Archive of Our Own ^beta

Cherie wrapped her arms around herself while waiting for a car to pass by, shielding herself from the November cold.

The chill was uncomfortable, but not dangerously so. That said, she really should have swiped a better jacket. For all its merits, her current one was lacking. Its maroon color did match the violet streak in her hair decently, and it fit her well enough that her curves were visible – she looked like a human being instead of an amorphous blob stuck in static-prone polyester – but by God did it let in the wind in. She resolved to find a thicker jacket at the next possible opportunity; looking good shouldn’t need to come at the expense of being uncomfortable.

She swept her gaze across her surroundings. The sun had long since set, and a biting chill permeated the air. Sparse spruces filled the treeline, their foliage still intact despite the cold. There was no snow on the ground just yet, but if past years served as any indication, snow would start building up around the Montreal area soon.

She shuffled her feet against the ground and stuffed her hands deeper into the jacket’s pockets, trying to conserve any measure of warmth. She wondered, for a brief second, whether running away from home had been a mistake. Daddy would be furious that a second child of his had run away from home, and any retribution was bound to be painful.

But that shameful thought was quickly extinguished. If Jean-Paul had successively escaped from Daddy, there was no reason she couldn’t do the same. And besides, she’d had enough of living under Daddy’s shadow. It was time to forge her own path in the world.

And that was life, wasn’t it? No pain, no gain. You had to take risks in order to get ahead. Daddy was an unambitious coward who never understood that, and never would.

She waited by the side of a deserted road on the outskirts of Montreal, which lay in a state of mild disrepair. A fight between Dragon and the Poets had broken out here several weeks back, and there hadn’t been time to fix all the damage yet. The tarmac on the road had been patched over and the potholes filled in, but most of the road markings were still at least a little scuffed, and the dividing medians were still missing in most places.

It wasn’t the first time that Cherie had been out in the middle of nowhere, though usually it was because Daddy needed to hide out somewhere deserted to escape the heat. Even so, Cherie was a little surprised by how deserted the area was. Without even a single person in her range – whether it was one of her siblings, Daddy, or Daddy’s women – she was completely isolated, and worryingly helpless. If any sort of natural disaster were to hit the area, she’d be just as powerless as any non-cape.

But choosing a more trafficked area to hitchhike from was dangerous when Daddy was still looking for her. She’d just grit her teeth and bear it. It had already been a couple of minutes; she couldn’t possibly have to wait much longer.

A minute passed, and then another. She didn’t have any music to occupy her thoughts with, and this absence of sonic simulation made the world appear flatter, as if she were limited to monocular vision. She kicked herself for not having stolen earbuds when she’d had the chance, but her escape from Montreal proper had admittedly been rather hectic. It had slipped her mind.

She tapped her feet on the ground to some imaginary four-four beat, the balls landing on the on-beats and heels on the off-beats, humming unintelligible gibberish to occupy herself.

Then, through her power, she sensed a car approaching from the other side of the hill to the southwest. Of course, there was the slight issue of the car driving the wrong direction, but that was easily remedied.

Cherie dashed across the road to meet the car, and a sleek Mercedes in dark blue approached from over the hill. Cherie couldn’t pick out the driver’s identity just yet, but she hoped it was a man; they were usually easier to manipulate. The driver’s emotional state was a muted blend of boredom and apathy, coated by a superficial layer of contentment. Cherie probed more deeply, and found currents of remorse and anger buried just below.

Cherie stuck out her hand with her thumb pointing upwards like in the movies she’d watched. A current of aversion and mild disgust began to flow in the driver’s mind – a mildly dissonant wail. Cherie realized that the driver might pass her by without stopping.

Completely unacceptable. She was not about to wait in the cold for another car to pass her by.

She felt for the driver’s emotions again, and at this close range, she could hear the overtones and undertones within the driver’s personality in far greater detail. She’d been able to sense the driver’s emotions before, but only in broad strokes. It was akin to the difference between watching the television from a distance, and being close enough to examine its individual pixels.

The driver, she could tell, was a woman harboring a grudge against someone who had meant a lot to her, probably an ex-husband or ex-partner of some sort. Clinging to her like barnacles were the fear that she might die alone and the regret that she had never been able to raise a family. She also didn’t appear to have many emotional connections beyond filial ties to her parents, who she clung to out of autophobic obsession. Convenient for Cherie’s purposes – it would be much easier to dispose of her, if necessary.

She sensed this all in a heartbeat, her power translating the chemical makeup of the driver’s emotions into a unique combination of sounds that she could understand. Focusing on the driver’s latent curiosity, she twisted it so that the driver could hardly focus on anything else.

The sedan decelerated to a stop next to Cherie, and a window slid down.

“Hi, dear,” the driver called out. “What’re you doing out here?”

“I’m running from my father,” Cherie said, in as pitiful and sympathy-inducing a tone as she could manage. “If I don’t get out of here soon, he’s going to take me back.”

The driver’s eyes flickered over Cherie’s thin form, arms wrapped tight for warmth, and Cherie felt genuine concern kindle within her. There was a suppressed maternal instinct buried deep in the driver’s psyche, a repressed longing for children she would never have.

“You poor thing. Come on in.”

Cherie wasted no time in escaping inclement weather, entering via the passenger-side door. The car’s interior was blessedly warm, but was filled with the soft crooning sounds of some stupid jazz singer.

“Where do you need to go? You poor thing. I’m Wendy, by the way.”

“Hi. My name’s Cherie.”

“What a pretty name. Are you all right? What happened to you?”

“I’m escaping from my father. He’s a control freak who wants to dictate my life, the lives of all of his children. He refuses to let me leave.”

“Has he… hit you?”

“No. But he has other ways of punishing us. I couldn’t stand it any more, so I left.”

“I understand, dear.” Wendy’s voice became hushed and strained. “My husband was something like that, before I left.”

“Can we get moving?”

“Of course, honey. Where to? I’m going into Montreal to visit my mother. I hope I get there before midnight.”

“That’s the exact opposite of where I want to go. I’m leaving Montreal. I want to get to Toronto.”

Wendy frowned. “I’m driving from Toronto.”

“I don’t care. Just get me there.”

A tinge of annoyance wormed its way through Wendy. “Well, if you don’t mind, you could come with me to visit my mother first. I’m staying overnight, and going back to Toronto tomorrow afternoon. I’m sure my mother wouldn’t mind putting up with one more person for the night. How does that sound?”

Cherie rolled her eyes. “No. That doesn’t work for me.”

A mote of anger, prickly and staccato-like. “I’d like to help you, dear, but I can’t just turn back after having driven-”

Cherie sighed. Perhaps she should have skipped this inane preamble and started by using her power, but that wouldn’t have been any fun.

She twisted Wendy’s emotions, reinforcing her anxiety and injecting her with a strong dose of fear. Wendy yelped, panting heavily and leaning on the door.

“Don’t talk back to me again.”

“You’re… you’re a cape.”

“Brilliant deduction,” Cherie drawled. “Now drive.”

“Yes, yes.” Wendy stuttered, and Cherie felt a deluge of overwhelming horror rush through her, a cascade of discordant yet ultimately complementary notes, the intensity of which buoyed Cherie’s own emotions. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Toronto. Now.”

“Okay, let me find an exit-”

Cherie injected her with another pulse of fear, stronger this time.

“Use your head. Just turn around here.”

Wendy shakily nodded, and the car revved up, making a turn through an unrepaired section of the median.

Cherie’s nose scrunched in disgust and mounting horror as she smelled the horrible scent of urine filling the car. She glanced over to Wendy’s shivering form, and noted a darker splotch on the seat cushion, near her crotch.

Damn it. Wendy must have had a full bladder, and Cherie had just made her release it all onto the fucking seat. She’d overdone it with the fear; she really should have gone for apathy. Now she’d have to sit in the car for hours with the acrid stench of urine in her nose.

She thought about punishing Wendy with some fear again, but she had enough sense to realize that gratifying her spite was a dangerous idea while the car was still moving.

“Stop the car. Clean up your piss.”

Wendy nodded jerkily, and the car slowed to a halt. A packet of wet wipes was drawn from the glove compartment, and the mark of her incontinence rubbed away at. There was no way she could get all of it out, but hopefully she’d get rid of enough that the smell was no longer as pervasive.

“Merde.” Cherie glared at Wendy, causing her to flinch. “You stupid bitch. You need diapers? How old are you, two? ”

“Ma’am, please don’t hurt me, I’ll do whatever you want. Just please don’t hurt me.”

“I’m not going to hurt you. I need you to drive.”

“Th-thank you, ma’am.”

Fuelled by her earlier frustrations, Cherie hit Wendy with mortal terror, who collapsed onto the seat, panting and gasping.

“Got it all out yet? Need me to give you another scare?”

“N-no, no! Please.”

“You sure? Maybe you need to piss by the side of the road like a dog?”

“It’s okay. I’ll… I’ll keep it in.”

“Don’t make things difficult for me, or I’ll do that again. Comprenez vous?”

Wendy nodded.

“Good. Finish cleaning the seat and get moving. I don’t want to waste any more time.”

It took the better part of two minutes of assiduous wiping to remove most of the stain. Cherie kept a close watch on Wendy’s emotions during this time, and was pleased to see a blend of sullen fear and meek submission. With any luck, Wendy would have learned her lesson.

“That’s better,” said Cherie once Wendy had finished. “Remember: Toronto.”

Wendy dampened the accelerator, and they were off to Toronto.

“Change the fucking channel.” The singer was still crooning on the microphone over the sounds of a warbling saxophone. “It’s getting on my nerves.”

Wendy reached over to the dashboard and pressed a button, which changed the station to one that played classical music, a tortured violin wailing on the high notes.

“Pass,” Cherie said. “Not in the mood.”

The next station was playing a Silver Bullet song, and Cherie smiled as she heard the bass thump to the off-beats.

J’adore~

Sweet Honey~

“Okay, keep this. I like this.”

Six hours later, they were in Toronto.

Toronto was an opportunity, a speck of gold among the dross and detritus, awaiting a prospector’s keen eye.

The cape scene in the city had entered some sort of uneasy equilibrium about a year ago. The Protectorate team here was well-staffed and well-supported, but lacked any real heavy hitters that would have allowed it to expel the longstanding criminal elements in the city. The Elite were present in Toronto too, though Cherish hadn’t discovered just yet how deep their influence ran, or who their important members were. Add to that the dozen or so smaller groups, on either end of the hero-villain spectrum, those minnows which swam in their own little puddles, and you had a stagnant pond whose surface rarely shifted.

One well-placed cape with a power for manipulating people could cause some ripples and upend the existing order.

Toronto was an opportunity for someone with a power like hers. She’d have to be cautious, but with a bit of luck and the element of surprise, she could very well have the entire cape scene licking her feet within a year. And wouldn’t that be a coup, Cherie giggled to herself. Daddy would be jealous. The thought that he might one day come to her, begging and groveling for her help, tickled her pink.

That being said, she’d been in Toronto a week already, she hadn’t yet made any moves. A side project of hers had been rather distracting.

Cherie opened her eyes, and an unfamiliar room greeted her. She’d been somewhat preoccupied last night, and hadn’t really paid attention to her surroundings.

The walls of the room were covered with posters of some alt-rock band from the 90’s that Cherie didn’t recognize. The desk was a whirlwind of loose papers and stationery surrounding the nucleus of a dated but functional laptop, switching between screensavers of natural landscapes. A bass guitar lay in the corner, unplugged and gathering a thin layer of dust.

Cherie glanced at the sleeping presence on the bed, by her side, and a small smile formed on her lips. Thomas lay beside her, chest rising and falling slowly. Despite his lack of experience, he’d been a surprisingly pleasant lover. Last night had exceeded her expectations indeed.

She reached out and probed his mind, and the tender, almost inaudible harmonies indicated that he was still sound asleep.

“Thomas. Wake up.” She shook him lightly on the shoulder.

He woke almost immediately and rolled around to face her. “Mistress! Good morning. How are you?”

“Good, Thomas. Last night was fun.”

The blissful smile that spread across his face was matched by the intensity of the joy she felt in his mind. His mind was so simple and simultaneously so richly textured, the clarity of its melodic lines untainted, the equivalent of a Bach fugue. Was it not truly beautiful how much he loved her? Was it not worth basking in how much he worshiped her presence?

“ But … now I’m hungry.” She pouted. “Make me some breakfast, dear?”

“Of course. What do you want?”

“What do you normally have?”

“Um… Mom makes buttered toast and waffles and toast pretty often.”

“Is it good?”

“I like it. I think you’ll enjoy it too.”

“Can you make it?”

“I think so? I’ve seen her do it. It shouldn’t be too difficult.”

“Get to it, then. Fry me an egg, too. Sunny side up. Don’t break the yolk. I like it like that.”

“Of course, mistress.” Thomas jumped out of bed and made his way to the door. Cherie chuckled as she watched him go.

“Thomas, put on some clothes,” Cherie called out. “You may be my pet, but you’re still human. Dress decently. At least put some pants on.”

Thomas blushed, and Cherie felt a wave of shame and embarrassment run through him. He was adorable . “Of course, mistress. I’m so sorry.”

She had wanted to play the part of being a normal girlfriend, just for novelty’s sake, and Thomas had been her target. Five days, and she’d already conditioned him enough that she didn’t have to manipulate his emotions any more to control him. Her presence, in his mind, had already blotted out all other aspects of his life: his previous relationships with his family, his girlfriend and his friends had already fallen into abject irrelevancy.

Nonetheless, there was no harm in being careful. “Good boy. Here’s your reward.” She rewarded him a dose of dopamine, and Thomas beamed back at her.

Frankly, he was beginning to grow on her. Wherever she went next, maybe she ought to bring Thomas along. It definitely didn’t hurt that he was actually rather attractive. Cherie was not ashamed to admit that a handsome face, broad shoulders, and toned musculature was enough to get her own engine purring.

She rolled out of the tangled sheets of the bed and began to look for her clothes. They weren’t actually her clothes, per se, but Thomas’s sister wasn’t exactly in a position to complain, was she?

She reached out with her power towards the basement, feeling for the other occupants of the house. They seemed to still be asleep, with the exception of Thomas’s sister, who must have woken up recently. The parents’ minds still mostly sounded muted, but the sister’s mind was filled with alarm and fear, a cacophony of jangling, percussive noise.

Cherie frowned; that wouldn’t do at all. She manipulated the sister’s – she had to admit, she’d already forgotten the sister’s name – emotions, and a wave of tranquility and calm smothered the fear and alarm. She wouldn’t try to escape now.

Cherie sighed. She wanted to lie in bed a little more and relish this unfamiliar sensation of domestic normality, luxuriating in the warmth trapped between the mattress and the sheets, but she would have to go down and manage the rest of the Lears soon before the parents woke up. There was no chance they would actually successfully escape now that Cherie was awake, but they could still cause other sorts of trouble.

Despite the inconvenience, Cherie wasn’t prepared to kill the rest of Thomas’s family when she could still find a use for them. They were unlikely to be long-term prospects, but experimenting her powers on normal people could be useful, if not for knowledge, then at least as practice. Back at home, she had never really had the chance to practice her powers like this; Daddy’s powers were by far the best for converting people, and made all their other powers obsolete in that respect.

She had to admit, Daddy’s power was stronger than hers in that one important aspect: it lasted. He could permanently turn someone in a matter of seconds, while Cherie’s power, for all its impressive range, was transient. It took time for her to condition someone to obey her, if it was even possible. Thomas seemed to have fallen to her conditioning far more easily than she’d anticipated, but his family was proving more resistant.

She descended to the basement, passing the ground floor, stomach growling at the scent of frying eggs. At her arrival, Thomas’s parents woke up and began struggling in their bonds of duct tape. Cherie hit them with apathy to ensure their compliance.

She cut the Lears’ hands loose with a pair of scissors retrieved from a nearby shelf. As the Lears extricated themselves from their remaining bonds and looked at her for instructions, she refreshed the same emotional conditioning that she applied on them these past few days, a mixture of apathy and submissiveness that rendered them suggestible to her commands.

“Do all the usual stuff you usually do,” she instructed. “Don’t go out of the house or talk to anyone else without my permission.”

They nodded, climbing up the steps, obsequious servants all. “Oh yeah,” Cherie called out. “Take care of yourself. Same goes for Thomas. Wash yourself, clean up, eat food, all of that. Don’t want you guys stinking up the house.”

Cherie climbed back up the steps, and she walked into the living room, where she sank onto the couch. Scattered on the coffee table were a few empty cans of beers from last night’s makeout session with Thomas. Cherie was disappointed that all of the Lears had been strait-laced enough to not have anything stronger than booze.

“Make me a cup of coffee. With milk,” Cherie said to the sister, who was just passing by. “And clean up all the trash.”

As she curled up on the couch, basking in her newfound independence, she found herself optimistic in a novel way. She was a free spirit now, and she could do anything she wanted. She could reap the fruits of her own labor without being trapped by her father’s presence. There was no safety net below to catch her, but at the same time, there was also no glass ceiling above her to hinder her. It was exciting to be the architect of her own destiny.

She snuggled on the couch, hugging a cushion between her arms and legs. She had to admit that part of the charm of her current situation was the Lears’ delightfully domestic family life, vastly different from her own. It was comforting, in a way, that she could experience some of the mundanity she’d been denied as a child. She savored the aroma of home-cooked breakfast drifting over from the kitchen, the hustle and bustle of chores done and errands run, and the albums haphazardly stacked beside the television screen. She took all of this and more, envisioning the girl she could have been in a different world.

She wasn’t sure how much time she had left to unwind like this. Someone would eventually put the pieces together and notice the Lears’ disappearance from public life, and the authorities would come knocking at the door. Cherie planned to be long gone before that happened, but could she really be blamed for relishing her first ever real taste of glorious freedom?

Oh well. That was tomorrow’s problem. She’d enjoy today as best she could.

She was about to take a sip of the coffee that Thomas’s sister had delivered when Cherie felt familiar presences approaching from the edge of her range, and a frisson of fear ran down her spine.

“Tabarnak,” she whispered. She’d kept her head down, and only sent the Lears out for limited grocery runs. She hadn’t even left the house in days. How had they found her so quickly?

She could sense Guillaume and Nicholas were driving down the street, accompanied by a few of Daddy’s women. There was no mistaking their presences: she’d spent years around her siblings, and had become intimately familiar with their emotional makeup.

Guillaume’s usual mental state was a mixture of anger and deep-set shame; Nicholas’s was a duller blend of paranoia and fear towards everyone and everything, which was ironic, given his power. The women accompanying them had familiar emotional fingerprints as well. Even if she hadn’t already recognized Louise – she reminded herself to call her Louise – Mary, and Theresa, she’d still be able to identify them as Daddy’s thralls. Their devotion towards her father was too obvious to miss.

“All of you,” she pointed at the Lears, “any weapons in the house?”

They turned and looked at each other sluggishly, and Cherie resisted the urge to tear her own hair out. Time was ticking.

“No weapons,” the father finally said. He was a stout middle-aged man with a belly, and probably wouldn’t be much use in a fight. None of them would be.

“Where’s the car?”

“In the garage,” the father responded. “It was running out of gas, though. I wanted to fill it up, but haven’t had a chance yet.”

The garage was not connected to the actual house. If Cherie wanted to get to it, she would have to step foot outside and expose herself.

“Okay, here’s the plan,” she said. “There’s some people coming after me. You want to protect me. Remember that.”

She hit the Lears with as much worship and adoration towards herself as she could muster. For the next few minutes, they would hopefully do anything to protect her life.

“There are bad people coming after me. They want to kidnap me and take me away. You’d do anything to stop that, wouldn’t you?”

Each of the Lears nodded.

“Good. Pick up some sort of weapon, I don’t care what. Knives, weights, anything. When I give the signal,” she sent a pulse of fear through each of them, “come out of the house and attack whoever’s not me. If you see kids, don’t go too hard, but adults are fair game. Don’t hold back on the adults.”

Each of them nodded again. That was when Cherie had a sudden moment of inspiration.

“Thomas.”

“Yes, mistress?”

“Stay back. Don’t follow them. I need you to do this.” She described her backup plan in the simplest terms she could.

Time was of the essence. Cherie dashed to the mantelpiece to pick up the car keys. She could feel her pursuers approaching: the contours of their presences were becoming more defined.

She hit as many of them with depression and self-loathing as she could. Hopefully she’d gotten the driver; any sort of delay could mean the difference between escape and capture. In any case, Toronto was a bust. She couldn’t possibly stay in the city with her father breathing down her neck.

As soon as she stepped foot outside, she saw an SUV come into view from down the street, its tires screeching in the brisk morning air.

Cherie ran for the garage, car keys in hand, jamming the switch despite knowing how ineffectual it was, and the door began to rise ponderously. Slipping under the rising car door, she unlocked the SUV, shoving herself into the driver’s seat. The pointer on the fuel gauge lay firmly on the E.

“Tabarnak,” she swore. She jammed the keys in and twisted. The engine wheezed like an geriatric ashmatic. “Fuck this. Fuck fuck fuck.”

She got out of the car, but it was too late. Her pursuers filed out of the car into the yard as she stood by the garage door, blocking her escape.

Gulliaume and Nicholas, accompanied by three of Daddy’s women, surrounded her. Cherie noted with a hint of bemusement that these women seemed to be the older and less attractive ones. Apparently Daddy didn’t want to risk his favorite toys getting hurt.

It was a relief that they didn’t seem to be carrying any weapons. Her power was strong, but only against certain targets. Without her power, she was as vulnerable as any normal human: a blow to the head or a knife to the gut might cripple her for life. Though, she noted with some measure of dark humor, their lack of weapons might have been because Daddy wanted to do the crippling himself.

When Jean-Paul had run away, Daddy hadn’t tried this hard to bring him back. Perhaps he was beginning to fear the precedent they were beginning to set. Two unpunished runaways might foment dissent among the Heartbroken.

“Bonjour, Guillaume. Here to join me?”

“Daddy told us to bring you back.”

“I’ve got space here for more. Want to share?”

Guillaume ignored her. “Are you coming or not?”

“Why are you helping Daddy with this? You could run away too.”

“No, I can’t.” Guillaume clenched his jaw, and Cherie felt an undercurrent of fear and protectiveness run through him.

“Ah. You got sweet on someone, and Daddy found out, didn’t he?”

Guillaume didn’t reply, but the undercurrent of fear that ran through his mind was enough confirmation.

“Ah, ah, ah, Guillaume. You should have known better. You’ll never escape him now. And what about you?” Cherie turned to Nicholas. “Does my baby brother want to join me?”

“I won’t betray Daddy,” Nicholas whispered. “You shouldn’t have left us. Please come back.”

“And why should I do that?’

“He got worse after you left. He’s getting scarier.”

“Well, too bad for you. Deal with it yourselves.”

“You’re the big sister. You’re supposed to take care of us.”

He was trying to appeal to her sororal instincts, Cherie realized. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got?” She stifled a laugh.

“Please, Cherie. Come back with us. Daddy won’t be mad.”

“Yeah…” Cherie put her chin in her hand in a parody of contemplation. “...no. I don’t buy that. Are you two sure you don’t want to join me? We have powers now. We don’t need him anymore.”

She had no intention of letting them actually join her, of course. But getting even one of them to back off would shift the balance dramatically in her favor.

“You think we’re going to forgive you, just like that? Running away and abandoning us,” Guillaume spat, “Leaving us to pick up your fucking mess when-”

Cherie hit the entire group with as much paranoia, suspicion and hate as she could muster, and signaled the Lears, who burst out of the house.

She’d hit them with her power, but she knew better than to think that it would last. She’d used her power on her siblings often enough that they’d already built an immunity; any emotion she dosed them with wouldn’t last for long. The same applied to the women, to a lesser extent; she hadn’t used her powers on them nearly as much as her own siblings. With any luck, they’d have kept their own car running, and she could steal it and escape.

She was still surprised that Nicholas recovered enough to attack her with his power, barely three seconds later.

It was a low dose. She’d experienced his power before, and could tell he was holding some of it in reserve. But even that was enough to bring her to her knees, panting and gasping for breath like she’d just run a mile, arms and legs trembling like jelly.

Nicholas had also directed his power towards the Lears and Daddy’s women. Under the influence of Cherie’s power, the women had begun fighting each other, but a short dose of Nicholas’s power had incapacitated them before they could do any real harm. Guillaume looked a little ill, but stood firm.

Cherie realized that she was outmatched. Nicholas’s power affected her, but her powers didn’t affect them. She had no allies on her side: the Lears had been neutralized without issue. She could use her power to try and attract the occupants of the neighboring houses, but what combination of emotions could get them to wake up, open their doors and windows, and then run over to help? Yet another limitation of her power: it was difficult for her to make people do anything specific without explicit instructions.

She should have prepared escape routes and backup plans more diligently, instead of assuming that her siblings wouldn’t be able to find her this quickly. She should have taken over the neighboring houses, or made sure that the car was ready to go, or any one of the myriad possibilities that could have enabled an easy escape. It wasn’t often that the consequences of her lack of preparation or the limitations of her power were laid so bare.

“Help,” she screamed, hoping that someone might hear. “Help-”

Guillaume kicked her in the face with a heavy boot, and Cherie felt her nose break, blood running down her lip.

“Hel-”

She didn’t get as far this time. Guillaume kicked her in the face again. She tried to shield herself, but her entire body was still trembling and unresponsive, and this time she saw stars in her eyes.

“No one heard you,” Guillaume said. Cherie knew he was right; she hadn’t felt any stirrings of concern from anyone in the neighborhood. “Scream again and I break your jaw.”

“Guillaume, p-please,” she pleaded.

“Nicholas,” said Guillaume through gritted teeth. “Full power. Don’t hold back.”

***

It was as if she were five again, hiding under the bed.

She held her breath, focusing on the air within her lungs. She tried her best not to make a sound or cry because Daddy hated when she cried and hated when he was interrupted.

She could hear the dull thumps reverberating throughout the house. Mommy had made Daddy angry, had failed him somehow, and Daddy was punishing her. He usually used his power; it was less work for the same result. But every now and then he would decide to use his fists and the suddenness of that made it all the more frightening.

She wouldn’t make a sound. She wouldn’t give him the slightest excuse to turn his attention towards her. It was better that Mommy was punished, and not Cherie; Mommy had done something wrong, and Cherie hadn’t.

Much later that night, when the terror had been diluted by sleepiness, she felt heavy footsteps outside her door.

The door swung open, and Daddy entered her room, looking under the bed, as if he knew that she’d been hiding there all along.

“Hello, Cherie. What are you doing under the bed? It’s not comfortable there, is it?”

She suppressed the shiver that ran down her spine and crawled out from under the bed.

“Come sit on my lap, won’t you?”

The terror returned anew, and she tried to not let it show. Daddy sat on the bed, and she climbed into his lap with the bare minimum of movement.

“Cherie, you’re so tense. Won’t you calm down?”

Cherie felt a wave of tranquility ripple through her body. She relaxed involuntarily, laying her back down on her father’s body. He was big and strong, and the top of her head didn’t even brush his chin.

“Don’t take after your mother, you understand?” he told her, in gentle tones. “She’s useless. Good for nothing. Don’t know why I’m keeping her around.”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

“I got her because she was pretty. Just like you. You take after her like that.”

Daddy thought she was pretty. That made her feel good. Or perhaps it was Daddy making her feel good?

“Cherie, why so quiet?”

“I… don’t know what to say.”

“Well, how about, ‘I love you, Daddy?’”

“I love you, Daddy,” she repeated.

“Good girl.” He gave her a pat on the head, and she felt happiness wash over her. “That gives me an idea… Louise!” He shouted

Cherie could hear Mommy’s labored footsteps as she walked up the steps and limped into the room, clutching at her torso on one side. Cherie could see bruises all over her face.

“What do you call that woman?” Daddy asked her.

“M-Mommy.”

“No. You don’t call her that anymore. Call her by her actual name. Try again.”

“Mom-”

Cherie jerked in her father’s lap as a paroxysm of fear ran through her. Daddy held her tight while she squirmed.

“Let’s try again. What do you call that woman?”

“L-L-Louise.”

“Good girl. Try that again? Without stuttering this time.”

She took a deep breath, and hoped that the sob building up within wouldn’t escape her.

“Louise.”

“Excellent,” Daddy said. He toyed with a curl of her hair. “I don’t want to see you calling her Mommy ever again, you understand? You don’t have a Mommy now. If I ever see you calling her Mommy again, I will punish you.”

“...Don’t worry, Daddy. I won’t.”

“That’s my girl.”

Cherie gazed upon her mother for the last time.

***

Cherie was back in the present, at least for the moment. The hard granite tiles beneath her felt distant, like they were pressing against someone else’s body.

“Nicholas. How hard did you hit her?”

“Pretty hard. Hardest I’ve ever done.”

“Look at her,” Guillaume smirked. “Not so high and mighty now. Crying on the ground like a stupid little baby.”

***

It was as if she were eight again, trapped in the living room of their latest home.

The family’s peripatetic lifestyle had brought them back to Montreal, and this latest house of theirs was somewhere in a fancier district of the city. The living room was decorated with a swanky carpet and paintings illustrated by abstract blobs of color, adding a certain classy quality to the environs.

Cherie was seated in the center of the room, and was wearing a sleeveless shirt two sizes too big, meant for someone older than her, and a skirt picked out from the wardrobe of the girl who had lived in the house before them. She suppressed a shudder.

Smiling, white-teethed men surrounded her, hungry wolves trapping their prey.

Touching was fine, no violence, hands only, Daddy had told all of them, but nothing further. Be a good girl, Cherie, he had said. Call for me if they do anything more than touch. Then he’d left her to the mercy of the wolves, and she knew they had none.

She hiccuped, and started to shiver so badly she thought that she would shake herself to pieces. The men didn’t seem to mind that at all. If anything, it emboldened them.

They started out hesitant, as if unsure of the authenticity of the prize that lay before them. They circled her, testing, probing, observing how she responded to incursions on her personal space. She huddled into herself, trying to present as little of herself to them as possible, to not react to any of it, to ignore the groping hands and leering eyes.

Then they began to experiment. Exploring fingers, encountering no defense, turned into palms, into entire hands. They made a mockery of her impotence, sampling her cheeks, touching her chest, and even down there. They pried apart her pitiful attempts at resistance with inexorable, inevitable force.

She tried to shield herself with her arms, but a single reaching hand contained more strength than she had in her entire body. She shied away from the hands, presenting her back to them, but that was just as futile an exercise. She couldn’t parry even one hand; how could she hope to defend against several?

Cherie’s breath began to grow short. It came in short bursts, shallow and frantic, marking a frenetic tempo, making a mockery of her powerlessness. The air grew thin, her head began to spin round and round like a top, and the faster she breathed, the dizzier she got.

“Daddy!” she screamed, when she couldn’t take it any longer. “HELP!”

The men backed away from her in unison, hands clasped behind their backs. She took huge, gulping breaths, trying to calm the drumbeat of her heart. She was still surrounded, but at least now she had space to breathe.

Daddy burst into the room, eyes blazing.

“What happened? What did they do, Cherie?”

“We didn’t-” one of the men began. Daddy silenced him with a stare, and the man fell over, screaming and writhing on the ground. The rest of the men sidled away from that man’s prone form.

“Cherie? Answer me.”

“Daddy… They… They…”

“What happened?”

“They touched me, they didn’t stop, they just kept touching -”

“Did they do anything more than touch you? Tell the truth.” To punctuate his command, he flooded her with a tsunami of guilt, so much that she couldn’t think of doing anything but telling the truth.

“No,” she whispered. “They only touched me.”

Daddy sighed. “Cherie. What did you waste my time for?”

She felt so very small at that moment.

“Come to me when you’re done, for your punishment. You won’t make any more trouble. Will you?” He fixed her with a pointed look.

She shook her head, tears threatening to flow. But she didn’t cry.

“Don’t cry wolf again, Cherie. Or I’m going to be angry.” He turned to the men. “Remember. Touching with your hands only. No violence.”

The men glanced at each other furtively, and nodded.

Daddy appeared satisfied with that. “You paid for an hour with her. You still have forty-five minutes left.”

***

Cherie came to, for the second time.

“Merde. She’s still in it? Remind me never to piss you off, Nicholas.”

“Maybe we should carry her to the car before the neighbors notice.”

“Relax. The neighbors aren’t looking at us; I would know if they were.” Guillaume grinned. “She made us chase her all the way here. I want to enjoy watching her squirm .”

Cherie could feel another wave of Nicholas’s power cresting.

“Please,” she said. “Make it stop.”

“Cherie, I don’t know what you’re seeing, and I can’t stop it. I know it’s bad, and I’m sorry,” Nicholas said. “Really sorry. But it’s for your own good. It’s for our good. We need to go home. All of us.”

***

It was as if she were nine again, on the day she triggered.

Daddy was speaking to the new woman, who was some sort of doctor. The two of them had returned home a mere fifteen minutes ago, and the living room had been cleared. Daddy told everyone that the three of them were to be left alone.

Then the doctor began interrogating her, asking her questions about her emotions, about whether she understood certain words, about her relationships with her family. With Daddy close by, Cherie had no choice but to tell the truth.

Cherie wished she could take a sip of the beer she’d been drinking before they returned home, to calm herself down, but Daddy had forbidden her from doing that around him.

She’d started drinking about a year ago. She’d seen people do it, on the TV, when they were sad and wanted to feel better. Sometimes, when they moved to new places, she would find cans of it in the fridge. She couldn’t remember the names, but the cans were always more or less the same shape, and usually had words like “BREW” and “ALE” on them. Those words, she could recognize.

The beer had initially tasted horrible – she’d spat out the first mouthful of beer she’d tried, and the next – but it made her feel warm inside, and it cheered her up immensely when she was feeling upset. Honestly, it wasn’t as bad once she got used to the taste. Hangovers – that was what they were called – were terribly painful, but for some reason she felt compelled to continue drinking anyway.

Cherie realized she’d zoned out, and that the doctor was now speaking to Daddy.

“...developmentally challenged,” she heard the doctor say, and even though she hadn’t known what the words meant at the time, she could tell it wasn’t anything good. “It seems like she’s behind most of the peers in her age group when it comes to her education. Has she had any schooling?”

“Not really.”

“Not really?”

“She’s never attended school. We’re always moving around a lot, and Cherie doesn’t have a lot of time for education. None of the children do, really. It’s obviously difficult for them to go to school.”

“Do they know how to read or write? Can they do arithmetic? Because Cherie here seems to be lacking in those areas.”

“Do they need to know these skills?”

“Those are basic skills, sir. I’d consider them essential.”

“I’ve always left the education of the children to the women. But none of them were teachers, as far as I know. I need to rectify that soon.” Daddy rubbed his beard and seemed lost in thought. “Nora, thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

Nora stared at Daddy reverently in response to his praise.

“Cherie, can you do this for me?” Daddy asked, turning to her. “Repeat after me: pediatrician. Pediatrician.”

“Peh-duh-chri-shun,” she repeated. “Peh-duh-chri-shun.”

“Try to remember how to spell it. It’s spelled p-e-d-i-a-t-r-i-c-i-a-n.”

“P-e-d-i-a-t…” She tried to remember the syllables, but lost track after the sixth.

“It means a doctor who looks after children. Children like you.”

“It means a doctor who looks after children. Children like me.”

“Nora here is a pediatrician. She says you’re slow. That you can’t speak properly, that you’re slower and more stupid than other kids your age. Do you understand that?”

Cherie nodded.

“You’re a mouth to feed, Cherie. You’re getting older; you’re almost ten already. You’re eating more, costing me more, and taking up more space. You’re not an asset, but a liability. Do you know what that means?”

“No, Daddy.”

“That’s disappointing,” Daddy continued, sighing. “I didn’t want to have to give you this talk, but you’ve forced my hand.

“Are you part of the family, Cherie? Are you one of us? Your siblings have the excuse of being younger than you, but not you. You need to pull your weight. You need to show that you’re worth the cost of keeping you around.

“I wanted another doctor in addition to Nora here,” he waved his hand. “You remember the other lady doctor, don’t you? All you had to do was to convince her to follow you, back to me. That was your job. But you didn’t do that. Why?”

Cherie couldn’t respond.

“I asked you a question, Cherie. Why?” A jolt of fear and guilt ran through her.

“I didn’t know what to say,” Cherie confessed. “I didn’t know what words to use.”

“That’s right. You froze.” Daddy pinched his nose and sighed. “We were this close to being caught yesterday, because of you. The Guild almost caught up to us.

“You’re stupid, Cherie. You’re unreliable. You’re a failure. Jean-Paul – he managed to bring Nora to me. He’s younger than you. If I have him, why do I need you?

“You remember what happened to your Mommy, how she’s no longer your Mommy? Do you want that to happen to you? I could make you not my daughter. It’s not a right – it’s a privilege. I could strip away that privilege, and make you just another girl.” He inclined his head towards Nora.

“You remember when I told those men not to touch you, didn’t you? I did that because you’re my daughter, and I care about you. But if you’re not my daughter, if you’re not family , then I don’t have any reason to do that.

“So what will it be, Cherie?”

Cherie didn’t cry. She’d learned long ago that that never worked with Daddy, and was liable to enrage him. Despite the roiling turbulence within, she made sure to speak clearly and firmly.

“Please, Daddy. I promise I’ll try harder. Just… don’t throw me away. I don’t want to end up like Louise. I want to be a part of the family.”

“You’ve had so many chances already, Cherie. How many more do you need?”

“Just give me another chance. Please?” she tried not to whine. Whining made her sound like a brat. She had to be a grownup, not a snot-nosed kid who couldn’t do anything but cry.

“Just another pretty face. To think that I had high hopes for you, my eldest child.” His father sighed again. “I had hoped… I had hoped that some of my children might take after me.”

He sat up a little straighter, as if coming to some difficult conclusion. “I’m sorry, Cherie. You’ve had enough chances. From this point onwards, you’re no longer part of the family. You’ll stay with the rest of the women; you’re pretty enough for that. I’ll decide what to do with you later.”

Deep down, Cherie hadn’t really expected her father to abandon her like that. Her father’s declaration held a surreal quality that hadn’t yet expired. But the threat was deathly real. Her father never made idle threats.

She froze on the spot, her heart encased by fear, her body rigid with fright. She would be forgotten, discarded, thrown away just like Louise had been, left to rot in one of Daddy’s safehouses across Canada. She’d be alone, abandoned, tossed away like some old toy, left as a carcass that scavengers would pick away at to satiate their perverse appetites.

It was a fate worse than death. She’d never escape. She’d rather die.

If only she could convince Daddy that she was worth keeping, she thought feverishly. If only she could prove her worth. If only she knew what people wanted of her, and how to please them.

That was when she had triggered.

She couldn’t remember what she’d seen, when her mind was swimming in that vast, boundless void, but she knew it had been something special that only a handful of people would ever experience, and that the ineffability of the sight had imprinted something onto her mind.

When she came to, Daddy was rubbing his eyes. He was a little more disheveled than she remembered him being, but he bore a rare and somewhat peculiar expression of wonderment.

“Haven’t felt that in a while,” he murmured. “Cherie, do you know what just happened?”

Cherie discovered that she could hear music on the edge of her senses. It was fuzzy, but she could tell that Jean-Paul was sulking in the kitchen, drinking a carton of orange juice that hadn’t yet been claimed by anyone else, his mind a swirl of clear dissonant notes. The doctor by Daddy’s side was feeling a mixture of anxiety and relief, which blended into a sonic slurry that sounded a bit like the guitar songs she heard on the TV. She closed her eyes, and could sense the anticipation that oozed off her father, thumping like the bass from a subwoofer, as regular as the beat of a metronome.

“I got powers?”

“You did!” he crowed. “What can you do?”

“I can hear people. I know what they feel. It sounds like music.”

“What else can you do?”

“I think I can… I can make their music change.”

“Interesting,” he muttered. “Let’s test that out. Close your eyes. Tell me what I’m doing to Nora.”

She closed her eyes and focused on the doctor’s music.

A song like a string quartet, deep and tender, filled with harmonies, yet verging into somber and melancholic territory.

“Love?” she tried.

The song changed again, clanging percussion filled with drumbeats and so much screaming, to the pulse of a keening klaxon.

“Fear?”

Now the song was something in a minor key, a lilting, weeping melody played over desultory, languorous accompaniment.

“Sadness?”

“Very good, Cherie. Now, can you try to… how did you say it? Change the music?”

Instinctively, she reached towards Daddy and tried to twist the music in his head, to fill it with love, joy, and adoration.

Daddy retaliated by making her feel disgust so strong that she retched onto the coffee table, the contents of her breakfast and the beer landing splashing over the carpeted floor.

“I’ll forgive it this time. Don’t do that again, Cherie.”

She nodded, shivering.

“Wonderful,” Daddy said, leaning back on a cushion, and on his face there was a smile, eerily grotesque. Yet she knew that this was the most genuine smile he’d ever shown her. He wasn’t faking it: she could feel the music playing from his mind, a grand symphony of jubilation. He was overjoyed that his pet project had borne fruit.

“Welcome back to the family, Cherie,” he said, and Cherie hated herself for the spark of bliss that blossomed within her upon hearing his proclamation, her inner self salivating at the prospect of being welcomed back.

***

And now she was back in the present, sobbing and shivering and shuddering on the ground, a fish writhing on dry land. Her body felt like it had been wrung out like a dirty, frayed rag, her threads unraveling and coming to pieces.

Guillaume and the rest were still spread out around her in a loose arc. She could sense the Lears out cold – they must have been knocked unconscious while she’d been reliving her nightmares. Louise stood near the back of the group surrounding her, and Cherie reminded herself not to care.

“Fuck,” she panted. It had been a long time since she’d felt this terrible, but the worst of it seemed to be over. She tried to sharpen her attention, in the hopes of finding the right words to stave off her imminent abduction, but her focus was shot to shit. If there was a silver lining to all this, thin as it might be, it was that Nicholas had probably hit her with a particularly strong blast of his power. With any luck, he wouldn’t be able to use it again soon.

“Should have started with that,” Guillaume muttered. “Why did you have to make our lives difficult?”

Cherie made a sound between a gurgle and giggle. Fuck it, she thought. Any words would do, as long as they kept talking. “Jean-Paul did. Why not me?”

“Daddy’s planning to bring him back too, once we’re done with you.”

“That’s not happening,” she said. Delay and distract. “I’d rather die.”

“That’s enough. Theresa, Louise – carry her back to the car. We’re leaving.”

“Well,” she panted out, “you should know that I’ve called the Protectorate. They’ll be here soon.”

“Bullshit.” Guillaume laughed. “You-” He jerked back, and his eyes flashed with anger. “You’re not bluffing.”

“I have someone inside.” She chuckled, and pointed in the direction of the Lears’ attic. “He called the Protectorate as soon as I left the house.”

“We’ll just take you and drive away.”

“Try it,” she growled.

Theresa and Louise approached her. Cherie twisted their emotions, filling their minds with doubt and suspicion. Cherie tried to twist the devotion they felt towards her father towards herself instead, but it was difficult – their minds felt slippery and snapped back to their default modes whenever she wasn’t focusing.

“Attack my brothers,” Cherie called out, as Guillaume said, “Grab Cherie.”

The women stood transfixed, shuddering at the conflicting commands and at Cherie’s emotional manipulation.

“Nicholas?” Guillaume asked.

Nicholas shook his head, almost imperceptibly, and Cherie chuckled.

The balance of power had turned into a stalemate. Guillaume and Nicholas were resistant to Cherie’s power, and while they could beat her bloody, they weren’t strong enough to carry her back to the car themselves, as long as she resisted. The women provide the muscle, but Cherie could incapacitate them with her power, though not enough to actually turn them to her side. The only way to disable Cherie was Nicholas’s power, which he’d overused. Both sides couldn’t make progress.

“Nicholas’s power will come back, but not before the Protectorate arrive. And until it does, I’ll survive. Then we all lose.”

“ Tabarnak . Cherie. Just… come back. Daddy wants you back. He loves you.”

The insincerity of that made Cherie chuckle. “No, thank you. I’d rather die.”

“Damn it, Cherie.” Guillaume rubbed his forehead and sighed. “You’ll regret not coming with us.”

“The Protectorate’s close. Do you really want to get caught?”

“Damn it. Fine. This isn’t the end. We’ll find you again.”

“Glad to hear it,” she gasped. “Now, fuck off.”

***

Guillaume and Nicholas hauled ass, leaving a minute before the Protectorate team arrived.

They hadn’t realized who she was at first, or what she was capable of. They’d initially treated her as a victim of a parahuman attack – which was true, from a certain point of view – and consequently let their guard down. By the time they realized what she could do, it was too late: she had escaped their custody and left three bodies behind.

Cherie’s situation wasn’t ideal: now her appearance and powers were known, at least partially, to the Protectorate. But she had to admit that it could have been far worse.

Over the course of the next six months, Guillaume and Nicholas caught up to her another five times.

They kept finding her, despite her best efforts to lose them. Guillaume’s power was too good at surveillance. It was unfair, she thought, that his range was so damn huge. Every person she encountered could have Gulilaume lurking behind their eyes. All it took was for one person that Gulilaume had touched to see her, and her location would be revealed.

“Today marks the beginning of a new era for the town of Springvale, as Mayor Johnson officially opened the Museum of Wool and Yarn earlier today. This exciting new attraction is expected to increase tourist traffic…”

She’d found a new place to hide away in Ohio, in the buttfuck of nowhere. Hopefully she’d lose her brothers here, though she wasn’t optimistic. They always found her eventually.

She lazed on the couch and stared at the ugly anchor rattling off the evening news. Under her breath, she hummed the new Glissando single that had been stuck in her head all day.

She’d briefly considered the possibility of going off the grid; Guillaume would have difficulty finding her if he didn’t have anyone to spy through. If she went into the countryside and cut contact with people, they would lose her trail eventually.

She’d just as quickly dismissed the thought. That would have been conceding ignominious defeat. She wasn’t ready to give up on her ambitions just yet. Besides, the more isolated she was, the fewer people she would have to work with. Listening to the same minds over and over again – or worse, not having minds to listen to – would drive her crazy.

Idly, she wondered how Jean-Paul was doing. Better than her, probably. That fucker didn’t have Daddy chasing after him like a dog after a bone.

“In other news, the Slaughterhouse Nine has been seen to be approaching the vicinity of Dayton. They were last seen moving away from populated areas, but Dayton residents are advised to leave their places of residence if possible, for the time being.”

The newscaster’s announcement sent a wild, frenzied thought through her head.

She could join the Slaughterhouse Nine. It was dangerous. But it was also an opportunity.

They Slaughterhouse Nine were fucked up people, villains of the very first order, more like an unstoppable force of destruction than a ragtag band of powerful capes. They were spoken in the same breath as the Endbringers. They were the bogeymen of the cape community, the people who nobody dared to cross. Those who tried to cross them died.

Cherie had realized some time back that she wasn’t powerful on her own; without people to act as vectors for her power, she was useless. She needed other people, other tools, in order for her power to really be effective. The higher the quantity and quality of her tools, the more influence she wielded. And what tools – what capes – were stronger than the Slaughterhouse Nine?

What would Daddy’s face look like, she wondered, once he realized he was tangling with people scarier than he was?

She might very well die. But if she survived – she was sure that it was possible – she would escape her pursuers and finally make something of herself, instead of wasting her life playing keep-away from Daddy. She was sure she could turn them eventually – to her knowledge, none of the current roster of the Slaughterhouse were resistant to her emotion manipulation – and then she’d have the most dangerous group of capes in the world at her beck and call.

She grinned at the thought, wider than she had for months.

And, if she was being entirely frank, she was bored. She’d been stagnating, running on the same rat wheel, following the same grooves. She’d gotten into the habit of trying to set up a base of operations in a city before being run out by either the authorities or Guillaume and company.

How long would they repeat this pattern for? How long before it grew rote, routine, stagnant, and she was forced to abandon her dreams of actually accomplishing something with her life?

It reminded her uncomfortably of Daddy and his inability to grow beyond the patterns that he had set for himself.

She’d never truly grow if she didn’t challenge herself. Fuck it. She’d do it. It was a move that Daddy definitely wouldn’t expect. Fuck being predictable. Being predictable had gotten her nowhere.

***

Dayton used to be one of those quiet towns of a few thousand whose inhabitants lived silent, meaningless lives, far away from anything important. Those silent meaningless lives had become silent meaningless deaths now that the Slaughterhouse Nine had decided to visit.

She lounged on a deck chair in the veranda of some house close to the western edge of town, which she’d cleared of its previous occupants. The sun was setting, an orange orb setting in the distance, over fields of sedges swaying to the breeze.

Cherie felt an unexpected pang of heartache gazing at this beautiful sight, and was relieved to realize that she did have a heart, after all. She could appreciate beauty, and goodness, and warmth; despite all that she had suffered, she had retained her humanity. What else could explain the sense of serenity that encompassed her, gazing at the magnificent crepuscular vista?

Her ordeal was finally over. She had survived the many trials the Nine had thrown her way. She had survived two weeks of torture, sleepless days and nights filled to the brim with terror and terrible torture, as the other members of the Nine made her undergo a series of the most creatively cruel tests they could think of.

These tests had been designed to break her spirit. She’d had many close calls where she’d almost died, or almost given up and let death take her. But she’d persevered through it all, powered by that kernel of ambition that blazed within her. She would not allow the world to take her before she had had her say. She would not allow herself to fall into obscurity, having left no legacy of her own. And now, as a full-fledged member of the Nine, she was one of the few capes who had been granted the privilege and curse of being part of this band of villains.

She knew, at the very core of her being, that she would never forget the agony that she had experienced. She still struggled to contain a shudder at the thought of the tattoos that now defaced her body. Would she have undergone all this, had she known what was in store? She had to admit, probably not.

Nonetheless, she found herself strangely optimistic about the future. After all, she had clawed her way out of her nadir. It could only go uphill from here.

Bonesaw had installed her enhancements into Cherish earlier in the day, and despite her reservations towards the biotinker, she had to admit that it was reassuring to know that she now had protection from her greatest weaknesses. With these protections in place, she wouldn’t die from a stray bullet or a blow to the head.

She let her power unfurl itself over the entire town, which was small enough that her power extended over most of it, in addition to some of the road to the west. One the Slaughterhouse Nine had been confirmed to be in the area, traffic in the surrounding region had slowed to a crawl, and eventually evaporated. Dayton was now a ghost town; Cherie couldn’t sense any signs of human life within her range besides the rest of the Nine.

Jack ambled towards her, pulling up another lawn chair to sit on. She’d felt him approaching some time back, a unique blend of careful cockiness and curiosity. As soon as his eyes swept across her, Cherie made sure to dose him with a burst of joy, too subtle for him to notice.

“Jack. What are you doing?”

“I just wanted to check how the latest member of our little band was doing.” She could sense a measure of smugness and anticipation wafting off of him.

“That’s likely. What’s the actual reason?”

“You got me. I’ve got a rather important question for you, before we set off.” He chuckled. “Have you thought about your cape name? You can’t go by Cherie forever.”

Cherie had been mulling over it for a while. “Cherish.”

“I should have known. I don’t know w–”

“Wait.” Cherie interrupted. “Someone’s coming down the road.” Cherie sensed the burst of annoyance that flared within Jack quickly morph into curiosity.

She could tell who the traveler was, of course. Her mental presence was a familiar one. Cherie identified her long before her features became visible, as she plodded down the road at an even pace.

The traveler was a middle-aged woman with dark hair, a willowy frame, and hints of great beauty in her youth. She gave the impression of being worn by the vagaries of age and use, like a shirt which had been worn too many times.

“You know her,” Jack said, looking at her. It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah. She’s one of my father’s women.”

“But she’s not just that, is she? There’s something more.”

It was alarming how prescient Jack was. Could he really read people so well?

“Yeah. That woman – her name’s Louise – she was my mother.”

Jack grinned like a cat who had caught the canary. “Was? Do tell.”

Cherie found it unexpectedly easy to recount the incident from her youth. “My father made me renounce her as my mother, when I was six. I think it was because he didn’t want me getting attached to her, or vice versa.”

“My impression of your father has just gone up a notch; I wasn’t aware he was capable of that kind of creativity. I will have to remember that one.”

“Yeah, well, he wasn’t really creative where it counted.”

“I wholeheartedly agree. Still, this encounter has a hint of cunning to it, Cherish. Your father is trying to send a signal.”

“I know. Louise has been with every expedition he’s sent to bring me back. My father’s probably hoping that I have a soft spot for the woman who gave birth to me.”

“Interesting. I wonder what the purpose of this is. Surely your father must know that you are now beyond his grasp.”

Cherie wondered whether she ought to let the other members of the Nine know about this new development. But Jack made no motion to assemble the others, and Cherie decided to follow his lead. Besides, Louise was her problem. No need to involve the others in it, if they would even care.

Louise approached the two of them sprawled out on the deck chairs, legs akimbo. She then kneeled before the two of them, a servile supplicant seeking safety. Cherie smothered a grin at the bizarrely comical scene.

“I am a messenger. I bear a message from my master.”

“Well?” Jack asked. “What message?”

“He wishes for his daughter to return to him, safe and unharmed. He is willing to negotiate for her safe return.”

“Oh? And how would he negotiate?”

“He has resources to trade and favors he can call.”

“I wish to speak to him directly.”

“I have a phone with me. He will speak for himself.”

“Just a messenger, eh? Let’s negotiate, then.“ To Cherie, Jack said, “Will you allow me the pleasure of speaking to your father first?”

Cherie shrugged. “As long as I get to speak to him afterwards.”

“Excellent. Let’s begin the call, then.”

Louise stood up and retrieved a compact smartphone from her pocket, and dialed a number, blaring the ringtone on the speaker. Someone on the other end picked up almost immediately.

“Do I have the pleasure of speaking with Mr Vasil? Cherish’s father?”

“Who is this?”

“Jack Slash.”

Did Cherie imagine her father’s sharp intake of breath, or was that just a trick of her imagination? In any case, she wished that she could see her father’s face, just to see how upset he was.

“I wish to speak to my daughter. Is she safe and sound?”

“Glad to meet you at last, Heartbreaker. Your reputation precedes you.”

“I want to speak to my daughter . ”

“And you will. But before that, I would like to speak with you, man to man.”

Cherie definitely heard Daddy sigh, over the line.

“Nothing to say? Well, from one man to another – from one head of a family to another – I wish to let you know what a colossal disappointment you are. On a personal level, I have been disappointed in you for many years. Your powers lend themselves to such great diversity of expression, but you choose to squander your talents on meaningless pursuits. It hurts the artist within me; it really does.”

“Get on with it.” Daddy’s voice was curt, impatience barely held at bay.

“Like me, Cherish is an artist at heart. The world is her canvas, and her talents fill it with color. Some of these paintings may be garish, gauche, grotesque - but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that drive to improve, to excel, to surpass at our craft. What matters is the common aim we share - we aim to perfect our art, and leave behind an oeuvre that persists beyond our end.“

“Where is my daughter?”

“You are kind of a bore, Jack,” Cherie said. “I want to speak with my father.”

Jack winked back at her. “It’s not every day that I have a captive audience in a supervillain of such notoriety. Let me indulge myself, please.”

He turned back to the phone. “Heartbreaker. Your daughter explained why she ran away from you. It was because your values were antithetical to hers. Your example was anathema to the woman she had become.

“I won’t call myself her father. I couldn’t possibly stand in your shoes. But her mentor? I can fill that role far better than you ever could. With us, she is liberated. She is now free from the arbitrary constraints of society, from the strictures of family, from the structure you impose on your children, against their will. And she is a better person for it.

“And now,” he turned with a slight flourish, “Cherish, anything you would like to say?”

Cherie smiled and snatched the phone from Louise’s hands, a little clumsily given her missing fingers. “Hi, Daddy,” she said. “Didn’t expect me here, did you?”

“Cherie.” Her father’s voice was almost a whisper, and more tender than Cherie had ever heard it be. “Ma fille. Come back. I can protect you.”

“I’m perfectly fine where I am, Daddy.”

“You won’t survive. People around him don’t last for long.”

“I have survived, Daddy. I’m doing well. Far better.”

Daddy’s sigh came loud and clear over the line. “He’s dangerous , Cherie. Run if you can. Stay far away from him.“

“I’m dangerous too, Daddy. And I’m never going back.”

“Cherie-”

She mimed a yawn. “I’m done talking to my father.” She tossed the phone back to Jack.

“Well, you’ve heard your daughter, Heartbreaker. Even if I were willing to return your daughter, she has no intention of returning to you, no matter what you have to offer. It would be cruel, even for me, to deny her wishes. In any case, I wish to congratulate you. You’ve raised an interesting family. I would love to meet the rest of Cherish’s siblings one day, and perhaps you, if our paths ever do cross.”

The line went dead.

“Ah well. He was boring anyway.”

The sun had gone down below the horizon over the course of their conversation, adding a tranquil quality to the whole encounter. Cherie could still feel the other members of the Nine engaged in their own activities all over town.

Louise still stood in front of the two of them. She didn’t shiver, or show any visible signs of fear. But as much as Louise’s compulsion towards her father remained strong, Cherie could still sense the dread that oozed from her, rumbling tremors of trepidation over her fate.

“Cherish. As our newly inducted member, you have the honor of deciding what to do with your first captive.”

“Any rules?”

“None. You’ve just faced a grueling gauntlet; the rules, at least for the time being, are over. I don’t want to hinder your creativity. Though I would like to request you leave something for Bonesaw afterwards. She always needs materials for her projects.”

“Anything at all?”

“Anything. No judgment, no comment.”

Cherie turned to Louise, aware of Jack’s presence in the background, an expectant bystander. “Do you know who I am?” she asked. “Do you remember?”

“I remember,” Louise replied. “You were my daughter.”

“What do you think of me now?”

“You’re a monster,” Louise whispered, a flicker of disgust crossing her face and mind. “I’m ashamed that I had a daughter like you.” Her voice quavered, reedy and thin, and Cherie felt an unfamiliar pang of grief. Had she really always been so feeble, so meek?

Cherie deliberated on the options available. She could kill her, right now. She could ask Jack to give Louise a quick death, a clean cut across the throat. She could pass her over to Bonesaw, and she’d never have to worry about Louise again. She could even let her go. Louise would go back to her father and be sent to run errands until her usefulness truly ran out.

She was keenly aware of Jack watching from the sidelines. He would be expecting something artistic from her. There was no room for squeamishness in this band of killers, no room for sentiment, for softness, if she were to climb her way to the top.

“Any last words?” Cherie asked.

“Pl-”

Cherish struck her, fists clenched like wrecking balls, each strike channeled by years of repressed fury and frustration. She felt the crunch of Louise’s face beneath her knuckles, the shock of impact transferring up her arm and into her elbow, the blood that began running from her broken nose.

Punching something, anything, wasn’t as easy as the movies made it out to be. You had to hold your fists in a certain posture in order to not hurt them or your arms. You had to twist your body with the blow in order to deliver it at full force. Cherish was not a man, and didn’t have the natural strength to be able to knock Louise out with a single blow. She barely exercised, and had never trained on how to fight, or to increase her strength. Bonesaw’s enhancements made her body far more durable to damage, but her natural strength was still limited.

Yet Louise didn’t offer anything more than token resistance, only shying away from the blows themselves. She didn’t shield her face with her arms, or run away, or cry out in pain. She remained rooted to the spot, taking her punishment like a doll, a mannequin who had forgotten that she had used to be human.

A few minutes of this treatment saw Louise collapse onto the ground like a ragdoll whose strings were cut. Her face was beaten bloody, and Cherish could sense that she was now unconscious.

“That felt good.”

“May I ask why?”

“My power wouldn’t work well. She’s mostly immune to it by now.”

“But why your fists?”

“That night where my father made us renounce each other, he beat her with his fists, too. I guess I’ve always wanted to know how that felt.”

Jack laughed, and Cherish made sure to intensify the positive emotion he felt, just a little.

“You are a woman of hidden depths, Cherish. I am glad that you joined us.”

The two of them stood before Louise’s bloody form, watching the blood dry on her deformed face.

“I’ll let Bonesaw know she has new toys to play with. You don’t object, do you?”

“Go ahead.”

Jack turned around and sauntered off, whistling a jaunty tune that was probably a nursery rhyme of some sort. Creepy fucker.

Jack was a hack, an ant with a weak power who had managed to claw his way to the top by dint of his uncanny luck. He seemed to actually buy into his own delusions of grandeur, and had convinced others to buy into them as well. But Cherish knew better. Once she took over the Nine, she’d dispose of him. He was useful, for the time being, but her dream team did not have room for a melodramatic anarchist who believed himself the only person who had deciphered the fundamental truth about humanity.

She’d be slow and methodical about it. She’d drip-feed them all small doses of dopamine whenever they were in her presence. She’d gotten enough practice over the last few months while on the run in creating dependencies in others, and discovered that though people’s resistances were different, everyone succumbed eventually. Soon, very soon, she would have the Nine eating out of the palm of her hand.

And when that happened? She’d be on top.