When he holds my face in his hands and kisses me, I feel his heart, both against my chest and with my gift. He’s happy. It’s all I need.
He asks if I’ll have him again tonight and I smile and kiss him.
“Aye, and every night thereafter and well you know it. If you’re fishing for a compliment, my bonny Sean, I’ve thousands for you.”
But as he slips out, my laughter dies and I stare at the bed.
I should tell him what’s happening. I would wish it from him. I would fight for him at night against my invisible foe. We would stand together as one. I would know all the secrets of his tormenting succubus, the better to defeat her.
But I can’t. I just can’t. It happened before I could stop it the first time. I’ve had intimate carnal knowledge of another man. I’ve felt things with Cruce I’ve never felt with Sean. And I hate myself and I can’t tell him. I just can’t.
So I’m walking home slow-mo Joe style, pissed off but having a hard time focusing on being pissed off because my body feels so good. My mind’s grumpy, but my body’s saying, “Hey, dude, let’s play!”
I kick a can down the alley and send it flying into a wall, and I do mean into it. It flattens and gets impacted in the brick, and I crack up. Someday somebody is going to see it and be like, dude, what happened here? I leave clues about me all over the city, bending sculptures and broken streetlamps into twisty D’s for Dani and Dude and Dangerous, leaving my calling card for folks to see. It’s my Bat Signal, letting the world know somebody is out there, watching, caring.
I got a whole day stretching ahead of me and almost can’t believe it! It feels like old times. I think about what to do with myself. Stupid as it is, I resent working on the ice mystery during the day because Ryodan’s taking such a big chunk of my time every night. But I don’t have the luxury of being stupid when folks’ lives are at stake. It sure would be nice if I could get Dancer’s superbrain in on it!
Trouble is, I should also head out to the abbey for a checkup. It’s been a while since I was out there and sidhe-sheep can get in trouble faster than I can waggle my ass and say baa. I got a worried feeling about them I ain’t been able to shake.
Then there’s Inspector Jayne. I’m pretty sure I’m due for a cage-cleaning session.
I mosey through Temple Bar, taking my time, drinking my city in, trying to decide how to prioritize my day. Kind of reveling in the simple fact that the choice is mine for a change! I used to love this part of town before the walls fell, so much cool stuff happening every night with tourists and pubs and new Fae to spy on and kill. I found out what it was like to live in these streets after mom died. No collar, no cage. Just a crazy old witch I learned to keep a little afraid of me all the time.
Then Mac came and the streets got even cooler. There’s nothing like having a sidekick superhero to pal around with. Especially one that was part sister, part mom, and all best friend.
Now, like the rest of my city, Temple Bar is a mess. Abandoned cars, wrecked and stripped, are shoved up on the sidewalks, opening a tight lane down the middle of the street for traffic. There’s broken glass everywhere from shattered windows and streetlamps; you can hardly take a step that doesn’t crunch. Newspapers and trash and husks of what used to be people blow down the streets. On a gray, rainy day it can look real grim, if you don’t superimpose a bright future over it. Mac’s mom is heading up some kind of Green-up Program, and I hear her dad is working on a Cleanup Program, as well as hearing disputes and stuff, and one day Dublin’s going to be rocking and full of craic again.
I saunter past the bright red facade of the Temple Bar of the district and feel it before I even turn the corner. I stop instantly.
It’s like a breeze blowing down on me from a glacier.
I consider not turning the corner. I haven’t investigated one of these scenes alone. I could nudge Ryodan this way tonight and pretend we just found it. It’s not like they change too much between “recently iced” and “iced for a few days.” Besides, if I turn the corner and find kids dead, it’ll totally ruin my day.
Almost dying is fresh in my mind. If I’d been alone at the church last night … That’s a weird thought. I can’t imagine me dead. I look around, and up. As far as I can tell, I’m by myself. Christian can’t be spying on me all the time. So, like, if I leave, nobody will know I’m not always a superhero. If I stay and something bad happens to me, well, my heart could stop, and there’d be nobody around to save me.
“Wussy girl! Get your cool back!” I just disgusted myself. I don’t walk away and I don’t need backup. Never have. A superhero isn’t something you play at sometimes—it’s something you are. Full-time, all the time, every day.