Wyvern - Worm AU fanfic

[Ack]

Yet another Altpower!Taylor fic. She gains yet another set of powers in the locker; it now remains to be seen what she will be doing with them.

Disclaimers:
1) This story is set in the Wormverse, which is owned by Wildbow. Thanks for letting me use it.
2) I will follow canon as closely as I can. If I find something that canon does not cover, I will make stuff up. If canon then refutes me, I will revise. Do not bother me with fanon; corrections require citations.
3) I welcome criticism of my works, but if you tell me that something is wrong, I also expect an explanation of what is wrong, and a suggestion of how to fix it. Note that I do not promise to follow any given suggestion.

Index
Part One: Inception (below)
Part Two: How to ... Yeah, Not Going There
Part Three: Handling Matters
Part Four: Escalation
Part Five: Discussions
Part Six: Meddle Not in the Affairs of Dragons ...
Part Seven: ... For You Are Crunchy, and Go Well With Ketchup
Part Eight: All Dressed Up
Part Nine: Stinger!
Part Ten: Changing Fortunes
Part Eleven: Show and Tell
Part Twelve: Bugging the Dragon
Part Thirteen: Growing Pains
Part Fourteen: New Developments
Part Fifteen: Hidden Conflicts
Part Sixteen: That Went Places
Part Seventeen: Escalation Central
Part Eighteen: No Sale
Part Nineteen: The Dreaded Slaughterhouse Arc (1) - Our Day in Court
Part Twenty: The Dreaded Slaughterhouse Arc (2) - Farewell, Seven of Nine
Part Twenty-One: Dealing With the Wyvern in the Room
Part Twenty-Two: Getting the Measure
Part Twenty-Three: The Proposition
Part Twenty-Four: Draconic Measures
Part Twenty-Five: Operation Ellisburg

Omake: The Hand that Feeds ( @SwiftRosenthal )
Omake: Wyvern vs Slaughterhouse Nine ( @Dr. Mercurious )

 

[Ack]

Wyvern

Part One: Inception


Flying.

I was flying, chill air flowing past stretched membranes. Gliding, then flapping again, arm and shoulder muscles aching.

I've never done this before. How do I know how to do it? Instinct?

I hope it gets easier.

Below, buildings slid past. A city. The buildings were old, decrepit. Somehow, I knew that I was flying east. Toward the ocean that beckoned.

Why am I flying? How am I flying? Why are my arms wings now? Why am I flying toward the ocean?

I stopped flapping for a few moments, allowed myself to glide once more. The wind drummed over the expanse of red-gold membrane that made up my wings, stretched between what had once been my fingers, my arms. Covered in fine scales, of the same colour as my wings, that winked back pinpoints of light in the weak January sunlight.

What happened?

I didn't know. I wasn't sure of much. I had only been flying for a few minutes, but where I was flying from was less certain than where I was flying to.

Even who I was was uncertain. My name …

"Who am I?" I tried to ask out loud. My jaws opened; I got the impression of a muzzle, and a croaking screech was all I heard. My tongue tasted the air, then ran over my teeth. Fangs, rather; all sharp, and far more than I'd had before …

How do I know that?

I didn't know how I knew. I knew I was human, despite my current shape. Which I knew little enough of, to be honest. Arms turned into wings, check. Red-gold scales, check. Muzzle, check.

The buildings below were beginning to get uncomfortably close. I summoned up more energy, began flapping once more. A cross-wind buffeted me; I shifted to compensate, using my tail as balance and rudder both – tail?

A glance over my shoulder showed that yes, I had a tail. Looking down and under myself showed legs, folded up beneath me, covered in … something. Something that stank.

I now knew why I was flying toward the ocean.

I needed water.

Lots of water.

The ocean was close, now. This was a good thing. My arms were tired. A joke surfaced in my mind – I just flew in from New York, and boy my arms are tired – and it didn't seem so funny any more.

In the ocean ahead, in the bay – Brockton Bay, I recalled. The city below was named for the bay – was a technological citadel, a home for the Protectorate. I blinked, eyelids moving in odd ways, as memories slotted into place. That long street is called Lord Street. And that's the Boardwalk.

"Hey!"

I jolted in midair as the voice called out beside me; so focused had I been on my own emerging thoughts that I hadn't paid attention to my surroundings. My wings lost purchase on the air and I dropped a dozen feet before I corrected that. When I was gliding properly once more, I risked a glance sideways.

There, paralleling me, was a teenage girl; white-clad, wearing a tiara over her blonde hair. She was keeping pace with me fairly easily, almost lounging in the air. Right. For her it's easy.

A name surfaced in my memory. Glory Girl.

Okay, so I can remember everyone else's names. Why not mine?

Forgetting my inability to vocalise, I tried to reply. "Uh, hi?"

What I got was, "Ooo-ah?" In a sort of screechy, velociraptor sort of accent.

She frowned, marring that perfect brow. "Can't talk English?"

Closing my muzzle – not wanting her to think that I was about to try to attack her with my startlingly large collection of needle-sharp teeth – I nodded firmly, then shook my head.

"Yes, no?" She paused. "Can't talk, can understand?"

This time, I nodded vigorously.

" … ah, right. Okay, gotta ask you to land, so I can talk to you, okay?"

Looking down, I saw that we were crossing Lord Street. I angled my wings into a dive.

"Hey!" she shouted, catching up, even as I accelerated. "I'm talking to you, here!"

How do I say, "I know, but I've got to do this?" in dinosaur? It was a conundrum.

The cool waters, twinkling in the morning sunlight, were just ahead, coming up fast. I angled into a steeper dive.

"Hey!" yelled Glory Girl, reaching for me. I twitched my wing out of the way, rolling smoothly to the side. Huh, something I can do.

She tried again; I barrel-rolled over her, and folded my wings back.

"You can't dodge forever -" she began, and then we hit the water.

<><>​

Cool silence surrounded me. I spread my wings once more, letting myself float in the dimness. The dreadful things that had been clinging to my legs drifted off, floated away, as I kicked. I rolled my eyes upward, the nictitating membranes allowing me to see clearly, even under water. Glory Girl was gathering herself, flying upward, leaving just ripples behind.

I would have to follow soon; although at home in the water, I didn't have gills. So I folded my arms against my sides once more; my legs kicked and my tail waved, and I started toward the surface.

As I moved upward, so did more memories emerge from the darkness.

<><>​

"Hey, there she is."

"Fuck, I nearly didn't see her."

"Is it just me, or is she even skinnier than before Christmas?"

"Anyone else has a Christmas dinner – Hebert has a Christmas puke."

"She just has to look in the mirror."

I ventured through the halls of Winslow, seeking my locker. I had imagined that they were letting up over November and December, but it must have been a ploy to get my guard down. They certainly weren't letting up now.

"She's so skinny that she has to run around in the shower to get wet."

"Mustn't do it all that much. I can smell her from here."

"Pee-yew! She probably took a puke just before she came in here."

Maybe it was just the power of suggestion, but I could smell something horrible now, too. My cheeks burning from the hurtful words – I never asked to be skinny – I hunched my shoulders and walked past them.

"So how old do you think she'll be before she actually grows breasts?"

"I don't think there's that many years on the calendar."

"Well, it's not like she'll need them – she's too ugly and skinny to ever get a boyfriend."

"I hear that when she goes for a walk in the park, all the perverts button up their raincoats and go home."

"She'd need a boob job just to get the tits of a twelve year old."

"A twelve year old boy."

Trying not to listen, I reached my locker. A rancid smell emanated from it. I knew, with a sinking feeling, that they had done something to it. Something horrible. But, just as it's almost impossible to look away from a train wreck, I couldn't not see what was inside the locker.

Bending over the lock, I entered the combination. Concentrating on ignoring the stink, I didn't look behind me.

That was my mistake.

<><>​

I emerged from the water feeling much cleaner; my speed put me a good body-length above the water. This gave me the chance to get my wings into operation; spraying salt water in all directions, I rose into the air.

"Hey."

This time, I was less than surprised; Glory Girl hovered there, looking a little more bedraggled than before. Her skirt hung damply, her blonde hair was flat against her head, and she had lost the tiara. She also looked less than impressed.

I gave her my best inquiring look. She pointed toward the beach. "Land. Now."

She could fly faster than me; although I was much better under water, I didn't really want to tangle with her. Angling forward, I glided toward the beach. Fortunately, this being January, it was almost totally unpopulated; I came in for a neat landing on the hard wet sand just above where the tiny waves washed back and forth, and folded my wings. Due to my odd body shape, I had to lean forward a little, large clawed feet gripping the sand and my tail balancing from behind.

Glory Girl alighted beside me and looked at me, folding her arms. Carefully, I straightened up so that we were eye to eye. "Okay," she asked, "so who are you?"

Opening my mouth, I replied with an unintelligible screech.

Closing her eyes as if in pain, she rubbed her forehead. "You can't speak any English at all?"

That was easy; I shook my head.

"Uh … okay. You're human, yeah?"

After a moment of hesitation, I nodded.

"Are you a case fifty-three?"

I paused, blinking. Then I shrugged; with wings that could cover maybe twenty feet of span, and elbows that now almost touched the ground, I could really shrug.

"Okay, let's make that a maybe. Do you remember who you are?"

<><>​

I was trapped inside the locker, unable to get out. Taunting laughter from outside, fading away. I couldn't get out. I struggled, screamed. I wasn't good enough to get out. Not strong enough.

"Too skinny and ugly ..."

There was a moment of discontinuity. Things began to change. I began to change. I had strength now; I had muscle. I pushed at the door, ripped at it with the talons on my feet. It resisted. I opened my mouth, inhaled the noxious fumes.

What came from my mouth was more in the nature of an explosion than mere flame; perhaps I was igniting something in the mess beneath me. In any case, it wrecked the locker, bending the ones on either side to hell and gone. I sprawled on the floor, struggled to my feet. My clothes were gone; I wore a new form. Red-gold scales, arms lengthened into wings, a strong tail behind. I did not fit any more into any reasonable definition of 'human'. I had to get out of here. I had to clean the stink of Winslow from me.

I ran, scuttled, down the hallway. Burst out through the doors. Spread my wings for the very first time.

The ocean was east. I flew that way.

<><>​

I reached out with a wingtip, and in the hard sand, I wrote, MY NAME IS TAYLOR HEBERT.

As she absorbed that, I added three more words.

PLEASE HELP ME.


End of Part One

Part Two

 

[Ack]

Wyvern

Part Two: How to … Yeah, Not Going There


"Hello, Dockworker's Association, Danny Hebert speaking."

"Mr Hebert, this is Carrie Blackwell, at Winslow High School."

Danny sat up at Blackwell's sharp tone. "Principal Blackwell. How can I help you?" He blinked, worry starting to spread through him. "Has something happened to Taylor?"

"Something has certainly happened. We're not sure what."

"I … can you explain that?"

"It appears that your daughter came to school today, didn't go to class, set off a bomb in her locker, and decamped."

Of all the things that Danny had expected her to say, this was not one of them. "A … bomb?"

"Yes. Some sort of explosive or incendiary device. It destroyed her locker as well as the lockers on either side, and it damaged two more, as well as the floor and the ceiling, and it embedded the locker door in the wall opposite. It also set that part of the corridor on fire. Were you aware that she was planning this?"

"I … no. No, I don't believe that Taylor did this. She … I don't even believe that she knows how to make a bomb, much less one that would destroy her locker. Are you sure someone else didn't do this to her?"

"Well, we have police and emergency services on site; the entire school has been evacuated and a complete roll call has been taken. Taylor is not here. The conclusion is inescapable."

"I … could she have been caught … in the explosion?"

"No, the emergency services have been combing through the wreckage. There are no human remains, although there is evidence that she was also storing large amounts of toxic waste in her locker. Can you explain this?"

Danny's head was spinning. "I can't … I don't … " A blinking light distracted him. "I have a call on another line. It's probably the police. I have to take this."

Without giving her a chance to demur, he pressed the button. "Dockworker's Association, Danny Hebert speaking."

"Mr Hebert, this is Sergeant Andrews, Brockton Bay PD. Do you know of your daughter's whereabouts at this moment?"

Danny put his head in his hands. This was going to be a very long day, and he had no idea what had happened to Taylor.

<><>​

"Come on, it's just a little bit farther."

I let out a disapproving screech; flying was easy for her. She didn't have to actually claw at the air with wings that used to be her arms, for every foot of movement. For her, flying was a matter of saying fuck-you to physics and just coasting in whatever direction she wanted to go.

"Oh, don't be such a whiner." She was certainly picking up on my tones; I was pretty sure that she was joking with me in return. "Seriously, you're a dragon. How cool is that? Ames is gonna be so jealous that I brought you home."

That made me blink, with that weird double-blink that my nictitating membranes gave me. I'm a dragon? I thought I was a dinosaur. Some sort of pterodactyl velociraptor thing. How did I end up as a dragon?

Okay, well, yeah, breathing fire to blow my locker door off might have been a hint.

"Come on, pick those wings up. Don't slack off now. You're nearly there." She drifted past me again, waving her fingers at me teasingly. I flapped harder, swooped at her, snapped my jaws in her general direction without any real intent to actually get her. Laughing, she rolled out of the way. "Eek! Help! There's a dragon after me!"

The laser bolt smashed into my chest; I tumbled through the air, stunned. My thoughts were disorganised; I couldn't focus. Instinct took over, and I rolled; another blast ripped past my wingtip, the air crackling in its wake. All fatigue had left me, replaced by adrenaline; I pumped my wings, powered into a short dive, then flipped up and over in a hard loop. A sharp turn at the top of the loop, avoiding a third laser shot, then I was arrowing in on the flying form that had attacked me. Opening my jaws, I prepared to send an answering billow of flame -

"No! Don't! It's only Aunt Sarah!"

Glory Girl was in front of me, blocking my path. I angled hard, changing direction so that I didn't hit her, swallowing the flame back. Friend. Do not attack.

The other one wasn't a friend, though. Just for a moment, we both hung in midair, me beating my wings, her just hovering there. A glow built up around her hands; I gathered flame in my gullet.

And then Glory Girl was between us again. She flung out her hands in both directions, and I felt her aura, calming me. "No, don't! Don't fight! Aunt Sarah, why did you attack her?"

"I … it was attacking you, dear," the flying woman responded. "Wait … 'she'?"

"Yes, 'she'," Glory Girl stated flatly. "She's not an 'it'. She's a 'person'. She's had her trigger event and changed. I think she might be a case fifty-three. She can't talk, but she can understand English, and write it."

There was a long, somewhat embarrassed pause; I let the anger ease out of my posture. My chest still hurt, though. The woman – Glory Girl's Aunt Sarah; I seemed to recall a Lady Photon, real name Sarah Pelham – addressed me directly. "I'm sorry. I reacted badly. I apologise."

I nodded, let out an acknowledging chirp. She eyed me, then glanced at Glory Girl. "What did she say?"

"I have no idea. You think I speak dragon?" Glory Girl shrugged. "But it sounded like, 'eh, what the hell' to me."

I nodded again; for someone who didn't speak dragon, she was doing all right so far.

"All right, so where are you taking her?"

"I, uh, thought I'd bring her home."

"What? Honey, no. You shouldn't just bring home every strange cape that you meet."

"Aunt Sarah, look at her. She's a dragon. How cool is that? Also, she needs help. She asked me for help."

"So take her to the PRT or the Protectorate. Surely they're better set up for this sort of thing."

Glory Girl rolled her eyes. "They'd just poke her and prod her and make her join the Wards or something. Or put her in a Case Fifty-Three program. And she doesn't want that."

Which was true; when she had proposed the idea, I had made it quite clear that I was not in favour of it. I wasn't quite sure why; I just didn't want to go there. Besides, I didn't feel like being probed by anything, ever.

"So you're taking her home?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Okay; your mother will pitch a fit -"

"She'll get over it."

"And what about the rest of your family?"

Glory Girl shrugged. "Well, Dad might actually show some interest. And Ames will probably want to keep her forever. I mean, seriously, a dragon."

Lady Photon frowned. "And what about you? Why aren't you at school?"

"Heard about a weird thing flying over the city, went to investigate. Found Taylor here."

"Her name's Taylor? How do you know that?"

"Duh, she can write."

"Oh. Of course."

"Well, then. I'll see you two home. Then I'll call your mother. Because this is not a surprise that Carol needs to find out about by walking in through the front door."

Impulsively, Glory Girl hugged her aunt. "You're the best!"

A grimace. "Still not entirely sure that this is the right course of action, but … okay, Taylor. Let's get you there, then see what needs to be done."

I answered with a screech, then stretched my wings out; as Glory Girl led off and Lady Photon paralleled me, I flew on.

<><>​

The house was modest; a two-storey structure in suburbia. We came in for a landing outside the front door; I flapped my wings hard to kill forward momentum, then folded them close to my body. Lady Photon watched the manoeuvre with interest, then observed how I leaned forward and used my tail as a balance.

"Where were you going to have her sleep?" she asked, as Glory Girl opened the front door.

"Floor of my room," was the reply. "We can put down a mattress." Glory Girl went inside. "Dad! Visitors!"

"What if she doesn't sleep that way?" Lady Photon stepped back, allowing me first entry. "What if she hangs upside down, like a bat?"

"Then we set up something to let her do that. Hey, Dad, check it out. Look what I found."

Grinning, Glory Girl gestured to me as I entered the front door, just as her father – Flashbang – came in from the kitchen, with a sandwich in his hand. He stared; I tensed. But he didn't attack. He just … looked at me.

"Okay," he ventured at last. "I give up. What is it?"

I blinked; that was the most apathetic reaction to my new appearance that I had encountered yet.

"For one thing, she's a she, not an it," Glory Girl explained patiently. "And for another thing, she's a person. Her name's Taylor. She needs help."

I chirped in agreement, nodding my head.

"As far as I can tell, Victoria is correct," Lady Photon noted, closing the door behind us and stepping past me. "Taylor doesn't appear to be hostile, and seems to understand what we say."

"So why not hand her over to the PRT -" he began. I shook my head.

"She doesn't want to go to the PRT or to the Protectorate," Glory Girl elaborated.

"Okay, fine," he sighed. "Taylor, is it?"

I nodded, and gave a chirp of agreement.

He blinked, seeming a little taken aback. "Well, uh, make yourself comfortable, I guess. Are you hungry?"

I snuffled at the air; if my nose didn't deceive me, he had a fish paste sandwich. I nodded, just a little. Hungry, but not starving. Of course, flying across the city had a way of sharpening the appetite.

"Okay, uh, get comfortable. Sarah, could you keep our guest company? Vicky, a word in the kitchen, please?"

Flashbang – Mark Dallon; Glory Girl's real name was Victoria Dallon – left the room. I felt a little sorry for her, as I figured she was about to get a parental interrogation. I'd had one or two of those in my time.

"So, uh, can you even sit on the sofa?" asked Lady Photon.

I eyed the piece of furniture, and tried to work out how to sit properly. With my new body, I wasn't at all sure I could manage it. But by curling my tail out of the way, I managed to ease my way down, tucking my folded wings in close to my body. But I found it hard to sit upright; it was easier to let my weight fall to one side, to lie down. To curl up, with my tail wrapped in close to my body, my wings partly wrapped around me.

My head rested on the arm rest at the end of the sofa. I sighed; this was actually comfortable. The nictitating membranes flickered once or twice across my eyes, and then I closed my actual eyelids. I had been going non-stop since the locker, since the change, and it felt so good to relax.

With my eyes closed, I felt myself drifting away …

"Oh my god!"

My eyes flew open at Sarah's exclamation. Everything was blurry; why was everything blurry? I tried to flick my nictitating membranes across my eyes to clear whatever the problem was, but they didn't respond. I could make out her form, though, standing and staring at me. A white and gold form dashed in from the other room, also stopped and stared.

What's the matter? What's happened? What have I changed into now?

Using my wings, I pushed myself into an upright position. Opening my jaws, I let out an inquiring chirp. "What? What's up?"

That was my voice! I slapped my hand over my mouth.

My hand. My mouth.

I was back to normal. I looked down at myself.

Oh yeah, back to normal, all right. My body was all there. I could see it plainly, within the limits of my short-sightedness. Arms, legs, no tail, lots and lots of pink skin.

Yes, I was back to normal. I was also very naked.

Grabbing a sofa cushion, I held it over myself.

"Uh, some clothes, please?"


End of Part Two

Part Three

 

[Ack]

Wyvern

Part Three: Handling Matters


"But Taylor knows nothing about explosives," Danny tried to explain, for the third time. "For that matter, I know nothing about explosives. She couldn't have made any kind of bomb."

The police officer sitting on the other side of the interview table didn't seem to have heard him. "Our kids can surprise us, Mr Hebert," he stated without any real kind of inflection. "Did you keep books on chemistry or the making of explosives in your house? Did you store chemicals of any sort?" He consulted a list, then handed it over to Danny. "Any of these?"

Danny took it, frowning. "No, we never had books on bomb making," he replied. "Chemistry books, yeah. She does high school chemistry. As for these chemicals … I think we have drain cleaner, yeah. And detergent." He put the list on the table. "But anyone could have these chemicals. Someone who knew how to make a bomb. Why are you picking on Taylor in this?"

"Because the roll call post-evacuation indicated several students not present, one of whom is your daughter," the police officer informed him. "And your daughter's locker is the one that was blown up."

"So one of the others -"

"The others are, without exception, those with reasonable excuses to be out of school, or those with a regular habit of skipping classes. Your daughter is the only one with anything like a regular attendance record who should have been there, but wasn't."

"Well, maybe someone else blew her locker up," Danny suggested. "Did you think of that?"

"Her locker door was blown off of its hinges. We found it embedded in the opposite wall," the officer stated flatly. "The explosion almost certainly originated within the locker. Does your daughter share her locker combination with anyone else?"

"Emma, maybe?" Danny hazarded. "But she's Taylor's best friend. She wouldn't do something like this to her."

The police officer made a note. "Last name of this Emma, sir?"

"Uh, Emma Barnes," Danny supplied. "Her father's name is Alan Barnes. But she wouldn't have done this. Taylor's known her since grade school."

"Is that with an S or an E-S?" asked the officer.

"B-A-R-N-E-S," Danny supplied. "Maybe I should ring Alan and ask him if Emma even saw Taylor show up to school today."

"Leave us to make the enquiries, sir," the officer reproved him gently. "Now, do you know if your daughter had any problems with anyone else at school? A teacher, perhaps, or another student?"

"I have no idea." Danny shrugged helplessly. "She never talks about school. We barely talk at all."

"Perhaps her mother might know more, sir?" suggested the officer.

Danny shook his head, feeling the old pain. "Her mother is dead. She died in a car accident about two and a half years ago."

"My condolences, sir," the officer told him automatically. "Has your daughter's behaviour changed recently? Has she exhibited odd habits?"

"I don't know," Danny told him, feeling shame that he had to confess this. "We really haven't been close, recently."

<><>​

"The sides and top have been peeled back from the force of the explosion; the lockers on either side have suffered catastrophic damage. There appear to be the remains of toxic waste within the locker, and spread on the floor around it."

Explosives expert James Doherty ceased narrating into the recorder, and leaned down to gingerly pick up a small blackened item between gloved thumb and forefinger. He dropped it into an evidence bag; despite the filter mask, his nose wrinkled from the smell.

"What is it?" asked his assistant, closing the bag carefully.

"Best guess, a used tampon," Doherty replied. "A bit charred, but still mostly there. There were a lot more of them, I would guess, as well as other similar items, but the explosion destroyed most of them."

"That would seem to defeat the purpose, wouldn't it?" asked his assistant, whose name Doherty had never bothered to remember; a bright lad, he nevertheless still had a lot to learn about the business.

"That's presuming that the purpose of the explosion was to spread the waste," Doherty agreed. "But it wasn't."

"It wasn't?"

"That's what I said," Doherty stated. "The explosion took place about … here." He leaned in, putting his gloved fingertip at about chest level, just inside where the locker door had once stood. "Whereas the toxic waste was all down in the bottom of the locker. If the purpose was to spread the crap around, it was about the worse possible location for it."

"So what was the purpose of the explosion?" asked his assistant. "Lockers don't just explode for no reason."

"And that's the right question," Doherty agreed with a nod. ""What did the explosion do, above all else?"

"Blew the locker to hell and gone?"

Doherty allowed himself a slight smile under the mask. "Specifically. What was the one real effect we have here?"

There was a moment of intense cogitation, then his assistant pointed at the door, which had been carefully pried out of the wall, to allow for closer examination. "Blew the door off."

"So let's go look at the door. Something's been bothering me, and I just realised what."

They stood side by side, looking at the door. Doherty pointed. "That's where the explosion took place." It was fairly obvious; the metal had been distorted, the paint scoured down to the metal. Annealing patterns threw back rainbow reflections.

"Right where you said it would be," his assistant agreed. "So what was bothering you, before?"

Doherty pointed, farther down. "What are those marks?"

Almost hidden, camouflaged by first being blasted off of the locker, then slamming into the wall opposite, several sets of parallel gouges could just barely be seen in the metal. "They look like … scratches." The assistant paused, frowning. "Shrapnel?"

Doherty shook his head. "No. Shrapnel would have spread directly away from the epicentre. These are overlapping lines, each set parallel in itself, but each set is aligned in a different direction. And there are three in each set. What does that remind you of?"

"I – I'm not sure -"

"Think. Ignore the explosion. Ignore the rest of it. Where have you seen marks like that before?"

The assistant blinked. "Claw marks. There was an animal in the locker?"

"They didn't find a body," Doherty pointed out. "Human, animal, whatever. Whatever did that was low to the ground. Also … " He crouched, and touched his gloved fingertips to one set of gouges. They had to spread, just a little, to each touch a separate groove. "Whatever made these wasn't any house cat."

"So what does this mean?"

Doherty stood, and dusted his hands off. "We wait for the lab results to come back regarding the samples and residues they took in. And if it turns out the way I think it will, we'll be off the case."

The assistant tilted his head. "Why is that?"

Doherty felt a wry grin twisting his lips under the mask. "Because it'll be the PRT's problem, then. And good luck to them."

<><>​

"Wait right here," commanded Glory Girl. "I'll be right back." She dashed into the kitchen. "Dad," I heard her say, "don't go anywhere. Especially not the living room, okay?"

"Why?" he asked.

"Clothing emergency. Just stay in here, all right?"

I heard a grunt that I assumed to mean assent, then she emerged once more, and dashed up the stairs. Moments later, she reappeared, bearing a huge fluffy pink bathrobe. I stared at it; it looked large enough to use as a hang-glider.

"What?" she asked, her cheeks going nearly as pink as the bathrobe. "I like it.'

"I wasn't going to say a word," I assured her, truthfully enough, and swapped cushion for bathrobe. It covered me; more to the point, it enveloped me. I was covered from neck to ankles in fluffy pink extravagance.

Glory Girl – or Vicky, as she insisted that I call her – took me upstairs and fitted me out in new clothes; or rather, some of the clothes that she was thinking of giving away. A pair of her skinny jeans – not so skinny on my lanky frame – went well with a t-shirt that showed just a little tiny bit of my belly, given that I had a few inches on the teen superhero.

"Well, you're dressed," she declared with satisfaction as I put a borrowed headband in my hair. "And you're human again. How did you do that, anyway?"

"I'm not sure," I confessed. "The sofa was so comfortable that I kind of lay down and drifted off. When your aunt cried out, I woke up and I was me."

"Huh," she mused; I got the impression that she was a little disappointed that she couldn't show off dragon-me to her sister Panacea, or 'Ames' as she referred to the healer. "Have you tried to change back?"

"Um, nope," I told her. "Realising I was a dragon was scary enough the first time around."

"Well, we know you can," she insisted. "Go on, see if you can change back again."

Frowning, I concentrated. There seemed to be something there, but I couldn't really reach it. "I guess I'm too comfortable," I confessed. "I think I changed back to human when I started feeling comfortable and relaxed."

"Oh," she replied, and turned away. "I guess then – boo!"

I jumped a little as she threw up her hands at the same time as shouting the word, but nothing else happened.

"It's not exactly something that can happen with a fright," I told her severely.

"Well, how did it happen, exactly?" she asked.

So I told her; arriving at Winslow, being taunted for being too tall, too skinny, too ugly. Every word striking at the core of my being, even as I tried to ignore them. Arriving at my locker, opening it, being shoved in, locked in. I choked then, and began to cry. Vicky held me, stroked my hair as I sat on her bed.

I was vaguely aware of someone arriving at the doorway to Vicky's room. Vicky's aunt Sarah, by the sound of her voice. She was asking, I thought, about what was going on. Vicky repeated to her what I had said, more or less, and then Sarah went away.

"Hey," murmured Vicky. "Hey, hey. It's all right." I felt a warmth enfolding me, a blanket made of pure love and affection. Belatedly, I realised that it was Glory Girl's aura, even as I felt myself calming down.

A tissue was offered to me, and I took it, blowing my nose loudly. "Sorry," I mumbled. "I just … " I trailed off. You weren't there; I can't even begin to expect you to understand.

"It's all good," she insisted. "Trigger events are going to hit anyone hard."

"Trigger what?" I asked, distracted despite myself.

"Trigger events," she explained cheerfully. "One minute you're boppin' along, smelling the flowers, having a good day. Next thing, bam! Worst day of your life. And that's what causes trigger events. You obviously had one, right there."

" … oh." I peered at her with my blurry eyesight. "Was your trigger event that bad, too?"

"Nope, thank God." She shook her head with a chuckle, her blonde hair waving back and forth. "I'm second generation. Me and Ames were always going to trigger, and second gens got it really easy. I got fouled in a basketball game, about one second before I was gonna score. The ref didn't even see it. So I got up, grabbed the ball, flew over to their hoop, and jammed it through so hard that I ripped their hoop right off of the backboard. It was only afterward that I realised that I'd triggered."

"Wow," I murmured. "That must have surprised the heck out of them."

"Annoyed the crap out of me, let me tell you," Vicky confided. "If they'd let me keep that score, we would've won the game."

I went to smile at the dryness of her tone, but I ended up biting my lip. "Why do people do this sort of thing?" I asked. "Why do they choose to hurt someone, just because they can?"

"I have no idea, Taylor," Vicky told me solemnly. "But it's because people act that way that I go out and kick ass on a daily basis. If they think it's okay to treat people like that, then it has to be okay for me to treat them that way, right?"

Her tone was so bright, so upbeat, that I smiled involuntarily. "Sure, I guess," I answered.

She shook her head; again, the golden hair bounced. "None of this 'I guess' bullshit, Taylor. You're a cape now too. You've got to understand the responsibility you've got here."

"Yeah, great." I rolled my eyes. "I'm a cape who doesn't know how to change into my powered form. Next up on the news: Taylor Hebert, the girl who turned into a dragon, then forgot how she did it."

Abruptly, Vicky stood up from the bed. "I refuse to believe that," she declared, pacing across the room. "I believe in you. I believe that when you think you have to change, then you will. I believe that you're going to change – now!"

And as she turned, shouted, pointed … a wave of dread swept across me.

Too late, I realised what she was doing. Her aura. She's using the aura on me.

Too late, I protested. "Wait -"

<><>​

"I'm sorry, who did you say you were?"

"Sarah Pelham," she repeated patiently. "Lady Photon. Of New Wave. You do know who I am, right?"

"I've heard of you, yes," he admitted. "And you say you've got news of Taylor? Because I've just spent far too long at the police station, and they've got no idea where she is."

"I should say so," she replied with relish. "She's upstairs with my niece Glory Girl right now."

"Is – is she all right? The police say that there was an explosion -"

"I don't know anything about an explosion," she replied, wondering what the heck that was about. "But Taylor is fine. A little confused, certainly, but she's not injured in any way."

"Why does New Wave have her?" he asked next. "Has she committed a crime?"

"Not … exactly," she replied. "Listen, I can take the phone up to her if you want. Vicky's just giving her something to wear."

"Yes, please." A pause. "Uh … what happened to her clothes?"

"I think I'll let her explain that one to you herself," she prevaricated. "It's … complicated."

"Oh, god, was she attacked -"

"No, she's perfectly fine. She was not attacked." She climbed the stairs and started along the corridor. "She can tell you -"

The wave of dread and horror smashed through her, and she nearly dropped the phone. She had only been subjected to it once or twice before, by accident, but she knew exactly what had caused it. At the same time, she heard a reptilian screech, and the tearing of cloth.

Recovering from the aura, she got to the door of Vicky's room and looked inside. There, shaking itself free from the remnants of what had once been a pair of skinny jeans, was the human-sized dragon, resplendent in red-gold scales. Vicky was standing off to the side, her expression jubilant. "Hah!" she declared. "I knew that would -" Turning, she saw Sarah peering through the door. "Oh, hi, Aunt Sarah." Her 'innocent of all charges' expression needed work.

The dragon turned too; one enormously elongated finger, now forming a wingtip, pointed directly at Vicky. Sarah didn't need any dragon-to-human dictionary to decipher the screech that Taylor gave then: "She did it."

Sarah sighed and put the phone to her ear again. "Uh, maybe you'd better come over instead. And bring clothes."


End of Part Three

Part Four

 

[Ack]

Wyvern

Part Four: Escalation


Danny Hebert pulled up in front of the address that he had been given. A two-storey house, it looked perfectly normal; the lawn needed a little bit of a trim and the frontage could have done with a touch of paint, but that was not exactly uncommon in Brockton Bay. Grabbing the plastic bag of clothes, he got out, locked the car, and hurried up the front path.

As he did so, he heard the strangest sound; somewhere between a screech and a squawk, it reminded him of an angry parrot or perhaps one of those dinosaurs from Jurassic Park. More interestingly, it appeared to emanate from one of the upstairs windows. Taylor must be watching a movie, he decided. Well, if she's doing that, she must be all right.

He knocked at the door; a moment later, Lady Photon answered the door. Up close, she looked just a little harried. Having two teenage superheroes in the household would do that, he figured. Even if you are Photon Mom.

"Uh, hi," he greeted her. "I'm, uh, Danny Hebert?"

"Sarah Pelham," she greeted him warmly, offering her hand to shake. "I'm pleased to meet you. Come in, please."

"Thank you." Stepping past her, he found himself in a modestly-appointed living room; a man in casual clothing, around his own age, was sitting on the sofa. However, Taylor was nowhere to be seen.

"Taylor should be down in a moment," Lady Photon – he had the hardest time thinking of her as Mrs Pelham – informed him as she moved past him. "She's just changing."

"Oh, sorry," the man on the sofa apologised, standing and offering his hand. "Mark Dallon. You're Taylor's father?" Flashbang. This is Flashbang, and he was just now sitting on the sofa, watching TV.

Danny marvelled that he'd never shaken a superhero's hand before, and now it was two in one day. "Uh, yeah," he managed. "You said she was okay? Not hurt?"

"No, not hurt that I could see," Lady Photon assured him.

"Then what aren't you telling me?" he asked. "When I spoke to you on the phone, you told me to bring clothes. And now she's having to change her clothes again? What's going on?"

But even as she opened her mouth to answer him, he heard the noise again; an angry screech, followed by a teenage girl's voice. "Calm down. Come on, you can do it. He'll be here any minute now."

There was another screech, or squawk, or whatever it was, and Danny turned to Lady Photon. "Are they watching a movie up there or something?"

If anything, she looked a little more harried. "Uh, or something?"

"What the hell's going on here?" he demanded, then raised his voice. "Taylor! It's me! Are you all right?" That got a reaction; there was another, more urgent, screech and a thumping sound. "Taylor?" he called again.

Lady Photon put her hand on Danny's arm. "Mr Hebert, there's something you need to know. Something about Taylor."

"What about Taylor?" He pulled free from her grip and started up the steps. She followed him up.

"She might not be the same as you remember her." Her voice was urgent.

Stopping, he rounded on her. "I thought you said that she was all right!"

"I said that she wasn't hurt," she corrected him. "But she's ... undergone changes. She's a little different now."

"Different how?" He turned away from her, and stormed up the staircase. "Taylor!"

As he reached the top of the steps, a door opened, and something like a lizard's head, covered in red-gold scales, poked out. He had enough time to register that it was about the same size as his own head, and about four feet off the floor, before it turned to look at him. The eyes widened, then the mouth widened even more. It had a great many teeth, all very white and very sharp, as well as a startlingly-pink tongue. A crest atop its head erected at the same time; it made one of those dinosaur noises, apparently in alarm, then pulled back into the room.

A moment later, a teenage girl with long blonde hair stepped out through the same doorway; she wore jeans and a T-shirt bearing the logo 'Daddy's Princess'. "Hi!" she greeted him cheerfully. "I'm Vicky. You're Taylor's dad?"

"Yes," he replied grimly. "Where is my daughter, and what was that thing?"

"Uh, yeah, funny thing about that." Her cheerful grin was still steadfastly on her face, but she was having to work at it. "They're kind of … one and the same?"

"What?" Her statement made absolutely no sense whatsoever.

"Okay, long story short? Taylor can kind of turn into a dragon. But she has trouble changing, and she has trouble changing back. Right now, she's a dragon. I've been trying to get her to relax so she can change back, and it's not working."

From within the room, there came another burst of the weird dino-screeching. Vicky – he had to presume that this was Victoria Dallon, aka Glory Girl – turned her attention to the doorway. "Okay, yeah, I got it. It was my fault. How was I to know that you couldn't change back as easily?"

<><>​

I made a grumpy noise and folded my wings again. It had been rather a shock to come face to face with Dad when I was still like this; I'd been trying to change back since Vicky had hit me with her fear-aura, and even curling up on her bed hadn't worked.

"Wait," Dad's voice came from the corridor. "That was … Taylor?"

"Yeah," Vicky told him enthusiastically. "You should see her flying. She's awesome."

"She can fly?"

"Well, duh, she's got wings." She reached out of my view. "Come see."

Dad came into view, stumbling to a halt, then stared at me. I stood up to my full height and unfurled my wings, spreading them out as far as I could in the confines of Vicky's room. Then, after I folded them again, I leaned my head toward him, my tail stretching out as a counterbalance, and made an inquiring noise.

He blinked rapidly behind his glasses, and his mouth opened and closed several times.

"Taylor?"

I nodded.

He looked at Vicky. "Did it … did she … just nod?"

"Yeah," Vicky assured him. "She's still in there, Mr H. She can understand English."

"Ah." He looked back at me. "You're a … how did you become a dragon?"

I gave him one of my patented shrugs and made a noise of exasperation.

"She can't speak?"

Vicky refrained from rolling her eyes. "Sure she can speak. She just can't speak English."

"Oh. Yeah." A thought apparently struck him. "But how do you even know who she is? It's not like she can introduce herself."

"We were down at the Boardwalk. She wrote in the sand. With her wingtip."

When he looked at me, I unlimbered my right wing and pretended to write on the carpet with my index finger/wingtip.

"Oh," he observed. "I see. That's pretty smart."

"Oh," Vicky repeated, her eyes going wide. "Oh!" She jumped to her feet. "Wait one! Got a great idea! I'm a freaking genius!"

"What?" asked Dad, but she had already darted out the door. He looked back at me; I shrugged. I have no idea.

We stared at one another for a long moment. "So," he commented. "You're Taylor."

I nodded, letting out a chirp of agreement.

"And you're a dragon."

Another nod, another chirp.

"And you have no idea how you got that way."

I paused, then shook my head.

"Wait," he stated. "Is that 'no, I have no idea', or 'no, you are wrong, I have an idea'?"

I had no idea how to answer that, so I made a questioning noise.

"Okay," he realised, lightly slapping himself on the forehead. "Left hand for 'I don't have any idea', right hand for 'I have some idea'."

I hesitated, then held up my right wingtip. Then, to make it clear, I reached across and tapped his right hand with what had once been my index finger.

"So you have an idea," he decided. I nodded, and chirped agreeably.

"But you can't tell me, because we have no language in common. I speak English, and you apparently speak only Dragon, or whatever that sound is."

Once again, I chirped in agreement, slumping, my whole body drooping. I can't even talk to Dad. The thought was amazingly depressing. I'd give all this up, just so I could talk to him.

"Hey," he murmured, apparently reading my posture much more readily than he could decipher my utterances. "It's gonna be all right. We'll work this out. You're still my daughter." Pulling the comforter off of Vicky's bed, he wrapped it around me, wings and all.

It was warm, but that wasn't the best part of it. The best part was when he hugged me, his arms around the comforter, holding me close, his embrace making me feel safe and loved. I wished my wings were up to hugging him back, but then again, right at that moment I didn't care. Laying my head on his shoulder, I closed my eyes. Laying his head on my head, he apparently did the same.

"Hah! Found it! Knew it was around here some – oh, come on! Seriously?"

Dad and I looked up as Vicky re-entered the room, bearing a printed sheet of plastic, her expression altering dramatically from triumph to exasperation.

"What?" he asked. And I echoed him.

I was human again.

<><>​

"Okay, what am I looking at?" James Doherty held up the readout and peered at it.

"The chemical makeup of those samples you sent me."

Doherty looked at the lab tech in some surprise. "This fast?"

"Hey," she replied with a shrug. "A bomb going off in a school gets fast-tracked. Who knew?"

"Okay, so what do we have here?"

"Some really interesting results, I have to say." The tech pointed at the readout with a pen. "Check it out. You've got some pretty exotic compounds here. Some of them, I've never seen outside of a lab."

Doherty frowned. "So, not the result of an explosion?"

"Oh yeah, definitely the result of an explosion," she contradicted him. "But it's the type of explosive that's really weird. Not nitrate based."

"Okay, that is weird," admitted Doherty. He could think of ways to cause an explosion without using nitrates, but most of them involved an admixture of oxygen and one flammable gas or another. Not really something that could cause the localised detonation that had taken the locker door off. Though there was plenty of flame involved …

He looked again at the readout. "So, the types of explosives we're talking about here … would your average high school student be able to get the ingredients for them?"

"A Tinker might," she mused. "One who was based around chemistry or explosive making. Like I said, that stuff's pretty damn exotic. Also, expensive."

"So that's a no for a student, then?"

"That's a no," she agreed. "Unless the student was a Tinker, like I said."

"Or, you know, could exude explosive compounds from their body at will," he pointed out. "All of those compounds you've got, they're organic, right?"

"Organic, yes," she confirmed. "Some of them would be pretty damn caustic in their original form, though."

"I don't think that actually bothers parahumans," he pointed out.

"You think that's how it happened?" she asked.

"That or the Tinker idea. Anything else is a little far-fetched, yeah?"

Reluctantly, she nodded. "Great. So it's not a baseline crime after all. It's a parahuman thing."

"Afraid so." He shrugged. "Sorry."

"And after all that work I did."

"Buy you coffee to make it up to you?"

"Have to be some damn good coffee."

He grinned. "I know a place."

<><>​

Vicky held the comforter around me while Dad discreetly retired from the room; opening the bag that he had brought over, I started getting dressed. Again.

"Seriously, do not use that fear aura on me again," I told her as I stepped into my second favourite pair of jeans (my favourite jeans had perished in the locker, alas). "Or I'll set fire to all your good outfits."

She wrinkled her brow. "Set fire?" Then her eyes widened. "Holy crap, you can breathe fire too?"

"Well, duh," I agreed. "Dragon, remember?" I wrinkled my nose at her. "I was just about to tell you, before, when you made me change back."

"Tell me what?" Her eyes were alive with interest. "You actually breathed fire?"

"Wait one." I pulled my t-shirt over my head. It was black, a little faded, a bit worn down on one side, but I liked it. "Yeah, how do you think I got out of the locker?"

"Well, I had thought you went 'rawr, dragon smash' on it and just busted out," she confessed. "But that's not what happened, I'm guessing?"

"I tried to go 'rawr, dragon smash', but it appears that school lockers are tough enough that they don't have to worry about that sort of thing," I admitted. "So I fireballed the fuck out of it."

Vicky blinked. " … you what?"

"Hit it with an exploding fireball," I told her. "Before you ask, I don't know how I knew to do that. But I did. And it kind of blew the door clean off. Left me a bit dizzy too. But I still had all that shit on me from the locker, so I went outside and took off, heading for the ocean."

"Which is where I came in," Vicky agreed. "Well. Wow. Holy shit. That beats the living crap out of my trigger event story." She brightened up. "Can I see?"

"See what?" I caught on a second later. "No. Hell no. Don't make me change while I'm wearing clothes. Not while my Dad's here. No. Just no."

She pouted. "Spoilsport. Okay, fine. You're all dressed now. Let's go downstairs. I'm pretty sure your dad will want to know everything you've been up to."

"Yeah," I sighed. "That's what I'm afraid of."

<><>​

"Control to Armsmaster. Come in, Armsmaster."

"Armsmaster here." Colin banked his bike around the corner, heading for the Boardwalk. "What's up?"

"Got something for you to check on," the PRT staffer on the floating base told him. "Explosion at Winslow High earlier today. Forensic techs have determined that it wasn't a standard IED."

"So we're looking at a Tinker then?" He pulled the bike to a halt and parked it. Stepping off, he trod over the boards of the Boardwalk, then looked down toward the sand. At this time of year, the only thing inhabiting the beach were hordes of seagulls and other aquatic birds.

"That's a possibility. Or a parahuman who can create exotic explosives from nothing."

"Great. One more thing we have to worry about. Do we even have any explosives Tinkers on the books?"

"Not that I know of – Tinkers specialising in explosives, that is. Any number of Tinkers who use explosives in their gadgets. Stinger, for instance."

"Get someone to check for me. It might be important. Also, did the cameras happen to pick up a thing like a big red bat or bird flying over the Boardwalk at any time today? I'm tracking down some sightings. People said it was coming this way."

"Just one second." A pause. "While we're waiting, want me to squirt you the details on the Winslow bombing?"

"Go ahead."

As the files came in, he flicked them to storage, pulling crime scene photos aside to study at his leisure. A skim of them showed a metal locker opened like a flower, the ones on either side destroyed. Extensive fire damage; the locker door embedded in the far wall.

"Okay, I've got an answer. Yes, they did pick something up. Something red, with wings, flew in over the rooftops and dived into the ocean. And here's the interesting part. Glory Girl was hot on its tail."

"Odd that she didn't at least call in the sighting."

"She went into the water too. It would have destroyed her phone. But then they both came out of the water, landed on the sand for a bit, then flew inland again."

"Where did they land? Relative to my position?"

"One second. Uh … hundred fifty yards south of your position."

"Hundred fifty yards, got it." He got back on to the bike and motored a hundred and fifty yards, as noted. Climbing off the bike once more, he descended the steps. It only took him a few minutes of searching before he found what he was looking for. The sand was firm and solid, and there were fresh footprints clearly visible in it. Also visible were what looked like the marks of claws, digging into the sand.

His helmet cam took clear pictures of the claw marks, but then he saw the other things. Lines, drawn in the sand. Lines forming letters. Letters forming words. The everpresent sea birds had trodden over some of them, obscuring them, but he managed to make out the words 'my' and 'please'. Other words could be inferred, but not known for sure.

He took more photos of the lines, both trodden on and clear, and then trudged back to the stairs up to the Boardwalk. "Control, give the Dallon house a call. See if Glory Girl went there. And if she's still there. I want to talk to her."

"Roger that. I'll get right on it."

"Let me know when you've got something."

"Will do. Will you be taking on the Winslow bombing?"

"What's the name of the primary suspect?"

"The locker was used by one Taylor Hebert. She hasn't yet been located. Her home address is in the file I sent you. So is her picture."

"I'll check her home first," Colin decided. "Fugitives – especially children and teenagers – tend to run to familiar places. Home, for a start." He kicked the bike into life.

"Understood."

<><>​

"They shut you in your locker?" Dad was aghast.

I nodded without speaking; Mrs Pelham had given me a cup of black tea, and I sipped it gratefully. On the coffee table, a plate of cookies was gradually dwindling under a determined assault by myself and Vicky.

"So who did this?" he demanded. "I'll get them suspended. Expelled. God, I'll have them arrested."

"Dad, no, just wait a second," I told him. "If it comes out that I was in the locker, I'll be outed as some kind of parahuman. And … this is Winslow. They don't care. I tried and tried to get someone to listen, and they just … don't. Or they've been told not to. I'm not sure which."

"Wait, what now?" Dad was staring at me. "You mean, this isn't the first time this has happened?"

I shook my head. "No. Dad, it's been going on since I started there."

"But why didn't you tell me?"

The shock on his face was killing me. "You had problems of your own, Dad. Mom had only been dead a year. You were still hurting from that. I was still hurting from that. I didn't want to add to your problems, not right then."

Removing his glasses, Dad scrubbed at his face with his hands. "Okay, I can kind of see that," he admitted. "But why didn't you get help? Tell a teacher?"

"I tried. But if you show up as a snitch, they ostracise you, so I stopped snitching. Not that it did any good. So I waited for the teachers to notice that it was happening. They never did. Either the ones that were doing it were always careful not to be seen, or the teachers didn't want to see it."

"Oh god," he muttered. "You've gone through all this, and no-one's been helping you? Why didn't you ask Emma for help, to back you up?"

I took a deep breath. "Dad. She's behind it."

And then it all came out; the harsh words, the subtle taunting, the physical stuff, the pranks. Dad listened, open-mouthed, to my litany of woes. Mrs Pelham and Vicky also listened; one with steadily tightening lips, the other with blazing eyes.

<><>​

The Hebert house was a little shabby, a little run-down. But it was in a shabby, run-down section of town. No car was in the driveway; Colin was willing to bet that nobody was at home. Of course, if Taylor had gotten back here, she could be hiding in her room, in the basement, wherever, and nobody would be the wiser, until her father got home.

"Any luck with contacting her father?"

"Not yet. We've tried the home phone, but nobody's answered so far. The person who we got on his work phone says that he was called away on a family emergency. No other details."

"Does his wife work?"

"He's a widower. Wife died about two and a half years ago."

"No other children?"

"None of record."

"So a 'family emergency' would almost have to be his kid. Now, where would he have gone?"

"There is the possibility that after the Winslow incident, they just left town."

Colin shook his head, although the PRT operator would not be able to see it. "I don't buy that. If that was the case, they'd still be here, packing. I'm guessing that she went to ground, and then called her father. Probably he's trying to convince her to face up to what she's done."

"So what are you going to do now?"

"Wait till one of them shows their faces. In the meantime, I'm going to follow up on these sightings of this big red bird. Any response from the Dallon household?"

"Yes, actually. We got Flashbang. He confirmed that Glory Girl was indeed home, but that she was talking, upstairs, with a friend."

"Good. I'm on my way there now."

"Understood."

<><>​

"Dad, no." For the fourth time, I tried to dissuade him. "Winslow doesn't care. If they care at all, it's about the fact that Mr Barnes is a lawyer. Emma and her friends get away with everything short of murder, there. If we go up against them, the school will take their side. They have every other time."

Dad shook his head. "I don't buy that. I can't believe that."

I tried again. "Look. They didn't start on me immediately. They took the time to get themselves established as the 'good' girls, the popular girls in our year. Emma makes friends really easily, and she made friends. A lot of friends."

I paused for a sip at my tea. "I'm just as happy being on my own as being with people, and Emma was keeping me at arms' length, so I pretended it didn't matter, and spent my time reading in the library or something. But then they started bullying me, but they always had excuses if I retaliated. Always the witnesses, always the agreed-on stories. I was the loner, I was the troublemaker. I was the one who got detention, told to behave myself."

Vicky moved to sit next to me, and gripped my hand. "That sucks."

I spared a smile for her. "Thanks." Another sip at my tea. "Pretty soon, they were golden. If I said anything, I was already discredited. They had it all sorted out. Kids are pretty insecure; if there's something they can join in on for little risk, they will. That was the sport of bullying me."

"And none of the teachers are willing to help, to believe you?" Mrs Pelham sounded like she couldn't believe it.

"Well, there's my home room teacher, Mrs Knott," I told her. "She's listened a few times, but each time she's taken anything to the principal, she's been really quiet the next few days, and nothing's ever been done. So now she's nice to me in class, but that's about it."

"Dad," Vicky spoke up. "Can I transfer to Winslow? At least on a temporary basis?"

Mr Dallon looked up, somewhat startled. "Uh, why? From what Taylor's saying, Winslow's a really, uh, -"

"Crappy place, yeah," she agreed. "That's why I want to go. I'll get myself put into all of Taylor's classes, and see if those bullies want to try bullying her with me around. Fuck 'em."

"Language!" chided Mrs Pelham, but there was a glint in her eye. "In my experience, bullies tend to fold, once there's someone stronger there. In the meantime, Carol can approach the school with the threat of legal action unless Taylor is transferred out. After all, if the bullying is bad enough to trigger for super-powers … " She paused, dwelling for a moment on something that only existed in her mind's eye. " … then I would not want anyone to suffer it a moment longer than absolutely necessary."

"But … why would you all do stuff like that for me?" I protested. "You barely know me. Vicky, you only met me today. This morning."

Vicky let go my hand, but only so she could put her arm around my neck and give me a quick noogie. "Because you're awesome and you can turn into a dragon," she pointed out, once she had let me go. "And you can breathe fire, and I so want to see that."

That got people looking at me from all around. A collective 'What?' followed that up, even from Mr Dallon.

"Uh, yeah, it's kind of how I got out of the locker," I pointed out. "I kind of blew the door off with an explosive fireball. That I breathed at it."

"Which the police have been questioning me about, kiddo," Dad replied dryly. "I had to tell them about a dozen different ways that neither of us knows a damn thing about explosives."

"Which does raise the next question," Mrs Pelham posited. "Taylor, you have powers. These powers are not entirely under your control. What do you intend to do with them?"

Just as I opened my mouth to reply, there came a knocking at the door.

Dad looked at Mrs Pelham. "Were you expecting visitors?"

"Uh, no." She frowned. "Let me go see."

Getting up, she went to the door. There was a tiny screen inset into it, which she tapped. An image came up, and she blinked. "Okay, what's Armsmaster doing here?"

"Armsmaster?" echoed Vicky. "Taylor, you didn't buzz the PRT building or something when I wasn't looking, did you?"

"Uh, no," I told her. But I was pretty sure that whatever he was here for, I was involved. So I got up as well, and wandered over, standing off to one side from the door.

Mrs Pelham opened the door. "Armsmaster," she greeted the armoured hero. "What brings you out our way?"

"I'm here to speak to your niece," he replied bluntly. "Or rather, to whoever or whatever she brought home with her."

My head came up. Wow, holy shit. How did he find out about me? My heart began to pound.

Mrs Pelham glanced sideways to me, and I nodded; she stepped aside.

"You're in luck," she announced. "Here she is."

I stepped into view of the doorway; Armsmaster indeed stood there, imposing in his silver and blue armour. In contrast, I was tall for my age, but anything other than imposing.

"Hi?" I greeted him. His head came up, and I had the distinct impression that he was staring hard at me, despite the fact that his visor was opaque.

"You're Taylor Hebert," he announced, surprise in his voice.

"I … yes, I am," I admitted.

"You blew up your locker at Winslow, damaged other lockers extensively, and set the school on fire."

"I, uh, did, I guess, yeah, but -"

His voice was grim. "In doing so, you endangered the lives of your fellow students. People could have died. I'm going to have to ask you to come in for questioning about this matter."

I heard Mrs Pelham's voice off to the side, but not what she was saying. My blood pounded in my ears. This time, I felt the change coming on. No, no, no, no -

Arms lengthened into wings, and membranes grew between my fingers and my arms. My t-shirt was gone, torn to shreds. My jeans – I was going through them at a phenomenal rate, just today – tore and split away from my growing tail, my changing legs. In just a few seconds, in my draconic form, I crouched before Armsmaster, mouth open and wings spread in an unconscious threat display. I couldn't roar, or perhaps I had not yet figured out how, but I was making a pretty loud noise anyway.

He reached behind his back, there were several rapid click-click noises, and his halberd was in his hands. It was perhaps the most versatile weapon in Brockton Bay. Everyone knew that it could cut through steel like soft butter. And he was threatening me with it.

"Stand down!" he shouted. "I will use all reasonable force -"

Flame roiled in my gullet, my head dipped low, and I spat fire. Not the explosive fireball that had opened the locker for me, but a tight, controlled burst. Blue-white at the core, blue around the edges; it illuminated the room with actinic brightness. Armsmaster ducked away, but it wasn't aimed at him. When he next looked at his halberd, the head was simply gone, with just a drooping blob of metal at the tip. Behind him, a line of globs of molten metal sizzled on the lawn.

Stepping back carefully, I brought my wings in close to my body, and closed my mouth. Your move.


End of Part Four

Part Five

 

[SwiftRosenthal]

This is roughly how I'd rewrite the scene:


Omake: The Hand That Feeds


"You're Taylor Hebert," he announced, surprise in his voice.

"I … yes, I am," I admitted.

"You blew up your locker at Winslow, damaged other lockers extensively, and set the school on fire."



"I, uh, mmMMmFFF"

Mrs. Pelham threw her hand over my mouth before I could continue, and began barking out orders. "Vicky, call your mom and tell her to come over here ASAP. Taylor, do not say another wo-"

I couldn't hear the rest. My blood pounded in my ears. This time, I felt the change coming on. No, no, no, no -

Arms lengthened into wings, and membranes grew between my fingers and my arms. My t-shirt was gone, torn to shreds. My jeans – I was going through them at a phenomenal rate, just today – tore and split away from my growing tail, my changing legs. In just a few seconds, in my draconic form, I crouched before Armsmaster, wings spread in an unconscious threat display. I tasted something like copper or pork in my mouth and quickly swallowed before opening wide. I couldn't roar, or perhaps I had not yet figured out how, but I was making a pretty loud noise anyway.

He reached behind his back, there were several rapid click-click noises, and his halberd was in his hands. It was perhaps the most versatile weapon in Brockton Bay. Everyone knew that it could cut through steel like soft butter. And he was threatening me with it.

"Stand down!" he shouted. "I will use all necessary force if -"

Flame roiled in my gullet, my head dipped low, and I spat fire. Not the explosive fireball that had opened the locker for me, but a tight, controlled burst. Blue-white at the core, blue around the edges; it illuminated the room with actinic brightness. Armsmaster ducked away, but it wasn't aimed at him. When he next looked at his halberd, the head was simply gone, with just a drooping blob of metal at the tip. Behind him, a line of globs of molten metal sizzled on the lawn.

Stepping back carefully, the sound of Mrs. Pelham's voice returned. "- the VICTIM of a TRIGGER EVENT!" She finished shouting, gesticulating wildly and spraying blood everywhere from the stump of her left wrist. Wait, what?


End of Part Four




(Yeah, Taylor accidentally bit off and swallowed Sarah's hand. Vicky will have to go pick up Amy too.)

 

[Ack]

Wyvern

Part Five: Discussions


Colin climbed off of his bike, and spent a moment re-straightening his spine. After ensuring that everything was in order, on the bike and on his armour, he trod up the path toward the Dallon house.

He wasn't quite sure where this 'big red bird' thing would lead to. Probably a Case 53, with my luck. Talk to it, find out where it stood on the 'law and order' front, find out if it had useful powers. If it was a teenager – entirely possible, considering that Glory Girl had apparently befriended it – see about inducting it into the Wards.

Such were his thoughts when he knocked on the front door.

The door opened after a few moments, to reveal Lady Photon standing there. She must be visiting.

"Armsmaster," she greeted him, cordially enough. "What brings you out our way?"

No sense in beating about the bush. "I'm here to speak to your niece. Or rather, to whoever or whatever it is that she brought home with her."

Lady Photon glanced sideways at something out of Colin's view; after a moment, she stepped aside.

"You're in luck," she announced. "Here she is."

Colin had just enough time to wonder She? before a teenage girl stepped into view. "Hi?"

She was tall, skinny, wore round-framed glasses, had long curly hair … wait a minute. His head came up as he flicked to one of the file photos he'd been sent. He hadn't had time to do more than skim the notes on the ride over, but that face looked really familiar.

And he was correct. The picture was a match, down to the T-shirt she was wearing. What the hell is she doing here?

"You're Taylor Hebert." He couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice.

"I … yes, I am." Her voice was nervous, uncertain. Time to press the advantage.

"You blew up your locker at Winslow, damaged other lockers extensively, and set the school on fire."

"I, uh, did, I guess, yeah, but -" He wasn't good at reading expressions, but that was an admission of guilt in anyone's book. The 'big red bird' could wait. She's the Winslow bomber.

Time to let her know just how much trouble she's in. It might just keep her from trying to act out on the way back to base.

"In doing so," he informed her, his voice as grim as he could make it, "you endangered the lives of your fellow students. People could have died. I'm going to have to ask you to come in for questioning about this matter."

"Uh, Armsmaster," began Lady Photon, "I really don't think -"

He began to turn his head to look at her, but then his attention snapped back to the Hebert girl. She was … hunching over? In pain? He frowned, trying to figure out what was happening. Was she having a fit or seizure of some sort?

In the next second or so, his questions were answered, very dramatically indeed. He had seen animations of creatures evolving from lizard-like forms to mammalian forms; this was more or less the reverse, only it was happening right there in front of him.

Her face elongated and became a muzzle; her arms lifted out from her sides, the bones stretching impossibly, the hands enlarging, the fingers becoming long and spindly. Membranes erupted from her skin, filling in the space between her fingers, between her arms and her body. In the process, her t-shirt was shredded, cast off from her body, which was now covered in red-gold scales.

Christ. She's the 'big red bird'. Only, she's no bird. Not a Case 53 either. She's a Changer. Some kind of … dinosaur?

Her jeans were likewise split and torn as her legs reshaped to become digitigrade, her feet growing wicked claws – he had seen the marks those claws made in the sand – and a long tail came out from behind. She was no longer human; those arms-become-wings, with their magnificently-coloured red-gold membranes, were stretched out to each side, held up to show the most amount of surface area. A crest arose on her head, displaying the same red-gold membrane, making her look taller, more fearsome. It was a threat display, simple but extremely effective.

As she crouched before him, her mouth opened farther than it should have been able to. In the process, it managed to show off a startlingly pink tongue, as well as an inordinate amount of extremely sharp dentition. With those jaws and those teeth, he decided absently, she was quite possibly able to take off a man's hand and wrist, all at the same time. The creature that had been Taylor Hebert – is she even in there any more? -let out a long screech of pure menace.

Colin Wallis was not one to put much stock in the concept of genetic memory, but this sight, this sound, bypassed his higher logic centres, ran down to his hindbrain, and started setting off all kinds of alarms there. Danger, his every instinct screamed. Danger danger danger.

Even as his brain manufactured excuses – if she's still sentient, then she's deliberately menacing me. If she's not, then she may well see me as a threat and attack without provocation – he reached back and retrieved his halberd. It unfolded and opened out to its full size; however, he deliberately did not direct the spear-pointed head toward the creature before him. Instead, in his own form of a threat display, he held it up so that the head was silhouetted against the light coming in from outside. I have a weapon. Here it is. Attack me at your peril.

"Stand down!" He put all the force he could muster into that command. "I will use all necessary force -"

Her head dipped low, her mouth opened a fraction wider, and something erupted from her throat, something that tore past his head, far too close for comfort. He was aware of actinic brightness, as of looking directly into a welding arc, even as his visor adjusted for the glare and he ducked away. Then he felt the radiant heat; his HUD showed hot spots in his left arm and shoulder, and the left side of his chin felt a little singed.

The blast – what was that? Did she just breathe plasma at me? - had missed him, thank Christ. His left eye had been somewhat dazzled, but the orange spots were starting to fade. He had the extremely uncomfortable feeling that had she hit him in the head with whatever that was, he would now be missing his head. Was that a warning shot? Or is her aim that bad?

And then the alarms in his helmet display caught up with him, and he turned to look at his halberd. Or rather, what was left of his halberd. The head was … gone. Melted, disintegrated, whatever. All that was left was a blob of cooling metal. Holy Christ. His head snapped back around to the … the dragon. There was no other name for it.

But she was no longer threatening him; she had backed up, folded her wings, and closed her mouth. Her eyes – disconcertingly intelligent eyes, now that they were no longer blazing with fury, or fear, or whatever it had been – watched him unwaveringly.

Before he could decide what to do next – call for backup, call on Lady Photon for assistance, pull out a secondary weapon – the decision was taken from his hands. A shimmering field popped into existence between him and the red-gold scaled creature.

<><>​

"Okay, everyone take a breath!" snapped Mrs Pelham as she stepped up. "Armsmaster, that means you, too!"

Still holding the headless halberd, the armoured hero opened his mouth. The beard on the left side of his jaw seemed to be a little patchy, the skin there reddened. "I – but -"

"But nothing," Mrs Pelham told him, even as Vicky darted to my side. "Taylor did nothing wrong. She's just had her trigger event, today. Inside the locker that she blew up. Take a moment. Connect the dots."

"Holy crap, that was awesome!" Vicky enthused, as she hugged me, wings and all. "I can't believe that you just wrecked his halberd!"

"I can't believe it either," Mrs Pelham commented dryly, over her shoulder, even as she kept the force field up. "Taylor, I think you owe Armsmaster an apology, for melting his halberd."

I didn't think so – I had felt very threatened at the time – but as she was my host, I nodded. Raising to my full height – not so much shorter than Armsmaster – I dipped my head, and gave him my best attempt at an apologetic chirp. Vicky whispered in my ear – something about 'penis substitute' – and I found out that, yes, dragons can snicker. But they can't giggle. Which sucks.

Mrs Pelham cast a sharp glance at us; we subsided. "And Armsmaster," she continued in what I could not help but think of as her 'Photon Mom' mode, "Taylor deserves an apology for you just accusing her without actually asking her why she did it, or even how."

Armsmaster cleared his throat. "I, uh, may have acted precipitately," he muttered grudgingly. "Perhaps I should have asked more questions before jumping to conclusions."

It was about the most backhanded apology that I had ever gotten, but I nodded magnanimously and gave him a chirp of agreement.

"So we're not going to fight any more?" asked Lady Photon meaningfully. "Because I will put the both of you in time-out corners if I have to." Oh yeah, definitely Photon Mom.

I ducked my head in submission. No trouble from me.

"I … there are definitely aspects to this case that I could stand to learn more about," Armsmaster conceded. "If I may come in, I would like to discuss it with you, uh, Taylor."

Mrs Pelham glanced at me; I nodded. The barrier vanished.

<><>​

Armsmaster looked at each of us in turn. "All right, let's take this from the top. I will be recording."

He and I were the only two not seated; him because the weight of his armour threatened the integrity of any ordinary chair in which he sat, and me because I had found that my tail got in the way of sitting normally. Thus, I crouched on my haunches with my tail as a prop, and found it comfortable. Not entirely by coincidence, I had situated myself between the armchairs in which Dad and Vicky sat; Mrs Pelham sat on the sofa with her brother-in-law, and Armsmaster stood off to the side where he could see us all. Most particularly me.

That was fine with me; I was watching him just as intently.

When nobody objected, he continued. "Taylor, I am told that you were in the locker that was blown up, and that you triggered there. Is that true?"

I chirped agreement, and nodded my head vigorously.

"Hm." Armsmaster seemed to be studying me. "You can't talk in this form, can you?"

I shook my head firmly, while chirping a negation. No, duh.

"Perhaps we should hold up while you go and change back?" He paused. "Why haven't you changed back, anyway?"

I looked toward Mrs Pelham; she took a breath. "Because it seems that Taylor's Changer ability has a strong emotional trigger. She tends to transform, involuntarily, when placed under high stress." A pause, to let the words sink in. Yes, you're to blame. "The change back doesn't tend to happen unless she's calm, unworried, relaxed, and feeling totally comfortable. That is, no stress. Which I don't see happening any time soon."

"Hm. This could be a problem." For a moment there, I thought he was referring to my difficulties in changing from one form to the other, but then he kept talking. "We can determine 'yes' and 'no', but anything more complex ... "

"Victoria told me that she's perfectly capable of writing," Mrs Pelham pointed out.

"Not with a pen, surely," he commented, looking at my wings; even furled as they were, it was immediately obvious that I would never hold any normal writing implement with them.

"Well, no," Vicky conceded. "With her wingtip, in the sand. Down at the Boardwalk."

"Ah, yes, I saw that," he noted. "Well, we're kind of lacking anything to write in at the moment -"

"Hah!" Vicky exclaimed, making me jump. "And I'm still a genius!"

"Victoria?" inquired her aunt.

"Back in a second," Vicky told her, bouncing out of her chair. "You'll see!"

With that, she darted upstairs, leaving us mystified in her wake. Mrs Pelham looked at Dad, who shrugged. "I have no idea," he admitted.

Moments later, Vicky reappeared, leaping from the top step to the bottom in a single jump. Mrs Pelham cleared her throat sternly. "You shouldn't be flying in the house," she admonished her niece.

Vicky gave her aunt a cheeky grin. "I wasn't really flying. Just, you know, falling kinda slow. Anyway, check it out and tell me I'm not a genius."

With a flourish, she spread out in front of me the sheet of plastic that she had retrieved from her bedroom. If I wasn't much mistaken, it was the same one that she had gone to get, just before Dad helped me change back the last time. I wondered if he could do it again. Or if I could change back under a nice soothing shower …

"Okay, yes, I see where you're going with this."

At Mrs Pelham's comment, I brought my attention back to the present. The plastic sheet was obviously intended to be used for educating younger children; it held a complete alphabet, with upper and lower case letters, as well as the numbers from zero to nine. There was also a colour wheel, and a simple multiplication table. But it was the alphabet that got my attention.

With a triumphant chirp, I reached out and tapped letters in sequence: Y-E-S-Y-O-U-A-R-E-A-G-E-N-I-U-S.

Vicky grinned at me. "Told you." She waved a notepad and pen. "I'll even keep note of what you've already said, here."

G-O-O-D, I tapped out, then I looked at Armsmaster. A-S-K-A-W-A-Y. Vicky scribbled the letters as I tapped them, mumbling to herself.

"Very well," he replied. "I've been reviewing the photos of the remains of the locker, and I found scratches on the lower part of the door. Was that you?"

I nodded, and chirped an affirmative.

"Understood." He paused. "Do you know who put you in there?" I took a deep breath, and reached out to the plastic sheet. 3-B-I-T-C-H-E-S.

"Can you tell me their names?"

I nodded again. E-M-M-A, pause, B-A-R-N-E-S.

"Wait, I've seen that name," he interrupted. There was a long pause, during which he seemed to zone out. "Ah, right," he noted at last. "Mr Hebert, you told the police that Ms Barnes was your daughter's best friend."

"I thought she was," Dad told him helplessly. "I only just found out today that she's actually spearheading the bullying campaign on my daughter. Her father's been one of my good friends since forever."

"Hm," Armsmaster commented. "Well then. Taylor, do you have other names?"

I nodded. M-A-D-I-S-O-N. Tap-tap on the edge of the plastic. C-L-E-M-E-N-T-S. Tap on the number 3. S-O-P-H-I-A. Tap-tap. H-E-S-S.

"Wait, that last name," Armsmaster interrupted. "Are you sure of that one?"

I nodded emphatically. B-L-A-C-K G-I-R-L T-R-A-C-K S-T-A-R R-E-A-L B-I-T-C-H.

Armsmaster nodded. "All right. Understood. You're sure that they are the ones who put you in there?"

I-V-E B-E-E-N B-U-L-L-I-E-D F-O-R A Y-E-A-R I-T-S T-H-E-M.

"I see," he murmured. "Okay, then. As for your getting out of the locker … "

Bit by bit, he led me through the incident, up until I met Vicky. She was able to fill him in from there, cheerfully describing how she had failed to pull out in time, and ploughed into the ocean.

"Can you do something about this?" Dad asked him, after we had gotten the narrative up to the point that Vicky and her aunt got me back to the house. "I mean, what those girls did, it's got to be a criminal act."

"I'm not the police, Mr Hebert," he told my father. "I can subdue and restrain normal criminals, but I have to hand them over to the normal police. I can't arrest them, and I can't perform normal criminal investigations. The PRT and Protectorate have enough to do with parahuman criminal activity as it is."

"So what can you do?" Dad asked plaintively. "I'd go there myself, but apparently the teachers there have refined apathy to a fine art."

"I personally can't do much," Armsmaster replied. "The information can be passed on to the school principal. However, I can't actually guarantee that any action will be taken, now or later."

"Emma's father is a lawyer," Dad pointed out. "He might be the reason that they're letting her get away with so much."

"That could be the case," agreed Armsmaster. "Taylor, if you want to take a break now, I need to check in."

I nodded, and chirped in agreement. As Armsmaster headed outside, I turned to Vicky and indicated the sheet; she readied her notebook. H-O-T-S-H-O-W-E-R-T-O-R-E-L-A-X, I tapped out, forgetting to add in spaces. However, she was on the ball, and nodded thoughtfully.

"We can definitely try it," she agreed. "I'll get you some more clothes." A pause, and she grinned at me. "Try not to wreck these ones too, huh?"

I made the rudest noise that I could manage.

<><>​

"So, are you still a dragon?"

I tried to ignore her, allowing the hot water to cascade over my scaled body. It felt good; not as good as it did when I was human, for instance, but still good. However, the temperature seemed to be a little on the low side; with the aid of my wrist, I managed to move the lever in the direction that I wanted it to go. The water pounded on my upturned muzzle; I let my jaws sag open so that the steaming torrent could trickle hot and delicious down my throat.

It was working, I could tell; the tensions were easing out of my body. Turning around, I let it cascade over my back; opening my wings a little, I could feel it drumming on the membranes between my body and my elbows. Standing forward, I moved my tail back and forth through the flow -

- and abruptly, it was as though boiling oil was being poured over me. I yelped and ducked away from the scalding flow, feeling for the lever and slamming it all the way closed. The flow reluctantly petered out, leaving a stinging sensation across my backside.

"Ah-ha!" Vicky's triumphant voice sounded from beyond the steamed-over shower cubicle. "I hear the sound of one Taylor yelping."

"Ow. Shut up. Ow." I pulled open the cubicle door. "It worked, but apparently dragon me likes her showers in medium boiling."

"Ouch," she replied sympathetically as she handed me a towel. "Where'd you get burned?"

I turned around as I started drying my head and shoulders, to let her inspect the injured area. "Right on the butt. The universe hates me."

"Wow, that's red. That's not gonna be fun, sitting down."

"Oh, shut up." I flicked her with the towel.

"But at least you're human again."

"Yeah," I agreed gloomily. "I wonder how long I'll last this time?"

"What I'm curious about," she added mischievously, "is what your body considers its natural form. When you go to bed, are you gonna wake up as a dragon or a human?"

"And here I was thinking the day was looking up."

"Yeah, that's gonna happen."

"Shush, you."

<><>​

"Director Piggot speaking."

"Armsmaster here, Director."

"Armsmaster. I was just wondering where you had gotten to. Have you made any headway on either of your cases?"

"Actually, I've more or less solved both of them." His voice held a perhaps excusable level of pride.

"I'm impressed. How did you manage that?"

"Because they both involved the same person. A new Trigger, with a Changer ability. She was locked in her locker at Winslow, and Changed into … well, into a dragon. Human sized. According to her, she blew the locker door off with an explosive fireball. Then she escaped the school, where she encountered Glory Girl, who invited her home."

"I … see. What's your assessment of this parahuman. A girl, you said?"

"Yes. Taylor Hebert. She's the owner of the locker. She seems to be a reasonably balanced individual, but her Changer ability isn't necessarily under her control. And her other form possesses a great deal of destructive potential."

"These explosive fireballs you mentioned?"

"Plus a plasma jet that melted the head of my halberd and gave me a sunburn on the left side of my jaw."

Piggot paused for a long moment. "You … fought … her?"

"It wasn't a fight, so much as things got a little out of hand, before Lady Photon stepped in. Nobody was hurt, and there was no property damage. Apart from my halberd."

"I see. Well, what's the situation there now?"

"We're talking. I'm getting information. She can't talk, not in her Changed form, but we've found a workaround. But there is something that you do need to know."

The Director sighed. There was always something new. "Yes?"

"She has positively identified Sophia Hess and Emma Barnes as two of the individuals who forced her into the locker. Gave enough of a description of Hess that she can't be mistaken. Says that Hess has been bullying her for a year."

"Sophia Hess," repeated Piggot. "Shadow Stalker."

"Yes. I thought you should know."

"And she caused this girl to trigger."

"Yes."

"Christ. Right, leave it with me. One more thing."

"Yes, ma'am?"

"What's your assessment of this girl's chances of assimilating with the Wards?"

There was a pause, then he replied. "With a few minor problems ironed out, she could be a definite asset."

"One of those problems being her erratic Changer ability?"

"Yes, ma'am. The other is that, immediately after she Changes to, uh, dragon form, she seems to act instinctively at first. I – she was under stress when we came face to face, and she Changed, and went directly into a threat display that nearly precipitated a fight."

"And she attacked you with this plasma jet?"

"Not … as such. I had my halberd out, to demonstrate that I was willing to meet force with force, and she targeted it, and destroyed the head, utterly."

"Do you think she was aiming for it?"

"I think it a strong possibility. Absolutely nothing else was hit. Including me. And I was holding it."

"Can you replace it?"

"I have several spares. I'll just have to bring one of them up to scratch."

"Good. In the meantime, keep me updated on this dragon girl. And work on a proper cape name for her. 'Dragon' is already taken, of course."

"Well, it's not like there are many other dragon-themed capes around. I think she'll be spoiled for choice."

"True. And if you think she's even vaguely suited for the Wards, try to get her in. We need the manpower. And we don't need more teenage independents roaming the streets. Especially ones who can melt steel by breathing on it."

"Understood, ma'am. I'll keep you posted."

Piggot hung up, and ran her hands over her face.

God almighty. Dragons in Brockton Bay. What next?

<><>​

Armsmaster was back inside by the time that Vicky and I descended the stairs once more. I was once more wearing the spare glasses Dad had brought over. The soothing cream on my butt seemed to be doing its job, but Vicky seemed to be unable to look at me without giggling. I knew what the joke was – as a dragon, I had melted Armsmaster's halberd. As a human, I had burned my own butt in the shower – but I really didn't think it was all that funny.

"You're human again," he observed, as I came into view.

Thank you, Captain Obvious. "Uh, yeah. I had an idea about having a hot shower, and it worked."

Dad rose to come hug me; I returned the favour as Armsmaster kept talking. "So you've got the Changing problem fixed?"

"Not necessarily a perfect fix," I allowed. "Call it a work in progress. And we've still got the problem that I go through more outfits than, well, a Brute with anger problems."

"Hulk smash," Dad muttered as he went to sit down again; I didn't get the reference.

"Well, in any case," the armoured hero continued as Vicky gestured me into her chair, and perched on the arm, "we need to talk about your powers."

"What about them?" I asked. "If I can stay out of high-stress situations, they don't activate. Unfortunately, one day at Winslow is all the Bitches need to set up something that will drive my blood pressure through the roof. And if I ignore them or don't react, they come back with something even worse, to force me to react."

"That's a problem that can be addressed," Armsmaster noted. "But right now, I'm pegging your Changed form as Mover, Blaster and Brute. Exact numbers to be assigned later, with testing, if you're up to it."

"Wait, wait," Vicky protested. "Mover, sure. Blaster, definitely. But Brute? She couldn't even rip her way out of that locker."

"You forget, I have all the files on that locker, right here," he informed her, tapping his helmet. "She didn't burn the locker door off; she blew it off. With a fireball that exploded inside the locker, within inches of her own body, spraying fire in all directions, hot enough to damage the floor and set fire to the ceiling and the wall behind. She withstood the concussive blast within the locker, and the attendant fire, without suffering appreciable harm."

I raised a tentative hand. He nodded in my direction. "Uh, when I was having the shower," I ventured. "As a dragon, I felt that the water just wasn't warm enough. I took it all the way up to as hot as it would go without feeling any particular discomfort." I carefully didn't explain what had happened when I had gone back to being human, under that scalding spray.

"Well, it makes sense that you would be resistant to heat," he agreed. "It remains to be seen, however, whether you are resistant to any explosive effect, or just ones that you generate."

"Or maybe she just gets better," Lady Photon observed. "Taylor, when I first saw you chasing Victoria, I shot you with a laser bolt. I haven't seen any sign of injury on you."

I frowned. "That stung for a little bit, then stopped. I kind of forgot about it. A lot's happened since."

"Well, in that case, some level of regeneration seems to be indicated." Armsmaster nodded. "So, Changer with Brute, Mover and Blaster capabilities. So far, you've made use of two different types of breath weapon. Do you have any more?"

"I have no idea." I shrugged. "I didn't know I could do either one till I needed to. I guess I could work at figuring what else I can do with breathing fire, and see if I could make it work."

"Make sure you have a good solid backstop," he advised me. "Actually, we have excellent facilities for just this sort of thing in the PRT building. It's designed for people flinging high-end attacks around."

I tilted my head. "Maybe. We'll see how it goes. Right now, my bigger problem is my unmatched capability for destroying clothes every time I Change. At this rate, I'll be all out by tomorrow night."

"The PRT has many contacts among the parahuman community," he responded. "Say the word, and we'll find a Tinker who can do the job of creating clothes that you don't lose when you Change."

"And I'm guessing that the 'word' is agreement to join the Wards?" Mrs Pelham sat up from where she'd been leaning back. "Don't think I haven't noticed your hints."

"Yeah, nope," Vicky protested, putting her arm around my shoulders. "If she goes into a superteam, it should be with us. Because we're awesome, and so is Taylor."

"The PRT can help you get a handle on your powers, Taylor," argued Armsmaster.

I shook my head. "No, I don't think so."

Dad turned to me, looking puzzled. "What? Why? It sounds like a great deal."

"I can't explain it, Dad," I told him. "When we were on the beach below the Boardwalk, Vicky asked me if I wanted to go out to the Protectorate base, and they could investigate what's happened to me. But I don't want to be poked. I don't want to be prodded. And I've got this feeling that once I get signed in there, I can be ordered to allow them to poke and prod me."

"Is that true?" Dad asked, turning to Armsmaster.

"She's a danger to the public as she is," the armoured hero replied evasively. "All it takes is for one person to stress her enough to Change in public, and then her cover is blown. Not to mention the people who might get hurt, either through panic, or if someone in the crowd has been getting in her face, and she reacts automatically, and turns him into a charcoal briquette."

"I aimed at your halberd," I informed him bluntly. "That threat display, yeah, that was me on autopilot. But the rest of it? All me."

"That was a very valuable piece of equipment," he told me. "You're still liable for its destruction."

"You had it out, and you were threatening me with it," I retorted, as steadily as I could. "I took care of the threat in as non-harmful a way as I could manage."

"You could have just surrendered to lawful authority," he pointed out. "You would have been treated well."

"Hell with that," I shot back. "I've had it with all this bullshit. You automatically assumed that I blew up my locker deliberately. You didn't ask why. Lady Photon asked why."

<><>​

"I still think that if you go into the Wards, the PRT can handle any legal problems, in case your powers cause some level of damage in public. Also, we have access to people with professional training in dealing with problematic powers."

She shook her head. "Poking and prodding. Not a fan."

"Then where will you go?" he asked. "It's not a good place for an independent out there, right now. And you have the twin troubles that if you go out as human, you have to bank on being able to Change to dragon form at a moment's notice. If you go out as dragon, then it's really obvious as to who you are."

She paused, and he thought that perhaps she had seen reason. But then Lady Photon broke in. "That's easy. She can join New Wave."

Everyone looked at her. Even Flashbang stared at her for a moment.

"Oh, hell yes!" exclaimed Glory Girl. "We'll be the only team in town with a dragon! The others will be so damn jealous."

Lady Photon smiled gently. "That's not exactly the reason for the offer, dear," she told her niece. "But it seems to me that Taylor might need a helping hand. Plus, her powers could be extremely useful at the right time and place." She turned to the Hebert girl. "What do you say, Taylor? Want to join New Wave?"

"Uh, do I have to tell everyone who I am, and who my dad is?" the girl asked.

"Well, just show up in your dragon form, and you'll never need a mask," Glory Girl pointed out cheerfully.

"Danny isn't a cape, and revealing your name would put his at risk," Lady Photon mused. "And you're just as vulnerable when you're not in your Changed form. I think we can make an amendment to the rules for your case; you won't wear a mask, but you'll only show the public your dragon form."

"Wyvern," Flashbang commented unexpectedly.

"What?" asked the Hebert girl. "Uh, Mr Dallon."

Flashbang looked at them all. "A dragon with two legs and two wings is called a wyvern, not a dragon. It's a mythology thing." He subsided back into silence.

The Hebert girl looked at her father and shrugged. "It's as good a name as any. Wyvern it is."

"I'll have to check to make sure that it isn't already taken," Armsmaster pointed out.

"Well, if it is, I'll find something else," she decided. "And yeah, I think I'd like to join New Wave. If the others don't mind, that is."

Glory Girl laughed out loud. "Mind? Ames will be so damn jealous that I met you first."

Lady Photon smiled, and reached out to take Taylor's hand. "Welcome to New Wave," she told the girl.

Director Piggot, Armsmaster knew, would not be happy. But at least the girl was joining an actual, established team.

That had to count for something.


End of Part Five

Part Six

 

[Swordomatic]

warning This is an Automated Friendly Moderator Reminder to stop this derail. Please stop derailing the thread.

...Okay, I'm kidding. This is neither automated nor friendly. The derail on semantics ends now.

 

[Ack]

Wyvern

Part Six: Meddle Not in the Affairs of Dragons ...


Armsmaster paused in the doorway. "You're certain that you want to join New Wave." His voice held what I took to be a note of hope, that I might say no.

"Totally," I told him. "They're nice people. And they don't want to poke and prod and scan me." Unlike you, I didn't have to say.

"You've only met two of them," he protested. Dad cleared his throat, and motioned toward Flashbang on the sofa, still watching TV; he'd muted it for us, but was otherwise ignoring the discussion. "All right, three."

"And I like all of them. Which, to be absolutely honest … " I paused. "I mean, I don't dislike you, and I think you're a great hero and all, but really, I still think that you're at least partly to blame for me melting your halberd like that."

Reminded of that particular incident, he glanced at the now-cooled blob of metal that adorned what had been perhaps the single most respected weapon in the city. His tone was a good bit cooler when he replied. "Just be aware, Miss Hebert, that destruction of property is still an offence. Your powers when in, uh, wyvern form are quite dangerous. Take care that you don't abuse them."

"I beg your pardon, Armsmaster?" I heard from behind him. "Did I just hear you use an intimidating turn of phrase toward a freshly-triggered parahuman?"

He turned and looked; I saw, standing on the path, a woman with similar features to Lady Photon, dressed in a suit and holding a briefcase. It didn't take me very long to connect the dots; this would be Vicky's mother, Carol Dallon, otherwise known as Brandish. Superhero and lawyer at the same time; I was fairly certain that no-one directed death threats at her for failing to get them off their charges.

"Uh, no, Mrs Dallon," he replied. "She did destroy my halberd, as well as being the precipitate cause of a certain amount of damage at her high school. Her powers are obviously quite destructive, if used recklessly. I was merely cautioning her to that effect."

"I'd be interested in hearing her side of the matter before you made any more comments of that nature," she replied dismissively. "If she triggered just today, then trigger events can cover quite a lot. If you don't mind?"

Hastily, he stepped aside, and she entered the house. "Vicky," she greeted her daughter. "You're home early. And Sarah. What brings you here?"

"Vicky and Taylor, to be honest, Carol," Sarah replied, crossing to where her sister stood and giving her a hug. "Taylor was flying over the city, Vicky heard about it and went to investigate. She ended up inviting her home, and I encountered them on the way there."

Mrs Dallon looked at me, her face expressionless. "So you're Taylor. The dragon girl."

"Yes, ma'am," I agreed, with a nod. "Taylor Hebert. I'm pleased to meet you." I put out my hand; after a moment, she shook it briefly, then looked at Dad. "And you are … ?"

"Uh, Danny Hebert, ma'am," he replied. "I'm her father. Lady Photon called me in, as soon as they had Taylor settled."

"I see." She looked me over again. "You don't seem to be exhibiting many dragon-like qualities, Taylor. Do you need to Change?"

"Uh, kind of," I admitted. "But not right here, please."

"It wrecks her clothes, Mom," Vicky explained. "She's been through two outfits since she got here."

"To be precise," Dad added, "she's on her third outfit since she got here. And I'm guessing another one got destroyed in the locker."

"Locker?" Mrs Dallon looked puzzled. "Where does a locker come into it?" She turned to me. "Is this to do with your trigger event?"

"Uh, yes," I replied. "Some girls at my school locked me in my locker with some really horrible stuff."

"What sort of horrible stuff?" asked Mrs Dallon, then immediately held up her hand. "Wait, let me sit down first. I suspect that I'm going to need to take notes on this."

"I've recorded everything," Armsmaster told her. "I can - "

"- leave now," she advised him sweetly. "I've got this, thanks."

"I really think -"

"No, Armsmaster," she cut him off, her voice never losing the sweet tone, "I really think it's time for you to go." She turned to me. "There is the strong potential for a lawsuit here, Taylor. Would you like me to represent you, or help you find a suitable representative?"

"I, uh -" I began.

Dad spoke at the same time. "Lawsuit?"

"Yes," she answered. "Against whoever locked you in that locker."

"The PRT has lawyers -" began Armsmaster.

"The PRT also has self-interest," Mrs Dallon shot back. "Taylor?"

I blinked, and glanced at Dad. He looked at Mrs Dallon. "We can't afford much -"

"Money won't be a problem," Mrs Dallon assured him. "Not with the sort of damages we could get out of whoever did this to you, and probably the school as well."

After a moment, Dad nodded. "Okay. Taylor?"

"Uh, sure," I replied. "But I don't want anyone hurt too badly. Financially, I mean."

"As badly as they hurt you emotionally?" asked Mrs Dallon. "How long has this been going on?"

"Since September of the year before last," I admitted.

"Really?" Her eyes narrowed. "Then there's a lot of leeway between 'not badly enough' and 'too badly', isn't there?"

"I … guess," I agreed tentatively.

"Good," she stated briskly. "So, do you accept me as your attorney until further notice?"

I nodded. "I - yes. Yes, I do."

"Excellent." Reaching into her handbag, she pulled out what I presumed to be some kind of recorder. "I am now recording. Armsmaster, I'm invoking attorney-client privileges. Please leave. This is out of your hands."

He tried one more time. "She's a potentially dangerous parahuman -"

"That's not the issue at stake here," she snapped. "The issue is that these girls saw fit to bully her until she became a potentially dangerous parahuman, and the school saw fit to let them do it. So will you be leaving, or will I be reporting you for harassing my client after you were asked to leave?"

It was obvious that he didn't want to go, but she hadn't left him any leeway. So, reluctantly, he stepped out through the doorway, and walked to his bike.

<><>​

Mrs Dallon waited until the sound of the motorcycle had faded into the distance before she turned to me. "I'm going to need all the details," she told me. "Your locker, Armsmaster's halberd, anything else that you may have damaged -" She paused. "The lawn. There was a line of black spots on the lawn. Was that you?"

Vicky went over to the door and peered out. "Oh my god," she reported, her voice full of horrified delight. "Taylor, you have to see this."

I went to look; there was indeed a line of black spots on the lawn. Each of them consisted of a lump of metal, surrounded by a circle of blackened, burned grass. The line stretched directly away from the door, petering out before it quite got to the curb.

"Uh, yeah, that was me," I admitted sheepishly. "That's bits of his halberd, I guess."

Mrs Dallon was looking up at the doorframe. "The paint's scorched here," she noted.

I looked also. "Uh, yes. The flame jet kind of came pretty close. I think it may have also given him a sunburn. And singed his beard."

"Well, I'm quite impressed that you managed to destroy the halberd with such precision, and without burning down the house," she observed, "but please, for everyone's sakes, employ a little more discretion in future. Specifically, no insurance company in the country is willing to cover us for parahuman-related damage, so don't breathe fire inside my house. Ever again."

I nodded meekly. "No, ma'am, I won't. If I'm going to be a part of the team, I know -"

"- wait just a moment," she interrupted me. "Part of the team?"

"Well, yeah, Mom," Vicky explained. "She's a new cape, she's a dragon -"

"Uh, wyvern, apparently," I pointed out.

"Still a type of dragon," Vicky forged on relentlessly. "Big scaly wings, and she breathes fire, and she looks all kinds of totally awesome. I mean, how can we not have her on the team?"

"Sarah?" asked Mrs Dallon. "Do you support this idea?"

"Actually, yes, I do," Lady Photon told her. "Taylor needs team support. For one thing, she can't enunciate English words while in wyvern form. For another, she can't do anything that requires really fine manipulation."

"All right then, that changes matters a little," Mrs Dallon decided. "Legally speaking, Taylor, I shouldn't really be acting both as your attorney in this matter as well as your teammate."

"So what does this mean?" asked Dad.

"Either I take a temporary leave of absence from the team, so I can concentrate on the case," she informed us, "or I refer your case on to someone else."

"Whatever happens, it's going to come out that I'm a parahuman, right?"

"Unless we concentrate on the bullying angle and leave the parahuman aspect out of it altogether," she agreed. "Which would weaken our case, but not too badly ... wait. You're joining New Wave anyway, aren't you, Taylor?"

"She is," Lady Photon assured her, "but she wants to keep her human identity secret for her father's sake."

"She won't be wearing a mask as Wyvern," Vicky put in. "It's just that they won't know who she is when she's not Wyvern."

"I'm not sure I'm totally on board with that," Mrs Dallon observed. "After all, transparency is what the New Wave concept was founded upon."

"I'm pretty sure that Lightstar would argue about the validity of that," Lady Photon pointed out gently.

Mrs Dallon's expression hardened. "Fleur's situation was different."

"This is true," Lady Photon pointed out. "Fleur was powered, as are the rest of us. She still died."

"Our children weren't -"

"And if you don't see what a huge risk we were running at the time, then you need to think some more about it," Lady Photon snapped. "Danny has no powers, and nor does he live with someone who does."

"Taylor -" began Mrs Dallon.

"- either has no powers at all, or looks entirely inhuman. And her Change is sufficiently unreliable that she can't guarantee to have access to her powers, even if she really needs them, or if someone catches her by surprise."

"So why can't she go to the Protectorate?" asked Mrs Dallon. "It seems to me that they're better set up for this than we are."

I cleared my throat. "Still here," I reminded the both of them. "For one thing, I'm scared that the PRT will prod me and poke me and scan me, and then decide that I'm too dangerous and lock me away or something."

Lady Photon glanced at Mrs Dallon. "Not entirely an unwarranted fear, you have to admit."

"No," Mrs Dallon admitted after a moment. "It's not. Though you're not saying everything, Taylor."

I nodded. "For another thing, I don't want to. I mean, in human form, I've got no real problem with it, but when Vicky suggested it and I was in wyvern form, I just knew somehow that I really, really didn't want to do it."

"Hm." Mrs Dallon rubbed her chin. "Well, if you don't want to, then you don't want to. It might be some sort of instinctual thing. In any case, I wouldn't force anyone to be in the Wards who didn't want to be."

"So she can be in New Wave?" Vicky's voice was hopeful.

"About the secret identity thing?" Mrs Dallon looked at Lady Photon.

"Well, given that there's the presence of a non-powered family member, plus a certain unreliability about the availability of your powers, and the fact that you're pretty well unable to hide who you are once you become the wyvern form … " Lady Photon paused. "I think I can amend the rules in this particular case."

"That sounds reasonable," Mrs Dallon agreed. "Very well. Taylor, you'll be joining New Wave, but will not be revealing your real identity. So the lawsuit will be specifically to do with your being shut in the locker."

" … which could pose a problem," I told her.

"What problem?" she asked.

"I blew up my locker. The door ended up jammed in the far wall. I set the school on fire. If we're going to separate the fact of my being locked in the locker from the fact of my being Wyvern, how do we present it? I was locked in my locker, which was then blown up by persons unknown?"

"Worse," Dad pointed out. "More than one person knows that Taylor was in that damn locker. It's got to be the most open secret in Winslow by now. Half of them must think that she got out and then blew it up, while the other half have to be thinking that the locker was blown up with her in it."

"True," she agreed, brow furrowed. "The explosion and fire are inseparable from the fact that Taylor was locked in the locker."

"Okay, how about this?" asked Vicky. "Taylor is in the locker. Someone lets her out. She staggers away to get clean, and the person who let her out sets off a bomb in her locker."

"Which begs the question of who let her out, and why did they explode the bomb?" Mrs Dallon had a pen and paper, and was writing as she spoke.

"Hey, I can't think of everything," Vicky protested. "Taylor?"

"We can't make Wyvern out to be the bad guy either," I decided. "Even misunderstood. I've read enough on the PHO boards to know that once a hero gets even the slightest hint of impropriety, it sticks with him for years. Plus, it'll reflect on New Wave's reputation."

"In any case, we need a narrative that diverges as little from the truth as possible," explained Mrs Dallon. "Whatever we say has to be supported by the available evidence."

"Which all points to me blowing up the locker," I groaned. "Because I did."

"So, our only real options for a lawsuit are, on the one hand, out Taylor and run the whole deal through the courts, which will almost certainly nail their hides to whatever wall we see fit," Dad summarised, "or minimise the locker thing, and try to get them for whatever they did to her before that point."

"What happened today certainly brings it all together," Lady Photon agreed. "Without it … they get away with a truly horrible act, and they may get away with the rest of it, depending on the throw weight of whatever legal talent they get on their side."

"Great," I muttered, "and Mr Barnes is a lawyer too."

"I beg your pardon?" asked Mrs Dallon. "Did you say 'Mr Barnes'?"

I nodded. "Alan Barnes. Emma's dad. Emma used to be my best friend. Mr Barnes and Dad have known each other forever."

"If he knows about what she's been doing to my girl, and hasn't done anything about it, then I don't know him nearly as well as I thought I did," Dad observed, mainly to himself.

"Really. That's very interesting." Mrs Dallon made a note. "Alan Barnes and I work for the same law firm."

Dad and I stared at her. "Uh, is that a good thing or a bad thing?" I asked carefully.

She considered the question. "That depends. Probably a good thing. I'll have to see."

"Wouldn't that be some kind of conflict of interest?" asked Dad. "If you're both working for the same people, that is."

"As I said," Mrs Dallon told him, "I'll have to see." She looked around. "Now, I think it best if we took this to my study."

"Can I come?" asked Vicky. "I promise I'll be quiet."

Personally, I had my doubts.

"Sorry, Vicky," Mrs Dallon replied. "We're going to be discussing important information about the case."

Vicky rolled her eyes. "Aww."

"Don't complain too loudly, young lady, or I might find myself compelled to ask you why you aren't back at school already," Mrs Dallon warned her.

"Being quiet." Vicky hastened toward the kitchen.

"Good." Mrs Dallon turned to Dad and I. "Shall we go?"

<><>​

"Take a chair, each of you. This might take a while."

Following Mrs Dallon's directive, I sat in one of the chairs in front of her desk. Dad sat beside me.

Putting the recorder back on the desk, she pressed the button. "Carol Dallon, recording," she stated out loud. "Now, Taylor, this is very important. Can you identify your assailants?"

I hesitated. "I can't prove beyond a reasonable doubt that it was them, but I'm pretty damn certain."

"What makes you so certain?" she asked.

"Because they've been making my life hell for the past fourteen months," I snapped. "It's the same three, over and over, and if it's not them, it's one of their friends." My voice had risen, and I could hear the bitterness in it. I took a breath. "Sorry. But it just keeps happening, and nothing ever stops it."

"Can you at least state with certainty that they were there?" Her voice was almost gentle, and I realised that this must be how she treated her witnesses on the stand.

"Oh god yes. They were right there, making comments about my height and weight, and how I must throw up to stay so skinny, and how I must have thrown up just then, because of the smell."

"Which was whatever in your locker?" She paused. "What was in the locker, exactly?"

I drew a deep breath, and took Dad's hand. He squeezed it reassuringly. "A lot of rotten tampons and sanitary pads from the girls' bathrooms. But I didn't know that then. All I knew was that something stank."

"All right, so these girls – all of them are girls, right? – what are their names?"

"Yeah, they're all girls. Some boys are in on it, but they're just hangers-on. The three main ones are Emma Barnes, like I said, as well as Madison Clements and Sophia Hess."

"Armsmaster seemed really interested in that last one, Sophia Hess," Dad commented. "He asked if Taylor was sure."

"Yeah, I noticed that, too," I agreed. "I wanted to ask about that, but I was a wyvern right then."

"Really?" asked Mrs Dallon. "But you're non-verbal in that form, aren't you? How were you communicating?"

"Vicky brought out a plastic sheet with the alphabet, and I picked out letters on it," I explained. "It was slow, but we made it work."

Mrs Dallon nodded. "Very clever. So Armsmaster was interested in this Sophia Hess, was he?"

"It sure seemed that way," I agreed. "I don't know why."

"I'll make a point of asking him, next time I see him. Now, Emma Barnes is definitely the daughter of Alan Barnes? Big man, red haired?"

"That's him," I told her. "She's got red hair too."

Mrs Dallon's eyes were focused on me. "Okay. So you're telling me that the daughter of Alan Barnes, a man I work with, is bullying you, has bullied you badly enough to cause a trigger event?"

"That's exactly what we're telling you, yes." Dad's voice was steady, but he squeezed my hand again. "I thought he was a friend. Now, I'm not so sure."

"That would depend on if he knows about it, surely," she observed. "Do you know, one way or the other?"

"He's friendly enough when we meet," Dad mused. "Talks about Emma. Asks about Taylor."

"But you and Emma haven't been friends for a while?" She looked toward me.

"For more than a year," I agreed. "For all I know, she's telling him that I broke up the friendship, not her."

"We can't use that in court," she cautioned me. "Conjecture holds no weight as evidence." She looked to me. "What sort of bullying has it been? Physical? Emotional? Verbal?"

"All of that and more," I sighed. "You name it, they've done it. Sophia handles the physical side of things, tripping me down stairs or in the hallways, things like that. Madison's good at pranks. Leaving juice on my chair, dumping pencil shavings on my desk during class. Emma knows all my secrets, all the ways to hurt me, and she uses them."

"Physical abuse." She zeroed in on that. "Do you have proof? Bruises? Scars?"

My voice was full of regret. "Nothing visible."

"Damn." She leaned back in her chair.

Tentatively, I cleared my throat. "I've been keeping a sort of journal."

"What?" She leaned forward. "A journal?"

"Kind of a list of what they've been doing to me. Since the start of school last year," I explained. "I wanted to try to get the teachers to listen, to help, but they never did. So I haven't shown anyone."

"What's in this journal of yours?" she asked.

"Uh, day by day of what they did. All dated. Emails I got sent, by them and by others. Stuff that was sent from the school computers, during school hours. I've spent hours printing them out."

Dad was looking at me. I looked back. "What?"

"Why didn't you show this to me, Taylor?" he asked. "Tell me about it. I could have done something."

"The school doesn't do anything, even when it happens right in front of a teacher," I told him bitterly. "I'm the weird loner. They're the popular kids. That would just have gotten me more attention, and not of the good type."

"Then you could have told me about Emma," he protested. "I could have spoken to Alan."

"And said what, exactly? That I said she was bullying me? All she has to say is no, she's not. And she could pull a dozen alibis out of her pocket."

"All right, this is what's going to happen, Taylor," Mrs Dallon stated. "Once Winslow opens again, you're going to go back to school, as if nothing happened. Nothing will happen to you, because the PRT doesn't out new parahumans. The story will be something along the lines of a gas leak. You were never in the locker."

"How do you know that about the PRT?" asked Dad.

"Because we've assisted in this sort of cover-up before," she told us briskly. "So, Taylor. Pretend that nothing happened. But carry a voice recorder. I have a spare. Record any time that someone's giving you any sort of trouble. Identify them by name on the recording. In the meantime, I'll need your journal, so I can start building a case."

"So we're skipping the locker." Dad didn't make it a question.

"We're skipping the locker," she agreed.

"Uh, about school," I began.

"About school?" She looked at me. "What about school?"

"My powers," I pointed out. "If they corner me and start working on me, I'll out myself in less than a minute."

"Hmm." She bit her lip, and switched off the recorder. "Explain."

"I, uh, still don't have much in the way of control over my Changer ability. So far, all my changes into wyvern form have been pretty well involuntary." I paused. "Vicky's seen them; she can help explain."

"Very well." She rose and went to the door. "Vicky, could you please come in here a moment?"

Vicky didn't quite cause a sonic boom with her arrival, but she got there pretty quickly, anyway. "What's up, Mom?"

"We're discussing Taylor's Changer ability. She says she doesn't have much in the way of control over them. Is this true?"

"Uh, sure," Vicky agreed. "I didn't see the first one, but I saw all the ones after that."

"So what happened with the first one?" Mrs Dallon's eyes were intent; I was very aware of the notepad.

"They locked me in my locker. You know what was in there with me. I must have triggered pretty quickly. I tried to claw the door open, but I couldn't. So I blew it off the locker with an explosive fireball. Which blew up my locker plus the lockers on either side, and damaged the lockers on either side of that."

Mrs Dallon made notes. "What did you do then?"

"I got out of there and flew toward the ocean. The second time that I changed -"

"Wait," Mrs Dallon interrupted. "You didn't go after your tormentors?"

"Uh, no," I confirmed. "I wasn't really thinking about that. I just wanted to get the mess off my legs. So I flew to the ocean."

"Right. So tell me about the second time you Changed."

"Uh, Mom, that was sort of my fault," confessed Vicky. "She told me how she first changed, and I wanted to see if my fear aura could do the trick."

"Which it does," I pointed out. "Very dramatically. Mind you, I kind of destroyed the clothes I was wearing at the time." I wrinkled my nose at her; she cheerfully ignored it.

"I see," Mrs Dallon replied, raising an eyebrow. "Did you damage anything other than your clothes when this happened?"

I looked at Vicky; she looked back at me. "Uh, not that I know of," I confessed. "Vicky?"

"No, you just changed," she agreed. "Though the look on your face … "

"I was a dragon at the time. What look on my face?"

"The 'oh crap, I'm a dragon again' look." She snickered. "It was priceless. Though the look when your dad called out was even better, I have to admit."

Mrs Dallon cleared her throat sharply; we both looked at her. "As I was saying," she went on. "You say that no damage was done the second time. What about the third time? What happened then?"

"Armsmaster happened," supplied Lady Photon, leaning in the doorway. "He accused Taylor of trying to burn down Winslow -"

"- not that it wouldn't be an improvement," I muttered.

"Taylor, did you actually try to burn down Winslow?" asked Mrs Dallon.

"Uh, no. I just wanted out of that locker." I pointed at Vicky and Lady Photon. "Ask them. If I wanted to really set fire to something, it would still be on fire. Right?"

Vicky nodded vigorously. "Mom, you didn't see her melt Armsmaster's halberd. It was awesome."

"I have to agree – not about the 'awesome' part, but about her capabilities," Lady Photon commented. "If she had truly wanted to set fire to Winslow, it would still be very much aflame."

"So the fire that did happen was due to your … " Mrs Dallon checked her notebook. " … explosive fireball, right."

"That's right, yes," I agreed.

"Hmm, good." She wrote a few words, then looked up again. "All right. It sounds very much like your Changer ability is stress-based, as you've no doubt worked out for yourself."

"I had pretty well figured that, yes." I tried not to make it sound sarcastic.

If she took it as such, she ignored it. "I'd suggest taking the week off, if the school isn't closed that long. Work to learn control over your power. Learn the signs of an upcoming change, see if you can't head it off. Once you can avoid Changing in a stressful environment, then go back to school." She paused, and smiled slightly. "Because trust me, even though setting fire to them might feel really good in the short run, it won't help much in the long run."

"Wow, Mom, was that a joke?" Vicky's eyes were wide. "Holy crap, Mom made a funny. Wait till I tell Ames."

"It wasn't that funny, Vicky," Mrs Dallon told her reprovingly, but her heart wasn't really in it. "Now, Taylor."

"Uh, yes, ma'am?" I asked.

"I'm going to want to see your, uh, wyvern form at some point. I suggest that you and Vicky go somewhere so that you can work on your power control."

"Sure thing, Mom," Vicky agreed at once, grabbing my hand. "Come on, Taylor."

"And I need to make a phone call, so if you can entertain Danny a little longer for me, Sarah?" asked Mrs Dallon.

"I can do that," Lady Photon responded, stepping aside as Vicky more or less dragged me from the study. "Another cup of tea, Mr Hebert?"

"Don't mind if I do, Mrs Pelham," he replied gravely.

<><>​

Vicky paused at the bottom of the stairs, and raised her voice. "All right, power testing in progress. No-one goes into my room, okay?"

"We hear you, dear," replied Lady Photon's voice. "No-one's going to barge in."

"And what are we going to do, exactly?" I asked.

"We'll think of something." Vicky tugged at my hand. "C'mon."

I resisted momentarily. "Not that damn fear aura again, okay?"

"Chicken." But she was grinning as she said it. "Okay, fine, no aura."

"I'll give you 'chicken'," I muttered, but followed her anyway.

<><>​

"This is Franklin Rogers. Make it quick."

"Mr Rogers, it's Carol Dallon."

"Carol?" He frowned. "This is not a good time for you to be away from the office."

"It's never going to be a good time, sir."

"No, seriously, someone set fire to Winslow High, and three different people had to go and pick up their kids. Now there's rumours about terrorist plots to firebomb all the schools in Brockton Bay. Why did you head out anyway? You don't even have any kids at Winslow."

"It was a family matter."

"By family matter, do you mean ordinary family matter, or your type of family matter?"

"Actually, as it happens, sir, both."

He waited, but she didn't explain farther. "Okay, if you say so. What's up? Why are you calling me?"

"I want to warn you of a potential conflict of interest within the firm."

That got his attention. "What sort of a conflict of interest?"

"I'm likely to be going head to head with another employee of the firm regarding a lawsuit I'm looking to pursue."

"Who is it?"

"I'm sorry, sir. I can't tell you that quite yet. Once I've got the paperwork filed, I'll get the appropriate details to you. This is more in the nature of a heads-up."

"Very well, I'll tell you this for free, Carol. You can pursue outside cases, so long as they don't impinge on the firm's business. If you're going against another member of the firm, then both of you are on your own. You can use our facilities, but we won't support either one against the other."

"That's fine, sir. I have no problem with that."

"However, before it comes to that, perhaps mediation could be attempted first. It would look bad in the papers if two of our members started squaring off in the courts."

"Normally I would not argue with that, sir, but this is a case for damages. Quite extensive damages, I'm afraid."

"Is this likely to bring the other person's good name into question?"

"If that person chooses not to settle out of court, this is quite likely, sir."

"And the name of the firm?"

"Won't come into it, sir."

"Hmm. Thank you, Carol."

"Thank you for hearing me out, sir."

"You're one of our best people. Don't go biting off more than you can chew."

"I'll try not to, sir." There was a faint noise in the background, one that he couldn't identify. "Ah, I have to go, sir. I'll let you know more when I find out."

"You do that."

<><>​

"Okay, what happens now?" I asked Vicky, after she closed the door to her room.

"Well, first, you take your clothes off," she explained, in a very matter-of-fact tone.

"Vicky!" I protested, blushing scarlet. "Seriously? No!"

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Taylor. Every other time you've Changed into your dragon form -"

" - wyvern," I corrected her.

"Okay, wyvern," she agreed. "Anyway, every time you've Changed, you've lost all the clothes you're wearing. So, take 'em off first and you don't have to worry about that."

"Well, give me something to put around myself," I objected. "I know you've already seen me naked -"

"- couldn't really avoid it, to be honest," she agreed cheerfully. "But you don't have to worry about me making moves on your skinny butt. I'm interested in guys first, last and always."

"Best news I've heard all day," I replied, reluctantly beginning to remove the clothing which she had given to me. "Get me a towel or something?"

"Sure, here you go." She handed me a hand towel.

I looked it over. It would cover my front, or my back, but not both at the same time. "Oh, very funny."

"Actually, I have a theory," she proposed. "If we don't cover you up, maybe the discomfort and stress will cause you to change back into the dragon?"

"That's a stupid theory," I told her. "And anyway, it's a wyvern. Come on, give me a real towel." I shivered as I began to remove the last of my borrowed clothing; her room was warm, so it must have been a psychological effect.

"Huh. Your butt's looking better from that burn, earlier."

I twisted, trying to get a look at the site of the burn. "Huh, so it is."

"Good thing, too," she grinned. "You might have gotten all butt-hurt over it."

I stuck out my tongue at her. "That was a terrible joke. Now stop looking at my butt and get me a real towel." I held up the hand towel between me and her; it made a great apron, or about half of one of those draughty hospital gowns.

"If you can turn into a dragon," she pointed out, "you won't need a real towel. Now come on, concentrate. You can do it. Make the Change. Show your powers who's boss."

"Wyvern." I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold the towel in place. Uncomfortable, I definitely was. This definitely had points in common with the other times I had Changed.

Huh, maybe Vicky's got the right idea after all.

I began to concentrate, to form an idea in my head of what it was like to be the wyvern – or, if it was to be my cape name, the Wyvern – and try to slot myself into it. It wasn't easy; the effort was not unlike attempting to pick myself up by my own shoelaces. The discomfort was indeed helping; with the lack of comfort came increased focus. At that moment, I desperately wanted to Change into the wyvern form, if only to get rid of the goosebumps that were now decorating me in plague proportions.

It was there, I could almost feel it. All I needed was that little extra effort, to kick my body to Change from one form to the other.

And if I can learn to Change to the wyvern at will, maybe I can learn to reverse it without needing a hug or a hot shower?

Gritting my teeth, I concentrated.

<><>​

Amy trudged in through the back gate. She didn't often take the bus; it was easier to get a lift home with Vicky. But Vicky had had to go off somewhere in a hurry, and she'd never gotten back to Arcadia, and so Amy had ridden the bus home.

Climbing the back stairs, she let herself in, closing the door quietly behind her. She opened the fridge to grab an apple, then headed through to the living room. It was a little bit of a surprise to see Aunt Sarah there, as well as Dad and some guy she'd never met before, but she wasn't in the mood for meeting strangers right at that moment.

Still, politeness was a good thing, so she wandered over. "Hi, Aunt Sarah. Hi, Dad."

Mark raised his eyes from the TV long enough to give her a vague smile and a wave; he'd forgotten to take his medications again.

"Hello, dear," Aunt Sarah greeted her. "This is Danny Hebert."

"Hi, Mr Hebert." She looked back at her aunt. "I'm looking for Vicky. Is she in?"

"Oh, yes," Aunt Sarah told her. "In her room is what she said, but -"

"Okay, thanks." She smiled warmly at her aunt, and politely at Mr Hebert, and headed up the stairs.

"Amy dear, make sure to knock," Aunt Sarah called after her.

Yeah, that's gonna happen. Vicky hadn't knocked on her bedroom door after about the first day of them sleeping in separate rooms, and she'd gotten out of the habit herself. Amy headed along the passageway, opened Vicky's door and stepped inside.

"Say, Vicky, why -" she began, before her mind locked up. Because Vicky was standing, facing her. But between Vicky and Amy, facing Vicky, was a total stranger, about her age, with long dark curly hair. Vicky was fully dressed. As far as Amy could tell, the other girl wasn't dressed at all.

Amy couldn't think of a single good reason as to why Vicky might have a girl in her room, particularly one without clothes on. Many bad ones cropped up, tumbling over one another to make themselves heard. But all she could hear herself think was, Oh god, why not me?

And then the girl turned, and Amy saw that she was holding a small towel over her front; at the same time, the girl screamed in fright, grabbing for a sheet off the bed. Reflexively, Amy screamed right back, retreating from the girl, from her rival. The girl screamed again; this time, somethinghappened to her body.

Her face changed, pushing outward from her head. Hair retreated into her scalp. Arms, already skinny, lengthened as membranes spread between them and her body, her fingers shooting outward and growing more membranes. Her skin grew red-gold scales, a tail lengthened from behind her and her legs became digitigrade, with wickedly clawed feet. The scream turned into a high-pitched screech of alarm, while a red-gold crest raised on the saurian head. Both the towel and the sheet fell to the floor, but that didn't matter any more.

The girl had Changed into a dragon. There was a dragon in Vicky's bedroom. A dragon, which had previously been a teenage girl.

Backing up, Amy found that the door had swung shut behind her. Trapping her in the room with the dragon.

<><>​

Stunned, I watched as the teenage girl – I strongly suspected that this was 'Ames', otherwise known as Panacea – backed up against the door, eyes wide.

"Hah!" Vicky's exclamation of triumph made both of us jump. We turned to look at her; she pointed at my face, or rather, my muzzle. "That expression, right there. That's what I'm talking about."

Lowering my head, I put my wing over it, in lieu of performing a proper face-palm.

Oh boy.


End of Part Six

Part Seven

 

[Ack]

Wyvern

Part Seven: … For You are Crunchy, and Go Well With Ketchup



"Dragon." Amy Dallon stared at me, eyes wide.

I'm a wyvern, I thought crossly.

Amy was obviously no telepath. "Dragon. Room. Why?"

Vicky stepped over next to me, putting an arm affectionately around my neck. "Because it's awesome, that's why. Taylor, meet Ames. Ames, meet -"

Thundering footsteps up the stairs and along the passageway interrupted her introductions; Amy moved away from the door just before it was flung open. Mrs Pelham was first through the doorway, followed by Dad, and then Mrs Dallon.

"We heard screaming," Dad burst out. "What happened?"

Vicky grinned. "Well. Ames came in to say hi, and Taylor had sort of taken her clothes off … "

"Why?" interjected Amy again.

"Because if she's wearing anything when she Changes, she destroys it." Vicky grinned at her sister. "Geez, try to keep up. So anyway, Amy was kind of surprised to find someone in my room without any clothes on … "

"I think anyone would," offered Dad. I nodded vigorously in agreement.

"Yeah, I suppose me too," agreed Vicky. "Anyway, Amy sort of screamed, then Taylor screamed right back, and Amy screamed again, and then Taylor Changed … and yeah, Mom, this is what she looks like."

Mrs Dallon stepped forward; behind her, I saw Vicky's father peering in through the doorway. I stood a little straighter as Vicky's mom looked me over, turning my head as she walked around behind me and stepped over my tail.

"Taylor," she addressed me, "can you understand me?"

I nodded, and added an agreeable chirp.

"That means yes," Vicky supplied.

"Thank you, Victoria, I think I got that," Mrs Dallon murmured. "Taylor, may I see your wings?"

Again, I nodded, then turned slightly so that I had the room. Unfurling my wings let me reach both walls before I got to full extension, but they still looked pretty good, I thought.

"Wow. Seriously. Dragon. Big wings." Amy seemed to be getting over her initial shock, although she still wasn't speaking in complete sentences.

Dad cleared his throat. "I think we agreed on 'wyvern', actually."

"Huh?" asked Amy.

Her father leaned over to her. "Dragons have four limbs and two wings. Wyverns have two limbs and two wings. It's a fantasy thing."

"Okay, right." Amy looked at Vicky. "But why your room?"

Vicky shrugged. "Because she needed someplace to Change."

"Argh. No. Sorry, I'm not saying this right." Amy dug her hands through her hair. "Why did she have to be in your room, without anything on, with you there? Why couldn't she just Change on her own? And why was she just standing around like that?"

"Oh. Right. Sorry." Vicky looked enlightened. "She has trouble Changing. She needs a little bit of a boost to go from one form into another."

"And you may recall that I did suggest that you knock before entering," Mrs Pelham reminded her.

"Pfft, that's never gonna happen," Vicky told her with an airy wave. "Ames and I barge in on each other all the time."

"Anyway, it's a stress based Change," Dad told Amy. "I'm guessing the surprise of having you burst in on her is what tipped the balance in this particular instance."

"Oh." She stared at him. "And who are you, exactly?"

"Your aunt introduced us, remember?" He extended his hand. "Danny Hebert. Taylor's father. It's an honour to meet you, Panacea."

She shook his hand almost by reflex, or so it seemed. "Yeah, nice to meet you too." Turning, she moved over to where I stood, re-folding my wings just so. "And you're … Taylor, right?"

I nodded and made the same agreeable noise that I had given her mother.

"And how long have you been able to Change into a … what did you call it? A wyvern?"

I shrugged; Vicky leaned in. "She can't actually talk like that," she explained. "As for how long it's been … well, today, basically." She grinned broadly at Amy. "But how cool is this? She's joining New Wave!"

"Wait, what?" Amy asked. "Joining the team? Is that a good idea?"

"Yes, we think so," Mrs Pelham told her. "She's a new cape, she's quite powerful in her own way, she doesn't want to be involved with the Protectorate, and she needs support in her Changed form."

"Yeah, you should've seen her melt Armsmaster's halberd," Vicky added enthusiastically. "It was awesome!"

Amy stared at me; I felt like putting my wing over my face again. "She melted Armsmaster's halberd? Wasn't he mad?"

Vicky grinned and nodded. "But there wasn't much he could do about it … because, you know, she'd already melted his halberd."

"And she's got lots of teeth, and … yeah, I got it," agreed Amy. "Wow. I wish I'd been here." She paused. "How did she even end up here?"

"Okay, you know how I just blew out of Arcadia? It was because I'd heard that a big weird red thing was flying over the city. Turns out it was Taylor here." Vicky wrapped an arm companionably around my shoulders. "I went to investigate, we kind of fell in the ocean, I talked to her, and we came back here."

Amy nodded. "So basically, she followed you home and you want to keep her. Because dragon."

Vicky tried to look innocent, and failed. "Maayyybe? Anyway, since then, she's been popping back and forth between wyvern and human form. We've kind of got the wyvern-to-human part down, but the human-to-wyvern part is a bit more complicated."

"You said it's a stress-based change," Amy noted; she was looking thoughtful. "Do you know that for a fact, or is it just a theory?"

"Oh, it's pretty well established," Vicky chuckled. "Like when I hit her with my fear aura. She changed pretty darn fast then."

"Which also caused her to destroy the clothing she was wearing," chided Mrs Pelham. "Which you should have thought of beforehand."

Vicky waved that away airily. "It was in the cause of scientific experimentation. Besides, they were my old clothes anyway. I got more where that came from."

"If you think I'm going to just keep buying you new clothes, you're sadly mistaken," Mrs Dallon informed her tartly. "But we do need to find a solution to both problems."

"What, the destroying-clothes-when-she-Changes problem?" asked Dad.

"And also the Changing-at-will problem," Mrs Pelham filled in. "Not so sure what to do about the second one, but I have an idea for the first."

I looked at her inquiringly; she seemed to interpret my interrogative chirp correctly. "I'm going to make a phone call, and then we've got a visit to make. Up for another flight?"

While I was thinking about that, Vicky grinned. "Ooh, ooh. I know who we're visiting. Is it -"

<><>​

"- Parian," Mrs Pelham, or rather Lady Photon, explained as we flew over the city. "Apparently, the name refers to a type of doll, which is apropos, given her costume."

I nodded. Yeah, I've heard of her. There wasn't much more I could convey, given my lack of language capability in wyvern form, but that seemed to satisfy the older hero.

"She's a rogue," Vicky went on from the other side of me. "Doesn't do the hero thing. Uses her power to make money. Which is a cop-out, if you ask me. I can totally see her using those animated stuffed animals to stop a bank robbery or something."

"Now, now," Lady Photon pointed out, "not everyone with powers wants to fight crime. They're her powers; she's allowed to do whatever she likes with them."

"But I just don't get the whole asking for money for using your powers bit," Vicky told her. "Being a hero's all about helping people because you can, right?" She gestured toward Amy, being carried bridal-style in her aunt's arms. "I mean, what if Ames suddenly started charging for healing people?"

Amy looked taken aback. "I … never really thought about it before. Charging money … that's not really how we do it in New Wave, right?"

Maybe you should think about it, I thought, but the screech I let out couldn't really convey that. Darn nonverbal form.

"Well, this is true," Lady Photon assured her. "We're heroes, dear, not mercenaries."

"But … doctors charge money, right?" Amy was still working her way through it. "And they do a lot less than me, and spend more time doing it. It's not like I'd be doing anything they don't do. Or even anything illegal."

"Wow, Ames, where did this come from?" asked Vicky, blithely ignoring the fact that she'd brought up the topic in the first place. "You're Panacea. You're my awesome little sister who cures cancer and heals people because it's the right thing to do."

"You're right," Amy agreed. "Heroes gotta be heroes, right? Rogues get no respect."

I thought I detected the echo of Vicky's voice in Amy's words, but I was unable to make a comment at that particular moment. However, I didn't get to think more deeply about the matter, as gunshots sounded from below.

"Where did that come from?" asked Lady Photon, her force-bubble popping into existence to cover herself and Panacea.

"Down there, I think." Vicky pointed and dived; almost instinctively, I followed.

"Taylor!" shouted Lady Photon. "Wyvern! Stay back! You might get hurt!"

I heard the words, but I wasn't processing them; a deeper, more primeval urge was pushing me on. Folding my wings back, I accelerated, straining to catch up to Vicky. Now I saw what she had seen; a car outside a shop, a police car across the street. Men shooting at the police officers. One officer was down; I growled, deep in my throat.

Vicky whipped down out of the sky, slammed into the street on one knee. One fist planted in the now-cracked asphalt, the other arm held back up out of the way. It looked extremely badass; I wondered how long she'd been practising that landing.

I spread my wings, slowing my descent, changing my plunge into a swoop; Vicky looked as though she had the situation in hand. Rising to her feet, she moved toward the three men behind the car. Bullets were fired at her; one or two might have struck, but to no particular effect. Even from where I was, I could feel her aura. For me, she was impressive; for the criminals, terrifying. I know how that feels.

Moving with fluid ease, she vaulted the car and grabbed the nearest man; while she was thus occupied, the other two ran back into the store. Oh no, I thought. You do not get away that easily.

My swoop carried me over the building and I rolled in midair; a fast loop bled off speed, and I spilled air from my wings to land on the building opposite the back door.

Not a moment too soon; the door burst even as I did so, and the two tumbled out into the alleyway. Inhaling deeply, I unleashed a flame similar to that which had destroyed Armsmaster's halberd. The blue-hot jet traced a line across the alleyway that liquefied the corner of a dumpster, set fire to a stack of wet newspapers, cleanly bisected a trash can plus all of its contents, and scored a four-inch deep glowing red gutter in the concrete.

Quite understandably, they halted, looking up at me and then back down at the line I had marked. If they wanted to get out of the alleyway, they would have to cross that line. Nonverbal I might be, but I was pretty sure that they got the message. But just in case …

Flapping my wings once, I took off from my perch and landed on the far side of the line. Wings spread and jaws agape, I repeated the threat display that I had used on Armsmaster; my screech echoed between the walls of the alleyway.

One of the men blanched and bolted back inside, while the other raised his pistol. I had no desire to see how bulletproof, or otherwise, I really was, so I spat an explosive fireball at him. Just a little one. Barely there at all. The detonation knocked him on his ass, stunned him, and removed all the hair from the front of his head. It also set fire to his shirt, but that went out a moment or so later.

He was still sitting there, blinking, touching his face to see if it was still there, when Vicky came out into the alleyway. She took one look at my stance, then at the criminal, and burst out laughing. He didn't resist when she disarmed him and took him in hand, which was a good thing, because she was nearly helpless with giggles herself. I followed along behind them; it wouldn't be a bad thing, I figured, to be seen with Glory Girl.

"Oh god," she chortled after handing the hapless thief over to the police, "he looked exactly like a cartoon character after a bomb's gone off in his face."

I shrugged and nodded; that was more or less what had happened, after all.

Lady Photon had landed, and Panacea was seeing to the wounded officer. I was introduced as 'Wyvern, our newest member,' which garnered startled looks from the other police officers. After a moment, they nodded respectfully in my direction, and I nodded back.

After Vicky gave her statement – she helpfully explained that I didn't talk – we took off again on our interrupted trip. Fortunately, the rest of the journey passed without incident.

<><>​

I stood, wings raised a little and partly unfolded, as Parian walked around me. It was much easier for her to do so than it had been for Mrs Dallon, back in Vicky's bedroom; the loft we were standing in was wide and airy, with a high ceiling. It was sparsely furnished, with a worktable, a couple of chairs, and several dressmakers' dummies. Vicky and Amy were checking their phones, off to the side.

Parian herself wore a sort of frilly dress that had been out of fashion in the real world for maybe a hundred years. She was covered up almost totally, even down to gloves to go with the dress. About the only thing that I could tell about her was that she was blonde; a mass of golden curls tumbled down her back from the totally-not-creepy porcelain doll's-face mask that she wore.

"So what exactly are you looking for, here?" she asked. "I can make something up to fit Wyvern easily enough, but that's not a real challenge. Anyone with a sewing machine could do that."

"You're right," Lady Photon agreed. "We're after a costume that will give her modesty once she changes back to human form. One that she can wear under her clothes when she's in human form, just in case."

Parian rubbed her chin under the mask. "Something that will fit her in both forms? Hmm. That is a challenge." A measuring tape lifted off of the worktable and drifted over to me; I restrained the urge to snap at it as it wrapped itself around my leg.

Lady Photon raised her head. "So can you do it?"

"I won't know until I've seen her human form, and the Change in between," Parian stated. She observed the measurement; beside her head, a levitating pencil took notes in a similarly floating notepad. I watched with fascination. "If she simply flashes from one form to another … "

"She doesn't," Vicky informed her. "It takes a few seconds. She actually alters from one form to the other."

"Well, that makes it possible, at least," allowed the doll-faced rogue, as the tape took its measurements. "But I'll still need to see the human form, and observe the Change."

"Yeah, that's a bit of a problem," Vicky noted. "Changing back only really happens when she's totally relaxed, and she won't be wearing anything when she does."

"Which is why you need the costume in the first place," agreed Parian. She turned to address me. "Well, Wyvern, you understand that I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable or embarrassed. But if we don't do this, then I can't help you with the costume. Yes?"

I nodded and made my agreeable noise, then stood a little straighter and brought my wings around to cover myself.

"Got anything we can wrap around her?" asked Vicky; she was picking up on my body language.

"I've got changing screens over there," Parian offered, pointing to a corner of the loft. "And a robe she can put on … she's not really buff, in her human form, is she?"

"Pfft, hah, no," snorted Vicky. "She's about your weight, but a bit taller than me."

Parian seemed to look her over. "Huh," she observed. "On the skinny side, then. Good, that'll make this easier. I hope. Come on, Wyvern."

I followed her to the changing screens; they were taller than Parian herself by a good six inches, though in my normal form, I would just about be able to peek over the top. On the way, she grabbed a long silk bathrobe; gesturing me behind the screens, she draped the robe over the top. "Put this on once you've Changed," she advised me. "Then we can see how your measurements have altered."

Again, I nodded, and gave her a friendly chirp. She nodded back as I sidled behind the screens, keeping my wings in so as not to knock them down. Because that would make my day just perfect.

Okay, I told myself. Time to prove I can Change back. Nobody can see me, and I've got clothes right there. It won't be embarrassing this time.

It didn't happen at once, which didn't totally surprise me, so I breathed deeply, trying to relax myself, get rid of the tension in my muscles. The first time I'd done this was when I had been drifting off to sleep on the sofa. Feeling safe for the first time. Closing my eyes, I tried to recapture the way I had felt. Safe … warm … no danger … comfortable …

I opened my eyes. Nictitating membranes flicked across and back, a familiar sensation. I still had a muzzle, still had wings. I was still a dragon.

Okay, let's try that again.

The next time … Dad had wrapped me in the comforter, and had hugged me. I had felt so safe, so warm in his arms. So accepted. Even though I had become a creature out of fantasy stories, he had never hesitated to comfort me. Once more I closed my eyes, wrapping my wings around myself, trying to feel like that again.

And … nothing. No matter how I tried to force myself into human form, no matter how I visualised changing back, I was missing something. Missing a vital key.

"How you doing back there?" called Vicky.

I replied with a frustrated snarl. There were no words in it, but then, the message was in the content.

"Keep trying," Lady Photon urged. "You'll master it. I have faith in you."

"Maybe I can help?" That was Amy. "Trigger the feeling of relaxation?"

"Ames, you don't work with brains," Vicky protested, even as I heard the healer's footsteps growing closer. "You can't."

"Relaxing has to do with more than just the brain," Amy replied to her, now quite close behind the screen. "I can give, uh, Wyvern a sense of well-being without ever needing to touch her brain."

I let out a questioning chirp.

"Wyvern?" she asked from just a few feet away. "I'm going to need for you to put your wingtip or something over the top of the screen, so I can get physical contact with you."

There wasn't much in the way of choice, so I did as she asked, raising my main wing-finger so that it protruded over the screen. Almost immediately, I felt her cool hand closing over it.

"All right then," she told me, "I need your permission to affect your body. It won't be permanent; I'll just temporarily adjust some hormonal balances, all right?"

I chirped again, trying to sound agreeable.

"That means yes!" Vicky called out.

Panacea sighed. "Uh, a chirp for yes, a loud squawk for no."

I chirped once, then waited.

"I'm going to take that as permission. Okay, here we go."

At first, nothing seemed to happen, and then I felt knots of tension just unravelling and draining away. The feeling of relaxation spread throughout my body like a steady tide, pushing all tension before it. And it worked; I began to Change.

This time, I was aware of the Change as it happened, aware of the sensation of my body shifting and changing in various directions. In a word … it was bizarre. My muzzle retracted, my spine straightened, my tail retracted, as did the flight membranes. In just a few seconds, I found myself once more standing on human feet, not reptilian claws. And my hand was on top of the screen, with Amy Dallon holding my index finger.

I cleared my throat as I pulled my finger free of her grip. "Okay, that's always weird." Tugging the robe down from where it was draped, I put it on and tied the belt firmly around my waist. Parian needn't have worried; the robe could have gone around me three times.

"Hi, it's nice to meet you in person," Amy told me as I came out from behind the screen. She held out her hand.

I shook it; we both grinned self-consciously at the formality. "Nice to meet you too," I replied.

"Thanks for letting me help you Change," she noted. "I've never had the chance to see how a Change actually works before now. It's really fascinating."

"Well, thanks for kicking it over for me," I replied. "And let's hope Vicky doesn't decide to fear-aura me again when it comes time for me to Change back."

"She really did that?" Amy paused, and nodded to herself as she eyed her sister. "Yeah, you'd definitely do that, wouldn't you?"

Vicky grinned at Amy's tone as she came up on my other side, hooking her arm through mine. "Sure. It worked, didn't it?"

"Seriously." Amy rolled her eyes. "Brute force isn't the answer to everything."

"Is for me."

"Girls. Enough." Lady Photon clapped her hands once, gently. "Let Parian get her measurements in peace." She handed me my glasses, as well as a simple cloth mask; I put them on gratefully, and the loft came into focus once more. I noticed that Parian had been averting her eyes until my identity was concealed, for which I was somewhat grateful.

Then I had to hold still as Parian took the same measurements that she had before. Her impersonal air, and the fact that the measuring tape didn't need her to hold it in place, made it a somewhat less embarrassing experience than it could have been.

Finally, she was finished, and I was allowed to take a seat on one of the chairs. Amy sat on the other, slurping at a chocolate shake. Silently, she handed me another one; Vicky had apparently taken it on herself to go on a snack run. I didn't mind in the least.

"Hmm," murmured Parian, studying the two different sets of measurements. "This is interesting. I think I can do something with this, but I'm going to need to do one final set of checks."

"What have I got to do?" I asked; this sounded ominous.

"I'm going to need you to Change back, but first I'm going to have to put marks on your body so that we know which way it's altering shape."

"Marks … on my body?"

"Sure." She crossed to the work table and picked up two markers; one black, and one fluorescent blue. "These should show up best against your scales."

"And where do these marks need to go?" I was getting a sinking feeling about this.

"Oh, uh, around here," she told me, gesturing to her body between her neck and thighs. Which was what I had figured.

"Yay," I muttered. "Wonderful."

<><>​

She didn't want to do it immediately; instead, she bent over the worktable with Lady Photon, sketching on a piece of paper, and discussing options. I was happy to leave them to it, so I sat on the stool and chatted to Vicky and Amy. The latter was interested in how I had triggered; I gave her what details I could stand to give. Then Vicky gave a highly colourful account of how we had met, and subsequently ended up in the ocean; Amy came close to snorting chocolate shake out of her nose.

We told her about how I had managed to ruin two changes of clothes after getting to the Dallon household; Vicky's description of how I had destroyed Armsmaster's halberd had Amy looking at me with a certain amount of respect. She nodded when Vicky mentioned the plastic sheet; apparently she recalled it as well.

"I'm sorry for screaming when we first met," she went on, "I was really, really surprised to see you in Vicky's room. I walked in, and all I could see of you was a lot of hair and a bare butt."

I snorted. "My butt's not that big, is it?"

"Well, no," admitted Amy. "But when you're not expecting to see one, it certainly draws the attention."

"Hah, true," Vicky agreed, and began to tell a story about an epic costume malfunction that had made it online after a cape battle in Detroit. Amy and I were both giggling madly by the time Lady Photon and Parian came back over to us.

"All right then," Parian stated, holding up a piece of paper. It held a sketched silhouette of what I guessed was me. Lines were overlaid on it, in a rough grid pattern over the torso. "Once we trigger your Change back to wyvern form, I'll be able to compare these, and work out how to make your costume so that it fits both forms."

In the end, I allowed her to inscribe the lines on me, but we did it behind the screens, and I had her make me some underwear so that it didn't have to be totally embarrassing. I held up my arms as she traced lines around my ribs, and worked at not moving too much as the grid-lines took shape. Just above my butt, she drew a much tighter set of gridlines, which piqued my curiosity.

"What's that for?" I asked, looking back over my shoulder.

"Your tail," she pointed out. "I'm going to have to put a gap in for it. This will tell me where."

"Oh. Right." Having a tail was a relatively new experience; I was glad that someone was paying attention.

Finally, she finished her latitude and longitude markings, as I privately thought of them, and retreated from behind the screen. "Any time you're ready," she called.

"So how's it look?" Vicky interjected.

I looked down at myself. "Like some sort of motion-capture effect for the movies. Or really, really unimaginative body art."

"It's actually the same principle as motion capture," Lady Photon pointed out. "So, are you ready to try to Change yourself, or do you need assistance?"

"Gimme a few," I requested. Taking off my glasses and mask, I hung them over the edge of the screen.

"Okay," Vicky called back, "but if you're not out in five minutes, I'm coming in with a camera."

I was almost certain she was joking, but I concentrated on regaining the Wyvern form anyway. It was there; I knew it was there. I could Change from one to the other without meaning to already; I needed to be able to do it on purpose.

Stress, I told myself. Stress. I need to Change. I need to feel stress.

And then I realised that I knew what I had to do in order to Change; I just didn't want to do it.

Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath; before I could talk myself out of it, I delved into the worse memories of the last year. Everything that Emma, Madison and Sophia had done to me. All of the dozens of hurts, physical and emotional, that I had endured at their hands.

The pain, the humiliation, the anger that I had swallowed, it all came back to me. I took another deep breath, and another. Distantly, I felt momentary constriction, but it loosened again almost immediately.

I opened my eyes; nictitating membranes flashed across and back as true-lids blinked. Flexing my wings, I opened my jaws and let out a triumphant squawk. I'd needed to relive times that I really, really didn't want to go back to – even now, I was simmering with anger at the reminder of what Emma and her cronies had put me through – but I had succeeded in Changing voluntarily. The makeshift underwear had paid the price, but that was what it had been there for; the robe, on the other hand, was safe.

Now, if only I could learn to Change back just as easily.

I strutted out from behind the screens, head held high; Vicky grabbed me in a hug. "Wow, that was fast," she exclaimed. "You must've been really worried about the camera." I pretended to snap at her; she laughed as she danced away.

"All right then," Parian declared. "Let's see how well this worked." Obediently, I stood still as she examined the markings, correlating them to the sketch she held. Occasionally, her measuring tape laid itself up against me, and she jotted down a number. Lady Photon watched the process with interest, while Vicky and Amy chatted with each other. The majority of their conversation seemed to have to do with school and boys, not necessarily in that order. Vicky was showing interest in Gallant, from the Wards and didn't care who knew it, while Amy was more reserved; she didn't seem to care about such matters.

As riveting as the gossip was – Arcadia sounded vastly different to Winslow, in basically every way that mattered – I was glad when Parian's examination of the markings came to an end. "Okay," she told me. "Go Change back if you can. I've got enough to go on with."

I made an enquiring chirp. "What does that mean?" asked Lady Photon, apparently of the same mind as myself.

"It means that I'm ready to start making the costume," Parian told us. I couldn't see her face, but she sounded quite pleased with herself. "Hopefully, it'll be easier than I thought it was going to be."

Once more, I traipsed behind the screens. My glasses and mask were still there, as were the destroyed remains of the underwear that Parian had stitched together to give me some modesty. The robe was also where I had left it, which meant that I wouldn't be left without clothing once I Changed back. It was amazing how reassuring that was to me, given the day that I'd just had.

Okay, I can do this, I told myself. I can Change to a wyvern, so I can Change back to a human. Easy peasy.

I closed my eyes and reminded myself what it felt like to be human. Two legs, two arms, no tail. No flame breath. Being able to talk.

Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and did my best to relax, to let myself slip back into what was (I hoped) still my natural form. I did my best to remember better days, the good times I'd had with Mom and Dad. But every good memory seemed to lead to a bad one; Mom dead, Dad distraught.

I tried again; this time I focused on Vicky and Amy, on Flashbang and Brandish and Lady Photon. The acceptance they had shown me when they could easily have rejected me, turned me away.

It gave me a warm feeling, a good feeling, but there wasn't enough of it. It was still too new; deep down, I wasn't sure if I could trust it. Too many good things had gone bad for me in the past.

Eventually, I leaned around the screens and chirped to get their attention. Amy's head came up.

"Do you need my help?" she asked.

I nodded and chirped in the affirmative.

"Okay." Smiling, she hopped off the stool and strolled over; I went back behind the screens again, and extended my wingtip up and over. She was getting better at it; this time, it only seemed to take a few seconds before the Change kicked in. Once I was back in human form, I donned the robe, glasses and mask, and came out from behind the screen.

Parian had not been idle; the costume was taking shape, with small razors shaping the cloth before needles and thread fastened it together. It was being assembled on an adjustable dressmaker's dummy that had been cranked to 'tall and skinny'. Lady Photon and Vicky were watching with some interest as Amy and I joined them.

"It's fortunate that your wyvern form is relatively humanoid," Parian informed me. "I've heard of some Changers who take on utterly weird shapes. I couldn't do this with them."

"There is some change in proportion," Lady Photon commented, in what I considered to be masterful understatement. "Are you able to allow for that?"

Parian nodded. "The fabric has some give in it; not much, but some. So long as it's not damaged in battle, it should supply Wyvern with sufficient modesty if she happens to turn back to human in public."

"Modesty is good," I noted. "I like it."

Vicky snickered. "Says the girl who's destroyed her clothing how many times today?"

I rolled my eyes. "Says the girl who was responsible for at least one of those times, and had far too much fun with the others?"

She grinned at me; I stuck my tongue out at her.



End of Part Seven

Part Eight