Things are quiet, a little cold even on the elevator ride down to the car.
“How’s your investigation on the ooze going?” Clayton asks politely. When we were together, he would gently discourage it, but since the breakup he seems to have come around on it. Maybe we would have stayed together longer if he’d been more supportive during the relationship, but now it’s not enough to make me reconsider.
“Delayed,” I sigh. “I swear, every time I get closer to figuring out where the source is, I get kidnapped again.”
Before I can tell him I met one of Maestro’s henchmen and actually talked to him, he laughs. “It’s a conspiracy.”
“And it goes all the way to the top!” I can’t help but smile as I wiggle my eyebrows at him.
He laughs and bumps my shoulder with his. I watch his smile fade a little as we fall into silence, feeling the echo of our old inside joke. I clear my throat and put a couple inches of space between us.
There’s a planter full of daffodils in front of the Steel Building. It’s just a little too early for them to be blooming. They’re already looking sickly, shocked by the dusting of snow, the puddle of ice that fills the planter. The stems weaken at the base, letting the yellow heads of the flowers lean face first into the ice, staring into their reflection.
The ride is quiet; Clayton is playing one of those over-saturated app games while receiving texts from his lawyer. I glance away. He’s said that because I am technically a member of the press, he didn’t want to put me in an awkward position by telling me details from his company’s ongoing environmental trial.
City traffic means the ride takes just about as long as it would have to walk there, but by the time we arrive, I’m ready to turn the car around and go home. Clayton puts his hand over mine when the driver gets out of the car, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
“Remember, don’t say anything about us, yet,” Clayton murmurs as the car door opens, and we step out.
The museum is brightly lit against the evening, and the sound of chatter from the shifting mass of gorgeously dressed guests greets us at the door. I think every business owner orinfluential figure in the city is probably here. Clayton takes my arm, keeping me close to his side as people call out his name, cameras flash blindingly just as press and his fans alike surge toward us, only kept at bay by the event’s security.
I’ve been to a number of events like this ever since we started dating. The smiling and greeting comes naturally now, and I can remember most of the important people’s names that approach us to thank Clayton for protecting the city.
Except, this time it’s not endless thanks. People look to him and instead of starting with the usual pleasantries, they jump to more difficult topics.
“Mr. Steel, what do you intend to do about the emergence of this new vigilante?”
“Is he a new superhero? Are you going to partner up with him?”
The current mayor hasn’t done much about the mutant crisis, or the ooze that’s been creeping up around town, and people have clearly been getting tired of the lack of answers. We’re halfway through the doors when I realize just as many questions are being directed at me.
“Ms. Vigil, what can you tell us about the new superhero? Did he say anything to you?”
“Does Channel 6 have exclusive interview rights on what happened?”
“Lacey! Look over here, Miss Damsel!”
Clayton glares at the photographer who shouted at me and protectively tugs me closer to his side. My hand tightens around Clayton’s arm, and I’m doing my best not to react to the sudden onslaught of questions. For all the time I’ve been on camera, I’veat least always had a script to read off. I don’t have any answers for them.
Clayton stops in the doorway, faces the crowd, and thankfully shifts the topic in conversation. He’s never been one to catastrophize.
“I don’t believe in acting prematurely, especially on so little information. I know the mutant variant has everyone all excited, but we should focus on what we do know, and what we can control,” he says in that calm, but firm voice. I can see the way his tone and overall commanding presence relaxes them.
I flash Steel a brief, grateful smile as he turns and leads me into the museum. A few of the guests tonight still gather around us.
“Besides, I can’t remember the last time we had so many members of the zoning board in the same place; we ought to have someone take minutes down,” he says affably, and a few of the guests laugh politely at that. Clayton returns my smile and says to me, “Sweetie, won’t you grab us some drinks? I wouldn’t want to bore you with shop talk.”
This too, is a familiar beat at these events.
I nod and release his arm to take a loop around the room, looking for wherever the bar is. The gala is all abuzz with talk about the “vigilante.” It’s all but inescapable.
“The number of mutant attacks have gone down, sure. But I don’t think we can attribute that to the new mutant or even speculate if there really is a new mutant. We don’t know that this isn’t just a kid in a costume.”
“We have to consider that Goethal has a new vigilante on its hands.”
“There isn’t enough known to confirm that.”
“Lacey!” Laura Beckingham calls out, nearly colliding with me as I squeeze through the crowd towards. The tall, Asian woman is hard to miss when she’s standing. She pulls me in for a quick hug and whispers in my ear, “Is it true you’re breaking up with Steel?”
