“Anterior dislocation,” Mr. Liebowitz said, lightly pressing his fingertips to my shoulder as I laid on the cot. Even the gentlest pressure was uncomfortable. “Rotator cuff tear. Scapula fracture.” He moved his hand slightly down my arm. “Proximal humerus fracture.”
He wore a sleep mask over his eyes, not for the sake of my decency, but because his psychometric abilities worked better with less distracting light. Mr. Liebowitz wasn’t a powerful psychic, but he had honed his abilities over time to make himself a living MRI machine, able to see into the human body with no need for unreliable retrotech or generally unavailable ultratech.
Mrs. Liebowitz stood behind him, holding the gas lantern we had to use at night, and for once, she was making absolutely no effort to hide her displeasure with me. Every injury he had listed so far caused her lips to grow more pursed, her arms to get more tightly crossed, and I was afraid that she was going to implode into a black hole by the time he got to my elbow.
They had already done my other arm, putting my hand back together piece by piece, and my various cuts, including the big one on my stomach. Mrs. Liebowitz was capable of limited biomanipulation—specifically not biokinesis, as her power wasn’t psionic in nature. It seemed to be best suited for self-healing, but she could "mold" the bodies of others she came into contact with, albeit without the innate understanding that allowed her to change her own structure without harming herself. That’s what made her and her husband such a good team.
She was the one who had regrown my teeth, by the way. Told you I’d explain later.
“Remarkable,” Mr. Liebowitz said after a few moments of silence. “I can feel the little nana-whatsits. Like a billion microscopic ants scurrying beneath the skin, creating new structures, like a colony.”
I glared at him. That was not a mental image I needed.
“They can repair nonfunctional body tissue on a cellular level, or even replicate and replace it if needed,” Paragon called from the hallway where he was currently sitting with the baby.
When they first brought me into their little ad hoc operating room, Mrs. Liebowitz had started cutting off my shirt with the clinical detachment of a longtime physician, and I had nearly died of mortification on the spot. Nothing in this life had prepared me to be topless in front of my childhood-hero-turned-archnemesis-turned-improbable-savior. Luckily, he had seen what was happening and promptly removed himself from the room before he got an eyeful.
“Remarkable,” Mr. Liebowitz repeated. “Imagine if we’d had one of those Medicos at the clinic.”
“Sounds like a dream, dear,” his wife said tightly, eyes boring into me. “I don’t know if I’d have had the energy to heal such extensive damage without it helping.”
“Oh, Anna,” Paragon called. “Try pulling in energy as she’s healing you. It should help the process along.”
I took the distraction. “Why?”
“The good doctor’s power uses energy from the body itself to make its changes,” Paragon said. “She should be able to draw from your intrakinetic construct.”
“How do you know that?” I asked, immediately realizing what a stupid question it was, but not before he could answer.
“I’m pretty good at figuring out how superpowers work,” he said. He cooed, “Isn’t that right, wittle one?”
I presumed that last part was to the baby, who giggled at what I assumed was a playful tickling. I heard her crawling through the hallway on all fours, and then the hero’s weightier steps as he chased her, promising to “getcha, getcha” as she cackled.
It struck me then that he was more famous and beloved than any world leader for the last century, and he was currently playing “big kaiju, little hero” in the hallway.
As Mr. Liebowitz finished up on the arm that I had ripped apart just for the chance to punch Paragon one last time, Mrs. Liebowitz positioned herself at my shoulder and they started at the top, with him guiding her to the repairs she needed to make. I pulled in as much power as I could at the moment, which wasn’t a lot, but Paragon did seem to be correct, as this arm progressed much faster despite its longer list of breaks, tears, and sprains.
When they were done, Mrs. Liebowitz gave me a blanket to cover up with, and then tapped her husband on the arm to let him know he could take his mask off. He did, blinking in the light, before smiling at me and giving me a thumbs up. His wife, meanwhile, uncorked a small pill bottle and poured out the entirety of its contents—a single grey tablet—into her palm.
She offered it to me with a small cup of water. “This is the last of our iron. Next relief shipment, try to get red meats, fish, peas, and lentils.”
I nodded, downing the pill and the water, before handing the cup back to her.
She took it and immediately turned away from me. “I’ll go put some food together for you. You’re going to be weak. Don’t move.”
Mr. Liebowitz frowned at her back, then looked at me and shrugged before following her.
I laid there, feeling like an asshole.
In the hallway, I heard some rustling, what I somehow knew was a baby being picked up. Mrs. Liebowitz said, “Thank you for watching Diana, Mr. Paragon, sir.”
“Oh, don’t make me feel too old now,” he said. “Just Paragon is fine. Noah, even, if you’re up for it.”
“Mr. Paragon, you steal superpowers, right?” she said, curt. “And you understand how they work?”
“That’s…one way to put it,” he said slowly. “And sometimes, I do. It depends.”
“On?”
“Well, that’s a good question. When I figure that part out, I’ll call you.”
“But, you have mine right now, correct? All you require is proximity?”
“That’s correct, yes.”
“And you understand how it works?”
He paused. “Mostly. I feel like I could use your powers safely.”
“So, you understand that I require less than a second of contact with someone else to cause a brain embolism?”
Mr. Liebowitz barked, “Patricia!”
“It’s okay,” Paragon said. “And, yes, ma’am. I do not believe you’re mistaken or lying.”
“Are you the one that did that to her?” Mrs. Liebowitz asked, voice forebodingly quiet. “Did you hurt her like that?”
“I did, ma’am.”
There was a scuffling, a couple pairs of feet involved.
Mr. Liebowitz hissed, “Patricia! You’re holding the baby!”
I sat up in my bed, thoroughly horrified. “No! He didn’t! This wasn’t his fault!”
“Lay back down,” Mrs. Liebowitz called to me, sounding calm, but like the calm a hundred feet in front of a squall line. “Wally, please move.”
“Patricia Annette, Anna needs something to eat,” Mr. Liebowitz said, firm. “Let’s go take care of that.”
“I’m sorry,” Paragon said, sounding tired, like he had back in the square when he’d said it before. “This is my fault. I failed to control the situation when it was within my power to do so. I’ll try to do better in the future.”
“See that you do,” Mrs. Liebowitz spat, before her footsteps retreated down the hallway.
Mr. Liebowitz followed her, muttering, “Oy vey.”
I knew it was serious when he broke out the Yiddish.
Paragon asked him, “Is Anna okay to talk?”
“Yes,” said the doctor as his voice receded. “Just don’t let her get too animated.”
“I’ll do my best,” Paragon promised, and came around the doorway.
I quickly laid down and made sure the covers were up to my chin.
He strode over to the small parlor chair in the corner, pulled it next to the cot. He sat down next to me, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, and let out a long, weary sigh.
“Sorry,” I said. “She’s…intense, sometimes.”
“She loves you very much,” he said. “They both do.”
"They didn't when we first moved in together," I said dryly. "She threatened me with the embolism thing if I got her husband hurt."
"And Diana?"
I started. "No, of course she didn't threaten the baby."
He barked a laugh. "Sorry, I mean, she threatened you if you got her husband and the baby hurt, right? She's got a serious Mama Bear streak."
"Oh." I picked at the blanket I'd been given—it was thick, scratchy wool. “No, they didn’t have the baby yet.”
He waited for me to elaborate.
Instead, I asked, “You said you were looking for a girl, earlier. Who?”
He took a breath and leaned back in his chair, eyes suddenly staring far beyond the walls of the little room we were in. “That’s a good question. I’m not sure.”
“You came to the Skip looking for…nobody?”
“No, not nobody, but…” He sighed. “It’s complicated. The technophage absolutely devastated our information base and ability to keep records. We still hadn’t even vaguely come close to recovering all of that information by the time the Horror turned everything upside down again. I have a description and a couple of names, but it’s like looking for a needle in a stack full of similar-but-not-exactly needles.”
“What do you need her for?” I asked. “Is she in danger?”
“Yes, I think so,” he said, grave. “And if the wrong people find her, we could all be in danger.”
I picked even harder at the scratchy wool. “I could help. If you want to give me what you have, I could ask around. I owe you, since you helped me earlier.”
“You actually can’t help me,” he said, pointedly. “Since you’re going to be going off to school soon.”
I froze. I had been hoping he would forget about that.
“You were hoping I’d forget about that,” he said, amused.
I glared at him.
“I’m not reading your mind,” he said, raising his hands. “I think that’s horribly invasive, and you’d know it if I were trying anyway. But empathy is different. Feelings are broadcasted, and yours aren’t exactly subtle.”
“I—” I choked on the glut of possible reasons. “I can’t go. I just can’t.”
“Why not?”
“It’s…complicated,” I said, trying to give nothing away.
He was quiet for a long moment, before he delicately asked, “Is it Hyperion?”
I stared at the ceiling and said nothing.
“Fury mentioned that the two of you are…involved,” he said. “Is he aware of your plans?”
“Oh, she’s telling everyone about my personal life,” I said, sour.
“Don’t be upset with her,” Paragon said. “Gathering intel is part of her job.”
“Intel,” I echoed. I had thought we were friends.
“Please don’t try and change the subject,” he said. “Is he threatening you?”
“It’s not—” I ran out of air for the words, and I realized that my breathing was shaky. “It’s not like that. I owe him.”
“For what?”
“He’s the one who brought me to the Skip,” I said, quiet. “When I was…on the run. After prom. He protected me. He taught me how to use my powers. How to fight. He taught me how to take care of myself here. I owe him everything. My life.”
Paragon listened, patient, and I could tell that he was listening.
“He’s under so much stress,” I continued. “Everything is on his shoulders. The lives of more than a million people, of thousands of metahumans, and he’s the only person keeping it all from spinning out of control. I can’t leave him here all alone to face it. He needs me.”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
After a few moments, Paragon asked, “Then, if I may, why did you agree to apply to Aurora in the first place?”
“I…thought it would help,” I said. “I thought that if I became a superhero, I could do something about all of—” I made a vague, circular gesture with my hand. “—this.”
“And I just told you a little while ago,” he said, “that not only could you do something about all—” He made the same circular gesture. “—this, but it might be the best way to do something about it.”
That actually did bear some consideration. What if I just went anyway? Became a superhero for real? Stuck it to SCAR? Made the public wonder just how many more metahumans like me there were in the Skip, hiding instead of helping as the world grew more terrifying by the day? Four years, and I’d be walking proof that their way was wrong. I’d be a symbol for the opposition, a rallying point for anyone with doubts about the world SCAR was trying to create.
Four years.
Maybe a year, Siege’s voice said in my head. Maybe less, if they keep hitting our unofficial supply lines.
And Hyperion’s voice responded, I can fix that.
We didn’t have time.
I shook my head. “No. I’m sorry.”
Paragon sighed, leaning back, and took off his domino mask so he could rub his eyes. He was wearing eye makeup, I noticed, the same color as the mask. Miraculously, it didn’t smudge.
He sat back in his chair and looked at me for a moment. “Anna, I’m very old.”
“You don’t look a day over ninety,” I assured him.
He didn’t smile. “Did you know that psionic abilities are the most common powertype in the world?”
I very much knew that. It’s part of why, on top of their formerly broken status, I had never cared for my own powers. I knew of a superhero who could drain colors from the environment and attack you with rainbows that all had different effects based on their color configuration. That was cool. That seemed like someone who would have their own comic book line. Psionics were like the consolation prize of superpowers.
I wasn’t sure why he felt the need to bring it up right then, but I nodded, hoping he’d get to a point quickly.
“They say that almost a full quarter of powers have some kind of psionic component,” he continued, dashing my hopes. “And some speculate it might be even more. There’s even a theory that every sentient being has some measure of psionic capability, but for most, it’s so little and so subtle that it’s just built into their daily life without them noticing. A corollary theory says psionic empathy is a necessary part of human development, it’s how babies learn what facial expressions are tied to what feelings.”
“Alright,” I said, impatient. “I’m not special. I get it. I was really starting to feel valued there for a minute, but you’ve put me in my place again. Thanks.”
“You are special, but that’s not really what I’m getting at,” he said. “What I’m trying to say is, I’ve spent a vast majority of my life with psionic abilities despite not technically possessing them. Even when normal people are around, I have a notably heightened sense of empathy.”
“And?”
“And, like I said, I’m not reading your mind, and wouldn’t dream of doing so without your permission or a dire need,” he said. “But in my hundred and five years of life on this planet, I’ve become very, very good at spotting when someone isn’t being entirely truthful with me.”
My stomach dropped.
“There is too much on the line for me to leave it alone,” he continued. “And part of me wonders if the world wouldn’t be better served taking you away from all this and putting you up in a safehouse somewhere until school starts.”
“You can’t,” I breathed. “He’d come for me.”
We both knew who he was.
“He wouldn’t be able to find you.”
“He’d hurt people.”
Paragon’s jaw set. “I’d stop him.”
“You wouldn’t. Not before he went nuclear.”
“Darkstar, I’ve never believed he’d do that anyway,” Paragon said. “I’ve known Hyperion for many years—he’s almost as old as I am—and not for one second do I believe that he would piss off the entire superheroic community, basically cause a second Horror, and then leave himself sitting in the middle of it all with depleted powers. He’s not that kind of man, in more ways than one.”
“Then why haven’t you done something?” I asked. “Why haven’t you fought him?”
“We’re not allowed. The powers that be don’t want to risk it.” He shrugged. “I’ve been considering doing it anyway, damn the consequences.”
“Then what?” I snapped. “Then SCAR moves in and starts jailing or slaughtering ‘fugitives’ left and right?”
“No,” Paragon said. “We’ll stop them.”
“We who?”
“Superheroes, Anna,” he said, voice filled with conviction.
I just sneered. “Please.”
“I’m serious.”
“You’re dreaming.”
“Yes, but that’s what we are, isn’t it?” He spread his hands. “We don’t dress up in flamboyant costumes and give each other silly nicknames for any practical purpose. Superheroes embody aspirations. We’re not here to enforce the law—we’re here to do what’s right. And this, all of it, is wrong. If you want utilitarian solutions to your problems, SCAR has you covered. Just look out the window. They’ll solve the ‘metahuman problem’ one body at a time.”
“And where are you guys while they’re doing it?” I said, heat returning to my voice. “Why isn’t the Skip flooded with superheroes fighting for the people?”
“Because they don’t have a beacon,” he said. “A goal. A guiding star. Because the world is very, very big and most of it is in trouble right now, and without those things, taking time away from all of the other immediate crises feels wasteful.” He leaned forward again, eyes alight with fervent determination. “We could give them one. You and I. We could show the world a different path forward.”
I needed to end this, and quick. I needed to shut him down before he caused a disaster. And I needed a reason that he wouldn’t see through. I needed something true.
I gave him the first one that came to me.
“I don’t deserve it,” I said, forcing the words out through a throat that didn’t want to let them escape. “I shouldn’t be a hero. I’m not…good.”
It wasn’t as eloquent an argument as I’d been hoping for, but it did seem to throw a wrench into his gears. He paused, leaned back, and considered me for a moment.
“I don’t understand,” he finally said.
I looked at him like he was stupid. “You said I had a widely known backstory. Do I have to repeat it to you?”
“No, you don’t,” he said. “I’ve heard it, and I’ve seen the dossier, read the casefiles, reviewed witness statements. I saw the pictures of the damage. I’ve kept up with your activities since you’ve come to the Skip.” He shrugged. “It’s bad. I won’t deny it. I’m not here to absolve you of it. But metahuman healing was provided on scene. I understand that the DeVore girl—”
I flinched.
“—will never live a normal life. But the entire reason you’re a sticking point in the public eye is that it was such a relatively mild case of incidents of its kind, and when people learned what had been going on…” He shrugged again. “Even in the immediate aftermath, you had more people calling for the school administration to face consequences than you. And, forgive me if this is too far, but I don’t think anybody at all was clamoring for justice for your stepfather.”
“Please stop,” I whispered.
“Alright. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to open old wounds, but I don’t understand why you would say that.” He leaned forward, eying me. “Is there something else, Anna?”
I forced myself to nod.
“Would I feel differently about you if I knew what it was?”
I shut my eyes and nodded again.
“Was it something that happened after the incident at prom?”
I shook. After a couple seconds, I nodded.
He watched me silently for a long time.
I made sure that my mental defenses were fully up, because I didn’t want to see the look on his face if he decided the need was dire and took a peek inside.
Finally, he said, ““Ann—Darkstar. I want you to be my sidekick.”
It took me a couple seconds to process that response, but when I finally did, I looked at him in pure shock. “What?”
“I want you to be my sidekick,” he repeated. “Do you understand what that entails?”
I stared, mouth open, because I knew exactly what it entailed.
There were two ways to earn a hero license. One was the traditional way—go to Aurora University, enter the Heroforge Program, pass all four years, receive license. Neat. Tidy. It was the system that had produced ninety years of competent, professional, excellent superheroes.
The second way was to become a sidekick. A hero of sufficient standing could simply deputize—well, I guess anyone they wanted, I don’t think they even had to be metahuman, but just the one person. It was usually something reserved for Junior Heroes, allowing them to engage in limited fieldwork with their mentor, but also nonhumans of renown, or metahumans who got their power later in their life and didn’t feel like taking four years off for school. Their status could be instantly revoked by the superhero who had granted it, but otherwise they had all the legal powers of any other superhero.
“So,” I said slowly. “You don’t want me to go to Aurora?”
“No, you still would,” he said. “A lot of sidekicks still do. Every Junior Hero, for example. But I would be able to be personally involved in your training. You’d be able to engage in field operations outside of what the school dictates. You could come and go from the school at will.”
My mind raced with the possibilities.
That perfectly solved the biggest logistical hurdles of the heist. Communication, getaway, none of it was an issue anymore. I could probably even get the other five into the school if I needed to, if I was as free as he said. Not to mention all the resources I’d have access to as a functional superhero. I could use their own system against them.
“Wait,” I said, holding up a hand. “Don’t you already have a sidekick? The Tomorrow Kid?”
Paragon frowned, then brushed it off. “He’s…not ready to be a superhero, I feel. I’m going to divest him soon, regardless of whether you agree now.”
“Ouch,” I said. “I feel kind of bad for him.”
“Don’t bother. Hopefully, four years of schooling will turn him around.”
This was an entirely new set of variables to deal with, and I didn’t have time to process all of them.
Luckily, that was the moment Mr. Liebowitz came back into the room bearing a plate with a single steaming potato, a couple spoonfuls of chickpeas, and two thin chicken breasts—a feast, for the Skip, and probably the last of our meat. He also had a ratty t-shirt draped over his shoulder, which he tossed to me first.
I took it, and disappeared under the covers to put it on. When I reemerged, no longer in danger of flashing a centenarian, he handed me the plate, then left the room again, the sleepy shuffle in his step evidence that he was already halfway back to dreamland. It was past midnight, after all.
I ate slowly, plate on my lap, mind going a million miles per hour. Paragon waited patiently.
Halfway through my first chicken breast, I asked, “Why?”
“I believe in you.”
I made a face. “Why?”
He just smiled.
“Even after what I told you?” I asked.
“Whatever you’ve done, I don’t believe it can be terrible enough that you can’t atone for it,” he said. “I don’t think anything could be that bad.”
“You don’t know that,” I said.
“I believe it,” he said. “I don’t believe in eternal damnation. I don’t believe in retributive justice. For that matter, I don’t believe in redemption, not as something you can achieve, anyway. Redemption isn’t a line you cross. It’s a path you walk, and I don’t know if it ever ends.”
“What if,” I asked, setting my fork down, “I’m still doing it? The…bad thing.”
He frowned, eyebrows furrowed, then waved a hand. “You can stop.”
“What if I can’t?”
“We’ll figure out how. Together.”
I was confused. He was confusing me.
If you’re confused, I’m sorry. It’ll make sense later.
I hope, after you understand, you can forgive me.
“I need time,” I said finally, picking my fork back up, because I didn’t for one second believe that Mrs. Liebowitz was going back to bed tonight, and she would absolutely be inspecting my plate when I was done.
“I understand,” Paragon said. “Think on it. I can come back whenever. SCAR can’t stop me.”
I paused. That sparked something in me. “Are you a hero, Paragon?”
For once, I seemed to put him on his heels. He sat back in the chair. “Well, I’ve got a comic book, so—”
“Do your artist a favor, consider going capeless,” I told him seriously.
He blinked. “What?”
“But that’s beside the point,” I said. “I don’t mean a superhero. I mean, a hero.”
To my surprise, he had an immediate answer. “I try, but that’s not really for me to decide.”
“Can you get in and out of the Skip without anyone knowing about it?”
“I can.”
“Can you get people in and out?”
“Yes. If you need me to get you away from this, I know where we can—”
I shook my head. “Not me.”
He frowned, and then looked at the doorway.
----------------------------------------
I waited with Paragon in the small foyer as the Liebowitzes gathered their things.
There wasn’t much. They’d brought some keepsakes with them, but the majority of the valuable things had been at the clinic, and they were no doubt inventoried and locked in some forgotten evidence vault at this point.
Paragon said, “I still don’t understand why SCAR would be after them.”
“Because they’re good people,” I said. “They were making things better. SCAR hates that.”
“What was their excuse?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Drug possession or something. Distribution. Their superpowers aren’t on record, so SCAR couldn’t label them as villains, but it was pretty well-known anyway. Grey marched into their clinic with a squad of goons one day and tried to take them. Alex happened to be there. Apparently—” I felt the corners of my mouth twitch. “—it got heated.”
“So, you want me to get them a lawyer?” he said. “I know a guy.”
“I want you to hide them,” I said. “I don’t want anyone to be able to find them. I don’t trust SCAR not to come after them anyway, and I don’t trust…others not to do the same.”
He thought for a moment. “We have a witness protection program. It’s meant to hide people who testify against supervillains. I could stash them somewhere until we get this mess sorted out.”
I nodded. “That’s fine. Just, please, I need them to be safe, whatever happens.”
“‘Whatever’ meaning your imminent departure to Aurora University, right?”
I took a breath. “Whatever happens.”
The Liebowitzes came down the stairs. Mr. Liebowitz held a suitcase in each hand and one under his arm. I wasn’t honestly sure where it had all come from. His wife held the lantern and the baby.
Mrs. Liebowitz set the lantern on the ground and walked up to me. She put a hand on my cheek. “Anna, are you sure about this? It’s so abrupt.”
“I’m sure,” I said.
“Why now?” she asked. “Why not months ago? Why not ask Alex, if this is possible?”
“Alex doesn’t have the same resources,” I said. “And there’s stuff that’s going to start happening—” I leaned into her touch. “It’s time. Time for you guys to get back to your lives.”
“What about you?” Mr. Liebowitz asked. The sleep was gone from him. “Are you going to be safe?”
I didn’t answer. I thought about Hyperion’s flames consuming everything for miles.
He said, “Anna, we’re not going to leave you to—”
“You have the baby,” I said sharply. “Take her. Get her safe. Promise me.”
They shared a look. Mrs. Liebowitz reluctantly nodded.
“Do you want to hold her, before we go?” she asked.
I felt my whole body shudder, as it always did, and I shook my head. “I can’t. I don’t want to hurt her.”
“You won’t,” she insisted.
Paragon watched us, eyes sharp.
I tried to answer, but I couldn’t. I just shook my head.
Diana watched me, head laid against Mrs. Liebowitz’s collar bone. Her dark eyes were so strangely observant for a one-year-old, so beautiful. It was like she knew what was going on. I could swear that she did, sometimes.
“She’s—” My voice shook so badly that I couldn’t finish the sentence at first. I forced myself to. “She’s safer with you.”
Mrs. Liebowitz watched me, eyes infinitely sad, before she came forward and pressed herself into me, baby between us.
I hugged them both tightly, and for a second, I saw a path forward. Take Paragon’s offer, become a hero, plant myself between them and the world and dare it to try something.
But when you fought the world, the world usually won. It had billions of people on its side. A lot of them were better than you, smarter than you, and meaner than you. They could come for you, and even if you beat one, or two, or a thousand, there were a million more behind them.
I broke the hug, kissed Diana on the forehead, and Mrs. Liebowitz on the cheek. They stepped out of the way, and then Mr. Liebowitz scooped me up into a big, crushing hug that was in serious danger of rebreaking my bones. I drew in a little bit of power to give it back just as good, and he huffed.
He put me down and looked into my eyes. “We’ll see you again, Anna. Soon.”
“Yeah,” I said, without conviction.
“I mean it. We’ll come visit you at school.”
My insides roiled, but I nodded.
I turned to Paragon, who was watching me closely.
“I think I understand a bit more, now,” he said quietly.
“How are you going to get them out?” I asked, brushing that aside. “SCAR has the skies covered and most of the tunnels are collapsed or guarded.”
“I know a place. I’ll show you, one day,” he promised. He opened the door.
We all walked out into the street with its rows and rows of small, identical houses. Company houses built for company workers. Cheap and disposable, just like those same workers.
“How are you going to get them across the Skip?” I asked. It occurred to me that I hadn’t really thought this through. “You kind of stand out—”
Paragon waved a hand at the Liebowitzes, and they and their suitcases faded from sight.
For a second, I thought he’d teleported them, but then I heard them shuffling and realized they were just invisible. I reached out tentatively with my mind and felt them there.
“What happened?” Mr. Liebowitz asked, a tad anxious.
“We’re invisible, dear,” his wife answered.
“She can’t see us?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“How?” I asked.
“There are a lot of things about your powers that even you don’t know,” Paragon said. “Things you’ll learn at Aurora.”
“This is my power?” I asked, slightly awed.
“It is,” he said. “As strong as you are, Anna, you’re not tapping a hundredth of your potential.” He looked at me seriously. “When you’re ready, go to bill at Club Hellfire. Tell him that my great-nephew is the Kingmaker. When he asks what you want in return, ask him to contact me. I’ll come and get you.”
I nodded, mind still trying to put everything in order. “I…will.”
“You will,” he repeated more firmly.
He lifted into the air, white and blue and yellow, rising up as he had for generations.
Something about the tableau struck me as odd, and then I realized. “Wait! Your cape! It’s still in the house!”
“I’ll get it when I come back,” he said.
And then he disappeared too.
He was wrong, though.
That was the last time I ever saw him.
He never came back.
We never met again in this life.