Being stuck with Tuesday in an enclosed room for hours is a torture that should be reserved for genocidal war criminals and poor tippers. The constant stream of consciousness that pours out of her mouth makes me wish I weren't bulletproof so I could blow my brains out. Every attempt I make to fall into a meditative state and block out everything is ruined by her jabbering. The interaction at the meeting still nags at me.

  Vivienne was first, and I can accept her being closer to Nobody, but Kai is unacceptable. Yes, he has helped Nobody with his research and tech, but I've done so much more. I would do anything. I should be at his side. I deserve to be at his side.

  The door opens, breaking my concentration and causing Tuesday to stop whistling. Trixie is back with four other people. One is clearly just muscle. The suit and holstered gun are a dead giveaway, as well as the way he moves. Ex-militia, possible law enforcement. He takes a position by the door as Trixie leads the others. All three take a seat on the couches in front of me as Trixie stands behind them.

  In the center is a Caucasian woman with slicked-back, platinum blonde hair that looks so rigid it appears frozen. Her skin is flawless, almost baby-like, and her face is perfectly symmetrical in an uncanny valley way. She's off, like what a computer would generate for a supermodel. She hasn't blinked once since entering. She is dressed head to toe in expensive clothes. Versace sunglasses rest on her forehead, and she looks bored. Her pants alone are over two thousand dollars, but the whole outfit is the same ugly shade of red. Money can buy the clothes, but it can’t teach you how to style them.

  To her left is an older Asian man. Like her, everything he wears is name-brand and pricey. His black suit is inlaid with gold threads, and I spot diamond cufflinks. Unlike her, his outfit works and shows an understanding of fashion. His face is just as inscrutable as the woman's. His glowing yellow irises stand out even more due to the black sclera. Those exotic eyes have been sizing us up since he entered. He's the dangerous one, the only one that would be trouble, especially if I want to continue to hide how extensive my powers are. It would be doable, just a lot harder.

  The final member of the trio is the most eccentric. His hair is split down the middle: the left side is white, and the right side is black. His entire face is painted blue, and purple crystals form an imitation of a beard glued to it. He's wearing a sleeveless dress, and his arms are covered in Henna tattoos. I don't hate the look.

  “So you're the one claiming you can give people powers?” The woman asked.

  “No. I said we were selling powers; I never said I could give people powers. So you three are what passes for big shots amongst The Merchants?” I asked.

  “Yes, the three of us are here as representatives for the organization and to hear your proposal. If you're telling the truth, that is. If you're lying, you both will die for wasting our time. Time is money, and The Merchants are not in the business of losing money,” she said.

  “Threats aren't necessary because I'm telling the truth. I'm Isaiah, and this is Tuesday. We're here to validate that The Merchants owned this bar and to make contact with a Broker. So, as representatives, you three must be higher ranked than a Broker,” I questioned.

  “We are certainly higher ranked than a Broker. I am Alchemist, the gentleman to my left is Mr. Kim, and to my right is Prophet of Profit. The three of us are members of The Board,” Alchemist said.

  What is The Board? Is that the main group that leads The Merchants?

  “He's a seven; the other is anywhere between a two and a six,” Mr. Kim said.

  Alchemist frowns at his words.

  “Mutual destruction is unsuccessful as well,” Mr. Kim continued.

  What's he talking about?

  “Hear them out,” Prophet added, without looking up.

  Alchemist's frown turns to a smile.

  “You know, secrets are like bubblegum. You don’t get to have any if you didn’t bring enough for the rest of the class. What the fuck is he on about?” Tuesday asked.

  “I'm going to have to agree with what my associate said. Stop acting as if we aren’t here. We’ve waited a while, and we'll take our leave if this isn't going anywhere,” I said.

  Good idea, Tuesday. Apply a bit of pressure and show that we're not desperate. We aren't. Nobody is destined for greatness, and if The Merchants won't engage in good faith with us, he'll find a different avenue to get what he wants. Or we'll take it from them. Neither Alchemist nor Prophet of Profit is giving me any dangerous vibes. It's possible they're combatants, but then why bring muscle? Eighty-five percent chance they cannot fight. They outnumber us five to two, but besides Trixie's telekinesis and whatever surprises the old man has, we should win. I could fill the room with smoke and then blitz them before they can react. I’d be on them before they could get up. Shatter their knees so they can’t run, knock Trixie out, and then snap the guard’s neck. I look at Tuesday; she can at least keep a few of them busy until I disable one of them. Trixie taps Mr. Kim on the shoulder twice. A signal?

  “Scratch the eight, new information, assume a nine or nine point five,” Mr. Kim said.

  This makes Trixie's eyes go wide, and both Alchemist and Prophet of Profit look nervous. Is it a threat rating? But why did mine go up? Obviously, Trixie saw I was thinking about how to harm them, but why did that make my number change?

  “We are reacting to an aspect of Mr. Kim’s ability. You can understand if we don’t explain it to you,” Alchemist responded.

  “That is what I assumed, but confirmation is always nice. I won’t lie; I’m a little curious about what made my threat rating go up. That’s what the numbers mean, right? Don’t worry; you don’t have to answer. I know I’m correct. So, are you three interested or not?” I asked.

  “We are interested; The Board is very interested. Like I said previously, if you are telling the truth, then The Merchants would be happy to take you on as a customer and collaborator. Are you prepared to demonstrate the ability?” Alchemist asked.

  “Right now? No. Just as you three are representatives of The Board’s interest, we're here representing someone else as well. Since it seems like both parties are interested in continued talks, a meeting can be arranged at a neutral location if you prefer,” I said.

  “So we came here for-”

  “That works. We'll contact you with a time and location,” Prophet of Profit said, interrupting Alchemist's outburst.

  “How do you plan to contact us?” I asked.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  “We have ways to find you.”

  Both Alchemist and Mr. Kim seem surprised by his words, but quickly recover. Why are they acting so deferential? Is there a hierarchy amongst The Board? Before I can respond, the three get up and leave, their bodyguard following. It's just me, Tuesday, and Trixie in the room.

  “Now that business is done, can I interest you in some pleasure?” I asked.

  “What makes you think I'm interested?”

  “I may not be able to sense intent like you, but I have no problem reading body language. In fact, I'm fluent.”

  “And what's my body saying now?”

  “Some downright filthy things. You’re going to make me blush,” I said.

  I explode into smoke, traveling across the room to appear in front of her.

  “I hope I'm not being too blatant. I'm working on my subtlety.”

  I feel a pressure against my back, pushing me closer to her until our lips touch.

  “Shut up,” Trixie said.

  “Don't do anything I wouldn't do, kiddos. And remember, he's a big boy, Trixie; he can take the whole fist,” Tuesday said, slamming the door behind her.

  ______________________________________________________________________

  “I can’t believe you made me wait here for over an hour. Next time you want to practice edging and orgasm denial, you wait till the fucking mission is over. That weird magician guy wasn’t even at the bar, so I had nothing to do. If I don’t stab someone soon, I’m giving you tinnitus,” Tuesday complained.

  My mask is back on as we go through the bar: secret identities and all that. I ignore Tuesday’s whining as we pass the guy we assaulted. Tuesday mimes throwing a punch, causing the guy to flinch slightly. We both laugh and step outside. We got the meeting for Nobody. I start texting him to give him the news when a rock knocks the phone out of my hands.

  “Who the fuck just. Of course, it’s you.”

  Standing on top of a minivan is Hocus Pocus. His cape is flapping in the wind, and he has a stupid grin on his face.

  “Hey, look, it’s Harry Potter’s effeminate cousin. I was just talking about you, and you appeared. Maybe you are a good magician,” Tuesday said.

  Hocus Pocus doesn't respond to her jab and slides down the vehicle's hood, landing on the asphalt.

  “You two are new around here, but this ain't the podunk town you two triggered in. Cowls have been killed for less than what you said to me. But I'm a nice guy, so just apologize, and I'll let this slide,” Hocus said.

  “Damn, Big Guy, you really upset this guy. Wait till he finds out you shot hot loads into that bartender he was flirting with; his eyes might pop out of his head in rage. That is, unless he’s into that. Hey, magic man, you a cuck?” Tuesday asked.

  Well, there goes the option for this not to end violently. Tuesday knows exactly what she's doing. She's crazy, not stupid. The grin is gone from Hocus Pocus’ face. He doesn't look angry; he looks focused. Hah. A large violet-colored ring with a pitch black vortex in the center appears below the minivan, and the car falls through it. That’s interesting. Looking around, I can’t see any sign of the minivan, and the magician seems content to keep his distance.

  “You might want to look behind you,” Hocus Pocus yelled.

  He might be baiting me, but I can’t afford to ignore it. As I turn my head to look back, I hear a noise coming from above me. I don’t need to look to know what it is, and I kick Tuesday away from me as the minivan smashes into me. Getting crushed between the street and several thousand pounds of steel forces me to transform into smoke to escape through the wrecked car. The vehicle was moving too fast for me to react, even with my heightened senses. Do the portals have an acceleration mechanic? Tuesday is already back on her feet and has her predatory smile on.

  “Leave him for me. You can’t handle him,” I called out, standing atop the wreckage.

  “Neither can you, big man. You’re both out of your league,” Hocus Pocus said.

  I bet Nobody would appreciate this guy’s power. I’ll get it for him. He'll find a use for it.

  I look toward the bar and don’t see anyone coming out to stop the fight. There’s no way they aren’t aware of what’s going on, which means they either don’t care enough to get involved or want to see how we handle this. Fine by me. I hop down from the wreckage and breathe deeply, feeling the embers inside of me. I’ve spent every waking moment since Nobody gave me my powerset, pushing it to the limits, imbuing countless outfits, weapons, and gear with my energy. That means that there is a lot of smoke contained within me. All three of my powers synergize well, but I cannot utilize my full strength while I’m hollow. I assume it’s related to the force I’m capable of generating with so little mass.

  “No, you are,” I said.

  All at once, smoke blasts out of my mouth, engulfing the area in darkness. The thick, black, acrid fog blankets everything. I crack my neck, rotate my shoulders, and stretch, flexing muscles I haven’t technically had in months. This should prevent prying eyes from seeing what I can really do. One of the most surprising new powers that arose through combination was that the same logic that dictates that I can see while transformed into smoke allows me to also see through the smoke I create. It’s a part of me, a phantom limb that works as a sensory organ and more. The same can’t be said for Hocus Pocus, who I see creating a portal to get rid of all the smoke. I brace for the feeling of getting teleported, but nothing is happening, and judging by his facial expression, he’s as surprised as I am. He dismisses the portal and opens four new ones as big as the one the minivan went through. He positions them at equidistant off angles, forming a square picture frame with him at the very center. A black sedan emerges out of one portal, shooting into the next portal and the next as it blurs by, going clockwise through them all. A second car joins the first, and the rushing air from the two cars starts funneling my smoke away from him. Clever solution.

  Floating above the wind tunnel he’s created, I force the smoke to loop back around him. It only takes a bit of effort and concentration to keep the loop going. I materialize a handgun out of the massive cloud and take a couple of shots at the magician. At the sound of the gunfire, he creates a portal above himself to shunt the bullets somewhere else. The bullets collide with the portal, crumpling the casings. I relocate within the cloud, reforming my body. My hunch is correct. He can’t teleport living creatures, which is why he couldn’t drain my smoke off. Infusing the bullets with my energy makes his portal treat them as if they’re a part of me.

  “Your portal doesn’t work on people, right? That’s a massive limitation,” I yelled over the roar of his wind tunnel.

  One of his portals closes, then another as he staggers in place. He reaches for his back as blood pours out of it. The third portal closes and the two cars blast out of the final one, hitting a tree and a telephone pole, respectively. Both cars explode on impact, setting off a few nearby car alarms a street over. We need to leave quickly. We may be in a less frequented part of Quinstin, but we’re making a big enough ruckus that Capes are sure to follow. I absorb all the smoke back into my body as I touch down on the street. Hocus Pocus is on his stomach, crawling away from his invisible attacker.

  “Don’t kill him,” I said.

  Tuesday shimmers back into existence, holding a bloody butcher knife. She skips after him and jumps onto his back, eliciting a painful shout from the man. She yanks his head back with a tight grip on his hair, staring into the man’s face.

  “Is this your card?” Tuesday asked him, waving the bloody knife in his face.

  The street is trashed, with flaming vehicles, dented poles, chunks of asphalt, and dirt all around me. I materialize a thick roll of chain and wrap Hocus Pocus up in it.

  “Let's go.”

  “Are you sure the chains will hold him? Magicians are famous for escaping restraints,” Tuesday chimed in.

  “You know he's not a real magician, right? It's just his Cowl gimmick. There’s no such thing as magic,” I said.

  “Magic exists. Watch this, Tuesday said, spreading her arms out as miniature fireworks erupt from her palms.

  “I'm not doing this with you. I’m not getting pulled down that rabbithole,” I said, hoisting our captive over my shoulder.

  “Wait, did you just make a magic joke? That was good, and magic is real,” Tuesday said, her voice high and witchy. “Stop ignoring me!”