The Last Adventure of Constance Verity (23 page)

She scowled. “What a load of crap.”

Connie walked away, grumbling to herself.

C
onnie had always known she'd had a purpose. Most people lived their lives, unsure of what they were doing, why they were doing it, and hoped to make some sense of it after the fact. Not her.

But there was a big difference in knowing she was destined for adventure and believing she was a cosmic avatar. She'd saved countless lives, fought for the greater good, but those had always seemed like byproducts of her adventures, not the primary point.

It was the difference between being an important person and being
IMPORTANT
. All caps. Bold letters. She had a high opinion of herself and her abilities, but she'd never considered herself special in the universal sense. Most of her adventures didn't involve saving the world. Most were just curious little distractions where the stakes weren't more valuable than a life or two. Not the stuff of profound metaphysical significance.

Unless you happened to be the life saved.

Lost in her thoughts, she navigated the streets on autopilot. She was barely paying attention, but her instinct for trouble couldn't be shut off so easily. When a distracted man attempted to cross against the light, she yanked him back by his arm. A speeding bus that would've plowed into him only knocked the phone out of his hand. He stood there, processing what had just happened.

“Goddamn, I just bought that phone.”

“You're welcome,” she said.

“What? Oh, right, right. Yes, thanks.” His focus remained on the broken phone, now crushed beneath several tires. Connie walked away.

If the universe was trying to send her a message, she chose to ignore it.

Half a block later, she came across a woman who had spilled a bag of groceries across the sidewalk. None of the other pedestrians were interested in helping her. Connie strolled past the woman a few steps before sighing, turning back, and helping to gather up some fruit, a loaf of bread, and a pack of gum.

“Thank you,” said the woman.

“Don't mention it.”

The woman continued in her direction, and Connie went her own way. A moment later, a safe impacted the sidewalk where they'd both been standing, where the woman would have still been standing if Connie hadn't sped up the process.

It was ridiculous. Nobody poked their head out of a window above to claim ownership of it. It'd just fallen out of the clear blue sky.

“Nice try,” she mumbled to the universe.

She tucked her hands in her pockets and kept her head down. She wouldn't get involved. No matter what. No matter how contrived the circumstances.

Someone shouted for help.

She ignored it. She stared straight ahead and didn't look back. Or she should have. If there was a grand design at work, she wasn't interested in being the troubleshooter of the universe. But if this was part of the design, then it sucked if someone had to die because of that same design.

Connie turned around. A husband choked on something, and his wife struggled to help him. A waiter came up behind the man and gave him the Heimlich maneuver. The choking man spit out the bit of sandwich clogging his windpipe and, coughing, thanked the waiter.

Maybe the universe had taken the hint. She didn't buy the Engine theory. The universe wasn't spinning cogs filling their function. It was random events and chaos, and she might have been the one to smooth out some of the wrinkles, but it would get along fine without her.

If she placed importance on every little thing that happened around her, it would be too easy to see patterns that weren't there. The fates of millions weren't decided by the flapping of a butterfly's wings. It was all manufactured by her
imagination, and it wasn't difficult to see why. She had done and seen things few people had. She'd seen how narrow the line between triumph and tragedy could be.

She deliberately avoided thinking about how often she saved the world, the universe, a handful of lives here and there. It was more responsibility than she wanted, and that was before being told she embodied some manner of cosmic avatar.

She smelled smoke.

A building across the street spewed thick gray clouds from several of its windows. A woman shrieked about her baby trapped on the tenth floor.

“Oh, damn it,” Connie grumbled as she ran across the street.

Four minutes later, Connie, covered in ash and sweat, stepped out of the conflagration with two cats in her arms and a dog draped over her shoulders. The woman ran over and took one of the cats.

“Oh, thank you, thank you!” She clutched the fat brown feline to her chest. “My baby, I don't know what I'd have done if something had happened to you.”

Connie set down the second cat and dog as firemen rushed past her. The paramedics insisted on having a look at her, and she wasn't in the mood to argue. She sat on the bumper while a woman checked her over.

“I'm fine,” said Connie.

“You might have inhaled some smoke, ma'am. We have to be sure.”

“I held my breath.”

“You must've been in that building for five or six minutes.”

“I've done ten,” replied Connie.

“Right, ma'am.” The paramedic shone a light in Connie's eyes. “If you don't mind me saying, that was an incredibly stupid thing to do. You could've gotten yourself killed.”

“She's done stupider,” said Thelma, and the paramedic, distracted by his examination, didn't notice it was the pen doing the talking.

“Looks like you got lucky,” he said before moving on to a more urgent patient. “Next time, don't be a hero.”

Connie joined the crowd and watched the building burn. It was only one small apartment building, a few dozen lives. Nothing more. She'd seen greater tragedies. Cosmic wars where thousands of intelligent beings disappeared in faraway, twinkling flashes. Worlds exploding. Universes collapsing.

The cat lady threw her arms around Connie. “Oh, thank you! Thank you so much!” She sobbed joyfully and squeezed tighter. The unhappy cat growled and dug its claws into Connie's shoulder. “If you hadn't been here . . .”

Connie gently pushed the lady away. The cat clung to Connie, and she had to pull it off. She held it away from her. She'd never been a cat person. Or a dog person. Really, a pet person. She'd never had the time. She'd had a dog when she'd been nine. Boscoe had been hit by a car while she was away breaking up a smuggling ring.

The brown cat, smudged and as thoroughly unhappy with
its current situation as Connie was with hers, meowed.

“Tell me about it,” said Connie as she handed the cat back to its owner.

Connie hurried home before anything else could happen. This was all simply the clinging bits of magic she had within her, but those bits would wither away if left unfed.

She'd seen plenty of crazy stuff and learned secrets humanity wasn't ready for. But the one thing she'd never seen was a grand pattern. Her universe didn't make much sense. Her universe was a chaotic jumble of mummy sorcerers and space wars, of mob-busting and lost civilizations. Nothing fit together.

A shout for help came from a nearby alley. She kept going. Or she should have.

“Damn it.”

She walked into the darkened alley. A frightened man in a gray suit with an attaché case handcuffed to his wrist cowered before a pair of Japanese women in crisp black suits. The hints of Yakuza tattoos peeked out on the back of their necks.

“Help me,” he said.

The women turned on Connie. Their long daggers glinted in the dark.

“Walk away,” said one.

“I wish to hell I could,” replied Connie.

The Yakuza enforcers lay at her feet. Connie tossed aside the trashcan lid she'd used as an impromptu shield and bludgeon.
She poked a finger through the rip in her shirt sleeve. She'd just bought that top. Adventuring was hard on the wardrobe.

The man in the gray suit thanked her, saying something about now being free to save the lives or restore the honor of somebody or something. She was only half-listening.

“You're welcome,” she said.

He started to speak. She held up her hand.

“Happy to help, but I have my own problems to deal with right now, so no need to thank me.”

Puzzled but grateful, he left the alley.

“Admit it,” said Thelma. “You live for this.”

“I admit nothing.”

But as exhausting as a life of endless adventure could be, there was part of her that would always love it. It could be inconvenient, but it was never dull. She might wish for a moment to herself now and then, but it was fun facing off against Yakuza enforcers. And she still got goose bumps every time she saw a dinosaur, though she'd seen countless dozens over the years.

“You can lie to everyone else,” said Thelma. “You can even lie to yourself, but this isn't coincidence. This is who you are, who you want to be.”

Connie wanted to argue. She pictured herself as an old woman, gray-haired, wrinkled, surrounded by friends and family, and she smiled. For the first time, it felt like that might be possible.

She pictured herself as an old woman, gray-haired, wrinkled,
fighting and dying in some forsaken place. A glorious death saving the universe.

And damned if she didn't smile at that, too.

“Well, shit.”

She made a call. She hoped for voicemail. Simple, undemanding, uncomplicated voicemail.

“Hi,” Byron said on the other end of the phone. He sounded so happy to hear from her.

“I'm going to have to cancel dinner tonight,” she said.

“Oh. Okay.”

“Something came up.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

“I don't want you to think it's because I'm having doubts about us,” she said. It sounded weird because it meant there was an
us
to have doubts about. “I have to tend to some personal business. I don't know how long it will take.”

One of the Yakuza enforcers rose to her feet and eyed Connie with cold hatred. The enforcer pulled a knife from somewhere. Connie pondered just how many knives they could be carrying.

“Can you hold on one second?” asked Connie of either Byron or the assassin.

“Sure,” said Byron.

Connie lowered the phone. The shrieking assassin lunged. Connie caught her attacker's arm, twisted, and kicked her in the face. The enforcer fell over.

“Was that a monster?” asked Byron.

“Yakuza assassin,” she said.

“Are you busy? You can call me back later if it's more convenient.”

“It's never convenient,” she replied.

“Aren't Yakuza assassins supposed to be silent?”

“You're thinking of ninjas. Totally different thing. It's a common mistake.”

The second assassin rose to her knees.

“Oh, for Christ's sake.” Connie put the phone to her chest. “Stay the fuck down, or I'll kill you just so I can have a conversation.”

The enforcer dropped several knives from various places hidden in her suit and raised her hands. There were no doubt more tucked away, but it was an honest gesture.

“Thank you.” Connie put the phone to her ear. “Sorry about that.”

“No problem. Okay, so we'll reschedule.”

“You're not mad? It's okay if you're mad.”

He laughed. “I'm disappointed, but you warned me your life is complicated. If I was dating Bruce Wayne, I could hardly be upset if he had to cancel a date because the Penguin is in town.”

“You're the best.” She felt silly. She was way too invested in Byron, probably because he represented the normal life she also hadn't quite given up on yet.

He said, “When you get back from the moons of Mars or giant spider world or wherever, you know where to find me.”

“You've got yourself a deal.” She ended the call, grabbed a convenient beer bottle, and tossed it between the eyes of the enforcer attempting to sneak up on her. Connie grabbed the staggered assassin by the lapel and punched her across the jaw.

“We could do this all day,” said Connie, “but I have stuff I need to take care of.”

She dropped the enforcer and walked away.

C
onnie showed up at Tia's doorstep. She didn't call ahead.

“Can we talk?” asked Connie.

Tia hesitated. “Yeah, sure. Whatever.”

Connie stepped inside and shut the door.

“You've been adventuring,” said Tia.

“What? No, not exactly. How did you know?”

“You have adventure hair. It's like sex hair, but more tousled. And there's blood on your coat.”

“Nice detective work,” said Connie.

“Thanks. It's not so much detective work as knowing your subject. I thought you were normal now.”

“Normalcy is trickier than advertised,” Connie replied. “Look, I just wanted to say I'm sorry about everything. I wasn't thinking about you when I gave up my curse, and that was wrong.”