Another Way

Part Thirty-One: Gathering Storm

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

Taylor

Emma watched surreptitiously as, in the distance, the boy named Jay tested his ankle, got on his skateboard and headed off down the Boardwalk. "Is it just me," she asked rhetorically, "or was he seriously cute?"

"Pfft." Sophia rolled her eyes dismissively. "If he can't watch where he's going, what good is he?"

"No, no, Emma's got a point." Feeling mischievous, Taylor grinned at Claire, whose cheeks were shading pink by now. "And he was totally checking you out, if I'm not much mistaken."

Claire shook her head dismissively. "You're absolutely mistaken. When was the last time you had your glasses checked? Boys are never interested in me. Probably saw Emma and just lost the plot altogether."

"Nuh uh." Emma's grin was as broad as Taylor's. "It wasn't me he was looking at. He probably got distracted by you, and that's why he crashed."

"Yeah," agreed Taylor, gleefully watching Claire's cheeks redden a little more. They were all friends, but a little good-natured teasing was fun from time to time. "And your Florence Nightingale act didn't hurt at all. Guys like the nurturing type, right, Sophia?"

"I wouldn't know." Sophia's snort was a masterpiece of 'don't give a damn'. "I do track, not romance advice."

"Exactly." Claire tossed her hair loftily. "You guys have no idea what you're talking about. He's probably forgotten all about us by now. None of his little skater-buddies saw him come off his board, so it never happened."

"Claire and Jay, sitting in a tree …" Emma murmured, but didn't finish it.

Claire gave her a half-hearted glare, then shook her head. "What are you, five?"

"But you do admit," Taylor pressed, "he was kinda cute, yeah?" She'd thought so, anyway. It had seemed to her that Claire was equally interested in him, but getting her friend to admit it was like pulling teeth.

"What's that lawyer-speak thing people do in court?" Claire tilted her head slightly in thought. "Oh, yeah. I plead the fifth."

Emma giggled. "Dad says that's basically code for, 'yeah, but you'll never prove it'. So, you do think he's cute."

"Cats are cute," Claire pointed out accurately. "Dogs are cute, sometimes. Babies are cute. Doesn't mean I want any of them around me."

"Cuteness is overrated," Sophia agreed. "It's just another way to act all helpless until someone does stuff for you."

Taylor raised her eyebrows in surprise as she surveyed Sophia. "Wow, from the way you're talking, you don't have a romantic bone in your body. Haven't you ever been interested in talking to a boy?" Not that she had, not like that, but she understood that was how it usually went. In a few years' time, she figured, she'd find out for herself.

"When I find a boy who's interested in me for what I can do instead of how I look in a dress," Sophia declared, "then that's the boy I'll want to talk to."

"But what if how you look in a dress is what you can do?" Emma asked ingenuously. "Mom and Dad say that when I turn thirteen, I can start modelling clothes for some of the shops in Weymouth Mall. Should I reject boys who are just interested in me for my modelling skills?"

Sophia glared at Emma. "That's not the same, and you know it." Grabbing the redhead in a headlock, she gave her a brisk noogie. "This is for being full of shit, and for running off when I wanted to give you that wreath of appreciation."

"Pfft—wagh—Sophia—get off!" Emma struggled free; or rather, was released when Sophia let go. "Wow, seriously? Can you maybe leave my hair alone for five minutes?"

Taylor got a mischievous impulse around then, and smirked. "Gee, I dunno, Ems. Could be Sophia's got an ulterior motive. Seeing as she's not interested in boys and all." She didn't really mean it, and her tone conveyed as much, but Sophia bit so hard when she was teased.

"What?" Sophia's head whipped around. "Oh, hell no. You don't get to put words in my mouth. I don't play for that team either."

"So what team do you play for?" asked Emma, stepping back so Sophia couldn't grab her again. "If you don't like boys or girls, I mean?"

"Who's to say she has to have a preference?" Claire interjected. "I don't know if I like boys or girls yet either. Could be one, could be the other, could be both, could be neither. Time will tell."

"But you still thought Jay was cute, right?" asked Taylor. "That could be a clue, just saying."

"Like I said, kittens are cute too." Claire spread her hands. "You don't see me with a cat."

Sophia shook her head irritably. "If I ever start dating, it'll be because I want to, not because some idiot boy asked me out and I thought I had to say yes. Now can we talk about something that matters?"

"Sure, okay." Emma pinched her lower lip and looked thoughtful for a moment. "What do you think's gonna happen, now that Marquis has wrecked all the villain gangs in town? More supervillains coming to town, or just ordinary assholes filtering in since there's no supervillains to keep them in check?"

"Just so you know, the Mercia will totally fuck up ordinary criminals too," Taylor interjected. "There was the time Dad got stabbed, remember?" The cold feeling she got in her stomach every time she thought about that never really went away, but it wasn't as intense as it used to be, so now she was able to talk about it.

"Oh, yeah, true." Claire nodded. "But the thing that happened last night …" She gave Emma and Sophia a significant glance, to let them know what she was talking about without actually referring to it out loud. "That makes me think there might be more actual villains coming here. Some of them might already be in town. Dad said this morning he'd heard on the grapevine that Marquis' people had a run-in with another villain last night after they rescued you, and it got pretty intense."

"What, really?" scoffed Sophia. "Marquis is the guy who kicks the ass of everyone else who thinks they can kick ass. I mean, look at what he's done so far. Nobody with half a brain is going to go up against him."

"Well, that actually depends, doesn't it?" As they strolled along the Boardwalk, Taylor recognised some of Alan Barnes' influence in Emma's posture and tone, though she doubted anyone but her would pick it up. "The ones with more than half a brain, or the ones that think they're that smart, would study his methods and work to devise means to get around him rather than oppose him directly. After all, he isn't exactly subtle with his stance."

"Got it in one," Claire confirmed. "From what Dad heard, someone definitely came in with the means to fuck over Marquis' people, and used it. He might even have taken casualties." Her phone pinged and she pulled it out to check. "Damn," she muttered. "Speak of the devil. Dad wants me back home. There's probably been another villain scare."

"Well, that sucks." Sophia gave Claire a quick side-hug. "I hope this doesn't happen every time some asshole in spandex sticks his head up."

"Actually, you know what?" Claire looked around at the others. "I'm gonna ask Jonas to drop you guys home. It's the least I can do, and it'll save you spending bus fare when you don't have to."

Taylor glanced at Emma and Sophia. "Sure," she said. "I've always wanted to see what the inside of one of those high-end limos looks like, anyway."

Emma grinned. "Not as fancy as you probably expect, to be honest."

"Gotta be better than Mom's old beater," Sophia pointed out. "Plus, if Stephen sees me getting out of a car that costs more than he earns in ten years, it might give him the kick up the ass that he needs to get a raise or something, and stop sponging off Mom."

Taylor had never met this 'Stephen', but she disliked him already. Still, there were other things they could talk about. "So, um, this Marquis thing. People really got hurt?"

"Well, from what Dad said, it seems likely, yeah." Claire headed toward Lord Street. "C'mon, Jonas is probably nearby."

Taylor shook her head. For all that Marquis had been a supervillain since before she was born, she held him in considerable regard for his part in saving her father's life. To hear that another villain had shown up in town just to go after his people came as a real blow. "Is Marchioness okay, do you know?"

Claire shrugged. "I didn't get any details apart from that, but Marquis isn't tearing the city apart building by building, so … I guess she is?"

"Doesn't matter if he goes after them fast or slow," Sophia predicted darkly. "If he didn't kill them from the get-go, he'll totally do it once he gets his hands on them. And he will get his hands on them. Like I said before, he kicks ass in ways other people only dream of."

"Sounds like you've got a bit of hero worship going on there," Emma noted, with barely any snark at all. "So, were you actually considering taking that job offer?"

"I've been thinking about it," Sophia confessed. "Sure, he's a villain, but—" She broke off as the limo pulled up at the curb next to them. "To be continued."

Taylor nodded. It seemed like the best policy. She trusted Claire with her secrets, and she knew Sophia did too, but this didn't feel like something that should be shared willy-nilly.

Whichever way Sophia decided, Taylor figured it was best that she had the opportunity to make her decision without well-meaning adults trying to make it for her. And no matter how cool and in charge Earl Marchant was, that included him.

The Jewel of Boston

"You have returned," observed Détente, barely looking up from the papers he was working on. "I understand you made contact with the Marchant girl?"

"Totally, and all it took was a fall off my board." Jay took his skateboard from under his arm and leaned it up against the wall. Détente wasn't as murderously strict about keeping everything neat and tidy as Accord was, but he had his standards. "I thought I twisted my ankle pretty badly, but it wasn't as bad as it seemed. And I got to look goofy in front of her, so that's a bonus. Girls like that."

Now Détente looked up. "How long before you can influence her father into meeting with me?"

Jay waved his hand in negation. "I still need to make a proper connection. We didn't talk a lot, but if I can engineer another 'accidental' meeting, she'll open up. Give me a week, tops, and she'll be eating out of my hand."

"Excellent." Détente smiled. "Expanding my operations into Brockton Bay won't be easy with Marquis working to push all competition down, but Earl Marchant's money will serve to offset a great deal of that difficulty."

"Well, that's what I'm here for," Jay stated confidently. "By the time I'm finished with Claire, she won't know what hit her." He strolled over to the fridge in the corner of Détente's study and took out a soda. "Though I still say I should've gone straight for Marchioness instead, or maybe as well. Having big money backing us is one thing, but having Marquis' kid wrapped around my little finger would help work things out a lot faster."

"No." Détente shook his head. "It's tempting, certainly, but it's also too risky. Far too difficult to get her on her own, and there's already been at least one abduction attempt. Still, if she were operating in a vacuum, I might give you the go-ahead, but after her performance in Orlando, she's the focus of attention from the PRT and Protectorate both. Nobody wants anything bad happening to her."

"Okay, good point." Jay popped the soda open and took a drink. "We'll do things the boring and safe way. Let me know the next time your guys spot her on the Boardwalk, and I'll show up with my trusty skateboard."

"As you say, that's what you're here for." Détente went back to his work.

Damsel of Distress

Ashley grunted as she levered herself up the ladder, one step at a time. It was bad enough to have to retreat from Purity's incessant attacks, but losing her hard-won possessions had pissed her off more than she had been in some time. On top of all that, having to spend a sleepless, noxious night in the sewer system on the off-chance that Marquis' capes might track her down a second time had left her in a particularly murderous frame of mind.

During that time, the adrenaline had worn off, leaving Ashley very thoroughly aware of every bump, bruise, abrasion and cut she'd suffered during Purity's bombardment. Not one of the flying Blaster's spiralling energy blasts had scored on her—she'd be missing limbs, or worse, if that had been the case—but the explosive effects of even the near misses on the surrounding concrete had subjected her to a constant hail of occasionally-pointy shrapnel.

When she'd finally decided to get moving after what she judged to be several extremely uncomfortable hours, she found it difficult to use her right hand to any effect, as it was uncomfortably swollen. Her left knee had taken a hit and hurt to flex, and the rest of her body was as creaky and stiff as a rusty hinge. But she'd been through worse, so she told herself to fuck off with the complaining and get a move along.

"They think they've beaten me?" she growled to herself as she wedged her way up the ladder leading to the surface. Tiny points of light filtering down through the holes in the manhole cover above verified her assumption that it was now daytime.

Her stomach growled at the lack of food over the last six or seven hours, but she told it to shut up as well. Thirst also burned in her throat, though she dared not even chance the water running through the sewer channel. That way lay dysentery and worse.

Nobody answered her rhetorical question, not even an echo, so she provided her own answer. "They totally fucking think they've beaten me. You do, don't you?" she shouted upward at the cover above. "You think you've killed me! You think I'm gone! Well, you're wrong!"

She heaved herself up another rung, hissing air through her teeth as she forced mutinous fingers to grasp the rusted metal anyway, and levered her leg to full extension so it could support her. Something might be fractured in the wrist, she suspected. It felt fractured, anyway.

After she'd made it another couple of yards up, she paused to catch her breath. "You're wrong," she reiterated, taking up her self-imposed monologue again. "I'm not dead. You did your best to kill me, but I fucking survived. I'll always survive, and I'll come back, and I will kill you!"

She was pretty sure she'd wiped at least one of them off the board, the pretentious asshole with the armour and the shield and the flaming sword. Like the one in the black coat, he'd still been alive and moving after she hit him with a blast that should've killed him to begin with, so she'd made sure of him on the second pass. Was it something in the water, or had she just run into a bunch of Brutes?

Marquis himself might've been down as well, though she couldn't be sure. The big guy had thrown himself in the way, which might work for bullets and shit, but her power treated everything as visual cover only. Purity had interfered then, forcing her back into the warehouse and underground, which was a mistake because she wasn't dead.

"And once I kill you," she snarled through gritted teeth, pushing herself up another couple of rungs through sheer bloody-minded stubbornness, "I'm gonna dance on your fucking graves. Not that you'll have any graves to dance on, because I'm going to blast you into fucking nothing. There won't even be smoke left once I finish cratering your sorry corpses, because I'll destroy that too. Nobody fucks with Damsel of Distress!"

As she screamed out the last sentence, she found herself just under the manhole cover, close enough to reach up and touch. The dots of light streaming through made her nostalgic for a world that wasn't composed entirely of darkness and shit, and maybe a bed with a soft mattress every now and again. Wedging herself onto the ladder, she reached up and shoved at the cover with her free hand.

It barely moved, then fell back down again. A vagrant, teasing wisp of fresh air wafted past her nose.

She shoved harder.

It refused to lift up and grant her freedom.

Reluctantly taking a deep breath of the stench-laden air, she put everything she had into it, until her injured hand and knee threatened to buckle and give way, and still she couldn't shift it. She glared upward at the unyielding metal barrier, growling deep in her throat.

"So that's the way it is, is it?"

Lifting her hand, she spread her fingers wide and triggered her power. With its usual teeth-jittering racket, it lashed upward, disintegrating the manhole cover and sending the remnants flying far and wide. Sunlight flooded in, along with far more breathable air than she'd been getting up until that point.

She pushed aside the last pieces of the manhole cover and climbed out of the hole, then hobbled toward the nearest alley. Her knee and hand would mend, and she would soon be ready to take the fight back to Marquis. Next time, only one of them would walk away, and it wouldn't be him.

Taylor

As the limo pulled to a stop, Taylor looked around. "So anyway, I—wow, we're at my place already?"

Emma giggled. "Yeah, we are. I guess time flies when you're talking nineteen to the dozen, huh?"

"I was not," Taylor declared mock-indignantly. "You were all drowning me out. I barely got a word in edgewise." She unbuckled from her seat and hugged each of her friends in turn. "This was fun. Maybe meet up again tomorrow?"

Claire grimaced. "Um … sorry, I've got a family thing I've got to attend. But I'll definitely see you on Monday." She looked over at Emma and Sophia. "Feel free to take her up on it. Just because I'm not there doesn't mean you can't have a good time anyway."

"I'll call you guys later and talk about it." Taylor found that while she'd been saying her goodbyes, the door had been opened. Jonas was sneaky about that. "Thanks, Jonas! See you guys later."

"My pleasure, Miss Taylor."

Climbing out of the car, she gave the big chauffeur a nod and smile of appreciation—he would've looked scary if she didn't know what a big teddy-bear he really was—then headed up the path to the front steps of the house. She stopped and turned when she heard his door close, so she could wave goodbye as the car drove away. Then she trotted up the steps, turned her key in the front door, and let herself in.

"I'm home!" she called out as she closed the door behind herself.

"In here, little owl," her mother replied from the living room. "You're back earlier than I expected. Is anything the matter?"

"Nope," Taylor replied as she kicked off her shoes then headed through. "Claire had to go home, so we decided to call it a day as well."

Her mother was seated on the sofa, papers she was in the process of grading stacked to either side of her. Pausing, she tilted her head slightly. "Did she say why she had to go?"

"Not really. We met up on the Boardwalk and got churros and talked about stuff, then this really cute boy fell off his skateboard right in front of us and we could all tell that he was totally ga-ga over Claire, but she was like nuh-uh and we were all like yuh-huh, and then she got the call from her dad to come home, so she had her driver give us a lift. She said she had a family thing tomorrow, so that might have something to do with it." She paused, more so she could draw breath than for any other reason, and beamed at her mom.

Anne-Rose smiled in return. "Well, I'm glad you had a good morning, anyway. Was the boy hurt?"

"Mainly his pride." Taylor giggled. "He was looking around, like 'did anyone I know see that?' But then he was just looking at Claire, and she was looking at him. She checked his ankle out and he said it was fine, and we left him to it. He got on his skateboard after that, so I guess he really was okay. He seemed nice."

"Well, you know you shouldn't really tease your friends about things like that," her mother advised her mock-severely, though there was still a smile lurking around her lips. "Mainly so that when you find yourself in the same situation, they won't tease you in return."

"Pfft, yeah, right." Taylor snorted in derision. "Never happen. I'm gonna be a strong, proud woman, just like you taught me to be. It doesn't matter how cute a guy is, they're gonna have to toe my line to even get a first date."

Anne-Rose chuckled indulgently. "That's my girl. Show 'em who's boss, and never give an inch."

"You bet!" Taylor grinned at her mother, happy that they were on the same wavelength. "Imma make myself a snack. Want anything?"

"A glass of juice would be nice, thanks."

"Coming right up." Taylor headed into the kitchen and made herself a pb&j sandwich, then poured her mother the requested glass of juice. As she carried the latter into the living room, she asked, "Where's Dad?"

"Downstairs, fixing that wobbly chair leg." Anne-Rose accepted the glass. "Thank you, dear."

"No problem, Mom." Biting into the sandwich, Taylor headed back into the kitchen, then down into the basement. As she headed down the steps, she saw her father at the workbench, rocking the aforementioned chair back and forth on the concrete floor with a frown of concentration. "Hi, Dad!"

"Oh, hi, hon." Danny looked up briefly, then returned his attention to the chair. "Does that look steady to you? I fixed the leg, but now I'm not sure if one of them isn't shorter than the others."

"Let me have a look." Taylor grabbed the broom leaning against the wall; one-handed (because she wasn't putting her sandwich down anywhere), she swept a patch of floor next to the chair, then got down to rest the side of her face against the floor. Her glasses were in the way so she took them off, but it didn't matter at this distance anyway. "Okay, rock it again." Danny moved the chair from side to side, and she saw it. "Yeah, that one's lifting slightly. Little tiny bit."

"Thought so." Danny clamped one of the chair legs into the vise and started sanding it down. "So, you're back early. What happened?"

She climbed back to her feet and dusted her shoulder off. "Oh, Claire's dad texted for her to come home. She gave us a lift, which was pretty cool. Her dad's limo is amazing."

He gave her an amused look. "You said that about his house, and his heated pool too."

She spread her hands in a duh gesture. "Well, they are."

Biting decisively into her sandwich, she leaned against the workbench and watched as he went back to sanding the chair leg. It was cool being out with her friends, but it was also nice spending time at home with her parents.

Life just didn't get much better than this.

Sophia (Cape Name Pending)

"I'm home!" Stepping in through the front door, Sophia bumped it with her butt. It swung to and clicked shut perfectly. Oh, yeah. I'm just that good.

"Hey, Soph." Terry looked up from where he was watching TV. "Mom had to go down to the shops. We're out of bread."

"She could've sent you, you know. Or called me to pick some up on the way home." She dropped onto the cushions next to him. "Why do you have to be so lazy all the time?"

"Maybe because of my knee?" He gestured toward the offending joint, which was still strapped up following a mishap involving an ill-timed baseball slide. "Doc said I had to stay off it, so I'm staying off it."

She made a rude noise. "Excuses, excuses. You should be getting out there, forcing it back into shape. Sitting around like a lump on a log isn't gonna fix anything."

"Yeah, right." He shook his head. "I hope you never end up as a physical therapist. You would be the absolute worst."

"Nah, everyone else would just hate me because I'd be so fuckin' awesome at what I do." She paused, thinking about matters. "Actually, can I ask for your honest opinion on something?"

"This is something you don't want Mom knowing about?" Sometimes, he was just too damn perceptive.

"Yeah." She turned to face him. "So, can you tell me what you think and not snitch to Mom about it?"

"I'll try." He gave her what she privately termed his 'serious-big-brother' look. "No promises about not telling Mom. But I'll tell you if I'm going to. That's as far as I'll go." Taking up the remote, he muted the TV.

She sighed. "Okay, I guess that'll have to be good enough. So, you know how I'm a cape now." It wasn't a question. She'd only filled her mom in on it to begin with, but they'd both decided that it was a good idea to let him know as well, if only because it would be a royal pain to keep it a secret from him while they were both living in the same house.

"Yeah, I know." Now, she could tell, she had his full attention. "So, what did you want to ask me about?" A moment later, she saw the realisation click in his gaze. "Shit, are you thinking about being a villain?"

She put up her hands to fend off his incipient disapproval. "Um, kinda but not really. Last night, Marquis asked me if I wanted to come work for him instead of joining the Wards. And after talking to the others, I'm seriously considering it."

"And you couldn't come and ask me first?" He looked and sounded more hurt than angry now. "I'm your brother. I thought I meant more to you than that."

"They're my besties." She didn't know how to put it better than that. "Sorry, but besties tell each other stuff all the time that they don't tell their own family. It's just the way it is."

He folded his arms with a hmph. "If they told you that you should be a villain instead of a hero, then they're not really looking out for your best interests, just saying."

"They didn't." She shook her head for emphasis. "They told me it wasn't a terrible idea, but that I should make up my mind on my own, not let someone else tell me what to do. So now I'm asking your opinion before I decide for myself."

"So even if I told you not to do it, you'd probably still do it, just to stick it to me." He sounded gloomily certain of his prediction.

"Well, I wouldn't do it just because you told me not to, and I wouldn't not do it just because you told me I should." She paused, trying to figure out how to explain it to him in 'boy' terms. "I mean, there's reasons to do stuff beyond 'yes' and 'no', right?"

"Okay, yeah, that's fair." He unfolded his arms and rubbed his lower lip with his thumbnail, a sign he was thinking hard. "So how about this: I get it that Marquis and his capes saved you and Emma, but he's still a villain, and anyone who works for him is a criminal. Do you really want to go there?"

"Well, that kind of depends, doesn't it?" She ticked off points on her fingers. "Sure, he's a villain, but he's not exactly robbing banks or murdering people in the street, is he? I mean, except for assholes who really deserve it. I even heard a rumour that the PRT isn't allowed to arrest him or Marchioness because of how good they did against Leviathan. Also, just working for a villain isn't a crime. If he never asks me to commit a crime myself, I should be fine."

"And if he does?" He didn't exactly jump up and shout 'gotcha', but it was there in his eyes.

"Maybe I'll do it and maybe I won't." She met his gaze squarely. "If it involves hurting someone who doesn't deserve it, then I won't do it. I'll tell him that's a deal-breaker from the start. But if it's someone who needs a serious ass-kicking … then sure, I'll kick their ass."

He shook his head. "I can't believe you're really thinking of going to work for an actual supervillain. Mr Barnes is going to all the trouble of arranging for a college placement for you, and you're just gonna throw it away like that?"

"Who says I'm throwing it away?" How he'd come to that particular logical leap, she wasn't exactly sure. "There's no rule saying I can't work for Marquis and go to college at the same time. The sort of guy he is, he'd probably insist on me going."

"But you'll have a criminal record!" he burst out. "Do you think they let felons just go to college? I'm pretty sure there's a law against that!"

"Okay, first, why would there be, and second, you're assuming I'll get caught. Can't have a criminal record if they never fingerprint you, bro."

"The PRT catches up with everyone sooner or later." He said it like it was a fact of life. "They'd get your face, your name, your fingerprints, everything. Mom would have to deal with everyone knowing her daughter's a criminal. And everyone would be looking at me like I was the damn criminal, like it's contagious or something."

"Except I'd be working for Marquis. They don't go after him, and I'm pretty sure they don't go after his people." She raised her eyebrows, silently daring him to contradict her.

He paused, and she gave him credit for thinking it over. "Okay, good point, but if he asks you to do something you don't want to do, what happens then? Do you just walk away from the gang? Can you walk away from the gang?"

"Well, duh." Sophia rolled her eyes. "Everyone knows Marquis doesn't go after women or kids. I'm a girl, and I'm still in school. And he'd know I wouldn't rat him out, even if I had to leave. That's not who I am."

Terry wasn't done. "Yeah, but if you get known as a member of his gang then one day you're not a member anymore, what happens then? You haven't got that protection anymore. The PRT can grab you up anytime and charge you for whatever you did while you were working for him."

"Hm." She had to stop and think about that one. "Okay, yeah, you've got a point there. I'd have to make sure I either kept my head down while I was working for him, or make sure he knew from the get-go that there's some stuff I just won't do, so I don't have to actually quit working for him if there's a problem."

"Are you sure you want to take on that kind of juggling act?" Terry leaned back against the sofa cushions. "One wrong move and you're in juvey, at best."

"And on the upside, once again, this is Marquis we're talking about. If you want to talk about criminal mastermind supervillains, he's about the best option out there." She wasn't sure why Terry kept forgetting this important point. "And you just know he doesn't fuck around when it comes to paying his people. We'd never have to worry about paying the rent ever again."

"I hope you're not thinking about going to work for a supervillain—for becoming a villain yourself—just for the money." Terry frowned, looking ill at ease. "That's not like you, Sophia."

"No, it's not just for the money." He still wasn't getting it, but she wasn't about to give up either. "As far as I know, being a hero is strictly a zero-pay deal. Unless I joined the Wards, I'd have to come up with a costume on my own, pay for the lot out of my non-existent private fortune, then make up stories all the time to account for lost sleep and missing time while I'm out patrolling and looking for crime to stop."

"So, join the Wards," he suggested, as she'd known he would. "They'd supply the costume and take care of stuff like public awareness. And I hear they get paid on top of all that."

"And they get told what to say in public, where to go, and who to patrol with," she countered. "I'm not fond of the idea of a whole bunch of adults suddenly all having the legal right to tell me what to do and how to use my powers. Also, from what I've heard on PHO, the pay's pretty shitty."

"But it's legal, and you'd be a legitimate hero." It seemed to be his closing argument, but it wasn't as definitive as he apparently wanted it to sound.

"That's true," she agreed. "But ask yourself this. When was the last time a superhero helped either one of us? When the Orchard kidnapped me and Emma from the bus stop, did the heroes come swooping in to save the day? Fuck, no. Taylor's dad contacted Marquis, paid twenty bucks to put us on his protection plan—and since when do heroes have protection plans?—and they came and saved us. From what I've seen, the heroes do the big flashy visible stuff, while the villains look after the little guy. If we'd been depending on the heroes, Emma and me would be dead."

From the expression on Terry's face, Sophia knew she'd won the argument. He absolutely didn't like it, but that wasn't her problem. "Fuck," he growled, letting his head drop forward as his elbows came to rest on his knees. "Okay, fine. Be a goddamn villain. But don't drag Mom into your messes, okay? Leave her the fuck out of it."

"Well, I was still making up my mind, but sure. I can totally do that." Sophia took a deep breath. "Thanks for hearing me out, and not just shutting me down."

"You're welcome. I still don't like the idea, but I can understand your reasons now, and I respect them." His head still hanging forward, Terry looked sideways at her. "Like you asked, I'm not going to tell Mom, because she absolutely does not need any more stress in her life. Just do me one favour?"

"Sure. What do you need?" Sophia tilted her head expectantly.

"Don't make me regret this. Okay?" His eyes said more than that. Please be careful. Come back to us.

Sophia took a deep breath, then let it out again. "I'll do my very best."

"For the record, I really hate this." He unmuted the TV again and leaned back in his seat. "So how was the rest of your morning?"

"Well, it was pretty good, actually. Though there was this one idiot on a skateboard …"

Marchioness

"See you tomorrow," Emma said, giving Claire a hug before she climbed out of the car. "And thanks, Jonas."

"My pleasure, Miss Emma." Jonas closed the door as Emma trotted up the steps to her front door.

Claire waved goodbye, then settled back in the seat. It only took a moment for Jonas to climb back into the driver's seat and start the car moving again. Once she was sure there was no way normal surveillance would work on the car, she took out her phone and called her father back.

"Ah, you're alone?" he asked, though they both knew it was a rhetorical question.

"Totally. What's up?" She knew there wasn't a huge issue to address, or Jonas would've overridden her offer to give the others a lift; on the other hand, her father would not lightly interrupt her time with her friends. So at a rough guess, it fell somewhere in the middle of the urgency scale.

"It seems our friend Damsel of Distress may have survived. I received a report of a manhole cover having been blasted into fragments, possibly from underneath, not a huge distance away from where our dear Palatina levelled the warehouse. The sewer lines connect directly to the new location."

Claire sat up in her seat. "Well, that's definitely a thing." In her heart of hearts, she'd been hoping that Kayden's barrage of energy blasts had shredded Robert's killer into her component atoms, but the old adage of 'if there's no body, they're not dead' had come through again. "Has she cut loose again since?"

"Not that I'm aware of, but I don't have the surveillance capacity that you have, even with the Mercia on full alert." The subtext was clear. He needed her home, not just to warn her that Damsel had survived, but for her to see what Mr Green could tell her. She was in full agreement, of course; Damsel of Distress posed a clear and present danger to everyone who might cross her path, on purpose or by accident.

"Roger that," she confirmed. "Jonas should have me home in ten minutes, and then we'll see what we shall see."

"I'll see you then." The call ended just before Claire would have tapped the icon herself, and she tucked the phone away into her pocket.

"You're up to speed on everything, of course," she said.

"That I am, chick." She saw him nod. "I was sure she was dead, too. We should've made certain."

"No." The previous night had involved a lot of confusion, but on this point she was personally clear. "She shredded us. You came so close to dying that only my power was keeping you alive. It's a miracle that Robert's the only one she actually managed to kill, and I'm pretty sure he saved Dad's life at least by stepping up when he did. The shape we were in, if we'd tried going after her, she would've killed more of us. Retreating and regrouping was our best bet." She paused. "That reminds me. After I do my information gathering, I need to put the finishing touches on your mods."

He glanced at her briefly in the mirror. "With all respect, chick, is fixing my mods the best use of your time right now? That girl carved through me like a Thanksgiving turkey, and that was with the best subdermal armour you could give me. Unless you've got something a lot better up your sleeve, no amount of armour's going to protect us against that blast of hers."

"No, that's true," she admitted. "I'm going to be pushing your reflexes and speed to the maximum your brain will support without drastic neural rewiring. The next time we come up against her, if I've done my job right, we'll see her before she sees us. As far as I can tell, all it'll take is one good hit."

"No prisoners, chick?" His eyes flicked to her in the mirror again. "Just asking, because I know how you feel about that sort of thing."

Claire shook her head and looked to the side. "I don't like it. If she'd walked out peacefully, we could've worked something out. But we're not the ones who started this. She came at us out of the gate with lethal force, and I've seen nothing to say she won't just keep doing it every chance she gets." She heaved a gusty sigh. "If we can take her prisoner, we probably should. But if it's a choice between her life, and one of us, then it's us."

"Understood, chick." He nodded once, firmly.

Legionnaire

Justin was untouched physically, but powers-wise, he felt bruised and battered. The battle last night was the first time his ghosts had taken the brunt of an attack, and the ones destroyed by Damsel of Distress still hadn't come back. Though he had more, their absence felt like missing teeth; something that should be there, but wasn't.

"How did she even do that?" he asked Marcus, not for the first time, as they sparred in the gym. "Nothing's supposed to be able to touch my ghosts. Nothing."

"Your guess is as good as mine." The boy slipped his jab, then grabbed his wrist and performed a neat shoulder throw; Justin landed solidly on the mat. "Wow, you are off balance. Normally, that wouldn't have worked."

"Yeah, no shit, junior." Though he could've generated a ghost or two to help him up, Justin elected to do it himself, taking his time. "So is it true, do you know? Is she alive?"

"They say the hole looks a lot like her type of blast, and the sewer lines connect up, so … maybe?" Marcus shrugged. "Want to go again?"

"Nah. I'm totally off my game today." Justin shook his head. "Enjoy the win."

The intercom crackled to life, with Earl's voice behind it. "Attention. Attention. All personnel, please attend the War Room at once."

Justin shared a startled glance with Marcus. "Something new's come up." Despite his lingering sore spots from the sparring session, he discovered he was still good to run. Marcus was only just behind him, and the others were already there when he arrived.

Earl was standing next to the landline, the one he'd had encrypted so that even if someone tried to trace it, the attempt would end up in Rio de Janeiro. "Ah, good. We're all here. I just had a very interesting phone call. Kindly listen, and do not speak." Leaning forward, he pressed a button on the phone. "Apologies for the delay. You were saying?"

The voice that came across the line was male; from the sound of it, he'd been missing more than a little sleep. "Yeah, Edict and I tracked Damsel here from Stafford this morning. You're saying you've had a run-in with her?"

"We have, yes." Without looking, Earl waved his hand to quell the angry rumbles from around the room. "She attacked us without warning. You say you and Edict are her … caretakers, Licit?"

"Kind of," admitted Licit. "She gets pissy if we interact with her directly, so we drop off food and stuff, and make sure her electricity and internet never gets cut off. If she does a runner, we bring her back. Director Armstrong has an idea he can rehabilitate her eventually."

Earl leaned closer to the phone. "So if we worked with you, you could help us track her down, with your superior understanding of how she thinks. And then you'll take her back to Stafford with you?"

Justin's fists clenched. After what she's done to us, she just gets to walk?

It seemed Licit was aware of the impact Damsel of Distress could have on people. "That's the idea, yeah," he admitted reluctantly. "She's not well. There are mental issues that need to be addressed."

"I'll have you picked up," Earl stated, showing no outward signs of the anger that had to be growing inside him. "We'll see how we go from there." He ended the call a moment later.

"What the fuck?" exploded Justin, as soon as he was sure he wouldn't be screwing Marquis' deal. "She murdered Brent and Robert, and now she just gets a superhero escort back to her little podunk town until the next time she decides to cut loose? And we're the fucking villains?"

"I know, I know." Earl patted the air with his hands. "But now we have two more people to look for her, who know better than us how to find her. Make no mistake: right now, my primary goal is to locate her. After that …" He looked at the assembled capes. "We shall take matters one step at a time."

End of Part Thirty-One