“Tomorrow,” said Shield Maiden. “Early in the afternoon. First stop is the Mackwell Farm.”
“I’m familiar with it,” said Malcolm. “But why share all of this with me? Even if you aren’t allied with Multi anymore, he’s one of your kind… isn’t he?”
“One of my kind.” Shield Maiden gave him a look that suggested she’d taken his words as an insult. “Perhaps. But he’s also a threat. To the city and to me. He wants power, and has a ruthless streak.”
That does sound like Multi. Even as a champion, he was focused on nothing but his job and his goals.
“So the enemy of your enemy is your friend?” asked Malcolm.
“Something like that,” said Shield Maiden. She opened her mouth as though to say more and then hesitated.. She looked away from Malcolm and started to turn to leave.
“I appreciate the info,” said Malcolm.
Shield Maiden paused. She turned around and faced him again.
“I don’t trust you,” she said.
I don’t trust her either. But she’s pragmatic, and she isn’t evil.
Malcolm chuckled.
“That’s good,” he said. “You probably shouldn’t. But you should know that the only thing I care about is keeping Vanderbrook safe.”
“Keeping Vanderbrook safe?” asked Shield Maiden. “And… what of the people you care about within it?”
Her tone of voice made Malcolm feel uncomfortable, as did the knowing smile on her face. He stayed silent.
“You asked me for my real name before,” said Shield Maiden. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”
Malcolm shook his head.
“As fair of a trade as that would be, I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline,” he said. “Thanks for the information.”
Shield Maiden kept her eyes on him, as though her gaze alone held a measure of power. And it did seem to, though not in the way Malcolm suspected she thought it did. Tension was brewing in the air between them, and it only broke when Shield Maiden finally turned, soon disappearing around the corner of the warehouse.
CHAPTER 11
Malcolm spent most of the morning recovering. He ate handfuls of dry cereal, washing it down with warm water from a jug he kept in a corner of his lair, wishing he had something with more substance.
He took a closer look at his shoulder, cleaning the wound again, and trying to bandage it better. It had stopped bleeding, but he could feel that almost any arm movement that involved stretching or reaching would cause it to bleed again. He wished he had thought to try supergluing the wound closed the night before, but self-pity and exhaustion had clouded his thoughts and he’d forgotten to take that precaution.
It’s too late now. I at least need to get real bandages for it. A hole in my shoulder isn’t something I can just leave alone.
Under different circumstances, he would have gone to the hospital. Unfortunately, it would have brought the police straight to him, given that they knew he had been shot. So instead, Malcolm dressed in clothing he hoped wouldn’t chafe too much and readied himself to leave.
A short while later he carefully extracted himself from his hideout and walked to the nearest bus stop. He’d gotten a late start and it was already almost noon as he climbed aboard the bus. It wasn’t too crowded. Malcolm had a seat to himself, and he let his thoughts wander as the bus slowly wound its way through the streets of Vanderbrook.
Malcom’s attention was brought back to the present when the bus stopped and a single passenger got on. He wore a sweatshirt with the hood up, and stared at his feet as he made his way down the aisle. Malcom watched as he took a seat next to Malcolm.
That’s weird… Half the bus is empty.
Malcolm looked at the man, frowning a little. He didn’t get a chance to say anything before the man started to pull his hood down. Malcolm saw his face, and went numb with shock.
Multi was sitting next to him, looking very pleased with himself. The demon was almost certainly a copy of the original, but he still looked like Multi had the last time Malcolm had seen him. His head had the odd crown of half inch high skull bumps that deformed the features of all demons, with loose tufts of balding red hair adding a comical quality to his otherwise disturbing appearance.
He didn’t say anything for several seconds, instead just watching Malcolm and gauging his reaction. Several other people on the bus behind them had also taken notice, and even the ones who didn’t recognize Multi from images in the news and police descriptions could clearly see that he was a demon. And that, on its own, was more than enough to kindle terror in the confining space of a city bus.
“You…” Malcolm finally said.
“Me,” said Multi. “It’s been a while, Wind Runner.”
Malcolm wasn’t sure what to say, or how to react. He stared at Multi, eyeing the bulge around his chest underneath the sweatshirt.
He’s wearing a bomb. He has me at his mercy.
“What do you want?” asked Malcolm.
By this point, most of the passengers on the bus had given Multi their attention. A man with a scraggly was beard was whispering something to the bus driver and pointing in Multi’s direction. Malcolm watched the bus driver’s face pale in the reflection of his rear view mirror.
“I just want to talk with you,” said Multi. “Think of it like giving me a report. You used to do that, remember? Back when we were both champions.”
Malcolm wondered about his phrasing. Was he implying that he knew that Malcolm wasn’t a champion? If so, that meant that he knew about Second Wind. Malcolm tried to consider the implications of that, but knowing that he was sitting next to a potential suicide bomber made it hard for him to focus on anything but the bomb strapped to the demon’s mid-section.
“Don’t do this,” he said. “Please. Multi, none of these people deserve to die.”
A woman who he’d noticed had been checking her makeup earlier was sobbing, trying and failing to keep quiet. Multi’s expression had no mercy in it, but also no malice. He was cold, calculating, and his gaze was fixed on Malcolm.
“You managed to make a copy of yourself.” Multi spoke in a low voice, one that only Malcolm could hear. “Tell me. Does your copy have the same powers that you do?”
Malcolm hesitated, and then slowly nodded.
If I stall for long enough, I might be able to think of something. Answering his questions will at least buy me some time.
“Interesting…” said Multi. “Then, perhaps it’s just the power of personal multiplication that can’t pass on through duplication.”
He smiled. Malcolm shifted his arm slightly. Multi’s hand slipped into his pocket, and he narrowed his eyes.
“No sudden moves,” he said. “I’m not done with you yet. So… your power mimicry? That transferred to the copy as well?”
Malcolm was curious why Multi was so interested in Second Wind, but he didn’t want to betray that by asking questions. He gave another slow nod. Multi nodded back, as though his suspicions had been confirmed. He looked away from Malcolm for an instant. Malcolm tensed, part of him wanting to seize the opportunity, while also recognizing that if he did, it would probably get him killed.
The bus driver was still coasting the bus through the city, no longer stopping to pick people up or drop them off, but too terrified to break from the rest of his routine. All around Malcolm, people wept, or let out anxious moans, or whispered nervously to each other. He felt a small pit of cold, hard rage forming in his stomach.
“What is about being a demon that makes so many of you into complete, uncaring sociopaths?” he asked, slowly.
Multi chuckled.
“Well,” he said. “I can’t speak for all monsters, but I am most assuredly not a sociopath.”