Chapter Text
Sometimes Cerelia wished she didn’t live outside the city.
Sure, the prices were better, and it meant her commute to the garden centre was shorter, but some nights it got creepy. Nights like tonight in particular, where the moon hung behind the clouds, and all ordinary folk are happy to bundle inside to avoid all the heroes and villains running around. There were less accidents that way… save for the few people who had places to be.
Cerelia was one of those unfortunate people. A giant worm had destroyed part of the highway, so the delivery they were expecting was late, and she was left to unpack and evaluate and care for their newest arrivals (groundcover plants were usually hardy, but she liked to check) at the time she’d usually be clocking out. Not that she minded staying late, most nights, since she loved where she worked. Her boss, Shana, was pretty easy-going so long as the plants were taken care of and the customers were happy. Cerelia didn’t do much landscaping work – she usually worked in the nursery – but it meant they got along well.
The fact that she had to run errands tonight… well. It was partially her fault, putting off grocery shopping longer than she should have, and Shana had a date… The end result of it all was that she was driving home on mostly-empty roads, listening to the same playlist on her phone that she played every night. If her radio hadn’t been busted, she might have turned on the news for some variety… but there wouldn’t be any variety that night. No doubt, all the stations were saying the same.
The Onyx Chandler is retiring.
Her grip on the wheel tightened as the memory flickered through her mind. Earlier that day, the city’s – no, the country’s – most imposing villain had made an announcement. As usual, he did it in style: every single broadcast in the city was cut off by a video, showing the villain’s silhouette. A modulated voice said, “Never fret, Gha’alia. Today is the day you can rest easy; today is the day the Chandler steps back into the shadows.”
Then, static. Eventually the scheduled programs came back on, though whether it was because the agencies were able to take control or whether he gave it back to them was anyone’s guess. And there were guesses. From the moment the announcement had been made, people were talking about it. Some thought it was a feint; others were relieved. Online, he’d had something of a following, and no doubt they were disappointed. Seeking out rare and exotic things meant he usually targeted the people who could afford to own them, so there were some that chronicled his exploits for entertainment.
Cerelia… the thought of it sent a shiver down her spine, eyes flicking to her rear view mirror. She loved the city, sure, but her hometown didn’t have these kinds of problems. Edric didn’t have to reroute traffic because an amateur busted a water main. No doubt the next time she called her aunt, Vanya would have something to say about it.
For the present, she could be alone with her thoughts. She didn’t really have many friends outside of work; no family aside from her aunt. No boyfriend. Her landlord stayed out of her hair – he liked that she took care of the yard and didn’t have a record – and, for the most part, Shana acted like a friend to her employees. Not a lot of pressure there.
Her existence was a solitary one. Even in Edric, she felt like an outsider. Her mother was one, and in a town that small, ‘not from here’ might as well be genetic. Living with Vanya didn’t help any, isolated as they were. She learned how to tend for plants, how to grow food, and though that knowledge served her well, she wanted more. It was why she moved. She had the means; she had inheritances from both parents that Vanya hadn’t touched, though she doubted Vanya would have accepted anything even if they’d willed it to her. She was like her aunt, she supposed, in that respect, preferring to invest her money and leave it out of mind. At first she settled in a small apartment in the city proper, but she was miserable there: no room to be creative, no fresh air, and the thought of someone getting thrown into her building terrified her. Her house, she liked much more.
Even as she pulled into the driveway, well over a year after she moved in, it filled her with a sense of relief. It was a single-story home of painted brick, one bed and one bath. It was one of a number of smaller homes that popped up when the city cleared out the wild fields in hopes of expanding, decades ago. The train tracks nearby killed the projects, but people still lingered around, unafraid of rumors of smugglers and criminals on the rails. The back yard was fenced in; she’d redone the front with pebbles and ground cover plants (with her landlord’s permission, of course) in her first year. To mark her second year living there, she reached out to her landlord to have a new fence put in.
The fence was important to her. The garden it protected was her pride and joy: manicured stone pathways and crawling flower beds to add pops of colour beneath the larger greenery, bushes and shrubs that did well in partial sun. Warm-toned solar lights were lined along the path to brighten things at night. Best of all was her wooden swing, with the cozy cushions she went to three stores to find, nestled in one corner, where she could read, surrounded by the peaceful little world she made. Early on she thought about adding a second bench, but she didn’t host, so who would use it?
A pang of loneliness sounded in her chest as she considered the question, then she brushed it aside. She was lucky to have what she did: a job she loved and that paid enough for her to rent a place. She and Vanya were both in good health. Being lonely, wanting love… it was a petty complaint in comparison.
Cerelia had just finished putting her groceries away, one hand reaching up to let loose the bun she kept her hair in for work, when something out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. It looked like flickering in her garden. Once she properly looked, none of her lights were blinking, none seemed burned out. With a shake of her head she pushed it to the back of her mind, resolving to look them over before she left for work in the morning.
It was when she was closing the cupboard that hid her laundry and dryer that she noticed the other thing – the far more important thing. At first, she thought she was seeing wrong. She always left her watering can in the same place, by the spout next to her back door. It wouldn’t make sense for it to have blown away – it’s metal and besides, it wasn’t nearly that windy – and an animal couldn’t have taken it.
Maybe a racoon with a passion for horticulture? There were weirder things out there.
Slipping on her sandals, she stepped outside. The little wind there was carried a bite to it and she wrapped her arms around herself, craning her neck to see where her watering can’s wound up –
Somebody else was in her garden.
The moon may not have been out, but her lights were enough to see a broad back where she would normally have seen fence. They were in the act of bending down – damn it, her phone’s inside – and she thought, maybe, she could run inside when a voice reached her ears. A modulated voice.
“Please pardon my trespass, my dear.”
The figure straightened and turned to face her, but her blood had already turned cold. They were dressed in a suit, only not – the shapes were there, but the fabric was wrong, seeming thicker and hardier – designed for stealth or combat, rather than a board meeting. What drew her attention above that, though, was the face, or lack of one. The mask… it was an intricate, intimidating thing, like a carved, tapered skull.
The Onyx Chandler was standing in her garden.
Cerelia’s mind raced on how to deal with this situation. This man was a criminal – not just a criminal, a supervillain – and as her eyes scanned him, trying to come up with something to say, her gaze landed on the object in his hands: her watering can. Of course.
The Chandler’s head tilted, following her gaze. A laugh followed – an uncomfortable sound, given the modulation and the clear imbalance between them. “It was a momentary folly… such things were never my forte.”
She didn’t want to believe him – because why would the Onyx Chandler want to water her garden – but it would also be the strangest thing to lie about. “It’s alright,” tumbled from her lips, unable to think of anything else. He gave her a slow nod.
Then, he held the can out to her, not moving an inch despite the distance. Cerelia could almost imagine the look on his face. He was making her come to him.
He looked unarmed, but she was unwilling to test that. Nor would he have lasted so long without some sort of skill, so she couldn’t outrun him to her phone. In the end she settled on going along for moment. She took a few steps forward, eyes on her watering can rather than the mask. At the feel of cool metal on her fingertips, she reached out and pulled it back, hugging it to her chest for lack of any other security.
Glancing away from the man, but not turning her back, revealed that the gate at the side of her house was open a crack, the padlock hanging off the hinge.
“A simple mechanism,” said the Onyx Chandler, once again looking to see where her attention had gone. “Suitable to keep out most, I can imagine. Oh,” he added, once she turned back to look at him, “it was picked, not forced. I will close up when I leave.”
He spoke as if he owned the place, had some sort of natural right to it, but there was an assurance there that gave her pause. “… thank you.” She looked at the mask again, where she imagined his eyes to be. He didn’t smite her. So, supposing it was safe, she continued to look at him, and added, “I appreciate that.”
There was another laugh… only it sounded different from the first. Mayve it was the words that followed that set it apart. “It is unlike the dreaded Onyx Chandler to have manners, I suppose.”
Cerelia didn’t have anything to say to that. All she knew of him was what she heard and, given the circumstances, she might as well be thankful nothing had been stolen, or destroyed. So instead she turned to put her watering can back in its original place, too chilled from the metal to hold it any longer.
“I would appreciate if you refrained from calling the authorities just yet, dear.”
There’s the threat. His head was turned in her direction, watching her behind that mask of his, no doubt calculating what she might do next. She looked at one of her solar lights instead.
“Why are you here?”
He clearly wasn’t expecting her to respond with a question; a silence settled between them. She could feel the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. Then, she heard the sound of stiff material shifting, and out of the corner of her eye she watched him come to stand next to her. In her next breath, the air tastes different: acrid, like gunpowder, and the tang of oil.
“There is very little life in this area; most people prefer to live elsewhere, in the luxury of the high-rises, the hegemony of the suburbs. I came beyond the city’s boundaries to think.” She can’t quite hear a swallow, but she imagined he had. “I have been restless. I saw an old house with a new fence, became curious, and decided to investigate.”
A little huff of laughter left her as she processed his words. Imagine, a chance encounter with a supervillain because of her new privacy fence… she wanted to comment on that, the humor in it setting her a little more at ease, but then she wanted him reach down and run a gloved fingertip along the edge of a leaf.
“You are fortunate.” He stopped again. In an awkward motion, he shifted his attention to an early summer bloom. “You have a tranquil garden.”
The compliment spurred a small flutter of pride in her chest, made stronger by the fact that she was used to coworkers and clientele commenting on her work, rather than, well, people like him. “Thank you.”
“You must be satisfied with your gardener.”
She laughed again, this time a little louder. “I’m my gardener… so double thanks are in order, I think.”
He straightened his posture and focused his gaze on her. The intensity made her think he was trying to determine the truth of what she’d said. The full force of his attention was more than a little unnerving, but she steeled herself and met it head-on. In the end, he nodded at her, and took a few steps along the path. Had she not been watching him, she doubted she would have noticed; she couldn’t hear his footsteps, even in the quiet of the night. He seemed satisfied that she wouldn’t be running for help, or for the authorities, as he kept much of his attention to the plants and the sky, often looking from one to the other. When he did look at her, it felt like an afterthought.
After the third time he’d looked at her, Cerelia cleared her throat. “I have work in the morning, but –“
But what, though? I have laundry to finish, and dinner to cook, and I’d really like to get some sleep tonight? I’m not a loose end, please don’t hurt me? Not that she knew much of anything of his policy on witnesses, given that his crimes generally had none.
“ – I designed it for serenity, so I had somewhere to sit and think,” she gestured to her porch swing, “and read – any kind of peaceful activity. If you find it useful, then it’s served its purpose.”
He stopped in his movements, turning only his head to regard her. “You would offer me hospitality?”
Again, she met his gaze. After a small inhale, she said, “You could have damaged my garden, or the fence, or – me, I guess – but you haven’t. You’ve shown care and consideration, in spite of the circumstances. If you need a place to think…”
She fell quiet and looked about her yard, satisfied she’d made her meaning quite clear. For the first time, the modulation gave way to something almost natural and warm, the laugh not as grating. “You need not worry, my dear. I am loathe to destroy that which is beautiful.”
His words surprise her into silence, not expecting another compliment, particularly not one that borders on flirtation. Hoping the night hid her warming cheeks, she nodded and busied herself with inspecting one of her lights. Once it was standing straight once more, she stood, about to ask aloud if she can get him anything, only to find herself alone.
The gate was latched and locked as she had left it that morning.
For a while, she searched her backyard, hoping to find signs of another presence – a broken twig, an imprint in the dirt – only to be disappointed. Not even that curious scent, that she caught only when he was near, lingered.
Before going in, she checked her gate. It looked secure from a distance, but she wanted to be sure. It was good she did, too, as something was resting on top of the padlock: a matte black business card. She had to hold it up to the light to read the cut-out words.
It has been a pleasure doing business with you.