“Yes, I heard about that.”
“Oh yeah? What did he say about it?”
He shrugged, said offhandedly, “Couldn’t seem to understand why you were bothering to get involved.”
“I think he’s convinced himself I’m going to jinx the case.” As if she weren’t capable of sabotaging the prosecution on purpose, if she wanted to.
He chuckled. “You know how he is. No one could possibly be as right and justified as he is.”
“And Mom wonders why I never call home.”
He sat back in his chair, regarding her a moment. “So. How are you doing?”
Blushing a little, she picked part of the crust off her sandwich. “You just ask that out of politeness. You already know.” She smiled, to let him know it was a joke, that she was just teasing him. But then again, he already knew.
He held his cup of hot tea in both hands and studied her like he was regarding a painting: intent, academic. “I believe this is the happiest I’ve ever seen you.”
Her first thought was, that if this was happy it left a lot to be desired. But honestly, she couldn’t argue. She had her troubles—but they were hers. “I’m doing all right. What about you? You happy these days?”
“Reasonably contented, as ever.”
“You ever get tired of it?”
“Of what?”
She realized the ambiguousness of the question. There was a lot to get tired of. “The vigilante hero gig,” she said finally.
“I don’t have much choice in the matter. It’s who I am.”
She winced, her face puckering with a strange-tasting thought. Arthur waited patiently while she formed the words and finally asked, “Do any of us have any choice about who we are?”
“People have been debating that question for ages. No definitive answer, I’m afraid. Although, if I may be so bold, you seem to have made a choice. There was a time when your life might have gone differently.”
Not likely. Her choices had been determined by her failures. She was here, now, because this was the only life she seemed to be good at. She shook her head. “If I’d had a choice, I think I would have chosen to be a superhuman. That would have made everything easier.”
“If you say so.”
FIVE
CELIA had to deal with trouble before she even reached the courtroom. She’d expected reporters, cops, fans, and groupies. The CAPTAIN OLYMPUS: OUR ALIEN SAVIOR sign was back. But she also had to face Breezeway, who had stationed himself outside the courthouse to keep watch. Some people seemed to think the Destructor would summon zeppelins from the sky to rescue him.
Lithe and brash, Breezeway was Celia’s age. He had a showy silver uniform, complete with mask. Sinking on a breath of air, he landed on the steps in front of her. And the crowd went wild. Cameras flashed around him.
“Hiya, cutie,” he said to Celia.
Be polite, Celia reminded herself. The press had all their cameras rolling and snapping out here. She had to reflect well on the firm.
“Hi.” Be curt without snubbing. That was the trick.
“Always the cold shoulder with you,” he continued, like this was some kind of show. “What’s a guy have to do to get you to smile? Save your life or something? ’Cause I could do that—”
“And I’m sure I’d be grateful, but I wouldn’t be smiling.”
“Aw, come on, Celia. I think you do have a superpower—you’re immune to charm.”
“Breezeway … you almost dropped me off a roof.”
“Hey, that was years ago. It was joke. I wasn’t really—”