His mother helped him up, her hands cool and damp from washing the tea service, then marched him to his room. Mal crawled into his old bed, too tired to argue with the beast when it jumped up on the covers beside him. He slept on his side, so the cat made itself comfortable against the warm cove of his chest and stomach. The low rumble of the cat’s purring lulled him back to sleep almost immediately.
Mal slept for sixteen straight hours, and he did not dream of anything except that comforting low rumble. It reminded him of the ambient hum of a city at night, choked rain gutters, and his father’s voice.
The dreams stopped, after that.
°
“So here I am, right in the middle of a bust,” the Sheriff said, gesturing with her fork and knife. “I’ve got a bear of a head cold, so my sinuses are drainin’ like the Klamath Falls, but it’s a snotty, awful blessing in disguise.”
“Moooom,” Rosario groaned, burying her face in her hands. “We’re trying to eat!”
“Oh, quit your bellyaching, Rosario Joan,” she said, waving her eating utensils at her daughter. “This is a good story!”
“How could a drippy nose be a blessing?” Zip asked, gently prodding for the rest of the story. The Sheriff had been right— it was a good one. She never got tired of hearing her recount her adventures.
“Well, since something like ninety-eight percent of Foundation’s posthuman, even the meth busts get hairy from time to time,” the Sheriff said, taking a moment to polish off her last bite of rice and beans. “Turns out that our small-time meth mogul is a purple-band Gamma. And his power— I kid you not— his power was to convince people that they were inanimate objects. But in order for his mind control trick to work, you’ve gotta inhale his body odor. Again, I kid you not.”
“That is officially the grossest thing I’ve heard today,” June said, her wavy brown hair bouncing as she shook her head. “And Maks was giving me an annotated list of everything that he has lost under his cast.”
“It’s gonna be like a piñata when I get this thing off,” Maks said cheerfully, itching as best he could with the tines of his fork.
“Oh, it gets grosser. So my partner drops as soon as we kick the trailer door open and he gets a good lungful of the stuff, yeah? Deputy Brand, poor sucker, thinks he’s a blender. He starts making whirring noises and turning in circles. In the middle of the living room, the drug thug’s got himself a throne— a throne made of attractive women. Again, I kid you not.”
“And then you turned into Rambo, mi querida,” Sofia summed up, tossing her napkin over her plate.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” the Sheriff said, giving her wife a look.
“You did blow up the trailer, ma’am,” Jack pointed out, chin in his hand.
“Not my fault that those cook operations are time bombs. And for the record, that was an accident.”
After the fight with Clay, Mal had gotten a pretty lengthy detention sentence. It was a month long, but it’d ended up being mild enough. Plus, it’d ended up loads better than Clay’s detention sentence. Nurse Bliss had conveniently found a switchblade in his pocket, so he’d gotten a hefty detention slapped on him for having a weapon on school grounds.
Most of the instructors avoided dealing with Mal, so he spent his detention period with the only teacher that wouldn’t put up with his bad attitude— the Sheriff. Zip felt like it was the best possible thing that could have happened to them.
It started off as just Mal and Zip at the Galán-Grant home, but since Rosario was there, so was Jack. And since Rosario and Mal were in the same place, their old friend, Ernest, came over, too. And since Ernest brought snacks, his partner, June, usually made an appearance at their study sessions. Maks didn’t really have a good reason for showing up, but he did anyway. What started as detention ended up as a study group/social hour. They kept showing up every day, even after Mal’s detention ended.
“You know, Aunt Roxanne, my father spoke very highly of you while I was with him,” Mal said, smirking. “Apparently, he appreciated your tendency to test the flexibility of certain rules.”
The Sheriff nodded, her expression tight.
“Your father was a good man.”
“A damn good man,” her wife agreed, quietly. She pushed her chair back, picking up her plate and standing. “I have work to wrap up, so I’m going to go chain myself to my computer for a few more hours. Make sure Libby gets to bed fairly early tonight, okay?”
“Yes, Mama,” Rosario and Jack both said, though Jack switched out mama for ma’am.
“I’m not promising anything ‘til you sweeten the deal, Mrs. Galán-Grant,” the Sheriff said, her tone strict and her smile tender.
“You brought our beloved little terror into the world,” Sofia reminded her. She leaned over and kissed her, sharing the exact same smile.
“So I did. I’ll help the kids put her down, but only if you promise not to put down roots in that computer chair of yours. I swear, the monitor sees more of you than I do anymore.”
“Deal,” Rosario’s mama said, kissing her again before she disappeared down the hall.
The Sheriff finished off the rest of her iced tea, then picked up her plate.
“Well, then. I spy seven pairs of able teenage hands here, so how many of ‘em are gonna help me with the dishes?”
“Me!” Zip volunteered. The word was barely all the way out of her mouth before she started speedily gathering up the plates and cups. She had things rounded up and in the sink by the time the Sheriff got into the kitchen.
“Thank you for giving me a hand,” the Sheriff said, rolling up her sleeves. “That’s a useful posterpower you’ve got, Zip. Any idea what you’d like to do with it after graduation?”
“I’ve, uh, I’ve been thinking about getting into law enforcement. If I get the grades, that is.” Zip picked up a towel and started drying the dishes. “Is it hard being a baseliner, ma’am? Since so many of the other officers are posters, I mean.”
“Dodging fireballs thrown by poachers is no cakewalk, but I get by alright. You could say that I’m used to being a part of a minority in a community.”
“Youhaveareallynicelife,” Zip blurted out, her words tripping over each other. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been drying this particular dish, but it’d felt close to forever.
The Sheriff glanced over at her, an eyebrow raised.
“What now?”
“Your career and your daughters and Mrs. Galán-Grant and— ” Zip got her metaphorical teeth around her confidence and bit down. She’d worked up the courage to finally tell the Sheriff, so she had to hang tough. She couldn’t quit halfway through. “It’s nice to see someone like you with so much to be happy about. If that makes sense? I don’t mean— I don’t mean that in a bad way. I’m-sorry-I’m-so-so-so-bad-at— ”
Zip felt like she was staring at the scuffed gold band of her wedding ring, so she tore her eyes away. That hadn’t been what she’d wanted to say. It’d gotten all fouled up.
“Aww, hell.” The Sheriff quickly wiped her wet, soapy hands off on the thighs of her jeans, then reached for her. She lightly rested her hand on Zip’s arm, fingers curled around her wrist. “I get it. I do. When I was your age, I wouldn’t have believed that I’d end up...well, content, I guess.”
Zip nodded quickly, doing everything she could to keep from tearing up. If she cried, she’d be a sticky, snorty mess, and Mal would know that something was up. She wasn’t ready for that. Not yet. He was probably the closest thing she’d ever had to a best friend, but he had his secrets. She was allowed to have hers, too.
“There’s no reason why you can’t have a nice life and a missus, someday, too,” the Sheriff told her, keeping her voice down for her benefit. Zip appreciated it. Mal’s ears were just so sharp. “If that’s what you’re looking for. If you ever need someone to talk to, you know which door to knock on now. Between my wife and me, there’s always someone here.”
“I’ve been starting to feel that way, yeah,�
� Zip said, sniffing.
Things had changed after the Night Games. When Nurse Bliss had cleared her to leave, Cindy had been there to escort Zip back to their dorm room. Between Bliss’ good luck and Zip’s metabolism, she’d been healing up quick, but she’d still been tender on her feet. It’d probably been a good thing that Cindy had helped her back, because she’d felt fluttery and feverish and dizzy.
Cindy had been busy while Zip had been laid up. She’d found the extra strings of lights— the ones that she’d refused when she’d moved in. She’d hung them up all over, so when Zip opened the door, their room was full of twinkling stars.
She hadn’t realized until then how much she’d wanted that. She’d wanted the line separating the two sides of their room to disappear. She’d wanted Cindy to want her in the room. When it came right down to it, she wanted Cindy to want her. Zip didn’t know exactly what it meant to want her, but she knew that she did. She’d never wanted anything more in her life.
“Zipporah, do you need help?” Mal’s voice startled her so badly, she dropped the plate she’d been drying off. Thankfully, she was more than speedy enough to catch it before it hit the ground. She twisted around, a hand pressed against her hammering heart. Her partner stood in the doorway, his head tilted to the side and his eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“We’re doing fine.” The Sheriff gave her arm another squeeze, then rounded on Mal. “Malek Underwood, have you gone and gotten taller again? And to think, I’d just about given up on you catching up with Roz.”
Mal just made a grouchy noise, slouching.
“...yes. I am one hundred and seventy-five— ” Catching himself, he did the conversion. Zip couldn’t understand how someone who’d been raised on the feet and inches system could default to metric, but Mal Underwood was a special sort of guy. “— five foot nine, now. And I don’t like it.”
“Why? Your loom factor just went up by eight hundred percent.”
“Because I...I’m different. My reach is greater, but my center of gravity has changed. I’m accustomed to knowing my body, and it’s rebelling. I’m used to having control, total control, and now I’m...”
Mal was sulking. He shivered in her tear-filled vision as she giggled.
“The great and mighty Kinglet has finally met his match,” Sheriff Galán-Grant punched her nephew’s upper-arm, just as Zip had seen Rosario do only too many times. “Puberty.”
Taking advantage of the distraction that the Sheriff was providing, Zip discreetly wiped her eyes with a dishrag. She felt loads better. Shaky and wired, but almost giddily so.
“I will adjust soon enough.” Leaning around his aunt, Mal gave Zip a pointed look. “Anyway. We are starting the strategy assignment, if you’d like to work with us.”
“Work with you and June? Heck, I’d never say no to an easy A!”
“I’ve got it handled in here, Zip. You go on and get your homework done.”
“Thank you, Sheriff Galán-Grant,” she said, hoping that every ounce of her gratefulness made it through her words.
She smiled, turning back to the dishes.
“Anytime.”
She sped back into the dining room, outrunning any questions from her partner. She plopped back into her seat next to Maks, getting her strategy textbook out of her bag.
“I haven’t had a chance to do this week’s reading yet,” Zip admitted, flipping through her notebook until she found a clean sheet of paper. “What’re we covering?”
“A shit war, that’s what,” Jack said, glaring at his open textbook. “Pardon my French, girls.”
“We’re reading about D-day,” June explained, turning in her chair to look at Jack. “And I’m sensing some serious personal issues with world history over on this end of the table. Care to share? I love a good story.”
“Now you’ve done it, abuelito,” Rosario said, leaning back in her chair.
“I’m, uh.” Jack paused. His mouth had gone tight, so it took a few seconds for him to get the words out. “It’s not my history.”
“It’s not your history?” Zip echoed, her eyebrows raised.
“I assure you that her bouts of parrot behavior pass eventually,” Mal said, taking the seat across from Zip’s.
“I don’t know how you deal with him all the time,” Rosario said, flicking a wadded-up sheet of paper at Mal’s face. It bounced harmlessly off the top of his head.
“I don’t believe in giving up on folks, lucky for him,” Zip said warmly. She patted his arm, retreating before his reflexes could fire.
“Oh, yes,” Mal said, pulling up the hood of his sweatshirt and hunching down over his homework. “So very lucky. Now as you can see, I am going to be ignoring you until I have completed my readings. Good day.”
Zip ignored him. She was getting good at it.
“You were saying?”
“I’m...well, this was my war. Last New Years, I rang in 1944. So for me, this all...” Jack thumbed through the pages. “It feels a little too fresh to be history.”
“I’d wondered why you wear dog tags. You’re kinda young to be in the service,” Ernest said. “You lied about your age?”
“Yeah. My old man signed me off. Another one of the boys in my platoon was what you call a blue-band— he could bend time. He sent me skipping ‘til I hit last year.” Jack took a sip of his water, not quite meeting anyone’s eyes. “I got arrested. Made a scene, I guess. They tested me, and I got sent here. It’s not so different, really.”
Not so different from the military? Not so different from war? What kind of thing was that to say?
“That’s not real comforting,” Zip said, chewing on her lip.
June sighed. Loudly. “But after the Night Games? It’s hard to disagree with him.”
“Hey, speaking of the Night Games,” Rosario said, raising her voice. “Did you guys hear about the ruling?”
“No, what’d they decide?”
“No more Night Games. Nada. None for the rest of the year.”
“For the best, maybe,” Ernest said, looking up from his own notes.
“I disagree. We needed an opportunity to catch them in the act,” Mal said, closing his textbook. Oh, dear. It looked like he was intent on discussing the situation properly. Zip gnawed more industriously on her lower lip. So much for strategy homework.
“Them?” Rosario repeated.
“Maksim and Zipporah’s assailant. Or assailants, as the case may very well be.”
“D’you have any leads?” Ernest asked, his brow furrowing worriedly.
“It’s no accident that I tangled with Dillinger the day after the Night Games,” Mal ran his tongue over his teeth, making a face like he’d tasted something bad. “He wanted to make sure that I knew that he’d had a hand in injuring Zipporah.”
The statement was a heavy one.
“That, uh, that lines up with what I remember,” Maks said, after a long moment. He itched aggressively under the edge of his cast, like he was trying to distract himself. “I saw the invisible man drag Zip’s body into the woods. Which was, y’know, the stuff nightmares are made of.”
“A not-so-innocent Bystander,” Mal said, dryly. “But I don’t believe that he was working alone. This took forethought and planning, since the bat had to have been smuggled to the area. Granted, it has been years since I’ve interacted with Dillinger, but this seems remarkably quiet and low key for him.”
Rosario worried at the end of her braid, running the tuft through her fingertips. She didn’t look like this was a subject she wanted to delve into.
“No, you’re right. Clay’s a showboater,” she said, flipping the dark rope of her braid over her shoulder. “This is bigger than him. Crueler, too. But we can’t prove anything.”
“This could have been meant to target any of us. Maybe the intention was to get back at Ernest for sticking up for the new kids, and Zip just got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe the goal was to shut Maks up,” June said, her pretty red nails glittering as she t
icked off the different scenarios on her fingers. “Maybe they were trying to draw in Good Sams to knock off, and they abandoned their plan when they realized how many of us were working together.”
“Or perhaps Maksim was injured because he emits blue light.” Mal worked his band around his wrist. “I am a blue-band, so he was the best possible bait to snare my partner. The goal might very well have been to disqualify Zipporah and myself.”
“Can’t it be all of the above?” Jack asked. “I kind of doubt we’re the only group what thought to team up. Maybe they were aiming to thin the competition down— by hook or by crook.”
“The question is, what do we do about it? I mean, we’ve gotta do something,” Ernest said, looking around for signs of agreement. “We have to. Right?”
“They know we are aware of their crimes, so they will try to avoid leaving evidence that we can tie back to them. I don’t doubt that they will slip up sooner or later, but the loss of the Night Games has robbed us of opportunities to pin them.”
“There’s always next year?” Maks said, sounding like he was trying to be optimistic.
Pulling back his hood, Mal dug his hands through his hair. He glared at the wood grain of the table.
“Yes. There will be next year. And unless we expose Clay and his accomplices, there will likely be more injuries.”
“Can I say something, maybe?” Ernest asked, raising his hand.
“The floor is yours,” Mal said with a turn of his wrist.
Ernest stood, clearing his throat. Neither seemed strictly necessary, but it showed how serious he was about what he was going to say.
“Well, this is how I see it. The only thing we know for sure, all theories and gut feelings aside, is that someone in our class isn’t above killing in order to advance another round of training. Sneaking up on someone and wailing on ‘em with a baseball bat is what thugs do. Whoever was swinging that bat was no hero.”
Ernest looked at each of them in turn. When he caught Zip’s gaze and held it, it was like hooking into an electric current of pure determination.
The Posterchildren: Origins Page 31