by S T Branton
My temper flared. I rounded on him, glaring daggers up into his old, maddeningly dignified face. He wasn’t even making eye contact. “Seriously, dude? After all the bullshit I’ve been through, you’re gonna tell me to just smile it away?”
He stepped off the curb, and I snapped a hand out to keep him from wandering straight in front of traffic. A cabbie slammed on his horn.
“Hey, you freaks!” he screamed out his window. “Get outta the street!”
“Watch where you’re going!” I hissed through clenched teeth. What a great night this was turning out to be. I had to bail on Jules’s party because the hottest guy there turned out to be a cop, and now, we were getting abused by cab drivers. It almost made me want to march Marcus right back to the restaurant, so I could take my chances with Deacon.
Almost.
Marcus, for his part, wasn’t fazed by the encounter. He was contrite, which I had to admit I appreciated. “Apologies, Vic,” he said. “I will be more mindful in the future.” He frowned. “I am unused to these horseless chariots, though I marvel at their speed.”
“Yeah. They’re called cars, and they’ll kill the shit out of you.”
“To be fair, so would the chariots. Have you ever been kicked by a horse?”
I forced myself not to look at him for fear that I would burst into either tears or laughter. I wasn’t sure which.
“You know what?” I said. “I haven’t.” A great mass of people was beginning to press in around us. It was making me extremely uncomfortable. I pulled my bag in front of me, clutching it closed, and fixed my eyes on the signal over the crosswalk. It turned, and I tugged on Marcus’s arm. “Let’s go.”
Maybe if I kept him moving, he’d stop spouting weird shit every five minutes.
He followed me docilely off the curb. We were jostled by the crowd, and I immediately regretted not putting him in front of me as a human shield. Two-thirds of the way across, I glanced around to find that Marcus was no longer beside or behind me. Still walking, I spun around.
“Marcus!”
He’d stopped in the middle of the road, parting the living current like a log in a stream. Several people looked sideways as they altered their paths to move around him. My voice seemed not to register, so I tried again. “Marcus!” He didn’t respond until I was standing on the curb. Then the horns began, and he jogged to catch up. “You can’t do that here,” I said.
It was as if he hadn’t heard me at all. A huge grin stretched across his face, deepening the crinkles at the corners of his slate-blue eyes. “Vic!”
“What?” I placed my hand on his back and shoved him gently forward, mostly to keep him from stopping again. He had gone back to looking up, though now he seemed to be eyeing something in particular.
“I found him!” He pointed. “There. My hero.”
It struck me as such an odd turn of phrase that I couldn’t say anything for a moment. Then, I followed the direction of his finger—and laughed.
He stared at a billboard the height of a house, one of those that played video. We watched an action-packed trailer play out, complete with guns and explosions and a movie star decked out in SWAT gear, looking cool as he crouched behind rugged cover. In the final shot, he gazed into the middle distance, his face streaked with dirt, blood, and sweat.
“That is not your hero,” I said as soon as the screen had switched to someone else. “That guy’s fake.”
“Impossible,” Marcus declared. “I must find him. Who is he?”
“You mean that actor?” I asked. “Who was acting? In that movie trailer we just watched?” Marcus was adamant, so I relented. I was learning to pick my battles with him, no matter how stupid they seemed. “Look, his name is Cameron Cruze, but he’s paid to do that stuff, okay? None of it is real. It’s all made by… machines.”
“That is nonsense. I saw him.” Marcus scanned our surroundings. “Where is this Cameron Cruze’s dwelling? There is no time to waste. The gods are coming. He must fulfill his duty.”
“Yeah, you’re not listening to me.” We passed a bank building, and I pulled him out of the main walkway into an ATM alcove. “We can’t go to his house. He’s not a hero. He’s just some dude.” I took a deep breath, hoping that some of this was getting through to him. “All that stuff you saw was super fake. It’s like a play, sort of.”
He stared at me for so long that I almost thought he understood. Then he roared with laughter. “Ah, Vic! I should have known you would not understand. Such are the trials of the fairer sex.”
“Excuse me?” I folded my arms. “You did not just say what I think you said.”
“It is always a woman who deems a task unmanageable.” Marcus still chuckled, shaking his head. “It takes the strength of a man to wrangle the beast into submission. Fear not, fair maiden. We will find Cameron Cruze, for I am here to lead us to victory.”
Who the hell did he think he was calling fair maiden? I had half a mind to ditch him right there in the middle of Times Square and let him find his own way back to the loft. But even I knew that was a recipe for disaster. I tried to imagine him hailing a cab and quickly gave up. No way.
“Fine.” I gestured for him to walk ahead. “Go on. If you’re so set on this, the least I can do is try to help you out.” I still thought it was all completely insane, but at this point, what was I going to do? Marcus had no money and no real way of blending in. He had nothing but sheer willpower, and apparently, he was going to find his hero or die trying. So, I decided I might as well tag along for the ride.
Not that we needed to have any more adventures. But besides, he still owed me. And as long as Rocco Durant still had his head, I was stuck with Marcus.
As we headed down the street, Cameron Cruze’s chiseled mug appeared again on the billboard. He did sort of look like a hero; I had to give Marcus that much credit. A series of dates and times appeared next to his image, along with the words “EAST COAST COMICS CONVENTION”.
A wicked thought crossed my mind, and I couldn’t help but smile.
“Hey, Marcus.” He turned to me questioningly, eyes lingering on Cameron Cruze’s face. I nodded at the billboard. “Looks like the hero’s gonna be here, after all. What do you say we go meet him tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?” he asked. Hope rose in his voice. “Is it possible?”
“I think so, although we might have to be there pretty early.” Having lived in the city for twenty-eight years, I’d seen the kinds of crowds the convention typically drew, and I was not looking forward to fighting my way through them. But Rocco was out there somewhere, living it up. The thought galled me so much I knew I had no choice but to follow Marcus wherever he went.
We’d made a deal.
“I am honored to have you as my traveling companion,” he said with such heartfelt sincerity that I couldn’t be too salty about the hell I’d just volunteered to go through. Besides, who knew what we’d find? Maybe the tickets had all sold out already, or maybe they were way too expensive.
We’d find all that out tomorrow. For now, I was more than happy to get the hell out of Times Square.
CHAPTER TWELVE
I told Marcus to wear his armor to the convention; it was the only place that stuff would actually help him blend in. He stood with me in the line snaking out the front doors of the Javits Convention Center, and we shuffled forward an inch at a time. It was the first week of October, so it wasn’t hot, but the sun glared down at us.
I shoved my hands in the pockets of my patchy sweatshirt. “So, what do you think? Is it as glamorous as you expected?”
Marcus squinted at the doors. “You are certain that he is here?”
“Yes. He’s a guest… of honor.” I couldn’t help adding that last bit just for Marcus’s sake. I didn’t want to admit it, but the guy was growing on me. Sure, he was idealistic and bullheaded as hell, but so was I. Just in a different way.
“Ah. That is sensible, indeed. And all these others have come to offer him tribute for his deeds.” Marcu
s smiled, pleased with himself for figuring it out.
“I guess you could say that.” I ran a hand through my hair and looked around. Ten years ago, I would’ve been in my element in a place like this, surrounded by people in costumes living out their pop culture dreams. I might have even thought about dressing up.
That version of me seemed so long ago.
Now, I hunched down in my torn-up jeans and ratty hoodie, watching con-goers rubberneck at Marcus and his flawless armor as they walked past. He’d polished it before we left. The shine was bright enough to kill a man. I had to shield my eyes every time I turned toward him.
“Hey, can I get a picture of you?” someone asked. Marcus and I both looked toward the sound of the question, but the kid was obviously not talking to me. He held up his phone, grinning. “Your armor looks sick, bro! How’d you do that? Papercraft?”
“Thank you, friend!” Marcus beamed, but a shadow of confusion crossed his face. “You would like to… get a picture?” He glanced at me for help.
“Not even breaking character, huh? I love it. So badass.” The kid put out a hand. “Just stand right there.” The phone camera made its distinctive shutter sound. “Awesome. Here, you wanna see?”
He showed us the photo.
Framed like that, standing tall and square against a jarringly modern backdrop, Marcus looked almost cool. Like a relic or something. His armor practically glowed in the picture.
I gave the kid a thumbs-up. “Nice.”
“Thanks. You guys are rad!” He flashed one last smile and disappeared.
I looked up at Marcus. “Get ready for that to happen a lot.”
It took us an hour to get up to the ticket vendors and less than five minutes for me to drop a hundred and twenty bucks on two one-day passes. It wasn’t my money, but we were still going to find ourselves in need of a spontaneous windfall sometime soon. I made a promise to myself not to steal from anyone at the convention unless they acted like a real douchebag.
The guy in the security line looked Marcus up and down. “Man, these costumes get better every year.” His eyes fell on the hilt at Marcus’s hip, which I had not noticed or expected him to bring. My chest tightened. Shit. “That’s not a real sword, is it?”
Marcus looked offended. “What? Of course, it—”
I jabbed him discreetly in the side. “It’s not. It’s just a prop hilt. He’d tell you that if I could get him to stop roleplaying for two seconds.” I gave the guard a knowing grin. “I think it’s the armor that does it to him.”
“Right.” The guard chuckled and waved us through.
I made Marcus hustle until we were out of earshot. I knew the first thing he said would be something about the security guard.
He did not disappoint. “That man believed me to be wearing a costume?”
I sighed. “Just let it go, Marcus, okay? No one wears this kind of…stuff anymore.” I gestured to his whole getup, careful not to refer to it as ‘shit.’ “Especially not around here.”
“But look.” He indicated at some guy walking past us in full bionic future gear, including a shielded helmet and a lighted gun. “Is that not a warrior?”
This discussion hadn’t gone well the last time we tried to have it, but I could give him no other answer. “Not a real one.” Before he could say anything in response, I pulled him along. “Come on. Let’s make a plan. We’ve only got a day.”
The schedule inside our convention goodie bags was an inch thick, packed with fine print and a spreadsheet of events that looked like the subway timetable. I stood off to the side of the bustling crowd, and searched for Cameron Cruze’s name while more eager photo seekers flocked to Marcus. A girl dressed in all black, with yellow contacts affixed to her irises, harangued him until he flexed for her selfie. I might have felt sorry for him, but he seemed to be enjoying all the attention.
Maybe it was lonely up in Caledon or wherever the hell he said he’d come from.
Cameron Cruze had a signing and photo op at noon in Hall A. I looked at my phone. We had an hour and a half to kill. I supposed it couldn’t hurt to walk the hallowed halls of the biggest comics convention on this side of the country, soak in the atmosphere, and pretend I was someone else for a while.
The last of the giggling picture-takers ran off, and I collected Marcus, who was rubbing at a fingerprint on his shoulder.
“What’d I tell you?” I asked. “You’re a regular celebrity. That’s modern language for ‘famous person.’”
“So it seems.” His tone grew strangely wistful. “It reminds me of what I can remember of my original life.” A soft smile touched his lips. “Did I tell you that I was quite famous once myself?”
“What? No.” So, now he was not only ancient, but he was famous, too? How much more over the top could his story get?
We passed from the walkway into a wide-open atrium encased in glass. I moved behind Marcus, preparing to use him once again as a human cowcatcher. “You see,” he was saying, “I was—”
He stopped, and I ran into his back. My forehead bounced off the plate there. “Ow! What the hell are you doing?” He had his eyes locked on something I couldn’t see through the swirling mass of human beings. “Not this again. What is it now?”
“I see a creature over there. No doubt sent from the gods.”
Before I had time to even think about stopping him, Marcus charged into the crowd.
“Hey!” I shouted after him. “No running! We’re not at war, you animal!”
The people in my immediate surroundings laughed.
A guy in a glowing visor tapped me on the shoulder. “You better go get your friend, girl. Looks like he’s fixing to pick a fight over there.”
“Oh, hell no.” That was what Marcus had been staring at: a guy as tall and as broad as him, dressed as everyone’s favorite space-bound security officer. They were squaring up in the middle of a ring of frothing onlookers. I spotted convention security lurking on the outer edge of the gathering.
This was not happening. The last thing we needed was to be kicked out of the place before we even got to lay eyes on Cameron Cruze.
I shouldered my way to Marcus, earning my share of dirty looks and not caring about a single one of them. “What do you think you’re doing?” I demanded.
Marcus’s eyes bored into the cosplayer’s, who looked more bewildered than anything. “What’s with this dude?” the cosplayer asked me. “Does he really think I’m challenging him to a fight? Because I’m not.”
I grimaced. “It’s your costume. It’s too real.” I couldn’t believe that was a thing I actually had to say. My face flushed crimson, and I laid my hand on Marcus’s elbow. “Don’t be an idiot,” I whispered to him. “Do you want to meet Cameron Cruze or not?”
“I cannot allow this beast to roam free among the multitudes!” Marcus proclaimed. He reached down toward the hilt of his magic sword.
“Whoa, man,” the cosplayer said. “Take it down like five notches. I don’t know what your deal is, but look.” He removed his headpiece, revealing a normal forehead under the characteristic ridged protrusion. “I’m just a guy, all right? Just a guy wearing some funky clothes. Like you. My name’s Kevin.”
Marcus, clearly flummoxed, seemed to come back to his senses. “Ah, yes,” he stammered. “Right.” He inclined his head. “I apologize, good citizen Kevin. I was too far into character. I will refrain from this state in the future.”
“I appreciate it, my dude.” Kevin held out his hand. “Kinda can’t blame you, with armor like that.”
They shook hands, and Marcus let me lead him away to a chorus of boos from the disappointed spectators.
“These costumes are deceptive,” Marcus said. He sounded sheepish, as if he really did know he’d gotten carried away. “It is hard for me to discern which of them is a legitimate cause for concern.”
“Try none of them,” I said. “It’s a pretty good rule of thumb. Let’s try to grab something to eat. There’s still an hour or so before we can
go see our friend, the action star.”
“Yes.” Reminded of his purpose, Marcus stood up straighter and squared his shoulders. “Let us feast.”
“You go sit over there, and don’t move. I’ll handle the food situation.” Before leaving him, I grabbed his arm. “I’m serious, Marcus. Don’t move. We’ll get thrown out if you cause any more trouble.”
He nodded gravely. “I will restrain myself. I promise.”
“Good. See you in a few.”
I bought burgers and fries for us, plus a couple of drinks. When I finally arrived back at the spot where I’d told Marcus to wait, I found him holding a baby in the crook of his arm.
The laughing parents took a snapshot, got their kid back, thanked the Centurion, and brushed by me.
“This has been a very weird day,” I said under my breath. “Weird as shit.”
Marcus didn’t like the hamburger, but for some reason, he loved the soda. “Carcerum would have been greatly improved by the addition of this beverage.”
“Not really,” I said. “It’s pretty bad for you.”
He waved me away. “Health is of no concern in the realm of the gods. We feasted like gluttons each night without fail.”
“Did you throw it up afterward so you could eat some more?” It was hardly the best choice of conversation over lunch, but I had long since lost my sense of decorum.
He laughed thunderously. “No, no. Kronin’s magic superseded the limitations of the body. Even for humans.”
I smirked. “That also explains how and why you can speak such incredible English.”
He puffed out his chest. “That talent I acquired naturally. My King chose me not only for my skill with a spear. I studied your language for a previous mission I was sent on—albeit some of the dialect has changed over the last several centuries. Kronin demanded much of me, but he gave so much more in return.” His features grew serious. “That is why I must make certain that my sworn obligations are handled properly. It is the only way to honor his greatest of sacrifices.”