Chapter two
It was the top floor of a typical San Francisco terrace, halfway up the hill and therefore safe from the Tsunami. They flew in through the open window.
'Aren't you worried about looters?' Arthur asked.
'Looters should be worried about me.'
She stepped behind a painted dressing screen and he heard her let out a small sigh. He tightened his grip on the handle of the bag, noticing the four-poster bed and wondering what 'spending the afternoon' might mean. She stepped out from the other side of the dressing screen.
'Oh,' Arthur said.
Her hair fell in a sculpted wave down one shoulder, which was now exposed by the black satin evening gown she wore. Arthur's brain was caught between telling her how beautiful she looked and asking how she was able to change so fast. Super speed? He'd seen Clark change clothes in the blink of an eye.
'Mary?'
'Yes?'
'Are you… from… Krypton?'
She frowned. 'It was a dreadful shame what happened to that planet. Would you hand me my bag, please?' Mary held out a gloved hand. 'We'll have to find you something suitable to wear.'
'Are we going someplace fancy?' he asked. She smiled and removed a tape measure from the bag. 'Oh I'm six six,' he said.
'I like to be accurate. Foot here please.' He obeyed, holding the tab of the tape measure down with his bare toe so she could measure him. She rose up to meet his eyes, somehow the same height as him again. As she took the reading he trained his eyes on the diamond drop hanging from her earlobe so his eyes would not drift down to her decolletage. 'Aha,' she said, 'Arthur Curry, hates shoes, angry at himself.' She looked at him mildly. 'We'll have to do something about that.'
It was an oversimplification, but he supposed the feeling of guilt and grief that twisted in his chest when he was alone too long could be described as anger. That's why showing up to save people from his half-brother made him feel better. He wasn't doing it just to feel better, of course—
'Arthur.' He looked at her deep brown eyes again. 'You've fallen into a hole. You need some perspective.'
She took his hand and let him towards the dressing screen. Her fingers were as cool as mist. He studied the design painted on the screen - plump clouds tinged with pink above a dancing ocean. He blinked. It was one of those old oil paintings that looked as if it were moving. The clouds seemed to spiral and dilate like an iris. He blinked again, and the feeling of cool mist enveloped him. His foot left the hardwood floor and fell upon…
