Taylor tried not to hunch her shoulders as she shut her locker with a small mechanical click. Around her, teenagers mulled about the halls, laughing and generally goofing off. It was Friday, which was normally excuse enough for the good cheer, but today was worse—because it was both the first and last day of the week.
Schools across America had cancelled halfway through Monday morning, as Behemoth attacked Iceland. They and most businesses had remained down through Thursday, allowing capes across the country to recover—the quiet concession to secret identities that Taylor had a new appreciation for these days, where before it had only been an excuse to skip class.
Normally, she’d also be content with just a broad summary of events, but this was the first Endbringer attack since she got her powers– and it brought up concerns she’d never even considered.
Leviathan, the city-killer, who sank Japan. Behemoth, the Herokiller, who glassed New York City in nuclear fire. Ziz, the hopekiller, with her great winged form that left entire cities quarantined or worse in her wake.
They were suddenly and viscerally more real to Taylor than the distant but comparatively simple worry that they’d choose Brockton Bay for their next target.
Now, there was the probability—undeniable—that as one of the empowered, a parahuman, she could go to them. Answer the call.
She hadn’t.
Reykjavik, Iceland had been the target. Analysts suspected the Herokiller had taken exception to their commitment to clean energy and sustainability. They had been projected to be completely carbon-neutral by 2040. Now, the city was a disaster zone, thousands dead.
And Taylor hadn’t helped. Hadn’t even tried.
True, she barely had a costume, and had only just settled on a name– one she wasn’t sure about. It had changed almost every time she went out, and she was almost glad she hadn’t run into any active crimes, gangs, or villain fights, and thus hadn’t had to introduce herself with a label she’d be stuck with.
Such a concern seemed paltry when even the villains of her city were traveling across the world to fight the thing known for nuclear rage and had a kill aura.
Meanwhile, she couldn’t even manage to find a purse-snatcher. While she might be grateful to put off officially choosing a name, some people were not so glad at the inactivity, and even Taylor could admit to mounting frustration.
“This is the worst.” Tsubaki moaned, floating on her shoulder. The little fairy was dark-haired, tan-skinned, and draped in black. He was like a little ninja, and had the same bloodthirst as one.
“I’m going out again tonight.” Taylor said quietly, trying not to move her mouth. “We can’t strike out every time we ‘patrol.'”
The fairy scoffed.
“This city is supposed to have villains, princess. Nazis. Nazis! We need to go fight a frikken Nazi, already. And you said there was a rage dragon. We haven’t seen a hint of Azin Bad Boyz, much less a rage dragon. I feel lied to.”
Taylor struggled not to smile. As grumpy as he was, having a fairy– the little manifestations of her power that only she could see– with her had dramatically flipped her school experience. It was like night and day. Was it pathetic that her only friends were manifestations of her power that she talked to like an apparent crazy person?
Maybe, but it was also saving her sanity. It had been almost eight months since her then-best friend had turned on her, ghosting her during the worst summer of her life, and starting the school year off with a steadily-escalating campaign that showed no signs of stopping.
Keeping her head down hadn’t helped. Avoiding them hadn’t helped. The teachers weren’t willing to do anything. Sometimes Taylor wanted to just start screaming and never stop, see if someone noticed then!
It was late March, three weeks since she awoke the ability sleeping inside her. Now, a different fairy accompanied her at all times in the hellish halls of Winslow. They made it bearable. All six of them, usually dormant in her hair pins, all different and unique and most of all they liked her.
Even Tsubaki, abrasive at the best of times and talking like a little devil on her shoulder during the worst, urging her to unleash him on the Trio, was a grounding element– a tether to a world outside, where she was more than just a victim.
And she was. She was a hero. Even if she hadn’t had a chance to show it, yet, and her only mask was made out of paper, tape and a dream.
“I’m going out again tonight.” She repeated. First home, then dinner with dad, then the streets– the cool spring of Brockton Bay blanketing her and everyone else in tense, fearful darkness, gangs and villains pressing over the city like a noose and a sword.
But Taylor was different, now. She could bring the light.
–
The sound of a scuffle caught her attention.
Finally, some action! Taylor jogged over, cognizant of the ocean breeze and the moths buzzing against light posts.
For all that she’d been told her entire life not to wander after dark, it was quiet. It was Friday, but not March 12th anymore. To her dismay and Tsubaki’s increasingly pissed off temperament, the entire week after their return had been horribly quiet.
Apparently, there was an unspoken “truce” after Endbringer battles that didn’t end when schools and jobs started back up. There hadn’t been so much as a minor villain attack in the days after, according to the Brockton Bay news page on PHO.
That didn’t stop Taylor from trying to find something, though. Anything to let her try to make her debut as a cape.
She’d been out every other night this week and this was her very first—potential—hit of criminal activity.
The sounds were coming from the alley between two buildings—because of course they were—and she had just come into sight of the dumpster at the mouth of the alley when a gunshot rang out.
Taylor ducked by instinct, which was stupid. If a bullet was coming at her, it would have hit at the same time as the sound, not five seconds afterward; nor would she have been fast enough to get out of the way.
Cursing rang out; a woman’s scream. Grunting.
With the gunshot, her excitement had flipped to fear. Would her shield stop a bullet?
It was the same worry that had kept her afraid and staring into a mirror when the sirens sounded across the Bay. Everyone held their breath waiting for a second tone, or worse—that damning, horrifying third that said almost everything you know and love is about to be destroyed.
One ring for an Endbringer attack.
Two rings for an Endbringer attack in the States.
Three rings for a local attack– get to the shelters now.
The single tone repeated, every five seconds, echoing through town. Not in the U.S.—and definitely not local. Schools closed so Wards could change into costume without outing themselves; businesses shut down so rogues, villains and independent heroes could do the same.
Heroes and villains came together to teleport to the site of the battle, converging on the Protectorate East-Northeast Headquarters. The nazis had come, as they always did for a Endbringer fight, the Empire Eighty-Eight standing shoulder to shoulder with the very minorities they disparaged.
Worse than her shield failing against a bullet, could she live with herself if she did nothing, here? She’d not volunteered for an Endbringer fight, the highest calling of capes everywhere, out of fear. Fear, inexperience, and the knowledge that Behemoth killed many—if not most–of the seasoned heroes he fought against.
With barely a grasp on her power, she’d be worse than cannon fodder, potentially even a distraction for the other capes. Of course, that was just how she justified sitting in her room when even the nazis stood in front of humanity. Was it cowardice? Or practicality?
All she knew was that a Behemoth fight was the worst place for a new cape, unless they were the second coming of Alexandria or Eidolon. She could have gotten far more people killed than she saved.
This was different, small-time stuff. If she couldn’t even do this, what was the point of being a hero at all?
If her shield couldn’t even stop a bullet—
Footsteps, and her overthinking came to an abrupt end. Taking a deep breath, she shoved herself the last few feet into view—
Only to immediately take a large, smelly guy to the face, his weight half-bowling her over.
Shit.
She wobbled, dangerously off-kilter, and caught the glint of metal. This was the guy with the gun!
“H-hey!” she tried, only it came out hoarse and quiet. Too low to hear.
Great. Her first minute of being a hero and she’d already lost track of the things she’d done wrong—things she’d need to study and correct for.
The gunman had shoved past her and was running out of the alley.
Well. There was one thing she could do, and something she’d practiced over and over again, though she immediately realized she hadn’t tried it inthis exact way.
She’d only ever summoned her shield directly in front of her. Oh, well—there was literally no time to figure it out, just a split second to react.
She could barely get the words out fast enough.
“HinagikuLilyBaigon! Santen Kesshun! I reject!” All in one breath, at first she worried she was too late.
The air in front of the gunman flickered, erupted in gold, and he bounced off her shield—which immediately shattered, her concentration nowhere near enough to keep it going.
She bit her lip and ran forward.
“Hey!” Caught completely off guard for the umpteenth time, she spun. Of course, the gunman hadn’t been shooting at nothing. There was a woman in the alley, red spreading along her leg, and a boy in a mask next to her.
A boy in a–?
“Forget that guy, help me with her!” Oh. Oh, she’d been shot.
The gunman was groaning on the ground, pained sounds emanating from his general vicinity.
“Do you know any first aid?” she asked stupidly.
“No!” The boy snapped, a helpless snarl in his voice. “Do something!”
She dropped to her knees next to them. Alleyways were just as grimy as you’d think, refuse and uncomfortable rocks around the concrete, strange substances making everything sticky. Cardboard boxes piled up next to the dumpster.
Pressure, right? You were supposed to apply pressure? But wouldn’t it hurt? What if she made it worse?
Now she was hovering just as uselessly as the boy—the other cape. The red was spreading, high up on her thigh. She was going to take all the first aid classes after this.
And also carry bandages. Fuck. Taylor pressed her hands to the wound on her leg and she jerked, screaming. She just tried to ‘apply pressure’ to the bleeding, even as she fought her.
“Fuck, fuck—do you have a cell phone?”
“No? What— you don’t either?”
“No!” The boy punched his thigh. “We need to call an ambulance.”
Her mind was working so fast and yet every thought was some useless version of “it wasn’t supposed to be like this” and more panicked thoughts.
She forced herself to take deep breaths.
“Is that guy still down?” Her chin jerked toward the smelly gunman.
“Yeah, but fuck him.”
“First of all he still has a gun, so he could shoot one of us. Second of all, he’s probably got a phone on him.” She said through gritted teeth.
Red welled between her fingers. The woman was fading in and out of consciousness, moaning pitifully. Gloves. Gloves would probably also help. Taylor pressed harder.
The boy disappeared, landing back on his knees what felt like seconds later. He flicked the safety on the gun with stunning ease and flipped the phone open with impatience.
Suddenly, he was arguing with someone—911 operator?—and Taylor was so dazed she only caught on to his frankly rude tone. Panic made some people rude, probably. Taylor shouldn’t judge.
Panic was certainly making her all kinds of on-edge and freaked out. It was an ache behind her teeth, a tension around her heart that made her sternum pound with agony. Anxiety, the familiar friend, shook Taylor’s arms.
Her hands.
The blood wasn’t stopping.
The lady’s hand fell limp.
The first real ‘action’ she’d seen, and it was failing to stop even an unpowered mugger, much less a cape—much less a superpowered villain who could probably snap her and all civilians in the area like twigs.
No.
Come on, no. She tried applying more pressure, leaning her entire body weight into it. She wished she had a cloth, anything, her fingers weren’t cutting it.
Her first act as a hero, letting someone bleed to death under her hands.
“Fuck!” she shouted, throat tight with emotion. “No, you can’t, come on, lady.”
Taylor didn’t even know her name.
She couldn’t fix her.
Did you do CPR on someone bleeding out? Taylor’d have to let go of her leg to do that, and despite the feeling of abject failure, it was better than nothing, probably. Taylor’s palm was making some kind of seal.
“What do we do?” The boy said, shrill. “Fuck, this wasn’t supposed to—this wasn’t supposed to happen.”
There was an undertone in his voice, something dead and disheartened. He was still on the phone, though there were no more voices coming through.
“Is an ambulance coming?”
“Yeah, but it’s like—twenty minutes out.” His hand was shaking.
“We can keep her alive until then.” She croaked, though she wasn’t really feeling confident. “We have to.”
“Here.” Something was shoved in front of her—cloth. She took it quickly and ignored the gush of blood in the intervening time, pressing it wadded up against the wound.
“It’s not stopping. The bleeding. It’s not—”
“Calm down.” The boy said, that flat tone repeating itself.
How could she?
“This can’t happen.” She said, somewhat hysterically. “Come on, come on. It’s not even in her chest. People live without legs, right? If we can just get the bleeding to stop, she’ll be fine—”
“Femoral artery.” The boy noted. “Not sure if that’s what was hit, but—leg wounds can be fatal.”
“Shut up!” she snapped, then winced. “Sorry, sorry. Oh, god. Oh, god. Lily, we can’t let this happen, right? Can we—maybe a shield right on the wound, stop blood from getting out?”
The sprite was floating next to her, having quickly returned from the shield creation. The others floated nearby, watching. Waiting.
A familiar feeling was welling up inside of her. She didn’t dare hope.
“That’s not my power, Princess.” The pink-haired fairy said gently.
“She’s not going to figure it out.” Tsubaki said, voice snide. Taylor ignored him, as she ignored the masked boy asking who she was talking to.
“Damn it. Damn, damn, damn. I don’t want this to happen. I don’t want her to die! I—I reject it!”
Blood was now welling through the fabric of the improvised bandage. Her vision was hazy with tears.
This woman was going to die. Taylor was going to have her blood—literally—on her hands. Die in an alley in a stupid, freak accident. Die like mom did, senselessly, with nobody caring to save her—any heroes too late or too incompetent to bother.
“I reject!” She shouted, over and over. “I reject—please! Please, I reject it, I—”
“Hey, crazy girl, come on.” The boy said, as though from far away. A hand on her shoulder that she shrugged off almost violently.
She screamed, a high wordless noise of rage and denial.
“No! No! God-damnit, no!” The rising note in her chest hit a crescendo. It welled out, useable, instinctual—powerful. Two of her fairies flew to her aid before Taylor even called their names. “Ayame! Shun’ō! Sōten Kisshun! I reject!”
And the alley lit up with golden light.
Taylor sat back, completely numb, as she watched the shield flow over the woman. Her arms interrupted it, but it was like touching light—nowhere near the impenetrable solidity of her other shield.
“Congratulations, dickhead, you tapped into it. Barely.” Tsubaki scoffed.
“Oh, leave her alone, you big bully.” Lily laughed, easy-going. “I knew you could do it, princess!”
There was no blood on Taylor’s hands. The blood on the cloth—which she could now see was a torn piece of the boy’s shirt—was receding. It fell away and the bullet slid out, the wound sealing itself. The hole in the woman’s pants closed up.
It took long minutes, achingly slow, but she couldn’t look away.
“I’d ask why you didn’t do it in the first place, but it looks like you didn’t know you could.” The clipped tone of the boy reached her.
Then the snap as he closed the flip phone and tossed it at the thug—who was rather more unconscious than he’d been last time she looked.
“Do you have any zip-ties?”
Numbly, she shook her head. Yet another thing to fix about her cape approach, apparently.
“Guess this is good enough.” He bent down, took up the woman’s purse, and walked over to the thug with it. Ironic, since she was probably mugged at gunpoint over it.
He used the straps to wrap up the guy’s arms behind his back, twisting until the thug groaned in his sleep. It was uncannily similar to the pained moans of the woman as Taylor tried to hold her blood inside her body.
The shroud over the woman finally faded.
Shun’ō and Ayame returned to her.
“We can reject events inside this shield.” Shun’ō told her cheerfully, as they landed in her numb fingers. “Don’t despair, princess! Nothing is beyond your power if you wish it hard enough.”
Ayame giggled, by far the shyest of her powers.
“Hmph.” Tsubaki said, the most talkative—and opinionated—of them. “Doubt she’ll ever figure out what I do.” He grumbled.
Baigon rumbled out a counter-argument, but before she could really listen they all flashed back into their standard form—the hairpins on either side of her temples.
A hand flashed down, taking up the space they’d been in.
“Come on.” The boy from earlier. His face was a white mask, like they used in old theatres and ballets. “We shouldn’t be here if you have no idea how to explain that.”
“O-okay.” She said numbly. She took his hand and he hauled her to her feet, deceptively strong despite his lithe figure. He was thinner than her.
“I don’t have a name yet.” The boy said, again something about his tone falling flat. “This is supposed to be my last-ditch effort before I join the Wards. Don’t want to, but don’t really have the resources to cut it on my own. I suck at this, apparently.”
“Antheia.” She managed, banishing the stutter on the second attempt. “I’m also… new. And don’t want to join the Wards.”
He appraised her with a somehow obvious look, despite the mask.
“Huh. We have that in common then.” He tugged a little on her hand and she realized, belatedly, he was still holding it. “Well, Antheia, you look like you’re going into shock. I have a safe-house nearby, you can rest for a bit—unless you’d rather talk to the police?”
She was in absolutely no shape to talk to any figures of authority, let alone the cops. Everything felt floaty and strange, an unreality settled over the world.
It was probably a bad idea—certainly reckless—but fuck it. They’d bonded over their mutual uselessness in trying to keep a woman alive. And he was a hero.
“Sure. Lead the way.”
–
“Safehouse”, she learned, was a generous term sometimes awarded to abandoned gas stations with the windows boarded up.
The masked boy had to heave to get the large, certainly not fire-safe, door open, scraping against the concrete. Probably why no homeless people or addicts had gotten to the place yet.
“There’s still power, believe it or not.” He said dully, but if she strained she could hear something of good humor.
“If you say so.” Shattered glass had been swept mostly out of the way. They walked past the completely empty counter to one of the ‘back rooms’, where someone had set up a mock living space.
There was a sleeping bag on the ground, anyway, and non-perishable food littered about—cans, mostly.
“So you see why I’m thinking about joining the stupid white hats.” He said, gesturing as though a much grander reveal. “It’s either that or take up villainy for the cash, and that would bring way too much heat.”
“Independent heroes have to make their money somehow.” She said faintly. There was a rickety chair in the corner and she slid into it, thankful to be sitting down.
She was tired enough to not even feel alarm at the idea that the boy—a stranger who she was very much alone with—was considering going villain.
“Well, if they do, I’m not sure how.” He set aside something. She realized he’d been carrying it—a staff, makeshift to the extreme, with a bit of metal at the end of it.
“Taser.” He explained. “I knocked out the guy from earlier, in case he had any other unexpected tricks. This being a ‘hero’ shit is rough. I tried to stop a mugging and got the victim shot.”
He laughed, but it was entirely without humor. She could sympathize.
“I tried to stop a bad guy from getting away, and instead I couldn’t even do basic first aid. Some hero.” Taylor agreed, glum.
He made a considering noise, somewhat surprised.
“Better than me. I was more worried about how to hurt villains than help people, I guess. Think the PRT offers first aid classes?”
“To Wards, maybe.” She leaned her head back. “Nice secret lair, by the way.”
“Nah.” He said easily. “Villains have lairs. This is… a hideout, maybe. What do heroes have? Bases? Secret base?”
“Get a big enough team together and you can call it a headquarters. Like the Protectorate.”
“Pass.” He sighed. “Hey, this is kind of where I’m staying, so… would you freak out if I take the mask off?”
“Um!” She said loudly. “I thought… we really weren’t supposed to do that?” she bit her lip.
The paper domino cutout she had tied around her face hardly counted as a “mask” but it was doing something for her identity. Probably.
“I don’t really have a civilian identity.” He said tiredly, taking off the mask. And wow—he was pretty. She didn’t expect it and stared for a second.
“Call me… Alec, I guess?”
“Is that not your real name?” She asked stupidly. He shot her an unimpressed look.
“Right. Right. Antheia is fine for me, still. It’s my cape name. Not my real name. And I’m not taking off my mask. Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, you barely know me.” He set the mask down and dropped into a crisscross position on the sleeping bag. Then he groaned and laid back.
“God, this isn’t worth it. My power’s not really meant for independent work. I should join a team, but the Wards—urgh. If I can avoid it, I will. They can’t piss without permission.”
Unexpectedly, Taylor snorted.
Alec opened one baleful blue and looked at her. “Yeah?”
“Imagine the forms. Today-I-breathed-on-sixth-street.”
He made a face.
“Bureaucracy. Pass.” A hand wiped down his face and he shuddered theatrically.
“I didn’t do too hot on my own, either.” She said, throwing him a bone. He laughed a little, sounding as tired as she felt.
Stunned, she realized this moment to recover was the most friendly conversation she’d had in—years.
And it was with a complete stranger; one who gave off more than a little ‘lunatic’ vibes. If she wasn’t so emotionally exhausted she’d be questioning—all of this. Every bit.
How desperate was she for company to follow some random cape to their hideout?
“Yeah, that was weird. New to your powers?”
She winced.
“That obvious?”
“Well, you did spontaneously manifest a new aspect of them during the middle of a screaming, nervous breakdown.” He said, which was—honestly, a generous way of looking at it.
She slumped. Alec sprawled out on his sleeping bag fully, looking a bit ridiculous in the costume but more comfortable than Taylor, at least. It was a ruffled, white ‘pirate’ shirt and black pants.
“Still better than me.” He reminded, turning his face to look at her. “And hey—a healing power. That’s rare as fuck.”
“Yeah?”
“Mhm. I heard there’s another healing cape in the city, too. Must be something in the water.”
“Panacea, yeah.” She was a big deal. Tourists came in by the busloads to get in her lottery system, which as Taylor understood it was only for one weekend a month or something.
Thinking that she had a power even remotely similar was crazy. She had to ask Shun’ō more about it.
“Fuck it. Want to team up?”
Taylor stared.
“Uh, no? Maybe? We don’t even know each other.”
Alec sighed.
“Yeah, that’s fair. I guess I’m a little desperate. I don’t want to join the Wards and if I keep fucking up on my own, that might be my only choice.” He looked forlornly at his meagre food stash.
She immediately felt awful. Money was tight, but at least she and dad had a roof over their heads. No funds to go out to dinner like they once did, but food on the table.
“We can… try it.” She said cautiously. “I think there’s paperwork or something for independent hero teams.”
Now that she was thinking about it, there was probably paperwork for solo independent heroes, too.
“All official-like?” He asked, a hint of surprise evident. “I guess. Probably for the best and might even get some perks out of it—keep things above-board, or legal, or something.”
“What’s your power?” She asked.
He grimaced faintly.
“Not a good one. I’ve been trying to focus on the less-scary aspects. You’ve got a bright glowing thing, but mine would get a villain label slapped on me right away if I used it.”
“Oof.” She winced. She’d barely tapped into the internet’s opinions on capes in general, and even she knew that ‘villainous’ powers got a bad rap.
Strangely, she wasn’t afraid, despite the confession. He just looked too pitiful.
“I was thinking… maybe play up the sensor aspect? I can usually tell how many people are around. Might be useful for like… I don’t know, when they go around looking for people trapped under buildings in an earthquake.”
“Search and rescue.” Taylor supplied distractedly. “Hmm. Can you tell if someone has powers?”
“Usually, yeah.”
“Might be helpful, then. Definitely kind of heroic. Maybe useful for tracking people?”
“Maybe.” He didn’t sound enthused, but perked up. “I can always taze someone.”
“I see how it’d be more useful with another person or a team.” She admitted. “Intelligence gathering or something. We can… try it.”
She didn’t set out to join—or form—a team, but the terror of that night’s failure, flailing about on her own, mired in confusion, was hard to ignore. And if you’d asked her yesterday whether or not she could open up to someone her age, cape or not, she’d have laughed in your face.
The betrayal from Emma still stung sharply.
This was somehow different, though. If he betrayed her, she’d just be back where she was—on her own, a girl in a cobbled-together costume, pretending she knew what she was doing, getting people killed.
“Antheia—what’s that from?” Alec’s voice interrupted her musing.
“Greek mythology. Goddess of flowers.” Taylor answered somewhat shyly. “Ah—my powers are flower themed, believe it or not.”
“If you say so… you did shout something about lilies.” He looked skeptical, but let it go, waving a hand up toward the ceiling.
“I guess since I haven’t picked a name yet, I could match yours.” He sighed. “Cape teams do that shit, right?”
“Um, I guess New Wave does. I haven’t really been up on the ‘cape’ scene. Don’t really know any of the big names beyond, like, the Triumvirate.”
“Better than me.” He admitted. “I haven’t even been in the city long. You at least recognize the locals.”
“I’ll bring you a list of Greek gods, then. If you don’t mind me coming back to your… hideout. Where are we, anyway?”
“I have no idea. I didn’t pay attention to the street signs.”
“I’ll…pay attention on my way out, I guess.”
“You’re feeling better, then? You were as white as a sheet earlier.”
“Yeah. You were right, it was probably shock.”
There was an awkward silence.
“Well, fuck, neither of us has a cell phone.” He said what she was thinking. “I guess we could just meet back here?”
“Yeah, I guess.” This was painfully embarrassing. “I can try to buy us some cheap pre-paid things.”
She hadn’t even considered getting a cell phone, and even now the idea rankled. But not being able to call an ambulance as someone bled out under her useless hands was—not something she wanted to repeat, ever, and who knew the limits to her new healing ability.
“Oh. Thanks. I’ll pay you back once we figure out the ‘legally make money as heroes’ thing.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Taylor’s eyes refused to glance at his food stores again. Her meagre savings would—barely– account for those cheap phones at big box stores, the kind you paid for ‘minutes’ on.
She stood up.
Alec collapsed dramatically on his sleeping bag. He waved her off and she walked around him and his small cache of belongings, feeling even more gangly and clumsy than she usually did.
“Not too early,” He warned, as she approached the door. His voice was muffled by fabric. “I’m tired as shit. Probably going to sleep in.”
Taylor nodded, getting the light on her way out.
The walk back home was slow. She took off her mask before leaving the gas station, realizing her ‘hero’ costume was just a hoodie and jeans without it. A plain gray hoodie at that.
By all rights, blood should have been seeped into the cuffs of her sleeves, but they were as pristine as they were when she left home on ‘patrol’.
She slipped inside the house before midnight.
Dad was asleep, as he usually was, with none the wiser. Belatedly, she realized she could have caught the bus home. Everything still felt a little… hazy.
When she got to her room, all six fairies came out, congratulating her on surviving her first ‘real’ night out. The praise fell on deaf ears. She didn’t quite feel she deserved it.
–
The next morning was, thankfully, a Saturday.
Taylor didn’t have school, which made it one of the best days of the week.
Items and excitement ran through her mind, almost too quick to track. She decided to write down the important stuff before she could forget.
Dad was gone when she walked downstairs; he usually worked at least one day of the weekends, if not both, for the extra hours.
“I’d feel bad just raiding our pantry—well, a little, Alec clearly needs it more than us—but I don’t feel bad making lunch for dad and taking half of it with me.”
She had some off-brand cereal for breakfast and got to work making a pasta dish, scooping the leftovers into a Tupperware.
“He doesn’t have a refrigerator, obviously, so I’m only bringing one meal’s worth. Okay, maybe a little raiding the pantry.”
Ayame giggled and Taylor smiled at her. It occurred to her that having the fairies to talk to these past few weeks—carefully, so she didn’t seem insane in front of other people—was maybe what had gave her the confidence to talk to Alec in the first place.
To trust, even a little bit, that he wouldn’t set her up for failure or worse.
“You should take ramen, princess! Everybody loves ramen!” Excited Hinagiku said. He was the go-getter of her six, rivaling Lily for energy.
Positive energy, anyway. Tsubaki sulked. He’d been sulking at her since she refused to ‘let him loose’ on the trio, whatever that meant.
“He doesn’t have a microwave either, probably. The gas station looked pretty gutted.”
Also probably why it had been abandoned by the gangs and ne’er-do-wells—they’d already pulled up everything that wasn’t nailed down.
“Canned stuff, then.” Hinagiku shrugged. “It’s all calories in the end!”
Shun’ō laughed at him.
“It’s kind of you to take him anything, Princess. I’m so glad you made a friend!”
“Friend is probably a little premature, I think.” She said, practically. “But I didn’t expect to make a teammate, either.”
“I’m glad you’re not alone!” Ayame cheered quietly, smiling.
Tsubaki rolled his eyes.
“What do you think, Baigon?” she asked her quietest spirit. “Campbell’s or Progresso?”
“Perhaps one of each, Princess?” He rumbled. “I’ve not tried either.”
“Do you guys eat?”
“Mm-mm!” Ayame denied, even as Shun’ō shook their head. “No, princess.”
She packed up the canned goods—just a couple—and the pasta container into a small backpack. It was generally a bad idea to carry much but the one she picked was ragged and didn’t look expensive—because it wasn’t.
She also packed in the mythology guide/dictionary she’d borrowed from the boxes of mom’s books, much more carefully and hesitantly. This, she didn’t want damaged or stolen at all.
But mom would probably rather she get some use out of it. Even if Taylor wasn’t sure how she’d feel about her daughter being a cape. Or moonlighting as a hero.
Surely she’d rather she not do it alone, though?
“Have you thought about telling your father?” Shun’ō asked, catching her silence.
“No.” She said sadly.
“He’d make her join the Wards.” Tsubaki scoffed. “We don’t need that kind of oversight– cramping our style.”
“The resources would be nice.” Taylor allowed– fairly, she felt. “But the bureaucracy… I’d consider joining the Protectorate, as a legal adult able to sign my own contracts. But the Wards? They’d have far too much authority over me. Teenagers already have basically no rights.”
“Okay, as long as you’re sure.” Shun’ō shrugged, their blonde hair dancing over one shoulder.
“Mm.” She made sure to grab her list before leaving the house.
Hinagiku tugged her sleeve.
“Cell phones next, right? I want to see the big store.”
“Right.” Unlike last night, which was over an hour of walking, this time she could take the bus. Which ironically took longer due to the roundabout nature of the trip, but spared her feet.
Both burner phones cost less than fifty dollars, though as she expected, had to be loaded with ‘minutes’ on little prepaid cards. They offered her a plan of some kind that she denied out of fear of registering her name with the phone number—far less anonymous than their needs warranted.
The cashier shrugged, not broken up about the lost sale.
Something caught Taylor’s eye as she was browsing, though, and she was another thirty dollars broker by the time she left—pretty much down to the last dregs of her savings.
Three wigs, on sale from some promotion, hung around her wrist in a cheap plastic bag, along with the phones. She put all of it in her run-down backpack and shuffled back onto the bus, getting off near Alec’s gas station and walking over.
Even in the muddy light of the overcast day, the signs of use weren’t evident. It helped that the back door opened up into yet another dingy alley, blocked by two dumpsters this time. She had to squeeze around one to get to the back door, which she hadn’t noticed last night.
She thought about knocking, ultimately deciding against it lest she draw attention.
Instead Taylor wedged the door open and carefully shut it behind her. She took a moment to fish out her sad little mask and tie it on. Slow steps took her to the room she’d visited yesterday, its door wide open, and with only a little hesitation, she knocked on the door frame.
“Wha–?” Alec jerked upright, clearly having been sleeping. She averted her eyes at once when his bare chest was revealed. Then she turned her back for good measure.
“Um! It’s T—Antheia. It’s Antheia. With the phones!” She squeaked. “I also uh. Brought some food.”
“Oh, worm? Food’s the best.” His sleepy voice had gravel in it. She heard shuffling. Cautiously turning around, she jerked right back to her previous position when she saw even more skin revealed—thankfully from the back.
“Why do you sleep naked!?” She demanded, red faced.
“What? What’s it matter?” He yawned.
“It’s—indecent!”
He laughed a little, still flatter than she was used to with most voices.
“I guess, if you want to be all prudish about it. I only have two sets of clothes, which is a genuine fucking travesty, and one of them is my ‘hero’ get-up. It’s about ninety percent of the reason why I even considered joining the kiddy hero brigade.”
“I spent all my cash buying the phones, but… you might be my size in some things?” They were of a height, as she remembered, and he was thin. Would a boy want to wear ‘girl’ clothes?
“Ugh. Hand-me-downs. What lows have I fallen to…?”
“You don’t have to take them.” She snapped.
“No, no, I’ll take them. I just hate being reduced to this.” He sighed. “Still, better than what I left behind—don’t ask.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
Obviously, whatever had caused him to run—to willingly live on canned goods in an abandoned gas station—was absolutely dreadful.
“Are you dressed yet?”
“Almost, keep your panties on.”
“Ugh!” Taylor was immediately rethinking this team thing.
She grumpily busied herself unpacking her haul, tossing the packaged phones to the side—and the wigs—in favor of the pasta dish. She put a fork on top of it and held it out, eyes closed.
“I’m dressed, I promise.”
Opening her eyes revealed a stone-cold liar.
“Put on a shirt.” Taylor said through gritted teeth.
“What, really?”
“Yes!”
Grumbling, he did so, and took the food.
“Oh, this is homemade. It’s been an age. Thank you.”
“So he can show gratitude.” She grumbled, only to look up and see a glint in his otherwise blank eyes.
“Oh, peerless hero Antheia, to whom I can never repay—”
Taylor blanched.
“No.”
“Whose deeds echo across the bay, no, the world—all the lands—all who hear her fair name and rejoice—”
“Stop!” She didn’t have a pillow so she threw a wig at him, which he caught easily, keeping the plastic packaging from getting in his food.
“Hey, this is actually pretty good.”
“Thanks.” She sat down, out of breath, red-faced.
“So what’s with the wigs?”
“Well, they were on sale.” She fidgeted.
Alec slurped pasta with a raised brow.
“And I figured I could use them in my ‘hero’ costume, to hide my original hair color. The mask doesn’t do much to obscure my identity.”
“Yeah, hiding your cheekbones isn’t fool-proof, and your mask doesn’t even do that.”
Instead of bristling she slumped.
“I knoowwww.” She groaned. “Once we get established, I can hopefully get something better.”
The ‘we’ made some color flush to her cheeks. This was real. ‘They’ were really doing this. Alec, a skinny, pretty boy eating pasta on the floor, and her in her shitty DIY mask of cardstock and clear tape.
Okay. Okay. Stick to the list.
Eyeing the phones with distaste—they could do the headache of setting them up later—she pulled out the Greek names book.
With Alec’s agreement, she ran through the gamut while he ate.
Time passed surprisingly fast and he was much more tolerable company when he was dressed and fed; some of the awkwardness of being in the space with a stranger—a boy stranger—even died down.
“You’ve got to pick one.” She insisted, after a long—long—string of rejections.
“I told you, Adonis.” Alec lounged easily on his little pile of sleeping bag and thin blankets.
“That has nothing to do with your powerset.”
“But it’s fitting, no?” A touch of French entered his accent, and he pursed his lips.
She threw a chip wrapper at him.
“You should really clean up in here.”
“If we’re going to use this as a base of heroic operations, I guess.” Alec sighed, misbegotten. “And I’ll make a list of names I can tolerate. Do you mind leaving the book here?”
Taylor’s throat tightened, hugging the book close.
“It…was my mother’s.” Too much information? Probably.
“Shit.” Alec said at once, commiserating. “Just bring it next time, then. Tomorrow?”
“Yeah.” Glad he didn’t push it, or push for more info, she slid the book back into her bag.
She eyed the phones and the wigs. Alec also eyed them. They looked at each other.
“Want to figure out the wigs first?” He asked.
“Yes.” She tried not to trip over her own tongue in eagerness.
Turns out, Alec knew a surprising lot about hair care—which explained his own curly black locks, in surprisingly good shape considering his living arrangements. Though he had already admitted to having water here.
“Stop fidgeting—god, your hair is thick.” Alec moved her hair around like a pro, fitting it under the included wig cap in a kind of braid, despite their dearth of supplies—bobby pins and clips, apparently, which she was ordered to bring from home tomorrow, along with any clothes to donate to him or stash here for herself, if needed after hero-related shenanigans.
“It just makes sense.” Alec said lazily. “Keep spare clothes, first aid kits, that kind of shit. There, I’m finished. Go look in the mirror in the bathroom. Uh, mind the laundry.”
She did in fact mind the laundry, keeping her eyes averted from the hero outfit—and the boxers—that were washed and strung up to dry. The mirror was gross to say the least. She mentally added some cleaner to her list of things to bring.
And in the mirror, she was blonde.
“Weird.” She said, but despite the relative cheapness of the wig, it didn’t immediately look fake. Apparently, wig glue would really sell the look, but also last for a week, so it was good she hadn’t grabbed any.
She didn’t want to imagine the trio’s opinion of that.
“Not too weird.” Alec opined from the doorway. She shrieked.
He flinched, brows furrowing.
“What was that for?” He complained, voice a drawl, rubbing his ear. She hadn’t shut the bathroom door. Arguing for privacy was useless in the face of that.
“Scared me. Sorry.” She managed, charitably.
“Whatever.” Alec visibly let it roll off his shoulders. He was kind of casual that way. Whatever the opposite of ‘high-strung’ was.
“Looks decent, anyway. Sure you wanna be a blonde hero?”
“There was blonde, pink and black-with-purple-streaks.” She said flatly. He shrugged. Then hummed.
She didn’t like the sound of that hum. It was mighty suspicious.
“You should probably bring some hair care stuff, too.” Alec said with obvious glee. “If you ever need to shower here.”
Indeed, there was a tiny shower in the bathroom.
“Are you just trying to get free shampoo out of me?”
Alec laughed, surprising her.
“Nah, I’ve got my own stuff. It was one of the first things I bought.”
“Can’t have the hair suffering.” She said wryly, and he pointed a finger at her.
“Exactly.”
Grinning, he turned around, and she spent some time looking at her blonde reflection. Still weird. With Alec gone, a few fairies chimed in that she looked nice.
They were usually good about not distracting her when she had company—which was admittedly rare these days.
Alec volunteered to handle the phones himself once she left, perhaps seeing her obvious discomfort, or maybe just trying to be more useful in their partnership. Either way, she agreed at once, grateful to avoid the process and not minding the delay. Another night without a phone wouldn’t hurt, and she would hardly be texting him casually, anyway.
They used the rest of the afternoon to plan out holes in their knowledge, with a plan to meet up at the nearest public library for research tomorrow. A plethora of unanswered questions had joined her list.
She would be bringing small amounts of clothes with her at a time, largely because she was limited in carrying space. If they had a car, it’d be easier, or if he could help—but she’d not unmasked to him yet, so showing him where she lived was out.
Even if she felt like a hypocrite for it, sitting in his living space.
Plan set, she went home for the day. If she made a little bit extra food at dinner for leftovers, dad didn’t question it.
For some reason, Taylor went to bed with the unshakeable feeling that she was forgetting something.
–
Sunday morning dad was home, so she told him—truthfully—of her plans to hit up the library.
This was perfectly in-character for her, so he told her to be safe and didn’t seem otherwise concerned. They ate lunch together, after which she packed a ‘snack’ for herself of leftovers, and stuffed the rest of her bag with old clothes.
Some, she thought might fit Alec, though she tried to find the least ‘girly’ pieces—neutral t-shirts, sweat pants, a pair of jeans that wasn’t too form-fitting.
For herself, she wasn’t sure what to bring, and didn’t wear much of her ‘old’ wardrobe, anyway. Finally, she just started grabbing stuff from every drawer, thinking she could donate anything if she ended up hating it, but that she’d rather have it and not need it, etc. Plus, it helped her declutter!
They had decided meeting up at the library was least conspicuous, so she took the familiar bus route, clothes and food in her backpack.
Alec was waiting on the steps—maskless.
And so, Taylor immediately realized, was she. Of course.
Alec stared with wide eyes as her approach froze.
“Damn. We are bad at this.” He said, face dropping to completely expressionless.
“I know.” Somehow, in the planning, it hadn’t occurred to either of them that meeting at the library would mean her unmasking—even as she’d cultivated other parts of their plan to avoid that.
Even as she’d gotten ready and stepped off the bus with her naked face.
Fuck.
Well, the other elements of the plan might still work.
“I brought you some food.”
Alec perked up at once. “Bless you, you’re a saint.”
Food was the easiest solution with him, she discovered.
They moved out of the entrance-way and to the outdoor tables in front of the library—not wanting to take the food inside. Alec ate with no shame, wiggling in joy.
“You’re a little bit of a hedonist, huh?” She said as she watched him eat. At first she tried to avoid looking and then realized they might as well embrace the awkwardness of working together.
Alec swallowed, shooting her a sideways look.
“You have no idea.”
She started to look through the backpack, wishing she had brought a second bag. Finally she just passed the whole thing over.
“I’m not sorting through all this here. Just take what you want and set aside anything else for my stash of back-up outfits.”
“Ah, yes, the beginning of your second, secret wardrobe.” Alec finished his food, remarkably fast, only to look forlornly at the bottom of the plastic dish. “It’s still a good idea.”
“I know. That’s why I agreed with you.” Having clothes to change into beyond her ‘hero outfit’ was a good plan.
She took the container from him and set it aside.
“Alright—the list. We can split the questions. Sitting at two computers will speed things up.”
“They just let anybody use them?” Alec asked curiously.
She paused.
“Yes, but anyone without a card has to use a guest account. Do you have a card?”
His expression was perfectly flat.
“I have literally never been inside a library.”
“Not even your school library?”
He laughed.
Taylor’s shoulders hunched instinctively. She frowned, shoving down a defensive response.
“Let’s get you a card.” She marched in like someone going to war.
“Hello, Taylor.” The librarian smiled at her. Ah, another foil in her plot. Maybe using the same library she’d always used was a mistake.
“Hi, I wanted to get my—Alec—a library card.” She stumbled a little.
“Sure. Does your Alec want to provide his information?” The librarian looked eminently amused.
Taylor’s entire face was red.
“Of course.” Alec was suddenly—looking at him had her eyes widening. His usually muted expressions were gone, replaced by a soft smile and bright eyes. He looked—completely normal.
It was so creepy a contrast that Taylor’s spine crawled.
He moved forward and charmed the librarian, Miss Kotts, before her very eyes.
“Oh, Taylor, what’s your address?” He asked smoothly. “Staying with my cousin, you understand, while family things are sorted out.”
“Oh, you poor dear.” Miss Kotts cooed over him as Taylor wrote out her address, Alec dutifully not even glancing at it. She jotted down Hebert as his last name while she was at it.
In for a penny.
“Here you go.” She handed the paperwork back to the librarian as well as three dollars for the initial fee. She now had less than ten bucks to her name.
“We’re just going to use the computers for our homework.” She said weakly, before clearing her throat. “Thanks so much for your help!”
She said the last much more confidently.
“You’ve been the soul of hospitality.” Alec said grandiosely, causing the woman to get all aflutter.
Then they went to the computer room and she glanced back in surprise—all the charisma was gone, Alec once more looking bored at best.
“What was that?”
“What was what?”
“Nevermind. You start at the bottom of the list, I’ll start at the top.”
Alec visibly thought about making some comment, thought better of it, and tore her list in half. She jumped.
“Why are you like this?”
“Like what?” Non-plussed, Alec sat down at the computer. “Oh, thanks for the card or whatever.”
“No problem.”
She looked at her list.
For two hours, they deep-dove into legalese, published bills, reactionary articles, and mostly-useless PHO posts.
Then they stepped out and quietly walked the distance to the gas station.
“Okay, so, the difference between capes, villains, vigilantes, independent capes, and independent heroes.” She started. “If anyone asks, we’re studying for a modern history exam.”
“Of course.” Alec said, expression bored—what she was beginning to think was his default.
“Capes are anyone with powers. Villains break the law and use their powers for crime. Vigilantism isn’t illegal any more but vigilantes aren’t affiliated with the PRT or Protectorate and aren’t registered. They often break the law.”
“Being a vigilante isn’t illegal but beating the shit out of someone is?” Alec asked, a glimmer of interest.
“Exactly. If the PRT doesn’t like you they can slap a label of excessive force on you pretty easily—which is much more unlikely if you’re an independent hero, like Glory Girl.”
“I looked up New Wave.” Alec agreed. “Hot, but probably crazy. PHO called her ‘collateral damage Barbie.’”
“Yeah, exactly. I don’t think she’d get away with that if she wasn’t part of a well-known hero team. An ‘independent’ hero team.” Taylor agreed, moving her pen down her half of the torn list. “Heroically inclined capes who don’t want to join the PRT can register themselves as independent heroes—agree to follow the law and announce their intent to be heroes and work with the heroes when necessary.”
“Us.” Alec said.
“Mmm. And then independent capes—not heroes or villains—like Parian, a local cape who does puppet shows at the boardwalk—don’t do any hero work at all.”
“So how do ‘Independent’ ‘Heroes’ make money?” He asked, addressing the main question on her side of the list.
“Well, two ways basically.” She counted on her fingers. “First, you get incentive pay for solo take-downs of villains, providing the villain is captured. There’s a little incentive for non-powered gang members but only if they’re charged and found guilty of a gang-related crime. A smaller reimbursement is available for stopping muggers like we did earlier—but you have to stop and talk to the police. And fill out paperwork.”
“Our nascent team’s archest of enemies, truly.” Alec lamented dramatically.
“The second way is by raiding criminal enterprises. We can’t rob the street-level gangers, but we can raid safe houses and, I don’t know, obvious criminal activity like arms deals and grab any weapons, money or interesting things. Weapons and drugs have to be turned over to the police, with a small finder’s fee available. Some material salvage for tinkers is available, but doesn’t apply to us. And finally we can take the cash, but we have to bring it to a drop-off point to be sorted. They check it for counterfeit bills and note where it came from.”
“And take their cut.” Alec said shrewdly, at once.
“And take their cut.” She agreed. “Anything less than a thousand is all ours, and then they take ten percent of anything over a thousand, and half of anything over ten thousand.”
“Leeches.” Alec said, but he didn’t seem particularly bothered.
The gas station came into view and they slipped inside with relative ease.
“I’m going to go try these on right now immediately.” Alec scurried to the bathroom with the backpack and she looked at his room and the one chair. Oh, well, he snoozed and lost.
She sat down and looked around for her fairies, who obligingly manifested.
“So our power works best with a team—someone to shield and heal—but we’re working with Alec, who also works better with a team, since he’s mostly willing to use a thinker power.” Taylor said thoughtfully.
Tsubaki scoffed loudly, ignored by his fellows.
“We could walk forward with our shield, letting the bullets ricochet off—if the shield stops bullets—”
“The shield stops anything, princess.” Lily said cheerfully.
“And then heal anyone injured in the crossfire!” Ayame said, equally as cheerful, but several shades quieter.
“Well, it’s kind of morbid when you put it like that…” Shun’ō laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of their head.
Alec swanned out of the bathroom, door banging open with a dramatic noise.
“What do you think?” He asked in an excited—for Alec—voice.
Taylor looked over and her brain short-circuited.
Alec pouted when she didn’t react for long moments.
“You’re wearing a skirt.” Taylor’s skirt. He was wearing one of her skirts. Actually, she thought it was one of Emma’s skirts back when they used to share clothes as easily as secrets and snacks.
“Yeah, I’m surprised it fit!” Alec did a little twirl, giggling. It was a pleated black skirt that fell just short of his knees.
He’d paired it with a lavender blouse, not quite thick enough to be a sweater, but long-sleeved.
“You’re wearing the black and purple wig. And a skirt.”
“Mm-hmm!” Alec twirled again, clearly delighted. The skirt didn’t even ‘twirl’ like that, really.
“Should I be looking at Greek goddess names?” Taylor finally asked.
“Well, I’m pretty sure I’m a dude, but it might throw another wrench into the PRT’s inevitable plan to unmask us.”
“You think they unmask heroes?” She asked, sharply and alarmed.
Alec sat down on his sleeping bag, completely unconcerned. His skirt fanned outward and he played with it.
“I’m sure they have a dossier of everyone they work with, hidden at some high clearance level or whatever. We shouldn’t sign up with them if they require names on the paperwork.”
“… Okay.” She agreed, wrestling with that. Taylor’s identity needed to be kept secret at all costs. If Alec was comfortable heroing as a girl—which blew her mind, the skirt thing already hard to wrap her head around even when it was right in front of her—then that would add an extra layer of protection to his secret identity.
“I don’t think I’m comfortable pretending to be a boy hero.” She admitted, after a minute of thinking.
“Then don’t.” Alec shrugged fluidly. “I bet there’s better options for goddess names, though, let me get the book.”
He took off the backpack and rummaged through for the glossary of names, making appreciative noises when he saw the cans of food.
“Really digging the whole ‘feed your teammate’ aspect.” He laughed and she shrugged awkwardly.
A bit of research later and they had a list of appropriate names for Alec to choose from—surprisingly, more options than they’d found on the ‘male gods’ side of things. He narrowed it down to his favorite with little fanfare.
And, for secret identities’ sake, he’d somehow convinced her to wear the pink wig. It just didn’t seem too outlandish compared to his own willingness to cross-dress completely, and all of Taylor’s arguments fell flat.
By this point they were both laying on their stomachs, knees bent up, looking over the book, when he finally decided on a name. Their shoulders brushed as they read, an amiably sort of companionship. Taylor didn’t hate it at all, had relaxed the more time they spend reading and giggling at the entries.
She bit her lip.
“Wait, go back to that one.” Taylor’s hand moved across the page, smooth and well-worn with by mother’s hands– and now hers, and Alec’s. Something had stood out to her.
“What, this? C’mon, we just finished. It took ages and I was finally done. I actually like the name I picked!”
“Me, too.” She said distractedly. “Here, look. Not for you, for…”
“Oh.” Alec rolled over, scootching closer to read over her shoulder. “For you? Hmm, I can see it. You’re thinking about changing your name, then? Antheia is kind of… obscure.”
“And I can heal now.” She murmured absently. “My powers changed and I want to make sure the name reflects that. Something that will make them take me seriously…”
“Isis.” Alec rolled it around his mouth. “Sounds very ‘royal.’ I like it.”
Taylor flushed a little.
“I think it’s better with the Greek theme to use Isis– though Aset also fits. She’s known for healing and protection, and that’s kind of… exactly what my powers do, right?”
“Dork.” Alec nudged her with his shoulder, a companionable bump. “It makes more sense than mine does, for sure. Less reaching. By a lot.”
Taylor let out a small sigh of relief. She tried for a wobbly smile and bumped him back. There. That was their main struggle solved: names for each of them. Names that the other heroes would hopefully respect.
They went on to talk about the other answers they’d found, about the legalities of hero work, paperwork for independent hero teams, and what guidelines they’d have to work under to get less grief from the PRT—basically, use the bare minimum force available to handle a situation, and not one iota more, and always have a justification for escalating.
The afternoon ended with them agreeing on a team name, fitting with the theme of the Greek goddesses they’d chosen. Anyone else—if there was anyone else—who joined their team in the future would have to get with the theme ‘or else’, according to Alec, who was already flatteringly invested.
Tomorrow, they’d fill out the paperwork—and do their first patrol together.