I would definitely not be using the mind switcher against her. Debris lay scattered all over the chamber. Bits of soapstone, wires ripped apart, unidentifiable burnt chunks, metal boxes chopped into star shapes—even Mirabelle couldn’t hope to fix this.
She also hadn’t been able to move out the all-powerful remote control console. Of course, she hadn’t broken that. Oh, no. In fact…
I leaned over, and squinted at the panel where I’d ripped out some wires to temporarily shut it down. Yes. Someone had attempted to make repairs.
What target had the remote control been set to last? Why, my current body.
Two could play this game. Where… yes. Like a lot of things in this base, the console needed electrical power, and a thick cable plugged it into the wall sockets. I would miss those wall sockets, hidden behind fake mossy brick surfacing. The builder of this dungeon had been such a gigantic poseur, he’d created his own new kind of style.
A gap in the metal surfacing allowed the power cable out. It had wiggle room. If I were subtle…
Unhooking the Machine, I told him, “Nibble.”
Placing his jaws against the edges of that gap, I used him to eat the hole just wide enough that he could crawl inside. Sticking him in, I mimed a basketball. “There’s a clock in there. Eat it, and this much area around it. Then regurgitate everything in an evenly mixed lump, and crawl back out.”
About sixty seconds of crunching noises later, he emerged. I wrapped him around my wrist, and indulged an evil chuckle. “Turnabout is fair play, monster. If I’m lucky, it will take you weeks of trying to fix this thing to discover it’s irrevocably trashed.”
Oh, well. I’d left some deliciously valuable blocks of silver and other exotic metals down here last time. Had the parasite picked them up?
No. She hadn’t. I knew, because I knew exactly what I would do. The metals were somewhere in this base, supposedly carelessly abandoned, in the middle of a trap I could not teleport out of.
Whatever. No weapons, and she’d destroyed my ace in the hole, but I’d destroyed hers. Round one of our duel: a draw.
Nothing else to do here. I left, and when I saw the cage trap melded back into the floor, I angled around really carefully until I got a safe peek up the shaft I could use to teleport out.
After that, I walked around Upper High to the street. Just walking down there had felt good. Something was wrong with the bracelets. They did their function just fine, but… I couldn’t put my finger on it. Using them too much felt wrong. Addictive?
Immersed in those thoughts, I nearly walked right into Marcia and Ifrit.
Surprised, I said the first thing on my mind. “It is so freaky seeing a boy I know wearing spandex.”
Marcia burst into the most undignified snorting giggles imaginable, and shoving her fists up against her mouth only made them worse. Ifrit, in a skin-hugging blue-and-red costume, blushed and scowled. He had the figure for it, but if supervillainy could give squishy me muscles, there couldn’t be many heroes that weren’t physically fit.
I couldn’t recommend the color choice on that outfit, though. The red and blue clashed so badly they left uncomfortable after-images in my brain, and I didn’t even HAVE a brain at the moment.
No jokes, please, subconscious.
Their momentary paralysis allowed me to take control of the conversation. “Why are you two here?” I paused, letting out a groan. “This is fight number two. The one with Ifrit. You didn’t bring Sharky or Gabriel, did you?”
Folding one arm under her chest, Marcia flapped the other. “Oh, please, why would I bother? All they did was stand around and flap their goober hatches.”
Even keeping in mind Marcia was smarter than she let on, it wouldn’t be hard to make her clobber Ifrit for me. She enjoyed her charging bull rage too much.
So, I took a few steps back in case she tried a sucker punch, and covered it by putting my hands on my hips and glaring. “And how did you know I would be here?”
She gave me the exact same arms akimbo stance back, but with smirking skepticism. “It wasn’t exactly hard to guess. I didn’t expect you to rob your old lair so fast. We just planted the alarms and hadn’t reached Hollywood before they went off and we had to turn around.”
“I thought you said you ate the—oh, no. You didn’t.”
She met my stare of horror with a gleefully non-innocent smile, singsonging, “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
In an attempt to find a topic that didn’t make me want to take five baths, I turned my exasperated stare on Ifrit. “I would have thought you’d be too mature to get caught up in Marcia’s ridiculous revenge ritual.”
His blush faded, Ifrit took a steadying breath, exasperation fading into a set-faced determination, eyebrows and lips flat on his dusky face. “I don’t care what craziness she has in mind. I’m here to stop you.”
He looked so serious about it, which only made me more confused. “Stop me? She told you I’m the real one, right?”
Ifrit sneered. “She did, but—”
Slapping my forehead, I finished for him, “She’s crazy, so you don’t believe her.”
I looked back at Marcia. “Which is exactly what you wanted. Are you sure you won’t join me now? Think of the uses to which I could put your ingenious dementia!”
Clasping her hands to her chest now, she leaned her head back and let out a huge sigh. “You are the sister of my heart, Bad Penny, but this cruel world of hero and villain pits sister against sister, locking those who should be comrades in an embrace of violence.”
“Great. The robot is as crazy as she is.” Frowning in the only real anger I could remember on his face, Ifrit pushed Marcia out of the way, and pointed a finger at me. “Penelope is a good kid, robot. Stay away from her, or I will roast you into ashes.”
Stabbing my chest with my thumb, I snapped back, “I am the good kid. She’s a parasite who stole my body! Did she put you up to this?”
He lifted his chin, indignant. “Penny isn’t going around scrounging up people to help her deal with you. I’m a hero. We protect kids from murderous machines.”
I gaped. “Am I going to be getting this from the whole hero community?”
“As far as we’re concerned, the name Bad Penny is now where it truly belongs.”
Swiveling, I pointed an accusing finger at Marcia. “I am going to get you for this.”
She cackled, hopping on one foot and pumping her fist. “Our rivalry will shake the heavens!”
“I don’t want our rivalry to shake the heavens. Submit, and you can be my brainwashed servant. You can’t tell me that doesn’t sound like—”
Fire roared up around me in a circle. To Ifrit’s credit, that happened before he said, “This is idiotic. Surrender and I’ll deactivate you and hand you over to Mech.”
It was good flame. Lots of heat haze, scorched pavement, very scary. Alas, not opaque, so I sidestepped and blinked across the street.
I didn’t have a quip or attempt to talk reason into him ready, so Ifrit took the initiative. Fire exploded, this time around himself, a whirling protective vortex at least a good six feet in radius. Marcia had to stumble backwards, slapping out sparks on her clothing.
Over the roar of wind his fiery shield created, Ifrit shouted, “I know you can teleport, robot, and I know how to stop teleporters from sneaking up behind me.”
Well, I certainly wouldn’t get a chance like this again. One foot forward, I blinked behind Ifrit just as he’d warned me not to. It was hard to see anything in the red, orange, and yellow inferno, but it didn’t take much precision to grab the back of his head. With my artificial strength, I shoved him back and down, slamming the eighteen-year-old fire summoner onto the sidewalk.
Two unexpected things happened. First, I was not used to being anything but a scrawny nerd, and he hit hard. At least fighting experience made him try to lift his head. The crack when it smacked the pavement merely shocked me, without actually making me fear for his life.
Second, I was also not used to how ridiculously light I was, now. Leaving the Heart of Gold hidden under Marcia’s mattress actually took off like a fifth of my weight! The violent movement and driving wind from Ifrit’s flame shield catapulted me into the air.
Somersaulting in midair, I landed in a crouch, one leg off to the side and one hand flat to the ground. Marcia applauded, then made “Ow ow ow” noises, because she’d burned her hands.
With nothing to burn and their creator stunned, Ifrit’s flames vanished. Stalking over to him, I nudged him with my boot. “You kept rubbing it in that I’m a robot, and it didn’t occur to you that I’m fireproof? Go back to being a sidekick, little boy. No, first tell the parasite in my body that I’m coming for her, and then go beg Marvelous to teach you how to fight.”
He didn’t respond. I would trust Marcia to be smarter than she pretends. If he had a concussion, she’d get him help.
As for Marcia… she’d gone from clapping to making weird, bubbling noises.
I turned around, to find her clutching her own shoulders, and with her cheeks inflated like a hamster. She trembled, letting out gulping noises as she wrestled to keep her breath held.
“What?” I asked, suspicious.
Her shaking hand rose, pointing at my head. “Your hair wasn’t fireproof,” she squeaked, and then collapsed to the ground kicking her feet and shrieking with laughter.
I blinked. Then I lifted a hand, and slid it over my now smooth scalp.
“Well, CRIMINY.”
hen I got back to the Fortress of Pink, I slept. For the first time since I’d been bodynapped, I felt tired. I wasn’t even aware that was an option, but my body dragged with unnatural heaviness, and I collapsed on Marcia’s pastel covers with release. One quick check that the Heart of Gold was still under the pillow, and I turned myself off for a couple of hours.
Oh, yeah. That hit the spot. Definitely freaky robo-exhaustion.
Fine. I would sleep until tomorrow. It felt good to sulk anyway.
My hair! My beautiful braids! Okay, they weren’t beautiful. I had rat-colored brown hair, and sometimes jealousy poked at me for Claire’s unearthly, natural, platinum blonde.
But not often. She had ‘look at me, I’m in a magazine’ hair, but my dull, brown, braided pigtails gave me style.
Or they did. Now all I had was a bald, ceramic white head. Or maybe it was plastic. Or some kind of freaky carbon weave, although not likely because those exotic materials were crazy tough and wouldn’t break from a mere bomb.
So. Today’s summary: Mourning Dove believed I was a deranged robot duplicate to be destroyed if convenient. Ifrit believed I was a deranged robot duplicate who kicked his incendiary backside. Basically the entire hero community intended to protect the parasite from me because they were Noble Defenders of Children.
Suddenly, I understood why Apparition once told me I was too understanding to be a hero. Criminy!
Looking straight up, arms folded behind my head, I said, “This, oh ceiling covered in phosphorescent star stickers I am positive Marcia did not choose or desire, is a problem. I need my hair replaced. Only mad science will do that.”
The stickers reminded me that all the mad scientists I knew were villains anyway. Well, except for Echo and Mech.
I let out a heavy sigh. “I should write letters home. Dear Mom and Dad, today at super power camp was that day where you announce you don’t like sports at the top of your lungs in the cafeteria, and now nobody wants to sit at your table except the kid who keeps trying to stick her fork in her ear.”
On that note, I turned myself off for another round.
I awoke to a tinny voice singing, “Stacy’s mom has got it goin’ on!”
Supplying the chorus of, “AAAAUGH!” I jumped into the air, fell off the bed, and scrambled around until I found my phone.
I did not need to check the caller ID. Only one person would have set that as a ringtone for herself. “Good… uh, afternoon, Miss Lutra. To what do I owe the pleasure of this call? Please tell me Claire is home.”
“No, although you should read the emails she’s sending me.” Her sly amusement turned to concern. “I wanted to check on you. How are you doing?”
Wow, another summer camp metaphor. First call from home! The one that makes you break down crying with homesickness.
Forget THAT.
Dropping onto the bed again, I stretched out and answered, “I’m holding up well. My arm is fixed. My success rate finding allies is running negative numbers, but if I have to, I’ll win this alone. I’m better than her.”
She digested that in silence for a moment. When she did answer, her voice radiated warmth and pride. “I always thought of you as Brian’s little girl, but in your heart you’re Beebee’s daughter, aren’t you? Strong as steel.”
I glanced down at the hatch in my chest. “Yeah, pretty much.”
“I had brunch with her this morning.”
My steel heart clenched, a knot of sudden pain. “How are Mom and Dad?”
Misty Lutra’s voice betrayed no sign of whether my moment of weakness had been audible. “I told her about your battle yesterday with Ifrit. People fall all over themselves to tell me the latest gossip, and all she’d heard was that you got in a fight. When I told her how thoroughly you won…”
Another pause, and Miss Lutra continued solemnly, “I thought she would break down crying from relief. She said this means you’re as good as she thought you would be. You’re brave and strong and skilled and intelligent and mature enough to succeed and get through this, until you and the other Penny finish your battle.”
“She said that?” My mouth felt dry. It was dry, but now it felt that way.
“What she actually said was that she is now confident of the probability that you will be okay, and she said it with her face in her hands. You know what Beebee means when she talks like that.”
I did. Miss Lutra had translated perfectly.
When I failed to find words adequate to my feelings, Miss Lutra want on. “If I know Brian, and only your mother knows him better, I’d say he’s devastated, but is trying to hide it. They love you, Penny. I promise. They feel trapped. There’s no research and no manuals for a situation like this, and they’re as lost as any normal parent. Maybe more.”
I held up an arm, spread fingers against the brilliance from the ceiling lamp, and studied the socketed, artificial joints. “I don’t blame them. Maybe that’s part of being a robot.”
“It’s part of being Beebee’s daughter.”
Okay, that made me grin. “Thanks, Miss Lutra. I guess you can’t tell them I love them, but thanks.”
“You can bet your mother knows I ran to tell you everything.”
Ha! I grinned even wider. “Yeah, she could probably have written out this whole conversation verbatim.” Which would mean she accepted, at least, that I was as much Penny as the thing wearing my body.
Ha again! Rolling upright, I said, “I’d better go prove my Mom right by going to get my hair fixed, before Chinatown switches back to weekday mode.”
All warm and honeyed, she said, “Have fun, sweetheart.”
“You know… I think maybe I will.”
Just as I’d hoped, late afternoon at Chinatown meant a steady crowd of relaxed supervillains hiding in the mall and out of the public eye. A clustered customer base should mean lots of mad scientists ready to sell to them!
Instead, my luck continued to play. It was Mechanical Aesthetic, Expert, Red Eye, Cybermancer, and a man and woman I didn’t know. They did have customers. Two women—both the same height, with curly brown hair, and just enough not-similarity that they looked like sisters, not twins—were studying Cybermancer’s bombs. One wore a cowgirl costume, including a leather skirt, stetson, and three gun belts. Only one holster was sized right and had metal peeking under the strap to suggest a normal pistol. The others… well, Mad Science. Oh, and the skinny rifle on her back had to be a bb gun. Her sister wore shiny black pants as tight as
spandex, a red-and-white striped sweater, and more belts. Where the first girl had guns, this one had slim, pokey things. Not knives. Screwdrivers, bits of wire, bent forks, a tin can, different kinds of pins in her hair, a lockpick set in a breast pocket… that kind of thing.
The mad scientists I didn’t know had a customer, too, a woman—
Business, Penny! Don’t get distracted gawking at how much fun being a villain is.
In fact, business ceased. The whole crowd turned to stare at me.
I let out an aggrieved sigh. “You heard already?”
Her face calm, but her voice lugubrious with anticipation, Red Eye said, “No, but we’re about to hear something great.”
“Do you know anyone who can do cosmetic doll fixes?” I asked.
Cybermancer supplied the names I expected. “Raggedy and Gothic.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think this is their kind of work.”
Red Eye tilted her head forward, giving me a scolding, sideways look from her good eye. “We’re going to need to know what kind of work, before we can help.”
…
There was no way around it. Why had I even hoped?
I pulled off the big pink snow hat I’d scavenged from Marcia’s not-quite-empty closet.
Nobody laughed. No one’s expressions changed. The complete motionlessness of their faces and the prolonged silence eloquently spoke of how hard they were trying not to laugh.
Finally, Cybermancer said, “I take it we should see the other guy.”
Thankfully unable to blush, I said, “He rued the day, yes, but it was literally a pyrrhic victory.”
Cybermancer spread his gloved hands. “You know I’d help if I could, Bad Penny, but this is way outside of my field.”
“I can help,” said the Expert, looming behind the others like a vulture.
Red Eye jerked to attention. “What?! Don’t you think…”
Everybody stared at her. The Expert really stared at her, like a principle scolding a kid in detention.
She raised her hands and lowered her head. “Fine, fine.”
I wiped my forehead, which needed a lot more wiping than it did a couple of days ago. “Good. I did not want to have to ask Spider for help finding someone.”
Please Don't Tell My Parents (Book 5): You Believe Her Page 9
