by Drew Hayes
“I’d like to motion that we take a ten-minute break before resuming the meeting,” Stasis said. From the way she was gripping the sandwich in front of her, Ivan suspected that there would be at least two more broken pieces of equipment by the time she’d worked off her anger in the gym.
“Seconded,” Morgana chimed in, receiving a grateful look from Stasis for the support.
“All those in favor,” Doctor Mechaniacal said, calling for votes.
Despite Ivan’s hopes to make it home at a decent hour, he still raised his hand in support of the short break. They all had people who pushed their buttons; he couldn’t fault Stasis just because it was hers that happened to show up. It just as easily could have been Lodestar who crashed through a wall, and then he’d have been the one needing a break.
Though ten minutes would not have been nearly enough.
* * *
“... and if we have Baron Peppermint cover everything south of 95th Street, that should close out the schedule nicely.” Quorum finished filling in the last lines of the grid he’d drawn on his paper, sketching “BP” into the final unoccupied box.
“With all due respect to the Baron, are we certain he’s capable of keeping watch over such a wide swath of land?” Apollo asked. “He isn’t exactly what I’d consider one of our heavier hitters.”
“I’ll grant you that our new Baron Peppermint hasn’t quite reached the level of his mentor, but those gumdrop minions of his mean he can have eyes and ears, relatively speaking, over a massive area,” Quorum pointed out. “Besides, we don’t need heavy force on the ground. Most of the new metas will be scared, confused, and completely mystified by what they’re suddenly able to do. Our role is to calm them down, help them come to grips with their new lives, and get them on a healthy path toward understanding.”
“Our presence helps us recruit any of the truly powerful ones,” Professor Quantum added from his teleconferencing device. “Once they feel a sense of debt toward us, it becomes all the more difficult to turn down our requests that they join our alliance.”
“All these years and PQ is still just as heartless as always.” Lodestar might have meant this to be good-natured ribbing, but the weariness in her voice made Apollo feel as though it were likely more honest than she meant it to be.
“Not heartless, merely objective,” Professor Quantum rebutted. “The more we get on our side now, the fewer are likely to become serious threats later down the line.”
“You seem to have forgotten many of the occasions when I had to go haul criminals out of their meta-max cells to help us bring down one of our own,” Lodestar snapped back. “Their arch-nemeses wound up being all that kept certain cities on the map.”
“This is not about good or evil.” Quorum’s voice was a combination of the other two, both detached and passionate in a way that made Apollo’s head hurt if he thought about it too long. It was easy to understand how Quorum could be of many minds about something, but many voices was a bit harder to deal with.
“What choices a person makes are their own. Our goal is to keep them from giving in to the panic when confronted with an unexpected twist in the world they knew. Once they have control of their faculties, whether they use their new powers to help or harm is a decision only they are capable of making. But until that time, it is on us to help them through the terror that is first becoming meta. I don’t have to remind any of you what it was like when you first turned.”
Apollo actually would have loved to hear those reminders, both because he was hungry for more information on the members of the Congress and because his own turning story hadn’t been traumatic in the least. He’d just knocked over a jar at the museum, had a surreal, dream-like encounter with the real sun god, and woken up with his powers fully juiced up. For a scrawny kid with no special traits to get incredible powers and appeal suddenly... well, it was pretty much the opposite of traumatic.
“You’re right,” Lodestar said over her device, bringing Apollo back to the moment at hand. “No one should have to go through that alone. I’m sorry I can’t be there in person to help out with the patrol.”
“It will be fine,” Quorum said. “Our own Apollo has volunteered to take many of the shifts himself, easily covering any gaps we might have had in the schedule.”
“Keep it up, young man, and you may just get your wish granted yet,” Professor Quantum said.
Apollo merely nodded his head humbly, as if the duty were nothing more than an afterthought. In truth, it was nearly all he could think about, day in and day out. It was no secret that Lodestar was on her way out; she hadn’t been seen in public for over seven years, and it had been a solid four since she came to the AHC base. Sooner or later, she’d retire officially, and when that day came, Apollo had to make certain that he was the only viable candidate to replace her.
All of his beautiful, glorious plans depended on it.
Chapter 11
It was well after midnight by the time Ivan and Tori finally pulled into the driveway. She’d been largely silent throughout the rest of the meeting, either cowed by the sudden appearance of Nexus or bored by the minutiae of coordinating a readied response among all of the council’s departments. Ivan had been braced for a myriad of questions once they were out the door; however, her embargo on words had continued as they changed from their costumes and drove across the city.
Tori exited the car before he could say anything, not that Ivan had anything he planned to say, and made a beeline right for the house. At least she didn’t slam the door as she entered; that would have certainly gotten a few of the neighbors interested.
Ivan stepped through the front door to find Tori standing only a few feet away, waiting for him. Taking the cue, Ivan quickly locked the door and conjured a few wards, adding some to keep sound in on top of those for security. So far, she’d been exceptionally controlled, especially for her, but there was no sense in taking unnecessary risks. Once they were sealed in, Ivan gave her a slight nod. It was all the permission Tori needed.
“What the fuck was that? I’m not crazy, right? That was Nexus, one of the world’s most wanted terrorists. We’re not talking about you or Doctor Mechaniacal, people who just robbed companies or started fights with capes. Nexus is... bad. I mean, really terrible. He’s killed thousands of people and no one even knows why, and you all barely batted an eye when he came sauntering in through the front door.”
Tori slumped onto the couch, the ever-present fight in her eyes slowly beginning to dim as she stared up at him. Ivan could see it hitting her at long last. She’d been a criminal when Wade recruited her, but it was only a means to an end. When she signed up for the guild, she’d no doubt expected to rub elbows with people like herself and Doctor Mechaniacal. She was finally beginning to understand that living in this realm, a place outside of law and society, meant that she shared it with more than just the opportunistic and the brash. She was also in the same world as some truly evil motherfuckers.
“Nexus isn’t a friend, neither of mine nor anyone at the guild,” Ivan said. He made a point to keep his voice as even as always. It wouldn’t do either of them any favors to seem like he was coddling her in this moment. “But he’s impossible to kill or capture so far as we know, which means we have no way of stopping him when he pops in. For whatever reason, he likes us more than the capes, so he comes around every so often to drop cryptic clues and ask insane questions. Do not, for a single moment, think that any of us would call that man a friend, let alone an ally.”
“Honestly?” If Ivan had been lying, it would have been the most effortless one he ever told. Tori was in so deep, she desperately wanted to believe that the organization had some lines it refused to cross. That would at least give her something, a sense of morality to hang on to.
“It’s the absolute truth,” he told her, because it was. “But make no mistake: we do have members whose death tolls, while smaller than Nexus’s, are still considerable. Nexus could be a member of our guild, were he willing to
follow the code and pay the appropriate dues. It is not morality that bars him, only his own impulsive actions.”
Tori’s face, which had begun to fill with life as Ivan told her that Nexus was not a friend, deflated. It was as if he had drained the very hope from her smile, which he was keenly aware that he had, in a way.
“I’ve told you this before, Apprentice: we are not good people. Our guild is not the place where those of strong morality and goodness come to lay their heads. We are villains, rogues, and scoundrels. The people we bring into our fold are of that ilk as well. That is the organization that found you, that is what you seek to join. Never, under any circumstances, should you delude yourself about what we, and you, are.”
“Jesus, Ivan. I... I didn’t want something like this. I know I don’t have the cleanest record— maybe I’m too quick with a punch or casual about theft—but... I’m not that bad. I don’t know if I can do this. Even if death is waiting for me on the chance that I fail, I don’t know if I can live the rest of my life surrounded by that sort of people.” Tori turned her head to the ground and slowly rubbed her left hand with her right one. In the short time they’d been together, Ivan realized it was the first time he’d seen her completely let her guard down. It was good to know that she could, when the occasion demanded it. Some people got too stuck behind their walls and were unable to break free, even when they desperately wanted to.
“If you thought you could handle it, I’d be worried.” Ivan walked across the living room, heading for the bookshelf. “Tori, what did I tell you was the most important thing that I could teach you as my apprentice?”
“The code,” she replied automatically. He’d drilled it into her endlessly since her arrival, in no small part as preparation for precisely this moment.
“That’s right: the code, the law that all members of the guild follow. People who have no care for the laws of religion, man, or society are still bound by the ones we have set down. For the vast majority of our members, it is the only set of rules they respect, let alone obey.” Ivan took his worn, leather-bound copy of the code off the shelf and walked back over to Tori. “All members of the guild, regardless of who they were before recruitment, are bound to the code. Or else.”
He held it out to her, the book steady in the care of Ivan’s powerful grip. Slowly, with the soft light of comprehension beginning to glow in her eyes, Tori reached out and took it from him.
“The first of us who were set free weren’t the worst of the lot, though we were some of the most powerful. More than anything, I think we valued freedom and adventure over society’s regulations. Perhaps, in another time, we’d have been cowboys, or pirates, or settlers. Sadly, when you pair the kind of power we had with that spirit and youth, you often end up with criminals. But after being chained down, we saw that our kind needed some rules, even if they were only bare-bones, so that we could have that freedom we craved so dearly. In the course of it, we also realized that some metas would never be cowed by the threats of those chained by law. They would only respond to the thing they respected: power. In that way, the guild was founded to guide those of us who sought freedom and to contain those of us who sought destruction.”
Tori held the book in her hand and stared at Ivan with an expression he’d yet to encounter on her face. He’d seen mere glimpses of it when she glanced at Wade, but never had such sentiment been turned in his direction. It wouldn’t be until later that night when sleep evaded him—as it often did after a Nexus visit—that Ivan would begin to suspect the truth behind her expression.
It was admiration.
“The code is the most important thing I can teach. It’s the most important thing you can learn. It’s the most important thing the guild has ever produced, and upholding it is the most important job you will ever have, should you become a member.”
“Sort of seems like you’re doing the capes’ work for them,” Tori noted. She held the book tightly, and as she did, the weight that had dragged her down seemed to lift, if only a pound at a time.
“Keeping wanton destruction in check is everyone’s work,” Ivan replied. “I don’t want some sociopath wiping out my home, or my friends, or my family, any more than a human would. Besides, the capes aren’t allowed to dish out the sort of penalties we can. Our jobs are entirely different.”
“I’m beginning to see that,” Tori said. She pulled herself off the couch in a single fluid move, tucking the book under her arm as she did so. “I’m going to hit the hay. We’ve got work in the morning, after all.”
“Spoken like a true mundane assistant. I’m verging on proud.” Ivan smiled at her, not because he felt particularly cheerful, but because he knew she needed it. Tough as Tori was, facing some truths required a bit of support.
“But tomorrow evening, I want to learn more about the guild,” she continued. “And about Nexus, since he said a lot of weird stuff you didn’t seem fazed by at all. I’m guessing you’ve got more information on him than the masses.”
“Why would you want to know more about that man?”
“Because he’s not one of us, which means he could easily be an enemy one day. I’m a thinker, remember? I like to go into these situations with as much information as possible.”
Ivan said nothing but gave her a polite nod. It was a good answer, and that made it a good reason. She wasn’t wrong, either. No one knew when, but it was always possible that Nexus could make himself an enemy. When that day came, they were all better served with a few countermeasures, or at least plans, in place.
“Oh, one question before I head out, though. I’ll probably forget if I wait,” Tori said, turning around from her trek to the garage apartment. “That Balaam guy clearly hates your guts, and I’m sure there’s a story there, but why did he keep referring to you as a dog? He called you ‘little puppy’ like three times, and when your water went down the wrong pipe, he suggested you had kennel cough. The hell is that about?”
Ivan suppressed a sigh; he’d expected her to be astute enough to pick up on that. Of course, that didn’t always mean he was happy to be right. “Balaam, along with some other members of the guild, like to refer to the retired members as ‘beaten dogs.’ They feel that the only way for a villain to retire is in the permanent, graveyard fashion. Anything less is seen as weakness, as though we had the fight kicked out of us and have gone home to lick our wounds.”
“Great, so on top of unstoppable monsters and heartless killers, you also have run-of-the-mill douchebags.” Tori shook her head, sending her dark hair tumbling about. “Tell me that, if it came down to it, you could at least beat that guy.”
“Councilors are forbidden from actually doing battle with one another in all but the most extreme of circumstances,” Ivan told her.
“I sort of figured that when no one threw a punch tonight, but I’m not talking about next week. Just, you know, some magical hypothetical time and place occurs and you two could scrap it out. Would you win?”
“In that very unlikely situation, assuming I could safely engage him without betraying the code I helped write or the guild I helped create...”
Ivan paused. Tori twirled her finger in the air, the universal sign to get on with it. Generally, as a rule, he avoided bragging, but as Ivan contemplated his answer, he realized that he had no qualms with merely telling his apprentice a truthful answer to her question.
“In that case... I would whip the shit out of him.”
Tori raised her eyebrows and let out a low whistle. “Now that’s what a girl wants to hear from her teacher.”
* * *
Unlike Ivan and Tori, Balaam hadn’t gone right home after the meeting was over. Instead, he’d headed down to his department and begun doling out assignments for the upcoming confluence. Magic users were, by and large, a nocturnal bunch, so his task was far easier to accomplish while the sun was down. Of course, if he were asked about it by any of the other councilors, Balaam would have claimed he did it because he didn’t need rest when top-priority ev
ents like these were at hand.
Once all the mystical messages, teleported whispers, and e-mails had been sent out, Balaam retired to his quarters inside the guild’s offices. They were spacious, and he’d spent a fair bit of effort customizing them once he earned the penthouse-level accommodations that came with a seat on the council. Blood-red walls decorated with tasteful pieces of art that were either stolen or expert reproductions ran throughout the space. In truth, Balaam would have preferred something a little more color-neutral, but certain sacrifices were necessary when one had an image to keep up. His furniture, at least, had a more modern flair that suited his sensibilities. Décor was one thing, but he refused to compromise on comfort. Since decadence was sort of evil-ish, he felt like this suited his persona well enough to get away with it. And if it didn’t, then so be it. One of the perks of the position he’d worked so hard to attain was that he was allowed to break rank on occasion. He was the one people had to impress, not vice versa.
A quick shower purged away the day, and Balaam was debating between reading his weathered, ancient tome of a spellbook or watching reality television when a sharp needle of pain flashed behind his right eye. Most men would have been alarmed by the sudden discomfort, but Balaam merely grumbled to himself as he went to his work desk and pulled a silver mirror from a carefully-padded black box in the bottom drawer.
Unlike the majority of the bobbles and trinkets he’d either inherited, acquired, or stolen, this mirror was a true artifact. Most magical items had merely been given some modicum of enchantment by a competent mage, but the mirror resting before him had an actual magic core inside that powered it, as did its twin. The set comprised one of the most valuable pieces ever to have entered Balaam’s collection, and he’d gotten excellent use out of the twin mirrors since almost the moment he acquired them.
The pain throbbed again, and Balaam bit back a curse. He could have set any manner of notification spell for when the mirror’s twin called out, but he’d chosen pain for many reasons—the most important of which was that it was something only he could perceive. Sounds were overheard, glowing runes noticed, but pain belonged only to its owner. The moment he rested his hands on the mirror’s cool, slick surface, the ache faded into nothing more than a memory.
