Brenden smiled slightly, but there was such sadness in it that Malcolm almost felt bad for him.
“Rose was so confident,” said Brenden. “She thought she could just take him on, right then and there, and we’d be able to keep going. Enjoy the Bahamas, like we’d been planning.”
Brenden locked eyes with Malcolm.
“The demon hit our car,” he said. “We flipped over two, three times. I was stunned, but okay. Rose was already out of the car. Hope… was in the backseat. My daughter… Our daughter.”
Malcolm couldn’t stop the surprise from showing on his face. Rose had told him once before that what she’d really wanted was a normal life. A husband, kids, a yard with a picket fence. Did she know that she’d once had it?
When he turned his focus back to Brenden, the expression on the man’s face made it hard for him to want to hear the rest of the story. There was too much pain there, and too much loss.
“She would have been okay,” whispered Brenden. “She should have been okay! I thought she was in her damn car seat. Just a little baby, didn’t even notice she wasn’t still under the blanket. I was dazed, and stupid, stupid, so fucking stupid. I pulled the carrier out and I was sprinting away. And then… Rose just lost it.”
Malcolm closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair.
“She lost it,” Brenden repeated. “She went fucking psycho! Her skin, her face… she was suddenly just like the monster she was trying to protect us from. And it spread out from her, wrecking everything. Like a fucking black hole.”
Brenden had to take a minute to breathe, drink, and shudder before he could continue. Malcolm waited, though he didn’t need to hear the end.
“Hope wasn’t with me,” muttered Brenden. “She wasn’t in the car seat. And when Rose, or whatever she’d turned into was done, there was no car left. Hope was just… gone. Do you get it? Do fucking understand why I came here, now? I need to stop the thing that killed my daughter.”
It took Malcolm a couple of seconds to realize that Brenden was waiting for him to say something.
“She didn’t kill your daughter,” he said, slowly. “That wasn’t her, Brenden. She wasn’t in control.”
Even as Malcolm spoke the words, he knew that they were not what Brenden needed to hear. Fury overtook the man’s face.
“You weren’t there!” he screamed. “You don’t understand! I have to do this. I have to make her remember… and then…”
Brenden pulled the gun out in a sudden rush of movement, aiming it at Malcolm’s face.
“Tell me where she is,” said Brenden.
Malcolm used his wind manipulation, tearing the gun loose from Brenden’s hand before he could get a shot off. He sighed, feeling more sympathy for the man than he’d expected to.
“Brenden,” he said. “Killing Rose isn’t the answer. It won’t change the fact that your daughter’s dead.”
He leaned forward, trying to meet Brenden’s eyes as he looked away. Brenden let out a sigh.
“Maybe she’ll kill me,” said Brenden. “Maybe that’s what I’m hoping for.”
“Brenden…” Malcolm sighed and looked away from him, feeling emotionally fatigued. Brenden shifted and reached for something. Malcolm thought he was picking up a bottle of whiskey until he heard the crackle of electricity.
Pain and numbness surged through him, originating in the bare flesh of his neck, where Brenden had thrust the end of a taser against him. Malcolm crumpled to the ground, black stars dancing across his vision.
A taser. Electricity. My weakness.
Brenden snarled as he leapt onto Malcolm. He’d picked the gun back up and struggled to get the barrel against Malcolm’s head. Malcolm could only barely hold him at bay, his muscles cramped and weak from the high voltage shock.
“I’ll kill you, and then I’ll kill her!” shouted Brenden.
“No!” Malcolm pushed hard, twisting the gun around and turning the barrel toward Brenden. His hand closed over Brenden’s clenched fingers, and the gun went off. The sound of it was horrifying, as close to his ears as it was, but the blood splatter, and the instantaneous loosening of Brenden’s muscles was even worse.
The bullet had taken Brenden in the chin, sparing his face, but exiting up through his skull and brain. Malcolm rolled him to the side, looking down at his blood soiled shirt, and then at the gun still in Brenden’s hand.
He stared at the unmoving body, his emotions roiling. As he calmed down, Malcolm was surprised to find that he wasn’t shocked or disgusted by what had just happened. He felt cold, empty, and above all, relieved.
He won’t be able to hurt Rose. And he would have, if this hadn’t happened. He would have found a way to do something.
Malcolm took the gun from Brenden’s hand. He left the motel through the window after using a sock to wipe down any surface he remembered touching. He cut into a nearby alleyway, and then used his wind manipulation to fly away as quickly as he possibly could.
CHAPTER 25
Brenden’s body would eventually be found. Whether the murder of a single man from out of town would warrant the attention of the news media, in the current chaotic local climate, was less certain. Malcolm figured the police would investigate Brenden’s murder, but he doubted they’d have the manpower they needed to do a thorough job of it. Still, it was possible that the death could be traced back to him.
Back to me? Or back to Wind Runner, back to Second Wind?
He scowled as he landed behind an abandoned building, just down the street from his hideout. It was another mistake he’d made that he’d have to explain to his copy and apologize for. Not a mistake, he corrected himself. A choice he’d made, for Rose’s safety as much as for his own survival.
He took out his phone and slowly dialed the number for the sprytes. It rang twice, and then someone picked up.
“…Hello?” Rose sounded anxious. Malcolm bit his lip and considered what he should tell her.
“Hey,” he said. “It’s me.”
Rose was silent for a moment. Malcolm heard the sound of her taking a slow breath.
“What happened?” she asked.
“He wasn’t there,” lied Malcolm.
She can never know. Not what Brenden told me, and not what I did to him.
Malcolm was surprised by how little guilt he felt over telling the lie. The alternative, telling her the truth, would have caused her so much pointless pain. She didn’t remember. It was in the past, and Malcolm wasn’t sure that he trusted Brenden’s emotional retelling of the series of events.
“He… wasn’t there?” asked Rose.
“I think he knew that I was coming,” said Malcolm. “The owner of the motel said that he’d already checked out, but needed to pay a fee for the state he’d left the room in.”
Rose was silent on the other end. Malcolm prayed that she’d just let it drop. She’d already been hurt by Brenden, emotionally and physically. Why go down that path any further?
“…Okay,” she said. “Well, thanks. I was worried, you know. About you. About what might happen.”
“You don’t have to worry about me,” said Malcolm. “How are you doing? Did you get some rest?”
“I did,” said Rose. “I’ll be moving around again by tomorrow. I miss you.”
“I miss you, too.”
They talked some more, but not about anything important. Malcolm told her about filling in for Second Wind. He left out what had happened between him and Tapestry, feeling as though he’d rather get her opinion on that in person, instead of over the phone.
He was distracted by his own thoughts. He remembered Leah, Rose’s sister. Rose had suspected that she’d been keeping something from her. Why didn’t she tell her about Brenden, and Hope?
Why didn’t I tell her the truth? Maybe it’s too much to be shared without breaking her.
“I should go,” said Rose. “Dinner’s already started.”
“Go ahead,” said Malcolm.
“Tomorrow,” said Rose.
“I want to see you.”
“I should have time,” said Malcolm. “Assuming I don’t have to fill in for Second Wind again.”
“Alright,” said Rose. “Have a good night. And…”
Malcolm waited, but she didn’t say anything else.
“Good night Rose,” he said.
He hung up the phone and started back toward his hideout. It was an hour or two past sunset. Vanderbrook was dark, but not yet quiet, and an unseasonably cold breeze stirred through the streets.
Malcolm saw a figure waiting for him by the warehouse. He knew who it was. As if confirming his suspicions on cue, Second Wind stepped out of the shadows, blocking Malcolm’s way to his hideout.
“Good,” said Malcolm. “About time. Where have you been?”
Second Wind didn’t answer him. The wind blew through the street, and a plastic bag tumbled lazily between them. Malcolm waited, sensing that the discussion they were about to have could only go in one direction.
“Is this really how you see things?” asked Second Wind. “That you can just… step back into my life, whenever you want? Take whatever you want from me when I’m not around?”
Malcolm felt a sudden stab of guilt. He averted his gaze from Second Wind’s, wishing he could take go back into the moment and refuse to open the door for Tapestry when she’d come knocking.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I honestly am. The two of you… were closer than I realized. I didn’t react to it as I should have.”
Second Wind glared at him.
“So, you came along and thought you’d just… give her what she needed?” Second Wind’s voice was cold.
“It was stupid,” said Malcolm. “I made… a very dumb mistake. But honestly, I didn’t have much of a choice but to fill in for you. You left Tapestry here in Vanderbrook alone as the only champion in town.”
“I had my reasons,” said Second Wind.
“And just what the fuck were they?” snapped Malcolm. “Where did you run off to? Are you going to answer that question, or are you just going to make me out to be the bad guy?”
He immediately wished he could take his words back, or at least changed the tone he’d used. Rather than being chastened by the words, Second Wind exploded at him.
“I am doing what I have to do to protect this city!” shouted Second Wind. “To protect the world! Have you forgotten that I’m Wind Runner? That’s who I am, and who you were! Would you have abandoned Tapestry to fend for herself, unless it was absolutely necessary?”
Malcolm frowned. He had to admit, Second Wind had a point.
“But why then the secrecy?” asked Malcolm.
Instead of answering, Second Wind narrowed his eyes further into a glare.
“Hey,” said Malcolm. “You’re looking at this the wrong way. We’re a team! Team Malcolm! You’re Second Wind, I’m the Gifted Vigilante! But we’re both working toward the same goals!”
Second Wind’s laugh was cold and seething with anger.
“The same thing…” he said. “You strut back into my life and help yourself. And then you say we’re working for the same thing.”
“We aren’t just working for the same thing,” said Malcolm. “We are the same. Hey, we’re both Malcolm! Take a step back from evil twin territory and just be real for a second.”
Second Wind slowly shook his head.
“No,” he said. “The differences have snowballed. Even as something as small as you being first, and me being… second, is enough to push us onto different paths.”
“We’re on the same path,” said Malcolm.
“I’m your slave,” said Second Wind. “Your body double. Something to keep your life warm for you while you run off on your latest adventure.”
That sounds a lot like what I just did for him.
Malcolm kept the thought to himself.
“No, we aren’t the same anymore,” said Second Wind. “You’re the Gifted Vigilante. I’m Wind Runner. And you need to stay the hell out of my business.”
Malcolm stared at him, at the same face, the same eyes. At his own reflection, except not.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.
“You know what it means,” said Second Wind. “You can’t have both lives. And if you try to keep getting involved in mine again, the two of us will end up fighting.”
The words would have sounded like a threat, coming from anyone else. Second Wind was just stating what Malcolm already knew. He was no longer Wind Runner, and that meant giving up not just his identity, but the friends that went with it. People he cared about.
Tapestry. I was a fool to get so close to her. But I guess, from her point of view, she’ll still have “me”.
“You expect me to just walk away?” asked Malcolm. “To leave Vanderbrook, and pretend like the people here aren’t in danger?”
“If you have to,” said Second Wind. “How did you… How did WE think this was going to end? This has just been a long series of careless decisions. From when we took in Rose, to chasing after Rain Dancer. And then making… me.”
He smiled. Malcolm felt another sudden stab of guilt and resignation. He had made dumb decisions. He thought of Tapestry, and how things had been before Second Wind. She would have discovered Rose and the betrayal Malcolm juggled behind her back.
And even with Rose, he’d made mistakes. Perhaps getting involved with her initially was just the biggest one of them all. She had no memories, and hid in Malcolm’s apartment out of fear and vulnerability. And he’d let her offer herself to him, never stopping to consider that she might have loved ones, a history, a meaning in life beyond being a spryte.
And now I’m keeping secrets from her, too. Secrets that I don’t own.
He’d made a mess of things. And now Second Wind was asking him to step back from it and let someone else take responsibility for cleaning it up.
“I can’t,” said Malcolm. “No. I won’t. I’m going after Multi, as the Gifted Vigilante, at the same time you and Tapestry do.”
“I’m not going to warn you again,” said Second Wind. “Stay out of my life.”
He turned and walked away, lifting off into the sky as soon as he could. Malcolm let out a long sigh and fought the urge to punch something. It was a losing battle. His knuckles ached afterward, and the cement pillar he’d chosen was no worse for wear.
CHAPTER 26
Malcom couldn’t just go back to his hole in the ground hideout that night. It felt cold and empty, and reinforced how alone he was. He wanted to call Rose, but guilt over Brenden’s death and the secrets he held weighed too heavily on him.
Instead, he went to Terri’s Tavern for a beer. The place was nearly empty, and Scribe had few words for him as he sat down and accepted a beer. Malcolm drank it slowly. His knuckles ached, and he found himself wishing he’d taken Tapestry’s power instead of holding onto…
“Hi.” Chaste Widow flashed a smile at him as she took the bar stool to his left. Malcolm sighed and took a long sip of his beer, realizing that he actually preferred his loneliness to having to participate in a real conversation.
She didn’t say much at first. She ordered a drink and seemed to pay it all of her attention, leaving Malcolm to stew in his own thoughts for as long as he wanted. It was a tactic that he simultaneously hated and appreciated.
“Do you ever feel guilty?” he asked.
Chaste Widow gave the question consideration.
“In general?” She shrugged. “No.”
Malcolm finished his beer. Scribe seemed to sense that he’d want it refilled before he’d even started to ask.
“You know what I mean,” said Malcolm. “You make choices. Often ones with lasting consequences. Choices that get you labeled as one of the bad guys. Uh, bad girls, I mean.”
He winced. She was very attractive, and between that, the setting, and her close proximity to him made it hard for him to focus.
“A bad girl,” said Chaste Widow. “Yes. That’s exactly what I am.”
&
nbsp; There was a hint of dry sarcasm in her voice. Malcolm watched her, drinking his new beer faster than intended.
“You seemed like you had a reason,” said Malcolm. “The men that you… kiss. You don’t pick them at random.”
Chaste Widow slowly shook her head.
“No,” she said. “I don’t. So, to answer your question a second time, the reason I don’t feel guilty, even though I do bad things, is because there are people out there who do worse things.”
“That reasoning seems a little flimsy,” said Malcolm.
Chaste Widow smiled and leaned in closer to him.
“Maybe to you,” she whispered. Her face was way too close his. “But I’ve seen the expressions on their faces. The men I killed… they were truly evil. Rapists, sadists, kidnappers. And you know what their faces told me when I killed them?”
Her hand slid up his thigh. She came in even closer. Her lips brushed against Malcolm’s, not a kiss, but incidental contact.
“They looked at me like I was the evil one.” Chaste Widow gave Malcolm’s inner thigh a squeeze and was suddenly back over on her stool. “So that is how I keep the faith, and banish the guilt. Bit of a double negative, I guess you could say.”
Malcolm raised an eyebrow at her.
“That simple, huh?”
She nodded.
Four drinks and two hours later, Malcolm walked alongside a drunk and flirtatious Chaste Widow. He still didn’t want to head back to his hideout, even though he knew he’d need to wake up early the next morning.
“So,” said Chaste Widow. “Do you see yourself as evil?”
Malcolm shrugged.
“I’m not as good at answering those sorts of questions as you are,” he said.
“You could let me be the judge,” she said. “Of just how bad you really are.”
She stepped in closer to him, kissing his neck, and then his lips. Malcolm turned his head away from hers, feeling suddenly tired. Not of her, but of bad decisions.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
He just shook his head. Chaste Widow was silent for a little while, the two of them still walking with their arms linked.
Chaste Widow (Vanderbrook Champions Book 4) Page 13
