The Prospects (Book 2): Nothing Poorer Than Gods by Daniel Halayko Page B

“Go get something to drink. This one is mine.”
    “You think you can tell me what to do?” said Junkyard Kat.
    Portia stood with quiet confidence and with no concern that Junkyard Kat was almost a full head taller. “Yes.”
    “Whatever.” Junkyard Kat stumbled away.
    “I could’ve taken her,” said Candilyn.
    “I’m sure. Where did you learn to fight?”
    “From a guy trained by Sergeant Hammer. And Sergeant Hammer too. And Lady Amazing.”
    “Superheroes? How did that happen?”
    “I joined a crappy team for losers. It turned out to be one more place I didn’t belong.”
    “It’s their loss. We have beer, wine, and liquor, and you’re drinking Sprite?”
    “I don’t touch drugs.”
    “Neither do I.” Portia raised her bottle of Fiji Water. “I can’t stand losing even a little bit of self-control. What’s your reason?”
    “I saw too many people hurt by addiction. My real dad spent our rent money on benders and beat up mom when she complained. My step-brother was terrific until his loser buddies got him hooked on meth. You ever see what that does to someone?”
    “I have.”
    “Before joining that stupid loser superhero team, I told his dealer I’d break his goddamn head open if he sold to my step-brother again. I kept my promise.”
    “I told you, say you’re innocent.”
    “You also said I’m stupid. Stupid is as I does.”
    Portia brushed a strand of hair out of Candilyn’s face and pushed her goggles to her forehead. “What did you mean when you said the superhero team was one more place you didn’t fit in?”
    “I almost died for them, and they still didn’t like me.”
    “I understand. I’ve dealt with superheroes long enough to know that they only exist in their own minds. Their masks keep them from seeing how far below their own standards they are.”
    Candilyn tapped her Sprite against Portia’s water bottle. “I’ll drink to that. I mean, I said Sergeant Hammer was a nasty pervert and no one listened to me. They were like, ‘Oh, he’s old-fashioned.’ ‘He does it to guys too, so it’s okay.’ By the time I got out of the hospital, about a hundred villainesses he raped came forward. And I’m the stupid one?”
    “It’s harder to tell good from evil than most people realize.”
    “At least these villainesses are honest about who they are.”
    “No they aren’t. They’ll say they only rob the rich or have a cause or don’t know any better because they come from broken homes, but look at them. All they want is to fight, screw, and get wasted more than the laws allow. The villainy is merely an excuse, a narrative they construct to make their chaotic lives coherent. You’re clearly not one of them. What are you, exactly?”
    “My whole life I’ve been a new fish. I go from one place I don’t belong to another to another. There’s nowhere I fit in, and when things go right for me I find a way to screw it up. If there’s a way to screw up jail life, I’ll do it.”
    “Don’t wallow in self-pity, darling. It’s not attractive.”
    “What about you? Aren’t you a villainess?”
    Portia inspected her nails. “I’m something beyond that. There’s not a word for what I am yet. You see, the world is changing. Soon there will be no more heroes and villains.”
    “What do you mean?”
    The woman with a bone-spike mohawk rolled against their log with her arms wrapped around a biker.
    Portia and Candilyn slid down the log. On the other end, the turtle-shelled woman lit a thick blunt in the fire and puffed furiously.
    Portia looked away in disgust. “Let’s go somewhere quiet.”
    Portia lit her flashlight and led Candilyn into the woods. On the way they passed the leader of the Vandals, who stood perfectly sober with a Taser his hand. She took Candilyn’s hand and said, “Not this one.”
    The two women walked through the woods. “Where are we going?” asked Candilyn.
    “Somewhere more serene.”
    “It’s got to be better than where we were. Those