9

Chapter 9

Alea Iacta Est

Part Nine: Luck is in the Eye of the Beholder

[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal. Certain descriptive passages are entirely thanks to her.]

June 16, 2010

Off the Florida Keys

"Janet!"

She clung to the safety rail with both hands, hauling her way along it toward the stern. The Avalon pitched deeply into the oncoming waves, blue-green walls of water riding over the deck to smash into her, doing their best to wrench her free and send her flailing into the water. Given that she had neglected to don her lifejacket before venturing out on deck, this would almost certainly result in her death.

"Janet, come back! It's not safe!"

Harvey's voice was barely audible over the roar of the sea and the howl of the wind through the halyards. Of course it's not safe. None of this is safe. But she knew what she had to do. The mainsail had come free during the storm and was now fouling the rudder, making it hard to keep the bow into the wind. Worse, if it tangled the prop, their only means of making headway in these heavy seas would be gone. They would broach-to in moments, and capsize shortly after that.

On her belt was the heavy clasp-knife that her father had given to her when she first began going to sea; she knew that she could cut loose the errant sail, if only she could reach it. All she had to do was reach it.

Slitting her eyes against the howling wind and the abrasive spray, she reached the point where the twisted sail ran over the rail and into the heaving ocean below. Pausing to secure her safety line properly, she pulled the knife from its pouch and opened it with her teeth. The blade, more than four inches long and kept razor-sharp, would do the job. She began cutting, more and more of the tough fabric parting with each stroke.

When the mainstay gave way, she felt it more than heard it. Looking up, she saw the mast tilt and begin to fall. But it fell sideways, not backward. Even as it splashed into the chaotic swells, she felt the change in the yacht's movement.

The loss of the mast spelled the loss of the boat; she knew that in her bones. No matter what she did with the sail, the mast would act as a sea anchor, dragging Avalon around until she was beam-on to the driving rollers. The yacht wouldn't last long after that.

"Harvey!" she screamed. "Abandon ship! We're going down!"

Already, the boat was coming around. She couldn't wait to see what Harvey did, and she couldn't haul her way back to the cockpit in time. All she could do was save herself, and trust that he would do the same. A life-belt was attached to the rail; she grabbed it and slashed through the safety line that held her to the boat. In another moment, she was overboard, smashed into the ocean by the waves.

Salt water slapped her in the face, and she held her breath. Dragged under, into a cool world of green with bright bubbles, the waves a distant thunder overhead, she felt the pressure on her ears. The life-belt, tugging her toward the surface, began to slip from her grip. She had no choice; dropping the knife, she wound the line from the life-belt around her left forearm as tightly as she could.

But the surface seemed to be getting farther away, not closer. Pressure built in her ears. She kicked desperately, to no avail. Precious bubbles escaped her lips. She opened her mouth, desperate to breathe …

Present Day

Brockton Bay, NH

Water filled her lungs and pressure surrounded her arms. No! Fight! Fight, dammit! Janet surged upright, her hands and feet striking out against the danger. She was up on her knees then her feet, whirling in tight circles with her hands flailing, until her knuckles crunched against the wall and the pain broke through her panic.

Alive. The word took a few seconds to sink in, and when it did, she fell to her knees with her head pressed into the mattress edge. Holy shit. Her heavy breathing against the sheets bounced back into her face, reminding her that she was on dry land. It wasn't real any more. She was alive. She was safe.

She finally reached a shaking hand out to the right and miraculously found the touch lamp she had bought a week earlier. Blessed light filled the room, confirming her safety. Somehow, she found enough strength to crawl back on to the bed and flop face first on to the pillow.

Long minutes later, she rolled over to check the display on the cheap digital clock residing on the motel nightstand. Her left forearm jolted against the edge of the stand, making her hiss with pain. Lifting it, she examined the end of the stump, just short of where the wrist would have been. She had made it to the surface, but the boat was gone, as was Harvey. With no life-jacket, no food, no water, she should have died.

For seven days and six nights she had drifted, at the mercy of the wind and the water. The life-belt which had saved her life had taken her hand; so tightly had she wound the rope around her forearm, she had cut off blood circulation, and by the time the Coast Guard cutter had picked her up, the hand was a dead loss. Six months on, and the stump was still tender.

"Christ," she muttered, still eyeing the clock. "This early?"

The numbers mocked her; it got dark early, this far north. She had thought that it was later than that. But already, despite the cool breeze sweeping through the window, she was covered in sweat. This wasn't due to the non-existent heat of the night, but to her own fears. The odour of incipient rain came to her nostrils. Fuck off, she told it silently.

For a long moment, she considered getting the bottle out of her duffel bag and using the contents to lull her to sleep. It would not be the first time she'd done that, nor would it be the last. But she had no desire to wake up in a strange town with a hangover, so instead she decided on a shower. I stink, anyway.

Rolling off the bed, she skinned out of the brief top and mid-length pants which served her as pyjamas. It only took a few steps for her to reach the motel bathroom, where she turned on the light and surveyed herself with disdain.

Her short-cut auburn hair was messier than it had any right to be and her face was still flushed with the aftermath of adrenaline. There were bags under her blue-green eyes, which she did her best to ignore. I need more sleep. I really do. An image of the bottle in the bag came to her once more; she gritted her teeth and shook her head.

Shorter than most, she stood five foot three on the cold tiles of the bathroom. Broad shoulders and a certain amount of muscular development robbed her of the 'petite' descriptor, although thanks to the lack of a hand, her left arm was losing its condition.

But that was only the beginning of her problems.

Janet let the hot water wash over her back and shoulders, flushing away the stink of her terror. A shower she could handle, but not a tub. She didn't like any situation where she could be submerged and drown. Swimming pools gave Janet cold shivers, and she never went near large bodies of water if she could possibly help it. But even in a shower, she didn't like having water running over her face. Wetting a washcloth, Janet wiped it over her face and scalp, shuddering at the feeling of water trickling down her cheek.

Those cold, uncaring waters had swallowed the man she loved as well as the Avalon, and she could not help but feel that they wanted her as well; that she was living on borrowed time. And it was even worse when the water reached for her.

She clenched her eyes shut, trying to rein in her swirling emotions. Overhead, there was the mutter of thunder. Rain sounded on the roof, over the noise of her own shower. Stop it, she told it silently. No rain. No thunder. No lightning. No storm. Not today. Please.

By the time she finished the shower, the rain had passed. She was feeling calmer. With luck, it will settle down again. I have a good feeling about this city.

Briskly, she towelled herself dry – her left arm couldn't do much except pin the towel to her body, but at least it could do that much – then put on clean underwear. I think I'll watch some TV then go back to bed.

When she stepped out of the bathroom into the main area of the motel room, there was a stranger sitting in the room's only chair.

"Who are you?" Janet retreated a step, fear burning in her guts. They found me. Oh god, they found me. "What do you want?"

The woman, whose fedora and belted trench-coat gave her a slightly dated appearance, looked up from her book. Janet registered it as The Lonely Sea; once one of her favourites, it was now a book she couldn't even pick up without shuddering. "Oh, there you are," the woman said. "Just in time."

"Just in time for what?" demanded Janet. "What are you doing in my motel room?"

"So that you could come with me and help save the world, of course," the woman explained. She stood up from the chair without a single wasted motion – a feat deserving of respect, Janet knew, after having nearly been permanently trapped by the thing – and slipped the book into her coat pocket.

Janet shook her head. "No. No way. Nope. You want me to use my powers. I'm not going there."

The woman raised one perfect eyebrow. "Are you so worried about losing control?"

Clenching her fist so strongly that her short-trimmed nails almost cut into her palm, Janet shook her head. "I've never had control," she snapped. "I get worried about something, it starts to drizzle. I wake up after a nightmare and it's raining. I walk past a swimming-pool and the water reaches for me." She took a deep breath. "I hate water!"

"Are you aware that your powers won't let you drown?" The woman's voice was quiet. "Or that they saved your life after the yacht went down? Did you honestly think the fact that you survived for a week drinking seawater with so few ill effects was a coincidence?"

Janet blinked. "My powers saved me?"

The woman smiled. "Yes. They saved you."

"Oh. Uh …" Janet frowned. "But I'm not going to use them. I know what'll happen to me as soon as people realise I've got the same powers as … as him."

"You could use your powers to mitigate the damage he does." Her tone was softly persuasive.

"No way. Uh-uh." Janet shook her head violently. "I'm not looking to fight anyone or anything with my powers. Least of all, Leviathan." Fear boiled up in her guts at the mere thought. "So you can go away. Now. Please." She was all the way back into the bathroom now, her butt pressed up against the washbasin.

The woman didn't move forward. "Nobody is chasing you. There's nothing to be worried about. They're not going to lock you up just for having water powers."

"Tell that to Canary!"

A grimace. "Canary is … a special case. Unfortunate, but necessary. You, on the other hand, haven't hurt anyone. Nobody really knows you even have these powers."

Janet took a deep breath, forcing down her fear. "And yet, you're here. Talking to me about them."

"Well, yes." The woman's smile was warm, conspiratorial. "I'm a special case, too."

"Why are you here?" Janet demanded again.

"I told you." The woman tilted her head slightly. "To help save the world. Or rather, to take one small step on the path toward saving the world. In this case, to help save a teenage girl from an emotionally abusive father." She paused. "And of course, there is the matter of money. You're short on it. I can pay you ten thousand dollars to do this, right here, right now."

Janet frowned. She could feel the initiative slipping away from her. "So … I don't have to fight Leviathan."

The woman chuckled. "Well, no. I would hardly ask you to do that, when you've barely got a grasp on your powers. All you have to do in this situation is make it rain." She reached into one of her trench-coat pockets and pulled out a thick wad of notes. "Ten thousand dollars, going once …"

"I'm still not saying I'll do this." Janet awkwardly pulled the top over her head, slid her arms through the sleeves.

"I understand." The woman stepped out of the bathroom with Janet's toiletries in her hands. "You might need these."

Janet frowned. "I'm not coming back?"

The woman snorted. "Hardly. You can afford much better accommodation now."

There was no arguing with that. The ten thousand dollars – a hundred hundred-dollar bills – now rested securely inside her duffel bag. "So where are we going?" She tucked her top into her jeans, a little awkwardly.

"Not far, actually." The woman waited until she had hoisted the duffel on to her shoulder, then murmured something that sounded like 'doorway'.

That was when Janet knew for a fact that things would never be the same again, as a rectangular portal opened in midair. On the other side was … a rooftop. A very mundane rooftop, but still a rooftop where no such thing should be.

The woman gestured toward the impossible opening in space. "Shall we?"

Numbly, Janet stepped forward.

Gravel crunched beneath her sneakers. She looked around; as far as she could tell, she was standing on the roof of an inner-city building, maybe five or ten storeys high. Shrugging her shoulder, she shifted the weight of the duffel slightly. "So what are we doing here?"

She wasn't quite sure where the woman had acquired the golf umbrella from, but there it was. The woman opened it expertly and held it up over the two of them. "You're making it rain. As hard as you can."

Janet blinked. "But … what if I can't make it stop?"

Her companion smiled. "Trust me on this. You can make it stop."

Ten thousand dollars. I can do this.

She took a deep breath and began to concentrate. Overhead, thunder rolled. The sky was already overcast; the clouds thickened as if by magic. Or by my power. She was already more than a little agitated; it wasn't hard to push it just a little more.

One by one, then harder and faster, the raindrops began to fall. They drummed on the umbrella. Thunder rolled again. The rain became a downpour.

"How long do I keep it raining for?" She had to raise her voice to be heard over the tumult of rain on the roof access, much less the real thunder overhead. "And is it safe for us to be out like this?"

"It's safe." The woman's voice held absolute conviction. "Your power won't let the storm hurt us. And just a bit longer. How are you holding up?"

"I – I'm not sure." Janet felt that she should be repulsed by the water surrounding her on all sides. But at the same time as it made her skin crawl, it whispered to her. Let the power flow, it told her without words. Embrace it. Reach your full strength.

It was tempting. Oh, so tempting. But she couldn't. A stray droplet splashed on to her face and she shuddered, hastily wiping it off.

Then she heard a sound from the direction of the fire escape. The rain was hammering on it already, but this was different, as though someone was climbing up – or down – the metal steps. Up, she decided. It was getting louder.

She knew when whoever it was reached the top of the fire escape because the clanging noise stopped and a splashing began; the person was running across the rooftop. Toward the roof access. Toward her.

She stepped back; the woman holding the umbrella did the same thing. I don't want to be seen. Don't want to have to explain what I'm doing here. The rain was still very heavy, but if someone came close enough, she would be visible to them.

And then the roof access door opened. Whoever had been running across the roof stopped. Janet heard a man's voice, barely audible over the rain.

"You didn't think you could get away that easily, did you?"

"Maybe not," a girl's voice retorted defiantly. "But you can't keep me locked up. And soon as I'm gone, Mom's gone too. You know it and I know it. So why don't you just go take a long walk off a short pier and save us all a lot of trouble?"

For one heart-stopping moment, when the curtains of water had parted to show her the man and the red-headed girl, she thought that the rain had stopped and that she was in full view. But the water continued to pound on the umbrella and neither one turned to look at her. The conversation, which she had been straining to hear, was now easily audible.

"Annette, you misunderstand the situation," the man said smoothly. Janet didn't trust him for a moment; at first, she thought he had blood on his shirt, but then she realised that he had been splattered with pasta, and it was just the sauce she was seeing. "I want to take care of you and your mother. You're my daughter; I wish to show you just where that can take you. All of your needs will be met."

"All the ones you think need to be met, anyway," she said, still backing away from him. "What about what I want to do? What if I want to go out with a boy? I can just tell you'd be the overbearing father type."

In the next moment, a bright light flashed past, the source indistinct through the pouring rain. It circled around, then came in for a landing on the roof; the light went out again, leaving Janet unsure as to what had just happened. She concentrated on seeing in that direction; as before, the concealing rain seemed to fade away, and she could see a woman standing there.

The newcomer was petite, with mousy brown hair that was even now plastered to her scalp by the downpour. She stepped forward, obviously coming within view of the man and the girl, to differing reactions.

"Kayden." The man's voice was not pleased. "What are you doing here?"

"Ms Russel? You're a cape? Wow! I never even guessed!" The girl's voice held more than a little fangirl-squee in it.

"What's going on?" murmured Janet to the woman who still held the umbrella. "What am I even doing here?"

The woman's voice was just as quiet. "You'll see, in just a moment."

Janet looked back at the standoff. The newcomer – Kayden – had put herself between the man and the girl. "Max. This stops now."

The man shook his head. "No. This is none of your concern. Step aside."

"No. I'm not going to let you do this."

"Kayden, you don't know what's going on here. This is my daughter."

"I know exactly what's going on here," she retorted. The roof access door opened again, but Janet couldn't see who was there.

Kayden was still talking. "You want to ruin that girl's life, just like you ruined Theo's. You want to get into her mother's head, just like you did mine." She paused. "What I don't understand is why you're being so bull-headed about this. This is remarkably clumsy, Max, especially for you."

The man might have chuckled. "Blame Andrea for that. Unlike you, she doesn't think things through and come to a reasoned, logical answer. All too often, she acts far too much on impulse. I can't reason with her. I've never been able to."

"So let her go." Kayden's voice was matter of fact. "Let them both go."

He shook his head. "Andrea is my one great love. Annette is my daughter. I can't let them go. Surely you can see that."

A pudgy boy and a petite redheaded woman, shorter even than Janet herself, moved away from the roof access and around to the side. The girl went to meet them; Janet presumed that she was the woman's daughter. Is this the 'Annette' and 'Andrea' that he just mentioned?

"You're going to have to, Max," said Kayden. "If you keep forcing them to accept this, you'll break them. They don't deserve this. I'm not going to let you do it."

Slowly, Max shook his head. "Kayden. Kayden, Kayden, Kayden. When are you going to learn? You can't stop me from doing anything. Nobody can, but most especially you. Or would you like a reminder of why this is?"

Janet didn't know what he meant, but Kayden obviously did. "No. You can't hold that over my head any more. I'll fight -"

"And lose." He cut her off. "Like Annette, she's my daughter by blood. Financially, I'm far more capable of caring for her than you are. It might prove a little more tricky to show you up as an unfit mother, but -"

Even after seeing Kayden fly in using powers – which had been a shock – it was still a surprise when she lit up once more, the glare lighting up the raindrops for yards around. "No!" shouted the glowing woman.

Holy crap, she's gonna -

But she did nothing. It was Max who stepped forward when she hesitated, Max who grew a steel blade from his hand in an instant. Oh shit, he's a cape too!

Janet, frozen to the spot, watched the blade flicker forth, ending its stroke in Kayden's stomach. The petite woman collapsed to her knees, holding the wound. It was a bad one; blood was already staining her dress.

"Max …" whispered Kayden. Only Janet heard it; for anyone else, it would have been too quiet to hear through the storm.

Numbly, she watched as he stepped to the side of the stricken woman. "I can stand initiative." His voice was harsh. "I can stand defiance, at least for a while." He raised the blade as her head slumped forward. "But the one thing I cannot countenance is betrayal."

The woman's voice was just a murmur in Janet's ear. "Are you going to just let him murder her?"

The horror Janet felt at the scene being played out before her crystallised in an instant, catalysed by those words. She took a deep breath. No.

The blade had just reached the limit of its upward arc when the streamer from the clouds above stretched down, seeking a conductor of electricity. It touched the tip of the sword that Max held; this was a very good conductor indeed. Over the next few fractions of a second, faster than Janet could perceive, the link strengthened.

Then the lightning surged upward from the ground, through the building, through Max and ultimately through the sword. With an ear-splitting crack and a blinding flash, it leaped skyward along the path that had been opened, discharging itself into the clouds above. In the process, it directed an infeasible amount of electricity through the body of the man holding what had turned out to be an excellent lightning-rod.

Max fell, the sword clattering from his hand to lie a short distance away; the tip of the blade, still glowing red, hissed as it lay in a puddle. Half-blinded by the flash, ears still ringing from the close-range thunderclap, Janet turned to ask the woman what do I do now? But somehow, it turned out that she was holding the umbrella. The woman was gone.

Without her conscious will behind it, the rain began to ease off. Oh shit, they're gonna see me! There was no way she was going to be climbing down any ladders one-handed, so her best bet was to hide. Turning to look for someplace to conceal herself, she felt her foot push something across the gravel; it was heavy and unyielding. She looked down, and saw a medical kit, the type that paramedics took into the field. Or the type that she'd taken on board the Avalon, once upon a time.

Where the hell did that come from?

A moment later, she realised just how stupid the question was; the woman in the trench-coat had procured it, in the same way that she had produced the golf umbrella. Probably using that damn doorway, or whatever she called it.

On a whim, she muttered 'doorway' herself, just to see what would happen.

Nothing did, of course. And I have no idea what I would've done if something had happened.

The rain had stopped altogether now; overhead, the clouds were melting away like snow in the sun. And kneeling on the roof was the woman. She had her hands pressed to her stomach, but blood was pumping out between her fingers. The red-headed woman knelt down beside her, talking urgently to her, her voice too low for Janet to hear what was being said.

Shit. I killed that guy to save her, but she'll die if I don't do something.

If I step forward now, they'll know that something's up. It's not like people just hang out on rooftops in rainstorms with medical kits, waiting for someone to get stabbed.

But if I don't, she'll die.

She took a deep breath and steeled herself. Time to own this shit and stop being a pussy about it. I've been running too long anyway.

Discarding the umbrella, she took up the case – it was heavy, but she could carry it one-handed – and stepped forward. Her feet crunched on the wet gravel, and the two teenagers looked around.

Before they could say or do anything, the roof access door opened again, and two more teenagers spilled out. One, a tall brunette, held a squalling baby; the other one looked about twelve.

"Theo, the thunder woke her up, and she won't -" began the older girl, before she took in the scene before her. "Holy shit! Ms Russel!"

"Who are you?" asked the pudgy boy, looking at Janet and ignoring the girl's exclamation. "What are you doing up here?"

The younger girl looked around and her expression just lit up. A smile spread across her face. "She's here to help," the girl chirped. "Taylor, give Aster to Theo and help this lady with her medical kit. Theo, take Aster downstairs and get her settled. Annette, go down and bring one of Kaiser's men up here. They need to know he's dead. Ms Campbell, call nine-one-one and tell them we've got a woman with a traumatic penetrating wound to the abdomen. They'll respond faster if it's an adult calling." She pulled a phone from her pocket and tossed it to Andrea. The red-headed woman stared at it as if she had no idea what it was.

Looking around at everyone, the girl stopped talking. Then she clapped her hands twice. "Well, come on! Ms Russel's not gonna save her own life, here!"

People started moving again; the tall brunette handed the baby to the pudgy boy, who hurried inside with her. Then she came over to Janet. "Uh, hi, I'm Taylor. What can I do?"

"I can always do with an extra hand or two," Janet said briefly. "Do what I tell you and she might just make it through this alive." She pointedly ignored the corpse of Kaiser lying not two yards from the woman he'd tried to murder. Not only could she not help him, but even if she could have, she would not.

The red-headed woman got out of her way, tapping numbers into the phone that the girl had given her. As Janet knelt beside Kayden, she heard Andrea say, "Ambulance, please. And police. And, uh, PRT, I guess."

Janet's nerve nearly failed her right then. The very last people she wanted to talk to were the PRT. I'm pretty sure that killing a cape, even defending someone else, is something they won't be happy about. It didn't help that her brain was just starting to make the connection; while she wasn't exactly clued-in to the cape scene in Brockton Bay, Kaiser was a name that she'd heard before. And I killed him. There's a lot of ways that this could go badly wrong.

But if I do nothing, she'll die anyway. "Taylor," she said urgently. "Help her lie down, on her back. We have to get pressure on the wound." But even if she did, she knew that Kayden could still die from lack of blood. I got my advanced first aid certificate before we went out on Avalon, but that was months ago.

Unfastening the lid on the kit, she opened it, and blinked. Who leaves bags of blood expander in a medical kit? But there they were, right where she needed them. Okay, we might just win this.

Annette took the stairs two at a time, one hand on the rail to steady herself. Her head was buzzing with the events of the night, the adrenaline still pumping from the confrontation with … well, with Kaiser. Holy shit, my dad was a supervillain. And holy shit, he got struck by lightning, right in front of me. She wasn't sure how she felt about that; he was a dick, and a murderer, but she wasn't totally sure that he needed to die because of that. Okay, so he was gonna kill Ms Russel. She decided to shelve the ethical dilemma for later.

Pushing the doors open, she stepped out on to the front stairs of the building. Kaiser's car was there, with two men waiting next to it. Or if it wasn't Kaiser's car, then some other pretentious rich bastard had chosen to take up two car spaces with a stretch limo.

Both men looked around as she trotted down the steps, then stepped forward. "That's her," she heard one of them mutter to the other.

"Hey, which of you is Scooby Doo and which one's Shaggy?" she asked.

The one on the left, slightly taller and more muscle-bound, stared at her. "Fuckin' say what?"

"Thanks, Scoob," she retorted cheekily. "Just so you know, your boss is dead."

The two goons stared at each other, then back at Annette. "What the fuck are you talking about?" demanded the one that she'd christened 'Scooby'.

She rolled her eyes. "Well, apparently, he decided it was a good idea to wave a big metal spike around in a thunderstorm. One order of crispy fried Max Anders, to go."

"Fuck." That was Scooby.

"Think she's fucking with us?" Shaggy looked at her suspiciously.

"Well, there was that fucking great lightning strike."

"Wow, Scoob, you found the clue!" Annette clapped ironically. "You see how my hair's a bit frizzled? You hear me talking a bit loud? I was about as far away from him as you are from me when he got fuckin' struck by lightning. I mean, he coulda got more dead if he went and nutsacked Behemoth, but not much more, know what I mean?"

Joseph Kellerman had never considered himself to be an overly intelligent man. But the way this kid – who, if he understood things right, was the boss's daughter – was talking, the boss was dead. He wasn't quite sure what the 'waving a metal spike' thing was all about, but there had been a big fuck-off lightning strike just before the rain stopped, so …

"What do we do?" asked Lars. He was the dumber of the two. They were both tough enough and ruthless enough to do what the boss said without worrying too much about who got hurt in the process. Unfortunately, smarts hadn't been on the criteria when they were being picked for the job, and with Lars it showed. Which meant that, with the boss not there and possibly dead, Joe was in charge. So he had to decide what to do next. What would Mr Anders do?

Joe made his decision. "Stay here," he ordered Lars. "If the kid or the woman comes out without me, stop 'em." He paused, then decided to make things absolutely clear. With Lars, you had to do this. A stupid, violent man, he tended to do things in stupid, violent ways unless he was given careful instructions. "Don't. Hurt. Them. Got me?"

Lars nodded. "If the kid or the woman come out, stop 'em. Don't hurt 'em. Got it."

"Good." Joe turned to the kid. "Okay, kid. Show me. But don't try anything funny. 'Cause the boss already told us that a few bruises were forgiveable if you tried to make a break for it."

"Wow, Scoob, it's almost like you don't believe me," she snarked. "Come on then."

He followed her into the building. "And don't call me Scooby."

"Fiiiine." Somehow, he just knew she was rolling her eyes. "You're Fred, he's Barney. Better?"

It was like she was trying to push his buttons. "Listen, you little shit -"

She stopped and whirled on him. Halfway up the first flight of stairs as they were, she was on the same eye-level as he was. The chirpiness had gone from her voice, replaced by a cold, deadly tone. "No, you fucking listen. Max Anders is my fucking father. If I know his type, he's already registered the paperwork to make it official. So I'm legally his daughter. Which means that as his oldest child, I'm in line for every fucking thing he owns and runs. Which includes the Empire fucking Eighty-Eight." She leaned closer. "So if and when I end up giving you your orders, how do you really want me to remember this conversation?"

Before he could answer, she turned and kept climbing the stairs. It was only because of his longer legs and because he spent so much time in the gym that he managed to keep up with her. Not that he had anything to say; in his mind, he was churning over the information that she'd given him. If she ends up as the boss …

Politeness, he decided, was the best course of action for now.

He followed her out of the roof access, which had been propped open by a brick. It was amazingly dry up here, he decided. There was no water pooling anywhere, especially near where - "Fuck! Is that Mrs Anders?"

"Yeah, that's her," the kid said flatly. "Your boss stabbed her just before he got made into a Tater Tot. There he is, over there."

Joe didn't look where she was pointing, at first. It was Kayden Anders, sure enough. The boss's wife. She was lying on her back, covered in blood. A woman he didn't know was applying a bandage to her stomach, while a teenager with glasses taped it into place. Another kid, this one maybe ten years old, held an IV bag that fed into Mrs Anders' arm. Andrea Campbell, the one person in this group that he actually knew, was standing by, talking on the phone.

"Who are they?" he asked, pointing at the people working on his boss's wife.

The kid gave him an impatient look. "Do you want me to introduce them all to you, or do you want me to show you where your damn boss is?"

Oh, shit. Yeah. Joe looked around, and saw him. He was lying on his back, sightless eyes staring up at the sky. There was a red stain on his shirt that made him reach under his jacket. "I thought you said he got struck by lightning."

"He did." The scorn in her voice was evident even to him. "That's pasta sauce. I hit him in the face with a plate of lasagna."

It was evident to him that she was leaving a lot out, but then, he wasn't the cops. Why did you do that? and Why did he stab Mrs Anders? and What was he even doing on the rooftop? all paled before one important question. Is he really dead?

Max Anders' normally immaculate hair was all standing on end, but that didn't prove anything. Joe bent down and felt for a pulse; it was one of the few medical things he knew how to do. There was nothing, but as he got closer, he could smell a persistent odour of cooked meat. Oh, shit. I think that's him. Fighting down the urge to turn aside and throw up, he kept looking.

Near Mr Anders' outflung hand was indeed a long metal spike, though on closer inspection it seemed to be more like a blade. Where he'd gotten it from, Joe had no idea; he certainly hadn't been carrying it in the car. He must have found it up here.

There was a burn on the palm of Anders' hand, continuing around on to his fingers. About what someone would get if they were holding a metal rod that got struck by lightning, Joe figured. He took another look at the tip of the spike, where the first six inches were charred and blackened. "Is that where -"

"The lightning struck, yeah." She was looking away, breathing shallowly. "He was dead before he knew it."

Yeah, I can believe it. Straightening up, he looked down at his boss's body. Well, shit. What the fuck do I do now?

Taking a deep breath, he tried to steady his whirling thoughts. Okay, first things first. Pulling out his phone, he dialled Lars' number.

"Hello?"

"It's Joe."

"Oh. What's happening? Nobody's come out."

"No, they're both up here. So's Mr Anders."

"Oh. What's he say to do?"

"He's not … he's dead. Mr Anders is dead." He felt a hollow space in his chest at those words.

" … what."

"The kid was telling the truth. Mr Anders got struck by lightning. He's dead. I'm looking at his body right now."

"What the fuck do we do now?"

He wanted to answer Fucked if I know, but he knew that he couldn't. Lars was depending on him to know what to do. Taking a deep breath, he cast around for inspiration. "Uh, right, okay. We'll, uh, withdraw for the moment. Pull back. Call the other higher-ups, let them know about this. They'll have plans for this sort of thing." At least, I fuckin' hope they do.

"Do we grab the woman and the kid?"

Joe eyed the people on the rooftop. "No, not a good idea. Too many witnesses." And if the kid's gonna be my boss someday, I don't want to piss her off now.

"What about the boss? We just gonna leave him?"

He considered that. "Yeah, I think we're gonna have to. Pretty sure the cops have been told about this, so if the body just disappears, they'll be looking for us."

"So we're just going, then?"

"Yeah. I'll be down in a second. Call the other guys. Tell 'em we're pulling back." Truth be told, he wasn't a hundred percent sure that leaving the woman and the girl was the best idea, but the boss was dead now, and whatever plans he had for them would have to wait. Shutting down his phone, he knelt beside the boss's body and gently patted him down.

"What the hell are you doing?" That was the kid, almost standing over him. "He's dead, you freak!"

"Getting his phone," he said shortly, lifting up one side of Max Anders' jacket to reach inside.

"Hey, if I'm gonna be the boss, then that's my phone, so leave it."

Still kneeling, he looked up at her. "If you're gonna be the boss, then I'm taking it so the cops don't get their hands on it. You'll get it back. If you're not … then I'm taking it so the next boss gets it. Either way, I'm not leaving it here, kid."

"But …" She trailed off, probably trying to figure out a counter-argument. In the meantime, he felt his fingers close over the thing that he sought. Pulling it out of Anders' jacket, he slid it into his pants pocket.

"But nothing. Maybe you'll be my boss someday and maybe you won't." He stood up and brushed his knees off. "Either way, I'm protecting the Empire. See you around, kid."

He headed for the roof exit, leaving her staring at his back. The phone in his pocket seemed to burn a hole in his very skin; he couldn't wait to pass it on to someone higher up the line. I hope Mr Fleischer is answering his phone.

Andrea looked down at Kayden's pale face, partially obscured by the breathing mask. "So, is she going to make it?"

The paramedic finished hooking the IV bag on to the tree in the ambulance. "Well, I don't like to make snap judgements, but her vitals are pretty good for someone who's just been stabbed. If you and your friends hadn't been here to patch her up and put fluids into her, she'd likely be dead by now."

"Yeah." She nodded, smiling wanly at the man. "I didn't do much helping. I just called you guys."

He chuckled as he double-checked the clamps holding the gurney in place. "Trust me, calling nine-one-one is one of the best things you can do in an emergency. Sometimes it's the only thing. And it's never a bad thing. You did all right."

"Thanks." She watched as he pulled the doors shut. A moment later, the ambulance started up and moved off down the street.

"She going to be okay, Mom?" That was Annette, beside her.

"I hope so, honey." Andrea put her arm around her daughter's shoulders, then pulled her into a full hug. Annette responded in kind; they shared a moment of closeness, reaffirming their strong bond. "You did good tonight. Just saying."

"I hope Taylor's dad's gonna be okay." Danny had shown up around the same time as the police, a bruise already forming on his jaw.

"He should be all right." She looked across at where Danny stood close to his daughter, talking quietly to her. "They should be all right."

"You like him a lot, don't you, Mom?" As always, Annette was very direct.

"Yeah, honey, I like him a lot." She sighed softly. "He tried to fight Max to help me. Even if Max put him down, he still tried. That means a lot to me."

"Me too." Annette looked around, first at where the police were still interviewing everyone they could find, then up at the apartment building itself. "So what's gonna happen now?"

Andrea smiled. "I don't know, but I think we're gonna have fun finding out."

Emily Piggot gripped the phone a little more tightly. "Repeat that, please."

"We believe that Kaiser is dead, ma'am. We were called to an apartment complex with a dead man and a wounded woman on the roof. Witnesses at the scene positively identified the dead man, Max Anders, as Kaiser. There was a metal blade nearby, essentially identical to Kaiser's usual creations. The lab is currently testing it. Every indication shows that he died from being struck by lightning. Our current supposition is that the wounded woman is Purity. She has the right body type."

" … right. So were they fighting a lightning-generating cape? Do we even have one of those in Brockton Bay?" As far as Emily knew, there wasn't one, but that sort of thing could change at any moment.

The officer on the other end sounded positively apologetic. "Uh, no, ma'am. It seems like a legitimate lightning strike. From the thunderstorm we had earlier this evening."

"So how was Purity wounded? Was she struck by lightning as well?"

"No, ma'am. She's been stabbed. We're reasonably certain that Kaiser is the perpetrator, considering that there are traces of blood on the blade. This is also being tested for a match."

Piggot blinked for a long moment, then leaned back in her chair. "So what you're telling me is that Kaiser and Purity clashed on top of an apartment building. He stabbed her, then got struck by lightning."

"That's essentially it, yes, ma'am."

She sat forward again. "Well, I'm not buying it. Keep digging. Something like this just doesn't fall into our laps. There's more to it, and I want to know what it is."

His voice was resigned. She didn't care. "Yes, ma'am."

Piggot hung up the phone, and turned her chair to look out over Brockton Bay's nightscape. However it happened, Kaiser's dead. This is going to cause a lot of problems.

It might solve a few, she knew, especially now that the PRT was aware of Medhall's Empire ties, but more would crop up than be solved.

Such was the way of the world.

Janet sat nervously on the sofa with her duffel on her lap, the medical kit on the floor in front of her. Danny Hebert sat in an armchair opposite her; Andrea perched on the arm of the chair.

"Okay, so we covered for you with the cops," Andrea said simply. "You didn't want to talk to them, which I can kind of understand. But we need to understand now. What's going on? What were you even doing on the roof?"

I've gotta trust someone, sometime. Taking a deep breath, Janet made a leap of faith. "I've got powers," she began.

End of Part Nine