Many thanks to BeaconHill and GlassGirlCeci for betareading.

Interlude 12a: Emma

Emma stared over at the two girls as they lingered on the edge of the boardwalk. She'd first caught sight of them as they left the restaurant, and from the moment she saw them she had been transfixed.

"That's her, isn't it?" Janice murmured in her ear, urgency making her voice rough. "That's Annatar! With the curly hair, right?"

Emma nodded slowly, her eyes still fixed on the girls across the street.

"And the ni— um, the black girl with her," Janice said, eyes darting around to see if anyone in the crowd heard her slip. "Don't tell me that's Shadow Stalker?"

Emma swallowed and nodded again. They were moving now, walking away from the edge of the platform, turning to walk down the street. They weren't hand in hand, but it wouldn't have looked amiss if they were.

And it was still there. As it always had been. That awful vision of a dark tower over a plain of ash. When she looked at Annatar, she couldn't help but see it. It overpowered her senses, every bit as terrible as the first time she had seen it.

But as the monster stood there, her arm almost brushing Sophia's as they looked out over the water together, Emma couldn't help but notice that it wasn't the only thing she saw. It had been the same when Annatar had stood between her and the monster cape less than two days ago—the image was still there, but it wasn't at the bottom anymore, and it was tangled up in a web Emma hadn't had time to dissect.

"We need to report this in," Janice said. "Come on, Emma." A pause. "Are you okay? Did she do something to you?"

Emma shook her head quickly. "No, nothing. I'm fine. Let's go."

They gathered up what was left of their concession-stand food and headed for the bus stop. Once they were on the bus, Janice spoke again in a low voice.

"We saw Shadow Stalker working with Annatar in the fight yesterday morning," she said. "I thought that was just a temporary alliance. If she's back with them, even as a civilian… does that mean Annatar's won?"

"I'm not sure," Emma mumbled. Sophia hadn't looked beaten. Sure, it was hard to tell. The influence of Annatar's Rings was there, and it was hard to distinguish that from a master effect. But if anything, that strange black-box of feelings and instincts seemed to have become less pronounced than it had been when Emma had last seen her erstwhile friend. There was a loyalty, a thread of devotion to Tayl—to Annatar, Emma corrected herself, Sophia was wrong—which remained, but it wasn't paired with the Ring on her finger anymore, nor with the image of Annatar's face as she slipped it onto Sophia's finger.

The image, the memory behind that loyalty was different now. And Emma didn't know what to make of it. Nor did she know what to make of the words which echoed in Sophia's head every time she thought about the girl beside her.

I forgive you.

It wasn't the words. It was the certainty, so profound that even Emma couldn't question it, that they were sincere.

"Emma?" Janice's voice, along with the hand on her shoulder, shook Emma from her thoughts.

She blinked over at her friend, at the ball of contradictions, of the simultaneous understanding that all human life had value and the grateful acceptance of a group she could consider 'acceptable targets.' "Sorry, what?"

"I asked if there was any other explanation," Janice said. "I mean, of Shadow Stalker hanging out with Annatar again. You said Annatar couldn't change, right? So it must have been Shadow Stalker."

Emma opened her mouth, but there seemed to be something lodged in her throat. She closed it, swallowed, and tried again. "Yeah," she said at last. "I guess so." She licked her lips. "It's kind of a shame."

Janice nodded grimly. "Guess this means it's just us against the city, now," she said. "Unless… if Armsmaster is still working against Annatar, he may be more willing to listen now."

"Maybe," Emma said, turning and staring out the window.

I forgive you.

It had to be a lie, right? Annatar was the best liar. She could retain her composure through anything. She could be anything from a sympathetic friend to a hard-hearted leader, depending on what the situation called for. Surely she could fake the scratchy, still half-sobbing voice Emma had heard? Surely the tears staining her face, in the back of that PRT van, had to be false?

So what if, far above that plain of ash and tower of black adamant, Taylor's primary motivation on the boardwalk had been affection for Sophia? Monsters could still care about things—it didn't make her not a monster. It didn't mean Emma didn't still have to stop her.

So what if the tower was in a different place in her head, now? So what if it was no longer bubbling beneath the surface, but instead clear and in the open, where Taylor—Annatar—could keep a careful watch over it? That just meant it was even closer, now, that dark future Annatar was always striving for.

Emma rubbed at her dry eyes with her fingers. Janice put an arm around her shoulders. "God, your powers must suck," she said sympathetically. "I'm so sorry you had to see… whatever you just saw."

"Yeah. Thanks." Emma tried to lean into that sympathy, tried to drown in the hatred of the image, in the sense of violation whenever other people's feelings pressed themselves upon her senses. And yet, even that didn't work as well as it once had, not when the memory of the balloon of warmth in Sophia's chest kept threatening to spill over into her.

Emma shuddered. "I need a shower," she muttered.

"We'll report in and then you can go home," Janice said. "And don't worry. Annatar's strong, but we've been through this kind of thing before. We'll get through this too."

Emma swallowed. "You think?"

"Yeah." Janice squeezed her reassuringly. "They haven't gotten us yet, have they? No one's putting me back in the clink."

Emma startled at the knock on her door. "Come in!"

Anne opened the door with a creak. "Hey, Emma," she said. "Can I come in?"

Emma nodded, so her sister slipped inside and shut the door. "What's going on, Anne?"

Anne bit her lip, then sighed. "I need to talk to you."

She's heard something from school. She wants to leave.

"The fourth three-week summer session at NYU starts in a couple weeks," she said. "And—and I just got an email from a professor of mine. He wants me to TA for him."

Emma nodded. "Okay. When do you leave?"

Anne blinked. "Hold on a second!" she protested. "It's not that simple!"

"Why not?" Emma turned and looked out the window. "You've got an NYU professor who wants you to be his TA. You've got opportunities. I know you don't like it here—you were going to get a summer job in Manhattan before Leviathan, and before I had my… breakdown."

Run along, Emma The words echoed in her head. Rule your little kingdom.

Anne's arm slipped around her shoulders. "I'm here for you," she said gently. "You know that, don't you? I'm here because you're hurting, and I want to help."

Emma swallowed. "I know."

"Well, you still are. And you still haven't talked to me about it. Emma, please. I'll feel terrible if I leave without even knowing if I've helped."

Emma clenched her fists. "You can't help me," she said roughly.

"Not if you don't talk to me."

"I can't talk to you! You don't understand!" Emma roughly pulled away from her sister, glaring at her. "You don't—I can't talk about this stuff! It's—"

"—Secret," Anne finished for her. "Look, Emma, I don't care which villain team you've gotten mixed up in or what your powers are. I don't want to know. I just want to know what's still hurting, so I can try to help."

Emma's mouth fell open. Suddenly, her mind was awash with Anne's memories. A white house, practically a manor—a smiling man in a suit, a woman on his arm—a tearful plea from a friend—a sad shake of his head… the bridge, the river, and the corpse—the suicide note… And at the end, Anne staring at the wealthy lawyer's house, the man who had pushed her friend to suicide, and the words whited sepulchre echoing over and over in her head.

"You're a cape," Emma said. Her voice felt thick, like her mouth was full of cotton. How did I not know? How did I miss this!?

"So are you," Anne countered, raising an eyebrow. Then she smiled. "Brigandine, of the New York Paladins, at your service."

Emma stared at her sister, blinking rapidly. The world seemed to be shifting on its axis beneath her feet. I didn't know… because I never cared. I never looked deep enough at Anne to find out. How could I have been so blind? "What—what's your power?"

Anne reached out and touched Emma's arm. Her skin went numb, and a hard, almost metallic sheen spread from the point of contact, reaching out a few inches. "I can protect people from harm," she said. "Like armor. It's more complicated than that—powers always are—but that's the gist of it." She considered Emma for a moment. "If you want to tell me about yours, or which team you're from, you can," she said gently. "But—you don't have to. I just want you to know that I do understand, at least some of it."

In the back of Anne's mind, their father's voice, tinny over the telephone, was echoing. Your sister's had a psychotic break. I know your finals are soon, but she'd love it if you came home for the summer.

The New York Paladins. Emma had heard of them offhand among the Empire capes. They were a hero team. The Empire didn't have a New York branch, but the occasional operation in the city was often countered by the Paladins, if Legend's Protectorate didn't get there first.

Emma swallowed and looked out the window. "I…" she shook her head. "You'll hate me."

"I won't," Anne promised.

"I joined the Empire."

There was a silence. "That... is a surprise," said Anne quietly. "Wasn't your best friend black? Sophia, or something?"

"She's the reason I—I triggered."

"Oh." Anne audibly swallowed. "And that's—"

"That's not why," said Emma quickly. "It's not—I don't know. It wasn't about ideology."

"Then why?"

"Annatar."

At the sharp intake of breath, Emma turned around—and was immediately assaulted by the image of a warrior in silver armor, charging alone at a hulking monstrosity. "What about her?" asked Anne blankly.

But Emma was distracted now. "You were here?" she asked, aghast. "You—you came to the Leviathan fight?"

Anne blinked. "Of course I did, but how did you…" Her eyes cleared. "Oh, you have a thinker power."

"Why didn't you tell me you were here? You could have died!"

"I didn't," Anne said firmly. "And, honestly? I think Annatar's a big reason why. So tell me—how did Annatar make you join the Empire?"

Emma gritted her teeth. "She's a monster," she said flatly. "She's basically mastered the Protectorate at this point with her Rings. She turned Sophia against me. I've seen into her head, Anne—there's a horrible image, a kingdom of dust, and it's behind everything she does. Everything is because of that image, that idea. She's going to burn the whole world down."

Anne was frowning at her. "That… doesn't sound like Annatar," she said slowly. "Even in light of the past month. And what's this about Sophia?"

So Emma told her—told her about Sophia being Shadow Stalker, about the Ring Annatar had given her, about the transformation of her friend into a slavishly devoted minion. "And then, even when Annatar went crazy, she wouldn't work with me! She had this idea about saving her!"

Anne was sitting on Emma's bed at this point, considering her. "Is it possible Annatar doesn't know her powers can control people?" she asked. "Powers are weird, and there's no instruction manual. You know that."

"Oh, she knows," Emma growled. "Sophia barely got away from her when she first lost her mind. "What she's doing back with her now… Annatar must have got to her. She must have!"

Anne's frown was only deepening. "I didn't talk to Annatar during the fight against Leviathan," she said. "But from what I saw then, she seemed heroic. I don't know how much you've heard about the details of that fight, but she charged Leviathan alone. She and the other Brockton Bay Wards held him back from the field hospital on their own. That doesn't strike me as very evil-overlord-y. She could've died at least three times during that fight."

"It's an act!" Emma said despairingly. "You haven't seen it—the thing in her head! It's a black tower over a valley of ash. Nothing grows there, only twisted, ruined things that used to be plants, animals, and people. And at the top of the tower—a huge, red eye, glaring out like fire, watching, watching everything. That image, that idea, of ruling over a pile of ash and watching everything that happens in it—that's always at the back of her head. Always. Everything she does has that at the back of it. I've never not seen it there!"

"I believe you," said Anne, holding up her hands. "But—Emma, are you sure she wants it?"

"It's there—"

"Yes, but what if she's trying to prevent it?"

Emma stared at her sister. She remembered the image of the tower over the ash, enshrined in Taylor's brain, always under scrutiny. A reminder—but of what?

"It's personal, isn't it?" Anne said gently. "On some level, at least. Is this about Sophia?"

Emma swallowed. "I…"

I wish I had a change to apologize—

Liar. I can see you lying, you know. Even when you're lying to yourself.

"I don't know," Emma admitted. She had to force the words out."

"Who is she? Annatar? Do you know?"

Emma swallowed. "She's—she was—Taylor."

Anne's eyes widened. "Your friend from elementary school?"

Emma nodded. Then she looked down.

Anne considered her, then sighed. "I'm not a thinker," she said. "But—Emma, it sounds to me like you're doing things you know you'll regret."

"Annatar has to be stopped—"

"Do you know that?" Anne asked.

Emma's mouth worked. Anne sighed again.

"I'm not going to tell anyone about you, I promise," she said. "You're my sister. I love you. But—you can do better than the Empire, Emma. You are better than the Empire. I don't know about all this stuff with Annatar, or whether or not she's evil. I definitely don't agree with everything she's been doing for the past month, but she doesn't seem like she wants to burn the city down either. She seems like she wants to stop crime. And yeah, she's going too far. But if she were really what you think she is, I feel like she'd have gone a lot farther."

"She was taking her time," Emma protested. "Letting people settle into one status quo before changing it."

"Maybe," Anne allowed. "I don't know. You're the thinker. Just… be careful, please, Emma. I don't want to lose you. You're all I have left in this town." Her face darkened slightly.

Emma considered turning the conversation on her sister by asking, 'what about Mom and Dad?' just to push Anne away, but, really, all she wanted was to go to bed. "I'll be careful."

Anne nodded and stood up. "Sleep on it," she advised. "That's what I always do. I don't have to leave until this weekend anyway."

Emma nodded. "Okay. I'll—I'll see you tomorrow."

Anne nodded with a tense, sad little smile and left her room.

Emma stared at the door for a moment. Then she stared back out the window at the sparkling Brockton night.

I forgive you.

Taylor, Emma thought furiously, she shoved you into a locker, she made you trigger, she might have killed you, she made your life hell for almost two years. Then, even after you'd given her a Ring to control and shape her, she betrayed you, and worked to bring down your regime for a month. How the fuck can you forgive her?

She shook her head vigorously, throwing herself into bed, trying in vain to forget the nearly-identical pockets of warmth in the chests of the two girls she'd once called friends, trying to forget the wary way Taylor had tiptoed around the very image Emma feared, trying not to hear her own voice in her head, whispering traitorously And can you forgive me, too?

Taylor is dead, she told herself firmly. It's too late for forgiveness or redemption! All I can do now is try to protect everyone else from my mistake. I have to stop Annatar.

(But what if she's trying to prevent it?)

Emma sat up. She stared at her closet. She hadn't turned off the light, and in the yellow electric glow, the mirror on the door reflected a slightly jaundiced-looking girl, whose tangled red hair hung limp around her face.

She swallowed, staring into her own eyes.

Emma could get the measure of a person as soon as looking at them. She could take apart a stranger's motivations as easily as parting her hair in the morning. She could do it in person, through a television screen-even photographs could sometimes give her flashes of insight. But there was no mirror in the world that could give her a clear enough picture of herself to turn that insight into introspection.

There was no shortcut. But in spite of her powers, Emma had missed that her own sister was a cape. What else had she missed? It wasn't the powers that were flawed. It was the person wielding them—the one person Emma had never been able to understand. And it was starting to look like she had to try.

You are better than the Empire.

Am I, Anne? Brigandine?

It was an uncertain sleep which claimed Emma, much later that night.