Leaf
Chapter Two
Lift woke up hungry, as usual. That was good. Waking up hungry meant that she was just in time for breakfast. She yawned and stretched, accidentally kicking Lady Martha.
There were loads of ladies in Brockton Bay. There were night ladies, street ladies, and bag ladies. Lady Martha was part of the last group, a treasure hunter, and she had a cart to carry all the interesting stuff she found throughout the day. She wore her entire wardrobe at once, then shed it at night to make a nest in the storage locker where she lived.
Lady Martha groaned as she rolled over like she always did. Her hair was gray and greasy and her skin was all leathery. "Lift?" she rasped. "When did you get here?"
"Last night," Lift said, standing up. "Some funny people offered me a job, and it took forever to tell 'em no."
"A job?" She sounded nervous, which Lift got. Jobs were dangerous things. If you spent too much time having people tell you what to do, you forgot how to tell yourself what to do, and then you were in trouble. That's the sort of thing that left you empty in a way that a good breakfast couldn't fix. "Be careful, Lift," she said. "All the money in the world isn't worth doing something you're not proud of."
"I know, I know. That's why I turned them down." Law enforcement. Ha! "You don't need to worry about me."
"But I do." Lady Martha sat up, creaking like she was made of wood. "New shirt?"
Lift looked down at a souvenir she had grabbed on the way out of the PRT building. It was a shirt with a picture on it of Miss Militia and the rest of the city's heroes. It was her size, too, going all the way down to her knees, conveniently covering up the Villain label on the prison sweats she was still wearing.
"Just got it last night," Lift replied. All her clothes were brand new, even her underwear, which Lift was pretty certain was lucky. They had made her take a shower first, but that was a fair trade for lucky underwear in her book.
But Lady Martha frowned. She never wore new clothes, and whenever she got new clothes she traded them for old clothes. New clothes made you look rich and looking rich got you mugged.
Lift agreed with the principle, but if she took off her shirt she'd end up looking like an escaped prisoner—which she was, but there was no point in advertising that. Besides, Lady Martha had no idea how fast Lift could wear out what she wore.
WWW
Most thieves Lift met didn't understand why she stole food instead of money. If you stole food, you could eat for a day, but if you stole money, you could eat for a month.
Yeah, they weren't too smart. If you only stole once a month, could you even call yourself a thief? You might as well just be a tax collector.
No, Lift stole three times a day, worked up an appetite, and ate well. Really, what more could a master thief ask for? She took a handful of potato salad out of her pocket and took a bite.
"Mistress?" Wyndle said, growing vine-faces along the wall beside her. "Are you content?"
She glared at him. "That ain't a nice question."
"I ... I'm afraid I don't understand."
"Ain't no one never content when they're thinking about if they're content."
"So, no."
"Sure I'm content. I'm plenty content." She put the rest of her potato salad back in her pocket. "Mostly."
Wyndle fell silent for a moment. "I only ask because you are, in many ways, a seed. The true seed isn't the seed that stays the same, but the seed that takes root and grows toward the sun. While I've complained about this ... assignment, I've since come to understand that I wasn't bound to you because of what you are, but because of what you might one day become."
Lift stopped and stared at him. "You want me to give up thievin'?"
He sighed. "Yes, but I also think that the evenings would be more aesthetically pleasing if the sun set in the east. But my point is, Mistress, that I realize it is ineffective, nay, even counterproductive to try to force you to become what you are meant to be if you do not wish to become ... anything."
Lift crossed her arms and gave him a hard look. "You," she declared, "are being grumpy. We gotta rob the giant green fishbowl again to cheer you up."
"You know as well as I do that that would not work, and I know as well as you do that you are trying to redirect this conversation. Very well. Fine. We will not discuss the matter further until you wish to."
It wasn't that she didn't want to change. Well, she didn't, but even going to the starvin' Nightwatcher hadn't stopped that for long. But the real gristlies of what Wyndle was prodding at was that he wanted them to go back to Roshar where there were spren and stormlight, where she could train Edgedancer squires and learn the Fourth and Fifth Oaths.
Back to Roshar, where the Everstorm raged and the True Desolation had begun.
People needed her there, not Lift the master thief, but Lift the Knight Radiant. She had fought in their wars, surrounded by warlords and Voidbringers and that talking sword that tried to eat her because they needed her to. She had gone into Shadesmar with that scary Elsecaller because they needed her to.
But here on Earth Bet, no one needed her. So she was free. Free to be ... free to be ...
She snapped her fingers. "Imma steal you a hat."
"A ... hat? You know I can't wear a—"
"Something bright and cheerful, the opposite of you in every way."
"And I suppose you'd have to wear it for me."
Lift considered that. "What an interestin' idea."
Wyndle sighed. "Fine, fine. Let's go steal a—ugh—hat."
WWW
The sun set behind Captain's Hill, letting the scum of the city hide in darkness. Let them. If they didn't hide, she couldn't hunt them, and if they didn't run, she couldn't chase them. She was Shadow Stalker, and the night belonged to her.
She jumped from rooftop to rooftop, a wraithlike silhouette against the skyline, searching for her prey.
In the old days, she sometimes spent all night without catching a single crook. Then she'd have to go to school the next day tired from the late night with all the pent up frustration at being denied her release, all while surrounded by the entire school faculty watching her like a hawk, waiting for her to screw up.
Things got bad, but she was better now. Smarter. There was always crime going on in the city, people needing black eyes and broken jaws; the trick was seeing it from three stories up.
Fortunately, nothing recognized a predator like another predator. It was the walk that gave him away, a brisk, focused pace trying to look natural and desperate to be silent. He was a heavyset man with his hood up, following a college-aged girl.
What are you? Shadow Stalker thought, flexing her fingers. Mugger? Rapist? She hoped he was the latter. Rapists didn't get much sympathy no matter what happened to them.
Come on, come on.
The man got closer and closer until he was practically within pouncing distance. It would be quick if he knew what he was doing. A hand over her mouth and a knife to her throat, then he could drag her into a dark alley. As soon as he made his intentions as unambiguous as possible, Shadow Stalker could step in and break as many of his two hundred and six bones as she could reach.
Then, at the worst possible second, a small group turned down the corner in front of them and walked toward the predator and the prey. The would-be rapist slowed down to look less suspicious, and by the time the group passed, the young woman had reached one of the busier streets.
Shadow Stalker cursed under her breath. So close! But not close enough. With no crime, Shadow Stalker had no one to punish. Really, what she needed was a good sting operation, but people willing to be bait for her were hard to come by, especially since Emma didn't come with her on patrols anymore.
She checked the time on her phone. It was already eleven thirty, and she had school in the morning. She didn't care about that, but if she stayed out too late her mom would ask the PRT why Shadow Stalker always got the late night patrols, and that could lead to some ... awkward conversations.
Her official patrol ended hours ago. Her solo patrol was a self-imposed reward for not strangling Clockblocker.
If she was going to see any action tonight, she'd have to visit the Candyman.
He wasn't a cape. At least, he probably wasn't. As far as Shadow Stalker knew, he was a drug dealer who faked being a cape to intimidate thugs. Shadow Stalker had an unspoken arrangement with the man. She never tried to bring him in, and in return she could sometimes bust his customers for possession.
He did most of his work downtown in Skidmark's territory, but Tuesday nights he made a pass through the docks. He was easy to pick out with his bright red tophat, skipping merrily down the sidewalk. Some dealers tried to be discreet, but the Candyman liked to advertise. One day he'd run into Lung or someone who would rip his head off for trespassing, and Shadow Stalker would be mildly inconvenienced. Until then ...
Finally.
A group of druggies gathered around him, and the Candyman began to negotiate the contents of his trench coat. There were three of them, about Shadow Stalker's age from what she could tell. Maybe they went to Winslow with her. It would be an unexpected pleasure to send one of her classmates to the hospital.
Come on, make the deal already.
But before the Candyman could settle on anything, someone jumped out of the shadows, pulled the Candyman's trenchcoat right off of him, grabbed his hat, and set off at a run.
What?
The Candyman pulled a gun out of his pants and fired twice before the thief disappeared around a corner, but he missed.
Shadow Stalker started running before she considered why. The chase was the only thing that mattered. The prey fled, the predator pursued.
She jumped from rooftop to rooftop in her shadow state, realizing that a crime was, technically, taking place. A mugging. And possession of narcotics. Yeah. That was enough.
The kid was fast, but she kept on running underneath the street lights, making following her a piece of cake. Shadow Stalker got ahead of her, landed in the darkness between the lights, shifted out of her shadow state, and kicked the kid in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her.
Hold on, was that kid glowing? She could have sworn ... no, it was nothing. The kid, a small Hispanic girl wearing an oversized Protectorate T-shirt, sat up, readjusted the Candyman's hat on her head, and looked at her, seemingly unconcerned with being caught by a cape.
"Who are you?" she asked.
Shadow Stalker hesitated. As long as the prey ran, she could chase her, and if the prey fought back, Shadow Stalker could defend herself as brutally as necessary. Otherwise ... what was she supposed to do? Just arrest her? Ugh. This was turning out to be one hell of a night.
"Shadow Stalker. And you have something that doesn't belong to you." Did she really say that? She groaned inwardly. Out of all the reasons she became a hero, the banter wasn't one of them.
The girl gave a snort. "I ain't got nothin'. Nothin' I got belongs to me."
Well, that was close enough to a confession. Shadow Stalker pointed her crossbow at her as she pulled out a pair of handcuffs. Criminals were more likely to resist arrest in the face of a clear threat, oddly enough.
"Which one are you?"
"What?"
"Which one are you?" the girl said again. "You ain't here." She pulled her shirt out in front of her, displaying the Protectorate team, as though expecting Shadow Stalker as one of the Wards to be present. Idiot.
Clearly they had gotten off on the wrong foot. To set the record straight, Shadow Stalker lowered her crossbow, stepped forward, and punched the thief in the face.
At least, that was how it played out in her head. Instead, the girl ducked, dove between her legs, and tripped her, stealing her crossbow in the process. When Shadow Stalker got back up, the girl was already running ... and one of Shadow Stalker's boots was missing.
What? She stole my boot? Why? How?
She set off after the girl, feeling lopsided as she ran. Great. All I wanted was to beat someone up, and the one person I find turns out to be Bugs freakin' Bunny.
Wait ...
The girl was slippery. Supernaturally slippery. There was a villain that had been captured the day before (and had escaped last night) with that powerset. Aegis had briefed them on ... on Leaf earlier that day. What were her powers again? Friction negation. Okay, that had caught Shadow Stalker off guard, but that would only work once. Phytokin ... phykotin ... plant control was another one, but Leaf couldn't grow plants on a scale that mattered.
There was one more though. Leaf could create a sword that could cut through steel like it was paper. You can cut through steel, Shadow Stalker thought, shifting into her shadow state and hopping onto a rooftop. But you can't cut through me.
She pulled her backup crossbow out from behind her back—loaded with lethal ammunition instead of the tranquilizer jokes they made her use—and smiled.
WWW
Grue stood in darkness, waiting, and watching.
That was about ninety percent of being a supervillain. It paid well, sure, but for every minute spent committing a heist, another ten were spent planning, preparing, and waiting.
The days were pretty lax. He went over a few plans with Lisa about possible recruitments now that both Circus and Spitfire had fallen through, but they weren't going to pull any major heists until the tensions with the ABB settled down.
The docks were Lung's territory, and when you were in a major player's territory, either you were so quiet you weren't worth the trouble for them to evict you, or you were a major player yourself. There were other factors of course, like how much time and attention Lung had to spare for a couple of kids, but Lisa predicted that he would come after them within the week. Whether he would demand a cut of all of their earnings as rent or just slaughter the lot of them was anyone's guess, but the Undersiders would have to be ready for anything.
So now he waited in a dark alley, made darker by his presence, and watched the Midnight Matrix, an upscale nightclub that some members of the Azn Bad Boys visited. What Lisa could figure out from knowing where gang bangers got drunk, Grue could not begin to—
A small girl carrying a bundle darted down his alley, tripped over a discarded wooden pallet, and fell flat on her face. "Ow."
Grue froze and swore under his breath, despite the fact that no one would be able to hear him any more than they could see him. But supernatural darkness was perfectly hidden in a dark alleyway until someone walked into it. He'd have to get rid of the girl, whoever she was, without blowing his cover.
Then she started glowing. She lit up like a lightbulb and she steamed with incandescence. "Storms it got dark fast. And quiet fast. You see anything Wyndle? 'Cause I can't see my glowin' hands in front of me starvin face. Or hear my own voice."
Oh, so she was a cape. Hero? Villain? No one he recognized, so either she was small time or new. Either way, a first impression should never be wasted.
He kept the darkness up around the alley entrance, but lowered the rest. "Little girls should be in bed this late," he said, his powers warping his voice as he spoke.
The girl jumped a bit, but she didn't seem intimidated. "Oh, hey. Who are you?"
"Grue." That didn't seem sufficient. "Of the Undersiders."
She didn't seem impressed. Instead, she placed her bundle under her arm and looked back and forth from him to the Protectorate T-shirt she wore, as though trying to find someone in a motorcycle helmet with a skull on it.
"Of the Undersiders," he repeated. "Not the Protectorate."
"Oh," she said slowly. "Like Salt 'n Pepper."
Who? He shook his head. Judging by the bundle she was carrying, she was a thief, and not one that knew much about the city. She looked even younger than Aisha, and a better man might stop to give her a run down of the easiest ways to die in Brockton Bay, but ... aw, shoot.
"Listen, kid. I'm guessing you're new at this, so let me just give you a few pointers. First of all, wear a mask. A hat's not gonna cut it, and people only follow the unwritten rules when they're winning. Second, if your powers involve glowing in the dark, then you probably shouldn't be—"
He heard a sudden squelch and felt a sharp pain in his neck as something hit him from further down the alley. As he turned, a second bolt hit him in the chest.
WWW
And just think, Shadow Stalker thought, reloading her crossbow, I thought tonight was going to be boring. But Glowstick Girl had lead her to freakin' Grue!
She recognized his signature darkness as soon as the kid had run into it, and then it was just a matter of doubling around and coming into the alley from the other side. Her first two bolts had struck true before he buried himself in darkness, so she aimed her third shot at where the little girl had been. Damn shame. The kid had been helpful, but, well, witnesses and all that. She fired twice more just to be sure before the darkness faded, leaving two bodies on the pavement.
She crept forward, her blood brimming with adrenaline, listening for Hellhound's dogs or anyone else in Grue's little posse. But at this point, what could they do? Grue's powers interfered with hers, but the rest of them were placeholders at best.
Shadow Stalker didn't bother checking for a pulse. That seemed unnecessary with a crossbow bolt through his heart. But when she yanked it out, he spasmed a little. She smiled at that, and was a bit disappointed that pulling out the bolts from his neck and arm didn't have the same reaction.
Really the only thing bad about this was that she could only kill him once.
Says who?
Her mouth stretched into a grin, and gripping all three bolts in her fist, she drove them into his chest and ripped them out again. Logically, a mutilated corpse made for a trickier autopsy, but as she went in and out and in and out all she could think about as laughter spilled out of her like blood was every time he got in her way, every time he—
Something smashed into the side of her head, and she went out like a light.
WWW
Grue woke up to the eyes of a little girl with an arrow sticking out of one of them.
"Ah!"
"Ph'nglui mglw'nafh?" she said.
What had happened? He remembered a strange dream where Shadow Stalker had shot him, but ... but his costume was covered in blood and had holes in it.
"Are you okay?"
The girl blinked, which came out as more of a wink, and a drop of blood fell off the end of her protruding arrow like a tear. "R'leh? Wgah'nagl fhtagn!"
"Right, dumb question," he said, getting up. Nothing seemed to hurt, on his side at least, but there was still a freakin' arrow sticking out of the girl's eyeball! "I, uh, I know a doctor who doesn't ask too many questions. I'll, um ..."
"Hfan'wlgm iulgn'hp," she said, taking his hand and wrapping it around the shaft of wood. "Ngathf lgan!"
"I don't—"
She fell backward, leaving the arrow in his hand with the eyeball halfway down the shaft like a macabre shishkabob. Then, glowing, she sat up.
"Ow!" she said, blinking as a new eye reformed in the old one's socket. "Miserable splinter starvin' hurt."
Grue looked down at the arrow still in his hand. The "splinter" was longer than he thought it was, and if he was using the eye as a place marker, it looked like Shadow Stalker's shot hadn't stopped until it hit the back of the kid's skull. But she could regenerate and, if his own miraculous health was any indication, she could heal others too.
He spotted Shadow Stalker lying unconscious a few feet away. "Oh, right," the girl said. "Salt 'n Pepper was chasin' me when I met you. I don't think she liked you none."
She tried to kill me. She tried to kill you just for being near me. There was risk involved with being a villain, but when the heroes were involved that usually mean being arrested and sent to prison, not ... not ...
His fingers traced the holes in his costume as he wondered how many times she stabbed him. If those are the rules you want to play by, fine!
He brought his foot down on her arm hard, then kicked her in the ribs. She didn't cry out when he struck her, but he stopped when he felt the little girl watching him.
And that was all she was doing. Not trying to stop him or talk him down from beating down an unconscious opponent, just watching him in the way children watched a world that could not be changed, but could be remembered.
He stopped. Logically letting her live was a bad idea, but he couldn't beat someone to death with an audience. He could however pick her up and set her in a nearby dumpster, noticing that Shadow Stalker was, for some reason, missing one of her boots.
The little girl nodded in seeming approval, climbed into the dumpster after her, and wrapped Shadow Stalker up in a trench coat as though tucking her in.
"I never caught your name," he said. He glanced out into the street. He had his wall of darkness back up again, and no one out there seemed to have noticed them.
"Lift," she said, perched on the dumpster's metal corner. She didn't seem to be having any trouble balancing. "Master thief. And you said your name was Goo?"
"Grue."
She seemed to consider that. "Imma just call you Skullface."
He frowned. It wouldn't help his rep to have a little girl making up stupid nicknames for him ... but that little girl had just saved his life, so his rep could, for the time being, shove it. "You were able to knock out Shadow Stalker?" Shadow Stalker was trouble without a way to hurt her in her shadow state, and healing didn't seem like it would cut it.
"Right, that was her name." Lift shrugged. "I just whacked her in the head with Wyndle when she was savaging your corpse. She was laughing a lot."
Wyndle? he thought. Then, Corpse? His hand went once more to the far too many holes in his costume, and he shook his head. He did not want to go down that mental road.
Still, the girl could heal serious injuries and survive being shot through the head, and Grue doubted that even Lung could do that. And the Undersiders had been trying (unsuccessfully) to recruit every independent villain more competent than Uber and Leet. And any day now Lung was going to deal with them unless they could avoid being dealt with.
"How would you like to meet my friends?" He knew what the rest of the team would say when he brought her. Alec wouldn't care one way or another. Lisa would weigh the loss to intimidation that having a twelve-year-old girl on the team would bring with it against the advantage of having someone that the heroes couldn't hurt without looking like horrible people, and hopefully the prospect of having a healer on the team would tip the balance. Rachel would see Lift as both an outsider and weak and wouldn't want her on the team, but she'd be outvoted.
Still, his teammates would need to come to that conclusion on their own, and Lift had a choice to make too.
Lift narrowed her eyes. "Your friends got any food?"
That surprised him, and he started to think that the self-proclaimed "master thief" didn't grasp what he was offering. Still, he doubted if there was a single cape in the world, let alone the city, that wasn't at least a little bit neurotic.
"Sure," he said, making a mental note to ask Lisa to order pizza. "We got plenty."