Minion wakes up late to cozy shafts of late-morning sunlight and the scent of spices tempering. He smiles, mouth already watering. Then, the hammering starts outside the window.

"Fucking woodpeckers," he mutters, shaking the sheets off.

Crossing the room, he bangs hard on the glass. Three birds startle off the stucco beside the window, tiny balls of floofy feathers scattering into the clear blue sky. Minion squints after them. Unlike that bratty hero last night, these little demons look deceptively innocent when they're flying.

As he puts medicine on his burn, he hums tunelessly. Today he's not even going to open the Henchr app to see who needs help losing to a rookie hero. He's just going to relax. He could watch the latest episode of Ultimate Showdown of Masked Fighting. It's always cathartic to watch self-righteous heroes getting stomped by stronger heroes for a paycheck, even if the whole "guess who's under the mask" part is childishly simple for anyone who knows anything about modern heroes, no matter how elaborate the costumes. Or maybe Dom will want to do something. Maybe she'll be up for a threesome. It's been a while.

A tap comes at the stucco again. Growling, Minion smacks the glass until the bird takes flight.

In the spacious kitchen, Dom sips coffee over the scroll of news on her tablet. "Morning, doll," she says absently, tilting her chin to accept the kiss he drops on top of her head. "Good job last night?"

"I've had better."

She doesn't ask for details, and he doesn't offer. This has been their rule since they stopped working together. Plausible deniability and all that. The only thing that ends a marriage faster than sharing STIs is sharing felonies.

Dom's bowl is already empty. "Oats are still hot," she says, scrolling carefully to avoid her long, pointed nails scratching the screen. Minion serves himself a big bowl of the steaming, fragrantly spiced oats and vegetable mix.

"You wanna do something today, babe?" he asks, sliding into the chair across from her with a suggestive waggle of his thick eyebrows.

"Maybe tomorrow." Dom doesn't look up. "I've got lunch with the girls and I've already gotta cancel my three o'clock at the dungeon 'cause Shan's computer science teacher wants us to come in for a chat."

"What about?" Minion asks. Or tries to ask. His mouth is full of oats upma, so it comes out more like, "Wabbit?" Swallowing, he tries again. "What's the teacher want?"

"They wouldn't say."

"Is our little baby getting in trouble at school?"

Dom sighs. "Don't get your hopes up."

Minion shakes his head. "You're one of the most notorious villains to ever terrorize Big City--" Dom preens at the compliment "—and it used to be that every young villain looking to make a name for themself knew they needed Minion on their team. How'd the two of us end up raising a kid who wants to be an accountant? Everyone else at the henchparent meetups are desperately scheming to get their kids apprenticeships with the big-name villains. Meanwhile, we're going on tours of Ivy League colleges." Minion makes a gagging sound.

Dom pats his hand sympathetically. "It's not our choice, doll. She's her own person and she's gonna go her own way. We need to support her, no matter what."

"Of course I'll support her. That doesn't mean I need to be happy she's wasting all those innate evil instincts to spend her life doing math." Minion shovels the last of the spicy oats into his mouth. "You keep your appointment at the dungeon. I'll meet the teacher."

Dom arches one wickedly pointed eyebrow. "You sure? I don't mind handling the teacher stuff if you've got a job to prep for."

"I'm taking the night off," Minion says, because for some reason I'm thinking about retiring, actually, doesn't seem to want to come out of his mouth. He thumps his broad chest. "Gotta get my dad-time in before she never wants to talk to me again."

Dom laughs. It's her civilian laugh, relaxed and softly amused, not the fantastic MWAHAHAHA she was so proud of back in her villain days. When they were rookies, and Minion worked for her, her laugh was a huge problem. They'd be mid-job, a hero would show up and bluster about, Dom would let out that laugh—and suddenly all the Minions would have boners. Very inconvenient.

Her eyes fix again on the tablet, and Dom's other brow shoots up to meet the first. "Wow, there's a name I never thought I'd see again. Someone thinks they spotted Valiant Virgin last night. You just lost the bet, doll."

"Viagra Vanity? No way."

"You still do those atrocious nicknames? Have I told you lately that I appreciate your heinous sense of humor?" A furrow in her perfectly cruel mahogany brow, she reads, "It's been ten years since The Hero of the Clenched Cheeks vanished under mysterious circumstances, following a scandalous failure to prevent his nemesis, Dominatrix, from illegally relieving the Fancy Stolen Artifacts Museum of its fancy stolen artifacts."

Minion chortles. "Oh, yeah. You wiped the floor with him that day."

"I was good." Dom shrugs, a glint in her eye. "But after preventing a bank robbery last night in his unforgettably fabulous manner, it seems Big City's most celebrated celibate has returned with a glitter bomb to once again protect civilians from evil--and rampant libidos. City Police have yet to respond to inquiries as to whether they have, in fact, retained the undefiled hero's services once again."

"Of course they haven't," Minion snorts. "They don't disclose their contractor list 'cause they don't want anyone to know if there's unlicensed transcendents running around. Is this reporter new?"

"Does this mean Dominatrix, the patron villain of lustful hedonists everywhere, has also returned to torment the innocent and pure of our city once again? With Valiant Virgin's reappearance, it's likely only a matter of time before the wanton villain reveals her sadistically sensual self to make Big City's demure wives tremble in fear. If you see any sign of the terrible temptress, please report it, blah blah blah. Where are they getting this gossip? My suit's still got mothballs on it. I do like making demure wives tremble in terror, though."

"Are they trembling 'cause they're afraid you'll seduce their husbands, or 'cause they're afraid you'll seduce them?"

"Both, obviously."

Chuckling, Minion leans in to peer at the photo on the tablet. It's blurry and dark, but the white-and-gold costume does look familiar. "Has it really been ten years?"

"We retired at the same time, remember? We cut a deal. He wouldn't come after me for the art." They both look at the sun-kissed jade Buddha displayed conspicuously on an ostentatiously ornate gold table in the corner. Dom smiles contentedly. "And I didn't make a big fuss about how I humiliated him. Then neither of us would put our suits on again. I'm surprised he'd go back on his word, but Val's talents were pretty unmistakable, all that flash and glitter. If they think it's him, it's probably him."

"Maybe he finally realized he got the raw end of that deal." Minion shrugs. "He's probably been sitting at home depressed all these years. Look, he doesn't have that great flowing hair he used to have."

"People cut their hair, doll."

Minion rubs at his own, slightly receding hairline. It's very slight, almost unnoticeable. Anyone who didn't know him before would probably assume he's always had a widow's peak so deep it leaves a continent of bare, shiny skin above each ear. "He probably isn't as hot as he used to be."

"Oh, mother of evil," Dom laughs. "I forgot you used to have a crush on that doofus."

"He was a good looking dude," Minion says, shrugging. "And the guy called himself the Valiant Virgin. That's a fucking cry for help."

Dom sighs heartily, her gaze lingering on the smiling jade Buddha. "Sometimes I miss the thrill of a good heist, the exhilaration of facing off against a hero with license to kill. Nothing made me hornier than getting away with the perfect crime."

Minion squints out into the sunlit backyard as he scrubs his plate. "So why didn't you go back? Who cares about some deal you made with a hacky hero?"

"Went out with a bang, you know? It was a satisfying way to end things."

Minion isn't going out with a bang. More like curling up into the fetal position and sobbing. This conversation isn't making him feel better about letting a stupid app make his career decisions for him.

Dom is still going on, "Plus you bet that I'd be the one to break the deal, and you know I hate to lose a bet." She taps her nails against her tablet. "Well. If he's back on the streets, then it's time for his nemesis to be, too."

Rising to her feet, she sets her dishes onto the counter beside the sink. Even without her deadly thigh-high boots on, she's taller than Minion by at least six inches. Looking up at her makes him swoon a little. "Good luck with the teacher, doll." With a wicked smirk on her blood-red lips, she trails a finger down his throat, sharp nail against his skin. "Let's do something tomorrow, just you and me. You owe me for losing that bet. We can see if my suit still fits."

Minion shivers in delight.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

"And maybe see if you can do something about those birds before they peck right into the attic." Dom sweeps away.

"I could use some target practice," Minion agrees grimly.

Soon... in the backyard.

It's quiet. The twenty-foot high brick wall topped with razor wire that circles the huge green lawn beyond the pool muffles all external sounds.

"Can you believe Vacuous Vermin is back?" Minion Two complains, turning his handgun over to check that the silencer is secure. "That guy's morals were more solid than a titanium dildo. I'm almost offended he'd break his promise to Dom."

"You're just saying that 'cause we lost that bet," Minion One says.

"C'mon! It's been ten years! Don't pretend you didn't think we were getting away with it."

"We didn't really expect Dom to come out of retirement, though." He squints along the barrel of the upgraded rifle he stole from a hero years back. He doesn't quite know how, but it's completely silent, has no recoil at all, and plays disco music if he asks nicely. The woodpeckers are nowhere to be seen, but the Minions can be patient when they need to be.

"Maybe she'll let us work for her again," Minion Two says hopefully. "Then Henchr can go fuck itself."

"Against our wedding vows, remember?"

Minion Two sighs loudly and scrubs his shoulders against the rough brick of the twenty-foot-tall, razor-wire topped fence. "Do you really wanna retire if Dom isn't gonna be around? I was kinda hoping retirement meant more time for sex. And like, feasts every day."

"We can do those things without Dom."

"Yeah, but it's not as fun."

"Wow. I'm hurt. You'd better--"

Fwoosh. A woodpecker settles against the house, on the second floor by the bedroom window. Pop. Stucco chips explode and the bird whirrs into the air, shrieking.

Minion One smacks Minion Two upside the head. "What're you doing, dumbass? You scared them away."

Sheepishly, Minion Two rubs a palm down his warm gun. "Didn't expect to miss. But they're dumber than you. They'll come back."

They settle in on the loungers by the sparkling pool. The hot sun creeps slowly across the sky. Minion Two falls asleep. Minion One says please and his gun obliges by playing Stayin' Alive. He bobs along, eyes closed.

A flutter of wings. Minion Two shoots up. Pop pop. The bedroom window shatters. The bird swoops away, hooting but unharmed.

"Shit."

Minion One throws down his gun and stomps away.

Later that afternoon... in the bowels of a school with a marble facade behind a gate bearing a sign that says THE ELITE ACADEMY OF LEARNING in baroque gold script.

The last notes of the bell have barely faded and already the hallways are empty. The humming computer lab is dim. Green lights flicker beside dark screens.

"Thank you for coming, Mr. Rai," the teacher says. She offers a limp, sweaty handshake and leads Minion and Ishana into her office at the back. "Please, have a seat."

The three of them sit down on opposite sides of a large metal desk. Back very straight, Ishana folds her hands in her lap and stares at her toes like a good kid. She's not supposed to be a good kid. Minion stifles a sigh.

"So what's the problem, exactly?" he asks, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at the geeky little computer science teacher. He's never liked teachers. Too much like heroes, with how they devote their lives to helping people even though they don't get paid enough. This teacher is the worst sort, too. She absolutely reeks of selflessness. It's revolting.

The teacher seems to sense his malevolence. She turns red as she mutters a bunch of gibberish about technology and servers. Minion's head already hurts.

He cuts her off gruffly, "I'm not a tech guy. Just explain it how I can understand."

She takes a deep breath and resettles her huge round glasses on her nose. Looking glad there's a big desk between then, she stutters, "Someone has been stealing our computer... stuff. The stuff that makes computers powerful, and the stuff that gives those powerful computers privacy. Enough stuff that they could be running a really sophisticated criminal operation with the stuff. And we have reason to suspect your daughter is the culprit."

Trying not to get his hopes up, Minion says, "That's quite an accusation. Why do you think that Ishana was involved?"

"Well." The teacher adjusts her skirt over her knees. "I am not at liberty to disclose the details, but suffice to say someone saw your daughter lurking around the computer room after hours last week, when she should have been at soccer practice."

Minion stifles his smile. Normal dads probably wouldn't be happy to hear We think your kid might be a criminal, and this teacher thinks he's normal. Or as normal as a garden-variety evil rich person can be, anyway. "Sounds pretty circumstantial to me. Shan, did you take the computery shit?"

Ishana's eyes fill up with tears. "I didn't steal anything."

"That's it, then," Minion says, spreading his hands, palms up. "She didn't do it."

The teacher sputters. "Mr. Rai, you have to understand, this is a very serious situation--"

He slaps his palms on the desk, biceps bulging menacingly out of his t-shirt sleeves. "Next time you wanna accuse my daughter of something, you'd better have real proof. And you'd better have some damn good lawyers. C'mon, kid."

Ishana leaps to her feet and hurries after him, eyes downcast. The teacher follows them, protesting feebly, until they're out of the school.

As soon as the doors slam shut behind them, Minion's huge smile bursts free. "Soooo?"

"I didn't do it, Dad."

"You know you can always be honest with me. What do you need the computery stuff for? Got some kinda big scheme going?"

Ishana throws her hands up. "You and Mom are the worst parents ever! You're not supposed to encourage that! And I didn't steal anything. Stop assuming I did."

Frowning, Minion says, "Really?"

"Yes, really." Halfway through a dramatic eye roll, Ishana catches sight of something over Minion's shoulder, and a beaming smile breaks across her face. "Oh, hey! Hey, Wynter! I thought you'd left!"

A blonde girl further up the path turns around and smiles warmly. "Hey, Shan!"

Ishana bounces up the path. They greet each other with a lingering hug. Wynter is tall and has pale blue eyes. She looks like she fell into a vat of bleach as a child.

When they unwind, Minion says, "Nice to finally meet you, Wynter. I'm Ishana's dad. My daughter can't stop talking about you, even though it's summer now."

Ishana covers her face. "Dad!"

Nudging Ishana in the arm, Wynter chuckles. "Hey, Ishana's dad. Did Shan ask you if she could sleep over tonight? We have, uh, a movie we want to watch. But it's long. Like, really long. It'll probably take all night."

Minion wiggles his eyebrows knowingly. "Sure thing. The longer the better, right? You know, like, size doesn't matter, but stamina is--"

Groaning loudly, Ishana drags Wynter away. "Okay, great, we get it. Bye!"

Chuckling to himself, he watches them go. Sunlight catches Wynter's long ponytail, so blonde it's almost silver. There's something so familiar about her. That hair, and her voice—so self-assured for a teenager.

He turns it over on the way back to the car. Maybe she's on the soccer team with Ishana? But he's never missed a game, and she's not that familiar. More like saw-her-once-in-passing familiar. He feels a little weird even thinking so hard about it. He's not a creep.

KREEEEE. A bird startles out of the underbrush next to him, whipping leaves around his ankles. A white feather flutters to the ground.

Minion whirls around, reaching reflexively for his concealed gun. Ishana and Wynter are holding hands as they walk to her car, matching plaid skirts swishing around their knees.

It's the feet that threw him off. Her feet are normal human feet, fitting in a normal human way inside normal white sneakers. And she doesn't have wings right now, which is weird as hell, but Minion has seen weirder talents than disappearing wings. It's her. It's definitely her.

Wynter is White Squall.

And Ishana is holding her fucking hand.