He didn’t fall asleep immediately. He never did. As soon as his head was resting against his pillow, his thoughts turned to Rose, and to Tapestry. He hadn’t heard anything from either of them for months, long enough to make him question if they were still alive.
The thought of his friends being dead or in danger chafed at him like nothing else could. Malcolm had accepted the fact that he’d lost his superpowers, his wind manipulation, and his power mimicry. What he couldn’t accept was how much that had limited him when it came to protecting the people he cared about.
He couldn’t fly off to nearby cities and ask if they’d seen Tapestry, or if a shadow spryte had been spotted anywhere nearby. He couldn’t sweep in, find the people he loved, and fly them to safety. He felt powerless, and he could accept what that meant for himself, but not for what it meant for others.
Malcolm would keep looking for them as soon as he was back on his feet. He’d trade whatever he could catch for bullets, and would slowly build up enough value to trade for a new gun. Then, he’d set out.
The plan seemed audacious to him even as he thought of it. He could barely do enough foraging to feed himself, let alone having a surplus to bring to the trading square. Still, Malcolm held to it, resolving that somehow, he would find a way forward. A way back to his friends.
He fell asleep to the echo of that precious thought.
***
The traps were empty the next morning. Malcolm’s entire body ached with pain, and he’d reached the stage of hunger where true exhaustion kicks in. Hating himself for what he knew he had to do, he slowly made his way toward the bazaar, fingering the bullet in his pocket.
It was a strange comfort to see how destitute so many of the other people living in Vanderbrook were. Malcolm didn’t wish similar circumstances to his own on any one, but seeing people who shared them made it easier to shake off the self-loathing, and the sense that he somehow deserved to be hungry and dirty.
And powerless. Maybe I deserved that, too.
Or maybe not. He shook away his thoughts as he walked over to Greg’s little outdoor shop. The trader frowned as he saw him approach, which made Malcolm more aware of the swelling and the cuts on his face.
His attention was diverted from Greg by an unusual amount of commotion coming from further within the trading square. Malcolm felt his old instincts kicking in, drawing him toward the sounds of jeers and laughter.
Several well-armed men were leading a chained woman into the center of the market. She wore only her underwear, and she was even dirtier and more roughed up than Malcolm. But he recognized her, even with the bruises and slow healing scratches on her face.
Chaste Widow…
She was a slender, tanned woman of Asiatic descent, and she’d once been a regular at Terri’s Tavern. Her underwear didn’t leave much to the imagination, showing off the ample curves of her breasts and butt. Malcolm felt a flash of anger as he considered the chains around her wrists, and what that meant for a woman as attractive as she was.
“She’s for sale!” shouted the man carrying the other end of her shackles. “And she’s cheap. This bitch is one of the cursed!”
Malcolm frowned. The word “cursed” had become as common a way of referring to champions and monsters, the same as “gifted”, the original term, had been before the collapse. In Chaste Widow’s case, it actually seemed appropriate.
“She’s fine lookin’,” said one of the men in the crowd. “How’s she cursed, though?”
“Why don’t you kiss her and find out?” asked the slaver. “Three of my men! Three!”
He lashed out with his free hand, striking Chaste Widow across the shoulders and knocking her to her knees.
“Three dead men, and I don’t even have the heart to lie and pawn this psycho slut off on someone else,” said the slaver. “I should just kill her. But these are hard times, as I’m sure you all know. So she’s for sale, but I make it clear to anyone interested… kissing her means death. Her lips touch yours, and you die.”
Malcolm had been one of the few, if not the only person to kiss Chaste Widow and survive her kiss of death. At the time, it had been as simple as absorbing her power and becoming immune to the effects. He’d taken it for granted, barely even considered what he was doing. So much had changed since then.
“Well?” shouted the slaver. “No need to be coy about your offers. Just shout them right out.”
The crowd immediately began to disperse. Most people backed up like they might from someone with a contagious disease. It didn’t seem to be the reaction the slaver was hoping for.
“Anyone?” shouted the slaver. “Just give me an opening bid. I’ll consider it, I’m not picky.”
Malcolm fingered the bullet in his pocket. His stomach ached from hunger. A single bullet would be worth a loaf of bread, possibly a big one, if Greg was feeling generous.
“I’ll take her,” he said. He felt a little ashamed that it had taken him so long for him to force the words out.
The slaver frowned at him. “You don’t look like you have–”
Malcolm walked up to him and pressed the bullet into his palm. The slaver looked down at it, and then let out a laugh.
“A single bullet,” he said. “I don’t know if it’s good luck or bad luck for you that this just happens to be the caliber I need for my pistol. She’s all yours, kid. But be careful about those lips. Fine for most places, but don’t let them touch your mouth.”
Malcolm slowly exhaled, trying to keep a sudden surge of anger contained.
“Take the shackles off her,” he said.
“You sure?” The slaver quirked an eyebrow. “I was going to give you those along with her.”
“Take them off,” Malcolm repeated. “Now.”
He could feel the coldness in his own expression as he watched the man working the key and pulling loose Chaste Widow’s bonds. She didn’t say anything, not even when Malcolm came closer, and offered her what he hoped would pass for a reassuring smile.
“It’s okay,” said Malcolm. “Remember me? I’m not going to do anything weird. You can go free. I only bought you to let you go.”
Chaste Widow wouldn’t meet his gaze. Malcolm waited for a minute, wondering how long it would take her to process the situation. She looked like she was in a state of numb shock.
He turned to glance around at the rest of the market. A half dozen people who’d been watching quickly looked away from him, too paranoid to even make eye contact. Malcolm started to take a step back toward his hideout. Chaste Widow grabbed his wrist.
I can’t just leave her here…
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you some water. And some clothes.”
She didn’t say anything, but her grip on his wrist tightened.
CHAPTER 4
Back at his hideout, Malcolm gently helped Chaste Widow down the ladder and into his dim and dusty abode. If she was at all bothered by it, she didn’t mention it. In fact, she still hadn’t said a single word to him.
“I know I’m repeating myself, but you’re free to go, if you decide you want to,” said Malcolm. “Or welcome to stay here, if you need some time. I have some water jugs in the corner by my bed. No food, though.”
His stomach made it impossible for him to forget that fact. He would have to go hunting again before the day was out. Probably sooner, rather than later, given how fast his energy was draining.
“Uh…” Malcolm scratched the back of his head, trying to find the words for another point he had to address. “Just so you know, I don’t have my powers anymore. It’s a story for another time, but I figured you should be aware. Your power might kill me if we kiss.”
He cringed, hating the way he’d phrased it even as the words left his mouth. Surprisingly, Chaste Widow gave a slow nod.