I'm HALPING! Pt 22 (Patreon)

Part Twenty-Two: Ongoing Consequences

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

The Next Morning

Kaiser

"Okay, in you get."

Meekly, one by one, the former members of the Empire Eighty-Eight filed out of the door into the echoing garage—the one under the PRT building, if Max was any judge—and climbed into the waiting van. Nobody was handcuffed, though the memory of how Zachary had strolled into their sanctum sanctorum and cheerfully ordered them to surrender was still strong in Max's mind. Bradley wasn't there, of course—the word was, he'd been shoved on a Birdcage transport earlier that day—and Kayden was likewise absent, probably because she'd cut ties with the Empire a while ago, but most everyone else was present.

As befitted his role as leader of the now-defunct gang, Max had been first in. The seats were surprisingly comfortable, with multiple points where a prisoner could be locked into place. None of these were being made use of, which Max attributed less to their current good behaviour and more toward the fact that everyone knew Zachary had decided that the Empire Eighty-Eight should face the justice system, and nobody was prepared to tell him otherwise.

Which was perfectly reasonable. The initial warning—having the words YOU'RE NEXT literally smashed into the windows of his office—had incited anger rather than worry, and he'd reacted accordingly. The team assembled (albeit in their civilian identities) they'd been hashing out ways to find out who Zachary really was, and where to find him, when he literally busted the door open and walked in. After that, of course, it had all gone to shit. And looking Zachary in the eye when the young man had casually suggested they could lose their powers for real if they chose to keep pretending they had none … he'd been convinced.

There were times to fight, and times to surrender. This was one of the latter. They were going to their pre-trial hearing, after which they'd be returned to their moderately comfortable cells. The best strategy at this point was to convince the authorities by their every action that they were truly remorseful for their previous activities.

Except … not everyone seemed to have gotten the memo.

The doors closed and there was a double thump on the side of the van from one of the guards outside. Just as the engine started, Alabaster turned to Max. "This is bullshit." He kept his voice down, but Max heard him clearly enough.

"Don't do anything stupid," Max warned him in an undertone. "Remember what Zachary said—"

"Yeah, I heard him, and it was bullshit," Alabaster sneered. "He bluffed the lot of you." Conveniently, he left out the fact that he too had been hoodwinked, if that was indeed what had taken place. "Take away our powers? Yeah, right. If he could've, he would've, right there. He didn't."

"You don't know he couldn't have," Max argued, but it was already a lost cause. When Alabaster decided on something, convincing him to drop the idea was like trying to divert the course of an avalanche.

"No, I don't, but it's a lot more likely than maybe he could, and he never got around to it." Alabaster stood up from his seat, steadying himself with the overhead handholds. "I'm blowin' this popsicle stand. Who's with me?"

The two guards next to the door both stood up as well. One levelled a confoam sprayer at Alabaster; Max knew he'd get caught in the splash radius, as well as everyone else at that end of the van. "Sit your paper-white ass down, right the fuck now!"

The rest of the Empire sat tight. Krieg caught Max's eye and shook his head fractionally, but Max had already come to the same conclusion. Not worth it. Cricket seemed to be considering it, but Krieg elbowed her and she subsided again.

"Fuckin' pussies," spat Alabaster. With the sort of explosive surge he was able to muster, he was halfway along the van before the guard triggered the containment foam. Alabaster, canny fighter that he was, dived to the floor under the stream of foam, did a very credible forward roll and smashed his heels into the guard's chest. The sprayer, having half-engulfed Max and Krieg, sprayed blobs onto the ceiling then cut out as the guard's finger came off the trigger.

Once more on his feet, Alabaster hammered the guards relentlessly. Even in their armour, Max knew they had to be taking a beating. And then the renegade Empire Eighty-Eight member managed to get the doors open. They were travelling down the street by now, but that sort of thing had never fazed the resetting cape. Flinging them wide open, he dived out onto the road.

<><>

Taylor

"Well, that was a fun day yesterday, for a very specific definition of 'fun'," I said as I forked bacon onto my plate. "I wonder if Ash Beast made it to civilisation?" Moord Nag's fate was a somewhat darker question, but I decided not to speculate on that one. And we knew what had happened to Sleeper. It had taken me some time to be sure I'd washed all of him out of my hair.

"He will be there soon," Zach informed me, accepting the plate of fried egg from Dad. "Thank you, Danny. They smell delicious." He turned to address me. "His name is Hashim. The water and food we left him is holding out, and he will be able to find a place to sleep and work. Nobody will suspect him of being who he was. There are already many displaced persons in the world; one more will not raise eyebrows."

"Oh, good." I'd already hoped he would be able to make his way, but to have Zach confirm it like that made me feel a lot better. "So, what are we doing today? I mean, apart from school?"

Zach smiled beatifically as he prepared to demolish his bacon and eggs. "There are some people in Europe who need to be dealt with. We will deal with them."

<><>

Hookwolf

This whole deal sucked. One minute he'd been on top of the world, beating crap out of Lung, and the next some snot-nosed little punk had smacked him three city blocks into the back of a dog-catcher's van. He'd woken up in a holding cell, and now he was on a transport to the Birdcage. They'd tried this shit before but every time, the Empire had gotten him free before the transport even left the city limits. Now, the Empire was sitting in holding cells of their own and he was actually on the way to the damn 'Cage.

He wasn't quite sure whether it was a good thing or bad thing that Lung was sharing the same transport. It would've made it a little easier to endure the ride if there was someone he could actually talk to along the way, maybe plan an escape with, but of course they'd stuck him with the guy he'd literally been fighting with before they were both captured. Worse, they were both buried up to the neck in containment foam, and Lung had a constant sprinkler dousing him with water.

In consequence, they'd spent the trip ignoring each other. Brad knew his chances of getting out of this were reducing by the mile, but even his sharpest blades had failed to slice through the foam to any real extent. If he'd thought Lung wouldn't leave him behind at the first opportunity, he might have offered to try to cut the Asian gang boss free instead of himself, but there was no way he could take that chance. The only thing worse than getting sent to the Birdcage along with Lung would be getting sent to the Birdcage and letting Lung go free.

The van rumbled up a ramp then bumped over some kind of minor obstacle before doing a turn and reverse and coming to a halt. The water spray ended and another liquid came out of the nozzles. This one, Brad was familiar with; confoam dissolving agent.

He tensed as the foam washed away from around his body. If he was going to have any chance to escape, this was it. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Lung also getting ready. With any luck, the guards would focus on the metal-skinned dragon—Lung wasn't there quite yet, but he was definitely bulking up—and give Brad the chance to make a run for it.

When the van doors opened, he didn't need the synthesised voice telling him to exit the vehicle. Out he leaped, already growing his armour, looking around for the fastest route to freedom. Lung was only half a second behind, cradling a growing fireball in one hand.

But they weren't outside. The van had backed up to some kind of loading bay, with about two inches of clearance on either side. Across the expanse of cracked and dirty concrete, set into the metal wall, was a large double door, incongruously made of dark carved wood. Flanking these doors was a pair of Dragon suits.

"Hookwolf, Lung, stand down or get hurt." The voice was feminine and sounded almost bored. Both suits had large-bore guns aimed directly at the incoming prisoners. "We can blow holes in you and drag you through into induction while you're regrowing your limbs, or you can walk through. Your move."

For half a second, Brad thought about calling their bluff—no way they'd open fire just like that, would they?—but then Lung lowered his hands from the aggressive posture, the fireball winking out. Gradually, he began to reduce in bulk.

Well, crap. With Lung there to take some of the hits, Brad would maybe have been willing to take on the suits. On his own, he wouldn't stand a chance against two suits, especially in a confined area like this. Reluctantly, he retracted the armour into his body.

"Good move." The Dragon suits stepped forward, while the wooden doors—why the hell did they have wooden doors in a place like the Birdcage, anyway?—unlatched and swung open silently. "Go on through."

There was no way he was going to let a pansy-ass like Lung take the lead, so Brad strode through the doorway and into what looked like a carpeted reception area, complete with some flunky sitting behind a desk. There was even a potted plant in the corner. This could've been a DMV office anywhere in the States, and indeed it shared the same oppressive feeling of soul-draining ennui.

Stomping up to the desk, Brad prepared his most intimidating glare, only to falter when he realised just who he was glaring at. "Holy fuck," he blurted. "Teacher?"

He'd never met the guy in person, of course, but Terrell's face was familiar to him. Teacher had taken out the Vice President a few years back, followed by the British Prime Minister, which meant he had serious chops. But his expression now, seated behind the desk with BIRDCAGE INDUCTION on a little sign next to him, was that of a man consigned to the very depths of Hell.

"Please," begged Teacher. "Kill me."

"What?" Brad was vaguely aware Lung had caught up, but was saying nothing. "You're Teacher, man. You're the king of conspiracies. You should be running this place."

Teacher sobbed out loud. It was slightly alarming to see the ugly little man breaking down like this. "I've tried. There are no loopholes. None. Every single one is closed. And I can't break the law." He reached across the desk beseechingly. "But you can. Please, just one stab. Or break my neck. Something. Anything to get me out of here."

"Now, now," said one of the Dragon suits reprovingly. "Incitement to commit murder is also against the law. Kindly cease and desist. You have a job to do."

Terrell whimpered and nodded. Reaching back, he took up two forms and handed them across the counter. His voice was colourless and flat when he spoke next. "Fill these in and hand them back, please."

Shaken by the encounter, Brad took the form and studied it. At the top, it asked for his name, which he had expected. But then it went on to ask other questions, some of which had him scratching his head. Favoured nickname? Preferred brand of alcohol or soda? Preferred reading material? Preferred TV shows? Preferred leisure activities? Religious denomination? Favoured sporting team? General political views? Medical requirements? Smoker or non-smoker? The inane questions went on and on.

There was a pen chained to the table he went to, so he started on the form, scribbling in each answer after some thought. Part of him wanted to crumple it up and throw it away or write in ridiculous concepts just to screw with whatever data-collection algorithm they were feeding this stuff to, but the look on Terrell's face stuck with him. If Dragon could mess with Terrell that hard just by shoving the man behind a desk, he didn't want to know what she would do him if he screwed with the form. Shit, she might put me back there. He honestly could not imagine a worse fate.

After he handed the form back, he and Lung were ushered out through another set of double doors. As he went, he heard Teacher whimper, "Help me …" just before the doors closed behind them.

They entered an elevator large enough to host a cage-fight with room to spare, so the Dragon suits fitted in easily. The entire thing rumbled downward, making him wonder just how far underground they were going. From the corner of his eye, he could see Lung glancing at the walls and roof of the elevator car, giving him the impression that the Asian gang boss was having much the same thoughts.

The elevator stopped and the doors opened, onto a wide carpeted area. As Brad stepped out, he took in the large open space. A tasteful chandelier hung from concrete beams overhead, and there was a game of billiards going on at a table across to one side. Several well-appointed sofas and armchairs were set up with a good view of a huge-screen TV, upon which a gridiron game was currently playing out. And populating this utterly unexpected setting were … supervillains, one and all. Some of whom Brad knew of, some he knew personally, and some that just looked like villains.

"Ahh, good morning." A tall man with a neatly trimmed beard came to meet them. "I'll take it from here, ladies. Thank you kindly."

"All good, Marquis. Let us know if you need anything." One of the Dragon suits stepped back into the elevator, while the other started off across the room, where everyone apparently … ignored it.

Marquis. Brad knew that name. He'd never met the guy but even ten years later, Marquis was a minor legend in Brockton Bay. "Hey," he said, holding out his hand. "Hookwolf."

Marquis shook it once, briefly. "I know of you," he said. "And you too, Lung. Welcome to the Birdcage."

Lung, silent for so long, chose to speak up. "This is not how I expected it to be."

"Well, no." Marquis chuckled wryly. "This is all very new. We had a visitor recently, a young man by the name of Zachary. He remodelled the place and changed the way things work around here."

"Remodelled." Brad said the word almost questioningly. He'd seen Zachary's capabilities, but this seemed beyond even those.

"Remodelled." Marquis repeated it, firmly. "The carpet, the elevator, the billiard table, furniture, the television set … everything. He rebuilt the Birdcage from top to bottom. Teacher is now in Administration, and his previous minions are now without a boss. His previous cell-block—Block T—is now for newcomers. You can take up residence there until you decide to either move into another block to be closer to whatever friends you make in here, or meet with Zachary and move into the accommodation block upstairs, where most of us are." He ticked points off on his fingers. "We have drink dispensers that supply coffee, soda and alcohol. They're both down here and upstairs. Do not abuse these privileges, or they will be cut off … for you, and you alone."

Brad shared a glance with Lung. Access to booze plus a TV the size of that one to watch the game on … his preconceptions about the Birdcage were starting to seriously take a beating. Lung looked equally disconcerted.

"How about smokes?" he asked, at the same time as Lung said, "What about women?"

"Cigarettes have their own dispensers," Marquis replied smoothly. "You start at one pack a week, but the longer you keep up your good behaviour, the more quickly you will be able to access a new pack. As for women … well, they have their own half of the Birdcage. The gate between is guarded from both sides. The same goes for the accommodation block. Some women have ongoing relationships, either with other women or with some of the men. Some others are willing, for a price. Anyone who's not interested is to be left alone. Nothing happens without consent." His gaze hardened. "It was already my way before the remodelling, but now it's an iron-clad rule for all of us. The penalty for breaking it is death. Do you understand?"

"Okay, yeah, got it." Brad liked it when the rules were laid down beforehand. Marquis didn't seem to be playing around. "Anything else?"

"Yes." Marquis started off across the room, gesturing for Brad and Lung to follow. "I'll show you where to get your basic bedding and clothing." He led them into another part of the complex and pointed out a large double door. "You won't be able to go up there until you've seen Zachary. That leads to the accommodation block and the Yard. It's got open sky; just the place to go when you're feeling claustrophobic."

"Open to the sky?" Lung sounded puzzled. "And people don't escape?"

"You can only go up there if you've accepted a collar that prevents you from breaking the law," Marquis explained, sounding totally matter-of-fact. "Escaping is against the law. I've taken up sunbathing. There isn't much sun at this latitude, but it's the thought that counts. I'm actually living up there, but I came down to give you two your induction when I heard you were in from Brockton Bay."

"And books?" Bradley recalled another part of the form. "You got those in here, too?"

Marquis nodded. "Why, yes. We have quite the library now. As everyone hands their preferences in, we get more books. I'm finding the opportunity to enjoy some I've never encountered before."

"You sound very happy for someone who is stuck in here forever," Lung declared. "A gilded cage is still a cage."

"Not forever, no." Marquis raised his brows at their expressions. "That's another thing Zachary changed. Once you've accepted the no-crime collars and move into the accommodation block upstairs, you can see about filing an appeal. It might take a few years, but you can get out."

Brad stared at him. "You're shitting me. We can get out? For real?"

"As you say, for real." Marquis gave him an austere smile and a nod. "It is certainly something to think about, isn't it?"

"Yeah. It is." And in the meantime, the chance to settle back with a smoke and a brewski to watch the game on TV …

Brad could think of far worse ways to pass the next few years.

<><>

Coil

Calvert was glad to be out of Alaska. The place was far too cold for his liking. He'd retained the rifle, though, and the box of ammunition that came with it. It was ridiculously heavy and his shoulder was still sore, twelve hours and the breadth of a continent later, but good God could it deliver a hurting downrange.

The instructions on his phone had said to come back to Brockton Bay, so he had boarded the first flight from Anchorage. Just for laughs, he'd split the timeline and in the throwaway one he'd presented the rifle as 'golf clubs' to go into the cargo bay. When the airline staff accepted this without a demur, he'd almost had to pick his jaw up off the floor, but he'd recovered soon enough and the throwaway timeline quickly became the keeper.

So now, way too many hours later (some of which he'd slept in the air) he stepped off the commuter train from Boston, his luggage in his hand and his 'golf bag' (which people still didn't seem to recognise as anything else) slung over his shoulder. Creep shuffled after him, which would've caused Calvert some serious cognitive dissonance if he'd allowed himself to think about the matter. People clearly saw Creep, because they stepped around him, and gave him peanuts on the plane. But they equally obviously didn't see what he was, or their brains filled in some other image, for the simple reason that they didn't scream and run.

The other problem with Creep was that he couldn't shuffle very fast; a body-bag didn't lend itself to rapid movement. But no matter how fast Calvert walked (or even ran) Creep was always there, right at his side. Or waiting in the car when Calvert got there.

He was much happier since he'd decided not to think about it anymore, and went at his own pace.

Calvert's phone pinged, and he stopped to drag it from his pocket. As per usual, there was no header, but the message included a set of terse instructions and a diagram. When he studied it, he realised he knew the location. Forsberg Gallery, balcony level. From that high up, the building had a commanding view of the city. There was a time appended, some forty-five minutes hence.

Stowing his phone back in his pocket, he took up his luggage again and headed out toward the cab stand. Brockton Bay's public transport system wasn't exactly the best, but the cabs were usually reliable. And if they looked problematic, he could split time and try more than one.

In the event, the cab he got into seemed clean enough. The driver didn't appear bothered by either Creep's morbid appearance or the ridiculously high-powered rifle Calvert was carrying, but that could've been the thing that had been making people turn a blind eye all this time, or it might just have been a Brockton Bay thing. Cabbies in this city learned not to see anything that might end up being a problem.

He spent the drive to the Forsberg Gallery catching up on local news. Lung's capture, along with that of Oni Lee, he'd learned about just before he made his run for it. The Empire Eighty-Eight turning themselves in was an eye-opener, as was the capture of the Merchants. Less so, of course, if he assumed Zachary was neck-deep in both incidents.

The cabbie cackled out loud when he described Skidmark smacking into Director Piggot's office window, then sliding all the way down the face of the building. Somehow the footage of this, supposedly sealed behind PRT firewalls, had made it into the public domain and gone viral in a huge way. Not as huge as the Uber-Simurgh dance-off, of course, but very little would top that.

The cab dropped Calvert and Creep at the Forsberg, and they went inside. Yet again, nobody paid them the slightest bit of attention where normally they should've been drawing all eyes. Unshaven, his heavy jacket draped over his shoulder and his rifle in plain view, Calvert would've passed for a desperado in any Western, even before Creep shuffled into the scene and made it into a zombie movie. But he spent the elevator trip upward politely discussing the pros and cons of Impressionism versus Surrealism with a distinguished gentleman who introduced himself as the curator of the museum and never spared the looming dead man a second glance.

At the balcony level, Calvert strode from the elevator with Creep following behind. He negotiated his way through the building until he located the balcony itself. The view was as impressive as he'd figured it would be, but time was ticking down and he didn't have the luxury of sightseeing. Dropping his carry-bag at his feet and unslinging the rifle, he knelt at the balcony rail and put the weapon to his shoulder.

The diagram had shown him which direction to look, so he sighted between two buildings and carefully focused the scope until he was able to pick out the cracks in the sidewalk. Opening the breech, he slid one of the oversized rounds into it, then pushed the bolt forward carefully. The rifle didn't actually have a safety-catch so once the bolt was seated, the only thing stopping it from firing was to not have his finger on the trigger.

A quick glance at his watch told him the appointed time was almost upon him. He settled down, the stock firmly planted against his shoulder and his eye to the scope. He had a very specific target, and he was ready to carry out his appointed task.

One second before the appointed time, a PRT van showed up on his scope. As he watched, the back doors flew open and a man leaped out, rolling over and over on the road. Not just any man; while he wore convict orange, the absconder bore pure white skin, white hair and so on. Even as he settled the crosshairs on his target, Calvert knew who he was.

Alabaster.

The fugitive climbed to his feet, turning to shout something (no doubt suitably defiant) at his former captors. Unsure of which way Alabaster was going to go, Calvert split time. In the first instance, he held steady. The other led just a little to the right.

In both instances, his finger stroked the trigger, then added just a tiny bit of pressure.

With a report that echoed across the city and reverberated from Captain's Hill, the rifle fired. Flame blasted from the muzzle-brake, and the stock hammered hard into his already-bruised shoulder.

As the smoke cleared, in the one instance, the bullet had barely grazed Alabaster's cheekbone, the man having turned his head slightly. Even so, the impact had blown off half Alabaster's head. But as Calvert watched, the ragdoll figure reverted to fully healthy and scrambled to his feet again. He'd clearly missed the important half of Alabaster's brain.

In the other instance, the effect was much more impressive. Alabaster had moved directly into the shot, and the transmitted kinetic energy of the bullet converted his head, neck and part of his upper chest into shreds of gore and drifting pink mist. His body slumped, then fell over. Long seconds passed, and there was no resetting, no revival.

Alabaster was dead.

People hadn't noticed Calvert coming up, but that didn't mean they would continue to not notice him now that the shot had been fired. Quickly and smoothly, he slung the rifle and took up his luggage. His best bet now was to take the elevator down and vanish into the woodwork until he got his next orders.

It wasn't the life he would've chosen for himself, but it definitely had its moments.

<><>

Kaiser

It all happened so suddenly. The doors of the van were still open as Alabaster rolled and then got to his feet. Max saw him make an obscene gesture and open his mouth to shout something, but whatever he intended to say never made it to the open air as his head basically disintegrated, along with everything from mid-chest upward. Just for a moment, Max suspected some sort of implanted bomb to prevent this exact scenario, but he was reasonably certain the PRT didn't have any Tinkers willing to do that sort of work.

And then the rifle-shot echoed across the city. Max didn't know how far away it had come from, but it was still shockingly loud. As the PRT van began to slow down, Max resigned himself to being partially encased in containment foam for quite some time to come.

The PRT, he suspected, would have other things on their collective minds.

Also, he was fairly sure that any thought of potential escape among the rest of the group had been extremely thoroughly quashed. Accept the sentence. Do the time.

It seemed the safest option, right at that moment.

<><>

Director Piggot

"A sniper shot." Emily knew a little about sharpshooting, and she did her best to keep the scepticism out of her voice. "From the Forsberg?"

Miss Militia nodded. "I traced it back. It's the only location that has a viewpoint from that angle. Range, one and a half miles."

Emily frowned. "Would the sniper have had a particularly wide field of view?"

"No." Miss Militia slid a photo onto the desk. "Just between these two buildings."

Leaning back in her chair, Emily thought this over. "So … our sniper was set up on the balcony of Forsberg Museum, where nobody saw or heard him, at just the right angle to see the precise spot where Alabaster overpowered the guards and jumped out of the van. He fired one shot, and turned Alabaster's entire head and neck into a fine spray. Then vanished into nowhere."

Miss Militia nodded. "Those are the facts, yes. The bullet blew a chunk out of the sidewalk after it canoe'd Alabaster's upper chest, and we got enough fragments to guess at a calibre."

Emily frowned. "My guess is an overpowered hollow-point fifty, or maybe an explosive load. One or the other hitting at just the right angle might've been enough to do all that damage, right?"

"That was my thought too," Miss Militia said. "But the fragments told us differently. We actually got measurable curvature off a couple of them. Extrapolating from that, we're looking at a ninety-five-calibre round."

"Ninety-five?" Emily's brows rose all the way up her forehead. "That's bigger than a ten-gauge shotgun slug!" The catastrophic damage to Alabaster's head and body, far from a fluke of circumstance, became a lot more understandable now. "Who's got one of those in this city?"

Miss Militia shrugged. "There's only one round made to that size. They've manufactured exactly three rifles capable of firing it. And those rifles are classified as Destructive Devices in every state bar Texas. We've tracked ownership of all three rifles to Texas, but while two of them are right where they're supposed to be, the third one has been reported missing by its owner."

Emily shook her head. She could hazard a very good guess as to the rough location of the third rifle. Somewhere in Brockton Bay. "Well, shit."

<><>

That Afternoon

Taylor

"Hey, Taylor!"

I turned as I heard my name being called, just in time to be glomped by Amy. Catching her weight, I spun around with her. "Hey, Amy. It's good to see you, too."

She was grinning all over her face, and no wonder; my gloves told me her system was full of happiness endorphins, and my glasses agreed. "I know, I know. I was just feeling so good, and I wanted to say hi."

"It is good that you are feeling good," Zach said. "It shows I have done the right thing."

"Oh, you have, you have." Amy beamed at the both of us. "One of the girls in my class asked me out today. We're going to the movies. This is my very first date that Vicky hasn't set up for me!"

I blinked a couple of times. That statement had layers that probably needed unpacking, but now wasn't the time. "Well, I'm glad for you. I hope you have lots of fun."

"Thank yooou!" She took the time to give Zach a quick hug, then vanished into the crowd.

"Well," I said, straightening my jacket. It didn't really need it, but I liked to straighten it anyway. "That was definitely a thing. I'd say your instincts were right on the money when it came to Amy."

"It is good that you think so," agreed Zach. "Hello, Victoria. Are you looking for Amelia Claire?"

Thus alerted, I looked around as Glory Girl showed up with a pensive expression on her face. "Oh, hi, Vicky."

"Hey, Taylor. Zach. Yeah, I lost track of her after class. She sent me a message to not worry about a lift today, but I just wanted to talk to her face to face about it." She eyed me suspiciously as I totally failed to keep a poker face. "What? What's going on?"

"Nothing, I swear." I shook my head. "She's got a date tonight, so I suspect she's gonna ride on the bus with the other girl to spend more time with her."

Vicky looked dumbfounded. "Ames? A date? With a girl? When did this happen?"

"Amelia Claire informed us that the girl asked her for a date to the movies today," Zach said helpfully. "We are unaware as to how long she has been associating with this girl before now."

"But no, wait." Vicky rubbed the back of her head, sounding perplexed. "Ames likes girls? How come she never told me that?"

I shrugged. "I have no idea. My gaydar's pretty well for shit, too. Anyway, see you later. Have a good night."

"Yeah, okay, seeya." She meandered off absently.

As we headed outside to find a clear area, I turned to Zach. "Did you know Amy was into girls? Because I didn't."

"Amelia Claire was not into girls, plural," he informed me blandly. "She was into one girl but could not carry that attraction through."

I stopped still, staring at him. "Please tell me she wasn't into me," I begged. "I'd never forgive myself for making her feel rejected because I didn't know."

"No, Taylor, Amelia Claire was never attracted to you before. She believes you are attractive now, but she thinks of you much more as a valued friend than a potential romantic partner." He paused. "Her primary attraction was always toward Victoria."

It took me a second to parse that. "Oh," I said quietly. "Oh, shit. No wonder she never said anything."

"You are correct." Zach took the lead again, but even though he was facing away from me, I heard his voice clearly over the babble of the crowd. "The conflict between what she wanted and what she could not have and dared not ask for was tearing her apart. When I removed her powers, I took the liberty of damping down that singular attraction and spreading it out a little to include all girls of her age. She is now of the opinion that the removal of her powers allowed her to see other girls as attractive without feeling guilty about somehow 'cheating' on her sister. And now that she is no longer the unattainable Panacea …" He let his voice trail off.

"Other girls can feel comfortable asking her out." I nodded. "Okay, I'm a little dubious about the whole 'changing how she feels about Vicky' aspect but the end result seems to have justified it. Is there any chance Vicky would've been interested in her?"

Zach shook his head as we came to a halt outside. "Not without a much more serious alteration of Victoria's standards of attractiveness. I suspect if I had done that, you would yell at me quite a lot."

"Damn right I would." I grinned at him. "So, Amy's happier than she's been in a long time. I suspect Vicky's more puzzled about Amy not hanging around her every hour of the day, but she'll get over it. Anything more we need to deal with here, before we go and do that thing in Europe?"

"No, Taylor," he said. "I believe we are done here for the moment. Would you like me to run you there, or shall we teleport?"

I tilted my head, thinking about it. "I'm thinking … teleport. I need the practice, anyway."

"On the contrary, you are becoming quite adept," Zach said. "But if you wish to teleport, we will teleport. Our first stop is Paris; three thousand four hundred two miles, four thousand one hundred twenty-five feet that way, and vertically upward sixty-three feet. Be ready to throw the Idiot Ball the instant we arrive."

As usual, the teleport power allowed me to know exactly where we were going, from his instructions. Wrapping my arm through his, I concentrated for a second and triggered the teleport.

We popped onto the sidewalk of a back street, not ten feet from where a woman in a white dress with alabaster skin and white hair, wearing a mask depicting a snarl, was hovering over the street. I didn't need prompting; I threw the Idiot Ball. It bounced off the side of her head; as she fell to the street, Zach gathered me up and we blurred out of there.

"Wait," I said, once I'd caught my breath. I hadn't known who the woman was, but my glasses did. "That was one of the Three Blasphemies. Are you here to destroy them? Why didn't we stay, if she was depowered?"

"The Three Blasphemies are not human," Zach observed, leaning against the rail of the observation deck. Because of course we were at the top of the Eiffel Tower, at night. Paris, spread out before us, was amazing, but I was too busy listening to Zach to take it in. "They are constructs, sharing power. Destroy one, and another will emerge. The one you assaulted has already regained her power. But now we have gained their attention."

To me, that sounded like a bad thing, but Zach seemed upbeat about it so I decided to reserve judgement for the moment. "Okay, so what do we do now?"

Zach smiled. "We have managed to mildly irritate them. It is my intention to make them so angry they forget themselves."

That still sounded like a bad thing to me. Thinking back, I'd heard they were powerful enough to survive even a bout against Eidolon himself. That was a very exclusive club indeed. "And what happens then?"

Beaming happily at being asked the important question, Zach put his hands together as though applauding, then lifted them apart. "Boom."

I wasn't exactly thrilled about being a part of any 'boom' the Three Blasphemies were likely to generate, but Zach seemed okay with it, and I'd long since decided to trust him with my life. Besides, the Three Blasphemies had hurt quite a few people during their time in Europe, so it was about time they got their comeuppance. However it was Zachary had this planned.

"Okay, then," I said, trying to keep any tinge of doubt out of my voice. "Let's do this."

"That is the spirit, Taylor." Zach beamed at me. "I am about to open a series of portals. When I open a portal, I will need you to throw the Idiot Ball through the portal at the target you see. Can you do that?"

I summoned the Idiot Ball between my middle and index finger. "I can totally do that."

"Good." He gave me a look of approval, entirely different from his usual smile. This one was serious. "It is very good to have someone I know I can totally depend on."

I knew how powerful Zach was, how little he truly needed someone like me helping him. But he'd never, ever lied to me in any significant way. And to have him say this to me, and to mean it as far as I could tell, gave me a feeling of confidence such as I'd never had before. If he'd told me I could walk on water in that same tone, I wouldn't have even bothered taking my shoes off before putting it to the test.

There was little I could say in return, except for one word. "Likewise." It was all that needed to be said.

A hint of his smile widened his mouth slightly. "Thank you. Ready … now!"

At his gesture, the shimmering portal opened in front of me, and I tossed the Idiot Ball through at the Blasphemy on the other side. This time, her mask was smiling, but I was willing to bet she wasn't smiling behind it, especially after the ball bounced off her nose and back through the portal. And then Zach moved … and he was holding her mask as the portal blinked out. Then he put it on.

I would've been stunned at the audacity, but he was already opening another portal. I threw the ball again, hitting the masked woman—snarling, so the one we'd met first—in the right eye. As I caught the ball, Zach moved again, grabbing her mask. But this time, he paused before closing the portal so that she could see he was wearing her sister's mask.

He handed me the snarling mask and I put it on. Somehow, the glasses I had on managed to conform to their shape, so I could see through them and the mask eyeholes at the same time. I was beginning to get an idea of his strategy so when he opened the portal a third time, I made sure she could see me in the mask just as the Idiot Ball bounced off her chin. And when the portal closed, Zach held her mask.

"Okay, I'm pretty sure they're angry now," I said. I may or may not have been grinning widely myself. "What's next? Wedgies?"

"Hmm," Zach said thoughtfully, tilting his head to one side. "I had not considered wedgies. Perhaps in future. But for now, we give the masks back."

On the face of it (hah!) that sounded a little self-defeating, but I was willing to trust Zach in this. He'd been batting a thousand so far. "Okay," I said. "Idiot Ball again?"

"Of course," he said, as though it had never been in doubt. Taking off the mask he wore, he opened the portal again.

I was ready, tossing the Idiot Ball through and doinking whichever Blasphemy it was on the forehead, just before Zach held up the mask in front of the portal, waggling it tauntingly. I added an impromptu, "Nyah nyah!" before she snatched it back and jammed it on her face.

For the next portal, Zach reached out for 'my' mask, so I gave it to him. The glasses I was still wearing reconfigured back to their normal shape, and I readied the Idiot Ball. I could tell we were entering the endgame of his strategy, and I didn't want to miss my cue.

Again, I verbally mocked the Blasphemy (after Idiot Balling her, because I'm not stupid) and she grabbed the mask Zach was waving in her face. Like the first one, she didn't bother looking at the front of the mask, just shoving it back on.

Anger. It can be so useful, when weaponised.

The last Blasphemy came so close to blasting us that there was a flare of energy before the Idiot Ball connected, but that was all she had. Furious at being shut down, she snatched the mask even faster than the other two had. The portal closed, and Zach paused. "Taylor?"

"Yes, Zach?" I didn't know how he was going to top what he'd just done, but I was ready for anything.

"This time … let them catch it."

And that was his plan. His gorgeous, simple plan. I felt him putting his arm protectively around my shoulders, then he opened three portals directly above our heads. These were larger than the others, so the Three Blasphemies were looking directly at each other. And in between the three … I tossed the Idiot Ball.

All three recognised it, of course. And like Vicky that one time, they all tried to catch it. Also like Vicky … I let them.

Three sets of fingers latched onto the Ball, and three horrifically powered and extremely pissed off individuals, all looking at someone else wearing their mask … did the absolute stupidest thing they could possibly do.

As Zach had said: 'boom'.

Between the powers inherent in my jacket and Zach's protective capability, the explosion didn't even touch me. The observation deck of the Eiffel Tower, along with the next fifty feet down, was obliterated. (I hadn't noticed Zach moving everyone else to safety until after it happened, but that was Zach for you).

As gently as a feather, we drifted down until we stood atop the ruined stump of the Tower. I looked around curiously. "So … are they dead?"

After ensuring that I had proper footing, Zach made a gathering-in motion. Wispy threads appeared between his hands, thickening as he turned them. "Yes. They have been destroyed, in the only way it was possible to do so quickly. Turning them against each other."

"Nice." I waited until he had their power bundled up and stowed away, then tapped my foot on the twisted metal of the Eiffel Tower. "So … you gonna clean up your mess?"

He chuckled. "Yes, Taylor. I am going to clean up my mess." Raising his foot in turn, he stamped hard on the iron underfoot. Against all intuition and logic, the entire structure shivered. By the time the shaking subsided, the Eiffel Tower was twenty feet taller. He did it twice more; after the last one, all damage had been erased, the paintwork was gleaming and new, and every rivet gleamed as though freshly installed. "Does that satisfy you?"

I grinned and leaned my head against his shoulder. "Yeah, it totally does. Now, there's just one thing I wish I had."

He raised his eyebrows as he put his arm around me. "What is that, Taylor?"

I gestured out over the gorgeous night-time vista of Paris. "A camera."

Even though I was watching carefully, I was sure he hadn't so much as flickered, and yet he was holding a camera where before he'd had no such thing. "Like this, Taylor?"

I shrugged, deciding I wasn't even going to query it. "Yeah, Zach. Exactly like that. Thanks."

"You are welcome, Taylor."

Part 23