Plasma Frequency Magazine: Issue 13 (7 page)

The lock on the front door jiggled.

I charged across the room and flung the door open. Conley stood in the hall, eyes wide, eyebrows high, keys clutched in his small fist. He was a mess, covered in dust and dirt smears. His shorts revealed freshly skinned knees and his old shoes were covered in mud.

"
Inside.
Now
."

Jaw set
, he shuffled in.

I
yanked one of the kitchen chairs out from under the table, turning it towards him. "Sit."

I
paced between the front door and the kitchen sink, the small space doing little to contain my agitation. Everything was okay. He was home safe now. I just needed to figure out what was going on and handle it.

"
Are you okay?"

He hesitated.
"Uh. Yes?"

"Y
ou're not hurt?"

Conley
's shoulders slumped forward, a guilty look played across his features. "No, Mom, I'm fine."

I
knelt in front of him, running my fingers lightly over his skinned knees, pulling my power to his scrapes. They faded and light pain blossomed on my knees, my pants adhering to the fresh stickiness of missing skin.

I stood and l
eaned against the kitchen counter. "Wanna tell me where you've been?"

No answer.

"If you tell me now, I promise I won't lose my temper."

"
Okay," he said, "I was with a hero named Glint–"

"
What
?"

"
You said you wouldn't lose your temper!"

Conley tried to shrink away as
I launched off the kitchen counter and knelt down at his eye level, gripping the back of the chair in either hand. "I know what I said. What did you say?"

"
I was with Glint. He's a hero. I can show you; he's on the affiliate roster of the Conference's webpage. Like you."

My hair fell across my shoulders as I bent my face away from his. Of course it was Glint. And I had feared Conley might've joined a gang. "Why were you with Glint? What did he want?"

Conley waited until
I met his eyes to answer. "He's teaching me to be a hero."

I
gripped the chair so tightly my hands shook. Forced myself to stand. "Go to your room."

"
But–"

"
I've heard enough. You're not going with him anywhere anymore. You're grounded."

~

With practiced grace, I moved from alley to rooftop to alcove. I made it easy for Glint to find me, standing in the open on the rooftop of Nevils' Auto Loan. I recognized the faint wavering of shadows even before he unveiled himself and stepped into the soft light cast by the streetlamps below.

H
is posture was tense, his hands open where I could see them, but he didn't expect an attack.

Head high
, shoulders back, I strode toward him with purpose.

He managed only to say
, "Remy–" before I grabbed his costume at the shoulder.

I
pulled him forward, kicked his legs out from under him, and turned my hips to plant him on his back on the rough ground. Lightning-quick, I pinned his shoulders with my knees and wrapped my hands around his neck. I squeezed tight enough for him to understand that I was serious.

"
How
dare
you call me that."

He was tall
, strong. If he wanted to he could get out from under me, I had no doubt of that. Instead, he rested his fingertips against my forearm. "Please."

"
No." I squeezed harder. "You don't get to show up in my town. You don't get to invade my life."

His hand wrapped gently around
my wrist. "Okay." His voice was too calm. "Okay, I'm sorry."

I
studied the black mask, the rise and fall of his features beneath. I'd once found it mysterious, charming. How I'd grown to hate that mask. I hated also that my anger wavered at his touch, at his familiar voice.

I
released him. Put a few paces between us. Gulped the thick summer air.

Glint
waited, his face turned toward the ground, his arms limp at his sides. He looked helpless.

"
You shouldn't have come here," I said evenly.

"
I was worried."

"
It's time for you to leave."

"
I can't," he said.

"
Yes. You can. And you will. I have Conference sanctions over this neighborhood and I can take care of myself just fine–I've been doing it for years."

"
And why is that, exactly?" He straightened, his chest puffing up as he challenged me. "It's clear that you
can
do this solo, but why did you
choose
to? Why did you push Ladybug away? Why have all of your old friends lost contact with you?"

"
It's none of anybody's business what I do, so long as the job gets done."

He moved closer now
, keeping to the light. It had always been so hard for him to be in the open. He didn't have any special toughness or healing. His best defense was staying hidden.

"
I've seen what it's like for you to try to work alone. There's a good reason why you've isolated yourself." His tone took on a certain fragile quality as he asked, "You want to tell me what that reason is?"

I
hugged my arms over my chest.

Glint
took another step. Brushed the palms of his hands against my shoulders. "Were you ever going to tell me?"

"
No. You . . . didn't want me. Didn't seem like you'd want him either."

Glint ran a single finger under
my chin to force my gaze up toward his face. My lip quivered, but he couldn't see my eyes, my brow, any better than I could see his. It was such a soulless exchange, even as the tears slipped from under my mask.

"Y
ou were the only thing I've ever really wanted. I was just too young and too afraid to tell you the truth."

I
shuddered, a silent ripple I couldn't keep inside any more. He pulled me close, his warmth soaking through me. "You knew. That day, you told me to show you my face or find a new partner. You came to me looking for support and I blew it. I'm so sorry–"

I
pulled away. Wiped at the tears. The fabric of my gloved fingers didn't absorb liquids well, and so I only managed to smear the wetness. "No. I should have told you."

He nodded his agreement at that.

It didn't change anything. He'd never trust me. Not then, not now. "What were you thinking? Training a child. Like I wouldn't find out."

He held his palms
up. "He was already training. Out in the open, where anyone could see him using . . ."

"
What?"

"
Conley has powers."

"
No. He doesn't."

"
He's been trying to keep it a secret from you," he said.

Emphatically
, "No–he doesn't."

Glint only watched
me.

"
He's nine years old. He's too young to manifest," I said.

"
There is a precedent for manifesting in childhood."

"
Right. Like el Capitán Universo or Mistress Omnipresence."

"Yes. Like them," he said.

A skeptical laugh trickled out, though it wasn't at all funny. "You think he has
Prime level
powers?"

Glint
didn't shrink from the answer. "Yes."

If
he was right, it would mean that my son had near-limitless potential. There would always be some villain, crisis, disaster that demanded his attention. He'd be beyond famous. He would never find peace.

"
What am I going to do?"

Glint
said, "I think given our situation we can get him help from the Conference."

"
We?"

His fists balled.
"I'm not asking anything from you except for you to let me help protect him."

"
Does he know?"

"
That I'm his father? No. But I couldn't leave once I figured i–"

Hot b
lood splattered across my face.

The synthetic fabric of
Glint's costume took on an oily glimmer as blood saturated the area beneath his collarbone. He collapsed.

Then I was airborne,
the wind driven from my chest. Training trumped instinct and I rolled when I hit the ground, assessing the scene.

I wasn't injured, but I'
d been thrown to the opposite side of the roof. A figure stood between me and Glint.

The villain was tall and lean
. His costume a mesh of pixelated colors that helped him blend into the nighttime scenery. His mask covered everything except a handsome smile.

"
Bitter Remedy. So nice to see you well."

Beyond the villain
, Glint was gasping for breath, drowning in his own blood.

The figure leveled a pistol at
me; a silencer added disproportionate length to the muzzle.

"
You have me at a disadvantage."

He laughed.
"There are those who call me The Crimson Number."

My breath caught in my
throat. I called his powers to mind: Strength and Speed–and now a gun.

I
crouched ever so slightly, shifting my weight to reach for the knife in my boot.

Crimson Number cocked the pistol; the single
click
served as warning.

"
I took your advice," he offered. "I did my homework this time. You have Accelerated Healing and you can absorb or inflict wounds. But, you can't transfer an injury if you're not hurt. And you need skin contact. Your boyfriend," he tilted his head toward Glint, "can control light for concealment or to create lasers, but he doesn't have a bit of toughness, healing, or invulnerability."

He smiled again.
"So, then,
a gun
is the most effective weapon. One bullet in him first, since he's the real threat. A second in you before you can get close and before you get injured. Simple."

I
swallowed hard.

"
Next
I'll make a stop at forty-four Peachtree Avenue, apartment B-nine, and add an emerging Prime to my resume."

My
heart sank into my stomach. To dodge a bullet at such close range I'd need to move before he fired, but Hyper Speed gave him enough time to correct his aim.

Crimson Number said
, "Thanks for all your help. Good-bye, Bitter Remedy."

A
light flared in Crimson Number's face.

Glint
's tactics. I closed my eyes and ducked my head as I drew my knife and charged on the night-blinded villain.

I
grabbed his wrist and twisted, using my momentum to drive the knife cleanly through the meat of Crimson Number's forearm. His muscles and tendons skewered, the gun
clunked
to the ground.

Almost faster than sight,
Crimson Number clamped his other, gloved hand over my face. Hefted me off the ground. I reared back with the knife, but he slung me across the roof.

I
landed on Glint. Lost the knife. He tried to support me as I groped the ground for my weapon, but his grip on my arm was weak. His other hand clenched over his wound.

Crimson Number was a blur of urban camouflage in the night. Then he stood over
us, gun in hand once again. He didn't stop to boast this time as he leveled the pistol.

"
Mom!
"

F
rom the adjacent rooftop, a thin figure in a blue mask drew the villain's attention.

The gun pointed at
my son.

Glint
's hand came up, glistening with blood, but he was too weak to call any power. I lunged to put myself between the gun and the child.

The ground heaved.

The flat rooftop beneath us lurched and warped. Crimson Number stumbled, fell, but he didn't fall to the ground–the ground rose up to meet him. It flared out in five directions, a giant hand made of asphalt membrane that bent and flexed to squeeze him against its palm.

I
looked up at Conley in wonder. He held his hand out, motioning as the building stretched and buckled beneath us to accommodate his wishes. He squeezed his fist and the building's grip tightened around Crimson Number. Somewhere in the back of my mind I noted his power: Matter Control.