Another Way
Part Thirty-Two: A View to a Kill
[A/N: This chapter commissioned by GW_Yoda and beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Marchioness
Claire tilted her head, looking at Justin. "You seem a little off. Are you okay?"
"You don't miss a trick, do you?" He chuckled self-deprecatingly and shook his head. "Physically, I'm right as rain. Mentally, I'm still trying to unscramble my head. The ghosts Damsel killed still haven't come back. It shouldn't be a big thing for me, I mean I've still got a lot of them to call on, but it's like I've had a tooth knocked out. I can't stop thinking about it."
"The ghosts are projections, as far as I can tell." She put her hand on his arm. "They don't have an independent existence outside of you. The part of your brain tasked with generating and controlling them was traumatised when she destroyed them, and is still recovering. Once it comes all the way back, then your ghosts should reappear." She gave him a quick smile. "Or at least, that's my best non-expert opinion."
He worked his neck from side to side. "Well, that's a better explanation than I expected. Thanks, I appreciate it."
"Not a problem. Take care of yourself. And when we catch up with her, I suggest you come up from underneath. Nobody expects the ground to be a problem."
"Yeah, well, I didn't expect her to be able to kill my ghosts either, so I owe her at least one nasty surprise." He looked more sure of himself as he nodded and moved away from her. "Speaking of owing someone; hey, Marcus. How about another round in the gym?"
"Put a hold on that," Earl interjected. "When we meet with Edict and Licit, I want everyone to be presenting their best." He didn't raise his voice, but nor did he have to. "Everyone is to be back here within fifteen minutes. Jonas, I will also require six Mercia to be in attendance."
"Understood, sir." Jonas turned to Claire. "Can you make those changes in that time, chick?"
"Easily." Claire caught her father's eye. "After I finish with Jonas, I'm going to the greenhouse. I'll be back here with at least five minutes to spare."
"As you say." As he spoke to her, he looked around the room, no doubt checking to see if anything needed to be removed from the walls. "They will be blindfolded when brought here. I do not expect any chicanery from them, but the most effective deception comes from the trusted."
"I'll definitely keep an eye on them." She paused. "If Mr Green tells me where Damsel is, why do we even need them?"
He returned his gaze to her. "We cannot know how she will be situated when we catch up with her. While we are well-equipped with combat powers, she is entirely capable of placing a blast through a brick wall and the person behind it; only Palatina can match that level of target destruction. Edict will, if necessary, be able to order her to leave her place of concealment and surrender. Licit, on the other hand, can create temporary barriers which will stop one of her blasts before being destroyed."
Jonas looked thoughtful. "Both of those would've been real useful when we were fighting her last night, sir."
"I'm aware." Earl nodded to the both of them. "Complete your preparations. Our guests will not be long in arriving."
"On it, Dad." Claire turned to Jonas. "Give me your hand and hold still a moment."
"At your service, chick." Obligingly, Jonas held out his massive, calloused paw.
Claire took it, her hand looking tiny in his. His body systems unfolded before her, the modifications she'd already put in place highlighted in her mind's eye. She took those and added to them; not layering on more than the most basic of carbon-fibre subdermal mesh and organ reinforcement, but definitely going in other directions.
The vanilla-model human nervous system was good enough for what it was meant to do, she supposed. It allowed enough people to survive long enough to reproduce and carry on the species without screwing up too badly in the meantime. This wasn't to say it was flawless, or that it couldn't do with some improvement. It wasn't, and it absolutely could.
Everyone she knew and liked had undergone some level of her improvement regime, overhauling their nervous systems to remove evolutionary tics such as the recurrent laryngeal nerve, the unnecessary exposure of the ulnar nerve, and the hiccup reflex. On top of that, she'd rationalised and improved the efficiency of the nervous system overall, so that reflexes were improved and all senses (including balance and proprioception) were sharper. Her own nervous system was magnitudes better than that again, not being composed of anything remotely related to what she'd been born with. That was fine; her brain had been adjusted to handle the input.
Now, she gave Jonas larger nerve trunks with heightened-efficiency axons and neurons to transmit the nerve signals faster. His sensorium was about as good as she could make it without veering into the inhuman territory that she herself inhabited, so instead she converted a portion of his pre-existing muscle mass into fast-twitch fibres. He wouldn't be quite as strong as he had been before (though still far stronger than any normal man of his weight), but his speed would be nothing short of phenomenal.
"Done," she said, giving him a pat on the wrist. "I had to draw down your slow-twitch muscle mass, but you've got the fastest reflexes I can give you without totally remaking you from your DNA on up."
"Thank you, chick." He gave her a respectful nod. "I'll let you know how it turns out."
"Stop Damsel of Distress before she hurts Dad again, and that'll be thanks enough." She turned and headed out of the room. Despite her carefree words to her father, she had two important jobs to do; first, find out where the fuck Damsel of Distress had gotten herself to, and second, show up to the meeting as Marchioness without a hair out of place.
Her own improved reflexes allowed her to take the stairs down to the ground floor two and three at a time with no fear of falling. She wasn't even breathing hard when she reached the bottom. As she headed for the greenhouse, Abigail fell into step alongside her.
"I knew it had to be you comin' down the stairs at such a breakneck pace, so I did," she said cheerfully. "Going to consult with our oracle are we, Claire acushla?"
"That's the idea, yeah." Claire spared her old bodyguard a smile. Abigail might be neither working for Earl nor sleeping with him anymore (she still couldn't believe she'd missed all the hints about that before she got her powers) but she still held a special place in Claire's heart. "What do you think about bringing Edict and Licit in on this?"
Abigail waggled her hand from side to side. "Eh, could be good, could be a total tubaiste." Claire knew the word meant 'disaster', and she couldn't disagree. "I've definitely got a bone or three to pick with her, an' I figure you an' the others do too."
"She murdered Robert." Claire spoke the words bluntly. "Normally if a cape puts someone on the ground, they're down. Making sure they're dead is what earns kill orders, especially if they mean something to me."
Abigail gave Claire a sideways look. "It can go the other way too, just so you know."
"Never happen." Claire was confident about that, at least. "Dad and me are a protected species around here, especially after what happened with Leviathan in Orlando. Also, Damsel of Distress hasn't got any gang members who might come after us if she happens to die in a totally predictable unexplained mishap."
Abigail raised an eyebrow. "I can respect that, to be sure. Just try to be certain that you're not assuming airs that aren't yours to take. History is full of gravestones with 'What are you going to do, kill me?' written on them."
Claire wanted to argue, but Abigail had been more places and seen more things than she had. If the woman's life experiences told her not to depend on such things as being immutable, then it was probably a good idea to listen to them. Finally, she nodded. "Fair enough."
They entered the greenhouse, and Claire felt the greenery all around her: the deep, almost imperceptible thrum of ongoing biological processes on a totally different frequency to that of human life. Reaching out, she let her fingers drift across the underside of a large flat leaf, connecting her to the vast root network that spanned Brockton Bay and a little way beyond. At her command, the plant formed a nodule on its trunk, which then peeled away to reveal a seed.
"I swear, I will never get used to that," declared Abigail as Claire took the seed and popped it into her mouth. "You're a long way from the wee cailín I took on to protect, back in Boston."
Claire didn't respond for a moment, as she was skimming through the recorded information collated from every single plant connected to the network. Everything with leaves had tiny eye-spots on them, and the intricate root system also doubled as Mr Green's brain, processing the inputs and delivering them as visual images stored within the seed. She knew where Damsel of Distress had gone underground, so she accessed the imagery collected from plant life anywhere near that area.
It took her a few seconds to find it, but a clump of weeds aggressively clinging to existence in the intersection between four slabs of concrete had seen the manhole cover blasted into fragments. Moments later, Damsel of Distress had climbed out and stumbled down a nearby alleyway. With dark satisfaction, Claire noted that she seemed to be favouring her wrist and knee. There were also splotches of blood on Damsel's filthy dress, but nothing so large that it looked life-threatening.
Using that as a starting point, she cast her net farther abroad, but found nothing more. None of the plants she was able to access could directly observe the other end of the alleyway, which meant that Claire knew where she wasn't, not where she was. Best case, Damsel had sought refuge in one of the buildings bordering the alley; worse case, she'd somehow managed to figure out the secret of the Mr Green network and was much farther away, actively dodging plant life.
From what Claire had seen so far, she wasn't going to rule anything out.
"It's certainly been a journey." She turned back toward the greenhouse entrance. "And I don't mean just the one from Boston to here."
"Aye, I'm sure it has." Abigail frowned. "And I'd be the last one to criticise your da on how he raises you."
Claire raised an eyebrow. "That's nice, though I can't help hearing a 'but' in there."
"There's naught wrong with your ears, Claire acushla. Your da is doing a wonderful job as a father, especially with nobody to stand in as a mother figure. However, I confess to doubts for how he's teaching you about being a cape. For all that he's a killer, you don't need to become one yourself."
There was nothing in Abigail's expression or tone that indicated anything but honest concern. Claire assimilated that as she nodded to acknowledge Abigail's words. "I get that, I do. The trouble is, some people make it really hard to justify keeping them alive."
"Aye, that's a true statement an' no mistake." Abigail chuckled, but her gaze was sharp as ever. "I know about the ones ye killed to save me that one time, an' I know about Blasto an' the Orchard. Have there been any others?"
Claire met her eyes squarely. "No. And there were times I could've easily killed someone, and maybe even wanted to, but I didn't."
"Well, in all honesty, anyone can choose not to murder the people they don't want to see dead. That's the easy part." Abigail clapped her on the shoulder. "It's the other way around that can be difficult, right enough."
Claire chuckled as she headed inside and made her way toward her room.
Trust Abigail to state the perfectly obvious in a way that sounds like deep wisdom.
Edict
"I don't like this," muttered Janice. "I don't like it at all." The blindfold was comfortable, composed of some kind of soft cloth that sat gently on her face yet afforded not even the slightest glimpse of her surroundings. She knew she was sitting in a car, possibly a limousine from the comfort of the seat and how it rode, and she knew Licit was in the same car, but that was the sum total of her awareness of what was going on around her.
"It was the only way he'd agree to meet with us," Licit said unhelpfully. This wasn't the first time he'd said it, and she hadn't liked it the other twenty times either.
"Why are we even doing this? Meeting with a notorious supervillain? For all we know, he's working with her, and we're being taken into a trap." But she didn't move to take the blindfold off.
"I can assure you, that is not the case." The voice came from directly ahead of her. Whether it was the driver or another passenger in the vehicle, she couldn't tell. "I do not presume to speak for Marquis, but I can tell you that his word is his bond. He has guaranteed your safe passage, so you and Licit will be inviolate."
"And we get to take her back to Stafford?" pressed Licit. "Like he said?"
"As I said, sir, I do not presume to speak for him." There was a pause, and the car slowed. Janice felt it tilt downward slightly, as though driving down a slope. "We are here. In a moment, you will be able to remove your blindfolds. All windows that you pass will be covered over. Kindly do not attempt to determine where we are."
"Yeah, yeah," muttered Janice. "You already said that, too."
When the engine stopped and the car doors opened, she decided it was safe to remove the blindfold. Her guess about it being a limousine had been accurate, she saw at once; two rear-facing seats had members of the Mercia in them, undoubtedly to ensure their adherence to the no-peeking directive. As she climbed out, she looked around. The underground parking garage they were in held several vehicles, all concealed under cloth sheets so that she couldn't even garner a make or model, much less a license plate.
Two more Mercia were in the parking garage, ostensibly to open the car doors for them but more likely to escort them where they needed to go without any 'accidental' detours. She hated being in this situation, where the villains had all the power. Despite the assurances to the contrary, her mind kept throwing up scenarios of betrayal, and she was constantly on edge.
They rode up in an elevator to what she judged to be the second floor; the doors opened onto an antechamber panelled in dark wood, with windows on one side that were firmly curtained. Even the paintings on the wall were covered up. A pair of double doors on one side of the room stood open, framing Marquis in what she judged was a deliberately dramatic style.
"Welcome to my humble home." He bowed, making a courtly gesture of invitation. "Please, come in."
Humble, my ass. Nothing about this man is humble. But he'd been polite enough about it, so she stepped forward, Licit at her side.
Within the room was a table with an impressively large-scale map of Brockton Bay spread out on it. Along with Marquis, a group of capes stood around the table: a slender brunette in an evening gown, a huge guy who looked like he could bench-press a Humvee for light exercise, a tall redhead in a utilitarian costume with a sly grin on her face, a young man wearing a vaguely Roman outfit, and a petite blonde with gold irises to her eyes, wearing a blue and gold costume. Four more members of the Mercia lurked in the corners of the room, a casual display of henchmen that did not go unnoticed.
"Edict, Licit, I would like you to meet Marchioness, Watchman, Beltane, Legion and Palatina." Marquis could have been performing introductions at a state dinner. "I will say this once: we are under conditions of truce. Our aim here is to locate Damsel of Distress as soon as possible, so that she can be removed from Brockton Bay by the most expedient means at our disposal. All other issues are to be put aside until this is dealt with."
"Jeez," muttered Licit, staring at the map. "You could just about go house to house with this. How did you get so much detail?"
"City planning archive clerks are notoriously underpaid," Marquis replied urbanely. "Did you have any questions regarding the situation at hand?"
"Actually, yeah." Janice jerked her chin upward. "When you say, 'remove by the most expedient means', does that mean capturing her alive and letting us take her back to Stafford?"
Marchioness raised an eyebrow. "I'm pretty sure that depends on Damsel. If she cooperates with a live capture, all well and good. If she doesn't, we'll be going the other way."
The sheer callousness of the comment, especially coming from someone so young, stunned Janice for a moment. "If you think for one moment we're going to stand by and let you murder her—"
"May I remind you that she's already killed two of ours because you were unable to maintain adequate surveillance of her?" Marquis interjected smoothly. "She attacked us. Worse, she returned to Knight Errant after he was incapacitated, and deliberately murdered him. This is someone with whom no chances can be taken. Or would you prefer that we not go with the lethal option if, for instance, she happened to be lining up a kill-shot on either one of you and there was no other way to stop her?"
Tension twanged in the air as he once more inclined his head toward them, as if to say, 'your move'.
"She wouldn't try to kill us," Janice stated boldly.
"She's psychotic." Legion shook his head. "If you honestly think she wouldn't if she had the chance, then you're crazier than she is."
"She's never tried before." But Licit sounded more dubious than Janice liked.
"Which only means she didn't think she could get away with it." Marchioness was also apparently deeply cynical. "But in a different city, with you guys working alongside villains, she could easily decide to kill you and blame it on us."
Licit cleared his throat. "I hate to say she's got a point, but she does have a point. Damsel's not exactly the most stable person in the world. Or even in Stafford."
Janice wanted to contradict both of them, but couldn't. Ashley Stillons, known mainly by her villain moniker Damsel of Distress, was a special case. Director Armstrong believed there was good in there to be reached, and Janice happened to agree with that point of view.
Unfortunately, Damsel of Distress was also emotionally volatile to a frankly worrying degree, and her power made her frequent tantrums a potentially lethal affair. If Marquis was telling the truth (and as much as Janice wanted to point at him being a villain and thus an unreliable witness, he had a strong reputation for being straight down the line with all his dealings) then she'd killed at least two people since arriving in Brockton Bay. Janice didn't know what was worse: that Ashley had attacked the entourage of the biggest villain gang in the city, or that she'd only managed to kill two of them.
(Not that she wanted anyone dead, exactly, but if Marquis had been one of the casualties, she very much doubted that the others would be sticking around. In her experience, villain gangs tended to fall apart once the founder kicked the bucket.)
"Okay, fine." She grimaced. "So, where did this happen?"
Marchioness took over then. Picking up a slender pointer stick, she tapped a location in what Janice figured was the industrial area of town. "She was holed up here, in an abandoned warehouse. One of the Mercia encountered her while looking for someone else, and she killed him. When we came looking, she attacked us without warning, nearly killed most of us, and did kill Knight Errant. Our best guess has her blasting into the sewer line here. She blasted a manhole cover here, several blocks away, then went into an alley. That's where we lost track of her." As she spoke, the pointer tapped on the map.
Licit rubbed his chin. "Warehouse, do you think?"
Despite Janice's misgivings, there was a distinct need to find Ashley before anyone else did—or before she killed anyone else. "She'll need to stock up first. Where's the closest convenience store? Also, she's going to need internet, which means a working phone line and electricity."
Marchioness took on a faraway look for a moment. "Closest stores are here, here, here and here." The pointer tapped the map four times in quick succession.
Marquis nodded briefly. "Those are all under my protection." Turning to the big guy, he spoke crisply. "Watchman, have the patrolling Mercia investigate those locations, and report accordingly."
"Sir," rumbled Watchman, and stepped away from the table as he pulled out a phone.
"Protection, hah." Janice rolled her eyes. She was trying to keep things civil, but sometimes the hypocrisy pissed her off beyond her capacity for tolerance. "As if."
Everyone paused at that. Even Licit half-turned toward her, his expression clearly asking her what the hell she thought she was doing. Marquis, however, defused the sudden tension with an airy wave.
"You wish to express a critique of how I carry out my business?" He may well have been asking for her opinion regarding a piece of artwork, for all the concern he was showing.
However, he had asked the question, so he couldn't complain if he got a straight answer. "If you want to call the act of criminal extortion 'business', then yes. I'll critique that all day."
"Wait just one second—" began Marchioness.
Marquis held up his hand, and she subsided. "No, the lady possesses a point. A sadly misplaced one, but a point nonetheless. Fortunately, it is one that can be addressed in short order, when we interview whoever it is that Damsel has forcibly replenished her supplies from. Following that, we locate whatever nearby places fit her requirements and investigate them."
"Wait," Licit said. "How are you just going to figure out what buildings still have electricity and internet?"
"Money." Marquis spoke the word with power and gravitas. "It may not make the world go 'round, but it certainly puts a good spin on things. Shall we go?"
Licit
The convenience store was, in all honesty, not in great shape. Most of this was due not to the impoverished location, but to the fact that half the door and window were missing. Normally, Dave would've put this down to simply being in a bad part of town, but he was familiar with the telltale signs of Damsel's power expression.
From Edict's expression, she'd also recognised it. "She was here, alright."
He nodded. "Poor bastards. No way in hell they'll get this place fixed up before all the neighbourhood vultures pick it clean of whatever she didn't steal."
It wasn't something he could do anything about, so he tried not to dwell too heavily on it. It was the way of the world. Shit happened, and sometimes civilians got caught in the crossfire. About to turn away, he saw Marquis step up to the front entrance and push the remains of the door aside.
"Okay, what the hell does he want?" Edict asked, under her breath.
"Maybe to ask if they saw which way she went?" Dave hazarded.
Edict snorted. "Yeah, right. He's probably after this week's payment. Come on." She headed for the door herself.
"Don't do anything stupid, okay?" He knew they were already on thin ice after her comments at the villain's base. The last thing they needed was for Marquis to decide they were more trouble than they were worth, and kick them to the curb.
"No, I just want to see what he's up to. Maybe if we're in the shop, he won't do anything too egregious." Determinedly, she stepped inside as well.
Dave sighed and followed. From what he'd seen of Marquis, their presence or lack thereof would impinge not at all on the supervillain's actions. Marquis did what Marquis did, and to hell with the rest of the world. Still, he had a few bucks in his wallet. It wouldn't be much, but it might help the guy out a bit.
When he got inside, Marquis was standing in the middle of the convenience store, apparently surveying the damage. Damsel had not been the friendliest customer; an entire set of shelves had been demolished, the rest tipped over, and there was a hole in the ceiling. The proprietor, currently sweeping up broken bits of ceiling tile, had a defeated set to his shoulders.
"Mr Keegan." Marquis moved to the counter.
"Yes, sir?" The proprietor propped his broom against the nearest shelf and scuttled behind the counter. "I'm sorry, sir, I couldn't stop her—"
"If you'd tried, you would be dead." Marquis gestured at the devastation of the shop. "Repairs will begin immediately. I will have people here by noon. Two members of the Mercia will remain on station until the shop is secure." He produced a leather wallet and opened it with the air of a magician performing a trick. "This card contains sufficient funds, I believe, to both replenish the stolen and destroyed stock and keep your family in the necessities of life until the shop is up and running again. You are, of course, exempt from payments until that happens. Do you understand?"
"Uh, yes, sir. Thank you, sir." The shop owner accepted the proffered card with the air of a drowning man taking hold of a lifeline. "I—I—we won't forget this, sir."
Marquis inclined his head briefly, acknowledging the sentiment without actually responding to it. "Good day to you." Turning, he left the shop with the same dignity as he'd entered it, stepping past Dave and the goggling Edict with barely a glance in their direction.
"What the—wait just a minute!" Edict turned and bolted after him. Dave spared one last glance for the wreckage—even if he emptied his bank account, it would've been nothing more than a useless gesture, especially after Marquis' actions—and followed her.
When he got outside, she was standing face to face with Marquis; or rather, face to chest, as he was the taller by several inches. She seethed with ill-concealed fury, in direct contrast to his expression of bemused tolerance. The only reason she wasn't using her power on him, Dave judged, was that the rest of his entourage was right there, and even in her anger she knew that attempting any such thing would be a supremely idiotic move.
"Again," drawled Marquis. "Do you have a critique regarding how I carry out my business, or do you merely wish to immolate me with sheer willpower? If the latter, then I suggest you do it without speaking. I have a call to make."
He turned away from her, pulling out his phone. She stepped forward, reaching out to grab his arm; Dave opened his mouth to yell at her but Marchioness got there first, stepping in the way and pushing her hand down.
"You do not touch Marquis without his permission," she warned Edict with a look that stopped the older woman in her tracks. "If you've got an issue, address it to me. I'll make sure he hears about anything that's worth passing on."
Even Dave heard the subtext there, and it wasn't aimed at him: not that anything you've got to say qualifies for that.
Edict took a deep breath in what seemed to be a last-ditch effort to compose herself. "There is no way in hell that he actually gave that guy enough money to resupply, much less set up repairs to be made. Why would he lie to him like that?"
"Really?" Marchioness' tone was so cutting, it should've drawn blood. "You honestly think he was lying? You do know he's richer than God, right? What possible reason would he have to screw with his own reputation?"
"To look good in front of us, so we report back to the PRT that you should be left alone." Edict's tone was defiant, and what she didn't say was equally clear. Yeah, that's gonna happen, I don't think.
Marchioness actually laughed in her face. "Honey, we don't give a flying fuck about what you think of us. We're letting you come along with us because right now your usefulness slightly outweighs your liability factor. You called us, remember? Keep getting in our faces like this, and we will kick you to the curb." Deliberately, she leaned in slightly. "And in your case, it'll be literal."
Dave saw Edict burring up at the threat, and got in the way before something unfortunate could happen. "Edict, slow your roll there. Do us both a favour and take a breath, okay? I got this." He waited until Edict stepped back, then turned to Marchioness. "Look, sorry, we're both a bit on edge about this. Director Armstrong had some pretty strong words for us about letting her slip away like that."
Marchioness eyed him dispassionately. "I'm not surprised. I would too. I'm guessing you've got questions as well?"
He hadn't actually been about to push for answers, but it seemed she was more irritated at the attitude than the questions themselves. "I guess. So Marquis actually gave that guy the cash to get back on his feet? How does that even work?" He'd seen protection rackets in action before. They never worked in favour of the protectee.
"Well, yeah." She spread her hands. "It's like any other insurance setup. He takes an affordable payment, and if any of the businesses under his protection needs a hand, they get assistance. That way, they stay up and running, and we keep making money. Why gouge them for more they can afford when making sure they stay prosperous gives us more in the long run?"
Dave shook his head, trying to figure this out. "Okay, if this is the smart play, why don't more criminal organisations do it this way?"
Marchioness' tone was professorial. "Because they're greedy, because they go into it with the mindset of 'take from others', and because they face the ever-present threat of law enforcement shutting down their protection operations. They grab what they can, as fast as they can. Short-term gain over long-term profit."
"And you're saying he's not like that?" Edict seemed to have recovered her poise. Her voice wasn't quite a sneer, probably because Marchioness was said to be Marquis' daughter, and he was standing right there. "I find that hard to believe. Villains like him take and destroy. They don't give away money, and they don't promote growth. And they certainly never change."
"Arguments from incredulity are the last refuge of the wilfully ignorant," Marchioness countered scornfully. "You may have noticed the security cameras. He paid for those. If shops under his protection are robbed, we identify the perpetrators, track them down, and make it right."
"Wait." Dave stepped in before Edict could say something more problematic. "When you say, 'make it right', what do you mean, exactly?"
Marchioness raised an eyebrow. "Damage repaired, money repaid, stolen goods returned or replaced." She paused for a beat, and her voice took on sinister undertones. "And they never do it again."
"You're supposed to hand people like that over to the police and let them handle it!" But Edict seemed to be protesting more because it was expected rather than out of any real need to protest.
Marchioness gave her a well, duh look. "And that's where the 'villain' aspect comes in."
"Not that my dear Marchioness has fully embraced the role of being a supervillain," Marquis mused, stepping back into the conversation. "She has been known to save lives out of the sheer goodness of her heart from time to time, and to perform honest work for honest pay." He smiled coldly. "Unlike myself. I claim it and make it my own."
"So, you got the information?" Marchioness asked.
"Indeed. Three locations, all within easy walking distance of here, all with working electricity and internet." Marquis dusted his hands off theatrically. "Shall we go and investigate?"
Marchioness
Edict had been lucky Claire had time to tamp down her reflexive dislike for the woman before it became necessary to make physical contact with her. If she hadn't, Claire's power might well have inflicted her with a severe itching rash or something similar. Licit had been easier to get along with, asking honest questions and apparently paying attention to the answers.
It was kind of understandable that Edict had a low opinion of villains in general. Claire shared it for the most part, though some villains were a lot more tolerable than others, and some heroes could take a long walk off a short pier for all she cared. The trouble was that Edict didn't seem to be aware that not all villains were created alike, and wasn't interested in finding out.
It was probably a good thing that they'd be leaving Brockton Bay once the Damsel situation was dealt with. Edict and Licit almost certainly thought that too, for entirely different reasons.
She looked around at the surrounding buildings, pushing her senses out in ways unmodified humans just couldn't match. Her nostrils flared, picking up scents that would be imperceptible to the others, but Damsel's wasn't among them. "I don't think she's here," she said.
Marquis nodded. "Understood. How certain are you?"
"Seventy-five percent." Claire eyed the buildings. "If she's in any of those, she's either on the ground floor or she'll need a working elevator. From the way she was favouring her knee, she won't be climbing stairs regularly any time soon."
"Legion. Investigate, if you will. Ground floors and elevators."
"Yes, sir." Justin's ghosts poured out in all directions. One ducked past Edict, who flinched away. Claire hid a grin. It would kind of suck, she supposed, to be up against projections that were entirely immune to voiced commands.
Licit approached Justin. "Is it okay if I ask a question?"
"Sure, just don't distract me too much. I'm kinda multi-tasking here."
"Right, right. You used to be Crusader, yeah? How did you go from being in the Empire Eighty-Eight to Marquis' crew?"
Justin gave him a steady look. "Kaiser was a douche. When him and Marquis went head-to-head, Marquis made me a better offer. Never regretted taking him up on it."
Claire could tell that Licit wanted to ask the other question but was choosing not to. Then, of course, Edict decided to ask it. "So, what about the whole white-supremacist thing? Did you just decide one day that you weren't going to be a racist scumbag anymore?" Her tone held distinct disbelief. "Or is one boss just as good as another?"
"That's not me anymore." Justin didn't look around. "I know I've made mistakes, and I'm working to be a better person. Now shut up, I'm concentrating."
"But what—" Edict didn't get any further, because Claire was stepping in the way again.
"Seriously, for someone whose power uses the spoken word, you're terrible at listening." Claire made a shooing gesture. "Can you not keep intruding where you're not needed?"
"Edict." Marquis spoke quietly. "Get in the way of my people one more time, and you can go back to Stafford, or to the PRT building. I'm indifferent as to which one. Is that perfectly understood?"
"Perfectly," Licit assured him, physically steering Edict away from Justin. "Edict …"
Claire could hear him talking to his partner in a low voice; if she amped up the gain in her ears just a little, she knew she'd be able to discern what they were saying, but she didn't care right then. Her attention was more on Justin, who seemed to be relaxing more as time went by.
Finally, he shook his head. "No sign of anyone on the ground floor anywhere. The elevators aren't working, and half the stairwells are blocked anyway. She's not in this area."
"Excellent." Marquis indicated a direction. "One down, two to go."
Legion
Justin was definitely on edge now. The investigation of the second site had turned it up just as empty as the first one (apart from some homeless people who he'd figured out were definitely not Damsel of Distress, after about thirty seconds of heart seizure), so now they were in make-or-break territory.
On the one hand, he was leery of encountering the woman who had casually blotted his ghosts out of existence. Sure, Marchioness had explained to him that the missing ones would probably come back, but when was that likely to happen? A day, a week, a year?
On the other hand, and being the reason he was searching with all the diligence he was capable of, was the fact that if this location came up blank, Marquis would look stupid in front of the heroes. Justin didn't want that to happen, mainly because Marquis was trusting him to get it right. Edict, he could tell, would love to see them fall on their faces, and there was no way he was going to let that happen if he could help it.
The trouble was, there was nobody on the ground floor of any of the buildings he was investigating, and he was starting to feel the pinch. One of the buildings showed signs of doors being busted in, in a way that looked kind of familiar (his ghosts didn't relay the sharpest of signals back to him), but that wasn't absolute proof. He sent them looking for an elevator … and they found one.
And the buttons were lit up.
"Guys," he said cautiously. "I think I might have something."
"Really?" Marchioness looked at him intently. "Where?"
"Building to my right. Two o'clock." As per the way Marquis had trained him, he didn't point, just in case Damsel was looking out a window. "Blue frontage. Nobody on the ground floor, but suspicious entry damage and a working elevator. Sending ghosts up to check the rest of the building."
"I hear you." Beltane's voice came over the earpieces they were all (except the heroes) wearing. "Moving location for a better angle."
"Understood." Marquis answered so smoothly that he could easily have been responding only to Justin. "Spread out. Watchman, with Marchioness. We shall approach, but not directly."
As they moved in loose formation (mainly so any surprise attack couldn't nail more than one or two of them at once), Justin kept his ghosts moving. Marchioness' advice of coming up through the floor was sound, though they had to keep pausing to crush roaches and push rats out of the way. Just as his ghosts could only affect living things, they couldn't go insubstantial with regard to those same living things.
The second floor was clear of any people, but he got the impression she'd tried to remodel it for her own comfort—mainly by blowing holes in walls—and given up halfway through. "She's not on the second floor," he reported. "Going to check third."
"She's definitely in the building," Marchioness verified. "The scent trail's strong."
Licit stared at her. "You can track by scent?"
"Sure." She gave him a snarky grin. "Can't everyone?"
Damsel of Distress
The office chair Ashley had dragged in from another part of the building was dusty and had rat shit on it, but it only creaked a little bit under her weight, and it had all its castors, so that was a bonus. She didn't have a sleeping bag anymore, but that was okay too. She'd get another one soon enough, and in the meantime she was used to losing sleep.
Her knee ached and wouldn't bend properly, but that was partly because of the strapping she'd put on it. She knew from past injuries to keep joint injuries as immobile as possible, or they didn't heal right. This was why she'd bandaged her hand as best she could, though she was going to have to use it sometimes. Fuck it. Gotta do what I gotta do.
The nicks and cuts she'd gotten from the shitstorm Purity had unleashed on her had been cleaned out with the disinfectant she'd gotten from the convenience store (sewers and open cuts were a very bad combination), then covered over with dressings. She didn't give a shit about the fact that she'd basically cleaned out the first-aid section from the shop. Damsel of Distress didn't ask; she took.
Even her dress was (mostly) clean, the gruck from the sewers rinsed off in the working washroom basin she'd found. It was clammy to put back on, but she only had the one (Marquis' crew was going to pay for everything of hers they'd destroyed) and it was better than sitting around in her underwear. At least she'd eaten, and had some food for the next few days; the cans she'd stolen from the store would keep indefinitely.
As soon as my hand and knee are a bit better, I'll start recruiting. And then I can start setting off false alarms, dragging Marquis out into the open where I can have a clear shot at him. She still couldn't understand how only one of them was dead. Next time, I'll make sure—
A metallic clattering brought her head up, and she jumped to her feet as fast as she was able. She'd eaten the contents of two of the cans so fast she hadn't even registered the taste, then she'd balanced them in crude sound-traps, so she wouldn't be surprised by intruders. "Fuck off!" she screamed, pointing her left hand at the doorway leading out into the corridor. "Fuck off or die!"
"Damsel!" The voice was Edict's. "We're here to take you back!"
"Pass." She fired a blast that took out a chunk of doorframe, just to make her point. "I will hurt you." And now she was going to have to move again, goddamn it. "How the fuck did you find me, anyway?"
"They didn't." That was a different voice, one that she'd never heard before. "We found you. And you are leaving Brockton Bay, one way or the other."
"Who's that?" she called. "Do you have any idea who you're facing?"
"Do you?" This time, it was a teenage girl. "The number of people who've dissed Marquis and walked away is pretty damn low, just saying."
"Damsel." This time it was Licit. "That was Marchioness, and she's telling the truth. Give yourself up peacefully, please. There's no good end to this. Just come on back to Stafford."
"The fuck?" Ashley looked around wildly, then grabbed up the shopping bag holding the rest of her food. She'd have to use her right hand to shoot, but that was the least of her problems right then. "Why the fuck are you working with villains?"
Licit stepped into view, his hands in plain sight. "I don't like it either, but it was the best option of a bad set of choices. Now just give up and—"
"No!" she screamed, levelling her arm at Licit. Energy snarled and crackled around her hand.
Edict stepped into sight alongside Licit. "STOP."
Ashley hated when she did that. It felt like rusty razor-blades scraping across the inside of her skull, promising dire retribution if she wasn't obeyed.
But Damsel of Distress wasn't the obeying type. She fired a blast at the floor at their feet, feeling a clench of pain in her eyes as her vision suddenly went monochrome. This was better than some of the things Edict's power had done to her in the past.
Her power was still flaring—she was trying to blow a hole that they'd fall into—when they vanished in a blur, at the same time as a tremendous blow to her forearm jerked the entire limb sideways, blood spraying in a great arc. The blast, unfocused, took out another chunk of floor and wall before she realised she was falling, betrayed by her damaged knee. She shrieked with the surprise more than the pain—that was yet to come—then realised she was being grappled by ghostly hands emerging from the floor.
Think you can stop me like this? You can't stop me like this!
Her left hand flared with power, and one of the ghosts popped, freeing that arm. Edict and Licit were gone, and Marchioness was looking at her through one of the brand-new holes in the wall. Ashley had the choice to free herself or to kill her enemies.
She pointed her hand at Marchioness.
In the stretched-out seconds as her power coursed down her arm, the instant before it would have leaped out and obliterated the healer once and for all, she became aware that Marchioness was also pointing at her. Except that in Marchioness' hand was a small pistol.
Fuck y—
The last thing Ashey ever saw was the muzzle-flare.
Licit
"Shit." Dave looked down at Damsel's corpse. Marchioness had gotten her just under the left eye with the pistol neither of them had even suspected the girl of carrying. That was far from the only wound she bore; aside from the patched injuries resulting from the previous fight with Marquis' gang, she had a large-calibre bullet wound that had punched through her left forearm.
"What the fuck?" Edict was somewhat more eloquent. "You had a fucking sniper?"
"Equipped with the latest Tinkertech thermographic scope," Marquis agreed blandly. "Apparently, it allows one to almost read the newspaper clear through the wall."
"That was uncalled for!" Edict's anger, never far beneath the surface since she'd arrived in Brockton Bay, was boiling up again. "We could've taken her—"
"—dead." Marquis was no longer mincing words. "She was determined to kill one or more of us. She would've severely wounded both of you, had Watchman not pulled you out of the way of the blast. If Marchioness had not finished it, Beltane would have. Now, you have what you came for. Our business is concluded."
"But you said—" Dave began, before he recalled what had actually been said.
"—that you could take her back to Stafford." Marquis turned to face him. "I never guaranteed her life in all that. Take her, and go."
Dave looked down at Damsel of Distress again.
Director Armstrong was not going to be happy.
Well, shit.
End of Part Thirty-Two