Chapter Text
Simon
I’m eating dinner in my flat when I decide to flick on the TV. It’s tuned into a local news channel, and at first my eyes just latch onto Agatha’s face.
“The situation seems to be escalating,” she’s saying. “And what people want to know is, where is our hero?” Her eyes seem to be boring into my very soul, as if she’s asking me personally. “Where is the Golden Blade?”
Fuck. Fuck.
I snap to attention at the mention of my name and look behind her. It’s live coverage of Vampire swooping gracefully between the buildings of the city.
And I’m not there. I’m here, in my trackies, eating a curry.
I jump to my feet.
“Baz?” I call, just to make sure he’s not home. I toss my food in the fridge—if he sees it sitting there half-eaten, he’ll be suspicious—and barrel down the hall. I peek into Baz’s room on the way. Empty. Good.
I can hear the news still playing from the other room, Agatha’s lovely reporter-voice drifting out of the speakers. She can make atrocious crimes sound pretty.
My room is an absolute mess, a sea of clothes and dirty mugs. I tear through my closet and unlatch the secret panel in the back, where my suit is…
Not.
Shit, where has it gone? I dart wildly around my room, upsetting piles of clothes, until I find it heaped sadly on the floor, its usual lustre nowhere to be seen. (Listen, even The Golden Blade gets behind on his laundry sometimes.)
I shove the suit on and pull everything snug. (The clasps are velcro. Don’t tell anyone.) I run to the bathroom mirror and go through my mental checklist: suit, sword, mask…
No mask. I’m still wearing my glasses. My hands shake as I clumsily twist open my contact case and shove the contacts into my eyes. I toss the specs onto my bed, slam the bedroom door shut, grab my coat, and dash out of the flat.
It’s time to take down Vampire.
The thing about being a part-time superhero is that you have to live a normal life, and you can’t have a lair or a lab or whatever. It’s not like I’m a bloody Avenger, doing my hero business out in the open. I have a day job. A confusing ex-girlfriend. An annoying flatmate. Taxes. Typical problems.
Today, those include forgetting where I parked my car.
I sneak out the side door of my building, wrapping my coat around me to hide the suit, and run along the back alley, smashing the lock button on my keys, until I hear my car chirping at me. From underneath my feet.
Right. Of course. I’ve had this underground mini-garage for months now, and I still forget about it. I count the manhole covers I pass as I run down the street and pull up short when I find the fourth one, with the mayor’s seal covertly pressed into the design. I spare a quick glance around to make sure no one’s watching, then drag aside the cover, replace it above me carefully, and scramble down the ladder. I pull my mask on as I walk.
There it is. All golden and tricked out, a personal gift from Mayor Mage. Penny and I call it the Snowmobile in private. I think everyone else just calls it the Golden Car, which is kind of lame.
At least it has Bluetooth capabilities, and as I dive into the driver’s seat and start the car, I bark, “Call Penny.” I reverse down the tunnel until I see the turnoff that will take me through the large parking garage below the White Chapel and into the city.
She picks up before the first ring. “Simon, where are you? Vampire is literally terrorising children or something right now- where the hell are you?”
“I’m on my way, I’m driving over,” I respond. Screw this traffic. I lay on the horn, and it plays a distinct tune that people know is mine. The cars part instantly, clearing a path. I speed towards downtown. “What is he up to this time?”
“Well, all of the pets that went missing last week have been mysteriously returned,” she says.
“That’s weird. What’s his endgame?”
“I have no idea,” she says. “We should really have a meeting this week. Anyway, tonight three children have been reported missing already. 'Pulled from their beds by a shadow,' apparently.”
“What could he possibly want with children? He's not a real vampire, is he?”
She huffs. “I told you, I don’t know. Just stop him, and quickly, before more kids go missing. He’s flying over Garden Street. There aren’t many houses there. But… there’s a care home.”
Blood rushes into my ears. "No."
“Just go. And turn on your radio!”
I do. And then I stomp the pedal to the floor. I slam my hand down on the horn and leave it there. I speed through every red light on the way.
I’ll be damned if he goes anywhere near a care home. Vampire is going down.
***
I run up eighteen flights of stairs, but I’m so propelled by adrenaline and rage that I only need a few seconds to catch my breath when I reach the top floor of the building. I find the roof entrance— NO ACCESS, ALARM WILL SOUND, it states—and nearly yank the door off its hinges in my desperation to get outside.
He’s waiting for me. He always is.
Always beats me to the chase, gets somewhere first. Does something bad before anyone can take preventative measures. Usually, I somehow bumble over at the last minute like a shiny, spandex-covered wrecking ball and save the day in the nick of time.
“You’re late,” he says.
Vampire’s back is to me, and his cape flutters in the wind.
“Have to keep you on your toes somehow.”
I let my voice slip down a few tones, deepening into something stronger and more confident. It helps me keep my identity disguised—and makes me feel more superhero-like, besides.
“You’re not witty enough for that, Blade.”
“What do you want?” I growl. “Why are you kidnapping children?”
He whirls around in a rush of black cloth, and I draw my sword in an instant. I level the sword at him, trying my best to glower.
He appears to be empty-handed, but I know better by now. He has flamethrowers hidden on his forearms.
I shove the blade closer to his throat. “Where are they?”
Vampire is the picture of cool and collected. He wears a mask, too—it looks like the one from Phantom of the Opera, but there’s another piece fitted on in black, so it covers his whole face. Through the holes, I can barely make out his eyes staring levelly back at me. He looks like he’s lounging on some plush sofa, completely at ease, instead of standing there with his hands in the air and my sword at his neck.
“I didn’t take the children, Blade,” he says wickedly. “Your dear Mayor Mage did.”
“Stop lying.”
“I’m not.”
“What do you want?"
His cape flutters, and he rises a few inches off the ground. Hovering like the smug flying bastard he is. (I asked Mayor Mage why I couldn’t get a jetpack or something. He said it was an unnecessary expense, but I don’t agree. The way I see it, if he can fly, I should be able to as well.)
“To toss you off this building,” he says. “But I’ll settle for a good fight.”
And then he launches himself at me.
I’m on the floor in an instant, wheezing as the hard landing on my back knocks the air from my lungs. I struggle underneath him—he’s willowy, but strong—and yank my left hand free. I smash an elbow into his shoulder, forcing him to recoil, then scramble to my feet.
I swing my blade, but it cuts through empty air with a swoosh.
“It’s cute,” he drawls, taking a lazy step backwards, “how you think you have a chance.”
I rush him, but he’s in the air in a snap, just out of my reach. He flips over so his head is towards me. I run back, then launch myself in the air and grasp hold of his arm. He twists around to start kicking at me, but I hold on with all I’ve got. I swing with my other arm, trying to hit where I know his suit is weak—the joints, the neck.
A rush of heat sears across my shoulder, and I curse as I’m forced to let go and drop to the floor. Vamp shoots another jet of fire at me, and I roll across the rooftop to dodge. Jesus. A flying, fire-shooting villain, and what do I get? A suit that sometimes decides to not do its job of being fireproof, and a useless sword.
We do a strange sort of dance across the rooftop—me jumping, crawling, dodging, and Vampire swooping and swirling about in midair. (He always looks twice as good as I do, without even trying. I think it’s the cape.) I get in a couple strikes with my sword, but nothing that seems to hurt him, and I manage to not be set on fire.
I finally reach the edge, breathing raggedly, and he hovers in the air, just out of my reach. It’s like that scene where Aladdin is standing on the magic carpet outside Jasmine’s balcony. “Do you trust me?” (Except I’m not a princess, and he’s my nemesis, not a prince.) (Minor details.)
“What do you want?" I shout.
“Must we talk so much, Goldilocks?” Vamp does a dramatic little flip in midair, just for show.
He’s not attacking, and I can’t hit him without falling eighteen stories to my death. So I take a few steps back, keeping my sword up and aimed right at him. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I’m evil. Isn’t that enough?”
“Everyone has a story,” I pant. “A reason.”
“I don’t,” he says, folding his arms. I can almost imagine him raising an eyebrow (if I knew what his face looked like)—you’d really think he wasn’t floating 300 feet in the air. “I like stirring up trouble in this city. Kidnapping pets. Setting fire to buildings. It’s fun.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t have to,” he says. “You just have to stop me.”
And then he disappears. Drops straight down with a whoosh, his cape billowing up as he falls.
I rush to the edge of the roof, but he’s gone.