I hissed through my teeth as I pulled bits of rock and shredded red silk from my hands. In the morning light filtering through my grimy bathroom window they looked even worse than they had the night before. I should have cleaned them up as soon as I returned to my apartment, but I had been so exhausted I only managed to pull off my shoes, tutu, and mask before falling into bed.

Reckless, I scolded myself. How was I supposed to enact my evil plans with hands that had the appearance and approximate usefulness of raw meat? Not to mention my ruined gloves. Elbow length red gloves were not the most common fashion accessory, which made them perfect for making a statement, but rather annoying when you dragged your only pair down the side of a building at close to terminal velocity and had to find new ones.

Turning the tap on with my elbow, I stuck my hands under the stream of cold water and winced as it hit my stinging palms. The water made coppery-red patterns on the white sink as it washed off the dried blood. I watched it turn clear, and then looked up into the bathroom mirror. Most of my hair had escaped from my bun to form a frizzy black halo around my face, and my eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep. Not exactly the face of a dashing supervillain.

I stuck my tongue out at my reflection and shut off the water.

There was no way I would be able to go back and help Bea and Peg with their completely innocent boxes again today, if they still had work for me to do. I didn’t want to lose the progress I had made on them though. I had only a month to make a name for myself, and I balked at the idea that I could have wasted an entire day simply moving boxes. The file in my backpack had suggested that group as potential minions after all, and after my day spent observing them I was inclined to agree. They seemed like a decent sort, loyal to each other, perhaps scumbags but not to the point of outright nastiness of character. I wanted them as my minions.

Using my teeth and a good deal of creativity, I ripped strips from one of my t-shirts and wrapped them around my hands, all the while glowering at the backpack containing all my worldly possessions. Of course Gran hadn’t provided me with anything useful like a First Aid kit, and I hadn’t had the foresight to go out and buy one. Supervillains weren’t supposed to need First Aid kits, we were supposed to be the ones causing the pain, not getting injured ourselves.

As I tried to figure out what to do about my minions-to-be, the pain in my hands gave me a sudden idea. Bea had been very friendly yesterday, and she seemed like just the sort of organized person who would have a First Aid kit handy.

~~~

The bell tinkled too-cheerfully as I pushed open the front door of Bea’s shop. I walked straight to the counter at the back of the room, which Bea was crouching behind, her back towards me. She was rummaging through some shelves of what looked like dead rats, but were, on closer inspection, just more used clothing that had obviously not been sorted or washed yet.

“Just a minute!” She called without turning around.

I waited patiently, leaning against the counter with my hands held in front of my face to ease their throbbing. It seemed to make them feel better, but for the first time I wished we had been given at least basic First Aid training at the Academy. That seemed like a rather large oversight on the part of instructors who ordinarily saw everything.

Bea turned around at last, getting to her feet with a slight groan.

“What can I help you with...” she began, then trailed off when she saw it was me. “Oh, you again! I thought we’d run you off last night!”

I had a momentary concern that it had been a mistake to come back here, but then I saw her smile and realized belatedly that she was teasing me. I forced a smile onto my own face.

It didn’t take long for Bea to notice the unnatural way I was holding my hands and the fact that they were bound up in strips of an old t-shirt that would not have been out of place in this very store.

“What happened to you?” She asked, hands on her hips and a familiar scowl on her face. My grimace spread into a real smile as I realized that she seemed ready to berate me for daring to get injured.

“I fell,” I said. I had prepared an excuse during the brief walk here, one that was even fairly close to the truth.

“Is that so?” Bea cocked an eyebrow.

“Yes, well, I didn’t just fall,” I said, looking ruefully down at my hands.

“You don’t say,” Bea said sarcastically, her brown eyes intent upon my face.

“I went for a walk last night.” True. “I just wanted to look at the city by night and get some fresh air.” Also true.

“Not much of that to get around here,” Bea interjected.

“So I noticed.”

She was still looking at me oddly, so I hurried on, looking away in pretend embarrassment at my foolish behaviour.

“Anyway, I was walking alone after Malik and Peg left, and someone came up behind me and tried to grab my wallet out of my pocket, but I managed to knock him down and run off,” I said, the words pouring out in a rush. False, all false, but I was getting so caught up in the story I could almost picture it happening. “He chased after me, and I slipped and scraped up my hands pretty badly on the pavement. Luckily I managed to get out into the street where it was light, and he fell as well, I think, because I heard cursing behind me, but I didn’t stop to look. I just ran back to my apartment and bolted the door. I don’t think he followed me, or else I wouldn’t be standing here this morning to talk to you.”

Without a word, Bea walked around the counter and took one of my hands firmly in hers. She unwound the bandage as I peered at her unobtrusively, trying to determine whether or not she had believed my story. I had thought it was a pretty good one, all things considered. It seemed reasonable and logical, and certainly a great deal more believable than the truth. That was the funny thing about the truth. It had a way of being even more ludicrous than the most ridiculous lie that someone like me could make up.

Bea sucked in a breath when she saw the extent of the damage on my hands.

“Did you put antiseptic on this?” She asked.

I shook my head.

Bea glared at me. “Idiot, wrapping up scrapes like this in some old t-shirt and then expecting them to magically get better. Come with me.”

Grabbing my wrist, she dragged me down the hallway behind the counter and up a narrow set of stairs hidden at the back of the building. They creaked and shifted beneath our feet as we ascended into the gloom of their living area. There was an old television sitting against the far wall, with a few threadbare couches arranged in front of it. A large curtain sectioned off one corner of the room. I peeked past the curtain as Bea pulled me through the living room, and caught a glimpse of a narrow cot with rumpled blankets piled on top.

Bea finally released me in a small bathroom, similar to the one in my apartment, though much cleaner. Underneath the sink was a First Aid kit, as I had suspected. Bea rummaged in it for a few moments before pulling out a nearly empty tube of gel. She unwrapped both my hands and squeezed the gel onto them, rubbing it in gently with her callused fingers.

“Ah, that feels better.” The cool gel spread across my hands, easing the burning pain that had been present since the night before.

Bea then took a length of clean bandage from underneath the sink and wrapped my hands much more expertly than I ever could have done. I would bet anything that Peg sometimes got into trouble when she was off finding more cardboard boxes to load into trucks, and Bea had seen more than her share of minor injuries.

“Sorry I can’t really help out today,” I said, breaking the silence that had persisted as Bea bound up my hands. She tied a last knot and looked at me.

“Of course not! Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “No way are you lifting boxes with your hands like this.”

“I guess I just came by to raid your first aid kit this time,” I joked, lifting my right hand and flexing it experimentally. Needles of pain returned and I winced, quickly returning it to my lap and making a mental note to stop testing how much things hurt.

Bea’s eyes focused on something far over my head, and I could almost hear her brain whir as she tried to come to a decision about something. I didn’t press it, hoping that, whatever it was, it would be beneficial to me.

“There is one thing you can do for me...” she said, patting my hands absentmindedly.

“Of course, I’d be glad to help, after what you’ve done for me!” I said, perhaps a touch too enthusiastically. I looked down at my hands and fiddled with my bandages until Bea gently nudged my fingers away.

Bea hesitated for a long time – too long – and I began to worry that she would rescind her offer and throw me back out on the street where I belonged.

“I have...something...I need to do today that will take me out. Into the city,” Bea said at last, choosing her words with obvious care. “Would you watch the store for me while I’m gone?”

I couldn’t resist making a little jibe, which popped out before I could tell my mouth it was a terrible idea. “I thought you didn’t need an assistant in the store.”

Bea frowned at me for a moment, then her face cleared and she grinned, sticking her tongue out at me just like she had done with Malik and Peg last night. I found myself grinning in return, unable to help myself. It was an odd feeling, teasing and being teased.

“It’s just for the one day, smarty pants. I don’t need you to come here on a regular basis and bother me,” she said. “I’ve got enough candidates for that job already.”

“Alright,” I nodded. “I’ll be glad to help you out.”

I gave her an ironic smile, to show that I knew she was in fact the one helping me. Again. I was glad that she was continuing to help me, despite the fact that I had done little in return, just given her some sob story about coming to the city with nothing and needing work. It was, however, more than a little surprising, and I wasn’t sure what to make of Bea quite yet.

Bea led me back downstairs and set me up behind the counter, instructing me on exactly what to do should a customer happen to wander into the store by mistake. It was a little difficult grasping things with my newly bandaged hands, but I figured I should be able to manage small paper bills and coins well enough, which was all I really needed to do. There was no computer, just a book to write purchases down in. This caused some problems, as I wasn’t quite up to holding a pencil, but Billy popped his head out from behind the curtain and jumped onto the counter, saying that he would help me. Bea gave him a glare, but didn’t say anything, and soon left the store.

Billy and I stared at each other for a long moment. As far as I could tell he was wearing the same clothes as yesterday, and he looked like an undersized mannequin sitting on the counter.

“What did you do to your hands?” He asked, nodding to my bandages.

“I fell.”

He laughed, a sudden bright sound in the dim and dusty silence of the used clothing store. “You don’t expect me to believe the load of garbage you fed Bea, do you?” He asked, looking at me with raised eyebrows.

I glared at him. “It isn’t a load of garbage, it’s the truth,” I said, secretly impressed that he had seen through my cover story so easily. I wanted to ask what had tipped him off, so that I could improve for the next time, but that would require admitting I had made the entire thing up, which was not going to happen.

“Sure it is,” the kid said, although he sounded a little disappointed, as though he had been expecting me to spill the truth as soon as he called me out on my lie.

We lapsed back into silence, both of us staring off into the respective distance. The minutes ticked by, turning into hours, and the two of us continued to sit there. I fiddled with my bandages, trying to quell the temptation to unwrap them.

About two hours after Bea left, at ten in the morning, the door to the shop was shoved open, rebounding off the wall with a clatter of the bell. It was halted by a large hand, belonging to a large man with a scar running across his face, who stood in the doorway scowling at the shop. I stood up hurriedly, almost whacking my knees against the countertop in the hurry.

“Alright, where is it?” the man shouted, stepping inside and slamming the door behind him.