Malcolm heard the sound of someone getting punched.
“Hey!” snapped a different man. “Jeremy was trying to fucking help. At least he had the guts to pull the trigger.”
Somebody fired another shot, and somebody else screamed. Malcolm glanced at the scene from his vantage point, watching in disbelief as the criminals eyed each other suspiciously. He cleared his throat.
“Gentleman,” said Malcolm. “It’s been fun, but I think I’m going to have to call it a night.”
He called the wind. The pile of tires in front of him spread out into the air, circled overhead as each individual rubber projectile picked up speed, and then struck the group of thugs with more intensity than a hailstorm. More shots were fired, though Malcolm wasn’t sure if they’d been aimed at him, or at the tires.
Two men remained standing at the end of it. Malcolm rushed forward, disarming the one that still held a pistol with a concentrated blast of wind. He threw a punch at the other and surprised by how effectively the man blocked it.
Malcolm took a step back as the man countered. He fumbled to guard his head, barely managing to block the strike. The man was light on his feet and exploded into a follow up, grappling and getting a hold of one of Malcolm’s arms.
Big mistake. I’m basically a hot stove.
Malcolm pushed heat into the section of his forearm the man had a grip on and heard him let out a surprised yelp. Immediately, Malcolm spun, twisting himself with the wind and throwing an elbow into the thug’s face. The strike was solid, and the man crumpled into a limp heap on the ground.
He spent a couple of minutes gathering up all the weapons he could find and melting the barrels with his heat manipulation. He called 911, though given how barebones the police presence in Vanderbrook had been lately, he didn’t expect them to arrive for a while.
CHAPTER 3
With the thugs defeated and unconscious, there wasn’t much left for Malcolm to do. He took a look around the inside of the garage, melted a few more guns, and was about to leave the scene when a car pulled up.
Malcolm froze, fearing that it might be another group of potential enemies. He took a closer look at the car and suddenly realized that it was one he recognized. He was staring at Tapestry’s black BMW.
Two figures approached the garage, surveying Malcolm’s handiwork as they walked. They made no attempt to quiet their conversation, and listening to it made Malcolm feel like he was in the middle of a vivid dream.
“None of them are dead, Tapestry. Even if it is a demon who did this, they obviously aren’t out of control.”
That’s my voice. That’s… Second Wind. The copy of myself I made using Multi’s power.
“You don’t know that,” said Tapestry. “And it’s an assumption that we can’t afford to make. Stay on guard.”
Malcolm chanced a glance out the window. It had been more two weeks since he’d last seen Tapestry in person. Her blonde hair was tied back in the usual pony tail, and she wore a leather jacket over a white blouse. Her jeans were tight enough to show off the curves of her butt and thighs, though Malcolm knew that he had no business considering such things, under his current circumstances.
Standing next to her was, well, him. Or rather, Second Wind. Malcolm had created the copy expecting to be dead within the following few hours. When he’d survived, the only reasonable solution that didn’t involve the two of them fighting to the death was to let Second Wind continue on under the identity of “Wind Runner”, while Malcolm created a new persona for himself, “Gifted Vigilante”, as the media had taken to calling him.
“Well whoever it was, they did our job for us,” said Second Wind. “No need to get our jimmies in a jam over the how and why. This group is the one that hit the liquor store downtown tonight, I’m sure of it.”
Malcolm smiled. He and Second Wind had continued to meet with each other in secret, when they could. They shared information with each other on the state of the city and its going ons. Second Wind knew that Malcolm was the “Gifted Vigilante” and was already doing what he could to pull Tapestry’s attention away from him.
“No,” said Tapestry. “He could still be here. I’m checking inside.”
Malcolm scowled. He heard the garage door creak open. There was nowhere for him to hide, so he settled for not making any sudden moves, other than to adjust his mask slightly to make sure all of his face was covered.
Even still, part of him expected Tapestry to recognize him. A shaft of moonlight filtering in through one of the garage’s broken windows illuminated her features, and there was no glimmer of recognition in her expression. She lifted her pistol and leveled it at him.
“Hands in the air!” she shouted. “I will shoot if you try anything funny!”
“Relax,” said Malcolm, pitching his voice downward and roughening it up. “I’m one of the good guys.”
“If you’re not a champion, and you’re gifted, you aren’t one of the good guys,” said Tapestry. Malcolm was a little surprised by the anger in her voice, though he knew that he shouldn’t be.
There aren’t many stories of the gifted who refuse to join up with the champions that don’t end in them becoming monsters.
Malcolm shifted slightly, making sure his jacket covered his stabilizer. It was a telltale giveaway of his past, one that he wouldn’t be able to explain away easily. When he’d created Second Wind using Multi’s power, his doppelganger had been without a stabilizer, and only by coming up with a convincing story about it slipping off his wrist in the fight against Rain Dancer had he been able to get another one from Anna.
Without a stabilizer, someone with a superpower would be unable to properly contain their emotions and avoid the pitfall of turning into a demon or spryte, which is what power abuse eventually led to. That’s why Tapestry had the gun leveled at him. Malcolm knew that her fear was probably justified. Even with stabilizers, champions occasionally turned when they pushed themselves too far.
That’s where the bomb, and the tracking device in the stabilizer comes into play. All the more reason for me to keep her from seeing that I have one.
“Get down on the ground!” said Tapestry. “I’m taking you into custody.”
Malcolm sighed.
“I think it’s time for me to take my leave,” he said.
He hesitated, looking at Tapestry’s face. He’d missed her in the past few weeks. Becoming a vigilante of the night had meant more than putting on a disguise and running patrols. Malcolm had given up most of his old life in the process, her included. He’d become someone who she’d never see as anything other than another enemy to hunt and fight.
Tapestry took advantage of the moment. The gun in her hand fired, and Malcolm felt a bullet graze his shoulder. He stared at her in disbelief as he clutched at the wound, feeling warm blood pooling under his palm.
“You… shot me?” he asked, almost forgetting to throw his voice.
The pain of the wound was nothing compared to the way his emotions surged, and heart ached, over what she’d just done. Malcolm reminded himself that she didn’t know it was him. He was just another mysterious enemy to her now. Recognizing it didn’t help, and it didn’t keep a painful lump from forming in his throat over the thought that this was always the way it would be between them now.
“The next one is going into your skull,” said Tapestry. “I missed intentionally.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Second Wind ran up behind Tapestry and set a hand on her shoulder. “Easy, there, gunslinger!”
Tapestry pushed him back. Malcolm tried to slip toward the window in the moment of distraction, knowing that Second Wind would do all that he could to hold her attention and let him escape.