27

Chapter 27

A Darker Path

Part Twenty-Seven: Down These Mean Streets

[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

Danny

When he first saw the pickup rolling down the street, Danny had to do a double-take. It had, at one point, been lovingly cared for and maintained by its owner; while not an afficionado, he could tell the signs. But it had definitely fallen upon hard times since then. The windshield was cracked all the way across, and utterly shattered around the driver's side in a way that indicated gunfire. More bullet-holes pocked the chassis, both wing mirrors were gone, the once-glossy paintwork was horrifically scratched and dented (and peeling down to the bare metal all the way along the entire passenger side), and bare wires were sticking up from the roof of the cab where he guessed there'd once been a lightbar.

And then it pulled in and parked behind him.

Crap, he thought. Taylor said to wait here. I can't just drive off and leave her hanging. Taylor had left her shotgun with him; if they came up to menace him—

Both doors of the pickup opened and the girls got out, Taylor still dressed in her full Atropos costume. Danny sagged in the car seat, both grateful that she was okay (and that he wouldn't have to threaten some stranger) and wondering what the hell she'd been through with that pickup to get it into that state. Over her shoulder, she was lugging a strange military-looking tubular device.

"Hey, Dad," she said, a smirk in her tone, as she strolled up to his window. "Did I have you worried there for a moment?"

"Watch it, young lady," he said, mock-threateningly. "You're still not too old to be grounded, you know." As he spoke, he saw Cherie staring at him from behind Taylor. She had to know he wasn't serious, but she still looked like she couldn't believe what he was saying.

"Aww," she said with saccharine sweetness. "It's adorable that you think you'll catch me."

He shook his head. "You're only Atropos some of the time. But let's shelve that for a moment. I presume it went okay? I heard the explosion on the way here."

"Drugs are toast, and so are most of the bad guys," she reported cheerfully. "Oh, and I took one of Gesellschaft's unpowered reps alive. Shot him through the knee and left him for the authorities."

"Let me guess." He let his tone become dry. "This means you're acquiring even more enemies as we speak?"

"Not yet," she countered lightly. "But give it a day or so. Anyway, can you pass me the shotgun and a couple of road flares? The Elites' drug guys have decided to pull a Skidmark, and just drive around for a bit. I need to go explain to them that yes, I can actually see them."

"No problem, hon. But you might want to put that thing in the back seat. What is it, anyway?"

She opened the back door and slid the device into the footwell. "It's a Saab Bofors AT-4 anti-tank weapon. They had a few lying around, so I souvenired one. Neat, huh?"

"That's one way to put it." He reached down into her bag and passed up the sleek, deadly weapon, as well as the flares. "Want me to wait here, or go somewhere else?"

"Nah, here should do." She slapped the roof of the car. "Cherie can wait with you. This'll only take another few minutes."

"Of course it will," he murmured. As Taylor headed back to the pickup, the passenger door opened and Cherie got into the car. "And how are we doing tonight, kid? Not too terrified yet?"

"Oh, she's leaving me back out of the action." Cherie shook her head. "What's terrifying is watching people getting too close to her in a firefight and just … dying. It's like I've got these little songbirds in my head, all singing away … okay, they're assholes, so the songs are pretty nasty and gross, but they're singing happily about murdering people and selling drugs, and the next minute she's there, and it's like pop-pop-pop, they're just vanishing mid-song."

He chuckled darkly. "Yeah, that sounds like my little girl, alright. I wish there was literally any other way to achieve what she's doing, but I've given twenty years of my life to Brockton Bay for less in the way of impact than she's gotten in a week."

"Okay, now you've got me confused." She paused as the pickup started and drove up the street, then disappeared around the corner. "Your emotions say you disapprove of her methods, the way you talk about them says the same thing, but you're not even trying to stop her?"

He opened his mouth to speak then paused, looking at her carefully. "Okay, I'm getting the impression your home life wasn't the best. Let me guess: everything your dad approved of happened whether you liked it or not, and everything he disapproved of was forbidden?"

She blinked. "Well … yes?" The unspoken 'isn't that always the way?' came across quite clearly.

"Mm-hmm," he murmured. "Well, even before Taylor got her powers, we did things slightly differently. For big matters, like paying bills and going to school, what I said was what happened. With smaller things, if Taylor had an opinion about them, I'd listen to her and if it made sense, we'd do it that way. And of course, if there was something I had no opinion about and she had the allowance to cover it, like buying herself a new pair of sneakers, she could handle it herself."

The weight of her stare was almost palpable. "And you don't mind not being in control of everything?"

"Well, no." He chuckled wryly. "It wasn't a perfect system. She didn't tell me until after she got her powers that she was being bullied by her ex-best friend, and I … well, I fell down on my Dad duties there for a while after I lost her mother. But now we're finding our way back to each other. And to answer your original question; I don't like what she's doing, and I don't like that she has to do it. But … the people she's killed have contributed massively to the ongoing problems in Brockton Bay, and they just would've kept doing it for the foreseeable future if they weren't stopped somehow."

Cherie was frowning hard, as though trying to assimilate a difficult concept. "So, it's a case of the ends … justifying the means?" She spoke the phrase as though she'd once heard it but never understood it before this point.

"More or less, yeah," he agreed. "But there's more to it than that. She's actually getting solid results; I have it on good authority that the crime rate is dropping by the day. The PRT and the BBPD are coming down on the gangs harder than ever, now that the capes that used to back them won't be coming back. But on top of that, she's also working to maintain those results, keeping other villains out of the city. The trouble is, there'll be pushback from people who have a vested interest in returning matters to the status quo. There always is."

Tellingly, she didn't ask what sort of people those were. He suspected her father was the type who definitely wanted to keep the status quo just the way it was; heavily weighted in his favour. "She wrote up a big list of capes when she was telling everyone to stay away," she said at last. "Do you think they'll all try to come here?"

"Some of them won't." He'd read the post from the Red Hands. "Some will. Because no cape that's ever gone undefeated can imagine losing. But if they come here, one thing's for certain."

"What's that?"

He was just about to answer when he heard the sound of revving engines, screeching tyres, and gunshots. About three or four blocks ahead, an eighteen-wheeler roared into sight from around the corner, taking up the whole intersection to negotiate the turn. Danny heard the gut-deep thnk brrrm thnk brrrm as the driver changed up; smoke poured out of the twin overhead exhausts in the glare of the streetlights. Behind it came another one, sticking close to the first one. The gear-changes, echoing down the concrete canyon of the street, were a little less smooth than the first one.

Danny had a sudden flashback to a nature documentary he'd seen of elephants stampeding away from a pride of lions. This had that same panicked quality of action.

Behind the second semi-trailer, a sports car skidded into view, spinning out of control across the intersection with rubber shredding from its tyres. Danny caught a glimpse of a shattered windshield and an arm hanging limply out the driver's side window before it broadsided into an electricity pole, wrapping itself into a complicated wreck around the obstruction.

Even as this happened, Taylor's pickup came around the corner in a solid four-wheel drift, belying the fact that Brockton Bay streets tended to be patchworks of asphalt rather than a continuous smooth surface. The big tyres howled and juddered, but she kept to the line like a ballerina, swooping around the corner without losing any speed. Danny had seen professional rally drivers on TV who couldn't have pulled off something like this.

The eighteen-wheelers were accelerating properly now, perhaps ten seconds away from passing them. Danny knew Taylor was in pursuit, but he was worried that she might not be able to catch up before they got away. "Should we—?"

Cherie shook her head, her face tinged yellow by the high-beams of the oncoming trucks. "She said to say no."

"Oh."

The pickup's heavy tyres smoked as Taylor went after the trucks with everything she had. She was still coming on strong when the first eighteen-wheeler thundered past the parked car at something over the posted speed limit, sending gravel chips flying everywhere. Less than a second later, she whipped past, neck and neck with the second one, the wind of their combined passage making Danny's car rock a little from side to side.

"Where did she learn to drive like that?" asked Cherie, craning her neck to peer out through the back window of the car, just as the dull thud of a shotgun blast sounded over the noise of the powerful engines. "And shoot? And the rest of it?"

Danny had his eyes fixed on the rear-vision mirror. "She didn't. That's her power."

"Oh." There was a world of revelation in that word.

"Yeah. And you know what I was saying about what happens if villains try to come to this city?"

"Yes?"

"That."

The second eighteen-wheeler was starting to wobble and sway now; he thought he saw the pickup accelerate. There was a brief exchange of gunfire, then more shots from the shotgun. And then, one long drawn-out crash after the other.

"Now we can go," Cherie said in the quiet that followed. "She said she'll be finished mopping up by the time we get there."

As he started the car, she pulled out a mobile phone. "And … send," she muttered, pressing a single icon. "A text to the PRT," she explained belatedly. "Telling them where to send emergency services next."

"Huh. Okay." Taylor had pre-written the text, no doubt. With the exact address the trucks could be found. Because she'd known ahead of time when and where it would be.

Carefully, he pulled a U-turn, hearing more shots as he went, then rolled down the street toward the wreckage of the trucks. As he got closer, he saw that both had fallen on their sides. Each one had skidded for some distance after going over, and the rear doors had fallen open.

There was a whoomph of flame from the nearest truck, and it began to burn brightly. The front one, from what he could tell, was already well on fire. There were bodies sprawled here and there, guns lying near their outstretched hands. It was easy to see what had happened: Taylor had shot first.

Danny pulled to a halt about thirty yards back from the second truck, not wanting to blow a tyre on the wreckage or run over a dead body. Silhouetted by the flames, Taylor strolled back to meet them, shotgun over her shoulder for all the world as though she'd just been on a successful hunt. And in her own way, he supposed, she had been.

Cherie went to get out of the front seat, but Taylor waved for her to stay there. "It's fine. I'm good in the back." She opened the rear door and climbed in, then sighed in satisfaction. "Welp, that's ninety-nine percent of the hard drugs in Brockton Bay, gone. We can head home for a bit now."

"For a bit?" he asked, taking another U-turn.

"Yeah, for a bit." She took off her hat and removed the mask, then gave him a grin via the rear-vision mirror. "The night's not over yet."

Which, in Atropos-speak, meant that someone else was due to have a terminally bad day.

Danny couldn't wait.

11:30 PM

Tenebrae

Brian sighed as he slid the key into the front door of the accommodation unit he shared with Aisha. It had been a long, eventful night, even if he hadn't been involved in any of the more interesting events.

Being a hero had a different focus than being a villain; instead of 'sitting around planning the next crime' and then 'committing the crime', it was 'being on duty and trying to prevent crimes'. If he was being honest with himself, he was starting to understand the frustration he'd caused the heroes who had tried to catch the Undersiders after their various exploits. Even monitor duty, which he oddly enjoyed, was a case of playing catch-up rather than being proactive.

But hey, I chose this over being charged and jailed, so it's not like I can complain or anything.

The door clicked open and he stepped inside. The accommodation unit wasn't huge—he slept in one bedroom, and Aisha had volunteered to share the other with Riley (once the PRT delivered her to their doorstep)—but it was larger and much better appointed than some places he'd stayed. The pictures on the walls were the generic crap that could be (and probably had been) picked up in any bargain store; he'd already decided that once he got his first paycheck, he'd take the girls down to the Boardwalk and the Lord Street Market, and arrange some proper decorations for the place.

"Hey—oh, it's just you." Aisha arrested her energetic springing motion up from where she'd been lying bonelessly on the sofa, and flopped back down. "Thought it mighta been Riley."

"Wow, thanks," he said dryly. "I'm thoroughly underwhelmed by your appreciation of my presence." Brian headed through to the small kitchen, where he poured himself some orange juice. "You could at least pretend to be happy that I'm home."

"Why?" she asked impudently. "You're my big bro. I'm not allowed to acknowledge your presence without being sarcastic about it. I'm pretty sure that's in the Constitution or something."

"Yeah, yeah, I love you too." He closed the fridge and came back to the sofa. "How was your evening?"

"Watched that Aleph movie, The Matrix. Just gonna say, Will Smith in shades and a long coat is almost as cool as Atropos." Without being told, she swung her legs around and plunked her heels on a footstool so he could sit down. "And before you ask, I already did my homework. Heaps easier than it used to be."

"I'm glad," he said, carefully not commenting on any actor's coolness or otherwise. "So the new classes are working out for you?"

"Meh." She rolled her eyes, which Brian was starting to recognise as her way of saying something didn't totally suck. "The other teachers were just dicks."

He raised his eyebrows, knowing it wouldn't help but having to try anyway. "You know, Riley probably won't want to be hearing all that bad language from you. We're supposed to be setting her a good example, remember?"

"What do you mean, bad language?" She gave him the worst fake-innocent look he'd ever seen. "No fuckin' idea what you're talking about. Maybe you need to clean out your stinky-ass ears."

"Aisha …" He could handle a certain amount of sass from her, but not indefinitely.

"Okay, fine, fine." She threw up her hands in an approximation of surrender. "How was your night, anyway? Did Atropos pull that shit she said she was gonna? Pretty sure I felt the explosion. Were you there? Did you see her?"

He blinked. The shift from 'too cool for school' to 'Atropos fangirl' was … startling. But at least she was communicating in a non-hostile manner. "Yeah, she did. I wasn't there—they made sure we'd be patrolling the southern end of the Boardwalk, and in through Downtown—but I got sent a couple of pictures. Assault knew you'd be interested."

"Lemme see, lemme see!" She was sitting up now, crowding toward his end of the sofa.

"Give me a second, already." He took a drink from his orange juice, then placed the glass on the end table, on the coaster that was already there. Aisha wouldn't think about coasters if one was stapled to her forehead, but he'd already left one out on every surface that could conceivably be used to place a drink.

She hung over his shoulder as he took his phone out and called up the images that Assault had already sent to him. The first showed the massive mushroom cloud over the warehouse, which was even more of a wreck than the first one. Aisha stared at it, her teeth bared in an atavistic grin. "Fuck yeahhhh …" she whispered. "Fuckin' eat it."

"Oh, and they found a guy nearby who'd been trying to get away, but he didn't get far after Atropos hit him with a car and shot him in the knee with his own gun." Brian found particular satisfaction with repeating this bit of information. "Turns out he's a foreign national, connected to Gesellschaft." He paused, then saw that she hadn't made the connection. "They were the Empire Eighty-Eight's German buddies, before Atropos pulled the plug on the Empire."

"So, a Nazi." Aisha had no trouble with making that connection.

"More or less, yeah. Assault says Interpol's really really going to want to be talking to this guy. Anyway, that's the explosion you heard. This is the other thing she did tonight." He flicked on to the other photo, of the burning eighteen-wheelers. "They were trying to be sneaky, and just drive around with the product until Atropos gave up."

"Pulling a Skidmark, right. Until she pulled a Uno reverse on them, hah, yeah." Aisha was grinning all over her face. "When are these dipwits gonna learn, you don't put shit over on my girl Atropos?"

He leaned back in the sofa, letting the tension of the day ease out of him in one long sigh. "Well, according to her PHO posts, not yet. But that day will definitely come, if only because she's killed all the idiots who think they're the special ones."

At that moment, his phone rang; specifically, the one they'd issued to him for use as a Ward. He checked the caller ID and saw it was his PRT liaison (translation: 'minder'), Ms Brown. Giving Aisha a warning glance and putting his finger to his lips—it was long past her bedtime, even if this hadn't been a school night—he swiped to answer it. "Hello, Tenebrae speaking."

"Good evening," she replied. "I know you've just gotten in and you're probably wanting to get to bed, but I wanted to update you on the situation with your cousin."

"Oh, okay." That sounded a little ominous. "Is there a problem? Has someone raised an issue?"

"Oh, no, no." She chuckled warmly. "No problems, none at all. It's just that the final paperwork only came through fifteen minutes ago. I've already put Riley to bed in my spare bedroom, and I'd be hung, drawn and quartered by my superiors if I woke her up to transport her to your location at this time of night. I'll drop around first thing tomorrow to hand her into your care, if that's okay?"

He knew damn well that the question was code for 'it had better be okay'. "Sure thing, Ms Brown. What time were you thinking of turning up with her?"

She paused for a moment. "How does six-thirty sound to you, or is that too early?"

"That sounds perfect. See you then."

"Excellent. Say hello to Aisha for me. Goodbye."

"Bye," he said, and ended the call.

"So?" Aisha asked. "What'd she say?"

He grinned at her. "Riley will be here at six-thirty in the morning."

"Sweeeet!" Her eyes lit up and she did a little dance without ever getting off the sofa.

"Mmm-hmm." Brian raised his eyebrows. "And we both know how much of a gremlin you can be in the morning if you haven't had enough sleep, so brush your teeth and get to bed now." He pointed in the general direction of her bedroom, just to make his point.

He was right, and she knew he was right, but he could tell she was determined not to give him the win. "Fine … old man." Getting up, she meandered deliberately slowly in the direction of the bathroom.

There was just one shot left in his locker. "Do you want Ms Brown to decide that I'm an unfit parent, and split all three of us up? Because if you screw around too much, that can totally happen."

"Okay, I'm going. I'm going." And she went.

2:28 AM

Taylor

My eyes snapped open and I sat up. Even as I got up and started putting my costume on again, my memory caught up with me. I was in my own bedroom, Dad was asleep in his room, and Cherie was using the fold-out sofa-bed downstairs. Dad had apologised for how lumpy it was, and she'd laughed out loud. Apparently, as humble as our accommodations were, we still beat out whatever she'd been enduring over the last few weeks or months by a long shot.

I'd spent about an hour down in the basement after we got back, making use of an old camp stove and some surplus kitchenware. My power had gotten me to set myself up with basic breathing protection and I'd worn the lab coat and goggles I'd stolen from the Medhall building basement lab that one time. What I wanted to do now wasn't anywhere near as dangerous as that—acidic gas was nobody's friend—but I still didn't want to take the chance of an accidental high.

As my power had assured me, there was a huge difference between instigating a chemical reaction and just removing the additives, which was why I was doing it in the basement instead of someplace far away. Specifically, dissolving the packet of drugs I'd scored from the warehouse, separating out the stuff they'd cut it with, and leaving the pure substance to dry into a white paste. It would be ready when I needed it.

After that, I'd dunked everything I'd used in a tub of strong detergent and had a long hot shower where I scrubbed everywhere that could be scrubbed. Dad and Cherie had already sacked out when I got out of the shower, so I put my pyjamas on and did the same. Normally, knowing that I only had a few hours to get some rest would've caused me to toss and turn restlessly, but this time around I'd called on my power to End my current wakefulness; thirty seconds later, I was fast asleep.

Cheating? Totally. Useful? Absolutely.

Shrugging into the long-coat, I hung the tie around my neck and took up the hat and mask. I grinned as I realised I hadn't bothered turning on the light to get dressed; everything had been exactly where I knew it was. Opening my bedroom door, I strode along the hallway and thumped on Dad's door with my fist. His alarm went off at exactly the same time, ensuring that he'd actually wake up instead of passing it off as a dream.

Satisfied on that account, I headed downstairs and went into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. My power could simulate wakefulness for as long as a particular Ending needed to go on for, but Dad and Cherie were at the mercy of unassisted human biology, and caffeine was what they needed right then. (Note that while my power could probably keep me awake and alert for days at a time, I wouldn't necessarily enjoy the experience).

Strolling into the living room, I sat down on the edge of the sofa bed and spoke gently. "Cherie, it's time to wake up."

I hadn't turned on the living room light, but the kitchen light spilled through enough illumination for me to tell when her eyes opened, staring at the unfamiliar surroundings. The angle I was sitting at had been deliberately chosen so she'd see my face, especially my glasses. Nobody in her family wore glasses; even if they'd needed them, the idea of regular visits to the optometrist would've been ludicrous.

"What—who—oh." She rubbed her eyes, staring at my face as her brain rebooted. "Taylor? Atropos? Is that you?"

I let her see my smile. "That's me. How are you feeling?"

She shifted and stretched, which turned into a massive yawn. "… still a bit tired," she admitted. "Had a big day yesterday."

"It's not over yet." I got up. "I've got coffee going in the kitchen. There's a half-bath under the stairs if you need to go. We'll be heading out in ten minutes."

With an almost audible click, her brain connected the last few dots, just as I heard Dad's footsteps on the stairs. "… oh. The Damsel of Distress thing?"

I nodded. "The Damsel of Distress thing."

3:00 AM

Brockton Bay Port Authority Bus Terminal

Damsel of Distress

Ashley had heard Brockton Bay was supposed to be warmer than the rest of New England in the winter. Maybe it was just her exaggerated expectations, but climbing off a heated bus at oh-dark-thirty made her feel colder than ever. Hugging her coat around her and making sure her backpack was secure, she tried not to shiver as she moved through the sparse crowd—the number of people getting off the bus at three in the morning was never going to be huge—in the general direction of the exit, and thus the cab stand.

She had enough to put herself up at a flophouse until she got the lay of the land, and then she could start recruiting. But the big thing she needed to do was not draw attention until she'd assembled enough of a power base for her needs. Which was why she was dressing inconspicuously; there was even a scarf over her pure-white hair, just so it didn't draw attention.

So why was everyone staring at her? She tried to look as inconsequential as possible, but more and more people were pointing and backing away from her. What's going on? How do they know who I am?

That was when the gun-muzzle touched the back of her head.

"Arms folded." It was a girl speaking, but the words could've been carved from primordial ice. "Hands under your armpits. If I see them, I blow your head off. Do you understand me?"

Normally, Ashley didn't buy into intimidation displays—knowing a bit about them herself—but something about the tone of voice told her that this person absolutely meant what they said. If she didn't do what she was told, she would die. Slowly, carefully, she nodded. At the same time, she slid her hands under her armpits and locked them into place with her arms. "Who—who are you? What is this? Why are you doing this?"

"I'm Atropos." The girl moved around her with effortlessly fluid steps that never allowed the muzzle of the pump-action shotgun—being held at arm's length, without a quiver—to move away from her head. Black-dressed, with a morph mask that hid her expression, she exuded pure menace. "You're Damsel of Distress. I warned you once to stay out of my city. Consider this your second warning. The third warning will involve a closed-casket funeral."

"Atropos!" The voice was familiar, and Ashley wanted to scream as two familiar costumed figures showed up through the now very rapidly dispersing crowd. "Don't kill her! We're here!"

"What the hell are you two doing here?" she demanded, glaring at Edict and Licit. "How did you get here before I did?"

"I called them." Atropos' tone was matter-of-fact. "Told them where you'd be. Gave them the option to be here and take you back to Stafford. Or, you could die. It seems that they'd rather you live."

Fury surged in her chest, but not so great that she pulled her hands out from where they were. "You can't tell me what to do!" she shouted.

"Atropos—" began Edict, then stopped as a pistol with a long suppressor on the barrel appeared in Atropos' other hand, aimed directly at her face.

"I can pull the trigger before you complete a command." The tone of the girl's voice didn't make it a threat, or even a command. It was a simple fact, bluntly stated. "Don't go there. I won't kill unless my hand is forced. That does include you."

"Please." Licit's voice was rough. "Edict. Atropos. Damsel. Let's all survive the night, okay?" His expression was pleading, almost desperate.

Atropos was the first to react; the pistol spun once on her finger, then vanished back inside her long-coat. "I'm down with that. Edict?"

Edict started breathing again—it looked like she'd stopped when suddenly confronted by the business end of Atropos' pistol—and nodded shakily. "I'm okay with it. Sorry."

"Already forgotten. Damsel, these two are here to take you back home. You have exactly two choices: go with them, or die. There is no third option. What's your choice?"

Ashley gritted her teeth, feeling the tears welling in her eyes. Life was so unfair. Why couldn't she have what she wanted once in a while? "Can't you just let me stay?" she whispered. "You'll hardly know I'm here."

"Right up until you come after me and try to kill me." The grim amusement in Atropos' voice was all the more chilling because her words paralleled Ashley's thought processes exactly. "No dice. When I say, 'no villains in my city', I mean it. Choose. Now."

The urge was in Ashley to defy Atropos, to see if she could get her power into action before the black-clad girl could pull the trigger, but cold common sense drowned out the violent impulse before it could come to fruition. Atropos was a killer, that was easy to see. She wouldn't choke and she wouldn't hesitate. Ashley had exactly one chance of survival. Anything else at all would see her lying dead on the chilly concrete with her brains splashed over the bus behind her. And if I'm dead, I can't win.

Just for once, her survival instinct won out over her pride, even as the words she spoke stuck in her throat. "I think … I'll go home."

"Good idea." Atropos stepped back; her finger left the trigger as she let the shotgun swing up and over until it was resting on her shoulder. Not for an instant did Ashley think she was out of danger. "Have a safe trip."

"Yeah." Licit gave Atropos a careful nod as he stepped in alongside Ashley. "Thanks. For … well, calling us."

"You're welcome. You understand that the next time, she just dies, right?" Atropos' tone was earnest, well-meaning. You understand that you need to put on snow chains for traction, right?

"Yeah." Edict's voice was harsher than normal. "We get that. You were just itching to pull the trigger, weren't you?"

"Edict …" Licit urged.

She waved him away. "Well? We're leaving now. You may as well tell the truth."

Atropos shook her head. "You don't understand me at all. If there's a need to end someone, I end them. If there's not, I don't. Damsel's fate was in her own hands the whole time. It's as simple as that." She twitched open the long-coat and slid the shotgun into some kind of sheath or holster, then stood there, arms folded. "Don't let me keep you." The dismissal was obvious.

As Edict and Licit hustled Ashley away, the last she saw of Atropos was a black silhouette, long-coat blowing sideways dramatically under the chill morning breeze.

The bile of her failure burned deep in her throat, but it was counteracted by the cold, hard knowledge. I never stood a chance.

6:30 AM Tuesday Morning

Tenebrae

The apartment was cleaner than it had been when Brian and Aisha moved in. He'd been up since five thirty, sweeping and mopping the floor, then scrubbing the walls. Aisha had wandered out yawning to poke fun at him while he was hunting the corners of the ceiling for any cobwebs which may have been spun while they were in residence, and he'd put her to breakfast-cooking duty.

Fortunately, she was a reasonable cook, if a little slapdash. Her bacon ran the gamut from barely seared to extremely crispy, and her fried eggs had a similar range. But nothing was burned, and everything tasted good.

Brian was just helping her plate everything up when the knock sounded on the door. Aisha stared at him. "Is that … is that her?"

His eyes flicked to the wall clock. It was the right time. "Only one way to find out."

He put the plates of eggs and bacon on the table then turned toward the door, but Aisha was already ahead of him. She darted over to the door, then paused. Seeming to gather her courage, she turned the handle and yanked the door open.

Ms Brown, standing outside, had her hand raised to knock again. Apparently taken aback by the precipitate opening, she stared at Aisha as Brian stepped up as well. "Ah … hello," she said. "Ms Laborn, Mr Laborn. Sorry about the delay. Paperwork refuses to be hurried." She gestured at the child standing beside her. "This is your cousin Riley."

Riley raised her hand and essayed a tentative wave. "Uh … hi?" Wearing basic jeans and T-shirt, she was a few years younger than Aisha, but whatever magic had been employed to change her appearance had definitely left her with the Laborn family looks. However, even as she stood there, Brian could see the worry in her eyes: what if they don't want me?

"Heeeeey, cuz!" Aisha reached out and virtually dragged Riley over the threshold, where she enveloped the younger girl in a ferocious hug. "C'mere!"

"Hi, Riley." Brian went down into a crouch so he could look her in the eye. "I'm Brian, and the overly touchy-feely one here is Aisha. We've been looking forward to meeting you."

"And you can ignore about ninety-five percent of everything he says, because he's a dull boring adult." Aisha relinquished the hug, but kept hold of Riley's hand. "I'm the one who makes most of the decisions around here, anyway. C'mon, I'll show you our bedroom. Your bed got delivered yesterday, and your dresser with it. I've already cleared out your half of the wardrobe …"

Brian rose to his feet again as Aisha more or less dragged Riley into the depths of the apartment. "Sorry about that," he said awkwardly. "It's been too long since she's had any family her own age. Not sure if they told you, but our parents …"

"… are not well suited to raising a girl with her educational needs, I know." Ms Brown nodded understandingly. "She certainly seems enthusiastic at the prospect of having a little sister, or at least a younger cousin."

"Right now, as far as she's concerned, it's one and the same." Brian listened for a moment to Aisha's excited chatter and Riley's responses. "It sounds like they're getting along just fine."

Ms Brown smiled. "That it does." She offered the tablet that she'd been holding under her arm. "One last signature and I'll be on my way."

He accepted it and scanned the wording of the document. It was a simple handover of authority of one Riley Laborn to the custody of Brian Laborn. He scribbled an approximation of his signature with his index finger, then handed it back.

"Thank you." She glanced at the tablet then shut it down and held out her hand. "You'll call immediately if difficulties do arise?"

He shook it. "I will, but somehow I suspect it won't be necessary."

"That's excellent to hear. Good morning to you, Mr Laborn." She paused to give the apartment a brief survey, afforded him a nod of approval, then turned and walked away with the confident stride of a job well done.

Closing the door, he headed back to the breakfast table. Aisha and Riley would be out here again in short order, he knew, so he may as well enjoy the peace and quiet while he had it.

End of Part Twenty-Seven