by wildbow
“What—what do you want to know?”
“The drugs. Who from?”
“NY-C.”
“This really isn’t the time to act clever,” Imp said.
“Clever? No. No! Not New York City. New York C. There’s a cartel based in that dimension, on the island.”
“Powers?”
“Yes. The leader’s a trump. Even the Wardens are leaving them alone, ’cause of it.”
Imp nodded. “One of you three remember that for me.”
“And by one of us three,” the blond boy said, “You mean me.”
“Why Samuel?” Juliette asked, in her characteristic deadpan. “I’m trustworthy.”
“More details, Emperor. Be inventive,” Imp said. “Dig deep, come up with something I want to hear.”
“I… no. I can’t think of anything.”
Imp sighed. “Right. Then I suppose we’re done.”
“We’ve been talking too long,” Samuel said. He glanced down at Juliette. “He probably won’t forget the whole encounter if you use your power.”
“That’s fine,” Imp said. “Let’s use Flor, then.”
All eyes fell on the girl with the pixie cut.
“Um,” Nero said. “Who is she?”
Flor turned, as if to double check it was okay. She couldn’t even stand still, shifting her weight from foot to foot, fidgeting.
“Go,” Imp said.
Flor virtually leaped onto Nero’s chest, grabbing the chain to avoid sliding right over his chest and falling on the far side. Imp was left to reassert her own grip on the chain before the added weight could drive the villain down into the ground and the waiting nails and knives.
“Fuck!” Imp swore, when she’d fixed her grip. “Damn it, Flor!”
The girl straddled Nero’s chest, her eyes over his. She grinned, showing all of her teeth.
“Is she—is she going to eat my face?” Nero asked. “She looks like she’s going to eat my face.”
“The rules,” Samuel prompted Imp.
“Rule one. No drugs,” Imp said. “I don’t want you to look at them, talk about them, hear about them, touch them, use them or trade in them. No more poisoning families and ruining lives.”
Nero twitched, then burst into song, full volume, “I’m a little teapot, short and stout!”
“That’s not quite the deterrent we had in mind,” Samuel said. “We—
“Here is my handle, here is my spout!”
Samuel relaxed a touch. “Oh, he’s doing the full song. That’s a little better.”
“When I get all steamed up, I just shout!”
“Listen, Nero,” Imp said. “Every time you—”
“Tip me over and pour me out!”
“—meet the criteria we set, you’re going to do this all over again.”
“I’m a very special pot, it’s true!”
“Oh, wow, there’s more lyrics?” Imp asked, her train of thought temporarily broken.
Nero’s eyes moved from person to person, clearly alarmed as his lips worked without his volition. “Here’s an example of what I can do!”
Imp nodded, “Carve a guy’s face up with a knife, you get some crazy face-stitchy nemesis, and his cred goes up—”
“I can turn my handle into a spout!”
“—but if you turn him into the guy that sings the teapot song—”
“Tip me over and pour me out!”
“—he’s going to have a hell of a time in the villain community.”
The song was done, and Nero was left panting.
“Especially if he’s doing the dance along with it,” Samuel commented. “His hands and hips were wiggling there.”
Imp sighed. “Flor. Let us finish explaining before you decide what the rule is.”
Samuel added, “You make another guy sing ‘John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt’ and I’m not sure we can get them to stop, this time.”
“You can always get them to stop,” Juliette commented, quiet, “But that breaks Imp’s rules.”
Flor only grinned, staring down at Nero.
“Rule two,” Imp said.
“Please, no.”
“If he breaks it, Flor, I want him to throw away any weapon or phone he has and then launch into reciting aloud from a copy of the Iliad for an hour. Before he attacks.”
“No,” Nero said.
“Rule is, no attacking anyone, and no giving orders that lead to anyone or anyone’s belongings getting hurt or lost.”
“No!” Nero shouted. “You’re killing me, leaving me defenseless!”
“We’re declawing you, old man,” Imp said. “You figure it out. Sam, help me get him down?”
“Being the only trustworthy one sucks ass,” Samuel said. “Move, Flor. Leave the poor bastard alone.”
Flor hopped down. Nero yelled as the chair rocked a little.
Sam kicked the board of knives and nails to one side, and Imp lowered Nero to the ground.
“You’re done,” Imp said.
Nero backed away, freezing as he found himself beside Juliette, who had picked up the board of spikes and was holding the safe side against her chest, her arms having found safe spots.
Imp looked down at the armored man. “You’re fucking with an old friend, using her schtick, taking it ugly places. So it looks like I have a bit of a hobby, now. If you get in touch with Teach, or vice versa, then let him know I’m not cool with it, and I’ll stop being a thorn in his side the day he stops cribbing from someone else’s game plan. Capiche?”
Nero couldn’t bring himself to answer.
“It’s about legacies,” Imp said. “Kind of important. She’s gone, so it’s up to us to protect her legacy. Now here’s another. Desk drawer, bottom right.”
“You won,” Nero said. “You won the moment you had a chain around my neck. You took my ability to fight, you prevented me from… certain avenues of business.”
“Fast learner,” Samuel observed.
Imp crossed the room to the doorway that Hooligan and the teenagers had entered, rubbing kinks out of her hands. She opened the door. “No need to watch him anymore. Go.”
The two teenagers fled.
“Desk drawer,” Imp said, when they were gone.
Nero edged over to the desk, then opened the drawer.
When he raised his hand, there was a stuffed doll in it. Crude. A figure in white with a silver crown and ruby lips.
“I’m going to check in on you from time to time,” Imp said. “I’ve got a rule. That doll? It’s in your care. It stays pristine, you get it? If anything happens to it, if there’s the slightest scuff, then I’m going to be pissed.”
Nero looked down at the doll. “Why?”
“Because I’m mysterious,” Imp said, sounding very lucid, and suddenly tired. “I’ll be in touch, to check in on you and that doll.”
She turned to leave, then stopped. “And no mentioning the fish thing, or you’ll see me really pissed.”
Nero nodded slowly.
With that said, Imp led the way out of the office, leaving the former villain staring down at the poorly made doll.
The three kids grabbed their jackets from beside the door, pulling them on.
They collectively ventured outside into the darkness, the cold and the snow. The snow had frozen into a shelf of ice above powder, crunching under their footsteps. Flor reached her arms out to either side, as if trying to embrace the wind. She nearly fell, up until her brother caught her.
“That doll? Was that supposed to be Regent?” Samuel asked. He adjusted his scarf.
“Yeah.”
“Gotta ask. Why?”
“Legacies,” Imp said. “Memorial went kablooie when Scion hit Brockton Bay original, which bugs me more than it should. I mean, okay, going on a tangent here, I had a shitty childhood, y’know? You guys can relate, I’m sure.”
“What tipped you off?” Juliette asked.
“Gut feeling,” Imp retorted. “Most wouldn’t guess, I know, given ho
w well adjusted you rugrats are.”
“I’m a couple years younger than you,” Samuel said. “Why am I a rugrat?”
“Anyways,” Imp said, ignoring the question, “I had a shitty childhood. You go through that, and the people who matter end up mattering a fucking lot, you know?”
“Yeah,” Samuel said, at the same time Juliette said, “No.”
“Sucks to fade into the background, let me tell you. Not even talking about my power. It really… sucks. And I think, you know, I’m not very good at taking care of people. You lot excepted, almost all of those people who mattered are gone, one way or another.”
“Mostly the one way,” Juliette said. Samuel elbowed her.
“Mostly the one way,” Imp agreed. “And I can’t do much. I’m not the type to take flowers to graves or anything like that. I’m not the type to cry, and sometimes I really wish I was.”
“You make sure they’re remembered,” Samuel said.
“That they don’t fade away or get ignored. I’m trying. But how do you even do that? I gotta go with my gut, and my gut says that one friend ought to get a fair shake, after the fact. So maybe I do my part, make sure history isn’t a dick to her. And for your brother, well…”
“Making people take care of puppets?” Samuel asked.
“I feel like he’d get it,” Imp said.
“That’s good,” Samuel said. “Because I sure don’t.”
“He, I don’t even know… he liked irritating people, needling them. Shad—schadenfreude?”
Samuel gave Imp a thumbs up.
“Yes! Woo! Schadenfreude. Pronounced it right. So he’d get a kick out of making people miserable over something so minor and silly. I dunno. It was one of his better points. He was a magnificent asshole.”
“Aisha was a big fan of Jean-Paul’s asshole,” Juliette said. “You catch that, Flor?”
Flor nodded, grinning.
“You guys are dicks,” Imp said. “That’s not what I said. Gross, no, and fuck you.”
Samuel fixed Flor’s scarf to cover her face, then fixed the scarf in place by clamping the earmuffs down over scarf and ear both. “Close enough. We’ll be sure to inform the rest of the gang about your fetish when we get back.”
“You probably would,” Imp said. “How do you even know what a fet—nevermind. Dumb question. Cold is getting to me.”
“Right. The cold.”
Flor was starting to struggle, being the shortest member of the group. Imp picked her up, swinging her around until she had her in a piggyback position.
The snow crunched underfoot. Though it was nighttime, the light of the sun reflected off of the moon, and the snow reflected that light in turn. It was more fitting to twilight than midnight, now that her eyes had adjusted. The buildings looked grim, stark and utilitarian.
“You’re the only person that isn’t family that has ever had the guts to touch Florence,” Samuel commented.
“She’s not that bad.”
“Not at all,” Samuel said. “Except, you know, the time she compelled a complete stranger to slap his forehead any time he wanted to talk. There was the one cop that had to bite himself hard enough to draw blood every time he made eye contact with someone. Or the time Nathan, one of our unpowered brothers, yelled at her, and she made it so he had to turn around ten times before he entered a room, and had to count backwards from a hundred before he could put food in his mouth.”
“He got thin,” Juliette said.
“Nathan was almost dead, last time we saw him.”
Imp ignored the chatter, but she felt a little more at ease than she had earlier. Sam said something, then elbowed Juliette, who offered only a comment, inflection free.
Imp watched them to make sure that no weapons were drawn, literal or otherwise. It was in the process that a blur caught her eye.
A shadow in the distance, perched on a building.
“Do you sense her?” Imp asked.
“Her?” Sam asked.
“Guess not.”
“Trouble?”
“Don’t know,” Imp replied. She let Flor down to the ground, then faced the figure head on. With a broad gesture, she beckoned for the figure to approach.
The figure didn’t move.
“Bitch,” Imp muttered. “Gimme a minute.”
She stopped suppressing her power, and she could see the faces of the others change. Confusion.
She felt a bit sad, seeing it, but she could see how they banded together. It wasn’t the most healthy sibling dynamic, but they were together. There were more back at the headquarters. Her family.
She turned to go. Trudging across the snow, passing between two buildings because it was the fastest route, stopping because the angle was different, struggling to use the falling snowflakes to gauge if the telltale blur was there or if here eyes were playing tricks on her.
It took minutes, but she found her way up the scaffolding at the side of the building.
She kicked the pile of snow to the ground below, then sat down beside Shadow Stalker’s blurry form. When she was settled, she suppressed her power.
Together, they watched the trio of Heartbreaker’s children make their way down a road that was buried beneath snow.
“You touch any of them, you’re—”
Shadow Stalker was reacting before the sentence was done. Imp remained where she was. Too close to be shot. The bolts took time to phase into reality.
A moment later, Shadow Stalker had leaped across the roof and was frozen there, weapon pointed.
“As I was saying,” Imp said, not looking away from the hills and trees that glittered with snow, “You touch them, you’re really going to regret it.”
“I was thinking of taking you down,” Shadow Stalker said.
“Even dumber,” Imp replied. “They’re pretty scary people, and I think some of them even like me. I mean, really, do you want to fuck with that nest of hornets?”
“Doesn’t matter. Situation didn’t call for it.”
Imp shrugged. “All the villains out there, and you pick us? There’s a reason.”
“Some stuff was left unresolved,” Shadow Stalker said.
“Regent stuff? Oh, hey, if you really want to get into that stuff, we could bond. Paint each other’s nails, do the frozen bra sleepover thing, I always wanted to do that. I could talk about how fond I was of him, and you could talk about wanting to kill him, and then we both commiserate over heartbreak, in the various forms it takes. Then, if we’ve had a few drinks along the way…”
Imp trailed off.
Shadow Stalker didn’t move a muscle, her crossbow trained on her.
“No? Not game?”
“He told you, explained it?”
“Explained what? No way! Did you really have a thing going?”
“What? No!”
“Oh. Damn.”
“You’re fucking with me. Trying to put me off balance, taunting me with the lesbian innuendo.”
“I taunt everyone with that kind of stuff. Geez, you’re tightly strung.”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m your friend, and we won’t have a problem.”
Imp sighed, watching as the trio of Heartbroken made their way down a road without cars.
“You’re wearing that fucking thing on your arm.”
Imp looked down at the golden circle the survivors of the Scion fight had taken to wearing.
“Every time I see it, I can’t help but imagine it’s a bullseye.”
“Pisses you off?”
“We didn’t earn our victory, and people wear that shit like it’s a badge of honor. We were puppets, we got used.”
“By her,” Imp said.
“Wasn’t her power.”
“Was too. Trust me on this. I saw it unfold.”
Shadow Stalker looked away. She holstered the crossbow. “Fuck it. Not worth the effort.”
“Awesome,” Imp said. “You know how many people underestimated her? Right up until the end. I’m glad to be under
estimated.”
“You’re trying to irritate me.”
“You’re fun to irritate. And you know, it’s cool. In the end, you’re one of the people that’s going to remember her. Someone that’s left, who knows the general story. I don’t think she’s the schadenfreude type, but I think she’d appreciate that it’s true, and that it nettles you just a little.”
“It doesn’t,” Shadow Stalker said.
“Right, Ms. ‘Unresolved’. You aren’t holding on to the past at all. It doesn’t unsettle you or leave you feeling like you want to hit something when you think about it too much.”
“It doesn’t,” Shadow Stalker said. “You want to keep putting words in my mouth, I’ll put a crossbow bolt through yours.”
“Yeah, you’re not bothered at all.”
“I’m alive, she’s not.”
“In the rest of your years, even if you try, which you won’t, you won’t make a fraction of the difference she made. You’re going to keep living this solitary little hunter-stalker existence, picking off a few bad guys, getting your jollies, and people are never going to wear a badge on their sleeves for you.”
“That badge is not for Hebert.”
“Maybe not for everyone,” Imp said. “It means different things for different people. A planet they lost, an ordeal they survived, I dunno. But it’s a reminder of Taylor to me, and it’s a reminder for you, too. Every time you see it, now, it’s going to make you think of her, remind you that she did something big.”
Shadow Stalker drew the crossbow, aiming it, but Imp was already using her power.
Shadow Stalker stood there in a daze for a moment, then holstered her crossbow. She fidgeted, pacing back and forth, then snarled aloud, kicking at a lump of snow at the edge of the roof, sending it up in a relatively pitiful flurry.
Anger with no outlet.
Imp smiled, getting to her feet, then made her way down.
She trudged the distance to the car, parking a distance away. Samuel was leaning against the passenger door. She jerked her thumb, ordering him to move.
“What?” he asked.
“You’re driving.”
“I don’t know how.”
“Learn fast,” Imp said.
“It’s ice and snow everywhere.”
“Four wheel drive. Don’t care if it takes a while to get there. Besides, you can sense people, worst thing you can hit is a wall.”