by Hayes, Drew
“Don’t overdo it,” Michael said. His feet crunched through the snow for a few seconds before halting. “Look, Vince, I’m not stupid. Well, okay—maybe I am kind of stupid, but even I can tell you’re tense around me. Whatever was between us, I’m sure you have good reason not to trust me. That said, if you ever want someone to talk to about trying to make things freeze…” He reached out a hand, and a flash of blue light rippled off of it. When it cleared, a large block of ice was resting only a few feet away from them.
“Well, I’m not the worst guy in the world to consult with. It’s only an offer, if you want to take me up on it. I won’t force the issue. It’s just that something tells me that might be the very least I owe you. Anyway, see you at lunch. Don’t stay here so long you freeze.”
He was off again, moving easily through the snow as Vince checked over the ice block. He could still see the snowflakes that had almost made it to the ground embedded inside. Whatever else he could say of Michael, the man had a point. No one knew the cold quite like he did.
149.
After the countless hours of digital training in the Blonk and even more time spent on Subtlety class and practical skills training, Alice was almost disappointed that she didn’t need to employ stealth or misdirection when entering her father’s office. The simple fact of the matter was that, when Charles Adair left town, so did the vast majority of his security personnel. Even if they had been there, it wasn’t as though any would have stopped her. Kings and CEOs might need to request entry into the home of Charles Adair, yet his daughter had always been allowed to pass freely wherever she wanted. In her youth, Alice had taken it as a sign of affection, like he was saying she was special and always welcome. Now, looking back, Alice suspected that the reason for such freedom was simple: he’d never felt like she had the potential for real trouble. And why would he? A life spent as the demure, well-behaved debutante with a floating problem certainly painted her in such a light.
Of course, another explanation was that he was too smart to leave anything truly sensitive in such an easily-accessed location in the first place. She’d walked in expecting that this might be the case, and after an hour of careful searching, Alice’s suspicions were confirmed. There were plenty of business-related documents stowed away in his desk, things that looked very impressive but yielded precious little information when examined. Aside from that, all she found were a few office supplies, a box of half-eaten protein bars, and a picture of her mother housed in a lovely silver frame.
That item, Alice lingered on. A year ago, she’d have found it odd that he kept such a treasure tucked away in a drawer rather than out on display, but her work with Abridail had shed new light on the matter. Charles Adair loved his wife, whatever remained of her; he was also almost certainly plagued with guilt over her condition. The situation was a complex one, and tempting as it was to cast her father as a villain outright, Alice’s mind often flitted back to the vision she’d been shown: Shelby, weeping on the floor, coping with the trauma of constantly seeing her own child dead. It would have been easy for Alice to say she would have found another way, would have never dared to take such a gamble with Shelby’s health. But if Subtlety had taught her nothing else, it had shown Alice that life, and the choices in it, were never so simple. Maybe she’d have done the same, if she were in Charles’s expensive shoes and one of her loved ones was slowly deteriorating before her very eyes. It was impossible to say, and much as she might have liked to talk it over with Charles and see things from his perspective, he’d never given her the chance. He’d never shared this burden; instead he’d buried it deep inside and shoved away anyone who even tried to get close.
Carefully, with a keen eye for detail, Alice tucked the photo back into the drawer. She was working to leave the desk almost, but not quite, as she’d found it. Trying to make things too perfect would draw suspicion if Charles caught a detail. Instead, she’d brought along a small vase of flowers from the garden and a simple Christmas card, one signed with a pen she’d taken from his desk and put back in the wrong drawer. Ostensibly, she’d come in to leave a “welcome home” gift for when he arrived and had rooted about looking for a pen. Whether he bought it or not was largely irrelevant; the idea was simply to create plausible deniability. She didn’t want to tip her hand just yet.
Whatever nuggets of information she hoped to glean from their impending discussion, Alice was honest enough with herself to know there was small chance of getting anything truly useful. No, that wasn’t what this meeting would be about, not at its core. What Alice really wanted to uncover was some glimmer of hope, some decent part of her father buried away under all the years of deceit. She owed it to him—not the man he was now, but the one who’d raced into her room with that ghastly look on his face when he thought she was hurt. The one who’d held her mother as the woman lay weeping. Once, there had been goodness in Charles Adair, and Alice dearly wanted to believe that some of it lingered.
But as a skilled Subtlety student, she was already preparing for disappointment. Given all she knew of her father, it was only practical.
* * *
“It seems… stable.” The soft-spoken woman lowered her hands from Hershel’s temple. Around them, the room was dark and thick with the scent of incense. While Madame Clandesta might masquerade as a medium in her free time, some still knew her as Ava, a Super with exceptionally potent telepathy. She could see beyond thoughts to the very structure of a mind itself. And for a pair of brothers sharing a body during a tumultuous childhood, she’d played the role of therapist and family friend.
“Stable is good, right?” Hershel asked. “Like, we’re not eroding the barrier between us. Or is it bad, because it means we’re back to having it firmly in place? I mean… I don’t hear Roy right now.”
Ava reached under her decorative crystal ball and pulled out a pack of nicotine gum, from which she promptly took a piece. She popped it in her mouth and began chewing. “Do you need to hear Roy right now?”
“Not especially,” Hershel said.
“Well, then that might be your answer.” Her face pinched, as it always did when she first bit into one of her cigarette substitutes. “No one is going to be able to explain exactly what your power is; it’s unique to the two of you, just like mine is to me or your father’s… sorry.”
“It’s okay. The subject isn’t as sore as it used to be.” While Hershel wasn’t quite ready to invite Titan over for Christmas dinner, his interaction with Roy had proven that there might be hope for some sort of relationship down the line. After all, Hershel couldn’t very well let Roy show him up and be the more mature one.
“Glad to hear that. As for your power, I can still feel a distinct difference between you and Roy. It hasn’t lessened since the last time I saw you as children, but it has grown… how to put this… let’s imagine that the barrier between you and Roy is a brick wall,” Ava told him. “Control of the body is a ball that you pass over that wall. You haven’t broken the wall in a meaningful way, as far as I can sense. It would be more accurate to say you’ve installed a window in it.”
Hershel mulled the analogy over for several moments. “So we can slide the window up and talk to one another, or leave it down when we want privacy.”
“Precisely. It might take some practice to figure out how to open and close it at will; however, with enough training, I’m confident you two can figure it out.”
“I’m fine with that, and I think Roy is, too,” Hershel said. “But the bigger issue is the fact that we changed the barrier at all. What if we… do something worse? Accidentally destroy it completely? What happens then? Do I become Roy? Does he turn into me? Do we just get our personalities blended together into a Frankenstein’s monster of the two of us?”
Ava leaned over and spat the gum into a trash can near her table. “I don’t know, Hershel. No one does. Understanding how a Super’s power works is already more art and guesswork than science, and you two are a unique case even on that spectrum. Her
e’s the thing to keep in mind, though: based on what we know of how your power works, it seems to respond to what you need and work toward. So do you plan on working toward destroying the separation between you and Roy? Do you need your brother gone?”
“No.” Hershel shook his head. “Even when I somewhat hated him, even when he made my life a chaotic mess, I never wanted Roy dead. I’ve got his memories; I know how he feels. I could never want to kill him. He’s my brother. I love him.”
“Then you’ll probably be all right.” Ava reached over and patted him gently on the forearm. “And if you’re ever scared, you know you can make an appointment and I’ll give you the once-over. Just try not to come at Christmas next time; this is my busy season. A lot of people want the comfort of saying a festive goodbye to their loved ones.”
“Thanks, Ava. I’ll keep that in mind.” Hershel rose from his chair, and she mirrored him. “By the way, if you’re not working on actual Christmas, Mom said you’re more than welcome to come join us for lunch.”
“I may take her up on that.” Ava walked around the table and gave Hershel a surprisingly strong hug for a person of her age. “Now, you take care of yourselves. I’m looking forward to watching the news next year and seeing you on the screen as a big shot Hero. I like the name, by the way.”
Hershel nearly jerked away in surprise then felt embarrassed. Of course she’d seen that; he’d been working hard to leave his mind as open as possible for her. “You don’t think it’s a little too… on the nose?”
“What’s wrong with being on the nose? I think there’s a certain power in owning what you are,” Ava said. “It’s a good name, for both of you. I look forward to buying it on a t-shirt.”
They broke apart, and Hershel smiled down at her. “When the first printing comes out, I’ll make sure to send one over to you.”
150.
“So, I didn’t know about the whole… illness… thing when I bought this. Sorry if it’s a little inappropriate.” Nick produced the cylindrical brown package from behind his back and set it in Gerry’s waiting hands. “Merry Christmas.”
Moving carefully, taking longer than he’d have normally needed, Gerry pulled away the brown paper to reveal a bottle of liquid the color of slightly burned honey. Twisting it around, he found the label, which was aged and simple. “Campbell, this is some high-end bourbon. I mean, even by our luxurious standards, it’s a fancy gift. You shouldn’t have spent so much on me.”
“Who else am I going to spend it on? Most of my friends lack the palates to appreciate such a fine product, and none of them care much for worldly goods. Well, except Alice, but she’s got tons of cash of her own.”
“Wealthy, beautiful, and charming enough to keep even you in line. This gal of yours must be something else,” Gerry said.
“Hang on, who said she was keeping me in any kind of line?” Nick protested.
Gerry clucked his tongue and set the bottle gently down on his bedside table. “I’m bedridden, not blind. You’ve spent every day home in here with me instead of wooing our new waitresses. And don’t you dare try and say it’s because you wanted to spend all your time with me; we both know I take enough naps for you to squeeze in some downtime.”
“Maybe I’ve just gotten bigger things on my mind,” Nick said.
“Uh huh. Sure. I think we both know I taught you to lie better than that. But it’s okay, I won’t tell anyone you’re soft on this girl. I’m glad you are, honestly. Ms. Pips and I spent a good few years there terrified we’d end up raising a baby if you got careless.”
“When have I ever been careless about anything I did?” Nick kept a dark expression off his face at the mention of Ms. Pips. He hadn’t seen her since his arrival, which would have been neither surprising nor bothersome if he wasn’t spending almost every waking hour with Gerry. The man had been her right-hand man for decades, and she hadn’t so much as popped in to see how he was doing.
“Oh, you want to go down that road? Fine, pour us both a glass from that bottle and I’ll tell you some stories from when you were a kid where you damn near got us both in deep trouble.”
“Are you sure you should? Drink? With the whole—”
“I’m dying, Campbell, not sick. Sick is where you have to follow the rules; dying means you get to enjoy the last bits of your life while you have them.” Gerry tapped the top of the bottle gently with his index finger. “Besides, booze like this is meant to be shared with loved ones. So get the glasses already. I don’t have time to waste.”
Nick did as he was told. It certainly wouldn’t be good for Gerry, but that didn’t appear to be a top priority. He’d been stopped from trying to save Gerry’s life, so at the very least, he could make sure his mentor and teacher got to spend the last of it living how he wanted.
No matter how much it tore Nick up inside.
* * *
“Victor, grab the damn potatoes!” Blaine leaned around the side of the vast kitchen, his arms moving tirelessly to keep the roux from settling, and hollered at the broad-shouldered man in the living room. “Can you not hear the timer?”
“Sorry!” Victor leapt up, nearly tripping over Sean in his hurry to avoid more of Blaine’s wrath. Behind him was a sizable indent in the couch, right next to Clarissa, who was sipping on a glass of chardonnay. She and Miriam giggled as Victor barreled around the corner, nearly banging into Blaine in the process.
When Blaine had first floated the idea of celebrating the holiday with as much of the old class as they could get together, Miriam Taylor had found the idea strange. For so long, it had just been her, Chad, and Blaine. And in truth, she wasn’t sure how she would fit in with the group with her original connection to them gone. As more of the others signed on, though, she found herself not quite able to resist the idea. Then Victor had volunteered his spacious abode for the occasion, and curiosity had gotten the better of her.
While he’d never been quite as renowned as some of his peers from the Class of Legends, there was no question that Victor had ended up among the more successful of the lot in his post-Hero career. The man lived on what could earnestly be called an estate, with a massive pool, tons of rooms, and a gym on par with everything but an HCP’s facilities. Chad was still exploring it, taking in the sights with awe and perhaps, for the first time—at least, Miriam hoped—thinking about what he’d do with his life when he was too old for Hero work. The Super Athletic Association was a good place to turn to; it made plenty of money and offered a safe, reliable income.
“Guess some things never change,” Sean remarked from the other side of the couch, nodding to the slowly fading impression Victor’s muscular bulk had left behind. “He’s still got it bad for you, Clarissa.”
“Oh, come now. Victor is a successful man with a moderately handsome face and ample resources. I’m sure he’s got far too many women chasing after him to hold on to a college crush,” Clarissa replied. “It’s just old habits. Sometimes we fall into preexisting dynamics without even meaning to.”
Personally, Miriam thought Sean had the better grasp of it, but she took a sip of her martini rather than say so. Victor was gracious enough to play host; the least they could do was give him the benefit of the doubt. Besides which, she could hardly blame him if he did still carry a torch for Clarissa. The woman was as lovely as ever; she and age seemed to be getting on better than anyone really had a right to. Yet she was also a little more distant than she’d been when they were younger, a condition that was understandable, given all that she’d seen and been through. Still, occasionally Miriam caught sight of a genuine smile on her face, and she knew the real Clarissa was in there, even if she did hide behind a more detached demeanor.
All in all, it was a nice way to spend a day, as long as she didn’t allow herself to look around the large living room at all the empty seats—chairs and couches that, had life gone the way they’d wanted it to, would have been filled to the brim with fellow college friends and probably their own families as well. But Miriam had
spent a long time thinking about the empty spaces, letting them fill up too much of her life. It was a pleasant change to focus on the ones that were filled instead.
151.
“Skipping lunch?”
Charles looked up from his desk to find Alice standing in the doorway. His gaze fell to a nearby clock, which told him that while the customary time for Christmas lunch was drawing near, it hadn’t arrived quite yet.
“By my count, I still have half an hour,” he told her.
“I know. I just figured I’d get that out of the way now. Saves me the trouble of coming by when you’re eventually late. This way, we’ve checked all the boxes. I tried, you brushed me off, and I can have a hot meal on time.” Despite seeming to dismiss him, she stepped further into the office, shutting the door behind her. Her dress was festive, a holly green that matched the glitter she’d applied above her eyes. Though she occasionally applied the accessory, it wasn’t nearly with the regularity that her mother had, and Alice’s expert application somehow managed to make the twinkling eye-covering subdued. As subdued as was possible, given the garish nature of the product, anyway.
“Be fair. I’ve been making more of an effort in these past few years. Losing you to college made me realize that I took your presence for granted, and I think I’ve shown up more in recent holidays.” There was something… off about the way she approached his desk; he could feel it even as he tried to mollify her. Charles had built his business on the back of his power and being able to read people; Alice’s demeanor had shifted. What’s more, she wasn’t trying to conceal the alteration. She wanted him to know this meeting would be different.
Slowly, she took a seat across from him and met Charles’s eyes. A piece of his heart, one of the few bits not dried by loss and necessity, wanted to be moved by how much those eyes resembled Shelby’s, but he denied it. Sentimentality was a weakness, something an opponent could leverage if used properly, and he was realizing more and more with every passing second that, at least for the moment, Alice was indeed coming in here to do battle.
