Another Way
Part Thirty-Three: Recruitments
[A/N 1: This chapter commissioned by GW_Yoda and beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
[A/N 2: It's kind of weird that I'm writing two chapters in a row for two totally unconnected fics, the first of which involves a death scene and the second a funeral. Trust me, I did not plan for this.]
Sunday Morning, December 16, 2007
Marchioness
I owned exactly two black dresses, and one of them was fitted to my Marchioness persona, so I couldn't wear it as myself. I'd never expected to need the other one for such a solemn occasion, yet here I was.
Robert was dead, murdered by Damsel of Distress; I'd avenged him, a life for a life, yet that did nothing to bring him back. After the dead were buried, the living still had to face what had happened and move on with their lives.
We were shaded from the morning sun by a copse of trees behind Dad's house. Robert had enjoyed spending time back here during his early days on the team, and the habit had never really gone away. It was only right and proper, we figured, to lay him to rest here, in a place he had truly felt at home.
In the normal course of events, the authorities would've needed to be informed of an intended burial, even on private land. But due to Robert's status as a clone and his almost complete non-existence in a legal sense (Dad had supplied him with basic ID, so he could go out and about if he wanted), that wasn't going to happen. Besides, it wasn't as though we wanted anyone seeing Robert's still-armoured remains, as that would blatantly give away his identity, and ours.
The grave hadn't been hard to dig; Robert's coffin (composed of pure bone, and bearing a bas-relief of Robert in full armour with his sword, like the sarcophagi of knights of old) sat on a temporary stand alongside it. No priest had been commissioned to oversee the interment, as nobody on the team was particularly religious (also, see above about not telling the authorities), but that wasn't to say there would be no ceremony. Neither was this an open-casket affair, mainly because Damsel's follow-up strike had entirely removed Robert's head and part of his left arm.
Dad, as expected, stepped up alongside the coffin first. "Robert was not with us for very long," he began. "However, during his tenure on the team, he proved himself a true comrade in arms, putting himself in harm's way to protect those of us less capable of withstanding danger. I believe most of us here owe our lives to him in one way or another, and so we are gathered here to do him honour." He placed his hand on the shoulder of the bas-relief. "You have done your duty, and done it well. Go to your rest as a warrior."
As he moved away from the coffin, I took his place. I was fully aware that my total control over my body's systems should preclude such nonsense as uncontrollable tears and lumps in the throat, but it was harder to make that sort of thing work in practice. Taking a deep breath, I told my body to damn well behave itself, then began to speak.
"I can do some pretty impressive things if I put my mind to it, but I'm not an in-your-face brute like some people out there. Robert, though … Robert was definitely a tank, in every sense of the word. He could land a hit, and he could take one. When Leviathan busted into the aid station down in Orlando, Robert actually went toe to toe, to stop him from getting to Dad and me. I'll always remember what he was saying while he was carving chunks out of Leviathan." I paused to blow my nose. "'You will not,' he kept shouting. 'You will not.' He didn't care that Leviathan had killed whole cities. He simply flat-out refused to let the monster take one more step forward. Because that was the sort of person he was."
Facing the coffin as Dad had, I lowered my gaze. "For all that they would've labelled Knight Errant as a villain, you were a true hero to the end. I'm going to miss you." Then I took a small circlet I'd woven out of Damsel's hair (Edict and Licit hadn't noticed when I'd snipped off a length) and placed it over the pommel of the sword.
After I stepped back, the others took their turns to give their own tributes to Robert. Abigail and Justin had barely known him, but I was pleased to hear that they still had good things to say. Even though the only three people related to each other were me, Dad and Marcus (clones still counted), we were more of a family than a criminal enterprise.
Afterward, Jonas lowered the coffin into the grave with a block and tackle arrangement, and we carefully filled it in. The last I saw of the bas-relief was his face staring upward into eternity. We exchanged no words as we replaced the dirt in the grave, everyone knowing their part.
When it was full, we smoothed the mound down and Dad placed a discreet marker at the head of the grave. It held just a single name, 'Robert', along with his date of passing. Marcus, Abigail and Justin were entirely unaware of his true origins, and Dad and I preferred to keep it that way.
For a final touch, I had grass grow up over the grave mound to conceal its precise dimensions; underground, tree roots extended outward and interlinked above the coffin to make it much harder to reach. Anyone digging here should give up once they reached the root layer, on the assumption that nothing was buried beneath them. As far as I was concerned, Robert deserved to rest in peace.
As we trailed back into the house, I looked up at Dad. "I think I'll head out for a while. I need to clear my head, and the best way I know how to do that is to indulge in something totally stupid and frivolous. And that means window-shopping in a hub of conspicuous consumption, like Weymouth Mall."
He nodded. "That's understandable. Would you like Abigail or Jonas to go with you?"
"I don't think so." I shook my head. "It's been years since I needed a bodyguard, and I'll be very much in public the whole time. Besides, they probably need to process this in their own way, not spend time indulging me in mine."
"Very well, then." He rested his hand briefly on my shoulder, and I could feel his concern for me, tempered by the understanding that I needed to do my own thing to get back into the right headspace. "I'll have Jonas drive you to the mall, then, and pick you up when you wish to come home."
"That's fair." Impulsively, I hugged him. "It really hasn't been a good week, has it?"
"I've had better years," he agreed, holding me tightly. "But if experience has taught me anything, it is that all things pass, even this."
"Damsel sure as hell did." My voice may have contained just a little of the satisfaction I'd felt at putting a bullet into her head. "And maybe the bad guys will think twice about coming after us now."
"Some, not all," he cautioned. "There are those with whom it is hard to hold a rational conversation, much less a civilised one. And others whose powersets make it difficult or even downright hazardous to kill them. So, while that specific problem was eminently solvable with lethal force, not all will be."
"No, no, I totally get that." I stepped back so I could prod my chest with my thumb. "This is me we're talking about, remember? I'm the queen of non-lethal solutions. Ask anyone."
"Entirely true." He sighed. "I suppose what I was attempting to say was, don't swing too far one way or the other without keeping an eye on the alternatives. It's all too easy to decide that the most convenient course is the correct one, and use it exclusively thereafter."
"Yeah, I get that." I held up one hand and let it cycle through gecko-grip pads and battleclaw before reverting it back to (apparently) human innocuity. "If anyone's got options, it's me."
"Just so long as you keep that in mind." He gave me a brief smile, less in the way of humour than approval. "I hope you find what you're looking for."
"Me too." I turned and headed back to my room, so I could change to go out. Black dresses were the approved form of wear for funerals, but they tended to be less common in shopping malls, and the last thing I wanted to do was draw attention.
The Jewel of Boston
"Jewel."
Jay turned his head at Détente's voice. "Yeah, boss?" He didn't put down the magazine he'd been browsing, because this might be something minor, but he suspected it wasn't.
"Claire Marchant has just been dropped off at the Weymouth Mall. She appears to be alone." Détente didn't rub his hands together and cackle maniacally about 'now we have her', because the man had standards. But from the satisfaction in his tone, he probably thought it pretty loudly.
"Awesome sauce. Anyone else following her, apart from your guys?" Jay tossed the magazine aside and bounced up off the sofa to grab his skateboard.
"Not that they've noticed. They'll contact me if they see anyone. Are you certain that you can bring her under your sway?"
"'Course I can," Jay boasted. "Have you ever known me not to? She's a rich guy's kid, never been given honest attention once in her whole life. Fish in a barrel."
"We shall see." Détente nodded and gestured to the door. "Go, go. Strike while the iron is hot, and all those other tiresome cliches. Secure me access to the Marchant funds."
"You got it, boss." Jay left the room, knowing the car would be already waiting at the curb to convey him to the mall. Détente might be a stick-in-the-mud in many (many) ways, but his organisational skills were second to none.
Sophia Hess (Cape Name Pending)
Today, decided Sophia as she sat up in bed and put her feet on the floor. I'm going to do it today.
She'd already made up her mind on the topic—thus the semi-acrimonious conversation with Terry the day before—but there was a vast difference between deciding to do something and actually going through with it. It was time for her to step up and put her money where her mouth was. Well, the money will be coming to me, but it still basically means the same thing, right?
She got dressed and washed her face before going downstairs to breakfast. Mom was already up, though Terry was still in bed, the lazy lump. He'd probably sleep until noon if someone didn't wake him. It was like he didn't know what weekends were for.
"Good morning," her mother greeted her cheerfully, and Sophia knew immediately that Terry hadn't ratted her out. Not that she thought he would, given how he'd gone on about it when she'd raised the subject, but he could've always changed his mind.
"Morning, Mom." Sophia put some bread in the toaster, then snagged a bowl for cereal. As she poured it full of Lil' Mousey Chocolate Frosted Flakes, it occurred to her that if she was going to be getting a regular paycheck from Marquis, she'd need some sort of cover story to explain where the money was coming from. Helping out with the rent and other household expenses might lead to awkward questions, otherwise.
She mulled it over as she got the milk out of the fridge and added it to the cereal, then retrieved her toast and headed for the table. As far as she could tell, there was only one real option: she'd have to tell her mother that she had an actual job. The sticking point there was that of course Mom would want to talk to whoever was employing her, just to make sure they weren't ripping her off or otherwise mistreating her.
Ugh, damn it. This was starting to get a lot more complicated than she'd originally envisaged. Taking the butter dish from the middle of the table, she slathered some on her toast and took a savage bite of it.
"Is something the matter, honey?" Sophia's mom, even with her back turned, clearly had her maternal radar turned on full-bore. "You know you can talk to me about anything."
"It's nothing much." Sophia's first instinct was to downplay the situation. "Just …" She floundered for a way to finish the sentence in a way that would make her mother lose interest in the conversation. "…. you know, a lot on my mind. Stuff with school and... everything."
"School, huh?" Her mom raised an eyebrow. "That's not the vibe I'm getting from you. You're acting differently." She paused, then lowered her voice as though she didn't want to wake Terry. "Are you sure there's nothing you want to talk about? Is it … your powers?"
"No!" Fully aware that she'd just told a blatant lie, Sophia tried to cover it up with a casual act. With a sigh that sounded horribly fake to her own ears, she glanced up at her mother. "I mean, not really. I don't know. I guess... I guess I've just been thinking about how things have been lately. Money's tight, and I want to help out more. You're doing a lot already."
Her mother's face softened. "Sweetheart, I'm doing my best. You don't need to worry about that. You're already working hard with school and everything else. You don't have to carry that weight too, you know?" The concern was clear in her voice.
Uncomfortable with the lies she'd already told, and even less comfortable with the knowledge that she was almost certainly going to have to tell more, Sophia fidgeted at the table. "I know. But... I don't know. Sometimes it feels like I could do more, y'know? Maybe even help with the rent and stuff. I mean, things can't stay the way they are forever, right?"
Do all capes have to go through this with their families? This is fucking horrible. I'm a bad person. Not even an actual villain yet, and I already hate myself.
Her mom paused, then looked at her thoughtfully. "I appreciate that, I do. But now I'm going to have to put my foot down. Your job is to go to school and get good grades. I'll figure it out, okay?"
Swallowing the lump of guilt, because she knew another lie was on the way, Sophia kept her voice down. "I was thinking maybe I could get a job. Something casual, that pays well."
That earned her a suspicious raised eyebrow. "Why do I get the feeling you've got something already lined up?"
Shit, shit, shit. Okay, time to sorta-kinda tell the truth.
Sophia looked her mother in the eye, hoping like hell that this would work. "Okay, yeah. Here's the thing." She took a deep breath to steady herself. "I have been offered a job. And it could make a big difference in how much we have to worry about. But I don't know how you'd feel about it."
"And why would I be anything but happy about it? What exactly is it?"
There was no way to phrase this that didn't either sound suspicious or build up a house of cards that was bound to fall over later, yet Sophia had to try. "It's ... complicated. I can't tell you all the details just yet, but I promise I won't get into anything dangerous. I just want to help. I know you've been stressed, and I can make it easier, if you'd just let me."
From the look on her mom's face, her tactics didn't seem to be working. "Sophia, when people talk like that, there's always something shady going on behind the scenes. Are you thinking about using your powers to go out and beat up drug dealers and take their money? Because that's a really bad idea."
"No, Mom, I'm not!" Sophia was pretty sure she was telling the truth. Marquis did not seem the kind of villain to stoop to mugging drug dealers for their take. "It's nothing like that!"
"Then what is it like? What's the job, and who are you going to be working for?" Her mother was taking no prisoners now. "Are you joining the Wards?"
For a split second, Sophia thought of lying and saying that was the case, but thought better of it; one phone call could expose her with ease. "No, I'm not. Besides, they'd need your permission."
Her mom folded her arms and stared her down. "Well, whatever you're trying to get me to agree to, I'm going need more details."
"Okay, um …" She thought fast. It was a Hail Mary pass, but that was all she had left. "I'll go talk to them, and they'll get in contact with you and tell you everything you need to know, okay?" Surely Marquis had some minion or other who could maybe pretend to be her employer.
"Hmm." Her mother frowned again, clearly unhappy with the idea, but not wanting to push now that Sophia had made that much of a concession. "Okay, but if they're even a little bit skeevy, I'm pulling the plug. And calling the police, if I have to."
"You won't have to, I promise. Thanks, Mom!" Jumping up, Sophia hugged her mother. "You're the best!"
"Just don't make me regret this, okay?" Her mom returned the hug. "I want to make sure you're safe, is all."
"I know, I know." Sophia sat down and applied herself to her breakfast once more.
As soon as she had finished her cereal, she went back upstairs. Pulling open her sock drawer, she reached all the way to the back and retrieved the cheap cellphone she'd bought for this very purpose. She realised even as she did this that it probably wasn't the best hiding spot in the world, but she could think of another one shortly.
Flipping the phone open, she grabbed the card that had been sandwiched in there, given her by the Mercia, and tapped in the number. She paused before hitting the call button; not because she had any doubts, but because she was starting to realise just how much this one action was going to change her life.
Finally, she flexed her thumb, depressing the button. She stared out the window at the morning sunlight as she held the phone to her ear. It rang once, twice, three times, before it was answered.
"Hello?" The voice was smooth and anonymous. There was no name given, but she knew it wasn't Marquis'.
"Hi." Instinctively, she figured it was probably a good idea to keep things as anonymous as possible. Burner phones were not known for their security. "I'm the girl from the other night. A job offer was made. I'm calling to accept."
"Understood." There was no hesitation in the voice. "Return to where it happened, at eight tonight. Any questions?"
"Nope." She still got shivers down her spine when she remembered what had nearly happened to her and Emma, but she figured she could handle it for a meet-and-greet. "None at all."
"Good." There were no other courtesies; the call ended with a beep.
"Wow," she muttered. "Phone etiquette, much?"
On the other hand, it was probably one of the perks of working for someone like Marquis that they were able to just end phone calls so abruptly and nobody would call them on it. Sophia certainly didn't intend to try. In fact, she was rather looking forward to it herself. Bored with the phone call? Just hang up. Bam.
It was then that she realised that she'd forgotten to raise the very important point that she'd invented for her mother's sake. She stared at the card, then at the phone. Should I call them back?
For a solid minute, she stood irresolute, wavering back and forth between setting up the excuse and not annoying Marquis' men. Finally, she closed the phone and shoved it into her back pocket in lieu of finding a better place to hide it for the moment. I can always tell them then.
Grabbing up her purse, she turned to the window and went to her shadow form, passing straight through the solid obstacle without leaving a mark. Outside, she drifted to the ground before reforming as herself. It was still something she was getting used to, though the change back and forth was becoming more natural to her all the time.
She needed to make the meeting, but in the meantime it would probably be a good idea to stay out of her mother's way. And the best way to do that would be to get out of the house and spend the day doing something fun.
The mall sounds like just the thing. I'll do that.
The Jewel of Boston
Jay rode his skateboard up to the front doors of the Weymouth Mall, then stepped off and picked it up to keep going inside. There were times that he would absolutely set out to piss off security by skating on in and leading them a merry chase, but that was always with a specific aim in mind, and today he was here for a different reason. In time, no doubt, Claire Marchant would totally be down for shenanigans like that (he was very persuasive when he wanted to be) but today he was just here to solidify her interest in him.
Taking out his phone, he used one thumb to send off a text. At WMm. Where she at?
Less than thirty seconds later, the phone chimed with a return message. Food court, second level.
He didn't bother replying to that. Détente would know he was on the job, so it was time for him to go and earn what his boss termed his 'exorbitant salary'. Jay just considered it merely his due. After all, who else could do what he could, and do it so well?
While he'd been to Weymouth a couple of times, he still wasn't as familiar with it as he wanted to be. Fortunately, the second level food court was relatively easy to find. Once he got there, he scanned the tables.
Claire was there, still not wearing the high-fashion clothing he figured all rich girls should sport. As soon as she became his girlfriend, he'd fix that; everywhere they went, she'd be dressed to the nines, and so would he (on her dime, of course). After all, what was the point of being rich if you couldn't show it off a little?
She seemed to be picking at some sort of salad while staring into space, so he ducked over to the nearest place with an open counter and grabbed the first item on offer. It turned out to be a miniature burger, but he paid without complaint and headed toward her table.
"Hey, a bit of a surprise seeing you here," he greeted her as he slid into the seat opposite her. At the same time, he put his power up to full intensity, all aimed at her.
"Oh … oh, hi." Snapping out of her reverie, she glanced at him before dropping her eyes to her meal again. "Jay? What are you doing here?"
"I get around. Like you, apparently." Jay took his first good look at her, and frowned as a secondary aspect of his power kicked in. All the positive feedback in the world couldn't keep a relationship going without a preternatural awareness of the target's emotions, and he was picking up a distinct current of grief coming back from her. "Hey, what's wrong?"
She looked up at him again, and he saw redness around her eyes. "Sorry. I'm pretty sure I'm terrible company right now. We had a death in the … in the family recently. The funeral was today. He meant a lot to all of us."
"Wow, that's terrible. I'm so sorry to hear that." Jay even meant what he said. Some people reacted to grief by clinging to the nearest sympathetic person, while others pushed everyone away and shut themselves off from the world. Claire seemed to fall somewhere in the middle of the spectrum, able to communicate yet not overly vulnerable to emotional manipulation. This meant he would have to work harder than normal to bring her around to his way of thinking.
Fortunately, he loved a challenge.
Sophia Hess (Cape Name Pending)
Once she got to Weymouth, Sophia now had the choice to wander the first or second level. Mentally flipping a coin, she headed for the escalator to the second level; she'd heard there were new sneakers on sale that looked all kinds of awesome. Not that she was going to buy any until her pay started coming in, but she was definitely going to give them a good looking over.
That thought process stayed with her until she reached the top of the escalator and was heading past the food court, where she noticed something that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.
Casual racism was always a background problem in any city. In Sophia's lifetime the problem had been getting significantly worse, to the point that minorities just did not set up shop in Empire-controlled areas if they didn't want to be looking over their shoulder every hour of every day. As a black teenager in Brockton Bay, Sophia was hypersensitive to certain things, and one of those things was when she saw white men standing in the crowd but not part of it, their attention both hostile and fixated on something else.
She slowed her walk when she saw the one guy, then casually glanced around until she spotted another one. There weren't any more, nor were they looking at her, but she absolutely wanted to know who they were paying so much attention to. Because unless she badly missed her guess (and she would lay long odds that she didn't), they had intentions toward that person, and she was no longer of a frame of mind to let people just get away with that shit.
Moving to a point where neither of the observers could see her, she turned her attention to their target. When she recognised who it was, she stiffened slightly, a whole catalogue of unpleasant possibilities cascading through her mind. Claire was seated at one of the food court tables with her back to both Sophia and the observers, and sitting opposite her was none other than that skater kid Jay.
That wasn't all, not by a long shot. Normally Claire had her head up, eyes alert, noticing everything around her. She was really, really hard to take by surprise (and yes, Sophia had tried a time or two, and had learned she wasn't as sneaky as she'd thought she was). But now, her head was down and her shoulders hunched, as though she was holding the weight of the world on her back.
Jay, whose board was propped against the table alongside him, had his eyes fixed on Claire's face, and he was doing all the talking for the two of them. Though unusual behaviour for Claire, this was only a mildly red flag compared to Jay's demeanour. Exhibiting an intensity he'd been entirely lacking during the encounter on the Boardwalk, it was the look in his eyes that sent the chills chasing up and down her spine.
While the earnest expression had never left his face, his gaze was that of a predator, something else Sophia had learned to keep a lookout for. And that gaze was fixed on Claire, not in a way of one friend to another, but in the manner of the predator evaluating its prey, preparatory to its final pounce. All of which added up to one thing: Claire was in danger, and every aspect of her attitude indicated that she knew nothing about it.
Fuck that shit.
Marchioness
Something was wrong, but Claire wasn't sure exactly what. The tiny voice in the back of her head kept on being drowned out by the much more emphatic one insisting loudly that everything is just fine, and you should pay attention to Jay, because isn't he wonderful?
Talking—or rather, listening—to Jay was actually rather soothing, because this was the first time that day Claire had been able to just … forget. To not have Robert's death weighing on her mind all the time. Some small part of her felt guilty over that, but the guilt was also overridden by the insistent voice telling her that everything is fine, and Jay is the most important person in the world. And in all honesty, it was just easier to give up and let that voice tell her what to do.
She knew, vaguely, that Jay was a cape. Her powers had informed her of this the moment he came close enough for her to make that distinction. However, this didn't matter, not in the slightest. He liked her, and she was very definitely growing to like him, and she would have found it hypocritical in the extreme to discriminate against people just because they were capes. In fact, most of her friends were capes, so he would be part of the majority there.
So she sat at the table, and gazed into Jay's eyes, and let him hold her hand, while his voice dripped into her ears like honey: gentle and cloying and sweet, drowning out all other thoughts.
The Jewel of Boston
God damn, but she's making me work for it.
Most girls would've surrendered to him totally by now. All he had to do was talk to them for five minutes, and they were utterly in his power. But he'd been giving Claire his best shot for near on fifteen minutes, and while he'd carved through the grief in record time, she was still fighting back hard. She liked him, sure, but she wasn't totally in love with him just yet. And if he let up on her, that tiny nugget of her personality that saw him for what he was would eventually push through and make itself known.
There was a way to speed things up, of course. He'd learned long ago that the most effective method to lock in a subject's affections toward him was via physical contact. Holding her hand was working to a point, but a good make-out session (or going even further than that) was far more effective.
However, if he tried pushing too hard, too soon, it could break the conditioning he'd already put into place. Being able to read her subconscious responses let him know that it wasn't time yet. If he even suggested they go somewhere more private, it might interrupt the flow and set back his progress.
So he sat at the table and held her hand, and stroked her cheek, and worked hard at doing the job he'd come to Brockton Bay to do. If he could just get her over this one little hump, it would all be good.
Claire Marchant, you are mine.
Sophia Hess (Cape Name Pending)
She knew she'd only get one shot at this. There was no telling what level of public violence Jay's minders (she knew damn well they weren't there to watch out for Claire) were authorised for, or even if they'd stick to those guidelines under pressure. But her main focus had to be getting Claire away from Jay; after that, she'd have to play it by ear.
Meandering over to the food service counters, she made a show of looking them over, then shrugged slightly and turned away. Her path back led past the table where Claire and Jay were sitting. More specifically, she made damn sure to stay in Jay's blind spot until it was too late for him to do anything about it.
"Oh, hi, Claire," she said brightly. "Huh, Jay, isn't it? What a surprise, seeing you here. Hey, Claire, I need to talk to you about something real quick." Putting her hand on Claire's shoulder, she tugged gently.
"If you don't mind, I'm talking to Claire right now." Jay's tone was outwardly friendly, but he didn't look away from Claire's face. Nor did he let go of her hand.
"Yeah, I think I'll stay here." Claire didn't look up, but Sophia could see the faintly glazed look in her eyes anyway. "See you later, Soph."
In her peripheral vision, Sophia saw the two minders start toward them. She was strong and athletic, but she was also only a teenage girl; going head-to-head with two fit adult men was a recipe for disaster. If she was going to pull this off, she was going to have to crank things up a notch.
"Yeah, okay, sure." She started to turn away, then pivoted on her left heel and grabbed up Jay's skateboard. Kicking off with her right foot for that little bit of extra force, she used the momentum of her turn to deliver a full-blooded two-handed swing, smashing the edge of the board into Jay's perfect smile. As Jay went over backward, blood spraying from the ruin of his mouth, Sophia threw the board at the nearest minder and grabbed Claire by the arm. "Come on!"
"Sophia, what the hell?" Claire yanked her arm back out of Sophia's grasp, her eyes clearing as she stared at Jay. "You hit him!"
"Yeah, I did." Sophia grabbed her arm again, more to get her attention than to actually make her move. "You were like a fuckin' mouse in front of a cat. Move!"
"Come here, you little bitch!" The first of the minders got to her a little ahead of his buddy, having taken the short way around the table. Sophia ducked under his reaching hand and lunged sideways half a second before she realised that she'd gone the wrong way, allowing him to shepherd her into his buddy's hands.
She tried to fend the second guy off, but he was too big and too strong, and his meaty hand closed over her forearm. Her best foot-stomp and elbow-strike didn't work nearly as well as they did on teenagers her size; she might have left bruises, but all he did was grunt and grab her other arm, holding them behind her back. The strain on her shoulders was unpleasant, but she did her best to hold off from going to shadow and outing her powers in such a public place. There's gotta be a better way.
Instead of throwing punches at her once she was properly immobilised, the first guy dropped to one knee beside Jay, who was only now starting to shake his head and come to. Sophia noted with grim satisfaction that he was going to need some serious dental reconstruction before he could rock that lady-killing smile again. If she could have, she would've kicked him in the face a time or two, just to really finish the job.
With the one guy holding Sophia and the other trying to see how badly Jay was hurt, there was nobody to stop Claire from standing up. Sophia could see that she was frowning and shaking her head, but wasn't sure why. She was showing more signs of life than before, which was good . Run, Sophia mouthed when Claire looked at her. Get away.
So, of course Claire did the exact opposite. "What the hell?" she asked again. However, this time she was pointing at Jay. "What was he doing to me? Who are you assholes? Let my friend go!"
"That's not happening," grunted the guy who was holding Sophia. Transferring both of her wrists to one hand, he reached out and grabbed Claire by the wrist. "You're both coming with us. Can he walk?" The question had been directed at the other minder.
Oh, hell no. Sophia didn't wait for the answer. Concentrating, she converted the fingers of her right hand into a long skinny shadow-blade that she extended straight into the asshole's gut, then reformed into her fingers again before anyone saw.
He let out a deep guttural sound of pain and let her go, dropping to his knees and grabbing his stomach like he was trying to hold his intestines in. That was very likely what he was trying to do; Sophia didn't know exactly what it felt like to be hit by her shadow-blade, but that Orchard asshole hadn't much enjoyed it either. Good.
"Come on!" With one eye on the guy who was just starting to stand up from his place beside Jay, she grabbed for Claire's arm yet again. "We gotta go!"
"Uh—yeah—" Thankfully, Claire seemed to be snapping out of whatever daze she'd been in. She followed Sophia toward the edge of the food court. "What was that back there? What was Jay doing?"
"Dunno." Sophia had her head on a swivel, looking for the best escape route. "We'll talk about it once we're out of here."
It would only take one 'concerned citizen' to make a call about a black teenager assaulting people, and both mall security and cops would descend on them like the wrath of God. It wouldn't matter that Claire was the daughter of the richest guy in town; or at least, it would only start to matter to them after they got their licks in on Sophia. Mob justice really sucked when it was the people wearing badges who were the mob.
"Okay, right." Claire shut up then and kept following Sophia. She did get out her phone, though, which wasn't a bad idea. It was never too early to call in the cavalry. In this case, this would be Mr Marchant's undoubtedly high-powered lawyers, to bail Sophia out of the jail cell she would very likely be decorating in the next hour or so.
They were heading for the escalators—a glance backward told Sophia that Jay's minders hadn't yet emerged from the food court—when she saw three security guards at the foot of the conveyance, one of whom was talking on his radio. Just as she spotted them, one raised his arm and pointed directly at Sophia. She'd never learned to lip-read, but she would've bet every cent she owned that he'd just said 'there she is now' or something very similar.
"Okay, not this way," she said, changing direction. "Plan B, I'll go this way while you go down the escalator and out the doors."
"Nuh-uh." Claire shook her head. "I have no idea who those guys back there were, but if they talk fast enough, they might be able to make security hand me back to them. I'm sticking with you." While she spoke, she was texting in a steady stream without once looking at her phone. Sophia was no mean hand at texting, but she had no idea how someone could do that.
"Okay, then. Plan C it is." Sophia looked around, and her resolve hardened. Welp, I'm already gonna be in trouble for bashing Jay's teeth in with his own board and stabbing that guy with my shadow blade. Might as well make it three for three. Darting across the corridor to where a 'break glass' style fire alarm a was mounted on the wall, she cupped her right fist in her left hand and drove her right elbow into the glass. Sirens started sounding almost immediately, and a recorded voice began to tell people that they needed to leave the premises in a quiet and orderly manner.
"Well, that's one way to do it," Claire observed, then her head came up. "Whoops, get down!" Instinctively, Sophia ducked, and Claire stepped in front of her as two security guards ran past. "Okay," Claire said after a moment. "I think they're gone."
"But they'll be back." Sophia knew it with a grim certainty. "Or other ones will. And we still can't go out the front doors. Where's the nearest emergency fire exit?" She knew they couldn't hide in a shop until it was all over; fire services or security would search every nook and cranny before they declared the all-clear.
Claire consulted the map that was mounted alongside the fire alarm button. "Looks like … down that way a bit."
"Okay, let's go." Sophia started off, fully aware that she was bucking the flow of people pushing toward the escalators, but not wanting to be caught up in that same flow. Claire stuck close behind her as before, which was good.
They'd just reached the door leading to the emergency exit when the two security guards loomed out of the crowd once more. There was no time for Sophia to hide behind Claire this time; even as she reached for the door handle, the guard grabbed her by the wrist. "Gotcha!"
"Let go, you asshole!" Sophia struggled to pull free, more tempted than ever to use her shadow powers again, but reluctant to do it where anyone could see. She was vaguely aware of Claire in the grasp of the other guard, but she couldn't do anything about it. Desperately, she tried to knee him in the groin, but the angle was wrong, and her knee just hit muscle.
"Nope. Little shits like you—hey!"
The guard looked around as his buddy fell over, and Sophia took the opportunity to form another shadow-blade while he wasn't looking. The immaterial blade stabbed in through the guard's side, and he convulsed and let Sophia go before falling over. Not wanting to waste time, Sophia wrenched the fire door open and they plunged inside.
The fire stairwell was cramped and musty, but it would lead outside and away from the mall, which was what Sophia was looking for. Any people in it would be by definition heading outward, not back in, also a bonus. Sophia took the stairs down as fast as she could, though she was alert to Claire's progress, and was ready to slow down if she needed to. To her personal satisfaction, Claire proved herself able to keep up, and they reached the outside exit together.
When Sophia hit the crash bar, the door opened readily enough, and they dashed out into the alley behind Weymouth Mall. But they still weren't far enough away for her liking, and she headed off toward the street at a fast trot. The two minders could still be following, for all she knew.
That was when two pairs of boots landed in the alley at the same time. Sophia went into a defensive posture, then relaxed slightly when she recognised the flaring coats and the tiny pins on their lapels. "It's okay, Claire. It's the Mercia. I'm on a protection plan." Thinking on that, she frowned. "Damn, you guys got here fast. How did you even know I was in trouble?"
Claire cleared her throat. "They didn't. They're here for me."
"Wait, what?" Sophia stared at her. "You're on a protection plan, too?"
"Heh. Not … exactly." Claire gestured at the car that had just pulled to a halt at the mouth of the alleyway. "Come on, get in. Dad's going to want to know about this, and you've definitely earned a place in the conversation."
Looking from Claire to the Mercia and back again, Sophia followed her to the car. "Okay, but I can't help feeling that I'm missing something here. Something really damn obvious."
Claire climbed into the back seat and slid across. "Oh, I'm sure it'll come to you."
The note of amusement in her tone made Sophia even more sure that something was going on under the surface. "Yeah, but—" She cut her own words off, because at that moment, she'd gotten into the car and the person sitting beside her was none other than Marchioness, wearing Claire's clothing.
"Hi." As the door closed beside Sophia, Marchioness gave her a little finger wave. "Figure it out yet?"
Sophia was pretty sure that her jaw was hanging open at this point, but she didn't care. "What. The fuck."
End of Part Thirty-Three