Chapter 21
"Wow, what a day." Malevola stretched in a way that made the word *stretch* feel inadequate, then stood beside me, surveying the aftermath of the last mission.
We were in front of the warehouse that had burned through completely, surrounded by the smaller blackened structures that had been saved by the thinnest of margins.
We were both completely wrecked, running on fumes, and right now we wanted nothing more than to go home — not to the bar, not to the team's usual post-mission gathering, not to swap war stories with anyone.
"Well, that was h-hot…"
It was the best my exhausted brain could produce after we'd finally gotten Flambé's fire under control. I was looking at my partner — who was glowing, if you could call it that — and my eyes kept sliding toward her sweat-damp top and the beads of moisture running down her neck, following the lines of her collarbone, catching in the fabric.
Her hair had come loose. She was breathing hard, sword planted in the ground, weight shifted back slightly to ease her lower back, hip canted.
For the first time since waking up in Herman's body, I was actually thirsty. Not from the heat alone.
"Right you are, Herm." She shook out that dark hair and caught my gaze. Or rather, caught me staring into the middle distance with the expression of a man whose higher functions had gone temporarily offline. "Hm."
I didn't notice her lips curve. I did notice, very clearly, when her talons traced a deliberate path along her own thigh, moving upward across the definition of her abs, pausing at her chest. Her thumb cleared a single drop of sweat from the upper curve of her right side, and she looked at me.
"Could you make some water? It's warm."
"Y-yeah." If I could have heard myself from outside, I would have assumed a hominid had been deposited here by a time anomaly. Later that night the self-awareness hit me hard enough that my neighbors called the police at two in the morning because of the rhythmic sound of me hitting my head against the wall.
But that was later. Right now I moved toward her in a mild dream state, her amused expression tracking me the whole way.
I cupped my hands and generated a palmful of water, and only then managed to pull my eyes off her body — which immediately put me in a worse situation. Our eyes met. Her solid yellow irises, looking even more inhuman and somehow more arresting with the dark lining around them — and my expression, which I'm sure resembled a lovesick fish in its final moments.
"Well? Are you waiting for divine intervention? Just so you know, I don't believe in God."
"Right." Following where she was indicating with one hand, I lifted my arm in something approaching slow motion and began pouring water over her neck, her collarbone, down across her chest — to a series of sounds she made that briefly removed my ability to process information.
"God, *yes*— that is so good."
Later I also worked out that the reason I'd been so completely non-functional was the simple physics of blood distribution, which had rerouted itself in ways that left my brain significantly underpowered. Stupid phobias.
"I think that's enough for you, Casanova." She moved my hand gently aside and smiled at me in a way that contained warm, playful, and several other things I was completely incapable of decoding. "I'm heading straight home tonight. Want a ride?"
"Yeah? No. No, thanks, I'll walk." I scratched my neck. Breathed. Tried to keep the moisture from running off my palms. I wanted desperately to say something — anything coherent — but my body had apparently decided to just keep looking at her like an idiot. "Need to cool down a bit."
"That's fair." She laughed, gave me a deliberately placed pat somewhat below my midsection — acknowledging the obvious without making it a crisis, which somehow made everything worse — and then did something that froze me entirely.
She stepped toward me, light for all her strength, and left a kiss at the corner of my mouth.
Then she smiled, stepped back, and disappeared into a portal.
I stood there. Touching the corner of my lips. Covered in soot, ash, and various spider byproducts. Playing the last thirty seconds on repeat with an expression that I am told was deeply undignified.
Until the earpiece went off.
"Waterboy, sorry to interrupt, but I could use your help." Robert's voice pulled me back to reality with some effort. "Invidiva went off solo to a call a couple blocks from you. Nobody else is nearby. Can you cover her?"
"Yeah, catching her will be fun," I agreed, still about forty percent checked out. "On my way, Robert. No problem."
"Great, thanks." A pause. When he continued, the approval in his voice was obvious. "Oh, and — congratulations. Smooth."
I could perfectly picture the thumbs up on the other end of the earpiece. I found the nearest camera — pointed right at me — and mimed a fist bump at it. Pure childish delight, everything boiling over at once, making even that small ridiculous gesture feel good.
With that energy propelling me, I practically bounced down the city streets, while a quiet, warm laugh from our new dispatcher faded in my ear.
---
I'd missed most of the conversation between Robert and Invidiva, so by the time I reached the small café called Grandpa's Place, I caught only the tail end.
"All right, what do you prefer? Éclairs, donuts? Any particular favorites?"
"Éclairs, I like éclairs! Are you happy now?!" Robert was in noticeably better spirits than earlier in the day. Though his willingness to answer Invidiva's relentless questions wasn't surprising to anyone who'd spent time with the girl — it was simply easier than enduring the nonstop assault.
"Mm-mm, so you like long thick things in your mouth." Invidiva grabbed the nearest éclair and demonstrated at the camera, slowly. "And then all that white cream comes out on your face?"
"Absolutely love wrapping my mouth around one of those long things," Robert replied without missing a beat, "a little breathless, tears in my eyes, like a freshman retaking an exam. Happy? Now get moving and search the café—"
"God, you're such a buzzkill." She rolled her eyes, spun on her heel, and then finally noticed my arrival. "Ginger, what are you doing here? Wait a minute—" She cut off my opening mouth with a wave of her hand. "Robert, what the hell?"
What followed was aggressive flirting disguised as an argument, broadcast on the shared channel where presumably the entire SDS office could hear every word. I didn't attempt to weigh in.
"I asked him to help—"
"Help? I can handle this myself! It's one unconscious old man and a pile of fresh donuts!"
"Invidiva, you're at work, not a talent show, so drop the performance and search the café with Waterboy." A long, deeply tired sigh from Robert, the quality of his earpiece conveying every shade of his disillusionment with the world. "And if you're this committed to not working with him, next time—"
"Don't make me the problem here, Ginger and I are fine and I have nothing against him." She actually stomped one foot for emphasis, then suddenly wheeled around and threw a tray directly at the nearest camera. "If you don't trust me, just say so!"
"You two are arguing like a retired couple. Maybe I should give you a minute?" I raised both hands when her furious gaze swung toward me, and took two steps back instinctively. "Seriously, Diva — this is just work, so let's—"
"Bla-bla-bla, I'll deal with you later." She was apparently winding up for another round with Robert, when the kitchen door burst open and a man in a jacket with electrical weapons on both arms came through.
"Waterboy! Invidiva! Watch out!" Robert's shout did me a genuine favor.
The robber had both guns aimed at us and was clearly about to fire. The voice in my earpiece, the sudden panic in the tone — I hit without thinking, harder than I'd intended.
Twin jets of water at full pressure hit the weapons simultaneously. The electrical feedback ran through the guy and kept going for almost twenty seconds. I don't know what protection he was wearing, but he went down relatively fast.
"Great." Invidiva was already moving through the kitchen door. A few seconds of silence, then she reappeared with an expression I'd seen on her before. "Ugh."
"What?"
"Nothing, he just messed himself when he went out." She waved at the café owner still crumpled on the floor, gave the man a few seconds of study, stood, and walked toward the exit. "All right. See you."
"Hey, wait. What about the criminal? Can you help me—" I was torn between the semi-conscious old man and the unconscious robber. "I'll give the owner first aid, if you could just—"
"I could not." She stopped in the doorway, clearly fighting with herself, her difficult side winning by a narrow margin. "Besides, you've got this. You knocked him out, you help the old man, then you probably also give him a special massage, clean the café, and he'll feed you éclairs with white cream."
"Diva, that's a bit much." Robert and I said it at the same moment.
"What? Ginger here is a jack of all trades—"
"I don't think that's quite how it goes," I said, catching her displeased look, after which the dark-skinned girl sniffed, hit her inhaler, and vanished.
"I've already dispatched police and an ambulance," Robert said, in the drained tone of a man who has been doing this for too long. "Thank you, Waterboy. Keep an eye on the owner, and — look, check on the robber, the camera over the kitchen door isn't functioning—"
Nobody elaborated on who had disabled the camera, or how.
"Robert, he's gone."
"I see." A few more keystrokes. "Slipped out the back. I've lost him — he's past the range of my cameras."
"Well." I crouched beside the old man, who was already starting to come around. "We'll get him next time. Main thing is the owner's all right."
---
The story had a small sequel.
The next morning I was in the office kitchen with Sonar, trying to reheat lunch, when raised voices began filtering through from the common area.
"AAHH—!"
"Sonar." I rubbed my ear. "When are you going to stop doing that constantly?"
"Third time today," he replied, without inflection, and attempted to put a dead rat in the microwave. I grabbed his wrist. "What?"
"Eat it raw. We've talked about this. No dead animals in the microwave."
"You were more fun in prison." He shrugged, picked up the rat by the tail, and swallowed it without chewing. "Well?"
"I know, I know—"
The voices were getting louder. Robert and Invidiva, in what seemed like genuine argument now, occasionally reaching a full shout. Both kept standing up, pointing, and at least twice in my direction. I stood and watched while Sonar ground coffee beans with the technique of a professional barista.
When the grinder went quiet, Robert's voice came through clearly.
"—because no superhero costume has ever turned a selfish person into a decent one."
"It was much colder and lonelier in our cell," I murmured to Victor, who had also frozen mid-motion, staring at the suddenly quiet pair. "But still better than right now."
Robert and Invidiva both looked away and, without another word, separated. Or rather — Robert furiously bit into his Twinkie, while Invidiva evaporated, living up to her name, face thunderous.
Except she reappeared immediately beside Robert, scared the living hell out of him, and punched him hard enough in the face to knock him off his chair.
Good. Good for her.
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