Masked (2010) (12 page)

“I didn’t say anything like that!”

“Well, good, because I have never heard anything so homophobic in my life.”

“Whether it is or not, it might just be
true
, like.”

“Well even if it is, how does this scientific explanation help?”

“This
magical
explanation. If you want science heroes—”

“I want London, I know. I wonder if their queero—queer hero, see what I did there?—I wonder if he has these problems. Shall we call the Ravenphone and ask?”

“You said homophobic,” said Chris suddenly. “Oh. What if that’s deliberate?”

“I’m not past you shagging a woman on the roof of the Arndale Centre, so don’t talk like we’re into postmatch analysis now.”

“No, listen, I change into the Guardian by saying a magic word. We know the spell was created back in the eighteenth century. What if whoever started this put in. . . design limitations?”

“Oh, right. Because good magic is about natural things, noble things, heroic things, and not a bunch of fags like us, and that this is just you reverting to that—”

“Oh, don’t be—”

“What? My boyfriend tells me that, for the first time in—”

“Ever. I’ve never fancied women. I started looking at blokes when I was nine. Everything I do as the Guardian, when I look back on it, feels like a dream I had. In this particular dream, it’s like I was. . . eating something I’d normally hate, like broccoli, only in the dream I’m really enjoying it.”

“I don’t want to hear about whatever it was you ate. I’m thinking of packing my bags. I really am. Because we can’t go on like this, Chris. This hurts too bloody much.” He got up and walked around the kitchen a bit. And managed, after a swig of beer and a deep breath, to get to the point. “All right. When you’re him. . . do you still fancy me?”

Chris closed his eyes. A very long silence. To the point where Jim was about to interrupt by thumping him—

“No. No, I don’t think he does.”

Jim was about to. . . he didn’t know what he was about to do,
but Chris got up and stopped him doing it. Put his hands to Jim’s face.

“I didn’t know that, okay? Not until just that second, when I thought about it. Because in all this time I’ve only been him for a few minutes here and there, saving people and fighting villains and stuff—”

“And you haven’t really had much time for dating?”

“Listen to me!
I
still fancy you! I
love
you—!”

Jim couldn’t answer.

“I don’t want to do anything to hurt you—”

“Chris, everyone will have seen. And everyone already bloody knows you’re him! What happens the next time you become him, and she turns up? Because I suppose you let her go—”

“She slipped out of his. . . out of my clutches—”

“What happens?”

“Well, he’s a very moral person. He doesn’t want to see you hurt either. He just. . . can’t be anything he’s not. He doesn’t do shades of gray.”

“So he’ll try to be. . . not faithful, ’cause he doesn’t want me, but. . . celibate. . .”

“And eventually. . . he’ll fail.” There was such quiet loss in his voice as he said it.

“So what you’re saying is, you’re going to turn into him next time,
knowing
that sooner or later you’re going to be unfaithful to me.”

Chris was silent. Looking away.

“It’s like you. . . get drunk on a regular basis, and every time you say it’s not
me
who’s doing this woman, it’s not
me
who’s driving this car. . .”

“You’re right. You’re right!” Chris threw his arms in the air, admitting defeat.

He slumped against the wall and looked out the window into the night.

Then he looked back at Jim. “Okay. So I’ll stop.”

“What?”

“I’ll stop being him. I’ll pass the magic word onto someone else.”

Jim felt suddenly more loved than he’d ever been in his life. And more guilty. At the same time. He rubbed his fist into his brow. “You’d really do that?”

“Yeah.” And the look on Chris’s face said he meant it.

“Okay. Great. Do that.”

Chris nodded, started moving, decisive as always. “I’ll call the Coven, tell them to get the ceremony ready and start searching for someone worthy—”

Jim grabbed his arm. “Don’t.”

They sat back down together, looking at each other, silent.

“I love you,” Chris said again. Meaning that he really would do this.

“And I love you.” They snogged for a bit. Found great relief in holding each other, knowing they were going to stay together. “But, Chris, are you sure about this? It’s not just us, is it? You’re very good at being the Manchester Guardian. Any new guy. . . it’d take him ages to get it together. It took you ages, didn’t it? And in the meantime, who knows what’d happen? Who knows who’d come after Canal Street? Especially with all this publicity. It’d be a hell of a risk for you to do this now.”

“None of that is more important than me and you. And besides, what choice do we have?”

Jim didn’t know.

They went back to Canal Street the next night. Putting on a brave front.

It wasn’t quite like that Welsh village where they’d flounced through the door of a pub and then, under the influence of a lounge bar of stares, marched to the bar like navvies.

But it was close.

Everyone was looking at Chris. Betrayed.

Jim wanted to say to them that the very same night their representative hero had been with a woman, he’d also saved the whole
street from a villain who’d never cared what damage he did to the people and property who suffered in his endless vendetta against Chris.

And it wasn’t as if this lot had unreservedly loved the Guardian lately, was it?

They went into Mantos. Jim thought for a moment that the barman wasn’t going to serve them, but he finally did. So this was what it had come down to, feeling that old nervousness about whether or not people were looking, in one of their own bars, on their own street.

They found Hugh and sat with him. After a moment of awkwardness, offset by the sheer theatricality of how he played that awkwardness, he let them. “So,” he said, “Chris. How
was
last night?”

“The Guardian,” Jim found himself suddenly saying, “never
said
he was gay. He looks like he is, with all the rainbow flag stuff, but he never said it. Isn’t it enough that he protects our lot?” He raised his voice, so that everyone looking could hear. “What, were any of you lot hoping to shag him?”

He would have gone on. But Chris put his hand on his and stopped him with a look.

He might have said something else anyway. . .

But from outside there came the sound of magic power crackling through the air.

Chris looked like he might make an effort and stay put.

But Jim gave him a shove. Go on.

Chris didn’t bother trying to be stealthy this time. He just got up, without a look at anyone else in the bar, and headed out the door.

Jim could feel people leaning over, craning to look out the door, hoping to see the change.

“Don’t wait up for him, like,” someone said.

Jim closed his eyes and felt pride rather than pain. He was making a sacrifice. And he absolutely knew that Chris was too.

Chris walked out to the water’s edge, aware of everyone on Canal
Street looking at him. Waiting to see if he was going to change. And probably then shag a woman immediately.

He looked up in the air, and there he was. Jumping Jack. He was stepping from sparkling magic disc to sparkling magic disc, throwing lightning randomly down into the streets, calling the Guardian out.

Not the murderous sort, this one. The fun kind of magic villain that the people of Manchester most enjoyed. His lightning just gave you a bit of a jolt.

Lives were not at stake. Not this time.

He didn’t have to change if he didn’t want to.

But where would he draw the line? He’d vowed to meet every threat to this little community, vowed to stop every single affront, nasty or sporting equally, as the Guardian.

The Guardian would do his absolute best to not be seduced. He’d probably succeed, now he’d realized his true nature and wasn’t being taken by surprise by a secret shame. That innocence of his was shored up now, prepared.

But that meant that his other half shouldn’t be his whole self. That he should deny an aspect of what he was. And wasn’t that what he was all about defending?

Chris kept watching Jumping Jack as his silhouette sailed past the moon.

And then an intense expression came over his face.

And he started to run in the direction of the house he shared with Jim.

That night, all of Canal Street looked up from their pints to hear a very solid impact of magic villain with water, and a subsequent yelling as magic lightning shorted out in contact with said water. And lots of huffing and puffing as said magic villain was dragged up onto the side of the canal and sent packing.

And then there was a long wait after the battle was obviously over, and Jim Ashton felt everyone looking at him, with pity and contempt.

Across the city, a pair of handcuffs closed onto the wrists of a surprised White Candle, who’d been only just about to leave through her own bedroom window. “I can get out of these in seconds,” she said, “unless you don’t want me to.”

“I
don’t
want you to,” said the Guardian, gently landing her on the pavement in front of a waiting van from the Manchester Constabulary’s Magic Division, “and so you’ll find, those being solid silver, that you can’t.”

“That was almost a joke. That’s unlike you.”

“Well, making jokes is one of the things I’m looking forward to doing a little more.”

She tutted at him as she stepped into the van, like she was stepping into a limo. “And I thought we’d shared something important!”

“We did,” he said. “Which gave me intimate knowledge of you. Enough to follow your perfume home.” He took her aside from the police officer in the back of the van for a moment. “Once you’ve served your time, hey, I’d really like to take you out to dinner.”

She looked boggled at him.

He gave her a wink and hopped out of the van.

He watched it drive away with slight regret in his new heart.