Ordinary Champions

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher. Masks: Ordinary Champions PRIZM An imprint of Torquere Press, Inc. PO Box 2545 Round Rock, TX 78680 Copyright 2009 © by Hayden Thorne Cover illustration by Pluto Published with permission ISBN: 978-1-60370-687-2, 1-60370-687-9 www.prizmbooks.com www.torquerepress.com All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law. For information address Torquere Press. Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78680. First Prizm eBook Printing: April 2009 Printed in the USA

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Masks: Ordinary Champions Hayden Thorne

Illustrations by Pluto

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GLBT YA Books from Prizm Banshee by Hayden Thorne

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City/Country by Nicky Gray

Comfort Me by Louis Flint Ceci

Heart Sense by KL Richardsson

Heart Song by KL Richardsson

I Kiss Girls by Gina Harris

Icarus in Flight by Hayden Thorne

Josef Jaeger by Jere' M. Fishback

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Masks: Ordinary Champions by Hayden Thorne

Masks: Rise of Heroes by Hayden Thorne

The Mediocre Assassin's Handbook by Tamara Sheehan

Staged Life by Lija O'Brien

The Suicide Year by Lena Prodan

The Tenth Man by Tamara Sheehan

The Water Seekers by Michelle Rode

Without Sin by J. Tomas

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Chapter 1 Something downright sucky had happened in my past life, and I was paying for every miserable scrap of it now. How did my life stink? Let me count the ways. On second thought, scratch that. It would only depress me even more. To sum up, on top of the quagmire of angst in which I found myself, I was still required to do my homework. Talk about rubbing salt into one's wounds. A few days following the Trill's release--once I was acclimated to my new situation, that is--I was ordered to do my homework. While I certainly enjoyed a pretty exotic environment for mundane school stuff --seriously, who else could boast of being surrounded by faux Italian frescoes, violin solos softly filling the background, while snarling his way through proofs?--it still bit hard that I was actually required to carry on with my education. I mean, who'd ever heard of supervillains doing schoolwork? Not me! But there I was, completely caged in by my "guardian," commanded to carry on with my studies because "Villainy demands high standards." Sheesh. I'd bet my allowance that, had I been eighteen and not sixteen, I'd be treated with more dignity than that. All right, so I might be told to take out the trash on occasion, but I'd rather do that than my stupid homework. I felt as though I were going through Miss Froufrou Charming's Finishing School for Young Villains. I was sure that it wouldn't be long before they'd make me walk around with a book on my head while zapping targets with energy blasts. The downside to it--one of several downsides, really--was that I still sucked at Geometry and Chemistry. My superpowers couldn't save me. When bad karma rains, it pours. The Trill's library gave me more reason to stop and stare, maybe daydream every two minutes. Gorgeous and lushly decorated, it even had a distinct smell of history, most likely because of the old, old pieces of furniture that were crammed in it. The walls were wallpapered in gold and red filigree patterns, which all matched the furniture color. The ceiling was also elaborately detailed with pastoral scenes from

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each season of the year; I found out later on that they weren't paintings but custom made wallpapers meant to look like frescoes. Still no signs of gay boys anywhere in those scenes, of course, and I made a mental note to file a discrimination complaint against the Trill over his decorating choices. Antique candelabras gave me the illumination I needed, finishing off the strange quasi-historical-Venetian feel of the room. I must admit to being a little bummed out that the Trill's new headquarters weren't under the opera house anymore. I really could've reveled in the whole Phantom of the Opera mystique. No thanks to Magnifiman, the Trill was forced to take shelter in the abandoned --and, until now, sealed off--southern tunnels of Vintage City's subway system. Gutted by a fire decades ago, then further compromised by an earthquake, the tunnels were declared too dangerous and certainly too expensive to repair, given the extent of the damage from both calamities. They were therefore sealed up, with the railway rerouted permanently. The Trill's thugs couldn't be found while he was locked up in the asylum, but I quickly discovered that it was because they were busy fixing up their boss' new hideout. Of course, the nagging question I had was whether those guys actually knew what they were doing, choosing a major safety hazard for their new lair. Part B of that question involved the Trill himself and why he settled on a major safety hazard for his headquarters. I never bothered to ask why. At that point, I'd long accepted that genetically manipulated musicians were total nut jobs who couldn't give you a straight answer if their lives depended on it. Being sheltered in a pretty dangerous location was another petal on my bad karma rosebud. At any rate, I was there--the new kid in the middle of his training. Of course, I never expected Geometry and Chemistry to be part of that. Four o'clock chimed, and I gathered my notes, cursing under my breath, and marched out of the library in the direction of the drawing room. Yes, we had a drawing room. I felt very genteel. It was time for tea, and my presence was required, a la Jane Austen. Oh, and I was also supposed to hand over my homework to my "tutor," who wasn't the Trill. The tunnels I walked through enjoyed a pretty nice makeover, I must say. I could've sworn that I'd been there before, but that was because they were fixed up to come as close as possible to the original hallways in the Trill's previous underground lair. I guess the only difference in this case was that there were more signs of Vintage City's infamous inner layer poking through to disrupt the tunnels' Venetian splendor. The floor, while swept up and cleared of debris, remained untouched otherwise. I could see marks of the old train tracks on the gray, slightly broken surface. Here and there, I'd spot a crack or a burned patch that couldn't be hidden completely by paint or elaborate wallpaper. Sometimes there'd be dripping water from some unknown source above me. The drops were caught in buckets, though, which

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broke up the décor, but it was necessary. Better to have an occasional bucket than to have the place inconveniently flooded. I guess overall, it was pretty easy to see that the place was meant to be a part of a subway system once upon a time, but it was now slightly touched up to hide its ugly underbelly. I presently reached the drawing room and knocked on the door. "Come in, come in." "Enter, Master Plath!" I rolled my eyes. "Whatever," I muttered, pushing the door open and stepping inside. The drawing room looked no different from the library, save for the noticeable absence of bookcases crammed with antique books. Like the library, this room was once an underground platform--or a part of it, anyway, seeing as how the rest of it lay buried under rubble after the earthquake hit. The Trill's thugs did what they could to touch up half of the place, where the rubble and debris formed a shapeless wall that pretty much surrounded a sizable open area, cutting it off from part of the rail line so that it only accessed the tunnel I walked through. The effect was weird but really cool. It was like being in an overly decorated cave. Because of the walls' curved and uneven surfaces, wallpaper wasn't used, but, boy, expensive-looking portraits weren't spared. Candelabras were scattered all over, which was the closest we could come to retaking that Phantom of the Opera mystique, I suppose. And, yes, every antique and every piece of furniture was stolen. Apparently supervillains couldn't help themselves as a rule. The Trill sat across from Dr. Dibbs. He was back in costume, and though I'd been his ward for a few days now--God, the thought was beyond bizarre--I still wasn't comfortable in his company. Then again, who in his right mind would be? The Trill was a costumed psychopath, and having tea with him was like having one's last meal in the company of Hannibal Lecter. "Ah, it looks like our young talent is done with his required work," the Trill noted before blowing gently at his steaming cup of tea. "And how did we do today, Mr. Plath?" I shrugged. "Okay, I guess." I turned to Dr. Dibbs, who was busy stuffing his face with crumpets. "Um, so do I give these to you now or later?" He nodded and beckoned me to come over with slightly greasy hands. "Nnrrmmph," he said, and I grimaced in disgust. "Ouf murph krmm." "Ugh," I muttered as I walked over to him and handed him my homework. Seriously, one would think that the Trill, being so obsessed with good manners and hoity-toity crap, would find someone who didn't remind me of an organic vacuum cleaner. I'd no idea which sludge pile he'd fished Dr. Dibbs out of, but I suppose beggars couldn't be choosers, and supervillains were pretty much limited to the underground when it came to pretty mundane stuff like schoolwork. To top it all off, the guy leered at me. Always. It was downright creepy. When I handed him my

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homework, in fact, I could swear that his fingers stroked mine when he took hold of my notes. "Thank you, my dear boy," he said, grinning and breathing through his teeth. His eyes, blown well out proportion by his soda bottle glasses, blinked and stared at me. His face was all saggy, pouchy flesh, with a perpetual sheen of sweat covering it. He'd actually pull out a damp handkerchief from his pocket every five seconds or so and then dab his face dry. He always wore a white suit with a matching white hat. He kind of reminded me of an old time, dapper archeologist-adventurer like in those Indiana Jones movies. The only difference was that Dr. Dibbs was soggy, greasy, and gross--like a French fry. I took my seat, surreptitiously wiping my hand--yes, the one Dr. Dibbs fondled--against my jeans. I was also annoyed at finding out that my assigned chair was set directly across from my tutor, which meant spending tea time being ogled by a human fast food side order. "And how is our young resident coming along, Professor?" the Trill asked. "Oh, very well, very well, Mr. Trill," Dr. Dibbs gurgled. "I can't imagine any other young man being so blessed." I grumbled another emphatic "Ugh!" as I claimed a crumpet, making sure not to look in the man's direction. This was going to be one hell of a long hour, I thought, sighing. I missed Mom's cooking--yes, even all those fried, shorten-thy-lifespan dishes which she was so fond of force feeding me. "Has he improved on his Chemistry and Geometry?" "A little, yes, but those are his weaknesses, I'm afraid, Mr. Trill. He needs to apply himself more." I raised a hand. "Uh, wait a second. I think it's really a matter of not having a head for Chemistry and Geometry. If superpowers can't even help me improve in my schoolwork, that pretty much says it right there, no?" The two men laughed, and I sank back in my chair, glowering at them as I gnawed at my pastry. "That's a sorry excuse, Master Plath," Dr. Dibbs replied. "Quite typical for a boy in your situation to use, in fact. No, I don't buy it, and neither does your guardian. You, sir, must work harder and show improvement." "You have the benefit of a private tutor," the Trill added, refilling his cup. "I see no reason why you still refuse to work more closely with the Professor." Uh, maybe because I didn't really care to be drooled over or groped while memorizing the table of elements? "It's not necessary. I can work on my own, thanks. Besides, isn't that what you want from me? Like, independence and stuff? I mean, how can you expect me to learn anything if I'm going to be spoon fed everything?" "As an experienced pedagogue, I'd be more than happy to work very closely with you, Master Plath, not be forced into the role of homework checker." There was that leer again. "Yeah, and how do I know that you're not just saying that? Will my diploma mean anything after

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you're done?" I countered, shuddering again. God, that man was just plain wrong. "Do I even get a diploma?" The Trill raised a hand in his turn. "Of course, you will, and, yes, your diploma will mean something. Your private education, after all, is accredited. And if education bigwigs refuse to acknowledge your academic success, we've got ways of fixing that. But you're jumping far ahead of yourself, my dear Mr. Plath. One thing at a time, please. You're only sixteen, after all. You've got time, as do we, where your future education's concerned. For now, work on your weak subjects." "But I'm one of the bad guys now," I insisted. "Why can't I just practice blowing things up?" "You'll have that opportunity, yes, but brawn is best served with a generous dollop of brain--in a manner of speaking, of course. Look at me." The Trill chuckled. Across from him, Dr. Dibbs chuckled as well. Then he went back to leering at me. "I suppose you don't have anything for me to do, huh?" I asked, sulkily staring at my tea. "I mean, other than my homework?" "Oh, I do, yes. Your services will be needed soon enough. Be prepared." "Good," I sighed and then sipped my tea. The reluctant Supervillain Sidekick--how tragic a figure did I cut? Dr. Dibbs glanced at his pocket watch. Yes, the man actually owned one, and I must say that I was impressed. Kind of. "Ah," he gurgled, stuffing it back in his pocket and leaping to his feet. "I'm afraid I must leave you gentlemen." I suppose that was one good thing about having him for my tutor. He never stayed past fifteen minutes in our company. He was always running around, up to his sweaty ears, he claimed, with more tutoring appointments--for which I wished those other students good luck. "See?" I crowed, unable to help myself. "If we worked one-on-one like a real tutor-student thing, we wouldn't be able to accomplish anything since you keep running off like this." "Oh, I'm sure I could work my schedule around that," he replied without a second's hesitation as he touched his hat in farewell. "It would be a pleasure being your shepherd." "Do you mind? I'm eating!" He merely laughed and walked off, the Trill escorting him and engaging him in a whispered conversation. I returned to my room--yes, I was given my own faux Venetian bedroom, go me--once I finished tea, shaking off all reminders of Dr. Dibbs' presence and taking care to lock the door behind me. Just in case. My room was a copy of the room where the Trill kept me after knocking me unconscious and spiriting me away. No classical music played in the background, though, so I figured that the Trill was pretty much done with experimenting on me. Call me a pessimistic optimist.

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I walked over to the computer--a small consolation gift from the Trill--and turned it on. As I waited, I glanced down at my left hand. I gently rubbed it with my right, thinking about Peter's friendship bracelet. I'd managed to dampen its tracking function by enveloping it in an energy bubble, and I think I must have weakened the bracelet's physical form in the process as well. It was pretty easy for the Trill to break the thing apart, and I never saw it again.

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Chapter 2 My only connection to the outside world was my computer. I honestly didn't know whether or not Althea could realistically trace me through her powers, but I figured that the World Wide Web was such an infinite sea of networks that the chances of her stumbling across me were next to zero. If I remembered correctly, she'd said once that she could possess my old computer because she knew my "location," whatever that meant. All the same, the computer was also rigged to limit my online time to about an hour a day--during regular school hours, at that. It didn't care whether or not I was done surfing. When my hour was up, it automatically shut itself down. Once I was online, I could only surf, not log into communities or message boards or anything that required me to input information and leave traces of my presence in cyberspace for Spirit Wire to sniff out. How could I? The keyboard was a dummy, with keys that could be depressed to no effect. It lay on the desk, mocking me time after time, and it took a while for me to learn to keep myself from automatically setting my hands on the keyboard when I got online and start typing away. I couldn't do searches, obviously, and my way of navigating cyber waters was to click on link after link after link until I found the right site for me to explore. It was horrible, and it gave me headaches every time, but that was all that I was allowed to do. I sure couldn't log in to check out my favorite online role playing communities. I did, though, watch the bizarre drama that could only be called RPG unfold as a visitor. All I could do was bookmark sites as I surfed to cut down on my ongoing online grief. I also checked local news. Magnifiman was still cleaning up the streets, his efforts redoubled now that everyone had discovered my dirty little secret. Calais remained at his side, and Miss Pyro remained at Calais'. It was pretty hard not thinking more about those two every time I saw them standing next to each other, but I figured that this was the way the world turned. Better to suck it up and be a stronger man for it. "Search Intensifies for Manipulated Energy Boy!" was the common headline. "The Devil's Trill:

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Escapee and Mad Scientist Experiments on Teenager!" was another. "The Cloak: Victim or Willing Disciple?" was another. Well--at least they finally got the spelling right. I'd read news items that vaguely referred to my family, especially my parents, as they pled for my safe return. I was grateful that the reporters who covered my story showed enough respect for my family not to show them on camera or in photos. Their real names--and mine, for that matter--were never revealed. Mom and Dad were quoted, nothing more, and they were always referred to as "the boy's devastated parents." Liz wasn't interviewed, but that was likely because Mom and Dad wouldn't allow it. I also had a feeling that Magnifiman had something to do with their protection, and I made a note to thank him when the time came--well, in a manner of speaking. Hopefully I'd get a chance to show him my appreciation before he pounded me to dust. "Son, if you're reading this, please know that we still love you, no matter what," Dad once said. "Whatever happened--or whatever may happen--it's not your fault. We all know that. Just come back to us." I had to walk away before I lost control of myself. I hated reading those news items, but I couldn't help myself whenever I spotted references to the Cloak's family. It was my only connection to my parents though it killed me every time. Would they understand what I was doing? Someday, maybe? Would my friends? I had a plan--my own scheme of turning the tables on the Trill--but it was proving to be much more difficult than I first thought. It was easy to work on perfecting my powers--to use them against the forces of good as a way of fooling the Trill about my allegiances. I remembered my final confrontation with Peter, though. I remembered losing control of myself, like I was suddenly defenseless against something inside me that was much, much stronger than I expected. I didn't know what it was that took over, but it was real, and I was afraid of it. I didn't know how I'd respond to coming face-to-face with Peter again--and I expected to do that more and more often in the near future. The Trill didn't believe in TV, so I didn't have any way of watching breaking news. If the guy wanted to create a world of his own that was stuck in a time loop of some kind, he sure succeeded. I was actually surprised that he gave me a computer, not an abacus. I tried to get on a local news site to watch a video of the most recent news, but the stupid page froze on me. Before I could reboot, the computer shut itself down since I'd already used up my allotted hour. "Oh, man," I sighed, looking around. It sucked, being so closed off from the rest of the universe. I guess the only consolation I had was the crazy stacks of books that littered my room. I didn't even have a blank journal where I could write my haiku--loose sheets of filler paper didn't count. Since it wasn't dinner time yet, I dragged my self pitying butt over to one pile of books and rummaged through them. I didn't know who Rochester was, but his portrait on the front cover looked pretty interesting, so I pulled out a collection of his poetry and plays.

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I figured that if I were to be holed up somewhere in Vintage City's rotting underbelly, I might as well expose myself some more to classic literature and be really intellectual. I crawled into bed and stretched myself out on my stomach. Reading poetry from the Earl of Rochester was a pretty cool way of immersing myself in timeless culture.

I counted slowly, my face hot and pressed against a pillow. It took a little time, but I stopped blushing eventually. Nearby the book of Rochester's poetry lay open, some of its pages a little wrinkled. And a bit damp. God, that was embarrassing. Timeless culture, my ass. I never thought I'd be giving myself a boner just reading poetry. With a slightly sweaty hand, I reached out and pushed the damn book farther and farther away until it fell over the edge of my bed, and I listened to it land on the floor, dully. I took a deep, relaxing breath as I felt myself calm down some more, my mind forcing a bunch of pretty kinky images out of my overheated brain. I missed Peter. Badly. I was sure that my nights were doomed to be haunted by his hot, spandex-covered image against the backdrop of Rochester's racy verses. I groaned against my pillow. I hoped the Trill had plenty of spare bed sheets on hand. I suppose the only good thing was that my mom wasn't around to catch me reading something pornographic. I could only imagine that she'd have the Trill's dangly bits in a square knot if she found out that her son was being subjected to classic English Lit porn. When dinner time came, I made sure to say something about the corruption of a minor. The Trill merely dabbed his mouth with a napkin--really proper-like--while chuckling the whole time. "My dear Mr. Plath," he began. "Considering I'm kinda, sorta your ward now, I think it's okay to call me Eric," I cut in a little testily. "I mean, seriously--all this 'Mr. Plath' stuff is getting a bit out of hand, know what I mean?" "Yes, I know, but calling you by your Christian name just doesn't come to me so easily, dear boy." "Oh, and the 'boy' bit, too. You're not that much older than me, right? Like, you're probably around Magnifiman's age, which makes you twenty, twenty-two, tops? Sure, you guys look a bit older than you really are, but I guess superpowers come with some kind of a price. Look at me. I'm only sixteen, but with my powers, everyone thinks I'm nineteen or something." Which was a pretty cool thing in itself, I wanted to add, but I didn't want to feed his ego any more than I should. The Trill sighed, and if I'd had the ability to see his eyes, I'd surely have watched them roll in their sockets. "Look, can we get back to the subject at hand?" "Literary porn, you mean?" "You say toe-MAY-toe, and I say toe-MAH-toe."

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I shook my head, frowning, as I sipped my lemonade. "Dude, you're so bizarre." "Well, what I was trying to get at, young man, was that literature runs the gamut, just as music does, and what one considers to be objectionable might not be so to another. One man's trash, as they say..." The Trill pointed a fork at me for emphasis, and I blinked. "So--what does that have anything to do with what I'm trying to tell you?" "That you're blowing things well out of proportion, of course. If you find some of the books in your room objectionable--yes, books that are given to you for your own intellectual improvement--you're most welcome to set them aside and turn your attention to something else." He paused as he helped himself to more pasta, his pale lips still curved in a smile. "I trust your judgment, of course. That's the reason why I thought to gift you with a range of titles. I could, of course, treat you like a slobbering little child and dictate your reading choices, if that's what you want." I pressed my mouth into a tight line and shook my head. "No, that's okay. Never mind." "It's really a non-issue, if you think about it," he said, raising his wineglass to his lips as he watched me eat. "Yeah, I guess so," I replied with a vague, noncommittal shrug. "Then again, I'm still only sixteen, and Mom's going to kill you if she finds out. Unless my dad gets to you first." "How do you like the pasta?" "Oh--it's good, I guess. The lemonade tastes a little too sweet." I looked up and met his gaze--sort of. All I could see were those creepy little crescents in his mask that served as his eyes. "Is it? I'll have to tell cook to double the lemon for you next time," he said, and I hesitated before turning my attention back to my meal. He was seriously creeping me out, and I dreaded the long, dreary days that awaited me as his "ward." Crap. If it was in my bad karma genes to be taken in by a supervillain, why did it have to be him, for God's sake? Surely there were other supervillains out there, and if I were to be royally screwed by someone, I'd rather be under the thumb of someone awesome like--oh--Dolly Parton or something. I mean, she always had that "cool aunt" vibe about her, and, hell, if she were turned into a genetic monster? I'd kill to be her sidekick! But, nooooooo. I had to be manipulated by Mr. Cultured Freako instead. I changed the subject as quickly as I could before full out panic set in. "So when's our next assignment?" I prodded, taking another sip of my lemonade. Man, it was gross. Whoever prepared the drink must have poured a one-pound box of sugar into it. Oddly enough, I couldn't help myself every time, despite my revulsion. It was vile and yet addicting. I just made sure to chase it down with lots of water. "Ah, good boy. I like your enthusiasm. Tomorrow, Mr. Plath, we go downtown to the Schell Hall,

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where a very interesting private auction is scheduled to take place." I nodded. I could see where this was going. "So we go there to steal important stuff, with me for your bodyguard--sort of." "You really are a very astute young man," the Trill laughed. "I made a very good choice in sidekicks." "Yeah, well--it's not like this hasn't happened in every superhero comic book before, you know," I said, twirling my fork in my pasta. "Good point." I hesitated for a moment and watched him butter his dinner roll. I suppose the surrealism of the whole scene should have sunk in by then, but it just hovered around the fringes in a way, and I was barely aware of it. It was kind of odd, the way my life shifted like it did. It seemed like it was only yesterday when I was sitting at the dinner table, enjoying the usual meal with my family: Mom forcing me to eat, Liz coughing up conspiracy theories, and Dad vanishing behind the afternoon paper. Now? I couldn't even come up with the words for it. "So how can you be so sure of me?" I asked, breaking the brief silence. He looked up and regarded me in some surprise--at least from what I could sense, anyway, given his mask and all. "Sure of you, my dear boy?" he echoed. "Yeah, how can you be sure that I'm not going to let my emotions get to me again the way they did before? I'll be up against Magnifiman and Calais, so don't you think I'll be at a disadvantage when the time comes?" The Trill nodded and gulped down the rest of his wine. Then he sat back in his chair with a satisfied little grunt, folding his hands on his lap and tilting his head a little as he watched me from across the table. "There's nothing for you to be concerned about in that sense," he replied. "Don't you remember your last fight with them? How do you think you fared?" "I--I guess I kicked their butts." He spread his hands before him. "There you have it." I nodded. "That's cool, I guess." "Yes, it is." He paused, grinning. "Try not to complicate things too much. If the situation looks easy, it most likely is. Learn to move with the flow, young man." He made a vague gesture with his hand. "I suppose I should expand your reading with some Bruce Lee books. He studied philosophy, you know." I drank the rest of my lemonade, feeling a little smug. A while ago, he mentioned something about tweaking with the program he used on me, but he hadn't lifted a finger since we holed ourselves up in his hideout. I wasn't bombarded with more coded music. I wasn't injected with mind-altering fluids. I wasn't told to light a tricked out joint and inhale deeply. He'd done nothing to "fix" me up. I held on to some hope that I'd be under the control of my emotions enough to minimize the damage once we confronted

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Magnifiman and the rest of the good guys. I seriously needed to play my "ambivalent character" cards right. "In that case," I said, taking care to sound eager and cheerful, "I should turn in early. Better to be well rested and prepared for a showdown tomorrow, right?" The Trill watched me push my chair back and stand up. He was grinning broadly. "Yes, indeed. Sweet dreams, Mr. Plath. Sweet dreams." I marched off to my room, chewing a fingernail and scowling at my sneakers. I suppose things weren't as complicated as I'd been making them out to be and told myself that I worried too much.

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Chapter 3 Schell Hall was one of those not-quite-historic buildings in Vintage City that couldn't be touched by anyone who earned less than two hundred fifty thousand bucks a year--unless, of course, they happened to work there in the housekeeping or maintenance department. The interior was all polished wood, heavy velvet curtains, and chandeliers that cloaked everyone with a jaundiced glow, which made me wonder which of the auction attendees really had issues with their livers and which ones were just unhappily lit. With the absence of rugs or carpeting, each attendee walked around with a light clattering of shoes against waxed floors, so that the buzz of conversation and laughter mingled with noise underfoot, which proved to be a bit of an irritation after a while. I watched the proceedings--sort of--in a tux. I guess having some classy art buff supervillain for a guardian meant showing up in some pretty swanky disguise, which wasn't that hard to do since I didn't own a costume. Note to self: file a formal request for my own kickass gear, seeing as how I suddenly had superpowers. Then again, I suppose the occasion required it. I didn't come as an attendee, though. Well before the auction was scheduled to take place, I managed to sneak into the hall, clonk some poor catering guy on the head, apologize, and stuff him, bound and gagged, in one of the basement closets. It was easy enough, and the Trill provided me with fake ID to show that I was part of the staff. For a moment, though, I didn't think that I was going to be able to pull it off since the head guy--what would the head waiter type guy be called, anyway?--didn't know who I was. He was this tall, skinny man with too much grease in his hair, and he literally looked down his nose at me. Never mind the fact that I was only about two inches shorter than him. "Who're you?" he demanded as I appeared in my tux, silently cursing my new pair of Italian leather dress shoes, which seemed to be made of steel that shrank around my toes with every step I took. I wished tuxedoes could have been complemented with sneakers. "Oh, hi," I said, smiling. "I'm part of the catering staff."

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His gaze moved up and down my front, and his eyes narrowed. "Where's Dino?" "Out sick. Food poisoning. He called me at the last minute to fill in for him." "Food poisoning?" he echoed, his nostrils flaring. "Again? What was it this time?" I shrugged. "Fried sardines." "He didn't call me." "Well--did you really want to listen to him puke into the phone? 'Cause that's how it was with me. Took him a long time to get to the point, too, which was pretty disgusting." Mr. Head Catering Staff's face hardened, and he fumbled around his pockets. "This smells fishy, and I don't mean fried sardines," he growled. "I've never been aware of support or backup staff 'til now." He whipped out his cell phone and started pressing buttons with a very quick and flexible thumb, which seemed to be guided by pure instinct since not once did he take his eyes off me. "I'm getting to the bottom of this," he said. "Stay where you are." He pressed his phone to his ear and nodded at me. "And fix your damn tie. It's crooked. Once I confirm everything, I'm not going to let you walk in that room, embarrassing the company with your carelessness." I was making a show of fumbling around with my tie when I spotted furtive movement behind Mr. Head Catering Staff--a dark, lumpy shadow that flitted from potted fern to potted fern, creeping forward until it vanished directly behind my "boss." "Uh, hello? Dino?" he barked. "Dino?" The lumpy shadow rose behind him, raised a dark arm, and BAM! Mr. Head Catering Staff became one more heavy burden for me to drag downstairs, and I must admit I felt a little torn between relief and annoyance. It was like being made to dump the trash twice in one day, which happened fairly frequently in my home--my real home, that is. The Trill stood before me, his hand still balled in a tight fist. "There," he said. "One less staff member to worry about. Now hurry up and take care of this before the auction starts." "Why me?" I demanded. "Where's everyone else? I thought I was your sidekick or something, not some minion thug." He stared at me for a moment. "The rest of my men are busy setting things up and taking their positions, in case you've forgotten." "Well, you could have spared at least one of them to do drudge work! I mean, come on! Who's got powers, anyway? Me or them?" The Trill shook his head. "Quit placing yourself on a pedestal, kid. Now go on and take care of this." I watched him stride off in the direction of the elevators since the catering things were all in some big, fancy room on the third floor. "Oh, so it's 'kid' now, is it?" "I'm getting used to it," he called back without a moment's hesitation. He didn't even bother to look

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back. "I thought you'd welcome the change, Mr. Plath, as I believe I sound more like an ordinary gentleman when I patronize you like that." "Gee, thanks." "I'm working on simply calling you 'mister' when you insist on misbehaving," he added cheerfully. "I'm sure your mother used it countless times already, and you're quite at home with its punch. I must say, my dear boy, that I'm benefiting very nicely from your company. Not once had I ever entertained the notion that I'd be speaking along such unrefined lines. I might be able to blend myself in with the rest of the riffraff someday." I sighed as he opened the elaborately carved double doors and vanished behind them. "Snotty creep," I muttered, turning my attention back to the unconscious body that lay crumpled at my feet. I really needed to have my job description plainly laid out for me and possibly signed by a witness because I knew that drudge work was nowhere in my Supervillain Sidekick List of Things to Do. Hell, I wasn't even given a Supervillain Handbook.

What a boring job that was, looking after the gluttonous needs of the auction attendees. Amid the condescending thanks or looks of blatant disdain, I was treated to little else but moment after tedious moment of walking around with a tray of champagne glasses or an open bottle in hand, completely at the mercy of greased-up men and women with more bling than gangster rappers. I was also treated to some pretty embarrassing displays of appreciation--that is, I had my butt pinched in the crowd not once. Not even twice. I lost count after four. By the time the auction started, I was barely keeping my powers from surging and mowing everyone down, while I shouted, "Keep your grubby paws to yourselves, you perverts! I'm underage!" I had to hide myself in the men's room for a few moments, calming myself and watching the energy glow that had begun to pulse around my hands fade away. I washed my face and, as I'd recently begun to do, inspected myself in the mirror, again confused by the strange transformation I went through since I'd come into my powers. Yeah, I definitely appeared older. To a certain extent, I was flattered by the stronger angles and sharper bone structure, the light of confidence in the eyes even though I was aware of being an awkward, fumbling newbie in the supervillain game. I couldn't wrap my mind around the whole thing. Bizarre though it might sound, my face and my body seemed to be my own mask and costume. My dear Mr. Plath, must I remind you to take your position outside the auction room? I sighed and raised my arm to bring my watch--a super tricked-out contraption that my guardian gave me--close to my face. I pressed the crown and said, "Yeah, I'm coming. I just had to go to the men's room

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for a whiz. Is everyone assembled?" Of course! The auction's just begun, everything's in order, and everyone's where they should be-except for you. "All right, all right, I'm walking out now." I released the watch crown and marched out of the men's room, my heart thumping in my chest. I'd only been in one fight with Trent and Peter, and I was growing more and more nervous. I was alone, walking down the well-lit hallway, listening to my shoes clicking against the floor. I neither sensed nor heard anything unusual, and I presently reached the closed double doors of the main auction room and took my position there. From behind the thick, wooden doors, the steady hum of voices came--muffled and rhythmic, broken on occasion by gasps or tepid applause. I tried to focus on the reason behind that night's crime plan. The auction was a private one, of course, with paintings and sculpture being put on the block, but that detail puzzled me. I was sure that the Trill didn't have any use for more stolen artwork, considering how much he'd already collected. Really, people should check out all those "spare rooms" in his hideout and their priceless contents, which pretty much crammed each room with jaw dropping value. From what I understood, too, the stuff being auctioned that evening wasn't even major: no Van Gogh, no Rembrandt, no Picasso, no nothing. It was just a collection of art from a few fairly popular names, but certainly no one of any real significance. I frowned and scratched my head as I mulled things over. So what were we doing there, bracing ourselves for an offensive from Vintage City's Paragon of Virtue? The hum of voices stopped. Then a few scattered screams followed. Immediately my belly throbbed with that familiar swirling heat. I looked down and saw my hands again covered in pulsing energy, my vision turning red and yellow. I heard the Trill's thin voice mingle with the confusion of alarmed cries and chairs scraping across the floor. He laughed while people ran to the door. I flew away and hovered against the opposite wall, blasting the door with an energy cloud just as it was being forced open from the other side. The cloaking heat of my powers muffled screams and shouts, even the frantic pounding against the door. I kept the surge steady, pinching my mouth as I strained to maintain its force and keep the doors shut. It took a little while, I couldn't tell how long. All I knew was the sudden buzzing of my watch and the Trill's voice crackling through. Done. I stopped and nearly dropped myself to the floor, exhausted. Come on in. I walked to the door and opened it cautiously. I peered inside and found myself staring at a room full

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of unconscious people, who all lay in tangled heaps from wall to wall. Picking their way among them were the Trill's thugs, whistling or humming to themselves as they plucked off jewelry and fished out wallets and purses. Three of them followed with large sacks in hand, into which the others threw their spoils. From where I stood, they all looked like field hands harvesting some pretty expensive fruit. The art remained intact. No one was touching it. No one was anywhere near it. I shook my head, still a little puzzled, and swept my gaze across the room. "Hey, where's the Trill?" I asked. "Gone," someone answered. "Huh? Did he go home or something?" "Sort of. Hey, kid, how about giving us a hand, eh?" I scowled at the guy who was struggling with an unconscious man's gold watch. The way he was snarling and swearing under his breath as he fought to unbuckle the thing made me wonder if he was just going to cut the victim's hand off and be done with it. "Hey, listen," I said. "I don't do that crap. I'm here to cover you guys, and that's it." "Wow, listen to the Boy Blunder, everyone." "You can't use that," I retorted. "It's trademarked--or something." I paused, raising my hand to quiet Lefty--didn't know the goon's name then--as I listened. My heart's pounding intensified when I recognized the faint but insistent sounds. "Look out. We've got company," I said. I turned to the Trill's thugs and immediately blasted them with an energy cloak. It was a pretty mild one, really, just enough to make them feel secure even though it wouldn't do them a hell of a lot of good. In fact, they all paused in their thieving work and examined themselves, some whistling low. "Whoa," one said. "This is cool." "Dude, I'm glowing. Check this out." "Yeah, good job, kid! Now let's see them try to kick our butts," another laughed from one corner of the room. I took my position in the middle of the room and waited. "Yeah, wouldn't that be a surprise?" I muttered dryly. The distant whooshing sound grew louder and louder. I braced myself while hissing at everyone to hurry up. They did. Even with the false security of a dummy protective cloak, they still seemed to cringe before Magnifiman's specter. They redoubled their efforts, with some of them tripping over unconscious victims as they tried to hustle themselves out. "Hurry!" I said. They all scampered out the door with their loot just as the whooshing sound finally reached its crescendo. I turned to face the windows just as one of them shattered in an explosion of colored, frosted glass. I

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raised my arms to protect my head, my own protective energy shield absorbing debris that pierced through it. Game time.

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Chapter 4 "What the--hey! We're late!" a voice I didn't recognize exclaimed. I blinked and lowered my arms. The two figures perched on the damaged window first gaped at the mess in the room. Then they both gaped at me. Twins, I thought--two girls, both clad in slinky dark blue with silver swirls, their half-masks dark blue, their chin-length bob all silver. They must have consulted one of those teen fashion magazines for their color coordination. Like Trent, Wade, and Peter, they also wore gloves and boots that blended nicely with their costume. "Ohmigawd, it's him!" one of them gasped, pointing at me. Her twin didn't appear impressed, though. She raised a hand above her head, and I saw jagged strings of electricity crackle around it. "Like, let's get the bastard," she said grimly. "Don't be stupid. He's, like, one of us, yanno?" her sister snapped, elbowing her a little viciously. Before waiting for anyone to do anything, she leaped off the window and landed with barely a sound, even with the mess of glass shards all over the floor. I could go so far as to say that she appeared to float downward. Her twin stopped her electric threat and lowered her hand, but I could smell extreme distrust a mile away. She said nothing, but when she saw her sister walk toward me without a moment's hesitation, she shrugged and leaped down as well. She landed with a thud --like normal people, I guess--and her boots let out a short explosion of electric currents when they made contact with the floor. "Wow," I breathed, impressed at the way supervillains seemed to be completely with it from the getgo, compared to superheroes, who still had to struggle with their powers and go through all sorts of grief just to master them. I mean, these two girls pretty much reeked of confidence and ease, as though they were total veterans in the realm of bad guy-ness. I was sure that Wade, for instance, took several weeks to get her act together, and with Peter's help, at that. How long did it take for Althea to get to where she was now? I sure couldn't remember. The Trill, the Puppet, and now these girls--whoever they were--fell so easily and so smoothly into

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their genetically manipulated roles. It was strange, and, boy, did it give me all kinds of ideas for philosophical haiku. I felt my right hand twitch in anticipation of picking up a pen. "Hey," one of the girls--the lightweight one--said, raising a hand at me. "What's up?" "Um--who're you?" I returned, frowning. I reduced my energy pulse to make myself look less intimidating or threatening. "Oh," the lightweight piped up. "I'm, like, Jessie, and this is my sister, Jamie. We've already outed ourselves as the Deathtrap Debutantes." I waved at them. "Hi. Nice to meet you." I paused and glanced around. "Sorry for the mess." "Yeah," Jamie said. Her caution remained, and she inched forward, her eyes narrowing at me with every step she took. "What the hell happened here? We were supposed to, like, come and clean up, not you and your sugar daddy." "Hey, watch it!" I barked. "The Trill's my guardian. I'm not into sugar daddies. I'm not even seventeen yet!" Jamie shrugged, looking around. "Yeah, well, it doesn't matter, does it? You still stole our thunder-almost literally." "I guess we shouldn't have, like, posted our manifesto before the heist," Jessie piped up, making a face. "Or at least we shouldn't have said anything about glamour and bling and shit." "Yeah, well, who's fault was that?" her sister shot back, and Jessie merely shrugged and trotted off. I watched them, half-baffled and half-amused. Boy, these two were going to be fun to work with--as fun as rolling on a bed of broken glass, completely naked. "So what're your powers, other than electricity, I mean?" "Wind," Jessie replied as she moved away, her attention now divided. "You should see my wind blades sometime. They, like, kick ass." "I'm sure they do." I paused and strained my ears for danger sounds but heard nothing yet. All the same, common sense dictated that I needed to remove myself from the area ASAP. It wouldn't be long, I was sure, before the good guys sniffed out the carnage. "Hey, listen. I gotta go. But we should get together sometime--like, hang out or form a bad guy league or something. I tried to convince the Puppet of that, but he was all, 'I work alone, dude,' or something like that." "Well, we kinda work as a pair, Cloakie," Jamie cut in. "We're, like, not into group projects and stuff. Besides, what would you need us for, anyway? You've got--yanno--" She left the sentence unfinished, the final words unspoken but loudly heard. She smirked when I scowled at her. "Oh, damn!" Jessie whined from somewhere behind me. I could hear her high-heeled boots clacking sharply on the floor as she walked around to absorb the carnage. "These people have all been, like, totally cleaned out! This sucks!"

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I glanced over my shoulder to watch her pout next to a heavy-set woman who lay in a very unflattering heap, her couture dress looking no more respectable than any of my second-hand clothes. "Yeah, the Trill's goons took everything." I noticed the painting that was still perched on the easel, waiting for a new home. "Except for the artwork, though. You have your pick of the litter, I guess." "What can we do with a stupid painting?" Jamie snapped. She marched up to the easel, gave the painting a disgusted once-over, and blasted the whole thing with a massive electrical stream. Or something. It was pretty impressive anyway, whatever it was, with all the crackling mini-lightning-like thingies being discharged from the palms of her hands. The easel and the painting shivered from the blast and then toppled over, slightly burned in spots, with thin, wavy pillars of smoke rising up. For a second or two, I actually thought I saw them quivering where they lay. "Yeah," Jessie sighed, still pouting as she picked her way through the unconscious guests. "I was hoping for, like, diamond necklaces and stuff." "What, to sell?" I prodded. "No, dummy--to wear, of course! Duh!" I raised my hands up and made a move toward the double doors. "Well, it was nice meeting you guys, but I really gotta scram. Maybe both of you should, too." Jamie glowered at me before sashaying off to inspect other lifeless victims for a stray bauble or two. Seriously, those girls looked like a couple of sparkly vultures, the way they practically devoured organic matter with their eyes. I'd have to add that they were also rather gorgeous--slinky and statuesque, with all the right proportions. They were like supervillain supermodels, and I was sure that straight boys up and down Vintage would have killed for a date with one of them--barring the likelihood of pissing the girls off and getting obliterated as a result, of course. "If you're warning us about Magnifiman and his gang, you're so, like, wrong!" she spat out. "We're not afraid of them, are we, Jess?" "Huh? Nah." Jessie barely spoke those words aloud. She was too focused on searching for diamonds and pearls and whatever that she just waved her sister off. I raised my hands up in surrender. "Hey, you know? You're more than welcome to take them on." "So how do you escape, anyway?" Jamie asked as she took her place behind the little podium thing and picked up the gavel, toying with it as though she were bored out of her mind. "Looks like you got dumped by your minions." She smirked. "I fly, of course. Duh?" "Pretty smart move from the 'boss' to turn his superficial pretty boy into a punching bag for the good guys. Makes it, like, easier for him to get the job done and then make a quick and clean getaway, while you're stuck at the scene of the crime, getting beaten black and blue."

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I hated to admit this, but Miss Congeniality had a point. I tried not to give her the satisfaction, though, and shrugged, pretending carelessness. "I don't really care. It isn't like I'm not equally matched, anyway, so even if I'm stuck with a crap role like that, I can still hold my own against Magnifiman and his league of wimps." Jamie's smirk broadened. "Hmm. I'd like to see that sometime. By the way, how does it feel, like, being--yanno--abnormal?" "How about if I were to tell you the story about the pot and the kettle--like, yanno?" Jessie giggled hysterically as she pranced over to her sister's side, holding up a long pearl necklace that, obviously, the Trill's goons overlooked. "Oh, snap!" she cried, blowing me a kiss before turning to Jamie. "Look! Ohmigawd, this'll look so cool with my Anne Klein stretchy sheath!" Jamie wasn't listening to her, though. She kept her eyes on me--like daggers, they were meant to pin me down while she gnawed her way through to my pancreas. The little gavel she continued to toy with looked more and more like a weapon of destruction in her hands. "So how'd he do it, anyway? Like, fix you, I mean? Everyone knows you're not one of us, and you're not one of them, so where do you really fall when it comes to your powers?" "If I knew the answer to that, I'd have done myself a service and deactivated it or reversed the effects a long time ago." I shook my head and waved her off. "I'm done. I'm outta here. Have fun kicking Magnifiman's ass." As it turned out, I hung around too long. More windows exploded, sending me and the twins leaping or flying away to safety--the other end of the room, that is. The victims remained unconscious around us, which made me wonder what the Trill used on them to knock them out this completely for such a long duration. I didn't hear music, so it must have been gas. Not the Trill's gas, but the other kind. You know what I mean. I didn't even have to think about it. Instinct kicked in, and I immediately powered up, warm energy bursting out of me from head to toe, catching and cocooning me in a thick swirl of pulsing air. My vision once again heightened, and my hands nearly shook from the intensity of the power that came alive in them. Beside me, the twins powered up as well. I could hear Jamie's electricity crackling, sending off a faint smell of smoke. Jessie's wind power was quieter, but in no way was she less potent than her sister. She floated, her figure distorted and fading in and out of focus in the middle of a whirlwind that was equally frightening and impressive. Before us the rain of broken glass finally stopped, and in flew Magnifiman, Calais, and Miss Pyro. I noted--at least I thought I saw--the way Calais and Miss Pyro flew in, one after the other, with Calais

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holding Miss Pyro's hand. But was he, really? Once inside the auction room, they weren't joined in any way. What was going on? Was I imagining things? I didn't know what I'd seen, let alone what to think. Miss Pyro took her place beside him as they took their positions against me and the Deathtrap Debutantes. I didn't quite know who stared at whom longer, but it certainly felt like a contest of wills, with Calais locking eyes with me. I couldn't read his face--not with his mask on, anyway. I couldn't even sense anything coming from him. Better to harden himself against the inevitable showdown against his ex, I suppose, which was good enough for me. What better way to rise above the emotion of the moment, eh? I desperately wanted to be distant and unfeeling to get this fight out of the way, but something was once again taking over. I could feel it. What little control I managed to muster up, given all my earlier calculations as to the best way to hold the superheroes off without hurting anyone, was gone in a second. I couldn't understand what was happening. It felt like being sucked into a strong patch of quicksand, and every ounce of strength I spent clawing my way out only served to pull me farther and farther down. "The game stops here, you juvenile delinquents," Magnifiman declared, striking his usual one-fist-onhip pose while jabbing a thick, accusing finger at us, but his voice sounded so distant and muffled. At this point the trembling that was concentrated on my hands had spread out to the rest of my body. I shook, unable to speak, unable to react, unable to fight against what had taken a hold of me. The world had vanished--had shrunk to one brief moment--and all I could see were those few fleeting seconds of Calais holding Miss Pyro's hand. Real or not, that was the only immediate world I had. "I'm above that," I ground out frantically as I sank deeper and deeper, my own voice fading in the vortex of swirling energy, electricity, and wind. "I can't let that control me. I can't." The world exploded in a blinding flash of yellow and red, and I heard someone shout something--or scream, I couldn't tell for sure. It sounded like my voice, but it might not have been. It seemed too desperate, too hopeless, too miserable.

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Chapter 5 Jamie attacked first. She sent a powerful electric stream that burned through the air with a terrific crackling. It flew fast at Magnifiman, but he proved to be faster and ducked just in time, flying a little ways off to my right. "Bad aim!" Miss Pyro laughed, cracking her fire whip and snapping it at Jamie, who tried to dodge but was a little slow. She raised an arm to protect herself, but I blasted her with a protective energy cloak, which killed Miss Pyro's whip end as it burrowed inside the thick, warm air. Jessie yelled something--she sort of sounded like a female Bruce Lee, now that I think about it--and shot a series of wind blades at Magnifiman, who was just launching himself at us. Her wind blades looked like super-fast boomerangs, but they were made of majorly tricked-out bursts of wind with a deadly edge. They zipped through the air but went smack against the air distortion caused by Calais as he leaped between Magnifiman and the blades, and the air literally exploded as everything collided. Below us, the lifeless victims were showered with elemental debris that, while impressive to see, was pretty much harmless, though those who were under Miss Pyro's line of fire were unlucky enough to suffer the indignity of slightly scorched clothes and hair. I turned and blasted Calais with a massive energy bubble as he hurtled toward me. His speed nearly died as he penetrated the warm mass, his form looking like a distorted shadow as he kicked and punched at his temporary prison. I immediately flew off just as he was engulfed, taking myself out of harm's way, while giving Jessie a hand and shooting an energy wave at Magnifiman. "Hey, cool move there!" Jamie cried as she launched herself in the air, her mind now bent on destroying Miss Pyro, who seemed to read her mind and flew up to meet Jamie as well. Electricity and fire slammed into each other in a roar of girlish fury and more fireworks and lightninglike plasma that showered everyone with a glorious fountain of light and color. "Eric, don't do this," Peter's voice urged me, distant and muffled as he continued to grapple with my rapidly fading energy bubble.

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Miss Pyro hauled and punched Jamie with a flame fist, sending half of the Deathtrap Debutantes sailing across the room and crashing against the far wall in an explosion of electricity and a howling rage. Jamie tumbled to the floor in a flailing mass of supermodel arms and legs, but I could hear her cussing like a sailor as she fought to right herself. She miraculously landed on her feet, turning a bruised face in Miss Pyro's direction as she re-energized. Jessie dodged Magnifiman's fist with super-light and airy speed, turning herself over like a cat in midair and, with another battle cry, shot more wind blades at her enemy. Magnifiman hissed as he ducked too late, and two blades sliced past his shoulder, cutting a couple of lines into his massive and ultra-manly triceps. The lines turned a deep red, but he showed no signs of pain. With a powerful heave of his muscular legs, he launched himself toward Jessie by kicking against the wall. He caught her before she could move away, his large figure wrapping around her slender body. His momentum sent them both crashing against the wall, and bursts of knife-like air currents went Poof! as Jessie cried out. I turned and aimed at the two, powering up again to help Jessie with stronger energy blasts against Magnifiman. Before I could shoot anything out, I was caught, held, and flown out of the battle scene through one of the windows and way, way into the night. The arms holding me tight didn't slacken. I gritted my teeth and sent pulse after pulse of energy blasts out of my body to weaken Calais' grip, so I could shoot him away in another bubble. No dice. He learned the hard way the first time around, and he wasn't about to let go so easily now, it looked like. Still pulsing energy, I dimly felt myself hurled in a tangle of arms and legs through space to only God knew where. My stomach went through endless somersaults from the crazy speed, but before long I felt myself crashing against something hard. Splintering wood and clanging metal filled my ears, and pain seared through me. The world--already reduced to dissolving streaks of color and light--turned around and around as we tumbled through piles of crates and barrels. It seemed to take forever, but the world eventually stopped. I was lying on something hard and rough, wincing from the pain of getting smashed and the debris that dug into my back as Calais' weight pinned me down. My powers had weakened a little, and I had to struggle to re-energize. The results were pathetic, to say the least. Energy pulsed from the deepest point in my belly, but it merely coughed up anemic bursts. My breathing was hard and ragged, and little by little, I realized that Calais and I were so tightly tangled with each other that I didn't know where I ended and where he began. My arms were growing numb. He was holding me down with a grip of steel, and my circulation being cut off forced my powers to sputter and weaken around my hands. I felt my fingers grow cold and lifeless. "Get off me, Peter," I whispered. His face was pressed against the side of my head, and he said nothing at first, grunting a little

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whenever I struggled to fight him off. The more I bucked and kicked and re-energized, though, the more tightly he held me down, and I could hear him panting tiredly against my ear. "Get the hell off me!" "No," he finally hissed back. "I'm taking you back with me, Eric, even if it means knocking you out." "You can't," I returned, gritting my teeth against the icy pain that was now shooting through my arms. I could feel small energy surges running through my limbs; pushing, pushing past the constricted area where Peter gripped me. My blood vessels felt like they were exploding, as though they were rapidly filling up with too much blood and too many energy waves. I turned and stared through the fog in my eyes and saw an exposed part of my arm glowing white, with veins and capillaries gradually emerging and pressing against my skin, a throbbing network of red and blue. "You can't," I whispered again, biting back a groan of pain and fury. "I'm stronger than you think. I'm stronger than you want to admit." I sputtered and threw my head back with a stifled cry, and something warm bubbled and burst from my right nostril. It trickled down the side of my face, and another surge of energy swept through me--stronger this time, but with more pain edging it. It was blood. I knew it. "Eric, we can help you. Althea's been working with her mother and my parents to come up with an antidote for you," he said. He lay rigid atop me, probably not even realizing that he was killing me with his weight--literally. "Please. Work with us. You're curable. We're not. You still have hope. We don't." For a moment, I felt myself emerging to the surface, just as I'd been submerged in quicksand before this. When I spoke, I didn't recognize my voice. "Peter--I can't fight it--something's taking over--I can't help myself--" He finally raised his head and looked down on me. I couldn't see his eyes, as even with the dull sheen of his mask, the rest of his face remained cloaked in shadows. "You're bleeding…" "It's…coming back," I whispered. "It's coming back. I…feel so torn up. I don't know who I am…anymore. I'm trying to do something…good with this…Peter…but I don't know…if I can control it." I winced. "It's coming…back. It's taking over…again." "You can fight it. Trust me, Eric, you're far stronger than that. Remember? You just told me a second ago. Please stay with me." Cautiously releasing one arm, he started to fumble around his side for something. I shook my head, my voice failing me again as I felt myself sink back into a thick, sandy tomb. The only thing I could feel then was the blood that continued to trickle out of my nose. I must have lost something at that moment because I couldn't sense anything. Just cold. Numbness. And a distant, dull pain that faded with every passing second. "Tell me where the Trill's hideout is," Peter said, his voice fading in and out. His hand appeared,

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holding something--a small instrument that looked like a cell phone. I heard a few very faint clicks and then a tiny buzz. Then he moved it closer to my arm, aiming it like a gun. "Peter!" Energy bubbled in my stomach again, and it rippled out--a violent, explosive spasm that seemed to scorch every organ, every tissue in me. I blinked, my vision vanishing quickly, and let out a loud cry as whiteness filled my world, and heat bore down on me, enveloping and surging and suffocating. I tried to hold on to Peter--reach out to him--but he wasn't there anymore.

"He's a bit of a mess, but that comes with the territory, I'm afraid." "Want me to tweak the formula some more, boss?" "No, that's not necessary. Let's hold off on that for now and see how the boy manages his powers next time around." "Should I turn on the music?" "Yes, yes. His coding's scrambled--more so than before." "Better to patch it up with Band-Aids, right?" A sigh. "I'm afraid so. It's too dangerous to start over." "Or overwrite the current coding in his system. Do you think he used his power for something it ain't meant for, boss?" Another sigh. "Maybe. It took him longer than I'd planned to get me out of the asylum. Heaven only knows what he'd been doing with his powers all that time." "Stupid kid. We shoulda went for someone over eighteen." "Does adulthood guarantee maturity, Mr. Bowles?" Silence. "Okay, I gotcha." "The music, if you please. The boy needs it before the coding gets scrambled even more." "Yessir." I couldn't move. I was stuck in some black tunnel, immobilized. Little by little, the voices grew clearer, and with it the lifting of some terrific weight off me. I grew aware that I was still lying down, but on something nicer and softer now. My eyelids felt heavy, and my mouth was dry. A dull headache throbbed, and it was almost in time with the equally dull pain that wracked my body all over. I tried to move. My limbs felt like granite. Around me the voices continued, but they presently died down, along with footsteps that faded before being cut off by the sound of a door shutting. Then music came on--light, airy, soothing. Classical music with a violin solo, possibly a nocturne. The

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melody was gentle and sweet, almost like a lullaby. As the music progressed, the pain faded and finally vanished, and I blinked my eyes open. I looked around in a bit of a daze and saw that I was back in my room in the Trill's hideout. Nothing looked out of place, but there was a tray of cookies and tea sitting on the table I usually used when I did my homework. I raised my hands and looked at them. There seemed to be nothing wrong. I saw no bruises or scratches or any signs of the nightmarish changes that they were going through when Peter held me down. I let my arms drop and waited, taking several deep breaths and feeling the calming effects of the music wash over me. Was it meant to screw around with my head some more? Yes, very likely, but I didn't give a flying fig. I was so tired. So bone-numbingly tired. I was more than happy to let music of any kind carry me off and wash away the crap that had taken a hold of me in thick, crusty layers. I drifted in and out of sleep for the next hour or so. Eventually, I woke up and remained awake. I had to get up to eat. I didn't know what time it was, since we were hiding underground, and my watch--both my old one and the tricked-out one that the Trill gave me--were gone. The candles were nicely lit, and I saw that new tapers had replaced the distorted stumps that I'd been using. My head and body felt much better, and I wasn't overcome by anything funky when I stood up, swaying a little on my feet. Screw the night. Screw the world. My stomach gurgled, and I tottered over to the table and plopped down on the chair, my world filled with nothing but Earl Grey tea and stacks of the most delicious cookies I'd ever had. The tea was hot, so I imagined that someone had to replace it when he saw that I was still asleep. I tried to avoid looking at the computer the whole time. In fact, I tried to avoid thinking of anything else but the tray of food before me. I couldn't remember how many cookies I ate, but there was one that contained a surprise for me. I'd refilled my teacup for the hundredth time, I was sure, and pulled out another cookie from the stack. I bit into it and nearly yelped in surprise and pain when something hard cracked against my teeth. "What the--" I gasped, covering my mouth as I stared at the broken cookie that I'd just dropped back onto the tray. Sure enough, just peeking out from the bitten part was something small and round. I stared at it for a moment, surprised, and then tore it out of the cookie and held it up. It was a small ring with a blue stone in it: a tiny blue stone embedded in the gold band. Attached to the ring by a thread that was caked with cookie bits was a small strip of paper, which was the size of one of those prediction things tucked inside Chinese fortune cookies. Wear me, it said. That was it.

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Chapter 6 "Oh, great," I muttered, staring at the ring. "Whose side are you on?" The ring said nothing back, though. "Snob," I snorted and set it down next to my tray. I continued to munch away and chase down cookie bits with very genteel sips of tea, my gaze fixed on the ring as my mind scrambled on wobbly legs--or the closest thing that minds had to legs, when it came to thinking stuff out--and attempted a hopeless chase after questions that now piled on top of each other without a single pause for breath. Who? What? When? How? Why? WTF? Was this the angst that came with being a superhuman? I kind of understood what it was when I was with Peter. I mean, he always groused about the incredible burden, the unfair expectations, the ongoing fear of screwing up so badly and seeing other people get hurt as a result of, well, imperfection. Little by little, snatches of our most recent conversation came to the fore--conversation that we had while he pinned me down on the debris-littered roof of some building somewhere in Vintage City. I forced myself to place everything in perspective, but it was like shoving a hand down my own throat, grabbing hold of my insides, and literally turning myself inside out from there. A pretty disgusting visualization, but that was all I could manage at that moment. You're curable. We're not. Another conversation made itself heard in my mind. A conversation not between me and Peter, but between me and a new friend--a trusted ally, who was very much like me. An Olympia. You're conflicted over all sorts of moral and ethical issues surrounding your powers, am I right? Do you know what that means? Your confusion? It means that your transformation isn't as deep as it probably should be, at least compared to the ones who were manipulated on a genetic level. Whoever screwed with your mind could only do so much, and it shows. Do you hear me? You don't have to go through with the transformation. You still have enough of your conscience intact to know what's right and what's wrong, and you can use it against your other self and--and, well, turn things around. Overcome

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the surface changes and get rid of them once and for all. "But I've been doing that, haven't I?" I asked aloud, hoping for Brenda to answer me somehow. Nothing but quiet classical music followed my question, and I consoled myself with another cookie. I'd been shooting for a goal that must sound so corny and maybe even screwball-y. I'd always been aware of my superficially acquired powers, and that awareness seemed to carry me through the godawful process of being acclimated into the supervillain business with my sanity intact--by and large, anyway. I never thought myself to be an idiot the whole time. I played along, pretended alliance to my "creator." I'd been only marginally involved in his crime sprees… I sighed deeply, pinched my eyes shut, and slapped my forehead hard. "Dumbass!" I hissed. "Marginally? Marginally? What the hell? Who kept the auction guests prisoners in the room while the Trill zapped them into unconsciousness? Who stayed on the lookout while the Trill's thugs cleaned everyone out?" I gave my forehead another hard slap, biting back a yelp of pain. Stars exploded behind my eyelids. "Damn it! I even fought on the Debutantes' side!" I fell back in my chair, feeling sickened. "Oh, my God, I'm such a loser." So much for using my powers against the Trill. Then again, a small voice in my mind countered, how, exactly, did I plan to carry out my scheme? Surely, it meant an occasional show of bad guy-ness, which also meant victims. It might leave a bad taste in my mouth, but sacrifices had to be made. What was it called again? Something like collateral whachamacallit? "Collateral damage, I think," I said gloomily. I'd heard that term tossed around over a family meal, when Dad and Liz would engage each other in political debates. I wasn't even sure what it meant, but I thought I had a pretty decent idea of what it was. Father Matthew would be pleased to know that my conscience was still relatively intact. The ring glinted on the table, as though it were calling to me with a little sparkle. I sighed and picked it up, inspecting it. Other than the small blue stone, it had nothing else to indicate what it was for. I was expected to wear it, but what for? And who gave it to me? It wasn't the Trill, that was for sure. He didn't have any need for secrecy, and in fact, it was more like him to simply slip the ring onto my finger while I was out cold and be done with it. If he waited until I regained consciousness, he'd still do it the direct way and march up to me, take my hand, and put on the ring. Okay, that sounded like we were getting engaged, which was a pretty creepy idea through and through, and I shuddered. I mulled things over and frowned at the ring. No, it definitely wasn't the Trill. The ring was baked into a cookie--a plate of obscene yumminess that was meant for me. The whole thing reeked of secrecy and a clever attempt at reaching me somehow without the Trill and/or his men foiling everything.

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My spirits rose, and my alertness sharpened. I had an ally in the Trill's household. Yes, I did. What else could this mean? I tore the little scrap of paper and immediately tried to fit the ring around my fingers. It proved to be too small for most of them but my pinky finger, so there it stayed. "Okay, now what?" I asked, raising my hand and staring at the ring against the backdrop of candles and faux Venetian splendor. I held my breath and waited, but nothing happened. Actually, something did. A knock came at my door, and I instinctively brought my left hand behind me as I leaped off my chair, startled. A moment of confusion passed. "Um… yeah?" I called out. "Your homework, Master Plath," a cheerful, muffled voice replied. I grimaced. Oh, great. Him again. "Okay, I'm coming!" I walked to the door and opened it, my vision immediately being filled with the greasy, pouchy smile that Dr. Dibbs leveled at me. He touched his hat--I wondered if he ever took that thing off--then again, I wasn't too inclined to see what it covered--and inclined his head slightly. "Pleased to see you recovering well, young man," he said. "I'm fine, yeah," I replied. "Are those mine?" He looked down at a small collection of books and loose sheets of paper cradled in his arms. "Yes, yes," he breathed. "Your homework, all corrected, and your new study guides." I took the stack from him as quickly as I could, and with the least amount of physical contact between us. "Thanks. I'll get to them tomorrow, I guess. I'm feeling a little tired and sore still." "My dear boy, I can always work with you directly in the library," he said as I took the books and stuff from him. "You know that it's the quickest method of moving your education forward." "I--I know. I just--I think I work better alone, you know? That's always been the problem when it came to school. I'm more of an isolationist as a student, but my mom and dad didn't believe me." His overly large eyes blinked behind his thick glasses as he listened. "Are you sure? Your scores are pretty dismal, if I may say so. Chemistry and Geometry are just..." The look on his face said it all. "Hey, I never said that I'm perfect when I work alone. I just said that I work better. You know, like, I focus better because I don't have distractions?" "Clever enough excuse," he said, pulling out a slightly damp handkerchief that grossed me out and wiping himself dry with it. "As long as you remain on top of your work, young Master Plath, you don't have anything to worry about." "Yeah, yeah, I got that," I said and stepped away from the door as a hint that the conversation was done. "Thanks." He nodded, touching his hat and smiling again before turning on his heels and sauntering down the hallway. Before I could close the door, however, he called out, "Mr. Trill requires that I give you exams,

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young man. It demands my presence, of course--prevents cheating and all other nefarious games youngsters play these days." I made a face. Thank Heaven he didn't see. "Whatever," I replied. "Be ready for it. I'll tell you when it'll be set." He didn't bother to wait for a response from me. He merely raised a hand and waved before vanishing around a corner. I sighed and shut the door, taking care to lock it. "Oh, man," I said, walking over to the computer and dumping my school stuff on my bed as I passed by it. "I'm going to be stuck in a room, alone, with a creepy, greasy tutor." Seriously, if my mom were to hear about that… I still vividly remembered a snarling threat she made against some dude who started to spout out the usual taunting, judgmental crap at me when he spotted me checking out some gay books in one of the bigger bookstores in Vintage City. It was seriously a bad move on the bookstore owners' part to have the Gay Studies section sitting side-by-side with the Sports section. At any rate, there I was, minding my own business, and by sheer force of bad luck, I found myself standing next to Mr. Lily-White, who seemed to be having a pretty crappy day and decided to use me for his whipping-boy. It happened a few days after I came out to my family, when I was fifteen. Even with the trauma of coming out finally behind me, I was still floundering around, feeling my way tentatively toward a more secure view of myself and other queer kids. At that time, I'd yet to learn how to defend myself from verbal attacks. I just gaped at him the whole time, but Mom--who'd make a better superhero than me, given her Über Maternal Radar, which could deliver a mind-boggling drop-kick to one's psychological genitals at fifty paces--suddenly appeared, pulled me aside, and stepped in front of Mr. Lily-White. She raised a finger in warning. "Listen, you," she hissed. "He's gay, he's my son, and I'm premenstrual. So don't--and I mean don't-even think about it." Mr. Lily-White--who turned lily-white--went back to browsing the Sports shelves while Mom ordered me to grab whatever book I wanted and then marched me over to the cashier. I grinned like an idiot the whole way, glowing with pride, a shiny new book in hand.

I went online, feeling a little more relaxed as I checked out the RPG community without logging in. Ah, yes. Major kerfluffle going on in cyber Vintage City. The Deathtrap Debutantes were now the center of attention, with the Cloak turning into an ally of theirs. I tried to ignore the fact that the Cloak, with his story of superficial manipulation now known from end to end, was turned into a tragic character. He was always torn in his allegiances. Boy, the player definitely got me down to a T. He also messed

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around with every spandex-costumed girl present. Okay, the player got me down except for that part. The kerfluffle now seemed to center around a gaggle of Mary Sues who fought each other over the Cloak's attention, but unlike the duplicate Mary Sues who pursued Calais, these were less cooperative and kept stalling the game with flame war after flame war after flame war, both at the RPG community and at the Wank House. I wasn't sure how to feel about being chased on all sides by super-perfect girls, but it freaked me out when one made-up supervillian--she called herself Pink Gossamer Wings, Pinky for short, and was an elfprincess who was forced to go to the Dark Side in order to avenge her father's usurpers--came out and said that she was pregnant with the Cloak's babies. Apparently the ultrasound confirmed triplets, she said. "It's no use," she sighed, hanging her pretty, glittering head as sunlight sparkled off those perfect waist-length curls. "You have to marry me now and save my honor." I must have stared at the screen for about ten years before I remembered to blink. I immediately went somewhere else before the other players could post their reactions to the announcement. Seriously, fandoms? Creepy as hell. So I spent the next half-hour watching online videos of Joshua Bell in different performances. I must have sat there, dreamy-eyed and languid for an eternity, lost in daydreams with my long-time violinplaying idol. Was there a fandom dedicated to him? That was an idea. After the last video, I quickly scoured the 'net for leads, chewing a nail in suppressed excitement. Unfortunately my online hour was up, and I didn't get far.

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Chapter 7 I must add one more grievance to my growing list as a supervillain's ward. Homework? Yeah, I got that one. Being perpetually grounded? That would be the next point. I was grounded--forever, it looked like. I wasn't allowed to wander out of the Trill's hideout, which I guess was understandable, considering I was kinda, sorta one of the bad guys. I couldn't even wear a disguise in order to walk out and do, well, normal, day-to-day things that teenagers did. I wasn't allowed to check out the Elms Theatre, but then again, I'd practically destroyed the place the last time I was there, so I saw the wisdom behind that no-no. I wasn't allowed to have coffee at the Jumping Bean. No Chinese food and extras for necessary weight gain from Mrs. Zhang. Why yearn for Chinese, when I could have the best Italian cuisine "at home" every day, the Trill argued. No used book-hunting at Olivier's. Reason? I had all the smutty classic titles I could ever dream of at my disposal, and I didn't have to pay a single cent for them. I couldn't ride my bike through the city because my bike was destroyed in my showdown with the Shadow Puppet's killer dolls. Then again, I just plain couldn't take a ride anywhere in the city. Too risky, yep. God, what a life. Trapped in an underground network of tunnels, constantly guarded by thugs who were apparently paid to wander through the maze as a precaution, to ensure that I wasn't anywhere I shouldn't be, having "accidentally" lost my way. My mom wasn't even this paranoid when I was five years old and constantly being lured from her side by tinker toys and anything soft and furry that caught my attention. I must add that I'd also received sharp smacks on my butt whenever she found me, and, frankly, I'd rather not be punished along those lines by the Trill's hoodlums, good grief! I'd attempted to sneak into the Trill's labs before, but I didn't know where they were, so I spent my time tiptoeing through the tunnels, running into dead ends more often than not, until I was unlucky enough to literally bump into some goon named Jeb one time. Seriously, they all wore the same suits with the same masks. How would I know who was whom in this racket? "Oi!" he barked, hauling me up by my shirt. He was a pretty tall and massive guy. I wasn't sure if I

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were on tiptoes or literally dangling from his hold. "Oh--hey, what's up?" I bleated. "What the hell d'ya think yer doin', punk?" "Taking a walk? It's getting pretty boring in my room, you know. I don't even have a view." "Yeah?" he snarled, shaking me. "Well, ya can't take no walks 'round here. Boss says to keep an eye out fer ya 'cause yer trouble all the way, and ya still can't handle yer powers." I tried to pry his fingers off my shirt, which was starting to tear. "I get it, I get it," I said. "I'm going back to my room. Hey, watch it, will you? I can't afford to get another shirt like this!" He let me go, but he still jabbed me in the back and ordered me to march back to my room, with him for my escort. "C'mon, kid," he said. "Jeb'll make sure ya get back safely to yer little froufrou room." I sullenly retraced my steps, annoyed over my predicament. I needed to put my plan into action as soon as I could, but this was really putting a damper on things. When I reached my bedroom door, Jeb did me the honor of opening it and ensuring that I crossed the threshold by grabbing my shirt collar and hauling me inside. He even made me sit down at my reading table and raised a warning finger at me. "Now stay there!" he said and then walked off, slamming the door behind him. Did I stay? No. I waited for fifteen minutes before jumping up and hurrying out, trying to be much stealthier this time around, but I never made it past the first side tunnel junction. This time I was collared by some goon named Burke and dragged back to my room. I suppose I should be grateful for his handling since he didn't shake me like a ragdoll while threatening physical harm--or even speak with bad grammar. He just told me to be a good boy and stay in my room, or he'd be forced to beat the crap out of me, powers or no powers. I must have tried to do some sleuthing around another half a dozen times before the Trill got so fed up with me that he soon had the tunnels guarded by thugs, who were growing more and more bored with their stupid job, while getting more and more pissed off at me for forcing the Trill's hand and giving them crummy work to do--during their downtime from terrorizing the citizens of Vintage City, too. "My dear Mr. Plath, it's useless sneaking around and feeling your way to my inner sanctum like a teenage detective," the Trill sighed over lunch, while I slouched in my chair, sullen and glowering at my food, my arms crossed on my chest. "Don't forget that I made you into who you are now--" "Who? You mean what I am now," I spat. "Yes, yes, you stubborn boy. Whatever you say. Dear lord, is this what I'm missing by remaining single?" He shook his head as he helped himself to a bread roll. "Honestly, I don't know how other parents do it." "Yeah, well--you're obviously not cut out for fatherhood."

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"The best thing in this situation is to ignore adolescent petulance. As I was saying, it's no use sneaking around the way you've been doing. I'm very well aware that you're intent on bringing me down from the inside." I stared at him, feeling the blood drain away from me. "Oh, don't give me that look," he laughed, waving a fork at me. "Please, I never thought you to be so naïve. No, no, I know that there were--oh, how should I put this--flaws in the Noxious Nocturne even until the end. In your case, it was my failure in detaching you from your emotions completely, but the program has one saving feature." "What are you talking about?" "You're not fully under my control, which is--in adolescent terms--a shameful case of 'My Bad.' But even with that glitch, what the Noxious Nocturne was still able to do--and this has always been a small but significant part of its program--was to work around that vulnerability by tapping into a deeper, more lingering aspect of your experiences and using that to--oh, how should I say it--propel you into action." He smiled, paused to drink his wine, and watched me frown at him with a quiet chuckle. "I expect you to be torn, my dear Mr. Plath, by your moral codes and all other trifling things. I also expect you to hesitate when given a hypothetical combat situation involving your broken-hearted Calais. However, whatever moral codes you profess to follow, whatever longing you might feel for your lost love, whatever noble resolutions of sacrifice you might form when alone--none of those will matter when you're there, facing them, and your back's against the wall. In brief, you've no choice but to fight your friends." "You're a fucking sadist." "Yes, well, can't help it, I'm afraid." He smiled again and raised his glass in a mock toast. I was practically shaking in anger and frustration. I even told myself, Screw it. Get him now. I don't care if I get killed. Moving my hands under the table, I powered up, ready to blast the monster out of the room. "Oh, and don't even bother working yourself up into making an attempt at hurting your maestro," he said breezily. "Did you really think that I'd create a weapon that could pose a threat to me? You're welcome to try, of course, if you feel like indulging your juvenile rage through destruction. All I can say is that you're in for a rather nasty surprise if you attempt to obliterate me." "I don't care. It's better than being a slave to you," I hissed. My hands throbbed, and I kept the power coming, forcing it and forcing it in hopes of causing as much damage as I possibly could. He grinned and sat back, folding his hands on his lap, and waited. "Go on then," he said, his voice like a thin purr. "I'm waiting." The moment stretched itself out, the silence growing more and more deafening. Neither of us moved, let alone talked. We simply stared at each other, waiting--or at least, he watched me and waited for what I

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was going to do next. I moved my hands together, cupping my left hand with my right in a move to concentrate the energy ball I was forming. Then in the midst of the pulsing warmth, I felt something smooth and hard against my right palm, and I hesitated. It was the ring on my pinky finger. I'd forgotten about that. One thought quickly followed another and then another until a flowing string rushed through my mind, alternately confusing and buoying me with what I had. An ally. I'd forgotten that I had an ally in the Trill's hideout. I shouldn't be doing this on my own. Hell, the Trill had easily shown how useless it was for any attempts I'd make to turn the tables on him. I was a prisoner, and I'd no way out. That is, not without someone else's help. The Trill hadn't noticed the ring on my finger, and I'd been wearing it with the stone turned around. The gold band wasn't so shiny as to be conspicuous, but a person could certainly see it if he actually paid attention to my hand. Wait, I told myself. Wait. Calm down. Think. I killed my power and sat back, pretending to look defeated and resentful. Across the table, the Trill started laughing--quietly at first and then more and more loudly. "See? I've never doubted you," he guffawed. "Good boy! That's a very good boy! You'll understand soon enough that it doesn't pay to bite the hand that feeds you." I looked at him and kept quiet. He nodded as he refilled his glass. "What happened to Pe--Calais? He was holding me down, when I exploded--or whatever it was I did," I presently said. "You blew him away," he replied, raising a hand to quiet my alarmed protest. "It was your selfdestruct program that set off, but your power had grown so weak by then that all you could manage was to blast Calais away in a cloaking bubble. It was very much like what you did to him the first time you boys battled each other--but five times more powerful." He paused and laughed quietly for the gazillionth time. "Dear Romeo's quite well, don't worry. It'll take something far, far more powerful than that piddling little blast of yours to destroy him. I took you back with me once he was out of the picture, and you were lying senseless. Not to mention useless." "As long as he isn't hurt," I mumbled, a little sickened. "Your meal's getting cold," he said. "Eat, young man, then go do your homework. We have no jobs tonight, but there's one in a couple of days." I reluctantly served myself some pasta, my thoughts now bent on a different course entirely. The Trill continued to yammer on and on about all sorts of stupid, boring crap about his travels and daring adventures involving stolen antiques, but it all went in one ear and out the other. I ate my meal like the good, obedient, defeated kid that I was supposed to be, pretending docility and moroseness until the end

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of lunch. Once I was done, I chased everything down with lemonade, which nearly made me gag. I finished it, though, and wiped my mouth with my napkin before standing up. "I thought you were going to talk to the cook about the lemonade," I said. The petulance this time wasn't an act; the overly sweet drink was downright disgusting. "If she can't get it together, I'd rather have just plain water with my meals next time." The Trill shrugged. "I'll remind her." I threw my napkin down and walked off. "I'm going to the library for my homework and shit," I called back. Then a thought occurred, and I paused, glancing over my shoulder. "Where'd you find Dr. Dibbs?" He hesitated, apparently taken a little by surprise. "Why, I made direct enquiries through proper channels." "Something like the black market, you mean?" "Let's just say that it's rather difficult finding legitimate teachers or private tutors for you, given our situation. I've connections, and that's all you need to know. Why, do you have any objections to Dr. Dibbs?" I snorted. "He's a little on the creepy side, but what else can I expect from your connections?" He merely spread his hands out in a vague gesture. "Is that all you have to complain about with regard to your education, young man?" "Yeah. He's also threatening to give me an exam soon." "Don't worry. He's accredited. Just stop your complaints, buckle down, and apply yourself. I hope to see improvements in your Geometry and Chemistry grades soon." I shook my head and muttered unintelligible curses as I stalked off to the library.

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Chapter 8 I expect you to be torn, my dear Mr. Plath, by your moral codes and all other trifling things. I also expect you to hesitate when given a hypothetical combat situation involving your broken-hearted Calais. However, whatever moral codes you profess to follow, whatever longing you might feel for your lost love, whatever noble resolutions of sacrifice you might form when alone--none of those will matter when you're there, facing them, and your back's against the wall. In brief, you've no choice but to fight your friends. "We'll see about that," I said as I hung back in the crowd, dying from the heat in my medium-weight hoodie, but never once giving myself away. Every five minutes I pulled out an old bandanna from my jeans pocket and dabbed my face and neck with it, cursing at the world and at life. It was midday and in the middle of the week. Our "job" was supposedly in downtown Vintage, where the Trill planted me in all my disguised glory. Commence one world-weary eyeroll. "Find yourself a comfortable spot," he'd said inside the limo as it crept through downtown traffic. "And wait. You don't need to be alerted when the time comes. You'll see it clearly enough, and you'll know exactly what to do." "Cover your ass, you mean, while I get myself beaten to a pulp by Magnifiman and his gang." "Now don't be so sensitive." He even mussed up my hair, all Dad-like, drawing a deep, threatening snarl from the depths of my belly. Any innocent bystander would've mistaken me for a rabid dog in human disguise. "You certainly make me glad that I'm past my adolescence." "Wanna make a bet about that 'past adolescence' bit?" He jerked a thumb at the car door. "Shoo, kid. Beat it." I narrowed my eyes at him. "Beat it, huh? I see we've expanded our vocabulary today." "Stop your damned sassiness and get out of the car before you turn me premenstrual, Mr. Plath." "Oh, that's not a good mental image," I said, pulling my hood over my head and bracing myself as I opened the door. Hot air and bright, bright sunlight immediately blasted me from outside, suffocating me. I made a face and hesitated. "Can I have money for a chocolate parfait at least? Or even an iced mocha? Considering the heat and what I'm wearing right now--and considering that I'm about to get pummeled for

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your sake--I think I should be allowed some compensation. You should've seen that in the Supervillain Handbook in the 'Sidekicks: Who are They, and How are They Cared For?' chapter." The Trill stared at me for a moment. He seriously reeked of WTF. "I don't believe this," he sighed as he groped around the seat, shoving a gloved hand between the cushions. When he pulled it out, he actually had a fistful of crumpled bills and loose change, which he gave me. I gaped at the cash in my hand. I guessed that I had about thirty bucks at least--thirty-three bucks and seventy-eight cents, I later found. "Holy cow," I breathed. "How much lost money would you have trapped in your sofa cushions back home?" "Just get out of the car, for heaven's sake, before I strangle you!" "Okay, okay, I'm going," I said, leaping out. I heard him hiss something just as I shut the door behind me, but I didn't care to figure everything out. He actually gave me money for a treat. The Devil's Trill, Vintage City's Demon Spawn Number One, just handed me some cash for ice cream. Still reeling in disbelief, I quickly wove my way through the midday lunch crowd and went straight for Isaac's Ice Creamery, home of the biggest, most perfectly made chocolate parfaits in the world. A half an hour later I was "on the job" and waiting, stuffed with too much ice cream and chocolate and sweating under my stupid disguise. From whom was I hiding, anyway? Althea, Peter, and Wade were in school. Trent was most likely working with his dad. None of the good guys would be watching over the city because they were…being good guys. Okay, that didn't sound right, but it certainly made sense. At any rate, I wasn't in school, and I wasn't with my family. I was…at work, being the bad guy. How long ago was it when I was moping around and grousing about getting a job that my parents wouldn't approve of? As they say, be careful what you wish for. I hung around the main square, near the founder's statue. At least there was a place for me to loiter and not look suspicious, if one were to ignore my hoodie and jeans while everyone else was in tank tops and shorts, that is. I'd already walked around the statue and absorbed the sight of its rotting organic replacement head and wondering when City Hall would come around to getting the lost head replaced. What used to be a vegetable that precariously balanced between the founder's shoulders now drooped in a discolored and bug-infested blob. Nobody bothered to change it with another gigantic vegetable or fruit, and there it remained, on its way to being fossilized produce. At the base of the statue was a big circle of weathered brick, where pigeons and people hung out and soaked in the sun while eating lunch or reading or, in the birds' case, crapping on people's heads with impressive precision. I must admit that I hoped that I'd somehow catch a glimpse of my parents somewhere. Mom and Dad

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both worked in the city, with Dad's job being closest to the downtown area. I missed them so much it hurt, and I kept wondering if he was going to have lunch in one of the sandwich shops or cafes nearby. That is, unless Mom packed his lunch, which she usually did, but sometimes Dad couldn't resist the call of someone else's kitchen. I would've been happy with a glimpse, two seconds tops. As the midday bustle continued, I kept an eye out for a familiar hat bobbing up and down in the crowd. Dad owned only one, and he was determined to use it until it literally fell to pieces before shelling out money for another. At the same time, I hoped that he wouldn't see me. I sure didn't want him to see up close what I'd become. The recent incident at Schell Hall was one more blot on my character, and I didn't care if Dad and Mom kept reassuring me that I was never at fault because of the Trill's manipulation. I was still there when those people were attacked. I was the one who kept the door shut against them when they fought to escape. I worked with the Debutantes against the good guys when the time came. I expect you to be torn, my dear Mr. Plath… The Trill's words were stuck in a perpetual loop in my head, but I didn't get them out. No, I kept them there and played them over and over because I wanted to prove something to him and to myself. My reactions when facing Peter and the rest of them could still be altered. There was no way--no way-I was going to let myself be controlled by something I didn't know, let alone didn't understand. If I were to fight the Trill from within, mastering my powers regardless of what he said about their "saving feature" would be the first step toward my liberation. Once I achieved that, the next step was to fight my way to his secret lab and destroy it once and for all, even at the cost of my safety--or my life. He needed to be disabled, his main strength crippled beyond help or completely obliterated. If I were to die while his experiments remained, some other loser would be turned into my replacement. I sure didn't want to wish this on anyone else. My ally, whoever he or she was, would help me. Hope, though somewhat dim, flared alive again. A low, familiar clang disturbed my musings, and I glanced up at the clock tower. It was one o'clock, and nothing was happening. "What the hell?" I muttered, shifting uncomfortably on the bench and grimacing at the awful sensation of sweat trickling down my back. I quickly wiped my face and neck. I ignored the people who made up my immediate world, even the tall girl who sashayed up to my bench, greeting me with a light "Hi!" as she took her place beside me. "Hey," I said, my gaze sweeping the area as I wondered where the Trill and his henchmen were. "It's pretty hot," the girl noted. "Aren't you hot in that?" "Um--no, not really." She giggled softly when I whipped out my damp bandana and dabbed my face with it. "Oh, okay." A short pause. "You come here often? I've never seen you here before."

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I shrugged and spared her a quick glance. "I've been here before. I just don't hang out here. My guardian won't let me." "Guardian?" she echoed, a hint of awe in her voice. "Seriously? Like, a rich guy adopted you or something? Are you a trust fund baby? You don't look like it. I mean--you're wearing real old clothes and stuff." "Yeah, guardian," I sighed. "Foster parent. Sorta like Batman and Robin." "Cool! Oh, I'm Lucy, by the way." A slender, long-fingered hand suddenly appeared, startling me, and I reluctantly shook it. "Hi. I'm--I guess I'm Eric." She giggled again. "You guess? What, you're not sure or something?" I was really getting irritable at that point. I turned to face her, finally. Pretty good-looking, I thought. She looked Hispanic: dark, sultry features, healthy-looking tan, unlike my bloodless Anglo-ness, black hair cut in a spiky, shoulder-length shag. Her T-shirt was rather clingy and thin, so it didn't really leave much to the imagination, but I dug what was written on it: The voices in my head don't like you. Not that her jeans were any better: low-rise and tight, but definitely flattering to her figure. Tall and slender like the Debutantes, her mile-long legs would've earned her a gaggle of drooling admirers of both sexes. If Liz were there, she'd be tearing the girl to pieces with all sorts of criticisms about her appearance. "I'm sure my name's Eric. Hey, no offense, but I really need to be alone here," I said, trying not to sound too abrupt. "Oh--waiting for your girlfriend or something?" Girls. I sighed again. "No." "Okay, I won't bug you. I'm sorry. You just stand out, sitting here in that hoodie, with the weather like this." "Yeah, well, I can't help it. Nice talking to you." I turned away and went back to watching out for the Trill. Where was he? Did he ditch me or something? What was going on? There was a moment's silence, which pretty much lulled me into zoning out. With the automobile traffic as well as the pedestrian traffic all working together to drive everyone crazy with urban noise, I nearly missed what Lucy said next. "Whatever happens, don't remove your ring." My breath caught, and I froze, still staring ahead of me. Then I turned to her, wide-eyed. "What did you just say?" Lucy gasped and looked at her watch. "Shit," she hissed. "Time." Then she sprang to her feet and ran off without another word. I didn't need to think. I ran after her, calling out her name, but she ignored me. And, boy, did she move fast! Pushing her way through the crowd, Lucy hurried away in a zigzag, like

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she knew that I'd be following her, and that was her way of shaking me off her scent. "Wait! Come back!" I called out, ignoring people I shoved aside--or whose feet I stepped on. "I gotta talk to you!" She turned a corner and vanished. I skidded to a halt, panting a little and drenched with sweat, my eyes wide as I looked desperately around with no success. There were people everywhere but no sign of Lucy. I ran toward the end of the block, where the side street intersected a small, less-frequented avenue. I stopped at the corner and looked around. It was weird, but the area was nearly deserted. Only a block from the main drag, it seemed to be a world away, but that was how things were in Vintage City. A tall, well-built black guy stood a few feet away near a rusty wire fence, and he was wiping his face with his own shirt. I hurried over to him. He appeared so tired and ready to pass out. "Excuse me," I stammered, still out of breath, "did you see a girl--about my age--come running down this street?" He straightened his damp shirt and stared at me as though I were growing a second head. "Girls your age should be in school," he said. He appeared to be pretty young despite his physique. I guessed that he must be in his late teens or early twenties. Like Trent's age, actually. No, he certainly wasn't as built as Magnifiman. He sort of had a runner's body--without the steroids. His skin glistened with perspiration, the moist sheen capturing sunlight and reflecting it just perfectly in the right areas. I swallowed and tried not to stare too long at this one bead of sweat that slowly trailed down his left bicep. I never realized how slutty a small drop of perspiration could be until that moment. "No, I saw a few women, but no girls," he replied, a little breathless. "Oh," I said, deflating. "I could've sworn she ran this way." He merely shook his head, his brows furrowing. "Nope. Sorry." He terminated that with a wide yawn and a tired sagging against the fence, as though he'd completely lost all his strength from whatever workout he'd been doing until that point. "Man, I need to sleep," he then muttered, drawing a hand across his forehead. "Okay, thanks." I turned around and walked slowly back to the square, half-puzzled and half-excited by the development. I needed to find Lucy again and get her to talk. She was the only one who could help me now. Just as I was halfway down the side street, the sound of countless firecrackers exploding tore through the air, followed by scattered shouts and screams. They all came from the main square.

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Chapter 9 I powered up without a second's hesitation or an ounce of conscious thought. Instinct--fight or flight, I guess--that was all it needed. Plus something deeper and more powerful than you expected, like the Trill said, that too-familiar voice in my head whispered. I ran at first, but once my powers flared alive, my momentum took me off the ground, and I was flying in a wide, high arc, zooming past stampeding people who cried out in surprise and immediately threw themselves on the pavement as I soared above them. I directed myself toward the founder's statue and perched myself atop the headless figure, kicking the rotting fruit off the statue for better leverage. Not that I needed any, given my powers. Having that extra object in the way would pose a few difficulties, the smell and the flies being the least of them. "Look! It's that kid!" "Up there!" All right, they spotted me, but I didn't give a flying fig. I'd protected myself with an energy field, which absorbed the occasional projectile that some wannabe-vigilante threw at me, as if empty soda cans or someone's worn out sneakers would compel me to step down and surrender. I gazed around me in search of the Shadow Puppet's mechanized criminal dolls. The firecracker sounds I heard could only be caused by their guns and their funky bullets. Traffic had stopped. In different places, people ran, with most vanishing inside shops. Here and there, I saw doors swinging shut. From a bit of a distance, I saw a series of windows from the third floor of a building explode. Shattered glass flew in every direction, pelting everyone in the street. "Holy shit," I breathed, launching myself toward the area immediately. Now was the time, I felt. No, not thought, but felt, for it was a voice that couldn't be heard even in my mind, but rather in my gut. Now was the time for me to prove the Trill wrong.

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I sent a blast of energy in the direction of the scampering pedestrians. I wasn't able to keep them from being initially stung by glass debris, but my energy shield swept above their heads like an absorbing canopy. The rest of the flying shards fell into the pulsing warmth, where they dissolved or were simply broken apart into countless harmless bits of sand-like particles that showered down. I heaved a sigh of relief. "I saved them," I said, my heart pounding. "I actually saved them." I'd stopped in mid-flight and was just hovering in the vicinity of the damaged windows when another round of gunfire caught my attention. Crashing sounds--furniture and glass being broken--followed. Then a smoking and partly-burnt figure flew out of one window. No, it was thrown out! Its battered hat flew off its wooden head, and the mannequin jerkily flailed about, trailing smoke behind it. It soared through the air in a downward arc, landing in an explosion of wood and fabric on the roof of a van. Head and limbs flew apart, the wooden torso bursting open on impact and sending bits of the mannequin's mechanism all over the place. Springs, nuts, bolts, weirdly-shaped thingamabobs in metal--it was a geek's dream come true. Around the carnage people screamed and dove for cover. Then another mannequin came sailing out, and then another followed. I did nothing to save them. Hell, why should I? But they were being blasted out of those rooms--whatever those rooms were--one after the other, most likely by the Trill's men or maybe even the Trill himself. Down went one mannequin, landing in an explosion of wood and metallic debris on a limo, sending the passengers scurrying out in a frenzy of black tie and satin. I thought I even saw a wineglass in the hand of one woman who stumbled out, screaming at the top of her lungs, and making a beeline toward the nearest shop in her pink satin dress, beehive hairdo, and black pumps. The other mannequin fell on the pavement, barely missing an old man who hobbled away in a panic, the strain of his exertions contorting his face into a painful grimace. A couple of people helped him once he reached a safe enough spot, and they led him away. I flew toward the damaged windows and saw a battle going on inside. I didn't know what the place was, only that it was definitely a large, studio-type of place, with no furniture but plenty of canvases and sculpture shoved against the walls, all of which were covered by thick and discolored cloth. Was it a holding place for stolen art or something? Or was it simply a storage place of some kind for things of value that were meant to be sold somewhere? In the middle of the area the Trill's henchmen were locked in battle with the Puppet's dolls. Either engaged in hand-to-hand combat or just outright shooting each other down, the two groups were pretty much doing everything they could to turn their enemies into a steaming pile of wooden or organic debris. I held back and watched, now puzzled as I noticed something strange. The Trill's men appeared to be strong--superhuman, almost. They were perfectly matched with the

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Puppet's mannequins, which were nearly indestructible. Emphasize "nearly." Using nothing but their fists alone in some cases, these thugs managed to send a mannequin or two crashing to the ground or flying across the room to smash against the wall and destroy whatever artwork happened to be resting there. "What the--did the Trill use the Noxious Nocturne on them?" I breathed. It sure looked like it. One of them spotted me. "Hey, kid!" he bellowed as he gleefully mowed down an armed doll with his own tommy gun. "Keep an eye out! We've got these bastards where we want 'em!" Amid the confusion of noise, which the wailing police sirens now heightened into migraine levels, a thought crossed my mind. Now was my chance, wasn't it? I powered up some more, forcing just about every little ounce of energy up and out of the deepest corner of my being. Then I threw my hands out and blasted the windows so that they appeared to melt in rivulets of brick, metal, plaster, and paint. Like candle wax, they seemed to pour down, the top edges of the windows losing their horizontal lines as they streamed down in thick, bar-like formations. It took too long, though, and my strength was mostly zapped. I could feel my powers pulse erratically and then fade, little by little, bursts of energy tempering the gradual vanishing. "Only a little bit more," I hissed, gritting my teeth and forcing my strength to hold up. "Only a little bit more. Come on, you can do it. Come on. So close…" My body shook from the strain, and my arms felt as though they were about to fall off my shoulders. My hands trembled, and the blasts that shot out from them visibly waved around, following irregular lines. Sweat poured down my face. A warning bell sounded in my head, alerting me to my rapidly fluctuating powers, but I ignored it. More than anything, I wanted to trap the Puppet's dolls and the Trill's goons in that room. Let them duke it out, pummel each other to dust. I wanted to make sure that they were no better than trapped monsters, tearing at each others' throats until the bitter end. The slowly forming stalactites of brick, plaster, and paint were close to how I wanted them to be. "A little more. Come on, a little more…" "Get away from that!" someone shouted. Something cracked, but I was too slow to cut myself off from what I was doing. Before I could fully withdraw my blasts, a sudden blow to my back sent me tumbling into space, crying out in surprise and pain at the force and the intense heat that stung me. The world spun around me for a few seconds before I was stopped by a wall. I had enough of my powers left for me to buffer the impact of my body against solid brick, but I still felt the thud--still heard the sickening sound of skin, muscle, and bone crunching against a building. I slid down to the ground and tumbled forward, rolling on the sidewalk, blinded by the burst of stars and light that filled my vision for a moment. "Don't even think of moving!"

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I blinked away the fog and found myself staring at the sky, caught in a cartoon-like moment in which I was the defeated bad guy, his defenses zapped, lying on the pavement with thin pillars of smoke rising from my body. I wondered if I could just roll on to my side and fall asleep. Maybe if I woke up, I'd be back in my old bed, Liz kicking it to get me up, and Peter and I would still be together, Althea would still terrorize me out of love, and my parents would ride my ass over my grades. What snapped me back to the ugly present was the too-real sensation of heat and pain that ate away at my back. I grimaced as I tried to sit up, groaning at the soreness that likely meant that my body was nothing more than a mass of black-and-blue, and maybe red, flesh. I leaned on one elbow while reaching behind me with my other hand, wincing at the pain that was now being exacerbated by my contortionist's move. I felt around my back. "Oh, shit," I breathed. My clothes sported a very warm hole in the middle of my back. My fingers touched charred and torn cloth--my hoodie--and a slightly roasted shirt under that. I couldn't imagine how my skin actually looked. Would I need a skin graft? God, I hoped not! I struggled to get up and only managed to roll over and raise myself up to my hands and knees. I was so tired--so tired. Above me the fight continued. Sounds of gunshots, splintering wood, and breaking glass carried on, with police sirens and ambulances now making their presence more and more known. I forced myself to turn despite the soreness and look up at the windows above me. I couldn't help but smile grimly at my handiwork. The Trill would kill me for doing what I did, but my stomach did flipflops in triumph. I'd "melted" the windows, reconfigured their molecular structure so that the top edges dripped down to form crude "bars" that held the Trill's men and the Puppet's dolls inside the room. I'd turned the room-warehouse--whatever--into a jail cell, almost. They kept going at it, the idiots. Maybe they were so hung up on battling each other that they simply didn't care about my betrayal. My smile broadened. Yes, it was a betrayal. The Devil's Trill brought me here to help his men, and I did something unthinkable. On top of that, I was about to surrender myself to the good guys, and I didn't give a damn. I took a deep breath and staggered to my feet. "Hold it! Hold it! Hands in the air, kid!" A series of threatening metallic clicks followed that. I raised my head and saw that a semi-circle of cops had taken their positions behind their squad cars, their guns all pointing at me. Just above them hovered Wade, in full battle mode, her fire whip in hand. She'd used it on me, and I guess I was glad she did. Around them more cops ran toward the building, with shields and helmets and every imaginable

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police gear that could realistically be worn in battle. Exhaustion crippled me. I could barely keep myself standing, but I did it, anyway, and raised my hands as ordered. With fatigue and pain came indifference. Resignation. I kept my eyes on Wade, and we watched each other. She, to make sure that I didn't try anything stupid, obviously; me, to make sure that she understood my surrender. "You win," I whispered, not knowing whether or not she could hear me from that distance. "Just-whatever happens, take good care of him. Okay?" I thought I saw a flash of something in her face. Confusion? Surprise? I couldn't tell. Only one thing was clear to me, and once I recognized it, a vague peace that I'd never before felt swept over me. "Yeah," I said. "It's all right. He'll be all right." Concentrating every ounce of strength that was left in me--willpower being the only force that kept me going--I powered up. One last time, I thought. The sudden peace that came over me lent me more strength, and I used it to full effect. "Wait a second," Wade cried. "What are you doing?" I smiled and closed my eyes, concentrating. The energy that churned and swelled in my belly, gathering strength that I didn't think I had, momentum I thought I'd lost, and I let go, feeling myself sink into calm waters. I opened my eyes in time to see the world burst in an explosion of red and yellow light, which was quickly swallowed by a blinding flash of white warmth that grew and grew, overwhelming, suffocating, and terminating. Noises wavered, and I sank deeper into those welcome waters. Well--that is--until I heard this from somewhere above or behind me: "Oh, for God's sake! Damned teenagers!" Crap. The Trill. Something metallic fell on the pavement. I saw nothing but heard the distinctive clacking near my feet. Then came shouts and a loud hiss. Lots of coughing and more shouting. Wade crying out orders to run. Or hide. More coughing and general confusion. Did the Trill just drop a gas bomb thingie? The world vanished around me, but the last thing I remembered thinking was, "When I come to, I swear I'm going to kick his maestro ass!"

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Chapter 10 "How many are in custody, Mr. Bowles?" "Uh--all of 'em, Boss." A brief pause. "About ten, then. If the Noxious Nocturne's working as it should, they ought to be out of jail by midnight." Another brief pause. "Come to think of it, even if the Nocturne's effects were to fade by then, I still wouldn't be surprised if the men were out of jail by midnight." "Hehehehehe. Good point. Now what about Useless Emo Kid here?" "His powers are growing more and more unstable by the day." "Time to off him, Boss! He's only giving us more grief! Look at what he did, fer chrissakes--trapped the guys and then tried to blow himself up, not kick that fire girl's ass!" "Yes, yes, yes. I'll have to talk to the boy, myself, Mr. Bowles. Now let's hurry along. Has anyone reported back yet? Any news on the Puppet's next plan or where the Debutantes are scheming for more bling?" Footsteps moved toward the door as the conversation continued. "No, sir. I'll get on the radio right away. It shouldn't be too hard. Damn teenagers always screw up--can't shut their traps, no matter what." The Trill chuckled as the door creaked open. "Yes. It's good being the oldest of the pecking order. Now for tea, Mr. Bowles, while I work on the next trap." "You sure you don't want Useless Emo Kid offed? I can do it, myself, while he's passed out." "Just tea, please. I'm in a bit of a hurry." "Damn." The door closed, and the voices and footsteps faded off in the distance. I shifted and opened my eyes to stare in tired desperation at the frolicking half naked images above me. I wanted to self destruct. I was ready to let go and cripple the Trill, and give Wade and Peter what they deserved: some peace of mind. I didn't want to hover along the fringes, casting a pathetic shadow onto their happy little world. I was Masks: Ordinary Champions - 53

resigned. I was letting them go--letting everything go. I even felt calm in the end. The final few seconds clawed their way through the fog, and I remembered the Trill "saving" me from destruction at the last minute. The bastard was hiding nearby. I was sure of that now. He'd been watching everything from his vantage point, probably studying what I was doing, like a scientist would a tricked-out rat in a crummy little maze. Then again, even if he were planning on saving my hide, I still should've been able to selfdestruct, probably taking the Trill with me. "Why couldn't I blow myself up?" I asked the frolicking half-naked figures, but they refused to dignify my question with a response and just carried on with their soundless, motionless dances and pleasureseeking sports. "Were my powers too weak? Was I too tired?" I pursued, but still, no answer came. It certainly didn't feel as though my powers were too weak. The final blast of light and energy seemed supernova in intensity. I turned on my side. My eyes burned, and I choked back a sob of exasperation. "Fuck all this. I want to go home." The last time I had a really, really good--or, rather, bad--cry was when I was around eleven. It had something to do with my puppy, which was a stray I saved from a dumpster, dying in my arms before we could take it to the vet, so I could officially call myself a new dad. Even when my dad suggested that we could adopt a pet through the local animal shelter, I was too broken up by the loss to want to be attached to another animal. Now I was sixteen, with more than just a sick puppy weighing me down. It was one of those horrible, ugly outbursts: the kind that made a person nearly die from asphyxiation. I didn't know how long it took for me to realize that someone was knocking on my door, but I did-eventually. Besides, the knocking had grown to an all-out pounding, so I had no excuse. I sat up, still sniffling, but at least no longer crying. I could only breathe through my mouth, and my eyes were swollen nearly shut, my nose felt as though it were three times its normal size, and my head pounded viciously. I looked around for a tissue but couldn't find any, and I was forced to use my shirt to wipe my face, though I resisted the temptation to blow into it. I mean, the very idea was gross. I might be brought pretty low, but I still had standards. Not to mention some dignity left. I opened the door and peered out. After that lengthy bout of sobbing, my system had moved on to the next level of grief recovery, which included the most annoying, and embarrassing, case of major hiccoughs. "Wh--wha--hic--what?" Dr. Dibbs frowned at me, a stack of books cradled against his chest. "You're in severe distress, Mr. Plath," he observed. "No sh--hic--shit. What d'you--hic--you want?" "A talk. And a very serious one, at that." He paused and glanced behind him with a loud harrumph!

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I refused to step aside. "What ab--out? Hic! My grades ag--again?" "Yes, sir, about your grades," he replied, raising his voice so that he was practically shouting at me. "They're dismal, and I need to know why you continue to refuse help from me!" I grimaced. "Ouch. Dude, sh--shut up. I ca--hic--can hear you loud and--hic--and clear." His frown deepened. "Take a deep breath, Mr. Plath, and don't talk. Let your system calm itself first before dignifying me with a proper response," he said, still bellowing. Then he leaned forward and fiercely whispered, "Look, if you want me to help you, you'd better let me in before I transform and get ourselves busted!" My jaw must've scraped the floor after I heard him. I said nothing, but I did let him in my room with my mouth still hanging open. He pushed past me and shut the door himself, then leaned against it with a huge sigh of relief. "Here," he said, handing me the books, which I took, still in speechless shock and still hiccoughing. Then he fumbled around for his pocket-watch and looked at it. "Great. Two more minutes." He stuffed it back in his pocket and nodded at my all-purpose table. "I gotta sit down. This shit's eating me alive." "Uh--yeah, sure. Hic!" Before moving off, though, Dr. Dibbs patted his jacket again, muttering to himself. Then he gave a low, triumphant grunt and fished out a little rectangular object that was smaller than his palm. He fiddled with it for a second or two, pressing buttons--I guessed that they were buttons, but I couldn't see anything-and motioning for me to keep quiet, which I did. My hiccoughs were slowly going away. Then again, the shock of the moment must've been a pretty effective cure. "Ah, there you go," he said, grinning, and then turned around to press the device against the door, near the doorknob. It must have its own adhesive or something like it because it stuck to the wood without a problem. With one more pressing of an invisible button, Dr. Dibbs activated the thing, and from it came a steady buzzing of voices. "What's that?" I whispered. "That's a Vox Box Ultimate 1--patent pending," he replied, turning back to me with a smug grin. "The Sentries made it from scratch. Pretty sweet, eh?" "What's it doing?" "It's our shield, and with it going, we can't talk louder than this." "I don't get it. And who're the Sentries?" He sighed and beckoned me over to the table, taking out his handkerchief and wiping his face, which was, again, dripping with sweat. "It's putting out a phony conversation between you and me. Listen." I stopped and held my breath. Sure enough, I could hear a steady back-and-forth exchange between me and Dr. Dibbs. We were in the middle of a lesson on music history. Earlier grief and hopelessness

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forgotten, I listened to the voices in stunned silence. "How'd you do that? Get my voice, I mean?" I whispered, turning to look at him, wide-eyed despite my puffed-up eyelids and so on. "Your ring. It's a recording device. It also transmits the data to our computer. We save it and then work it into this." He jerked his head in the direction of the door. "So who are you?" He sighed and sat back on his chair. "You're about to find out. Give me a few more seconds." We both fell silent for a moment, and then he transformed as he'd warned. One minute I was looking at Dr. Dibbs--dapper, sweaty, pouchy, leering, greasy Dr. Dibbs--sitting back, arms crossed on his chest, waiting. The next minute I was watching a weird pulsing light start in his chest and then grow larger and larger, covering every part of his figure from my view until my tutor vanished in a soft glow that throbbed a few times before fading gently away. Little by little, it cleared up, and I was staring in amazement at a tall, well-built black guy--the same one, I realized with even more shock, whom I'd run into when I was chasing after Lucy. Yes, there he sat, sweat-drenched and breathing heavily as though he'd just had a rigorous workout. Dressed in a tank top--that clung to his body just perfectly, even without his sweat helping its figureflattering qualities--loose, ripped jeans, and old, scuffed-up Doc Martens. He'd shaved his head, and it was only then when I noticed that he sported a small tattoo on his left inner arm: a Celtic cross design. I found it much more difficult keeping myself from staring too much that time. I mean, come on. He was in the room with me. We were alone. Confined. I hadn't been with Peter in God knew how long. I was still nursing a broken heart, for chrissakes. Celibacy didn't suit me at all. Still panting and perspiring, he flashed me a tired little smile and raised a hand. "Hey," he said, his voice still a whisper. And, nope, he didn't sound like Dr. Dibbs. "How's it going?" "Nice to meet you," I stammered. I even raised a hand and then realized, too late, how lame I must've looked, doing that. "I'm Eric." "Freddie Jameson." He yawned, barely covering his mouth. "Holy shit, I'm tired. I need to lie down." Then he blinked and grinned again, looking dazed and airy. "Happens all the time. I'm still working on my powers, and for now, I can't stay a chameleon for more than fifteen minutes at a stretch. I'm building my way up to half an hour, though." "Chameleon?" I echoed, leaning forward. "You mean--you turn into other people?" "I look like other people, yeah. Can't come up with my own disguise at the moment, though. I have to use other people for my templates." He yawned again. "Man--I gotta lie down." "You're welcome to use my bed," I offered with a pathetic flash of hope. "I can't. I need to be cocooned. My regeneration requires that I be physically closed in as much as

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possible." He shrugged when I blinked at him in confusion. "Don't ask. I don't get it, either. It's the only way for my system to re-energize, and I've experimented in all sorts of ways, trust me." Damn. "I guess you can hide under my bed, then. It's pretty roomy there, but I can't tell you how the dustbunny situation is." "Okay, okay, I'll settle for that. I just--I need to sleep this off and regroup. Transforming eats up my energy like a mofo, and I always need at least twenty minutes of sleep after I change." "I'm assuming that you're working on that as well." "Yeah." He stood up, teetering a little on his feet. "Whatever you do, don't turn that thing off," he said, pointing at the Vox Box thingie at my door. "Don't worry, I won't. Besides, I wouldn't know which button to push, anyway." "Good point." I escorted him to bed--God, I wish!--and dropped to my knees to inspect the underside. It looked pretty clean. "Okay, you're set," I said, reaching up and pulling one of my pillows to give him. "Do you need a blanket or something?" "Nah, I'm okay, thanks." He took the pillow and, dropping on his stomach--which was tight, cut, and a gay boy's ultra-wet dream--he slithered under my bed, his legs kicking until he vanished completely. I leaned down and peered into his faintly gloomy rest space. "Um, sweet dreams, I guess. By the way, what time am I supposed to wake you up? Or should I?" "No worries about that. I wake up on my own. I'm sort of hardwired to do that--comes with my transformation powers." "Oh. Okay, then. I'll keep the radio thing on. Is it set on a loop or something?" "It's got about two hours of voice programs in it. Don't worry." "What if someone wants to come in?" "No one will." I frowned. "Are you sure?" He tried to turn on his side but found that he'd be wedging himself between my bed and the floor. He sighed and settled himself on his stomach, muttering something. "Yeah, I'm sure. The Trill's out, and so are half his thugs. Only two of them are left to guard this dump. Everyone knows we're having a lecture in here." "We could've gone to the library, you know, instead of my bedroom." He rolled his eyes before closing them. "Dude, I know what you're thinking, and you'd better stop. There's more privacy in your bedroom, in case you're wondering. Now let me sleep, will you? If you have questions, write them down while you wait."

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I nodded. "Okay. Sorry. I'm going." I stumbled to my feet. It was now my turn to be dazed and airy. I took my place back at the table, feeling a little lost and overwhelmed and knowing for sure that I looked like utter crap. Behind me I could hear faint snoring. To my right, a pair of disembodied voices carried on with their lessons. I don't get it, my voice whined. Why do I have to learn all this junk? It's pointless!

I coughed, blushing. Boy, whoever worked on the program got me down perfectly.

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Chapter 11 The next half-hour proved to be the most nerve-wracking in my life. I suppose I could've trusted Freddie and let things go, knowing that the Trill's hideout was practically abandoned. I couldn't help but fret, though. While he slept under my bed, the Vox Box continued its job of a phantom lecture, and I sat at the table, chewing on cuticle after cuticle while my knees knocked against each other until all ten fingers looked like shredded, soggy, albino tentacles. I couldn't distract myself with my books. I didn't want to go online, knowing how easily I could be distracted by the computer. If someone were to knock at the door, I wouldn't be able to get myself together quickly enough to stop the Vox Box and keep anyone from sniffing out anything suspicious. The only thing I managed to do was to hurry to the door to make sure that it was securely locked, but then again, I also wondered whether or not a locked door would've aroused suspicion, regardless. So I just sat there for half an hour, a mess of tangled nerves and swollen sinuses. After what felt like a godawful eternity, I heard faint sounds coming from under my bed. Lots of shifting around, yawning, munching, mumbling. "Hey," I called out softly. "You okay down there?" "Huh? Wha...?" I watched a hand emerge from the shadows. Then came a lot of grunting and huffing as Freddie dragged himself from under my bed. Before long he was out, stumbling to his feet to stretch and yawn, twisting parts of his body and cracking them while letting loose a torrent of "Oooohh, damn, that feels good!" Crack, crack, crack. I winced at the sound, which always made me think of torture devices like the rack and of limbs being pulled out of their sockets. Ugh. "How's your nap?" I asked as he sauntered over to the table to plop down in a chair with a satisfied sigh. "Good, good. The floor didn't bother me, in case you're wondering. I'm actually used to that. Hell, you

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should see what I'm forced to use out there in the streets." I nodded, pressing my mouth into a tight line and furrowing my brows. God, where would I start? "Um, so what's going on here?" All right, that might not be ideal, but it was something. Freddie slouched in his chair, resting his hands on the table. He regarded me with the keenest pair of cat-like eyes I'd ever seen. "I'm one of the made-to-order babies," he began. "My parents are dead, though--cancer for my mom, a heart attack for my dad." "I'm sorry." He shrugged. "I was a baby when they both died. I don't have any memories of either of them, but this I know: they went to the labs to make sure that I would stand out in the crowd. At least, that's what I'm told. Don't know exactly what that means." He ended that with a little smirk. "And here I am, a human chameleon. Pretty ironic, don't you think?" "Yeah, that's--that sucks." He shook his head and waved a hand. "I'm adopted--got a family now. They're the ones who helped me when I started coming into my powers." "They know?" I blurted out, eyes widening. "No shit!" "They do, yeah. Hell, they used to work for the labs. That's the reason why they took me in and then decided to band together and come back as the Sentries." "Who're the Sentries? You mentioned them when you showed up…" Freddie signaled me to quiet down as he listened. The Vox Box was still at it, this time playing out a pretty dramatic moment involving me grousing over proofs. This is stupid! I don't need them in real life! Go me. "I can't stay here too long," Freddie said. "All I can say at the moment is that the Sentries used to be a part of the lab staff. They came back to make sure that things are okay with the genetically-altered babies…" I snorted. "They must've been shocked when they saw." He chuckled, nodding. "Yeah. That's an understatement. Listen, I need to get out of here and file a report with Dr. Dibbs and--" "No way! There's a real Dr. Dibbs?" I sputtered. "Well, duh! Of course! How else am I able to come up with a mask like this?" I made a face and crossed my arms on my chest. "You could've picked someone who didn't creep me out so much." "Hey, watch it. Dr. Dibbs is cool. If my mask grosses you out, it's because my powers are still not that stable, and I'm always--always--sweating like crazy. You've seen me. Besides, all that disgusting shit works in the end." He grinned broadly and raised both arms at his sides in emphasis. "It's better to freak

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you out and hate me the whole time than have you trust me from the get-go. My infiltration mission wouldn't have worked if we got all chummy and stuff." I pondered for a moment, anxiety roused at the thought that Freddie's time was nearly up. I tried to come up with questions with which to bombard him, but my brain--because I'm such a monumental dumbass--froze up, and all I could do was to look down at my left hand and point at my pinky finger. "So in addition to recording my voice, what else can this thing do?" I prodded. "Can it be a tracker?" "Um, no--just a voice recorder. Sorry. For it to be a tracking device, it would require a better program and all that, and the Sentries just aren't equipped the way some of the superheroes are. By the way, I need that back. It's done its job." I pulled it off my finger and handed it to him. "So no one knows where I'm located?" Freddie rolled his eyes and pointed at himself. "Duh?" "Then why aren't you helping me blow up this dump? With my powers the way they are, I can't do it alone!" "Because I can't stay disguised long enough to work with you, and you sure haven't been doing me any favors by keeping Dr. Dibbs away!" I shuddered. "Ugh--just--not a good mental picture, but I know what you mean. And why are you blaming me? You're the one who chose to look like some Indiana Jones reject who's perving over me!" Freddie narrowed his eyes. "Dude, I'm straight. If you were Penelope Cruz, I'd perv all over you any time, but not as you are." Can we just move on to something more interesting like art? my bodiless alter ego demanded. This sucks! "And I think the program's gone a little over-the-top now," I complained, frowning and jerking a finger in the direction of the Vox Box. "I never bitch like that in school!" "No, but you would if you were with a tutor." It was my turn to narrow my eyes. He was right. "Smartass." Freddie glanced at the clock. "Okay, listen closely. I need to transform and get the hell out of here." "I'm going with you." "No, wait--I'm coming back. Trust me. Right now, I'm only here to get in close contact with you and tell you who I am and for whom I work. The Sentries are out there, looking after you and everyone else. They're the good guys, Eric. They know what the Trill did to you, and they know that your powers are growing more and more unstable." "How'd they know what's going on with--" Freddie stopped me with an impish grin. "Meet Mr. Bowles, yo," he said, and he even extended a hand, which I shook dazedly. "The real Gunther Bowles is in custody, by the way, and I'm not talking

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about the cops. The Sentries have him, and since he's been giving us all kinds of shit and dead ends, it's my mission to take him on for my cover and infiltrate the Trill's hideout for the second phase of my job-learn about the Noxious Nocturne and where the Trill's experiments are being held." "You mean--they're not being held here?" I cut in. "No, they aren't. And I still haven't gotten info from anyone. Well…" He paused, shrugging. "I can't without making anyone suspicious, anyway, considering how long this Bowles dude has been working for the Trill--at least, from what I can tell. If I were to ask questions as Bowles, my cover's blown unless I plead some bizarre form of amnesia, and you know that ain't gonna fly. I'm alone in this, too, and I'm just as much a newbie as Calais and the others." "How come they haven't figured you out yet?" I prodded. "If you're pretending to be Bowles, wouldn't they have suspected something if you keep running out every fifteen minutes?" Hey, how about sketching something on the rooftop of some abandoned warehouse somewhere? I demanded. I mean, if you're interested in shadows and light and all that, wouldn't it make sense to work in a place that, you know, actually has light? Just sayin'. I grinned in spite of myself. "Hey, I rock." Freddie rolled his eyes again. "You don't know this, Eric, but you're the only one who lives in this dump. The Trill and his men? They go somewhere else. Sure, the bastard has tea and his meals here, and he acts like there's an actual household staff that takes care of day-to-day things, but that's to throw you off. The big gorillas who're planted up and down the tunnels to keep you from running away are just that: plants. Once their shifts are up, they get out, and another group shows up for their turn." "I don't get it. Why can't they just lock my door from the outside and spare themselves the grief?" "I'm sure they want you to be a little freer than that--you know, so you can walk around and see how they fixed this place up and then think that you're in the real hideout. Did you really believe that they'd trust you even after you were, uh, converted to their side?" Freddie snorted. "But the plants won't let me out of my room when the Trill's not around." "From what I heard, it's because they caught you snooping around about a hundred times." I coughed. "Yeah, well--I wanted to find the Trill's labs and, you know, play the superhero." "Man." Freddie shook his head. "No one can accuse you of lack of ambition. Then again, think about it. Getting your ass hauled back to your bedroom worked, didn't it?" "What do you mean?" "It made you think that this place is the Trill's real hideout, given all the trouble they went through-you know, to keep you from discovering that there aren't any labs anywhere in this slimy hole." The world spun around me. "What--why hadn't I noticed anything before?" "Dude, you're locked away in your room or the library 80% of the time. When you come out, it's

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because you're told that it's time for tea or lunch or whatever." "Then--then I can just bust my way out of here!" I looked at him hopefully. "I mean, since the Trill doesn't live here, and it's just me and a few of his goons stuck here for the rest of the day…" My mind suddenly filled itself with visions of me blasting my way out of my prison, mowing thugs down with energy waves. My breath caught in my throat. "Er--not exactly." Freddie leaned forward and dropped his voice some more. "Listen, I'm not kidding when I say that your powers are growing more and more unstable. You're in danger because of that. The less you use it, the more time you buy for yourself. Don't think of busting your way out of here without anyone's help. The Sentries and I are working on coming together with Magnifiman and his buddies, but it's been slow-going because of my powers and how far I still am from mastering them. Man, once I get out of here and return to the Sentries' hideaway, I'm so screwed up that I spend more time sleeping than working!" He leaned back again, and a soft glow of light began to pulse around his belly area. I panicked. "Wh-what am I gonna do now?" He watched me as the light slowly intensified, and his figure vanished under its soft glow. "Just wait," he replied, suddenly invisible. "Do what you've always done when the Trill's around. Don't worry. You're not alone. Keep your eyes and ears open, and tell me everything that you learn. Just make sure not to push the Trill with questions that'll make him suspect something, okay?" "When can I get out of here?" "Soon. And as for the Sentries, you'll know more about them soon, too. Actually, you know one of them already." The pulsing glow brightened for a few seconds. Then it softened and faded, and there was Dr. Dibbs again, leering behind his thick glasses. I tried to remind myself that under that creepy archeologist façade was this hunky black guy who wouldn't go out with me in a million years unless I looked like Penelope Cruz. "I do? Who?" My tutor gathered my books and notes, his pouchy cheeks swinging with every movement. "Brenda Whitaker," he said, smiling at me when I gave a start. "She wants me to tell you to hang in there." I frankly didn't think my heart could sustain another shock, but it did. I didn't even know whether to laugh or cry in relief and inexpressible joy. "I will," I said instead. "I promise. Thanks." Dr. Dibbs nodded and stood up with a grunt. "If you're wondering what's going on out there, let me just say that we think the Trill's muscling his way into the top ranks of supervillains. What he's been doing lately is to foil planned crime sprees made by the Shadow Puppet and the Deathtrap Debutantes. He wants to be top dog in the bad guy business, and he's making sure they know." He chuckled grimly as he

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walked over to the door. "He's going to have his hands full, let me tell you. There's a new villain in town, and he's not about to take any shit from anyone." "Oh, great," I muttered. "That means the Trill's going to use my butt for the other guy's target practice." Dr. Dibbs looked at me in silence. I blushed when I realized how wrong that statement sounded. "Sorry," I continued, rubbing the back of my neck in mortification. "That didn't come out right." "No sweat. I know what you mean. Just be careful, Eric. Hopefully we'll be able to help you bust your way out of here before the Trill can use you for something--and he will since your powers are failing. You're expendable now, and he won't think twice about using you and then losing you." I swallowed, a sudden chill enveloping me at the thought. Freddie was right. Judging from what I'd seen the last time we were out, the Trill had moved on to use the Noxious Nocturne on his own men, and they seemed to flourish while under the effects, while I went all over the place. Obviously he'd improved on the program already without my knowing--very obviously in his secret labs, which were located only God knew where. "Okay," I said as I watched him turn the Vox Box off, pulling the device off the door and pocketing it. It didn't even leave a mark anywhere. "I'll be careful. You guys take care, too." Dr. Dibbs nodded as he opened the door and stepped out. "I hope to see improvement from you next time, Mr. Plath," he said, raising his voice, which had found its usual timbre. "Today's session leaves much to be desired." He shut the door behind him before I could answer.

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Chapter 12 Freddie's sudden visit left me reeling. Of course, as fate would have it, while I had him with me, I could barely think of anything to ask. Once he left, I was barraged by all sorts of questions. It nearly killed me that I needed to hold them back until I saw him again. Not only that--I had to pretend that everything was as it was, where the Trill was concerned. I frankly didn't have much confidence in my acting abilities, though my family and friends would have plenty to say about my tendencies toward drama. Speaking of drama, I suppose I really had nothing to lose at that point. Listen, I'm not kidding when I say that your powers are growing more and more unstable. You're in danger because of that. The less you use it, the more time you buy for yourself. Don't think of busting your way out of here without anyone's help. Great. That was just great. I sighed, ignoring the soreness on my back that flared to life every once in a while. Damn that Wade, I thought, grimacing as I waited for the feeling to subside. The Trill's medical thugs did a pretty good job in applying whatever healing gunk they had to my injured back. It could've been something experimental, I didn't know. Actually, I didn't want to know! I just braced myself for the possibility of waking up one day with tentacles sprouting from the injured area, given my luck as of late. So I was also in danger of literally being destroyed because of my deteriorating powers. Unless I didn't use them. How would an artificially-enhanced boy deal with that much monumental grief? My first response-and, God, did I itch badly for it--was to damn everything to Hell, kick my bedroom door down like a real action hero, and blast everything and everyone with one energy wave after another. Possibly laughing maniacally the whole time, in that whole "going out in a blaze of glory" type of thing. Of course, there was also the teeny-weenie risk of getting myself buried under a pile of rotting stone in a cave-in, given the delicacy of the abandoned subway tunnels, but, hey, one had to take the bad with the good, no?

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Freddie's promise held me back, though. I had to content myself with a Secret Revenge Blast here and there while I made my way through the tunnels and in the direction of the quasi-drawing room or fake dining-room when it was time for tea or a meal. "Piece of crap!" I'd hiss as I turned corners, giving random objects or spots on the wall a small blast of energy. "I hate you! I hate you! Die!" The walk from my bedroom to any given "room" in the Trill's so-called hideout proved to be the most cathartic I'd ever taken. By the time I'd reached the Trill's side, ready for my meal or afternoon snack, I'd be relaxed and mellow. Behind me, there'd be a trail of faint smoke or crumbling plaster or a reshaped bucket all along the tunnels. When the Trill confronted me about the damage, because his stupid gorilla plants snitched on me, I'd give him my best emo kid sneer and bark, "I'm bored! What do you expect, with me hiding in some crummy underground lair like a mutant mole person thing?" All right, the theatrics were partly true. My complexion was growing paler and paler by the day, which I never thought was possible when I still lived at home. If I emerged from my prison with a skin tone that was whiter than white, I could apply for a patent or something, so the whole world would know that I was the first to come up with that shade. Then I could have my own Wikipedia page, and that'd rock. My second response was to get online and make damned good use of my allotted hour. I didn't read the news, and I didn't go to my usual RPG forums. Oh, no. I left a cyber trail, clicking on link after link after link, moving through less popular sites that Althea and Peter knew were my favorites online. I clicked on every page on each site, moving back and forth repeatedly until my brain began to melt from all those bizarre light waves or x-rays or gamma rays or whatever the hell came out of computer screens and turned people's brains into beef jerky. "Althea, I'm here," I kept whispering as page after page loaded in rapid succession, nearly freezing the computer a few times. "You can find me. I know you can. Please pick up my trail, and I swear I'll stop teasing you about finding a boyfriend." I paused and backpedaled. "On second thought, there's this hot new superhero. His name's Freddie, he's straight, and I think you'll make a cool couple." Oh, the possibilities that awaited me as my friend's matchmaker… Oh, the threats to my physical safety--especially to my genitals--once Althea found out about my scheme… Those oddball sites that I frequented in my friends' company had very light traffic. So I gave them all extra traffic--well, from me, anyway. Click, click, click, went I, for an hour straight until my head, eyes, shoulders, and wrist screamed from pain. "Come on, girl. Come on. Find me," I muttered. Click, click, click. Then poof! The hour was over, and the screen went black. I sighed and leaned back in my chair, drained in so many ways. I kept a desperate hold onto hope and repeated it the following day. Freddie hadn't returned, but I at

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least felt more confident now. Much more reassured. Knowing the truth freed me from so much baggage. I found my "innocent act" around the Trill easier and easier to pull off with each day, and the more I took note of our time together, the more I wanted to pound my stupid head against the stupid wall again and again. So many things made sense now, and it took Freddie to burrow his way into my private sanctuary and spill everything for me to see clearly. Whoa, did I just say that? Hello, Freud. Again. I only saw the Trill during lunch, tea, and dinner. Breakfast was a solo event for me by and large. I either dined alone in the morning or just plain skipped the meal, not at all questioning the Trill's whereabouts. Why should I? I didn't know what was really going on. Then again, I suppose one could say that I didn't care--didn't bother. Frightened and depressed, I simply took things as they were, a passive agent who waited for orders from the top dog because, well, that was our deal, wasn't it? I'd do what he wanted me to do, as long as he didn't hurt my family. From what I could see, he kept his side of the bargain, and I made sure to keep mine, even though it ate right through me. The rest of my time, I spent wallowing in self-pity. Now that Freddie had planted all the necessary seeds in my head, I fought to piece things together, and little by little, the truth dawned. To say that I was pissed--at myself and at everything else--would be an understatement. I needed to calm myself down, though, and think some more, turn this craziness to my advantage. The Trill was determined to make the rest of the supervillains bow down to him. He was using his own men as über-soldiers, almost, to see that happen. I'd been useful to him while I lasted. While my powers lasted. It wouldn't be long before I'd be discarded, and his goons, under the effects of an improved Noxious Nocturne, would take over like a super army. The Puppet, the Debutantes, and whoever the new bad guy might be--they'd all be forced to side with him in an ever-growing legion of destruction, a mirror image of Magnifiman's own group of good guys. Then there were the Sentries. Hope flared alive in my chest, and I held on as I navigated through different waters now. I figured I should draw up Plan B and this time, make sure that I followed through, no matter what the risks were. Yes, yes, I came up with it on my own. I'm not as stupid as other people might think.

I leaned against the grimy brick wall, my arms crossed on my chest, my fingers drumming away while I yawned for the gazillionth time. I shrugged my shoulders and then turned my upper-body from left to right. Ah, yes. My back was feeling way, way better. Whatever the medical thugs used on me worked just

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perfectly, and not only did I heal quickly, I also didn't sprout extra appendages up and down my spine. Awesome. It had been a few days since Freddie's visit. Althea, apparently, had yet to pick up my trail of breadcrumbs online, and we were out on another "mission." "Yeah, sure," I sniffed, rolling my eyes as I leaned back again, waiting. "Whatever." Oh, the confidence. The smugness. I was waiting for the Trill's goons, naturally. They were busy robbing a bank, naturally. I was supposed to back them up, el naturalismo. I was bored to tears, and that would be the understatement of the decade. Boy, when the Trill got tired of a minion, he certainly had no qualms making the poor schmuck suffer the long, drawn-out, excruciating ordeal of--waiting. Maybe that was his way of killing off a protégé who was going bad before his expiration date; death by catatonia-induced aneurysm. It was past banking hours, and normal people were technically at home, enjoying dinner. Emphasis on "normal." Good time to hit banks, I suppose. Too bad I was stuck in the growing darkness in a dingy alley, standing next to an overstuffed dumpster and leaning against the grossest brick wall ever to be erected. "Hey." "Shit!" I yelped. Instinct took over, and I immediately powered up and leaped from where I stood, landing on top of the dumpster--muscles tightly coiled, hands pulsing with energy that was ready to be discharged at will. I looked around, wide-eyed, but found nothing. The alley was practically plunged into shadows, and that moment proved to me all the more just how unstable my powers had grown. My super vision had weakened. I couldn't rightly tell if my eyes had gone back to 20-20 vision, but they sure couldn't pierce through the darkness the way they used to. The yellow and red that colored my immediate world when I was in power mode had softened, gray hues dulling the vibrancy and muting details, so that I was forced to blink several times or squint a tiny bit just to keep my vision sharp. Silence met me. "Freddie?" I whispered. "Is that you?" "Who?" I swallowed and nearly threw myself off the dumpster and at him--had I knownwhere he was, that is-but I forced myself to stay calm. "Peter?" "Yeah. Don't talk too loud, though. Don't give anything away." I shook my head. "I won't. Where are you? I can't see you anywhere." "I'm here." From somewhere to my right, I heard the soft scraping of metal as something moved against it. I turned and found nothing, but another quiet sound brought my gaze up, and I saw him. Peter leaned over

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the rail of a fire escape two stories above me. I strained my eyes and noticed that he'd brought a finger to his lips to hush me, so I just nodded and gave him a vague gesture with a hand. He'd been taking advantage of my acute hearing all that time by whispering to me from a distance. No wonder I hadn't known where he was; he sounded as though he were literally everywhere. He glanced around and then jumped down, making me catch my breath as I watched him descend with an acrobat's grace and agility. In fact, I noticed how much more precise and sharp his movements were. He'd had some pretty good practice lately, I could tell. If we'd still been together, I'd have thrown caution to the winds and just jumped his bones right then and there, but life sucked, and there wasn't anything I could do about it. Lucky Wade. He landed with barely a sound and hurried over to the dumpster, sinking back into the shadows by scurrying to the side that was farthest from the alley's open end. I turned my powers off and sat on the dumpster lid, crossing my legs under me as though I were just hanging out somewhere comfortable, clean, and germ-free. Beneath my weight and the weight of the dumpster's thick plastic lid, I could hear the garbage being squeezed past their bags' capacity. In fact, some of them actually popped. "Are you here to take me back with you again?" I whispered, half-joking. "I wish. I can't, though. I'm not supposed to." Frankly, it was a little unnerving holding a conversation with someone I couldn't see. Peter moved here and there, and I'd catch a very, very faint glimpse of his figure in the dark, but his costume blended incredibly well, which surprised me. The last time I saw him, the patterns in his suit gave off a soft glow, but now nothing was there. "What--what happened to your suit?" I blurted out. "I can't see you in the dark." "It's evolving with me." "Huh?" I frowned. Then my thoughts drifted back to that one night weeks and weeks ago, when Mom, Liz, and I were watching the news, and I noticed something bizarre about Magnifiman's costume. "Holy crap. Are you serious? Does that mean you're also evolving in your powers?" "Yeah," Peter replied with a dull chuckle. "I'm stronger now, my skills are much, much finer and my speed's much faster. Same with Althea and Trent. If you see us--that is, when you see us again, you'll notice a big difference." I took note of his emphasis on "when" but kept quiet and waited. "What about Wade?" I asked, finally. I hated how shy I sounded and hoped that he didn't notice. "She came into her powers later than we did. It'll take her a little while longer before she--um-advances in her development." I stole a glance in the direction of the street. Around the corner where the alley and the street met stood the bank, and so far, no signs of life came from there. An occasional car chugged past, or an occasional

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pedestrian hurried through the street, but I saw nothing else. Man, what a bunch of doofuses those goons were. How long was it taking them to rob a single bank, and after hours, at that? Then again, I suppose I ought to be grateful for incompetence and the extra time it was buying me. "You're the good guy," I finally said, turning back to Peter or, rather, the shadows beside me. "You should be stopping the Trill's men." Peter chuckled again, and I felt something warm envelop my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I'm not supposed to." "So what's this now? A new plan of attack? Let the bad guys get away with crime and nab them that way?" He sighed. "You make it sound so sordid. Eric, everything's under control--well--except for me, anyway. I shouldn't be here. Trent's going to have my ass on a platter as usual. I just wanted to see if you were okay, so…" I shifted uncomfortably on my filthy perch. I knew what this was all about. At least I thought I did, and the moment felt way too awkward for me. "You know, even if you're here to take me back, I can't go. If I do, the Trill's going to come after my family. It's like--I made a deal with Satan, you know?" I felt his fingers tighten around my hand. "Eric--" "No," I cut in. Resolution strengthened, and Plan B surged through my mind. With that came a certain grim confidence. If I didn't feel superhuman before, I sure did then. If it weren't so dark in that alley, I'd have puffed out my chest like a rooster on 'roids to impress him. "Peter, whatever I do to set things right, I need to go about it alone. If anyone's planning to help me, there's not much that they can offer. I have to do the rest of it, myself. There's no other way." "Eric, don't be stupid," he hissed, an edge of panic in his voice. "Listen to me--" Harsh voices cut him off, and soon I heard running footsteps headed in our direction. The Trill's men were coming back. "Go," I whispered, and his hand pulled away from mine. "I'll cover you." I scrambled to my feet and jumped down. I didn't know when Peter retreated because I never heard a sound from behind me, but it didn't matter. I sauntered over the scampering little group of masked men, all of them panting while hauling small sacks that bulged with money. "Man, you guys are slow," I snorted. One of them--I didn't know how he managed it with him loaded with so much cash like his good-for-nothing buddies--raised a hand and gave me the finger.

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Chapter 13 "So when are you going to let me in on your schemes, anyway?" I asked over lunch. Several long, long days had passed since my transformation--or, rather, evolution. Maybe I should stop giving it such a fancy name since it turned out to be a total disaster in the end. I suppose the only good thing that came out of this was my being a hundred times less clueless about everything at that point. The Trill sighed and shook his head before shoveling some more pasta into his mouth. "Well, put yourself in my shoes," I prodded, emphasizing my exasperation with my fork by stabbing my meal with it. "I'm always left outside to be everyone's lookout. I don't know whom to expect, and I don't know what I'm really supposed to do other than cover everyone's slimy butts and offer myself up for the good guys' target practice." "And you do so with an incredible amount of complaint." I shrugged. "Can you blame me? Jeez!" "My dear Mr. Plath, you've just given me a thorough description of your role in this organization." I glared at him. "You mean watchdog and target practice." "Absolutely." "You know, you might feed and house me--" "And keep you educated, of course." I rolled my eyes. "But I still get the short end of the deal." He sighed again. He'd been doing a lot of that lately, I realized with sadistic pleasure. "Teenagers are so impatient," he said. "Hey, you're like my dad now," I cut in, nearly peeing in my pants in stratospheric delight when I saw him squirm in his chair. Man, what a bachelor he was. "We're supposed to have what's called 'open communication.' That's what my real dad used to say." "Oh, good grief," he muttered as he helped himself to more drink. He also drank more and more at the table, I'd noticed. "I'm not your father, young man. And even if I were your stepfather or whatnot, I'm still not your real father, and I go about things my way, not his. Do you understand?"

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"Except the homework bit," I said, still glaring. "Yes, except the homework bit. I've been meaning to ask you this, but how are you getting along with Dr. Dibbs?" Ah. Damn. I quickly rallied and pretended excessive sulkiness. "I can't stand him," I said, dropping my gaze and frowning at my food instead. Was that good enough? I sure hoped so. "He's creepy and gross, and it's like he's perving over me." "Indeed. Well, then, there's no hope for it. I'll have to replace him with someone else." Of course, there was also such a thing as overplaying one's hand. I shook my head. "No, that's okay. I'll bear with him. I mean--he knows his stuff, I guess." "But of course he does, you silly boy! He's the best I could find anywhere in the underworld!" "Charming. I'd hate to see the worst that's out there." I raised my gaze at the sound of a contented, yet very genteel, burp and saw my stepdad--gah!-dabbing his mouth with his napkin. "That attitude won't do, young man," he said, pushing his chair back. "It's no wonder you're doing poorly in Chemistry and Geometry." "But I've always sucked in those subjects! Just ask my family!" I had to stop myself. "No, wait. Never mind. Don't go anywhere near them." He shook his head and raised a finger in warning. I never realized how well he was beginning to take to his role as my bachelor stepdad. He could use some work, yeah, but I blamed his own father for screwing him up the way he did. Whatever it was his father did, anyway, other than genetically manipulate him and then drop him on his head as a baby. The Devil's Trill was forever doomed to be an inept single parent. "That's a poor excuse if I've ever heard one," he said, suddenly sounding authoritative. "No, no, no. You're spending one-on-one tutorials with Dr. Dibbs whether you want to or not. It's apparent you can't function well on your own. I'll talk to him the next time he comes by and give him permission to tutor you privately in the library. And, yes, we'll have to draw up a stricter schedule for you. We've been far too lenient up until now, but no more, young man. No more." I sulked, and, man, was I good! "Whatever. I don't care. Just--as long as he keeps his slimy hands to himself, I'll put up with him." Voice, posture, jutting lower lip--I had it down to an art form. Had Althea been there, she'd be rolling on the floor. Possibly videotaping me as well. "Well, I'm done. I'll see you at tea, Mr. Plath, and I expect you to be done with your homework by then." "What--where are you going?" The Trill had reached the dining-room door by then, and my question seemed to take him by surprise. He paused and turned. "Work, of course," he replied. "You've never been this concerned about what I do. Why the interest all of a sudden?"

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Shit. I thought I was being appropriately bratty. "I'm bored! What else can you expect from a sixteenyear-old who's been cooped up in this dump since day one? Look at my complexion!" "Don't be sassy. You know I'll call you when you're needed for something. In the meantime, work on your lessons. And no more complaints about school or Dr. Dibbs, do you hear me?" "Yes, sir." I sighed, turning back to glower at my pasta again. "Good." I listened to his footsteps as they faded off somewhere down in the tunnels. Every so often, I heard him talk to one of his Guarding Gorillas, as I now fondly called them, most likely telling them to keep a close eye on me and make sure that I didn't step out of my room. I made a face as I forced myself to finish my meal. "What a bizarre household," I muttered. Once I finished my pasta, I decided not to go for seconds and just chased everything down with lemonade. "Oh, damn it!" I sputtered, coughing. "What the hell?" The lemonade was sweet. Not only that--it was sweeter than its usual oversweetness. What was going on here? The Trill told me that he'd already spoken to the cook or whoever… I stared at my half-empty glass in shock. "Wait a second," I breathed, coughing more lightly this time. "The ring was baked inside a cookie, which means…" I paused, blinking, as realization dawned. "Someone's trying to help me with this stuff? Is that it?" That was the only thing I could think of. Freddie must be responsible for this, and no one else. He had access to the cookie batter, so he must've been able to slip something into my lemonade--somehow. What was the reason for the stuff, though? To turn me normal again? Was that why my powers were growing more and more unstable? Of course, the downside to that theory was that Freddie and the Sentries--if they were really responsible for what was happening to my drink--were purposefully putting my life on the line. Freddie himself said that I was in danger and that I needed to use my powers as little as possible. So what was that all about? I groaned and stared at the ceiling. "Damn it, why can't people just leave me alone? Haven't I had enough of this shit?" The half-naked figures cavorting above me said nothing, so I cleaned up with my napkin and stalked out of the dining room, determined to wrangle the truth out of Freddie the next time he showed up as Dr. Dibbs. "This is getting ridiculous," I grumbled as I walked back to my room. I didn't do my homework once I was safe inside. Hell no! I went online, naturally. Spent a very productive hour there, surfing and clicking on links like before, mentally kicking myself for not having the presence of mind when I last talked to Peter. I should've told him where I was being cocooned by the Trill. I should've told him my scheme of

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attracting Althea's attention online. I didn't, though. I let my weakness take over, like the real dumbass that I was. I wanted them to know where I was being hidden, so they could all work with me into gutting this place and shutting it down for good, even if it meant causing a cave-in--as long as I wasn't anywhere inside, thank you. Then, with Freddie and the Sentries hooking up with Magnifiman's gang, we could all work together to get at the Trill and this supervillain league he was hell-bent on forming. One small and very specific detail in Plan B, however, required that I acted alone. Payback, as they often said it, was a bitch.

That beeping sound… Goddamn it, did I forget to turn off my alarm again? I groaned as sleep fled--gradually and too slowly, it seemed. I turned my head and pressed my face against my pillow. Sure, maybe suffocating myself in the course of waking up would help quiet the stupid thing down. The beeping wouldn't stop, so I moved my arm, blindly feeling around my bed to find that clock. I groaned again, this time in siesta-robbed irritation, when I felt nothing but nice, soft sheets and the mattress. "Oh, man," I sighed as I raised my head and forced my eyes open. "Can't a guy get any sleep around here? Liz, did you screw around with my clock again? That's not funny, you know." I was finally on my hands and knees, and I crawled in the direction of that stupid sound. I could barely see--well, thanks to the fact that I had my eyes closed the whole time. The only thing worse than having to wake up way too early in the morning was to have one's afternoon nap rudely interrupted this way, and I knew that Liz was behind this. She'd done that a couple of times before to get back at me. Nope, no clock anywhere, I found. I'd stretched out an arm and felt around for my nightstand, which, apparently, had also vanished. "Chrissakes, Liz, did you move my stupid nightstand, too?" I called out, finally. The beeping continued. I sat up on the bed and literally rubbed sleep out of my eyes with my knuckles. Then little by little, reality asserted itself. No, I wasn't in my old attic room. No, Liz was nowhere within fifty feet of my bed. I looked around, my irritation now rising to downright shitty levels as the beeping continued. "Shut up!" I bellowed. It didn't. Cursing, I scrambled out of bed and walked around my room, turning things over and moving furniture and dropping to my hands and knees as I poked around odd corners and so on. Eventually I gave up and scrambled to my feet, throwing my hands up while cursing up a storm. Scratching my head, I

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turned around and glanced at the computer. You big dill weed. Don't you know the sound of your own computer? The letters flashed in white across a black screen. I stood there, my jaw hanging. "Althea?" I gasped once I found my voice. Hey, hot pants. How're you doing?

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Chapter 14 Nothing but endless beeping--of the furious, freaked out, WTF kind--filled my senses for the next moment, and Heaven knew how long that moment stretched itself out. "I love you, I love you, I love you, my hot, ass-kicking not-really-girlfriend!" I cried, hugging the computer monitor as it beeped hysterically. I guess had Althea the ability to speak through the computer, she'd be cussing me out like a sailor, and I interpreted her stream of beeping to be all sorts of imaginative, filthy words aimed at me. I let the computer monitor go eventually. My arms were a little sore from all the weird angles they were forced to embrace. When I stepped back, I was teary-eyed and not at all ashamed, though I still didn't have access to facial tissue so I had to turn away from the computer and wipe my face with my shirt. Dude, you almost decapitated me, Althea said. Don't ever do that again, especially after all the trouble I went through to track you down. "I'm sorry," I sniffled, immediately plopping myself down on the chair. "I've been leaving a trail for you to pick up, but I haven't heard from you for a long time, so I thought--God, I thought I was just fooling myself with such a stupid idea. Now…I never thought that I'd be chatting with you like this, while in prison." I grinned. "You look great." Shut up. I chuckled. It was fantastic, being told off like this. "So--I guess--I guess you, Peter, and everyone else will be able to help me zap this place into dust, now that you know where I am." Lemme think about that… "So are you, like, more powerful now than before?" How'd you know that? I blushed, but it was too late to cover up. Not that it mattered, really, since Althea couldn't see me. "I just know," I stammered.

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Peter told you, didn't he? Well, that confirms a few suspicions of mine. "Like what?" Like his whereabouts last night, when we were all supposed to be assembled at the police station, monitoring the Trill's men. Peter wasn't with us, and he showed up after the heist at the Pyramid Bank. "Hey, don't tell anyone," I said. "He said that he just wanted to see if I was okay. He didn't mean to screw up your vigil--or whatever it is you guys call it. Please, Althea? I honestly thought that Magnifiman's gang would show up to beat the shit out of me, not Peter alone." Yeah, well--it wasn't cool, no matter how you look at it. He could've endangered you, and he could've screwed up our plans. "Plans? You mean those plans that let the Trill get away with a crime? Some plans they were!" Jeez, Eric, what happened last night was approved by the mayor and the bank management. We knew where the Trill was going to strike next, and we knew why. I frowned. "How'd you find out all that?" Lucy told us. "Lucy!" Yeah, a new superhero. Check this out--she's actually a human chameleon. Isn't that kickass? She showed up at the police station a couple of days ago with information about the Trill's operations, and she told us who she was, but she never SHOWED us what she really looked like. She couldn't stay too long, either, because she hadn't been able to master her powers of transformation yet, and so far, she could only manage around--oh--half an hour in a mask. I shook my head, relieved and delighted. "Go Freddie," I breathed. "Looks like he's improved on his mask time. Last time we talked, he said he was working his way up from fifteen minutes to twenty. He's done way better than that, I guess." Lucy's really a 'he'? I leered at the screen. "Yeah, and Freddie's hot, too. Too bad he's straight. Good thing is that he's single. Ahem." Althea was blank for a bit. I know what you're thinking in that horny brain of yours, Plath. Don't even go there, hunk or no hunk. "Oh, come on, girl--I've always wanted to play matchmaker for you!" Kiss my cyber ass. I won't let my love life get taken over by someone else. I'll betcha you're going to do that just to get back at me for liking Peter. "No, I'm not. Besides," I shrugged when I paused, "Peter's done with me." Eric, Peter isn't Wade's boyfriend. He's, like, gay, remember? "I know, and I don't give a damn. He broke up with me. He wouldn't want to have anything to do with

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me, Althea. Sure, he'd piss off Trent just to see if I'm okay, but don't you think that's got everything to do with us being friends for so long? I'd do the same thing if I were in his place." As they say, denial is a long and deep river in Egypt. "Whatever. You can think what you want about Peter and me. I don't care anymore. It's over, and whatever it is we'll have from now on has everything to do with crime-fighting, and that's it." I never thought that gay boys would be so dramatic about romance. And sooooo in denial. You wouldn't recognize common sense if it came up to you, bit you in the ass, and called you Sally. "I like that. Can I use that line? I promise I'll credit you." Ask my uncle Moses via Ouija board. He was the one who used to say stuff like that when he was alive. Man, is this what being in love does to you? If it is, count me out. I'll angst over a hot gay boy, but that's it. Nuh-uh. No more. "Hey, wait 'til you find yourself in the same situation, Horace." I sighed. "So, seeing as how we can't really do much at the moment but chat as though things between us haven't changed like this--how about a status report? How're things from the good guys end of this crazy world?" Same old, same old. The Shadow Puppet and the Deathtrap Debutantes are constantly being kicked around by the Trill. I guess you know that already. "Yeah, he's been coming after them and screwing up their plans. Freddie told me that he's forcing them to align themselves with him and acknowledge him for their leader. I wonder how successful he'll be. I mean, I've spoken with the Puppet and the Debutantes, and they hate the idea of forming a gang." The Trill's a sly dog. He's hell-bent on being Public Enemy Number One around here… "Which doesn't really say much for his ambitions," I snorted. "I mean, come on--Vintage City? Who'd want to be top dog in this dump?" Yeah, well, there's no accounting for taste, Eric. Now that you mentioned it, it's almost sad that we--us genetic babies, anyway--that we're kind of stuck here. This is our playground, and we can't really go past the borders of Vintage City. "You mean, like, you've been hardwired into a limited existence?" Being a superhero OR a supervillain is living a limited existence, you know. We do certain things because we can't help ourselves. We have a tendency toward speed or superstrength or fire power because we're made to do those things, whether we like it or not. "Sure, but you guys are way better than average people can ever be," I countered. That's total bull in many ways, and you know it. You've been living with something like what we have for the past few weeks, haven't you? How does it feel, eh? I nodded, my spirits deflating. "Yeah, I know. I know. You're right as always." I dropped my gaze and rested them on my hands as I lost myself in thought for a moment. My hands looked like ordinary hands.

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Pale and a bit on the bony side, they'd always been those parts of my body that I took for granted. They could draw and sculpt and paint and write angst-ridden haiku in my long-ignored journal. By then they'd turned into instruments of destruction, despite the fact that the destruction mentioned here was on its way to self-destruction of some form. "Be careful what you wish for," I murmured, my words dripping with regret and an unhealthy dose of self-dislike. I heard a beep and glanced up. What was that? "Oh…" I sighed, shrugging lamely. "Just thinking out loud. I wished for this, you know--this power. Like, I wanted desperately to be on your level--and Peter's." What're you talking about? You were fine the way you were! What made you think that we wanted you to be like us? "Well, yeah, I know that now, seeing how all this turned out. It just sucked being the odd man out all the time, Althea. I mean, I don't have a lot of friends. Man, all I have are you and Peter, really, and even then, I was still the outsider." I took a deep breath. "Then Wade showed up, and I knew there wasn't any room for me, especially when Peter started to spend more time with her and shit." He was helping her, Eric, the way you both helped me out when I came into my powers. "I know, he was, and he told me that every time. God, why do you think he broke up with me? It's because I was driving him nuts over Wade! I know that now, and I accept it. It was my fault." Man, you two have a lot to talk about the next time you get together. "If we get together," I cut in. "I might die in the process of destroying the Trill." Hmm. I wouldn't be so quick about that death thing, dude. I smirked at the screen. "What, are you saying that you know something I don't?" No, not really, but I have more faith in you than you've ever had in yourself. "Story of my life," I laughed ruefully. "So what's in store for the good guys now? You traced me back here, and I'm sure everyone on your side knows where to find me and how to go about obliterating this place." You know us too well, but I'm not saying. I mean, damn, we've been chatting for the past, what, twenty minutes or something? I haven't been offline long enough to help brainstorm a rescue plan. "You haven't been offline at all, you mean." Don't be a smartass, smartass. I snickered and then glanced over my shoulder to scope out my bedroom for signs of espionage--or something like that. So far, so good. No suspicious items suddenly appearing to hide hidden cameras or whatnot. The door remained locked. Althea and I were safe. I turned back to face the screen. "Okay, I guess it's best to stop now," I said, dropping my voice again. "I can't risk alerting anyone around here about you."

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Got it. I'm glad that I found you, Eric. I'll report everything later, when the group meets. Be careful, okay? I mean, the Trill might not know that we've connected like this, but I don't trust him at all. "Hell, who does?" I'm worried he'll find out somehow, and you'll be up the creek. "You shouldn't. I'm pretty much ready for anything he'll throw my way." Don't be too cocky now. It's hard to guess what he might do to you. I waved her off with an impatient huff. "He's already screwed me over. Anything else he decides to do with me won't matter at this point." Still, though--be careful, Eric. We'll help you bust out of that place soon. "Okay. Thanks, Althea. It's--it's kind of bizarre talking to you like this, knowing how dangerous my situation is, but I needed it." I paused to smile at the computer screen, hoping to find some vestige of humanity in it but seeing nothing but a black background that was broken up by several lines of white text. "I wanted something--normal. Oh, God…" I paused again, this time to laugh, running a tired hand through my hair. "Normal--what a word. I wish I could just fall asleep and then wake up to find everything the way it was before you guys came into your powers." Eric, what do you think Peter and I have been feeling the past several weeks? I nodded, painfully moved. "See you later, Althea." Yep--later. I was about to stand up to give the computer monitor another hug when the screen flashed a bright white, nearly sending me falling backward, completely blinded. But the intensity proved to be gentler than I first thought, and I merely blinked away the initial burst. From the suddenly white screen, something pushed out. A hand. It was more of a slightly fuzzy outline of a hand, which consisted largely of countless tiny pulses of electricity. Here and there, little bursts of charged light and color--or whatever defined the movements or information in a computer's hard drive-crackled and sparked. The hand reached out for me, stretching itself so that fingers emerged first, then the palm, then the wrist, then the lower arm. I sat, frozen in amazement, my eyes widening as the hand-Althea's hand, no doubt--moved closer until the fingers brushed against my face, giving my left cheek a gentle pinch that felt cold against my skin. Then the hand withdrew, pulling back until it vanished in the white screen. There was another flash, and the screen turned black and lifeless.

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Chapter 15 Living in a tunnel had its drawbacks. I'd long lost track of time since my evolution --what a joke! The Trill's gang, including me, was back in the thick of things at one corner of Vintage City. This was the scheme behind our newest adventure: hustle on down to the Bubble and Bubble Electric Company, located near the northeastern border. Pounce on the Deathtrap Debutantes, who were both plotting something shockingly nefarious involving the city's power supply--in this case, shutting down electricity and throwing the entire place in a state of blackout hysteria, while the girls ripped through emporiums and high-end boutiques to rob them of money and designer stuff. Those girls really needed to work a little more on their ambitions, frankly. Take over the place. Plant our own--metaphorical--victory flag atop the rubble once everything was done. Then, maybe, the girls would finally throw in the towel and align themselves with the Trill. Of course, it was expected that the good guys would come along and kick everyone's butts, but--hey, look at this!--the Trill had me to keep them at bay. "Ohmigawd, it's that--that poor boy again! Wasn't he involved with Calais before? Oh no! Lovers on opposite sides of the law! It's Romeo and Juliet at work! Only gay!" Seriously, being a supervillain? The novelty wore off pretty quickly. One significant lesson I was learning then was that the glamour of being superhuman was short-lived. After a while, life became, well, predictable. And boring as Hell. I perched myself on a window ledge, idly munching an apple, with nothing but a deserted and rundown tenement building serving for my couch. Below me, about three stories down, quite a bit of action raged. I watched the fight between the Debutantes and the Trill's goons, who outnumbered the girls ten to one. The masked guys were clearly juiced with that Noxious Nocturne. They were super-strong, but at the same time, they weren't any better than either Jamie or Jessie, who had the advantage of range powers and could strike from a distance. The Trill's thugs could only make use of objects within reach that they could

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pick up and throw at the Debutantes with deadly precision. I tried to keep score but eventually grew so bored out of my wits that I started to zone out a bit, at times responding to shouts from the Trill's men for backup. "Hey, kid!" one masked guy bellowed after being thrown against a pile of crates. Jessie's wind whips were cool to watch. "What're you doing? Give us a hand here!" "Dude, I'm not getting paid for this crap," I yelled back, punctuating my defiance with one final bite of my apple before flinging the remnants away. "You're getting free meals and housing, you stupid brat! Now haul ass!" "I don't think so. Besides, you're doing pretty well on your own," I said, pointing at one of the girls in action. Jamie tried to leap out of the way of a flying barrel that one of the super-enhanced guys threw at her, but she did it too late. It was a marvel to see, with this glamorous supermodel-wannabe supervillain getting slammed by a flying barrel, which carried her several feet across a wide open space--really, I should have brought a camera and taken pictures of the way Jamie's long arms and legs wrapped around that barrel so that she looked like a silver squid in major trouble--and then crashed her against a wall. "Check that out!" The guy I was talking to snarled, pulled out a revolver from his jacket, and fired a few rounds at me. I rolled my eyes and merely held out a hand, blasting the bullets with a small energy cloud, which easily ate them up. "You really need to chill," I said. "See? Now you just wasted some precious ammunition." He tried to shoot at me again and found that he'd just emptied his gun. I shrugged. "Told you so." "Fucking punk!" he yelled, throwing his weapon at me. Too bad for him, but even without my defensive powers, he still wasn't able to take me down. The revolver flew up a few feet and then got dragged back down to earth. Gravity was a very good thing. Then again, it could also be because the splitsecond when he launched his gun at me, he got blasted by one of Jessie's wind blades--a stray one, actually--and flew off, flailing, to crash against a second-floor window. "Oops." Rebellion. Man, I loved it. I guess that moment would be the first phase of my Payback Scheme. Watch the Trill's thugs get pummeled by a couple of girls who were most likely half their age and numerically outnumbered, at that. As a capper, watch that unfold from the window of an abandoned old apartment, snacking on an apple. Things weren't as bad as I used to believe. No, not after my talks with Freddie and Althea, and not after I'd seen for myself the inner-workings of a supervillain like the Trill. I might not be on par with him

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or with any of the other heroes and villains, but I sure wasn't powerless against the bad guys, either. Was this what people called an epiphany? If it was, it sure felt great. "Hey! Pretty boy! Like, whose side are you on?" someone called out, and I saw Jamie crouching across the way on a window ledge, the glass having been broken after she was thrown against it. "Not sure," I returned, feeling way more smug than I probably should have. "I guess it depends on who's winning. Too bad for you guys, no one is. Looks like you and the Trill met your match, huh?" "Screw you! There are only, like, two of us against twenty of them!" Alerted by a few gunshots, Jamie quickly turned and surrounded herself with a thick electric field. The bullets--I didn't have a clue as to how many were fired at her--hit the barrier in an explosion of bright sparks that fell onto the battling crowd below in a shower of light and color. "Awesome!" I yelled, clapping. "Your powers rock!" "Of course they do! Not like yours!" She crinkled her nose at me before leaping down in a crackling ball of electricity. She landed in the middle of a group of the Trill's goons, effectively mowing them all down with long, thin ribbons of charged currents that shot out of her body the moment her high-heeled feet made contact with the slippery asphalt. I watched in growing fascination as bodies surrounding her fell back, limbs jerking spasmodically as electricity tore through them. Like jagged chains, these currents seemed to join separate bodies as they entered and exited through feet or hands or heads. Jamie's powers--and Jessie's, I was sure--weren't deadly, I found. They were strong enough to knock people down and leave them stunned for a few moments, but the Trill's thugs eventually dragged themselves back onto their feet. Maybe it had something to do with the Noxious Nocturne's effects, especially if the program had just been tweaked and the bugs removed. At any rate, whatever the reason, the masked goons reminded me of the Puppet's killer dolls in the way they kept coming back to life for a fresh wave of attacks. One other thing I remembered about the Noxious Nocturne was that the effects didn't last very long. The guys had been at it for nearly half an hour now, with no one showing signs of fatigue. The Debutantes themselves seemed to feed off the energy of the battle, and the girls even exchanged high fives every once in a while. The whole thing looked like a video game--only in real life. It was bizarre. I realized that the good guys hadn't shown up yet. I glanced around me, taking in the familiar dingy sights of Vintage City in the evening. I strained my ears despite the noise below and the knowledge that my hearing, along with my superpowers, was going back to normal. Nothing caught my attention anywhere. "Where are those guys?" I muttered, frowning in surprise. "I'm sure they know what's going on." I looked below me and scanned the general area. Nope, no signs of cops anywhere, either.

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"Is--is this a setup? Are they just letting these guys duke it out among themselves or something?" I breathed. It sure seemed like it, and it definitely made sense. Why soil their hands, when the villains could do just as good a job pounding each other to dust? Might as well save themselves the trouble, right? My thoughts drifted back to what Peter said once upon a time regarding the Trill and the Puppet: If the two of them would go after each other, that'd be a relief. That's less work for me and Trent. I grinned when I turned my attention back to the battle. This was turning out to be much better than I thought. Something moved in the shadows that lined the area's periphery. I held my breath and looked, narrowing my eyes. There it was again--movement. Jerky, rhythmic movement in the darkness, and little by little, faint figures emerged from the gloom. I recognized them immediately--sharp angles, hats, and, once their forms came out into the light, tommy guns in their wooden and ball-jointed hands. The Shadow Puppet's men had arrived. Several of them were present. I couldn't gauge the number since most of them remained buried in the shadows, but there was a pretty good-sized contingent there. "Whoa. What the…" The first few dolls that appeared stopped, then raised their weapons and aimed. "Holy cow!" I gasped, powering up. They fired at the group--a steady stream of those creepy bullets they were known to use--and the recent noise of battle was drowned out by a series of popping sounds. I didn't know why I did it, seeing as how they were my enemies, but I quickly blasted the Trill's men with a protective energy cloak. It came a little too late, for a few of them went down, and then struggled back to their feet, which only confirmed my suspicions of their being completely under the effects of the Noxious Nocturne. The cloak helped absorb most of the bullets, or at least reduced their damage. I saw, more and more, how weak my energy blasts had become, and I was already in full battle mode. The Trill's men, realizing that they were being attacked from all sides now, divided their attention and threw themselves into an even more desperate fight. "Aha! Suck it up, you bastards!" Jamie crowed, adding more blasts of electricity to the ongoing assault on the Trill's men. Whatever the Trill was trying to achieve, it appeared as though things had backfired on him. The Puppet and the Debutantes aligned themselves, yes, but they joined forces with each other against the Devil's Trill. "What on Earth are you doing, boy?" a voice hissed from nearby. I gave a start and turned. Hovering above me and off to my side was the Trill himself, and he looked-different. Strange. He still wore his usual costume, with the cloak and hood, the spandex bodysuit, the

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mask, but it projected something else against the night sky. He seemed to glow a little. I saw a faint pulsing aura around his figure--a soft, throbbing outline of red that made me nervous. I sensed a higher threat of danger from him, just from that vague glow. He also appeared to have grown or bulked up somehow. Head, torso, limbs--his entire body appeared to have expanded to unnatural proportions. He simply looked like a floating giant, all a mass of tight muscles and simmering strength that didn't need much to be unleashed. I gathered myself and swallowed, faking my usual attitude around him. "They don't need my help," I replied. My voice shook a little, and I hoped that he didn't notice anything. "Can't you tell how well the guys are doing? They're holding their own tonight." He said nothing, but I saw him clench his fists. "What do you expect me to do?" I prodded. "My powers are weaker now. I can only manage to cloak them a little. It helped, but I know I can't do any better than that." His body tensed up, and I braced myself. "Back me up as well as you can," he finally said. Without waiting for a response from me, the Trill flew down, and like a human--or superhuman--bowling ball, he plowed through the advancing group of wooden dolls. Several flew up in the air, writhing, and some continued to shoot even as they were knocked about like that. The rest crumpled to the ground, but they scrambled to their feet and continued their attack. The Trill's men appeared to be weakening, finally. They fought against the Puppet's dolls and the Debutantes, but their blows were clearly less and less effective. Some tried to throw more barrels or crates at the girls, and they couldn't do it. Even with their boss in their midst, the thugs faded pretty quickly. I only wished I'd known how long it took for their powers to fade. The Debutantes appeared to be torn between triumph at the sight of their enemies' fatigue and dismay at the presence of the Trill. Jessie launched herself with a full-throated cry of rage, blasting the Trill with round after round of wind blades. They seemed small and quicker, which reminded me of ninja throwing weapons. He knocked the blades away with his arms, and, catching Jessie by an ankle as she tried to fly past him, swung her above his head and threw her toward her sister. The girls collided in an explosion of wind and electricity and shrill cries, their figures tumbling in the air for several feet before both crashed against a massive window and vanished beyond. The Trill seemed to grow some more, and I watched, horrified, as his body literally expanded itself while he threw his head back, howling at the moon, his fists raised and clenched. "Oh, my God," I gasped as I scrambled to my feet, balancing precariously on the window ledge and not daring to take my eyes off the Trill. He seemed to be morphing right before me, growing more

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massive, more distorted in proportion, and more powerful. He reminded me of those werewolves in movies, changing from their human to their animal forms, their silhouettes set against a full moon as they howled their hunger. The Trill turned his attention back to the Puppet's dolls, taking two at a time. Holding each by the head, his large hands practically dwarfing their wooden skulls, he once again yelled and crushed his enemies with a tight curling of his fingers. Two by two, the mannequins advanced and attacked, and two by two, they were destroyed, their heads crumpling in the Trill's hold or getting torn off their shoulders, their bodies flung away in quivering piles of wood. I took advantage of the moment that he had his back turned to me, and I leaped backward and into the dark, abandoned apartment, tumbling and rolling on the debris-littered floor. There was no time to think. I stumbled to my feet and ran, blindly throwing my hands out and hoping that the door was somewhere close. I needed to lose myself in the maze of empty apartments in that building and escape through one of their windows before the Trill could get his hands on me. Plan B? Screw it. There was no way. The Trill had evolved, just like Magnifiman and Peter and Althea. He was a hundred times stronger now--and thirstier for mayhem. It felt like an eternity, but I found the door in the darkness and flung it open. Still running and stumbling--and a little blindly now that my vision had weakened along with my powers--I threw myself against another door to a random apartment down the hall. I tripped over something and tumbled inside. Picking myself up, I searched around for a window to escape through and spotted one near the back--a filthy, broken thing that moonlight could barely pierce. I hurried toward it, panting. A sudden explosion tore through the darkness. Something had blown up the wall--or the front door of the apartment, I couldn't say--and I was thrown down by the blast. The dark world flew in wild circles before my eyes, and I had to pinch them shut when dizziness came over me. I rolled over the floor, sliding as I did, my body a mess of pain. Run, you idiot! Run! I tried to get back on my feet despite my dizziness, and I could only stagger a couple of paces before pitching forward again, my balance completely gone. When I hit the floor, something was thrown on top of me. A cloth--like a blanket, it covered me from head to foot. Then a weight pressed down, holding me fast against the floor. I kicked and bucked, but I couldn't free myself. I was also suffocating under the cover and the pressure, and I blinked my eyes open only to see nothing but thicker darkness as I gasped for breath. "Your services, young Mr. Plath, are no longer needed," that guitar twang voice hissed against my

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neck. I could feel the Trill's hot breath penetrating the cloth. "I'd reward you for your efforts, of course, but I don't take betrayal very lightly." He managed to snake one of his hands under the cloth until his massive hand found my face. Before I could turn my head, he had his palm and fingers firmly pressed against my eyes, nose, and mouth. I struggled all the more when I felt something cold tickle my face. "Now, now, be a good boy," he cooed. "This won't hurt a bit, I assure you. You might be useless in battle now, but you're still invaluable to me in other ways. Now, sleep." I tried not to breathe, but my lungs were screaming, and I was forced to take in that cold, slightly sweet gas that he was forcing on me. I coughed a few times, my cries muffled against his hand, and then fell unconscious.

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Chapter 16 When I came to, my fuzzy brain immediately clamped itself around the idea that I was going to open my eyes to a faux Venetian fresco that involved half-naked, cavorting people with no gay boys anywhere. "Story of my life," I whispered as I blinked my eyes open. "Oh." No, I wasn't staring at a fresco--just the barrel of a gun. My bad. I blinked several more times until the web of sleep completely fell off me. As full consciousness gradually caught up, I realized that I was lying down on something hard and fairly good-sized, like a table or a slab. I also couldn't move, and when I tried to figure out where my limbs were, I felt resistance against my wrists and ankles. I turned my head to one side and saw that my arm was stretched out, my wrist anchored down to the table with a rusty but heavy metal cuff. I tested one leg, and judging from the quiet clicking sound of metal against wood, it was safe to say that my feet were secured the same way. I sighed, cursing my luck. When did I not curse it, anyway? I looked back up at the ceiling above me, pointedly ignoring the gun barrel that was aimed at my face. "Great," I muttered. "What if I need to go take a leak?" The weapon vanished, and a masked face appeared, smirking. "Then you piss in your pants, Einstein," he said and then laughed as he straightened up. Thank Heaven the gun didn't show up again. "Where am I?" I asked. "The boss' hideout, of course. You're dead meat." "Thanks. Nice to meet you, too." "Yeah, well, you asked for it, kid. Can't stand poseurs like you, pretending like you're something you ain't." I turned to him in time to catch him averting his face and spitting. Very classy guy, he was. Grossed out, I made a face at him when he looked back at me. "What? I had phlegm in my throat!" "I'm sure there's a toilet somewhere in this dump. Besides, you can't blame me for ending up like this.

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Who fucked with my head, huh? Your precious boss, that's who! And what for? So he could have a sidekick? A shield against the good guys?" I paused and smirked. "Or did he need someone to back up your sorry butts? I mean--even juiced up with the Noxious Nocturne, you guys aren't exactly Batman, you know." I nearly laughed at the sight of his nostrils flaring up. I used to think that "flaring nostrils" was something that writers worked into their stories for melodramatic effect until that moment. Man, it was fabulous watching that guy's nose open up as though he were about to vacuum a giant anthill. "I mean, come on. Ten of you for each of the Debutantes? And you couldn't even get an edge over the girls? That's pathetic!" He leaned over, his face turning red and the veins in his neck standing out in stark relief--yet another rage-connected image that I used to think was purely fictional. He clamped a hand against my mouth, and I thanked Heaven that he didn't shut me up by shoving the barrel of his gun between my teeth. Then again, it was because he had it pressed against my right temple. "When I take my hand away, you'd better be quiet. You hear me?" I nodded. He took his hand off and moved away. Silence fell on the room--or, rather, the warehouse. I looked around me, wide-eyed and much more aware now of my surroundings. Yes, we were in a warehouse. Well-lit with dozens of old fluorescent lights, some of which flickered weakly, with wooden crates stacked up to crazy heights here and there. High windows peered down at me, breaking up the dull monotony of wood walls and beams and thin metal sheeting. "You talk too much, dude." I gave a start and looked around. Well, as "around" as I could go anyway, considering my situation. I saw nothing but warehouse junk to my left, where I'd been concentrating my attention for the most part. When I turned to my right, I saw that Mr. Congeniality had gone, and several feet away was another wooden table like the one I was lying on. Someone was shackled to it. "What the--" "Hey," Freddie said with a rueful little grin. Then he yawned. "Fancy seeing you here." I frowned. "They got you, too? How?" "He got a little too--oh--enthusiastic about his masking abilities, you see," a new voice cut in, which was followed by a steady crunch of debris as someone walked closer. Then between the two tables, the Devil's Trill appeared. He'd kept his newly-morphed figure, which sent a shiver up my spine. If he creeped me out in the darkness outside, against the old fluorescent lights of the warehouse, he downright frightened me at that point. I couldn't understand how he'd managed to change all of a sudden. He was seriously

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disproportionately large, like a gorilla on 'roids. I didn't know if he'd just evolved in his powers the same way that Magnifiman and everyone else had, but there was something not quite right about his transformation. I couldn't place my finger on it, but there was a nagging little voice in the back of my mind that kept telling me that this was all wrong. Totally abnormal. Considering how abnormal he was to begin with, this was saying something. I tried not to shrink back from his hulking figure as it neared my table. The Trill stopped beside me and gazed down as though lost in momentary thought. Then he looked over his shoulder to where Freddie lay and sighed. "Teenagers," he presently said. "They simply don't know when to shut up--or stop." "What happened?" I stammered, fixing my gaze on one of his massive hands, which he rested against my arm. The weight was incredible. He could literally tear my limb off or crush it to a bloody pulp if he wanted. "Oh, just like the Puppet and the Debutantes, our dear young chameleon here just doesn't know when to quit. Such is the way with youth, alas." "Yeah, well--can't blame me for being new at this superhero shit," Freddie grunted. I couldn't even see him. The Trill's gargantuan form was in the way. "He was caught transforming from one of my men into another one of my men outside this warehouse. From Mr. Bowles to Mr. Franks, who was, unfortunately for this morphing youth, communicating with me via phone from the subway tunnels. A double whammy, as they say, Mr. Plath, caught in the act of transforming, and caught in the act of transforming into someone I was talking to." The Trill paused and smiled. "I need a nap," Freddie piped up, yawning loudly. "Man, this is seriously messed up." "You should've thought about that first before diving in the way you did, sir. Why can't teenagers slow down and use their brains?" I glared at him. "Maybe because some psychopaths have already tampered with their brains. Just sayin'." "And as for you, my failed protégé, I certainly had high hopes." I snorted and rolled my eyes, my initial fear of his size dissipating gradually. "I guess you're having a pretty sour taste of what motivated your parents into screwing around with your genes, huh?" I paused for a moment. Then, craning my neck a little, I called out to Freddie, "Sorry! No offense meant!" "None taken, dude," he returned. The Trill chuckled, and he leaned over my table, resting his weight on his hands as he held me down by his stare. Even with his mask on, I could feel it. "So charming," he purred. "My mistake where you're concerned, sir, was in failing to detach you from

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your emotions, as you already know. The Noxious Nocturne--the program I used on you--was specifically designed with you in mind." I stared at him. "Me?" "Yes, dear boy. I know about your doubts. Your feelings of inadequacies around your friends and especially Calais. Insecurities were the program's source of power, you see…" "Calais?" Freddie blurted out, his tone incredulous. "What--you mean you're going out with Calais?" "Was!" I said, my face heating up in embarrassment. "Not anymore!" "Wow. No, that's cool, really. I'm not against that. I mean, you're free to date whomever you want, man. It's just that--I didn't know that Calais is gay." He paused. "Dude…" I rolled my eyes. "We broke up. Now can we drop it?" "Okay, okay." The Trill shook his head. "As I was saying, Mr. Plath," he continued in a louder volume, "I knew about your insecurities. It's quite common sense, don't you think? In a love affair that isn't equal, the lesser of the pair will suffer the pangs of jealousy and uselessness." I swallowed but didn't say a word. He was right, of course. The bastard. What Brenda told me before about insecurities and how the manipulation I suffered in the Trill's hands fed off those--it all made sense now. I wanted desperately to kick the Trill's ass, even if it meant getting blasted into oblivion in the process, but I also wanted to kick my own ass for letting my weakness take over. I made Peter break up with me because of it. Then I gave the Trill better leverage in his "ownership" of me. I understood everything now. When the Trill said that all my ideals of morality would go out the window once I was faced with Magnifiman and especially Calais, I realized what he meant. Seeing Calais--Peter--and more so when he showed up in Wade's company was enough to trigger my insecurities again, which turned me into a killing machine of some kind. No wonder I couldn't control myself when the moment came. I didn't even know if my powers subjected me to visual hallucinations, just like that night at the private auction. I remembered catching sight of Peter holding Wade's hand when they flew into the hall. It was a fleeting moment, so much so that it could easily have been nothing more than a figment of my imagination, but, God, the effects were potent. "I can see the wheels turning in your head," the Trill laughed, breaking up my thoughts. "It's too late, though. My protégé proved to be a failed experiment." "Yeah," I snarled. "I guess you didn't expect me to, you know, accept the fact that I'm nothing special. I'm not one of the good guys, and I'm sure as hell not one of you psychos. That was a major relief, let me tell you, when reality sank in, and I learned to be okay with it." He smirked beneath his mask. "Which means that you're satisfied with mediocrity. How sad."

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"Hey, listen--being an ordinary guy isn't mediocre. I've got something to give, you know, even if it doesn't involve superhuman powers." The Trill waved a big hand. "Please, spare me the After School Special lecture." I shrugged despite my shackled state. "I frankly don't give a damn what you think." "No, you never did, Mr. Plath, which makes you an even greater disappointment. I had to go back to my labs and continue work on the Noxious Nocturne…" "Which you started to use on your own men," I cut in. "Boy, you're a real piece of work, you know that?" "My men, sir, allowed themselves to play the role of guinea pigs. They'll do anything for me, you see. I saved them from life in the gutters. They're fed and clothed and properly trained in offense and defense. In brief, young man, these men owe me." "You're sick," I hissed, which only drew a round of hearty laughter from him. "And I'm sure what you saw to be the effects in them were better than what you saw in me." "But of course! With a little more tweaking, I managed to completely eradicate risks in the Nocturne's program. The downside to experimenting on ordinary folks like you and my men is that the Nocturne's effects don't last very long, and in your case, your powers deteriorated rather quickly. Such is the way with emotions, alas." "Yeah? Then you should've screwed with an adult, not a teenager," I snapped. "I've heard that argument before--" "That was me," Freddie cut in. He actually sounded triumphant at one-upping the Trill as a fake Mr. Bowles. The Trill shook his head again, a tired little smile curving his thin, white mouth. "Yes, Mr. Jameson, I'm quite aware that you fooled me there--even as Dr. Dibbs." "Sucks to be you, man." "Freddie, shut up!" I said. "You want to be killed or something?" "If I get a chance to rub salt into his wounds, I don't mind." "Oh, great," I grumbled. "The weakening effects of emotions play only half the part in your powers' deterioration," the Trill continued. "Your energy abilities, planted while you were unconscious the first time around via injection-" I gave a small start. "I thought you said you never poked a needle in me!" He grinned and leaned closer. "I lied, Mr. Plath." A burst of quiet laughter escaped his throat when I fought against the restraints, desperate to get my hands on him. "Now, now, kid, calm down. The game's over as far as you're concerned. Your weakened energy abilities were supplemented through an oral

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formula, which proved to be another failure. You were injected when I saved you from self-destructing that day you turned the Zippy Art Storage into a crude jail for my men and the Puppet's dolls, but your powers had already progressed so far in their decaying process that even an injection wasn't going to help you." "Oral formula?" I echoed, not liking where this was going--not that I liked any of the proceedings, really, but this was leaving a sick feeling in my stomach. "Your overly-sweet lemonade, young man." I turned my face away and tried to fix my gaze elsewhere. My hatred for him had spiraled well beyond measuring. I wanted to beat the crap out of him twice over. If I looked back at him, I was sure I'd throw up. Then again, that might not be a bad idea, as long as I aimed well. "As a supervillain's sidekick, you were a disappointment, I'm afraid. I suppose I'll have swallow such a bitter pill. Then again, I don't really need an assistant. My men come in handy for important, oh, errands, in a manner of speaking, but I'm quite satisfied with the fact that I work independently and will flourish alone." I stared at the stacked crates and so on, my mind whirling after a certain elusive idea, one that had just been planted by something the Trill said. Or maybe didn't say. Eventually I caught up with it, and more things began to fall into place. My breath caught in my throat, and my eyes widened. I immediately turned to look back at him, my eyes taking in every unnatural feature of his. It all made sense--his evolution and its abnormal quality. "Holy shit," I breathed. "You--you used the Noxious Nocturne on yourself, didn't you?" "Bingo," he whispered. "You're smarter than I thought, Mr. Plath." I couldn't form words at the moment as my mind tried to wrap itself around the possibilities. He watched me in amused silence for a moment before chuckling softly. "Yes, you understand everything now. Ordinary humans have severe limitations, no matter what I do. Your energy abilities or my men's super strength--none of you is made for this kind of manipulation. I am, however. I wouldn't say that I'm a blank music sheet, awaiting a masterpiece. No, sir--I'm a piece of music that's just been transformed into a work of genius." Apparently the super-enhanced super abilities didn't include an improvement in communication. Überjuiced or not, the Trill still talked like a bad Valentine's Day card, as far as I was concerned. "You're sick," I said. "Repetition doesn't become you, young man. At any rate, I'm quite done with you and your mole friend here…" "Mole?" Freddie sputtered, and I heard him struggle against his shackles. "Mole? I'm not a mole!" I coughed. "Dude, you are. You mimic people to gain access to the Trill's hideout, no?"

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"Don't be a smartass." "Heard that before…" The Trill finally stepped away, and the air surrounding my table suddenly felt lighter and more breathable. Whether or not the effects of his incredible size on me were psychological, I didn't care. I was just glad that he wasn't beside me. "Well, I shall leave you two youngsters to chat. I've got business to attend to, and you know what it involves--or, rather, whom." He turned around and walked away, and in my state, I could almost swear that the ground shook with every step he took. It was all nonsense, though, and I held my tongue until I was sure that he was gone.

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Chapter 17 If anyone had aimed a camera at me, I'd have been captured looking as though I were suffering from some major, painful bout of constipation. That had included occasional breaks during which I just sagged against the table, sweaty and panting. God, that would've made a pretty nasty sequence to watch, even with just a close-up. The thing was, that once we'd been left alone, I attemped to break free of my shackles with my powers. I hadn't realized until then just how badly they'd further deteriorated since I'd last used them. I powered up; I definitely felt the surge of warm energy through my body; I strained, bending all thought on my powers, so they'd be released against the cuffs; I felt a surge of energy ripple through my limbs, going outward. The sucky thing was that the bursts of energy that finally escaped through my hands and feet were pathetic little clouds of weak stuff that did nothing more than warm up the metal. "Christ," I ground out, watching the last lame attempt dissipate in the air. "What was that? I'm not blasting energy. I'm blasting farts!" I sagged against the table for the hundredth time and stared desperately at the wooden beams and flickering fluorescent lights above me. "So much for Plan B." On the next table, I could hear Freddie alternately grunt and yawn as he struggled to free himself as well. I turned to watch him, feeling defeated. "Hey, how about transforming into something that can wriggle out of your cuffs?" I suggested. Hopefully I didn't sound too sarcastic, but I was at my wits' end, and, man, I needed to pee so badly. The hypothetical situation I came up with when I regained consciousness? It wasn't hypothetical anymore. "I can't," Freddie snarled as he tugged at the shackles holding his feet down. "I can only transform into something that's about my size. Trust me, I'd rather be able to turn into a cat or a hamster, but my masking powers have limits. Only magical types can do stuff like that." I frowned, mulling things over. "How about transforming yourself into a giant hamster--like--humansized? At least your feet will be small enough to slip through the cuffs." Freddie stopped and stared at me with that, "Do you ever listen to yourself talk?" kind of look. "A

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man-sized hamster," he echoed blandly and rolled his eyes when I nodded in desperate hope. "Sorry, but my powers allow me to transform into people and animals au naturel." I perked up. "Naked?" "No, no! I mean--realistic, you know? Not blown out of proportion or exaggerated or anything." "Crap. How about an animal with small feet that's about your human size?" I prodded. "Can you think of something? Does it have to be a real animal, or can you mess around with mythical things, too?" Freddie fell silent as he thought things over. "So far I've only been aware of real animals," he confessed. "What mythical kinds are you thinking about?" "God, I don't know. I just need to get out of here and get to the toilet before I embarrass myself. Just-whatever you do, don't try to change into Medusa." "Medusa used to be a woman, dude." "She's got snakes for hair. That counts for being a part of the animal kingdom. Besides, she freaks me out, and I don't want to turn to stone just by looking at you." "Whatever. Okay, wait. Let me think." "Don't think too long, 'kay?" I urged. I left Freddie alone for a bit and continued with my sad, sad attempts at breaking free with fart blasts. God, how the mighty had fallen! Nothing happened; more weak surges of energy, more lame puffs of the same stuff escaping my hands and feet. I was growing tired by the minute, and it wasn't long before I had to give up completely. "It's hopeless," I panted and then called out to Freddie, "Hey, how're you doing back there?" "Got it!" Just as I was about to look at him, a sudden flash of light burst from the table where he lay, and I had to turn away and pinch my eyes shut with a small exclamation of surprise. Did he do it? Did he transform, finally? I waited a few seconds to make sure that he finished. "Dude, you rock!" I breathed, elated, and turned my head to look. Then I shrieked and nearly pissed my pants. "Uh--I guess this isn't a good choice," Freddie said with a sheepish little laugh. Only it wasn't Freddie--his human form--that regarded me from the table. It was this gigantic octopus or squid, practically dwarfing the table with its slimy, wet bulk. Tentacles dangled off the edges of the table and collected on the floor. From where I lay, I managed to spot a massive tentacle being held down by one of the metal cuffs. I strained to catch a glimpse of Freddie's feet--or what used to be his feet--and saw that a tentacle was also shackled at the other end of the table, and it was most likely that two more tentacles were held down at other points as well. In a bizarrely poetic way, the sight could be regarded as…poignantly symbolic to animal rights activists.

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"What the hell is that?" I demanded, still freaked out. "I--uh--I'm supposed to be a kraken. A miniaturized version, anyway; otherwise, I'd be burying this whole warehouse with seafood material. A kraken's supposed to be a mile wide or something." "I thought you said the size has to be realistic!" Freddie shrugged. I'd never seen a squid shrug before. It was a very enlightening moment for me, to say the least. "Dunno. It looks like it's easier to take a giant and shrink it than take a small animal and enlarge it. Look, I'm still working on my powers. This came as a surprise to me, too, you know." "You're a squid! How're you going to get us out of here? I mean, look! You've got tentacles that are still held down!" I paused, frowning at them. "Damn. Does that hurt? Your tentacles look like they're about to pop." "Yeah, it's a little…tight, now that you mention it." I sighed as I watched him test his bonds, which did not look very pretty. In the end, he just cussed and stopped, complaining of restricted blood flow--if squid had any blood, anyway. "Your tentacles are too big!" "I'm a kraken, hello. Anyway, who's the chameleon here? Shut up. Let me think." Think? I gaped at Freddie Calamari but managed to calm myself down. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry I yelled. Maybe you'll be able to get us out, anyway. Can your tentacles break these things open?" I rattled my cuffs. "I don't know. I can try. Hang on." He moved a couple of his unshackled tentacles, and I watched in horrified--and grossed out--fascination as they felt around my cuffs. I tried not to put too much thought into the horrible sensation of something cold, wet, and slimy moving against my hands. After several seconds of this, Freddie withdrew his tentacles with a tired sigh. "I can't," he said, and his gigantic squid-head-body-thing drooped on his table. I seriously had never seen a squid look so despondent before. "I need fingers to work on your cuffs." "Okay, that's--that's cool." We shouldn't panic. I reminded myself of that as I tried to think of alternative means of escaping. "I mean, if you want to try out other animals, go ahead." Oh, great. To distract myself momentarily, I thought of Peter. "We're in a warehouse somewhere," I said in a near whisper. "I hope your enhanced powers mean super-duper-hearing as well. Peter, if you can hear me, Freddie and I are kind of in trouble. I wish I knew where the place is, but maybe you can track us down somehow." I paused and grimaced. "And if you can hear us and track us down, do you mind making it quick? I really, really need to go take a leak." There was another flash of light, which was accompanied by a "Yes!" from Freddie. I waited again until after the brightness faded and dared a glance in his direction. "What do you think?"

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"Um, you're that…dog-thing." "Cerberus, man. I've always wanted to see if I could do it." I rattled my cuffs. "Quit playing around, Freddie! You're not helping!" "I can take on the Trill's thugs like this." All three dog heads broke into big, broad grins, their tongues hanging out as though Cerberus was Fido, and he was waiting for me to throw him the Frisbee from Hades. His front paws were still cuffed, unfortunately, and so were his hind legs. It didn't seem to discourage Freddie the Monster Pup, though. Lying on his stomach, his limbs stretched out, he continued to grin at me while wagging his tail--which was a big-ass snake, by the way. "Wait a second," I said. "How'd you end up on your stomach? Aren't you supposed to be on your back? Come to think of it, when you were a squid, you were on your stomach--or whatever it is squid have under their head-things, where their tentacles sprout." "Dude, I don't know how I ended up turning over when I transformed. I told you--I'm still mastering my powers. God, I'm lucky that I manage to get all my body parts in the right places." "You know, if I end up going to a shrink after this, I'm suing you," I said. "And you're still shackled. What part of 'small hands and feet' can you not understand? Can't you shrink yourself some more? I mean, I can deal with the three heads and the snake tail, but we really need to get out of here." Freddie snorted. "What, do you think I didn't know that? And, no, I can't. I can only limit shrinkage to my real-life size. It doesn't matter how big the original whachamacallit is--I can miniaturize it, but only until it's about my human size." "You mean, it doesn't matter how many times you transform, we'll always be tied down like this." "It looks like it." "And here I was, wondering if you could turn yourself into a baby Godzilla or something. I mean, the fire blasts from Godzilla would be pretty useful right now." I paused and had to backpedal. "Well--that is-as long as you don't roast me alive, anyway." Freddie's dog heads scowled at me, and, no, I'd never seen a dog--or a three-headed dog, for that matter--scowl before. "Listen, you. I'm trying, okay? Unlike some people who just lie around like some kind of romance novel heroine…" "I've been working my butt off the last eternity or something, trying to zap my way out of my cuffs! Don't you get all bitchy on me!" "Hello! Pot, kettle, black!" I narrowed my eyes at him. It was seriously surreal, snapping at Cerberus like that. "Okay, whatever. I don't have time for this. You win. I'll shut up. Let's just hope we get rescued soon before I go crazy from bladder failure."

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"Huh. You're already crazy." "Yeah, well, takes one to know one." "I can whoop your skinny ass, and you know it." I laughed. "How? By turning into a Cyclops and blinking me to death?" Freddie, apparently too worked up and at a loss for words, started barking at me. What the hell? With all three dog heads going at the same time, God, he made the most horrible, annoying noise. Even his snake tail started hissing at me. I didn't know how long we stayed that way, arguing--in Freddie's case, alternately hissing and barking-mocking, and threatening ultimate destruction on each other, the Trill, the warehouse, and the whole damn world. We eventually stopped. Well, not that we wanted to. We had to. A sudden explosion ripped the air, and crates from one end of the warehouse flew in every direction, most of them in pieces. There was a loud yell, a low, guttural howl that made my skin crawl even as I struggled against my cuffs and turned my head in a lame attempt at avoiding any debris that was about to crush me and Freddie. In the midst of my confusion and horror, I still recognized the howl as the Trill's voice. It sounded like a war cry from a psychopath who'd transformed in the worst way and was just throwing himself full-on into the fight. I also heard Freddie shout, but I kept my eyes closed the whole time, frantically mustering whatever pathetic amounts of my powers were left to me. There was no way I was going to be able to protect both of us from getting crushed by falling objects with an energy bubble. Another explosion ripped through the warehouse, and judging from the confusion of noise that followed, more crates and boxes flew up in disintegrating pieces. I continued to strain but felt the energy surge through me in weak waves. Even within the last half hour, my powers had diminished more quickly. "Oh, shit! Come on, come on…" I could feel the initial pelting of wood and nails and other bits of material as I struggled. Then something blew around us: a crazy blast of air that sounded like the rumbling of a really strong wind, almost like a tornado. I felt a massive rush of cold, violent air sweep over and around me.

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Chapter 18

"You got him?" "Almost!" "Hurry up! I can't hold this back much longer!" I barely heard those words being shouted back and forth in the middle of the awful noise and chaos around me. I continued to feel the world turn in rapid spirals, my stomach turning with it. I felt my cuffs shake and then snap. Then the pressure of restraints vanished, my hands and legs flying out as I was picked up by the wind, and I forced my eyes open, shouting as I tried to find something to grab. "Damn it! I lost him!" "No, I can see him! Behind you! Quick!" "Help!" I yelled as I tumbled in the whirlwind. Something dark emerged from the crazy swirl of air and debris. It was really like being caught in a tornado, only more make-believe-like because I felt as though I were in a cartoon gone haywire. I tried to defend myself with blows, but I couldn't throw my fists properly. Okay, I couldn't really move properly, being swept up in a violent spiral like this. "Easy! Easy! Don't fight!" Something warm wrapped around my waist, and I was pulled against something solid. From somewhere nearby, I heard Freddie shouting as well, and he eventually appeared through the blur, looking his normal self, but flailing and frantic like me. "I got you guys! Now stay still, so I can get you out of here!" the voice--a familiar one--yelled above the din. "Spirit! I got them!" "Althea," I gasped, grasping what I could of Magnifiman's costume--well, cape, seeing as how grabbing hold of spandex in a death grip wasn't possible. "Awesome! Go on! I'll take care of this!" Althea called out from somewhere. I didn't know where she was, but it seemed like she was the one responsible for this freaky wind storm type of thing, and I'd no

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idea how she'd done it. I felt myself moving again, securely held against Magnifiman's side as I clung to him. We flew into the funnel and broke through, though not without quite a few bruises and possibly cuts from flying bits of wood, glass, and twisted metal. I got pelted several times in the course of my rescue, but I didn't care. Once we were all in calmer air, Magnifiman slowed down, and I felt us descend. We were gently deposited on safe ground, and without anything more than a firm "Stay there," Magnifiman flew off and abandoned us, flying right through the spiraling winds and vanishing inside and beyond it. I blinked and watched in shock at the wind storm--there was no other way for me to describe it--throbbed and then reshaped itself, shifting from something like a tornado to a gigantic shield, almost. Everywhere, debris hit the wind-shield and flew out and landed harmlessly on the warehouse floor, many shooting farther out from the force of the winds to crash against walls and other stacked crates. Before the giant wind-shield stood Althea as I'd never seen her before. She was dressed up like the rest of them, but in all black, shiny, leather-type stuff--her face partly covered not by a mask, but by something like a pair of 19th century goggles rimmed with something like an antique gold. She also wore gloves and boots of the same material as her suit. She stood braced, her arms bent, her fists clenched as she concentrated. Her goggles' lens-type things flashed white and color, and more happened with them, I was sure, but I was too far away to see more detail. Off to the side, a good distance from Althea, stood what appeared to be a huge, battered machine. Like an ancient computer, it had buttons and knobs and levers everywhere but with monster-sized propellers on top of it. The machine rocked violently as it blew massive winds at the area we'd just evacuated, the propeller blades rotating so fast that black smoke started to rise from different points. There were other similar machines around the general area, all of which had come to life--through Althea's powers, I was sure--and were working together to create this bizarre wind-shield inside the warehouse. I couldn't recognize the machines. All I knew was that they appeared to be rickety and outdated, and they were likely used for production purposes, but they looked so foreign to me. I could only gape at what I was watching. From what I could see, Althea's evolution involved an independence from touching keyboards, though I was sure that she could still do it. From where she stood, she could possess more than one computer at the same time, willing it into action, forcing them into doing things they weren't meant to do--or maybe things that were only possibilities until she took over. Maybe she could access an internal computer somewhere, something more modern, which somehow linked her to outside machines that were older, and she possessed them that way. I couldn't say for sure, but it was crazy. She kept that wind barrier going. Beyond it, more explosions rocked the warehouse, and parts of the roof began to fall in. Metal sheets and wood beams tore off their places and tumbled inside. The Trill's

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howls could be heard here and there--frightening, half-desperate and half-triumphant. The debris that flew out with the explosion was effectively cut off in mid-flight by Althea's wind-shield, and our side of the warehouse remained safe. "We'd better call the cops," I breathed, scrambling to my feet and not daring to take my eyes off the scene. "Jesus, I'm spent," Freddie said. "I haven't regenerated since yesterday." I turned and saw that he was lying on the ground, his face ashen. Since he had on a T-shirt, I spotted cuts up and down his exposed arms. There were also tears here and there on his shirt and pants. When I dropped to my knees beside him, I saw that he also had a pretty nasty-looking cut on his forehead. "Damn it," I said. "Freddie, I gotta get you out of here. You're hurt." "Screw hurt! I'm tired! I can barely move!" I grew aware of sharp, stinging pain on my body as well. I looked at my shirt, which was sliced open all over the place. Under those holes, I spotted small wounds. I was sure my face sported some bruises, if not cuts. I shrugged off the discomfort and turned my attention back to Freddie. "Come on, buddy. You need help. The heroes need backup." Freddie raised his head and peered out at me through fogged eyes, flashing me a wan smile. "I'm sorry, man. I should've done more back there. I'm supposed to be a goddamn superhero." "You are, and don't kill yourself over this. You're only starting out, but you'll get there soon. Here." I wrapped my arms around his chest and, grunting, pulled him off the floor until he was sitting up. "Jeez, you're heavy! Come on, you gotta stand up." He said nothing--only yawned loudly. I felt his arms come to life and tighten around my shoulders as I stumbled to my feet. He was not only taller by at least a couple of inches, he was also heavier by God knew how much. I thought I burst a kidney from the strain of raising him up. Freddie leaned on me as I paused to look back at the destruction that was going on behind me. Althea continued her possession of the machines, protecting our side from the mayhem that was going on beyond her shield. Fire was now spreading, and with it came the distinct sounds of gunfire--several rounds of them. They didn't sound like the tommy guns that the Puppet's dolls used. The Trill's men were now fighting alongside their master, but I still didn't know where they were, exactly. "Eric!" Althea suddenly yelled, her back facing us as she kept her position. "If you're still here, get the hell out! This place is going to blow!" I quickly turned away and, holding Freddie securely, hobbled off to the nearest door I saw. It was slow-going the whole way, the occasional explosion rocking us on our feet though we managed to stay upright. We soon staggered out, the feel of a gray day on us lending us more energy, and our pace quickened. We were surrounded by a bunch of other warehouses--all massive, decaying, and old--and I

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chose a fairly clean and open spot several yards away for Freddie. Once he was safely sitting on the floor, his back resting against a wall, we took a moment to gather ourselves and watched the warehouse we'd just abandoned. Bright flames shot up to the sky, and black smoke flowed out in thick plumes through broken windows here and there. Gunshots broke through the silence of the outdoors, but I heard no more explosions. "Let the good guys take care of everything," I muttered, drawing a hand across my forehead in shocked relief. I knelt in front of Freddie and examined his injuries. They appeared to be very mild like mine, nothing more than cuts and bruises. His transformations had drained him, though, and he looked like he was about ready to faint. "I gotta call an ambulance for you," I said. "No, I don't need one--just sleep." I looked around me. "You can't sleep here! The Trill's men might find you--maybe even the Trill himself!" He smirked. "Heh. If the Trill's alive, you mean. I'll bet you Magnifiman crushed him--Magnifiman and your ex, anyway." I felt around my shirt and pants and could find nothing that I could use as a knife. I needed something sharp, so I could cut fabric and use it to stanch the blood from the wound on Freddie's forehead. In the outside semi-light, the cut appeared to be worse than I thought. It was one of those large, gaping, ugly kinds that might need stitches. "What're you looking for?" he asked, his voice fading along with his strength. "Something sharp--a knife or scissors." "I don't carry any, sorry." My hands sported cuts, which discouraged me at first from tearing fabric without a knife. I quickly pulled at my shirt where a tear was and ripped off a sizable piece. Ignoring the gunshots, the muffled shouts, and the occasional wail behind me, I wrapped Freddie's head with it, securing it with a doubleknot and hoping that it would stay. I didn't even know if I'd done it correctly. "Listen, I need to get help," I said, and he nodded. "Just--try to stay awake, okay?" I glanced back in time to catch something fly out of one of the windows: a dark streak that cut through the air in breathtaking speed, flying off to some distant point, leaving a trail of howling voices in its wake. Peter, I thought, and the dark streak reappeared within seconds, zigzagging past poles and warehouse roofs to crash through another window of the burning warehouse. When it flew out again, it vanished in the direction it first took, once more leaving a trail of hysterical screams in its wake. I could only shake my head in amazement as I tried to figure out what was happening. Peter was

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transporting the Trill's men to safety--hopefully, I thought, in the waiting arms of the police. It was impressive, beyond words, watching his progress. I couldn't say if his speed was more than before, but the sight of his dark figure being that shapeless streak that tore right through the air was just incredible. Wade and Althea were still inside, and I hoped that they'd abandon their posts soon. A crash followed, and a huge chunk of the roof fell in. I didn't know where Magnifiman and the Trill were, but that wasn't my concern at the moment. I cursed myself silently for allowing myself to be distracted. "I'm off," I said, resting a hand on Freddie's shoulder. He nodded again and patted it reassuringly. "I'm not going anywhere," he chuckled. I ran off in one direction, not quite sure where it was going to lead me, but I tried to make sure that I remembered Freddie's location. I turned a couple of corners and finally spotted what looked like a really beat-up, unused street past rusty wire fences. As I doubled my speed, I heard something from behind me--behind and above, I realized. It was the violent rush of air caused by something large flying. Too late! I didn't even have time to dive to the pavement. I was scooped up from the ground and flown off at a speed that made my stomach turn. The thick arms that held me to the point of choking were massive--abnormally so. I struggled and kicked, my vision swimming as the pressure against my throat increased. "Well, hello again, my dear bargaining chip. You'll come in handy as always," the Trill said, his voice a distortion of what it normally was. Low, somewhat rumbling, and sounding as though more than one voice spoke at once, it terrified me. "Well, never mind. Not that it matters, really, whether or not Magnifitwit allows me escape in exchange for your life, and I wouldn't be surprised to see him honor his side of the deal. He's far, far too virtuous for his own good, you see, and it's terribly dull." He laughed softly, maniacally. "I'll still kill you and throw your miserable little body for them to save." From somewhere behind me I heard shouts--Peter and Wade. I clawed frantically at the arms that felt like steel bands crushing me against the Trill's chest, coughing and gasping. Balls of fire shot past us. One caught the Trill in the back, and we both lurched in the air, my neck nearly snapping from his body's violent jerking. He never stopped, though, or slowed down. In fact, he just gathered more speed, laughing under his breath. Panic had taken over. I could barely breathe, and my strength was slipping. My desperate clawing had weakened to a helpless grip. God, I wasn't ready to die. I didn't want to. My fading brain, fueled by my panic, fixed on memories--my parents, Liz, my school, my haiku, the garbage I hated dumping, Althea, Peter--I wanted my old life back. I wanted to be Regular Joe Blow again. I wanted to be grounded, lectured, nagged, praised, hugged, and kissed until I was too old for some of them. And the Trill--the psychotic bastard--wouldn't let me.

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My stomach churned as scene after fleeting scene flashed before my mind's eye. I felt something flow up from my gut--something warm trickle out of my nose as I fought to catch a breath. The Trill continued to fly off with me, shouting his taunts at the superheroes while Wade's fire bombs exploded around us. Peter--I was sure he was being held back. If he were to try to come after the Trill, my neck would be broken before he reached us. It made sense. God, everything made too much sense when one was slowly being killed. I fought as hard as my failing strength would allow me. The blood that trickled out of my nose continued its hot trail down my chin and neck. The surge in my gut flared up--like dying embers being fanned to life--and wave after wave swept through me as though I were being eviscerated. From somewhere the Trill laughed--a hysterical, raging, psychopathic outburst that sounded worse than before. From somewhere Magnifiman roared. "No bargains!" he yelled. "I never bargain with trash!" "Oh-ho! I see your vocabulary's expanded!" the Trill crowed. God, he sounded so crazy. Something struck him in his back--very likely another one of Wade's fire bombs--and he choked on his laughter as his body again jerked violently. Did he slow down afterward? I couldn't tell. He was probably in flames after taking a couple of direct hits, but I was too far gone to be aware of anything but what happened next. Space pulsed with noise and silence, and I opened my eyes in time to see my world vanish in a blinding burst of light, the heat following it tearing me apart. I thought I heard my screams coming from somewhere, but I couldn't tell for sure. From my left, a shadow appeared, growing larger and larger as it swept down toward us. Magnifiman, I was sure. Everything was intense warmth and light--almost as though my soul were being torn out of my body. Then the voices faded.

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Chapter 19 There was fog--lots of it. Noise, but I couldn't figure out what individual sounds were. Wind? Yes, there was wind. The warm kind. Sometimes light crept in, and it wasn't welcome. The darkness felt better, much more calming. It was hard fighting off brightness, but it kept coming at me, pressing through black curtains. Then came the sting in my arm. Was I just bitten by something? I flinched against the sensation, and I could feel it even as I continued to wave away the light. It was weird, like there was an army of ants crawling through my veins, spreading all over my body. It felt itchy, yet it didn't. I couldn't--I couldn't tell exactly what. The light pressed on, and I had to turn away from it with a groan. "Sshh. It's okay. It's okay." I thought I was floating, but once eternity passed, I realized that I was on my back, lying on something really hard. Pavement? "How long will the antidote take, Ms. Whitaker?" "Five, maybe ten minutes, but no more than that." "Excellent, excellent. I'll go see to young Mr. Jameson now." "Thanks, professor. I'll stay with Eric. Looks like he's coming to." Something sailed overhead. I heard a loud whoosh, with voices shouting, all coming from a distance. Was that gunfire? Someone--a girl--yelled something like "I have the formula! I'm injecting the virus into the computer now!" Another explosion, smaller and more distant-sounding, followed. Then came something that went Choom! And more voices. Shouts. It was like a war zone, I thought. Yes, that was the first coherent thing that formed in my mind. I groaned again, this time from the soreness and the pain that throbbed up and down my body. "Eric…"

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I tried to swallow, but it hurt. My throat hurt. When I forced my eyes open, I saw smoke in the sky and Brenda's face hovering above me. It didn't take long for my eyes to adjust, and I just stared back at her while she observed me--frowning at first before breaking out in a small, relieved smile. "Hi," she said, her voice quiet. It was bizarre, listening to her calm greeting while the world continued to destroy itself around us. "I'm not going to ask how you feel, hon, because it shows. Just lie back and rest, okay?" I couldn't talk. My throat hurt so much that I couldn't even manage a single squeak. I just nodded, offering her a weak smile in return as she gently combed my hair with her fingers. From somewhere nearby, the professor's voice barely cut through the noise of battle or whatever else was going on. I didn't understand a word he said, but I nearly laughed in relief when I heard Freddie talk. My friend was safe. "We're going to get you and Freddie out of here soon," Brenda continued. "Once you're patched up, you'll still need more doses of the antidote to clear up your system." I whispered, "Noxious Nocturne," and Brenda nodded. "Tests need to be run, of course," she added, "to make sure that we've purged your system completely and to see if any lasting damage has been caused by it." I flinched when another explosion ripped the air. Brenda appeared unfazed. She even grinned, which made me wonder if she had a sadistic streak in her. "Your friends are pretty busy right now," she said. "Don't worry. I think they're just about done, and, yeah, they're safe." She paused as her gaze moved all over my face. "The police are here, and the Trill's men are taken in--all of them, hopefully. Those who survived, anyway. Spirit Wire just destroyed the Trill's lab. She made his computer self-destruct. Too bad we weren't able to save the Ficus trees." I whispered, "Devil's Trill." "He's--Eric, he's dead." She hushed me when I gave a start, pressing a hand against my chest. "Magnifiman went after him, when the Trill took you. You somehow blasted your way out of his hold, though, and Calais caught you when you fell. Magnifiman went all out once you were freed, and the Trill didn't really do much to defend himself when he saw Magnifiman come." Brenda shuddered, her expression turning grim and somewhat horror-stricken as she recalled what she saw. "I don't know if you were aware of it the whole time, but the Trill was literally on fire, and he kept going. His behavior was bizarre, like he'd gone completely crazy and he was also high on drugs. He was getting blown apart, and he just…kept going." I stared at her, feeling chills rush through my sore body. The Trill could've torn me to pieces completely in his state. Insanity and drugs--were those the effects of the Trill's evolution coupled with the use of his Noxious Nocturne? He'd grown abnormally large, pumped up to an unnatural size, his powers enhanced as well. However, I never got to see the full extent of its strength beyond his busting his way

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through walls and doors when he came after me. "He'd overdosed," I whispered, my eyes widening, and Brenda mouthed, "bingo." "There are limits to the powers these genetically-manipulated babies have," she said. "They develop up to a certain point, from what we've observed, and that's the extent of their enhancement. Anything beyond that? Well, let's just say it's sort of like blowing air in a balloon until it explodes. They might be genetically-enhanced, Eric, but they're still human, and human properties that are untouched by genetic manipulation can only take so much superficial improvement, so to speak." I shook my head, still stunned. "He wanted too much--to be a hundred times better than he was," I whispered. "Supervillains never know when to stop. In the Trill's case, it helped us more than it benefited him. His hideout's gone, his lab's destroyed, his experiments up in flames, his men flushed out of their holes or dead. I don't know how far the heroes have gone in their cleanup, but I'll find out when I talk to them." I turned and looked at the smoke-covered sky when the sound of a helicopter broke through the confusion. I realized then that the explosions had stopped, and the voices had fallen silent. The crackling of fire, the blowing of a warm wind, and the distant wailing of police sirens were the only things left of the Devil's Trill and his ambitions. Brenda stroked my hair again. A heaviness came over me, but it was more of the soothing kind. I guess there was a sedative in the antidote she and the professor had injected in me. It was wonderful. I definitely needed sleep--hopefully one that lasted a week. I smiled weakly at her, and she gently lifted me up by my shoulders and rested my head on her lap. I winced at the momentary shot of pain that came from being handled, but I didn't care. I was on my way back home. "Thank you," I whispered. "You're a lucky boy, Eric," she returned, and I almost laughed. She continued her stroking of my hair, lulling me, and before long I was finally asleep. The last thing that crossed my mind as I drifted off was the thought that smoke from a burning building never smelled so good.

I didn't recognize the train platform--not that I'd been on anything other than Vintage City's subway and the aerial train. It was one of those old-fashioned open train platforms, with the long, one-story ticket office and train station on one side and the tracks on the other. People idly walked up and down the platform. Some of them lugged their bags around with them, and some had nothing more than purses or newspapers. From what I understood, the train itself was a fun ride. It traveled to places I knew nothing about, and

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when I prodded my grandmother about them, she merely laughed and spouted off information that I couldn't understand. "It's a little hard to describe these places," she said in the end, looking down at me and giving my hand a gentle squeeze. "I've never been to any of them before." "Is that where we're going?" I asked. "Are we going to one of those places, Grandma?" She glanced up and craned her neck, staring hard into the distance without answering my question. Not that I cared for it. I just wanted to be on this trip with her. I followed her gaze and saw nothing but an endless line of train tracks, flanked by trees and shrubbery, the sky cloudless above. As if on cue, a dark spot appeared on the horizon, and I felt my grandmother's grip tighten around my hand. I looked back at her and marveled at the smile she had. It was almost child-like in its joy, and she seemed to glow in excitement. Her complexion, always pale and sensitive to the sun, appeared to sport a faint blush. She almost looked like a teenager again, and I thought for a second that it was really my mom who stood on the platform with me. The train's whistle blew, and before long, I could hear the rumbling of its wheels on the tracks. "I can't wait to see those places, Grandma," I said as the train drew close. Around me, people gathered their things and then waited. Grandma didn't say anything. In fact, it seemed as though she'd completely forgotten about me. The look of intense expectation, a curious mixture of pleasure and anxiety, lit up her face, and her eyes remained fixed, unblinking, on the oncoming train. The train slowed down as it reached the platform, the smoke blowing from its chimney trailing behind it in a very postcard-like way. It presently stopped, the whistle blew once again, and doors up and down the train's length flew open without anyone stepping out. In fact, no one was in the train, and I wondered. An old guy in a really outdated conductor's uniform walked up and down the platform, assisting passengers as they boarded. In the meantime, Grandma picked up her bag--just one small suitcase, which made me wonder where my own stuff was--and fished out her ticket. The conductor walked up to her, they exchanged greetings, and he took her ticket and helped her into one of the cars. I took a few steps forward but was blocked by the same conductor. He said nothing to me--just stepped in front just as I was about to enter the car--and then gave me a hard push, sending me sprawling on the platform and crying out in surprise. The train's whistle blew, and the doors closed. The conductor had vanished, and Grandma opened the window of her car to wave at me. She smiled just as the train began to pull away from the platform, and I started wailing for her. "It's not your time yet, kiddo," she called out, still waving and smiling.

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I was alone on the platform, watching the train chug away. Somehow I couldn't speak, like my voice failed completely, and it was all I could do to cry hysterically for my grandmother. When the train vanished in the distance, I looked down and saw nothing but a pair of short, skinny legs poking out of too-long shorts, my favorite teddy bear hanging from one of my hands. Grandma gave me that doll for my fourth birthday, and I kept it for two years before I left it behind at the park.

I couldn't move. Once partial consciousness swept over me, I grew vaguely aware of being restrained but not in the sense that I was a prisoner. I could move my arms and legs, but they were incredibly stiff, as though they were completely wrapped up with bandages. I waited for my eyes to clear a little more, which proved to be a pain in the ass, seeing as how my vision not only had returned to its messed up level of clarity, but it was also hampered by tears. I really hated crying in my sleep. It was something I did a lot of when I was a kid, but not after I turned eleven. The dream, though--it shook me up pretty badly. Blinking the tears away, I tried to glance down and saw that I was stretched out on a hospital bed, my arms bare but sporting a number of ugly bruises and cuts that were healing. Tubes attached me like a puppet to a couple of machines and one of those upside-down bottle things filled with fluids whose names only doctors could pronounce. Mine was about halfway finished. The room was pretty quiet save for the soft, soft hum of the air conditioning. Something moved just off to my side, and I turned to find a couple of chairs and a small couch set against the wall. I squinted. Liz and Althea sat, totally drooping, on the chairs--fast asleep. Hands limp on their laps, their heads resting against the wall, they were actually passed out. How both girls managed to do that, given how horribly uncomfortable those chairs looked, I couldn't say. On the small couch sat Mom, her attention completely fixed on a magazine she was reading. Beside her sat a big box of tissue, and next to that sat a pile of used ones that she hadn't discarded yet. I tried to smile, but judging from the feeling of my face being half-swollen, I must've looked as though I was grimacing instead. "Hi, Mom," I said, my voice coming out more like a croak.

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Chapter 20 Glomp. I'd seen that word so many times all over the 'net. It seemed to be pretty popular in different fan communities back in the early years of the new millennium, and I never understood what it meant other than a major pouncing of one human being by another. It was usually followed by a squeal of delight from the glomper. I could only guess that glomping also involved a lot of squeezing or tight hugging, most likely with some jiggling thrown in for effect, or maybe as an effect of intense excitement that brought about the glomping in the first place. At any rate, I was glomped in my hospital bed. By the time Mom, Liz, and Althea had satisfied themselves with squeezing the life out of me--and nearly ripping some of the tubes off my body--I was lying in a drenched hospital gown. "It's great to see you guys, too," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. My throat felt dry and scratchy still, so I tried to save it as much as I could. Mom tried to say something but only managed to burst into more tears and press kisses on my forehead. She held my free hand--the hand that didn't have stuff attached to it, that is--and squeezed it gently over and over again. Beside her stood Liz, her eyes red-rimmed as she smiled at me. At the foot of my bed stood Althea. She looked a little tired and somewhat haggard, but she flashed me her biggest smile and just kept quiet, allowing Mom and Liz to take over the conversation between us. How was I feeling? Was I hungry? Was I hurting anywhere? Did I remember everything that happened to me? My answers: Like shit, yes, only a little, God yes! I felt my strength return, and the next several moments--I could barely imagine how long the time stretched out--were spent in question-and-answer, though Mom kept urging me to stop and wait for a better time if I started feeling pretty crappy. I didn't care, though. After being locked away and living alone for so many weeks, I was desperate to talk to my family. I answered their questions as best as I could, and with Althea running out to the nurse's station to ask for some water for me, I was able to share

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just about everything with them. The water soothed my throat, and I finished half a pitcher by the time I'd done with my story. The only things I tried to keep from my family were details of my powers' deterioration--that is, the effects they had on me. My nosebleed, the pain, the feeling of being ripped apart--I figured that Mom wouldn't be ready for those. Not that she ever would. The whole time I told my story, she held my hand and cried, with Liz calming her with a gentle rubbing of her back. My sister looked horrified and outraged. Once I told them my story, she exhaled loudly between her teeth and shook her head. "I'm going to fucking kill that bastard," she hissed. Mom would've yelled at her, I was sure, had that been a normal moment. She was too distraught to care and just let Liz spew off threats and curses like I'd never heard before. "Dude, you're upsetting Mom," I cut in after a while. I might be guilty of being foul-mouthed, too, but I had my limits. "I know. I'm sorry. You can hardly blame me, though, you know?" I managed a weak little smile. "Yeah, I know. I wouldn't worry, though. I think the Trill's dead." I glanced at Althea for confirmation, and she nodded. "He is, thank God," Liz replied. "The news reports were pretty graphic about how he died, but the bastard deserved it." "Yeah. He--um--literally self-destructed," Althea added. I realized then that she hadn't come out to my family yet and reminded myself to be careful when talking to her about the Trill and whatever was considered to be classified information to the heroes. "Thanks, Althea," Mom said after blowing her nose and wiping her eyes dry. Poor Mom looked like a wreck, and it was all my fault. "I don't care to know how he destroyed himself. He's gone, and my boy's back, and that's all that matters to me." Althea nodded and fell into a respectful silence again. The awkwardness of that moment began to bug me. Everyone seemed to be off in her own world, with me and my ordeal being the center of everything. I hated the feeling, hated being responsible for my mom's grief--and my dad's, too--hated not being able to set things right the way I wanted to. The only comfort I had in all that was the fact that my family remained safe the whole time. A total nutcase he might have been, but the Trill at least honored his side of the bargain. "Mom, will the doctors let me drink a soda? I kind of miss it." She laughed through her tears. "I don't think they'll let you, but maybe they'll allow something like lemonade." "Oh--no, thanks. I'll have water." Althea hung around for a while, and we talked mostly about school and how screwed over I was.

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"I'm sure people in school know who the Cloak was," I said, mortified. "Considering how long I've been gone…" "Well, I've heard a few rumors, yeah, but no one I know believes them. Your dad talked to the principal and made arrangements about your classes, I think." She glanced at Mom, who nodded. "Um-the mayor's involved in this, too." I stared at her. "You're kidding." "Nope. He knew what was going on, Eric. He had to--like, it's his city that's getting blown up, right?" "I'm glad that no one knows my identity." "Yeah. We made sure no one knew. Then again, your being underage helped." "So I guess it's summer school for me, huh?" Mom chuckled. "We'll talk about that later," she said. "You're not flunking out of school or anything, honey. Don't worry about that happening. At the moment, we're in the middle of negotiating with someone who can help you with your lessons." She took a deep breath and looked around the room. "My lord, I look like Hell, I'm sure. I need to wash up and call your father, Eric." "Sure." Mom gave me another kiss on my forehead before excusing herself. Liz likewise offered to run and get them something to eat, so I was left with Althea for a while. I waited until we were definitely alone before I beckoned to her to come close and tell me everything that happened. "Being able to track you down online helped in letting everyone know that you're okay," she said. "All the help we needed came from Freddie and the Sentries, though." "Let me guess--Freddie showed up as Lucy again?" Althea laughed. "No, dummy. He showed up as is, with a couple of people who called themselves the Sentries." "How many are there in the group? I didn't think that there were more than, like, two." "Oh, there are at least half a dozen of them, from what we were told, but they're a covert group, and even if they align themselves with the good guys, they pretty much work on their own." I frowned. "What else did they say about their group? Were they genetic scientists or something?" Althea nodded. "Most of them were, yeah, though I think a few used to work as lab assistants. They're-I don't know if you call them mavericks or vigilantes or whatever--they admit to doing wrong, but they're sort of back to monitor the Eugenics children's progress. You know, see how far the experiments have taken them. But for the most part they're back to make sure that shit like that doesn't happen again." My eyes widened as possibilities came alive in my mind. "You mean, if anyone decided to be stupid enough to screw around with genetics the way they did before, they'd sabotage the labs and stuff?" "Yeah. Exactly."

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"That's like one of those radical animal rights groups, right?" Althea shrugged as she rested on one of my bed's side rails, idly scanning the machines above my head. "You can say that, for sure. It's pretty scary. I really don't know how to handle that. I mean, they're here to do good. Like, they're trying to make up for what they did in the past. But their methods are pretty extreme, and I'm afraid of people getting hurt when they carry out their threats." "If they carry them out, you mean," I corrected her with a firm voice. "Do you really think that people will be stupid enough to try to pull something like that again? I think the mayor wouldn't allow genetics labs anywhere around here after what happened before." I reached out and covered one of her hands in mine and patted it. "I mean, we're seeing the effects of all those now, aren't we?" She leveled me with a rueful sort of look. "I know. The glamour's worn itself out--a little, anyway." "What, are you starting to get all emo about your powers now?" I grinned. "You were all gung-ho before." "I am, yeah--gung-ho, I mean--but I guess I'm a little more grown up now. I've seen the crap side of being a superhero. For the rest of my life, I won't be able to avoid it." "I think you kick major ass as a superhero. I love your new outfit, by the way. Very chic." Althea finally burst out laughing, and it was so infectious that I laughed along even though my body nearly twisted itself in pain from all the hiccoughing and snorting I did. "Shut up!" she sputtered, wiping her eyes. "I'm not done talking serious stuff yet!" "Okay, go ahead. I'm listening." "What I was saying was that we've only met a couple of the Sentries, and we're pretty much forbidden from snooping around. Man, you should've seen the look on Trent's face. He was all, 'We can't guarantee that,' in his superhero voice--all low and threatening and stuff. It was crazy. But we all pretty much knew the situation. The Sentries seem to understand what was at stake, now that they're marked as a possible terrorist threat." "Terrorist?" I echoed, shocked. "But they're only doing what's right!" "Yeah, but like I said, Eric, their methods are questionable." I sagged against my pillow, scowling at her. "Freddie's with them. He was taken in by one of the Sentries and raised good." "I know, and I'll bet you he'll be the buffer that'll keep the cops from busting the Sentries if they get out of hand." Althea smiled grimly. "I'm not saying that the Sentries are using him like a shield against the law, since he's obviously one of the good guys, but it's inevitable that the cops won't be able to flex a lot of muscle against the Sentries because they know that Freddie's aligned with them, and he's a superhero." "Funny. That kind of reminds me of my situation with the Trill." I paused and looked down at my

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ravaged arms. "He tried to turn me into a sidekick, and at the same time, he knew about my relationship with Peter. He pretty much used me as a shield because there wasn't any way you guys would come after me, knowing who I am." I sighed and looked back at her with a wry grin. "Not that it helped him any. I still got my butt kicked by Peter and Wade." "Sort of--Peter only tried to hold you down and keep you from going all out. When that didn't work, Wade tried to up the ante and really attack you, so she could take you back with her." Althea stopped, her eyes widening and her jaw dropping low. "Ohmigawd, Eric, you should've seen her after that attack. She was alone that day, right?" "Yeah, I noticed. Why was she alone? Wasn't she supposed to be in school or something? Like you guys?" "It was minimum day at her school." "Figures." "Yeah, yeah. Anyway, she did what she felt she needed to do, and after the Trill threw gas bombs at the cops and took you away, she was all freaking out when we met her later. She was like, 'Oh, God, I'm so stupid! I shouldn't have attacked him like that! I'm so sorry!' No, really! She was almost crying the whole time. It took a while for me and Peter to calm her down. She seriously thought she killed you or something." I laughed. "I tried to self-destruct that time. I guess if the Trill hadn't stepped in, I'd have made her think that she was responsible for me getting blown up by my own powers. I hope she's okay now. If I were in her place, I'd have done the same thing." "Yeah, she's fine now." "By the way, how are the Debutantes?" Althea smirked. "Still around, unfortunately. Out of commission for the moment, given what the Trill did to them, but they'll be back." I snickered. "I'll betcha the Puppet's totally wetting himself from sheer joy." "I wouldn't be surprised if he did." "And, um, what about the Trill?" "Oh. He's--he's dead." "You mentioned that, yeah. How?" Althea thought for a moment. "Well, we found out about the hideout from one of the Trill's men, whom the Sentries dumped into our laps. Trent managed to wring the truth out of him, and we headed out. As far as why the Sentries decided to keep him for as long as they did, we didn't know. Then again, they wouldn't tell us why, anyway." I figured that it was because Freddie was using the guy--Mr. Bowles, I was sure--for his mimicking

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powers, and it took him a while to really, fully "absorb" Bowles' personality and mannerisms and stuff. That was my guess, anyway, and I figured that in time, I'd learn the truth if the Sentries would allow it. All in all, though, it wasn't very important to me. "So we went straight to his hideout after we figured out a plan of attack. I was supposed to protect you guys, while Peter, Trent, and Wade went in and destroyed the place. The fight was really between Trent and the Trill, and Peter and Wade took care of the Trill's men and their toys. Those bastards put up a hell of a fight, but Peter managed to get them all out--those who were still alive, anyway--before the warehouse completely blew up. He dumped them on the police headquarters' rooftop. Wade made sure that nothing was left standing while I went for the Trill's main computer and destroyed the Noxious Nocturne's program and everything else that he might be working on for future use." I sighed. "Those poor Ficus trees…" Althea grimaced. "I know. Sorry. I feel so un-environmental that I'm tempted to plant trees at the park to make up for it." "There's always room for more trees, you know." "The Trill was…nuts." I made a face. "That's putting things lightly." "No, it was like--it was pretty scary. He was developing the way we've been developing. Naturally, I mean. Then he apparently used the Noxious Nocturne on himself, which blew things way out of proportion. He was like a caricature of himself, Eric." Althea looked at me and visibly shivered. A shadow darkened her features for a moment. "Everything about him was exaggerated, and I guess his system just couldn't handle the over-the-top enhancement he tried to pull." I swallowed, half-afraid of hearing what was coming next. "So, he literally blew up or something?" She nodded. "He flew off with you, but Trent was close behind, and Wade kept shooting her fire balls at him. He wouldn't stop. It was freaky. Then you blew yourself up, sort of. Dude, I don't know what you did, but you just kind of turned supernova, in a way, all light and energy and whatever came out of you." "I--I guess it was that last bit of power in me that came out," I stammered, my heart pounding as I tried to wrap my mind around what happened. "Residuals, maybe? I think I must've tapped into all that while being choked to death. Like fight or flight?" Althea fell silent as she waited for me to finish, but I could only shake my head in helpless confusion. She nodded and patted my hand reassuringly. "It's okay, Eric. You're safe now, and you're with us. That's all that matters. The Trill dropped you when you sort of self-destructed, and Trent took him down while Wade continued to fire at him. Peter caught you and brought you to the Sentries and then joined Trent." She took a deep breath, her gaze fixed on my hand. "It was horrible, Eric. The way the Trill died. I don't think I can ever get it out of my head

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for the rest of my life." She patted my hand again, this time distractedly as she forced herself to look back. "He was laughing the whole time. Taunting us, throwing punches at Trent, while he was slowly being burned alive by Wade's fire bombs. It was like he wasn't there anymore, you know?" She tapped the side of her head, and I knew what she meant. "Peter tried to wrestle him down and stop the fire, but the Trill was too strong. When Peter kicked the Trill away from Trent, it was sort of--the Trill just gorged on his own powers. He was so far out there that he kept powering up to be stronger than everyone, and all that time he was on fire. I swear he grew bigger whenever he powered up, and then he literally blew himself up, laughing the whole time." I finally remembered to breathe. "Like…like if you were to blow too much air into a balloon, right?" Althea nodded, her look haunted. "Yeah. That's exactly it. He just--" "Didn't know when to stop," I finished, meeting her gaze numbly. "But he still got what he wished for in the end, didn't he? To be better than everyone. He told me once that being mediocre is pathetic." "It was awful." "Yeah. I know." I looked back at my arms. "Have you ever felt like you're living out a cartoon?" "Everyday, Eric. Everyday." We both fell silent. A few minutes later, Mom returned, looking a hundred times more cheerful and fresh, and she asked Althea to stay to have dinner with them despite the hospital scene.

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Chapter 21 I was back home in a few more days. Althea was the only one who visited me in the hospital, and she was there just once, but that was because the others continued to be caught up with all sorts of supervillain shit. She also had to get back to "work." "Peter, Wade, and even Trent came by to see you when you were unconscious, like, when you were first brought to the hospital," she'd said. "But they couldn't stay. You should've seen Peter try to argue his way into a mental health break from crime-fighting." I snickered. "I'll bet it was a great moment." Peter sent me flowers, with Trent actually signing his name after Peter's on the card. I nearly hurt myself laughing. How long ago was it when I couldn't get Trent--Magnifiman--out of my head? All those filthy dreams, too… We talked on the phone a lot, though. It was kind of weird even though I wanted to communicate with him so badly for so long. I'd heard of people saying stuff like, "I had so many things I wanted to say to soand-so, but when the moment came, I forgot or chickened out or freaked out or passed out." I used to roll my eyes at that, thinking how lame that someone would totally mess up a chance when it finally came. How many times did I have to call myself a real dumbass? That was rhetorical, by the way. "How're you feeling?" Peter asked. "I've seen better days. How're you doing?" "Okay, I guess. Same old, same old." His voice, lowered to a conspiratorial volume, broke into quiet chuckles. "I'm sure you're doing a kickass job looking after Vintage City." "I guess." The longish and rather awkward pause that followed Peter's two-word, self-conscious response would've been the perfect moment for me to grab life by the balls, in a manner of speaking, and come out and say what I'd been rehearsing in my head for a while now. But did it happen? Nope. Why would it? It

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was a little difficult forming words when my tongue somehow twisted itself into a square knot, and all I could manage was a series of quiet coughing and a lot of cuticle-gnawing, while Peter waited at the other end of the line with infinite patience. "I have to go," he said after an eternity. "I've got homework to do still. I'll call you tomorrow, 'kay?" "Yeah, sure. Don't work too hard now." Go me. Wade also sent me a box of chocolate, the fancy stuff I was sure she was used to treating herself with. With it was a little note that said, "Hope to meet you soon as friends. Get well. Best, Wade. P.S. I'm sorry I shot you with my fire bomb. I get carried away sometimes." I was so embarrassed by her gesture of friendship and swore to apologize to her the moment we came face-to-face--as regular people, of course, not in superhuman mode. I didn't mind if my friends didn't stop by. I pretty much understood and accepted the way things would be between us--between superheroes and Mr. Joe Blow. Besides, the people of Vintage City needed them the most, and who was I to whine about being left out? I got to spend time with my family, which was great. Dad and Mom took a few days off from their work to stay home with me while I recuperated. Dad, having not been in this sort of situation before, decided to dust off our old Scrabble board and challenge me. When we found out that we were missing several letters, he chucked the game and got us a brand new version of Risk--the one that had The Lord of the Rings theme. I could see that Dad was trying his best to bond with me and show how much he worried over my safety, so I went along with the game even though I totally beat his butt every time. I guess once a supervillain wannabe, always a supervillain wannabe. He didn't care. He seemed to lose himself completely in the game, and it was really cool seeing him scheme and snark and thump his chest as though he were twelve-years-old all over again. After what I put him and Mom through, he deserved every fun, regressive moment he could get. Liz bit the bullet and stayed in school, though, since the academic year was almost over, anyway. She'd have plenty of time during the summer to hang out with me if she wanted to. Slowly, slowly, things went back to the way they were. After several days of being pampered and fussed over, I was gradually being reminded of my role at home, the garbage being the biggest daily source of nagging for me. Not that I minded, of course--at least for now. I was sure that it wouldn't take long for me to get all sullen about the chore. Washing the dishes? Don't get me started. There was one cloud that hovered, though. Mom came to my room one night, about two weeks after the Trill died. I was comfortably situated at my computer, puzzling over the current train wreck plot line that the online RPG community had gotten itself into.

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"How're you doing, honey?" she asked when I let her in. She still had her apron on. Mom normally took it off right before dinner, so that right there was a bad sign. "Fine, Mom. Much better, thanks. I guess I just need to go to Brenda for that test to see if there are any residual powers left in me." Or any damage, I almost added, but I managed to hold back on that. Brenda had already introduced herself to my family, while I was still unconscious in the hospital, but she told them something pretty vague about her role. She said that she was aligned with Magnifiman and that it was her job to test me for residual effects or imprints or whatever these leftover power things were called. Magnifiman was nice enough to vouch for her--and in person, too, which nearly made Liz propose marriage to him--and I was glad that none of my family knew about the Sentries. I wondered, though, if Magnifiman felt comfortable telling a bit of fuzzy truth to my parents, but it seemed that he was extremely good at keeping secrets in order to protect people. Mom nodded, looking around with an air of distraction about her, like she never heard me. Without saying another word, she walked over to my bed and sat down. I watched her the whole time, wondering and waiting for her to say something. For a moment she just let silence pass between us as she stared at her feet. "Is everything okay, Mom?" I asked. She sighed and glanced up, looking a little anxious. "Honey, are you still seeing that Barlow boy?" My face was on fire. "Um, no," I replied after a moment's hesitation. "We--kind of broke up." "Kind of…" I nodded, completely abashed. "No, we did. We broke up for sure." "Oh, I'm so sorry, honey. It must've really hurt…" "I'm over it now." Miserable liar. "I've moved forward." Pathetic. "I see. He--is he--Calais?" She fixed me with her gaze, which was hard and inquiring. I couldn't look away, and I knew it was useless to lie. We'd gone so far, with my ordeal and stuff. I was also sure that something must've come out during my rescue. There was no way I could hide anything from her. "Yeah. But--don't tell anyone, please? It's really important that no one knows his identity." "Eric, I'm not one to talk. You know that. Besides, I know exactly how important he is to Vintage City, and I'm not about to compromise his safety and his trust--or yours." With that out of the way, Mom took a deep breath, bowing her head and rubbing her temple. "I know it sounds harsh, but--it's a relief that you two broke up." "What do you mean?" "It's too dangerous being involved with him, Eric. You know it. You lived through it." When she looked back at me, her gaze was a lot harder than it was before. "The things that we went through--that you went through--were exactly the things your father and I were so terrified about when you first came

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out to us." I frowned at her. "I don't get it. This isn't about me being gay, Mom." "No, but in a way, it is. Honey, I told you before that what frightened us the most was the fact that the world can hurt you for being who you are. And…what happened recently was something like that, know what I'm saying?" I shook my head, my frown deepening. "You were chosen by that monster to be his experiment," Mom continued, her voice wavering a little. "It was because he knew that you and Calais are--were--together. He used you against Calais, almost destroying you. No, it's not the same as being gay-bashed, but it comes pretty close to it." "So, you mean to tell me that Peter and I shouldn't get back together?" I stammered. "Yes, I do, and I'm saying that for your sake." "The Trill's gone, Mom." "And what are you saying? More superhumans are coming out of the woodwork, Eric. There's a new threat, and so far no one knows anything about him yet, but he's out there, and he could very well be the same or even worse than the Trill. The Puppet and the Debutantes, they're not as dangerous. They survived the Trill, and they'll continue their attacks on Vintage City, but at least we've seen the extent of their powers. This new guy? Not yet." I must've listened to her with my jaw hanging open the whole time. "And you're saying that this new guy might use me the same way the Trill did? That's crazy!" "It wasn't crazy when the Trill kidnapped you from your own bedroom," she replied sharply. "Don't give these people any reason to think that, with you, they've got some leverage over the heroes. If you get back together with this Barlow boy--" "His name's Peter, Mom." "--then you're giving those people reason to threaten your safety." She stood up and patted her skirt, then untied her apron and balled it up without looking at me. "It's for your own good and for Calais that I'm telling you this." "You mean you're ordering me to do this," I cut in, unable to bite back my anger. "You know, tell me what to do, whom to see…" Mom raised a finger in warning. "You're not testing my patience when it comes to this, Eric. You're not. Okay?" I fell silent and watched her walk out the room, gently closing the door behind her.

God, I missed my bike. It sucked big time that the Puppet's mannequins destroyed it in that ambush,

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and it sucked even more that we couldn't at the moment afford a new one. My hospital bill was very likely astronomical, and there was only so much my parents' health coverage could take care of. Dad kept telling me that I shouldn't worry about my hospital bills, that the city helped in some capacity, given my "unique situation," but he wouldn't elaborate more on it. At any rate, Mom kept telling me to take public transport, but I didn't want to. It was horrible stepping out into the street, not knowing for sure who among our neighbors managed to figure out the truth about me. I was sure that if I stepped onto a bus, all eyes would be on me--staring me down, observing me like some kind of freak, the wheels in people's heads turning rapidly as they tried to figure out what happened and why I got myself into trouble in the first place. I dug out an old black newsboy's cap from the depths of my closet and wore it, pulled down pretty low. I was happy to be back in regular glasses again. They were one more expense I'd subjected my parents to since I destroyed my previous pair by screwing with its lenses. With my denim jacket's collar pulled up and my head ducked, I figured that I was appropriately secured from prying eyes as I made my way to Brenda's antique shop on foot. I saw all kinds of signs of Vintage City's recent battles between the forces of good and evil. Walls were crumbling or singed. Windows were shattered. Billboards atop different commercial buildings were blackened and torn up, with some of the steel frames twisted. Large, gaping holes--craters, to be more specific--marked certain main streets, screwing up traffic as workmen struggled to fill them up behind awkwardly-placed barriers. Destruction happened faster than the city's attempts at fixing things. Yes, there were several places all over the city where workers tried to cover up damaged façades and restore buildings' quasi-historical look. There were also several places, which I was sure outnumbered those scenes of repair, that remained destroyed and exposed, waiting their turn in the construction line. Here and there, I spotted some shops that were forced to close because of the damage they sustained during the ongoing battles. I was sure that business owners moved and set up camp somewhere else, but how long would it take before they'd be messed up again just because their new locations happened to be in the way of a head-to-head fight between superheroes and supervillains? I didn't want to know how many casualties were result of several weeks of this crazy situation. From what I'd heard, several people were sent to the hospital, but as to the extent of their injuries--or how many of the more serious ones survived--I didn't know. Frankly, I really hated to think about it. Brenda's shop didn't look changed at all. Lucky for me, there weren't any dogpiles anywhere near the front door, either. "Hello?" I called out when I entered. "Brenda? It's me, Eric." "Oh, hi!" she cried, her voice muffled. I'd absolutely no idea where it came from. I wouldn't have been surprised if she'd been buried under a pile of antiques. The place actually looked even more packed than

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before. I shuffled over to the counter and perched myself on a chair, waiting. How odd, I thought, that the last time I was there, I was on a precipice: facing a choice, really, between my conscience and my desire to be like my friends. It felt like a million years ago. I pulled off my cap and tidied up my hair as I waited. Brenda eventually appeared from the back room. Still looking great, still grinning, still every straight boy's wet dream--again, if they were into women who were twice their age. Clad in another form-fitting turtleneck sweater and jeans, she ambled over to the counter and leaned over it, sticking her face close to mine as she wrinkled her nose and teased me with a kooky little smile. "Good to see you up and about, kiddo," she said as she pulled back and ruffled my hair--argh! "How're you feeling?" "Much better, thanks. The antidote worked." "I'd like to think so," she replied, her smile broadening to a smug grin. "But we still want to make sure, no? Come along." She moved away and waved at me as she walked toward the back room door. "Dr. Dibbs is here, and he wants to check you out." I paused in my tracks, momentarily confused. "Who? Really? Oh! Yeah, okay," I sputtered, real idiotlike, my face warming as I laughed sheepishly. "Sorry. I just had some pretty bizarre experiences with Dr. Dibbs recently." "Freddie, you mean. Yeah, he told us about you and how he freaked you out. Had us all in stitches, let me tell you." "Yeah. I'm sure it was really funny," I muttered, ducking my head again and shoving my hands in my pockets as I followed her through a short but dark and narrow hallway. "How's Freddie, by the way?" "Oh, he's fine. He got his rest. Don't ask me how long he slept this time for his regeneration, but I was on the verge of ordering a glass coffin after a certain point." I chuckled. "I'll bet he won't be out on another undercover mission for a while." "Yeah. He's going through more training, and he's also hooking up with the other heroes for support and, you know, guidance." Brenda glanced over her shoulder and grinned. "It's good for him to find a group he belongs to, after being raised in near isolation his whole life." "Isolation?" She nodded. "His adoptive parents weren't sure how long it would take for his powers to come of age, so to speak. He was home-schooled and all that, with limited interactions with other kids. I felt really badly for him when I heard his story." "Man, that sucks," I said. "But, at least he's got new friends now--even if they're all, you know, superhuman." "He seems pretty excited."

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We eventually entered a fairly large room near the end of the hallway. Tall bookcases lined all four walls, and each bookcase was overflowing with volumes of all sizes and age. There was a distinct smell of time and old leather and paper that permeated the air. The room didn't have any windows, but it was lit with antique wall sconces. The floor was largely bare save for the occasional stack of books here and there, with some volumes lying spread open as though they'd fallen off or were kicked around. A desk and a chair stood at one side, with the desk piled high with sheets of paper and books or journals. Across from them were an old chair and an equally weather-beaten table. A bunch of medical instruments sat on that table, and my heart nearly dropped to my shoes. "Go sit in that chair, hon," Brenda said, her voice light and cheerful as she pointed at the Chair of Death. "I'll go fetch Dr. Dibbs. I'm guessing that he's in the kitchen, getting some tea." I hesitated. "Can I just wait for everyone on the sidewalk? I promise I won't run." Brenda rolled her eyes and jerked her head in the direction of the chair. "I know what you're thinking, Eric, and don't worry. We're not going to cut you open." She waited until I sat down, warily eyeing the instruments that gleamed so brightly and so germ-free in the muted light. "Well, not while you're awake, anyway." "That's not funny!" I cried as she walked out of the room, laughing.

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Chapter 22 Dr. Dibbs appeared, but I'd pretty much gotten myself used to the fact that this was the real deal, so I didn't get all freaked over seeing him again. Sure, he looked as I'd always seen him look, thanks to Freddie's chameleon powers. The difference was that the real Dr. Dibbs wasn't greasy and gross, and he didn't leer at me. I could only guess that Freddie must've had a hard time adjusting to his mask or that it could've been nothing more than performance anxiety that made him look at me kind of weird. The real deal, moreover, was pretty cool. He strode into the room, greeted me with a loud "Good morning, young man!" and then shook my hand vigorously while asking me how I was feeling. Incidentally, his hand didn't feel at all damp. He was also incredibly chatty. After initial greetings, he started prattling on and on about the weather, schoolwork, my favorite books, and just about everything else but what had happened to me. I told him about my fondness for poetry, speculative fiction, and my desire to pursue a doctoral degree in literature as well as my love of art and the color blue. He laughed when I groused about Chemistry and Geometry, and he shook a finger at me while grinning ear to ear. "Now, now, young Mr. Plath," he rumbled. Freddie certainly got his speech patterns down. "Chemistry and Geometry both contribute to your intellectual development, even if you might not get it right now." "I thought they stunted my brain, not helped it," I said, a little aghast at the idea that both subjects from Hell actually benefited me. "Well, you'll find out soon enough, when we start our tutorials." I stared at him as he continued to examine me the way a medical doctor would. The only difference was that Dr. Dibbs also made me wear this bizarre headpiece sort of thing. It was like a bicycle helmet made out of steel; the weight of the whole thing made me fear for my skull's integrity. He turned it on with a palm-sized rectangular gadget that had a bunch of small knobs on it. He kept turning them while Brenda monitored something on a laptop, taking down notes as she went. In the meantime, the tricked-out bicycle helmet shivered on my head, shaking my brain like it was an electric head massager or something.

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Once the headgear thing had done its job, Dr. Dibbs moved on to a pair of wristbands, both of which were made of the same heavy material as the tricked-out bicycle helmet. Like before, he used the same knob-filled gadget, while Brenda took down data in a writing journal. "You're going to be tutoring me?" I echoed, amazed. "Why, naturally, young man! I've spoken with your parents, and they've been kind enough to allow me to look after your education--for the time being, that is. To help you catch up on the rest of the semester. You'll still need to go to school in the summer, however, but only for a couple of classes. I do believe it's something your parents are still trying to iron out with your school." I nodded, relieved. "I'm cool with that," I said, grinning, as he unclasped the wristbands and sauntered over to Brenda, who turned over her notes to him. "I'll have to admit, though, that this conversation we're having is bringing back some bad memories I have about the Trill and how he wanted me to be tutored and stuff." I paused, now baffled. "I can't figure that one out." "What?" "Oh, that he'd take it on himself to continue my schooling and whatever else. It was like--he was trying to be my dad. I told him so, and he laughed at me." I shrugged. "I don't know. He was so bizarre. I can't figure him out." Brenda appeared interested in what I was saying and set her pen down. "A psychologist would have a field day with the Trill, I'm sure. I wouldn't be surprised if his behavior toward you, Eric, was something that was somehow related to his own experience growing up. Maybe his parents were overbearing? Considering how badly he turned out, maybe his genetic manipulation was pretty severe on top of his nurturing." Brenda shrugged as well. "I can't say. I'm not a psychologist. I can speculate until I drop dead, but with the Trill gone, that's all we can realistically do." "I kind of feel badly for him in that sense," I mused. "I mean, just like the superheroes, he couldn't help being what he was, right? He was stuck, and he didn't have a choice. His parents made the choice for him. I can say the same about the Puppet and the Debutantes. They've all been royally screwed, even if their parents' intentions were good." Brenda flashed me a reassuring smile. "Everything's subject to abuse, hon. For every parent with honorable intentions, there's always one with warped ambitions." I fell silent as I mulled things over. Brenda was right, and the possibilities of what could have been or what should be or whatever--all of them overwhelmed me, and I wanted to move forward from there. I took a deep breath, regrouped, and shifted the subject. "Do I come here for my lessons, or do we meet somewhere public, like the library?" Dr. Dibbs seemed to hold two conversations at the same time, alternately speaking in low tones with Brenda, while answering my questions without a single glance in my direction. It was pretty impressive,

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I'd have to say. "I don't care to be in the public eye, Mr. Plath, as I serve the community much more effectively behind closed doors," he replied. "Tutorials here will be enough for your needs. Have you any objections, sir?" "No, that's fine with me. I kind of like it here, actually." Brenda looked up at me and winked before turning her attention back to my test results. "Excellent! We'll have them here, then." Dr. Dibbs appeared pleased with what I'd just said as well as what he'd just seen in Brenda's journal. He straightened up, rubbed his hands cheerfully, and then shuffled over back to me. "All's well, young man," he declared. "All's well. The only thing left is a blood test, so if you'd be so kind as to roll up your sleeve and rest your arm on the table--thank you." I tried to look away when he brandished a pretty nasty-looking needle after tying a rubber tube around my arm. Not even the familiar cooling sensation of alcohol being wiped over the target area did much to soothe my queasiness over needles. "It's okay to call me Eric," I said, flinching a little at the sting and fighting against all sorts of horrible images involving blood and pierced veins and anything similarly anatomical and messy. "Actually, I'd prefer it. The Trill used to call me Mr. Plath a lot." "I'll remember that, thank you. Right! We're done!" Dr. Dibbs nodded, pressing a cotton ball against the tiny puncture mark he'd made on my arm. He anchored it down with a Band-Aid and then walked off to dispose of the syringe and hand over my blood to Brenda, who promptly labeled the small glass tube with my name and other things. "So, am I okay?" I prodded, watching them busy themselves with cleaning up and writing notes. "Oh, yes, you are. The blood test is there to confirm our findings, which have been good all around. If you have a head for all sorts of sci-fi geek talk, I'd be happy to share the results with you." The way he grinned at me when he said that pretty much convinced me that he knew too well what my answer would be. "Uh, no, thanks. If you say I'm fine, that's all I need. Besides," I added, a bit smug, "if you're messing around with me right now, my friends will find out, and you'll be up the creek, Sentries or no." He and Brenda burst out laughing, with Dr. Dibbs ruffling my hair before giving my right shoulder a playful punch. "Yes, Mr. Eric, we're very well aware of your advantage over us." He went back to his work while I quietly formulated my next question. "So, are the Sentries involved with the Solstice Masque, Dr. Dibbs?" "I'm sorry, what? Solstice what?" he piped up, looking at me with a sincerely puzzled little grin. "The Solstice Masque," I repeated, looking at both him and Brenda, who looked at me in a funny sort of way. "It's a carnival--traveling carnival. They came here recently, actually, and it was like they didn't follow the usual schedule--like they came out of turn, know what I mean? It was kind of strange when

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they showed up. They made me think that they were an off-season carnival, but at the same time, there was a lot more to it that I couldn't understand." Dr. Dibbs paused and waited, a collection of notes piled up in his arms. "Hmm. That's a curious question. What makes you think that the Sentries had anything to do with them?" "Well, all the carnival workers wore weird costumes, and they were masked, too, which made me wonder if they were hiding something. I mean, all the other carnivals we've had since I was a little kid were never like that. The Solstice Masque was the first one--okay, the only one--that made use of creepy costumes and even creepier rides. Everything was really old and surreal." I paused and fumbled around for words, digging as deeply inside me as I possibly could to give voice to a host of thoughts that I'd suppressed for so long. What made this all the more frustrating was the fact that everything I suspected about the Solstice Masque was firmly rooted in gut feelings, gut reactions. I'd long learned not to dismiss anything intuitive, but, God, it always nearly killed me, thinking of ways to communicate exactly what I could only understand on such a deep, deep level. Sure enough, Dr. Dibbs and Brenda exchanged glances--incredulous, amused glances. Thank God neither of them laughed at me as I was sure I was blushing so much by that point. "Dear Mr. Eric," Dr. Dibbs replied, his voice booming a little. "A young person's mind is a wonder--so fertile and rich, imagination-wise. I must admit to feeling very jealous of you right now. If I could only dredge up such colorful ideas, hypotheses, possibilities, and whatnot, I could spend my idle hours lost in one fantastic world after another." I frowned. "I take it the answer's a 'no.'" "It's a 'no', Mr. Eric. A most resounding 'no.'" I nodded, sighing. "Okay. Sorry. I guess I did let my imagination run away with me. It's just kind of weird, is all. Everything about the carnival told me that there was more to it than what meets the eye, and that maybe it's got something to do with the Eugenics babies coming into their powers and stuff." I grinned sheepishly and shrugged. "Never mind. I'm just making a big deal out of nothing." "It's definitely nothing, Eric," Brenda said as she turned off the laptop and tidied up the area. "But I can see where you're coming from. I guess if I were your age, I'd suspect the same thing. It definitely sounds like a pretty creepy carnival." "Yeah, but it was also fun all in all. The atmosphere was just a little, well, off, if you know what I mean. But it didn't keep me from having fun with one of my friends when we went there." Brenda regarded me with that funny kind of look again. It was like she was digging into me, trying to get as far as she could to figure out what I was trying to get at. "And what would you have done if the Sentries were involved with the carnival, sweetie?" I scratched the back of my head, considering. "I don't know. I guess I wouldn't have been able to do

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anything about it, anyway. If I tried to expose them, what can I say?" I paused to see her reaction, but she merely waited. "I mean, I already know that the Sentries are on the side of good, even if I don't completely agree with their methods of making sure that Vintage City doesn't make the same mistakes again." I made a face, fumbling some more, but in the end, I just gave up. "I just…have nothing to say. Pretty lame, huh?" I shook my head and simply left my thoughts dangling. "No, not lame, but I agree that there's nothing you can do. If anything, snooping around will put you in a lot of danger, if that were the case. The Sentries have their methods, and they don't take to interference very well, no matter how well-intentioned it might be. Eric, it's not your place. Don't even think about getting tangled up with them. Your involvement with them, with me and Dr. Dibbs right now, has everything to do with the Trill's manipulation and the danger you were exposed to." Brenda smiled--a vague, somewhat distant kind of smile that gave me pause. "Trust me, the Sentries have absolutely no connection with that carnival--or any other weird traveling show that catches your eye. They wouldn't have any reason to masquerade around like that, seeing as how they're an underground operation. Don't you think that they'd prefer to remain anonymous? A masked carnival sounds so--promotional--know what I mean?" Brenda broke off and laughed lightly, the sound of her voice easing my doubts a lot, and I relaxed in spite of myself. I guess if one were to put things that way, it would make my suspicions sound really crazy. I gave myself a mental kick. What was I thinking? Was I simply trying to prove something to Althea when I asked her to dig around online for leads? Was I trying to prove that I could do just as well as my superhuman friends in solving mysteries--or at the very least helping them with clues that could lead them to the truth? "I'm sorry," I said, mortified, as I stared at my shoes. "I don't know what the hell I'm doing half the time. I…really thought that I had something there, that I could be just as helpful as my friends without being, you know, genetically beefed up." Brenda's voice was gentle and kind when she spoke. "I can't imagine the kind of pressure you must've felt, Eric. I was never in that situation when I was your age, but I did feel the pressure of being almost superhuman from my dad." She nudged my chin and forced me to look up. "You responded to some kind of gut reaction, and you convinced yourself that you might've stumbled across something pretty significant. With your buddies coming into their powers at the same time, you felt left behind…unimportant. From what I can see, you clung to this strange idea of yours with all your might because of that." I nodded, hating the feeling of being stripped naked psychologically. "Yeah. That sounds about right. Now that I'm hearing you explain what might've been happening to me, I feel really stupid. It's so simple. Not to mention obvious."

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"You know, kiddo, sometimes the most obvious thing is the one we can't see." "Funny that you say that," I replied. "After the Trill kidnapped me, he made everyone think that his plan was so simple and obvious. He rigged my glasses with some kind of radio thingie, and we all thought that that was all he could do. Turned out to be way more complicated than that in the end." "He was playing with everyone's minds. That was what he was best at. I'm sure you've got tons of stuff to share with me regarding your life with him, when you're ready to talk about it, of course." I smiled at her. "I really don't know if I'll ever be good in figuring out what's real and what's not. Just about every choice I've made has backfired on me in one way or another. My judgment sucks." "Come on," Brenda said, giving my back a gentle pat. "Want some tea and cookies like before? I wasn't able to stock up on the same cookies you really enjoyed, but I think you'll really get into these ones." "I guess I could do with some comfort food," I sighed as I shuffled along behind her. "The more fattening, the better." I sure got my wish. Brenda served me shortbread cookies, and they were the serious kind--like, made with enough butter to kill off an entire city with clogged arteries. I dug into them, my spirits somewhat deflated after my disappointing conversation, but it sure didn't take long for unhealthy cuisine to distract me from my embarrassment. Brenda's jasmine pearl tea balanced everything with its gentle, spiritcleansing brew.

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Chapter 23 Dad was nearing the end of his one-week leave--or whatever it was called in the workplace--and we'd pretty much exhausted all our board games. He asked me more than once if I were interested in going out with him to buy a new, updated, way cooler one that I'd like, and I just smacked my head against my breakfast. "How about some lunch out, Dad?" I offered instead, flashing him my most winning smile. "Acid rain's not in the forecast. We can chill somewhere if you want." He nodded, his brows furrowed as he seriously considered the choices. "I suppose we can do that. You sure you're up to walking around a lot, son?" "Um, yeah, I'm sure, Dad. Thanks for asking." "Good! How about pizza and then some coffee?" Across the way, Liz looked like she was in the middle of an apoplectic fit. Stabbing her tater tots with her fork several times over, she listened to my exchange with Dad with a face that shifted from white to red to green to yellow to blue--and then back to white, repeating the process. "You suck," she groused, earning herself a comforting pat on the head from Mom, who'd just appeared all dressed up, ready for her appointment with the hairdresser. "You can always ditch your classes just for today," I offered. Liz had a test scheduled that day, and I knew it. Sure, it was mean rubbing salt in one's wounds, but this was par for the course between my sister and me. "Come on! It'll be great!" "You really, really suck." Bitter silence. "I know." Giggle.

Downtown Vintage sported scars. It was with some embarrassment that I recognized some of those

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scars as being caused by me. All right, so they were little scars except for that one building whose windows I'd totally mangled, but I did major damage for a good reason. Enough said. I kept my gaze on it, pausing in my tracks as wonder overcame me. The melted or reshaped opening had been cleared in parts, the main "prison bars" I'd hoped to achieve pretty much sawed off or something. But I could still see their source: the upper edge of the window frozen in the midst of melting. "I did that," I breathed. It was incomprehensible. The difference between what I was now and what I used to be felt like this yawning chasm, and I couldn't wrap my mind around the fact that I was, at one point, actually capable of doing something like that. "Anything wrong, Eric?" Dad asked, startling me out of my momentary trance. He'd walked back to stand beside me and follow my gaze. With his old hat and his glasses on, shadows kept me from reading his expression, but he'd fallen into a grim kind of silence. He understood. "Nothing. Just thinking. Let's go." We went to the mall because the pizza place was packed with too many people, and Dad was too hungry and fidgety to wait in line. With the time nearing lunch, workers had filed out of their offices, making beelines to their favorite delis or coffee shops or take-out diners. We didn't really have much of a choice. The food court had enjoyed a bit of an upgrade. The tables and benches had been replaced with tables and chairs of the heavy and solid quality, movable furniture in gleaming metal with firm cushions for a swankier look, I suppose. Not that it did anything to improve the nasty atmosphere of mall culture. Noise, the smell of grease, elevator music, the endless swarms of tired, harried, and pissed off shoppers--because they just realized that they'd spent ten times more than they planned--all desperately balanced by water fountains, new tables and chairs, and sparkly floors. I sat down with a tray of greasy Chinese food from the Dragon Terrace. Dad took his place across from me, doffing his hat with a satisfied little grunt and actually rubbing his hands in glee as he surveyed his food. I nearly choked on a potsticker, laughing. "I hope you like your food, Dad," I quipped as he started to dig in. "Of course I will! I always do! The Dragon Terrace makes the best Broccoli Beef around!" "Watch it. I'm going to have to see Mrs. Zhang and snitch on you, you traitor." Dad rolled his eyes--whether or not in mockery or in bliss, I couldn't tell. "Eh, what's she going to do? Come after me with an army of killer spiders?" A scream cut through the noise. Then another. All conversation stopped as shoppers looked around them in confusion. "Oh my God! What are those?" a woman shrieked from somewhere. The soft, steady clattering of something hard against the tiled floor reached my ears, and it grew

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louder. With it came more scattered cries of horror from people, and here and there, men, women, and children all leaped from their chairs, waving their arms and running from something I couldn't see. "What's happening?" I stammered. "Oh, no!" a girl yelled from somewhere behind me, and I turned to find her standing on her chair, pointing frantically at something on the floor. I looked and nearly choked. Spiders--an army of them. They weren't real spiders, either. They were mechanical. The size of beagles, these things marched forward with their legs making a thousand clicking sounds, while their mechanical eyes flashed white against black, shiny bodies. The most bizarre thing about them was the fact that, instead of ejecting silky stuff from their butts like when they formed webs, small holes opened in two lines that ran down the length of their abdomen, and from there, the webby stuff was spat out. They didn't need to stop in front of victims to cover them with white, sticky stuff as though the spiders were trapping them in rope-like webs. All they had to do was walk through the crowd and spit at random, and more often than not, they found targets. People cowered and flailed or turned around and ran, only to trip over themselves as the white, ropey things began to solidify around parts of their bodies. From some indeterminate distance, I thought I could hear someone laugh. I nearly froze in horror. "God, it's the Trill all over again," I hissed. It was just like the day when he sabotaged the aerial tracks. Confusion and disaster happening all over the place, with him laughing diabolically in the background. But it wasn't. What I could catch of the voice sounded monotonous and robot-like. This was the new threat that Mom and Freddie mentioned to me, I was sure. He was gaining power, ready to take over the Trill's former battlegrounds. "My baby! Let go of my baby!" a woman wailed. I saw her a few tables away, webby stuff draping off her straining body as she struggled to tear it from her toddler. Her little girl was screeching and squirming, her lower body completely wrapped. About five feet away a spider had stopped, and it had raised itself on its four hind legs, the four front ones waving in the air as though it were threatening the woman and her child. I'd been in danger before. I'd seen it up close--way up close. I'd nearly died in the process of salvaging what was left of myself. White hot fury took over, and it was fight over flight. I quickly grabbed my chair, relishing its weight and excellent construction, and ran over to the thing. A few bits of the webby stuff had wrapped themselves around me as I charged forward, but I didn't care. "Get away from her, you sonofabitch!" I yelled, swinging the chair down and crushing the spider with it. The mechanical body cracked, bits of the shell--I didn't know what kind of material was used--flying out in jagged pieces. The mechanism inside was exposed, and lights flashed and blinked as the spider, just

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like the Puppet's dolls, struggled to get back on its feet. "Oh, no, you don't!" I pulled the chair away and swung it again, ignoring the pain that ripped through my arms and body. There was no way in Hell I was going to let that thing come back for another attack. "Eric! What are you doing?" Dad cried. With a grunt, I smashed that pathetic piece of robotic crap with the chair, this time severing the thorax from the abdomen. Lights flickered violently from its torn body, its legs flailed, and webby stuff spewed in disgusting trails of white to pool on the floor. I left it there to die, sputtering and kicking until its eyes blazed for one last time before it faded to black. It lay on the floor, a sick-looking mess of broken artificial body parts, white stuff, and dark smoke rising from its robotic carcass. I'd just made myself an easy target. A few spiders nearby had left their lines and were making their way toward me. My heart pounded, and my hands felt slippery around the chair as I kept a tight grip on it, but I didn't run. Behind me the woman and her toddler sobbed, and I moved to plant myself between them and the spiders. "Come on," I hissed, swiping my tongue over my lips as I tried to assess the situation. I was way outnumbered and was likely going to end the next minute completely mummified. "We've had enough of you screwballs. Come on." I swung the chair, wincing at the feeling of overstraining muscles as I crushed the first robot that came within my reach. I swung again just as a few more ropes of sticky white stuff wrapped themselves around my waist. It took me three attempts that time since fatigue was setting in. "Get away from my son!" I turned to find Dad rushing forward with his own chair, following my lead as he attacked a spider that I didn't notice, for it came from the side, and it was about to raise itself on its hind legs. With a strength that I'd never before associated with him--the man whom I'd always called Les Nessman when I joked around, the man who was a quiet, newspaper-addicted family guy whose ideas of father-son bonding meant old board games--my dad smashed that thing with his chair, and he actually let out a war-cry when he did it. Yes, a war cry. It took him only one attempt to destroy that spider, and when our gazes met over the carnage, I couldn't help but grin. Around us, the noise had taken on a different tone. I continued to defend myself, the woman, and her toddler with my now-battered chair. The floor cracked here and there from the impact. In between enemies, I glanced around to find that other people were now fighting back, many of whom were men protecting their families, but there were a lot of women, too. Sweaty, red-faced, tired, partly covered in ropey white webby stuff, we all did what we needed to do: defend ourselves. No superpowers, no fancy gizmos--just our desire to protect our loved ones from harm,

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risking life and limb to see all that done. Yeah, I saw a few guys fall over, completely swathed in white stuff, with robotic spiders pouncing on them, but they only energized other people, especially some of those who continued to cower before the threat, to take up a weapon. There were still many who simply ran, pushing and clawing through the panicked crowd as they fought their way to the escalators and the stairs. Not that it would matter, I soon discovered. A quick look up to the upper-floors showed more shoppers running in a panic, most of them draped with white stuff. Nearby, Dad was in full force, as with a lot of others. Every once in a while, I'd lock gazes with one of the ordinary-people-turned-champions, and we'd grin through our sweat, bruises, and exhaustion. We fed off each others' energy. They inspired me as much as I was sure I inspired them--different ages, races, genders, sizes, physical abilities. It was phenomenal. I fought until my chair was too battered, and I had to throw it away, making sure to aim at an advancing robotic spider when I did, which momentarily slowed it down while I took up another. By the time the superheroes arrived, we'd pretty much taken down about a third of the monsters attacking the food court. If I'd had the luxury of time, I'd have sat down for a moment to ponder the greater evils of shopping malls, seeing as how ours was constantly targeted by supervillains. I honestly didn't know how everyone else in the upper-levels had done in defending themselves, but I found out later that quite a few had also decided to fight back. Wade was there on the second-floor, and Peter was in the food court. He easily outdid us all with a perfect combination of speed and strength. Swooping down, he'd grab hold of a couple of spiders, fly up, and smash them together in mid-air. Mechanical debris rained on us, and he threw away the shattered robots before diving down for more. Sometimes he kicked them against a wall, crushing them that way, or he simply threw them with incredible strength. Every once in a while, I'd catch his eyes from across the carnage, and we'd smile conspiratorially at each other before moving on to destroy our next targets. It was a fantastic feeling, fighting alongside him, even if I didn't have his powers. I found out later that Althea was on the topmost floor, tapping into some electronics store's computers and possessing all sorts of connected machines up and down the floor into electrocuting those robot spiders. Trent had gone after the main criminal. I'd no idea what he was called yet since, until that moment, he'd kept to the shadows. Along with the superheroes, we ordinary types continued our defense, most of us finding our second wind now that the good guys had shown up. I stayed with Dad, though, to make sure that he didn't sustain any injuries, and the woman whom I had been protecting had also taken up the fight once she'd managed to free her little girl and leave the child in the care of an elderly lady whose grandchildren were also hard at work kicking ass.

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I didn't know how long it took us to win out in the end, but in time, it was over. Once everyone saw that there wasn't a robot left twitching, we collapsed on the broken floors, breathing heavily, drenched in sweat, but feeling incredibly elated. At least, I did. I first went to the woman, who'd taken her little girl back. Like everyone else, she sat on the floor, battered and looking shocked, as she held her child tightly. "Are you two okay?" I panted, and she looked at me with this glazed stare. "I am, yeah," she whispered. "Thanks for everything." I smiled and shrugged, now embarrassed. I could've gone as far as toeing the ground while going, "Aww, shucks, it ain't nuthin'," but figured that it was best to leave with my dignity intact. I half-crawled toward Dad, who'd also slid down onto the floor, his legs stretched out before him, his hands twitching on his lap. He looked absolutely stunned. "You okay, Dad?" I asked as I took my place beside him. "You look really worn out." "I'm fine, son." He paused as he looked around the battlefield. "Holy cow. What a fight." "Yeah. We did it." He said nothing for a little while. Then he turned to me, the light in his eyes speaking volumes of his realization, as the enormity of what we'd just done had sunk in. "You're right. We did it." I smiled and patted one of his hands, and we both watched the scene as families slowly found one another, the injured were identified and comforted. No one died, thank God, but a few stayed in the hospital for a while, I later found out, because they'd been stung by spiders and were showing signs of transforming into human arachnids. We were all questioned, and before long, the local TV stations had arrived with its army of reporters. I didn't care to be hijacked by Bambi Bailey, so I told Dad that we should get the hell out before things got even crazier than before. When we finally stumbled out into the streets, we saw the area taped off, with masses of gawkers held back by police. Victims were being transported, and some simply walked off. Dad and I pushed our way through the stunned crowd, ignoring curious questions that were being thrown at us from all around. What happened? Who was responsible? What did you do? How many people got hurt? "Just watch the stupid news," I barked. Later that evening, Dad was on fire. He rattled on and on about our adventure, ignoring the news when it came on. It was fantastic seeing him get that excited over something. For one glorious meal, it was like being in the company of another teenager who'd just had his first successful fight. Mom was horrified and jubilant, while Liz complained even more loudly about her bad luck. "I'd have been able to fight, too!" "We know that, honey," Mom soothed. "By the way, it's your turn to wash the dishes." When I finally retired, I saw that Peter had left a message. "You don't have to call me back," he said. "I just wanted to let you know that I'm so fucking proud of

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you. Sweet dreams."

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Chapter 24 Since that incident, Vintage City seemed to have regenerated. I couldn't explain exactly what it was, but I felt a definite buzz, as if we all had discovered something really special in our own acid-raindrenched selves. Sure, life carried on as before, but people appeared more confident. Nearly every night, Bambi Bailey would appear in the news, smiling and glamorous--but still unable to snag Magnifiman, alas--reporting on local heroes who'd managed to save the day in their own small ways. A bungled robbery at a convenience store, a failed purse-snatching, a foiled carjacking or mugging. "Wow," Liz noted as she and I watched the news while Mom and Dad went out for a date. "Everyone's going to put the superheroes out of a job." "I know. Then again, I guess it's good for us to defend ourselves or fight back. I mean, the superheroes can't be in several different places at the same time, even if they end up growing in population." Somehow, though, I also knew that there wouldn't be many more of them coming into their powers in the near future. Genetics was an expensive science, and as Mrs. Barlow once said, those parents who could afford it were the ones who benefited from--or, in this case, were totally screwed over by--gene manipulation. Rich folks in Vintage City were a minority, but then again, where would they be the norm in this crazy world? I calculated that another three heroes and/or villains were due to show themselves soon, and that would be it. Between the heroes, the Sentries, and the cops, the bad guys and their minions had their hands full, and we regular people would be the bargaining chips, the ones always caught in the cross-fire. It was only good to learn to stand up for ourselves even when the moment looked too grim. "So," I said after a moment's silence, "are you still pretty hung up on Magnifiman? I noticed that you haven't been going all fangirly on him lately." "Oh, him? Nah," Liz laughed, digging into the bowl of popcorn we shared. "He's too much of a Type A personality. He'll be out there every night, keeping the streets clean and hunting down the main baddies, and I'll be left alone with the children every night. Not a good thing. I'm better off falling for

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someone more realistic." I shuddered. "Good grief, I didn't think you'd project your fantasies that far." "Shut up. It's not as if you've been totally innocent all this time." I glanced at my sister, who didn't look at me. In fact, she spoke with her eyes wide and glassy as she stared at the TV, her hand mechanically moving between popcorn bowl and mouth the whole time. It was a sad, sad sight. Time to pick up a book before I ended up looking like that, I thought. I stood and tossed aside the throw pillow I'd been cuddling. "Yeah, you got me. I've been jacking off to Magnifiman since he first showed up." "Oh, Jesus, Eric, I'm eating!" I trotted out of the living room, laughing myself sick. Liz threw her pillow at me, bonking me in the butt, which only made me laugh harder. The following day was a Saturday. Mom and I went to Olivier's for some used-book shopping. Dad was with some friends, bowling, and Liz was getting her nails done. We were in there for a while as Mom got all swept up in the romance section, and I kind of wandered off without any idea of what I wanted to get. It always happened this way, really. Whenever I was flat broke, I'd have a long list of things I desperately wanted to get. But when money rolled around--that is, when my parents allowed me to spend something beyond my school allowance, I'd freeze, and all of those things I wanted went poof! So that was how things were with me that day. Opportunity knocked, and I was completely hopeless. I went to the rear of the store, where the horror section was. I figured that it was high time for me to get something frightening to read. I scoured the shelves and eventually pulled something out: a collection of stories written by Guy de Maupassant. I'd seen that name online several times before, but I'd never bothered to check his stuff until then. Within minutes I was absorbed. "Hi," a girl's voice said, startling me. "Eric?" I whirled around and found myself looking at a short and skinny girl. She was pale but with some faint pink lipstick and blush, her dark hair loose around her shoulders, her small frame clothed in chic teen designer stuff. Right off the bat, I knew her. "Wade?" I stammered, and she blushed as she extended a hand. "Nice to meet you, finally," she said with a big grin. "How're you doing?" I guess it was my turn to blush. "I'm fine, thanks." She nodded and pursed her lips as she hesitated. "I'm sorry I shot at you. I think I wrote that in the card that came with the chocolates." "Hey, no worries, really," I laughed, raising a hand, and she immediately relaxed. "You didn't leave any scars, and you were only doing what you needed to do. I'm fine." "Okay, cool." Another moment's hesitation. "Um, I've just invited Peter and Althea for dinner and a

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movie next week. It's my birthday. I'll be seventeen--" "Happy birthday! Advanced, anyway." "Thanks." She shrugged. I could see how she could've charmed the pants off of Peter when they first met. Funny how her personality seemed to be so way off her alter ego's powers. Wasn't it sort of like the norm in books and movies that any person associated with fire was a real warmonger with a major anger management problem? I wondered what her parents wanted from her when they had her genetics screwed up. Wade cleared her throat. "Well, I was wondering if you'd be interested in coming, too." "Me?" "Yeah, sure. Why not? You're best friends with Althea and…" She caught herself but continued without a moment's hesitation this time. "I've always wanted to meet you after all the cool things that Peter's said about you." I couldn't say a word. My embarrassment left me tongue-tied for a while. I was also horribly ashamed of all those things I'd said to Peter about him and Wade--not to mention all those things that remained unsaid. There were way too many of them to count, and that fact alone made me want to excuse myself, crawl away and find a dark corner where I could hide. "You're not having a big party at home with your girlfriends and so on?" I eventually sputtered, and Wade snickered, shaking her head. "I don't have a lot of friends--good friends, anyway. Kind of ironic, really, that the ones I bonded the most with are the ones outside school, and they're also the ones I have a lot in common with," she replied, leveling me with an intense look. "I know," I said, braving a gentle touch of her arm, and she didn't pull away. "I understand. Yeah, I'd love to go. I'll have to ask my parents first, though." Wade broke out in a broad grin, her face practically lighting up. "Awesome! Do you mind trading phone numbers? You can call me if your mom or dad want to talk to my parents--I mean--you know, since they don't know me and stuff." "No, not yet, but they will." Wade pulled out a small notebook from her purse and scribbled down her information, while I dictated my phone number. She tore off the sheet with her number on it and gave it to me with a grateful smile. "I'll call you soon," she said just as her cell phone started going off. She whipped it out of her purse and, placing a hand on my arm, smiled at me once more. "I think Peter's a really lucky guy," she said, her voice dropping. She winked as she released me and then hurried off to take the call. "Hello? Hey, where are you?" she chirped, her voice fading into the distance. "I'm sure he doesn't feel it with me, though," I whispered, my spirits sinking a little as I folded the

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piece of paper and tucked it inside my jacket pocket. I ended up buying the book, while Mom loaded up on romance titles. Then we went off to find a place to eat but were quickly sidetracked by an ethnic clothes store that had just opened. Made in Nepal, the labels proudly boasted, along with prices that made me choke on my tongue. "Eric, wait here," Mom said, and I groaned, the bag of used books dangling from my hand. "Hurry, Mom," I said, but she'd already vanished inside. I sighed as I looked around for a place to sit, seeing as how I was likely stuck waiting for an hour at least. A walk down the block found me standing in the middle of a smallish courtyard that joined two rows of shops. People wandered through the area, with some of them resting their feet as they claimed a few of the benches that littered the place. As I looked around, I caught sight of someone walking inside one of the shops. I nearly turned around and walked back to take my place in front of the store where Mom went, but I didn't want to chicken out. Bracing myself, I hurried through the courtyard and stepped inside the shop, which turned out to be a small art supply store. Peter was easy to find. His passion was charcoal, so I went straight to that aisle and found him there, frowning over two brands. I figured it was the cost that was giving him a momentary hernia. "Hi," I said, approaching him carefully. He glanced up, surprised. "Oh, hi. How's it going?" "Good, good. How're you?" "Same as ever." An awkward pause followed. He raised the two boxes of charcoal. "I'm shopping for art supplies." "That's cool. I'd take the Vermeer brand if I were you. It's way better than everything I've tried." "Really? Okay." He replaced the other box and let another awkward silence fall between us. I scratched my head and looked around us to see if anyone was nearby. "Peter, I don't really know how to approach this, I mean, I've never been involved with someone before but, you know…I'm really sorry." I grimaced after I spoke. God, I must've sounded so lame. "Sorry for what?" "For pissing you off… over Wade and other things. You were right. I was being totally selfish and a dickhead and was just too hung up on what I wanted and not what everyone--this city--needed." Once the words came, they were hard to stop. I suppose I could've chosen a better, more private place than a small art store to attempt a reconciliation, but hell with it. "Eric…" "No, no. Listen. I wanted to be like you and Althea. I didn't feel like I fit in the group anymore, the way you guys were improving on…you know." At least I tried to keep the conversation on a pretty general level in case of accidental eavesdroppers. "Then Wade showed up, and you were all thrilled about

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her, and what I had, you know, what he gave to me…I tapped into that. My insecurities about me and how it all relates to us. Know what I'm saying?" God, I hoped he understood my stuttering rambling. "I thought at first that I finally got what I wanted, but it backfired on me. I wasn't meant for that…that sort of thing." Peter listened, looking slightly stricken. "I know," he replied in a quiet voice. "You weren't. You're not like us, and that's what's always helped me." He smiled at my confusion. "You ground me, Eric. At the end of a crazy day, when the world seems to have gone to Hell, I turn to you for a reality check." "Huh? Like how?" Peter shrugged, looking down at the box in his hands. "You remind me of what matters in the end. Not the fancy, you know, stuff." Oh, yes, he'd picked up on my attempts at shielding the truth from eavesdroppers. "It's about being with the person you care for the most." "Until that person drives you to break up with him, anyway." It was his turn to grimace. "Eric, it wasn't your fault…" "Oh, yes, it was. I was the clingy, jealous one, wasn't I?" "Well, I made you insecure. I remember how I behaved when I talked about Wade and the stuff we did together. Looking back at those times now, I feel like a total ass. I don't blame you at all for going off the deep end." "Liz will say that I've always been off the deep end." Peter looked up, met my gaze, and we both broke into quiet laughter. I kept looking around as we tried to hold back, only to snort like pigs, which only made us laugh harder, and try to hold back harder. I never realized until then how romantic small art supply stores were. We eventually calmed down, and once I managed to gather myself, I went for broke. "I miss you." Okay, so not quite broke. But saying that I missed someone was one step closer to saying that I loved someone. Peter regarded me with a little smile. "I miss you, too. And I'm sorry for hurting you the way I did." "Would you like to go out with me tomorrow? I mean, if you're not busy." His smile widened, and that was all the response I needed. I quickly set a time for us to meet, though he insisted on picking me up. One final look around the aisle to make sure we were alone, and he pulled me close for an embrace. I wanted to say, "I love you," but that would've been too much, too soon, especially after what we'd gone through. I wanted to wipe the slate clean, start over, and try not to screw up this time around. I hurried out and was about to make my way back to the clothes store when I heard my name called. I turned around and found Mom sitting on one of the benches, watching shoppers with vague interest. "Sorry," I panted, taking my place beside her. "I got distracted in the art store. Are you ready to go?"

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"Didn't we just have a talk about him, Eric?" I paused and stared at her, my heart dropping. "You saw, didn't you?" She turned to face me, her face tired and pale. "There were too many people in the other store. I got out pretty quick. You didn't hear me when I called you, and I followed you here. So, yes--I saw and heard, actually--not that I'm surprised. Knowing you, I expected some rebellion." "I'm sorry, Mom, but--" "Do you still love him?" I nodded. "Yeah." She took a deep breath and waited, looking around her while the tenseness of her facial muscles told me how much she fought against so many things at that moment. Then she tucked stray hair behind an ear. "I don't think you understand how difficult this is for me," she said. "I'm trying as hard as I can, you know…" "I know, Mom." "No, you don't. You don't. Someday you will, though." She glanced at me and smiled, her eyes filling with tears. "I don't want Peter to be seen in your company as his alter ego. Okay?" It was my turn to fight back tears. "Okay." "I want you two to be far away from each other while he's…working. It's for both your sakes, do you understand?" "I do." Mom smiled--a sad kind of smile--the one I'd long been used to seeing whenever she was coming to terms with something she couldn't control, especially when it involved her kids. I knew it was hard for her to do this, to let me go and brave the waters, but it was no use arguing. She'd still say that I didn't understand. That was cool, though. I guess we were both on the cusp of something, and we needed to let go of each others' hands before we took that step forward. I gave her a tight hug, enjoying the warmth and comfort of her arms around my waist. "Thanks, Mom. I love you." "I know, honey. I know."

My second real date with Peter, counting the one when we were still boyfriends, proved to be a surprise at least to him. Well, he should've known better than to encourage me with a cheeky "I don't care where we go. You choose." I'd insisted on paying, so he let me. "Next time, it's my turn," he said. We took the roundabout way--roundabout because it was the safest way to go, with the well-lit streets

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and the public parking garage a block away. I told him not to wear anything fancy, too. It would make it much less of a worry for me when it came to walking to a block that wasn't exactly as lucky as the area where we left the car. When we stood in front of the door, Peter laughed. "I figured you'd take me here," he said, turning to me, the old neon lights on the window lending his face a strange glow. I thought it made him look even more beautiful. I grinned back. "What? It's good food! Okay, a little on the greasy side, but what restaurant doesn't serve greasy dishes, anyway?" "I'm game." I opened the door for him and saw that we were the only customers there, at least for now. Mrs. Zhang's takeout place was constantly swarming with folks, but I made arrangements with her the previous evening, and she was nice enough to agree. Then again, I suppose having Dad there with me, salivating over her food and then buying enough to feed an entire country helped. Seriously, I was glad I wasn't around when Mom went over the family's expenses this afternoon, as I was too busy getting a haircut. From the look on Dad's face when I got home, I guessed that he was in the doghouse for a week. "Hey, skinny boy!" Mrs. Zhang bellowed from behind her steaming counter. She waved a ladle at us, and I waved back. "You bring a date, huh? Good thing he's not as skinny as you!" I leaned closer to Peter. "She's got serious weight issues when it comes to me." "Gotcha." "She'll try to make you stuff me with potstickers." "Okay." "Over here!" Mrs. Zhang waved us over, and we followed her, squeezing ourselves between her steam counter and the wall and walking down a very, very short hallway toward a back room. It was directly across from the kitchen, and from the looks of things, it was used as a dining room for the staff--if she had any other than herself and the cook. Stacks of boxes, buckets, crates, and other packaged food items lined the walls. A single bulb lit the room with a slightly yellow glow. The floor looked nicely mopped, though, and the table was covered, with plates, chopsticks, and glasses already set. Mrs. Zhang waited until we sat down before she marched up to Peter to give him a rough nudge on his shoulder. "Watch that boy," she said, jerking her head at me. "Make sure he eats. Make sure he finishes his food. Teenagers nowadays are too vain about their looks and their weight." "I promise I'll keep an eye on him," Peter said. Mrs. Zhang grinned at him and then turned to me. "Good date. Very sensible. Should be boyfriend, if you're smart." "I'm lucky he said yes."

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Peter colored. "I haven't said anything yet," he sputtered after she left. "I was talking about the date, you big goof, not--you know…" "Oh." Peter stared at his plate for a moment, contemplating. "I would've said yes, anyway. Then again, I would've asked you first." I couldn't think of anything to say to that. I must've looked so stupid just sitting there and watching him like a moonstruck puppy. Starting over? Yeah, it definitely felt like it, but at the same time, I wanted to think that we were smarter--and maybe a little more grown-up--about everything. I hoped so, anyway. Peter finally glanced up and caught me looking like a total dork. Just as Mrs. Zhang reappeared, carrying our first course--hot and sour soup that was so spicy that customers were known to blow fire from both ends after eating it--he let himself go. Apparently, not caring a jot if Mrs. Zhang saw him, he mouthed, I love you. Later that evening, he told me that he'd never seen me smile so wide.

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