"Good morning, Lisa," my father says, barely hiding a smile. He folds the newspaper he's been reading and looks at us over the rim of his glasses.
"Good morning, Danny," Lisa replies.
"You see, it wasn't for nothing I made up the couch," he says, now grinning quite openly. "But I can see you two didn't need it, after all."
"We sure didn't." Lisa grins back. "Thanks for your understanding, Danny. Now I envy Taylor twice as much. If only I had parents like that... Ow! What was that for?"
"So you won't fish for pity," I chime in, following Lisa down the stairs. "Dad, you shouldn't feel sorry for her! She's a manipulator!"
"Taylor, usually I try not to get involved in your relationships with your friends, but let me note: you really shouldn't smack your friends on the head. Especially since you've gotten a heavy hand lately," Dad observes, smiling wryly. "Anyway, breakfast is ready, but don't expect me to make it every time, young ladies. It's just that today I can go to work a bit later—there's nothing to do anyway."
"The economy of Brockton Bay is like a leaky bucket—no matter how much money you pour in, nothing stays," Lisa nods as she rubs the top of her head. "And by the way, that hurt, Taylor! What if you broke something in there? I'm not that smart as it is, and then you come along—"
"If you ask me, you're too smart for your own good. There's this book—'Woe from Wit'—that's basically about you. You could do with dialing it down a notch." I walk up to Danny and kiss him on the head. "Morning, Dad. Sorry about everything. It was already late and, well, Lisa doesn't live in the best neighborhood and…"
"Of course." Danny's sly smile shows he doesn't believe a word. He even exchanges a conspiratorial glance with Lisa and his smile gets even wider. Scheming, the both of them!
"I'm so helpless. Taylor literally saved me," Lisa says, playing along. "But I promise, Danny, nothing happened. Only after marriage—I did swear that to you. Hands off Taylor Hebert and all that."
"How heartwarming to know that the youth still obeys its elders," Danny says, sarcasm dripping from every word. "Not like us in our day. So, what about breakfast?"
"Unfortunately, I've got an appointment," Lisa answers. "So I'd best head out. Have a great day, Danny. Taylor—call me!" She leaves for the hallway and I walk her out.
When I return to the kitchen, Danny is waiting with a satisfied Cheshire Cat smile.
"Well?" he asks, and I pretend not to understand.
"Well?" I echo, taking a seat and grabbing a toast. I slide the jar of orange marmalade over and start spreading it across the bread.
"So what do you think of her?" Danny asks. "What's your take?"
"I should be asking you that, not the other way around. Well?" Clearly, Hanging out with Lisa is rubbing off on me—I'm answering questions with questions now.
"I'm not the one living with her," Danny replies. "But she's nice. Smart girl, neat and tidy. You know, Owl, you really should tidy your room before bringing guests over. Lisa's obviously a neat freak, you can tell just by looking at her. And your laundry's thrown everywhere. I tidied up the first floor, but I didn't dare step foot in your room. You are a grown lady, after all."
"Uh... She didn't even notice!" I protest. "And anyway—"
"That's what you think. Girls like Lisa—notice everything," Danny says, finishing his coffee. "I'm always on your side, Owl, but a stranger might wonder, 'what does she even see in her?'"
"It's… opposites attract? She's tidy and needs a little chaos in her life. And anyway, maybe she's got a fetish—people who want to throw laundry around but can't because of deep-rooted perfectionism and the fear of society's judgment, see?"
"Are you just making stuff up so you don't have to clean your room?" Danny raises an eyebrow. "Just don't tell me she tidied it for you."
"Uhh..."
"Oh, daughter, now I feel embarrassed in front of Lisa…"
"She likes it! Maybe she became friends with me just to clean my room! She's like Monica from 'Friends'—remember the episode where she went over to Ross's girlfriend's place to clean? Maybe the only thing she likes about me is the chaos in my soul and in my room?"
"You're making it worse, Owl," Danny shakes his head. "Well, time for me to head to work. School's still closed, so you're home again today, all right?"
"Okay, Dad. I'm staying home," I nod. I haven't managed to tell him I'm a cape—neither yesterday nor today. It just hasn't worked out. Plus, there's plenty else on my mind. I find I'm smiling—inside, it feels unexpectedly clean, bright, peaceful. Quiet.
"All right, I'm off. Be good," Danny gets up, leans down and kisses my forehead. "I'm so glad you're okay, Owl."
"Good luck at work, Dad!" I call out as he waves from the hall. I hear his heavy work boots stomping, then the door slams shut. That's it, I'm home alone. Silence. I can hear the ticking of the clock on the wall. Why?
Suddenly I realize—why. The Butchers. They're quiet. I sift through my memories. The multitasking part of my new bug-control power never sleeps. Even when I sleep, I'm somehow controlling bugs, nothing escapes my attention. You could say Taylor Hebert never really sleeps now… or sleeps like a dolphin, half her brain at a time. When I fall asleep, my bugs carry on with whatever orders I gave them. That's what I thought, anyway. I figured once I was asleep, the Butcher-controlled bugs would stop—but no. All night they kept surfing the internet, watching movies, reading books, even making accounts on PHO. Any attempt by Butcher One to start posting nasty stuff about me on the forum was cut off—the ants simply refused to type those messages. So I guess I've got an internal autopilot that can still figure out what's acceptable and what's not?
It's surprising, and yet normal—after the mind-blowing multitasking of my power, these details don't amaze me as much anymore. It's just there, and I'm grateful. Saves me from having to punish the Butcher, too.
But silence in the morning—blissful. Apparently, even Butchers without bodies get tired of the flood of information, they get satiated—and... fall asleep. Perfect. I can even sense their contentment, their calm—they're finally satisfied by the outside world. Over-satisfied, even. My bugs on the left-over tablets are still searching for info, and making PHO accounts too—Lisa and I have a plan.
I finish my toast, wash it down with cold coffee and head upstairs to my room. Today I'm meeting Wyvern at "Somers", so I'd better get dressed up. After all, you only get one chance to make a first impression, right? So... jeans and a black hoodie. As always.
As I change, I spot cotton panties with Armsmaster's face printed on them and snort. Yesterday, Lisa made a scene over those. Armsmaster panties and a Vista poster—according to her, that's a real treasure trove. Now she can tease me about being a pedophile (Vista's just a kid!) and wanting to sit on Armsmaster's face—in those very panties, no less. Like... making Armsmaster meet Armsmaster.
I smile. Lisa really is a kid at heart... Although I'm not much better. Yesterday, we nearly started a pillow fight—nothing else happened. On my end, it was because of the Butchers, who commented on my every move, and at some point just started chanting obscene things in unison. On hers, it's her powers. There's something there that keeps her from going too far physically—like my thing with restaurants, she's got a thing with sex. I see all the cockroaches in the kitchen, she sees all the "cockroaches" in her mind. I didn't push, we just fell asleep next to each other, and at night she threw an arm and a leg over me, and that's how we woke up.
Still, as I said, the Butchers wouldn't have let me do anything naughty anyway—listen to them long enough and you really lose all desire. On the bright side, if I keep them occupied with the internet at night, and in the morning they'll all be asleep…
Turning these sneaky plans over in my head, I head downstairs. I'd known everything was fine in the Hive since I woke up and saw Lisa leaning over me. The Hive sense is something I can't turn off, even if I wanted to. I can order my bugs to behave as usual, as if not under my control, but to stop feeling their senses, their legs and antennae, to stop seeing through their eyes, feeling their movements and body vibrations—that's beyond me. So, since first light, I knew everything was fine: new generations of Stings and Medici are hatching, even more toxic, hardy, and damage-tolerant. They're fine, just waking up, stretching their wings and jaws as they emerge from their cells. New life. Somewhere far away, on the other side of town, one lone beacon is still shining.
"Good morning, Amy!" a voice rings in my mind. Ah, Victoria's awake and already peeking into her sister's bedroom. I still have a connection to the worm-beacon, which hasn't been a mere worm for a long time but is now more like a signal booster.
"Mornin'," Amy grumbles, and from her voice I can tell she's happy to see her sister, even though she came home late, exhausted, and went straight to sleep still fully dressed, leaving my worm in her pocket.
"Good morning, Vicky!" I say, putting all my effort into the worm's newly acquired vocal chords. "You look great! Come out and play today!"
"What?!" Victoria's voice: "Who is this? Taylor?! Where are you?!"
"Vicky, wait, it's not what you think!" Amy blurts out, as the worm gets pulled out—no eyes, just senses, just hearing and speech. It's shaken out of her pocket onto something flat, and—
"Amy, no!" Victoria's voice, the sounds of a brief struggle: "Amy, stop! What is this, and why is it talking like Taylor Fifteen?"
"Let's call it a transmitter. Kind of like a walkie-talkie. You can talk right into it. I'll hear you," I say, straining the worm's vocal cords. "Glad to hear from you! How are you? Amy told me I, um, overdid it last time. Sorry, I didn't mean to, I got carried away. But you didn't go easy on me either, right?"
"You know, Fifteen, maybe start with how... this thing ended up in my sister's room," Victoria says, her voice tight. "What are you planning? Leave my sister alone!"
"Oh. I wasn't bothering her. It's all been on her initiative, Vicky," I say, pausing mid-step on my home's staircase. "And I've got no interest in hurting her. Or you, for that matter. I'd much rather you two were allies, or at least neutral. You're both too powerful, Victoria and Amy Dallon—having you as enemies would be, at the very least, unwise. Besides, I like you, Vicky."
"Let me go, I'm going to stomp it!"
"Calm down, Amy! I need to understand! Stop!"
"She! That bitch! She put this thing in you! Do you get it?! She's dishonest, two-faced, rotten! Vicky!"
"Wait a sec. You'll have time to crush it later," Victoria's voice gets sharper, more serious. "Taylor!"
"Yes?" I answer.
"I thought you and I understood each other. Looks like I was wrong," she says bitterly. "You're a villain through and through, in your very soul. I thought someone like you deserved a chance, but you lied to me. You really did put that thing in me, didn't you?"
I close my eyes and stay silent. Tell the truth? Yes, I put a worm-beacon in you, but I didn't mean you harm—I just wanted to always know where you were. That sounds awful. Or—yes, I put a worm in you, but it's nothing, nearly half the city has them now? Even worse. It's all about control—damn it. Where did I even get the idea for beacons in the first place?
Lie? No, not an option. Amy knows everything, and lying to Vicky now means losing the last scraps of trust she has left. I swallow and open my eyes.
"Yes," I say through the worm's vocal cords from the other side of town. "It was me. I'm sorry."
"I thought maybe we could... if not be friends, at least people who respected each other," Victoria says, voice thick with hurt. "But now... now you're dead to me, Taylor."
"Wait! Please, I didn't mean—" But something heavy crushes my worm and the beacon on the other side of town goes dark.
"Goddammit!" I shout bitterly and smash my fist into the wooden banister. Crack, crash, splinters and pieces fly everywhere.
I sigh, close my eyes, and give the order to all beacons within my range: self-destruct—harmlessly for the hosts. The command echoes, loops, plays on repeat. Those outside my range will hear it sooner or later. Seriously, Taylor, what were you thinking? Why did you need it? If I'm being rational, the idea came to me before I was the Butcher—back when I was a glass cannon, when I just desperately needed more control, more safety, and I seriously considered implanting them all over town, giving each a unique name so I'd always know who was where, what they were saying, feeling, seeing. And it seemed normal. What is wrong with me?!
"Aaaargh..." I growl and sit down on the steps. Victoria Dallon and her sister... If I ever hoped we could be allies, that's gone now. Victoria will never forgive this—I basically violated her, planted a spy-organism in her body without her consent. Would I like it if that happened to me? To my Dad? To Lisa? The Golden Rule, Taylor—never do to others what you wouldn't want for yourself, especially those you want to be friends with. The next meeting with Victoria, Glory Girl, definitely won't be pastoral anymore. And that's not even mentioning Amy.
I grit my teeth. Well, I think, well. It's not the end of the world. The Dallon sisters don't like me, so what. I'm not a twenty-dollar bill, not everyone has to like me. I screwed up. I tried to be sneaky, honestly thought nobody would notice the beacons. Nobody would have, except Panacea has her own hidden powers—just like me. It was naive to think I could fool everyone.
To hell with it. Victoria Dallon... She's still a hero, and I'm as far from one as ever. I've got plenty of work ahead: meetings with Wyvern, with Bakuda, with the Undersiders, and with Henry McCallister. No rest for the wicked.
I get up from the steps with a sigh. I look at the splinters and shards of wood all around. Great, now I also have to fix the stairs.