by E. C. Myers
Roman hopped down from the counter. “I don’t have time for this,” he said.
“Neither do we. The sooner we stop you, the sooner we can deposit our checks.” She zipped toward Roman. He fired at her three times as she zigzagged, only just missing her each time. Before he could correct for her speed and direction, she was leaping into the air and coming at him with a corkscrew kick. He sidestepped her, and as she landed, he hooked her right ankle with his cane.
He started to pull, but she lifted her leg and spun around on her left foot—pulling him instead. Roman went flying, but he twisted himself around and came down facing her, sliding backward a few steps.
Almost too late, he saw the other Huntsman charging toward him like a bull. Roman jumped aside. As Roch went by, he held up his weapon. It extended even longer and the claw on its end grabbed Roman’s right wrist in it like a vise. Roch stopped and braced himself, holding on to it and keeping Roman from lifting his cane.
Roman aimed his cane at the man and fired. The sudden flash of fireworks made the man drop his weapon and stagger backward, covering his eyes. The claw on the end loosened and Roman shook it off.
He turned and saw the Huntress aiming at him with her slingshot, a vial loaded.
“Nice toy,” Roman said.
She let loose and the vial flew toward Roman. He shot it easily and it shattered in front of him. Tiny crystals exploded from it and settled over his hands and coat.
He looked down at the red and green powder covering his hands. He tried to shake it off him, but it only stuck.
Then it started popping. He felt pinpricks of pain wherever the Dust crystals burst and dissipated. Another vial crashed and broke at his feet, and he found he couldn’t step back because his shoes were stuck fast to the floor.
Roman shot straight down and the flooring crumbled, releasing his shoes. He backed up slowly, as the two Huntsmen closed in on them.
“Sweet work, Kandi,” Roch said.
“Not bad yourself. It’s kind of refreshing to fight a bad guy instead of a Grimm for a change.”
Roman scanned the room. The civilians had moved to the other side of the room, clustered together watching the battle, some of them streaming it from their Scrolls. Cop cars were parked outside, officers standing around waiting for the Huntsmen to do their job for them. It was time for him to end this.
“You’re pretty good. Where’d you learn to fight?” Kandi asked.
“Mistral,” Roman said.
“Which combat school?”
“Self-study.” Roman narrowed his eyes, then he went for Roch, swinging his cane at him.
Roch blocked the swing with his metal staff, and swung the spiked end at Roman. The guy was strong, but consequently his style was somewhat clumsy. He counted on his strength to get the job done.
Roman knew how to use that against him.
Roman was faster and more nimble. He continued to parry and thrust, while slowly moving to put Roch between Roman and Kandi. So that when she fired another Dust vial at him, he was perfectly positioned. He aimed and fired at the vial—but he didn’t shoot a projectile, only a burst of compressed air from the tip of his cane, which redirected the vial at Roch. Just as he was swinging his staff.
His weapon made contact with the Dust vial, which broke and splattered a green, goo-like substance over him. He looked back at Kandi with both surprise and disappointment as the substance hardened into jagged crystals all over his body, immobilizing him.
As Kandi tended to her partner, Roman deployed the grappling hook on his cane. It latched onto the crossed bandolier; he began reeling her in like a fish.
Kandi reached behind her and tried to free herself as she was pulled toward Roman. Just before she reached him, she unfastened the bandolier and rolled free. Roman fell backward from the sudden shift in weight, but he had her Dust vials.
She faced him and held up her slingshot before her.
“What are you going to do with that?” Roman dangled the bandolier over his head. “I have your ammo.”
She squinted at him, and the belt in his hand began vibrating.
No, it was the glass vials that were vibrating. One of them, which held a yellow powder, cracked.
Roman studied Kandi. Her weapon wasn’t just a slingshot, he realized. It was made of some kind of metal; the shape of it reminded him of a tuning fork. And it was vibrating.
She was somehow using it to generate a high-frequency sound wave. A windowpane cracked. The yellow vial burst and when the Dust touched Roman’s hand, he felt first a spark, like a bad electric shock, and then arcs of lightning began to crackle across the grains.
Roman dropped the belt and kicked it away as more vials began popping. A red one burst, spraying small fireballs into the air. A blue one flash-froze the surface of the floor around it.
“This is weird,” Roman said.
He heard a high-pitched whine now, and the stained-glass window behind him shattered, sending a rainbow of deadly glass shards into the air.
And the Dust crystals holding Roch fast began to crack and crumble.
“Time to go,” Roman said.
He spun around and swooped up the bags of Lien. “Thanks,” he said to Fred. He used his grappling hook to propel himself up to the broken window at the back of the bank. No cop cars down on the street—yet.
He turned and doffed his hat to Kandi and Roch as police officers finally swarmed in and surrounded the two Huntsmen.
“My heroes,” he said. He jumped backward out of the window and to freedom.
Back in his apartment, Roman watched the Vale News Network on his brand-new seventy-inch TV while he ate the most delicious meal of takeout barbecue ribs he’d ever had.
The news anchor, Lisa Lavender, was calling the afternoon’s robbery of the First Bank of Vale “one of the most brazen displays of lawlessness” she’d ever witnessed in all her years of reporting.
“Stop, you’re making me blush.” He made a note to send Lisa some flowers, signed to his “biggest fan.”
“One of the biggest questions stumping police is: Who was that unmasked man? Though he made no attempt to hide his identity—even seeming to welcome the attention—he has no criminal record, in Vale or anywhere else in Remnant.
“However, we believe we have the name of Vale’s newest criminal.”
The video cut to Lisa interviewing one of the people who Roman had pickpocketed early that day.
“You reported earlier today that your wallet was missing, isn’t that right, Mr. Zhu?”
“I’m going to be on TV?” Zhu asked.
“We’ll see,” Lisa said. “You were pickpocketed and you found something … ?”
“Oh, that’s right. Instead of my wallet, I found this in my pocket.” He held up a black card with white lettering on it. The camera focused in on it while Lisa read it aloud.
“You’ve been robbed by Roman Torchwick.”
Video cut back to the studio.
“In fact, this ‘Roman Torchwick’ pickpocketed dozens of people in a path to the bank, leaving his calling card in place of their precious cash. Police are hoping to track his path to the bank from reports—”
“You don’t think I thought of that?” Roman shouted at the TV. “I thought of everything!”
“If it does, indeed, turn out that he is also responsible for the bank robbery, that raises some baffling questions as to his motive. Perhaps this Torchwick was more interested in people knowing his identity than he was in the money itself.”
Roman raised a glass to her. “Two birds with one stone, dear.”
“Meanwhile, the Huntsmen who were apprehended and initially charged with the robbery, Roch Szalt and Kandi Floss, are still being fined for destruction of public property and reckless endangerment. This isn’t the first time they’ve been reprimanded for using excessive force and gross misconduct. The Vale Huntsmen Guild reportedly is considering suspending their licenses.”
“Three birds!” Roman said.
“We spoke to a local expert on Huntsmen, Professor Ozpin, headmaster of Beacon Academy, about his take on their actions today.”
The TV showed a man with gray hair and dark spectacles seated in front of a large window looking out over the city of Vale. Roman looked out his own window toward the school’s campus on the edge of Beacon Cliff.
“We hold Huntsmen to a higher standard because they wield more power than most citizens, power which can be just as dangerous as it can be a force for good, if used maliciously or carelessly. I do believe Mr. Szalt and Ms. Floss operated with the best of intentions, and I hope they can learn from this experience and come out of it stronger. Accepting a license means accepting the sacred responsibility of protecting others—from anything that threatens their safety, whether by humans or Grimm.”
He turned to face the camera. “One more thing. Roman Torchwick—”
Roman almost choked on his drink.
“I assume that you are new to Vale. You got away today, but be assured, we will be watching you. And the next time you cross a Huntsman, things may not go as easily for you.”
The program cut back to Lavender. “Inspiring words from Professor Ozpin. Professor Lionheart, headmaster of Szalt and Floss’s former school, Haven Academy in Mistral, could not be reached for comment in time for this story. More on this developing story as we have it.”
The program cut to a shot of a stately mansion with a fire truck in front of it. “We now return live to the Vanille Estate, home of Vale city manager Jimmy—” Roman switched off the TV.
Well, things hadn’t gone quite as planned, but they had turned out even better than he expected. You couldn’t complain if you had a roof over your head and a full belly at the end of the day, and he had accomplished what he had set out to do: announce his presence in Vale, establish his intentions, and send a message to both local law enforcement and the crime syndicates. There was a new crook in town.
Roman looked around his empty apartment, and for the briefest of moments he missed his old crew. He missed Chameleon. Moments like this were meant to be shared, and Brick, Mortar, and Rusty would have been toasting him right now for making those Huntsmen look like fools and pulling off a massive crime in broad daylight, under the noses of the police.
Roman put down his empty glass and raised the bottle instead.
“Cheers to me,” he said.
Tomorrow, he would pick another bank and do it all over again.
“Welcome to your new home,” Mama said.
Trivia and her mother walked up a winding flagstone path toward a wide building that resembled a small, cozy castle. The most prominent features in its pink-granite facade were three tall, arched windows, reflecting the morning sun. A short, square tower with pinnacled corners rose above the center window; at its base was an arched entryway with LADY BROWNING’S PREPARATORY ACADEMY FOR GIRLS carved into it.
This will never be my home. Trivia wrinkled her nose. She turned around, calling Mama’s bluff. They just wanted to scare her into behaving better, being the daughter they wanted.
But Mama grabbed hold of Trivia’s sleeve and pulled her gently toward the entrance. Trivia shook her head frantically. I’m sorry! I’m sorry!
Her mother looked away.
Trivia snatched her arm back from her. I’m not sorry. You set a little fire in your house, and the next thing you know, your parents were sending you away. Well, maybe things wouldn’t be so bad here. This is what she had wanted, right? To be out and on her own? There were other girls here. Trivia would make friends.
A girl Trivia’s age met them at the entrance, holding open one of the red double doors. Her ghost-white face contrasted dramatically with the dark blue of her jacket. Trivia surveyed the rest of the uniform: white blouse, gold scarf and matching knee-length dress, black tights and high-heeled boots. The only jewelry she wore was a silver pin over her heart adorned with a triple spiral.
Trivia held up a hand and waved awkwardly. The other girl’s flat expression didn’t change, but her eyes dipped to take in Trivia and her princess pajamas, her only clothes that hadn’t burned in the fire. Mama had said there was no point in buying her a new outfit because the school would provide everything she needed.
The girl’s right eyebrow twitched, but she betrayed no emotion. She turned smartly on her heel and led them down a corridor lined with group photos of girls all wearing the same uniform, and the same expressionless faces. Former classes? Trivia figured. Looks like they know how to have a good time here.
The girl stopped in front of an elegant door, knocked once, and departed. As she passed, she murmured something under her breath so only Trivia could hear. It was so low, she wasn’t even certain she had heard anything, and it wasn’t until the door opened a moment later that Trivia realized the girl had said, “Good luck.”
Another uniformed girl, this one with tan skin and close-cropped black hair, opened the door. Trivia and her mother stepped into a combination office and parlor outfitted with extravagant furniture: knickknack tables, credenzas, a velvet reclining couch, a vintage love seat. Portraits and tapestries hung around the room, and an entire wall was decorated with framed photos of glamorous women with personal notes and autographs.
This office did remind Trivia of home, but not one of the rooms they used to welcome visitors. Some furniture was meant to be admired but never touched. Trivia noticed Mama appraising each piece, a twinkle of envy in her eyes.
From across the room, an older woman rose from her broad desk like a living monolith, every bit as imposing as the school itself. She was extraordinarily tall. Granted, everyone was taller than Trivia, but this woman was easily six feet, and thin. She reminded Trivia of runway models in the Vale fashion shows she used to watch.
The headmistress, too, wore the same jacket, blouse, and dress as the students Trivia had seen, but on her, the outfit was stunning. Smart, sexy, and a little dangerous. This was how it was meant to be worn. In comparison, the girls looked like they were dressing up in their mother’s wardrobe.
The woman glided across the room and clasped her hands together warmly. She was even more impressive up close. Her gray-blond hair was swept up in a beehive, only adding to her height. Her fair skin was dusted with gold powder that sparkled when she moved, and dark eyeliner exaggerated her wide, piercing lavender eyes. Bright red lipstick dared you to look away.
She made Trivia abruptly conscious of her unwashed, unkempt appearance and her ratty, soot-smudged pajamas.
“Welcome back, Carmel. It’s so good to see you, and to see you doing so well,” the woman said.
“The school hasn’t changed,” Mama said. “Neither have you.”
“I’m glad you haven’t forgotten your training.”
Trivia stared at her mother. She had attended this school? Trivia recalled that her mother had a gold spiral pin like the one on the students’ uniforms, but she only wore it on special occasions.
“You must be Trivia,” the tall woman said.
If I must, I must, Trivia thought.
Mama jostled Trivia with her elbow. Trivia shot her an annoyed look and then she curtsied, as sarcastically as she could manage.
“Oh my, that won’t do,” the woman said. “You have certainly come to the right place. And just at the right time, from the look of things.”
“Trivia, this is Lady Beatrix Browning.”
“My girls call me Lady Beat,” the woman said.
“Jimmy and I are so grateful that you could fit her into the school halfway through the year,” Mama said.
“Your generous donations over the years have benefited the girls so much,” Lady Beat said. She turned her attention back to Trivia. “Your mother tells me that you don’t like to talk.”
Trivia scrunched up her face. She shook her head, touched her mouth, and shrugged.
“Will that be a problem?” Mama asked.
“Oh no. In fact, quite the opposite. As you know, one of our core principles is that it is better to be s
een, not heard.” She winked at Trivia. “And often it’s better not to be seen at all.”
Trivia found herself smiling despite herself. Lady Beat was charming, she’d give her that.
“Well … good,” Mama said uncertainly. “What happens next?”
“Now you go and Trivia stays. She will be measured for her school uniform and while the girls prepare it for her, I will administer a short aptitude test to figure out what she’s good at, and where she fits in. Some girls are natural leaders, but others are better suited to following.” She considered Trivia. “They both have their place and their value.”
Lady Beat gestured to the girl by the door. “Please show Mrs. Vanille out.”
Mama studied Trivia for a moment, various emotions flitting across her face until she settled on tenderness. She wrapped her arms around Trivia. Trivia did not return the hug.
“I’ll call and write,” Mama said. “Try to be good here. I …”
Trivia waited, blinking back tears.
“I’ll miss you.”
Her mother brushed away imaginary tears and headed for the door.
Trivia drew in a deep breath.
“Welcome home, Ms. Vanille,” Lady Beat said.
When she said it, Trivia almost started to believe it.
Roman stepped out of his apartment building holding a white paper bag and his cane. He spotted the unmarked police car parked across the street and sauntered toward it. The cops inside watched as he approached the car, opened the back door, and slid in. He slammed the door shut and noted there were no handles on the inside.
“Good morning, gents,” Roman said.
“Uh,” said the driver.
“You’re Roman Torchwick?” said the other. “The guy who robbed the bank yesterday?”
“That’s right. You got me, boys.”
“Great.” The driver scratched his head. “So, I’m Dunn and this is Looney. We have some questions?”
“Yeah. Starting with: What’s in that bag?” Looney said.
“Almost forgot. This is for you.” Roman handed a bag forward. Looney flinched, but Dunn grabbed the bag.
