by Ben Mason
He wished he could say the same for himself. When he had seen Siv in the light of day, he had felt his jaw drop. She was still stunning. Her blond hair, so pale it was almost white, had turned to a refined silver and was cut in a bob. Her strong build was on par with a woman’s twenty years her junior, and her face was still filled with vitality. Some of those from the age of the Internet and digital manipulation might say her nose was a tad large or her chin a bit too angular.
Idiots.
“What brings you here?” he asked, trying to sound casual after they had finished their meal.
“Business.”
His hopes fell. “I see.”
“There were whispers of a potential group threat. You know how secure bureaucracy is. Someone makes a call, it gets a follow-up, and once it does all anonymity is lost. Whoever started it wasn’t the leak.”
“Naturally,” Christoph said. He was going to have to have a talk with Robert about the secrecy of his unit.
“I was on duty. We actually had a witness or two. One of the neighbors who had been held up. He said he saw a girl and an old man walk across the street, saw the bad guys run out a few minutes later. Bleeding.”
Christoph’s mouth quirked at the edge.
“When he described the man”—she held her palms out—“ I had to be sure.”
“Now you are.”
She gave a nod. “Is it true, Chris? Is there a new threat?”
For a second anger flared in his chest. Using such a sad tone with him, trying to make him feel things all while she wore her—
“Where is your wedding ring?”
Siv covered her left hand with her right. “You don’t know?”
He shook his head, which suddenly felt heavy. He had tried to keep up with the community’s news as best he could while letting Siv keep her privacy.
“Died two years ago. Heart attack. I kept telling him to lay off the doughnuts and cupcakes. He kept pointing to his stomach. ‘Flat as a board, Siv.’ ‘Well, the doctors tell you inside your heart isn’t doing too well.’ He didn’t listen and…” Her eyes flickered with mourning, some of the ice melting for a second.
“It was two years ago. He made his choices. Selfish, but there they are. I grieved. I got angry. Now I’m a senior member of the Watchers of Justice.”
Christoph snorted, then turned red. “I apologize.”
Siv cracked a genuine smile. “It’s fine. I always thought the name was stupid. Anyway, the kids had moved out and away. One even went and had a grandkid. Thors,” she said grinning. Thankfully she didn’t offer up pictures.
“But I had a lot of time left over and I decided to go back to the one thing I know. When the call came, I took it. I had to.”
“I understand, Siv, but there’s no threat,” Christoph lied. If there was a syndicate, villain code stated it be dealt with in-house. And besides, they had threatened Julie. He needed a more permanent solution than the Watchers were willing to provide. “Just some robbers who thought they could bluff a nice neighborhood and ran into an old dog with a few teeth left.”
Siv stared into his eyes. A few of the older villains claimed she had the power to pull the truth from a person, part of the powers she had inherited when she found the shield. Considering all those who claimed it were men, and only those who were attracted to the opposite sex, Christoph had learned to doubt their claims long before he had to test them out.
“Fine,” she said, taking a drink from her glass. She made a move to stand, and Christoph followed suit, standing at attention.
“Always the gentleman,” she said.
“Why be anything less?”
She hesitated. “I didn’t just come here for business, Chris. I mourned. I did. But I still feel young and…now you’re retired and so am I…” Her face flushed red for a second and Christoph understood.
“May I see you again?” he asked.
Siv gave a quick nod, her blush deepening. The woman he had seen snap the neck of a dark sorcerer ogre, the impact tearing his head from his body, was embarrassed. Around him.
The things which can make a man feel young again. And love again.
“How about a week from now—Sunday—at Tempura Fusia?”
“I was hoping our next date could be in a couple days. At your house,” she said giving him a saucier smile. “I’m not that young.”
Christoph felt his face heat up, his hands fumbling with his cane. “Ah. Hmm. Yes. Well. Sounds like a plan,” he said. “Say Wednesday?”
“So late?” she asked, giving a mock look of hurt.
“I need time to clean, prepare.” He held up his cane. “I’m not feeling too young either.”
They both gave a laugh, and before they exited the room she rounded the table and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Soft, quick, and full of promise. Her eyes dancing, she walked off first. Christoph paid the bill and then waited a sufficient amount of time to leave. While the staff might not whisper, the evening crowds were more than likely to recognize one of the greatest living legends from the Pantheon of Justice. A real place the taxpayers paid for (and they didn’t call it theft!)
As the thoughts about what was to come Wednesday stopped swimming in his mind, doubts started to creep in. Maybe she isn’t really over her husband. A thirty-six year-marriage doesn’t just disappear. He was able to banish those easily enough.
Then came another wave. What kind of villain are you? Dating a hero. It was bad enough the first time, but now you’re going to do it again? Betraying everything you are for a woman?
The thoughts haunted him as he made his way to his car and drove home. Twice they made him think of calling off the date before he realized he didn’t have Siv’s number and they were meeting in the one place she could find him.
“An ambush,” he said a smile flitting across his face. Siv had always been a little more devious than the rest of the Watchers. Part of what had attracted him.
As he made it to his driveway, he decided to wait until Wednesday. Whatever was going to happen would happen then. It didn’t answer the questions in his head, but it didn’t matter. A second later they were ripped away as he saw a dark shadow detach itself from his house and walk toward his car.
Chapter 5
Christoph was about to turn his key back in the ignition to illuminate his intruder, when the shadow held a round object from around its neck and a flame came out. No more than the amount needed to light a cigarette but it grew into a tapestry of fire, starting at one end of his car and wrapping around until it circled the vehicle like a ring of sharks inside a sea of fire.
Standing next to him, in a red flame retardant suit that hung loose on her figure was a young woman. Her skin was a deep lobster red and radiated with a fire from inside. The lighter, a silver ball, hung around her neck, swinging back and forth as she leaned over the driver’s side, her face to the window. Her fiery mane hung loose all the way down to her waist.
Christoph had thought about trying to use his powers to put her down, or create a field around the car, smash into the garage, until he saw the hair.
With her powers it was a risk; letting it so close to the flames was asking for a disaster to happen. And her wide black eyes were asking him to try it. She liked the danger. She liked the mutually assured destruction. If he tried to use his powers she would burn him to cinders along with the house and her.
She tapped on the window.
Christoph rolled it down an inch. He was already sweating from the heat, sucking in precious air as his steering wheel got to hot too grip.
“Hi,” she said with a southern drawl. “Name’s Heat Streak. Heard you want to make me Skid Mark.”
“I didn’t know they were speaking of a lady,” Christoph whispered. His tongue was dry and he hated how it made him sound fearful. Wary, yes. Fearful, never. There had been dozens of Heat Streaks in his career, and they had all burned out spectacularly one way or another.
“Well, aren’t you the charmer?” she said. “Anyhoo, I got
to say you whupped my guys really nice. Didn’t appreciate it much since I need to keep them in line, keep this whole enterprise going, but I understand. Someone leans on you, you have to lean back.”
The curtain of flames inched closer to the car, making Christoph’s chest start moving faster, trying to keep himself conscious.
The girl grinned. “I get you like the family next door. Maybe you like the neighborhood. And you have a touch o’ the special stuff yourself. I appreciate it. So here’s how it’s going to run down. Me and my crew will ask you for the whole neighborhood’s sum. A million. You can get it anyway you want, but we need to get paid. Now you don’t want to do that, you pay us two hundred. We leave you alone and you leave us alone. Which’ll it be?”
“Neither,” Christoph hissed a glint coming to his eyes.
She snapped her fingers and the curtain of fire evaporated, letting the cool night air start to leak through. Christoph coughed a few times.
“Not a smart answer, Mr. Man. I get maybe you haven’t thought about all the things in your house you can lose. All the precious things you collected over the years.” She cast a glance over his house. “You worked your whole life to get a nice place like this. I hate to think of you losing it. Maybe losing some other things as well. You think it over, sir.”
Standing up, she brushed off the front of her pants and whirled around, moving off into the dark, glowing despite it.
Christoph felt drained. And embarrassed. In the old days he would have kicked his door out, smashing the girl, or crushed her flames to the ground along with her. Now he was coughing his lungs out, shaking despite his courage, in a car he wasn’t sure he wasn’t going to pass out in.
And worse, he didn’t have a million dollars.
He didn’t even have ten thousand.
Christoph left the car outside to cool. If anyone in the neighborhood had seen the spectacle, they kept it to themselves. A wise decision. No one wanted to take passage on a sinking ship.
Stepping into his hallway, it took him three times to lock the door. His hands were trembling. He gripped them until the nails bit into his palm.
Trembling. Over some B-level villain. Someone who hadn’t even earned a real name in the community. As he moved into the shadows of his house, he decided to get himself a glass of water.
Placing his jacket over the chair he gave the shoulders a squeeze. They were soaked as were the rest of his clothes. He was going to need to take a shower before he lay down. He grabbed a glass, turned on the light, and filled his glass before he saw the plate and the note beside the sink. The message was on a white postcard with pink lettering. He had to squint his eyes to read it in the dim light.
Hey Mr. Morgan,
Mom made snickerdoodles to say thanks for helping out. (I think she’s planning on doing something bigger when she has the time.)
I wanted to say thanks, too. It was really cool fighting with you. I’ve got your back no matter what those guys try next!
Love Julie
P.S. I only ate a third of them.
Christoph glanced at the plate. The white sugar glinted under the fluorescent lights. Even cooled it smelled heavenly. Judging from what he remembered of Wendy’s cooking—and the size of the dish—he suspected closer to half the cookies were missing. He sighed. The girl should have taken around forty percent. She had a lot to learn.
He bit into a snickerdoodle as he perused the note again.
I’ve got your back.
The words made him tense. Those men were one thing. Heat Streak, awful as her name was, was in a different league. He tried to keep the images out of his mind. The thoughts of what might happen if Julie did keep her promise. He got the feeling Ms. Streak was unlikely to care about the welfare of a daring child.
Villainy had changed so much. And he was in no position to stop it.
There were three options.
Call Robert. Unlikely.
Tell Siv and let the younger generation of Watchers try. He’d rather start wearing spandex.
Try to solve the problem on his own. Unlikely to work.
He thought about taking a chance on either of the other two. Then he thought about John’s words.
What had he said about the authorities?
“They couldn’t give us round-the-clock surveillance. Not even if it was a super.”
And for heroes:
“First it’s the big explosion, then they make their entrance.”
Christoph had the feeling John was right on both accounts. Heat Streak’s men had been embarrassed. They expected their boss to back them up. If she failed, especially against an old man, she was going to go bust before she even started.
It was up to him. Besides, the police and heroes were willing to let these men go to jail, the woman to a supermax, and then what happened if they got out? What was to stop them from seeking revenge? Even back in the day proper villains had held grudges, despite their morals. The latter had declined. He suspected the former had not.
No, the solution needed to be permanent. And the only way to make sure was to do it himself.
But he was going to need to bring back some of his strength, and for that he was going to need help.
Closing his eyes, putting the snickerdoodle aside, he scanned a mental list of names in his head. Most of the people on it had either retired, died, or were in prison. It left few names. Few friends.
But there was one that stood out. Not so much a friend but a business associate, and with the right kind of persuasion, one who was willing to work on trade instead of commission.
“A quick shower then,” Christoph said, snatching up his cane and jacket. If he waited until dawn, there was the chance of a surprise strike. No, he was going to have to move out before he was rested. Taking out his phone, he tapped on the app for a car to pick him up in twenty.
It was going to be a long night.
Chapter 6
Flyt was a car-driving service that had taken root in the digital age. Their tag-line was “When the buildings come down, time to get out of town.”
It was a catchy phrase and, in the more haphazard circumstances of super duels, appropriate. It was easy to lose out on every licensed taxi when Vanguard (stupid mutant genetics letting him stay young and healthy) and some radioactive monster started using high-rises for ring posts. Flyt came in to fill in the void. They boasted the bravest drivers who were willing (for a healthy fee) to go into high-risk areas and get fearful clientele out.
Drivers were abundant, smart, and willing to work in the middle of the night, no questions asked. Well, almost no questions.
“Are you sure?” the young man said. He had a nose ring better suited for a bull than his thin, pasty frame. His green hair had given Christoph some headaches. The young man had been quietly nervous until they reached the Montmoore Cliffs.
“Quite,” Christoph said, pulling his wallet from his fresh black suit, flashing a healthy tip in cash. “I’ve rated you well, if you’re worried,” he added.
The boy stared up at the cliffs, hesitating.
Christoph didn’t blame him. For the staring part. The fear was utterly laughable.
The cliffs were made of dark stone and glittered like obsidian in the day. In the night they drank up all the light, electric or otherwise. Some said there was a warlock who lived in the small haunted house that sat at the very end of the cliff, teetering near the edge.
Christoph fought not to roll his eyes. The whole thing was so tacky. A way to put off the superstitious and please the tourists while also appearing to be destitute, i.e., ward off burglars.
It was less intimidating and more gauche. Still, the boy meant well.
“I have a friend I’m meeting here. An old man like me needs a safe place and nobody comes up here,” Christoph said as he studied the rusted black gate. It was padlocked in yet another boring trope. The whole place was designed as if it was out of a ’70s horror film, which, considering who lived in Montmoore, was no surprise.
&n
bsp; Still, a little subtlety wouldn’t have been remiss.
“Whoever is up there isn’t going to bother with an old man like me,” he said, hunching a little.
The young man hesitated for a second. Then he took the money, his face flushing with shame.
Raising his cane, Christoph gave it a little shake. “Drive safe young man.”
“Sure,” the kid said and took off.
Good lad. A little annoying, but a professional. Ridiculous apparel, but that was par for the course.
Staring up at the castle, Christoph trudged up to the gate, then glancing behind him, moved toward the right. It had been ages since he had been at Montmoore and longer since he had dealt with its security. He wasn’t even sure if the owner was still alive. The man had been secretive in their youth and now he was a veritable recluse.
“Well, there’s one way to find out,” Christoph said as he approached the sheer edge of the cliff in front of the gated entrance. He took a deep breath of the brine, listened to the noise of the surf, letting it wash over him. If he was wrong, if things had changed, these were his last moments.
“Worse ways to go, than under a starry sky,” Christoph said, glancing upward. Clutching his cane’s head tight with both hands, he turned around, his back to the surf, leaned back, and dropped. He started to lighten his mass. Tried to gauge it. Of course it only mattered if—
A whirring sound came before he slammed into the padded cushion of the aircraft. He clutched his cane tight, making sure not to move a muscle. The craft swung in a U-shaped formation and into the small opening in the bluffs.
Lights turned on, illuminating a blank white room with lined white marble flooring. Rolling off his back, shifting his mass back to normal, Christoph winced, rubbing his back.
“Now where was it again?” he said.
