Worm

by John McCrae

  “Me doing the best I could,” Tattletale said. “And speak quieter, please. My head’s throbbing… I feel like someone’s hitting my eyeballs with hammers.”

  In a marginally quieter voice, Grue said, “You provoked him.”

  “I dealt with him the only way I could. Working with old info. Don’t even have my power, only what I got on our earlier meetings. Shit, I haven’t even read that booklet Skitter gave me.”

  “Well,” Regent said. “This is fantastic. Skitter really screwed the pooch here.”

  Bitch tensed at the idiom.

  “We don’t know what she did,” Grue said. “Or what she’s doing.”

  There was a pause.

  Parian had felt lost, in well over her head, since she’d set foot in here. These guys were a group, an organization, they had their way of doing things, their rhythm. It was so hard to jump in, to say anything.

  But now, maybe, she felt like she had a role. A reason to be here.

  “I… I think I understand what she’s doing,” Parian said.

  All eyes fell on her. Even Bitch’s gaze, intimidating and angry.

  “Generally,” Parian said. “Um. I get what she’s…”

  “Spit it out,” Imp said.

  “She’s a lot like me,” Parian said. “She wants to protect people. She’s willing to make sacrifices for the people she cares about.”

  “I’ve discussed that with her,” Grue said.

  “Terribly unhealthy,” Regent commented. “Worse than smoking, even.”

  “So maybe this is a way to do that,” Parian said. “A way to protect all of us. She gives Director Tagg exactly what he wants. Gets him to back down. And this is how. She uses herself as a bargaining chip.”

  “I don’t fucking care about Tagg,” Bitch growled. “I’d rather have Skitter than have him gone.”

  “It’s more than that!” Parian raised her voice, hurrying to speak before she could get lost in the jumble, unable to cut in and find a voice in their dynamic. She had objectivity they didn’t. The ability to see the big picture. “I… I think she’s decided on a way to help all of us. With more things than just Tagg. And maybe… maybe she helps herself, too.”

  “Herself?” Regent asked.

  “I’m just… I know what it’s like, to be on a single track, to feel compelled to keep going forward. It isn’t easy, to disappoint the people you care about, but sometimes it comes down to doing that… or doing what they want and being unhappy.”

  “Unhappy,” Grue said.

  “Was there ever a time when she was with us, where she really seemed happy? Content?”

  “I know my brother’s made her happy,” Imp said. “Ick.”

  Regent sniggered.

  “I didn’t,” Grue said, his voice quiet. “Make her happy.”

  “I don’t know anything more than you guys do,” Parian said, “But…Maybe she needs to make peace with her guilt and whatever, go to jail, and try to make amends with her dad? If that’s part of it, can we really say no?”

  “What if it isn’t part of it?” Tattletale asked. “What if leaving us is the last thing she wants, but she’s doing it anyways?”

  “Are you saying that’s the case?” Grue asked.

  “No. My power’s out of commission. I can’t say anything for sure,” Tattletale said. “Except we respect Taylor-”

  “We’ve been through hell with Taylor,” Grue cut in.

  “And we trust her,” Tattletale said, glancing at Bitch.

  So she picked up on that too, Parian thought.

  “…So let’s trust that she has an idea what she’s doing,” Tattletale finished.

  Bitch moved, stepping forward, her boots making a heavy noise on the floor as she advanced. She struck out, kicking.

  The widescreen television with its tripod mount came crashing down, shattering.

  Nobody spoke in the aftermath of that small gesture of pain and frustration.

  They looked amongst one another, searching each other for some validation, for a response.

  It was Bitch who broke the spell. “If the PRT fucks her…”

  “We destroy them,” Grue finished. Bitch nodded.

  The most sensible member in the group in agreement with the most violent, Parian thought.

  “All we can do is wait,” Tattletale said.

  “How long?”

  The question had come from Bitch. She was tense, rigid, her jaw set, eyes narrowed.

  “Nightfall,” Tattletale said. “We wait until the sun sets. That’s the only instruction Skitter gave me.”

  “What are we waiting for?” Grue asked. “A signal?”

  “If we don’t get a signal,” Tattletale said, “We act.”

  ■

  Parian’s thoughts were buzzing with possibilities, more details, more responsibilities. Taking on more territory, giving up some to Grue.

  Still struggling to find a way to be relevant.

  She reached her atelier and dismounted from the six-legged horse, stepping down to the floor of the alley. It had been a little more stable than a four-legged unicorn. She’d have to refine the idea, find a balance. Specific forms for specific tasks.

  She was behind. Behind in her territory, behind in applying her powers to combat situations, in being able to understand and interact with people like Accord.

  And until she figured those things out, she couldn’t truly be a part of the Undersiders. And if she wasn’t a real member of the group, she couldn’t change anything where it really mattered.

  The unicorn came apart into scraps of cloth. The individual scraps rolled up, were neatly tied by braids of thread. She lifted the largest bundle and made her way around the corner to her front door.

  Ten and a half hours before sunset. That was the deadline. Skitter’s deadline, and the point that would determine whether this became an all-out war against the PRT or something entirely different.

  Parian stopped in her tracks. Lily leaned beside the front door, in full costume as Flechette. The stainless steel shoulder-rest of her arbalest sat on the ground, and she used a single fingertip to keep the weapon upright, unloaded and pointed at the sky.

  With a flick of a finger, Lily made the thing spin, stopped it, spun it the other way around.

  “You know where I live,” Parian said.

  “The PRT knows where you live,” Lily said. “It’s on record. But we’re not supposed to act like we know. I thought you’d forgive me that, given our history.”

  “Is there news? About Skitter?”

  Lily shook her head. “They asked me to go out and make a phone call, outside of Skitter’s range. But they didn’t seem to know how far that was, so I…”

  “Made your way to the far end of the city,” Parian said.

  “Yeah,” Lily said, just under her breath, looking down at her weapon. Again, she spun it.

  “You didn’t even know I’d be here.”

  “You weren’t. I just got an angry call from Miss Militia,” Lily said. “Been out here for a bit.”

  “For…”

  “Thirty minutes.”

  “Ah.”

  Parian put the bundle of cloth down, resting the end on the ground. After a moment’s thought, she leaned it against the wall by her front door. By Lily.

  She felt so conspicuous. She knew Lily hated the black costume, with the black hair, the black dress.

  Lily, who’d been maybe the only person to give her support without being asked. Lily, who was… chivalrous. Gallant. Stubborn. So very stubborn.

  “Did you come here for a reason?” Parian asked, in the same second Lily asked, “Where were you?”

  “You first,” Lily said, after the momentary confusion.

  “Why did you come here?”

  “Don’t know,” Lily said.

  “That’s a hell of a reason to wait thirty minutes.”

  Lily glanced left, then right, as if looking for bystanders.

  “This area isn’t occupied,” Parian sai
d. “My atelier is the only one on the block that you can live in. The rest are sealed up.”

  “Atelier?”

  “Workshop. Studio. Only fancier.”

  “Ah,” Lily said. Then, as if she remembered why she’d been looking for bystanders, she let herself slide down until she was sitting with her back to the wall.

  “That’s it for answers?” Parian asked. “Don’t know?”

  “No.”

  “Just talk me through what’s going through your head. Doesn’t have to be relevant. Don’t have to censor your thoughts.”

  “Definitely have to censor my thoughts,” Lily said. She glanced up at Parian.

  She felt her heart rate pick up with that, oddly enough, just like it had with Bitch.

  Except Lily wasn’t dangerous, was she?

  “God, I hate this city,” Lily said.

  “It’s… a hard city to like,” Parian said. “But it’s not a city that lets you throw it away. It’s tenacious, both in the big picture, and in how it attaches itself to you.”

  “Yeah,” Lily murmured. “Before I came here, everything was on track. I could see my future ahead of me, straight as an arrow. Career path, eventual Flechette action figures. Every single one of my teachers and superiors seemed to know I had potential. One of the only people who could hurt an Endbringer…”

  Lily raised her unloaded arbalest, aimed it, “Pow. Critical damage every time, and I don’t miss.”

  “I remember what you said when you talked to Skitter and Miss Militia. You don’t feel so confident, now.”

  “I’ve been trying to think of where I might be comfortable. Where I could find what I’ve lost. During the whole post-Leviathan thing, I was always most comfortable here.”

  “Here?” Parian looked over at her Atelier, an unassuming, simple building.

  “With you.”

  “Ah.”

  “And… fuck me, because I’m not acting confident. I told myself I’d act confident, but… I’m blowing this.”

  “Don’t stress so much about acting,” Parian said.

  She reached up and detached her mask from the metal frame that held it over her face, then pulled the wig off as well. She let them fall to the ground.

  A pure white mask, in contrast to her own Arab ethnicity. She’d meant to make a point of it, to challenge people to wonder more about what was behind the masks, about their assumptions about heroes and villains. That had fallen apart when Leviathan and the Slaughterhouse Nine had derailed her plan to unmask herself and start a career as a fashion designer.

  More than the fashion designer part, it was the sudden recollection of what the Slaughterhouse Nine had done that took the wind from her sails.

  She tipped over the roll of cloth and then seated herself on it, facing Lily.

  Belatedly, she said, “We act too much. Hide behind masks way too often.”

  Lily looked around to double-check, then removed her visor.

  “I don’t think I can do this,” Lily said.

  “Do what?”

  “I don’t know. But whatever it is, I can’t do it.”

  “I know the feeling,” Parian replied.

  “Where were you?”

  “You don’t get to ask that,” Parian said, quiet. “Just like you don’t get to act like you own me, to say that my costume is anything but my choice.”

  “You remember that,” Lily said, looking down at the ground.

  “Hard to forget.”

  “Skitter asked me what I wanted,” Lily said. “I gave her my answer.”

  “You wanted me.”

  Lily nodded.

  “I’ve already had someone try to claim me, you know,” Parian said. “They thought that I was something that was owed to them, because of what they’d done. That being nice meant I was obligated to accept a date. And that line of thinking goes one step further. They think flowers and a few dates mean I’m obligated to come over to his apartment to spend the night.”

  “That’s not what I’m doing,” Flechette said.

  Parian didn’t answer.

  “I mean, it’s not… my motives aren’t…”

  “Carnal?”

  “Sketchy,” Flechette supplied.

  “That doesn’t make it any better.”

  “No,” Lily agreed. “Fuck. I was hoping this would go better.”

  “And… I’m not so sure your motives were pure. I’ve seen you sneak glances. For someone who has a superpower that gives her enhanced timing, I’d think you’d be better at it.”

  Lily turned red, very deliberately not looking at Sabah.

  “Once bitten, twice shy,” Sabah said, almost to herself. “I’ve been bitten once.”

  “Is that a no?”

  “To? You haven’t asked me anything.”

  Lily shifted her grip on her arbalest, then set it on the ground, spun it on the end again, as though it were an oversized top.

  “Skitter asked me for what I want. What do you want?”

  “Direction. No, not even that. It’s almost like I don’t care as much about what I do, as me feeling like I want to do something well, but I can’t.”

  The Japanese-American girl frowned. “And this is what you want to do?”

  “Yes,” Sabah answered.

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s the only way to get the rest of the money that my people need.”

  “Your people?” Lily started to glance around, then stopped. “Not these people. Your family, friends. From Dolltown.”

  Sabah nodded. Her heart was heavy with the thought alone. “And because I need to be a part of the Undersiders if they’re going to listen to me, and I need them to listen to me if I’m going to influence them, keep them on a straighter path. To protect people from them, and to protect them from themselves.“

  “And that’s all worth giving up the life you want to lead?”

  Parian thought of Skitter. Of the motivations that could be driving the girl to turn on her friends.

  “I think it is.”

  “Then… would you take me along for the ride?”

  Sabah glanced at Lily. Lily was staring at her, an intense look. Scary in its own way, but not quite in that way that was a reminder of uglier days.

  “No,” Sabah answered. “I don’t think I can. It’s not that I don’t trust you, but…”

  But I don’t trust you. I can’t have someone try to possess me, to control me.

  She couldn’t find a graceful way to say it, and she could see the pain on Lily’s face, the doubt, the embarrassment, as the pause lingered.

  Then Lily seemed to compose herself. “Not as a partner.”

  “No?’

  “I meant, um. A lieutenant.”

  “A lieutenant?”

  “I’m not good at being alone,” Lily said. “I found that out a while ago, and what’s happened these past few weeks, they only made it clearer. I need company, and your company is what I want the most. I can’t say it’ll be forever, but for now…”

  Being together… having a helping hand where it counted. Having firepower and authority both, to help win over the locals. It wasn’t perfect, it wouldn’t be fast…

  But maybe it wouldn’t be such an uphill climb.

  “You’d leave the Wards?”

  “They’re falling apart anyways. I’d… I’d have to give up my arbalest. Without tinker maintenance, it won’t keep working. But I always liked the idea of the rapier, been meaning to go back to it. And I have darts.”

  “You’re rambling.”

  “I’m terrified,” Lily said, meeting Sabah’s eyes. She looked it.

  She’s taken a leap of faith, and she hasn’t touched ground.

  “You’re saying I call the shots. You’re my lieutenant, my right hand?”

  “Yes,” Flechette said.

  “My knight in shining armor.”

  “I’d need a new costume, and a new name, probably. For legal reasons. If you said yes. I was thinking more a stylized musketeer l
ook than a knight, but I can work with whatever.”

  Still rambling.

  “A new costume is something I can do,” Sabah answered. “And yes.”

  “Yes?”

  “Yes,” Sabah said. “You’ll be my lieutenant. And you’re okay with that?”

  “That’s… what I’m offering. The last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable.”

  “That’s good enough,” Sabah said. She stood, approaching Lily.

  Needle and thread. Somehow it felt more right, more solid, than any of the paths she’d started on, only to later abandon. Maybe because she wasn’t doing it alone.

  She put two fingers to Lily’s chin, raising it, and then she kissed her lieutenant.

  Arc 22: Cell

  22.01

  I remained where I was, hands folded on the back of my head, kneeling, while the PRT officers bellowed at me, almost incoherent, impossible to obey as they gave me contradictory orders. Down on the ground, stand up, throw any weapons to the side, do not touch anything.

  They were afraid to approach, too, apparently. Maybe word had gotten out about what happened to Armsmaster when he’d gotten ahold of me at the fundraiser. They each stopped about ten feet from me, forming a loose ring. I’d thought they might have hit me with one of their nonlethal weapons, but they didn’t shoot. Maybe the audience was giving them second thoughts.

  Miss Militia broke the stalemate, such as it was. I could see her put one hand on Clockblocker’s shoulder, giving him a gentle push.

  In his white costume, he advanced. He was inscribed with images of clocks in gray, some animated, little hands spinning at different speeds at his shoulder, the center of his chest, and the backs of his hands, places where the armor panels were broadest. He crossed the perimeter of guards, getting closer to me.

  When I didn’t react, they seemed to take that as permission to move closer. The bellowing reached a crescendo, and one officer was apparently unhappy that I wasn’t already lying prone on the ground. He planted a heavy boot between my shoulder blades, then thrust me into the ground. I only barely managed to turn my head to avoid cracking my chin on the floor, pulling my head back so I didn’t smash it. I felt the air huff out of my chest, pain jolting through me. My chest wasn’t large, was a ways from ‘medium’, even, but that didn’t make it any better when it bore the brunt of the impact.