2103:11:10:20:41:11

  I was practicing my forms – both fighting and animal ones – inside our base all by myself. I was here hours earlier than I usually would thanks to the situation at home.

  Mom had been called in to another emergency right after dinner. Though she hadn’t told me what it was, the news informed me there’d been another bombing in Aberdeen – an alleged retaliatory strike by the Numbers Room against the Jannacht for disrupting some insurance scheme or whatever. According to the news, Lady Mercy (a Warden) fighting Six of the Numbers Room not far from it was evidence of that, but… how? Why would Six be involved in the bombing at all, let alone linger for the heroes to show up?

  The Jannacht made more sense to me, but what did I know.

  There’d been no casualties reported by the time I left for Crowsong and I’s base, but the office tower had partially collapsed and people had gotten trapped underneath. As part of Charm’s Urban Search and Rescue, it would make sense that Mom had been called in to help.

  As for the other party currently residing in my home, Michael had disappeared the moment he threw his luggage in the guest room. He’d already said he would during the drive home, but what he hadn’t said was that he wouldn’t be home for dinner. All he said was that he wanted to reconnect with old friends, and that’s it.

  Mom… hadn’t been devastated or anything, but dinner had been quiet, awkward and bitter. The last time I’d seen her so disappointed was when I broke my nose and hadn’t responded to her messages, but that was a disappointment borne of fear and concern. This one was a bitter sadness focused inward, disappointment at herself rather than Michael. Mom being called in had been a boon in that regard.

  Still, it made me upset. In fact, I grew more upset the more I thought about it. It might be hypocritical for me as her pretend daughter to say this, but who does he think he is to barge into our lives all of a sudden and make Mom hate herself? She’d been looking forward to that dinner, spent hours preparing some form of family-recipe stew, and then he just disappeared with barely a word?

  It made me angrier than I recalled ever being. Thankfully, punching-bag therapy wasn’t limited to once a week, and kicking Michael-shaped mannequins had been perfect for working through my emotions.

  Though finding some villains or henchies to punch would be good too. Hopefully Crowsong would bring some good news on that end. Unlike me, Crowsong went masking as soon as noon at times, whether she had an excuse to or not. She just did it, and damn the consequences.

  If there even were any, that is. She hadn’t been very open about her personal life due to the masquerade, but it wasn’t hard to guess her home situation might not be the best. I doubted very much that she’d told her parents (or other guardians) her masked identity.

  She’d already been out on patrol when I messaged her at some time around eight, saying I could go masking earlier than usual. She hadn’t asked questions when I did. She said she’d be there soon, and that was it.

  I heard a metal clang echo through the warehouse as the door opened and closed in quick succession. I stopped pecking and kicking the mannequin and shifted back from my now-mastered ostrich form, turning around to see Crowsong walk up to me.

  Speak of the crow, and she shall appear.

  “Early start to the day, I see,” Crowsong said.

  I opened my mouth to explain, but closed it again, remembering what she said about mixing personal lives with that of the masked.

  I shrugged. “Saw the opportunity and thought, ‘why not’.”

  Once more, I wished I could talk to her about personal stuff. She was my mentor, wasn’t she? Had been for nearly two months now – which was two-thirds of my life. Were masked that isolated from each other that they didn’t reveal their personal identities even to their colleagues? Their friends? Was she following Blackhawk’s example or did she just not trust me yet?

  Crowsong must’ve picked up on my hesitation. She nodded slowly and hesitantly before saying, “Well, it’s lucky that you did. We’ve got an appointment. And the sooner we get there, the better.”

  My eyebrows raised unseen. “Nth-Sight’s got another request?” He fed us plenty of info and made requests from time to time, but nothing on the level of the trainyard. Once we had to target a particular henchie and disrupt some deal he was making, thrice he gave us the location of gang stashes and once the location of a back-alley fence selling stolen goods and/or replicas out of the back of a car, but that was about it.

  “Nope. Got something better,” Crowsong said. “I’ve been in touch with the Sentinels, trying to find the time to introduce you to them.”

  “You know the Sentinels?” I asked, raising my eyebrows – not that she could see them.

  “Hm-mm. Blackhawk knew them, even ran with them for a few months before deciding he worked better on his own,” she explained. “They remained friends though, and when he thought I was ready, he introduced me to them.”

  “And I’m ready?”

  “Sure,” Crowsong said casually. “You’ve got a mentor, caught criminals and beat two villains. You’re readier than I ever was.” Bashfully, I went to stroke my hair backwards, only to wind up pulling at my floppy fabric crown.

  Crowsong continued, amusement tinging her voice. “Anyway, with the Jannacht escalating things after the trainyards, the Sentinels decided now it would be good for us to work together from time to time. And today, they believe they’ve found two of the Jannacht’s distribution centers, one in Greenside and in the Hub.”

  “And they want our help raiding the one in The Hub,” I concluded. That was ‘our territory’, according to MaskiPedia (Crowsong had her own page, and I had a section on that page since the trainyard! How awesome was that!). Not that heroes actually cared about territory or things like that, but civilians and masked obsessed sure did.

  Area of operation was a better descriptor in my opinion.

  Crowsong nodded. “Exactly. We initially planned for a simple introduction today and the raid tomorrow, but since we’ve got a couple of extra hours to spare… well, the sooner, the better I’d say.”

  I blinked. “We’re going right now?” That was quick.

  “I proposed, and they agreed.” Crowsong shrugged. “Unless you got something better to do…?”

  I shook my head. As she said, the sooner the better.

  “Then yes, I don’t see why not,” Crowsong said. “Pack your things and let’s get going.”

  X

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  Crowsong and I looked down at The Hub below us, enjoying the sights in silent thought (though that might just be me). The meeting place was, as I’d come to expect, the roof of a building. It wasn’t a particularly tall building – The Hub had little in the way of true skyscrapers – but it wasn’t not-tall either. A residential building of around ten floors or so, by my guess. I hadn’t bothered counting.

  If she hadn’t told me otherwise, I would’ve thought Crowsong had picked the place. My mentor always picked places like these, high-up and obscured in darkness – a place fitting for an urban crow. But now I wondered, were rooftops less a preference and more a general vigilante tradition? I’d seen it in movies and shows often enough, so maybe it was just a thing they- or rather, we did.

  Of course, a flat roof on a high building was a good place for an anonymous meeting, especially for people like Crowsong and I who had no problem reaching it. As for those that did…

  The door to the roof was thrown open with a loud bang, the wood stopping just shy of smacking against the stone wall by a door stop. A large, bare-chested figure wearing a loose, long loincloth held up by a girdle decorated with bronze and dangling strings of coin. His tusked, ornate bronze mask bore the look of a smiling deity, while a short, pelt-like white cape or cloak was tied around his neck.

  He was one of Charm’s more famous masked: Jagar Natha, the New Seattle Sentinels’ premier super. An old man in a world where masked don’t get old. Though his bare chest didn’t seem to belong to an old man…

  He looked right and spotted us immediately. “Ah! There you are!” He said, voice loud and joyful. It was loud enough to snap me out of that trail of thought.

  From his attitude, the climb appeared not to have bothered the man. The same couldn’t be said for his companions.

  The next to appear was Rhennish, a caster centered around shooting low volume, high intensity jets of water. Dressed in a body suit whose fish-like scales reflected blue and green, the man stepped out of the doorway and half-collapsed when he did, taking heavy breaths with hands on knees. Even through his blacked-out dive mask, I could see the reproachful look the man shot his fellow vigilante.

  “Why do you always make us use the stairs?” Rhennish asked, doing his best to steady his panting. Despite the complaint, his voice was soft and pleasant.

  Jagar Natha turned around to face his colleague. “If a small set of stairs can tire a hero, they should train more often.”

  “It wouldn’t if you didn’t make us run up it,” Rhennish returned, rising up and stretching his back.

  Jagar Natha waved off the complaint. “Don’t complain. It’s good for you.”

  Rhennish groaned in response, but did as he was told and kept the complaints to himself.

  Just as the door was about to close, it was thrown open once more as the last Sentinel stepped through its frame.

  It was Marching Orders, a caller whose power was not as publicly known as the other two, but revolved around summoning servants. The junior masked wore a black and red sci-fi-ish officer’s outfit, decorated to the brim with golden buttons, tassels, large shoulder pads and a half-cloak covering her right shoulder, chest and upper arm. The look was completed by a military-style red beret on top of her head and a simple white porcelain-like mask obscuring the top half of her face.

  From what I saw, she’d found the climb much tougher than her older colleagues. Her panting coughs were loud and rough even from five or so meters away, and I could hear her not-so-quietly muttering curses between breaths.

  Jagar Natha crossed his bulging arms. “Now, now, March. What did I say about cursing in front of guests?”

  Marching Orders flipped him off in response. “Go headbutt a brick, old man.” I smiled. It reminded me of Amber when she got mean. Or Crowsong during the fight with Drake Blackflame.

  Jagar Natha was about to respond, but was interrupted by the other adult vigilante.

  “Just let her be, oh ancient wise one,” Rhennish said. “Find fault with oneself before rebuking others.”

  Silence reigned before Jagar Natha let out a booming, hammy laugh straight out of an old cartoon. “Using my own words against me? Oh, how proud you make me little fish.” He plinked away a fake tear, the superpowered motion causing the air to pop and crack.

  I turned to my mentor and asked, “Are they usually like this?”

  She nodded. “Always.”

  I did not know whether to be disappointed or just accept them as they were. A part of me had expected more from the oldest masked team in Charm. A stoic, enduring and serious presence that had weathered the storm of ages and had come out stronger and wiser. But maybe it was because they were so old that they behaved like old, cheesy hero flicks? There had to be an a truth that inspired the trope, after all.

  Jagar Natha turned and walked towards us, his colleagues trailing behind.

  “Good to see you again, little blackbird,” he said, nodding towards Crowsong. “And nice to see you’ve found yourself a fledgling. Jester, right?” He directed the latter towards me.

  I nodded in response, reaching out my hand for a shake. “Nice to meet you… Mister Natha?” How do you address a double-named, (likely) seniority-aged masked?

  He boomed a laugh, going for a firm-gripped handshake. “Living up to your name already?” Sure? “Just call me Jagar. Say, I’ve heard you had a super sub-power. C’mon,” he tightened his grip, “go ahead give it a good squeeze.” Rhennish face palmed while Marching Orders scoffed behind him.

  Regardless, I did as asked and gave it my all, squeezing his hand as tight as I could.

  “Hah! Now that’s better,” he said, not letting go. “You know, the measure of a man lies in their handshake.”

  “I’m not a man,” I replied, continuing the handshake. This should be the point the handshake was entering ‘awkward’ territory, but since it was a test, I didn’t want to fail.

  “Hm! And all of Charm’s grateful for that,” he said, finally letting go of my hand. What did-

  Two thin blades shot straight into his eyes, bouncing off of them without harm. I grabbed them before they could hit the ground.

  “Stop harassing her,” Crowsong said, exasperated.

  “Oh please. I only meant that boys tend to go all dark and mean. I’d rather have a Jester than another Drake.” He followed it up by leaning in and whispering to me, “Always the sensitive one, isn’t she, your mentor?”

  I nodded, more out of politeness than actual agreement. He laughed and slapped me on the shoulder good naturedly before stepping back.

  Rhennish came next. “Good to meet you, Jester,” he said, voice soft and gentle and very much at odds with what to expect from a vigilante, before putting up his hand for a shake. “Don’t squeeze mine too tight – unlike that ancient, I’m a sensitive man.”

  A gruff huff sounded from said ancient, but I nodded in response and shook his hand normally. “Nice to meet you too.”

  He nodded with a smile, then half-stepped to the side, gesturing towards the final vigilante. “Let me introduce you to my protégé, Marching Orders. Or March, if she likes you enough.”

  I reached out for the final handshake, secure in my routine. “Nice to meet you, Marching Orders.”

  She stared at me, arms still crossed as they had been since she walked over. She didn’t reach out for it immediately, nor for the second, third, fourth or fifth second. I didn’t understand why, but held firm. Precedent had been set. The pressure of expectations would do the rest.

  Eventually, she succumbed. “Just call me March,” she groused, but she shook my hand regardless.

  Rhennish smiled openly, while Jagar laughed at the scene. “Nice, isn’t it? To see the young get along,” Jagar said.

  March groaned, but unlike what I expected, didn’t snatch back her hand. Maybe she wasn’t as… difficult as I’d first thought.

  “Oh God… just ignore the old heads – they just looove to haze juniors like us.” Her head shifted a bit, towards Crowsong standing right behind me. She nodded at her, then turned back to me. “At least you don’t have that problem.”

  “No. My mentor has been very kind,” I said. We unclasped our hands.

  She snorted. For some reason. “You know, I thought you would be more annoying. What, with the whole-” she gestured at my outfit, “-schtick you got going on. Like a class clown who thinks they’re funnier than they are.”

  I perked up. I had prepared for this. “What has two legs and runs very fast?” I took a small step back.

  She froze for a second. “I don’t know. What?”

  I shifted into an ostrich.

  Silence reigned over the rooftop, March – and everyone else, presumably – frozen at the punchline. To wake them up, I briefly raised my head and let out a throaty ghhk, then continued staring straight into her eyes.

  Again, silence reigned, but this time, it was broken by Crowsong snorting. It was quickly followed by Jagar’s by-now characteristically loud laugh and, beneath the cacophony, I heard Rhennish chuckle softly as well.

  “The hell was that?!” Marching Orders said, taking a startled step backwards. Her reflexes weren’t very good if she only just now reacted to the transformation.

  I shifted back. “It’s an anti-joke. Where a joke normally subverts the expectation, I subverted the subversion instead and answered with something mundanely correct,” I explained. Millie had taught me the concept, but the application was all me. “Did you like it?” I asked, nervous.

  “No!” March said, stepping back and falling in line with her fellow Sentinels. She sounded affronted. That was not my intention.

  “Oh,” I said, subdued. At least the others liked it.

  Crowsong patted me on the shoulder. “Need to work a bit on the timing,” she said, then turned to the Sentinels. “Let’s get down to business?”

  Jagar picked up the thread, with a tone much more serious than before. “The ‘business’ is quite easy,” he began. “We discovered that an abandoned post office has been taken over by the Jannacht and turned into one of their supply centers. At the same time, our augur contact Plenarian has found a similar base in Greenside. We’ve decided to time our attacks together – us here and Elegast calling in Aetherna and Blade Eater in Greenside. We hope a combination of firepower and splitting their response means we’ll get in and out quickly.”

  “You don’t expect trouble?” Crowsong asked.

  Rhennish took up the word. “Henchies, maybe a masked or two at most. Their recent efforts in Aberdeen and Little Europe should keep most of their heavy hitters occupied there, for now.”

  “We’re hoping that Blazin’s burning of the trainyard has crippled their network,” Jagar said, “and that this is their sole remaining base in Northside and The Hub. Cut out the cancer before it can spread, and we limit how much of Charm gets involved when things escalate.”

  “If things escalate,” Rhennish said.

  “With the way they’re behaving?” Jagar shook his head, not elaborating further.

  “That’s another reason why we’re here,” Rhennish said to Crowsong and I in particular. “If we can find any explosive materials or IEDs here, we know they were behind the bombing and prevent them from doing more.”

  “You don’t believe they did it?” Crowsong asked.

  “What I believe doesn’t matter,” Rhennish responded. “There is no proof, and it doesn’t fit their usual style. It’s too careless. They respect the Treaty more than most villains and bombs are too unpredictable for that. In general, they prefer precision strikes and try to avoid collateral damage wherever they can.”

  “Except Darkstar,” Jagar countered.

  “Except Darkstar,” Rhennish conceded. “But those were his early years. From the records of his time in New York, he seems to have cooled down a lot.” Jagar grunted, but kept staring at Rhennish.

  A couple of seconds passed.

  “Sooooo, should we go and get ready then?” March asked. “Or are you two just gonna be staring at each other for the rest of the night?”

  “Right,” Jagar said, breaking the stare-off. “C’mon, let’s get down there.” He moved past Rhennish and March and walked towards the stairs. Everyone moved to follow.

  “Ugh,” I heard March mutter. “The stairs again…”

  “You’ll get used to it. I think,” Rhennish said.

  Jagar halted his march and turned back to March. “You know what?” he asked, voice too cheerful for the menace it exuded. “You’re right. We should do this the fun way.” He walked menacingly to March and Rhennish, both taking a step back in response.

  He dashed forward and before I knew it, had both Sentinels under his arms. “We’ll meet you down there!” he said, the grin carrying in his voice.

  He jumped off the building, March’s echoing scream fading as they fell.

  I looked to Crowsong, who looked back at me. Before she could decide to do something funny, I jumped up with the tips of my toes, turned into a crow and flew off.