by Sevan Paris
Ember seems to hear another noise. “Well, I gotta go. See you soon, hero.”
The image of Ember fades back inside the Magickal quarter slowly spinning in the center of Casa’s living room. It stops moving and clinks to the hardwood floor, next to the broken bottles of bourbon.
Pink sits on the couch, blinking Ember’s glowing eyes at the quarter. “I didn’t know,” she says in a low voice. “I didn’t know this would—Ember didn’t tell me.”
Hence Ember’s saying, ‘I’m not going to tell her.’
I pick up the quarter and slide it into my jeans pocket. “It’s okay. But we need to get a hold of Obi.”
Pink looks up at me. “I don’t … how? You said all of Old Prose was running scared?”
Casa picks up a poker and gently pushes at the burnt logs in the fireplace. “You can start by using the cellphone in Ember’s right pocket.”
Pink narrows Embers eyes in confusion, and then her hand goes to the jean pocket. “You’re too much sometimes.” She leans back on the couch and wiggles out the phone. After thumbing through the contacts for a few moments, she says, “Here he is. I’m gonna …” She points at the front door and walks toward it. A few moments later, she’s on Casa’s front porch, the door shut behind her.
Casa slides a page away from today’s newspaper. The front of it reads, “Magickal attacks return to Prose!—Is This the End?”
“Well, now we know what Mystick’s backup plan was,” Casa says, rolling up the page
“You don’t think she let it slip,” I say.
Of course she didn’t.
Casa grabs a box of matches from the mantle. “Mystick is one of the most powerful Sayers on the planet. Which means she has an insane amount of control over anything she says or even thinks. Anything that leaves those luscious lips is intentional.”
“But what could …” And then it hits me: “If the Magicks didn’t get the chance to do their thing, if there was an interruption by either me, Macabre, whoever—she could just kill Ember.”
Casa strikes a match and holds the tiny flame against the edge of the newspaper. “And since Pink dies if her host does, problem solved. And if Mystick would be directly responsible for Ember’s death, she would even gain Eldritch’s powers. And she could justify it.”
Another thought occurs to me. “What if … what if Mystick is still planning on killing Ember to get those Magicks? She wouldn’t even have to leave her place … just use some kind of Magick missile or something.”
Casa shakes his head. “She would have already.” The flames catch the side of the newspaper, quickly curling its edges with an orange glow.
“But what if—”
“There are too many unknowns to worry about,” Casa says, looking in the direction of the kitchen. “Right now, we need to focus on the stuff that we know we have to worry about.”
I follow his look. Ember’s muffled voice comes from the next room. “What is it?”
Casa stands and pulls his eyes away from the front door and looks at me.
“What?”
Casa turns to the staircase and slowly walks up it. A few moments later, the doors to his upstairs study slide shut with a soft clack.
“What the hell was that all about?”
He’s probably thinking the same thing I am. What if Pink doesn’t WANT to come out of Ember’s body?
I look out the front window, catching a glimpse of Ember’s red hair headed back to front door. “That’s nuts. She’s calling Obi right now.”
Because that’s not hard to fake …
The front door opens and she comes in, filling the room with a pocket of cold air. She weaves around two stacks of books. “I had to leave a voicemail.”
“Took a while.”
Had to seem convincing enough, right?
“I explained everything.” She places the phone on top of a Norse Mythology book. “And there was a lot to explain.”
“Are you okay?”
“I … I’ve had my fair share of weird, but this is … different. It’s the first time I’ve ever had to deal with …”
Guilt?
“Anything like this in a while.” A small gurgling noise comes from Ember’s stomach. Pink grins and places her hand there. “Does Ember like … spicy stuff?”
She’s certainly fond of spicy coitus.
“I’m not sure.”
She nods. “I’m gonna go, like …” she points at the bathroom and then quickly walks towards it.
I wait for her to close the door and then walk back into the living room. “No way, M!” I whisper. “No way is she trying to keep Ember’s body! Not after all the choices she’s had to make.”
Gabe, I know your innocent, and often foolish, nature forces you to live your life in a constant state of naiveté. So let me spell this out for you: Beings don’t always see situations in such simplistic terms as what’s right or what’s wrong. But instead, what can I get away with and what can’t I.
I shake my head. “She’s not like you.”
You mean incorporeal? Isolated? In a weakened state?
I look over my shoulder, in the direction of the bathroom.
Unlike me, she would certainly feel guilt of course. But even that will wash away over time, washed away by the touch of another person. Furthermore, Ember’s body radiates strength and confidence in spades. Two things Pink is severely lacking. And two things she severely wants.
“You’re way off. You don’t know people, you don’t know her.”
I’ve known her for just as long as you have.
I hear the water running from the bathroom.
There is her itelephone device, Gabe. Check if you don’t believe me. Check to see if she made the phone call.
I walk to the phone, reach out, hand hovering over it …
Or wait and see if things just fall apart.
My hand trembles over the phone, and I jerk it back. “Why are you doing this? Why are you saying this?”
Because I don’t want another round of those Magickal beings coming after us because they think we’re protecting her. If she’s doing what I think she’s doing, it would be best if we broom her out of that body fast. Both for her sake. And for our own.
I don’t want to think it. I can’t think it. But, thanks to M, it’s all that I can think … I reach for the phone …
The bathroom door opens.
I turn and shove both hands into my pockets. Pink appears under the dining room arch, looking at me. She takes two soft steps and then reaches her arms around me. Even though they’re Ember’s arms, they feel different. Softer somehow.
If you care about Ember, Gabe, you will need to watch her. And be prepared to fight Pink for Ember’s body if necessary.
“What’s M saying?” she says.
I look at the phone, right next to us. “Nothing that matters.”
She pulls away and looks up at me with those glowing pink eyes, from under Ember’s punk red hair. “This feels nice. Goose-bumpily even.” She gives me a soft smile.
I try to give her one in return.
SUPERHEROES IN PROSE WILL RETURN APRIL 30TH WITH VOLUME NINE: 8-BIT HERO
