“The sweater, then,” said the girl.
Malcolm sighed and unzipped it. He hadn’t taken the time to put on a t-shirt underneath, and he felt the girl’s eyes roving across the muscles of his chest and stomach. The one upside to being a wanted vigilante, in his opinion, was how effectively it dissuaded him from eating out often.
“Happy?” asked Malcolm. “Now let me pay for this stuff and get out of here.”
The girl stepped in closer to him. Malcolm started to get an odd sense of déjà vu as she walked in a circle around him with the phone. He kept his face averted as she came back around to his front, unwilling to let her record a clear view of anything that could be used to identify him.
“Here.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills from his wallet. “This is enough to cover the clothes. Keep the change. I’m out of here.”
“Hold on!” cried the girl. “I… I can make it worth it for you to stay.”
She made a show of puckering her lips. At one time, Malcolm would have considered it. But not now. He cleared his throat, pushed the money into her hand, and hurried out of the store.
Have I grown more mature in my old age?
CHAPTER 8
Malcolm decided that the more responsible thing to do would be to buy pieces of his costumes in separate stores. He made a mental note for next time, and hurried down the sidewalk.
The encounter with the girl left him with a nagging sense of paranoia, and he decided not to head straight back to his hideout. Instead, he spent most of the afternoon walking around town, stopping at a couple of coffee shops, keeping his ears open for any hint of intel that might lead him to Multi.
It was a little past sundown when he made his way to Terri’s Tavern, Vanderbrook’s local, monster only watering hole. He’d been somewhat of a regular for the past two weeks, and the bouncer, a beefy black demon named Onyx, waved him down the stairs when he approached.
The tavern was warmly lit. It strode the line between a proper late night establishment of hazy decisions and intoxication, and a local pub where neighbors gathered to catch up on the day’s news and unwind in the company of friends. Malcolm had arrived early, and there were only a couple of sprytes and demons sitting at the bar or at tables. HE didn’t recognize any of them, and none of them seemed to recognize him.
The tavern’s owner was a knowledge spryte by the name of Scribe. True to her name, she was slightly mousy looking, and she kept detailed notes on everyone and everything that she encountered.
“I’ll have a beer,” muttered Malcolm.
“Coming right up,” replied Scribe.
Scribe recognized Malcolm, but as the Wind Runner, rather than the Gifted Vigilante. If she had any inkling to his new secret identity, she’d decided not to mention it.
She set a beer in front of him. Malcolm picked it up and took a slow sip, appreciating the quiet of the tavern. He drank slowly, mulling over the emotional tirade Second Wind had unleashed on him that morning.
Footsteps came from the stairs leading down to the tavern. Out of the corner of his eye, Malcolm saw a woman enter. He frowned, trying to be discrete as he got a better look and confirmed that indeed, it was a woman, and not a demon or a spryte, unless she was well disguised.
She was short, with tanned skin, Asiatic features, and jet black hair done up in a tight bun. She had a nice body, trim waist, medium sized breasts, and a stellar butt. She was dressed in a tight top that left most of her taut stomach exposed, along with a pair of tight black and pink shorts that left very little to the imagination.
She took the stool next to Malcolm. He was surprised when Scribe immediately began mixing a drink, before she’d even asked for anything. Malcolm tuned his attention back to his beer, feeling the odd kind of tension that arises and pushes two strangers to make pointless small talk.
“Haven’t seen you around here before,” said the woman. Malcolm glanced over at her. She was close enough to his age to make it hard for him to guess at whether she was older or younger than him.
“I could say the same to you,” said Malcolm.
The woman shrugged.
“I’m more of a bar hopper than a regular at any one specific place,” she said. “I’d like to say that it’s fun for me, but really, I’m just desperate for the attention.”
Malcolm couldn’t help but smile at her blunt honesty. He decided to see how far it extended.
“You’re not a spryte,” he said. “Or a demoness. How’d you get past the bouncer?”
The woman sipped at the drink Scribe had given her. It had a blue hue, and brought a slightly purple edge to her luscious red lips.
“I offered to give him a kiss,” said the woman.
The intensity of her gaze made Malcolm feel hot and bothered. He took a slow breath, willing himself to wade further into the conversation.
“Did he take you up on it?” he asked.
The woman just smiled at him.
“I know who you are,” she said.
The statement instantly put Malcolm on edge.
“I’m just a guy looking to get a beer.” He took another sip. “And maybe a couple more after this one.”
“You’re evasive,” she said. “That’s fun.”
She turned her attention back to her drink, brushing a few stray strands of black hair back behind one ear. Malcolm waited for her to say more, but knew that she wouldn’t.
She’s toying with me. But somehow… I don’t feel like this is just flirting, for her.
“Alright,” he said. “Tell me. Who am I?”
The woman licked her lips. She glanced over at Scribe, who was down at the other end of the bar, and then at the pair monsters sitting at a nearby table. She slid her stool closer to Malcolm’s, until the side of her body was pressing up against him, and he could smell her sweet perfume.
“You…” She let a hand run up his arm. “Are the Wind Runner. The champion that’s always on TV.”
Malcolm shrugged. He was recognizable enough as Wind Runner, even if he’d passed the identity over to his copy. It was something he’d gotten used to, though was a little wary about how openly he could go about the town as himself, not wanting anyone to make too many connections and discover that he’d been in more than one place at the same time.
“What would you say if I told you that I wasn’t?” asked Malcolm. “And I mean, I’m flattered that you’d think so. That Wind Runner fellow seems like quite a handsome, amazing hero. But I’m not him.”
Correction: I’m not him anymore.
“Really?” The woman’s smile broadened, and took on an almost predatory quality. “Then how did you get by the bouncer? Because obviously, you aren’t a spryte or a demon, either.”
Malcolm didn’t say anything, sensing that she was probably sharp enough to pick apart his lies.
“I’m not trying to trap you, if that’s what you’re thinking,” said the woman. “I actually think you’re a force for good in the city. It’s very… encouraging, to know that there are other gifted people out there with a strong enough will to make up their mind how to use their powers on their own. You don’t exactly tow the Champion Authority’s line, now do you?”
Her hand settled onto Malcolm’s thigh. He stared into her eyes, feeling a sudden, animalistic drive to shift their conversation into a more private space. The moment was approaching a boiling point when a ringtone came from the woman’s purse. She leaned back from him, pulled out her phone and checked the screen.
“Whoops,” she said. “I have to go. I’m meeting a friend at another bar.”
Malcolm nodded.
That’s probably for the best.
“Well,” he said. “It was nice speaking with you, Ms…”