- Location
- United States
Taylor: Some part of me wishes for adventure
*something bad happens close to her
Taylor: Why did I wish for this adventure?
*something bad happens close to her
Taylor: Why did I wish for this adventure?
An Imago of Rust and Crimson (Worm crossover)
- Thread starter EarthScorpion
- Start date
Why so stalk, Madison?
The time skip is rather abrupt, meta-joke or no, and raises questions of whether Taylor's relationships have changed in any meaningful ways, or if her life froze for the duration.
Otherwise, an interesting little mystery tied to big conspiracy. Hope we would see the resolution soon enough.
FTFY
Though, to be fair, she's still excited now that she got over her initial panic.
Otherwise, an interesting little mystery tied to big conspiracy. Hope we would see the resolution soon enough.
FTFY
Though, to be fair, she's still excited now that she got over her initial panic.
Thanks. Fixed.
Ah yes, I was wondering what the response to the use of a small timeskip was going to be. I was suspecting at least some people wouldn't be fond of it, so I'll lay my logic on the line.
Firstly, I make no bones about the fact that I want to keep Imago more de-compressed than canon. Yes, sometimes weeks or months will go by when nothing big or supernatural is happening. Taylor just spends her time doing smaller things - and unlike canon, she's still rather more rooted in things like "Turning up at school", so she has less time for heroics. That was one of the things I hoped I was demonstrating with this - that she's trying to send her angels and cherubs to do things while at school, but she keeps on being interrupted by the need to do woooooooork.
Secondly, don't worry - I do intend to make sure to keep her circle of acquaintances in the foreground. If you notice, over the past arc or so she's been building up a circle of what-would-be-friends-if-she-was-better-with-people. She's got Sam who's busy being the rich liberal, she's got Luci who she sits next to in some classes and is at least on speaking terms with, she's Glory Girl's shadowy contact in a secret government conspiracy which isn't a government conspiracy and is actually just a mentally unstable teenage girl, and she has Kirsty who makes all the others look sane and well-balanced and who is the only one who isn't a teenage girl (chronologically, at least). But at a certain level, I'm worried about things bogging down. After all, I'm entirely aware of the pacing issues in Arc 2 and the first part of Arc 3. So I do plan to demonstrate the "baseline" that she's settled down with them in a few months of Taylor-being-not-very-good-at-social-things-but-still-trying.
It's not actually really a metajoke. I put the timeskip of a couple of months in for reasons I felt the narrative was served by.
(There's also another reason, but that's due to certain facets of the weather in Maine which won't come into play for a while.)
I thought there was something screwy with this sentiment so I found this:
I hope Taylor has just forgotten about the brainwashing she performed on Luci, because the alternative is that she is now expressing selective memory or "enhancing" her memories.
EDIT: Turns out I misread it badly. And mistook the mage equivalent of a good first impression for something darker.
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You're misreading things. She's recounting the way she thinks the other girl is justifying in her head why she thinks Taylor is okay.
Also, honestly, it's rather over egging things to call the nudging that Taylor did to Luci "brainwashing". She's not routinely doing things to Luci, as seen this chapter. She weighted things months ago so Luci was naturally inclined to be friendly and made sure their first meeting went well, but that's subtle tampering, hardly brainwashing. Many normal people can manage the same by being funny and pleasant and open in a first meeting.
I mean, Taylor can't, but that's because her sense of humour is pitch black, she doesn't do pleasant, and she thinks open is a golfing term.
Fair enough. I do actually like that this Taylor is more rooted in the mundane and connected to the world around her, and I do understand the desire to establish a less neck-breaking speed than canon. I just felt that Taylor's relationships were too unstable at the time to easily settle into a status quo, especially with Kirsty.
Good to hear. That is something I would look forward to as I do enjoy Taylor's fumbling her way through social conflicts, and I guess I'll see then how well the time skip serves the story.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
The only thing that annoyed me about the timeskip is that it sorta lessened the impact of her pseudo-pattern scouring. The feeling of her powers having costs fades quite a bit when it all goes away in one update rather than fading over the next few, especially since the last update had her push herself.
Apart from that, i don't mind a departure from the rapid pace. This is a conspiracy story more than an action story, it doesn't have to rush. Plus, it's less painful waiting for updates when the pressure isn't as heavy.
Apart from that, i don't mind a departure from the rapid pace. This is a conspiracy story more than an action story, it doesn't have to rush. Plus, it's less painful waiting for updates when the pressure isn't as heavy.
I am. Thank you for the correction.
InterstellarHobo
Cosmic Vagrant
- Location
- No Fixed Planetary System
SO I have no objections to timeskips, but it does seem odd that Taylor sort of left Victoria in a lurch but it all worked out during the timeskip. Not a huge deal, I could easily accept this and just keep reading- but it does seem odd to me.
Specifically, I'm referring to how after the gunshot on the roof, Taylor promised to talk to Victoria later but never did, and the last we saw of Victoria was her stewing and hoping Taylor called.
Perhaps I missed the resolution to this?
Specifically, I'm referring to how after the gunshot on the roof, Taylor promised to talk to Victoria later but never did, and the last we saw of Victoria was her stewing and hoping Taylor called.
Perhaps I missed the resolution to this?
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- Location
- Denmark
- Pronouns
- She/Her
@EarthScorpion confirmed for Seer plot to discredit perfectly reasonable Obrimos that lives by herself. Local Silver Ladder in outrage.
EDIT: In all seriousness, this update that I only saw just now because the author reminded me it existed to fuck me over when I complained about a lack of updates is really good. I'm excited for what the hell is going on with the grey men, whether they are the Men in Black from Summoners, Hollow Ones from Seers or some other even weirder thing from the twisted machine mind of EarthScorpion.
Furthermore I like the mundanity of the story, how her daily heroics basically amount to "get up and go to school" which is heroic as shit when your name is Taylor Hebert.
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4.04
An Imago of Rust and Crimson
Chapter 4.04
Another announcement chimed in just before the end of the day, letting us know that school was going to be closed tomorrow. That was okay with me. They probably needed the time to clean everything up, and it wasn't like anyone would be able to concentrate, anyway.
Normally I couldn't leave school fast enough, but today I broke off from the mass of students shuffling out the south gate, escorted by watching teachers. A moment later I was wrapped in Isolation, making my way down emptying school corridors towards the Principal's office. My guess was that the cops would have given a list of students they were looking for, with instructions to call if they showed up at school. I'd just need a copy myself. I could photograph it, or something.
As I brushed past a small crowd of students being herded outside, I had a cherub bring me my coat and mask. They couldn't see me, but that bird woman could. If she was here, I couldn't let her see my face.
Though she'd still know who I was. There weren't many invisible gasmask girls running around Brockton Bay. What if I wore a different costume? I'd need to put another one together. Or several. Something for later.
I didn't really need to sneak, under cover of Isolation. I did it anyway, my heart pounding in my chest as my breath rasped inside my mask. The place was still busy with students being escorted from classes and bathrooms by scattered cops and teachers. Among them were a grey man and woman in soaked black suits, walking down the hallway towards me. The words on their foreheads read INVESTIGATE and ISOLATE respectively, and I freaked out for a moment. Were they staring straight at me? Could they see through my powers, spot me in the crowd? Why hadn't the Other Place misspelled those words?
The moment passed, and they moved on. Thank God.
Of course, given my luck Principal Blackwell was right in the centre of the barely organised chaos. One of my old teachers – Mr Gladly, who taught Parahuman Studies – came out of her office, looking ill. I wondered what he'd been told, but used the chance to tailgate in through her door before it closed. Paper coffee cups were crumpled and scattered across her desk, along with several big blue binders. The principal herself was on the phone. Her skin was sallow and her short black hair was out of place.
"… I think I've got the code here for the incident report. Yes… uh, it's 144. 531. 18 dash I. No, no. Eighteen. One eight. And 'I' for igloo. The contact officer is Mark Ells." She propped her phone against her shoulder and hunted on her desk for pens. "Just give me a moment, I'll make a note of this. Can you start again, please?"
Trying to make as little noise as possible, I paced around Principal Blackwell. Despite how useless she'd been when I needed help, I still felt sorry for her. It was pretty obvious she could barely run the school on a day-to-day basis. There was no way she'd be able to cope with a murder on top of everything else.
"Mmm," she said, in response to something. "Well, they don't have any solid suspects yet, but they're thinking it might have been gang related."
I let the chill of the Other Place surround me, and took a second look. The room hadn't changed much since my last visit. It still smelt of rising damp and abandoned places, and the windows were still covered in illegible scrawls. Blackwell's dog-like face was locked in a frown. I breathed an Idea into her ear, watching as it squirmed in.
"Remind them what the police told you to do," it hissed, as I leaned over her shoulder to look at her notes.
She paused, and rubbed her temples with a hand covered in matted fur. "Anyway, let's just go over the procedures again," she said into themould-coated phone. "I've got a list of students they want to talk to. They're the ones who weren't on the school grounds when we did the check. No, no, I know. Most of them are just going to be playing truant, but that's what we have to do. They're stationing an officer here, so if any of them turn up, they can question them. And while we're closed, they'll sweep the grounds for the murder weapon. Yes, or bloody clothes."
"That's enough," I whispered. The Idea wriggled out of her ear and came apart into a dark mist.
She paused. "Sorry, my head is in a mess at the moment," she apologised to the person on the other end of the phone. "Today is hectic. I'm just tripping over myself. There's so many things I need to do, and I'm still preparing for the big staff meeting at five. God knows how this will go."
I kept half an ear open for her conversation while I flicked through the binders on her desk, looking for the list of names she'd mentioned. She'd obviously been looking at it recently, because it didn't take long. It looked like it was about sixty or so names. Yeah, good job, Winslow. Great job with the truancy rate.
Well, I'd be taking that. Or… no, that'd make her suspicious. Instead, I put it down on her desk and sent another Idea crawling into her brain. Right away she started glancing at it, and after about a minute she hung up.
"What if I lose it?" she muttered to herself. Yeah, best to be on the safe side, right? With a weary sigh, she shifted to her computer, and tugged a slip of paper from inside of one of the books on her desk. She lay it down next to her keyboard, and I read it as she typed. It said
its effORT too MemoRize
Whn iT chanGES everi MUNTH
Oh. Right. Other Place. A moment later, it turned out to say
Username: blackwellj
Password: jngpu9bhg
Well. That was something useful to know. No wonder she couldn't be bothered to memorise her password. I scribbled it down in my notebook. That'd last for a month, and I bet she always hid those slips in that book. Honestly, I was surprised Winslow was making staff change their passwords monthly. This was a high school, not Fort Knox.
I made my way to the printer as she fiddled with her mouse, and watched as it ground to life with a mix of hums, squeaks, and paper-crumpling coughs. I wasn't even in the Other Place, and the noise was upsetting. It took so long to get started that Blackwell was standing right next to me by the time it actually started printing.
It was time to try something I'd worked out a little while ago. I chose a specific butterfly in the swarm that made up Isolation, urging it toward the printer with a breath through pursed lips. Other human-headed butterflies followed it, swarming around the paper as it finally emerged.
Blackwell just stared straight at the printing tray. She couldn't see the papers, any more than she could see me. "Did it not work?" she asked the thin air. "Stupid machine. I know it started." She peered at the printer, checking the lights and rattling at one of the trays. "Are you out of ink?" she asked it. "Or… is it a paper thing? " I let the Idea wriggle away into nothing. "Damn it. I really don't need this now on top of everything else. Not now."
Shaking her head, the principal headed back to her desk. I tucked the print-out into my bag. She had a pile of the binders of names and faces that teachers used to identify students, probably to help the cops. Grabbing one of them, I left her office. I didn't want to be in here if the bird lady showed up. Or anyone like her. I headed straight for the lockers, where the last wave of students was still lingering, and sent my mask and coat back to my hideout before dropping Isolation. I was just another student when I left the grounds.
I was simmering the entire way home. I couldn't believe the grey men had shown up here, at school. Who would send things like that to a school? Did they know I went to Winslow? I'd tried to track them down, after last time, and found absolutely nothing. Why were they swarming out of the woodwork now. Was it just because a skinhead had died? What were they up to? What were they planning?
I realised that I was grinding my teeth, and forced myself to relax. I wasn't scared, I was angry… but I was pretty sure that was just because there hadn't been any sign of the bird woman. She had to be some kind of parahuman, if she could see through Isolation. And with her suit, and the way she'd controlled the police, I guessed she had to be part of a big group. Maybe the grey men were just their lackeys or something. Maybe they sent them around to look into every mysterious murder. If she wasn't there, it meant they weren't being serious about it. Whoever 'they' were.
Yes, I thought to myself, relaxing slightly. Yes. That made sense. After all, they'd shown up at the killings down near the docks, and that definitely qualified as weird. Now someone had shown up dead under strange circumstances at Winslow, and here they were. And Kirsty… well, talking to her about her past was both sad and uncomfortable, but she'd said that the people 'whose souls had been eaten by demons' had killed people.
Maybe they'd show up at every murder scene in Brockton Bay. Maybe every murder in the country. No, no way, right? There couldn't be too many of them. I'd have seen more of them by now, considering the kind of places I'd been spending my time. It wasn't like I'd seen any walking the streets.
My mind was still whirring in the warm spring afternoon as I reached the front door. The phone was ringing loudly just inside, and I barely managed to fumble the locks open and dash over before it stopped.
"Hebert househ—"
"Taylor!" It was Dad. "Thank God!"
"What's the matter?" I asked, fear churning in my stomach.
"You're alright!"
Oh. Of course. I felt all the tension leave my body, almost as thoroughly as if I'd trapped it in Phobia. "Yeah, I'm fine," I said.
"It's just that the news was saying that someone had died at Winslow and—"
"Dad. I'm fine." Poor Dad, I suddenly realised. God, no wonder he was freaking out. "Yeah, don't worry. All I saw was that there were ambulances and they'd cordoned off an area."
"What happened?"
"I don't know. I really don't know. There's a bunch of rumours going around that it was something gang related."
"Oh, thank God," he breathed. "So you're safe."
"Yeah, Dad, I'm safe. School's cancelled tomorrow. There were cops all over the place. The place's a crime scene, so I guess they don't want us ruining stuff." Except they didn't send us home at lunchtime, I thought to myself, frowning.
"And you're feeling alright? You're not feeling—"
"Dad. I'm fine, okay," I said. "I didn't see anything… out of the ordinary." That was the truth, it just wasn't very honest. The Other Place gave me my daily dose of horrors.
Wait, no, it wasn't the truth either. Grey men didn't usually show up at school.
"Listen, stay at home," he said. "I'll be back around seven, got it? I want to talk to you. I'm just glad you're okay."
"Yeah, Dad," I said. "I'll probably have eaten, but I'll make sure to leave you some of the chilli."
He chuckled. It sounded more like a release valve than actual humour. "Yeah. Don't eat it all, okay? See you later. Love you."
"Yeah, love you," I said, putting down the phone. Man. Poor Dad. I pursed my lips. I might have to do something nice for him. He didn't need that kind of stress on top of everything else. I ran my hands through my hair and sighed. They hadn't bothered to give us any homework in the afternoon, obviously, but Mr Singh'd still given us English work this morning.
Screw that. I'd do it tomorrow. It was time to look at the list of names, and check them all for the traces of murder in the Other Place. I bet I'd be able to rule out a whole lot of suspects quickly.
… unfortunately, I was wrong. Three quarters of an hour later I was sat in my room, scowling between the book of names and pictures, and the list of potential suspects. I'd tracked down a few in my TV, but they hadn't been soaked in the black oil, and there hadn't been any sign of parahuman powers in my quick checks.
And there were a lot of people that my powers didn't seem to work on. Almost all of them were Japanese. Sniffer couldn't find them. Watcher Doll couldn't see them. Was there some kind of tinkertech jammer in Little Tokyo that my powers couldn't see into? No, I'd walked through Little Tokyo, and I was pretty sure that the Other Place would have shown me another power interfering with my own. It would have been some kind of beautiful glowing rainbow or shield or something.
Maybe it was the grey men? I dismissed the thought with a shudder. No, no, there was no way they could have captured so many people so quickly. Plus, I didn't know for sure that they could block my powers like that. I couldn't blame everything on them. There had to be something I was missing.
Urgh. I rubbed my eyes with the balls of my hands. There was nothing for it. I did know someone who might be able to tell me what was going on. I just hoped that I could actually interpret what she said.
Checking my watch, I nodded to myself. There should be time to do this before Dad got home. I had a couple of hours if he was going to be back after seven.
I went over to my mirror. In the Other Place, it showed me the scar I'd left in the world. Breathing out an angel, I ordered it to open the corridor back up. The cold seeped into my bones as I picked my way through the narrow space, avoiding the nail-covered walls.
I sank down when I emerged, kneeling on dusty concrete in the hall of mirrors. Just… just had to get my breath back. It was physically hard travelling through the Other Place, though not as horrible as when an angel carried me directly.
Pulling myself to my feet, I looked around the forgotten place. I'd drawn a clear trail through the dust wherever I'd walked back and forth, and even left some clear footprints. Anyone else who got down here would be able to find their way around just by walking in my footsteps.
Every mirror was clean, though. I'd dusted them down with an old cloth, and in the dim green light of my glowsticks they reflected my face like a Halloween witch's mask. Each marker-pen arch was split by a thin blackish scar in the Other Place, a long-distance doorway it had taken Needle Hag at least an hour to weave together. In the real world, I'd pinned a polaroid over every corridor entrance, a reminder of where it connected to. This place had gone from a forgotten old ballet practice room to a hub that criss-crossed the entire city.
With this, I could get from my bedroom to all kinds of forgotten places, all over Brockton Bay, in less than a minute.
Exhaling a cherub, I stared into its cracked doll-face. "Cherub," I said. "Find Kirsty. Tell her that I want to talk to her in the mirror room, and tell me what she says."
I took the chance to hunt down the wind-up flashlight I'd stashed down here. Proper white light helped things feel much better.
The cherub returned. "Of c-course, Taylor," it said in Kirsty's voice. "I am r-ready to pass through Heaven when you open the way for me."
I sagged again as one of my angels wrenched open the pathway for Kirsty, tasting blood in my mouth. Oh, I was going to be paying for this in the morning. She emerged in her pyjamas and her slippers, holding a little glowing warm orb in her hand. It cast a soft golden light and took the chill off the air down here. It almost made up for the fact that I could see what it looked like in the Other Place. It was a little blackened stone head that looked like it should have been from a statue of a cherub.
"Taylor," Kirsty said. "Yuh- you have called me here. Is something wrong?" She gave a halting, hesitant smile. "Or d-did you just want to do something together? Are we g-going to the park again?"
I'd tried to give Kirsty some time away from the hospital, as part of my campaign to figure out how to help her. Maybe I just felt like I owed her, but… it scared me, the idea that she might not have been outside in literally a decade. She might have theoretically been much older than me, since she didn't seem to age, but in terms of actual living? I wasn't so sure.
"It's just a quick visit," I said. "Come on. Let's go sit down. I've got some questions."
I took her to the main room. It had once been the cafeteria, but I'd half-filled it with things I'd found going cheap. Now it looked a bit like a rummage shop. Cans and tins, bundled-up survival gear… I'd pinned up maps of the city on the walls and marked my corridors on them in pen, and I was starting to collect newspapers and books which sat in stacks on tables and against the walls. It meant that I could always send a cherub down here to bring me something I needed. The room had acquired a faint smell of old paper.
Even the old clothing mannequins were scattered around, with polaroids taped to their faces. They'd turned out to be useful for tracking people. I'd considered tried them in different poses around the room, but it had creeped me out a bit too much.
Kirsty carefully sat down on one of the couches, crossing her legs. She didn't comment on the mannequins. I sat down on the other, offered her a Coke from one of the piles, and started to explain why I was having problems tracking down people. She only seemed to be half-paying attention, with the other half focussed on the little ball of light in her hands.
"So that's my issue," I concluded. "Basically, my… uh, my angels and my cherubs can't find some of these people. And I need to find them because there were grey men at my school."
Now I had her full attention. Kirsty hugged the ball to her chest and swallowed, staring at me with watery eyes. The scars on her face twisted painfully, and I got ready to exhale Phobia to calm her down. "Are you s-sure?" she whispered.
"Yes," I said. "They had the black words on their foreheads, and they were grey and lifeless. There wasn't any sign of a bird woman."
"The bird people d-don't show up much," Kirsty whispered. "They're scary. The grey men aren't r-real people. They have n-no souls so they can't hear the d-devil. But the kings who r-rule over them aren't s-servants of the devil or of G-God. God told me that. We are God's ch-chosen. We shouldn't trust them. He said so."
"Did he?" I said.
"Yes. They're bad men. And bad girls. Did they see you?"
I shook my head. "No. The grey men don't seem to be able to see through my powers."
"Thank God," Kirsty said. It wasn't a generic expression of relief. It was more like an imperative. She reached over, and took the Coke. She drank it in tiny, bird-like sips. "They w-will look for you, Taylor. If they know you're there. They w-won't stop." She swallowed. "And their leaders remember me. God hides me in the w-world, but the bird women and the others st-stand apart from it. They'll… they'll remember you too." She looked me in the eyes. "I don't want you to get h-hurt."
I forced out an awkward laugh. I wasn't really used to that kind of sincerity. "Well, I don't want to get hurt, either." She nodded, and her gaze returned to the ball of light in her hands. I waited a moment. "So. Um. About the way my power can't find some of the people—"
"Taylor?" Kirsty asked, eyes bouncing to my face before looking away again. She placed the ball of light down on the floor with a stony click. The light cast strange shadows on her face from below. The words on the Coke cans seemed to dance in the soft golden light. "Can I see one of your angels now?" she said.
Blinking, I tried to adjust my mind to Kirsty-logic. "Why?"
"Because I want to ask it some questions."
She wanted to ask my powers some questions? Talking to Kirsty was always an experience and a half. Sinking back into the Other Place, I breathed out a barbed wire angel. It spread its rusty wings, and seemed to glower down at the other girl. Its breath hissed behind its gas mask. I wasn't quite sure how they hissed, actually. They didn't seem to have room for lungs in among their barbed wire.
Rising, Kirsty reached out. Her Other Place was intruding around her, and I could smell the perfumed smoke. The reflection of the couch smouldered and charred. Flames licked around her feet and around her hands as she reached up and stroked the gas mask face of the angel. "You're beautiful," she whispered to it. I didn't think flattery would help. "Praise be to the Lord God, that he crafted such wonders to aid the Elect." She took a deep shuddering breath, and bowed her head to the barbed-wire angel, clasping her hands together.
"Praise be to the Lord God. Pl-please, holy one, in the name of the Lord God who rules this ashen Earth from Heaven, heed m-my plea. T-Taylor, your servant who makes your will manifest, wishes to know why she cannot find some people. Angel, pl-please tell me."
The angel reached out, and brushed her cheek with its clawed hand. Kirsty drew in a little gasp. The monstrous thing I'd made let out an extended, hissing rasp. "Thank you," Kirsty said softly, breathily. "You c-can let it return to Heaven, Taylor."
I let the form of the barbed wire disappear. A tear-like dribble of blood oozed its way down Kirsty's cheek, from where the angel had touched her. Her eyes were wide; her pupils wide and dilated. She was panting softly. "Did you understand that?" I asked.
"It gave me a vision," she said, in the same soft whisper that was almost a moan. Her legs sagged, and she fell to her knees. "God spoke through it. He is… is so beautiful." She wrapped her arms around herself, hugging herself into a tight ball like she was trying to trap the feelings inside and not let them out. There were tears welling up in her unfocussed eyes. "I c-can't wait until the R-Rapture. It'll be w-wonderful. W-we'll be with God, you and me."
"Well, that's good," I said uneasily. Rummaging through one of my bags, I dug out a packet of tissues and carefully approached her. She didn't move as I dabbed at her face, trying to wipe away the blood. I handed her another tissue for her eyes. "Did… did, uh, he say—"
"He did," she said, smiling despite her tears. "T-Taylor, your angels are creatures of truth. These are the ways that they search for sinners; firstly, by the light of life and flesh and blood, secondly by the light of semblance and image, thirdly and most weakly by the reflected light of the experience of others. Your angels are the servants of St Peter, who knows m-men by the names they shall be known on Judgment Day, and you shall sit at their head when the sins of all men are judged. But as they – and you – are servants of j-judgement, without such a name they find it hard to see in this ash-filled world."
I frowned as I tried to translate this from Kirsty-ese. I'd thought she was just crazy at first, but sometimes – like now – I had suspicions that maybe she was really communicating with something. She'd hardly stuttered at all, and this time even her vocabulary had changed. Who used words like 'semblance', anyway? "So… you're saying that my angels can track someone by their blood, with an image, or with a description? And I need to know their real name to do it more effectively?"
"I have f-faith," she said.
Well, I could have done with certainty, but it made sense. Watcher Doll could find people by photos, while Sniffer had found my mother's flute because I'd known it so well. And I'd never tried it, but I just bet it would be easier to track someone down if I had a blood sample. My angels really liked blood. Maybe they remembered the locker. That was not a happy thought. And…
"Wait," I said uneasily. "So that means that they can't find superheroes or supervillains. Because they don't use their real names."
"Yes," Kirsty said earnestly. "I think they use false names to spite God. But they will be punished for it."
It had worked to find Glory Girl… but wait, I realised suddenly. Of course, I'd known her real name too.
Crap.
Was I not the first person with powers like this? I mean, when you looked at it objectively, the way all the capes went around with false names was a bit odd. Cops didn't do it. Criminals back before capes didn't do it. I mean, they did it in the old comics, but, like… those were stories. The only capes I could think of who tried public identities were the New Wave Movement, and that'd gone wrong.
Had there been someone out there who'd used their real identities against them? Someone… like me? Only a villain.
I looked Kirsty up and down as she sipped at her Coke, holding the glowing ball in her free hand. Overhead, there was the rumble of something heavy passing over the road above. Only the heaviest vehicles were loud enough to be more than background noise, down here in this forgotten basement. "How many people know how my power works?" I asked.
Kirsty looked down, lip wobbling. "I d-don't know," she said. "S-sorry."
"That means it's probably not a jamming device in Little Tokyo," I said out loud. I vaguely recalled that remote viewing wasn't a very common power. Not unheard of, but not common. "But… ah." Realisation dawned. "I bet these names, the ones they use at school, aren't real," I said.
She stared at me expectantly.
"Well, uh, if they're in the country with false papers or… or they're using an American first name or something." I checked the list and the names I'd underlined. "Like this one. Joe Inoki. I bet the reason it isn't working is that his real name isn't Joe."
"Oh." Kirsty straightened up. She licked the edge of her mouth, tongue running over one of her scars. "I… um. I think… no. N-never mind. A w-woman should remain humble and not put herself forwards."
"Am I wrong?" I asked.
"No. I think you m-might be right," she said, wincing and looking away. In most people, that would be a marker of dishonesty, but for Kirsty that was normal behaviour. She hated to look me in the eye. "I h-had an idea, but I d-don't think it would work."
I cocked my head. "No, really," I said. "I'm interested."
"W-well, the angels reveal. Um. The souls of men to me." She looked back at me, eyes wide. "Yours is so beautiful," she said softly. "God has b-blessed you." She reached out, hand shaking. "You are a light of God in this ashen world." She looked away. "I c-can see other souls. The gr-grey men have no souls, but the s-souls of their masters sh-shine with light they st-stole from God." Her face crinkled up in a frown. "And s-sinners who consort w-with false gods are d-different too. They are like the pr-priests of the Pharaoh, t-turning their staffs into snakes."
I pinched my brow. "What are you saying?"
"Th-they say they are like the… the Greek heroes," Kirsty said, arms hunched in on herself. She stared intently at her can. "But the Greeks didn't worship God. They were wicked and they worshipped their false g-gods. So that's why you c-can't trust superheroes, even if they pr-pretend to be good. It's l-like the comics. They're bad and g-good girls don't read them."
I sat in silence, trying to think of something to say. She really was a mess. God knew our powers were hard to handle – she'd certainly agree that he did – but Kirsty clearly hadn't been dealt a good hand of cards to start with. I'd heard of those kinds of fundamentalist churches. The ones that claimed capes were devil-worshippers or devils or possessed or a sign of the apocalypse or things like that. "So you can see capes and they look different to you?" I said kindly. "Different from me and you, I mean. I can see them too, you know. I've been looking for them. They have a bright glow from their powers. It is different from what we have."
Kirsty's hands were shaking so much it was a good thing she'd drunk half the can already, or she would be spilling it over her cotton pyjamas. "I c-can look for them," she mumbled. "Help you f-f-f-find them."
The lights overhead started flickering on and off, scattering bright light everywhere. I could hear static over the abandoned announcement system. It sounded like prayers. "Kirsty, you need to calm down. Calm down. Please. Calm down. Do you want an, an angel to help you calm down?" I asked her.
She nodded, a sharp bobbing motion. She was whispering faintly to herself. She wasn't in any state to help. Anyway, I could see parahumans on my own just fine.
"Good." Carefully, I sunk back into the Other Place and set Phobia to drawing out her fear. My creature's rigid mask gibbered at me, but I thought of nails and piercing and she gave in. I moved next to her, and Kirsty relaxed as Phobia drew off her fears and worries. In fact, she'd been so tense that she sagged backwards, looking almost boneless.
"Thank you, Taylor," Kirsty said faintly. She was wreathed in smoke, and the fires were burning bright. I could feel the phantom heat from where I stood. "I… I think I want to go back home now. I h-have to pray. S-sorry."
I grit my teeth and braved the fires of her Other Place as I helped her up, my own damp darkness protecting me. She was heavy – certainly more solidly built than me, for all she was shorter. "You don't need to say sorry," I said.
"I do. I'm w-weak." The fires surged around her. My skin felt taut and dry. I had the uncanny feeling that if it wasn't for my own Other Place, I'd be standing in the middle of a bonfire. Smoke scratched at the back of my throat.
"You're not weak."
"I am. I'm w-weak and you're so strong. Your angels obey you. All the time. They don't b-burn things."
I didn't feel I could answer that. What was I meant to say? That I had an advantage because I could put my nervous breakdowns under lock and key? That I couldn't set things on fire – and I had tried just to see if that was a thing I could do – so it wasn't a surprise that I hadn't burned anything? That there was no surprise I was more stable than her, because I came from a normal family and a few years of bullying was nothing compared to what she implied her mother had done to her?
"Pl-please don't forget about me," she whispered. There was real desperation in her voice.
"I'm not going to forget about you," I said. "I remember you, remember? Even when no one else does. Soon, we're going to the movies together, okay? I'll find something nice and calm and fun. I think Maleen is coming out soon, yeah? You'd like that?"
"Maleen?"
Oh yeah, I guess she wouldn't have heard of that. "It's the new Disney movie."
"Oh. I th-think I'd like that. Do you pr-promise?"
"I promise I'll try my best," I said. It wasn't an unconditional promise, but I didn't want to make one of those. I'd just let her down if it turned out to be impossible.
"Thank you." Back in the hall of mirrors, I reopened the corridor back to her hospital room. She tottered through, and I slumped out of the Other Place with an exhausted sigh. Poor Kirsty. I felt bad about dragging her out here just for information – but what was I supposed to do? I didn't understand my power. And I was trying to help her. I really was.
Heading back into the main room, I noticed the orb of light she'd been playing with had gone out. In the Other Place there was just a crumbling stone head that already was barely recognisable. I picked up her half-finished can, downed it, and sat down. I needed to get some strength back. I'd exhausted myself today, with three angels, plus… ugh, far too many cherubs. My lips were cracked and dry, and I was aching all over. I could feel my abdomen throbbing, but it wasn't the right time of the month for my period.
Yanking up my t-shirt and running the flashlight over it, I found a hand-shaped bruise on my stomach. It was like someone had slapped me there, hard, but it wasn't a human hand. It was too long-fingered, and the proportions were all wrong.
"Crap, crap, crap," I muttered. The barbed wire angels were taking their toll on my body, and it wasn't just migraines, nosebleeds, and low blood-sugar. That was one of their hands. I was going to have to hide this from people. I didn't want questions as to why I had a bruise like that there. Why did I have a bruise like that? There, of all places?
Worse, I needed to head home right now. If I lingered I'd doze off, and then I wouldn't be there when Dad got home. That meant I'd have to call on another barbed-wire angel. Which meant more pain. And more fatigue. And probably more bleeding.
I groaned into the dim quiet.
In the end I made it, and then collapsed straight into my bed, shivering from the cold of the Other Place. It sank right into my bones, especially the toes. I barely had enough strength left to wriggle out of my dusty clothes and into my PJs. My co-ordination was just as bad, I was shaking so much. Those cherubs would have taken it out of me on a normal day, and then four angels on top of that? Stupid, stupid, stupid. I really hoped this wasn't going to wipe me out as badly as when I was chased by the bird woman.
I drifted off into freezing cold nightmares. Wrapped in a blanket, I stumbled through the Other Place. My hidden base was flooding, and the mirrors were all gone, and I couldn't get out! The dark water started as just puddles, but it was rising and by the time it had reached my thighs I was trying not to scream.
Then something grabbed me and I did scream.
"Taylor? Taylor?" I jolted awake. Blearily I squinted up at Dad, scrabbling for my glasses.
"Wh't tim' is it?" I managed. A sudden moment of panic flooded through me. I was going to be late for school and the monster was—
He checked his watch. "Nineteen thirty. What's the matter? Why are you in bed?"
Shifting, I groaned. I could feel the cold sweat beading on my forehead. "I just went to lie down," I said.
"In your PJs?"
I peered at him, trying to sit up. My body ached all over and the bruise on my stomach was itching. I really didn't want him checking me for injuries. "I was getting cramps all day," I lied. It was a super-useful excuse. It didn't work on female teachers when I wanted to sit out gym, but worked great on men. "It's a girl thing."
"Oh. Oh." He looked decidedly uncomfortable. "Uh… can I do anything to help?"
I was hungry, I realised. I really had to get out of bed and get some food in me. "Warm milk would be nice," I said, trying to smile like someone with painful menstrual cramps. I did a remarkably good job of it. Being slapped in the stomach by a horrible barbed wire monster helped complete the illusion. "And then I'll try to see if I can eat anything."
"I haven't eaten yet," Dad said. "I'll heat up the chilli for both of us, then." He patted my hand, cautiously. "It's fine if you can't manage everything."
He brought me the milk while I tried to sit up. Everything ached, and I was shaking. I could still feel the cold of the Other Place in my bones. Every so often I'd be reminded of the handprint, and it'd start aching all over again. Maybe it wasn't an angel slapping me. Maybe it was a sign of one trying to claw its way out.
I immediately wished I hadn't thought that.
"You feel cold and clammy," Dad said, testing my brow. "Are you sure you're not ill?"
"I… I think it's kind of hitting home that someone died at school," I lied. "It wasn't bothering me, but then I got home and with that on top of how I felt…"
I shrugged, and regretted the motion. Dad put down the mug and gave me a hug. It was well-intentioned, but considering how bruised I felt it was one of the worst things he could have done. "Hey, hey," he said, ineffectually. "Come on. Drink your milk, and then you can come down and try to eat. If you don't feel like eating, you can just talk to me, yeah? Got to be better than sitting up here in your room worrying."
I smiled back. "Yeah. Thanks, Dad," I said, wrapping my hands around the warm mug and letting the chill in my bones leach out.
With something warm in me I was just about able to hobble my way downstairs, wrapped in a blanket like an old lady. The light in the kitchen was warm, even if one of the bulbs was humming and flicking faintly, and I stiffly plopped myself down at the table. The paint on the wall just at eye level was peeling, and the cork board was over-filled with reminders and dates. Dad flashed a grin at me from over by the microwave, which became somewhat more rigid when he saw how ill I must have looked.
No matter how I looked at it, the entire room was incredibly boring and mundane. I needed that. It wasn't at all like, to name an example chosen at random, a secret underground lair full of teleporting mirrors, creepy mannequins, and random old junk. I frowned, watching the microwave hum away. I really needed to find a way to start using the power in my base. A few power sockets were still hooked up to the mains, probably because they were on the same circuit as something in the buildings above. An electric kettle, a heater and a microwave would really help with making the place feel less like… well, like a forgotten basement.
"Maybe you shouldn't be out of bed?" he hinted. "I know I said you should eat, but maybe you need your rest."
"I'm hungry," I said. "I don't need to be feeling starving on top of everything else."
"Mmm." He peered in the microwave again, and looked about to ask me something, but then thought better of it. I could guess what he was going to say, though.
"So, yeah." I rubbed my hands together, fingers tracing the scars I'd got from the locker. "I don't really know what happened at school. I mean, I basically just heard an ambulance when I was in English, just before lunch. And then they sealed off the area by the bike lot, but I saw something that could have been blood on the floor. Don't worry," I hastened to assure him, "since I don't cycle in or hang out there smoking, I don't go anywhere near that place normally. I just… freaked out a bit about the idea of someone dying."
"Ah," he said.
"I mean, the rumours were that the dead guy was a skinhead," I said. "So that'd make it something gang-linked."
"Mmm," he said.
"I was kind of expecting more questions," I said, a little tartly.
Dad ran his hands through his short, balding dark hair. "I just don't want to stress you out," he said. "Plus, you said you didn't know much. I'm sure things'll be clearer in time."
Well, they certainly would be if I had anything to say about it. "Yeah," I agreed, wrapping my blanket tighter around myself.
Dad served the reheated chilli with some instant rice, and grabbed himself a beer. I focussed on eating. The chilli was hot and filling, and I was hungry – hungrier than usual. Sometimes my power left me feeling starving after using it, but sometimes it didn't. I guessed that the Other Place didn't want to feel it was too predictable in how it hurt me.
"Have there been gang problems at school?" he asked. "More than usual, I mean. I know Winslow has a gang problem, but do you think they're getting worse?"
I frowned. "I dunno," I said honestly. "I keep well away from the gangs. I've got enough shit—"
"Taylor," he chided me.
"Sorry, enough poo – is that better? Enough doody? – in my life without getting involved in that kind of stuff at school." That was true enough. Sure, I might get involved in gang things as an extracurricular activity, but it's sort of hard to be a superhero if you don't fight crimes. "So I dunno if it's getting worse or better or what. There are bits of the school where you don't go if you're not a skinhead, or not Japanese, or whatever. So I don't go there. Because that would be dumb."
"Mmm." Outside, a fire truck screamed by. "So you haven't seen any sign of it getting worse?"
"No. Not really."
"And… places on the school you don't go if you're not in a gang? Have they threatened you?"
I loaded my fork up with rice. "Dad, I'm not going to be stupid and go into, like, that bathroom that the Japanese girls have taken over. They smoke in there, and I've heard some of them carry knives. It'd just be asking for trouble. So, no, I don't go in there."
Actually, I did go in once, under Isolation. They were smoking, texting, and talking with each other. I had no idea what they were saying. From the attitude, though, I suspected the topics under discussion were more men and make-up than mugging or murders.
I tilted my head and looked at him. "Why? What's going on?"
He sighed. "Things are getting worse," he said at last, tapping his fork on his plate. "There are bits in the city I wouldn't go now that would have been fine a year ago. Six months, even. The skinheads are getting organised. And some of my old friends were attacked by Patriotic gangs. I just want to know if things're bleeding through into the schools and that you're safe."
"What kind of old friends?" I asked him, worried. "Are you—"
Dad rubbed his hands together. "Not me, no. They're… look, they're with the Socialist Party." He caught my expression. "Taylor, the Socialists are a proper political party. They're not criminals. Skinheads firebombed their offices. I do worry they might go after the unions next, but… well, it's just a worry."
He might want to defend the Socialists, but they were behind the riots in Chicago a few years ago. "Yeah, well, I haven't seen any of that at school. I mean, like, there are fights. Especially between the skinheads and the Japanese, but some of the NY gangs are involved, too. But… I dunno." I shrugged. "I don't hang with any of them."
"And I'm glad of that," he said. He took a deep drink from his beer. "God, Taylor, just promise me you'll work hard and get into college. There's no future here. This city's rotting. Go somewhere like Detroit, where there are actually jobs."
"You're worrying me, Dad," I said, and put my fork down. "What happened?" Dad was always working, always stressing out over something, but he got frustrated, he got angry. He didn't talk like this.
He sighed, letting his head fall into his hands. "I just… I heard someone was dead at Winslow. It was on the news, over and over, and all I could think of was getting that phone call that you were in the hospital and how…"
"Dad! Dad! I'm fine, okay!" I realised we hadn't ever talked about how he'd felt, back at the start of the year. Therapy hadn't been fun, but it must have been even worse without it.
"I know, I know, but then I couldn't stop worrying and you weren't home yet and…" he took a deep breath. "Yes. You're fine. But I mean it about working hard. If you don't have a college degree, there's no future for you in this country. Too many people looking for jobs. The companies are spoilt for choice – you understand what that means, Taylor? It means they can treat you like junk and just hire something new. And… look, okay, some contacts I have are talking whispers of a right-to-work law being passed here. In Maine."
"Right-to-work?" I asked. "That sounds… good?"
He snorted. "That's why they call it that. No, it's very bad. It's a way of taking down unions." Cars rumbled outside as he stared down at his plate. "Look, I didn't mean to burden you with this. Things won't happen until next year at the earliest. It'll be after that recall election for the governor. Things are okay for me in the short term, but the medium term is… dicey. Yeah, dicey. Just… think about your future, okay? Work as hard as possible at school."
I swallowed. "O-okay, Dad," I said softly.
He cracked his knuckles. "Ah, to hell with it. I ruined any chance of a happy dinner. How about we take our bowls over to the TV and we can watch a film or something. I've had a bad day, you've had a bad day, let's just go watch Blazing Saddles or something."
I rubbed my eyes. I certainly wasn't up for any more use of my powers today. "Yeah, let's do it," I said, gingerly standing up. "And we can't mention anything about work or murders or school or anything."
"I won't if you won't," he countered.
"Deal."
We wound up watching Young Frankenstein. And just for a moment, things seemed better.
Chapter 4.04
Another announcement chimed in just before the end of the day, letting us know that school was going to be closed tomorrow. That was okay with me. They probably needed the time to clean everything up, and it wasn't like anyone would be able to concentrate, anyway.
Normally I couldn't leave school fast enough, but today I broke off from the mass of students shuffling out the south gate, escorted by watching teachers. A moment later I was wrapped in Isolation, making my way down emptying school corridors towards the Principal's office. My guess was that the cops would have given a list of students they were looking for, with instructions to call if they showed up at school. I'd just need a copy myself. I could photograph it, or something.
As I brushed past a small crowd of students being herded outside, I had a cherub bring me my coat and mask. They couldn't see me, but that bird woman could. If she was here, I couldn't let her see my face.
Though she'd still know who I was. There weren't many invisible gasmask girls running around Brockton Bay. What if I wore a different costume? I'd need to put another one together. Or several. Something for later.
I didn't really need to sneak, under cover of Isolation. I did it anyway, my heart pounding in my chest as my breath rasped inside my mask. The place was still busy with students being escorted from classes and bathrooms by scattered cops and teachers. Among them were a grey man and woman in soaked black suits, walking down the hallway towards me. The words on their foreheads read INVESTIGATE and ISOLATE respectively, and I freaked out for a moment. Were they staring straight at me? Could they see through my powers, spot me in the crowd? Why hadn't the Other Place misspelled those words?
The moment passed, and they moved on. Thank God.
Of course, given my luck Principal Blackwell was right in the centre of the barely organised chaos. One of my old teachers – Mr Gladly, who taught Parahuman Studies – came out of her office, looking ill. I wondered what he'd been told, but used the chance to tailgate in through her door before it closed. Paper coffee cups were crumpled and scattered across her desk, along with several big blue binders. The principal herself was on the phone. Her skin was sallow and her short black hair was out of place.
"… I think I've got the code here for the incident report. Yes… uh, it's 144. 531. 18 dash I. No, no. Eighteen. One eight. And 'I' for igloo. The contact officer is Mark Ells." She propped her phone against her shoulder and hunted on her desk for pens. "Just give me a moment, I'll make a note of this. Can you start again, please?"
Trying to make as little noise as possible, I paced around Principal Blackwell. Despite how useless she'd been when I needed help, I still felt sorry for her. It was pretty obvious she could barely run the school on a day-to-day basis. There was no way she'd be able to cope with a murder on top of everything else.
"Mmm," she said, in response to something. "Well, they don't have any solid suspects yet, but they're thinking it might have been gang related."
I let the chill of the Other Place surround me, and took a second look. The room hadn't changed much since my last visit. It still smelt of rising damp and abandoned places, and the windows were still covered in illegible scrawls. Blackwell's dog-like face was locked in a frown. I breathed an Idea into her ear, watching as it squirmed in.
"Remind them what the police told you to do," it hissed, as I leaned over her shoulder to look at her notes.
She paused, and rubbed her temples with a hand covered in matted fur. "Anyway, let's just go over the procedures again," she said into themould-coated phone. "I've got a list of students they want to talk to. They're the ones who weren't on the school grounds when we did the check. No, no, I know. Most of them are just going to be playing truant, but that's what we have to do. They're stationing an officer here, so if any of them turn up, they can question them. And while we're closed, they'll sweep the grounds for the murder weapon. Yes, or bloody clothes."
"That's enough," I whispered. The Idea wriggled out of her ear and came apart into a dark mist.
She paused. "Sorry, my head is in a mess at the moment," she apologised to the person on the other end of the phone. "Today is hectic. I'm just tripping over myself. There's so many things I need to do, and I'm still preparing for the big staff meeting at five. God knows how this will go."
I kept half an ear open for her conversation while I flicked through the binders on her desk, looking for the list of names she'd mentioned. She'd obviously been looking at it recently, because it didn't take long. It looked like it was about sixty or so names. Yeah, good job, Winslow. Great job with the truancy rate.
Well, I'd be taking that. Or… no, that'd make her suspicious. Instead, I put it down on her desk and sent another Idea crawling into her brain. Right away she started glancing at it, and after about a minute she hung up.
"What if I lose it?" she muttered to herself. Yeah, best to be on the safe side, right? With a weary sigh, she shifted to her computer, and tugged a slip of paper from inside of one of the books on her desk. She lay it down next to her keyboard, and I read it as she typed. It said
its effORT too MemoRize
Whn iT chanGES everi MUNTH
Oh. Right. Other Place. A moment later, it turned out to say
Username: blackwellj
Password: jngpu9bhg
Well. That was something useful to know. No wonder she couldn't be bothered to memorise her password. I scribbled it down in my notebook. That'd last for a month, and I bet she always hid those slips in that book. Honestly, I was surprised Winslow was making staff change their passwords monthly. This was a high school, not Fort Knox.
I made my way to the printer as she fiddled with her mouse, and watched as it ground to life with a mix of hums, squeaks, and paper-crumpling coughs. I wasn't even in the Other Place, and the noise was upsetting. It took so long to get started that Blackwell was standing right next to me by the time it actually started printing.
It was time to try something I'd worked out a little while ago. I chose a specific butterfly in the swarm that made up Isolation, urging it toward the printer with a breath through pursed lips. Other human-headed butterflies followed it, swarming around the paper as it finally emerged.
Blackwell just stared straight at the printing tray. She couldn't see the papers, any more than she could see me. "Did it not work?" she asked the thin air. "Stupid machine. I know it started." She peered at the printer, checking the lights and rattling at one of the trays. "Are you out of ink?" she asked it. "Or… is it a paper thing? " I let the Idea wriggle away into nothing. "Damn it. I really don't need this now on top of everything else. Not now."
Shaking her head, the principal headed back to her desk. I tucked the print-out into my bag. She had a pile of the binders of names and faces that teachers used to identify students, probably to help the cops. Grabbing one of them, I left her office. I didn't want to be in here if the bird lady showed up. Or anyone like her. I headed straight for the lockers, where the last wave of students was still lingering, and sent my mask and coat back to my hideout before dropping Isolation. I was just another student when I left the grounds.
I was simmering the entire way home. I couldn't believe the grey men had shown up here, at school. Who would send things like that to a school? Did they know I went to Winslow? I'd tried to track them down, after last time, and found absolutely nothing. Why were they swarming out of the woodwork now. Was it just because a skinhead had died? What were they up to? What were they planning?
I realised that I was grinding my teeth, and forced myself to relax. I wasn't scared, I was angry… but I was pretty sure that was just because there hadn't been any sign of the bird woman. She had to be some kind of parahuman, if she could see through Isolation. And with her suit, and the way she'd controlled the police, I guessed she had to be part of a big group. Maybe the grey men were just their lackeys or something. Maybe they sent them around to look into every mysterious murder. If she wasn't there, it meant they weren't being serious about it. Whoever 'they' were.
Yes, I thought to myself, relaxing slightly. Yes. That made sense. After all, they'd shown up at the killings down near the docks, and that definitely qualified as weird. Now someone had shown up dead under strange circumstances at Winslow, and here they were. And Kirsty… well, talking to her about her past was both sad and uncomfortable, but she'd said that the people 'whose souls had been eaten by demons' had killed people.
Maybe they'd show up at every murder scene in Brockton Bay. Maybe every murder in the country. No, no way, right? There couldn't be too many of them. I'd have seen more of them by now, considering the kind of places I'd been spending my time. It wasn't like I'd seen any walking the streets.
My mind was still whirring in the warm spring afternoon as I reached the front door. The phone was ringing loudly just inside, and I barely managed to fumble the locks open and dash over before it stopped.
"Hebert househ—"
"Taylor!" It was Dad. "Thank God!"
"What's the matter?" I asked, fear churning in my stomach.
"You're alright!"
Oh. Of course. I felt all the tension leave my body, almost as thoroughly as if I'd trapped it in Phobia. "Yeah, I'm fine," I said.
"It's just that the news was saying that someone had died at Winslow and—"
"Dad. I'm fine." Poor Dad, I suddenly realised. God, no wonder he was freaking out. "Yeah, don't worry. All I saw was that there were ambulances and they'd cordoned off an area."
"What happened?"
"I don't know. I really don't know. There's a bunch of rumours going around that it was something gang related."
"Oh, thank God," he breathed. "So you're safe."
"Yeah, Dad, I'm safe. School's cancelled tomorrow. There were cops all over the place. The place's a crime scene, so I guess they don't want us ruining stuff." Except they didn't send us home at lunchtime, I thought to myself, frowning.
"And you're feeling alright? You're not feeling—"
"Dad. I'm fine, okay," I said. "I didn't see anything… out of the ordinary." That was the truth, it just wasn't very honest. The Other Place gave me my daily dose of horrors.
Wait, no, it wasn't the truth either. Grey men didn't usually show up at school.
"Listen, stay at home," he said. "I'll be back around seven, got it? I want to talk to you. I'm just glad you're okay."
"Yeah, Dad," I said. "I'll probably have eaten, but I'll make sure to leave you some of the chilli."
He chuckled. It sounded more like a release valve than actual humour. "Yeah. Don't eat it all, okay? See you later. Love you."
"Yeah, love you," I said, putting down the phone. Man. Poor Dad. I pursed my lips. I might have to do something nice for him. He didn't need that kind of stress on top of everything else. I ran my hands through my hair and sighed. They hadn't bothered to give us any homework in the afternoon, obviously, but Mr Singh'd still given us English work this morning.
Screw that. I'd do it tomorrow. It was time to look at the list of names, and check them all for the traces of murder in the Other Place. I bet I'd be able to rule out a whole lot of suspects quickly.
… unfortunately, I was wrong. Three quarters of an hour later I was sat in my room, scowling between the book of names and pictures, and the list of potential suspects. I'd tracked down a few in my TV, but they hadn't been soaked in the black oil, and there hadn't been any sign of parahuman powers in my quick checks.
And there were a lot of people that my powers didn't seem to work on. Almost all of them were Japanese. Sniffer couldn't find them. Watcher Doll couldn't see them. Was there some kind of tinkertech jammer in Little Tokyo that my powers couldn't see into? No, I'd walked through Little Tokyo, and I was pretty sure that the Other Place would have shown me another power interfering with my own. It would have been some kind of beautiful glowing rainbow or shield or something.
Maybe it was the grey men? I dismissed the thought with a shudder. No, no, there was no way they could have captured so many people so quickly. Plus, I didn't know for sure that they could block my powers like that. I couldn't blame everything on them. There had to be something I was missing.
Urgh. I rubbed my eyes with the balls of my hands. There was nothing for it. I did know someone who might be able to tell me what was going on. I just hoped that I could actually interpret what she said.
Checking my watch, I nodded to myself. There should be time to do this before Dad got home. I had a couple of hours if he was going to be back after seven.
I went over to my mirror. In the Other Place, it showed me the scar I'd left in the world. Breathing out an angel, I ordered it to open the corridor back up. The cold seeped into my bones as I picked my way through the narrow space, avoiding the nail-covered walls.
I sank down when I emerged, kneeling on dusty concrete in the hall of mirrors. Just… just had to get my breath back. It was physically hard travelling through the Other Place, though not as horrible as when an angel carried me directly.
Pulling myself to my feet, I looked around the forgotten place. I'd drawn a clear trail through the dust wherever I'd walked back and forth, and even left some clear footprints. Anyone else who got down here would be able to find their way around just by walking in my footsteps.
Every mirror was clean, though. I'd dusted them down with an old cloth, and in the dim green light of my glowsticks they reflected my face like a Halloween witch's mask. Each marker-pen arch was split by a thin blackish scar in the Other Place, a long-distance doorway it had taken Needle Hag at least an hour to weave together. In the real world, I'd pinned a polaroid over every corridor entrance, a reminder of where it connected to. This place had gone from a forgotten old ballet practice room to a hub that criss-crossed the entire city.
With this, I could get from my bedroom to all kinds of forgotten places, all over Brockton Bay, in less than a minute.
Exhaling a cherub, I stared into its cracked doll-face. "Cherub," I said. "Find Kirsty. Tell her that I want to talk to her in the mirror room, and tell me what she says."
I took the chance to hunt down the wind-up flashlight I'd stashed down here. Proper white light helped things feel much better.
The cherub returned. "Of c-course, Taylor," it said in Kirsty's voice. "I am r-ready to pass through Heaven when you open the way for me."
I sagged again as one of my angels wrenched open the pathway for Kirsty, tasting blood in my mouth. Oh, I was going to be paying for this in the morning. She emerged in her pyjamas and her slippers, holding a little glowing warm orb in her hand. It cast a soft golden light and took the chill off the air down here. It almost made up for the fact that I could see what it looked like in the Other Place. It was a little blackened stone head that looked like it should have been from a statue of a cherub.
"Taylor," Kirsty said. "Yuh- you have called me here. Is something wrong?" She gave a halting, hesitant smile. "Or d-did you just want to do something together? Are we g-going to the park again?"
I'd tried to give Kirsty some time away from the hospital, as part of my campaign to figure out how to help her. Maybe I just felt like I owed her, but… it scared me, the idea that she might not have been outside in literally a decade. She might have theoretically been much older than me, since she didn't seem to age, but in terms of actual living? I wasn't so sure.
"It's just a quick visit," I said. "Come on. Let's go sit down. I've got some questions."
I took her to the main room. It had once been the cafeteria, but I'd half-filled it with things I'd found going cheap. Now it looked a bit like a rummage shop. Cans and tins, bundled-up survival gear… I'd pinned up maps of the city on the walls and marked my corridors on them in pen, and I was starting to collect newspapers and books which sat in stacks on tables and against the walls. It meant that I could always send a cherub down here to bring me something I needed. The room had acquired a faint smell of old paper.
Even the old clothing mannequins were scattered around, with polaroids taped to their faces. They'd turned out to be useful for tracking people. I'd considered tried them in different poses around the room, but it had creeped me out a bit too much.
Kirsty carefully sat down on one of the couches, crossing her legs. She didn't comment on the mannequins. I sat down on the other, offered her a Coke from one of the piles, and started to explain why I was having problems tracking down people. She only seemed to be half-paying attention, with the other half focussed on the little ball of light in her hands.
"So that's my issue," I concluded. "Basically, my… uh, my angels and my cherubs can't find some of these people. And I need to find them because there were grey men at my school."
Now I had her full attention. Kirsty hugged the ball to her chest and swallowed, staring at me with watery eyes. The scars on her face twisted painfully, and I got ready to exhale Phobia to calm her down. "Are you s-sure?" she whispered.
"Yes," I said. "They had the black words on their foreheads, and they were grey and lifeless. There wasn't any sign of a bird woman."
"The bird people d-don't show up much," Kirsty whispered. "They're scary. The grey men aren't r-real people. They have n-no souls so they can't hear the d-devil. But the kings who r-rule over them aren't s-servants of the devil or of G-God. God told me that. We are God's ch-chosen. We shouldn't trust them. He said so."
"Did he?" I said.
"Yes. They're bad men. And bad girls. Did they see you?"
I shook my head. "No. The grey men don't seem to be able to see through my powers."
"Thank God," Kirsty said. It wasn't a generic expression of relief. It was more like an imperative. She reached over, and took the Coke. She drank it in tiny, bird-like sips. "They w-will look for you, Taylor. If they know you're there. They w-won't stop." She swallowed. "And their leaders remember me. God hides me in the w-world, but the bird women and the others st-stand apart from it. They'll… they'll remember you too." She looked me in the eyes. "I don't want you to get h-hurt."
I forced out an awkward laugh. I wasn't really used to that kind of sincerity. "Well, I don't want to get hurt, either." She nodded, and her gaze returned to the ball of light in her hands. I waited a moment. "So. Um. About the way my power can't find some of the people—"
"Taylor?" Kirsty asked, eyes bouncing to my face before looking away again. She placed the ball of light down on the floor with a stony click. The light cast strange shadows on her face from below. The words on the Coke cans seemed to dance in the soft golden light. "Can I see one of your angels now?" she said.
Blinking, I tried to adjust my mind to Kirsty-logic. "Why?"
"Because I want to ask it some questions."
She wanted to ask my powers some questions? Talking to Kirsty was always an experience and a half. Sinking back into the Other Place, I breathed out a barbed wire angel. It spread its rusty wings, and seemed to glower down at the other girl. Its breath hissed behind its gas mask. I wasn't quite sure how they hissed, actually. They didn't seem to have room for lungs in among their barbed wire.
Rising, Kirsty reached out. Her Other Place was intruding around her, and I could smell the perfumed smoke. The reflection of the couch smouldered and charred. Flames licked around her feet and around her hands as she reached up and stroked the gas mask face of the angel. "You're beautiful," she whispered to it. I didn't think flattery would help. "Praise be to the Lord God, that he crafted such wonders to aid the Elect." She took a deep shuddering breath, and bowed her head to the barbed-wire angel, clasping her hands together.
"Praise be to the Lord God. Pl-please, holy one, in the name of the Lord God who rules this ashen Earth from Heaven, heed m-my plea. T-Taylor, your servant who makes your will manifest, wishes to know why she cannot find some people. Angel, pl-please tell me."
The angel reached out, and brushed her cheek with its clawed hand. Kirsty drew in a little gasp. The monstrous thing I'd made let out an extended, hissing rasp. "Thank you," Kirsty said softly, breathily. "You c-can let it return to Heaven, Taylor."
I let the form of the barbed wire disappear. A tear-like dribble of blood oozed its way down Kirsty's cheek, from where the angel had touched her. Her eyes were wide; her pupils wide and dilated. She was panting softly. "Did you understand that?" I asked.
"It gave me a vision," she said, in the same soft whisper that was almost a moan. Her legs sagged, and she fell to her knees. "God spoke through it. He is… is so beautiful." She wrapped her arms around herself, hugging herself into a tight ball like she was trying to trap the feelings inside and not let them out. There were tears welling up in her unfocussed eyes. "I c-can't wait until the R-Rapture. It'll be w-wonderful. W-we'll be with God, you and me."
"Well, that's good," I said uneasily. Rummaging through one of my bags, I dug out a packet of tissues and carefully approached her. She didn't move as I dabbed at her face, trying to wipe away the blood. I handed her another tissue for her eyes. "Did… did, uh, he say—"
"He did," she said, smiling despite her tears. "T-Taylor, your angels are creatures of truth. These are the ways that they search for sinners; firstly, by the light of life and flesh and blood, secondly by the light of semblance and image, thirdly and most weakly by the reflected light of the experience of others. Your angels are the servants of St Peter, who knows m-men by the names they shall be known on Judgment Day, and you shall sit at their head when the sins of all men are judged. But as they – and you – are servants of j-judgement, without such a name they find it hard to see in this ash-filled world."
I frowned as I tried to translate this from Kirsty-ese. I'd thought she was just crazy at first, but sometimes – like now – I had suspicions that maybe she was really communicating with something. She'd hardly stuttered at all, and this time even her vocabulary had changed. Who used words like 'semblance', anyway? "So… you're saying that my angels can track someone by their blood, with an image, or with a description? And I need to know their real name to do it more effectively?"
"I have f-faith," she said.
Well, I could have done with certainty, but it made sense. Watcher Doll could find people by photos, while Sniffer had found my mother's flute because I'd known it so well. And I'd never tried it, but I just bet it would be easier to track someone down if I had a blood sample. My angels really liked blood. Maybe they remembered the locker. That was not a happy thought. And…
"Wait," I said uneasily. "So that means that they can't find superheroes or supervillains. Because they don't use their real names."
"Yes," Kirsty said earnestly. "I think they use false names to spite God. But they will be punished for it."
It had worked to find Glory Girl… but wait, I realised suddenly. Of course, I'd known her real name too.
Crap.
Was I not the first person with powers like this? I mean, when you looked at it objectively, the way all the capes went around with false names was a bit odd. Cops didn't do it. Criminals back before capes didn't do it. I mean, they did it in the old comics, but, like… those were stories. The only capes I could think of who tried public identities were the New Wave Movement, and that'd gone wrong.
Had there been someone out there who'd used their real identities against them? Someone… like me? Only a villain.
I looked Kirsty up and down as she sipped at her Coke, holding the glowing ball in her free hand. Overhead, there was the rumble of something heavy passing over the road above. Only the heaviest vehicles were loud enough to be more than background noise, down here in this forgotten basement. "How many people know how my power works?" I asked.
Kirsty looked down, lip wobbling. "I d-don't know," she said. "S-sorry."
"That means it's probably not a jamming device in Little Tokyo," I said out loud. I vaguely recalled that remote viewing wasn't a very common power. Not unheard of, but not common. "But… ah." Realisation dawned. "I bet these names, the ones they use at school, aren't real," I said.
She stared at me expectantly.
"Well, uh, if they're in the country with false papers or… or they're using an American first name or something." I checked the list and the names I'd underlined. "Like this one. Joe Inoki. I bet the reason it isn't working is that his real name isn't Joe."
"Oh." Kirsty straightened up. She licked the edge of her mouth, tongue running over one of her scars. "I… um. I think… no. N-never mind. A w-woman should remain humble and not put herself forwards."
"Am I wrong?" I asked.
"No. I think you m-might be right," she said, wincing and looking away. In most people, that would be a marker of dishonesty, but for Kirsty that was normal behaviour. She hated to look me in the eye. "I h-had an idea, but I d-don't think it would work."
I cocked my head. "No, really," I said. "I'm interested."
"W-well, the angels reveal. Um. The souls of men to me." She looked back at me, eyes wide. "Yours is so beautiful," she said softly. "God has b-blessed you." She reached out, hand shaking. "You are a light of God in this ashen world." She looked away. "I c-can see other souls. The gr-grey men have no souls, but the s-souls of their masters sh-shine with light they st-stole from God." Her face crinkled up in a frown. "And s-sinners who consort w-with false gods are d-different too. They are like the pr-priests of the Pharaoh, t-turning their staffs into snakes."
I pinched my brow. "What are you saying?"
"Th-they say they are like the… the Greek heroes," Kirsty said, arms hunched in on herself. She stared intently at her can. "But the Greeks didn't worship God. They were wicked and they worshipped their false g-gods. So that's why you c-can't trust superheroes, even if they pr-pretend to be good. It's l-like the comics. They're bad and g-good girls don't read them."
I sat in silence, trying to think of something to say. She really was a mess. God knew our powers were hard to handle – she'd certainly agree that he did – but Kirsty clearly hadn't been dealt a good hand of cards to start with. I'd heard of those kinds of fundamentalist churches. The ones that claimed capes were devil-worshippers or devils or possessed or a sign of the apocalypse or things like that. "So you can see capes and they look different to you?" I said kindly. "Different from me and you, I mean. I can see them too, you know. I've been looking for them. They have a bright glow from their powers. It is different from what we have."
Kirsty's hands were shaking so much it was a good thing she'd drunk half the can already, or she would be spilling it over her cotton pyjamas. "I c-can look for them," she mumbled. "Help you f-f-f-find them."
The lights overhead started flickering on and off, scattering bright light everywhere. I could hear static over the abandoned announcement system. It sounded like prayers. "Kirsty, you need to calm down. Calm down. Please. Calm down. Do you want an, an angel to help you calm down?" I asked her.
She nodded, a sharp bobbing motion. She was whispering faintly to herself. She wasn't in any state to help. Anyway, I could see parahumans on my own just fine.
"Good." Carefully, I sunk back into the Other Place and set Phobia to drawing out her fear. My creature's rigid mask gibbered at me, but I thought of nails and piercing and she gave in. I moved next to her, and Kirsty relaxed as Phobia drew off her fears and worries. In fact, she'd been so tense that she sagged backwards, looking almost boneless.
"Thank you, Taylor," Kirsty said faintly. She was wreathed in smoke, and the fires were burning bright. I could feel the phantom heat from where I stood. "I… I think I want to go back home now. I h-have to pray. S-sorry."
I grit my teeth and braved the fires of her Other Place as I helped her up, my own damp darkness protecting me. She was heavy – certainly more solidly built than me, for all she was shorter. "You don't need to say sorry," I said.
"I do. I'm w-weak." The fires surged around her. My skin felt taut and dry. I had the uncanny feeling that if it wasn't for my own Other Place, I'd be standing in the middle of a bonfire. Smoke scratched at the back of my throat.
"You're not weak."
"I am. I'm w-weak and you're so strong. Your angels obey you. All the time. They don't b-burn things."
I didn't feel I could answer that. What was I meant to say? That I had an advantage because I could put my nervous breakdowns under lock and key? That I couldn't set things on fire – and I had tried just to see if that was a thing I could do – so it wasn't a surprise that I hadn't burned anything? That there was no surprise I was more stable than her, because I came from a normal family and a few years of bullying was nothing compared to what she implied her mother had done to her?
"Pl-please don't forget about me," she whispered. There was real desperation in her voice.
"I'm not going to forget about you," I said. "I remember you, remember? Even when no one else does. Soon, we're going to the movies together, okay? I'll find something nice and calm and fun. I think Maleen is coming out soon, yeah? You'd like that?"
"Maleen?"
Oh yeah, I guess she wouldn't have heard of that. "It's the new Disney movie."
"Oh. I th-think I'd like that. Do you pr-promise?"
"I promise I'll try my best," I said. It wasn't an unconditional promise, but I didn't want to make one of those. I'd just let her down if it turned out to be impossible.
"Thank you." Back in the hall of mirrors, I reopened the corridor back to her hospital room. She tottered through, and I slumped out of the Other Place with an exhausted sigh. Poor Kirsty. I felt bad about dragging her out here just for information – but what was I supposed to do? I didn't understand my power. And I was trying to help her. I really was.
Heading back into the main room, I noticed the orb of light she'd been playing with had gone out. In the Other Place there was just a crumbling stone head that already was barely recognisable. I picked up her half-finished can, downed it, and sat down. I needed to get some strength back. I'd exhausted myself today, with three angels, plus… ugh, far too many cherubs. My lips were cracked and dry, and I was aching all over. I could feel my abdomen throbbing, but it wasn't the right time of the month for my period.
Yanking up my t-shirt and running the flashlight over it, I found a hand-shaped bruise on my stomach. It was like someone had slapped me there, hard, but it wasn't a human hand. It was too long-fingered, and the proportions were all wrong.
"Crap, crap, crap," I muttered. The barbed wire angels were taking their toll on my body, and it wasn't just migraines, nosebleeds, and low blood-sugar. That was one of their hands. I was going to have to hide this from people. I didn't want questions as to why I had a bruise like that there. Why did I have a bruise like that? There, of all places?
Worse, I needed to head home right now. If I lingered I'd doze off, and then I wouldn't be there when Dad got home. That meant I'd have to call on another barbed-wire angel. Which meant more pain. And more fatigue. And probably more bleeding.
I groaned into the dim quiet.
In the end I made it, and then collapsed straight into my bed, shivering from the cold of the Other Place. It sank right into my bones, especially the toes. I barely had enough strength left to wriggle out of my dusty clothes and into my PJs. My co-ordination was just as bad, I was shaking so much. Those cherubs would have taken it out of me on a normal day, and then four angels on top of that? Stupid, stupid, stupid. I really hoped this wasn't going to wipe me out as badly as when I was chased by the bird woman.
I drifted off into freezing cold nightmares. Wrapped in a blanket, I stumbled through the Other Place. My hidden base was flooding, and the mirrors were all gone, and I couldn't get out! The dark water started as just puddles, but it was rising and by the time it had reached my thighs I was trying not to scream.
Then something grabbed me and I did scream.
"Taylor? Taylor?" I jolted awake. Blearily I squinted up at Dad, scrabbling for my glasses.
"Wh't tim' is it?" I managed. A sudden moment of panic flooded through me. I was going to be late for school and the monster was—
He checked his watch. "Nineteen thirty. What's the matter? Why are you in bed?"
Shifting, I groaned. I could feel the cold sweat beading on my forehead. "I just went to lie down," I said.
"In your PJs?"
I peered at him, trying to sit up. My body ached all over and the bruise on my stomach was itching. I really didn't want him checking me for injuries. "I was getting cramps all day," I lied. It was a super-useful excuse. It didn't work on female teachers when I wanted to sit out gym, but worked great on men. "It's a girl thing."
"Oh. Oh." He looked decidedly uncomfortable. "Uh… can I do anything to help?"
I was hungry, I realised. I really had to get out of bed and get some food in me. "Warm milk would be nice," I said, trying to smile like someone with painful menstrual cramps. I did a remarkably good job of it. Being slapped in the stomach by a horrible barbed wire monster helped complete the illusion. "And then I'll try to see if I can eat anything."
"I haven't eaten yet," Dad said. "I'll heat up the chilli for both of us, then." He patted my hand, cautiously. "It's fine if you can't manage everything."
He brought me the milk while I tried to sit up. Everything ached, and I was shaking. I could still feel the cold of the Other Place in my bones. Every so often I'd be reminded of the handprint, and it'd start aching all over again. Maybe it wasn't an angel slapping me. Maybe it was a sign of one trying to claw its way out.
I immediately wished I hadn't thought that.
"You feel cold and clammy," Dad said, testing my brow. "Are you sure you're not ill?"
"I… I think it's kind of hitting home that someone died at school," I lied. "It wasn't bothering me, but then I got home and with that on top of how I felt…"
I shrugged, and regretted the motion. Dad put down the mug and gave me a hug. It was well-intentioned, but considering how bruised I felt it was one of the worst things he could have done. "Hey, hey," he said, ineffectually. "Come on. Drink your milk, and then you can come down and try to eat. If you don't feel like eating, you can just talk to me, yeah? Got to be better than sitting up here in your room worrying."
I smiled back. "Yeah. Thanks, Dad," I said, wrapping my hands around the warm mug and letting the chill in my bones leach out.
With something warm in me I was just about able to hobble my way downstairs, wrapped in a blanket like an old lady. The light in the kitchen was warm, even if one of the bulbs was humming and flicking faintly, and I stiffly plopped myself down at the table. The paint on the wall just at eye level was peeling, and the cork board was over-filled with reminders and dates. Dad flashed a grin at me from over by the microwave, which became somewhat more rigid when he saw how ill I must have looked.
No matter how I looked at it, the entire room was incredibly boring and mundane. I needed that. It wasn't at all like, to name an example chosen at random, a secret underground lair full of teleporting mirrors, creepy mannequins, and random old junk. I frowned, watching the microwave hum away. I really needed to find a way to start using the power in my base. A few power sockets were still hooked up to the mains, probably because they were on the same circuit as something in the buildings above. An electric kettle, a heater and a microwave would really help with making the place feel less like… well, like a forgotten basement.
"Maybe you shouldn't be out of bed?" he hinted. "I know I said you should eat, but maybe you need your rest."
"I'm hungry," I said. "I don't need to be feeling starving on top of everything else."
"Mmm." He peered in the microwave again, and looked about to ask me something, but then thought better of it. I could guess what he was going to say, though.
"So, yeah." I rubbed my hands together, fingers tracing the scars I'd got from the locker. "I don't really know what happened at school. I mean, I basically just heard an ambulance when I was in English, just before lunch. And then they sealed off the area by the bike lot, but I saw something that could have been blood on the floor. Don't worry," I hastened to assure him, "since I don't cycle in or hang out there smoking, I don't go anywhere near that place normally. I just… freaked out a bit about the idea of someone dying."
"Ah," he said.
"I mean, the rumours were that the dead guy was a skinhead," I said. "So that'd make it something gang-linked."
"Mmm," he said.
"I was kind of expecting more questions," I said, a little tartly.
Dad ran his hands through his short, balding dark hair. "I just don't want to stress you out," he said. "Plus, you said you didn't know much. I'm sure things'll be clearer in time."
Well, they certainly would be if I had anything to say about it. "Yeah," I agreed, wrapping my blanket tighter around myself.
Dad served the reheated chilli with some instant rice, and grabbed himself a beer. I focussed on eating. The chilli was hot and filling, and I was hungry – hungrier than usual. Sometimes my power left me feeling starving after using it, but sometimes it didn't. I guessed that the Other Place didn't want to feel it was too predictable in how it hurt me.
"Have there been gang problems at school?" he asked. "More than usual, I mean. I know Winslow has a gang problem, but do you think they're getting worse?"
I frowned. "I dunno," I said honestly. "I keep well away from the gangs. I've got enough shit—"
"Taylor," he chided me.
"Sorry, enough poo – is that better? Enough doody? – in my life without getting involved in that kind of stuff at school." That was true enough. Sure, I might get involved in gang things as an extracurricular activity, but it's sort of hard to be a superhero if you don't fight crimes. "So I dunno if it's getting worse or better or what. There are bits of the school where you don't go if you're not a skinhead, or not Japanese, or whatever. So I don't go there. Because that would be dumb."
"Mmm." Outside, a fire truck screamed by. "So you haven't seen any sign of it getting worse?"
"No. Not really."
"And… places on the school you don't go if you're not in a gang? Have they threatened you?"
I loaded my fork up with rice. "Dad, I'm not going to be stupid and go into, like, that bathroom that the Japanese girls have taken over. They smoke in there, and I've heard some of them carry knives. It'd just be asking for trouble. So, no, I don't go in there."
Actually, I did go in once, under Isolation. They were smoking, texting, and talking with each other. I had no idea what they were saying. From the attitude, though, I suspected the topics under discussion were more men and make-up than mugging or murders.
I tilted my head and looked at him. "Why? What's going on?"
He sighed. "Things are getting worse," he said at last, tapping his fork on his plate. "There are bits in the city I wouldn't go now that would have been fine a year ago. Six months, even. The skinheads are getting organised. And some of my old friends were attacked by Patriotic gangs. I just want to know if things're bleeding through into the schools and that you're safe."
"What kind of old friends?" I asked him, worried. "Are you—"
Dad rubbed his hands together. "Not me, no. They're… look, they're with the Socialist Party." He caught my expression. "Taylor, the Socialists are a proper political party. They're not criminals. Skinheads firebombed their offices. I do worry they might go after the unions next, but… well, it's just a worry."
He might want to defend the Socialists, but they were behind the riots in Chicago a few years ago. "Yeah, well, I haven't seen any of that at school. I mean, like, there are fights. Especially between the skinheads and the Japanese, but some of the NY gangs are involved, too. But… I dunno." I shrugged. "I don't hang with any of them."
"And I'm glad of that," he said. He took a deep drink from his beer. "God, Taylor, just promise me you'll work hard and get into college. There's no future here. This city's rotting. Go somewhere like Detroit, where there are actually jobs."
"You're worrying me, Dad," I said, and put my fork down. "What happened?" Dad was always working, always stressing out over something, but he got frustrated, he got angry. He didn't talk like this.
He sighed, letting his head fall into his hands. "I just… I heard someone was dead at Winslow. It was on the news, over and over, and all I could think of was getting that phone call that you were in the hospital and how…"
"Dad! Dad! I'm fine, okay!" I realised we hadn't ever talked about how he'd felt, back at the start of the year. Therapy hadn't been fun, but it must have been even worse without it.
"I know, I know, but then I couldn't stop worrying and you weren't home yet and…" he took a deep breath. "Yes. You're fine. But I mean it about working hard. If you don't have a college degree, there's no future for you in this country. Too many people looking for jobs. The companies are spoilt for choice – you understand what that means, Taylor? It means they can treat you like junk and just hire something new. And… look, okay, some contacts I have are talking whispers of a right-to-work law being passed here. In Maine."
"Right-to-work?" I asked. "That sounds… good?"
He snorted. "That's why they call it that. No, it's very bad. It's a way of taking down unions." Cars rumbled outside as he stared down at his plate. "Look, I didn't mean to burden you with this. Things won't happen until next year at the earliest. It'll be after that recall election for the governor. Things are okay for me in the short term, but the medium term is… dicey. Yeah, dicey. Just… think about your future, okay? Work as hard as possible at school."
I swallowed. "O-okay, Dad," I said softly.
He cracked his knuckles. "Ah, to hell with it. I ruined any chance of a happy dinner. How about we take our bowls over to the TV and we can watch a film or something. I've had a bad day, you've had a bad day, let's just go watch Blazing Saddles or something."
I rubbed my eyes. I certainly wasn't up for any more use of my powers today. "Yeah, let's do it," I said, gingerly standing up. "And we can't mention anything about work or murders or school or anything."
"I won't if you won't," he countered.
"Deal."
We wound up watching Young Frankenstein. And just for a moment, things seemed better.
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- Location
- in the trash
And Taylor just completely forgets that she doesn't have any school the next day. Admittedly, she did just wake up from a nightmare and schools don't normally give days off because someone got murdered. At least, one hopes.
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- Location
- United States
I think they are the angles of rapture. With all the hellfire going on.
What happens when the cape can't tell if they are the mask or their secret identities?
- Location
- Canada
Damn. I paradoxically hate how well written this is. Everything about it invokes a theme of slow, rotting, pain and Taylor is barely hanging on with a power that injures her to use and shows her the nasty truth behind everything. The plot is intriguing and Taylor's powers have so much potential. Even the AU world building is excellent.
This is not the kind of fic I like to read, but it's written well enough that I read it anyways since it's intriguing. I really need to make sure I have something fluffy to read afterwards.
This is not the kind of fic I like to read, but it's written well enough that I read it anyways since it's intriguing. I really need to make sure I have something fluffy to read afterwards.
- Location
- The sixth circle of Hell (second on weekends)
- Pronouns
- She/Her
nah mang
they're angels of Rapture
there's one that freezes things and one that burns things and so on
you can't see them, but they're all wearing diving suits and looking at her with glowing yellow eyes
- Location
- Austria
Agreed. Once alert came up, I was all like "no, no, I am not reading it, it hurts and I quit Worm fanfiction couple of month ago anyway". Then I opened it and swallowed whole update.
It is similar to reading good psychological book like Dostoevsky's ones: so good it becomes really painful because of quality written unpleasantness. Thanks, ES.
nooneimp
Shadow Lurker of Many Forums
- Location
- in the middle of nowhere
Seers of the Throne? Someone else? I definitely know too little...
If parahumans here run on the Scion rpg rules or something the irony will be delicious...
Yeah, otherwise there would have been no students in Winslow left.
TheLastOne
Person of impeccable tastes (for destruction)
While it isn't an exact match, this is cleaving to Awakening, not Ascension.
- Location
- Spain
Nah, it's just some kind of abyssal infectious meme.
Nothing to worry about.
- Location
- Denmark
- Pronouns
- She/Her