Wyvern - Worm AU fanfic

[Ack]

Yet another Altpower!Taylor fic. She gains yet another set of powers in the locker; it now remains to be seen what she will be doing with them.

Disclaimers:
1) This story is set in the Wormverse, which is owned by Wildbow. Thanks for letting me use it.
2) I will follow canon as closely as I can. If I find something that canon does not cover, I will make stuff up. If canon then refutes me, then I will revise. Do not bother me with fanon; corrections require citations.
3) I welcome criticism of my works, but if you tell me that something is wrong, I also expect an explanation of what is wrong, and a suggestion of how to fix it. Note that I do not promise to follow any given suggestion.

Index
Part One: Inception (below)
Part Two: How to ... Yeah, Not Going There
Part Three: Handling Matters
Part Four: Escalation
Part Five: Discussions
Part Six: Meddle Not in the Affairs of Dragons ...
Part Seven: ... For You Are Crunchy, and Go Well With Ketchup
Part Eight: All Dressed Up
Part Nine: Stinger!
Part Ten: Changing Fortunes
Part Eleven: Show and Tell
Part Twelve: Bugging the Dragon
Part Thirteen: Growing Pains
Part Fourteen: New Developments
Part Fifteen: Hidden Conflicts
Part Sixeen: That Went Places
Part Seventeen: Escalation Central
Part Eighteen: No Sale
Part Nineteen: The Dreaded Slaughterhouse Arc (1) - Our Day in Court
Part Twenty: The Dreaded Slaughterhouse Arc (2) - Farewell, Seven of Nine
Part Twenty-One: Dealing With the Wyvern in the Room
Part Twenty-Two: Getting the Measure
Part Twenty-Three: The Proposition
Part Twenty-Four: Draconic Measures
Part Twenty-Five: Operation Ellisburg

Omake: The Hand that Feeds ( SwiftRosenthal )

 

[Ack]

Wyvern

Part One: Inception


Flying.

I was flying, chill air flowing past stretched membranes. Gliding, then flapping again, arm and shoulder muscles aching.

I've never done this before. How do I know how to do it? Instinct?

I hope it gets easier.

Below, buildings slid past. A city. The buildings were old, decrepit. Somehow, I knew that I was flying east. Toward the ocean that beckoned.

Why am I flying? How am I flying? Why are my arms wings now? Why am I flying toward the ocean?

I stopped flapping for a few moments, allowed myself to glide once more. The wind drummed over the expanse of red-gold membrane that made up my wings, stretched between what had once been my fingers, my arms. Covered in fine scales, of the same colour as my wings, that winked back pinpoints of light in the weak January sunlight.

What happened?

I didn't know. I wasn't sure of much. I had only been flying for a few minutes, but where I was flying from was less certain than where I was flying to.

Even who I was was uncertain. My name …

"Who am I?" I tried to ask out loud. My jaws opened; I got the impression of a muzzle, and a croaking screech was all I heard. My tongue tasted the air, then ran over my teeth. Fangs, rather; all sharp, and far more than I'd had before …

How do I know that?

I didn't know how I knew. I knew I was human, despite my current shape. Which I knew little enough of, to be honest. Arms turned into wings, check. Red-gold scales, check. Muzzle, check.

The buildings below were beginning to get uncomfortably close. I summoned up more energy, began flapping once more. A cross-wind buffeted me; I shifted to compensate, using my tail as balance and rudder both – tail?

A glance over my shoulder showed that yes, I had a tail. Looking down and under myself showed legs, folded up beneath me, covered in … something. Something that stank.

I now knew why I was flying toward the ocean.

I needed water.

Lots of water.

The ocean was close, now. This was a good thing. My arms were tired. A joke surfaced in my mind – I just flew in from New York, and boy my arms are tired – and it didn't seem so funny any more.

In the ocean ahead, in the bay – Brockton Bay, I recalled. The city below was named for the bay – was a technological citadel, a home for the Protectorate. I blinked, eyelids moving in odd ways, as memories slotted into place. That long street is called Lord Street. And that's the Boardwalk.

"Hey!"

I jolted in midair as the voice called out beside me; so focused had I been on my own emerging thoughts that I hadn't paid attention to my surroundings. My wings lost purchase on the air and I dropped a dozen feet before I corrected that. When I was gliding properly once more, I risked a glance sideways.

There, paralleling me, was a teenage girl; white-clad, wearing a tiara over her blonde hair. She was keeping pace with me fairly easily, almost lounging in the air. Right. For her it's easy.

A name surfaced in my memory. Glory Girl.

Okay, so I can remember everyone else's names. Why not mine?

Forgetting my inability to vocalise, I tried to reply. "Uh, hi?"

What I got was, "Ooo-ah?" In a sort of screechy, velociraptor sort of accent.

She frowned, marring that perfect brow. "Can't talk English?"

Closing my muzzle – not wanting her to think that I was about to try to attack her with my startlingly large collection of needle-sharp teeth – I nodded firmly, then shook my head.

"Yes, no?" She paused. "Can't talk, can understand?"

This time, I nodded vigorously.

" … ah, right. Okay, gotta ask you to land, so I can talk to you, okay?"

Looking down, I saw that we were crossing Lord Street. I angled my wings into a dive.

"Hey!" she shouted, catching up, even as I accelerated. "I'm talking to you, here!"

How do I say, "I know, but I've got to do this?" in dinosaur? It was a conundrum.

The cool waters, twinkling in the morning sunlight, were just ahead, coming up fast. I angled into a steeper dive.

"Hey!" yelled Glory Girl, reaching for me. I twitched my wing out of the way, rolling smoothly to the side. Huh, something I can do.

She tried again; I barrel-rolled over her, and folded my wings back.

"You can't dodge forever -" she began, and then we hit the water.

<><>​

Cool silence surrounded me. I spread my wings once more, letting myself float in the dimness. The dreadful things that had been clinging to my legs drifted off, floated away, as I kicked. I rolled my eyes upward, the nictitating membranes allowing me to see clearly, even under water. Glory Girl was gathering herself, flying upward, leaving just ripples behind.

I would have to follow soon; although at home in the water, I didn't have gills. So I folded my arms against my sides once more; my legs kicked and my tail waved, and I started toward the surface.

As I moved upward, so did more memories emerge from the darkness.

<><>​

"Hey, there she is."

"Fuck, I nearly didn't see her."

"Is it just me, or is she even skinnier than before Christmas?"

"Anyone else has a Christmas dinner – Hebert has a Christmas puke."

"She just has to look in the mirror."

I ventured through the halls of Winslow, seeking my locker. I had imagined that they were letting up over November and December, but it must have been a ploy to get my guard down. They certainly weren't letting up now.

"She's so skinny that she has to run around in the shower to get wet."

"Mustn't do it all that much. I can smell her from here."

"Pee-yew! She probably took a puke just before she came in here."

Maybe it was just the power of suggestion, but I could smell something horrible now, too. My cheeks burning from the hurtful words – I never asked to be skinny – I hunched my shoulders and walked past them.

"So how old do you think she'll be before she actually grows breasts?"

"I don't think there's that many years on the calendar."

"Well, it's not like she'll need them – she's too ugly and skinny to ever get a boyfriend."

"I hear that when she goes for a walk in the park, all the perverts button up their raincoats and go home."

"She'd need a boob job just to get the tits of a twelve year old."

"A twelve year old boy."

Trying not to listen, I reached my locker. A rancid smell emanated from it. I knew, with a sinking feeling, that they had done something to it. Something horrible. But, just as it's almost impossible to look away from a train wreck, I couldn't not see what was inside the locker.

Bending over the lock, I entered the combination. Concentrating on ignoring the stink, I didn't look behind me.

That was my mistake.

<><>​

I emerged from the water feeling much cleaner; my speed put me a good body-length above the water. This gave me the chance to get my wings into operation; spraying salt water in all directions, I rose into the air.

"Hey."

This time, I was less than surprised; Glory Girl hovered there, looking a little more bedraggled than before. Her skirt hung damply, her blonde hair was flat against her head, and she had lost the tiara. She also looked less than impressed.

I gave her my best inquiring look. She pointed toward the beach. "Land. Now."

She could fly faster than me; although I was much better under water, I didn't really want to tangle with her. Angling forward, I glided toward the beach. Fortunately, this being January, it was almost totally unpopulated; I came in for a neat landing on the hard wet sand just above where the tiny waves washed back and forth, and folded my wings. Due to my odd body shape, I had to lean forward a little, large clawed feet gripping the sand and my tail balancing from behind.

Glory Girl alighted beside me and looked at me, folding her arms. Carefully, I straightened up so that we were eye to eye. "Okay," she asked, "so who are you?"

Opening my mouth, I replied with an unintelligible screech.

Closing her eyes as if in pain, she rubbed her forehead. "You can't speak any English at all?"

That was easy; I shook my head.

"Uh … okay. You're human, yeah?"

After a moment of hesitation, I nodded.

"Are you a case fifty-three?"

I paused, blinking. Then I shrugged; with wings that could cover maybe twenty feet of span, and elbows that now almost touched the ground, I could really shrug.

"Okay, let's make that a maybe. Do you remember who you are?"

<><>​

I was trapped inside the locker, unable to get out. Taunting laughter from outside, fading away. I couldn't get out. I struggled, screamed. I wasn't good enough to get out. Not strong enough.

"Too skinny and ugly ..."

There was a moment of discontinuity. Things began to change. I began to change. I had strength now; I had muscle. I pushed at the door, ripped at it with the talons on my feet. It resisted. I opened my mouth, inhaled the noxious fumes.

What came from my mouth was more in the nature of an explosion than mere flame; perhaps I was igniting something in the mess beneath me. In any case, it wrecked the locker, bending the ones on either side to hell and gone. I sprawled on the floor, struggled to my feet. My clothes were gone; I wore a new form. Red-gold scales, arms lengthened into wings, a strong tail behind. I did not fit any more into any reasonable definition of 'human'. I had to get out of here. I had to clean the stink of Winslow from me.

I ran, scuttled, down the hallway. Burst out through the doors. Spread my wings for the very first time.

The ocean was east. I flew that way.

<><>​

I reached out with a wingtip, and in the hard sand, I wrote, MY NAME IS TAYLOR HEBERT.

As she absorbed that, I added three more words.

PLEASE HELP ME.


End of Part One

Part Two

 

[Ack]

Wyvern

Part Two: How to … Yeah, Not Going There


"Hello, Dockworker's Association, Danny Hebert speaking."

"Mr Hebert, this is Carrie Blackwell, at Winslow High School."

Danny sat up at Blackwell's sharp tone. "Principal Blackwell. How can I help you?" He blinked, worry starting to spread through him. "Has something happened to Taylor?"

"Something has certainly happened. We're not sure what."

"I … can you explain that?"

"It appears that your daughter came to school today, didn't go to class, set off a bomb in her locker, and decamped."

Of all the things that Danny had expected her to say, this was not one of them. "A … bomb?"

"Yes. Some sort of explosive or incendiary device. It destroyed her locker as well as the lockers on either side, and it damaged two more, as well as the floor and the ceiling, and it embedded the locker door in the wall opposite. It also set that part of the corridor on fire. Were you aware that she was planning this?"

"I … no. No, I don't believe that Taylor did this. She … I don't even believe that she knows how to make a bomb, much less one that would destroy her locker. Are you sure someone else didn't do this to her?"

"Well, we have police and emergency services on site; the entire school has been evacuated and a complete roll call has been taken. Taylor is not here. The conclusion is inescapable."

"I … could she have been caught … in the explosion?"

"No, the emergency services have been combing through the wreckage. There are no human remains, although there is evidence that she was also storing large amounts of toxic waste in her locker. Can you explain this?"

Danny's head was spinning. "I can't … I don't … " A blinking light distracted him. "I have a call on another line. It's probably the police. I have to take this."

Without giving her a chance to demur, he pressed the button. "Dockworker's Association, Danny Hebert speaking."

"Mr Hebert, this is Sergeant Andrews, Brockton Bay PD. Do you know of your daughter's whereabouts at this moment?"

Danny put his head in his hands. This was going to be a very long day, and he had no idea what had happened to Taylor.

<><>​

"Come on, it's just a little bit farther."

I let out a disapproving screech; flying was easy for her. She didn't have to actually claw at the air with wings that used to be her arms, for every foot of movement. For her, flying was a matter of saying fuck-you to physics and just coasting in whatever direction she wanted to go.

"Oh, don't be such a whiner." She was certainly picking up on my tones; I was pretty sure that she was joking with me in return. "Seriously, you're a dragon. How cool is that? Ames is gonna be so jealous that I brought you home."

That made me blink, with that weird double-blink that my nictitating membranes gave me. I'm a dragon? I thought I was a dinosaur. Some sort of pterodactyl velociraptor thing. How did I end up as a dragon?

Okay, well, yeah, breathing fire to blow my locker door off might have been a hint.

"Come on, pick those wings up. Don't slack off now. You're nearly there." She drifted past me again, waving her fingers at me teasingly. I flapped harder, swooped at her, snapped my jaws in her general direction without any real intent to actually get her. Laughing, she rolled out of the way. "Eek! Help! There's a dragon after me!"

The laser bolt smashed into my chest; I tumbled through the air, stunned. My thoughts were disorganised; I couldn't focus. Instinct took over, and I rolled; another blast ripped past my wingtip, the air crackling in its wake. All fatigue had left me, replaced by adrenaline; I pumped my wings, powered into a short dive, then flipped up and over in a hard loop. A sharp turn at the top of the loop, avoiding a third laser shot, then I was arrowing in on the flying form that had attacked me. Opening my jaws, I prepared to send an answering billow of flame -

"No! Don't! It's only Aunt Sarah!"

Glory Girl was in front of me, blocking my path. I angled hard, changing direction so that I didn't hit her, swallowing the flame back. Friend. Do not attack.

The other one wasn't a friend, though. Just for a moment, we both hung in midair, me beating my wings, her just hovering there. A glow built up around her hands; I gathered flame in my gullet.

And then Glory Girl was between us again. She flung out her hands in both directions, and I felt her aura, calming me. "No, don't! Don't fight! Aunt Sarah, why did you attack her?"

"I … it was attacking you, dear," the flying woman responded. "Wait … 'she'?"

"Yes, 'she'," Glory Girl stated flatly. "She's not an 'it'. She's a 'person'. She's had her trigger event and changed. I think she might be a case fifty-three. She can't talk, but she can understand English, and write it."

There was a long, somewhat embarrassed pause; I let the anger ease out of my posture. My chest still hurt, though. The woman – Glory Girl's Aunt Sarah; I seemed to recall a Lady Photon, real name Sarah Pelham – addressed me directly. "I'm sorry. I reacted badly. I apologise."

I nodded, let out an acknowledging chirp. She eyed me, then glanced at Glory Girl. "What did she say?"

"I have no idea. You think I speak dragon?" Glory Girl shrugged. "But it sounded like, 'eh, what the hell' to me."

I nodded again; for someone who didn't speak dragon, she was doing all right so far.

"All right, so where are you taking her?"

"I, uh, thought I'd bring her home."

"What? Honey, no. You shouldn't just bring home every strange cape that you meet."

"Aunt Sarah, look at her. She's a dragon. How cool is that? Also, she needs help. She asked me for help."

"So take her to the PRT or the Protectorate. Surely they're better set up for this sort of thing."

Glory Girl rolled her eyes. "They'd just poke her and prod her and make her join the Wards or something. Or put her in a Case Fifty-Three program. And she doesn't want that."

Which was true; when she had proposed the idea, I had made it quite clear that I was not in favour of it. I wasn't quite sure why; I just didn't want to go there. Besides, I didn't feel like being probed by anything, ever.

"So you're taking her home?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Okay; your mother will pitch a fit -"

"She'll get over it."

"And what about the rest of your family?"

Glory Girl shrugged. "Well, Dad might actually show some interest. And Ames will probably want to keep her forever. I mean, seriously, a dragon."

Lady Photon frowned. "And what about you? Why aren't you at school?"

"Heard about a weird thing flying over the city, went to investigate. Found Taylor here."

"Her name's Taylor? How do you know that?"

"Duh, she can write."

"Oh. Of course."

"Well, then. I'll see you two home. Then I'll call your mother. Because this is not a surprise that Carol needs to find out about by walking in through the front door."

Impulsively, Glory Girl hugged her aunt. "You're the best!"

A grimace. "Still not entirely sure that this is the right course of action, but … okay, Taylor. Let's get you there, then see what needs to be done."

I answered with a screech, then stretched my wings out; as Glory Girl led off and Lady Photon paralleled me, I flew on.

<><>​

The house was modest; a two-storey structure in suburbia. We came in for a landing outside the front door; I flapped my wings hard to kill forward momentum, then folded them close to my body. Lady Photon watched the manoeuvre with interest, then observed how I leaned forward and used my tail as a balance.

"Where were you going to have her sleep?" she asked, as Glory Girl opened the front door.

"Floor of my room," was the reply. "We can put down a mattress." Glory Girl went inside. "Dad! Visitors!"

"What if she doesn't sleep that way?" Lady Photon stepped back, allowing me first entry. "What if she hangs upside down, like a bat?"

"Then we set up something to let her do that. Hey, Dad, check it out. Look what I found."

Grinning, Glory Girl gestured to me as I entered the front door, just as her father – Flashbang – came in from the kitchen, with a sandwich in his hand. He stared; I tensed. But he didn't attack. He just … looked at me.

"Okay," he ventured at last. "I give up. What is it?"

I blinked; that was the most apathetic reaction to my new appearance that I had encountered yet.

"For one thing, she's a she, not an it," Glory Girl explained patiently. "And for another thing, she's a person. Her name's Taylor. She needs help."

I chirped in agreement, nodding my head.

"As far as I can tell, Victoria is correct," Lady Photon noted, closing the door behind us and stepping past me. "Taylor doesn't appear to be hostile, and seems to understand what we say."

"So why not hand her over to the PRT -" he began. I shook my head.

"She doesn't want to go to the PRT or to the Protectorate," Glory Girl elaborated.

"Okay, fine," he sighed. "Taylor, is it?"

I nodded, and gave a chirp of agreement.

He blinked, seeming a little taken aback. "Well, uh, make yourself comfortable, I guess. Are you hungry?"

I snuffled at the air; if my nose didn't deceive me, he had a fish paste sandwich. I nodded, just a little. Hungry, but not starving. Of course, flying across the city had a way of sharpening the appetite.

"Okay, uh, get comfortable. Sarah, could you keep our guest company? Vicky, a word in the kitchen, please?"

Flashbang – Mark Dallon; Glory Girl's real name was Victoria Dallon – left the room. I felt a little sorry for her, as I figured she was about to get a parental interrogation. I'd had one or two of those in my time.

"So, uh, can you even sit on the sofa?" asked Lady Photon.

I eyed the piece of furniture, and tried to work out how to sit properly. With my new body, I wasn't at all sure I could manage it. But by curling my tail out of the way, I managed to ease my way down, tucking my folded wings in close to my body. But I found it hard to sit upright; it was easier to let my weight fall to one side, to lie down. To curl up, with my tail wrapped in close to my body, my wings partly wrapped around me.

My head rested on the arm rest at the end of the sofa. I sighed; this was actually comfortable. The nictitating membranes flickered once or twice across my eyes, and then I closed my actual eyelids. I had been going non-stop since the locker, since the change, and it felt so good to relax.

With my eyes closed, I felt myself drifting away …

"Oh my god!"

My eyes flew open at Sarah's exclamation. Everything was blurry; why was everything blurry? I tried to flick my nictitating membranes across my eyes to clear whatever the problem was, but they didn't respond. I could make out her form, though, standing and staring at me. A white and gold form dashed in from the other room, also stopped and stared.

What's the matter? What's happened? What have I changed into now?

Using my wings, I pushed myself into an upright position. Opening my jaws, I let out an inquiring chirp. "What? What's up?"

That was my voice! I slapped my hand over my mouth.

My hand. My mouth.

I was back to normal. I looked down at myself.

Oh yeah, back to normal, all right. My body was all there. I could see it plainly, within the limits of my short-sightedness. Arms, legs, no tail, lots and lots of pink skin.

Yes, I was back to normal. I was also very naked.

Grabbing a sofa cushion, I held it over myself.

"Uh, some clothes, please?"


End of Part Two

Part Three

 

[Ack]

Wyvern

Part Three: Handling Matters


"But Taylor knows nothing about explosives," Danny tried to explain, for the third time. "For that matter, I know nothing about explosives. She couldn't have made any kind of bomb."

The police officer sitting on the other side of the interview table didn't seem to have heard him. "Our kids can surprise us, Mr Hebert," he stated without any real kind of inflection. "Did you keep books on chemistry or the making of explosives in your house? Did you store chemicals of any sort?" He consulted a list, then handed it over to Danny. "Any of these?"

Danny took it, frowning. "No, we never had books on bomb making," he replied. "Chemistry books, yeah. She does high school chemistry. As for these chemicals … I think we have drain cleaner, yeah. And detergent." He put the list on the table. "But anyone could have these chemicals. Someone who knew how to make a bomb. Why are you picking on Taylor in this?"

"Because the roll call post-evacuation indicated several students not present, one of whom is your daughter," the police officer informed him. "And your daughter's locker is the one that was blown up."

"So one of the others -"

"The others are, without exception, those with reasonable excuses to be out of school, or those with a regular habit of skipping classes. Your daughter is the only one with anything like a regular attendance record who should have been there, but wasn't."

"Well, maybe someone else blew her locker up," Danny suggested. "Did you think of that?"

"Her locker door was blown off of its hinges. We found it embedded in the opposite wall," the officer stated flatly. "The explosion almost certainly originated within the locker. Does your daughter share her locker combination with anyone else?"

"Emma, maybe?" Danny hazarded. "But she's Taylor's best friend. She wouldn't do something like this to her."

The police officer made a note. "Last name of this Emma, sir?"

"Uh, Emma Barnes," Danny supplied. "Her father's name is Alan Barnes. But she wouldn't have done this. Taylor's known her since grade school."

"Is that with an S or an E-S?" asked the officer.

"B-A-R-N-E-S," Danny supplied. "Maybe I should ring Alan and ask him if Emma even saw Taylor show up to school today."

"Leave us to make the enquiries, sir," the officer reproved him gently. "Now, do you know if your daughter had any problems with anyone else at school? A teacher, perhaps, or another student?"

"I have no idea." Danny shrugged helplessly. "She never talks about school. We barely talk at all."

"Perhaps her mother might know more, sir?" suggested the officer.

Danny shook his head, feeling the old pain. "Her mother is dead. She died in a car accident about two and a half years ago."

"My condolences, sir," the officer told him automatically. "Has your daughter's behaviour changed recently? Has she exhibited odd habits?"

"I don't know," Danny told him, feeling shame that he had to confess this. "We really haven't been close, recently."

<><>​

"The sides and top have been peeled back from the force of the explosion; the lockers on either side have suffered catastrophic damage. There appear to be the remains of toxic waste within the locker, and spread on the floor around it."

Explosives expert James Doherty ceased narrating into the recorder, and leaned down to gingerly pick up a small blackened item between gloved thumb and forefinger. He dropped it into an evidence bag; despite the filter mask, his nose wrinkled from the smell.

"What is it?" asked his assistant, closing the bag carefully.

"Best guess, a used tampon," Doherty replied. "A bit charred, but still mostly there. There were a lot more of them, I would guess, as well as other similar items, but the explosion destroyed most of them."

"That would seem to defeat the purpose, wouldn't it?" asked his assistant, whose name Doherty had never bothered to remember; a bright lad, he nevertheless still had a lot to learn about the business.

"That's presuming that the purpose of the explosion was to spread the waste," Doherty agreed. "But it wasn't."

"It wasn't?"

"That's what I said," Doherty stated. "The explosion took place about … here." He leaned in, putting his gloved fingertip at about chest level, just inside where the locker door had once stood. "Whereas the toxic waste was all down in the bottom of the locker. If the purpose was to spread the crap around, it was about the worse possible location for it."

"So what was the purpose of the explosion?" asked his assistant. "Lockers don't just explode for no reason."

"And that's the right question," Doherty agreed with a nod. ""What did the explosion do, above all else?"

"Blew the locker to hell and gone?"

Doherty allowed himself a slight smile under the mask. "Specifically. What was the one real effect we have here?"

There was a moment of intense cogitation, then his assistant pointed at the door, which had been carefully pried out of the wall, to allow for closer examination. "Blew the door off."

"So let's go look at the door. Something's been bothering me, and I just realised what."

They stood side by side, looking at the door. Doherty pointed. "That's where the explosion took place." It was fairly obvious; the metal had been distorted, the paint scoured down to the metal. Annealing patterns threw back rainbow reflections.

"Right where you said it would be," his assistant agreed. "So what was bothering you, before?"

Doherty pointed, farther down. "What are those marks?"

Almost hidden, camouflaged by first being blasted off of the locker, then slamming into the wall opposite, several sets of parallel gouges could just barely be seen in the metal. "They look like … scratches." The assistant paused, frowning. "Shrapnel?"

Doherty shook his head. "No. Shrapnel would have spread directly away from the epicentre. These are overlapping lines, each set parallel in itself, but each set is aligned in a different direction. And there are three in each set. What does that remind you of?"

"I – I'm not sure -"

"Think. Ignore the explosion. Ignore the rest of it. Where have you seen marks like that before?"

The assistant blinked. "Claw marks. There was an animal in the locker?"

"They didn't find a body," Doherty pointed out. "Human, animal, whatever. Whatever did that was low to the ground. Also … " He crouched, and touched his gloved fingertips to one set of gouges. They had to spread, just a little, to each touch a separate groove. "Whatever made these wasn't any house cat."

"So what does this mean?"

Doherty stood, and dusted his hands off. "We wait for the lab results to come back regarding the samples and residues they took in. And if it turns out the way I think it will, we'll be off the case."

The assistant tilted his head. "Why is that?"

Doherty felt a wry grin twisting his lips under the mask. "Because it'll be the PRT's problem, then. And good luck to them."

<><>​

"Wait right here," commanded Glory Girl. "I'll be right back." She dashed into the kitchen. "Dad," I heard her say, "don't go anywhere. Especially not the living room, okay?"

"Why?" he asked.

"Clothing emergency. Just stay in here, all right?"

I heard a grunt that I assumed to mean assent, then she emerged once more, and dashed up the stairs. Moments later, she reappeared, bearing a huge fluffy pink bathrobe. I stared at it; it looked large enough to use as a hang-glider.

"What?" she asked, her cheeks going nearly as pink as the bathrobe. "I like it.'

"I wasn't going to say a word," I assured her, truthfully enough, and swapped cushion for bathrobe. It covered me; more to the point, it enveloped me. I was covered from neck to ankles in fluffy pink extravagance.

Glory Girl – or Vicky, as she insisted that I call her – took me upstairs and fitted me out in new clothes; or rather, some of the clothes that she was thinking of giving away. A pair of her skinny jeans – not so skinny on my lanky frame – went well with a t-shirt that showed just a little tiny bit of my belly, given that I had a few inches on the teen superhero.

"Well, you're dressed," she declared with satisfaction as I put a borrowed headband in my hair. "And you're human again. How did you do that, anyway?"

"I'm not sure," I confessed. "The sofa was so comfortable that I kind of lay down and drifted off. When your aunt cried out, I woke up and I was me."

"Huh," she mused; I got the impression that she was a little disappointed that she couldn't show off dragon-me to her sister Panacea, or 'Ames' as she referred to the healer. "Have you tried to change back?"

"Um, nope," I told her. "Realising I was a dragon was scary enough the first time around."

"Well, we know you can," she insisted. "Go on, see if you can change back again."

Frowning, I concentrated. There seemed to be something there, but I couldn't really reach it. "I guess I'm too comfortable," I confessed. "I think I changed back to human when I started feeling comfortable and relaxed."

"Oh," she replied, and turned away. "I guess then – boo!"

I jumped a little as she threw up her hands at the same time as shouting the word, but nothing else happened.

"It's not exactly something that can happen with a fright," I told her severely.

"Well, how did it happen, exactly?" she asked.

So I told her; arriving at Winslow, being taunted for being too tall, too skinny, too ugly. Every word striking at the core of my being, even as I tried to ignore them. Arriving at my locker, opening it, being shoved in, locked in. I choked then, and began to cry. Vicky held me, stroked my hair as I sat on her bed.

I was vaguely aware of someone arriving at the doorway to Vicky's room. Vicky's aunt Sarah, by the sound of her voice. She was asking, I thought, about what was going on. Vicky repeated to her what I had said, more or less, and then Sarah went away.

"Hey," murmured Vicky. "Hey, hey. It's all right." I felt a warmth enfolding me, a blanket made of pure love and affection. Belatedly, I realised that it was Glory Girl's aura, even as I felt myself calming down.

A tissue was offered to me, and I took it, blowing my nose loudly. "Sorry," I mumbled. "I just … " I trailed off. You weren't there; I can't even begin to expect you to understand.

"It's all good," she insisted. "Trigger events are going to hit anyone hard."

"Trigger what?" I asked, distracted despite myself.

"Trigger events," she explained cheerfully. "One minute you're boppin' along, smelling the flowers, having a good day. Next thing, bam! Worst day of your life. And that's what causes trigger events. You obviously had one, right there."

" … oh." I peered at her with my blurry eyesight. "Was your trigger event that bad, too?"

"Nope, thank God." She shook her head with a chuckle, her blonde hair waving back and forth. "I'm second generation. Me and Ames were always going to trigger, and second gens got it really easy. I got fouled in a basketball game, about one second before I was gonna score. The ref didn't even see it. So I got up, grabbed the ball, flew over to their hoop, and jammed it through so hard that I ripped their hoop right off of the backboard. It was only afterward that I realised that I'd triggered."

"Wow," I murmured. "That must have surprised the heck out of them."

"Annoyed the crap out of me, let me tell you," Vicky confided. "If they'd let me keep that score, we would've won the game."

I went to smile at the dryness of her tone, but I ended up biting my lip. "Why do people do this sort of thing?" I asked. "Why do they choose to hurt someone, just because they can?"

"I have no idea, Taylor," Vicky told me solemnly. "But it's because people act that way that I go out and kick ass on a daily basis. If they think it's okay to treat people like that, then it has to be okay for me to treat them that way, right?"

Her tone was so bright, so upbeat, that I smiled involuntarily. "Sure, I guess," I answered.

She shook her head; again, the golden hair bounced. "None of this 'I guess' bullshit, Taylor. You're a cape now too. You've got to understand the responsibility you've got here."

"Yeah, great." I rolled my eyes. "I'm a cape who doesn't know how to change into my powered form. Next up on the news: Taylor Hebert, the girl who turned into a dragon, then forgot how she did it."

Abruptly, Vicky stood up from the bed. "I refuse to believe that," she declared, pacing across the room. "I believe in you. I believe that when you think you have to change, then you will. I believe that you're going to change – now!"

And as she turned, shouted, pointed … a wave of dread swept across me.

Too late, I realised what she was doing. Her aura. She's using the aura on me.

Too late, I protested. "Wait -"

<><>​

"I'm sorry, who did you say you were?"

"Sarah Pelham," she repeated patiently. "Lady Photon. Of New Wave. You do know who I am, right?"

"I've heard of you, yes," he admitted. "And you say you've got news of Taylor? Because I've just spent far too long at the police station, and they've got no idea where she is."

"I should say so," she replied with relish. "She's upstairs with my niece Glory Girl right now."

"Is – is she all right? The police say that there was an explosion -"

"I don't know anything about an explosion," she replied, wondering what the heck that was about. "But Taylor is fine. A little confused, certainly, but she's not injured in any way."

"Why does New Wave have her?" he asked next. "Has she committed a crime?"

"Not … exactly," she replied. "Listen, I can take the phone up to her if you want. Vicky's just giving her something to wear."

"Yes, please." A pause. "Uh … what happened to her clothes?"

"I think I'll let her explain that one to you herself," she prevaricated. "It's … complicated."

"Oh, god, was she attacked -"

"No, she's perfectly fine. She was not attacked." She climbed the stairs and started along the corridor. "She can tell you -"

The wave of dread and horror smashed through her, and she nearly dropped the phone. She had only been subjected to it once or twice before, by accident, but she knew exactly what had caused it. At the same time, she heard a reptilian screech, and the tearing of cloth.

Recovering from the aura, she got to the door of Vicky's room and looked inside. There, shaking itself free from the remnants of what had once been a pair of skinny jeans, was the human-sized dragon, resplendent in red-gold scales. Vicky was standing off to the side, her expression jubilant. "Hah!" she declared. "I knew that would -" Turning, she saw Sarah peering through the door. "Oh, hi, Aunt Sarah." Her 'innocent of all charges' expression needed work.

The dragon turned too; one enormously elongated finger, now forming a wingtip, pointed directly at Vicky. Sarah didn't need any dragon-to-human dictionary to decipher the screech that Taylor gave then: "She did it."

Sarah sighed and put the phone to her ear again. "Uh, maybe you'd better come over instead. And bring clothes."


End of Part Three

Part Four

 

[Ack]

Wyvern

Part Four: Escalation


Danny Hebert pulled up in front of the address that he had been given. A two-storey house, it looked perfectly normal; the lawn needed a little bit of a trim and the frontage could have done with a touch of paint, but that was not exactly uncommon in Brockton Bay. Grabbing the plastic bag of clothes, he got out, locked the car, and hurried up the front path.

As he did so, he heard the strangest sound; somewhere between a screech and a squawk, it reminded him of an angry parrot or perhaps one of those dinosaurs from Jurassic Park. More interestingly, it appeared to emanate from one of the upstairs windows. Taylor must be watching a movie, he decided. Well, if she's doing that, she must be all right.

He knocked at the door; a moment later, Lady Photon answered the door. Up close, she looked just a little harried. Having two teenage superheroes in the household would do that, he figured. Even if you are Photon Mom.

"Uh, hi," he greeted her. "I'm, uh, Danny Hebert?"

"Sarah Pelham," she greeted him warmly, offering her hand to shake. "I'm pleased to meet you. Come in, please."

"Thank you." Stepping past her, he found himself in a modestly-appointed living room; a man in casual clothing, around his own age, was sitting on the sofa. However, Taylor was nowhere to be seen.

"Taylor should be down in a moment," Lady Photon – he had the hardest time thinking of her as Mrs Pelham – informed him as she moved past him. "She's just changing."

"Oh, sorry," the man on the sofa apologised, standing and offering his hand. "Mark Dallon. You're Taylor's father?" Flashbang. This is Flashbang, and he was just now sitting on the sofa, watching TV.

Danny marvelled that he'd never shaken a superhero's hand before, and now it was two in one day. "Uh, yeah," he managed. "You said she was okay? Not hurt?"

"No, not hurt that I could see," Lady Photon assured him.

"Then what aren't you telling me?" he asked. "When I spoke to you on the phone, you told me to bring clothes. And now she's having to change her clothes again? What's going on?"

But even as she opened her mouth to answer him, he heard the noise again; an angry screech, followed by a teenage girl's voice. "Calm down. Come on, you can do it. He'll be here any minute now."

There was another screech, or squawk, or whatever it was, and Danny turned to Lady Photon. "Are they watching a movie up there or something?"

If anything, she looked a little more harried. "Uh, or something?"

"What the hell's going on here?" he demanded, then raised his voice. "Taylor! It's me! Are you all right?" That got a reaction; there was another, more urgent, screech and a thumping sound. "Taylor?" he called again.

Lady Photon put her hand on Danny's arm. "Mr Hebert, there's something you need to know. Something about Taylor."

"What about Taylor?" He pulled free from her grip and started up the steps. She followed him up.

"She might not be the same as you remember her." Her voice was urgent.

Stopping, he rounded on her. "I thought you said that she was all right!"

"I said that she wasn't hurt," she corrected him. "But she's ... undergone changes. She's a little different now."

"Different how?" He turned away from her, and stormed up the staircase. "Taylor!"

As he reached the top of the steps, a door opened, and something like a lizard's head, covered in red-gold scales, poked out. He had enough time to register that it was about the same size as his own head, and about four feet off the floor, before it turned to look at him. The eyes widened, then the mouth widened even more. It had a great many teeth, all very white and very sharp, as well as a startlingly-pink tongue. A crest atop its head erected at the same time; it made one of those dinosaur noises, apparently in alarm, then pulled back into the room.

A moment later, a teenage girl with long blonde hair stepped out through the same doorway; she wore jeans and a T-shirt bearing the logo 'Daddy's Princess'. "Hi!" she greeted him cheerfully. "I'm Vicky. You're Taylor's dad?"

"Yes," he replied grimly. "Where is my daughter, and what was that thing?"

"Uh, yeah, funny thing about that." Her cheerful grin was still steadfastly on her face, but she was having to work at it. "They're kind of … one and the same?"

"What?" Her statement made absolutely no sense whatsoever.

"Okay, long story short? Taylor can kind of turn into a dragon. But she has trouble changing, and she has trouble changing back. Right now, she's a dragon. I've been trying to get her to relax so she can change back, and it's not working."

From within the room, there came another burst of the weird dino-screeching. Vicky – he had to presume that this was Victoria Dallon, aka Glory Girl – turned her attention to the doorway. "Okay, yeah, I got it. It was my fault. How was I to know that you couldn't change back as easily?"

<><>​

I made a grumpy noise and folded my wings again. It had been rather a shock to come face to face with Dad when I was still like this; I'd been trying to change back since Vicky had hit me with her fear-aura, and even curling up on her bed hadn't worked.

"Wait," Dad's voice came from the corridor. "That was … Taylor?"

"Yeah," Vicky told him enthusiastically. "You should see her flying. She's awesome."

"She can fly?"

"Well, duh, she's got wings." She reached out of my view. "Come see."

Dad came into view, stumbling to a halt, then stared at me. I stood up to my full height and unfurled my wings, spreading them out as far as I could in the confines of Vicky's room. Then, after I folded them again, I leaned my head toward him, my tail stretching out as a counterbalance, and made an inquiring noise.

He blinked rapidly behind his glasses, and his mouth opened and closed several times.

"Taylor?"

I nodded.

He looked at Vicky. "Did it … did she … just nod?"

"Yeah," Vicky assured him. "She's still in there, Mr H. She can understand English."

"Ah." He looked back at me. "You're a … how did you become a dragon?"

I gave him one of my patented shrugs and made a noise of exasperation.

"She can't speak?"

Vicky refrained from rolling her eyes. "Sure she can speak. She just can't speak English."

"Oh. Yeah." A thought apparently struck him. "But how do you even know who she is? It's not like she can introduce herself."

"We were down at the Boardwalk. She wrote in the sand. With her wingtip."

When he looked at me, I unlimbered my right wing and pretended to write on the carpet with my index finger/wingtip.

"Oh," he observed. "I see. That's pretty smart."

"Oh," Vicky repeated, her eyes going wide. "Oh!" She jumped to her feet. "Wait one! Got a great idea! I'm a freaking genius!"

"What?" asked Dad, but she had already darted out the door. He looked back at me; I shrugged. I have no idea.

We stared at one another for a long moment. "So," he commented. "You're Taylor."

I nodded, letting out a chirp of agreement.

"And you're a dragon."

Another nod, another chirp.

"And you have no idea how you got that way."

I paused, then shook my head.

"Wait," he stated. "Is that 'no, I have no idea', or 'no, you are wrong, I have an idea'?"

I had no idea how to answer that, so I made a questioning noise.

"Okay," he realised, lightly slapping himself on the forehead. "Left hand for 'I don't have any idea', right hand for 'I have some idea'."

I hesitated, then held up my right wingtip. Then, to make it clear, I reached across and tapped his right hand with what had once been my index finger.

"So you have an idea," he decided. I nodded, and chirped agreeably.

"But you can't tell me, because we have no language in common. I speak English, and you apparently speak only Dragon, or whatever that sound is."

Once again, I chirped in agreement, slumping, my whole body drooping. I can't even talk to Dad. The thought was amazingly depressing. I'd give all this up, just so I could talk to him.

"Hey," he murmured, apparently reading my posture much more readily than he could decipher my utterances. "It's gonna be all right. We'll work this out. You're still my daughter." Pulling the comforter off of Vicky's bed, he wrapped it around me, wings and all.

It was warm, but that wasn't the best part of it. The best part was when he hugged me, his arms around the comforter, holding me close, his embrace making me feel safe and loved. I wished my wings were up to hugging him back, but then again, right at that moment I didn't care. Laying my head on his shoulder, I closed my eyes. Laying his head on my head, he apparently did the same.

"Hah! Found it! Knew it was around here some – oh, come on! Seriously?"

Dad and I looked up as Vicky re-entered the room, bearing a printed sheet of plastic, her expression altering dramatically from triumph to exasperation.

"What?" he asked. And I echoed him.

I was human again.

<><>​

"Okay, what am I looking at?" James Doherty held up the readout and peered at it.

"The chemical makeup of those samples you sent me."

Doherty looked at the lab tech in some surprise. "This fast?"

"Hey," she replied with a shrug. "A bomb going off in a school gets fast-tracked. Who knew?"

"Okay, so what do we have here?"

"Some really interesting results, I have to say." The tech pointed at the readout with a pen. "Check it out. You've got some pretty exotic compounds here. Some of them, I've never seen outside of a lab."

Doherty frowned. "So, not the result of an explosion?"

"Oh yeah, definitely the result of an explosion," she contradicted him. "But it's the type of explosive that's really weird. Not nitrate based."

"Okay, that is weird," admitted Doherty. He could think of ways to cause an explosion without using nitrates, but most of them involved an admixture of oxygen and one flammable gas or another. Not really something that could cause the localised detonation that had taken the locker door off. Though there was plenty of flame involved …

He looked again at the readout. "So, the types of explosives we're talking about here … would your average high school student be able to get the ingredients for them?"

"A Tinker might," she mused. "One who was based around chemistry or explosive making. Like I said, that stuff's pretty damn exotic. Also, expensive."

"So that's a no for a student, then?"

"That's a no," she agreed. "Unless the student was a Tinker, like I said."

"Or, you know, could exude explosive compounds from their body at will," he pointed out. "All of those compounds you've got, they're organic, right?"

"Organic, yes," she confirmed. "Some of them would be pretty damn caustic in their original form, though."

"I don't think that actually bothers parahumans," he pointed out.

"You think that's how it happened?" she asked.

"That or the Tinker idea. Anything else is a little far-fetched, yeah?"

Reluctantly, she nodded. "Great. So it's not a baseline crime after all. It's a parahuman thing."

"Afraid so." He shrugged. "Sorry."

"And after all that work I did."

"Buy you coffee to make it up to you?"

"Have to be some damn good coffee."

He grinned. "I know a place."

<><>​

Vicky held the comforter around me while Dad discreetly retired from the room; opening the bag that he had brought over, I started getting dressed. Again.

"Seriously, do not use that fear aura on me again," I told her as I stepped into my second favourite pair of jeans (my favourite jeans had perished in the locker, alas). "Or I'll set fire to all your good outfits."

She wrinkled her brow. "Set fire?" Then her eyes widened. "Holy crap, you can breathe fire too?"

"Well, duh," I agreed. "Dragon, remember?" I wrinkled my nose at her. "I was just about to tell you, before, when you made me change back."

"Tell me what?" Her eyes were alive with interest. "You actually breathed fire?"

"Wait one." I pulled my t-shirt over my head. It was black, a little faded, a bit worn down on one side, but I liked it. "Yeah, how do you think I got out of the locker?"

"Well, I had thought you went 'rawr, dragon smash' on it and just busted out," she confessed. "But that's not what happened, I'm guessing?"

"I tried to go 'rawr, dragon smash', but it appears that school lockers are tough enough that they don't have to worry about that sort of thing," I admitted. "So I fireballed the fuck out of it."

Vicky blinked. " … you what?"

"Hit it with an exploding fireball," I told her. "Before you ask, I don't know how I knew to do that. But I did. And it kind of blew the door clean off. Left me a bit dizzy too. But I still had all that shit on me from the locker, so I went outside and took off, heading for the ocean."

"Which is where I came in," Vicky agreed. "Well. Wow. Holy shit. That beats the living crap out of my trigger event story." She brightened up. "Can I see?"

"See what?" I caught on a second later. "No. Hell no. Don't make me change while I'm wearing clothes. Not while my Dad's here. No. Just no."

She pouted. "Spoilsport. Okay, fine. You're all dressed now. Let's go downstairs. I'm pretty sure your dad will want to know everything you've been up to."

"Yeah," I sighed. "That's what I'm afraid of."

<><>​

"Control to Armsmaster. Come in, Armsmaster."

"Armsmaster here." Colin banked his bike around the corner, heading for the Boardwalk. "What's up?"

"Got something for you to check on," the PRT staffer on the floating base told him. "Explosion at Winslow High earlier today. Forensic techs have determined that it wasn't a standard IED."

"So we're looking at a Tinker then?" He pulled the bike to a halt and parked it. Stepping off, he trod over the boards of the Boardwalk, then looked down toward the sand. At this time of year, the only thing inhabiting the beach were hordes of seagulls and other aquatic birds.

"That's a possibility. Or a parahuman who can create exotic explosives from nothing."

"Great. One more thing we have to worry about. Do we even have any explosives Tinkers on the books?"

"Not that I know of – Tinkers specialising in explosives, that is. Any number of Tinkers who use explosives in their gadgets. Stinger, for instance."

"Get someone to check for me. It might be important. Also, did the cameras happen to pick up a thing like a big red bat or bird flying over the Boardwalk at any time today? I'm tracking down some sightings. People said it was coming this way."

"Just one second." A pause. "While we're waiting, want me to squirt you the details on the Winslow bombing?"

"Go ahead."

As the files came in, he flicked them to storage, pulling crime scene photos aside to study at his leisure. A skim of them showed a metal locker opened like a flower, the ones on either side destroyed. Extensive fire damage; the locker door embedded in the far wall.

"Okay, I've got an answer. Yes, they did pick something up. Something red, with wings, flew in over the rooftops and dived into the ocean. And here's the interesting part. Glory Girl was hot on its tail."

"Odd that she didn't at least call in the sighting."

"She went into the water too. It would have destroyed her phone. But then they both came out of the water, landed on the sand for a bit, then flew inland again."

"Where did they land? Relative to my position?"

"One second. Uh … hundred fifty yards south of your position."

"Hundred fifty yards, got it." He got back on to the bike and motored a hundred and fifty yards, as noted. Climbing off the bike once more, he descended the steps. It only took him a few minutes of searching before he found what he was looking for. The sand was firm and solid, and there were fresh footprints clearly visible in it. Also visible were what looked like the marks of claws, digging into the sand.

His helmet cam took clear pictures of the claw marks, but then he saw the other things. Lines, drawn in the sand. Lines forming letters. Letters forming words. The everpresent sea birds had trodden over some of them, obscuring them, but he managed to make out the words 'my' and 'please'. Other words could be inferred, but not known for sure.

He took more photos of the lines, both trodden on and clear, and then trudged back to the stairs up to the Boardwalk. "Control, give the Dallon house a call. See if Glory Girl went there. And if she's still there. I want to talk to her."

"Roger that. I'll get right on it."

"Let me know when you've got something."

"Will do. Will you be taking on the Winslow bombing?"

"What's the name of the primary suspect?"

"The locker was used by one Taylor Hebert. She hasn't yet been located. Her home address is in the file I sent you. So is her picture."

"I'll check her home first," Colin decided. "Fugitives – especially children and teenagers – tend to run to familiar places. Home, for a start." He kicked the bike into life.

"Understood."

<><>​

"They shut you in your locker?" Dad was aghast.

I nodded without speaking; Mrs Pelham had given me a cup of black tea, and I sipped it gratefully. On the coffee table, a plate of cookies was gradually dwindling under a determined assault by myself and Vicky.

"So who did this?" he demanded. "I'll get them suspended. Expelled. God, I'll have them arrested."

"Dad, no, just wait a second," I told him. "If it comes out that I was in the locker, I'll be outed as some kind of parahuman. And … this is Winslow. They don't care. I tried and tried to get someone to listen, and they just … don't. Or they've been told not to. I'm not sure which."

"Wait, what now?" Dad was staring at me. "You mean, this isn't the first time this has happened?"

I shook my head. "No. Dad, it's been going on since I started there."

"But why didn't you tell me?"

The shock on his face was killing me. "You had problems of your own, Dad. Mom had only been dead a year. You were still hurting from that. I was still hurting from that. I didn't want to add to your problems, not right then."

Removing his glasses, Dad scrubbed at his face with his hands. "Okay, I can kind of see that," he admitted. "But why didn't you get help? Tell a teacher?"

"I tried. But if you show up as a snitch, they ostracise you, so I stopped snitching. Not that it did any good. So I waited for the teachers to notice that it was happening. They never did. Either the ones that were doing it were always careful not to be seen, or the teachers didn't want to see it."

"Oh god," he muttered. "You've gone through all this, and no-one's been helping you? Why didn't you ask Emma for help, to back you up?"

I took a deep breath. "Dad. She's behind it."

And then it all came out; the harsh words, the subtle taunting, the physical stuff, the pranks. Dad listened, open-mouthed, to my litany of woes. Mrs Pelham and Vicky also listened; one with steadily tightening lips, the other with blazing eyes.

<><>​

The Hebert house was a little shabby, a little run-down. But it was in a shabby, run-down section of town. No car was in the driveway; Colin was willing to bet that nobody was at home. Of course, if Taylor had gotten back here, she could be hiding in her room, in the basement, wherever, and nobody would be the wiser, until her father got home.

"Any luck with contacting her father?"

"Not yet. We've tried the home phone, but nobody's answered so far. The person who we got on his work phone says that he was called away on a family emergency. No other details."

"Does his wife work?"

"He's a widower. Wife died about two and a half years ago."

"No other children?"

"None of record."

"So a 'family emergency' would almost have to be his kid. Now, where would he have gone?"

"There is the possibility that after the Winslow incident, they just left town."

Colin shook his head, although the PRT operator would not be able to see it. "I don't buy that. If that was the case, they'd still be here, packing. I'm guessing that she went to ground, and then called her father. Probably he's trying to convince her to face up to what she's done."

"So what are you going to do now?"

"Wait till one of them shows their faces. In the meantime, I'm going to follow up on these sightings of this big red bird. Any response from the Dallon household?"

"Yes, actually. We got Flashbang. He confirmed that Glory Girl was indeed home, but that she was talking, upstairs, with a friend."

"Good. I'm on my way there now."

"Understood."

<><>​

"Dad, no." For the fourth time, I tried to dissuade him. "Winslow doesn't care. If they care at all, it's about the fact that Mr Barnes is a lawyer. Emma and her friends get away with everything short of murder, there. If we go up against them, the school will take their side. They have every other time."

Dad shook his head. "I don't buy that. I can't believe that."

I tried again. "Look. They didn't start on me immediately. They took the time to get themselves established as the 'good' girls, the popular girls in our year. Emma makes friends really easily, and she made friends. A lot of friends."

I paused for a sip at my tea. "I'm just as happy being on my own as being with people, and Emma was keeping me at arms' length, so I pretended it didn't matter, and spent my time reading in the library or something. But then they started bullying me, but they always had excuses if I retaliated. Always the witnesses, always the agreed-on stories. I was the loner, I was the troublemaker. I was the one who got detention, told to behave myself."

Vicky moved to sit next to me, and gripped my hand. "That sucks."

I spared a smile for her. "Thanks." Another sip at my tea. "Pretty soon, they were golden. If I said anything, I was already discredited. They had it all sorted out. Kids are pretty insecure; if there's something they can join in on for little risk, they will. That was the sport of bullying me."

"And none of the teachers are willing to help, to believe you?" Mrs Pelham sounded like she couldn't believe it.

"Well, there's my home room teacher, Mrs Knott," I told her. "She's listened a few times, but each time she's taken anything to the principal, she's been really quiet the next few days, and nothing's ever been done. So now she's nice to me in class, but that's about it."

"Dad," Vicky spoke up. "Can I transfer to Winslow? At least on a temporary basis?"

Mr Dallon looked up, somewhat startled. "Uh, why? From what Taylor's saying, Winslow's a really, uh, -"

"Crappy place, yeah," she agreed. "That's why I want to go. I'll get myself put into all of Taylor's classes, and see if those bullies want to try bullying her with me around. Fuck 'em."

"Language!" chided Mrs Pelham, but there was a glint in her eye. "In my experience, bullies tend to fold, once there's someone stronger there. In the meantime, Carol can approach the school with the threat of legal action unless Taylor is transferred out. After all, if the bullying is bad enough to trigger for super-powers … " She paused, dwelling for a moment on something that only existed in her mind's eye. " … then I would not want anyone to suffer it a moment longer than absolutely necessary."

"But … why would you all do stuff like that for me?" I protested. "You barely know me. Vicky, you only met me today. This morning."

Vicky let go my hand, but only so she could put her arm around my neck and give me a quick noogie. "Because you're awesome and you can turn into a dragon," she pointed out, once she had let me go. "And you can breathe fire, and I so want to see that."

That got people looking at me from all around. A collective 'What?' followed that up, even from Mr Dallon.

"Uh, yeah, it's kind of how I got out of the locker," I pointed out. "I kind of blew the door off with an explosive fireball. That I breathed at it."

"Which the police have been questioning me about, kiddo," Dad replied dryly. "I had to tell them about a dozen different ways that neither of us knows a damn thing about explosives."

"Which does raise the next question," Mrs Pelham posited. "Taylor, you have powers. These powers are not entirely under your control. What do you intend to do with them?"

Just as I opened my mouth to reply, there came a knocking at the door.

Dad looked at Mrs Pelham. "Were you expecting visitors?"

"Uh, no." She frowned. "Let me go see."

Getting up, she went to the door. There was a tiny screen inset into it, which she tapped. An image came up, and she blinked. "Okay, what's Armsmaster doing here?"

"Armsmaster?" echoed Vicky. "Taylor, you didn't buzz the PRT building or something when I wasn't looking, did you?"

"Uh, no," I told her. But I was pretty sure that whatever he was here for, I was involved. So I got up as well, and wandered over, standing off to one side from the door.

Mrs Pelham opened the door. "Armsmaster," she greeted the armoured hero. "What brings you out our way?"

"I'm here to speak to your niece," he replied bluntly. "Or rather, to whoever or whatever she brought home with her."

My head came up. Wow, holy shit. How did he find out about me? My heart began to pound.

Mrs Pelham glanced sideways to me, and I nodded; she stepped aside.

"You're in luck," she announced. "Here she is."

I stepped into view of the doorway; Armsmaster indeed stood there, imposing in his silver and blue armour. In contrast, I was tall for my age, but anything other than imposing.

"Hi?" I greeted him. His head came up, and I had the distinct impression that he was staring hard at me, despite the fact that his visor was opaque.

"You're Taylor Hebert," he announced, surprise in his voice.

"I … yes, I am," I admitted.

"You blew up your locker at Winslow, damaged other lockers extensively, and set the school on fire."

"I, uh, did, I guess, yeah, but -"

His voice was grim. "In doing so, you endangered the lives of your fellow students. People could have died. I'm going to have to ask you to come in for questioning about this matter."

I heard Mrs Pelham's voice off to the side, but not what she was saying. My blood pounded in my ears. This time, I felt the change coming on. No, no, no, no -

Arms lengthened into wings, and membranes grew between my fingers and my arms. My t-shirt was gone, torn to shreds. My jeans – I was going through them at a phenomenal rate, just today – tore and split away from my growing tail, my changing legs. In just a few seconds, in my draconic form, I crouched before Armsmaster, mouth open and wings spread in an unconscious threat display. I couldn't roar, or perhaps I had not yet figured out how, but I was making a pretty loud noise anyway.

He reached behind his back, there were several rapid click-click noises, and his halberd was in his hands. It was perhaps the most versatile weapon in Brockton Bay. Everyone knew that it could cut through steel like soft butter. And he was threatening me with it.

"Stand down!" he shouted. "I will use all necessary force -"

Flame roiled in my gullet, my head dipped low, and I spat fire. Not the explosive fireball that had opened the locker for me, but a tight, controlled burst. Blue-white at the core, blue around the edges; it illuminated the room with actinic brightness. Armsmaster ducked away, but it wasn't aimed at him. When he next looked at his halberd, the head was simply gone, with just a drooping blob of metal at the tip. Behind him, a line of globs of molten metal sizzled on the lawn.

Stepping back carefully, I brought my wings in close to my body, and closed my mouth. Your move.


End of Part Four

Part Five

 

[Ack]

Wyvern

Part Five: Discussions


Colin climbed off of his bike, and spent a moment re-straightening his spine. After ensuring that everything was in order, on the bike and on his armour, he trod up the path toward the Dallon house.

He wasn't quite sure where this 'big red bird' thing would lead to. Probably a Case 53, with my luck. Talk to it, find out where it stood on the 'law and order' front, find out if it had useful powers. If it was a teenager – entirely possible, considering that Glory Girl had apparently befriended it – see about inducting it into the Wards.

Such were his thoughts when he knocked on the front door.

The door opened after a few moments, to reveal Lady Photon standing there. She must be visiting.

"Armsmaster," she greeted him, cordially enough. "What brings you out our way?"

No sense in beating about the bush. "I'm here to speak to your niece. Or rather, to whoever or whatever it is that she brought home with her."

Lady Photon glanced sideways at something out of Colin's view; after a moment, she stepped aside.

"You're in luck," she announced. "Here she is."

Colin had just enough time to wonder She? before a teenage girl stepped into view. "Hi?"

She was tall, skinny, wore round-framed glasses, had long curly hair … wait a minute. His head came up as he flicked to one of the file photos he'd been sent. He hadn't had time to do more than skim the notes on the ride over, but that face looked really familiar.

And he was correct. The picture was a match, down to the T-shirt she was wearing. What the hell is she doing here?

"You're Taylor Hebert." He couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice.

"I … yes, I am." Her voice was nervous, uncertain. Time to press the advantage.

"You blew up your locker at Winslow, damaged other lockers extensively, and set the school on fire."

"I, uh, did, I guess, yeah, but -" He wasn't good at reading expressions, but that was an admission of guilt in anyone's book. The 'big red bird' could wait. She's the Winslow bomber.

Time to let her know just how much trouble she's in. It might just keep her from trying to act out on the way back to base.

"In doing so," he informed her, his voice as grim as he could make it, "you endangered the lives of your fellow students. People could have died. I'm going to have to ask you to come in for questioning about this matter."

"Uh, Armsmaster," began Lady Photon, "I really don't think -"

He began to turn his head to look at her, but then his attention snapped back to the Hebert girl. She was … hunching over? In pain? He frowned, trying to figure out what was happening. Was she having a fit or seizure of some sort?

In the next second or so, his questions were answered, very dramatically indeed. He had seen animations of creatures evolving from lizard-like forms to mammalian forms; this was more or less the reverse, only it was happening right there in front of him.

Her face elongated and became a muzzle; her arms lifted out from her sides, the bones stretching impossibly, the hands enlarging, the fingers becoming long and spindly. Membranes erupted from her skin, filling in the space between her fingers, between her arms and her body. In the process, her t-shirt was shredded, cast off from her body, which was now covered in red-gold scales.

Christ. She's the 'big red bird'. Only, she's no bird. Not a Case 53 either. She's a Changer. Some kind of … dinosaur?

Her jeans were likewise split and torn as her legs reshaped to become digitigrade, her feet growing wicked claws – he had seen the marks those claws made in the sand – and a long tail came out from behind. She was no longer human; those arms-become-wings, with their magnificently-coloured red-gold membranes, were stretched out to each side, held up to show the most amount of surface area. A crest arose on her head, displaying the same red-gold membrane, making her look taller, more fearsome. It was a threat display, simple but extremely effective.

As she crouched before him, her mouth opened farther than it should have been able to. In the process, it managed to show off a startlingly pink tongue, as well as an inordinate amount of extremely sharp dentition. With those jaws and those teeth, he decided absently, she was quite possibly able to take off a man's hand and wrist, all at the same time. The creature that had been Taylor Hebert – is she even in there any more? -let out a long screech of pure menace.

Colin Wallis was not one to put much stock in the concept of genetic memory, but this sight, this sound, bypassed his higher logic centres, ran down to his hindbrain, and started setting off all kinds of alarms there. Danger, his every instinct screamed. Danger danger danger.

Even as his brain manufactured excuses – if she's still sentient, then she's deliberately menacing me. If she's not, then she may well see me as a threat and attack without provocation – he reached back and retrieved his halberd. It unfolded and opened out to its full size; however, he deliberately did not direct the spear-pointed head toward the creature before him. Instead, in his own form of a threat display, he held it up so that the head was silhouetted against the light coming in from outside. I have a weapon. Here it is. Attack me at your peril.

"Stand down!" He put all the force he could muster into that command. "I will use all necessary force -"

Her head dipped low, her mouth opened a fraction wider, and something erupted from her throat, something that tore past his head, far too close for comfort. He was aware of actinic brightness, as of looking directly into a welding arc, even as his visor adjusted for the glare and he ducked away. Then he felt the radiant heat; his HUD showed hot spots in his left arm and shoulder, and the left side of his chin felt a little singed.

The blast – what was that? Did she just breathe plasma at me? - had missed him, thank Christ. His left eye had been somewhat dazzled, but the orange spots were starting to fade. He had the extremely uncomfortable feeling that had she hit him in the head with whatever that was, he would now be missing his head. Was that a warning shot? Or is her aim that bad?

And then the alarms in his helmet display caught up with him, and he turned to look at his halberd. Or rather, what was left of his halberd. The head was … gone. Melted, disintegrated, whatever. All that was left was a blob of cooling metal. Holy Christ. His head snapped back around to the … the dragon. There was no other name for it.

But she was no longer threatening him; she had backed up, folded her wings, and closed her mouth. Her eyes – disconcertingly intelligent eyes, now that they were no longer blazing with fury, or fear, or whatever it had been – watched him unwaveringly.

Before he could decide what to do next – call for backup, call on Lady Photon for assistance, pull out a secondary weapon – the decision was taken from his hands. A shimmering field popped into existence between him and the red-gold scaled creature.

<><>​

"Okay, everyone take a breath!" snapped Mrs Pelham as she stepped up. "Armsmaster, that means you, too!"

Still holding the headless halberd, the armoured hero opened his mouth. The beard on the left side of his jaw seemed to be a little patchy, the skin there reddened. "I – but -"

"But nothing," Mrs Pelham told him, even as Vicky darted to my side. "Taylor did nothing wrong. She's just had her trigger event, today. Inside the locker that she blew up. Take a moment. Connect the dots."

"Holy crap, that was awesome!" Vicky enthused, as she hugged me, wings and all. "I can't believe that you just wrecked his halberd!"

"I can't believe it either," Mrs Pelham commented dryly, over her shoulder, even as she kept the force field up. "Taylor, I think you owe Armsmaster an apology, for melting his halberd."

I didn't think so – I had felt very threatened at the time – but as she was my host, I nodded. Raising to my full height – not so much shorter than Armsmaster – I dipped my head, and gave him my best attempt at an apologetic chirp. Vicky whispered in my ear – something about 'penis substitute' – and I found out that, yes, dragons can snicker. But they can't giggle. Which sucks.

Mrs Pelham cast a sharp glance at us; we subsided. "And Armsmaster," she continued in what I could not help but think of as her 'Photon Mom' mode, "Taylor deserves an apology for you just accusing her without actually asking her why she did it, or even how."

Armsmaster cleared his throat. "I, uh, may have acted precipitately," he muttered grudgingly. "Perhaps I should have asked more questions before jumping to conclusions."

It was about the most backhanded apology that I had ever gotten, but I nodded magnanimously and gave him a chirp of agreement.

"So we're not going to fight any more?" asked Lady Photon meaningfully. "Because I will put the both of you in time-out corners if I have to." Oh yeah, definitely Photon Mom.

I ducked my head in submission. No trouble from me.

"I … there are definitely aspects to this case that I could stand to learn more about," Armsmaster conceded. "If I may come in, I would like to discuss it with you, uh, Taylor."

Mrs Pelham glanced at me; I nodded. The barrier vanished.

<><>​

Armsmaster looked at each of us in turn. "All right, let's take this from the top. I will be recording."

He and I were the only two not seated; him because the weight of his armour threatened the integrity of any ordinary chair in which he sat, and me because I had found that my tail got in the way of sitting normally. Thus, I crouched on my haunches with my tail as a prop, and found it comfortable. Not entirely by coincidence, I had situated myself between the armchairs in which Dad and Vicky sat; Mrs Pelham sat on the sofa with her brother-in-law, and Armsmaster stood off to the side where he could see us all. Most particularly me.

That was fine with me; I was watching him just as intently.

When nobody objected, he continued. "Taylor, I am told that you were in the locker that was blown up, and that you triggered there. Is that true?"

I chirped agreement, and nodded my head vigorously.

"Hm." Armsmaster seemed to be studying me. "You can't talk in this form, can you?"

I shook my head firmly, while chirping a negation. No, duh.

"Perhaps we should hold up while you go and change back?" He paused. "Why haven't you changed back, anyway?"

I looked toward Mrs Pelham; she took a breath. "Because it seems that Taylor's Changer ability has a strong emotional trigger. She tends to transform, involuntarily, when placed under high stress." A pause, to let the words sink in. Yes, you're to blame. "The change back doesn't tend to happen unless she's calm, unworried, relaxed, and feeling totally comfortable. That is, no stress. Which I don't see happening any time soon."

"Hm. This could be a problem." For a moment there, I thought he was referring to my difficulties in changing from one form to the other, but then he kept talking. "We can determine 'yes' and 'no', but anything more complex ... "

"Victoria told me that she's perfectly capable of writing," Mrs Pelham pointed out.

"Not with a pen, surely," he commented, looking at my wings; even furled as they were, it was immediately obvious that I would never hold any normal writing implement with them.

"Well, no," Vicky conceded. "With her wingtip, in the sand. Down at the Boardwalk."

"Ah, yes, I saw that," he noted. "Well, we're kind of lacking anything to write in at the moment -"

"Hah!" Vicky exclaimed, making me jump. "And I'm still a genius!"

"Victoria?" inquired her aunt.

"Back in a second," Vicky told her, bouncing out of her chair. "You'll see!"

With that, she darted upstairs, leaving us mystified in her wake. Mrs Pelham looked at Dad, who shrugged. "I have no idea," he admitted.

Moments later, Vicky reappeared, leaping from the top step to the bottom in a single jump. Mrs Pelham cleared her throat sternly. "You shouldn't be flying in the house," she admonished her niece.

Vicky gave her aunt a cheeky grin. "I wasn't really flying. Just, you know, falling kinda slow. Anyway, check it out and tell me I'm not a genius."

With a flourish, she spread out in front of me the sheet of plastic that she had retrieved from her bedroom. If I wasn't much mistaken, it was the same one that she had gone to get, just before Dad helped me change back the last time. I wondered if he could do it again. Or if I could change back under a nice soothing shower …

"Okay, yes, I see where you're going with this."

At Mrs Pelham's comment, I brought my attention back to the present. The plastic sheet was obviously intended to be used for educating younger children; it held a complete alphabet, with upper and lower case letters, as well as the numbers from zero to nine. There was also a colour wheel, and a simple multiplication table. But it was the alphabet that got my attention.

With a triumphant chirp, I reached out and tapped letters in sequence: Y-E-S-Y-O-U-A-R-E-A-G-E-N-I-U-S.

Vicky grinned at me. "Told you." She waved a notepad and pen. "I'll even keep note of what you've already said, here."

G-O-O-D, I tapped out, then I looked at Armsmaster. A-S-K-A-W-A-Y. Vicky scribbled the letters as I tapped them, mumbling to herself.

"Very well," he replied. "I've been reviewing the photos of the remains of the locker, and I found scratches on the lower part of the door. Was that you?"

I nodded, and chirped an affirmative.

"Understood." He paused. "Do you know who put you in there?" I took a deep breath, and reached out to the plastic sheet. 3-B-I-T-C-H-E-S.

"Can you tell me their names?"

I nodded again. E-M-M-A, pause, B-A-R-N-E-S.

"Wait, I've seen that name," he interrupted. There was a long pause, during which he seemed to zone out. "Ah, right," he noted at last. "Mr Hebert, you told the police that Ms Barnes was your daughter's best friend."

"I thought she was," Dad told him helplessly. "I only just found out today that she's actually spearheading the bullying campaign on my daughter. Her father's been one of my good friends since forever."

"Hm," Armsmaster commented. "Well then. Taylor, do you have other names?"

I nodded. M-A-D-I-S-O-N. Tap-tap on the edge of the plastic. C-L-E-M-E-N-T-S. Tap on the number 3. S-O-P-H-I-A. Tap-tap. H-E-S-S.

"Wait, that last name," Armsmaster interrupted. "Are you sure of that one?"

I nodded emphatically. B-L-A-C-K G-I-R-L T-R-A-C-K S-T-A-R R-E-A-L B-I-T-C-H.

Armsmaster nodded. "All right. Understood. You're sure that they are the ones who put you in there?"

I-V-E B-E-E-N B-U-L-L-I-E-D F-O-R A Y-E-A-R I-T-S T-H-E-M.

"I see," he murmured. "Okay, then. As for your getting out of the locker … "

Bit by bit, he led me through the incident, up until I met Vicky. She was able to fill him in from there, cheerfully describing how she had failed to pull out in time, and ploughed into the ocean.

"Can you do something about this?" Dad asked him, after we had gotten the narrative up to the point that Vicky and her aunt got me back to the house. "I mean, what those girls did, it's got to be a criminal act."

"I'm not the police, Mr Hebert," he told my father. "I can subdue and restrain normal criminals, but I have to hand them over to the normal police. I can't arrest them, and I can't perform normal criminal investigations. The PRT and Protectorate have enough to do with parahuman criminal activity as it is."

"So what can you do?" Dad asked plaintively. "I'd go there myself, but apparently the teachers there have refined apathy to a fine art."

"I personally can't do much," Armsmaster replied. "The information can be passed on to the school principal. However, I can't actually guarantee that any action will be taken, now or later."

"Emma's father is a lawyer," Dad pointed out. "He might be the reason that they're letting her get away with so much."

"That could be the case," agreed Armsmaster. "Taylor, if you want to take a break now, I need to check in."

I nodded, and chirped in agreement. As Armsmaster headed outside, I turned to Vicky and indicated the sheet; she readied her notebook. H-O-T-S-H-O-W-E-R-T-O-R-E-L-A-X, I tapped out, forgetting to add in spaces. However, she was on the ball, and nodded thoughtfully.

"We can definitely try it," she agreed. "I'll get you some more clothes." A pause, and she grinned at me. "Try not to wreck these ones too, huh?"

I made the rudest noise that I could manage.

<><>​

"So, are you still a dragon?"

I tried to ignore her, allowing the hot water to cascade over my scaled body. It felt good; not as good as it did when I was human, for instance, but still good. However, the temperature seemed to be a little on the low side; with the aid of my wrist, I managed to move the lever in the direction that I wanted it to go. The water pounded on my upturned muzzle; I let my jaws sag open so that the steaming torrent could trickle hot and delicious down my throat.

It was working, I could tell; the tensions were easing out of my body. Turning around, I let it cascade over my back; opening my wings a little, I could feel it drumming on the membranes between my body and my elbows. Standing forward, I moved my tail back and forth through the flow -

- and abruptly, it was as though boiling oil was being poured over me. I yelped and ducked away from the scalding flow, feeling for the lever and slamming it all the way closed. The flow reluctantly petered out, leaving a stinging sensation across my backside.

"Ah-ha!" Vicky's triumphant voice sounded from beyond the steamed-over shower cubicle. "I hear the sound of one Taylor yelping."

"Ow. Shut up. Ow." I pulled open the cubicle door. "It worked, but apparently dragon me likes her showers in medium boiling."

"Ouch," she replied sympathetically as she handed me a towel. "Where'd you get burned?"

I turned around as I started drying my head and shoulders, to let her inspect the injured area. "Right on the butt. The universe hates me."

"Wow, that's red. That's not gonna be fun, sitting down."

"Oh, shut up." I flicked her with the towel.

"But at least you're human again."

"Yeah," I agreed gloomily. "I wonder how long I'll last this time?"

"What I'm curious about," she added mischievously, "is what your body considers its natural form. When you go to bed, are you gonna wake up as a dragon or a human?"

"And here I was thinking the day was looking up."

"Yeah, that's gonna happen."

"Shush, you."

<><>​

"Director Piggot speaking."

"Armsmaster here, Director."

"Armsmaster. I was just wondering where you had gotten to. Have you made any headway on either of your cases?"

"Actually, I've more or less solved both of them." His voice held a perhaps excusable level of pride.

"I'm impressed. How did you manage that?"

"Because they both involved the same person. A new Trigger, with a Changer ability. She was locked in her locker at Winslow, and Changed into … well, into a dragon. Human sized. According to her, she blew the locker door off with an explosive fireball. Then she escaped the school, where she encountered Glory Girl, who invited her home."

"I … see. What's your assessment of this parahuman. A girl, you said?"

"Yes. Taylor Hebert. She's the owner of the locker. She seems to be a reasonably balanced individual, but her Changer ability isn't necessarily under her control. And her other form possesses a great deal of destructive potential."

"These explosive fireballs you mentioned?"

"Plus a plasma jet that melted the head of my halberd and gave me a sunburn on the left side of my jaw."

Piggot paused for a long moment. "You … fought … her?"

"It wasn't a fight, so much as things got a little out of hand, before Lady Photon stepped in. Nobody was hurt, and there was no property damage. Apart from my halberd."

"I see. Well, what's the situation there now?"

"We're talking. I'm getting information. She can't talk, not in her Changed form, but we've found a workaround. But there is something that you do need to know."

The Director sighed. There was always something new. "Yes?"

"She has positively identified Sophia Hess and Emma Barnes as two of the individuals who forced her into the locker. Gave enough of a description of Hess that she can't be mistaken. Says that Hess has been bullying her for a year."

"Sophia Hess," repeated Piggot. "Shadow Stalker."

"Yes. I thought you should know."

"And she caused this girl to trigger."

"Yes."

"Christ. Right, leave it with me. One more thing."

"Yes, ma'am?"

"What's your assessment of this girl's chances of assimilating with the Wards?"

There was a pause, then he replied. "With a few minor problems ironed out, she could be a definite asset."

"One of those problems being her erratic Changer ability?"

"Yes, ma'am. The other is that, immediately after she Changes to, uh, dragon form, she seems to act instinctively at first. I – she was under stress when we came face to face, and she Changed, and went directly into a threat display that nearly precipitated a fight."

"And she attacked you with this plasma jet?"

"Not … as such. I had my halberd out, to demonstrate that I was willing to meet force with force, and she targeted it, and destroyed the head, utterly."

"Do you think she was aiming for it?"

"I think it a strong possibility. Absolutely nothing else was hit. Including me. And I was holding it."

"Can you replace it?"

"I have several spares. I'll just have to bring one of them up to scratch."

"Good. In the meantime, keep me updated on this dragon girl. And work on a proper cape name for her. 'Dragon' is already taken, of course."

"Well, it's not like there are many other dragon-themed capes around. I think she'll be spoiled for choice."

"True. And if you think she's even vaguely suited for the Wards, try to get her in. We need the manpower. And we don't need more teenage independents roaming the streets. Especially ones who can melt steel by breathing on it."

"Understood, ma'am. I'll keep you posted."

Piggot hung up, and ran her hands over her face.

God almighty. Dragons in Brockton Bay. What next?

<><>​

Armsmaster was back inside by the time that Vicky and I descended the stairs once more. I was once more wearing the spare glasses Dad had brought over. The soothing cream on my butt seemed to be doing its job, but Vicky seemed to be unable to look at me without giggling. I knew what the joke was – as a dragon, I had melted Armsmaster's halberd. As a human, I had burned my own butt in the shower – but I really didn't think it was all that funny.

"You're human again," he observed, as I came into view.

Thank you, Captain Obvious. "Uh, yeah. I had an idea about having a hot shower, and it worked."

Dad rose to come hug me; I returned the favour as Armsmaster kept talking. "So you've got the Changing problem fixed?"

"Not necessarily a perfect fix," I allowed. "Call it a work in progress. And we've still got the problem that I go through more outfits than, well, a Brute with anger problems."

"Hulk smash," Dad muttered as he went to sit down again; I didn't get the reference.

"Well, in any case," the armoured hero continued as Vicky gestured me into her chair, and perched on the arm, "we need to talk about your powers."

"What about them?" I asked. "If I can stay out of high-stress situations, they don't activate. Unfortunately, one day at Winslow is all the Bitches need to set up something that will drive my blood pressure through the roof. And if I ignore them or don't react, they come back with something even worse, to force me to react."

"That's a problem that can be addressed," Armsmaster noted. "But right now, I'm pegging your Changed form as Mover, Blaster and Brute. Exact numbers to be assigned later, with testing, if you're up to it."

"Wait, wait," Vicky protested. "Mover, sure. Blaster, definitely. But Brute? She couldn't even rip her way out of that locker."

"You forget, I have all the files on that locker, right here," he informed her, tapping his helmet. "She didn't burn the locker door off; she blew it off. With a fireball that exploded inside the locker, within inches of her own body, spraying fire in all directions, hot enough to damage the floor and set fire to the ceiling and the wall behind. She withstood the concussive blast within the locker, and the attendant fire, without suffering appreciable harm."

I raised a tentative hand. He nodded in my direction. "Uh, when I was having the shower," I ventured. "As a dragon, I felt that the water just wasn't warm enough. I took it all the way up to as hot as it would go without feeling any particular discomfort." I carefully didn't explain what had happened when I had gone back to being human, under that scalding spray.

"Well, it makes sense that you would be resistant to heat," he agreed. "It remains to be seen, however, whether you are resistant to any explosive effect, or just ones that you generate."

"Or maybe she just gets better," Lady Photon observed. "Taylor, when I first saw you chasing Victoria, I shot you with a laser bolt. I haven't seen any sign of injury on you."

I frowned. "That stung for a little bit, then stopped. I kind of forgot about it. A lot's happened since."

"Well, in that case, some level of regeneration seems to be indicated." Armsmaster nodded. "So, Changer with Brute, Mover and Blaster capabilities. So far, you've made use of two different types of breath weapon. Do you have any more?"

"I have no idea." I shrugged. "I didn't know I could do either one till I needed to. I guess I could work at figuring what else I can do with breathing fire, and see if I could make it work."

"Make sure you have a good solid backstop," he advised me. "Actually, we have excellent facilities for just this sort of thing in the PRT building. It's designed for people flinging high-end attacks around."

I tilted my head. "Maybe. We'll see how it goes. Right now, my bigger problem is my unmatched capability for destroying clothes every time I Change. At this rate, I'll be all out by tomorrow night."

"The PRT has many contacts among the parahuman community," he responded. "Say the word, and we'll find a Tinker who can do the job of creating clothes that you don't lose when you Change."

"And I'm guessing that the 'word' is agreement to join the Wards?" Mrs Pelham sat up from where she'd been leaning back. "Don't think I haven't noticed your hints."

"Yeah, nope," Vicky protested, putting her arm around my shoulders. "If she goes into a superteam, it should be with us. Because we're awesome, and so is Taylor."

"The PRT can help you get a handle on your powers, Taylor," argued Armsmaster.

I shook my head. "No, I don't think so."

Dad turned to me, looking puzzled. "What? Why? It sounds like a great deal."

"I can't explain it, Dad," I told him. "When we were on the beach below the Boardwalk, Vicky asked me if I wanted to go out to the Protectorate base, and they could investigate what's happened to me. But I don't want to be poked. I don't want to be prodded. And I've got this feeling that once I get signed in there, I can be ordered to allow them to poke and prod me."

"Is that true?" Dad asked, turning to Armsmaster.

"She's a danger to the public as she is," the armoured hero replied evasively. "All it takes is for one person to stress her enough to Change in public, and then her cover is blown. Not to mention the people who might get hurt, either through panic, or if someone in the crowd has been getting in her face, and she reacts automatically, and turns him into a charcoal briquette."

"I aimed at your halberd," I informed him bluntly. "That threat display, yeah, that was me on autopilot. But the rest of it? All me."

"That was a very valuable piece of equipment," he told me. "You're still liable for its destruction."

"You had it out, and you were threatening me with it," I retorted, as steadily as I could. "I took care of the threat in as non-harmful a way as I could manage."

"You could have just surrendered to lawful authority," he pointed out. "You would have been treated well."

"Hell with that," I shot back. "I've had it with all this bullshit. You automatically assumed that I blew up my locker deliberately. You didn't ask why. Lady Photon asked why."

<><>​

"I still think that if you go into the Wards, the PRT can handle any legal problems, in case your powers cause some level of damage in public. Also, we have access to people with professional training in dealing with problematic powers."

She shook her head. "Poking and prodding. Not a fan."

"Then where will you go?" he asked. "It's not a good place for an independent out there, right now. And you have the twin troubles that if you go out as human, you have to bank on being able to Change to dragon form at a moment's notice. If you go out as dragon, then it's really obvious as to who you are."

She paused, and he thought that perhaps she had seen reason. But then Lady Photon broke in. "That's easy. She can join New Wave."

Everyone looked at her. Even Flashbang stared at her for a moment.

"Oh, hell yes!" exclaimed Glory Girl. "We'll be the only team in town with a dragon! The others will be so damn jealous."

Lady Photon smiled gently. "That's not exactly the reason for the offer, dear," she told her niece. "But it seems to me that Taylor might need a helping hand. Plus, her powers could be extremely useful at the right time and place." She turned to the Hebert girl. "What do you say, Taylor? Want to join New Wave?"

"Uh, do I have to tell everyone who I am, and who my dad is?" the girl asked.

"Well, just show up in your dragon form, and you'll never need a mask," Glory Girl pointed out cheerfully.

"Danny isn't a cape, and revealing your name would put his at risk," Lady Photon mused. "And you're just as vulnerable when you're not in your Changed form. I think we can make an amendment to the rules for your case; you won't wear a mask, but you'll only show the public your dragon form."

"Wyvern," Flashbang commented unexpectedly.

"What?" asked the Hebert girl. "Uh, Mr Dallon."

Flashbang looked at them all. "A dragon with two legs and two wings is called a wyvern, not a dragon. It's a mythology thing." He subsided back into silence.

The Hebert girl looked at her father and shrugged. "It's as good a name as any. Wyvern it is."

"I'll have to check to make sure that it isn't already taken," Armsmaster pointed out.

"Well, if it is, I'll find something else," she decided. "And yeah, I think I'd like to join New Wave. If the others don't mind, that is."

Glory Girl laughed out loud. "Mind? Ames will be so damn jealous that I met you first."

Lady Photon smiled, and reached out to take Taylor's hand. "Welcome to New Wave," she told the girl.

Director Piggot, Armsmaster knew, would not be happy. But at least the girl was joining an actual, established team.

That had to count for something.


End of Part Five

Part Six

 

[Ack]

Wyvern

Part Six: Meddle Not in the Affairs of Dragons ...


Armsmaster paused in the doorway. "You're certain that you want to join New Wave." His voice held what I took to be a note of hope, that I might say no.

"Totally," I told him. "They're nice people. And they don't want to poke and prod and scan me." Unlike you, I didn't have to say.

"You've only met two of them," he protested. Dad cleared his throat, and motioned toward Flashbang on the sofa, still watching TV; he'd muted it for us, but was otherwise ignoring the discussion. "All right, three."

"And I like all of them. Which, to be absolutely honest … " I paused. "I mean, I don't dislike you, and I think you're a great hero and all, but really, I still think that you're at least partly to blame for me melting your halberd like that."

Reminded of that particular incident, he glanced at the now-cooled blob of metal that adorned what had been perhaps the single most respected weapon in the city. His tone was a good bit cooler when he replied. "Just be aware, Miss Hebert, that destruction of property is still an offence. Your powers when in, uh, wyvern form are quite dangerous. Take care that you don't abuse them."

"I beg your pardon, Armsmaster?" I heard from behind him. "Did I just hear you use an intimidating turn of phrase toward a freshly-triggered parahuman?"

He turned and looked; I saw, standing on the path, a woman with similar features to Lady Photon, dressed in a suit and holding a briefcase. It didn't take me very long to connect the dots; this would be Vicky's mother, Carol Dallon, otherwise known as Brandish. Superhero and lawyer at the same time; I was fairly certain that no-one directed death threats at her for failing to get them off their charges.

"Uh, no, Mrs Dallon," he replied. "She did destroy my halberd, as well as being the precipitate cause of a certain amount of damage at her high school. Her powers are obviously quite destructive, if used recklessly. I was merely cautioning her to that effect."

"I'd be interested in hearing her side of the matter before you made any more comments of that nature," she replied dismissively. "If she triggered just today, then trigger events can cover quite a lot. If you don't mind?"

Hastily, he stepped aside, and she entered the house. "Vicky," she greeted her daughter. "You're home early. And Sarah. What brings you here?"

"Vicky and Taylor, to be honest, Carol," Sarah replied, crossing to where her sister stood and giving her a hug. "Taylor was flying over the city, Vicky heard about it and went to investigate. She ended up inviting her home, and I encountered them on the way there."

Mrs Dallon looked at me, her face expressionless. "So you're Taylor. The dragon girl."

"Yes, ma'am," I agreed, with a nod. "Taylor Hebert. I'm pleased to meet you." I put out my hand; after a moment, she shook it briefly, then looked at Dad. "And you are … ?"

"Uh, Danny Hebert, ma'am," he replied. "I'm her father. Lady Photon called me in, as soon as they had Taylor settled."

"I see." She looked me over again. "You don't seem to be exhibiting many dragon-like qualities, Taylor. Do you need to Change?"

"Uh, kind of," I admitted. "But not right here, please."

"It wrecks her clothes, Mom," Vicky explained. "She's been through two outfits since she got here."

"To be precise," Dad added, "she's on her third outfit since she got here. And I'm guessing another one got destroyed in the locker."

"Locker?" Mrs Dallon looked puzzled. "Where does a locker come into it?" She turned to me. "Is this to do with your trigger event?"

"Uh, yes," I replied. "Some girls at my school locked me in my locker with some really horrible stuff."

"What sort of horrible stuff?" asked Mrs Dallon, then immediately held up her hand. "Wait, let me sit down first. I suspect that I'm going to need to take notes on this."

"I've recorded everything," Armsmaster told her. "I can - "

"- leave now," she advised him sweetly. "I've got this, thanks."

"I really think -"

"No, Armsmaster," she cut him off, her voice never losing the sweet tone, "I really think it's time for you to go." She turned to me. "There is the strong potential for a lawsuit here, Taylor. Would you like me to represent you, or help you find a suitable representative?"

"I, uh -" I began.

Dad spoke at the same time. "Lawsuit?"

"Yes," she answered. "Against whoever locked you in that locker."

"The PRT has lawyers -" began Armsmaster.

"The PRT also has self-interest," Mrs Dallon shot back. "Taylor?"

I blinked, and glanced at Dad. He looked at Mrs Dallon. "We can't afford much -"

"Money won't be a problem," Mrs Dallon assured him. "Not with the sort of damages we could get out of whoever did this to you, and probably the school as well."

After a moment, Dad nodded. "Okay. Taylor?"

"Uh, sure," I replied. "But I don't want anyone hurt too badly. Financially, I mean."

"As badly as they hurt you emotionally?" asked Mrs Dallon. "How long has this been going on?"

"Since September of the year before last," I admitted.

"Really?" Her eyes narrowed. "Then there's a lot of leeway between 'not badly enough' and 'too badly', isn't there?"

"I … guess," I agreed tentatively.

"Good," she stated briskly. "So, do you accept me as your attorney until further notice?"

I nodded. "I - yes. Yes, I do."

"Excellent." Reaching into her handbag, she pulled out what I presumed to be some kind of recorder. "I am now recording. Armsmaster, I'm invoking attorney-client privileges. Please leave. This is out of your hands."

He tried one more time. "She's a potentially dangerous parahuman -"

"That's not the issue at stake here," she snapped. "The issue is that these girls saw fit to bully her until she became a potentially dangerous parahuman, and the school saw fit to let them do it. So will you be leaving, or will I be reporting you for harassing my client after you were asked to leave?"

It was obvious that he didn't want to go, but she hadn't left him any leeway. So, reluctantly, he stepped out through the doorway, and walked to his bike.

<><>​

Mrs Dallon waited until the sound of the motorcycle had faded into the distance before she turned to me. "I'm going to need all the details," she told me. "Your locker, Armsmaster's halberd, anything else that you may have damaged -" She paused. "The lawn. There was a line of black spots on the lawn. Was that you?"

Vicky went over to the door and peered out. "Oh my god," she reported, her voice full of horrified delight. "Taylor, you have to see this."

I went to look; there was indeed a line of black spots on the lawn. Each of them consisted of a lump of metal, surrounded by a circle of blackened, burned grass. The line stretched directly away from the door, petering out before it quite got to the curb.

"Uh, yeah, that was me," I admitted sheepishly. "That's bits of his halberd, I guess."

Mrs Dallon was looking up at the doorframe. "The paint's scorched here," she noted.

I looked also. "Uh, yes. The flame jet kind of came pretty close. I think it may have also given him a sunburn. And singed his beard."

"Well, I'm quite impressed that you managed to destroy the halberd with such precision, and without burning down the house," she observed, "but please, for everyone's sakes, employ a little more discretion in future. Specifically, no insurance company in the country is willing to cover us for parahuman-related damage, so don't breathe fire inside my house. Ever again."

I nodded meekly. "No, ma'am, I won't. If I'm going to be a part of the team, I know -"

"- wait just a moment," she interrupted me. "Part of the team?"

"Well, yeah, Mom," Vicky explained. "She's a new cape, she's a dragon -"

"Uh, wyvern, apparently," I pointed out.

"Still a type of dragon," Vicky forged on relentlessly. "Big scaly wings, and she breathes fire, and she looks all kinds of totally awesome. I mean, how can we not have her on the team?"

"Sarah?" asked Mrs Dallon. "Do you support this idea?"

"Actually, yes, I do," Lady Photon told her. "Taylor needs team support. For one thing, she can't enunciate English words while in wyvern form. For another, she can't do anything that requires really fine manipulation."

"All right then, that changes matters a little," Mrs Dallon decided. "Legally speaking, Taylor, I shouldn't really be acting both as your attorney in this matter as well as your teammate."

"So what does this mean?" asked Dad.

"Either I take a temporary leave of absence from the team, so I can concentrate on the case," she informed us, "or I refer your case on to someone else."

"Whatever happens, it's going to come out that I'm a parahuman, right?"

"Unless we concentrate on the bullying angle and leave the parahuman aspect out of it altogether," she agreed. "Which would weaken our case, but not too badly ... wait. You're joining New Wave anyway, aren't you, Taylor?"

"She is," Lady Photon assured her, "but she wants to keep her human identity secret for her father's sake."

"She won't be wearing a mask as Wyvern," Vicky put in. "It's just that they won't know who she is when she's not Wyvern."

"I'm not sure I'm totally on board with that," Mrs Dallon observed. "After all, transparency is what the New Wave concept was founded upon."

"I'm pretty sure that Lightstar would argue about the validity of that," Lady Photon pointed out gently.

Mrs Dallon's expression hardened. "Fleur's situation was different."

"This is true," Lady Photon pointed out. "Fleur was powered, as are the rest of us. She still died."

"Our children weren't -"

"And if you don't see what a huge risk we were running at the time, then you need to think some more about it," Lady Photon snapped. "Danny has no powers, and nor does he live with someone who does."

"Taylor -" began Mrs Dallon.

"- either has no powers at all, or looks entirely inhuman. And her Change is sufficiently unreliable that she can't guarantee to have access to her powers, even if she really needs them, or if someone catches her by surprise."

"So why can't she go to the Protectorate?" asked Mrs Dallon. "It seems to me that they're better set up for this than we are."

I cleared my throat. "Still here," I reminded the both of them. "For one thing, I'm scared that the PRT will prod me and poke me and scan me, and then decide that I'm too dangerous and lock me away or something."

Lady Photon glanced at Mrs Dallon. "Not entirely an unwarranted fear, you have to admit."

"No," Mrs Dallon admitted after a moment. "It's not. Though you're not saying everything, Taylor."

I nodded. "For another thing, I don't want to. I mean, in human form, I've got no real problem with it, but when Vicky suggested it and I was in wyvern form, I just knew somehow that I really, really didn't want to do it."

"Hm." Mrs Dallon rubbed her chin. "Well, if you don't want to, then you don't want to. It might be some sort of instinctual thing. In any case, I wouldn't force anyone to be in the Wards who didn't want to be."

"So she can be in New Wave?" Vicky's voice was hopeful.

"About the secret identity thing?" Mrs Dallon looked at Lady Photon.

"Well, given that there's the presence of a non-powered family member, plus a certain unreliability about the availability of your powers, and the fact that you're pretty well unable to hide who you are once you become the wyvern form … " Lady Photon paused. "I think I can amend the rules in this particular case."

"That sounds reasonable," Mrs Dallon agreed. "Very well. Taylor, you'll be joining New Wave, but will not be revealing your real identity. So the lawsuit will be specifically to do with your being shut in the locker."

" … which could pose a problem," I told her.

"What problem?" she asked.

"I blew up my locker. The door ended up jammed in the far wall. I set the school on fire. If we're going to separate the fact of my being locked in the locker from the fact of my being Wyvern, how do we present it? I was locked in my locker, which was then blown up by persons unknown?"

"Worse," Dad pointed out. "More than one person knows that Taylor was in that damn locker. It's got to be the most open secret in Winslow by now. Half of them must think that she got out and then blew it up, while the other half have to be thinking that the locker was blown up with her in it."

"True," she agreed, brow furrowed. "The explosion and fire are inseparable from the fact that Taylor was locked in the locker."

"Okay, how about this?" asked Vicky. "Taylor is in the locker. Someone lets her out. She staggers away to get clean, and the person who let her out sets off a bomb in her locker."

"Which begs the question of who let her out, and why did they explode the bomb?" Mrs Dallon had a pen and paper, and was writing as she spoke.

"Hey, I can't think of everything," Vicky protested. "Taylor?"

"We can't make Wyvern out to be the bad guy either," I decided. "Even misunderstood. I've read enough on the PHO boards to know that once a hero gets even the slightest hint of impropriety, it sticks with him for years. Plus, it'll reflect on New Wave's reputation."

"In any case, we need a narrative that diverges as little from the truth as possible," explained Mrs Dallon. "Whatever we say has to be supported by the available evidence."

"Which all points to me blowing up the locker," I groaned. "Because I did."

"So, our only real options for a lawsuit are, on the one hand, out Taylor and run the whole deal through the courts, which will almost certainly nail their hides to whatever wall we see fit," Dad summarised, "or minimise the locker thing, and try to get them for whatever they did to her before that point."

"What happened today certainly brings it all together," Lady Photon agreed. "Without it … they get away with a truly horrible act, and they may get away with the rest of it, depending on the throw weight of whatever legal talent they get on their side."

"Great," I muttered, "and Mr Barnes is a lawyer too."

"I beg your pardon?" asked Mrs Dallon. "Did you say 'Mr Barnes'?"

I nodded. "Alan Barnes. Emma's dad. Emma used to be my best friend. Mr Barnes and Dad have known each other forever."

"If he knows about what she's been doing to my girl, and hasn't done anything about it, then I don't know him nearly as well as I thought I did," Dad observed, mainly to himself.

"Really. That's very interesting." Mrs Dallon made a note. "Alan Barnes and I work for the same law firm."

Dad and I stared at her. "Uh, is that a good thing or a bad thing?" I asked carefully.

She considered the question. "That depends. Probably a good thing. I'll have to see."

"Wouldn't that be some kind of conflict of interest?" asked Dad. "If you're both working for the same people, that is."

"As I said," Mrs Dallon told him, "I'll have to see." She looked around. "Now, I think it best if we took this to my study."

"Can I come?" asked Vicky. "I promise I'll be quiet."

Personally, I had my doubts.

"Sorry, Vicky," Mrs Dallon replied. "We're going to be discussing important information about the case."

Vicky rolled her eyes. "Aww."

"Don't complain too loudly, young lady, or I might find myself compelled to ask you why you aren't back at school already," Mrs Dallon warned her.

"Being quiet." Vicky hastened toward the kitchen.

"Good." Mrs Dallon turned to Dad and I. "Shall we go?"

<><>​

"Take a chair, each of you. This might take a while."

Following Mrs Dallon's directive, I sat in one of the chairs in front of her desk. Dad sat beside me.

Putting the recorder back on the desk, she pressed the button. "Carol Dallon, recording," she stated out loud. "Now, Taylor, this is very important. Can you identify your assailants?"

I hesitated. "I can't prove beyond a reasonable doubt that it was them, but I'm pretty damn certain."

"What makes you so certain?" she asked.

"Because they've been making my life hell for the past fourteen months," I snapped. "It's the same three, over and over, and if it's not them, it's one of their friends." My voice had risen, and I could hear the bitterness in it. I took a breath. "Sorry. But it just keeps happening, and nothing ever stops it."

"Can you at least state with certainty that they were there?" Her voice was almost gentle, and I realised that this must be how she treated her witnesses on the stand.

"Oh god yes. They were right there, making comments about my height and weight, and how I must throw up to stay so skinny, and how I must have thrown up just then, because of the smell."

"Which was whatever in your locker?" She paused. "What was in the locker, exactly?"

I drew a deep breath, and took Dad's hand. He squeezed it reassuringly. "A lot of rotten tampons and sanitary pads from the girls' bathrooms. But I didn't know that then. All I knew was that something stank."

"All right, so these girls – all of them are girls, right? – what are their names?"

"Yeah, they're all girls. Some boys are in on it, but they're just hangers-on. The three main ones are Emma Barnes, like I said, as well as Madison Clements and Sophia Hess."

"Armsmaster seemed really interested in that last one, Sophia Hess," Dad commented. "He asked if Taylor was sure."

"Yeah, I noticed that, too," I agreed. "I wanted to ask about that, but I was a wyvern right then."

"Really?" asked Mrs Dallon. "But you're non-verbal in that form, aren't you? How were you communicating?"

"Vicky brought out a plastic sheet with the alphabet, and I picked out letters on it," I explained. "It was slow, but we made it work."

Mrs Dallon nodded. "Very clever. So Armsmaster was interested in this Sophia Hess, was he?"

"It sure seemed that way," I agreed. "I don't know why."

"I'll make a point of asking him, next time I see him. Now, Emma Barnes is definitely the daughter of Alan Barnes? Big man, red haired?"

"That's him," I told her. "She's got red hair too."

Mrs Dallon's eyes were focused on me. "Okay. So you're telling me that the daughter of Alan Barnes, a man I work with, is bullying you, has bullied you badly enough to cause a trigger event?"

"That's exactly what we're telling you, yes." Dad's voice was steady, but he squeezed my hand again. "I thought he was a friend. Now, I'm not so sure."

"That would depend on if he knows about it, surely," she observed. "Do you know, one way or the other?"

"He's friendly enough when we meet," Dad mused. "Talks about Emma. Asks about Taylor."

"But you and Emma haven't been friends for a while?" She looked toward me.

"For more than a year," I agreed. "For all I know, she's telling him that I broke up the friendship, not her."

"We can't use that in court," she cautioned me. "Conjecture holds no weight as evidence." She looked to me. "What sort of bullying has it been? Physical? Emotional? Verbal?"

"All of that and more," I sighed. "You name it, they've done it. Sophia handles the physical side of things, tripping me down stairs or in the hallways, things like that. Madison's good at pranks. Leaving juice on my chair, dumping pencil shavings on my desk during class. Emma knows all my secrets, all the ways to hurt me, and she uses them."

"Physical abuse." She zeroed in on that. "Do you have proof? Bruises? Scars?"

My voice was full of regret. "Nothing visible."

"Damn." She leaned back in her chair.

Tentatively, I cleared my throat. "I've been keeping a sort of journal."

"What?" She leaned forward. "A journal?"

"Kind of a list of what they've been doing to me. Since the start of school last year," I explained. "I wanted to try to get the teachers to listen, to help, but they never did. So I haven't shown anyone."

"What's in this journal of yours?" she asked.

"Uh, day by day of what they did. All dated. Emails I got sent, by them and by others. Stuff that was sent from the school computers, during school hours. I've spent hours printing them out."

Dad was looking at me. I looked back. "What?"

"Why didn't you show this to me, Taylor?" he asked. "Tell me about it. I could have done something."

"The school doesn't do anything, even when it happens right in front of a teacher," I told him bitterly. "I'm the weird loner. They're the popular kids. That would just have gotten me more attention, and not of the good type."

"Then you could have told me about Emma," he protested. "I could have spoken to Alan."

"And said what, exactly? That I said she was bullying me? All she has to say is no, she's not. And she could pull a dozen alibis out of her pocket."

"All right, this is what's going to happen, Taylor," Mrs Dallon stated. "Once Winslow opens again, you're going to go back to school, as if nothing happened. Nothing will happen to you, because the PRT doesn't out new parahumans. The story will be something along the lines of a gas leak. You were never in the locker."

"How do you know that about the PRT?" asked Dad.

"Because we've assisted in this sort of cover-up before," she told us briskly. "So, Taylor. Pretend that nothing happened. But carry a voice recorder. I have a spare. Record any time that someone's giving you any sort of trouble. Identify them by name on the recording. In the meantime, I'll need your journal, so I can start building a case."

"So we're skipping the locker." Dad didn't make it a question.

"We're skipping the locker," she agreed.

"Uh, about school," I began.

"About school?" She looked at me. "What about school?"

"My powers," I pointed out. "If they corner me and start working on me, I'll out myself in less than a minute."

"Hmm." She bit her lip, and switched off the recorder. "Explain."

"I, uh, still don't have much in the way of control over my Changer ability. So far, all my changes into wyvern form have been pretty well involuntary." I paused. "Vicky's seen them; she can help explain."

"Very well." She rose and went to the door. "Vicky, could you please come in here a moment?"

Vicky didn't quite cause a sonic boom with her arrival, but she got there pretty quickly, anyway. "What's up, Mom?"

"We're discussing Taylor's Changer ability. She says she doesn't have much in the way of control over them. Is this true?"

"Uh, sure," Vicky agreed. "I didn't see the first one, but I saw all the ones after that."

"So what happened with the first one?" Mrs Dallon's eyes were intent; I was very aware of the notepad.

"They locked me in my locker. You know what was in there with me. I must have triggered pretty quickly. I tried to claw the door open, but I couldn't. So I blew it off the locker with an explosive fireball. Which blew up my locker plus the lockers on either side, and damaged the lockers on either side of that."

Mrs Dallon made notes. "What did you do then?"

"I got out of there and flew toward the ocean. The second time that I changed -"

"Wait," Mrs Dallon interrupted. "You didn't go after your tormentors?"

"Uh, no," I confirmed. "I wasn't really thinking about that. I just wanted to get the mess off my legs. So I flew to the ocean."

"Right. So tell me about the second time you Changed."

"Uh, Mom, that was sort of my fault," confessed Vicky. "She told me how she first changed, and I wanted to see if my fear aura could do the trick."

"Which it does," I pointed out. "Very dramatically. Mind you, I kind of destroyed the clothes I was wearing at the time." I wrinkled my nose at her; she cheerfully ignored it.

"I see," Mrs Dallon replied, raising an eyebrow. "Did you damage anything other than your clothes when this happened?"

I looked at Vicky; she looked back at me. "Uh, not that I know of," I confessed. "Vicky?"

"No, you just changed," she agreed. "Though the look on your face … "

"I was a dragon at the time. What look on my face?"

"The 'oh crap, I'm a dragon again' look." She snickered. "It was priceless. Though the look when your dad called out was even better, I have to admit."

Mrs Dallon cleared her throat sharply; we both looked at her. "As I was saying," she went on. "You say that no damage was done the second time. What about the third time? What happened then?"

"Armsmaster happened," supplied Lady Photon, leaning in the doorway. "He accused Taylor of trying to burn down Winslow -"

"- not that it wouldn't be an improvement," I muttered.

"Taylor, did you actually try to burn down Winslow?" asked Mrs Dallon.

"Uh, no. I just wanted out of that locker." I pointed at Vicky and Lady Photon. "Ask them. If I wanted to really set fire to something, it would still be on fire. Right?"

Vicky nodded vigorously. "Mom, you didn't see her melt Armsmaster's halberd. It was awesome."

"I have to agree – not about the 'awesome' part, but about her capabilities," Lady Photon commented. "If she had truly wanted to set fire to Winslow, it would still be very much aflame."

"So the fire that did happen was due to your … " Mrs Dallon checked her notebook. " … explosive fireball, right."

"That's right, yes," I agreed.

"Hmm, good." She wrote a few words, then looked up again. "All right. It sounds very much like your Changer ability is stress-based, as you've no doubt worked out for yourself."

"I had pretty well figured that, yes." I tried not to make it sound sarcastic.

If she took it as such, she ignored it. "I'd suggest taking the week off, if the school isn't closed that long. Work to learn control over your power. Learn the signs of an upcoming change, see if you can't head it off. Once you can avoid Changing in a stressful environment, then go back to school." She paused, and smiled slightly. "Because trust me, even though setting fire to them might feel really good in the short run, it won't help much in the long run."

"Wow, Mom, was that a joke?" Vicky's eyes were wide. "Holy crap, Mom made a funny. Wait till I tell Ames."

"It wasn't that funny, Vicky," Mrs Dallon told her reprovingly, but her heart wasn't really in it. "Now, Taylor."

"Uh, yes, ma'am?" I asked.

"I'm going to want to see your, uh, wyvern form at some point. I suggest that you and Vicky go somewhere so that you can work on your power control."

"Sure thing, Mom," Vicky agreed at once, grabbing my hand. "Come on, Taylor."

"And I need to make a phone call, so if you can entertain Danny a little longer for me, Sarah?" asked Mrs Dallon.

"I can do that," Lady Photon responded, stepping aside as Vicky more or less dragged me from the study. "Another cup of tea, Mr Hebert?"

"Don't mind if I do, Mrs Pelham," he replied gravely.

<><>​

Vicky paused at the bottom of the stairs, and raised her voice. "All right, power testing in progress. No-one goes into my room, okay?"

"We hear you, dear," replied Lady Photon's voice. "No-one's going to barge in."

"And what are we going to do, exactly?" I asked.

"We'll think of something." Vicky tugged at my hand. "C'mon."

I resisted momentarily. "Not that damn fear aura again, okay?"

"Chicken." But she was grinning as she said it. "Okay, fine, no aura."

"I'll give you 'chicken'," I muttered, but followed her anyway.

<><>​

"This is Franklin Rogers. Make it quick."

"Mr Rogers, it's Carol Dallon."

"Carol?" He frowned. "This is not a good time for you to be away from the office."

"It's never going to be a good time, sir."

"No, seriously, someone set fire to Winslow High, and three different people had to go and pick up their kids. Now there's rumours about terrorist plots to firebomb all the schools in Brockton Bay. Why did you head out anyway? You don't even have any kids at Winslow."

"It was a family matter."

"By family matter, do you mean ordinary family matter, or your type of family matter?"

"Actually, as it happens, sir, both."

He waited, but she didn't explain farther. "Okay, if you say so. What's up? Why are you calling me?"

"I want to warn you of a potential conflict of interest within the firm."

That got his attention. "What sort of a conflict of interest?"

"I'm likely to be going head to head with another employee of the firm regarding a lawsuit I'm looking to pursue."

"Who is it?"

"I'm sorry, sir. I can't tell you that quite yet. Once I've got the paperwork filed, I'll get the appropriate details to you. This is more in the nature of a heads-up."

"Very well, I'll tell you this for free, Carol. You can pursue outside cases, so long as they don't impinge on the firm's business. If you're going against another member of the firm, then both of you are on your own. You can use our facilities, but we won't support either one against the other."

"That's fine, sir. I have no problem with that."

"However, before it comes to that, perhaps mediation could be attempted first. It would look bad in the papers if two of our members started squaring off in the courts."

"Normally I would not argue with that, sir, but this is a case for damages. Quite extensive damages, I'm afraid."

"Is this likely to bring the other person's good name into question?"

"If that person chooses not to settle out of court, this is quite likely, sir."

"And the name of the firm?"

"Won't come into it, sir."

"Hmm. Thank you, Carol."

"Thank you for hearing me out, sir."

"You're one of our best people. Don't go biting off more than you can chew."

"I'll try not to, sir." There was a faint noise in the background, one that he couldn't identify. "Ah, I have to go, sir. I'll let you know more when I find out."

"You do that."

<><>​

"Okay, what happens now?" I asked Vicky, after she closed the door to her room.

"Well, first, you take your clothes off," she explained, in a very matter-of-fact tone.

"Vicky!" I protested, blushing scarlet. "Seriously? No!"

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Taylor. Every other time you've Changed into your dragon form -"

" - wyvern," I corrected her.

"Okay, wyvern," she agreed. "Anyway, every time you've Changed, you've lost all the clothes you're wearing. So, take 'em off first and you don't have to worry about that."

"Well, give me something to put around myself," I objected. "I know you've already seen me naked -"

"- couldn't really avoid it, to be honest," she agreed cheerfully. "But you don't have to worry about me making moves on your skinny butt. I'm interested in guys first, last and always."

"Best news I've heard all day," I replied, reluctantly beginning to remove the clothing which she had given to me. "Get me a towel or something?"

"Sure, here you go." She handed me a hand towel.

I looked it over. It would cover my front, or my back, but not both at the same time. "Oh, very funny."

"Actually, I have a theory," she proposed. "If we don't cover you up, maybe the discomfort and stress will cause you to change back into the dragon?"

"That's a stupid theory," I told her. "And anyway, it's a wyvern. Come on, give me a real towel." I shivered as I began to remove the last of my borrowed clothing; her room was warm, so it must have been a psychological effect.

"Huh. Your butt's looking better from that burn, earlier."

I twisted, trying to get a look at the site of the burn. "Huh, so it is."

"Good thing, too," she grinned. "You might have gotten all butt-hurt over it."

I stuck out my tongue at her. "That was a terrible joke. Now stop looking at my butt and get me a real towel." I held up the hand towel between me and her; it made a great apron, or about half of one of those draughty hospital gowns.

"If you can turn into a dragon," she pointed out, "you won't need a real towel. Now come on, concentrate. You can do it. Make the Change. Show your powers who's boss."

"Wyvern." I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold the towel in place. Uncomfortable, I definitely was. This definitely had points in common with the other times I had Changed.

Huh, maybe Vicky's got the right idea after all.

I began to concentrate, to form an idea in my head of what it was like to be the wyvern – or, if it was to be my cape name, the Wyvern – and try to slot myself into it. It wasn't easy; the effort was not unlike attempting to pick myself up by my own shoelaces. The discomfort was indeed helping; with the lack of comfort came increased focus. At that moment, I desperately wanted to Change into the wyvern form, if only to get rid of the goosebumps that were now decorating me in plague proportions.

It was there, I could almost feel it. All I needed was that little extra effort, to kick my body to Change from one form to the other.

And if I can learn to Change to the wyvern at will, maybe I can learn to reverse it without needing a hug or a hot shower?

Gritting my teeth, I concentrated.

<><>​

Amy trudged in through the back gate. She didn't often take the bus; it was easier to get a lift home with Vicky. But Vicky had had to go off somewhere in a hurry, and she'd never gotten back to Arcadia, and so Amy had ridden the bus home.

Climbing the back stairs, she let herself in, closing the door quietly behind her. She opened the fridge to grab an apple, then headed through to the living room. It was a little bit of a surprise to see Aunt Sarah there, as well as Dad and some guy she'd never met before, but she wasn't in the mood for meeting strangers right at that moment.

Still, politeness was a good thing, so she wandered over. "Hi, Aunt Sarah. Hi, Dad."

Mark raised his eyes from the TV long enough to give her a vague smile and a wave; he'd forgotten to take his medications again.

"Hello, dear," Aunt Sarah greeted her. "This is Danny Hebert."

"Hi, Mr Hebert." She looked back at her aunt. "I'm looking for Vicky. Is she in?"

"Oh, yes," Aunt Sarah told her. "In her room is what she said, but -"

"Okay, thanks." She smiled warmly at her aunt, and politely at Mr Hebert, and headed up the stairs.

"Amy dear, make sure to knock," Aunt Sarah called after her.

Yeah, that's gonna happen. Vicky hadn't knocked on her bedroom door after about the first day of them sleeping in separate rooms, and she'd gotten out of the habit herself. Amy headed along the passageway, opened Vicky's door and stepped inside.

"Say, Vicky, why -" she began, before her mind locked up. Because Vicky was standing, facing her. But between Vicky and Amy, facing Vicky, was a total stranger, about her age, with long dark curly hair. Vicky was fully dressed. As far as Amy could tell, the other girl wasn't dressed at all.

Amy couldn't think of a single good reason as to why Vicky might have a girl in her room, particularly one without clothes on. Many bad ones cropped up, tumbling over one another to make themselves heard. But all she could hear herself think was, Oh god, why not me?

And then the girl turned, and Amy saw that she was holding a small towel over her front; at the same time, the girl screamed in fright, grabbing for a sheet off the bed. Reflexively, Amy screamed right back, retreating from the girl, from her rival. The girl screamed again; this time, somethinghappened to her body.

Her face changed, pushing outward from her head. Hair retreated into her scalp. Arms, already skinny, lengthened as membranes spread between them and her body, her fingers shooting outward and growing more membranes. Her skin grew red-gold scales, a tail lengthened from behind her and her legs became digitigrade, with wickedly clawed feet. The scream turned into a high-pitched screech of alarm, while a red-gold crest raised on the saurian head. Both the towel and the sheet fell to the floor, but that didn't matter any more.

The girl had Changed into a dragon. There was a dragon in Vicky's bedroom. A dragon, which had previously been a teenage girl.

Backing up, Amy found that the door had swung shut behind her. Trapping her in the room with the dragon.

<><>​

Stunned, I watched as the teenage girl – I strongly suspected that this was 'Ames', otherwise known as Panacea – backed up against the door, eyes wide.

"Hah!" Vicky's exclamation of triumph made both of us jump. We turned to look at her; she pointed at my face, or rather, my muzzle. "That expression, right there. That's what I'm talking about."

Lowering my head, I put my wing over it, in lieu of performing a proper face-palm.

Oh boy.


End of Part Six

Part Seven

 

[Ack]

Wyvern

Part Seven: … For You are Crunchy, and Go Well With Ketchup



"Dragon." Amy Dallon stared at me, eyes wide.

I'm a wyvern, I thought crossly.

Amy was obviously no telepath. "Dragon. Room. Why?"

Vicky stepped over next to me, putting an arm affectionately around my neck. "Because it's awesome, that's why. Taylor, meet Ames. Ames, meet -"

Thundering footsteps up the stairs and along the passageway interrupted her introductions; Amy moved away from the door just before it was flung open. Mrs Pelham was first through the doorway, followed by Dad, and then Mrs Dallon.

"We heard screaming," Dad burst out. "What happened?"

Vicky grinned. "Well. Ames came in to say hi, and Taylor had sort of taken her clothes off … "

"Why?" interjected Amy again.

"Because if she's wearing anything when she Changes, she destroys it." Vicky grinned at her sister. "Geez, try to keep up. So anyway, Amy was kind of surprised to find someone in my room without any clothes on … "

"I think anyone would," offered Dad. I nodded vigorously in agreement.

"Yeah, I suppose me too," agreed Vicky. "Anyway, Amy sort of screamed, then Taylor screamed right back, and Amy screamed again, and then Taylor Changed … and yeah, Mom, this is what she looks like."

Mrs Dallon stepped forward; behind her, I saw Vicky's father peering in through the doorway. I stood a little straighter as Vicky's mom looked me over, turning my head as she walked around behind me and stepped over my tail.

"Taylor," she addressed me, "can you understand me?"

I nodded, and added an agreeable chirp.

"That means yes," Vicky supplied.

"Thank you, Victoria, I think I got that," Mrs Dallon murmured. "Taylor, may I see your wings?"

Again, I nodded, then turned slightly so that I had the room. Unfurling my wings let me reach both walls before I got to full extension, but they still looked pretty good, I thought.

"Wow. Seriously. Dragon. Big wings." Amy seemed to be getting over her initial shock, although she still wasn't speaking in complete sentences.

Dad cleared his throat. "I think we agreed on 'wyvern', actually."

"Huh?" asked Amy.

Her father leaned over to her. "Dragons have four limbs and two wings. Wyverns have two limbs and two wings. It's a fantasy thing."

"Okay, right." Amy looked at Vicky. "But why your room?"

Vicky shrugged. "Because she needed someplace to Change."

"Argh. No. Sorry, I'm not saying this right." Amy dug her hands through her hair. "Why did she have to be in your room, without anything on, with you there? Why couldn't she just Change on her own? And why was she just standing around like that?"

"Oh. Right. Sorry." Vicky looked enlightened. "She has trouble Changing. She needs a little bit of a boost to go from one form into another."

"And you may recall that I did suggest that you knock before entering," Mrs Pelham reminded her.

"Pfft, that's never gonna happen," Vicky told her with an airy wave. "Ames and I barge in on each other all the time."

"Anyway, it's a stress based Change," Dad told Amy. "I'm guessing the surprise of having you burst in on her is what tipped the balance in this particular instance."

"Oh." She stared at him. "And who are you, exactly?"

"Your aunt introduced us, remember?" He extended his hand. "Danny Hebert. Taylor's father. It's an honour to meet you, Panacea."

She shook his hand almost by reflex, or so it seemed. "Yeah, nice to meet you too." Turning, she moved over to where I stood, re-folding my wings just so. "And you're … Taylor, right?"

I nodded and made the same agreeable noise that I had given her mother.

"And how long have you been able to Change into a … what did you call it? A wyvern?"

I shrugged; Vicky leaned in. "She can't actually talk like that," she explained. "As for how long it's been … well, today, basically." She grinned broadly at Amy. "But how cool is this? She's joining New Wave!"

"Wait, what?" Amy asked. "Joining the team? Is that a good idea?"

"Yes, we think so," Mrs Pelham told her. "She's a new cape, she's quite powerful in her own way, she doesn't want to be involved with the Protectorate, and she needs support in her Changed form."

"Yeah, you should've seen her melt Armsmaster's halberd," Vicky added enthusiastically. "It was awesome!"

Amy stared at me; I felt like putting my wing over my face again. "She melted Armsmaster's halberd? Wasn't he mad?"

Vicky grinned and nodded. "But there wasn't much he could do about it … because, you know, she'd already melted his halberd."

"And she's got lots of teeth, and … yeah, I got it," agreed Amy. "Wow. I wish I'd been here." She paused. "How did she even end up here?"

"Okay, you know how I just blew out of Arcadia? It was because I'd heard that a big weird red thing was flying over the city. Turns out it was Taylor here." Vicky wrapped an arm companionably around my shoulders. "I went to investigate, we kind of fell in the ocean, I talked to her, and we came back here."

Amy nodded. "So basically, she followed you home and you want to keep her. Because dragon."

Vicky tried to look innocent, and failed. "Maayyybe? Anyway, since then, she's been popping back and forth between wyvern and human form. We've kind of got the wyvern-to-human part down, but the human-to-wyvern part is a bit more complicated."

"You said it's a stress-based change," Amy noted; she was looking thoughtful. "Do you know that for a fact, or is it just a theory?"

"Oh, it's pretty well established," Vicky chuckled. "Like when I hit her with my fear aura. She changed pretty darn fast then."

"Which also caused her to destroy the clothing she was wearing," chided Mrs Pelham. "Which you should have thought of beforehand."

Vicky waved that away airily. "It was in the cause of scientific experimentation. Besides, they were my old clothes anyway. I got more where that came from."

"If you think I'm going to just keep buying you new clothes, you're sadly mistaken," Mrs Dallon informed her tartly. "But we do need to find a solution to both problems."

"What, the destroying-clothes-when-she-Changes problem?" asked Dad.

"And also the Changing-at-will problem," Mrs Pelham filled in. "Not so sure what to do about the second one, but I have an idea for the first."

I looked at her inquiringly; she seemed to interpret my interrogative chirp correctly. "I'm going to make a phone call, and then we've got a visit to make. Up for another flight?"

While I was thinking about that, Vicky grinned. "Ooh, ooh. I know who we're visiting. Is it -"

<><>​

"- Parian," Mrs Pelham, or rather Lady Photon, explained as we flew over the city. "Apparently, the name refers to a type of doll, which is apropos, given her costume."

I nodded. Yeah, I've heard of her. There wasn't much more I could convey, given my lack of language capability in wyvern form, but that seemed to satisfy the older hero.

"She's a rogue," Vicky went on from the other side of me. "Doesn't do the hero thing. Uses her power to make money. Which is a cop-out, if you ask me. I can totally see her using those animated stuffed animals to stop a bank robbery or something."

"Now, now," Lady Photon pointed out, "not everyone with powers wants to fight crime. They're her powers; she's allowed to do whatever she likes with them."

"But I just don't get the whole asking for money for using your powers bit," Vicky told her. "Being a hero's all about helping people because you can, right?" She gestured toward Amy, being carried bridal-style in her aunt's arms. "I mean, what if Ames suddenly started charging for healing people?"

Amy looked taken aback. "I … never really thought about it before. Charging money … that's not really how we do it in New Wave, right?"

Maybe you should think about it, I thought, but the screech I let out couldn't really convey that. Darn nonverbal form.

"Well, this is true," Lady Photon assured her. "We're heroes, dear, not mercenaries."

"But … doctors charge money, right?" Amy was still working her way through it. "And they do a lot less than me, and spend more time doing it. It's not like I'd be doing anything they don't do. Or even anything illegal."

"Wow, Ames, where did this come from?" asked Vicky, blithely ignoring the fact that she'd brought up the topic in the first place. "You're Panacea. You're my awesome little sister who cures cancer and heals people because it's the right thing to do."

"You're right," Amy agreed. "Heroes gotta be heroes, right? Rogues get no respect."

I thought I detected the echo of Vicky's voice in Amy's words, but I was unable to make a comment at that particular moment. However, I didn't get to think more deeply about the matter, as gunshots sounded from below.

"Where did that come from?" asked Lady Photon, her force-bubble popping into existence to cover herself and Panacea.

"Down there, I think." Vicky pointed and dived; almost instinctively, I followed.

"Taylor!" shouted Lady Photon. "Wyvern! Stay back! You might get hurt!"

I heard the words, but I wasn't processing them; a deeper, more primeval urge was pushing me on. Folding my wings back, I accelerated, straining to catch up to Vicky. Now I saw what she had seen; a car outside a shop, a police car across the street. Men shooting at the police officers. One officer was down; I growled, deep in my throat.

Vicky whipped down out of the sky, slammed into the street on one knee. One fist planted in the now-cracked asphalt, the other arm held back up out of the way. It looked extremely badass; I wondered how long she'd been practising that landing.

I spread my wings, slowing my descent, changing my plunge into a swoop; Vicky looked as though she had the situation in hand. Rising to her feet, she moved toward the three men behind the car. Bullets were fired at her; one or two might have struck, but to no particular effect. Even from where I was, I could feel her aura. For me, she was impressive; for the criminals, terrifying. I know how that feels.

Moving with fluid ease, she vaulted the car and grabbed the nearest man; while she was thus occupied, the other two ran back into the store. Oh no, I thought. You do not get away that easily.

My swoop carried me over the building and I rolled in midair; a fast loop bled off speed, and I spilled air from my wings to land on the building opposite the back door.

Not a moment too soon; the door burst even as I did so, and the two tumbled out into the alleyway. Inhaling deeply, I unleashed a flame similar to that which had destroyed Armsmaster's halberd. The blue-hot jet traced a line across the alleyway that liquefied the corner of a dumpster, set fire to a stack of wet newspapers, cleanly bisected a trash can plus all of its contents, and scored a four-inch deep glowing red gutter in the concrete.

Quite understandably, they halted, looking up at me and then back down at the line I had marked. If they wanted to get out of the alleyway, they would have to cross that line. Nonverbal I might be, but I was pretty sure that they got the message. But just in case …

Flapping my wings once, I took off from my perch and landed on the far side of the line. Wings spread and jaws agape, I repeated the threat display that I had used on Armsmaster; my screech echoed between the walls of the alleyway.

One of the men blanched and bolted back inside, while the other raised his pistol. I had no desire to see how bulletproof, or otherwise, I really was, so I spat an explosive fireball at him. Just a little one. Barely there at all. The detonation knocked him on his ass, stunned him, and removed all the hair from the front of his head. It also set fire to his shirt, but that went out a moment or so later.

He was still sitting there, blinking, touching his face to see if it was still there, when Vicky came out into the alleyway. She took one look at my stance, then at the criminal, and burst out laughing. He didn't resist when she disarmed him and took him in hand, which was a good thing, because she was nearly helpless with giggles herself. I followed along behind them; it wouldn't be a bad thing, I figured, to be seen with Glory Girl.

"Oh god," she chortled after handing the hapless thief over to the police, "he looked exactly like a cartoon character after a bomb's gone off in his face."

I shrugged and nodded; that was more or less what had happened, after all.

Lady Photon had landed, and Panacea was seeing to the wounded officer. I was introduced as 'Wyvern, our newest member,' which garnered startled looks from the other police officers. After a moment, they nodded respectfully in my direction, and I nodded back.

After Vicky gave her statement – she helpfully explained that I didn't talk – we took off again on our interrupted trip. Fortunately, the rest of the journey passed without incident.

<><>​

I stood, wings raised a little and partly unfolded, as Parian walked around me. It was much easier for her to do so than it had been for Mrs Dallon, back in Vicky's bedroom; the loft we were standing in was wide and airy, with a high ceiling. It was sparsely furnished, with a worktable, a couple of chairs, and several dressmakers' dummies. Vicky and Amy were checking their phones, off to the side.

Parian herself wore a sort of frilly dress that had been out of fashion in the real world for maybe a hundred years. She was covered up almost totally, even down to gloves to go with the dress. About the only thing that I could tell about her was that she was blonde; a mass of golden curls tumbled down her back from the totally-not-creepy porcelain doll's-face mask that she wore.

"So what exactly are you looking for, here?" she asked. "I can make something up to fit Wyvern easily enough, but that's not a real challenge. Anyone with a sewing machine could do that."

"You're right," Lady Photon agreed. "We're after a costume that will give her modesty once she changes back to human form. One that she can wear under her clothes when she's in human form, just in case."

Parian rubbed her chin under the mask. "Something that will fit her in both forms? Hmm. That is a challenge." A measuring tape lifted off of the worktable and drifted over to me; I restrained the urge to snap at it as it wrapped itself around my leg.

Lady Photon raised her head. "So can you do it?"

"I won't know until I've seen her human form, and the Change in between," Parian stated. She observed the measurement; beside her head, a levitating pencil took notes in a similarly floating notepad. I watched with fascination. "If she simply flashes from one form to another … "

"She doesn't," Vicky informed her. "It takes a few seconds. She actually alters from one form to the other."

"Well, that makes it possible, at least," allowed the doll-faced rogue, as the tape took its measurements. "But I'll still need to see the human form, and observe the Change."

"Yeah, that's a bit of a problem," Vicky noted. "Changing back only really happens when she's totally relaxed, and she won't be wearing anything when she does."

"Which is why you need the costume in the first place," agreed Parian. She turned to address me. "Well, Wyvern, you understand that I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable or embarrassed. But if we don't do this, then I can't help you with the costume. Yes?"

I nodded and made my agreeable noise, then stood a little straighter and brought my wings around to cover myself.

"Got anything we can wrap around her?" asked Vicky; she was picking up on my body language.

"I've got changing screens over there," Parian offered, pointing to a corner of the loft. "And a robe she can put on … she's not really buff, in her human form, is she?"

"Pfft, hah, no," snorted Vicky. "She's about your weight, but a bit taller than me."

Parian seemed to look her over. "Huh," she observed. "On the skinny side, then. Good, that'll make this easier. I hope. Come on, Wyvern."

I followed her to the changing screens; they were taller than Parian herself by a good six inches, though in my normal form, I would just about be able to peek over the top. On the way, she grabbed a long silk bathrobe; gesturing me behind the screens, she draped the robe over the top. "Put this on once you've Changed," she advised me. "Then we can see how your measurements have altered."

Again, I nodded, and gave her a friendly chirp. She nodded back as I sidled behind the screens, keeping my wings in so as not to knock them down. Because that would make my day just perfect.

Okay, I told myself. Time to prove I can Change back. Nobody can see me, and I've got clothes right there. It won't be embarrassing this time.

It didn't happen at once, which didn't totally surprise me, so I breathed deeply, trying to relax myself, get rid of the tension in my muscles. The first time I'd done this was when I had been drifting off to sleep on the sofa. Feeling safe for the first time. Closing my eyes, I tried to recapture the way I had felt. Safe … warm … no danger … comfortable …

I opened my eyes. Nictitating membranes flicked across and back, a familiar sensation. I still had a muzzle, still had wings. I was still a dragon.

Okay, let's try that again.

The next time … Dad had wrapped me in the comforter, and had hugged me. I had felt so safe, so warm in his arms. So accepted. Even though I had become a creature out of fantasy stories, he had never hesitated to comfort me. Once more I closed my eyes, wrapping my wings around myself, trying to feel like that again.

And … nothing. No matter how I tried to force myself into human form, no matter how I visualised changing back, I was missing something. Missing a vital key.

"How you doing back there?" called Vicky.

I replied with a frustrated snarl. There were no words in it, but then, the message was in the content.

"Keep trying," Lady Photon urged. "You'll master it. I have faith in you."

"Maybe I can help?" That was Amy. "Trigger the feeling of relaxation?"

"Ames, you don't work with brains," Vicky protested, even as I heard the healer's footsteps growing closer. "You can't."

"Relaxing has to do with more than just the brain," Amy replied to her, now quite close behind the screen. "I can give, uh, Wyvern a sense of well-being without ever needing to touch her brain."

I let out a questioning chirp.

"Wyvern?" she asked from just a few feet away. "I'm going to need for you to put your wingtip or something over the top of the screen, so I can get physical contact with you."

There wasn't much in the way of choice, so I did as she asked, raising my main wing-finger so that it protruded over the screen. Almost immediately, I felt her cool hand closing over it.

"All right then," she told me, "I need your permission to affect your body. It won't be permanent; I'll just temporarily adjust some hormonal balances, all right?"

I chirped again, trying to sound agreeable.

"That means yes!" Vicky called out.

Panacea sighed. "Uh, a chirp for yes, a loud squawk for no."

I chirped once, then waited.

"I'm going to take that as permission. Okay, here we go."

At first, nothing seemed to happen, and then I felt knots of tension just unravelling and draining away. The feeling of relaxation spread throughout my body like a steady tide, pushing all tension before it. And it worked; I began to Change.

This time, I was aware of the Change as it happened, aware of the sensation of my body shifting and changing in various directions. In a word … it was bizarre. My muzzle retracted, my spine straightened, my tail retracted, as did the flight membranes. In just a few seconds, I found myself once more standing on human feet, not reptilian claws. And my hand was on top of the screen, with Amy Dallon holding my index finger.

I cleared my throat as I pulled my finger free of her grip. "Okay, that's always weird." Tugging the robe down from where it was draped, I put it on and tied the belt firmly around my waist. Parian needn't have worried; the robe could have gone around me three times.

"Hi, it's nice to meet you in person," Amy told me as I came out from behind the screen. She held out her hand.

I shook it; we both grinned self-consciously at the formality. "Nice to meet you too," I replied.

"Thanks for letting me help you Change," she noted. "I've never had the chance to see how a Change actually works before now. It's really fascinating."

"Well, thanks for kicking it over for me," I replied. "And let's hope Vicky doesn't decide to fear-aura me again when it comes time for me to Change back."

"She really did that?" Amy paused, and nodded to herself as she eyed her sister. "Yeah, you'd definitely do that, wouldn't you?"

Vicky grinned at Amy's tone as she came up on my other side, hooking her arm through mine. "Sure. It worked, didn't it?"

"Seriously." Amy rolled her eyes. "Brute force isn't the answer to everything."

"Is for me."

"Girls. Enough." Lady Photon clapped her hands once, gently. "Let Parian get her measurements in peace." She handed me my glasses, as well as a simple cloth mask; I put them on gratefully, and the loft came into focus once more. I noticed that Parian had been averting her eyes until my identity was concealed, for which I was somewhat grateful.

Then I had to hold still as Parian took the same measurements that she had before. Her impersonal air, and the fact that the measuring tape didn't need her to hold it in place, made it a somewhat less embarrassing experience than it could have been.

Finally, she was finished, and I was allowed to take a seat on one of the chairs. Amy sat on the other, slurping at a chocolate shake. Silently, she handed me another one; Vicky had apparently taken it on herself to go on a snack run. I didn't mind in the least.

"Hmm," murmured Parian, studying the two different sets of measurements. "This is interesting. I think I can do something with this, but I'm going to need to do one final set of checks."

"What have I got to do?" I asked; this sounded ominous.

"I'm going to need you to Change back, but first I'm going to have to put marks on your body so that we know which way it's altering shape."

"Marks … on my body?"

"Sure." She crossed to the work table and picked up two markers; one black, and one fluorescent blue. "These should show up best against your scales."

"And where do these marks need to go?" I was getting a sinking feeling about this.

"Oh, uh, around here," she told me, gesturing to her body between her neck and thighs. Which was what I had figured.

"Yay," I muttered. "Wonderful."

<><>​

She didn't want to do it immediately; instead, she bent over the worktable with Lady Photon, sketching on a piece of paper, and discussing options. I was happy to leave them to it, so I sat on the stool and chatted to Vicky and Amy. The latter was interested in how I had triggered; I gave her what details I could stand to give. Then Vicky gave a highly colourful account of how we had met, and subsequently ended up in the ocean; Amy came close to snorting chocolate shake out of her nose.

We told her about how I had managed to ruin two changes of clothes after getting to the Dallon household; Vicky's description of how I had destroyed Armsmaster's halberd had Amy looking at me with a certain amount of respect. She nodded when Vicky mentioned the plastic sheet; apparently she recalled it as well.

"I'm sorry for screaming when we first met," she went on, "I was really, really surprised to see you in Vicky's room. I walked in, and all I could see of you was a lot of hair and a bare butt."

I snorted. "My butt's not that big, is it?"

"Well, no," admitted Amy. "But when you're not expecting to see one, it certainly draws the attention."

"Hah, true," Vicky agreed, and began to tell a story about an epic costume malfunction that had made it online after a cape battle in Detroit. Amy and I were both giggling madly by the time Lady Photon and Parian came back over to us.

"All right then," Parian stated, holding up a piece of paper. It held a sketched silhouette of what I guessed was me. Lines were overlaid on it, in a rough grid pattern over the torso. "Once we trigger your Change back to wyvern form, I'll be able to compare these, and work out how to make your costume so that it fits both forms."

In the end, I allowed her to inscribe the lines on me, but we did it behind the screens, and I had her make me some underwear so that it didn't have to be totally embarrassing. I held up my arms as she traced lines around my ribs, and worked at not moving too much as the grid-lines took shape. Just above my butt, she drew a much tighter set of gridlines, which piqued my curiosity.

"What's that for?" I asked, looking back over my shoulder.

"Your tail," she pointed out. "I'm going to have to put a gap in for it. This will tell me where."

"Oh. Right." Having a tail was a relatively new experience; I was glad that someone was paying attention.

Finally, she finished her latitude and longitude markings, as I privately thought of them, and retreated from behind the screen. "Any time you're ready," she called.

"So how's it look?" Vicky interjected.

I looked down at myself. "Like some sort of motion-capture effect for the movies. Or really, really unimaginative body art."

"It's actually the same principle as motion capture," Lady Photon pointed out. "So, are you ready to try to Change yourself, or do you need assistance?"

"Gimme a few," I requested. Taking off my glasses and mask, I hung them over the edge of the screen.

"Okay," Vicky called back, "but if you're not out in five minutes, I'm coming in with a camera."

I was almost certain she was joking, but I concentrated on regaining the Wyvern form anyway. It was there; I knew it was there. I could Change from one to the other without meaning to already; I needed to be able to do it on purpose.

Stress, I told myself. Stress. I need to Change. I need to feel stress.

And then I realised that I knew what I had to do in order to Change; I just didn't want to do it.

Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath; before I could talk myself out of it, I delved into the worse memories of the last year. Everything that Emma, Madison and Sophia had done to me. All of the dozens of hurts, physical and emotional, that I had endured at their hands.

The pain, the humiliation, the anger that I had swallowed, it all came back to me. I took another deep breath, and another. Distantly, I felt momentary constriction, but it loosened again almost immediately.

I opened my eyes; nictitating membranes flashed across and back as true-lids blinked. Flexing my wings, I opened my jaws and let out a triumphant squawk. I'd needed to relive times that I really, really didn't want to go back to – even now, I was simmering with anger at the reminder of what Emma and her cronies had put me through – but I had succeeded in Changing voluntarily. The makeshift underwear had paid the price, but that was what it had been there for; the robe, on the other hand, was safe.

Now, if only I could learn to Change back just as easily.

I strutted out from behind the screens, head held high; Vicky grabbed me in a hug. "Wow, that was fast," she exclaimed. "You must've been really worried about the camera." I pretended to snap at her; she laughed as she danced away.

"All right then," Parian declared. "Let's see how well this worked." Obediently, I stood still as she examined the markings, correlating them to the sketch she held. Occasionally, her measuring tape laid itself up against me, and she jotted down a number. Lady Photon watched the process with interest, while Vicky and Amy chatted with each other. The majority of their conversation seemed to have to do with school and boys, not necessarily in that order. Vicky was showing interest in Gallant, from the Wards and didn't care who knew it, while Amy was more reserved; she didn't seem to care about such matters.

As riveting as the gossip was – Arcadia sounded vastly different to Winslow, in basically every way that mattered – I was glad when Parian's examination of the markings came to an end. "Okay," she told me. "Go Change back if you can. I've got enough to go on with."

I made an enquiring chirp. "What does that mean?" asked Lady Photon, apparently of the same mind as myself.

"It means that I'm ready to start making the costume," Parian told us. I couldn't see her face, but she sounded quite pleased with herself. "Hopefully, it'll be easier than I thought it was going to be."

Once more, I traipsed behind the screens. My glasses and mask were still there, as were the destroyed remains of the underwear that Parian had stitched together to give me some modesty. The robe was also where I had left it, which meant that I wouldn't be left without clothing once I Changed back. It was amazing how reassuring that was to me, given the day that I'd just had.

Okay, I can do this, I told myself. I can Change to a wyvern, so I can Change back to a human. Easy peasy.

I closed my eyes and reminded myself what it felt like to be human. Two legs, two arms, no tail. No flame breath. Being able to talk.

Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and did my best to relax, to let myself slip back into what was (I hoped) still my natural form. I did my best to remember better days, the good times I'd had with Mom and Dad. But every good memory seemed to lead to a bad one; Mom dead, Dad distraught.

I tried again; this time I focused on Vicky and Amy, on Flashbang and Brandish and Lady Photon. The acceptance they had shown me when they could easily have rejected me, turned me away.

It gave me a warm feeling, a good feeling, but there wasn't enough of it. It was still too new; deep down, I wasn't sure if I could trust it. Too many good things had gone bad for me in the past.

Eventually, I leaned around the screens and chirped to get their attention. Amy's head came up.

"Do you need my help?" she asked.

I nodded and chirped in the affirmative.

"Okay." Smiling, she hopped off the stool and strolled over; I went back behind the screens again, and extended my wingtip up and over. She was getting better at it; this time, it only seemed to take a few seconds before the Change kicked in. Once I was back in human form, I donned the robe, glasses and mask, and came out from behind the screen.

Parian had not been idle; the costume was taking shape, with small razors shaping the cloth before needles and thread fastened it together. It was being assembled on an adjustable dressmaker's dummy that had been cranked to 'tall and skinny'. Lady Photon and Vicky were watching with some interest as Amy and I joined them.

"It's fortunate that your wyvern form is relatively humanoid," Parian informed me. "I've heard of some Changers who take on utterly weird shapes. I couldn't do this with them."

"There is some change in proportion," Lady Photon commented, in what I considered to be masterful understatement. "Are you able to allow for that?"

Parian nodded. "The fabric has some give in it; not much, but some. So long as it's not damaged in battle, it should supply Wyvern with sufficient modesty if she happens to turn back to human in public."

"Modesty is good," I noted. "I like it."

Vicky snickered. "Says the girl who's destroyed her clothing how many times today?"

I rolled my eyes. "Says the girl who was responsible for at least one of those times, and had far too much fun with the others?"

She grinned at me; I stuck my tongue out at her.



End of Part Seven

Part Eight

 

[Ack]

Wyvern

Part Eight: All Dressed Up


Parian's voice sounded from beyond the partition. "Okay, so how does it fit?"

I hesitated, then called out, "Uh, there's not much of it."

"Just think of it as a swimsuit," I heard Vicky respond cheerfully.

"I'm not much into swimsuits, either," I replied.

"Are you decent enough for me to come back there?" asked the seamstress.

I looked down at myself. I was covered. Besides, she saw more of me when she was drawing those damn lines on my body. "Okay, sure, come on back."

A moment later, she appeared around the screen. She paused to look over the swimsuit – that is, costume. "What's the matter?" she asked. "It fits all right, doesn't it?"

I fluttered my hands over my body. "I guess I don't like the idea of running around in something that's this … uh, well, skimpy."

Her voice was sympathetic, even if I couldn't see her face behind the porcelain mask. "I can understand that. I feel much the same way. But there's not much more I can add that won't either hamper you or get torn the first time you Change."

I grimaced. "Something, anything. I feel kinda almost undressed here. Below the waist, it's like I'm wearing just underwear in public. And up the sides, it kind of gapes. If I bend forward -" I demonstrated, holding it in, "- there's a good chance that people will get a lot more than a glimpse of side-boob, if you know what I mean."

"Hm. That is kind of a problem." She put her head to one side, resting her chin on her knuckles. "I had the idea that it would hang together more closely, but it's obviously not doing that. There are static-cling materials out there, but they cost an arm and a leg."

"Which I can't afford and I don't want to put that on you or Lady Photon," I replied.

"Wait a moment." She snapped her fingers. "I have just the thing. How about zippers? Heavy zippers that can be pulled up the moment you change to human. And when you Change back, they get pushed down again."

"That could work," I conceded. "But what about down there?" I gestured at myself. "I keep wanting to cover myself. And guys will be able to stare at my butt. Or rather, see how skinny my butt really is."

"Hm." Her voice was serious, for all that I thought I heard a tinge of amusement there. "Well, okay then. Glory Girl wears a skirt over bike shorts. Why don't we put a skirt on this thing? Short enough that it won't hamper you when you're in wyvern form and long enough that it'll drape down and give you a little modesty when you're in human form."

Looking down at the costume, I thought about that. "Okay, we can try that."

"Well then," she agreed, moving back to give me privacy. "Get back into the robe and I'll see what I can do."

<><>​

"Well, what do you think?" I asked, stepping out from behind the screen.

Parian's gaze was impassive, but the other three showed signs of interest. Lady Photon stepped forward and gestured in a circle. "Turn around," she requested.

I turned in a circle; as I did so, Vicky and Amy stepped up, checking over every inch of the costume.

"Huh, I don't know what the fuss was all about," Vicky snorted. "If that's a swimsuit, it's from about a century ago."

"Yeah, well, your swimsuits could be made from the off-cuts from this one," Amy sniped cheerfully.

"There were barely any off-cuts."

"My point still stands."

"Girls, shush," Lady Photon chided them gently. Vicky stuck her tongue out at Amy. "Wyvern, how do you feel? Does the skirt work?"

I looked down at myself, at the skirt that now hung from the costume. It only covered me down to mid-thigh – less at the sides – but there was now the illusion of modesty, backing up the actual modesty of the costume itself.

"Yeah," I admitted. "It does work. I like it."

"The skirt does kinda finish it off, doesn't it?" Amy mused.

"I think it'll look kinda funny when you're in wyvern form and you're still wearing a skirt," Vicky pointed out.

"Well, that's what we can find out now," suggested Lady Photon. "Wyvern, would you like to Change for us?"

"Sure," I agreed. "One second, I'll just go behind the screen."

"Why?" asked Vicky. "You're wearing the costume now."

"Yeah," I replied, "but what if something, you know, goes wrong with it?" I gestured. "Riippp."

"So what if?" She shrugged. "You'll be the wyvern."

"Hm." I considered this. "Good point."

Putting the glasses on the table but leaving the mask in place, I worked at summoning up the dark memories. The endless tormenting. The flute. The locker. My blood ran cold, there was a lump in my throat and I wanted to cry.

But I didn't. Instead, I found myself Changing, altering form. My arms grew longer, membranes stretching out to match my elongating fingers. The zippers on each side of the costume came into their own now, sliding down and allowing the wing membranes to form naturally. At the same time, my emerging tail poked out through the slit in the costume just above my butt.

While my overall shape changed dramatically, my basic form did not; I ended the transformation still bipedal, still with two legs and two arms. My legs were wider; the material there and elsewhere had obviously been selected for its give. I checked as carefully as I could; nothing was torn, nothing damaged. The skirt, as Vicky had noted, looked faintly ridiculous, but I could live with ridiculous if it meant that I knew nobody could stare at my butt in a skin-tight costume.

Opening my mouth, I let out a triumphant squawk. Turning in a circle, I spread my wings wide so that they could all see the costume.

Lady Photon nodded. "Well, now. That works. It works very well."

"Hell, yes," Vicky agreed. "And the skirt doesn't even look as silly as I thought it might." I turned my head toward her and made a rude noise; she grinned at me.

"Definitely, yes," Amy stated. "I kinda like it."

Vicky elbowed her in the ribs. "Maybe we should get you out of that burqa and into something more form-fitting too, sis. Show off that bod for the boys."

"Yeah, no, I'll pass," Amy demurred. "Me and my burqa are doing quite well, thanks."

"Your loss." Vicky turned to me. "So, uh, Wyvern, now you got your costume. Wanna blow this popsicle stand and go scare up some trouble?"

"Wait, wait," Lady Photon interrupted before I could reply in any meaningful way. "We need to discuss options now."

"Options?" asked Parian. "What do you mean?"

"Different colour costumes, for one." Lady Photon pointed at the one I was wearing. "Basic black works well, but I was thinking of one in white, with maybe some sort of symbol, to fit in with the basic New Wave theme. Also, perhaps one that matches her scales."

Now Parian was nodding. "I see what you mean," she agreed. "Now that I've got the pattern, that'll be easy."

"Also, because of her particular needs," Lady Photon noted, "maybe a couple of pouches. One to carry a pair of glasses and one to carry a mask."

"Phone," blurted Amy. "A phone, in case she needs to call home."

Lady Photon nodded to her. "Good thinking, Panacea. A third pouch for a phone."

Parian didn't seem to be doing anything, but a pencil was scribbling on her notepad in midair. "Can I make a suggestion?"

"Of course," Lady Photon agreed.

"If we put the pouches on a belt, she won't need to worry about what's being held on which costume."

"A belt, yes, of course," replied Lady Photon. "That should definitely work."

"Wow, geez, and I wanted to get out of here sometime tonight," groaned Vicky in a distinctly exaggerated tone of voice. "How long's this gonna take?"

Parian held up a finger. We couldn't see her smile, of course, but we could hear the satisfaction in her voice. "Give me ten minutes."

<><>​

"That was more like twenty minutes," grumbled Vicky as we flew away from Parian's workshop. I wore the costume, slightly adjusted to accommodate the belt which Parian had whipped up on the fly. My glasses reposed in one of the pouches and the cloth mask in another. The third lay empty, awaiting a phone.

Lady Photon shook her head. "You do realise that patience is a virtue, right?"

"Yeah, but not when there's bad guys out there just begging to be Wyverned to within an inch of their lives."

Amy, resting in Vicky's arms, frowned. "Did you just use 'Wyvern' as a verb?"

"And what if I did?" Vicky adopted a stuck-up tone of voice. "'Wyvern': verb. To inflict upon one's foes the absolute terror that rightfully comes from understanding that you've just pissed off a fire-breathing dragon. Also, to breathe fire on objects in such a manner that absolutely destroys them and leaves no doubt that a wyvern was involved. Halberds belonging to overly pretentious superheroes, for instance. Occasionally used as a noun. As in, Dammit, the wyvern just melted my halberd."

I let out a screech of laughter, while Lady Photon smiled tolerantly.

"Okay, yeah, I'll give you that one," agreed Amy, trying not to giggle. "That's a good one. I like it."

"Okay," Vicky decided briskly. "Once we've got you home, Ames, me and Taylor can go out and show Brockton Bay that there's a new hero in town."

"Don't stay out too long, dears," Lady Photon advised. "It is a school night after all."

At the mention of 'school', I let out a disapproving screech. She must have picked up on it, because she looked over at me. "Now, Taylor, don't worry too much. Winslow will be closed for at least a day while they make sure that the building is still structurally sound. Maybe more time than that. In the meantime, you'll be working on your Change control, as Carol suggested."

Oh. Right. Yeah.

"Hey, I got a great idea!"

We all looked at Vicky. I wasn't sure what was going through everyone else's minds, but the thought that crossed mine was Uh oh …

"And what is this idea, Vicky?" Lady Photon's voice didn't betray any trepidation at all; that made her braver than me. Or maybe she was just a really good actor.

"Taylor can come to Arcadia with me and Ames," Vicky responded enthusiastically. "She can meet everyone."

There was a long pause while each of us tried to fit our heads around the concept. I stopped flapping and glided for a few seconds.

"Uh, Vicky …" That was Amy. "Taylor's going to kind of have a secret identity, remember? Bringing her to school is not the best way to maintain that sort of thing." Gliding alongside, I nodded to show that I agreed.

"No, no," Vicky protested. "She can come to the school as Wyvern."

<><>​

Staring at her, I let out a startled screech. Half a second later, the other two joined in; Lady Photon was a fraction ahead of Amy.

"What?"

"You've got to be kidding!"

Lady Photon got her composure back before Amy did. "Victoria dear," she began again. "How is that a good idea?"

"Well, it gets people used to her," Vicky pointed out. "She gets used to being the wyvern among people. I'll be there to slap anyone down who wants to be mean to her. But it'll still be just a little stressful, so she's unlikely to Change back in front of everyone."

"So it'll be more of a show and tell than actually Taylor attending classes," Amy decided. "Admit it, you just want to show off the fact that we've got a dragon on the team."

"Wyvern but hell, yes," declared Vicky. "I mean, seriously, Ames. Isn't this about the coolest thing that's ever happened to the team?"

Amy sighed. "Yeah, it is pretty cool. I mean, I'm not as dragon-mad as you are, but I like them pretty much. And Taylor? I like you as a person too. Even if, the first time we met, I thought you were making moves on my sister."

<><>​

There was a stunned pause, then Vicky started laughing. Taylor joined in, making odd screeching noises, apparently trying not to lose control of her flight and tumble from the sky. Aunt Sarah took the initiative and landed on a rooftop below; Vicky landed with me then let me go and bent over with her hands on her knees, still laughing. Taylor's arrival was more of a controlled crash; she sprawled on the gravel then rolled on to her back, still making those odd screeching sounds.

"My goodness," Aunt Sarah commented to me as we watched the other two cackle with mirth. "You really thought that?"

I flushed. "Well, yeah, kinda," I admitted.

"I see." Her eyes searched mine; not for the first time, I was glad of the scarf that I habitually wore over the lower part of my face as part of my costume. Still, she seemed to see something. "Hm."

"What?" I asked defensively. Please don't ask. Please don't ask.

" … nothing," she replied after a pause so long that my heart nearly stopped. "But Amy?"

"Uh, yeah?"

Her eyes seemed to bore into mine. "If you ever need to talk to someone about anything, anything at all … you know you can talk to me, right?"

"I … yeah, okay. Thanks." I turned away from her, not at all sure what she'd seen in my face, heard in my voice. I didn't know if I'd ever take her up on it. But the fact that the chance was there, the option to tell someone … I felt just a little of the hard knot of tension inside me loosening up, ever so slightly.

"All right then!" Aunt Sarah's voice cut over my thoughts as she clapped her hands. "It wasn't that funny, you two. Come on, Amy's still got to get home before you two delinquents go on patrol."

Tears were running down Vicky's face when she straightened up. "Me and Taylor talked about that, up in my room. But she was worried about me making moves on her, so I explained that I was a lot more interested in boys than in her skinny butt. It just sounded so funny when Ames mentioned it too."

Taylor – or rather, Wyvern, in that form – scrambled to her feet and nodded in agreement, adding one of her weird sounding lizard chirps. I had to admit, she was very cool looking indeed, especially when she spread her wings. I didn't know if I was as smitten with her as Vicky was – in a good way, of course – but I was a tiny bit envious that I hadn't met her first.

Of course, I could never show this. For years I had followed Vicky around like a shadow, doing everything she did, until I realised how I really felt about her. So now I was trying to prove that I could have my own likes and dislikes, be my own person. Maybe if I didn't shape my world around Vicky, I could stop being quite so jealous when I saw her with Dean.

Well, I could hope.

<><>​

Lady Photon and I took to the air while Vicky and Amy were still getting organised; they caught up shortly afterward, given that my top flying speed was nowhere near Vicky's, even when she was laden down with her sister. I felt better as I sculled through the air; having a good laugh was quite therapeutic in its own way.

If I wasn't much mistaken, I was actually getting better at flying, too. As far as I could tell, I was getting where I wanted to be with less wasted effort, my wings moving more efficiently. I still wasn't much faster, but I'd be able to fly farther now. Which was definitely a good thing.

Still, I had the obscure feeling that Lady Photon and Vicky were cheating somehow; while I had to expend actual energy to get up to altitude and stay there, they just cruised along effortlessly. On the other hand, I could use the large surface area of my wings to do things that they couldn't, at least not easily. Flaring my wings, I pulled a hard barrel roll, ending up on the other side of Lady Photon from her two nieces.

"Hey, wow," the healer exclaimed. "You never told me she could do that."

"Ignore her," Vicky advised her sister. "She's just showing off."

"Showing off or not, that's quite impressive," Lady Photon pointed out. "I suppose that because you have to work harder at flying, you think more about it and what you can do with it."

I nodded; that seemed to be about right. Plus, although I couldn't convey this, there seemed to be an instinctive flying capability that allowed me to pull off complex manoeuvres with relative ease. Or maybe I was just talented; who knew?

We glided down to a landing outside the Dallon household; from above, it was easy to pick out the row of dark spots caused by my destruction of Armsmaster's halberd. I was torn between regret that I'd done it and pride that I'd managed to pull off something so impressive.

<><>​

Dad greeted us at the front door; he looked my costume up and down with some bemusement. "And this fits you when you're human?" he asked.

I nodded, chirping agreement.

"It really does," Vicky told him. "It looks like something you'd wear to the beach if you had no sense of adventure. Or to the mall, even."

I shook my head. I would not be wearing it to the mall. Vicky, apparently divining my thoughts, grinned at me. "Wuss."

Ostentatiously, I ignored her, turning to Amy. Holding out my wingtip to the healer, I made an inquiring chirp.

"Oh, you want to Change back?" Amy took hold of my wing, but waited until I nodded. Then she seemed to concentrate very slightly; I felt the soothing waves spreading through my body as the Change began. It went smoothly enough; when I was fully human, Amy let my arm go and I pulled the zippers up on either side of my body.

"Thanks," I told Amy, then turned to Dad. "See? It works."

"Huh, so it does," he agreed. "I wasn't sure how it could, but Parian obviously knows her stuff."

"And get this," I told him. "Belt pouches." Opening one pouch, I pulled out my glasses and put them on, then opened the next one and showed him the cloth mask that Parian had made up for me. "See? All equipped and ready to go."

"Except for a phone," Lady Photon reminded me. "We've still got to get that for you."

Dad nodded. "I can sort of see the reason why," he conceded, turning to her. "I don't like mobile phones – personal reasons – but as a superhero, Taylor will probably need one."

"Well, to be honest, I won't even be able to use any of this unless I'm in human form," I pointed out. "But if I am in human form, I'll almost certainly need it."

"And you'll be able to wear the costume under your clothing if need be," observed Mrs Dallon; she had emerged from her study just in time to see the transformation. "That's good. Very useful."

"Oh, hi," I greeted her. She was Vicky and Amy's mom and she was nice to me, so I wanted to be polite, but she still didn't come off as approachable as Mrs Pelham. "Thanks. I'm still getting used to it, but it seems to work. Parian says she'll be making a couple more in different colours."

"That's probably a good idea," she replied. "Now, I'm going to need to see your log of events at Winslow before I can do any more preparation. And you're all going to need to not contact the Barnses or anyone else regarding the matter until I'm ready for the case to move ahead. Is that understood?"

"Perfectly," Dad assured her. "They'll probably be closing the school for a few days anyway, so Taylor won't even need to see Emma."

"Actually, about that," I observed. "Vicky wants me to come to Arcadia with her and Amy. As the Wyvern, not as me."

He blinked, startled. "Is that really a good idea?"

Mrs Dallon rubbed her chin gently. "Actually, it's not a terrible idea. Vicky, you know the Wards, right?"

"Uh, yeah, some of them," admitted the blonde. "The ones that go to Arcadia, anyway. I don't know who Shadow Stalker is yet. Or Vista. I think they go to different schools."

"Well, we can't have everything," Mrs Dallon decided briskly. "If you weren't already thinking of doing so, you could introduce Wyvern to the Wards -"

"Uh, wait," I interjected. "I don't know if I'm comfortable with finding out their secret identities."

She shook her head. "You don't have to. Vicky has many friends at Arcadia; the Wards are a small number among them. Unmasking to you is their choice. But doing this will go a long way toward integrating Wyvern into the team as far as the Protectorate is concerned."

"Oh, okay." That made sense. "Yeah, I can do that."

"Good. Excellent. Cool." Vicky stepped up. "Can Taylor and me go on patrol now, please?"

Mrs Dallon frowned. "I'm not so sure about this. She's a very new trigger. We haven't really explored the ramifications of her powers yet."

Vicky rolled her eyes. "Mom, she flies and she breathes fire. You should've seen how she dealt with those perps at the shop today. Scared the living crap out of them and only gave that one guy minor burns."

The frown deepened. "She burned someone?" She turned to me. "You burned someone?"

"Uh, yeah," I admitted. "He had a gun, so I hit him with a really weak exploding fireball. It knocked him on his ass and set his shirt on fire. It went out pretty quickly, though."

"Hmm." She rubbed her chin again. "And nobody else got hurt?"

"No, Mom," Vicky insisted. "Nobody else got hurt. Taylor's good at this. And you should see her fly."

I felt the beginnings of a feeling of love and awe toward Vicky. It puzzled me for a second, but then I twigged; she was using her aura, consciously or otherwise, to influence her mother. Clearing my throat, I nudged her; she blinked and the aura receded.

Mrs Dallon showed no signs of having noticed it, though Dad was looking a little stunned. " … fine," she told Vicky. "Take her for a familiarisation flight around the city. If you see anything happening that you can't handle, don't assume Taylor's up to the task. Call the rest of us in. Do you understand?"

"Yeah, yeah, got it," Vicky agreed, nodding rapidly. "Okay, Taylor. Ready to rock and roll?"

I took a deep breath. "Sure. Just give me a moment to Change first."

"I can help, if you want," Amy offered.

I shook my head. "No, I've got to learn to get this down pat. Thanks for the offer, though."

"That's okay," she replied. "Any time."

Removing the glasses, I tucked them into their pouch, then made sure that the one holding my mask was securely closed. Then, taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and concentrated. I knew the form that I wanted to be in; the Wyvern, strong and powerful. Nobody would tease or torment me in that form, for fear of my fire breath, my teeth, my claws. Nothing Emma or Madison or Sophia did would be able to affect me.

As I touched on their names, I recalled things that they had done to me; small matters to them, no doubt, but big problems for me. Juice on my chair, causing people to make jokes about wetting myself. Being pushed down the stairs, causing me to break my glasses, but nobody was willing to say who did it. Being reminded of my mother's death in the cruellest ways possible. They had done all of these things to me and much more. Each incident had been another straw added to the pile on the camel's back.

But now, things would be different. Now, I would be different.

<><>​

I opened my eyes; nictitating membranes flashed back and forth over my eyes. My wings flexed and opened slightly as my tail moved behind me, balancing my stance. I was aware of all this and more, aware of the fire roiling in my gut. For now, it was banked, but it would be easy to call on it when needed.

"I think that was even smoother than the last time you did it," Amy noted. "Though it looked kind of painful."

I shook my head; there was no real way I could explain the emotional trauma that I needed to recall in order to force the change. Instead, I turned toward Vicky and let out an interrogatory chirp.

"Right, sure, let's go," she agreed, moving toward the door.

I followed her, pausing by Dad and awkwardly wrapping my wing around him in a kind-of hug.

"Take care out there, okay?" he asked, putting his arm around my shoulders. I nodded and made what I hoped was a soothing noise.

"It's okay, Mr H," Vicky assured him. "She's tough. And I'll take care of her."

Letting go of Dad, I headed to the door; Vicky opened it and I stepped outside. It was early evening by now and the street-lights were just starting to come on. I spread my wings and took a deep breath of the chilly air. Mrs Dallon and Mrs Pelham came out on to the porch, while Dad stayed discreetly inside.

"Come on then, slowpoke," Vicky called to me, launching herself skyward. I flapped my wings, lifting off of the ground, gaining altitude and speed with every stroke. As on the trip back to the house, the costume moved easily on me, neither hindering me nor being damaged by my movements.

Finally catching up to her, I moved alongside Glory Girl and we set out on our first patrol together.

<><>​

"You know the Boat Graveyard, yeah?" she asked as we soared over the mismatched collection of ships. Some were large, some were small and some were half-sunken at their moorings. All were showing signs of disrepair.

I nodded and let out a screech, hoping to get across the meaning, Yeah, doesn't everyone?

"Okay, I'll take that as a yes," she replied. "But what you probably don't know is that there are people living in the various hulks. Some are capes, some aren't. Homeless people, villains who are new to town and yet to establish themselves, vigilantes looking for a convenient lair, people on the run from the law or from a particularly vindictive villain … of course, when everyone else has already taken up the good positions nearest the shore, there can be some pretty intense shoving matches. But they keep it down so the Protectorate and the PRT don't take much notice."

I tilted my head. Huh.

"But nobody usually gets hurt, so I generally just do a flyby once in a while, let 'em know that we know they're there." We swooped lower; I peered down at the ships, now cloaked in dusk. I thought I saw one or two people moving around, but I couldn't be sure.

"Okay, so how are your wings holding up?" she asked. "If you're tired, we can land for a bit."

I shook my head and gave a negatory screech. To emphasise my point, I flapped harder, gaining a little altitude.

"Okay, you're fine," she conceded, easily matching me. "So where do you want to go now?"

My screech managed to put across the question why are you asking me? fairly effectively; she grinned sheepishly. "I keep forgetting you can't talk," she replied apologetically. "Let's see; the ABB are fun to play with, but Inago and Oni Lee are both raving mad nutcases and Aunt Sarah would make Mom ground me for a week if I even risked meeting them on your first patrol."

She paused, hovering in mid-air while she thought about the situation; experimenting, I found that I could hold steady as well. "The Empire Eighty-Eight are racist douches, but they've got some big hitters. I've heard rumours that Purity's split off from them, but I'd hate to find out that's wrong the hard way."

"I know." She brightened. "Let's go roust the Merchants. They're douches and they don't have any fliers, so you should be pretty safe." So saying, she turned in mid-air and started off.

I followed, flapping my wings harder to keep up. From what I recalled, the Merchants were in the northern area of the city, so we didn't have too far to go, overall.

And then, from below, there was a tremendous BOOM as the side of one of the rusting hulks exploded outward. Startled, I back-winged and looked down; Vicky stopped also.

"What was that?" she exclaimed.

I shrugged as best as I could while flying. My screech was intended to convey how would I know, along with it wasn't me this time. Finally, I thought, there was destruction in the vicinity and it wasn't my fault.

"Well, whatever it was, there's something going on down there," she decided. "Let's go see."

Suiting action to word, she dived. For a moment, I paused, wondering if this was the best plan of action. What the hell. I folded my wings and followed Vicky down.


End of Part Eight

Part Nine

 

[Ack]

Wyvern

Part Nine: Stinger!


"Oh, you have got to be kidding." I put my hand over my eyes. Well, I put my power gauntlet over my helmet visor, but it came to much the same thing. "Seriously? What part of 'press red-red-green to disarm' did you not understand?"

"Sorry, boss," Winston babbled. "I musta heard wrong. I thought you said 'green-green-red'."

"Which is the firing sequence, you technology-illiterate australopithecine." I gestured at the missile test rack, which was notably empty, then at the side of the derelict vessel, which was just as notably decorated with a large flame-rimmed hole. "And now, not only have you managed to waste a missile that was worth significantly more than your annual salary, but you've also sent up a huge red flag to any do-gooders that might happen to be in the area."

"That's, like, not too much of a problem is it, right, boss?" Winston looked at me hopefully. "I mean, Brockton Bay's smaller than San Francisco, right? Less heroes, yeah?"

I sighed, not even bothering to correct 'less' to 'fewer'. "Winston. Please try to keep up. You are indeed correct that we're not in San Francisco any more. Being there would be an improvement. In case you weren't aware, this city has the seventh highest cape-to-normal ratio in the United States. If some hero isn't on their way to investigate right now, I will be extremely -"

"Surprise!"

The voice was bright and cheerful. It promised a very chirpy beating at the hands of the teenage girl who had just swept in through the flaming hole that my idiot minion had thoughtfully opened up for her. She paid no attention to the fire; that, and the details of her costume, clued me in that I was now up against Glory Girl, of New Wave.

New Wave. I ask you. It's bad enough that Brockton Bay has independent capes patrolling the city, but an entire family of them? Whatever is the world coming to?

In any case, I already had my right arm pointing at the hole – not entirely by chance, I assure you – and so it was a simple matter to send a welcoming gift her way. In this particular instance, I judged that a flash-bang with a good solid HE punch to it – sans shrapnel, thank you very much – would be just the ticket. Such a missile was one of four already queued up, once again due to foresight on my part. The carousel in my right-hand missile housing rotated a quarter turn, lining the missile up with the launch rails.

Glory Girl, it was well-known, was an Alexandria package, so I had no qualms about shooting her with such a payload. After all, I may be a ruthless villain who can't see a bank without wanting to rob it, but I'm not a complete monster.

The missile left the carousel and scorched off the rails approximately half a second after the teen hero made her appearance. I had just enough time to appreciate the look of startled shock on her face, transmitted via the tiny camera in the nose-cone. She tried to dodge, of course; unfortunately for her, I have redefined the term 'smart missile' several times since I got my powers. The missile followed her all the way, matching her every move with precision and grace.

As intended, the explosion blew her back out through the hole in the side of the ship. With anything resembling luck, she would be stunned and deafened for the next few moments, enough to buy us a breathing space. I intended to make full use of that time.

"Winston!" I snapped the order, and my minion looked around vaguely, shaking his head in an odd fashion.

"What, boss?"

I suppressed a groan. He had neither covered his ears nor looked away from the explosion, two extremely simple precautions which I had thought that I'd long ago drummed into his admittedly idea-resistant skull. As a result, as well as being hard of thinking, my idiot minion was now suffering from a ringing in his ears and spots in front of his eyes.

Neither of which was bothering me, of course; my visor was designed to darken in the case of bright flashes of light, and the sound pickups had cutouts. As I said, simple precautions. But this had rendered Winston even more useless than he normally was, which I had to admit was quite a feat.

Some may be asking at this point, why exactly do I keep Winston around? To even the most casual of observers, it would be plainly obvious that he is a millstone about my neck, an obstacle to the smooth execution of even the simplest of plans. Virtually any other villain would have given the boy his marching papers by now; indeed, some of the less ethical would have included a nine-millimetre lobotomy in the deal.

There are three main reasons that Winston remains in my employ. The first is simple; a Tinker such as myself quite often requires a second set of hands. This may be to hold components in place while I apply the soldering iron, to fetch another tool when needed, or even to simply stroll to the nearest coffee shop and bring me back my chai latte. Whichever way, such assistance can be absolutely crucial at the right moment in time.

The second reason is a little less obvious, but essential all the same. Once in a while, even such an outstanding mentality as mine needs a sounding board. Devising new schemes for extracting my unfair share of wealth from the financial institutions of California takes up a not inconsiderable amount of my time. In order for such time not to be utterly wasted by an overlooked error in the planning stage, I habitually run my plans past Winston before I set them in motion. If he can pick out a flaw that I cannot compensate for, I ditch the concept before ever setting it in motion. He does not find flaws in every single one, of course, but this practice tends to save me slightly more time, expense and aggravation than I suffer in cleaning up after his blunders. He is, in truth, rather like a not quite housebroken puppy, only less appealing.

As for the third reason … well, I will merely say that his original employment was a favour to my sister to get him out of her basement, and leave it at that. May we close the topic now? Thank you.

"Pack. The. Equipment. Away," I told him, leaning close and increasing the output volume on my speakers. "I shall hold off the scary teenage girl until you are finished."

I was being sarcastic, of course. There were several more missiles queued up that would be perfectly satisfactory when it came to subduing even an Alexandria package. I doubted that she was in the company of the rest of New Wave; even as durable as she was, it was unlikely that the adults would have sent her in first. So, given that she was almost certainly flying solo this night, I foresaw little in the way of difficulty in keeping her occupied while Winston bumbled his way through the packing-up process. Especially given that there weren't any more live missiles on the test rack.

A moment later, I was reminded of the old axiom regarding assumptions making an ass out of all concerned. For through the hole swept not Glory Girl, but something quite outside of my experience.

What in the name of Einstein, Tesla and Rutherford is that thing? But even as my mind threw up the startled query, I was reacting.

The creature was in no way human. It was … I hesitated to use the word 'saurian', but there it was. Lizardlike head with an erect crest, widespread wings, red-gold scales, and a long whip-like tail. Where it had come from, I had no idea, unless it was one of those Case 53s I had been hearing about. Opening its mouth to display an inordinate amount of undoubtedly needle-sharp dentition, as well as a remarkably pink tongue, it unleashed a threatening screech. I am neither a superstitious man, nor one given to baseless fears, but that screech ran straight to my backbrain and gave me chills all the way down my spine.

Shoving Winston down so that he sprawled alongside the workbench, I ignited my flight pack and took to the air. The ship's hold in which I had set up my temporary base was not tremendously spacious, but I was able to fly around to a certain extent. Unfortunately, despite the fact that it needed to use wings, the aerial intruder also seemed able to manoeuvre freely within that space.

As I had intended, my sudden movement drew the creature's attention away from Winston and toward myself. Even as it banked toward me, I designated it with the target pipper and fired off a containment-foam missile. My initial estimation was that one should do the job – the creature wasn't that large, after all – but I followed up with a second one, just in case.

My precaution was proven timely as, just a moment later, the creature spat a small bolt of fire from its open mouth. Considerably surprised, I revised my earlier judgement. It's not a dinosaur. It's a dragon.

The fire bolt was obviously aimed at the first missile; I allowed myself a confident smile, as there was no way that my missiles would permit themselves to be decoyed into just such a mutual-destruction ploy. Fulfilling my faith in my programming skills, the missile being targeted jinked aside so as to skim past the oncoming attack … which promptly exploded into a small but intense burst of flame, destroying it anyway. Oh, that's just rude.

The second missile, having been given more lead time to respond to the dragon's fire breath – not a phrase that I had ever thought I would need to make use of – swung out wider, evading the perimeter of the fiery burst. Given the relative motion of the missile and its scaly target, the draconic interloper was through the area where the first missile had been destroyed before the second one had begun to swing back in.

This was actually a good thing; by the time the missile reacquired its target, it was actually behind the flying creature, in a tail chase. Such a pursuit would be necessarily brief; manoeuvring space was limited, the missile was obviously much faster in straight-line flying than the airborne lizard, and the thing would have had to look back over what passed for its shoulder in order to target the oncoming attack.

Still, I did not allow myself to become complacent; the creature had already surprised me twice, after all. Just a moment later, my caution was rewarded as it increased its speed, arrowing toward me, pinions beating faster than ever.

My armour is almost certainly proof against its claws and possibly resistant to its fire breath, but if it engages, then we both get struck by the missile …

That was a sub-optimal scenario. I popped a cloud of smoke and veered to the left so as to clear its path. My helmet switched to IR tracking, of course; for a flying reptile, the thing was remarkably warm. Behind it, the pursuing missile was a smaller, brighter spark.

The dragon-thing plunged into the cloud of smoke where I might have expected it to fly around; to my astonishment, it swerved toward me. I flung out my arm defensively; there was a wrenching impact then it was gone, out the other side of the smoke. Warning messages began popping up in my HUD, even as I became vaguely aware that the draconic creature had altered its course to put me between it and the missile that was still gaining upon it. Its intent was clear; the missile was supposed to be decoyed into hitting me.

Less than a second later, the missile whipped past me, following its own curving path to line up once more on the interloper. I permitted myself a brief smile – haven't heard of IFF, have you, brute? - but there was precious little to smile about in the messages on my heads-up display. On its way past, the flying reptile had latched on to the missile housing on my right arm and torn it completely off of my armour.

By now, I was revising my initial impression of the dragon-like creature. It was in no way a dumb animal, appearances notwithstanding. By its very actions, it was fully capable of recognising a threat, acting to deny me of a weapon and even attempting to turn said weapon on me. There was a human intelligence at work behind that scaly brow.

Talking of human intelligences, I turned my head to check on Winston. He was just at that moment pulling himself to his feet by way of the workbench, looking around dazedly to see what was going on. I watched as the draconic being swooped low over him, causing him to duck again. The missile, following the creature, also swooped low … and exploded, delivering its payload to Winston. Blobby yellowish foam scored a direct hit on my hapless minion, attaching him firmly to the floor and the workbench. Perhaps, in future, I would equip him with an IFF as well.

With what I had no trouble in interpreting as a screech of triumph, the creature began a long swooping turn, obviously intending to get back to grips with me. And well it might feel triumphant; in its first pass, it had defeated two of my attacks, removed the launcher housing from my right arm, and rendered my minion hors de combat, using my missile to do so. However, I still had a few tricks that it had not yet seen; with a grim smile of my own, I sent the self-destruct signal to the missing launcher housing.

The housing exploded, all the remaining missiles inside adding their propellant fuel to the detonation. Enveloped by the massive burst of flame that resulted, the interloper was flung through the air by the shockwave. It hit the deck plates and rolled over and over. I could not determine the extent of its wounds, but at that moment, I was not feeling particularly charitable.

And then, yet another surprise occurred. As the dragon lay sprawled upon the deck-plates, it began to shift and Change. Within moments, an unconscious teenager lay there, skinny and lanky but undeniably feminine. She wore a costume not unlike a bathing suit in basic black; thinking back, I recalled seeing the black colouration on the draconic being and assuming that it was part of the creature itself. This was obviously not the case.

The fact of her being human, at least part of the time, changed matters considerably; I began to descend toward the floor, to see if she was badly hurt.

"Leave her alone, you bastard!"

Too late, I recalled the other half of the equation; specifically, the Alexandria package known as Glory Girl. She came rocketing in through the hole in the side of the hull; I found myself suddenly overcome by fear and trepidation, quite unlike my usual sang-froid.

With an impact that rang throughout my armour, she slammed into me and drove me across the width of the hold, toward the far bulkhead. I still felt the terror, but I seemed to recall that it was actually part of her powerset, to make her foes fear her. In short, I was being made to experience these emotions.

I am my own man. I will not be made to do anything.

At the last instant, I activated the side-jets on my flight pack, driving us around in a half-circle. She reacted too slowly, obviously driven more by emotion than careful planning. Before she could bring us to a halt, I had slammed her into the bulkhead, driving quite a respectable dent into it. To aid in keeping her off balance, I ejected a series of flares into her face before backing off.

As I had suspected might happen, with her confusion came a slackening in the desire to run away and hide. It was still present, but not in the near-overwhelming levels that I had been feeling before. However, she still posed a not inconsiderable problem for me; someone who was able to make me feel emotions not my own, and also physically match up to me, was in no way my preferred opponent. With that in mind, I levelled my left arm, and the missile housing mounted on it, at her; a containment-foam missile, I judged, should suffice to immobilise her for long enough for me to collect Winston and vacate the premises.

An actinic streak of blue-white plasma cut across my field of vision; my visor managed to block most of it out, but I was still left with a blob of orange in front of my eyes. This was not enough to block me from seeing the new error messages now popping up on my HUD; to my now-increasing annoyance, I saw that I had now lost the other missile housing.

For variety, this one had not been torn off; instead, the plasma burst had cut it in half. In addition to loss-of-function messages from the housing itself, I was also getting excess-temperature readouts from the servos in the left arm of my power suit. That plasma blast had been hot.

Looking around, I saw that the teenage girl was back in her beast-like form; crouching, she had her wings spread and her mouth open, aimed in my direction. Judging from the temperature readings I was getting from her throat, there was little doubt regarding the origins of that actinic plasma stream. Well, she's all right. That's a good thing – I suppose.

I was beginning to regret ever having come to Brockton Bay. Not that I had been intending to commit any crimes here; given that the city held so many villains, I suspected that I would have to make an appointment to rob the local bank. As it was, my presence was more to do with making deals with some of the local criminal element. My overall aim had always been to return to San Francisco once my business in Brockton Bay was done; however, it seemed that said business was going to come to an end much sooner than anticipated.

The time had arrived, I judged, to go from an offensive stance to a defensive one. With undamaged armour and free flying room, I believed that I would be able to match up to Glory Girl on her own. Against her draconic companion, I would have more of a problem, but at the very least, I would be able to outdistance the creature so long as my fuel held out; this was the advantage of flight pack over wings. But against both of them, lacking my primary missile launchers, I was at a severe disadvantage.

With this in mind, I turned away from Glory Girl and cut in full power on my flight pack, heading for the hole in the side of the hull. I did make one slight deviation in my trajectory, to pass over Winston on my way out. As I did so, I sprayed him liberally from a nozzle secreted in the left arm of my powersuit. Within moments, the imprisoning foam would dissolve and release him to complete the evacuation procedures, as he had been drilled.

Why, yes, I do keep a reservoir of containment foam dissolver in my armour. I, like the PRT, make use of containment foam; to have the means to counteract it is merely a sensible precaution.

Knowing that I had done all I could on that front, I aimed for the hole. It really was quite impressive; I was heartened to learn that my calculations regarding the missile had been accurate. Now, all I had to do was reacquire the components to build it, and I'd have something capable of punching through the side of the average bank vault.

Of course, to do that, I would first have to extract both myself and Winston from this predicament. Step one was to take the fight outside and away from him. Step two would be to either win the fight or evade both of my erstwhile opponents; I was not overly optimistic about the former, but reversals had been known to happen. However, the latter was always a good Plan B.

Step three, of course, was to rendezvous with Winston at our prearranged location, so that I could forever shake the dust of Brockton Bay from my boots. Most of the heroes I was prepared for, but going up against a teenage girl masquerading as a fire-breathing dragon was not in my life plan. Especially since said dragon had already done a remarkably good job of disarming me of both primary missile launchers.

This was not to say that I was entirely unarmed; even as I flew out through the hole into the night air, my secondary missile pods motored from their stowed positions on my back up on to my shoulders. Each held three missiles, which could be ripple-fired or independently launched.

The upside of this confrontation was that both of my opponents seemed to be rather durable; I would not have to worry so much about pulling my punches, either figuratively or literally. The downside was that I had two opponents and six missiles to go between them. After the admittedly brief confrontation, I did not trust the capability of my missiles to perform a one-shot disable on either Glory Girl or the dragon. Moreover, with the dragon's flame-breath capability factored in, I was less than confident that I could even hit the creature, much less disable her.

A lesser man would have chosen surrender at this moment, while a more stupid man would have chanced an all-or-nothing attack on them as they emerged from the hole. I did neither, having acquired a certain amount of respect for the both of them. Instead, I went for distance, not wanting to delay their exit. Winston would be free of the foam soon, after all, and the last thing I wanted was for them to realise this.

Once more, I was proven correct. A tiny fireball emerged from the hole, travelling a little way before exploding with quite surprising force. Had I been waiting nearby to ambush them, I would have been caught in the explosion and accompanying fireball, quite likely to my subsequent detriment. It appeared now that the dragon girl was not limited to small explosive bursts, making her all the more formidable an opponent.

As the fireball dissipated, the dragon emerged from it, not unlike a phoenix arising from the ashes. She let out a loud screech; in response, Glory Girl flew from the hole and rose to join her. From my vantage point, I targeted each with a flash-bang/HE missile, but did not fire as yet. I wanted to draw this out as long as possible.

A screech from the dragon-like creature – I refuse to believe that actual dragons exist – alerted me to the fact that she was aware of my whereabouts. This was quite impressive, considering that I was at that moment crouching in the shadows behind a large winch on the deck of another ship altogether. I was right. She does have some kind of sensory enhancement. Her attack on my missile housing in the smoke had not been a lucky fluke, after all.

She began to fly directly toward where I was concealed; Glory Girl quickly caught up, then flew ahead. I triggered both of my previously targeted missiles, then launched myself away with my flight pack.

The missiles swiftly closed with their designated targets, but the dragon girl was swifter still. She banked aside so that Glory Girl was not in her line of sight, then unleashed another one of her fire-bolts. I had planned for this; both missiles detected the oncoming bolt and performed evasive manoeuvres. Glory Girl did not slow down; the fire bolt sped ahead of her and detonated, missing both missiles and dissipating just as she got there. But her missile was now streaking in from the side, and the other was still on course for the dragon girl. Who are you going to save now, yourself or your friend?

For the longest moment, I thought that the answer would be 'neither', as the dragon girl merely banked sideways. Right up until the moment when she vaporised both missiles with a single actinic tongue of blue-white flame. Well then, that answers that question.

One-third of my remaining armament having been disposed of with almost contemptuous ease, I decided to go with the adage of discretion being the better part of valour. Activating my terrain-avoidance software, I got down to deck level and aimed myself at the nearest large freighter.

All three of us could fly, which negated that as an advantage. However, in order to capture me, they would have to catch up with me. If I made that too risky, then the chances were that they would break off the chase sooner or later. In the case of the dragon girl, I hoped for 'sooner', given that there was the distinct chance that she was still annoyed with me over the exploding missile housing.

Glory Girl was close behind me when I reached the ship, with her draconic partner some little distance behind. We raced over the deck, between masts and containers and what-have-you, my terrain-avoidance software kicking in my guidance jets at just the right times. The teenager was less agile, but she was able to keep up through sheer recklessness and bull-headedness. Until, that is, I used one of my remaining missiles to target a winch. As I rocketed past, the end of the cable spool blew off, spilling coils of metal cable into a great tangle. I heard her curse as she flew headlong into the metal snarl, and I smiled to myself.

As it happened, I was celebrating too soon. One of those all-too-familiar firebolts exploded on the deck ahead of me, forcing me to swerve hastily. With a loud screech, the dragon girl dropped in behind me, uncomfortably close. I tried to accelerate, but that overtaxed my terrain-avoidance systems; clipping a corner, I nearly flung myself into a wall, but managed to recover and correct in time. Despite the close quarters, the dragon girl didn't seem to be overly hampered; at least, the flapping of her wings behind me did not falter.

I targeted my next missile at the base of a radio antenna; this should, I calculated, fall into the laneway behind me, blocking all passage, whether by humanity or annoyingly-persistent teenage dragons. At the triggering signal, the missile launched away, dead on target. The muted explosion showed that it was dead on target; the antenna began to fall.

A firebolt shot past me, toward the a point above the toppling antenna. Her aim's off if she wanted to delay that thing from falling …

Too late, I realised that her aim was precisely on target. The explosion propelled the antenna downward, blocking off the through-way to me as well as the dragon girl. There was just one place to go; upward. So I went upward. Right to where Glory Girl was waiting for me.

"Hi," she greeted me brightly. "Give up?"

At this point in time, a stupid man would have kept fighting. I had been outwitted and outmanoeuvred; with a sigh, I raised my hands.

I would be transported back to California, to face trial for my crimes there. On the way, there would undoubtedly be opportunities for escape. Winston, I was reasonably sure, would meet me at one of my safe houses, once I had freed myself.

But there was one thing of which I was certain.

You couldn't pay me to come back to Brockton Bay.

<><>​

Taylor

"Well, that was fun," Vicky declared brightly as the PRT officers loaded Stinger into the back of the transport van. "What did you think, Wyvern?"

I let out a non-committal chirp, looking down at my now-tattered costume. While it wouldn't quite be indecent when I changed back, there was somewhat less of it than when I had started the night.

"Oh, come on," she chuckled, slapping me on the shoulder. "Costume damage happens. I lose my skirt all the time."

Yeah, but you wear bike pants underneath. My squawk wasn't quite as nuanced as that, but it got the message across.

"I guess you have a point," she agreed. "My force field protects my clothing pretty well. On the other hand, you're just tough. When that thing exploded, I thought you were really badly hurt."

The concern in her voice touched me; I put a wing around her shoulders. I had been knocked out for a moment, and had woken up in human form. When I saw Vicky in peril, my Change had been swift and immediate; I hadn't even had to think about it.

"So anyway," she went on, "that was awesome, what you were doing with your flame-breath. Did you figure all that out before you did it, or was it spur of the moment?"

I shrugged and let out another chirp. A bit of column A, a bit of column B.

She was getting pretty good at guessing what I meant. "Yeah, I suppose so. But anyway, one more question before we head home."

I tilted my head interrogatively, looking down at her slightly.

"Didn't you used to be shorter?"


End of Part Nine

Part Ten

 

[Ack]

Wyvern


Part Ten: Changing Fortunes


I stared at her, letting out a startled squawk. My wing was draped around her shoulders, which normally I wouldn't have been able to reach in my draconic form without stretching to my tip-toes. How did I not notice this before?

"Hey, calm down," she said hastily. "There's probably a perfectly normal explanation for this."

This time, I gave her a very dry look; despite the difference between my human face and my Wyvern face, she picked up on it without any difficulty at all.

"Okay, fine," she admitted. "There's not much about this situation that's normal."

Thank you. With another screech, which may or may not have conveyed that thought, I stretched my wings out and leaped into the air. Vicky followed, keeping up with ease.

"Where are you going?" she called out.

I couldn't really shrug while flying, so I let out a non-committal squawk. Somewhere I can figure this out.

"Sorry," she said, "I must've left my Wyvern-Human dictionary in my other costume. Can you be a bit clearer?"

I couldn't talk, and I didn't feel like acting out charades to get my message across, so I turned my attention to flying. To my gratitude, Vicky didn't push it. She merely flew alongside me as I flapped steadily across Brockton Bay.

It was going to take a little while to reach my chosen destination, but I didn't mind. I had a lot to think about, including what I was going to say once I returned to human form. If I even could. Oh god, what if this size change stops me from ever turning back?

The city stretched out below us, skeins of street lights making the place almost beautiful. I wished that I was down there, mundanely human, instead of up here, trying to run away from my problems. Given that my problems were part and parcel with my powers, the odds of me pulling this off were between zero and none, but I was still willing to give it a shot.

The sound of electronic tapping interrupted my thoughts; I looked over to see that Vicky was texting on her phone while flying on her back, not even looking where she was going. I screeched at her.

"What?" She looked up from her phone. "What's the matter?"

I nodded toward her phone, then pointedly turned my head to look forwards.

It took her a couple of seconds to catch on, then she laughed and rolled over in the air so that she was at least facing the same way as me. "Oh, that? I knew you wouldn't let me fly into anything."

She was right, but I still thought she was being very irresponsible. My squawk might have conveyed that, but I wasn't sure.

To my relief, she didn't do anything like that again, although she did keep texting. Finally, she put the phone away and gave me a beaming smile. "I was just letting Mom and Ames know we were going for a flight. I haven't told them about the size change yet."

I chirped in relief; it was something that I would rather have told them myself. First, though, I wanted to try to deal with it on my own. With Vicky there to help, of course; I was reasonably sure that I wouldn't be able to make her go away. Even if I wanted to.

Finally, our destination loomed ahead. It was further than I had ever flown before, but while my shoulder muscles were burning slightly, I felt that I could have kept going if necessary.

There was nobody in the carpark for the Captain's Hill observation area, for which I was profoundly grateful. The last thing I wanted or needed was for someone to post photos of me on to PHO or something before I had my size issues resolved. Flapping my wings, I came in for a landing on the observation area, putting down my 'elbows' to prop myself up as Glory Girl touched down beside me.

"Okay, let's see if that was a temporary thing," she said brightly. I straightened up as much as I was able in that form. To my dismay, she was still half a head shorter than me. I let out a sound of dismay.

"Hey, hey, it'll be all right," she assured me. "We'll get through this. We're friends, right? We'll work it out together."

Friends.

I had to stop and think about it. We were definitely more than just fellow capes or even teammates. Vicky had, in her own inimitable fashion, gone above and beyond for me. From the moment that she'd found out that I was more than just a scary monster, she'd done her best to help me solve my problems. Sure, she'd had a lot of laughs over my mishaps, but she'd never been cruel or vindictive.

It was hard for me to take in. I hadn't had an actual friend for … more than a year. And to gain one through a malicious act engineered by my last best friend … it was hard for me to get my head around that. It had been so long since anyone who wasn't my dad had even cared.

"Hey, you're shaking. Are you all right? You're not cold, are you?"

I raised my head and looked into Vicky's concerned eyes. If I could cry in that form, I would have, but instead I was shaking, with my wings wrapped around me. I shook my head. No, I'm not cold.

"Then what's the matter, Taylor?"

I couldn't answer her with words, so I just shook my head again. Even if I'd been human, I probably wouldn't have been able to give her a coherent reply. I don't know what to say. I don't know what to do. I don't know how to deal with this.

A pair of arms, far stronger than they should have been, wrapped around me, wings and all. I let out a startled chirp, but she didn't stop hugging me. "Hey," she soothed me. "Hey, hey. It's all right. You're going to be all right. 'Cause Glory Girl is here, and that's what I do."

I managed a series of chirps approximating laughter, but the truth was that I was feeling better. The hug was just what I needed to get my head in order and stop the thoughts spinning around at a thousand miles an hour. I began to relax, little by little.

That was when she turned her aura up. From enjoying what could have been a totally awkward hug but wasn't, I went straight into everything is awesome! land. Vicky was my friend, and that was more than okay, it was terrific. All of my worries and angst about my size change melted away, because Vicky was there and she was amazing and everything was gonna be just okay, and …

I was crying. I realised that, after a moment. I was holding on to Vicky with my arms, and I was crying into Vicky's shoulder, and she was patting me on the back and saying something soothing in my ear.

The aura toned back down to its normal almost-not-there background buzz, and I pulled away from Vicky slightly. "Wait, did you just make me turn back with your aura?"

She nodded, grinning broadly. "I figured, if we can turn you into the wyvern with my aura, we should be able to make you turn back with it too. And it worked. High-five!" She held up her hand.

I smiled through the tears still on my cheeks and gave her the high-five. After all, she had kind of earned it. "It definitely did," I agreed. "And wow, your aura's really powerful this close. How the hell do you not have legions of adoring fans sending you love letters by the metric ton?"

She gave me a conspiratorial grin. "Maybe I do. You never know. But I think your wyvern form's more susceptible to it or something. You definitely seem to react more strongly when you're in that shape, anyway."

Swiping tears from my eyes, I nodded. "Well, thanks. And sorry for crying on you."

"Pfft," she said, waving away my apology. "You were kinda worried and stressed out. And hey! You're back to normal size again!"

I blinked, then opened the pouch holding my glasses. Unfortunately, the fight had not been kind to them; I guessed that it was the close-up explosion that had left the lenses in pieces. All I knew for certain was that when I pulled the glasses out, they didn't have much glass left in them.

"Geez, wow," Vicky observed when she saw this. "Sorry about that. That's gotta suck."

"Yeah, well, it's not like I'm gonna need them to fly back with, right?" I said, trying to put a brave face on matters. "Anyway, I can tell that I'm back to normal without them. You're still shorter than me, but not any shorter than usual."

She made a rude noise. "Just because you're built like a giraffe on steroids ..."

I snorted. "Giraffe on steroids? Really?"

"Hey, gimme a break. Normally I get more time to think up my zingers."

Shaking my head fondly, I draped my arm over her shoulders. "Well, I appreciate you sticking by me. And I really appreciate you as a friend. I haven't got many others. Well, apart from Amy, I haven't really got any other friends."

"Yeah, well, I'd like to punch Winslow in its stupid face for pulling all that crap on you," she muttered.

"Who?" I asked, interested. "Blackwell, Emma, or Sophia?"

"Yes," she retorted.

I couldn't help it; I had to laugh out loud. "Not that I wouldn't love to see any or all of them get punched in the face repeatedly, but I'm pretty sure that doing anything like that would screw up the case that your mom's preparing."

She sighed. "Yeah, you're right."

I ruffled her hair playfully. "Cheer up. I'm sure we can find someone else for you to punch in the face if we really try."

"Yeah, I like the sound of that," she said. "You up for any more night-time shenanigans, or should we head home?"

"Well, home, I guess," I said. "Dad can pick me up from your place. But first, we've got that other thing to do."

"Other thing?" she asked.

"Find out if the size change was permanent or temporary," I reminded her. "And what happens if I keep sizing up each time I get into a fight? Pretty soon, even Parian's costumes won't fit me in both forms."

"Ugh." She grimaced. "You make a good point. Unwelcome, but good."

I sighed. "Okay, I think I've stalled enough. Time to kick this over."

"Need me to force it for you?" she asked; I could feel her aura starting to ramp up.

"No," I said, shaking my head hastily. "I need to learn to do this as fast as possible, and I won't always have you around."

"Okay, good point," she agreed. The aura eased back down again.

I turned away from her, suddenly aware that the rough gravel was hurting my feet. Come on, I told myself. I can do this. I've done it before. It was true, and I knew it. I just didn't want to do it.

Come on, I told myself. I've got to stress myself to make the change. Stop wimping out.

The prospect wasn't fun, but eventually I managed to force myself to bite the bullet and concentrate on the memories and feelings that I needed to experience. Closing my eyes, I clenched my fists until the nails bit into my palms.

It was ironic, some corner of my mind reflected bitterly even as I tried to focus on the Change. Super-powers were supposed to make your life easier. Popular culture said so. But I had gotten mine through an act of supreme cruelty, and to even access them, I had to force myself to recall and relive the worst experiences of my life. So much for making things better. I wondered if that had ever been true for any cape. Or if I would ever be truly free of the torments that had put me where I was.

Opening my eyes, I turned toward Vicky to ask her where she stood on the matter, but all that came out of my mouth was a curious chirp. Once more, I had managed to Change without even noticing that I had done so.

"Woo!" Vicky gave me a thumbs-up. "Normal size. Nicely done."

I hadn't actually done anything, but I preened just a little anyway. I had to admit, I was somewhat relieved; the prospect of my wyvern form growing ever larger with no end in sight was somewhat daunting, to say the least. But now I was looking up at Vicky, due to the unavoidable stooped posture of the wyvern form. It was amazing what I was beginning to find comfortably familiar.

I raised my wrist-joint to her in a kind of high-five; she grinned and slapped it. My return grin was extremely toothy, accompanied by a chirp of triumph. Now that I was back to normal size, I found that I wasn't worried so much about enlarging during fights. All I have to do is Change back to human, then to wyvern when I'm not in danger. No biggie.

"So, race you back home?" Vicky's eyes were alight with mischief.

I gave her a rude noise in return. Like I could ever beat you.

"Okay, okay," she conceded. "We'll fly back together. But if we spot any bad guys, I've got dibs, all right?"

I rolled my eyes. So greedy.

"Well?" she pressed.

Snorting with amusement, I nodded, then chirped in agreement. Fine. But if any get away, they're mine.

"Cool! Let's go!"

She lofted into the air and arrowed down into the darkness overlaying Brockton Bay. She was quickly out of sight, or would have been if I'd been dependent on ordinary light. However, as I had already discovered, I could see some distance into the infra-red, which revealed her to me as if she was lit up like a halogen lamp.

Flapping my wings hard, I took to the air myself and let myself fall into a swooping glide down the face of Captain's Hill. I couldn't match Vicky's pace, but I could certainly follow her; the night wind felt soothing as it keened over my wings. Glancing over her shoulder, Vicky slowed down, letting me catch up with her.

As I slid up alongside her, I let out a disapproving squawk. Not fair! You said we wouldn't race!

"Sorry," she called back. "I kinda got carried away for a moment." Her teeth shone white in the moonlight. "I'm not about to leave my partner behind, after all."

Partners. The warm feeling lasted me all the way back to the Dallon household.

<><>​

"Are you all right?"

That was Dad's greeting for me when he came in the front door. Not 'how are you?' or 'good to see you' but 'are you all right?'.

I was a little torn between irritation – I can take care of myself! - and happiness that he actually cared. Of the two, I wanted to go with happiness, so I did. Plastering a smile across my face, I hugged him.

"Of course I'm all right, Dad. I've got Glory Girl backing me up, and Panacea making sure that I'm always in tip-top condition."

<><>​

I wasn't actually exaggerating much there; Amy had more or less ambushed me, even before I'd managed to change back to human form, to make sure that I was healthy. It turned out that I was indeed in top form, so much so that she managed to look slightly disappointed.

"I saw the aftermath of the battle on TV," she complained after I was changed, dressed and we were sitting on the sofa. "There was lots of damage. How can you have gone through all of that without a scratch? Especially with your costume in that shape?"

I blushed a little. The costume hadn't been that badly damaged, and it had covered what it needed to cover, but I had still arrived at the house showing more skin than I was used to. "Um, Vicky and I have a theory that I regenerate. Especially between Changes."

"And that's another thing!" she blurted. "You altered your Changer shape, and I never got to see what it looked like! Do you know how often I get to deal with someone who's got a non-human form? Especially multiple non-human forms? Come on, seriously. I need a challenge, here!" She paused to take in what I said. "Wait, you regenerate? Oh, come on now. That's just not fair!"

"Well, I don't want to have to keep running back to you to get healing," I pointed out. "That's not fair on you, you know."

"Yeah, but I'm almost certain you're pulling mass out of nowhere to make your Change," she said. "Maybe if I could look at you when you're larger, I could figure it out one way or the other."

Vicky, grinning broadly, spoke up then. "So what you're saying is that you're less worried about Taylor's well-being and more about how her power reacts weirdly with her biology?"

"No!" Amy protested. We looked at her sceptically, and she flushed. "Well, maybe a little?"

I rolled my eyes theatrically. "I knew it! You're only interested in my body."

Vicky burst out laughing. Amy went beet red from hairline to neck, and threw a cushion at me. I retaliated, and then it was on.

<><>​

"I dunno," Dad observed slyly. "I walked in the door to see Panacea beating you about the head with a cushion. I'm not sure how this sort of thing works in the cape world, but is that really how your healers treat their patients?"

"Only the ones who regenerate, Mr H," Vicky interjected shamelessly. "Turns out that your daughter's either a lot tougher than we thought, or she heals really fast. Or maybe both."

"Plus, it's a good way to get me used to ordinary stress," I said. "If being smacked in the face with a pillow doesn't make me change involuntarily, then tripping in the corridor won't do it either, you see?"

"Uh huh. And of course, we're not taking into account the fact that pillow fights are just plain fun, right?" Dad's voice was very dry. "I might be old, but I'm not that old." His voice turned serious. "You regenerate? Is that dangerous? Are there side effects? How do you even know that you regenerate?"

I shrugged, flopping back down on to the couch. "Well, you know that we talked about it before. This time around I got caught in an explosion again, which knocked me out. Vicky says that I changed back for a moment, then I woke up, changed again, and got back into the fight. I personally don't remember much of the fight. It was all a blur."

Dad looked startled. "Whoa, hold it right there. Time out." He even made the 'T' sign with his hands, a thing he hadn't done in years. This should have clued me in to how agitated he was. "Explosions? What the … No!" He shook his head almost angrily. "This was not what I agreed to." Turning his gaze to me, he more or less pinned me to the couch with his glare. "Explosions?!"

I could tell that he was on the edge of an explosion of his own, and I tried to defuse it. "It's all right, Dad. I wasn't hurt, really. It was like the last time, when I blew up the locker."

"You. Got. Knocked. Out. This. Time." He gritted the words through clenched teeth.

"But I got back up again," I pointed out. "Straight away, even. Look, not a scratch!" I slid the sleeve of my t-shirt up my arm and showed him the unmarked skin. "Nothing at all. I'm all right, Dad!"

"I don't care!" he screamed. "You still got hurt!"

"I'm a superhero now!" I yelled back at him. "I'm not a little kid any more!"

"You're my little kid!" He took a sharp breath, then continued before I could interrupt. "And until you turn eighteen, you do not get to risk yourself like that!"

"Hey, hey," interjected Mrs Dallon from the doorway to her office. "What's going on here?"

Dad swung toward her. "Explosions that knocked her out!" Even though he wasn't looking at me, his finger swung unerringly to point in my direction, stabbing at me with every word. "Is that your idea of a safe introduction to being a superhero?"

"No. It isn't." Mrs Dallon's expression was never the warmest, but now her voice hit sub-zero temperatures. "Victoria, you didn't tell me about any of this. It was supposed to be a shakedown flight, not a patrol for crime. You knew you weren't supposed to do anything dangerous on Taylor's first flight as a member of New Wave."

"First and last," muttered Dad. "If I don't get an ironclad guarantee that this is never going to happen again."

"Dad -" I ventured.

"No!" His voice could have carved plate steel. "I lost your mother. I'm not losing you!"

"Mom. Seriously." Glory Girl spread her hands, the very picture of innocence. "The guy blew out the side of a ship while we were flying over it. What were we supposed to do?"

Dad swung toward her, his expression furious, but Mrs Dallon got there first. "Victoria. Go to your room. Now."

"But -"

"Now."

Vicky began to float up from the sofa; Brandish cut in sharply. "And no flying, or you're grounded for a month. Literally."

Not daring to say a word, I watched as Glory Girl dropped to the ground and trudged toward the stairs. She was halfway up them when her mother turned to me. Mrs Dallon's voice was still stern, but held less of an edge as she spoke to me. "Taylor, please join her. This is between your father and myself." As I stood up, I saw her glance at Amy, then toward the stairs. Looking resigned, Amy stood up as well.

<><>​

I joined Vicky in her room; as I closed the door, she flopped on to the bed with a gusty sigh. "So, what do you want to do tomorrow night?"

I stared at her, not quite sure if she was pulling my leg. "You have got to be joking."

"No, seriously," she said, lifting herself on to her elbows and looking at me. "It'll all blow over by then. So what do you want to do? Hit the Merchants for real?"

Leaning against the wardrobe, I slid downward until I was resting on the floor. "This is not going to blow over any time soon. I can't remember the last time I saw Dad this pissed. Like, ever. I'll be lucky if I'm allowed out as a superhero before my wedding day."

She frowned at me. "I didn't know you had a boyfriend?"

I glared right back. "I don't."

"Oh." She took a moment; I hoped that she was beginning to realise the level of trouble we were in. "Um. So, um, how bad do you think it's gonna get? Grounded for a week?"

I facepalmed. She still didn't get it. "Pretty sure that I'm out of New Wave. For starters."

"Wait, what?" She sat up in horror. "But – but, that's not even fair! You weren't even hurt!"

"Do you think that's gonna matter to him?" I shook my head. "You heard him down there. My mom died a few years ago. Even the suggestion that I might get hurt's going to set him off. Telling him I got knocked out was a mistake. A huge mistake."

There was a soft tap at the door. Vicky raised her head. "Come in, Ames."

The door opened briefly as Amy slipped inside. "Oh, good," she said. "You're dressed."

As a joke, it fell kind of flat. From downstairs, I heard my father's voice.

" - no way in hell I'm gonna let -"

It closed again, cutting off his tirade. I looked between Vicky and Amy. "So, how good a lawyer is your mom? Because it's gonna take a really good one to get around Dad when he's in a mood like this."

"What are you talking about?" asked Amy cautiously. "Your dad's gonna calm down some time soon, right?"

"Nuh uh." I shook my head. "He's got a temper. Doesn't show it off much, but when he goes off, he goes off big. First time I've been on the wrong end of it, though."

"Mom's a pretty good lawyer," Vicky said complacently. "She should be able to work around your dad pretty easily."

Amy pulled the chair out from the desk and turned it around, sitting down and resting her arms across the back. "Taylor, isn't your dad in the Dockworkers Association or something?"

I nodded. "Yeah. He's head of hiring." I looked over at Vicky. "And before you ask, he's done his share of negotiations."

"But nothing in the courtroom, right?" Vicky's voice was hopeful.

I snorted bitterly. "He doesn't do courtroom rules. Why is it, do you think, that none of the gangs in Brockton Bay have ever gotten a toehold in the Association?"

Vicky opened her mouth and closed it again. No-one spoke. The silence in the room was so complete that I could hear the ticking of the clock on the wall over the distant sound of raised voices from downstairs.

" … none of them?" Vicky had found her voice at last. "Really?"

"Really." I looked her in the eye. "So I'm not so sure that your mom's gonna win this one, you know?"

"If he makes you quit New Wave, what do you think you'll do?" asked Amy.

I shrugged. "Dunno. Go back to Winslow, I guess. I can't see your mom pushing through my case if I'm not in New Wave any more." The admission pained me even more than the idea of being forced out of the team that I'd just joined, but I couldn't see any way out of it.

"She wouldn't do that … would she?" Vicky stared at me. "I mean, you need Mom's help on this."

"And if it was a superhero thing, she'd probably jump in to help me," I said. "But this is a lawyer thing. Something she usually gets paid for. And I'm pretty sure that Dad can't pay for her time on this sort of thing. I know for a fact that I can't. So, case closed. They win. Hell, Emma won't even know that there was a court case to begin with. Fuck." Closing my eyes, I bumped my head backward against the wardrobe.

"Mom said it was for damages," Vicky reminded me. "You and your dad don't have to pay up straight away. She'll just take her cut from what you guys get out of the girls and the school."

I grimaced. "Not if Dad pisses her off so much that she decides not to take the case after all."

"You could still try to apply for Arcadia anyway." There wasn't much optimism in Amy's voice, but I gave her a weak smile for trying.

"Yeah, I could." I sighed. "I mean, Winslow'll be closed for a few days. It might be worth a shot." My grimace deepened as a thought occurred to me. "Of course, Emma and Sophia and Madison could also apply to Arcadia. Which means nothing changes."

"Hell yes, something changes," Vicky said. "I'll be there. So will Ames. And a lot of my friends. I'd like to see this Emma bitch trying anything on you with them on your side."

"Until she gets them on side and turns them against me." My prediction was gloomy, but I had bitter experience to back me up.

Vicky shook her head. "Not gonna happen." Her voice was filled with confidence. "My friends are better than that. Tell her, Ames."

Amy didn't hesitate. "She's right about that. Her friends are about as likely to turn on you as Kaiser is to give up crime and open a kosher hot-dog stand in partnership with Inago."

"Wow. That's pretty unlikely, all right," I admitted.

Vicky tilted her head. "Your dad's not yelling any more."

I turned my head, listening. "You're right. Though I'm not so sure that it's a good thing."

"I think -" Amy paused, then kept going. "I think someone's coming upstairs."

I had the impression that she'd been about to say something else, but she was right anyway. Moments after she spoke, there were footsteps in the corridor outside, then a brisk knock on the door. Amy got up and opened it.

Mrs Dallon stood in the doorway. I tried to work out how the argument had gone from her expression, but she gave absolutely nothing away. "Taylor, Victoria, please come downstairs now."

It's not gonna be good news, is it? Slowly … reluctantly … I climbed to my feet. Vicky made a move as if to levitate directly off the bed, then caught her mother's gaze. Carefully, she planted her feet firmly on the floor and got up that way.

I was the first downstairs, followed by Vicky. Mrs Dallon followed us, with Amy trailing in the rear. Dad stood in the living room, his hands behind his back as he faced us. From what I knew of him, given the tension of that posture, his hands would be clenching each other tightly enough to cut off the circulation.

"Sit." Mrs Dallon pointed at the couch. Vicky and I sat. Wonder of wonders, Vicky didn't even try to argue. "Now, Vicky. Tell me what you did wrong."

This wasn't what I was expecting. From Vicky's expression, nor was she. She opened her mouth, then shut it again. Even though I'd known her for less than a day, I could imagine the phrase but we didn't do anything wrong trembling to be let out. However, I knew beyond a doubt that this would be the worst possible thing to say. I hoped that she did too.

Vicky's expression was agonised. She wasn't stupid – far from it – but it seemed to me that she wasn't used to being called to account on her actions. Trying to figure out what she had done wrong, instead of blithely assuming that she was free and clear on all accounts, was obviously new territory for her.

"I guess …" Vicky paused, feeling her way. "Attacking Stinger like we did … we should have called for backup?"

Mrs Dallon folded her arms. "Correct. You should have called for backup. Or called nine-one-one. Or waited and observed. More or less anything except dive right in. Which is what I'm guessing you did do."

I had to admit that she knew her daughter pretty well. But I had dived in after Vicky, so I felt obliged to back her up. "Uh, may I say something?"

"A moment, Taylor." Mrs Dallon didn't shift her gaze from Vicky. "Are you aware of how badly things could have gone in that fight? You could have been hurt or killed. Taylor could have been hurt or killed. You're just lucky – both of you are – that you encountered a villain who was relatively easy to beat, and that Taylor's power allowed her to survive the explosion."

Vicky mumbled something under her breath.

"Speak up," snapped Brandish.

"Taylor's immune to explosions," Vicky muttered. "She blew up her locker with her in it. She survived that."

There was a crackle and a snap as Brandish created a thin blade of pure energy from her own hand. Dad and I stared at it; it was a stark reminder that Vicky's mom really was a superhero in her own right, and was speaking from experience. With a quick, brutal movement, she stabbed the blade into her other palm; it fizzled out on contact. "Taylor may be immune to her own power, but you had no way of knowing that she was immune to explosions in general. In fact, we still don't know if she is, or if it's just her regeneration that allowed her to survive this one. Do you see my point now?"

Vicky's eyes were wide. "Uh, yeah," she managed, then swallowed. "I screwed up, didn't I?"

"Uh, Mrs Dallon?" I raised my hand this time.

Mrs Dallon ignored my interjection, keeping her eyes on Vicky. "Yes. You did." Only then did she turn to look at me. "Yes, Taylor?"

My mouth had unaccountably gone dry. I tried to moisten my lips. "Uh, I just wanted to say that the guy – Stinger – was pretty slick. If we'd waited around, he would've been ready for whoever came after him. I could be wrong, but I think hitting him as early as we did made it a lot harder for him to prepare a response."

"That may well be." Mrs Dallon was well into Brandish mode by now. "But there's a time and a place to engage the enemy. Victoria should not have done what she did. Taking an inexperienced teammate into battle against an unknown foe, as she did, was foolish in the extreme. It would have been better if she'd gone in alone and left you outside. Not much better, but some. Because I'd prefer he gets away than either one of you gets hurt or killed."

I saw her point. We had been reckless, and it could've gone badly wrong. "Oh. Oh, yeah. I see what you mean."

Her expression was more like a smile than a frown, but only just. "Good." She turned and gestured to Dad, who hadn't moved from the spot. "Danny, you had something to say?"

I began to wonder what was going on here. This didn't sound like the preamble to me being removed from New Wave.

Dad stepped forward. To my relief, he didn't look quite as angry as he had been before. But that wasn't to say that he looked happy. He cleared his throat roughly. "Mrs Dallon and I have had an in-depth discussion over your future in this team, Taylor."

My future in the team? Hope burst inside me. "Does that mean -" I began.

He held up his hand, palm out, and I shut up.

"Now, I am not in the least bit thrilled that you'll be going into danger." His hand went back to his side, and I saw his knuckles clench. "But Mrs Dallon has impressed upon me the fact that unless they're given an outlet, your powers will manifest and you will use them, and not necessarily on purpose."

I hadn't known that. Daring to glance sideways, I caught Vicky's eye. Is this true? She gave me the slightest of nods. But Dad was still talking. I got the strong impression that he didn't want to say what he was saying, but that he knew that he had to.

"We talked about putting you in the Wards, but she pointed out in the strongest possible terms that forcing you into a team, where you would very likely resent both them and me, would be worse than simply having you on your own." He paused. "Unless you want to join the Wards?" His tone was hopeful.

As opposed to joining New Wave? I shook my head swiftly. "No. They'll want to poke and prod me. They might not even let me be a hero."

From the look on his face, he wasn't averse to me being kept out of the line of fire. "We didn't think so." But it was worth a try. He didn't say the words, but I heard them loud and clear anyway. "So, the only other option is to let you stay in New Wave." He didn't sound happy, but nor did he seem angry about it any more. His tone was more resigned than anything. "But there's going to have to be some conditions."

I had been just about to leap up and hug him, and then maybe Vicky – Mrs Dallon did not come across as the most huggable of people – until he said those last words. They were more than a little ominous. "Uh, conditions?" I ventured.

Mrs Dallon stepped forward. "Your father has expressed his reservations about Victoria's level of judgement in the field." For all that I knew nothing about the law, I was pretty sure that I could decipher her lawyer-speak. He thinks she's a reckless idiot. Vicky shifted uncomfortably on the couch beside me; I figured that she'd heard the same unspoken judgement as I had.

"However," Brandish continued, "you do work well together, so we've decided to let that state of affairs continue. With, as your father said, conditions." She fixed me with an unrelenting stare. "You're home by ten every school night. You pay attention to your grades. And when you do go out, someone else goes with the pair of you. Someone responsible."

"Oh, that's easy," Vicky said, perhaps a little too hastily. "Ames can come along."

"I hardly think that Amy could keep you in check if you decided to go your own way," her mother corrected her. Vicky slumped very slightly; I suspected that she'd had that same thought herself.

"No." Mrs Dallon's voice was firm. "We had in mind someone more adult. A flyer would be ideal, given that both of you are also flyers."

"So, Crystal or Aunt Sarah then." Vicky looked back at her mother. "Have you asked them if they want to chaperone us?"

"If they're unwilling, then the choices are either Manpower, your father, myself or not going out at all." Brandish wasn't giving an inch. "Those are your options. They are not negotiable."

"Uh, I'm good with someone coming out with us," I said quickly. "I am really new to this, so I'll take all the pointers I can get."

"Uh, yeah, what she said." Vicky didn't sound enthusiastic, but at least she was agreeing.

"Very well, then." Mrs Dallon nodded in curt approval. "We'll give you your chance."

Unspoken were the words: Don't screw it up.

I didn't intend to.


End of Part Ten

Part Eleven

 

[Ack]

Wyvern

Part Eleven: Show and Tell



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



Dallon Household
The Next Morning

"Taylor, what's the matter?" Vicky's voice was full of concern. She hovered over me, almost literally, while I paced back and forth. I was wearing the bathrobe she had given me; if it was any fluffier, I might just have drifted away on the breeze.

"I don't know," I said. "Everything. Maybe. Fuck!" My thoughts whirled in my head. "I'm going to to your school today. To Arcadia. As the wyvern." As my agitation grew, I found myself speaking in shorter, choppier sentences. Ugh. Me caveman. Me no English good.

"Yes," she said, putting her hand on my shoulder. "What's the problem with that? It's not like you'll have to stand up and make a speech." That wasn't my problem at all, but before I could articulate that, Amy cut in.

"Even if she does," Amy said, spraying a few crumbs on the table from the muffin she was eating, "it'll go something like this." Pursing her lips, she let out a series of weird noises.

A few seconds later, I got what she was trying to do. "I do not sound like that!" I said hotly. "I don't, do I, Vicky?" Looking at the blonde, my heart sank; she was giggling.

"You kinda do, actually," she admitted. "A little bit, anyway." Breaking into a smile, she hugged me, bathrobe and all. "But they'll be more interested in the fact that you're a dragon."

"A wyvern," I corrected her, but my heart wasn't in it. "There's a difference." A difference that I hadn't been aware of two days ago, but still a difference.

"I know that, you doofus," she said fondly. "But they won't. I'm betting you're gonna have to explain the different about two dozen times." My heart sank. Surely she wasn't serious. I'd thought people going to Arcadia were smart.

"And three times just for Dennis' benefit," Amy put in cheerfully. That surprised me; I'd thought Amy was nicer than that, even if she was just joking. "And even then he'll want you to prove it by setting fire to something."

I frowned, not sure that I liked where this was going. "Um, I really don't think that I should do that. People might get hurt."

Amy's eyes were alight with mischief. "Well, you could set fire to Dennis. That would prove you can do it, and stop him from bothering you. Win-win situation. And I'd heal him afterwards. Maybe."

"Amy!" I protested. "You're joking, right?" I really hoped that she was. Because if she wasn't, then this Dennis guy must really deserve it. I wasn't sure if I wanted to be in the same school as someone like that. "Vicky, tell me she's joking."

Vicky let me go and put her finger on her chin. "Hmm. You know what? Feel free to set fire to Dennis. I'm good with that idea."

I stared at her. "You're not serious." She had to be messing with me. Both of them did. I'd spent way too much time with them to think anything else.

A moment later, I was proven right as Vicky burst into giggles. "No, we're not. Dennis isn't that bad. He's just a bit of a boy sometimes."

"Most boys are, in my experience," I replied dryly. "Is this guy one of your friends?" One of the people they swore would not turn against me?

"Actually, yeah, he is." Vicky's voice was blithe. "I mean, he can be annoying as crap, but his heart's in the right place." She smiled at me and spread her hands. "I think you'll get along with him. With all of our friends."

"That remains to be seen." I wasn't holding out much hope. Prior experience had given me too much reason to be pessimistic.

"Well, this time around, you don't have to worry about talking to anyone," Vicky said brightly. "Just be yourself. And, you know, don't bite anyone. Unless you really have to." I had to admit, she could do the innocent tone of voice really well. She almost sounded serious.

"I've never bitten anyone," I reminded her firmly. "Not even as the wyvern. Jeez, I could take someone's hand off." I shuddered at the thought.

"And then cauterise it straight away," Amy pointed out. I shot her a sharp glance; she innocently took a bite out of her toast. Her poker face was a lot better than Vicky's.

"So it's going to be fine," Vicky assured me. She put her arm around my shoulders. "Me and Ames will be with you all day. Where's the problem?"

I took a deep breath. "The problem is that Stinger's explosions kind of put some holes in my costume. As if you didn't already know. And I am not going to school in that, even if I never turn back to human for the whole day." Almost unconsciously, I clutched the bathrobe a little more tightly around myself.

"Oh, is that all?" Vicky burst out laughing. I stared at her. This wasn't something to laugh about. This was serious, damn it.

"Yeah," I said. "That's all. I don't want to have my first appearance at Arcadia be in a costume that's all tattered and …" My voice trailed off as Vicky reached into her bag, which was sitting on the counter. Triumphantly, she produced something made of cloth; with a flick, it unrolled on to the table.

"You were saying?" she asked smugly. Which, to be honest, she'd earned. On the table in front of me was a copy of my damaged costume, only in white. On the front was a silhouette of me – or at least, something with a long tail and widespread batlike wings – in red, with gold edging. "Flew over there and picked it up this morning, before you woke up."

I looked down at it, then back up at her. If her grin became any wider, I figured she'd need Panacea's help to get it back to normal. "You cheeky cow," I accused her. "You knew I was freaking out about the costume all the time. And you let me get all worked up anyway."

Vicky's level of smugness went up another notch. "Yup. It was all for a good cause, honest."

I rolled my eyes as I picked up the costume. It looked like it would fit, and the heavy zippers down each side seemed to be the same as on my first one. But I was still a little pissed at Vicky. "Oh, this should be good."

"Well, it seemed to be a good idea to see if you'd turn into the wyvern if we were teasing you just a bit," Amy put in from where she was sitting. "Better than having it happen if you got stressed out at the mall or something, right?"

I stared at her, feeling just a little betrayed. Amy had seemed to be the safe one, the quiet one. "You too? I'd expect this sort of shit off Vicky. But you?"

Amy shrugged just a little. "Hey, I like a joke as much as the next person."

"And you have to admit, it was for a good cause," Vicky reminded me. "Unlike us, you've got a secret identity to maintain." She wasn't grinning any more; her voice was totally serious.

Even if I didn't want to admit it, she had a good point. "Yeah, but you both still suck." I ran the costume through my hands. "Anyway, thanks. I appreciate it." Even so, I decided that I would get my revenge at some point. Once I figured out how.

<><>​

Arcadia looked weird from the air. The buildings were pretty high, but instead of one big solid block, they were kind of like a giant skinny capital 'H'. There was a substantial fence around the whole school, including the playing fields, which looked reasonably well-maintained. Winslow had a fence too; it was a lot lower, and whole sections of it were basically non-existent. As were the playing fields.

From the air, the school actually looked kind of pretty. I had no doubt that it would be somewhat less so, once I got down to ground level. That was true for anywhere, not just Arcadia. The urge was strong just to keep flying, to bypass the school altogether and go … where? Home? Dad wouldn't be there, and I couldn't guarantee to be able to change back to human form. Even if I didn't out myself, I would certainly draw unwanted attention.

"So you ready for your big debut?" Vicky, flying alongside with Amy in her arms, sounded absurdly cheerful.

I replied with a screech that I hoped got the message across. I've already debuted. Twice, even.

"What did she say?" asked Vicky, looking down at Amy.

The healer shrugged. "Um … maybe something about how this isn't exactly her first time out in public?" She threw me an apologetic look. "Just spitballing here."

Well, you basically got it right. I nodded, adding a chirp of agreement.

"Well, duh," Vicky agreed. "But this is the first time you're actually deliberately meeting the public as a member of New Wave." She slowed and began to descend toward the main gates. I flared my wings and followed her down.

"Uh, well, there was that -" began Amy tentatively.

"As a fully costumed member of New Wave," Vicky amended her own statement. "In public. With no criminals to fight, powered or otherwise."

"Wow, gee, specific much?" asked Amy dryly. She grinned as Vicky poked her tongue out at her. "Just saying."

"Well, if you're going to be nitpicky," Glory Girl said, and pretended to be about to drop her. Amy shrieked in mock fear and clutched her sister around the neck.

Snickering to myself, I glided in for a landing; when I was just above the ground, I backwinged to stop my forward motion, landed relatively neatly, and furled my wings. In the meantime, Vicky had landed nearby and dropped Amy on to her feet.

"That was mean," Amy said. "I'm going to tell Dean on you." She glared at her sister, although I could see that she had a grin lurking on her lips.

A tall blond boy pushed his way out of the crowd that had surrounded us. "Uh, two questions," he said, looking just a little uncertain. "One, what were you going to tell on her about? And two, what exactly is that?" Oddly enough, the longer he looked at me, the less worried he seemed to be.

"Dean!" Vicky more or less leaped into his arms and gave him a smacking kiss. "Dean, I'd like you to meet Wyvern, the newest member of New Wave. Wyvern, meet Dean Stansfield, the best-looking guy in Arcadia, and my boyfriend."

Because of course she's dating one of the richest kids in town. I'd never met Dean before, but I knew of the Stansfields. They were one of Brockton Bay's high-society families, along with the Christners and the Anders'. I eyed him, not exactly jealously, because there was no way in hell I'd even have a chance with a guy like that. But I was feeling a certain amount of envy, because there was no way in hell I'd even have a chance with a guy like that.

"Wait," one of the other kids crowding around said. "This is your new teammate? You've got a dinosaur as a teammate?" His voice sounded more incredulous than disbelieving.

I turned and gave him a hard stare. He stepped back a little; apparently, as a wyvern, I was really well equipped to give menacing looks. Perhaps it was the crest … or maybe the teeth.

"No, Carlos," Vicky said, almost wearily. "Weren't you listening? She's a wyvern, which is a type of dragon. Not a dinosaur. Sheesh, people, crack a book sometime." She pointed at me. "She's wearing a costume and everything."

A red-headed boy decided to stick his oar in at this point. "Okay, so she's a wyvern, which is a type of dragon. Where did you even get a dragon from? And what's the point in dressing her up in a costume? It's not like she'll be going out fighting crime with you, right?"

"Because she's not just a dragon." It was Dean. "She's a Changer, right? This is just one of her forms?" He was still staring at me a little oddly, but I didn't care. Giving him an affirmative chirp, I followed up with a nod.

"Oh," the redhead said, his eyes open wide with realisation. "So when you say she's your teammate, you actually do mean that she's your teammate."

Amy had been quietly standing by, not saying a word. I suspected that she preferred it this way. But now she marched up to the redhead and grabbed him by the collar. He was a few inches taller than her, but she hauled him down until her mouth was level with his ear.

"Yes, Dennis," she said, the tone of her voice clearly indicating that what little patience she had was rapidly eroding. "She really is a wyvern, and she really is our teammate. And Dean's right; she's a Changer. Now, did you have any other stupid questions you wanted to get out of the way?"

He paused for a moment, then opened his mouth. She yanked on his collar. "Any questions to do with Wyvern, right here, right now?" I was a little surprised by the suppressed anger in her tone, but it certainly did the job; he closed his mouth again.

"Okay, gotcha," the boy called Carlos said. "So when did this happen, Vicky? Yesterday? I remember you blowing out of school during home room, and you didn't get back all day."

"Yeah, there was kind of an incident with Wyvern, here," Vicky told him. "I had to get it sorted out. The Protectorate kind of got involved, but Wyvern ended up joining New Wave." She gave the assembled crowd a beaming smile. "I'm sorry, folks. I can't tell you any more. Cape business."

"Okay, sure, but why bring her to Arcadia anyway?" asked the redhead. He looked apologetically at Amy. "I'm sorry, but it's a legitimate question. It's not like she can really do any schoolwork."

Amy sighed as she released Dennis' collar. "I'll get this one, Vicky. Guys, Wyvern is new to her powers. She's joined New Wave in her Changer form, but the public's probably not ready for a fire-breathing dragon flying unattended around the city. So we're bringing her to school so she can get used to people staring at her, and so that people will pass the word around. Wyvern is one of the good guys." She flushed a little as everyone stared at her. "Well, it's true."

" … wait." Dean raised a finger in the air.

Vicky gave him an odd glance. "What?"

"Uh … did Amy say fire-breathing?" Dean's eyes flicked from Vicky to me. "Wyvern can actually breathe fire? You're not just pulling our chains?" He sounded as though he really wanted this to be true. Which it was, although I wasn't about to demonstrate right then.

The grin that crossed Vicky's face was composed of pure smugness. "She sure can. You should see what she did to Armsmaster's halberd."

"Why, what did she do?" This was the red-headed boy, his expression composed of equal parts interest and cautious anticipation.

"Glory Girl!" Amy's voice was sharp. "Remember what Brandish said about that!" I winced; Mrs Dallon had been rather explicit about the need for discretion. We don't need anyone knowing about that particular confrontation, she had stated. I had agreed with her, although I didn't need to worry about spilling the beans, given that my Wyvern form was non-verbal.

I wasn't mute, however; turning my head, I chirped in agreement with Amy's words.

"Did she just … agree with you?" asked Carlos. "Oh, wait. Of course she did. Sorry, Wyvern," he offered. "I'm not used to talking to people who look like they belong on the set of the next Jurassic Park movie." His face flushed dark with embarrassment. "I'm gonna stop talking now, before I make an even bigger idiot of myself."

Vicky smirked. "Well, that would be kind of hard to do." She tilted her head toward me. "You ever been inside Arcadia before?"

I shook my head. Nope. Drove past a few times, though.

"Come on, then." She strode onward while I did my best to keep up. It was useful that people moved aside, often with some haste, when they saw me. Less helpful was the fact that I wasn't actually good at moving fast on my hind legs. Fortunately, however, the wyvern body had a work-around. Using my 'elbows' as makeshift forelegs, I was able to maintain a reasonable pace, even though it probably looked ridiculous.

"Hey!" It was Dennis, behind us. "I want to hear about what happened to Armsmaster's halberd!"

Amy caught up with us, breathing slightly faster than normal. "Nice going, Vicky."

The blonde looked over at her sister, her expression irritated. "Hey, it just slipped out. Think he'll figure it out?"

"Hope not," Amy said, her lips tightening a little. "We both know it puts her secret identity at risk."

Vicky nodded. "Right." She turned toward me. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to let it out, but it is an awesome story."

I rolled my eyes and gave her an irritated squawk. This was only partly because of her faux pas; the rest of it was because she was walking so fast.

"I said I was sorry," she muttered. With a worried expression, she turned back to Amy. "Do you think he'll start bugging, uh -" She coughed, then cleared her throat. "- you or me about it?"

Amy shook her head, her lips set in a straight line. "How can he not? You know what that boy's like when it comes to things like that."

At that moment, the bell went, causing me to raise my head in surprise. At Winslow, they made use of the geriatric PA system to transmit the sound of a siren around the school; the unspoken joke was that more kids in the school would react to the sound of a siren than a bell. At Arcadia, it was a proper bell; clear, crisp and brassy.

"Well, that's the home-room bell," Vicky said with some relief. "See you at lunch, Ames?"

The brunette shook her head. "Sorry. Field trip with Mr Jankowitz, for History. We're visiting the Isaac Lord Memorial and the museum."

I was a little envious at that; I rather liked the Brockton Bay Local History Museum, but the last time I'd gone had been years ago, before Mom passed. And the closest that Winslow had to field trips was when one student or another was arrested and taken down to the precinct house.

Apparently, Vicky didn't share my opinion of it. "Oh, well. Your loss. Come on, uh, Wyvern."

"This isn't over yet," Amy said as I started to follow Vicky off down the corridor. "If Dennis says anything, you're gonna be in so much trouble."

Says anything to who? The puzzle occupied me all the way to Vicky's home room. It wasn't like he could get answers out of me.

<><>​

" - Wyvern," Vicky said patiently. "That's because her Changer form is a wyvern." She pointed at my wings. "See how her arms are her wings? That's the difference between a wyvern and a dragon."

The group gathered around us in the English classroom nodded or made various noises of assent, though I doubted that they'd followed all of that. Most of them seemed to be more worried that I might bite them or something.

"So, it, uh, she, really breathes fire?" asked one of her classmates. "I mean, actual fire?" He looked down at me; at that moment, I was resting back on my tail, which allowed me to keep my head up without causing my neck to start aching. "Because biologically speaking, unless her diet allows her to build up concentrations of flammable gas -"

I snorted with amusement. Vicky echoed me, but then she actually burst out laughing. "Oh, my god. No, seriously. Just no. Breathing fire is a power for her."

"Oh, right," he said. "So how -" He looked around, breaking off as the door opened and the teacher entered.

"Sorry, all," he said, not even looking around as he headed for his desk. "Last-minute teacher conference. Apparently there's a new cape in school, and she's fairly … what the hell is that thing?"

I covered my eyes with my wing. It looked like this was going to be happening a lot. It also didn't raise my expectations of being treated as 'normal' if the teachers were going to be blurting out stuff like that.

"Mr Robertson," Vicky protested, "this is New Wave's new recruit, Wyvern. She's a person, not a 'thing'." The hurt in her voice warmed me. She cares. She actually cares.

I lowered my wing just in time to see the look on the teacher's face. As far as I could tell, it was somewhere between you have to be shitting me and how long till retirement, again? "Wait … this is your new teammate, Glory Girl?"

"Yes, sir," she said promptly. I added an agreeable chirp, and nodded.

He closed his eyes, as if hoping that I was a passing hallucination. Opening them once more, he slowly shook his head. "Well, Vice Principal Howell said she was likely to be distinctive … I'm going to have to congratulate her on a truly masterful use of understatement."

"I don't know about that, sir," Vicky said; I could tell she was trying to hide a smile. "Wyvern hasn't actually met the Vice Principal yet. Mom said she was going to make a call before she went to work."

He shook his head again. "Well, I can tell that it's not going to be a boring day today. Everyone, take your seats, and have your homework ready on your desk … ah, yes, Miss Dallon?" From the tone of his voice, I figured he knew what she was going to say next.

Vicky grimaced, just a little. "Uh, sir, I had to go and deal with matters yesterday, that kind of resulted in meeting and recruiting Wyvern, here. So I … kind of … didn't get the homework?"

Mr Robertson sighed. "Very well. It's clearly obvious that you're not making it up." He looked at me over his glasses. "Though I have no idea what to do in this specific circumstance. Miss, uh, Wyvern, can you just do me a favour and not disrupt the class too much?"

I nodded and gave him another agreeable chirp. A vaguely pained expression crossed his face, as if he were uncertain about his own mental stability.

"Thank you." He turned back to Vicky. "I won't report you this time, but this must not happen again. So I'll be assigning you extra homework tonight, to make up for it. Superhero or no, a good education is absolutely essential in this day and age." He seemed to have recovered from his surprise as he strode back up toward his desk. "Now, if those of you who have actually done the homework can pass it forwards, I'll be collecting it."

Extra homework? Ouch. I shot Vicky my best sympathetic look. She shrugged in return, looking resigned. I got the impression that this was not an unknown situation for her.

Oh, well. At least me being here saved her from more trouble. I settled down to watch and learn as Mr Robertson began to call the roll.

<><>​

Glory Girl

"So all through the class, he keeps sneaking Wyvern glances, like he thinks she's about to jump up and attack him." Vicky grinned at the memory, then took a bite of her burger. Beside her, Taylor-as-Wyvern rolled her eyes, apparently just as unimpressed with the English teacher as Vicky had been.

"So what happened then?" asked Dean. His eyes went from Taylor to Vicky and back again. "I get the impression that there's more to the story."

"Well, Wyvern may have decided to mess with his head, just a little," Vicky allowed, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Every time he looked away from her, she changed posture. She's really good at moving quietly if she has to." It had been funny as fuck. The changes had been minor to begin with, then more and more blatant. And every time he'd looked at her, Wyvern's eyes had been fixed on him. Robertson hadn't quite run screaming from the room, but he'd been more than a little unnerved by the time class ended. And he'd forgotten to give Vicky the extra homework, so that was a win too.

"So what was that you said earlier about Armsmaster's halberd?" Dennis put in, his flaming red hair in disarray. He looked for all the world as if he'd been obsessing over the question since class started. "What did she do to it? Did she steal it and bury it?"

Vicky rolled her eyes. "No, and stop asking about it. I'm not going to tell you, because it's not something that needs to get out." She gave the importunate Ward a medium glare. So don't go asking Armsmaster about it, either. "What happened was between Wyvern and Armsmaster, and nobody else needs to know about it."

Dennis held up his hands, the very picture of injured innocence. Vicky would have been taken in, except that she knew the boy, and didn't trust him an inch not to do something that he thought was funny. Such as declare his name as 'Clockblocker' in front of a live TV interview.

"I get it, I get it," he assured her. "But, you know, it's easier to keep a secret if you know what it is that you shouldn't be talking about." He tried his best to give her puppy-dog eyes, but he just didn't have the wherewithal to pull it off. It didn't help that his mouth kept trying to curl into a grin.

"You know what Benjamin Franklin said about secrets?" Vicky asked, leaning across the table toward the redhead. Lowering her voice, she made the question sound conspiratorial.

Dennis looked puzzled. "Uh, no. What did he say?" Out of his line of sight, Carlos's eyes opened with sudden realisation. Beside her, Taylor started snickering, wyvern-style, which sounded positively creepy. She's heard this one, too.

Vicky locked her eyes with the Ward's. "Three can keep a secret," she quoted, "if two of them are dead." Right on cue, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Taylor lean forward as well and bare her teeth. They were very sharp and very white, positively gleaming in the overhead lighting.

"Whoa, hey, let's keep this friendly, huh?" Dennis backpedalled so hard he nearly fell out of his chair. "I'm really not all that invested in knowing about Armsmaster or his halberd. In fact, what halberd? I've never even heard of such a thing. No idea what you're talking about."

By the time he finished babbling, both Carlos and Dean were chuckling. Carlos turned to Vicky. "Any chance she can hang around with us for a while after school? I've never seen anyone shut Dennis up so effectively before."

"Hmm, might not be such a great idea," Dean said seriously. "You know Missy will be there. And as adorable as she is, how do you think she'll react to Wyvern? Be honest, now."

Vicky began to giggle, imagining the scene, as Carlos and Dean both eyed Wyvern gravely. Taylor, for her part, obviously had no idea what they were talking about; she glanced at Vicky with a questioning chirp. Putting her hand over her mouth, Vicky managed to muffle her giggles, though she was in no state to actually answer the unspoken question.

"Well, I think the first sign that Missy has seen Wyvern will be a high-pitched squeal," Carlos decided; his mock-serious tone was spoiled only slightly by the grin tugging one corner of his mouth upward. "And then I think she'd shriek 'Dragon!' at the top of her lungs."

"Even though she's actually a wyvern," Vicky managed, just as Taylor flared her crest in irritation.

"Well, of course," Dean agreed, the grin growing on his face. "And then I think Wyvern would find herself being glomped by a force of nature masquerading as a thirteen year old girl."

"Demanding a dragon ride," Carlos forced out, before he started laughing in earnest. By rights, he should've fallen off his chair, especially when Taylor squawked angrily and nudged him in the ribs with her … wrist? Major wing joint, anyway. "Sorry," he amended, wiping tears from his eyes. "Wyvern ride."

"Pretty sure that Wyvern isn't actually built to ride on," Vicky pointed out. "Even if she was big enough. Which she isn't." Taylor, apparently not on board with the idea of giving rides, nodded vehemently in agreement.

"But they'd look so cute, posing together," Dennis put in. Vicky had to admire his fortitude.

He wasn't wrong, though. Art class had come after English. Mr Francesci had adapted to the idea of having a real life wyvern in his classroom much more readily than Mr Robertson had. He'd even been aware of the difference between wyverns and dragons, which Vicky supposed that she shouldn't really be surprised at.

Taylor had ended up posing for the class, something to which she had taken to rather more readily than Vicky had expected. It seemed that in her wyvern form, shyness was not something she suffered from. Francesci had asked – almost begged, in fact – Vicky to bring Wyvern back at some point so that he could render her in oils, something that had surprised Vicky. If she was any judge, Taylor wasn't sure what to think of it either. It was definitely something different.

"And I can guarantee nobody would bother Missy when they were out and about, either," Dean agreed. "I mean, wow, those teeth." He paused for a moment. "And does she actually breathe fire?"

Vicky rolled her eyes. "Everyone asks that, and yes, it's true. She really does breathe fire." When you see it, you won't be asking twice, she thought with amusement.

At that moment, Carlos' phone went off; a moment later, so did Dean's and Dennis'. That was the first intimation that Vicky had that something was wrong. Carlos got his phone out first, and answered it, just as Vicky's phone pinged with a text from Amy.

She read it, a cold feeling crawling down her back.

At museum. Merch & ABB clashing. We're in the middle. Come quick. Bring Wyvern.

Amy would be smart enough to silence her phone. She tapped out a quick reply. On way. Hold on.

Shoving her phone away, she stood up abruptly. "We've got to go. See you guys around?"

Carlos nodded, already putting his own cell phone back in his pocket. "Yeah. Got stuff to do."

I just bet you do. She had no doubt that she'd see the Wards on the scene. But right now … "Come on, Wyvern."

Taylor had obviously picked up that there was something wrong, but even though she was mostly in the dark, she didn't hesitate to follow. Which was good, because Vicky wasn't waiting around.

Her priorities were simple. Costume up. Go and save Amy.

And God help anyone who got in her way.



End of Part Eleven

Part Twelve

 

[Ack]

Wyvern

Part Twelve: Bugging the Dragon



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



Wyvern

I let out a screech as Victoria opened her locker. The blonde was moving fast enough to accidentally rip the door clean off though to her credit, she hadn't actually done that yet. Reaching into the metal box—I still had unpleasant memories of my locker—Vicky grabbed a familiar-looking set of folded clothing, with a tiara on top. Irritated at being ignored, I screeched again.
"What?" Vicky whipped around to face me. "Amy's in trouble. Whatever it is, can it wait?" Her aura pulsed back and forth, making me feel almost palpable waves of fear interspersed with saccharine levels of adoration. Fortunately, the latter didn't last long enough to trigger my change back. Even if they could, given my current agitated mindset.

This was the huge problem with the wyvern form; specifically, my inability to communicate in any meaningful way. Right now, the only messages I could get across with ease were 'yes', 'no' and 'I have lots of sharp teeth, so don't mess with me'. Anything more required time that I just did not have. Unfortunately, the message I was trying to get across was you can fly a lot faster than me, so I'd better start right now, but I have no idea where you're going. Hoping against hope that Vicky would figure it out, I reached out with my wingtip and traced the letter 'W' on the floor.

"What?" Vicky stared at the letter, then up at me. "What's a 'W' supposed to mean? Why am I costuming up? Who are we going to save? You know all that." She lofted off the ground, preparatory to flying down the hallway—which I was almost certain was forbidden within the grounds of Arcadia—but I spread my wings to block her way, letting out another screech. This one was louder and more forceful than before, and included more sharp teeth. Pay attention to me. Again, I traced the letter 'W' on the floor.

"What the fuck's gotten into you?" Vicky seemed about to barge past me anyway, then paused. "W …. um … who, when, where, why—" She stopped as I let out yet another screech before waddling awkwardly backward a step on my digitigrade legs. "Um, back? Back! Why … where! Fuck, I'm an idiot. You want to know where she is." I nodded and let out my most encouraging chirp. "Isaac Lord Museum. You know where that is?"

Finally. I nodded enthusiastically, then turned and scuttled off down the hallway. My clawed feet scrabbled at the plastic floor tiles and my 'elbows' ached slightly from thumping against the floor, but I still managed a fair turn of speed. Students scattered out of my way, whether from courtesy or fear I wasn't sure. Just so long as they actually get out of the way.

The front doors slid open in front of me, and I burst out into the courtyard. A van with PRT markings was just pulling up at the gates, but I ignored it. Spreading my wings, I leaped into the air, beating them strongly for altitude. As I passed over the outer wall, I saw an armoured man get out of the van, his helmet faceplate tilted up toward me. I suppose he doesn't see a wyvern fly overhead every day of the week.

Perhaps it was the urgency of the matter, but I felt no strain on my muscles as I pushed myself to fly faster and faster. While I hadn't known Amy for long—only a few hours less than I'd known Victoria, after all—the occasionally-snarky healer was someone I had decided I liked having as a friend. This was quite apart from the fact that she was Victoria's sister. The idea of her being put in danger by a bunch of gangsters and drug dealers made me … angry. Very angry. They're not going to hurt her if I've got anything to say about it.

I'd spent my entire life in Brockton Bay and I liked to think I knew the city fairly well. The Isaac Lord Museum was a place I knew rather better than that; Dad had a fondness for local history and he'd dragged me along to the place about once a year until I left middle school. Based around the life and exploits of the man after whom Lord Street and Lord's Port was named, it wasn't particularly fancy or upmarket. Isaac Lord was one of the pioneers who had opened up the Brockton Bay region for settlement, so his name was well-known in the local area, but not so much anywhere else. As such, the museum had been gradually declining in the last few years, subsisting mainly on donations from local residents and a few patrons of cultural history.

Fortunately, it wasn't all that far from Arcadia as the crow—or the wyvern—flew. I wasn't quite sure what I was going to do when I got there, except for the broad strategy; chase off the gangsters, save the innocents, make sure Amy was okay. If that involved scaring the living bejeebers out of a few dozen low-lives, or even inflicting minor first-degree burns on a few of them, I didn't mind. First-degree burns were survivable, after all, and would make the experience all the more memorable. And if me being memorable meant they wouldn't try this shit again in a hurry, then I intended to be as memorable as fuck.

I was about halfway there when I saw the flying form in front of me. For a second I thought it was Victoria, and wondered how the hell did she get ahead of me? Then I got closer and realised it wasn't her. For a start, the figure was wearing rust-red armour. And of course, there was the whole 'big muscular guy' thing. He was travelling on the same course I was, which indicated that this was either a huge coincidence or he was also going from Arcadia to the fight at the Isaac Lord Museum.

By the time I figured that out, I was almost up alongside him; he turned his head to stare at me. I figured it out just before he spoke; this was Aegis, of the Wards. He was their only innate flyer, as far as I knew, though there was footage (mainly shown on the PHO boards) showing Kid Win zipping around on a flying skateboard. And falling off of it too, which made for much more entertaining footage.

I wasn't sure what was going to happen next, but nothing was going to stop me from going to save Amy. Whatever he did or said, I was going to basically ignore. Amy's welfare was more important. Besides, it looked as though I could fly faster than him. Which seemed odd, seeing that Vicky could fly faster than me, but who was I to argue? Maybe he'd gotten his version of bullshit no-effort wingless flight from the dollar store.

As he turned to look at me, I made a private bet with myself. Either he'd say what the hell are you, with or without a panicked scream, or he'd decide I was an animal and treat me accordingly. After all, that was what most people I'd met in wyvern form had done. It was actually kind of depressing.

"Oh, hey," he said. "You're, uh, Wyvern, aren't you? Armsmaster briefed us on you."

Or he could just say hi. For some reason, I hadn't considered that possibility. I let out a friendly chirp and nodded my head. It was nice to meet another parahuman who didn't consider me a dangerous monster. In fact, it was nice to meet another person who didn't consider me a dangerous monster.

"Yeah, he said you were nonverbal," Aegis noted. "Also that you could breathe fire. Please don't kill anyone with fire, okay?"

Now I was just plain surprised, though I really shouldn't have been. Armsmaster had passed on what he'd learned about me, and Aegis had actually listened? Did this mean I wouldn't have to beat him up until he paid attention to me? This revolutionary concept went against every comic book I'd ever read, not to mention most of my real-world experience to date.

Unsure of what else to do, I gave him a toothy grin and a shrug. I could see that my conversational inputs were going to be fairly limited, unless he asked me some extremely specific leading questions. Fortunately, we were going in the same direction and I was pretty sure he was on my side. The trouble was, I had no way of articulating Panacea's in trouble and I'm trying to save her without either landing or carrying out some remarkably improbably charades in mid-air.

"Wyvern! There you are! Oh, hi, Aegis. Sorry, can't stay to chat. My sister's in the middle of that gang fight, and I'm gonna get her out."

Or Vicky could tell him. That works, too. I looked around and let out a screech of welcome as Glory Girl swept up between us.

"You ready to go toast some gang butt?" Vicky gave me a remarkably vicious grin. For a human teenager, her teeth looked almost as sharp as mine. "I figure if you fold your wings, I can give you a lift."

That … actually sounded like it could work. I began to nod vigorously, then paused, remembering the meeting of the previous night. Mrs Dallon and Dad had agreed that we could go crime-busting so long as we had a chaperone. Preferably a flyer. While 'but Amy was in trouble' could possibly serve as a good excuse for going in two-fisted, the fact was that we had a ready-made chaperone right there.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I pulled one of my patented snap barrel-rolls, ending up on Aegis' back. This was obviously something he hadn't been briefed about—probably because Armsmaster hadn't observed me in flight—and he yelped in surprise as my prehensile feet latched on to the heavy belt he was wearing. "Wait, what are you doing?" he shouted. "Glory Girl, call her off!"

I had to say this about Vicky; she wasn't slow on the uptake. Quite possibly, she'd been aiming to violate the terms of the agreement by omission—sorry, Mom, but it totally slipped my mind, and Ames was in trouble—but I'd dragged it out into the open. So to speak.

"Aw crap," she said, even as she facepalmed. "Okay, fine. Aegis, we're gonna need you to stick with us. Mom's decided we need a minder, and you're the closest thing we've got at the moment."

"Sure, fine," he said; for a flying Brute, he certainly sounded more than a little nervous. "But can you make the nice fire-breathing lizard girl let me go, please? I don't know what she's doing back there, and I'm not sure I want to."

"I'd love to," she replied sweetly. "But she's got the right idea. Say, if your spine dislocates, you'll get over it, won't you?" As she spoke, she swung up behind me. I crouched, clenched my claws through Aegis' belt, and furled my wings.

"Yeah, but whaaaaaahhhhhhh!" he hollered as she wrapped her arms around me and piled on the pace. From the pitch of his voice, I suspected that I might've been inadvertently giving him an armour-wedgie but as Victoria had said, he'd get over it.

Even with me and Aegis as dead weight, Vicky managed to accelerate to speeds that I could only normally reach in a dive. I flicked my nictitating membranes across my eyes and left them there; while they made things a little blurry, I could still see where we were going. It helped that Aegis had stopped struggling and stretched himself out in an effort to be more aerodynamic. I appreciated the effort.

"It's up ahead!" Vicky called out. "Aegis, stay with Wyvern! She's the rookie here!" As she let me go, I reflexively spread my wings and released the grip I had on Aegis' belt.

"What are you going to be doing?" asked Aegis. "My orders were to observe but not engage until backup arrived." I could kind of see his point. The gangs were definitely out in force today, with Roadhog and her crew occupying one street and the ABB in the other. The museum was on the corner where these two streets converged, and the intersection was by now a no-go zone. Unfortunately, it would only be a matter of time before some overly-sneaky gangbanger decided to go through the museum to ambush their rivals on the other side. Unless, of course, they already had.

"Saving Amy," Vicky stated through clenched teeth. "And oh, look." She pointed at me. "Backup." That seemed to be all the words she was willing to use, as the last one was punctuated by her abrupt departure.

Aegis watched her dive toward the museum, then turned to me. "Okay, um … have you done this much before?" Implicit in his question was the subtext I'm not being paid enough to try and stop her, and I don't think I could even if I was. I kind of sympathised with him; Victoria Dallon was a force of nature unto herself. While there were probably things on Earth Bet that could make her reconsider, once you got past the Endbringers and the Triumvirate they'd have to be few and far between.

Irritated, I shook my head. You'd think Armsmaster would've covered that bit as well. Unless he's been holding back on my trigger details so as to keep my identity secret …. huh. Maybe he's not such a dick after all. But I was still irritated, if only because Vicky had ditched me so I could watch Aegis' back while she went to find Amy. Down below, there was a distant crunch; going by the brand-new hole in the roof of the museum, Vicky hadn't bothered finding a window or door. Well, that's definitely her, all right.

"Um, okay." Aegis seemed to come to a decision. "We need to maybe disperse some of these gang guys before they get the idea to take cover. Or hostages. Follow me and act scary." Looking a lot less sure about what he was doing than Vicky had, he dived toward the street below where Roadhog's Merchants were tussling with Inago's ABB. I followed, not because of anything he'd said, but because Vicky was trusting me to not let him get killed.

He swooped down over the street, about a dozen feet over the heads of the gang members. With my superior speed and manoeuvrability, I was able to match my speed and course to his while staying alongside him. Follow him, my scaly wyvern ass. As per his suggestion—I certainly wasn't taking it as an order—to act scary, I opened my jaws wide and let out the loudest screech I could pull off. From the way Aegis recoiled sideways, he hadn't been expecting that.

Nor had the people beneath us. With matching screams, they fell away before us, some of them not even looking around before scrambling for safety. A few brave souls fired guns at us but they must have missed us altogether, because I didn't feel anything hit me. Aegis, of course, was wearing armour and he was a Brute anyway.

Our path led us to the intersection, where the front-line capes were clashing. Roadhog's latest mechanical abomination, looking like the illegitimate offspring of a Mack truck and a centipede, was attempting to climb all over what looked like an honest-to-goodness giant robot. I'd never seen a robot of this type in Brockton Bay before, which made me wonder who the ABB had recruited as a Tinker. Inago's been holding out on us.

"Whoa, hey!" Aegis pulled up in a steep climb to avoid the oversized combatants. I couldn't see the rest of the ABB and Merchant capes, but I knew they had to be around here somewhere. Inago wasn't one to watch from the back lines, and while Skidmark was no longer alive, Roadhog still had a few capes to call on. The word on the street was that he'd died when she backed up over him with one of her vehicles; the sixty-four million dollar question on the PHO boards was 'accident or assassination?' Whichever one it was, she'd renamed herself (from 'Squealer', believe it or not), taken over the team, and started a program of active recruitment to bring the Merchants into the big leagues.

One of the large picture windows in the side of the museum exploded outward, and Vicky came flying out, backward. A massive cloud of bugs poured out after her, and just like that, I knew exactly where the leader of the ABB was. Also, from the way Vicky's limbs flopped bonelessly, she was in a bad way. Twisting in mid-air, I swooped down with all the speed at my command. I had less than a second to catch her before she hit the ground. Normally I wouldn't have worried, but something had disabled her, and I didn't know if it had gone through her invulnerability or if her invulnerability was down.

There were still some gang members on the street when I came back through. They didn't bother trying to shoot at me a second time, which showed that they could learn after all. I paid them no heed at all, straining forward with my wings beating furiously. It was going to be close; too close. Far too close. I wasn't going to be able to catch her and still pull up, so I did the next best thing.

A fraction of a second before she would've hit the curb on the other side of the street, I caught up with her. Wrapping my wings around her body, I curled the rest of myself into as close to a ball as I could manage. The impact was massively bruising; we hit the curb, then bounced over it and demolished a mailbox. Loose letters went everywhere as we kept going. I closed my eyes as we smashed into a storefront in a hail of broken glass. After we rolled to a stop, I cracked an eyelid to see what was going on. Pieces of glass were lying everywhere, but nothing seemed poised to fall on us quite yet. For a mercy, it appeared that the storefront wasn't in use right at that moment.

"Shit, are you guys all right?" Aegis swept into the store then crouched down beside us, heedless of the broken glass. I ignored the pointless question and unwrapped myself from around Victoria. Despite the fact that every inch of my body was sending me urgent messages about not doing that again ever, I reserved the hiss of horror for when I saw Vicky's face.

She looked like she'd been on the receiving end of a pile-driver, repeatedly. One eye was swollen shut, and it looked like her jaw was broken. Blood was leaking from both nostrils, and lumps and welts covered every free inch of her skin. Worst of all, her mouth was wide open and she was trying to breathe but from the sound of the choked gasps, nothing was going in.

"Shit!" Aegis stared at her. "She's choking." He grabbed her jaw and pulled it open a little farther, then hooked two fingers into her mouth. When he pulled them out, I saw a couple of fat black bugs fall on to her face, then scuttle back toward her mouth. With a growl, I darted my head forward; my teeth clamped on to the bugs and I bit down hard. With a pop, they dissolved into a bad-tasting gas. I shook my head in confusion. What just happened?

"It's Inago," Aegis muttered. "They're his bugs. She's got them in her lungs. She'll suffocate if we can't get them out." Taking a deep breath, he crossed one hand over the other and shoved down hard on her sternum. She coughed convulsively; bugs flew out of her mouth, but most of them buzzed straight back in on the inhale. I snapped at another one, just as Aegis tried to grab a few; at the last instant, I pulled back before I would've taken his hand off at the wrist. Or broken some teeth on his armour, whichever happened first.

Scrambling out from under Vicky's body, I chirped to get Aegis' attention, then nodded at Vicky. Take care of her. He stared up at me, his eyes wide behind his visor, as he prepared to repeat the chest compression. "What are you going to do?" he asked.

I didn't bother trying to explain. Turning, I lunged out through the broken storefront window. Vicky's only got so much time, even with Aegis doing CPR. I've gotta fix this shit. My wings spread wide as I took to the air, but I didn't fly too high. My target was just across the street, after all.

<><>​

Panacea

A Little Earlier

Amy Dallon knelt on the floor of the museum in the middle of the timeline exhibit. This was where the teachers had made them gather when the shooting started, as the bulky stands actually provided cover from all sides. When the ABB had burst through, looking to ambush the Merchants, they had merely huddled up a little closer, on the principle that if they didn't look like a threat, the gangsters wouldn't bother them. That had worked, up to a point.

This point had come when Inago himself strode through the museum, his steel bug-mask gleaming in the overhead lights and the long black coat flaring behind him. He looked over the teachers, obviously dismissing them almost instantly. His gaze similarly raked over the students, and he pointed at the two Asian students in the group, beckoning them to come to him. Hesitantly, Chet and Kayla did so, and Amy's heart sank. Inago had already built a reputation for recruiting or killing off all the Asian gangs in the surrounding cities. She had no doubt he was about to make them an offer they couldn't refuse, as the old saying went.

"Leave them alone!" she had shouted, standing up. "Leave us all alone!" Guns were levelled at her, but Inago knocked them toward the ceiling; he, at least, recognised her. Recognised that hurting or killing Panacea would paint a huge target on the ABB's back. Of course, she realised a second or so later, it may not have been the smartest thing after all to reveal herself to him.

"I will leave them alone," the gang lord said in accented English. "You will heal my men." Raising a hand, he barked an order in some other language, and men scurried to obey.

"No," she'd told him, with a boldness she didn't feel. "I won't. You can't make me." Go ahead, she dared him silently. Touch me. I'll make you sorry you ever came to Brockton Bay.

Inago didn't hesitate. He reached out and grabbed the Asian girl by the throat. Her feet lifted from the floor and he began to squeeze; Kayla began to let out the most horrendous choking noises, her hands vainly pulling at his iron grip.

Amy's eyes widened. "No!" she shouted. "Stop! Don't kill her!"

The girl continued to choke and thrash, although her movements were becoming weaker. Inago ignored her, staring directly at Amy. "You will heal my men." His tone was implacable. The sky is blue, water is wet, you will heal my men.

There was no way out of it. Even if she let Kayla die, there were dozens more in the class. She had no doubt but that he'd butcher his way through every last one of them if he had to, in order to get her to cooperate. "I'll heal your men," she said, hating the sound of surrender in her voice.

"Good." He opened his hand and Kayla fell to the floor, coughing and choking and clutching her throat. Amy wanted to go to her but she felt eerily certain that if she did, Inago would end the girl as an object lesson. She's breathing. I'll heal her after all this is over.

After that, it had become a nightmare of one wounded man after another; bullet wounds, knife wounds, more bullet wounds. Amy wanted to sabotage her own efforts in some way, but short of screwing with their brains, she couldn't think of a way to make it so that these men couldn't fight without alerting Inago of what she was doing. And all the while, she could feel the accusing stares from her teachers and classmates, silently asking why are you helping them?

The crash as Vicky came in through the roof came as both a total shock and a welcome surprise. Her sister's aura swelled in response to her anger, causing the men with the guns to cower away from her. Vicky took advantage of this opening with vicious glee, punching out all three armed guards before they could react. Inago was the next to feel her wrath; her next blow sent him flying through a stand in a shower of rubble.

"Okay, Ames," Vicky said, landing next to her sister and extending a hand. "Let's get you—"

She didn't get any farther because a mass of black, buzzing bugs enveloped her, hiding her entirely from Amy's sight. Two of them alighted on Amy's hand and she instinctively tried to exert her power on them. Absolutely nothing happened; there wasn't even a life signal from them.

That was when Inago came out of the cloud of bugs, even more of them buzzing around him, and back-handed Vicky into an up-till-then unbroken display stand. The stand broke and Vicky started making horrific choking noises, her bug-covered arms clawing at her bug-covered face. Amy felt Vicky's aura flickering wildly as Inago strode over to her and smashed her to the floor in a single punch. His foot met her head on the way down, snapping it back so hard Amy thought Vicky may have fractured her spine. Reaching down, he picked Vicky up, her limp form dangling from his hand like a doll. The bugs began to leave her. As he reared back, Amy saw her face; her eyes were closed, blood running from her nostrils. Amy couldn't tell if she was dead or just unconscious.

When Inago threw her, Vicky flew through the air in a flat ballistic arc. She struck the plate glass window in the outside wall, shattering it and continuing on with barely any reduction in speed. Amy lost sight of her sister then. She wanted to scream and run after Vicky in the hope that she'd survived the brutal beating but she knew exactly what would happen to the other hostages if she did. Kneeling on the floor of the museum, she wrapped her arms around herself and wept for her heroic sister. I'm so sorry, Vicky. So very sorry.

"You will heal my men." Inago's voice was as relentless as ever. She ignored him, clutching herself more tightly. Vainly, she tried to will away the emptiness that grew inside her, threatening to envelop her very soul. A sob was wrenched from her throat.

A scream jolted her attention back to the here and now. Raising teary eyes, she saw a cloud of bugs descending on the hostages, who were thrashing and rolling on the floor in an effort to get away from them. Inago stepped forward, as if there was a chance she would think someone else could control such a swarm. "You will heal my men. Now."

The screech cut through the screams of the hostages like a knife through hot butter. In a totally unconscious reflex action, Amy threw herself flat. Terror twisted her guts into a knot as the sound grabbed every primitive atavistic instinct she had and yanked on it, hard. Looking up, she barely had time to register a red-and-gold blur before it was gone again. Something metallic hit the floor with a clatter, rocking back and forth slightly. She stared at it; it was Inago's mask.

<><>​

Aegis

Fuck, I'm losing her. Aegis tried to compress Glory Girl's chest again, but the bugs were too far down her throat, filling her lungs. Her heartbeat was thin and thready now, her finger relaxed against the floorboards. He gritted his teeth and tried again, refusing to give up hope.

Suddenly, the breath whooshed out from her lungs; he caught a whiff of it, and started to cough at the acrid taste. Poising himself over her, he pushed down on her chest once more. This expelled more of the noxious gas, allowing her to inhale life-giving oxygen.

"Vicky!" he heard a familiar voice calling from outside. "Vicky! Oh god, where are you?"

"In here!" he called out, not pausing in his efforts. Glory Girl still wasn't out of the woods, but he wasn't going to let her die on his watch. He could hear the sounds of ongoing combat, but this was more important.

Panacea came scrambling in through the shattered window, moving carefully to avoid the shards of glass. "Vicky!" she nearly screamed. "Oh, god. Is she—?"

"She's alive," he assured her. "Just. There's some crap in her lungs—"

In the next instant, she was on her knees beside her sister, cradling Glory Girl's hand in hers. The blonde hero convulsed, inhaling deeply, then coughed. More acrid gas came out of her lungs, then Amy triggered another deep breath. And another.

Thank God. Aegis slumped back against the wall. She's going to be okay.

<><>​

Wyvern

We smashed our way out through the plate glass and into the open air. Immediately, I turned my muzzle skyward and tightened my grip on Inago's arm. I was going to make him so very sorry for hurting my friend and frightening her sister. A fall from twenty thousand feet, I figured, would be a good start.

Inago, as it turned out, had other ideas. He wriggled and twisted, causing me to jink oddly in my flight, but he couldn't break my grip. That is, until the sudden weight fell on my back. That came as an unwelcome surprise, as did the blade across my throat. Oni Lee, I presume. As he tried to slice my neck open—it seemed that even my soft underbelly was proof against ordinary blades—I twisted my head around and snapped at him. Coppery-tasting blood filled my mouth as my teeth crunched through flesh and bone alike; the weight vanished once more. All except for an itch right in the middle of my back; a second too late, I realised that—

BOOOM

I came to with wind rushing in my ears. As with the last time I'd been knocked out by an explosion, I found myself in human form. Unlike the last time, I was still in mid-air, falling. Inago had wriggled free while I was engaged with Oni Lee, and had presumably already hit the ground. My costume was flapping about me in a rather less than intact manner, but I wasn't even worrying about that. Looking down, I could see the blurry ground rushing up at me. And Inago—at least, I presumed it was him—watching as I fell to my death.

Not gonna fuckin' happen. I took the surge of rage and rode it through the fastest Change I'd ever experienced. My wings spread and flapped mightily, catching me just yards above the ground. As I looked down at Inago, my jaws opened and I let out a screech of pure challenge. I found that I didn't care about the Merchants or Roadhog. The ABB had threatened Vicky's sister, and Inago had tried to kill Vicky herself. They were going down.

Inago opened his mouth and replied with a chittering screech that was nothing like mine. It was like the combined, concentrated sound of every biting, stinging insect I'd ever heard. As I watched, his mouth opened wider and wider, and mandibles began to push out from inside somewhere. By now, his eyesockets were filled with bulbous black masses. Compound eyes, I guessed.

From his open mouth poured more of the bugs, swarming up toward me in an almost impenetrable cloud. I flapped my wings, gaining height. The bugs followed, until I had them right where I wanted them. Inhaling deeply, I released a long, rolling burst of flame. The cone blasted downward, overwhelming the upward-moving swarm and reducing them to nothing but immaterial ash. It also hit Inago, setting fire to his long-coat.

He didn't seem to be overly worried by the fire, even as the coat burned around him. I bared my teeth and prepared the cutting flame; if it could melt Armsmaster's halberd, it could surely fry Inago where he stood. Furling my wings, I dropped into a dive; while I could easily target him from higher up, the distance might attenuate the flame.

Again, I felt the weight on my back at just the wrong moment. However, this time I knew what to do. Altering my focus, I spat out an explosive fireball. I didn't spit it far, and it was quite short-fused; less than half a second later, it went off … just as I was passing it, with my unwelcome passenger on board. He screamed and fell off, his costume on fire. I didn't care; all my attention was focused on Inago.

When I saw the long dark shape covering his back, I began to wonder where he'd found another coat. My mistake was revealed a moment later when the dark wing-cases opened and long, gossamer wings emerged from just behind his shoulders. Chitinous plates had grown over most of his body by now, with a second set of arms emerging halfway down to his hips. He was getting more and more insectile by the moment, and this wasn't a good thing. If I wasn't much mistaken, he was also about nine feet tall by now.

My jaws opened wide and I let out a blue-hot cutting flame. It lanced toward Inago as I closed with him, but at the last minute, his wings started beating with an audible thrumming sound, lifting him out of danger. He vomited another swarm of faux bugs toward me; almost contemptuously, I toasted them with a wide-stream blast of flame. I'd hoped that my fire would also wreck his fragile-looking wings, but no such luck.

The preliminaries over, we closed with each other.

I let loose a stream of blue-white cutting flame, but he dodged it; while he wasn't as agile as me in the air, it seemed he wasn't exactly clumsy either. His bugs swarmed at me, but they couldn't get through my scales and any that got as far as my mouth were incinerated by the flames escaping from between my teeth. Some tried for my eyes, but my nictitating membranes sufficed to sweep them away and keep my vision clear.

We slammed together, clawing and tearing at one another. I had to use my wings to stay aloft, which meant that he had two sets of limbs to bring to bear as opposed to my single pair. On the other hand, my neck was much more flexible than his, and my teeth were a good deal sharper than his mandibles. Locked together, we tumbled over and over in the sky. I wanted to toast him, but if he dodged my blast as he had before, it could endanger others. So I tore at him with my claws and crunched his chitin between my teeth.

When he got his mandibles around my neck, I had a bad moment. I didn't have the leverage to pull free, and he was squeezing almost hard enough to cut off my air supply. Fortunately, they were only sharp on the tips and not the inner edges, giving me enough time to claw frantically at his abdomen with my foot-talons. For the most part they just slid off, though I may have cracked or broken one or two chitin plates.

Useless as my efforts may have been, they stirred a memory. I'd been trapped once before, and my claws had failed to help me there as well. But I'd gotten out of my locker in a different way. If I could do the same here … this would take some doing.

I latched on to his lower abdomen with my feet and pushed upward as hard as I could, jamming a thicker section of my neck up into the vice formed by his mandibles. This forced his mandibles apart slightly, and gave me more of a chance to take a deep breath. Capitalising on that, I twisted my neck almost into a knot, until my muzzle was nudging at the gap between myself and Inago. Then I spat out an explosive fireball.

The concussion left my ears ringing, even as we were flung apart. Though I knew I couldn't let up for an instant. Inago was too powerful for me to gradually wear down; I had to take him down hard and fast. The memory of what he'd done to Vicky flooded my mind with anger and resolve, and the last of the fuzziness disappeared.

Inhaling deeply, I launched another explosive fireball; it flew straight and true, detonating right next to him. Weathering the blast wave, I flew at him as he tumbled through the air. Not giving him time to get oriented, I sent another blast of fire at him. This one was perhaps the most intense cutting flame that I'd produced yet; he barely had a chance to dodge before it seared off one of his wings.

Out of control, unable to fly, he began to plummet toward the ground. Given what he'd endured at my hands—teeth, claws, whatever—I strongly suspected that he'd survive the impact. I didn't intend to make it that easy for him.

Arrowing in at him, I latched on with both feet. His compound eyes could convey no more emotion than the mandibles, but I thought I detected both fear and anger in him. I didn't care any more; opening my jaws, I lunged in and clamped them on to his right upper arm. He screamed, a high insectile screeching, as I clenched my teeth together and wrenched hard with my neck. Chitin crunched, bone popped, and flesh tore; I came away with his arm in my mouth.

As I spat it out, I realised the ground was getting very close indeed. As I released my grip on him with every intention of flying up and away, his other three arms latched on to me. I flapped once, but when I failed to break his grip, I went with Plan B. Grinning a very draconic grin, I treated him to an explosive fireball. You'd really think he'd have learned by now.

The explosion was probably just as jarring as hitting the ground would have been. For my part, that is. My spread wings caught a lot of the blast, pushing me up and away. Inago, on the other hand, got slapped down hard, then stopped just as hard by the asphalt. I hovered over him, staring down at his crumpled body as it began to shrink and shed shattered chunks of chitin. It looked like he was unconscious at last. Still, he was dangerous as long as he lived. Better that he end now rather than—

"Wyvern, no!" It was Vicky's voice; a moment later, she flew in between me and Inago, holding her hand out toward me. I swallowed back the fire I'd been intending to unleash, a cutting flame that would've bisected Inago from crown to crotch. Vicky stared up at me with earnest, anxious eyes. "Wyvern, he's down. You can stop now. I'm okay."

I took a breath, and let myself relax just a little. Vicky looked so small, but she also looked … well, a little ruffled, but alive and well. Her tiara was missing, though that was no big deal—she'd shown me her collection of spares—and she looked like she'd been dragged through a hedge backward, but she was alive. I let out an inquiring chirp.

"Aegis kept me alive until his bugs vanished," she explained rapidly. "Then Ames got to us and made sure of it." She flew up and put her arms around my neck, which seemed to be wider than her whole body now. This seemed odd, but I couldn't figure out why. "You saved my life."

Gently, I came down for a landing beside where Inago lay. He was down to human form now; that is, a lot smaller than me. Once my wings were no longer needed for flying, I used them to hug her in return, then let out a friendly chirp. You're welcome. Then, remembering the rest of the fight, I looked around.

The giant robot and the centipede/truck combo were no longer fighting. Nor were the gang members clashing. In fact, most of the latter seemed to have vacated the field of combat. I couldn't even see the Merchant capes. Glaring at the mechanical monstrosities, and by proxy the people driving them, I drew in a deep lungful of air. Letting Victoria go, I took up the same pose as when I'd confronted Armsmaster; crouched, jaws wide, wings spread. I didn't spit fire this time, however; these two hadn't attacked anyone I cared about. Instead, I went to let out a screech. What came out, however, was nothing less than a full-blooded roar. Fuck off. When I want to deal with you, I'll come looking. As the echoes died away, I could hear car alarms going off up and down the block.

They got the hint, breaking off from one another. The giant robot ignited some sort of flight pack and roared off over the rooftops, while the centipede-truck thing scuttled away down the street. Another glance around told me that the remaining gang members were likewise decamping at best speed. I didn't really blame them; after the show I'd put on with Inago, I really doubted they wanted to push me at that moment. I'd not want to push me at the moment.

"Well, crap." Aegis' voice startled me for a moment. "I thought you were scary before." I swivelled one eye his way, noting that Panacea was standing beside him, and let my teeth show for a moment in my version of a grin. He grinned back and indicated where Roadhog and the giant robot had been. "I'm pretty sure they'll both be changing their underwear when they get back to base."

Vicky snickered, and I echoed her. The imagery was kinda funny. She looked up at me, while leaning against my shoulder in a familiar fashion. "So, I'm gonna take a stab in the dark here and guess that you got kinda mad when you were fighting him?"

Twisting my neck, I looked down at myself. Compared to her, I realised, I was kind of on the large side. At least twice as long as our car, I figured, and tall enough that even Aegis only came up to my lower chest. Nodding my head, I chirped in the affirmative, then shrugged. Fighting someone like that, what can I do?

"So wait, you don't normally get this big?" Aegis looked up at me, with something approaching respect in his voice. "I guess you scale up according to the threat you're facing?" Looking down at Inago's unconscious body—still missing an arm—he nodded slowly. "Seeing how powerful he is, I'm kinda not surprised you got this big this fast."

"Can I see, please?" Amy stepped forward, hands twitching as she reached out toward me then pulled back again. "You're a lot bigger than you and Vicky described. I mean, wow."

I gave her another wyvern-grin and an agreeable chirp, then extended a wing toward her. She took hold of it, her eyes widening as she stared at nothing. "Wow," she breathed. "Wow. Your whole system's reshaped itself on the fly to be more efficient at the larger size. I can't believe … wow. How hot is your flame, now?"

I gave her a helpless shrug. Not only could I not talk, but I had zero idea about how to measure the heat of something that could melt concrete and slag Tinkertech weapons. All I knew was that it was hot enough. Also, I had no idea where the cone of flame had come from, but it had definitely been handy against Inago's weird bug-swarm.

"I got a better question." Vicky's grin was downright mischievous. "Where's your costume?"

The answer was simple: 'gone'. As the first PRT van screeched to a halt, I closed my eyes and covered my face with my wing.

This day was just getting better and better.



End of Part Twelve

Part Thirteen

 

[Ack]

Wyvern

Part Thirteen: Growing Pains

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



Taylor

"Holy. Shit."

The words were spoken softly, almost reverently. I thought I recognised the voice. Lowering the wing which I'd been using to cover my eyes, I discovered that Vicky and Aegis had been joined by other costumed teens. Specifically, the Wards. Amy, I could see, was off ensuring that the gang members who'd been too injured to run were going to survive to see trial.

Which wasn't my problem. My problem was that I happened to be in danger of adding to my teenage fan club—currently consisting of Glory Girl, with Panacea and possibly Aegis as honorary members as far as I could see. Five of the six Wards standing before me seemed to be staring at me in awe; Aegis, of course, being the exception. Glory Girl, hovering alongside me, was radiating smugness so hard it almost formed a separate aura all of its own.

The voice had been that of a teenage boy, which didn't narrow down the options very much. There was only one female Ward in attendance, being Vista; at least, I assumed it was her from the costume. I inhaled deeply, and found familiar scents hitting my nostrils. Before, when I was a smaller size, I hadn't been consciously aware of sampling scents. Now, it seemed the world was full of them.

"You said she was big," went on the speaker. From the slight echo, and the fact that I couldn't see anybody's lips moving, it had to be Clockblocker who was talking. "You didn't say she was this big."

"Wooooow," breathed Vista. My infra-red vision could see her increased heart rate, but she didn't smell scared. She smelled excited. "This is so damn cool." I half-expected her to put out her hand and try to pet me, but she'd obviously been told that I was a person, not a thing. "You look awesome."

Well, that sort of attention I could get used to. A currently airborne Vicky draped one arm over my neck as I preened just a little. If I knew her at all, she was grinning from ear to ear. With an agreeable chirp, I nodded toward Vista, who reacted by darting forward and hugging me, or as much of me as she could reach. I looked quizzically down at her, then tilted my head toward Vicky.

"It's a dragon thing," she explained cheerfully. "Or rather, a wyvern thing. Teenage girls like 'em. Don't tell me you didn't know that?"

I considered her words. There had been a phase when I'd worn a sparkly dragon T-shirt almost obsessively, to the point that Mom had to resort to threats to get me to let her wash it. But I'd thought it was just me; Emma hadn't had the slightest interest in dragons at the time. And now I had a teenage Ward, only a bit older than I'd been then, hugging me just because I was a dragon. Or rather, a wyvern. Life was strange sometimes.

Which reminded me of something that had occurred to me after the fight. Experimentally, I generated some flame in my gullet then snorted. A little flame and rather a lot of smoke came out through my nostrils. All the Wards recoiled slightly, and Vista looked up at me. "Sorry," she said hastily. "I didn't mean to upset you." Letting me go, she backed off hurriedly.

"No, it's okay," Vicky told her. "I don't think she's angry." She turned to me. "Are you?"

I shook my head, then peeled back my lips to show them a wyvern-style grin—they collectively took another step back—and snickered slightly.

Vicky rolled her eyes. "Okay, I get it. You think it's funny. You realise you're scaring children here, right?"

Half of these 'children' are older than you. I nudged her with my nose, then blew smoke all over her. She flew out of the cloud, coughing, then glared at Clockblocker when he started laughing.

"Not funny," she said indignantly, then switched her glare to me when I snickered again. "I mean it. That wasn't funny at all."

"Actually, it kinda was," Aegis pointed out, a grin lurking on his face. "The look on your face was priceless. I—uh, hi, sir."

Vicky and I both turned our heads. Armsmaster was approaching, and from what I could see of his mouth, he wasn't very pleased. Of course, the man never seemed pleased about anything that I could tell.

"Aegis," he said curtly as he came up to us. "I'm sure the Wards would be more useful with helping police the situation than standing around gawking at a new cape." Though his words were phrased as a suggestion, the tone said something else altogether.

"Uh, yes, sir," Aegis replied hastily. "Come on, Wards. Vista, you go with Clockblocker to check out the museum …" His voice faded away as he retreated with the Wards.

Armsmaster turned to me. He looked at Glory Girl for a moment; I suspected he wanted to be able to order her to leave too. Of course, as we were both members of a team quite separate from the Wards, I also suspected that she'd tell him to go to hell if he tried.

"Did you want something, Armsmaster?" she asked sweetly. Her irritation at my smoke prank had apparently vanished almost as fast as the smoke itself, for she casually leaned against the side of my neck while standing on nothing.

His expression became just a little more sour. "I'd hoped for a private talk with Wyvern, Miss Dallon," he replied gruffly.

"Nope," she said, just as sweetly as before. "Mom wants to make sure she's got a responsible member of New Wave nearby at all times." She hooked her thumb at herself. "That's me." I nearly snickered again at the thought of Vicky considering herself 'responsible', but stopped myself in time. Armsmaster might take it the wrong way.

"Very well," he said, not sounding happy at all. "Wyvern, you appear to have increased in size. How did this happen?" As he tilted his helmet back to look up at me, I could see his fingers flexing slightly, as if he wished he was holding his halberd. That particular weapon was securely racked on his back, which didn't surprise me. If he couldn't intimidate me with it when I was human sized, there wasn't much he could do with it when I was this big. Well, except for start a fight, which would almost certainly go very badly for him.

Of course, I couldn't exactly answer the question, so I deferred to Vicky with a tilt of my head. She glanced at me, then at Armsmaster. "I'm sorry, what was the question again? How did Wyvern get so large?" With an effort, I stopped myself from grinning at her innocent tone. Vicky was milking this for all the amusement she could get out of it.

"Yes," gritted Armsmaster. "She was already quite powerful and somewhat impulsive. I need to know what happened to cause this change."

And then Vicky reached into a pouch on her belt and pulled out my busted glasses, minus the glass. As primly as any librarian, she perched these on her nose and assumed a professorial air. Inside, I was already cackling with laughter, but outwardly I did my best to maintain a stolid expression for Armsmaster's benefit.

"Sources vary on the exact cause of my teammate Wyvern's sudden and perhaps inexplicable alteration in size and mass," she intoned solemnly. "Personally, I favour the hypothesis that if one angers a dragon and said dragon happens to increase in size and bites one's arm off, then one deserves whatever one gets."

"So it happened during the fight with Inago then," he said, with the air of a man hanging on to his temper by a very thin thread. "Was it a sudden change, or did she gradually increase in size?"

"I wouldn't know," Vicky said, dropping the faux professor tone. "I was unconscious for most of the fight, after Inago beat the living crap out of me and filled my lungs with his bugs." She gestured toward where the villain himself was being treated prior to being taken away. "If you want to find out, ask him."

"Inago is unconscious, and likely to be so for some time," Armsmaster said flatly. "He's been dosed with Brute-scale tranquillisers. This should hold until we get him into a secure cell. Even if he he was willing to give us any answers, he wouldn't be able to supply them any time soon,." He took a step closer to me. "This growth is a potential indicator of a concerning trend. If you get much larger, you may end up being an inadvertent danger to the city. I would like to strongly recommend that you come with me to the Protectorate base, where we can study—"

Leaning down so that my muzzle was barely a foot from his helmet, I opened my mouth to give him a good long look at the extremely impressive array of teeth that my tongue told me was there. NO, I thought as hard as I could, while giving voice to a chirp that would hopefully get the message across.

"No," a deep voice rumbled.

What?

Where my teeth had failed to scare him, that voice did the trick. Armsmaster took not one but two steps back, while Vicky whirled in midair and stared at me.

"You talked!" she blurted/"You can talk?" he demanded.

If I hadn't been so astonished myself, I might have laughed at the look of sheer bogglement on Glory Girl's face. Armsmaster's helmet visor covered most of his face, but I was pretty sure he was equally surprised.

I coughed a couple of times, sending puffs of smoke into the air. Then I took a deep breath and concentrated, trying to figure out how I'd done it. I guess, I thought really hard. This is kind of new. As I concentrated on the words, I voiced the chirp.

"I guess," rumbled the voice. It wasn't my voice, not really. Even though I could feel the vibration in my chest as I spoke the words, that voice did not belong to Taylor Hebert, fifteen year old nerd. It was as gravelly as ten miles of bad road, and so deep it sounded like the voice-over for an advertisement about extreme off-road skeet-shooting, or some other intensely masculine (read: unnecessarily dangerous) pursuit. "This is kind of new."

"Yeah, no crap it's new," Vicky exclaimed. "And wow, I think your voice is deeper than Uncle Neil's." An evil grin spread over her face. "Oh, god. I so want to see Amy's face when you talk in front of her. She'll blow a fuse for sure."

"Why can you talk now but not earlier?" demanded Armsmaster. From his tone, he suspected he was the victim of a massive practical joke. "Are you trying to claim that the increased size has enabled you to talk?"

I took another deep breath. This wasn't like talking normally. It took all my concentration and a certain amount of effort, and I had to think out what I wanted to say in advance. But I could talk, which was kind of amazing. I'm not claiming it. I'm saying it.

"I'm not claiming it," my wyvern voice rumbled. "I'm saying it." It was a relatively long speech for me, and I felt a breath of smoke come out with it, as if a rush of flame was about to follow. I wasn't even going to think about how I was managing the nuances of human speech without normal human speech apparatus to make it work. The fact that I now had a wingspan wide enough to reach right across the street if I angled it right merely indicated that my life had become far too weird for ordinary human logic to work out.

"Which only proves my point," he argued. "Your unexpected size change, coupled with new abilities, indicates that there are aspects about your powers that nobody understands yet. For your safety—for everyone's safety—I really think you should—"

Now I was getting angry. Toasting him in his armour would be a bad idea, for several reasons. So would biting his arm off, as I'd done with Inago. He didn't have his halberd out for me to melt, which had shut him up before, if only by accident. But now I had a new tactic to use; speech. If I could just tell him to go away and leave me alone—

This time, I didn't have time to think about the words. I didn't need to; they just came out all by themselves.

"FFUUCCKK OFFF!"

Previously, I'd been speaking at a relatively moderate tone; say, that of a big man raising his voice slightly. Now, it was more like the same big man shouting into a megaphone the size of a city bus. My voice boomed down the street. Those few birds which had just come in for a landing after the fight scattered into the sky once more. Everyone turned to look at us. The driver's side airbag in the PRT van spontaneously went off with a bang. Over at the museum, three bullet-holed windows gave up the ghost and collapsed into shards of glass.

I was pretty sure they'd heard it halfway across the city. In fact, I suspected they might've heard it in Boston. Which meant that every Ward on site, along with every PRT soldier and Protectorate hero, had just heard me drop the mother of all F-bombs on Armsmaster.

On the upside, the man had it coming. On the downside, I didn't think I was ever going to change back at this rate. Especially with that memory coming back to haunt me every time I tried to relax and pretend everything was going to be okay. And it would come back to haunt me; I could almost guarantee it.

Vicky tapped me on the shoulder. When I looked around, she pointed upward, then flew in that direction. That was a good idea, I figured, and brought my wings down to fly off. What I hadn't considered was that the downwash of air was the last straw for a man who'd already been knocked off balance by a massive sonic assault to the inner ears. When I last saw him from a hundred feet up, he was sprawled on his ass, shaking his head dizzily. Oh, shit. I just cursed out Armsmaster, deafened him, then knocked him on his ass.

He is gonna be pissed.

Well, there was nothing I could do about it, so I set course to follow Vicky.

<><>​

Armsmaster

Colin had just regained his feet when the first PRT soldier reached him. His ears were still ringing, a warm feeling on his upper lip told him that he had a nosebleed, and several of the more delicate systems in his helmet were malfunctioning. On the fourth try, the speech-to-text function kicked in, although half the HUD was flickering intermittently.

… ALL RIGHT, SIR?

"I'm fine," he enunciated carefully. "My armour protected me from the worst of it. I'm temporarily deaf, though." That shout, he suspected, would have broken capillaries and caused mild surface tissue damage to an unarmoured person. He was lucky his eardrums hadn't burst altogether.

The soldier pointed at Colin's mouth. YOU'RE BLEEDING, SIR. DO YOU REQUIRE MEDICAL ATTENTION?

"No." He shook his head, wincing as he felt something rattling inside the helmet where nothing should've rattled. I'm going to have to tear it down and rebuild mostly from scratch. It seems every time I encounter Wyvern, she ends up destroying my equipment. "It's just a nosebleed. I'll be fine once my hearing comes back."

YES, SIR. The soldier moved away from him and Colin turned his attention to the helmet. Not all of the heads-up display options were working at the moment but with a little effort, he managed to coax it into doing a self-test. Red flags began to pop up immediately, with more showing every second. He'd designed the helmet with a certain amount of redundancy, but the damage wrought by Wyvern's bellow had apparently overwhelmed even some of the more robust systems.

It was only partially his fault, Colin decided, for not being more cautious. He couldn't have known ahead of time that she'd be able to talk, although he had gotten the report on the volume of her roar. The damage perpetrated by her shout, however, seemed to be more than the roar had done. Perhaps because the roar had been more drawn out and thus less intense?

This only proves my point, he told himself. Any self-respecting cape should have been more careful when using a new ability, even one so innocuous as speech. It wasn't the first time he'd been told to fuck off, of course. Though Wyvern could not have been expected to know about the sheer damage potential inherent in a simple shout. Triumph aside, of course.

Has she ever met Triumph? I'll have to check that. If I can get her into the Wards, perhaps he can give her some pointers on not being so destructive.

DO YOU NEED HEALING? The words scrolled across his HUD, and he turned to see who was speaking. If it was the soldier from before, he intended to have words with the man about respecting boundaries.

But it wasn't one of the soldiers. Instead, it was Panacea herself. She was grimy, with bloodstains on her clothing and hands and a weary look in her eyes. She looked back at him fearlessly. Her lips moved, and a moment later the words scrolled across in front of his eyes. SOMEONE SAID YOU HAD LOST YOUR HEARING AND HAD A NOSEBLEED. DO YOU NEED HEALING?

He sighed. There was a time to be self-sufficient and a time to bow to the inevitable. Holding out his hand, he triggered the control that folded back the pad over his index finger. While biometrics could be made to work through his armour, it was easier with bare skin. "Will this do?" he asked carefully.

YES. HOLD STILL. She took his hand and pressed her thumb to his bare forefinger. Despite having been healed by her before, he still somehow expected to feel some kind of sensation. But with Panacea, all he felt was a spreading nullification of the aches and pains that invariably built up over the day. When the wavefront of her power reached his head, he felt rather than heard a sharp popping sound, then his hearing returned.

"Your eardrums weren't burst, not quite, but your ears were severely traumatised," she told him firmly. "You also had burst capillaries around your mouth, covered by your beard. Next time, get medical help immediately. Loud sounds can cause serious injury, up to and including brain damage. Which I can't help with, as you know." She released his hand and touched her upper lip. "If I was you, I'd wash your face. There's blood in your moustache."

"Thank you, Panacea," he said automatically. Always thank your medic. "I'd like to reiterate my suggestion for a therapist. If your inability to affect brains is a mental block, and I don't see why it shouldn't be, then perhaps they can help you get past it."

"No, thank you," she said sharply. "It is what it is." Turning away from him, she started back toward the museum. He watched her go, wondering briefly at her attitude. If he had her power, he'd move heaven and earth to make it as efficient as possible. But she wasn't even willing to talk to someone about her problem. I guess I'll never understand people.

His radio was still working, albeit seriously damaged. He could only hear every third word, and he couldn't transmit at all. With that in mind, he located Aegis, who was helping stand guard over one of the groups of captured gang members. From the torn and bloodied clothing, he guessed these people had been injured too much to fight or flee. The fact that they were standing without effort meant they'd since been healed, probably by Panacea.

"My equipment's damaged," he told the second in command of the Wards bluntly. "I'm heading back to base to deal with it. You'll take your orders from the ranking PRT officer on site. Understood?"

Aegis nodded. "Understood, sir." He was a good kid, as far as Colin knew about teenagers. The few reports Colin had bothered to review stated that Aegis was conscientious and scrupulous with his duties. This was a good thing, as Triumph was due to graduate from the Wards in a couple of months. The sound Blaster had already expressed his intent to jump straight into the Protectorate, leaving Aegis to take over the team in his absence.

Without another word, Colin turned and headed back to where he'd left his bike. Fortunately, the vehicle had sensory systems he could connect into while he was riding, which would reduce the load on the damaged electronics in his helmet. And if he set the autopilot, he could use the ride back to base considering what he was going to do about Wyvern.

<><>​

Taylor

It was only when I was circling Vicky's house preparatory to landing that the next big obstacle raised its ugly head. Or more specifically, it was a recurring obstacle that had chosen to show up at exactly the wrong time. Because fuck my life.

"Vicky," I said, trying not to speak so loudly that all of her neighbours heard it. "Problem."

"Oh, crap, what now?" she asked, flying closer to me. "You're not getting bigger, are you?" Measuring me by eye, she shook her head. "I don't think you're getting bigger."

"No." I'm not getting any bigger, but I'm not getting any smaller, either. I shook my head and concentrated. This was going to be a long one. "How do I get inside?"

"Oh," she said. "Oh, crap. I didn't think about that." She looked at me and then down at the house, and I could see her trying to figure out how I was supposed to get in through the front door. I was pretty sure my shoulders were wider than the doorway itself, even if I crouched low enough to get under the lintel. My head would fit inside, I figured, but the rest of me would be out of luck.

"Me too," I managed. "Big as a car." Well, my torso was, or thereabouts. I had no idea how much I weighed, or even where to find a set of scales that could take my weight at the moment. 'Skinny' was not a word that described me right then. Nor was 'petite'.

"Hah! That's the answer!" Vicky snapped her fingers. "Land on the driveway! I'll be right back!" She glided down and landed next to the front door.

By the time I managed to backwing and land—being ultra-careful not to hit the house or the nearby telephone pole with my wings—she was inside. I wasn't quite sure whether either structure would break before my wings did, but I didn't want to take the chance either way. I seemed to be inordinately tough in wyvern form, but there was such a thing as reckless negligence. As it was, I heard a clatter as the great gusts of wind from my wings knocked over a garbage can two houses down. I decided to leave it be, as the only manipulator I had was my mouth, and I did not want to accidentally bite a filled trash can in half. Even from where I was, I didn't like the smell.

I didn't know what Vicky was up to, but I felt faintly ridiculous standing on the driveway of a suburban home in wyvern form. Some deep instinct told me that I should seek a desolate mountain cave or the caldera of a volcano to make my home. I told it to go away and stop bothering me; I was human first and wyvern second. Even if I was starting to gain a distinct understanding of Alice's conundrum when she was too large to fit through the door into freedom.

And then, with a rumble, the garage door rolled up. Vicky stood there, beaming at me proudly. "I said I was a genius before, and I'll say it again. Car-sized wyvern, meet car-sized door."

I had to admit, she was right. It was an ingenious solution, and one that I should've thought of myself. "Yup," I agreed. "Genius." Carefully furling my wings closely at my sides, I ducked my head and waddled forward into the one car-space that was free. I suspected that it belonged to Brandish, while the other car was probably Flashbang's. If I kept my head low and made sure not to erect the crest on my head, I figured I could fit inside.

"Okay, that's good," Vicky said cheerfully. "Now the tail." I felt her nudge that appendage, apparently with her elbow. Turning my head, mindful not to bump Mark's car with my jaw, I carefully brought my tail all the way into the garage. The moment it was out of the way, Vicky started the garage door rolling down again.

Which got me out of the public eye, a move I approved of. But now I was stuck in a garage, surrounded by remarkably fragile—and remarkably expensive—obstacles. "Okay. Now what?" Changing back would be a chore, given my feelings of guilt over having yelled in Armsmaster's face. Well, I felt kind of guilty. I hadn't meant to yell that loudly.

"Hey, I got your back," she assured me. "Or rather, I got you your favourite bathrobe." With the air of a magician producing a rabbit from a hat—or, for the more upmarket ones, a hat from a rabbit—she levitated over the car and retrieved a lumpy bundle from beside the door leading into the house. It was bright pink, which should've clued me in on what it was. In my defence, it was folded Vicky-style, which meant 'this goes there, and that goes anywhere, and forget it'. She dropped it on the hood of the car beside my head, and rubbed her hands together. "Now for the fun bit."

I figured I knew what was coming, and mentally braced myself. Vicky's aura always made me feel a little weird afterward. Whether this was from the emotional aftertaste of the feelings she made me experience or the intellectual knowledge that she was in some small way controlling my mind, I wasn't totally sure I liked it. Which was why I wanted to learn how to reliably force the change myself, and not depend on either her or Amy.

The wave of love and affection washed through me, as it always did. I tamped down the impulse to spread my wings and surf on the almost palpable emotions; if I did that, I might just put my wing through the garage wall. Not to mention Flashbang's car. But it was definitely doing its job. Second by second, the tension was melting out of my body.

I felt the change coming before it actually began, and closed my eyes. Deep within, there was a pull, drawing me back toward my human form. Toward being Taylor Hebert. I swayed on my feet as it began. Even with my eyes closed, I could feel my body changing. My wings shrank; my tail retracted toward my butt; my torso contracted, losing mass in a way I found most disconcerting. Not least because this was the first time I'd felt the change in size and mass so vividly.

As my weight distribution shifted, I stumbled. Hastily, I opened my eyes so I wouldn't fall into anything I couldn't afford to pay for, and saw my hands clutching on to Flashbang's car. I still felt weird, but looking down at myself revealed that I was human once more. Nothing dragony, nothing scaly; all original issue.

"Oh, good," I mumbled, and passed out.

<><>​

Armsmaster

Travelling at a steady seventy-five miles per hour, Colin's bike thundered down the road toward the Bay. To the uneducated observer, this particular street wouldn't seem to have any real purpose, as there were no businesses that fronted on to it. A stop sign, combined with AUTHORIZED VEHICLES ONLY and NO TRESPASSING, marked where it turned off from the main thoroughfare. The PRT logo was affixed to the authorized-vehicles sign, making it clear exactly which organisation was setting the street aside for their private use.

Those in the know, as Colin was, would be aware of the PRT strike squad permanently quartered in the unassuming buildings on either side of the street. It was their job to monitor the state of the road on a twenty-four hour basis, and to discourage any unauthorised vehicles from making use of it. Given that any such vehicles would trigger tyre-shredders at regular intervals down the street, this was more for the safety of the public than anything else.

Colin's bike, of course, was authorised. The IFF chip he'd built into the bike deactivated the tyre-shredders before he ever reached them. At the far end of the road, butting on to the water itself, was a row of bollards. When he passed the fifty-yard mark, the bollards began to smoothly retract into the road to clear the way. At twenty-five yards, they were mostly done. At ten yards, as their tops became flush with the road surface, the force-field bridge sprang into existence. Straight as a ruler, it led directly out toward the Protectorate base in the middle of the bay.

Assault had once referred to the bridge as Bifrost, citing its colour (the same shifting rainbow hues that typified the bubble around the base proper) and the fact that it connected the realm of the gods with the world of ordinary men. Colin considered this, then told Assault that the reference was fanciful at best and counterfactual at worst, considering that more parahumans (yes, he did actually get the reference; he just didn't think it was valid) could be found in and around Brockton Bay than ever resided on the base. More to the point, did Assault want the Empire taking note of the Norse connotations and getting the impression that the Protectorate considered themselves Aryan in nature? The only response he got from Assault was a long stare and a shake of the head. Nothing more was said about Bifrost, or any other classical allusions to do with the base or the bridge, which suited Colin quite well.

The bike, still on autopilot, began to slow as he approached the end of the bridge. Once he reached the repurposed oil rig that served the Protectorate as a base in Brockton Bay, he took over control once more and cruised up the long curving ramp. Behind him, the bridge winked out of existence, but he was no longer paying attention to it.

By the time he reached the vehicle level, which only took a few seconds, he'd decided to check the bike over for any signs of damage. It might've been much farther away from Wyvern than himself or even the PRT van, but there was still the chance that the overpressure wave had caused damage to its more delicate components. So he steered the cycle into the maintenance area he'd set up to keep it up to scratch.

Stepping off the cycle, he plugged a diagnostic cable into it and activated the 'test all' function. This would take about fifteen minutes to complete, so he headed into his workshop proper, the one where he built all the other equipment he used in the field. On a rack over the workbench was the sad-looking remains of his previous halberd, the melted head drooping off of one end. He was still working on cannibalising its systems for use in the replacement, but he figured to be done by the end of the day. Or rather, considering this setback, sometime the next morning.

Removing his helmet, he placed it on the stand he'd designed for it and set that up to run a diagnostic as well. Then he took the current halberd off of his back, and began to remove his armour.

He was halfway through his task, sliding the left-hand vambrace and gauntlet off his arm, when his phone pinged. "You have a call from … Director Emily Piggot," it announced in a gentle tone. Not unlike the one Dragon used, actually, though he wasn't quite sure which had come first.

"Accept," he said absently, pulling his hand out of the end of the vambrace and placing the armour section on its rack. "Hello, Director. What can I do for you?"

"You can tell me what happened at the Isaac Lord Museum." Piggot's tone was abrupt. "Specifically, what you said to Wyvern that made her tell you to fuck off in front of thirty very impressionable schoolchildren. Some of whom recorded the confrontation. Would you like me to tell you how I know this?"

He could definitely hazard a guess. "They've put it online?"

"Precisely." There was no video feed with the call but from his previous association with her, she had to look like she was sucking on a lemon right then. "I realise that she was the one who did the swearing. Believe me, if it had been you, we'd be having an entirely different conversation right now. But to anger someone who'd just beaten up Inago and scared off two other gang capes was not the brightest move in the world. So what did you say, and why did you say it?"

Colin took a deep breath. "Well, to start with, you're of course aware that she can now speak. Were you also aware of how she's now much bigger than she was before? Or how these two changes may be related?" He began working to disconnect the other vambrace.

"I was a little perplexed by how she seemed to be larger than your previous description and imagery would have suggested, yes," she agreed. "When did this happen, exactly? Did she enter the fight at that size, or did she transform and then increase in size during the fight?"

"I asked those exact questions," he said, doing his best not to sound irritated. He didn't want her to think he was angry with her, after all. "But Glory Girl didn't know, and Wyvern apparently hadn't realised she was verbal at that point."

"Aegis's report should clear a few things up, considering he was present for the entire conflict," she replied. "Unfortunately, he's still there at the moment. In the meantime, how certain are you about the link between Wyvern's size and her ability to speak?"

"I'm not," he answered candidly. "It's based off of what Glory Girl and Wyvern herself have alleged, but the only evidence I have for that is the fact that Wyvern has been non-verbal to this point. It may be that she really needs to achieve this size before she can speak, or she might simply have been faking inability to speak the whole time to put me off my guard. I can't say, one way or the other."

"It would seem a little out of character for Glory Girl to go along with such a ruse unless she was taken in as well," the Director mused. "Let's assume for the moment that they're telling the truth about Wyvern only being able to speak while enlarged. That said, you still haven't told me what you said or did to make her angry."

He hadn't been looking forward to this, but it had to be said. "I was trying to impress upon her the gravity of the situation," he explained. "Her sudden changes in size and capabilities indicate that there may be more changes in future. She went from the size of a human to the size of a car over the course of several days and a few combats. Inago isn't the only tough opponent in Brockton Bay. What if she ends up in combat with Fenja and Menja, just as an example, and decides that she needs to grow even larger? The destructive capability of her flame breath is notable enough at normal size. If her powers go out of control, she could destroy a significant chunk of the city without even meaning to."

"Let me see if I can figure what happened next," Piggot said. "You urged her to come in for power testing, despite her extremely blunt refusal to do that the last time the subject was raised. She refused once more; you wouldn't let the matter drop. So she yelled in your face, then flew away. Is that about right?"

"That sounds … accurate," he admitted. "Though the sheer intensity of her shout damaged, a number of my helmet systems, including the total destruction of the recording equipment. Over and above that, it also caused me a few minor superficial injuries. Panacea healed me, but I'm currently in the process of ascertaining what I need to do to get my armour back to working order." He hesitated, then spoke up. "I believe that Wyvern has the potential to be an extremely loose cannon, especially considering the damage she can inflict and the lack of any real oversight from New Wave."

"Yet you want her in the Wards." It wasn't a question.

"I do." He removed the other vambrace. "We can study her powers and determine how they propagate. With proper training and discipline, we can ensure that the full scope of her power is kept in check for when it's truly needed—and determine how to bring it out when it is."

There was a long silence from the Director's end, such that Colin checked the phone to see if she'd hung up. The signal was still strong, so he went back to removing his armour.

Finally, she spoke again. "You think if she can be made strong enough, she could battle Endbringers, and possibly win." He couldn't interpret the tone in her voice, but it didn't sound like unconditional agreement.

"There are risks to the idea, of course," he said to forestall any protests. "Her power may have a hard ceiling. And of course, to reach a size capable of seriously threatening any one of the Endbringers, she would need be powerful enough to level any city she fought in. So we'd have to be absolutely certain she can do it …"

"If I had a dollar for every cape who was absolutely certain his ability could one-shot an Endbringer, I'd be able to retire rich," she observed dryly.

"Yes," he conceded. "Or … it would have to be a last resort. One where we don't mind losing the city, so long as the Endbringer goes down."

"You're banking a lot on the idea of a teenage girl being the one cape who can solo an Endbringer," the Director noted. "It's never happened before. Why do you even think she can do it?"

"Well, I don't think she can," admitted Colin. "But the possibility exists, however slight, that she might be able to. Given how much she ramped up to fight Inago, and how hard she took him down, there exists the outside possibility that she powers up to meet and exceed perceived threats."

"And there exists no greater threat than the Endbringers," agreed the Director. "Did you actually have a plan for testing the limits of her powers without actually destroying the city in the process?"

"Not … as such," Colin said. "I wanted to gather data first. See how her power works, and if I can gauge its strength that way. There are a lot of variables involved. But I can't do any of it unless I can actually get access to her."

"Well, my office has been informed that she's officially a member of New Wave," the Director stated. "Which means that unless her legal status changes a lot, or if she specifically gives permission, you're unlikely to get that access."

"About that." Colin didn't want to go down this path, as it opened the way for potential backlash in future, but he felt he owed it to himself just to see what the Director thought about it. "When she shouted at me, I suffered injury, and my armour was damaged. That could be construed as an attack on a Protectorate member with a parahuman ability. If we pressed that as a charge …"

Again, Piggot was silent for a few moments. Colin didn't bother trying to interpret it, but instead concentrated on taking the last of his armour off. He was just racking his chestplate when she spoke again. "As much as I hate to say it, if she belonged to any other team, I'd think about it. For the record, in my opinion the entire concept's a dirty trick of the highest calibre. Consider yourself unofficially reprimanded."

He wasn't sure if the feeling in his chest was disappointment or relief. "Any other team? What's so special about New Wave?"

"Brandish. Or, more specifically, Carol Dallon. With her daughter as witness, she could tear apart any justification we had for impressing Wyvern into the Wards. No, the only chance we have of getting our hands on her is if she actually commits a real crime and gets caught for it." Piggot paused. "Or, of course, volunteers. But after today's little debacle, that's becoming less and less likely by the second. Just by the way, I'm giving you an official reprimand to go with the unofficial one."

"What?" He'd thought the day was bad enough. "Why?"

"You pushed the recruitment attempt beyond first refusal and got her angry enough to shout at you and fly off, thus making any further attempts that much harder." Her tone was flat. "The damage to yourself and your armour is thereby your own fault. As such, repair costs will come out of your Tinker budget. Is that understood?"

He'd seen her like this often enough. There would be no arguing with her. When Emily Piggot set her mind on an outcome, that outcome happened. No matter how much it hurt to have his Tinker budget curtailed in such a fashion. "Yes, Director."

"Good. Now fix your armour while I see what I can do to straighten out your mess." There was a beep as the call disconnected.

With a sudden surge of anger, Colin punched the workbench. The pain helped to centre him, and he hissed as he shook the stinging sensation out of his knuckles. He didn't know which was worse; the fact that he'd failed with Wyvern, or that Piggot now knew he was capable of such failure.

As much as he resented Dauntless for his steadily (if slowly) increasing power capability, Colin was a realist. The Endbringers were a danger that had to be defeated, somehow, someday. He had a few ideas for weapons that might do it, but the problem was that such weapons could only be tested against an Endbringer. On the other hand, once Wyvern came into the Wards, he could take over her training. With him as a mentor, she could learn to use her abilities tactically and they could fight as a team; him as the brain, her as the brawn. And if they succeeded? He'd be happy with half the glory of defeating an Endbringer.

And of course, he'd always wanted to partner with a dragon.

<><>​

Taylor

"Ugh, my head."

I barely recognised the voice as my own. My throat was so rough and scratchy, it felt like I'd been gargling sandpaper. The taste was indescribable. I hurt everywhere. My head, my arms, my legs, my body; everything felt as though I'd been beaten with a baseball bat.

"Ah, you're awake. Wow, you've been asleep forever." Bright and chirpy, the voice could only belong to one person. I tried to open one eyelid; after several attempts, I managed to break the seal and crack the gunk that had glued it shut. Even that hurt.

"Vicky," I croaked. "Water." Right then, I was ready to kill for a drink. Fortunately, it turned out that I wouldn't have to resort to such drastic measures.

"Right here," Vicky told me cheerfully. I watched her blurry form pouring water from a pitcher into a glass (or so I gathered from the gurgling noises) and then she leaned over me, coming more into focus as she did so. "Okay, up you come." One strong hand slid down behind my back, lifting me effortlessly into a sitting position (a passing thought suggested that Vicky would make an amazing nurse) while the other guided a straw to my lips.

Opening my mouth, I took the straw between my lips and greedily drank. The water soaked into my parched tissues, dissolving the evil-tasting slime and washing it away down my throat. Let my stomach acid deal with it, I figured. As thirsty as I was, I figured it wasn't a good idea to choke on the water, so I did my best to take it slowly. It wasn't easy, but I managed it. The water was cool but not chilled, and felt heavenly to my throat.

When the glass was empty, Vicky let me lie down again. "Want more?" she asked. "Ames said you'd want one, but only to give you more if you really wanted it."

I considered that. With the initial edge taken off my thirst, I felt like I could do with more, but not so much that it was a burning obsession. "I'll see how I feel in a bit," I said, my voice much more like my own. "Could I have a wash-cloth or something? I need to clean my eyes out."

"Sure," she said, and zipped away. I wasn't even certain if her feet were touching the floor at this point. Not that it mattered; if it got me that wash-cloth a moment sooner, I didn't care if she flew through the wall. In the meantime, I relaxed into the nice soft mattress, trying to figure out what had gone before.

I remembered the fight, going up against Inago. I'd gotten big. Bigger than I had against Stinger, by a considerable margin. With that size, I'd brutalised him. Of course, he'd been trying to hurt or kill me in the process, and Oni Lee had also been attacking me, so I'd been probably justified in hitting him so hard.

I frowned slightly, then winced as that hurt, too. What had happened with Oni Lee? I remembered biting him at one point, but whether that had been him-him or one of his clones, I wasn't sure. And then he'd been on my back when I detonated a fireball right next to us. Had he survived the battle? Was he fine, or badly injured? There was so much I didn't know.

And then, of course, there was Inago himself. We'd gone at it hammer and tongs, but as big and strong as he'd gotten, I'd been bigger and stronger. His 'bugs' had not survived my flames, and I suspected he'd only just survived losing an arm (I'd bitten his arm off! What the fuck, wyvern-me?) and then being blown up. I'd been on the brink of ending him once and for all when Vicky showed up.

All of which gave me severe cause for concern. I'd been aware that as a wyvern, my emotions were more … raw. I had less control over my reactions. It wasn't that I was an uncontrollable beast, just more … instinctive. When I saw a threat, I acted to end it. Amy and Vicky had been in danger, so I went all-out to save them, not even hesitating to use lethal means to do so. Even when an enemy was down, I was more inclined to make sure they couldn't get up again than to leave them for the authorities.

Which led me to Armsmaster. I didn't want to think about what had happened with Armsmaster, but there wasn't much I could do about that. I saw him as an overbearing, pretentious halberd-swinging adult, while he no doubt considered me to be an immature, dangerous child. He'd been one of my heroes, growing up. Never in my worst nightmares had I imagined that I'd ever tell him to fuck off, for any reason. And I'd not only done that, but I'd done it with a voice that could break glass. And knocked him on his ass when I flew off.

Once he got over the ringing in his ears, he would've been seriously pissed with me. To make matters worse, he knew who I was and where I lived. Thinking about it, I was just a little surprised (but in no way disappointed) that it was Vicky sitting beside me when I woke up, and not a cop. What was the penalty for telling the local head of the Protectorate to fuck off, anyway? I couldn't imagine what I'd done was legal.

Vicky came back into the room just as I reached that particularly depressing conclusion. "Wash-cloth," she announced. "Want me to do it for you?"

"No, I'm good," I said, glad of the interruption. "Help me sit up again?"

"Sure," she said, handing the cloth to me and lifting me up once more. With her help, I shuffled backward and leaned against the headboard with the pillow behind me. Once I was stable, I set about cleaning my eyes out and giving my face a general wash. It felt amazing.

When I lowered the cloth, Dad was standing beside the bed.

<><>​

Danny

Taylor jumped a little, and squeaked in surprise. Then she dropped the cloth and reached out for him. Kneeling down beside the bed, he gathered her into his arms. She clung to him, her face burrowed into his shoulder, for the longest time. For his part, a few tears trickled down his cheeks. A small part of him was glad that Glory Girl had given them some privacy.

When he let her go, she was sniffling. There may have been a tear or two on her face as well, though he doubted she'd ever admit to it. "You okay?" he asked her, a catch in his voice. "I didn't see the fight, but Glory Girl has described it in quite some detail."

She nodded quickly, then after a moment changed her mind and shook her head. "I don't know," she said. "I didn't know I was going to get that big. I didn't know I was going to be fighting someone so tough. I didn't know I could get that brutal. And I really didn't know I was going to swear at Armsmaster like that."

"Well, I wasn't asking about that, but we can get to that in a moment," he acknowledged. "It's just that Glory Girl said you were wincing a lot when you first woke up."

"Yeah, I feel like I've been used as a piñata," she said ruefully. "It's no fun at all. I guess it's an after-effect of pushing my powers so hard?"

"Well, you know about as much about that as I do," he pointed out. "But I'm just glad you're here and you're all right." He hugged her again. "When Brandish called me and said you'd passed out at her house, I was a little worried. But when Panacea assured me it was just natural sleep, and you needed it to recover from the exertion, it made me feel a bit better."

"Wait, how long have I been out?" The look of almost comedic alarm on her face tempted him to answer something like six months, kiddo. Happy birthday. But this wasn't the time or place for jokes like that.

"It's been nearly twelve hours," he said. "I took the liberty of going online and checking out the ParaHumans Online boards. There's a few pictures of you fighting Inago, and a lot of footage showing you cursing out Armsmaster."

"Oh, god," she groaned, running her hand over her face. "I'm gonna be the most despised cape in the city, aren't I?"

"No, that's still apparently L33t," he replied with a grin. "In fact, there's a lot of support for you. Nobody really knows what he said to set you off, but the fact that you just told him to eff off instead of biting him in half or turning him into a charcoal briquette has earned you quite a few fans. On top of the fact that you turned Inago into a lefty for a few days, that is."

From the sour look on her face, she'd apparently managed to forget that little fact for a moment or two. "Yeah, great," she muttered. "But I still swore at Armsmaster. I can't imagine that there's not going to be any fallout over that."

"Oh, there probably is," he agreed. "But if there was going to be anything official, it would already have happened. So officially, I suspect they're going to pretend it never happened. Unofficially, you may cop a little grief from Protectorate capes. Or high-fives, depending on how they feel about Armsmaster." At her somewhat surprised look, he shrugged and tried to look innocent. "What? I've been talking to Brandish."

She snorted. "Yeah, that makes a lot more sense than my Dad suddenly becoming a cape expert. Anyway, so it looks like I can grow to the size of a minibus, totally wreck high-tier villains, then pass out at the end of it. Also, I'm gonna need some way to work out a costume that can survive me growing to that size again. And Armsmaster wants me to turn myself over to the Protectorate for poking and prodding." The tone of her voice made it clear how little she thought of that option.

He sat down on the bed beside her. "Well, I don't have powers, but I'm here for you. Whatever you want to do with your powers, you have my full support."

"Thanks, Dad. That means a lot to me." She put her arms around him and hugged him again.

"Anytime, baby girl." He paused, then decided to shift the topic to something that had been puzzling him. "So when did you realise you could talk in wyvern form?"

She shrugged. "Not until I actually said something. See, Armsmaster was being a dick …"



End of Part Thirteen

Part Fourteen

 

[Ack]

Wyvern

Part Fourteen: New Developments


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


Taylor

"Ow."

It wasn't that I was feeling pain in any particular part of me as I carefully walked downstairs. It was that I was feeling aches and pains everywhere. I looked beseechingly at Amy, who was waiting at the bottom. "Can you, uh …"

She folded her arms. "I'm not your personal Aspirin," she declared heartlessly. "I already checked you over. You're fit and healthy. More fit and healthy than you really should be after fighting Inago and Oni Lee, to be honest. No open cuts, no bruises. No lingering damage at all, actually. And I remember you being knocked out by an explosion at least once, and going toe to toe with the asshole who nearly killed Vicky."

I seemed to recall that she'd chosen not to heal Inago's arm, for which I didn't really blame her. He'd probably grow it back anyway, eventually. I didn't blame her for taking things personally; from what I'd seen, she cared a whole lot for her sister.

"So why do I hurt everywhere?" I asked, taking the last few steps. "My toenails hurt. Why do my toenails hurt?"

"As far as I can tell, it's your powers adjusting you to the fact that you can now grow to the size of a minibus and roar loudly enough to be heard a mile away." She shrugged. "Maybe it's making changes to make the next transition easier. When you got that big, your entire biology altered dramatically; to change up and then down again like you have been has got to be putting a strain on your system."

"So how much bigger am I going to get?" I made my way into the living room and lowered myself to the sofa. "And is this going to happen every time my powers enlarge my wyvern form?"

"File the first one under 'I have no idea'," Amy snarked. "As for the second, I guess … maybe?"

"Let's try not to have a fight that nasty again, huh?" Vicky wandered in from the kitchen. "I mean, shit, Inago nearly killed me."

"I understand they're pushing for the Birdcage." That was Carol Dallon, entering the living room from her office. "Oni Lee hasn't been seen since the battle. There's been mention on the board that the ABB has a new Tinker cape, the one that was piloting that giant robot. The name making the rounds is 'Geonchugga'." She crossed to where I was sitting. "How are you feeling?"

I snorted. "I hurt everywhere it's possible to hurt, but I'm in one piece. Geonchugga? What's that even mean? Is the robot steam-powered or something?"

"Got me beat," Vicky said. "I'm sure we'll find out sooner or later." She perched on the sofa arm and poked me in the shoulder. "Meanwhile, is nobody talking about the development of the century? You can speak in wyvern form. Does that mean you can talk as the wyvern no matter what size you are?"

"We'd have to see, but I don't think so," Amy said. "I strongly suspect that the larger your wyvern form becomes, the more versatile your exobiology gets. Which may be why you could only generate that cone of flame once you sized up." She plonked herself down on the sofa next to me.

I hadn't been keeping track of the exact sequence of events, but I decided to take her word for it. "So if I wanted to use it again, I'd have to get that big again?"

Amy shrugged. "Signs point to yes? But hey, on the upside, based on previous information, I'm guessing that getting to that size will be a lot easier the next time around."

"Hmm." Somehow, that didn't actually go a long way toward making me feel better about the situation. "So what happens if someone goes to mug me, and I blow out to something that can eat him in one bite?"

Vicky laughed out loud. "Well, for one thing, an experience like that would probably put him off mugging anyone ever again." She ruffled my hair. "I think you'd scare the asshole worse than I ever could."

Amy joined in the laughter, flapping her elbows to make wyvern wings. "Rawr." She smirked at my betrayed expression. "I never even knew you could roar like that, before today."

"You think I did?" I raised my eyebrows. "Every time I go out, it seems like I learn something new about what I can do."

"So why didn't you go with Armsmaster's suggestion?" Vicky spread her hands as I looked at her sharply. "Hey, I'm not saying you should have. I mean, I wouldn't. But it's an option, especially when your powers are changing almost on an hourly basis, yeah?"

"Every time I think about it, all I can see is them deliberately inducing the wyvern form and then studying me endlessly instead of letting me go out as a hero," I said with a shudder. "Poking and prodding. Screw that. I might not have all the answers, but I'm a lot more comfortable this way than that way."

"I can see their point," Carol said. "But I can see yours, too. The last thing I want to do is push you outside your comfort zone. Yesterday proved that you're learning to use your powers, which are both versatile and useful. As a member of New Wave, I'm sure you'll be able to do a lot of good."

"I'm just glad you're still letting me be a member, after I swore at Armsmaster," I confessed. "He might have been annoying, but that's still not a very heroic thing to do."

"Well, getting in your face after you bit off Inago's arm and scared the crap out of two entire gangs wasn't the smartest thing he could've done," Vicky pointed out.

"Not to mention, the last time he got in your face, you melted his halberd," Amy said brightly.

"Doesn't help," I muttered.

Amy smirked, but there was an edge to it. "He deserved it. He's the sort of guy who thinks he knows better than everyone else what they want and need." There was an undercurrent there that I wasn't sure if I wanted to delve into. Of course, given my interactions with the man, I couldn't argue with her analysis.

Deciding it might be a good idea to change the subject, I sat up and looked around. "Uh, where's Dad?"

"He said he was going home," Carol informed me. "Given that you seem likely to be sleeping over here for at least a while, he's picking up more of your clothing."

"Oh, good." I shot a glance at Vicky. "Not that I'm not grateful for you loaning me your clothes, but …"

She waved it away. "Hey, it's all good. You needed it when you needed it. So you want to go shopping for more, sometime?"

"Not everyone wants to go clothes shopping at the drop of a hat," Amy said. "Just saying."

"Depends on the hat," Vicky riposted. "I'm just thinking, with the way Taylor's been destroying her outfits …"

"Gee, thanks," I deadpanned. "Because that's exactly why I wrecked something like six sets of clothing yesterday. To make more room in my closet." I rubbed my eyes, which had started to water from the effort of trying to focus on everyone. "And I hope he can find me a spare pair of glasses, too."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot." Vicky actually looked contrite, as far as I could tell. "The last couple of days have been pretty hard on those too, haven't they?"

"Yeah. And the insurance only covers one extra pair. After we get those, we've got to pay out of pocket for any more." With the events of the previous day to go by, I wasn't optimistic about the surviveability of my eyewear, going forward.

"I could maybe help," offered Amy diffidently. "Fix your eyes, I mean. So you don't need glasses. Seeing as you're a member of New Wave now and all."

I blinked at her. "I didn't know you could do that. I thought it was injuries and disease and stuff."

"There's a lot of stuff a lot of people don't know about my powers," Amy said. "But yeah, I can reshape your eyes so you can see properly, if you want."

"Are you certain that the changes won't cause problems with her eyes in her wyvern form?" asked Carol. "The last thing we want is her mis-targeting her fire breath." She turned to me. "I'm sorry to have to put it like this, but if it comes to a choice between your eyesight and the wyvern's eyesight, we're going to have to put a premium on the Changer form. You, we can fit with glasses. The wyvern, not so much."

I nodded. "I get it. But we can try it out anyway, right? We're going to have to test the wyvern afterward, so if it changes anything, Amy can change it right back."

"That's if Amy's power even works on the wyvern … oh, wait." Vicky facepalmed, but gently. "You've been helping her change back. Of course your power works on her."

"Well, duh." Amy nudged me. "Dope-slap her for me, will you? I can't reach."

I sighed. "I am not dope-slapping anyone. But if you could even try, I'd really appreciate it."

"Okay, then." She took my hands. "So, are you short-sighted or long-sighted?"

The question puzzled me. "Short-sighted, but shouldn't you already know that?"

She gave me a dry look. "I can tell if an eyeball is working after I can piece it back together. How good a picture it gets is something else altogether. Okay, I'm going to be extending your focal length … I hope. Not an optometrist, here. Just your average garden-variety biokinetic."

"How do I tell if it's working?" I asked.

She turned her head sideways and nodded. "Look at something across the room. Tell me if it's getting sharper or fuzzier."

"Okay." There was a picture on the wall in the kitchen, visible through the archway from where I was sitting. At least, I assumed it was a picture; there was a rectangular frame, anyway. What was in the frame, I had no idea. I fixed my eyes on it.

And then everything went fuzzy. I couldn't see a thing. "Whoa! Wrong way, go back!" Even nearby objects were indistinct blurs.

"Whoops, sorry." She sounded apologetic, at least. "Okay, this should work better."

As I watched, the fuzziness decreased noticeably, back to where it had been before. Then it kept on going, the picture in the frame—a photo of Brockton Bay from above—becoming sharper and sharper by the second. "Wow, that's pretty good."

"Good." The improvement paused for a moment. "I'm going to slow it down now. Tell me when it's just gone past the point of maximum improvement."

"Okay." I watched with wonder as the world unfolded around me without the need for glasses. Everything was becoming crystal clear, not only the picture. I kept opening my mouth to tell her to stop, but even at the infinitesimal crawl she was doing it at, I could tell my eyesight was still improving.

Finally, it stopped getting any better. "That's it," I said. "back it up a little." I paused, then closed my left eye. Then I opened that one and closed my right. "Uh, it's perfect with my right eye, but my left still needs a little work." A few seconds went by, then I nodded. "Yeah, that's got it."

"Are you sure?" asked Amy.

"Certain." I nodded, then looked around the room with both eyes open. "Wow, did you spice up my colour vision, too? Everything looks so bright."

"No, but I suspect your prescription was a little out of date," she said. "It's amazing how much you don't realise you're missing when your eyes are even slightly off."

"I'll say." I shook my head as I took in her appearance. "I never knew you had freckles before." They'd been easy to miss before, a light dusting across her nose, but now they were as plain as day to me.

"All right, then." Carol clapped her hands. "Time to see if the alterations have affected your Changer state. Taylor, will you need assistance?"

"No, I should be able to do this on my own." I gestured at the bathrobe. "But I don't want to ruin this."

"So take it off." Vicky waved her hand negligently. "I've already seen everything you've got, and Amy's seen most of it, and I'm pretty sure Mom doesn't care, right?"

I couldn't believe how casually dismissive she was being of my concerns. "I care." I clutched the robe more tightly around me. "I know it's a stress-based change, and standing there in the altogether in front of all three of you would probably force the change in a heartbeat, but I don't want to do that."

"Oh. Okay." Vicky paused, then her face lit up again. "I know! Back in a sec!" Jumping up from the sofa arm, she dashed from the room. I watched with bemusement as she ran up the stairs, only using every third or fourth step. Was she cheating by using her flight? I couldn't tell, but I wasn't about to bet against it.

I turned to Amy. "I'd ask if she's always like this, but that's a silly question, isn't it?"

"Extremely." She rolled her eyes. "It's a good thing, really. With Vicky, what you see is what you get. Always and all the time."

"So I'm learning." I snorted and shook my head. "I couldn't have got much luckier with people to run into flying across the city, huh?"

Carol nodded in agreement. "Victoria may be flighty, in more ways than one, but her heart is definitely in the right place. She saw the person in you where others may have dismissed you as a wild beast."

I was privately more appreciative of the fact that she'd changed her mind after I made it clear that I didn't want to disrobe in front of all three of them. A force of nature she could be, but she was also willing to admit when she was wrong. I'd had far too much of people forcing their ideas of how things should go on me.

"Ta-dahhh!" Vicky came down the stairs, sliding side-saddle on the rail. Clutched in her hands like a giant fluffy banner was a bath towel; the sort that could wrap around me twice and still have enough surface area for a medium tent. Jumping off the rail at the bottom of the steps, she strode over to me with the air of a conquering hero. I couldn't help but wonder if she'd practised in front of the mirror. "Wrap yourself in this, drop the robe, you Change, and nothing's damaged. Genius, that's me."

It was a good idea. I took the towel and gave her a smile in return. "Thanks. But I can't help noticing that you're claiming the title of genius quite a lot around here."

"Hey, if you got it, flaunt it." She tossed her head so her golden curls fell about her face in a becoming fashion, then preened. "And baby, I got it."

"Yeah, but we're still trying to figure out what it is you 'got'," Amy snarked from beside me. "Is it delusions of grandeur or just plain megalomania?"

Vicky poked her tongue out at her sister. "Jealousy," she proclaimed, laying the back of her wrist against her forehead and striking a tragic pose. "Alas, it is a terrible thing. Turning family against family, sister against sister, hero against villain, cat against dog …"

"Enough, already." Carol shook her head. "I'm already regretting signing you up for that drama course. Taylor?"

Trying not to grin too widely at Vicky's clowning around, I got up from the sofa and moved to the centre of the room. Shrugging my arms out of the robe, I used the towel as a screen and let the garment fall to the floor. Then I wrapped the towel around myself and held it securely.

The dark thoughts seemed easier to call on, now. I wondered vaguely if Emma had somehow been jealous of me, and if that had been what turned her against me. Then I decided that it didn't matter; if she'd had a problem, she should've been willing to talk it out. That was what friends did.

Closing my eyes, I concentrated on the Change, trying to distil all the hurt and pain and anguish that had dogged me over the past year into one singular moment, so as to experience it and be over and done more quickly.

It hurt; it always hurt. I felt my heart rate rise and the tears start to my eyes, and then I felt the shift happening. When I opened my eyes, my nictitating membranes were flickering back and forth across them, and my wings were being held in a protective screen in front of me. Quickly, I glanced around the room. There didn't seem to be any reduction in my visual acuity.

Then I tried to talk. Okay, my eyes are clear. But all that came out was a triumphant chirp. Oh, for fuck's sake.

"Okay …" Vicky put her finger on her chin. "I'm guessing … your eyes are good, but you still can't talk at this size."

I rolled my eyes, but nodded to confirm her supposition. It wasn't exactly rocket science, after all. A moment later, I realised something else was different; the all-over body ache I'd been feeling was gone. That was good, but also potentially bad. Was I going to be in pain every time I Changed back to human? Or would it only be the case when I'd undergone a size shift?

Which also reminded me that the last time I'd Changed into my wyvern form, I'd been wearing a spare costume, fetched by Vicky from Parian's shop. No such costume was in evidence now. Which meant that, in the absence of someone holding a towel around me, my modesty was going to be seriously challenged when I Changed back. Nope, not Changing back any time soon. Down here, anyway.

"So, I was thinking," Vicky said chattily, as if continuing a conversation, "me and Ames and Taylor could go to Arcadia again today. Nobody's gonna give her any crap at all, because the footage of her kicking the absolute crap out of Inago's all over PHO. And it'll get them used to her being around in base form."

I cringed, and let out an inquiring chirp. Everyone looked at me, and I racked my brain for a way to communicate the question. Finally, I used my wing-finger tip to trace an 'O' in the air.

"O?" asked Vicky, not quite getting it.

"PHO?" Amy filled in. "You want to know what's being said on the PHO boards?"

I nodded. It would probably be a good idea to find out if I was being seen as a dangerous animal or not.

"Sure, we can do that." Vicky pointed toward the stairs. "To the Wyvern-computer!"

Amy and I stared at her. Even Carol folded her arms and joined in.

"What?" asked Vicky. "I had to say something. And it sounded cooler than, 'let's go online and see', right?"

I snorted derisively. Carol shook her head and turned away, muttering something under her breath. I caught the word 'bat', which didn't mean anything to me at all. Amy just rolled her eyes. "Vicky, you're getting weirder all the time. And that's not a compliment."

"Is if I say it is," Vicky said airily, leading the way upstairs.

She and Amy found stairs relatively easy, of course. I could navigate them with judicious use of my tail and wings, but it was tedious. By the time I got to Vicky's room, she and Amy had her laptop booted up and signed on to the PHO boards. I'd only ever gone on occasionally to lurk and read about cape doings when I was bored; as far as I could recall, I'd never actually made a post.

"Oh, hey, I know what we should do," Vicky said as she moved aside to give me room to look over their shoulders. "We should totally set up an account for Taylor as Wyvern."

I gave her an irritated chirp and held one wing up for her inspection. There was no way I'd ever be typing with those things, and unless they made reinforced keyboards, my feet were pretty well out, too. I guessed maybe I could hold a pencil in my teeth or something …

"Not for use while you're the wyvern," Vicky pointed out. "That's kind of silly. For when you're human."

Oh. Yeah. There's that, too. I felt stupid, and did my best to face-palm with my wing.

"We really could," agreed Amy. "We can submit a couple of photos for verification, with you and me in them."

Verification? I chirped a query. When I'd set up my own account, I didn't recall any need for verification photos.

Amy frowned. "I don't know what you're asking. Why don't we get these photos taken, then you can Change back, and we can set the account up?"

I was kind of tired of playing charades without working hands, so I nodded. First, Vicky posed with me while Amy snapped a photo, then I got one alongside Amy. Then Vicky headed out of the room to grab the discarded bathrobe while Amy set up a photo of me on my own.

"Can you maybe blow a puff of smoke from your nose, like you did back with the Wards?" she suggested. "And some fire?"

I thought it was needlessly dramatic, but she was the boss here, so I did as she said. A little fire in the back of my throat produced the smoke I wanted, then I erected my crest and grinned toothily at the camera, wisps of flame leaking out through the gaps between my teeth.

As Amy tapped the phone screen to take the photo, I heard Carol call out, "And the towel too!"

"Yes, Mom," answered Vicky, with a put-upon sigh.

"And no flying in the house!"

"No, Mom."

Amy leaned close to me. "She always flies in the house," she murmured with a smirk.

I grinned back—showing a lot more teeth than she had—and nodded. That was something I'd already figured out for myself.

"We've got to take photos," Amy went on as Vicky re-entered the room and closed the door, "because otherwise anyone could pretend to be a cape online. Some people have, especially with capes who don't do PHO. It's caused problems on occasion."

I chirped agreeably; Amy had answered a question I had from before, but now I couldn't ask the question that had since occurred to me. Moving away from the desk, I let Vicky drape the bathrobe over my back. Then I closed my eyes and concentrated on all the good things in my life.

Vicky was my friend. She'd proven that, over and over again. Amy had been a little standoffish to begin with, but she was starting to warm up to me. Even Lady Photon and Brandish—Sarah and Carol—were nice to me. Dad was letting me stay in New Wave. I was going to be a genuine bonafide superhero.

The warm feeling was growing in my chest. I fed it with more memories. Meeting Vicky's friends at Arcadia, and being accepted by them. Winning the battle against Inago and saving Vicky's life, then meeting the Wards. Carefully, I pulled up short of what had happened next, focusing instead on Vista's sheer wonder at meeting me.

I'd enjoyed myself. I'd had fun.

"Uh, Taylor? You can put the robe on now." It was Vicky's voice.

I looked up and around, belatedly realising that the robe was now draped over my shoulders as I half-crouched on Vicky's bedroom carpet. So deeply had I been delving into my memories that I hadn't even felt the change happening. With a sheepish grin, I slid my arms into the sleeves, then pulled the robe shut around me and stood up straight.

"Nicely done," Vicky said with a thumbs-up. "I didn't even have to use my aura once."

"This is a good thing," Amy agreed. "Vicky and I probably won't be around all the time when you need to change back. How did it feel; Changing unassisted, I mean?"

"I have no idea," I confessed. "I was concentrating so hard on making it happen, that I didn't notice when it did happen."

"Does it even matter?" asked Vicky. "She can Change on her own. What's the big deal?"

"It's not just a big deal," Amy challenged her. "It's a huge deal. Right now, she's got a grand total of one deliberate unassisted Change of wyvern to human under her belt. If she can feel the onset of the Change and work with it until it goes all the way through, instead of blindly concentrating on good or bad feelings until something happens, she can make this work a lot more efficiently."

"Now you sound like Armsmaster," Vicky said with a giggle. "Seriously, the man is so obsessed with efficiency."

"Bite your tongue." Amy rolled her eyes. "Efficiency and effectiveness are valid goals. Ever heard of time and motion studies?"

"I'll time and motion you," retorted Vicky, grabbing Amy in a headlock and applying a noogie. Amy squawked and struggled, but I noticed that she was able to force Vicky's arm aside to free herself. I was pretty sure she wasn't using her powers. In short, the two were just horsing around; either from general high spirits, or to try to put me at ease, I wasn't sure. Whichever one it was, it put a grin on my face.

"Vicky, leave her alone," I chided gently. "So, Amy. You think if I can get a handle on how the transformation feels, I should be able to guide it?"

"Well, yeah," the healer said breathlessly, pushing her hair back from her face. She placed her other hand on Vicky's face to push her away. Vicky blew a raspberry against her palm, causing her to jerk her hand back and wipe it on her shirt. "Ew, gross. Do you have any idea how many germs there are in your mouth? Because I do."

"Huh." It was a totally new concept for me. Up until now, my Change had just happened. The idea of triggering it deliberately instead of relying on painful memories (or trying to focus on happy ones) was fascinating. "Does this mean I could stop it from happening if I don't want it to?"

Amy shrugged. "Theoretically, sure. I can see the signals in your body that trigger the change, so you should be able to affect them. Even before capes came on the scene, people were learning how to slow down their heartbeats and gain limited control over other supposedly automatic body functions. Biofeedback is a thing."

"Damn." I was definitely going to have to revisit this idea, once the time came to change back to the wyvern. But that wasn't what we were doing right then, so I shelved it for the moment. "Thanks, Amy. I really appreciate the help you're giving me."

She shrugged again, but her cheeks flushed pink. "Always glad to help a fellow member of New Wave." Taking the phone off the desk, she handed it to Vicky. "Photos are on here. Do your magic, sister of mine." Then she turned to me. "What username did you want to use? Wyvern?"

"If it's available, yes," I agreed. Then something else occurred to me. "Uh, I actually have another account, under my own name. Aren't dual accounts banned on PHO?" I'd heard that sort of thing was frowned upon; something to do with pretending to be someone else agreeing with whatever opinions you were espousing.

"Sock puppets?" asked Vicky, tapping away on the phone. "Whoa, that avatar pic's scary as fuck. I love it." She paused, possibly trying to recall what she'd just been saying. "Uh, yeah, normally. But they usually make an exception for capes, because of secret identities. Me and Ames don't get to do that, for obvious reasons. Which I still think is total bullcrap."

"Suck it up, sister mine." Amy hit Enter and sat back as the screen refreshed. "If that's the worst thing that ever comes out of being open capes, then we'll both be extremely lucky. Okay, then. Account has been set up. Soon as Vicky gets the photos in place, we can set up your avatar image, and the other two we'll send in to the mods to prove you're the real deal."

"Cool." I pulled out one of the two chairs and sat down in it, wrapping the robe around me more securely. "So have they really been talking about me very much on the boards?"

"Have they!" Vicky rolled her eyes and chuckled. "Can you say 'slow-motion explosion'? First, there were a few comments about your first appearance. People got pictures of you flying over the city, then other people saw me and you and Aunt Sarah, and thought you were a monster we were fighting."

"Because she shot lasers at me." I nodded. "I can see how they'd misunderstand that."

"You wouldn't be the first, and won't be the last," agreed Amy. "There were a few good pictures of you with that convenience store robbery, but everyone thought you were just a big flying lizard that we'd picked up somewhere. At that time, the general consensus was that you were a Case fifty-three."

Which was also a reasonable conclusion, considering the situation. "Yeah, I can see that," I said. "So, did they notice when I was bigger after fighting Stinger?"

"Funnily enough, the mainstreamers didn't." Vicky grinned and shrugged. "The tinfoil-hat brigade tried to present it as evidence that you were a hoax or a hologram or something. Basically, ignoring the fact that first responders and cops were standing right next to you."

I rolled my eyes. "Geez. All I need is the nutcases coming out of the woodwork over this one." I'd looked into the section of the boards officially labelled 'Cape Speculation' but collectively known as the 'tinfoil-hat' section once in a while. Even the milder hypotheses coming out of there were weird as crap. Scion was an alien, Dragon was an AI, a shadowy cabal called Cauldron was secretly running the world … there was no end to it.

"You're a dragon. Sorry, wyvern." Amy gave me a sympathetic look. "Pretty sure you're not going to be able to dodge this one. The tinfoil-hats are going to be spawning theories faster than we'll be able to knock them down. We just have to hope the mods are on their A-game. You're gonna want to be able to communicate meaningfully with those of your fans who are actually sane, after all."

"So what's the result of the latest thing?" I asked. "Even Dad seems to have read it, and he never goes on PHO."

Vicky laughed out loud at that one. "Everyone who's even heard about PHO has been on to check that one out. The memes of you swearing at Armsmaster are going viral. And the number of jokes about how you were able to give him a burn without ever breathing fire at him are spreading like …" She gave me a sly look. " … well, wildfire."

I gave her a dirty look. She let it slide right by. "Okay, so is it generally positive or negative?" I asked.

Amy fielded that one. "Positive," she said definitively. "In an oh, god, please don't burn me alive kind of way, sure, but still positive. Inago was a really big deal in Brockton Bay. Well, technically speaking, he still is. And you basically tore him a brand new one, in a way that nobody ever has before. Plus, you went from medium-sized to mega-sized during the course of the fight. People seem to like you, and hope you're on our side. Because fire-breathing dragons are kinda scary. Just putting that out there."

"The interaction with the Wards was pure gold," Vicky added. She didn't mention that she'd been there at the time … but then, she didn't have to. "There are more memes about Vista hugging you than you swearing at Armsmaster. It's very cute, by the way."

"Also, the footage where you blew smoke all over Vicky?" Amy grinned wickedly at her sister. "Gaining views by the second."

Vicky chose to respond in an extremely mature fashion, by poking her tongue out at Amy. "I still say that wasn't in the least bit funny."

"PHO disagrees," Amy pointed out. "All the Wards have written up their own versions of what happened. Vista's is kinda incoherent, but are we surprised? Aegis' is extremely detailed, and very respectful." She stifled a laugh. "Clockblocker's is … well, Clockblocker."

I leaned forward to read the section of text she'd just hovered the cursor over, and burst out laughing. Clockblocker had narrated it like the action from a blockbuster movie, with so much purple prose that his keyboard should really have seized up.

"So where do we go from here?" I asked. "Should I introduce myself? Tell people that I'm really not here to seize the city as my domain, or whatever the tinfoil hat people are saying?" I was guessing, but the look on Amy's face made me blink.

"Actually, some of them are saying almost exactly that," she said. "Others are saying that you're Dragon's real form, out and about for the first time."

I shook my head. "How much more ridiculous can they get?"

"Don't ask," Vicky warned me. "Trust me, that rabbit-hole goes down forever."

Before I could ask another question, I heard my name being called from downstairs. Getting up, I went to the bedroom door. "Yes?" I called back.

"Your father is back." It was Carol.

"Dad!" Leaving the door open, I bolted downstairs. Dad had indeed returned, holding a large bag; clothes and toiletries, I presumed. Throwing my arms around him, I gave him a heartfelt hug.

"Hello to you too, Taylor." His voice was amused as he hugged me in return. "I see you missed me."

"You weren't here when I got up," I explained. "Ever since this thing happened to me, I've been really grateful that you're here for me, no matter what. I mean, some people might have just walked away. Having a daughter who occasionally turns into a wyvern might be seen as a bit of a strain for some."

He ruffled my hair fondly. "Some people might be idiots. You're my daughter, and that's final. So, how have things been while I was away? Any new developments?"

I shrugged faux-modestly. "I managed the Change to Wyvern and back without wrecking any clothing or needing help to do it. Amy thinks I should be able to eventually make it happen, or not, at will. And Wyvern now has a PHO account, courtesy of Amy and Vicky."

"That's really good news," he said, and I could tell he meant it. "Well, apart from the PHO thing. How are the people online ever going to recover from being able to chat online with a real live wyvern?"

Rolling my eyes at his teasing tone, I shook my head. "You are so bad. Thanks for bringing my clothes over. I really appreciate it. Vicky wants to take me clothes shopping later, but I don't know when that's going to be."

"That's my Taylor," he chuckled. "Any other teenage girl would be going, shopping? When? Where? But you're more like, shopping? Meh, if I feel like it."

"Hey, I just feel that I've got more important priorities right now," I pointed out. "Like getting a costume that I won't wreck, especially now I've proven I can become human again of my own accord."

"I'm not saying it's a bad thing," he said hastily. "Only that it's not really the point of view of most teenage girls."

"Well, I'm not most teenage girls," I reminded him. "I'm me. Besides, I won't need new clothing when I go back to Arcadia today with Vicky and Amy, as Wyvern."

He held up a finger. "Ah. I'm glad you reminded me. While I was picking up your clothing, I got a phone call. Winslow's opening again, and Principal Blackwell wants a word with you."

"Wait, what again now?" I blurted. "My locker was destroyed! So were the lockers on either side! Surely they can't have rebuilt that whole section!"

"From what I understand, they didn't." He shrugged, as if he had trouble believing his own words. "The work is ongoing, but for now they've got the damaged section cordoned off from the rest of the school. Just that corridor, apparently. Everyone who had lockers in that area is having their belongings moved to other lockers."

"Except me." I didn't even really need to say it.

"Except you." Her father shook his head. "Everything in that locker was drowned under muck, then exploded, then burned. Whatever's left isn't anything that you want to even think about claiming."

I grimaced. By which he meant the stuff they'd actually put in there. He was right; I didn't want to think about it, full stop and end of sentence. "So what's the general consensus in the school about what happened? What are they saying about me, and the fact that I haven't been there in days?"

"That, I think, is what Principal Blackwell wants to talk to you about," he said. "The police investigators found evidence that it was a parahuman thing, so they handed it over to the PRT. For their part, the PRT is running it as a gas leak; they know who you really are, of course ."

"Armsmaster," I muttered. I was still feeling a little bit of regret for melting his halberd. Not much, considering what a pushy jerk he was, but some. The f-bomb I'd dropped in his face was another source of regret, but I felt more than justified in that particular instance.

"That, and they can connect the dots with ease. Your locker blew up, you can't be contacted when Wyvern is around, and there's evidence of parahuman activity where the locker used to be." Dad shrugged. "Don't need to be Sherlock Holmes to solve that one."

"Okay, so when does Blackwell need me to come in?" I asked. I wasn't looking forward to that particular conversation. In fact, I was dreading going back to Winslow at all. There was no combination of factors I could think of that would make me want to go there.

"Today, if possible," Dad said. "I know you don't want to do this, but this sort of thing won't go away, and getting it over and done with quickly is better than letting it fester."

I groaned. "Do I have to? I just got used to being a cape. You know that if I'm there and Emma and the others start on me, I'll probably blow up into Wyvern again. If she gets far enough under my skin, I might end up biting her head off, and not in a metaphorical way." Even I didn't know if I was being serious or not.

He winced, no doubt recalling what I'd done to Inago. "Please, do not attack anyone," he said, very seriously. "There would be so many downsides, and very few upsides. For one thing, I doubt your membership in New Wave would survive the backlash."

Helplessly, I spread my hands. "If I go into that hellhole alone, there's literally nobody there who'll be willing to watch my back. Not the teachers, not the staff, definitely none of the students. Emma won't know that Mrs Dallon is preparing a case, so she'll think she can hammer me all she likes, and there'll be no come-back. And if I do lash out, even if I don't end up treating her like a chew-toy, I'm basically guaranteed to wreck the case against them. Bad idea, Dad. Really bad idea."

"I tend to concur." Carol Dallon emerged from her office. "Initiating powers-based violence will definitely put any case we have into serious hot water. We need Taylor to have the appearance of being pure as the driven snow. The fact that she's just that, as far as I know, will go a long way toward helping me do my job. If she happens to turn into the wyvern and attack anyone, no matter how badly she's been provoked, it will make life difficult for both myself and her, for obvious reasons."

"But if she doesn't show, that makes her look like a delinquent student," Dad said with a frown. "Principal Blackwell was adamant about that. It also strengthens the connection between her and the exploded locker."

"Well, not really," I said as an idea occurred to me. "I can say I was nearby when it did explode. I was hurt and dazed, and staggered out of the school, then somehow got to the hospital. I've only just now recovered."

"Which can work, but you still have to show up." Dad's expression was unhappy. "I'm not sure why she was so insistent about this. Apart from the whole truancy thing, of course."

Carol frowned. "I may have an idea about that. It's based entirely on supposition and cui bono, so if anyone can poke holes in it, I would appreciate that."

"Cui bono?" I asked, not understanding the term.

"'Who profits'," Amy said briskly. "Okay, what's your idea?"

It took a few moments for Carol to answer. "We're reasonably sure that Armsmaster would love to have Taylor join the Wards, correct?"

Dad and I nodded. "Correct," he said. "But—"

"I'm not finished," she interrupted. "Now, for the purpose of this mental exercise, let us presuppose that Armsmaster has some kind of leverage over Principal Blackwell. He says to her to request and require Taylor to come to Winslow. He knows Taylor is Wyvern, and that her Changer ability is stress-related. She thinks Taylor may have had something to do with the exploding locker, but not that she's Wyvern, nor about the stress aspect."

"So she does what he says, not thinking about the potential downsides …" Dad said slowly.

"But he knows!" I burst out. "He knows that as the wyvern, I tend to react! I knocked him on his ass!"

Carol nodded. "Now, what happens if you go to Winslow and the bullies corner you, and you turn into the wyvern and lash out?"

I winced, and nodded; the chain of events was clear. "I'm outed. New Wave has to disavow me or be caught in the negative publicity. Armsmaster can then strongarm me into the Wards at his leisure."

Slowly, Dad shook his head. "That's cold." He stared at Carol. "The man's a hero. Would he come up with a plan like that, and actually carry it through?"

"A hero he may be, but he's also head of the local Protectorate, and he's had to work twenty-five hours a day to maintain his status," she said bluntly. "He'll do anything he can to get a little extra personal glory. Signing a powerful new Ward? In a heartbeat." She shrugged. "Putting teenagers at risk? Shadow Stalker's in the same school. She's probably been alerted to watch out for problems. No doubt he's convinced himself that it's all for the greater good. And of course, there'll be no way to prove that this was his intent the whole time."

I shook my head. "Screw him. I won't go. They can't provoke me if they can't get to me."

Dad looked dubious. "I don't know what he's got on Blackwell, but she seemed hell-bent on getting you into that school. The phrase 'truant officer' came up."

"I didn't know Winslow had a truant officer," I said. In fact, I was sure it didn't. Nobody had cared every other time I'd skipped.

"I wouldn't be at all surprised if it does now." Carol shook her head. "Mind you, this could all be a total coincidence. Armsmaster could be innocent in all this. I have no proof, after all. Just a suspicious mind. Can anyone knock holes in the idea?"

Silence fell, as we looked at each other. Given how pushy Armsmaster had been, I reluctantly found it all too easy to believe.

Dad took a deep breath. "So what are we going to do?"

I shook my head. "I dunno. Whether he's behind it or not, if I go into that school, I'm screwed. I have no idea how I'm gonna get out of this one."

"I do!" Vicky came strolling down the stairs, looking like the cat that had recently imbibed the cream and was donning a bib in front of a cage full of canaries. "I'll go to Winslow with you. Let's see the little shits bother you then."

I blinked and looked at her. The idea of Vicky confronting Emma was … compelling. "That could definitely work."

"No." Dad shook his head definitively. "It won't. All the girls have to do is complain about her presence—her aura, if nothing else—and Principal Blackwell can order her to leave."

"But I'll be there as a superhero," Vicky protested. "Tell him, Mom!" She looked upset at the idea of her grand plan being shot down so easily.

"Sorry, dear," Carol said. "She can and she will. You're not a student there, and it would take too long—and far too much paperwork—to effect even a temporary transfer. If she decides you're a trespasser, then you're a trespasser."

"So Taylor doesn't go." Dad set his jaw. "Screw Blackwell. Taylor can stay here for the time being, so even if Armsmaster himself decides to play truant officer and kicks down my front door, she won't be there."

"He knows Taylor's joined the team, though," Amy said. "What's stopping him from coming here?"

"Because here is linked to her cape identity, and she's a hero who hasn't committed any deliberate felonies," Carol pointed out didactically. "Yes, the PRT can and will play fast and loose with the so-called unwritten rules, but I will nail anyone's hide to the wall if they choose to try to search my house without both a warrant and due cause. And I'm dubious about him being able to get Director Piggot to sign off on any kind of scheme like that. I'm personally certain that he's relying on it being easier to ask for forgiveness than permission, especially if he manages to get Taylor to sign on the dotted line."

"Taylor will just melt his halberd if he tries, won't you?" Vicky smirked. "Or maybe you'll just bite it in half like a breadstick."

"I'd much rather not antagonise Armsmaster any more than I already have," I said with finality. "I still get the shakes when I think about how many people heard me tell him to eff off. I wish he'd just go away and leave me alone."

Carol stared at me, then slowly blinked. "On second thought, maybe you should go to school."

We all stared at her. "Mom?" asked Vicky. "Are you feeling all right? Do you want to lie down?"

"No, no, hear me out." Carol rubbed her hands together. "But we're going to be doing more than just getting evidence on the girls who've been bullying you, Taylor. We're going to be going after Armsmaster himself. If he's willing to bend the rules this hard just to get you over a barrel, Taylor, who knows what else he's ready to pull. All in the name of 'the greater good'." She said the last three words in tones of deepest disgust. "So yes, you'll be attending Winslow. But we'll also be taking certain precautions …"


End of Part Fourteen

[Mwahaha. Evil cliffhanger is evil.]

 

[Ack]

Wyvern

Part Fifteen: Hidden Conflicts

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



"Precautions?" I looked at Mrs Dallon with a certain amount of curiosity. "What sort of precautions were you considering? 'Not showing up' was the best one I could think of."

She gave me a brief smile to acknowledge the weak joke. "Taylor, in the legal field as in any other competitive business, it's widely known that the ideal position to be in isn't always one that's possible to attain. You not appearing for this meeting would almost certainly trigger legal action aimed at your father. Showing up will disarm that trap."

"And leave her wide open to another," Dad said. "As you well know." I noticed he didn't dispute the point.

"This is true." Mrs Dallon grimaced. "If my supposition is correct, Armsmaster is attempting to railroad you into a felony powers assault charge, which he then intends to use as leverage to press you into the Wards. All the while acting as the good cop, of course."

"By remote control, even." Vicky looked suitably angry. I was pleased she was keeping her aura under control. The last thing we needed right then was another wyvern incident. "I bet he won't even show up until you've set fire to the other half of the school."

"Which we intend to avoid." That was Dad. "I'll have to go in."

"That can only be a stopgap," Mrs Dallon noted. "And if the Blackwell woman compels Taylor to return to class after the meeting, which is what I'd do in her situation, you can't go with her." She went into her office and pulled open the drawer to a cabinet. "But I've got something around here that should be just the thing …"

From where he sat watching TV, Mr Dallon snorted. "You're going to pull a bait and switch on them, aren't you?" he called out.

"That's not its name!" she retorted, pulling an object out of the drawer in triumph. "Behold: the Decoy!"

We stared at it. It was rectangular and made out of some kind of bright yellow plastic. About six inches by four inches by two inches thick, it had a row of buttons along one edge and a semi-transparent window on one side. Barely visible inside the window were two wheel-like objects.

Dad accepted it from her and turned it over in his hands while she retrieved something else from the drawer; it was sleeker and made of black plastic, and looked a whole lot more modern.

"… it's a tape player." Dad hefted the 'Decoy' in his hand. "A heavy tape player." He frowned thoughtfully. "I understand the idea of giving her a recording device, but the last I heard, we were an all-party state. Everyone who's being recorded needs to know about it. Which kind of defeats the purpose of the whole exercise. And if we were going to sidestep it, this thing's not exactly discreet." He looked around at the girls. Amy was smirking, and Vicky was outright snickering. "Okay, what am I missing?"

Mrs Dallon's smile showed her teeth. "The same thing everyone else who sees it will be missing." She held up the sleek black object. "This is the key." Handing me the 'key', she went on. "Now, this is how you're going to proceed …"

<><>​

Dad and I entered Winslow High School an hour later. The lunch bell still had some time to go before it rang, so there wasn't anyone in the corridors. I counted that as a bonus. My backpack was on my back, and the 'key' was in my pocket. I tried to keep my expression calm, but some level of my nerves must have betrayed themselves, because Dad glanced down at me. "You okay there? We can always go home."

"And give Blackwell and Armsmaster a cheap shot at you?" I shook my head. "Nuh-uh. Ain't happening." I strode forward with extra determination. My life hadn't been the best to date, but since the horrors of the locker, I was actually connecting with Dad again, and I had a whole superhero team to fall back on. Also, Vicky was hilarious and Amy was pretty cool too. I hadn't actually met the other members of New Wave yet, apart from Mrs Pelham, but I was looking forward to it.

Long story short: my life was looking up, and there was no way I was going to let some jumped-up bureaucrat collude with a so-called hero to pull me down again.

When we reached Blackwell's outer office, I stepped aside to let Dad go first. He knocked briskly, then opened the door and strode in without actually waiting. I went in behind him, ready to follow his lead.

"Ah, hello," said Blackwell's secretary. I didn't like her much. She'd taken every single complaint I'd given her about Emma and the others, and had never offered me so much as a shred of comfort or understanding. I had the impression she'd decided early on that I was a troublemaker, which made me wonder exactly how far through the system my complaints actually got. "Who are you?"

"Danny Hebert." Dad's tone was not quite abrupt enough to be rude. "This is my daughter Taylor. We're here to see Principal Blackwell." He started to move toward the inner door.

"You can't just go in!" squawked the secretary. "She's on a call. She can't be disturbed. Important business."

"This is important business too," Dad said, his tone harsher than I'd heard it before. "She said she had to see Taylor today. We're here. It's today."

"Yes, but she has other business." The secretary pointed toward the chairs at the side of the office. "Take a seat. She will be ready to see you soon."

Dad checked his watch. "We will wait exactly five minutes. Then you will sign a statement to the effect that Taylor attempted to show up for her urgent appointment with your boss, and was made to sit and wait. Then we will leave." He placed his hands on the desk and leaned forward. "I know how these power-plays work. I grew up on them. Five minutes. No more." Then he went to a chair and sat down.

I sat beside him, not sure if this would achieve anything, but glad he was there to do the pushing for me. When I was being the wyvern, the world was easy to understand. There were good guys, and there were bad guys. And if the bad guys needed a little scorching, everyone understood. In this situation, the difference between pushing too little and pushing too much was a knife-edge, and before I even started I needed to know how and where to push.

We didn't have much to say as we sat there. About thirty seconds in, the secretary got up and went through the connecting door into the inner office. She wasn't there long; when she came out, she gave us a suspicious look and resumed whatever she was doing. Dad caught my eye and gave me an encouraging smile. I nodded in return, but was too tense to smile.

Without making it too obvious, Dad had his eye on the clock behind the secretary's desk. So did I. With thirty seconds to go, Dad stood up. I got up as well. While the secretary pretended to ignore us, Dad made a production of stretching, then patting down his pockets. Finally, he reached into an inside pocket and produced a folded piece of paper.

"Excuse me," he said politely. "I'm going to need you to sign this for me."

"What is it?" asked the secretary frostily.

"Acknowledgement that Taylor showed up as requested, but Principal Blackwell refused to see her, despite being given five minutes to conclude whatever business she has going on in there at the moment." Dad's voice was deadpan, but he had his Dockworkers expression on. The one that said, 'this far and no further'. "If you refuse to sign it, I'm going to have to take a photo of you, the clock on the wall, and the unsigned note, to prove your unwillingness to do your actual job."

"I do not consent to a photograph being taken of me," she said almost automatically.

"Your lack of consent is noted," Dad shot back. "I do not consent to have my daughter bullied in this school, whether it's by the students or the staff. So far, that hasn't gone too well either. Feel free to hold a book in front of your face. Proof of your presence in that chair will be good enough for me." He tapped the piece of paper as it lay on the desk. "Or sign the note. Your choice."

"One moment," she said, and got up from the desk. Pushing open the inner door, she went into Blackwell's office.

As soon as the door closed behind her, Dad took up the note and followed her. Fascinated by the way things were turning out, I followed close behind.

"—should I do?" hissed the secretary in tones that would've been too low to penetrate to the outer office. She and Blackwell looked around as Dad entered.

"Maybe not stonewall us every chance you got?" Dad stepped up in front of Blackwell's desk. "Good to see that you've prepared for this meeting." He glanced at the secretary. "You can go now."

"Prepared—" Blackwell caught herself, and started again. "What are you doing in here? I'm in the middle of something important!"

"Your phone's not on hold, and that's Taylor's file you've got open on your desk there." Dad's voice was implacable. As Blackwell went to cover the pages with her hand, he smiled coldly. "Why yes, I can read my daughter's name upside down. And as you required her presence here today, and you have her file open right now, here's something you might wish to add to it." He held out his hand. "Taylor?"

I was ready for this. Opening my backpack, I handed him my journal; or rather, a photocopy of every page. Mrs Dallon had the original in her safe. She'd personally numbered and signed each page of the photocopy, so we'd know if any sheets went missing. I was a little jealous that he got to do this next bit, but this was his show, so he got to grandstand. Taking the block of paper, he slapped it down on Blackwell's desk with a flat crack, making her jump.

"What in God's name is that?" she demanded.

"Taylor's latest complaint." Dad gestured to it. "Don't worry, we've got a copy. You can keep that one. Oh, and just so you know, we brought this along too."

I brought out the Decoy, and ostentatiously pressed the button marked RECORD. Inside the scratched and smudged window, two reels began rolling. Blackwell stared at it. It was certainly garish enough, with the bright plastic cover, not to mention the black-and-yellow tape with YOU ARE BEING RECORDED printed in red on both sides of the Decoy. Beneath that was another strip of tape with PROPERTY OF TAYLOR HEBERT printed loud and proud on it. It was visible from across the room; I was pretty sure that it would be visible from Captain's Hill.

"Is that a recorder?" Her eyes shot to me and then Dad. "I don't consent to being recorded."

Dad nodded. "As I told your secretary outside, your lack of consent is noted. However, this is a meeting that I do want an independent record of, and you are aware of the recording. We've fulfilled the legal requirements of the state legislation, so let's talk about Taylor's complaint. What are you going to do about it?"

Blackwell pointed at the Decoy. "Take that away first! Turn it off!"

With a sigh, Dad took up the Decoy and stepped away from the desk. "Well, this meeting's over. You know what they say about anyone who doesn't like their own words being quoted back at them."

That was obviously a straight line, so I took him up on it. "What do they say, Dad?"

"Can't trust 'em worth a damn." He indicated the door. "C'mon, Taylor. Let's go get something to eat, then I'll drop you home. You've fulfilled your obligation to show up. It's not your fault if your so-called educator isn't willing to carry out her end and have a meaningful conversation about your complaints, one that's on the record. Until that happens, I don't believe your needs are being met here." He gave Blackwell a significant look and hefted the Decoy.

Several expressions chased themselves over the woman's face, before she sighed with irritation. "Very well. But you will not release this recording into the public domain without my express permission."

"Or unless compelled to release it for legal reasons," he replied immediately.

"Or that too," she conceded.

"Good enough," he said, hooking a chair over with his foot. "Taylor, have a seat." He grabbed one for himself and dropped into it. "Now, have a good hard look at the bottom corner of that document. What do you see there?"

Reluctantly, Blackwell eyed it. "It's got a signature. Whose signature is that?"

"Carol Dallon," Dad said casually. I didn't miss the way Principal Blackwell's shoulders tensed. "You're familiar with the name?"

"She's the superhero Brandish," Blackwell confirmed. "But why—"

"She's also a lawyer," Dad reminded her. "This is your official notification that the school will be getting a lawsuit filed against it regarding your criminal negligence in failing to prevent bullying against my daughter, despite her reporting it to you more than once." He indicated the sheaf of papers. "And if you refuse to look into it even now, I'm reasonably sure they can justify a charge of depraved indifference against you and your entire faculty here."

"Fine, I'll look at them," grated Blackwell. She pulled the papers toward her and eyed them dubiously. I could see why; at fifty-some pages, the stack was actually thicker than the entire file they had on me. "But before I do, how do I know everything that's in here is actually true?"

Slowly, Dad stood up. His knuckles turned white as he clenched them and leaned on the desk. When he spoke, his voice was soft, but it was in no way gentle. "Are you, to my face, with everything that's happened, daring to call my daughter a liar without even finding out what the charges are first?"

"I … she's a known …" But even Blackwell wasn't so brazen as to finish that statement with Dad looming over her.

"Troublemaker, I believe you were going to say?" Dad raised his eyebrows. "May I remind you that her locker exploded the other day, and they found traces of used feminine hygiene products in the aftermath. Tell me, who blows up their own locker?" Gradually, he sat down again.

"People have been known to do odd things to get attention," she ventured.

"Yes," I said acidly. "Such as bending space and time to put glue on my own chair in the classroom before I even get there. Or maybe filling my email inbox with abuse from a dozen different accounts, some of which have timestamps placing me in class where I don't have access to computers. It's a wonder I have time to even attend school, with all the effort I must put into faking all the evidence of people bullying me."

"Taylor," Dad said gently, and I subsided. "I apologise for her outburst, but she's not wrong. Do you ask anyone else for independent proof that they're being picked on? Do you force anyone else to adhere to rules of evidence more stringent than the police require, just to start an investigation? Or do you play it by the rule that the popular kids are more trustworthy than anyone else, just because that makes life easier for you?"

"I assure you," she said freezingly, "that every student in this school is treated equally."

"And I assure you that I don't believe a single word of that," Dad retorted. "If you'd given Taylor anything like the considerations you've been giving Emma Barnes and her little friends, we wouldn't need to be having this meeting."

"Emma Barnes?" I didn't play poker, but even I could tell that Principal Blackwell would make a crappy player. Still, she gave it her best try. "What does she have to do with any of this?"

Again, Dad indicated the sheets. "Quite a lot, in fact. You'll find her name cropping up in those complaints. Over and over and over. As well as Madison Clements and …" He paused, fixing his attention squarely on her. "… Sophia Hess."

While she'd twitched a little at the mention of Emma's name, the reaction had been less for Madison. But she visibly flinched when Dad said Sophia's name, which made me wonder why. Armsmaster had also been interested in that name, but for the life of me, I couldn't figure out what they both had in common with Sophia, with the exception that they all liked to throw their weight around with me.

"I'll look over them later," she said, pushing the sheets aside. "We don't have time to go through every page today."

"Just like you didn't have time to pay attention to any of my complaints," I said bitterly. "Like Dad said, if you'd spent a little more time—"

"Taylor." This time, Dad put his hand gently on my arm. "Principal Blackwell, Taylor makes a good point. If you'd spent any time at all paying attention to her initial complaints, you wouldn't have these ones to deal with right now. For your own good, I would strongly urge you to give them a solid read before you choose to dismiss them out of hand. Look for the one where Emma assures Taylor that it doesn't matter how much Taylor complains, you'll never listen to her."

I wondered for a moment what he was talking about, then as Blackwell's expression edged toward panic, I got it. There was no such complaint in there, because I'd never put one in. But now, Blackwell would be certain to read it from end to end, looking for that one reference. I wanted to burst out laughing at the mental image of her face when she realised how badly she'd been played, but that would of course give the game away.

Shoving the stack of papers into the manila folder containing my file, she dropped the lot into a desk drawer. "I'll be reading it all the way through, tonight," she said. "Of course, I can't make any promises until I've seen everything that's in there, but I will look at it."

"I'm certain you will," Dad said, though I had no idea how he managed to keep a straight face. "So, you wanted Taylor in here to speak about her school attendance?"

"Well, initially to ask if she knew anything about what happened with her locker," Blackwell said. "Given her lack of injury, I'll accept that she wasn't anywhere near it when it happened, and I understand there was a gas leak involved … but where were you?" She turned and looked at me.

"I didn't want to go to school," I said, apropos of nothing. I was being truthful, of course, but there was nothing wrong with also being misleading as fuck. "So not long after I got in, I left again. I spent some time down at the Boardwalk, then went and visited friends." I raised my eyebrows questioningly. "Given what happened with my locker, I think it was a really good idea not to be in here on that day."

Dad gave me a bemused look, as if to say, well done. We hadn't actually rehearsed anything for this, which was probably a good thing. I didn't want to get all nervous and flub my lines. Blackwell, on the other hand, looked sharply at me. I suspected she knew the truth but had been told in no uncertain terms to not even think about revealing it.

"I would have to agree," she said. "However, now that we're open for classes again and you're obviously fit to attend said classes, I believe it would be best all round if you got back into the schedule as quickly as possible."

I cleared my throat. "Principal Blackwell, as you can see by the written record I just gave you, I've been suffering a large amount of bullying at this school. In all honesty, I do not feel safe or secure here. I mean, this time my locker exploded and the only reason I'm not being scraped out of the middle of that mess is that I decided to go to the beach. What's going to happen next time?" I leaned forward slightly. "And you can't tell me there won't be a next time. If I'd asked you before Christmas Break started, you would've assured me beyond a shadow of a doubt that there was no way someone could sneak that horrific trash into my locker, or that my locker would somehow explode. How can I anticipate what they're going to try on me next?"

Looking slightly hunted, Blackwell glanced from Dad to me. "Well, the teachers are all trained to look for signs of bullying—"

"Which so far they're doing a truly bang-up job with," Dad interrupted. "No matter what else happens, no matter what you decide is true or not in Taylor's journal, you can't deny that the police found some unpleasant materials in her locker. And it's only the tip of the iceberg. I am making a formal request, here and now, to have her transferred to Arcadia. She's only missed a couple of days. It's not like she'd have much to catch up on."

"Especially when my homework isn't being stolen on a regular basis," I added, then glanced at Dad. "Sorry. Didn't mean to butt in."

Blackwell shook her head. "I, uh, can't simply transfer you today, but I can make some calls?" The tone of her voice made it a question.

"We would love you to make some calls," Dad said warmly. "Let us know when you've done it, so we can check with the Arcadia administration to see how the transfer paperwork is proceeding."

I nearly smirked at that. She'd floated a possibility that I would've bet she never intended to carry through with, and Dad had turned it around on her. Now she had to make the actual calls, and it would be up to Arcadia to decide whether or not to take me.

"Of course," she said, as though she'd intended that result all along. "But in the meantime, Taylor can't miss school. So she's going to have to continue attending here at Winslow."

"We've already established that your faculty are all too overworked to keep an eye on one girl," Dad noted. "So she gets to carry that with her. Everywhere." He pointed at the Decoy.

"Record other students?" Blackwell drew herself up sternly. "Out of the question."

"According to the latest Supreme Court ruling, school corridors and classrooms are not places which have a significant expectation of privacy," Dad paraphrased. "The item is very noticeable and warns anyone around her that they are being recorded. If they don't want their private conversations to be recorded, all they have to do is walk away from her."

"I can guarantee, I don't want to know about anyone's private conversations," I added. "I would like to be left alone, just this once. If anyone comes up to me and starts talking, I'll wave it in their face. If they don't walk away, then whatever gets recorded, gets recorded."

Blackwell drew herself up freezingly. "And what about private conversations in the classroom?"

Dad raised his eyebrows. "Really? You're going there? Since when did you ever condone students having private conversations while in class?" He pointed at the Decoy. "I'll say it again. They'll know they're being recorded. If they still want to have a private conversation, they can damn well pass notes."

"This is a government institution—" began Blackwell.

"Which does not exempt it from being a public place," Dad interrupted. "As such, you're a government employee, but you're not the owner or operator of this building. The school board is. They can decree that no personal recorders can be used within the building but until they do, the law says Taylor is allowed to carry a personal recorder so long as everyone around her is made aware of its presence. Confiscate it, and I will sue you personally for removing a device she needs to keep her safe in this school."

"Very well," Blackwell said in an I-wash-my-hands-of-this tone. "Taylor can carry the recorder with her. But if she takes it into anyplace that does have an expectation of privacy, such as a bathroom, she will need to turn it off."

I wrinkled my nose. "Yeah, like I want to record what I do in places like that."

"I'm going to need that in writing," Dad pressed. "If I'm not with Taylor through the day, one of her teachers may take it on themselves to confiscate it, and we've already seen how much attention they pay to her welfare."

Blackwell twitched, but did as he said. Taking a fresh sheet of paper, she wrote on it in a strong clear hand, TAYLOR HEBERT IS PERMITTED TO CARRY AND UTILIZE HER RECORDER ON SCHOOL GROUNDS. NO RECORDING MAY TAKE PLACE IN BATHROOMS. Then she signed and dated it.

"Is that good enough for you?" she asked, handing it over.

Dad scrutinised it, then nodded. "For the time being," he said. Folding it, he handed it to me. "Keep this one safe. Don't let anyone take it off you."

"Well, yeah, no," I agreed. As soon as I lost the paper, I lost the authority to tell teachers I could keep the Decoy on me.

Blackwell gave us both a tired look. "Was there anything else, or can Taylor attend classes now?"

I checked the clock on the wall, then looked her in the eye. "World Issues has another forty-five minutes to run, but I don't have any textbooks or school supplies. Because they got covered in gunk then exploded. In your school. Can I have some more?"

By now, I was fairly sure, Blackwell was going to agree to just about anything to get Dad (and me) out of her office. "Yes, of course," she sighed. "Give Miriam a list of what you need, and she will fetch it for you, from stores."

I assumed Miriam was the secretary in the outer office. I'd always seen her as more of a Dolores or maybe a Grimhilde. "Thanks," I said, with as much politeness as I could muster. At least I didn't have to pay for these ones, as I'd done with every other textbook of mine Emma and her friends had destroyed or damaged.

"One last thing." Dad's eyes held a razor glint behind his glasses. "Just a reminder that if you speak to the Barneses, the Clements', or the Hesses, or any of their associates, about the upcoming lawsuit, or if it's found that you destroyed school records that could incriminate you in the charges, criminal charges can apply. You don't want matters to go there."

Blackwell looked like she'd bitten into an orange and found a lemon. A rotten one. "Understood."

"Good." Dad stood up. It struck me that if I'd spoken to him about this a lot earlier, maybe some of the crap could've been avoided. Or maybe we would've been dealing with different crap. The road not taken, and all that.

"Hello again," he said pleasantly when we got to the outer office. "Taylor needs textbooks and other school supplies. Principal Blackwell said that you can get them from stores for us. Immediately, please. Taylor needs to get to class."

Miriam began to puff herself up. "You'll have to pay for it—" she began.

"No, in fact, we won't." Dad's voice was quiet but firm, and he overrode her as if she wasn't even there. "Her books and the rest of her school supplies were destroyed because of the negligence of the school, and the school will replace them. Unless you want to argue with your boss about this?"

"Fine." She bit the word off. "What exactly do you need?"

Dad took out his notebook and wrote the textbook titles and other things down as I rattled them off, then he tore off the page and handed it over to her. "This will be all, thanks."

She looked the list over, but made no move to get up. Dad raised his eyebrows but said nothing. I waited. After about thirty seconds, she looked up and pretended surprise that he was still there. "Yes, can I help you with something else?"

"No, I'll be fine once you fetch Taylor's things for us," he replied imperturbably. "Taylor needs to get to class as soon as possible. She can't do this without school supplies and books. You're the one holding her up. Do you really want to be that person?"

She glared at me and Dad. I would have bet a lot of money that she was trying to figure out how to tell us to go away and come back tomorrow, but it just wasn't coming to her.

Dad cleared his throat and took out the piece of paper he'd produced before. "If you want us to go away, all you have to do is sign this, and take responsibility for Taylor's absence."

She didn't like that option, either. Finally, she got to her feet and headed into the inner office. I didn't hear any of what happened next, except for Blackwell's raised voice at the end. "Just get them the damned supplies!"

Miriam opened the door and came out, giving me and Dad a Look along the lines of 'if you laugh, I will kill you'. Dad gazed back with a straight face, and I covered my grin with a cough. She passed us by, steam all but leaking from her ears, and opened a side door. Now it was Dad's turn to cover a chuckle with a cough, and it was all I could do not to burst out in giggles. Of course, as I was holding the Decoy, I couldn't do anything so undignified so I kept them in.

Dad's eyes wandered to the copier beside Miriam's desk, and he turned to me. "Give me the paper for a second."

I saw what he was up to, but I would never have dared myself. Of course, this being Dad, he went straight past 'never dare' and went for the burn. Taking the folded sheet from me, he flattened it out on the copy machine and ran off ten copies. The original, folded, went into his wallet, and he handed me the rest. Those went into my backpack just as Miriam emerged from the storeroom with the textbooks.

I had to hand it to her; she'd gone all-out to find the shabbiest, crappiest returned copies that she could locate in there. They weren't quite falling apart, but signs of wear and tear were obvious. I glanced at Dad and he shook his head very slightly. It wasn't worth complaining about, not right now. Besides, free books were free.

She'd had a harder time finding old pencils and pens and the like, but everything I needed was there.

"Thanks," I said, stuffing them into the pack on top of the sheets of paper already there.

"Did you use my copy machine?" she asked suspiciously.

"Only to get backup copies of an essential document," Dad replied imperturbably. "Come on, Taylor. Let's get you to class."

I led the way out of the office and waited until the door closed behind us before I started giggling. Dad shook his head. "That's what you get when power goes to your head. Taylor, don't ever get like that."

"I'll try not to." I did my best to smother my giggles. "Just get them the damn supplies!" I quoted, then snorted with laughter. "Not gonna lie, this made my whole day."

"Just remember, you've still got to get through the rest of today," he said seriously. He nodded to the Decoy. "Don't let anyone else take it off you, and don't put it down where anyone can just grab it."

"Theft? In Winslow?" I tried to sound shocked. "How could anyone think such a thing?"

"I'm not even going to touch that one." He put his hand on my shoulder as we walked. It felt warm and comforting. "You're strong, Taylor. We both know that. You can get through this. All of it."

"Thanks, I appreciate it." I indicated the classroom we were coming up to. "This is Mr Gladly's classroom. World Issues." From inside, I could hear Gladly himself expounding excitedly on some topic or other.

"Okay, then. I'll leave you here." He gathered me in for a quick hug. I won't lie; it felt good. "See you tonight."

"See you then." I dug in my backpack for one of the sheets he'd copied off for me, hitched the pack up farther on my shoulder, made sure the Decoy was firmly tucked under my arm, and opened the door.

As I stepped inside, I was thoroughly aware of every eye being turned in my direction. When I'd first gotten my powers, this alone could've caused a panic attack that would have triggered my Change. But now it was a lot easier to push through. I'm a hero. I've beaten up villains. I've saved lives. Could any of them say that?

"Taylor," said Mr Gladly, looking a little confused. "I see you're back."

"Yes, Mr Gladly, I am," I replied, pitching my voice so the whole class heard it. "I apologise for missing the last couple of days, but someone filled my locker with crap and then it blew up. I'm just glad I wasn't here for it."

"I see," he said dubiously. "What's that under your arm?"

"Ah, yes, this," I said, holding the Decoy up and turning it so that the stickered warnings were visible to one and all. "As I've been getting bullied over the last year and a bit, I've decided to be proactive about it. The microphone's good to about three yards. It is recording right now, and will continue to record until I leave school grounds. Any questions?"

Gladly took a breath. "I don't—"

"Consent to being recorded, I get it." I held out the sheet of paper. "Neither did Principal Blackwell. She changed her mind."

He took it and read it, then frowned. "That can't be right. Privacy laws …"

"The Supreme Court says that there's no reasonable expectation of privacy in the classroom," I said, trying to repeat what Dad had said, in the same bored-but-confident tone. "I've made everyone here aware that we're being audio recorded. That satisfies the letter of the law."

"Oh, uh …" He paused and looked at the paper again, then nodded sharply. "We're doing a class project." Big surprise there. "Go and sit with …" He looked around the room. "Greg and Sparky. They don't have a third member."

I nodded. It could've been worse. I might have been told to sit with Madison and Julia. As it was, I watched them track me with their eyes as I cross the classroom. I made sure not to go too near where they sat; if someone stuck their leg out to trip me, an audio recording wouldn't prove who did it.

Pulling a spare chair over to where the two guys sat on their own, I put my backpack down and got out the textbook and an exercise book. When I went back for a pencil and looked up again, I saw that Greg had picked up the Decoy from where I had put it on the desk and was looking at it.

"Greg, give that back," I said, holding my hand out. Dad's words, don't put it down where anyone can just grab it, came back to me. "That is my property, and I want it back right now."

"I was just looking at it," he said defensively. "It's really solidly built for a tape recorder, isn't it? What sort of batteries does it use? How long can it record for?"

"Heavy ones, and long enough," I told him. "Now—"

"Hey, Greg, can I have a look at that?" asked Julia, who had somehow materialised at Greg's side. "Pretty please?"

"No!" I snapped, loudly enough that heads turned. "Greg, hand my property back to me right now."

"Geez, overreact much?" he mumbled, giving the Decoy back to me. "It's just a stupid tape recorder. Nothing to get bent out of shape over."

I breathed in through my nostrils and out through my mouth, trying to calm myself down. Before I could speak, Mr Gladly had come halfway down the classroom, irritation etched on his features. "Taylor, why are you shouting in the classroom?"

I pasted a smile on my face. "Ah, Mr Gladly. Good to see you're paying attention. Greg just took this without my permission and then was going to give it to Julia." I tapped the sticker on the side. "As you can see, it's very clearly marked 'Property of Taylor Hebert'. Perhaps you should speak to them about the impropriety of taking other peoples' property without first asking permission?"

Irritation was rare on his features, and a frown was downright unheard of, but there one was, right on his face. He looked down at me and the Decoy. "I understand that you've been having problems, but disrupting the class is not the answer. Perhaps I should take that—"

I stood, suddenly enough that he took a step back. Mr Gladly was about my height, or maybe a little shorter. "So when other people want to take my property and I make a fuss about it, I'm suddenly the problem?" I shook my head. "I'll be quiet. So long as nobody else tries to take my stuff."

He hesitated, clearly not wanting to escalate matters, until I sat down. Then he headed back up to the front, doing his best not to make it look like a retreat. I didn't care. While I was fully aware of the glares of Madison and Julia—who had managed to slide back into her seat while Gladly was occupied with me—I didn't care about that either.

What I did care about was what the rest of the day was going to be like. I didn't have any of the bullies in my art class, which helped, but Emma shared Mr Quinlan's math class with me. By then, I knew for a fact, Madison would've given her chapter and verse on the Decoy—what she knew of it anyway—and as the daughter of a lawyer, Emma was going to come in firing on all barrels. Or was that cylinders?

Either way, they weren't just going to roll over and leave me alone. Not that I'd ever thought they would.

I could only hope that Mr Gladly's brand of help-without-actually-helping was the worst I'd get from the teachers. If he'd pressed the issue, it wouldn't have been Greg and Julia who needed rescuing from an angry wyvern. How could an adult be so blind to what was happening right in front of him? To what he was enabling to happen? I noticed he hadn't spoken to either Greg or Julia about trying to take the Decoy. Because of course he couldn't let go the façade of being Mr G the cool teacher.

With my elbow resting firmly on the Decoy, I turned to Greg. "So now we've got that settled, what are we actually working on?" I could see he had about a quarter page of notes, but I couldn't read his chicken-scratchings upside down, while Sparky was drawing doodles of what I presumed were electric guitars. So, par for the course.

Greg blinked at my mild tone. "Uh, we're supposed to pick an Endbringer and list ways they've affected world markets, and define whether those ways are positive and negative."

"So, not just how many people they've killed, then." Which was where most discussions of them went.

"Well, yeah, but only in terms of how it's affected how people spend money," he corrected me. "The death tolls themselves aren't what we're looking at here."

"Ah, okay." I figured I had an idea of what we were supposed to be doing. "So who did you and Sparky pick?"

"Behemoth." He frowned. "We wanted Leviathan, but too many people picked him."

I could see why. Most people seemed to think Leviathan sank ships willy-nilly out in the open ocean, but Dad had told me this wasn't the case. The shipping trade was down because Leviathan tended to attack port cities, which affected the trade going in and out of those ports. "Well, this means we have to think in different ways."

"Yeah, but what's Behemoth done to hurt the economy, really?" He ran his hands through his already-disarranged hair. "The Middle East oilfields suffered a lot from his first attack, but that's about all I can think of."

"He's given the coal industry a boost," I suggested.

Greg frowned, looking at me. "How do you figure that?"

"Since what happened in Russia, everyone's scared of him coming up in the middle of a nuclear power plant," I explained. "Not that it really means anything, because he's a walking nuclear disaster, with or without a power plant. But radiation is a scary buzzword, and people react en masse to stuff like that. So nuclear power plants are becoming less popular …"

"… so coal is becoming more popular." He scribbled frantically on his page. "That's great. Got anything else?"

"Uh yeah." I leaned back in my chair, slowly flipping the Decoy over and over in my hands. "The construction industry. Dad once told me that buildings weren't made as solid as they are now, before capes and Endbringers showed up on the scene. And Leviathan might knock a few buildings down, but Behemoth is the all-time champion for it."

"And Endbringer shelters, too." Greg nodded energetically. "That's all construction as well."

I blinked. "Oh, yeah. I didn't think of that." I had no idea how many shelters there were around the US, but if Brockton Bay was any indication, there were a lot.

"This is good stuff," Greg said happily. "What else?" He'd gone from bored and detached to focused and engaged. I would've been impressed, if I hadn't also seen him go the other way at the drop of a gaming reference.

"Computers," I said, trying to stretch my brain. "Seismic sensing. Research and development. The earlier they can predict his movements and decide where he's coming up, the faster they can get heroes on site to fight him."

Which made me wonder in turn whether I'd end up fighting Endbringers. I'd done okay against Stinger and Inago, but something like Behemoth would be a whole other level of terrifying.

Sparky dozed, and Greg and I swapped ideas (or rather, I came up with ideas and Greg wrote them down). A few of Greg's ideas were a little on the tinfoil-hat side of things so I vetoed them, but overall we came up with a good list.

I started writing them down when we had ten minutes to go, so I was finished by the time Mr Gladly announced the end of the class. We had until Monday, he said, to flesh out the ideas we'd come up with and present them to the class.

His words only vaguely registered on me, because I was once more focused on Madison and Julia. Seated with Greg and Sparky, I wasn't where either of them could walk past and dump stuff on me without a good excuse, and I'd already shown that I was willing to raise my voice a lot more than I had in the past. This meant they hadn't been able to harass me past the initial effort to steal the Decoy, but it didn't mean that they were about to give up. All the way through the class, Madison had been sending off texts right and left; I had precisely two suspects as to who the recipients were.

With that in mind, I hitched my backpack onto my shoulder and headed for the door. Normally I would've tried to find some out-of-the-way place to eat my lunch, but today I didn't give a damn. If I could make it to the cafeteria before the main crowd arrived, I could be well situated in a corner table by the time Emma and Sophia arrived to back up Madison. And if I knew Emma, she would be throwing out every half-assed legalism she'd ever heard her father say, whether it applied to the situation or not.

So, of course, Gladly stopped me.

"Taylor, before you go, can I have a word?"

Sure. How about 'incompetent' or 'counterproductive'? But I didn't say what I was thinking. "Sure. What's up?"

He assumed what was probably intended to be his 'concerned adult talking to troubled student' expression. It made him look like he'd just realised he'd left his oven on. "I can see you've been having problems, Taylor."

Really? What gave you the hint? My locker being trashed and then exploding, or me walking into class with a recording device I could use to beat Inago to death with?

I took a breath to chase away the things I wanted to say. "I'm glad you've finally noticed. What do you intend to do about it?"

My response, probably a little sharper than I'd really intended, put him on the back foot. "I, ah, well, if you wanted to come to the office and supply a list—"

I cut him off with a sharp chop with my free hand through the air. "Already done. Now, if you wanted to supply a list of your own to Principal Blackwell, I'm sure it would be well received. But right now, this little impromptu meeting is cutting into my lunch schedule. Was there anything else?"

"I … no, Taylor. That will be all. You can go now."

I wasn't sure if he'd said that last part to me or for his own benefit, because I was already halfway to the door. Then I stopped and turned. "Oh, there is one thing you can do for me."

"Yes?" I hadn't addressed him as either 'Mr Gladly' or even the 'Mr G' he preferred, but he turned back toward me, 'cool teacher' mode ready to roll.

"If you see me, or any other unpopular kid really, being bullied … fucking do something, instead of asking them if they want to go to the office and name names. You're the adult here. You're the teacher. It's your responsibility. Live up to it." Shutting my mouth before I could yell at him anymore, I turned and headed for the door.

"Taylor," he said to my back. I ignored him. He tried again. "Taylor!" I stepped out the door and left the classroom behind.

He didn't call out again. Which, all things considered, was probably a wise move. I was in just the right mood to rip him a couple more brand-new assholes if he kept getting in my face.

Fuming, I headed off down the corridor toward the cafeteria. Maybe there was still time to line up and get something to eat before shit went down, but I doubted it.

A group of people blocked my way.

Called it.

Emma stepped to the forefront. "Hello, Taylor." Her voice was deadly sweet. "I haven't seen you around school, the last couple of days."

The words were undoubtedly supposed to put me on edge, awaken terror in me. All I could think of was how I'd faced far worse than her in the last forty-eight hours.

Inhaling deeply through my nostrils, I fancied I could smell smoke, way back up in my sinuses. My eyes slitted as I looked at her. Not as prey, but as a predator.

Let's do this.



End of Part Fifteen

 

[Ack]

Wyvern

Part Sixteen: That Went Places

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



As satisfying as it would have been to smack Emma around the head with the Decoy, I managed to refrain from doing just that. Neither did I allow myself to wallow in my anger at the three bullies. That way led to the possibility of an involuntary Change, thus outing myself to not only the three people I least wanted to know my deepest secrets, but also a good chunk of Winslow's students. This would almost certainly lead to potential 'recruitment' attempts by one gang or another, with Dad in danger as a result. Precisely the situation I'd been trying to avoid since I first became the wyvern. No thanks.

So instead I kept my face blank of all emotion and turned the Decoy so they could see the stickers emblazoned on it. "Hello, Emma. Hello, Sophia. Madison, you already know this, but the others don't. You're currently being recorded."

Emma, predictably, opened her mouth. "I don't—"

Normally, I would've let her dominate the conversation. This time, I didn't give a shit, so I raised my voice over hers and kept talking. "Yes, I get it. You don't consent to being recorded. That doesn't actually change matters. You've been informed. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to get to the cafeteria before the mystery meat is all gone."

Of course, Emma couldn't let it go. "Seriously, Taylor, you're breaking the law so badly there. Do you really want to be arrested? My father—"

I couldn't help but laugh in her face. It was too funny. "Emma, your father has boasted about how he can make or break a divorce case on recordings that were taken without the other partner's knowledge. So, don't tell me about breaking the law. Now, as I said, I'm going to the cafeteria. You can follow along if you like, but whatever you say to me will be recorded."

"Illegal recording is a felony," Emma stated brightly, and a little too loudly, probably to ensure her voice made it to the microphone. "If Taylor's committing a felony, we can perform a citizen's arrest and confiscate it."

Huh. So that's their angle. I shook my head. Carol Dallon had briefed me on this one. That didn't count if the person recording was party to the conversation; then it was only a misdemeanour. Citizen's arrests couldn't be performed for a misdemeanour. "No, it's—"

I didn't get past two words into the sentence, because Sophia glided in and unloaded a powerful blow into my solar plexus. If I'd been holding the Decoy two inches lower, she would've hit that instead, but as it was I felt every molecule of air rush out of my lungs. As if they'd rehearsed it (and who knew? They may have) Emma and Madison stepped in and took my arms. Not to hold me up, but to pry my fingers from the Decoy. I tried to protest, but right then I couldn't make any noise past a pained, breathless squeak.

"What's that, Taylor? Can't think of what to say? Oh, well, you're a boring conversationalist anyway." Emma smiled at me as she dug her nails into my wrists to make me let go. I tried to hold on, but with three on one, Sophia wrenching at it as well, it was a losing battle.

Besides, it was taking all my effort not letting the wyvern rise to the top. For the first time I could feel it, just under the surface, bubbling with rage. It was almost like a separate entity or another personality, one that would quite happily burn the school to the ground.

I was more or less in agreement with it at this point in time, but I had another agenda.

My fingers lost their grip on the Decoy and the girls pushed me against the wall and stepped back. Emma waved it tauntingly in front of me. "You deserve to lose this," she said. "You deserve to lose everything." Then they ran off down the corridor, laughing.

I stayed where I was, half slumped against the wall, until I could breathe properly again. It was entirely possible that I could've recovered a lot more quickly if I'd allowed myself to give in to the Change, but that wasn't the plan. The deeper I allowed Emma and the others to dig themselves into the hole, the better.

A couple of minutes passed before I was able to push myself to my feet. My stomach still hurt, but that would pass. I looked at my hands, where Emma and Madison had gouged at my sensitive points to force me to let go of the Decoy. The marks were nice and red, which was good. I wasn't sure if I'd have a bruise from Sophia's punch, but it was always worth a shot. Briefly, I thought of getting a can of soda from the vending machine to hold against my stomach and ease the soreness, but I decided against it. I could hack it.

As part of the plan, I headed for Principal Blackwell's office. As another part of it, I pulled out the cell-phone Dad had bought for me and dialled his number.

"Hello?"

He would, I knew, be recording. An ordinary hand-held tape recorder, this time.

"Dad, it's me. Can you come to the school, please?" I put a quaver in my voice.

"Taylor? What's up? What happened?" I had to admit, his 'concerned parent' voice was spot-on.

"I was attacked. Three girls stole my recorder. It's the bullies that have been doing it all the time, Dad. They aren't going to stop. They're never going to stop." I didn't go so far as to pretend to sob—those sound horribly fake to me, even when they're not—but I let the quaver continue.

"Goddamn it. I'm on the way. Are you hurt? Did they hurt you?"

"Uh huh. I'm okay, but they punched me in the stomach and scratched up my hands trying to make me let go of the recorder. Dad, can you come here quick please?"

"I'll be there soon. You just hang tight."

"Okay, Dad."

We ended the call, and I found an out of the way place near the main entrance to sit and wait. In scripting this scenario, we'd considered having me go to Principal Blackwell so I could have a rejection under my belt before Dad arrived, but Carol had rejected the idea on the grounds that it added too many random factors. Besides, Dad wanted a recording of the second meeting. Every little bit of supporting evidence helped.

When he arrived, I got up and showed him my hands. He frowned as he looked them over, and carefully took photos, front and back, with his phone. This wouldn't mean much on its own—after all, I could've done it myself—but it would add up with the rest.

We agreed that my potentially bruised stomach could be left for a medical professional to examine. Then I pulled out the other electronic item that Carol Dallon had given me, and checked it. It was getting a nice strong signal, which was good. We wouldn't have been able to pull this off in Arcadia, with the Faraday cages around the buildings.

Of course, in Arcadia, we wouldn't have had to pull this off at all.

Blackwell's secretary looked up with surprise as Dad stomped into the front office, jaw set and head down like a bull. "Where is she?" he demanded. "This is the last goddamn straw!" He was doing all but snorting steam and pawing at the ground. I wasn't entirely sure it was an act.

"Oh, ah," she said. "You're back. Why are you back?"

"Because my daughter was attacked in your goddamn school, and three of your students stole the device she was carrying to make it harder to bully her!" he yelled. "You're really, really not improving my view of your school here. Just saying." He held up his hand-held tape recorder, showing that the reels were winding slowly over. "I'm recording this, by the way. It seems to be the only way to get things done around here."

"They, uh, said they were confiscating it because I was committing a crime with it," I ventured. "Has it been handed in?" I knew it hadn't, but this was yet more evidence.

The secretary stood up. "I'll just go and—"

Principal Blackwell opened her door and stared at us. "You, again," she snapped. "What is the meaning of this? Why are you creating a disturbance in my front office?"

I took a deep breath. "I was cornered after World Affairs class by Emma Barnes, Madison Clements and Sophia Hess. Sophia punched me in the stomach, then the other two ripped the recording device from my hands, after I informed them that they were being recorded. Then Emma said something very hurtful and they ran off laughing. They also said something about a citizen's arrest and confiscating it for committing a felony, but they haven't handed it in yet, have they?"

"Well, I'd have to check—" Blackwell made a motion toward her office.

"Don't bother," Dad said briskly. "I've already called the police. They should be here in about five minutes."

Blackwell stared at him. "The police? Why?"

He put the tape recorder on the desk and ticked off points on his fingers. "Because one, my daughter was assaulted and robbed and neither one of you has yet to show even the slightest sign of concern for her well-being or the property that was stolen. Two, I want the people who did this to actually pay for their crimes, not take a gentle slap on the wrist as a suggestion not to do it again. Three, I don't trust you one inch where it comes to doing anything for Taylor that you aren't being forced at gunpoint to do." He raised his eyebrows in Blackwell's general direction. "Have you even looked at the list of their crimes so far? It's pretty extensive. You might want to get to it."

"I was going to do it tonight," she gritted. "As you may have noticed, it's not a small document."

"I know," I replied flatly. "I compiled it. Remember?"

As a verbal gut-punch, it went across pretty well. Blackwell deflated somewhat and retreated into her office, mumbling something about writing up an incident report. Dad and I waited in the outer office, much to the secretary's discomfort.

About seven minutes later, the police showed up. Far from the single officer I'd expected, there were four of them, all in body armour. Winslow, I realised belatedly, had something of a reputation. I sat meekly in the background as they spoke to Dad, then the sergeant—it was only when she spoke that I realised she was a woman, so bulky was her armour—asked to see my hands. She examined them and took more photos, then wrote down my statement.

"And you'd be willing to testify in court to all this?" the sergeant—her name was Gainsford—asked for about the third time.

I nodded. "Absolutely. These three and their hangers-on have been making my life hell for the last year. If you think I'm worried about repercussions, that's not a thing. They already blew up my locker. What are they going to do, blow it up again with me inside it?"

"Oh, it was your locker that blew up?" She raised her eyebrows. "I heard about that. I also heard …" She stopped talking. "Sorry. Never mind. I just wanted to make sure you were okay with testifying. We have enough hoops to jump through with minors giving evidence that I wanted to make sure from the start."

"Oh, that's totally okay," I assured her. "So, can we go and find my stolen property now? I mean, if one of them has it on them, that will really make this thing open and shut, right?"

One of the other officers must have overheard me, because he cleared his throat. "Uh, kid, this isn't the movies. We're not gonna be able to find it in half an hour. I mean—"

Sergeant Gainsford waved him away. "Ignore him. The trouble here, Miss Hebert, is that Winslow is a really big school and something like your recorder isn't that big. We'd need to get warrants to search anywhere that's not a trash receptacle or a public area."

"What about Emma, Sophia and Madison?" I asked. "What if one of them's got it in her bag?"

"Well, if it's the size you say it is, we can do a feel check on the outside of the bag and if we have a reasonable suspicion that it's in there we can then have them empty the bag," she said carefully. "I doubt they could conceal it on their persons, which dodges a huge bullet about searching minors." She mimed wiping sweat off her brow for my benefit, and I smiled slightly.

"I can have them called to the office," Principal Blackwell said hopefully. "This should clear the whole thing up."

"Not a good idea," said Dad. "It would be the easiest thing in the world for them to dump it on the way. We want to catch them red-handed." He smirked at that, as did I.

Sergeant Gainsford looked at me, then at him. "I'm missing something. What am I missing?"

I pulled the remote out of my back pocket. "Well, for one thing, what they took is a decoy, a remote microphone. The real recorder's right here. Also, it's got a tracking beacon which works like so." Pressing the appropriate button, I brought up the status light (still glowing green for 'operational') and a compass-like needle. "Shall we?"

"Oh, definitely," Gainsford said with a smirk of her own. "Lead on."

<><>​

Class had gone back in by the time we set out. Principal Blackwell came with us, while one of the officers remained with the secretary. In the meantime, the secretary had been tasked with calling the parents of each of the three girls and asking them to come to the school as soon as possible. I personally was not a fan of giving them a chance to give their kids a parental heads-up, but I wasn't in charge of that detail.

As we headed down the corridor, I still had the remote, but I was flanked on one side by Sergeant Gainsford and on the other by a guy called Callan. He wasn't much of a conversationalist.

Gainsford, however, was. "So this whole thing's a sting operation? Where'd you get all this tech from?"

"Carol Dallon," Dad supplied. "Taylor knows her kids."

"You mean Brandish." Gainsford looked at me with raised eyebrows. "You're besties with Glory Girl and Panacea?"

"Vicky and Amy," I corrected her. "I'm hardly the type to put on a cape and go flying off to stop a bank robbery. And Mrs Dallon is a lawyer too, remember. She uses this sort of thing to make people entrap themselves. According to her, it's amazing what people will admit to if they think it'll never get back to them."

"Ah." Sergeant Gainsford nodded sagely. "Legally obtained recordings are hell to get hold of, but so worth it. And juries love video evidence."

"Tell me about it." I rolled my eyes. "The number of people who've told me just today that they don't consent to being recorded was amazing." I glanced at the remote. "And it looks like we're here."

'Here' was a locker, one among dozens of others. I waved the remote back and forth several times, and it stubbornly pointed to the metal door. "It's in there."

"Whose locker is that?" asked Gainsford, looking at Principal Blackwell.

"Uh … I'm not sure." There were beads of sweat on her forehead, and her eyes were flickering everywhere as if seeking an escape route. She knew damn well whose locker it was.

Gainsford keyed her epaulette microphone. "Gainsford to Henderson, come in?"

A moment later, the officer who had been left to watch the office replied. "This is Henderson, any problems?"

"Not yet, but I need you to find out who's using locker number two six five seven. That's two six five seven."

There was a long pause. Blackwell sweated some more. Henderson came back on the line. "Two six five seven, please confirm."

Gainsford rechecked the number stamped into the metal. "Yes, that's right."

"Okay, it's owned by one Sophia Hess." He paused. "Wait, is that …"

I barely refrained from performing a high-five with Dad but if the look in his eye was anything like mine, we didn't need to.

We had her.

Callan stepped forward and rattled the handle on the locker, then he tugged on the padlock. "Locked," he reported unnecessarily. "We have direct indication that there is stolen property in that locker." He reached into his belt—he had everything on that belt; I wanted one for my costume—and produced what looked like a short metal bar. "I figure I can get the padlock off with this."

Gainsford shook her head. "Let's do this by the book." She keyed her radio again. "Henderson. Instruct the secretary to call Sophia Hess to her locker immediately."

"Ten-four. Sophia Hess to report to her locker."

A moment later, the aged PA system crackled to life. The secretary's voice came across with the precise instructions that Gainsford had given, then lapsed into silence once more. We looked at each other.

"Think she'll run?" ventured the fourth officer, a man called Peterson. He sounded supremely uninterested, as if watching an uninspiring crime drama on TV.

Callan shook his head. "Doubt it. That sort of person, been getting away with this for so long? Chances are, she thinks she's untouchable. I've seen it a dozen times before."

I caught Gainsford's eye and gestured with the remote. "Uh, there's one more thing I forgot to mention."

"I'm listening." I got the impression she really was.

"The other end of this has a UV lamp." I switched ends and showed her how to turn it on. "We sprayed the Decoy with a non-toxic UV-reactant dye before I came to school." Pointing it at my own hand, I showed her how my fingers glowed.

She caught on fast. "So it'll be all over the lock and her hands, if she handled it. You really wanted to catch her at it, didn't you?"

I shrugged and handed the remote over. "Well, wouldn't you?"

"True." She took the remote and pressed the button to activate the lamp. Bright fingermarks clearly showed up on the padlock and hasp, and on the edge of the door. "Well, well. That's interesting. Callan?"

"Getting photos now," Callan reported, carefully aiming his phone. "Pretty tricky, kid."

"I'd love to say it was my idea, but it really wasn't." I shrugged. "Mrs Dallon's been doing this for awhile, I guess."

"That she has." Gainsford looked around and shut off the UV light. "Hello. You'd be Sophia Hess?"

Sophia approached, eyeing the police with extreme suspicion. "Who wants to know?" She shot a side-glance at me, which I returned innocently.

"Sergeant Gainsford," the police officer replied, holding out a card with her name on it. I already had an identical one. "Are you Sophia Hess, and is this your locker? The school says it is. We'd just like confirmation."

Reluctantly, Sophia nodded. "I'm Sophia Hess. That's my locker. What sort of bullshit story has Hebert been telling you? Because she's been trying to make trouble for me for the last year, all because her best friend likes me better now." She snorted in derision.

"This best friend would be Emma Barnes?" I had to hand it to Sergeant Gainsford, she could make a leading question sound utterly harmless. Just the facts, ma'am.

Sophia shot me another suspicious look. "Yeah, that's her. Her dad's a lawyer. What do you want with my locker, anyway?"

"Well, we have reason to believe there might be stolen goods in there. Also, may I see your hands, Miss Hess?"

Now she looked downright paranoid. "My hands? What for?"

Gainsford closed for the kill. "The stolen item had been coated with a UV-sensitive dye. Whoever stole it opened this locker. This is your locker. May I see your hands, please?" Her voice became harder, more commanding as she spoke.

Sophia put her hands behind her back. "I don't have to show you—"

Dad pulled me back out of the way as both Callan and Peterson pulled their sidearms and aimed them at Sophia from a distance of five feet.

"Show us your hands!" shouted Callan. "Now-now-now!"

"Slowly!" warned Peterson.

Blackwell let out a little shriek and I nearly screamed myself as my heart rate suddenly tripled, or so it felt. Would they actually shoot Sophia over something like this? I didn't like her, but I didn't want to see her dead either.

"Hands," repeated Sergeant Gainsford. "Slowly."

With exaggerated care, Sophia brought her hands around in front of her again. They were empty but, as Gainsford shone the UV light on them, they glowed brightly.

"Okay," I said. "That's proof she handled it."

"It is indeed." Gainsford nodded at the locker. "Miss Hess, open that, right now."

Even looking a little shaken, as I was willing to admit she had a right to be, Sophia was still a hardass. "You got a warrant for that?" she asked.

Callan put his pistol away. Peterson didn't, but he lowered it to point at the floor when Gainsford gestured to him. She turned to Sophia. "The stolen item has an electronic tracker in it. Miss Hebert?"

I held up the remote, activated the tracker, and waved it around. The needle remained pointing steadfastly at the locker. "It's in there," I said.

"Which is all the reason you need to open your locker right now, Miss Hess," Gainsford said. Her tone hardened. "Or you can refuse, we can put you under arrest, and we break the lock. Your choice."

"Fine," she muttered. "But when you see there's nothing in there, I'm gonna laugh my head off when Emma's dad sues your department and Hebert's dad, for pulling this shit on me." Leaning over the lock, she fiddled it for a moment, then opened it. Swinging the door wide open, she stepped back. "Read it and weep, assholes."

I looked into the locker, along with everyone else. The hanging space, with a few sports shirts. Shoes and other paraphernalia in the bottom. On the other side, shelves, but nothing stuffed so deeply that the contents could hide the Decoy.

It wasn't there. I began to have a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. The locator had brought me directly to this location. How could this be? It was Sophia's locker.

Callan leaned in, a small but powerful flashlight illuminating all the way to the back of each shelf. "I can't see it." He knelt down, bringing his face up close to each one, nudging items aside with the metal bar from before. "How big was it again?"

"Six inches by four by two," Dad recited automatically. "Bright yellow. Reflective stickers all over it. It should be lighting up the inside of that locker like a disco ball."

"Wait a second." Gainsford looked at the remote, showing a steady bearing toward the locker. "Turn that thing sideways."

"What, like this?" I brought it around ninety degrees, to point at her. The needle still pointed at the locker.

"No, no, give it to me." She snapped her fingers and gestured.

I handed it over willingly enough. "What have you thought of?"

"This." She pointed it at the locker then rotated her wrist so the remote was on its side. The needle angled upward slightly, so she lifted it until it was level with the top, largest, shelf space. Also, mainly empty. A few small items, deodorant and other toiletries. Certainly nothing big enough to conceal the Decoy.

"I still can't see it," I said doubtfully. Is it invisible somehow?

"Me neither." She turned the remote around. "Let's see if this gets anything." The light clicked on, and a faint glowing rectangle sprang into existence on the back wall.

I stared at it. Six inches by four. "Do you see that?"

"I do." She swapped ends on the remote once more. "Signal's definitely coming from there." A frown creased her brow. With her gloved fingers, she prodded the glowing area. Metal flexed slightly, but held strong when she pushed harder. "What's going on here?"

"Wait, wait, what if it's behind the locker?" I asked. "Some kind of secret hatch? She rested it against the back wall for a second which made the imprint, opened the hatch, and put it back there?" It sounded thin to me, but it was the best explanation I could think of that fit the facts.

"Well, it wouldn't be the first time I heard about something like that." Gainsford turned to Sophia. "How about it, Hess? Want to get yourself some leniency by coming clean and opening the hatch? Because there's no way on God's green Earth that you set this up just for that one thing. We're getting behind there and accessing your stash one way or another, and whatever it is, you're going down for it. So, make it easy on yourself. Cooperate now and I'll have my captain put in a good word with the juvey court. Reduce your sentence."

Right then we were lucky that Sophia wasn't some sort of laser-vision cape because if she was, we would've been dead on the instant. She gave me and Dad a searing glare, then turned to Gainsford. "Need to talk to you, privately," she said. "You and me. Nobody else."

"What about?" Gainsford raised her eyebrows.

"What's behind that locker. Trust me, you want to hear what I have to say before you open this can of fucking worms." Sophia tilted her head, indicating a spot a ways down the corridor.

Gainsford looked at her, then at the locker. "Figure out how to get it off the wall, but don't actually do it. I'll be back in a moment."

She handed me the remote back, and I watched as she headed off down the corridor with Sophia. Peterson also kept an eye on her. I noticed his firearm was still in his hand, aimed at the ground rather than holstered or pointing downrange. His finger was outside the trigger guard, but that could change in an instant.

"What do you think that's about?" asked Dad quietly.

"Not a clue," I responded just as softly. "Some sort of bullshit story about how I'm always bullying Emma or something, I bet."

"From what I've seen so far, I wouldn't be in the least bit surprised." I looked around to keep from staring at Sophia and Sergeant Gainsford—now would be a great time to know how to read lips—and spotted movement at the other end of the corridor. Very familiar looking red hair, even. Emma. "Shit."

"What?" Dad looked up the corridor as well, but Emma had ducked back around the corner. "I don't see anything."

"I'm pretty sure I just saw Emma," I said. "I'm going to go see what she's up to."

"We're going to see," he corrected me. "There's no way I'm letting you wander off on your own."

I didn't argue with him, and we headed up the corridor. As we got close to the corner, I heard Emma's voice in an intense whisper. "Dad, shut up and listen! There are cops at Winslow, and it looks like someone's trying to frame Sophia for something! You need to call the PRT and—"

PRT? What the fuck? This was getting weirder by the second.

Just then, Emma stuck her head around the corner, more or less right in front of us. She let out a little shriek and nearly dropped the phone; in the smoothest move I ever saw, Dad reached out and plucked it out of her hand.

"Alan?" he said conversationally. "Yeah, hi, it's Danny. Yeah, I'm at Winslow with Taylor. Yeah, we called the cops on Sophia because she helped Emma and that friend of hers? Madison? Yeah, her. Well, they ganged up on Taylor and beat her up because she had the absolute gall to bring a recording device to school because people were bullying her. I mean, how unfair is that? It's like she doesn't actually want them to bully her or something."

Emma made a grab for the phone at this point, but his arms were about a mile longer than hers and he fended her off easily.

"So hey, I couldn't help but overhear Emma telling you to call the PRT about Sophia. What I'm curious about is why. What possible interest could the PRT have in an ordinary high school student? Actually, I'll tell you what. I'm just going to go back down the corridor to where the nice officers are investigating Sophia's locker, and I'll give the phone to one of them, so you can explain to them why Emma was trying to use you and the PRT to circumvent their investigation. That okay with you? Excellent."

He held the phone up over his head where Emma had zero chance of reaching it, and started back down toward the police officers. Faintly, I could hear the tinny sounds of Alan Barnes babbling questions, but Dad wasn't paying attention to him anymore. Farther down, I saw Sergeant Gainsford returning with Sophia, her brow furrowed with some kind of problem. From what I'd just heard, I thought I could make an educated guess, but I had another fish to fry first. Emma was still making futile jumps to grab her phone, and I stepped up alongside her. As she held her hands up, I shone the UV light on them. They glowed brightly, of course.

"What was that?" she yelped. "What did you do?"

"UV light," I explained cheerfully. "That thing you stole from me? Coated in UV dye. It's gonna take a couple of days to wear off. The inside of my bag's gonna be glowing like that forever. Proves you helped steal it. I bet Madison's hands are the same as yours."

She stared at me, then at her hands, then shoved them under her armpits. "You can't shine that at me without my permission!" she declared. "That's illegal search and seizure!"

"No, actually, it isn't," Sergeant Gainsford corrected her as we got back to the group. She nodded at Emma's hands. "Got the dye on them?"

"She could help planes land at the airport," I confirmed.

"So, introductions," Dad observed. "This phone belongs to Emma Barnes, this young lady. Looks like she sneaked out of class to come see what was happening. Then she called her father, Alan Barnes, and told him to contact the PRT about something. Does anyone want to talk to him about that?"

"Absolutely." Gainsford took the phone and held it to her ear. "Good afternoon. Sergeant Gainsford, Brockton Bay Police Department. Am I talking to Alan Barnes? Oh, good. If you could just help me clear some things up …" She wandered away, still talking.

I had to admit, this was getting to be a lot more exciting than I'd expected. Sophia was glaring at me—well, that part was quite familiar, to the point that I could look back at her without much in the way of worry. It gave me time to think.

Sophia was athletic as hell. The star of the Winslow track team, she was a minor celebrity within Winslow. It didn't hurt that she was also friends with Emma and Madison, the most popular girls in my class (and who held a certain amount of influence with the freshmen as well). She was also a sadistic bully who enjoyed inflicting pain, and looked at me with a level of disdain that I had trouble understanding. It wasn't like I'd ever done anything to her.

So was the situation what I thought it was, or was I totally on the wrong path? If I was right …

I wasn't sure if I wanted to be right.

"What are you looking at, twerp?" she snapped. "Take a photo, it'll last longer."

"Huh," said Callan. "That's how."

"What's how?" asked Peterson.

"The bolts holding the locker to the wall. Someone unscrewed the nuts then screwed them back on. The paint on them's all scuffed. I figure I can get this off pretty easy with the right socket set."

"I got a multitool with a crescent wrench on it," Peterson offered.

"You really don't want to do that," Sophia warned. She nodded toward where Sergeant Gainsford was still talking on Emma's phone. "You watch. She'll come back and tell you to leave it all alone."

"It's really not on you to make that call, miss," Callan said bluntly. He held out his hand and Peterson slapped a frankly impressive multitool into it. "Yeah, this'll definitely do the job."

"Whatever this is about," Emma said, "Taylor's lying. She always lies about stuff, trying to get me or Sophia or Madison into trouble."

"Well, so far, miss, everything she's said has panned out." Callan loomed over Emma and she shrank back. "I've got to ask, why are you out of class right now?"

Emma's mouth worked as she tried to generate what was likely to be a phenomenal lie, but some level of self-preservation kicked in, possibly because she didn't know for a fact what I'd told the police. Or, likely more important, what Sophia had told them. Truly, it was an unfair world when she had no idea what lies she should tell next. I almost felt sorry for her.

Well, almost.

Just as I was about to say something, Dad nudged me and shook his head. A moment later I got it; Officer Callan knew damn well what was going on but was trying to get her to admit it herself. Belatedly, Emma seemed to realise this, and shook her head. "My Dad says I shouldn't talk to police when he's not there."

"It's a simple question, Miss Barnes." Callan had a fairly good fatherly tone of voice. "You're supposed to be in class. Why aren't you?" He raised his eyebrows. "You do know that interfering in a police investigation is a crime, right?"

"I-I needed to go to the bathroom," she blurted. "Then I heard voices, so I came to see what was happening."

"Hmm." He looked at her and then at the locker. "Do you know Miss Hess, here?"

The two girls glanced at each other, then at Callan. Finally, Emma looked at Officer Peterson. "Can you make him put his gun away? He's making me feel nervous, holding it like that."

Callan's mouth twitched. We could both see the obvious power play for what it was, but he nodded to Peterson anyway. The pistol went back into its holster. "Answer the question, please. Do you two girls know each other? Are you friends?"

Cautiously, Emma nodded. If she'd tried any other tack, I would've called her a liar to her face. More to the point, Sophia was right there. "We're friends, yes."

"Good, good." He made a note in the pad he was holding. "So, do you have any idea why she might have hollowed out a space behind her locker, and how to get into it?"

"She hasn't got any space hollowed out behind her locker!" Emma's tone was strong and confident, and if I hadn't seen the locator signal myself, I would've believed her. "Why do you think that? Did Taylor tell you? She's always lying about us, trying to get us in trouble."

Once again, I wanted to speak, to rebut her, but Dad nudged me and I stayed silent. Emma hadn't dug her own grave yet, but she was definitely playing with the shovel.

"Ah, whose phone was this again?" asked Sergeant Gainsford, rejoining the group. "Mr Hebert, didn't you say it belonged to Miss Barnes?"

Dad nodded. "I did, yes."

"He stole it!" Emma exclaimed, finally spotting a way to get us in trouble. "I was talking to my dad and he stole it!"

"And promptly handed it over to me," Sergeant Gainsford reminded her.

"But theft is still a crime!" Emma was on a roll now. "I want you to arrest him for that!"

Sergeant Gainsford clearly restrained herself from sighing. "Miss Barnes, theft is the act of taking something with the express intent of permanently depriving the owner of its use. He handed it straight to me, identifying it as yours. It is now back in your possession. You can have him charged with theft, but it wouldn't even make it to court. Now, you're absolutely certain you have no knowledge of any empty space behind your friend Sophia's locker?"

"If Taylor says there's an empty space behind Sophia's locker, then Taylor's lying," Emma said boldly, but avoided Dad's eye as she spoke. I was reluctantly impressed; faced with authority figures as well as my father, she was setting her course and sticking to it. It was a given that she would no longer be able to pretend to her parents that she was still friends with me, and she was owning that.

For Dad's part, the look on his face showed that he was finally starting to assimilate the new truth in his life, that Emma had chosen to reject me altogether in favour of Sophia. From the tic in his jaw, I could see that he was doing his best to hold his anger in now that he was incontrovertibly faced with it, but it can't have been easy. Emma and I had been best friends for a good twelve years, and then she'd chosen to throw it all away for no reason either of us could see.

Sergeant Gainsford made a note on her own pad, then turned to Sophia. "Principal Blackwell knows?" She didn't say what it was that Blackwell was supposed to know.

"Yeah, she knows." Sophia didn't ask.

"I see. Well, we're still going to look." Gainsford turned to Callan. "Undo the nuts and help me move the locker."

"But you can't!" For the first time, I saw actual alarm on Sophia's face. "At least wait for the—" She paused and leaned in close. We all heard her whisper anyway. "For the PRT."

"The PRT has no jurisdiction over a simple case of theft, and I'm sure Principal Blackwell is interested in finding out exactly what is being stashed behind one of her lockers," Sergeant Gainsford said firmly. She raised her eyebrows. "Unless you're trying to tell me a cape's involved? A supervillain?"

By now, I was definitely sure a cape was involved. Unless I was totally barking up the wrong tree, in the wrong forest even, Sophia was a cape, and there was something behind her locker that would out her. Which cape she was, that was more of a puzzler. I couldn't see her as a hero, and the largest villain gang in Brockton Bay consisted of white supremacist neo-Nazis, so she wasn't Rune or Purity.

(Though it would've been hilarious for them to find out after all this time that Purity was actually black, I'm not gonna lie).

I knew she couldn't be a member of the Merchants, mainly because she was a good athlete. That sort of thing doesn't mix well with recreational drug use.

(Maybe she should've started. It might have mellowed her out).

The only other gang I could think of was the ABB. I was about to nix them too, given that all of the gang's cape members were male, but then I had a second thought. Inago was Inago. She couldn't pass for him without Hollywood levels of makeup (also, she had both arms). But Oni Lee … nobody had ever seen his face, had they? What if he wasn't Asian behind that mask? What if he wasn't even male behind it? She was athletic, he was athletic. She was a vindictive bitch, he was a teleporting serial suicide bomber.

The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. Though what didn't make sense was why Sophia was insisting that the PRT be present. Maybe she wanted to surrender to them? I didn't get it.

While Sophia tried to argue with Gainsford and Blackwell looked on with what seemed to be paralysed apathy, Officer Callan worked away on the nuts holding the locker to the wall. Eventually, he finished the last one and stood up, dusting himself off.

That was about the time Alan Barnes came striding in, accompanied by a contingent of PRT troopers and none other than Miss Militia. Her weapon of the moment happened to be an elaborate compound bow, which she held with competent ease.

(Her action figures sold more weapon accessories than any Tinker in the Protectorate. Just saying).

I wondered where Armsmaster was. His absence suggested to me that whatever plan he'd cooked up, he hadn't cleared it with his superiors, so he wasn't automatically assigned to the case. And a call regarding Sophia Hess might not have pinged his radar, where a call about an enraged wyvern destroying the school would have.

"Okay, what's going on here?" asked Miss Militia, singling out Sergeant Gainsford by way of some kind of officer radar.

"She—" began Sophia.

Miss Militia waved her away. "Miss, you will have to wait until I have spoken to the police officer on site." Leaving Sophia fuming, she walked a few steps away and they had a quiet conversation. In the meantime, the four PRT troopers (two holding foam sprayers) merely stood there and loomed at us. They were fairly effective at it. Callan and Peterson tried to look professional in return, in a kind of silent dick-measuring contest. They were outclassed, but they did their best anyway.

I glanced at Dad and he shrugged. Neither of us had any idea how this would turn out, but it was getting more and more complicated by the second. And I still had no idea who Sophia was as a cape, unless she really was Oni Lee. Baggy clothes were easy to hide a gender identity under, after all.

"Danny." Alan Barnes didn't look happy.

"Alan." Dad looked even less so.

"What's going on? Why is Taylor accusing Emma of bullying her?"

Dad gave him a level stare. "Maybe because she is."

Mr Barnes shook his head. "I have trouble believing that."

"Believe what you want." Dad turned his back on his old friend.

"Well, then." Miss Militia had returned. "We have a case of theft, and the stolen item traced to this locker. Specifically, a space in the wall behind this locker." She looked at Sophia. "I understand this locker belongs to you, miss?"

Sophia nodded. It wasn't like she could deny it now. "Yeah, but I need to talk to you."

Miss Militia exhaled through her nose, as if to say, 'You're not doing your secret identity any favours,' but she nodded. "We can talk."

So then they went and had a quiet chat. Or rather, Miss Militia was quiet, while Sophia became more and more animated. She kept her voice down, though I heard the occasional word. Nothing that made sense, unfortunately.

Finally, I'd had enough. All this dancing around was getting up my nose. "Seriously?" I asked out loud. "Is everyone going to just keep ignoring the elephant in the room? Is that what we're going to do?"

Everyone looked at me. Dad nudged me again, but I ignored him. The wyvern was getting more and more pissed off, and I got the impression that if I didn't do something, it would. Miss Militia's expression was hard to read from just her eyes, but Sophia's was outright rage. The wyvern had her beat, though.

"Taylor, I think—" began Mr Barnes.

"No!" I snapped. "It's past time for thinking! Thinking got us into this. Me thinking that Emma might still be my friend again someday. Emma thinking that she can get away with anything. Sophia thinking that she can hide whatever's behind that damn locker. Everyone thinking that they're the only one who knows Sophia's a cape. We all know it. Just admit it. Now can someone move the locker so we can prove that Sophia stole my property? That way, we can arrest her and Emma and Madison, and I can get on with my goddamn day."

Silence fell after my little outburst. Everyone looked uncomfortably at each other. Then Sergeant Gainsford pointed at the locker. "Callan, Peterson. Move the damn locker."

"Sergeant, there's still—" began Miss Militia.

"We'll all sign NDAs," Gainsford interrupted. "We've wasted far too much time catering to the wishes and desires of a teenage delinquent who may or may not be a member of the Wards for me to give a shit anymore. Move the damn locker."

"Sergeant," responded Callan, and he and Peterson took hold of the shelves. A bit at a time, they edged the metal box out from between the lockers on either side.

At the same time, I was re-evaluating my entire thought process. Sophia wasn't Oni Lee. She was a Ward. Holy shit, it all made sense now. This was why she wanted the PRT in on it, to cover up for her. How long had she been a hero? Which one was she? Frantically, I tried to go through the roster in my mind, but I kept hitting blanks. Vista? No, she was too young, and too white. Maybe Clockblocker? Nobody could see his face, after all. No, Sophia was too, uh, feminine to fit into that costume. Dammit, who else is in the Wards?

Finally, the locker scraped free and was pulled to one side, and I leaned over to look. Sophia tried to dart into the space just revealed, but Miss Militia snagged her shoulder. And then I saw it. Them, rather. There was indeed a set of crude shelves hacked out of the wall. On the top one sat the Decoy. It had suffered some damage; there were chips in the industrial plastic, and someone had tried to scrape the stickers off, but enough of them remained to be still readable.

But it was the lower shelves that caught my attention. A bundled piece of dark cloth, with a black-painted metal hockey mask. And a pair of hand-crossbows, with a bunch of very sharp-looking arrows.

"Well, fuck," I said, as the name finally popped into my head.

Shadow Stalker. Sophia Hess is goddamn Shadow Stalker.

It explained so very much.



End of Part Sixteen

 

[Ack]

Wyvern

Part Seventeen: Escalation Central

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



"Well, fuck."

My words seemed to resonate with everyone there, and for a split second, nobody moved. At least some of them were very likely thinking exactly the same thing, though almost certainly for entirely different reasons. I could only hope that Sophia was thinking, well, fuck, I can't get out of this so I may as well give myself up now. Though she probably wasn't.

Personally, I stood there like an idiot, trying to come to terms that the girl who had at least co-masterminded all the horrific shit (some of which was literal) that had come down on me over the last year wasn't actually a villain. Part of my brain tried to argue that she had to be an established villain; no hero would ever stoop to such activity. It was more or less the definition of being a hero; standing up against bullying wherever it might be found.

Except, she had done exactly that. She'd punched me, kicked me, pushed me down stairs and shoved me in my damn locker. Sophia Hess was a bully. Sophia Hess was Shadow Stalker. Shadow Stalker was a hero. Heroes didn't bully, or condone bullying.

One of those statements was not like the others.

One of those statements was a lie.

Shadow Stalker was never a fucking hero.

Just back of my breastbone, the wyvern snarled and raved, seeking to break free and burn Sophia Hess to a fine ash. Too-hot air drifted from my nostrils, thick with the tang of whatever my wyvern form used to ignite its flame. The Change was altogether too close to the surface.

It would be all too easy to ease up on my self-control, to just let it happen. But I'd been learning. Learning not just to force the Change from one form to the other, but to also refrain from Changing when it would be bad to do so. If I let it happen here and now, the least of the repercussions would be that I would be outed as Wyvern, and Dad would potentially be put in danger. I could think of much worse outcomes if a fight actually broke out in this corridor; as Wyvern, I was fairly durable. Dad wasn't, and the cops were only wearing basic body armour.

Worse, if I attacked Sophia, would Miss Militia stand aside, or would she defend Sophia? What would the PRT troopers do? They had containment foam, which I wasn't at all sure I could break out of.

And if they captured me after attacking Sophia (and by association, Miss Militia and the PRT) then I'd be their prisoner; in their power both legally and physically. Right where I had no desire to be. All the legal leverage Carol Dallon could bring to bear would be of little use; the PRT had a small army of lawyers, and they'd have the upper hand by a long way.

The frozen moment ended, and shit commenced to go sideways.

Sophia screamed with incandescent rage—yeah, who would've seen that coming?—and went on the attack. Not at me, or Dad, or even Blackwell or Emma. She vanished into smoke, then flowed around Miss Militia even as the flag-clad hero discharged what turned out to be a taser. Briefly turning solid, she swung a two-handed elbow-strike at the back of Miss Militia's neck. She missed her mark, but only because Miss Militia was already turning, the taser coming up faster than I would've expected.

Mental note: never test my reflexes against Miss Militia. I will lose.

Sophia's elbow instead caught the side of Miss Militia's jaw, snapping her head around with brutal force. Miss Militia staggered and utterly failed to get out of the way when the PRT troopers discharged their foam sprayers at Sophia. I didn't see if they hit their intended target, because the rapidly expanding yellow foam caught Emma, Principal Blackwell and Mr Barnes almost immediately; then Dad, me and the cops half a second after that.

It billowed around us, sealing us into a translucent prison, yellow light filtering through along with just enough air to breathe but no more than that. I'd read accounts by people who'd been trapped in containment foam, but reading about it and experiencing it were two utterly different things. Vaguely, I wondered if the foam would continue to hold me if I were to Change, but I didn't want to try. I wasn't being held rigidly; it was more like a rubber cocoon. I could move a little bit, but I couldn't go anywhere.

The wyvern hammered at the bars of its cage. She's getting away, and I'm the only one who can stop her! My mind turned to the fire I could produce while in that form; while I was sure I could burn away this crap, at least from around me, I couldn't be certain the other people in there with me wouldn't get hurt as well. And doing that would absolutely out me to the very last people in the world I wanted knowing about my secret.

Miss Militia very probably knew already, and I would've given fifty-fifty odds that the PRT guards had been briefed on a potential Wyvern incursion. The cops didn't, but they'd been pretty cool, so I didn't have any worries from that side of things. Dad, of course, knew everything.

It was Emma, her father, and Principal Blackwell whom I didn't want knowing about this. Between their amazingly shitty character judgement where it came to Sophia and their resulting treatment of yours truly (either from ignorance, malice or somewhere in between), I wouldn't have trusted them with the care and feeding of a pet rock. Much less something this important to me. So I held firm. The foam around me might have been heating up, but I refused to Change. I was the boss of this power, not it of me.

"Dad?" I called out. "Are you okay?" It was like shouting through a pillow, but at least I made some noise.

"Yeah." Though his voice was distant and indistinct, I could hear him. "What about you?"

"Wondering what's going on. Can you hear anyone else? What's happening?" I didn't want to worry him, so I kept the problem of the wyvern trying to break free to myself. Besides, I still had a secret identity and I didn't want anyone hearing me talking about it.

"Nothing I can make out. I have no idea what's going on." He sounded like he was trying to conceal worry. "They should've let us out by now."

That raised a whole new series of spectres for me to think about. What if this whole thing was an elaborate plan intended to spirit me away into the depths of the PRT, and strongarm me into working with them? My heart rate rose, and it became harder to breathe. This didn't make it even slightly easier to keep my Change under control.

Stop it. I forced myself to think logically. They had to know that trying to force me into the mould of being their tame little superhero would backfire more spectacularly than Armsmaster pointing his halberd at me that one time. If I ended up in a cell against my will, I would Change, and if it came to a contest between my dragonfire and them, I'd bet on me. Added to which, every time I got hurt and changed up, I seemed to improve my ability to use fire in different and interesting ways. And if fire didn't work, the wyvern was good at wrecking shit with its jaws.

The PRT might be a monolithic and bureaucratic organisation, but they weren't stupidly suicidal; neither were they blindly moronic. They had to know that kidnapping me would be an immensely bad idea. So why are we still stuck?

A long-ago piece of advice from Mom drifted through my head. If you can't change the situation, try to use it to your benefit. Well, I couldn't get out … but hey, this stuff was pretty supportive. I relaxed, letting my body just hang in the foam. If it wasn't for the fact that I was actually being held prisoner by it, it might even have been fun, or at least restful.

"So, Shadow Stalker, huh?" It felt really weird to be having this conversation with my father, who'd been right next to me, yet I couldn't see him and he sounded like he was dozens of feet away. Still, what else was there to do until they got us out of this? "Gotta admit, I didn't see that coming."

"Really?" He sounded mildly curious, but that could've just been the muffling effect. "So that's who she is. Huh. Well, it kind of makes sense, in a really ass-backward way."

"It does?" I couldn't keep the surprise out of my voice. "I really thought she was maybe Oni Lee. You know, a villain."

He laughed then, briefly. "I can see why you'd think that, but no. You probably missed it on the news, but I heard from one of Kurt's buddies that Shadow Stalker didn't join the Wards voluntarily. The word is that she got too violent out there, and the PRT decided to rein her in. They only called her a hero because she went after criminals."

"Oh." A few things started making a lot more sense to me. Far from being a misunderstood vigilante, Sophia was just a violent person who got her kicks from hurting people. She'd pretended to be a hero to keep out of the way of the law, but even then she'd fucked up. It fitted more or less exactly with what I knew of her. Which made me wonder exactly how she'd gotten her claws into Emma so thoroughly; my ex-best-friend was generally more savvy than that. "Well, she's definitely gone and fucked that up now. What do you think they'll do with her?"

He was silent for a long moment. "Best case, they shove her into the cape version of juvey so fast it'll make her head spin. Worst case, they outfit her with a new costume and cape name, and ship her to some other part of the country. Force her to keep her head down and toe the line."

I hated the second idea. It didn't help that I figured she'd hate it just as much. "So, do we get any compensation for all the shit she pulled on me? I mean, they dropped the ball here pretty badly, right?"

Again, he took a little time to answer. "I'm thinking Mrs Dallon would be the best person to address that. Somehow, I can see the PRT ducking and dodging around secret identities, and trying to hold out some sort of deal for you to join the Wards in return for full compensation. But she might pull a rabbit out of the hat anyway. She's very switched-on."

Just as I was about to answer, I heard a weird deep thumping sound, like someone beating on a drum. There was no rhythm to it, just very fast and staccato. But it finished before I could put a name to it.

"Did you hear that?" I asked.

"Yes." He sounded puzzled and concerned. "Not sure what it was, though."

"I guess we'll find out when they let us out of this. Anyway, like I was saying, I'm not about to join the Wards in any way, shape or form. Not in this century or the next, anyway. Besides, I'm already a semi-official member of New Wave. They can't just go poaching me. Every independent team in the country would jump up and down at once."

"Yeah." But now he sounded distracted. "You smell that?"

"Smell what?" Up until now, all I'd really been able to smell had been hints of whatever chemicals my Wyvern form generated to make fire; that, and containment foam. But now I deliberately sniffed, inhaling deeply through my nose. And I smelled it.

Smoke.

"Shit, is that what I think it is?"

"Yeah." His voice was tensely urgent. "That's not you, is it?"

Have you set fire to something, he was asking. I would've been insulted, but setting fire to things was rapidly becoming my go-to method for dealing with them, of late. My imagination popped up an image of me setting fire to Sophia, but I told it to hold off on the wishful thinking until the current crisis was over.

"No!" I shouted as loudly as I could. "It's not me!" Not yet, anyway.

Was the foam beginning to get hotter? Up until now, I would've thought this was due to me, but the smoke disabused me of that notion. Unless I was badly mistaken, something was seriously wrong out there.

"Taylor …" Now he actually sounded worried. He didn't say anything more, but he didn't have to. It's time for you to do something, he meant. Time for you to be Wyvern.

The trouble was, I totally agreed with him. So did the wyvern. There were more important things at stake than my secret identity.

I barely had to relax my control before the Change began. It felt different to every other time I'd done this, somehow more robust and forceful. Maybe it was because of the stuff I was currently encased in; I had no way of telling for sure.

My face became a muzzle, pressing outward. The yellowish material resisted, tore, re-stuck to my skin. I could feel it having similar problems as my arms stretched and became wings; even my flight membranes sliced through it with relative ease. My tail emerged and burrowed through the foam, finally popping into the open air and waving around. It thwacked against something solid, but I didn't have the time or patience to find out what.

My next problem showed itself relatively quickly. Even fully Changed, I was still trapped. If I was going to find out what was going on and do something about it, I needed to free myself. Okay, then. Let's see what some fire does.

Drawing in as much air as I could, I let flame spill out of my mouth. As planned, it followed the path of least resistance, washing along the boundary between the foam and my scales. Given the speed with which it unstuck and peeled away from my muzzle and head, I got the impression that it wasn't intended to face high temperatures at all. I still wasn't out, but now I could move my head freely.

Downside? Melted containment foam reeked. Like, dirty socks left at the bottom of the laundry hamper for a solid month reeked.

Other downside: there was still some around my head. I spat out a tiny explosive fireball into the space in front of me, flickering my nictitating membranes over my eyes as it detonated. Just like with the ones I'd stopped the criminals with that time, it was barely worth the name, but it surely did the job. There was a brief instant of overpressure (I vaguely recalled the same thing happening in my locker, once upon a time) and then it was gone, splattering away in all directions. I was free from the mid-torso up, though my wings and lower body were still trapped.

And the school was on fire. Well, there was a cloud of smoke percolating out of the ceiling, and I could hear the crackling of flames.

I was pretty sure that wasn't my fault.

<><>​

Shadow Stalker

A Few Moments Previously

Hebert was still blathering on. "Everyone thinking that they're the only one who knows Sophia's a cape. We all know it. Just admit it. Now can someone move the locker so we can prove that Sophia stole my property? That way, we can arrest her and Emma and Madison, and I can get on with my goddamn day."

Sophia couldn't believe what was going on. Why were they even listening to the skanky dweeb? Why wasn't Miss Militia shutting her down, or (for preference) pulling out a big-ass gun and shooting her?

Or was all that shit about Wards' identities being protected just that; shit? An excuse for them not to unmask to me? Well, fuck them, and fuck the PRT and Protectorate as well, if they won't step up for me.

The female cop who Sophia had carefully explained to that she was a cape raised her hand and pointed. "Callan, Peterson. Move the damn locker."

Rage swelled in Sophia's gut. Didn't the bitch care? She was on the verge of outing Sophia as a cape, and she knew it, but she was still doing it. When this was over and done, Sophia was going to swallow her pride and talk to the Director, and get that stupid cop's badge taken off her.

"Sergeant, there's still—" Just for a second, Miss Militia seemed to be about to justify her existence, but then the cop talked right over the top of her. Or maybe Militia let her.

"We've wasted far too much time catering to the wishes and desires of a teenage delinquent who may or may not be a member of the Wards for me to give a shit anymore. Move the damn locker."

Everyone's fucking against me. Everyone.

Rage surged through every fibre in her body, making her want to strike and rip and tear and make them bleed. But she chose to hold it back until she was certain that Militia was betraying her. The cop blathered something about NDAs—as if that would stop people from talking if they really wanted to spread the word around—though what she'd said really put her onto Sophia's shit list. Not that this was hard, right now, but this cop was now right up near the top, just under Hebert.

As the uniformed idiots followed the stupid orders of the interfering cop, Sophia figured she had one last chance to walk away from this with some semblance of her life intact. They'd figured out she was a cape, which was bad, but only some of them knew which cape. If she could just grab the bundle and get it out of sight, she'd wear whatever punishment Militia doled out, then go find the cop one quiet night. It was amazing how many gangbangers in Brockton Bay would be happy to kick some interfering cop to death, or at least take credit for the act.

Muscles taut, she prepared to leap forward the moment the locker came away. But then, even as the weight came off her front foot, Miss Militia grabbed her by the shoulder.

It wasn't a light grab, either; Militia really dug her fingers in there. By an effort of will, Sophia didn't go to shadow and grab her stuff anyway. There was still a chance she could skate away from all this if she didn't just publicly out herself. So long as she played Militia's game and kept in good with the PRT and Protectorate, she could do what she wanted and Hebert had zip.

Except that there was no more time. That stupid recorder was right there in plain view, but it didn't mean jack shit if the PRT said it didn't. The trouble was, the rest of her stuff was also right there; the cloak, the mask, the arrows, and the crossbows, all bundled up together. Right where everyone could see it.

Why the fuck did Militia stop me from grabbing my stuff? Does she want everyone to see it?

Is she even on my side with this, or did she just come here to throw me under the fuckin' bus? It was sure as fuck starting to look that way.

And then Hebert spoke in a tone that told Sophia she'd seen enough, and the dots were now well and truly connected. "Well, fuck."

Sophia's mind raced. Militia's got a plan to salvage this shit. She's gotta have a plan. Turning her head slightly, she looked for a signal from the senior hero, something for her to go on with.

She saw nothing. Just anger and pity. And that was when she figured out Militia's plan.

I was fucking right. She was always going to throw me under the fucking bus. The Director sent her here to make sure I went down all the way. They're probably going to make up some stupid fucking excuse and rig the trial so I go to the Birdcage, because they hate me for making them look useless.

In that moment, she realized that she had nobody she could depend on. They were either too weak or had already betrayed her. The rage, temporarily in abeyance, blazed up in full force.

With a scream of full-throated wrath, she went to shadow. Miss Militia reacted with worrying speed, already turning as Sophia flowed around her and reformed on the other side. The endlessly mutable weapon that Militia carried shifted and changed into something that looked ominously like an oversized taser.

Sophia didn't wait for her to bring it into line. She was already swinging her elbow, bracing the blow with her other hand. Militia somehow saw it coming and ducked aside. Sophia's elbow missed the back of Miss Militia's neck but got her jaw instead. While her elbow felt like she'd just smacked it into a rock wall, Militia was staggered, the taser drooping. Not perfect, but good enough.

The gurgling hiss of a sprayer warned her, and she went to shadow just before four streams of containment foam criss-crossed through where her body would've been. As the yellow shit splattered over everything and everyone—including Militia, take that, you backstabbing bitch!—she lunged sideways toward where her gear was sitting on the shelf. The way the stuff expanded once sprayed, everything on those shelves was likely to be buried in seconds, so she eased out of shadow just far enough to grab the entire bundle.

The plan was already coming together in her mind. The PRT was kicking her to the curb, but there was no way she was gonna be bending over and letting them fuck her life up without a fight. Her entire vigilante career before the Wards had been made up of hard decisions—usually some variation of, hit the muggers now, or wait until they're distracted by their victims?—so she didn't find it hard to make one now.

It's me or them. I choose me.

It was a step she'd never had to take before, but maybe if she had, she wouldn't be in this situation now. Something to think about. Later, after she was finished here.

All of the troopers had stowed their foam sprayers by the time she looked around. They'd laid down an impressive volume of the stuff in a very short time, trapping everyone apart from Sophia like flies in amber or some shit like that, but it had to be clear to them that they weren't going to be getting her that way. As she watched, two of them pulled out tasers. Because of course they'd been briefed on her weaknesses.

Extracting one of the arrows from the bundle, she launched her shadow form toward those two, flowing around and past them. Momentarily, she went to full solidity while standing behind the first one, holding the arrow so that the head and a section of the shaft materialized inside his spine, just at the base of his skull. He jerked uncontrollably and began to collapse, but she was already shadow again and flowing out of the way of the gleaming taser wires that had just been shot her way.

Fighting these assholes was a lot harder than punching out druggies, mainly because druggies rarely wore body armour or carried tasers. She had to duck and dodge like crazy to avoid being zapped, before she got close enough to bury the arrow in his forehead through his faceplate. That asshole went down, leaving her with just two obstacles in the way of completing her plan. Thank fuck nobody's invented a rapid-fire taser yet.

Number three was going with the ambitious plan of a knife in his right hand and a taser in the left. She dodged the swipe of a blade, then lodged an arrow in the guy's knee, eliciting a scream that she heard through the helmet. As he lurched, off balance, she jammed another arrow up under the front edge of his helmet, into the soft part of his throat. Warm blood spilled out over her hand, then he toppled over onto his side.

Up until now, the fourth trooper hadn't even gotten into the fight; when she looked, she found out why. He was spraying the contents of a can of foam dissolver over the mound before him, converting great swathes of it into a dirty yellow liquid that she knew from experience took forever to wash out of hair and clothing.

He's trying to free Miss Militia. Oh, fuck nope. Sophia was good, but she freely admitted that Miss Militia was better. While she could just about handle herself against regular PRT goons (and fuck, did it feel good to not have to hold back in a fight anymore) if Militia had even one goon to run interference, going up against her was an extremely shitty proposition.

Pulling another arrow from the rapidly-depleting store, she went to shadow and lunged toward the guy. When will these idiots learn not to turn their backs on me?

During Sophia's time with the Wards, Triumph had done his best to instill in her a sense of honour when she was in a fight. She'd pretended to pay attention, even though she knew for a fact that going easy on your opponent in any way was fucking moronic at best, and outright suicidal at worst. There were too many rules that they expected her to follow, to live by. It was bullshit. The world needed fewer rules, more action. It was the only way to survive.

The guy started to turn right at the last second, but it was too late; she phased the arrow into the back of his head. He went down like the rest of them, leaving the spraycan stuck in the containment foam.

Sophia paused to take a breath and nock an arrow into one of her crossbows, while she looked around for more adversaries. Nobody was in the corridor; all the troopers were dead, or nearly so. That just left the witnesses in the foam itself. They were gonna have to go, of course. Snitches got stitches. Or in this case, closed coffin funerals.

Fortunately, she had a way to kill them all without actually having to individually release them from the foam and top them one at a time. She could do it that way, but it would take way too long, and there was always the chance that someone had sent off a distress signal. Better to go with the original plan. Leaping straight up, she went to shadow and passed through the drop panels into the ceiling space beyond.

When she first started at Winslow, she'd spent about a week scouting the place out after hours, until she knew all its little secrets. Such as the fact that the fire alarm system was connected up but the sprinkler tanks were dry, and had been for years. Also, in the ceiling spaces between floors, the building was constructed mainly of wooden beams rather than concrete. Old, dry wooden beams.

Extremely flammable wooden beams.

The second part of this phase of the plan had to do with the fact that the first time she'd happened on a drug operation as Shadow Stalker, she'd wanted to destroy the drugs but she'd had no means to do so. So she'd started carrying road flares in what passed for her utility belt. Ironically, she'd moved on to stopping street crime instead of hunting drug dens (besides, it was really hard to find them) so she'd never had cause to use them.

Until now.

Crouching on one of the beams, she set down the crossbow then rummaged through her utility belt until she found the tiny penlight. With the light to assist her, she took one of her last arrows and used the razor-sharp head to shave pieces off the side of the rough wood, then rip off strips from the bottom edge of her cloak. Collecting it all in a little pile, she laid the road-flare on top then pulled the tab. The bright light nearly blinded her, but the heat was amazing. Pulling the tab on another flare, she tossed it down into the rat droppings and other crap that had accumulated in this place over the last thirty or forty years. One way or the other, this place was gonna burn.

Containment foam didn't catch fire, as far as she knew, but once melted it could give third degree burns, not to mention the noxious fumes it gave off. And of course, being trapped in the foam while the school burned around them would almost certainly kill everyone in the corridor below. Which was only what they deserved, for trying to fuck her over and get her sentenced to the Birdcage.

Well, not everyone. Emma and Alan Barnes hadn't betrayed her, she admitted to herself. And Blackwell had done her passive-aggressive best to not let anything come between her and the appearance of a smoothly run school. But they were in the wrong place at the wrong time, much like the mugging victims she didn't bother rescuing ahead of time if they didn't even try to fight back.

Put simply, if they couldn't survive on their own, they were of no use to her, and the PRT might even manage to coerce witness statements out of them. Like it or not, they were witnesses. They knew too much.

Again, the thought went through her head, and she hardened her resolve. If it's me or them, I choose me.

It looked like the fires had caught nicely. Time to drop back down, retrieve the arrows from the men she'd killed, and fuck off out of there. The costume and other gear could be stashed somewhere else until the heat died down (so to speak) and as Sophia she could join the other students as they evacuated the school. Then all she had to do was walk away, vanish into the crowd. The plan after that was a little nebulous, but at least she would've gotten rid of anyone who might outright accuse her of shit instead of just keeping their heads down as they should.

Activating her power, she fell through the ceiling.

<><>​

Miss Militia

Trapped as she was, Hannah couldn't even activate her radio and call in a distress alert. She had no idea what was going on, just that Shadow Stalker had gone nuts. Also, depending on how nuts she was, this could be a very big problem. Her guys were good, but there was a reason capes had threat ratings assigned to them. Without powers, they'd smack her down hard and fast; with powers, she could pull stuff they just couldn't match.

She could hear distant voices, either coming from outside the foam or within it, she wasn't sure. Neither could she make out what they were saying, or who was saying what. Methodically, she tried to work through her options for a weapon that would help her get out of her ad hoc prison, but there were very few options indeed that wouldn't actually do her serious harm as well.

And then the grip of the stuff on her left hand lessened; she found she could wriggle her fingers. A smile spread over her face beneath the scarf. They won, she realized. And now they're spraying me free. Good going, guys. I am so putting you all in for a group commendation when we get back to base.

When the spraying ceased and the can was pressed into her hand, she was momentarily puzzled. Sure, she could get herself out, but it would be much easier for whoever was using the can to do so. But there it was. Hey, maybe they had to pay more attention to handling Shadow Stalker. At least they left me the can.

Twisting her wrist, she set about freeing herself; with each pass, it became easier. She hated the smell of the stuff, and it usually took about a week of washing her hair to get it all out, but right now she could not have cared less. What really concerned her, once her head was clear, was that all four of her men were down, apparently dead. And that the cause of death was abundantly clear. Crossbow arrows, protruding from their armour and helmets. Shadow Stalker.

She wasted no time in freeing herself all the way, keeping a lookout in case the renegade Ward made a reappearance. As soon as her other hand was free, she activated her radio. As was procedure in this sort of situation, she kept her voice down.

"Miss Militia to console, I'm calling an emergency situation at Winslow High. Shadow Stalker has gone code purple. I say again, Sierra-Sierra is code purple. Four troopers down, possibly deceased, over."

Code purple was something nobody liked to hear. It designated a 'blue' (friendly) cape becoming a 'red' (hostile), with all the security problems that entailed.

There was a momentary hesitation, then the PRT console operator responded. "Console to Miss Militia. Please confirm Shadow Stalker code purple, over."

"That's an affirmative." She finished freeing her legs and stepped away from the mound of foam. Setting the can on the floor, she manifested a large shotgun in her free hand. "Checking troopers now. Wounds appear to be fatal, consistent with Sierra-Sierra Breaker power, over."

"Console copies troopers deceased. Informing Director now, over."

"I copy." She quickly checked each of the troopers, going by feel while she kept an eye on her surroundings. None of them had a pulse, which didn't surprise her. The one next to where she'd been imprisoned had been stabbed in the back, probably while trying to free her. You'll get your commendation, damn it.

Just as she checked the last trooper and straightened up, a flicker of motion from the corner of her eye caught her attention. Turning fast, she brought up the shotgun by sheer instinct as a shadowy form dropped from the ceiling. There was no time to change weapons; she opened fire.

<><>​

Shadow Stalker

The double-ought buckshot tore through Sophia's shadowy form, disrupting her in ways that were unpleasant in the extreme. She twisted around without changing back, to see Miss Militia standing over the dead troopers, throwing shot after shot at her as though ammunition was on special.

Fuck, she's free. Okay, that's it. I'm out.

Cowardly was the last word Sophia would use to describe herself, but there was brave and then there was suicidally stupid. Taking down Miss Militia from surprise was one thing. Trying to drop her while she was upright and aware, with her power ready to roll, was entirely another.

Hoping and praying that there weren't any electrical lines in the wall beside her, Sophia changed direction and lunged in that direction just as yet another blast shredded part of her shadowy body. It wasn't a lasting injury, and would soon reform, but it hurt on a fundamental level. She knew she'd be bruised there, after.

Passing through the wall, she resumed solid form. When she landed on her feet, she stumbled, but recovered. Her side felt like she'd taken a sucker punch from Aegis, and she figured that the bruising was making an early start.

Okay, pretending innocence is a no-go. There's zero chance she hasn't already snitched to the Director already. I've gotta get the fuck out of here. Fortunately, the far side of the room—one of the Art classrooms—had nice big windows that she could pass through with ease; the bars covering them (this was Winslow, after all) would constitute no obstacle whatsoever. She started making her way toward them, favouring her bruised ribs.

The classroom door was kicked in. There stood Miss Militia, hefting a taser that looked like it could bring down a bull elephant and still have enough juice left over to barbecue the carcass. "Shadow Stalker!" she shouted. "Not one more step!"

Sophia didn't hesitate for even an instant. Turning, she triggered the hand crossbow she'd kept loaded all this time. The arrow whipped across the intervening space in a split second, and took Miss Militia in the stomach. With a muffled scream, Miss Militia fell, but as she did so, she triggered the taser.

Both prongs hit home, sending bolts of white fire through every single nerve ending Sophia had. She convulsed, then dropped everything and ended up on the floor. Unconsciousness claimed her.

<><>​

Taylor

I looked around wildly. Clouds of smoke were rolling down the corridor, and I could hear the crackling of flames, overlaid by the distant ringing of an alarm. It might have been hot, but I could never tell as the wyvern. Everything was either cool or comfortably warm, as I'd found out under the shower (to Vicky's immense amusement).

"Taylor?"

Looking around, I saw Dad staring at me. Some of his coating of foam had been blasted away in the same detonation that had partially freed me, uncovering sections of his head and shoulder. He looked worried which didn't surprise me, given that he was trapped and unable to escape from a building fire.

I chirped affirmatively in reply. Pausing only to make sure of my aim, I washed a gentle wave of fire over my lower torso and wings—I had to admit, having a flexible dragon neck was very handy indeed—and stepped out of the foam as it melted away from me.

My next problem was getting Dad out of the foam as well. I couldn't just melt it with fire; even if I managed to aim well enough to avoid hitting him directly, the melted globs of foam could easily give him third degree burns. I had half an idea that the PRT had something that dissolved the foam (I mean, why wouldn't they) but the only troopers I'd seen on site were on the other side of the mound of foam, and that had been before the shit hit the fan. Where they were now and what they were doing (instead of letting us out), I had no idea.

Which left Plan B: Brute Force.

Leaning in, I laid hold of a chunk of the foam, feeling it trying to adhere to my teeth and tongue, then braced myself and tore it away from the main mass. It tasted almost as bad as the melted stuff smelled, and I hastily spat it out. But the chunk I'd pulled away had been part of the stuff holding Dad in place, so I did it again and again. A couple of times I had to 'wash' my mouth out with fire to get rid of especially clingy bits, but I had Dad free in less than a minute.

During this time, the fire got louder, sparks and bits of ash were falling from above, and the smoke only became thicker. It wasn't bothering me, but Dad was coughing more or less non-stop. I let out a screech to get his attention, then moved aside and opened my mouth once more. Getting out would be a real problem if we had to navigate a smoke-filled Winslow, but I happened to know that two walls that way lay open air.

He ducked aside as I released my cutting flame, slicing through the locker and the wall beyond with almost insulting ease. It set the wall on fire as well, but that wasn't exactly making things worse. When I'd cut out a square, I swung my hips and smashed my tail into the middle of it, sending it crashing into the next room over, which happened to be one of the Art classrooms. Offering Dad a come-on chirp, I stepped through the hole … and froze.

Over near the window lay Sophia, a small crossbow next to her. Also next to her was Miss Militia, leaning against the wall while she worked at applying a dressing to her stomach, around the protruding shaft of an arrow. The veteran hero's camouflage costume was dark with blood around the wound, while more of it led in a trail from the kicked-in door to where she was now.

Miss Militia looked up at me, with the most unconcerned expression regarding my presence that I'd seen yet. "Wyvern. Glad that you've finally joined us. How many others are out of the foam?"

"Just me at the moment," Dad said, stepping out from behind me. "How did you get out?"

"The troopers are equipped with cans of solvent," she explained briefly. "How bad's the fire?"

"It'll get worse before it gets better." Dad nodded toward her. "How bad off are you?"

"Can't walk. I think I've got the bleeding stopped. I've called ambulance and fire department." She waved toward the corridor. "You need to get them out of that before the fire gets to them."

"On it." Dad hurried toward the door that hung off the hinge. "Taylor, come on."

I dithered for a moment. Part of me wanted to stay and help guard Shadow Stalker, but there wasn't much I could do if she went to shadow as soon as she woke up. Finally, I hurried after Dad.

When I got to the doorway, he held up his hand to keep me there. "Watch Miss Militia," he advised me. "Let me know if anything happens with her. I know you want to help, and it's not like you'll be able to change back any moment soon."

He was right. I hated to admit it, but he was right. Turning my head, I fixed my vision on Miss Militia and Shadow Stalker. If Dad wanted me to guard them, I'd be the best damned guard there was.

<><>​

Armsmaster

Colin accelerated his bike toward Winslow High. He'd finally gotten the call that fire services had been requested at the school, which was his cue. If his mystery informant was correct, Taylor Hebert would be there, laying waste to the place, giving him the perfect opportunity to swoop in and snap her up for the Wards. While he wouldn't have minded knowing who this civic-minded person was, and how they knew where the girl would be and that she was going to go off the deep end, he was also fully cognizant of the old saying about gift horses and mouths.

After all, members of the public passing on information covertly to superheroes was a time-honoured tradition. No laws were being broken that he could see, save perhaps by Taylor herself. And if she was tearing up Winslow, giving him the opportunity to get her into the Wards, that would be a large feather in his cap … so to speak. The fact that she didn't even want to go into the Wards wasn't something he spent much time thinking about; neither would it have bothered him overmuch if it was.

He'd registered and logged the Code Purple, noting that Shadow Stalker was involved. He didn't know the Ward personally, having rarely worked with her, but he seemed to recall that she'd been a vigilante before entering the Wards on a provisional basis. Something about nearly murdering someone? He'd have to check the files when he had the chance.

In any case, they'd tracked her down once, and they could do it again. But the crime was done and while it was a tragedy to lose men in the field, he had a more important situation to deal with. Winslow was on fire, Taylor Hebert was almost certainly responsible, and this was the opportunity he'd been looking for. She needed to be made to see that this was an opportunity for her as well, to learn the hero trade under a veteran such as himself.

There were already others en route to Winslow, especially since Miss Militia's second transmission to Console. Shadow Stalker had been captured, which was good; that meant he didn't have to waste time on inconsequential details. Miss Militia being injured was a potential problem, but help was on the way so again he wasn't needed to deal with that. She'd reported that members of the public were trapped in confoam, but they were also currently being freed by helpful civilians, which was good.

She hadn't mentioned the presence of Wyvern, which he was actually pleased about. He didn't want anyone else getting the same idea he'd had, and poaching her before he had the chance to make his case. Oh, he knew she was technically a member of New Wave, but he was sure the Dallons and Pelhams would not want to be connected to someone who'd gone on a rampage and set fire to a school twice. They'd probably be pleased for him to take Wyvern off their hands and into the Wards program.

Since the last outing against Inago, he'd become convinced that if her power built up with every new challenge she overcame, she might just end up being able to fight Endbringers. As Brockton Bay's premier Tinker, he was just the person to train her for this; after all, he wasn't the local leader of the Protectorate for nothing. And of course, having her as his protégé could only help his reputation as well as hers.

It was for the greater good. For him and for Brockton Bay.

<><>​

Coil

Thomas Calvert leaned back in his comfortable office chair and indulged himself by steepling his fingertips just a little. He didn't go so far as a maniacal cackle; he had some standards, after all. Passing the message to Armsmaster in an untraceable manner had been simplicity itself, and now he could sit back and watch the fireworks.

It had been just as easy to pull the right strings and have Taylor Hebert coerced into returning to Winslow High. She was worried about facing her tormentors again, in case they forced her to Change to her draconic form in public? Calvert was very much a "let's see what happens" sort of person. Especially when there'd be no repercussions to him.

He hadn't even had to keep back a safe timeline, in case it went wrong. No matter how it blew up, whether Hebert torched the school or Armsmaster tried and failed to recruit her yet again, the PRT and Protectorate would come out of it with egg on their faces, and he'd be golden.

It really was a win-win situation, the type he liked the best.



End of Part Seventeen

 

[Ack]

Note:

I've added material to the Armsmaster section, and added another bit.

here it is:

Armsmaster

Colin accelerated his bike toward Winslow High. He'd finally gotten the call that fire services had been requested at the school, which was his cue. If his mystery informant was correct, Taylor Hebert would be there, laying waste to the place, giving him the perfect opportunity to swoop in and snap her up for the Wards. While he wouldn't have minded knowing who this civic-minded person was, and how they knew where the girl would be and that she was going to go off the deep end, he was also fully cognizant of the old saying about gift horses and mouths.

After all, members of the public passing on information covertly to superheroes was a time-honoured tradition. No laws were being broken that he could see, save perhaps by Taylor herself. And if she was tearing up Winslow, giving him the opportunity to get her into the Wards, that would be a large feather in his cap … so to speak. The fact that she didn't even want to go into the Wards wasn't something he spent much time thinking about; neither would it have bothered him overmuch if it was.

He'd registered and logged the Code Purple, noting that Shadow Stalker was involved. He didn't know the Ward personally, having rarely worked with her, but he seemed to recall that she'd been a vigilante before entering the Wards on a provisional basis. Something about nearly murdering someone? He'd have to check the files when he had the chance.

In any case, they'd tracked her down once, and they could do it again. But the crime was done and while it was a tragedy to lose men in the field, he had a more important situation to deal with. Winslow was on fire, Taylor Hebert was almost certainly responsible, and this was the opportunity he'd been looking for. She needed to be made to see that this was an opportunity for her as well, to learn the hero trade under a veteran such as himself.

There were already others en route to Winslow, especially since Miss Militia's second transmission to Console. Shadow Stalker had been captured, which was good; that meant he didn't have to waste time on inconsequential details. Miss Militia being injured was a potential problem, but help was on the way so again he wasn't needed to deal with that. She'd reported that members of the public were trapped in confoam, but they were also currently being freed by helpful civilians, which was good.

She hadn't mentioned the presence of Wyvern, which he was actually pleased about. He didn't want anyone else getting the same idea he'd had, and poaching her before he had the chance to make his case. Oh, he knew she was technically a member of New Wave, but he was sure the Dallons and Pelhams would not want to be connected to someone who'd gone on a rampage and set fire to a school twice. They'd probably be pleased for him to take Wyvern off their hands and into the Wards program.

Since the last outing against Inago, he'd become convinced that if her power built up with every new challenge she overcame, she might just end up being able to fight Endbringers. As Brockton Bay's premier Tinker, he was just the person to train her for this; after all, he wasn't the local leader of the Protectorate for nothing. And of course, having her as his protégé could only help his reputation as well as hers.

It was for the greater good. For him and for Brockton Bay.

<><>​

Coil

Thomas Calvert leaned back in his comfortable office chair and indulged himself by steepling his fingertips just a little. He didn't go so far as a maniacal cackle; he had some standards, after all. Passing the message to Armsmaster in an untraceable manner had been simplicity itself, and now he could sit back and watch the fireworks.

It had been just as easy to pull the right strings and have Taylor Hebert coerced into returning to Winslow High. She was worried about facing her tormentors again, in case they forced her to Change to her draconic form in public? Calvert was very much a "let's see what happens" sort of person. Especially when there'd be no repercussions to him.

He hadn't even had to keep back a safe timeline, in case it went wrong. No matter how it blew up, whether Hebert torched the school or Armsmaster tried and failed to recruit her yet again, the PRT and Protectorate would come out of it with egg on their faces, and he'd be golden.

It really was a win-win situation, the type he liked the best.



End of Part Seventeen

 

[Ack]

Wyvern

Part Eighteen: No Sale

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


Shadow Stalker

Being tased hurt.

Sophia could've done without that knowledge, but she'd already acquired it months earlier when the PRT had captured her while out patrolling. Or rather, that was what she called it. The PRT apparently termed it 'looking for people to assault'.

Which, she had to say, was highly insulting. She didn't go after just any people. That was what criminals did. Shadow Stalker wasn't a criminal; she was a hero. And the sooner people recognised the truth and started cutting her the slack she deserved, the better for all concerned.

So what if they had a whole lot of rules designed to trip her up and make her look bad? It wasn't like she'd meant it when she signed on the dotted line, promising to follow all those stupid regulations. Emma had once told her anything signed under duress was legally null and void, and what was the threat of being thrown into juvey if not a whole shitload of duress?

Still, being able to bluff the PRT into thinking she was pulling her weight and toeing the line and all the rest of that kumbayah teamwork bullshit had been … useful. All she'd had to do was bite her tongue and think happy thoughts about reaching the end of her probation when she was around Gallant, and she'd been golden. They needed her a lot more than she needed them, that was for damn sure.

And so what if she felt the need to blow off a little steam when she was at school, and Hebert was the perfect target? If the wimpy little queef wanted it to stop, all she had to do was stay away from Sophia. Leave Winslow. Leave Brockton Bay. Fuckin' just take a running jump off a nice tall building; whatever it took for Emma to get over her once and for all. Sophia couldn't believe Ems had ever actually been friends with that dweeb, not for real. It must've been some sort of phase or something.

Meanwhile, in Sophia's opinion, Militia had seriously overstepped her authority when it came to the way she dealt with the Hebert thing. Shadow Stalker had never punched or kicked Hebert, or shoved her in her locker, or done a damn thing to her. That had all been Sophia, acting as a civilian.

Militia should've done her duty as a kiss-ass Protectorate member and protected Sophia's secret identity first and foremost. Sweep the whole fucking thing under the rug, give Sophia a rap over the knuckles and maybe a few weeks on monitor duty, they get to keep her as Shadow Stalker, nobody important gets hurt. But no, she had to let the lines get blurry and step in on the civilian side where she had no business interfering, backing up the stupid damn cops and letting everyone know that Sophia Hess was Shadow Stalker.

And now Hebert now knew Sophia was Shadow Stalker. That was maybe the worst part. Wimpy, weakling Hebert, along with her stupid scrawny father (who actually cared enough to show up and support his daughter—shut up!) knew it was Shadow Stalker, a Ward, who had been tuning her up on the regular. In an ideal world, nobody would give a good goddamn about this, but in the last hour it had been made astonishingly clear to her that the world was anything other than ideal. Especially since they'd actually called the damn cops on her, and Blackwell now knew the extent of what she'd been doing.

Which was why Sophia had decided to remove the witnesses from the equation. The Heberts, father and daughter, weren't anyone she'd miss. Likewise the cops; even when she'd filled that sergeant in on why it was imperative they didn't look behind the locker, the bitch had gone ahead and done it anyway. Militia and the PRT troopers were an active part of the system that had been holding her back for the last six months, so fuck 'em. Blackwell had only ever been a means to an end, as had Alan Barnes. Emma … well, sometimes sacrifices had to be made. Also, she wasn't sure how much she'd be able to trust the redhead not to roll over on her about this. Emma was a fighter, a survivor, but there were limits.

It had been a good plan, too, for one that she'd come up with on the fly. Put down the PRT goons, set fire to the school, let it burn down and 'accidentally' kill everyone who was trapped in the confoam. Right up until Militia had somehow managed to get out and come after her. That was where it had all gone to hell, right there. She'd almost made it to the window, too.

Being tased by Miss Militia, especially with a taser designed specifically to take her down, sucked giant hairy sweaty donkey balls. She was just glad she'd nailed Militia first. Gut shots were the worst. She'd read somewhere it took people hours or days to die from them, and it was painful as fuck.

As muscular control returned to her, she stirred weakly. Her hearing was starting to come back as well; or at least, the high-pitched ringing in her ears was giving way to a steady crackling sound. The acrid smell of smoke gave her the clue as to what was wrong with that sound. Fire. I'm still in the fucking school. Fuck.

She inched her eyes open, gradually becoming aware that her hands were fastened behind her. Cuffs? I can ghost right out of those. But somehow it didn't feel like cuffs. Every time she tugged at them, they tugged right back at her skin.

"Don't even think about it," Militia said from behind her. "I've duct taped your hands together. Power testing indicates you can't use your power to get away from that. Go to shadow, and I tase you again. This time I might not let up. Just try me, Stalker. Please."

Okay, that was bad. In fact, it had the potential to be really fuckin' bad. There was only one good thing about it. Specifically, Militia probably didn't know that Sophia could go into shadow and come out of it with her hands in front of her, duct tape or no goddamn duct tape. It just depended on her being faster on the draw than the Protectorate cape. So to speak.

Of course, this required that Militia be distracted for at least a few seconds, something which probably wasn't going to happen. Even with an arrow in her gut, the Protectorate hero was still a hardass of the highest calibre. There was no way turn her back or let Sophia go just because. Which meant if Sophia was going to get out of this, distracting Militia was top priority.

Carefully (because Flag Bitch might just have turned that stupid multiweapon power into a high-calibre handgun pointed at her favourite spine) Sophia turned her head toward her captor. "Just gonna say, maybe we should get out of here before we have that conversation? You know, so we don't burn to death or something stupid like—holy fuck, what the fuck is that thing?"

Normally, Sophia prided herself on being cool, calm and collected in all situations. Her 'I am the night' persona wouldn't be nearly as scary if she let herself get punked out over the smallest thing. But when her eyes passed over the door Militia had kicked open and she saw amid the drifting smoke a red and gold lizard-like thing with a raised crest and partially spread wings, she lost it just for a second. It didn't help in the slightest that the lizard-thing was giving her the evil eye, or that it seemed to possess more teeth than the entire membership of the Merchants combined. So she could be excused for her momentary loss of self-control. At least, that was her story and she was sticking to it.

"Wyvern." Was Militia's voice getting weaker? "New Wave's latest member. Surely you were briefed?"

"Uh … maybe?" Sophia remembered sitting in for a briefing, but she hadn't paid much attention. Whatever the squirt and the others had been geeking out about over couldn't have been that important. Yeah, yeah, Inago went down, big deal. He'd be back. She'd actually been more interested in the text conversation with Emma and Madison over who'd blown up Hebert's locker. Good prank, great execution, but whoever it was had maybe overdone it a tad with the explosives.

Anyway, so what if New Wave now had a pet dragon? Sophia didn't know it, and it didn't know her. When it had arrived in Winslow, and what it had to do with what was going right now, wasn't exactly something that was high on her list of priorities. Dealing with the Protectorate and PRT, now that they'd stabbed her in the back, was far more important.

There was a rumble and a roar of flames, and a billow of smoke rolled in through the open doorway. Sophia coughed, tasting the acrid fumes at the back of her throat. Her eyes began to water. Fuck, I want to get out of here alive!

The dragon-thing turned its head toward the noise, just as a near-inarticulate shout sounded from out of Sophia's direct line of sight. All she heard was, "Need a hand!"

It looked back toward Militia and Sophia, then vanished into the roiling smoke. About thirty seconds later, there was another rending crash and what sounded like a scream, and in that moment Sophia acted. Flickering into shadow form and back out again, she reformed on her feet with her hands in front of her. The duct tape was still in place, damn it, but at least she was free to move.

Militia tried to bring the taser up to shoot at Sophia, but the wound and the distraction slowed her down just enough that Sophia was able to kick her in the face first. While the rubber-toed sneaker wouldn't have done much damage, Militia's head bounced off the wall hard enough to put her out altogether. The taser went off anyway, but fortunately only one prong jabbed painfully into Sophia's leg while the other whipped past to fall short of the far wall. The tac-tac-tac did nothing at all.

Brushing the prong free of her leg, Sophia snatched up the last of her discarded arrows in her still-bound hands and dived through the wall. Reforming on her feet once outside, she started away at a brisk walk, hands carefully manipulating the arrow so she could bring the sharp edge of the head into contact with the duct tape on her wrists without either slashing her own veins open or accidentally stabbing herself in the gut. Because while Sophia rarely got top marks in English, she was pretty sure that would be the definition of 'irony', right there.

It was only when she was a dozen yards away, with the duct tape already beginning to part under the razor-edged metal, that she realised she should've finished off Militia before she went. The Heberts, father and daughter, she could hunt down at her leisure. Same with the cops and Blackwell. Emma and her father, she figured, could be persuaded to not say a fucking word about anything that had gone down. Barnes was a lawyer; he knew how the world worked.

But if Militia said the PRT should hunt down Sophia, they'd fucking well do it. With everyone else, they'd dodge and obfuscate (she was fairly sure she knew what that word meant) and do everything they could to pretend that one of their Wards hadn't gone off the reservation. Militia, on the other hand, was a cape. She was part of the club and knew the secret handshakes. The Protectorate and PRT would listen to her.

On the other hand, she'd been hit pretty hard by that arrow. The blood trail had been fairly impressive. Sophia had seen people bleed out from less than that, and those people hadn't been in burning buildings at the time. Also, if the veteran cape actually came to from that cheap shot Sophia had pulled, there was every chance she'd shoot Sophia on sight, given even one-tenth of a chance. It was what Sophia would do, after all.

The last of the duct tape came apart and her hands were free. It was decision time. Go back and finish her off, or keep going? She dithered—the open space of the sports field beckoned to her—then took one step back toward the building. Fuck it, I'm gonna have to—

That was when she heard the deep throaty rumble of Armsmaster's bike, coming in fast. Immediately, her threat assessment jumped to a whole new level. She'd heard rumours he was working on a lie detector for his helmet HUD, though whether this was true or just another Armsmaster story (like the one where he'd supposedly modified his halberd to ride on like a witch's broomstick) she had no idea. But either way, he had zero chill ("Why doesn't Armsmaster have a sense of humour? It wouldn't fit in his helmet, so he had to take it out.") and she really, really didn't want to go up against him.

There was nothing for it but a strategic retreat. I'll get you fuckers later. Turning on her heel, she set off toward the sports field at a steady trot.

<><>​

Taylor

Despite being the best-adapted for this particular situation, I felt remarkably helpless. The heat didn't bother me, and I had no problems breathing; even when the air seemed more smoke than actual air. But I couldn't grab the spray-cans of solvent like Dad was doing and use them to get people out of the containment foam. All I could do was follow his instruction and watch Miss Militia and Sophia.

Behind me, I could hear Dad coughing—he'd torn the sleeve off his shirt and wrapped it around his face, which helped a bit but not a huge amount—as he sprayed down the mass of containment foam. Emma and her father were released first, because they'd been farthest from me and Dad; the cops and Blackwell were still in there somewhere.

"Danny?" Alan Barnes coughed convulsively from the smoke. "What's going on? Where's Taylor?"

"I sent her to get help! Get Emma out of here!" Dad was in full-on Dockworker mode.

"Dad? What's that?" Clearly, Emma had just seen me. I turned my head to give her a good hard look. Yeah. Look at what you did. Something in my eyes, or maybe my bared teeth, made her give a little shriek and step back.

"It's Wyvern, of New Wave!" shouted Dad. "Now get out of here!"

They didn't need more encouragement; I heard their hurried footsteps receding down the hallway. Emma knew Winslow well, so they'd get out without any problems. I was more worried about Dad. The smoke couldn't be doing him any good at all.

Then I was distracted as Sophia stirred and half rolled over. She looked directly at me and I gave her the same glare that I had with Emma. I'd taken quite enough shit from that lot today already, and I wasn't backing down from them anymore.

It seemed to work. She'd started to say something that I couldn't quite hear because of the fire; when she saw me, her voice raised to a startled yelp. "Holy fuck, what the fuck is that thing?"

Now, that was the sort of reaction I wanted from someone like her. She and her friends might feel free and easy about messing with me as Taylor Hebert, but nobody in their right mind messed with me as Wyvern. Without breaking eye contact, I curled my lips back a little more, just so she could get a nice clear look at all the really sharp teeth I had as the wyvern. All the better to chew you up and spit you out with, my dear.

Unfortunately, I didn't hear the rest of what was said, but Sophia kept a wary eye on me all the same, for which I was obscurely pleased. Now you think I'm more than just a target for your bullying. About damn time.

And then, of course, things had to go sideways. Dad had just freed Blackwell and was starting on the cops—three cans down, one to go—when there was a roar of flame and a sound like stuff breaking. When I turned and looked, Dad was recoiling from burning bits of ceiling that were coming down over the mass of containment foam. "Taylor!" he yelled. "Need a little hand here!"

I glanced one more time at Miss Militia. She seemed to be still doing okay—I really didn't like the amount of blood soaking into her costume, but there was exactly nothing I could do about that. Then I went to help out with the fire.

The bits of ceiling panel and wooden framework made me wonder if the roof was going to come down after all. For sure, they'd need to tear down this part of the school and build it all up again from scratch. Or maybe they'd just condemn the whole damn shithole and start fresh. I could see myself accidentally-on-purpose setting fire to other parts of it if that would help matters along. Mr. Gladly's classroom would be a good start. Nothing worthwhile ever happened there.

But now was not the time for fun daydreams. Darting forward, I swept a wing up and around to try to bat out the flames before the burning pieces of debris could melt their way through to the police officers. That didn't really work, so I leaned up and forward, stretching my neck so I could grab the burning chunk of wooden framework with my teeth. Once I had a good grip, I pulled it away from the melting foam—did I mention that when containment foam melts, it stinks? It reeks—and tossed it to one side. Then I did the same with the pieces of ceiling panel that had fallen down.

Seriously, did the idiots who built Winslow have to make everything as flammable as they could? I mean, sure, asbestos wasn't exactly the best thing to use in a school, but there were other options out there. Unless they hated kids. That was actually an option, I figured. It would definitely explain a lot of things about Winslow.

I got the bits of ceiling and wood away from the foam, allowing Dad to get back to work with the spray-can. Whatever was in that stuff was like magic, making the yellow foam—now stained black with smoke—just plain melt into nothing. And not in a bad stick-to-your-skin way.

"Almost done!" he yelled over the sound of the fire as he sprayed Sergeant Gainsford and the others free, starting from the top and working his way down. To my relief, they were all still alive and conscious, though their expressions when they saw me were more than a little dubious.

Still, it seemed he had matters under control. I was just about to go back and check on Miss Militia when there was a rending crack from above. As if in slow motion, I looked up and saw that a lot more of the ceiling, plus what could've been bits of the floor from the next story up, were starting to come down. Dad had only gotten down to their waists; they were helpless against the burning rubble tumbling down on top of them.

My wings were big, strong and relatively fireproof, but they just weren't big enough. I wasn't big enough. But I'd been bigger when I needed to, before. Lurching forward, brushing Dad out of the way, I raised my wings … and got bigger. Weirdly, the corridor seemed to shrink around me as my wings swept into place over the police officers like a red and gold tent. I heard a scream from one of the cops; I wasn't sure if it was because of the imminent danger or because the strange dragon-thing had just grown two sizes and lunged at them.

Several chunks of burning wood and more bits of ceiling were now on top of my wings, which were resting on the cops' heads. I wasn't in any particular pain or discomfort, except from where I was holding my wings in an awkward position. Turning my head, I gave Dad an impatient chirp; hurry up and get them free.

"Oh, right." He stared up at me, then at my wings, and shook his head. It dawned on me that this was the first time he'd seen how big I could get, in person anyway. He ducked under the shelter formed by my pinions and I could hear him spraying away industriously.

One by one, the cops were released and slid out from under my wings, allowing me to lower them and let the still-burning debris slide off them onto the floor. Folding them back out of the way, I turned back to see what was going on with Miss Militia. And that was when I discovered that she was unconscious and Sophia was gone.

Letting out a screech of alarm, I dashed forward into the room. Outside, through the window, I could see Sophia making her getaway across the sports field. But Miss Militia was right there. Was she dying? I couldn't tell. Turning my head back toward the open doorway, I let out another screech, trying to get Dad's attention. The last I'd seen, he'd been helping one of the cops who had been suffering from smoke inhalation, but I needed his help now.

Leaning down over Miss Militia, I eyed her worriedly. She was still breathing, I could tell, but she didn't look good. Under her hand, her power was flickering from one weapon to the next, too fast to keep up. Drawing in a deep breath, I opened my mouth to let out a third screech. I needed Dad—I needed hands—and I needed them now.

And that was when the motorcycle smashed its way in through the wall, Kool-Aid Man style. All it lacked was the Ohh Yeahh! sound effect, but that was made up for by the thunderous roar of the engine and the screech of the tyres as it pulled a one-eighty stop, knocking desks and chairs aside. Even before the bike stopped moving, Armsmaster had dismounted and pulled his halberd from his back. He pointed it at me, making it unfold to its full length in a gorgeous symphony of technological capability.

"Step away from Miss Militia!" he commanded, speakers on his helmet amplifying his voice.

My elation at seeing a hero on site died a premature death.

Well, fuck. He's just gonna straight-up arrest me. Looks like we were right about him being behind this all along.

<><>​

Armsmaster

Colin angled the bike to cut around a car, then accelerated just enough to get through the lights before they turned red. He was in the zone. Things were going exactly the way he wanted. Once he had the chance to speak with Wyvern and explain to her that she would be far better off in the Wards under his tutelage, she would understand.

The threat of sending her to juvenile detention (if he had to use it at all) would only ever be that; a threat. A means to an end. There was no way he would really risk losing such a potential asset to the legal system. But if he had to bring it out, just to emphasise to her the severity of the stakes at hand, then that was what he'd do.

He was a veteran superhero with decades of fighting crime under his utility belt. She was a teenager, the newest of newbies to the cape scene, with an unstable and unpredictable power. To his mind, the laxity New Wave afforded their younger generation was a recipe for disaster just waiting to happen. They simply were not ready to take on such a volatile powerset; there was no way they could plan for every eventuality. Not like he could.

Winslow High School came into view. His infrared scanners located a hotspot within the building, with smoke trailing upward from it. Students, urged on by teachers, were straggling from the school, though by no means as fast as they should be. Some, it seemed, were wandering onward and leaving the school grounds altogether. He would've considered speaking to them about the benefits of a good education but from what he knew of Winslow, a good education was probably the last thing they were getting there. Besides, he had bigger fish to fry … so to speak.

"Armsmaster to Console," he subvocalised. "What's the latest from Miss Militia on the Wyvern situation?" That there was a Wyvern situation, he had no doubt; it was what he'd been prepped for by the anonymous message, and why he was closing in on the school right at that moment. Besides, the school was on fire. How clear could it get?

As for who had sent the original message, he wasn't entirely sure. His best guess was a Thinker of some sort, one who wanted to stay under the radar while helping keep the city safe. He was fine with that; if they didn't want the credit for his victories, he would happily take it. Every bit of good press he could garner added up in the eyes of his superiors, and further ensured that he would maintain his position as leader of the Protectorate ENE.

"Console to Armsmaster. Miss Militia is not answering comms."

Well, that was … concerning, to say the least. Hannah was as tough as they came. Even if she'd been injured earlier, she'd been able to capture Shadow Stalker and report back about that, so what had caused the change in status? He'd have to check on that, but a rampaging Wyvern was still a high priority, if only because of the potential harm to innocents in the line of fire.

Blasting across the carpark, he ignored the slowly accreting bunch of students, as well as those leaving the grounds altogether, and altered course to circle the school. Gathering intel before jumping into the situation was a good idea, and he didn't feel like having to search half the school for his quarry. With a flick of his eyes, he told the bike to train its sensors on the building and report back on any large heat source. As an afterthought, he added in a command to ping Miss Militia's IFF chip.

Bumping over ill-maintained flower gardens—the work he'd put into the improved suspension really paid off when it came to off-road travel—he swept around the side of Winslow. Another student caught his attention, most of the way across the playing field, and he sighed in exasperation. Did they honestly not understand that getting into the habit of ditching school would lead to a lack of motivation and advancement in later life?

The momentary irritation was swept from his mind when his bike threw up an image on his HUD. A composite IR/visible light picture showed Wyvern within a classroom just up ahead. She wasn't breathing flames right at that moment, but some of the windows were open and smoke was pouring out. Farther back behind her, the IR sensors detected a serious heat source, on the order of open flame.

And then, one more part of the image filled itself in. Clear on the wall-penetrating IR, slumped against the wall below the windows, directly in front of Wyvern, was a human figure. Pinging from that very location was Miss Militia's IFF chip. As he watched, Wyvern opened her inhuman jaws wide, sharp teeth visible even from dozens of yards away. Crap. Crap, crap, crap. She's gone off the rails.

"Emergency entry," he told his bike crisply. "Expedite."

"Emergency entry, roger," it replied in his helmet. He turned the handlebars and pointed the bike at a section of wall that didn't have anyone behind it, then opened the throttle. The bike did the rest.

Temporary shields popped out of the bike to protect his face, arms and legs. With a sudden burst of speed, it popped a wheelie and accelerated toward the side of the school. Several other mechanisms disassembled themselves and reformed as a hardened penetrator on the front of the bike. Just yards away from impact, JATO packs engaged, literally blasting the bike up and off the ground.

The shock of impact wasn't as jarring as he'd expected; just as with everything else, it appeared Winslow was shoddily constructed. Pieces of wall went flying as he smashed on through, the onboard gyros allowing him to touch down and keep control of the bike instead of taking a tumble. The instant the wheels were on the ground, he signalled an all-stop. Using a stunt he'd practised ever since he saw it in a movie, he stepped off the bike while it was still sliding to a halt.

It was as bad as he'd thought. The corridor beyond the room was on fire; he could hear people coughing but nobody was calling for help. In this room, however, a blood trail led from the door all the way over to where Miss Militia lay slumped against the wall. Looming over her, teeth still bared, was Wyvern. His helmet sensors told him that his colleague was still breathing, but she was in a bad way. I have to shut this situation down fast, and get her to medical assistance.

Without even having to think about it, he unracked his halberd. It was a newer model, upgraded from a spare since Wyvern had melted the head from the last one. This one was designed to be far more heat resistant, and utilised a new cutting head that didn't depend on plasma, just in case she was immune to heat damage. Not that he had any intention of using it against her, but the old saw about it being better to have and not need was as true as ever.

"Step away from Miss Militia!" he barked, pointing the halberd at the menacing draconic figure. No matter how angry she might be, a dominant pose and a commanding voice should get through to her.

After a moment, during which time he thought she might be about to attack him, she took several steps back from the fallen hero, then screeched at him. The sound clearly had meaning, but he would have to wait until he'd worked out the software before he could begin translating her various non-verbal sounds. It would be much more convenient if she could learn to talk at the smaller sizes rather than the huge one, but he'd have to wait and see on that one. Perhaps some careful coaching …

He moved closer to Miss Militia, placing himself between her and the still-agitated Wyvern (not at her smallest size, he noted, but fortunately not as big as a minivan) and glanced downward. Just as his helmet recorded an anomalous data point—Miss Militia had been shot with an arrow, not bitten or clawed by a wyvern—a tall lanky man staggered into the room amid a new cloud of smoke. Dragging a makeshift mask from his mouth, the blackened and apparently scorched newcomer coughed painfully then gasped out, "Armsmaster, you idiot! Shadow Stalker did all this!"

Shadow Stalker did all this. That one phrase wrecked all of his future plans for the teen hero. He stared at her, then at Miss Militia and the incriminating arrow. Well, fuck.

When he looked up again, he was staring right down Wyvern's open gullet, at a brightly gathering glow. Why is she attacking me anyway? Wildly, he ducked aside as she made a noise like a cat clearing a hairball and a coruscating ball twice the size of his fist shot out of her mouth. It cleared his shoulder by perhaps a foot, and he brought up his halberd again. "You missed," he said uncertainly.

She gave a derisive chirp and nodded toward the window. Turning, he saw that one of the panes had been shattered, and the bright spark of flame was rocketing onward, toward …

… the sole figure running across the sports field.

The dark-skinned figure, who was less than ten seconds away from reaching the houses on the far side and disappearing into the labyrinth long before he could get back to his bike and mount a pursuit.

He had a sinking feeling he knew exactly who that was.

The spark vanished, more or less at the running figure's feet. There was a sudden burst of fire, a crack of detonation, and a concussion that he felt even where he was. The fireball dissipated, to show the figure rag-dolling through the air. She landed hard, and didn't move.

"Shadow Stalker." He knew it was the truth.

She let out a satisfied chirp—even with no software whatsoever, he was still able to translate it as no shit, Sherlock—then nodded toward Miss Militia and let out another, more urgent chirp. Help her, dumbass.

Well, that was something he could definitely do. "Bike," he ordered. "Dispense emergency medical supplies."

He might not get Wyvern as a sidekick, but at the very least he was going to save Hannah's life.

<><>​

Taylor, Later

Dad and I sat side by side on the back step of an ambulance, with blankets over our shoulders. From time to time, Dad took a breath from an oxygen canister. His cough was getting better, for which I was glad. Principal Blackwell and the cops had gotten it worse, and were being treated a little distance away. Emma and her father, having gotten out earlier, were sitting on the back of another ambulance; she was ignoring me and I was ignoring her.

Personally, I was just glad Dad had had the forethought to pack extra clothing along to this meeting, just on general principles. It took a little sleight of hand to get me the privacy to change and dress, but we'd managed it.

The first we knew of New Wave's arrival was when Vicky came in for a flashy landing in the middle of everyone. Not too flashy; she was carrying Amy at the time, so she couldn't do her classic three-pointer. But she definitely got everyone's attention anyway.

Letting Amy down onto her feet, she headed in our direction while Amy peeled off toward the cops. I was glad to see them both; Sergeant Gainsford had been nothing but understanding and professional toward me, and she'd seen through Sophia's bullshit even while Blackwell ate it up with a spoon.

Before Vicky got to us, Sarah Pelham touched down and let Carol Dallon out of her force-field bubble. They followed Vicky toward us, Sarah looking happy that we were alive and Carol just looking like a shark who wanted to tear someone in half. Or a lawyer; one of the two.

"Hi!" Vicky greeted us happily. "You're looking better than I expected. Well, mostly." She eyed Dad's signs of battle. "How bad was it?"

"Well, before we found out that Sophia Hess is Shadow Stalker, it was going fairly well," I said.

That got everyone's attention. Vicky's eyes went wide and Carol drew in air between her teeth. Sarah blinked in surprise. "Should you be talking about this?"

"She's not a hero," I said bluntly. "Nobody who murders four men and tries to murder nine other people is in any way, shape or form a hero. So fuck her. When we pulled her locker out from the wall—the locator beacon on the Decoy was perfect for that, by the way, Mrs. Dallon—it turned out she was using it to stash a spare costume and sharp arrows. She went kinda crazy on us, the PRT guys tried to foam her and got everyone else, she murdered them, then set fire to the school so we'd die too."

Vicky nodded. "Well, that explains a lot. Um, I don't see Miss Militia around anywhere. What happened … is she …?"

"Still alive, last I heard," Dad supplied. "Shadow Stalker got her in the stomach with an arrow. Fortunately, Armsmaster was able to get her fluids up again. They were talking about how she was stable when they loaded her into the other ambulance."

"Good," Carol said crisply. "And the Decoy?"

I gestured to where Armsmaster was still talking to the cops. "I think he had it, or something? It got foamed into the wall, and we had to leave it behind. We're not gonna need it to sink Sophia, but it'll be handy to get Emma and Madison behind the eight-ball."

"Thank you. I'll be back." Carol strode away, on a bee-line toward the armoured hero.

"Looks like you've had it rough," Sarah said. "So what happened to Sophia … well, Shadow Stalker? Don't tell me she got away."

I grinned. "Nope. I sniped her with an explosive fireball at three hundred yards. Turned every blade of grass in a fifteen-foot radius to ash, blew her twenty feet in the air, broke half her ribs plus one collarbone and her right arm, and gave her a concussion. Also, first and second degree burns over forty percent of her body, and she's got no hair at the moment. None."

Vicky's eyes flew wide open and she clapped her hands over her mouth. "Holy shit." Her voice was muffled, but not muffled enough. "Holy shit. You fuckin' wrecked her shit."

"I would say 'language', Victoria, but yes, you are essentially correct." Mrs. Pelham tried to hide a smile but didn't quite succeed. "And as much as I am opposed to extrajudicial punishment, I would say that she very much deserved everything she got."

"Who deserved what?" Amy strolled into the informal group. "Hi, Taylor. Hi, Mr. Hebert. Who needs healing, here?"

"Help Dad," I said immediately. "You can pretend to heal me just for show, but I'm good. Wyvern resilience for the win."

"And then we're going to find out where they've taken Miss Militia, and we're going to go fix her," Vicky said. "She got shot by Shadow Stalker while helping Taylor, so it's the least we can do."

Amy had opened her mouth at the beginning of Vicky's little speech, but by the end of it she closed it again. Slowly, she nodded. "Okay, sure. Just as soon as someone tells me why Shadow Stalker shot Miss Militia, when this was all about Taylor and her bullies."

I sighed. It was good that Amy was the last person we were going to have to bring up to speed on this little nugget of info. "Shadow Stalker—" I began.

"—is Sophia Hess," Vicky butted in, then gave me an innocent look when I shot her a glare. "What? It's true."

"Well, shit." Amy blinked. "That's … news, alright. So she's a villain now?"

"Always has been, as far as I'm concerned," I said bluntly. "She just used to put on a costume and pretend otherwise. But don't forget, before she got shoehorned into the Wards—" thank you, Dockworkers gossip mill— "she used to 'pretend' with razor-sharp arrows."

"Well, there's that too," allowed Amy. She placed her hand on Dad's shoulder. "Let's get that scorching taken care of, and clear out your lungs. Okay, done. So, what happened to Shadow Stalker? She get away?"

Vicky's expression was brimming with mischief, so I rolled my eyes and gestured in her direction. "Go ahead. You know you want to."

"Cool." She didn't even pretend to be reluctant about it. "So Wyvern sees her running away, right? All the way across the sports field. She could fly after her, but why bother?"

Despite herself, Amy was drawn into the narrative. "So what did she do?"

"Explosive fireball." Vicky enunciated the words with great enjoyment. "From three hundred yards out. Booom. Broken bones all over, first and second degree burns, a concussion and no hair left."

Amy blinked again. "I say once more; well, shit. I am impressed. Also, a concussion means I can't heal her."

Vicky raised her eyebrows sceptically. "Really? You can't heal any of that if she's got a concussion?"

If I didn't know Amy was spouting the purest of bullshit, I would've almost been taken in by her innocent expression. "Absolutely. Can't touch brains, remember?"

Dad also looked sceptical. "I'm not sure that's how you said your power worked."

Amy smirked at him. "Hey, Mr. Hebert, it's my power. It works like I say it works."

The penny dropped and he shrugged. "Good point. I'm no expert in these things."

Carol Dallon returned to us, head held high, carrying both the Decoy and the remote. The former had suffered a little more from being foamed and then saved by firefighters, but it was still essentially intact. Having been in Sergeant Gainsford's custody for most of the incident, the remote was in better shape. At least, it looked that way.

"All good, Mrs. Dallon?" I asked, getting up from where I was sitting. "Sorry about the damage. I did not expect ninety percent of that to happen."

"It all appears to be still functional, which considering the money I outlaid on it, I'm not surprised." She gave me a tight smile. "I hear you acquitted yourself well today. Armsmaster had nothing but praise for Wyvern."

"Well, that's good." I snorted with amusement. "Considering how he was acting like I was the bad guy when he first arrived."

"Really." She turned and looked across at Armsmaster, who was just stepping astride his bike and looking in totally the wrong direction. All the same, he swivelled his helmet toward us, reversed his motion, and strode across toward us. Still holding the Decoy and remote, Carol folded her arms and awaited his approach.

"Can I help you, Brandish?" he asked as he came up to us.

"Yes." She skewered him with a hard gaze. "You can tell me why you set up the situation at Winslow to entrap Taylor."

He tilted his head slightly. "I'm not sure what you're talking about. What situation am I supposed to have set up?"

"You know what situation." Her voice was hard-edged. "Taylor has been getting bullied. You engineered a legal requirement for her to go back into Winslow so that she would be provoked into Changing in public, and you could swoop in and save the day, and get her into the Wards. Unfortunately for you, she didn't actually commit any crimes. Also, she exposed your corrupt Ward."

This time he paused for a long moment. "I … may have been the target of misinformation."

She didn't give an inch. "Explain."

It was clear he didn't like being on the spot; not one little bit. "I … received an anonymous notification that Wyvern would go on a rampage at Winslow today. I figured I could be on hand to stop her …" He paused, clearly decided that he wasn't convincing Carol, and kept going. "… and make sure she didn't go into juvey. A power like hers is too versatile to be kept behind bars."

"So instead you were going to stick me in the Wards, where I clearly didn't want to be," I interjected. "So much for free will, hey?"

"I understand that you don't want to be in the Wards," he said carefully. "But I did not initiate the situation. Heroes get anonymous tips all the time."

"You just decided to capitalise on it, and not tell anyone else." I raised my eyebrows. "I'm not exactly seeing you as the good guy, here."

Again, there was a pause. "I can … understand why you would not. And for that, I'm sorry." These sounded like words he wasn't used to saying. "It's just that … you have such potential." In that one word was the first real emotion I'd heard from him yet.

"And that potential goes where Taylor says, not you." Vicky shook her head. "Seriously, wow."

Sarah Pelham stepped up. "I think it would be best if you went, Armsmaster." She shook her head. "And maybe think about where you went wrong."

Wordlessly—possibly because he couldn't think of the right thing to say, and didn't want to mess things up even further—Armsmaster turned and walked away. As he did so, Sergeant Gainsford and the two other officers who'd been with us in the foam approached.

Gainsford looked from me to Carol to Armsmaster. "Is it just me, or did armour-boy just get a brand-new asshole torn for him?"

Dad chuckled, lightening the moment. "Something like that. Good to see you on your feet, Sergeant." He performed introductions around the group. "These fine officers were escorting Taylor when Sophia Hess went off the rails."

"Ah, good to meet you." Mrs. Dallon extended her hand. "Carol Dallon. Any friend of Taylor's is a friend of mine."

"Ahh, so you're the brains behind those devices." Gainsford smiled. "They certainly made it a lot easier to find the hidden stash. Things got a lot more fraught after the fact, of course."

Dad nodded. "Yes, yes, they did."

The one called Callan looked at me and frowned. "So, where did you get to when it all started happening, kid? I don't recall seeing you."

"I got her free first," Dad said. "Sent her to call for help. Why?"

Gainsford caught her subordinate's eye, and made a subtle slicing motion with her hand. "No reason," she said airily. "I'm just glad we got out alive, and that little psycho went down hard. I have to say, if it wasn't for Wyvern, I don't think we would've survived. Isn't that right, Callan?"

Callan blinked. "Ah, right, yeah. Totally. Sorry, dunno where my brain went to." He gave me a nod and a smile. "Good to see you got out okay. Stay safe, alright?"

"I'll definitely do that." I gave Gainsford a nod of acknowledgement. "And thanks, for everything."

"Any time, kid." She gathered her troops by eye and they headed off.

I felt myself relaxing ever so slightly. "Okay," I muttered. "That could've gone a lot worse."

Vicky nodded. "It totally could've. Mom, can you find out where they took Miss Militia? We need to go heal her."

Dad put his arm around my shoulder. "Congratulations. You caught another supervillain."

I leaned back into him. "Yay."

<><>​

Elsewhere in the United States

"A dragon? Really?" Jack Slash turned the news up. "What will they think of next?"

Bonesaw leaned into the room. "What was that about a dragon, Mr. Jack?"

He rolled his eyes. "Brockton Bay, one of my old hangouts. One of the local teams has apparently acquired a real live dragon as a member. Publicity stunt, if you ask me. Media vampires, the lot of them."

Her eyes widened. "Oooh. Can we go see?"

"Really?" Well, it was a good idea to keep his poppet happy. "I'll think about it."

"Yay!"


End of Part Eighteen

 

[Ack]

Wyvern

Part Nineteen: The Dreaded Slaughterhouse Arc (1) – Our Day in Court

[A/N 1: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

[A/N 2: I am not an expert on law courts. Please let me know of any glaring errors.]



Jacob

"Okay, just so you know, we're going to be doing things slightly differently this time."

Jack Slash did like the sound of his own voice; but that was fine, because he was an excellent speaker. He knew it, and so did everyone else. The Nine practically hung on his every word.

"Is this 'cos of the dragon, Mr. Jack?"

That was Bonesaw, his favourite little poppet. Since he'd taken her under his wing, she'd blossomed into quite the murder-munchkin. In another seven or eight years, he predicted, she'd be stealing hearts (as well as livers, kidneys and other sundry vital organs) right across the country.

"It is indeed because of the dragon," he confirmed, beaming at her. "Having done some research into her, I have concluded that she would be an extremely valuable addition to the team. Of course, she's very much into the hero schtick right now, which means she's going to have to be taught that heroes rarely win around us."

"So what does that actually mean?" asked Shatterbird. "Bait her into a fight and just when she thinks she's about to win, I scream and devastate the city anyway?"

Jack restrained the urge to sigh and rub his forehead with finger and thumb. Shatterbird was so fixated on using her power for mass slaughter that she had trouble thinking any other way. And while he had no real problem with creating a large body count, he preferred that it be artistic.

Anyone could murder hundreds, after all. It really wasn't very hard. But to do it in such a way people could see the point in it, even when they didn't want to? That was what he called a win.

"Yes, you will be screaming and devastating the city," he said. "Just not … immediately. We will give them time to wonder, to worry. Is it really the Nine, or perhaps just a hoax? And while they are wondering, we will be taking their newest and brightest, and forging her into a weapon against them."

"And what about the rest of us?" asked Burnscar, forming an image of a flying dragon over her palm. "While you're doing that, do we just stand back and award points for style?"

"Hardly." Jack looked at each member of the group in turn. "We're down to seven members, thanks to Cherish murdering both Hatchet Face and Mannequin for a place in our ranks after we'd already lost Winter. Wyvern is my pick for a new member. Once I've either got her under my thumb or disposed of, you may each approach your chosen recruits. But, and I mean this, only after you've helped me bring Wyvern around."

Cherish pouted, probably because he'd singled her out. "I keep telling you, Hatchet Face was planning to come after me … oh, just forget it. So how are we supposed to help you?"

Wasn't it obvious? He supposed it wasn't. "We'll take hostages to keep her honest. Basically, her friends and family. You will each engage her, and take her down to the point where you could have killed her, maybe even injuring her a little, then I will step in and give her a reprieve. From what I've seen, she regenerates damage between Changes, so you'll be able to tag-team her more or less nonstop. And then you, Cherish, will finish her off—so to speak—by inducing crushing despair, alleviated by me coming to the rescue once more."

"By which time she should basically be eating out of your hand." Shatterbird raised her eyebrows. "And then the Prisoner's Dilemma?"

"Precisely." Jack enjoyed it when they figured out his plans. It showed they were paying attention. "Once it's been established that she can't beat us, and she'll die if she tries …"

"You give her a choice," Crawler said. "Her, or the hostages."

"Of course." Jack grinned. "She'll choose to live, of course. They always do. And with her background? Once she murders the people nearest and dearest to her, she'll be mine, whether she knows it or not. Afterward, poppet, you can ride her dragon-form all you like while she scours the streets free of heroes."

"Yay!" Bonesaw clapped her hands with glee. "I can't wait!"

Jack ruffled her hair fondly. Even if she hadn't said anything, he probably would've taken the Nine to Brockton Bay eventually anyway. A potential recruit like Wyvern was too promising to just let go by the wayside.

<><>​

Taylor

Two Weeks Later

"Emma, your father has boasted about how he can make or break a divorce case on recordings that were taken without the other partner's knowledge. So, don't tell me about breaking the law. Now, as I said, I'm going to the cafeteria. You can follow along if you like, but whatever you say to me will be recorded."

Listening to my recorded voice was always weird. Dad had warned me from the beginning; only those who did that sort of thing for a living were used to it. It didn't seem anyone else in the courtroom had a problem with recognising my voice, though.

"Illegal recording is a felony." Emma's voice came across the speakers loud and clear. "If Taylor's committing a felony, we can perform a citizen's arrest and confiscate it."

The judge raised his hand. "Stop the playback."

Obediently, the sound technician clicked the mouse on his computer, and the Decoy recording ceased.

Turning to look at where Emma, her dad and their lawyer sat—Mr. Barnes had at least been smart enough to hire a lawyer—the judge frowned slightly. "Mr. Barnes, your specialty in law is divorce cases, I believe. Is that so?"

I was pretty sure I knew where this was going, and so did Mr. Barnes. I also figured I was going to enjoy it more than he did. He cleared his throat. "Yes, your honour. It is."

The judge nodded. "In your understanding, when a recording is made in this state, in a place where there is no expectation of privacy, when all parties have been made aware of the situation, is it illegal? Refresh my memory of that aspect of law, if you will."

There was only one applicable answer. "It is legal, your honour."

"Thank you. Now, given that Ms. Hebert was carrying around this monstrosity," the judge picked up the Decoy and showed it to Mr. Barnes, then put it back on his desk, "and was verbally informing everyone within earshot that they were being recorded, was she fulfilling the expectations of the law?"

I could almost swear I heard Mr. Barnes grinding his teeth together. Or perhaps it was Emma, sitting beside him. The one person it would not have been was Madison, who was sitting with her parents away from the other two; she'd withdrawn so far into herself that she was damn hear invisible. Though I was pretty sure it wasn't Sophia either, mainly because she was still confined to a hospital bed with a video link to a screen currently being maintained by a PRT officer wearing a police uniform. He was under orders to ensure she saw and heard everything, but only let her direct queries through the lawyer that Alan Barnes had retained.

For some reason, I'd thought the revelation of Sophia being a Ward would've put her out of reach of ordinary law enforcement. But to my surprise and delight, the decision had been made to try her for her civilian crimes in her civilian identity and for her cape crimes in her cape identity. No matter which way things went, once she got out of the hospital, she was headed for the iron bar hotel.

I didn't want to gloat. Gloating was something Emma and her friends did, so I really didn't want to do it.

But it was very tempting to give in and do it anyway.

"Yes, your honour." The answer may as well have been dragged out of Mr. Barnes, though they would've needed a decently powered winch and a high-tensile cable to do it.

"Hmm. So you would agree with me that Ms. Hebert was not actually committing a felony or any other type of crime by carrying that device, and that your daughter was entirely mistaken in saying she was?"

"Yes, your honour. That is correct." That one sounded like he'd had to cough up a vital organ as part of his admission.

"Thank you. We are in agreement that Ms. Hebert had not committed a crime, despite your daughter's misapprehension in this matter. Continue the playback."

The sound tech clicked his mouse again.

"No, it's—" My recorded voice was cut off by a grunt of pain, followed by a brief scuffle.

"Stop the playback." This time, the judge turned to me. "Ms. Hebert, what happened to cause the sounds we just heard on the tape?"

"Sophia Hess punched me in the stomach, your honour," I said clearly. "And then all three of them wrestled the Decoy away from me. Emma Barnes and Madison Clements held my arms while Sophia pulled on it. Uh, your honour."

I saw Emma open her mouth to make her habitual claim, probably something along the lines of, "She's lying," but her father grabbed her arm and shut her up before she could speak, then turned and whispered to his lawyer, a Mr. Richardson.

"Your honour," Richardson said. "May I make an observation?"

The judge turned to him. "The counsel for the defense may address the court."

Mr. Richardson took a deep breath. "We're listening to an audio file. Those sounds could mean anything."

"Counsel, have you or your clients ever done any boxing?" The judge's voice was calm and measured.

The lawyer blinked, then looked at Mr. Barnes and Mr. Clements. Both of them shook their heads. "Uh, no, your honour."

"Well, I have." The judge squared his shoulders. "In my youth, I went into the ring a few times. I know the sound of someone taking a body blow. Continue playback."

"What's that, Taylor? Can't think of what to say? Oh, well, you're a boring conversationalist anyway." It was Emma's voice again. I remembered the pain as her nails dug into my wrists. Those photos had already been entered into evidence, so I said nothing. There was a thud over the speakers—I'd been pushed against the wall—then Emma spoke. "You deserve to lose this. You deserve to lose everything."

Laughter sounded out of the speakers, along with their footsteps in the echoing corridor. I'd heard this all before—Carol Dallon had played it back for me and Dad—but I was good with listening to it anew.

"Is it just me, or is Hebert just too fucking stupid for words?" That was Sophia. "I mean, what did she think was gonna happen? We were just gonna stand around like stuffed dummies when she waved this stupid fucking tape recorder at us like a magic fucking wand?"

"Yeah, well, first things first," said Emma briskly. "Let's turn it off so we can listen to what it's recorded already, then record over that. My dad always says if there's not a recording of it, it never happened."

Mr. Barnes twitched. It couldn't be a good feeling to be the subject of this much pure irony.

"Sure, okay." Madison also twitched when her voice came on. There was a repeated clicking noise. "Oh, come on. I'm hitting the stop button, but the tape's still rolling."

"Here, give it to me." Sophia's voice was impatient. "You're probably doing it all wrong." More clicking noises ensued. "Oh, what the fuck?"

"Told you." Madison sounded quietly pleased.

"Jesus fuck, Hebert must've bought the shittiest tape recorder in the whole fucking world." From her tone, Sophia was not in the slightest bit happy. "It won't stop, it won't rewind, it won't eject, it won't fast-forward, it won't play, it won't do a fucking thing. Except record."

"That's if it is recording." Madison's voice was vaguely optimistic.

"Always assume there's a recording. Dad says that, too." Emma sounded pessimistic enough for the both of them. "Okay, we've got to figure out a way to stop this thing running and pop it open to get that tape out."

"Bathroom," suggested Madison. "Run water over it. Once the water gets inside, it'll short circuit and stop recording. Then we can lever it open at our leisure."

"Yeah, good idea." Sophia's tone was more upbeat now they had a plan. "Third floor. Nobody goes there."

Well, I had gone there more than once to sit in privacy and eat my lunch, but they didn't have to know that.

They didn't speak for a few moments, then as they were climbing the stairs, Sophia spoke up again. "Hey, Ems, is it just me or does that disgusting little queef Hebert just not know how to take a hint?"

Emma's reply was slower than normal, probably more due to the stair climbing than the question itself. "I'm actually surprised she came back to school at all after the locker thing. So yeah, I guess. What's on your mind?"

Sophia's tone was vicious. "I'm thinking she needs a real lesson in life. Tommy and Joe and a couple of the other guys have been making noises about asking me out. What if I gave 'em a roll of duct tape after school and told 'em whoever brought me the most impressive pictures of Hebert could ask me out?"

"Uh—" began Madison, between panting breaths. It seemed she didn't have much cardio under her belt.

"That's—" Emma said, almost at the same time, then stopped. "Mads, what's on your mind?"

Madison's tone was almost apologetic. "I'm all for putting Hebert in her place, don't think I'm not. But a bunch of guys chasing someone like her down after school, with nobody there to tell 'em not to go too far? Guys, she could get seriously hurt." She stopped talking to catch her breath.

Somebody made a rude noise; it turned out to be Sophia. I could almost hear her rolling her eyes. "Oh, for fuck's sake, Madison. Don't be a whiny little bitch all your life. What happens to Hebert happens because she was too fuck-stupid to get out of the way and go back where she belongs, crawling in the fucking dirt."

"Yeah, yeah, sorry." Now Madison sounded actually apologetic. "Forget I said anything. Fuck her."

"Damn right. Ems, you had something to say?"

"Well, not that, that's for damn sure." Emma chuckled. "No, I just wanted to say to be careful about exactly what you say to these guys. If they get caught—"

"They're track team, Ems," Sophia interrupted. "Even if they get caught, who's gonna say a damn word? Slap on the wrist at worst, and out of detention by the time the next track meet comes around."

"No, this is to protect us," Emma insisted. "I mean, sure, go ahead with it. I'd love to see those photos. But I can help you word it so if they tell anyone else what you said, it doesn't come across as you specifically asking them to chase Taylor down with duct tape. Dad says that's how guys like Al Capone got away with most of their shit. Saying 'It would be great if' rather than 'I want you to go and do this'. Get the idea?"

This time, I didn't miss the poisonous glare Alan Barnes shot at Emma, or the way she wilted under it.

"Yeah, I'll think about it." Sophia didn't sound as though she would. There came the noise of a door being opened. "Here, hide the fuckin' thing. Okay, everyone in here, fuck off. Yeah, you and you too. Get the fuck out."

There were a few voiced protests, but none too loud; nobody, it seemed, wanted to mess with Sophia and Emma. We all listened to the footsteps exiting the echoing bathroom, then there was the distinct sound of a faucet being turned on and water running.

"Okay," said Madison. "Hold it under here." A moment later, the sound of running water overwhelmed everything else.

"Stop the playback," ordered the judge. But instead of unleashing more comments toward Emma or Sophia, he turned to our side of the courtroom. "Mrs. Dallon."

"Yes, your honour?" Carol Dallon was every inch the professional lawyer.

"I was led to understand that the accused had dye on their hands which showed up under ultraviolet light, as did this device itself. Yet they ran water over it. Wouldn't that have washed it off?"

Mrs. Dallon smiled. "No, your honour. I used an oil-based dye. It requires soap, water and a certain amount of scrubbing to remove."

"I see." The judge turned to the sound tech. "Continue playback."

The water continued gurgling in the foreground, while I could hear the buttons clicking again. I got the impression they were trying to make the water get into the mechanism that way. Eventually, they turned the faucet off.

"Fuck!" snapped Sophia. "Jesus fucking Christ on a Tinkertech pogo stick! What does it take to stop this fucking thing recording? Stand back."

BANG

"Whoa, watch where you're swinging that thing!" Emma yelped.

BANG

BANG

BANG

BANG

Each impact echoed through the courtroom. I looked up at the Decoy, sitting on the judge's desk, with new respect. From the sound of it, Sophia had been smashing it into either the wall or the wash-basin bench with all her strength. The heavy plastic was chipped here and there, but that was all.

The bell signalling the commencement of next class was clearly audible over the echoes in the bathroom. There was a pause in the banging, then Sophia swore. "Motherfucker! It's still fuckin' recording!"

"We've got to get to class," Emma reminded her.

"Well, we can't just leave this lying anywhere. Someone might find it and give it back to Hebert." Sophia's tone was scornful.

"Here, scrape the stickers off with this." That was Madison. There was a distinct click.

"Wow, Mads, that's a nice knife. Where'd you get it from?" That was Sophia.

Madison sounded embarrassed. "Picked it up after a gang fight. Kept it."

There was the sound of hurried scraping, then Emma spoke up. "It's not working. It'll take too long to get them all off. We've got to go now."

"Where are we going to put it where nobody'll find it?" asked Madison nervously.

"Don't worry about it," Sophia replied in a confident tone. "I got a place nobody would ever look."

The recording ended, and the sound tech looked up. "That's all I've got."

The judge nodded in acknowledgement. "I believe that is plenty for the moment. I've already viewed the statements from the police department indicating that they found this device stashed in a hole in the wall behind Ms. Hess' locker, and this recording neatly ties a bow on that." He turned to the prosecutor, a Ms. Castle. "Does the counsel for the prosecution have anything else to say about this matter at this time?"

"Two things, your honour." Ms. Castle stood up. She had more self-control than I ever did. Personally, I would've been beaming all over her face at how thoroughly the other girls had sunk themselves by talking in front of the Decoy, but her mien was strictly by the book. "I have no doubt you will have taken note of the repeated indications of depraved indifference to the victim's well-being as expressed in the conversation between the accused girls, as well as their explicit attempts to destroy this very evidence."

The judge's voice was grave and measured in return. "I have indeed taken note of those things, but thank you for doing your duty and pointing them out to me." He then turned his head to address the lawyer Alan Barnes had retained. "Does the counsel for the defense have anything to add to this matter before I adjourn court for the day?"

Mr. Richardson didn't look thrilled at being put on the spot like that, especially after the damning recording he'd been listening to. What went through the minds of lawyers anyway, when they realised their clients were guilty as sin? Did they keep fighting, knowing they were propping up a lie?

"My client has grave doubts about the authenticity of this audio recording," he began. Even I could tell he didn't believe a word he was saying, but I figured it was his job to do his best for Emma and the rest. "It could easily have been pieced together from illegally-garnered recordings over the course of the year—"

Ms. Castle stood up. "Your honour, the counsel for the defence is reaching, and he knows it," she cut in smoothly. "As the affidavit I have already submitted will attest, this sound file has been thoroughly analysed by experts in the field and found to be entirely genuine."

"The counsel for the prosecution will kindly sit down." Without even looking at her, the judge kept his attention on the other lawyer. "Mr. Richardson, I have viewed the affidavit that the counsel for the prosecution has alluded to. It states, among other things, that the sound file could only have been faked with the explicit cooperation of each of the people whose voices appear on it. Kindly do not attempt to denigrate my intelligence in this way. Now, did you have anything else you would like to add?"

"No, your honour. I do not." Mr. Richardson sat down again.

"Very well. We will convene again tomorrow at nine sharp. Court is adjourned." He took up the gavel and banged it once.

Dad and I got up then and headed out of the courtroom. Mrs. Dallon joined us a minute or so later, looking pleased with herself. Dad went to say something, but she shushed him until we were past some people carrying press passes.

"So, when you said we don't talk to reporters," I said in an undertone, "you meant we don't talk to them at all?"

"Only under specific circumstances," she replied, just as quietly. "And we try to cultivate friendly ones, because even the most innocuous story can become a horror-show if the reporter doesn't like you and doesn't care about taking soundbites out of context. If they specifically approach us, let me do the talking, but otherwise we're just a bunch of people walking out of the courthouse."

"Wow." I was learning so much about how court cases went, and I was pretty sure this was just one tenth of what was going on.

"Yes, wow." Carol smiled at me. "But I will say, you comported yourself well in there today. You said what you needed to say, then stopped. Far too many people don't do that."

"Good." Dad heaved a sigh. "Almost over. Is it going as well as I think it is?"

Carol essayed a cautious nod. "It seems to be, but it's never over until the fat lady sings. We'll find out tomorrow. Did you want a lift, Taylor? I understand you're going out on patrol with the children tonight."

I nodded. "Yeah, thanks. It was Vicky's idea."

"Don't be out too late," Dad warned. "We've got to be back here before nine in the morning, remember."

I wrinkled my nose. "As if I could forget. Crystal says we'll throw in the towel at ten."

"That's good enough for me." Dad opened his arms for a hug.

I gave him one, of course. It was weird; we'd started reconnecting as father and daughter only after I got the ability to turn into a fire-breathing wyvern. Life was strange sometimes. "See you tonight."

"See you then, kiddo." He watched as I got into Carol's car and fastened my seatbelt. "Be safe."

"Always." I closed the door and Carol started the car. We pulled out into traffic, and I relaxed into the seat. Unless something went really sideways between now and tomorrow, the judge would bring the hammer down on Emma and Madison, and Sophia would have yet another set of offenses against her name.

End result: they'd never bother me again.

Plus, I was definitely gaining fame (the good type) as a member of New Wave.

Life was definitely looking up.

<><>​

Danny Hebert

Tyres crunched on gravel then whispered on grass as Danny pulled the car off the driveway and in alongside the house. He turned off the engine and sat for a moment with his eyes closed, letting the tensions of the day drain away. It had been a rollercoaster ride from the moment Taylor had shown up at the Dallon household as a dragon—

Wyvern, he corrected himself. She prefers to be called a wyvern.

—but since then life had been more up than down. New Wave was a great team with lots of support, and Taylor herself was doing well as a hero.

With a grunt more for effect than actually required, he climbed out of the car and popped the trunk, then closed the door and locked it. Going to the back of the car, he opened the trunk and took out several shopping bags—court cases came and went, but life was a constant—then slammed the lid shut.

He didn't want to deal with that front step right now, so he walked around to the back, juggling the keys as he went. His thoughts were elsewhere so that he had the key in the lock and was turning it before he realised the lock wasn't engaged and that the door was opening freely.

Shit! Someone's broken in!

Even as that understanding flashed across his brain and he went to pause, there was an irresistible shove from behind him. Stumbling into the kitchen, then across into the living room, he became aware that his favourite chair had been moved to face the door and was sitting directly under the glare of his reading lamp. People were standing around the room in the shadows, but his attention was drawn—deliberately, he knew—to the man seated in his chair, playing with a stiletto.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Hebert," said Jack Slash. "Come on in. Sit down." Light reflected off the blade as he spun it in his hand. "Let's talk about your daughter."

<><>​

Jacob

Over the years, Jack Slash had confronted a great many people with the fact of their own mortality (and introduced a majority of these to the concept first-hand, as it were) so he considered himself somewhat of an expert in how people reacted when they first realised they were in life-threatening danger.

Flight was the most common reaction, and some had even succeeded (though far fewer since he'd brought the Siberian into the Nine).

While fight was less common, some still tried it, on the bloody-minded sentiment of 'taking you with me'. Nobody had quite succeeded, though some had come close.

Freeze was another that cropped up more often than he would've thought; unfortunately for those people, he had excellent eyesight.

Once in a blue moon, he got a fawn reaction, which still confused him. He was there for victims, not groupies; when would people learn this?

Flop, on the other hand, was one he kind of understood. When faced with overwhelming danger, their brains just ... checked out. Lights were on, nobody home. They still died, of course, but it was less satisfying.

Danny Hebert wasn't a cape, which cut down the chances of a fight response (not totally; some people had surprised him in the past). He wasn't freezing or flopping, and after one swift glance backward into the merciless eyes of the Siberian it was clear flight was not a viable option. Slowly, Hebert took one more step into the room, put down the shopping bags, and folded his arms. From his attitude, 'fawn' was off the table too.

So what was he doing? What did he hope to gain from this pointless show of defiance?

"What about my daughter?" Hebert asked.

Ah, of course. He thinks he's protecting her.

Jack Slash smiled. "You know, you might've almost had me fooled, there. Union man, right? You don't give away anything you don't have to. The trouble is, in this situation, you've got nothing. No leverage. There's nothing you've got that I want. I already know Taylor is the cape known as Wyvern. She turns into a fire-breathing dragon, and she's joined that pack of idiots that call themselves New Wave."

Hebert might have let out a tiny sigh, but his shoulders didn't slump with the despair Jack knew he had to be feeling. "You're lying. You want something from me, or we wouldn't be talking like this."

"Well, true," Jack conceded. "But I'm not lying, either. What I want from you is the look on your face just before she murders you and joins the Nine, and I'm reasonably certain you're not going to give that to me of your own free will." He gestured, and Bonesaw released one of her little cyber-spiders; it scuttled across the carpet then scrambled up Hebert's pants leg. "Don't try to brush it off," he warned. "Even I don't know what sort of pathogen Bonesaw loads those things with, but they're all very quickly and very painfully lethal."

Hebert held still, which told Jack that the man wanted to live. That, at least, gave him some leverage to work with. It was the ones who'd decided they had nothing left to live for that caused the most trouble.

"Good," Hebert said as the spider settled down at the base of his neck. "Now I know what I'll be shoving up your ass, first chance I get."

Jack sighed, suddenly tiring of the pissing contest. "Spare me the pointless bravado, if you will. I've met a hundred men who promised they'd show me a 'real fight' if it were just me and them. I gave them the chance. They're all dead, and I'm still here."

Hebert shook his head and snorted. "Yeah, right. Like you'd give anyone a fair fight."

The blade in Jack's hand snapped around to point at the taller man. "I'm trying to be polite here, but you're not making it easy. Got anything to back that up?"

"Yeah." Hebert's voice was quiet but firm. "About ten or eleven years ago, I was working in the office at the Dockworkers Association when in walks Marquis, bold as brass. Comes up to the counter and asks to see the man in charge. That would've been old Doug Smythe, at the time. Marquis made the offer to sell protection to the Association, in return for a cut of the profits. Doug turned him down flat. His precise words were, We're not interested. Marquis nodded and walked out. About a month later, Doug was working back late and some guys broke in to look for money. He got shot in the shoulder and ended up in the hospital."

"Serves him right," Jack said. "He should've taken the protection. I presume Marquis was in the next day with an offer at double the cost?"

"Well, no," Danny said. "I never believed Marquis set it up. I'm pretty sure Doug didn't think so either. A month after, Doug was back in the office with his arm in a sling, and Marquis walked in again. Doug looked him in the eye and said, I believe I said we weren't interested. Marquis nodded and walked back out. Two months later, he was captured by the Brockton Bay Brigade."

"A pretty story," Jack sneered. "What's your point?"

"Thing with Marquis was, he didn't screw around. He didn't have to posture or bother with strongarm tactics. Everyone knew if you crossed him, you were toast. But he was dependable. I have no doubt in my mind, if we'd taken his protection, we'd have gotten value for money." Hebert lifted his chin and stared at Jack. "But the word on the street is, you rewrite the rules anytime you feel like it. That's why Marquis kicked you out of Brockton Bay. And even nine versus one, you were scared of going into a fair fight against him. If we paid you for protection, you'd be just as likely to turn around and rob us for the fun of it. And that's how I know your 'fair fights' were anything but."

Jack fumed, but he couldn't actually point at anything Hebert had said that was specifically untrue. Yes, he'd taken the remains of the Nine and left Brockton Bay; not specifically because Marquis wanted him gone, but it had made the decision much easier. And yes, he was a free spirit, unbound by societal norms. The Nine did not bow and scrape to anyone, even if there was money involved. If someone was stupid enough to pay them to do a job, they'd do it, then they'd show those people that the Nine couldn't be bought.

But the way Hebert had described it made him and the Nine sound downright grubby, and that couldn't be right. It was just biased reporting, that was all.

"Bring him," he said, getting up out of the chair. "We've got places to be."

Shatterbird snapped shackles of glass onto Hebert as she moved past him. "Come on, you." Lifted and moved by the solid bands of crystalline material, he had no choice but to follow along. Almost as an afterthought, another one closed over his mouth as a gag.

Jack glanced around the house once more as he reached the back door, then smiled cruelly. "Burnscar, do your thing."

Talk back to me, will he?

As they reached the RV, parked some distance down the street (where Crawler was waiting more than a little impatiently) the flames were already climbing into the evening sky.

<><>​

Shielder

"Halt, evildoers!" Vicky flared her aura and dropped down into the alley like an avenging angel. Two of the muggers left their victim and bolted, while the third one pulled a Saturday Night Special and shakily aimed it at her.

"Back off!" he shouted. "I'll shoot!"

Up on top of the roof to the left, Eric mouthed, Halt, evildoers? to his sister. At the same time, he stealthily put a transparent shield around the mugging victim, who was shakily getting to his feet.

Crystal, standing across the alley from him, shrugged. "Maybe she just likes saying it?"

That was actually a pretty good reason, but Vicky wasn't the one they were there to keep an eye on. Eric turned his head to check on Wyvern, just as she dropped into position at the end of the alleyway. With her wings spread and her mouth open to show all the teeth, she was plenty intimidating. The tiny fireball she spat which exploded about six feet in front of the muggers and set a trash can on fire absolutely sold it, so much so that they backpedalled and fell on their asses.

"Okay," Eric said about two minutes later as they finished securing the muggers for police pickup. "Just saying, we need to start bringing cameras along on patrols like this. Wyvern could have her own Youtube channel. That was amazing."

Wyvern sheepishly looked at the trash can, but Crystal put a hand on her wing. "Hey, something like that's nothing. Eric put it out in ten seconds with a field to cut off its air. Now, if Vicky could stop breaking their hands, that would be great."

"What?" Vicky held her hands out, palm up. "He wouldn't drop the gun or stop shooting at me. Ricochets are a thing. I thought I'd bat it out of his hand. It's not my fault he's got brittle hand bones or something."

"Compared to you, everyone's got … wait." Crystal put her hand to her ear, where her radio earpiece was. "What's that, Mom? A fire? Well, we're kind of good against fires. Where … what did you say?"

"What?" asked Eric. "Where's the fire, and why's it so important they'd call us in? People trapped inside?"

Crystal's eyes focused again, and she looked at Wyvern. "It's … it's your dad's house. Mom said the fire brigade's been called."

Immediately, Wyvern let out a panicked screech and took to the air, wings beating strongly.

"Shit." Eric and Crystal said it at the same time and took off after her.

Before they caught up, however, Vicky arrowed past the both of them. "Wyvern!" she called as she got close to the frantically flying dragon. There was no response, so she got closer and lowered her voice a touch. "Taylor!"

This time Wyvern glanced at her but continued to fly strongly onward. She let out a screech which managed to get her sense of urgency across just fine, despite the lack of words. I have to make sure Dad's okay.

"I'll carry you, like I did the last time," Vicky said, then looked around. "Eric, can you give us an aerodynamic force field?"

"Sure as hell can," Eric said, flying up alongside Vicky. Divining his intention—there were some benefits to having worked with each other for years, the downside being having Crystal as a sister—Crystal flew up on her other side. Concentrating his power, Eric formed a spearhead around them, sharp point forward.

At the same time, Wyvern furled her wings, and Vicky wrapped her arms around the red-and-gold pinions and body. "Hang on," she said grimly, and accelerated hard.



End of Part Nineteen

 

[Ack]

Wyvern

Part Twenty: The Dreaded Slaughterhouse Arc (2) – Farewell, Seven of Nine

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



Taylor

The trip across town was the fastest I'd ever made it, and it was still far too slow. As soon as we were over my house, Eric dissipated the force field and Vicky let me go. We flew down toward the inferno that had once been my home, while I anxiously scanned the gathered crowd for Dad.

He wasn't there. Even the ambulance crews were just standing around waiting for business while the fire crew directed streams of water into the house.

As the rest of us landed in an unoccupied section of lawn, Vicky took point. She flew over to one of the guys directing matters and touched down in front of him. "Hi, we thought we'd come and help out," she said. "Everyone make it out?"

The fire chief (at least, that's who I thought it was) shook his head. "Nobody got out before we got here, and by then it was too far gone to go in."

No! Dad! I stared at the flames leaping from the windows and took a deep breath. Fire didn't hurt me, and Dad might be in there somewhere, hoping for rescue.

Then Eric whipped past me, force field flaring into life around him. He punched clear through the still-closed front door and vanished. I went to follow him in, but Vicky stepped in front of me and put her arms around my neck. I could feel her strength preventing me from moving forward.

"Easy, easy. They're trained in clearing houses," she said in an undertone meant only for my ears. "Eric will be able to find your dad and get him out." If he's still alive, she meant.

It didn't stop me from desperately wishing I could try to save him anyway. I watched with ever-mounting despair, my clawed feet tearing up the grass and soil that I was standing on.

"Easy," Vicky murmured again. "Easy."

My head came up as I heard a grinding creak that seemed to resonate through my very bones. "It's going!" shouted one of the fire responders.

"Shit, Eric's still in there," muttered Crystal. She began to power up her forcefield. "If it comes down with him inside—"

Two things happened at once. Eric shot out of the roaring furnace in a dramatic shower of sparks, cradling something in his arms. Literally seconds later, the entire structure went down like a house of cards in a stray breeze, only faster. The fire chief shouted orders to turn the hoses on the surrounding houses, to ensure no secondary blazes started, as Eric landed in front of Vicky and me.

I felt a puff of hot air as he dropped his force field. He was sweating like crazy and holding something wrapped in a blanket. Illogically, I felt a wild hope, even though I could see it was far too small to be Dad. Vicky let me go and I let out an enquiring chirp as I nodded toward the bundle.

"Searched the basement and the upstairs bedrooms and bathroom," he said in answer to my unspoken query. "He wasn't anywhere inside, under the beds, in the closets, anywhere. Only thing that wasn't on fire was this." Folding back a corner of the scorched blanket, he showed me the photo album Dad had kept in his bedroom, the one that held all the photos of Mom. "Figured you might want it."

Stepping forward, I wrapped my wings around him in my best approximation of a hug. My chirp this time meant Thank you, but worry still plagued my mind. Where's Dad? What's happened to him?

"You're welcome," he said awkwardly. "We'll, uh, we'll just hold on to this."

"So if her dad isn't in there," said Vicky, "where is he? He should've been home by now."

"I saw what might've been grocery bags on the floor in the living room," Eric offered. "And the back door was swinging open, with keys in the lock. So he got home, then something … happened."

"Yeah, but what?" asked Crystal. "And how did the house catch fire?"

"And if the back door was open, why didn't he get out?" added Vicky.

"Well, he clearly did, but where did he go then?" That was Eric.

Crystal shook her head. "And without his car?" She pointed at Dad's car; some brave soul had smashed the driver's side window and let off the handbrake, and they'd pushed it partway out onto the street to get it away from the burning house. "The keys were right there. Why didn't he take it?"

I shook my head. Nonverbal as I was, I couldn't contribute to the discussion, and worry was clouding my mind too much for me to think ahead and make coherent conclusions. There were too many questions, with no answers forthcoming. Worse, I had a weird buzz in my ears that made it hard to concentrate.

That was when something tapped me on the ankle.

Twisting my neck around, I looked down. There was a shifting, liquid pool of glass on the ground next to my clawed foot, and as I watched, it extended a pseudopod and tapped me again. This wasn't the weirdest thing I'd ever seen, but it was definitely up there. Lowering my head to peer at it more closely, I let out an enquiring chirp.

As if triggered by the sound, the glass started forming words.

WE HAVE YOUR FATHER. TELL NOBODY.

It paused then, awaiting my reply.

I looked up and around, then over at the others. They were busily discussing the matter of my father's disappearance among themselves. Looking back toward the blob of glass, I nodded and chirped again, trying to keep control of the rising tide of anger within me. Whoever 'we' are, you're going to regret this.

It seemed the glass controller could see my movements and maybe hear my voice but could not register my emotions. The blob changed again, showing more words. And now that I was paying attention, the buzz changed tone very slightly.

COME TO CAPTAINS HILL ALONE OR YOUR FRIENDS AND FAMILY DIE.

Well, that was absolutely clear-cut and impossible to mistake for anything other than a threat. My anger mounted until the flame danced in the back of my throat. It was a distinct effort to hold back from deluging fire over the glass letters on the ground.

Lifting my head, I looked around again. As I did so, I concentrated on the almost subliminal buzzing. I could almost feel it shifting in frequency as my head turned one way then the other.

I had to do this. I had to go. Dad and whoever else they had were depending on me.

But that didn't mean I had to play into this asshole's hostage fantasy.

Correction: this dead asshole.

I was sick and tired of people thinking they could get leverage over me by threatening my father.

This ends tonight.

<><>​

Glory Girl

The first thing Vicky knew of something else going wrong was when Wyvern detonated one of her explosive fireballs on the ground directly under herself, launching her into the air in what seemed like a deliberate move. Fortunately, nobody had been close enough to take harm from the explosion, though the grass had been scorched to ash in a wide circle. That wasn't her biggest concern, though.

The biggest concern was that Taylor was flying away at a high rate of knots, leaving the rest of them behind.

"Where's she going?" shouted Crystal, as they scrambled into the air to catch up with her.

"I dunno," Vicky replied, forging ahead. "Soon as I grab her, I'll be sure to ask."

"Just be careful," Eric supplied, gamely trying to keep up. "She looks pissed."

"Pfft, what's she gonna do?" asked Vicky. "She knows she can't hurt me."

Half a second later, a fireball exploded in her face.

The heat and kinetic force didn't so much as muss her hair, but the blinding flash surprised the fuck out of her, dazzling her and sending her tumbling through the air. "What the shit?" she blurted, trying to rub the dancing spots out of her eyes. When she could see again, Wyvern was no longer in view. "Oh, that's just not fair."

As she hovered there in mid-air, Crystal and Eric caught up with her. "She let off half a dozen in a row," Crystal explained. She pointed out where clouds of smoke, underlit by the city glow, were wafting away under a gentle breeze. "While we were eyes-off, she must have either dived for surface clutter or gone for altitude. And unless she gets between us and the moon, we're never gonna see her either way."

"Okay, just what the fuck is going on here?" Vicky flung her arms out. "Why'd she even do this? We're her friends! Her teammates! Why would she fly off the handle like this?"

"Uh … maybe she just wanted to be left alone?" Eric shrugged. "I mean, right now she's gotta be under some serious stress."

"Yeah, but where's she gonna go?" Crystal raked her hands through her hair. "Vicky, what'd she do the last time she was this upset?"

"Uh …" Vicky tried to think. "Told Armsmaster to fuck off and then went and hid in our garage?"

Crystal nodded firmly. "Okay, you go check there. Eric and me will go back to her house and make sure nobody got hurt."

"Okay, right." Vicky grimaced and tapped the phone in its pouch on her belt. "Let me know if anything turns up."

"Sure thing, and same to you. Come on, Eric." Crystal turned in midair and started back toward the fading glow in the sky that signalled the demise of the Hebert house.

Vicky looked around to get her bearings then started off toward home, almost certain she was missing a trick but not sure what it was.

Taylor, what's going on?

<><>​

Jacob

Waiting atop the pretentiously named Captain's Hill, Jack Slash smiled in smug satisfaction as Shatterbird flew into view and landed alongside him. "She took the bait?" He already knew the answer, but he liked it when other people admitted how smart he was.

"Hook, line and sinker," she confirmed. "The New Wave kids tried to catch up with her, but she used those explosive fireballs like flashbangs and evaded them cleanly. For a rookie, it was actually pretty impressive."

"Good, so there's no chance she worked out some scheme with them before coming?" Again, he was certain he knew the answer, but it was always satisfying when a plan came together.

"Well, she's nonverbal, and she didn't even get their attention before she took off, so I'd say that's a solid no." She tilted her head. "Pretty sure that's her now."

"Excellent." For some reason, he felt the urge to steeple his fingers and leer over them, but it passed. "Let the event commence. Burnscar, if you will?"

<><>​

Taylor

There were definitely people on top of Captain's Hill, clustered around the statue of Captain Lord, but my improved night-sight (I refused to call it 'dragonsight') couldn't distinguish between them, until a row of torches burst into flame one after the other. Then I saw what was going on.

Dad was there, kneeling on the rough gravel, with Kurt and Lacey next to him. Beside Lacey was Alan Barnes, and then Emma. Kurt's face was bruised, like he'd been roughed up a little, and Emma's features were blotchy, like she'd been crying. Lacey just looked pissed. I could just barely see something crouching on their necks, long mechanical legs clutching their shoulders and extending down their arms and over their heads.

"Good evening, Wyvern," announced an altogether too-familiar figure as he stepped out of the shadows and into the torchlight. I'd known he was there, but not who he was. Now I knew that, too. "Or should I say, Taylor Hebert. Oh, yes. I know who you are. I know a great deal about you." Jack Slash smiled predatorially, his too-white teeth gleaming in counterpoint to the blade that flickered through his fingers in the firelight.

I came to a hover, my rage almost boiling over. How dare this little man threaten my father and his friends, all because he had a bunch of supervillains to hide behind! Just barely, I managed to force myself to voice an enquiring chirp.

"Ah, yes. Non-verbal." He hmphed and lifted his chin. "I do so like it when they beg for all to hear. Oh well, no bother. I will translate. What do you want from me, I believe you asked. Well, it's simple. You, in the Nine. I believe you will make an absolutely marvellous part of the group."

Still hovering, I shook my head and voiced a defiant squawk. Fuck you and the horse you rode in on.

Jack Slash raised his eyebrows, sounding quite amused. "Language, language. If my Bonesaw could understand that, she would be quite miffed with you. No, you see, it's quite simple. You see before you five hostages. I will be—"

That was it. I couldn't take it any longer. My anger burst forth, and I let out a roaring torrent of flame at him. Threaten my dad, will you!

A shield of glass interposed itself between myself and the gang leader, splashing the flame harmlessly in all directions. I switched up, flying forward with an explosive fireball leading the way, aiming to smash through the shield and get to Jack Slash before anyone else could interfere. With him in my jaws, I'd have the Nine at my mercy, and I could get them to release Dad and the others.

It wasn't the most intricate of plans, or the most well thought out, but I wasn't exactly thinking straight right at that moment.

So, of course, nothing could go wrong.

<><>​

Emma Barnes

The latest member of New Wave had made the news weeks before, so Emma knew all about it. She'd admired the dragon (or wyvern, as New Wave insisted on calling it) for its power and strength, and giggled over the footage showing it cursing out Armsmaster. But now it was facing the Nine, all alone, almost incandescent in its frustrated rage … and that was Taylor.

Emma didn't know whether to be more scared of the Nine right then, or of her one-time friend. They would kill her if Taylor acted up … but Taylor might kill her afterwards anyway. She didn't often admit to making mistakes—that sort of thing happened to other people—but right now, she was beginning to consider the idea that shoving Taylor into the locker and then continuing to tease her afterward might have been a possible error in judgement.

As Jack Slash continued with his smug monologue, Taylor—no, Wyvern—lost her temper and shot flame at him. Emma tensed, expecting to see him immolated, but Shatterbird sent a sheet of glass up to protect him. When her first attack didn't work, she flew forward with another burst of flame; it hit the glass sheet and exploded, but that was just a decoy. Demonstrating some of the agility she'd shown on the news, Wyvern twisted and flew up and over the disintegrating shield.

Which promptly reformed and locked around her body and wings. Emma winced as she felt the impact Wyvern's dragon body made when it hit the rocky ground, down the slope a little way. Jack Slash tried to say something, but Wyvern's outraged screech drowned him out. Shedding shards of glass and at least twice as large as before, Wyvern came flapping up out of the darkness, eyes blazing and teeth bared in fury.

There was a rumble of heavy footsteps, then Crawler launched himself out of the darkness, smashing into Wyvern's body like a battering ram. They hit the rocky slope again, tumbling over and over in the darkness. Emma could hear Wyvern screeching and Crawler roaring in several tones at once.

The last rock slid to a halt. Silence fell. Emma waited for Wyvern to emerge from the darkness once more, like a phoenix triumphant. But instead, heavy plodding footsteps came up the side of the hill, until Wyvern's battered body was tossed unceremoniously into the pool of firelight.

She was a little larger than before, but her glorious red and gold scales had been badly seared by acid, which had also burned large holes in her wing membranes. She was still alive, still conscious, still trying to move and attack despite a missing eye, a broken jaw and several other clearly broken bones, some of which were protruding through her skin.

A delicately built girl with long dark hair bearing a single red streak stepped forward. "Come on," she said softly. "Go to sleep, little dragon. Go to sleep."

Although Wyvern clearly didn't want to, her one good eye drifted shut. She shrank, the scales fading away and her hair returning, until Taylor Hebert lay face down on the gravel of the parking lot. And then her eyes (both of them) snapped open, she looked around, and just like that, Wyvern was back, fully healed and the smaller size again. One second a scrawny girl, the next a red and gold scaled dragon. If Emma had blinked, she would've missed it.

Crawler shifted his position, putting one foot in the middle of Wyvern's back and the other on her muzzle, almost certainly to prevent her from breathing fire. Then, and only then, did Jack Slash step forward again.

"Well, that was both impressive and educational," the bearded man mused, strolling up to where Crawler held Wyvern pinned to the ground. "Let's try that again, shall we? Cage that beast a little, girl, or you will lose someone you care for."

<><>​

Taylor

I stared up at Jack Slash, wishing I could do more than growl past the heavy foot holding my mouth closed. If I were free … but I wasn't. And so, I couldn't afford to let the wyvern take full control like that again. I blinked at him twice, then twice again, trying to convey 'yes'.

Not that I intended to cooperate with him in the slightest. But I had to play this to my strengths, not his.

"Good," he said smoothly. "Now, shall we continue? As I was saying, we have five hostages here, two of whom you'd probably rather see dead. This is how it's going to go. Shatterbird, Crawler, Burnscar and Cherish have all expressed an interest in turning you into a quivering wreck. Bonesaw holds the lives of your hostages in her hand, and Siberian is here to ensure that you don't turn yours truly into a charcoal briquette. Are you understanding the situation so far?"

I gave him another series of blinks.

"Good. So, we'll go round by round. For each round, you either dispose of one of our hostages or my charming friends beat you to a pulp and I take something from you. Perhaps a finger, perhaps an eye. But I've decided to be nice and give you a couple of freebies for the first two rounds. It'll be no hardship at all for you to finally put these two out of your misery, will it?"

His gesture encompassed Alan and Emma Barnes, and I had to admire the evil genius of the man. Just for a moment, I was indeed tempted to murder them and blame it on Jack Slash. He knew me, knew what I wanted.

But he didn't own me, and never would. I was better than him. I was better than them. And more importantly, I knew something he didn't. But I didn't dare even think about it, because he'd shown an uncanny level of understanding of my thought processes so far, and I didn't wish to lose out to a scumbag like him at this point in the game.

I shook my head as best I could, and swung my eyes toward where I could see Shatterbird at the edge of the torchlight. To make my point, I sent a thin stream of flame out of my nostril toward her.

"Well, then." Jack clapped his hands together cheerfully. "If you want to do this the hard way, we can do it the hard way." He stepped back toward where the Siberian waited with Bonesaw. As she laid her hand on him, his colouration went from normal to black and white. He was protected, I knew.

Crawler took his feet off me and stepped back, allowing me to get to my feet and shake out my wings. I had one chance to get this right, or people would die. Rather; the wrong people would die. So from here on in, I could not lose.

Shatterbird took to the air, shards of glass orbiting her, while her wings spread wide, firelight twinkling off them. She had her weapons with her, ready to use on me. I'd seen how fast she was, how effective. I knew I could be beaten by her, and that was my advantage.

She didn't know she could be beaten by me, so she didn't know how to plan against it.

With a screech of defiance, I took off straight up, my wings undoubtedly sending a billow of dust everywhere. But I wasn't concentrating on that. I was reaching into the depths of my being to where the wyvern resided, and pushing it hard to respond to the perceived threat. At my normal size, I couldn't beat Shatterbird; she could immobilise my wings and bring me down at any time.

I breathed deeply, inhaling the chilly night air, feeling my ribcage expand … and expand … and expand. By the time Shatterbird realised something was wrong, I was halfway to her and more than twice my normal size. And then, just as her glass started toward me, I backwinged and pulled the same trick I had on Vicky that one time. A little bit of flame and a huge volume of smoke erupted from my nostrils, engulfing her altogether.

Coughing, she tried to fly out of the plume of smoke and evade me, but the buzzing in my ears led me straight to her. Her eyes widened and she threw up a glass shield against my flame. I didn't care. My head was the size of a small car by then, and when I closed my jaws around her the glass crunched like candy. She didn't crunch so much as squish.

Then I breathed fire, through my half-closed mouth. She didn't even have time to scream.

Spitting out the charred body and the bits of glass, I wheeled tightly on one wingtip and dived. One down, still winning.

A feeling of lethargy invaded my thoughts, as it had done before. The little tiny bit of me that just didn't want to fight was blown out of all proportion, almost forcing me to Change again. I felt myself reducing in size, and tried to push back, but Cherish's power was too strong for me to fight against.

So I didn't. I surrendered to her, and gave the wyvern full control over our shared body. Before, it had been an instinctive action; now, it was a winning strategy. As I watched, uncaring and wanting to just let the world go away, the wyvern spat out a single actinic stream of cutting flame. It had served to slice Inago's wing clear off his body. Here, it removed Cherish's head from her body, by way of vaporising it. As the headless corpse collapsed, the suppression of my natural anger vanished, and I surged back into the driver's seat. Thanks, I'll take it from here.

<><>​

Jacob

With Shatterbird down, and Cherish removed from the field mere seconds later, Jack stared up at the descending dragon. All his instincts were shouting that she wouldn't be stopped by mere threats this time. "Burnscar!"

"On it!" Hand flaring with flame, Burnscar stepped out in front of the hostages. Jack watched her call the torch flames to her, swirling them in a complex pattern. "Hey, Wyvern!" she shouted. "Back off!"

Wyvern kept coming, mouth opening and teeth showing. Jack began to wonder if she was even capable of comprehending human speech anymore. Burnscar took the initiative, directing the flames down at Danny Hebert's left hand. In an instant, it was seared to the bone. He screamed, loud and long.

With a great gust of wind that would've put out the torches if Burnscar's power had not kept them alight, Wyvern backwinged to a halt in mid-air. "DAD!" she bellowed, in a deep and gravelly voice. "LEAVE HIM ALONE, YOU BITCH!"

"Language!" chided Bonesaw. "Mr. Jack, tell her not to swear!"

Burnscar cupped Hebert's head in her hands. He couldn't do anything about this, as he was still locked into the glass shackles Shatterbird had formed onto him. "Come down here and Change back, or I boil his brain in his skull!"

Still the dragon hovered there, great wings thrashing the air, anguish clear even on its inhuman muzzle. "Three!" shouted Burnscar. "Two!"

Wyvern shimmered, changing not so much size as shape. When her form stabilised, she was longer, leaner, and her colouration had changed utterly. Where before she'd been covered in red and gold scales, now she was ice-blue with black highlights. "One," she purred in a thunderous hissing whisper that was totally unlike her previous fifty-packs-a-day rasp, and inhaled.

Every flame went out, all pouring across the gap to where Wyvern hovered and disappearing into her flared nostrils. The temperature in the air dropped precipitously, frost forming on every surface. Her mouth opened, and she seemed to cough; ice shards shot out in a spray.

Burnscar yelped with terror and leaped away from Danny Hebert, forming a burst of flame with one hand and shooting another high into the air. She dived into the one before her and vanished. Far above, another one was formed, the fleeing form of Burnscar jumping from one to the other.

Wyvern turned her head fractionally, tracking, then spat out a burst of something that would've been flame, except that it was blue and sucked heat out of the air as it rocketed upward. There was another flare of fire above, and another … and then the blue bolt hit. The fire ceased to be.

Jack stared at Wyvern. I did not see that coming. "Poppet, since when can she breathe cold?"

"Uh, Mr. Jack," ventured Bonesaw. "I think I know what's happening, and it's a bad thing."

We've just lost three of our members. No shit it's a bad thing. "Yes?"

"Her, uh, power? Each time she's under stress when she's using her powers, it … uh, it puts her through a mini-Trigger. And I think she gets to keep all the previous iterations."

Jack blinked. "Powers don't work like that. Do powers work like that?"

Bonesaw shrugged. "Hers does?"

There was a crash and a shattering sound as Burnscar landed, her frozen corpse smashing like a Ming vase on a concrete floor. Wyvern turned her burning blue gaze on him. "I am going to—"

"Woo hoo!" Crawler bolted out of the darkness again and launched himself at her. "Round two, beeyatch! Come to papa!"

Jack breathed out again as they disappeared into the darkness. "Okay, once he breaks her down to size, I'm just going to have him kill her," he decided. "She's unmanageable. Too many variables." He waved his hand at where the hostages were. "Go ahead, kill the hostages. We don't need them anymore."

"Uh … Mr. Jack …"

He was beginning to detest that tone in her. "What?"

"The spiders I had on them are all dead. She killed them."

"What? When?" She hadn't even gotten close to the hostages.

"I don't know, Mr. Jack." Bonesaw sounded worried, and he didn't blame her. "Want me to send another spider to kill them now?"

"Yes. Do that." No matter what else, Wyvern would not win.

There was a scuttling sound in the darkness. Bonesaw cleared her throat. "Uh … the hostages … they're not there?"

"What?"

<><>​

Danny Hebert

"Come on, while they're distracted." Danny's left hand felt like one huge lump of ice, but it was better than the alternative.

He'd already wrenched off the cyber-spider that had been attached to the back of his neck, after it went limp. The cause of its demise was obvious; a high-velocity shard of ice had punched through its outer carapace, killing it instantly. Another had struck the glass bonds that were holding him prisoner, shattering them.

Each of the other hostages had been freed in a similar fashion, which made him wonder exactly how accurate Taylor was with those things. Also, where had that form even come from?

Escape now, power analysis later. "Come on," he whispered again as they sneaked down the road.

"You okay, man?" Kurt's voice rumbled quietly in the darkness.

"Better than Burnscar."

"Ain't that the truth."

And then the light flared in front of them.

<><>​

Taylor

Fighting Crawler was no picnic at the best of times. The first go-around, I'd already had my ass kicked by Shatterbird, and I was on the back foot. This time, I knew what I was facing. I found I could neutralise his acid with my cold-breath, and in fact I could break chunks off him by freezing them first.

But that tactic worked less and less, and soon he was using my cold-breath against me. Not that it did much, but it got annoying. Worse, he was beginning to overpower me, now that I couldn't simply destroy parts of his body. We hit an outcrop and smashed it, but it knocked the wind out of my body. He loomed over me, drooling yet more acid. This stuff was resistant to being frozen, and actually stung quite a bit.

I rolled over, managing to throw him off. Too late, I saw a small van in an out of the way parking spot, halfway up the hill. For a moment, I thought it might be abandoned, but then I spotted a face watching us through the windshield. "Watch out!" I bellowed. But it was too late. Crawler landed square on it, crushing it flat. God damn it, I groaned. I'd face the music for that later.

Crawler smashed me across the face with one of his front legs, and my head hit another rock. The world blurred; when it came back, I was looking down at him. My night sight (okay, fine, dragonvision) was much better now, and I saw my colouration had gone back to red and gold. "Come on!" he roared, launching himself at me, despite being somewhat smaller than me.

Opening my jaws wide—he was about the same size as my head—I caught him up in my mouth and bit down, hard. My teeth sheared into his flesh, and he let out an insane cackle. "Yeah! Yeah!"

He was already changing, adapting, to what I was doing to him. I felt myself shifting and changing in response; going with the wyvern's instincts, I tilted my head back and opened my gullet wide. He scrabbled briefly as he went down my throat, then I swallowed. It was painful at first, but then my body shimmered again and it wasn't.

But even that wasn't the end of it.

Crawler fought back, trying his best to tear his way out of me in a bizarre parody of that movie about the aliens. My stomach moved and bulged oddly, and I had the horrible feeling that I wouldn't be able to Change back until I had this sorted. The wyvern heard me, and I Changed again. This time, Crawler was weaker. It took two more Changes before he was totally quiescent. Whatever passed for stomach acids in this version of me had finally dealt with the unkillable cape.

Unfurling my wings—and by now they were huge—I flew up and landed at the top of Captain's Hill again. Jack and Bonesaw were just boarding the RV they'd come here in. I stomped on the front end of the vehicle, crushing it flat. "Going somewhere?"

Yeah, I was that big.

Jack Slash stared up at me. "What are you?" he demanded. "What did you do with Crawler?"

I didn't have an answer for the first question, but I definitely had one for the second one. Opening my jaws, I let out a deep, rolling thunderous belch that echoed across Brockton Bay. "He was delicious." It was a lie, but it was a badass lie.

"Rude," complained Bonesaw. "Gross."

"Okay, just going to say, you can't touch me or my little poppet, because Siberian will fillet you if you try." Jack hooked his thumb over his shoulder as he spoke. Except that … both he and the girl should have been currently coloured in shades of gray. They weren't.

I breathed in through my nostrils, taking up their scents, wondering exactly where the Siberian was. Jack's scent was … interesting. He'd been cocky and confident earlier. Now … he was terrified, but putting up a good front. The Siberian must've decided to cut her losses and leave him hanging out to dry.

"Who?" I grinned, each of my teeth longer than he was tall.

"I'm full of pathogens," Bonesaw said defiantly. "Kill me and they'll spread far and wide. You'll kill America."

"Funny thing, that," I mused. "It took a lot to kill Crawler. I'm pretty sure that right now, my internals negate matter on a subatomic level. I wonder how that would go against your pathogens. Made of matter, aren't they?"

"Wait, wait," Jack said, holding his hands up. "Don't I get any last words?"

"No." I was sick of his face, sick of his voice and sick of his smug condescension. It took just one breath to disintegrate the back half of the RV, Bonesaw and her pathogens and Jack Slash himself. Also, about fifty cubic yards of parking lot in a shallow crater. I was going to have to work on my precision.

And then light sprang into existence beside me. I looked over and down, to see Lady Photon hovering in mid-air, holding her hand up like a floodlight. "Taylor?" she asked. I wasn't totally surprised at how doubtful she sounded. My head was now twice the size of a city bus.

"Yeah. I think so. I see you found my message." When I'd used the explosive fireball to launch myself skyward, it had also ashed all the grass and dirt directly under it … except the bits covered by the glass, forming words. When they finally got around to examining the scene, they would've found a signpost telling them exactly where I'd gone; also, why.

"Yes, we did. Sorry it took us so long. Did you just … finish the Nine?"

"They started it. What about Dad and the others?"

"We've got them. Amelia is healing your father's hand as we speak. How … how did you get so big?"

"Lots of Crawler in my diet, I guess."

She choked out a laugh. "Uh, how do you feel about that?"

"There was quite a bit of heartburn involved, but I got over it." I looked down at myself. "Pretty sure I can't fit in the garage anymore."

This time, her laughter was more genuine. "What about the Siberian? How did you deal with her?"

I shrugged, not unlike the movement of tectonic plates. "No idea. I suspect when she saw them losing, she dumped the team and ran."

"Right." She flew around in front of me and held up what I recognised as the extravagantly fluffy bathrobe that Vicky had more or less gifted me with after the Armsmaster incident. "Well, when you feel like downsizing, I'll be right here for you."

"Thanks." I silently consulted the wyvern. It felt kind of tired. "I figure it won't be long before I'm human again. Anyway, I've got court in the morning."

She nodded. "Think the Barneses might want to change their plea after this?"

I chuckled; already, I could feel the size Change coming on. "Maybe."

Personally, I was ready for bed. It had been a long, long night.



End of Part Twenty

 

[Ack]

Wyvern

Part Twenty-One: Dealing With the Wyvern in the Room

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



PRT Building ENE
Director Emily Piggot
The Next Morning

"... court in the morning."

Emily hit Pause on the remote, so as to allow everyone present—Protectorate and Wards alike—to fully appreciate the gravity of the scene before them.

The screen in the conference room displayed two separate views of the summit of Captain's Hill. The angles were slightly different, and one was a little clearer than the other, but what each of them showed was unmistakeable. A draconic figure, red and gold markings identical to those in every photo ever taken of her, loomed over the parking area on top of the hill in a way that should have been frankly impossible at that range.

Providing even more evidence as to the scale involved, a tiny bright-coloured human form hovered next to the gargantuan muzzle. Everyone present knew who it was: Lady Photon. She appeared so tiny next to the immense creature that she would be able to stand on its lower eyelid and peer directly into its pupil.

Emily pressed the Play button again. Both images started rolling. Lady Photon clearly said something to Wyvern, because the immense reptilian eyeball rolled toward her. There was a chuckle in reply, clearly audible over the speakers, even from halfway across the city. "Maybe."

This time, Emily hit Stop, and the screens blanked.

"As we all know," she said, her voice carrying clearly to everyone in the room, "that happened last night."

"Oh, we know," Assault agreed readily enough. "So does everyone in Brockton Bay. There's a whole thread on PHO devoted to appeasing our new draconic overlord. Overlady. Whatever."

"Clock here applied for the position of her high priest," Kid Win added, hooking his thumb at his buddy.

"Hey!" protested the white-clad Ward. "I wasn't the only one!"

"Nicely done, kid." Assault turned to Armsmaster, lacing his fingers together and resting his chin on them. "So, tell us again about your plan to take Wyvern under your wing and teach her how to find her true strengths."

"Found 'em," muttered Clockblocker, not quite softly enough to not be heard. Kid Win and Vista snickered quietly, along with Assault.

Armsmaster's jaw hardened, but he didn't respond to either Assault's smartass comment or Clockblocker's response. "We've been fortunate three times over," he stated. "First, Wyvern has expressed no interest in actually conquering the city by force. Second, she reduced in size back to regular human form shortly after the footage which we've just viewed. Third, all the hostages taken by the Nine were able to escape due to her assistance. Only one was harmed, and his injury has since been dealt with by Panacea."

"So, uh … does anyone have any idea of how big she actually got at the end there?" asked Velocity. "Because she looked pretty damn big to me."

Emily glanced at Armsmaster, and he took up the ball. "After consultation with Dragon, the consensus seems to be between six hundred fifty to seven hundred fifty feet, from tip of nose to tip of tail. The wings were never fully spread while in that form, but if the proportions were the same as when she is in her basic Wyvern form, her wingspan would be in excess of a thousand feet."

Kid Win made a choking noise. "Wait … so you're saying she was three times as long as a seven-four-seven?"

"And her wingspan was five times that of an airliner, yes," Armsmaster confirmed. "However, that brings up another issue. An empty seven-four-seven weighs a little in excess of two hundred fifty tons. I strongly suspect her body would be denser than that of an aluminum aircraft, so she would've massed perhaps forty to fifty times as much as the average Boeing jetliner, instead of merely twenty-seven times. For reference, blue whales are about a hundred feet long, and weigh about two hundred tons."

"So, at full size she would weigh somewhere between ten and twelve thousand tons," Emily retorted, after doing a little mental math. "Let's hope she doesn't choose to perch on any buildings we happen to want, once she gets that large again."

"I'm more hoping that nothing happens to get her to that size again," Miss Militia said. "Because if she does, and goes on a rampage, I'm not sure anything short of a nuke would suffice to subdue her. In fact, considering what we've seen of her durability against fire and explosions, that's not exactly a guarantee either."

"Yay," Assault interjected, deadpan. "So, the only way to save the city would be to destroy the city."

Battery didn't even bother elbowing him for that one. "I hope we're not planning on a pre-emptive strike? Especially on someone who literally destroyed the Slaughterhouse Nine in about ten minutes?"

Emily folded her hands together on the table. "It's something we must at least consider the possibility of. Wyvern has specifically chosen not to join the Wards, and has shown that she can escalate far beyond our capacity to easily respond. I'm sure everyone here has paid attention to the fact that each time she gets pushed to a higher level, she can reach that level again much more easily."

"Wait, wait," Gallant interjected. "It might not be my place to say this, but let's just keep in mind that the only people who have pushed Wyvern to excessive level of violence so far have been Inago, Shadow Stalker, and the Slaughterhouse Nine, all of whom tried to hurt people she obviously cared for. Why are we even talking about taking her down for something she might be capable of doing?"

"Kid's got a point," Assault noted idly. "Sure, Wyvern's got the potential to level the city. But the thing is, most of us in this room have that to a greater or lesser degree, given enough prep time and a damn good reason. You don't see the PRT hanging over our shoulders, ready to pull the trigger just in case we suddenly decide to snap one fine day. Who are you going to aim this 'capable of causing great damage' BS at next? The Triumvirate? Because I want a ringside seat when you do."

Emily twitched. Assault was almost certainly exaggerating, but she was never comfortable when even heroic capes spoke in this way. In her mind, it was all too easy for braggadocio to become hard reality, especially when powers were involved.

Battery seemed to be thinking that way as well. "Not funny," she muttered to her husband.

"Wasn't joking. And I wasn't finished. Like I said, sure, she could do it. But has she given us any reason to believe she wants to? I haven't seen it. She's happy in New Wave, and they're pleased to have her. They care. And she cares about them."

"That doesn't reduce her capacity to cause immense destruction, should she choose to do so," Emily argued. Couldn't he see the point she was trying to get across?

"Exactly." Assault sat up from his habitual slump. "Choice. She's choosing to be very careful about the destruction she causes. Oni Lee and the Nine are the only people she's actually killed, and do you blame her for a single one of them? Because I certainly don't."

Emily sat forward, determined to regain the initiative. "When she first showed up, I wasn't overly worried because she was at best a B-rank cape. After Inago, it became a concern, because she'd jumped straight to A-rank status. Now, she's gone all the way to S-rank, capable of causing Endbringer-scale damage. Her potential for escalation is frankly worrying—"

Assault slapped the table, hard. From the way the sound boomed and echoed through the room, it was evident that he'd used his powers to amplify the impact. Slowly, he stood up and turned his head to take in everyone in the room.

"Wards. Out. What I've got to say isn't for you guys to hear."

Such was the authority in his tone—normally he went for 'cool uncle' but now his voice was hard and sharp—that even Clockblocker didn't register more than a token protest as he got up and left. The last one out was Triumph, who closed the door behind him.

Emily stared up at Assault. Once in a while, she'd seen his Madcap persona on display. It was only on rare occasions, and never boded well for whoever he was aiming it at. This was the first time he'd directed it her way, and she found she didn't like it.

"You can be worried," he growled. "But you do not get to let that translate into an excuse for an unofficial kill order on Taylor Hebert when she's not being Wyvern, or even when she is. She's a sweet kid, and she's done nothing to deserve that."

Emily felt anger surge through her, along with a tinge of guilt. "I was going to order no such thing—"

"Oh, bullshit." He hadn't sat down, and his tone was as cutting as before. "You were just going to express concern, and suggest a potential need for precautions. Nudge nudge, wink wink, say no more. When Militia said a nuke might or might not take her down, you never turned a hair. Not a kill order, my well-toned left butt cheek. Since when are nukes the non-lethal option?"

"So, what would your solution be if Wyvern decided to go on a rampage at full power?" snapped Emily, stung into replying. "Wave pompoms?"

"Well, that would depend entirely on why," he said. "Endbringer attack? You can goddamn bet I'd be waving pompoms. Some other brain-dead fuckwit villain tries to force her to work for them by kidnapping her loved ones? I'd help her end them. But if it turned out that someone with more brass than brains decided that her very existence was too much of an existential threat for their tiny little minds, and tried to remove her from the running just because, and they'd miscalculated and hurt the people she loved, and thus triggered the rampage that way ..." He flicked his visor up and leaned forward on his knuckles, his eyes fixed on Emily's. "Refer to previous answer."

He meant every word; she could tell that much, at least. She forced herself to breathe steadily. This was not the first time she'd felt threatened by a cape, and it probably wouldn't be the last.

When she spoke, her voice sounded alien to her ears. "So noted. Now sit down, before I have Armsmaster put you on report for insubordination." She wasn't about to do it—for all his freewheeling nature, he was a damn good hero—but her authority needed to be maintained.

Slowly, he sat down, the grim set of his mouth gradually relaxing. With one finger, he flicked his visor down again. "Sure, you can do that. And I can repeat this conversation verbatim to whoever wants to know why I'm on report this time."

Which neither of them wanted. It was a mutually assured fuck-you, and they both knew it.

"We'll continue to monitor the Wyvern situation at a distance," she observed neutrally. "If New Wave gets worried, that's when we'll get worried. Armsmaster, did you have anything else to add, regarding the Slaughterhouse Nine incident?"

Armsmaster glanced from Assault to Emily, then cleared his throat. "There is something that has me concerned. At lower size levels, she deals exclusively in fire, though the power is expressed in a few different ways. However, per the witness statements, when fighting Burnscar she manifested a differently patterned wyvern form that had the same mastery over ice and cold as her standard form does over fire."

"That's something I've been thinking about," Dauntless said. "Could it be that her Changer form is integrated with an adaptive Trump power of some type? She's locked into the wyvern pattern, but when she encounters an out of context problem, her powerset literally figures out a way to counter it, and forces her through an upgrade that lets her beat it?"

Emily considered that. It would certainly fit the events as she understood them. "And so when she was fighting Crawler, her power had to literally evolve direct disintegration of matter to the subatomic level in order to beat him."

"Which would mean her breath would likely have the same effect," Armsmaster agreed. "I studied the crater she left behind when she disintegrated Jack Slash and Bonesaw. The ground was smooth. All I could find, even with the most delicate of instrumentation, was that there'd been some kind of destructive event that left no trace materials behind; no excess heat, no acid, nothing. There's a good chance she only has access to the disintegration effect when she's at that size; anything smaller, and her body wouldn't be able to sustain it."

That was both good news and bad news. Good, in that the human-sized version of Wyvern would not be able to casually disintegrate muggers. Bad, in that she would easily be able to regain the immense form, now that she had attained it once. She briefly envisaged Wyvern disintegrating half a building by accident and knocking over the other half with a body-check, then shut down the mental image with a well-concealed shudder. Just one more thing that I've got to worry about.

"Was that everything?" she asked. "I seem to recall a mention of a stray bystander killed during the fight, but I didn't get any details then."

Miss Militia nodded. "Yes. He was apparently camping in a van a little way down the hill. Wyvern's statement, passed on by Lady Photon, says she didn't see him until she accidentally threw Crawler on top of him. She blames herself."

Armsmaster lifted his head slightly, in the pose that said he was reading off his helmet HUD. Emily disliked when he did that; he could at least wait until he wasn't in a conversation with other people in the room. His words, however, arrested her attention. "They've since confirmed the identity of the civilian DOA. Doctor William Manton's been missing for years, believed dead. What are the odds that he would show up now, camping literally one hundred yards away from the Slaughterhouse Nine?"

Emily blinked, her irritation following the clash with Assault vanishing in an instant. "Manton? As in, the Doctor William Manton? You're right; that's not something I would personally call a coincidence, especially where capes of that calibre are concerned. Do they have any ideas?"

"Nothing concrete," Armsmaster replied. "The updated report, and everything they've got appended to it, has been sent to everyone's inboxes."

"Good." Assault leaned back again. "This doesn't change much. At worst, he was a regrettable casualty of the conflict, but I really don't think so. Much more likely, he was somehow connected to the Nine and got what he deserved. Either way, there's no way I'm going to be Monday-morning-quarterbacking the girl who took on the Nine and quite literally wiped them off the face of the Earth, when the best Protectorate and PRT efforts came up zip." And you'd better not try it either, he didn't say.

Emily nodded to acknowledge his points, both spoken and unspoken. At the very least, Wyvern had earned the reward for ending the Nine once and for all, even if the Siberian had escaped the clean sweep. "Understood. Did anyone have anything else?"

Nobody did. Assault stood up with Battery alongside him, and nodded to Armsmaster. "I'll brief the Wards on what they missed."

Which meant, Emily knew, he'd tone it down to just the right level. He'd always been good with the youngsters. Better than her or Armsmaster, at any rate.

She'd stick with the unspoken agreement she'd formed with Assault, her own feelings on the subject notwithstanding. Teenage girl or no teenage girl, Wyvern was dangerous. But Assault couldn't or wouldn't see that, which meant that no precautionary actions would be taken for the time being, not until they had official permission from above.

She just hoped they wouldn't end up regretting it.

Also, that nobody else would do anything stupid.

<><>​

Kaiser

"What. The. Fuck?" Max Anders pointed at the widescreen image that showed the clearest PHO image available of Wyvern perched on top of Captain's Hill. "Did anyone know she could grow that big?"

Hookwolf shook his head. "Uh, no. After Inago, she could get as big as a moving van, but that was about it. What you've got there's a whole new level of fuck-that."

Stormtiger elbowed him in the ribs. "C'mon, man. You're always talking up how tough you are. You could take her."

"Fuck you." Hookwolf elbowed him in return, twice as hard. "She ate Crawler alive. Crawler. Then she toasted Jack Slash with that weird purple fire. They said there's nothing left of him. Hard pass."

Max banged on the table with a metal-clad fist. "I'm not asking who can't take her. That list basically includes everyone in Brockton Bay. I'm asking for any ideas about dealing with her, if she decides to come after us."

"We're going to have to be very careful about it," Krieg advised. "She's reportedly durable, even at normal size. At that scale, her ability to absorb damage is probably greater that Fenja's and Menja's combined. And her destructive capability is greater than everyone present combined. If we struck at her while she was in that form, she would almost certainly survive, and her retaliation would probably prove fatal to whoever the idiot was, plus everyone behind them."

"I'm not scared of fire," boasted Alabaster. "Gimme a big enough MANPAD, and I'll put a hole right through her."

"First, she is impressively agile in the air, and could probably dodge it altogether," Krieg replied. "Second, her durability versus explosions is a matter of record. Third, I am dubious as to whether your vaunted reset ability would survive being reduced to subatomic particles, which is what I suspect that 'weird purple fire' actually does."

Max knew the Empire could probably source the man-portable air-defence missiles Alabaster was talking about, but those things were very expensive and would likely draw Federal attention. If the Empire had a Tinker of their own, that would've made things a lot easier—the ABB and Roadhog's Crew both had Tinkers, which he considered to be the height of unfairness—but they didn't, so there was no sense bitching about it.

"I could make Purity invulnerable," Othala offered. "She could probably do a lot of damage before it wore off."

It was a tempting suggestion, and Max wished he didn't have to shoot it down. "Good idea but like Krieg said, Wyvern's insanely agile in the air. Also, durable even at low levels. If she didn't kill Wyvern immediately, she'd be facing something that could damn near rip the Medhall building out of the ground and fly off with it. At that level, chances are that Wyvern could tank the hits until Purity ran out of invulnerability. And finally, my beloved wife is still out there playing hero, trying to hunt down Geonchugga and round up the last of the ABB before Inago gets out of lockup. If he ever does. So she's not likely to even want to take on Wyvern until that's done with, if ever."

Crusader had stayed quiet all this time—it hadn't even needed to be said that his ghosts were unlikely to be overly effective on someone like Wyvern—but now he roused himself. "So nobody else is gonna say it, huh?"

Max looked at him. He knew the brash youngster reasonably well, and had an idea of what Crusader was referring to, but there was such as thing as plausible deniability. "Nobody is going to say what, exactly?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Crusader rolled his eyes. "We pull a Fleur on her. Find out her real name and where she lives, then put someone on her. When she least expects it, they gank her. Make it look like a mugging gone wrong or something. They don't even have to know it's Wyvern. Just someone we wanted dead."

Max stayed quiet, watching the others as they reacted to Crusader's words. He could see the appeal in the idea, and indeed he'd given the go-ahead for Fleur's killer to be inducted into the Empire Eighty-Eight after the young lout served his prison term. But it had ever been his way to read the room and go with the majority opinion, acting as though it had been his intention all along.

Not everyone would like it, he was sure. It just remained to be seen whether or not the dissenters managed to win enough people over to their point of view.

"You're shitting me, right?" Hookwolf's tone was full of disgust. "Just like that? Stab her and slab her? What the fuck's wrong with you?"

Crusader recoiled at Hookwolf's tone. "What? What are you talking about? You've killed people before. Last month, I watched you skin a cop alive."

Hookwolf bunched his fists, metal blades sliding into place to cover his forearms. "Yeah, but every asshole I ever offed, they saw me coming. I don't stab anyone in the back from the get-go. It's a fucking coward's act. Never have, never will."

"Well, maybe some of us don't have powers always protecting us!" The 'coward' comment had scored on Crusader, Max could tell. "Sometimes it's just the smart move!"

"I'm with Hook." That was Stormtiger. "I expected better of you, Crusader. Maybe the squishies can gank someone from surprise and feel good about themselves after, but we're better than them. More powerful. We don't need that edge. I go out to kill some motherfucker, I'm gonna look 'em in the eye first."

"Like Crusader said, some of us don't have that option," Rune objected. "I've seen her in action. If I went up against her at her normal size, she'd outfly me, then scorch me down to a cinder. I'd never win if I didn't get the drop on her first."

"From where I'm sitting, that's a you problem," Cricket interjected, idly spinning one of her kama around her hand. "Have you tried not being a whiny bitch?"

"Now, now, that's not fair." But Victor's voice held a tinge of amusement. "I know I wouldn't go up against her without one of Othala's enhancements. But maybe we're getting ahead of ourselves. She might not even care about us. Someone with that kind of power-up? That's major Protectorate material. Hell, that's Triumvirate material."

Slowly, Max nodded. "True. And the reverse is also a factor."

Krieg frowned and looked over at him. "The reverse?"

"Last night's little show would absolutely have put her on the Triumvirate's radar," Max explained. "Someone who could ramp up hard enough to turn Crawler into a tasty meat snack, and Jack Slash into individual atoms drifting on the breeze? They have to be paying attention to Brockton Bay right now. If nothing else, they'd have little Endbringer-shaped dollar signs in their eyes. So, I'm guessing they're drawing straws right at this moment to see who comes to town to ask her pretty please would she join in the next fight. And if we happened to remove her from consideration before they got here … I'm not willing to bet on their kind and forgiving natures. Are you?"

An extremely thoughtful silence fell across the gathered villains. Hookwolf broke it first. "A grand on Hero."

"What?" asked Crusader, totally blindsided by the non-sequitur.

"I'm betting a thousand bucks that it's Hero who comes to town," Hookwolf said patiently. "Who wants some of this action?"

"Two grand on Alexandria, for me," Cricket replied. "They'll send a girl, duh."

Max sat back and smiled secretly to himself as the battle lines were drawn. It seemed money would change hands no matter which member of the Triumvirate showed up, though it was telling that nobody had any faith in Eidolon to be the one. Not that he blamed them; since Legend quit the Protectorate, the man had hardly appeared in public at all.

Whatever happened from this point on, he would wait and see.

It was a sound course of action, one that had worked for him so far.

<><>​

Taylor

When court convened the next morning, I was wearing one of Vicky's dresses, the Nine having successfully managed to destroy all of my clothing that I hadn't wrecked so far. Dad had been wearing his glasses when he was kidnapped, and I could get by with fake frames thanks to Amy's fix job on my eyes, so we weren't having to squint to see anything. We'd been put up in PRT accommodation overnight, ostensibly for observation, and I for one had had a good night's sleep.

Which I had desperately needed. Getting that big had somehow left me with phantom muscle strains all over, to the point that I was horribly cramped the next morning. It took me about twenty minutes under a steaming hot shower (in Taylor Hebert form, not Wyvern form) to loosen up to the point that it didn't hurt when I moved anymore. Even then, I was still creaky as an old door as I got in the car (with a PRT driver; our actual car was in the shop, getting the window replaced and the side panels repainted) to go to court.

Getting out at the courthouse, I felt a little better. Then I spotted Emma and her dad with their lawyer. She saw me, I raised an eyebrow, and she literally hid behind him.

"Danny, Taylor, it's good to see you." Carol Dallon was looking very pleased with herself. "How are you doing after last night?"

Dad held up his hand and wriggled his fingers; Amy had fixed it completely after what Burnscar had done to it. "Better than I was, thanks to Amy. Ready to get this done."

I nodded in agreement. "What he said. Tell Sarah thanks for her pep-talk. It really helped." With other people present, of course, we had to watch what we said.

Carol beamed at me. "You can tell her yourself when you see her. How are you feeling, after what you ate last night?"

Was I suffering from having eaten Crawler, she meant.

"No problems at all," I assured her. "Sometimes, my stomach is just a bottomless pit. I had bacon and eggs this morning. Not too bad, actually."

"Good, good. Well, we should be getting inside. Time and court appearances wait for no man or woman."

"Well, you're having a good morning," I observed with a grin.

Carol nodded. "It helps when our newest and flashiest member destroys a notorious team of villains. New Wave is very definitely the flavour of the month."

We headed on in. Every time I saw Emma, she did her best to keep her father between us. That was mildly amusing, especially when he saw what she was doing and made her put a stop to it.

As soon as we got inside, their lawyer headed over to speak to one of the court officials. Carol went to have a word with another one. While she ws doing that, Alan Barnes sat Emma down in her seat, then came over toward us.

Ms. Castle, the county prosecutor, intercepted him before he reached us. "Mr. Barnes, it's not a good idea for you to speak to the witnesses for the prosecution without prior permission."

"I don't care." He was neatly dressed but this close, he did not look well rested. The bags under his eyes could've held enough luggage for a round-the-world trip. "I need to talk to Danny and Taylor."

"That depends on them." Ms. Castle looked back at us. "Mr. Hebert, Ms. Hebert?"

Dad glanced at me; I shrugged. "Sure. Let's hear it."

"Thank you." He came up to us, glanced at Ms. Castle, and grimaced. There was evidently a great deal he wanted to say, most of which was constrained by our lawyer's presence. Dad and I just waited; it wasn't our job to make his life easier. "I … I, uh, did a lot of thinking last night. After the thing … with the Nine … and Wyvern."

So far, he was colouring inside the lines, so Dad threw him a bone. Tilting his head, he gave Mr. Barnes a look of interest. "I was there too, you know. What exactly were you thinking about?"

More grimacing. "Jack Slash tried to get Wyvern to burn me and Emma alive, just because he could. She refused, and took on those monsters instead. She saved our lives." When we've done nothing to deserve it, his tone said loud and clear.

"She did." Dad's tone was noncommittal. "Saved mine, too, and Kurt's, and Lacey's. What's your point?"

"Life's too short for things like this to waste time on." Alan Barnes looked from Dad to me. "I've sent Richardson to pass on a message to the judge, that Emma and I have spoken about it, and we're changing her plea to guilty. The Clementses already know about this, and they're doing the same with Madison. Whatever Sophia wants to do is her own business. I wash my hands of her."

Ms. Castle blinked. "Well, that's definitely going to streamline matters today," she observed. "Mr. Hebert, Ms. Hebert, do you have a problem with this?"

Dad and I shared another glance; again, I shrugged. "Not especially," I said. "I was already over this whole thing anyway. But thanks for putting in the hard work for us."

She favoured me with a professional smile. "This case is one of the easier ones I've had to work for in quite some time. There's a certain amount of satisfaction to be found in fighting the opposition down to the wire, but it's also nice when they just throw in the towel."

Dad fronted up to Mr. Barnes. "Alan," he said quietly, "I say this as one father to another. Get Emma some professional help. She needs it."

"Yeah." It was clear Mr. Barnes didn't like the idea, but he was coming around to it. "Me too, probably."

We watched as he headed back to Emma and sat down beside her, then Ms. Castle looked at Dad and me. "Time to take your seats," she advised. "Even though he's entering a guilty plea, we've still got to do this by the book. Though that was likely the most exciting part of the case, right there."

Dad nodded. "I can't argue with that."

I had to agree. Life was so much easier when people did the smart thing.

<><>​

Coil

Well, I definitely didn't expect that.

Thomas Calvert looked over his steepled fingers at the enlarged image of Wyvern looming over Captain's Hill. His plan to set up the PRT to look bad and/or push Wyvern closer to criminal activity (and thus separate her from New Wave, leaving her open to recruitment by himself) by railroading her back into the school she despised … had somehow fizzled. Wyvern and the PRT had come out of it smelling like roses, and the real villain of the piece had been exposed and captured. Winslow had indeed burned, but it wasn't Wyvern's doing.

And now … this.

He hadn't anticipated the Nine coming to town, but people rarely did. Every time someone got a tip they were on their way and the local capes got ready for them, they never showed. It had been part of their mystique. Well, not anymore. Their mystique was well and truly dead, just like them.

Wyvern's mystique, on the other hand, had acquired whole new volumes. What she could do, and how she could do it, was now very much in the forefront of his mind. He knew who she was, where she lived, and her entire scholastic record back to first grade. That part was no mystery to him.

The six-hundred-forty-million-dollar question currently consuming his every thought process was this:

How do I get her to work for me?

It was very simple. She was far and away the most powerful cape in Brockton Bay, and indeed everywhere north of New York. Which gave him three choices for dealing with her. As a member of New Wave, he couldn't ignore her; sooner or later, they'd turn their attention to him. Which meant he had to make preparations to either leave town, suborn her to his cause, or remove her from the board altogether.

Fleeing Brockton Bay was the least palatable of the options. It would mean abandoning his entire operation, endangering his standing within the local PRT, and most likely leaving behind the cape teams he had under his sway. He could start again elsewhere, but it would be tedious at best.

On the other hand, bringing her into his stable of capes would catapult him into a position head and shoulders above every other mover and shaker in Brockton Bay and the surrounding region. By contrast, it was the best of all possible options, but he had no idea how to pull it off. When the Slaughterhouse Nine bounty payout came in, she'd be more financially well-off than he was, so offering her money would not be an option. She'd managed to avoid committing any egregious crimes, so blackmail was off the table as well.

Killing her was the simplest means of removing her from consideration as a threat. Which was why half a dozen of his men were sitting in a parked van not far from the out-of-the-way motel the PRT maintained for just this sort of purpose. His men were wearing PRT uniforms and had current IDs, which would serve to get them close enough to the Heberts for whatever needed to be done. Removing the bodies and setting fire to the premises would sufficiently muddy the waters thereafter.

Still, he always liked to have a second option. Taking up his phone, he dialled a specific number. Tattletale answered promptly, of course. She knew better than to keep him waiting. "Yeah, boss?"

"Wyvern. Best approach for getting her away from New Wave and into my pocket."

There was a brief pause, during which time she no doubt accessed her power. It was useful, but he couldn't help thinking he'd do better with an actual precognitive. But he had to make do with what he had; it wasn't like one was going to just fall into his lap.

"Sorry, boss. Not gonna happen. She'll have more money than God in a few days, and even if you kidnapped her old man, she would keep trying to get him back until you either let him go or killed him. And killing him would drive her into a rage like you wouldn't believe. She would find you, and she would eat you alive."

The surety in her voice shook him to his core. "She wouldn't necessarily find me." He hadn't told her the exact capabilities of his power, but he knew she could make educated guesses, even without data.

"Yeah. She would. Her power adapts to the threat. If you were the threat, and she wanted to find you badly enough, she would evolve an ability to beat yours. Maybe it would shut you down, or maybe it would let her see what you're doing. Either way, she'd beat you."

The message was loud and clear. Well, shit. "Understood."

He went to say more but stopped, because the cold muzzle of a pistol had made contact with his temple, just in front of his left ear. Very slowly, he turned his head, to see a woman in a fedora. She gestured at the phone, and he ended the call.

He knew who she was, and more or less what she could do. Anything she chooses to. What she wanted with him, why she was here, he was rapidly starting to figure out. "Is this about Wyvern?"

"Yes." The pistol, now about one inch from his left eye, didn't waver. "You will leave her alone. You will not attempt to harm or coerce either her or her father. You will call your men off. Is this perfectly understood?"

There was only one answer he could give that he knew would not get him shot. "Yes. It's understood."

"Good. Doorway."

She turned away, but only an idiot would've thought her vulnerable at that moment. Thomas Calvert did not consider himself an idiot. A portal opened up before her, and she stepped through. It closed again, leaving him alone in his office.

But what about me?

When do I get what I want?

The answer was simple. He wouldn't.

Well, fuck.

<><>​

Dallon Household
Taylor

Vicky picked up the three dice and rolled them. "Aww, man," she complained, looking at the result. "The barbarian's almost back again. I'm gonna have to activate my knights again."

"Serves you right for blocking my roads," Amy told her, checking the other two dice and drawing her cards. "Ooh, lots of wheat."

I grinned as I drew my resources as well. This was a really fun game, and when it came my turn I figured I'd be able to trade for the commodities I needed.

"I'll trade you for some of that wood you just drew," Dad offered Vicky. "What would you like? Ore or wheat?"

"Wheat, definitely wheat." Vicky side-eyed her sister, who was conspicuously not offering to trade any of her wheat. "How much can you spare?"

There was a knock on the door, and Dad looked around. "Were you expecting someone?"

"Not really," Vicky said. "Unless Crystal and Eric have decided to come over."

Amy shook her head. "They wouldn't bother knocking."

Carol was at the door by now. I turned to look as she opened it. There was a surprised tone in her voice as she greeted the visitor, but she didn't power up and she didn't sound worried. Then the visitor stepped inside, and I saw him properly for the first time.

Hero had been a founding member of the original Protectorate, back when it was just the four of them. The Tinker of the group, he was still considered one of the foremost proponents of that powerset in the world. He'd reluctantly taken up leadership of the entire Protectorate when Legend had split from the team for reasons still unknown, but he'd acquitted himself well in the role.

While not as naturally charismatic as the iconic flying Blaster, he was still friendly and outgoing, and everyone liked him. His gold and blue power armour, sporting the PRT logo on the shoulder-plate, would've been recognisable anywhere.

I stood up without even realising what I was doing. Concluding his handshake with Carol, Hero moved farther into the house, to where we stood around the dining room table. "Hello, there," he greeted us. "I was told I'd find Taylor Hebert here?"

"That's me," I said, more or less unnecessarily. It wasn't like he was going to mistake either Amy or Vicky for me, after all. Then the reality of the situation caught up with me.

Hero was here to see me.

Hero was here to see me.

Hero was here to see me.

"Um," I concluded.

"Good, good." He held out his gauntleted hand. "It's an honour and a pleasure to meet you, young lady. You've done the nation a great service."

Somehow, he managed to make it sound not at all cheesy; I shook his hand with a decided sense of unrealism. "Um, thanks?"

He chuckled warmly. "I get it. This is a huge surprise, and you're still trying to figure out what's going on. That's basically my fault, sorry. I tried to keep this trip on the down-low, so only half of America knew where I was going. But I really did want to meet you, and find out how you did what you did."

I blinked. He wants to get tips off me? "I'm sorry, but I haven't really looked into how I do it. I just … do it, you know? It's ninety percent pure instinct, ten percent panicked flailing."

I hadn't meant to put that last bit in, but he smiled easily when I did. "Well, all I can say is that your instincts are very much on point. I'd make a recruitment play to get you to join the Protectorate—we would very much like to have you on board—but as I understand things, you're happy here in New Wave, correct?"

I nodded. "That's correct." Then my treacherous inner thoughts had to spoil things by blurting out what was on my mind all over again. "I have to ask though, what is it with Tinkers showing up and wanting to recruit me? You're the second one to do it."

This time, he laughed out loud. "That's a good one. I'm going to see if I can get Alexandria to crack a smile when I tell her. The other Tinker would be Armsmaster, correct? Has he been a problem for you?"

"Not since Winslow," I admitted. "Some Thinker or other told him I'd be involved in a fire there, and he took that to mean that I was going to set the fire, so he literally busted in through the wall all Kool-Aid Man style. But once he realised it was Shadow Stalker, he calmed right down."

"Ah, yes, Shadow Stalker." I got the impression he'd just raised an eyebrow behind his gold tinted visor. "She's the one you nailed with an exploding fireball at a range of three hundred seven yards, correct? That's some good shooting, right there."

I shrugged. "Like I said, ninety percent instinct."

"No matter how you achieve your results, they're good results." He tilted his head slightly. "I'm very interested in the mechanics of your powers. How you can fire such high intensity flames with little heat loss, or ensure that the fireballs explode at exactly the right range. Also, the cold blast you got Burnscar with, and the disintegration effect you used on Jack Slash and Bonesaw. Would you be willing to demonstrate these for me?"

"Um." I tried to think fast. "I don't think doing it inside the PRT building is a good idea. I get kinda large, and I think they want to keep their outside walls where they are."

Again, he laughed out loud; this time, he shook his head as well. "No, that's a definite pass. I strongly suspect that whatever they're using for a backplate would not survive your powers. My idea was that we'd go up into the open air and I'd throw out holographic targets for you to hit with your various power effects, while I analyse them from off to the side. But only if you're interested."

Carol folded her arms. "And meanwhile, you get Taylor more and more at ease with you, so that when you ask about fighting Endbringers, she's more likely to say yes … correct?"

"Well, it's not intended to be as underhanded as all that," he said, then turned back to me. "I was going to bring it up at some point, yes, but I wanted to analyse the potential impact of your powers first, so I knew whether or not it was a good idea to make the offer at all."

"Right, right." He made a few good points, though Carol did too. "If I turned out to be stupidly powerful but said no to fighting Endbringers, what then?"

He shrugged. "I can't force you, and I'm not going to try. After all, the last person who tried to make you do something against your will is currently drifting around Brockton Bay as subatomic particles. Not a great idea, all told. But if you did show up as being powerful enough to make a significant difference, and were willing to step up, we'd be willing to put you through an accelerated training program to improve your chances of surviving against an Endbringer."

I was pretty sure I could figure out what he meant by that. "Translation: You'd kick the crap out of me."

He chuckled warmly and held out his hand. "I knew you were a bright kid. So, what do you say?"

It took me a moment to make my mind up. First, I glanced at Dad, who looked worried but proud that I was being given this opportunity. Then at Vicky, who was nodding repeatedly. Amy didn't show a preference one way or the other. Carol merely raised an eyebrow, as if to say, make sure you know what you're getting into.

I reached out and shook Hero's hand. "Let's do this."



[A/N: The board game they're playing is Settlers of Catan, with the Cities and Knights expansion. So much fun.]

End of Part Twenty-One

 

[Ack]

Wyvern

Part Twenty-Two: Getting the Measure

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


PRT Building ENE
Brockton Bay

Over the course of its existence, the PRT had borne witness to—and been involved in—many pitched battles and titanic struggles, against foes from Nilbog all the way up to Behemoth. Much blood had been spilled in its service over the years, and many bodies laid to rest—when such bodies could be located, which was not always the case. It was a service uniquely formed to oversee perhaps the most dangerous armed and unarmed clashes that would ever be experienced by the human race.

In the current moment, the conflict raging within the walls of the PRT Department East-North-East was just as intense as any Endbringer battle, albeit far less lethal. Favours were being offered and traded at a breakneck pace, though the shift supervisors had put a flat fifty-dollar cap on any monetary recompense. Word of what was about to happen had blazed through the grapevine at speeds any modern news organisation would weep tears of blood to see, and everyone wanted to be there for it.

Online, the back-and-forth was reaching tinfoil-hat levels of speculation, and not showing any signs of slowing down. The PHO boards were running hot, and the mods were kept busy dousing incipient flamewars and handing out temp bans like party favours; they knew it would get worse before it got better, and it was going to be a wild ride in the meantime. Everyone but everyone had an opinion, and they were all doing their best to air their own personal theories before things went down.

However, not everyone involved was exactly thrilled with the situation.

<><>​

Director Emily Piggot

Setting her elbows firmly on her desk, Emily closed her eyes and massaged her temples. "Renick," she asked rhetorically, "how did it come to this? Why aren't we doing this out to sea, or in some deserted location? Why does it have to happen over my goddamn city?"

It wasn't that she hated Wyvern, or even disliked the girl any more than she did the dozens of other capes infesting her city. As a relatively fresh trigger with a potentially devastating power, Taylor Hebert had comported herself with admirable restraint … for the most part. She had chosen not to go into the Wards (and had strenuously rejected all attempts at recruitment) but had instead opted to join New Wave, which had undoubtedly helped her through the post-trigger trauma.

The main problem she had with Hebert was the sheer power available to the girl at any minute of the day, and the potential for pure unmitigated devastation that she posed, contingent on just one temper tantrum. As she'd told the Wards and Protectorate members, she'd been fine with Wyvern as a B-class or even an A-class cape, but this jump to S-class had been as unpleasant to find out about as it had been unexpected. And then to be told by Chief Director Costa-Brown that Hero was on the way to talk to Wyvern and test her powers out, giving her zero input into the matter … that was the final shitty icing on the whole crappy cake.

Her deputy cleared his throat sympathetically. "As I understand it, Hero talked the Chief Director into agreeing to testing her in such a public forum as a PR display. The only people in Brockton Bay right now who don't know about Wyvern are probably in a coma or living under a rock, but not many have actually seen her in action. This is a good chance for her to strut her stuff, and at the same time show the people who's protecting them."

Emily gritted her teeth. Give them nightmares, more like. The size she ended up at on top of Captain's Hill … Not even the Endbringers were that large. "Got it," she grumbled. "Is there any chance of him taking her with him when he leaves?"

Renick eyed her observantly, then shook his head. "I don't believe so, no. From what I understand of her father, it would take more leverage than we could bring to bear to make him leave the city, and he isn't about to sign off on her going anywhere without him. Not to mention, she's an official member of New Wave, and good luck separating her from that team without Carol Dallon descending upon us in a hailstorm of lawsuits. We're just lucky we didn't screw up the Shadow Stalker thing too badly."

"Don't remind me," muttered Emily. "That could've gone so much worse, between whoever gaslit Armsmaster into thinking Wyvern was about to go Behemoth two point oh on the school, and that little psychopath setting the damn school on fire."

"Of course, because we didn't drag Stalker in the very moment Wyvern pointed her out, that didn't exactly cover us with glory." Renick sounded resigned. "I don't think she would've joined the Wards anyway—she made no secret of her distaste for the power testing they definitely would've wanted to carry out—but maybe it would've left us on better terms with her overall."

Emily shook her head. "Blame the Youth Guard. The moment I started logging the paperwork necessary to pull Stalker off the main roster, preparatory for an in-depth investigation into her activities, they started hounding me with queries as to where these allegations had come from, and if they'd been sufficiently checked out. All in the name of 'fairness and transparency', of course. Heaven forbid a Ward actually be held responsible for their own actions."

"Little angels, the lot of them," he agreed, in a tone so bland she knew he had to be pulling her leg. "Sometimes, I wonder if anyone in the Youth Guard has ever tried raising a teenager."

"Or if they've even been in the same room as one," Emily agreed with a smirk.

Renick nodded. "Indeed." His sense of humour was very reserved, to the point that some people in the building didn't think he had one. She knew better.

An alarm on her computer dinged, and she looked around at the window. "Ah; it seems the dog-and-pony show is about to begin."

"Oh, good." Renick stood and turned toward the door, then paused. "There should be space for us on the roof, if you want to come up with me?"

Emily shook her head. "I'll be fine. Someone needs to hold down the fort." She knew damn well that every recording device known to mankind, and a few that hadn't existed until Armsmaster and Dragon had invented them, would be trained on the upcoming testing session. Observing it with the mark one human eyeball was about the least efficient way of measuring Wyvern's capabilities.

And yet, she also knew that every person in the building who'd been able to wangle someone else into covering their duties would be on the rooftop, including all the off-duty Wards on base. She had no idea what they thought they were going to see that wouldn't be recorded and replayed in ultra-HD colour with action replays, later. It was just another spectacle; that was all.

A humorous quote by a teacher occurred to her, and she smiled sourly as she paraphrased it. My job would be so much easier without all these capes.

<><>​

Taylor

I flapped my wings hard as I climbed for altitude. My time with New Wave had not made me any more thrilled about smartass flyers who just went without bothering with anything so trivial as mere physics, but it had definitely improved my endurance. Even better, I was fitter in human form too. It would've been the height of irritation to find out that all the exercise I was getting in one form didn't translate to the other.

Talking about smartass flyers, Vicky was cruising alongside me as I flew upward. Hero, already airborne using a very cool-looking jetpack, was waiting for us at about the five-hundred-foot mark. We'd decided to start low down while I was still small, then gradually climb as I got bigger. Hero had agreed that when I was at Crawler-munching size, a mile of altitude should ensure an adequate buffer zone while allowing the public to still see what was going on.

Not that I was totally sold on the whole 'showing off my powers for the public' thing. Sure, I'd agreed to let Hero record and analyse how my various attacks worked, but I hadn't actually made the mental connection with how we'd be doing this over Brockton Bay, in full view of everyone. It hadn't helped that Vicky had taken his side, pointing out that unless we informed the public beforehand, any accidents that happened because people were distracted would legally become my fault.

Sure, I'd be able to pay off insurance claims and lawsuits for the next century, thanks to the Nine having an obscene amount of kill order bounty money on their heads, but that wasn't the point. Also, I didn't want people getting hurt because of me. That wasn't who I was.

I still couldn't believe that PHO 'draconic overlady' thread, though. Dad had blinked a lot, as though entirely unsure of what to say, while both Vicky and Amy had been helpless with laughter. It wasn't as though I wanted the fame, or notoriety, or whatever. Why couldn't I just have powers, be a hero, help people, and go home at the end of the day? Was that too much to ask?

"You're muttering again," Vicky noted with a grin as we reached Hero. "Just let it go. Idiots will idiot. And besides, they can't be your high priests. That's my job."

I gave her the dirtiest look I could muster, then rolled my eyes. She smirked, fully aware that I couldn't do anything more drastic. For one thing, Hero was right there. And for another, about ten thousand people were probably watching us with binoculars. Pretending to bite her, or blowing smoke all over her, would not be a good look.

On second thought, I wasn't even sure if I could blow smoke at this size. It was something I'd have to test another time.

"Good morning to the both of you," Hero said, dusting his hands off. "You look even more impressive close up than in the pictures I've seen, Wyvern. Ready to show us what you can do?"

I nodded, adding an agreeable chirp. Hero's whole manner made me feel that I was the most important person he wanted to talk to right then. Most of it was him being diplomatic, I knew, but it still made me feel better about the whole thing. Like my choices mattered.

"That'll be 'yes, let's kick ass and take names'," Vicky confirmed. At his quizzical look, she shrugged modestly. "I've spent enough time with her that I can pick up most of what she means."

"I see." A grin quirked one corner of his mouth. "That could come in handy from time to time. Is this why you're here, instead of observing from a distance?"

"Partly, yes," she agreed, "and partly because we arranged ahead of time what she was going to do, so I'll be giving you a heads-up until she's large enough to talk on her own."

"And maybe even then," noted Hero. "Once she gets to full size, we don't want everyone down there hearing what she's about to do."

On hearing that, I nodded. Speaking in public was bad enough, but ad-libbing as a gigantic dragon would be a nightmare. The last thing I wanted was to see any of my verbal slips showing up as an online meme.

"Yup." Vicky smiled brightly. "So, we agreed to start with the basics. Explosive fireball and the plasma jet. Which one did you want to see first?"

His lips twitched. "I can't help recalling the report about what the plasma jet did to Armsmaster's halberd, so perhaps that one first?"

I let out an indignant squawk at that, and Vicky rolled her eyes. "Did the report make it clear that it was all his fault?" she asked on my behalf. "He came in all heavy-handed, accusing Wyvern of blowing up the school, then when she Changed due to stress, he threatened her with his halberd. So, she dealt with the threat."

"Hmm." He paused introspectively. "No, I don't believe it covered those specific details. It was more a vague 'mistakes were made', then went on to cover later events."

Vicky snorted. "I just bet it was. Anyway, plasma jet it is." She turned to me. "Ready to rock and roll?"

I nodded and gave her another agreeable chirp, then looked at Hero.

"All right then," he said, and tapped a button on his forearm armour. Several small drones zipped out and around us; I restrained the urge to snap at one of them. They'd probably cost a lot of money to make, and I was sure they'd taste terrible anyway. "And … ready when you are."

As he spoke the last words, a series of holographic rings popped into view, in a direct line over the relatively few buildings between us and the coast, then straight out to sea. I'd already been assured that the PRT would be probing the sky out to the horizon and beyond to ensure nobody was in the line of fire, so I took a deep breath and let the fire boil in my gullet for a second. Then I opened my mouth wide and sent the jet streaking down the centreline of the row of rings. I'd never fired it without a backstop before, so I was somewhat impressed by how far it went.

"Well, damn," muttered Hero, apparently looking at something on a screen. It seemed he was impressed too, I decided, and gave Vicky a smug look. She responded with a thumb's up.

"So, explosive fireball now?" she asked. "Or did you want another plasma jet?"

"Fireball, please," he agreed, and changed the holographic targets to three squares at different ranges. "I understand you can set them off at any given distance?"

I nodded, then turned toward the new target range. Carefully, I spat three fireballs; each travelled toward the given target, then exploded into a ball of flame when it got there.

"And that's Wyvern for you," Vicky said, performing a little victory dance in mid-air. "Did you know she can knock down missiles with them? Even missiles that dodge?"

"I hadn't known that," Hero replied absently, examining his readouts before looking up at me. "But it doesn't surprise me. Wyvern, the energy intensity you're getting from these attacks is astounding. I know you're being careful, but I'd like to reiterate that. You need to be really careful, or you could maim or kill someone by accident."

I gave him a watch-this chirp, and fired off another one, but this time I made it as weak as I could. It hit the closest target and went pop; the fireball was barely worthy of the name.

"Okay, fine, forget I said anything," he acknowledged. "Your power at this level is impressive, and your control is equally so. Would you like to size up a bit so we can measure your power increments?"

I took a deep breath, then pushed for extra size, to the point I'd been after I'd fought Inago. "Like this?" I asked, as quietly as I could manage.

"Exactly like that." He stared at me and shook his head slightly. "That size change definitely takes a little getting used to."

Vicky smirked. "Oh, trust me. You ain't seen nothing yet."

"I'm certainly looking forward to it." He gestured upward. "Maybe we should go another five hundred feet up, to keep Director Piggot happy?"

"Okay." I exerted myself and flew higher; Hero and Vicky easily kept pace with me.

This was kinda fun. I was looking forward to trying out the same attacks when I got really big.

<><>​

Armsmaster

Colin moved carefully through the crowd atop the roof of the PRT building. He had several devices recording in every wavelength he and Dragon could come up with, and a few they weren't sure of. Just for the occasion, he'd built magnifiers into his visor so he could observe the testing without needing to deal with binoculars; so far, he was reasonably impressed with Wyvern's capabilities.

Just ahead of him, the off-duty Wards—Clockblocker, Vista and Triumph—huddled together in a small group. The reason for this was quickly evident; Vista had opened a weird distortion in space so they could see more clearly. Shading his helmet faceplate with his hand, Clockblocker leaned toward Triumph. "Hey, isn't that how big she was when she told Armsmaster to fuck off?"

"Yes," Colin said from right behind him. "It is."

The way the boy jumped was comical. Colin thought it was a pity that he was wearing a full-faced helmet, because his expression would've been just as funny. "Wah—sorry—I, uh, didn't see you there, sir!"

"Evidently." Armsmaster lowered his voice slightly. "Let this be a lesson. Always make sure there's nobody listening if you're tempted to say something indiscreet like that."

"Uh huh. Totally." From the shaken tone of Clockblocker's voice, he'd take the advice to heart.

Colin moved away, not wanting to crowd the youngsters. Just as he focused the magnifiers on the hovering dragon once more, another Dragon made herself known in his earpiece. "Now, was that nice?" she asked, amusement evident in her tone.

"I was nice!" he protested. "I didn't punish him for it, and maybe he'll be more discreet in future."

"Mm-hmm. Now tell me you didn't do it that way because it was funnier."

She could always read him like a book, even at the other end of a radio signal. "I plead the fifth."

"So I figured—ooh. That was bright."

'That' was the plasma jet that Wyvern had just deployed, and Dragon wasn't wrong. Even from where he was, he could tell that it was significantly more powerful than the one she'd used to melt his halberd in her base form. The blue-white actinic spear of flame had at least ten times the range and briefly outshone the sun, even from over eight hundred feet away.

They fell silent as they watched her throw out more exploding fireballs—equally powerful, if he was any judge—then followed up with a rolling torrent of flame that would've covered a football field before it petered out.

"Okay," Dragon ventured as everyone around him gasped in surprise. "I didn't know about that bit."

"It was in the witness statements," Colin admitted. "Though I didn't know it was so … widespread."

"What's happening now? Is she going to upsize again? They don't seem to be gaining altitude."

"I'm not sure," he said, then blinked as she changed again, but not in size. "Okay, this is interesting."

"You have a knack for understatement." Her tone was dry.

Wyvern had changed colour, her scales altering from red and gold to black and ice-blue. Her form lengthened as well, becoming skinnier and somehow more hungry-looking. Murmurs rolled through the crowd as she hovered there, then the targets changed again to a dozen or more tiny holographic balls darting around each other in front of her. Wyvern seemed to cough, and only his enhanced visor allowed him to catch the tiny shards of … ice? Whatever they were, they darted through the air, changing direction to home in on the targets, which 'popped' when hit.

"Colin, that's a totally different type of dragon. Where's she getting all these changes from? And did she steer those ice shards onto target?"

"It certainly looks like—whoa." He gasped as Wyvern inhaled, and a sudden chill settled over the building. His helmet readout indicated that the ambient air temperature had just dropped by a good ten degrees Fahrenheit in a second or so. A light dusting of snow became visible all around, drifting down over the buildings, and he could see people's breath steaming in the air. His visor tried to fog over, but internal heating systems prevented that.

"What just happened?" Dragon's voice was audibly concerned. "Half my gauges just jumped. There was a massive heat exchange, just then." She paused. "Is that … is that temperature reading correct?"

"Certainly feels like it." He looked around; the snow was already sublimating again. "That was … crazy."

"I really want to see how she's doing this," she said. "There should be considerable heat readings from something like that, but there's nothing."

"So far," he agreed, without taking his eyes off Wyvern. Opening her jaws, she exhaled a burst of … something. It vaguely resembled fire, except that it was dark blue; as it shot away toward the ocean, it caused another chill in the air. For this one, there was an actual physical target in the zone, a man-sized drone drifting around on rotors. The blue bolt hit and the entire thing froze solid in an instant, plummeting toward the ocean.

"And that must be how Burnscar died," Dragon decided.

"That's my guess, too." It was good to have confirmation of the witness statements, as rambling and incoherent as some of them were, but also very sobering. Subtracting that much heat from the air over such a wide area … that took a lot of power. As Dragon had asked, where had it even gone to?

It seemed Wyvern was going to upsize again, as she began to climb for more altitude, with Hero and Glory Girl accompanying her. Colin took the opportunity to look around and gauge the mood of the crowd. Everyone seemed interested and engaged, talking about what had just happened.

"I'm trying to calculate the effect that cold attack would have on Behemoth or Leviathan," Dragon commented. "What do you think?"

He rubbed his beard with thumb and forefinger as he thought about it. "Leviathan might be able to shake it off. I mean, his control over water is absolute. But Behemoth …" His voice trailed off as he considered the notion.

"Yes, exactly." Dragon seemed to be on the same page. "Wyvern takes energy and puts it somewhere else. Anything that can reduce the amount of energy coming off Behemoth would have to be a good thing."

"Also, she's shown a lot of ability to focus her powers so bystanders aren't harmed," he noted. The plasma jet that had melted his halberd, once upon a time, should have given him third degree burns, but had only inflicted a light sunburn and scorched his beard a little. "She could unleash that cold attack in the middle of a crowded battle, and very likely hit only her target, even if it was someone like the Simurgh." A mental image of the third Endbringer looking grumpy in a parka briefly amused him, but then he had to focus on Wyvern as she began using her powers again.

"Wait, when did she go back to red and gold?" asked Dragon. "That was a very smooth change. I only just noticed it."

"The same time as she finished upsizing, when she did that mid-air pirouette," Colin informed her. "I was watching for it."

"Oh. Right. Yes, now I see. She just keeps on getting bigger, doesn't she?"

"Blame Brockton Bay," he said dryly. It was true; even though his rangefinder put her at two thousand feet of altitude, it was still easy to see what she was doing. Ironically, with no other reference points for her size, it almost seemed as though Glory Girl and Hero had shrunk in comparison to her. And the plasma jet was just as hot and bright as before despite the extra distance, effortlessly ticking the ambient temperature up again by several degrees. Perhaps twice the length of a commercial charter jet, she effortlessly kept her place in the sky with those massive wings.

"That girl is going to make a lot of people very nervous," Dragon observed. "I mean, she could obliterate a small town from the map in a very short time from half a mile up, if she put her mind to it."

"She's already making them nervous, if I'm any judge." He didn't elaborate; Director Piggot was very carefully pretending that meeting hadn't happened, so it wasn't his job to tell anyone about it.

They fell silent again as Wyvern scaled up yet more. By this time, the two other heroes were tiny motes flitting around her head, literally insects by scale to her. From a mile away, they were almost impossible to see without magnification, while it was perfectly possible to see every detail of her markings without eyestrain. She wasn't talking, though he knew she could. Instead, she was nodding her head ponderously in response to a suggestion or a question.

"I wonder what they're talking about," mused Dragon. "It's not like they haven't been doing it by the numbers so far."

"Something different, I guess. I'm just glad that they are talking, and she's intelligent enough at that size to still be her."

"Why, Colin." She sounded amused. "You sound actually protective toward her."

He snorted. "She's impetuous and snarky and a little too willing to lash out, but yes. Her heart's in the right place."

This time, she chuckled. "In other words, a typical teenager."

"If you say so." But he smiled despite himself. Dragon was providing what he'd been missing in the case of Taylor Hebert: some much-needed perspective. He'd been coming at her with the attitude that she was the hero they needed, while she wanted less to be a hero and more to be a teen. It was no wonder that he'd shoved both feet in his mouth every time he'd tried to press the recruitment.

In the next moment, Wyvern tilted her head back and opened her jaws wide. From that capacious maw—he estimated there was at least a hundred-foot gap between her top and bottom lips—she reiterated the wide-area flame burst, but not out to sea. Upward.

There was a moment of stunned silence across the rooftop as it seemed half the sky was on fire. Colin blinked at the sheer area she was able to cover with one breath. "You are seeing this, right?" he asked quietly.

"Oh, I'm definitely seeing this," she confirmed. "If my calculations are correct, that would've depopulated an entire town at once, or at least set the whole thing on fire. And I'm not even considering the splash factor."

"I've heard it said that capes are walking WMDs," he said grimly. "Those people should be here to see this, just to get a sense of proportion."

"I'm actually concerned that someone might decide to attack her pre-emptively," Dragon said slowly. "Strike first, in case she turns out to be hostile."

"Well …" Colin waited as three enormous fireballs soared skyward, rocketing upward at a speed few capes could match. When they went off—his rangefinder placed them at an average distance of ten miles away vertically—the airbursts covered a respectable area of sky, and the detonations rattled his armour. "Okay, yes, she'd be able to lay waste to a major city from airliner altitude. If she could get up that high. Which I wouldn't bet against."

"Or she could snipe incoming missiles or strategic bombers, from ground level," Dragon suggested. "Just by the way, I'd ramp up your visor polarisation if I were you. I'm pretty sure she's going to be showing off the plasma jet next, and we already know that's bright."

"Good idea." He sent the command to his armour, and saw his vision darken. Wyvern was still visible, but there were no clouds anywhere in the sky. He wasn't altogether surprised.

When she unleashed the plasma jet, it was a solid bar of violet light that lanced upward and yet farther upward. Stunned, Colin watched as it seemed almost to reach the edge of the atmosphere. A moment later, the city shook under a rolling kkkkkkkkkkkkkk-k-k-krakBOOM, almost like a lightning strike. His armour readouts popped up in his HUD, a few gauges jumping. "Are you seeing this?"

"I am." Dragon sounded as taken aback as he felt. "It looks like the ionisation was so strong it was able to temporarily affect electronics. Kind of a poor man's EMP."

"Who needs the EMP? With that beam, she'd be able to evaporate anything in her way. Including large hills."

"You think you're joking—wait, something just happened. She changed again."

He focused on the distant hovering dragon. "Are you sure? She's not any bigger."

"No, it was very subtle this time. The reds are more purplish now."

Now that she mentioned it, he could see what she was talking about. "Huh. You're right."

More targets—these ones with brightly blinking lights, probably to make them more visible to the spectators below—spread out in front of Wyvern. There seemed to be quite a few of them.

"Is she going to do what I think she's going to do?" Dragon's tone indicated that her interest was peaking.

"Whatever she did to Jack Slash and Bonesaw? Definitely." Colin took a second to check the feeds of his recording devices. They were all in the green, which was good. The PRT would want this data.

The purple 'flame' that washed out from Wyvern's jaws was somewhere between the plasma jet and the wide-area burst in coverage. It covered the hovering target drones; when it receded, they were … gone. Not damaged, not destroyed and falling over the city, just gone. As if they'd never been.

"Well, that was a thing." Dragon sounded pensive. "Rule number one: don't get in front of Wyvern if she's annoyed at you."

"That was already my rule number one where she's concerned," he retorted. "But have you seen how agile she is in the air? It's virtually impossible not to be in her line of fire if she wants you there."

"Also a very good point. Did you notice that there was no particular heat or cold signature from the disintegration attack? Which is truly impressive, if you recall the classic Einstein formula."

Colin blinked. "Damn, you're right. Emm cee squared. If she simply negated that matter … where did the energy go?"

"I'm not sure either, but I'm glad she's got the balance right. If her power misplaced a decimal point and removed that much heat again from the environment around you, Brockton Bay would be frozen solid right now."

"Very true. It would be kind of like the blue dragon instant ice age thing all over again. Not something I want to see, at that scale."

Amused, she snorted. "You don't fool me, Colin. You'd love to see it."

"Okay, granted." He rolled his eyes. "But from a safe distance. Maybe Boston."

"Haha, true. Well, at least we've got confirmation on what happened to Jack and Bonesaw. And Crawler too, I suppose."

Wings pulled in close to her body, Wyvern turned and dived. Colin watched, having no idea what to say as the immense red-gold creature loomed larger and larger, flanked by the gold and blue form of Hero on one side, and the white and gold of Glory Girl on the other. At this size, Wyvern was majestic, and he could suddenly see how the 'high priest' jokes had started on PHO.

If they were jokes.

When she was almost down to skyscraper level, Wyvern's wings unfurled in a thunderclap that set off car alarms and made Colin grateful for the hearing protection he had recently installed in his helmet. Some may have accused him of being set in his ways, but he was perfectly capable of learning. When it came to dealing with capes like Wyvern, he learned fast.

Immense pinions spread wide, Wyvern raced across the city, her teeth bared in what was unmistakeably a grin of enjoyment. Colin took a moment to determine that yes, the estimates of her wingspan had been accurate just before she passed overhead, briefly shading them from the sun. "God damn," he muttered. "If I were the local criminal element, I'd be moving to Florida."

"I don't know," Dragon mused. "As I understand things, you have some very stubborn gangs there."

"I would imagine less so, since she tangled with Inago," he reminded her. "And the Nine had no luck at all when they came to town."

"Very true—" She stopped talking when Wyvern suddenly pulled up into a sharp Immelmann manoeuvre; he'd known she was agile, but not that agile. Slowing to a hover at the top of the half-loop, she held position over the city.

"Thank you, Brockton Bay," she said, her booming tones echoing over the city. Colin had no doubt they could hear her from the Trainyards all the way to Downtown. "You've been a great audience. I'll see you around."

Once more flanked by Hero and Glory Girl, she banked over onto one wing, then descended again. However, this time she was reducing in size as she went, so that by the time she passed between the buildings and out of sight, she was small enough to fit.

There was a pause, then Director Piggot's acerbic voice crackled out of the speakers surrounding the rooftop space. "Ladies and gentlemen of the PRT, Protectorate and Wards, the demonstration is over. You can get back to work now."

This served to break the spell; laughing and chattering, the PRT employees and capes began to file back toward the rooftop entrance. Colin lingered for a moment, looking out over the city where all was quiet, at least for the moment.

"You okay there?" Dragon's voice was quiet.

"Yes." He shook himself and took a deep breath. "I knew it would be impressive. I didn't know how impressive. Or terrifying. One of the two."

"Well, whatever else happens today, we've definitely got enough recording data to keep us busy for hours, if not days." She sounded like she couldn't wait to get started with the analysis, to see if any of it could used to inspire new Tinkertech. It was one of the many things he appreciated about her; she understood what really mattered in life.

"Yes." He smiled. "I really think we just saw the balance of power tip toward the good guys." It would've been nice if he'd been the one to mentor Taylor Hebert into finding her true levels of power, but life wasn't fair sometimes.

"That's true. But we've still got our part to play. Everyone needs backup, sooner or later."

And once more, Dragon knew the exact right thing to say. Even as envy tried to dig its claws into him, he was able to remind himself that Wyvern was no Dauntless. There was no shame in being outmatched by someone who was easily Triumvirate-tier. And as Dragon had said, he still had his own part to play. Just as he couldn't do what Wyvern could, neither could she match him in his chosen field of expertise.

Dusting off his armour gauntlets, he headed for the roof exit. "Let's get to it. This data isn't about to analyse itself."

<><>​

Taylor

Flaring my wings, I landed on the lawn outside the Dallon household. Vicky landed a second or so later and went ahead to open the door for me. "Holy shit!" she enthused. "Did you see their faces? You wowed them, girlfriend! Wyvern is out there!"

I chirped a noncommittal agreement, then furled my wings and made my way in through the door, with Hero following behind. Vicky hadn't been the one showing off for the public; I had. What if I'd scared them more than I'd impressed them? I didn't want to drag down New Wave's good name.

Amy and Mrs Dallon met me, the former holding the fluffy gown that had more or less been designated as mine. The clothing I'd been wearing before I went out was lying on the sofa, neatly folded. I suspected either Mrs Dallon or Amy had gotten to it, because Vicky couldn't fold a handkerchief to save her life.

"Okay, everyone, changing time," Amy announced. "Hero, avert your eyes, please. Taylor needs her privacy."

I nodded and gave her a chirp of thanks, then concentrated. This time, the change came relatively easily; I was still riding the adrenaline from putting on a show in front of the entire city. Accepting the gown from Amy, I wrapped it around myself. "I'm good," I said, fastening the belt. "Thanks, everyone."

"You're welcome, Taylor." Hero's smile became a boyish grin as he turned back toward me. "I'm just going to say, that was damned impressive. You exceeded my expectations by a considerable amount, and I came into this with high expectations."

A warm feeling spread through my chest. "I … thanks. But was I too scary? I mean, all those teeth and claws and wings, and the fire breath and stuff? Are people going to accept me for who I want to be, or are they going to be calling me the monster of New Wave?"

"Hey." Vicky stepped forward and put her arms around me. I leaned into the embrace; it was what I needed, right now. "That's not what's gonna happen. You're the best thing that ever happened to this team, Taylor. The wyvern is amazeballs, and everyone out there has just learned that they can't just push you down. Because if they try, you'll just get bigger and more powerful. Escalation city, baby!"

I nodded. "I just don't want to go over the top with someone and hurt them too badly, you know? Purse snatchers don't deserve a month in the ICU with third degree burns, that sort of thing."

"And that's a perfectly applicable concern," Mrs Dallon confirmed. "Yes, your wyvern form is extremely powerful, but you've already shown yourself capable of restraint when necessary. I don't want you to ever forget, Taylor, that even as you're here for us, we're here for you as well." She gave Vicky a mildly exasperated glance. "And no, the answer is not always to escalate."

Vicky grinned impudently. "It is most of the time, though. Tell me I'm wrong."

Hero cleared his throat before the argument could get out of hand. "Be that as it may, I'd like to talk about some of my preliminary findings. I think you'll find these interesting."

"Absolutely," I agreed, then gestured at my folded clothing. "I'll just change first, though. Fluffy pink bathrobes are not my first choice for serious superhero discussions."

He grinned and nodded. "Mine neither, though you'd be surprised with some of the heroes I've known."

"Not even going to ask." Grabbing my clothes, I escaped to Vicky's room upstairs, and got dressed as quickly as I was able; the bathrobe I left draped over Vicky's bed.

As I came back downstairs, I heard laughter from the living room. Vicky and Amy were on one sofa while Hero and Mrs Dallon had taken the other. Hero was apparently describing an amusing incident, but as I hadn't heard the beginning I lacked the context for why it was so funny.

"... and I'm pretty sure he still can't stand the sight of fish," he concluded. "Ah, Taylor. How are you feeling?"

"Pretty good, actually." I saw that Vicky had scooted over to make room, so I sat down beside her. "At least now everyone knows the gist of what I can do, so they won't be picking fights if they can't take a hit."

Amy rolled her eyes. "Never underestimate the overconfidence of a cape who doesn't know he's out of his league. Trust me, I've patched up way too many idiots who bit off more they can chew. 'Nobody told me they were that strong' is their go-to for that."

"Gee, thanks." I wrinkled my nose at her. She grinned back at me.

"Indeed," said Hero dryly. "So, I had some notes on your powers. Did you know you generate a magnetic sleeve around your plasma jet when you fire it? Also, your explosive fireballs come in self-sustaining magnetic bottles that release when they hit the correct range. But it's more than just magnetism; there's some kind of shielding effect that protects non-targets from the worst of the heat."

"No, actually," I said carefully. "I did not, in fact, know that." It was a sobering realisation, that there was far more to my powers than 'I just do it'.

Amy frowned. "Okay, I get that. But where does the fire, or the plasma, come from? Or all that extra mass? Every time she sizes up, her entire anatomy rebuilds itself for the most efficient configuration at that size."

"It's a powers thing," Vicky explained unhelpfully. "The professor running this class I'm taking says that the latest theory is that capes who produce something out of nothing are tapping into another dimension, where there's plenty of energy, or lots of basic matter, that their powers convert for what they need."

"What about the cold blast attack?" asked Mrs Dallon. "High school was awhile ago for me, but I'm reasonably sure that cold isn't an energy form. It's a lack of energy."

Hero raised a finger and nodded. "That one had me puzzled as well," he agreed. "But I think I have it figured out." He looked at me. "When you used the cold-based attack, my instruments showed that you were tapping into another dimension, alright. One that never really had a Big Bang. Ambient temperature just above absolute zero. So when given an appropriate interface, it just dragged the energy away."

"Well, dang." I shrugged uneasily. "So what about the disintegration effect? Is that from another dimension, too?"

"Not in the way you'd think," he said seriously. "From what I can tell, you 'borrow' the energy to jump-start the matter-annihilation process from one of those spare dimensions. Once you've got it started, you funnel the energy back into the same dimension, paying it back with interest. But the disintegration effect is your power, not something applied from outside."

I nodded to show I'd understood. "Thanks. I hope I never have to use it again."

Vicky grabbed me in a side-hug. "Still, better to have it and not need it."

I couldn't really argue with that.

<><>​

ABB Headquarters
Geonchugga

Ha-joon switched off the TV and sat facing the dark rectangle, thinking. He'd seen Wyvern once, when the New Wave dragon had killed Oni Lee and bitten off Inago's arm before capturing him. At that moment in time, trying to go up against her when he had Roadhog opposing him as well had seemed the height of idiocy. Better to retreat and regroup.

His plan had been to hit the PRT building with a big enough mech that nobody was able to effectively fight back, and extract Inago that way. However, given what he'd just seen ...

Standing up, he went over to the table where he'd drawn up his plans. The assault mech had seemed indomitable, unbeatable, standing as tall as the PRT building itself. Its firepower had been unmatched ... until Wyvern had unleashed a plasma jet fifteen feet across and over twenty miles long. As a part of a demonstration. And that hadn't even covered her disintegration burst, or the freezing breath.

Screw that, he decided. I'm not paid enough for this shit.

<><>​

The Lair of Uber and Leet

After the TV flicked off, the two men sat in increasingly introspective silence, until the weedier one spoke.

"Dude?"

"Yeah?" answered his well-built buddy.

"You know how I wanted to try to pull her into a show and you told me not to?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it."



End of Part Twenty-Two

 

[Ack]

Wyvern

Part Twenty-Three: The Proposition

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

■​

Welcome to the Parahumans Online message boards.
You are currently logged in, TheRealGloryGirl
You are viewing:
• Threads you have replied to
• AND Threads that have new replies
• OR private message conversations with new replies
• Thread OP is displayed.
• Ten posts per page
• Last ten messages in private message history.
• Threads and private messages are ordered chronologically.

■​

♦ Topic: All Hail
In: Boards ► World ► United States ► Brockton Bay ► Capes ► Wyvern ► Welcoming Our New Draconic Overlord
MadTinfoilHatter312 (Original Poster) (Temp Banned)
Posted On Jan 21st 2011:

I'll be honest.
Up until yesterday, I thought Wyvern was just another flashy cape. Sure, she's a dragon, but that's actually less quirky than some powers out there. Flight, durability, Blaster ability ... typical cape, right? Typical cape.
When she bulked out to fight Inago, I kind of paid attention, because that was a step up. But even then, I figured it was something she had to really work to achieve. Capes do this sort of thing, yeah?
And then ... the Nine came to town and poked the bear. I mean, the dragon.
Um.
I have no words for what must've happened next. If Jack Slash didn't have brown pants by the time she finished demolishing the team around him and NOMMING DOWN ON FUCKING CRAWLER, then he was a better man than I'll ever be (spoilers: I don't believe it for a second).
I woke up last night, wondering why the thunder sounded like words, and looked out my window. When I saw her perching on Captain's Hill like every bad fantasy movie ever, I honestly thought I was having a nightmare.
Then, when I realized I was awake and she was still there, that's when I came to my Epiphany.
Wyvern isn't a cape.
She's more than that.
Much more.
She is a dark and benevolent goddess in draconic form, and she deserves our devotion. She is here to Protect us from the Forces of Evil and we must acknowledge this, so she does not tire of our presence.
All hail our new draconic overlord.
All hail Wyvern.
I have spoken.

(Showing page 74 of 128)

►Laotsunn (Kyushu Survivor)
Replied On Jan 22nd 2011:
Listen, all I'm saying is, I got off Kyushu just before Leviathan sank the whole damn island. I've SEEN an Endbringer. And now I've got something living in the same damn city as me that's ten times bigger and scarier than the biggest Endbringer out there.
Why does the universe hate me?

►Gerk_McThudge
Replied On Jan 22nd 2011:
Here's a scary thought. What if this isn't her final size?
inb4 she goes full-on Ancalagon the Black.

►Brocktonite03 (Veteran Member)
Replied On Jan 22nd 2011:
Having watched the power demo (and suffered through endless geek-outs of power pundits online) I've just got one question:
Is it too late to throw my name into the hat to be considered for the role of High Priest? I'm told I've got a talent for groveling.

►AverageAlexandros (Cape Husband)
Replied On Jan 22nd 2011:
Just gonna say, Hero's got some serious mojo for asking Wyvern to stand still for power testing ... and doing it in such a way that she agreed. (I've heard rumors she was firmly against letting the PRT poke and prod her, just saying).

►WavyLight
Replied On Jan 22nd 2011:
I'm personally worried the cape gangs might try to bring in a Master from outside to bend her to their will. If she goes villain, the whole city will potentially end up as a smoking crater.

►Bagrat (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
Replied On Jan 22nd 2011:
I have it on good authority that the Nine already included Cherish, an emotion controlling Master. Pretty sure she would've been working on Wyvern as hard as she could, and Wyvern still ganked the whole team.
"Do not try to Master Wyverns, for you are crunchy and good with ketchup".

►Undying345
Replied On Jan 22nd 2011:
Yeah, but what about Endbringers? I mean, the real deal. They're a lot tougher than they look, and Behemoth (just for instance) wouldn't even be worried about that flame. He throws enough of it around as it is.

►Tangle
Replied On Jan 22nd 2011:
I guess the big question is: can Behemoth stand up to her disintegration effect? Is that a type of energy he can affect?
Even if it is, can he stand up to the cold blast thing? Last I checked, cold is the absence of energy.
I guess we'll have to wait and see.

►Splinter684
Replied On Jan 22nd 2011:
That's ... actually a really good question.
If Wyvern is subtracting energy, can Behemoth add enough to overcome it, or can she freeze him solid?
Given that she briefly made it snow over most of the city just for funsies ...

►Dark_Lord_Follower_9999 (Banned)
Replied On Jan 22nd 2011:
Cease your heresy at once.
Our Dark Lord Behemoth controls all the energy. His wrath knows no bounds, and he will destroy the pretender Wyvern with the greatest of ease. She will fall before him, as will all unbelievers.
His Power shall reign triumphant.
​

End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 72, 73, 74, 75, 76 ... 126, 127, 128

■

<><>​

Taylor

Vicky pushed back from the computer to give me room to read the messages properly. "It went downhill after this bit," she explained. "Some Fallen assholes started trying to flood the boards, but once they got into a full-on screaming match with MadTinfoilHatter, complete with all-caps and elaborate threats, the mods clamped down and started issuing threadbans."

"Ugh." I grimaced, not at all happy about the whole thing. Especially the 'draconic overlord' bit. Even though Vicky thought it was hilarious. As for the people trying to apply for the job of high priest … nope. Just nope. "Should I put a post up, explaining that they're going way too far and how I'm just another cape?"

"Albeit a terrifyingly powerful one?" Vicky raised her eyebrows, then smirked at the dirty look I sent her way. "Sorry, wouldn't work. By now, everyone still posting has got the bit in their teeth and they're charging ahead on their own personal hobby-horse; everyone else's opinion be damned. If you posted up right now, the all-hail crew would see it as a visitation from their deity but interpret what you're saying to whatever they want it to mean. Meanwhile, the trolls would argue with you and make out you're an impostor, posting under Wyvern's name. We've had several attempts at that so far already. The normal fans would mob you, asking for any and all information. And the haters would try to dogpile you out of existence." She shook her head. "Right now, the whole thread is a hot mess I wouldn't inflict on my worst enemy. If I had a worst enemy."

"Great." I rolled my eyes. "So much for connecting to the public and reassuring them that they're in no danger from me, and there's no need to worship me."

Amy snorted. "There's always a divide between capes and non-capes. It gets pretty tenuous when you're down in the C and D lists, but A and B list capes get some respect and S-rank capes get lots of it. The trouble with the majority of capes is this respect is due specifically to their powers. And if the public is paying attention to your powers? They've just learned how your cute little human-sized Changer form can become a gigantic flying predator capable of obliterating the whole damn city from thirty thousand feet, and eating a crosstown bus as a light snack." Her tone became even more sour. "And Vicky wonders why I never tell anyone about everything I'm able to do."

"So I can't win." I shook my head. "If I'd refused the demonstration, word would've gotten out pretty quickly anyway because everyone saw me on Captain's Hill, only there'd be a lot more speculation. I did a controlled demonstration with Hero's assistance, making sure nobody got hurt, and even said a few words to the public afterward, and this happens. What should I do? Can this even be fixed? What if we went down to the Boardwalk and just had a general meet-and-greet with the public?"

Vicky appeared to consider it, then shook her head. "No. It might go well at first, but there are some in this city who have a vested interest in you not being accepted as a popular hero."

I stared at her, more shocked than I wanted to admit. "What?"

"The Winslow thing," Amy filled in. "Whoever faked out Armsmaster with that stupid tip-off knew exactly what they were doing. And they've got the pull to make your idiot principal try to force you back to Winslow."

"What she said," Vicky agreed. "If we went down there, these people would get someone on site just as quickly as they could, with orders to make you look as bad as possible. Provoke you into attacking them, or failing that, into doing something they can interpret as an attack. And you can be damn sure the news crews will run with any stories like that. 'Wyvern: is the huge scary dragon out of control?' will get the public's attention a hell of a lot faster than 'Wyvern: our big cuddly dragon isn't dangerous at all'. See what I mean?"

"Wait, let's rewind for a second." I made the time-out gesture. "So, if the Armsmaster thing was a deliberate attempt to get me in trouble, has anyone actually investigated it?"

"Yeah. Mom was following it pretty closely." Vicky shrugged. "Blackwell says she got a call from someone claiming to be a PRT officer, and who knew all the right code words. But the name they gave didn't belong to anyone in the building. So, it's either an outsider who knows the procedure or an insider who knew there'd be blowback."

I shook my head again. "And you wonder why I'm totally reluctant to go anywhere near the PRT for any reason. I don't know which possibility is worse: that people can just impersonate them with ease, or there might be one or more of them who hates me so badly they don't want me to be a hero at all."

"To be fair, the PRT command structure almost certainly isn't behind this," Vicky said, apparently trying for a reassuring tone. "It's worrying that someone's doing this and they haven't been caught yet, but if they keep trying we'll catch up with them sooner or later."

"Yeah, but will it be before or after they convince the actual PRT to draft me, Birdcage me, or just snipe me from two city blocks away?" I snarked, trying to tell myself that I was worried for no reason. The PRT were the good guys, and had checks and balances to prevent this sort of thing … didn't they?

Before Vicky or Amy could comment, there was a knock on the bedroom door. "Taylor, are you in there?" called Mrs Dallon.

"Yeah, I'm here," I said, going over and opening the door. "What's up? Has Dad called?"

"No." She shook her head. "But Director Piggot has."

"What?" All of a sudden, my unformed fears seemed to gain quite a bit more substance. "Why?"

"She didn't share that with me." Mrs Dallon gestured toward the stairs. "The phone's downstairs in my office. We'll take the call in there—just the two of us," she added sharply as Vicky came over to us, "—and find out what she wants."

"What?" Vicky looked as betrayed as she sounded. "Taylor's our teammate. We've got a right to know what the Director wants."

Her mother was evidently used to dealing with her in these situations; her voice had no give in it at all. "And we'll fill you in, just as soon as we're done with the phone call. Come along, Taylor."

I followed Mrs Dallon along the corridor and down the stairs. We entered her office and I took my customary chair in front of her desk. With the door closed, it was quiet and peaceful in there, with the faint odour of wood polish overlaying the smell of old books.

Mrs Dallon sat down in her office chair and tapped the phone on the desk, activating the speaker. "Director Piggot, I'm back. Wyvern is with me. We're otherwise alone." She gestured at me to speak.

"Uh, yeah," I said. "Wyvern, here." Is she calling me to say I'm under arrest and not to move until PRT troopers get here?

"Hello, Wyvern." I'd never met Director Piggot before, nor even heard her voice, but she sounded like someone whom it was highly ill-advised to fuck with. "I understand you are a member of New Wave and thus not under my command, but I would like to have a face-to-face meeting with you at your earliest convenience."

I blinked, my brain popping up three points for me to consider.

First, it had been explained to me that while New Wave was nominally an independent team, they were affiliated with the PRT. This afforded them certain advantages in dealing with the PRT, but came with obligations as well. Such as not hanging up on the Director when she called asking for an interview.

Second, everything I'd ever heard or read about the Director indicated that she didn't beat around the bush. The phrasing she'd just used was probably the politest she was ever going to get.

Third, the specific phrase 'at your earliest convenience' was essentially military-speak (I'd read somewhere) for 'right now had better be convenient for you'.

Which meant (in reverse order) that: she really wanted to talk to me; she was actually trying to be nice about it; and it would probably be a bad idea for the team if I just blew her off.

Now I was totally curious about what was going on.

"I, uh …" I glanced at Mrs Dallon. She gestured for me to go on. "I can be over shortly. With Glory Girl, of course." There was no way I was going there on my own. For that matter, if I knew her, there was no way she'd let me go on my own.

"And me." Mrs Dallon's voice could've cracked concrete. "As a new member of the New Wave, Wyvern does not go anywhere in her Changer form without being accompanied by an adult member of the team. Today, that duty falls to me. Is this acceptable?" The subtext was remarkably easy to read: if it isn't, tough.

"Perfectly." It seemed the Director was a woman of few words. "I will await your arrival." She hung up, ending the call as abruptly as she'd begun our brief conversation.

"Okay, then," I said, as soon as I was sure that the call was over. "Did she sound mad to you? Because she didn't to me."

"No, she didn't." Mrs Dallon rubbed her lips with her thumb. "She wants something. It's the only explanation I can think of. There's something she specifically wants you to do, and she figures getting you to come to her gives her request a higher probability of success. Trappings of power, and so forth."

"So, I should go?" I was pretty sure the answer was yes, but Mrs Dallon was a lot smarter about this sort of thing than I was.

"We should go," she corrected me. I didn't care; it was what I'd meant anyway. "Victoria will be carrying me. Do you still have any of those adjustable costumes Parian made for you?"

I frowned; to my recollection, we still had a couple left. "Uh, yeah, but if I have to get any bigger than normal, it'll be shreds on the wind."

"We'll take the chance," she decided. "Whatever this meeting is about, I absolutely want you able to express yourself clearly and concisely. The alphabet sheet is a passable stopgap, but nothing beats being able to talk."

I was also reasonably sure the ceilings in the PRT building weren't high enough to accommodate me in my 'talking' size, so I nodded in agreement. "So … we fly there, then I change back and mask up once we're on site. Got it."

"Exactly. Also, I want you showing up in New Wave colours, to underline that you're part of our team, not theirs. Emily Piggot has the right to make reasonable requests of us, but she can't order and she certainly can't demand."

"Totally." I liked the idea of showing up costumed for solidarity. "Can I fill Vicky in now?"

She smiled. "Yes. Then you'd better go get changed."

Vicky sprang away from the door when I opened it, then blatantly pretended nothing of the sort had happened. "Well? What did the Director want?"

"To have a face-to-face with me, apparently. Your mom says you'll be carrying her, if this is okay with you?"

"Try to keep me away," she declared, then gave me a searching look. "You're okay with me coming along, right?"

I pulled her head close to mine, so I could rest my forehead on hers. "We're New Wave. We got this."

She pulled me into a hug. "Damn right we do."

I returned the hug. It was so nice to have people (other than Dad) on my side.

<><>​

ABB Headquarters

Geonchugga

"What do we do, uh, sir? Great Inago is imprisoned and the men are restless."

Shuchang was a veteran of the ABB; he'd been a member, so the rumours went, from the earliest days when Inago had forcibly brought the Asian gangs together under one banner. Tall, broad, scarred, he possessed a level of presence and authority that Ha-joon could only wish for.

At just twenty-two, the young Tinker knew damn well his nominal position of authority was only due to his powers. Sure, he could build mecha at every scale from human-sized up to towering multi-storey colossi, but this didn't translate to being a leader of men. Once Inago had recruited him, he'd been much more comfortable in his lab, building ever bigger mecha.

He also knew if Shuchang had been facing Inago, he wouldn't have hesitated before saying 'sir'.

The trouble was, Inago had been captured, and Oni Lee was dead. The never-to-be-sufficiently-damned Wyvern had detonated a fireball just as the latter was in the process of teleporting; he had arrived sporting such severe burns that he had lapsed into unconsciousness and died before anyone could help him. Which left Geonchugga in the position of leader; one he had never aspired to, nor wished for.

Attempting to break Inago out of PRT holding would inevitably lead to him facing the wrath of Wyvern. Her flame was patently capable of searing through the heaviest of armour, and he wasn't confident about force fields either. And even if he managed to hold her in battle (along with the rest of the Protectorate capes) while his troops went in, the lack of Oni Lee as a point man would hamper them greatly.

"Do you perhaps think I do not know that?" he asked rhetorically, in a bid for time to think of a way out of the inescapable trap now closing in around him. "Wyvern beat the shit out of Inago. You saw how big she got. No matter how large I construct my mecha, she can become bigger and more powerful. If we attack the PRT building in force, she will be there to support the Protectorate heroes."

Shuchang glanced around, then leaned closer. "Keep your voice down sir," he advised quietly. "If the men heard you speaking in such a defeated fashion, they may lose faith in you."

Ha-joon shook his head, but he lowered his tone anyway. "And maybe they'd be right. I'm not Inago. I don't know how to beat Wyvern or get him out of holding." It felt liberating to admit it.

"But you want to." It wasn't really a question.

"Well, yes."

Shuchang's expression turned thoughtful. "Have you considered a decoy attack far enough away to draw out Wyvern and the Protectorate heroes, so we can go in and get him?"

"Yes, but the PRT troopers have guns of their own, as well as containment foam and body armour." Ha-joon shook his head. "Even with the capes all drawn away, I really don't think we've got the manpower to get in there and free Inago."

The expression on Shuchang's face suggested a desire to contest this, but he couldn't find a viable argument. "Perhaps if we killed Wyvern? In retaliation for Oni Lee?"

"No, bad idea!" Ha-joon didn't know much about the cape life, but he knew this much. "Hero came to town to test Wyvern's capabilities. We all know why this is."

"To see if she's strong enough to face an Endbringer." Shuchang paused. "Oh."

"Yes." Ha-joon felt relieved that the older man had figured it out. Killing a cape theoretically capable of fighting an Endbringer one-on-one, especially after the Triumvirate had shown direct interest in her … would not be a great move. His mecha were powerful, but not powerful enough to face an enraged Alexandria. Or Hero. Or Eidolon.

The best outcome for such a situation would be to end up in the Birdcage.

"Wait, I just had an idea." Shuchang snapped his fingers. "Geonchugga … can anyone use your mecha?"

Ha-joon frowned. "It is very complicated, and only I know what all the controls do."

"No, no." Shuchang sounded downright excited now. "Small ones. Man-sized. Can you make them simple to operate?"

"I suppose I could dumb them down, but …" Between one word and the next, Ha-joon finally got what Shuchang was talking about. "You want me to outfit you with powered armour? You and the other men and women?"

"Yes." Shuchang stared at him intently. "With the heroes drawn away, assisted by power armour, we could break into the PRT building and overcome anyone between us and Inago. Can it be done?"

"I …" Ha-joon tried hard to adjust to the new paradigm. Inago had never even suggested building armour for anyone else, and he wasn't sure why. Maybe because the leader of the ABB hadn't wanted the rank and file to be anywhere near as powerful as the capes?

He shook his head. The 'why' didn't matter. There was a much more important question at hand.

"Well?" Shuchang gestured, inviting an answer. "Can it be done, sir?"

There was no reason he could think of that it couldn't. The controls would be minimal, and the suits wouldn't have jump-jets or built-in weapons, but such was merely a detail.

"Yes," he said, feeling a sudden excitement building in his chest. "Yes, it can."

Jumping to his feet, he strode right past Shuchang, heading for his workshop. Already, plans for basic power armour were sketching themselves out in his head. He'd have to build each one individually, but if he left out all the usual bells and whistles, it would save a lot of time and resources.

We can do this. We can really do this.

<><>​

Taylor

We touched down on the roof of the PRT building, and Vicky let her mother down onto her feet. I furled my wings, closed my eyes, and breathed deeply. Even as small as I was in base wyvern form (relatively speaking, anyway) my body plan was mainly horizontal rather than vertical, and it would make taking the elevator into a distinct trial. Also, as Mrs Dallon had pointed out, I needed to be able to speak, in order to respond to Director Piggot in a timely fashion.

Concentrating, I worked at calming myself, breathing deeply in and out, feeling my tense muscles gradually relaxing. The question of 'why does Director Piggot want to talk to me?' still worried me just a little, but I had every faith that between Vicky and Mrs Dallon, the PRT wouldn't be able to do a damn thing to me which I didn't approve of first.

I still couldn't believe how much my life had changed just from getting someone like Vicky as a friend. I could talk to her, sympathise with her about how her day went, giggle over the silliness on the PHO boards, and in general just hang with her. Amy was snarkier and more reserved, but she was still fun to be around in her own way.

Things are different now. Better. And all because I got powers that let me turn into a fire-breathing dragon. Well … fire-breathing wyvern.

My life really is looking up.

It was almost like trying to fall asleep; the moment I noticed the change and reached for it, it retreated. So, I stopped trying. Relaxing as best I could, I just let it happen.

When I opened my eyes, I was human again. Carefully, I pulled up the zippers on either side to improve my modesty, then took the domino mask out of its pouch and fixed it in place. "Are we ready to go in?"

"Sure," Vicky agreed. "You didn't need me at all, this time. Or the last time, come to think of it. You're really getting there."

"Well, I hope so." I didn't want to jinx myself, but I was quite pleased at the idea that I could manage the Change without outside assistance. The last thing I wanted was to be stuck in wyvern form when I absolutely, desperately needed to get a message across to someone. Charades and screeching probably wouldn't do the trick.

The guards at the roof entrance didn't challenge us as we approached, probably because they'd been briefed that we were showing up. Besides, it was hard to mistake Mrs Dallon and Vicky for anyone else. They'd be less sure of my face, but they had to know me as Wyvern. If anyone living in Brockton Bay still hadn't heard of me, they were probably living under a rock, or in a coma. Or both.

"We're here to see the Director," Mrs Dallon said briskly anyway. "We're expected."

"Yes, ma'am," one of the guards said at once. "She said you know the way to her office."

"One way to put it," Vicky murmured to me. "I could even tell you which window's hers."

I did my best to keep a straight face. It would be just like Vicky to fly up to the Director's window and tap on it, then fly away. I didn't ask her if she'd ever done it, just in case she'd never thought of it until then. Giving her ideas like that was probably not a good thing.

The heavy doors blocking our entrance rumbled aside, and we walked on through to the elevator. I felt butterflies in my stomach, fully aware I was walking willingly into the building that I had once stated I never wanted to go near.

God, I hope this works out.

<><>​

Director's Office, PRT ENE

Director Emily Piggot

Emily's intercom beeped. "Wyvern is in the building, along with Glory Girl and Brandish. They're on the way down to you now."

She didn't quite grimace at the reminder—it had always been inevitable that Brandish would invite herself along—but her lips did tighten a little. Bringing lawyers into the equation always muddied the waters, in her experience. She preferred things clean and simple.

And how's that worked out for me, over the last ten years? She chuckled dryly in self-reflection. There was nothing clean or simple about her job; she'd looked hard enough.

"Acknowledged," she responded, then put her laptop into standby mode. It would ping if anything really important required her attention, but short of that it would remain dark. In the time before her visitors arrived, she closed her eyes and mentally reviewed what she wanted to discuss.

There was a knock on the door, and she opened her eyes. "Enter."

As the door opened, she stood up, ignoring the twinge from her calves. Brandish strode into the room first, followed by a skinny teenage girl in a white costume with a silhouette of Wyvern's Changer form on the front. Despite the domino mask, Emily recognised the photo Armsmaster had supplied of Taylor Hebert, mainly from the long curly black hair. Last came Glory Girl, exuding an air of 'been there, done that'.

"Brandish," Emily greeted them. "Wyvern, Glory Girl. Thank you for coming so promptly. Have a seat."

She'd selected the chairs for comfort; unlike some of her visitors, she wanted Wyvern to feel at ease. Brandish took the right-hand one and gestured for Wyvern to sit in the middle. Glory Girl, following her mother's lead (as was probably instinctive by now) took the left-hand chair. It was clear to those with the eyes to see it that Wyvern's membership in New Wave was no casual circumstance. They were truly protective of her, and would close ranks at the slightest provocation.

Emily could respect the sentiment. She'd been thrown to the wolves herself, once upon a time, and the memory still burned.

Silence fell over the office; Emily could tell that Wyvern wanted to speak up and ask why she had been contacted, but Brandish had undoubtedly counselled her to stay quiet until spoken to. Brandish, of course, was willing to sit there and wait out Emily, while Glory Girl simply sat there serenely. After fifteen seconds, she could tell nobody was going to speak up. Fine.

"I asked you to come here," she said, "mainly because of the astounding power levels recorded from Wyvern's test yesterday." She looked Wyvern right in the eye. "You have caused a lot of people to become very nervous about your intentions, young lady, especially after the way you rather abruptly ended the Nine, and showed your largest form to the world."

Brandish sat a little straighter in her chair. "Wyvern has assured me that her intentions are precisely the same as they were before the Nine came into Brockton Bay and kidnapped innocent civilians." Everyone in the room knew Danny Hebert was somewhat more than a mere 'innocent civilian', but if they wanted to maintain the polite fiction, Emily was willing to play along. "She intends to be a hero alongside the rest of New Wave. As you no doubt saw, she's extremely well equipped for the job."

Wyvern cleared her throat politely, causing Brandish to glance at her; after a moment, she nodded.

"Um …" began Wyvern. "What about my power levels? Is it illegal to be too powerful?"

Emily only prevented herself from snorting derisively by the barest of margins. God, it would solve so many problems. Her sense of realism kicked in a second later. And cause just as many more.

"No, there's no problem as such," she admitted smoothly. "I could only wish more new capes had your level of restraint. No, I asked you here because I need—the PRT needs—to know if you're willing to take on specific jobs. Big jobs."

Brandish raised her eyebrows. "If you're working around to whether Wyvern intends to use her powers in the next Endbringer fight, we've actually had this very conversation with Hero. The answer was 'yes'." She glanced at Wyvern. "Has it changed since?"

"Nope," Wyvern said, shaking her head. "I'm still down for that."

Emily had, in fact, known this fact. "Good to hear," she prevaricated. "But that wasn't the task I was alluding to. Are you willing to go outside Brockton Bay to deal with other ongoing threats?"

Wyvern leaned toward Brandish and whispered something. They had a brief conversation, then Wyvern sat up again. "Probably yes," she said. "But I'd need to know exactly what you want me to do first before I commit."

"And at least one adult member of New Wave comes with her at all times," Brandish cut in. "Also, same-day only. She's a minor, which means nothing is allowed to interfere with her ongoing educational needs."

"All perfectly acceptable." Emily would make damn sure it was acceptable. "Very well, then; there are two sites, quarantine zones, which we think would be amenable for your level of power to deal with. The first is Eagleton, Tennessee, where the Machine Army is." She paused a moment, steeling herself. "The second is Ellisburg, in New York State … with Nilbog."

"My level of power?" Wyvern frowned. "What do you mean by that?"

Emily looked her in the eye. "I mean, even the Triumvirate have been unable to mount a proper response to either threat. PRT-employed Thinkers have warned against attempting to wipe them off the map via mundane means. You, however, have shown yourself fully capable of scouring a medium-sized city all the way down to the bedrock, from however high up you choose to fly."

"And the PRT wants me to do what all the big-name capes can't?" Wyvern looked more than a little dubious. Emily recalled how blithely the girl had accepted the idea of facing Endbringers, and mentally rolled her eyes.

"Hell yes, girlfriend!" That was Glory Girl. "Face it, Wyvern is a big name right now. This'll be awesome!"

"Glory Girl." Brandish only had to say those two words, and her daughter shut up. Emily felt a stab of envy; if only it were as easy to make the Wards be quiet on occasion. Then Brandish turned toward Emily. "Wyvern isn't saying yes or no at the moment. We need to discuss this in private, and hash out all the details. But right now, I need to set a few initial conditions. These are non-negotiable."

"Which are?" Emily wasn't agreeing quite yet, but she was willing to listen to whatever Brandish put forth.

From the glint in Brandish's eye, she'd picked up on that nuance. "First, whatever reward monies accrue from these two quarantine zones are paid immediately into the same account the Slaughterhouse bounties are going into. Second, just in case either the Machine Army or Nilbog decides to fight back, I want capes in the air around Wyvern, mustering both offensive and defensive powers. I'll be pulling Lady Photon in on this, but I don't want her to be the only one protecting Wyvern. Third, as I said, she goes nowhere without myself, Flashbang, Lady Photon or Manpower. Fourth, also as I said, we will need to fit the timings in around her other obligations. And fifth, we get priority transport—provided, or paid for, by the PRT—to and from. You are not going to make her fly all the way there and back. There may be more later as I think of them, but those are my initial requirements."

Emily considered the list, but it didn't take her long. Brandish could've asked for much more—a million dollars a shot, up front, just for trying—and she would've signed off on it. As it was, the requirements seemed eminently reasonable. "Agreed. I'll have my people write it up into a formal document, and you can look it over."

Brandish nodded. "Certainly. But right now, I need to confer with Wyvern in private. Do you have a conference room spare on this floor?"

"As it happens, we do." Emily got up from her desk. "I'll show you the way."

"Thank you." Brandish stood as well, with Wyvern and Glory Girl following her lead a moment later. "And of course, the PRT won't be listening in or recording what we speak about in the room?"

Emily could've lied, but that was a bad way to begin a working relationship with a cape as powerful as Wyvern. Besides, she'd learn the result of the discussion soon enough. "I will personally ensure all such devices are switched off for the duration of your discussion."

Brandish's smile was hard and sharp, as though she'd heard what Emily hadn't said out loud. "Good to hear."

<><>​

Taylor

The moment the door closed behind us, Mrs Dallon pulled out a chair from the conference table and pointed at it. "Sit down. Tell me what you think about what's going on right now."

Obediently, I sat; Mrs Dallon took another chair and sat facing me, expression serious. Vicky, clearly aware this discussion would barely involve her at all, perched on the edge of the table and watched with interest.

"Um." I paused. "Well, it's good, I guess, that the PRT doesn't want to arrest me for being a big scary monster. And if I'm willing to fight Endbringers then it shouldn't be too much of a stretch to destroy some quarantine zones as well …?"

Mrs Dallon held up a finger to stop me there. "As a hero, I agree with your sentiment. But as a lawyer, I must caution you that any situation where you find yourself deciding it's 'not too much of a stretch' to add a new stipulation onto a pre-existing agreement is a situation ripe for abuse."

"… Oh." I decided to accept what she was saying. She was both the adult in the room and a lawyer, so I figured if anyone knew what they were talking about, she did. "So, are we going to do this? Or rather, am I going to be doing this?" Because, at the end of the day, I was the one with the scary dragon breath.

"That's up to you, Taylor." Her voice was as intent as her gaze. "Are you actually okay with this, or were you just saying it to keep Director Piggot happy? Because if you want to, we can walk back in there and say, 'thanks but no thanks'."

I frowned. "Wouldn't it make New Wave look bad? I mean, I am kinda powerful, so to just throw it back in Director Piggot's face like that after she asked us nicely and all …"

"Taylor." Mrs Dallon paused for a beat after saying my name, probably to make sure she had my attention. "We are never under any obligation to use our powers at someone else's whim. They are like any other aspect of our body: entirely ours to use or not use, as we see fit. The Director can't force you to do this. I can't force you to do this. Neither should I forbid you. The most I can do is ensure you're entirely up to speed regarding your rights in the matter. The most she can do is prosecute capes who actively use their powers to commit crimes. Which this is not."

"Okay." I spoke slowly, trying to see if I was interpreting what she'd said correctly. "So, I don't have to, but I can if I want? And the Director can't do a thing if I say no?"

She smiled. "Precisely."

I nodded. "Right. Then my answer's yes. I'll do it." I began to get up.

"Wait." She held up her hand, and I sat down again. "I've already outlined what I won't budge on, and the Director will be going along with it, but is there anything you want for doing this? Over and above what I've already stipulated, I mean?"

"I can't really think of anything," I confessed. "Did you have anything in mind?"

"An award ceremony?" suggested Vicky. "Where she hands over a big old plaque to you on live TV, and she has to smile for the cameras?"

"Victoria …" Mrs Dallon spoke mock-severely, but I saw a smile lurking at the corner of her mouth. "Egregiously embarrassing the Director is probably not a good idea."

Personally, I thought if anything would make Director Piggot happy to stand in front of TV cameras with a smile, it would be the end of two PRT quarantine zones. However, I had another idea in mind. "Um … how about if she cleared the way with Mayor Christner and whoever else needs to be in the loop for me to deal with the Boat Graveyard once and for all? I don't have to worry about shrapnel from exploding fireballs anymore."

"We can definitely put the idea to her. Anything else?"

I thought for a moment, but couldn't come up with other ideas. "No, not really."

"Can we still do the plaque thing?" wheedled Vicky.

Mrs Dallon gave her the mock-severe look again. "Only if Taylor wants to. It's not our choice."

They both turned to me, and I bit my lip. "Uh, isn't Ellisburg the one where there's a whole lot of weird creatures running around inside the wall?"

"Yes." Mrs Dallon looked introspective for a moment. "'Nilbog' is 'goblin' spelled backward. I'm not sure who gave him the name, but apparently it fits. Why?"

"If I destroy the place, I'm killing a whole bunch of living things, and at least one human," I said. "I don't think I want to be given an award for doing that. And if I accept one for Eagleton but not one for Ellisburg, it'll look weird. So, no awards."

Vicky looked disappointed, but Mrs Dallon nodded. "Entirely understandable. Was there anything else?"

"Not that I can think of, no." I got up, then turned to Vicky. "Why did you want the plaques, anyway? It's not like everyone in America won't know about it anyway."

She grinned. "It's not for the plaques. It's for making Director Piggot smile on camera. I'm pretty sure she's forgotten how."

I shook my head. "She's a busy woman, and we both know it. I'm not going to be so petty to her, just for the sake of a cheap laugh."

"Good." Mrs Dallon nodded approvingly. "No sense in needlessly antagonising her when she can do something you do want."

"Exactly what I was thinking." I headed for the door. "Let's go give her the good news."

<><>​

Brockton Bay Mayor's Office

Mayor Roy Christner

"Sir, you have a call from PRT Director Emily Piggot, on line three."

Roy grunted in annoyance. He'd only come into the office on a Saturday to deal with some outstanding issues. To actually have to put on his Mayor hat was irritating as hell. Fortunately, Piggot was as aware of the niceties as he was, and wouldn't be calling about something trivial.

"Okay, thanks." He picked up the phone and pasted a fake smile on his face; the easiest way to sound happy was to look happy. "Emily, what can I do for you today?"

"The Boat Graveyard. If someone wanted to clear it in the next few days, what permits would need to be arranged?"

Well, she was nothing if not to the point. "Clear it? As in … clear all those ships out of the way? How is this going to be done?" And why hadn't he heard about it until now?

"Assume they're just going to be gone. Out of the way. What paperwork needs to be completed for this to be legal, no red tape blocking it from being done?"

This was sounding more and more like a cape thing. "Uh … an environmental study on potential pollution, for one thing. Some of those ships still have fuel in their bunkers, and if that gets released …"

"Assume it won't. What permits are required just to get it done? So nobody gets charged with something stupid like the theft of ten million tons of rusting steel nobody wanted anyway?"

"Oh, uh … I couldn't tell you right off the top of my head, but I can look into it on Monday morning. Why? Is someone planning on doing something?"

"We'll talk on Monday." She ended the call.

A moment later, Roy finally got it. Oh, shit. Wyvern wants to clear the Boat Graveyard, and she's asked Emily to talk to me about it. It was the only thing that made sense. Wyvern's terrifying power demonstration had made a deep impression on him. The last thing he wanted to do was get on the wrong side of a cape who could snipe him with fire breath from right across the city.

Picking up the phone again, he made a call. His personal assistant was at home—it was Saturday, after all—but he had her number for emergencies. As far as he was concerned, this counted.

"Hi, Janice? Yes, it's Roy. Sorry to bother you, but I need you to look something up for me …"

<><>​

Taylor

"We'll talk on Monday." Director Piggot ended the call and put the phone down. When she returned her attention to us, her face held a look of satisfaction, if not an actual smile. "He'll get the information for us. We'll know by Monday morning at the latest."

"Excellent." I couldn't help grinning broadly. With Lord's Port open, the way would be clear for more shipping to come back to Brockton Bay, and the Dockworkers would get a shot in the arm they desperately needed. Dad was going to be over the moon.

"Much appreciated, Director." Mrs Dallon stood, and reached over the desk to shake Director Piggot's hand. "When can you have the agreement ready for signing and witnessing?"

"Tomorrow morning, first thing." From the set of her jaw, it would get done if she had to type it out herself. "I'll contact you."

"Thank you," I said, standing up myself and reaching across to shake her hand in turn. She barely hesitated, then shook it firmly.

"No, Wyvern," she replied, looking me in the eye. "Thank you."



End of Part Twenty-Three

 

[Ack]

Wyvern

Part Twenty-Four: Draconic Measures

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



Midday Sunday, January 23, 2011

Taylor

I looked down at the cityscape with interest as the PRT helicopter cruised over it. While I was used to flying by now, and higher than we were at the moment, I'd never flown over Boston before, either in an aircraft or under my own power. Amusingly enough, the other two passengers—Vicky and Mrs Pelham—were also fliers, which made the pilot and copilot about the safest people in the air right then.

The headphones I'd been given to wear crackled in my ears with the pilot's good-natured West Virginian drawl. I still wasn't totally convinced that he didn't put it on to impress the passengers. "Well, ladies, welcome to Boston. If you look out your windows to the right, you'll be able to see the Bunker Hill Memorial obelisk and a little further on, the USS Constitution at its moorings. In another five minutes we'll be landing on top of the Protectorate building and picking up our last passenger."

"What?" asked Vicky. "Where? Let me see!" She blatantly tried to lean over me from the middle seat she'd originally claimed because 'you see one city from the air, you've seen them all'. Evidently, she'd since changed her mind.

"Jeez, boundaries!" I scrunched back out of the way to let her look, while taking in the scenery myself. I kind of wished I'd brought along a camera, because the view was definitely spectacular, even with Vicky crowding over on top of me.

Brockton Bay had its own history, of course, but it was all local; Boston's history had helped shape the nation. We had the Isaac Lord Museum, Captain's Hill, and of course anything that the Forsberg Gallery decided to exhibit of a historical nature.

I'd heard rumours about smugglers' tunnels under the Docks dating back to the Revolutionary War, but Dad had been all over that area at one time or another, and he was pretty sure everything had been filled in and covered over after Prohibition had been lifted. There were probably still barrels of bathtub gin ageing away down there, going from horrible wood alcohol to really horrible wood alcohol, right next to way-past-the-use-by-date kegs of black powder and rotting bags of musket balls from two and a half centuries earlier.

Not that I'd ever want to go down into a place like that. I still didn't like enclosed, smelly places, and I wasn't sure what would give way first if the wyvern decided that it wanted out, and started growing. Given the durability of my Changer form, I suspected testing this out would involve some extremely dramatic urban renewal.

The helicopter swooped in toward a building with the Protectorate logo on it. It was tall and impressive, and I wondered why it wasn't protected by a force field, the same as the Brockton Bay one was. Maybe they played by stricter rules in Boston.

I automatically found myself bracing for the landing, but the chopper settled onto its wheels with barely a jolt. The only real sign that we were properly on the landing pad was when the engine noise started winding down. Along with Vicky and Mrs Pelham, I took off my headset and handed it forward to the copilot.

"Well, that's the boring part over," Mrs Pelham said as she opened her side door. "You've never done a really long-range overland flight before, so let me tell you: it gets really, really tedious."

"Tell me about it." Vicky rolled her eyes. Unfastening her five-point safety belt (which prompted me to do mine as well), she got up from her seat. "I flew to New York once, and it took forever."

We all climbed out and headed across the tarmac, ducking our heads under the still-rotating rotor blades. A skinny black man, with what Kurt would've described as 'resting bitch face', was waiting alongside a tall parahuman wearing a costume made up of layered armour. I figured the black guy was the local Director, given that he was wearing the same sort of business suit that Director Piggot favoured.

"Good afternoon," he said, stepping forward with his hand out. His manner was much more friendly than his expression had suggested. "I'm Director Kamil Armstrong, and this is Bastion. He'll be accompanying you to Eagleton today."

"I think we met at a function once," Mrs Pelham said, but shook his hand anyway. "Lady Photon, and these are Wyvern and Glory Girl."

Behind us, the chopper powered up again and took off. Director Armstrong waited until the noise had died away before he spoke again.

"Glory Girl, I definitely know of. This is my first chance to meet Wyvern." He nodded politely to Vicky, then turned his attention to me with a smile that transformed his sharp features. "I understand you're the prodigy cape who's taken Brockton Bay by storm."

I shook his hand, noting that he was actually an inch or so shorter than me. "I guess," I said with a nervous chuckle. "This whole 'powers' thing is still very new to me. But if villains didn't keep coming at me and my friends, I wouldn't have discovered half of what I can do."

"Don't be so modest." That was Bastion; he was at least six feet tall, maybe more, and had a commanding presence. "If there's one thing I've learned in my time as a cape, it's that power will find a way to express itself."

"I guess." When he offered his hand, I shook it as well. It was bigger all round than Director Armstrong's, its natural size enhanced by being encased in a gauntlet. Basically, it swallowed mine whole, but I did my best anyway. "So, you'll be coming along with us today?"

He nodded. "That's the plan. We don't know that the Machine Army has rocket launchers or other anti-air measures, but my force fields should be up to the challenge if they do. Just, uh one thing." Leaning in close, he lowered his voice a little. "The size you got up to on that footage … was that camera trickery, or did you really get that big? I mean, I understand inflating numbers for PR and everything, but realistically, how big do you get?"

I hesitated, not wanting to sound like I was boasting, but Vicky came to my rescue. "According to Hero's readouts, she's seven hundred fifteen feet long, and one thousand two hundred and twenty-one feet from wingtip to wingtip, at the largest measured size." She grinned wickedly at Bastion, and showed him an image on her phone from the demonstration. "And we don't even know if that's her final form yet."

I couldn't see his eyes, or even most of his face, but he seemed to be somewhat taken aback by the image on the screen. "Jesus Christ," he muttered. "You could shade half the city with those things."

"I don't plan to get that low while I'm still that big," I assured him. "There's too much chance of knocking over buildings. Fortunately, sizing up and down takes a lot less effort than actually Changing from human to wyvern or back again."

"Well, that's a relief," Director Armstrong observed. "Seriously though, I do want to commend you on your public spirit and your willingness to be a hero. There are many who have gone the villain route with far less provocation than you had."

"Well, I guess I'm lucky I ran into Glory Girl when I did." I nudged Vicky with my shoulder, and she nudged me back. "She convinced me to go home with her, and helped calm me down enough that I could actually Change back for the first time." I decided not to mention how Mrs Pelham had actually thought I was attacking Vicky, and had attacked me in turn; no sense in complicating the narrative.

"And well done." Director Armstrong nodded firmly, giving Vicky an approving look. "We need forward-thinking capes like you in our ranks. You give me hope for the future."

"Uh … when you ran into Glory Girl … how big were you?" asked Bastion. "I mean, that big, jetliner big, or …?"

"Oh, she was only about human-sized then," Vicky explained blithely. "She couldn't talk, but she could write in the sand with her wingtip. About the first thing she said was 'please help me'. What would you have done?"

That was a no-brainer; Bastion shrugged. "I'd have helped her, I guess."

Vicky gave him finger-guns. "Exact—"

Right in the middle of her saying it, she was interrupted by a loud crack of displaced air. Between one second and the next, a cape stood in the middle of the helipad, wearing a blue and black costume with a peaked cap. I recognised him from pictures I'd seen, of one of the foremost teleporters in the world. Strider had arrived.

"—ly," Vicky finished. "Whoa, nice entrance."

"Thank you," Strider said, though I got the impression he heard it a lot. He walked toward us, checking something on a small tablet. "Hello, Director Armstrong. I've got four to go to Eagleton?"

"Correct," the Director answered. "Bastion, Lady Photon, Glory Girl and Wyvern." He gestured at each of us in turn as he spoke.

"Wyvern?" Strider tilted his head slightly. "Not the same Wyvern who did that power display?" He seemed to be having trouble reconciling me—skinny and a bit gawky—with the gigantic scary fire-breathing reptiloid that had stopped all vehicle traffic in the Brockton Bay CBD for a good fifteen minutes.

"That's me, yeah," I said cheerfully. "I get bigger."

"So I see." Evidently deciding that it wasn't his problem, he flexed his hands as he looked at the four of us. "Is there any baggage, or are you going as is?"

"Well, I don't need anything else." Bastion looked around at the rest of us. "Uh, Wyvern, how much does that costume stretch?"

"It doesn't." I let him figure out what I wasn't saying. I'd be going costume-free for this outing, just as I had for the power test. Sizing up was the whole point of the exercise. Unless and until we could get a friendly Tinker to rig up something that would cover me after I'd been up to maximum size, it was just how we were going to have to roll.

"Okay then, let's do this." Strider gestured us closer. "Stand around me. We'll be going up in elevation by about six hundred feet, so I'd suggest you be ready for that."

We did as we were told; Vicky grabbed my hand, even though she hadn't been advised to do so. I wasn't complaining. She'd been my friend from the start, and I appreciated the support.

"And going in three … two … one." There was a crack, and my ears popped. He hadn't been kidding about the elevation change. I saw Mrs Pelham work her jaw to equalise the pressure, while Vicky and I did the same.

We were standing in the middle of a concrete helipad, with guards posted around, which I presumed was to make sure nobody wandered onto the arrival zone before we got there. It was also warmer, which was nice. All around us had the signs of being a typical military base, though the uniforms and insignia were PRT, not National Guard or Army or Marines.

Right up in plain view was a sign saying WELCOME TO EAGLETON BASE. Below that, in slightly smaller script, was a list of directives.

• ALL ELECTRONICS MUST BE REGISTERED OR SECURED ON ARRIVAL.
• ALL PERSONAL ELECTRONICS MUST BE POWERED DOWN OR KEPT WITHIN EYESIGHT AT ALL TIMES.
• IF YOU SEE UNATTENDED ELECTRONICS, ALERT BASE SECURITY WHILE KEEPING IT IN VIEW.
• IF YOU SEE ACTIVE UNATTENDED ELECTRONICS, ALERT BASE SECURITY AND THEN DISABLE OR CONTAIN IT.
• DO NOT ASSUME THAT ANY ELECTRONIC ITEM IS DEAD UNTIL BASE SECURITY HAS DEALT WITH IT.
• NO UNSHIELDED COMMS.

Underneath that again, in a less formal font, was the addendum DO NOT TRUST THE COMPUTER. THE COMPUTER IS NOT YOUR FRIEND. It sounded like a quote or reference of some kind, though I had no idea where it was from.

"Hello there." A PRT officer, or so I assumed from the insignia on his shoulders, and the fact that he was wearing a camouflage uniform instead of regular armour, came over toward us. "Lieutenant-Colonel Briggs. Pleased to meet you."

Bastion was already on his way over to meet the officer. Mrs Pelham thanked Strider, then headed that way as well. We followed along and waited until Bastion had introduced himself, then Mrs Pelham stepped up. "Lady Photon, but you probably knew that. Glory Girl and Wyvern are with me."

He nodded as he shook her hand. "Yes, I've been briefed on all of you, but just to make doubly sure, none of you are Tinkers or carrying Tinker gear, correct? No? Good. Now, you're going to have to surrender all electronics, such as phones, earpieces and the like, for the duration of the exercise. We don't know if the Machines can remotely hack into unshielded devices, but we've had nasty surprises before."

I'd been halfway expecting this, so I'd left my phone at home. Vicky looked mildly irritated as she pulled her phone and a pair of earbuds out of a pouch at her belt and handed them to a sergeant holding a reflective silver bag. Lady Photon turned her hands palm up to show she had nothing. For his part, Bastion shook his head. "Director Armstrong is holding my comms gear."

"Good." Briggs nodded as the sergeant carefully stored the phone and earbuds in the bag and sealed it shut. "Thank you, sergeant. Now, Wyvern, do you require anything to administer your Change?"

"Just privacy," I said. "I start small, then size up. But the change is not costume-friendly."

He nodded once, sharply. "I copy. Sergeant, which barracks is empty right now?"

"That'll be Block Two, sir." Using his whole hand, the sergeant pointed at a building that I would've been hard put to pick out from any of the others set up in their regular rows. I wouldn't have been at all surprised if someone had told me that they were aligned north-south and east-west. The military seemed to have that mindset. "The lady can go right in."

"I'll come with, and take care of your costume," Vicky offered. "If you left it just lying around, they'd probably think it was unattended electronics and tase it to rags or something."

No, she wasn't holding a grudge against them for taking her phone, or anything like that.

"Probably a good idea," I agreed, just on general principles. "Come on, let's get this done."

Once we were in the barracks, we closed the doors behind us, then I waited until Vicky had done a quick scout around to make sure there wasn't some other open door that a bunch of guys would suddenly march on in through. It was all clear, which gave me hope. Maybe I could actually pull this off, after all.

I took off the domino mask and shimmied out of the costume while Vicky grabbed a folded blanket from the end of one of the beds—whoever owned it was going to have to re-fold it, because Vicky couldn't fold anything neatly. But she was a wonderful person anyway. She draped the blanket over my shoulders; we'd established early on that just not having any clothing on wasn't enough to trigger the Change, and Amy wasn't here to burst in and give me a fright.

Vicky and I were both unwilling for anyone else to take up that role, for obvious reasons. It had been funny, once, in retrospect; never again.

However, I was getting a lot better at pushing the Change all by myself, so I closed my eyes, breathed deeply, and worked at getting into the correct mindset while Vicky stood guard. The wyvern was needed. It could do what scrawny, merely human Taylor Hebert couldn't. I didn't know exactly how many people had died in Eagleton before the Machine Army was contained, or how many more would die if they broke out, but even one was one too many.

Originally I'd intended to hit Ellisburg first, as it was closer to Brockton Bay (and I kind of wanted to be on Director Piggot's good side) but Mrs Dallon and Mrs Pelham had collectively decided that Eagleton was the better idea. When I'd asked why, the answer was simple.

After ten years of being cut off from the outside world, it was doubtful if the inhabitants of the Goblin Kingdom had so much as a ham radio between them, much less a working TV set. There was no way they would be keeping up with the news of the day. On the other wingtip, it was all too easy to assume that the Machine Army was listening to everything they could possibly rig up a receiver for. Thus, if I hammered Ellisburg first, the Machine Army would hear about it and start prepping anti-wyvern measures, but the converse would not hold true.

Taking another deep breath, I opened my eyes and let out a chirp to let Vicky know I was good to go. The blanket was draped over my tail—my wings were useful for several things, but holding onto blankets (or anything, really) was beyond them—so I turned and flicked it, sending the blanket flying back onto the bunk it had come from. In my wyvern form, I was even worse at folding things than Vicky, so it wasn't my problem anymore.

"All right!" Vicky gave me a fist-pump of victory. "The wyvern is in the hizzouse!"

I tilted my head, flared my crest in lieu of raising my eyebrows, and gave her my best what-the-fuck-was-that? chirp.

Catching the nuance, she shrugged in mild apology. "Sorry. It just came out."

With a snort—though no smoke was involved; the place was equipped with detectors—I rolled my eyes and tilted my head toward the exit doors. Let's do this.

"Oh, hell yeah," she enthused, wadding up my costume—there wasn't a great deal to it—and shoving it into one of the larger pouches on her belt. The mask had already gone into a second pouch. "Let's go Wyvern those robots down to the bedrock!"

As she opened the doors, I chirped in agreement.

<><>​

Glory Girl

It was always fun to see the looks on people's faces when they were seeing Taylor as the Wyvern for the first time. There were other Changers out there, but mainly they either became something relatively familiar, or totally alien. Very few turned into fantasy critters, much less able to fly and breath fire. There was a spot deep in the human psyche that reacted to dragons on a visceral level.

Seeing a still image was one thing, but when she paced out of those barracks like a movie T-rex, wings folded at her sides and head held rock-steady, Briggs did a double-take. Vicky suspected more than one of the PRT troopers on site had the same reaction, but the closed-faced helmets hid too much to be sure.

As they came up to Briggs, Taylor inhaled deeply and seemed to concentrate, then sized up to the level she'd been after the battle with Stinger. His eyes widened as she went from looking slightly up at him to eye-level with him. "Ah," he managed. "I see. Very impressive."

She nodded and gave him a friendly chirp. Vicky grinned. "That means 'thanks'. But you ain't seen nothing yet."

Bastion grunted. "I should hope not, or we're going to be here all day."

"You will find," Aunt Sarah said with just a touch of bite in her tone, "that Wyvern is more than up to the task." She generated a force field capsule, transparent so they could see out, with three seats inside. "Time for us to do our job. Will you be joining us, Glory Girl?"

Vicky shook her head. "Nah. I think I'll run interference from outside."

"Alright, then." Aunt Sarah stepped into the capsule and sat down on one of the seats. Bastion climbed in as well, then layered over it with one of his own force fields. He'd struck Vicky as one of those guys who didn't like not being in charge of the situation, so that move was totally in character.

But he couldn't fly using his own force fields, which Aunt Sarah could. As Taylor took off, Vicky followed, with the capsule flanking them both. Vicky kept a close eye on the apparently-innocuous area that had once been Eagleton, and now had a human population of exactly zero. The Machine Army might not know what was going on right in that moment, but they had to have seen the power test, and artificial intelligences were better at adding one and one to get two than basically anyone else.

Taylor didn't want to bulk out too close to the ground, because of the very real concern that she'd already voiced; nobody wanted a careless wing-flap to flatten half the camp and kill everyone in the impact zone. So she waited until she was properly airborne before she bulked out a second time, to what Vicky privately referred to as 'Armsmaster' size. They were still gaining altitude when Vicky spotted a spark of light in the middle of Eagleton, at about the same time as Aunt Sarah got a message over the shielded radio she'd been given.

"Watch out!" she yelled.

"Energy surge!" Sarah filled in.

Bastion was on the ball; the words had not yet made it all the way out of Aunt Sarah's mouth when a flat disc of force sprang up between Taylor and the spark. An instant later, a surge of lightning zig-zagged skyward from that point, aimed directly at Taylor. It hit the shield and clung to it, snapping and popping like a forest fire. The stink of ozone filled Vicky's nostrils.

"Size!" Taylor warned them. She was still flapping her wings hard, with the capsule and the shield following her upward. The lightning attack ceased, but Vicky didn't believe for a second that it was over.

"They'll be adjusting for the shield!" she yelled, not because she'd seen any reason to believe it, but because the Machine Army never just stopped doing something.

Taylor shimmered and enlarged to the next level up, about the size of a Learjet. Bastion widened the field then added a second layer to it. A moment later, missiles burst from four separate locations in Eagleton; one bored straight at the centre of the shield, one lanced toward the capsule, one headed for Vicky, and the last one swung out in a long arc, evidently aiming to pass around the barrier and target Taylor directly.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit. Vicky could see the spark building up again, and she perceived the AIs' strategy in that second; with the defenders distracted and the shield broken, the lightning weapon would be free to target Taylor.

She'd never been worried about taking a hit, but she wasn't quite sure about what the payload of the Machine Army's missiles might be. Her brain jumped to lungfuls of nanotech, and then she decided they might have something even worse to play with. In that instant, she decided not to play the game their way.

Even as Aunt Sarah beefed up the fields surrounding the capsule, Vicky changed direction and accelerated. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the missile that had been targeting her following suit, but she had a substantial lead. Racing across the outer surface of the shield, she angled toward the missile that was targeting it. In a move that she'd long since perfected, she led with her fists, closing her eyes and tucking her chin in at the last instant.

The explosion deafened her, but only momentarily. She kept on going, vaguely aware of the missile that had been chasing her blowing straight through the debris of the one she'd just demolished; she'd hoped it would be triggered in turn, but no such luck. Which meant she was in a sticky situation, as her force field was down and would be so for a few more seconds. Seconds she didn't have, as the missile was gaining fast.

Kkk-kk-rrak-kkkk.

If it had been even a cloudy day, she would've thought the ripping, rending noise was lightning. But the heat on the soles of her feet and the sudden, intense blue-white glare from behind her told another story altogether. That was the unmistakeable signature of Taylor's plasma jet, and the fact that she hadn't yet been hit by the missile also meant something, but she didn't have the time to think it through. Because there was one coming around to hit Taylor from the side, right now.

Her force field flickered back into being, and she applied that extra bit of acceleration before she smashed through her second missile in seven seconds. She'd hit whatever it was using for a rocket motor instead of the warhead, so there was no explosion; it just fell out of the sky instead. But now she was flying away from the shield and Taylor both, so she pulled around in the tightest turn she could manage.

The remains of the missile that had been chasing her were falling toward the base below, just a few bits and pieces with still-glowing surfaces. Matching this was a hole that had been punched clear through both layers of Bastion's force field, which was even now closing up again.

As Vicky headed back toward the field, an explosion eliminated the last missile. Aunt Sarah had apparently taken the capsule in behind the shield for protection, forcing the missile targeting the capsule to swerve around it and come back in. This had given Taylor the time to snipe it as well, this time using an explosive fireball.

And then the Machine Army fired the lightning gun again. The hole Taylor had blown through the protective fields to save Vicky hadn't yet fully closed, and a tendril found its way through, arcing over to Taylor and latching on. More crackling tendrils of electricity crawled all over the field, seeking another way through, but without any luck.

Finally, the hole closed, and the ongoing attack was left to claw impotently at the outside of the field. Taylor looked down at the spot on her leg where it had briefly nailed her; Vicky thought there might be a small burn mark there.

"Ow."

They were still ascending; Vicky flew in a large spiral upward, staying clear, until her force-field popped back into existence, then angled back inward. Taylor, looking irritated, took a deep breath and bulked out yet again. Now she was bigger than a jetliner, but still not as large as she could eventually get. However, she was once again bigger than Bastion's protective field.

"Oh, shit," Vicky whispered, as no fewer than ten missiles launched from sites inside Eagleton. The Machine Army must have recognised Taylor the instant she teleported in, and had been frantically gearing up to fight her from that moment.

Now lasers were joining in the assault, spearing up into the sky to target Taylor on any exposed locations. One slashed up toward Vicky, forcing her to veer away; her field could take a single hit, but not a constant barrage. Two more targeted Bastion's field on a line with Aunt Sarah's capsule; if it dropped even for an instant, they would be under direct attack.

"Quit it!" bellowed Taylor, and unleashed a rolling torrent of flame in a huge cone downward. All ten missiles flew into that billow of fire, and none came out the other side. Even the lasers were abated, as the tremendous heat bloom temporarily blocked line of sight.

But the intelligences running the lightning gun saw their opportunity, and switched their target from the shield to Taylor's now-exposed head and upper chest. Vicky wasn't sure where they were getting their power from, but the smell of ozone was making her eyes water, and the crackling of electricity as it crawled over most of Taylor's body was deafening. As big as she was, it made her wings falter in their steady beating, and she began to lose altitude.

The protective field enlarged, briefly pausing the electrical assault, but Vicky could see that it was only one layer now, and she now had three lasers keeping her back from coming in to help protect Taylor. Emboldened, the Machine Army sent another three missiles directly at the shield, with lasers still playing on it. There was no way to stop them in time, as they came from widely varying angles. If Taylor put another plasma jet through the shield, it might weaken the structure of the whole thing enough to let the lasers through.

And then it was too late. The missiles struck, shattering the field altogether. With that opening, two more lightning guns opened up on her, all three electrical arcs converging on her body.

Taylor roared in pain … and sized up. But her markings were no longer red and gold, or even blue and black. Now, her scales were the same violet as the electrical discharge, with silver highlights. And instead of crackling through her body, the lightning guns were splashing off.

"MY. TURN."

Taylor … inhaled. But it wasn't air she was drawing into her body. The lightning gun discharges curved toward her mouth, being sucked down her throat as though they were physical strands of matter. Her scales began to glow but she kept drawing on it, forcing the machine intelligences to either up the power output or shut their attacks off.

The first things to give out were the lasers; as soon as the three threatening Vicky blinked out, she flew back in to where Taylor was, but not too close. The electrical arcs running down her spine and popping from claw-tip to claw-tip made sure of that.

More missiles launched from their hidden sites, spearing up toward Taylor. But the flickering skeins of electricity were like a finely woven net, and as each projectile encountered one of these, it either detonated or went dead and fell back to earth. And still Taylor drew on the electricity, demanding more and more from below.

One by one, the lightning guns shut off. Her scales now glowing like a neon sign even in the early afternoon sun, Taylor flared her nostrils as she looked down at Eagleton, and then opened her mouth even wider. From her gullet burst an electrical arc, branching and re-branching until they struck every point in Eagleton that had housed a hostile emplacement, whether it be a laser turret, a missile launch site, or a lightning gun.

Vicky was very glad she wasn't on the ground down there right then. Even from where she was, she could see the electrical arcs jumping from building to building, and the explosions as Taylor's sudden and drastic power input overloaded whatever protections they had. Smoke began to rise here and there.

And then the lightning barrage ceased. Nothing came up from below; Vicky wasn't at all sure there was anything left down there to send anything up. Taylor evidently didn't share her attitude, because she flapped hard for altitude, and sized up at the same time. This time, as she achieved her full size, she was in her blue-and-black configuration.

"CHILL," she hissed in the harsh sibilant tones of that particular form. When she inhaled, the temperature dropped everywhere. Vicky shivered in the suddenly freezing air, and saw her breath as she exhaled. As had happened over Brockton Bay, snow started precipitating out of the air. Holding out her hand, she caught a few snowflakes on her palm.

And then Taylor exhaled again. Not with the multiple shards of ice, as Vicky had half-expected, but in a cone of cold. The very air seemed to crackle with the frigid temperatures as Taylor pulled all the heat out of everything at ground level within the confines of Eagleton, including the buffer zone. Vicky could see the sheen of ice that had suddenly formed over everything; an instant winter wonderland in Hell. Even the fires were out.

But Taylor wasn't finished yet. Apparently she was feeling bitter about the multiple attempts to kill her, which Vicky could totally understand. Drawing in a deep breath—without dropping the temperature again this time—she changed configurations to the deep purple and gold that she'd taken on for the finale of the Slaughterhouse Nine fight.

There was a tiny explosion, far below, blowing aside some of the ice. A solitary missile blasted out from the launcher thus uncovered, not heading up toward Taylor but turning away from her, desperately trying to clear the area, to carry the last of its kind elsewhere. One last throw of the dice.

It was too little, too late. Taylor released her final attack. The cone of pure annihilation bathed Eagleton from one end to the other, snuffing out the missile before it quite reached the perimeter. The ice vanished, as did the buildings under it, and the ground under that. By the time she was done, Eagleton was a pit, about two hundred yards deep from Vicky's rough estimation.

The disintegration breath cut out. Taylor hovered for a few moments, on steadily beating wings. Flying closer, Vicky stared downward as well.

Nothing moved in the crater, or around its perimeter. If any part of the Machine Army had escaped destruction, she couldn't see it. She didn't know how good Taylor's eyesight was at this range, but with eyes that big and set that far apart, it had to be pretty damn impressive.

And then Taylor turned back to the red and gold, and started to descend. As she went, her size decreased. Vicky accompanied her downward, paralleling her movement. Though she didn't really expect any threat from that quarter, she kept her eye on the remains of Eagleton anyway.

Vicky's feet hit the ground at the same time as Taylor flared her wings and landed, and the capsule containing Aunt Sarah and Bastion touched down and vanished. Taylor caught Vicky's eye and nodded toward the barracks she'd changed in before, and they headed that way.

<><>​

Taylor

I felt deeply weary as Vicky closed the barracks doors behind her and fetched the blanket from the bed. Instead of just draping it over me, Vicky wrapped her arms—complete with blanket—around my body and wings, holding me close. "Yeah, I know," she whispered. "That was horrible."

She understood. For all that the Machine Army was totally hostile to humanity, and had posed a direct and ongoing threat to basically everyone, I'd still just annihilated them. Once I'd gotten up to size, they hadn't stood a chance. That hadn't been a fight. It had been an execution.

It had been necessary; I understood that. I just didn't know if I'd ever be comfortable with it.

I drew in a long breath as the wyvern. By the time I had finished releasing it, I was Taylor Hebert once more.

"Thanks," I murmured. "For everything."

"Hey, you're welcome." She gave me an extra squeeze before letting me go. "You ever wanna talk, you know I'm there for you."

"I know." I tossed the blanket back on the bed, and took my costume and mask back from her. "That was way too intense. I wish there'd been some place I could send them where they couldn't come back from instead of just killing them all."

"Well, you know people have tried to talk to them," Vicky offered as I put the costume back on. "When an actual verbal dialogue has happened, they've always agreed … and they've invited the people into the quarantine zone."

I suspected I knew where this was going. "They didn't accept, did they?"

"One did." She grimaced. "He went in with a full escort. It was an ambush. Three troopers made it out, and one of those had to be quarantined when Machine Army elements were found in his wounds. He died, and his body was destroyed. Everyone else, as far as we know, either died or had their bodies used for spare parts. Because they do—uh, did—that too."

"So, good faith out the window. Gotcha." I checked myself over, making sure my costume was on straight. "Well, let's go see if they want to congratulate me or burn me as a witch."

Vicky didn't argue, because she'd seen the same PHO posts as I had. The latter wasn't too far off the mark, for some of the more extreme idiots out there. Just because I turned into a giant fire-breathing lizard didn't mean I was in league with the Forces of Darkness (whatever that meant, in this day and age).

"Anyone who wants to pull that shit on you has to come through me first," she declared. "Though I didn't want to geek out too much about this straight away, but holy shit that lightning form was amazing."

"It's definitely a thing," I agreed as we headed for the doors. "Though I can't help wondering now if I'm gonna end up with a form for every new powerset I get hit with."

"Never fight Triumph," she advised impishly. "You're loud enough as it is when you get that big."

I stuck my tongue out at her, then we opened the doors and stepped outside.

<><>​

Lady Photon

Sarah watched as Taylor and Victoria emerged from the barracks, Taylor once more in human form and properly costumed. She couldn't have been prouder; both girls had performed amazingly well under fire, and had carried out the task at hand with promptness and efficiency. The Machine Army's countermeasures had been more powerful and effective than she'd anticipated, but fortunately they'd been enough to protect everyone until Taylor got big enough to do the job she'd come here to do.

"Well done, young ladies." Lieutenant-Colonel Briggs had already said as much to her and Bastion, but his enthusiasm had not dimmed one iota. "Preliminary scans indicate that there are no Machine Army elements outside the area of destruction. You've accomplished a truly magnificent task here today."

"Thanks," Victoria replied. Taylor seemed to be more subdued, but she nodded in acknowledgement as well. "But what happens if they've managed to put down some kind of sleeper cell? Like that missile that nearly got away?"

Briggs nodded. "Astute observation, Glory Girl. We aren't finished here, not by a long shot. I suspect we'll be observing the area of destruction and combing the surrounding perimeter for the next six months, until even the most paranoid of the top brass are satisfied that nothing is left. Trust me: we're not going to just assume they're dead simply because it looks that way." He gestured toward the bullet points on the sign. "Smoking crater or no smoking crater, we've still got a job to do."

"Good." Taylor smiled, though she still didn't look totally thrilled. "I'd hate to have to come back here and do that again."

"And we'll do our humble best to ensure you don't have to." Briggs gave Taylor a respectful nod. "That lightning form wasn't covered by any of my briefings. Were you keeping it under wraps for this sort of occasion?"

"No." Taylor shook her head. "Sometimes, when I'm hit by something my current form can't really handle well, I adapt. It takes something pretty significant to make it happen, though."

"Hm. Well, you certainly gave their own medicine back to them in spades." He held out his hand. "Thank you, Wyvern. I wish you all the luck in your endeavours."

Taylor shook it. "I appreciate it, sir."

"And that's our cue to leave." Sarah gathered them in by eye, and they walked toward where Bastion was waiting at the helipad. "I believe these are yours," she said, handing the phone and earbuds she'd gotten back off the sergeant to Vicky.

"Thanks, Aunt Sarah." Vicky tucked them away in a pouch.

Behind her, Sarah heard Briggs making a call to Boston. "Yes, Director, they'll be on their way back in a moment. Yes, a total success. We may just have dealt with this problem once and for all."

Strider rose from the folding chair someone had provided for him, and met them there. He seemed to be totally unfazed by what he'd seen, but from the way Bastion kept glancing at Taylor, Sarah figured he had something to say.

"What's your problem?" Victoria asked, before Sarah had a chance to say anything. "You're acting like she kicked your puppy or something."

"What the hell was that about?" Bastion's tone was intense, but he kept his voice down as he confronted Taylor. "You burned a hole clear through my force field! You compromised its integrity!"

Taylor squared her shoulders and looked up at him unwaveringly. "And I'd do it again. Vicky was in trouble."

Sarah cleared her throat. "Is this because she did it without warning you first, or because she was able to do it at all?"

Bastion's whole attitude showed his unhappiness. "Nobody told me Wyvern was that powerful! Did you just bring me along to show me up in front of everyone?"

"What?" Sarah shook her head. "No! You saw how she needed protection. I certainly wouldn't have been able to keep her safe on my own. And you did a spectacular job where it was needed."

"Yeah," Victoria added. "Just because your force fields didn't stop everything that hit them doesn't mean you didn't contribute."

Taylor nudged her and leaned in to murmur, "Not helping, Vicky."

For a wonder, Victoria listened. "Sorry. You protected Wyvern and Aunt Sarah when they needed it. Your force fields are actually pretty impressive."

The turnaround caught Bastion on the back foot. "Ah, right, well, I did what I could. And good job stopping that first missile."

Victoria half-shrugged to acknowledge the praise. "You're welcome. Teamwork makes the dream work, I guess?"

Sarah turned to Strider. "Well, it looks like we're ready to go now."

"Gotcha." Strider glanced at everyone. "Ready? Six hundred feet down this time. Three … two … one."

Crack.

<><>​

Taylor

Standing on the helipad in Boston, I worked my jaw again to get rid of the feeling that my eardrums were trying to meet in the middle of my skull. With a huge POP, the pressure equalised. "Wow," I said, rubbing my ear. "That will never not be weird."

"Maybe we should be flying when we do it next," Vicky suggested. "Pick an altitude that's the same as where we're going."

"That's actually a reasonable idea," Mrs Pelham agreed, letting go of where she'd been pinching her nostrils to equalise her own pressure. "And it would certainly be more comfortable."

"Just so you're aware, Ellisburg is almost exactly the same altitude as where we are now." Strider seemed to pick up some sort of reaction from us. "What? I check these things up. It's essential in my line of work."

"Well, I have no problem with doing due diligence." Mrs Pelham dusted her hands off. "So, back to Brockton Bay, girls?"

"Actually," Vicky said, "how about we just go and do Ellisburg right now? I mean, if Wyvern's up to it?"

She looked at me expectantly, and I hesitated. The Eagleton battle had been tiring, but all I had were a few sore spots from where the lasers had hit me. Once I'd gotten my lightning form, I'd regenerated all the damage the electricity cannon had done to me.

Her face was just starting to fall when I nodded. "Yeah," I said. "Why not?" The grin she gave me then just lit her whole face up.

"Bastion?" asked Mrs Pelham.

Even before he opened his mouth, I knew what was going through his mind. There was no way he was going to let a couple of teenage girls show him up. "Yeah, why not? Let's do this."

"I concur." Mrs Pelham looked at Strider. "Change of plans. We're going to Ellisburg."



End of Part Twenty-Four

 

[Ack]

Wyvern

Part Twenty-Five: Operation Ellisburg

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



Rooftop Helipad, Boston Protectorate Building

Taylor

"Wait!" The voice of Director Armstrong rang out across the rooftop just as Strider was prepping to teleport us again. "What's going on? Where are you going?"

"Ah. Hold on, please." Mrs Pelham stepped away from Strider. "I apologise. I got caught up in the moment. Glory Girl suggested that we go straight on to Ellisburg and clean it up at the same time, and it seemed like a good idea. I should've let you know that we were going on with Bastion. That's my bad."

"Oh." Armstrong looked at the rest of us. "Wyvern, you're good to do Ellisburg as well? You feel fit enough to take on Nilbog?"

"Well, it's not like we're going to be fist-fighting them one at a time," Vicky snarked. "You should've seen the absolute crater she made out of Eagleton."

I half-expected him to get angry at the back-talk, but he just raised one eyebrow a little. "The footage has been sent my way, yes. The amount of damage that was done there is what's making me ask the question. Wyvern, do you personally feel up to that level of exertion all over again?"

I looked warily at him. "I didn't think I'd need to be. It's not like Nilbog can produce lightning guns or missiles or laser cannons, and he doesn't even know I'm coming … does he?"

"It's highly unlikely that he does, no," he conceded. "Or that he can muster the ordnance you faced at Eagleton. But that's not the whole story. Have you ever heard of Watchdog?"

Mrs Pelham's head came up, a frown appearing on her face. It seemed she knew that name, at least. "No," I answered honestly. "What's his powerset?" With a name like that, I guessed the Director was talking about a cape of some sort.

He shook his head. "Watchdog isn't a person, they're a think tank made up of precogs that the PRT keeps on hand to answer questions about potentially dangerous situations. Someone once posited the idea of an all-out surprise attack on the Goblin Kingdom with overwhelming force, and asked about possible downsides. The consensus was that there would be long-lasting unpleasant consequences, though the indications as to exactly what are a little unclear."

"Unclear?" asked Vicky. "What do you mean, 'unclear'?"

Director Armstrong sighed. "I never said this, but precogs rarely seem to be both powerful enough to get a solid prediction and transparent enough in their predictions for anyone to readily understand what they mean by them. But Watchdog's answers show up on a spectrum from least bad to most bad, and all indications are that it'll be on the problematic end of that scale. The phrase 'Trojan horses' was mentioned."

"But that's like an attack with PRT forces and normal capes, right?" Vicky gestured to me. "She could wreck the place even harder than Alexandria could, or maybe Hero." Nobody was willing to make a claim like that about Eidolon, because he was the guy with all the powers, and I was pretty sure bringing up Legend would be a sore point all around.

He frowned, an expression his face was really suited for. "I wasn't privy to the original question, so I couldn't say for sure, but … perhaps? All I know is that if I wanted to send my capes to attack Ellisburg, I'd need to get permission from the top, and that permission hasn't been granted in ten years."

Vicky and I looked at each other, while Mrs Pelham asked the relevant question. "So how did Director Piggot get permission?"

Armstrong rubbed his chin. "Before we get into that: Bastion, we probably won't need you for the moment. I'd appreciate it if you could make a start on your report on the Eagleton mission. And Strider, this discussion may take a while. If you have any other pending jobs, feel free to carry them out. I have your number for when I need to contact you again."

"Yes, sir." Bastion headed for the rooftop entrance.

Strider merely nodded; a moment later, he vanished with a crack of what I assumed was displaced air.

Mrs Pelham looked around the roof. The helicopter that we'd arrived in was still and silent, the crew apparently somewhere downstairs. There were guards at the rooftop entrance, but I figured we were too far away for them to hear what we were saying. Understanding crossed her face as she turned back to Director Armstrong. "She didn't get permission at all, did she?"

"I honestly doubt it, no," he said heavily. His expression was unhappy, and not all of it was because his face fell naturally into those lines.

A thought occurred to me. "Not to be a nitpicker, but did she actually need permission to ask me a favour?"

"Technically she didn't, because we're not under her jurisdiction, or that of any part of the PRT." Mrs Pelham shook her head, her lips tightening. "She asked you to do it, not ordered. Legally, we're free agents. A favour for someone isn't the same as an official act."

"That's a very fine line to walk." Director Armstrong's unhappy expression was threatening to become permanently engraved upon his features. "And I'm not certain many judges would agree that she's on the correct side of it."

"Why the hell would she even do that?" Vicky burst out. "Especially if there's a chance it can go badly wrong?"

Armstrong looked at the three of us. "I don't know if you're aware of this, but she's one of the only two survivors from the original Ellisburg debacle. Those monsters ate her squadmates and ruined her health. She hates Nilbog with a white-hot fury that probably hasn't cooled down at all in the last ten years. If she thought she had a better than even chance of killing him, she'd gear up and parachute in there herself with a knife between her teeth, and to hell with the consequences."

That gave me the clue. "'Better than even'. Director Piggot thinks I've got a more than fifty-fifty chance of dealing with Nilbog once and for all. That's why she asked me to do it."

Mrs Pelham folded her arms and nibbled at her lower lip, her expression pensive. "Yes, but even if you kill Nilbog, it may yet set off some kind of deadman switch. In this particular context, I dislike the phrase 'Trojan horses'. It sounds far too ominous for my taste."

"Yeah, but the PRT haven't got anyone like Wyvern on their side," Vicky reminded her, then seemed to remember that Director Armstrong was part of the conversation as well. "No offense and all that, but it's true."

"None taken," he replied. "However, your aunt is correct. Deadman switches are a distinct risk for this kind of situation. God only knows what Nilbog is able to bring to the table after ten years of being cooped up in Ellisburg. If he's the biological equivalent to a Tinker, the way our analysts suspect he is, he could have anything cocked and ready to fire."

"But you saw what Wyvern did, right?" Vicky was nothing if not persistent. "When those Eagleton robots pushed her hard enough, she went full Smaug on them. They had a deadman switch, and she ended that along with everything else."

"Yes, I saw it." Director Armstrong was being amazingly patient, in my view. "That's the only reason I haven't already declared this conversation over and done. I need to be sure that Wyvern isn't going to go easy on them through some misplaced idea of fair play. You'll get exactly one chance to finish the job, and that means eradicating every last member of the Goblin Kingdom in one fell swoop. No survivors, no second chances, no sparing any of them, even the ones that look too cute to be dangerous."

"Um," I said, clasping my right elbow with my left hand. "You're kinda making it sound like genocide. I thought if I just took out Nilbog, the danger would be over."

"It needs to be genocide," he insisted. "A special type, but genocide all the same. We think all the creatures came from him. They're all basically twisted clones of Nilbog, with different appearances and capabilities. But what if, hypothetically, he's primed them to scatter in all directions if it looks like Ellisburg is going to be overrun or destroyed? There are literally thousands of them, and if each one is infected with a different virulent disease that we've never seen before, he only needs one to make it through the cordon to start an apocalypse."

"Trojan horses." Mrs Pelham nodded slowly, her expression as unhappy as his had been. "I hate to say it, but it fits."

"So, we're just gonna let him hold us hostage like that?" asked Vicky.

Director Armstrong's brows came down and he reared his head back a little. "I'd hardly call it holding us hostage—"

"Well, what would you call it?" She didn't give him time to answer before she kept going. "If he's got the ability to spread exotic diseases all over the region, and all he needs is a reason—or an excuse—to do it, and we're too scared to take him down because he's holding this cocked gun to our heads, then excuse me, Mr Director sir, but I call that holding us hostage."

It occurred to me that she might not have thought the scenario all the way through. There was another potential layer of horror to go.

What if they're all pretending to have different personalities, and it's all really just him in every one of those clones? If just one gets away, then even if the original is killed, he gets to start up all over again, outside the walls of Ellisburg. And meanwhile, we think just because we've killed the original that it's time to relax.

Despite that, I was still no more comfortable with the idea of killing off the inhabitants of Ellisburg than I had been after the fact of wiping out the Machine Army. In some ways, it was even harder.

If I worked at it, I could convince myself that the Eagleton robots had been mere machines blindly following their creator's programming, a bunch of defective things to be shut down and destroyed at the first opportunity. On the other hand, while Nilbog's creatures were vicious and murderous and no longer really human, that last description also applied to me when I was the wyvern. At the end of the day, they were still undoubtedly living, sapient beings. The whole 'gun aimed at our heads' thing was not a point in their favour, but I'd dealt with armed, dangerous people before, without needing to kill them.

"Uh, is it possible to talk to Nilbog? Maybe get him to surrender instead of going all mutually assured destruction on us?" I ventured while Director Armstrong was still working on an answer to Vicky's challenge. Not that I thought she was wrong—for someone who the public saw as impulsive and reckless more often than not, she was smarter than most people I knew—but I had to ask the question. I had to know.

I had to at least try.

"They've got loudspeakers on the wall," he told me. "Periodically, they urge him to turn himself in. The goblins started off with destroying the speakers, but when they were replaced with armoured ones, Nilbog started sending envoys to recite a list of demands, such as setting aside a few thousand square miles for his 'fiefdom', in return for his graciously allowing us to live among his people."

Vicky snorted. "Yeah, watch that not happen."

Director Armstrong nodded sombrely. "The list gets longer each time, and the demands get more bizarre. It would be ideal if we could talk him out of there, but all indications are that he's been drinking his own Kool-Aid for so long that he truly believes himself a king with no rules to restrain him. Even if we reached an agreement with him, it would only be a matter of time before he broke it, or decided that we'd broken it and retaliated without warning."

I grimaced, unhappy with the way this was being reframed. "So, what you're saying is, I've got to hit them hard and give them no chance to send people over the wall or anything like that."

Mrs Pelham came over to me. "Wyvern, if you're not comfortable with this, we can draw a line under what we've already done so far and call it a day. You've already done a magnificent job, and gotten rid of one looming threat." She put her hand on my shoulder. "Nobody could ask more of you than what you've already done."

"But I kinda told Director Piggot that I could do this. That I would do this. She made it sound really important." I looked at her empathetic expression and felt bad all over again. Mom and Dad had rarely disagreed over anything important, so I'd never really run into this before, but I deeply respected the Director and Mrs Pelham (and I didn't know Director Armstrong very well but he seemed nice, and he mostly supported Director Piggot's views) and it was hard to figure out what was the right thing to do when they had different sets of expectations for me.

I caught Vicky's eye, and she looked at me expectantly. I was glad that she wasn't putting her two cents in anymore, but that didn't really matter because I already knew which way she'd jump. She thought it was a good idea for me to go and do it, and her reasoning was solid enough for me not to dismiss it out of hand. Also, I respected her at least as much as I did Mrs Pelham and the Directors.

"And it is important," Mrs Pelham agreed. "But your mental well-being is even more important. Ellisburg will still be there tomorrow, and next week. I'm not saying not to do it, I'm saying to ask yourself if you're up to doing it now."

I knew Nilbog was dangerous, and the wrong move (which could include making no moves at all) could see a breakout, followed by potential plagues ravaging the continental US. Up until now, I'd never heard of a disease-causing cape more dangerous than Rash, a low-tier villain in Miami who could turn her opponents' immune systems against them, so there weren't many precautions set up against such attacks (especially since Rash's ability wasn't contagious). By the time it was over, we'd have safeguards in place, but at the cost of how many lives?

Still thinking it over, I looked at Director Armstrong. "If I decided to do it now, can you call ahead to Ellisburg and let them know I'm coming, and warn them to be on alert in case something goes wrong anyway?" Because Eagleton had nearly gone disastrously wrong, and I liked to think I could learn from my mistakes.

He gave me a short, sharp nod. "I can definitely do that. So, you're going to do it?"

I took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. Mrs Pelham was watching me closely, and I gave her what I hoped was a confident nod. "Yeah, I think so. It's not gonna be any easier if I do it tomorrow or next week, and by then things might've changed for the worse."

Mrs Pelham and I both ignored Vicky's small fist-pump and muttered, "yes!". Instead, she looked thoughtfully at me as Director Armstrong pulled out his phone and made a call.

"You know I'm not telling you not to do it," she said. "I just want you to be sure in your own mind that this is what you believe you should do, not based on anyone else's thoughts on the matter."

"Yeah, I'm certain," I said. "Like I said, it's gotta be done. He murdered the whole town, once upon a time. Doesn't that level of serial killing from a cape usually rate a kill order?" I wasn't exactly trying to talk myself into it believing my own words, but I sure as hell wasn't trying to talk myself out of it either.

"It usually does, yes, but you're not yet eighteen," she reminded me, being vague about my age on general principles. "Trust me when I say that killing someone at your age, no matter how needful it is, leaves a mark that never really goes away."

She wasn't just saying the words. I got the impression that she was speaking from personal experience. For all I knew, she was. My own entry into the world of capes had been so traumatic that I'd temporarily forgotten everything about my life, including my own name. I had no idea what she'd gone through, back when she triggered with powers.

"If not me, who?" I asked quietly. "Killing's something you can't undo; I get that. The robots in Eagleton did their best to kill me before I got on top of the situation, but I still regret that they had to die. Same with Nilbog. I'm not happy about everything that's led up to this point, yet here we are."

The three major events, of course, were that Nilbog had taken over Ellisburg, killing thousands; I'd triggered with powers and been pushed by events into becoming something not too far short of an Endbringer; and Director Piggot had asked me to do something about Nilbog. I could literally do nothing to change any of those things. The one I'd had most control over was the Director's request, and I'd said yes before I really knew what I was getting into. Awkward situation or no, I preferred to bull on through rather than back away from something I'd started.

Story of my life, really.

"Here we are," she echoed with a sad nod. "Alright then, we'll give you all the backup we can, and if you need someone to talk to afterward and you don't feel like sharing this burden with your father, I'll be there to listen."

"Thanks, I appreciate it." I gave her a quick hug. "Seriously, I appreciate everything about New Wave taking me onto the team and giving me all the support."

A smile quirked the corner of her mouth as she looked over at Vicky. "I think we both know who the driving force behind that little coup was, but I can't argue with the results."

Though she could undoubtedly hear us, Vicky said nothing in reply. However, she did buff her nails on her costume and preen a little. I didn't blame her; her decision at the time to rescue me had been the best possible one she could've made.

Director Armstrong ended the call but didn't put his phone away. "They've been alerted and are awaiting your arrival," he reported. "I'll contact Strider now and let him know you're ready to go on."

Mrs Pelham smiled. "That would be appreciated, thanks."

"Totally," snarked Vicky. "Flying to Ellisburg would be even more of a pain than flying back to Brockton Bay." She paused. "Are we gonna need Bastion for this?"

Director Armstrong paused before hitting the call icon on his phone. "I'm afraid that will no longer be possible." To his credit, he didn't look or sound happy about having to deny us. "I haven't been given clearance to send anyone to attack Nilbog, so simply not standing in your way is the most I'm allowed to do right now."

He didn't explain further, but the writing was on the wall. The moment he'd admitted that nobody in the PRT could launch such an attack without permission from above, his hands had been tied. Before, he could have claimed an assumption that Director Piggot had been given such permission; now that it was out in the open, he couldn't do anything of the sort without risking his own career.

"Understood, and thank you." Mrs Pelham's expression and tone gave me the impression that she'd come to the same conclusions as I had. This didn't surprise me in the slightest, given that as a senior member of New Wave, she had to be damn good at cape politics. "I strongly suspect he wouldn't be needed as much as he was at Eagleton. He did well there."

Again, I picked up on the subtext. Even though Bastion had been more than a little whiny after the fact (I was still certain that he hadn't expected me to be able to put a plasma jet through his force field as easily as I had) the truth was that he'd stepped up and done his bit to keep us all safe. We couldn't have done it without him, and that was a fact. Mrs Pelham was just making sure that he got some kind of attaboy from his boss after we left.

"Thank you. Excuse me a moment, please." He hit the button to call Strider and half-turned away from Mrs Pelham in that subconscious privacy move that most people use.

"It'll be fine," Vicky said encouragingly to me, though in truth I hadn't been worried about that. As Mrs Pelham had said, Bastion's force field would be less useful where we were going than where we'd been. My dubious expression was entirely due to my less than total enthusiasm about wiping out Nilbog and his multitude of critters. "We're New Wave. We got this."

"Oh, totally," I agreed. "Just, uh … keep in mind that we didn't expect anything big out of Eagleton, either. For a bunch of machines that had all of five minutes' warning, they ramped up fast. I'm not saying Nilbog will be able to do the same thing, but … well, he has been behind those walls for ten years, waiting for someone to kick the front door in and start shooting."

"No, true." It was times like this that she showed just how smart she was. Most people would've held onto their preconceptions and insisted that everything was going to be okay. "I'll make sure to keep an eye out for anything that looks even remotely hinky."

"You and me both, trust me." In my regular Wyvern form, the one that breathed fire, I could see pretty far into the infrared part of the spectrum. Among other things, this let me detect heat signatures through thin barriers, as well as normal smoke. If any of Nilbog's clone-minions tried to sneak up on us by going chameleon, I would see it before it got close enough to be a problem.

Director Armstrong joined us, sliding his phone into his pocket. "Strider says he'll be a couple of minutes. Are you okay with waiting up here?"

Mrs Pelham glanced at Vicky and me, and we gave her virtually identical shrugs. Sure, the wind was brisk and made Vicky's cape flap sideways, but she had her skin-level force field and I'd been more capable of handling cold temperatures since I got the ice upgrade. I honestly didn't care where we waited, so long as we got it over with sooner rather than later.

"It appears so," she informed him, then created a force field that combined shelter against the wind with a bunch of chairs. "Let's get comfortable, shall we? We can use the time to devise a strategy to use against Nilbog."

Vicky claimed the nearest chair and leaned back in it. "I thought the strategy was going to be 'rawr, fear my terrible flame' or something similar. I mean, a dragon—sorry, wyvern—attacking a town of goblins? Have you never read a fantasy book in your life?"

"More than you have, I bet," I retorted. "But this isn't a fantasy book, I'm not a fantasy dragon, and Nilbog absolutely isn't a fantasy goblin of any description. So, we need to forget any preconceptions about fantasy books and movies."

"Best not to use flame at all," Director Armstrong put in. "During the Ellisburg debacle, there were reports of some of his creatures using fire and heat to create more of themselves."

Vicky rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on," she mock-complained. "What's the fun in being able to turn into a wyvern if you can't just toast the bad guys into a greasy smear?"

I nudged her with my shoulder. "I do have other options." More than I'd started the day with, even.

"Oh, right, yeah." She brightened. "There is that."

"Whichever one you choose," Director Armstrong warned, "don't do it piecemeal if you can help it. If Nilbog's creatures realise that you really do have the wherewithal to destroy them all at once, that will almost certainly trigger whatever doomsday protocol they've got saved up."

I nodded. "Got it. Don't use fire, do use something that will get them all at once." I still wasn't totally on board with the idea of killing them all at once—or at all, honestly—but I knew enough to understand that Nilbog would absolutely kill me if he saw me as a threat and he had the opportunity to do so. While I was less than thrilled at Director Piggot for putting me in this situation without giving me all the information I needed to make an informed choice, I had made the decision and I did see her side of things.

Strider made his usual entrance just about then, with a muted crack. We got up from our chairs, and Mrs Pelham dismissed the force field.

"Three to go to Ellisburg," Director Armstrong said to Strider. "Afterward, take them on to Brockton Bay."

Strider nodded. "Copy that." I was just thinking that he was taking it all in his stride (pun intended) when he looked over at me with rather more respect than when we'd first me. "Going to do an Eagleton job on them?"

"Well, that's the general idea," I said awkwardly.

"Good." He gave me a definitive nod. "Ready to go?"

Mrs Pelham looked from me to Vicky, and put her hands on our shoulders. "Ready."

We arrived at the centre of a helipad, surrounded by yet another PRT encampment. This time, as Strider had noted, there was no elevation change and thus no sudden need to pop our eardrums. An officer was standing by with a trooper in attendance; as soon as we appeared, he started in our direction, but stopped at the edge of the helipad circle. Basic safety precautions, I figured.

"Wyvern?" he asked. When I nodded, he continued. "Pleased to meet you. Major Holden. Director Armstrong gave us the heads-up."

"Ah, good." Mrs Pelham looked around. "Did he tell you to back the men off from the walls, and to put them on alert?"

Major Holden frowned. "He did, but I didn't get an adequate explanation for that. Would you mind clarifying?"

She glanced in my direction, and I realised this was my show, so I needed to step up. "Sure," I said. "When I hit them, I'll be hitting to destroy them. If they get any kind of idea that's about to happen, and I'm sorry but there's a good chance of it, then they might just put whatever dead-man switch into operation that they've been brewing in there for the last ten years." I knew I was just saying what other people had already said, but it really did bear repeating.

Major Holden frowned. "Why are you so sure they'll know that something's about to happen?"

"Um, because I need to be big enough to cover the area all at once, and I can't get that big on the ground, and when I'm that big in the air, I'm not exactly subtle." I paused, suspecting I knew where we might be getting off-track. "You have seen the footage, right?"

"Of your power test? I know of it, but I haven't viewed it yet." His sideways glance at the trooper with him was almost too fast to notice. "Sergeant, have you watched it yet?"

"Yes, sir." The sergeant was wearing the standard PRT faceless helmet so I couldn't see where he was looking, but I would've bet good money he was looking at me to try to discern the wyvern within. "It's kind of impressive. And when she says she's not subtle in the air when she's that big, it's nothing but the truth, sir."

"Well, then." He knew he'd fucked up, and we knew it too. Fortunately, it seemed his mistake lay in not having given the orders yet, rather than refusing to give them. "Sergeant, everyone has their orders?"

"Yes, sir."

"Make it so."

"Roger that, sir." The sergeant took a step to the side, and I thought I could hear a vague murmur coming from his helmet.

The effects of the orders, though not immediate, gradually became visible and audible all around us. Men shouted, engines revved, and troopers ran here and there at the double (or at least, what I assumed was at the double). It seemed that, belatedly at least, the PRT in Ellisburg had decided to take me seriously.

"Uh, one more thing," I said, drawing the officer's attention back to me. "I'm going to need a place to change. Got a barracks free or something? It'll only take a couple of minutes."

"And I'll go with," Vicky added quickly. "Someone needs to grab her costume until she wants it again, and that's me."

"Ah, yes, of course." Major Holden conferred briefly with the sergeant, who (as had happened in Eagleton) pointed the way to where I could Change. We headed that way, ready to do this whole thing over again.

When I got home, I decided, I was going to collapse for a week.

<><>​

Glory Girl

Only someone who knew Taylor like Vicky did would've seen it, but she could tell her bestie's heart just wasn't in it as she stalked out of the barracks in all her wyvern glory. Oh, sure, there was the the bared teeth and the slightly-outspread wings, but Vicky could see under it all to the drag in the step and the limp crest. She'd faked enough enthusiasm herself over the years to spot it every time in someone else.

Somewhere along the line, Vicky realised, this had gone from 'fun' to 'work' for Taylor. She wasn't doing it because she wanted to do it, she was doing it because she figured she had to do it. There was no doubt that Taylor was going to do her best, she just wasn't going to enjoy it.

They paused outside, and Taylor chirped interrogatively. Major Holden looked to Vicky for a translation; fortunately, her association with Taylor had also made her good at being a Wyvern whisperer. "She wants to know if you guys are all set up and ready to roll if things go south."

"Thank you," he said. She caught his dubious glance at Taylor, but figured that was due to him trying to see the teenage girl where the wyvern now stood. "We're as ready as we're going to be."

Taylor nodded, then spread her wings for takeoff. Vicky and Aunt Sarah took to the air at the same time; Taylor's costume and mask had already been stashed in the belt pouch Vicky was using for that purpose, so they were ready for action.

Well, ready for Taylor to get really ready for action, anyway.

Vicky stayed level with Taylor as the latter flapped her wings hard for altitude. Aunt Sarah stayed just a little lower, spreading out a broad force field between them and Ellisburg, just in case. And as for Taylor … she just kept getting bigger and bigger.

A smirk played across Vicky's lips as she imagined the look on Holden's face when he realised exactly how much of an understatement the sergeant had made when he said Taylor's full Changed size was 'kind of impressive'. Already, Taylor was Learjet sized and still going for altitude; the bigger wings meant she could go even higher with each prodigious downstroke. And you ain't seen nothing yet, Vicky silently promised the man.

Turning her attention to Ellisburg, she noted they were now well above the walls, and thus in plain sight of any of Nilbog's minions that might happen to glance their way. As the thought formed, she heard the mournful sound of a horn echoing over the rooftops from a ramshackle tower. Either this was totally unrelated and they had the best timing in history, she decided, or that was a watchkeeper sounding the alarm.

Taylor still hadn't sized up to her full capability yet, so Vicky started looking more closely at what lay within the walls of Ellisburg. While it would take an anti-aircraft gun to make a dent in Taylor right now (maybe several), Vicky didn't quite put it past Nilbog to have constructed the medieval equivalent just for such an occasion. Trebuchets, or whatever the things were called.

No siege engines appeared to be waiting on Taylor to swoop overhead, but those cute shingle roofs could conceal anything, so Vicky didn't relax quite yet. That alarm horn had been there for a reason, so there had to be something Nilbog thought he could do. Whether it could do anything against Taylor at full strength was something else altogether, but Vicky figured it was safer to assume that Nilbog had something nasty up his sleeve than to discount the idea altogether.

And then Taylor looked downward, squinted, and said, "OH, SHIT."

At that size, her voice was audible to everyone in the surrounding area, so the trick wasn't so much hearing her as not being deafened by her. Still, Vicky had no idea why she'd said that; before the question could be asked, Taylor folded her wings and dived, downsizing even faster than she'd upsized before.

Vicky shared a confused glance with Aunt Sarah. "What's she doing?" she asked. "What did I miss?"

"I have no idea." Sarah started downward. "Keep an eye on Ellisburg. I'll ask her."

"Right, yeah, okay." Vicky maintained altitude, even as Sarah threw up an aerodynamic force field then rocketed down in Taylor's wake.

Far below, Taylor had gotten down to about Learjet size again, but Vicky still couldn't figure out what was going on. Jaws gaping wide, Taylor was flying parallel to the ground, belching huge volumes of fire downward. Vast swathes of otherwise unoccupied ground—they'd evacuated everything and everyone from the vicinity of Ellisburg for miles around—were being scorched to cindered ruin, but Vicky didn't know why.

Aunt Sarah got close enough to Taylor to ask her what the hell was going on (though Vicky suspected she'd be more polite about it); Vicky didn't hear the question, but she heard the answer. "Get back! Disease spores!"

And that explained everything, all at once. They'd thought that Nilbog might have his creatures run in all directions carrying disease within them, but he was being sneakier than that. How Taylor had seen them at all, Vicky wasn't sure, unless they were visible in a part of the spectrum her wyvern form was equipped to see.

Personally, Vicky wouldn't have been the least bit surprised to find out that was precisely the case. Taylor's Changer forms were bullshit squared on a bullshit sandwich.

The fire breath was hopefully scorching the spores to ash, which sounded like a win to Vicky. All Taylor had to do was kill the spores faster than Nilbog could make them. Vicky was sure that she and Aunt Sarah could go into Ellisburg if they had to, and punch out Nilbog once and for all.

Then, ahead of Taylor, she saw the real problem. The cordon around Ellisburg had been unbroken and still was; they'd just pulled back a ways and prepped for trouble. Unfortunately, the trouble coming their way was an intangible cloud of spores, and the only method Taylor had to deal with it was just as problematic to humans as it was to spores.

She had no doubt they were equipped with air filtration equipment; on a duty station like Ellisburg, that would be a given. But while the standard PRT uniforms were fire-retardant (because fire and other heat energy effects were horribly common among villainous Blasters), truly fireproof gear was probably something they hadn't anticipated needing. The solution, unfortunately, was likely to be far more problematic than the cure.

Taylor was a lot closer to the situation, so her grasp of the dilemma was likely to be even more comprehensive than Vicky's. Breathe fire to eliminate a mass of the spores, and kill a bunch of troopers who were just trying to keep their small patch of America safe, or skip over them and let the disease spread even farther? Vicky wasn't sure she could make that call.

Not only could Taylor make it, but she also acted on it. And, in typical Taylor fashion, she took the third option.

Going from a fast glide to all-out flight in just a few wingbeats, she powered ahead of where Vicky imagined the rolling cloud of spores to be. As she passed over the men and women in the path of the spores, she bellowed, "Get down!" Then, in a move Vicky wouldn't have been able to emulate if she lived to a hundred, she dropped one wing straight down and pivoted around it, losing all her lift and forward motion at the same time. Dropping out of the sky, she landed on her feet, wings spread wide for balance and facing back the way she'd come.

The vast cone of fire she blasted outward barely grazed the ground this time, even as she swept it sideways to cover the oncoming cloud of spores. Under it, the PRT troopers hugged the earth as they'd been told, making use of every dip and hollow they could find. They'd be real warm, Vicky figured, but they'd survive with one hell of a story to tell.

The fire reached far back along her path, no doubt destroying the offending spores in their millions and billions. "Don't use fire, my ass," muttered Taylor, no doubt forgetting for the moment that her slightest utterances at that size were audible to all and sundry. Then she flapped her wings once and took to the air, gliding forward over the PRT troopers and their singed surroundings.

That was where things went wrong for her. Vicky felt the breeze freshening where she was, a little upwind from Taylor, but her shout of warning came too late. Taylor, inhaling in preparation for another devastating roil of flame, was caught on the back foot when the spores got to her too soon.

If she'd been able to breathe flame before they went down her throat, Vicky was sure, there would've been no problem. But it didn't happen that way. Taylor inhaled, and promptly started coughing and hacking like a fifty-packs-a-day smoker. Smoke indeed gusted out of her mouth and nostrils, and a little flame, but not enough and far too late.

To Vicky's alarm, Taylor began dropping in size, even as she doubled over and made sounds like she was doing her best to hock up a lung. Her claws dug at the incinerated ground and her tail whipped from side to side, all while she heaved and convulsed and choked. The harsh coughing sounds made Vicky fear that she was about to start bringing up blood.

Aunt Sarah clearly had the same idea, because she encased herself in no fewer than four layers of force field and swooped down toward Taylor. "Hold on!" she shouted. "I've got you!"

And then Taylor grew again, to what Vicky privately called 'Armsmaster' size. It was the smallest size at which she could form speech, but she didn't bear the red and gold markings anymore. Nor was she in the blue and black, or any of the other colour combinations Vicky knew of. Now, her scales were an unhealthy green fading into a dirty yellow. "No," she rasped, almost in a continuation of the prior coughing fit. "I've got this."

She took to the air, upsizing steadily as she went, and flew downwind. Vicky expected her to breathe out some exotic stream of energy to neutralise the cloud of spores—pattern recognition was a thing, after all, and Taylor had pulled this shit more than once before—but instead she inhaled deeply. And for the first time, Vicky saw the spores.

It was a vast, spreading cloud, so big that Taylor would've only had the barest chance to contain it all before it got past her. When Taylor breathed inward, every last spore popped into visibility as it was drawn back toward her. The cloud collapsed in on itself, concentrating as it neared Taylor, vanishing into her nostrils or down her throat.

It had to be some bullshit power thing, Vicky decided, along the lines of how Taylor had inhaled fucking electricity to depower the Machine Army. Even at the size she was, there was no way that much air could fit into lungs of that size. As the last of the cloud around her vanished, she should've been ten times the size she was just from the air she'd breathed in, but that simply wasn't the case.

Then, when she finally breathed out, it was different from every other breath effect she'd pulled so far. Almost twisting and twining through the air, her exhalation strongly resembled the fibrous tendrils of a fungus network Vicky had once seen under the microscope in science lab. As they reached the ground wherever the spores had touched down, they flared brightly, then went dull again.

Taylor flew toward Ellisburg, unleashing her new breath weapon again. The tendrils scoured the land, flaring as (Vicky guessed) they neutralised the spores that had settled and were digging in. More than a few were destroyed around the PRT troopers, but they seemed none the worse for the experience.

She had to pause to inhale twice more, drawing the spores into herself, before she'd sterilised their spread all the way back to the walls of Ellisburg. Vicky could see the inhabitants of the Goblin Kingdom running through the narrow streets: whether in panic or in anger, she couldn't tell. Monsters flung what looked like bony spears at her, but she gained altitude and only a few hit her. None penetrated her hide.

As she ascended, she performed that impossible inhalation twice more, each time catching a cloud of spores on the way out of the Goblin Kingdom. She also increased in size, until she was as big as she'd been over Eagleton. At least this time she hadn't gotten a size increase, Vicky mused.

"THAT," she informed Nilbog, the PRT camp, and anyone else within about ten miles, "WAS NOT NICE. I GET IT. YOU WANT TO SURVIVE. THAT WASN'T THE WAY TO DO IT."

And then she Changed, into the purplish-red and gold form that she'd used to finish off Eagleton, and breathed a vast wave of annihilation, straight down.

Ellisburg … vanished, along with the Tinkertech wall that had been containing it all these years.

So did a good three hundred feet of ground underneath it, including the bedrock.

When Taylor let up, all that was left of Nilbog was subatomic particles on the breeze.

She was already starting to size down as Vicky flew in alongside her head. "Well, dang," Vicky said cheerfully. "That'll have to put a smile on grumpy-pants Piggot's face, don't you think?"

Taylor turned to look at her, now back in her red-and-gold form and just big enough to talk. "Nothing against you, Vicky, but right now I don't give a shit about what makes Piggot happy."

Yup, Vicky decided as Taylor glided back down toward the PRT encampment and Aunt Sarah flew up to meet with them, she's definitely over this.

She'd come around in time, Vicky knew. Taylor always bounced back. But if Director Piggot knew what was good for her, she wouldn't be asking any more favours of New Wave for a while.



End of Part Twenty-Five