Wyvern


Part Nineteen: The Dreaded Slaughterhouse Arc (1) – Our Day in Court


[A/N 1: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

[A/N 2: I am not an expert on law courts. Please let me know of any glaring errors.]


Jacob


"Okay, just so you know, we're going to be doing things slightly differently this time."

Jack Slash did like the sound of his own voice; but that was fine, because he was an excellent speaker. He knew it, and so did everyone else. The Nine practically hung on his every word.

"Is this 'cos of the dragon, Mr. Jack?"

That was Bonesaw, his favourite little poppet. Since he'd taken her under his wing, she'd blossomed into quite the murder-munchkin. In another seven or eight years, he predicted, she'd be stealing hearts (as well as livers, kidneys and other sundry vital organs) right across the country.

"It is indeed because of the dragon," he confirmed, beaming at her. "Having done some research into her, I have concluded that she would be an extremely valuable addition to the team. Of course, she's very much into the hero schtick right now, which means she's going to have to be taught that heroes rarely win around us."

"So what does that actually mean?" asked Shatterbird. "Bait her into a fight and just when she thinks she's about to win, I scream and devastate the city anyway?"

Jack restrained the urge to sigh and rub his forehead with finger and thumb. Shatterbird was so fixated on using her power for mass slaughter that she had trouble thinking any other way. And while he had no real problem with creating a large body count, he preferred that it be artistic.

Anyone could murder hundreds, after all. It really wasn't very hard. But to do it in such a way people could see the point in it, even when they didn't want to? That was what he called a win.

"Yes, you will be screaming and devastating the city," he said. "Just not … immediately. We will give them time to wonder, to worry. Is it really the Nine, or perhaps just a hoax? And while they are wondering, we will be taking their newest and brightest, and forging her into a weapon against them."

"And what about the rest of us?" asked Burnscar, forming an image of a flying dragon over her palm. "While you're doing that, do we just stand back and award points for style?"

"Hardly." Jack looked at each member of the group in turn. "We're down to seven members, thanks to Cherish murdering both Hatchet Face and Mannequin for a place in our ranks after we'd already lost Winter. Wyvern is my pick for a new member. Once I've either got her under my thumb or disposed of, you may each approach your chosen recruits. But, and I mean this, only after you've helped me bring Wyvern around."

Cherish pouted, probably because he'd singled her out. "I keep telling you, Hatchet Face was planning to come after me … oh, just forget it. So how are we supposed to help you?"

Wasn't it obvious? He supposed it wasn't. "We'll take hostages to keep her honest. Basically, her friends and family. You will each engage her, and take her down to the point where you could have killed her, maybe even injuring her a little, then I will step in and give her a reprieve. From what I've seen, she regenerates damage between Changes, so you'll be able to tag-team her more or less nonstop. And then you, Cherish, will finish her off—so to speak—by inducing crushing despair, alleviated by me coming to the rescue once more."

"By which time she should basically be eating out of your hand." Shatterbird raised her eyebrows. "And then the Prisoner's Dilemma?"

"Precisely." Jack enjoyed it when they figured out his plans. It showed they were paying attention. "Once it's been established that she can't beat us, and she'll die if she tries …"

"You give her a choice," Crawler said. "Her, or the hostages."

"Of course." Jack grinned. "She'll choose to live, of course. They always do. And with her background? Once she murders the people nearest and dearest to her, she'll be mine, whether she knows it or not. Afterward, poppet, you can ride her dragon-form all you like while she scours the streets free of heroes."

"Yay!" Bonesaw clapped her hands with glee. "I can't wait!"

Jack ruffled her hair fondly. Even if she hadn't said anything, he probably would've taken the Nine to Brockton Bay eventually anyway. A potential recruit like Wyvern was too promising to just let go by the wayside.


Taylor
Two Weeks Later


"Emma, your father has boasted about how he can make or break a divorce case on recordings that were taken without the other partner's knowledge. So, don't tell me about breaking the law. Now, as I said, I'm going to the cafeteria. You can follow along if you like, but whatever you say to me will be recorded."

Listening to my recorded voice was always weird. Dad had warned me from the beginning; only those who did that sort of thing for a living were used to it. It didn't seem anyone else in the courtroom had a problem with recognising my voice, though.

"Illegal recording is a felony." Emma's voice came across the speakers loud and clear. "If Taylor's committing a felony, we can perform a citizen's arrest and confiscate it."

The judge raised his hand. "Stop the playback."

Obediently, the sound technician clicked the mouse on his computer, and the Decoy recording ceased.

Turning to look at where Emma, her dad and their lawyer sat—Mr. Barnes had at least been smart enough to hire a lawyer, just like Dad had—the judge frowned slightly. "Mr. Barnes, your specialty in law is divorce cases, I believe. Is that so?"

I was pretty sure I knew where this was going, and so did Mr. Barnes. I also figured I was going to enjoy it more than he did. He cleared his throat. "Yes, your honour. It is."

The judge nodded. "In your understanding, when a recording is made in this state, in a place where there is no expectation of privacy, when all parties have been made aware of the situation, is it illegal? Refresh my memory of that aspect of law, if you will."

There was only one applicable answer. "It is legal, your honour."

"Thank you. Now, given that Ms. Hebert was carrying around this monstrosity," the judge picked up the Decoy and showed it to Mr. Barnes, then put it back on his desk, "and was verbally informing everyone within earshot that they were being recorded, was she fulfilling the expectations of the law?"

I could almost swear I heard Mr. Barnes grinding his teeth together. Or perhaps it was Emma, sitting beside him. The one person it would not have been was Madison, who was sitting with her parents away from the other two; she'd withdrawn so far into herself that she was damn hear invisible. Though I was pretty sure it wasn't Sophia either, mainly because she was still confined to a hospital bed with a video link to a screen currently being maintained by a PRT officer wearing a police uniform. He was under orders to ensure she saw and heard everything, but only let her direct queries through the lawyer that Alan Barnes had retained.

For some reason, I'd thought the revelation of Sophia being a Ward would've put her out of reach of ordinary law enforcement. But to my surprise and delight, the decision had been made to try her for her civilian crimes in her civilian identity and for her cape crimes in her cape identity. No matter which way things went, once she got out of the hospital, she was headed for the iron bar hotel.

I didn't want to gloat. Gloating was something Emma and her friends did, so I really didn't want to do it.

But it was very tempting to give in and do it anyway.

"Yes, your honour." The answer may as well have been dragged out of Mr. Barnes, though they would've needed a decently powered winch and a high-tensile cable to do it.

"Hmm. So you would agree with me that Ms. Hebert was not actually committing a felony or any other type of crime by carrying that device, and that your daughter was entirely mistaken in saying she was?"

"Yes, your honour. That is correct." That one sounded like he'd had to cough up a vital organ as part of his admission.

"Thank you. We are in agreement that Ms. Hebert had not committed a crime, despite your daughter's misapprehension in this matter. Continue the playback."

The sound tech clicked his mouse again.

"No, it's—" My recorded voice was cut off by a grunt of pain, followed by a brief scuffle.

"Stop the playback." This time, the judge turned to me. "Ms. Hebert, what happened to cause the sounds we just heard on the tape?"

"Sophia Hess punched me in the stomach, your honour," I said clearly. "And then all three of them wrestled the Decoy away from me. Emma Barnes and Madison Clements held my arms while Sophia pulled on it. Uh, your honour."

I saw Emma open her mouth to make her habitual claim, probably something along the lines of, "She's lying," but her father grabbed her arm and shut her up before she could speak, then turned and whispered to his lawyer, a Mr. Richardson.

"Your honour," Richardson said. "May I make an observation?"

The judge turned to him. "The counsel for the defense may address the court."

Mr. Richardson took a deep breath. "We're listening to an audio file. Those sounds could mean anything."

"Counsel, have you or your clients ever done any boxing?" The judge's voice was calm and measured.

The lawyer blinked, then looked at Mr. Barnes and Mr. Clements. Both of them shook their heads. "Uh, no, your honour."

"Well, I have." The judge squared his shoulders. "In my youth, I went into the ring a few times. I know the sound of someone taking a body blow. Continue playback."

"What's that, Taylor? Can't think of what to say? Oh, well, you're a boring conversationalist anyway." It was Emma's voice again. I remembered the pain as her nails dug into my wrists. Those photos had already been entered into evidence, so I said nothing. There was a thud over the speakers—I'd been pushed against the wall—then Emma spoke. "You deserve to lose this. You deserve to lose everything."

Laughter sounded out of the speakers, along with their footsteps in the echoing corridor. I'd heard this all before—Carol Dallon had played it back for me and Dad—but I was good with listening to it anew.

"Is it just me, or is Hebert just too fucking stupid for words?" That was Sophia. "I mean, what did she think was gonna happen? We were just gonna stand around like stuffed dummies when she waved this stupid fucking tape recorder at us like a magic fucking wand?"

"Yeah, well, first things first," said Emma briskly. "Let's turn it off so we can listen to what it's recorded already, then record over that. My dad always says if there's not a recording of it, it never happened."

Mr. Barnes twitched. It couldn't be a good feeling to be the subject of this much pure irony.

"Sure, okay." Madison also twitched when her voice came on. There was a repeated clicking noise. "Oh, come on. I'm hitting the stop button, but the tape's still rolling."

"Here, give it to me." Sophia's voice was impatient. "You're probably doing it all wrong." More clicking noises ensued. "Oh, what the fuck?"

"Told you." Madison sounded quietly pleased.

"Jesus fuck, Hebert must've bought the shittiest tape recorder in the whole fucking world." From her tone, Sophia was not in the slightest bit happy. "It won't stop, it won't rewind, it won't eject, it won't fast-forward, it won't play, it won't do a fucking thing. Except record."

"That's if it is recording." Madison's voice was vaguely optimistic.

"Always assume there's a recording. Dad says that, too." Emma sounded pessimistic enough for the both of them. "Okay, we've got to figure out a way to stop this thing running and pop it open to get that tape out."

"Bathroom," suggested Madison. "Run water over it. Once the water gets inside, it'll short circuit and stop recording. Then we can lever it open at our leisure."

"Yeah, good idea." Sophia's tone was more upbeat now they had a plan. "Third floor. Nobody goes there."

Well, I had gone there more than once to sit in privacy and eat my lunch, but they didn't have to know that.

They didn't speak for a few moments, then as they were climbing the stairs, Sophia spoke up again. "Hey, Ems, is it just me or does that disgusting little queef Hebert just not know how to take a hint?"

Emma's reply was slower than normal, probably more due to the stair climbing than the question itself. "I'm actually surprised she came back to school at all after the locker thing. So yeah, I guess. What's on your mind?"

Sophia's tone was vicious. "I'm thinking she needs a real lesson in life. Tommy and Joe and a couple of the other guys have been making noises about asking me out. What if I gave 'em a roll of duct tape after school and told 'em whoever brought me the most impressive pictures of Hebert could ask me out?"

"Uh—" began Madison, between panting breaths. It seemed she didn't have much cardio under her belt.

"That's—" Emma said, almost at the same time, then stopped. "Mads, what's on your mind?"

Madison's tone was almost apologetic. "I'm all for putting Hebert in her place, don't think I'm not. But a bunch of guys chasing someone like her down after school, with nobody there to tell 'em not to go too far? Guys, she could get seriously hurt." She stopped talking to catch her breath.

Somebody made a rude noise; it turned out to be Sophia. I could almost hear her rolling her eyes. "Oh, for fuck's sake, Madison. Don't be a whiny little bitch all your life. What happens to Hebert happens because she was too fuck-stupid to get out of the way and go back where she belongs, crawling in the fucking dirt."

"Yeah, yeah, sorry." Now Madison sounded actually apologetic. "Forget I said anything. Fuck her."

"Damn right. Ems, you had something to say?"

"Well, not that, that's for damn sure." Emma chuckled. "No, I just wanted to say to be careful about exactly what you say to these guys. If they get caught—"

"They're track team, Ems," Sophia interrupted. "Even if they get caught, who's gonna say a damn word? Slap on the wrist at worst, and out of detention by the time the next track meet comes around."

"No, this is to protect us," Emma insisted. "I mean, sure, go ahead with it. I'd love to see those photos. But I can help you word it so if they tell anyone else what you said, it doesn't come across as you specifically asking them to chase Taylor down with duct tape. Dad says that's how guys like Al Capone got away with most of their shit. Saying 'It would be great if' rather than 'I want you to go and do this'. Get the idea?"

This time, I didn't miss the poisonous glare Alan Barnes shot at Emma, or the way she wilted under it.

"Yeah, I'll think about it." Sophia didn't sound as though she would. There came the noise of a door being opened. "Here, hide the fuckin' thing. Okay, everyone in here, fuck off. Yeah, you and you too. Get the fuck out."

There were a few voiced protests, but none too loud; nobody, it seemed, wanted to mess with Sophia and Emma. We all listened to the footsteps exiting the echoing bathroom, then there was the distinct sound of a faucet being turned on and water running.

"Okay," said Madison. "Hold it under here." A moment later, the sound of running water overwhelmed everything else.

"Stop the playback," ordered the judge. But instead of unleashing more comments toward Emma or Sophia, he turned to our side of the courtroom. "Mrs. Dallon."

"Yes, your honour?" Carol Dallon was every inch the professional lawyer.

"I was led to understand that the accused had dye on their hands which showed up under ultraviolet light, as did this device itself. Yet they ran water over it. Wouldn't that have washed it off?"

Mrs. Dallon smiled. "No, your honour. I used an oil-based dye. It requires soap, water and a certain amount of scrubbing to remove."

"I see." The judge turned to the sound tech. "Continue playback."

The water continued gurgling in the foreground, while I could hear the buttons clicking again. I got the impression they were trying to make the water get into the mechanism that way. Eventually, they turned the faucet off.

"Fuck!" snapped Sophia. "Jesus fucking Christ on a Tinkertech pogo stick! What does it take to stop this fucking thing recording? Stand back."

BANG

"Whoa, watch where you're swinging that thing!" Emma yelped.

BANG

BANG

BANG

BANG

Each impact echoed through the courtroom. I looked up at the Decoy, sitting on the judge's desk, with new respect. From the sound of it, Sophia had been smashing it into either the wall or the wash-basin bench with all her strength. The heavy plastic was chipped here and there, but that was all.

The bell signalling the commencement of next class was clearly audible over the echoes in the bathroom. There was a pause in the banging, then Sophia swore. "Motherfucker! It's still fuckin' recording!"

"We've got to get to class," Emma reminded her.

"Well, we can't just leave this lying anywhere. Someone might find it and give it back to Hebert." Sophia's tone was scornful.

"Here, scrape the stickers off with this." That was Madison. There was a distinct click.

"Wow, Mads, that's a nice knife. Where'd you get it from?" That was Sophia.

Madison sounded embarrassed. "Picked it up after a gang fight. Kept it."

There was the sound of hurried scraping, then Emma spoke up. "It's not working. It'll take too long to get them all off. We've got to go now."

"Where are we going to put it where nobody'll find it?" asked Madison nervously.

"Don't worry about it," Sophia replied in a confident tone. "I got a place nobody would ever look."

The recording ended, and the sound tech looked up. "That's all I've got."

The judge nodded in acknowledgement. "I believe that is plenty for the moment. I've already viewed the statements from the police department indicating that they found this device stashed in a hole in the wall behind Ms. Hess' locker, and this recording neatly ties a bow on that." He turned to our lawyer, a Ms. Castle. "Does the counsel for the prosecution have anything else to say about this matter at this time?"

"Two things, your honour." Ms. Castle stood up. She had more self-control than I ever did. Personally, I would've been beaming all over her face at how thoroughly the other girls had sunk themselves by talking in front of the Decoy, but her mien was strictly by the book. "I have no doubt you will have taken note of the repeated indications of depraved indifference to my client's well-being as expressed in the conversation between the accused girls, as well as their explicit attempts to destroy this very evidence."

The judge's voice was grave and measured in return. "I have indeed taken note of those things, but thank you for doing your duty and pointing them out to me." He then turned his head to address the lawyer Alan Barnes had retained. "Does the counsel for the defense have anything to add to this matter before I adjourn court for the day?"

Mr. Richardson didn't look thrilled at being put on the spot like that, especially after the damning recording he'd been listening to. What went through the minds of lawyers anyway, when they realised their clients were guilty as sin? Did they keep fighting, knowing they were propping up a lie?

"My client has grave doubts about the authenticity of this audio recording," he began. Even I could tell he didn't believe a word he was saying, but I figured it was his job to do his best for Emma and the rest. "It could easily have been pieced together from illegally-garnered recordings over the course of the year—"

Ms. Castle stood up. "Your honour, the counsel for the defence is reaching, and he knows it," she cut in smoothly. "As the affidavit I have already submitted will attest, this sound file has been thoroughly analysed by experts in the field and found to be entirely genuine."

"The counsel for the prosecution will kindly sit down." Without even looking at her, the judge kept his attention on the other lawyer. "Mr. Richardson, I have viewed the affidavit that the counsel for the prosecution has alluded to. It states, among other things, that the sound file could only have been faked with the explicit cooperation of each of the people whose voices appear on it. Kindly do not attempt to denigrate my intelligence in this way. Now, did you have anything else you would like to add?"

"No, your honour. I do not." Mr. Richardson sat down again.

"Very well. We will convene again tomorrow at nine sharp. Court is adjourned." He took up the gavel and banged it once.

Dad and I got up then and headed out of the courtroom. Mrs. Dallon joined us a minute or so later, looking pleased with herself. Dad went to say something, but she shushed him until we were past some people carrying press passes.

"So, when you said we don't talk to reporters," I said in an undertone, "you meant we don't talk to them at all?"

"Only under specific circumstances," she replied, just as quietly. "And we try to cultivate friendly ones, because even the most innocuous story can become a horror-show if the reporter doesn't like you and doesn't care about taking soundbites out of context. If they specifically approach us, let me do the talking, but otherwise we're just a bunch of people walking out of the courthouse."

"Wow." I was learning so much about how court cases went, and I was pretty sure this was just one tenth of what was going on.

"Yes, wow." Carol smiled at me. "But I will say, you comported yourself well in there today. You said what you needed to say, then stopped. Far too many people don't do that."

"Good." Dad heaved a sigh. "Almost over. Is it going as well as I think it is?"

Carol essayed a cautious nod. "It seems to be, but it's never over until the fat lady sings. We'll find out tomorrow. Did you want a lift, Taylor? I understand you're going out on patrol with the children tonight."

I nodded. "Yeah, thanks. It was Vicky's idea."

"Don't be out too late," Dad warned. "We've got to be back here before nine in the morning, remember."

I wrinkled my nose. "As if I could forget. Crystal says we'll throw in the towel at ten."

"That's good enough for me." Dad opened his arms for a hug.

I gave him one, of course. It was weird; we'd started reconnecting as father and daughter only after I got the ability to turn into a fire-breathing wyvern. Life was strange sometimes. "See you tonight."

"See you then, kiddo." He watched as I got into Carol's car and fastened my seatbelt. "Be safe."

"Always." I closed the door and Carol started the car. We pulled out into traffic, and I relaxed into the seat. Unless something went really sideways between now and tomorrow, the judge would bring the hammer down on Emma and Madison, and Sophia would have yet another set of offenses against her name.

End result: they'd never bother me again.

Plus, I was definitely gaining fame (the good type) as a member of New Wave.

Life was definitely looking up.


Danny Hebert


Tyres crunched on gravel then whispered on grass as Danny pulled the car off the driveway and in alongside the house. He turned off the engine and sat for a moment with his eyes closed, letting the tensions of the day drain away. It had been a rollercoaster ride from the moment Taylor had shown up at the Dallon household as a dragon—

Wyvern, he corrected himself. She prefers to be called a wyvern.

—but since then life had been more up than down. New Wave was a great team with lots of support, and Taylor herself was doing well as a hero.

With a grunt more for effect than actually required, he climbed out of the car and popped the trunk, then closed the door and locked it. Going to the back of the car, he opened the trunk and took out several shopping bags—court cases came and went, but life was a constant—then slammed the lid shut.

He didn't want to deal with that front step right now, so he walked around to the back, juggling the keys as he went. His thoughts were elsewhere so that he had the key in the lock and was turning it before he realised the lock wasn't engaged and that the door was opening freely.

Shit! Someone's broken in!

Even as that understanding flashed across his brain and he went to pause, there was an irresistible shove from behind him. Stumbling into the kitchen, then across into the living room, he became aware that his favourite chair had been moved to face the door and was sitting directly under the glare of his reading lamp. People were standing around the room in the shadows, but his attention was drawn—deliberately, he knew—to the man seated in his chair, playing with a stiletto.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Hebert," said Jack Slash. "Come on in. Sit down." Light reflected off the blade as he spun it in his hand. "Let's talk about your daughter."


Jacob


Over the years, Jack Slash had confronted a great many people with the fact of their own mortality (and introduced a majority of these to the concept first-hand, as it were) so he considered himself somewhat of an expert in how people reacted when they first realised they were in life-threatening danger.

Flight was the most common reaction, and some had even succeeded (though far fewer since he'd brought the Siberian into the Nine).

While fight was less common, some still tried it, on the bloody-minded sentiment of 'taking you with me'. Nobody had quite succeeded, though some had come close.

Freeze was another that cropped up more often than he would've thought; unfortunately for those people, he had excellent eyesight.

Once in a blue moon, he got a fawn reaction, which still confused him. He was there for victims, not groupies; when would people learn this?

Flop, on the other hand, was one he kind of understood. When faced with overwhelming danger, their brains just ... checked out. Lights were on, nobody home. They still died, of course, but it was less satisfying.

Danny Hebert wasn't a cape, which cut down the chances of a fight response (not totally; some people had surprised him in the past). He wasn't freezing or flopping, and after one swift glance backward into the merciless eyes of the Siberian it was clear flight was not a viable option. Slowly, Hebert took one more step into the room, put down the shopping bags, and folded his arms. From his attitude, 'fawn' was off the table too.

So what was he doing? What did he hope to gain from this pointless show of defiance?

"What about my daughter?" Hebert asked.

Ah, of course. He thinks he's protecting her.

Jack Slash smiled. "You know, you might've almost had me fooled, there. Union man, right? You don't give away anything you don't have to. The trouble is, in this situation, you've got nothing. No leverage. There's nothing you've got that I want. I already know Taylor is the cape known as Wyvern. She turns into a fire-breathing dragon, and she's joined that pack of idiots that call themselves New Wave."

Hebert might have let out a tiny sigh, but his shoulders didn't slump with the despair Jack knew he had to be feeling. "You're lying. You want something from me, or we wouldn't be talking like this."

"Well, true," Jack conceded. "But I'm not lying, either. What I want from you is the look on your face just before she murders you and joins the Nine, and I'm reasonably certain you're not going to give that to me of your own free will." He gestured, and Bonesaw released one of her little cyber-spiders; it scuttled across the carpet then scrambled up Hebert's pants leg. "Don't try to brush it off," he warned. "Even I don't know what sort of pathogen Bonesaw loads those things with, but they're all very quickly and very painfully lethal."

Hebert held still, which told Jack that the man wanted to live. That, at least, gave him some leverage to work with. It was the ones who'd decided they had nothing left to live for that caused the most trouble.

"Good," Hebert said as the spider settled down at the base of his neck. "Now I know what I'll be shoving up your ass, first chance I get."

Jack sighed, suddenly tiring of the pissing contest. "Spare me the pointless bravado, if you will. I've met a hundred men who promised they'd show me a 'real fight' if it were just me and them. I gave them the chance. They're all dead, and I'm still here."

Hebert shook his head and snorted. "Yeah, right. Like you'd give anyone a fair fight."

The blade in Jack's hand snapped around to point at the taller man. "I'm trying to be polite here, but you're not making it easy. Got anything to back that up?"

"Yeah." Hebert's voice was quiet but firm. "About ten or eleven years ago, I was working in the office at the Dockworkers Association when in walks Marquis, bold as brass. Comes up to the counter and asks to see the man in charge. That would've been old Doug Smythe, at the time. Marquis made the offer to sell protection to the Association, in return for a cut of the profits. Doug turned him down flat. His precise words were, We're not interested. Marquis nodded and walked out. About a month later, Doug was working back late and some guys broke in to look for money. He got shot in the shoulder and ended up in the hospital."

"Serves him right," Jack said. "He should've taken the protection. I presume Marquis was in the next day with an offer at double the cost?"

"Well, no," Danny said. "I never believed Marquis set it up. I'm pretty sure Doug didn't think so either. A month after, Doug was back in the office with his arm in a sling, and Marquis walked in again. Doug looked him in the eye and said, I believe I said we weren't interested. Marquis nodded and walked back out. Two months later, he was captured by the Brockton Bay Brigade."

"A pretty story," Jack sneered. "What's your point?"

"Thing with Marquis was, he didn't screw around. He didn't have to posture or bother with strongarm tactics. Everyone knew if you crossed him, you were toast. But he was dependable. I have no doubt in my mind, if we'd taken his protection, we'd have gotten value for money." Hebert lifted his chin and stared at Jack. "But the word on the street is, you rewrite the rules anytime you feel like it. That's why Marquis kicked you out of Brockton Bay. And even nine versus one, you were scared of going into a fair fight against him. If we paid you for protection, you'd be just as likely to turn around and rob us for the fun of it. And that's how I know your 'fair fights' were anything but."

Jack fumed, but he couldn't actually point at anything Hebert had said that was specifically untrue. Yes, he'd taken the remains of the Nine and left Brockton Bay; not specifically because Marquis wanted him gone, but it had made the decision much easier. And yes, he was a free spirit, unbound by societal norms. The Nine did not bow and scrape to anyone, even if there was money involved. If someone was stupid enough to pay them to do a job, they'd do it, then they'd show those people that the Nine couldn't be bought.

But the way Hebert had described it made him and the Nine sound downright grubby, and that couldn't be right. It was just biased reporting, that was all.

"Bring him," he said, getting up out of the chair. "We've got places to be."

Shatterbird snapped shackles of glass onto Hebert as she moved past him. "Come on, you." Lifted and moved by the solid bands of crystalline material, he had no choice but to follow along. Almost as an afterthought, another one closed over his mouth as a gag.

Jack glanced around the house once more as he reached the back door, then smiled cruelly. "Burnscar, do your thing."

Talk back to me, will he?

As they reached the RV, parked some distance down the street (where Crawler was waiting more than a little impatiently) the flames were already climbing into the evening sky.


Shielder


"Halt, evildoers!" Vicky flared her aura and dropped down into the alley like an avenging angel. Two of the muggers left their victim and bolted, while the third one pulled a Saturday Night Special and shakily aimed it at her.

"Back off!" he shouted. "I'll shoot!"

Up on top of the roof to the left, Eric mouthed, Halt, evildoers? to his sister. At the same time, he stealthily put a transparent shield around the mugging victim, who was shakily getting to his feet.

Crystal, standing across the alley from him, shrugged. "Maybe she just likes saying it?"

That was actually a pretty good reason, but Vicky wasn't the one they were there to keep an eye on. Eric turned his head to check on Wyvern, just as she dropped into position at the end of the alleyway. With her wings spread and her mouth open to show all the teeth, she was plenty intimidating. The tiny fireball she spat which exploded about six feet in front of the muggers and set a trash can on fire absolutely sold it, so much so that they backpedalled and fell on their asses.

"Okay," Eric said about two minutes later as they finished securing the muggers for police pickup. "Just saying, we need to start bringing cameras along on patrols like this. Wyvern could have her own Youtube channel. That was amazing."

Wyvern sheepishly looked at the trash can, but Crystal put a hand on her wing. "Hey, something like that's nothing. Eric put it out in ten seconds with a field to cut off its air. Now, if Vicky could stop breaking their hands, that would be great."

"What?" Vicky held her hands out, palm up. "He wouldn't drop the gun or stop shooting at me. Ricochets are a thing. I thought I'd bat it out of his hand. It's not my fault he's got brittle hand bones or something."

"Compared to you, everyone's got … wait." Crystal put her hand to her ear, where her radio earpiece was. "What's that, Mom? A fire? Well, we're kind of good against fires. Where … what did you say?"

"What?" asked Eric. "Where's the fire, and why's it so important they'd call us in? People trapped inside?"

Crystal's eyes focused again, and she looked at Wyvern. "It's … it's your dad's house. Mom said the fire brigade's been called."

Immediately, Wyvern let out a panicked screech and took to the air, wings beating strongly.

"Shit." Eric and Crystal said it at the same time and took off after her.

Before they caught up, however, Vicky arrowed past the both of them. "Wyvern!" she called as she got close to the frantically flying dragon. There was no response, so she got closer and lowered her voice a touch. "Taylor!"

This time Wyvern glanced at her but continued to fly strongly onward. She let out a screech which managed to get her sense of urgency across just fine, despite the lack of words. I have to make sure Dad's okay.

"I'll carry you, like I did the last time," Vicky said, then looked around. "Eric, can you give us an aerodynamic force field?"

"Sure as hell can," Eric said, flying up alongside Vicky. Divining his intention—there were some benefits to having worked with each other for years, the downside being having Crystal as a sister—Crystal flew up on her other side. Concentrating his power, Eric formed a spearhead around them, sharp point forward.

At the same time, Wyvern furled her wings, and Vicky wrapped her arms around the red-and-gold pinions and body. "Hang on," she said grimly, and accelerated hard.


End of Part Nineteen