Villainous

by Brand, Kristen

  He raised his eyebrows. “You tried to ask nicely?”

  “Only mild threats. It was niceish.”

  “I’m sure it was nicer than he deserved. You think Mary will be more reasonable?”

  I frowned at the picture of her. “I don’t know. But…I’d like to try.”

  “You won’t find me arguing against trying something nonviolent.”

  “Even though it’s your freedom on the line?”

  That smile of his. It was no wonder images of it got slapped onto everything from cereal boxes to cologne bottles. Who could resist it?

  “A smart, beautiful woman told me to let her take care of this,” he said. “And I trust her judgment.”

  “I know. Though I can’t for the life of me understand why.”

  “It’s not so strange.”

  But it was strange. Strange and wonderful and precious. So I’d go to Mary and ask her nicely to negotiate, but if she refused, I’d do whatever it took to keep Dave out of jail.

  He was mine, and no one was taking him away from me.

  Chapter 9

  Mary’s apartment was in an eight-story building in the trendy section of Wynwood, and it didn’t surprise me at all that she lived in the hipster district. The surrounding streets were full of art galleries and cafes, the buildings covered in brightly colored street art: portraits of beautiful women, abstract designs, and a stylized depiction of Freezefire surrounded by orange flames and pale blue ice that was particularly well done.

  I left Eddy in the car again and went into the rental office, where I telepathically convinced the man at the front desk that the suite being rented under Mary’s assumed name was in need of urgent maintenance, and I was the maintenance man. He gave me the key, and if I’d doubted the address Lee had given me was correct, the thoughts I sensed from the suite across the hall proved I had the right place. Mary had someone watching her apartment, and he was currently pulling out his phone to alert her that a woman with scars like the Black Valentine’s was sneaking in.

  Don’t panic and call She-Devil, I whispered in his mind. Take care of the problem yourself first. Prove to her that you can handle things.

  He pulled his gun, crept cautiously out of his room, and crossed the hall. From within his mind, I felt his hand grasp the cool metal of the door handle, and I watched as the door slowly opened and he slipped stealthily inside. He looked different from how I’d pictured him—well, different from how he pictured himself. You’d be surprised how few people have an accurate mental image of how they look. I sent a wave of lethargy over his mind, and he dropped the gun and swayed. Everything but his heavy limbs and tired mind forgotten, he managed to stumble to one of Mary’s recliners before collapsing.

  And that took care of that. The feedback from our mental connection made me yawn, but I shook myself and started snooping around—no, make that conducting a thorough search of Mary’s apartment. That lasted about half an hour before I was forced to admit she was too smart to leave incriminating evidence lying around. So no breakthrough in the case, but it was nearly impossible to go through someone’s apartment without learning something about them. Mary was a cat person, for instance. The mangy thing hissed at me, but I ignored it, making a mental note that if Mary refused to help me, I could always take her cat hostage. She must like the animal, judging by the six-foot-tall treehouse tower thing in the living room that she’d bought for it.

  She had to come home eventually, and when she did, I’d be waiting. The best way to convince the DSA to keep working with me was to get ahold of the intel they needed. Then they’d have no choice but to deal with me if they wanted to stem the flow of psyc coming into the country. I’d get that information from Mary one way or another, and then I could end the threat against Dave and get back to being there for my family when they needed me—when Elisa needed me.

  It was around supper time, so I heated up a microwave dinner of spinach and cheese ravioli Mary had in the freezer and raided her wine rack, finding a nice Tuscan Merlot. I was halfway done when Eddy texted me that Mary had just pulled into the parking lot. I tossed the rest of the ravioli, poured a refill of wine, and arranged myself on the armchair farthest from the door. Legs crossed, shoulders square but not tense, the wineglass held casually in my right hand. The pose was important. No, really. My baby sister and I were about to play a dominance game, and I meant to start off strong.

  The key turned in the lock with a click, and Mary walked in.

  “You never answered my text,” I said.

  Mary swore, and her hand darted for the gun in her messenger bag. If I had really wanted to hurt her, it would have been far too late for that.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

  I took a sip of wine. “You know the answer to that.”

  Mary scowled and tossed her bag onto the kitchen counter. It was army green, battered, and decorated with an eclectic variety of round pins sporting images of cartoon characters, band logos, and sayings too small for me to read. It suited her. On the job, Mary wore a black and red costume complete with a leather mask topped with devil horns. Right now, she wore artfully torn denim shorts and a tank top with the words “I’m not sorry” printed on the front.

  “Yeah, yeah,” she said. “The DSA is going to throw White Knight in jail unless you can give them somebody to take his place. I hope you’re not here to try and convince me to turn myself in.” She glanced at the man unconscious in the recliner. “Looks like someone was completely useless.”

  I shrugged. “He tried his best. It wasn’t enough.”

  Mary whipped the gun out of her bag and put three bullets in his chest.

  I nearly spilled my wine. “Now what did you do that for?”

  “I’m not keeping him around with whatever telepathic commands you buried in his mind. I’m not stupid, and I’m not soft.”

  “But on the recliner? You should have driven him out into the woods somewhere first. You’re never going to get the blood out of those cushions.”

  Mary set down her gun on the counter. Not out of reach, but out of her hand for the moment. That was a definite message. “What’s your game, Val? It can’t be concern about my interior decorating.”

  “I just want to talk.”

  “Pfft.” Mary leaned back against the counter and crossed her arms. It wasn’t a bad pose.

  “Oh, calm down,” I said. “I’m not asking my own sister to go to jail. Give me whoever’s producing the psyc, and throw in whichever of your subordinates is annoying you the most at the moment. That’ll be enough to keep Dave free.”

  “And I care about keeping Dave free why?”

  “Because you’re my sister. If it was someone you cared about, I’d do what I could to help.”

  Her upper lip rose in a well-crafted sneer. “Please.”

  So much for asking nicely. Disappointing, but not entirely unexpected. It wasn’t enough that we were family, not if it meant sacrificing her business. If this was going to work, I had to treat her like a supervillain, not a sister.

  I set down my wineglass on the side table. “Fine then. Here’s my offer. Help me, and I’ll tell you exactly where and when to hit the Prophet King to destroy his organization. I know his habits, his security, which businesses he owns, and what people he cares about. Listen to me, and you’ll have him out of the way and free rein over the Miami underworld by the end of the year.”

  Throwing Jean-Baptiste under the bus again, unfortunately. I really did like him. Honest. It’s just that I was running short on options now. It wasn’t that I wanted Mary to take over. Though it might needle Julio, Jean-Baptiste’s control kept this city stable. I’d gotten used to the calm and didn’t want to see Mary shake it up. But then again, I didn’t actually think she could win against the Prophet King. Give him a run for his money for a few months, sure, but not topple him. He was too clever, organized, and experienced. But by the time Mary figured that out, the deal would already be done, and it wouldn’t be my problem.
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  “I don’t need your help,” Mary hissed.

  “And you don’t need a smart phone, either, but it makes life easier if you have one.”

  “Because you know just what I should do, don’t you?” She scowled and put on a surprisingly good impression of our father’s dry voice, “‘Valentina would have planned for that eventuality. If Valentina were in charge, the Prophet King would be in the morgue by now. Try to show a little more restraint, like Valentina.’ I’m not you, and you know what? I’m glad. You’re old and soft, and you’ve always been overrated. I’m better than you ever were, and I’m going to prove it—to everyone.”

  It felt as though a rock had settled in the bottom of my stomach. There wasn’t any room to misinterpret her intentions after that.

  “Fine,” I said. “I wish you would have negotiated, though. Brute force is so boring.”

  The sentence was barely out of my mouth when I slammed the full force of my telepathy into her mind. She gasped and staggered but didn’t fall. The strength of her grudge kept her on her feet. I wasn’t prepared for the sheer amount of resentment Mary had for me. It was like cold armor around her mind that I couldn’t crack. Valentina would have planned for this eventuality, rang mockingly in my ears. I hadn’t planned for it, but it wasn’t too late to fix things. I just had to erase those feelings and implant a few memories to convince her that she adored her oldest sister and would do anything for her.

  Mary pulled her feelings from my grasp and gave me a vivid memory of getting shot in the leg. It was a decent strategy, but I’d been shot so many times that it didn’t shake my control like she wanted it to. Anyway, I’d given birth before. Pain and I were on such close terms that we exchanged presents every Christmas.

  “Did you really think you could beat me?” I asked. The question brought Mary’s rage surging back with full force, and I reached for those feelings to change them. Mary realized she was losing the mental battle with a jolt of cold fear. She reached toward her gun.

  I shot up from the chair and ran toward her. But I’d never make it in time. She was too far away. I tried to freeze the muscles in her arm, but her defenses held up. She grabbed the gun. Freezefire, I thought. The metal is red hot. She dropped it with a hiss of pain then swore when she realized what I’d done. I kicked the gun across the floor before she could reach for it again.

  Mary threw a punch, but it was angry and wild. I blocked it, her fist bouncing off the bone of my forearm. Instead of striking back with my hand, I hit her with the sensation of getting punched in the nose. She stumbled, her back slamming into the countertop as she clutched her undamaged nose. You don’t want to fight me. Convincing her of that was a lot harder than convincing her she’d just been punched in the nose. The sheer force of her anger was hard to overcome. She really, really wanted to fight me. Fine. I’d trick her into thinking she’d already won. Then she’d let her guard down.

  “N-No,” Mary grunted, clutching the countertop to stay upright.

  “Bit late for that,” I said. “When the mind-control eventually wears off and you remember this happened, look at it as a lesson. When someone stronger and more experienced than you offers a deal, you take it.”

  Mary lunged at me. I twisted to the side to avoid the blow, but something sharp jabbed my upper arm. A needle. Shit! Where had she gotten it? She must have pulled it out of that damn bag. Was it exatrin? I needed to take her out now before it suppressed my telepathy.

  Mary grinned. “Not exatrin. Psyc. No idea how it’ll affect a telepath, but it probably wo—”

  Chapter 10

  What was that scream? I swear, if that woman downstairs didn’t turn down the volume of her damn TV, I was going to call the—

  —eighteen more. My abs were burning, but if I just did eighteen more, I could—

  —done yet. I opened the oven door, and heat warmed my face. The chocolatey smell that wafted out was perfection, but the tops of the cookies still looked a little soft. I should probably leave them in for another—

  “—even listening?” I shouted into the phone. “I told you a hundred times, but you never—”

  —completely different from the answer in the back of the book. I stared at the problem, chewing on my pencil as I tried to figure out where I’d gone wrong. Thirty-four? How the hell did you get thirty-four from this? I was totally going to fail—

  “—down the A/C,” Greg said. “Our electric bill last month was—”

  —no, no no. Why wouldn’t he stop calling? I didn’t want to talk to him. Was that so hard to—

  —seen this commercial a hundred times. My eyelids drooped, and I grabbed another handful of chips—

  —Val having a seizure on the floor. I kicked her, and damn, the impact of my foot against her ribs was satisfying. I kicked again and again until she finally stopped twitching. Dead? I put my fingers to her wrist and felt a pulse, so no. Meh. That was probably for the best. She’d be worth more alive if I traded her to—

  Wait. That sounded important. Why did that sound so important? I couldn’t…couldn’t…

  —couldn’t understand what she meant by that text. Was she into me or not? I should just—

  —tasted salty and burnt. Worst coffee ever. I couldn’t believe I’d paid three dollars for this. I oughta—

  —water up my nose. I swam to the surface and started coughing. The smell of chlorine—

  —scrubbed until my arms were sore, but the stain still wouldn’t—

  —why Madison didn’t want to play with me at recess. I thought we were friends. She—

  —so high right now. God, this felt—

  “—finished?” he asked. “Or do you want to see the dessert—”

  —long walk, and with the way my hip kept aching—

  Mom?

  —sweat running down my—

  —think the blue dress is too fancy. I should go with the jeans and purple top—

  Mom? Is that you?

  Something was familiar about that one, but what…?

  “—just want everything to be perfect,” I pleaded. “You know how much—”

  —should just stay off the road if you don’t know how to drive. The speed limit is—

  —the dog just kept barking no matter what I—

  Mom, where are you?

  Where was I? I was stuck in traffic, blaring the radio. I was jogging through the park, my thighs burning. I was in the living room with Dad, freaking out over what was happening to Mom.

  No. You were going after Aunt Mary. Do you remember what happened?

  Mary. That sounded familiar, but not as familiar as the person speaking to me. Something important was just out of my reach, and I couldn’t… No, it was too hard. I let restful oblivion wash back over me.

  —go to bed early tonight—

  —finish this report by Monday, or I’m—

  —in the pit of my stomach. I just didn’t have enough money to—

  “—your problem, not mine. You—”

  Mom! No! Focus. You have to tell us where you are. Where did you go to meet Aunt Mary? Eddy’s not answering his phone. You have to remember.

  Where did I go to meet Mary? Who was Mary? And who was I?

  You’re my mom. You’re the Black Valentine. You’re—

  I got flashes and feelings instead of words. A woman as hard and beautiful as a statue. A woman who, with a glare and a few sharp words, could make a crowd of people flee in fear. And she could make people laugh just as easily, though most of her jokes were embarrassingly dirty. The house could get bombed, everyone could get shot, and somehow she’d still manage to fix everything in the end. This wasn’t a woman; this was a goddess. Was that really me?

  Mom, please remember. Where are you and Aunt Mary?

  Mary… Yes, I remembered Mary.

  • • •

  Mary had been the name of the girl in the picture. She’d been six years old, wearing a pale pink dress and holding a stuffed rabbit. Colorful plastic eggs and a painted backgro
und of blue sky and green grass made up the rest of a photograph. Dad had said she was my half-sister.

  “Ugh.” I had shuddered to cover my shock. “Seriously?” Dad was old as balls and cold as a corpse. I didn’t want to think about it.

  “Seriously,” he said, and it was amazing how he could make the word sound like a threat to be less glib.

  “Do I want to ask about the mother?”

  He handed me a second picture, this one taken from a police report. It showed the corpse of a woman far too young for my dad riddled with far more bullets than would have been necessary to kill her. She looked vaguely familiar. “Didn’t she used to clean the house for us?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Oh my God, Dad. Well, now I know why she must have quit.”

  “She didn’t quit. She ran off with half a million in cash and jewels from one of my safes.”

  “So you had her killed?”

  “No.” His pale lips turned up in an odd smile. “A move like that took chutzpah. I can appreciate it. And it pays to have a daughter stashed away somewhere safe for when you and your idiot sisters get yourselves killed.”

  “Very prudent of you.”

  The smile left his wrinkled face, leaving a much more natural expression. “But it wasn’t as safe as I thought. Beast Queen took her. She’s trying to strong-arm me into siding with her against Selvaggio.”

  “Aren’t we planning on killing him anyway?”

  “Yes, but not yet, and not because I’m being manipulated. Find Mary, and bring her home.”

  It wasn’t hard to find her. Tracking down Beast Queen’s hideout took me less than two days. But since it was that easy, even the DSA managed to do it. The information I’d plucked from a depressingly incautious agent’s mind said they were moving in to arrest her soon. So I had to move faster.

  I parked about a mile down the rural road from the hideout and made my way on foot through farm fields and backyards. It was night, and the lack of streetlights out here meant I only had the moon and stars to see by. My boots squelched as I crept through something I sincerely hoped was only mud, and mosquitoes buzzed around me. Beast Queen’s hideout seemed empty except for a single, bored guard, but I sensed agents doing surveillance from the house across the street. Beast Queen wasn’t home at the moment, but once she came back, they were planning to send in—wait for it—they were planning to send in White Knight.