Playing For Keeps

by Mur Lafferty

  Ian eyed the concoctions, and then took Colette’s challenge and pulled a chef’s knife from the block. “I was burned by hot water as a kid. Then in college I set an oven mitt on fire. While I was wearing it. I’ll stay clear of the hot stuff.”

  “Suit yourself,” she said, and pulled out another pan.

  “More weapons?”

  “No, dinner. I’m hungry.”

  Peter remembered the scraggly, dazed people following Ghostheart. “Colette. Who is this meant for?”

  “Anyone who gets in our way.”

  “But those men and women in the alley are victims of Ghostheart’s lies. It’s not their fault. We can’t fight them.”

  Colette frowned. She looked at Peter and he thought he saw tears in her eyes. “Was Dave up there?”

  Peter winced. He’d forgotten Drinky Drunky Dave, the Drunk, a Third Wave homeless man whose power went right up against Keepsie’s: he had the power to get any alcohol without paying for it. Peter knew she took pity on him and allowed him in the bar, but he never knew if Dave’s power would work if Keepsie didn’t want him to take the beer.

  When Dave had met Keepsie and learned of her adopted hero name, he proudly called himself Drinky Drunky Dave, the Drunk. He’d been a favorite of Colette’s as he had a sense of humor and always tipped the waitress for his free beer.

  “I—I didn’t see him. But we can’t fight them.”

  She stirred a pot on the stove and nodded. “If you can pour this down Clever Jack’s pants, though, I’d appreciate it.”

  Peter opened his mouth to answer, but shouting and laughter from inside the bar stopped him. He ran through the doors to see Tomas doubled over laughing at the heroes outside.

  “What’s happening?”

  Michelle grinned at him. “He decided to try pulling on Heretic’s arm to see what would happen.”

  Heretic was now up to her shoulder in Keepsie’s Bar, the arm inside immobile but the body writhing like a fish on a line.

  “Can you push her out?” Peter asked.

  Tomas gave the fist a little push, then harder. It didn’t budge. “I suppose she cannot leave until Keepsie lets her.”

  How is it going to be when all of this is over? If we survive, will we all go to jail? Peter thought as he watched his friends tease the hero. Although he did not recall anything on the law books about teasing a hero, there was probably something there about hindering a hero in his duties.

  “Dude.” Ian poked him in the shoulder. “Are you listening?”

  “What?” Peter hadn’t noticed Ian and Michelle were behind him. Then he realized he hadn’t smelled them.

  “I said we need to start thinking of a plan of attack.”

  “Right. Um. Tomas and Barry and Colette in the back door, dealing with Ghostheart’s army. You, me, and Michelle here to deal with this door.”

  “What about them?” Ian poked Heretic’s arm.

  “We could pull them inside and hold them. That might be safest. For all involved.

  Heretic swore, her face mashed against the glass pane above the one she’d punched out.

  “Don’t worry, it doesn’t hurt,” Peter said. Tomas gave another heave, and the glass gave way and Heretic slid effortlessly into the room, not even cutting herself on the broken panes.

  “Remind me to kiss Keepsie,” Tomas said, laughing, as he placed the immobile Heretic on the floor next to Timson.

  Tattoo Devil looked at them with wide eyes. “Stay away from me!”

  “I apologize, but we need to clear the stairway. You understand, I’m sure,” Peter said. “We won’t hold you here forever.”

  “Just let me go and I’ll clear out, no problem!”

  Peter raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Devil, I’m sure we’ve had enough encounters in the past several hours to show that neither of us can trust the other. So, with the upper hand, we’re going to neutralize you. You will not be hurt, and who knows, you might make it out of this fight better than we will.”

  Peter hefted the frozen bobcat and experimented with carrying it further inside the bar. The cry of alarm outside satisfied his curiosity, and he instructed Tomas to bring Tattoo Devil inside.

  Tomas stacked him with the rest. Michelle and Ian went over to the door, Michelle to crouch by the bodies and Ian to look out.

  “You know, I’ve always wanted to look at his tattoos,” Michelle said. She coughed and pulled back his lapel of his vest. “Guys. This is sick.”

  Ian bent down. “So what? Lots of guys have tattoos of naked chicks.”

  Michelle stared him. Peter looked at the anatomically correct tattoo and said mildly, “That must come in handy on lonely nights.”

  Michelle stood and punched him playfully in the arm. Ian choked and said, “Oh. I get it. Dude. That’s a lucky power, right there. But, oh…” Ian pulled back Tattoo Devil’s lapel some more and revealed a naked man tattooed into his armpit.

  Michelle laughed. “Well, he covers all bases.”

  “I did not need to see that,” Ian said, hiding his face in Michelle’s shoulder.

  “So the coast is clear, boss,” Tomas said. “Now what?”

  “Now what indeed,” Peter said, sticking his head out the window and looking up. The heroes and villains and hoboes still fought above the bar, and there was no clear winner.

  And were they actually thinking of taking on the entirety of the hobo army, heroes and villains if it came to it? Armed with candy and fry oil and Ian’s foul weapon?

  It was all they had. It would have to do.

  He turned and looked at his troops. “Get ready. It’s time.”

  33

  Keepsie’s sense of relief mixed with loss as the drug began to wear off. She was happy to have the high wear off so she could think clearly, but the added power had been a bonus. The ability to protect her friends had apparently been the key to expelling the horrific Timson out of Peter’s head. Now she was just plain old Keepsie, outside for what was beginning to seem like a very stupid reason.

  The homeless had attempted to attack her as she emerged from the bar, and now a good twenty frozen trailed helplessly behind her as she ran.

  What the hell am I out here for? The drug must have been wearing off, since Keepsie realized she was clearly questioning her actions when two minutes before she had completely sure of herself. She ducked into a side street and flattened herself against a wall to watch the carnage.

  The fight, however, had slowed. All she could see were heroes and hoboes. Clever Jack and Light of Mornings were nowhere to be found.

  Seismic Stan hadn’t been seen since the scuffle at the park. Keepsie guessed that White Lightning had taken care of him, finally. He and Light of Mornings could probably tear up this battle in an instant. But then what would Clever Jack rule if the city fell into a great fault, with a nuclear winter settling over them all?

  Psychological studies had been done on the villains ever since Seismic Stan had broken free of the Academy and attacked the city. There was the age-old question when it came to bad comic books—why does the bad guy want to destroy the earth? Why did he want to kill himself, not to mention all of his cool secret lair and stuff?

  If his nemesis had been as insufferable as the heroes, Keepsie could see the point behind total annihilation. Is it that easy? Can simple bitterness drive you to evil?

  She ran a few steps and then released the men and women under her control; it was hard to be stealthy with 20 corpse-like people floating behind her. She ran down the side street and marveled at how quiet the city was just one block over.

  The Weaver River, renamed for Pallas’s acts of bravery twenty years prior, usually had ducks and swans paddling in its slow current. People would rent boats a couple of miles up and spend the day canoeing up and down the river. It was a popular pleasure spot, and Keepsie enjoyed hanging out there on days off. The birds often made considerable noise when they saw someone walking the banks, as it usually meant free food.

  Today the birds floated, their l
ong necks splayed across the water, their open eyes staring into the sky. They circled lazily and bumped into each other, shedding feathers and drifting farther downstream with the current.

  Keepsie’s mind was returning to her swiftly, and although going back to the bar might seem the best idea, she had to check out the lone figure sitting on the riverbank, dangling her dainty bare toes in the water.

  Light of Mornings had apparently gotten enough of her powers back to control the glowing, and now actually resembled a regular girl. She stared out at the dead ducks as they floated by. Tears leaked from her eyes, trailed down her face, and evaporated with a pop.

  Can her radiation hurt me if it’s not a conscious attack? Do I want to find out? Keepsie hadn’t wanted to find out a lot of the things she had discovered recently. But the most powerful supervillain ever sat before her, crying on the riverbank, and Keepsie, wonder of wonders, felt sorry for her.

  “Hey, what’s up?” she asked.

  “It’s not fair,” Light of Morning said. She was more coherent than Keepsie had seen her.

  “Um, what’s not fair?”

  “Him. When I went to sleep, he promised me he’d get me out. And he did. But it’s been years. It’s been so long.”

  Keepsie tried to do that math. She looked to be fifteen or so. Clever Jack was in his late twenties, so she couldn’t have been asleep longer than ten or fifteen years. She said as much, inching closer in what she hoped was a concerned way.

  Light of Mornings whipped her head around and glared at Keepsie. The air between them heated up, and Keepsie swallowed and sat down about ten feet away.

  “Not so long? Eleven years isn’t a long time? What has he been doing in that time? Who has he been with?” She stared back at the water, and Keepsie fancied she saw a squirrel fall from a tree on the far side of the river.

  “In school I thought he liked me for me. Now I’ve been back less than a day and all he’s wanted me to do is go here and fight this and steal this, and kill that hero and piss that person off, and then, hey, let’s fuck for old time’s sake, and then go fight some more!”

  Keepsie’s heart quickened. She felt this way when playing poker with her friends and she was dealt a good hand and prayed she wouldn’t screw it up.

  She’s still a kid inside.

  Keepsie looked out over the river too and hugged her knees to her chest. Her cheek felt as if she were getting sunburned.

  “Yeah. That really sucks. So you’re feeling used?”

  Light of Mornings looked up to the sky, looking as if she were trying to hold back more tears. She failed; they sizzled on her cheeks as they spilled over. She nodded, her lips trembling.

  “I felt used,” Keepsie said. “By the same guys. Doodad used me just the other day.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Such a jerk.” Keepsie tried to remember what was important to her when she had been fifteen, what she talked about. Boys. Overwhelming crushes on boys.

  Clever Jack would be the key.

  “So wha’d he do to you?” Light of Mornings asked.

  “Tricked me into using my powers for him. I really didn’t have any say in it.”

  “Asshole.”

  “Totally.” Keepsie’s heart was thundering away, and she held her knees tightly.

  “I mean, it’s not like I wanna marry him or anything,” Light of Mornings blurted. “I just thought they were my friends. They rescued me, and they’re all like, ‘Oh we’re so glad you’re back, now can you blast those assholes?’ And I wasn’t even awake yet.”

  “So, uh, where are they now?”

  Light of Mornings waved towards the battle. “I wanted to talk to him about all this shit that’s going on, and the other shit, but he wanted to fight.” Her voice grew deep and mocking. “‘Come on, just nuke their asses!’ So I left.”

  Keepsie watched another duck float by. “So, uh, can you tone that down? Cause you’re not helping the local wildlife.”

  Light of Mornings threw a rock into the water. “What do I care? I don’t give a shit. I don’t care about anyone or anything.” The light increased, and Keepsie winced. “I mean, how would you like it if the guy you loved woke you up from sleeping, like, a billion years and said, ‘go nuke those people!’ instead of, ‘hey babe, how are you feeling after being asleep for a billion years? Here’s what’s going on in the world, here’s the latest Celtics’ score, and by the way the president is Tom Cruise?’”

  “The president isn’t Tom Cruise, if that helps,” Keepsie offered. Light of Mornings snorted.

  The light intensified. Keepsie finally looked away, which was a good thing that Light of Mornings couldn’t see her face when the girl spoke next.

  “And if Clever Jack thinks he’s going to have visitation rights on the baby, he can suck my dick.”

  * * * * *

  In a world of superheroes, Keepsie rarely got frightened. For obvious reasons, she wasn’t scared of most criminal acts. Until the incidents of a couple of days ago, she didn’t fear villains, for she knew the reprehensible heroes would save her. There hadn’t been a civilian death at the hands of a villain in eight years; asshole or not, the heroes saved people. That’s what they did.

  Keepsie nearly wet herself at the thought of Light of Mornings’ baby.

  She cleared her throat, ignoring the screaming voice inside her head telling her to run, run far, run long, become a hermit in Tibet. She’d always considered shaving her head at least once. Run away from this little girl with the big girl power, run away from her baby. There had been a wave of children of the first people with powers. But there had been no public record of Second Wave with babies. This was new.

  With careful prodding, and reassurance that Keepsie wasn’t going to “get her into trouble,” Light of Mornings revealed how she and Clever Jack had slept together three times before her entrance into stasis. She had exhibited several pregnancy symptoms and had done a web search, but had told no one, not even Clever Jack. She had been too scared.

  “She would have taken my baby from me,” she whispered. The heat dissipated, and Light of Mornings put her head in her hands and cried.

  Keepsie breathed a quiet sigh of relief and leaned in to reassure her.

  “She won’t take it from you. Don’t worry. Timson will not take your child. I promise.

  “Listen, why don’t we go somewhere and get you some food? Have you eaten much since waking up?”

  Light of Mornings shook her head and sniffled loudly. Keepsie got up and pulled her to her feet. “Let’s go.”

  34

  Three heroes frozen and stacked in the corner. Check. One villain in the men’s bathroom. Check. People with low-grade superpowers stationed at each exit, prepared to fight with a strange concoction of powers and superheated liquids. Check. A nosebleed that wouldn’t stop. Check.

  Peter waved off Colette’s concerned arm as he nabbed one of her dishtowels and held it to his face. The bleeding had started soon after Keepsie had left and hadn’t stopped. Her drug must have worn off. He gave a fleeting thought for Alex’s powers and then felt guilty.

  Colette had every burner on the stove covered with her largest pots, full of oil, sugar, and other concoctions Peter didn’t want to ask about. Michelle had stacked all of the bar’s trays beside the kitchen door. She stared at the stack, her dark face a few shades lighter than normal.

  Peter pinched his nostrils and went back into the bar. Ian, Tomas and Barry clustered around the front door beside the captured heroes. Timson had a bar towel over her head. Peter poked Ian in the back and pointed to her.

  “Oh. That. She was creeping me out. And who knows if she can see anything in there.”

  “So what about the others? Why didn’t you cover their heads?”

  “Well they’re not the brains of the organization, are they? The homicidal, insane leader of superheroes should probably be in the dark. Toadies, not so much.”

  Peter suppressed an exasperated sigh. “Don’t you think Heretic a
nd Tattoo Devil could tell Timson what they saw?”

  “Oh. Then I guess it was just because she creeped me out. Does it matter?”

  Peter looked out the hole in the door. “I suppose not.”

  “Ah, Peter, are you all right?” Tomas asked.

  Peter looked at him. “No, Tomas, I don’t think I am. But since we’re under siege in a bar with the most powerful beings in the world outside our door, all of whom want us dead or captured, I don’t think any of us are all right.”

  Tomas coughed. “I meant your nose.”

  “I know what you meant. Now, are we ready?”

  “Honestly, no,” Barry said. His red, heavy face sagged and Peter was forcibly reminded that he was much older than the rest of them.

  Peter smiled. “I suppose that’s a good thing. Because if you were ready for something like this, I would worry.”

  “Where are you going to be through all this, dude?” Ian asked, rolling up his filthy sleeves.

  “I’ll be where I am needed, I suppose. Once the fighting starts, I won’t be much help. I’m sure Colette can use a hand. Call me if you need me.”

  Ian caught up with him at the door to the kitchen. “Hey, Pete, quick question. What are we working for here? I’m fairly sure we’re not trying to defeat everyone and save the day.”

  “Well. We’re trying to confuse them. Split their numbers. But essentially, we’re trying to punch a hole through and get the hell out of here.”

  Ian nodded and grinned. “Or just sow chaos?”

  “You can do that too.”

  Michelle had opened the door and stood in the doorway. She carried a bar tray on her shoulder loaded with empty glass mugs. Colette balanced one more mug on top of the others, pyramid style.

  “Now remember, try to get the glass to break as well. It’s tough glass, but you can probably throw it hard enough, right?”

  Michelle gulped. “I’ve never tried.”

  “Always time to learn new things.”