Lady Photon did as she’d so often done, ignoring reason in favor of the emotional appeal.  “You grew to love and trust Mark.  You could grow to love and trust that little girl, too.”

■

Perhaps she could do that.

Perhaps she could.

Liar.

Who, Photon Mom?

Brandish stared at the teenaged girl.  Amy couldn’t even look her in the eye.  Tears were streaming down the girl’s face.

Ahh.

Hi.

How are you?

“Where’s Victoria?”  Brandish made the question a demand.

“I’m so sorry,” Amy responded, her voice hoarse.  She’d been crying long before anyone had showed up.

Oh fuck. She already freed Victoria of the calm spell and had a confrontation with her, didn’t she?

Brandish felt choked up as well, but she suppressed the emotion.  “Is my daughter dead?”

The way she says “my daughter” in a way that almost says “my only daughter”… Owww.

“No.“

“Explain.”

“I- I don’t- No-” Amy stuttered.

She could have slapped the girl.

Amy, I get it, but you really need to say something to salvage this if you can.

“What happened to my daughter!?”

Amy flinched as though she’d been struck.

Again, the same implication that there’s only one. That Amy is not also “my daughter”.

That probably hurts more than the slap Carol didn’t give her.

“I didn’t know you were dwelling on it to that degree.”

Brandish shrugged and shook her head, as if she could shake off this conversation, this situation.  “That child deserves better than I can offer.  I know I don’t have it in me to form any kind of bond with another child if there’s no blood relation.”

The really sad thing here is that judging by what Amy has to narrate about Carol a decade later, she’s right.

Especially if she’s Marquis’.

“She needs you.  You’re her only option.  I can’t, and Fleur and Lightstar aren’t old enough or in the right place in their lives for kids, and if she goes anywhere else, it’ll be disastrous.”

And you don’t have any other cape friends that could help?

Brandish decided on the most direct, clear line of argument she could muster, “I don’t want her.  I can’t take her.”

Brandish glanced at the kid that they’d stowed in the team’s car.  The child was standing on the car seat, hands pressed against the window.  Her stare bored into Brandish as though little girl had laser vision.

And who’s to say she doesn’t?

The window was open a crack, Brandish noted.  The girl could probably hear everything they’d been saying.  Brandish looked away.

Ouch.

“Then you take care of her,” Brandish replied, even as she mentally prayed her sister would refuse.  There was something about the idea of being around Marquis’ child, that uncanny resemblance, having those memories stirred even once in a while, even if it was just at family reunions… it made her feel uneasy.

Careful what you wish for, Carol.

“You know Neil and I don’t have that much money.  Neil isn’t having luck finding work, and all our funding from the team is going into the New Wave plan, which won’t happen for a few months, and we have two hungry mouths to feed…”

So wait. What exactly is the history here? How did parts of the Brockton Bay Brigade end up as New Wave? What happened to the rest, if not death? Apparently something about that is being set into motion soon.

Brandish grasped her sister’s meaning.  With a sick feeling in her gut, she spoke the idea aloud.  “You want Mark and I to take her.”

Hey, those are your words.

“You should.  Amelia’s Vicky’s age, I think they would be close.”

They are, yeah. Or were, anyway.

This is a nice tie back into the same thing being stated earlier in the chapter.

“It’s not a good idea.”

“Why are you so reluctant?”

Brandish shook her head.  “I… you know I never planned to have kids?”

That’s a relatively weak excuse.

But seriously, you should probably tell the truth. If there’s anyone who might understand here, it’s Sarah.

Into the dark.  She felt as if she was separated from the child by a chasm.

Yeeah, you pretty much are. You’re in much less than her good graces right now, a stranger coming to take her and her father and separate them for a to her unknown duration.

“Let’s call the PRT,”  Manpower said.  “We should get Marquis into custody stat.”

“Wouldn’t mind some medical treatment, if you could rush that?” Marquis asked.

Let’s get that burning hole in your chest healed up a bit.

“…And medical treatment,” Manpower amended his statement.

Brandish walked away.  The others would handle this.  She would wait outside to guide the responders into the manor, past the traps Marquis had set in place.

A great excuse to go away from Amy for a little while.

She was still waiting when Lady Photon came outside, holding the little girl’s hand.  Lady Photon seated the girl in the car and shut the door.

Lady Photon joined Brandish on the stone stairs.  “We can’t let her go into foster care.  It’s not just the danger his enemies pose.  Once people found out she was Marquis’ child, they’d start fighting over who could get their hands on her.”

Oh jeez. Villainous war over Amy.

“Sarah-” Brandish started.

“Then they’ll kidnap her.  They’ll do it to exploit her powers, and she’s bound to be pretty powerful if she inherits anything like her father’s abilities”

Sounds familiar.

Little babby Taylor wouldn’t stand for it.

“You can’t take him away,” the girl told them.

Even as a six-year-old saying exactly the sorts of things you’d expect from a six-year-old in this situation, she still sounds just like older Amy.

“He’s a criminal,” Brandish responded.  “He’s done bad things, he needs to go to jail.”

“No.  He’s just my daddy.  Reads me bedtime stories, makes me dinner, and tells me jokes.  I love him more than anything else in the world.  You can’t take him away from me.  You can’t!”

Aww 😦

I kinda wish Amy could read this.

“We have to,” Brandish told the girl.  “It’s the law.”

“No!” the girl shouted.  “I hate you!  I hate you!  I’ll never forgive you!”

Does Carol still wonder sometimes whether Amy has forgiven her?

Brandish reached out, as if she could calm the girl by touching her.

The girl shrank back into the closet.

Because touching an upset Amy works out so well.

She couldn’t shake that dim memory of the nameless man she’d killed on the night she got her powers.  She hated Marquis in a way she couldn’t articulate, and if the memories that recurred every time she crossed paths with him were any clue, it was somehow tied to that.

It’s not even really his fault that she hates his guts. But it’s not her fault either. It’s an unfortunate coincidence, one that would go on to haunt her as she was tasked with taking care of his child.

She wondered if it was because she liked him on a level.  Was her psyche trying to protect her from repeating her earlier mistake?

Hmm, perhaps.

“Little close for comfort, Brandish dear,” Marquis spoke.

Oh, has she been subconsciously getting closer to finishing him off as her thoughts went on?

She looked down.  She’d unconsciously pressed the blade closer.  When she lifted it, she could see the burn at the base of his throat.

Ow.

…I love the calmness of him speaking up about that.

I wonder if he feels pain? Immunity to pain would be a reasonable secondary power for someone who regularly manipulates his bones to come out through his flesh and skin.

“Thank you kindly,” he spoke.  There was a trace of irony there.

That cultured act, the civility that was real.  Marquis was fair, he played by the rules.  His rules, but he stuck to them without fail.  It didn’t match her vision of what a criminal should be.  It was jarring, creating a kind of dissonance.

I know, isn’t it great?

That dissonance was redoubled as she looked at the forlorn little girl.  Layers upon layers, distilled in one expression.  Criminal, civilized man, child.

I mean, text-only alliteration is nice and all, but this kinda makes it sound like she’s saying he’s a child.

Maybe “Criminal, civilized man, loving father.” would work better?

Then again, Carol has more pressing things to consider than how her thoughts might be read if written down.

“Yes,” Marquis said.

“The motherfucker has a kid?” Lightstar muttered the question, as if to himself.  “And she’s, what,  five?”

Timeframes! That would put this event at about 11-12 years ago.

“Six,” Marquis answered.

10-11, sorry.

Six.  Vicky’s age, then.  She looks younger.

Did they adjust her age down to make things harder to track? That would explain why Marquis says she’s seventeen and Amy says she’s sixteen. Though “it’s shortly before her birthday and Marquis didn’t know that” would explain it almost as well.

“She’ll go to her mother,” Lady Photon decided.

Dead? Missing?

“Her mother’s gone, I’m afraid.  The big C.  Amelia and I were introduced shortly after that.

Ouch.

About a year ago, now that I think on it.  I must admit, I’ve enjoyed our time together more than I’ve enjoyed all my crimes combined.  Quite surprising.”

So that would be why the Brigade didn’t notice this whole thing long ago. For example by realizing Marquis was taking time off from evil to take care of a baby.

His daughter, Brandish thought.  The resemblance was uncanny.  The nose was different, the brow, but she was her father’s daughter.

The idea disturbed her.

FUCK.

Amy felt like Carol didn’t really like her that much, or something along those lines. This is why. Amy looks like her father, and her father’s looks reminded Carol of her trigger event, so Amy’s looks do the same thing by extension.

Damn, that stings.

Marquis chuckled.  “You could say that.  The most precious treasure in the world.”

No, seriously, this response is even more perfect if Amy was an “illegitimate child”.

“Somehow I missed the news report where you stole that,” Lady Photon replied.

I like the dramatic irony in this scene. We the readers know what Marquis was protecting, and it makes him seem a lot more human here than he does to the Brigade.

It also allows for lines like this one.

“Stole?  No.  It would be better to say a devoted fan and follower gave her to me.”

Ahaha, nice.

“Her?”  Brandish asked.  But Lady Photon was already reaching for the door, pulling it open.

A girl.  A child, not much younger than Vicky.  The girl was brown hair, freckle-faced, and clutched a silk pillow to her chest.  She wore a silk nightgown with lace at the collar and sleeves.

Aww, little babby Amy.

It looked expensive for something a child would wear.

Nothing less for Marquis’ precious little.