The fact that there were other monsters in the room, however, and Savior seemed absolutely casual about it, was something Malcolm did not understand. He walked next to the leader of the Champion Authority, the two of them taking seats at the bar.
“Beer us, Scribe,” said Savior. “And then we’ll talk. You remember me this time, right?”
The bartender and owner of Terri’s Tavern was a spryte by the name of Scribe. The last time Malcolm had spoken with her, she’d explained that her power was related to language, and as such, she kept a detailed journal to keep herself from losing too much of her memory whenever she had an episode. Considering that detail made Malcolm feel uneasy, though he didn’t like to think about why.
Maybe Rose has had an episode since I last saw her. Maybe she doesn’t remember me anymore.
“Savior,” said Scribe. She was a short spryte with thick hair and thick glasses. “I… didn’t expect that you’d come in person.”
“I’m sure you heard what happened to the local Champion Authority headquarters,” said Savior. “Total bummer, you know? So I’m going to have to pick up the slack in town while the rebuilding takes place.”
Malcolm pulled his attention back into the moment, glancing back and forth between Scribe and Savior. The leader of the Champion Authority, an institution dedicated to policing demons and sprytes across the world, was casually conversing with one. It still made no sense to him. Savior noticed the expression on his face and clapped him on his back.
“You looked confused,” said Savior.
“I’m just not quite sure what to make of this,” said Malcolm. “I don’t mean to sound disrespectful, but… it seems like you’re just flaunting the fact that you don’t have to abide by the very rules that you set.”
Savior exhaled through his nostrils. He closed his eyes for a moment, and suddenly looked a decade older.
“I didn’t set the rules,” he said. “No… Unfortunately not. But perhaps there is an element of flaunting involved, here. I want you to understand, Cutter.”
Savior took a contemplative sip of his beer and then nodded to himself.
“It’s been my method of operation to pardon certain monsters and certain places,” he said. “While the Champion Authority’s official policy is to handle all monsters as though they are dangerous and volatile, it’s… convenient, to turn a blind eye here and there.”
“Speaking of which,” interrupted Scribe. “I already paid Multi for this month. It was right before the attack on your base.”
“No you didn’t!” Savior grinned at the spryte. “Nice try though.”
His enthusiasm and good humor seemed to snap back into first gear. Savior drummed his hands on the bar counter and started whistling. Malcolm was barely even aware of it. He turned the implication of Savior’s words over in his head.
Savior can give out pardons. That means I could save Rose… and maybe even Danny.
Malcolm grimaced. Rose was one thing, but Danny had killed so many people. He wasn’t sure that Danny deserved a real second chance, even as his brother.
Then why did I give him that money?
“Perfect!” laughed Savior, accepting the wad of money Scribe passed to him. “You’re all set for the next month.”
“I appreciate that,” said Scribe, dryly. “Now, is that it?”
“Of course not,” said Savior. “Vodka shots, on the double.”
Malcolm excused himself to the bathroom, standing up slowly and making his way across the bar. A couple sprytes and demons looked in his direction, but most of them kept their eyes averted. He was about to push through the door into the men’s room when a heavy hand clapped on his shoulder and spun him around.
“Hey,” said a deep voice. “Remember me?”
Malcolm was staring into the face of a demon by the name of Bicep. He’d encountered him on his first visit to Terri’s Tavern with Rose, and the two of them had almost come to blows. Strangely, the demon was smiling this time around.
“That depends,” said Malcolm. “Is there a right answer to that question, or will both lead to a fight?”
Bicep’s smile widened.
“Relax,” he said. “I ain’t gonna punch you.”
Bicep was a muscle demon, and every inch of his body was covered with exaggerated, rippling muscle. He wore a thin sleeveless shirt and gym shorts, and had arms as thick around as tree trunks.
“Right…” said Malcolm. “That’s good to know. Well, I was on my way to the bathroom, so if you don’t mind…”
“Talk to me for a second,” said Bicep. “I got a few questions.”
His brow was furrowed, and the tone of his voice seemed sincere. Malcolm sighed, and then gave a small shrug.
“Sure,” he said. “Why not?”
The two of them sat down at a table in the corner of the room. Malcolm steepled his fingers, letting his eyes run across the bar out of habit. It was nearly empty.
“No Fantasy, tonight?” he asked. Fantasy was an attractive, female spryte, and one of Bicep’s friends. Bicep shook his head.
“She’s been… busy, lately,” said Bicep.
“Nothing to read into there,” said Malcolm.
Bicep laughed and waved his hand, as though dismissing the question.
“She’s been busy, okay,” said Bicep. “It doesn’t matter. Look, I’m more interested in why the two of you are here, given the state of Vanderbrook right now.”
“I can’t speak for Savior, but I’m here because it’s my job,” said Malcolm. “He’s in town. I’m a champion, and that means I’ve been drafted as his bodyguard.”
It was close enough to the truth that it didn’t really feel like a lie. Savior had come to Terri’s tavern to gather information, but Malcolm doubted he’d manage to overhear anything interesting. He was there as Savior’s companion, and as backup, not that the invulnerable leader of the champions needed it.
“That’s what I wanted to ask you about,” said Bicep. He leaned in closer. “Is this… a crackdown?”
“You mean, Savior coming to Vanderbrook?” he asked. “No. At least, I don’t think so. He’s just here to help me and my fellow champions get back on our feet.”
Bicep let out a sigh of relief. Malcolm frowned, feeling a bit odd about the conversation.
“What happened to make you so friendly?” he asked. “The last time we encountered each other, you seemed… a little territorial.”
“That’s cause I thought you were a typical champion,” said Bicep. “After chatting with Rose, it’s pretty clear that you’re something else. She’s in deep for you, ya know. Won’t let anyone drag the name of her precious ‘Wind Runner’ through the mud.”
“She’s… been by here?” asked Malcolm. “Like, since last time, when I was here with her?”
Bicep frowned.
“Of course,” he said. “I thought that’s why you came tonight, at first. She just had to use the restroom… Though it has been a couple of minutes.”
Malcolm stood up from his chair sharply enough to knock it over. He glanced over at Savior, making sure that the champion was still distracted, and then hurried toward the restrooms.
CHAPTER 8
Malcolm rounded the corner toward the women’s bathroom in time to see a flash of jet black shadow head down the hallway, toward the emergency exit. He sprinted after it, his heart pounding in his chest.
The emergency exit door opened and started to close. Malcolm managed to get a foot in between it and the doorframe, wincing as it crushed against his foot. He threw it the rest of the way open and stumbled up the stairs into the street.
“Rose!” He kept his voice low, trying to shout and whisper at the same time. “I know you’re here!”