by Drew Hayes
Vince and Mary nodded. So far, they’d shadowed Lacey during her job and been allowed to assist with her tables; having one of their own to work with would be a step up from what they had done to date. Both were, in truth, a bit nervous at the prospect, but they kept it off their face like the HCP students they were.
“Let’s get started.”
* * *
“Bad,” Anastasia said, carefully flipping a section of the pale-blonde hair away to reveal more charred ends. “Bad, but not impossible.” The woman towered over everyone else in the salon, and most of the state. At six feet, five inches tall, Anastasia (one name only) looked more like she should be in spandex fighting criminals than running a hair-cutting business. Her severe face and habit of rarely smiling didn’t do much to make her seem friendlier, either. If Alice hadn’t walked up to the woman with such familiarity, Camille likely would have dashed out the door rather than sit down.
“Yes,” Anastasia announced after more examination. “I can work with this. You sit, I shall get my special tools. I will make you beautiful.” With that, the tall woman strode into the back, thick heels clacking on the smooth tile of the floor as she walked.
“That was . . . intense,” Camille said, once she was reasonably sure Anastasia was out of earshot.
“Anastasia takes hair seriously,” Alice replied. “It’s part of why she’s so good at her job. If anything, when it’s done, you’ll look better than you did before the hair-fire.”
It had struck Camille as curious that Anastasia had requested no explanation for why she was treating burned-off chunks of hair, but she kept this sentiment to herself in favor of staying meekly quiet while being looked over.
“It really isn’t such a big deal,” Camille reiterated.
“Camille, it’s just me here. You don’t have to pretend,” Alice assured her. “I’m not great at everything in Subtlety, but there are things I do pick up on. For example, I’ve noticed how, lately, you take the time to straighten and style your hair every day, or the way you use makeup when we’re not sweating through gym. There’s no shame in a little vanity here and there. You’re a cute girl. You should want people to notice.”
“Oh, that. I was just trying to get a little better at that stuff,” Camille defended lamely. “After my birthday last year, I realized how little I knew.”
“Didn’t you learn how to do it in high school?”
Camille shook her head. “I was training almost all the time. There weren’t many occasions requiring more than some foundation and a little blush.”
“Come on, you must have at least gotten dolled up on dates,” Alice prodded.
“I only had one boyfriend in high school,” Camille admitted. “It was a small town, and not everyone was adjusted to having a Super among them. Even the guy I dated used to pick on me when we were little.”
“Glad he grew beyond the pigtail-pulling stage,” Alice remarked.
Camille smiled, opting not to tell her about how bad the teasing had really been, or how “growing up” had gotten a big dose of help from Vince’s fists. Rick had done a one-eighty after Vince knocked three of his teeth out; he’d told her he’d learned an important lesson about never knowing who was watching. Rick, once her cruelest tormentor, became her staunchest defender. She needed to call and check in on him; he was attending a bible college in Virginia, and it had been a while since they’d talked. Even if it hadn’t worked out romantically (some wounds never quite healed enough for them to grow close), she still wanted good things for him in his life.
“Hey, Camille, I don’t want to overstep my bounds, but would you like some help?”
The question popped Camille from her reverie and brought her attention back to Alice.
“Help?”
“Sure, with the makeup and hair, and all that stuff,” Alice explained. “I’ve got loads of experience with all of it.”
“Oh, I don’t want to impose.”
“Please, I love getting to teach people,” Alice said. “And it would be nice to teach someone who actually wants to learn for a change.”
“Who else did you try to teach?”
“I’ve been working on Mary since freshman year,” Alice grumbled. “We’ll make a few steps forward when special occasions roll around, but then, the next day, it’s like she’s forgotten everything I taught her about eye shadow.”
Camille giggled softly. It was pretty funny to imagine Alice trying to get Mary into something other than her usual utilitarian ensemble. “I’m not sure; this year is already so busy . . .”
“All the more reason to make time,” Alice countered. “We will kick ass and look good doing it. Tell you what, wait and see what Anastasia does with your hair. If you don’t feel it’s a genuine improvement, I’ll let it drop. If you like it, however, we hit the makeup counter for a little while and let me show you a few things.”
That would certainly be out of her comfort zone, however, after stripping down in front of her class, fighting in public view with her full ability, and getting her head partially roasted, she was so far gone from comfort that a few more steps didn’t seem so terrifying.
“You’ve got a deal.”
58.
Lacey swiveled into the server’s station, grabbing a tray and topping it off with glasses before tossing in some ice. While some might have needed to glance at their order pad to remember all five drinks requested, Lacey was experienced enough to recall them perfectly. Plus, they’d all ordered soda, so if she got one wrong, she could just say the syrup was low in the machine and that accounted for the odd flavor.
“Hey,” Brooklyn said, sidling up next to Lacey and grabbing a stack of napkins. “Where are your trainees?”
“Vince is making salads, and Mary is checking on the food for table seventeen,” Lacey replied.
“Lucky dog, I wish they’d give me the free labor,” Brooklyn complained. The bright yellow contacts in her eyes, paired with her frilly costume, made her look something like a busty Big Bird.
“Maybe if you stop showing up late, or asking to be cut early, they’ll consider you for a trainer,” Lacey pointed out.
“Yeeeeeeah, but then I’d have to stop showing up late and asking to be cut early,” Brooklyn countered, flashing a wide smile. Work ethic aside, the girl could charm a table into five add-ons apiece, which was likely why she’d managed to stay employed. “Also, you should tell your guy that a muscle suit and a wig is kind of overkill.”
“I did, actually,” Lacey replied, sloshing the last cup full of fizzing liquid and setting it on the tray. “Turns out he’s just wearing a wig. The body is all him.”
Brooklyn let out a sound from her throat that reminded Lacey of the last time she’d worked a double and been ravenously hungry. “That is pretty impressive. I’m not big on the dopey ‘aw, shucks’ look, but I might be able to make an exception.”
“I know, right? If I were into that sort of thing, he’d be sex on a stick,” Lacey agreed. “Oh well, at least he seems like the type who’ll pick up shifts if you give a good sob story.”
“That’s something,” Brooklyn concurred, snagging a handful of straws and heading back to her tables.
* * *
Vince got his first solo table before Mary, an elderly couple who were very polite, if a bit indecisive on what they wanted to order. By this point, he’d shadowed Lacey long enough that he wasn’t put off, making careful suggestions and giving them ample breathing room to discuss what sounded good. He spent his free time continuing to help Lacey, not that she seemed to need it, but he didn’t see the harm in practicing the basics as much as he could.
Mary’s table came half an hour later, when Vince was in the back working as a de facto food runner. She recognized one of her guests from across the restaurant, even sitting among a sea of people. Alice Adair was a woman who would stand out in an avalanche; she practically glowed in the surroundings of a mere restaurant. The girl across from Alice, however, wasn’t familiar to Mary. It wasn’t until she arrived at
the table and opened her mouth to greet them, noticing the small woman squirming and blushing uncomfortably, that everything clicked into place.
“Camille?” Had Lacey been present, Mary would have been docked points for not giving the proper Supper with Supers greeting, however, her reaction was quite understandable.
Camille’s pale-blonde hair had been cut, trimmed, and styled to compensate for the burned portions. This resulted in a short, semi-spiky look that would likely have been more fitting on a girl sporting tattoos and face piercings. Credit to Anastasia’s skills, no one looking at Camille would imagine she’d just lost some locks in a fire. Not to mention, it accentuated the sharp, comely features of her face, making her all the prettier.
Had it just been the hair, Mary might not have been so shocked, but it seemed Alice had gone all out in making the girl over. Her face was made-up so expertly that she scarcely seemed to be wearing any product, yet her features were more accentuated than they would normally be. Add in the carefully applied eye shadow, the stylish green sundress, and the accessories like earrings, and it was as though there was an entirely different girl sitting before Mary. An incredibly pretty one, at that.
“Right reaction,” Alice surmised. “Just the wrong person.”
“What happened?” Mary had made no attempt to recover from her momentary shock.
“Did Vince tell you about the hair thing?” Camille asked.
“Yes.”
“Alice took me to get it fixed. While we were out, she sort of . . . kept going.” Camille gave a small shrug and demure smile that would have set Mary’s heart fluttering if she played for a different team.
“She was quite the trooper,” Alice added. “She gave input, helped pick things out, and didn’t try to sneak off when I left her in a dressing room. Unlike some people.”
The “some people” in question was still standing there, clutching an order pad. Mary had never been enthusiastic about Alice’s makeover attempts, but looking at Camille, she found herself wondering about how Alice could make her look. Camille had always been a cute girl; right now, she was downright beautiful. If anyone in that restaurant had been told that, mere hours before, this young woman had beaten the hell out of two men who shrugged off bullets, they’d have laughed themselves hoarse. Which, of course, was just a tiny part of what made a Super like Camille so dangerous.
“I might be more accommodating next time,” Mary said at last.
“If there is a next time,” Alice warned playfully. “Anyway, what’s this joint got to eat?” She pulled up a menu and began perusing the options.
Before Mary could speak about the specials, a silver-haired young man in a fluttering blue cape arrived at the table, basket of rolls in hand.
“Here you are, folks,” he said, setting them in the center of the table. “Fresh from the oven.” Given the other two baskets in his free hand, it seemed Vince was currently making a loop to ensure all the customers had received bread.
“Thank you very much,” Camille said, daintily picking up one of the still steaming rolls.
“It’s my plea—Camille?” Vince’s eyes grew wide, and his hands grew clumsy, nearly sending both baskets sprawling to the floor. Two years of HCP training and a lifetime of martial arts allowed him to snag them in mid-air, but his eyes never left the pale, blonde girl sitting in front of him.
“Now that was more what I was hoping for,” Alice quipped, a wicked smile barely concealed behind her menu.
59.
“So, you knew about my power?”
These were the first words spoken since Vince had gotten into Camille’s car several minutes prior. She and Alice had dined and left the restaurant an hour or so before he got off, but when he emerged from the end of his training shift, Vince had found Camille waiting for him in the parking lot. Alice was nowhere to be seen, and Mary told him she would fill Mr. Transport in when he appeared to take her back. Though Vince felt it was strange, he assumed Camille wanted to talk more about the afternoon’s accident, and climbed in. The ride had gone for five minutes with silence broken only by his occasional fiddling with radio stations, until Camille finally gathered her nerve and asked the question.
“I did,” Vince admitted. His hand dropped from the volume knob where it had been positioned, landing in his lap at an awkward angle.
“How long have you known?”
“I figured it out at the end of last year,” Vince told her. “Once I realized you were someone I’d helped a long time ago, it became sort of obvious.”
Camille nodded and kept her eyes on the road. Focusing on driving was actually helping her stay centered, rather than letting her usual embarrassment overrun her. “So, you know I’m the girl you . . .”
“You were my first kiss,” Vince said, a warm smile appearing unbidden on his face. “You were Cami, the absorber those kids were tormenting on a hot summer day. I like your natural hair color better than what you had it dyed, by the way.”
“Thanks. What made you realize who I was?” Camille was taking deep breaths and making sure to keep as calm as possible.
“Something from my hallucination where I was normal. When I tried to talk to you, you got really mad and told me I was an asshole for waiting eleven years to say something to you. Even before that, though, something about you always seemed familiar in a way I couldn’t place. So, I think a part of me figured it out before the rest of me did. After that, it all clicked into place: how you’d beaten Hector and Allen, why Nick gave you an ace, everything fit better if you were a damage absorber instead of a healer.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t say anything,” Camille said.
“Neither did you,” Vince replied, hands fidgeting in his lap. “I can see why you hid your ability, though. It made you more effective. It’s not too hard to defend against, but only if you know what’s coming. I figured you’d reveal your power when you were ready.”
“This wasn’t exactly the way I’d have chosen to let the secret out,” Camille admitted, cheeks burning at the memory of the afternoon’s events.
“Beating Chad and Roy is the sort of ability reveal most of the class would kill for,” Vince pointed out. “You might have gotten me, too, if not for the whole hair-fire incident. Which, again, I’m sorry for.”
“Hazard of the program,” Camille said, brushing away his worry. Vince would never let the guilt go if she allowed it to linger. “And I doubt I could have brought you down. You knew enough to keep clothing or space between us; plus, you have abilities that don’t require touching me to use.”
“True,” Vince agreed. “There are ways to get under clothes, though. Maybe you should look into a weapon or tool.”
“I’ll think about it. So, any questions for me now that you know I’m an old friend?” There were several she was both hopeful and terrified at the prospect of him asking. Unfortunately, his first query was none of them.
“Did things get better for you? In the town, with the other children, I mean.”
“Yes, actually. It took a while, but once I started working toward the HCP, they left me alone more. I don’t know if it was because they respected my goal, or because they finally realized how dangerous I had become. The end result was the same, though. Most kept their distance,” Camille told him. She came to a red light and carefully slowed the car to a stop.
“Sounds lonely,” Vince noted.
“Says the guy who grew up with one parent and zero friends,” she countered. “It was what it was. Being different can be difficult, even if it’s different in a way that makes you objectively more capable. I had a few friends, thankfully, good people who didn’t mind my shyness or ability.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“I’m glad to be able to say it. Anything else you’re wondering about?”
Vince shook his head. “Why you hid your ability is obvious, and I’m guessing you never mentioned our previous meeting because you didn’t think I remembered.”
“You didn’t,
not until last year,” she pointed out. The light turned green, and she pressed down on the accelerator.
“I remembered the day perfectly, I just didn’t realize you were the girl,” Vince clarified. “Which I’m sorry about.”
“Not your fault. We were kids, and between the dye-job and the nickname, that’s a lot to figure out. You were much easier. Even without the silver hair, you just look like a grown-up version of the boy I met. I could have picked you out of a line-up.”
“Glad to know I still look like a kid,” Vince jokingly grumbled. He turned his gaze out the window just as Camille glanced over at him. In his form-fitting costume, under the yellow light of the streetlight they passed, she realized how quickly his face was shedding the trappings of youth. Vince didn’t look like a kid; he barely looked like a teen anymore. From the soft edges of boyhood was being carved the distinct features of a man, and a handsome one at that.
“You don’t look like a kid,” she said. “I just mean you’re distinctive. You stand out, especially to me.” As soon as the last words were out, she dearly wished her power allowed her to reach out and stuff them back into the mouth from whence they’d come. But alas, such was not her gift.
“Well, thank you,” Vince said. “Anyway, now that your power is out in the open, what do you say to a rematch? I think I’d like to see what you can really do.”
“Maybe soon. There’s something I want to take care of first,” Camille told him.
“Fireproof hat?”
“Not initially, but maybe something I’ll look into. I don’t think even Alice’s stylist can save me if I go much shorter.” She flashed him a grin to show it was meant in good fun, then took a left turn and headed toward the Lander campus.
60.
Unlike Close Combat, the first test in Weapons didn’t involve three students teaming up against one. Instead, Professor Cole wanted everyone to be alert for an attack from any direction, so she threw three people in at a time and let them battle to see who lasted the longest.