"Not when my little girl's in so much danger," she said. "Or when I'm so proud of her."
I plopped into the chair and picked up the mug, taking a sip. Perfection. "Since when?"
"You're a Psychic now, sweetheart. You don't have to go around punching people or brawling like some sort of commoner-"
"Mom, I like being a Blitzer. I've always -been- a Blitzer. I don't intend to change that now. Maybe I'll mix Psychic stuff and Blitzer power, but I don't intend to re-sign as a Psychic."
Her nose crinkled at me, in exactly the same way I did it. "I realize that it takes getting used to but the pay is so much better and you're at less of a risk if you turn up pregnant-"
"Whoa, whoa. Hold on now."
She beamed at me. "Sweetie, listen, I'm not one to judge. I certainly had my fun when I was your age-"
I wanted to clap my hands over my ears. No no no no.
"-but when you choose one of those lovely boys to settle down with and start having grandchildren your perception of superhero work changes a little. You can even go so far as to work into your third trimester as a Psychic, but a few good slams as a Blitzer and you might lose the baby. I'm only looking out for your health, that's all."
"Mom, if I want kids, I'll let you know. I promise," I said, my fingers tight on the mug handle. "But we have a long way ahead of us before anything like that happens. Particularly this roadblock with Scribe."
"You're in your 30-, Cassandra, that clock is ticking and-"
"Mom."
She huffed. "I just don't want you to end up all old and saggy, dreaming about all those babies you never got to hold. Your aunt Esmerelda-"
"Aunt Essie never wanted kids because she saw what a little horror I was," I said, barely able to withhold a smile. I'd loved my Aunt Esmerelda until the day a building came down on her. She was one of the few who had never told me that Blitzers weren't worth their salt.
Hell, her death had been one of the things that had kicked off the fight with Demeter, now that I thought of it. Mind you, Aunt Essie had been in another town when it'd happened. If she hadn't, I might have been in that building with her. That made me pause. Maybe Mom wasn't entirely wrong. If I wanted kids, I'd been in plenty of places where I'd have had regrets, unfinished plans, had the dice not rolled in my favor.
I downed my coffee to compensate. Those were thoughts for another time, another place. My relationships were young, except Nishelle's of course, and we were still re-establishing that. I loved them all, absolutely the big L word, but family-building, marriages, that kind of stuff? I didn't think any of us were ready to talk about that.
Yet.
"Be that as it may," Mom said, not even bothering to deny it. I'd been hell as a kid. "You need to start considering your long-term affairs. You're not a child anymore."
I tilted my head at her. "I'm not. And I hadn't thought of that. I suppose I don't really need their permission to do anything, do I?"
"Their permission? Whose?"
The mug came to rest on the table and I stood up, stretching. "I'll be back as soon as I can, Mom. I have an errand to do."
Without giving her the chance to argue with me, I left the room. We had clothing caches all over the city, but the only one I knew of close by was one that I'd raided not too long ago. Anything in it was too big or too small for me. I entered one of the spare rooms, thankfully abandoned, and peered through the closet.
I hit paydirt. Thankfully, whoever used this place as a shelter more often than not was smart enough to have a cache of clothing within it. I grabbed a dark top, a pair of jeans, and shoes that fit me perfectly. I'd smoked out most of my clothing during my little Psychic attempt last night. I hurled my charred clothes into a corner and pulled on the new ones. Then I opened the window in the room and carefully stepped out onto the fire escape, trying to make sure it didn't rattle as I walked down it.
The sky overhead was moving from pink to dreamsicle as I took to the streets at a trot. My body begged me to slow down but there was no use in that. The sooner I got it done, the better.
We were a good half an hour from the Alliance building as it was, further than normal as I kept having to skirt around Kipas that were too smart and too powerful from their look. I didn't want to tangle with them by myself, uncertain just how far I'd overextended myself last night.
I managed to sneak into the stairwell in the parking garage, my identity thankfully still registered with whatever computer system was left functioning up above. I took the stairs two at a time, pausing on each landing to listen for anyone who might be coming to fetch me. If I were Scribe, I'd have had a million guards in the hallways.
But they were completely abandoned. I opened the third-floor door after a minute of watching and frowned. Allison was certainly still here; she'd tried to drag us into the Dream. Perhaps Scribe had left? Maybe someone had already come and defeated him?
I peeked in the open doorways. Children's toys were scattered on the floor of someone's apartment, pizza left to rot on the coffee table of another. I swallowed and hoped, nearly prayed, that whoever had been in those apartments was somewhere safe. Maybe there'd been a mass exodus to nearby towns with Alliance buildings.
But if there had, why had someone just left pizza to rot?
Shivering, I tried the elevator but got nowhere. Someone had disabled it. Back into the stairwell I went, my legs complaining around the sixth floor but I had plenty more to scale and they could just shut up about it.
Honestly, I was surprised that my little troop of lovers hadn't decided to find some way to keep me out of the action. Wasn't that part of why I was doing what I was doing? If I could talk some sense into Scribe, or even just scope out what was going on and report back with the details, it would be helpful.
I didn't know how much help I was going to be during the actual fight, but I wanted to try to do -something- before we threw ourselves into the scramble.
"Cassie."
The intercom system crackled at the end of my name. I hesitated, then looked up. There was no way to tell where the cameras were; not on a system that Edwin had designed. He had the tiniest mechanisms I'd ever seen. "How y'doin’, Scribe."
"I'd be better if none of you had ever returned. It was a tragedy that your irresponsible movement killed that young man in Thomaston and so many civilians. You're reckless, wild, untamed. And you cannot continue in that vein and be allowed to live. You're just too much of a risk out on the streets."
My gaze shot around the interior of the stairwell. To the best of my knowledge, we didn't have any sort of suppression gas outlets or whatever in the walls, but I'd heard of things like that in other situations and I had no idea if Scribe had changed the interior of the building while we'd been gone. My fingers ran over the drywall. Nothing felt wet or fresh, but you just never knew. "We really don't want to do this, boss. If you just give up, we can get you taken care of. I don't know what's wrong with you; or with any of us. Exposure to the Kipas, I guess. But if you lay down your weapons and give us the building, we'll make sure you're all right. You and Emma."
"Keep your mouth off my daughter!"
The snarl broke the intercom into another wave of crackles and pinched noises. I flinched, putting my hands over my ears. At least he still cared about Emma. "I used to babysit her. Those of us who know her? We all love her. You know we do; just as much as you do. Don't let her go fatherless, Scribe. Don't do that to her. We end up with enough superheroes in that situation after their folks abandon them to us."
"Like yours did."
I rolled my eyes. "Is that the best villainy banter you've got? Suggesting the Clarks cast me off? Because I got over that a long time ago and it's the weakest-"
The floor beneath me electrified, my muscles hardening to rock. I screamed. I know I did because my throat tried to close up against the trauma. But crying about it wasn't going to do anything other than make me unable to talk. I couldn't move to grab the nearest stair rail or attempt to displace the electric, all
I could do was suffer.
When he turned it off, I coughed and crumpled to the floor. The intercom popped to life again. "I think I have a few more tricks than just snapping at you, Strikeout. Care to try me again? I'd love to see what happens if you make it up to the next floor, girl. Even you can't stand against something like that."
The next floor was boobytrapped somehow, then. I dragged myself upright and glared at the railings. I wasn't going to enjoy it, but it had to be done. I grabbed it, hauled myself over, and began the steep, entirely unsafe climb toward the next level. The electric went off again but it was only an annoying buzz, the metal unaffected.
I heard Scribe curse and slam the microphone down. I shivered. If he was coming for me, if he had a book nearby and he'd lied about his powers, I was absolutely fucked. No one would know what had happened to me, and it was entirely possible that no one would remember me enough to care. Scribe was capable of that at his worst, and I didn't know if he'd been pressed to that level yet.
When I didn't disappear into the nothingness by two floors up, I hopped back across to the solid concrete stairs. Nothing electrocuted me and I spent the rest of that time racing up the stairs two to three at a time, in gaps as long as my legs would allow me, trying to get to him before he did something that none of the rest of the surviving members of the Yarborough Alliance would forgive him for.
The door to the floor his office was on was barricaded and I shivered. Everything in my body already screamed, could I really put myself through some huge adrenaline rush just to get through a door? I'd need that power to face him down, to try to pin him to the wall and stop this madness. If I could just get him to stop, just get him to listen, I could probably stop everything from going to hell and maybe I could save my lovers from having to deal with it.
I didn't want to be some national hero for shutting down Scribe.
I just wanted to protect the people I loved.
My fist connected with my face and white-hot lightning surged through me, then puttered out. I drove my forehead into the nearby cinderblock wall and saw stars, but that was enough to do it. Riding an adrenaline high that threatened to blow my powers out of whack again, I threw myself at the door and snarled as it broke beneath me.
A hundred boxes of canned food and assorted other junk went blasting across the landing in front of me. So much for making a quiet, secret entrance, I guessed. My vision tunneled and I grabbed a can of peaches that had been punched open by the attack, poured the syrupy juice into my mouth, and stalked toward those tall, mahogany doors I knew so well.
Then I pushed one open and entered the office.
Which was absolutely abandoned except for the ghost of my cousin.
Allison sat on Scribe's chair, staring up at me. Chains held her there, both spectral and physical. Tears rolled down her cheeks. "I don't want to do this to you; to any of you. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Cassie. But he won't let me go. He won't let me pass on."
How the hell do you comfort a ghost? I took my time walking through the room, careful to note any oddly smooth places in the rugs or freshly cleaned areas. There was rubble everywhere. What kind of man tears apart the building to install shock panels but doesn't bother to set up traps in his own office?
There was nothing I could find. I tore apart the physical chains with the last of my adrenaline but that was all I could do for her. "If you don't want to do it, why are you? You can stop this. Hell, you could probably stop him."
"I loved him so much," she said.
"That's not an answer."
She sniffled at me. "It's kind of an answer. And it's something I'd think you'd understand. What if it was Adam? It almost was Adam. He killed me, Cassie. He wrapped his hands around my neck and pop, there I went. I hadn't even done anything to him. He just saw me and he snapped."
And that's when I knew I was in trouble. That's when I knew why I hadn't been thrown into the Dream by Allison.
It was because they wanted me in that office.
I spun and flung myself for the nearby window, only for someone to trip me. Scribe was on me in an instant, a band of cloth around my throat. Bright flashes snapped to life in front of my eyes as I struggled to breathe, driving my elbow back for him as the opposite hand clawed at the thing cutting off my air supply. I kicked and squirmed, managing to pull it down enough to draw air into my lungs, but only for a second.
He readjusted the band and choked me again. Of all the things I could cope with, survive through, fight back against; the body can only hold on to oxygen so long. The few superheroes I'd met who didn't need to breathe were almost entirely aquatic beings who still needed water to drag through their gills. Everything that survives on oxygen can only live without it for a precious little time.
And mine was running out.
I threw us onto our backs as the darkness crowded into my vision. A kick snapped his ankle. He roared but didn't let go. I caught him with an elbow across the ribs, feeling one crunch, but it wasn't enough. Being a Blitzer wasn't enough.
I didn't know what I was doing; not really. I only knew the general idea of it. I wrenched into his mind and found the anger, the despair inside it. There, I twisted it like a screwdriver and forced agony and sorrow to build until it was impossible to control. With a sob, he tore away from me and the world popped back into view.
Allison pulled herself up from the chair, no longer bound. She reached toward me but I was already on my feet and running. The Dream threatened to drag me back in. I grabbed a globe from the corner of Scribe's office, cursing myself for thinking I could do this alone. Then I slung the heavy ornament through the nearby window, said a silent prayer, and leapt out into the air beyond and out of Scribe's reach.
For the moment.
Chapter 17
I didn't stick the landing.
Thankfully, I didn't have to.
Chris, alias Starseer, snatched me from the air, minus the usual gore show we got with Adam these days. He plopped me down in front of the others, all of which were in their civilian clothes and rather mutinous as a whole. Edwin grabbed me the second I was on my feet and I was dogpiled by the rest of my men.
Nishelle stood back, shaking her head, "What the fuck, Strikes."
"I was just trying to help," I squeaked out. "Guys, I'm fine. More or less."
Adam gave me a sniff. "You smell like smoke."
"Well, that's because he decided to electrify some of the floors. No big deal. Probably comes natural to him now that he's a Zap or whatever." I brushed myself off and withdrew from them. "Besides. We've got way bigger problems than me being a little charred."
"Like you needing to sit this one out?" James asked, pulling a bit of fried hair from my head.
I yanked away from him, too. "Like hell. I'm the only one who knows how and where and why and what is going on up there. All those important things that all of you need to know to stay safe."
"Kind of what we all assumed you'd say," Adam sighed. "What's up?"
And in the minutes that followed, I outlined everything for them. The electrical panels, the fact that the elevators weren't working, that Allison was still a massive threat to our general health, the suchlike. I'd barely finished when I felt the first nudge of the Dream starting to encroach upon our consciousnesses.
"Everyone take a deep breath and pinch your arm or bite your tongue. Allison's trying to pull us in," I said, voice shivering.
I wasn't up to protecting us from the Dream again, but that didn't matter. I was going to do what I had to do to save them. I'd given them everything I knew, told them what they had to know to get to Scribe; what else could I do to make sure that the mission succeeded?
The Dream came upon us, a never-ending wave of black loneliness that separated the world into fragments. I was trapped, alone, in a void that I could not escape from. Was this what death was, at its core? A one-way door that didn't let anyone else through with you? I shivered and kept concentrating, hoping that I could keep my connections with the others. I w
asn't an experienced Psychic.
But you didn't have to be to defeat the Dream.
It was the newer charges that were so hard to connect with. James was a cousin of mine and I'd known him longest of their five, but it was still difficult to keep a hold on him. My mental image of Lexi, Izzy, and my lovers were so much better. I could feel Adam straining against the confines he was kept in, knew that Nishelle was burning everything to pieces around her.
The frustrating thing as that I still couldn't reach them. Why? My mind ticked off options. It couldn't be so simple as knowing that I could. Confidence effected a great deal of a Psychic's powers, even more so than most superheroes. It meant that they- we! could be interrupted in our abilities if we were told that we couldn't, that we were unable to do something.
Allied: A Superhero Reverse Harem Romance (The PTB Alliance Book 3) Page 15