The Devil’s Prada
Though I’d hit something of a dead end with Teklin unless Dolly managed to pull something from that holographic transmitter, that didn’t mean I could take a break. I still had Psyren’s big premier to tend to, and part of that was the costume.
“There’s nothing wrong with your current look,” I assured her as we drove downtown, weaving through traffic. I switched lanes to make a detour when I heard over the radio the Spangled Star was fighting the Red Menace near Banker’s Street. “We just need a bit more… oomph.”
“What? You think I don’t pack enough oomph like this?” she said, giving her breasts a teasing bounce.
I tried not to stare, given that I was driving, but it was damn distracting. “Er, not as such. I think it looks good. But your costume right now is more ‘evil 80’s multiethnic street gang’. What we want is something more ‘villainess’. And more than anything, you need a mask.”
“What? And hide these looks from the world? Oh boss! Don’t tell me you’re keeping me all to yourself,” she giggled. “I think Abba did a whole song about that.”
“That’s not what I meant,” I said. But we still had a bit of driving to do, so I figured I’d explain myself a bit more. “Listen. Professional villainy has rules. And rule number one is always wear a mask.”
“Because of the acid burns?”
“Not as often as you’d think, but still pretty common,” I admitted. “No. It’s for the secret identity.”
“Really?” Psyren said with a laugh. “A piece of fabric is supposed to keep people from figuring out who I am?”
“Honestly? No,” I said.
“What?” she said, sitting up a little with a perplexed frown. “But, you said…”
“Listen,” I said. “The fact is, no one cares who we are.”
“Shouldn’t they?”
“Nope,” I said, unable to quite keep the smile away. “See, you’d think so, but who am I? I’m nobody.”
“What? No you’re not! You’re Victor, boss!” Psyren said indignantly.
I was flattered, but she missed my point. “Right! Exactly. But who’s Victor?” I said. “I’m just some guy. But if I wear a mask? Ah, then they can dream.”
Psyren’s nose scrunched up with confusion, which I had to admit looked adorable. “I don’t get it.”
“Nobody really wants their villain to just be some guy,” I said. “If they see my face, they’ll just say ‘who’s that? Do we know him? Where did we see him before?’ But!” I said, holding up a finger pointedly. “If they don’t see my face, then they can imagine I’m anyone. I could be the CEO of a major corporation. I could be the politician they don’t like. I could be some nefarious enemy they couldn’t even dream of! The mask adds mystique. Sure,” I shrugged. “Even before smartphones and the internet, it wasn’t impossibly hard to unmask someone. They did a ton of that back in the eighties. You’d be amazed how many super psychos hung out with Andy Warhol. Or… maybe you wouldn’t. But if someone really wanted to unmask me, they could probably do it. But see? No one really wants to know the unfamous person under the mask. It’s much more fun to dream.”
“But I am kinda famous,” Psyren said.
“True. But the you who’s you isn’t going to be. The mask is going to be famous. You’ll be Psyren, the supervillainess! Not Psyren, the girl comparing egg prices in the grocery store.”
Psyren’s brow furrowed. “So the mask is like… the thing that separates my villainess persona with me?”
“Bingo,” I said, proud of her.
“But what if I want to be the villainess persona?” Psyren asked.
And there it was. I knew that question would come up. It always did, inevitably. “You can try,” I said slowly. “But no one’s made it work. It’s a slippery slope when you start living as the character.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah,” I said, looking straight ahead at the road, feeling my muscles start to knot and tense. “You start off thinking it won’t be so bad, living as the bad guy all the time. You’re good at it. You’ve got the self-control not to go off the deep end. You start small, maybe wearing the costume when having sex, or when you go out. Finding some fans. Showing off your powers a bit. And it all seems cool. Seems fine.
“But then, things start slipping. You start thinking about how good it would feel to act like a villain more often. Maybe you can keep some minions around. Maybe it wouldn’t be so wrong to put up a bunch of menacing gargoyles.
“Then before you know it, you’re acting the villain outside of work. You’re using your powers to toss around traffic so you can get home faster. And then you’re not antagonizing for hire anymore. You’re doing it because it’s fun. Because it makes you feel big. Powerful. Unstoppable! You can crush anyone in your way. The world will kneel before you. You’re the villain dammit! Who’s gonna stand up to you? Who’s got the balls to fucking stop you?
“And then the next thing you know, you do something terrible. Something horrible. Maybe you just disintegrated some old lady at the laundromat and kicked her dog. Maybe you killed a mime or tore apart the bank and actually stole the cash because you needed some spending change. Maybe you try and make a play for the eastern seaboard or you started a land war in Asia. Whatever it was, suddenly you’ve got all the wrong kinds of attention from cops, heroes, and fuck, maybe even the government. Then you’re on the run. You’re not a freelancer anymore. You’re the bad guy. You and the mask are one and the same, and there’s no going back. You have to be the villain now. There’s no choice, other than prison or getting killed. And it all just… falls apart.”
I finished, the silence stretching out in the car. I realized my Honda Civic was vibrating and forced my powers down before the whole damn thing fell apart. I glanced over to find Psyren staring at me, mouth open, eyes wide.
I cleared my throat. “Right. So, yeah. That’ll happen.”
“Um… wow, boss. You got… kinda intense there.”
I exhaled heavily, trying to relax. “Yeah,” I said, running a hand through my hair. “Yeah, I guess I did. Sorry about that. I’ve just… seen a lot of guys go full villain. It’s a real temptation. But it’s like being on drugs. You think you can ride the evil high only as long as you need to, but inevitably it all comes tumbling down and you wind up in prison or dead from some streeter. And you know what? You deserved it. Because bad guys always lose in the end. And we’re professional bad guys.”
“Then, why do you do it?”
“Hm?”
“Yeah,” Psyren said, eying my curiously, her head cocked. “Why are you a villain, boss? Seems like the pay isn’t great and you’re always on the verge of going psycho. So why do it?”
That stumped me for a minute. I hadn’t really dug down to analyze the reasoning in a very long time. Why was I a villain? It certainly wasn’t that glamorous. Being a professional loser wasn’t exactly inspiring, and most of the money I made went back into the whole business of schemes. You had to keep up standards, after all.
“Well… I guess partly, I just like it,” I finally said.
“You do?” she asked curiously.
I nodded. “I do. I love being the villain. I love the capes. The drama. The wordy speeches and using my powers in a fight with supers. It feels good. It feels fun!
“And… at the end of the day, I really do believe in heroes.”
Psyren gave me a surprised look. “You do, boss?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I do. I like heroes. I think they’re important and they do good in the world, when all’s said and done. Sure,” I said, shrugging. “Some are massive dicks, and most are owned by brands. But you get a percentage of narcissist jackasses in every business. And people need to believe in heroes, ya know?”
“Then, why not be a hero?” Psyren asked.
“I was just never really cut out for it, I guess,” I said. “I mean, I could do the hero thing, I suppose. But the world needs a villain to remind them why there’s heroes. And I’m good at being the antagonist. It’s got more style. Maybe it’s a weird thing to take pride in, but I like being a good bad guy. It’s fun and fulfilling. I get to plan evil schemes, carry them out, be bombastic and dramatic, use my powers, and make heroes look good. I could probably make better money doing something else, but I’m not in it for the money, Psyren. I’m in it because I love this job. Genuinely.”
“Well, I’ll let you in on a secret, boss,” Psyren said.
“What’s that?”
She giggled and leaned over, putting her head on my shoulder so I could hear the faint static hiss of her psychic dampening headphones. “I’m a pretty big fan of yours.”
I couldn’t help but snort at that. “Thanks, Psyren. And here we are!”
I pulled to a stop in front of the design studio. Above the doors was an arch, the words ‘Mammon Fashion’ etched in metal. I was a bit proud of that sign, owing to the fact I’d been the one to make it. A favour I’d done in exchange for some assistance with a costume years and years ago. After I got Dolly as my tech guru, I hadn’t needed to call on the services of Madame Mammon, but given Dolly was currently busy setting up our defences against Teklin and decoding his private messages, I didn’t want to bother her with some costume sewing.
And Madame Mammon’s Fashion was peak, that much was plain. The building towered over its neighbours. Gold was the order of the day, and at night the place lit up like it had been carved from a solid bar of it. Glass windows sparkled and shone up and down it, the whole place a fugitive from good taste, especially the massive statue of Madame Mammon standing in front of the doors. But you had to admire the dedication to the bit, and business looked like it was good. You’d think people would be wary about buying clothes from a literal demon, but really, the only difference between Mammon and any other fashion designer was she wore her horns on the outside. They said the devil wears Prada, but Madame Mammon wouldn’t be caught dead in something so cheap.
We got out of the car, and Psyren finally saw the sign. Her jaw fell, her eyes widening. “That’s Madame Mammon!” she gasped.
I glanced back at her. “Yes.”
“I’m getting a costume from Madame Mammon?”
“Well, we’ll see. She has the final decision, and she only agreed to a meeting…”
As we made our way up the steps and towards the glittering doors, a security guard in strikingly unfashionable grey and black pushed his way in front of us. “Hold it,” he said. “Do you have an appointment?”
“It’s Victor,” I said. “I’m coming by for some costume fittings.”
“Never heard of you,” he said.
Oh great. I sighed. “Look, just call Madame Mammon, would you? She knows me.”
“You got any idea how often I get fed that line?” the guard said, crossing his arms belligerently.
My jaw tightened. “Look, I-“
“Boss? Let me try something.”
I glanced back at Psyren, and noticed her eyes were once more showing the pink neon hearts of her powers. I considered telling her no, as the guy was just doing his job, but we did have an appointment, and I’d be damned if we were going to get turned away here. There wasn’t a lot of time before Psyren’s debut, and having a decent costume was essential.
“Fine,” I said, stepping back.
Psyren smirked, sauntering up to the security guard. The guy looked at her, at first suspicious, but almost at once his expression grew slack. I felt the beginning of an ache in my head, always a solid indicator that Psyren was using her powers.
“Hey,” she said, smirking, fluttering her lashes. “Are you suuuure we can’t go in? Madame Mammon is supposed to make me just… the sexiest costume ever. And I’d love to get it and show it off a bit. Wouldn’t you want to see that?”
“I… uh…”
“C’mon,” Psyren cooed, her fingers walking up his chest, flicking his nose. “Be honest.”
“Y-yeah,” he said, his eyes fogging, turning glassy. Pink hearts throbbing in his pupils like a window reflecting a strip club’s neon sign. “Yeah. That sounds… sounds good…”
“Sure it does! So why not give a little call, hm?” Psyren said.
The guard stared at her, his jaw slightly slack as he fumbled for his walkie talkie and put it to his ear. “Mister Benz?” he said dimly. “I have… a couple people here. Say they have an appointment with… with Madame Mammon.”
A crisp reply chirped in his ear. Fuck. I knew that voice, and suddenly, I had a pretty good idea why we were having so much trouble getting into the building.
“Uh…” the guard said dumbly. “One’s a guy in… a shirt. But the other one… She’s…”
“Yeah?” Psyren cooed, fluttering her lashes teasingly, another pulse of her powers making my head throb. “What am I?”
The guard shivered in ecstasy. “She’s… the most beautiful woman ever,” he said, seeming to lose himself in the glow of Psyren’s eyes. “She’s got very pretty eyes and a tank top and-“
Okay, yeah. This was going to take too long. I reached out and plucked the walkie talkie from the guard’s hand, who was so enthralled by Psyren that he didn’t even notice it was gone.
“…and her lips are so soft and pink…” the guard droned.
“Really? Aw, flatterer,” Psyren giggled tantalizingly.
I shook my head and put the walkie talkie to my ear. “Hi, Roger?”
The scoff that met my question could only belong to Roger Benz, Madame Mammon’s assistant and professional doormat. “Who is this?”
“Victor. I had an appointment with Madame Mammon,” I said.
“Oh, yes. The magnet fellow,” Roger said, and I could just imagine his head wobbling with exaggerated exasperation. “What do you want?”
“We had an appointment with Mammon,” I said again. Fuck I hated people like him so much.
“Hmmm. Well, I didn’t see anything. Are you sure you went through the right connections?”
“I phoned her two days ago,” I said.
“Mmm. That’s so odd. Looks like it must have been mislaid. I’m afraid Madame is veeeeery busy right now, so if you could-“
“Sure,” I said, smiling, my voice forcefully chipper. “Of course. And you’ll be sure to tell her you turned us back, right? I’d hate for Mammon to think I didn’t come by. Especially when I tell her all about it next time I see her.”
I could practically hear the gears of Roger’s mind working. He’d never liked me. Not too surprising. A man like Roger Benz was a born lackey. They lived to serve those above themselves and wouldn’t just lick the boots of their betters, but beg to eat it with a pinch of organic sea salt and a side of chives. Mostly, those kinds of people either found jobs as henchmen or in the public service, and a megalomaniac couldn’t ask for a better bitch to carry out their whims. As a result, though Roger would obstruct me, avoid me, and try and keep me away by any means from the woman he ironically considered God’s gift to mankind, he’d rather gnaw his own arm off than ever be the one to take the fall for failing her. I had him dead on. If he tried to keep me out at this point, there was no way he could avoid admitting he’d done it intentionally. Which left him with only one choice.
“Of course,” Roger said, his voice as sickly sweet as if he’d just eaten a rotten grapefruit. “That would be just… terrible. And I do know how much Madame Mammon appreciates your company. Here. I’ll come down, and we can see what we can do about making that… appointment.”
“I’d be ever so obliged,” I said.
“Mmm.”
I took the receiver from my ear just before he had a chance to slam his down on the other end. Petty little shit.
“…and her hair is such a lovely pink. Like it was made of bubblegum cotton candy…”
I looked over to find the guard still going on, staring raptly at Psyren as she soaked in the praise. “You can let him go, now,” I told Psyren, using my magnetic powers to drift the walkie talkie back into the guard’s holster.
“Aw, but he seems to have so much more to add,” Psyren giggled with a coy grin.
“Yeah,” I said, looking towards the main doors of the building as they slid open and a man walked out. “But we’re done here.”
Roger Benz spotted us at once and started walking over with a sharp stride. He looked like a bargain bin Steve Jobs with a shaved head, turtleneck and round glasses, but carried himself with the born air of the finest toady. With Madame Mammon he’d perfected the sort of grovelling obeisance that could only be improved on if he surgically removed his own spine, but anyone else was treated like something he’d found on the bottom of his shoe. And now he marched up to us, lips pursed in distaste, buggy eyes peering from behind his no doubt very fashionable round glasses, but that really made him look like an absolute tool. Under a skinny arm he clutched a tablet, and when he stopped before us, he gave one of those sudden sunny smiles that just oozed polite loathing.
“Victor. So good you could come. Please, follow me.”
“Roger. Thanks. You didn’t have to come all the way down here,” I said as I started off after him, Psyren sidling up beside me.
“Nonsense!” he said. “How could I let one of Madame Mammon’s good friends try and find their way around the building? Or be handed off to some intern as a guide? No no! That wouldn’t do at all. Especially after the unfortunate scheduling error. We just recently upgraded to new software and the whole thing has just been an absolute mess!”
“Yes, I imagine it has,” I said. “How lucky Mammon is to have you to help her out.”
He flashed me a suspicious look, but I just let it roll over me. He sniffed, then turned as we reached the sliding doors and entered the building.
It always amazed me how utterly sterile the environment in a fashion company was. I’d been to a number of them over the years, as I was often the gofer to new heroes showing off the latest designs, and many a model had used her career to vault into the super business, but certainly couldn’t risk fighting real evil. She might break a nail!
Ergo, I was called in most of the time. It worked pretty well on their end. Nothing said ‘style’ like beating the crap out of the local badguy while wearing stilettos. But though fashion might involve copious sequins and gold lace, fashion businesses always seemed to surround themselves with glass. Glass dividers, walls, and even the lettering above the main desk were etched from sparkling glass. It was distinctly off putting and kind of creepy, but I made sure not to let it show as Roger led us to an elevator (made of glass) and hit the button (also glass) for the sixth floor.
When the doors opened again, it was to look out upon an absolute sea of carefully coordinated chaos. Assistants in highly fashionable skirts and hair plaited back moved with mechanical precision on heels that could snap an ankle with one wrong turn. Bundles of cloth were ferried in and out of the room along with costumes, mannequins, and jewelry. Models stood atop plinths like frozen statues while designers bent their heads together over drafting paper with as much seriousness as any engineer designing the newest marvel of metal and brick.
And at the center of the room was Madame Mammon.
She dominated it with her presence, standing in the midst of the chaos like a queen. Sexy? Of course! Unspeakably so. Her skin was a rich red of hellfire. She wasn’t fat but she was plump in a gloriously curvy way, her figure like sex poured into a tight black and white dress, her legs wrapped in stockings and feet in heeled shoes. Her spaded tail curled about her, her eyes glowing red hot behind half-moon glasses and her curly hair left to bounce around her head in waves of black. Pinstripes seemed the order of the day, and her skirt and top were flashes of them going down in grey and black. They said sex sells, and Mammon looked like she could give the fortune 500 a run for their money.
She was facing away, but the second we stepped onto the floor Mammon raised her head from some designs and looked our way. Her eyes flashed like fire and a smile grew across her full lips.
“Victor!” Mammon cried, slapping shut a folder and thrusting it into the hands of an assistant. She turned towards me, striding through the crowd like a cruise ship through a yacht club. I braced myself, but nothing could prepare you for a demon’s hug. Her arms wrapped around me and squeezed me hard against her pillowy chest, making me gasp.
“Hello… madame,” I wheezed.
“Oh daaaarling! How I missed you. It’s been far too long, my dear boy. Far too long! You never seem to come by anymore. I’d almost think you’d forgotten about me! But surely that can’t be true. Surely not! I’d almost think I was losing my touch. Dear oh dear, and surely that can’t be the case. Roger? Am I losing my touch?”
“Impossible, madame,” Roger said, adjusting his round glasses minutely. “You are as radiant and stunning as the day you rent the material plane.”
“Do you really think so? Oh, but Victor! I’ve been woefully rude to you, darling. Just woefully rude! Being so chatty when you’ve come to see me after so long!”
Her grip loosened and I managed to take a step back and recover my breath. “Good to… to see you too,” I said.
“So you say. Yet you never visit anymore! It makes a woman feel so used, Victor. But no matter. You’re here now! And with company. Let’s get a good look at you my dear.”
Psyren stood up straighter as Mammon bustled over to her. The demoness put a finger to her lip, her eyes suddenly cool and contemplative. She nodded slowly. “Hmm. Yes. Yes. I can work with this. I really can. Didn’t I see you in the Rumble Ring, darling?”
“I was a singer there,” Psyren said, fairly glowing at the demon’s praise.
“So you were! So you were. And quite the singer too, if I recall. But I remember thinking your costume could look so much better, darling. So much better! And who better to do it than the marvelous Madame Mammon, hm? Why no one of course! Come, my dear. Come! Let’s get you fitted at once.”
“Ah, madame,” Roger said, scurrying after the skirts of his mistress, his hand frantically swiping through his tablet. “You ah, also have a meeting within the hour.”
“Roger, darling, please! I’m in the midst of inspiration. It flows through me, darling! Flows through me. Do not interrupt my flow, darling. Not for anything! Surely you’re not thinking of damming it? And I do know much about being damned, darling. So much!”
“I, ah, still, Madame…” Roger said.
Madame Mammon sighed dramatically, tilting back her horned head in exasperation. “Oh fine, darling. Fine! I’ll not be long, anyway. I’ll not need much time to see the inner evil of this charming girl. Oh yes, darling. I can practically taste it radiating from you. A presence! I’ve been dreaming of working on such a body as yours. Oh yes! I have so very many ideas, darling. So many! It’s not the ideas I have trouble with, of course, my dear. Oh no. It’s finding the best one, darling. Finding the best one!”
I followed at a pace, listening to Mammon gush to Psyren, who seemed to be enjoying the attention to the fullest. No surprise. Clothes and costumes from Madame Mammon were in high demand because as every marketer knows, presentation is nine tenths of success. An iconic costume is a must if you wanted to make a good hero to shill your products, and though Mammon might charge an arm and a leg, it was worth it. Practically every hero of note had a costume from her studio. She’d even designed mine. That had probably been my most expensive investment into the whole ‘villain’ thing but she loved making the suits for the bad guys. You could get far more creative with them. A hero’s costume inevitably went down a few familiar paths, unless you were an antihero, but few brands went with antiheroes since the 80’s. Their shelf life was remarkably short and it was only a matter of time until they said something… problematic.
We reached Mammon’s personal studio, the lights flicking on automatically. Ah, here we go. This was the proper realm of a demon. The whole room was the glaring white of something to hide, like a hospital whose antiseptic cleanliness hid the bloodstains. Some pillars held up the walls, wrapped in gold ivy while a pedestal in the middle of the room stood as if waiting for some Renaissance statue whose privates would normally be covered by strategic foliage. A large window at the back looked out on the road and grounds, with white curtains pulled away. Drafting tables were all over the place, several sporting some half-finished drawings. As we entered, a fireplace burst to life, the flickering glow washing over the interior weirdly.
“Here we are!” Mammon declared with a grand gesture. “My personal abode. Here, darling. Stand on the pedestal here. Now, what are we looking for? Do tell darling. Do tell! I’m simply bursting with ideas. Bursting, darling!”
“Well, uh…” Psyren said, giving me an uncertain look.
I leaned against the wall, arms crossed thoughtfully. “I think pink and black,” I said. “Keep the theme.”
“Femininity and evil! Darling, I love it. Love it! ‘For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.’ Ah, Kipling. And we’ll have to go skin-tight, darling. We simply have to! It would be a crime not to show off this figure. A sin! And I know one or two things about sinning, darling. I know!”
Mammon gave a throaty laugh that made Psyren giggle as she climbed the pedestal, submitting to the professional touch of the demoness.
“She really is the best,” I told Psyren.
“Flattery. Flattery! But true, darling. So very true. Here now. Shirt off. Let’s get a look at that full figure. Tape!”
“Here, Madame,” Roger said, scurrying over with a measuring tape and putting it into Mammon’s outstretched hand.
“Excellent, darling. Excellent!”
“I’ve seen your styles in magazines,” Psyren said as she shrugged out of her leather jacket and pulled her top off, revealing her pert breasts and bra. “All the people I know try and get your stuff.”
“Triflings, darling. Triflings! I do those to pay the bills. Such a waste though, darling. Such a waste! That’s all business. But this. This is passion, darling!” Mammon gushed as she wielded the measuring tape with the same skill, precision and brusque movements of a master fencer. “To design the clothes of gods and devils is why I’m here, darling. Why I came to this plane. Other demons are satisfied to tempt men and women to sin, but I, darling. I make them glorious! Why, I even designed dear Victor’s costume. Didn’t I, darling?”
“You did,” I said, nodding.
“But you didn’t let me build it,” she added with a glance over her shoulder, pouting at me indignantly. “That was quite rude of you, darling. So very rude!”
I shrugged. “I’d never knock your skill, Mammon, but I couldn’t bother you to fix my gear every time it was damaged. I needed someone more available for that. And the metal composition would have been difficult to get right.”
“Darling! I was learning metallurgy while your species was grubbing in the dirt for roots! But no matter. No matter! I don’t hold a grudge, darling. I don’t! And you still wear my style, darling. And wear it well! I appreciate the craft of it, darling. You know how to make my suits shine!”
Well, I couldn’t quite supress a glow of pride at that. Praise from Mammon said a lot, as she was never shy about her feelings, but I liked to think I knew how to show off her work to the best, and hearing she approved was the best evidence you could get.
“But what shall she be using it with, darling? What do we need of it?”
I thought back to my meeting with Carter and her ideas for the job. “I think we’ll be going for a reveal,” I said. “Something that can fit under normal clothes and be shown when she strips them off. Flashy. Eye catching.” My eyes trailed back up to Psyren’s headphones. “And make sure to integrate those headphones into the design. We’ll want them to fit the rest of her.”
“Powers, darling?”
“I’m psychic,” Psyren said.
“Punk mind control and low telekinesis,” I said.
Mammon gasped, sucking in a breath so deep I thought her top buttons might burst off as they quivered against her swelling breasts. “Mind control! Oh daaaaarling! You’re too good to me. Too good! My ideas are simply popping off, darling. Simply popping off! Roger! The board!”
“Here, Madame!” Roger said, instantly passing her a sheet of drafting paper.
Mammon took it, a snap of her fingers conjuring a jagged pen from a swirl of shadows. She brushed it across the canvas in short, certain motions. “Yes. Yes! Black as night highlighted with glowing neon, darling. Lights. Cameras! You’ll draw in the eye. As lovely as a blade and as deadly as a black hole, sucking in the world around you. You’ll be glorious, darling. Dangerous. Deadly. Impossible to deny! Oh darling, you don’t know how much I needed this,” Mammon sighed. “I have so much business for heroes. So much you wouldn’t believe! But I so rarely get to work with villains. A tragedy, darling. A crime! And why? Because they are evil? Because they are cruel? Ah! But that is the fun, darling. The absolute fun!”
“You can’t associate with criminals, Mammon,” I noted. “People would love an excuse to take you down.”
“Oh I know, darling. I know! Such bigotry, darling. They think me some inhuman monster that bathes in the blood of virgins.”
“Do you?” Psyren asked.
“Entirely beside the point, darling. Entirely beside the point! My point is that merely doing costumes for heroes is so stifling. So dreadfully stifling! So little flair. All blues and golds. Not a stitch of black lace. Of billowing skirts. And spikes, darling. The spikes! How I long to put spikes on things!”
“Try to restrain from turning her into a porcupine,” I said, starting to feel a little uneasy.
“Oh please, darling. Please!” Mammon sniffed with a flick of her talons. “I have finer taste than that. Though some spikes around the shoulders wouldn’t be out of place, darling. You’d look simply amazing with them. Ah!” Mammon cried, clutching the drafting paper to her chest, looking heavenward with rapture. “Ah! The ideas!”
“And a mask,” I said. “She’ll need a mask.”
“A mask?” Mammon said, looking back at me in shock. “But darling! A face like hers mustn’t be hidden. She’s far too lovely for that!”
I shook my head, refusing to budge on it. There was a reason rule 1 was Always Wear a Mask. “She’s not going to be a villain all the time, Mammon,” I told her. “She’s going to have a life outside of menacing the heroes. She needs a mask. Otherwise it’ll be like she’s wearing your costume wherever she goes. And that would ruin the impact of it. Every time someone sees Psyren the villainess, we want them to be in awe of her. A bit hard to do if people see her at the DMV getting her license renewed.”
“I could make them anyway,” Psyren noted slyly.
“You better not,” I said.
“See what I have to work with?” Psyren sighed dramatically.
“Oh you poor thing, darling!” Mammon said with an equally exaggerated pout. “Some men have simply no taste for the truly dramatic!”
“Hey now, I have a taste for it,” I said. “I just know not to be dramatic all the time.”
“We’re only teasing you, darling. Only teasing!” Mammon said with a sudden gale of laughter, shoving the drafting paper into Roger’s waiting hands as she bustled towards me. “But no more of that, darling. No more of that! Time for you to leave, darling. Out. Out! The mistress must get to work! And I need privacy with the dear girl to get it done.”
I reluctantly let Mammon hustle me back towards the door. I trusted Mammon to an extent, but a demon was a demon. “Don’t sign anything until I’m back!” I shouted to Psyren as I was shoved out the door. “She’ll try and hire you as a model, but watch out if she asks to sign it in blood!”
“Will do, boss!” Psyren called out, grinning impishly.
Mammon pushed me out the doors and shut them behind me with a bang. I eyed them uncertainly. I didn’t much like letting Psyren out of sight for too long. Especially with someone like Mammon, but she was a grown woman, and was able to take care of herself.
…Hm. That was a new thought.
I leaned against the wall, dissecting that sudden feeling. I’d never really had to look after other people before. Being freelancer meant that I worked alone, barring the occasional help from Steve. I’d never needed to really put myself out there or worry about others. I’d liked that, truth be told, and the worry wasn’t exactly a feel-good moment for me. But it was a perspective I realized I was going to have to come to terms with. Psyren, Glacia, Dolly, they were my responsibility now, like it or not. It was my job to help protect them. Not only against rogue streeters or other villains like Teklin, but also against the common pitfalls of the job like poor clients, sketchy contracts, and general assholery. I tilted my head back and gazed at the ceiling, wondering for a moment just how I had gotten here? Not just mentoring the heir of supervillain royalty, but a psychotic psychic, all the while working to protect a mad scientist from her dick of a former boss. I blew out a breath of air.
Fuck.
Things had gotten complicated indeed…
To help distract myself, I let my powers slowly expand, feeling the reverberations of the metal all around me and in the building. You can never really let down your guard when your job is taking hits from supers. Since meeting Mammon, I hadn’t been paying too much attention, but while I waited, it was probably a good idea to double check the area. There wasn’t much, although the richness of the metals in the building made me tingle. A lot of gold and silver jewelry here and there. Electronics, the metal faucets and…
Oh.
What’s this?
I blinked as I sensed something new approaching. Not just me, but the building. It would take a lot of metal in motion to get a pull so easily from my powers, especially at a distance. I squinted as I heightened my senses, zeroing in on the metal. It wasn’t hard to get a bead on it. It was absolutely jumping with electricity which meant…
Ah. Interesting.
I straightened as the mass of iron and steel came inside and reached the elevator. I could practically map the route through the building as it came up to the sixth floor and stepped out. Coming right my way, hm? I momentarily thought about leaving, but I needed to wait for Psyren. Besides, I had nothing to hide.
Right on cue I saw Valkyria round a corner and start coming down the hall, one of Mammon’s interchangeable and highly fashionable assistants clicking beside her on high heels. But then I saw, much to my surprise, Olympia as well. Still dressed in her armor like a renegade from a History channel set, enchanted belt hiked up around her waist and a hand on the pommel of her sword. I pushed off the wall as they spotted me, and Olympia stiffened, then glared. Yeah, fuck you too, sister.
“Valkyria,” I said, nodding.
“Magneron,” she said, stopping before me. I could feel a crackle in the air that was more than just her electric powers. Sure, we had no reason to fight, but to a pro hero, every villain was worthy of suspicion. Couldn’t say I blamed her. I wasn’t exactly thrilled to be seeing a hero casually either. “We seem to be running into one another quite often these days.”
“Small world,” I said and nodded at the doors. “I’m just here for a costume.”
“A coincidence. So are we.”
I suspected that, but was still a bit surprised to hear it. “From a demoness?”
Valkyria shrugged. “What is that to me? She is not a troll set out to cause mischief, nor a frost giant risen from the deeper worlds of Yggdrasil. I have no quarrel with her.”
Well, I supposed that was fair enough. Despite her wings, Valkyria wasn’t of the same pantheon or even myth cycle as Mammon. A succubus was just a red skinned hot girl for all she was concerned.
I looked at Olympia, who hadn’t taken her glare off me since arriving. “And it’s her costume you’re arranging for?”
“Indeed,” Valkyria said. “She has the urgency to become a heroine, and the skill. She shall make a fine one.”
“She sure has the drive,” I said drily.
“I need no compliments from a foe of justice!” Olympia barked.
I shrugged. “I’m only a foe if they pay me enough.”
“You are mercenary,” Olympia accused with a glower. “Fighting neither for honour nor truth, but mere gold!”
“Well… yeah,” I said.
Valkyria rolled her eyes a little. “Though Magneron is indeed a villain, he is not our foe. For now.”
Well, that was almost a compliment. “I’m not here to break the law. Just fight heroes.”
“You merely got the drop on me when first we fought,” Olympia said hotly.
Fucking hell, it was like dealing with a toddler. I looked over at Valkyria. “Are we really going to do this here?”
“We are not,” Valkyria said, somewhat forcefully as she grasped Olympia’s shoulder. “We accept the laws of this land, and you have broken none of them that we know of.”
I just loved it when heroes amended everything they said with a suspicion clause. Made me feel like I was talking to a cop. But I didn’t let it bother me. Just another reason I didn’t hang out around heroes.
Fortunately, I was spared further implied statements as the doors swung open and Psyren emerged with Mammon. The pair paused at the sight of the heroines, and I couldn’t help but notice Psyren was getting that smirk that said she was going to do something mean.
“Hey! If it isn’t the bondage girl,” Psyren said, grinning. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Olympia flushed and pinched her lips together, drawing herself up. “That was…”
“Bondage, darling?” Mammon said, glancing between Psyren and Olympia.
“Oh yeah! The boss had her all tied up in his car when he came and picked me up,” Psyren giggled, sidling in close to me and coyly hugging my arm. “She looked like she really liked it.”
“I did not!” Olympia snapped.
“Really? Lying to a psychic? That seems pretty dumb to me,” Psyren said.
“I do not lie! Your master merely caught me off guard. It will never happen again!”
“Psyren,” I sighed. “Don’t provoke the heroes.”
“But boss, you’re the one who says trash talk is half the fun of villainy.”
Well, that was true. “Still, save it for when we’re working.” I looked over to Mammon. “What about the costume? Do you have a good idea.”
“Ideas? Darling, I was inspired! I have a dozen of the most lovely designs all percolating in my head. Here, take a look. Roger!”
“Here, Madame!” Roger yelped, scuttling forward and hefting a drafting sheet.
I took it form him and looked through the designs. Mammon was good, there was no doubt about that. All of them suited Psyren wonderfully, but one in particular drew my eye. All black with pink highlights, it hugged the figure and the mask was a simple domino style resembling a butterfly’s wings. The whole thing had a sharp look to it with plenty of little frills that wouldn’t get in the way or catch on much. It even had a pointlessly short jacket to go over it. Something like Psyren’s spiked leather one to give it a real ‘punk’ style that she rocked so well.
“This one looks nice. The mask is perfect. We don’t want to hide too much of your face,” I told Psyren.
“Aw, thanks, boss! I knew you’d think I’m too hot for that,” she giggled. “Gotta make sure the whole world knows your bitch is this cute, right?”
“Er, sure. Right. How long will it take?” I asked Mammon.
“Darling, please! I’m a professional. I’ll work on it myself. A few days and you can come by and pick it up, darling.”
I nodded as I handed back the sketches, even as I internally winced at how much it was sure to cost. Madame Mammon was one of those designers where if you had to ask the price, you couldn’t afford it. I was sure I’d be able to make do with the money we were making for putting Psyren up against the Songbirds, but I also knew it was going to take a good chunk out of it.
But that’s the name of the game when you freelance. Gotta spend money to make money, and I would never skimp on a job. That would just be… tacky. You had to make sure corporations thought you were worth it. And I knew better than anyone the value of making your debut stand out. Many a hero or villain botched their first big moment, and you never got a second. Some managed to crawl back if they had a good enough marketing team or were just lucky, but most ended up either getting regular jobs or working on the low end of the hero pool, advertising antibaldness medicine or cryptocurrency. It was unfortunate, but in an attention economy, you either flew or fell, and that was that.
“Great,” I said. “We’ll be back when it’s ready. Thanks again, Mammon.”
“Darling! Anything for you,” she said. I braced myself as she came in for another hug, wrapping her arms around me and squeezing me against the pillows of her bosom. Her kiss took my breath away, and I wondered if she tried to suck out a piece of my soul before she let me go. But I felt more or less intact, so let it go.
Psyren hanging off my arm, we passed Olympia and Valkyria, who stepped forward and began to discuss Olympia’s costume ideas with the busty demoness. Our work here was done.
But elsewhere, we were just getting started.