Chapter 2

“So, have you decided? Free for Dr. Death to hunt your sorry asses down and suck you dry of any blood, or stay and play my game?” Sydney wheeled into her open lab, interrupting the pair of arch-enemies’ conversation.

“What does your game entail?” It seemed that the Heroine was the initial spokesperson for the two.

“Humiliation and reflection.” ‘And control’ went unspoken. “It’s the best of seven. You versus her. Loser chooses a forfeit after each game.”

“What kind of forfeit?”

“What the fuck. A kid wants to humiliate me?”

“Kriss, we agreed that I would ask the questions.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t ask mine.”

“Then ask, after.”

“Bitch.”

“Sydney?” the caged Heroine, Puma, reiterated her question.

“Incremental changes in the loser. You don’t have to worry about it, IF you don’t lose.”

“I’m slow. Please explain with examples.” Puma patiently continued with her questions.

Pulling out a deck of cards, Sydney replied, “say you lose the first round: Tier I cards affect what you wear, meaning I will be permanently altering your wardrobe style on a loss.” Holding up a hand to forestall the expected interruption, “two sets of identical twenty card decks, plus two wild cards are added for luck. If you get a wild card you may draw an extra card and you get my advice on the choices available. If you draw doubles, your choice is decided for you, taking what the double offers.”

“How do we know you won’t screw us?” chimed in the obnoxious Villainess.

“Because I don’t care what happens to either of you,” my student answered honestly. She hated untruths and those that spoke them with regularity. “I’d rather both of you take the easy way out and go let Dr. D. chase you down, so I can get back to my homework. I’m doing this for research and to help out Mistress Cat. Besides, if she were the one writing the clues, neither of you would have a chance.”

“What do you mean by that?” the athletic brunette asked, unable to help herself.

“Unless you understand Reallllly advanced quantum physics ... let’s just say that Mistress Cat turns into a math monster when she is working.”

“So, you are the good cop?” snidely, Puma chimed in.

“No. I’m the only one that can deliver the clues and hints that morons like you can understand. I’m also the only one who is willing to put an effort in seeing that you don’t get sucked dry by a vampire.”

“Kid, if you keep calling us morons, I’m going to bash your teeth in.”

“Answer a simple question and I will refrain from addressing you two idiots as anything other than ‘Ladies’ in the future. Ready? What is Avogadro’s constant and what is it used for? It was something I learned when I was nine. I was told that every high schooler has to learn it at one point unless they were on the short bus or majored in shop class.”

After a few off-the-mark guesses, Sydney ended the farce.

“Approximately 6.022 x 10^23. It’s a chemistry thing. Something you should have learned in your tenth grade chemistry class. Instead of copying the homework from the geek in front of you, in lieu of him getting clobbered every day.”

Disgusted with the pair’s lack of learning, their presence, and most everything else about the pair of Supers, Sydney continued where she left off, “Then the Idiotic Duo you shall remain. Now would you rather play with Dr. Death or me? Decide.”

“I’ll take my chances with the wheelchair geek.” Kriss wasn’t making friends.

“Wait, what happens if we win? Will you let us go?”

“Win or lose. Both of you will be my indentured servants until the day after my eighteenth birthday. I’m not going through all this work to keep you alive and have you run out and get hit by a bus.”

“I’m not going to be a slave to some crip.”

“What would you have us do as your, ‘Indentured Servants’?” Puma more reasonably inquired. Neither liked how this was being played out, even if it spared their lives.

“Secretary, errand girl, maid, cook, gardener, anything I tell you to do, you will do. In the top right drawer of your desks is a wooden box with a contract and a quill. You will sign it if you agree to everything it says.”

“No way in hell...”

“Sydney, indentured servitude is illegal in this country.”

“That is where you are wrong. That contract is not a legal one. It’s a magic one. If you sign it, you will magically be bound by the terms stipulated. If you don’t sign, off you go. I hear that Dr. D. is staying for the week at Central City’s Hanover, a hundred and nineteen miles to the east of us. Care to join him for dinner?”

Sydney’s ominous repeated threats of invoking Leonard’s name proved effective in quieting the two rebellious Supers.

“Read it over. It is not too harsh and you get paid fifty K a year. Both of your apartments will be packed up and preserved for the duration of your service under me. I’ll return in two hours for your decisions.”

Neither woman called out to Sydney on her way to the elevator.

...

“I’ll sign your fucking contract,” Kriss snarled. Taking the quill from the box, “Ow! It bit me,” the lithe black-haired Villainess complained.

“Magic. The contract is signed in blood. Yours. Those cost Master a considerable amount for each for those two pieces of parchment.”

“Fuck.”

Sydney waited patiently as both women pondered the implications of a magic bound contract.

Recklessly, Kriss signed it first without a great deal of further thought.

“Here’s your fucking contract.”

“Okay. And you, Puma?”

“It’s only a couple years.” The shorter and curvier brunette Heroine, bit her lip and signed her contract also.

“Return the contract and quill to the box, close it, and bring them here, please. Boris, will you take the boxes from our guests, please?”

“Affirmative, Miss Sydney.” Boris, my wife’s experimental Android, emerged from the corner where he had been watching over Sydney out of sight from the two captives. He then received both boxes containing quills and contracts.

“Good. Both of you need to write an apology to Dr. D. I won’t be reading it, only he will. Make sure it is sincere. You have time, so work on that later.”

“Your first contest will begin in an hour. Until then, go to your computer, find the ‘Game I’ folder, and open it with your birthdate being the password. All numbers.”

We both heard, from our differing positions, Sydney in the elevator and me in my den, “Chess for Dummies?” in similarly disgusted tones.

My apprentice sat in her usual spot, poolside, reading over her microbiology lesson, when I returned from refilling my coffee.

“Why did you choose chess?”

“Jeff’s idea. He wanted the first stage. I think he reasoned that he would be left alone after his sole token appearance. Master, I am not sure about him.”

“You worry that he is becoming more withdrawn?”

“Not really. I think he is losing himself. Only his studies matter. He doesn’t even like building his toys. Just designing them.”

“If you were in my position, what would you recommend?”

“Sign him up for soccer or something. If he gets worse, he will end up never leaving his room, even to eat. When you insisted that he build each design I asked for separately, he fumed for a month.”

“I don’t force my students.”

“And I think you are wrong. Aunt Lissa didn’t help.”

“What did Clarissa do?”

“I’m not supposed to tell you.”

“Sydney.”

“Don’t be like that ... Reno. Ok? She took Jeff for a weekend in Reno to get laid.”

“So that was all the hush hush. He didn’t seem unhappy after their vacation.”

“He has less motivation to go out now. Nothing to strive for. Getting laid should have been an end goal for that slug, not an early stage reward.”

“You feel strongly about that, do you?”

Blushing, a rare sight from the too worldly fourteen-year-old student, “Sorry, Master, I know you have a plan, I just don’t see it.”

Resting my hand on the too-thin girl’s head, “I will speak to Jeff tonight. Now go play with your toys.”

“Thank you, Master.”

...

“Best out of three and you keep playing until one of you wins two games. If you get a stalemate then start over. If no one wins two games before midnight, you both lose and draw a forfeit.”

Boris brought over a card table and two chairs, setting it up between their two nearly-invisible, walled cells.

“Thank you, Boris, I appreciate the help.”

“You are welcome, Student of Mother’s Master,” Boris replied stiffly.

“You’re being silly again.”

“Do you require further assistance, Miss Sydney?”

“I’m good. The chess set isn’t heavy. You can go back to your shows if you want.”

“May I remain and observe?”

“Sure.” Pausing to correct Catherine’s ‘unnatural influence’ with a grimace, “Yes. Just don’t help either of them.”

“Puma, you are white and get to go first. I will add a rule. If you make an illegal move with any piece, that piece is removed from play. No cheating either, this is being recorded. If you get caught cheating, it’s an instant loss.” Sydney wheeled over to a desk that was set up earlier for this occasion and returned to her studies.

After hearing less grumbling than expected, I extended the force fields joining their two cells.

I signaled Boris to referee the match.

The first game was ugly, but Puma, whose real name was Stacy Pinta, revealed a hint of experience with the first win. Probably from playing during her childhood. The second game went even slower with Miss Pinta further dominating Kriss, aka, Helen Jacoby, from beginning to end.

Once the match was decided, Boris dropped the force fields, separating the two B-Rank Supers.

“Miss Sydney, the victor of the first set is the Heroine Puma: two games to zero. I also report that the Villainess Kriss held back a bishop and has the item with her now.”

“Thank you, Boris.”

Staring daggers at Sydney, the tall, twenty-four-year-old raven-haired Super watched her captor approach with arms folded under her moderately sized chest, pressing her leather vest firmly against herself.