Wind Runner: The Complete Collection (1-5)

He thought about all those things as he fell to his knees over his older brother. Danny’s face looked placid, perhaps a little irritated, but not contorted by pain, as Malcolm had been expecting.

“Hey!” shouted Malcolm. “You’ll be okay! I’ve seen you get shot before. You’re a tough demon, right?”

Danny groaned. Malcolm squeezed his hand, and then decided to put his hands over the bullet wounds and apply pressure, instead.

“Not… this time,” said Danny. “He got me in the fucking vitals.”

Danny put his hands over Malcolm’s and locked eyes with him.

“Take my power, bro,” he said, weakly. “Do it. I’ve… fucking… seen you do it, before.”

“Danny…” Malcolm felt the tingling run up his hands. He slowly nodded.

“Now….” Danny’s voice was barely a whisper. “Take… my… heat…”

Malcolm felt a sudden surge of intense heat energy, as though someone had just turned on the hottest electric heater in existence and pointed it at him, full in the face. He felt the heat leaving Danny, all of it, until his brother’s hands felt ice cold in comparison to his.

“Touching,” said Rain Dancer. “It’s truly sad, you know? But now…it’s your turn to join him in death.”

He had the pistol raised already. This time, Malcolm had the wind shield up. The bullet went wide, along with the one after it. Malcolm slowly shook his head.

“You had so many chances to kill me,” he said. “You should have seen this coming.”

He reached for Danny’s power, channeling all the heat energy he’d been gifted in his brother’s dying breath into a single, massive blast. He launched it at Rain Dancer without any preamble, using his wind manipulation to feed it even more oxygen and expand the ball of flames into a rolling mass of spherical inferno.

Rain Dancer seemed to think he could dodge out of the way in time, as he’d done with Danny’s attacks. He couldn’t. The fire hit him before he realized what was happening, consuming the flesh of his body in an instant.

Rain Dancer’s charred skeleton was all that remained of him. It stood in place for a moment like a Halloween animatronic, and then crumbled to the ground. Malcolm stared at what was left of the demon, half expecting it to coalesce and reform. Nothing happened.

Danny was dead. Malcolm knelt next to his corpse, cradling his head and trying not to be overwhelmed by the sense of loss he felt. He thought that he’d already let go of him, having believed him dead once before, at his own hand.

He’s my brother. He was trying to do better, and I guess in the end… he did.

“Malcolm…” Rose came up behind him, slowly. Shield Maiden stood a few feet back. Malcolm looked at them and shook his head.

“The fight’s over,” he said, to Shield Maiden. “If you leave now, I won’t try to stop you.”

“You killed someone I love,” said Shield Maiden. Her voice sounded confused, rather than angry.

“Yeah, well, he killed someone I loved,” said Malcolm. “Join the club.”

Shield Maiden turned around and left without another word. Malcolm almost thought that Rose was going to follow in her wake, but instead, she dropped to the ground next to him, pulling him into a hug.

“You’re… incredible,” she said. “I don’t even know what to say.”

Malcolm shook his head. He was tired.

“There’s nothing to be said. I did what I had to. And the only reason I survived was because of…”

He swallowed hard and closed his eyes. There was a lump in his throat the size of a golf ball, and his eyes felt hot.

“I’m so sorry,” said Rose. “For everything. I wish… I could have helped you more.”

“It’s not your fault,” said Malcolm.

Emergency sirens sounded in the distance, drawing closer by the second. Malcolm set a hand on Rose’s shoulder, looking away from his brother’s body.

“We both need to get out of here,” said Malcolm. “But… I’m going to need to explain a few things to you, soon.”

“What does that mean?” asked Rose.

Malcolm shrugged.

“Oh man,” he said. “Where do I even start?”

CHAPTER 41

Second Wind waited outside the apartment that was now technically his, watching for anything suspicious. He knew it was redundant, given the instincts of who he was on his way to meet.

He went back inside the apartment, unlocking the door with his keys and slipping through. Malcolm was leaning against the arm of the couch and quirked up his eyebrows as he met the gaze of his copy.

“So…” said Second Wind. “Are you here to kill me?”

Malcolm chuckled. “I realize that you’re joking, but if I was, you’d already know,” he said.

Second Wind shrugged.

“It’s possible that we could have chanced enough in the time we’ve been apart for that to be an issue,” he said. “To be honest, I wasn’t totally certain when I got the email you sent. Nice touch on proving it was you, by the way.”

“Who else would know about my illicit crush on Ms. Maxine back in the fourth grade?” asked Malcolm. “Kept that one pretty close to the chest.”

Second Wind smiled. A bit of tension hung on the air, the unnecessary, awkward kind.

“Danny’s dead,” said Malcolm. “For real this time.”

Second Wind flinched back. He brought a hand up to his mouth and closed his eyes.

“That’s how…” he muttered. “Of course. I should have guessed.”

“He died a noble death,” said Malcolm. “I buried him a couple of days ago. He’s in his actual grave, you know. The one the insurance company paid for way back when our house exploded. I figured there was no reason to waste it.”

“He saved you,” said Second Wind.

Malcolm closed his eyes and slowly nodded.

“I didn’t have time to explain it to him,” he said. “You know how Danny is. But because of him, and his sacrifice, I managed to pull it off. Rain Dancer is dead.”

“Good,” said Second Wind. “I didn’t trust him to keep his word.”

“I know,” said Malcolm.

A couple of seconds of strange silence went by before Second Wind finally cleared his throat.

“Tapestry is mad at me,” he said. “Or, uh… I guess, us?”

“How unexpected,” said Malcolm, dryly.

“I think what she really wanted was for me to rally the champions and make one last stand against Rain Dancer and his minions,” said Second Wind. “When she realized that I actually intended to take her advice and stay in hiding… she got weird.”

“She’s not always honest with herself about what she wants,” said Malcolm. “She’ll forget about it in a couple of days.”

Second Wind nodded, but it was clear that he still had a question on his mind. “So… What happens now?”

“This is where things get interesting,” said Malcolm. “I told Rose about you.”

“You did?” Second Wind furrowed his brow.

“I did,” said Malcolm. “And I don’t think we should tell Tapestry.”

Second Wind ran a hand through his hair. He seemed to mull it over for a few seconds before giving a noncommittal shrug.

“You’re probably right,” he said. “I don’t think she’d react so well to it. But it is another secret that we’ll have to keep from her.”

“A secret that you’ll have to keep,” said Malcolm. “And a secret that ties up another secret.”

“Is this how I sound to other people when I explain my plans?” asked Second Wind. “Just come out and say what you mean. I haven’t thought about this for long enough to guess at where you’re going.”

“You’re taking my place,” said Malcolm. “As Wind Runner. You’ll continue living as a champion and help Tapestry, Morph, and Wax rebuild.”

“What about you?”

Malcolm held his hand out. He used Danny’s power create a small flame over the center of his palm.

“I’ll do whatever needs to be done,” said Malcolm. “The things that you can’t do, either because they involve Rose, or having to go up against the Champion Authority’s hard line.”

“And you’re planning on using Danny’s power,” said Second Wind. “That’s clever, except for the fact that you’ll be recognized as Wind Runner as soon as someone sees you in the daylight.”

Malcolm grinned.

“That’s why I’ll wear a mask.”

Chaste Widow

Edmund Hughes

This digital book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this title with another person, please purchase an additional copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. All other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2017 by Edmund Hughes

Kindle Edition

CONTENTS

Chaste Widow

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 1

The car’s tires let out a hideous screech as it skidded around the corner, ricocheting off a parked car as it went. A car alarm began sounding an instant later, no doubt waking half of the sleepy Vanderbrook neighborhood.

Malcolm was in pursuit. He pushed himself through the air with his wind manipulation, sizing up his fleeing opponents. There’d been a botched robbery that night. Several people had been shot dead in a liquor store, including the owner, and the perpetrators had only escaped with a few wallets after discovering that the cash register was practically empty.

The car was a four-door sedan with five people in it. He felt bad for whoever was being pulverized in the center seat in back, especially given what he was about to do next. Malcolm adjusted his speed with the wind, matching the car’s speed, and then carefully descended, landing prone on top of its roof.

“Hey!” he shouted, banging down with his fist. “Pull over, morons. You can’t escape me.”

He wasn’t sure if they’d heard him or not, but one of them had stuck his head out of the window, and had definitely seen him. Malcolm’s costume was simple, consisting of just sweatpants, an ironically named “wind runner” style jacket, and a black ski mask.

But it was also very recognizable, given how often he’d been on the news over the past few days. They knew that the “Gifted Vigilante,” Vanderbrook’s renegade defender with unorthodox methods and unknown motives, was after them. What would they do next?

Several bullets blasted through the car’s roof, one of them missing Malcolm’s crotch by about an inch. He made a noise of mocking disbelief, less because he didn’t think that they’d shoot at him, and more over the fact that they’d fired a gun multiple times inside of a car.

Well, if I did have a chance at convincing them with words, it’s gone now. Hope they enjoy their tinnitus.

Malcolm gave the car’s roof a not so affectionate punch, and then pushed off into the air again. He circled overhead, content to let them make the next move.

The car pulled off the main street, speeding down a long alleyway. They weren’t attempting to lose Malcolm, as far as he could tell, but a small helicopter that had been trailing after the getaway car, keeping it in spotlight. Malcolm assumed that it was the local news, given how much Vanderbrook’s police presence had dimmed over the past few weeks.

He twisted through the air, tossing himself forward with his wind manipulation until he was ahead of the car, and then landing on the roof of the building directly to the left of the alley’s exit. Malcolm took a slow, focusing breath, and reached his awareness out toward his second superpower.

“Oh, you gentlemen are going to have a surprise waiting for you,” muttered Malcolm.

And gentleladies too, of course. Probably better not to assume anything about the genders of this little band of thieves.

He grinned as fire coalesced over his palm, forming into a sphere the size of a basketball. It was his brother Danny’s power… or had been. Malcolm was still learning the ins and outs of heat manipulation, but he knew enough to create fireballs, and as he’d quickly discovered, there was a lot that could be accomplished with a globe of flame and a little bit of moxie.

He launched it down toward the tiny alleyway exit. As it hit the ground, Malcolm shifted to his other power, feeding the fire blast oxygen with the wind until it spread to form a wall of flame, blocking off the criminals’ escape.

The screech of tires filled the air again. The car had too much speed to be able to stop in time. Malcolm wondered whether any of the occupants would require a change of underwear, before deciding that it probably wasn’t their most pressing worry.

As soon as the driver of the car realized that they would hit the fire no matter what, the car sped back up. Malcolm heard a muffled cacophony of screams as it passed through the wall of inferno.

He’d tried that trick a couple of times before. Usually, the driver of the car stopped. Malcolm stroked his chin, very curious about whether the passengers had escaped injury. He watched the car as it took a sharp corner and then crossed over a grass median and onto a road that led to the outskirts of town.

Malcolm followed slowly. Over the past couple of weeks, his job as a super vigilante had provided a great deal of insight into how easy it would be to overuse his powers. He could already feel the heady euphoria and manic confusion pulling at him, pushing him toward hitting the car with a fire blast and being done with it.

Not today. That’s not how the Gifted Vigilante does things, despite how the media likes to portray me.

Instead, he moved from building to building, keeping the car in sight but not attempting to overtake it. The helicopter had given up pursuit, which was just as well. Usually the video footage the news took of him was edited to fit their narrative, instead of the truth.

The car was speeding down an empty road, out of Vanderbrook’s populated neighborhoods. That was ideal, as far as Malcolm was concerned. If things had to get messy, he would prefer not to have to worry about stray bullets hitting innocents. Or, accidentally setting a house on fire, something which he’d discovered was far easier to do than expected.

Malcolm followed with long, super power leaps, each one carrying him several hundred feet. He never actually touched down, instead using his wind manipulation to double jump each time he came within a few feet of the ground. He saw the car pull onto a new road and slow down. He smiled, amused at the fact that they thought they’d lost him.

CHAPTER 2

Malcolm got the feeling that it wasn’t the first time that this particular group of criminals had pulled a stickup job. Crime had exploded across Vanderbrook in the aftermath of Savior’s exile.

Demons and sprytes, emboldened by the Champion Authority’s weakened state, had been the catalyst for a complete loss of law and order. Regular criminals had, like the ambitious entrepreneurs they were, taken advantage of the chaos.

The car drove by several old buildings, and then pulled into an abandoned auto garage, the door closing behind it. Malcolm adjusted his sunglasses, making sure his disguise was still in place, and then headed after them.

I should probably knock first, before heading inside.

He still had enough stored heat in his body for a few more fireballs. He made a small one in his hand, knowing that it wouldn’t take much to cause damage to a building that was probably full of old oil rags and stray gas cans. He took aim at a small, open window, and hurled his blast forward.

Malcolm heard air rush from the resulting impact of the flames, followed by several surprised screams. He scratched at his chin and waited, smiling as smoke began to trickle up from inside of the building. It reminded him of watching something burn inside an oven.

His opponents came out of the garage to meet him, eight of them in total. Too many for Malcolm to feel comfortable taking on, if he’d had a choice about it. A bald man with a scruffy beard appeared to be their leader, and he stepped forward to point an angry finger in Malcolm’s direction.

“We’re not afraid of you, fucker,” shouted the bald man. “We’ve fought demons before.”

“First of all, no you haven’t,” said Malcolm. “Do you want to know how I know? Because you’re still alive.”

Even the weakest monsters Malcolm had encountered usually packed enough of a punch to take care of a disorganized group of gun toting thugs.

“And secondly, you got me all wrong,” he continued. “I’m not a–”

The opening salvo of gunshots popped off in loud, rapid succession. Malcolm deflected one of them using his wind manipulation, and then immediately dove for cover behind an old, rusty car. He had superpowers, but he wasn’t invincible. It was a fact that had become increasingly evident to him over the past few weeks.

“Shoot him in the fucking head!” shouted the bald man.

Malcolm forced himself to stay calm, waiting until one of the thugs had enough courage to attempt to rush into the open. He moved with wind assisted speed, flying forward and slamming a fist into the thug’s stomach.

More gunshots rang out. Malcolm pulled the thug to the ground with him, surprised that his fellows had so little qualms with the potential for friendly fire. He disarmed the man for good measure, and then leapt into the air with his wind manipulation.

“He’s in the air!” shouted one of them.

It was too dark for any of them to track him effectively. Malcolm rose up a few dozen feet, and then descended directly into the center of the group. He pushed out hard with the wind in all directions as he landed, knocking loose a few guns and stunning all of them.

“He’s–” The nearest thug, the one who’d shouted about him being in the air, took Malcolm’s fist to his face before he could proceed to state the obvious again. Malcolm spun, kicking out behind him and catching another one in the chest.

I need strategy, not brute force. This fight isn’t going to last long if I try to be Rambo.

As if in response to his thought, one of the thugs opened fire with their weapon. Malcolm ducked in time to avoid getting shot, but several of the shooter’s friends weren’t so lucky. Malcolm knocked a man off his feet with a wind assisted push, and rolled back into cover behind a pile of old tires.

“You fucking shot me!” screamed one of the thugs.

“It was an accident!” said another. “He was in the middle of us. I couldn’t let him–”

Malcolm heard the sound of someone getting punched.

“Hey!” snapped a different man. “Jeremy was trying to fucking help. At least he had the guts to pull the trigger.”

Somebody fired another shot, and somebody else screamed. Malcolm glanced at the scene from his vantage point, watching in disbelief as the criminals eyed each other suspiciously. He cleared his throat.

“Gentleman,” said Malcolm. “It’s been fun, but I think I’m going to have to call it a night.”

He called the wind. The pile of tires in front of him spread out into the air, circled overhead as each individual rubber projectile picked up speed, and then struck the group of thugs with more intensity than a hailstorm. More shots were fired, though Malcolm wasn’t sure if they’d been aimed at him, or at the tires.

Two men remained standing at the end of it. Malcolm rushed forward, disarming the one that still held a pistol with a concentrated blast of wind. He threw a punch at the other and surprised by how effectively the man blocked it.

Malcolm took a step back as the man countered. He fumbled to guard his head, barely managing to block the strike. The man was light on his feet and exploded into a follow up, grappling and getting a hold of one of Malcolm’s arms.

Big mistake. I’m basically a hot stove.

Malcolm pushed heat into the section of his forearm the man had a grip on and heard him let out a surprised yelp. Immediately, Malcolm spun, twisting himself with the wind and throwing an elbow into the thug’s face. The strike was solid, and the man crumpled into a limp heap on the ground.

He spent a couple of minutes gathering up all the weapons he could find and melting the barrels with his heat manipulation. He called 911, though given how barebones the police presence in Vanderbrook had been lately, he didn’t expect them to arrive for a while.

CHAPTER 3

With the thugs defeated and unconscious, there wasn’t much left for Malcolm to do. He took a look around the inside of the garage, melted a few more guns, and was about to leave the scene when a car pulled up.

Malcolm froze, fearing that it might be another group of potential enemies. He took a closer look at the car and suddenly realized that it was one he recognized. He was staring at Tapestry’s black BMW.

Two figures approached the garage, surveying Malcolm’s handiwork as they walked. They made no attempt to quiet their conversation, and listening to it made Malcolm feel like he was in the middle of a vivid dream.

“None of them are dead, Tapestry. Even if it is a demon who did this, they obviously aren’t out of control.”

That’s my voice. That’s… Second Wind. The copy of myself I made using Multi’s power.

“You don’t know that,” said Tapestry. “And it’s an assumption that we can’t afford to make. Stay on guard.”

Malcolm chanced a glance out the window. It had been more two weeks since he’d last seen Tapestry in person. Her blonde hair was tied back in the usual pony tail, and she wore a leather jacket over a white blouse. Her jeans were tight enough to show off the curves of her butt and thighs, though Malcolm knew that he had no business considering such things, under his current circumstances.

Standing next to her was, well, him. Or rather, Second Wind. Malcolm had created the copy expecting to be dead within the following few hours. When he’d survived, the only reasonable solution that didn’t involve the two of them fighting to the death was to let Second Wind continue on under the identity of “Wind Runner”, while Malcolm created a new persona for himself, “Gifted Vigilante”, as the media had taken to calling him.

“Well whoever it was, they did our job for us,” said Second Wind. “No need to get our jimmies in a jam over the how and why. This group is the one that hit the liquor store downtown tonight, I’m sure of it.”

Malcolm smiled. He and Second Wind had continued to meet with each other in secret, when they could. They shared information with each other on the state of the city and its going ons. Second Wind knew that Malcolm was the “Gifted Vigilante” and was already doing what he could to pull Tapestry’s attention away from him.

“No,” said Tapestry. “He could still be here. I’m checking inside.”

Malcolm scowled. He heard the garage door creak open. There was nowhere for him to hide, so he settled for not making any sudden moves, other than to adjust his mask slightly to make sure all of his face was covered.

Even still, part of him expected Tapestry to recognize him. A shaft of moonlight filtering in through one of the garage’s broken windows illuminated her features, and there was no glimmer of recognition in her expression. She lifted her pistol and leveled it at him.

“Hands in the air!” she shouted. “I will shoot if you try anything funny!”

“Relax,” said Malcolm, pitching his voice downward and roughening it up. “I’m one of the good guys.”

“If you’re not a champion, and you’re gifted, you aren’t one of the good guys,” said Tapestry. Malcolm was a little surprised by the anger in her voice, though he knew that he shouldn’t be.

There aren’t many stories of the gifted who refuse to join up with the champions that don’t end in them becoming monsters.

Malcolm shifted slightly, making sure his jacket covered his stabilizer. It was a telltale giveaway of his past, one that he wouldn’t be able to explain away easily. When he’d created Second Wind using Multi’s power, his doppelganger had been without a stabilizer, and only by coming up with a convincing story about it slipping off his wrist in the fight against Rain Dancer had he been able to get another one from Anna.

Without a stabilizer, someone with a superpower would be unable to properly contain their emotions and avoid the pitfall of turning into a demon or spryte, which is what power abuse eventually led to. That’s why Tapestry had the gun leveled at him. Malcolm knew that her fear was probably justified. Even with stabilizers, champions occasionally turned when they pushed themselves too far.

That’s where the bomb, and the tracking device in the stabilizer comes into play. All the more reason for me to keep her from seeing that I have one.

“Get down on the ground!” said Tapestry. “I’m taking you into custody.”

Malcolm sighed.

“I think it’s time for me to take my leave,” he said.

He hesitated, looking at Tapestry’s face. He’d missed her in the past few weeks. Becoming a vigilante of the night had meant more than putting on a disguise and running patrols. Malcolm had given up most of his old life in the process, her included. He’d become someone who she’d never see as anything other than another enemy to hunt and fight.

Tapestry took advantage of the moment. The gun in her hand fired, and Malcolm felt a bullet graze his shoulder. He stared at her in disbelief as he clutched at the wound, feeling warm blood pooling under his palm.

“You… shot me?” he asked, almost forgetting to throw his voice.

The pain of the wound was nothing compared to the way his emotions surged, and heart ached, over what she’d just done. Malcolm reminded himself that she didn’t know it was him. He was just another mysterious enemy to her now. Recognizing it didn’t help, and it didn’t keep a painful lump from forming in his throat over the thought that this was always the way it would be between them now.

“The next one is going into your skull,” said Tapestry. “I missed intentionally.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Second Wind ran up behind Tapestry and set a hand on her shoulder. “Easy, there, gunslinger!”

Tapestry pushed him back. Malcolm tried to slip toward the window in the moment of distraction, knowing that Second Wind would do all that he could to hold her attention and let him escape.

The apple doesn’t fall far from the… previous apple, that it was cloned from.

“No!” shouted Tapestry. “We aren’t letting him go! He either surrenders or he dies!”

She fired again, this time aiming at the window that Malcolm was about to dive out of. He was tempted to use his wind manipulation to try to knock her gun loose, but there were a number of issues with that idea.

For one, it would go against the supposed powers of his new persona. If Tapestry knew that he could use wind manipulation and heat manipulation, it wasn’t that much of a leap of logic for her to connect the rest of the dots.

And more importantly, Malcolm wasn’t sure that he could get the gun out of her hand. She would shoot to kill next time. He was sure of it. Tapestry had no real qualms about doing what had to be done. Again, he felt a sharp, painful sense of sadness over having to face off against her.

Malcolm looked to Second Wind and saw his copy give a nearly imperceptible shrug. There was something darkly humorous about the situation, but not in the kind of way that would elicit a smile, especially not with the barrel of a gun pointed at him.

“Vanderbrook is hanging on by a thread,” said Malcolm. “Whether you’re willing to admit it or not, you know that I’m part of the solution. Not the problem.”

Tapestry shook her head. Her finger tensed over the gun’s trigger.

“Then prove it,” she said. “Take off your mask. If you want me to trust you, that’s where we can start.”

Malcolm let out a sad, tired sigh. He started to take another step toward the window. Tapestry rushed forward, throwing a punch at his face. He grabbed her wrist and tried to twist out of the path of the gun. Tapestry pushed herself onto him, trying to use her grappling skills to pull him to the ground.

Her body felt nice against his, despite the circumstances. Malcolm tried to shake off the heavy emotions in his chest as he fought. He really did care about her, and it felt like betrayal of a sort to keep her in the dark when it came to what was really going on.

“Looks like I arrived just in time,” said a new voice.

From the edges of the auto shop, long strands of shadow formed and extended outward to restrain Tapestry. If Malcolm hadn’t been familiar with Rose and her shadow manipulation, he would have thought it something out of a horror movie, arms of darkness materializing to seize their prey.

Rose walked through the open garage door, moving with slow, catlike steps. She wore black leggings and a black halter top, a tight outfit that showed off her fit body and luscious curves. A small smile adorned her lips, and the hue of her pale purple skin was visible in the light of the full moon.

“You!” Tapestry growled and tried to pull her hand and the gun in it free from Rose’s tendrils.

“Me,” said Rose. “You’re harassing a friend of mine. I’d appreciate it if you let him go.”

A tense moment passed without anyone saying anything. Malcolm had no idea what was going to happen next. Second Wind had a pensive look on his face, and looking at him made Malcolm feel odd and disassociated. Tapestry was glaring at Rose, but she shot an expectant glance at Second Wind after a second or two.

“Tapestry…” said Second Wind. “This isn’t a fight that we can win.”

“And just why is that?” snapped Tapestry. “This is what we do, Wind Runner! He might not be a monster, but she is! And we have a chance to take them both!”

“You overestimate yourself,” said Rose.

She sounded almost bored, and Malcolm understood exactly why. Her powers were a step up from both Tapestry and Second Wind’s. Only since absorbing Danny’s heat manipulation had Malcolm approached anywhere near the level her powers were at, when it came to raw strength. If it did come to a fight, he and Rose would win easily.

“This isn’t over!” shouted Tapestry. “Wind Runner! Attack them!”

Second Wind looked deeply uncomfortable with the situation. He scratched his head and waved a hand through the air.

“Tapestry, let’s call it a night,” he said.

Rose nodded to Malcolm, and the two of them slowly backed out of the auto garage, watching Tapestry carefully. Second Wind gave them both a knowing look, one that told Malcolm that he’d only be able to hold Tapestry back for a minute, at most, before she’d charge after them.

“I’ll find out who you are!” shouted Tapestry. “Your stupid mask won’t protect you forever!”

“We’ll have to agree to disagree on that,” said Malcolm.

Tapestry responded with several angry gunshots in his general direction.

CHAPTER 4

Malcolm ducked his head low as he ran alongside Rose through the auto garage’s lot. His shoulder flared with pain, as though it had been holding off on feeling like a proper injury until he was out of danger.

“How’d you find me?” he asked.

Rose flashed a smile at him.

“The news,” she said. “The coverage… isn’t very flattering. One of the anchors was expressing his suspicions about you being involved with the criminals.”

“Well, that’s just great,” sighed Malcolm.

He tried to get his mind off the encounter as he ran alongside Rose, but found it almost impossible. It was ridiculous, but it stung his pride to have Tapestry, someone he cared deeply about, as an enemy.

I’m her enemy. She isn’t mine.

She had no way of knowing who he was, behind the disguise. She didn’t know what his intentions were, or the full extent of what he’d done for the city. But Malcolm’s heart didn’t take any of that into account, only caring about the anger and determination he’d seen on her face, and in the way she’d pointed the gun at him.

“Are you okay?” asked Rose. “I know this must be tough for you.”

They’d slowed their pace, though Malcolm knew that they needed to keep moving.

“I’m fine,” he said. “It’s just… hard. I wish there was a way for me to sort things out with Tapestry.”

“You could always tell her that you made a copy of yourself,” said Rose. “She’d be mad, I’m sure, but it might be better than her thinking that you’re a dangerous vigilante.”

“She would never be okay with it,” said Malcolm. “No. That’s not an option.”

“You’ve always kept secrets from Tapestry,” observed Rose. “Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be, between you and her?”

She glanced over at Malcolm, both of them still walking at a fast pace through side alleys and behind buildings. The look on his face must have been worse than he’d thought, because Rose’s expression immediately turned remorseful.

“I’m sorry,” said Rose. “I just meant… you have to accept everything you gave up for the sake of creating a new identity.”

“I guess that’s true.”

Rose beckoned to him as they passed by another small alley. She slipped into it, appearing a moment later wheeling a Japanese motorcycle, a black helmet pulled securely into place over her head. Malcolm grinned.

She’d somehow acquired it the previous week, and was evasive as to exactly how it had come into her possession. Malcolm had only cared if it was stolen, and after she assured him that it wasn’t, all he’d wanted was to take it for spin.

“Let me be up front, this time,” he said.

“Absolutely not,” said Rose. “You’re holding on to me.”

She sounded deeply amused by that, and it was a little infectious. Malcolm smiled into her tinted helmet even as he continued to push.

“Come on,” he said. “I’ll use the wind to balance it if it starts to fall.”

Rose climbed onto the motorcycle. It was hard for Malcolm to think of a more exotic or alluring sight. She straddled it in a way that emphasized her long legs, perfect thighs, and of course, her butt. He couldn’t see her face, but he knew she was smiling at him.

“Get on,” she said. “Or, if you prefer, you can fly your own way back to your hideout?”

Malcolm got on the motorcycle. Rose had that undefinable girlish smell to her, underlined with a hint of lavender, and he had to focus to keep his hands around her waist, where they belonged.

The ride wasn’t a long one, which was a relief for Malcolm, helmetless as he was. Vanderbrook was not as prosperous as it had once been, and several sections of the city were either abandoned or approaching it.

Malcolm had spent a day and a night searching after leaving his old apartment before finding what he needed. Within Vanderbrook’s old industrial district, inside a small warehouse with broken windows and a leaky roof, lay a trapdoor that led to a clean, modest basement.

Rose brought the bike to a stop behind another building a short distance away from it. Malcolm got off without saying anything, and had to hide his excitement when she took off her helmet and gave him a small nod.

“I have to look at your shoulder,” she said, matter of factly. “Knowing you, you’ll just leave it to get infected.”

“You know me so well,” said Malcolm, with a smile.

He’d taken several factors into account when picking his current hideout. For one, it was not something that anyone would find by accident. Malcolm, himself, had been tipped off to its existence by Rose, who’d found it during one of her episodes in the time before they’d met.

Secondly, it was far away from any residential homes or businesses, and people in general. Malcolm was not dismissive of the possibility of his enemies finding him and attacking him when he least expected it. Multi, the demon that currently projected the most force within the city, wouldn’t hesitate to send in a copy of himself with explosives to finish Malcolm off.

At least this way, he’ll only take out me, and not a host of innocents.

Malcolm led Rose into the warehouse. The trapdoor was over in one corner, and he kept an old carpet pulled over it. It served to hide both the entrance to the hideout, and the long series of electrical cords that he’d connected to an active outlet in the building next door.

There was a single padlock that worked on both the inside and outside of the handle. He twisted the combination, pulled it off, and pulled the hatch open. Malcolm offered Rose a gallant hand. She rolled her eyes, but smiled as she accepted it and worked her way down the ladder.

There was a light within the hideout, but only one. Rose knew where it was and turned it on. Malcolm closed the hatch over them, slid the lock into place, and dropped down after her.

To call the inside of the hideout spartan would have been an understatement. Malcolm had a single twin mattress, a tiny old CRT television that only picked up the local news channels, a water jug, and a few ragged changes of clothing.

Rose, as she always did, examined the space with a mixture of amusement and concern. There were no chairs to sit on, and no couch, so she collapsed onto his frameless mattress and stretched back on her arms.

“Come on,” she said. “Take the shirt off. Let me see that shoulder.”

Malcolm shrugged, but did as commanded. He winced as the fabric of his black long sleeve t-shirt pulled free of the wound, only then noticing the hole in it, along with the hole in his jacket.

“I’ll have to go shopping again tomorrow,” he muttered. “I can’t imagine how irritating this would be if I had a proper, rubber and spandex costume.”

“I can’t imagine you in spandex,” said Rose.

“Neither can I,” said Malcolm.

CHAPTER 5

Malcolm did have money. During his last assignment as a champion, he’d scored a sizable windfall by nudging a high stakes casino game into a favorable outcome. Of course, the use of his powers hadn’t gone entirely unnoticed, but he’d come to an arrangement with the owner and was able to keep his gains, so long as he promised never to gamble there again.

Unfortunately, just because I have money doesn’t mean I can spend it openly. I need to keep a low profile.

“I’m surprised you can even still move your arm.” Rose had pulled a clean handkerchief out of her pocket and was dabbing at his wound, using the water to clean it as much as she could. “You’re missing a chunk of your shoulder.”

Malcolm winced.

“It wasn’t painful until you started poking at it,” he said.

“Right,” said Rose. “What the hell were you thinking, anyway? When did eight against one become winning odds?”

Malcolm tried to shrug, only managing it with his good shoulder. She’d been right to question whether his shoulder still had full mobility with the injury.

“I wasn’t after them,” said Malcolm. “I was watching for Multi. I expect he’ll try another bombing soon, and it would be nice if I could actually stop him, this time.”

He gave Rose a wary look. She was still aligned with the remnants of Rain Dancer’s monster faction, which now only really consisted of Shield Maiden and Fantasy, two sprytes that weren’t openly hostile to him so much as ideologically opposed to the organization he worked for. Multi had also been aligned with Rain Dancer, but from what Rose had told him, things were shaky between him and the others.

“Well, you’re still stupid, then,” said Rose. “Multi isn’t lacking for backup, in case the name didn’t tip you off. Taking stupid risks isn’t exactly good for your future prospects.”

Malcolm scowled. He picked up the TV’s remote off the cement floor and turned it on. It was already set to the local news channel, and he brought the volume up, knowing that they’d be covering the events of the night.

“You’re one to talk,” he said. “Besides, my prospects are already muddled by the fact that the world is currently falling apart.”

Malcolm only recognized one of the two news anchors giving the late-night report. One of the long-time regulars had been killed in one of Multi’s suicide bombings the week before. The remaining anchor had done an admirable job reporting on his coworker’s deaths, keeping his voice steady even as tears crested in the corners of his eyes.

“Vanderbrook still remains on high alert tonight,” said one of the anchors. “Police continue to seek volunteers from citizens after the bombing that destroyed the police station and most of the police force along with it.”

Multi’s handiwork. He targets government buildings, sacrificing his copies for the sake of crippling the city’s infrastructure.

“Several town offices have already been evacuated in anticipation of more strikes.” The new replacement anchor kept her eyes down as she spoke, reading off a paper in front of her. “The attacks of government buildings on local, state, and federal levels have become commonplace all across the country.”

“Indeed, Priscilla,” said the male anchor. “In several cities, including New York, Chicago, and Houston, officials have ordered the evacuation of the civilian population, lacking sufficient police or military protection to keep people safe from the threat of both the monsters and non-gifted criminal elements.”

Malcolm scowled at the TV.

“I don’t know if it makes me feel better or worse,” he said. “On one hand, it’s nice to know that what’s happening in Vanderbrook isn’t because of a specific failure on my part. But on the other…”

Rose gave his good shoulder a squeeze.

“It’s not your responsibility to save the world, you know,” she said.

“Isn’t it, though?”

“…officials have warned that if the suicide bombings continue for much longer, Vanderbrook will need to be placed under martial law, or evacuated,” said the female anchor. “Back to you, Tom.”

“No, it’s not,” said Rose. “You can choose to live your life, you know. You don’t have to punish yourself with… this.”

She gestured around the small, dank basement.

“I chose this,” said Malcolm. “I’m not thrilled with every aspect of my life, at the moment. Hell, I had to leave my PS4 with Second Wind. Do you understand how crushing that is?”

And Tapestry. I doubt I’ll ever even speak to her again, as myself.

Rose sighed.

“You know, a smarter man might have volunteered his copy for this sort of thing,” said Rose. “He is you. He’d have done it, if you’d asked.”

“I guess I’m just stupid then,” said Malcolm. “Good thing I have the boyish good looks to make up for it.”

He wiggled his eyebrows at her, and Rose struggled to stifle a smile.

“You are stupid,” she said. “In all the best kind of ways.”

She let her head lean forward a little bit and pressed it against his chest. Malcolm could sense anxiety and worry in her. He reached his hand down to her chin and lifted her face up until her eyes met his. There was fear in them, and Malcolm suddenly realized how his situation must look to her.

I’ve abandoned my old life and my old identity and spend every night pushing myself to the limit to save a doomed city. It’s suicide, from the outside looking in.

“I’ll be okay.” He brought his lips to hers, kissing her gently. He still had his shirt off, and as Rose’s hand moved across his chest, he felt electric chills of excitement rush through him.

She kissed him again, and it was exactly what he needed. He was bruised, tired, and injured. His life was a shadow of what it used to be. But Rose was still there, beautiful and full of passion. He still had Rose.

She pushed him back on the bed, and in his exhausted state, Malcolm was more than happy to let her take the lead. Rose let her body slide over his, making a quiet, contemplative noise as though taking stock of him.

“Are you sure you’re up to this?” she asked. “With your wounded shoulder?”

Malcolm lifted his hips up slightly, pushing his burgeoning erection against her crotch.

“Does that answer your question?” he replied.

Rose flashed a tiny, flirtatious smile. She reached down do the hem of her halter top and slowly pulled it up and over her head, letting her big, purple hued breasts fall loose from the fabric. Malcolm ran his hands up the side of her body, shifting them over as they reached her chest, feeling her perfect nipples under his calloused palms.

“Mmm,” said Rose. “Looks like I’ll have to do all the work tonight.”

“If this is work,” said Malcolm, “Then what’s play?”

She kissed him again, hungrier this time. Malcolm groped at her buttocks, squeezing a little harder than he needed to and reminding her that he wasn’t too exhausted to be aggressive. He let his tongue dance with hers, and felt her suck on his lower lip slightly as she pulled her face back.

Rose lifted herself up slightly. Instead of using her hands to pull off Malcolm’s pants and her leggings, she summoned shadow tendrils from the shadows of the basement and put them to work undressing them both. Malcolm smiled. He’d grown so used to the way she used the powers within the realm of the intimate that he suspected he was developing a fetish.

Rose had a small, neatly trimmed landing strip of pubic hair. Malcolm ran his thumb over it as he lowered her onto his erection. She hovered over it for a moment, running her hands across his chest and letting her eyes meet his. Her expression contained more than just lust, though Malcolm couldn’t put what he saw there into exact words.

She lowered herself down onto his shaft, taking her time with torturously slow movements. Malcolm thought he’d been too tired to take an active role in the encounter, but as soon as the sensation of her hot, wet, tightness engulfed him, a second store of energy revealed itself within him.

He let his hands slide her breasts upward, tracing his fingers down the side of her chest, to her hips, and then butt. He pulled Rose down all the way, enjoying the surprised reaction on her face, as though she’d forgotten just how deep into her his shaft could reach.

They both started moving, grinding and bumping together, playing a game of passion that paid rewards in salacious pleasure. Rose pressed her hands down on Malcolm’s chest, pushing with her arms to lift herself up on his rod. Her tendrils ran across his body, hot to the touch, caressing his inner thighs, and twining through his hair.

She leaned further forward. Malcolm kissed each of her breasts and then buried his face in them, feeling like a teenager who’d just discovered his favorite part of a woman. Rose cradled his head, though the softness of the gesture was contradicted by Malcolm’s urgent upward thrusting.

He squeezed her butt and pushed into her, faster and faster. Rose eventually began to follow his lead, as she usually did, matching his rhythm, letting out soft, excited moans of pleasure. Each time Malcolm accelerated his pace, she sped up her own gyrations in a loving, intimate sort of submission.

“Oh,” she moaned. “Oh… Malcolm.”

She tensed up, shivers running through her body as she let out a silent, pleasured gasp.

“Rose.” He pulled her against him tightly, wrapping his arms around her as he pumped faster and faster. His heart pounded in his chest, and he felt a flutter of urgent, near overwhelming pleasure as he found his release.

He kept holding her against him. She was still there, while so much of his life was now a thing of the past. He held her, and felt a little scared.

CHAPTER 6

“I can’t stay,” said Rose.

Malcolm sighed. He loosened his arms and let them fall to the mattress, though despite her statement, Rose kept her head where it was on his chest.

“Are you worried about your fellow monsters getting suspicious?” he asked.

Rose ran her hand over his chest, letting it slide to the edge of the wound on his shoulder.

“Not exactly,” she said. “Shield Maiden is just stressed out. After what happened to Rain Dancer, it’s understandable…”

Malcolm couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across his face.

“My bad,” he said. “Though really it was Danny who softened him up for me.”

His smile faded. It was still hard for him to think about his brother. There was too much baggage there for him to open up in casual conversation.

“She’s also concerned about our safety,” said Rose. “Fantasy and I. Along with the rest of the ungifted Awakened Children.”

“How so?” asked Malcolm.

“We’re all still living underground, in Underworld,” said Rose. “In some ways, we’re safer down there then we would be on the surface. But now, given how independently Multi has been operating, we aren’t sure if the alliance we have with him is actually something he’ll uphold.”

Malcolm exhaled through his nostrils. He decided to table his questions about Multi in favor of asking about something a bit more personal to Rose.

“Is your sister down there with you?” asked Malcolm. “Leah?”

Rose shook her head.

“She’s part of a small group of the Awakened Children, including Rion, who have gone to spread the message of peace between monsters and humans in another city,” said Rose. “Which I think is for the best. It isn’t safe here in Vanderbrook, anymore.”

Malcolm nodded. There’d been a half dozen suicide bombings in the Vanderbrook area over the past two weeks. Occasionally, Multi would send his copies out to patrol the streets, for no other reason than to project his power and remind people how badly outnumbered the police were against him.

And he’s just a single demon. He doesn’t need allies, with his power. Shield Maiden is right to be worried.

“Be safe on your way back,” said Malcolm. “Seriously. I don’t trust you on that motorcycle.”

Rose flicked his ear with her finger.

“And I don’t trust you flying through the sky,” she said. “I’m just glad that you still have that thing on your wrist to keep you from getting too overwhelmed by the body load.”

She eyed the metal stabilizer on wrist. Malcolm smiled.

“A remnant of my old life,” he said. “One of the few upsides to the Champion Authority being in such disarray is that I don’t have to worry about them tracking me using it. Or, you know… triggering the bomb inside of it.”

“For now,” said Rose.

“For now,” he agreed.

She smiled at him as she stood up. Malcolm watched her wiggling back into her leggings and pulling on her halter top. She waited for a couple of seconds when she finished, looking at him expectantly.

“So…” she said. “Are you going to be around tomorrow night, or am I going to have to track you through the city again?”

Malcolm shrugged.

“I’m not living the kind of life right now where I think that far ahead,” he said.

Rose folded her arms and glared at him.

“You’d better not do anything stupid,” she said. “And yes, going after Multi on your own qualifies as stupid.”

“No promises,” said Malcolm.

Rose’s glare deepened, until it was so exaggerated that it was funny.

“I’ll be careful,” he added. “And… hopefully see you soon.”

“Of course,” said Rose.

She leaned over him and kissed him once more on the lips before climbing up the ladder and out of Malcolm’s hideout. He put the lock back in place, sighed, and collapsed onto his bed.

He woke up the next morning to the sound of his prepaid phone vibrating from a text. Malcolm groggily peered into the screen. It was Second Wind.

SECOND WIND: Just woke up. I’ll be at the spot in 10.

Malcolm sighed and started getting dressed. He’d been forced to diversify his wardrobe since creating his new identity. He pulled on khakis, along with a short sleeve dress shirt, a pair of reading glasses, and a baseball cap. It wouldn’t be enough to fool anyone who knew him and spent more than a couple of seconds looking at him, but that was why he limited the amount of time he spent in public.

He waited at the bus stop, playing the role of another bored pedestrian as he traveled across town, toward his old apartment. “The spot” that Second Wind had mentioned was the old park across the street from it. It wasn’t exactly the most subtle of places to hold what amounted to a meeting with an informant, but they could both get to it easily, and it kept Second Wind from having to explain unusual trips around town to anyone paying attention to him.

Malcolm spotted his copy sitting on a park bench near the small duck pond with a pensive look on his face. He walked over slowly, taking out his phone as though it was what held his attention as he sat down.

“How’s your shoulder?” asked Second Wind.

Malcolm shrugged. It wasn’t overly itchy, which was a good sign, and he was thankful for the attention Rose had given it, but it was still painful.

“Feels like that time Mr. Tessmore’s dog bit us when we cut across his yard,” said Malcolm.

“Jesus,” said Second Wind. “You could have just said that it was still hurting. No need to trudge up that memory.”

Malcolm smiled.

“The rest of that day was pretty good though, remember?”

Second Wind nodded.

“I do,” he said. “It was the summer, and we were at the beach for the morning. Me, Danny, and mom.”

Neither of them said anything for a minute. Danny’s death, though it had been something he’d essentially gone through twice before, still weighed heavily on Malcolm. He looked down at his palm and considered the last gift his brother had given him, a superpower that he was now using to protect the city.

“Any news on Multi?” asked Malcolm.

Second Wind shook his head slowly.

“No,” he said. “At least, nothing new. None of my contacts or Tapestry’s contacts have seen him in person recently, and we don’t know for sure where he’s going to hit next. People are scared. I don’t know if you sense that much or not, but it’s truth. The entire city is terrified of him. If he starts making demands…”

“That’s why we need to find him, and stop him,” said Malcolm. “Not his copies. Him.”

Malcolm massaged his temples, only realizing after a second or two the error in what he’d just said.

“Right,” said Second Wind. “Multi’s infinite army of unthinking, evil copies.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” said Malcolm. “Look, the one thing that each of the copies can’t do is replicate. The only way to kill a snake is to cut off its head.”

Malcolm bit his lip, realizing that the words didn’t sound much better. Second Wind frowned slightly and leaned back in the seat, his eyes staring out across the duck pond without focusing.

“It’s hard for me not to think about, you know,” he said. “For the first few hours, even the first day or two after I was… created, I didn’t really consider it. It just felt like a hazy dream. I remembered making the copy, making myself, I guess. It felt like one of those science fiction movies where the protagonist wakes up and discovers that the world… isn’t what it seems.”

“Hey…” Malcolm reached over and set a hand on his copy’s shoulder. “Don’t be sad. How about I buy you an ice cream, slugger? Vanilla? Chocolate?”

“Fuck you.” Second Wind scowled, but there was a small hint of amusement in his eyes. “I’m being serious. I inherited everything from you. Your thoughts, your feelings, memories, sense of humor. Everything… except a clear sense of purpose.”

Whoa. This is affecting him more than I’d assumed.

“I think this might be one of those things that gets worse the more you think about it,” said Malcolm. “So just… try not to think about it.”

“It doesn’t make you feel existential to know that there is someone else out there in the world who could, technically, claim to be you?” asked Second Wind.

‘First of all, you’re not me.” Malcolm spoke the words without thinking. “I mean, damn it. You are me, but you aren’t… me. We’re different people now, really.”

Malcolm frowned, feeling annoyed at how hard it suddenly was to articulate the essence of their existence.

“You haven’t thought about it much, have you?” asked Second Wind.

“No,” said Malcolm. There was no point in trying to lie. He knew Second Wind would see through it.

“And that’s another part of this, for me,” said Second Wind. “I don’t even know… how much I don’t know.”

“Okay, now you’re just being ridiculous,” said Malcolm. “Of course you don’t know what you don’t know.”

“Just, shut up and let me explain!” snapped Second Wind. “I’m talking about memories. MY emotional reactions. My… soul, if I have one. How much of it is really true to what I was… what you were… before you used Multi’s power.”

Malcolm hesitated, lacking the slightest idea how to respond.

“I’ve taken on the role of tending to your life,” said Second Wind. “Do you know how that feels, when the news is full of reports of the ‘Gifted Vigilante’? Hell, even Tapestry speculates about you and your motives.”

“This wasn’t how I’d planned this,” said Malcolm. “I didn’t expect to survive my encounter with Rain Dancer.”

“But you did,” said Second Wind. “And now I’m doing the doppelgänger version of watering your plants and walking your dogs while you’re out of town.”

“I don’t have any plants or dogs,” said Malcolm.

The look Second Wind gave him told him that he’d just said the wrong thing, again.

“I feel like… I at least deserve a chance,” said Second Wind. “To make my own choices. To make my own way in the world, instead of walking down the path you were on for no other reason than to keep it warm.”

“That’s… fair,” said Malcolm. “That’s what I would want in your situation, too. Obviously. But... I need you here. At least for now. Vanderbrook needs you. Hell, even Tapestry…”

Malcolm let his words trail off. Second Wind hadn’t spoken to him much about Tapestry, and he wasn’t sure that either of them were ready to broach the topic. He knew that Second Wind loved her just as he did. And the same was true of Rose.

I thought creating a copy would simplify my life.

“She’s doing well,” said Second Wind. “Melanie too. I’ve been… looking after both of them.”

“Of course you have,” said Malcolm. He waited, knowing what Second Wind would ask next.

“And Rose?”

Malcolm shrugged.

“She’s still working with Shield Maiden and Fantasy, but Multi appears to be mostly out of the picture,” said Malcolm. “She’s been looking out for me, more than the other way around.”

Second Wind smiled. There was a pause in the conversation, and both of them shared responsibility for it. Malcolm decided to change the subject.

“So,” said Malcolm. “How are the other champions in Vanderbrook doing? Wax, Anna… is Greenthumb still around, too?”

The question seemed to push Second Wind away from his melancholic state. He crossed one leg over the other and turned to look at Malcolm. It felt weird, seeing the expression on his face, a perfect copy of Malcolm’s, but not knowing what he was about to say.

“Greenthumb ended up taking Anna as his new partner,” said Second Wind. “Tapestry said there was some drama over it with his girlfriend, but there was no real alternative, given the weakened state of the Champion Authority.”

“Oh, man, that’s not going to end well.” Malcolm gave his copy a knowing smile. “Those two always seemed to be flirting with disaster.”

“And each other,” said Second Wind. “Anyway, Wax was recalled to the Champion Authority’s primary headquarters in Virginia. It’s fared better than most of the local bases, but they’re still scrambling to contain the chaos… and mostly failing at it.”

“Yeah, the news hasn’t been so optimistic,” said Malcolm.

“It’s worse than what’s being reported,” Second Wind said, quietly. “There’s a hundred million people in the country essentially fending for themselves, without police, military, or champion presence to protect them from the monsters. Or from other people, for that matter.”

Malcolm nodded slowly.

“All the more reason for us to hold down the fort here in Vanderbrook,” he replied.

Second Wind made a small noise of agreement. Malcolm figured it was probably all the commitment he was going to get out of him, for now. He set a hand on Second Wind’s shoulder, said his goodbye, and stood to leave.

“One more thing,” said Second Wind.

Malcolm looked over his shoulder at him.

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Tapestry is hunting the Gifted Vigilante.” Second Wind gave a smile that was equal parts amused and predatory. “You should be very careful about moving around the city in your costume.”

Tapestry is hunting me? I’m not so sure how I feel about that.

“I’ll be careful,” he said.

CHAPTER 7

Malcolm felt restless as he left the park, his mind still reeling as he considered all of what Second Wind had said. There was something unnerving about the perspective his copy had shared, and the depth of Second Wind’s existential anxiety. Malcolm felt as though just by meeting up with him, he’d accepted a share of that burden.

It had been a little more than two weeks since Second Wind had first been “born”, so to speak. Two weeks, and they’d already diverged far enough to think and feel like different people. Malcolm wondered how he hadn’t seen this coming.

I expected to die facing Rain Dancer. And I was ready for it.

He wondered if that acceptance, more than anything, had shifted him away from who he’d been, and the life that Second Wind was now occupying. Heading into battle against Rain Dancer alone had been stupid, but also probably the bravest and most selfless thing he’d ever done.

He winced, not wanting to give himself more credit than he deserved. Second Wind had, in essence, been a backup plan. It was a fact that Malcolm knew must haunt his copy, and he’d never stopped to consider what the consequences of what that weight would do to a person’s mind.

But then again, Second Wind was still a version of him. There was no doubt in Malcolm’s mind that he could be trusted to faithfully continue on as Wind Runner. He rubbed his chin as he walked, suddenly wondering if that was really the case. No doubt whatsoever? Was that the truth of it?

He was walking aimlessly, and had to shift gears in order to remember what he needed to spend the afternoon doing. The previous night’s incident had left a hole not just in his shoulder, but also in his costume. He needed to replace his jacket, the black shirt he usually wore underneath it, and just in case, he could also use another pair of black pants to go along with them.

Malcolm found a clothing store, one that he didn’t usually frequent. He made his way inside, feeling a bit uncomfortable with how empty the store was. A single customer perused the aisles, while a bored clerk sat behind the checkout counter, chewing gum and staring at her phone.

He tried to act inconspicuous as he made his way to the men’s section. There, he began slowly flipping through a row of jackets, looking for one that would suit his purposes. It was the summer, and that narrowed the selection considerably.

Eventually, he settled on a black zip down sweatshirt with mock turtle neck collar. He picked out a black pair of jeans to go with them, holding the two up to his body and frowning as he considered how ominous the clothes looked.

No wonder the media is portraying me as a potential villain. I dress the part.

He slipped into one of the changing stalls and set about trying everything on. Malcolm had only been inside for long enough to zip up the sweatshirt and slip his mask on, to make sure there were no gaps, when the curtain swung open. The clerk had a suspicious look on her face, but it immediately shifted to amazement as she recognized him.

“You…” She shook her head slowly. “You’re the… Gifted Vigilante?”

“No, no,” said Malcolm, not even sounding convincing to himself. “I’m not! I’m just a guy trying on clothes!”

The girl raised a finger and pointed it at him accusingly. She was cute, though on the curvier side of it. She wore hipster horn rimmed glasses, and had shoulder length blonde hair.

“I’ve seen the news,” she said. “I recognize you!”

Malcolm folded his arms and exhaled through his nose.

“Don’t make a big deal out of this,” he said. “I have to buy clothes, just like everyone else. Probably more often, given how often people, you know… shoot at me.”

“I can’t believe this…” The girl still had her phone out, and she lifted it to get Malcolm into frame for either a picture or a video.

“Seriously, though,” said Malcolm. “It would be… tricky for me, if you made a big deal about this.”

Did that sound like a threat? Actually… was that a threat?

The girl didn’t seem to be listening. Malcolm slipped by her and started toward the store’s entrance.

“Hey!” she shouted, suddenly vocal again. “You didn’t pay for those clothes! Take them off!”

“I’ll pay for them,” said Malcolm. “Just let me-“

“No!” shouted the girl. “Take them off, now.”

Malcolm stared at her.

“I’m not taking off my mask,” he said slowly. “Just so you know.”

“The sweater, then,” said the girl.

Malcolm sighed and unzipped it. He hadn’t taken the time to put on a t-shirt underneath, and he felt the girl’s eyes roving across the muscles of his chest and stomach. The one upside to being a wanted vigilante, in his opinion, was how effectively it dissuaded him from eating out often.

“Happy?” asked Malcolm. “Now let me pay for this stuff and get out of here.”

The girl stepped in closer to him. Malcolm started to get an odd sense of déjà vu as she walked in a circle around him with the phone. He kept his face averted as she came back around to his front, unwilling to let her record a clear view of anything that could be used to identify him.

“Here.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills from his wallet. “This is enough to cover the clothes. Keep the change. I’m out of here.”

“Hold on!” cried the girl. “I… I can make it worth it for you to stay.”

She made a show of puckering her lips. At one time, Malcolm would have considered it. But not now. He cleared his throat, pushed the money into her hand, and hurried out of the store.

Have I grown more mature in my old age?

CHAPTER 8

Malcolm decided that the more responsible thing to do would be to buy pieces of his costumes in separate stores. He made a mental note for next time, and hurried down the sidewalk.

The encounter with the girl left him with a nagging sense of paranoia, and he decided not to head straight back to his hideout. Instead, he spent most of the afternoon walking around town, stopping at a couple of coffee shops, keeping his ears open for any hint of intel that might lead him to Multi.

It was a little past sundown when he made his way to Terri’s Tavern, Vanderbrook’s local, monster only watering hole. He’d been somewhat of a regular for the past two weeks, and the bouncer, a beefy black demon named Onyx, waved him down the stairs when he approached.

The tavern was warmly lit. It strode the line between a proper late night establishment of hazy decisions and intoxication, and a local pub where neighbors gathered to catch up on the day’s news and unwind in the company of friends. Malcolm had arrived early, and there were only a couple of sprytes and demons sitting at the bar or at tables. HE didn’t recognize any of them, and none of them seemed to recognize him.

The tavern’s owner was a knowledge spryte by the name of Scribe. True to her name, she was slightly mousy looking, and she kept detailed notes on everyone and everything that she encountered.

“I’ll have a beer,” muttered Malcolm.

“Coming right up,” replied Scribe.

Scribe recognized Malcolm, but as the Wind Runner, rather than the Gifted Vigilante. If she had any inkling to his new secret identity, she’d decided not to mention it.

She set a beer in front of him. Malcolm picked it up and took a slow sip, appreciating the quiet of the tavern. He drank slowly, mulling over the emotional tirade Second Wind had unleashed on him that morning.

Footsteps came from the stairs leading down to the tavern. Out of the corner of his eye, Malcolm saw a woman enter. He frowned, trying to be discrete as he got a better look and confirmed that indeed, it was a woman, and not a demon or a spryte, unless she was well disguised.

She was short, with tanned skin, Asiatic features, and jet black hair done up in a tight bun. She had a nice body, trim waist, medium sized breasts, and a stellar butt. She was dressed in a tight top that left most of her taut stomach exposed, along with a pair of tight black and pink shorts that left very little to the imagination.

She took the stool next to Malcolm. He was surprised when Scribe immediately began mixing a drink, before she’d even asked for anything. Malcolm tuned his attention back to his beer, feeling the odd kind of tension that arises and pushes two strangers to make pointless small talk.

“Haven’t seen you around here before,” said the woman. Malcolm glanced over at her. She was close enough to his age to make it hard for him to guess at whether she was older or younger than him.

“I could say the same to you,” said Malcolm.

The woman shrugged.

“I’m more of a bar hopper than a regular at any one specific place,” she said. “I’d like to say that it’s fun for me, but really, I’m just desperate for the attention.”

Malcolm couldn’t help but smile at her blunt honesty. He decided to see how far it extended.

“You’re not a spryte,” he said. “Or a demoness. How’d you get past the bouncer?”

The woman sipped at the drink Scribe had given her. It had a blue hue, and brought a slightly purple edge to her luscious red lips.

“I offered to give him a kiss,” said the woman.

The intensity of her gaze made Malcolm feel hot and bothered. He took a slow breath, willing himself to wade further into the conversation.

“Did he take you up on it?” he asked.

The woman just smiled at him.

“I know who you are,” she said.

The statement instantly put Malcolm on edge.

“I’m just a guy looking to get a beer.” He took another sip. “And maybe a couple more after this one.”

“You’re evasive,” she said. “That’s fun.”

She turned her attention back to her drink, brushing a few stray strands of black hair back behind one ear. Malcolm waited for her to say more, but knew that she wouldn’t.

She’s toying with me. But somehow… I don’t feel like this is just flirting, for her.

“Alright,” he said. “Tell me. Who am I?”

The woman licked her lips. She glanced over at Scribe, who was down at the other end of the bar, and then at the pair monsters sitting at a nearby table. She slid her stool closer to Malcolm’s, until the side of her body was pressing up against him, and he could smell her sweet perfume.

“You…” She let a hand run up his arm. “Are the Wind Runner. The champion that’s always on TV.”

Malcolm shrugged. He was recognizable enough as Wind Runner, even if he’d passed the identity over to his copy. It was something he’d gotten used to, though was a little wary about how openly he could go about the town as himself, not wanting anyone to make too many connections and discover that he’d been in more than one place at the same time.

“What would you say if I told you that I wasn’t?” asked Malcolm. “And I mean, I’m flattered that you’d think so. That Wind Runner fellow seems like quite a handsome, amazing hero. But I’m not him.”

Correction: I’m not him anymore.

“Really?” The woman’s smile broadened, and took on an almost predatory quality. “Then how did you get by the bouncer? Because obviously, you aren’t a spryte or a demon, either.”

Malcolm didn’t say anything, sensing that she was probably sharp enough to pick apart his lies.

“I’m not trying to trap you, if that’s what you’re thinking,” said the woman. “I actually think you’re a force for good in the city. It’s very… encouraging, to know that there are other gifted people out there with a strong enough will to make up their mind how to use their powers on their own. You don’t exactly tow the Champion Authority’s line, now do you?”

Her hand settled onto Malcolm’s thigh. He stared into her eyes, feeling a sudden, animalistic drive to shift their conversation into a more private space. The moment was approaching a boiling point when a ringtone came from the woman’s purse. She leaned back from him, pulled out her phone and checked the screen.

“Whoops,” she said. “I have to go. I’m meeting a friend at another bar.”

Malcolm nodded.

That’s probably for the best.

“Well,” he said. “It was nice speaking with you, Ms…”

The woman laughed.

“Please,” she said. “I think we both know that it’s in each of our best interests to keep our names to ourselves, Mr. ‘Not Wind Runner’. But I do hope to see you again, when I’m not so busy.”

She leaned forward to brush off her shorts, giving Malcolm a cleavage filled view down her shirt. He cleared his throat and tuned his attention back to his beer, waiting until the woman had disappeared up the stairs before letting out his breath.

CHAPTER 9

When Malcolm finally left Terri’s Tavern, he turned in the direction of his hideout, the streets were silent. He pulled on his mask, just in case he saw anything that required his assistance, but he doubted that he would see much. It was a foggy night, and seeing anything beyond a single block into the distance was like trying to listen to music underwater.

And that was exactly why Malcolm ended up being caught so off guard. A single car pulled onto the sidewalk in front of him, blocking his way. The blue lights and siren flared for a single instance, just long enough to announce their authoritative presence, and two men jumped loose of the vehicle.

“Freeze!” shouted the one nearest to Malcolm. “On the ground!”

Malcolm was almost surprised enough to do it. It took a couple of seconds before it dawned onto him why the police were there, and how they’d found him. The girl in the clothing store had been offended enough by his rejection to call them.

That made sense. The police knowing his location, however, did not. The fact that they were there, at all, with the city government on the verge of total collapse, was ridiculous. The guns they had pointed at him… well, those did make sense, in an “erring on the side of caution” kind of way.

Malcolm dove into a nearby alleyway. Bullets roared, and sparks danced off the concrete where he’d been standing a second earlier. He fought the urge to push off into the air and use his wind manipulation to get far, far away but decided against it. He’d be an easy target for the police, even with the fog.

So instead, Malcolm sprinted down the alley. It was tempting to stand, and make an attempt at fighting, but in that scenario, he’d be accepting his role as the bad guy. The police would report back to their superiors, back to the media, and his public image would sink further into the ground.

Hmmm… In the ground. I think I just had an idea.

Another round of bullets rang through the air, one of them whizzing less than an inch over Malcolm’s head. He cut across the street at the end of the alley, pushing himself forward with his wind manipulation to make it to cover behind a parked car.

He heard the screech of tires, and knew that one of the officers was now back in the squad car. Malcolm cursed under his breath and tried to keep his head low as he ran toward another alleyway. Another shot ricocheted off a building, missing him by less than a foot.

He ducked and rolled into another dirty alleyway, and knocked over a trash can as he stood. He cringed at the commotion the can made as it rolled away, but breathed a sigh of relief as it revealed what he’d been looking for: a manhole cover.

It was far heavier than Malcolm had been expecting, and even using his wind manipulation to push from the inside up, it took him several moments to wiggle it loose. He could hear footsteps approaching. Malcolm took a deep breath, trusting that the smell and limited light conditions of the sewer would be enough to throw off pursuit.

Another gunshot roared, though Malcolm felt it, rather than heard it. The bullet tore through the same shoulder that Tapestry had shot him in, adding another hole an inch lower than his previous wound. Malcolm gasped, his head pulsing with pain as he fell forward through the open manhole.

If not for the unexpected injury, he’d likely have been able to keep himself from landing directly into the unsavory stream of refuse. The putrid liquid splashed up around him, and Malcolm knew and understood the disgusting desperation he’d been reduced to.

His shoulder aching, he crawled from the sewer onto the walkway. The new costume he’d been carrying with him was lost to the muck. His body was coated filth, and one of his shoes had slipped off, now somewhere at the bottom of the slow moving sludge.

Malcolm wanted to scream. He wanted throw fireballs against the walls of the sewer tunnel in rage, and only didn’t after remembering why the gasses involved in such a place would make that a terrible idea.

The police weren’t following him, though they must have known where he was. Malcolm tried to orient himself as best as he could and started walking. He ran his thoughts in any direction he could, desperate to distract himself from the pain of his shoulder and the shame of his life.

The police came after me, the Gifted Vigilante, and left Multi, a self-cloning suicide bomber, to do his thing.

Of course they did. The more he considered it, the more sense it made. They didn’t have the manpower to go up against Multi. And the Gifted Vigilante was rumored to avoid killing, an awfully convenient trait to have in a wanted criminal.

They must have known he was at Terri’s Tavern, and had been waiting for him to leave. Malcolm resolved to be more careful coming and going.

He followed the sewer tunnel for what felt like hours. Not knowing exactly where he was, he decided he probably had gone far enough. The sound of rushing water greeted him as he pushed a manhole cover loose and pulled himself to the surface. He looked around. He didn’t recognize the building he was standing in, but he knew by the smell where he was: the water treatment plant.

Desperate to clean himself off, he looked around. There were numerous pipes emptying their contents into a large vat in the center of the enormous room. Most of the pipes contained contents similar to what he’d just trudged through, but one, on the far corner of the room looked clean, or at least it wasn’t a suspicious brown. He figured it was rainwater runoff and stood beneath the spout.

Malcolm washed himself off as completely as he could. He had to bite his lip to keep from crying out in pain as he tried to wash out the bullet wound. Thankfully, the bullet had gone straight through his shoulder, but he would have to make sure to use plenty of antiseptic when he got home.

The pain of the injury didn’t abate with the shower. By the time Malcolm arrived back at his hideout, his shoulder almost hurt too badly for him to focus. He took ragged breaths, and let out a small, defeated cry as he landed next to the warehouse.

He ditched his soiled clothing in a disused dumpster, keeping only his mask. Back inside his hideout, Malcolm sacrificed a shirt. Ripping it into bandages he carefully applied the rest of his antiseptic and wrapped his aching shoulder. He wished he had something stronger as he shook out a couple of over the counter pain killers into his hand and washed them down with half a bottle of water.

He sat on his bed, feeling forced to contemplate what had just happened. This was his life now. Even on his nights off, he ran the risk of being shot at, and having to choose between the putrid sewers and a cold jail cell.

I gave up everything I had for this. To be a super vigilante, and serve a city that doesn’t appreciate me.

Part of him had hoped that Rose would be waiting for him. She was the only other person, besides himself, who knew the combination to the lock on the hatch. The only person who could have been waiting for him. Malcolm sighed at the thought, feeling a raw bleakness at how alone he’d become.

He missed Tapestry, too. The thought brought a smile to his face as he considered the throbbing pain of his shoulder, the last gift she’d given him. He’d be lucky if he kept full mobility in his arm once it healed. He missed Tapestry as a friend, as a lover, and also for more selfish reasons, for her regeneration which would free him of the pain.

Malcolm sighed. He couldn’t take Tapestry’s power even if he’d wanted to. He needed to keep Danny’s heat manipulation. He told himself that it was to keep up the identity he’d established for himself. But really, it was all he had left of his brother.

His train of thought seemed compelled to continue in that direction, sulking and feeling sorry for himself. Malcolm honestly didn’t feel like he had the energy for it. He spread out on his mattress, pulled a thin sheet over himself, and fell asleep.

CHAPTER 10

Heavy pounding woke Malcolm up the next morning. It took him a couple of seconds to recognize that it was coming from outside the hatch, rather than within his own skull.

He assumed it was Rose at first, but realized immediately that she would have just opened the hatch and climbed down without knocking. He felt a chill run down his spine as he considered what that meant. Someone had found his hideout.

But… They’re also taking the time to knock. They could have just set up a trap for me outside, if they’d wanted.

Malcolm pulled on the hat and sunglasses he still had left for a disguise. He pulled on his torn jacket, wincing as his painful and swollen shoulder slid into it. He walked over to the ladder and took a breath.

“Who is it?” he asked, gruffly.

“Someone with a mutual interest.”

He recognized the voice, even muffled as it was, through the hatch. It was Shield Maiden, a spryte who had been part of the faction belonging to his former foe, Rain Dancer. Rose had told him that her militant rhetoric had lessened since his death, either because of grief, or perhaps from finally being free from the lunatic’s influence.

Still, he didn’t trust her. It didn’t make sense for him to, not after what had happened. Shield Maiden had been romantically involved with Rain Dancer, though it hadn’t seemed that serious. There was a chance that she had to come to take revenge on him for his death.

Or was there? She wasn’t there to see Wind Runner, who had been the champion who’d defeated Rain Dancer. She was there to see the Gifted Vigilante, a new arrival to the chaotic Vanderbrook.

“I’m opening the hatch,” said Malcolm. “I’ll come outside. Wait outside the warehouse, and don’t try anything stupid.”

“I don’t intend to,” said Shield Maiden.

Malcolm waited a couple of seconds before awkwardly climbing up the ladder. It was far more difficult than he’d expected, with only one arm. Entering the combination into the lock was even more challenging, but somehow, he managed it.

Shield Maiden stood in the morning sunlight in the concrete lot outside. She was a pretty spryte, with skin that had the patterning of a tabby cat and the purple and pink colors found on top of an oil spill. Her exotic, attractive body contrasted sharply against the plain blue summer dress she wore, which was patterned with small, yellow flowers.

If she recognized him at all, she didn’t let it show in her face. Malcolm kept his arms out to the side as he approached her, knowing that if she wanted to, she could put him in a shield bubble before he could attack.

“Well?” he asked. He put in extra effort to disguise his voice.

Shield Maiden smiled. There was a genuine, almost flirtatious quality to it. She pushed a few strands of her unnaturally pink hair out of her face and looked him in the eyes.

“You’re the Gifted Vigilante,” she said. “I’m glad that my information on your location was accurate.”

Malcolm licked his lips. He wanted to know where that information came from, but felt like he could probably guess.

Rose. Either she let it slip, which is unlikely, or Shield Maiden is tracking her movements.

He resisted the urge to ask her about it, opting to leave that bit of intrigue uninspected.

“And you are?” asked Malcolm. “It would be a shame for us to not be properly introduced.”

He smiled at her and offered a small bow. It was as much a part of his disguise as the sunglasses and hat. The more he created a persona for the Gifted Vigilante, instead of just acting like himself in another set of clothes, the more convincing he’d be to the world.

“Flattery,” said Shield Maiden. “That’s not something I expected from someone with your reputation.”

Malcolm took several slow steps toward her, reducing the space between them to just a couple of feet.

“Well, you’re more than welcome to come to your own conclusions firsthand,” he said, in a deep, sultry voice.

In truth, inviting Shield Maiden down into his hideout was something he would never even consider. Malcolm expected her to rebuff him, and in doing so, hopefully reveal more of her true intentions. Instead, Shield Maiden smiled and leaned toward him.

“Shield Maiden,” she said. “You can call me Shield Maiden.”

“Do you remember what your name was?” asked Malcolm. “Before you turned?”

Shield Maiden blinked. She looked caught off guard. Malcolm tried to keep his satisfaction over that to himself.

“I do,” she said. “But it’s not something I give out to strangers. Especially not strangers in disguise.”

Malcolm nodded and licked his lips.

“You might as well get to the point then,” he said. “Why are you here?”

“Because we have a common enemy. And I’d like to give you some information that will help you fight against them.”

Malcolm kept his expression steady, although a frown tugged at the edges of his mouth.

“If you mean the Champion Authority, I have no intention of fighting against them,” he said. “Even weakened as they are, it’s still too dangerous.”

“I’m talking about Multi.”

Malcolm tried not to let his surprise show on his face. He folded his arms and glanced away from her for a moment.

“The last I heard,” he began, “You were allied with him. There’s still footage that plays on the local news every now and then of you, Rain Dancer, and him at a protest rally.”

“That was then,” said Shield Maiden. “The last few weeks have been chaotic. He’s operating on his own, now.”

Malcolm shook his head.

“I’m not sure I believe you,” he lied.

Rose had told him about how Multi had withdrawn from what remained of Rain Dancer’s faction. From what she said, it seemed as though Multi had been more interested in an alliance with Rain Dancer than with the sprytes who followed him. Shield Maiden, Fantasy, and Rose were all powerful, but none of them held a candle to what the electric demon had been capable of.

Malcolm knew all of this, but he wanted Shield Maiden to convince him, and in doing so, hopefully reveal more information that might be useful to him. Shield Maiden gave a small shrug and tilted her head in a thoughtful gesture.

“I think you do believe me,” she said, with a small smile. “But regardless if you do or not, I’ll still give you some info I think you might find useful.”

“I’m listening.”

Shield Maiden’s smile broadened. She was pretty when she smiled, and the coloring of her skin swirled around the edge of her lips, creating the illusion of intricate, surrealist face paint.

“Multi is planning more suicide bombings,” said Shield Maiden.

“Yeah, obviously,” said Malcolm. “Is that it?”

“He gets the electronics he needs to make the triggers from Edward’s Tech on Ballroom Avenue.”

Malcolm knew the store. He nodded slowly, committing the fact to memory.

“Anything else?”

“There’s a fertilizer truck that runs a weekly route through the farms northwest of Vanderbrook,” said Shield Maiden. “When he was still working with us closely, he brought up the idea of capturing that truck at the start of its deliveries, and using the fertilizer to make more bombs.”

“When’s the next time it’s going to be on the road?” asked Malcolm.

“Tomorrow,” said Shield Maiden. “Early in the afternoon. First stop is the Mackwell Farm.”

“I’m familiar with it,” said Malcolm. “But why share all of this with me? Even if you aren’t allied with Multi anymore, he’s one of your kind… isn’t he?”

“One of my kind.” Shield Maiden gave him a look that suggested she’d taken his words as an insult. “Perhaps. But he’s also a threat. To the city and to me. He wants power, and has a ruthless streak.”

That does sound like Multi. Even as a champion, he was focused on nothing but his job and his goals.

“So the enemy of your enemy is your friend?” asked Malcolm.

“Something like that,” said Shield Maiden. She opened her mouth as though to say more and then hesitated.. She looked away from Malcolm and started to turn to leave.

“I appreciate the info,” said Malcolm.

Shield Maiden paused. She turned around and faced him again.

“I don’t trust you,” she said.

I don’t trust her either. But she’s pragmatic, and she isn’t evil.

Malcolm chuckled.

“That’s good,” he said. “You probably shouldn’t. But you should know that the only thing I care about is keeping Vanderbrook safe.”

“Keeping Vanderbrook safe?” asked Shield Maiden. “And… what of the people you care about within it?”

Her tone of voice made Malcolm feel uncomfortable, as did the knowing smile on her face. He stayed silent.

“You asked me for my real name before,” said Shield Maiden. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

Malcolm shook his head.

“As fair of a trade as that would be, I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline,” he said. “Thanks for the information.”

Shield Maiden kept her eyes on him, as though her gaze alone held a measure of power. And it did seem to, though not in the way Malcolm suspected she thought it did. Tension was brewing in the air between them, and it only broke when Shield Maiden finally turned, soon disappearing around the corner of the warehouse.

CHAPTER 11

Malcolm spent most of the morning recovering. He ate handfuls of dry cereal, washing it down with warm water from a jug he kept in a corner of his lair, wishing he had something with more substance.

He took a closer look at his shoulder, cleaning the wound again, and trying to bandage it better. It had stopped bleeding, but he could feel that almost any arm movement that involved stretching or reaching would cause it to bleed again. He wished he had thought to try supergluing the wound closed the night before, but self-pity and exhaustion had clouded his thoughts and he’d forgotten to take that precaution.

It’s too late now. I at least need to get real bandages for it. A hole in my shoulder isn’t something I can just leave alone.

Under different circumstances, he would have gone to the hospital. Unfortunately, it would have brought the police straight to him, given that they knew he had been shot. So instead, Malcolm dressed in clothing he hoped wouldn’t chafe too much and readied himself to leave.

A short while later he carefully extracted himself from his hideout and walked to the nearest bus stop. He’d gotten a late start and it was already almost noon as he climbed aboard the bus. It wasn’t too crowded. Malcolm had a seat to himself, and he let his thoughts wander as the bus slowly wound its way through the streets of Vanderbrook.

Malcom’s attention was brought back to the present when the bus stopped and a single passenger got on. He wore a sweatshirt with the hood up, and stared at his feet as he made his way down the aisle. Malcom watched as he took a seat next to Malcolm.

That’s weird… Half the bus is empty.

Malcolm looked at the man, frowning a little. He didn’t get a chance to say anything before the man started to pull his hood down. Malcolm saw his face, and went numb with shock.

Multi was sitting next to him, looking very pleased with himself. The demon was almost certainly a copy of the original, but he still looked like Multi had the last time Malcolm had seen him. His head had the odd crown of half inch high skull bumps that deformed the features of all demons, with loose tufts of balding red hair adding a comical quality to his otherwise disturbing appearance.

He didn’t say anything for several seconds, instead just watching Malcolm and gauging his reaction. Several other people on the bus behind them had also taken notice, and even the ones who didn’t recognize Multi from images in the news and police descriptions could clearly see that he was a demon. And that, on its own, was more than enough to kindle terror in the confining space of a city bus.

“You…” Malcolm finally said.

“Me,” said Multi. “It’s been a while, Wind Runner.”

Malcolm wasn’t sure what to say, or how to react. He stared at Multi, eyeing the bulge around his chest underneath the sweatshirt.

He’s wearing a bomb. He has me at his mercy.

“What do you want?” asked Malcolm.

By this point, most of the passengers on the bus had given Multi their attention. A man with a scraggly was beard was whispering something to the bus driver and pointing in Multi’s direction. Malcolm watched the bus driver’s face pale in the reflection of his rear view mirror.

“I just want to talk with you,” said Multi. “Think of it like giving me a report. You used to do that, remember? Back when we were both champions.”

Malcolm wondered about his phrasing. Was he implying that he knew that Malcolm wasn’t a champion? If so, that meant that he knew about Second Wind. Malcolm tried to consider the implications of that, but knowing that he was sitting next to a potential suicide bomber made it hard for him to focus on anything but the bomb strapped to the demon’s mid-section.

“Don’t do this,” he said. “Please. Multi, none of these people deserve to die.”

A woman who he’d noticed had been checking her makeup earlier was sobbing, trying and failing to keep quiet. Multi’s expression had no mercy in it, but also no malice. He was cold, calculating, and his gaze was fixed on Malcolm.

“You managed to make a copy of yourself.” Multi spoke in a low voice, one that only Malcolm could hear. “Tell me. Does your copy have the same powers that you do?”

Malcolm hesitated, and then slowly nodded.

If I stall for long enough, I might be able to think of something. Answering his questions will at least buy me some time.

“Interesting…” said Multi. “Then, perhaps it’s just the power of personal multiplication that can’t pass on through duplication.”

He smiled. Malcolm shifted his arm slightly. Multi’s hand slipped into his pocket, and he narrowed his eyes.

“No sudden moves,” he said. “I’m not done with you yet. So… your power mimicry? That transferred to the copy as well?”

Malcolm was curious why Multi was so interested in Second Wind, but he didn’t want to betray that by asking questions. He gave another slow nod. Multi nodded back, as though his suspicions had been confirmed. He looked away from Malcolm for an instant. Malcolm tensed, part of him wanting to seize the opportunity, while also recognizing that if he did, it would probably get him killed.

The bus driver was still coasting the bus through the city, no longer stopping to pick people up or drop them off, but too terrified to break from the rest of his routine. All around Malcolm, people wept, or let out anxious moans, or whispered nervously to each other. He felt a small pit of cold, hard rage forming in his stomach.

“What is about being a demon that makes so many of you into complete, uncaring sociopaths?” he asked, slowly.

Multi chuckled.

“Well,” he said. “I can’t speak for all monsters, but I am most assuredly not a sociopath.”

“Really? Then why are we here right now? Why are you holding these people hostage?”

Multi’s smile almost made Malcolm wish that he hadn’t asked the question. He still had an intensity to him that Malcolm remembered in his old boss, but it was rough and raw now, like an old table with the polish sanded off.

“It’s just a feature of power,” said Multi. “To be honest, I think it’s impossible for a normal human to understand. Perhaps you could understand some of it, gifted as you are. The only thing becoming a demon did was confirm a sense of entitlement that had already been there.”

“So you feel entitled,” said Malcolm. “What are you, a child?”

“No, no more than Cortez, or Columbus, or any of the other explorers who conquered the new world were. I’m just somebody with the power to make things happen. All of my actions will make sense, when viewed in a historical context.”

“You’re insane,” said Malcolm.

Multi chuckled and took the insult as an invitation to continue.

“I think democracy, equal rights, the whole dream of western civilization is fundamentally incompatible with the modern world we live in. There’s too much of a power gap between a normal human, and someone like me. Or someone like you, even.”

“There have always been the strong and the weak,” said Malcolm. “Our gifts change nothing.”

“You can say that, but it doesn’t make it true,” said Multi. “This isn’t like the difference between someone healthy and someone sick. This is more like the difference between man and the lesser apes.”

Malcolm was shaking without realizing it. He didn’t want to hear any more of what Multi had to say. He felt sick to his stomach as much from the monster’s words as he did from the fear he was striking into the hearts of the passengers. Multi was watching him carefully, his expression cold and unreadable.

“How many copies did you really make of yourself, Wind Runner?” he asked. “Tell me the real number. I know it wasn’t just one.”

Malcolm hesitated for a split second. He hoped Multi hadn’t noticed.

“Four,” he said. “One of them is trailing me right now. He’ll attack if I give the symbol.”

Multi burst out laughing.

“Well, I suppose a bad lie is better than no lie, in a desperate situation,” he said. “I’m better at this game than you are, Wind Runner. You think you know how to play… but you don’t.”

Multi reached an arm out. Malcolm flinched back, only barely managing to subdue his instinct to attack. Multi reached over Malcolm’s head and pulled the line to signal the bus driver to stop.

The bus driver sank into the steering wheel as he stopped the bus, despair obvious in his body language. Multi cleared his throat, stood up, and started walking down the aisle without a word.

He got off the bus, walked to a nearby car, and climbed into the passenger seat. Dazed as he was, Malcolm had just enough sense to commit the model and license number to memory. All around him, the few who’d managed to keep their cool through the hostage situation were now openly crying, finally giving in to their terror.

CHAPTER 12

Malcolm slipped away before the police showed up. Despite his concern for his shoulder, he decided to walk. He passed through Vanderbrook aimlessly for a while, thinking over their conversation and trying to guess at Multi’s intentions.

Was that just to throw me off balance? Or did he get information from me that was more valuable than I realized?

He tried to text Second Wind, but his copy was apparently too busy to get back to him in a timely manner. Rose had given him a phone number to get in touch with her, but Malcolm wasn’t sure if it belonged solely to her, or was a line she shared with the other sprytes.

Malcolm still wasn’t sure how much he could trust Shield Maiden. He hadn’t gotten a chance to confirm any of the information she’d given him. It was possible that she was still working with Multi, and she’d told him what she had in order to manipulate him.

Possible, but unlikely. Still, I doubt I can trust anyone other than myself, and maybe Rose, for help.

He included Second Wind within that category, even as different as they were becoming. The fact that he secretly had a copy of his own made the odds against Multi and his army of doppelgangers feel slightly more even. It gave him options and he hoped it made Multi wary. What else could his questions relating to Second Wind have meant?

Unable to reach Second Wind and unwilling to try the number Rose had given him, Malcolm bought some food from a street vendor and spent the afternoon in a park. As the sun began to set he headed toward Terri’s Tavern. He was too paranoid from his encounter with Multi and too unsure about the intel Shield Maiden had given him to try anything on his own.

The woman from the night before was sitting alone at the bar again. Malcolm paused at the entrance and debated whether he was interested in talking to her. His legs made the choice for him, and he took the stool next to her. She turned and smiled at him as he sat down. She was dressed as alluringly as she had the night before and Malcolm noticed specks of glitter on her tanned cheeks.

“Good evening,” she said. “I guess you are a regular here, after all.”

“And apparently so are you.” Malcolm accepted a beer from Scribe as she brought it over. He let out a sigh and took a long drink from it.

“Did you come here again tonight to see me?” asked the woman.

The question made Malcolm think of Rose. He’d been seeing her less and less frequently lately. Between her and Tapestry, he’d gone from having too many women to handle, to teetering on the edge of loneliness.

“No,” he said, answering the woman’s question. “But I’m sure most guys would have, so, don’t take that the wrong way.”

“See, that’s what I like about you,” said the woman. “You’re honest.”

Malcolm didn’t really want to flirt with her. He was still mulling over his encounter with Multi. How close had he really been to dying, on that bus? And how had Multi known about Second Wind?

“A penny for your thoughts,” said the woman.

He started to wonder if sitting down next to her had been such a good idea, after all. Malcolm was trying to come up with a polite way to refuse her when she reached over and poked him in the shoulder. It was just juvenile enough of an action to loosen his lips.

“Is it worth it to fight against where the world is headed?” he asked. “Does any of us really have any control over the future, or are we just… rocks in the middle of an avalanche.”

“Wow,” said the woman. “Jumping right into the deep end, aren’t you? That’s an interesting question.”

She sipped her own drink and thought for a couple of seconds.

“I think that it matters less whether we’re in control or not, and more whether we think we are,” she said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

The woman turned to face him more directly. She leaned an elbow on the bar and rested her chin on her hand.

“You aren’t in control of anything,” said the woman. “You might think you are. That you make small choices… what to eat, when to sleep. Who to be friends with, and who to hate. The bigger stuff, control of the world, or even your own future, it’s hard to feel like you can keep your hands on the wheel. But really, it’s all the same. Pointless and predetermined.”

“That’s… kind of dark,” said Malcolm.

“You shouldn’t ask deep questions if you don’t want deep answers,” said the woman.

Malcolm considered her perspective, or at least tried to. He went to take another sip of beer and realized that his mug was already almost empty.

“What are you doing here tonight, then?” asked Malcolm. “Why bother going out? Drinking in a bar, talking to strangers. Like you said, it’s all pointless.”

“That’s where the illusion of control comes in,” said the woman. “I come to a bar. Make a new friend. Possibly… do something that makes me feel alive, and powerful. It’s certainly better than cowering in the dark, and being scared.”

Malcolm nodded, though he could tell she was speaking of something personal, something he wasn’t sure he understood. He was about to ask her more, when a muffled shout came from outside.

“Let me go down, then! Let me see for myself!”

“I told you,” replied the bouncer, in an equally loud voice. “The shadow spryte isn’t here. Now buzz off!”

Malcolm sat up a little straighter on his stool. He tapped his fingers on the counter, debating with himself over whether it was worth looking into. The shouting outside began to intensify, and he eventually couldn’t keep himself still.

“Leaving so soon?” asked the woman. “You still don’t know my name.”

Malcolm just shrugged at her, his mind already on the commotion outside. He ran up the stairs to find Onyx, the bouncer of Terri’s Tavern, standing over a blond man who was down on one knee, clutching at his stomach.

“You bastard!” snarled the blond man. “Tell me where she is.”

“You can either get the fuck out of here, or get another beating,” said Onyx.

Malcolm held up a hand in the bouncer’s direction.

“Let me handle this,” he said.

He walked over to the man, who was still catching his breath, and offered him a hand. The blond man scowled slightly as he took it.

“Maybe you can help me, then,” said the man. “I’m looking for someone. A shadow spryte. Her name is Rosalina.”

Malcolm kept his expression from giving anything away.

He’s looking for Rose. I need to find out why.

“Let’s walk and talk,” he said.

CHAPTER 13

The man introduced himself as Brenden Barnes. After a moment’s hesitation, Malcolm replied with his own name. His instincts told him that this man was new to Vanderbrook and that it didn’t matter what name he gave him. If felt nice to be himself, if only for a minute.

Brenden was tall, with handsome facial features and the kind of crisp blond haircut not often seen outside of movies. He wore a button up shirt over khakis, and the clothes looked ruffled and slightly dirty from several continuous days of wear.

It took a couple of minutes for Malcolm to warm up to him, and vice versa. Malcolm talked about Terri’s Tavern, its reputation, his experiences there, all the while thinking furiously about how to gauge the man’s motives without giving away his own.

“So…” said Brenden. “If you’re a regular at this place… You must have seen her.”

“A couple of times, maybe,” said Malcolm. “I don’t remember everyone that comes in.”

It wasn’t necessarily a lie, at least not in regard to how often Rose attended the bar. Malcolm licked his lips and weighted his next question carefully.

“Who is she to you, anyway?”

Brenden’s face tightened at the question, and his eyes glared with deep, complicated emotion.

“She’s my fiancée,” he said.

Malcolm tried to control his reaction as his heart began thumping in his chest. At least some of his surprise must have shown on his face, because Brenden stopped walking.

“You do know her!” snapped Brenden.

“No,” Malcolm said, quickly. “It’s just… sprytes and demon usually don’t have relationships like that.”

How long have I been sleeping with Rose for? And this man, who claims to be her fiancé? Has he been searching for her this entire time?

“She is my fiancé,” said Brenden, in a low, dangerous voice. “From before. And I know she’s here in Vanderbrook, or nearby. I’ve seen the monster profiles on the internet.”

Malcolm had heard about those from Second Wind. Several websites were now dedicated to keeping track of the movements and whereabouts of powerful demons and sprytes. It was a way to warn people who held the real power in a particular region.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Malcolm said.

“Tell me where she is!” Brenden surprised Malcolm by rushing toward him, grabbing him by the shoulders, and knocking him to the ground. Malcolm was also surprised by his own restraint. Rather than retaliating, or using his powers to defend himself, he merely put his hands up to guard against a possible blow.

But Brenden didn’t punch him. He just clung to Malcolm, holding onto the scruff of his shirt.

“Please…” said Brenden. “I… have to find her.”

Malcolm stood up and disengaged from him without further struggle. He massaged his temples, wishing that he knew what to do or say. Would Rose want to see Brenden? Did she even know that she’d had a fiancé, back before she became a spryte?

An odd mixture of doubt and jealousy wormed its way into Malcolm’s chest. Was it possible that Rose would meet with Brenden, remember him and her previous life, and return to it? Of course it was, he decided. And he had no right to keep her from that, if it was what she wanted.

“You know her,” said Brenden. “I can tell. Please… I’m staying at the Clearwood Motel. Room 16. Just tell her… I’ll be there for the next few days. Tell her to come in the afternoon.”

Malcolm didn’t respond. Brenden watched him for a moment, and then without saying a word turned back toward Terri’s Tavern and walked away.

The walk back to Malcolm’s hideout felt like it took an eternity. He called the phone number he’d been given on the way. A feminine voice that he was fairly sure he recognized as the spryte Fantasy picked up, and Malcolm disguised his own as he asked for Rose.

He told her to meet him at his hideout, but didn’t say more than that. He wanted to approach telling her about Brenden as carefully as he could. It was a big, emotional thing, and already Malcolm felt as though he was sticking his nose where it didn’t belong.

Not just my nose. All this time… I’ve been sleeping with another man’s fiancée.

Waiting for her to arrive was almost intolerable. Keeping an eye on the entrance, Malcolm paced back and forth just inside the warehouse above his hideout. After close to an hour, Rose’s silhouette finally appeared, beautiful and backlit by the moon.

“Malcolm,” she said. “What’s going on? You sounded worried on the phone.”

She walked over to him and took his hands into hers. Her hair was messy, as though she’d been in bed when he’d called. She wore a blue sweatshirt and black jeans, and slid the hood down as she leaned in to kiss him. Malcolm turned his face, letting her lips brush against his cheek.

“I ran into someone tonight,” he said. “At Terri’s Tavern. A guy, blond hair, blue eyes. Tall, good looking...”

If you’re into the sculpted Adonis type…

He watched Rose’s expression for any sign of recognition. She gave him a slightly confused look and glanced toward the hatch leading down to his hideout.

“…Okay,” she said. “Did something happen?”

“His name was Brenden,” Malcolm offered.

Rose shook her head.

“Are you expecting me to-”

“He said he was your fiancé.”

At that, Rose’s bodily language stiffened, and her mouth fell open in surprise. She looked about how Malcolm had felt when Brenden had told him the same thing. Malcolm felt a little ashamed of how much relief that brought him. It would have been more painful to discover that Rose had known about her fiancé and been intentionally keeping the detail to herself.

Or worse. If she’d still be in contact with him, or even still seeing him.

“Oh my god…” Rose was shaking her head. “I… can’t believe it.”

“Come on,” said Malcolm. “Let’s go inside.”

He put an arm around her and led her to the ladder. The pain in his shoulder made him wince as he climbed down, but it was only negligibly noticeable with all of the other thoughts swarming his brain.

The two of them sat on his mattress and were silent for a time. Malcolm rubbed his hand along her back, wishing that there was something more that he could say or do.

“This is insane…” muttered Rose. “You’re sure that he was talking about me?”

“Positive,” said Malcolm. “Unless there are other shadow sprytes named Rosalina in the area.”

“Rosalina…” said Rose. “That only makes it weirder for me. Like I have a twin that’s done all of this stuff and just… passed it off to me, without explaining.”

Malcolm couldn’t resist chuckling a little.

“I can relate to that,” he said.

Rose’s shoulders tensed up, and Malcolm suddenly doubted that he actually could relate to what she was going through. Second Wind had only been “born” a few weeks earlier. Rose’s previous life had spanned decades before she became a spryte, and she had essentially lost all memory of it.

“I have to meet him,” said Rose. “Do you know where he is? Did he leave a phone number? Any contact info?”

Malcolm frowned slightly, but nodded.

“He did,” he said. He felt a tiny prick of jealousy at the expression he read on her face. It was curiosity mixed with longing, with a dash of anticipation and fear. “The Clearwood Motel. Room 16.”

“I’ll find him tomorrow, then,” said Rose. “And… see what he wants.”

A couple silent seconds passed by, each one agonizing to Malcolm for reasons he didn’t quite understand.

She wasn’t this eager to find Leah, her sister, back when we first got information on where she was.

Malcolm blinked. If Rose had a fiancé, why hadn’t Leah told her about it when the two had reunited? They’d had weeks together after he escaped Rain Dancer and Rose had stayed behind with the cult, the Awakened Children.

“Leah didn’t tell you,” Malcolm said. “Isn’t that weird? You talked with her about who you’d been before you turned into a spryte, didn’t you?”

Rose nodded slowly.

“It seemed like she was keeping something from me,” said Rose. “I did ask if I had any boyfriends or husbands out there that I might have forgotten about, I’m sure of it. Leah just changed the subject each time, brought up some other interesting fact about me to distract me from the topic. I should have pressed her on it more, but at that time… I was desperate for any information about myself.”

“That doesn’t bode well,” said Malcolm. “You know, he didn’t actually give me any proof of what he said. He just knew your name, and that you were a shadow spryte.”

Rose folded her arms.

“And you think it’s likely that some random stranger would show up in Vanderbrook claiming to be my fiancé, because…?

“I’m not saying it’s likely, just that it’s possible,” said Malcolm. “You should be careful about meeting with him.”

Rose set a hand on Malcolm’s knee. She turned her head to look at him and slowly licked her lips.

“You’re worried,” she said.

“Of course I am,” said Malcolm. “I care about you. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“Do you want to come with me to meet with him?” asked Rose.

Malcolm hesitated before answering. He had to fight back his first response.

“…No,” he said. “I don’t think I should. I already feel bad enough about this. All this time… you’ve been engaged. And I’ve been sleeping with you. Things could get really weird, really fast if I was there with you for your reunion.”

He winced at his own word choice.

“It’s not going to be a reunion, Malcolm,” said Rose. “I’m not leaving you for him. I feel like I shouldn’t even need to explain that.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder.

“Rose…” Malcolm considered his words carefully. “You don’t know what you might remember, when you see him. If the two of you were happy together, if you had a life together… It might not be that simple.”

Malcolm remembered something Rose had told him back in the first few days they’d met. She’d said that all she really wanted was to settle down and live a normal life.

Maybe she did. Maybe that life has just been waiting for her to remember it, and come back to it.

“You’re an idiot,” said Rose. “And I think I know my heart better than you do, even taking the possibility of long lost memories into consideration.”

She kissed his neck softly, her lips hot against the sensitive skin. Malcolm hesitated, letting her take his cheek into her hand, but making no move to pull her into an embrace.

“Kiss me,” she whispered.

“Rose,” he said. “I feel… weird about it, right now.”

“So do I,” she said. “But not so weird that I’m not aware of the fact that we’re both sitting on your bed.”

She unzipped her sweatshirt and let it slip off her shoulders. She hadn’t bothered to wear anything other than a bra underneath, and she pulled Malcolm’s hand around to rest on top of a clasp, like an older woman walking a young virgin through his first time.

“I make my own choices, Malcolm,” said Rose. “And each time we’ve been together, it hasn’t been because I’m confused, and lost my memory. It’s because I wanted to be with you.”

“But…” Malcolm frowned. “I can’t forget about this. I know that you have a fiancé, now.”

He let his hand fall away from her bra. Rose scowled at him and pushed him back on the bed, one of her hands coming close enough to his shoulder to send a small twinge of pain through him. She let her hands slide under his shirt and caressed his stomach before slowly making their way down to his crotch and kneading his burgeoning erection.

“It’s obviously not that much of a turn off for you,” whispered Rose. “Maybe it’s the opposite? Maybe you’re intrigued by the idea of taking another man’s fiancé and having your way with her.”

She brought her face down to his hardness and rubbed her cheek on it through Malcolm’s pants. Rose slid the rest of her body up until she was lying on top of him, and then kissed him passionately.

Malcolm felt his reluctance fading as heat kindled between them. He finally let his hands unhook her bra. Rose sat back up and let it fall off her, the edge of it catching for a split second on her dark nipples and causing her breasts to bounce as they came into view.

Rose kissed him again, her hands working quickly to unzip his jeans and slide them down. Malcolm hesitated as he felt her slip her fingers into the waistband of his boxers. He pushed Rose back slightly. She pouted for a moment, and then turned the corners of her mouth up into a mischievous smile.

“So this fiancé of mine…” she said, casually. “You said he was handsome?”

Malcolm glared at her. Rose’s smile widened, daring him to punish her for the comment. He felt suddenly aggressive, and took her by the shoulders to flip onto the bed underneath him.

He practically ripped her sweatpants off her, followed quickly after by her panties and his own boxers. It was stupid, and he knew that Rose was teasing him to elicit this exact reaction. He didn’t care. Primal instincts surged through Malcolm, and he wasn’t gentle as he pushed his shaft into her.

“Oh!” Rose cried out. She arched her back and ran her hands over his chest, taking care to avoid his wound. Malcolm seized her hands and pinned them over her head on the bed, sliding back and then pushing into her hard.

Several of Rose’s shadow tendrils curled out from the corners of the room. Instead of using them to playfully wrestle with Malcolm, or caress some part of his body, Rose twisted them around his and her hands, tying them together. His fingers were laced through hers, and the shadows made it so that he couldn’t let go without a struggle.

Malcolm kissed Rose, and felt her lips passionately moving in response to his. She was softly moaning as he moved inside of her, and the noise had a hint of emotion to it.

It’s not just me. Rose is uneasy about what her past could hold, and what it could take away from her.

Malcolm kissed her deeply, pulling his hands back from hers and breaking the shadow bonds. He groped at her breasts, pushing into her with all the energy he could summon. Pleasure echoed through him in time with the hard rhythm of their sweaty bodies, and he savored it.

In the relatively short time that he and Rose had known each other, they’d been friends, enemies, and lovers. There was an emotional momentum to their relationship that couldn’t be denied. Malcolm felt the fear of losing her, and it pushed him to give her more of himself. He slammed into her roughly, almost too hard. Rose cried out in ecstasy.

He kept going, even as he felt her muscles releasing tension, and Rose melting back into the bed. He kissed her deeply, spearing into her, questions reverberating in his head. So what if she was another man’s fiancée? Wasn’t she naked, in Malcolm’s bed? Willing and open, both sexually and emotionally.

The illicit thought sent tingles of arousal through him. Malcolm pumped into Rose harder, letting his rhythm intensify until his body began to overheat, like the engine of a car pushed too fast and too far. He leaned his head against the nape of her neck as he unloaded, and felt her wrap her legs around him, locking him in.

“I’m here,” whispered Rose. “I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Malcolm heard her words, and believed them.

CHAPTER 14

Malcolm fell asleep with Rose still in his arms. At some point during the night, he was dimly aware of her rising and pulling her clothes back on. She sat down next to him on the mattress and kissed him on the forehead.

“I’m going to meet with him tomorrow at four,” whispered Rose. “You are welcome to come with me, if you’re worried. I mean it.”

She kissed him again in the same spot and ran her hands through his hair affectionately. Malcolm feigned sleep, and listened as she walked across the room and climbed up the ladder and out the hatch.

He managed to get a few more hours of sleep, and woke up feeling rested. His shoulder wound was aching, but in a good way that told him he was healing. He changed the bandage and ate a couple of granola bars from his dwindling pantry.

Malcolm’s mind was still on Rose and her fiancé, but he forced it in a different direction. Multi was still as much of a threat to him and the city as ever. He thought back to the previous day, remembering both the encounter on the bus and Shield Maiden’s intel. He texted Second Wind.

MALCOLM: Interested in stopping a fertilizer truck heist this morning?

A couple minutes went by.

SECOND WIND: Will it stop Multi from shitting Vanderbrook up?

MALCOLM: Yes.

SECOND WIND: Then yes.

Malcolm left and met up with his copy in their usual spot in the park across from his old apartment. It felt very strange watching Second Wind walk out from his apartment’s entrance, almost as though he was having an out of body experience.

Despite the relatively upbeat tone of the replies he’d sent Malcolm through text, Second Wind looked tired and stressed. Malcolm frowned as he walked toward him. Second Wind looked away when their eyes met.

“You don’t look so good,” said Malcolm.

“Lack of sleep,” said Second Wind. “So… Fertilizer? That seems like a relatively pedestrian way for Multi to make his bombs, given his background.”

Malcolm nodded, but recognized his own tactic of changing the subject by bringing up work.

“What happened to make you miss out on getting enough sleep?” he asked.

Second Wind shrugged.

“Too much thinking, not enough drinking.”

Malcolm rolled his eyes.

“Funny,” he said. “Seriously. What’s on your mind?”

Second Wind gave him an odd look. He was trying to keep his expression neutral, but Malcolm could see anger brewing underneath the surface.

“Shouldn’t you know?” asked Second Wind. “You’re me. The original. Shouldn’t you have a perfect understanding of how I’m feeling?”

Malcolm raised an eyebrow.

Am I equally transparent when I get into a sulky mood?

“Okay,” he said, feeling a bit testy. “You’re in a bad mood, and you’re me. Were they out of classic crust frozen pizzas at the grocery store?”

Malcolm wasn’t sure if he’d meant it as a barb or a joke, but Second Wind didn’t seem to take it as either. He just shrugged and looked away from Malcolm, signaling that the conversation on this topic was over, for now.

“I got shot,” Malcolm admitted. “A second time, after the shoulder graze Tapestry gave me.”

He forced a cheery smile onto his face and gestured to his shoulder.

“Jesus, man,” said Second Wind. “By who?”

“The police,” said Malcolm. “I escaped from them by flying through a sewer tunnel, but I fell into it first. Yes, as in… into it.”

“That’s disgusting,” said Second Wind. “I’m surprised your wounds didn’t get infected.”

“Yeah, so am I,” said Malcolm. “Look, we both have it hard. I don’t know what’s bothering you, but trust me, the last few days have sucked for both of us. I was also held hostage on the bus yesterday by a Multi in a bomb vest.”

That took Second Wind by surprise. Malcolm couldn’t quite place the look on his face. It wasn’t fear, or concern, but rather, a curious anticipation. He looked down after a moment, again avoiding Malcolm’s gaze.

“We’ll have to assume that he’s everywhere,” said Second Wind. “Every public place. Either watching us, or waiting for an opportunity for another suicide attack.”

“This wasn’t a suicide attack, though,” said Malcolm. “That’s the only reason I’m still alive. He wanted something else.”

Malcolm hesitated, unsure of whether to tell Second Wind about Multi having discovered that he had a copy, and the relevant questions he’d asked. He felt a little ashamed over the fact that his instincts were urging him to keep that part to himself.

I haven’t told him about Rose, and the man claiming to be her fiancé, either.

He exhaled slowly.

“Anyway…” said Malcolm. “We should get moving. The fertilizer truck Multi is trying to hit will be coming from a farm outside of town. Quickest way for us to get there is to fly.”

Second Wind’s expression darkened.

“So the conversation is over?” he asked. “Just like that? No more questions from your pesky copy. And now, we’re off on a mission, with you in the lead.”

Malcolm felt a sudden surge of anger.

“Are you going to help with this or not?” The question came out with more whip to it than he’d intended.

Second Wind glared at him, his nostrils flaring slightly. He didn’t say anything, but when Malcolm pulled his vigilante mask over his face and kicked off into the air, he followed after him.

Flying, as Malcolm realized early on in his career as a champion, does wonders for the mood. His method for it, and by extension, Second Wind’s method, was more about using concentrated bursts of wind to throw himself into the air repeatedly, almost like a child bouncing with a pogo stick, but higher up, and on a grander scale.

Free flying, drawing upon his wind manipulation without reservation, created too much of a body load for Malcolm to maintain for long. He’d tried it a couple of times before, and the euphoria and confusion had almost led him into dark territory, power abuse that would end with him turning into a monster.

Malcolm hummed a Nirvana song under his breath as he gazed upon the scenery down below. Vanderbrook always looked so small from above, sleepy and serene, full of trees and grass and stories carved by streets. Second Wind was to Malcolm’s left as they traveled, and he saw that his copy had a wide grin on his face.

Nobody can stay mad for long when they’re literally flying. But I’ll have to talk to him more about what’s bothering him.

The two of them maintained their height, and for good reason. It would ruin the reputation of “Wind Runner” for him to be seen in the company of the “Gifted Vigilante”. They both had their roles to play. Malcolm could see it, and he knew that Second Wind could too, even if sometimes less than willingly.

The farm Shield Maiden had mentioned to him was miles down the road from Vanderbrook, but they flew in a straight line at speeds that no car could have matched. Malcolm got a glimpse of Second Wind, his hair wild and tangled in the wind, clothes flapping like a flag on a windy day. He felt an odd sort of pride in him, which made him wonder if it was a sort of arrogance, to feel pride over one’s identical copy.

They descended onto the farm, and at a glance, Malcolm knew that they were too late. A man wearing overalls with a red stain on his back lay face down in the middle of a freshly plowed pasture. They walked over and checked to see if he was breathing. He wasn’t.

“He hasn’t been dead for more than a few minutes,” said Malcolm. “We can still catch them.”

Second Wind nodded.

“We already came down one length of the road, and didn’t see the truck. There’s only one other way they could be going.”

Malcolm looked at his double and raised his eyebrows. The silent tension that followed announced the race as clearly as any starting pistol. The two of them took to the air at the same instant, both of them drawing upon the limits of their wind manipulation in a mad rush through the sky.

They were even for the first few seconds, both of them flying into the current, trying to reduce their drag profiles by pulling in their arms and straightening out their legs. Then, Second Wind pulled ahead.

Malcolm pushed himself harder, drawing upon his powers a little more than he knew he should. Second Wind did the same, extending past his usual limits to maintain his lead. Malcolm knew that it must be taking a toll on him. He slowed down a little.

I’m going to let him win. And he’s going to be mad that I did. But what am I supposed to do?

A real race between them, with both putting all of their abilities into matching each other, would have tested the limits of their stabilizers and possibly their minds. Malcolm had seen a champion turn into a monster before. It really didn’t take that much, and he wasn’t interested in flirting with disaster for the sake of his pride or Second Wind’s.

CHAPTER 15

The truck appeared as they overtook a curve in the road. Malcolm gestured to Second Wind, and they dropped like birds of prey. The truck consisted of a small cab with a tank on the back. The tank was cylindrical and looked like it once might have been painted green. Even from the air, the odor of manure was pungent.

Two black cars, one in front and one in back, were escorting it down the road. Malcolm landed on the front vehicle, forcing the convoy to a stop, while Second Wind landed on the truck.

As soon as the car came to a stop, several bullets tore through the roof, one of them missing the edge of Malcolm’s foot by less than an inch. He leapt onto the road, rolling to dodge more bullets as four Multis climbed out to face him.

Malcolm deflected their bullets as they opened fire, all of them wielding pistols of a similar model. It was tricky to use the wind to divert so many bullets at once, and his focus was so concentrated that he almost missed the grenade they rolled in his direction.

He reacted on instinct, falling to the ground and throwing the grenade, using a powerful blast of air to launch it even higher into the air. Even so, the force of the blast flattened his already prone body against the ground. It also stunned the group of Multis, and knocked loose at least one of their weapons.

Second Wind let out a roar of anger, and then a second grenade blast shook the ground. Malcom saw that this one hadn’t detonated in the air, but in the midst of a group of Multis. A red spray pattern surrounded by bits and pieces of body parts was all that remained.

Malcom puzzled over Second Wind’s decision to heave the grenade at the ground instead of the sky. Both he and Second Wind had been put in almost the same situation, up against the same opponents. Copies fighting copies. Both groups of Multis had opened fire, and then attempted an attack with a grenade.

I launched mine into the air. He launched his back at his opponents. Was that just a fluke? A random variation caused by some otherwise insignificant detail?

One of the Multis rushed toward him in a suicide charge. Malcolm had just enough time to assess that he wasn’t wearing an explosive vest before he pulled from his body’s heat reserves to form a fireball and pushed with a gust of wind toward the attacker. It struck the Multi in the chest, dealing a painful, disabling, but probably not fatal injury.

The remaining three Multis opened fire on him. Malcolm dodged instead of deflecting, putting the lead car in between him and their bullets. He heard the whoosh of wind manipulation as Second Wind cut through the air, slamming into the Multis head on.

He was in the middle of them, too close for a regular opponent to risk shooting in fear of friendly fire. The Multis didn’t care. Two of them took aim and fired. Second Wind ducked, and instead of just deflecting the bullets, he redirected them into the body of the Multi nearest to him. Malcolm had considered trying that move, but was sure that he had never actually done it before.

The door of the fertilizer truck opened, and an additional Multi leapt out, wielding a shotgun and taking aim at Malcolm. That made nine in total, for a job that could have theoretically been done by a single person. Malcolm rushed at his new opponent, fearing that his wind powered bullet deflection would have trouble up against a scattershot.

The shotgun clearly didn’t belong to the Multi. He pulled the trigger and nothing happened. He was in the midst of checking the safety when Malcolm slammed into him.

More gunshots sounded from Second Wind’s direction as Malcolm fell to the ground, wrestling his opponent. Multi had not been a big man, nor overly athletic, but he had clearly made gains as a demon and passed them onto his copies. Malcolm punched his opponent several times in the face, each blow doing little more than annoying him.

The Multi somehow managed to pull his legs into his chest and kick. Malcolm flew up into the air, traveling fifteen feet before landing in a wind cushioned heap. He caught a glimpse of Second Wind finishing off his group of Multis with a pistol in each hand.

Second Wind had several open bullet wounds, enough of them that Malcolm couldn’t count them at a glance. His heart skipped a beat until he remembered that his copy shared his power mimicry, and would likely have Tapestry’s regeneration on reserve. Most definitely, given that he was still standing, and still fighting.

The Multi who’d been driving the truck pressed forward on the attack. Malcolm was thinking clearly this time. He let Multi get a hold of him before he began to overheat his skin, charring the demon wherever their bodies came into contact. The Multi screamed in pain. Malcolm punched him hard in the face, and this time he went down, stunned, but not unconscious.

Malcolm looked in Second Wind’s direction. All of the Multis there were dead. In total, Second Wind had done most of the killing, or at least delivered most of the fatal blows. The road was charred from where the grenade had gone off, with blood and various unidentifiable gory bits scattered in a circle around the center of the blast.

“Are you okay?” asked Malcolm. Second Wind looked up at him and gave a quick nod.

“Regeneration,” Second Wind said, gesturing to the bullet holes.

I didn’t just mean physically…

“Was it… necessary, for you to kill all of them?” asked Malcolm.

It was not the right question to ask. He could tell as soon as he saw Second Wind’s expression shift. He struggled with the regret and the shame exactly how Malcolm would have, and it would add another level to whatever emotional baggage he was already wrestling with.

“Sorry,” said Malcolm. “I didn’t mean it as an accusation. We still have one left alive to question.”

Malcolm moved to grab the Multi on the ground. He met the man’s eyes for an instant, and then watched in horror as he casually reached underneath his shirt and pulled out a pistol.

Malcolm was ready to deflect the bullet, but the Multi didn’t aim the gun at him. Instead, he set the barrel of it to his chin, tilted the gun slightly, and pulled the trigger. It happened so fast that there was nothing Malcolm or Second Wind could have done about it.

“Jesus Christ,” muttered Malcolm. “That… was a little extreme.”

He looked over at Second Wind, expecting him to concur. Hot rage shone in Second Wind’s eyes.

“Extreme,” said Second Wind, voice dripping with contempt. “Did you forget that he’s a copy? They’re all… just copies. It would be extreme if this Multi, or the ones who were next to the grenade, if they actually had anything waiting for them. Anyone who’d miss them.”

“Just copies?” asked Malcolm. He shook his head, feeling as though he was understanding Second Wind less and less. “How can you, of all people, say that?”

Again, it wasn’t until the words had left Malcolm’s mouth that he realized just how wrong they were for the situation.

“I am just a copy!” shouted Second Wind. “Are you seriously going to try and say you have a better perspective on this than I do?”

“Hey,” said Malcolm. “Relax. Come on. You know I didn’t mean it like that. And you aren’t just a copy. Look, for now, we have roles to play. But once things settle down in Vanderbrook…”

Second Wind’s expression hadn’t softened. If anything, he looked even angrier.

“No please, go ahead,” he said. “Finish that thought. Once things settle down in Vanderbrook… then what? You’ll send me off to do whatever I want? Take back your life for yourself? It’s pretty obvious that we both can’t settle down and grow old as next-door neighbors.”

“That’s not what I was going to say,” said Malcolm. “And that’s not fair of you to say. You’re the one living in ‘our’ apartment. You kept most of what made up my life. You know you did.”

“You gave me the boring parts of your life,” said Second Wind, sourly. “And you ran off with Rose to do exactly what we used to dream of doing.”

Rose. Is that what this is about? I should be able to figure out what he’s thinking, shouldn’t I?

“Hey,” said Malcolm. “I never intended this. I didn’t think I’d survive the encounter with Rain Dancer. You know that as well as I do.”

“So that makes it all better, then?”

“You know what, fuck you,” said Malcolm. “Go ahead and throw your temper tantrum. Be mad at me for something that we both did. You have the same memories I do, up until I used Multi’s power. You remember what went into that decision.”

Second Wind was silent, but clearly not chastened. He stared at Malcolm with an intense look on his face. It was the same face Malcolm saw in the mirror, but at the same time, it wasn’t. How much had they changed in the past few weeks?

Malcolm had more to say, and he was sure that his copy did as well. Unfortunately, he could already hear the approaching sirens.

“We can talk about this more later,” said Malcolm. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

Second Wind gave a bitter smile.

“We really aren’t the same person anymore,” he said. “See, in case you forgot, Wind Runner is a champion. Wind Runner doesn’t run away from the police in a situation like this. He waits for them to arrive, tells them what happened. Takes responsibility for his own actions.”

“And also takes selfies with people,” said Malcolm. “Flirts with his female fans. Smiles, cracks bad jokes. Keeps things light. Remember all of that?”

Second Wind didn’t say anything. The smile never left his face, and his eyes burned with the worst kinds of emotions, jealousy, hatred, and misery.

Malcolm let out a long sigh, and then leapt into flight.

CHAPTER 16

Malcolm had intended to check out the other tip Shield Maiden had given him, the one about the electronics store. It made sense for him to watch both in the same day, in case foiling one of Multi’s plans clued him into the risk of him foiling the other.

But the situation with Second Wind was something that concerned Malcolm even more. The last thing he’d expected when he’d decided to create a new identity for himself was for Second Wind to grow volatile and unstable in his old one.

He knew he had to get some answers and knew where to go. Malcolm flew across Vanderbrook, staying high in the air and out of sight until he reached the park across from his old apartment. He touched down, pulled his mask off, and then casually walked across the street.

He went up the stairs and down the hallway, pausing outside his doorway. The lock had never been a very good one, and Malcolm had forgotten his keys enough times to have developed a strategy for getting the door open.

Pulling a bankcard from his wallet, he pushed the door as far as it would go while sliding the card through the crack. Once the tension subsided, he slowly pushed the door open, wondering what he would find.

Second Wind had taken up a new hobby. Dozens of books were scattered across Malcolm’s couch and floor, most of them with titles related to philosophy or self-help. It fit with what Malcolm had sensed in his copy during their conversations that day, but it still made him uneasy.

At a glance, Malcolm’s bedroom was about the same as it had been when he’d lived in it. As he approached the bed, however, he found another surprise waiting for him. The gun that Tapestry had given Malcolm when he’d first become a champion was sitting on the bed stand. It was loaded, and the safety was off.

Is he paranoid? Suicidal? What the hell is going on inside his head?

Malcolm was still pondering the question and searching for clues when the door to the apartment swung wide open. He froze, silently cursing himself and knowing that being caught would only drive a deep wedge between him and Second Wind.

“There you are,” said Tapestry. “Why have you been ignoring me all morning?”

Malcolm slowly turned to look at her. She wore a black sweater and tight jeans, and instead of her usual ponytail, she had on an elastic hairband that let her blonde locks fall loose behind her ears. She smiled at him as she walked toward him. Malcolm was at a loss for words.

“Uh…” He smiled back at her. The last time he’d seen her, she’d shot him in the shoulder. And the time before that…

The time before that was right before I used Multi’s power to create Second Wind. I’ve missed her… I’ve missed her so much…

“You look like you just saw a ghost,” said Tapestry. She stepped in closer to him, cupped Malcolm’s cheek in her hand, and then kissed him.

Malcolm was so stunned that he almost forgot to kiss her back. He’d been getting close to Tapestry before Second Wind had entered the picture. Perhaps he’d even been on the verge of something more with her, something closer to a real relationship instead of volatility with sex occasionally thrown in.

It made perfect sense that Second Wind would have picked up where he’d left off. Second Wind was him, in all the ways that mattered to the world. Tapestry was oblivious to the fact that he’d made a copy of himself. On top of that, he’d been with Rose for the past few weeks, and while they weren’t quite in a relationship, they’d been seeing each other regularly.

Malcolm considered all of this, and still felt a weird, confusing sense of jealousy. Had she and Second Wind done more with each other than just kiss? Of course they had. He reminded himself that it was ridiculous for it to bother him, but his emotions seemed to have plans of their own.

She pulled back, and Malcolm just stared at her. Was he imagining it, or was there also a change in Tapestry’s demeanor? She seemed more relaxed, and there was a lightness about her expression and smile that reminded him a little of her great granddaughter, Melanie.

“Are you okay?” asked Tapestry. “Did something happen?”

“No!” Malcolm said, quickly. “I’m fine. Just… a little tired.”

“I’m sorry about what I said last night,” said Tapestry.

“What you… said last night?” Malcolm repeated slowly. Tapestry gave him a weird look.

“Yeah,” she said. “I may have been overreacting a little. But I still stand by my point, Malcolm.”

Which was…?

“Uh.” Malcolm shrugged. He was having the absurd realization that it was actually quite difficult to pretend to be himself. “I mean, we both made good points. Didn’t we?”

What he knew he should be doing was taking the conversation elsewhere, or even ending it entirely. But Second Wind’s behavior had stirred his curiosity. Malcolm was living under a new identity now, but it didn’t stop him from feeling like he was being affected by the choices and decisions of his old one.

“Vanderbrook needs you, Malcolm,” said Tapestry. Her voice was quiet and serious. “It needs Wind Runner. You’re so much more appreciated than you know.”

She gave him a starry eyed look. Malcolm couldn’t help but wonder just what Second Wind had said, or done, to endear her to him like this. And then, Tapestry was kissing him again. He let his hands slide up the sides of her body, feeling her breasts pushing against his chest. He’d missed her. God, he’d missed her.

It took an immense force of will for Malcolm to pull back from her. Yes, he had missed Tapestry, but he reminded himself that she had not missed him. Second Wind had been there for her, would continue to be there for her, and would be back at literally any minute.

“Sorry,” he said. “My mind is still, uh, focused on work right now.”

“Of course,” said Tapestry. “That’s fine.”

The flush in her cheeks contradicted her.

“So…” said Malcolm. “Have you heard anything new about Multi since we last spoke?”

If the question was a weird one, Tapestry didn’t let it show. Second Wind’s recent behavior had left Malcolm wondering if he was getting all of the information he needed from his copy. Clearly, there were things being kept from him, and some of them might be less innocuous than the current state of Second Wind’s love life.

“My contacts have been coming up dry,” said Tapestry. “We still don’t know where he’s getting his weapons from. Or more importantly, his explosives.”

“If I had to guess, I’d say he’s probably making them himself,” said Malcolm. “That’s the kind of guy Multi was. Maybe we could check out some local electronics stores?”

Tapestry nodded.

“I’m also going to investigate Terri’s Tavern tonight, the monster bar,” she said.

Malcolm furrowed his brow.

“Uh, seriously?” he asked. “Do you think that they would react well to that?”

“They let you and Savior in,” said Tapestry. “Without too much fuss, from what I hear. And unless things have changed since the last time I went to a bar, pretty girls have an easier time getting by bouncers than two bachelors.”

“Fair enough,” said Malcolm. “But seriously, when was the last time you went to a bar? 1945? 1950?”

Tapestry looked at him like she couldn’t believe he’d just said that. Malcolm grinned at her, accepting her playful punch on the shoulder. A smile crept back onto her face, and she sighed.

“I’m glad to see your sense of humor is coming back,” she said. “Though I don’t think it would behoove me to dignify your question with a serious answer.”

“Of course not,” said Malcolm.

“Anyway, beyond Multi, I’ve also heard rumors of a gifted woman who has been picking up men from bars and leaving them dead in their bedrooms,” said Tapestry. “So I’ll have a chance at killing two birds with one stone. Three, if I find out anything about the Gifted Vigilante.”

Malcolm kept his internal reaction from showing on his face. He slowly nodded.

“I guess,” he said. “Though I don’t think that guy should be our top priority. He doesn’t seem all that evil, really.”

“It’s not about good and evil,” said Tapestry, stiffly. “He’s not playing by the rules.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to hunt him down and kill him,” said Malcolm. “We have Multi to deal with right now, as our top priority.”

“But this guy is powerful,” said Tapestry. “You’ve seen what he can do. He’s a renegade. I already gave him a chance to surrender. Now, it’s time to take him down.”

“Okay, Rambo,” said Malcolm. “Good luck with that.”

“You’d better hope so,” said Tapestry. “You’ll be my backup.”

Malcolm chuckled. He was about to say something when he realized that it was already late-afternoon. He took out his phone and checked the time.

3:50. Ten minutes before Rose’s meeting with Brenden. I’d just barely make it in time if I left now.

Despite what he’d said to her the previous night, Malcolm suddenly felt anxious about letting her go to the meeting alone. It wasn’t jealousy. Or rather, it wasn’t entirely jealousy.

He was worried for Rose, for what might happen to her when she started to remember, but also for her physical safety. She didn’t have the memories to confirm that Brenden was who he said it was. It could very well be a trap.

“I forgot something,” said Malcolm. “An appointment I have to make.”

Tapestry frowned at him.

“What is it?”

“I’ll explain later,” he said. For once, it felt a little nice knowing that it would be Second Wind fumbling for an excuse, and not him. Tapestry looked a little annoyed, but she didn’t object, leaving the apartment alongside him and saying her goodbye.

CHAPTER 17

Malcolm reached the motel in time to see Rose walking up the stairs toward Brenden’s room. She didn’t usually travel during the day, and it was clear from her miss matched outfit that fashion sense had been at war with practicality.

She wore a black sweatshirt with the hood pulled up over her head, her face barely peaking from the shadows. Underneath she wore a short grey skirt over black leggings. Her hands were clenched within the sleeves of the sweatshirt, and her shoulders were tensed.

He hesitated, part of him wanting to call out to her. Another part of him realized that he didn’t have a place in their reunion, unless his goal was to make it weird. So instead, Malcolm took up a spot on the roof of one of the buildings across the street. Brenden had left the curtains open, and he could see him sitting on the bed, waiting for Rose to knock.

Great. So instead of being a third wheel, I’ve decided to go full on stalker.

He reminded himself that he was just looking out for Rose, that she had invited him along, and focused on what he needed to do next. Wind manipulation provided Malcolm a couple of less obvious abilities. By stilling his mind and focusing on small vibrations in the ear, he could use the wind to listen at a distance.

He didn’t hear anything at first, and wasn’t sure if he was doing it correctly until he heard the sound of Rose knocking. Brenden stood up from the bed as though someone had stuck him with a cattle prod. Malcolm heard him mutter something to himself, and watched him walk slowly toward the door. He hesitated, and then opened it.

Malcolm realized that he’d been holding his breath. He trusted Rose, but nagging insecurities in both his head and heart had prepared him for the worst. Part of him had secretly been bracing for a romantic reunion between the two, Brenden sweeping Rose off her feet and into bed and leaving Malcolm to ponder his own inadequacies.

The reality of the situation was much more tense and awkward. There was no sign of recognition on Rose’s face. She looked as though she didn’t know what to say, like a woman on a blind date, seeing their partner for the first time. Brenden’s back was turned to Malcolm, but he was slowly shaking his head, as though in disbelief.

“Brenden?” Rose asked, hesitantly.

“Rose…” said Brenden.

Another couple of seconds went by before Brenden stepped back and gestured for her to come in. He tried to help her out of her sweatshirt. Rose let him, with a reluctant, uncomfortable expression on her face.

“Uh…” said Rose. “I got your message. About finding you here.”

“Good, good,” said Brenden. “I mean, obviously you did. For you to be here.”

His voice shook a little as he spoke, but not from nervousness. Brenden looked and sounded like a tightly wound ball of tension and emotion. Rose sat down on the bed. Brenden seemed to hesitate before choosing a chair situated opposite the bed.

Neither of them said anything for what felt like an eternity. Rose kept looking at Brenden, examining his face and features, like someone trying to place where they knew someone from. Brenden stared down at his legs. He wouldn’t meet her gaze, and it contributed to the awkwardness of the moment.

“Brenden,” said Rose, finally. “I don’t remember anything. I feel like… you need to know that, before anything else.”

“Oh,” said Brenden. “Well. I didn’t expect you to.”

“So…” said Rose.

“So…” replied Brenden.

Malcolm cringed a little, almost wishing for Brenden to find his confidence and charm her, just to make the scene easier to watch.

It’s not a trap, that much is clear. He’s not smooth enough for it to be a trap.

“Can you tell me?” asked Rose. “About myself? About us? You were my fiancé… weren’t you? I remember so little that I can’t even confirm it to myself.”

“Yeah, we were engaged.” Brenden exhaled, the sound slow, almost painful. “Wow. It’s a lot… to tell you about it all.”

“Relax,” said Rose. “I’ll be patient. Why don’t you start with how we met?”

Brenden cleared his throat.

“College,” he mumbled. “We were friends. We didn’t date right away.”

Silence. Far too much silence.

“Are you scared of me, Brenden?” asked Rose, flatly. “Because I’m a spryte?”

Brenden acted like he didn’t hear her.

“Our first date,” he said. “Why don’t I tell you about that? Maybe it will help you remember…”

He turned and looked at Rose. She nodded slowly.

“I wanted to take you to dinner and a movie. You said you hated movie theaters, that the floors were sticky, and the food was too expensive so you always had to sneak your own candy in.” Brenden let out a nervous laugh. “So I said… I suggested… That we go to a drive-in, instead. And you said yes.”

Rose listened. Her face was still, but there was a gleam of emotional longing in her eyes.

“I picked you up. You were wearing this amazing black dress. I thought it was wasted on a drive-in, where nobody was gonna see you, but you said it would just be for my eyes only, then.”

Brenden grinned at Rose. She smiled back at him. She didn’t say anything, but Brenden seemed to relax a little as he continued.

“My car broke down on the way. It had some engine problems that I’d been ignoring. It was pretty embarrassing. We were only just down the road from the drive-in, too. So I said, and this made you laugh, that we should just go and watch the movie anyway, even if we didn’t have the speaker and the sound.”

Rose’s smile grew wider. Her eyes were locked onto his. Malcolm felt a stab of jealousy, but it was outweighed by another, more complicated emotion. He wanted Rose to hear all of this. He cared enough about her to want her to know who she’d been, and what her life had been like.

“So we sat on this hill overlooking the screen, way, way back. You’d brought candy with you, hidden in your handbag. You said something about how old habits die hard, even if you didn’t have to sneak the stuff in. The movie started, and it was boring without sound, so I… did the voices.”

“You did the voices?” asked Rose, lifting an eyebrow.

“I pretended like I knew what they were saying,” he said. “Made up a plot through the dialogue. The movie was like, two hours long, and I kept doing it the whole time. By the end, you were laughing so hard, it was ridiculous.”

Brenden glanced away from her, and then looked back. He hesitantly reached his hand out and set it to her cheek.

“I… think I fell in love with you that night,” he said. “Or at least, I fell in love with the fact that I could make you laugh like that.”

“Brenden…” Rose’s face was uncertain. However, she made no move to stop Brenden as he leaned in and kissed her.

God damn it. I shouldn’t be here.

She pushed him back slightly after a second, not far enough to be out of range for another kiss, but enough to express her hesitation.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “There’s something I need to tell you. There’s someone else that I love.”

Brenden didn’t react at all to her statement. It was as though she hadn’t said anything. He sighed, and gave her cheek another caress.

“This would be so much easier if you remembered,” he said. “If you remembered everything.”

He let his arm slide to the bed, and then reached behind his back. Malcolm stared uncomprehendingly at the object Brenden held when he brought it back into view. It was a gun, and it took Malcolm far too long to realize it and react to the fact that Brenden was pointing it at Rose.

Rose’s mouth formed a tiny, confused circle. Brenden pulled the trigger before she could say anything, shooting her in the upper leg. The sound of the bullet shocked Malcolm’s sensitive, wind enhanced ears, but the pain of that was nothing compared to the pain of listening to Rose’s scream.

CHAPTER 18

Malcolm went in through the window. It wasn’t a calculated move to catch Brenden off guard. It was a line drive, the shortest path between points A and B. It was a desperate, visceral response, and he smashed through the glass without taking the time to consider breaking it beforehand.

He tackled Brenden and slammed him into the wall of the motel, leaving a vaguely person shaped dent. Brenden tried to push him back, but Malcolm was stronger and faster. He slammed his fist into the other man’s jaw once, twice, and pulled back for a third blow.

“Malcolm!” Rose’s voice was strained with pain and emotion. Malcolm turned to look at her. She was holding her upper thigh, trying to staunch the flow of blood.

The expression on her face hurt Malcolm more to see than her injury. There was so much betrayal and loss in her eyes. She was slowly shaking her head, and took a deep breath before speaking again.

“Please,” she said, voice a whisper. “Just get me out of here. Don’t… make this any worse.”

Malcom caught a sudden movement out of the corner of his eye and turned back to see Brenden taking aim, this time at him.

“Don’t!” cried Rose. She let out a single, pained sob. Malcolm hurried to his side, keeping his eyes on Brenden even as he leaned over to cradle Rose on the bed.

“I can’t just leave him,” said Malcolm.

“Please, Malcolm.” She squeezed his hand, pleading with her words and her eyes. “Please. Just get me out of here.”

Brenden looked momentarily stunned. Malcolm felt a cold rage for the man, but couldn’t ignore Rose’s request. He scooped her up into her arms, surprised by how light she felt, and carried her out the door. Brenden didn’t pursue them.

Once outside, Malcolm lifted off into the air. Using his wind manipulation to carry someone besides himself was dangerous, especially given that Rose was injured and it took more energy to hold them both steady. But he did it for her sake, knowing that a man carrying a spryte through the street, during daylight hours, would raise far too many questions.

“Keep pressure on your wound,” Malcolm said. He could feel a hot wetness on his chest. He glanced down expecting to see Rose’s blood on him, only to discover that it was mostly tears.

He used the wind to carry them over Vanderbrook as gently as he could while still going as fast as he could. A couple of people glanced up at them. Malcolm wasn’t high enough to be out of sight, but he’d already expended his budget for worrying on Rose’s condition.

The sun was slipping behind a cloud when he set down next to his hideout. Rose’s eyes were closed. He didn’t know if she was unconscious, or just unable to keep them open.

“I’m going to lower you down using the wind,” he said, as he opened the hatch. “I’ll follow right behind you, and I’ll… help get your wound cleaned up.”

If it’s serious, what can I do? She’s a spryte. I can’t just take her to a hospital.

“I’ll be fine,” mumbled Rose. Her tone of voice was anything but reassuring.

Malcolm carefully lowered her into the hideout on a cushion of wind. He didn’t bother to lock the hatch after him, quickly carrying her to his bed and setting a towel down underneath her. He had no more than the same crude first aid supplies he’d used on his own shoulder wound the night before, but he cut away the fabric of her leggings to get a look at her injury and went to work.

“The bullet is still inside you Rose,” muttered Malcolm. He swore under his breath. “This isn’t good. I’m… not sure what I can do, other than try to stop the bleeding.”

“Why?” she asked. The question wasn’t meant for him, but Malcolm tried to answer, anyway.

“He seemed unstable when I first met him,” said Malcolm. “I was a little worried that something like this might happen. That’s why I was watching out for you.”

Rose didn’t press him on that point, not even to make a joke about him stalking her. That worried Malcolm as much as the pain in her voice, and the look on her face.

“I’ll find a doctor,” said Malcolm. “Maybe… there is someone I can bribe to do it secretly, or something. I have money. I can make it happen.”

“Shield Maiden knows someone,” said Rose. “Call her.”

Malcolm frowned.

“Shield Maiden,” he repeated. “Alright. I can do that. Do you have the number?”

“It’s the one I gave you,” muttered Rose. “We… share… the line.”

She sounded tired, and he couldn’t tell if it was because of the bullet hole in her leg or if it was an emotional fatigue. He hoped for the first, a physical wound would heal pretty quickly, but a wound of the latter variety would likely get worse before it started to get better.

“I’m sorry, Rose,” said Malcolm. “I… should have…”

I should have what? What could I have possibly done to stop this?

“I felt what he was talking about,” whispered Rose. “He kissed me, and… I didn’t remember anything. But I felt the emotions come back. I did love him, Malcolm.”

Malcolm nodded slowly.

“And then,” continued Rose. “He… I don’t understand. Why did he try to kill me?”

It was as she said. Rose might not have had memories of Brenden, but pain and betrayal in her voice was just as raw. Malcolm took bandages and disinfectant out of his medical kit and went about cleaning her wound, listening to her ragged breathing. He put a temporary bandage on it when he was done, and then took out his phone.

“I’ll call Shield Maiden,” he said. “Just try to stay calm. Your emotions will make it harder for you to deal with injury if you don’t.”

“Okay,” said Rose. “Thank you… Malcolm. You saved me.”

She smiled at him, and Malcolm remembered the other thing. What she’d said to Brenden just before he’d shot her. The thing about having someone else in her life that she loved.

He put on his mask before dialing the number. Rose made a small noise. Malcolm hurried over to her, only realizing that she’d been chuckling until the movement made her groan with pain.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

“You put your mask on before talking to people on the phone?” she asked. “Do you think Shield Maiden will somehow hack your phone’s camera to get a look at you?”

Malcolm smiled back at her.

“I’m glad you’re feeling well enough to mock me,” he said.

“It would take more than one gunshot to stop me from doing that,” said Rose. Despite her words, Malcolm could still hear the pain in her tone, and see the sadness in her expression. He dialed the number for the phone in the spryte’s base.

Shield Maiden answered, and Malcolm had one of the strangest conversations of his life. He threw his voice to make it sound gruffer, and worked to keep his worry and concern out of his tone. Shield Maiden asked probing questions about where Rose was when she’d been shot, and what they’d been doing, but let it drop when she realized the danger her friend was in.

Malcolm waited impatiently by Rose’s side for nearly an hour, watching her slowly bleed through the towel he’d set underneath her on his bed. He didn’t care. A mattress was something he could replace.

He was about to head up to the warehouse to wait for Shield Maiden’s arrival when a sharp knock came at the hatch. Malcolm hurried over to it, pulling his mask back on and trying to keep paranoia in check.

It’s Shield Maiden. It has to be. Too much of a coincidence for it to be anyone else.

And it was. She climbed the ladder down into Malcolm’s hideout in a black gown, her hair woven into an intricate braid. She even had a little bit of make up on, and Malcolm realized that he’d interrupted her from something that night.

What surprised him was that she wasn’t alone. The blonde illusion spryte, Fantasy, followed after her, clad in sweatpants and a loose night shirt. She was very attractive, with curves in all the right places and dazzling eyes, though Malcolm barely noticed with Rose in such danger.

“She’s here,” he said gruffly. “The bullet is still inside her.”

Shield Maiden nodded. Fantasy made a show of folding her arms over her breasts and glancing around his hideout.

“This is very quaint,” said Fantasy. “You live a dangerous life, Mr. Vigilante.”

“Fantasy…” groaned Rose. “Please don’t flirt with my… friend.”

Malcolm knew that Rose must have lost a lot of blood, because her words verged on giving his identity away. He’d interacted with both her fellow sprytes before, and they knew that Rose had, at one time, been involved with Wind Runner.

“I wasn’t flirting with him,” protested Fantasy. “I was just suggesting that perhaps under different circumstances, I’d love to have a chat with him on how all this came to be.” She gave Rose an innocent look, but it melted after a second. “Okay, maybe I was flirting with him.”

“Well, enough,” said Rose. “I need a doctor. And to get back to the base.”

“I’m going to take you there in a bubble,” said Shield Maiden. “It’s the most comfortable means we have available. I’ve already gotten in touch with Rion. She’s a nurse, and will be able to help.”

Rose gave a tired nod. She let out a long sigh. Malcolm met her eyes and knew that her thoughts were still on what had happened. Brenden was a loose end, and an emotionally volatile one, at that. She gestured for Malcolm to come closer to her, and he did, leaning in close enough to hear her whisper.

“My, my,” said Fantasy. “Aren’t the two of you close?”

Rose glared at her, but it was sisterly, rather than angry.

“Don’t do anything stupid until the next time you see me,” she whispered.

“It might not be for a couple of days,” said Malcolm, eyeing her wound. “And it’s not like I know how to find you when you’re in your base.”

He’d been down to “Underworld”, as Rain Dancer had called it back when he’d been in power, once before. It was a series of underground chambers hidden deep within Halter City’s labyrinthian sewer system. Malcolm wasn’t looking forward to trudging through those tunnels in search of it after his last experience down a manhole.

“Call me,” said Rose. She gave a forced smile that was clearly for his benefit and turned her attention to Shield Maiden. “I’m ready.”

Shield Maiden walked over slowly, looking quite beautiful in her fancy black gown. She extended a hand, and an instant later, a multicolored bubble encircled Rose where she lay on the bed. It lifted into the air, shifting shape slightly until it matched the profile of a hospital stretcher.

“Thank you for calling us,” said Shield Maiden.

“You should do it more often,” added Fantasy, in a musical voice. “I’m always down for a good chat.”

“Fantasy!” snapped Rose’s muted voice from within the bubble.

CHAPTER 19

The sprytes left. Malcolm locked the hatch behind them and sighed as he stood in the center of his apartment. He’d been scared, though he hadn’t admitted it to himself, of the danger that Rose had been in. Feeling it melt off his shoulders was a relief, but it left room for him to think about the implications of what she’d been through that night.

Brenden. Why the hell did he shoot her?

Malcolm wanted to kill him. Rose had been smart to make him promise that he wouldn’t do anything stupid. His urge for vengeance was deep and primal, driven by protectiveness and a need for revenge.

He forced himself to set his anger aside and turned on the TV. The local news channel was in the middle of doing a story on a series of unexplained local killings. One of the anchors suggested that the victims matched each other enough to suggest a serial killer with a certain kind of appetite.

They were all men, killed with no sign of a struggle and no external wounds. They’d all had alcohol in their system, and people interviewed in the aftermath all claimed that they’d been seen at a bar, and in some cases, been seen leaving with an attractive woman. And most of them had criminal records.

It sounded more like misguided vigilantism to Malcolm, rather than a serial killer, and he tried not to feel a personal sense of responsibility over what his own actions might have inspired. One of the anchors suddenly put a finger up to their ear, and interrupted her cohost.

“We’ve just got word of a breaking story that needs to be announced immediately, for the sake of public safety,” said the female anchor. “A bomb threat has been called in just outside the government building on Douglas Street. I repeat, there has been a bomb threat. The police have just announced an evacuation of the area.”

Malcolm felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up straight. It was Multi’s style to call ahead and let people know about the impending terror, at least usually. Malcolm didn’t take him to be the sympathetic sort, rather, he used it as an opportunity to create more chaos, to show that even if he broadcasted his intentions in advance, he still couldn’t be stopped.

Part of him had hoped that by stopping the fertilizer heist, Multi’s bombings would be at least temporarily halted. No such luck. Malcolm pulled on his mask and hurried out into the night, wincing at the pain in his shoulder as he made his way up the ladder.

It was dark enough outside for him to forgo stealth. He used his wind manipulation to soar through the air, wind cold against his face and roaring in his ears. It was a cloudy night, so he flew just above the low skyline, maintaining visual contact with Vanderbrook below.

Malcolm landed on the slanted roof of a museum half a block down from the government building. He dropped to his stomach, reducing his profile as much as he could whilst peering out into the night.

He first tried wind listening, but there were still too many noises for him to pick up any useful information. He did notice that the government building had no discernable police presence. He smiled wryly at that.

The police hunt me, but are terrified of Multi. Being a good guy has no perks.

Malcolm had one other trick up his sleeve that he’d been toying with for the past week. He took a deep breath, entering the same state he’d normally use for wind listening, but instead focused on his secondary power, instead.

He didn’t use his heat manipulation actively, but rather, used it to sense any and all nearby sources of heat. It was as though someone had pulled thermal goggles down over his eyes. Each of the streetlights gave off tiny little red halos of heat, and he could see figures in the street and in buildings through their fuzzy red auras.

Malcolm searched for anyone who seemed to be out of place, eventually settling on the shape of a person who was slowly approaching the government building from an alleyway. He rose to his feet and pushed off into the air, moving toward the suspicious pedestrian. He landed within striking range, just behind them.

Tapestry whirled on him, swinging her pistol to point at his head. Malcolm froze. He’d been expecting Tapestry and Second Wind to appear as a group of two. On her own, without Malcolm’s copy to subtly run interference, there was no telling what she might do. She could very well decide to pull the trigger and be rid of him.

“I should have known that you were involved with this,” she said, her voice trembling with anger.

“I’m here for the same reason you are,” said Malcolm, throwing his voice. “The bomb threat. We need to work together.”

He tried to take a step back. Tapestry immediately moved forward, keeping the gun where it was.

“No, I don’t think so,” she said. “I don’t buy it.”

Malcolm scowled.

I don’t have time for this!

“If we don’t work together, people will die!” he hissed. “The bomb could go off at any time. We need to spread out and search the area.”

“And you could be the bomber,” said Tapestry. “That seems just as likely as-“

Malcolm threw caution to the wind, spinning with wind assisted speed and knocking Tapestry’s pistol loose from her hand. She gasped, but didn’t hesitate, immediately tackling him before he could take to the air.

They fell to the ground in a tangled heap. Tapestry made a move as though to grab Malcolm’s mask. His hands went to it, ready to pull it back down, but as he did, he exposed his torso. Tapestry responded with several fast jabs, which landed on his ribs and stomach.

“You’re being an idiot!” Malcolm shouted. He reached out and seized Tapestry’s wrist, and felt the familiar tingling of absorbing the power of another champion.

In that moment, the fight went out of him. Malcolm had kept his heat manipulation for the past few weeks, keeping his power mimicry in check around Rose to keep from accidentally absorbing her powers. He’d done it for two reasons.

First it was essential to keeping up his identity as the Gifted Vigilante. It was his calling card, and also a way of distracting the press’s attention from his true identity.

The second reason was more sentimental. It was the only thing he had left to remember his brother by, and now it was gone. As small of a comfort as it had been, it had made Malcolm feel like part of his brother was living on through him. And Tapestry had just extinguished that.

He slammed his hands up into her chest, accidentally pushing with the wind along with his arms. Tapestry was too busy being knocked off him to notice, or so Malcolm hoped. He stood up, glaring at her angrily.

“Is this really what you want to do?” snapped Malcolm. “Stand here and wrestle with me while the real bomber is-”

The bomb went off without preamble. The force of the explosion was enough to throw Malcolm forward. He slammed into Tapestry, knocking her over before continuing his tumble across the cold concrete of the alleyway.

The combination of a stunning head blow and ringing ears made it hard for Malcolm to regain his bearings in the minutes immediately following the attack. He slowly blinked his eyes, banishing away double vision.

Tapestry was staggering toward him. For a moment, Malcolm thought that she was going to make another grab at his mask, but she didn’t. She looked at him, and Malcolm realized that she was making sure that he was still alive.

He was, though several scrapes and bruises made his body ache all over. Tapestry ran off toward the epicenter of the blast. Malcolm struggled to his feet and followed after her.

The damage was insane. The government building was completely demolished, as were most of the buildings on the block. Malcolm and Tapestry had only barely been shielded from it by a truck parked in front of the alleyway, which was charred and melted on one side and untouched on the other.

Small fires burned amidst the rubble, and from within destroyed cars. The police had done what they could to evacuate the area, but Malcolm spotted at least three corpses strewn within the wreckage of the bomb, one of them too small to be a fully grown adult. Malcolm could imagine it easily: a scared child, intimidated by the police’s hurried knock, hiding under her bed or in a closet with no idea of what was to come.

Tapestry’s expression was blank, but dark emotions clouded her eyes. Malcolm felt his anger rising as well, both at Multi, for creating this mess, but at Tapestry too. She’d mistaken him for the bomber and blown their chance to save lives.

He was about to tell her as much, but held his tongue, suddenly struck by the fact that Second Wind was nowhere to be seen. Malcolm, back when he’d been Wind Runner, would never have let Tapestry charge into a situation like this on her own.

Between this and what happened the other day, something is up.

Malcolm debated staying, and making another attempt at convincing Tapestry that he was one of the good guys. There was no point, he decided. And as much as he didn’t like admitting it to himself, staring at the destruction Multi had wrought upon the city that night made him sick to his stomach.

He leapt into flight just as Tapestry turned back to look at him. She trained her gun on him, but didn’t fire as he took to the sky.

CHAPTER 20

Malcolm didn’t find Second Wind back at his apartment. The inside looked untouched since he’d been their earlier in the day. Books were still strewn across the living room floor, the kitchen counter clear of any dirty dishes or signs of someone having eaten. The loaded revolver still sat next to the bed.

Malcolm checked the bathroom for any discarded clothes or wet towels. They’d worked up a sweat fighting the Multis. Second Wind would have at least taken a shower. There was nothing there, nothing to suggest that his copy had come back and left again.

Second Wind’s phone was sitting on his desk in his room. Malcolm had noticed it earlier when he’d been inside the apartment, but it hadn’t seemed out of place. Second Wind had gotten his text about the fertilizer heist and probably just forgotten it in the rush to meet up with him.

Lacking any other good options, Malcolm picked up the phone. There were a couple of missed calls and an angry text message from Tapestry. The call log and messages had been cleared recently, preventing him from seeing who his copy had been talking to, and about what.

He tapped on the email app, wondering if there would be any clues there. It was another part of his life that his copy had inherited. Second Wind wasn’t logged into his account, but Malcolm tried his own password, and was surprised when the app accepted it without complaint.

I guess there’d be no real sense in changing it, just because I know it. I probably would have been able to guess whatever he might have changed it to, anyway.

His inbox was empty. All of the emails outside of the spam folder had been deleted, including ones that Malcolm had written long before he’d used Multi’s power. Even ones from his life before becoming a champion were gone, as though Second Wind had wanted to wipe away any trace of ever having been Malcolm.

He slowly shook his head, putting the information into place alongside Second Wind’s surly attitude, and the philosophy books on the floor. The bigger picture was clear enough. His copy didn’t want to go on being “Malcolm”, at least not in the capacity that was needed for Wind Runner to continue as a champion.

Malcolm spent half an hour thumbing through the books, trying to get a better grasp of a mind that should make perfect sense to him, but didn’t. The weeks that had passed since the last time they’d both been the same person had changed them both far more than he’d realized.

A harsh knock came at the door, jolting him out of his considerations. Malcolm reached up to his face, making sure his mask was still in place.

“Malcolm!” shouted Tapestry. “If you’re in there, open this door this instant and explain!”

Malcolm chewed his lower lip. He had a choice this time. If he wanted to, he could escape out the window. Even if Tapestry heard and ran down the hallway in time, she wouldn’t catch more than a glimpse of him in the dark.

And then she’d assume that it’s “me”, running away from her and this situation. I think “I” have done enough damage to my own reputation, for one night.

He smiled, remembering all the times in life when he’d been given the advice to “just be himself”. It was finally time to put that idea to the test.

“Give me a minute,” he called, trying to make himself sound weary. Malcolm stripped off his mask and clothing, changing into Second Wind’s clothes, instead. His copy had made some changes to his wardrobe, and he found a new pair of sweatpants and a sleeveless shirt to throw on.

He opened the door, and Tapestry all but burst through it, jabbing a finger in his face. She had on a brown leather jacket and tight jeans, and was still covered in dust from the explosion. Her eyes were a little puffy, probably from smoke irritation, rather than tears.

“You abandoned your duty tonight, Wind Runner!” She jabbed him in the chest. “You let me, your partner, go out alone to face the enemy we’ve been hunting for weeks! I tried calling you. I knocked on your door. Where the heck were you?”

Malcolm hesitated. He didn’t want to lie to her. It made him angry to realize that he had to, and even angrier at the fact that it wasn’t even to cover for himself.

He’d better have a good fucking explanation. Just like I need to have one, right now.

“I got a tip about Multi stealing a fertilizer truck,” he said. “I followed up on it and… lost track of time.”

Tapestry’s anger continued to burn in her eyes, but she lowered her hand, shutting the door behind her as she walked into the apartment.

“Did you stop him, at least?” she asked.

Malcolm nodded.

“I thought that was all he had planned,” said Malcolm. “I thought that stopping the truck would stop, or at least delay, his next bombing. I let the ball drop on this one. I’m sorry.”

His words seemed to mollify her somewhat, but there was still emotion in her expression as she turned to look at him.

“Why didn’t you at least tell me?” asked Tapestry. “I’m your partner, Malcolm. For you to just ignore me like this…”

She trailed off. Malcolm had enough understanding of what had been going on in Second Wind’s life over the past few weeks to know what was left unsaid. She wasn’t just Second Wind’s partner. She wasn’t just a close friend and occasional lover, as she’d been to Malcolm.

The two of them had developed something more, and if Malcolm wanted to keep Tapestry from being completely heart broken, he needed to find the words that Second Wind should have been saying.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t have my phone with me. I’ve been paranoid, lately. Feeling like maybe Multi has the tools to track us.”

“And you didn’t check it when you came back to the apartment?” demanded Tapestry.

Malcolm shrugged.

“I checked it,” he said, honestly. “And then I turned on the news and saw that the situation had been resolved. I figured you’d come here next and… I wanted to apologize to you in person.”

Tapestry sighed and slowly shook her head, a bit of the tension leaving her shoulders.

“What has been going on with you the last couple of days?” she asked. “Is this because of us? Are you scared of… whatever it is that we have?”

Malcolm felt like he was walking a tightrope, with Tapestry’s emotions on one side and his copy’s privacy and right to a life of his own on the other.

“It’s the opposite of that,” he said. “Tapestry. I miss you so much when you aren’t around.”

He reached his arms out and pulled her into a hug. Malcolm half expected her to push him away. The Tapestry he’d known, before taking on his new identity, would have probably pushed him away. This Tapestry melted against his chest, her hands running up and along his back.

“Malcolm…” whispered Tapestry. “We’re losing.”

Malcolm stroked her hair with his hand.

“What are you talking about?”

“This isn’t like last time,” she said. “Or any of the other demons I’ve fought before. We don’t have other champions backing us up. And Multi… he isn’t a single enemy, he’s an army. An army of demons who aren’t afraid to die.”

There was doubt in her voice. That was new to Malcolm. He’d never known Tapestry to be anything other than confident and controlled. He found himself considering her fears, and realizing that they extended beyond her.

Is it the same for Second Wind? Is he struggling under the pressure to take on Multi, to be the champion standing between the city and chaos?

“It’s not like last time,” said Malcolm. “But we aren’t going to give up. Not now, and not ever. It’s that simple. Isn’t it?”

Tapestry turned her face up toward his. Malcolm felt excitement and hot desire wash over him as their eyes met. He’d wanted so badly to protect her, his partner, his friend. His lover. Even his arrangement with Second Wind had been designed to protect her from the ugly truth of Malcolm’s complicated life.

Thinking of that gave him pause, even as he felt Tapestry’s soft breasts against his chest. She rose up on her toes, one of her hands caressing his cheek. Malcolm’s heart pounded in his chest, and his entire body felt hot and ready.

He kissed her, and the pleasure and emotion of it was instantly entrancing. Tapestry pushed herself against him and let out a little moan, her hips pushing forward in an attempt to find his. Malcolm broke the kiss found himself suddenly walking backward. Tapestry was pushing him toward his bed.

It’s not my bed anymore…

Tapestry tipped him back on it, and the two were rolling together across the sheets like young lovers, given an hour of privacy. Malcolm groped at her breasts. He felt Tapestry’s hands running over his crotch, admiring his erection with her fingers. Had she ever been this lively before?

The guilt hit him as he faced the truth of the situation. By kissing Tapestry, by doing whatever they were about to do, Malcolm was engaging in both betrayal and deception. He had an idea how Second Wind would react. They were both Malcolm, but when it came to love and intimacy, was that fact enough to beat jealousy?

But worse was Tapestry, who kissed him without any idea of who he really was. Tapestry, who hated when people she trusted kept secrets, and had already worked through her suspicions of Malcolm in the past.