A Normil Day

Rick Normil

I was back at work two days later. I could have been there sooner; there was nothing really wrong with me. But there was a lot of paperwork and the doctors had to go hmm at me.

The newsroom was slightly quieter, as it always was on Saturday. Jenna was at her computer, writing an article; the headline looked like it would be Police Say Projector Provoked Both Stitch Incidents. Damon Robb had an honest-to-goodness supervillain name, now. I'd thought Mindrobber was punchier, but Jenna said she was perfectly happy for Robb to go through life known as the pathetic fanboy with the stupid Extraordinary-name.

"So when's your hearing?" Jenna said conversationally.

"The twenty-sixth. My lawyer says I should be fine, though." I'd spent all morning talking with him. "Robb confessed, the wire projector still works, the police saw me get shot with the wireless one, and the doctors spent half of Friday morning looking at my MRI and saying, 'interesting.' If anyone can prove possession by a supervillain, it's me."

Jenna nodded. It's not as if this is a totally unfamiliar situation for us, after all. She hadn't even blinked at covering up the fact that I wasn't possessed the second time I broke into the police station. Even for Jenna Germaine, saving lives takes priority over a story.

In fact, if she'd buried the story I half-suspected she might have . . .

There was no way to ask. "Look," I said, "I'm gonna go eat lunch. Could you do me a favor?"

"Depends on the favor," Jenna said lightly. "What?"

I took a piece of paper out of my pocket. "Could you leave this sitting on your desk, just out there where someone can read it, for a coupla hours?

The note said: A—

I just wanted to let you know that policeman—his name is Tony Burke—survived. He woke up late last evening. They haven't released him from the hospital yet. Reading between the lines, I think the doctors figure he's got some brain damage. I don't know exactly what that means; probably that he'll need the same months-of-therapy that stroke victims have to go through, and I'm guessing he'll have to quit the police. Still, he's alive. I know you were worried about letting him die to save me, so I thought you should know.

Thank you. You saved my life, and probably Jenna's and everyone else who works here. I owe you a lot.

Rick

Jenna raised her eyebrows at me. "Besides you, the only person who saved everyone's life this week was Sigil."

I shrugged uncomfortably.

"Forget about all the usual questions—what is Sigil, why was he here, is he a threat to the planet—what I want to know right now is, why the hell would Sigil be poking around on my desk?"

"I'm not sure he really will be," I admitted, "but he says he looks in on this place every once in a while because we're a nexus."

"A what?"

"Scientific for 'trouble magnet.'" Jenna nodded; it made perfect sense to her. "I have a whole list of questions myself," I went on, "and he can't answer any of them unless I get myself zapped to the astral plane or something. Of course, with my life, that'll happen next Tuesday. Or, more likely, right before I'm due in court."

(In retrospect, I really, really shouldn't have tempted fate with that little bit of cynicism. But that's a whole other story.)

There was an Off Limits For Repairs sign on the roof access. I ignored it, went over to the edge, and opened my lunch. There was still a gouge in the roof where Guardian had hit hard, and the Torch sculpture was missing again, but otherwise it was just like usual. Brisk breeze, blue sky, glittering view of the skyline. I thought I spotted one of those high-rise-nesting peregrines skating across the heavens in search of pigeons.