He probably could have given Hazard and Howler his real phone number—they were heroes, and he trusted them not to take advantage—but he went out and bought a burner because it seemed like the thing to do when you were a secret superhero.
He spent the rest of the day checking it, giddy and hopeful.
He had Hazard’s number.
The thought was ridiculous, but Chris reveled in it anyway. Hey, anything was possible. This wasn’t high school and he didn’t have to worry about anyone’s judgment. A guy could dream.
A week later, he was up late playing Elden Ring when it finally rang. He flung the controller aside without hesitation, barely noticing his character get obliterated by Metyr, Mother of Fingers. He fumbled with the phone for a moment, paranoid that he’d hang up by accident, before his thumb finally found the Accept Call button.
“You free tonight, Fang?” Hazard asked.
“What do you need?” he asked, wincing at how pathetically eager he sounded, even with his throat shifted just enough to change his voice. And the alias he’d chosen was so stupid and boring. Howler would’ve been perfect for him, but obviously it was taken.
“Break-in at the De Younge.” Luckily, Hazard sounded just as breathless. “How fast can you get here?”
“Traffic laws don’t apply to me, I’m a wolf,” Chris replied. Hazard laughed and it felt like flying.
Racing through streets and over rooftops on all fours felt slightly less like flying, but he still reached Golden Gate Park faster than he would have by driving or, god forbid, catching the muni. As he approached the looming mass of the De Younge Museum, the smell of ozone reached him on the breeze.
He doubled his pace, passing by the injured night security guard cowering at the blown-open entrance. A banner overhead advertised an ongoing gemstone exhibition.
A familiar short bark of a scream rattled the walls as he rose up to run the rest of his way on two feet. An unfamiliar voice cried out, and Hazard’s air gun popped. Chris skidded into the room just in time to hear a glass display case shatter.
Hazard stood near the doorway, air rifle braced against his shoulder. An oddly still and straight-backed Howler stood far enough away to form an almost perfect triangle with the third person across the room: a tall, wiry-looking guy, dressed all in black with a tricornered hat and a long coat and capelet. He was leaning back against the broken display case, holding up a bright green gem the size of the Hope Diamond. It shimmered strangely in the light; Chris could swear he heard it humming.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” the thief said gently, eyes fixed on Howler. “You know me.”
“I know you,” Howler replied, her voice soft and dreamy.
“You love me.”
“I…”
“Howler,” Hazard said tightly. “Howler, look at me.”
“You love me,” the thief said again. “And we protect the ones we love, don’t we?”
Howler did turn to look at Hazard, a split second before she let out a scream that blasted him out of the room. Chris lunged to help, only to watch Hazard tumble through the air and, improbably, land balanced on his feet.
“Good girl,” the thief laughed. “Keep them back for me, will you?”
Howler let out a strangled groan. She lurched toward Chris, her body fighting against itself as it moved toward him.
“Do it,” the thief gritted out, backing away. “Do it for me. I have the emerald heart. You love me.”
“I lo—” Howler began, then doubled over and retched.
Chris charged.
“Stop him!” the thief shouted. Howler choked out a scream; it wasn’t nearly as powerful as her usual blasts, but it still nearly rocked Chris off his feet. Dropping to all fours, he dodged out of the way of another blast and kept going. Chancing a glance over his shoulder, he saw Howler breathing in to scream again, only for a pellet from Hazard’s rifle to hit her in the throat. She choked, and Chris fell upon the thief with a growl.
The jewel skittered across the floor, bounced off a fallen chunk of glass, and ricocheted straight to Hazard, who reached down and snatched it up.
Howler had bitten her lip until it bled. Her face contorted into a blood-streaked snarl. She breathed through clenched teeth. Hazard gripped her shoulder with his free hand.
“I can’t risk talking to her while I’m holding this,” he called over to Chris. “The police should be here soon—we can hand these off to them and regroup.”
Both the jewel and the zip-tied thief were delivered to the shaken security guard. Chris only looked away briefly at the sound of approaching sirens, but when he looked back, Howler was nowhere to be seen. He barely caught the muffled, frustrated noise from Hazard before the police sirens drowned everything out.
“Go after her,” Chris told him. “I’ll keep an eye on things.”
“Meet me by the Dutch Windmill,” Hazard murmured back, and vanished before his eyes.
After taking a split second to wonder—was that his own power or, considering that Howler could do it too, something they would teach him eventually?—Chris raced around the side of the building just as patrol cars rolled in, lights flashing. Changing back, he threw on his spare hoodie and slip-ons, and left the museum behind.
It was only once the lights were out of sight and the sirens out of earshot that he slipped back out of his shoes and transformed again. The windmill loomed tall and dark against the night sky, and Chris crept up beneath it and waited.
After a few minutes, the circular platform above him creaked with the landing of feet. “Up here,” said Hazard.
Chris backed away from the windmill, far enough to see Hazard looking down at him over the railing. “How’d you get up there?”
“Trade secret.” That was Howler’s voice, though Chris couldn’t see her from this angle. A running jump got him up to the walkway alongside them.
“Ramsey High was a nexus point of magical channels,” Hazard explained. “Turns out you can use them to get around, if you’re careful not to get lost.”
“Damn,” said Chris. “Can you teach me to do that?”
The two heroes exchanged a glance. “Soon, I think,” Hazard said softly.
“Thanks,” Howler grunted. “For knocking the jewel out of that guy’s hand.”
“What was it doing to you?” Chris asked. “It looked a little like mind control, but…”
Howler scowled. “Something like that,” said Hazard.
“No, you might as well say it,” Howler snapped. “Fuckin’ thing has a love spell in it. You hold it and talk to someone, they go stupid at you. Thank God it only works on one person at a time, or we’d have been fucked.”
Chris growled. “That was fucked,” he said. “What he did to you. Fucking with your emotions like that. It’s low.”
“Yeah,” Howler rasped out after a moment. “It sucked.”
“Knew a guy like that back in high school,” Chris went on, swallowing a snarl. “Bastard didn’t have a love-spell amulet, but that didn’t stop him from playing a friend of mine. Proudest moment of my life was getting her the hell away from him.” He shook his head. “Trust me, it’s a privilege getting to take down another scumbag like that.”
“Heh, yeah, I think we’ve all met our share of teenage scumbags,” Howler laughed.
“Did anyone see you on the way out?” Hazard asked.
“Of course not, what do you take me for?” Chris assured them. “…What about that amulet? Is it safe to leave it in the museum?”
“Not in the long run,” Hazard admitted. “But for now, it’s out of the Highwayman’s hands. There are people I can call.”
He still stood on the outside, Chris realized. He had Hazard’s phone number, sure. But between the secret magic pathways and mysterious resources, there was a lot that Hazard just hadn’t revealed to him yet.
“Let me know if I can help,” he said firmly.
“We will,” Hazard replied. “And… stay safe, okay? Something’s stalking the Mission District, and we’re still not sure who or what. Watch your back on the way home.”
“I always do,” Chris assured him. “You stay safe too, alright?”
He leapt over the railing and landed lightly in the grass, then set off for home. Satisfaction settled around him like a comforting blanket; he’d done good work today. It reminded him of the old, nostalgic triumphs in school. The scale was so much bigger, but the feelings at the heart were the same.
Fired up, he took the long way home just to patrol the streets for a few hours, all senses alert for the unseen monster lurking in the dark.
He wished he could go back in time to his younger self, all fired up with frustration and righteous fury, and let him know that he was going to be a hero.
That he always had been, deep down.
***
Someone, probably Robby, reached out and patted the back of his head. Chris kept his face stubbornly mashed into his arms, until the hand stopped petting and swatted him instead.
“C’mon, man,” Robby said, clearly holding back laughter. “You’re being pathetic right now.”
Sighing loudly, Chris finally turned his head to glare at him, keeping his head down all the while. “I’m not being pathetic.”
“Be nice to him.” God, even Travis was laughing at him. “Can’t you see he’s mourning right now?”
“Oh fuck off.” Chris finally sat up, grabbed the remains of his lunch, and shoved it back into his backpack. He tried not to look, but the table was right in his line of vision, and once he caught sight of it, he couldn’t stop.
It was impossible to miss Isabelle’s red hair, especially when she wore green to make it pop. It made Joel stand out in all the worst ways: dark where she was bright, slouched and sloppy where she was neat and put together. His hoodie was threadbare and stained.
They sat hip to hip, their thighs pressed together. On Joel’s other side, Pearl had her usual nasty smirk on her face. She caught Chris’s eye briefly, and flipped him off before returning to whatever conversation they were having.
“God, look at him,” Chris muttered. “She looks like that and he’s dressed like he’s homeless. No effort whatsoever.”
“Yeah, I know the type,” Angela muttered. “Bet Izzy plans all the dates.”
“How much is she blinking?” Travis asked. “She could be calling for help in Morse code.”
It was a joke, but it still made Chris’s stomach turn. He glanced at Isabelle’s arms and wrists, checking for bruises. Joel had rough, callused hands, exactly the kind of hands for getting rough and grabby with girls.
“Speaking of calling for help, I almost got lured into the woods on the way to class today,” Angela announced. “I’m okay, thanks for asking.”
“Wait, what?” Chris blurted out, turning his attention fully on her. “Are you—what happened?”
“Ugh, you know that guy with the antlers that stands in the trees just far away enough that you can’t make out the details of his face?”
“Heh, you said make out,” Travis broke in. Robby shoved him off the bench.
“Yeah, so he’s been promising me my heart’s desire for like a month,” Angela went on. “And this morning I was super sleep-deprived because I forgot about that paper that was due today, so I guess I just kinda believed him this time.”
“Holy shit,” said Robby, who was keeping Travis on the floor with one foot. “What did he do?”
“Nothing, Hazard showed up and shot him in the face with a crossbow.” Angela grinned, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. “He walked me the rest of the way. He didn’t say much, but he was a real gentleman.”
Relieved, Chris found his mind wandering back to Isabelle and Joel. He glanced at them, and his stomach turned with dread. Joel had his arm around her, tight and possessive, trapping her there.
“Did he get a kiss for rescuing you?” Travis asked, lazily kicking Robby’s shin.
“I mean… he might have,” Angela said coyly. “If he’d stuck around long enough. Maybe next time.”
Dread turned to resolve. Chris forced himself to look away and think. Hazard was a hero, plain and simple. He’d been protecting every single student and teacher at Ramsey High from magical threats since freshman year, and if he could do all that, then Chris could protect his friend from the likes of Joel Durante. And Chris couldn’t fight or shoot like Hazard—that wouldn’t help Isabelle even if he could—but there were other ways to get his hooks out of Isabelle.
He just had to show everyone who Joel really was.
***
The Mission District had been quiet for weeks.
There was something out there. Hazard and Howler were sure of it. Chris was sure of it, too. There was an energy in the air like a coiled spring, twisted until it screamed with tension. But whatever the source, it was either too clever or too cowardly to allow him to spot it. No new scents floated on the breeze, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything.
As if on cue, the acrid burn of cigarette smoke reached him on the breeze. Chris followed the scent, keeping well away from street lamps as it led him to the park on Dolores street. The grass muffled his footsteps as he drew close enough to see the source: a man in a scruffy coat stood smoking under a tree. Watching. Waiting.
One hand never left his pocket.
Chris went still, crouching in the shadows. Rumors still lingered of Something stalking the streets of the Mission District. People were scared—enough to stay inside after dark. Chris had patrolled every street corner and alley, and had found no living soul outside except for this one man, lurking in the park with one hand in his pocket, dripping quiet menace from every pore.
His heart lifted as he moved in. This could be it. In moments, he might be eliminating the threat to his turf. Proving himself to Hazard and Howler. Earning a real spot on the team.
He was very surprised when, mid-pounce, the man whipped around to meet him head-on without a trace of surprise on his face. His hand came out of his pocket, holding a live taser.
Chris had never taken a live taser point blank to the gut before, in either form. He would hope that his wolf form would lessen the effects; if it did, he didn’t want to think about what it would have felt like if he’d been human. He might have blacked out for a few seconds.
“Piece of shit,” the man was whining when Chris could hear again. “This is for Sal, you—you fuckin’ monster—”
Pushing through the pain, Chris lunged forward and snapped, catching the man’s arm between his jaws. His teeth sank deep, and the taste of blood sent numbing adrenaline coursing through Chris’s body. He shook his head fiercely, and was rewarded by a snap and scream.
In the silence that followed, Chris heard the hiss of an airgun, before a pellet struck him full in the throat. The blow forced his mouth open as he choked, releasing the man to crawl away on three limbs. Furious, he caught the man by the leg and looked around to see who had shot him.
The next pellet struck him in the forehead, sending brightly colored spots exploding through his vision. By the time he came to his senses, a familiar figure stood between him and his quarry.
“You,” Hazard said quietly, staring down the barrel of his rifle. “This whole time, the thing prowling around Mission was you. What the fuck are you doing, Fang?”
“Patrolling!” The anger was gone, replaced by helpless confusion. “What are you doing?”
“Stopping you from mauling somebody!” Hazard shot back. “Are you seriously the one who put Sal in the hospital?”
“No! Who the fuck is Sal?!”
“You did!” the injured man snarled, curling around his useless arm. “I saw you! You almost killed him!”
“Jay, don’t—” Hazard nearly stepped toward him, but stayed where he was, focused on Chris. “Howler, get him to the hospital.”
Chris hadn’t noticed Howler approach until she was already picking the guy up off the ground, muttering, “Come on, Jay, car’s this way.”
“You didn’t tell me you knew that guy,” was all Chris could think to say.
“Why would I need to?” Hazard demanded. “How was I supposed to know you were gonna maul someone for standing on a street corner doing nothing?”
“He wasn’t doing nothing!” Chris shouted back. “He was—you didn’t see him, he was being fucking suspicious. How do you even know he’s trustworthy? He had a taser on him!”
“He had a taser because you’ve been terrorizing homeless people for weeks,” Hazard hissed.
“I’ve been keeping these streets safe,” Chris argued hotly. “Like you do.”
“You don’t know anything about me.” Hazard stepped back, lowering the rifle.
“I do!” Panic welled up in Chris. He’d fucked up—he’d been fucking up. Hazard didn’t trust him. Hazard was walking away. Hazard thought he didn’t get it.
He made a decision.
It was easier to pick himself up in human form—less heavy and unwieldy, easier to balance on his feet. His throat and head still ached from the pellet shots, but hopefully he wasn’t so badly bruised as to be unrecognizable.
“It’s me,” said Chris. “Do you—do you remember me? We were classmates. I do know you—I saw the same dangers you did, every day.” His voice caught for a moment. “You saved me so many times. I wanted to be like you—I tried to be like you, all the time!”
He paused for breath. Hazard was staring at him, frozen and silent.
“Look, I’m sorry about this,” he went on. “Maybe I’m not as ready for this as I thought—I don’t have your instincts. But—my whole life, I’ve wanted—I’ve tried to fight for people, to protect people, to take down assholes who deserve it. Please, just… don’t go? I can do better. I promise. I’ve done better before.”
Hazard walked away.
