Even Villains Have Interns (7 page)

“Good. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” She
finished dressing and strode to the control room. When she
originally bought the apartment, the realtor had waxed poetic on
how nice it would be to have a second bedroom, how big it was, what
a nice nursery or guest room or workout room it would make. Delilah
had nodded noncommittally; the poor woman’s nerves wouldn’t have
handled hearing her real plan, which was to make it a windowless
safe room with a super computer that made everything they had at
Langley and the Pentagon look slow.

Fortunately, the computer drew power from a
kinetic energy strip she’d installed in the subway system and
didn’t affect her power bill.

Her minion-in-chief glanced up from one of the
terminals as she entered. There was no denying that Freddie was a
warty, bulbous affront to nature and the good reputation of frogs
everywhere, but he passed for a short human in a trench coat and
fedora, so she’d never complained. “Kalydon left the building ten
minutes ago, ma’am.”

Delilah nodded. “Is there anyone else on the
premises?”

“Two desk clerks sitting in the lobby. They
alternate rounds on the main floor every two hours, checking locks
and stuff. It’s all for show,” he said laconically.

She nodded again. “Should be easy enough. What’s
the angle of entry?”

“Building across the street. Subrosa has
security there.” He passed her a tablet with the building
layout.

“I know this one.”

“We can create a window for seven minutes. Long
enough for Thames to tie a zipline on, or fly you across.”

Delilah scooped up a handful of tiny golden
buttons from a bucket near the computer. One of them buzzed. When
activated, they were pinky-nail sized bugs capable of flying and
attaching themselves to her chosen victim. In the unlikely event
that Kalydon had no security in his apartment that would detect
them, she’d leave a few of the snoops behind.

“What do normal girls do on a Tuesday night,
Freddie?”

“I wouldn’t know, ma’am.”

“Neither would I. Pull the car around. I’ll be
down in a moment.” With a perfunctory bow he left the room, webbed
feet flapping on the tile. Her other minions, all miniatures of
Freddie, continued with their work, bat-like ears twitching as they
listened to the Minion Midnight Radio station that was tuned too
high for her to hear.

There was probably something unethical about
creating a sentient species and immediately putting them to work
for you. Probably. But his lack of ethics was what made Daddy a
successful super villain—and she couldn’t help but think that it
also contributed to his success as university professor when he
left his life of crime. Grad students and minions had a lot in
common, including, cold, clammy hands.

Delilah shuddered and left the room to check the
mirror one last time. The trick to an effective disguise was to
wear something that could pass as commonplace without being
everyday wear. The steampunk community in Chicago was legendary,
ever since the Affair of 2017. Teenagers wore gear-worked backpacks
to school, painted their nails rustic copper colors, and read H.G.
Wells on e-readers covered in Gail Carriger stickers.

Most nights of the week it wasn’t uncommon to
see groups of ‘punkers traveling around, usually en route to their
role-playing guilds. Even in the dead of winter they were out.

Delilah’s outfit blended in with them: a heavy,
black-wool coat with brass buttons, a top hat with gears and turkey
feathers, and a Daddy-modified pocket watch that was probably
breaking the Geneva Convention just by existing. The corset was
something she’d picked up at a Ren Fest, along with the leather
britches. The boots were from a thrift store, and the copper curls
were from her metalworking class in high school. Her teacher had
been less than thrilled with the sharp-edged wig, and after some
thought, Delilah had rounded the edges so she didn’t slice her
throat open tossing her hair.

Satisfied that she could pass as another
disaffected college student rebelling against the social norm,
Delilah headed downstairs. Freddie was waiting in the underground
parking garage in her cab. “Seventy-Seven Wacker, please, Freddie.
There’s work to be done.”

Dear Blessing,

I have a ticket for a flight out of O.R.
Tambo International in Jo-burg for the twentieth. If you can’t get
to South Africa in time, let me know, and I’ll send a charter
flight to anywhere but a warzone. I know you loathe checking your
email, but please,
respond!

If it helps at all, Noah is stateside again.
The house we’re renting for the holidays is less than an hour from
his parents’ place.

Totally bribing you,

Delilah

Inside 77 Wacker, Delilah leaned against
Kalydon’s apartment door. The old wood was cold and smooth beneath
her fingers. She let out a breath, and a part of her travelled with
it, seeping into wall and the wood, flowing between the molecules,
searching for the break between the wall and the door...

Theoretically she could simply break the bonds
between the molecules in the wall and make her own entrance, but
that was always a tricky proposition. She’d tried it once or twice,
at home in Texas where large explosions went unnoticed by the
cattle and jackrabbits. Molecular bonds packed a lot more energy
than a twelve-year-old could anticipate though, and she’d
accidentally burned a large hole in the Hill Country trying to take
a tennis ball apart. Over the years she’d learned to control the
energy release, take it into herself or displace it somewhere
nearby, but it still tended to be messy.

Delilah’s senses crept outwards. A line of metal
divided the wood of the door from the wall, but that was it. No
real door—and absolutely no lock to pick.

In the corner of her vision, something moved.
Delilah pivoted, looking across the hall at the dark, blank
windows. Forty-eight floors up with no ledges, and no escape. She
touched her earpiece. “How are things outside?”

“All quiet,” Hudson reported.

“Nothing to see,” Thames agreed.

Freddie cleared his throat. “Control has Kalydon
in the building, but no eyes on.”

Delilah shook her head. “Not good enough. I want
eyes on Kalydon right now.”

“Tricky,” said a lighter alto voice that was one
of the gem-series minions in the control room. “The theater has
live security, and isn’t readily hackable.”

“So send in the pixies.”

Various minions swore in a mixture of French and
Spanish. The pixies had been made for her youngest sister,
Blessing. If you combined reptiles, dragonflies, carnivorous
plants, and pure hatred into a flying nightmare, you got a minion
who was short-lived, loyal, and perfect for aerial patrol in places
where no one noticed three-inch flittering bugs. Her father often
referred to them as one of his greatest laboratory disasters, right
after the sea monkeys.

Delilah sighed. “Remember—” A scream from the
control room cut her off. “…They bite.”

“They squish very easily, too,” one of the gems
said. “Six pixies now en route to the theater.”

“Ma’am, there’s someone in that hall with you,”
Hudson said. “I see a shadow.”

“No one’s come in or out of the building. Front
lobby is clear. Both guards are on post,” Freddie reported.

At the very edge of her peripheral vision she
caught sight of the intruder, a smear of black against the dark
windows. Someone started whistling.

Delilah bowed her head and smiled, pulse
settling. “Are you whistling ‘Hey There Delilah’?”

The Spirit of Chicago swirled closer, becoming
almost human. Insubstantial arms wrapped around her waist. “That is
your name, isn’t it?” he whispered in her ear.

“I can neither confirm nor deny that rumor.” She
tucked her chin down to hide the smile.

“What are you doing this evening?”

“A little light breaking and entering. You?”

The Spirit of Chicago released her. He seemed
solid, although she knew her hand would pass through him like
smoke. “A little light prevention of theft and crime.”

“I’m not committing a crime.”

“Yet.”

Pulling a glove off, she fished a piece of paper
out of her pocket. “I thought this conversation might come up.”

The Spirit of Chicago picked the to-do list from
her hand. “Let’s see… Pick lock for apartment seven. You know, I’m
not a lawyer, but this is something that might be considered
incriminating evidence in court.”

“That’s only a concern if I’m arrested,” she
said, “and I notice that you left your handcuffs at home.”

“Locked to my bed,” he said off-handedly.

“Dirty boy.”

He leaned against the wall next to the door.
“Item two, seduce a superhero. Ah, now I see the problem.”

She leaned closer to the door, trying to find
the missing lock. Something was barring her way and none of her
senses could pick it up.

He winked at her. “You’re doing this backward.
Why don’t you start with seducing the superhero?”

“Because I made the list by priority. I can’t
jump around higgledy-piggledy. There needs to be some structure.”
She gave up on the lock. “Are rocket launchers legal in this
city?”

“No.”

“Do you think you could change that?”

“No.”

Locke scowled. “Some date you are.”

“This isn’t a date. I’m catching you in the
process of breaking and entering.”

“I haven’t broken or entered anything,” she
grumbled.

He shook the list at her. “Why don’t you seduce
the superhero first, and then I won’t need to arrest you for
anything, because you won’t be doing anything illegal.”

Delilah quirked an eyebrow. “Seducing you is
only important if I need to distract you. Which, at this juncture,
I don’t.”

“So unlock the door and kiss me so we can get on
with our evening.”

She ran her hands along the door again. “Therein
you have found the crux of my problem. There isn’t a door
here.”

“What’s this?” One barely-solid hand shook the
door handle.

“A false door.” She eyed the Spirit
speculatively. “What’s on the other side?”

The glimmer of green light that made up his eyes
winked off and on, his version of a blink. “How should I know?”

“Because it’s dark in there and you can go
in?”

“That would be breaking and entering, the thing
I came here to prevent you from doing.”

“So?”

“So, no. I won’t go in there without an
invitation. Not unless you have proof that there’s something
illegal behind these walls.”

Delilah glared at the Shadow to no effect. “I
bet you we’ll find some if we go in there.”

“And then, maybe, I’ll help you. Not before.”
His hand, warm, solid, covered in a black glove, encircled her
wrist. “Let’s leave. We don’t need to be here.”

“We have movement on the elevator,” Control
reported as she stumbled into the wall.

She tried to shake the Shadow loose, but his
grip only tightened. “Control, repeat that. Who came into the
lobby?”

“No one,” Freddie said. “All known entrances are
quiet. Neither of the guards have moved.”

She looked up at her gray-faced captor. “Did you
bring someone as back up?”

He shook his head. “You have a team?”

“Minions. Super villains get minions.
Superheroes get plucky sidekicks.”

“I don’t have a side kick and you have minions
and an intern,” he muttered as the elevator dinged. “That’s not
fair.”

Not good. Not good at all.
She licked her
lips and hoped she had enough of the family charm to talk her way
out of this. “Listen, if anyone asks, this is a costume.”

“What?”

Delilah was already walking towards the service
elevator and the back door. She punched the lift button and hummed
tunelessly as she waited for her exit. Beside her the glass windows
reflected frosty light. Tempting, but she was too far up and too
unprepared for that kind of exit.

The Spirit of Chicago followed her. “What’s
going on?”

She turned back as an elevator dinged its
arrival and the doors opened. A figure swept out in a heavy, black
trench coat. There was an inarticulate squawk as if the sound came
through water. The man had a gun. Damn! Damn! Sick with fright, her
arms leaden with shock, she grabbed for her watch. Too late. And
then the Spirit of Chicago was there, standing in front of her like
a smokescreen.

Delilah focused her energy on the pocket watch,
praying to whatever god cared for small-time crooks that the
magnetic shield would protect them both.

It didn’t.

The bullet slammed into the all-too-solid shadow
and he fell, his weight pushing her into the elevator. The attacker
fired a second round. The bullet splintered the doorframe as she
hit the button to close the door.

“Freddie, get a lock on my position and pick me
up. I have...” She examined the very-human superhero lying in the
elevator beside her. She rubbed her forehead. “We need to get to
the hospital.”

The cab pulled up in a splash of slush as
Delilah opened the delivery door and carried The Spirit of Chicago
out over her shoulders. “Get this scene cleaned up. No blood. No
tracks,” Delilah ordered Thames, who stepped out of the car to help
her load the fallen hero. “Freddie. I need you in the back with
me.”

Hudson climbed into the front seat as Freddie
scrambled into the back. “River or hospital?”

Delilah doubled checked the Spirit’s pulse.
“Hospital, he’s still breathing.”
For now.
“Stupid man
decided he was going to rescue the damsel in distress.” She took
her hat and wig off, tossing them into the front passenger seat.
“Go dark, Hudson, I don’t want anyone harassing the cab companies
trying to find us after we drop him off.” She gulped down another
ragged breath and tried to will her heart to stop racing.