Savior exhaled through his nostrils. He closed his eyes for a moment, and suddenly looked a decade older.
“I didn’t set the rules,” he said. “No… Unfortunately not. But perhaps there is an element of flaunting involved, here. I want you to understand, Cutter.”
Savior took a contemplative sip of his beer and then nodded to himself.
“It’s been my method of operation to pardon certain monsters and certain places,” he said. “While the Champion Authority’s official policy is to handle all monsters as though they are dangerous and volatile, it’s… convenient, to turn a blind eye here and there.”
“Speaking of which,” interrupted Scribe. “I already paid Multi for this month. It was right before the attack on your base.”
“No you didn’t!” Savior grinned at the spryte. “Nice try though.”
His enthusiasm and good humor seemed to snap back into first gear. Savior drummed his hands on the bar counter and started whistling. Malcolm was barely even aware of it. He turned the implication of Savior’s words over in his head.
Savior can give out pardons. That means I could save Rose… and maybe even Danny.
Malcolm grimaced. Rose was one thing, but Danny had killed so many people. He wasn’t sure that Danny deserved a real second chance, even as his brother.
Then why did I give him that money?
“Perfect!” laughed Savior, accepting the wad of money Scribe passed to him. “You’re all set for the next month.”
“I appreciate that,” said Scribe, dryly. “Now, is that it?”
“Of course not,” said Savior. “Vodka shots, on the double.”
Malcolm excused himself to the bathroom, standing up slowly and making his way across the bar. A couple sprytes and demons looked in his direction, but most of them kept their eyes averted. He was about to push through the door into the men’s room when a heavy hand clapped on his shoulder and spun him around.
“Hey,” said a deep voice. “Remember me?”
Malcolm was staring into the face of a demon by the name of Bicep. He’d encountered him on his first visit to Terri’s Tavern with Rose, and the two of them had almost come to blows. Strangely, the demon was smiling this time around.
“That depends,” said Malcolm. “Is there a right answer to that question, or will both lead to a fight?”
Bicep’s smile widened.
“Relax,” he said. “I ain’t gonna punch you.”
Bicep was a muscle demon, and every inch of his body was covered with exaggerated, rippling muscle. He wore a thin sleeveless shirt and gym shorts, and had arms as thick around as tree trunks.
“Right…” said Malcolm. “That’s good to know. Well, I was on my way to the bathroom, so if you don’t mind…”
“Talk to me for a second,” said Bicep. “I got a few questions.”
His brow was furrowed, and the tone of his voice seemed sincere. Malcolm sighed, and then gave a small shrug.
“Sure,” he said. “Why not?”
The two of them sat down at a table in the corner of the room. Malcolm steepled his fingers, letting his eyes run across the bar out of habit. It was nearly empty.
“No Fantasy, tonight?” he asked. Fantasy was an attractive, female spryte, and one of Bicep’s friends. Bicep shook his head.
“She’s been… busy, lately,” said Bicep.
“Nothing to read into there,” said Malcolm.
Bicep laughed and waved his hand, as though dismissing the question.
“She’s been busy, okay,” said Bicep. “It doesn’t matter. Look, I’m more interested in why the two of you are here, given the state of Vanderbrook right now.”
“I can’t speak for Savior, but I’m here because it’s my job,” said Malcolm. “He’s in town. I’m a champion, and that means I’ve been drafted as his bodyguard.”
It was close enough to the truth that it didn’t really feel like a lie. Savior had come to Terri’s tavern to gather information, but Malcolm doubted he’d manage to overhear anything interesting. He was there as Savior’s companion, and as backup, not that the invulnerable leader of the champions needed it.
“That’s what I wanted to ask you about,” said Bicep. He leaned in closer. “Is this… a crackdown?”
“You mean, Savior coming to Vanderbrook?” he asked. “No. At least, I don’t think so. He’s just here to help me and my fellow champions get back on our feet.”
Bicep let out a sigh of relief. Malcolm frowned, feeling a bit odd about the conversation.
“What happened to make you so friendly?” he asked. “The last time we encountered each other, you seemed… a little territorial.”
“That’s cause I thought you were a typical champion,” said Bicep. “After chatting with Rose, it’s pretty clear that you’re something else. She’s in deep for you, ya know. Won’t let anyone drag the name of her precious ‘Wind Runner’ through the mud.”
“She’s… been by here?” asked Malcolm. “Like, since last time, when I was here with her?”
Bicep frowned.
“Of course,” he said. “I thought that’s why you came tonight, at first. She just had to use the restroom… Though it has been a couple of minutes.”
Malcolm stood up from his chair sharply enough to knock it over. He glanced over at Savior, making sure that the champion was still distracted, and then hurried toward the restrooms.
CHAPTER 8
Malcolm rounded the corner toward the women’s bathroom in time to see a flash of jet black shadow head down the hallway, toward the emergency exit. He sprinted after it, his heart pounding in his chest.
The emergency exit door opened and started to close. Malcolm managed to get a foot in between it and the doorframe, wincing as it crushed against his foot. He threw it the rest of the way open and stumbled up the stairs into the street.
“Rose!” He kept his voice low, trying to shout and whisper at the same time. “I know you’re here!”
There was no response in words, but the street took on an unusual stillness. No pedestrians were nearby. Malcolm let his eyes scan over the shadows in alleyways and behind parked cars. He couldn’t even guess at where she’d be hiding.
“I just…” He spoke in a quiet voice, not really sure what he had to say. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to run away from me.”
“Then don’t show up with the king of the champions as your wingman next time,” came a whisper.
Malcolm grinned. He tried to pinpoint where her voice had come from, but it was impossible with the ambient noise of the bar behind him.
“Stay safe,” he said. “Please.”
“That’s what I’m doing,” whispered Rose.
“Point taken.” Malcolm took a breath and slowly exhaled.
I miss her. But would it matter if I told her that?
“Cutter!” came Savior’s booming voice from inside. “Where’d you run off to?”
Malcolm frowned, taking one last look at the darkness outside.
“I’m not your enemy,” he said. “I’m your friend. Don’t forget that, okay?”
There was no response, but somehow, Malcolm knew that she’d heard him. He reminded himself that she was strong and capable. She knew where to find him, if she wanted to continue the conversation. And she was smart enough to pick a good time.
He headed back inside the tavern. Savior had two shots set in front of him at the bar and was grinning like a madman. He pushed one toward Malcolm and slapped a hand on the counter.
“Vodka,” said Savior. “It’s good for the soul. Cleanses pesky thoughts from the mind with just a sip.”
“I’m pretty sure it does exactly the opposite of that, more often than not,” said Malcolm.
“You’re a card, Cutter!” said Savior. “Ready? One, two, and down!”
Malcolm drank the shot, the taste of it burning his throat as it went down. As much as he hated to admit it, the slight buzz it gave him was preferable to the mood he’d been in prior.
>
Savior ordered them another round of beers, and then more shots. Somewhere in between really drunk and absolutely sloshing, Malcolm found himself recalling the man’s words from earlier.
“Do you ever… give out pardons?” mumbled Malcolm. “On behalf of other people?”
“Huh…?” Savior let out a burp and banged his shot glass on the bar counter, signaling for Scribe to bring him another. “Pardons…? You know a monster that deserves one?”
Malcolm didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure of how much he was willing to disclose. Savior seemed to be relatively good natured, but he was still the leader of an organization designed to hunt and kill sprytes and demons. For Malcolm to disclose his relationship with one to him, of all people, would be foolhardy.
“Let me tell you what,” said Savior, slurring his words. “You do good work for me here while I’m in town, and we’ll talk about it. I like monsters, you know? They aren’t all bad… well, sometimes they are. But…”
Savior sighed. Scribe had set a new shot in front of him, and he poured it down his throat.
“Cutter, killing doesn’t get easier the more you do it,” said Savior. “That’s just a myth. First few times, maybe. But then… there’s a smell to it. It just gets more unpleasant as time passes. It’s like a smell sealed into your memories, and it never goes away. And so you do what you must.”
He laughed and waved to Scribe again, who was starting to look a little annoyed.
“No,” said Savior, as she went to refill his shot glass. “Just… give me the bottle.”
Malcolm had one arm under Savior’s shoulder as they left Terri’s Tavern. He headed toward his apartment, fearing what Tapestry’s reaction would be if the two of them showed up on her doorstep after midnight, completely plastered.
“Let’s just… fly there!” mumbled Savior.
“You are tanked,” said Malcolm. “Drinking and flying sounds like…”
Savior took a bounding step and leapt in the air.
Well, I was about to say it sounds like a bad idea. But I guess we’re doing it.
Steadying his senses and balance, Malcolm reached out, feeling for the wind. His power was a constant, always there, always waiting for him. Using it was less like magic and more like flexing a muscle.
He coaxed the wind into a powerful gust behind him, taking a few long strides before springing upward. Malcolm used more force than he needed to, fearing that the alcohol might suppress the strength of his abilities. In fact, it was the opposite.
“Whoa!” he shouted.
He flew down the street and over the buildings at the end of it. He could just barely make out Savior’s figure ahead of him. The moon was peeking out through the night’s dark cloud cover, and every couple of seconds, the silhouette of a super powered champion would appear in front of it.
“Let’s fly to the moon!” shouted Savior. “The ground cannot hold us!”
I honestly think he’d try to, after a few more shots.
“We should take it easy, for tonight,” shouted Malcolm. “You’re a little bit wild, right now.”
“Onward, Cutter!” screamed Savior. “We’re champions!”
Savior flew higher into the air. Malcolm had his own method, slightly less elegant than the champion leader’s effortless, physics defying gliding. He used the wind in bursts, boosting himself upward as though he was bouncing off the air.
Malcolm was all too aware of the danger of the seductive, confusing euphoria, part of the body load that came with abusing superpowers. The metal stabilizer around his wrist would help keep his mood significantly more mediated than otherwise, but he could still feel that familiar excited rush, even on top of being drunk.
“Savior!” shouted Malcolm. “Hold on!”
They were several hundred feet in the air already, high enough up for the wind to take on a harsh chill. Malcolm lost sight of Savior for a moment and hesitated in between upward bursts, spinning in a slow circle to try to catch sight of him.
“Surprise!” Savior slammed into him from above, both of them spinning as they hurtled toward the ground.
Malcolm screamed, both out of terror and exhilaration. He was twisted around and unable to see the ground beneath them, though he could feel their descent. Savior’s hand was clutching his wrist. Malcolm suddenly felt the strange, tingling sensation that he recognized as the signal that he’d absorbed a superpower using his power mimicry ability.
Wait… I just copied Savior’s powers?
The two of them landed in the middle of a grassy park. Savior stumbled and let go of Malcolm on impact, who tumbled head over heels and eventually came to a rest in front of a sleeping homeless man on a park bench. The homeless man blinked open his eyes, grumbled something, and then went back to sleep.
Malcolm slowly pulled himself up, standing on drunken feet. He flexed his hand, considering what had just happened, and what it meant. He looked at Savior. The leader of the Champion Authority was huddled next to a bush, vomiting onto the grass behind it.
“Time to call it a night,” said Malcolm.
CHAPTER 9
Malcolm woke up with the worst hangover of his life. He sat up in bed, groaning as his body announced its aches.
Savior was already awake, sitting on the couch, playing PS4 and muttering at the screen. Malcolm poured himself a glass of water and took stock of the ingredients in his meager kitchen.
Probably better if we just head to Tapestry’s and beg her to make us breakfast.
“It keeps telling me to press R1,” said Savior. “Is that the bottom button, or the top?”
“Top,” said Malcolm. “How are you feeling?”
Savior paused the game and looked over his shoulder at Malcolm, smiling and looking far less ragged than Malcolm felt.
“Fresh,” said Savior. “My powers keep me from suffering too much from the effects of alcohol.”
Malcolm frowned. His memories of the previous night were a blur, but he distinctly remembered having absorbed Savior’s abilities at some point. He flexed his hand, trying to feel for them. He could sense his wind manipulation, but there wasn’t anything new beyond that in his awareness.
“Alright,” said Malcolm. “Tapestry is going to be expecting us. She already called my phone last night, and again this morning. I can’t imagine she’ll be thrilled if we don’t show up soon.”
“Indeed,” said Savior. “Lead on, then.”
“Do you need a shower?” asked Malcolm. “Change of clothes? I’d like to get myself washed up, at least.”
“They’ll be time for that once I’ve explained what your mission is going to be,” said Savior.
Malcolm nodded, though he felt a little irritated by Savior’s dismissive tone.
“Sure,” he said. “Because what I want to do most after a night of insane drinking is to head into work without a shower or a change of clothes.”
“That’s the attitude!” said Savior, enthusiastically. “Come on, let’s get going.”
The two of them took the bus to Tapestry’s house. More than a few of the fellow passengers recognized Savior, and Malcolm was a little put off by all the attention they paid them. Savior took it in stride, speaking conversationally to the people closest to him and waving to people as they got on and off.
The scene inside Tapestry’s house was like the day before, with Melanie again glued to the PS4, Wax reading a book on the couch, and Tapestry in the kitchen, working on breakfast. She came out into the living room wearing an apron, smiling at Savior, and frowning at an obviously hungover Malcolm.
“What exactly did your night involve?” asked Tapestry. “I’m assuming you managed to get something out of it?”
A throbbing headache and mixed emotions.
“Of course!” said Savior. He looked at Malcolm and shrugged. “I had plenty of time to speak with the bartender while you were, well… doing whatever you were doing.”
“Is this relevant to the city’s current crisis, Savior?” asked Wax.
> The leader of the champions grinned, flashing two rows of perfect white teeth.
“Very much so,” said Savior. “Unfortunately, none of it relates to… finding Multi.”
Savior’s expression soured and he closed his eyes. Malcolm sensed that the two had been friends. Wax looked uncomfortable, but his expression didn’t reveal how he felt about the champion that was the original version of himself.
That’s weird to think about. Does Wax care about Multi, or vice versa, or do they just see each other as extensions of the same self?
“But, I did discover a few useful things,” continued Savior. “According to Scribe, the owner of the…ah… local monster neutrality zone, Rain Dancer has been recruiting.”
Malcolm frowned.
“That’s seriously bad news,” he said. “Rain Dancer means business. He hides behind the #monsterrights campaign like he’s all politically correct, but he’s really in it for power.”
“Indeed,” said Savior. “He’s set his eyes on a certain individual that the Champion Authority has been aware of for quite some time. A man by the name of Golden Joab.”
“I bet there’s a story behind that name,” said Malcolm.
“He’s a magician,” said Wax. “Performs in high class venues all around the world. But we know practically nothing about him, beyond the fact that he’s supposedly gifted. He rebuffs all of the Champion Authority’s attempts to make contact.”
“He’s not a demon or spryte?” asked Tapestry. “Then what would Rain Dancer want with him?”
Malcolm thought back to his time in Rain Dancer’s captivity, specifically how he and another younger champion had been tortured because they refused to join forces with Rain Dancer. The other champion had been tortured to death, murdered as Malcolm helplessly watched on.
“Rain Dancer likes to force people with gifts to turn into sprytes and demons,” said Malcolm. “That’s what his plan is here. I’m sure of it.”
Wind Runner: The Complete Collection Page 39
