By the time I awoke, both Atticus and I unanimously decided we would rather risk being promptly ambushed upon escaping our subterranean sanctuary than spend another minute wasting away in what was beginning to feel like a giant tomb. The first exit we found, Atticus forced our way through, his ice power rising to the surface in place of telekinesis from the day before. He manifested a massive glaciatic spear shooting out of the ground to cleave open the boarded up exit, a spectacle I observed with raised eyebrows and afterwards sarcastically applauded as being "extremely subtle."
When we emerged, we hungrily drank in the fresh air, or, at least, I did. Atticus was too dignified to show any outward signs of relief, but the last thing I had any use for was dignity.
A starless night stretched overhead, further reinforcing our temporal disorientation. What day was it? How many nights had passed since my most recent "kidnapping"?
Was my dad worried? How traumatized was Leigh after being forced to endure the same nonsense all over again? After all, as far as she knew, these were the third and forth kidnappings of her close relations at the hands of the same person. She likely felt as though Shade had a personal vendetta against her.
It did no good to dwell, so I cast my mind elsewhere. While we prowled through the poorly lit city streets after dark, I waited for Atticus to finally finish his story.
"What's the second worst thing you've ever done?" Atticus asked abruptly, breaking through the monotony of our footsteps on pavement and distant sirens.
"The second worst? That seems a little arbitrary." I glanced sideways at him through the curtain of my hair, unsure as to where he intended the line of questioning to lead, but opted to humor him anyway. "Are we talking about the second worst thing I've ever done on purpose, or the second!worst consequences to my actions?"
"Either, I suppose."
I considered. The first worst thing required little thought. Innocently annoying my brother caused a plane crash that killed dozens. An obvious choice.
The second, on the other hand, forced me to sift through my memories for anything that stood out, and nothing really did. All paled in comparison to inadvertently getting my own mother and brother killed, even if the events had been largely out of my control.
"I'm not really sure," I admitted. "At one time, I wondered if not turning you in to the Guild would turn out to be one of my greatest mistakes. Can't really say that anymore, because if I had, I'd be in prison, or worse."
"We still might end up in prison, regardless," Atticus pointed out with disconcerting cheer, "or worse."
"I'm not exactly one to rally the troops, either," I said, "but you aren't the type for motivational speeches, are you?"
"I'm only pointing out that there's still time for me to become your second worst mistake." A dark meaning lurking beneath his otherwise devil-may-care exterior.
I met his gaze, a slow-growing grin spread across my face. "Likewise."
After all, due to my curse, he'd regret meeting me soon enough.
He looked away first, appearing appropriately troubled.
"Anyway," I stepped off the curb as we crossed the street to avoid giving a trio of grown men sitting on their front steps a good glimpse at our very identifiable personages, "don't leave me in suspense. What about you? People don't ask those extremely specific types of questions unless they want them asked in return."
He made a good show of recovering from whatever it was that bothered him, and said, "It's not that I wanted you to return my own question. Rather, I was delivering unto you your question from yesterday, albeit in a different form. The second worse thing I ever did was willingly take Frost's power. Like I mentioned before, Frost had been a prisoner for several years. The Guild offered him his freedom in exchange for being their test of my power. It seemed fair, at the time. If he lost his powers, he wouldn't be able to cause any more unsanctioned problems in the outside world, so he could be cut loose with a clean conscience, allowing him to begin a new life for himself, his slate wiped clean. We thought everybody had something to gain from the exchange... at first."
YOU ARE READING
Super•Villainous
Fantasy"I've been looking for you." There was an unexpected rasp to his voice, a hint of desperation. He stretched out one hand, as if to brush it across my cheek, or perhaps wrap it around my throat. Oddly enough, I didn't know which option frightened me...
