paused for a moment, then lifted it easily. He walked towards the kitchen, but five seconds later staggered under the weight of the body.

  Peter didn’t need further reminders that they were no match for heroes and villains. Tomas was incredibly strong, but could not sustain it. And what the hell good was Barry, a middle-aged man who could take off his legs?

  He chuckled bitterly to himself. Like he was much better.

  Colette came stomping out of the kitchen, Tomas following her. He seemed diminished in her presence. Colette stood in the middle of the bar and looked at them all.

  “All right. The body is safe. Now. What are we going to do about these robots—and what about Keepsie?” she asked.

  Tomas took his seat beside Barry and didn’t look at anyone. Ian looked at Peter. Michelle didn’t take her focus off the mech standing outside the door.

  “Come on. Don’t everyone give ideas at once. I can’t hear you if you all talk at the same time,” Colette said.

  “Well, we don’t know if she needs rescuing,” Ian said.

  Colette’s nostrils flared and Peter’s heart rate quickened. “Sure. Keepsie chased a hero into the Academy. The Academy, that’s the heroes’ headquarters and training ground. The building that was blown to bits because of a supervillain earlier today. Also, two murderous robots are still outside, keeping her from getting in. Yeah. She’s perfectly safe. Anyone else?”

  “We need to go about this cautiously,” Peter said, meeting her hard eyes with difficulty. “We don’t know where the heroes have regrouped.”

  “You know it’s not the Academy, Peter. If so, they’d be out fighting those robots!” Colette said.

  Peter sighed and sat down. “Fine. What are your ideas, Colette?”

  She stared at him, then sat on a bar stool and looked at the floor. “I don’t have any. That’s why I asked you.”

  Peter paused, then laughed softly. “Right. So. We need to at least check on Keepsie. Which means we have to go out there.”

  Michelle still stared at the robots. “Last time we did that, someone died.”

  Peter nodded. “We need a plan.”

  “Fuck the plan,” Ian said.

  Peter looked at him, startled. Ian stood up, frowning. His fists were clenched. “We’ve been planning all day. And it’s gotten us one missing friend, one dead friend, and hell all around our ears. I think we should do things on the fly, it seems to be helping the villains.”

  “We don’t have superpowers that consist of unbelievable luck!” Peter said. “We don’t have superpowers of any kind! What the hell makes you think we can do anything without careful planning without getting eviscerated by heroes, villains or demons?”

  “Nothing. But the plans don’t make it any less likely, dude. I’m going to check on Keepsie. Come with me or not, but dammit, don’t just sit here and talk till you run out of food and have to eat Alex.”

  Color rose in Colette’s face and she balled up her fists. She opened her mouth but Peter interrupted her.

  “And how do you plan on getting past them?” He pointed at the mechs.

  Ian stood. “Keepsie’s back steps are too narrow for thos
e mechs. If there’s one at the back door, it’s in the alley. And since it’s the red one, I’ve jammed it once, I can do it again.”

  They stared at him as he walked through the kitchen door.

  “Damn, damn, damn,” Peter said through clenched teeth. “Michelle. Grab some bar trays. The rest of you, stay safe.”

  “What are you—” Colette said.

  Peter interrupted her. “He may be an asshole, but he shouldn’t be out there alone.” He ran into the kitchen, praying Michelle would be behind him.

  Ian stood at the top of the stairs, laughing. The red mech was still covered in shit, but its many hoses were clogged. It pointed a hose at Ian and hummed, but nothing came out. A burning, nasty smell wafted over to them and Peter grabbed Ian’s elbow.

  “We need to get out of here. That thing doesn’t look very safe, even clogged.”

  Even as he said this, Colette yelled up the stairs. “Peter, get a move on, the other one is heading your way!”

  Ian flinched. “That one I can’t clog. Let’s go.”

  They dashed across the desolate road as the mech lumbered up the stairs after them. They outdistanced it, and after a pause, it began patrolling the sidewalk between the front and back doors of Keepsies bar.

  They stopped at the top of the Academy’s steps. Michelle winced. “Let’s get inside. This is creepy.” She tucked the five bar trays under her arm more tightly and went through the hole that used to hold the front door.

  “So where do we go?” asked Ian.

  Peter glared at him. “I thought you were doing this on the fly.”

  Ian looked abashed. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “It usually does,” Peter replied, looking at the rubble.

  “Do you still have anything of Keepsie’s?” Michelle asked.

  Peter colored and was glad the lights were out. When was he going to think of that himself? Amazingly, her tank top was still in his back pocket. He held it to his face and inhaled, allowing himself one moment to relish her scent before he returned to his friends.