The Sunshine Boy and the Weaver King

Chapter Nine

Thirteen missed calls. Ten from Ryan. Three from Jeremiah Burke. The last one was completely unexpected and also, for some reason, completely annoying. So Anthony called Ryan back first. 

His friend picked up on the first ring and spoke before Anthony could get out a 'hello.' "Tones. Are you okay? Where did you go last night?"

"I..." Anthony glanced around the room. No Maddox. He fought past the disappointed twist in his gut and said, "I'm okay. Hungover. I'm in my dorm room."

"Ah, thank God. You scared me, man. I asked a bunch of people if they'd seen you leave, and they all said no."

Well, that was normal for Anthony, but for Ryan it'd be terrifying, of course. His stomach growled. 

"Hey, um," Anthony said, slowly standing up and moving towards his mini-fridge, "did you have fun last night? With that girl?"

Breakfast burritos. Milk. Half a leftover sandwhich from Subway. A fruit cup that was probably expired. He really needed to go shopping.

Ryan hadn't answered yet. Anthony realized there'd probably been a lot more than one girl and he was trying to remember which one he would've seen. 

"Yeah, yeah, it was tons of fun," Ryan said, clearly not remembering and deciding to wing it. "She was, um, great." He laughed. "They all were."

Anthony resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "You're terrible."

"Yes," Ryan agreed, "but you knew that already. You have class today?"

Anthony thought about that for a moment. "It's Sunday."

A pause. "Oh, shit. I woke up early thinking I had class at ten. Uugh. Fuck me. Anyways. Got any plans today?"

No, he almost replied. Instead, "Yeah. Gonna go grocery shopping." 

And talk to Jeremiah Burke. And possibly meet the other half of his dream crime fighting duo. God, his life was a mess.

"Oh, okay," Ryan said. "I should probably do that too at some point. I'm getting pizza for supper tonight, though. You coming over?"

"Sure," Anthony replied. He didn't even know why Ryan asked anymore. They'd done the whole pizza and video games on Sunday night thing for months now. Fortnite was Ryan's new obsession, and so it became Anthony's. They would play for hours, a stack of pizza boxes and breadsticks piled up next to them. It was incredibly unhealthy, but by far the best part of Anthony's week, because video games were one of the few things he was better at than Ryan. 

"Great," Ryan said. "See you then, bro."

Call ended.

Anthony let his arm fall back to his side and tipped his head back, sighing. Without meaning to, his thoughts slid back to his roommate.

He could remember his arm being sloppily flung over Maddox's shoulders, the jokes he'd tried to crack, and the disgusted look on Maddox's face, which hadn't hurt nearly as much as before because Anthony knew if Maddox didn't like being with him, he'd leave. So he'd wanted to walk back to the dorm with him. He'd wanted Anthony to crack bad jokes and put his arm around his shoulder.

He smacked his hand against his forehead. Nope. No.

He had Ryan. He had this one great friend that put up with his mumbling and fumbling. He didn't need more, and he certainly didn't need to be expecting or wanting anything from Maddox, of all people.

He grabbed his backpack and left for Jeremiah's house. 

Walking up the steps, he couldn't fight the crawling sensation on his back. He knew he was being watched-- four cameras on the front of the house and two by the gate-- but this was something different. His grip tightened on his backpack straps as he stopped in front of the door. It took him a couple moments to realize he'd never called or texted to say he was coming, but before he could change his mind and leave, the door opened and he was ushered inside.

Jeremiah was halfway into some lengthy story about his week when Anthony asked, "What aren't you telling me?"

Jeremiah paused, thick eyebrows lifting. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Anthony replied, his voice low and smooth, "I'm not an idiot. I know you're up to something. What is it."

Someone cleared their throat, and Anthony noticed the wry smile starting on Jeremiah's lips just before he swung and faced the speaker.

It was a girl. She was wearing ripped, high waisted mom jeans and old Converse. Her aviators were low on the bridge of her nose, hair and neck hidden by a rosy pink hijab. She was smirking.

Anthony felt his pulse start to speed up. "Are you the other one?" he asked, trying to sound bored.

She dropped her chin in a nod. "Mia. And I was just going to let you know that he wasn't doing anything. I was."

"Am I supposed to be impressed?"

She shrugged a shoulder. "Was hoping for intrigued, at least. Jerry told me this big story about you blasting a hole in the wall with nothing but sunlight, so I thought I'd better so something cool, too."

Anthony frowned. Creepy sensations that most would say came from overactive imaginations didn't really register as cool.

"Watch this," she said. With a wide grin, she stepped forward.

And disappeared.

That little tingling sensation at the back of his neck started up again.

"You can disappear," he said slowly. Invisibility was definitely useful, but if the sensation was a dead giveaway that she was gone, it wasn't going to be of much help against the Weaver. He was known for never letting anyone get close enough to touch. 

And then he noticed his shadow moving on the ground. It wavered. Grew. And his mirror-self crawled up from the ground, staring up at him with mirror-brown eyes. 

"Cloning," he guessed. 

Mia shook her head. Well. Mia shook Anthony's head. "No." She-- He-- grinned. "Stealing."

Anthony looked down to realize his own shadow was gone, and his mirror-self didn't have one, either. Pulse hammering more than a little loudly, he went over what this could mean. She could steal the Weaver's shadow. "Can you take the person's powers?" he asked. That would be useful. 

"I can do weak imitations." She gestured her hand and a wave of light cut through the air where her fingertips moved. "None of the really flashy stuff."

"She's going to be doing a lot of the diversions," Jeremiah cut in. "You'll be the tank." His heavy hand smacked onto Anthony's shoulder. "The training room is all yours, except for when she experiments with what she can do as, well... you."

"You won't make a good spy if someone can sense when you're spying on them," Anthony said plainly. 

Jeremiah pressed his lips together, glancing back at Mia.

She shook her head and morphed back into herself. Anthony saw that her smile had faded and been replaced by a pensive look. "You're not the only one who needs practice."

Jeremiah clapped his hands loudly, and both Mia and Anthony turned their heads to look at him. 

"There are only two rules here, folks," he said, smiling wryly. "Rule number one--"

"You do not talk about Fight Club," Mia said. 

Jeremiah cut an amused glance her way. "Not quite. Rule number one, you don't fight each other. Ever. Rule number two--"

"YOU DO NOT TALK ABOUT FIGHT CLUB," Mia said, with more vigor. 

"You don't ask personal questions," Jeremiah smiled wryly. "None of us are here to get to know each other. You're here because I got shit on you, and neither of you like that or are going to like it any more than you do right now. If someone says 'back off,' you back off."

Easy enough. 

"That's literally it?" Mia asked. "We just don't fight each other and don't ask personal questions?"

"The rest is logic," Jeremiah replied. 

"Ah." She snapped her fingers and flicked a sideways smirk at Anthony. "Do not talk about Fight Club."