The Archive room had never felt so small. The piece of the ceiling trapping us in the basement had never so unmovable.
Remain calm.
That became my mantra as I pretended I hadn't just Sherlock Holmes'd my way into discovering Shade's identity.
My best friend's missing brother just had to be the most dangerous supervillain alive. "What rotten luck," is what I would say, except that actually made a lot of sense in the grand scheme of things. My rotten luck — my own dear brother's curse — very well could have been playing the long game, bringing her into my life half a decade earlier in a round about way of ensuring the wheels of fate led me to her villainous sibling.
Fantastic.
And because I learned nothing from my previous disregard for critical thinking where my suspiciously fast healing had been concerned, I chose to cling to the sliver of hope that I was wrong. Recent events made me hyper-paranoid, hadn't they?
Besides, I preferred not to publicly cast suspicion on a man who, if innocent, already suffered the most traumatic experience of his life as the captive of the very supervillain I would accuse him of secretly being. It wasn't the type of accusation to be flung around lightly. My relationship with Leigh would never recover from a false accusation of that caliber, and that was one of the few things in the world I refused to risk.
If I planned to go to the Guild with my theories, they needed to be airtight, proven without a shadow of a doubt, so I had some investigating to do.
Despite myself, I fought off the urge to go bang my head against the nearest wall. I was already quite preoccupied nosing around the Guild for information on what happened to my grandfather, and this issue seemed far more time-sensitive.
Atticus's smooth voice broke through my bubble of stewing thoughts. "If you tell me what you're doing, I can help. It's not like I have anything better to do."
As the time in the basement grew from mere minutes into our second hour, he gave up on hope of quick release and settled for sitting on the floor, propped up against a wall, one arm dangling lazily over a bent knee. He flipped my knife open and closed just for something to busy his hands, not noticing how the repeated action put me on edge. I could have snatched it back, but that required bridging the distance between us, and I really didn't feel like getting that close to him at the moment. Alternatively, I considered pressing the panic button Ren gave me upon my release from the hospital, only staying my hand because I knew to do so wouldn't help my current situation in the least. It wouldn't make them stop Tectonic or move the rubble any faster.
In spite of my reservations, I decided that forcing Atticus to do some grunt work in exchange for getting him to stop playing with sharp stabbing tools was far from the worse deal imaginable, so I gave him a brief run down of how things were meant to be organized and to let me know if he came across information on a Super that went by the name Shadow.
My grandfather.
"Why are you interested in a Super thirty years passed his prime?"
Against my greater will, I looked up. "You know of him?"
Eyes low, roaming over the paper in his hands, he smiled ruefully to himself and said, "As much as the next person."
"Just let me know if you find something," I said, grudging to speak to my potential nemesis — and I didn't think it was dramatic to deem him such — more than absolutely necessary.
He wouldn't find anything. In my gut, I knew we were in the wrong place. After several days of search, I'd yet to find any information the least bit salacious. They probably kept the interesting stuff locked up in a titanium safe somewhere, far from prying eyes, which meant I now needed to find where. The private Elder floor of the Guildhall seemed like a decent place to start, but if I got caught sneaking up there it might get tricky when I visibly struggled to muster up a reasonable explanation as to why I belonged where I so clearly did not.
After an extended period of time of Atticus — Shade? — doing nothing I deemed particularly suspicious, I had to physically force myself to keep my guard up, ears straining to pick up the smallest shuffling of his approach. Instead, I heard small hums of amusement when he read a particularly ridiculous account of a rescue and he cunningly distracted me by occasionally running his hand through his hair and letting it all fall mesmerizingly back into place, a perfect frame for his eyes. A master in the subtle art of diversion, surely.
"You alright down there?" Boulder called, her voice clear and not at all impeded by a pesky several ton piece of ceiling.
By the time the papers that had been in my hand thudded to the ground I was halfway to the door, brushing past a bored Atticus, and flinging myself into the darkened corridor. I crested the stairs just as Boulder finished lifting the debris out of the way.
I was so relieved at finally being freed from a confined space with a potential supervillain that I trapped her in a bone crushing hug. I could have kissed her. Taken aback by my enthusiasm, it took her a moment to finally return the gesture.
"That scared, huh?" she teased, pulling back. "We thought you might have been crushed at first, but Empathy said she felt you down there."
"I suppose it would be a bad PR move to have someone die inside your headquarters," I said. "We saved you quite the scandal by not dying."
Mock serious, she nodded, "You know that's right."
Tempest dropped smoothly to the ground from a current of his wind carrying him around the room only a short distance away and jogging over to us. "Are you okay?" he demanded.
Further away, the Courten's let out cries of relief at seeing Atticus emerge behind me from the narrow staircase at a considerably more measured pace. Obviously losing him for so many years took a toll on them, and I could see the residual grief on their faces, plain as day. The thought of suddenly, unexpectedly getting Charlie back only for him to possibly die a few short weeks later left me physically nauseous. It almost made me feel bad for suspecting him.
Almost.
I turned back to Tempest. "I'm fine."
More than fine. I was a thaumaturge. A Super. I struggled to wrap my mind around the idea.
"You're not hurt?" He ran his attention down my body, searching out any grave wounds I might be hiding.
"Not at all," I replied, unable to conceal a mirthless smile at the irony of his question.
I almost told him then and there about my slight healing powers, the words on the tip of my tongue, waiting to be released. In the end, I swallowed them down, remembering my father's refusal to report Charlie's burgeoning abilities to the appropriate governing bodies, recalling his fear and distrust. I needed time to review all my options first. I refused to charge blindly ahead without thinking.
"Did you catch Tectonic?" I continued.
Tempest's demeanor visibly brightened, beaming. "I did! We've been after him for months — his actions have only been escalating — so its a relief to get him off the streets. He's a powerful Super, but, unfortunately for him, his powers don't really effect me." In demonstration, he levitated a few inches off the ground, did a spin, and dropped back down. "Eventually I found him skulking around the crowds outside in plain clothes, trying to blend in."
I frowned as a thought struck. "Where do you put villainous Supers? I imagine its not quite safe to put them in with normal prisoners."
"They have their own prisons. I don't know much about it, honestly. They try to keep it hush-hush, in case someone gets a bright idea to break them out. although..." he leaned in close, dropping his voice to a whisper, our foreheads nearly touching through the leather of his eye mask, "I've heard from some of the older Supers that it's someplace underground, where they don't stand a chance of using their powers to escape, or, in Tectonic's case, using his powers could cause the place to cave in and get him killed, even if they did work. I heard it's built from the same stuff as the Guild. Completely Super-proof... well," he peered around at the destruction around us, "mostly Super-proof."
A prickling at the back of my neck gave me the eerie feeling of being watched, but when I drew back to a normal distance and glanced around, I found everyone caught up in their own business, the Guild employees running around trying to clean up, the paparazzi and reporters sneaking through the barricades to get footage of the surrounding destruction, and Leigh's mother angrily threatening to never let Atticus out of her sight again, which, now that I thought about it, would really put my mind at ease where he was concerned. Mrs Courten may have suffered an intense disposition, but I doubted even she would readily condone violent crime, especially if it damaged their family name. So long as she was on the case, maybe I needn't worry so much.
Remembering I had yet to respond, I told Tempest, "Sounds rough for the prisoners."
"They're criminals, Lily," he replied, smile softening, though not in a way I particularly liked, almost patronizing. "You're too soft-hearted."
Definitely patronizing, then. "Soft hearted" was not a term ever before associated with my name and I didn't care for it to be in the future. I told myself my irritation made no sense for a seeming compliment, but excused myself to go meet up with Leigh regardless to give me time to stop the proverbial steam from blowing out of my ears before I started devising ways to blast him out of the sky with the rest of the birds.
"You're busy and I want to check on Leigh," I ground out, the effort to sound unaffected and polite taking a near fatal toll. "I'll talk to you on my next shift, Tuesday."
"Don't be like that." Seeing through my act, he caught me by the arm when I spun on my heel to leave, holding me back. "They're a danger. They must be put away somehow."
I eyed his offending hand. "Let me go, please."
I deserved an award for tacking a "please" onto that sentence at all.
"Hold on," he began, not immediately releasing his grip. "Tell me why you're mad-"
"She already asked you nicely."
I stiffened at the sound of Atticus's voice, his faint footsteps padding closer with unnerving stealth. On the surface, he showed no trace of reproach, just his usual pleasant mask, which was somehow infinitely worse. The utter lack of any tangible cues about what went on behind those enigmatic eyes was enough to set anyone on edge.
Tempest reluctantly let go, his lips pressed into a severe line. "Respectfully, you aren't a part of our conversation," he said.
Operating as though he didn't hear him, Atticus turned to me, deliberately freezing Tempest out. "You wanted to talk to Leigh?" he prompted.
I nodded and allowed him to begin guiding me away, before I remembered I had one last thing to tell Tempest. "By the way, I might actually take you guys up on the offer to move in here — after everything gets fixed, of course. Can't be too careful with Shade running around."
"Oh. Okay," he said, countenance uncharacteristically dour. "I'll notify Ren, so he can make the arrangements."
I smiled stiffly. "Thanks."
That settled, Atticus and I continued on towards his family, cloistered by a column along the wall.
I had lied. Not about moving in - I fully intended to follow through on that. I lied about my reasons. My concern about the threat Shade posed paled in comparison to my concern about the threat my curse posed to my family. Today was a startling example; a supposedly disaster-proof building undisaster-proofed itself just for me, twice, if I counted the step crumbling beneath me the first time I went down to the Archive with Tempest. If something happened to Alexia or my dads due to my presence, I'd never forgive myself.
"Can I stay at yours tonight?" I asked Leigh abruptly as soon as I drew up beside her.
Mr Courten stalled mid-sentence; and both he and his wife put their discussion on hold to stare outright. They had good reason to be skeptical. I could count the number of times I stayed the night at their house over the previous half-decade on one hand. Alas, desperate times called for desperate measures. The utter pandemonium around us left me too rattled to potentially bring that luck home, and, combined with the fact that I didn't trust Atticus Courten as far as I could throw him, especially with my best friend, it made perfect sense to stay by her side. Assuming my theory about his secret identity was correct, there was no telling where his true loyalty laid. Would a person who terrorized a city over several years, without motive besides a desire to spread a thick blanket of fear and chaos really cease their evil-doing at their parent's front door?
"Of course you can stay over," Leigh answered before her parents could contrive a polite refusal.