Don't Be a Hero: A Superhero Novel

17: Rest My Weary Head

“Do you love your wife, Carpenter?” she asked.

He shot her a quick look. “Yeah. ’Course I do.”

“How much?”

“More than anything.”

“How do you know?” she asked.

“Because if I had to choose between letting her die and setting the world on fire, I’d be reaching for the matches. What’s gotten into you?”

She didn’t say anything for a while. Damn it. Why did all this have to be so difficult?

“You sure we have to go to my place?” she said.

“You got a better idea?”

She didn’t. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Solomon. It was just that the fewer details people knew about her, the safer they all were. And she had to keep Gabby safe. She had to.

“You can’t keep pushing your friends away forever, mate,” the Carpenter said.

Oh, bugger it.

“Fine.” Her chest grew tight as she said the word. “Just don’t touch my stuff.”

~~~

All quiet on the home front. If Met Div were conducting investigations in the Old City like the radio claimed, they were in another neighbourhood. Niobe parked the car in the apartment building’s basement.

Solomon whistled as he stared around at the basement. “So this is where the Silver Scarab does her thing.”

Gabby had converted the basement into a workshop that resembled a mad scientist’s laboratory. Strange, misshapen tools lay in neatly ordered racks around the room. In one corner, a blue light shone through a porthole in a box-shaped machine that hummed to itself. A clipboard covered in figures and scatter plots hung next to it. Everything was squared away so neatly it almost hurt Niobe’s brain to come down here.

“This is it,” she said, tucking the files from Met Div under one arm. “Though I wouldn’t go calling her that.”

“Huh?” He was peering at something that resembled a harpoon gun with a loop of cable running from the spear to a metal coil the size of her thigh. “Oh, right. Not the Silver Scarab anymore. Gotcha.”

They took the stairs up. Gabby must’ve fixed the door to the apartment. Niobe put the key in the lock, then paused and held out the files to Solomon.

“Maybe you should hang back for a couple of minutes. I’ll make sure it’s okay with Gabby first.” Gabby and Solomon had never met, and Niobe wasn’t sure how she’d react to having a stranger in the apartment.

“Sure.” He slung the bag containing his costume over his shoulder, took the folders, then strolled back and leaned against the wall near the stairwell. He fished a dried plum from some hidden pocket, popped it in his mouth, and grinned at her. Shaking her head, she opened the door.

There was a flash of frizzy blond hair. Before Niobe could react, her cheek blazed with fire. Her head snapped around, and a brief flash of animal anger went through her.

She caught Gabby’s wrist before the second slap landed.

Gabby’s face was wild. She wrenched her hand free, and Niobe involuntarily took a step back.

“What the hell are you doing?” Niobe asked. She put a hand to her cheek to soothe the heat. She should’ve left the mask on.

—No, Gabby signed, what are you doing? You said you’d be home last night.