Please Don't Tell My Parents I've Got Henchmen

by Richard Roberts

  For formality's sake, we waited for her to be out of sight range before Claire dug out my clock controlling clock, and wired it up to her phone.

  “Are you sure you can shut down the security cameras with that?” I asked.

  If she had a tail, it would be twitching with glee. “Of course. I've been playing around with this darling little toy since you made it, and she's the cat burglar's best friend.” Her thumbs tapped buttons and scrolled bars as we crossed the deserted street. We were in civilian guise still, so we used the proper pedestrian crosswalk to show our virtue.

  “Got it. Those are the security camera time stamps. I thought there'd be more. And they're saving to clock based hard drives.” She gave a little shoulder wriggle of ecstasy. “That lets me do this the fun way. The museum now thinks it's two o'clock. All the automatic lights are on, alarms are off, and time locks are released. The cameras are recording over the same minute of data, over and over. I didn't even have to shut any computers down.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “My clock can do that?”

  “Tell a computer that it's five o'clock or ten fifty seven, and it doesn't care. Tell it that it's ninety-nine thousand AD, and it gets very upset. Tell it that time has stopped, and it has conniptions.”

  We climbed the steps up to the front doors of the boringly white, long box of a building. As a museum, it was the inside that counted. I gave the glass double doors a tug. They remained unyieldingly closed.

  Claire gave me a helpless shrug. “Not all the locks are automatic.”

  Ha! She wasn't the only one with new tricks. I'd figured out one, myself. Unwrapping the Machine from my left wrist, I stuck its face into the gap between the doors. “Eat the crossbar, please.”

  Crunch crunch crunch. Grind grind grind. Alas, the Machine was shaped like a fat, pillbuggy sort of centipede, not the skinny kind. It had to take a circular chunk of glass out with the lock. Still, I thought I'd won myself a few elegance points.

  We stepped into the cool, haphazardly lit atrium. On the opposite side of the reception counter, a huge stone T-Rex skeleton loomed. The place was as silent as that lump of probably fake fossilized rock. We were the only source of sound.

  Specifically, Claire was the only source of sound. Treating us to her most luridly sly smile, and with her voice thick and sweet with lurid suggestion, she announced, “I'm going to check for security guards, leaving you two completely alone without a chaperone while Penny changes clothes. Nothing could possibly happen, I'm sure.”

  Ray and I watched her flounce off, sharing a snigger. I pointed to the women's bathroom. Ray nodded, and said, “Sure.”

  Mom had nailed it. Not only was I able to change into my villainous jumpsuit without spying interruption, I did so without a moment's worry. Why the confidence? Ray, alas, would not need to take anything off to put on his villain costume, but if he had, imagining Claire gleefully watching from the upstairs balcony would make doing my own spying… just silly.

  Claire had better be right about the cameras. I didn't have a face mask anymore, just my goggles. They would have to do. I walked out of the bathroom as Bad Penny, tingling with excitement but completely confident.

  Ray awaited me in his huge hat, mask, formally pressed shirt, and jacket. He looked like a scarecrow with incredible style and the world's most playful grin.

  Villainous poise kept us both from shrinking into embarrassment as he asked, “So, what do supervillains do on a date?”

  I shrugged. “The same things regular people do, but wearing masks.”

  “Which is…?”

  “I have no idea.”

  We both burst into giggles. Ray pointed a finger at the walkway above and around the T-Rex statue. “We should avoid the upstairs. There's bound to be someone in the archaeology research station.”

  Didn't bother me, so I shook my head. “The upstairs exhibits are dull, anyway.”

  “They have those nineteenth century technology displays. We could see if they spark your power.”

  I looked around, at the dinosaur skeleton, at the box with the pickled oarfish, at the entrance to the gemstone wing. The back of my head tickled. “Everything here sparks my power, but it gets enough of my time. Tonight is for you and me.”

  Hot pink peeked around the edge of Ray's black eagle mask. His smile changed from its usual 'impish' to just… happy.

  We stood silent for a couple of seconds, and it wasn't awkward. It was just a nice moment to enjoy.

  But, well, we were both easily bored, so after those couple of seconds slipped past he pointed at the stairs to the lower level. “Want to go play with the rats?”

  “Perfect!”

  We raced downstairs, filling the halls with giggling, which wasn't our normal style of laughter but for once felt right. Right in the center of the bottom floor was the big glass-walled Southern California wildlife room. Most of the specimens were preserved, and the frogs and spiders wouldn't be much fun to handle, but…

  In their transparent tower, the rats snuffled at the glass, peering at these two intruders into their usually quiet nocturnal hours.

  “Okay, watch this,” I told Ray. Again I unwound the Machine. It still had a little strength from being called out last time, and didn't need winding to wake up. “Eat the lock.”

  It did, but this time the lock stuck right out on the surface of the thin plastic door. When the door came open, rats stuck their heads out hopefully over the edge of the platform. “Put the lock back.”

  Forever obedient, the Machine ground and twisted the metal it had just eaten back into shape, spitting it into the same hole the lock had come out of. Ha!

  Ray held up his hands, and rats swarmed into them. He held out one brown, fuzzy, squirmy lump to me. “Your prize for cleverness, my lady.”

  I held the rat cupped in both hands, and lifted it up to my face. Its nose jerked around every which where, sniffing, and eventually closing right in on mine. Unfortunately, I couldn't help but do some sniffing. Tesla's ozone issues, did it smell bad. Like… well, it smelled like rat. Kind of dirty and animaly. But that bouncing pink nose and curious black eyes were cute enough to endure any amount of stink.

  My little guy wanted to make it clear that he was his own rat, who played by his own rules. Lifting him to my face brought him close enough, and he jumped off my hands and onto my shoulder. Tiny little feet gripped the jumpsuit's protective fabric, and tiny little hands took hold of my ear as he sniffed deep into my hair. When he turned around, I held out my arms helpfully, and he scampered all the way down to my wrist. Ray held out his, and my rat and a darker brown rat exchanged sniffs across our hands.

  I had to restrain a giggle from the touch of Ray's bare fingertips to mine, but it started something nagging at me. Eventually, not even sure which rat was which anymore, I held one up clasped in both hands. It tried to wiggle free in a good natured sort of way, but I just needed to remove the distraction as I searched for words.

  “Ray… I appreciate that you haven't been pushing, but… do you not…?”

  And he knew. In the middle of my being worried about what it meant that he hadn't tried, hadn't even joked about touching me, I was hit by a moment of sweet adoration. The small, kind of sad, kind of longing smile he gave me understood exactly what I meant. It was wonderful to have someone know me that well.

  “It's not you.” He went 'pfft' in amusement, and corrected himself, “That sounds like an 'It's not you, it's me' speech, but that's not it. Yes, there's something. It's… about… what Master Scorpion said.” His smile disappeared rapidly, replaced by a solemn, almost sad frown. He lifted his rats, and put them back onto their cardboard tube home on a shelf. I deposited mine. Rat time was over.

  “So you're thinking of taking his offer?” I wasn't sure how I felt about that, but I could hear how faintly I asked the question.

  Ray shook his head. “No. The opposite. I thought I would be jealous when the kids at school started fawning over how great you are in combat, but instead,
I was glad. My powers are great. They're the best thing that ever happened to me. I just don't know what I want to do with them. I don't want them to define my life, and I don't want to work for a jerk like Master Scorpion.”

  It didn't make sense, yet, so I waited. Ray didn't need prodding. He slipped off his mask and rubbed his face with one hand, sounding relieved as the words spilled out. “But he got one thing absolutely right. I don't have to stay here. I have money, enough to see me through until I'm an adult and then some, and the powers to make more, and I know how to make contacts with the super powered community anywhere in the country. I'm not afraid of my parents anymore. They're afraid of me. Every day since we got back from Jupiter, it's a little harder to think about anything except that I could just pack up and go.”

  All I could do was nod. “You've been getting more distant. I'm not sure when was the last time you made a real pass at me.”

  He looked down at the floor, away. That serious frown was rapidly turning guilty and sad. “If I move out from my parents, I have to leave LA. They can't do anything, but they'll try. They'll try every single thing they can think of to make my life miserable. I lie in bed sometimes wondering if I'll run away tomorrow. You mean too much to me to start something I can't finish.”

  The words made sense, but the message was alien. Ray's family life was troubled. I'd guessed that, mainly because of how he never talked about it. It just wasn't something I could understand. Fighting with my parents, being mad at them, sure, I could imagine that. Seeing them as something to escape forever? Flying to Jupiter had been fun, like going to camp, and like camp it could be fun because my parents were waiting when I got back.

  Two days ago, Thursday night, my parents had taken me to the grocery store, and we'd laughed ourselves into stitches arguing about which ice cream flavors were best for a growing girl's super powers. That was normal, an everyday kind of thing like homework, not worth anticipating or remembering. What would a home be like where moments like that never happened?

  What made perfect sense was that he cared too much to kiss and run, and I cared too much to try and hold him back if he had to get away.

  But… that didn't mean we had to be miserable.

  I stepped closer. Thoughts like these weren't very Bad Penny, and shyness pinpricked me as I pressed my shoulder to Ray's. “When you have to leave, leave. Until then, why don't we enjoy the moment? We don't have to worry about anybody's schedules but our own. And Claire spying on us.”

  The giggle came back. Claire probably could hear every word.

  Our arms were side by side. His hand turned, and his fingers twisted into mine.

  It was as good as a kiss, just that touch, and kissing Ray had been pretty great.

  We were quiet for awhile. Maybe not very long. Just enjoying the quiet, and being next to each other. Ray broke the silence first. “Hey, do you want to go see the mummy exhibit?”

  Heh. “Shriveled dead people. Super romantic.”

  There was no fooling Ray. The excitement in my voice got my hand an affectionate squeeze, and joy crept rapidly back into his voice. “I heard they got a new exhibit in. Something special.”

  “I haven't seen the old exhibit,” I admitted. Now it was my turn to squeeze his hand. “Let's go.”

  We shut up the rats, and walked down the hall hand in hand. The mummy exhibit was right by the stairs, and it looked like it had its own wing.

  The whole place was really dark. The lights had turned on. This was 'museum dark,' where they think a dimly lit room will make everything more important and impressive.

  The anteroom was empty, just a place to gather before heading down the Egypt or Peru halls. It contained exactly two items: A bench, and a sign.

  We both grinned at the sign, with its big title 'Mummies And Magic.'

  Modern culture is full of stories about mummies being cursed, and for once, these stories are mostly true. Every culture that has practiced mummification has treated those mummies with a mystical fascination, weaving spells into the mummies themselves to protect them and help guide them into the afterlife. While-

  My reading stopped for a moment with a shiver, as Ray let go of my hand and slipped his hand around my waist.

  Do not let your shyness ruin this, Penelope Akk! Bad Penny doesn't even get excited about this kind of thing. She just enjoys the very, very enjoyable feeling of Ray's chest and hip against her, and his hand on her other hip.

  I hooked my arm around Ray's waist. Somewhere, Claire was surely grinning and hoping our hands would keep moving, but we disappointed her and turned our attention back to the sign.

  -our archeologists have no way of knowing if the afterlife spells worked, the protective magic on Egyptian mummies in particular was formidable. It was fashionable for historians in the 1920s to deny the existence of magic, and the curse on King Tut's Tomb reaped a terrible death toll. In the end, the curse simply wore out, its magic spent after claiming too many victims. The same thing has happened to most mummies today. In the race between grave robbers and protective curses, the grave robbers won by sheer persistence. The Nazcan people did not see their mummies as needing to be hidden or protected, but rather as sources of protection and guidance. Those spells also wore out. Every mummy in our exhibit was once magical, but over the centuries and millennia, that magic wore out, and is now barely detectable. All of our displays are safe to view, and unless specially marked, you can assume that the magic they once had is gone.

  What a great way to start an exhibit. “I didn’t even know there were Peruvian mummies.”

  He nodded encouragingly. “The Nazca people, a thousand years before the Incas, made these things called ‘mummy bundles.' Where the Egyptians would stretch you out and pickle you, the Nazca rolled you up in a ball of cloth and dried you out.”

  Peru was legendarily dry, so that would probably work. It had worked.

  Arms around each other was no way to wander an exhibit floor, so Ray and I returned to hand-in-hand, weaving through the glass cases containing balls of fabric, x-rays of the skeletons inside, fake clay heads and the occasional real skull in a variety of funny shapes. It might not have been romantic, but it was pretty cool.

  Then we went around the bend in the Peruvian display hall, and saw the special exhibit.

  I wanted to clap. This was pretty impressive. An entire building made of weathered grey stone had been transplanted into the hall. Yes, it was a tiny building, basically one room and an entrance hall leading into it, but a whole building nevertheless. The design screamed 'temple,' with carvings over every inch, inside and out. Most of them looked like animal people, or maybe just animals in weird poses. Unlike the stiff 'man with an animal head' pictures in Egyptian art, these were all bendy and flowy, and it was hard to tell if they stood on two legs or four.

  One other thing the design said was 'low tech.' It had walls so thick, they doubled the width of the building. This crude shape contrasted sharply with the metal and plastic dishes, like giant stereo emitters, set into the floor, walls, and ceiling all around the building.

  An inch thick plastic barrier sealed off the stone ruin from the rest of the hall, although it did have a door, and that door was currently open.

  A short-haired woman in loose beige clothing stood in the doorway, looking right at us. She was middle-age-ish, with streaks of white in her grey hair, especially around the temples. She had a solid build, not fat, not muscular, but like someone who did a lot of physical work. That certainly went with her deep tan and the pocket covered clothes. She could have just stepped out of a safari a hundred years ago. Well, except for the tool chests, laptop, tablet, microphones, and digital camera.

  She held her hands up, not scared, but wary, and said, “Take what you want, and go. I won't try to stop you, but please, don't take the mummies. They're too fragile. And don't touch the ruin, because I don't want to be standing at ground zero if it goes off.”

  I held up my own hands, although I smiled a lot more. “This is a date
, not a robbery.”

  Ray's arm slipped around my shoulders, and he practically purred. “I'm not planning on stealing anything but kisses.”

  That sent me into helpless giggles. Ray was clearly feeling better after our little talk. Plus, that meant it would be okay if I stole that kiss myself.

  As fast as the awkward, wonderful tingles arrived, they dimmed. Everything about this woman was just too fascinating.

  Ray felt it too, asked, “You are unexpectedly calm. Why aren't you trying to set off an alarm?”

  “You've never robbed a museum before.”

  “We're not robbing one now,” I pointed out.

  That got a smile, one of those warm nostalgia sort of smiles adults use on kids. She stopped holding up her hands in surrender, and instead went back to the entrance of the hall leading into the tiny temple. Staying well away from the stone, she peered at it through her digital camera a couple of times before looking back and answering Ray's question. “Standard museum policy is to let supervillains do their business and try to recover the artifacts later. There's too much potential for irreplaceable items to be destroyed if a fight breaks out inside.”

  'Put two and two together' time. That was why this had been so ridiculously easy. The peaceful quality time with Ray had been more fun than an adventure anyway.

  Ray gave my shoulder a squeeze to show he hadn't forgotten me, even though he kept talking to the woman with the camera. “That leaves the big question, who are you and what are you doing?”

  “Emilia Rivka Nikita St. Daphne, and I'm performing legally ambiguous archeology. Who are you kids, and what are you doing?”

  Ray pointed at me. “Bad Penny.”

  I pointed at him. “Reviled. Currently the youngest successful supervillain team. We're on a date. Are you saying you're the one who's here to steal something?”

  That got a pleasant laugh, and she tucked her camera back in its pocket. It had never pointed at us, which was the kind of thing a professional like myself pays attention to. “Not at all, but I am a professional treasure hunter, and the government of Peru would have kittens if they knew I was here. The official scientific team pretends that they've never heard of me. Maybe ghosts leave them notes in the morning.” Glancing back at the little building, she added, “Not completely impossible. And to forestall your next ten questions…” She pointed to the plaque in front of the exhibit.