Super•Villainous

II

"Gone." He shrugged. "Off to lick his wounds, I suspect."

"Oh. Sorry."

"Nah. Saving you in time was more important anyway. Wouldn't want you ruining my perfect record."

I was exhausted, swaying on my feet, but I still asked, "What record?"

"You'd be my first fatality-" his voice took on a slightly dark edge, "well, actually, second, but it isn't the type of record I'd like to expand on."

I swallowed. "I appreciate that. I never much liked coming in second anyway."

He laughed. "I suspect not. Don't think I missed what you did to the poor Shade."

I groaned, ducking my face into my hands. Slowly, I parted two fingers to peer through at him again. "How much did you see?"

"Oh, I don't know..." he tapped his mask, pretending to think, "Just long enough to see you STAB him."

That was what I was afraid of. "Which time?" I asked, cringing.

"You stabbed him more than once?" he demanded, incredulous.

I winced. "Uh... no?"

His shoulders sagged and his head drooped to glare at his feet. I got the distinct impression he was pouting.

He muttered, "...I've been chasing him around for months and some girl sees him one time and stabs him not once, but twice? What will the Guild say? They'll never let me live it down. I'll need to run away, change my name..."

The urge to apologize was almost overwhelming. To see Tempest, a literal superhero, so dejected was jarring, but I stopped myself. Why should I apologize? 

Ambulance sirens and police wails grew louder by the second. While I didn't know much, what I did know was that I didn't want to be caught there. I didn't want that medical bill from paramedics hauling me to the hospital and I didn't want the publicity from the reporters doubtlessly following the coat tails of the first responders. Unsure what else to do, I backed away slowly.

I would have backed away swiftly if I could, but with my ankle being in the condition it was, that wasn't an option. Tempest caught up easily while I hobbled around a chunk of what used to be a forty-plus story building.

"Where are you going?"

I didn't slow. "Home."

"Oh." A pause. "Do you want a lift? You look like you're having some trouble."

Was there a polite way to say I'd rather eat live cockroaches than hurtle through the air again?

I settled on, "Thanks, but no thanks. I've had enough near death experiences for one day."

"I won't drop you!" he defended himself. "I haven't dropped anyone yet."

"I don't know about that. I did end up with the Nightshade, after all," I said, shooting him a meaningful look as I paused to regain my bearings. Which way was the nearest subway entrance again?

On a whim, I reached for my wallet in my back pocket. My heart plummeted to somewhere in my shoes. It wasn't there. It wasn't there! How else was I supposed to get home? To walk, at this rate, might take hours. I didn't have hours. It would be dark in just two, tops.

Oblivious to my distress, Tempest said, "That's not fair. You dropped yourself. You let go of me, not the other way around. My record goes unblemished."

I saw the first ambulance speed into view, followed by half a dozen police cars, a fire-truck, and numerous news vans from television channels I'd never heard of. Conflicted, I glanced between Tempest and the reporters, bursting forth from their vehicles and heading straight towards us.

"I changed my mind." I planted myself in front of Tempest. "Get me out of here."

"Really?"

"Let's go!" I insisted. Feeling bolder than I'd ever been in my life, up to and including accidentally stabbing the premier criminal in the city, I tossed my arms around his neck, holding tight. "Get me to Forest Hills without letting me fall to my death, please."

"Well, since you asked nicely." A hand wrapped itself snugly around my middle, then, with a jolt, we were airborne. Wind whipped through my hair as we hurtled between buildings. "I didn't plan on sticking around anyway. Those reporters would have eaten me alive."

"Sc—" the words hitched in my throat when I felt us plummet for a second before leveling out among the clouds. I started again, laughing nervously, "Scared of some little reporters? You fight supervillains and psychopaths, for goodness sake."

"Now that's not fair. At least I know where I stand with people like Nightshade. Reporters are wildcards."

His good humor was almost infectious. Although it didn't soothe my nerves and I kept my eyes dutifully sealed shut until we hit ground again ten minutes later.

"Um... thanks for the lift... and for not letting me get crushed by a building... and for not letting me fall to my death."

"No worries! See you around!"

He gave a quick salute and went on his way, not once looking back. Sighing, I turned in the direction of my apartment— well, my dad's apartment— and began limping the rest of my way home. When I reached my door, it occurred to me that my keys were on the lanyard attached to my pocket knife, the same pocket knife I left imbedded in the Shade's shoulder.

"You have got to be kidding me," I muttered, knocking my forehead against the door. This spell of rotten luck was getting out of hand.

Unfortunately, just as I went to repeat the action, the door swung open to reveal my step-father. I kept falling forward, unable to regain my balance in my surprise, and barely caught myself before face planting on the hardwood.

"Oh." My step-father, Adrian, blinked down at me. "Hey, Lily."