The Knight of Disks (Villainess Book 4)

by Alana Melos

  “I didn’t mean to kill that guy,” I explained for the third time. “He was hitting on a friend. I was just protecting her.”

  The sucky-bus yawned and blew a big, pink bubble out of her gum. Someone stepped up behind me and flashed an ident card. The sucky-bus popped the bubble and took the ten bucks for the cover charge, letting the guy wander through to disappear behind the swinging double doors. It didn’t matter if it was freezing cold outside and the snow piled up around the entrance. Right out in front, it was warm and inviting. The lights beckoned people in to explore the depths below. It was sort of a second home for me, a place where I’d always felt accepted… and sometimes even wanted. Until now.

  “Can’t he come out here to talk to me? I’ll make it worth his while. Just pass the message along,” I said as I reached into my pocket and brought out a wad of money. It was probably a couple grand, well past the cover charge.

  She glanced at the roll of money and scoffed, loudly. “As if,” she said. She then made a little shooing motion to me with one of her hands. “Go away now. I’m bored and you’re distracting me from my customers.”

  My eyebrow twitched at the shooing motion and visions of chopping off her hand danced before my eyes. I touched my brow to calm myself and backed up, forcing out a smile. I’m sure the demon Malech watched, and so I had to appear gracious even if I didn’t feel it. I racked my brain as I turned away to walk down the wet sidewalk, trying to think of another way to restore my power. I could have gone to Alistair… but after he lost control and almost summoned something on the scale of world-eating bad, I didn’t trust him. Not with my mind, at least.

  Most of the fixers I knew dealt mostly with jobs and a few with tech. Psychics in general were pretty rare, and telepaths even more so. Gerard had been correct on that. He also seemed to think it was unfixable. I couldn’t go to him anyway, even if I wanted to. I refused to let him win in that. He could sit and stew. He’d come crawling back to me, eventually.

  That didn’t leave a lot of options. I had a feeling it was a psychic blockage of some kind, so a healer or biokinetic wouldn’t do any good. There was always the tech way, but my skin crawled at the thought of being less than myself, of having machines in me of any kind. Alistair was the most talented mage I knew of. There were others, but the ones who would deal with me were into that hardcore black market type of magic, the kind where you had to make blood sacrifices in order to get anything real done.

  Tears welled up and I scrubbed them away. I was not going to cry over this. I was stronger than that. It wasn’t because of sadness or mopiness anyway, but because of frustration. None of this was in the plan. I hadn’t accounted for any of this and I felt a little lost, and a lot pissed. Some of that was directed at myself. I’d never been so rash and gung ho before. What in the hell were these emotions doing to me?

  “Hey… Caprice?” a familiar voice rang out from the side. I glanced over and groaned. It was Septimus.

  “Going to arrest me, hero?” I snarled, itching for a fight. If I couldn’t do anything about my ‘pathy, I could at least take out some aggression. He was a perfect candidate for it too since he regenerated.

  With light grey eyes, light brown hair, and a crooked smile, he wasn’t bad looking. I knew from experience he was pretty cut and trim beneath his clothes, but that was a side effect of his powers. Regenerators generally had perfect health all the way around the board since their bodies worked hard to keep them at peak physical fitness. The bad thing was that he was a white hat… well, maybe white with a shade of grey or two. He had helped me escape from lock up, after all.

  “Arrest? Ah, no?” he said, moving a little faster to catch up with me. “You look… are you alright?” He shivered with the cold, even though he wore a thick navy peacoat.

  I looked up at him, my mouth open to say something snarky and mean and cutting, then stopped. “No,” I muttered, dropping my eyes. Those stupid tears welled up again and I shook my head fiercely, struggling to hold onto my anger. Far better to be angry than to show weakness.

  “Hey, hey,” he said, his voice soft. “You can talk to me.”

  “What are you doing here anyway?” I snapped, jerking my head back up to look at him. “Why are you bothering me?”

  “I was headed to the Underground to get a few drinks,” he said with a shrug. “It’s the only place I can get a buzz. Not sure why. I thought you were banned?”

  “Yeah, I still am,” I said, bitterness creeping into my voice. “Just go and leave me the fuck alone.” I stepped back, intent on resuming my aimless wandering while I tried to figure out what step was next.

  “I don’t think I should,” he said, stepping into place beside me. “You look… upset.”

  “Jeez, no fucking shit,” I snarled, tempted to shove him telekinetically into a moving car. I was in Manhattan though, and there were cops around. I didn’t want to attract unwanted attention, not when I wasn’t at my peak.

  “Maybe if you talk to me, you might feel better,” he said, dogging my steps. “What do you have to lose?”

  I whirled around, growling at him. “Why in the fuck do you even care? I’m not some helpless little girl just needing a big strong hero to help her, you know.”

  Septimus smiled benignly at a couple of passer-bys who eyed us funny, trying to reassure them everything was OK. When he looked back to me, his eyes were soft. Weak, I thought. Weak and useless.

  “I like you,” he said. “You’re straightforward and honest. I’ve asked around about you. You don’t mind control people and you don’t bullshit them either.”

  I winced at the mention of mind control, then schooled my features to neutrality. “Yeah, well, it’ll be pretty hard to do that now,” I snapped. When he gave me a quizzical look, I waved a hand impatiently. “I lost my telepathy.”

  Both of his brows raised up. “You lo… how…” He stopped himself and smiled tightly, “You look hungry. Why don’t we get some food, pasta right? If you’re anything like me, you run hot. We’ll sit down, get out of the cold, and talk.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “This better not be a trap. I lost my telepathy, not my ability to eviscerate you with a thought.”

  He held up his hands as if I were sticking him up in the Old West. “Whoa, no, food. Dinner. Something to eat. That’s all.” He glanced up at the sky, “It’s probably going to snow again tonight. I’d rather not stand outside here and talk out here.”

  “What makes you think I’m going to talk to you anyway?”

  “Because you need someone to talk to,” he replied in an instant. “And criminals, while they may be great at watching your back, they’re not so good when you show them vulnerability.”

  “I’m not vulnerable!” I snapped, but the idea of food, now that he’d planted it in my mind, was too tempting. I hadn’t eaten when I’d rolled out of bed. I’d just headed straight over to the motel. The thought of the crummy place brought Adira to mind. I wanted to go to her, but… I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. He was right. I trusted a lot of my allies to watch my back during a job, but talking about this sort of thing? I’d be laughed right out of town.

  “Alright,” I gave him, the word coming out of my mouth grudgingly. “Food. But that’s all.”

  “Sure, no problem,” he said with that crooked smile of his. “I know a great pasta place near my apartment in Brooklyn. I took the train over.” He nodded his head towards the subway. “I’ll even pay the fare for you.”

  “What a gentleman,” I muttered. When he took off, I followed along behind him. He shortened his steps until I caught up and we walked side by side. “Isn’t there an entrance to the Underground in Brooklyn?”

  Septimus shrugged. “Maybe,” he said. “I never looked.”

  “Why come all the way out here then?” I asked.

  “A lot of the metahuman officers operate out of Manhattan,” he explained. “This is where the job is.”

  I snorted. “Money attracts power.”

  He shook his he
ad, “Money is power. I hate to admit it, but it is.” We descended the steps to the subway and he, true to his word, paid my fare. As we went through the turnstiles which looked like they had been in place forever, he went on, “It’s pretty sad, but only the stations here are really willing to hire metahumans for police. The rest, well, they rely on vigilantes when it comes to superhuman menaces. And… most metahumans can get jobs doing a lot less for a lot more dough.”

  “That’s kind of sad,” I said as we waited for the train. “Good for me and all, but I thought there were a lot more meta cops than you’re saying.”

  “Oh, don’t get me wrong, there are dozens,” he said. “But not enough. It’s easier to use powers for crime than stopping it.” He shook his head, a lock of his light brown hair falling over his forehead as he did. “Being gifted… well, it shows you what kind of people they are, y’know? I’m happy to say like the general population, most metahumans aren’t criminals, but the really powerful ones tend to be.”

  “Like the general population,” I said with a smirk. “All those corporate fat cats? If they didn’t have the power behind them, with money and influence as you stated before, they wouldn’t try to push so many crap laws through.”

  “I had the impression you didn’t really care for the government,” he said, giving me a sideways smile. The train pulled into view, and the rush between boarders and disembarkers started. We pushed our way in and sat down.

  “I don’t,” I said. “There’s better ways to do things.”

  “Do tell,” he replied with a half a laugh.

  “A benign dictatorship,” I said, watching his reaction. I wasn’t disappointed. He laughed again at that. “What? I’m serious.”

  “There’s no way a dictatorship is better than a republic,” he grinned.

  “Thank you for recognizing that America is a republic,” I replied. “Get tired of people saying it’s a democracy. The Free States are a democracy, and they’re all fucked up.”

  “You’re dodging the question,” Septimus said as he put an arm on the back of my subway seat, turning to face me as I talked.

  “A benign dictatorship, in theory, would leave the population happy and satisfied with the dictator in power, while giving up their power to enable the dictator to have their needs met, and to face any threat which arises,” I explained. “If the ruler is kind, makes sure their people are safe and happy, for the most part, then they won’t care what the ruler does.”

  “I think you’re underestimating people’s need for freedom,” he said with a laugh, glancing over as the subway door between the cars opened. A couple of youths walked through, looking over the passengers in the car with us.

  “I think you’re overestimating people’s innate goodness,” I said. “People just want to be happy and left alone for the most part. Everyone’s so self-centered that if they and their loved ones aren’t in pain, are well fed, mostly well educated, comfortable, warm, and safe, they won’t give a damn about anyone around them. Maybe their neighbors, sure, maybe even their countrymen. But other countries? Foreigners? Forget it.”

  “Is that wh--” he said, then cut off as one of the youths grabbed an old man’s bag and upended it, laughing snidely as the groceries tumbled out.

  “Ignore them,” I urged. “They’re just having some fun.”

  He didn’t. Instead, his eyes remained glued to the two teens as they moved on to a woman, who raised her ebook reader higher, trying to ignore them. One sat down next to her and began talking. It was too far away to hear what, but she pointedly turned the other way and scooted a bit further down. The one in front grabbed himself and I rolled my eyes.

  “They’re not worth it, Tim,” I said. “Kids. Kids are having fun.”

  He didn’t listen and started to stand. “It’s not respectful,” he said.

  I groaned loudly, which sparked the attention of the standing kid. He looked to be white, dressed with an oversized jacket and gloves. I tried to read his thoughts and winced at the pain exploding behind my left eye. It raced down to my chin, and back up again until I stopped. Well, dammit. I didn’t need to read him anyway. He tapped his buddy on the shoulder and nodded towards Septimus and I. They evidently didn’t see my sheathed sword resting on the seat next to me. My companion eased back down, his face troubled like a stormy sky. When they approached us, I saw the other one was white as well, with a bit of a tan. Their clothing was rich enough, expensive winter jackets. When I looked at their shoes, they were well worn, but military in cut, which meant they’d probably special ordered them. They were just a couple of entitled rich kids, having some fun. Hell, I was them, not so long ago.

  “What you looking at, dick?” one of them asked, raising his hands up in a swift motion like he was some gangster. It was aggressive and stupid. The really dangerous people didn’t advertise. I snorted a laugh at the move.

  “What are you laughing at, bitch?” the other one asked. His hand twitched. More than likely he was armed. I guess with a jacket that big it was a gun. I knew what he was seeing too. My clothes were expensive and fashionable. Even though I didn’t carry a purse, I must have looked to be a ripe target.

  “There’s no need for this,” Septimus said. “Just have a seat, fellas, eh?” He smiled and indicated the row of chairs opposite us. “Other people here are trying to enjoy the ride.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose and shook my head. “Don’t bother, Timmy,” I said. “Just ignore them. They’re not worth the time.”

  I wasn’t giving them what they wanted, but Tim was, so they focused on him. “This is our train,” the first one said. “This is a Reaper train. You got to pay the toll.”

  Giggles burst out of me. I couldn’t help it. It was all so… so… dumb. It was so eighties. “You guys need some new material,” I chortled. “Maybe try ‘come out and plaaa-aaay.’”

  “Damn, bitch, show some respect,” the first one said. The second one took a step back, and I saw in his eyes that he knew something was off about me.

  “Hey, let’s just hit up another car,” the second one said. He plucked at his friend’s sleeve. “I got a bad feeling about this.”

  “Shut up, man!” the first snarled. He produced a knife. To his credit, it was a vibroblade, very expensive and very deadly. I’d heard rumors that the really spendy ones could cut through some metahuman’s invulnerability. When he switched it on, the blade side whirred silent death. He had to have stolen it from somewhere, so maybe he was an up and coming thug. Who knew? “Give me your fucking money!”

  I laughed harder as I grabbed Tim’s arm and shook him gently back and forth. “That’s so cute! He’s robbing us, Tim.” Septimus gave me an annoyed look, then focused his attention on the thug. I tightened my grip and tugged a little, “Go on, give him your wallet. It’s fine.”

  “I’m not giving him my wallet,” he snapped, losing his temper. I laughed harder at that. With a stern look, he looked back to the thugs. “Son, put the knife away. No one has to get hurt here.”

  The second one shook his head, one hand going to his hat. He either knew who we were, or what we were. I gave him a wink as the first one snarled. “Fuck you, old man. It’s too late. You should have paid the toll!” With that, he went to savagely stab Septimus. People in the car shrieked. Septimus grabbed the thug’s arm and yanked him forward as the cop beside me slid to the side, bumping me. The knife stabbed into the cushioned metal seat like a chainsaw going through a limb, smooth as cream.

  “I told you,” Septimus said, his voice mostly calm, but reverberating with repressed anger. “Put it away. No one has to get hurt.”

  The tough elbowed Septimus in the face while I laughed. Tim let go of the arm holding the knife. The kid didn’t bother to pull it out of the metal. He swung up towards Tim, and hit home. The blade made easy work of Tim’s side, causing him to grunt and swear in pain.

  Alright, blood had been drawn. It was time to put this to an end.

  “Put it away before you hurt yoursel
f,” I said, the laughter dying in my voice.

  The thug jerked the knife out of Tim’s side. The metahuman cop scooted down, hissing in pain and grabbing his side. The kid brandished the bloodied blade at me, the whirring death side already clean as the fast moving vibrations shook the blood off in a fine red mist. “Give me your money, you stupid cunt,” he snarled.

  “Always that word,” I said, cocking my head to the side. With a thought, I gripped him with my teke and lifted him up as I stood. “I don’t get why guys always go to that word. I mean, I don’t care, but some people find it pretty vulgar.”

  “Don’t hurt them,” Septimus said, his voice hoarse but growing stronger with every word. “Like you said, they’re just kids.”

  “Oh man, we’re fucked,” the second one said. His other hand had gone to join his first one, and he wrung his hat on top of his head in a parody of angst. “We’re so fucked.”

  “What the--?” the first one said, trying to move.

  “You’re a sloppy amateur,” I said, moving him backwards while I stepped forward. I left him floating in the air and projected confidence, though I knew I wouldn’t be able to hold him for too long. I hadn’t refilled and I didn’t want to hurt myself teaching this kid a lesson. To the other, I snapped my fingers and pointed at the bench. “Sit.” He sat so fast I thought he was a speedster for a second. “Good boy.”

  “Let me go!” the first one demanded. Now, fear entered his eyes as he realized he’d messed with the wrong couple. Who could blame him? People didn’t expect powerful metahumans to take the subway. The ones with the flashy powers went where the money was and got famous, as Tim had observed prior to this altercation. Superheroes and supervillains just didn’t use the subway.

  I pried the knife from his fingers and examined it before turning it off. “I’m keeping this,” I said, then smiling. “Consider it the toll.”

  The punk’s cheeks flushed with exertion as he struggled in his invisible bonds. “Fuck you, bitch!”