Chapter 5

We drive across town, Jasper giving me directions. It's still early enough in the evening the city streets are busy. Everyone goes about their business like nothing weird is happening. Does anyone else know? The thought that this all hinges on me and my death—my deaths—weighs uneasily on my mind.

"Are you worried about your presentation?" Jasper asks.

I shoot him a glance as we drive through an intersection. "How do you know about my presentation?"

"You told me about it. A few times, actually. It's the sort of thing people talk about on a first date, you know? Work. Movies."

"So, I told you about how I'm going to change the world and you followed up with ‘my boss uses his real estate holdings as a front to launder drug money'?" My hands tighten on the steering wheel. I'm not usually such a jerk. People have called me blunt. Direct. Small talk is never my strong suit. The snark coming out of my mouth right now is fuelled by the ticking clock in my head that says I'm about to die for the sixty-somethingth time in a row, and so far, Jasper's done nothing to stop it.

He doesn't answer my question. Instead, he points through the windshield. "That way. Park anywhere past the second light."

The second light is the intersection of Mill Street and Key Boulevard. My throat goes dry. This is not a part of town I come to very often. Or ever, really. We stop in front of a bar called Kicks. Pounding music thumps behind the door. If I thought Wench was tacky, this place is flat-out seedy. Darkened windows. A poster promising Girls Every Night!

Also, the name is a shortened version of the word sidekicks. It was well known at SPAM that Kicks was a popular spot for low-level criminals in town. If you needed information about someone's dastardly plan or to start working relationships with informants, Kickswas where you went.

Not that I ever did. When I went to work at SPAM, they immediately saw that my strengths lay in administration. Ideally in ways that didn't involve talking to people.

Still, if anyone inside gets even a whiff that I worked at SPAM—or worse, finds out who my mother was—we're in big trouble.

Speaking of which, it appears that even after so many first dates, even Jasper doesn't know any of those details either. Or at least he hasn't mentioned them. Probably better to not let him in on those little tidbits until I'm more certain he isn't going to drag me into the bar's back freezer and leave me there until Mr. Wolfe is ready to speak with me or whatever.

The street is illuminated by the glowing Kicks sign. Something shaped like a large rat scurries across the sidewalk. I sigh as I watch from behind the steering wheel. "I guess the upside to living the same day over and over is I don't need to worry about a rabies shot."

Jasper shoots me a look. "You're not going to be weird here, right?"

Suddenly he doesn't want my help?

"What do you mean by weird?"

He shifts uneasily, looking out at the bar. "You're kind of... fussy. You know that, right? If you look at everyone in there like you're better than them, no one will tell us anything."

My mouth drops open. I have to remind myself he thinks I'm a lab nerd who has no idea where he's taken us. In fact, I can use his worry to my advantage. Let him think I'm exactly who he believes me to be.

"Fussy?" I ask, making the very suggestion sound offensive. "That's pretty judgy, considering we just met."

He holds up his hands between us, counting off the fingers in multiple rounds. "Sixty dates, remember? I know a lot more than you think."

Fear ripples down my spine.

Where's a bus to step in front of when you need it?

I wave him off as I undo my seat belt and open the door. "I'll be fine. There's sanitizer in the glove compartment. I'll bathe in it when we get back."

The second we walk inside Kicks, it's like a scene from an old Western movie. Heads turn, and everyone might as well be peering out from under the brim of a black cowboy hat for all they appear to be having a good time. Even the music seems to get quiet for a second.

But if my chosen cover story is a nervous nerd out of his depth, Jasper puts on this cloak of sunny confidence that means he walks assuredly through the room, though he doesn't make eye contact with a single person as we go. I make eye contact with lots. None look friendly. A few narrow their eyes. One goes so far as to crack his knuckles.

"Nice place," I say as a man with a face tattoo of a knife runs his thumb over his throat.

If Jasper hears me, he doesn't reply. He takes a seat at an open table near the back and flags down a server. He orders a beer and a plate of nachos, then looks expectantly at me.

"Soda water. Two lime wedges."

"Oh, come on," he says, sighing heavily.

"What? I have a lot of allergies, and E. coli is an equal-opportunity pathogen. You can't tell me the health inspector has been here recently."

Jasper pinches the bridge of his nose, so I drive the point home by smiling up at the server and saying, "Wedge salad. Hold the blue cheese. I'm allergic to that too."

"We don't have a wedge salad," the server says, looking confused. "Or any kind of salad."

Jasper's toe finds my shin under the table. I gasp.

"We'll share the nachos," he says. The server looks like he's going to forget our order before he ever gets back to the kitchen.

"You didn't have to kick me," I say, making sure to pout.

"What did I tell you about not standing out?" His jaw is tense, and he may not be aware of the way his knee is bouncing nervously as he surveys the room.

I lean into Fussy Morgan even harder. "Why are you being so bossy?"

He glances around. "Do you even know where we are?"

Yup. When I worked at SPAM, April once sent a team here to do some recon on a rumoured neurotoxin that was being trafficked through the city. Eight SPAM agents went in. They came back out with twelve black eyes, five broken noses, six broken legs, and twenty-nine broken fingers between them. Also some missing teeth. No neurotoxin. No desire to ever go back in.

But Jasper doesn't know I know any of that, so I say, "Yeah, it's some shitty dive bar where I'm more likely to get a staph infection than I am to get a salad." I wriggle my fingers in disgust. I don't even want to touch the table we're sitting at. It looks like it hasn't been wiped in months, and the empty stage in the back corner holds only a microphone stand and some shredded silver fringe that are a sad attempt to add some sparkle to the grime.

But Jasper throws a nervous glance at the people around us before he gets even closer and lowers his voice. "This is Kicks."

I study the faded menu. It's the kind in the little plastic stand on the side of the table. I pretend to study it. "I could swear this font is Times New Roman. Clearly no one put any thought into graphic design. I could give them some tips. Everyone comes to me for help with their PowerPoint presentations at work."

If laughing wouldn't draw attention we don't need, I would laugh at the dawning horror in Jasper's face. He's obviously beginning to question if bringing me here was a good idea. Fantastic. Let him underestimate me.

The server brings our order. I suck on my straw and make a big show of looking around the room. All those disgruntled SPAM agents who were stuck on desk duty after the neurotoxin incident make sense now. The bar is full of a lot of unshaven faces and shifty eyes. People hunched over phones, which isn't uncommon, but the ones here seem extra paranoid that someone might peek over their shoulder and glimpse which criminal mastermind they're texting. One guy even has an eyepatch, and the scar that runs from his hairline to his lip says it isn't a frivolous accessory.

"We should go," Jasper says. "This was a bad call." But before he can get out of his seat, we're interrupted as a flurry of feathers and sequins takes the chair next to his. For a moment, Jasper is engulfed. He squawks, but the sound is drowned out by a smacking kiss, and when he reemerges, shaking a feather out of the collar of his shirt, a large and sparkly lipstick print is smeared on his face.

"Jasper Jackson," the new arrival says. "Where the hell have you been keeping yourself?"

"Oh, you know, Max." He gives the woman his charming smile, now looking even more lopsided thanks to the lipstick. "Been staying busy."

"And out of trouble?" She takes his chin between manicured nails that must be four inches long.

It's fair to say I have not met a lot of drag queens in my life. In college, Clarissa used to... well... drag me to drag queen brunch from time to time. She'd hoot and cheer and wave her dollar bills in the air. I'd pretend like I recognized any of the songs the performers sang. When you spend your childhood in perpetual superhero bootcamp, you don't get a lot of time for pop culture.

But the woman in front of me is not only the most beautiful drag queen I've ever seen, she's possibly the most beautiful person. Her skin is flawless, her hair is basically a sculpture, her dress must weigh sixty pounds, and despite the grimy surroundings, she looks perfectly put together.

And she's watching me like I'm gum on the heel of her reinforced Louboutins.

"I'm Maximum Shade," she says. "Welcome to my establishment."

"Nice to meet you," I say. "Morgan Murray."

"Pleasure." She may have kissed Jasper, but her lips are still perfectly painted as she gives me a thin smile. "I think I met your mother once."

Whatever I was going to say dies in my throat. I glance at Jasper, but his gaze is on the front door.

"She knew many people," I say. "When you run your own company, you make a lot of contacts."

Mother came up in the era where superheroes were still treated suspiciously and secret identities were commonplace. Her life as Farah Field, CEO of Field Security, a contractor that provided private security services to dignitaries and VIPs, was a great cover for the Legendary Flame's travels around the world fighting crime. But I can't imagine someone like Maximum Shade ever going to Mom for security.

"You seen Ravensburger lately?" Jasper asks.

Max lets her gaze linger on me for one last long second before she snorts and turns her attention back to Jasper. "Ravensburger? What do you want with that kind of bad news?"

"We're..." He shoots me a nervous glance. "He used to work with Indigo, right?"

Now, Max's immaculate composure cracks the barest amount. You'd have to be watching her closely to notice, but not even the two-inch-deep eye shadow is enough to hide the way her eyes tighten and her mouth goes white at the corners, contrasting starkly with her plum lipstick.

But her voice is still calm when she says, "Now why would you go chasing after ghosts like Indigo?"

"Jasper!" Across the bar, a mountain stands up from a table. Okay, it's not a mountain, but it might as well be. The man is as wide as he is tall, and he's really tall.

Jasper goes pale, and he pushes slowly up from his seat. "Oh boy. That's not good. Excuse me while I go clear up a... misunderstanding."

I half rise, like I might follow him, but a pair of talons wraps around my wrist, and the way Max clears her throat very clearly says "I wouldn't if I were you."

Jasper calls a casual greeting to the mountain as he moves across the bar, and he gets a grumble that puts erupting volcanoes to shame in return.

"Don't worry," Max says. "He can talk his way out of any situation."

"If you say so," I say. The upside is, if the mountain man crushes him into powder, we'll know if the time loop resets for Jasper's death too or if it's only for mine.

Though if he doesn't come back, I'll be alone in this thing, and the idea is surprisingly upsetting.

"So how long have you two known each other?" Max asks conversationally, and I drag my attention off Jasper.

"We only met today."

"He's a good boy. Sweet."

"Sure," I say, not really listening. Jasper's speaking with the giant man. He puts a friendly hand on the massive shoulder, then slowly pulls it away when the man's tennis ball–size eyes narrow in warning.

"I really am sorry about your mother. She was a great woman."

Why is she harping on Mother? It's been two years.

"She was," I say, looking around for that server with our drinks.

"The Legendary Flame got me out of a few jams in our day."

It takes a long time before her words settle in my brain. Out of all the shocks that have come at me today, somehow this one is the most horrifying. Time loops and repeated shocking and horrific deaths? These are problems to solve and issues to avoid. But someone who knows my mother's real identity, even now after she's dead?

That's a serious failure. Outside of Vee, Ezekiel, and a few select agents at SPAM like April, no one should know who she really was.

Max is examining her nails, but she gives me a sly grin. "I won't tell anyone, honey. But if I were you, as soon as Jasper's done with Krusher over there, I'd make your way out. Your mother was very good at what she did, but I'm not the only one who knew her secrets. Dead or not, some people hold grudges a long time." Max stands, tapping one nail on the table. "My lips are sealed. And stick with Jasper. He'll keep you safe."

I bristle on reflex. "I can take care of myself."

Max's smile turns wistful. "I'm sure you can, honey. I'm only saying that Jasper is?—"

Whatever Jasper is, I'll have to find out some other time, because a roar sounds across the bar, and suddenly Jasper is flying through the air toward the darkened stage as the mountain bellows. Several other patrons have darted out of the way, but Jasper's trajectory knocks over a few drinks, along with a few more drinkers, and they don't seem very happy about it.

"Oh no, not again," Max mutters next to me before she wades into the fray, sequins flashing.

But "again" is exactly what's going on. The bar dissolves into chaos as a full-on brawl breaks out in a second. Fists fly, curses are shouted. I can't see Jasper through the silver fringe where he landed, so I skirt along the edge of the room, ducking as a stray pint glass soars past where my head was a second ago. As I round the second table, Jasper is lying in a crumpled heap at the rear of the stage.

Great. Maybe we really will find out what happens if he dies.

I scramble along, keeping low. The fight around me is getting louder, like this whole place was a powder keg waiting for an excuse to blow. As I finally reach Jasper, he lifts his head. A cocktail napkin is stuck to his cheek, and his nose is bloody as he pulls the square of paper away.

"Safe to say Krusher and I did not come to an understanding." His charming smile is less charming when his lip is split.

I roll my eyes. "Can we get out of here?"

"Thought you'd never ask."

I go to lead him back the way I came, but he takes my hand and starts to pull me toward the seething throng of warring henchmen.

"It's faster this way," he says.

"It's safer that way." I point toward the door that must lead to the kitchen.

Jasper shakes his head. "You haven't met Max's cook. He doesn't take kindly to unexpected visitors in his workspace."

Fine. Sure. Whatever. We can't be more than fifty feet to the door. If we stay down and avoid Krusher, we can get out of this, right?

Surprisingly, people mostly leave us alone. We get jostled around, but as long as we don't make eye contact, people seem more intent on fighting the people in front of them than us.

"What about Indigo?" I ask as we approach the exit.

"We'll have to find him some other way," Jasper says over his shoulder.

Great. So we've made zero progress.

Or less. Just as Jasper's at the door and I'm two steps behind him, something heavy collides with my back, and I tumble to the floor. Actually, it's two heavy somethings. Two bodies, engaged in some furious combat, and I get tangled up in their fight. They may not even notice I'm there as I get slammed against a table leg, caught up in their momentum.

"Jasper!" I call out, though a little bit of me dies—though better than all of me dying, I guess?—inside at the idea of needing to ask him for help. He's the reason we're in this mess in the first place.

One of the two fighting bodies grabs hold of my arm, twisting until I have to roll to avoid snapping the bone. My fingers scrabble on the sticky floor. Tetanus, here I come. But I freeze when white-hot pain buries itself in my side.

What is it Max said?

Oh no. Not again.

The tearing of a blade slicing into organs gets worse as I push to my feet. The fight has moved away from me, and Jasper is there in a second.

"Morgan?"

"It's fine, I'm fine," I say, even though I know I'm not. The pain in my back is excruciating, and my whole body is going numb. Jasper pulls me out through the door and onto the street, but we're only a step away from the bar when the world goes sideways.

Oh. I fell.

Hello, concrete. Nice to see you again.

"Morgan."

I wonder how many people can say they've had legitimate déjà vu involving their own death.

"I think he hit a kidney," I say.

"You can't die from a knife to the kidney. Not this quickly."

I laugh as the streetlights dim in a way that is already becoming familiar. "We can talk about it tomorrow."

"No, wait. Morgan. I'll call an ambulance, hang on."

"Tomorrow," I say.

"You'll remember me tomorrow?" he asks. "Promise?"

Oh god, I hope so. He's clearly terrible at plans, so he can't be the one in charge. At the very least, I have to remember that part.

"Tomorrow, you get to die for a change, because this seriously sucks," I say as my voice fades and the world goes black.