Wind Runner: The Complete Collection (1-5)

“Stop thinking so much,” whispered Tapestry. She kissed him again, her fingers stroking his hardness through his jeans. He wanted her so badly, despite all the reasons why he shouldn’t.

Tapestry pulled her blouse up and over her head, revealing small, but perfect breasts and the pink bra that enveloped them. She delighted in his reaction, clasping her hands and pulling her arms together for a moment to exaggerate her cleavage. She was more sexually confident than she had been, there was no denying it. And Malcolm didn’t like where that thought led.

He was so caught up with his own internal dilemma that he didn’t notice as Tapestry reached down to the hem of his shirt and began pulling it up and over his head. Malcolm raised his arms, only realizing how foolish he was as he felt the bandages on his shoulder catch on the fabric and pull off along with his clothing.

No! She’ll see my shoulder, the wounds there, and recognize that she gave me one of them! She’ll know everything…

Tapestry tossed the garment aside and brought her face in closer to his. She stole a quick kiss, as though there was nothing remarkable about Malcolm’s exposed flesh. And, he suddenly realized, there wasn’t. He had absorbed her power, and he’d grown so used to the effects of it that he’d had never stopped to consider that it would, of course, heal all of his wounds without leaving so much as a scar.

“Hey,” she said, seeing his expression. “It’s okay. Malcolm, whatever it is you’ve been going through lately, it’s okay. I’m here with you. We’ll face it together.”

Malcolm knew that her words weren’t really meant for him, but they were exactly what he needed to hear, regardless. The past few days had been harder for him than he’d realized, full of pain, disappointment, and failure.

He leaned back on the bed, watching as Tapestry wiggled out of her jeans and tossed them aside. He pulled his own jeans off. He needed her intimacy. As she moved back on top of him to continue, Malcolm took her by the waist. Tapestry was a petite woman, and she let out a delighted squeal as he easily flipped her underneath him.

He kissed her as he never had before. His lips were brimming with weeks’ worth of unrealized passion. All of the fleeting thoughts he’d had about her, a mix of longing for a lost lover and friend, was unleashed upon her.

Malcolm roughly pulled her bra down and gave her breasts the attention they deserved. Tapestry ran her hands through his hair, her body tensing slightly as he prodded into her with his hardness, their underwear a flimsy barrier.

Not for long. Malcolm pulled his boxers down, only taking the time to pull her panties aside before sliding his shaft halfway into her. She was tight and hot, and there was enough sensation just from that half thrust to make his body pulse with pleasure. He could feel the softness of her silk panties against the side of his sensitive erection, and it reminded him of what the encounter was: an illicit coupling. Stolen love. A passionate encounter that could not happen again.

Tapestry hooked her arms around him and gently urged him forward. Malcolm pushed deeper into her, kissing her as his face came up to be level with hers. He kept close to her, letting his hips pull back and forth and matching the rhythm of his lips to hers.

Malcolm sped up slowly, until he was thrusting as fast as his body would let him. The gentle intimacy they’d started with had progressed to hot, hard sex. Tapestry moaned as Malcolm seized one of her buttocks and pushed himself into her with unbridled, masculine force.

It didn’t take either of them very long to climax. Tapestry had been trying to stifle her noises, but as she reached her peak, a cry of passion broke from her lips. Malcolm held her firm with his strong hands, pushing into her, savoring every thrust. He buried his face in her shoulder as he vaulted over his limit into hot, sticky ecstasy.

“I love you, Malcolm.”

Her words were whispered, quiet enough that it almost seemed like she didn’t want him to hear them. Malcolm’s heart skipped a beat. He was deep enough into the moment that he first felt elated, before realizing again, that the words were not meant for him.

What have I done? What the fuck have I done?

CHAPTER 21

Malcolm awoke the next morning with Tapestry curled up against him. He’d planned on leaving during the night, as the guilt and shame over what he’d done were almost too much for him to bear. He’d considered it, and had decided in the end that it would only make things worse if Tapestry woke up, and he or Second Wind wasn’t there in the apartment with her.

The fact that Second Wind didn’t come back during the night gave him pause. The last time Malcolm had seen him had been after they’d stopped the fertilizer truck heist. Was it possible that Multi intercepted him on his way back to Vanderbrook?

Of course it’s possible. Anything is possible. I can’t make assumptions yet.

“Hey.” Tapestry walked into the living room, wearing one of his t-shirts. It was baggy on her, and her hair was loose and ruffled around her shoulders.

“Hey,” said Malcolm. He felt suddenly awkward around her, too disturbed by what he’d done and his inability to own up to it. He wanted to apologize to her and admit the truth, but that felt like it would only serve to twist the blade he’d already thrust into Second Wind’s back.

“You should get ready,” said Tapestry. “We’ll have to stop by my house so I can change on the way there.”

Malcolm almost asked her what she was talking about, before realizing that it was probably something he should already know. Instead of pushing for more detail, he nodded and started toward his bedroom.

“It’s not going to be weird now, is it?” asked Tapestry. “I… didn’t expect you to say it back, you know. And I don’t need you to, if you aren’t ready.”

Malcolm felt his heart twist inside his chest. Those words had been meant for Second Wind, not him. And as far as he could tell, it was the first time she’d used them. It was an impossible situation, only made worse by his own confusing emotions for her. Did he love Tapestry? Did it matter, if he did or not? It wasn’t his place to say such things to her, not while wearing Second Wind’s mask.

“I’m sorry,” said Malcolm. “It’s not that I don’t… feel it. I just need a few days to get back to myself.”

That’s within striking distance of the truth, isn’t it?

He hurried into his room to get dressed before Tapestry could say anything else. They shared a quiet breakfast and then climbed into her BMW and drove across town to her house. The sun was out, and it was a bright, hot reminder of the changing season.

“I’ll only be a minute,” said Tapestry. “You should come inside. I’m sure Melanie wouldn’t mind seeing you.”

“Sure,” said Malcolm.

He followed behind Tapestry and into the house. Melanie was sitting on the couch in the living room, wearing a baggy t-shirt and panties, practically the same outfit Tapestry had been dressed in minutes before. She stood up, her face contorting with surprise.

“Aubrey!” she said. “I… You said you wouldn’t be back until later this afternoon. That’s what you told me. I wasn’t, uh… I mean, I just didn’t expect you back so soon!”

“And just why is this a problem for you?” asked Tapestry. Her gaze flicked from Melanie to the closed door to Melanie’s room.

“You should probably let me open that,” said Malcolm.

He walked through the living room, only half listening to Melanie’s frantic excuses. A short, dark skinned teenager wearing boxer shorts and nothing else jumped up from Melanie’s bed as soon as Malcolm opened the door.

“Hi,” said Malcolm. The boy younger than Melanie by at least a year or two, and even as he hurried to pull on his pants, Malcolm caught a vibe of both inexperience and pride coming from him.

Did little Melanie just take this boy’s virginity?

“Sorry,” mumbled the boy. “I should probably go.”

Malcolm chuckled.

“Melanie is wearing your shirt,” he said. “Here.”

He took off the sweatshirt and tossed it to him.

“Just give it back to Melanie when you can,” said Malcolm.

“Thanks,” said the boy.

He hurried out of the house, and Malcolm walked back into the living room and the argument exploding within it.

“Are you out of your mind, Melanie?” shouted Tapestry.

“Aubrey, relax.” Melanie sighed and crossed her arms. “It’s really not that big of a deal.”

“Premarital sex isn’t that big of a deal?” snapped Tapestry. “I mean, it would be one thing if you planned on getting serious with this boy, but he’s not even your age!”

“He’s about to turn seventeen,” muttered Melanie. “And he’s really cute! And he plays basketball, and he’s really funny. If you’d just take a second to get to know Colin, I think you’d really like him.”

“He’s not allowed in my house anymore,” said Tapestry, stiffly.

Melanie expression shifted into a glare.

“You are such a hypocrite!” shouted Melanie. “Do I even need to point out the obvious? You’re doing the same thing!”

Tapestry took the words as a slap in the face.

“I am not!” she protested.

“You’re not married, Tapestry,” said Melanie. “And Malcolm… he’s a few years younger than you, in case you forgot.”

Tapestry’s face turned bright red. Malcolm was a little unsure of whether the argument would stay limited to just words or whether it would involve projectiles. He stepped forward, putting himself physically between them, and furrowed his brow.

“Tapestry, didn’t you say we had somewhere to be?” asked Malcolm. “Why don’t you get changed? So we can go and make that happen.”

Tapestry nodded slowly, not meeting his eyes. She was still blushing, and walked out of the room a little too quickly. Malcolm turned to face Melanie with his hands on his hips and slowly shook his head.

“You really shouldn’t have said that to her,” said Malcolm.

“She started it,” said Melanie. “Don’t tell me you’re going to try to shame me for being a teenager, too. Now that would be hypocritical!”

“Is that your word of the day or something?” Malcolm smiled. “Look, next time, just be smarter. Don’t let boys stay the night if you can’t afford getting caught.”

Melanie bowed her head slightly.

“I’ll apologize to her later,” she said. “I can’t face her right now.”

Melanie retired to her room, and a couple of minutes later, Tapestry reappeared in the living room, freshly clothed in a red tunic style sweater and black leggings. Malcolm didn’t say anything as they left her house and climbed into her car.

“She really shouldn’t be doing things like that,” said Tapestry. “I know you think I’m… old fashioned. But it’s true.”

Malcolm shrugged.

“She’s just a teenager, Tapestry,” he said, feeling a bit weird, given that technically, he was still one himself.

“And the fact that the boy was more than a year younger than her?” asked Tapestry. “She should at least be with someone closer to her own age.”

Tapestry glanced over at him, clearly expecting an answer. Malcolm tried not to scowl, wishing she’d just let it drop.

“I don’t think age gaps are a very big deal,” said Malcolm. “If they love each other, it shouldn’t matter.”

Several seconds passed in silence. Malcolm felt his confidence in his words fading as he considered what he’d said.

“Does it matter to you?” asked Tapestry. “That… I’m old? Is that why it was hard for you to… say it back?”

“Of course it doesn’t matter to me!” said Malcolm. “It’s not about that. I… can’t explain it. I just haven’t felt like myself recently.”

I feel like I’m playing a video game from someone else’s save file.

Tapestry focused on driving, and was quiet for long enough that Malcolm thought the conversation was over. Finally, she cleared her throat.

“I’m here,” she said. “If there’s anything on your mind that you need to air out. I’m here for you, Malcolm.”

She reached her hand over and squeezed his knee. Malcolm suddenly ached to tell her the truth, to put all the deceit and trickery on the table and let her see him, and Second Wind, and what they’d done.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t. There was just no way.

CHAPTER 22

“Can you refresh my memory on… our target?” asked Malcolm. He spoke the words carefully, trying to sound like he mostly knew about what he was talking about.

“It’s the gifted woman I was telling you about the other day, the one that hasn’t aligned herself with the Champion Authority.” said Tapestry. “Reyna Torres. Codename Chaste Widow. Wax had been keeping track of her before he left town, and sent me the info to look into.”

Malcolm nodded slowly.

“Right,” he said. “And our plan is…?”

Tapestry looked at him as though he were stupid.

“We’ve been over this already, Wind Runner,” she said. “We don’t know exactly what Chaste Widow’s power is, but it lets her kill easily and without leaving a trace. Several recent murders have her handiwork all over them.”

“Question: Why the name?”

Tapestry gave him a sour smile as she parked the car on the street of a suburban neighborhood.

“Her husband was killed in front of her,” said Tapestry. “And since then, every man that’s gotten close to her has experienced an untimely death immediately after.”

Malcolm scratched his head.

“Maybe you should handle this one on your own?” he offered.

“I can’t afford to,” said Tapestry. “She has a dangerous, uncontrolled power, Malcolm. Even though she hasn’t turned into a monster yet, we need to take care of her before she does anymore killing.”

“Take care of her?” asked Malcolm. “What exactly do you mean by that, Tapestry?”

Tapestry sighed.

“I don’t like this any more than you do,” she said, slowly. “But we can’t let Vanderbrook fall deeper into chaos. If we can capture her, good. But it’s challenging to hold her for long enough for more champions to arrive and contain her properly, given the current worldwide situation. So…”

“So… what?”

She got out of the car without answering him. Malcolm followed after her, still unconvinced by her reasoning, but unwilling to let her go into a dangerous situation on her own.

Maybe she’s right. If this woman has done as much killing as she says, we can’t just let her keep at it.

Tapestry approached the target house, pulling her pistol out of its holster and moving cautiously, scanning her eyes over the windows and shrubs beside the porch. Malcolm realized that he hadn’t bothered to ask her for a description of the target. It was probably something she’d already told Second Wind.

Tapestry paused outside the door of the house. She reached out and tried the handle. It was unlocked, and the door swung open without resistance. Malcolm followed her inside.

The two of them entered a spacious living room in time to see a tan skinned woman walk out of a bathroom, wearing only a towel. It took Malcolm a second to place where he’d seen her before. She’d been the out of place woman in Terri’s Tavern, the one he’d flirted with a couple of nights in row.

“Freeze!” Tapestry pointed her pistol at the woman. “Get down! On the ground!”

Malcolm felt a headache coming on, and it seemed to have a variety of different causes. For one, the woman also seemed to recognize him, given how her eyes lingered on his. She could, if she wanted to, ruin everything just by mentioning their acquaintance. Tapestry would, if she thought about it for long enough, realize that the only way Malcolm could have been in two places at once was for there to have been two of him alive at once.

The woman looked like a deer caught in a car’s headlights. She swallowed and lifted her hands up. Malcolm crossed his arms, wondering if this was the reaction Tapestry had expected, coming into the situation. Could she justify attacking a woman who offered no resistance in return, regardless of how dangerous her power was?

“What…?” The woman was slowly shaking her head. “Why? Who are you people?”

“The jig is up,” said Tapestry. “We know what you’ve been doing, Reyna. If you surrender, this will all go more smoothly.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said the woman. “I’m nobody. I haven’t done anything to anyone.”

“You sound like you already know why we’re here,” said Tapestry. “Is there something you want to come clean about?”

The woman’s eyes flicked over to Malcolm, and there was a curious gleam in them, as though she half expected him to come to her defense. He kept his mouth shut, still too uncertain to come to any definite conclusions.

“Please…” said the woman. “I’m not resisting. I will do whatever you want me to. Just let me change into some clothes first.”

Tapestry gave a slow nod, clearly still suspicious. Malcolm followed them to the edge of a bedroom, knowing better than to try to enter, even though it meant leaving Tapestry by herself.

He waited for about thirty seconds on the other side of the closed door before hearing sounds of a struggle. Malcolm ran into the room in time to see something totally unexpected.

Reyna, Chaste Widow, was kissing Tapestry. It was a full on, passionate kiss, and Tapestry looked as though she was being physically held in place by it. Malcolm could only stare, feeling a strange eroticism emanating from the two women. Tapestry made a noise, and he snapped back to his senses.

“Hey!” he shouted. He ran over and pushed Chaste Widow back. Tapestry crumpled to the ground, her face pale. “Tapestry!”

She wasn’t breathing. Malcolm checked for a pulse and didn’t find one, at least at first. It kicked back in after a second or two, and Tapestry let out a gasp.

“Go… after her…” Tapestry said, weakly. “Don’t… let her kiss you.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Just go!”

Malcolm nodded and rushed back out into the living room. He’d expected Chaste Widow to have disappeared out the front door, but it looked as though she’d gone downstairs into the basement of the house, instead. He stepped through the open door, closing it behind him and locking it to make it harder to escape, if she tried to run again.

The basement was lit only by a single bulb hanging from a loose cord in the rafters. It was sparsely furnished, and all of the corners were shadowed, making it almost impossible for Malcolm to tell where Chaste Widow was.

“Hey,” he said. “If you meant to kill my partner, you bungled the job. She’s made of stronger stuff than that.”

There was no response from the darkness. Malcolm stayed close to the edge of the staircase, hoping that the basement didn’t have another exit. A secret tunnel seemed unlikely, and he hadn’t seen any other way in or out from the house exterior of the house.

“Do you want to start over?” asked Malcolm. “We’ve met before, you know. In Terri’s Tavern. I get the sense that you aren’t evil, or at least you had a good reason for doing what you did.”

Do I really think that, or am I just getting better at sweet talking my enemies?

“I remember,” said Chaste Widow. “I didn’t mean to do that to your partner. She surprised me, and I just… panicked.”

She stepped out of the shadows. She still only had a towel on, and her expression was all remorse and fear.

“Like I said, she’s tough,” said Malcolm. “Now, tell me about the men.”

“It’s hard for me to think right now,” said the woman. “I’m just so scared!”

She took a step toward him, and the fold of her towel came loose. Malcolm had noticed her body the first time he’d met her. It was everything he’d imagined it to be. Her breasts were large, with faint, half circle tan lines. She had a trim waist, thick thighs and a firm butt.

She made a feeble attempt at covering her nudity, slowly closing the distance between them and averting her eyes. Malcolm wasn’t stupid. He knew what she’d try to do next.

“Hey…” He reached out with his hands, taking her shoulders, and also taking her power with his mimicry. “It’s okay. I’m here now.”

“I’m so scared,” she said. “Please… will you hold me?”

She turned her mouth up toward his. Malcolm grinned and gave her a quick kiss. As expected, nothing happened, her power canceling out against itself, now that he’d absorbed it from her. The look on Chaste Widow’s face was enough to make Malcolm chuckle.

“I’m out of your league,” he said. “Sorry. Nice try though.”

“You…” Chaste Widow slowly shook her head. “My power… doesn’t work on you?”

“So when you kiss people, they die?” asked Malcolm. “That seems more unfortunate, than useful. Is there any way for you to-”

He was interrupted by Chaste Widow’s lips. She gave him a quick kiss, the same kind he’d given her, and then followed it up with a deeper, more passionate one. Malcolm was too bewildered to do much in the way of kissing her back. He shook his head as her lips broke from his.

“I don’t think jamming your tongue into my mouth will make your power more potent,” said Malcolm.

Chaste Widow flashed a coy smile.

“What happens if I surrender?” she asked.

Malcolm blinked, feeling as caught off guard by her sudden change of heart as he had by the deep kiss.

“What?”

“If I surrender to you,” she said. “Theoretically, what would happen?”

“And why would you do that?” asked Malcolm. “You tried to kill my partner and me to escape. You don’t seem like the surrendering, submissive type.”

Chaste Widow leaned in closer to him, letting her naked body push against him.

“I’m not,” she whispered, her voice taking on a decidedly sexual tone.

Malcolm considered it. If she surrendered, either he or Tapestry, or more likely, both of them, would have to keep guard over her until the Champion Authority sent someone to transport her to another location. It could take weeks, maybe even months.

That wouldn’t work. Especially not with Rose injured and Second Wind missing. I need my mobility.

“Okay,” said Malcolm. “If you surrender, and promise not to kill anyone else, and become my informant for the indefinite future, we’ll call it even.”

It was Chaste Widow’s turn to look surprised.

“You… barely know anything about me,” she said. “Why would you trust me like that?”

Because I’m lazy, and don’t really have a choice.

Malcolm kept the thought to himself. Instead, he considered what he did know about her. Her husband was dead, and she’d gone on a vengeance inspired killing spree in the aftermath, picking up men from bars and giving them her kiss of death. She’d seemed polite, controlled, and focused when he’d spoken to her in Terri’s Tavern.

“The men that you killed,” said Malcolm. “Did they deserve it?”

Chaste Widow didn’t react to the question. Malcolm wasn’t sure whether to take it as a yes or no, but he was already reasonably sure of his suspicions.

“So you’re letting me go on trust alone?” she asked.

Malcolm grinned at her.

“Maybe it’s because you’re such a good kisser,” he said.

CHAPTER 23

Getting Tapestry to accept his reasoning, as it turned out, was nearly impossible. She was still recovering from Chaste Widow’s kiss of death when Malcolm found her upstairs. After it became clear that he would have no real luck convincing her, he opted for the brute force approach, carrying her weakened body out to her car and driving her home.

“You’re a sucker,” said Tapestry, in a strained voice. “I bet all she did was drop her towel, and you suddenly were filled with sympathy for her.”

“Uh…” Malcolm tried to keep from smiling at how close that was to the truth. “Look, like I said before, we couldn’t feasibly keep her as our prisoner until the Champion Authority could send someone out here.”

“And if she keeps murdering people?” asked Tapestry.

“Then we come after her again,” said Malcolm. “More importantly, if she holds up her end of the deal, we’ll have a gifted informant. That could come in handy in tracking down Multi.”

Tapestry gave him an odd look.

“We’ve already started tracking down Multi,” she said, in a confused voice. “Do you not remember talking about this yesterday morning? The evidence we found after the bombing of the police station?”

“Oh, that,” said Malcolm, trying to sound casual. “Right. When are we going to act on that?”

Tapestry coughed.

“We would have today,” she said. “But I’m going to need some time to recover. If I do some baking I should be back to myself by tomorrow morning.”

“Sounds good,” said Malcolm. “I’m going to run some errands for the afternoon. Will you be fine at home?”

Tapestry shrugged.

“Apart from friction with Melanie, I should be.” She hesitated as Malcolm pulled the car into her driveway. “About… what I said last night. While we were…”

“Tapestry…” The last thing Malcolm wanted was to have this discussion over again. He’d already done enough blundering in his attempt to keep Second Wind’s life rolling along smoothly. He still felt a deep guilt over what he’d done, and knew that it would probably drive a rift between him and his copy, if Second Wind found out about it.

I have to eject from this situation. If he comes back soon, great. If not… I’ll figure something else out.

“Look,” he continued. “I just feel a little overwhelmed right now. You know how much I care about you. Just give me some time.”

They weren’t the words that Tapestry had been hoping for, but were good enough. Tapestry smiled at him and nodded.

“I know,” she said. “And I will.”

“Do you want me to help you inside?” asked Malcolm.

“No,” said Tapestry. “I can manage.”

He gave her back her keys and watched her disappear through the front door of her house. Malcolm started walking down the street, taking out his phone and turning his attention to other pressing matters.

He was worried about Rose. He’d hadn’t spoken to her in almost two days and needed to know how she was doing. Malcolm dialed the number for the spryte phone, feeling his heart beating a little faster in his chest as he listened to it ring.

“Helllooooo?” Fantasy drawled into the phone, feminine and openly flirtatious.

“Fantasy,” Malcolm said. “I need to speak with Rose.”

“Oh,” she said. “Of course.”

The change in her voice was concerning. Fantasy was always playful and inappropriate, even when the situation was dire. For her to sound so serious now made him think that something was really wrong.

He waited for a while, and then he heard the phone being picked back, and Rose clearing her throat.

“Hello?”

“Rose,” said Malcolm. “It’s me.”

Rose let out a soft, relieved sigh.

“I was worried, you know,” she said. “Thought you’d be checking up on me a little more closely, given how much of a worrier you are.”

Malcolm smiled.

“Well, not this time,” he said. “But I did worry. How are you holding up?”

He could almost sense Rose shrugging on the other end of the line.

“Well enough,” she said. “Rion managed to get the bullet out, though she attributes the success of the operation to the alignment of Mars and Jupiter, whatever that means.”

Malcolm chuckled.

“That sounds like her,” he said. “Can I see you?”

“I already asked Shield Maiden,” said Rose. “She didn’t even bother giving me a real answer. She just gave me that smile of hers and pretended like I’d never asked.”

“I don’t see why it’s such a big deal,” said Malcolm. “I’ve been down there before.”

“Wind Runner has been to Underworld before,” corrected Rose. “Not the Gifted Vigilante.”

Malcolm sighed.

“Point taken,” he said. “But you’re recovering okay?”

“Better than I’d expected to,” said Rose. “My body seems to heal more quickly than most people, but only when I’m in the dark.”

“You’re the Queen of the Shadows,” said Malcolm, in mock wonder. “Mistress of the Night.”

“And you’re the King of Lazy Sarcasm,” said Rose. She paused and took a breath, and Malcolm heard her shudder as she exhaled.

She’s not okay.

“Did something happen?” asked Malcolm.

Rose was silent for long enough to make Malcolm wonder if he’d lost the connection. He resisted the urge to swear under his breath, wishing so badly that he could talk to her in person and hold her in his arms. It was painful, hearing her voice, knowing she was hurting, and being so far away from her.

“Brenden called,” she said.

Malcolm furrowed his brow.

“Brenden has your number?” asked Malcolm. “The number for the sprytes.”

“I gave it to him,” said Rose, softly. “Before I knew he was going to…”

“Right,” said Malcolm. He scratched his head. “Did you talk to him? What did he want?”

He couldn’t keep a hint of annoyance out of his voice. Perhaps it was even jealousy. Brenden had called Rose while she’d been recovering, while Malcolm was off filling in for Second Wind. The fact that Brenden had recently tried to kill Rose didn’t seem to factor into his base emotional reaction.

“He… told me he was sorry.” Rose’s voice wavered as she spoke. “He said so many things, all this stuff about love and about how he was just so mad and confused.”

“Rose, he shot you,” said Malcolm. “That’s not something that you just apologize for.”

“I know, I know,” said Rose. “I just… It’s so hard for me to think. I hear his voice, and…”

She paused, and Malcolm could hear her trying to master her emotions.

“I just can’t believe he did it,” said Rose. “I can’t remember anything about him, except… for the way he makes me feel. And that scares me… so badly. I don’t understand how he could do what he did. How can you hurt someone that loves you like that?”

The question was on Malcolm’s lips. He dared not ask it aloud.

So, she loves him?

This time, he knew his jealousy for what it was. Rose was crying softly on the other end of the line. Malcolm silently cursed Shield Maiden’s name for not letting him down into Underworld to see her. He forced the rational part of his mind to take control of his voice.

“What can I do, Rose?” he asked. “I don’t want you suffer like this. Tell me how I can help?”

He felt so many emotions twisting in his chest. He would try to help, however he could. Even if it tore him apart. Even if she wanted distance from him, and a chance to sort out her own feelings. All that mattered was that she was suffering, and it wasn’t something Malcolm could bear to see.

“He wants me to meet him again,” said Rose.

“No!” Malcolm snapped. “Absolutely not. I don’t care what he said to you Rose. He tried to kill you.”

“I know…” Her words came out intermingled with a sob. “I know. And I don’t think I could do it, either. It would too much for me to see him again. But… I need to know why, Malcolm.”

“Where is he?”

“Promise me that you won’t hurt him,” said Rose.

Malcolm hesitated, and hoped she wouldn’t read too much into it.

“I promise,” he lied.

If he gives me any excuse, I will gladly break that promise. I’ll be a liar, just this one time.

“Please,” said Rose. “Ask him why. Tell him that… I’m just so confused. And I need to know why. And the full story. My… story.”

Malcolm agreed. Rose gave him the address to another motel where Brenden had told her he was now staying.

“I’ll see what I can find out,” said Malcolm. “You should rest.”

“…I miss you,” said Rose.

“I miss you too,” said Malcolm. “So much.”

They were both silent for a few seconds. The pause in conversation was both comforting and expectant, as it was clear that there were some words that could fill that particular space, if either of them wanted to say them. Malcolm’s heart ached for her.

“I should get going,” he said. “Don’t want to waste the rest of the afternoon if I’m going to meet Brenden.”

“Right,” said Rose. “Thank you.”

She made a noise that suggested that she’d just kissed the phone. Malcolm chuckled, and they teased each other for a bit before saying goodbye.

CHAPTER 24

The second motel was even shabbier than the first. Malcom didn’t know what that said about Brenden, maybe the guy was just down on his luck. Whatever the reason, the place was a dump. He could smell the stench of stale cigarette smoke and the essence of unwashed bodies even before he entered the lobby.

He found Brenden’s room and hesitated before knocking. There was no telling how the man would respond to Malcolm showing up instead of Rose. Malcolm knew very little about him, and what he knew wasn’t good. He was volatile, homicidal and he owned a gun.

If he tries to shoot me, I’ll at least have an excuse to deal him some pain.

Malcolm tried not to dwell on the thought as he knocked. The door opened after a couple of seconds. Brenden raised an eyebrow when he saw Malcolm on the other side. His eyes were bloodshot, and there were dark bags underneath them. He still wore the same clothes Malcolm had last seen him in.

“So, she sent you,” said Brenden. “What are you… her boyfriend? Or… just a friend?”

Malcolm smiled slightly at the question. Part of him wished that he’d worn his mask, though he hadn’t bothered with it when he’d intervened during Brenden and Rose’s meeting. No, he decided. It was better for both of them if Brenden could see his face, read his emotions, and get an understanding of the new life that Rose had made for herself.

“I’m someone who cares about her,” said Malcolm, sidestepping the question. “And I’m here for answers.”

He flexed his hand. Part of him wanted to cut to the chase and attack Brenden, hurt him until he gave up the story that Rose was seeking. He forced the urge down, knowing that violence might have the opposite effect and lead to Brenden refusing to say anything.

“Answers…” mumbled Brenden. “Yeah, cause those are so easy to come by in life.”

There were bottles on the floor, more than there should have been, given that he’d only been in the motel room for a night or two. Brenden’s breath smelled of whiskey even though Malcolm was standing well clear of him.

“She needs to know the truth,” said Malcolm. “Will you give it to me?”

He almost hoped that Brenden would refuse. It would give Malcolm enough of an excuse to do what he really felt like doing. He pictured Rose holding her stomach after Brenden had shot her, the look of betrayal and despair on her face.

“The truth,” muttered Brenden. “I wanted her to remember the truth. I wonder if she’d even believe me if I told it to her straight.”

He reached over to the room’s small table, picking up several different liquor bottles and setting them back down until he found one with something left in it.

“She wants to hear it, regardless of whether it’s easy or not,” said Malcolm.

“But she sent you…” Surprisingly, Brenden’s voice carried a note of hurt in it. “She sent you to ask her questions and do her fucking dirty work.”

“She sent me because you tried to kill her,” said Malcolm.

He wanted to say more about that, to share with Brenden how much pain he’d put Rose through by offering it back to him, first hand. Malcolm took a slow breath and forced himself to be patient. Brenden started chuckling, apparently sensing his struggle.

“Alright then,” said Brenden. “Why don’t I tell you the truth? Does that sound swell to you, mister concerned boyfriend?”

Malcolm didn’t say anything. Brenden took another drink, steadied himself, and then nodded.

“Rose… Rosalina… was one of the first,” he said. “She discovered her gifts on the day of the Phenomenon. I was with her when it happened. I won’t go into detail about what we were doing at the time, for your sake.”

He grinned, and Malcolm felt a surge of unnecessary jealousy.

“She was powerful,” said Brenden. “She helped people. She was the fucking poster child for how a person should act when given an advantage over others. She linked up with the Champion Watch, that’s what it was called before it became the Champion Authority. She did it full time, fighting criminals. Fighting monsters. The works.”

Malcolm had already assumed as much about Rose’s past, based off what she’d told him. She had, over time, remembered a few details. The last year leading up to her becoming a spryte, however, was still a mystery.

“What happened when she turned?” asked Malcolm.

Brenden let out a long groan.

“You just want to jump straight to the point,” he said. “Fuck it. Fine. We were leaving for vacation. They called in a travel warning on the radio, some kind of demon who generate blasts of concentrated force. It was between us and the airport.”

Brenden smiled slightly, but there was such sadness in it that Malcolm almost felt bad for him.

“Rose was so confident,” said Brenden. “She thought she could just take him on, right then and there, and we’d be able to keep going. Enjoy the Bahamas, like we’d been planning.”

Brenden locked eyes with Malcolm.

“The demon hit our car,” he said. “We flipped over two, three times. I was stunned, but okay. Rose was already out of the car. Hope… was in the backseat. My daughter… Our daughter.”

Malcolm couldn’t stop the surprise from showing on his face. Rose had told him once before that what she’d really wanted was a normal life. A husband, kids, a yard with a picket fence. Did she know that she’d once had it?

When he turned his focus back to Brenden, the expression on the man’s face made it hard for him to want to hear the rest of the story. There was too much pain there, and too much loss.

“She would have been okay,” whispered Brenden. “She should have been okay! I thought she was in her damn car seat. Just a little baby, didn’t even notice she wasn’t still under the blanket. I was dazed, and stupid, stupid, so fucking stupid. I pulled the carrier out and I was sprinting away. And then… Rose just lost it.”

Malcolm closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair.

“She lost it,” Brenden repeated. “She went fucking psycho! Her skin, her face… she was suddenly just like the monster she was trying to protect us from. And it spread out from her, wrecking everything. Like a fucking black hole.”

Brenden had to take a minute to breathe, drink, and shudder before he could continue. Malcolm waited, though he didn’t need to hear the end.

“Hope wasn’t with me,” muttered Brenden. “She wasn’t in the car seat. And when Rose, or whatever she’d turned into was done, there was no car left. Hope was just… gone. Do you get it? Do fucking understand why I came here, now? I need to stop the thing that killed my daughter.”

It took Malcolm a couple of seconds to realize that Brenden was waiting for him to say something.

“She didn’t kill your daughter,” he said, slowly. “That wasn’t her, Brenden. She wasn’t in control.”

Even as Malcolm spoke the words, he knew that they were not what Brenden needed to hear. Fury overtook the man’s face.

“You weren’t there!” he screamed. “You don’t understand! I have to do this. I have to make her remember… and then…”

Brenden pulled the gun out in a sudden rush of movement, aiming it at Malcolm’s face.

“Tell me where she is,” said Brenden.

Malcolm used his wind manipulation, tearing the gun loose from Brenden’s hand before he could get a shot off. He sighed, feeling more sympathy for the man than he’d expected to.

“Brenden,” he said. “Killing Rose isn’t the answer. It won’t change the fact that your daughter’s dead.”

He leaned forward, trying to meet Brenden’s eyes as he looked away. Brenden let out a sigh.

“Maybe she’ll kill me,” said Brenden. “Maybe that’s what I’m hoping for.”

“Brenden…” Malcolm sighed and looked away from him, feeling emotionally fatigued. Brenden shifted and reached for something. Malcolm thought he was picking up a bottle of whiskey until he heard the crackle of electricity.

Pain and numbness surged through him, originating in the bare flesh of his neck, where Brenden had thrust the end of a taser against him. Malcolm crumpled to the ground, black stars dancing across his vision.

A taser. Electricity. My weakness.

Brenden snarled as he leapt onto Malcolm. He’d picked the gun back up and struggled to get the barrel against Malcolm’s head. Malcolm could only barely hold him at bay, his muscles cramped and weak from the high voltage shock.

“I’ll kill you, and then I’ll kill her!” shouted Brenden.

“No!” Malcolm pushed hard, twisting the gun around and turning the barrel toward Brenden. His hand closed over Brenden’s clenched fingers, and the gun went off. The sound of it was horrifying, as close to his ears as it was, but the blood splatter, and the instantaneous loosening of Brenden’s muscles was even worse.

The bullet had taken Brenden in the chin, sparing his face, but exiting up through his skull and brain. Malcolm rolled him to the side, looking down at his blood soiled shirt, and then at the gun still in Brenden’s hand.

He stared at the unmoving body, his emotions roiling. As he calmed down, Malcolm was surprised to find that he wasn’t shocked or disgusted by what had just happened. He felt cold, empty, and above all, relieved.

He won’t be able to hurt Rose. And he would have, if this hadn’t happened. He would have found a way to do something.

Malcolm took the gun from Brenden’s hand. He left the motel through the window after using a sock to wipe down any surface he remembered touching. He cut into a nearby alleyway, and then used his wind manipulation to fly away as quickly as he possibly could.

CHAPTER 25

Brenden’s body would eventually be found. Whether the murder of a single man from out of town would warrant the attention of the news media, in the current chaotic local climate, was less certain. Malcolm figured the police would investigate Brenden’s murder, but he doubted they’d have the manpower they needed to do a thorough job of it. Still, it was possible that the death could be traced back to him.

Back to me? Or back to Wind Runner, back to Second Wind?

He scowled as he landed behind an abandoned building, just down the street from his hideout. It was another mistake he’d made that he’d have to explain to his copy and apologize for. Not a mistake, he corrected himself. A choice he’d made, for Rose’s safety as much as for his own survival.

He took out his phone and slowly dialed the number for the sprytes. It rang twice, and then someone picked up.

“…Hello?” Rose sounded anxious. Malcolm bit his lip and considered what he should tell her.

“Hey,” he said. “It’s me.”

Rose was silent for a moment. Malcolm heard the sound of her taking a slow breath.

“What happened?” she asked.

“He wasn’t there,” lied Malcolm.

She can never know. Not what Brenden told me, and not what I did to him.

Malcolm was surprised by how little guilt he felt over telling the lie. The alternative, telling her the truth, would have caused her so much pointless pain. She didn’t remember. It was in the past, and Malcolm wasn’t sure that he trusted Brenden’s emotional retelling of the series of events.

“He… wasn’t there?” asked Rose.

“I think he knew that I was coming,” said Malcolm. “The owner of the motel said that he’d already checked out, but needed to pay a fee for the state he’d left the room in.”

Rose was silent on the other end. Malcolm prayed that she’d just let it drop. She’d already been hurt by Brenden, emotionally and physically. Why go down that path any further?

“…Okay,” she said. “Well, thanks. I was worried, you know. About you. About what might happen.”

“You don’t have to worry about me,” said Malcolm. “How are you doing? Did you get some rest?”

“I did,” said Rose. “I’ll be moving around again by tomorrow. I miss you.”

“I miss you, too.”

They talked some more, but not about anything important. Malcolm told her about filling in for Second Wind. He left out what had happened between him and Tapestry, feeling as though he’d rather get her opinion on that in person, instead of over the phone.

He was distracted by his own thoughts. He remembered Leah, Rose’s sister. Rose had suspected that she’d been keeping something from her. Why didn’t she tell her about Brenden, and Hope?

Why didn’t I tell her the truth? Maybe it’s too much to be shared without breaking her.

“I should go,” said Rose. “Dinner’s already started.”

“Go ahead,” said Malcolm.

“Tomorrow,” said Rose. “I want to see you.”

“I should have time,” said Malcolm. “Assuming I don’t have to fill in for Second Wind again.”

“Alright,” said Rose. “Have a good night. And…”

Malcolm waited, but she didn’t say anything else.

“Good night Rose,” he said.

He hung up the phone and started back toward his hideout. It was an hour or two past sunset. Vanderbrook was dark, but not yet quiet, and an unseasonably cold breeze stirred through the streets.

Malcolm saw a figure waiting for him by the warehouse. He knew who it was. As if confirming his suspicions on cue, Second Wind stepped out of the shadows, blocking Malcolm’s way to his hideout.

“Good,” said Malcolm. “About time. Where have you been?”

Second Wind didn’t answer him. The wind blew through the street, and a plastic bag tumbled lazily between them. Malcolm waited, sensing that the discussion they were about to have could only go in one direction.

“Is this really how you see things?” asked Second Wind. “That you can just… step back into my life, whenever you want? Take whatever you want from me when I’m not around?”

Malcolm felt a sudden stab of guilt. He averted his gaze from Second Wind’s, wishing he could take go back into the moment and refuse to open the door for Tapestry when she’d come knocking.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I honestly am. The two of you… were closer than I realized. I didn’t react to it as I should have.”

Second Wind glared at him.

“So, you came along and thought you’d just… give her what she needed?” Second Wind’s voice was cold.

“It was stupid,” said Malcolm. “I made… a very dumb mistake. But honestly, I didn’t have much of a choice but to fill in for you. You left Tapestry here in Vanderbrook alone as the only champion in town.”

“I had my reasons,” said Second Wind.

“And just what the fuck were they?” snapped Malcolm. “Where did you run off to? Are you going to answer that question, or are you just going to make me out to be the bad guy?”

He immediately wished he could take his words back, or at least changed the tone he’d used. Rather than being chastened by the words, Second Wind exploded at him.

“I am doing what I have to do to protect this city!” shouted Second Wind. “To protect the world! Have you forgotten that I’m Wind Runner? That’s who I am, and who you were! Would you have abandoned Tapestry to fend for herself, unless it was absolutely necessary?”

Malcolm frowned. He had to admit, Second Wind had a point.

“But why then the secrecy?” asked Malcolm.

Instead of answering, Second Wind narrowed his eyes further into a glare.

“Hey,” said Malcolm. “You’re looking at this the wrong way. We’re a team! Team Malcolm! You’re Second Wind, I’m the Gifted Vigilante! But we’re both working toward the same goals!”

Second Wind’s laugh was cold and seething with anger.

“The same thing…” he said. “You strut back into my life and help yourself. And then you say we’re working for the same thing.”

“We aren’t just working for the same thing,” said Malcolm. “We are the same. Hey, we’re both Malcolm! Take a step back from evil twin territory and just be real for a second.”

Second Wind slowly shook his head.

“No,” he said. “The differences have snowballed. Even as something as small as you being first, and me being… second, is enough to push us onto different paths.”

“We’re on the same path,” said Malcolm.

“I’m your slave,” said Second Wind. “Your body double. Something to keep your life warm for you while you run off on your latest adventure.”

That sounds a lot like what I just did for him.

Malcolm kept the thought to himself.

“No, we aren’t the same anymore,” said Second Wind. “You’re the Gifted Vigilante. I’m Wind Runner. And you need to stay the hell out of my business.”

Malcolm stared at him, at the same face, the same eyes. At his own reflection, except not.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.

“You know what it means,” said Second Wind. “You can’t have both lives. And if you try to keep getting involved in mine again, the two of us will end up fighting.”

The words would have sounded like a threat, coming from anyone else. Second Wind was just stating what Malcolm already knew. He was no longer Wind Runner, and that meant giving up not just his identity, but the friends that went with it. People he cared about.

Tapestry. I was a fool to get so close to her. But I guess, from her point of view, she’ll still have “me”.

“You expect me to just walk away?” asked Malcolm. “To leave Vanderbrook, and pretend like the people here aren’t in danger?”

“If you have to,” said Second Wind. “How did you… How did WE think this was going to end? This has just been a long series of careless decisions. From when we took in Rose, to chasing after Rain Dancer. And then making… me.”

He smiled. Malcolm felt another sudden stab of guilt and resignation. He had made dumb decisions. He thought of Tapestry, and how things had been before Second Wind. She would have discovered Rose and the betrayal Malcolm juggled behind her back.

And even with Rose, he’d made mistakes. Perhaps getting involved with her initially was just the biggest one of them all. She had no memories, and hid in Malcolm’s apartment out of fear and vulnerability. And he’d let her offer herself to him, never stopping to consider that she might have loved ones, a history, a meaning in life beyond being a spryte.

And now I’m keeping secrets from her, too. Secrets that I don’t own.

He’d made a mess of things. And now Second Wind was asking him to step back from it and let someone else take responsibility for cleaning it up.

“I can’t,” said Malcolm. “No. I won’t. I’m going after Multi, as the Gifted Vigilante, at the same time you and Tapestry do.”

“I’m not going to warn you again,” said Second Wind. “Stay out of my life.”

He turned and walked away, lifting off into the sky as soon as he could. Malcolm let out a long sigh and fought the urge to punch something. It was a losing battle. His knuckles ached afterward, and the cement pillar he’d chosen was no worse for wear.

CHAPTER 26

Malcom couldn’t just go back to his hole in the ground hideout that night. It felt cold and empty, and reinforced how alone he was. He wanted to call Rose, but guilt over Brenden’s death and the secrets he held weighed too heavily on him.

Instead, he went to Terri’s Tavern for a beer. The place was nearly empty, and Scribe had few words for him as he sat down and accepted a beer. Malcolm drank it slowly. His knuckles ached, and he found himself wishing he’d taken Tapestry’s power instead of holding onto…

“Hi.” Chaste Widow flashed a smile at him as she took the bar stool to his left. Malcolm sighed and took a long sip of his beer, realizing that he actually preferred his loneliness to having to participate in a real conversation.

She didn’t say much at first. She ordered a drink and seemed to pay it all of her attention, leaving Malcolm to stew in his own thoughts for as long as he wanted. It was a tactic that he simultaneously hated and appreciated.

“Do you ever feel guilty?” he asked.

Chaste Widow gave the question consideration.

“In general?” She shrugged. “No.”

Malcolm finished his beer. Scribe seemed to sense that he’d want it refilled before he’d even started to ask.

“You know what I mean,” said Malcolm. “You make choices. Often ones with lasting consequences. Choices that get you labeled as one of the bad guys. Uh, bad girls, I mean.”

He winced. She was very attractive, and between that, the setting, and her close proximity to him made it hard for him to focus.

“A bad girl,” said Chaste Widow. “Yes. That’s exactly what I am.”

There was a hint of dry sarcasm in her voice. Malcolm watched her, drinking his new beer faster than intended.

“You seemed like you had a reason,” said Malcolm. “The men that you… kiss. You don’t pick them at random.”

Chaste Widow slowly shook her head.

“No,” she said. “I don’t. So, to answer your question a second time, the reason I don’t feel guilty, even though I do bad things, is because there are people out there who do worse things.”

“That reasoning seems a little flimsy,” said Malcolm.

Chaste Widow smiled and leaned in closer to him.

“Maybe to you,” she whispered. Her face was way too close his. “But I’ve seen the expressions on their faces. The men I killed… they were truly evil. Rapists, sadists, kidnappers. And you know what their faces told me when I killed them?”

Her hand slid up his thigh. She came in even closer. Her lips brushed against Malcolm’s, not a kiss, but incidental contact.

“They looked at me like I was the evil one.” Chaste Widow gave Malcolm’s inner thigh a squeeze and was suddenly back over on her stool. “So that is how I keep the faith, and banish the guilt. Bit of a double negative, I guess you could say.”

Malcolm raised an eyebrow at her.

“That simple, huh?”

She nodded.

Four drinks and two hours later, Malcolm walked alongside a drunk and flirtatious Chaste Widow. He still didn’t want to head back to his hideout, even though he knew he’d need to wake up early the next morning.

“So,” said Chaste Widow. “Do you see yourself as evil?”

Malcolm shrugged.

“I’m not as good at answering those sorts of questions as you are,” he said.

“You could let me be the judge,” she said. “Of just how bad you really are.”

She stepped in closer to him, kissing his neck, and then his lips. Malcolm turned his head away from hers, feeling suddenly tired. Not of her, but of bad decisions.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

He just shook his head. Chaste Widow was silent for a little while, the two of them still walking with their arms linked.

“I haven’t kissed anyone since…” she trailed. “Well, it’s been a while. At least since I’ve kissed anyone without them dying afterward.”

She reached her free hand over and traced Malcolm’s lips with it.

“Let me kiss you,” she said. “And I’ll kiss you back. Wherever you want.”

Malcolm’s hormones surged, fueled by alcohol and emotional fatigue. He took a deep breath and forced himself to shake his head.

“Not tonight,” he said.

“What?” Chaste Widow looked shocked, as though she’d never been rejected before. “But... you know I’m not just teasing you, right?”

She moved in closer to him and made to slide her hand down his pants. Malcolm caught it and gave it a reproachful, but soft squeeze.

“Not tonight,” he repeated again.

Chaste Widow was pouting, but she gave him an accepting nod, her face showing her respect for him.

“Good,” said Malcolm. “Well… It’s late.”

“It’s very late.” Chaste Widow cleared her throat. “And I should be going. Thanks for being such a tease tonight, you big meanie.”

“And thanks for the company,” said Malcolm.

CHAPTER 27

Malcolm’s sleep was uneasy that night. It was dreamless, but he woke often, each time feeling anxious. He was up far earlier than he needed to be and didn’t waste any time getting dressed. He ate a quick breakfast, donned his black clothing and mask, and left his underground lair.

He wasn’t about to let Tapestry and Second Wind face Multi on their own. It was just too dangerous. Despite everything Second Wind had said and the threats he’d made, Malcolm’s fear of what would happen if he let the two of them go in alone was even greater.

It would be suicide. Multi is too smart, and too powerful.

Dawn hadn’t yet broken over Vanderbrook’s skyline when he stole away from the warehouse. He made his way to the park across the street from Second Wind’s apartment just as rays of light began to peek above the horizon. He found a bench hidden from direct view line of Second Wind’s windows and sat down, concentrating on listening using the wind.

There was nothing discernable at first. He knew Second Wind was home, as he could hear the sounds of his soft snoring. Close to an hour passed before he saw Tapestry’s black BMW pull up in front of the apartment.

He watched as she walked up to the apartment and tried the locked door handle. She knocked until Second Wind opened the door, and then stepped inside.

Part of Malcolm was shamefully curious of how his copy behaved around Tapestry when the two of them were on their own. Especially after Malcolm’s brief foray back into his old life. He held his breath and listened to their conversation.

“You look terrible,” said Tapestry. “Not feeling much better, I take it?”

“No, I’m fine,” said Second Wind. “Or as they said back in your day, I’m fit as a fiddle.”

Malcolm heard the sound of Tapestry’s fist impacting against shoulder muscle. It wasn’t a light tap, either.

“Seriously,” said Tapestry. “This might be the only chance we get. You need to be focused, Wind Runner.”

“We have to move today, whether I am or not,” said Second Wind. “It doesn’t seem like he’s planning on staying in that old factory for long.”

Old factory? So Multi set up shop in the abandoned industrial park. Why does that place seem like a hotbed for monster activity?

“You’re right,” said Tapestry. “But we still have to be careful. We’ll move in slow, and scout it out as we go. That’s the only way we can pull this off.”

Malcolm took a breath and felt an airborne dandelion tuft sneak into his throat. He coughed. Across the street in the apartment, he heard Second Wind draw in his own breath quickly.

“What is it?” asked Tapestry. “What’s wrong?”

He felt his hopes of going unseen blow away with the wind. He’d been stupid enough to forget that anything he could do, Second Wind could do just as well. Of course he’d be using the wind to listen. After the last words they’d shared the night before, he’d have to assume that Malcolm would try to crash their party.

Second Wind left the apartment through the open window. He soared across the street, toward the park. Malcolm made no move to run or hide as his copy landed in front of him, both of Second Wind’s hands clasped into fists.

The two of them squared off against each other, adopting identical fighting stances. Malcolm didn’t see anger in his copy’s expression, just a cold determination to follow through with his warning.

The only important difference between the two of them, in the context of a fight, was their abilities. They each had wind manipulation, which canceled out any advantage it might give. Malcolm still had Chaste Widow’s death kiss power. Second Wind most likely had Tapestry’s regeneration.

Neither power would lend itself to a fight like this. This was a fight not to kill, but to make the other submit. They knew each other too intimately, like two brothers, but even closer. The goal for both of them was to dominate, or at least defeat, rather than destroy.

Malcolm felt he owed it to his copy to make the first move. He feinted forward with a punch, spinning and speeding himself with the wind for a spinning kick in the wake of it. Second Wind dodged, dropping low and coming up for an upper cut.

Malcolm leaned back far enough for it to miss and immediately shielded over his head, knowing Second Wind would reverse it for a downward strike. He countered with a quick jab to Second Wind’s stomach, which he traded for a kick to the thigh muscle.

Why does it have to be like this? Why can’t we both just get along?

If Second Wind was having similar thoughts, he didn’t let it show in his eyes. He darted forward, gearing up to throw one of the wild, hard punches that Malcolm so often relied on when fighting unskilled opponents.

Malcolm reacted to what his copy was about to do on instinct, but moved a second too late. The punch was a feint. Instead of carrying it all the way forward, Second Wind spun into his guard and through his forehead into Malcolm’s face. It was a cheap and vicious attack, and Malcolm had probably only been a few seconds away from trying it himself.

He stumbled backward. Second Wind pressed forward with his advantage, pummeling Malcolm’s abdomen. Malcolm kept his guard up, desperate to protect his head. Tapestry had finally found them, and she let out a furious shout. He wasn’t sure who she’d meant it for.

Second Wind kneed Malcolm hard in the stomach. He groaned and fell forward, deciding that it was time to play the card he’d hoped to keep in his deck. He slipped a hand into the back of his waist band and pulled out Brenden’s taser, tagging Second Wind in the shoulder with it before his copy had time to react.

It was as though Malcolm had flipped a switch and turned his copy off. He wondered if he would have done such a thing, had it been a real and simple possibility. Second Wind crumpled to the ground, legs twitching slightly. Malcolm heard Tapestry shout something else. He glanced over and saw that she had her gun trained on him. With his mask still on, all she saw when she looked at him was the vigilante.

“Leave him alone!” she shouted. “I don’t know why you’re here, and I don’t care. We’re past that point.”

“No.” Second Wind spoke before Malcolm could. “No… It’s over. Put the gun down, Tapestry. He wins.”

Malcolm stared at Second Wind. His copy had surprised him so many times in the past few days that he couldn’t help but wonder if the process was as seamless as Multi and his duplicates had made it appear. He had no idea what was going on in Second Wind’s mind, and given how familiar of a face the man wore, it scared the hell out of him.

“You win,” said Second Wind. “It’s yours. You can have it. I’m done.”

He slowly stood to his feet, and then leapt into the air. Malcolm crouched, ready to jump into flight to follow him. Tapestry cocked her pistol.

“Don’t move!” she shouted. “I swear to god, I will shoot you.”

It wasn’t an empty threat, and he didn’t take it as one. Malcolm stood where he was, watching Second Wind’s figure disappear into the clouds. What was his copy thinking? Was this really the end of their partnership? What did that mean for Malcolm, and for Vanderbrook?

It’s too soon to think about that. Better to focus on immediate problems.

“What did he mean by that?” snapped Tapestry. “Tell me! Explain everything, including why two of you seemed to know each other.”

“It’s complicated,” said Malcolm, gruffly. “We’re… friends, of a sort.”

Tapestry didn’t look like she believed him, and he didn’t blame her.

“Where did he go?” asked Tapestry. “And why… what did you do?”

“That’s a really good question.” Malcolm sighed. “But I don’t think I have an answer that would make sense to you. Now, are you going to shoot me? Or are we just going to stand here all day?”

Tapestry glared at him.

“You’re a renegade,” she said. “It would be simpler to shoot you, and be done with it.”

Malcolm leapt into the air. Tapestry didn’t fire.

CHAPTER 28

Malcolm didn’t go far, only disappearing out of Tapestry’s sight before doubling back to watch the apartment. He was almost tempted to ditch his mask, change his clothes, and attempt to sub in for Second Wind, right then and there. But there were too many continuity issues, enough that Tapestry would know that something was off.

Besides… I don’t know what Second Wind is planning. He might cool down and come back soon.

Even as the thought entered Malcolm’s awareness, he knew it wasn’t the case. Somewhere, a line had been crossed, and he was pretty sure it was his doing. He doubted that there was any coming back from what had just happened, not after how serious a warning Second Wind had issued the night before.

So instead, Malcolm watched from the down the street. Tapestry returned to the apartment to retrieve her keys and then climbed into her car. She pulled onto the street, and drove in the opposite direction of her home.

He frowned, following her on foot until her car turned around a corner in the distance. He flew up onto a building where he could watch its path more easily. She was headed toward the old industrial park. Toward Multi.

Malcolm’s phone rang. It was the number of the spryte phone. He answered, expecting Rose, but throwing his voice just in case it was one of the others.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” said Rose. “You aren’t at your hideout.”

“You’re feeling better, then?” he asked.

“Much.”

“Good,” said Malcolm. “Can you meet me? I need your help.”

Ten minutes later, Malcolm and Rose stood on top of one of the abandoned buildings overlooking Vanderbrook’s old industrial park. Tapestry had left her car on a nearby street and was slowly approaching an old electronics factory, gun in hand.

“Hold on,” said Rose. “Explain this to me again. Your copy is missing in action?”

“He’s gone,” said Malcolm. “And this time… I don’t think he’s coming back.”

“Okay,” said Rose. “And that makes it your responsibility to protect the blonde champion, because…?”

“You know her name,” said Malcolm. “And it’s my responsibility because this is my fault. I put her in a situation where she feels like she needs to charge in on her own.”

“It’s not your fault that she’s stupid,” said Rose.

Malcolm gave her a look, though he was glad to see that her spirits had improved. He tried to keep Brenden off his mind, the way his body had gone slack after the gun had gone off during their struggle.

“Are you okay?” asked Rose.

“Fine,” he said. “So how do we follow Tapestry inside without giving away our presence?”

Rose licked her lips.

“The windows are dark, meaning there’s plenty of shadow inside,” she said. “If you can land us near the entrance, we’ll only be exposed for a couple of seconds before I can use my power to cover us.”

Malcolm nodded slowly. Tapestry was slowly creeping toward a side door, scanning for danger as she went.

Something feels off here, and not just the fact that she’s alone…

“Are you sure you’re okay?” asked Rose.

Malcolm sighed.

“Yeah,” he said. “Just way too much to think about, right now.”

They waited until Tapestry had been inside for a minute before descending and following her through the same door.

Rose was right about being able to conceal them with her shadows, but the factory was dark enough to make it almost unnecessary. Old automated machines looked like strange, silhouetted monsters, frozen in place. Dust lingered in the air, and the place smelled of oil and rust.

Malcolm’s unease prickled down the back of his neck. It was obviously a trap. Multi was too organized to use such a place as his base, or even for storage. It was a trap, and now that they were inside, it was too late for them to do anything about it.

From the center of the room, a computer screen flickered on. It stood on top of a table, out of place amongst the old industrial equipment and conveyer belts. Malcolm watched Tapestry cautiously approaching it, gun out. He signaled for Rose to follow.

Multi’s face appeared on the screen. Malcolm was again reminded of just how much his old boss had changed. The hallmarks of a demon were all there, off color skin, skull bumps, but the real change had taken place in his eyes. They were gleaming black, little onyx gems reflecting cold determination and ruthlessness.

“Tapestry,” said Multi, enunciating each syllable slowly. “So good of you to finally arrive.”

Malcom heard the sounds of shuffling feet coming from the perimeter of the room. He didn’t need the light to know that the noise was dozens of armed Multi copies moving into place. He tried to keep his fear in check, closing the distance toward the computer screen with Rose at his side.

“And let’s not labor under any illusions,” said Multi. “Mr. Vigilante, why don’t you and your spryte also come out? Join us. Let’s all talk together.”

Tapestry stiffened, gripping the gun tighter in her fingers. She was standing in front of the computer screen, the blue white light giving her a ghostly glow. Malcolm could barely make out the details of her expression as he and Rose came to stand within range of the screen.

“Friends of yours?” asked Tapestry, flicking her head toward Malcolm and Rose. “I always assumed that becoming a demon made you too vain to trust anything other than a copy.”

Multi chuckled.

“It would be closer to the truth to call them friends of yours,” said Multi. “Better friends than you might think. Ah, but we should start from the beginning. I’ve summoned you here for a reason.”

“I’m not interested in talking,” said Tapestry.

Malcolm winced. He reached out into the dark and listened. He sensed that there were at least fifty, maybe sixty Multis waiting in the shadows. He knew that there were rifles trained on them waiting for a command, or for one of them to make the wrong move. There were far more Multis than the three of them could confront, even if they were working together.

“You don’t have to talk,” said Multi. “Just listen. I’ve regained many of my memories from my former life, Tapestry. Enough that I see a… small amount of value in having you serve under me.”

“Serve… under you?” Tapestry was smiling, but Malcolm could sense the tension in her body language.

“Of course,” said Multi. “It would be quite similar to how things once were. Back in… what was it we called it? The Dome? Yes… I would give you orders, and you would carry them out.”

“You’re a demon,” Tapestry pointed out, as though he might have forgotten. “You’re not in control. And we aren’t interested in being your instruments. You already have your copies. Why would you need anyone else?”

“I’m not just offering this to you,” said Multi. “In fact, Wind Runner was the one I truly wished to make this offer to.”

Multi’s eyes watched Malcolm through the screen for long enough to make him start sweating under his mask.

“Wind Runner has… a very special kind of potential,” said Multi. “I’m genuinely surprised that he isn’t here, actually. I’ve already spoken to him about this. We were almost at the point of reaching an understanding.”

“Enough,” said Tapestry. “You can lie all you want, but don’t drag Malcolm into this.”

I really wish I could have a say here.

“I’m not lying,” said Multi. “You must have noticed his absence over the past few days. Did you wonder about where he was?”

Confusion flickered across Tapestry’s face. Multi picked up on it, and understanding dawned in his eyes.

“Oh…” Multi said. “Oh, that is rich. No, of course you didn’t notice that he wasn’t around. Wind Runner, truly, you are just too much. I’m sure, Tapestry, that I must be mistaken, then.”

Tapestry didn’t say anything. Malcolm couldn’t take being on the outside edge of the conversation any longer.

“Enough of this,” he said, gruffly. “I didn’t come here to listen to the two of you talk. I came to fight.”

CHAPTER 29

He’d barely gotten the last word out of his mouth when five gunshots rang out, each one sparking the ground inches from Malcolm, Tapestry, and Rose’s feet. Multi slowly shook his head on the screen, thumbing a cigarette into his mouth and furrowing his brow.

“You came here because I lured you here,” said Multi. “To fight? It would be pointless. You might be able to escape, but what of the others here? Could you get them all out before one of my copies gets a lucky shot?”

Malcolm scowled. He might be able to use his wind manipulation to deflect some of the bullets, but the darkness made that all the more difficult. He found himself wishing that he still had Danny’s power. Being able to use thermal imaging had been helpful, and he could have used it to see the Multis in the shadows.

“That’s what power is,” said Multi. “And it’s the only thing that really matters anymore. The world isn’t like it used to be. The agenda set out for the future will not be voted on, not by the people, not by politicians pulling together for some purpose. It will be set by the sword, and enforced through overwhelming power.”

He took a long drag on his cigarette.

“I mean the three of you no harm,” said Multi. “I’m not a killer. Join me. Take all the time you need to consider my offer. I’m not an evil man, one of the demons that terrorizes the world for entertainment. I’m the one who will keep that sort of monster in check.”

“No,” said Tapestry. “And you are a monster. You knew what my answer would be. And you knew the only way to get me to hear you out was to lure me into a trap. Now that I’ve refused, as expected, you can kill me without feeling bad about it.”

“You aren’t the only one here,” said Multi. He raised an eyebrow in the direction of Malcolm and Rose.

“Forget it,” Malcolm said, gruffly. “I’m not about to ally myself with you.”

Multi’s gaze focused on Rose, who’d been quiet for the entire encounter.

“And what of you, Rose?” he asked. “I held off on asking because I was under the impression that I already had an alliance with you and the other sprytes.”

Rose smiled coldly at him.

“I think I can speak for all of us when I say that any agreement we might have had is void,” said Rose. “We don’t associate with suicide bombers.”

Multi shrugged.

“I can’t argue with that logic,” he said, grinning. “But what I can do is let a few secrets out of the bag. Let’s start with the most interesting one, shall we?”

Multi’s smile set Malcolm on edge. He glanced over at Tapestry, and then toward Rose. The way Multi’s attention remained focused directly on him told him enough. He felt his heart sinking into the depths of despair.

“Remember when I found you on the bus, Mr. Vigilante?” asked Multi. “Did you ever stop to wonder just what I was doing there? Why I took interest in you, but didn’t attack?”

“You…” Malcolm’s blood ran cold.

“Me,” said Multi. “And you. And… what was his name again? Brenden?”

Malcolm stiffened. From the speakers on either side of the screen came the sound of rough audio, probably obtained from a hidden recording device.

“The demon hit our car,” said Brenden’s voice. “We flipped over two, three times. I was stunned, but okay.”

“No!” shouted Malcolm. “Rose! Don’t listen!”

Rose was staring, mouth slightly agape. Malcolm tried to grab her shoulder. She let him, all of her attention focused on what was being said.

“Rose was already out of the car. Hope… was in the backseat. My daughter… Our daughter.”

“…What?” Rose was slowly shaking her head. “No...”

Malcolm felt her trembling under his hand. He wanted to do something, to smash the screen, or unplug the speakers. But it was already too late.

“I thought she was in her damn car seat,” Brenden’s voice said, over the speakers. “Just a little baby, didn’t even notice she wasn’t still under the blanket. I was dazed, and stupid, stupid, so fucking stupid. I pulled the carrier out and I was sprinting away. And then… Rose just lost it.”

“No!” shouted Rose. “No… no… no…”

She fell to her knees. Multi chuckled, and paused the audio.

“And then,” said Multi. “There was a struggle.”

The sound of Malcolm and Brenden fighting followed. It went on for a shorter amount of time than he remembered, but the bullet sounded the same. Rose had her face buried in her hands, sobs wrenching from her even as she tried to hold them in.

“Rose!” said Malcolm. “Listen to me, I–”

“You!” she screamed. “You lied! You… didn’t tell me?”

She let out a body shaking gasp and fell forward onto hands and knees. Malcolm ran to her side. She slapped his hand away as he tried to set it on her back.

“No!” she screamed. Tendrils of black swam under the pale purple skin of her face like dark veins. Her eyes darkened, pupils expanding to fill them. Her hair twisted, strands of shadow intermingling with darks locks.

“Rose!” shouted Malcolm. “You have to calm down!”

“My daughter!” she screamed. “My family!”

Footsteps approached from the surrounding darkness. Malcolm saw a group of three Multis inch forward, illuminated by the weak glow of the computer monitor. Rose lashed out at them with a shadow, ripping gaping holes in their chests.

Multi looked conflicted. Malcolm recognized that expression from his old boss.

This isn’t part of his plan. He doesn’t know what to do.

The dark shadows of the abandoned factory were gasoline to Rose’s spark. Malcolm could see her drawing the darkness to her. She let out wailing wordless screams and attacked anything that came close to her. She’d attack him, too. She’d kill him if he tried to help her.

“She’s losing it…” muttered Tapestry.

“We have to get out of here!” said Malcolm. “This isn’t a normal episode. She’s-”

Rose’s scream intensified, morphing into a sound that made Malcolm’s bones ache. She thrashed, putting a hole in one of the factories walls with her shadows and disintegrating a group of Multis.

The darkness was gathering into her like a pulsing, infinite black hole. Malcolm had to lean away from it to keep from being pulled in. He seized Tapestry by the waist, pushed forward with all the strength his legs had, and made an attempt to fly to safety.

Rose’s pull held him where he was for a terrifying moment, and then slowly, only through pushing his powers dangerously close to the limit, was Malcolm able to pull away. All of the Multis were busy making pathetic attempts at taking the spryte on, most of them dying in the process. Rose never stopped screaming.

Malcolm carried Tapestry free of the factory and kept going. The sunlight outside was a shock to his system, as though Rose’s episode was enough to steal the bright light of day. He watched as long spears of shadow burst up through the mostly destroyed factory and wondered just how far away that was from the truth.

“Let me down!” Tapestry struggled against him, elbowing and even grasping at his mask at one point.

“Relax!” said Malcolm, through gritted teeth. “And quit fighting!”

He didn’t want to leave just yet. He was still hoping that Rose would calm down and come to her senses. Was it even possible for her to, he wondered? After learning that she’d not only had a daughter, but also been responsible for her death?

I can’t imagine what she’s going through. And I can’t help her, either.

The roof of the factory buckled and fell inward. Malcolm bit his lower lip, hoping she’d be okay. Darkness swelled within, pulling what was left of the building into a dark, spherical vortex. A feminine figure hovered in the center of it.

The sphere suddenly lurched into the air, flying at speeds beyond anything Malcolm could have managed. It disappeared over the edge of the horizon in less than a couple of seconds. A crater sat where the factory had once been, and there were no signs of any Multis having survived the chaos.

CHAPTER 30

“Put me down, this instant!” cried Tapestry.

Malcolm scowled as she brought a fist down against his back. He was halfway tempted to see how high of a fall her regenerative abilities would let her recover from.

He landed in an old park in the center of an abandoned neighborhood, feeling drained by the experience. He was worried about Rose, more than he ever had been during any of her previous episodes and disappearances. He wasn’t sure if she’d come back to herself, this time.

“You… have so much to answer for!” demanded Tapestry. “Who are you? And what’s your relationship to Wind Runner?”

Malcolm barely even heard her. He was scanning the skies for any sign of Rose. How had she flown, inside that sphere? Was that an ability only available to her when deep within an episode?

“Answer me!” Tapestry lunged at him, her hand groping for the bottom of his mask. Malcolm spun out of the way.

“Your questions will have to wait,” he said. “If I see Wind Runner… I’ll send him back to you.”

Even as he said the words, they felt hollow and empty. If he saw Second Wind again, it was more likely that things would end as they’d ended with Brenden. That thought struck a raw note inside of Malcolm. How had all of his good intentions come to this?

He pushed back into the air before Tapestry could ask anything more, feeling a small twinge of guilt over how in the dark she was. It was easy to brood in Malcolm’s state of mind, but instead, he forced himself to hum his rock music and keep his mind on balancing his wind manipulation. It would let him stay in the air longer. It might let him find Rose.

He flew high, unconcerned by the clouds, and the chill of the thin air. He flew as high as he could while still keeping visibility on the ground below, and searched for Rose, like someone scanning a thick carpet for an inconspicuous lost earring.

She could be anywhere. And in the state she’s in… the only sure thing is destruction.

Malcolm flew slow circles around the town, pushing himself to the limit of how much flying he could do without snapping. Part of him wanted to flirt with the limit, and wondered what would happen if he did succumb to the temptation to turn into a demon.

He thought of his brother Danny, and of Rose. Of his fellow champion, Melt, who had snapped during combat, and later committed suicide. The memories weren’t things that Malcolm could let himself dwell on. At least not now.

During his first break from flying, Malcolm called the spryte phone out of desperation. Fantasy picked up. Malcolm’s words with her were brief, but enough to confirm that she hadn’t returned to their base yet. He knew that she wouldn’t have, and that it could be days, or even weeks, before she’d ever be in a state of mind to return.

He searched for hours. It was frustrating and pointless. He could either fly low and slow, and make out detail, or high and fast, and settle for trying to spot areas of recent destruction. Each time he did, it was just Multi’s handiwork, or leftover damage from other, unrelated incidents.

The sky was dark by the time Malcolm finally gave up. He flew back to his hideout, landing on wobbly legs, half-sure that another minute in the air would be enough to make him cross over the line.

There was someone waiting for him next to the hatch leading below. Malcolm blinked and felt his heart sail as he stepped in close enough to see in the dim confines of the warehouse. It was her. And… she was naked.

“Rose!” Malcolm ran to her. He pulled off his mask and let it fall to the ground. He kissed her passionately, and felt Rose give a small, surprised squeal. He cupped her naked breasts in his hands, and pressed forward against her, his exhaustion giving way to fierce, sexual need.

She had her hand down his pants, stroking his hardness eagerly, a mischievous smile on her face as though she wanted him to take her right there in the dirty warehouse. Malcolm had so many questions, but they slid to the back of his mind in favor of the pleasure she offered.

He frowned, noticing something strange. She was shorter than she should have been. Rose was already pulling his pants down and lowering herself to her knees. She ran her lips over his erection and began to suck in an uncharacteristically eager manner, lips and tongue focused and intent. Malcolm met her eyes, and felt the truth, along with his anger, hit him like a runaway bus.

“Fantasy,” he said.

She winked at him and slid his shaft out of her mouth. Rose’s naked form shifted, skin turning from purple to a soft gold, hair from black to fine blonde. She was still naked, and she’d always been a bombshell, but that was the last thing on his mind.

“It was Shield Maiden’s idea,” said Fantasy, slowly rising to her feet. “And I agreed with her. We needed to know for sure. Both who you were, and whether you had anything to do with Rose’s disappearance.”

Malcolm almost exploded at her, but managed to check his reaction in time to see the truth of her words.

I did have something to do with it. It’s my fault. I led her to Brenden, and then I kept secrets from her.

“For the record, we’d ruled out you being Wind Runner,” said Shield Maiden. “It’s … a little unbelievable to me. There’s footage of both of you together that we’ve seen on the news… Though I guess anyone could have been under the mask in those clips.”

Fantasy flashed a flirtatious smile. Malcolm glared at her.

“Well, you have your answer,” he said. “You know who I am now. Are we done here?”

“We care about her, too,” said Fantasy. “Both Shield Maiden and I. Keep us in the loop. We’ll help however we can.”

Malcolm gave a small nod, feeling betrayed by the deceit.

“You know…” said Fantasy. “Since I’m already here, and since I’m already… naked.”

She stepped in close to him again, kissing his neck, sliding one arm under her breasts to make them more prominent. Her nipples were large, and the tips were hard.

“You have an odd way of caring about your friends.” Malcolm turned his back to her and set about unlocking the hatch to his hideout. “You have my number. Call me if you hear anything.”

He didn’t look back as he climbed down the ladder.

CHAPTER 31

Malcolm was exhausted, but sleep eluded him that night, and for good reason. His throat felt like it had a lump in it. He couldn’t close his eyes without seeing Rose’s face, and hearing her screams as the audio recording of Brenden’s words played.

I caused her so much pain. I just wish… I could do the last few days over.

He knew that it wasn’t all his fault. Regardless of whether he’d told her immediately, or successfully hidden it from her, she would have found out eventually. Malcolm felt the lump in his throat tighten with empathy as he thought about the weight she carried.

His phone vibrated next to his bed. He picked it up immediately, his hopes high. He had a new text message from Tapestry, and it simply said that she needed to speak with him, immediately.

Malcolm sighed, debating with himself over just when constituted immediately. He was leaning his head back against his pillow when it suddenly struck him that he’d never given Tapestry his new phone number. There’d never been any reason to. Which meant that she found it through other means.

A cold chill ran through Malcolm. He got out of bed and rushed to pull his clothes on. He pulled on his mask a little reluctantly, unsure of whether it would serve him anymore to continue the charade of the Gifted Vigilante.

It’s just another secret for me to carry.

It was still early, and the sky overhead was a deep, dusky purple that reminded him of Rose. He flew across Vanderbrook in what felt like a single bound. He couldn’t help but savor the sensation of the wind on his clothes even as his thoughts were drawn back to his worries.

The lights were on in the living room of Tapestry’s house. Malcolm landed in her front yard, and considered his approach carefully. Just by showing up at Tapestry’s, he would be betraying that he knew where she lived. How much longer would it be before she connected the dots?

The front door opened before he’d reached the porch. A familiar voice, Malcolm’s own voice, came from within the house.

“Please, come inside,” said Second Wind. “We have so much to discuss.”

Malcolm’s confusion only lasted until he entered Tapestry’s living room, and saw what awaited him. Second Wind sat next to Tapestry on the couch. Tapestry was clad only in her nightgown, eyes red from crying, face set into a hopeless expression of despair and numb shock. And it was obvious, at a glance, why.

Second Wind had done it. His skin was pale white and ghostly, like fresh ash from a dead fire. He’d shaved off all of his hair, which made the regular, rough bumps along the crown of his skull that much more pronounced. He was a demon, and he was grinning at Malcolm, savoring his reaction like fine wine.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” said Malcolm. “How could you be so fucking stupid?”

“The polite thing to do would be to say hello,” said Second Wind. “Ask me how I’m doing. Make small talk. Warm up the room, before jumping straight to questioning my decisions.”

“Your decision?” asked Malcolm. “Your mistake, you mean. Your foolish, idiotic, mistake!”

He gritted his teeth. There was something else about Second Wind’s demeanor that unnerved him almost as much as his copy’s radically altered appearance. He seemed to be in control, relaxed, even. He seemed to have his faculties about him, which was rare for a demon, but virtually unheard of in one that had just turned.

“Not a mistake,” said Second Wind. “A decision. One that I came to after a lot of careful thought and planning.”

It was only then that Malcolm noticed Second Wind’s wrist. His grey metal champion stabilizer had been removed, and replaced with a black band similar to the stabilizer, but wider, it extended over half of his forearm.

“It’s Multi’s design,” said Second Wind. “That’s part of where I’ve been recently. Testing this little doohickey. He still calls it a stabilizer, and the name is actually appropriate. No bomb or tracking device, just an emotional control system. To let me think and feel as I should, and take full advantage of my new abilities.”

He stood up and took a few steps toward Malcolm.

“I think it’s time that we end with all the secrets. For everyone’s sake. Don’t you?”

Malcolm glared at him. He could see the confidence in Second Wind’s eyes. He had no idea what sort of tricks his copy might have up his sleeve, now that he’d gone over to the metaphorical dark side.

“Tapestry…” said Malcolm. “I’m sorry.”

He pulled off his mask. Tapestry’s reaction was muted. She blinked a couple of times and slowly shook her head in disbelief. Malcolm felt his heart breaking as he looked at her, but there was also a weight that slid off his shoulders. He was finally giving up the lies, and it felt right, if also painful.

“I… can’t handle this,” she said.

Second Wind laughed.

“Why don’t I answer a few of the questions I’m sure you have?” he offered. “He was the original. Created me right before the incident that destroyed Rain Dancer, expecting to die.”

“Stop it,” said Malcolm. “This is cruel.”

“Oh no, I think keeping this from her was cruel,” said Second Wind. “See, Tapestry, for the past few weeks it’s mostly been me. The one that courted you properly, that was me. The one that didn’t work so hard to push you away, also me. The one that you had sex with most recently, however…”

Tapestry clamped her hands over her mouth and slowly shook her head. Her eyes filled with horror and disgust… and tears.

“I thought you might react like that!” said Second Wind. “I know, it’s messed up, isn’t it? Good thing you can tell us apart now.”

Second Wind’s grin was an evil thing. Malcolm took a step in Tapestry’s direction. She immediately held up her hand, warning him to stay back as though warding off a rabid animal.

“No…” whispered Tapestry. “How… could you do something like this? I thought… I thought I was in love. Now I don’t even know with who, or… what.”

“I know,” said Second Wind. “Oh, how well I know your pain. Identity… existence. It’s a complicated thing. But since we have so much more to discuss, I’m going to leave this conversation for the two of you to finish later.”

Malcolm felt emotion surging in his chest, anger and frustration. It was for Second Wind as much as it was for himself. There was no real distinction between the two of them, as far as his feelings were concerned. Second Wind was just the long fermenting crust of one of his most profound mistakes.

“I think what we need to discuss now,” Malcolm said, carefully, “goes beyond words.”

He lunged forward, pulling the taser from the cargo pocket of his pants and stabbing it toward Second Wind. It was a surprise attack, but one he’d used before. Despite that, Malcolm expected it to work, and at least in execution, it almost did.

The taser never made contact with Second Wind’s shoulder. An ethereal green appendage grabbed it before it came within a few inches of his skin, glowing and vibrating with power. Second Wind grinned at Malcolm, and after a couple of seconds, gave a small shrug.

“Multi took some blood sample from dozens of other champions, sprytes, and demons,” said Second Wind. “Apparently, that’s all I need now. It’s like my power mimicry is on steroids. Just ask Tapestry.”

Tapestry’s eyes widened suddenly, as though she’d remembered something important, something that cut through the fugue of her confusion and pain over the identity of the man she’d fallen in love with.

“Malcolm!” she shouted. “Get back! Don’t let him touch you!”

“Too late.” Second Wind grinned as he took hold of Malcolm’s hand. Malcolm felt an odd tingling sensation, similar to his power mimicry, but in reverse. It was immediately followed by a sudden cessation of awareness, as though he’d just closed one eye, except it was his superpower that was gone.

“I absorb abilities for keeps now,” said Second Wind. “And not just one at a time. Tapestry’s will prove to be the most useful. Yours… I’m just taking it to spite you.”

His smile was a cruel thing. Malcolm let out a roar of pure anger and took a swing at him. Second Wind slammed him against Tapestry’s wall with the wind, and Malcolm crashed hard enough to leave an impression.

“I’ve already become more powerful than I can explain in the time we have,” said Second Wind. “More powerful than Savior was. More powerful than anyone will ever be able to match. And I’m going to do what you never could. Set the world onto a new path.”

“A new path…” said Malcolm. He shook his head, though part of him held a desperate hope that there was enough of himself left in Second Wind to give him a moral compass.

“A new path,” repeated Second Wind. “Of course, first I’ll have to knock it off its old one.”

He nodded one last time to Malcolm and Tapestry, and then flew from the house in a sudden burst of movement. The stillness left behind by his departure made Malcolm aware of the pounding pain in the back of his skull.

“…Tapestry,” he said. “I am so sorry.”

She wouldn’t look at him. She slowly shook her head. Melanie had been awoken from the commotion, and was making her way downstairs slowly, only half awake and confused.

“What’s going on?” mumbled Melanie.

As though in response, the ground began to shake underneath their feet, and light flashed through the windows. Malcolm walked outside onto the lawn and stared up at the sky. Mushroom clouds were rising from three separate explosions on the horizon. Another blast created a fourth. The lights of the neighborhood flicked off, though the ambient glow of Armageddon was easy enough for them to see by.

He turned around to see if Tapestry and Melanie had followed him. The door was shut. He tried the handle, and found it soundly locked.

“Tapestry!” he called, knocking on it. “Hey! Don’t shut me out! We need to figure out what we’re going to do!”

A couple of seconds went by. When Malcolm stopped banging on the wood, he heard her reply.

“…I don’t even know who you are,” she said.

CHAPTER 32

The next few hours passed by in a blur. The looting had begun by the time Malcolm reached his apartment. He found the pistol that Tapestry had given him, the only thing that seemed to matter much as bands of angry men and angrier monsters ran through the streets, causing havoc as the world went completely off rails.

Electricity was out all across Vanderbrook, but Malcolm got a small update midway through the morning when a police vehicle slowly made its way down the street, booming an announcement over its loudspeaker. The officer inside claimed that martial law was in effect, which would have seemed more credible if a demon hadn’t approached with a small gang in tow to flip the cruiser over and light it on fire. Malcolm actually recognized the demon, one by the name of Bicep who was a regular at Terri’s Tavern.

He made the trek back to Tapestry’s house that afternoon. Her car was gone, along with most of the food in her fridge, lots of clothing, and toothbrushes. She and Melanie wouldn’t be coming back anytime soon, and Malcolm couldn’t blame them.

She doesn’t owe me anything for my lies. And with Vanderbrook the way it is, she’s doing what’s smart for her family.

His apartment had been looted by the time he got back to it, though what anyone would want with his PS4 and flat screen with dubious prospects of electricity ever returning was an open question.

He took what little clothing had been left to him, along with a few things he’d bought for Rose, and made the move to his hideout. Without electricity, it felt dank and dreary, but it was well hidden and felt appropriate, given the chaos descending on the town.

Over the next several days Malcolm learned that it wasn’t just Vanderbrook that was in turmoil. While out scavenging for what he could in the midst of the destruction, he joined a small, ragged looking crowd gathered around a man with a battery powered radio. A deathly silence fell over the group as they listened.

London, New York, Paris, Chicago… The list of major cities that had been virtually wiped off the map by Second Wind went on and on, extending into Asia, South America, even Australia and Africa. Multi had contributed in his own way, blowing up major highways within the United States, crippling power plants and points of infrastructure. It was as though his suicide bombings in Vanderbrook had just been a warmup for what came next.

The radio message ended by warning people to stay inside, and to avoid any marauding groups of men or monsters they might see. It made no mention of a governmental response, military, police, or even armed militia fighting to maintain order.

The crowd of people seemed to understand it on the same level that he did. As soon as the message looped back to its beginning, a husky man made a grab for the radio, trying to steal it for himself. Punches were thrown. A gun went off. Malcolm slipped away as soon as he could, holding his gun in one hand and his taser in the other.

He felt naked without his powers, and spent half an hour waiting for a group of men pillaging buildings near his hideout to move on before sneaking into the warehouse and down through the hatch. The sense of hopelessness that overtook Malcolm that night was almost enough to make him give up.

But he didn’t. He was still alive, and that meant that he had to keep going, even without the superpowers that he’d come to take for granted.

He would find Rose, and make things right with Tapestry. Those were both foregone conclusions. The last promise he made to himself, the one that he knew was long overdue, made him tremble both anger and fear.

He would track down Second Wind, and kill him.

Former Champion

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

Former Champion

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 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER 1

The trap’s execution was flawless. Malcolm smiled as he examined it, brushing a tree branch aside and dropping to one knee in the early morning dew to get a better look at his catch. It was a fat weasel, with enough meat on it for at least a meal, along with a pelt that might have some value to the right trader.

The unlucky creature had gone for the morsel of food he’d left at the wide end of the hollow log. Pulling it loose had triggered the rock above it to fall, which caused the panicked weasel to flee into the log. Malcolm had rigged a small, self-tightening noose to the narrow escape hole on the other end, and the weasel had wiggled into it, eventually strangling itself.

He pulled the animal loose, carefully resetting all the elements of the trap. It reminded him of a board game he’d played when he was younger involving a marble ball and a convoluted series of tracks and widgets it would roll through. It was a memory from another time, another world, really.

Six months had gone by since Second Wind, Malcolm’s duplicate turned demon, had begun to reign destruction and terror down on the world. Six months since Malcolm had lost his powers, his friends, and everything else that really mattered to him.

For the first few weeks, Malcolm had expected the situation to bounce back, or at least reach an equilibrium. It hadn’t happened, and he had come to expect that it wouldn’t happen, at least not on its own.

Chaos had regularly erupted in the streets in the time after Second Wind’s one man apocalypse, with sprytes, demons, and regular old hooligans running wild and taking what they wanted. Basic utilities like electricity and water were turned off or destroyed. The only news available came from tiny, battery powered radios, and it was always just a daily tally of Second Wind’s murderous exploits. Every major city in the world had been razed. Millions of people were dead, and most of those left lacked the modern necessities they’d come to expect in life.

Somehow, Malcolm had held on to his faith that eventually the pendulum would begin to swing the other way. It hadn’t happened, and his deflating hope made him feel like a stock trader watching shares of a dying company slowly depreciate until there was pointlessly little value left.

Malcolm realized that his hope had been foolish. It was surprising really, how quickly civilization had collapsed in on itself. It seemed as though it should have taken longer. Electricity, the internet, and running water were all conveniences that had been around for longer than he’d been alive. It seemed counterintuitive that they could be permanently cut off overnight, even after the fact. What was left of the oil and gasoline had been hoarded by the constantly warring gangs, at least in Vanderbrook and the surrounding area.

Malcolm finished resetting the trap. He tucked the weasel into the length of twine that now served as his belt, and headed further into the woods. The brook was up ahead, and it had reached unseasonably high levels, making it deep enough for him to occasionally catch a fish or two.

Malcolm had a couple of basic traps set up alongside the brook, but nothing comparable to the sophistication of his log trap. They were mostly basic twine nets designed to trap fish within little inlets he’d dug along the bank until he could arrive and collect them. They only rarely ever worked, but were easy enough to set up, and only took him a glance to check.

Today was his lucky day. A long, silver scaled fish was in one of the traps. It looked tired from struggling against the net, and only gave a small thrash as Malcolm took it in his hands and pulled it loose. He gave it a small thwack against the rocks and carefully threaded it onto his belt.

After making sure the traps were in place to possibly catch him more fish, he turned around and started back toward Vanderbrook. He considered, as he often did, whether it would be smarter to abandon his base in town and move into the outlying forests.

Towns and cities were not safe places anymore. Malcolm had learned that lesson within the first couple of days after Second Wind’s ascension to demonhood. Gangs ruled the streets, some of them armed with guns, some of them backed by monsters, and most of them with nothing to lose. The gangs fought each other for territory and resources, and anyone caught in the warpath was given as much consideration as a squirrel on the highway.

Malcolm’s gun was probably the most valuable thing he owned. The three bullets he had left were a close second. He also had a taser, useless to him now that he’d exhausted its battery, and a medium sized hunting knife. He wasn’t stupid. He avoided the gangs like everyone did, and because of that, he was still alive.

A branch cracked just beyond the trees to his left. Malcolm froze, slowly dropping to the ground and sliding up against a large tree. He waited and listened, and then watched as a figure came into view. It was a demon, a tall one with unusually lanky limbs and deep green skin. The demon sniffed the air for a couple of seconds, stared at where Malcolm was in his hiding spot, and then headed off in another direction.

The dip I took in the brook last night might have just saved my life. Score one for hygiene.

It felt odd to remember that there’d been a time when Malcolm would have had the option to face off against one of the monsters. Now, he treated them like he treated the gangs, avoiding even the demons and sprytes he’d known from Terri’s Tavern. Avoiding all of them… except for Rose.

He still looked for her, though it had been weeks since he’d had any real hope. Thinking about her, the pain he’d caused her, the intimacy they’d once shared… It hurt Malcolm in a way that few things could. It made him feel hollow and pointless, like he was past the part of his life where any real enjoyment could be derived.

Thinking about Rose was a reminder to Malcolm that he was the kind of person who could do horrible things. He’d killed Brenden, her deranged fiancé, though it had been in a life or death struggle. He’d kept Brenden’s story to himself, the story of how Rose had accidentally killed her own daughter. He’d done it because he thought it was for the greater good, sparing Rose from a memory that could do nothing but hurt her.

Those had been Malcolm’s choices. In a strange way, they seemed a reflection of the widespread chaos his copy, Second Wind, had wrought upon the world. He’d taken to calling himself Zeus, though many people were too scared to speak his name openly.

Zeus. He thinks he’s a god. And since nobody is strong enough to challenge him, why wouldn’t he?

Malcolm waited in his hiding spot until he was sure that the demon had disappeared into the distance. Then, he slowly rose to his feet and continued on, back to what remained of his former hometown. The town he hadn’t managed to protect.

CHAPTER 2

The sky was choked with grey clouds overhead, and the air smelled of dust and smoke. Most of Vanderbrook’s outermost neighborhoods had been completely abandoned. The pressure of the looters had forced suburban families to run from their homes during the early days of the collapse.

Malcolm took his time moving through the neighborhoods and toward the center of town. He was careful, and he passed by the few people he saw on the way with as much caution as he could manage. Their clothes were dirty and ripped, and though Malcolm knew his own were just as bad, he couldn’t help but attribute desperation to their appearances. And desperate people were unpredictable.

A small, outdoor trading bazaar had sprung up on Vanderbrook’s old main street. It was ringed off by a wall of parked cars, useless for anything else without gasoline to feed their empty tanks. Here, there were a couple of armed guards, men paid by the traders in the area to “protect” them from the dangerous gangs in the areas.

Malcolm stepped into the circle of cars and made his way over to Greg’s trading stand. Greg was one of the few local traders willing to trade in bullets, one of the common currencies after the collapse, along with rice, canned food, and other long-lasting food staples.

Bullets were the only resource Malcolm cared about accumulating. It made him feel cold and heartless to value them so highly, but being heavily armed was now a necessary part of his survival. Especially given the amount of traveling outside of Vanderbrook he did, searching for Rose. His gun was the only hope he had at keeping himself alive.

“Malcolm,” said Greg. “Good to see you. Plenty of food out in the woods today, I take it?”

Malcolm nodded.

“Take your pick,” said Malcolm. “You can have one or the other. The fish is the meatier of the two, but weasel’s pretty tasty. Tastes like chicken.”

Greg forced a laugh.

“I’ll take the fish,” he said. He reached down under his rough, wooden trading counter and pulled out a single bullet to set on top of it.

Malcolm frowned at him. “Come on. One bullet?”

“Margo’s gang had a shootout with Bicep and his guys the other day,” said Greg. “The value of bullets has gone way up. Take it or leave it.”

Malcolm groaned. He pulled the fish loose from his belt and passed it over to Greg without meeting the man’s eye. It was necessary for him to collect all the bullets he could, even if it meant making bad trades to obtain them. And eating weasel for the night.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” said Greg, with a nod.

“You know, I’d call you a cheap ass swindler if you weren’t so polite,” said Malcolm.

“It’s a good business strategy, given the circumstances,” said Greg. “It’s why I have repeat customers.”

Malcolm picked up the bullet and slipped it into his pocket. He lingered in the bazaar for a few minutes longer. The spectrum of items for sale was limited to the stuff of survival. Clothes, food, weapons, candles and fuel for those lucky enough to be able to afford them. Clean water in jugs. Malcolm got his from the brook, as did most others brave enough to venture out of Vanderbrook and into the woods.

He listened to the gossip of the crowd. A couple of teenagers were arguing with an older man about the Europa mission. Malcolm, along with most of the rest of the town, had heard about it a few weeks earlier.

“They’ll rescue Savior and everything will go back to normal,” said one of the teenagers.

“You’re a fool if you think things will ever go back to normal,” said the man. “And there’s no way the mission goes off without a hitch.”

A rocket had been launched out of desperation, taking off from one of the small corners of California where law and order still reigned. Funded by the billionaire aerospace financier Tom Willis, the mission had originally been planned to put the first humans on Mars using solar sails and an advanced reaction drive. In the wake of Second Wind’s destruction, changing the target from Mars to Europa, where many claimed Savior still lived in exile, had been an easy enough sell.

“Things have to go back to normal!” shouted one of the teenagers. “They have to! We can’t live like this forever! Savior will come back, and he’ll kill Zeus, and, and…”

The teenager trailed off. Malcolm empathized with his frustration. So much had been lost in such a short amount of time. For him personally, the lack of electricity or running water was just the start.

I lost my powers. And I lost my friends.

He refused to let himself dwell on those types of thoughts as he headed out of the bazaar. Feeling sorry for himself wouldn’t accomplish anything. He had food for the night, and an extra bullet for his gun. That should have been enough to content him.

“Wind Runner!” A high pitched, mocking voice came from within a nearby alleyway. “Where are you going, Wind Runner?”

Malcolm was still recognized by his champion identity, though it was common knowledge to those who remembered him that he’d lost his powers. It didn’t gain him anything to be Wind Runner anymore, beyond the occasional pitying glance or disappointed stare.

Bennett, the leader of a small, poorly equipped local gang, stepped out into the street. He was a tall and beefy looking, and he had a face that seemed to be perpetually set into a sneer. He was in the habit of mugging anyone he suspected to be weaker than him and his gang, and the two thugs flanking him left no doubt in Malcolm’s mind what he intended.

“I’m going down the street,” said Malcolm. “I’m surprised that you couldn’t work that one out yourself, Bennett. Though I’m sure you’re pretty used to having simple things explained to you.”

Malcolm kept walking, hoping that he could shake Bennett and the thugs off with bravado alone. He had his gun on him, but the last thing he wanted to do was use it. A gun with four bullets was good as a deterrent and little else. He didn’t have the ammunition for a firefight against multiple opponents.

“What are you going to do, Wind Runner?” called Bennett. “Fly away?”

Malcolm gritted his teeth and pulled his gun out from where he had it tucked into the waistline of his pants. Bennett was the kind of man who he would have enjoyed fighting, back when he was a champion. He was a cocky bully, one that deserved what he had coming to him.

“Back off,” said Malcolm. “Or I open fire.”

“Rumor has it that you barely even have bullets for that thing.” Bennett stared at Malcolm, a slow smile creeping onto his face. His eyes darted to the side. Malcolm whirled, but not quickly enough to get completely out of the way as a hidden fourth goon swung a baseball bat into his shoulder.

Malcolm stumbled back. He fired, and was rewarded with a cry of pain as one of Bennett’s goons took a bullet to the leg. It wasn’t enough to stop them, not now that they’d struck the first blow. Malcolm didn’t have time to take aim again before Bennett and his thugs were upon him, punching, kicking, and eventually, stripping loose his pistol.

He let out a wordless cry of anger and hopelessness. Each time Malcolm felt like he was finally getting his footing back in the world, something else was taken from him. Would it just be his gun this time? Or would it be his life, too?

Shouts sounded in the distance. Gunshots attracted attention in Vanderbrook, scavengers knowing that if they arrived on the scene at just the right time, they could strip a body of whatever was left on it of value. Bennett swore under his breath and kicked Malcolm hard in the ribs.

“You’re not even worth me wasting a bullet on you to end your life.” He kicked Malcolm again, and one of his ribs surged with pain. “Thanks for the gun, Wind Runner.”

Something wet landed on Malcolm’s cheek, and then he heard Bennett and his thugs retreating, leaving him lying in the street. Malcolm stumbled to his knees, wiping away spit and feeling his face burning with hot shame.

They’d even taken the dead weasel from him. Malcolm scowled, knowing it meant he’d go hungry that night. He slipped a hand into his pocket and found that they’d missed the extra bullet he’d traded the fish for.

Maybe I can trade it for some food…

The thought wasn’t all that comforting, given the extent of what he’d lost that day. His face was bruised and puffy. His chest ached each time he took a breath. He stumbled through the streets, trying to avoid areas that would have any people in them, not trusting that he wouldn’t get jumped a second time if he stayed out in the open.

He’d been a champion once.

CHAPTER 3

Malcolm spent most of the rest of the day collecting materials to make more traps. There wasn’t much else he could do. He didn’t want to spend any more time in town than he needed to after the mugging, and aside from doing nothing, he didn’t have many other options.

He set up one more fish trap, and scoped out a tree that he might be able to use for a rock trap before heading back to his hideaway. He made his way there along a roundabout route, not wanting to telegraph to anyone where he lived.

He’d already given up his apartment, along with most of the remaining belongings inside of it. The section of Vanderbrook he’d once lived in was now too volatile for him to risk leaving any of his possessions on their own, and letting his guard down to sleep at night was totally out of the question.

Malcolm’s hideout was a small, very well-hidden cellar under a simple hatch in the ground in the ruins of an old warehouse. It was cold, and had a musty smell to it, but he’d found a small, solar powered LED flashlight in the early days after the collapse to use for light.

Malcolm waited across the street, watching until he was positive the coast was clear, and then slipped into the warehouse. He worked open the combination lock and pulled the hatch open, dropping down and replacing the lock on the inside to keep out any intruder that might happen upon it.

Everything as just as he’d left it. A single small mattress. A scattering of now useless electronics. A few rough changes of clothing; he’d sold all of the nice stuff in the first few weeks, before he’d developed the skill to trap his own food. He had no food now, of course, but he did have several full jugs of water, which he turned his attention to next.

Malcolm cleaned his wounds slowly, using only the water, but scrubbing as roughly as he could bear. They were mostly on his face - at least the injuries he could do something about. His aching shoulder and possibly cracked rib would have to be ignored.

He drank as much water as he could, filling his stomach until it was painful enough to make him forget his hunger. It was only late afternoon, but lacking anything else to do, he collapsed onto his mattress and forced himself to get some sleep.

Tomorrow’s another day. Fingers crossed. Maybe it will suck less.

He didn’t fall asleep immediately. He never did. As soon as his head was resting against his pillow, his thoughts turned to Rose, and to Tapestry. He hadn’t heard anything from either of them for months, long enough to make him question if they were still alive.

The thought of his friends being dead or in danger chafed at him like nothing else could. Malcolm had accepted the fact that he’d lost his superpowers, his wind manipulation, and his power mimicry. What he couldn’t accept was how much that had limited him when it came to protecting the people he cared about.

He couldn’t fly off to nearby cities and ask if they’d seen Tapestry, or if a shadow spryte had been spotted anywhere nearby. He couldn’t sweep in, find the people he loved, and fly them to safety. He felt powerless, and he could accept what that meant for himself, but not for what it meant for others.

Malcolm would keep looking for them as soon as he was back on his feet. He’d trade whatever he could catch for bullets, and would slowly build up enough value to trade for a new gun. Then, he’d set out.

The plan seemed audacious to him even as he thought of it. He could barely do enough foraging to feed himself, let alone having a surplus to bring to the trading square. Still, Malcolm held to it, resolving that somehow, he would find a way forward. A way back to his friends.

He fell asleep to the echo of that precious thought.

***

The traps were empty the next morning. Malcolm’s entire body ached with pain, and he’d reached the stage of hunger where true exhaustion kicks in. Hating himself for what he knew he had to do, he slowly made his way toward the bazaar, fingering the bullet in his pocket.

It was a strange comfort to see how destitute so many of the other people living in Vanderbrook were. Malcolm didn’t wish similar circumstances to his own on any one, but seeing people who shared them made it easier to shake off the self-loathing, and the sense that he somehow deserved to be hungry and dirty.

And powerless. Maybe I deserved that, too.

Or maybe not. He shook away his thoughts as he walked over to Greg’s little outdoor shop. The trader frowned as he saw him approach, which made Malcolm more aware of the swelling and the cuts on his face.

His attention was diverted from Greg by an unusual amount of commotion coming from further within the trading square. Malcolm felt his old instincts kicking in, drawing him toward the sounds of jeers and laughter.

Several well-armed men were leading a chained woman into the center of the market. She wore only her underwear, and she was even dirtier and more roughed up than Malcolm. But he recognized her, even with the bruises and slow healing scratches on her face.

Chaste Widow…

She was a slender, tanned woman of Asiatic descent, and she’d once been a regular at Terri’s Tavern. Her underwear didn’t leave much to the imagination, showing off the ample curves of her breasts and butt. Malcolm felt a flash of anger as he considered the chains around her wrists, and what that meant for a woman as attractive as she was.

“She’s for sale!” shouted the man carrying the other end of her shackles. “And she’s cheap. This bitch is one of the cursed!”

Malcolm frowned. The word “cursed” had become as common a way of referring to champions and monsters, the same as “gifted”, the original term, had been before the collapse. In Chaste Widow’s case, it actually seemed appropriate.

“She’s fine lookin’,” said one of the men in the crowd. “How’s she cursed, though?”

“Why don’t you kiss her and find out?” asked the slaver. “Three of my men! Three!”

He lashed out with his free hand, striking Chaste Widow across the shoulders and knocking her to her knees.

“Three dead men, and I don’t even have the heart to lie and pawn this psycho slut off on someone else,” said the slaver. “I should just kill her. But these are hard times, as I’m sure you all know. So she’s for sale, but I make it clear to anyone interested… kissing her means death. Her lips touch yours, and you die.”

Malcolm had been one of the few, if not the only person to kiss Chaste Widow and survive her kiss of death. At the time, it had been as simple as absorbing her power and becoming immune to the effects. He’d taken it for granted, barely even considered what he was doing. So much had changed since then.

“Well?” shouted the slaver. “No need to be coy about your offers. Just shout them right out.”

The crowd immediately began to disperse. Most people backed up like they might from someone with a contagious disease. It didn’t seem to be the reaction the slaver was hoping for.

“Anyone?” shouted the slaver. “Just give me an opening bid. I’ll consider it, I’m not picky.”

Malcolm fingered the bullet in his pocket. His stomach ached from hunger. A single bullet would be worth a loaf of bread, possibly a big one, if Greg was feeling generous.

“I’ll take her,” he said. He felt a little ashamed that it had taken him so long for him to force the words out.

The slaver frowned at him. “You don’t look like you have–”

Malcolm walked up to him and pressed the bullet into his palm. The slaver looked down at it, and then let out a laugh.

“A single bullet,” he said. “I don’t know if it’s good luck or bad luck for you that this just happens to be the caliber I need for my pistol. She’s all yours, kid. But be careful about those lips. Fine for most places, but don’t let them touch your mouth.”

Malcolm slowly exhaled, trying to keep a sudden surge of anger contained.

“Take the shackles off her,” he said.

“You sure?” The slaver quirked an eyebrow. “I was going to give you those along with her.”

“Take them off,” Malcolm repeated. “Now.”

He could feel the coldness in his own expression as he watched the man working the key and pulling loose Chaste Widow’s bonds. She didn’t say anything, not even when Malcolm came closer, and offered her what he hoped would pass for a reassuring smile.

“It’s okay,” said Malcolm. “Remember me? I’m not going to do anything weird. You can go free. I only bought you to let you go.”

Chaste Widow wouldn’t meet his gaze. Malcolm waited for a minute, wondering how long it would take her to process the situation. She looked like she was in a state of numb shock.

He turned to glance around at the rest of the market. A half dozen people who’d been watching quickly looked away from him, too paranoid to even make eye contact. Malcolm started to take a step back toward his hideout. Chaste Widow grabbed his wrist.

I can’t just leave her here…

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you some water. And some clothes.”

She didn’t say anything, but her grip on his wrist tightened.

CHAPTER 4

Back at his hideout, Malcolm gently helped Chaste Widow down the ladder and into his dim and dusty abode. If she was at all bothered by it, she didn’t mention it. In fact, she still hadn’t said a single word to him.

“I know I’m repeating myself, but you’re free to go, if you decide you want to,” said Malcolm. “Or welcome to stay here, if you need some time. I have some water jugs in the corner by my bed. No food, though.”

His stomach made it impossible for him to forget that fact. He would have to go hunting again before the day was out. Probably sooner, rather than later, given how fast his energy was draining.

“Uh…” Malcolm scratched the back of his head, trying to find the words for another point he had to address. “Just so you know, I don’t have my powers anymore. It’s a story for another time, but I figured you should be aware. Your power might kill me if we kiss.”

He cringed, hating the way he’d phrased it even as the words left his mouth. Surprisingly, Chaste Widow gave a slow nod.

“I won’t… kiss you,” she said, softly.

Malcolm had turned his LED light on, and he could see the sad expression on her face. She looked tired and broken, so different from the feisty, confident woman he’d met in Terri’s Tavern months earlier. It felt like both of them had lived an entire lifetime since then, and he suddenly wondered if he looked to her as worn down as she did to him.

“Clothes!” he said, as his eyes wandered down to her bra clad breasts. “Uh, it’s all men’s stuff. Probably baggy on you, but better than nothing. Take your pick.”

He gestured over to the sad pile of somewhat dirty clothing on the ground that his wardrobe consisted of. Chaste Widow nodded and slowly started looking through them.

“I need to get us food,” said Malcolm. “I’m going to leave the lock by the ladder while I’m gone, okay? Just so you can still leave, if you want.”

She didn’t answer him. He wondered if she understood exactly how much trust he was placing in her. If she wanted to, she could snap the combination lock on the inside of the hatch as soon as he left and steal Malcolm’s hideout for herself.

And what an impressive hideout it is. No food, no running water. Truly an estate fit of a king.

“I’ll be back as soon as I find something,” he said. “Don’t expect filet mignon.”

That got a small smile out of her. Malcolm felt himself grinning in response. He climbed out of the hideout, martialing his trust as he closed the hatch behind him.

One of the fish traps had done its job in the time since Malcolm had last checked it. He grinned as he pulled an impressively sized fish out of the net and thwacked it once against the rocks. His log trap was still empty, but in the process of checking it, he discovered a rabbit in the bushes nearby and managed to get his foot down on top of it.

It was a better catch than he’d had in days. He smiled to himself as he tied it to his belt. The bushes where he’d found the rabbit were full of wild raspberries, and he filled his pockets with as many as he could.

Chaste Widow was outside the hideout when he got back. She’d picked up one of his rags and soaked it with water, and was slowly cleaning herself up as best she could. She’d taken off her bra and panties, and Malcolm felt a conflicting mixture of emotions as he approached, doing his best not to ogle her naked body.

“Uh…” he said. “I’m back.”

She put an arm over her breasts and glanced over her shoulder at him. Her eyes lit up when she saw the food on his belt.

“I’ll have to make a fire up above so we can cook,” he said. “I can wait for you to finish, though.”

“I’m as clean as I’m going to get,” she said.

She pulled her panties back on, along with one of Malcolm’s shirts, and then walked over to him.

“Here.” Malcolm pulled the berries out of his pockets. “You can snack on these while you’re waiting.”

Chaste Widow took half of them. Malcolm grinned at her and made a show of eating the half he had left in a couple of wolfish bites.

She followed him down the ladder as he went to get his fire-starting kit, and then back up. Malcolm spent a couple of minutes gathering loose newspaper and bits of wood to use as kindling. Chaste Widow kept following him, almost like a lonely puppy. She carried some of the wood, but didn’t say anything.

Malcolm built his materials into a fire bundle and started striking at his flint. He glanced up at her a couple of times. She’d meet his gaze now, and it made emotion flutter in his chest when she did. He had no idea what to say to her. He wanted to ask how she’d been, but it wasn’t a question that he thought she’d be comfortable answering.

And likewise, the last thing he wanted to talk about was his own descent into the dirt and grime of the post-collapse world. An awkward silence hung on the air between them, and as much as Malcolm hated it, it was still preferable to dredging up painful memories.

“I’m sorry,” said Chaste Widow, as Malcolm started to cook their food on sticks over the small flame.

“You’re… sorry?” asked Malcolm. “For what?”

“I broke my promise to you.”

It took him a couple of seconds to realize what she’d meant. In one of his last jobs as a champion, Malcolm and Tapestry had hunted Chaste Widow. He’d made a judgement call, letting her go instead of taking her prisoner. He’d made her promise to stop killing, in exchange.

Is that a promise anyone could hold to in this new world? Especially an attractive woman?

Malcolm shook his head.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I’ve broken a lot of promises, too.”

He didn’t elaborate any further, and tried keep his thoughts from turning back to Tapestry and Rose, and all the pain he’d caused them.

“It wasn’t… like I wanted to,” said Chaste Widow. “I didn’t have a choice. In the first few weeks, I lost my house. Money stopped mattering. There was no law, and men would just try to… force me. And die, from my kiss.”

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” said Malcolm.

“It was all I had,” said Chaste Widow. “My power actually felt like something useful, for once. But it wasn’t enough, in the end. Your powers were like a sword. Mine was just… a tiny knife.”

“A sword…” said Malcolm. “Ha.”

A sword that I’ll never be able wield again.

He’d spent more time than he cared to admit in the months after losing his powers, trying desperately to summon them back. He would set up his empty water jugs and concentrate with all the will he had, trying to control the wind and knock them over as easily as it once had.

It’d never worked, and always left him feeling like a ridiculous child, playing at being a Jedi or being stuck in The Matrix. His powers were gone. He’d accepted it. It meant being less than he’d once been, acknowledging a weakness, a deformity. It made him feel like a paraplegic that’d lost all hope and finally accepted that they would never walk again.

“Smoke,” said Chaste Widow.

Malcolm glanced at the skinned rabbit he was cooking over the fire. It was starting to burn on one side.

“Oh,” he said. “Right.”

He put the fire out once the rabbit and fish were cooked. He didn’t have any plates or silverware, so he and Chaste Widow impatiently waited for the spitted meat to cool before digging into it with bare hands. The rabbit was tender and greasy. The fish was a little undercooked. Neither of them cared, and devoured both in far less time than it had taken Malcolm to prepare.

“Thank you,” said Chaste Widow.

“You’re welcome,” said Malcolm. “I think this is the first meal I’ve shared with someone else in months.”

She furrowed her brow at that.

“What about your friends?” she asked. “The other champions.”

My friends…?

Malcolm couldn’t stop himself from chuckling.

“I’m not a champion anymore,” he said. “And as for having friends…”

He shook his head. Chaste Widow gave him a pitying look, which coming from her, carried a significant weight.

“Can I stay here tonight?” she asked.

Malcolm nodded immediately. He’d only recently begun to discover how alone he was, and he didn’t like it.

“Of course,” he said.

CHAPTER 5

The two of them spent some time in quiet companionship, neither of them saying much. Malcolm made another trip out to his traps, finally finding the energy to set up a second log trap and improve the fish nets. By the time he made it back to his hideout, the sun had long since set over the horizon.

Chaste Widow had decided to stick around, and Malcolm offered her his mattress for the night. Her injuries were more pronounced than his, and it made him feel good inside to act as a generous host.

“Sleep next to me,” she said.

Malcolm shook his head.

“No,” he said. “That’s… not a good idea, I don’t think. I have bad dreams.”

“So do I.”

She patted the spot next to her on the bed invitingly, but still, Malcolm refused. He was content with a blanket and an extra pillow. The concrete was cold and hard underneath him, but he took warmth from his actions earlier in the day. It was the first time in a long time that he’d stopped to care about someone other than himself.

Malcolm slept easily, and probably more soundly than he should have. He dreamed of flying again, and was deep in the realm of fantastical memory when soft hands sliding under the waistband of his boxers drew him awake.

Chaste Widow had slid off the mattress and joined him under his covers. Malcolm could feel her soft body against him. She was naked, the points of her breasts pushing against his shoulder as her hand fished around inside his underwear.

“Uh…” moaned Malcolm. “What are you…?”

He let his question die on his lips as her palm closed around his shaft. He’d developed an erection at some point during the night, even though his dreams had been tame. He breathed a sigh of pleasure as Chaste Widow slowly began to stroke her hand up and down. It had been such a long time.

Why is she doing this? Does she feel like she has to?

“…Stop,” Malcolm managed to say. “Please. I don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything.”

Chaste Widow didn’t stop. Malcolm guiltily let himself enjoy a few more seconds of the hot, stroking sensation before reaching out and taking her wrist.

“Stop,” he repeated.

“I’ve been forced to do this before,” whispered Chaste Widow. “This… and so much more. Just because I can’t kiss without killing doesn’t mean I can’t do… other things.”

“I’m not forcing you,” said Malcolm. “And I never would. Please, let’s both just go back to sleep.”

Chaste Widow disappeared under his blanket instead of listening. A second later, Malcolm felt a hot, wet tongue sliding circles over the tip of his erection with luxurious slowness.

“Oh…” moaned Malcolm.

“So many times, I didn’t have a choice,” she whispered. “Each time I thought… I’d be used to it, for the next time. But it doesn’t work like that. It just got worse and worse.”

“Hey…” said Malcolm. “You aren’t thinking clearly. I’m a friend. Not somebody to force you into doing anything.”

“It’s my choice!” snapped Chaste Widow. She gave his shaft another lick, as though to emphasize her point. “This time… I can choose you. Because you’ve been so kind to me. I can choose to share myself with you, and know that if you say yes, it’s out of kindness. And caring.”

She kissed his thighs, and then all along his hardness.

“Please…” whispered Chaste Widow. “Say yes. Let me do this for you.”

Malcolm reached his hand down to her and cupped her cheek. The way she spoke of her pain, of all that had happened to her, was heartbreaking to him. He wanted to say no out of principle, out of a sense of what he felt was best for her, and what he felt she probably needed.

Maybe it isn’t for me to decide what she needs.

He gave a slow nod, and then almost gasped with pleasure as her lips engulfed his erection. He pressed his head back against the pillow, and for the first time in months, let himself fall back into a cloud of erotic pleasure.

Chaste Widow kept going at an even pace, her mouth gliding with slow, sensual movements. The sensation stirred emotions in Malcolm that he hadn’t expected, remnants of his feelings for Rose and Tapestry. An echo of the sadness he’d felt when he’d first seen Chaste Widow as a slave.

She kept up with her lips and tongue until Malcolm was at his bursting point, and then climbed forward. Malcolm came very close to forgetting the nature of her power as she carefully worked herself onto his rod, finding the right angle and exhaling as she slid down.

For several minutes, the two of them were just a man and a woman. The dismal world outside was forgotten. Their injuries, the lack of food, rough conditions, it was all secondary to the gentle movements of their bodies and mutual erotic pleasure.

Chaste Widow shuddered and made a tiny, climactic noise only seconds before Malcolm found his own release. The two of them shared his mattress for the night, not out of any deep, loving connection, but simple affection and companionship. They didn’t have much, but a peaceful night wasn’t too much to ask for.

***

Or so Malcolm thought. It was deep into the night, only a few shades away from sunrise, when he heard the sound of movement coming from outside the hatch. He froze as he heard someone trying the handle, and then roughly knocking in an attempt to wake him up.

One of the gangs has found my hideout. Even if they don’t get in today, they will eventually…

Chaste Widow was tense on the mattress beside him. Malcolm was annoyed at the ideas percolating in his head. Perhaps they could lay a trap for whoever was outside, if he hid somewhere and she stayed in bed, naked and inviting? He pushed the plan aside immediately, knowing the toll it would take on the battered woman.

“Wind Runner!” The voice was muffled, but Malcolm still recognized it. He breathed a slow side of relief and set an encouraging hand on Chaste Widow’s shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s a friend.”

CHAPTER 6

Malcolm and Chaste Widow dressed, and then climbed up the ladder and out of the hatch. He wasn’t able to completely let go of his tension until he’d made it outside and seen the faces of Wax, Anna, and Greenthumb in the dim predawn light.

He couldn’t believe that they were still alive, and from the expressions on their faces, they couldn’t believe that he was, either. None of them rushed forward to pull him into a hug, though Malcolm sensed it was less out of desire, and more out of respect for the time they’d spent apart.

Six months in this new world is like a decade in the old one…

“You are sight for sore eyes,” said Wax. “Truly, Wind Runner. It’s a miracle that you’re still alive.”

Malcolm nodded slowly, only then examining the champions in closer detail. Wax was no longer the pudgy, bald man who would have looked at home in a cubicle or in the driver’s seat of a bus. He was muscular now, and he wore a black trench coat that hung in a manner suggesting it carried several pounds of weapons.

Greenthumb and Anna were standing close to each other, too close for Malcolm not to notice. Greenthumb was half leaning on his walking stick, and Anna had a bandage underneath her hair. They both looked worn, but still confident to carry out whatever their current mission entailed. Malcolm found his smile fading a little as he scanned over them a second time, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“I would have figured Tapestry to be more the kind of champion to show up on my doorstep in the middle of the night,” he said. “She’s not with you… is she?”

Wax frowned, and gave a small shake of his head. “We haven’t seen her since before the collapse. Sorry.”

The words cut deeper into Malcolm than he’d expected them to. He closed his eyes and massaged his temples, feeling like a fool for having pushed her away at the worst possible time. If he’d found the words for an apology, found a way to make her listen to him, he could have protected her and Melanie, kept them from heading off on their own.

“Wind Runner, don’t focus on what’s been lost,” said Wax. “The fact that you’re still in one piece is as close to a sign as we’re liable to get. The reports we’ve heard of Vanderbrook make it sound like a meat grinder, and Halter City is currently Multi’s main base of operations.”

Malcolm frowned at that. He hadn’t heard much of Multi since their last encounter with him. It had been a trap that he’d managed to lure Malcolm, Tapestry, and Rose into, and he’d taken the opportunity to reveal the truth to Rose in a way that triggered an episode in her.

“And elsewhere?” Malcolm asked. “Is there anywhere safe in the country, anymore? We don’t get much news here, outside of the occasional unsubstantiated rumor.”

Wax and Greenthumb shared a look.

“There aren’t many safe havens,” answered Greenthumb. “A few cities in California, and a handful in various midwestern states are still mostly intact. But threat of the demon Zeus keeps most of them from trying to establish themselves firmly.”

Malcolm winced at the mention of Second Wind. If any of the others noticed, they didn’t let it show.

“How much do you know about Zeus?” asked Malcolm.

Wax shrugged. “Probably no more than you do.”

“I… don’t necessarily think that’s the case.” Malcolm took a slow breath. “The three of you deserve to know the truth. All of it.”

From the expressions on their faces, Malcolm knew that they had no idea what he was about to tell him. Even Chaste Widow drew in closer, coming around to the other side so she could see his face as he spoke.

He started with the events from the last time “he” had seen them, just before he’d first split his life and shared it with Second Wind. Wax’s expression tightened when Malcolm explained his power mimicry and how he’d used it to borrow his power.

He gave them a truncated version of his time as the Gifted Vigilante, purposely leaving out details relating to Rose, the other sprytes in the area, and Chaste Widow’s history. The important information all related to Second Wind, now known as Zeus, and he gave them that in full.

When he finished, all three of the champions were staring at him, eyes dark. Malcolm sighed and felt part of the weight on his shoulders slide free.

“I’m not sure how helpful any of this will be to you,” he said. “But I felt like you needed to know.”

“So, all of this… is because of you?” asked Anna. “If you hadn’t made a copy of yourself…”

“Millions of people would still be alive,” finished Malcolm. “The Champion Authority would still be strong enough to fight back against the monsters. Yes… It’s my fault.”

“It’s no more your fault than Multi turning to evil was mine,” said Wax. “Though I do fault you for absorbing my power without my consent. I’m surprised it even worked for you. I didn’t realize that the seed of it was still in me, given that I can’t use it, myself.”

“Copies can’t make their own copies,” said Malcolm. “Second Wind, or uh, Zeus, does have at least one limitation when it comes to how powerful he can be.”

Greenthumb had stayed silent during Malcolm’s tale. He tapped his walking stick on the ground, his face pensive.

“This only reinforces our reason for being here,” said Greenthumb. “You can still help us, Wind Runner. Even without your powers, you would be a useful ally. For example, could you guess at Zeus’s motive? The two of you shared a mind once, no?”

Malcolm scratched his head. He’d considered it many, many times before, turning over the actions of his copy and examining all the angles.

“He’s carrying a lot of pain,” said Malcolm. “Not just from my past, but from his present. And all of it… leads back to people and monsters abusing their abilities.”

“Is this revenge for him, then?” asked Greenthumb.

Malcolm shook his head.

“No,” he said. “I don’t think so. I think he’s trying to burn the world down, so that he can lead the way to build it back up in the shape he wants.”

In truth, Malcolm had no idea what Second Wind wanted. Trying to guess at the motives of a demon, even one that shared the better part of his memories, was an exercise in futility.

“Wind Runner…” Wax’s expression was serious, and he locked eyes with Malcolm. “Will you join with us? We’re recruiting everyone we can. With enough champions and armed people, we might stand a shot at taking on Zeus, and any other monster that threatens the world.”

Malcolm was already shaking his head before Wax had even finished speaking. It wasn’t a refusal based on doubt or fear. Rather, he felt as though his loyalty was still owed elsewhere.

Rose. And Tapestry. I can’t give up on finding them yet.

“I’d be of no help to you,” said Malcolm. “I’m powerless, remember?”

“So am I,” countered Wax.

Malcolm shrugged. “This isn’t a fight that ordinary people should be throwing themselves into. Honestly, I think you’d be better off putting your faith in the spaceship that’s on its way to rescue Savior than you would in my abilities.”

He’d meant the comment as a joke, but it was a clear from the champion’s expressions that they didn’t take it as one.

“The mission failed,” said Wax. “The ship’s crew stopped responding over the communications system.”

Malcolm frowned.

“How is that possible?” he asked.

Wax just shook his head. “One of them might have turned on the others. Or maybe there was a stowaway aboard the ship. A Multi who might not care that it was a one-way trip, once the crew was dead.”

“I doubt that,” said Malcolm. “It’s not like it’s easy to sneak aboard a spaceship.”

Wax didn’t say anything, and neither did Malcolm. It didn’t matter much why the mission had failed, just that it had. There was nothing left for any of them to put their faith into. No powerful champion to entrust the fate of humanity to. It was only them, and whoever they could recruit.

The thought made Malcolm all the more aware of how ragged the three champions looked. He doubted that Greenthumb was carrying the walking stick for show, and Anna seemed a little dazed. The bandage around her head suggested a recent head injury, perhaps one bad enough to affect her cognitively. And Wax… he was still Wax. Powerless, just like Malcolm. Not anyone capable of pulling off miracles.

What am I supposed to tell them? To give up? Would I, in their shoes?

“There’s nothing stopping you from helping us!” snapped Anna. “Why won’t you help? We need more people for this… It’s bigger than us.”

“I know,” said Malcolm. “And I’m sorry. There’s something else that I have to do, first.”

A few seconds of disappointed silence passed. Then, surprisingly, Chaste Widow stepped forward, moving between Malcolm and the champions.

“I’m gifted,” she said, without preamble. “If you’d have me, I’d join with you.”

She shot an apologetic look over her shoulder at Malcolm. He hated to admit it to himself, but it did hurt him a little to see her moving on so quickly. But it also strengthened his resolve in what he knew he had to do.

“You’re gifted?” asked Wax. “Why haven’t you gotten in touch with the champions before?”

“Wax…” said Anna. “We can ask her questions later. For now, we should take what we can get.”

Wax hesitated, but eventually nodded.

“We need to get going,” he said. “We’ll be in the area tonight, but then we’re heading out. If you change your mind, or discover anything that can help us, we’ll be camped by the wreckage of our old headquarters.”

“The Dome,” said Malcolm, remembering it fondly.

“Take care Wind Runner,” said Greenthumb.

The others nodded to him. Chaste Widow gave him a tight hug, pressing her cheek against his face briefly instead of kissing. And then they left, leaving him alone.

CHAPTER 7

Malcolm’s hideout smelled strange the next morning. It took him an embarrassingly long time to recognize it as the scent of a woman, the slightly musky mix of pheromones and traces of perfume.

He had no food left, so he contented himself by drinking water for the morning. He carried one of the jugs with him as he made his way out of his hideout and toward the forest where he’d left his traps set up.

One of Malcolm’s sneakers had been developing a hole for the past several weeks. He caught his foot wrong against a rock, and another stitch gave out, finally enlarging the gap enough to make walking awkward. He swore under his breath and hoped he could find some tape or a needle and thread to make the necessary repairs.

His traps had been destroyed. It only took him a single glance at them to know that it had been a malicious act, rather than random chance, or from an animal trying to escape. The twine had been stolen from all of them, and one of the logs had been stepped on and caved in.

Malcolm tried to keep his anger in check as he surveyed the damage. It meant that he wouldn’t have a regular source of food unless he could actively hunt. The main benefit to having the traps was that they’d been able to catch food even when Malcolm was tired and exhausted. Without them, he’d be fighting a losing battle.

He filled his jug with water from the river and drank until it was hard for him to tell if the pain in his stomach was from hunger or being overfilled with liquid. Then, he started off toward Vanderbrook, hoping that he’d stumble upon fortune in the trading square.

Greg was standing at his trading stall, setting out a variety of weapons and equipment for display. Malcolm caught his eye as he walked over, hoping that the man might have some basic work for him. Greg frowned when he saw him.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said. “Bennett’s gang has been coming through all morning, and they aren’t fans of yours.”

Malcolm winced.

“I’ll have to take my chances. Speaking of which, is anyone looking for an extra hand for today?”

Greg slowly shook his head, sharing Malcolm’s disappointment.

“Sorry, man,” said Greg. “I doubt anyone here would want to risk inviting your trouble onto themselves.”

Malcolm thanked him for the heads up and started back through the crowd. He saw where Greg was coming from, and couldn’t fault him for it.

How long has trouble followed me for? It’s like my shadow, always there behind me, in some capacity or another.

A few men were sitting outside a building, passing a liquor bottle around between them. Malcolm overheard some of their conversation as he passed by.

“…saw her, too. A shadow spryte. Too wild for us to stick around to watch, though. Even though she was naked.”

Malcolm froze in mid-step. He approached the men tactlessly, dropping to a crouch next to where they were seated.

“Say that again,” he said. “The part about the shadow spryte.”

The man glared at him and opened his mouth. Before he could say anything, Malcolm reached out and snatched the bottle out of his hand. He held it off to the side, over the concrete, shaking it slightly in loose fingers.

“If you gents want to keep enjoying yourself today,” said Malcolm, “I suggest you give me the full story of what you were just talking about.”

He used his tone of voice to make it clear that he’d follow through with his threat, if he had to. One of the men told him everything he knew, which wasn’t much. He and a buddy had seen a shadow spryte in the outskirts of town, but it had taken off in a sphere of dark energy soon after. The man didn’t know in which direction.

Rose. Did you finally come back? Have you remembered?

Malcolm gave the men back their bottle. He resolved to restart his search, regardless of whether he was hungry, and whether he had a weapon to protect himself. He’d made it most of the way back toward his hideout when someone shouted out behind him.

“Wind Runner!” called Bennett. “Where are you going in such a hurry? We haven’t had our chat yet today.”

Malcolm slowed to a stop, knowing that it would only waste energy to run. He turned around and saw Bennett walking toward him slowly, carrying the pistol he’d stolen from him earlier in the week. He was flanked by his two thugs, and they all looked inordinately pleased to see him.

“Bennett,” said Malcolm. “I’m afraid I don’t have time for you today.”

He felt a cold, confident certainty taking hold in his chest. He’d let himself get distracted for too long. It wasn’t about his survival or his safety. His life had a focus, and hearing the rumor about Rose had revitalized his will. Nothing would stop him from finding her.

“You’d talk to me like that?” sneered Bennett. “I thought we were friends! Wind Runner, don’t tell me you’ve lost your manners along with your powers.”

He strode closer, an arrogant bully drunk on his own meager influence. Malcolm didn’t flinch back from him. He held Bennett’s gaze steadily.

“What do you have on you?” asked Bennett. “If you’re in a rush, just give me what you have and we’ll call it square. Sound good?”

“Sound’s great.” Malcolm reached a hand into his pocket, digging into it with exaggerated motions. “Just… one thing though.”

He gestured for Bennett to come closer, and had to keep himself from grinning as the gang leader stepped within Malcolm’s range. He no longer had his wind manipulation, but he was still fast, and his first kick swept Bennet’s legs out from under him before he had time to react.

The two thugs let out shouts of surprise. Malcolm was already moving, throwing himself into the air and onto Bennett before he could get back to up on a knee. He got one of his hands over the gun, angling it away from him, and then head-butted Bennett in the face with all the energy he had.

Bennett screamed, and then let out a wet cough, spraying blood onto Malcolm’s face and shirt. He managed to strip the gun free from Bennett’s hand. The safety was off, and he whirled to fire at the nearest thug. Nothing happened when he pulled the trigger.

No bullets. Bennett already used up the ones in it in the time since he got it. I should have guessed.

One of the thugs kicked Malcolm hard in the chest, knocking him back. The other carried a baseball bat and was pulling it back to swing a killing blow into Malcolm’s skull when he let out a tiny gasp.

Malcolm glanced down at Bennett, or rather, at the shield bubble that now encased him. His entire body was trapped in a multicolored, lightly shimmering egg of confinement. When Malcolm looked back toward the other thugs, similar bubble shields had already encapsulated them. He still held the gun in his hand, and kept his finger on the trigger as he slowly stood up.

Shield Maiden, one of the few benign sprytes remaining in the area, stood a dozen paces behind him. She was attractive in an alien way, her skin a mixture of swirling pink, purple, and blue, and her hair the color of bubblegum. She met Malcolm’s gaze and crossed her arms.

“You still have a habit of getting yourself into trouble, I see,” she said.

Malcolm smiled, though his mind raced ahead, trying to work out why she was there and what she wanted.

She must have heard the rumor about Rose. That’s the only reason she’d show herself now.

“What can I say?” said Malcolm. “Trouble has a way of finding me. Speaking of which… Something tells me that you aren’t just passing through town.”

Shield Maiden slowly shook her head.

“I take it you’ve also heard,” she said. “Rose has returned to the area. I would like to take the opportunity to try to bring her back to us.”

“Us, as in… you and Fantasy?” asked Malcolm. “Or have you recruited more monsters to your little clique since I’ve last seen you?”

For a moment, it seemed as though she wouldn’t answer the question.

“No,” she said, finally. “We haven’t. It’s been a little too dangerous for us to operate openly in recent times.”

“That’s the understatement of the century.” Malcolm wiped a hand across his cheek, frowning at the blood that came off. Bennett’s blood - not his.

“Come with me,” said Shield Maiden. “You look as though you could use a day to… clean yourself up.”

“We should start immediately if Rose is close by,” said Malcolm.

Shield Maiden shook her head.

“You need to compose yourself, first,” said Shield Maiden. “The role you’ll be playing isn’t one you can rush into.”

“The role I’ll be playing?”

Shield Maiden nodded. “It’s up to you to remind Rose of what she has to come back to. She has to make the choice to return to her old life.”

Her old life. I wonder if she even remembers it…

CHAPTER 8

Malcolm followed Shield Maiden on foot for a time. She spoke little, but it wasn’t because of him, as far as he could tell. She had a quiet way about her, and managed to be companionable without saying anything.

They stopped outside a set of stairs leading down into an old cellar in a part of Vanderbrook that had been abandoned long before the collapse. Shield Maiden smiled at him and gestured with her hand.

“I’ll have to put you in a bubble, beyond this point,” she said.

“Still don’t trust me?” asked Malcolm.

She shook her head. “This is our safe place. Trust has nothing to do with it. I couldn’t allow anyone to see the exact route down to Underworld unless we all agreed upon it.”

“Fair enough.”

He took a step away from her, and an instant later, a multicolored translucent shell burst into existence around him. It was an odd sensation, reminiscent of the buoyant upward tug of a hammock, mixed with a kaleidoscope of colors from the sun’s light interacting with the clouded surface.

Malcolm could still see enough to tell when they’d moved underground, but beyond that, he was in the dark. And he didn’t mind. Shield Maiden was taking a risk by taking him into her confidence. He was a former champion, a former enemy, someone who she’d fought against on more than one occasion.

Rose must be a true friend, for her to take such a risk.

Time went by, close to an hour. Malcolm was surprised when he saw a literal light at the end of the tunnel. Shield Maiden brought him through one last door, and then the two of them stopped moving.

“Are your feet underneath you?” asked Shield Maiden.

“Yeah.”

She popped the bubble, and Malcolm collapsed into an uncoordinated heap, despite being ready for it. Shield Maiden smiled at him.

He slowly stood up and followed her down one of the long, cement hallways that spider-webbed out from Underworld’s core. Malcolm was shocked to see that there was still electricity, evidenced by the LED lights lining the ceiling and air circulation.

“How do you still have the power turned on down here?” he asked.

He regretted the question as soon as it had left his mouth. Underworld had never been drawing electricity from the grid. Back when Rain Dancer had been alive, he’d used his electrical powers to charge batteries and keep the system running smoothly.

Malcolm had killed Rain Dancer. Rain Dancer had been Shield Maiden’s lover. A pit of guilt formed in his stomach as the silence dragged on for several seconds. She stopped walking and turned around, but her face was neutral, rather than angry.

“We got our hands on some solar cells,” said Shield Maiden. “Quite a few. It was no trouble to refit our electrical system to run off them. We still have to be careful about how much we use, but for the most part, we make do.”

No mention of Rain Dancer. Probably better if I don’t bring him up unless she does.

They continued walking and spilled out into Underworld’s main chamber. Malcolm was surprised to find it almost empty. The large dining table that had been the centerpiece of the room looked to be doing little more than collecting dust. He wanted to be polite, so he tried to keep the question to himself. Shield Maiden read the expression on his face anyway.

“There weren’t many Awakened Children here when the collapse happened,” said Shield Maiden. “Those that were here left slowly, often in search of their families, or other members who’d gone missing.”

“And… Leah?” Malcolm had to know. Leah had been Rose’s sister.

“We… haven’t heard from her,” said Shield Maiden. She didn’t elaborate beyond that. Malcolm’s heart sank at the idea that he might have even more bad news to deliver to Rose once they found her.

Footsteps came from another hallway across the chamber. Malcolm glanced over to see another spryte that he recognized. Fantasy, dressed in a loose pink gown, her blonde hair flowing almost down to her waist, looked very surprised to see him.

“Wind Runner!” she shouted. “Shield, you didn’t tell me we were going to be having guests!”

Fantasy’s gown showed off her assets quite spectacularly, the curves of her generous breasts, along with her trim waist and firm butt. Despite that, Malcolm glared at her. The last time he’d seen her, she’d used her power to disguise herself as Rose. It had been a ploy for her to discover the true identity of the Gifted Vigilante. It seemed so pointless now, but Malcolm still felt anger and frustration burning inside of him over it.

“Is that really you, Fantasy?” he asked, spitefully. “Or just another mask?”

“Oh please,” said Fantasy. “That doesn’t even make sense. Why would I disguise myself as myself?”

Malcolm shrugged. He was angry and didn’t need things like “sense” and “logic”. Shield Maiden shot him a disapproving frown.

“Malcolm, if you’re upset over what Fantasy did when Rose disappeared, you should know that it was my idea,” said Shield Maiden. “We knew the two of you were close, and we knew that you had something to do with her disappearance. And we didn’t know if you’d be willing to tell us if we just showed up and asked.”

Malcolm sighed.

“I still wish you’d approached it differently,” he said. “It hurts to have a trick like that played on you with the face of someone you love.”

Someone I love. I do love her. And I never got a chance to tell her.

“What’s done is done,” said Shield Maiden. “We will set out to find Rose tomorrow. That’s as much as I can do to make amends. Until then… you should make yourself comfortable.”

“Are you going somewhere?” asked Malcolm.

Shield Maiden nodded.

“I need to check in with my contacts on the surface to get a better idea of where to start looking for Rose,” she said. “Take the day to rest, eat, and clean yourself up. Fantasy will help you.”

Malcolm was about to raise an objection, but Shield Maiden had already turned to head down another tunnel. The sound of her footsteps echoed back into the large, central room. It underscored just how empty their base had become. Malcolm wondered how the two women kept from feeling lonely living there, and began to better understand their reason behind wanting Rose back so badly.

He felt a little awkward as he looked over at Fantasy, who was watching him with her arms crossed, with a tiny, mischievous smile on her face.

“Relax,” she said. “I’m not going to do anything weird. Have a seat at the table. I’ll get you some food. Are leftovers okay? I don’t really feel like cooking.”

“Anything is okay,” said Malcolm. He felt himself relaxing a bit, or perhaps just warming to the idea of having food to eat that he didn’t have to forage.

Fantasy brought him a plate with cooked venison, green peas, and instant mashed potatoes. Malcolm let out an audible sigh when he saw it, and started chuckling uncontrollably when the smell met with his nostrils.

“How…” He shook his head in disbelief. “This… is a better meal than I’ve eaten in half a year.”

“The peas are canned, and the potatoes come from a bag,” said Fantasy. “The venison is all Shield Maiden. She’s really good at hunting with her power. I’ve tried it with my illusions, but it’s harder to trick an animal than a human, if you can believe it.”

“I can,” said Malcolm.

CHAPTER 9

Malcolm had to relearn proper table manners as he ate. He devoured everything, and Fantasy willingly brought him seconds. His stomach was full almost to the point of bursting when he finished clearing his plate a second time. She brought him a glass of wine, which seemed equally decadent to his now simplified palette.

Once the meal was over, Fantasy cleared his plate and disappeared into another room. When she returned, she carried fresh clothes and a towel. She gestured for him to stand and follow.

“Come on,” she said. “You need a bath. I don’t think you realize just how smelly you are.”

“Fair enough,” said Malcolm.

She led him down a hallway, and into Underworld’s extravagant bath room. A massive hot tub, already steaming with water, was sunken into the center of the cement floor. Malcolm wondered how it had come about, but was more interested in climbing in than having his questions answered.

He’d already taken his shirt off when he realized that Fantasy was still in the room, watching him carefully. He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Are you going to watch me bathe?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, simply. “Don’t think that just because you’re down here, you have our complete trust. You could do a lot of damage with your powers, Wind Runner.”

So she doesn’t know that I’m powerless. Maybe it’s better not to tell her?

He wondered if he was violating the tenuous trust that existed between him and the sprytes by not telling her. He decided that the story would have to be told eventually, but it could probably wait until after he’d gotten cleaned up and when Shield Maiden had returned.

“Well?” asked Fantasy. “Don’t tell me you’re too shy to strip in front of a pretty lady?”

Malcolm chuckled.

“Shy isn’t exactly the word I’d use,” he said. Truth be told, he found that as he pulled his pants and boxers off, a jolt of excitement went through him. He could feel Fantasy’s eyes on him. Despite the dirt and grime, his body had grown lean and muscular over the past few months.

He slowly lowered himself into the water, breathing a sigh of pleasure as the heat bled into him. Fantasy brought over soap and a wash cloth, and then surprisingly, sat down next to him, her bare feet and lower legs dipping into the bath.

“How complicated things have become,” said Fantasy, her voice wistful.

Malcolm met her gaze, wondering what she meant by that. He was about to ask when she continued.

“It’s been hard for us down here,” she said. “Not in the same way as you’ve struggled on the surface, I’m sure. But difficult. It’s hard to know what’s happening in the world.”

“It’s as you said,” replied Malcolm. “It’s even harder to be a part of it. The struggle is real. People die every day in Vanderbrook for reasons that are so petty and pointless that you just become numb to it, after a while.”

Fantasy picked up a bar of soap. She ran it across Malcolm’s shoulders, not scrubbing, but washing him with an absentminded casualness.

“You aren’t numb to it, though, are you?” she asked.

Malcolm exhaled slowly.

“I am, and I’m not,” he said. “It depends on the situation. Emotionally… I’m less than I was, back when the world made sense.”

Fantasy’s hands kept roaming. Malcolm was tempted to stop her, but the water felt amazing, and he found himself enjoying her company more than he wanted to.

“We were really close,” she said. “Closer than you might know, Wind Runner. Before Rain Dancer died, and before Zeus began his reign of terror… We were on a path toward a better world.”

“Better?” asked Malcolm. “With Rain Dancer’s methods? You might have been on a path, but I’m not sure it would have led you where you wanted.”

“Maybe not,” said Fantasy. “I don’t blame you for killing him, just so you know. That was a blunder of his own doing. But… How do I explain… Here, maybe it’s easier for me to just show you.”

She closed her eyes. Malcolm saw, more than felt, a shift taking place in the room. He could still feel the water of the tub, but in front of him now was a model of the town of Vanderbrook, not as it was now, but as it once had been.

Except, it wasn’t the Vanderbrook he remembered. Fantasy expanded the illusion, zooming in her focus until Malcolm could see the faces of people walking through the streets. He saw normal humans, but also sprytes and demons.

A human in a hooded sweatshirt passed by a blue skinned demon in a business suit without batting an eyelash. A spryte with bands of gold running up her arms like tattoos played with a group of children, tossing a ball into the air and holding it aloft with her power as the children jumped and reached for it.

The scene progressed further into a park on the north side of town. He remembered playing in it when he was a kid. He saw Fantasy in the illusion, younger than she was, but still a spryte. She was standing across from a teenage boy around the same age as her illusionary self, the two of them staring lovingly into each other’s eyes.

“I don’t remember his name,” said Fantasy. “I just remember that I loved him. Before I became a spryte, and after. I don’t know what happened to him…”

“I’m sorry,” said Malcolm.

“Don’t apologize,” said Fantasy. “Help me. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could still bring this world about?”

“It would,” Malcolm admitted. “But it’s not something that could happen overnight.”

Or possibly ever. I could see humans and sprytes living in harmony… but demons?

He thought of his brother Danny, and the struggle that had consumed him as a demon. Danny had tried to rise above what he’d been, to live peacefully, without hurting people. Malcolm felt old wounds ripping open as he considered what could have been if Danny hadn’t died in the fight against Rain Dancer.

“Maybe not overnight,” admitted Fantasy. “But it isn’t impossible. The world has already been knocked out of its old habits. What becomes of it while it’s built back up… is all a matter of choice.”

The illusion faded. Malcolm looked over at Fantasy and blinked in surprise. She’d stripped off her dress and was slowly sliding into the bath across from him. His eyes were drawn to the large nipples of her breasts, which were still mostly hidden by her long blonde hair.

“What are you –”

“Shh…” said Fantasy. “Don’t say anything.”

Malcolm glanced down, catching sight of his own reflection in the water. Or rather, catching sight of the face of the boy Fantasy had loved, overlain onto his own features through her illusion.

“Fantasy,” he said. “Not cool. I’m not interested in playing your games.”

Her cheeks reddened, and for a moment, Malcolm thought she was going to relent. Instead, she slid in closer to him within the tub, pushing her finger flat against his lips and closing her eyes. She looked like she was ashamed of herself, but clearly had no intention of stopping.

She could do worse things with her illusions, I guess.

He felt his lower half rousing to her proximity. Malcolm didn’t stop Fantasy as she lowered herself onto him and slowly began to move. It meant something else to her, something beyond simple pleasure. Something beyond Malcolm. He was just a stand-in for feelings destined for someone else.

But somehow, he found that he didn’t care. He was clean and fed for the first time in months. He was safe, and among the closest thing he had anymore to friends. And most importantly, he had a clue that could lead him to Rose.

He thought of Rose, and let himself imagine that it was her slowly riding him in the hot, wet tub. Fantasy caught his eye, and seemed to read his thoughts. She raised an eyebrow, asking him if he wanted her to use her illusions to complete the deception. It took all the willpower Malcolm had to keep from nodding.

Fantasy continued, using him for her pleasure and caring little for Malcolm’s own release. She let out tiny, sad moans, as though the sensation still reminded her of her forgotten, lost love. Malcolm let his hands run over her breasts, approaching the encounter with his desire balanced by passive acceptance.

Her movements were sensual and deliberate. Malcolm came before she did, letting out a somewhat embarrassed grunt as he released. Fantasy didn’t care. She didn’t even notice. She kept riding him, her movements prolonging his hardness, until she let out her own cry of ecstasy and shuddered atop his lap.

CHAPTER 10

Neither of them said anything more to each other, though Fantasy spent another few minutes helping Malcolm wash up. She handed him a towel when he climbed out of the bath, and then once he’d dried off, fresh clothing.

Malcolm pulled on a t-shirt and jeans, only noticing that Fantasy had also brought him a pair of boots once he’d finished donning his socks. He thanked her for them and followed her back into Underworld’s main chamber.

“You should get some rest,” said Fantasy. “It might be a while before Shield Maiden gets back.”

He slept in the same room that had once been appropriated for him and Rose, during his first, less than willing visit. It was surprisingly easy for him to get some sleep, and he wasn’t sure how long it had been, or whether it was day and night when a knock came at the door.

“Are you ready?” asked Shield Maiden.

“Sure,” said Malcolm.

I’ve been ready since I first heard the rumor in the trading square.

Shield Maiden led him through the main room and down a smaller hallway that Malcolm hadn’t noticed before. At the end of it was a large door with heavy metal cross for a handle, which she struggled to pull open. Malcolm assisted her, and found himself staring into the dank, dark sewer tunnels, which crisscrossed like catacombs.

Parked directly outside the door was a motorcycle and two helmets. Shield Maiden walked over to it and climbed on without saying anything, acting as though she didn’t even notice the overpowering smell of human refuse and mildew. Malcolm wondered just how it was that the odor didn’t leak through into Underworld.

“Well,” said Shield Maiden. “Get on.”

Malcolm frowned. He was not an overly masculine man, but there was something about getting on the back of a motorcycle behind a woman that gave him an instant of pause. He shook it off, seeing no reason why it should matter which of them was in front.

The first thing he did after putting on his helmet and swinging his leg over the side of the bike was grab Shield Maiden’s breasts. By accident, of course. He was taller than she was, and it was too dark for him to see where he was placing his hands. She stiffened slightly, but was merciful, and didn’t say anything as he found the correct place for them around her waist.

She started the bike and took off down the dark tunnel at a speed that, in Malcolm’s opinion, bordered on suicidal. Each time she turned around a corner, braking and leaning to counterbalance, he saw a vision of himself falling off and bouncing off a wall or into the waste.

Malcolm couldn’t decide whether it was a step up from being shield bubbled in and out of the spryte’s base. It was more exciting, sure, and there was still no way that he’d be able to remember all the twists and turns to make it back on his own.

I think it really comes down to a strong innate desire to not die.

The ride lasted twenty minutes, but felt as though it lasted twenty hours. A light appeared, quite literally, at the end of the tunnel as they neared their destination. Shield Maiden slowed down as they approached, carefully steering the motorcycle through a hole that had been cut in the metal grate which blocked off one of the sewer’s exits.

The sun was bright enough to make Malcolm’s eyes hurt and wash out colors. He blinked several times in quick succession as Shield Maiden steered the bike up a ramp, through what looked like a small sewage treatment facility outside of town, and then onto the road.

“Where are we going?” Malcolm shouted, or tried to. The bike was too loud, and their helmets too bulky for the question to reach audibility.

He contended himself by hanging on to her waist and watching the road, trying to get his own bearings. They were headed east, into one of the more upscale Vanderbrook neighborhoods. Beyond that lay a tourist destination that was, or had been a popular area for hiking and camping.

Remarkably, the roads had stayed in good shape after the collapse. Less people driving meant less wear and tear, which meant less potholes for Shield Maiden to hit and scare the hell out of him with. She drove fast, and though there were no speed traps waiting for them, Malcolm couldn’t help but consider the wisdom of it.

How quickly could she slap a shield bubble over each of us in the event of a crash?

They traveled for about an hour without seeing another human being. It was highway riding, straight across flat ground, and Malcolm would have found it boring if not for the wind and constant vibrations.

Slowly, something came into view in the distance. At first it just looked like a car crash that had been left abandoned, stretching across both lengths of the road. As Malcolm and Shield Maiden drew closer, it became clear that the cars and trucks blocking their path had been moved into place deliberately.

Shield Maiden slowed the bike. Malcolm squeezed his tired arms around her waist, desperately wishing that there was more he could do to warn her that it was a trap. From behind the truck stepped three men, two of them wielding clubs, one of them with a rifle.

The one with the rifle gestured for them to get off the bike. Shield Maiden seemed to comply, turning off the engine and pulling loose her helmet to let her strange, multicolored spryte hair spill into view.

Malcolm had forgotten the way most people reacted to encountering sprytes and demons. The men’s faces went white. The one holding the rifle began trembling visibly, the barrel of his rifle jumping back and forth between Shield Maiden and Malcolm.

“We just want any supplies you have!” shouted the gunman. “We don’t want any trouble. You can leave once we… once we take your stuff.”

“Are you fucking crazy, Earl?” hissed one of his friends. “Just let them go by. It’s too risky.”

“No,” said the gunman, forcing resolve into his voice. “This is our road. They have to pay up, like everyone –”

Whatever the man had been about to say was cut short by the appearance of Shield Maiden’s bubble around him. Her face was detached and expressionless as she waved it into the air. The bubble rose up, flying several hundred feet in the air before disappearing as swiftly as it had come into existence.

The gunman screamed as he fell. His friends watched on in for several stunned, disbelieving seconds. He died instantly on impact, and his body bounced a few feet back into the air before settling into a bloody, undignified pile. The stock broke off his rifle when it hit, which disappointed Malcolm a little, who’d been considering looting it for himself.

“The two of you seem more sensible,” Shield Maiden said, addressing the remaining bandits. “Will you allow us to go on our way?”

CHAPTER 11

They rode for several more hours, right up until the sun began to set. When Shield Maiden slowed the bike to a stop for the day, she seemed to be considering the area they were in carefully, as though they were close to their destination.

“Are you going to tell me when we get there?” asked Malcolm.

She shrugged. “I don’t know exactly where ‘there’ is. Rose was last seen in this general area, but it was days ago. She could be waiting just down the road, or a hundred miles in another direction.”

Malcolm frowned. He glanced across the relatively flat plains. There were a couple of farms in the distance, all of them abandoned and overgrown with weeds. The sun was an orange torch on the horizon, but there wasn’t anything else nearby that grabbed his attention.

“So… what?” he asked. “We look until we start to run out of gas, and then turn back?”

Shield Maiden smiled sadly and gave a slow nod.

“You can give up if you want,” she said. “You do have that choice.”

“Never.” Malcolm swallowed his doubts, knowing that she was right.

The motorcycle’s saddlebags were loaded with supplies for the night. Malcolm set about collecting loose boards from an abandoned farm to start a fire, while Shield Maiden set up a pop-tent.

They only had travel rations for dinner, but it was still better than what Malcolm had grown used to over months of scraping by in his Vanderbrook hovel. He managed to get his tinder bundle to catch spark, and slowly fed the fire as the last rays of sunlight disappeared over the horizon.

“You love her,” said Shield Maiden. “Don’t you?”

Malcolm smiled. Shield Maiden was not one for small talk. She always jumped straight to the point.

“I do,” he said. “And I have to find her. Even if it takes years.”

“It’s not easy to lose someone you love,” said Shield Maiden. “Especially when the world is in chaos.”

Malcolm chewed his lower lip, deciding how to approach the fact that had been hanging in the air over them. He’d killed Rain Dancer, the man Shield Maiden had loved. He didn’t know what to say, but he knew he had to say something.

“I’m sorry,” he finally managed. “About… Rain Dancer. I’m sorry that things happened the way that they did.”

Shield Maiden’s eyes locked onto his. Her face was so strange looking, pretty, but totally foreign in both color and pattern. But her eyes… they spoke to him as anyone’s would. He saw the pain, the loss… and the acceptance.

“How else could things have played out?” she asked, after a long while. “I cared for Rain Dancer. But I knew him as he was, not as he wanted to be or could have been. He was ambitious. He held grudges. And he… well, he was who he was.”

Malcolm didn’t say anything. Even though he’d been the one to bring the conversation in the direction of Rain Dancer, he now felt like the silence belonged to Shield Maiden.

“I cared for him… so much,” she whispered. “In some ways, it was like experiencing first love over again. I don’t have many memories left from the time before I became a spryte, so each touch, each kiss… every date. It was all new to me.”

Malcolm wanted to ask her for more details, but knew it would have the opposite effect. He stayed silent.

“He took me to an amusement park once.” Shield Maiden brushed her hair out of her face and smiled. “In the middle of the night, when there was nobody there. The rides were all shut off, but that wasn’t an obstacle to him. He took my hand, and asked me which one I wanted to try, and then he used his powers to bring it to life, and we had it all to ourselves”

Her smile faded.

“I think that was what he wanted, in the end,” she said. “Not peace, not really. He wanted to have a part of the world just for himself, to share with those he cared about.” Shield Maiden cleared her throat. “When the security guards showed up to the amusement park… he killed them.”

She said no more.

That’s probably as good of a place for a story to end as any.

The two of them sat watching the fire, both thinking their own thoughts. A sound in the distance drew Malcolm’s attention. He looked up, frowning as he scanned the landscape around them.

They were far enough out from Vanderbrook and Halter City and the light pollution for the night sky to provide the only illumination. The view made what Malcolm was looking at all the more unusual. A splotch of unnatural darkness was growing wider on the horizon, approaching them at high speed.

“Rose!” Malcolm stood up and took a step forward. Shield Maiden seized him by the shirt and pulled him back.

“Stay near the fire!” she hissed. “Stay in the light!”

The hairs on Malcolm’s neck stood up, even as his heart pounded with anticipation. The darkness resolved into the shape of a figure, one that slowly moved toward the edge of the fire’s reach.

It was the first time Malcolm had seen Rose since they’d fallen into Multi’s trap months earlier. Her skin was pale purple, lacking the healthy color he remembered. Her hair was tangled, long, and unkempt.

She’d lost weight, and it was most apparent in the gauntness of her face and sharpness of her cheek bones. Her clothes were ragged, shredded almost to the point of being lewd. Shadows moved about her arms and legs, sliding along her body like tribal tattoos come to life.

“Rose…” Malcolm said. He lifted his hand and extended it toward her. “It’s me. I’m here.”

Her eyes were dark pits, but they seemed to blaze as they met his. Shield Maiden pulled back on his shoulder and let out a cry as Rose’s shadow tendrils shot forward, coming within a hair of slicing into Malcolm’s chest.