Superhero Universe: Tesseracts Nineteen (31 page)

“I want to cut my hair,” said Bea.

Marie knitted and didn’t remind Bea to study. Bea was a grownup.

“Too bad,” said Lacy.

“But I hate it!”

“I told you,” said Lacy with a tilt of her head. “Right at the start. If you don’t cover your hair completely, then you can’t change it. People will know.”

“Guh.” Bea, currently a part-timer while in training, was still growing into the superhero life. “I’ll get a wig.”

“That is ridiculous.”

“I’ll go no-secret-identity.”

“Not until you find me a new pirate.”

“Or
you
could go back to being Celeste’s sidekick instead.”

At that moment Celeste wafted into the living room. Marie only realized her fingers were white and sore on her knitting needles once she felt them loosen. She’d been knitting much faster than she had intended.

“We were just talking about you,” said Marie, smiling and tucking her knitting under the end table.

“I know. Don’t get up, Marie. I’ll get my tea.” The teapot floated and poured itself.

“You’re a dear,” said Marie.

“I’m glad you like the housecoat, Marie.”

“It’s lovely,” Marie said, smiling at having all her girls home and at how cute Celeste was when she pretended to know everything. One of Celeste’s things was being psychic. More or less.

Celeste lifted a saggy sweater off the back of a dining table chair and threw it on over her long white battle gown, pulling her corn silk hair up out of the back of the neck and getting it all staticky.

“Really, Celeste, you should…” Marie stopped as Celeste smiled at her. Celeste usually knew it, before you said it. No, Celeste wasn’t going to tie up her hair when she fought crime, as Marie knew perfectly well by now. Celeste’s hair was part of her thing. Her angel thing. And Celeste, too, was a grownup. Celeste brushed something like dirt, maybe dried blood, from her hair.

Celeste kissed Marie on the forehead and went to get her chipped yellow mug and lemon slice. She turned back to the living room, where Marie knitted at a comfortable pace. Bea tapped on a textbook page. And Lacy idly fiddled a pink button over the backs of her knuckles.

The last mug from the counter joined the others on the coffee table. Marie scooched Bea down to make room on the couch, but before taking a seat Celeste paused dramatically and let her eyes fall picturesquely closed as she brought two fingers to her temple. Even though she didn’t need to close her eyes or touch her temple to know things. The others were perfectly aware that she didn’t, and she was aware that they were aware. But she did it anyway.

“Gail’s coming,” she announced. Her eyes flicked to the front door. The lock turned clunkily, without a key. Celeste was very impressive but could also be pretty lazy. She let her picturesque hand drop to her side and sipped her tea with a grateful slurp.

There was a knock at the door.

“Gail, you don’t need to knock!” Celeste called out, as usual. Lacy and Bea laughed. Marie smiled, the way you do when something happens over again, and in so doing, becomes good.

Gail let herself in. She was in a pea coat and cute woolly beret. She wasn’t super. It wasn’t her thing. She was just Gail and liked it fine that way. “Hi, guys. Hi, Marie. Nice housecoat.”

“Thank you, dear.”

While Gail handed Celeste her coat and hat, Marie considered offering her some tea, but Gail usually declined. She worked at a café so she was usually full of tea. Marie decided not to bother. Then she changed her mind. What if, just this once, Gail had a sudden hankering for some tea? What if Gail liked it when Marie offered, even though she didn’t want any? Maybe Marie should buy a new mug, just for Gail. An owl mug? Gail liked owls. You can get something like that on the internet these days, right? Come to think of it, it was about time Gail had her own key. Marie realized with a small start that she enjoyed putting out new mugs on the counter and getting new keys cut.

Meanwhile, Gail kicked off her shoes and asked, as per usual, “So, did anyone have any bitchin’ and totally underappreciated-by-society battles today?”

Eye-rolls all around.

“How was your work?” Lacy asked Gail.

Gail shrugged. “You know. Work. Boring.”

Lacy sat smiling expectantly at Gail. Bea’s textbook was closed on her thumb. Celeste leaned comfortably against the little dining table with her ankles crossed. They all looked at Gail and waited.

Marie smiled and shook her head. Her superheroes. They always did this to Gail, and Gail always let them. Marie couldn’t help the satisfied little smile that nipped at the corners of her mouth. If only she had a mug and key for Gail. Then everything would be just right.

Gail tilted her head and grinned crookedly. “Well, okay, I made a leaf on a latté today. Sorta. A special leaf.” They smiled. They were interested. They kept looking at her. Practically staring. “And, um, I forgot to pee for, like, four hours.”

“Sucky!” cried Lacy.

“Peeing rules,” said Bea.

“And her feet hurt,” said Celeste. Gail shrugged. Her feet always hurt after work. But you could tell she thought it was sweet that Celeste noticed, even though noticing stuff was Celeste’s thing. “Bea’s feet hurt, too,” Celeste added.

“Because my boots are awesome,” said Bea.

“Because they’re noob,” said Celeste.

Marie smiled a little bit more but hid it behind her mug. Gail looked at the clock over the mantel and rounded on Celeste. “Okay. Business. You are not dressed.”

Celeste gasped. “Damn! I forgot about the party!” She put down her yellow mug with a clatter.

Lacy snickered. “How does a psychic even forget things?”

“I knew you were going to say that.”

Marie almost snorted but didn’t, kind of. Lacy shot her a squinky-eyed look.

Gail grabbed at the neck of Celeste’s ugly sweater. “It’s not too late yet if we get going. This stays here.”

Celeste sighed and slumped her head back. “I never know what to wear.”

“Why do you think I stopped by?” Gail pushed Celeste toward the stairs, pulling the ugly sweater off her and tossing it back onto the dining room chair. Celeste loved that sweater, which Marie had knitted for her. But she did not love it enough to bring it to a party, of course, which was fine with Marie. Celeste turned regretfully away from the nearly full yellow mug, abandoned on the table. Gail marched her up the stairs. Celeste didn’t complain.

Marie’s needles went back to clicking at a comfortable pace. Bea’s chemistry pages slowly turned. Lacy sat and sipped her tea and when hers was done she sipped Marie’s until hers was done too. Marie got up to put the mugs in the sink. Celeste and Gail hadn’t come down yet. Lacy and Bea quietly arched their eyebrows at each other, pointing upstairs.

Marie rolled her eyes at them. “I know what they’re doing up there,” she said. “Even if I’m old.”

Lacy and Bea looked at Marie with wide eyes and mouths kinked shut. It wasn’t very likely that Celeste and Gail would make it to their party. Marie laughed. Then Lacy and Bea did, too. Marie thought that, if she gave her an owl mug, maybe Gail would feel more comfortable staying for breakfast. Marie liked the kinds of life problems that could be solved with mugs.

“Well, goodnight, girls.” She said as she rinsed out Lacy’s ridiculous mug, smiling at the outdated villain looking fiercely back at her and thinking of how very, very proud she was of her girls.

“But, Gram, what about my button?” Lacy asked. No. Whined. From Marie’s point of view, whining was still one of Lacy’s things.

“Lacy, what is the point?” Marie folded Celeste’s ugly sweater over her arm and walked with tired, contented feet toward the stairs. “You go too fast for anyone to see any buttons.”

Lacy gave that some thought while Marie gathered up the eye-patch and bandana she’d left on the banister.

“I like buttons,” Lacy finally said.

Marie climbed the stairs with swishing steps. “They’re a waste of money. Back in my day, all a super needed was a power and a mask.”

Bea snorted a bit and said, “So, what, were you a superhero?”

Marie paused up on the landing. “Oh, we should all be so lucky.” Marie creaked open her bedroom door, carrying her knitting with her.

“So you like the housecoat, Gram? Really?” Lacy called from her spot in the chair.

“It’s just lovely, girls. Really.” Before she shut her bedroom door, Marie added, “Love you.”

It only took Marie a second to hang up the robe and settle into bed. As she drowsed she thought about getting that mug and key for Gail. Why not? While she was out she would pick up metal knitting needles. She gently pushed from her mind the thoughts that metal would not burn, that the tips of her newest wooden needles were blackening with the friction of her carelessly swift knitting. With Celeste around, it was safest to be cautious about having such thoughts, but Marie had a lot of practice concealing them. Even with the image of The Housekeeper staring back at her from Lacy’s mug every night.

* * *

Ottawa writer Leigh Wallace is an advisor on the Access to Information and Privacy Acts for Industry Canada.

A Hole Lotta Trouble: A Tale in Five Voices

David Perlmutter

MUSCLE GIRL

It was a hole. There was no question about it. The question was: where did it lead to?

That was the question the five of us — The Brat, Power Bunny, Candy Girl, Cerberus, and myself — were pondering as we looked at the thing. As the highest ranking — and, so far, sole — members of the International League of Girls with Guns (referring to our superpowered muscles, as we are all superheroes — not that we were packing heat, so we’re clear on
that
), it was our job to deal with it — and, particularly, whatever might emerge from it.

Well, technically it was
my
job, as it appeared in the ruddy woodlands surrounding Lake Winnipeg, where I live, in both my mild-mannered secret identity Gerda Munsinger and my pink-and-white suited super identity, in which I battle evil in all its forms. However, being as I’m “just” a blond-haired elementary school kid, I sometimes feel as if I need some help from my pals.

I became an ILGWG member early in my still-young life and career, after the girls helped me beat down a particularly vicious gang of superpowered criminals I couldn’t deal with myself. Since then, according to our organization protocol, we assemble periodically to deal with things that we judge have the potential to be similar blow-ups. That happens more than you think. A
lot
more.

Fortunately, the five of us are the best of friends, in addition to being “professional” colleagues, and stay that way regardless of what happens to us. This story kind of brings that home, I think, along with what we each bring to the team.

Anyway, I have a tendency to go off on tangents when I narrate, so I better turn this over to one of the others…

THE BRAT

So there we were, the five of us, looking sheepishly at the hole. I was shivering a bit in the Canadian winter cold, seeing that I was only wearing my trademark white skirt, blue sweater, monogrammed white T-shirt, and high-top shoes, looking every inch the blond-haired three-year-old I only
appear
to be,
thank you.
The rest of us were a little better off: Muscle Girl in her usual pink tights, white panties and cape, and short grey boots; Candy Girl her purple coveralls and red mask, belt and boots, with her equally red hair flapping in the breeze; Power Bunny, dressed in her usual blue shirt and skirt over her bright pink fur; and Cerberus, a
seemingly
runty Dalmatian puppy, wore her white T-shirt with a gleaming black “C” on it. The fur on Cerb’ and PB gave both of them
mucho
more protection from the cold than me, which made me a little jealous.

Also, the cold is unnatural to me, since I come from a hot planet and am warm-blooded. So I was more short-tempered than usual.

Impatiently, we examined the orifice with our superpowered senses for a few minutes. Then I lost it.

“What are we
waiting
for?” I demanded. “Let’s go down and see what’s
in
the damn thing already!”

“Hang on,” said Candy, who’s a (you guessed it— seemingly normal) teenager in her off-time, and a skittish and easily intimidated one, besides. “We don’t know what’s down there. I mean, there could be—”

“Hellllllooooo!” Cerberus drawled, sarcastically. “That’s a
given
, Candy! You’re not
afraid,
are you?”

“No!” Candy snapped, angrily. “I just meant that if we go in there without a plan, we might not come out, and—”

“We’ll come back out,” said Power Bunny, tersely. “
That’s
our plan.”

“Really?” said Candy, unconvinced. “Can’t we work something out first?”

Although she’s the oldest, Candy was the last of us to get her powers. They come from a ring she received in reward for rescuing a dying alien hero from peril; she didn’t inherit them naturally (as with Muscle Girl, Cerberus, and myself) or get them through accidental means (like Power Bunny). Because she is the only one of us whose powers depend on something external — and because she is a total Aspie — she’s freakishly obsessed with trying to do things as safely as possible, out of fear of becoming disempowered at the wrong time, or permanently.

“
Planning
,” I growled at her, “doesn’t solve any of the sort of problems we might face down
there
!”

“Now I know why they call you the Brat!” Candy said. “You gotta have your
way—
all the time!”

I was just about to fly over and bop her in the nose when, thankfully, Muscle Girl spoke up.

“Let’s just go in and look around for a minute,” she said. “There’s probably nothing, but, on the off chance there
is
something going on, we’ll deal with it, seal up the hole with rock or something, and then get out. Like always.”

That made sense to all of us, and we agreed to do it.

“Besides which, Brat,” she said to me, “I know
you
want to get out of this cold, but so do the rest of us. And remember:
I
gotta deal with this
every
winter.”