Nightingale

Mandie took a deep breath as she neared Juliet Emery’s shop. She glanced at where some of her blood spilled on the asphalt, not that anyone else could tell the color difference.

She heard Ben’s voice, which was heartening. She thought of him as a friend at this point, and it seemed to be mutual enough that she didn’t want to tell him she tried to stop the vandalism. She would of course, but reluctantly.

“Heard you might need some help,” she told the volunteers. Ben was notably among them, alongside Diamond or at least someone with the same hair, a woman with crimson hair that Mandie couldn’t look at too long, and obviously Juliet and her roommate Romeo.

“Not much,” Juliet admitted, “We’re getting to crowd status soon here, and I don’t know how much help you’ll actually be.”

Mandie was about to start on a demonstration when Ben stood up.

“I can at least explain the situation to her,” Ben offered.

“There isn’t much to—” Juliet started.

Ben was already pulling Mandie back out of the building.

“Since when do you know Juliet?” Ben asked.

“I don’t really, but my godmother’s daughter runs in a similar circle.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I wanted to help.”

Ben stared at her more intently.

“And I was here when the damage was done,” she reluctantly continued, “So I wanted to see if there was more to find.”

Ben let go of her arm, not quite satisfied so much as wanting his own arm free to exasperatedly gesture.

“I thought I said no vigilantism!” he seethed.

“You told that to the fighters. I’m not your employee.”

His expression made it clear he wanted to scream.

“Sorry I worried you,” Mandie said, “But you’re not in charge of me.”

“Why are you wearing long sleeves?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” she wore long sleeves to hide a bandage, but Ben didn't need to know that.

“You don’t wear long sleeves, you leave your arms open like an early warning system or something. Why are you wearing long sleeves?”

“It’s cold,” Mandie stepped back, “Now I’m going to help out, and you can make your own choices.”

She did her best to ignore his frustrations as she used her telekinesis to grab the individual shards of glass. Overtime she sidled up to Diamond.

Spot anything yet? she asked.

They left a very generic can of paint, Diamond revealed, Sprayed over the label.

Let me see.

Mandie wasn’t sure labeled paint would do much good, considering most brands were everywhere, but she had a better shot at finding the label than anyone.

So you can poke into their business too? Diamond asked.

Too? Was this about her conversation with Stranger? He’d offered most of that information willingly.

Yeah, freckles, I don’t need your nose in our business.

Mandie touched her face. She never put much effort into hiding her freckles, but they weren’t a feature she appreciated comments on.

Wear a better mask by the way, Diamond ordered, Though maybe the problem is your hair.

Are we going to keep poking at my appearance, or make progress?

She’d been handling glass this whole time, while Diamond had mostly been holding a paper bag for the shards.

I didn’t ask you to join us. I didn’t ask you to get into our business.

This had to be about her conversation with Stranger. She had nothing to defend herself for there.

I have no intentions on your boyfriend, don’t worry.

If either of them had been flirting, it was him. She tried not to think about the kiss on the hand, but it definitely stuck in her mind, and what did he mean by not doing things halfway?

“Boyfriend!?” Diamond exclaimed, making everyone else stare at them, Stranger is definitely not my boyfriend. I just don’t need you digging into my family’s business.

Siblings?

Diamond screamed behind a closed mouth so Mandie was the only one to hear. That confirmed her suspicions.

I’m protective of my sister too, that’s part of why I moved here, because I think I was making it worse.

Plus Catherine had a boyfriend now who was doing far more to get her out of Henry Eisel’s influence just by existing than Mandie had managed in years of pushing.

Diamond pointed out the paint can.

Doubt it’ll do much, but you can take a crack at it.

After finishing up with the shards she was handling, she lifted the paint can to get a look at it. They’d actually torn off the label, far beyond her ability to even guess.

Dead end.

Diamond gave a comforting shrug, then took a breath out.

Twin brother.

Twin sister.

I bet you’re identical, too. Diamond’s tone felt like a scoff.

Mirror: She’s a lefty.

Mandie stared at her remaining fabric, finished with the costume repair. The staff was a lost cause with its dent, so she’d have to get a new one; the price of collapsible often meant frequent replacement. She’d broken it up to get a look at the metal, which wasn’t anything to slouch at, though she wasn’t sure what to do with it.

She still had a bit of fabric left after to repairs, and didn’t want to move any of her coverage to add coverage to her arms, though they sorely needed it.

She also needed a distance weapon, or at least something that could provide her with a bit of range against these guys. They hit hard, and she wasn’t going to keep up with hand-to-hand alone.

She remembered her ideas for the skirt before she moved. Obviously it was there to do a nice spin, but she’d also planned on grabbing it to emphasize her gestures. She flared her hands out jokingly as she remembered the pitch to Leslie.

Maybe she had an answer here.

“What on Earth was going through your head?” Diamond asked as Nightingale stepped into view.

Nightingale fanned out the skirt. It fell just above her ankles naturally, and she could bring it all the way to her torso without it pulling against her legs. Once she’d gotten the idea, she’d begun a search that mostly landed her with dancers as the design inspiration. She was proud of it.

“I think it looks nice,” Stranger said.

“Because you think she’s pretty, and the skirt leaves more to the imagination.” She turned back to Nightingale, “Did they hit your head?”

“My staff’s out of commission; I needed something longer than my arms to hit people with. The fabric’s dense, and I added weights to it.”

“That also gives them more ways to grab you.”

“I thought about that.” Nightingale pushed the release button on her belt, and the skirt fell off, now just a heavy piece of fabric. She’d even made sure not to close the seam, so it could release even when pulled by the side. She put it back on after noticing Stranger staring. It wasn’t like her pants became tighter than when he’d first see them, but still.

“So you’re sure you can fight?” Stranger asked.

“At the very worst, I drop the skirt immediately and run before they can hit me.”

He nodded approvingly.

Diamond’s eyes turned slightly red for a second as the smile wiped off of Stranger’s face. By the way he stared back, they were probably having a private conversation.

After a minute, Diamond grabbed a map out of her jacket pocket, revealing it to the others.

“I’m staying here,” she pointed at Juliet’s shop, which they all stood above with permission from the owner, “Nightingale, you take this route—buildings are closer together and you may be able to get them into narrow spaces where they can’t make big swings—Stranger, you take this one—further buildings and better lighting to pull weapons away. I’ll keep an open channel,” she tapped her head lightly, “So you can let us know when you see something, and the others can catch up if you think you need backup.”

“So you limited this by your telepathic range?” Nightingale asked.

Diamond laughed.

“I can go much further than this, don’t worry. I just skipped out on places near the gym since you had surveillance there already.”

This covered most of the town, with the exception of the school, but Miskatonic West always had people awake to accommodate the night students. Mandie didn’t see this range on just anyone.

“Second generation?” she asked.

“How’d you know?” Stranger asked.

“Second generation is usually stronger,” she felt all of Catherine’s excited rants on the subject trying to pour out of her, “Even if you’re not biologically related, just the presence of someone with similar powers growing up can subconsciously stretch the muscles of an ability.”

Diamond looked at her with a quietly disgusted expression.

“My sister’s a xenologist,” Mandie defended, “I learned a lot from her, apparently.”

Diamond didn’t comment, but she did subtly step away.

“Not everyone was popular in school,” Stranger chided her before turning to Nightingale “Why don’t we start on the task at hand?”

“Absolutely,” Nightingale said, glad to get out of this conversation fast.

“So,” Stranger said over the walkie-talkies Nightingale had brought. She had wondered why he still insisted on grabbing one, “How long have you been in town?”

“Your sister mentioned I moved here, didn’t she?”

“Yep.”

Silence over the line. They should focus on watching for anything in their areas, but Nightingale hated a loose thread.

“I got here a few months ago. I used to visit with my uncle when I was a kid.” Jon wouldn’t mind being called an uncle, would he?

“I could show you around town then,” Stranger offered, “I lived here year-round until I got my bachelors.”

She was hardly in a state to go on a date with anyone.

“I’ll pass.”

“Cold,” Stranger commented.

“I rejected you so now I’m a bitch?” Nightingale asked.

“I did not mean it insultingly,” Stranger explained, “I was impressed. Most people are more delicate about rejection.”

She didn’t have a response for that. She wasn’t sure if he was being honest or not.

“It doesn’t have to be romantic though; If you want to find some secret spots in the area, I can offer you a map and detailed explanations.”

Even if she never planned on using it, that would be useful to have on hand.

“What’s the catch?”

“Dinner?” Stranger offered, “Maybe just wine.”

If an evening stroll was bad, a night in with alcohol was a much worse idea.

“No thanks.”

“Worth a shot.”

As the one being shot at in this metaphor, she disagreed, which made her just a bit vengeful.

“I’m just not into blonds.”

There were exceptions to that rule, but not many. A piece of her blamed it on growing up with the Hunters, or maybe it was because Camille was often blond in their company. Then again, there was always the incident when she was ten.

“Been thinking about dying it anyways,” Stranger interrupted her train of thought.

“Maybe next time you’re in town then.”

Hopefully she’d have gotten over some of her problems by that time.

“Now you’re turning delicate on me, Songbird.”

“Nightingale,” she corrected.

“She doesn’t like nicknames,” he said as if he wasn’t holding down the button to speak.

“I mostly go by a nickname in my day to day. I just don’t like people asking me out when they don’t remember my name.”

“You have no proof.”

She cracked a bit of a smile at that one.

“If you insist on calling me Songbird, then I’ll call you Stranger every time I see you, even if you give me a different one.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good—wait.”

She tensed, scanning the distant skyline for any sign of where he was.

She didn’t need to, as a moment later Diamond inserted that information into her mind.

Don’t engage until I get there, Diamond ordered, I have a plan.