Lafferty, Mur (28 page)

"Dude. That was cool," Ian said. He went to examine the cat. It looked like all of Keepsie's victims, frozen entirely. He poked it; it was stiff as if dead.

"Does Colette know how to cook bobcat? And hey, what happens to the Devil if we eat one of his tattoos?"

Michelle looked out the door, grinning. Ian stood and peered out of the broken pane.

In a world with bizarre superpowers, they should not have been surprised at what they saw. But Peter grinned and Ian laughed out loud when he saw Tattoo Devil struggling, panic scribbled over his face. His arms flailed and his head lolled, his feet scrabbled over the concrete steps, but he didn't move at all. His abdomen had been captured by Keepsie's power, and wasn't going anywhere.

"Keepsie’s power rocks more and more," Ian said. "I could watch this all day."

"So we've caught two superheroes. Now what?" Michelle said.

"Now we fight back," Peter said over her shoulder.

In Peter’s horror at his own loss, he hadn't noticed that when he and Ian had gone to deal with Heretic, Colette had returned to the kitchen. Now he realized what she had been up to.

"That," she said, pointing to a deep fat fryer, "is safflower oil. Nearly the highest smoke point of any oil. It can get upwards of 510 degrees without catching fire. You know how they showed you horrific movies in driver's ed. to scare you into wearing a seat belt? Well, in culinary school they showed us movies of oil burn victims. It's not pretty."

She moved to the stove where something bubbled in a large stockpot.

"This is sugar. Mixed with a little corn syrup. This can't get as hot as the oil can, but will work like napalm as it will stick to skin and continue to burn."

"That's great, but, uh, why?" Ian asked.

"Weapons. Think dark ages wars with the boiling oil pots."

"But how in the hell are we going to pour the stuff up the wall? We’re in a basement!"

Colette snorted. "Use your imagination. That's what we have to do to get by. If you'd prefer something more mainstream, the knives are over there. But careful, they're sharp." She gestured to a neat row of five knife blocks.

Ian eyed the concoctions, and then took Colette's challenge and pulled a chef's knife from the block. "I was burned by hot water as a kid. Then in college I set an oven mitt on fire. While I was wearing it. I'll stay clear of the hot stuff."

"Suit yourself," she said, and pulled out another pan.

"More weapons?"

"No, dinner. I'm hungry."

Peter remembered the scraggly, dazed people following Ghostheart.

“Colette. Who is this meant for?”

“Anyone who gets in our way.”

“But those men and women in the alley are victims of Ghostheart’s lies.

It’s not their fault. We can’t fight them.”

Colette frowned. She looked at Peter and he thought he saw tears in her eyes. “Was Dave up there?”

Peter winced. He’d forgotten Drinky Drunky Dave, the Drunk, a Third Wave homeless man whose power went right up against Keepsie’s: he had the power to get any alcohol without paying for it. Peter knew she took pity on him and allowed him in the bar, but he never knew if Dave’s power would work if Keepsie didn’t want him to take the beer.

When Dave had met Keepsie and learned of her adopted hero name, he proudly called himself Drinky Drunky Dave, the Drunk. He’d been a favorite of Colette’s as he had a sense of humor and always tipped the waitress for his free beer.

“I-I didn’t see him. But we can’t fight them.”

She stirred a pot on the stove and nodded. “If you can pour this down Clever Jack’s pants, though, I’d appreciate it.”

Peter opened his mouth to answer, but shouting and laughter from inside the bar stopped him. He ran through the doors to see Tomas doubled over laughing at the heroes outside.

"What's happening?"

Michelle grinned at him. "He decided to try pulling on Heretic's arm to see what would happen."

Heretic was now up to her shoulder in Keepsie's Bar, the arm inside immobile but the body writhing like a fish on a line.

"Can you push her out?" Peter asked.

Tomas gave the fist a little push, then harder. It didn't budge. "I suppose he cannot leave until Keepsie lets him."

How is it going to be when all of this is over? If we survive, will we all go to jail? Peter thought as he watched his friends tease the hero. Although he did not recall anything on the law books about teasing a hero, there was probably something there about hindering a hero in his duties.

"Dude." Ian poked him in the shoulder. "Are you listening?"

"What?" Peter hadn't noticed Ian and Michelle were behind him. Then he realized he hadn't smelled them.

"I said we need to start thinking of a plan of attack."

"Right. Um. Tomas and Barry and Colette in the back door, dealing with Ghostheart’s army. You, me, and Michelle here to deal with this door."

"What about them?" Ian poked Heretic's arm.

"We could pull them inside and hold them. That might be safest. For all involved.

Heretic swore, her face mashed against the glass pane above the one she'd punched out.

"Don't worry, it doesn't hurt," Peter said. Tomas gave another heave, and the glass gave way and Heretic slid effortlessly into the room, not even cutting herself on the broken panes.

"Remind me to kiss Keepsie," Tomas said, laughing, as he placed the immobile Heretic on the floor next to Timson.

Tattoo Devil looked at them with wide eyes. "Stay away from me!"

"I apologize, but we need to clear the stairway. You understand, I'm sure," Peter said. "We won't hold you here forever."

"Just let me go and I'll clear out, no problem!"

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Mr. Devil, I'm sure we've had enough encounters in the past several hours to show that neither of us can trust the other. So, with the upper hand, we're going to neutralize you. You will not be hurt, and who knows, you might make it out of this fight better than we will."

Peter hefted the frozen bobcat and experimented with carrying it further inside the bar. The cry of alarm outside satisfied his curiosity, and he instructed Tomas to bring Tattoo Devil inside.

Tomas stacked him with the rest. Michelle and Ian went over to the door, Michelle to crouch by the bodies and Ian to look out.

"You know, I've always wanted to look at his tattoos," Michelle said. She coughed and pulled back his lapel of his vest. "Guys. This is sick."

Ian bent down. "So what? Lots of guys have tattoos of naked chicks."

Michelle stared him. Peter looked at the anatomically correct tattoo and said mildly, "That must come in handy on lonely nights."

Michelle stood and punched him playfully in the arm. Ian choked and said, "Oh. I get it. Dude. That's a lucky power, right there. But, oh…" Ian pulled back Tattoo Devil's lapel some more and revealed a naked man tattooed into his armpit.

Michelle laughed. "Well, he covers all bases."

"I did not need to see that," Ian said, hiding his face in Michelle's shoulder.

"So the coast is clear, boss," Tomas said. "Now what?"

"Now what indeed," Peter said, sticking his head out the window and looking up. The heroes and villains and hoboes still fought above the bar, and there was no clear winner.

And were they actually thinking of taking on the entirety of the hobo army, heroes and villains if it came to it? Armed with candy and fry oil and Ian's foul weapon?

It was all they had. It would have to do.

He turned and looked at his troops. "Get ready. It's time."

Keepsie’s sense of relief mixed with loss as the drug began to wear off.

She was happy to have the high wear off so she could think clearly, but the added power had been a bonus. The ability to protect her friends had apparently been the key to expelling the horrific Timson out of Peter's head.

Now she was just plain old Keepsie, outside for what was beginning to seem like a very stupid reason.

The homeless had attempted to attack her as she emerged from the bar, and now a good twenty frozen trailed helplessly behind her as she ran.

What the hell am I out here for? The drug must have been wearing off, since Keepsie realized she was clearly questioning her actions when two minutes before she had completely sure of herself. She ducked into a side street and flattened herself against a wall to watch the carnage.

The fight, however, had slowed. All she could see were heroes and hoboes. Clever Jack and Light of Mornings were nowhere to be found.

Seismic Stan hadn’t been seen since the scuffle at the park. Keepsie guessed that White Lightning had taken care of him, finally. He and Light of Mornings could probably tear up this battle in an instant. But then what would Clever Jack rule if the city fell into a great fault, with a nuclear winter settling over them all?

Psychological studies had been done on the villains ever since Seismic Stan had broken free of the Academy and attacked the city. There was the age-old question when it came to bad comic books -why does the bad guy want to destroy the earth? Why did he want to kill himself, not to mention his cool secret lair and stuff?

If his nemesis had been as insufferable as the heroes, Keepsie could see the point behind total annihilation. Is it that easy? Can simple bitterness drive you to evil?

She ran a few steps and then released the men and women under her control; it was hard to be stealthy with 20 corpse-like people floating behind her. She ran down the side street and marveled at how quiet the city was just one block over.

The Weaver River, renamed for Pallas's acts of bravery twenty years prior, usually had ducks and swans paddling in its slow current. People would rent boats a couple of miles up and spend the day canoeing up and down the river. It was a popular pleasure spot, and Keepsie enjoyed hanging out there on days off. The birds often made considerable noise when they saw someone walking the banks, as it usually meant free food.

Today the birds floated, their long necks splayed across the water, their open eyes staring into the sky. They circled lazily and bumped into each other, shedding feathers and drifting farther downstream with the current.

Keepsie's mind was returning to her swiftly, and although going back to the bar might seem the best idea, she had to check out the lone figure sitting on the riverbank, dangling her dainty bare toes in the water.

Light of Mornings had apparently gotten enough of her powers back to control the glowing, and now actually resembled a regular girl. She stared out at the dead ducks as they floated by. Tears leaked from her eyes, trailed down her face, and evaporated with a pop.

Can her radiation hurt me if it's not a conscious attack? Do I want to find out? Keepsie hadn't wanted to find out a lot of the things she had discovered recently. But the most powerful super villain ever sat before her, crying on the riverbank, and Keepsie, wonder of wonders, felt sorry for her.

"Hey, what's up?" she asked.

"It's not fair," Light of Mornings said. She was more coherent than Keepsie had seen her.

"Um, what's not fair?"

"Him. When I went to sleep, he promised me he'd get me out. And he did. But it's been years. It's been so long."

Keepsie tried to do that math. She looked to be fifteen or so. Clever Jack was in his late twenties, so she couldn’t have been asleep longer than ten or fifteen years. She said as much, inching closer in what she hoped was a concerned way.

Light of Mornings whipped her head around and glared at Keepsie. The air between them heated up, and Keepsie swallowed and sat down about ten feet away.

"Not so long? Eleven years isn't a long time? What has he been doing in that time? Who has he been with?" She stared back at the water, and Keepsie fancied she saw a squirrel fall from a tree on the far side of the river.

"In school I thought he liked me for me. Now I've been back less than a day and all he's wanted me to do is go here and fight this and steal this, and kill that hero and piss that person off, and then, hey, let’s fuck for old time’s sake, and then go fight some more!"

Keepsie's heart quickened. She felt this way when playing poker with her friends and she was dealt a good hand and prayed she wouldn't screw it up.

She's still a kid inside.

Keepsie looked out over the river too and hugged her knees to her chest.

Her cheek felt as if she were getting sunburned.

"Yeah. That really sucks. So you're feeling used?"

Light of Mornings looked up to the sky, looking as if she were trying to hold back more tears. She failed; they sizzled on her cheeks as they spilled over. She nodded, her lips trembling.

"I felt used,” Keepsie said. “By the same guys. Doodad used me just the other day."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Such a jerk." Keepsie tried to remember what was important to her when she had been fifteen, what she talked about. Boys. Overwhelming crushes on boys.

Clever Jack would be the key.

"So wha'd he do to you?" Light of Mornings asked.

"Tricked me into using my powers for him. I really didn't have any say in it."

"Asshole."

"Totally." Keepsie's heart was thundering away, and she held her knees tightly.

"I mean, it's not like I wanna marry him or anything," Light of Mornings blurted. "I just thought they were my friends. They rescued me, and they're all like, ‘Oh we're so glad you're back, now can you blast those assholes?’ And I wasn't even awake yet."

"So, uh, where are they now?"

Light of Mornings waved towards the battle. "I wanted to talk to him about all this shit that's going on, and the other shit, but he wanted to fight."