I wake to the muffled sound of the radio in the bathroom. Groaning, I slap my hand over the alarm clock and turn it around. 6:24. It was set for 6:30, so I preemptively cancel it and lay back on my bed. It’s all I can do to not fall back asleep. “Ughhhhhh.” Why do I feel so terrible?
“Soooooo, I’m Clara Ginge. Nice to meet you!” The girl spastically waves at me, a manic smile on her face.
Oh.
I stare at the ceiling, tracing the imperfections in the paint and remembering last night. I am still so tired. I think I might be sick. I managed to sneak back in at around three forty-five. Apparently, about three hours of sleep did not cut it. At least not after the crazy night I had. I didn’t manage to sleep all of those hours either.
“I’ve been doing this my whole life. It’s who I am.”
Not with her voice in my head.
I force myself out of my bed and rub my eyes. Why did I think going out so late on a school night was a good idea? Nursing a small headache, I go through the motions of my morning routine. I change into sweats and wash my face while fighting to stay awake. I still haven’t processed everything that happened. I’m not sure I want to, really.
I fought Lung. Drying my face off, I can’t help but snort at the absurdity of that sentence. I fought Lung. I didn’t win, but it’s still true.
Pride warms me but I quickly stamp it out. I had been lucky. There’s no way around it. If another hero hadn’t shown up, I might have died. If Oni Lee had been there, and not Clara, Dad might’ve gotten a call asking him to identify a burnt corpse.
Except Clara was about as far away from the noble paragons of good in the Protectorate as you could get. Instead of clearing the area of civilians and giving Lung the option of surrender, she’d jumped in without a care. She wasn’t scared. She was excited. She’d choked out Lung in the most disturbing and ironic way possible while doing backflips and cartwheels and dancing to rap music. Because she could. Because she wanted to.
Because it was fun.
I sit myself down at the kitchen table and pull on my sneakers. Was Clara a hero? I ponder the question as I tie my shoelaces. She’d gotten results at least. Lung and his gang have been around for as long as I can remember, and she brought them in. The Protectorate, for all their boasts, had never been able to do that before.
“Good morning, kiddo.” I jolt in surprise and look up. Dad leans in to kiss me on the forehead. I hadn’t even noticed him come down the stairs.
“Hey, Dad.”
My dad, Danny Hebert, isn’t exactly handsome by normal standards. Beanpole thin and tall, he’s not even close to the rugged fathers shown in Hollywood. He has a weak chin and his dark hair is thinning, toeing the line between baldness and, uh, whatever the opposite of baldness is. His glasses magnify his already big eyes. He looks surprised to see me, which is how he always looks: constantly confused. That, and a little defeated.
Dad opens the fridge as I reply. He looks over his shoulder, “A little glum?”
“Huh? What?”
“You sound down.” He looks back at me with brows drawn together in concern.
“Black widows?! What do you mean you have no confidence?! That’s a hell of an achievement!”
I shake my head, both to get rid of the memories and at his question. “No. Tired. I didn’t sleep well, but I’m actually a little happy. I still feel like crap though.”
The conversation drifts off into silence. The smell of bacon cooking wafts through the kitchen and I breathe it in. My sleepiness is fought off and replaced by hunger. Even heroes need to eat, I muse. Except maybe that metal Case 53? I don’t remember his name.
Neither of us say a word, but that’s nothing new. Not since Mom died. The bacon sizzling is the only sound in the kitchen, before he finally speaks again. “You know, you could go back to bed, sleep in for another hour or so. You don’t have to go on your run. Take this morning off to enjoy?”
I smile at him. An honest, genuine smile. It’s both annoying and sweet, that he hates me running. I’m leaning towards sweet this time. It’s nice to know he’s worried about me and feels compelled to drop hints that I should stop, or be safer, or join a gym. I’m not sure if he would worry more, or less, if I told him the truth about my powers.
I almost do it right then and there, but I find that I can’t open my mouth. I’m scared. Of what his reaction would be. Of his inevitable insistence to join the Wards. Of him asking how I got them.
No. Compartmentalize. I need to keep my superhero and normal lives separate. My lip curls up slightly in disgust. What would happen if Emma found out about this? Hell no. Not as long as I can help it.
So I balance another lie on my house of cards. “You know I can’t stop, Dad. If I don’t go today, it’ll be that much harder to make myself get up and do it tomorrow.”
It’s a double meaning. Unintentionally, but I recognize it as soon as I say it. I can’t stop being a hero, no matter how dangerous it might be. One day someone will need a hero to save the day, just like those children did, and Clara won’t be there to beat up the bad guy. It’ll be up to me.
I feel a mix of trepidation and hope in my chest. I hope I can live up to that.
Dad is about to continue, so I interrupt him and change the subject. “I actually made a friend recently.” He raises his eyebrows at me. I elaborate. “Clara Ginge. About my height. Redhead.” Like Emma. “Do you know her?”
He rubs his chin in thought. “No, I can’t say I do. Do you want any orange juice?”
“I’ll get it.” I walk over to the fridge and pull it open. The orange juice is sitting right next to some applesauce, so I take both out and shut the door with my foot. As I’m setting them down on the table Dad slaps some french toast next to the bacon. The room smells heavenly and my mouth is watering. I help myself to some of the applesauce to tide me over.
Dad keeps his eyes on the cooking food. He’s learned his lesson after burning bacon a few times. The silence stretches and the bacon is almost finished before he speaks up again. “A new friend, eh? Tell me more.”
I suddenly realize the trap I’ve just shut myself in. Why the hell did I think bringing up Clara of all people would be better? “Uh… Well.”
“Well this is awkward.”
No shit. I scramble to come up with something to say that doesn’t implicate my late night escapade. “She’s… interesting.”
Dad sets breakfast in front of our places and I take the opportunity to take a bite of french toast. Anything to buy me some time. I swallow once I put a decent story together that isn’t an outright lie. “She seemed very outgoing. Like she doesn’t care what other people think about her. She’s very athletic too.” A memory of Clara squeezing her eye shut as she aims her fire extinguisher through the flames, somersaulting and launching herself around Lung like a demented grasshopper, comes to mind. “Extremely athletic. I think she took gymnastics or something.”
Or something.
Dad looks pleased. “That’s… good. Good. I’m glad you’re making friends, Taylor. Any chance I can meet her?”
That has to be the worst idea I’ve ever heard. I laugh once under my breath. “I’ll ask her the next time I see her. I wouldn’t get my hopes up. She’s pretty busy.”
Yeah. Busy backflipping off buildings or whatever it is adrenaline junkies do. How does she throw herself into danger so casually?
“Real confidence is made by action, not by telling yourself in the mirror you look pretty.”
The words sting, and I let go of my fork to wipe my eyes. Is that what I’ve been doing? I grimace. I certainly don’t think I look pretty, Emma’s right about that at least, but that wasn’t what she meant, was it?
Dad, thankfully, doesn’t notice and stares down at his half-finished plate. I know that look, and cut off my train of thought so I can be ready for whatever he’s gearing himself up to say.
“I heard you come in late last night.”
I wasn’t ready. I give him a small nod, even as my heart rate spikes, and take another bite of french toast. I wish I’d triggered with a thinker power. God knows I need it to get out of this.
“Like I said.” I finally speak and look down at my plate. “I just couldn’t sleep. I have nightmares of… the locker sometimes, you know.” I hate using the locker as an excuse, but I can’t think of anything else. I don’t dare check his expression. “I needed fresh air, so I walked the neighborhood.”
Technically, none of that was a lie. I couldn’t sleep, because I’d been nervous and excited for my first night out. I do still have nightmares about the locker, but I never said I had one tonight. I needed fresh air and walked the neighborhood. I just did it in a costume while collecting and directing enough bugs to eat a crowd alive.
None of that makes me feel any less guilty.
“Damn it, Taylor.” His tone is more mad than sympathetic. My excuse wasn’t good enough. “This isn’t the kind of place where teenage girls can walk alone at night! What if someone attacked you?”
“I brought my pepper spray.” That wasn’t a lie too. I hate myself for it, but what else can I do?
I glance up to see his eyes glaring at me. He quickly averts them, but he’s still mad. And worried. His fork is stabbed all the way through a piece of french toast and pressing into the plate. “What if someone surprises you? What if the guy has a knife, or a gun?”
Or can explode and grow wings and claws? My guilt deepens even further at his worry for me, but righteousness overpowers it. If not me then who? The gangs might as well own Brockton Bay, but Clara didn’t let herself be discouraged. She didn’t falter at the risk. She beat the crap out of Lung and laughed.
I love him, but Dad is wrong. He doesn’t have all the information. I can swarm anyone with a knife and clog guns with webbing. I might not be able to subdue Lung, but there’s only one Lung. I’ll just run if I ever see him again.
I prevent any of that from showing on my face. Dad wouldn’t understand. “Ok, Dad. I’ll try not to do it again.” Lie.
Dad’s expression relaxes and he seems apologetic. We eat the rest of our meal in silence. He finishes his plate just before me and drops it into the sink with a loud clatter. “Please, Taylor. I don’t want to have to put a bell on the doors.”
He would, too. “Ok. Message received.” I promise myself I will be more careful. I don’t remember much after Clara left, but I probably didn’t pay attention to how loud I was when I got back. That night had taken a lot out of me, even with the swarm doing the majority of the work.
I finish my plate and trudge over to the sink to rinse it off. I stretch my legs a little and Dad notices. “Going on your run?”
“Yeah.” I slide my dishes into the dishwasher and turn around to give Dad a hug. It feels empty. I know I’m going to go out again. Maybe not tonight, but soon.
“Tell Clara I said hello for me.” I smile at that and nod after I step back from the hug.
I open the door and the brisk morning air greets me. “Bye Dad. See you tonight.”
“Stay safe, little owl.” I wave and close the door behind me.
Sorry, Dad. My resolve firms as I break out into a jog. I don’t think I will.
----
The run helped wake me up, and after a hot shower and a cup of coffee I felt refreshed. The fatigue all but disappeared on the way to school. I knew that it would just come back with a vengeance later, but that was a problem I could ignore for now. So I did.
The weight of the coin Clara gave me distracts me as I enter my homeroom class. It’s mocking me. Encouraging me. Both. Like, well, like Clara. Then I remember my problems in school and begin to feel a little nervous.
I basically skipped two classes last Friday and didn’t turn in a major assignment. Mrs. Knott, my homeroom teacher, probably knows already. She glances up at me as I make my way to my computer near the back of the classroom. She smiles tightly and turns her attention back to her computer without commenting on it. I’m not home free though. Someone might come down from the office and interrupt the class, which would humiliate me more than a private conversation with Mrs. Knott. I thought about skipping this class too, in order to avoid the potential humiliation and drawing attention. I was victim to enough of that already.
I sit down and turn on my computer. No. I can’t solve my problems by ignoring them. My grades would suffer, and I am on thin ice already.
Loading.
Loading..
Loading…
Finally, the operating system finishes setting itself up and I enter Parahumans Online into the search engine. Parahumans Online, usually abbreviated to PHO, was the go-to place for everything cape related. From news, to discussion boards, to cape law, it had a lot of valuable information for aspiring heroes like me. I have some time, so I decide to do some digging. Hopefully, the wiki would have some answers.
The first thing I enter is Lung. I’d looked him up before, as part of my research and preparation for becoming a superhero, but there was a big difference between reading about him and seeing him in person. Pyrokinesis sounded neat, but it didn’t really sink in for me how dangerous it was until Lung started exploding and burning my swarm while I watched. The search of ‘Lung’ redirects to a catch-all page on the ABB, the gang he was leading.
Emphasis on ‘was’. The only thing he’s in charge of now is a hospital bed.
The information on Lung’s powers matches my own experience. The only exception is his ability to be fireproof, or do all fire parahumans have that? It might just be assumed as part of the pyrokinetic package. I feel disappointed in myself as I reread the text. I hadn’t thought about it though. It was an oversight. One that could have killed me for not knowing. I can’t afford to miss a detail like that again.
There is a section beneath Lung’s description that covers his subordinates. Apparently, there were several updates to Oni Lee’s description a few days ago and…
Another cape had joined the ABB? When did that happen?
A chill runs down my back. There was another parahuman in the ABB and I hadn’t even known about it.
His name is Bakuda, which doesn’t tell me anything, so I continue reading. The entry, according to the wiki, had been added ten days ago. The picture showed him, her, from the shoulders up. A girl wearing a metal gas mask and large tinted goggles over her eyes. Besides her straight black hair, I can’t pick any other details out. For all I know she isn’t even Asian.
Yelling outside the classroom breaks me out of my thoughts. I look up and see Mrs. Knott has noticed it too. We wait for a minute before the noise picks up again. There’s a faint thud on the classroom wall and the yelling gets closer.
“Excuse me for a moment, class.” Mrs. Knott stands up from her office chair and strides over to the door. She yanks it open and we all hear a “What, exactly, do you think you’re doing?”, before it closes.
Mrs. Knott seems to have it handled, so I scroll down to Bakuda’s known powers, trying to determine just how badly I screwed up, and freeze.
Bakuda is a tinker.
A bomb tinker.
I’m glad I went to the bathroom right before school, because that is the scariest power I have ever heard of. I imagine grenades, tinkertech grenades, being lobbed at me and I laugh under my breath at the sheer amount of luck I had last night. I should have checked the wiki one last time before my first night out. I numbly read the rest of her entry and come across a link to a video titled ‘Bomb Threat @ Cornell’. Not in school, especially without headphones. I’ll watch it when I get home.
I scroll back up to Oni Lee’s description to catch up on the updates. The additions were specifically on his powers. He could teleport, but when he did, he didn’t disappear. A clone was left behind and would stay active for around five to ten seconds before disintegrating into a cloud of carbon ash. He was literally a one man ninja army. He could temporarily copy objects he was carrying too. There is even a report talking about him holding a grenade in his hand and duplicating himself, leaving his clones behind as suicide bombers.
If that worked on tinkertech, and there was no reason why it shouldn’t, then Bakuda and Oni Lee were going to have a field day. Anxiety swells and I start to hyperventilate. I had made an enemy of the leader of the gang with two supervillains armed with an infinite amount of tinkertech explosives.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. It’s fine. As long as Lung doesn’t escape, no one else knows I was the one who attacked Lung. Even Lung doesn’t know what I look like, just my power. Well, Clara knows.
Oh god.
That thought gives me the kick in the butt I need to stop putting it off and search for the person I met last night. I type in ‘Clara Ginge’ and wait with bated breath for the page to load.
There are no results matching this query. 1 unique IP address has searched the Parahumans.net Wiki for ‘Clara Ginge’ in 2011. Would you like to create a page?
Oh, duh. She said she just got her powers. Of course there wouldn’t be anything.
That gives me an idea. There was one person I hadn’t searched for yet. Myself. I open up the advanced search page for the PHO message board and search for multiple terms. Insect, spider, swarm, bug, plague, bee, wasp, cockroach, centipede, butterfly, and ant. Mostly the words that I went over while I was brainstorming a good hero name. I review the advanced options and set the timeframe to search for posts made within the past 12 hours. Then I click the search button.
“Look. Bug girl. Do you have a better name than bug girl?”
I should work on that.
Two posts are brought up. The first is a British villain named Pestilence. He was one of those capes who could use ‘magic’. That is, he believed magic was real, and not just some weird interpretation of a given set of powers. I personally don’t think magic is real, but it doesn’t really matter. This isn’t what I am looking for.
The second post is in the ‘Connections’ section of the message board, where normal people spend their time attempting to get various cape’s attention for one reason or another. Conventions and fan gatherings were organized and job offers were posted there too. It seemed like a lot of people discreetly found each other on the board through cryptic messages, referring to stuff only certain individuals would know.
The post my search found was simply titled “Bug”.
I click it and groan softly in impatience as I wait for the outdated system and overloaded school internet to load up the page. When it appeared on my screen, I read it quickly. Then I read it again, confused.
Subject: Bug
Owe you one. Would like to repay the favor. Meet?
Send a message,
Tt.
Who? Did this even relate-
“‘Will you walk into my parlor?’, said the spider to the fly.” A smug voice calls from over my shoulder.
A very familiar voice.
I slowly turn away from the computer, and there she is. Clara, sitting on one of the empty desks behind me, chewing on something. She purses her lips and a pink bubblegum bubble expands with a soft hiss of air. I stare, at a loss for words, as she smiles at me from around her gum. It grows. Then the bubble bursts and coats her mouth and nose.
Clara lets out a quiet curse and cleans her face up. “Damn it. I hate bubblegum.”
I hastily check Mrs. Knott’s desk, which is still empty, and around the rest of the room. None of the other students are looking back at us. I hiss. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I was bored.” She rolls up the gum and chews on it noisily. “Not even gonna pretend to not be bug girl? Bold.”
I wince at my mistake, but it’s too late now. She smirks at my reaction. “Oh? You completely forgot didn’t you? This is basic opsec Taylor. Come on, you’re better than that.”
I rally and lower my voice. “Says you, and keep your voice down. You don’t even wear a costume.”
“Why should I? I’m proud of my body.” She flexes her muscles and I feel a pang of envy. To her credit, she lowers her volume. “How was your sleep?”
“Awful, and you know why.” I sneak a look at the door. “Should we even be talking about this here?”
“Nah, but I took care of that.” Clara starts to blow a bubble again, but thinks twice about it and spits the gum out into her hand. She sticks it underneath the desk. “It turns out I don’t have to sleep. Noctis cape for the win.” I try to complain about how unfair that is but she cuts me off. ”Listen. I got all kinds of fun things to do today. You in?”
I look at her incredulously. “I’m in school right now, and I don’t want to skip to hang out with you. I have a life outside of… extracurricular activities.”
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
“Right. Right. Don’t worry. I have a plan.” She pulls out a stack of notecards from her pocket. How much stuff does she keep down there? “I thought about this all night.” She shuffles through them like a professional poker player, the cards fanning in a pattern that lets her see their contents. “Here it is.”
Clara slaps down a card and I lean over the back of my seat to read it.
Step 1: Bribe some gang members to distract the teacher.
On cue, an angry yell echoes from down the hallway. “You give me that right this instant young man!”
Clara giggles and I reread the note card to confirm that, yes, Clara is insane. She licks her fingers and peels off another card from the stack. “Only cost me fifty bucks.”
I grab her hand before she can set the next one down. “How many steps in this… plan… do you have?” I think of some ways a lunatic could cancel school and glare at her. “Did you set the school on fire? No one better get hurt because of this.”
Clara blows a raspberry. A few students look for the source of the noise and she gives them the middle finger before they go back to ignoring us, a few of them flipping her off in retaliation. “Relax. I didn’t want to upset your heroism thingy. Nobody’s in danger, and to answer your first question, there’s only one more step.”
The loudspeaker crackles on. “Winslow students. Please form orderly lines and exit the building. Winslow students. Please form orderly lines and exit the building. Thank you.”
Clara giggles again. “Perfect timing. Just call me March.” We both stand up with the rest of the class. She flashes me the second card and I can feel myself pale after I realize what she did.
“You what?”
“Bomb threat.” I stare in shock. She nudges me with her elbow, just like last night. “See?” She whispers. “Nothing to worry about. I just set a timed automatic call up and claimed to be Bakuda. Now the PRT will take her more seriously, and you’ll have time for a girl’s day out or a nap if you really need one. Win win!”
“Clara, you can’t just use a terrorist threat to pull me out of school!” I can’t believe I had to say that sentence.
Clara smirks. “I totally can.” Her fingers blur and the slips of paper fold into paper airplanes. A flick of her hand and both sail next to each other into the recycle bin. “Now that my plan was a success, I think it’s time for us to have a chat. Walk and talk on the way to the library?”
“You just admitted to literally being a terrorist. Why should I go anywhere with you?”
Clara rolls her eyes. “Oh please, and waste a perfectly good bomb threat? Don’t be absurd. It’s not like I used an actual bomb.” Weirdly, I’m not horrified anymore and instead feel… happy? She was willing to commit a crime just to spend time with me. “This time.” And now the horror is back.
We line up with the rest of the class. I’m in the back, as usual. The teacher hasn’t returned from whatever Clara arranged yet. I do my best to think about this rationally and determine it's best to just go with whatever her plan is. If I don’t, she might actually blow something up. “Why are we going to the library?” The way she moves distracts me as she elegantly skates to the spot in front of me. “I didn’t take you for much of a reader.”
She looks over her shoulder and pouts. “I read! Tattletale is waiting for a response from you isn’t she?”
“Who the hell is Tattletale?” Clara’s eyebrows raise in confusion. I guess at who she is talking about. “Do you mean ‘Tt’? That’s her name?”
Clara’s eyes go wide and her mouth drops open. I debate controlling a fly in there, but she would probably eat it. Any restraint in keeping her voice down dies. “Oh my gosh I butterflied the Undersider introduction away. We are fixing this. Now.”
“What?”
----
“So, like, the Undersiders are supervillains, but not, like, bad supervillains? Mostly. Uh, some of the time.” We couldn’t be a more bizarre pair as we walk downtown. Clara moves around me like a spastic squirrel, her pace slowing and speeding up constantly as she alternates between walking, skipping, hopping, and other things I don’t even know the name for. I just hide myself in my hoodie, unsure if I should be grateful for Clara pulling attention away from me, or annoyed for drawing attention at all.
Her enthusiasm is infectious though. I can’t remember the last time I had a normal conversation with… anyone really.
For a certain degree of normal. It figures that it took fighting a mob boss to make a friend.
“That doesn’t fill me with confidence. You want me to meet supervillains, and they’re only sometimes good people?” I ignore her antics and focus on the sidewalk. One step at a time. “Isn’t that risky?”
Clara shimmies her hips in time to a rhythm only she hears, walking backwards ahead of me. “Pfft. You’ll be fine. They don’t kill people.” She stops dancing and blinks once slowly. “Well, they don’t anymore. Two of them used to, but it totally wasn’t their fault.”
Does she even listen to what she’s saying? I quirk my eyebrow skeptically. “You’re not helping your case. Just… just tell me who they are first.”
“Sure. So, there’s-ah!” Clara trips on an uneven section of the sidewalk. Her body contorts and somehow bends all the way over to transition herself into a handspring. There’s a series of loud cracks which I belatedly identify as coming from her spine. The sheer amount of flexibility on display blows past the ‘impressive gymnastics’ mark, and reaches ‘I want to throw up’ levels. She turns in the air and lands next to me, walking without a care as if she didn’t just impersonate the blue girl from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. “Sorry about that. There’s four of them. They don’t really fight people. More corporate espionage Mission Impossible stuff. I never watched those movies, but I know the theme song.” Clara’s hand darts to her very expensive looking phone. “You wanna listen to it?”
“Clara. Stay on topic.” I think I have a good idea on how to handle her now. Ignore the random acrobatics. Be ready for her to do something stupid. Deal with it as it comes.
“Right. Right. There’s four of them, and they’re recruiting. That’s why Tattletale messaged you. They’re all teenagers too. You remember those ‘children’ Lung wanted to kill?” Clara looks at me expectantly.
“... You don’t mean-”
“Yep. He was talking about the Undersiders. They robbed his casino.” She twirls a pen between her fingers and waits for my response.
We’re not even five minutes into the half-hour walk and I’m already regretting my life choices. I sigh through my nose and concentrate on getting through this. “Ok. I’m just going to ignore the fact I protected supervillains-”
“They really aren’t that bad.”
I glower at her. “I’m just going to ignore the fact I protected supervillains and move on. Who’s Tattletale?”
Clara’s nibbling on the pen cap now. “She’s the coolest. She wears this sexy purple bodysuit with T’s and an Illuminati eye, even though she isn’t a member, and is super smart. Her power is Sherlock Holmes on crack.”
I’m developing a minor headache. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“She knows more about things than she should. Like guessing a password if she knows your favorite color and stuff.”
A mom pushing a baby stroller passes within earshot and I take the moment to digest that. Once she’s gone, I resume my impromptu interrogation. “The Illuminati’s real?”
Clara’s eyes light up. Oh no. “Yep! They don’t call themselves the Illuminati, but still. Did you know Ale-”
“No! And I don’t want to know! My life is bad enough without government conspiracies, thank you.” Clara nods, zips her lips, and throws away the key.
My eyes droop and I pinch myself to stay awake. The exhaustion has returned, and it once again falls to me to get this conversation back on track. “And the others?”
Clara spits out the pen cap and starts drawing a remarkably good portrait of a woman in a fedora on her palm. The pen lightly flits across her skin as it draws, and I wonder if there is anything this girl can’t make a show out of. “Grue is this creepy guy in a skull motorcycle helmet. He can squirt clouds of darkness. Like a zombie octopus, but also it cancels sound and he makes a lot more of it.”
“A zomb-” I shake my head. That way lies madness. “Wouldn’t that make it worse if he can’t see anything?”
She completes her drawing and kicks a stone without looking. It knocks the lid off a nearby trash can and the pen is tossed into the opening. “He’s immune to his own dark stuff.”
“Ah.” I stare at the trash while we pass it by and realize Clara, for all her friendliness, could kill me at any time. I glance down at the rocks and sticks that litter the sidewalk and shiver. Thank god she’s on my side.
Probably.
She doesn’t notice, and for once isn’t doing something weird. “It also glitches out Shadow Stalker’s power if she phases while in it. His darkness is actually shunting light and sound into another dimension, and Stalker’s ghost form sidesteps space in a similar way.”
“How do you know that? Wait.” I stop walking and catch her arm. Then I immediately let go of the mentally unstable rock kicker. I need answers though. “How do you know any of this stuff? Is it on the wiki?”
“Nah. I’m a supa thinka.” Clara grins mischievously.
I cross my arms and try to imitate my dad’s no-nonsense voice. “That doesn’t explain anything. What exactly is your power anyway?”
“You first.”
Fine. “I control bugs-”
Clara interrupts me with a loud buzzer noise right in my ear. I don’t even see her move and flinch away. “Wrong! You control simple minds. Remember the crab?”
My patience with her constant invasion of my space is wearing thin. “...If you know so mu-”
She talks over me. “You can also see through them. Make bug decoys and spy on people and stuff.”
I can do that? No, she’s trying to distract me. I scowl. “Stop dodging the question.”
“I told you. I’m a supa thinka.” She waves me onward and continues walking. I follow, fuming.
“You shouldn’t give out the details of your power so easily. Who knows what kind of crazy people are out there?” She smiles at me innocently. It reminds me of Madison, but I push that thought away. At least Clara isn’t actively malicious. “Anyway, the next Undersider is Regent. He’s got this cool renaissance costume with leggings and a little crown.”
I sigh again in irritation. I’m too tired for this. “And what can he do?”
She raises her hands, palms down, and wiggles her fingers. “Puppet bodies.”
“That’s… disturbing.”
Clara shrugs like we aren’t talking about another Heartbreaker. “He has to work his way into their nervous system first. And then there’s Bitch.”
“Huh?” The swear word comes out of left field and it takes me a second to figure it out. “She named herself Bitch?”
“Yep. The PRT calls her Hellhound.” I remember reading an article under that name and connect the dots. “She turns dogs into the size of vans and trains them really well. Like a dog whisperer, but excessively violent and loves dogs more than humans. Dog mask and followed by monsters. You can’t miss her.”
Trains? That’s different. “She trains them? She doesn’t control them directly?”
“Yep. The wiki is a lie.” She picks up a rock and plays hackysack with it. Still walking, Clara arcs it over her shoulder and punts it into the metal fence of a house across the street. The ringing fades as we walk further away. “It’s fine for general stuff, but I know for a fact Grue edited his own entry to say darkness generation without detailing how it also blocks sound.”
Of course she does. I don’t bother asking how and summarize the explanation. “So, Sherlock Holmes, darkness, puppet master, and big dogs. Why do they want me on their team?”
“Because bug control is overpowered.” I don’t understand why she thinks that. I couldn’t do anything last time. She’s very confident in it though, and she is a thinker. “You should decline their offer by the way, but if you meet with them they’ll give you a couple thousand dollars.”
“What? Why?” The Undersiders would just give me money for free?
We’re almost at the library. Clara drifts behind me and the hoodie blocks my view of whatever she’s playing with this time.
“They’ll say they are thankful for saving their butts, but it’s really a bribe to hear out their recruitment offer and be nice to them the next time you meet in the field.” I hear a scraping sound and stop. “Darn, that’s way too small.” Her voice echoes behind me and sounds like she’s in the street. I bite the bullet and look back. Clara has pried open a manhole and stuck her head in with zero regard for road safety. “Brockton Bay isn’t old enough huh? Cross that off the list then.”
“Clara, what the hell are you doing?” I suddenly get the intense feeling I will be saying that sentence a lot. “Get out of the street before a car hits you.” I look both ways and there’s no cars driving, but I highly doubt Clara looked before she ran out there. Is she suicidal?
Clara slides the manhole cover back on and walks back nonchalantly. “Fine, Mom. Jeez. I was checking out the city sewers. You should see the ones in New York.”
I swear this girl will be the death of me. I don’t know what to say, so I fall back on my policy of not saying anything that could lead to a worse situation.
Clara is content to tap away on her phone. I take the opportunity to think. I’m being targeted by supervillains, but at least they want me on their team and aren’t mad I beat Lung for them. Clara said they want to stay on my good side, enough to bribe me with thousands of dollars. They’re experienced parahumans too. Bitch alone could probably kill me. I don’t know how they’ll react to being turned down, but I also don’t want to work with criminals. Well, criminals with bad intentions, so Clara doesn't count. I run through my options and have a light bulb moment. Could I get the best of both worlds? “What about joining as a mole?”
Clara guffaws. “Ha! I should have seen that coming. No, no, that’s a bad idea. Take it from a thinker. You can’t fool a thinker who is literally built for uncovering secrets when you haven’t even graduated high school yet. Tattletale will know.”
Oh. Now I feel like an idiot. I pull the hood further over my head. There goes that idea. What can I do then? Ambush them at the meeting place? Would Tattletale see that coming too?
The library’s in sight when Clara snaps her fingers. “Oh, yeah! I almost forgot!”
She hands me something and I take it from her without thinking. I recognize it almost immediately and my heart sinks at the sight. “A phone?”
“A jailbroken phone. Connects to all networks for free.”
I look down at the smartphone and my reflection looks back at me. I can’t accept this. This is one of the most expensive phones on the market. How much did she spend on this? Did she steal it? What would Dad think? Isn’t-
She punches me in the shoulder hard enough to bruise. “Ow!”
“Keep the damn phone Taylor.”
----
“Hmm. It’s not quite right, but maybe it’ll still work? Send it.” Clara reads over my shoulder while I compose my response to Tattletale’s message. I’m on PHO as an anonymous guest, and this is a public library anyone can access. Clara has warned me Tattletale’s power will let her know I’m at the library, but it shouldn't tell her much else.
I reread it a couple more times. “Are you sure I should do this?”
Clara’s gives me a serious look, half of her face illuminated by the monitor’s light. “You asked me to help you become more confident. This is the first step. Stop hesitating.”
I take a deep breath and press Enter. “Ok. Here goes nothing.”
Subject: Re:Bug
This is Bug. When and where?
I stare at the screen and wait for AllSeeingEye to reply. Clara mumbles something about ‘fanon’ and I glance away from the computer to make sure she isn’t doing something stupid. She’s eating a chocolate chip granola bar and practically vibrating in anticipation. I point at the sign hanging on the front desk. “No eating in the library.”
She quickly stuffs the rest in her mouth, crumbs spilling onto the floor. “Ehing wuh?” She shows me her empty hands.
“You know what I mean.” I’m about to continue when AllSeeingEye’s status changes to show she is online. Clara rubs her hands together in glee and swallows. Then she starts to cough. A librarian glares at us from her desk and Clara shoots her a thumbs up, still trying to dislodge the crumbs that went down her windpipe. “I’m al-*cough cough*. I’m alright!” I snort at the instant karma and read Tattletale’s reply.
Subject: Re:Bug
Nevermind. A word of advice: don’t trust the girl. She’ll drop you as soon as she gets bored.
Ta ta
Crap. She knew Clara was here from two sentences? “Clara, she replied.” At least now I don’t have to worry about capturing some supervillains.
Clara’s coughing subsides. “Great! What did she say?” The librarian shushes her. “Sorry. Sorry.”
“She caught us. The meeting’s off.” I close my eyes and lounge back in my chair. I’m so tired and wish I could just go home and sleep. I wait for Clara’s reaction. Hopefully whatever ‘fun’ she has planned involves a nap break.
…
“Clara?”
“Untrustworthy?” Her tone… I open my eyes.
Clara is pissed.
“I’ll show you untrustworthy.” Any trace of the impulsive teenage thrill seeker is gone. Clara firmly, almost violently, pushes my chair aside and opens a new message. Each click of the keyboard is loud enough to be noticeable as she pokes each letter with far more force than necessary. “I can’t wait until I get my hands on your smug freckled face. Lets see you smile that ‘vulpine grin’ then, bitch.” Clara snarls.
“Um. Let’s take a breather and not provoke the supervillains?” Clara ignores me and continues typing with only her pointer finger, the left pinky occasionally helping with the Shift key. Holy hell. Her expression is furious, and the disconnect from what I’ve come to expect from her and what she looks like now… It’s like she’s an entirely different person. “Clara, don’t-”. She slams down the Enter key.
Subject: Re:Bug
o u wanna play that game m8? 2 words: Reggie. Suicide. Don’t talk about trust when u cant even trust urself.
-Clara Freakin Ginge
Clara stands up straight and folds her arms, incensed. I read it in confusion. “Who’s Reggie?”
“Her dead brother.” What the hell? “His suicide is what caused her to trigger with powers. Like the locker.”
Ok. That I can understand. I glare at her and she glares right back. “What the hell?! That was not cool.”
Clara shrugs. “She started it. Don’t call me a rat and expect me to take it lying down. I never ever ever break my word.” Her fists clench and the tension in the air is almost tangible. For all I know it actually is and that's part of her power, but I won’t let myself be intimidated on this.
“One insult isn’t permission to-”
“You don’t understand how seriously I take my promises. I told you I would help you. I’m not going to drop you because I got distracted by something shiny!”
The page updates and we stop glaring at each other to read it.
Subject: Re:Bug
Fuck off.
Clara types a response back before I can stop her.
Subject: Re:Bug
no u
The librarian strides over to us. She lowers her glasses in the classic ‘I don’t have time for your nonsense’ glare. “Hey. Girls. Can you two please leave? You’re disturbing the rest of the people working here.”
“Fine.” Clara presses the power button and I stand up from my chair. “Come on. This was a waste of time. Let’s get you home.”
Thank god.
----
“Um… Clara?”
“What’s up?”
We’re in front of the house. I’m so close to a nap I can almost taste it. She looks up from her phone and takes it in. “Dang. This place is garbage.”
Wow. Thanks for the honesty. “Could you maybe not come inside?”
Clara slots her phone into her hostler, which just reminds me of the one she ‘bought’ me. “Why not?”
“Dad’s home.” His car is in the driveway. He has an irregular work schedule, but I was hoping he’d be at the Dockworker’s Association.
Clara’s eyes light up exactly like when I asked about the Illuminati. “Reaaaally now. Well, I can’t wait to meet him.”
She brushes off my protests and ambles up to the front door. “Do you think he’ll let me call him Dan the Van Man? I’d be willing to st-, ahem, acquire a van for him to make it work.”
I. Am so done. With this day.