Super•Villainous

XXV

To temper my nerves at the press conference, I anxiously ran my fingers along the smooth exterior of my brother's knife, one hand stuffed in my coat pocket and the other folding and unfolding a cue card containing a pre-written statement made by an unknown, under-appreciated Guild staffer. Truthfully, the day felt too warm for layers. When I chose my outfit last night, the forecast had claimed drizzle to be on my horizon, so I dressed accordingly; coat, hood, boots — the whole nine yards.

Unfortunately, being in one of the most superhero dense cities in the world hadn't factored into my calculations. Aqua, master of all things rain and water, stood rigid at the Constable's side, presumably ensuring cloudless skies, while Tempest flew overhead. The combo of all three Supers in one place gave me uncomfortable flashbacks to my graduation disaster that I did my best to shake off, a relatively easy task, given that they weren't the only Supers milling about. A masked hijabi woman who I only ever saw at press conferences like these flanked the Constable's left side, her attention constantly moving over the amassed crowd. Occasionally, I saw her lean over to an nearly identically clad woman on the Constable's other side and whisper in short, low tones. Then, the second woman would inevitably make a subtle motion with her hands, like spraying seeds, but only ever twisting her wrist. I didn't know what to think of the exchange, and what that hinted at for their powers.

I spotted three other Supers in the Guild sanctioned shade of gray. Supers were allowed creative freedom in the design of their costumes with one caveat: they all needed the specific gray trim throughout the design. It not only designated them — the heroes — as one cohesive unit, it made their individual identities marketable.

I felt a sharp prod at my back — courtesy of Ren – indicating the time to make my statements. My anxiety parched my throat until it seemed I'd be unable to speak at all, when I found myself positioned in front of the podium overlooking dozens of bug-eyed cameras and three times as many people. Then, the strangest thing happened. I heard a soft whisper from behind me, and a sinuous wave of calm followed, flowing through my limbs up to my chest like a breath of crisp, nature air.

Mollified, I inhaled and read the card aloud. I was so intent on sounding natural that I didn't process a single word, and if I was quizzed on what I said later, I would have failed miserably. After the last sentence thanking the media and regular citizens for taking such an interest in getting me home departed my mouth, I glanced up in time for the Constable to grant the assembled reporters a few questions.

"Did you attain any clues as to Nightshade's identity?" one female reporter asked.

How they kept so many reporters so orderly and respectful I had no idea.

The Constable once again reclaimed the microphone, taking the questions like blows, saving me from the anxiety inducing task. "Due to the nature of this investigation, we are not at liberty to say at this time." He cracked an ingratiating smile. "Which I'm sure you already knew I'd say."

There was a brief rumble of chuckles from our audience, then:

"There are reports going around that you are the same girl seen being saved by Tempest on the April fifteenth attack." The deceptively youthful middle aged man I vaguely recognised from the Channel 5 news directed his words at me, maintaining heavy eye contact all the while, leaving no doubt as to who he expected an answer from. "I've seen the footage myself. It's fairly compelling. Is there any truth to the unsubstantiated rumors?"

I shot the Constable a furtive glance to affirm that I was free to reply, not unlike a child being questioned in a doctors office. He made no attempts to wrangle the question for himself, so I took that as permission. Given my worst fears about the truth coming out had already come to pass in spectacular fashion, I saw no reason to lie. "Yeah. That was me."