Rapscallion

Superheroes Don't Like Pickles

After such a reckless decision, I head back to my apartment to overthink it.

I flop onto my couch and stare at the ceiling. "Edgar," I groan, "what did I do?"

My dog looks at me unsympathetically.

"Come on, don't look at me like that. My best friend is dating a douchebag and Void thinks I'm an evil mastermind." Speak of the devil: a familiar tremor runs through my apartment.

I roll my eyes up to the ceiling. "For God's sake, Void!" I yell, because only one person has the indecency to knock hard enough to make my mismatched thrift store dishes rattle in the cupboards. I don't leave him waiting though—I learned my lesson last time when he blew my door off the hinges.

I jerk the door open and glare at my nemesis. "This better be good," I grumble, folding my arms over my chest and purposely planting myself in the doorway.

For once, Void has lost some of the arrogance that's usually painted across his face. He actually looks... mildly concerned.

"Let me in, Gray," he says, omitting that word most people use when they ask for something.

"Why should I, asshole?" I retort, even though I'm curious as to why he's showing his face here on Christmas after his little interrogation session yesterday. I'm mostly just annoyed that he always has to knock so loudly.

He swallows, his adam's apple bobbing in his tan throat. "Because," he says, choking the words out like he might be reciting an eulogy, "I think I need your help."

———————————————————————————————-

Once Void is manspreading on my couch with a bottle of Coke in his hand, his arrogance returns.

I perch on the arm of my armchair, nursing my coffee, and wait for him to explain. He sips the Coke at 11:17 in the morning because he "doesn't drink coffee" and takes his sweet little time. The heathen.

"So," he finally starts, "I was on my way to the market down the street—you know, that one off 75th?" He waits for my answer expectantly.

I just look at him.

"You've never been to that one? The one with the gray tabby that hangs around outside and the sign that has the "M" out?"

I groan. "Get to the point, Ryan."

His eyes narrow at me. "As I was saying I was on my way to the market, and then she shows up."

I wait.

"That—that she-devil Clairvoyant comes up to me, and acts like we're drinking buddies or something! She ordered a sandwich with three pickles on it and she—" he shudders, and I can't decide if it's because of the pickles or something else, "she didn't try anything. No persuading, no backstabbing, no seduction, and she even paid for her sandwich. I just..." he trails off, gripping the coke bottle so hard I'm afraid it might shatter. "I think she's up to something," he finally admits. "She's too quiet, Gray."

I shrug, giving my coffee a swirl. "She's a villain. Of course she's up to something."

Void leans forward earnestly. "No, think about it. When's the last time she's been on the news? It's been months, and you know that's not like her. She's up to something big, and we both know what she's capable of."

I chew over this theory along with my bottom lip. Perhaps he's right—Mckella Reed, AKA the Clairvoyant, is a very active and rather evil villain. I stick to robbing banks, but this chick... she's bad news. If she has been as quiet as Void claims, we may be in for some big trouble, heroes and villains alike.