“I told you not to call me that,” said Firecracker mildly, as the glass rolled down to reveal the side of her face. “How’d you know I was listening in?”
“Santa Claus is a master of espionage,” said Jackie. “He sees you while you’re sleeping, remember? Now answer the question.”
“I can’t. I’m not the one you’re going to be discussing your case with.” Firecracker turned smoothly onto The Super Patriots, Inc.’s private drive. Screaming fans lined the street on either side, held back by velvet ropes and robot guards. Most of them were teenagers, Velveteen noted queasily. Some were wearing homemade costumes. Many were holding signs that said things like “WELCOME HOME SPARKLE BRITE” and “AD + ME-ME-ME!!! 4-EVA.”
“They can’t even spell her name right, but I bet they’re real good at screaming it,” said Firecracker, a note of bitterness creeping into her voice. The gates swung open at their approach, and they drove onward, entering the perfectly manicured grounds. The looming shape of Headquarters was like a corporate brand against the skyline, designed to be iconic from every angle. Velveteen’s queasiness turned into flat-out nausea.
“If it’s not you, who is it?” asked Jackie.
Firecracker laughed. “I told you. You’re meeting with the boss.”
They had reached the head of the driveway. Firecracker brought the van to a stop, and the rear doors swung open automatically, revealing the two superhumans who were standing there, patiently waiting for their guests. He wore orange and blue, heroic as always, the golden boy that every mother adored and every father dreamed of raising. She wore white with rainbow accents, virginal and wild at the same time. His smile looked natural. Hers looked like it barely concealed her rage.
“We’re so glad you could come,” said Action Dude, putting an arm around Sparkle Bright’s waist. “Aren’t we, dear?”
Sparkle Bright didn’t say a word. She just glared.
Sparkle Bright and Action Dude didn’t stay to escort them into the building. Tag privately thought that was for the best, since Velveteen looked like she was torn between despondence and fury, while Victory Anna looked like she was going to start killing people. Jackie and the Princess just looked grim. That was probably a good thing. He and Vel both had history with The Super Patriots, Inc., and Victory Anna was dealing with a broken heart. If they didn’t have at least a few neutral parties, this was going to get ugly, fast.
Firecracker led them up the stairs to the main doors. Tag allowed himself to rubberneck shamelessly, even going so far as to turn to Velveteen and comment, “I never got to see the West Coast headquarters. The one time my team came out here, we were doing one of those stupid holiday specials. We never even got the public tour.”
“Maybe if you hadn’t decided to be an idiot, you’d be living here now,” said Firecracker smugly. “State-of-the-art everything.”
“I’ll take my apartment, thanks,” said Tag. “At least it doesn’t come with a leash and collar.”
Firecracker glared, sparks crackling in the air around her. Then she turned her back on him with a huff and opened the doors, leading them into the grand foyer. It was a huge room, large enough to be considered part of a museum. Ten-foot statues of the current members of The Super Patriots, Inc. ringed the room, caught in perfect, heroic poses and preserved eternally in marble. All of them had their unseeing eyes turned toward the triptych of the Big Three that stood in the very center of the foyer, Majesty, Supermodel, and Jolly Roger frozen forever as they were before the final fall.
“Statues with an animus on the property,” said Jackie, studying her nails in a careful display of boredom. “Gosh, this is going to be a long and entertaining fight. Oh, wait. That was sarcasm.”
“I know what sarcasm is,” snapped Firecracker.
“And yet you don’t seem to know that your costume is unflattering for your hair color, skin tone, and body type,” said Jackie. “So you’ll forgive me if I assume you’ve missed certain other nuances that would be obvious to the rest of us.”
“Stop it, Jackie, okay?” Velveteen sounded more than just weary: she sounded beat-down, like there was nothing left for her to give. “We don’t need the full tour, Firecracker. I used to live here. Jackie’s been here as my guest. Can we just skip to the part where we talk to Human Resources and you let us leave?”
“You will be letting us leave,” added the Princess, in a sugary drawl. “Believe me, sweetie, you don’t want to deal with the lawyers I have on my side. We’re all properly licensed and allowed to be here, and we’ve made no aggressive moves of any sort. Sarcasm isn’t illegal yet, even when it’s coming from the future incarnation of the living Winter. So don’t go getting any ideas about trying to keep us here in that pretty little head of yours. You’ll just hurt yourself.”
“Oh, trust me,” said Firecracker. “I don’t want to keep you. You guys are poorly designed, even more poorly branded, your team balance makes no sense, you’re like, a taco stand—”
“What the fuck’s a taco stand?” asked Jackie.
“It’s the opposite of a sausage fest, hello. How are you supposed to appeal to the eighteen-and-under demographic if you focus on a single gender? Did you flunk your Superhero Marketing class or something?”
“No,” said Velveteen and Tag, in unison.
“I never took one,” said Jackie.
“What the bloody fuck are you on about?” asked Victory Anna.
That seemed to conclude the conversation. The Princess just shook her head, looking faintly disappointed. Firecracker rolled her eyes and led them out of the foyer and down a corridor to a much less showy hallway. This was the more corporate part of the building, where primary colors and photo opportunities gave way to spreadsheets and quotas. She walked on until they came to a plain wooden door.
“Here you go,” she said. “If I were you, I would have taken the tour.”
“If you were me, you would have run for your life years ago,” said Velveteen, putting her hand on the doorknob. “Thank you for the escort.”
Firecracker hesitated. Then, almost grudgingly, she said, “Good luck,” before turning and fleeing back the way they had come.
“I can’t believe I used to have a thing for her,” said Tag, shaking his head.
“Your taste has improved since then,” said Velveteen, and opened the door.
It was no real surprise to any of them when the conference room contained the current lineup of The Super Patriots, West Coast Division, minus Firecracker, who was only a provisional member after all. Sparkle Bright and Action Dude sat at the head of the table, flanked by virtually identical representatives from Legal and Market - ing. Mechamation and Imagineer sat on one side of the table; Jack O’Lope and Uncertainty sat on the other.
“Welcome,” said one of the interchangeable representatives. He stood, gesturing toward the open chairs. “I’m Jonathan Smith. I’m here to represent The Super Patriots, Inc.’s Legal Department in this discussion. My colleague, Sam Jones, is here to represent the Human Resources Department. We realize this is somewhat irregular, but hope that you can understand that going to court would not be in any of our best interests. We had the sincere hope that by meeting and discussing our differences today, we can bring this unfortunate misunderstanding to a satisfactory conclusion for everyone involved.”
“This is stupid,” muttered Sparkle Bright, directing a venomous glare across the table at Velveteen. “There’s no misunderstanding. I was stressed out from planning the wedding, I had a minor nervous breakdown, okay? I’m not proud of it, but does the bunny-bitch really have to turn into a federal case? I ran away from home. I thought you of all people would understand what that feels like.”
“I’m sorry, are you talking to me?” asked Velveteen. “My name isn’t ‘Bunny Bitch.’ Although it’s got a nice ring to it.”
“While you are doubtless overdue for a rebranding, I believe we should stay on message here,” said Sam Jones from Marketing. “Sparkle Bright was understandably ove
rwhelmed by her duties here, as a member of one of the world’s premiere super teams, and suffered a temporary lapse of reason. This lapse, while tragic, was completely understandable. Now that she’s home with the people who love her, she’ll be able to receive the help she needs.”
“Uh-huh,” drawled the Princess. “All that sounds real good, and you’re right, it would be a shame to drag someone who’d suffered that kind of breakdown through a court battle, but I’ve got just one little question, if you’d be so kind?”
“Yes?” said Mr. Jones.
“If she was just having a little…let’s call it a crisis of faith, shall we? It seems like the least accusatory way to keep talking about things. So if she was just having a little crisis of faith, how is it she was able to fool Santa Claus? The big man doesn’t look kindly on liars, especially not ones who exploit the affections of the people who care about them.” The Princess cocked her head, studying Mr. Jones. “Seems to me he’d have noticed that something was up.”
“While the opinions of Mr. Claus may be of great value to small children around the world, they do not have any legal weight in the state of California,” said Mr. Smith. “Furthermore, as the only currently active superhuman originating from the North Pole is a member of your little, ah, ‘team,’ I must object to the idea that he is somehow an unimpeachable authority. It’s clear that allowing Sparkle Bright to be exploited would be in the best interests of one Miss Jacqueline Frost, making it even less likely that Mr. Claus would be considered an expert witness in this case.”
“We weren’t exploiting her,” said Velveteen.
“You were parading me around as part of your freak show,” snapped Sparkle Bright, lunging halfway out of her chair, face contorted with rage. “You’ve always been jealous of me, and when you saw the opportunity to bring me down to your level, you just couldn’t resist, could you? You little bitch. I should have killed you in that locker room! Do you hear me? I should have killed you!”
“Mind-control is a delicate thing, isn’t it?” said Jackie. She sounded almost bored. Only the frost that was slowly spreading over her chair and the floor around her feet betrayed how angry she really was. “There’s a reason Santa doesn’t make all the children in the world nice. You can change a lot of things. But deep down, the essence of what makes you who you are will always hold on, and will always fight. So you get, for example, irrational amounts of anger from someone who escaped their golden cage, only to find themselves hauled back in against their will. I don’t like Stripy the Rainbow Clown much. I think she’s a pampered show poodle who pretends to be a pit bull. Even poodles can bite. I wouldn’t want to be sitting where you are when she finally snaps her lead.”
“You little—”
Action Dude’s hands clamped down on Sparkle Bright’s shoulders before she could launch herself out of her chair at Jackie. Grayscale sparks popped and danced in the air around her. “This isn’t getting us anywhere,” he said, with a glance at Mr. Smith from Legal. “Can we please get on with this?”
“I think you may have the right idea.” Mr. Smith bent to produce a briefcase from under the table. He placed it in front of himself, opened it, and withdrew a stack of manila folders. “The Super Patriots, Inc. is grateful to you for your service in taking care of one of our wayward heroines in her hour of need. We understand your desire for reparations, and so we are prepared to offer you this quite generous settlement, in exchange for walking away, and never contacting Sparkle Bright again.” He began passing the folders down the table.
Victory Anna received her folder, opened it, and calmly studied the paper inside. Then, for the first time since entering the conference room, she spoke. “It seems a fair blood price,” she said. “Were we giving her over to be sacrificed at the Church of Demeter for the spring mysteries, I would be quite pleased with this as a payment. Given the circumstances, however, I believe you have woefully undervalued one of the brightest stars in the firmament, and should be ashamed of yourselves. You should be ashamed of your parents as well. They clearly did not provide you with the proper guidance.”
“I’m with the time-slipped Victorian girl, which is one of those sentences I never thought I was going to have a reason to say,” said Jackie. “You want to buy our girl? You’re going to need a lot more zeroes and also a huge side order of fuck you, you assholes, we are not for sale.”
“Bless your little hearts, you really tried this time, didn’t you?” said the Princess sweetly.
“No,” said Tag.
All eyes turned toward Velveteen. She stood, tossing the folder back down the table toward the man from Legal. “You people think you can get away with anything, don’t you? Steal our childhoods. Steal our thoughts. Steal our futures. Fuck. That. I’m not taking your deal, and I’m not letting you turn us against each other again. I promised Sparkle Bright that I would be her friend forever. I meant every word.”
“That’s adorable, but friendship carries no legal weight in the state of California.” Mr. Smith stood, all genial pleasantries forgotten as he walked around the table toward Velveteen. “You think we brought you here because we’re afraid of going to court. You’re wrong. We brought you here because we’d rather avoid a scandal, and because we’d rather avoid tightening the legislation again. Do you honestly think any judge is going to find in favor of allowing a group of weapons of mass destruction to run around without oversight? It will be a bloodbath if you face us in court. Five poorly-trained, impulsedriven superhumans against the weight of this corporation? We will crush you. We will destroy everything you have ever loved. And when the dust clears, we will still have what is ours.”
Velveteen’s eyes widened. “You made them attend this meeting because you wanted them to know that they couldn’t run away from you.” She looked toward the gathered members of The Super Patriots. “Don’t you understand? You’re not free. You’re slaves.”
“Everyone’s a slave to something,” said Imagineer. “At least we’re slaves with medical benefits.”
Mr. Smith smirked. “You can’t win. All you can do is choose not to play against us.”
“This isn’t over,” said Velveteen.
“I think you’ll find that it is.” Mr. Smith stepped closer. “Do not test me, little girl. I’ve read all your files. I know what you’re capable of doing. And I am not afraid of you.”
“Maybe you should be.” Velveteen raised her chin, meeting his eyes. He wasn’t afraid of her? Oh, he was going to change that tune. The foyer was full of statues. She reached out, trying to call them to her…
…and found nothing. It was like she had hit a wall. Exhaustion washed over her, and she flinched, her eyes flickering away from Mr. Smith’s for just an instant.
He smirked, clearly reading her motion as a break in her resolve. “As I said. We are willing to go to court with you. But you won’t like what happens if we do.”
“Someone won’t like what’s coming,” said Velveteen, gathering the last of her strength. “Come on, everyone. We’re leaving.” She turned and stalked for the door. Her team—her friends, her family—rose and followed her. No one stopped them as they left.
Once the door was closed, Mr. Smith turned to Uncertainty, and asked, “Well?”
“There is a ninety-four percent chance that any attempts they make at interfering with the current course of action selected by The Super Patriots, Inc. will fail,” said Uncertainty.
Mr. Smith smiled. “Excellent.”
“That means there is a six percent chance that they will succeed,” continued Uncertainty. He looked up at Mr. Smith, and added calmly, “Sometimes six percent is enough.”
Firecracker was waiting in the foyer. “Well?” she asked, as Velveteen and company stepped back into view. “Where to?”
“The airport,” said Velveteen. “We’re going home.”
“I’m glad you saw reason,” said Firecracker, smiling.
Tag moved to walk beside Vel as they followed the fire-manipulator back to the
van. “Are you all right?” he asked.
“No,” she said, in a very small voice. “I think there’s something wrong with me. Take me home?”
“Sure, Vel.” He put an arm around her waist, surreptitiously keeping her on her feet. “Let’s go home. We’ll figure this out.”
“We have to get her back.” Velveteen put her head against his shoulder, allowing him to all but carry her. “If we can’t do it in the court, we’ll have to find another way, but we have to get her back.”
“We will,” said Tag. “It’s all going to be okay. You’ll see.”
Behind them, Jackie and the Princess exchanged a look, but said nothing.
They were going home.
VELVETEEN
Presents
Jackie Frost vs. Four Conversations and a Funeral
THE SURFACE OF THE MIRROR was cold enough that Jackie actually felt it, a short, sharp burst of almost painful chill before she emerged into the warm, peppermint-scented snow of the North Pole. It started snowing almost immediately, fat, angry flakes that materialized from nowhere to follow her as she trudged through the drifts toward the village. Shouts of puzzled dismay came from the direction of the skating pond and the Christmas Tree Forest as the elves, who were surprisingly wimpy about a little cold weather, reacted to the snow. Santa’s snow was many things, but it was never cold.
Jackie, for all that she tried to be good, tried to stay on the Nice List, was not one of Santa’s creatures. She was the daughter of Jack Frost and the Snow Queen, and she belonged to the cold. In moments like this one, when everything inside her felt frozen, there was just too much cold to be contained. She walked quickly, trying to make it home before she caused a full-on blizzard.
She almost made it.
“Mom?” Jackie stepped cautiously onto the icy floor of the library, relieved to find that it was willing to support her weight. Her mother was a creature of ice and snow; she could walk on the thinnest ribbon of frost and never worry about falling. Her father was a heavier creature, flesh and blood and bone, and Jackie took after him. But Jack Frost could fly. Jackie just had to hope that gravity would be kind.