The Muni ride back was quiet. The streetcar was mostly empty, but the brothers sat in the back corner, against the wall and facing the rest of the car. Frank took the seat on the aisle, between Joe and the other passengers. None looked threatening, but then, neither had Thatcher.
Frank couldn't take that chance. Not anymore.
The walk from the Muni stop back to the Center was peaceful, surrounded in green and trees, the Bay gleaming with sun-sparkles. Breathing in the fresh breeze, Frank stopped often to look out over the Bay and to give Joe a chance to rest — though Joe would never admit to needing it. Stubborn Little Brother didn't say anything, but Frank heard the stumble in walking rhythm and the sharp hiss of pain, saw Joe's hands clench around the crutch. Tiny signs, unnoticeable to most, maybe, but not for Frank.
Frank reached the Center's front door first, opened it for Joe to go ahead of him. The commons was empty, save for a few people arguing over a stack of books, a pile of colorful plastic polyhedrons, and graph paper with crude metal miniatures on it. Their table was piled with bags of chips and cans of soda, along with the remains of several pizzas.
Frank sighed: Dungeons and Dragons. Chet had gotten into the game as his hobby-of-the-week; he'd tried to get the brothers interested while Joe was still in casts. Maybe if Chet had been a decent storyteller, Frank would've been into it, but he and Joe were already dealing with the real thing.
"I dunno, Dave." The woman in the group shook her head. "It seems awfully complicated for the shelter."
"Hey, the new guys," one of the others said, a round-faced, middle-aged Hispanic man with an easy grin. He offered his hand. "Frank and Joe, right? Samuel Florés. That's Ruth, Matt, Dave. Don't worry if you don't remember. You're the only two we don't know, but there's a ton of faces for you to memorize."
Ruth looked a little older than Frank: Asian, long wavy black hair, wide dark eyes in a mischievous face. Dave, though, was a scowling teen, Black and chubby, thick glasses; he didn't look friendly at all. Aside from that, everyone looked…well…normal. None would stand out in a crowd, nor would Frank have given any of them a second glance — except for Ruth.
Matt pushed a chair out with his foot; he was a grizzled white man, washed-out eyes, thick muscled arms with obvious burn scars. "Pull up, guys. It must've been tough walking from the Muni stop on that crutch."
"Not too bad." Joe remained standing.
"We saw Jamie drooling over you last night, Joe." Ruth was grinning. "You'll want to watch out for her."
That got snorts around the table. "Aw, man, don't warn them," said Dave, sitting back in his chair with arms crossed and glowering at Frank and Joe.
"She was?" Joe said. "I mean…we do?"
"Okay, I'll bite," Frank said, smiling at Ruth. She definitely rated a second glance, and a third, and a fourth. Except for Dave, everyone seemed friendly enough. "Why?"
"Three words," Ruth said. "SFSU art student."
"Graduate student," added Samuel, "on a NEA grant."
"Someone to help me study," Joe said.
"She won't care about criminology, Joe," Frank said. "NEA's National Endowment for the Arts."
It earned him a dirty look; Frank met it with calm innocence. So Little Brother was smitten already?
"And if that doesn't clue you in, we're not saying anything more," Samuel said.
"C'mon, Sam," Matt said. "She's cool. She designed my tattoo, y'know."
"You've only told us a few hundred times," Samuel said.
"Tattoo?" Joe said.
Matt stood up, pulled his t-shirt up to display his back. Under the shirt, the man was as muscled and hairy as his arms, though with a beer-belly — but across his shoulders was an owl, wings spread in flight, each feather detailed in rich browns and creams. It looked ready to fly off Matt's back.
"Wow," Joe said. "I thought they only said 'Mom' with anchors."
"You're a sailor?" Frank said.
Matt pulled his shirt down. "Nah. Firefighter. Beam fell on me, few months back. Jamie designed that to cover the scarring."
"And he's been showing it off to anyone who looks even a little curious," Samuel said. "Jamie's other work, now…"
"Hey," Matt chucked a plastic die at Samuel, "no tellin' tales about our girl."
"Speak for yourself," Ruth said. "I want front row if they ask Rafe about the grapes."
"Rafe," Joe said. "You mean Karma's guitarist?"
"Yup," Ruth said. "Himself."
"You're trying to get them killed," Samuel said, grinning at the brothers.
"Small loss," said a male voice, from the upper landing.
Frank looked up. The speaker was a white man about Dad's age, crew-cut blonde hair, clean-shaven and hard-muscled in a Marines sweatshirt and loose-cut jeans. His gaze fixed on the Hardys, he paced down the stairs, one slow step at a time.
"So you're the new ones."
"Frank Hardy." Frank stepped in front of his brother. "My brother Joe…"
"I know who you are." At the bottom of the stairs, the man leaned back against the railing, arms crossed. "Don't bother being friendly."
"Nice to meet you, too," Joe said. "You must win all kinds of congeniality awards."
"Give 'em a chance, Harold," Ruth said. "Mar and Josh spoke for them. That's enough."
"It shouldn't be," the man said. "Or didn't those two tell you that their daddy's with the CIA?"
"No, he's not." Frank kept his voice level. "He's a private detective, out of Massachusetts."
"And you're clueless on top of it," Harold said. "Don't even know who your daddy really works for, do you, mundane? So how much have you told him already?"
"Like you're really encouraging them to keep their mouths shut," Samuel muttered.
"You're the ones sitting next to a Navy base," Joe snapped. "They should be looking at you if they're worried about the feds, not us."
Frank's jaw clenched: Joe and his mouth. But who Dad's clients were? Why did that matter?
…in case you start wondering who you really work for…
The man pushed away from the railing; he moved like a stalking panther. Frank held his ground, not moving from in front of Joe.
"You're questioning my loyalty?" The man stopped just out of casual reach. "You? The crippled gay-bait who wants to be a Blade?"
"Downs…" Matt said, behind them.
"He's not a cripple." Frank shifted his stance, balanced, ready.
"I should warn you," Joe said, behind him. "Frank's a black belt. A master of the martial arts."
The last time Joe had tried that bluff, they'd nearly been smeared all over a hotel room by a pair of thugs. But Frank held his gaze steady on the man.
A cold smile touched Harold Downs's face. "The baby mundane thinks he can stand against me. I'm waiting, boy. Your move."
The air was charged, tense. Mundane. Un-Gifted. Kris and Joshua had used the term, but until now, it hadn't sounded like an insult. Frank said nothing.
Not that it stopped Joe. "He's giving you a fair shot at running away."
"Really." Downs's gaze bored into Frank's face. "I guess you would know about running. They told us all about it. Left your brother behind while you ran. Ran like a coward and left him to die."
…I don't have time or inclination to deal with you idiots…
"Hey, big brothers." Kris, from the landing. She came down the stairs, nodded at Downs as she passed. "Hey, Harold. C'mon up, guys, I've been waiting for you. Shimá said she shoved you onto the Muni."
"She did. After Butterfly threatened to toss them out. I saw that fiasco this morning." Downs's gaze moved back to Joe. "How long are you going to last now, faggot?"
"You just went too far," Matt growled, with a scrape of chair against the floor.
"Stop it, Matt," Ruth said. "You know better. So do you, Harold. You took it too far three statements ago."
"My apologies. I should've said cripple." Downs's gaze stayed on Joe. "Or both."
"You always use kindergarten insults?" Frank said. Get it over with. Let it all end now. "Or don't you have the brains to use anything else?"
"It's all you narcs understand." Dave's smile wasn't pleasant. "Working for the man."
"I work for the man, too, Dave," Samuel said. "How 'bout using your brain for a change?"
"And I said enough," Ruth snapped. "All of you."
Kris was now between Downs and the brothers, facing Frank. "C'mon upstairs, big brothers. Don't say another word. Please."
"That's it," Downs said. "Hide behind the little girl."
Frank had started up the stairs, rounded, but Kris was right behind him, blocking him.
"Don't, Frank," Kris said. "Don't answer it. Just go upstairs. Please."
"You can't protect the babies forever, girl," Downs said.
"I'd rather hide behind her than you," Joe said.
"Joe," Kris said. "Don't. Just move."
Jaw clenched, Frank glared back at Downs. The man watched them, with just a hint of sneer.
"That's it," Downs said. "Run away again, boy. You and your crippled baby brother."
"Hey, Kris," Ruth said. Too calm. Too casual. "I heard Godzilla's doing sushi tonight. Any chance of us ingratiating ourselves into your company?"
"You people and bait," Matt muttered.
Kris shrugged. "Call Josh and ask. I don't know how much Godz planned for."
"You know him," Ruth said. Behind her, Samuel was now scowling at Frank and Joe; Ruth didn't look happy, either. "Better too much than not enough. You going to Wings?"
"After I introduce them to the joy of Boudin's, yeah," Kris said as she and the brothers hit the top of the stairs. "Go on, guys."
"You'd better answer us about this sushi business sooner or later," Joe rasped. "Before I bring out the water balloons."
"Breathe, big brother," Kris said quietly. "That crap below isn't worth your time. Go on back and let me trigger the silence before you explode, okay?"
She had a lot to answer for. Just what had everyone been told about New Orleans? Frank held his silence with effort; Joe limped through the archway, sank down onto the nearest chair, but Frank remained standing.
"Master of the martial arts?" he said mildly, to Joe. Frank would not blow up at his brother. Joe looked shaken enough.
"Sorry," Joe said. "It just slipped out."
Kris had shut the outer door, then leaned back against the wall, eyes closed.
Their tagalong, though, was another matter. "You know, I can defend myself," Frank said to her.
Her voice was shaky. "I know you can. That wasn't the problem."
"I'll fight my own battles. Me and Joe aren't helpless —"
"Big brother, I never thought —"
"— and we don't need a little tagalong interfering!"
That shut her up, staring in wide-eyed shock.
"So what did you tell everyone about New Orleans?" Frank said, seething. "I'm a coward and Joe's a cripple, is that it?"
"No! How you could even — I told the truth!"
"You did a real good job of it!"
"What," it made them all jump; Mar stood in her doorway, "is all the yelling about?"
"Ask him," Kris snapped. "He started it." She stormed through the patio doors before Mar could call her back.
"Okay," Mar said calmly. "Am I going to get some explanation as to why you're screaming like children? Or are you going to storm out of here, too?"
"I might as well." Frank didn't move, arms crossed. "You people don't want us here anyway."
"With everything I went through to get you here, I'm not eager to toss you back." Mar sat on the arm of the chair Joe was in. "Sit, please, my son. I want to hear why you're in such an uproar."
My son. Frank wanted to believe it. Couldn't, not after what had happened, not after two months of Dad and Aunt Gertrude. Just another emotional ploy. Just another attempt to get them to do what someone else wanted…
When Frank didn't answer and didn't move, Mar sighed. "Joe?"
Joe stared at his hands, the floor, anywhere but at Frank. Frank said nothing all through it, barely listening. Just what had everyone been told? Bad enough Joshua this morning, accusing Joe of playing helpless and threatening to toss them out. Getting it from Kris was too much, especially since Joe had been struggling to not be helpless, with Frank running interference and taking Dad's accusations in the teeth, helping Joe recover, getting them both away…
Silence. Frank looked up.
"Anything you want to add?" Mar said.
"Other than Kris treating us like babies, no," Frank said.
"Was she?"
Frank didn't answer. Even Mar had implied Joe was helpless, just this morning.
"There are folks here who aren't happy about you two," Mar said gently. "Mostly because of your father. His CIA connections scare them badly."
"He's not —" Joe started.
"He is. Hold off a moment, Joe, please. Our people want to live their lives, just like you. But the government — certain parts of it — doesn't see it like that. Our Gifts should be under their control and command. They get illegal about it. Very illegal, and very ruthless."
Mar's implications were obvious. Frank still stood silent, mouth tight, arms crossed. He wasn't liking this, not one bit.
"But Dad wouldn't," Joe said, with a glance at Frank. "He wouldn't do that."
"I know," Mar's gaze had settled on Joe. "Believe me, I know that even better than you do. But folks here don't know him as you or I do."
"Is that why you were in Bayport?" Frank said. "Spying on Dad?" Was this what Hammond had meant?
"You know better." Gentle reproof. "No. I was helping Boston Center get up and running, but I wanted a calmer place for Kris to grow up. That we ended up next door to you was coincidence."
Mar never lied; Frank knew that. Not once had he and Joe ever caught her in any lie, not even the standard lies given to children. Though that only meant they'd never caught her out. Frank shifted, trying not to show his unease.
"So here you are," Mar said, "with a father with those connections. Harold Downs is on Council. He leads those vocal, scared people who want nothing to do with you, who think that you're — at best — unwitting moles. Think what would've happened if you'd thrown a punch, Frank." Quieter, "Kris was protecting you, but not in the way you think."
"So we just stand there and take it," Frank said. "Let him say what he wants and say nothing. That's what you're saying. Just give in."
"I'm saying to pick your battles wisely. Let your calm head rule. You throw a punch, and Downs has what he wants — an excuse to have you tossed out. Why give him that power?"
"So you brought us here and dropped us in the middle of all that," Frank said, from clenched teeth. He didn't need it. Joe didn't need it.
"He's in the minority —"
"Yeah," Frank said. "Right."
"— and he will be dealt with," Mar finished. "Holding opinions is one thing. Bullying you as that is against our code. He knows that."
Which would provoke even more insults about running back to Mama. "I can take care of myself." Frank's tone was barely civil. "I don't need you interfering, either."
"Frank," Joe said.
"You're setting yourself up for a hard lesson, my son," Mar said, still calm, still quiet.
"Is that a threat?"
"Frank!"
"No." Mar's face was unreadable. "Only the truth. A truth that I'm afraid you're going to learn for yourself."