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Chapter Text

Twisted String of Fate

Chapter 1

            I was ten when I found my first love. My friends had talked about their crushes, boys they met in the halls or were cute or popular or nice. Some had “celebrity crushes,” either actors or members of bands. These crushes were fleeting and often ended with they found someone new to daydream about.

            But I wasn’t like my friends. My mom would often say that the people in our family should be picky about whom we fall in love with; our family tended to have a longevity for loyalty. At the time, I didn’t know what that meant, but I knew I was different from my friends.

            Then one day, I sat on the couch with my mother’s head in my lap as she shook with pain in her stomach and head. It was a Saturday, and she promised to take me to the park, but after seeing how she felt, I didn’t mind staying home. I was used to it.

            Dad was gone, which was just fine with us, so we ordered delivery and watched TV.

            I flipped around the channels, trying to find something to get my mom’s mind off the pain. And then he appeared. My sense of beauty at that age hadn’t quite developed as far as others, but Mom said he was handsome. Perhaps he defined the word for me after that day.

            As the show progressed, my mom sat up, laughing at the funny parts. In those days, she hardly laughed. Most of the time, she seemed miserable, always taking aspirin for headaches and throwing up in the toilet. Soon, we both were actively watching, trying to guess what would happen next. The channel must have had a marathon since we watched all day. It had been a miracle that it distracted my mom enough that she baked a cake, an apology for skipping the park.

            My mom was everything to me, and I couldn’t help but see the star of that show as my own personal hero. It was the happiest day we had had in a long time. It was the first time I remembered my mother being that happy, to have the strength to pretend she wasn’t in pain even if it was for just a few hours.

            And I loved him for it.

            My friends didn’t understand how I could love a fictional character. It was weird. I didn’t care. I loved him anyway. I was finally like my friends, now knowing why they giggled and smiled at the names of their crushes. My heart quickened just like theirs. My cheeks burned. In a way, it made me feel normal to finally have my own crush.

            I was in love with Darkwing Duck.

            Not long after that, I noticed the bruises on my legs and arms, unsure where I got them. Kids get bruises all the time from playing around, small and innocent. But these were large, black, and ugly, forming in placed I was certain I hadn’t gotten hurt. They came so frequently that the school was concerned.

            That’s when Mom took me to a doctor who told me I had Cushing’s Syndrome. He explained how I could get hurt easily and not know it, warning that I had to be much more careful in my play.

            I did, but I kept getting more bruises and cuts and other pains no matter how cautious I was. It wasn’t until a couple of years after my diagnosis that they started to abate. I kept getting them, but far and few between. I believed that I had managed my condition.

            But I was wrong.

            On top of all that, Darkwing Duck, the TV show that my mom and I had a solid connection to, was canceled.

***

            “Alright, lads and lassie. Is everyone packed? Dewey, did you grab the sword that hangs over the fireplace in the second floor study?”

            “Uh…I grabbed a sword from one study,” the young duck said, holding out a glowing sword.

            “Which study?” the elderly Scottsman asked patiently. “Was it the study with the green carpets and the suit of armor in the corner?”

            Dewey’s eyes rolled upward as he recalled his memories. “Uh…I think the carpets were green but I don’t remember the suit of armor.”

            “Oh, for the love of…” Scrooge rubbed his face. “There must have been a suit of armor in the corner. How many studies do I have on the second floor with green carpet?”

            Dewey shrugged.

            Louie broke in. “You have a lot of rooms in your mansion, Uncle Scrooge, and they all look the same.”

            Dewey held out the sword. “Does it matter which sword I grabbed? This one is awesome. It should be helpful in our adventure.”

            “Depends on the sword,” Scrooge said, adjusting his specs. “If that is the Sword of the Jackal King, then it will lead us to the Cassiopeian oasis in the farthest, driest, most deadly desert on Earth. Without it, we could travel for days, become lost and die of thirst, leaving our bodies to scavengers until our bones sink beneath the sand.”

            The triplets eyes widened.

            “Let’s make sure we get the right sword,” Huey said, carefully taking the sword out of Dewey’s hands.

             “Sorry, Uncle Scrooge,” Dewey said sheepishly. “I didn’t know the sword was so important. I thought we just needed any old sword.”

            Scrooge patted him on the head. “That’s alright, lad. Although, come to think of it, if Webby were here, she would have known exactly which sword I was talking about.”

            “Where did you say Mom took her and Mrs. Beakley?” Louie asked.

            Scrooge shrugged. “Eh, they went on some ‘Girl’s-Day-Out’ trip. Probably to the mall or the spa or something.” Scrooge waved his hands sarcastically just to show what he thought of such outings.

***

            Hundreds of miles away, Della wrestled a tentacle of the dreaded kraken, which had Scrooge’s yacht in a tight hug, trying to drag it down into the ocean’s depths. “See, girls. Isn’t this relaxing?” she called out before biting down on the rubbery flesh.

            Mrs. Beakley jammed a harpoon into the large gun on the deck for such occasions. When you work for Mr. McDuck, it is surprising how many harpoons you go through. “Webby, hand me the jar.”

            The young girl, deftly dodging tentacles left and right, tossed a glass jar to her granny as carelessly as if she were handing ingredients for a cake.

            Mrs. Beakley poured a generous dollop of the contents of the jar onto the harpoon, took careful aim, and fired. The harpoon sunk into the kraken’s flesh. While the harpoon was nothing more than a pinprick for the monster, the goop had a more powerful effect.

            Within seconds, the tentacles dropped, as lively as dead slugs, and the kraken sank below the surface.

            “What was that stuff?” Della asked, jumping back on deck.

            “Kraken muscle relaxers,” Mrs. Beakley said, showing the jar. “Mr. McDuck never goes sailing without it.”

            “Ahhh, what fun is that?” Della said, scuffing her metallic foot against the deck and folding her arms in a pout.

            “Oh, there’s sure to be more fun coming. Remember, krakens always come in twos,” Mrs. Beakley said.

            Just as if her words were the dinner bell, another kraken rose out of the water, arms flailing and wrapping around the boat.

            Webby whooped and raised her hands in the air. “Best Girl’s-Day-Out ever!”

***

            “Here’s the right one, Uncle Scrooge,” Huey said, returning with a second glowing sword.

            “Aye, that’s it, lad,” Scrooge said, taking the sword. “You boys need to understand that not every tool is the right fit for the job. Pick your tools wisely, and you’ll be kings when you get older.”

            Both Huey and Dewey grinned at their great-uncle’s words of wisdom, but Louie merely nodded as he scrolled through his phone.

            “Now then, let’s get the plane loaded and we can head out on our adventure,” Scrooge said, pointing his cane forward like a band leader’s baton.

            As the four ducks loaded the red plane, they noticed that they lacked one member of the expedition.

            “Where’s Launchpad? We’re burning daylight,” Scrooge grumbled, glaring at the pilot’s empty seat.

            “There he is.” Huey pointed through the windows to where the tall duck was pulling out of the driveway in a dinged up, old Pontiac that he owned. The poor car had so many dents and scuffs, it was a wonder it still had any paint.

            “Where do you think you’re going?” Scrooge shouted, racing out of the plane toward Launchpad’s car before he could make it out of the gates.

            “Good morning, Mr. McD,” Launchpad said, waving and smiling as if the elderly duck wasn’t glaring icily at him.

            “Where are you going?” Scrooge repeated, hooking his cane over the open window.

            “It’s Wednesday, Mr. McD,” Launchpad explained.

            Scrooge put a hand to his forehead and sighed. “Oh, that’s right. You’re day off. Well, can’t you come with us just this once?”

            “That’s what you said last Wednesday. And the one before that. And the one before that,” Launchpad said, still smiling brightly.

            “Really?” Scrooge looked to the triplets for help.

            “He’s right,” Huey said. He pulled out a cell phone, looking up his great-uncle’s schedule “In fact, it looks as if Launchpad hasn’t had a day off in months.”

            “Way to go treating your employees,” Louie said, smirking at his uncle.

            “Wh-I-ah,” Scrooge stumbled over an excuse before clearing his throat. “You’re absolutely right, Launchpad. I’m sorry. Take the day off. And I promise not to let it slip again.”

            “Thanks, Mr. McD. You’re the best boss in the world.” Launchpad drove forward, nicking his car against the gate with a horrible grinding sound before turning into the street.

            After the banged-up car disappeared, Scrooge leaned over to Huey. “Put that in my schedule, please.”

            “Already on it,” Huey said, typing away.

            “Then what are we going to do for the day?” Dewey asked, staring off into space. “I’m already geared for an adventure. My nerves are coiled like a spring. My wild instincts need some way to vent. What are we going to do?” His voice continued to build until he was shouting and shaking Louie by his hoodie.

            “Turn it down a notch,” Scrooge said, walking back to his mansion. “We’re having a day in.”

            “Wohoo,” Louie cheered, running after Scrooge and beating everyone inside.

            Huey and Dewey followed, the latter trembling with nervous energy.

            “What does Launchpad do with his days off?” Huey asked when he was side-by-side with Scrooge.

            “I don’t know. Every Wednesday morning, he leaves and doesn’t come back until evening,” Scrooge said. “He’s never said anything about it before.”

            “Whoa, you don’t think he actually has a life or something,” Louie said, sarcasm biting his words.

            “Do you think he’s doing his own adventures? You know, like solo missions?” Dewey asked, acting like an addict without a fix.

            “Oh, don’t you bother him. He’s entitled to his privacy,” Scrooge said. “Now, everyone rest up because tomorrow, we’ll definitely go on an adventure!”

            “Yay,” Huey and Dewey cheered.

            “Yay,” Louie echoed a few beats behind his brothers with less enthusiasm.

***

            Launchpad knocked on the familiar white door, holding his hat in his hands and beaming from ear to ear. He waited patiently, listening for footsteps. When the door opened, his smile grew. “Hey, Mrs. L! It’s me. Launchpad.”

            The female lovebird that opened the door faced Launchpad with a disapproving scowl. “I know who you are, Launchpad.” She stayed where she was, letting silence keep the distance between them.

            After a while, Launchpad asked, “Is Charity home?”

            With a sigh, the lovebird stepped back, opening the door wider. “Yes, she is. Come on in.” Her voice spoke volumes of her reluctance to say those words.

            “Thanks, Mrs. L. Is she in her room?” Launchpad pointed up the stairs that were just right of the front door.

            “She is, but she’s not feeling well,” the lovebird said. Unconsciously, she rubbed her arm which was bandaged.

            “Is she sick?”

            “No, she…hurt her head. And twisted her wrist. Thank goodness she didn’t get a concussion this time.” She glared at Launchpad, her eyes like daggers.

            “Then it’s a good thing that I brought her something to cheer her up,” Lauchpad said happily, holding up a plastic bag. “I’ll just go up. Nice to see you again, Mrs. L.” He skipped up the stairs, still smiling.

            The house was just as familiar to him as his own, walking down the hall to the room farthest from the stairs. A sign with flower and unicorn stickers hung on the door with the word “Charity” painted in pink with the skills of an elementary child. Other signs were taped around the door, one saying, “Warning: Danger Area” with a picture of Darkwing Duck’s face on it.

            Launchpad took a moment to look at the door, drinking in the memories and the nostalgia of it, only noticing one difference to the décor. A picture of Gizmo Duck had been taped, positioned so it looked as if he were holding a sign that said, “Nothing is impossible if you put your mind to it.”

            Then he knocked.

            “Come in.”

            He burst in, shouting, “Surprise! It’s me!”

            “Launchpad!” the voice squealed in delight. Flinging aside her Darkwing Duck comforter and sheets, Charity jumped out of bed and into Launchpad’s arms. “I was beginning to think you didn’t like me anymore.”

            Launchpad knew the routine. He caught the female lovebird in his arms and swung her around, both of them acting like they were five instead of their actual ages. Only a few years younger than him, Charity, even at twenty-five, was light enough that he effortlessly spun her around and around until they were too dizzy to stand.

            Falling onto her bed, Charity laughed as the room spun around her. “What happened, Launchpad? I missed you so much.”

            Charity was the splitting image of her mother. Both lovebirds had black faces, white feathers starting at the neck and slowly turning blue the lower they went. Both had curly hair although Charity kept hers long, past her shoulders in a blue and white halo, while her mother had clipped hers short and manageable. The only other difference between Charity and Mrs. Loveatte was that the older lovebird was shorter and somewhat plumper.

            “Mr. McD needed me,” Launchpad explained. “He’s always busy, sometimes he forgets when I have a day off.”

            Charity chuckled and ruffled the feathers on Launchpad’s head. “You have such a good heart. You can’t say no to him.”

            “Well, today I did,” Launchpad said, sitting up.

            “That means a lot. I know how much you love flying him around the world.” Charity sat up, too, crossing her legs.

            “I wish you could come with us. Flying is the best,” Launchpad said, his voice rising in volume. “The sky is where I belong. Did you know that prehistoric birds once could fly without needing machines? True fact.”

            “Well, they would have to since airplanes weren’t invented,” Charity joked, making Launchpad laugh.

            “Maybe I could ask Mr. McD if you could come…” Launchpad said.

            Charity’s face sagged a bit, and when her smile vanished, her eyes looked hollow. “You know I can’t. It’s…too dangerous.”

            “Yeah, but if I promise not to crash, it wouldn’t be dangerous,” Launchpad suggested.

            Charity’s smile returned. “Yeah, like you could keep that promise.” She punched his bomber jacket’s arm lightly. “Enough of that. What did you bring me?”

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about?” Launchpad said, feigning ignorance.

            Charity bounced on her bed. “Oh, don’t you start that. You always bring something. What is it?”

            “Okay. Okay,” Launchpad started, holding up the plastic sack. “From the darkest, depths of Duckburg, in my adventures, I have found treasure beyond description. It came from the Temple of the Ice-Cream Parlor where a secret, never been tasted flavor had been invented for those of the discretional palates. I have braved through traps, vicious monsters, and deadly plants to bring you this most holy of snack. Behold.”

            He unwrapped the plastic sack, presenting a carton printed with dark colors and the face of the newest crime-fighter of St. Canard.

            Charity’s gasp lasted a full minute as she held the ice-cream carton as if it were a priceless relic. “Darkwing Duck is a flavor! He’s a flavor! Oh my gosh, this is the best.” Without waiting, she popped the top off and sniffed. “Yeah, I don’t know why I did that. Ice-cream doesn’t have much of a scent.”

            “Then you must partake of it with your mouth,” Launchpad said, handing her a plastic spoon, keeping one for himself.

            Together, they dipped into the purple-colored ice-cream, it softened by the length of Launchpad’s trip. They both put the spoons in their mouths at the same time, smacking down on the cold treat.

            “Hmmmmm. Grape flavor, but that was a given. There’s not many purple flavors. But there’s also dark chocolate chips and something else.” Charity rolled her tongue around, chewed some more, and swallowed. “And raisins?”

            “Bingo.” Launchpad took another bite. “It hurts my heart that it doesn’t taste that good.”

            “Yeah. It kind of has a bitter after taste, too.” Charity shrugged, eating more. “Well, not everything can be as awesome as Darkwing.”

            “I hear ya.”

            They ate a few more bites.

            “Do you want to watch some episodes?” Launchpad asked.

            “Uh…Does Darkwing always get back right up?” Charity replied.

            “Yes, he does,” Launchpad shot up, pulling out the VHS he always carried around.

            “No need, LP,” Charity said, rushing to a bookcase and pulling something out. “I have it all on DVD.”

            “What!” Launchpad shouted, snatching the box set out of the female’s hands. “When did this come out? Are there any extras? There’s bloopers!”

            Charity smirked, hands on her hips. “That’s what happens when you’re too busy with work to come see your best friend. They released it a few weeks ago. Mom got it for me for my birthday.”

            “Whoa, never-before-seen scenes. And Jim Starling interviews. And the writers talk about the missing epi—Wait, your birthday?” Launchpad looked up from his obsession. “Oh, no. Did I forget your birthday?”

            “Yeah. It’s no big deal,” Charity said with a shrug and a smile. “I know you’re busy. Don’t worry about it.”

            “Well, that just means I’ll have to get you something special.” Launchpad went over to the TV on the opposite wall of Charity’s bed and put in one of the discs. “Hey, maybe I can get the real Darkwing come see you.”

            Charity laughed. “Don’t even joke about that,” she said, settling on her bed with her pillows propped against the headboard and making room for Launchpad. “You’ll break my heart.”

            “I’m serious.” Launchpad took a flying leap and jumped on the bed.

            Charity winced. “You mean you know Darkwing Duck? I know you’ve meet Jim Starling, but you couldn’t possibly know the real Darkwing?”

            Launchpad’s eyes widened. Yeah, that wasn’t something he was supposed to talk about. “Uh…Well, Mr. McD has a lot of connections. I don’t know. Maybe he can pull some strings or something?”

            Charity smiled. She looked away, her cheeks reddening. “You would do that for me?” She looked up into his eyes.

            “Yeah. You know I’d do anything for you Charity. I love you.”
            Charity’s smile deepened, her blush deepening.

            “Like a sister!” Launchpad added louder, then grinned.

            Charity grinned right back, hugging him. “And I love you, too, Launchpad.”

            Reaching over to her nightstand, Launchpad picked up the remote and turned on the TV. “Which episode should we watch first?”

            “The Valentine’s Day one, duh,” Charity told him, taking another bite of the ice-cream.

            “We always watch that one,” Launchpad complained, but only a little.

            “It’s my favorite,” Charity defended. “It’s so beautiful how he and Morgana can never be together because she won’t ever give up being evil.”

            “Aw, you and your chick-flicks,” Launchpad said, pressing play on the episode.

            “Don’t you knock the chick-flicks. I know you secretly love them,” Charity teased, tapping his beak. She snuggled up to his side and settled in to watch the show.

            As the theme song played, Charity said, “If you want to give me something special for my birthday, can I make a request?”

            “Anything for you, Charity. Just ask.”

            There was a pause. “Mr. McDuck is always adventuring and finding ancient relics and magical items, right?”

            “I guess. It’s sort of a hobby of his.”

            Another pause. “Would it be possible for you to ask him if I could talk to him? Just for a little while?”
            Launchpad shifted. “I could ask. Mr. McD is a great guy. I don’t see why not.”

            “Then that’s what I want for my birthday. I just want to talk to him for a few minutes.”

            “I didn’t know you were a fan.”

            Charity didn’t reply.

            During the episode, they were quiet as they watched, eating the ice-cream more because it was there than because it was good. Near the climax of the story, when the ice-cream had been set aside to melt, a snuffling sound occasionally could be heard over the sound of the TV.

            “You okay, Charity?” Launchpad asked.

            There was a pause, and Charity rubbed her beak. “It’s this episode. It always gets to me.”

            Launchpad looked down at his friend, noticing for the first time something underneath the sleeve of her sweater. He pulled the fabric away, seeing a familiar brace around her wrist, binding the joint tight.

            Charity didn’t say anything.

            “Your mom said you weren’t feeling well,” Launchpad said.

            “She exaggerates.”

            Launchpad remembered the bandage on Mrs. Loveatte’s arm as well. “Did your mom get hurt, too?”

            “Just a burn,” Charity muttered, her tone telling she didn’t want to talk about it.

            Launchpad rotated his arm and put it around Charity, drawing her closer. “You need to take better care of yourself. You and your mom are so clumsy.”

            “I know,” Charity said softly.

Chapter Text

Twisted String of Fate

Chapter 2

            I don’t write this journal because I want anyone to know the pain I’m going through. I write it down because it helps me to forget the pain. The longer I live, the more I see my body as an enemy, preventing me from enjoying life. Yet, the bruises and cuts, the sprains and broken bones, the sickness and chills that I experience, is nothing compared to the hurt within my heart. It may sound dramatic, but it is the truth. If I love any more than I do, I may break.

***

            Just as Uncle Scrooge said, Launchpad returned to the mansion that evening, just in time for dinner. Mrs. Beakley, Della, and Webby were still away, so the boys convinced Scrooge to order pizza.

            “Ah, Launchpad. Glad to have you back, lad,” Scrooge said as the boys dug into their pizza. “After dinner, I’d like to go over the checklist for the plane. We’re a day behind on our expedition, so I’d like to leave bright and early tomorrow.”

            “Sure thing Mr. McD,” Launchpad said, sitting down next to Dewey and piling several pieces of pizza on his plate.

            Through a bite of cheese and bread, Dewey asked, “So, what did you do on your day off?”

            Louie rolled his eyes at his brother’s straightforwardness, and Huey grimaced that his brother’s tact bordered on rude.

            But Launchpad didn’t seem to mind. “Oh, I went to visit a friend.”

            Dewey waited since Launchpad usually volunteered more information than was necessary, but he got nothing. “And…”

            “And we ate ice-cream and watched TV,” Launchpad finished the sentence with a shrug, eating like a growing boy.

            Dewey wasn’t the sort to put his beak where it didn’t belong…Okay, so maybe he liked to snoop a bit…Okay, he snooped a lot. Unnecessarily so. And once he had a bone, he wasn’t going to let it go.

            “What’s your friend’s name? What’s he like? Why haven’t you told me about him? I thought I your best friend,” Dewey said, putting his hands on his chest to emphasize his words.

            “Yeah, you’re, like, my best friend in Ducksburg. Charity has been my best friend since forever, and since she moved out of Ducksburg, I haven’t been able to see her as often anymore,” Launchpad explained as he ate.

            “Charity? Isn’t that a girl’s name?” Louie asked, raising an eyebrow.

            “I’m going to go out on a limb and say Charity is a girl,” Huey replied.

            Dewey gasped, squishing his face. “Launchpad, you have a girlfriend?!” His voice oozed a tone half mocking, half teasing.

            “Yeah, I do,” Launchpad said, shoving a whole slice of pizza in his mouth.

            “Oooooooo,” all three boys hooted.

            Scrooge knew that sound. He got the same treatment when they learned about Goldie. He found a newspaper and started reading it. There was no way he was getting involved.

            “Are you in wuv with Chawity?” Dewey asked, lisping his words with exaggeration.

            “I bet you smooched all day, didn’t you?” Louie joined in, making kissy noises.

            “Are you going to get maaaaarried?” Huey added.

            “What? Ew, no,” Launchpad said matter-of-factly. “I mean, I do love Charity, but she’s like a sister to me. And it’s not right to marry your sister.”

            The boys’ teasing stopped flat. It was no fun when Launchpad didn’t get flustered. In fact, they couldn’t recall a time when Launchpad actually understood that he was being teased. Knowing their efforts weren’t appreciated, they returned to eating.

            “So, if your friend doesn’t live in Ducksburg, where does she live?” Huey asked, more for the conversation than to satisfy any curiosity.

            “In Winding Wing.”

            “Where’s that?” Huey asked.

            “It’s a thirty minute drive from here,” Launchpad told them. “Although, on a good day, I can do it in twenty.”

            “And by a good day, you mean one where you don’t crash, right?” Dewey suggested.

            “Right.”

            “Wow, what a tiny town,” Louie said, scrolling through his phone. “It says there’s only a few thousand people living there. Why would anyone want to live in such a tiny place?”

            “Some people like the quiet,” Scrooge said, showing how much his plan of not getting involved was working.

            “Why did she move to Winding Wing?” Huey asked.

            “A few years ago, her mom decided to move there.”

            “She’s a grown woman. At least, I’m guessing she is,” Louie jumped in. “If her mom wanted to move, why didn’t she just stay here?”

            At this Launchpad looked a little uncomfortable for the first time. “Uh…Charity kind of has a condition. She’s really sick, and her mom takes care of her.”

            The boys stopped their questions, feeling as if they treaded too much into Launchpad’s personal life.

            “Uh…That’s cool that you still go out to see her,” Dewey said tentatively with a smile. “Maybe she could come visit you, and we could meet her.”

            Huey nodded in agreement.

            Launchpad looked even more uncomfortable. “I wish she could, but the thing is, she’s got this genetic thing, I don’t remember what it’s called, but it makes it so she gets hurt easily. And then there’s something with her bones. She’s broken a lot of bones. She’s always got a cast or something on her. And then there’s something about her immune system, so she’s always sick. Her mom doesn’t like her to leave the house.”

            Dewey and Huey’s mouths hung open at this explanation, speechless.

            Only Louie was able to summarize their thoughts. “Well, that sucks.”

            “Language,” Scrooge grunted a warning.

            Dewey hissed to Huey. “That can’t be a real thing, can it?” The look on his face looked disturbed.

            Huey pulled his Junior Woodchuck Guidebook from his hat, skimming the pages. “Well, when I was working on my Advanced, Advanced, Advanced First Aid badge, I learned a little bit about diseases. Everything that Launchpad described is real. But the chances of one person with all three conditions are astronomically small, but not impossible.”

            “I guess Charity lost the medical lottery,” Dewey said, looking sad. “Launchpad, is there something we can do for your friend?”

            Launchpad’s eyes widened, then he swallowed what was in his mouth. “Oh, it was Charity’s birthday last week, and I forgot to get her a present. She did ask a small favor.”

            “What is it? We’ll do what it takes to fulfill her wish. Nothing is beyond the power of Dewey,” the blue-clad triplet said dashingly.

            “She wanted to meet Mr. McD,” Lauchpad said with a big smile.

            “Say what?” the triplets said together.

            “Say what?” Scrooge said, lowering his newspaper.

            “Please say you’ll do it, Mr. McD,” Launchpad pleaded, his eyes imploring. “If you do, I’ll never ask anything else from you ever again.”

            “Well… ah…” Scrooge hemmed and hawed.

            “Oh, come on Uncle Scrooge. She just wants to meet you,” Dewey added his own pleas. “It’s not like she’s an evil villain wanting to exact revenge on you.” He leaned over to Launchpad and whispered, “Is she an evil villain?”
            “Most definitely not,” Launchpad said, shaking his head.

            “So, what’s stopping you from seeing her?” Dewey demanded of his uncle.

            “Well…I have a business to run. And you boys take a lot of my time, too. If I were to give up my time to everyone who wanted to have a chat, I’d not have any time at all.”

            “This is Launchpad who is asking,” Dewey argued. “He’s never asked anything for himself, and the one favor he’s wanting is for his sick friend. How could you turn that down?”

            “Well, I…”

            “And I’m in charge of your schedule,” Huey added. “I could move things around and make the time. In fact, I think you have a couple of hours next week free.”

            “But that’s when I need time for myself. I need that time to recharge my batteries,” Scrooge countered.

            “If you need time to relax, we could always cancel tomorrow’s adventure. After all, adventures have been known to cause unnecessary stress,” Louie added smugly.

            Scrooge glared at his nephews. “Oh, all right. I’ll see her next week. But we are not canceling this trip again. We leave first thing in the morning.”

            The boys cheered and exchanged high fives and fist bumps, more excited that they had once again manipulated their wily uncle. Helping Launchpad was just a bonus.

            “Oh, thank you so much, Mr. McD. Charity will be so happy,” Launchpad said, beaming.

            Scrooge only replied with grumbling, raising his newspaper.

***

            Darkness was a source of fear for everyone; it was the place where the unknown lurked in the shadows. It could be a monster, a villain, or a knife poised to strike. The unknown kept people inside at night, off the streets, and safe in their homes. But sometimes when the sun goes down, citizens must leave safety and walk the streets, trekking where the shadows could touch them, only streetlights and store signs keeping the darkness at bay.

            And even that wasn’t enough.

            But in St. Canard, there was one person that didn’t fear the darkness. He was there to fight those with evil intensions. Those who had to venture out late at night did so with the belief that someone in the shadows was willing to be the fence of vengeance, protecting them from the monsters that crept through the night.

            And that person was Darkwing Duck.

            And Scrooge McDuck, who had generously loaned him the money at a low interest rate to provide him with the gadgets he needed to fight crime, to hide his identity, and to payoff that copyright suit against the creators of the Darkwing Duck TV series. So, St. Canard had two people to thank.

            But mostly Darkwing Duck.

            And Drake Mallard was happy to serve the city, taking none of the credit. Each night, he tried his best to live up to the name of Darkwing Duck, his hero and idol. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t that good at it, or that he only had his skills as an actor to start out with, or that nobody actually knew who Darkwing Duck was, or that he had to start his life completely over by moving to St. Canard and the only job he could find was working in a rubber duck packaging plant.

            No, none of that mattered because as long as he could fight crime and save lives, he was happy.

            A red light blinked on the computer board on his motorcycle, indicating an alarm had sounded on his system. It looked as if evil didn’t take a break, not even on a Wednesday night.

            “Ah-ha, the St. Canard Museum of Shiny things,” Darkwing said to himself. He touched the screen, and it drew out the fastest path for him to get there. “It looks like the new exhibit on jade statues is attracting an audience after hours.”

            He threw open the throttle and sped toward the museum.

            A block away, he saw a car shift in gear and peal out in front of the museum, bright headlights coming toward him. A bike playing chicken with a car was just stupid, and if Darkwing was anything, it wasn’t stupid. But no matter where he turned, the car mirrored him.

            At the last minute, Darkwing turned, to the right to prevent a collision. The car swerved with him, nicking his back wheel and causing the motorcycle to fishtail across the road.

            Expertly, Darkwing gave the bike enough gas to straighten before skidding into a sharp, decelerating U-turn, leaving a streak on the asphalt. He gunned the gas, the motorcycle leaping forward with the front wheel lifting up.

            The fleeing jewelry thieves turned a sharp corner down another straight, thinking that they could lose him. But they were wrong. When it came to speed and high-speed maneuvers, a motorcycle definitely had the advantage.

            They turned down several corners, and each time Darkwing closed the distance between them until he was right on their tail.       

            With every fiber of his being concentrating on the chase, the sound of his cell phone jingled in his helmet’s speakers playing the Darkwing Duck theme song on loud jolted him that he practically leapt in his seat, losing control of his vehicle for a few seconds.

            He jammed a finger on his motorcycle’s touch screen, intending to send the call to voice mail, but slipped on the answer button.

            “Hey, DW. What’s up?”

            “Launchpad?”

            “Yep, that’s me.”

            “Launchpad, I can’t talk now. Can I talk to you later?” Darkwing shouted into the microphone.

            “Okay, I’ll make it quick. You see, I have this really good friend. She’s been my best friend forever, and I kind of forgot her birthday, so I have to get her something good. And…well, she’s a huge Darkwing fan…”

            “Uh-huh,” Darkwing said, only half-listening. Only faintly above Launchpad’s words did he hear a car window being smashed, spotting the glint of something poking out the back window. He didn’t know what it was until he heard the BANG of a pistol.

            “Launchpad!” he shouted over the gunshots as he performed a serpentine maneuver. “I’ll have to call you later.” He slammed his hand over the end call button, then reached down for his gas launcher.

            New to crime-fighting, he had only a few times had a chance to use his gadgets on actual bad guys, and not successfully every time. And that was when they were standing still or running away. It would be a miracle if he made this shot.

            “Suck gas, evil-doers,” he said through gritted teeth, hoping that the catch-phrase would bring him luck. He tensed his muscles as he pulled the trigger, feeling the kickback once the gunpowder was ignited.

            An arc of smoke flew toward the car, sailing past the broken rear window which was where he was aiming. Instead, the canister of gas landed on the hood and somehow stayed lodged on the front of the car, billowing thick gas. The car swerved back and forth across the road before meeting a sturdy street light, stopping the car cold.

            Breaking to a stop next to the car, Darkwing looked inside the vehicle, seeing through the gas three bodies inside. He opened the door tentatively, but nobody moved. Either the gas had knocked them out or the crash did. After checking their pulses, he slapped handcuffs on them and remotely called 9-1-1 for a police car and ambulance.

            “The authorities can take it from here,” he said with a smile when he heard sirens. After one last check, his motorcycle roared away.

            In an alley not far away, he listened to the police radio, learning that the pieces that were stolen from the museum had been recovered and the thieves were either on their way to jail or the hospital with a police escort.

            “A job well done,” he congratulated himself, crossing his arms. That was when his right fingers felt something off about his costume. Feeling around, he found a hole the exact size of a bullet. “Oh, no.” Even though he felt no pain, he carefully examined his arm, searching for a wound that wasn’t there.

            “It must have missed me barely,” he rationalized with a sigh of relief. Yet, something didn’t seem right. Even though he was still whole, his brain couldn’t figure out why there was no exit hole in his costume.

***

            That night, the boys proclaimed that they would all have a movie night. Again, they persuaded Scrooge to join them, who promptly fell asleep in his recliner five minutes into the flick. Munching on popcorn and sipping soda, the boys and Launchpad sat through the first two Aliens That Look Like People films and were just about to pop in the third part of the franchise when Launchpad said he had to make a phone call.

            “Who’s he calling? China? It’s past midnight,” Louie said, looking at his phone for the time.

            Dewey and Huey ignored this. They had pried enough in Launchpad’s life for one day.

            After a few minutes, Launchpad returned to the couch without a word, just in time for the next alien invasion.

            Suspense was rising as the hero of the flick was beginning to understand that his wife might just be an alien when the Darkwing Duck theme song pierced the air, making the ducks  jump in their seats and Scrooge snort in his sleep.

            “That’s me,” Launchpad said, pulling out his phone. “It’s my friend, Charity. I can tell her about Mr. McD coming to see her.”

            As Launchpad answered his phone, Huey pressed pause on the show. There was only a second of quiet as a voice from Launchpad’s phone shouted so loudly, all three boys could hear it.

            “What did you do to my daughter?!

            “Mrs. L?”

            “I know it was you! What did you do to her?!”

            “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mrs. L,” Launchpad said, looking distressed. “What happened to Charity?”

            The voice died done to a level where the boys knew someone was talking, but it was inaudible.

            Launchpad’s eyes widened. “Where is she?” Pause. “I’m heading there now.” He stood up and rushed out the door.

            The triplets exchanged looks before following their friend.

            “Launchpad, what happened?” Dewey asked, running alongside the pilot.

            “Charity was in an accident,” Launchpad said, looking more serious and determined than the boys had ever seen him. “She’s been taken to the hospital.”

            “We’ll come with you,” Huey said.

            “Uh…shouldn’t we tell Uncle Scrooge,” Louie suggested, for once taking a mature stand on the issue.

            “You stay here and tell him,” Dewey said. “Launchpad cannot be stopped, and we’re going with him to Winding Wing.”

            “No. Winding Wing doesn’t have a hospital,” Launchpad told them. “They’re bringing her to Ducksburg.”

            “I’ll wake up Uncle Scrooge and meet you there,” Louie called, stopping at the threshold as the others burst out into the night air, heading toward the first vehicle that Launchpad could find, the limo.

            “Buckle up, boys,” Launchpad said as they jumped in and he turned the key.

            The warning was unnecessary. Anyone who had ridden with Launchpad did not neglect their seatbelts. The boys had even taken up the habit of keeping helmets in the limo as a secondary precaution.

            Strangely enough, while that was the shortest ride they had experienced, Launchpad had navigated through the streets of Ducksburg without a scratch.

Chapter Text

Twisted String of Fate

Chapter 3

            I was thirteen when I fell in love again. By that time, I had become a stigma at school with the reputation of being the fragile kid, the one that had to skip gym, who stayed indoors during recess, who couldn’t be on any sports team. Even the bullies were too afraid to pick on me, afraid to leave a bruise or a scrape that would suspend them or worse, get threats from my mom to call the cops.

            The bruises and cuts were bad enough, but loneliness was the hardest pain to bear.

            Until one day, a tall, gangly boy plopped down at my table at lunch. He had bright eyes, the biggest grin, and a large cast on his left arm. I didn’t know him, and I was sure he wasn’t even in my grade.

            “Is that lunchbox from the Darkwing Duck fan club catalog?”

            “Uh…I don’t know. My mom bought it on ebird,” I answered, surprised that anyone was talking to me.

            “Whoa, whoever sold it was an idiot. Darkwing Duck merchandise is going to be priceless one day,” the boy said, pulling out of his backpack a lunchbox exactly like mine.

            I stared at it like he had pulled a rabbit out of his bag.

            The boy continued to talk the entire time, mostly about Darkwing Duck, but also about what happened in school, and about his dream to be a pilot. When he finished his food, he said, “Goodbye” and left to play outside.

            The next day, he returned, talked all through lunch, then left again. The same thing happened the next day and the next. After a week, I started looking forward to him sitting in front of me, rambling about his life and the masked hero as he ate his sandwich, apple, and cookies before leaving.

            It took me another week to finally ask his name.

            “Launchpad McQuack,” he said, reaching over to shake my hand.

            The name wasn’t unfamiliar. I had heard the name being thrown around the school with the reputation of being a goofball, a klutz, and a daredevil. Gossip was that he crashed his bicycle into the pricipal’s car, rode his skateboard through the school and ran into the school’s display, breaking a few trophies, and tried to jump off the school’s smokestack with a homemade parachute but the firefighters stopped him. It explained the cast on his arm.

            My mom would not be happy if I made friends with him.

            I took his hand anyway. “I’m Charity Loveatte.”

            In the following months, Launchpad somehow coaxed me out of my shell, using Darkwing Duck to start discussions, debates, and imagined stories and adventures, although I kept my girlish fantasies to myself. Soon, he stopped leaving me on my own after lunch, even skipping recess to stay with me in the school’s library. All my old friends had drifted away because of my “disease,” but Launchpad didn’t seem to care that I couldn’t go outside and play. Even though he was an active person, he stayed with me anyway.

            Things didn’t change until the day that a group of girls ganged up on me. With my disease, I was immune to physical bullying, but it didn’t stop the name-calling and the gossiping. I don’t know what I did or what was bothering them that day, but the mean-girl squad targeted me. It started with the usual, but throughout the day, when I continued to ignore them, their tactics escalated to bumping me in the hall and pushes when the teacher wasn’t looking.

            Then school ended and the sharks began circling.

            “I think it’s all a lie,” I  heard one girl say. “It’s so the teachers take pity on her.”

            “I don’t see any bruises,” another said. “Maybe it’s to cover up that she’s a klutz.”

            Someone grabbed my wrist, pushing back my feathers. “Come on. Show us these bruises you’re supposed to have.”

            They pushed and pulled me, getting rougher and rougher, trying to create a bruise to form right there and then, laughing and taunting me. Whenever I tried to break through, they pulled me back in. Eventually, I collapsed in a ball and covered my head, hoping they would lose interest.

            “Get away from her!”

            I recognized the voice, lifting my head in time to see Launchpad roll by on his skateboard, scattering the girls.

            “Get out of here. I don’t care if you’re girls, I’ll fight you anyway.”

            The bullies ran away, squealing like they were five.

            And that was the moment that it happened. I never expected it because it wasn’t like the first time. But when Launchpad offered his hand out to me to help me up, I felt my heart speed up, my body grew warm, and blush rose under my feathers. When I took his hand, his touch was electric.

            And when I went home, I knew I couldn’t let mom know that it happened again. She couldn’t know about Launchpad.

            But she eventually found out when I broke my leg.

***

            Huey and Dewey had been to a lot of places, but the hospital wasn’t one of them. Despite their adventures, none of them had been injured enough to be taken to the hospital. So when they entered the building with the strange sights and smells, their usually curious and bold natures were dampened by the strangeness of everything. Keeping close to Launchpad, they remained quiet.

            “I’m looking for Charity Loveatte,” Launchpad told the front desk.

            The elderly nurse looked up from her glasses, then down again, her expression blank. “Visiting hours are over, sir.”

            “She should have come through the emergency room a few minutes ago.”

            The nurse pointed with a pen. “Down the hall all the way to the end, then turn left. Ask the desk there.”

            Launchpad sprinted down the hall, heedless of the boys scrambling to keep up. Skidding to a stop at the emergency desk, the tall duck pulled himself upright. “Charity Loveatte,” he said.

            This time, the nurse was busy going through papers, shouting at someone on the phone, and typing at the computer at the same time. She held up a finger, indicating that he wait.

            Launchpad bounced on his feet impatiently before looking around and spotting a set of swinging doors. He raced through them, ignoring the nurse’s shouts to stop.

            Huey and Dewey followed, hoping that the pilot wasn’t going to get in trouble for his rashness.

            “Charity! Charity! Where are you?” he shouted as his webbed feet pounded the cold tiles.

            From a distance, a soft voice called out, “Launchpad?”
            “Charity.” Changing his trajectory, Launchpad turned down another hall, dodging doctors and patients. Before he made it to the room, a woman stepped out, arms folded and glaring so fiercely that it would have put Uncle Scrooge to shame.

            Launchpad screeched to a halt before he ran into the woman.

            “You are never to come near my daughter ever again,” she told him in a dangerous tone. “You’ve hurt her enough.”

            “Mom!” the voice shouted from the room the woman blocked.

            “Mrs. L, I don’t know why you’re saying these things. I would never hurt Charity,” Launchpad defended, his voice distressed.

            “Mom, leave him alone,” Charity’s voice shouted. “He didn’t do anything.”

            “That’s right,” Dewey said, skidding in front of Launchpad. “He didn’t hurt anyone. He has been with us all night.”

            Huey stopped alongside his brother, more out of breath. “I…second…that.”

            The formidable female looked taken aback by the presence of the children. She opened her beak as if to chew Launchpad out some more, but someone else spoke.

            “Aimee, that’s enough. Let them come in.”

            Mrs. Loveatte’s beak pressed a thin line, but she stepped away to allow entry.

            Launchpad needed no other invitation to rush in. “Charity, are you okay?”

            The young, female lovebird smiled brightly at the sight of Launchpad. “Yeah, I’m fine. Mom is over-reacting,” she said with a weak laugh. “It’s really not a big deal.”

            A doctor covered in green feathers with cherry red cheeks was bending over Charity’s arm, using a thin, sharp needle to sew stitches. There was a wad of gauze and towels on the metal tray soaked in blood.

            “That looks like a big deal to me,” Huey commented.

            Charity frowned. “It’s not as much blood as you would think. Right, Dad?”

            “Your mom got you here quick enough,” Dr. Loveatte replied, carefully pulling on the stitch he just set. “You only needed six stitches today.”

            “Whoo-hoo,” Charity cheered sarcastically.

            “What happened?” Launchpad asked again.

            “Uh…I’m not sure. I must have cut myself on something,” Charity said uncertainly, looking to her father and then behind Launchpad where her mother stood. “I was asleep at the time.”

            “You probably got caught on a nail. Sometimes with those old houses, nails can work themselves out,” Dr. Loveatte explained.

            “But she was sleeping,” Huey countered.

            “Charity sleep walks,” the doctor returned.

            Huey’s eyebrows furrowed. “Sleep walking on top of her other conditions?”

            Dewey looked to his brother. If he knew Huey at all, his brother thought something was amiss with this situation. “And why would that be Launchpad’s fault?” Dewey spoke up, looking angry for his friend’s sake.

            “Please, forgive my wife. She sometimes acts hysterical when something happens to Charity,” Dr. Loveatte said kindly. “We are both concerned for her health.”

            “All is forgiven,” Launchpad said, moving toward Charity and taking her hand. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

            “I don’t even have to stay in the hospital this time,” Charity said. “Which is too bad since you know how much I love hospital food.”

            Lauchpad chuckled.

            “There, all done.” Dr. Loveatte set the sutures and other instruments back on the metal tray after cutting the excess stitching. “Your mother and I will get you checked out and pick up some pills for the pain. Talk with your friends, and when we get back, you and your mother can go home.”

            “Thanks, Dad,” Charity said, giving his hand a little squeeze.

            Dr. Loveatte moved the metal try over to the counter near a sink, then left the room, taking Charity’s mother—and her glare—with him.

            “You didn’t have to rush all the way here for me,” Charity told Launchpad. “And what are you doing with a couple of mini-ducks?”

            “Oh, where are my manners? This is Huey and Dewey,” Launchpad said, presenting the kids.

            “Wait. These are Mr. McDuck’s nephews?” Charity asked in disbelief.

            “Yep.”

            “The way you talk about them, I thought they would be older,” Charity said, curiously examining them. “But it’s very good to meet you, Dewey. I thought it was about time for Launchpad’s two best friends to finally meet.”

            Dewey looked at her hand. “I’m not going to hurt you if I touch you, am I?”

            A sad look crossed Charity’s face before she smiled. “I’m not that fragile.” They shook hands.

            “I have so many questions,” Huey said as he gazed around the hospital room. “Can I look at your stitches? Did it hurt when he put them in? Is it cool to have a dad that’s a doctor? Why doesn’t he look like you? How many bones have you broken? What’s the most stitches you have ever gotten?”

            “What was Launchpad like as a kid?” Dewey threw in just to be noticed.

            “Wow,” Charity said, her eyes widening. “Okay, here goes. Yes. Kind of. Yes. He’s actually my step-dad. I don’t know. And twenty-three. As for Launchpad as a kid, he hasn’t changed since then, except now he’s a lot bigger.”

            As Huey walked to the opposite of the bed to take a better look at the stitches, Dewey jumped onto the stool the doctor had sat on, spinning in it. “So, it really is true what Mrs. Beakley says. Launchpad is like a giant kid.”

            “And don’t you forget it,” Launchpad said proudly.

            “Only with a driver’s license,” Charity chipped in.

            The boys laughed at that.

            “You know, you don’t have to stay with me,” Charity said, looking at Launchpad. “If you want to dash out to avoid my mom, go ahead. She probably woke you up with that phone call.”

            “Nope, we were having a movie marathon,” Dewey replied for Launchpad, pushing himself in the chair from one side of the room to another, the wheels of the stool squeaking.

            “This late?” Charity asked.

            Huey and Dewey shrugged.

            “Lucky you,” Charity said, her eyes looking a bit droopy. “Even if I wanted to stay up, my body shuts down by ten and heads off to dream land.”

            “Which is where I should be,” a gruff voice interrupted.

            All heads turned to the doorway where Scrooge McDuck and Louie stood, the former leaning on his cane, the later looking wide-eyed at the bloody bandages.

            “Mr. McD,” Launchpad said, standing up straighter. He then looked at Charity, then back at his employer, then back to Charity. “It looks like you got your birthday wish.”

            Charity sat up, her eyes locked on Scrooge with an expression mixed with eagerness and fear.

            The triplets coagulated, sensing that something big was going down.

            “I heard you wanted to talk to me,” Scrooge said, approaching the hospital examination table.

            “I-I-Yes, I did,” Charity stuttered, her voice weak. “I-I hope it isn’t an imposition.”

            “At one o’clock in the morning, it is,” Scrooge mumbled, taking Dewey’s spot on the stool. “But so long as I’m here, talk.” It sounded like an order.

            “Well…You see...” Charity looked down, then at Launchpad, and at Scrooge, her eyes looking more scared by the second. “I…need your help.”

            “Aye, I’ve heard of your conditions,” Scrooge said with a nod. “And I’ve read your chart. Cushion’s syndrome. Brittle Bone disease. A weak immune system.” Scrooge’s face softened. “I’d love to help you, lassie, but I don’t see what I can do that modern medicine and doctors haven’t been able to do yet.”

            “It’s not what you think,” Charity said, shaking her head. Her eyes glistened.

            “I suspected as much,” Scrooge said. “I believe you have a lot of explaining to do. And I think you should start out with why you have a bullet wound in your arm.”

Chapter Text

Twisted Strings of Fate

Chapter 4

            After the cast came off my leg, I was only pain free for a few days before I broke three fingers on my right hand. A couple of months after that, I went into the hospital with chest pains. Three of my ribs had been cracked. That’s when the doctor noticed the bruises on my arms and legs. They were returning more and more frequently.

            Then my mom got a call from a social worker.

            By that time, she had remarried Glen, a doctor. My step-father’s career made it easier to explain away my injuries with a second diagnosis: A mild case of brittle bone disease.

            “What about all the days she missed school?” the social worker asked suspiciously. “You claim that she’s been sick a lot.”

            My step-father had an answer for that, too. I also had a compromised immune system making me susceptible to illness. He even had documents showing the tests to back up his words.

            I didn’t remember ever going through those tests.

            But the social worker smiled, believing Glen because he was a doctor and had a nice smile. Confident that there wasn’t any child abuse happening in our house, she didn’t return.

            After that, my mother took me aside for a serious discussion. She said she was sorry she lied to me. I don’t have Cushion’s syndrome. And I don’t have brittle bone disease or a compromised immune system.

            I had suspected as much. By then, I suspected there was something different about our family, that there was something off, but I didn’t have a word for it.

            That’s when she told me about the family curse.

***

            “I promise to tell you everything, but I need to show you something first,” Charity stated. She stood up and opened one of the drawers next to the sink.

            “Why?” Scrooge asked suspiciously.

            “Because I’m afraid you won’t believe me,” she replied, looking through the drawer, closing it, and opening another one.

            Louie blew air forcefully through his beak. “Please. After what we’ve seen, what won’t we believe?”

            “Launchpad, please come here,” Charity requested. When he stood in front of her, she took his hand. “I need you to trust me.”

            “I do, Charity.”

            “Then close your eyes and don’t open them until I say you can,” she said.

            Launchpad obeyed.

            From the open drawer, Charity pulled out a scalpel, the sharp edge glistening in the light of the halogen bulb.

            The boys and Scrooge took notice, on edge.

            “Wait a minute, lass. What are you going to do with that?” Scrooge asked, poised for action.

            “Everything is going to be okay,” Charity said in a reassuring tone, her voice and countenance calm as she set the blade against Launchpad’s hand. “Launchpad, you’re going to feel a pinch, but that’s it.” She pushed the blade into his flesh, drawing a line across his palm.

            “That’s enough!” Scrooge shouted, using his cane to deftly knock the scalpel away. The metal instrument landed on the floor. Drops of blood splattered beside it.

            “Boys, get some gauze,” Scrooge ordered, snatching Launchpad’s hand away from Charity. But when he looked at the pilot’s hand, it was as white and pristine as it had moments before. “What? But I saw…” He looked to Charity.

            The female lovebird was gripping her hand, putting pressure on a gash that was pouring blood. “I think you get the gist of it now,” she said with a sad smile.

            The four ducks stared at her hand.

            “No, that isn’t possible,” Huey said, staring with his beak wide open.

            “Uh, could I have that gauze, please?” Charity requested.

            Having forgotten that he grabbed some, Huey slowly handed the package, still gaping.

            Charity ripped the plastic open with her beak and wrapped her hand in the white bandage quickly and messily. “Okay, Launchpad, you can open your eyes now.” She smiled and hid her bandaged hand behind her back.

            “Whoa, that was weird. I heard you guys talking, and it sounded like something exciting was happening. Did something exciting happen?” Launchpad asked, clueless.

            “A little,” Charity said, sitting back on the table. “Wow, I’m feeling a bit dizzy. I think I lost too much blood. Launchpad, there’s a vending machine in the front lobby. Do you think you could get me a drink and a snack?”

            “Absolutely, Charity. You rest. I’ll be back.” Without any question, he waved as he left.

            Charity waved back, but her smile disappeared once her friend was gone. “Launchpad doesn’t know about any of this, and I would be grateful if nobody told him anything he didn’t need to.”

            “That was amazing!” Dewey shouted, jumping up and down. “Are you some sort of sorcerer? Do you have healing power? If I stabbed myself in the heart, could you heal me?”

            “Please don’t,” Charity said, looking afraid. “It only works with Launchpad.”

            “Why Launchpad?” Huey asked, tilting his head.

            Charity looked down, fiddling with her bandage. “It’s because I’m in love with him. Or at least, the curse made me fall in love with him. I’m altogether unsure how much of it is real and how much of it is magic.”

            “Okay, lass. You have my attention. Why don’t you start at the beginning?” Scrooge said, sitting back down on the stool.

            Taking a deep breath, Charity began, her voice turning melodic as one who is telling a bedtime story. “The curse has been in my family for thousands of years. A long, long time ago, there once was two sisters, a black swan and a white swan. They loved each other very much and were inseparable. And although they looked very much alike, the white swan received more attention and admirers than her sister.”

            “Just because her feathers were a different color?” Huey asked. “That doesn’t seem fair.” He said this out of experience. Being one triplet, getting enough attention was often a chore and a competition.

            Scrooge leaned forward on his cane. “Oh, that was quite common in those old days. People of ancient cultures were very superstitious. A bird with all black feathers was sometimes considered an ill-omen. The same was true for other color mutations, birth marks and physical defects.”
            “Exactly,” Charity said with a nod, then returned to her story. “The black sister was often ignored and shunned because of the color of her feathers while her sister grew prideful of her beauty. Despite this, both sisters loved each other more than anyone else.

            “Then one day, they were captured by an evil bandit and taken to his hideout. When he saw the beautiful sisters, he decided to marry both of them.”

            “Ewwww,” the triplets said.

            “Again, that wasn’t uncommon in the old days,” Scrooge berated his nephew’s immaturity. “Although, for the life of me, who would want more than one woman in their life is beyond me.”

            The boys snickered, knowing who Scrooge was thinking of.

            “Before the bandit could force his will on the sisters, a dashing hero came to their rescue and slayed the bandit. Both of the sisters immediately fell in love with the hero, and for the first time in their lives, they fought over something.

            “Because she believed she couldn’t win the heart of the hero, the black swan stopped fighting first, stepping aside so her sister could be with the hero. But the hero saw that the white sister was prideful and that the black sister was humble and kind. In the end, he fell in love with the black sister, and they were married.

            “The white swan had never been rejected before, and instead of being happy for her sister, she let darkness take over her heart. Back then, everyone knew about magic and anyone could do a little if they learned. Both the swans were adept sorceresses, but when the white sister’s heart turned evil, she grew in power as the darkness taught her forbidden spells.

            “Once she had accumulated enough power, she attacked her sister and the hero and captured them. Her intention was not to kill them; she wanted the black swan to give up her love for the hero so that he would love her instead. She thought love was something that could be dropped at a whim and picked up by someone else like a coin. But the black swan couldn’t give up her love.

            “With a plan to get her sister to hate her husband and break their love, she cast a spell on the lovers that whatever pain or injury that the hero would be inflicted with would transfer to his wife who would suffer everything. For days and nights, the white swan tortured the hero, who shed no blood, whose body remained whole while the black swan felt every cut and blow her husband took.

            “The hero pleaded for his wife to hate him, to stop loving him. He couldn’t bear to see her suffer, to hear her cries of pain, but the black swan wouldn’t. She bore the pain bravely, glad to keep her husband from suffering.

            “Each passing day, the white swan grew angrier and angrier that her sister refused to stop loving the hero until one day, her anger overcame her and she cut the hero too deeply. The spell she cast was powerful, but not strong enough to transfer death. The black swan felt the fatal blow, but once life left her husband, so did his pain.

            “Her grief gave her power, and the black swan summoned all of her magic and lashed out at her sister. She wasn’t powerful enough to kill her, so she trapped her where she couldn’t hurt anyone again. The spell took so much of her energy that she couldn’t do magic again.

            “Not long after she laid an egg. The daughter that hatched was the splitting image of her belated father. Years passed before the black swan learned that the spell her sister had used had dark consequences because she had been pregnant when it had been cast. Her daughter was saved by a heroic man and fell immediately in love with him. From that moment on, any injuries the man should have accumulated fell on the daughter’s body.”

            Charity stopped talking after that, the ending of the story coming up flat as if there should be more. Her face looked hollow as if she had been crying.

            The triplets shifted where they stood. Charity had told the story in such a captivating way that it would have been easy to believe it was just a fairy tale, something that Donald had read to them when they were younger. They had expected there to be a happy ending, but if there was, Charity wouldn’t be sitting on the hospital examination table with a bullet hole in her arm and a bloody bandage on her hand.

            “And Launchpad is your hero, I take it,” Scrooge said gently.

            “Yes. I was being bullied at school, and the minute he saved me, I feel deeply in love with him. Before that, he was my friend and I did care for him, but when the curse took over, my feelings changed,” Charity said, touching her heart.

            Scrooge rubbed his forehead. It was way too late for this kind of thing. “I believe you; the trick with the scalpel and hand is convincing, but I’m still not completely convinced about this curse. Are you telling me that any injuries that Launchpad would get—”

            “I feel it all for him,” Charity interrupted. “All of it.”

            “You can’t blame me for being a bit skeptical. I’ve seen a lot of magic, but I’ve not heard of a curse anything like this.”

            “In all the time that Launchpad has worked for you, didn’t it seem odd that he’s never gotten hurt?” Charity asked him.

            Scrooge scratched his head. “Uh…not really?”

            “After all the crashes he’s been in, all the adventures you’ve gone on, it didn’t seem odd that he’s never broken a bone, never got a bruise or a cut or anything?” Charity asked expectantly.

            “He-he’s Launchpad. He’s always been…like that,” Scrooge said, his voice lowering as he thought things through.

            “And I bet he’s never taken a sick day off, am I right?” Charity said, her smugness dimmed by her sadness.

            “Not even that time when we returned from Africa, and we all caught jungle fever,” Huey said.

            The four ducks sat in silence, reviewing their past and trying to find anything that would counter Charity’s words.

            Charity fingered her bandage, smiling sadly. “I made up a game. Every time I got a new bruise or cut or broken bone, I tried to guess what new adventure Launchpad had gotten into. And when he came to visit, he would regal me with all the details. Sometimes I would guess correctly, sometimes I would be completely surprised.”

            “You poor thing,” Louie said, sympathy over-coming even him. “Imagine that it had to be Launchpad of all people.”

            “Why didn’t you tell him?” Huey asked. “If Launchpad knew he was causing you pain, I’m certain he would be more careful.”

            Charity shook her head slowly. “I couldn’t. If I told him, it would…change him. It would break him. He’s so happy and carefree. I was afraid if I told him…he would…hate me.” Her calm demeanor broke, tears falling in fat drops and sobs trembling in her chest.

            The boys took a step back. Something about seeing a grown-up cry was disconcerting. But Scrooge on the other hand seemed to have some understanding about crying women. He pulled out a handkerchief and put it in Charity’s hand.

            “Alright, lass. It’s going to be okay. We understand. Launchpad, while a bit absentminded, has a good heart,” Scrooge said. “Calm down. Any friend of Launchpad’s will be well taken care of. But I don’t see how I can help. And not to mention, I don’t recall anyone shooting at Launchpad tonight, unless he and the boys were up to something more than alien movies.”

            Huey, Dewey and Louie shook their heads solemnly.

            “Well, that’s where things get complicated,” Charity said, looking embarrassed. “You see, Launchpad isn’t the only one I’m connected to.”

            Scrooge’s eyes widened. “I see.”

            “Excuse me. Who are you and what are you doing here?” Mrs. Loveatte stood in the doorway, looking madder than a Beagle Boy and determined enough to take out a whole gang of them.

            Dr. Loveatte was a step behind her, looking concerned by the extra people in his step-daughter’s room.

            “Ah, you must be Charity’s family,” Scrooge said, tipping his hat and extending his hand.

            Mrs. Loveatte glared at the offered welcome.

            “Ah…I understand how protective you are of your daughter. She’s briefed me on the circumstances of her situation and as requested my services to help,” Scrooge said professionally.

            “My husband is her doctor. We don’t need any more doctors,” Mrs. Loveatte snapped.

            “My dear, I’m not a doctor.”

            “I’m not your dear.”

            “Mom, don’t you know who this is. He’s Scrooge McDuck,” Charity said, her voice warning her mother to behave.

            The surprise at having such a famous duck stand before her dampened Mrs. Loveatte’s glower but only just so. “I don’t see how you can help. Please, see yourself out, Mr. McDuck,” she said icily.

            “Mom, he’s the world’s foremost expert on magic. He’s been on more expeditions than anyone else. He probably has more magical items in his basement than the rest of the world has in museums combined,” Charity protested.

            Scrooge nodded his head proudly. “True.”

            Mrs. Loveatte’s eyes widened. “You told him!”

            “I had to,” Charity said, her voice rising. “Our family can’t live like this anymore. I can’t live like this anymore. I can’t live with the pain.”

            “I told you to keep that boy away. If he would stay away, you might forget about him.”

            “Stop blaming Launchpad!” Charity shouted, tears refreshing. “He’s the only one that makes me forget about the curse. I need him in my life. And if I can find a way to break the curse, then I can finally have a normal life.”

            Mrs. Loveatte’s eyes softened, and she shook her head. “Sweetheart, I understand what you are going through. But you haven’t thought things through. Did you ever think about your Nana? What’s going to happen to her if you do?”

            Charity shook her head. “It was Nana who gave me the idea. Mom, I know you don’t want Nana to be in pain, but did you ever think about Grandpa. Don’t you think he deserves to have the pain taken away, too?”

            “Grandpa wouldn’t want that,” Mrs. Loveatte said. “It would break his heart to see Nana in that much pain.”

            “And it’s breaking Nana’s heart that he has to bear her pain,” Charity shot back. “It’s what she wants, and it’s what I want. Please, let me go.”

            A silence filled the room. Which was the perfect moment for Launchpad to return.

            “Hey, I got you orange juice, Charity. They were out of cranberry,” he called out. Noticing the solemn pallor on everyone’s faces, he asked, “What did I miss?”

            “Come on, boys. Launchpad. We’re all going home and going to bed,” Scrooge said. He turned to Mrs. Loveatte. “And Charity is coming with us. She’s a grown woman, and she’s made her choice.” He turned his head. “Come on, lass.”

            Charity hopped off the bed and followed, keeping her head down so she couldn’t look at her mother. Before she left the room, her step-father pressed a bag into her hands.

            “Here’s your prescription,” Dr. Loveatte said gently. “And don’t worry about your mother. I’ll talk to her.”

            Charity smiled, kissed his cheek and followed after the ducks, slipping her hand into Launchpad’s.

            In the parking lot, Louie shouted, “I call riding with Charity and Launchpad.” He pushed the pilot over to the limo, which had been parked askew, half in two parking spaces, the other half in a handicap spot. “You guys ride with Uncle Scrooge.”

            Used to their brother’s weird antics, Huey and Dewey shrugged and followed their uncle to the other car.

            “Do the boys always fight for a chance to ride with you, Launchpad?” Charity asked as she buckled up in the passenger front seat.

            “Nope, this is a first,” Launchpad said, turning the key and shifting the car in gear.

            “So, it turns out that Uncle Scrooge is actually a scarier driver than you are, Launchpad,” Louie said, putting on his helmet. “I thought that my brothers should experience it for themselves.”

Chapter Text

Twisted Strings of Fate

Chapter 5

            My world stopped the day Darkwing Duck died. Or, at least, that’s what the news said.

            My mom and I watched it on TV as an anchorman reported an accident at a movie studio that involved several actors including Jim Starling. I had already been warned that he was in trouble as bruises, cuts and burns appeared on my arms and legs, but the pain was nothing compared to the dread pouring through my heart. I cared not for my own well-being. All my thoughts and prayers were for Jim Starling, no, for Darkwing Duck to survive.

            “We are sad to report that we have received news that the actor, Jim Starling, is dead,” the anchorman said over the sounds of fire trucks and water gushing over the flames.

            My mother turned off the TV. “Well, it’s unfortunate that that poor man had died, but perhaps it’s for the best. One less thing to worry about.”

            I had told Mom years ago about my childhood crush on Darkwing Duck, in which case she took a personal stand against him. By then, my devotion to the fictional character had deepened, especially with Launchpad feeding my inner nerd. I don’t think she realized how much the news of his death really hit me. It wasn’t a relief, but a hole ripped in my heart.

            Yet, not long after watching the news, I knew that my first love wasn’t dead. My knee throbbed with a popping, creaking ache that I was familiar with. I thought of that aching knee as a constant memory of Jim. And it hadn’t disappeared as it should.

            Jim Starling was still alive. But it baffled me why nobody corrected this error. Why did Jim Starling not show himself? Seeing the futility in trying to figure out the mind of the actor, I kept this information to myself, satisfied in knowing that he was alive and well.

            Not long after, the moon invaded. Many heroes stepped up in Earth’s time of need including a duck dressed in dark colors. I couldn’t believe my eyes as I watched the news, seeing the familiar cape and hat that I had known for so long. My heart raced as I thought it was Jim back. It must be; he was waiting this whole time to be a real hero, to bring back Darkwing Duck.

            But after watching footage of this Darkwing, I could see the differences. The costume, the shape of his bill, his mannerisms, his voice. It was not Jim.

            The news soon reported that this Darkwing Duck had moved to St. Canard, fighting crime in the city by the bay. The children who grew up with the old show crawled out of the woodworks of the Internet, new fans jumping on the bandwagon. The web was ablaze with information on the new crime-fighter, and I soaked it all up.

            I don’t know how the curse worked because there wasn’t an exact moment that I could pinpoint when I fell in love again. I think it must have been a gradual integration into the curse, but I knew for sure that I was connected to a third person while watching a stolen copy of the unfinished Darkwing Duck movie—which Launchpad took from his employer just for me.

            We were watching it late at night when my face suddenly exploded with pain. I had experienced a lot of injuries, but I had never felt someone hitting me in the eye before. Launchpad may have been crash-prone, but he never got into fights.

            Since Launchpad was with me during the movie, I knew he wasn’t the cause of the pain. I thought it was Jim for the longest time until I noticed a pattern in the injuries I received late at night. It was then I realized that my love for Darkwing Duck had transferred to this new person, whoever he was. I had been in denial for the longest time, rationalizing that my heart racing whenever I thought of him or learned something new about him on the Internet, it was because I was a fan.

            But I quickly accepted that I had fallen in love for a third time. At first, I was angry, but the more I learned about the people that Darkwing Duck 2.0 saved, the more I was glad. It was like I was helping him fight crime and save others. And it made me love him more.

            After that, I learned really quickly how to hide a black eye with make-up.

***

            Mrs. Beakley navigated the winding road toward the McDuck mansion, humming to herself. It was nice to get out once in a while and spend some time with Webbigail. And although she and Della had a difference in opinions—as well as other things—girl bonding was beneficial to the female duck’s road to acting more like a responsible mother.

            “I can’t believe we actually got to see Poseidon,” Webby shouted from the back seat. “The boys are going to be so jealous. Do you think this pearl necklace is cursed?”

            As Webby examined her jewelry, Della relaxed in the front passenger seat. “Yup, there’s nothin’ more relaxing than fighting giant monsters and beating a Greek god in fair and noble combat. Although, I do feel a little guilty about making him cry.”

            “He’s a god. A little humility never hurt anyone,” Mrs. Beakley said sagely.

            “I can’t wait to tell everyone how awesome our Girl’s-Day-Out was,” Webby said, bouncing in the back seat. “Are we almost home?”

            “Don’t be too excited, Webs,” Della said, looking back at the young girl. “Scrooge was talking about taking them to some desert for a treasure hunting expedition. I doubt they’ll be home yet.”

            “Oh,” Webby said, looking disappointed.

            Mrs. Beakley smiled knowingly. “Oh, I doubt they’ve even left. They can’t go without Launchpad.”

            Della folded her arms at the mention of the other pilot. “Why? What happened to him?”

            “Wednesdays are Launchpad’s day off,” Mrs. Beakley said.

            “That never stopped Uncle Scrooge. We’ve gone on adventures on Wednesdays before. Last week, we fought a demon,” Webby added.

            “Yes, and the week before and the week before,” Mrs. Beakley said with a sigh. “Poor Launchpad. He just can’t say ‘no’ to Scrooge. I gave him a pep talk before I left, so there’s a chance that the boys are still home.”

            Della and Webby exchanged looks. They agreed that it was doubtful.

            Yet after they pulled into the driveway and entered the mansion, it wasn’t just the ghost of Ducksworth greeting them at the door.

            “Hey, Mom!” Dewey shouted, jumping into her arms.

            Huey and Louie, less enthusiastically, hugged her legs.

            “Hey, boys. I thought you’d be in some desert, using some magical sword to solve puzzles and find buried treasure,” Della said, kissing each of their foreheads.

            “Yeah, we were, but something else came up,” Louie said nonchalantly.

            Mrs. Beakley smiled, nodding her head in congratulations for giving Launchpad that pep-talk.

            Webby looked smug. “It couldn’t have been more exciting than our Girl’s-Day-Out.”

            Dewey spoke first. “Launchpad has a secret girlfriend.”

            “That’s nothing. We fought not one, but two—What?!” Webby interrupted her own gloating.

            “Yeah. And apparently her family has been cursed for hundreds of generations. It’s pretty intense,” Huey added. “Uncle Scrooge wants all hands on deck for this one. It sounds like a toughie.”

            “It’s sick. Charity has a bullet wound but didn’t get shot. Oh, and she did this thing where she cut Launchpad’s hand but he didn’t get hurt. It’s kind of cool,” Louie said.

            “Uh…We also met Poseidon,” Webby said, feeling as if her victory wasn’t as sweet.

            “Who’s Charity?” Della asked, throwing her suitcase in the corner for Duckworth to carry up to her room.

            “She’s Launchpad’s girlfriend,” Dewey replied.

            “Technically, they aren’t girlfriend/boyfriend. She’s a friend of his who is a girl,” Huey clarified.

            “She’s totally his girlfriend,” Louie said with a smirk.

            Mrs. Beckley sighed. “It sounds like we need to talk to Mr. McDuck and get things clarified.”

            They followed the triplets to the dining room where Uncle Scrooge sat at the table sipping tea with Donald next him buttering a slice of toast.

            “Where’s Charity?” Dewey asked, looking around.

            “Still a sleep,” Uncle Scrooge said, putting his cup back on its saucer. “She needs the rest after what she’s gone through.”

            The boys frowned and Mrs. Beakley raised an eyebrow, all thinking the same thing. Uncle Scrooge wouldn’t let them sleep this late.

            “What about Launchpad? Are we really going to keep this a secret from him?” Huey asked, hopping into a seat.

            “I’ve already talked to him,” Scrooge said. “It’s just not realistic to keep it a secret from him.”

            “But Charity said—“ Dewey began.

            “I didn’t tell him everything,” Scrooge interrupted. “I just told him enough for him to help his friend. He’s off shopping for some things for her. Girls like her probably need…eh…new clothes and…shampoo?”

            Mrs. Beakley chuckled. “That’s quite perceptive of you, Mr. McDuck.”

            Scrooge waved off the comment. “Before we go further, let’s get everyone up to speed, shall we?”

            Once Scrooge retold the story of the curse and what he and the boys saw at the hospital, the rest of the group sat in silence as they took in the information.

            Donald sniffed. “That poor girl.”

            “Indeed,” Mrs. Beakley said, looking concerned. “That is some curse. I’ve never heard of something that powerful outside of Magica de Spell.”

            “That’s what I was thinking,” Scrooge agreed. “But we’ve broken curses before, although without knowing the origin of the magic or the words of the spell, I’m not certain where to start. Webby, have you or your friends heard of anything like this?”

            After thinking hard for a second, she shook her head. “I’ve read about curses and love spells, but nothing like this. Although that story does sound familiar, but I don’t know where.”

            “Hmmm, that should be our main priority,” Scrooge stated. “You and Huey get on researching. Track down that legend. If we know where it came from, we might be able to find out how to break the curse.”

            Both Webby and Huey saluted, accepting their mission.

            “Other than that, I’m actually at a loss what else we can do,” Uncle Scrooge said, looking weary. “I was up almost the entire night, trying to come up with a better plan than that.”

            “If I may suggest, perhaps we could track down this other young man that Miss Charity mentioned. If she received a bullet wound because of him, it would stand to reason that he is either in danger or works in a hazardous environment,” Mrs. Beakley spoke up.

            Scrooge smiled. “That is a grand idea, Mrs. Beakley. If we could keep him and Launchpad safe…er…relatively safer, it would be beneficial to her health. I will leave it up to you to find out the lad’s name. You’re a girl. Chat with her. Get her in your confidence. And when you find out who it is, hunt him down and bring him here.”

            Mrs. Beakley frowned at the assignment. “Very tactful, Scrooge. What about Della? She’s a girl, too, which means she should be able to get the information from Charity easily.”

            “Yeah, I could pound it out of her,” Della said, looking happy.

            Mrs. Beakley sighed. “Fair point. I’ll see what I can do.”

            “I’d like to help,” Donald spoke up, raising his hand. “I’ll help Mrs. Beakley bring that guy here and make sure he doesn’t get hurt.”

            “Thank you, Donald. I’m sure Agent 22 will be glad to have a partner.”

            Mrs. Beakley smirked, enjoying the joke. Having worked with the both of them, she found Donald a more willing partner than his stubborn uncle.

            “What can I do, Uncle Scrooge?” Dewey asked, jumping up and down.

            “You and Louie distract Launchpad while Mrs. Beakley gives Charity the third degree,” Scrooge said. “Launchpad only knows that Charity is under a very serious curse, but he doesn’t know the specifics nor that he is part of the curse. We need to keep it that way. Oh, and boys, make sure he doesn’t do anything that could hurt himself. That means no crashes.”

            Louie looked at his blue-clad brother. “This is going to be harder than I thought.”

            “As for me,” Scrooge continued, looking grumpy, “since my trip has been unfortunately canceled…I’ll be going to the office today. I’ll ask Ms. Quackfaster if there’s anything in the journals that could help.”

            As if that ended the meeting, he sipped the last of his tea and left the room.

            “Alright, no job for me,” Della said with a big grin, kicking her feet up onto the table and leaning back. “Looks like I get a lazy day.”

            “Oh, and Della. You’re on laundry duty,” Scrooge shouted from the other room.

            Della sagged. “Uhhh, I hate laundry duty.”

***

            When Charity stepped out of her room, she had no idea where she was going. Launchpad had knocked earlier and dropped off some things including a change of clothes and toiletries, but he didn’t stick around to help her navigate the labyrinth that was the McDuck Mansion.

            It astounded her that she had woken up in a large, lavish bed instead of her own room. Could this really be happening? Was this the first step to breaking her curse? At that moment, she didn’t care. This was the coolest thing ever.

            Taking her time, she wandered the halls, peeking into rooms as long as they weren’t locked or if she could hear anything behind them. It wasn’t the polite thing for a guest to do, but she was tired of playing things safe. Besides, when would she get a chance to look around the home of the famous Mr. McDuck?

            However, after taking a long good look at a room that was teaming in antiquity, she turned around and ran into a large—not to mention sturdy—elderly woman in an apron.

            “Miss Loveatte, I presume,” the woman said with a scholarly British accent.

            “Huh? Oh, I wasn’t doing anything…wrong. I just wanted to look,” Charity explained, embarrassment shivering over her. “It’s just…sorry?” She smiled timidly.

            “I suggest you not do it again,” the woman said, closing the door. “Mr. McDuck has dangerous items stored everywhere.”

            “And yet he’s allowed to raise children. Go figure,” Charity said under her breath.

            The woman raised an eyebrow. Did she hear that?

            “My name is Mrs. Beakley. I’m the housekeeper. Mr. McDuck has asked me to escort you to breakfast. Please, follow me, Miss Loveatte.”

            Charity walked beside Mrs. Beakley instead of behind. A sign of bad-manners in some places, but it spoke of her kindness to want to talk face to face. “Please, call me Charity. If there’s anything I should be able to control, it’s how to address me.”

            Mrs. Beakley smiled. The girl looked like a homeless waif with her large, hollow eyes and thin frame. The girl could use a little meat on her bones, and Mrs. Beakley would make sure it would stick if Charity stayed long enough. But underneath, she sensed a spark in the girl. She had to have some spunk to still smile after all she had been through.

            “Is there anything you would like for breakfast, Charity?” Mrs. Beakley asked, opening the door to the dining room. “We have a house full of hungry boys, so our larders are always stocked.”

            “Then you can show me the kitchen, and I’ll make my own breakfast,” Charity said, refusing to enter the dining room.

            Mrs. Beakley raised an eyebrow but couldn’t stop the smile growing. “Oh, I think I’m going to like you.”

            “What’s not to like?” Charity asked with a shrug.

            “This way,” Mrs. Beakley said, closing the door and heading for the kitchen. “I must say, you’re not what I expected.”

            “And you’re just as I expected,” Charity replied.

            “What do you mean?”

            “Launchpad talks about you a lot. He even showed me the video you guys made,” Charity said, grinning.

            Mrs. Beakley hid her face. “Oh, you saw that? I should have known that any friend of Launchpad would be a Darkwing Duck fan.”

            “Why Mrs. Beakley, you make it sound like he’s obsessed or something,” Charity said so innocently. “But I did love the video. I helped Launchpad write the script. It made me very happy to watch it. You make a very interesting Darkwing Duck. It kind of reminded me of the Scarlet Pimperduck.”

            “Oh, I love that book,” Mrs. Beakley said, opening the door to the kitchen. As Charity went inside, she couldn’t help thinking gaining Charity’s confidences was going to be easier than she thought.

            As Charity made some warm oatmeal—on the stove and not in the microwave, which Mrs. Beakley noticed—some toast and grabbed a banana, they talked about the similarities between Darkwing Duck and the mentioned book, and then moved onto other books they had read. Charity, for being so young, had read a large amount of classical literature, which the housekeeper vastly appreciated.

            “Would you like some coffee?” Mrs. Beakley said, pointing to the coffee maker. Scrooge hated the thing, but both Launchpad and Donald sucked down the stuff every morning.

            “No thanks. I have enough butterflies in my stomach as it is since telling everyone about the…I’m assuming Mr. McDuck told you about my…condition?” Charity asked hedging.

            So, it was down to business now. Funny how it was Charity to breach the subject. “Yes, he did,” Mrs. Beakley confirmed. “And I’ve been told to give you, as Scrooge has put it, the third degree.”

            “Oh, that’s my favorite thing to do before breakfast,” Charity said sarcastically. She glanced at the clock on the wall. The hour hand had left the number twelve long ago. “Is it really that late? Well, I guess breakfast is over, so I really don’t have any excuses.”

            They returned to the dining room and sat across from each other. Mrs. Beakley, while Charity prepared her breakfast, had quickly made a cup of tea, adding some biscuits on another tray.

            After taking a sip, Mrs. Beakley took a deep breath before beginning. “I know this may be embarrassing for you, but I need to know about the…other man in your life.” She tried to add humor to her voice to make it easier for Charity.

            “Ho boy. This is worse than having ‘the talk’ with my mom,” Charity sighed. “First, can we agree that this is a no judgement zone.” She made a box with her hands to indicate the entire room was secure.

            “My dear, it may be hard to imagine, but I was also young. I’ve fallen in love several times, so I think the ‘no judgement zone’ is a given.” She gestured for Charity to continue.

            Taking a deep breath, Charity closed her eyes and said, “Jim Starling.”

            “I should have guessed. The actor who plays Darkwing Duck.”

            “Yeah.” Charity tried to cover up her embarrassment by filling her mouth with food.

            “Well, that can’t be possible. Jim Starling is dead,” Mrs. Beakley said.

            “No, he’s not.”

            “How do you know?”

            “Magic.” Charity said it humorously, and it took Mrs. Beakley a few seconds to realize that she was serious.

            “You mean…”

            “In episode fifteen of Darkwing Duck, the usual stuntman was late. Jim Starling decided to try the stunt himself since a storm was coming, and he didn’t want to wait. He ended up injuring his knee and needing surgery on it.”

            “Did you…”

            “No, I fell in love with him after the surgery. But I can always tell when it’s going to rain,” Charity said, rubbing her knee. “He isn’t dead.”

            “Oh, my. Well, that does present a problem. Since we didn’t know he was still alive, it is going to take some time tracking him down. I don’t suppose your…um…curse can tell us where he is?” Mrs. Beakley asked hopefully.

            Charity shrugged. “Sorry. It doesn’t work that way.”

            “Well, where ever he is, he certainly has some explaining to do. What would a man like that be doing around guns?”

            Charity’s hand went to the stitches on her arm. “Yeah, and I guess that’s another secret I have to give up.”

            “What is it?” Mrs. Beakley asked, sensing that the other shoe was going to drop.

            “The bullet wound isn’t from Jim. There’s…someone else.”

            “What? Oh!” Three boys. This girl certainly fell in love easily. “Who is it?”

            “Darkwing Duck.”

            “But you already sai—“

            “No, not Jim. Darkwing Duck,” Charity emphasized. “I think the curse somehow made the connection between Jim and this new Darkwing, and zap, hello new crush. Darkwing Duck has always been a hero to me, and at first, I always associated it with Starling, but after I heard about a real-life Darkwing Duck risking his life to help people, I guess the idea of a real hero sounded just as good as a fictional one. It felt different than with Jim and Launchpad, but I can tell that he’s connected.”

            “You keep using that word. ‘Connected.’ What do you mean by that?”

            “Well, it’s not just that I feel their pain and take on their injuries and sicknesses. I also…experience feelings when I think of them or see pictures of them. You know, sweaty palms, blushes, nervousness, rapid heartbeat. I feel giddy but at the same time anxious. Everything that simulates being in love.”

            Mrs. Beakley listened with understanding. She understood those feelings, and felt protective of this young woman just as she did for her family and friends. Those sensations of falling in love with someone shouldn’t be simulated. They should be real for when she actually meets someone who she could love and love her in return. What a terrible curse that only gave this girl pain and agony and unrequited love.

            Charity concentrated on her oatmeal, looking remiss about everything she said.

            “Well, it looks like you’ve given me quite the challenge,” Mrs. Beakley said, putting on a cheerful smile. “Luckily, we know exactly how to contact Darkwing Duck. As for Jim Starling, that’s going to be difficult. But Mr. McDuck has the resources to track him down.”

            “Why?”

            “To bring them here,” Mrs. Beakley answered. “Scrooge thinks that if we are to break the curse, we need to have all of your…gentlemen in attendance.”

            Charity dropped her spoon, her eyes wide. She gulped. “You mean…Jim and…Darkwing Duck are…going to come here. I’ll get to meet them.”

            Mrs. Beakley saw firsthand the “simulated” feelings that Charity experienced. The girl looked like a teenager waiting for her first date, excited and scared at the same time. “It’ll take time. Don’t worry. You’ll have time to adjust to the idea.”

            The housekeeper finished her tea and stood up.

            “Wait,” Charity called, standing up too. “You haven’t forgotten the ‘no judgement box’.” She made another invisible box with her hands.

            “Yes, I think that idea was quite clear,” Mrs. Beakley said with a chuckle. “Don’t worry. Nobody is going to tease you. And I must say, you could have done worse than this set of men. All are quite handsome, and I understand why you fell for them.”

            “It’s not that,” Charity said, biting her lower bill. “There’s another one.”

Chapter Text

Twisted Strings of Fate

Chapter 6

            A couple of weeks ago, I stole my mother’s car. Well, technically it wasn’t stealing since I am on their insurance, and she left the keys were I could find them, but it felt more exciting to think I was stealing it. Yes, I’m so immature.

            Perhaps it was that Darkwing had a bad night or maybe I was suffering from the after-effects of Launchpad’s latest concussion, but I had to get out of the house. My mother and the curse were driving me crazy. So I went for a drive.

            I think because we’re so used to pretending I have a medical condition, Mom forgets that I’m not actually sick, that I’m not fragile. Yes, I’m in pain, and most of the time I have a cast or a sickness or something that I need to heal from, but that doesn’t mean I have to live my life as a shut in. And perhaps if I tried harder, I could have convinced her that I would be okay leaving the house once in a while.

            But I didn’t tell her. Instead, I sneaked around like a teenager and took my mom’s car to Ducksburg. Technically, I didn’t own a driver’s license, but Launchpad taught me how to drive, and I just improved on that.

            It’s hard to describe the thrill of just being on your own for the first time. I felt free. I could do whatever I wanted and pretend that there wasn’t a curse for just a few hours.

            According to my mother, Ducksburg was falling through the cracks. It wasn’t the city it used to be, getting more and more dangerous with the Beagle Boys gang growing, magic shadows showing up, super-powered men wrecking buildings, and aliens invading. But as I walked down the sidewalk, doing some window shopping, it was heaven to me.

            I thought that after the big moon invasion, surely Ducksburg was due for some peace. Wasn’t it?

            No, it wasn’t. That day, it was attacked by a giant monster for who knows what reason.

            As panic filled the streets, I froze in place, not knowing what to do. Should I run? Where? Before I could react, the creature lumbered over the building I huddled against, knocking a hole in the roof. Chunks of concrete and bricks rained down, and I covered my head and waited for doom to break open my head like an egg.

            “Miss, are you alright?” a deep, strong voice asked, tugging at my heart.

            Noticing I wasn’t dead, I slowly looked up into the face of a mechanical man holding up the debris that had threatened my life. Of course, I answered with an eloquent squeak, unable to say more than that, my heart racing.

            He dropped the debris like it was nothing before helping me to my feet. “Miss, you should take cover.” Without another word, he zoomed away, no doubt to save another damsel in distress, unknowing what he had done to me.

            As my heart pounded in that familiar way, as it had three times before, I felt a swelling in my chest that I couldn’t fight. I gritted my teeth and hit the wall behind me.

            “Not again.”

***

            Mrs. Beakley’s face twisted in shock when she heard the final name. Well, at least that one wears a suit of armor when he does something dangerous, for Charity’s sake.

            Charity sank down in her chair, covering her face with her hands. “I know. I know,” she said softly.

            “I understand that the curse centers around a hero theme,” Mrs. Beackley said, “but you certainly took it up a notch.”

            “I’m not the type of girl who settles,” Charity said with a wry smile.

            At least she’s not moping around about her situation, Mrs. Beakley thought. “Now, before I start making plans, are you sure there’s only four of them?”

            “Yep, that’s all of them. I’ll let you know if anything changes,” Charity said.

            Mrs. Beakley replied, “Scrooge doesn’t have any heroes locked away in his closets, at least none that I know of, so I think you’ll be safe for now.” The ex-spy left the dining room, taking her cell phone out of her pocket and pressing her first speed dial.

            “Mr. McDuck,” she said when the call was picked up. “I’m heading over to the bin. Things are a little more complicated than we realized.”

***

            After eating, Charity somehow managed to find her way back to the kitchen without getting lost—at least, more than once—washed her dishes and returned to the dining room. After Mrs. Beakley’s warning not to snoop, she wasn’t sure what she should do. She had assumed that Mrs. Beakley would return to give her further instructions or something, but after fifteen minutes of waiting around, she ventured beyond the known part of the manor.

            “Hello. Is anyone here?” she called as she walked the halls, careful not to touch anything although her curiosity was bubbling over.

            By accident, she found the foyer and the front door, somehow neglecting to notice the ghost poking his head through a wall to see who was leaving. Outside, she looked left, then right and determined that the grounds must be normal enough that she wouldn’t endanger herself walking around.

            Strolling around the perimeter, Charity didn’t get far before she heard voices. Glad that she wasn’t entirely abandoned in the richest duck in the world’s home, she turned the corner to the back of the mansion, revealing a large pool with a rickety fishing boat floating in the water. Nearby on the cement patio, Launchpad, two of the three triplets, and two other ducks she didn’t know were bending over a wooden tub filled with suds. A line of twine stretched from the mansion to the boat where several articles of clothing swung in the breeze.

            “You know they have machines that can do that for you,” Charity said as she walked up behind them.

            “Charity!” Launchpad rushed over to her and gave her a soapy, wet hug.

            The lovebird hugged him back.

            “Why didn’t you tell me you were under a curse?” Launchpad asked out of the blue.

            Charity’s muscles locked tight. “What? How did you know?”

            “Mr. McD told me. Imagine, my best friend cursed and I never knew.”

            Charity gulped. “He told you.”

            Dewey jumped in. “Yeah, Uncle Scrooge told him everything, how you were cursed with the Spell of Random Injuries, a very old and powerful spell that we are trying to break.” Dewey winked at Charity.

            “Oh, yes…That curse,” Charity said with a knowing nod. “Yep. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you sooner.”

            “That’s okay. I understand why. Some people might not believe you, but I do. And it totally makes more sense than all that medical stuff that you lied about,” Launchpad said with a grin.

            Surprisingly, it was Donald who spoke next, approaching the lovebird. He took Charity’s hand and patted it. “Oh, you poor poor girl. I can understand what you’re going through.” His emotions took him over, and he pulled the lovebird into a protective hug. “Don’t worry. We’ll find a way to break your curse.”

            “Um…” Charity started with a worried look, “who is this and what is he saying?”

            “That’s Uncle Donald. Just go with it,” Dewey told her, glad that his uncle had found someone else to smother with his protective instincts.

            Louie smirked. “I think Uncle Donald may have found a kindred spirit. They both get hurt a lot.”

            Touched but still confused, Charity said, “I don’t know how I’ll be able to thank you and Mr. McDuck for helping me.” She was still locked in Donald’s embrace and was wondering how she was going to get out without being rude.  “Your family’s generosity has touched me deeply.”

            It was then that Louie laughed, a silly idea popping in his head.

            “What is it?” Dewey asked, curiously.

            “Oh, it’s just I had a thought. You know Donald’s protective instincts?”

            “Yeah, the ones that he channels into anger and rage whenever we’re in trouble.”

            “Uh-huh. So, if some bad guy attacks Charity, you know he’s going to go ballistic just like with us.”

            “Yeah, it seems it’s going to go that way,” Dewey said, now sharing the joke. “He’d be all like…” And here, Dewey commenced with a perfect angry Uncle Donald impersonation.

            “Yeah, and then Charity would be like, ‘Oh, Donald, my hero,’ and would probably fall madly in love with him,” Louie said, exaggerating a falsetto voice for Charity, then laughed.

            Dewey laughed too. “That would be horrible with how much Uncle Donald gets…hurt…”

            Louie and Dewey’s eyes widened, no longer finding it funny.
            “We need to keep Uncle Donald away from Charity,” Dewey stated.

            “Yep.”

            Donald was at the point of rocking Charity as if she were a baby when the boys broke in, separating them.

            “She’s not a hatchling, Uncle Donald.”

            “Yeah, don’t make this weird.”

            As the boys pushed Charity away, she came face to face with Della. “Wow, your family is really friendly,” she said.

            “I think you mean bizarre,” Della said, wiping her hand on her pants and holding it out. “Hi, I’m Della, sister to your ‘kindred spirit’ there and mother to the boys.”

            Charity eagerly shook her hand. “Oh, I read about you in the paper. That was amazing how you survived on the moon for ten years. It really put my life in perspective.”

            “Yep, I was kind of amazing,” Della said, modesty pushed aside.

            “Of course, that eventually led to Earth being invaded, so it kind of evens out,” Charity said, waving her hand to show the middle ground.

            Della laughed. “Well, aren’t you a snarky one. If you’re going to stand around and insult me, you might as well help.” Della dropped a load of the boys’ clothes into Charity’s arms.

            Not minding one bit to help out, Charity dove into the suds and soaked clothing, scrubbing them. “So, why are we washing these by hand? I may be mistaken, but shouldn’t Mr. McDuck be able to afford a washing machine?”

            “As Scrooge always says, ‘I’m not buying one of those new-fangled machines that’s gonna break down in a month when the old-fashioned way works better’.” Della’s Scrooge McDuck impression was spot on. “You have no idea how long it took Donald and I to persuade him to get a TV when we were younger.”

            “Ha ha. Yep, that is Mr. McD to a T,” Launchpad laughed.

            As the saying went, many hands made light work, and the group finished up the large pile of laundry much faster than if Della had done it all by herself.

            “Who-ho, I’m free!” Della shouted, running off. “See ya, suckers.” She stopped rapidly, turning around. “I’m sorry, boys. I didn’t mean that. I love you, bye.” Then she returned to running.

            “We have the best mom,” Dewey said with his hands on his hips.

            “Well, now what?” Charity asked the group. “Is there something we can do? What is Mr. McDuck’s plan to help me with my curse?”

            “Don’t worry about it,” Louie said. “We’ve got this.”

            Dewey nodded. “You’re new to the whole adventure and breaking curses thing, so it’s just best to let us Dewey it.”

            Charity frowned. “Okay, if that’s what’s best.”

            “In the meantime, let’s go do something fun,” Launchpad suggested. “Oh, man, Ducksburg has totally changed since you moved. There’s so much I want to show you. We could go to that new miniature golfing place. Or see the sights. Or—“

            “Oh, do you remember that little café that served those tiny cakes,” Charity said. “Is that place still around?”

            “You mean Papa Dovetail’s. Yeah. They got so popular, they moved downtown and is now a restaurant,” Launchpad answered.

            “Do they still have tiny cakes?”

            “Does Darkwing Duck fight evil?”

            “Yes he does! Let’s go eat some cake.”

            Both of the adults cheered.

            “I’ll go get my car,” Launchpad announced.

            Dewey and Louie jumped into action.

            “Whoa, there buddy. What’s the rush?” Louie said, stalling for time.

            “Yeah, why take a car in Ducksburg? You know what you two should do? Take the bus,” Dewey suggested.

            “The bus?” Launchpad asked as if it were a foreign word.

            “Yeah, the bus,” Dewey echoed. “Not only does it cut down on pollution, but it’s like taking a tour of the city as well.”

            Charity smiled, understanding what the boys were doing. “Oh, come on, Launchpad. Let’s take the bus. It’ll be like old times before you were a disaster on four wheels.” She bumped her hip against his thigh.

            “Alright,” Launchpad said congenially.

            “Yes, let’s go,” Dewey said, leading the way until Louie grabbed the back of his collar. “Hey, what gives?”

            “Dude, they’re going on a date,” Louie hissed at his brother. “Which means we can’t go with them.”

            Dewey frowned. “Uh, first off, it’s not a date. It doesn’t count if a curse is involved. Second, we’re supposed to watch Launchpad, remember? And third, cake!”

            “It’s totally a date,” Louie confirmed. “Just give it some time. Launchpad will finally grow up and realize how hot Charity is and will go for it.”

            Dewey thought about it for a moment before wondering, “You think Charity is hot?”

            Louie froze. “No. Just, let them go. Charity will keep Launchpad from getting hurt. Don’t worry about it.”

***

            Mrs. Beakley’s cab dropped her off at Scrooge’s money bin. When she arrived at the top floor, Scrooge had just finished talking to Ms. Quackfaster who was returning to the history vaults.

            “I take it things aren’t going well,” Mrs. Bealey said, reading her employer’s expression.

            “Ms. Quackfaster has only been searching for a few hours, but with her photographic memory, I’m not betting on the possibility that she’s missed something,” Scrooge said, leaning his elbows on his desk. “I hope that you have better news.”

            “Huey and Webby are still researching, but no luck. And as for Charity’s predicament…” Mrs. Beakley breathed in heavily. “…it’s worse than we thought.”

            “Give it to me, 22.”

            She did.

            “Oh my. The lass really has landed in it,” Scrooge said, shaking his head. “Well, at least we know where three of them are. What about Jim Starling?”

            “I’ve made some calls. I’m working on it. In the meantime, Donald and I will go to St. Canard and persuade Mr. Darkwing to take a few days off of work,” Mrs. Beakley said.

            “I suppose a simple phone call wouldn’t be sufficient enough, would it? As for Crackshell-Cabrera, I’ll talk to him,” Scrooge said. “Perhaps it’ll be for the best. With his keen mind, he might be of some help.”

            “That is if he’ll believe it,” Mrs. Beakley said, knowing that magic and science were often at war with each other.

***

            All Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera wanted to do was fiddle with science. Any kind of science. Physics, biology, chemistry, astronomy, botany, and everything in between. Nothing would make him happier than tinkering with his next project, mapping blue prints, and taking science to the next step. The last thing he wanted to do was run errands for Gyro.

            Given, he was an unpaid intern, and his first priority was making sure the head of the science department of McDuck Enterprise was happy, but it always galled him whenever Gyro sent him off to pick up his lunch. And he was in the middle of figuring out a chemical equation that could grow food at a faster pace, which would help the problem of world hunger. But that didn’t matter when Gyro was hungry and craving Papa Dovetail’s shrimp scampi.

            And since he didn’t own a car, he had to walk a mile there and back. At least he was getting some exercise. Keeping limber was important.

            “Great, and it’s the lunch rush,” Fenton said with a sigh, seeing a line of people on the sidewalk waiting to get a table. “Excuse me. I’m just picking up,” he said as he moved forward in the line, trying to get inside through the crowd. However, he was met with glares, elbows pushing him aside, and bodies pressed too close together and preventing him from moving forward.

            This was definitely not in his job description.

            “Please let me grab my food so I can go,” he shouted into the crowd but nobody seemed to care. Instead, they pressed him against a waist-high, metal barricade that separated the waiting line from the seats.

            “Are you okay?”

            A pair of wide eyes stared at him with concern.

            “Uh, maybe?” he said, unsure as a pretty lovebird stood up.

            “Do you need some help?”

            “No.” He pushed and pulled, trying to stop the crowd from squashing his kidneys. He was tempted to shout out, “Blatherin’ Blatherskite," but changed his mind. “Yes, I need help.”

            The woman pulled on his arms, and together, Fenton popped up and over the divide.

            “Is this place always this crazy?” the female asked.

            “Yeah. My boss has terrible timing. I’m here to pick up his lunch,” Fenton explained. “Do you mind if I wait here until I can speak to someone?”

            “No, go ahead.” She gestured to the other chair.

            Fenton looked around, seeing that all the tables were either filled or were being wiped down for the next customers in line. “So,” he began, “are you here all by yourself?”

            “My friend is in the bathroom,” the woman replied.

            She spotted a waiter and managed to catch his attention. The waiter seemed eager to come to the woman’s assistance, but was surprised when Fenton was grabbing take out.

            “Sir, you really should wait in line for take out,” the waiter told Fenton.

            The lovebird smiled. “He’s a friend. I thought it wouldn’t be a problem if he waited here. Is that okay?”

            Fenton could see the waiter caving in. He added, hoping that it would speed things along, “It was ordered and paid online. It’s for Gyro Gearloose.”

            The waiter ignored Fenton and nodded to the woman. “It’s no problem.”

            When the waiter was gone, Fenton said, “Thank you so much, again.”

            “It’s no problem. I’m glad I can help.”

            A thought popped in Fenton’s head, and at first he rejected it. After all, girls like her never went for the science-type. But then again, she was really nice.

            “Um...would it be okay if I asked for your phone number?” The words formed on his beak almost even before he made a final decision. And once they were said, they couldn’t be unsaid.

            The woman looked surprised and then fidgeted with her hands. Fenton could already tell the rejection was coming.

            “I…don’t have a number. At least, not at this time. I’m kind of…between moves,” she said.

            Her voice was sincere, but Fenton was skeptical of the excuse. Between moves? Doesn’t have a number? Who doesn’t have a cell phone? Maybe the homeless, but she didn’t look homeless.

            “I’m sorry.”

            Fenton didn’t let his disappointment show. “It’s alright. Maybe we’ll bump into each other some time when you do have a phone.”

            She worried her bottom lip. Not long after, the waiter brought Fenton’s order.

            “Thanks again for the seat. Bye.”

            “Wait. Can I have your number? You know, for when I do get a phone.” She smiled.

            Fenton blinked, surprised. It was all he could do was to reach into his wallet and pull out a business card.

            “Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera,” the woman read. “Nice to meet you, Fenton.” She held out her hand.

            He grabbed it, her blue hand stark against his white. “Nice to meet you, too…er…”

            “I’m Charity.”

            “Nice to meet you, Charity.” He let go of her hand quickly, realizing he held it too long. “I gotta go. My boss’s lunch,” Fenton said, pointing to the container. He went the same way he had come, over the barricade, lost his balance, and fell into the crowd which was the only thing keeping him upright. He waved one last time to Charity before wiggling his way through the crowd, this time with a song in his heart.

            Who knows, maybe she really did mean it when she said she would call him.

***

            When Launchpad returned from the bathroom, Charity had her hand over her heart.

            “Are you okay?”

            Charity looked surprised at him, then noticed her hand. She quickly set it down. “Yeah, everything’s fine.” She smiled.

            But as they ordered, her mind wasn’t on the dishes or the tiny cakes she had been looking forward to. She couldn’t help but wonder why her heart had been beating so quickly. It couldn’t be the curse. She wasn’t rescued. Fenton was nice, but it was her who had helped him, not the other way around. Did that make a difference?

            Oh, it would be her luck if she fell in love with the first stranger she met in years. No, she was sure that the curse didn’t change. She would have known. But why was her heart beating so rapidly?

            After they ate, they left the restaurant which was now a lot less crowded than before. Full of food and the taste of tiny cakes on their tongues, they walked down the street to the bus stop.

            “So, where do you want to go now?” Launchpad asked. “We can do anything you want to do?”

            Charity twirled a ringlet around her finger. “Anything?” A sneaky smile crossed her face. “Well…there is one thing I’ve been wanting to do for a long time.”

            “What is it? We’ll do it.”

            “Okay, but as long as you promise not to crash.”

***

            When Mrs. Beakley and Scrooge returned home that evening, they pulled up to the sound of an airplane taking off. The large red plane rose higher and higher in the air, circling McDuck Manor.

            “What’s going on?” Scrooge asked, glaring at the plane.

            Mrs. Beakley shook her head. “I don’t know. This definitely wasn’t part of our plans.”

            They rushed into the mansion, calling for anyone to answer. They spotted Louie and Dewey first, coming out of the TV room when they heard the shouting.

            “Where’s Launchpad going?” Scrooge demanded.

            “Huh?” the boys answered simultaneously.

            “You’re supposed to be watching him,” Scrooge said, pointing his cane. “Why is he flying the plane?”

            The boys’ eyes widened.

            “No, he’s on a date with Charity,” Louie explained. “He wouldn’t take her on the plane…”

            “Maybe it’s Mom going for a joyride,” Dewey suggested, knowing how Della always needed to be doing something.

            Scrooge folded his arms and glared.

            Mrs. Beakley sighed. “I’ll call Launchpad. If it is him, maybe we can direct him to crash the plane in the safest way possible.”

***

            Charity leaned over the controls, careful not to touch anything, looking at the sky, the clouds and what ground she could glimpse. “This is amazing, Launchpad. It’s no wonder you love flying so much. Oh, I think I can see Winding Wing from here.”
            “Here, let me give you a better view,” Launchpad said, turning the wheel drastically, tilting the plane almost completely on its side.

            Charity screamed as she grabbed onto her seat, although the scream was interrupted with laughter. “Okay, I get it, Launchpad.”

            But Launchpad wasn’t done yet. He righted the plane just as he pushed it down into a steep dive that pushed them deep in their seats, laughing as Charity squealed. They dropped almost a thousand feet before Launchpad pulled up again, getting them to cruising altitude.

            “Show off,” Charity said with a smile. “Now that you’ve got my nerves all revved up, are you going to do a loop-de-loop or a barrel roll?”

            “Not with this baby,” Launchpad said. “This model is too big for those kinds of maneuvers. It’s more for long distance travel.”

            “Long distance, huh?” Charity said. “So, we could probably go anywhere in the world, huh?”
            “Well, not on the same tank of fuel, but we could get really far,” Launchpad answered expertly.

            “If only we could fly fast enough to run away from my curse,” Charity said, feeling a sense of relief that she could talk about it with her best friend, if not the minute details.

            “Don’t worry, Charity. If I know Mr. McD, he’ll break your curse before you can say, ‘Let’s get dangerous’,” Launchpad said.

            Charity’s smile slowly disappeared. “Mr. McDuck seems to expect me to sit back and let him and his family take care of everything. I have been waiting years to do something about the curse, but I don’t think I can let others do all the work.”

            Over the roar of the plane’s engine, they faintly heard the sound of the Darkwing Duck theme song.

            “When there’s trouble, you call DW,” Launchpad sang off key.

            “Uh, Launchpad, I think that’s your phone,” Charity told him.

            “Right.” Digging into his back pocket, he pulled out the chiming device. “Oh, it’s Mrs. B. If I answer my phone while I’m driving, she’ll be mad. You answer it.”

            He tossed the phone to Charity, who barely managed to catch it. Hesitating—and almost hoping that the call would go to voicemail before she could answer—Charity pressed the green button.

            “Hello?”
            “Charity, are you and Launchpad in that plane?” Mrs. Beakley’s voice demanded.

            “Yes…” Charity said through a smile.

            “Tell Launchpad to turn around, and we’ll find some way to get you two down safely. If possible.”

            Charity worried her beak, considering disobeying. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to decline that.”

            “What? What is going on? Charity, you must listen to me. Launchpad—“

            “Fun fact about Launchpad. He hasn’t died yet,” Charity said, her nerves galvanizing. “I’m pretty sure that’s not going to change anytime soon.”

            “Charity, you need to be careful.”

            “No, I don’t. I’m not fragile,” Charity said, feeling stronger. “I know you and Mr. McDuck and the whole family are a team of experts, but I’m part of the team, too. And I’m going to do what I can to help.”

            Mrs. Beakley was silent for a while. “It sounds as if your mind is made up. If that is the case, then as a member of this team, you need to follow the instructions of your team leaders and work with us. And you can do that by—“

            “Going to St. Canard,” Charity finished. “Launchpad and I will get Darkwing Duck.” And she hung up the phone.

            “We are?” Launchpad asked, looking both excited and confused. “Why?”

            “Because Darkwing is also part of my curse,” Charity said, revealing a little more of the truth.

            “Whaaaaaaaaat?” Launchpad stretched out the world. “This…is…awesome!”

Chapter Text

Twisted Strings of Fate

Chapter 7

            Did I tell Mom about Darkwing Duck 2.0 and Gizmoduck? Of course not. I may be a glutton for punishment, but I didn’t have a death wish.

***

            If there was one thing a Scotsman could do, it was swear. Once it was safe for Mrs. Beakley to remove her hands from Dewey’s ears and Dewey to remove his hands from Louie’s, the elderly duck paced back and forth across the carpet.

            “What is the lass thinking? Heading off on her own. Taking Launchpad of all people. What if something happens to them?” Scrooge ranted. “There’s nothing to it; we have to go after them.”

            Mrs. Beakley cleared her throat. “On the contrary, Charity has shown remarkable initiative. After all, we did leave her out of our plans.”

            “Because she shouldn’t have to do anything. Taking the fall for Launchpad and two super heroes. It’s a wonder she’s walking around,” Scrooge shouted. “Stubborn, incorrigible girl.”

            “Sounds an awful lot like someone else I know,” Mrs. Beakley said with a grin.

            Scrooge growled. “As much as I hate to, we’re going to have to fly commercial. Order the plane tickets.”

            Mrs. Beakley shook her head. “I think we should let her do this.”

            “What?”

            “As you said, she had been through a lot. But one thing nobody has understood is just how little control she has had of her own life. She can’t even control who she falls in love with,” Mrs. Beakley explained. “Think about it. Under her circumstances, do you blame her for wanting to rebel a little, to make rash decisions for once?”

            “You may be right. Fine, we’ll let them go after this Darkwing character. But you keep in touch with them. Any sign of trouble, and we’ll send backup.”
            Mrs. Beakley nodded.

            “What? Darkwing? Why are they going after Darkwing?” Dewey asked, jumping into the conversation.

            Mrs. Beakley and Scrooge looked down, surprised to see the boys there.

            “Oh, he’s part of the curse,” Scrooge said matter-of-factly.

            “Wait, so Charity is in love with Darkwing Duck, too?” Louie asked. “He’s the other guy?”

            “Well, one of them,” Mrs. Beakley muttered.

            “In the meantime, any luck on finding that Starling fellow?” Scrooge asked.

            “My people have investigated the fire at your studio. They have said it is possible that Jim Starling did escape the fire through a trap door. They found evidence of someone being there after the fire and may have gone through the sewers,” Mrs. Beakley reported. “There have also been several Darkwing Duck sightings outside of St. Canard, but they don’t look quite right.” Showing her phone to Scrooge, she scrolled through several photos, most blurry or the subject in the distances. Instead of wearing the purple traditional costume, this one was yellow and red.

            “Hmph, it could be him,” Scrooge said. He had only seen the man for a few brief minutes, so he couldn’t be sure. “That’s at least something to go on.”

            “What about Mr. Crackshell-Cabrera? How did he take the news?” Mrs. Beakley asked.

            Grumbling, Scrooge slapped himself in the face. “I completely forgot.” When Mrs. Beakley raised an eyebrow at him, he said, “What? There was an emergency at work. Ms. Quackfaster thought she found some books in a hidden vault about curses, but it turned out they were just cursed books. Interesting, but not helpful in our current predicament. I guess I’ll have to go back to the office to talk to him.”

            He was about to call for Launchpad to bring the car around when he remembered that his chauffer was off gallivanting. “I guess I’ll just drive myself.”

            “I’ll call you a cab,” Mrs. Beakley contradicted.

            “I can drive myself, woman. It’s not that hard.”

            “You haven’t had a driver’s license in over a decade. You’re taking a cab.”

            The two continued to argue as they left the room, leaving Dewey and Louie alone.

            “Whaaaaat?” Dewey said, pressing on his own cheeks. “Charity is in love with Launchpad, Darkwing Duck, and Gizmoduck? It’s like she’s me, only a girl and under a love curse.”

            “And apparently with some guy named Jim Starling, whoever that is,” Louie said, looking a little concerned. “Sheesh, Charity just didn’t know when to say when.”

            “Jim Starling is the original Darkwing Duck actor,” Dewey quickly explained.

            “Ewww, isn’t he, like, fifty years old,” Louie guessed.

            “Hmmm, two super heroes, a famous actor, and Launchpad. It looks like you have some competition for your little boy crush on Charity.”

            Louie’s face grew red and twisted with anger. “I don’t have a crush on Charity.”

            “Your words deny it, but your face says otherwise,” Dewey teased, then ran for his life as Louie shouted and grabbed at him.

***

            It was almost too early for Darkwing Duck to be out, but the call he received on his personal line sounded urgent. With no time to head for the tower, Drake Mallard changed into his spare costume he kept at home and headed toward the scene of the crime.

            It was terrible. It was horrible. Bodies torn apart, shredded and spread like a farmer planting oats. Everything broken and ripped apart. What a waste of good Darkwing Duck merchandise.

            Darkwing watched from the shadows until one police officer noticed and nonchalantly made her way to him. Officially, the police couldn’t condone Darkwing’s vigilantism, and any cop was supposed to arrest him on sight, but there were several people on the force who believed that Darkwing was a hero and could contact him for certain cases.

            “It’s just like the last five places hit,” the cop said, handing a plush Darkwing Duck toy into the shadows. “All they do is break the DW merchandise and leave everything else alone. There was also money left in the till.”

            Rolling the toy in his hand, he studied the doll. It wasn’t anything special. Looking at the tag sewn to the doll, he recalled that the other broken merchandise was made by different companies. In all the break-ins, the only thing in common was the destruction of Darkwing Duck retail.

            “You better be careful,” the officer said as she walked away. “It looks as if there’s someone around here who really doesn’t like you.”

***

            Launchpad and Charity stood outside the gates of the small, local airport on the outskirts of St. Canard.

            “So, what now?” Charity asked, looking down the empty road toward St. Canard, the closest buildings more than a mile away.

            “Don’t know.”
            “Me neither. I didn’t think this far,” Charity replied.

            The sky was mostly a dark blue with just a small dusting of soft yellow where the sun had disappeared below the horizon. The stars were dim next to the brilliant city nearby.

            “What assets do we have?” Charity asked, taking on a superhero stance.

            “Um…I have my phone, my jacket, my hat, and my wallet,” Launchpad said, patting all his pockets.

            “I don’t suppose you have some money?” Charity wondered, patting her own pockets. When her mother drove her to the hospital last night, she had taken nothing with her. All she owned were her clothes—thanks to Launchpad—and the business card Fenton gave her from the restaurant.

            “I have about ten bucks,” Launchpad reported, putting his wallet away.

            “Not enough to call a cab,” Charity noted.

            “I could use Mr. McD’s company card,” Launchpad offered. “However, he may have cut me off after that one time…”

            Charity shook her head. She owed Mr. McDuck too much already. Plus, the airport was charging Scrooge for the damage to their runway. She silently promised the elderly duck that once this curse was gone, if she survived, she would get a job and pay off her debt to him, somehow.

            “It looks like we’re walking. Come on, Launchpad. We’re off on an adventure,” Charity said, taking her friend’s hand.

            “Yeah!” Launchpad cheered.

            Apparently, Adventure didn’t necessarily need them to walk because not far away was a bus stop where they waited for public transport to take them into the heart of the city.

            “Are you sure you know where you’re going, Launchpad?” Charity asked when Launchpad had them get off at a stop next to the Audubon Bay Bridge.

            “Most definitely,” Launchpad said.

            “I don’t know. My mind is still blown that you’re on speaking terms with the Darkwing Duck,” Charity said, looking around as she tried to figure out where the secret lair of the super hero was.

            During the flight to St. Canard, Launchpad had told the real story of what happened in the movie studio, the story that didn’t make it in the news. He had also told her that he knew Darkwing’s secret identity, but wouldn’t tell her no matter how much she pleaded and begged. Scrooge had paid a lot of money to prevent his name from being linked to the incident.

            “Charity, do you trust me?” Launchpad asked.

            Smiling, she said, “Of course, Launchpad. You know I love you.”

            “And I love you, too, Charity. Like a sister.”

            Together, hand-in-hand, they walked along the pedestrian part of the bridge, taking in the sights of the city’s lights reflecting on the bay.

            Charity shivered as the night grew colder, the wind blowing stronger the farther along the bridge they went.

            “Here, you wear this,” Launchpad said, pulling off his bomber jacket, leaving only a green wife-beater to cover him.

            “No, you keep it. You’ll be cold without it,” Charity tried to refuse, but the heavy jacket was plopped over her shoulders. As the heat from the jacket comforted her, she thought, Well, at least I can be warm for a few minutes. However, it wasn’t long until the cold got to Launchpad, which transferred to her, and she strained her body to stop the shivering from showing.

            When they arrived at the first of the towers that held up the thick cables of the suspension bridge, Launchpad began acting strange.

            “What is it?” Charity asked.

            “Okay, this is the tricky part. Can you make sure nobody is looking?” Launchpad asked as he searched the large, concrete walls.

            Getting an idea of what he was looking for ,Charity turned her back to him, keeping watch in both directions on the pedestrian area. There were a few people, but they were too far away and too busy taking pictures of the bay. There were a lot of cars on the road, but she couldn’t imagine anyone would be paying attention to them while they were driving.

            “Found it.”

            Before Charity could turn around, she was pulled backward into a small niche carved into the tower. As soon as she was inside, a door slid shut, leaving them in near darkness with only a small, neon light glowing above them in the shape of an arrow pointing up. She stumbled as the unexpected sensation of an elevator going up shook her body. After about a minute, the elevator lurched and stopped. The sliding doors slowly opened.

            “Charity, welcome to Darkwing Duck’s secret lair,” Launchpad said, leaving the elevator and presenting the lair with open arms.

            It was dark. It was gritty. It was awesome.

            “This is the best day of my life,” Charity breathed in awe as she spun in a slow circle.

            “I know, right?”

            They explored the lair, oohing and aahing at everything. Launchpad even took pictures. Soon, they were taking selfies in front of everything, posing in Darkwing’s motorcycle, in front of the large computer, and pretending to use the gadget. They had to stop when Launchpad accidentally set off some smoke bombs, making it hard to see or breath.

            Coughing, Charity moved to a clear area to breathe better, although she could still feel Launchpad’s lungs burning from the chemicals. Breathing deeply, she brushed against a button which opened a secret alcove.

            “A secret lair in a secret lair. Darkwing’s so meta,” Charity said, going inside. “Wow, and a fan.”

            Inside was a vast collection of Darkwing memorabilia, far superior to her own but probably a rival of Launchpad’s gathering. It was as if she had walked into a Darkwing museum, everything carefully positioned in glass cases. Action figures were posed to simulate a fight. Posters were framed with care. Comic books were displayed in coffin-like glass containers.

            “And I thought Launchpad was obsessed,” Charity said, looking but not touching. Then she noticed a closet door with no decorations. Her curiosity got the better of her. If all these amazing things were out on display, what did Darkwing keep in the closet?

            She opened it and grinned.

***

            Still caught up in the smoke bomb, Launchpad grasped around in the smoke, finally finding a chair to sit down in. He sank into it, feeling the room spin as he recovered from breathing in the chemicals. However, he didn’t get much of a rest before something yanked on his shirt. He flew through the air, crashing to the ground. Someone stepped on his chest.

            “Suck gas, evil—Launchpad?”

            “Hey, DW. Is this a bad time?” Launchpad asked the barrel of a gun.

            Darkwing immediately put away his gas launcher. “Launchpad, what are you doing here? How did you get in?”

            “You gave me a key card, remember?” Launchpad said, holding out the card. “You said I could drop by whenever.”

            “I meant to call first.” He helped Launchpad to his feet. “This isn’t a good time. There’s been a string of strange incidents happening in the city.”

            “Who is it? A genius mastermind? A super villain?” Launchpad asked excitedly.

            “Well…ah…sort of,” Darkwing dithered. More than likely, it was just some punk kid who he had caught stealing a purse taking his anger out on DW swag. He was about to show Launchpad the map where all the break-ins occurred when he heard something behind him. Was there someone else there? How could anyone get in with his security?

            “Get behind me, Launchpad. We’re not alone,” Darkwing said, reaching for his gas launcher.

            “Oh, that’s just my friend, Char—“

            “Friend? You brought someone to my secret hideout?” Darkwing asked, appalled. “Launchpad, this isn’t some place to hang out. This is serious. How could you—“

            “Hey, check this out.” A form wrapped in purple popped out of a doorway. “I am the terror who flaps in the night. I am the piece of food that gets stuck in your teeth. I am Darkwing Duck.” The person opened the cape, exposing that she wore a hat and mask as well. She posed and grinned. Then her eyes widened as they fell on Darkwing.

            “Cheese and crackers, Launchpad! Why didn’t you tell me he was here?” the woman squealed, ducking back through the doorway.

            “Oh, that makes sense,” Darkwing said with a wry smile. “You brought a girl here. Way to go, Launchpad.” He elbowed the taller duck with a wink. “But it’s not appropriate to bring your dates here.”

            Launchpad laughed. “She’s not my date. She’s my best friend, Charity.”

            “Best friend?”

            “Remember my call? I forgot her birthday, and she’s a huge fan…”

            “It still doesn’t excuse you to reveal all my secrets,” Darkwing protested.

            “I am so, so, so, sorry.” The women timidly came out again, sans costume, the very definition of apology. “I lost my head a bit by being here, and it really wasn’t appropriate of me to go through your stuff and try on your clothes and…Okay, so I’m not entirely sorry. I just thought I could get all my nerdiness out before meeting you.”

            Darkwing recognized her expression. It was the same Launchpad had when talking about his favorite superhero. It was the same expression he had on himself after meeting Jim Starling, being chosen to play his hero in a movie and…well…basically every time he put on the mask.

            She was a true fan. And not just someone who jumped on the band wagon recently, but one who had been around for a while. When Launchpad said he had a friend that was a fan, this woman wasn’t who he expected.

            Especially not someone who looked like her.

            Darkwing’s irritation drained away. “It’s no problem,” he said, turning on the charm he used as an actor. “Any friend of Launchpad’s is a friend of mine. What was your name again?”

            “Charity.”

            “Charity. That’s a beautiful name.”

            He could see the blush spreading across Charity’s black feathered cheeks. He recognized the signs of a flattered female. His charms always worked.

            “Launchpad also says you’re a fan?”

            “Uh…yeah. In fact, I was just admiring your collection in the other room,” Charity said, sticking a thumb behind her shoulder.

            “My collection?” Darkwing’s charm quickly turned off. “That door wasn’t open before. You didn’t touch anything, did you?” He rushed over to the door, looking inside.

            “I promise I didn’t.” Charity tried not to take offense of the accusation. Timidly, she added, “Except for the costumes in the closet. I hope those were collector items, too.”

            Darkwing sighed. “Naw, those are just extras. You wouldn’t believe how quickly I go through costumes. The only costume that I own that is a collector’s item is in the corner.”

            The costume was displayed on a manikin, wrinkle-free and preserved.

            “Is that blood on it?” Charity asked, looking closer.

            “Cool. Battle damage,” Launchpad added.

            “Fake blood. This was the costume Jim Starling used in the episode, ‘Quacker-Jumping-Jacks,’” Darkwing explained.

            Charity gasped. “Oh, it’s from the scene where he gets shot and falls into the bay.”

            “Yeah. Did you know for that scene, they actually lowered Jim Starling slowly to the water then sped up the film instead of using a stunt double?”

            “Totally. They had to because the director wanted the camera to be on Darkwing Duck’s face the entire time. They couldn’t do that with a double.” Charity looked around the room again, admiring everything. “That episode totally gave me a great idea for my fanf—“ She stopped in mid-word, eyes wide.

            “What was that?” Darkwing Duck asked, guessing what she was going to say.

            “Nothing.”

            “It sounded a lot like fanfic,” Darkwing continued to tease. “Do you write Darkwing Duck fanfiction?”

            “I don’t even know what that is,” Charity said, feigning ignorance and shrugging.

            “Of course you do, Charity. She reads it all the time,” Launchpad broke in with a smile. “She also writes a lot of it, but she won’t let me read it.”

            Charity laughed nervously. “It’s only because I’m a really, really, really bad writer.”

            Darkwing smiled at her smugly, not buying her act. “Mmmm-hmmm,” he pandered. Maybe he should be reading fanfiction.

            “Let’s change the subject,” Charity said, hiding her face. “Any subject will do.”

            Launchpad’s phone rang again, the super hero theme song blasting from his back pocket. “It’s Mrs. B again. Hello.” As he answered, he drifted out of the room.

            Feeling a little nervous about being alone with Darkwing, Charity circled the room, looking again at all the glass cases and keeping her hands behind her back. Without knowing she was doing it, she hummed the theme song as she browsed.

            “When there’s trouble, you call DW. Darkwing Duck,” she sang softly, bending over the Pez dispensers of all the Darkwing Duck characters.

            “Let’s get dangerous,” a voice sang so close to her ear, she felt breath on her neck.

            A chill ran down her spine, and she jumped away, blush spreading from her cheeks all over her face. “Oh, you scared me,” she said with a smile, pressing a hand against her chest where her heart threatened to break through.

            “You have a pretty voice,” Darkwing said, letting her keep her distance. He had forgotten what this was like, back when he was an actor. The flustered fans, flirting with them, giving them the attention they loved. Charity was easy to read. She totally had a celebrity crush on him.

            “Thanks. It helps that I play a lot of Let’s Sing Karaoke,” Charity said, her nervousness ebbing.

            “Singing the Darkwing Duck theme song on it?”

            “Of course.” Charity looked as confident as Darkwing at that moment. “I’ve held the championship spot online for three consecutive months and going.”

            “Not any more. Someone broke your record,” Darkwing told her.

            “What?” Charity set her beak in determination. “When did that happen? Who beat me?”

            “I did,” Darkwing said, pointing a thumb at his chest. “Two days ago.”

            “You,” Charity whispered darkly, pointing an accusing finger at him. “You’re BiggestDWFanBoi, are you?”

            “Yep.”

            Charity straightened up. “It’s impressive you can hit those high notes,” she conceded.

            “Thanks. Although I thought I would hurt my vocal cords on the last chorus,” Darkwing said, massaging his throat.

            Charity touched her own throat. “You almost did,” she whispered.

            “What was that?”
            “Nothing,” Charity covered up. “However, take your jollies when you can because once I get ahold of my microphone and laptop, you are going down.”

            “Why wait?” Darkwing asked. “I have everything we need here.”

            “Really?”

            In less than a minute, they were standing in front of a computer with a screen bigger than ten feet tall and more buttons that an arcade.

            “Are you using an advanced super computer to play karaoke?” Charity asked.

            “Yep.”

            “I see nothing wrong with this.”

            As Darkwing keyed up the program, Launchpad approached.

            “Mrs. B says we ‘finish the mission’ and ‘get our tails back to Ducksburg’,” Launchpad reported, using finger quotes.

            Charity bit her lower beak, realizing that meant telling Darkwing about the curse. She stalled. “Can we do it later? We’re about to play karaoke. Can you imagine, karaoke with Darkwing?” Her eyes were shining.

            Launchpad considered her words before giving her the thumbs up.

***

            Fenton sighed with relief. He had caught up on all the work Gyro had given him, cleaned up the several failed experiments, made calibrations on Gizmoduck, and waved the grumpy boss off to the elevator. He was now alone. After hours in the lab was all for himself.

            It was time for him to work on his own experiments. He had waited all day for this, to focus on his own personal projects. He had been dreaming all day for this moment, although a few times his thoughts did drift to the pretty woman he met in the restaurant.

            “Fenton!”

            Tripping at the sound of his name, Fenton strained to catch an experimental energy source he was working on before it crashed to the floor and exploded. “Oh, Mr. McDuck. What are you doing here so late?”

            “I have something very important that I need to tell you.”

            Fenton went through a mixture of emotions beginning with an old fear of being fired to surprise that the tycoon actually remembered his name.

            “Uh, what can I do for you, Mr. McDuck?” Fenton asked, tugging on the collar of his shirt.

            “Let’s have a seat, lad. It’s a long story,” Scrooge said, gesturing to two seats. After they sat, he explained everything that he saw and was told the night before, leaving out no details except for names.

            At first, Fenton listened like a good, eager employee, but the longer Scrooge talked, the more skeptical the scientist became.

            “You don’t believe me, do you?” Scrooge asked, remembering Mrs. Beakley’s warning. “I know it’s a little farfetched—”

            “Farfetched? It’s downright unbelievable,” Fenton said, feeling irritated that his work was interrupted for this. “Impossible.

            “Now, hold on. We’ve seen the impossible before,” Scrooge countered.

            “It only seems impossible because we don’t understand it,” Fenton reasoned. “What people say is magic is only science that we don’t know how it works. Which is the very reason why I have submitted several requests to examine some of those ‘magic relics’ you claim to own.”

            “This isn’t some sort of lab experiment. This girl needs help from a very powerful curse,” Scrooge insisted. “What about the shadows? Hmmm? Can you explain those?”

            “Yes,” Fenton said, gesturing wildly with his arms. “This Magika de Spell simply opened an interdimensional portal to a shadow realm, releasing the denizens. The amulet she had was just a remote that summoned and banished them with a voice command.”

            “Sounds like magic to me,” Scrooge said.

            “Gyro and I have been experimenting with the same technology with unsuccessful results,” Fenton said. “Magika just had perfected it.”

            “How? McDuck enterprises is at the cutting edge of technological advances. Where did she get it?”

            “I don’t know,” Fenton said, frowning. “From a competitor company. Or from aliens. Or from an ancient race of featherless beings from the far past. My point is that everything you have said is magic, I can show you theories or breakthroughs in science that can explain it. That’s logic. But this whole cockamamie story about…a family curse from thousands of years ago that transfers illnesses and injuries from one body to another, all based on who a person falls in love with…It’s preposterous. It’s not logical.”

            “Neither is love,” Scrooge added sagely.

            “Look, I’m not disputing the idea of love. If anyone’s open to that possibility, it’s me,” Fenton said, looking away for a second. “But I just can’t believe that this…girl fell in love with me after a passing moment which somehow triggered an ancient curse.”

            “She didn’t fall in love with you. She fell in love with Gizmoduck,” Scrooge stated.

            That didn’t make things better. But Fenton didn’t show how much that bothered him. “Regardless,  whoever this girl is, she’s conning you, Scrooge. I don’t know how or why, but it just isn’t possible.”

            Scrooge glowered, snapping his cane against the floor. “I’m Scrooge McDuck. I’ve out-smarted the smarties and out-sharped the sharpies. I can tell when I’m being conned.”

            Fenton still didn’t look convinced. “Here’s a logical explanation to what is going on. This girl probably has some medical condition, something that gets her hurt all the time. There are several I can name, and she probably convinced herself that she’s under a curse, concocted a myth, and used some cheap tricks to persuade you to help her. She doesn’t need her curse broken. She needs a good psychologist.”

            Sickened by the scientist’s pragmatic view, Scrooge decided to change his tactics, using some of the same questions Charity asked the night before. “By the way, Fenton, how have you been doing as Gizmoduck? Is the suit working out?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

            Glad to be on a safer subject, Fenton answered with limited patience. “The suit is working fine. I just upgraded the software, and it should perform at least ten percent more effectively.”

            “You haven’t injured yourself recently while flying around and fighting crime?” Scrooge asked.

            Realizing what Scrooge was doing, Fenton met the elderly duck glare for glare. “No, I haven’t. Which is what the suit was designed to do. To protect me.”

            “Well, that’s all good when you’re inside the suit, but what about outside of it,” Scrooge said, smiling. “Gyro has told me that lab accidents are quite common around here.”

            “Yes, that’s correct. But we take safety precautions to make sure no one gets hurt,” Fenton countered.

            “What about sicknesses? Haven’t had any problems in that area? As a matter of fact, why don’t you tell me when was the last time you felt any pain?” Scrooge asked.

            Fenton stood up. “I don’t have to answer any more questions, but I’ll humor you, Mr. McDuck. I’m a healthy, safety-conscious guy. Just because I can’t remember when the last time I called in sick or got a paper cut, doesn’t mean anything. Instead of interrogating me, you should be questioning this girl.” Before Scrooge could say anything more, Fenton held up his hand, saying he had enough. “Please, excuse me, Mr. McDuck. Unless you have something important to say, I would like to get back to work.”

            Scrooge stewed in his anger as the scientist turned his back on his employer. Hopping from his chair, he walked to the elevator, grumbling under his breath, using words like “daft” and “stubborn” frequently.

            But he reminded himself that sometimes patience was key. The truth always came out. Charity had only fallen in love with Gizmoduck not that long ago. It might take time for the hardheaded scientist to see what he couldn’t before.

***

            “And that’s how it’s done,” Darkwing said, tossing the mic back to Charity. Not only had he beaten her again, but he had broken his old score. “You’re turn, if you’re up to it.”

            Charity smiled, feeling an ach in her throat, and it had nothing to do with emotions. Between Darkwing’s straining his vocal cords to reach the high notes and her own competitive nature, her throat felt thrashed. “Actually, I’m needing a break. Do you have any water?”
            “Yeah, and I don’t suppose you have any munchies as well?” Launchpad asked eagerly. He had been a captive audience as Darkwing and Charity competed against each other, happy just to watch.

            “Sorry, I don’t keep refreshments up here,” Darkwing apologized with a shrug.

            “Then I’ll go get us something,” Launchpad said. “They had some restaurants next to the bridge.” He headed to the elevator.

            “Launchpad, I don’t think it’s a good idea. There’s still a lot of people around,” Darkwing Duck warned, but Launchpad was already gone. He sighed.

            “Don’t worry. Launchpad was really careful when we came up. He won’t let you down,” Charity reassured.

            “Oh, I know. I just get a little nervous, though. I haven’t been a super hero for very long.”

            “But you’re doing a great job,” Charity said, clearing her throat. It was so dry from the singing.

            “Here, I think I can get you a drink. That is, if you don’t mind tap,” Darkwing said, moving from his seat.

            “Right now, I think I could drink from the bay,” Charity joked.

            Soon, Darkwing handed her a cup filled with water. The cup was decorated in imagines of the old Darkwing Duck in different fighting stances.

            “Is it okay for me to use this?” Charity asked worriedly, remembering the museum-like secret room.

            “Oh, yeah. It’s not worth much,” Darkwing said.

            Charity took a drink.

            “On account of the lead paint.”

            Charity spat out what was in her mouth, coughing.

            “I’m kidding. Sorry. I thought you would know that was a joke,” Darkwing said, patting Charity’s back.

            “I’m not a fanatic like you and Launchpad are,” Charity gasped, taking another drink. She chuckled anyway.

            “Speaking of Launchpad, how long have you two known each other?”

            “Since the sixth grade.”

            “Long time. Just friends or…” Darkwing knew he was digging. After all, Charity had intrigued him.

            “Just friends,” Charity replied with a smile. “It’s like we’re brother and sister.”

            Inside his head, Darkwing felt a thrill. He had been flirting with Charity all night, and she had responded with playful flirting or blushes. But then again, Charity was inside a safety net. She was just visiting, and soon, she would be gone, never knowing who he was behind the mask. Flirting with her felt innocent.

            For that reason alone, he should stop. But there was something about her that he was drawn to. Perhaps the fact that she was a Darkwing Duck fan and they had so much in common, or perhaps it was because of how easily she blushed at his flirting, at an accidental touch, that made her endearing. But there was also something vulnerable about her that made him want to be near her, as if danger was lurking just behind her at every moment.

            “I have a fantastic idea,” Darkwing said with a grin, deciding to live the moment and flirt the night away. “Do you want to see if we can beat the high score on duet mode.”

            Charity’s eyes brightened, which was enough of an answer for him.

***

            Launchpad picked a burger franchise, sticking to the dollar menu since he still only had ten bucks. As he waited in line, a little girl hugged a plush Darkwing Duck toy as she held her mother’s hand.

            “Wow, cool toy,” Launchpad said when the girl eyed him.

            The girl grinned, holding the toy closer.

            “Where did you get it?” Launchpad asked, squatting down to her level. “I have a friend who would love to have one just like it.”

            The girl looked up to her mother, who smiled kindly at him. “Oh, I’m not certain, but a lot of stores around he carry them. In fact, I think if you go along the bay, there’s a store that has them in their window.”

            “Thanks. You keep DW safe, alright,” Launchpad told the girl.

            She nodded and stepped forward with her mother as they went to the cashier to order.

            With a sack filled with all the burgers and fries he could buy plus a drink for Charity with twenty-six cents left over, he started back with a skip to his step, turning down the street in front of the bay instead of going directly to the bridge.

            As it was dark, a lot of the shops were closed and there were few people out. But this didn’t deter Launchpad as he searched for the store, looking in every window for the Darkwing Duck toy. He finally spotted it, a single doll propped against a box, its button eyes gazing blankly.

            Most of the lights were out in the store, but the sign in the window still said “Open.” He checked the door; it wasn’t locked. “Excuse me. How much is that Darkwing in the window?” Launchpad called out, reaching into his bag for a handful of fries and stuffing them into his mouth.

            When no one replied, he called out again through the mouthful, “Hello? Is anyone here?” He stepped farther into the shop, his feet coming into contact with something on the floor. Looking down, he could see smashed mugs, torn cloth and lots and lots of stuffing. Only then did he suspect something was up.

            “I guess I come back another time,” Launchpad said, turning around only to have a gun, shoved into his beak for the second time that day.

            “You look familiar,” a dark shadow standing before him said, the voice raspy and deep. Launchpad knew that voice but there was something different about it. “What a coincidence to find you here.”

            Launchpad dropped his sack and put his hands in the air. “I don’t have a lot of money. Just twenty-six cents. You can have it.”

            “I don’t want your money,” the shadow said, grabbing his shirt and pulled him closer. At this range, Launchpad could see the shadow was wearing a black mask and a large-brimmed, ragged hat. “I want you to take me to Darkwing Duck.”

***

            “We did it!” Darkwing shouted, pumping a fist.

            “Yeah, in your face, DWGirl34 and DuckKnite,” Charity added, doing a dance, riding the ecstasy of singing the song with Darkwing Duck. That moment was more than she ever dreamed, so she didn’t expect for the hero to pick her up bridal style and spin her in a circle.

            “Wow, you’re really excited by this,” Charity said as she was set on her feet.

            “Hey, after singing for thirty straight minutes, we worked hard for that score,” Darkwing said in his best hero voice. “Which reminds me, how’s your throat?”

            “Not bad,” Charity said truthfully. With Darkwing singing the male part, she didn’t have too much trouble keeping up with him. “Although, can I get some more water?”

            “Over there is the bathroom with a sink,” Darkwing directed.

            With Charity occupied, he checked with his computer, seeing if there was anything that needed his attention. No alarms, nothing on the police scanners except a few domestic disputes and petty thefts, although it was still early. The really hard-core crimes happened later at night. Normally, he would be taking a nap at this time and would start his patrol in a few hours, but he hadn’t realized how much he missed people. Moving to another city with no contacts, no friends, no family, he hadn’t realized how lonely he was.

            He could take a night off. St. Canard did well enough before he came along.

            As he typed, he heard the bell of the elevator and the humming of the motor working to bring the car up.

            “Sounds like Launchpad is back,” he called, doing a quick research on the Internet for any break-ins involving Darkwing Duck merchandise in other cities, in case it was a new fad with the punk teenagers.

            “Good. Singing really builds up an appetite,” Charity quipped, sitting back down with her water. “I don’t suppose you’re up for another duet that isn’t the Darkwing Duck theme song.”

            “Hmmm, I think that could be arranged,” Darkwing said, changing the screen back to karaoke and turning around just as the elevator dinged and the doors slipped open.

            There was a glint of metal which was all the warning Darkwing got to duck, his instincts kicking in before he even knew there was danger. The sound of a gunshot and the feeling of something zipping overhead kicked in the adrenaline.

            “Darkwing, run,” Launchpad shouted, then the sounds of a struggle ensued.

            “Launchpad!” Charity screamed.

            Darkwing grabbed Charity’s wrist, pulling her down roughly next to him on the floor. “Stay here,” he ordered, reaching into his belt for his gas launcher. Using a chair for partial cover, he carefully stood up, aiming the weapon toward the elevator car. He hesitated to pull the trigger as he saw Launchpad wrestling for possession of a gun from…Darkwing Duck? No, that wasn’t right. The costume was a different color, garish and disconcerting.

            With a kick to the gut, Launchpad lost the struggle for the gun. As he doubled over, gasping, his assailant hit him on the back of his head, knocking him out.

            Charity cried out from where she huddled on the floor.

            “Don’t move,” Darkwing shouted at the intruder, taking aim. But before he could launch one of his gas grenades, the imposter Darkwing shot wildly at him.

            Dodging, Darkwing rolled away, finding better cover behind his motorcycle that sat between him and the intruder. As he carefully moved around one of the tires to fire his gas launcher, more bullets shot at him, one hitting his weapon out of his hands.

            Darkwing ducked back behind the motorcycle, berating himself. He was too slow, too clumsy. The real Darkwing Duck wouldn’t have let that happen to him. He wasn’t as experienced as he needed to be.

            Reaching into his utility belt, Darkwing pulled out a handful of smoke bombs and threw them in the approximate direction of the intruder, hoping that they would be of some help. As he heard the smoke bombs popping as they hit the floor, he peered around the motorcycle, seeing that he had luckily hit his target.

            Now was his time to shine.

            “I am the terror who flaps in the night,” he spoke, getting closer, although the shadowy form in the gas followed his voice. “I am the Lego you step on in the night. I am—“

            “A fake!” the intruder shouted, squeezing the trigger and releasing three more rounds. With the smoke impairing his vision, the shots whizzed away harmlessly.

            Closing the gap even more, Darkwing kicked at the gun, the weapon flying through the air and clattering to the floor a distance away.

            The intruder threw a punch at Darkwing, swinging wildly again and again when his attacks didn’t land. Wrapped in his cloak, Darkwing dodged deftly, always keeping a few seconds ahead of his opponent.

            Even without good ventilation in the tower, the smoke was beginning to clear, the two able to see each other clearly. And the longer Darkwing looked at the intruder, the more he thought the Darkwing Duck imposter looked familiar.

            “You dirty, name-stealing thief,” the intruder shouted. “You’re not Darkwing Duck. I am!”

            It was pretty clear to Darkwing that whoever this guy was, he wasn’t right in the head. The best thing to do was to neutralize him and get him the help that he needed.

            “Now, now. Let’s not be hasty,” Darkwing said, using cliché lines with the intention of distracting the intruder. “We can work this out.” Dropping in a crouch, Darkwing swept his leg out and knocked the guy over, dropping him to the ground.

            Before Darkwing could restrain the intruder, he scrambled away on hand and knees, reaching out for the gun that was ten feet away.

            “Oh, no you don’t,” Darkwing yelled, grabbing the red cape and pulled hard. When he saw the guy’s masked face and the crazed look in his eye, he knew that the intruder wasn’t going to take the easy way. He pulled back his fist and struck out.

***

            Charity had been watching the fight between the legs of a chair while lying on the floor, trembling in fear. This was a lot more excitement than she had expected and definitely not what she signed up for.

            Her head and gut ached from when Launchpad was knocked about by the intruder, and she gritted her teeth in anticipation for more pain as she watched with wide eyes.

            Please don’t let him get hurt, she thought, her heart pounding, anxiety tightening around her throat every time Darkwing dodged another attack.

            Then pain burst from her eye, the sensation familiar to her, but she was confused. Hadn’t she just seen Darkwing hit the other guy, not the other way around? That didn’t make sense. How could she feel the intruder’s pain?

            And then it hit her just as Darkwing hit the guy again in the beak. Ignoring the stinging in her nostrils as the blood poured out, she lunged at Darkwing, restraining him from hitting the man again.

            “Stop it!”

            “Charity? Get away. He’s dangerous,” Darkwing shouted, his voice harsh from the fight but still riddled with concern.

            “Don’t hit him,” Charity shouted, not letting go. “That’s Jim! Don’t hit him.”

            “Jim? Jim who?”

            The intruder took the interruption in the fight to kick Darkwing, sending both the super hero and Charity sprawling. He teetered for a second before racing to the nearest window of the tower at full speed, wrapping himself in his cape before breaking through the glass and disappearing into the night.

            Racing to the broken window, Darkwing looked down, his face brooding. He gazed out into the night before turning his head to Charity, glowering. Slowly, he walked over, picked up the discarded gun, and set it on the computer console.

            Sensing that they were out of danger, Charity crawled to Launchpad. She could still feel the blow on the back of her head, but she wasn’t so lucky as to be knocked unconscious by it. She checked his pulse, glad to feel it beating strongly against his wrist.

            “What was that?” Darkwing asked her, suddenly standing over her. “Do you know who that was?”

            Charity gulped. “It was Jim Starling.”

            Darkwing stumbled back, surprised. “No. Jim is dead. I saw him die.”

            “He’s not dead,” Charity said, feeling suddenly tired, more tired than she had felt before as she prepared herself to try to convince another person that she wasn’t lying. “And I can prove it.”

Chapter Text

Twisted String of Fate

Chapter 8

            My mom made it perfectly clear that the first rule of the Curse Club is: Do not talk about Curse Club. I’ve been breaking a lot of Mom’s rules lately.

***

            Retelling the curse wasn’t as hard as the first time, but Charity couldn’t look Darkwing in the eye. Unlike the first time, she didn’t feel like cutting open Launchpad’s hand. During the whole story, the large pilot lay prone on the floor, still knocked out from the fight. He would wake up in a few hours, less worse for wear and feeling a whole better than she would be.

            As she talked, Darkwing faced the windows, eyes on the  shards that still hung onto the metal frame, moonlight outlining the sharp edges. When she was done, he marched away, retreating to his lair-within-a-lair and closing the door behind him.

            Not knowing what he was thinking or when he would be back, Charity set about making Launchpad comfortable. She retrieved his jacket and draped it over his chest since the wind billowing through the broken window lowered the temperature in the lair. At least, she would only feel the cold for herself. Sitting down, she gently lifted Launchpad’s head and set it in her lap, stroking his feathers and hair.

             “Maybe this whole thing was a mistake, Launchpad,” Charity said even though he couldn’t hear her. “I shouldn’t have gotten you or Mr. McDuck involved with my problems. I should have just stayed at home like my mom wanted.”

            The door Darkwing went through opened again, the masked hero marching over to Charity. He looked angry with his jaw set and his brows turned down. When he stopped and crouched next to her, she flinched.

            He took her left hand and pulled it toward him.

            She flinched again, this time because the stitches strained against her flesh.

            He rolled up the sleeve of her sweater, exposing her arm and the wound. With his other hand, he held up another purple costume, exposing the left sleeve where there was a single hole.

            “No exit hole,” Darkwing said through gritted teeth. Leaving the costume still draped over Charity, he stood up and walked to the wall, his head down so that his hat covered his face. He stood there for a few seconds before he punched wall.

            Charity jumped again, both in surprise and because pain spread through the knuckles of her right hand.

            Darkwing stepped back, looking at his fist with wide eyes, then turning to Charity, the dark expression replaced with a sad, bewildered look. He took her in: the bullet wound, the blood dried on her beak, the bruise that was forming around her eye. How many other injuries did she have? How did he not see the bandage on her hand? He returned to her side, sinking down to his knees.

            Taking her hand, he held it gently to his forehead. “Forgive me,” he whispered harshly, frustration running to his core. “Forgive me.”

            She took back her hand, and he could feel her arms encircling his neck, drawing them closer together. “It’s okay,” she whispered back. “You didn’t know. It’s not your fault.”

            He held her back, feeling suddenly unworthy of the Darkwing Duck name. He was supposed to be a hero, saving people and preventing this kind of pain. How did he not notice that he had had no injuries lately? All the fights, the scuffles, everything. No, he did notice. He just thought that it was because he had gotten better, that now that he was a super hero, he had gotten tougher. It was his over-confidence that made him blind to what should have been a sign that something else was afoot.

            “Come on,” Darkwing said, breaking from the embrace and helping Charity up to her feet. “I’m going to take you somewhere safe.”

            Charity helped Darkwing heft Launchpad up, each carrying one side of him. Between the two, they half-carried, half-dragged the pilot to Darkwing’s motorcycle, and somehow tied the larger duck to both the motorcycle and to Darkwing.

            “Yeah, this is totally safe,” Charity said as she tied the last knot.

            She stepped back to look at the sight of the sleeping Launchpad leaning against Darkwing. Launchpad’s legs and arms had been snuggly secured where they wouldn’t be dragged or burned by the engine. He looked like a trussed turkey. Darkwing didn’t look much more comfortable with Launchpad’s head using his hat as a pillow.

            Charity held back a laugh.

            “Your turn,” Darkwing said, noticing her suppressed smile.

            “Where? Do I sit on top of Launchpad?” she asked, snorting a few times.

            “Right here,” Darkwing said, patting the small space in front of him. He held out his hand for her.

            Her face burned as he helped her onto the motorcycle, his hand on her hip. The space was tight with Darkwing pressed against her back and the gas tank sloping upward. She found a place to put her feet, but felt vulnerable with nothing to hold onto.

            “Where do I put my hands?” she asked.

            “Don’t worry about it,” Darkwing said into her ear as he gripped the handlebars, encircling her. “I’ll make sure you don’t fall off. We’ll go slow. It’s not that far.”

            An electric chill ran down Charity’s spine going all the way to her tail feathers.

            Darkwing pressed a button on his bike, and the platform they were on lowered down, down, down.

            “Aren’t we going to drive down the cables on the bridge like in the show?” Charity asked, her heart pounding.

            Darkwing snorted. “Are you kidding? Do you know how dangerous that is? Or how impossible that is?”

            Charity chuckled as they came to a level with an open portal leading to a narrow road. By the sounds and the glimmer of water below, the road was under the motorway on the bridge.

            Turning the bike on and kicking it into gear, they rode slowly as Darkwing promised, but for Charity, it was fast enough. She had never been on a motorcycle before, and with the bay thirty feet below with only a foot of road between them and falling, it was scary and exciting at the same time. She was glad she had put on Launchpad’s jacket before they left because the wind was cold, although she felt the chill from the bond with her friend.

            Worried that her hair would prevent Darkwing from being able to see with it whipping in the wind, she reached up to snag it into her fist, leaning to the side. The motorcycle immediately swerved back and forth as Darkwing struggled to correct the imbalance.

            “Please, don’t move. We’re weighed down a lot more than I’m used to,” Darkwing said, keeping them from going over the edge.

            “Sorry, sorry,” Charity said, her body tense, her legs gripping the motorcycle tightly. “I just thought my hair. . .”

            “I can see just fine,” Darkwing said.

            The secret road led to a tunnel under the city, turned, then went upward into what looked like a warehouse. They came to a halt, and Darkwing turned off the motorcycle.

            “That’s it?” Charity asked, half-relieved, half-disappointed. On one hand, it would give her heart a break from this roller coaster of emotions. On another, she was enjoying her front seat, wondering what it would feel like to go a lot faster.

            “Well, it’s not how I imagined my first ride with a girl,” Darkwing said, humor in his tone.

            Charity scrambled off the bike, nearly falling on her face as her body felt weak, either from riding a motorcycle for the first time or being around Darkwing, she didn’t know. Her bones hummed as if she were still sitting on the rumbling bike.

            After untying the ropes, Charity helped Darkwing carry Launchpad to a sleek, black two-door, lowering the front seat so they could shove the large body inside. Charity received a few new bumps during the process, glad that Launchpad wouldn’t feel a thing.

            “I’m going to take you to my house,” Darkwing said. “You and Launchpad can stay the night there. Although, I’m going to need you to close your eyes.”

            Charity raised an eyebrow.

            “To keep my identity a secret,” Darkwing told her wryly.

            “I get it. You just met me,” Charity said, smiling. “It would be weird if you trusted me.”

            Closing her eyes, Charity felt a cloth pressed against her face and Darkwing tying it. It was damp and smelled of sweat, and Charity guessed it was Darkwing’s mask. A few strands of hair were caught in the knot and pulled at her scalp. She felt around to free her curly hair, feeling that the eye holes of the mask to the side.

            Taking her hand, Darkwing led her around to the passenger side, helping her into the car.

            “Um…one suggestion,” Charity said, turning her head in the direction of Darkwing. “Wouldn’t it look bad for you…your alter ego for anyone to see you driving around with a blind-folded passenger?”

            “Ooooo, good point,” Darkwing groaned. “Back seat, then. And scrunch down if you would.”

            It took a little more maneuvering, but Charity made it into the back, belt buckled, with Launchpad’s head in her lap. She listened as the car door closed, then the driver’s side opened and closed as well. She heard the car start and a sound similar to a garage door opening. The car rolled forward, and she stopped concentrating on a world she couldn’t see. Between the rocking of the car, Launchpad’s warm jacket, and the pounding headache she hadn’t noticed until that moment from where Jim hit Launchpad, she fell into a half-sleep, barely aware of anything beyond what she heard and felt.

            “Charity. Charity. Wake up.”

            It took her a moment to realize the car wasn’t moving, and someone was shaking her awake. A hand grabbed hers, and she willingly went where it pulled her, clumsily climbing out of the backseat. Her grogginess made her slow to obey the voice warning her of steps, tripping up some stairs and through a door. Eventually, her guide stopped her.

            “Sit here.”

            Perfectly willing to do so and too tired to question where she was sitting, she plopped down, sighing as she felt the soft give of a sofa.

            “Don’t take the blindfold off just yet. Give me a minute,” the voice said.

            Charity was fine waiting, contemplating lying down and going back to sleep, but her brain told her to stay awake, memories returning of who had been speaking. She listened, hearing sounds she could guess were blinds being lowered.

            “Please keep your eyes closed as I replace my mask,” Darkwing requested.

            There was a worrying at the back of her head, then the blindfold came off. The air felt cool against Charity’s skin.

            “Okay, you can open them now.”

            Blinking back bleariness, Charity focused on Darkwing’s masked, concerned face inches from her own. He wasn’t wearing his hat and looked different without it. Her heart quickened, but only a little. She was too tired for the curse to work too much on her.

            Darkwing lifted a hand, softly touching the tender, bruised flesh close to her eye. “Let me get something for that.”

            As he left, she looked around the room, gathering that they were in a house. As she suspected, all the blinds had been closed tight. Besides the sofa, there was a coffee table, a TV, and a bookshelf, but not much else.

            When Darkwing returned, he had two cold packs. He placed one Charity’s knuckles from when he hit the wall, and the second he handed her, indicating she put it on her eye.

            “I’ll get Launchpad.”

            “Do you need some help?”
            “No. No. You rest. I can handle it.” But the grunts and groans coming from the garage said otherwise. Yet, several minutes later, Darkwing slowly walked to the couch, knocking over a lamp in the process, bent under the weight of Launchpad.

            Charity moved, and Darkwing dropped the large duck onto the couch roughly. And even after all that, Launchpad didn’t stir except to snore loudly.

            “Like a baby,” Darkwing said, stretching out his back and popping his spine. “Feel free to make yourself at home. I’ll get a blanket.”

            “Only one blanket?” Charity asked. Then to herself, “I guess I could somehow fit on the couch if I squeezed.” She could imagine half her body hanging off the edge all night, trying to share a blanket with Launchpad. Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen.

            Darkwing returned with a large comforter. “You can take my bed.” He shook it out and spread it across Launchpad. It was strange to see Darkwing Duck doing something so…ordinary. A scene like this didn’t happen in the TV series.

            Charity shook her head. “I can just sleep on the floor,” she said with a shrug. “Launchpad’s jacket is warm enough.”

            “Take my bed,” Darkwing repeated. “I won’t be back until late, anyway.”

            With eyebrows furrowed, she asked, “You’re leaving?”

            “I’m going after Starling.” He turned and started to leave, returning to the garage.

            “Wait,” Charity called out, waiting until he stopped to say, “Thank you.”

            Darkwing only nodded before leaving.

            She heard the sound of a garage door open, a car drive away, then the door closing again before she looked around her surroundings more. It was strange being in this house, almost as if she were intruding on a life she didn’t deserve to know.

            Fatigue pressed down on her, and despite being in a strange house, she was determined to make herself at home just as Darkwing had invited. Finding the bathroom, she groaned at her reflection. Her curly hair looked like a bush gone wild. Dried blood paved a road down her beak and splattered over her sweater.

            Setting Launchpad’s jacket aside, she started cleaning herself up, washing her face, then her sweater. The blood splotches in the fabric mostly washed out, but left brown marks behind. Even wringing the sweater out tightly, it was too damp to wear. She was tempted to shower, but felt like she might fall asleep if she did.

            Covering herself with Launchpad’s jacket and leaving her dripping sweater hanging from the shower curtain rod, Charity went in search of the bedroom. It was just as spartan as the rest of the house with just a bed, a dresser, a night stand with a lamp and a clock blinking red digits reading ten past ten. Not much in the means of decoration, but what was there had a masculine feel to it.

            Not liking the idea of wearing Launchpad’s jacket to bed, she wondered if Darkwing had pajamas she could wear. Opening the top drawer of the dresser, she got an eyeful of boxers before slamming it shut.

            “Nope,” she said, stepping back from the dresser. The closet, she decided, would be a safer choice.

            Inside, button up shirts hung on hangers along with slacks. Not that she expected him to have pajamas hanging in his closet, but what she saw would have to do. Keeping away from the nicer, starched shirts, she found one made of cotton, replacing the jacket with it. Too big, she rolled up the sleeves a bit, flattening it again her hips and seeing that it covered part of her thighs. Passing up the slacks in the closet, Charity contemplated wearing her jeans to bed, but thought against it, slipping out of her pants. It wasn’t like anyone was going to see her.

            The bed had been unmade, the covers crumpled to one side. There was only one pillow.

            Timidly, she crawled in, and the minute her head hit the pillow, all her worries disappeared, the pain of her injuries ebbing as she sank into darkness.

            When next she opened her eyes, the clock was blinking a quarter after four, the room still dark. She had awoken, sensing something. As she sat up, she gazed around, seeing the shadow of someone bending over the dresser. The shadow turned, hearing her sit up.

            “Shhhhh, it’s just me.” She recognized Darkwing’s voice. “Go back to sleep.”

            “No, I’m awake,” she said, feeling jittery from the small scare. “You take your bed back.” She scrambled out the door, closing it behind her quickly before he could complain. If he was up this late, he at least deserved to sleep in his own bed. It wasn’t until she walked into the bathroom that she realized she wasn’t wearing her pants.

            Squealing, she pulled the shirt as far down as it could go, covering as much of her legs as she could. Thinking through her options, she didn’t see any choice but to go pantsless for a while. She definitely wasn’t going to try sneaking into his bedroom just to retrieve them.

            Heading into the living room, she saw that Launchpad had kicked off the blanket and it lay crumpled in a heap on the floor. She snatched it up and covered herself up like wearing a cloak just as she heard the familiar sound of a phone vibrating.

            Struggling to roll Launchpad enough to grab the phone from his pocket but not off the couch, Charity checked the screen, guessing who was texting this early in the morning. Just as she thought, Mrs. Beakley had sent several messages demanding to know where they were, what was going on, and thinly-veiled threats if they didn’t reply.

            Charity tapped out a message in return. We’re fine. Darkwing knows. We also found Jim Starling.

            Only a few seconds passed before a reply message came through. We’re taking the next flight to St. Canard.

            Once again, she found herself standing in a quiet house, not certain about anything or what to do next. Her stomach gave her a good suggestion, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since lunch the previous day.

            However, Charity’s thoughts of food disappeared as she got a good look at the kitchen. The sink was over-flowing with dishes, and the counters were cluttered with food packaging, discarded take-out boxes and dried food. The stove had evidence that someone tried cooking on it with little success unless they intended to cook directly on the burner and scorch the meal into a pile of char. The refrigerator was even worse. The minute she opened the door, the odor of rotting food assailed her senses, and she gagged before slamming the appliance shut.

            Who would have guessed that Darkwing Duck was a slob?

            While her stomach growled again, she ignored it, having learned through the years how to disregard her body’s complaints. She wasn’t going to eat with this mess.

            With a prayer, Charity checked under the sink. Prayer answered, there were cleaning supplies. Better yet, a pair of rubber gloves to save her scraped knuckles and the cut on her hand from hot water and chemicals. Unfortunately, with this kind of filth, she had to discard the blanket and modesty for mobility.

            Armed for war, she waged battle against the kitchen. She scrubbed and scoured with fervor, emptying the sink of food-encrusted dishes into the dishwasher, separating garbage from recycling, and polishing the stove until it shone. Even after that, she swept and mopped the floor all the way into the dining room that lacked any furniture necessary for dining. Saving the refrigerator for last, she subjected her nose to each and every disgusting smell, throwing out anything that didn’t pass the freshness test, the failed products thrown away, then tied up and set in the garage where the smell wouldn’t spread to the rest of the house.

            She had found an espresso machine, hiding behind a stack of pizza boxes, which was in the same state as the kitchen. Thinking that the machine would come in handy, she cleaned it meticulously then used Launchpad’s phone to research how to change the filter and make coffee. Her parents had a simple coffee maker, so the espresso machine felt like a computer in comparison. She added coffee to the machine and set it percolating as she went looking for something to eat, espresso and dishwasher humming together.

            The few items in the refrigerator that survived Charity’s invasion were only condiments and a half-full container of milk. The cupboards yielded a better bounty, but in the category of breakfast foods, there was only an assortment of cereal boxes that most would term as healthy. Which was fine for Charity, used to this due to her health-oriented parents, but she knew Launchpad wouldn’t be too happy about the selection, who preferred his breakfast on the heavy side of sugary.

            As she reached for a box that promised dried strawberries with her cereal, she was bombarded with a loud, “Good morning,” which caused her to drop the box.

            “Oh, good morning, Launchpad,” she said, patting her chest. “A little warning next time, huh?”

            “Sorry,” Launchpad grinned. “Do I smell coffee?”

            “Yeah. It’s almost ready,” Charity said, setting the box on the counter to check the machine. “I hope it turns out fine. That machine is like something from the space age.” She wasn’t much of a coffee drinker and knew almost nothing about the fancy names that she read online.

            “As long as there’s sugar and milk,” Launchpad said, investigating the cupboards. His face showed his disappointment in his choices. “So…what happened last night? Where are we?”
            Leave it to Launchpad to put cheer and food before the important questions. As she readied their coffee and searched for sugar, she picked up the story right after Launchpad was knocked unconscious, going through the motions of repeating the fact that Jim Starling was alive and was also part of the curse.

            “Well, at least you’ll be in good company,” Launchpad said cheerfully, forgetting that Starling had attacked them last night. “So, this is Darkwing’s house?”

            Charity handed Launchpad a mug of hot liquid, adding milk to her own. “Yeah,” she said, taking all they could see: the kitchen, the dining room and part of the TV room.

            Launchpad stood in silence, also taking it in. “It’s so normal, it’s weird,” he said, sounding disappointed.

            Charity snorted into her mug before taking a sip. That was her feeling this whole time, but she couldn’t have said it better herself. It definitely grounded her idol-worshipping image of Darkwing Duck.

            They poured cereal and milk into the only clean dishes they could find—which was a square Tupperware container and a pot—and returned to the sofa. They didn’t think the absence of coasters was a problem since several coffee rings decorated the table, so they set their mugs directly to the wood. Charity grabbed the blanket again, spreading it over her legs. It wasn’t like Launchpad hadn’t seen her legs before. Just not outside a swimming pool.

            Launchpad found the remote, and together they ate as they watched the last half of an action movie. He went back for seconds and thirds of both cereal and coffee in the time Charity ate her serving. And even after the cup of coffee, she felt drowsy. Wasn’t an espresso supposed to keep her awake? As she slumped against Launchpad and pulled up the blanket, she was thinking that it wasn’t just her body that was tired. Feeling the extra fatigue, she fell asleep, propped against her friend as the sounds of the TV faded.

***

            Despite staying up late at the lab, Fenton didn’t have to hit his snooze button when his 7:15 alarm woke him. After kissing his mama good-bye, he jogged to the local Starquack to grab a macchiato and a Danish, then raced to catch the bus that would drop him off outside of Scrooge’s money bin. He made it through the doors and down into the lab before the clock read eight o’clock. Early. Not even Gyro had arrived.

            Time to check on the progress of the experiments that needed to be monitored, which was his job first thing in the morning. However, standing in front of the wall where the clipboards were displayed was Scrooge McDuck.

            “Have you thought about what I said last night?” Scrooge asked, leaning on his cane.

            Fenton rolled his eyes. “No.” It was a lie. He had. It had bothered him that someone as rich as Mr. McDuck could be so backward thinking as to believe in curses, although given his age, he may have been raised in a culture filled with superstition.

            But it wasn’t just that. Scrooge was right when he said he was a smart, sharp duck. It seemed unbelievable that anyone could outsmart him. Wouldn’t he have checked everything out? Made sure it wasn’t a con? After all, Ducksburg wasn’t shy on people trying to take advantage of him.

            Fenton even went passed logic and tried to figure out if this “magic” could be conceivable. But no matter how he looked at it, even if the technology existed to transfer pain from one person to another, it wasn’t possible for the science to be passed along genetically. And the whole love angle was just plain ridiculous. No, there was absolutely no way that he would believe it.

            “I’m sorry, Mr. McDuck,” Fenton said, reaching for the first clipboard. “But there’s nothing you can do to convince me that this curse is real unless you can submit hard evidence.”

            “At least meet the girl,” Scrooge requested. “If I can’t persuade you, I’m sure she can.”

            “If that is what you want me to do as an employer, then feel free to bring her by on your time and your dime,” Fenton said, feeling he was getting the best of the penny-pinching miser. “Shall I schedule a time today?”

            “Er…she’s not available at the moment,” Scrooge said, eyebrows down.

            “Surprising that someone in need of so much help isn’t around,” Fenton said, irritated by the interruption.

            As Fenton turned to go check on the robots, mainly to make sure none had turned evil, Scrooge marched away much like last night, grumbling about Fenton’s stance on the matter.

            Feeling as if the subject was put to rest, Fenton went to work, but something still bothered him. He knew Scrooge could be stubborn, but this felt even more so. Scrooge was one hundred percent sure that there was a curse even though he couldn’t prove it, and it galled him that Fenton just wasn’t buying it without hard evidence.

            However, Fenton realized he hadn’t seen evidence to prove that the curse wasn’t real. It was like the quandary of cold fusion long ago when nobody could prove that it would work until someone proved that it wasn’t possible.

            Could Fenton prove that there was no curse?

            The answer came to him quickly. Yes, it was within his power to prove it. All he needed was himself. He was Gizmoduck. All he had to do was prove that he could feel pain. There were several dangerous items around the lab he could use. Just a small injury. A cut on his finger was all he needed.

            He picked up an exacto knife that he kept with his pens at his desk. He uncapped it. He had cut himself plenty of times with one, remembering the feeling.

            All he had to do was poke one finger, draw just a bead of blood.

            But then he would have a sore finger for several days, and that would be annoying with his work.

            But it didn’t have to be his finger. A cut on his foot or just a poke in the arm like getting a vaccine. It could be anywhere.

            “This is stupid,” Fenton shouted, replacing the cap on the knife and putting it back in the mug. “I’m not going to mutilate myself to prove Scrooge wrong.” Picking up the discarded clipboard, he returned to work, pushing everything about the curse out of his mind.

***

            When Charity awoke, she was warm and comfortable, feeling much more refreshed than the first time her sleep was interrupted that morning. She saw Launchpad sitting on the couch, staring at the TV. She smiled before sensing that she was cuddled up to a body, feeling feathers against her arms, but it wasn’t Launchpad. She tilted her head to get a better look, seeing the masked face of Darkwing Duck, one arm awkwardly around her shoulders holding a bowl he was eating out of.

            Noticing that the man was completely bare-chested, she sat up quickly, feeling her face heat up.

            “Hey!” Darkwing raised his bowl to prevent his meal from spilling. “Well, look who’s up. Good morning.”

            “Good morning,” Charity replied shyly, her eyes dodging from his face to his bare chest. In the TV show, Darkwing never went shirtless since it was family show geared towards young influential minds.

            Okay, so in her dreams, she did imagine Darkwing Duck to be ripped. He was after all a super hero. But imaging it and seeing it for herself were two different things. Although he wasn’t bulging with muscles like a body building, a sleek, toned body fit his slimmer frame better than swelled pecs and biceps.

            Dang, he looked good.

            “My eyes are up here,” Darkwing said.

            “I’m sorry,” Charity squeaked and pulled the blanket over her head and leaned over to Launchpad. She heard Darkwing chuckling.

            Pull it together, girl, Charity told herself, slapping her cheeks to rid herself of the blush. Quit acting like a bubble-headed fan.

            She took another peek. At least he was wearing pants and not going around in just his underwear like she had seen bachelors portrayed on TV. Then she tried really hard not to think of Darkwing Duck’s boxers.

            “I’m going to get another cup of coffee,” Charity announced suddenly, standing up and disrupting Darkwing’s bowl of cereal again. “Anyone want one?”

            “I’m good,” Launchpad said with a wave, captivated by whatever movie they were watching.

            “I’ll have another,” Darkwing said. “A cappuccino?”

            Charity grimaced. “Uh, not certain how to do that. I’m not familiar with your machine.”

            Darkwing got up and headed to the kitchen with his mug and bowl. After pressing a few buttons on his espresso machine, he asked, “What do you want?”

            “Whatever,” Charity said with a shrug. “I’m not a big coffee drinker, but I think this is going to be a caffeine necessary day.”

            Darkwing nodded, getting two mugs from the dishwasher, now clean and heavy with condensation. “Thank you for cleaning the kitchen,” he said, trying the mugs with a towel. “I almost thought I was in the wrong house when I woke up.”

            “No problem,” Charity said, leaning against the counter.

            “You didn’t have to.”

            Charity bobbed her head. “Oh, yes I did.” She grimaced as she remembered how disgusting the refrigerator was.

            Darkwing filled both mugs. As he handed one to Charity, his eyes glanced down. “By the way, you look great in that shirt. Better than I ever did.” He winked and smiled.

            Looking down, Charity shrieked, realizing she still wasn’t wearing any pants. She spilled her coffee in her hurry to hunch over and pull the shirt to cover as much of her legs as she could. If she was going to die of high blood-pressure, today would be that day.

            Racing out of the kitchen, she returned to Darkwing’s bedroom, feeling worse than she did before, and snatched her jeans from the floor. Already, she had made a total dork of herself, staring at Darkwing like some creepy stalker, wore his clothes, slept in his bed, and showed off her legs. At least he didn’t see her Darkwing Duck underwear.

            She paused, thinking back if she had done anything to reveal her panties. Oh, please no. She could die right there.

            Clenching her fists, she summoned anger for the masked hero. It wasn’t fair. He knew all about the curse, how she was in love with him. He was purposefully making her flustered just to get a reaction out of her. And there really wasn’t anything she could do about it.

            Not that all of it was bad. Last night, the flirting was…nice. But it felt safe, harmless. He didn’t know how she felt about him, or at least how deeply she loved him. Now, his flirting felt like it was cranked up a couple of notches. And why was that? Last night, she at least looked decent. But now…Between her bed hair and her black eye, she wasn’t much to look at.

            In her mind’s eye, Darkwing Duck wasn’t like this. He was heroic, brave, and maybe a little silly. He was supposed to act like the Darkwing Duck from when Jim was in the role. But this Darkwing was different. He was smooth, and flirty and…sexy. He wasn’t supposed to act this way.

            Okay, at least not outside of fanfiction.

            Going into the bathroom, she splashed her face with water, cooling the blood vessels beneath her skin before going back to the boys. And the first thing she saw was Darkwing holding the mug of coffee out for her, a smug look on his face.

            Although her heart quickened, she kept hold of her irritation, not just for her reaction to his bold, smooth words, but for him as well.

            “Thank you,” she said coolly, taking the mug and turning quickly away from him. At the couch, she forced her way between Launchpad and the armrest, making sure that if Darkwing sat, she wasn’t going to be right next to him. She retrieved the blanket from the floor, not because she was cold, but because she wanted another layer covering her.

            He did sit, although he didn’t say anything. When he caught Charity watching him, he cocked an eyebrow, and she looked away quickly.

            They continued to watch TV, letting Launchpad to be in control of the remote, although he didn’t stray from the channel that seemed to be only playing old-timey monster movies.

            The time rolled by, and all three seemed to be content to sit and say nothing as a movie ended and another began. Charity wondered if she should breach the question about what they were going to do, but she felt that she had stepped out of her comfort zone one too many times today.

            However, a little past noon, the doorbell rang. Darkwing sat up, on alert.

            “Are you going to get that?” Launchpad asked, taking his eyes from the TV.

            The hero looked worried. “No, I don’t think that’ll be a good idea.”

            “Okay, then I’ll get it,” Launchpad said congenially, hopping up.

            “No!” Darkwing hissed, springing at the pilot and knocking him to the floor. “We’re going to be quiet and pretend we aren’t home.”

            The person at the door knocked.

            “Why?” Launchpad said, not bothering to lower his voice.

            “Because I’m not dressed for the occasion to entertain guests,” Darkwing explained. He glanced at Charity.

            “We can hear you,” a voice called from beyond the door. “It’s been a long night, so I would appreciate it if you let us in.”

            “It’s Mrs. Beakley,” Charity told Darkwing. “She texted early this morning, saying she would be flying out ASAP.”

            “And you told her where I live?” Darkwing asked, his voice sounding similar to Jim Starling’s.

            Charity snorted. “I don’t even know where you live, and I’m here. Remember, you blindfolded me.”

            “She works for Mr. McD,” Launchpad explained. “He must have told her where to go.”

            Darkwing let Launchpad back up, grumbling about how “secret identities” weren’t what they used to be. He dodged into a corner, lifting his arm around his face as if he had a cape, then looked surprised that he didn’t have one. “Okay, let her in,” Darkwing relented, acting as if he hadn’t tried to hide behind an invisible cape.

            Launchpad threw open the door, letting in the first sunlight Charity had seen all day. But instead of the tall housekeeper coming in, a small form ran forward.

             “Let’s Dewey this!”

            “Dewey!” Launchpad shouted, giving the duckling a fist bump. “Glad you could be here, Mrs. B. And Donald’s here, too. This is going to be fun.”

            “Yeah, fun,” Donald said wearily, carrying in both his and Mrs. Beakley’s bags. He dropped them in a corner and slumped onto the couch.

            Dewey raced inside, looking around with an excited expression. “Where’s your gadgets? Can I have a grappling hook? Do you have a secret wall that slides away revealing your lair? I bet you do.” He went over to the bookshelf. “Is it this book? Nope. How about this book? Or this book? Or—“

            “Was it necessary to bring a child?” Darkwing asked, stopping the boy from throwing another book onto the floor.

            “He snuck into our luggage. We didn’t know until we picked up our bags,” Donald explained.

            “I couldn’t breathe very well, but it was totally worth it,” Dewey bragged.

            “Let’s get down to it,” Mrs. Beakley said, closing the door behind her. “Now, Mr. Dra—“

            Darkwing leaped out, shouting. “Ahhhhh.”

            Mrs. Beakley leaned back, hand to her chest. “What was that?”

            Darkwing hissed at her, “Secret identity.”

            “Oh, for goodness sakes, we all know who you are,” Mrs. Beakley said, waving her hands around.

            “Even I know,” Dewey added helpfully.

            “Not everyone,” Darkwing said. His eyes darted to Charity, tilting his head a little.

            “Apparently, I’m not trustworthy,” Charity said with a smile, no bitterness in her voice what-so-ever.

            “I see. If that’s how it’s going to be, then whatever makes you feel comfortable,” Mrs. Beakley said. She turned to Charity. “First off, are you doing alright, dear?”

            “Peachy,” Charity said, although not convincingly. She could tell Mrs. Beakley noticed the black eye.

            “Then let’s get planning,” Mrs. Beakley said. She reached into her purse, pulled out a silver disc and set it on the coffee table, her eyebrows arched judgingly at the empty mugs of coffee and stains on the table. She pressed a button, and it created a three-dimensional map of St. Canard.

            “Wow. Is this Gyro Gearloose’s work?” Darkwing Duck asked, getting closer, running his fingers through the image. It shifted at his touch.

            “Yes. Now, from what I gathered, Jim Starling has been traveling from Ducksburg to St. Canard since his disappearance,” Mrs. Beakley said. “My informants have researched into Starling’s history. For the last several years, he has been seeing a therapist. In his file, it says—“

            “Aren’t those supposed to be private?” Darkwing interrupted.

            “Technically,” Mrs. Beakley deadpanned. “His files say that he has been going through bouts of depression, paranoia, and, strangely enough, thoughts of grandeur. He believed that his role as Darkwing Duck was so important that he refused to take on any other roles after they canceled the show. He has been living off of guest appearances, autograph signings and live performances.

            “On top of that, his therapist reported that Starling has begun thinking that being Darkwing Duck gave him a power of sorts, making him more than just a normal duck. When we questioned the therapist, he admitted that the filming of the Darkwing Duck movie with a different actor may have sent him over the edge, which explains why he turned violent. For this reason, I’m guessing that he has come to St. Canard for you, Mr. Dra…mmmm….Darkwing.”

            “He didn’t act like the Jim Starling that I knew,” Launchpad added.

            Dewey rolled his eyes. “Launchpad, you only talked to him once, and he persuaded you to break into Uncle Scrooge’s studio and take a hostage, all for him to steal a roll in a movie. While I can see where he’s coming from, he really is crazy.”

            “And last night, he had a gun,” Charity said, looking worried. “He wanted to kill Darkwing. He said that he was the real Darkwing Duck.”

            Mrs. Beakley nodded. “He may be experiencing a psychosis, actually believing that he is Darkwing Duck. Your presence,” she pointed to Darkwing, “is threatening his…vision of reality and… I’m sorry, can you put a shirt on? You’re…distracting.” Mrs. Beakley glared at Darkwing with the disapproval of the British nation behind her.

            Charity snorted, taking pleasure in watching the formidable housekeeper stare down the hero.

            Darkwing shrugged. “Fine.” He gave Charity one last look, which wasn’t at all cowed by Mrs. Beakley’s words, but more of saying, “Was I distracting you, too?” before walking to his bedroom.

            “So,” Mrs. Beakley said, straightening her apron, “where did you encounter Starling?”

            “In Darkwing’s secret lair,” Charity said.

            “Ah, so the bridge tower.”

            “Is nothing sacred?” Darkwing shouted from down the hallway. “Does McDuck inform all his employees my secrets or is that on a Need To Know Basis?”

            “Be lucky he hasn’t charged you rent. He owns that bridge,” Mrs. Beakley shot right back. “From the news reports, we have seen that he has struck several retail stores that sell Darkwing Duck merchandise as seen on the map.” She pressed a few buttons on her phone, and several parts of the hologram map featured a red dot. “As you can see, each break-in closes in on the tower, so I believe he was tracking Darkwing all this time.”

            “And I didn’t see it,” Darkwing said, returning, now in his full uniform, pulling on the brim of his hat. He rubbed his chin, staring intently into the map. “What do you think it’ll take to get Gyro to come work for me? You know, maybe on a part time basis.”

            “Gyro has important work at McDuck Enterprises, especially on Project Gizmoduck,” Mrs. Beakley said, tapping her phone so that the hologram zoomed in on the area with the red dots.

            “Right. Gizmoduck,” Darkwing said, folding his arms and rolling his eyes.

            It reminded Charity that she had left out that small detail. Darkwing didn’t know she was also in love with the mechanical duck super hero. She bit her lower beak.

            “If we may,” Mrs. Beakley said, moving on. “From the police reports, we believe that Starling was getting into the shops through the sewers. Several of these older buildings have access in the basements, which means he could be anywhere.”

            “I knew he was using the sewers,” Darkwing said. “I could smell it on him. I set up some motion sensor cameras last night.” He pulled out his own cell phone, checking it. “So far, he hasn’t set any of them off.”

            Mrs. Beakley sighed, cracking her knuckles. “Boys, this is going to be a difficult one. With so few of us, it’s going to be one heck of a duckhunt, but even so, I don’t want anyone going off solo. So we’ll pair off, looking in these areas.” Again, she tapped her phone, showing the sewer systems, two paths highlighted, one in yellow, the other in blue. “Donald and I will cover downtown while Launchpad and Darkwing work along the south side. I think these areas are the likelier places he will be based on maintenance and that sewer workers haven’t been near recently.”

            “What about me?” Dewey asked. “While the sewers aren’t the most glamorous place for the Dew to go, I want a piece of this action.”

            “You’re staying here with Charity,” Donald snapped.

            “What? No, I’m going,” Dewey insisted.

            “So am I,” Charity joined in. “I told you, I’m not going to stand back and let everyone do the work for me. It’s my curse, and I’m helping to break it.”

            Mrs. Beakley’s face softened. “Charity, if anyone knows how important it is for a woman to fight against the ‘damsel in distress’ stereotype, it’s me. Later, I’ll tell you how hard it was for a woman to be taken seriously as a British spy in the 60s. But looking at you, I can’t condone you crawling through sewers in your condition. Especially when the injuries of others might take a toll on you.”

            Her eyes strayed to Launchpad and Darkwing, the later frowning and looking away, the former still smiling, unknowing that he was being talked about.

            “Sometimes, to be a strong woman, you have to be smart enough to know when to stay behind.”

            Charity sighed, half in defeat, half in relief, Mrs. Beakley’s words were just what she needed.

            Dewey glared up at Mrs. Beakley. “No pep talk is going to work on me,” he challenged.

            “Alright then, let me just remind you that I’m the housekeeper,” Mrs. Beakley said, hands on hips. “I clean everything. And I mean everything. Nothing is secret from me.” She stared down the boy.

            Dewey looked worried.

            “Nothing,” she repeated, letting silence speak for her.

            Dewey struggled with himself, unsure if Mrs. Beakley was bluffing. “Okay, fine. You win. I’ll stay.” He pouted.

            “She’s a housekeeper?” Darkwing asked, impressed.

            “Now that the plan is settled, I suggest we start sooner rather than later. Jim Starling has only been seen above ground at night, so we have several hours before we could lose him again. Time is of the essence.”

***

            When the others left, Dewey jumped onto the couch, still pouting.

            “Do you want to watch TV?” Charity asked, uncertain how to act when alone with a child.

            “Why bother? Everything is going to be boring compared to hunting down Jim Starling,” Dewey harrumphed.

            Charity looked on the bright side. “At least we’ll smell better.”

            That got a chortle out of Dewey.

            “So, what did you and Launchpad do, hanging out with Darkwing Duck? I bet you got to go out and catch bad guys and stuff.”

            “No. We just sang karaoke,” Charity replied, sitting on the couch.

            “Huh? That’s sounds boring,” Dewey replied. “There are so many cool things you could have done with him, and you sang karaoke?” He pouted again. “Is he a good singer?”

            “Weirdly good,” Charity said. She remembered she still had Launchpad’s phone. “Do you want to hear him?”

            “I kind of do,” Dewey said.

            Charity brought up the website, which kept the recordings of all the winners to each song.

            “Wow, he can really hit those high notes,” Dewey noted, impressed.

            “I know, right?” Charity agreed. “Listen to our duet.”

            Dewey wasn’t a huge fan of music, but he could tell, the two sang really well together. He thought about sending the link to Louie, wondering how he would react to Charity’s singing.

            Then there was a knock on the door.

            Dewey and Charity froze.

            “What should we do?” Dewey asked.

            “Get down,” Charity said, sinking to the floor in case whoever at the door could see inside through the small window. “It’s probably a neighbor. They’ll go away after a while.”

            But that’s not what happened. Instead, there was a loud noise like something crashing into the door. It took a while for them to realize that whoever was out there was trying to break down the door.

            “Come on, we have to get out of here,” Dewey said, springing into action.

            “Where?”

            “Anywhere that guy isn’t,” Dewey insisted. There was no backdoor, and Dewey started checking the windows.

            “I think I saw a door in the garage,” Charity said, heading in that direction.

            Dewey followed her through the door and down the steps. She threw the door open. There was only ten feet of yard before there was a wooden fence. Grabbing the duckling, Charity boosted him up and over the fence before reaching up and pulling herself up. Before she could swing her leg over, a hand grabbed her hair and shirt, dragging her to the ground.

            “Charity.”

            “Run, Dewey!” she shouted. She still held Launchpad’s cell phone, so she tossed it over the fence, hoping he would grab it. “Run and get help.”

            “You!” a voice growled, partially in anger.

            Charity turned, looking at the assailant. It was Jim, dressed as he had before in the twisted version of Darkwing Duck.

            “You were there last night,” he said, looming over her.

            She scrambled to her feet, but Jim grabbed her arm tight and pushed her against the wooden planks.

            “You know where that imposter is,” Jim snarled. “Where is he?”

            “I don’t know,” Charity told him. Panic pumped through her veins along with other emotions, and those she had just as little control over as her fear. Seeing him in front of her, recognizing a part of him from the days when she watched the show on TV, she longed to help him. She tried reasoning with him. “Please, this isn’t who you are, Jim. Darkwing Duck would never hurt anyone.”

            “I must stop him,” Jim growled. “He stole everything from me. He took my name, my reputation, my fans. He must be stopped.”

            “Not me,” Charity reasoned. “I’m one of your fans. And there are others. They remembered you as Darkwing Duck. Remember back when you were making the show, how much you meant to all those children.”

            “You’re a fan?” Jim asked, his voice calming. He almost smiled, but the dark frown returned. “No. You were with him. You’re on his side.”

            “There is no side,” Charity told him. “Please believe me. That Darkwing Duck is not your enemy. He’s a friend.”

            “No. No. No!” Jim shook his head, grabbing her other hand and pressing her more against the fence. “You’re lying. Why should I believe you?”

            She knew there was one thing that would get his attention, his confidence. “I’m the reason you haven’t felt pain in fifteen years.”

Chapter Text

Twisted Strings of Fate

Chapter 9

            My grandfather lasted until his thirties before the curse got to him. He had tried not to get close to anyone, the fear of taking on another person’s whole life of pain driving him into isolation. He told me that was his downfall. After finding himself unemployed, penniless, and living on the streets, he had committed himself to dying young, thinking that the family curse would end with him.

            Then an angel saved him from death but not from pain.

            My grandmother, a widow with five children and not much richer than the homeless, found him almost dead in the gutter. She took him home, fed him, helped him find a job, and get back on his feet. And the second she did, the pain she had from her fibromyalgia disappeared. She believed it was God that had taken away her pain, unknowing that my grandfather had fallen in love with her.

            “But it wasn’t God,” I told my grandfather after hearing the story. “It was you.”

            “Are you sure? Perhaps it was God that sent me to her,” my grandfather replied. “He wanted me to take away your grandmother’s pain.”

            “But that’s not fair,” I cried. “That means God wants you to be in pain.”

            “I don’t think God wants any of us to be in pain, but He knows it is necessary.”

            “Why?”

            “To teach us.”

            “What did He teach you?”

            “Not to be afraid to love someone.”

            “But because you love Nana, you are in a lot of pain.”

            Grandfather took my hand. “Here’s some wise words for you to learn, little one.” He always called me “little one” even when I wasn’t so little. “Everyone takes on their loved one’s pain. Empathy allows us to share the pain and lighten the load. Our family is just a little better at it than most.”

***

            Jim Starling stared at Charity like he had been working on a never-ending puzzle and she had just put in the last piece. He tightened his grip on her wrists. “Who are you? Who are you?” he shouted, shaking her.

            “Please, I will explain everything, but you have to let me go,” Charity said, pleading with loving eyes, urging the unstable duck. “I can help you. I can tell you why this is happening, but you have to promise not to hurt anyone.”

            “Yes…Yes. Tell me everything,” Starling said, nodding. “Tell me why you have given me this power.”

            “Not until my friends come back,” Charity said, afraid of how the crazed actor would react to news of the curse.

            “No. Tell me now!” Starling demanded.

            “Okay,” Charity cried out. “Then let’s go inside the house. We can have a cup of coffee together and sit down and talk about it.” But she could see that her stall tactics weren’t working as Starling’s mood darkened.

            “You’re coming with me.” Starling dragged her away from the fence, heading toward the street. A circular lid lay beside a gaping hole where the road opened into the sewer.

            Knowing where he was taking her, Charity strained against his grip, but her strength didn’t meet up against the driven duck. She contemplated fighting back, but saw the futility in that. Whatever she did to him would only fall back on her.

            Besides, she wasn’t sure if she could muster the will to attack one of the men she loved. Even as scared as she was, Charity felt her heart swelling with feelings for Starling, concern over his health and well-being.

            “Help! Somebody help me!” she shouted, still pulling against Starling. But she wasn’t sure if anyone would hear her. Even though it was the middle of the day, there were no cars on the road and no people anywhere to be seen. The neighborhood looked to be in a cul-de-sac filled with relatively new houses. She lived in a similar neighborhood where everyone worked during the day and the kids went to school. All the houses could be empty.

            Starling slapped a hand over her mouth, pulling her tight against him as he dragged her to the sewer hole. Between struggling with a hostage and climbing down a ladder with one hand, Starling half-fell into the sewer, taking Charity with him.

            Landing in rancid water, Charity quickly scrambled back on her feet, lunging for the ladder, but was yanked away.

            Starling wrestled her to the ground, pulling her wrists behind her back and slapping on metal cuffs.

            Charity sputtered, trying to keep her face out of the water until she was wrenched to her feet. She felt the metal biting into her flesh as Starling grabbed her arm and led her down the sewer tunnel. “Where are you taking me?”

            Starling didn’t reply but marched them both through the maze, his confident stride telling that he knew where he was going.

***

            Mrs. Beakley hadn’t become the legendary Agent 22 because she jumped into a situation without a plan. She came prepared with all the advanced equipment. It had been difficult to get it through security at the airport, and she had no idea how Dewey managed throughout the entire flight.

            They were in the warehouse by the bridge when she assembled two riffles and loaded them with needle-tipped darts that carried a powerful tranquilizer.

            “It’s non-lethal, and Charity will only feel a prick on her end. However, we only brought two,” Mrs. Beakley said with satisfaction as she loaded the rifle confidently. Oh, she hadn’t used one of these babies in a long time, not since the last time she and Scrooge went to South Africa. She missed those days. “And do be careful with the darts,” she warned Launchpad, seeing him play with one. “It’s designed to knock a duck out for twenty-four hours, and we need you to fly us back to Ducksburg.”

            Launchpad grinned sheepishly and slid the dart back into the holster.

            “Anything else before we descend into the belly of the beast?” Mrs. Beakley asked, shouldering her rifle.

            “I’d like to go back to my lair. I have some things that could come in useful,” Darkwing said.

            “Like what?”

            “Smoke bombs. Flash grenades. I have a few more toys curtesy of Gyro.”

            Mrs. Beakley considered this. “They may be useful. Well, better over-prepared than under, as I always say. Let’s go.”

            Rather than the four of them crowd onto the motorcycle, they ran through the hidden tunnel and under the bridge. Even before the elevator reached the top, Darkwing knew there was something amiss, and realized he should have put some of those motion sensor cameras in his lair last night.

            “He came back,” Mrs. Beakley noted as she took in the damage. Anything that wasn’t nailed down had been thrown to the floor, torn and broken. The hook from a grappling gun had been shot through the super computer’s screen, the cable pooling out like a tongue. Several other windows had been broken besides the one Starling jumped out of. “Was anything of value taken?”

            Darkwing gasped, racing to his hidden alcove, his heart racing when he saw that it was open. Standing in the doorway, he leaned in, eyes wide at the carnage he witness. Falling to his knees, he threw back his head and howled his agony. “Noooooooooo!”

            Launchpad was right by his side, patting his shoulder. “That’s brutal, bro.”

            Mrs. Beakley sighed when she saw the decimated Darkwing Duck memorabilia strewn about. “I meant of value to us. Did he take your weapons? The smoke bombs?”

            Launchpad, still rubbing Darkwing’s back, looked at Mrs. Beakley with a shake of his head. “Give him some time to grieve. He’s going through a lot right now.”

            Darkwing gritted his teeth, clenched his fists, and slowly rose to his feet. “No, this can wait. Starling is going down. Now, this is personal.”

            “And it wasn’t when he was shooting at you last night?” Donald asked in disbelief.

            “I’m okay, Launchpad,” Darkwing told his friend with a sigh. He looked around the lair, his eyes falling on where he kept his equipment. “He’s taken everything. My smoke bombs, grappling hooks—“

            “Anything lethal?” Mrs. Beakley asked worriedly.

            “No.”

            “What about his gun?”

            “I turned it into the police.”

            “At least that’s something,” Mrs. Beakley said. “Nothing more we can do here. Let’s go.” Then her phone went off. “Oh, I thought I turned this off.” She looked at the screen, her eyebrows furrowed. “Launchpad, why are you calling me?”

            “I’m not. Wait, did I butt dial you again?” He patted his pockets, finding them empty, and gave the housekeeper a shrug.

            Mrs. Beakley answered the phone. “Hello?”

            “Mrs. Beakley. Jim Starling has taken Charity,” Dewey whispered.

            “Dewey? What? Where?”

            “He’s taken her into the sewers. I’m following him.”

            “Dewey, you are not, under any circumstances, to go after him,” Mrs. Beakley ordered, although she knew he would not listen to her.

            “I’m sorry, but you’re breaking up—crzk—can’t—crzk—underground,” Dewey’s voice came through the speaker, pretending that static was cutting him off.

            “I’m not buying it,” Mrs. Beakley shouted at him. “Do not engage with Starling. And don’t turn off Launchpad’s phone. We’re going to track you with the GPS.”

            “Okay, but you might want to bring nose plugs. And fabreeze. And blindfolds. Because this place is disgusting,” Dewey added.

            Mrs. Beakley hung up then pounded her thumbs on her phone as she told the others what she heard. “What I can’t understand is how did Jim Starling knew where you lived?” she asked Darkwing.

            Darkwing’s eyes moved around the lair, contemplating this, then he hit himself in the head. “My computer is bluetoothed to my phone. He must have tracked me through the computer.”

            “He was able to hack into your super computer?” Mrs. Beakley asked.

            “Hey, Gyro made it very user friendly,” Darkwing defended, looking sheepish. “Although, I suppose I should have at least set up a password.”

            Mrs. Beakley sighed and rubbed her head. She had forgotten she was working with an amateur. Drake Mallard was, obviously, not like the Darkwing Duck from the TV series.

            “What are we waiting for,” Donald said, geared to go. “We need to go after Dewey.”

***

            Dewey tucked the cell phone up his sleeve. He wanted to make sure he had both hands free in case anything happened, and his shirt would also keep the phone dry. He was glad for the sewer holes and storm drains that provided dim light. It was difficult to follow after Charity and Starling without making any noise, but when he tried to tread carefully, he could tell that he was lagging behind. He soon learned how to walk, not in the middle of the sewer tunnels, but up on the slopes where the water was shallower.

            He continued to follow for what seemed like hours, which was way, way too long to spend sneaking around in a stinky place. He made note that if anyone decided to do anything remotely sounding like an adventure that involved a sewer in the future, he was going to take a hard pass.

            Just when he was wondering if it would be possible to throw up your own stomach, he realized that he couldn’t hear the usual noises in front of him. Oh no, they had gotten too far ahead. What if he was trapped down here, and he would have to become some sort of horrible, twisted monster that was just a misunderstood, kind spirit that the villagers would chase with pitchforks and torches?

            As he came to a T-intersection, he peered down the left, then to the right. What to do?

            Hearing a soft splash from behind, Dewey whirled around, fists raised as he was grabbed from behind and picked up like a baby kitten. “Let go of me,” he shouted, swinging his fists. He twisted around to find himself eye to eye with Jim Starling.

            “Where’s Charity? You better not hurt her,” Dewey said, coming up with a quick lie. “She’s under a terrible curse, and if you don’t do what I say, she’ll unleash her power on you.”

            “A curse, you say?” Starling said, one eyebrow raised. “That would explain everything.”

            Turning to the right, he didn’t go far before he turned down another sewer corridor, coming to a large, dry area that looked to be part of an old subway stop. A subway car was half in a tunnel that had collapsed, rubble and debris blanketing the structure. There was a wide, brick staircase heading upward, but all exits were boarded up.

            “Dewey?” Charity shouted. She had been handcuffed to a pillar near the tracks, her arms still behind her back and stretched around the pillar. Her hair, damp from sewer water, was no longer the curly halo but hung limp and long like seaweed, the whites and blues grimy and sallow. “Let him go. He’s just a little kid.”

            Starling went to the stairs and pulled out another set of handcuffs. He threaded the cuffs through the handrail and snapped them over Dewey’s wrists. The duckling threw himself against the restraints, but they didn’t give.

            “Now,” Jim Starling said, circling the pillar and Charity, “what is this about a curse?” He moved closer, the brim of his black and red hat covering both their faces.

            With heart quickening for multiple reasons, Charity replied, “It’s a family curse, passed down through my family for hundreds of generations.”

            “And why me?” Starling asked.

            “I told you. I’m a fan,” Charity said. “Fifteen years ago, I…I saw you on TV. You made me and my mother happy. I thought you were a hero.”

            Starling closed his eyes as if remembering long ago. “A hero,” he rasped. He opened them again and raised a hand to stroke Charity’s cheek. “It was you all those years. You gave me this power.”
            “Yes, because you were my hero,” Charity said, hoping this would placate Starling. “You can still be my hero.”

            And for a moment, a calm, peaceful expression crossed Jim’s face before he turned away. “Yes, I will be a hero again, thanks to you. I feel no pain. I’m invulnerable. Now that I know that I’m…not… I’m going to destroy that fake. I’m the only Darkwing Duck the world needs.”

            “You’ll never beat the new Darkwing. You’re an old hack compared to him,” Dewey shouted.

            Starling’s head snapped in the direction of the duckling.

            “You’re just someone who pretends to be a hero. He actually is one.”

            “Uh…Dewey, perhaps we shouldn’t poke the bear,” Charity suggested in a small voice

            “I’m the real Darkwing Duck. I’m invulnerable. I have the power. I am the hero,” Starling shouted at the child. “I will defeat him.”

            “Good luck,” Dewey said with a smirk. “The curse affects him, t—“

            “Dewey!” Charity shouted her warning too late.

            Starling’s eye blazed in anger as he turned to Charity. “You lied to me.”

            Charity shook her head. “No, I didn’t.”

            “You said you were my fan,” Starling said, looming toward her. “But you’ve been with him this whole time. You’re on his side.”

            “No, I’m not on either of your sides,” Charity pleaded. “I don’t take your pain away. I feel it for you! I feel both your pain. It’s not something that I can turn off. I don’t have a choice. Does that sound like I’ve chosen sides?”

            Starling stopped his approach, looking as if he were pondering her words.

            “Jim, you can be a hero again. Let us go, please,” Charity said, pleading.

            “I am not Jim! I’m Darkwing Duck!” Starling shouted, striking out and slapping Charity across the cheek. He breathed heavily, looking surprised that he had lashed out.

            “You aren’t Darkwing Duck!” Dewey yelled. “Darkwing would never hurt Charity. He’s a true hero. You’re the fake.”

            When Starling came at him, he ran up the stairs, his handcuffs sliding up the pole. When he came to a bracket and couldn’t ascend any more, he pulled at the restraints, feeling the handrail give on this side. A couple of good kicks broke the bracket, and he slipped the rest of the way through the handrail. Moving Webby-style, he jumped, kicked off the wall, and reached for the rusty pipes above them.

            Starling raced after the duckling, but wasn’t quick enough to catch ahold of Dewey as he swung up into the pipes where he had enough space to crawl around.

            “I am Darkwing Duck,” Starling shouted.

            “No, you’re not,” Dewey returned in a mocking tone. “You’re nothing like him. You don’t even look like him. It’s like you’re the opposite of Darkwing Duck. A negative version of him.”

            As Dewey crawled along the pipes, Starling followed, cramming clawed hands through the pipes, always too late to snatch Dewey’s legs.

            “Come and get me, negative Darkwing. Negawing. No, that sounds stupid. Oh, how about Negaduck,” Dewey continued to mock, coming up with the name on the fly. “Negaduck, you’ll never catch me.”

            “Stop calling me that!” Starling roared, his rage controlling him as he furiously chased after Dewey, screaming.

            With Starling distracted, Charity looked for anything that could help her escape. Circling the pillar, she couldn’t see anything within reach that would be useful. But there must be something she could do. Maybe, just maybe, she could wriggle her wrist free. Wasn’t that possible? Her hands weren’t that big, so perhaps they’d fit through if she pulled hard enough.

            With her mind made up, she set her beak as she threw her weight against the handcuffs. If there was something she was good at, it was suffering through the pain. She bit down on her tongue to prevent herself from screaming as she felt the metal scrape away feathers and skin, warm blood dripping from her wrists but her hands remained where they were.

            Suddenly, there were sounds of explosions above the stairs, smoke snaking through cracks in the slates. Starling stopped his pursuit of Dewey, smiling devilishly.

            “Looks like we have more guests,” he said, racing up the stairs.

            With little effort, he pulled down the boards that seemed to be little more than a fake cover-up. With a few grunts, he dragged two unconscious bodies down the stairs.

            Charity felt the bumps against her back as she watched Starling position Launchpad and Mrs. Beakley at the foot of the stairs. Her stomach felt as if she had swallowed stones.

            Starling had two rifles slung around his shoulder, a hard look on his face. “They’re packing quite the heat. That imposter must want you back bad,” he said, lifting one to check the scope. He swung the barrel around, pointing it at the ceiling, but didn’t see any sign of Dewey.

            Charity kept her bleeding wrists out of sight of Starling. While they burned and stung, she could feel one slipping slowly through the ring, the blood acting as lubrication.

            “If these two were close enough to set off my gas bomb traps, then that guy should be close.” He cocked the rifle. “But don’t worry. He won’t get you.”

            The words sounded like a reassurance, but they only made her body cold.

            Suddenly, there were flashes and smoke pouring all around them. By the sight and smell, Charity recognized them as Darkwing’s smoke bombs.

            “I am the terror that flaps in the night,” the familiar tone echoed through the stone station. “I am the—“

            A garbled voice interrupted him. “Idiot. You gave away the element of surprise,” Donald’s voice shouted in the smoke.

            “But my catchphrase strikes fear into the hearts of villains, which is better than surprise,” Darkwing argued.

            Donald shouted words that nobody understood.

            Coughing, her eyes burning, Charity saw through tears that Starling was raising a gun-like device into the smoke, waiting until he saw where the shadowy forms stood.

            “Get down,” Charity shouted.

            One was fast enough to obey her, but the other didn’t react when the gun went off, a large net of rope cannoning toward him. With a groan, the projectile hit him, weights wrapping around the form until they were tightly enclosed.

            With his own unique warcry, Donald shot out of the smoke that was clearing fast, hopping-mad quite literally. His first strike knocked the gun out of Starling’s hand, sending it crashing against the train tracks five feet below the platform. As he prepared his next punch, a voice cried out.

            “No, Uncle Donald. You’ll hurt Charity.”

            “Huh?” Donald brought his fist up short, just inches from Jim Starling’s beak, his face contorted in confusion, but not for long. Starling’s fist pummeled him in the cheek, sending him toppling to the ground.

            “Why I otta…” Donald growled, standing up again, his face red. He wound his arm back, ready to give as much as he got.

            “Uncle Donald!”

            The duck blinked, having forgotten the first warning because of his temper. This time, he managed to dodge Starling’s attack, bouncing on his feet like a boxer, circling his opponent.

            “Don’t worry about me,” Charity cried out. “I can take it.”

            “No!” Donald was adamant to protect the lovebird as he took another punch. “I won’t let you get hurt, Charity.” He grunted as Starling kicked him in the gut.

            “You have to fight,” Charity reasoned. “It’s the only way to stop him.”

            “Not the only way,” Donald said, taking a leaping dive and rolling toward a rifle that lay on the ground.

            Seeing what he was aiming for, Starling raced to beat Donald, grabbing the weapon with both hands seconds after the other duck. They tugged and strained against each other in a jerky kind of dance. The two glared at each other, face to face as if that would be the winning factor before Starling reared back his head and slammed it against Donald’s.

            Dewey’s uncle had always been hard-headed, so when Donald stumbled back and fell, the triplet was surprised. But not as much as when Starling raised the rifle, pointed it at Donald and squeezed the trigger.

            “Nooooo!” Dewey shouted, eye filling with tears as quickly as the bang of the gun.

            Charity, dizzy and smarting from Starling’s head-butt, felt numb at the sound of the gun. Her legs threatened to give out on her as the thought that she caused someone’s death. But then she spotted a dark sticking out of Donald’s backside.

            “Dewey. Dewey. It’s okay. It was just a dart,” Charity called to him.

            “And now for him,” Starling said, dropping the gun and setting his sights on Darkwing, who lay in a tangled mess from the net that had been shot into his smoke cloud. Starling reaching into his utility belt, pulling out a switchblade.

            Seeing the gleam of metal in the other duck’s hand, Darkwing doubled his efforts to escape.

            “No. Darkwing,” Charity shouted. “Please, don’t Jim. If you kill him, I can’t give you power anymore. I won’t be able to take away your pain.” It was a lie, but she would say anything at the moment.

            But her words might as well have been squawks for all Starling cared. He was beyond reasoning as he lifted the knife, feeling relief that in a few seconds, his demons would disappear, that this doppleganger would exist no more.

            Charity had felt a deep love for all her heroes from the beginning of her curse, so much so that she wondered how far she would go for them. Sometimes the profoundness of her love scared her because it might go past the point of free will, forcing her to do something she wouldn’t normally do.

            At that moment, she had no regard for herself. Not her life or her well-being. With an almost super strength that comes at times of stress, she charged, ignoring the pain at her wrists, not even noticing the sharp, grinding pop of her thumb being dislocated.

            Before she knew it, she was on Starling’s back, wrapping her arm around his neck and pressing it against his throat. She secured that arm by grabbing her own wrist and locking it in place. And then she felt the burning at her own throat. She choked and gasped, her lungs working fine, but it was as if no air was being sucked in.

            Jim threw himself back at her attack, spinning in a tight circle as he grabbed at her arms and pulled. Although he felt no pain from the attack, his body could tell that it was being deprived of oxygen.

            Heart pounding faster and faster, Charity ignored the feeling of suffocation, concentrating on keeping her arms tight against Starling. She gasped and wheezed, breathing faster and faster, feeling panicked and light-headed. She couldn’t let the hold break no matter what, not even when Starling began scratching at her arms, his struggles getting weaker and weaker.

            Eventually Starling fell to his knees then slumped to the ground face down.

            Charity’s head spun and darkness ran circles around her vision, tightening, tightening, until she couldn’t see a single thing but blackness.

***

            A pop, a crack, and a sharp pain shooting from her hand all the way up her arm brought Charity screaming back to consciousness, her body tightening then relaxing as the pain went away. Well, at least that pain. Her body was a map of injuries she had sustained these last few days, the newer ones demanding attention more than the dull, old ones.

            “Charity. Are you alright?” Mrs. Beakley said, leaning over the lovebird.

            “I think,” Charity said. She didn’t feel like sitting up. When she tilted her head to look around, a pounding headache confirmed that the best place for her was on the stone-cold ground. “My thumb…” she moaned.

            “You dislocated it when you escaped the handcuffs,” Mrs. Beakley said, patting her hand. “It was very brave of you to do that. You will also have an awful headache.”

            “Yes,” Charity groaned.

            “That will be the after effects of the gas.” Mrs. Beakley frowned, obviously experiencing the same. “Launchpad would thank you if he knew.”

            “What about Darkwing and Jim? Are they okay?” Her eyes widened. “Jim…Did I…” She felt tears coming to her eyes at the thought of what she might have done.

            “No, he’s still alive,” Mrs. Beakley reassured her. “That was quite clever of you to choke him.”

            “I got the idea from Launchpad,” Charity said with a smile. “When Jim knocked him unconscious, I got the bump but didn’t get the nap. I thought it would be the same, but I also passed out.”

            “Probably because of too much oxygen,” Mrs. Beakley said. “Darkwing said you were gasping and hyperventilating for some time, so your body shut down to stop you.”

            “I didn’t know that would happen,” Charity said. She looked around. “Where is Darkwing? And Launchpad and Dewey?”

            “Launchpad and Dewey went to get us transportation. This station isn’t that far from downtown,” Mrs. Beakley explained. “As for Darkwing, he’s somewhere, most likely pouting.” When Charity gave her a quizzical look, she said, “He was in quite the temper when he saw what you had done to yourself. He probably blames himself.”

            Charity decided she was done lying down. Headache or no headache, she was sitting. “It was my choice. I couldn’t let him die.” And she wondered if she even had a choice. Was it the curse and her love for Darkwing Duck that drove her into action or was it because that was the kind of person she was?

            She looked down at her wrists. The handcuffs hung off her left wrist. Both wrists had a ring where the feathers were torn and broken, blood and mangled skin still raw underneath. Her right wrist was the worst, scrapes from her wrist all the way to the first joint of her thumb.

            “Is Dewey okay? And Donald?” Charity asked. Her second question was easily answered. Donald lay snoring nearby, looking less for wear than she did.

            “He’ll be out for twenty-four hours. He’s the lucky one. I also gave Starling a dose of the tranquilizer, so we’ll make it home before having to deal with that one,” Mrs. Beakley added. “And Dewey is as right as rain, although a little shaken up. Perhaps that’ll teach him that not everything is an adventure.”

            “So, nobody got hurt,” Charity confirmed. She put her head in her arms. “Thank goodness.” Her shoulders shook although she didn’t make a sound.

            Mrs. Beakley let her stay that way for a few minutes, but touched her arm when someone approached.

            “Launchpad rented a car. He’s waiting for us,” Darkwing said. His gaze slid from Mrs. Beakley to Charity, his eyes as brooding as the actor’s in the Darkwing Duck movie. As swift as a fox chasing a rabbit, he scooped the lovebird up in his arms, heading toward the stairs.

            Mrs. Beakley raised an eyebrow at him. “Sure, leave me the heavy load,” she mumbled, gesturing to the two other sleeping forms.

            “I can walk,” Charity complain, squirming in Darkwing’s arms.

            “You’re injured,” Darkwing said, his voice sounding angry.

            “They’re all superficial wounds. My legs are fine,” Charity argued. She could feel her heart working faster, her cheeks burning again. Oh, couldn’t this curse give her a break?

            Darkwing tightened his grip on her. “Please, Charity. Let me take on a burden of yours for once,” he whispered in a harsh voice, giving her an intense look.

            How could she say no with him looking at her like that? Her blush felt like it was spreading throughout her entire body, so she remained still, not saying yes, but not saying no.

            Darkwing went up the stairs, through the used-to-be boarded up exit, pushing past the turnstiles and up another set of stairs toward a rectangle of light. At street level, the station entrance had been barricaded with random debris, boards, and chain-linked fencing, which had been cut and moved aside long ago by trespassers and rule-breakers.

            The street looked to be in an older neighborhood filled with apartment buildings, faded shops and a few houses that needed a handyman to bring them up to code. The sun indicated they had been in the sewers for several hours, sundown eminent. The streets were moderately populated, and those who noticed the caped man coming out of the abandoned subway station carrying a woman whipped out their phones, taking pictures and video footage.

            Charity squirmed at the attention, turning her head and hiding her face against Darkwing’s uniform.

            Launchpad opened the door for them, and Darkwing gently place Charity in the back seat next to Dewey. The duckling was unusually quiet, his eyes wide.

            Mrs. Beakley wasn’t far behind them, lugging both Donald and Starling, each in an arm with the two rifles slung across her back. She sighed as she looked at their transportation. “Launchpad, couldn’t you have gotten something bigger?” The car only seated five.

            “It was the cheapest model. And I know Mr. McD would be proud of my decision.”

            Mrs. Beakley shook her head. “Pop the boot for me,” she requested before correcting her word choice. When the back part of the car opened up, she tucked the two sleeping ducks into the trunk with the riffles, then slammed it closed.

            “Will they be able to breathe back there?” Dewey asked.

            Mrs. Beakley sat in the front and Darkwing slid next to Charity. “They have enough air to get to where we’re going.”

            “Where to?” Launchpad asked, belting into the driver’s seat.

            “The airport.”

            “No. We’re going back to my house,” Darkwing insisted.

            “We must return to Ducksburgh immediately,” Mrs. Beakley argued.

            “And Charity needs rest,” Darkwing countered.

            Charity broke in with a smile. “I’m fine. No broken bones. Not even a concussion,” she informed them, although a rest did sound like a good idea. Not to mention, she had been pushed into sewer water and had open wounds. Perhaps it would be a good idea to clean up first.

            Mrs. Beakley sighed. “Yes, that she does. Alright, as long as we’re back in Ducksburgh before Starling wakes up.”

            Launchpad stepped on the gas, the little car shooting forward into traffic, nearly colliding with three cars and two stationary objects.

            “You did pay extra for insurance, didn’t you Launchpad?” Mrs. Beakley asked.

            “Ha ha. Good one, Mrs. Beakley. I don’t give into those scams,” Launchpad laughed.

            They zipped through the city, the stores, restaurants and office buildings giving way to the curving streets of the suburbs, the house models looking like cookie-cutter versions of each other. Launchpad pulled up into the driveway, stopping the car three inches past the point of the garage door.

            Charity figured it was Darkwing’s house since she didn’t get a good look at it during her terror-filled moments of being dragged into the sewers.

            Before Lauchpad killed the engine, Darkwing had his door open and picked up Charity again, ignoring her protests.

            “What about your secret identity?” Charity asked, worried. The neighborhood was much more active than before, people coming home and kids pounding the sidewalk. “You shouldn’t be seen. They’ll know who you are. What ar—“

            “To hell with my identity,” Darkwing snapped. He was trembling, his jaw set. “I don’t care about that. You’re much more important.”

            That stopped all protests. In fact, it stopped all words and ideas in Charity’s mind. She relaxed, letting the hero carry her inside. She expected him to set her down on the sofa, but he bypassed the living room, taking her down the hall into his bedroom. Her whole body blushed, but she couldn’t muster even a squeak of protest as he set her down on his bed. And even then, he didn’t move away, but crouched down so he was eye level.

            He stayed where he was for a long time, and Charity wondered what was going on in his head, trying to ignore her heart beating a syncopated rhythm against her chest bones. He took off his hat, then reach for his mask, lifting part of the fabric.

            “No,” Charity said, reaching out to stop him, her hands pushing down the fabric. “You don’t have to.”

            Darkwing took both her hands in one of his and yanked off the mask with his other hand, throwing the fabric to the floor. He breathed heavily. The hand that held hers drew them closer, and he leaned forward, stopping himself after a few inches. There was something about his eyes, an emotion that Charity didn’t recognize. She wanted to touch his face, a face she recognized only from a single bootlegged VHS tape. But the face was still strange. It was the face of Darkwing Duck, but this man in front of her was someone else.

            She didn’t even know his real name. She wanted to know, just as she had wanted to see Darkwing’s real face, but she knew that was too much to ask.

            “Drake Mallard.”

            It was as if he could read her thought. Or maybe it was the other way around, that she had anticipated that his name would come next.

            “You deserve so much more than my name, but it is all I can give you,” Drake said. He reached out as if to take her hand, but he changed his mind, withdrawing.

            Just as he was pulling his hand away, Charity boldly grabbed it, needing some sort of contact from him. How could she convey how much his name meant to her? She was confused, not knowing how to react in this situation. Her body, her feelings, were giving her suggestions, but that was the curse talking. She couldn’t act on the curse.

            Before she could do anything more, a hot pain enveloped her forearm. Crying out in agony, she looked at her left arm, before her eyes, feathers melted in black heat, her flesh turning bright red and forming blisters. She screamed her pain out, throwing herself onto the bed to writhe, waiting for the pain to abate to tolerable levels.

***

            Fenton stared at his arm, mouth gaping open.

            “Careful with that,” Gyro snapped from his workspace just left of Fenton’s, seeing the soldering iron on the floor. “Unless you want the buzz saw to go haywire, stop distracting me.”

            Accidents happened all the time in the lab. That’s why they had safety equipment. For instance, gloves for when using a soldering iron, which used high temperatures to melt metals together. This specific iron was specially made for Gizmo Duck’s armor and circuitry that used a rare type of metal with a high melting point. Any contact with the iron, even for an instant, would be a painful lesson.

            Fenton took a step back, his eyes wide, still gazing at his arm.

            “Crackshell-Cabrera, what are you doing? Pick that up. That’s very dangerous,” Gyro ordered, his hands full with a piece of Gizmo Duck.

            He had seen it happen. He had dropped his soldering iron, his fumbling fingers getting him in trouble once again. One end of the iron bounced on the desk, then fell, hot tip first, onto his arm, rolling several inches along his flesh before falling to the floor.

            It had happened. He had seen it. He could even still smell burnt feathers. But he hadn’t felt anything except for something hot against his skin. His arm was as flawless as it had minutes ago.

            “Fenton, what’s wrong with you?” Gyro demanded, finally retrieving the soldering iron which had created a scorch mark on the floor.

            Feeling as if his sense of realty was falling apart, Fenton turned around and ran.

Chapter Text

Twisted Strings of Fate

Chapter 10

            Between my mother and I, we had a surprisingly large amount of knowledge about first aide.

***

            Scrooge was in a meeting with the vultures when Fenton burst in, babbling and holding out his arm. He had been expecting an outburst like this for a while, and quickly shoed away his accountants, preferring the scientist’s ramblings over talking business with those buzzards.

            “Now, calm down, lad,” Scrooge said, snapping his cane against the floor. “I suppose you saw the hard evidence that you asked for.”

            “It can’t be. It just can’t,” Fenton proclaimed. “You did something. It’s a trick.”

            “No trick. Now, what was it? A wee papercut? Hit your thumb with a hammer?” Scrooge asked, enjoying his employee’s bafflement.

            “The—the soldering iron, it was over a thousand degrees. I know it touched me. I saw it,” Fenton said, his eyes wide.

            “A thousand degrees?!” Scrooge shouted, no longer amused. He reached across his desk and grabbed his phone. Only Scrooge McDuck, the richest duck in the world, would still have a rotary dial in his office. His finger circled the rotary as he dialed the number.

            “I should be in the hospital. Definitely second degree burns,” Fenton said, collapsing in a seat, still staring at his arm.

            The number Scrooge dialed picked up.

            Mrs. Beakley shouted, “I can’t talk. We have an emergency. Keep her under the cold water.” There were other voices in the background.

            “I know,” Scrooge said, worried. “How bad is it? Is she alright?”

            “It’s definitely a second degree, but I won’t know how severe until I take a better look,” Mrs. Beakley said, her voice hard. “I’m guessing we have our forth gentleman to thank for that. What caused it?”

            “A soldering iron.”

            Mrs. Beakley cursed under her breath. “That should make a believer out of him,” she said, anger in her voice.

            “Aye, that it will,” Scrooge said, looking at the deflated Fenton. “How about the Starling situation? Any progress, 22?”

            “The mission was a success. We have him in custody, although I’m worried about the condition of his mind.”

            “As long as it doesn’t spread to Charity, then it’s a problem for another time. How soon can you get to Ducksburg?”

            “I’m afraid we’ll be staying the night, especially if we need to take Charity to the hospital.”

            “You do what needs to be done, 22.”

            “Have we found anything about her curse? Anything?”

            “I popped my head in to check on Huey and Webbigail,” Scrooge said, a wry grin on his beak. “Apparently, they’ve been up for thirty-six hours researching in the library and that Internet-thingy. I think they may have found something, but they were speaking some sort of Babylonian version of pig-latin that I couldn’t make heads or tails out of. I sent them to bed. We’ll find out in the morning.”

            He could hear Mrs. Beakley’s smile. “Those children are a wonder.”
            “Aren’t they? Oh, and how is Dewey? He didn’t give you too much trouble, did he?” Scrooge asked.

            “He’s fine, but a little worse for wear. Starling took both him and Charity hostage. I think this taught him an important lesson in caution.”

            Scrooge wanted to hear the whole story, but there would be time for that later. Mrs. Beakley’s medical advice would be needed, and he had to talk to Fenton.

            “See you tomorrow, 22.” Scrooge set the phone back in the cradle and set his sights on Fenton. The scientist looked expectantly back as if he needed answers. “So, have you come to terms with this curse?”

            “The foundations of my most sacred of beliefs have been shaken. I don’t think ‘coming to terms with it’ adequately sums up the situation,” Fenton said, shaking his head. “How’s the girl? Is she okay?”

            “Mrs. Beakley is a highly trained professional. She’s bandaged me up several times, and I’m still walking around,” Scrooge said confidently. “Charity is in good hands. You’ll get to meet her tomorrow.”

            “Tomorrow?” Fenton’s pupils shrank, looking nervous. “I don’t know about it. Perhaps the best thing would be to keep her away from me. If I can hurt her—“

            “It doesn’t matter where you go. You could be on another planet, and she would still feel everything.”

            “But we can fix this?” Fenton asked eagerly. “You said that you were trying to break the curse. How? What do we need to do?”

            “Eh…that’s where things get complicated. The curse is so old, we haven’t been able to find any records about it,” Scrooge said. “We’re still working. Why don’t you come by the mansion tomorrow? We’ll have more information then, and you can meet everyone.”

            Fenton remembered something about how there were more involved with the curse, not just him and this girl. He nodded slowly, staring off into space as he stood up.

            “Oh, and Fenton,” Scrooge called before he left.

            Fenton poked his head back in.

            “If it makes you feel better, just think of it as very, very, very, very, very advanced science that we don’t know how it works,” Scrooge said with a smile.

            Fenton nodded more readily. He could work with that.

***

            Charity didn’t remember being carried into the bathroom. After the intense pain, she had fallen in a half-passed-out state, her senses dulled except for the burning of her arm. Her next conscious moments were of laying spread on the bathroom counter and her arm slumped in the sink, soothing water diminishing the agony her nerves were suffering. A body pressed against her, preventing her from falling off onto the floor. She heard voices shouting.

            “Keep her under the cold water,” Mrs. Beakley ordered, then kept talking in the distance.

            “What was that?” Darkwing…no, Drake called out. “What happened? Did something happen to Starling?”

            “No, he’s safe with Uncle Donald where Mrs. Beakley put them in the corner,” Dewey said, standing in the doorway, eyes wide. Then he whispered, “And I don’t think it was Launchpad.”

            “Then who? There’s a fourth, isn’t there?” Drake demanded. “Who is it?”

            Dewey shook his head. “This is totally not on me,” he said, running away.

            Aware of what was being said, Charity turned her head. “It’s Gizmoduck. He’s the last one.”

            “Gizmoduck?! Of all the…” Drake shouted, his jaw clenched.

            Charity shifted on the counter clumsily, trying to keep her arm under the running, cool water while sitting up. Through the water, she took a look at the burn, seeing charred feathers but the flesh remained mottle shades of red. No black flesh. That was a good sign. Only second-degree burns. She cautiously put her other hand in the water, feeling around the wound, pulling out feathers that were charred and might stick to the burn. Taking her arm out of the water, she could tell there would be a few blisters, but it could have been worse.

            As the pain returned, she put her arm back in the sink.

            “Back in the car,” Mrs. Beakley said, appearing at the bathroom door. “We’re taking you to the hospital.”

            “No. I don’t need to go,” Charity insisted.

            “After all your injuries, you should be checked out by a doctor,” Mrs. Beakley insisted.

            The way Drake shifted his feet, he seemed to agree with Mrs. Beakley.

            “I just need some pain killers, anti-bacterial spray, burn cream, gauze, and lots and lots of Gatorade to keep me hydrated. Oh, and a hamburger, fries and a shake. Burns take a lot of calories,” Charity quickly rattled off.

            “Ah…you obviously know a lot about burns,” Mrs. Beakley said, surprised.

            “My mom fell in love with a fire-fighter when he pulled her out of her car during an accident,” Charity explained stoically. “He didn’t retire until I was sixteen. I’ve helped treat a lot of burns.”

            “And your other injuries?” Mrs. Beakley asked.

            “Superficial, although I’m going to need a really long shower, lots of soap, and antibiotic ointment. I am not going to die of sewer infections,” Charity said dryly.

            Mrs. Beakley left then returned with a small brief case. When she opened it, there was an assortment of medical supplies beyond what was in the average first aid kit. She picked up a packaged syringe, tore it open, and filled it from a small bottle of liquid.

            “What is that?” Charity asked.

            “Morphine,” Mrs. Beakley said, tapping the bubbles out of the syringe.

            “Mrs. Beakley, were you holding out on me all this time?” Charity said with a grin.

            “I’m assuming you’re not allergic.” Mrs. Beakley held the shot, ready to use.

            “I’ve had it enough that I know what I’m getting into.” Charity held out her arm, dripping cold water.

            Mrs. Beakley dried her arm and wiped a spot near the burn with a sterilizing wipe before pressing the hollow needle into Charity’s flesh.

            The drug worked quickly, but still Charity put her arm back under the cold water. She knew that even if the pain went away, the heat of the burn was still there, and she needed to prevent more of her arm from being damaged.

            “Clean yourself up, and then I’ll treat your other injuries,” Mrs. Beakley said, closing her kit. She arched an eyebrow at Drake. “Mr. Darkwing, could you find something appropriate for Charity to wear?”
            Drake looked down at Charity, mouthing the word “Appropriate,” before smiling softly. He tucked back a strand of her hair before leaving.

            Alone, Charity closed the door before preparing to shower. She pealed out of her filthy, crusty pants and Drake’s shirt. She looked at her underwear. She doubted that Drake had panties and a bra she could borrow—that would be awkward on many levels if he did. Getting a handful of soap, she scrubbed her dainties in the sink, wrung them out and placed them on the bathroom vent, hoping that the air would dry them enough to wear.

            She sighed as she turned on the shower. She contemplated her options. A hot shower would exacerbate her burn. A cold shower might make her slip into shock.

            Taking a middle ground, she adjusted the shower to pour out warm water, not hot enough to be comfortable but not cold enough to make her shiver. She scrubbed and scrubbed at her feathers until the sewer gunk sank down the drain and her feathers returned to their beautiful blue and white. She shampooed her hair until it felt no longer oily and gritty, which took three rinses.

            Her body shivered and shook, showing signs of stress and shock. The sooner she could get warm and her feet up, the better.

            She toweled off quickly, fluffing up her hair and feathers until they poofed out way too much. Glancing in the mirror, she winced. Between the bruises and other injuries, her snarled hair and unkempt feathers, she looked like she belonged on the worst side of a losing team.

            On the counter was a folded set of clothing, probably set inside by Mrs. Beakley while Charity was showering. These looked to be more like men’s pajamas, silky and dark purple, the same shade as Darkwing Duck’s costume. She smirked, knowing that this was a quip about her choice of “pajamas” the night before. She put on her damp underwear and then the pajamas, neither one warm enough to stop her from shivering.

            As Charity walked out of the bathroom, a voice shouted, “I’m next,” and a blur of blue and white shot passed her and slammed the door almost on her tail feathers. Walking with her hands on the waistband of her pants so they didn’t fall down, she went into the living room and collapsed onto the couch. The blanket that Launchpad had used last night was still there, so she wrapped it around herself. Even then, she trembled.

            “Shock?” Mrs. Beakley asked.

            “A little,” Charity said, huddling. “After all this time, my body still gets shocked about these things.” She laughed bitterly.

            Mrs, Beakley pulled out her medical bag and used stinging anti-septic to bath each open sore including the stitched gun wound before bandaging the open wounds, leaving the burn untouched.

            Charity took the treatment without a word and kept still. When Mrs. Beakley finished, she pulled out a bag of liquid, snapping something inside it and shook it.

            “Lie down and keep warm,” Mrs. Beakley ordered, handing her the bag.

            Charity was surprised that the bag was now hot and hard, cradling it in her hands before slipping it next to her feet. The heat soothed her trembling body. A combination of the warm blanket, the drugs, and knowing she was safe was enough to send her to sleep. Unconscious and peaceful, she was unaware of a hand running down her check then tucking her bandaged hands under the blanket.

***

            Drake was reluctant to wake Charity.

            Mrs. Beakley had showered and went into town to get food and the medical supplies the lovebird needed. The smell of burgers and fries competed with the stench of sewer that lingered even after everyone had cleaned up and changed. And since nobody was willing to scrub down Donald and Starling, they just had to throw up all the windows and let the breeze do the work.

            “Maybe we should let her sleep,” Drake said, playing with one of her curls.

            “Charity wasn’t kidding when she said burns take a lot of calories to heal,” Mrs. Beakley said. “She needs to rehydrate and eat.”

            Drake shook Charity’s shoulder. She opened her eyes and gave him such a sweet, sleepy smile; he wished he could pause that moment.

            “Hi,” she said softly.

            “Hey,” he said back, rubbing her shoulder. “We have food.”

            The moment was gone. She sat bolt up, eyes wide, looking like a starving wolf. She practically hopped over the couch to reach for the food.

            “Liquids first,” Mrs. Beakley said, shoving a bottle of Gatorade into Charity’s hands.

            Charity complied, drinking the whole thing in seconds as the food was divvied out, in which she fell upon her burger and fries in a fury. Even as Mrs. Beakley wrapped her burn with gauze, she was wolfing down the greasy food.

            “I’ve seen better manners from the boys,” Mrs. Beakley sniffed.

            They stood around the counter, more watching Charity scarf down her food rather than eat. Only Launchpad consumed his portions faster. They were an informal group, all but Mrs. Beakley wearing Drake’s clothing, Dewey drowning in a T-shirt, and Launchpad looking like an over-grown boy wearing clothing that was too small for him.

            “Feeling better, my dear?” Mrs. Beakley asked, daintily eating a fry.

            Charity opened another Gatorade. “Yes, lots.” She drained the bottle. “When are we flying back?”

            “Tomorrow morning,” Mrs. Beakley said.

            “Why not go now?” Charity asked.

            Drake frowned. “Are you sure you’re feeling up to it? You don’t want to get a good night’s sleep first?”

            Charity shook her head. “I can sleep as well on the plane as I can here. Besides, you don’t have enough room for all of us.”

            “It would be better if we could go tonight,” Mrs. Beakley said, looking at her phone. “We’ll be getting home late, but Mr. McDuck will be happy that we’ll be back in time for the meeting.”

            “What meeting?” Dewey asked through a mouthful of food.

            “Huey and Webby may have found something about the curse. And now that Gizmoduck is on board, our team is complete,” Mrs. Beakley said.

            Drake snorted, feeling his mood darken at the name of the mechanical super hero.

            “We’re going to meet Gizmoduck tomorrow?” Charity asked eagerly. The look in her eye was the same as when she looked at him.

            He knew he shouldn’t be bothered by it. After all, she gazed up at Launchpad with that same expression. And he had seen for a few moments how much it pained her that Starling treated her the way he did; it was the look of someone betrayed by one they loved.

            But Gizmoduck?! What did she see in him? It’s not like he had to work to be a super hero, spending hours and hours patrolling the city, risking life and limb to save people. Without his armor, without those gizmos that Gyro invented, he would be nothing. There was no skill or pizzazz being Gizmoduck. He didn’t even have a cool catch phrase.

            “I heard that it took Gizmoduck a few days for him to accept Mr. McDuck’s words,” Mrs. Beakley said conversationally. “Unfortunately, it took that little accident to convince him.” She nodded to Charity’s arm.

            Charity’s fingers hovered over the burn.

            “What happened? Did he forget a piece of his armor on the job?” Drake asked, derisively.

            “Accidents happen,” Mrs. Beakley said, frowning at Drake. “Mr. Cr—I mean, Gizmoduck isn’t always in costume, much like yourself.”

            Drake grunted, realizing he was squashing his hamburger, ketchup oozing out onto his shirt. He roughly grabbed some napkins to clean himself up.

            “This is going to be great,” Launchpad said happily. “Darkwing Duck and Gizmoduck are going to team up once again.”

            “You mean they teamed up before?” Charity gasped, looking excited. “And I missed it?”

            “We never teamed up!” Drake protested, his voice rising higher.

            “Sure you did. During the moon invasion,” Dewey countered.

            “That wasn’t a team-up,” Drake insisted. “That was a…a…It wasn’t a team-up!”

            “This time, the team-up is going to be way cooler,” Launchpad insisted.

            “They would be an unstoppable team,” Charity added, catching Launchpad’s excitement. “We need to write them a team-up theme song.”

            “I’m great with lyrics,” Launchpad said, tapping out a rhythm on the counter. He started humming some notes. “Best team-up in history, Champions of right.”

            Recognizing the Darkwing Duck theme song, Charity picked it up. “One rolls out on rocket wheels. The other owns the night.”

            Dewey joined in, beep-boping.

            “Somewhere some villain schemes. But his number’s up,” both Launchpad and Charity sang.

            Mrs. Beakley tapped her foot in rhythm. Only Drake wasn’t joining in, leaning his chin on his hands.

            “3-2-1. Gizmoduck.”

            “And Darkwing,” Launchpad added off rhythm.

            Charity sang higher, “When there’s a crime spree, you call GD.”

            Launchpad jumped in, lower in tone, “Let’s get—“

            Drake grabbed Launchpad’s beak. “Nope. You two are not allowed to ruin anymore of that song.”

            Charity grinned sneakily. “You’re just jealous of our awesome lyrics.”

            “They’re making me lose my appetite,” Drake said with a sardonic smile. He pushed away his burger. “I’m going to go pack.” He lumbered off toward his bedroom.

            “Uh-oh, I think you hit a nerve,” Dewey said.

            Charity shrank back a little. “Did I miss something?” she asked, looking around.

            Launchpad and Dewey shrugged.

            Mrs. Beakley eyed where Drake disappeared. “Don’t mind him, dearie. It’s been a long day for all of us. Come now, eat up. Leave no leftovers.”

            Launchpad, to obey Mrs. Beakley, reached for Drake’s untouched fries. Charity, seeing what he was doing, snatched at the container.

            “Hey, I was going to eat those,” Launchpad protested.

            “I’m healing,” Charity said, shoving some in her mouth.

            “And I have to fly the plane. You wouldn’t want me to faint with hunger,” Launchpad said with a grin, grabbing some of the fried potatoes from her.

            “If you did, maybe we won’t crash,” Charity teased, but gave up half the fries. She did, however, eye the half-eaten burger. Would it be too gross if she ate it? Was she that desperate?

            “Here. Take mine,” Mrs. Beakley said, offering the remainder of her fries. As the three diners finished eating, she glanced back where Drake had disappeared, wondering if he was going to be a problem. As a spy back in the 60s, she had had her share of male egos and hoped this wouldn’t be one of those cases.

***

            The next morning, Scrooge was up with the dawn as always. Although he was surprised by the sound of his airplane coming in late last night, he awoke with an eagerness to get things underway.

            First, he checked up on the kids. When he poked his head into Webby’s room, the girl was gone. On further inspection, so was Huey, although his brothers still snoozed. After a quick exploration of the mansion, he found the two kids in the library. Last night, they had been a wreck of woozy scholars, but after a proper night’s sleep, they looked to be at the top of their game.

            “Good morning, kids,” he greeted. “Back to the grind stone? I hope that isn’t a bad sign.”

            Huey looked concerned. “Well, we didn’t exactly find the curse or any mention of it…”

            Webby broke in. “But we have some really good information, including some suggestions about how to break the curse, and if those don’t work, where we can go to find more information.”

            “That’s at least something,” Scrooge said, although he didn’t feel reassured. “Good job, kids. Have you had any breakfast?”

            When they said they hadn’t, Scrooge made them come with him downstairs for something to eat. They supped together on a healthy, warm breakfast prepared by Mrs. Beakley. Despite her late night, she had been up early as usual. As the three were finishing their meal, the door to the dining room opened, and Charity and Launchpad came in.

            “Morning, everybody,” Launchpad greeted, sitting down.

            Charity sat next to him. As Mrs. Beakley cleared away dirty dishes and set down another pot of tea, Charity asked, “Where did the clothes in my room come from? They’re my old clothes from my house.”

            “Oh, that,” Scrooge said, folding his newspaper. “Your step-father dropped by with a couple of bags with your things in them. He wanted you to know that you shouldn’t worry about your family. You do what you’ve got to do.”

            Charity smiled. “What about my mom?”
            Giving her a sad look, Scrooge replied, “Sorry, lass. She wasn’t with him. I don’t think you’ve met Mrs. Beakley’s grand-daughter, Webbigail.”

            Webby jumped in head-first with her greeting. “It is such a pleasure to meet someone whose family has had such a long, proactive curse on them,” the young girl said, taking Charity’s hand and shaking it.

            “Thanks?” Charity said uncertainly.

            “These two are my research team. They’re turning all the rocks and checking each corner of the magical world for any information on your curse,” Scrooge explained.

            Charity’s eyes widened, mostly because of how young they were. “Uh, thank you for your help. I’m very grateful. Have you found anything?”

            Webby nodded and Huey gave a so-so gesture that wasn’t too reassuring.

            “Save it all, kids. I don’t want you to have to repeat yourselves, so let’s make sure everyone is here,” Scrooge insisted.

            “Donald and Starling won’t wake until this afternoon,” Mrs. Beakley informed her employer.

            Scrooge grumbled about that. “Maybe we’ll not wait for them.”

            After that, Scrooge left the youngsters to head downstairs into the basement. Taking out his keys, he unlocked a great, iron door and opened it. Inside, the room was divided into two sections, a wall of iron bars running through the middle. Inside was a cot where a duck lay, still asleep, and would be for a few hours longer. Last night, at his insistence, Scrooge had Mrs. Beakley scrub the fellow down with soapy water and dry him in front of the fire since she refused to change his clothing. But at least he no longer stank.

            As far as Scrooge could see, the man was still asleep. It was hard to believe that someone could have sunken into such a craze in just a matter of months. It reminded him how obsession was just a small step away from insanity. He knew this from experience.

            Scrooge shook his head. Charity had her hands full enough with Launchpad and two super heroes. Just what would she have to go through while carry the problems of this lunatic.

            Just then, Ducksworth floated through the ceiling, looking as high-nosed and dignified as ever. “A Mr. Crackshell-Cabrera has arrived. He’s waiting in the drawing room,” the ghost butler announced.

            “Thank you, Ducksworth,” Scrooge said, turning his back on the villain, unaware that as he closed the door, the body on the cot stirred.

            Inside the drawing room, Fenton sat on an antique couch, fidgeting with a dufflebag on his lap. It was hard to imagine that the whole of Gizmoduck could fit in such a small space. Gyro tried to explain it once, something about a quantum hole, bigger on the inside, science stuff, but Scrooge had ignored it all. He paid the scientist to invent not lecture.

            “Mr. McDuck,” Fenton said, standing up. His features were nervous and determined, like an employee who was about to ask their boss for a raise.

            “What is it?” Scrooge asked skeptically.

            “I just wanted to say, before anything else, before I meet anyone, there is one request I have,” Fenton said.

            “You’re not getting a raise,” Scrooge snapped.

            “No, that’s not it. And you don’t even pay me,” Fenton protested. “Understand that I still have my reservations about magic. There is a possibility that this ‘curse’ really is science that we don’t understand, and as a scientist, I demand that I be given a chance to study it before we go any further.”

            “You what?”

            “I want to conduct a few experiments,” Fenton summarized. Before Scrooge could protest, he opened a binder and explained, “All the experiments I have in mind are completely painless and non-invasive, well, except that I’d like to draw some blood. As you can see, I’ve made an outline of theories and hypotheses about the biologi—“
            Scrooge adjusted his glasses and scanned the material, only half listening to the spill. “What’s this going to cost me?”

            “Nothing. In addition to the experiments, I will also give this girl a complete medical checkup, perhaps with my analysis, I can find a way to break the ‘curse’ or at least make her more comfortable.” Fenton’s eyes softened. “I can at least treat her burn. I have been experimenting in the medical field.”

            “Since when?” Scrooge asked, not remembering that in Fenton’s credentials.

            “Since last night,” Fenton answered. “But I’m a quick study. As you know, chemical compounds, which I wrote in my thesis paper, can be—“

            “Some of these tests don’t sound painless or non-invasive,” Scrooge interrupted, tapping the paper. “In fact, this one can’t be legal.”

            “I assure you it is,” Fenton contradicted. “Thanks to Gizmoduck.”

            “Say what?”

            “I’ve upgraded a new feature of Gizmoduck’s. It makes it so I can use the technology in his visor without completely armoring up,” Fenton explained, pointing to his eye. “With the help of micro technology, I’ve created contact lenses that work the same way. And with the new updated software, I can scan anyone with x-rays, ultraviolet or even on a microscopic level.” He ran his eye up and down Scrooge. “My software has indicated that you are suffering from rheumatism and that you are low on iron, vitamin C and magnesium.”

            Scrooge crossed his body with his arms, feeling very violated. “Stop that,” he snapped. “Alright, you can do your experiment…thingy. Just don’t do that to me again.”

            “Great,” Fenton said, his face lighting up. “I promise that I will come up with something in my results. However, a lot of my experiments will be pointless if the girl knows that I’m Gizmoduck.”

            “Aye, I saw that. Don’t worry, she doesn’t know a thing about you,” Scrooge said, pushing the binder back to Fenton. “I’m giving you until this afternoon. Don’t make me regret it.”

            “Thank you, Mr. McDuck,” Fenton said, smiling.

            “So, are you ready to meet her?” Scrooge asked.

            Fenton took a few deep breaths before nodding, his eyes set in determination. “Lead the way.”

            They went to the dining room, and Scrooge opened the double doors and walked in confidently. Huey and Webby had vanished, but Charity and Launchpad were still there    Fenton, on the other hand, took one look inside and dropped to the floor as if he had heard gunfire.

            Scrooge, sensing he wasn’t being followed, glanced down and frowned as he watch Fenton scuttle away on the floor. “What now?” he growled, leaving the room. “Just a second. I forgot something,” he told his company.

            Finding Fenton pressing his back against the wall and looking horrified, Scrooge asked, “What is it, lad? What’s got you frazzled?”

            “You said she was a girl,” Fenton said with wide eyes.

            “Aye, she is.”

            “That’s not a girl. That’s a-a-a woman,” Fenton said, gesturing wildly.

            Scrooge rolled his eyes.

            “Oh, right. You’re old,” Fenton said, taking another peak inside the room. He blinked and scrutinized the lovebird sitting next to Launchpad. “I think I know her.”

            “Oh, do you?” Scrooge asked, looking at his watch.

            “Yeah, I met her in a restaurant a few days ago,” Fenton said, recognizing her feather colors and curly hair. “What was her name again?”

            “Charity.”

            The name tickled his memory. “Yeah, I’m sure that was her.” He also remembered how he had asked for her number and that she had taken his business card. Would she remember him?

            “Now are you ready to meet her?” Scrooge asked, tapping his foot.

            “Yes,” Fenton said, uncertainly. “No, I changed my mind. I need a moment.”

            “Too late,” Scrooge said, hooking the duck’s collar with his cane before Fenton could escape, dragging him into the dining room. “Alright, Charity. Let me introduce you to Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera. He works for me.”

            Fenton waved shyly. “Hi.” His eyes fell on the lovebird, who was watching him with polite interest.

            “Crackshell-Cabrera?” a male voice asked. One of the chairs with their backs to Fenton scooted away from the table, presenting Darkwing Duck. Somehow Scrooge didn’t see him there. “I’ve heard of you. You worked on some of my gadget with Gyro.”

            Fenton smiled, glad to talk shop with anyone. “Well, actually I worked on all of your gadgets. Gyro felt it was beneath him to invent such simple tools and devices, although I found it kind of fun. It was interesting to take the concepts from a TV show and apply them to real life, although, I have to say that it was a challenge to make them realistic and safe. The writers for the Darkwing Duck show hadn’t grasped the concepts of physics.”

            “Fenton, here, is one of the creators of Gizmoduck,” Scrooge said.

            “You worked on Gizmoduck?” Charity asked, her beak split in a smile.

            “Well, mostly on maintenance and upgrades,” Fenton said. He felt confident in his words until he turned to look at the lovebird. The intensity of her gaze startled him. Was this all due to the curse?

            “Oh, that guy,” Darkwing Duck said, folding his arms. “I’m sure that once he saw all of my gadgets, he needed to upgrade his bag of tricks.”

            “Not really,” Fenton said, turning back to Darkwing, although he kept stealing glances back at Charity. “Gizmoduck has no need for such tools. While I can see that someone like you who isn’t weighed down with indestructible armor would find them useful, grappling hooks and smoke bombs aren’t necessary. However, I am thinking of adding a system of drones to help as backup, you know, to let him see all angles of the situation.”

            “Drones? That would be awesome,” Launchpad said. “Like on Star Wars! Beep bo, boop beep.”

            “I think he’s talking about the small helicopter devices with cameras,” Charity corrected him, getting into the excitement. “With an army of drones, nobody would be able to sneak up on Gizmoduck. And they would be useful in situations where there are hostages. He could look inside buildings and asses the landscape to prevent casualties.”

            “Exactly,” Fenton said, getting into the discussion. “The applications of using drones is infinite. It would allow Gizmoduck to have eyes in multiple places.”

            “Say, that doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” Darkwing said, rubbing his chin. “Perhaps you could hook me up with some of those babies.”

            “That would be awesome,” Launchpad broke in. “Little DW copters.”

            “And the drones would have night vision,” Charity suggested.

            Fenton looked skeptical. “Well, that would be possible, but the biggest problem with the drones is that it might be too much of a distraction for you, Darkwing Duck.”

            “Say what?”

            “With Gizmoduck, most of his systems are conducted through m—his brain. It requires a lot of concentration to keep the drones stable, not to mention monitoring the cameras. Unless you want to wear a computerized helmet like Gizmoduck, I’m afraid it would be impossible for you to control more than one drone at a time.”

            Darkwing Duck grumbled, which Fenton didn’t seem to notice. He was intrigued by the idea of using night vision in the drones as Charity suggested.

            “Not that I really needed drones,” Darkwing said. “Technology isn’t as good as a cunning mind and a keen eye.

            “What about artificial intelligence?” Charity asked, not wanting to drop the concept.

            Fenton replied, “I had thought about it, but Gyro’s robots are just too unpredictable. Most of the time, they turn evil.”

            Charity frowned. “Yeah, that’s… a big problem. You wouldn’t want to fall into that sci-fi cliché of an evil artificial intelligence corrupting Gizmoduck’s systems.”

            Fenton’s eyes widened. “That’s actually a cliché? Gee, and here I thought it only happened to Gyro. I was more thinking along the lines of a specific program to keep the drones in a close proximity to Gizmoduck. With a complex algorithm and lasered sensors, they could follow simple commands. No artificial intelligence needed.”

            “Is that difficult?” Charity asked.

            “It would be based on the same principal and software that several other companies have been using designing a smart car. There’s already technology like that on the market; for instance, the cars that can back up and park themselves.”

            “Would it be more difficult since drones move in the third dimension?”

            “There would be more coding, but it shouldn’t be more difficult than a two-dimension traveling device,” Fenton went on.

            “How much can a drone carry?” Charity asked, a twinkle in her eye. “Because they could be utilitzed as extra weapons to back up Gizmoduck.”

            Fenton grinned. “I never thought of that. Let’s see.” He pulled his phone, typing out an equation. “A pie weighs about dat-dat-dat and take in the size of a drone. I would have to build them sturdier, which would mean a larger battery, and then larger propellers…”

            Darkwing Duck jumped in, waving a hand between the two, board and a little irritated by all this science talk. “Yeah, yeah. Science. But may I ask why are you here?”

            Fenton looked up from his phone, looking blankly at the masked hero as his brains switched gears. “Oh, I forgot. Gizmoduck couldn’t be here. He wanted me to meet everyone and help out.”

            “And what are your qualifications?” Darkwing demanded, poking Fenton in the chest.

            The scientist, if he caught on to Darkwing’s iciness, he didn’t let it show. “I think a scientific mind looking over the situation would add a fresh view to the problem.” He turned to Charity. “I’m assuming you’re the…um…carrier of the curse.” He held out his hand.

            Charity shook it. “Yeah, although you make it sound like a disease…which is passed down through the people of my family, so that description is fairly accurate.” She smiled, then looked at him curiously. “You look familiar. Do we know each other?”
            Fenton smiled, feeling his heart jump a little. She did recognize him, at least a little. “Kind of. We met in the restaurant.”

            Charity’s eyes widened, smiling brightly. “That’s right. I still have you’re card.” She reached into her back pocket and showed him, although it was a little dirty. “I guess I don’t have to call you now.”

            She kept it, Fenton thought, feeling light.

            Scrooge, also tired of all this science talk, cleared his throat. “Fenton believes that he may be able to help us break your curse, Charity.”

            The elderly duck’s words forced Fenton to look away, not realizing he had been staring until that moment. “What? Oh, yes. I would like to conduct a few experiments to see if the magic that is upon Charity can be measured or in any way defined within the parameters of science. I think that the results can only benefit us in finding a way to cure her.”

            “Experiments?” Darkwing repeated, stepping between Fenton and Charity. “Oh, no. She’s not going to get poked and prodded and run through mazes. She’s been through enough. Especially not with someone who works for that metal-head.”

            “I don’t work for Gizmoduck,” Fenton said, although it was quite possibly accurate.

            “And why isn’t he here. After what he’s done to Charity, he should have at least shown his face,” Darkwing ranted, his dark aura oozing off him.

            Charity touched the gauze wrap around her arm, and Fenton mentally slapped himself for forgetting about it. He suddenly felt even more nervous around Charity, wondering what she thought of him…or rather Gizmoduck. She must be angry at him for causing her so much pain. Why wouldn’t she be?

            He looked into her face. “Gizmoduck couldn’t meet you at this time, but he told me to tell you that he is sorry. For everything. He has committed to doing everything he can do to help you,” Fenton told her sincerely, hoping that it would be enough for right now.

            “Uh-huh, right. Everything he can,” Darkwing added sarcastically. “If he wanted to help, then he would be here.”

            “Stop it, Darkwing,” Charity snapped, surprising everyone around her. “I blame Gizmoduck just as much as I blame you.”

            Darkwing Duck hung his head, looking both shamed and hurt.

            “If Gizmoduck thinks that this is best, then I’ll do it,” Charity committed. “It couldn’t hurt to gather as much information as we can.” She was glad to finally have something that she could do to help.

            “Then I’m coming with you,” Darkwing said, stepping next to her, his presence possessive.

            Fenton smiled, glad for the volunteer. “That’s perfect. I needed someone on the other side of the curse. Well, shall we get started?”

            Charity nodded, and Darkwing folded his arms, looking as bullish as a bull.

            “Great. Let’s go to my lab. Mr. McDuck, could we borrow a car?”

            “I’m driving!” Launchpad announced, eating the last of his breakfast in one giant gulp, washing it down with what was left in the coffee pot before jumping over the table.

            Charity’s eyes brightened. “Is it the same lab where Gizmoduck was built?” she asked, falling in time with Fenton’s footsteps.

            “Of course,” Fenton said. “Gyro and I keep adding upgrades to Gizmoduck’s design, making him better and better.”

            “What kind of upgrades?” Charity said, looking ecstatic. “Come on, give me the scoop. What’s new with Gizmoduck?”

            Not for the first time, Fenton felt the panging jealousy for his alter ego. Why couldn’t someone be as interested in him as Charity seemed to be in Gizmoduck? Well, at least she wasn’t a spy trying to steal his technology. Again.

            “Mostly it’s just getting the bugs out of the system,” Fenton explained as they left the manor and waited for Launchpad to bring the car around. “There’s a lot of software inside Gizmoduck, millions and millions of lines of coding and not all of it is perfect. Because of that, I often upgrade Gizmoduck a few times a week.”

            “That doesn’t sound very safe,” Darkwing commented with a frown. “No upgrades needed with these babies.” He flexed his arms, looking disappointed when Charity only chuckled at him.

            “Well, I suppose it does sound a little reckless, but I assure you that even if there are flaws in Gizmoduck’s armor, the person inside is well-equipped to handle anything. Gyro and I have put safety first in making Gizmoduck,” Fenton continued, looking pleased.

            “The person… What’s he like?” Charity asked, looking eager for any information.

            Fenton felt his heart rate increase. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been asked that question before. Whenever a news reporter cornered him after a rescue, that had been a common question he was asked. Viewers wanted to know more about the duck behind the helmet. But never had he come across the question in such a loving way, the lovebird’s face so bright and flushed.

            “Uh…” Fenton was at a loss for words. What was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to describe himself? “He’s...smart? And…kind.” His mind shouted at him stupid, stupid, stupid.

            Charity smiled, misinterpreting his lack of elocution. “He’s supposed to remain a mystery, huh?”

            Fenton just nodded.

            At that time, Launchpad came around with Scrooge’s limo, and they all got in. After a short and nerve-wracking drive through Ducksburg, they arrived at Scrooge’s money bin, taking the elevator down to the basement level where the science lab lay.

            “Wow,” Charity breathed, taking in everything including the glass windows that showed the ocean, watching a school of fish swim together, shimmering. “Do you like working here?”

            “It was a dream of mine to help others with science,” Fenton said, smiling as she explored the lab, taking everything in like a child going to the zoo.

            “Yes, very impressive,” Darkwing said, his tone not matching his words. “So, I was wondering if you had something in a kind of airplane/helicopter design that I could use. Maybe something dark and sinister that doesn’t make any sound at all, something that when villains see it crossing the moon like a shadow that they would quake in fear.”

            Fenton considered this. “I don’t think so. Mr. McDuck mainly wants us to work on things that would make him money, although, it would be revolutionary for the transportation industry to create a hovercraft.”

            “Hovercraft! Yes. That does sound cool,” Darkwing said, rubbing his hands together.

            “It would save a lot on money considering no tires would be needed, and weather conditions such as rain and snow wouldn’t deter it, so that would be an added safety feature.”

            “Yes, but sinister as well. Maybe have a sleek, shadowy design,” Darkwing Duck suggested.

            “Well, for your particular model, that wouldn’t be a problem,” Fenton said. “But right now I’m not really at liberty to pursue my own interests. I’m really Gyro’s intern, and he didn’t like the idea of making gadgets for you. He called them ‘toys’.”

            “What?”
            “I know. I mean, they’re really simple to make and easy to design, but they could be useful in other careers. Can you imagine how many lives could be saved if the grappling hook was safer and more accessible for everyone? If they were trapped in a burning building, they could repel down easily with one.”

            “Yeah, I can see that. And there are so many ways smoke bombs could—What do you mean ‘if the grappling hook was safer’?”

            “That’s why Mr. McDuck signed off giving you whatever you wanted,” Fenton explained. “You’re beta testing, right?”

            “Uh…yes?”

            “You didn’t read the fine print.”

            “Fine print?”

            Fenton sighed. “You’re new to working with Scrooge. Here’s a tip. Always read the fine print. Make sure there isn’t any on the back of the contract, check every inch of paper, even in a folded corner.”

            Darkwing glanced around worriedly. Maybe I should have hired a lawyer…

            “Okay, so what do we do first?” Charity asked, done with her tour.

            “Right,” Fenton said, motioning for Gyro’s other assistant. “Charity, this is Manny.”

            “Is he…?”

            “I’m not sure what he is. I’m going to need you to wait right here for a few minutes while I take Darkwing and Manny somewhere else,” Fenton said.

            “That didn’t sound ominous,” Charity said with a smirk, taking a seat on a stool with wheels. She watched as the two ducks and the strange creature with a stone head that looked like Mr. McDuck took the elevator.

            With nothing to do, she set about spinning around the chair. The lab was impressive, but she had been a bit disappointed. She didn’t see anything about Gizmoduck, nothing at all. But she assured herself, perhaps he was off saving the day somewhere. As her mother said, Ducksburg wasn’t the city it was before. Having seen the news, if there was a city that needed a mechanical super hero, it was Ducksburg.

            “Fenton, where are you?”

            Charity stopped her spinning as a severe-looking male bird marched passed her, looking around. Then his eyes fell on her, and she shrank away from his glare.

            “What are you doing here?”

            “I’m waiting for Fenton,” she said, pointing to the elevator. The man’s expression made her nervous. “He said to wait here for him.”

            “Fenton brought you down here?” the guy asked, looking at her with a suspicious eye.

            “Yeah.”

            He looked her up and down before nodding. “You’re here for the experiments?”

            With a sigh and a nervous laugh, Charity nodded. “That I am.”

            “It’s about time he did something right,” the man grumbled, grabbing Charity’s wrist and pulling her off the stool. He led her into another room where there was a metal chair hooked up to several wires and tubes. He gestured for Charity to sit.

            The lovebird did so tentatively, looking at the complex machine in dismay.

            The man grabbed a clipboard, taking a pen out of his pocket. He spoke as if reading from a script badly. “Hello, my name is Gyro, and welcome to the science team of McDuck Industry. I hope you are well.”

            Before Charity could answer, Gyro continued reciting.

            “To make sure we comply with all science regulations and rules, please answer all questions honestly. Does your family have a history of epilepsy?”

            “No,” Charity answered, innocently believing these questions to be necessary.

            “Heart disease?”

            “No.”

            “Cancer.”

            “No.”

            “Mental illness?”

            “No.” This was sounding more and more like going on a doctor’s visit. While these questions were familiar to her, she wondered how they were necessary to learning about her family’s curse.

            “Are you now or have you ever been a woman?”

            Charity stared at him for a while before answering adamantly. “Yes.”

            “Oh,” Gyro looked closer at her, eyes wide. “Oh, I didn’t expect this. I didn’t account for the different gender in my calculations. It shouldn’t matter. Okay, moving on. When were you last ovulating?”

            “Okay, that kind of information is definitely not needed,” Charity said, warning signs sounding in her head.

            “I guess you’re right,” Gyro said, checking it off his list. “Now, I need you to stay completely still.” Deftly, he secured Charity’s arms and legs to the chair before she could protest.

            “Wait a minute. This doesn’t feel right,” Charity protested, struggling against the restraints. “I-I want to talk to Fenton first. I don’t like this.”

            “Everything is alright,” Gyro reassured in a not-reassuring tone as he lowered a metal cap onto Charity’s head. “Wait! Did you sign a waiver?”

            Charity shook her head violently, hoping that this would be her way out.

            Gyro thought for a second before shrugging. “I’ll have you sign it before the second test. Now bite down on this so you don’t lose your tongue.” He shoved a wooden block into her beak.

            “Charity? Charity?”

            Hearing Fenton, Charity screamed through the gag. Could he hear her? Please say he could.

            “Charity?!” The duck ran through the door just as the machine started humming, pushing Gyro out of the way and shutting it down. “Charity, are you okay?”
            The lovebird relaxed, patiently waiting for Fenton to release her from the devilish machine. “Yeah?”

            “What is the meaning of this, Crackshell-Cabrera? How dare you interrupt my experiment?” Gyro shouted.

            “Are you crazy? What were you thinking that you could just use anyone for your crazy experiments?”

            “She said that’s why she was here,” Gyro rationalized.

            Fenton closed his eyes and touched his forehead as if he had a headache. “She is a special guest of Mr. McDuck for a very special project.”

            “Which project?”

            “Uh…you’re not privileged to know about it.”

            “And you are? You are my intern,” Gryo growled.

            “Mr. McDuck is letting me be in charge of this super-secret project in which Charity is involved,” Fenton said, keeping away from a total lie. “Only those involved can know about it.”

            Gyro pouted. “Then where are my test subjects? I’ve been asking for test subjects for days, and do I see one? No!”

            “For good reason,” Fenton told him, gesturing violently. “Scrooge said we could only use animal test subjects because the lawsuits cost too much. Go find a mouse or something.” Fenton gently touched Charity’s elbow and guided her out of the room.

            Unknown to the two scientists that there was someone else watching the exchange, someone who wasn’t in the room.

***

            “A super-secret experiment? What sort of scheme is that Scrooge up to?”

            Shifting in his moth-eaten, faded recliner, Glomgold leaned forward, glaring at his TV through the static, watching Fenton and the lovebird stranger retreat from Gyro’s lab.

            Unknown to the richest duck in the world, Glomgold hadn’t lost his entire fortune in the bet. He had cleverly created a bank account as well as some stocks, bonds and bank notes in his original name just in case he had to leave the country.

            Okay, so maybe it was because he had to leave the country occasionally. Scheming sometimes got you in a lot of trouble. But he always kept his get-away cache well stocked, which was serving him well.

            With the small fortune, he had begun his schemes once more, starting out by bugging Scrooge’s money bin. Unfortunately, the bugs, which looked like mechanical bugs because he was so clever, never made it passed the lobby, except one. Somehow, that tentative little bot had been swept away in the ventilation shaft and dropped down into Gyro’s lab by accident.

            And he had kept that bug where it fell, waiting for just the right moment.

            It seemed that moment had arrived. Whatever this super-secret experiment was, Glomgold wasn’t going to let Scrooge have it.

            Digging out the remote for the bug, he told it to follow the two.

Chapter Text

Twisted Strings of Fate

Chapter 11

            My grandmother on my mother’s side, she is an amazing woman. She married a man when she was barely out of high school and gave birth to five children. My step-grandfather worked for the railroad as a brakeman and died in an accident, leaving my grandmother to raise her five children by herself. On top of that, she had fibromyalgia and was in constant pain. She worked two jobs to keep food on the table and pushed her children to stay in school so they would have a better life than she had. She never complained about her lot in life.

            Then she met my grandfather, homeless and starving. With little food in the home and only pennies saved up, she didn’t hesitate to help him. Little did she know that he would take her pain away in more ways than one.

            My grandfather took on her pain and took on the burden of providing for the five children that weren’t his own as thanks for saving his life. He worked for two years, giving everything to my grandmother and her children until he finally asked to marry her.

            To me, this is one of the greatest love stories the world has ever known. Even to this day, I can see how powerful the love is between them. I believe it superseded the curse, that my grandfather did fall in love with my grandmother truthfully. At least, he could in good conscience know that his heart wholly belonged to her.

            How lucky he is to have loved only one person.

***

            The dark fog that was his mind started to clear, bringing him out of unconsciousness. He was aware of being in a cool, dark place, but he lay on something soft. His thoughts were slow, like they had been buried in molasses, but the more the fog cleared, the faster his brain worked. His fractured, fuzzy memories pieced together like a puzzle, holes filling in until a large picture formed.

            Who am I? his first thoughts asked because the part of the puzzle with his name was a jumble of ideas. The image of a duck dressed in dark colors, masked, came to mind and a name with it.

            Is this who I am?

            Yes and no, the darkness told him. It was who he had been, but no more. Someone had taken that from him, and the world turned upside down. He had been the hero, but someone had stolen his name and turned the world against him. He had been made into a villain.

            More memories streamed into his mind, playing like a montage.

            Darkwing Duck.

            That had been his name, but no more. The charlatan now owned it. The world saw him as the real Darkwing Duck, and he was changed. It was as if he had been thrown into a dimension where everything was opposite.

            Negaduck.

            The name struck a bell inside his head. At first, it enraged him, but the longer it sat in the muddy corner of his brain, the more it sank it, becoming a part of him. Yes, he was like a photo negative of the false hero.

            Negaduck opened his eyes, staring up at the dark ceiling, his thoughts completely clear. He sat up, ignoring the dizzy, room-shifting feeling as the remaining drugs in his system dissipated. He only glanced around the small cell, taking in the cot, the bars, and, finally, a bottle of water and a sandwich wrapped in cellophane left just inside on the floor. It was an indication that whoever put him in there would return for him.

            Despite his body’s desire for the sustenance, he didn’t reach for either food or water, suspicious of the contents. Instead, he sat facing the door, waiting for his captors to return, his mind sifting through his memories, recalling the face of a woman and the conversations he had with her.

            If he was certain of anything at this point, it was that that woman was the center of everything strange in his life: the fake Darkwing Duck, the people who captured him, and the eerie power that he had kept hidden for over a decade. She was important.

            In the darkness, he waited for her.

***

            “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” Fenton demanded, stopping once they had left Gyro’s lab and looking Charity over.

            “No. Just a little scared,” Charity replied with a worried smile. “Who was that?”

            “That is Gyro Gearloose, one of the most brilliant minds of our time,” Fenton said, his voice turning to that of admiration.

            “Really?” Charity asked in disbelief. “So what was he going to do to me?”

            “Ah…oh…” Fenton was conflicted. “Something brilliant? Maybe? Just promise me that you’ll never, ever go near him again.”

            “Okay,” Charity agreed through the mixed messages.

            Fenton led Charity back to his own station, showing her to a chair. “If it’s okay with you, I’m going to give you a quick medical check.”

            Charity looked around the lab, not seeing any equipment for one—and she had a lot of experience in this department—but shrugged. “I guess that’s why I’m here.”

            Opening the Gizmoduck program on his computer, Fenton made sure that the Bluetooth to his contact lenses was functioning so that the images and data he captured would be saved to his hard drive.

            “First, I’ll check your vitals,” Fenton said, running his eyes down Charity’s body, taking her heart rate, blood pressure, temperature, respiratory rate, and her height and weight. The numbers crossed his vision against his contact lenses before being sent to his computer.

            Charity sat awkwardly, waiting expectantly.

            “There we go,” Fenton said, checking his computer and happily finding that everything worked just as he programed it.

            “What? Are you psychic or something?” Charity asked.

            “Oh, sorry. I should have explained. I’m using Gizmoduck technology to scan your body,” Fenton said, tapping his temple close to his eye. “My contact lenses can do anything that Gizmoduck’s visor can, although the medical scan function is relatively new.”

            Charity shot forward, coming almost beak to beak with Fenton, looking into his eyes.

            Fenton was taken aback by her actions and jerked away, but since his chair was stationary, he could only move his head back so much. His checks warmed at her proximity.

            Squinting, Charity looked at Fenton’s eyes from a few different angels before saying, “I can see something. Your lenses are like tiny little screens. So you can see all that in front of you?”

            His embarrassment fading, Fenton smiled. “Yes. The images are a little blurry because I haven’t completely gotten used to it, but it’s as if I’m looking at a computer screen.”

            “Wow. What are they made of?” Charity asked, straightening up so she wasn’t right in Fenton’s face. “I can’t imagine they’re made of plastic or glass. And what about the tech inside? How did you get the circuitry and wires so small?”

            “I made them of a mixture of a strong polymer with a thin sheet of transparent aluminum in the middle that acts as the screen. As for the circuitry, it was designed with microtechnology,” Fenton explained, forgetting about his tests. “I have micro-bots to build them.”

            “Micro-bots. Gizmoduck. Medical contact lenses,” Charity listed. “Is there anything you can’t do in this lab? It’s like science fiction come to life.”

            “That’s what all science was before someone invented it. Even telephones and cars were science fiction until someone actually built one,” Fenton said, getting the Gizmoduck program ready for a different scan. “Even this curse could be science that we don’t understand.”

            Charity shrugged. “My curse sounds more fantasy than science fiction to me.”

            “Which is why I’m doing these tests,” Fenton explained as his contact lenses changed, ready to do an x-ray. “If modern technology can tell us anything about how to break your curse, then I will find it.”

            The smile on Charity’s face made his heart flutter. For once, he was saving a life, not as Gizmoduck, but as Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera.

            “These next scans will take a little longer than the first,” Fenton said, his lenses slowly going down her skeletal structure starting at her skull. “Why don’t you tell me everything about the curse, especially how you…um…fell in love with the heroes.”

            As Charity spoke about her first encounter with the curse when she fell in love with the TV hero that Jim Starling portrayed, Fenton listened while taking in the scans. The technology in his lenses took an accurate 3D image of her bones while still keeping track of her vitals. He took note how her heart and temperature rose and fell while she spoke.

            When the x-ray was finished, the program pointed out several areas on Charity’s skeleton where she had broken bones. While all these injuries had healed, the program could pinpoint how old each break was through the extent of the remodeling. Her skull, arms and hands seemed to have taken the worse of these breaks, but there were plenty around her femurs, ribs and other bones. When he examined the arm where the soldering iron burn was, he could see that the heat had damaged even the bone.

            How much pain was she in right now because of that?
            “Is everything okay?” Charity asked.

            “Huh?” Fenton hadn’t realized he had clenched his jaw and furrowed his brows. “Oh, it’s nothing. Please continue.”

            “Okay. But you’ll tell me if you find anything weird in your scans, right?” Charity said lightly, smiling.

            “Yeah,” Fenton said, getting the lenses ready for a soft-tissue scan, using UV vision.

            As the lenses showed all the bruises and cuts, and the extent of the burn on Charity’s body, the lovebird told the story of how she fell in love with Launchpad when he saved her from a group of bullies.

            And these are all the recent injuries, Fenton thought, taking in the map that showed bruises as old as five months as well as every bit of scar tissue. She had black eyes on top of black eyes. Her beak had some damage, and her arms and legs looked like a leopard’s with how many bruises she was healing from. If Fenton hadn’t known about the curse, he would have suspected that Charity was a victim of abuse.

            “You have that look again,” Charity said, interrupting Fenton from his thoughts.

            “Huh? Sorry. It’s just a lot of data to go through,” Fenton half-lied, trying to relax his face once more. “How are you feeling? Are you in any pain?”

            Charity shook her head. “That’s the benefit of having a doctor for a step-dad. Good drugs.” She smiled but her hand hovered near the burn on her arm.

            “May I?” Fenton asked, reaching for that arm but not touching her. When Charity gave him a questioning look, he tapped near his eye again. “Remember? Medical vision. I’d like to take a better look at your burn.”

            She extended her arm.

            As gently as he could, he took her arm in both his hands and unwrapped the gauze bandage. His Gizmoduck lenses scanned the arm, but he didn’t need any technology to know just how bad it was.

            “I’m sorry,” Fenton said, forgetting that he was hiding his identity.

            “Hmm?”

            “I’m sorry you have to go through this,” Fenton covered up.

            “It’s okay. I guess I’m used to it by now,” Charity said, her mouth smiling but her eyes looking sad.

            The Gizmoduck lenses finished the extensive scan, showing the burn below the surface. There was no sign of infection and whoever had doctored the burn had done a good job. There would be a large scar once it healed and considerable bone loss to the radius.

            “I have this new medicine for burns I’ve been testing. Do you mind if I use it?” Fenton asked, reaching for an aerosol can he had put on his desk for this occasion.

            Charity gave him a wry smile. “So, I’m to be your guinea pig after all?”

            Matching her smile, Fenton said, “Well, to be honest, it would help if we had someone else to test it on other than myself and Gyro. But so far, there haven’t been any side effects. Well…at least not any dangerous ones.”

            “That’s comforting,” Charity said, pulling her arm back a little.

            “I promise that it’s safe,” Fenton said, tightening his grip on Charity’s arm, which slipped into her hand. “On my word as a scientist, I promise that if anything happens, I’ll work night and day to fix it.”

            “With more mad science?” Charity asked, although the smile was back. She offered her arm again.

            As Fenton sprayed her arm, he explained, “This will create a layer of synthetic skin over your burn to protect it from infection as well as let it heal faster than normal. It’s waterproof, but shouldn’t be kept on your skin more than five days. When it starts itching, peel it off.”

            As the spray hardened into a skin-like texture, Charity poked it with a finger. “That’s really…cool. Why isn’t it on the market…besides the ‘non-dangerous’ side effects?”

            “It’s in the testing phase. It’ll take another few years before it will be for sale if it passes the FDA approval.” Fenton pulled out his own first aid kit that had seen its share of injuries in the lab, reaching for a new package of gauze. He wrapped it gently around Charity’s arm, giving the burn another layer of protection.

            “So, does this mean I’m done with the tests?” Charity asked.

            “Not even close,” Fenton said, booting up the next scan to his lenses. “And I think you haven’t finished your story.”

            As Charity explained about falling in love with the new Darkwing Duck, he did a brain scan. This was, in his opinion, the most important of the scans for he theorized that perhaps psychic powers were involved in Charity’s curse. While science hadn’t exactly proven that psychic powers existed, the theory was plausible. It would be a big lead into solving this mystery if he could prove that Charity’s family had a mutation that allowed them to psychically connect to people they fell in love with.

            However, he saw no abnormalities within Charity’s gray matter, although when she was speaking of Darkwing Duck, several areas of her brain lit up brightly including the limbic system. Fenton could see that whatever else was happening in Charity’s body, she was in love with all three of these men: Jim Starling, Launchpad, and Darkwing Duck.

            Then her story turned to when she met Gizmoduck, and Fenton’s heart quickened as he saw Charity’s brain light up the same way. His lenses to look closer at her circulatory system, seeing the capillaries around her cheeks filling with blood in a deep blush. Her heart raced and her temperature rose.

            The same reaction as before, exactly. And he knew for certain that Gizmoduck hadn’t met Charity more than that one time—which he couldn’t remember. He had rescued so many people, and he couldn’t remember her in those few seconds he had been with her. But the data didn’t lie.

            She was in love with Gizmoduck after only meeting him the one time.

            Fenton leaned back in his chair, rubbing his face and distancing himself from Charity. The curse, her reactions, her injuries, they were all one big puzzle to solve. The data matched what he was told, but gave him no clue how to help the woman.

            She was in love with Gizmoduck. It didn’t really hit him until that moment. He could deny it all he liked before, but he trusted science. And to him, that was a heavier burden than anything else about this curse. After all, he could take care and not get hurt, and he could treat any injuries she would get from him, but what if he did something to break her heart? That wasn’t something that could be fixed.

            And then there was the issue that she loved Gizmoduck. Not him. Not that that was important, but even after all the issues he had gone through with his secret identity, after being betrayed several times both as Gizmoduck and Fenton, after proving that he was more than just the suit, it stung that it was Gizmoduck getting the attention. After all, he had met Charity several days ago in the restaurant, had summoned the courage to ask for her number, and had the hope that she would indeed call him back, and even then, he didn’t stand a chance against Gizmoduck.

            No, he wouldn’t think that way. His ego wasn’t on the table here. He was supposed to help Charity, not compete against Gizmoduck.

            But then again, there was one more test.

            “I have one more scan to do,” Fenton said, pretending to load one more onto his lenses. He disliked that he was going to trick Charity, but he needed to know. After typing a few more keys, he turned to Charity, closing the distance between them much like she had done before. In fact, he came as close as he dared, looking her straight in her eyes.

            “I’ll be doing an eye scan, so please look straight into my eyes,” he said, feeling his own mouth go dry. “I’m also going to check your pulse.” Softly, using touch to guide him, he found one of Charity’s hands and enclosed it within both of his. His fingers traced her palm, finding her wrist and placing two of his fingers against her skin as if checking her pulse.

            If Charity wondered why he was checking her pulse that way or why he had to at all, she didn’t question his motives. Instead, she gazed into his eyes, sitting straight and motionless as if moving would ruin the scan.

            Right away, Fenton’s lenses picked up the changes in her heart rate and temperature as they rose, her blush show up once again and her brain lit up just as it had for Darkwing Duck and Gizmoduck. He could sense a difference in her breathing, as if she had to control how deeply she wanted to fill her lungs.

            She didn’t know, but somehow she did. The reaction was self-conscious, acting as if she were in love with Fenton.

            A warning sign appeared in the corner of his contact lenses, informing him of his own elevated heart rate and temperature. The program was originally designed to monitor his own vitals in case the Gizmoduck suit proved to be stressful on his body. Although his vitals weren’t as high as Charity’s, his were indicative of his nerves when around those of the female persuasion. After all, it wasn’t very often he got to hold the hand of a pretty girl.

            Although his test should have been over, a thought appeared in his mind to go further with the test.

            What would happen if I kissed her?

            He wondered if her vitals would rise higher. They were close enough that it wouldn’t take that much effort for their beaks to touch.

            What am I thinking? Fenton shouted inside his mind, pulling away before his thoughts took over. I can’t. Not only does she not know I’m Gizmoduck, but she’s under a curse. She has no control over her feelings. It wouldn’t be right.

            Feeling like a class-act pervert, Fenton turned his head away, returning his vision to his computer screen, releasing Charity’s hand. “Good,” he said, all business. “Everything came back clean. You’re healthy, at least besides the obvious.”

            Charity smiled softly. “I guess that’s a relief. And thank you for this.” She gestured to her bandaged arm. “It feels a lot better.”

            “You’re welcome,” Fenton said, breathing slowly to calm his heart. “I guess that’s it. Stage one of the tests are done.”

            Charity’s eyebrows furrowed, her eyes widening. “Wait, there’s more?”

            “Yes. Stage two will involve Darkwing Duck.”

***

            If Glomgold had heard the conversation correctly, it appeared that Scrooge had found a rare gift, one that he no doubt was keeping for himself. Well, if Glomgold had any say in the matter, he wasn’t going to let Scrooge have this one. If anyone was going to harness the girl’s power, it would be Glomgold.

            But how to get the girl away from that fortress that was Scrooge’s money bin and his tin-can of a bodyguard, Gizmoduck. For the first time in a long time, Glomgold had limited resources which he kept squirreled away until a moment like this came along, but even then, he was no match for Scrooge.

            As much as it pained him, he knew he needed an ally. And despite how that ended up last time he teamed up with one of Scrooge’s enemies, he couldn’t let this one time chance get away from him.

            Pulling out his phone, he scrolled through his pitifully small list of numbers, deliberating which one would be the best asset. He finally selected one of the numbers, holding the phone to his ear as it rang.

            “What up! You talkin’ to Mark Beaks, lucky you,” the voice on the other end said in a light tone.

            “It’s me, Glomgold. I’ve got another scheme.”

            “You!” Marks shouted into the phone. “How dare you call me? Wait, how did you get my number?”

            “Never mind that. I need something that can bust into the basement of Scrooge’s money bin,” Glomgold shouted.

            “You lost my company to a child. I don’t have anything, you stupid old guy,” Beaks shouted back.

            “We both know that’s not true,” Glomgold said smoothly into the phone. Scrooge’s money bin wasn’t the only place he sent bugs. “Scrooge may have your company, but you didn’t lose everything.”

            A snort over the speaker told Glomgold that he was right.

            “Okay, so I may have saved a few million dollars from when I was super rich. So what? That still doesn’t mean I’m going to help you.”

            “What if I could give you powers that could help you defeat Gizmoduck,” Glomgold said, knowing just where to hit Beaks.

            There was silence over the phone for so long that Glomgold wondered if Beaks had hung up before the other line finally said, “I’m in.”

***

            Fenton brought up the streaming camera he had set up in one of Scrooge’s conference rooms on a higher floor of the bin. Once the program booted up, he could see Manny and Darkwing sitting in chairs, facing the camera as if they were having a TV interview. Darkwing was talking to Manny who communicated back by stomping his hoof against the floor.

            Plugging in his headset, Fenton turned off the mute button, speaking into his microphone. “Hello? Manny, Darkwing, can you hear me?”

            “Fenton? About time,” Darkwing said, sitting up straighter in his chair. “I thought you had forgotten about us. It’s a good thing I know Morse code or else Manny and I would have been bored to death.”

            Manny tapped out something, which made Darkwing laugh.

            “Right,” Fenton said, ignoring the fact he couldn’t understand the creature. “Manny, prepare the first test.”

            “What do I do?” Charity asked, not being able to see or hear what was happening over the camera.

            “Just sit there and tell me if you feel anything,” Fenton said, rubbing his hands together. Nothing put him in a better mood than performing tests.

            “Why? What are you doing to Darkwing?” Charity asked, looking skeptical.

            “I can’t tell you. That would ruin the experiment,” Fenton said, watching his screen eagerly.

            Darkwing, watching Manny with curiosity, didn’t expect the man horse to pull out a bright spotlight and shine it into Darkwing’s eyes. The hero flinched, crying out and covering his eyes with his hands.

            Ignoring the protests coming through his headphones, Fenton leaned around his screen to look at Charity. The lovebird blinked a few times rapidly, but made no other reaction. “Okay, Manny. Next test.”

            Before Darkwing could recover from the flash, Manny grabbed his chair and spun it as hard as he could. Darkwing Duck turned into a white and purple blur, his voice shouting a warbly, “Whooooooaaaaa!”

            “Anything?” Fenton asked, peaking at Charity.

            The lovebird shook her head.

            “Okay, Manny. Next test.”

            The man horse stopped the spinning chair, reaching off-screen for something. Darkwing sagged in the chair, his head bobbing as if he were still spinning. “What kind of tests are these?” he asked, his voice sounding faint.

            Before he could react, Manny shook a pepper shaker above his beak. Darkwing breathed in the particles and began a series of sneezes that wracked his body.

            Again, Charity had no reaction.

            “Next test.”

            “Now, wait a minute,” Darkwing managed to say between sneezes, holding up a finger. But his protests fell on deaf ears as Manny pulled out a pair of feathers and started tickling the crime-fighter’s webbed feet. The effect was almost immediate. Darkwing began laughing which was interrupted by more sneezes from the pepper still in his sinuses.

            “Anything?” Fenton asked the lovebird.

            Charity shrugged. “What am I supposed to be feeling?”
            “Just tell me if you feel different in any way.”

            “I’m kind of bored. Are you boring Darkwing to death?” Charity asked snarkily.

            Fenton laughed, especially as Manny took it upon himself to start the next test without prompting, which was spraying a foul-smelling aerosol in Darkwing’s face. “No, no. He’s anything but bored.”

            “Crackshell-Cabrera, what kind of scientist are you?” Darkwing shouted, knocking the aerosol can out of Manny’s hooves. “This feels more like a prank than an actual experiment.”

            “I assure you, this is all in the name of science,” Fenton told him seriously. “Next test.”

            “Can we have a bre—“ Before Darkwing could finish his sentence, Manny shoved something into Darkwing’s beak. The crime-fighter spat it out, but then he smacked his beak a few times. “Hmmm, not bad.”

            Almost simultaneously, Charity’s face twisted, showing discomfort before panting and fanning herself. “What did you do?” she cried out in distress.

            “I’m sorry,” Fenton said, surprised, his lenses showing her vitals performing as they should if she had eaten spicy food. “Here, let me get you a drink of water.” He raced to the mini fridge nearby and grabbed a bottled water.

            Charity gulped nearly the whole bottle, tears flowing down her face. “What was that?”

            “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would be that bad,” Fenton apologized again, feeling useless as he could only wait for the reaction to disappear. “Manny gave Darkwing a ghost pepper.”

            “You what?” Charity wiped her eyes and started laughing, still fanning her mouth. “A ghost pepper?”

            “Are you okay?” Fenton asked, smiling as her laughter increased.

            “You really are a mad scientist, aren’t you?” Charity asked, laughing and wiping away more tears.

            “Only half-mad,” Fenton joked, grabbing some tissues for her.

            “I can only imagine what you’re doing to Darkwing. I thought you promised not to do anything bad to him,” Charity said, looking calmer as she drank the rest of her water.

            “Well, technically it’s true. The ghost pepper doesn’t injure, it only makes the body think your mouth has been burnt, which triggers your nerves and sends endorphins to help the pain. I was curious if the curse would see the difference in real pain and simulated pain,” Fenton said, going back to his computer.

            “I think we answered that question,” Charity said, still fanning herself. “Go ahead, mad scientist. Start the next test.”

            When Fenton put the headphones back on, he could hear Darkwing shouting his name.

            “Fenton! Fenton! You better answer or I’m coming down there.” Darkwing had his face pressed to the camera and was shaking it.

            “Whoa, what’s going on?”
            “What happened to Charity? Is she okay?” Darkwing shouted into the camera.

            Realizing that Darkwing had heard some of Fenton’s words from before but didn’t know what was happening, the scientist quickly relayed, “She’s fine. Don’t worry. We’re going to continue the tests.”

            “But what happened? Crackshell-Cabrera, tell me right—“ At that moment, Manny dumped a large tub of ice water over his head, ice-cubes raining down on his hat. “Now,” Darkwing finished his sentence belatedly.

            Charity immediately wrapped her arms around herself, shaking uncontrollably.

            From Fenton’s lenses, he could see her body temperature fall considerably.

            “I can guess what you just did,” Charity said, rubbing her arms.

            “Again, I’m sorry.” Fenton gave her an apologetic smile. “But I have to say, this is fascinating.”

            “I don’t know if Darkwing will agree,” Charity said blithely, her teeth chattering.

            “I think I have a jacket somewhere. Let me find it.”

            “Don’t bother. It’s not me that’s cold. Darkwing needs to warm up,” Charity said, bringing her legs up to her chest.

            Fenton’s eyes widened. “That is fascinating. Does heat have the same effect?”

            “I would guess but it hasn’t happened as often. A few times, Mr. McDuck has taken Launchpad to the desert, but those have been the only times I’ve noticed,” Charity related. “I feel the cold from Darkwing a lot at night. I can dress warmly, wrap myself in a blanket, use a hot water bottle, but I’ll still feel it.”

            “You can tell which person it is you are feeling the effects of the curse?” Fenton asked, his fingers twitching a little as he worried about the answer.

            Charity shook her head. “It’s only a guess. After being connected to Jim and Launchpad for over a decade, I have a good idea what to expect from them. Darkwing was easy to figure out. Most of his injuries came at night along with the cold and some fatigue.”

            “And Gizmoduck?” Fenton asked tentatively.

            “Gizmoduck? Well, I haven’t been connected to him that long, just a few months. There’s a few things I can guess about him, but not much.”

            Fenton fidgeted more. “If you could tell Gizmoduck anything he could do to…help your condition, what would it be? Something he could do to cause you less pain.”
            Again, Charity shook her head. “Nope, I’m not going there,” she said adamantly. “I specifically didn’t want to tell Launchpad about the curse because I didn’t want him to change. His brashness is one of the reasons I love him. It would break my heart if anyone had to change who they were because of me.”

            Her refusal to complain about her condition and the emotion in her voice amazed Fenton, but it also frustrated him.

            “But if they wanted to change to help you—“

            “No. Because where would it stop,” Charity said, looking sad. “What if Darkwing and Gizmoduck were so afraid of hurting me that they stopped saving people? I couldn’t live with that. All the people they save, all the pain they prevent; what is my discomfort compared to all the good they do. Lately, it’s what has been keeping me going. I’m helping them. I’m saving them.” She smiled, but it was so sad.

            “I don’t think you believe that one hundred percent,” Fenton said, his frustration with her complacency taking over.

            Charity frowned at him, daring him to contradict her feelings.

            “You are here, after all,” Fenton said. “You want this curse gone. You want that pain to go away. After all, pain is a body’s way to tell us that something is wrong. Without that pain, without knowing that we get injured, it removes our ability to learn to be cautious, to find out what is wrong with our bodies. By taking on all of the pain, you’re taking that away from others.”

            Charity’s eyes widened and she looked away. “You’re right. I’m tired of the pain. But at the same time, I’m scared to lose it. I love them all so much. What’s going to happen when the curse is broken? Will I still love them? Or will I have an empty hole in my heart when it’s all over?”

            She looked at him with large eyes, asking him in earnest.

            For the first time, Fenton realized just how much of a victim Charity was of this curse. It didn’t just hurt her, it made her love despite the pain. It kept her in a mental jail, creating a unique situation similar to Stockholm Syndrome where she embraced the pain just as much as the love for four men, three who were practically strangers to her.

            “I don’t know,” Fenton told her honestly. “But I think that when the curse is broken, you’ll still care about them. Maybe not the romantic love you feel now, but something else, something real. You don’t seem to be the type of person that would stop caring for others.”

            Her shoulders lowered as if she were relaxing, a breath released from her lungs softly. Perhaps she had been worried about these questions for a while, and his words alleviated some of her worry.

            “Now, back to my original question. There must be something that you should tell Gizmoduck, not anything big, but something you’d like to tell him,” Fenton suggested, hoping to get something out of Charity. “Come one, you’re just talking to me.”

            The lovebird drew her thumb over her beak as she contemplated this. “Well, I’d first tell him to fix his suit.” She rotated her shoulders a bit as if something was irritating her. “It kind of pinches around the armpits.” Then she rubbed her chest just below her collar bone. “And tell him to cut back on the spicy foods, as least for a while. His heartburn has really been killing me at night.”

            Fenton blinked. Oh, so that’s why his mother’s salsa hadn’t been as spicy as he remembered. And he hadn’t needed antacids lately.

            “And,” Charity continued, her voice considering, “I would also thank him for saving me. He probably doesn’t remember me. It’s odd, but he’s the only one who actually saved me. Jim, Launchpad, Darkwing, I know so much about them. They’ve been a large part of my life, but Gizmoduck, I hardly know who he is. Out of all of them, I’m the most nervous about meeting him.”

            Guilt tickled Fenton’s conscience. He had rationalized not telling Charity who he was all in the name of science, but now he wondered if he had been in the wrong. Perhaps he should tell her now. But after such a heart-filled speech, would she be embarrassed? Was this the wrong time?

            “Crackshell-Cabrera!”

            Having lowered his headphones long ago, he had ignored all noises that came from them until he heard his name being shouted.

            “What?” Fenton quickly looked at his screen, realizing that since he hadn’t spoken for a while into the microphone that Manny had continued with the experiments without being prompted, and now he was wrestling with Darkwing, trying to sound an airhorn as the crime-fighter pushed the device away.

            “It’s okay, Manny. I think we’re almost done. Let’s just skip to the last test. I have enough data,” Fenton spoke into the microphone.

            “Now hold on a minute, Crackshell-Cabrera,” Darkwing growled into the camera, shaking it. “I didn’t come down here to have your crazy Scrooge-horse perform your mad science on me. I’m done. I’m coming down there and taking Charity back to—Ahhh!”

            At that time, Manny came up from behind, a large syringe in his hooves. Before he could prick the masked duck, Darkwing turned around, grabbing the horse’s forelegs before the needle could be driven into his flesh. The two grappled, upturning the camera in the process.

            Fenton watched with wide eyes as bodies rolled and dashed on and off the screen, the camera jostling and bouncing now and then. Darkwing’s face landed inches away from the camera, his eyes going wide as something pulled him away.

            “Nooooo!” Darkwing shouted, clawing at the carpet.

            “OW!”

            Fenton jumped, hearing the voice right next to his ear. Surprised, he turned to see Charity directly behind him, rubbing her rump.

            “What is going on?” she asked, peering at the camera then sliding her eyes onto Fenton.
            “Uh…” Fenton groaned, trying to find the right words to explain. Before he could, Darkwing wobbled onto the screen, his body drooping.

            “What is going on?” Darkwing asked, his words slurring. His tongue flopped out of his mouth. Then he fell to his knees before collapsing onto his face. He shouted something that sounded like Fenton’s name.

            “What did you do?” Charity asked, staring at the screen.

            “It’s not what it looks like. He was just injected with a paralyzing agent, that’s it,” Fenton quickly explained. “It’ll wear off in a few minutes.”

            Charity burst out laughing, covering her mouth with her hands. “You did what?”

            Fenton smiled. “You’re taking this remarkably well.”

            “It’s been a couple of weird days for me,” Charity said, still laughing. “What were you trying to accomplish doing this?”

            “Well, I wanted to know if you would feel any drug effects from Darkwing. The paralyzing agent is harmless, painless, and has a quick and physical effect, so it was the best drug to use for the test,” Fenton rattled off.

            Charity smiled, shaking her head. “So there really is a method to your madness. You’re not just doing crazy crap to Darkwing for kicks and giggles?”

            “Well, maybe a little,” Fenton said with a shrug. “There’s a little bit of mad scientist in all of us.”

            Charity laughed again, and Fenton couldn’t help but join in. Her laugh, it was contagious. It was so genuine and carefree, strange with how much pain she has gone through lately. There was something special about this woman, and not just because of the curse. She had an inner strength that allowed her to be happy despite her situation.

            “Charity, now that the tests are over,” Fenton began, getting ready to tell her the truth of who he was, “there’s something I need to tell you.”

            “Uh, oh.” Charity grimaced.

            “No, it’s nothing like that,” Fenton said, shaking his head. He had to ignore the warning on his lenses that told him that his heart rate was rising again. “I need to tell you about Gizmoduck.”

            That immediately caught Charity’s attention, her eyes locked on his.
            “I couldn’t tell you befor—“

            A loud klaxon sounded, interrupting Fenton’s words, red lights flashing.

            “What’s going on?” Charity cried out, her eyes darting.

            Before Fenton could reply, the ceiling ten feet away from them cracked open like a nut in a vice, debris falling in clumps. Electrical wires crackled in the gap and the lights flickered.

            A robot of similar build and design as Gizmoduck dropped down. Instead of a single wheel, it rolled on two pairs, and the head was of no duck but had a sharp bill, thin face, and was all too familiar to Fenton.

            “Mark Beaks?” he said, but knew that the ex-billionaire wasn’t inside the suit. The face was completely metal, only a robot.

            “Charity, get down,” Fenton said, stepping between the robot and the lovebird. There was no time to explain. She would learn who he was the fast way. “Blathering Bla—“

            The robot, hearing him start to say his password, turned a cannon arm at him, firing a blob of pink mass that caught him full in his face, the force knocking him flat on his back.

            The projectile was sticky and rubbery, but not soft and creamy like his pies. What was Mark Beaks using in his fake Gizmoduck? He managed to open his mouth a little, his tongue catching a fragment of the substance.

            Strawberry taffy. The fiend.

            A scream distracted him from freeing his mouth from the sticky candy, and through his one eye that wasn’t covered in taffy he saw the robot grab Charity around the waist, pulling her toward it.

            Fenton tried to shout, but it came out muffled. He jumped to his feet, running at the robot, but it was already rocketing back up through the hole in Scrooge’s money bin, leaving behind scorched ceiling tiles and several fires that were quickly doused once the sprinkler system turned on.

            “What’s with that racket?” Gyro shouted from his lab. “Intern, keep it down. I have sensitive equipment to repair.”

            With the water cascading down on him, Fenton worked with renewed determination on the taffy, the extra liquid lubricating the sticky candy.

            The sound of hooves clomping down stairs alerted him of Manny returning to the lab from the emergency exit, Darkwing Duck slung over his shoulders.

            “Charity! Charity! Are you okay?” Darkwing shouted, his tongue still not functioning correctly. He flopped around on Manny’s shoulder before rolling off onto the floor. He caught sight of Fenton and looked around frantically. “Where’s Charity?”

            Peeling away the taffy enough, Fenton said, “She’s been taken.” He yanked again, taking a few feathers with the taffy.

            “Taken?! Where? By who?” Darkwing shouted. He attempted to rise onto his hands and knees, but only managed to get onto one elbow.

            “Mark Beaks,” Fenton said, almost freeing his whole mouth. “He’s an old ‘friend’ of Gizmoduck’s.”

            “So, this was Gizmoduck’s fault. Tell me where Beaks is,” Darkwing demanded, getting his knees working although they were wobbly. “I’ll go rescue Charity. Maybe you can call that tin-can Gizmoduck to back me up if he can find the time.”

            “You’re not in any condition to go after Beaks,” Fenton said, tearing away the last of the taffy. “Leave it to Gizmoduck.”
            “So, where is he?” Darkwing accused, grabbing ahold of Fenton’s shirt and using it to climb to his feet. “He should have been here from the start. He should have been here to protect Charity.”

            Fenton steadied Darkwing, glaring at the masked hero for his condemnation. “Gizmoduck has been here the whole time. And he will protect Charity.” He stepped away from Darkwing, who had to catch the edge of a table before crashing back to the ground.

            “Blathering Blatherskite!” Fenton shouted, feeling the familiar sensation of electricity crackling around him as the Gizmoduck suit gathered around him, the pieces fitting perfectly around his body, encasing him in armor and tech, the power core humming. The second all the systems showed green on his contact lenses, he engaged the thrusters of his suit, blasting through the same hole that the Beaks imposter had formed, following the smoke trail after Charity.

Chapter Text

            Growing up, I imagined that I was a princess much like in the fairy tales, waiting for a courageous knight or handsome prince would come and save me from my curse. I invented several stories where Darkwing Duck from the TV series would find a way to break the spell, mostly with a kiss of true love.

            Hey, I was a pre-teen. What did you expect from me?

            I was certain that if Jim Starling only knew about my curse, he would do all he could to help me. I almost, almost, wrote a letter to him. In hindsight, I was naïve to believe that an actor was equivalent to the heroes from childhood stories.

            When I met Launchpad, my dreams became more elaborate, envisioning my best friend pairing up with the duck of the shadows to go on whirlwind adventures to find the cure for my family’s curse. But as each year passed, I became less reliant on my imagination, focusing on reality and accepting my fate. And soon, I found myself with more in common with those princesses from legends, locked away in my tower, kept imprisoned due to injury after injury after sickness that wasn’t my own.

            I became complacent. I no longer imagined a life without the curse. It was a part of me. It was part of my family like a relative that I couldn’t disown. My mother, my grandfather, they both took their ailments in stride, having lived with it for so long, it was as if they couldn’t exist without the curse just as if they couldn’t live without breathing.

            And my state of mind was quickly going in that direction.

            “You must fight it.”

            The voice of reason came from an unexpected source. My grandmother, someone who benefitted from the curse. She had been living without pain and sickness for going on forty years.

            “Your family has suffered enough,” she told me one day. “The curse needs to end.”

            “There is no way to break the curse,” I said. After all this time, if there was a way, wouldn’t someone had found it by now?
            “Balderdash,” my grandmother said, lifting my chin with one finger. “If there’s something I know for sure, there is nothing in this world that is indestructible. Even diamonds can be broken. There is a way.”

            She didn’t know how to break the curse, but she had a plan. If it wasn’t for her, I would have remained in my tower, the curse a worse prison than stone walls and iron bars.

            Even though there are heroes in the world, sometimes a princess can’t wait around all day.

***

            Gizmoduck shot through the air, his propeller and thrusters at maximum output. It wasn’t hard to follow the Mark Beaks robot that left a smoky trail through the blue sky. His contact lenses showed him the distance between them. With a word, Fenton directed the Gizmoduck suit to zoom in to see if Charity was safe, but could only see her blue and white curly hair whipping around; the robot’s bulk blocking any view of her.

            As Fenton willed the Gizmoduck suit to go faster, he ran through possible scenarios of how to engage the Mark Beaks robot without harming Charity. Not only did the curse make things complicated, but he had no idea of what his opponent was capable of. Knowing Mark Beaks, the robot was possibly only a knockoff of Gizmoduck with small modifications. The ex-billionaire had little creativity considering that he replaced the signature pies with taffy. And he couldn’t count on Beaks keeping things non-lethal.

            Fenton had to play things safe.

            As he closed in on the robot, it turned its head, red lights flashing in its optics. It knew he was following.

            He had to act now before the Beaks robot could do anything. Taking aim, he fired off a pie thick with cream, the Gizmoduck suit taking in account the wind factor, their speed and the weight of the pie. Unfortunately, the robot’s reflexes were too quick for the assault, diving quickly and avoiding the tinned pastry.

            Fenton followed downward, feeling his speed pick up as gravity gave him a boost, his sensor’s showing how quickly he was losing altitude. His audios picked up the shrill scream of Charity in the robot’s arms. The buildings of Ducksburg rushed at them, and for a minute, he worried that the robot would slam into the ground. In anticipation of this, he extended his arms and grabbed hold of the robot’s wheels. Before he could reverse his thrusters and stop them, the robot took a sharp turn, changing its dive into a barrel roll and dodging between two buildings.

            Gizmoduck’s mechanical arms turned into proverbial slinkys, bouncing up and down as the robot zig-zagged all over Ducksburg. Fenton did his best to control the suit, but it was too heavy for the extended arms to prevent him from slamming into concrete walls, billboards, water towers, and neon signs. He tried to contract the arms, but they refused to cooperate.

            “No, no,” he growled as he was once more slammed into the side of a brick building, leaving a Gizmoduck-shaped hole. “Work. Work for once, you stupid suit.”

            Either yelling at technology and calling it names didn’t work, or Fenton was just especially unlucky that day. One way or another, Gizmoduck’s arms only extended longer until he was merely a flapping tail for the Beaks robot.

            But as Fenton always said when something went wrong, work it to your advantage. If he couldn’t retract his arms, he was going to make some use for them. As he vocally commanded the software to run a diagnostics of the systems in the hopes to work out the bugs, he wiggled one of his arms to crawl up the robot. Inch by inch, the metallic fingers walked up the robot, feeling for seams that would open up the fake Mark Beaks’ wiring and circuitry.

            Unfortunately, Beaks had done a good job with his creation; the seams were too tight and slick for this kind of sabotage. Maybe he could at least disrupt the robot’s visuals or some other sensors.

            Just as Gizmoduck’s hand clamped over the robot’s optic, the system diagnosis finished its check and the extended arms retracted at rapid speed. Fenton barely was able to utter, “Uh-oh” before he rammed into the Beaks bot, sending all three of them tumbling through the air.

            Before they could hurt anyone or cause any more damage to the city, Fenton angled his thrusters upward. Although they were spinning in a dizzying dance through the sky, he was able to control their path somewhat.

            A shrill scream pierced his audios for only a second and quickly faded to nothing. It took him a few seconds to realize that Charity was no longer in the robot’s grasp.

            “Gizmoduck, find Charity,” he shouted, trying to control his sense of vertigo as he searched his visual range for her. His lenses pinpointed her, almost a hundred feet below him and falling fast to her death.

            Pushing the Beaks robot away, he straightened out and dove back down, closing the distance between him and the lovebird quickly. A wave of relief flooded over him as the arms of Gizmoduck enclosed the woman, and he pulled up from the dive, soaring above the city.

            “Don’t worry. I’ve got you,” Fenton said in his Gizmoduck voice, loud and heroic.

            “Gizmoduck,” his audios barely picked up Charity’s voice over the rushing of air.

            The program he had downloaded to his lenses picked up Charity’s vitals again. Her heart rate and breathing were up, but that was a given considering what she had been through. The pleasure areas of her brain lit up even more so than when he held her hand as Fenton. He didn’t even need the high-tech lenses to see the blush spreading over her cheeks. And that look on her face. He had never had anyone look at him that way before.

            Not even as Gizmoduck.

            Distracted, Fenton was slow to react when the suit warned him of an incoming projectile. He only had time to hold Charity closer and protect her from whatever was going to hit him. The projectile hit his back, and the force wasn’t even enough to send him spinning. But almost immediately, his thrusters died, and they plummeted through the air.

            A quick check by the computer told him that something was clogging his systems; he  could guess what it was by the smell of burning sugar and smoke in the air. He tried to reach back to detach the taffy, but his thrusters weren’t the only thing out of commission. The stretchy, sticky candy was gumming his joints as well. He wouldn’t be able to fix the suit before they crashed.

            Looking around, he clenched his teeth as he saw that they were no longer over the high rise sky-scrapers and large business buildings of downtown Ducksburg. If he had been, he could have reached out and grabbed hold of something, stopping their deathly dive to the streets below. But as luck would have it, they were falling among blocks of warehouses. Fenton had taken worse hits than this. Gizmoduck was made to take a lot of damage without hurting him. But Charity was a different issue. Even if he used his body to cushion her fall, Gizmoduck was made of metal. The vibrations from the impact would be enough to shatter every bone in her body.

            He looked for solutions everywhere, but there was nothing he could do, not with the suit as damaged as it was.

            And then the Beak’s bot zoomed into view, diving down to Gizmoduck but looking as if it were hovering overhead, waiting. Perhaps it was. Because there was only one way to save Charity’s life.

            “I’m sorry,” Fenton said, hoping that the lovebird could hear him over the whistling of the wind. “I’ll find you.” And then he pushed her away, toward the mechanical Beaks.

            He watched Charity’s surprised face for a few seconds before the robot’s arms clamped around her, her lips forming a word that he was sure was the name “Gizmoduck” before they flew out of sight.

            Then he commanded the computer to brace for impact, engaging a system of small airbags that would cushion his body. Normally, this extra safety precaution wasn’t necessary for his usual fight with crime, but the suit had never fallen from this altitude. And even with the airbags, he would get a nice collection of bruises.

            No, not him. Charity would be the one who would be bruised. This was his last thought before Gizmoduck slammed into concrete and his vision went dark.

***

            The only thing that was keeping Charity together emotionally was the familiar pain of fresh bruises forming underneath her skin that coincided with the sound of Gizmoduck crashing to the ground. She embraced the pain, held onto it like a child with a security blanket. As long as she was feeling that pain, she knew he was still alive.

            As the robot with the parrot face flew her to who-knew-where, she clutched a metallic item in her hand, squeezing hard. Before he pushed her away, Gizmoduck had given her an object as small as a bouncy ball. She didn’t look at it, not wanting the robot to see it and take it. Whatever it was, she was sure Gizmoduck thought it would help her. Until she could look at it properly, she had to sit tight and wait until the robot arrived at its destination.

            But Charity couldn’t stop her imagination from wondering exactly what kind of plot she was now involved with. Was this robot a creation of Gizmoduck’s nemesis, using her to get to the hero? Or could it have something to do with Scrooge McDuck who was notorious for being a thorn in the side of the rich and powerful all around the world? Evil villain or hostile takeover? Either way, Charity was a means to an end. She was bait, a hostage, a bargaining tool, or some other nonsense.

            She was a damsel in distress.

            She sighed, rolling her eyes at the cliché. In a few minutes, she had been reduced to the most stereotypical role a female could have in any story. And in today’s age, the role was frowned upon, almost a stigma. Everyone hated the girl who was kidnapped, captured, or caged and didn’t do a single thing to save herself. If the Internet saw her now, there would be blogs, forums and memes ridiculing her and the writers for choosing such an obvious plot twist.

            But what could she do? The robot looked indestructible, as if you could drop a bomb on its tail and it would roll away without a scratch. She didn’t know anything about robots or technology. Even if she did, there was nothing she could do to stop the robot when they were thousands of feet in the air. Fighting back would only result in her splattering to the ground.

            With another sigh, Charity resigned to her despair and uncomfortable position in the robot’s arms. Perhaps there would be more she could do once she arrived in the evil villain’s lair, but what chance did she have against a seasoned ne’er-do-well. She had no talents, no skills, having wasted her twenty-five tender years under her mother’s thumb.  

            So it was to be the damsel in distress after all.

            Several minutes after leaving Ducksburg’s city limits, the robot started to descend, although there were only acres of fenced in farmland and cattle country below. While it wasn’t what she expected, it was genius to have a secret lair under a dairy farm or corn crop.

            The robot swooped closer to the ground, heading toward a crumbling building that must have been a barn. Whatever paint that had been used in its heyday—she laughed at her own pun—had been washed away from the elements. It looked like it would go up in a flash with just a spark. A Hollywood producer would find it a perfect scene for a horror-slasher film.

            The robot’s thrusters rotated, slowing down until they were hovering three feet over the ground, entering the decrepit barn at walking speed. The barn was movie-theater dark with the doorway the only source of light.

            As Charity blinked away the dust that cascaded over her head and coughed, she made out a gaping rectangular hole in the barn’s floor that was slowly growing, right where she expected a secret entrance to a lair under a barn to be.

            The robot slowly floated down through the hole, the darkness consuming all light. When they had sunken below ground, the metal platform slowly closed, causing dirt and old straw that smelled of mildew to rain down on them.

            Charity trembled, a combination of not knowing what lurked in the darkness and the cold of being underground. She couldn’t see a thing except for the red, glowing eyes of the robot that illuminated nothing beyond the mechanical beak. Even the bot’s thrusters didn’t shed enough light to see by.

            She wasn’t sure how much time passed before the robot landed on solid ground, its thrusters turned off and the hum from within its metal shell lowering in pitch.

            Now no longer at risk of falling, Charity struggled as she felt the robot rolling to some unknown destination in the darkness. She knew that anything she did was futile, but she had to do something just to get her frustration out. She kicked out at the robot, pushing against him as leverage, but its constant, firm grip didn’t lessen at all.

            When the robot stopped, she was released. Blind and unable to judge the distance to the floor, she landed awkwardly on her feet then onto her knees rather than rolling an ankle. The floor was metallic, and bruises formed around her kneecaps. As she moved to a more comfortable position, she heard the robot roll away and a metal door squealing shut with a resounding slam. By the way noise echoed, she guessed that wherever she was, it was big.

            “Hello?” she called out into the darkness. “Is someone there?” She wasn’t thrilled to meet her captor, but seeing anyone’s face would be better than sitting in complete darkness with only the robot’s optics to look at.

            Suddenly, bright lights turned on, and Charity shut her eyes tight. When she could open them, she gazed around the place. It looked similar to a warehouse except everything was metal. As large as the structure was, it was empty save for her, her cage and the robot. There were three doors, one on each wall except the one Charity’s prison was against. Her cage bolted to the wall. The three remaining walls were metal bars with a metal plate a few feet above her head.

            After taking a look at the rafters, she was certain there were cameras. Careful not to let whoever was watching her see, she opened her hand to take a look at whatever Gizmoduck had given her. It was a metal ball, just as she guessed by touch alone, with a green blinking light on the top of it. Her knowledge of spy and sci-fi movies told her that this was a tracking device. At least, that was her best guess.

            She slipped it into her pocket, hoping that it would still work with her being underground. Now all she had to do was act the good, little damsel-in-distress and wait to be rescued. Not that she had any choice. She was a twenty-five year-old with a high school degree and no work experience. Not exactly the type that could bust out of a prison.

            “Hello?” she shouted again, moving to the bars. “Hello! Evil villain? Isn’t this the moment you show up and reveal your scheme or something? At least come out and gloat.”

            Nobody came. Not that she was convincing enough to lure out the nemesis of Gizmoduck or Scrooge McDuck or whoever had captured her.

            She wished that someone would show up. She would even take a henchman or toadie, anyone besides that horrible robot. She was scared, cold, and tired. But most of all, she was…

            “I’m bored!” she called out, leaning away from the bars like a child.

            There was a hair-raising metallic screech from speaker feedback before a deep, heavily-accented voice shouted, “Shut up!”

            Not the reaction she expected. The voice, while sounding grown up, had an immature quality to it.

            But at least it was someone.

            “Whoever you are, you’ve made a big mistake,” Charity called out, pushing as much of her face as she could through the bars. “I don’t know why you’ve taken me, but I’m not anyone special.”

            “I told ya to shut up,” the voice through the speakers shouted again. This time, Charity was able to guess his accent was Scottish.

            “Please, let me go. I’m just a poor college student, and I was at Mr. McDuck’s building for a job. They were paying me to go through a few experiments.” The lie tinted with the truth slid easily off her tongue.

            “Oh, there’s no mistake. You’re the one we wanted.”

            Fear stabbed Charity in the chest. “Why do you want me? Who are you? Where am I?”

            The door on the opposite side as Charity’s cage opened up and out waddled a squat, obese duck with a long, gray beard and dressed in what looked like a Scottish costume. He crossed the room and stood in front of the cage.

            “Yer in the belly of the beast,” the Scottish duck growled with an evil smile. “Now shut up!” He jumped up and down and shook his fists childishly at her.

            Charity blinked, surprised. She didn’t expect reality to emulate TV, but surely this grumpy elder wasn’t responsible for the sophisticated robot that had captured her and gotten the best of Gizmoduck. Maybe he was a henchman.

            At least it was someone to talk to.

            “I’ll shut up once I know why I’m here,” she said after realizing that a prisoner shouldn’t sound so bossy. “Please,” she added.

            “I don’t have to tell ya anythin’,” the duck told her angrily. He looked as if he was going to start shouting some more, but a beeping came from his pocket. Startled, he turned in a circle until he finally realized where the sound came from. “What the… Oh, right,” he muttered before his tone changed. “Oh, no! It seems that my secret, underground lair has been found out. Whatever shall I do?”

            Charity raised an eyebrow. One minute, the grumpy duck was acting like a true villain, but now, it sounded as if he were reading from a script. Badly. But if it meant that Gizmoduck had finally found her and was going to get her out of this insanity, then who was she to judge how this guy got his jollies.

            Alarms chirped and red lights blinked a few beats off que, and the Scottish duck continued to narrate. “My most dangerous of enemies has broken in. He will be here momentarily.”

            The portal to her right burst open. On the other side, a gray parrot posed as if he had just kicked the door. His hands were typical karate-chop ready but the ambiance was ruined by his phone tucked between palm and thumb. He wore clothing that looked to cost more than her parents’ house, which was out of place for a rescue mission.

            “Don’t worry, fair maiden. I am here to save you,” he shouted heroically.

            Charity tried not to be disappointed. After all, she was expecting Gizmoduck. Her heart had already prepared for his dashing entrance and rescue. But if this guy was a hero and could rescue her, beggars couldn’t be choosers.

            A hero. Another hero?

            The words flooded her mind, jamming any other thoughts. Her curse. A fifth hero. More pain. But wouldn’t it be worth it? She would be saved.

            And she would fall in love with this new hero as well. Was that so bad? Love wasn’t a bad thing. The more the merrier. All you need is love.

            But the thought of making room for one more person in her heart, to divide her attention one more time, was enough to make her want to weep. She was already in enough pain. She already had enough people in her life that she loved so much that she could die. What if this time, it was the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back?

            At least he wasn’t bad looking. In fact, he looked familiar as if she had met him before. The shape of his beak. The thick eyebrows. The hair.

            Her eyes widened and her heart dropped. He was familiar. Horribly familiar. She turned her head to the robot that was a metallic clone of the “hero” in the doorway, still posing as if there were paparazzi nearby.

            “What…in…the…world?” Charity breathed, feeling as if she had somehow stepped into an alternate dimension where everything was insane. She had written a Darkwing Duck fanfic where that happened, so she was kind of an expert.

            “Oh, no. It is Mark Beaks, the most handsome, powerful, and best superhero the universe has ever known,” the Scottish duck shouted, acting as if he were faint. “Curses. You are foiling my evil scheme.”

            “Yes, I am,” the parrot known as Mark Beaks crowed, taking a selfie before placing his hands on his hips. “Hashtag, I’m the best!”

            The name of the ex-billionaire completely flew past Charity’s notice. Her mind was racing, trying to figure out what was going on. Her best guess was that she had been kidnapped by a couple of idiots so they could play some sort of game. But why? And why her? If their goal was to play super hero, they could have used anyone. But the Scottish guy said he wanted her…

            Her knees weakened so much that she slumped to the ground. Her grip on the iron bars, which were frozen and tight, was the only thing keeping her semi-upright.

            No, it’s not possible, she thought, feeling a tremble in her soul. How did they find out about me?

            It never occurred to her until this moment that someone would try to join the curse for their own benefit. The curse had been such a tight-knit family secret that it hadn’t been until Charity spoke to Scrooge McDuck that someone outside of family or part of the curse knew about it, as far as she knew.

            “Glomgold, prepare to meet thy doom,” Mark Beaks shouted, brandishing his cell phone like a sword at the Scottish duck.

            As Glomgold recited his poorly written, line, Charity directed what strength she had to her voice. “You…you…,” she stuttered, her voice strained. She grew stronger, pointing a finger at the parrot. “You’re not a hero.”

            The two stopped their act, eyes on the lovebird in the cage.

            “What are you talking about?” the parrot asked, smiling smugly. “I’m here to rescue you. Of course I’m a hero. I’m your hero.”

            “Do you think I’m stupid?” Charity accused. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice it’s your stupid face on that stupid robot?!”

            Glomgold and Beaks froze, their eyes slowing turning away from Charity to each other before they both burst out squawking.

            “I told ya she would figure it out!”

            “You blew it. You’re a terrible actor!”

            “I’m the terrible actor? I’m not the one whose takin’ pictures with yer flat camera.”

            “It’s a cell phone. Get with this century, old man.”

            Charity groaned. She knew it. She had been kidnapped by a pair of idiots.

            But that didn’t change the fact that they were dangerous idiots.

            “I told ya I should have been the one to rescue her first. Now how are we supposed ta be part of her curse?” the Scottish one shouted, now jumping up and down.

            “That’s not my problem. The deal was that I help you but I get first dibs on the super powers,” the gray parrot said, frowning. He looked bored with the whole situation as he scrolled through something on his phone.

            “Super powers?” The weight of how these two wanted to use her bore down upon her like an elephant on her shoulders. Words flooded her mind, wanting to get out. She wanted to yell at these two:

            Why would you do that to me?                            

            Don’t you realize that you would condemn me to more pain?

            How could you?

            But these cliché lines died before leaving her lips. Of course they didn’t care. They were villains. They only cared for themselves. She was merely collateral damage; not their problem.

            “You had your turn, and now it’s mine,” Glomgold proclaimed, pulling out a remote control with a single red button.

            Charity knew red buttons were a very, very bad thing. She braced herself for anything. Once Glomgold’s finger pressed the button, the floor slowly opened up. Stunned but not completely petrified, she managed to climb up the bars, holding on with a death grip.

            “Behold, my beautiful pets,” Glomgold shouted, laughing.

            A collage of deadly animals flashed through Charity’s mind. Snakes. Crocodiles. Rabid raccoons. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see, but her nose picked up a scent of something definitely animal along with rancid and rotting and fishy.

            “What the—“ Glomgold growled. He grabbed hold of the bars, tilting his head down. “Beaks, I told you to fill the tank with water.”

            “Huh?” Beaks asked, disinterested. His eyes never left his phone. “Oh, yeah. About that. Apparently the water I ordered was on backorder. It won’t be here until next week.”

            “We’re ten miles away from the sea. You do realize that you didn’t have to buy the water,” Glomgold yelled at his partner.

            “Eww. Do you realize what’s in that water? Uh, no thanks,” Beaks said, sounding more like a teenage girl than a super villain.

            Glomgold spent a few minutes shouting insults and gibberish, jumping up and down in a circle. It was a temper tantrum that any three-year-old would have been jealous of.

            “Okay, that was fun, but let’s really get down to business,” Beaks said, finally putting away his phone. He snatched Glomgold’s remote control, pressed the button to replace the floor, and walked up to Charity’s cage with a professional business posture. “Let’s get to the bottom line.”

            Now with somewhere to stand, Charity tentatively put her feet back on the floor, eyeing the gray parrot with skepticism.

            “We can play super hero all day and eventually get what we want, or we can do things the easy way,” Beaks said, sounding like one of those pushy salesmen who work a kiosk at the mall. “Name your price.”

            “What?” Charity felt dizzy as if the world was tilting and sliding around the universe.

            “Money isn’t an option. Come on, do something for yourself for once,” Mark Beaks reasoned. “You’re feeling the pain for those losers for free. What do you get out of it? Nothing. But if you bring me in, I’ll write a check out for you now.”

            A chill (and not a good one) ran through Charity’s body at just the thought of falling in love with this slimeball. Yes, money was tempting. After all, she had spent over fifteen years of her life thinking of others and never herself. With money, she could find ways to keep her mind off the injuries and sicknesses her body absorbed, travel the world, have a life. It would be tempting to accept the money if it was just Beaks’ pain she would have to accept.

            But this man standing in front of her, he was nothing compared to the others. He didn’t hold a candle to sweet, carefree Launchpad who had always been there for her. And Drake and Gizmoduck, their heroism was enough for Charity to be glad to take on their pain. And Jim, even after all that he had done in the past few days, she couldn’t hold anything against him, especially knowing he was mentally unstable. He needed help, not condemnation.

            She loved all four equally and had no regrets about any of them connected to her through the curse.

            But this man, this Mark Beaks, he made her stomach churn. And she knew without a shadow of a doubt that no matter what he did, no matter how many times he saved her life, she would never fall in love with him. He was no hero.

            “No,” she told him firmly, stamping a foot for emphasis. “Not for all the money in the world.”

            Mark Beaks frowned, his thick eyebrows covering most of his eyes. “Do you know who I am? I am Mark Beaks, multi-billionaire. I can—“

            “Ex-billionaire,” Glomgold interrupted.

            “What?”

            “You lost all your money, remember?” The Scottish duck looked as if he were gloating.

            “You mean you lost my money. Right now, I’m a millionaire. But just you wait, I’ll be a multi-billionaire in no time,” Mark Beaks bragged.

            “Yeah, right.” Glomgold rolled his eyes.

            “I’m not joking. Do you really think that was the first company I lost? Ha ha,” Mark Beaks scoffed before turning back to Charity. “Come on, sweetheart. You could be set for life. You could be famous. You could have anything you want. All you have to do is feel a little pain for me every now and then.”

            Charity glared at him. “No.”

            Mark Beaks growled, hitting the bars with his fists. His phone got in the way, the screen cracking. After composing himself, he threw the phone away and pulled out another. “You’re making a mistake, sweetie.”

            “I think you’re making a mistake,” Charity said, feeling desensitized to fear enough that her courage was returning. “No matter what you do, you’ll never become part of the curse.”

            “I beg to differ,” Glomgold broke in, pulling out yet another remote control with another red button. He pressed it, laughing manically.

            This time, a small door at the top of Charity’s cage opened up. The heightened drama and suspense landed flat as nothing happened right away. Then a black, delicate leg reached out, then another, then six more with a fat, comma-shaped body of a spider. Without the legs, the spider was the size of a silver dollar. With the legs spread out, it could touch the edges of a frisbee.

            Charity stepped into a corner of the cage, her eyes on the spider.

            “One of the deadliest in the world. One bite, and your flesh starts to melt as if acid was poured on it,” Glomgold described, his voice dripping with glee. “If you don’t get the anti-venom, you’ll be in agony for three or four days before you die.”

            The spider walked along the ceiling, cautious at first, but then faster, making its way to the wall that was the back of the cage. It hesitated, testing the surface with its legs before crawling down.

            “But don’t worry, my dear. I’ll save you,” Glomgold said, pulling out a pair of cans of bug spray, armed like a gunslinger from the old west.

            Faster than Glomgold could move, Charity slapped the spider with her bare hand crushing it against the wall. With cold, dead eyes, she turned her head toward the two villains and watched them as she wiped the guts and twitching legs off against her pants then folded her arms like a stern teacher dealing with two unruly elementary students.

            Beaks and Glomgold’s eyes bulged, and they took a few unconscious steps back. Even though they were the ones outside the cage, they felt that the roles had flipped in an instant.

***

            It took Fenton several minutes to realize that he hadn’t been knocked unconscious. It was just that the Gizmoduck visor had malfunctioned and displayed a black screen. A curser in the top, left-hand corner blinked as the system attempted to reboot.

            “Hey, it’s Gizmoduck.”

            Fenton moved his head in the direction of the voice. Without vision, he felt completely vulnerable, but from what he could hear, there was a crowd of concerned citizens heading his way.

            “Hey, bub. Are you alright?” a deep voice asked.

            He felt a tug on one of his arms.

            “Just a slight fall, citizens. It’s no problem,” Gizmoduck said, holding out his hands to indicate they should all stand back. With damaged systems and parts, Gizmoduck barely made it onto his one wheel. (Why did Gyro built it with one wheel? It was so hard to balance when his equilibrium was reeling like a drunk on a ship in a tempest.) When he was upright, he felt unstable, his wheel going back and forth just to keep him from toppling over.

            “Are you sure you’re okay? That was quite a fall,” the deep voice said. “Perhaps you need some repairs. I’ve got some tools in my truck.”

            Repairs would have been a good idea, but Charity was also in danger. “There’s no need,” Gizmoduck said. “Thank you for your concern.” His helmet lens still showed a black screen, and he realized it was because he had it on blackout mode. It was a matter of switching cameras for him to see everything completely.

            The group of citizens looked to be construction workers fixing a water pipe under the road. Fenton was relieved to see the Gizmoduck shaped hole in the asphalt had been over a hundred yards away from where they were working. “Sorry about the road. Bill Scrooge McDuck for the damages,” he called out as he rode away.

            The construction worker’s suggestion of stopping for repairs had been a good idea, and Fenton decided that he couldn’t go into battle without making a quick assessment of damages of the suit before rescuing Charity. After rolling a few blocks, he found an alley in which to idle as he ran diagnostics as well as remove the taffy from his gears and thrusters.

            Crawling out of the Gizmoduck suit wasn’t easy. The taffy had gummed up even the parts protecting his neck, but eventually he slid out, the suit remaining upright even with him on the outside. Using the contact lenses to keep track of the systems check, he used the few tools stored in the suit to scrape away what he could of the taffy. Unfortunately, he was unable to remove much of the confection projectile. What was still pliable was extraordinarily sticky and almost impossible to move. The rest of the taffy had been burnt by the thrusters and practically bonded with the metal.

            One way or another, Gizmoduck wouldn’t be flying anywhere.

            Gizmoduck’s inner systems were all intact, but there were several problems with movement, weapons, and mobility. Fenton didn’t have the tools nor the time to do everything, so he performed patch jobs with what was needed and would have to do without everything else.

            He checked the GPS. The blinking dot had remained in the same position for several minutes. That must be where Marks Beaks was keeping Charity, at least as long as the tracking device hadn’t been found. It wasn’t too far away, just forty or fifty miles out of town. He could make it with the Gizmoduck suit as it was, although traveling on the ground would be slower.

            Finishing his repairs, Fenton crawled back into the suit and booted it up. Checking his lens, he saw that it was at fifty-five percent complete and working. It would have to do.

            “Hold on, Charity. I’m coming.”

***

            “Alright, genius. Any more bright ideas?” Mark Beaks whispered to Glomgold as they scrutinized the female in the cage. “Perhaps something less stupid than the sharks and the spider?”

            “I’m thinkin’,” Glomgold growled.

            Charity was tired of being scared. In fact, she was pissed. Everything about these idiots pissed her off. How dare they use her! The degenerates. The filthy cowards. Did they really think they could pretend to be heroes, that she would fall in love with them so they could live a life without pain?

            Charged with negative emotions, she wasn’t going to let them get away with it.

            Moving toward the bars, she grasped them loosely, leaning her body against them. She gave them a resigned expression. “You were right before,” Charity said, her eyes on the gray parrot. “You’re not going to let me go unless I give you what you want. Perhaps we can make a deal.”

            “So, you do want money?” Mark Beaks said with a smirk.

            “No, what I want is to be left alone. Although money would be a bonus.” Charity gave him a crooked smile. “If I make you part of my curse, you’ll let me go, right?”

            “Sure,” Mark Beaks said. “We won’t need you anymore.”

            “Okay,” Charity relented. She held her hands out beyond the bars. “Then all you need to do is hold my hand.
            Mark Beaks and Glomgold exchanged glances. “That’s it? But what about the whole hero thing.”

            “That’s one way,” Charity said. “But there is another way to create a bond. Nobody has used this technique for a long time. After all, who would consciously choose to take on an entire lifetime of pain.” She lowered her head sadly.

            “I’m going for it,” Glomgold said, leaping forward, hand extended.

            Not one to be outdone, Beaks followed suit, getting ahead of his partner because of his longer legs.

            Before either one could grasp her blue hands, Charity grabbed her captors, taking Beaks by his shirt collar and Glomgold by the beard. She yanked, pulling them none-too-gently into the bars.

            “Alright, you double dufuses,” Charity growled, baring her teeth at the duo. “You’re going to let me go without any complaint, or I’m going to make your lives as painful as I can for as long as I hold onto you. And you can imagine how experienced I am in pain.”

            Mark Beaks dropped his phone.

            Glomgold jerked away, his beard coming off like velcro.

            Both Charity and Beaks stared at the limp chunk of hair in the lovebird’s grip with surprise. After dropping the fake beard, Charity doubled her grip on the gray parrot.

            “So what’s it going to be?” Charity said to Beaks with a growl in her throat.

            “Let her out! Let her out! Let her out!” Beaks shouted at Glomgold, his voice rising in pitch each time he said it.

            Glomgold had his back to the two, and when he turned around, he was adjusting another false beard to the bottom of his bill. “Ha ha ha. You thought you could capture ol’ Glomgold. I’m more resourceful than you thought.” He raced away toward one of the doors.

            “Hey, where are you going? Are you going to leave me here? With her?” Beaks called out, pleading.

            “Oh, don’t make such a fuss. I’ll be back,” Glomgold said, opening the door.

            “Glomgold!” Beaks yelled, holding out his hand as if to grab the elderly duck. “Get back here! Robot, stop him.”

            Like lightning, the Beaks bot raced at Glomgold, slamming the door before he could escape.

            “Ach. What are you doing?” Glomgold shouted as the robot picked him up by the back of his shirt. He swung and kicked at the metallic monstrosity, but never landed a blow.

            “What were you doing? You were leaving me behind,” Beaks shouted back.

            Charity rolled her eyes. It was like dealing with children. She shook the parrot roughly, getting his attention. “How do you open the door? With a key? Or a button? How?”

            “Oh, right,” Beaks said, his eyes going crossways. “My robot controls that.”

            “Then have it open the door,” Charity ordered, shaking him again.

            Beaks put a hand on his head as if he had a headache. When he spoke, he sounded shakey. “Robot, op—“

            “Don’t do it!” Glomgold shouted over Beak’s voice. “She’s in a cage. The scheme will still work.”

            “Dude, she has me in a death grip,” Beaks told his partner. “If you want to trade places, I’m more than willing to wait.”

            “Do it!” Charity screamed into Beak’s face, feeling as if her courage and anger might disappear before she could escape. She wasn’t normally a violent person, so if her fear took over, she wasn’t sure if she could keep up these threats. And what if she had to follow through with them? Could she hurt another person?

            “Robot, open the cage,” Beaks commanded before anyone else could stop or threaten him.

            The robot dropped Glomgold—the duck squawking as he fell over five feet to the metal flooring—before rolling to the cage, disengaging the lock, and pulling the iron door open with a squeak.

            Charity didn’t waste any time, releasing Beaks and racing out the door. She was free of the cage, but she still wasn’t out of her prison. “How do I get out of here?” she asked the parrot, pointing to all three doors.

            “You don’t!” Glomgold said, rolling around on the floor as he tried to stand up. “Robot, capture her.”

            The adrenaline coursing through Charity’s body was still giving her a boost of energy. She dodged the robot’s first lunge and skittered to Beaks, who was leaning against the cage as if he had just run a marathon.

            “Make it stop,” Charity ordered, hoping she could still manipulate the parrot.

            “Don’t be such a ninny,” Glomgold told Beaks. “You’re gonna let a girl get the best of us?”

            Beaks merely ran away from Charity, in which the lovebird continued after him with the robot on her tail.

            “Get away from me, you demon woman,” Beaks shouted, sprinting as best he could.

            “Make your stupid robot stop,” Charity shouted back, her arms outstretched to grab at his jacket. How could such a skinny, stick bird like him run so fast?

            “Don’t just stand there. Help me,” Beaks yelled at Glomgold as he circled the elderly duck.

            “How?”

            “Do something!”

            As Beaks made yet another revolution around Glomgold, the Scottsman dove at Charity, tackling her legs and bringing her down as if he were a defensive end taking out a quarterback.

            Charity hadn’t seen the squat duck before he rammed into her; she had been too concerned about the killer robot and getting her hands on Beaks. Within seconds, she was on the floor, a few more bruises added to her collection. Feeling a body near her, she clenched her fists and struck out at him, feeling satisfaction as her knuckles collided. That answered her earlier question of whether or not she could hit another person.

            In mid-fight, the robot took hold of her wrists and raised her into the air. Charity cried out in pain as the metal man’s grip bit into her fresh wounds. The only thing that soothed her despair was seeing Glomgold huddled in a ball with feathers floating all around him.

            She glared as Glomgold picked himself up and dusted his clothing, looking smug. Beaks, on the other hand, still looked bewildered and ruffled at his rough treatment.

            “See? Nothin’ to it,” Glomgold said, gesturing with a hand at Charity. “Let’s get back to business. This will go so much easier for you if you cooperate, girly.”

            Charity had a string of curse words she had prepared to fling at the pair when the robot did something unexpected.

            “Intruder,” it said in a classic Hollywood robot voice. It then dropped Charity and rolled out the door.

            “Uh…What just happened?” Glomgold asked, looking to Beaks for information.

            “My robot is following its program. It was designed to follow all my vocal commands, and yours by extension, but first and foremost, it was to protect us. It must have picked up an intruder on its sensors.”

            “Gizmoduck!” Charity said, perking up. Her heart raced. He was coming for her, like he promised.

            “Impossible. He couldn’t have found my cleverly hidden lair, not in a million years, the idiot,” Beaks said. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out yet another phone.

            “Unless he gave me a tracking device,” Charity added, smiling.

            “Yes, unless he gave you a trac—“ Beaks’ eyes widened. “He gave you a tracking device?!”

            Charity stood up, hands on hips. “So, let’s renegotiate you letting me go.” She cracked her knuckles for ambiance.

            Beaks uttered an “Eep” before taking a step back.

            Knowing the parrot was already afraid of her, Charity set her sights on the elderly duck. Time to put her womanly wiles to good use.

            “Listen up, grandpa!” she shouted, stomping a foot. “Are you going to show me the way out or do I have to send you to early retirement?”

            “You wouldn’t hurt a feeble, old man, would you?” Glomgold asked, bending his back and shaking his hand a little.

            Oh, Charity would. In fact, she may have gone a little overboard, her rage blinding her from knowing when enough was enough. Soon, she held a punch-drunk Glomgold by his collar, his tongue lulling around in his mouth.

            He wouldn’t be any use to her for a while.

            She turned cold eyes onto Beaks. “Now, as for you…”

            “Don’t hurt me!” Beaks squealed. He back up, tripped over his own feet and fell backward. “The exit is that way. Just go and leave me alone.”

            “But I want something first,” Charity said coldly.

            “My bank account number is 6634—“

            “I don’t want your money,” Charity shouted to stop his babbling. “I want you to engage your robot’s self-destruct sequence.”

            Beaks froze, not meeting her gaze. “What self-destruct sequence? There’s no self-destruct sequence.” He shrugged his shoulders but looked nervous.

            “Come on. A guy like you has probably watched all the science fiction movies I’ve seen,” Charity said, smirking and folding her arms. “There’s always a self-destruct sequence.”

            Beaks lifted his gaze to her. “I don’t suppose we can just forget this little mishap, and I could somehow persuade you to come work for me?”
            Nothing that day stunned her as much as that. Her jaw dropped a little before she composed herself.

            “Sorry, but I think I’m over-qualified,” she told him. “Now destroy that robot. And make sure it doesn’t hurt anyone when it does, especially Gizmoduck.”

            With a few thumb scolls and taps to his phone, Beaks did as asked, even showing the confirmation and video feed from his robot that it was done.

            “The robot will fly two miles up into the air before it explodes,” Beaks explained.

            The camera feed was already showing the robot soaring through the air, the ground looking like a satellite image. After a few more seconds, the feed turned to static. A moment later, there was a loud noise that vibrated even this far underground.

            “Now, where was that exit again?” Charity asked, her voice sultry.

            Beaks pointed to the door on the left.

            “Thank you.”

            As the lovebird walked away, Beaks used his phone to capture a few pictures of Glomgold, submitting them to his social media pages with the caption, “Bros, you know the phrase, ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned’? It’s even worse when they’re cursed.”

***

            Gizmoduck didn’t think he could sneak past any security, no matter what Beaks had set up, so he decided to plow right in. However, he didn’t even make it within a mile’s perimeter before that accursed Beaks bot showed up. Putting on more speed, Gizmoduck didn’t flinch as he charged. It didn’t matter that he was outgunned. It didn’t matter that the robot had higher tech. It didn’t matter that he didn’t have flight capability anymore.

            He was going to save Charity.

            He didn’t have to pull his punches because he was afraid of anyone getting hurt. It was just him and the tin can. They met with a resounding boom, colliding in the middle of the street. They were head to head, fists, pies and taffy flying. And even though he was damaged, Fenton knew he had a chance because he wasn’t a preprogrammed, cold piece of steel. The robot could think faster than he could, but it couldn’t think outside the box. It could only do what it was programmed to do; even artificial intelligence had its limits.

            It was no match for the brain of Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera.

            But, dang, it could throw a punch.

            Seeing that his systems were slowly losing power, more and more of the suit getting damaged, Fenton engaged a plan he created on a whim. As quickly as he could, he clawed at the Gizmoduck’s shoulder joint and scooped out a handful of the sticky taffy.

            “Eat this,” he shouted, slapping it over the Beaks bot’s optics.

            The Beaks bot froze as it ran through a diagnostics check, just as Fenton knew it would.

            Now was his chance. Before the mechanical man could figure out what was obscuring its vision, he had to disable it.

            Gizmoduck whirled to the back of the Beaks bot with the intentions of opening up its circuitry and wreak havoc, but he didn’t have the chance. Before he could lay hands on the device, it rocketed up into the air, the force driving the super hero back.

            What’s it up to? Fenton wondered, rolling backward so he could keep track of the robot’s trajectory. As it rose higher and higher, he wondered if it was going to clean its optics then send an assault from afar, which would leave Gizmoduck at a disadvantage. But to his utter amazement, the robot simply exploded; what pieces that didn’t completely turn to ash and dust rained down.

            “Does that mean I won?” Gizmoduck asked, confused. He tilted his head one way then the other, trying to figure out if this was a trap. He hadn’t done anything to cause the robot to explode on its own, so that must mean Mark Beaks had done it.

            Right?
            Confused, Gizmoduck turned back to the matter at hand of rescuing Charity, but this time more cautiously. The robot exploding had made him wary of what was ahead of him.

            As he scanned the area where the tracking device indicated Charity was being held, he formed a 3D image of the lair, how far underground it was, what it was made of, and what was inside. Along with some tech, he also located three warm bodies. The tracking device wasn’t accurate enough for him to know which of those bodies was Charity, so when one of the entities moved away from the others and started to ascend to the surface, he prepared for an enemy. He recalled his last encounter with Mark Beaks, how he had used nano-technology to strengthen his body to rival Gizmoduck’s strength.

            The second time that day, he was surprised as the ground opened up and the black-feathered face of Charity marched up a set of stairs.

            “Gizmoduck!” she called, her face brightening. She waved and ran his way.

            “Charity?” Fenton couldn’t believe it. “How? What just—” He didn’t get a chance to form all the questions he had before she threw her arms around his neck.

            “Oh, sorry,” Charity said quickly, taking a step back, embarrassed. “I got a little carried away. It’s been an interesting day.” She gave him a shy smile.

            “Let’s take you back to Mr. McDuck’s mansion,” Fenton said, deepening his voice. Her words reminded him that she had been through a terrible ordeal. His questions could wait for when she was somewhere safe.

            Picking her up bridal-style, he revved his single wheel and started down the country road back to Ducksburg. As he picked up speed, his contact lenses displayed a few warning signs, indicated severe damage to several areas of the suit. He ignored them, planning on heading back to the lab directly after making sure Charity was safe.

            In his arms, Charity shifted, jumped, and wriggled. Looking down, Fenton could see discomfort on the lovebird’s face. She winced again, her hand going to a place at the back of her neck.

            “Are you injured?” Gizmoduck asked. He gritted his teeth. If Mark Beaks had done something to her, he would be returning very soon to make sure he answered for every scratch and bruise she got.

            “I don’t know,” Charity said, wincing again. “It feels as if I’m being shocked. Ouch!”

            “Shocked?” Fenton checked for any damage in the suits arms and hands. Besides the taffy gumming up joints and gears, the appendages weren’t bad. He couldn’t see any broken wires in those areas that would be shocking Charity.

            The warnings flashed once more in his vision, the suit reminding him that there was less than twenty-five percent power and losing more. A map of the Gizmoduck suit appeared in his lenses, showing the danger areas that needed immediate attention.

            One of those areas was behind Fenton’s neck.

            “Oh no.”

            “What is it?” Charity said softly.

            He could see the tension in her body. He screeched to a halt, feeling sick to his stomach. “My suit is malfunctioning. Several wires have been damaged and the electricity is shocking me. In the back of my neck.”

            Charity’s eyes widened as she took in this information. Her body huddled more into a ball. “Are you in danger of getting…?”

            “You’re the one whose being shocked because of it. I’m fine,” Gizmoduck shouted, immediately sorry since he wasn’t mad at her.

            “I can handle it. But if you could go as fast as you can, I would be grateful.” She smiled through the pain.

            “We’re not waiting that long,” Gizmoduck determined, gazing around the landscape. Up ahead, three miles away was an abandoned gas station. It would do. Keeping a firm grip on Charity, he raced forward, his wheel burning rubber against the pavement.

            Minutes later, he tore off the glass door of the gas station and rolled in, crushing broken glass and old packages of snack food wrappers that had been left behind. There was a cashier’s counter and several rows of shelves empty of merchandise.

            Setting Charity down, Fenton tried to exit the suit. Usually when he commanded the suit to release him, several systems would shut down, and the thick collar around his neck would retract. The former happened but not the latter.

            “Open. Open,” Fenton growled at the suit.

            “What’s wrong?” Charity asked, her voice tense.

            “It’s this metal plate,” Gizmoduck explained, running his fingers around the collar. “It’s damaged and won’t open.” He wrapped his fingers around the suit’s neck and pulled. Unfortunately, it didn’t budge either because the parts were fused together due to damage or taffy, or because the suit didn’t have enough power and strength to break it. “I can’t get it off.”

            “If we get back to the lab, could Fenton get it off you?” Charity said, flinching a few times. She was trying not to show how much pain she was in.

            “Gyro could,” Fenton said, not bothering to correct her. “But with the suit losing power, it will take more than an hour to get there.” The longer the suit remained damage, the slower he would get.

            “It’s okay. I told you I can take it,” Charity said, looking concerned about him. “I’m used to pain.”

            Fenton clenched his teeth. That wasn’t good enough for him. He couldn’t stand to let her be in that kind of pain for that long. Not after all she had been through.

            “No. It’s coming off now,” Gizmoduck said. He opened a compartment in his chest where pies usually were created and catapulted. This time, however, the suit released his tool box. “I can get it off now, but I’ll need your help.”

            “Me? But I—“

            “It’s not difficult. I’ll talk you through it.” Gizmoduck handed her a small version of a crowbar, some wire cutters and a pair of rubber gloves.

            Looking uncertain but willing, Charity climbed on top of the suit.

            Gizmoduck leaned against one of the shelves, which blessedly held his weight. Inside the suit, Fenton guided Charity through the process blindly since his rearview cameras were offline.

            “Okay, to start, find the seam that separates the neck from the back,” Fenton said. He had his eyes closed so he could envision what Charity would be doing.

            “Hang on. Let me get the gloves on,” Charity said.

            Fenton could feel her shifted above him.

            “Ready.”

            “Take the hooked end of the crowbar and wedge it into the seam. You’ll have to put a lot of weight into it.”

            “Am I going to hurt you?” Charity asked, concerned.

            “The armor is thick. I’ll be okay. It’s you I’m worried about,” Fenton said. He waited, hearing the sounds of metal scraping metal, then Charity grunting with exertion and the squeal of the armor bending. “Keep going. Make an opening as wide as you can. It needs to be big enough to stick your hand in.”

            A few minutes later, Charity said, “I don’t think I can make the hole bigger. Now what?”

            Fenton imagined what she was looking at. “Reach in and feel for any wires. Pull them out. Don’t worry. Your gloves should protect you from getting shocked.”

            “Again,” Charity said, her voice lighter with her dauntless humor.

            Fenton imagined her doing as he asked, feeling something brushing against his neck and hearing wires scratching against the armor.

            “Oh, that feels better,” Charity said with a sigh.

            “Did you get them all?”

            “I think so. I’m not getting shocked anymore.”

            “Good. Now comes the tricky part. You’re going to manually remove the neck plate from the suit,” Fenton said, bringing up the schematics from his memories.

            “Uh, now? I thought since I removed the wires, you were good for a while,” Charity wondered.

            “The suit needs repairs. And if I’m stuck inside, I can’t repair it,” Fenton explained.

            “Okay.” Charity sounded nervous. “What do I do?”

            “Reach inside again and feel against the back. You should feel a metal ring.” He could hear her doing just so.

            “Okay”

            “That’s the tab release to turn off the magnet. Pull it.”

            He felt a jerk and then the hum of the suit went to a lower pitch. Pushing with his feet, he tried to lift the neck plate. There was a lot more give, but it wasn’t completely disconnected. “That should have done it, but I’m still stuck.” He was able to twist in either direction several inches.

            “Why?” Charity asked.

            “Something is caught on the piece of armor. You’ll need to feel around for whatever it is.” Fenton waited, listening as her fingers slid around the armor. A few times, he could feel her brushing against his feathers.

            “I feel something. It’s a jagged piece of metal.” She moved the plate around, jiggling it and turning it. “I can’t get it loose.”

            “Use the wire cutters,” Fenton said. “It’ll take a while, but you should be able to cut through them eventually.”

            It took almost fifteen minutes. Not only was the small cutting tool not made to break through such a thick piece of metal, but the angle was difficult to work with. But eventually, the neck piece broke off, and Fenton spilled out none-too-gracefully to the floor. Grateful to be out of such a predicament, he yanked at the plate of armor still around his neck, forgetting that the Gizmoduck helmet was too big to go through the ring.

            Once again, he found himself stuck as he violently jerked at the last remnants of the suit. “I don’t suppose I could ask you for help once more,” he called to Charity, embarrassed and feeling silly for his predicament.

            Charity jumped down, but hesitated to lay hands on the helmet. “Uh…are you sure? Wouldn’t that mean I would know your secret identity? I guess I could close my eyes or find a blindfold or something.”

            “Just get this helmet off me,” Fenton shouted, not really listening. He was beginning to feel claustrophobic from being trapped in pieces of Gizmoduck. As Charity tugged from one end, he pulled from another. The helmet popped off easier than either thought, causing them to reel backward.

            “That’s a relief,” Fenton said, pulling off the neck plate and running his hands through his sweaty hair, relieved at the feeling of fresh air.

            “You!”

            And then it all flooded to him. Charity didn’t know it was him in the suit. He recalled her earlier concern as well as a flood of insecurities. Would she be disappointed that it was him in the suit? Or would she be mad that he deceived her during the experiments? And what about all they spoke about, that she believed she was only talking to science-intern Fenton and not to Gizmoduck?

            “I tried to tell you earlier, before the robot attacked,” Fenton said, looking away. “I’m sorry I had to deceive you. The experiments—” He stopped mid-sentence as Charity threw her arms around him, holding him tight.

            “Thank you for coming back for me,” she whispered. “Thank you for rescuing me.”

Chapter Text

            The curse was a double-edged sword for me.

            I bore the pain for four men and spent my life pining for them. My love was so deep, some days, my every thought was on one or the other.

            And in return, I was given nothing for my effort. Only Launchpad was my companion, and he gave me friendship. I never asked for more than that, but some days, I would wonder if anyone would ever love me as deeply as I did for my bond mates. I suppose I could have gone out and dated, perhaps eventually fall in love with someone who wasn’t part of the curse.

            But that felt like it would be a betrayal. Oh, how I hated this curse that made me love so much, which forced me to feel pain and give my love but get nothing good out of it. I may blame my isolation on my mother and her protectiveness, but in a way, I relied on that buffer between me and the world. For how could I, in good conscious, fall in love and marry another when my heart was already divided four ways. It wouldn’t be fair to them.

            Which was the true blade against my throat.

***

            Negaduck remained a statue even when voices approached the door to his cell. He was quiet, listening in on the conversation.

            “He doesn’t need to be locked up. He needs a doctor,” a female, British voice insisted.

            “We can’t just hand him over to a hospital. What if we need him?” a deep, Scottish voice replied.

            “And what if we don’t? We can’t keep him in there. Not only does he need help, but he’s also a danger.”

            “Those are iron bars. He’s not getting out.”

            “His mind is broken. He needs therapy and medicine,” the female insisted. “Do you know what he almost did to your nephew? Didn’t you see what he did to Charity?”

            Negaduck raised his head at the name. The rest of the conversation meant little to him, but that name, the girl’s name. She was of great interest to him. Was she nearby? Did the voices know where she was?

            “Of course I know. The reason I’m keeping Starling here instead of dropping him off at the nearest asylum is because of Charity. If this actor is necessary for breaking the curse, then he needs to stay here where I can keep an eye on him.”

            Break the curse? Negaduck recalled Charity talking about that. It had been unbelievable, but so was the fact that he hadn’t had any pain, injury or sickness for fifteen years. He had told nobody about that, not even that hack that called himself a psychologist. It had been his secret power, but that girl had known. Which means there was something to this curse after all.

            “Or, we could get him the help that he needs now, and if we need him, we can retrieve him.”

            “It seems more trouble than its worth. Besides, now that we have the four of them, I bet we can have this curse business all wrapped up by tomorrow.”

            “Where have I heard that before?”

            “Bah!”

            The door to the hallway opened up, and a tall, broad woman with a gray bun entered cautiously. She glanced around, only the light from the hallway to see by. Her eyes must have been good because she spotted him sitting up on the cot.

            “Oh, good. You’re awake,” she said, her voice stern like that of a nanny or governess in a movie about the regency era. “My name is Mrs. Beakley. I hope you have—“

            “Let me go!” Negaduck shouted, leaping at the bars. He thrust out his hands, grabbing at the woman’s clothing. More than likely, she had the key to this jail. But to his surprise, the woman batted his assault away coolly.

            “None of that,” Mrs. Beakley said, adjusting her glasses. “As long as you are a guest of Mr. McDuck, you will act properly, Mr. Starling.”

            Negaduck sneered, “A guest? Since when did guests get such posh accommodations?” He spread his arms out at the sparse cell.

            “Mr. Starling, I’m not sure if you understand what is going on, but you are having a psychotic episode. I am not trained nor do I know much in the field of psychology, but I know this much: You are a danger to society. I’m afraid as long as you remain thus, you will be lodged down here.” Mrs. Beakley’s bill pressed tightly together.

            “How charitable,” Negaduck growled. He folded his arms. “And when you’re done with me, then what? I don’t suppose you’ll just kick me to the curb. Or are you going to silence me?”

            Mrs. Beakley looked disturbed by the insinuation. “Mr. Starling, you are not among criminals. Yes, you are locked up, but that is for your own safety as well as for everyone else under Scrooge McDuck’s guardianship. After seeing what you are capable of, be grateful that you aren’t in chains. As for ‘when we’re done with you’, I assure you that you will be given proper medical treatment. You are a sick man.”

            Negaduck gave her a big smile. “What are you talking about? I’ve never felt better. In fact, I’m more than better. I’m indestructible. Nothing can hurt me. Doesn’t sound like I need a doctor.”

            “Mr. Starling, that is not be—“

            “Don’t call me that!”

            Mrs. Beakley stepped back, her usual stoniness slipping to fear as Negaduck threw himself at the bars, screaming like a madman.

            “Mr. Starli—“

            “I’m Negaduck!” he shouted, shaking the bars. Although the iron cell was quite sturdy, he still managed to make the bars rattle with his raw insanity.

            “Mr. Starling, if you do not calm down, I will be forced to tranquilize you again,” Mrs. Beakley stated, her composure back.

            Negaduck growled like a wild animal but backed down. He didn’t want to return to that churning darkness that tossed him back and forth like a ship on a stormy sea. Even though the darkness helped him reconcile to his true name, he couldn’t return there.

            “You will be given all comforts, but sadly, yes, you will be a prisoner here until we can safely turn you over to the proper facility,” Mrs. Beakley said. She glanced down at the untouched sandwich and water that sat in the corner of his cell. “If you need anything, I will return hourly to hear your requests. I will try to accommodate you as within reason.”

            “And I’m betting that freeing me isn’t within reason,” Negaduck said sarcastically, returning to his cot.

            Mrs. Beakley shook her head. “I don’t like having you here anymore than you do, but Mr. McDuck insists on it. If I had it my way, you’d already be getting the help you need. However, I hope you will cooperate with us. That girl who you captured yesterday, it is for her that we have brought you here.”

            “She’s a fan, or so she says,” Negaduck said, memories returning.

            “More than that. She is under a terrible curse, and we may need your help to break it.”

            “And I’m the crazy one here, huh?” Negaduck scoffed.

            “I’m sure you know what I’m talking about,” Mrs. Beakley said. “You have experienced the effects of the same curse for as long as she has.”

            Negaduck frowned. He didn’t like that this woman knew of his super powers.

            “I’m sure if you were of a sound mind, you would agree that this young woman should be free of such a curse, Mr. Starling.”

            “I told you to not call me that,” Negaduck shouted. “My name is Negaduck.”

            A pitying look crossed Mrs. Beakley’s face, and that only made him even madder. However, instead of turning against her like before, he let his bill split into a devilish smile.

            “Okay, I’ll cooperate and help the girl. But I should get something in return.”

            “What is that?”

            “I want Darkwing Duck.”

            Mrs. Beakley’s only reaction was to shake her head.

            “Oh, but I promise I’ll only hurt him after the curse is broken,” Negaduck said sadistically. “I wouldn’t want that poor, innocent girl to be in pain. Once the curse is gone, she wouldn’t feel anything I’ll do to that imposter.”

            Mrs. Beakley merely left the room, closing the door tightly behind her. There was a click as a key slid into the lock and turned.

            Negaduck laughed loudly, knowing the woman could still hear him. He continued to laugh as her footsteps receded. Once he stopped, he went to the bars, crouched down and felt around on the floor outside the jail. When his fingers came into contact with a tiny, slice of metal, he grinned.

            Mrs. Beakley hadn’t noticed one of her bobby pins coming out when he grabbed her, but his keen eyes had spotted it as the light from the hallway glinted off of it while it fell. Such a tiny, insignificant tool, no one would think he could do anything with it. With enough of an imagination, anything could be used as a weapon.

            Or at least a tool in which to escape.

***

            “No way. You killed it with your bare hand?” Fenton asked in disbelief.

            Charity nodded coolly. She took a drink from the water bottle she had found in the back. It and a bag of expired cheese-flavored chips were the only sustenance they could find in the abandoned gas station, which they shared.

            “I don’t think I know anyone who could have done that,” Fenton said, sticking his head back into the Gizmoduck suit. His voice reverberated from inside. “I definitely wouldn’t have. Spiders creep me out.”
            “Spiders just don’t scare me,” Charity said from where she sat on the dusty floor. “I guess if I thought about how dangerous the spider was, maybe I would have used my shoe, but those guys made me so angry, I just reacted.”

            “Being kidnapped makes you angry? Remind me not to get on your bad side,” Fenton said.

            “I actually was scared most of the time. But when I found out that they wanted to use my curse, I guess that set me off,” Charity said. “I’ve never been so mad in my life. Not even close.”

            Fenton crawled out, bringing with him a control box with several wires sticking out. “Ah, my communications device isn’t as damaged as I thought it would be. I’ll just replace a few wires, and we can call someone to pick us up.”

            “I wish I kept that guy’s cell phone,” Charity sighed. “Launchpad would have been here in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

            “And taking out half the flock to get here,” Fenton said.

            Charity snorted.

            Using electrical tape, Fenton spliced several wires and performed a crude patch job on the system. Within his contact lenses, he was able to check if his repairs were helping. After fixing one wire, he was able to pick up a signal, but it was weak.

            “Dang.”

            “What is it?”

            “I only have one bar,” Fenton grumbled. For someone who was used to 5G and full bars no matter where he went, this was very annoying.

            “Could it be because Gizmoduck is too damaged?” Charity asked, standing up to look at his work even though she knew nothing about technology.

            “No, I think something is jamming the signal,” Fenton answered. “We need to move to get a stronger signal.”

            “Okay, let’s go,” Charity said, gesturing to the broken door of the gas station.

            “By ‘we’, I mean all three of us,” Fenton said, gesturing to the mass of Gizmoduck.

            Charity grimaced. “Okay, let’s move him.”

            Together, they each grabbed a shoulder and pulled, barely moving the metal armor a few inches with their first attempt. Fenton gave Charity a hopeless look which the lovebird mirrored exactly.

            “This is going to take forever,” Fenton said, passing the back of his hand over his forehead. The heat of the day had turned the building into an oven. With only one water bottle to share, they were at risk of heat exhaustion if they tried to drag Gizmoduck’s can around.

            “Can you remove the communication stuff and just take that?” Charity suggested, pointing at the box.

            “It’s possible,” Fenton said. “But we need a power source. I can’t take the one from the suit.”

            “Why not?”

            “Because it’s nuclear.”

            Charity laughed nervously. “What kind of power source do you need? Like, double-A batteries?”

            “Mmmm, not exactly. Something bigger.”

            “Like a car battery?”

            “Yeah, that should work. Is there a car battery nearby?”

            “If it’s still in the truck out back,” Charity replied.

            Curious, Fenton followed the lovebird to a run-down tow truck that looked like it would crumble to dust in a wind storm. When he grabbed the hood, it came apart in pieces. “Well, at least the engine and everything here looks good.”

            “So, the battery may work?” Charity asked.

            “If it’s not dead. And even then, I may be able to jump it with Gizmoduck,” Fenton explained. Leaning over the truck, he disconnected the battery, glad to see it wasn’t damaged or leaking acid, which wouldn’t be a good sign. It was old, but if they were lucky, it could hold a charge long enough to get a stronger signal.

            They returned inside where Fenton tested the battery.

            “Dead,” he said and folded his arms. “I don’t suppose you saw any jumper cables anywhere.”

            Charity shook her head. “I’ll look again.” She rushed all over the gas station and even check the dilapidated truck before returning empty handed.

            “I was afraid of that,” Fenton said with a sigh. “I can jump the battery, but it’s going to be dangerous.”

            “Maybe we should just hitch-hike back to Ducksburg?” Charity suggested.

            “No, I’m not going to leave the suit here, especially so close to Mark Beaks,” Fenton said. “And I don’t think you should go on your own.”

            Charity frowned, wondering if he said it because she was a woman, but decided not to push the issue. “How dangerous?” She immediately regretted asking the question.

            “Well, I can use some cables from Gizmoduck’s inner workings, but I don’t have any clamps. As long as we are careful, it’s not that dangerous,” Fenton said, his words not matching his worried expression. “However, if one of us accidentally touches the wire, it’s going to be more than just a nasty shock.”

            For me anyway, Charity thought. “Would the gloves keep us safe?”
            “Yeah, but I only have one pair. And it’ll take both of us to charge the battery,” Fenton said seriously. “So you will wear the gloves.”

            “Not that it matters,” Charity said glumly. “I’ll feel it either way.”

            “Oh, right,” Fenton said, frowning. “But I do this kind of stuff every day, so I’m less likely to make a mistake. Plus, if it’s a lethal shock, you won’t get hurt.”

            The way he said it so matter-of-factly, Charity reacted with anger. “What? You mean you could die?”

            “Well…there’s a small chance of that,” he said with a shrug.

            “Nope. We’re not doing this. We’ll just wait by the road and wave down someone. Maybe we can borrow their cell phone or they can get help for us,” Charity said reasonably.

            “I can’t chance that Mark Beaks or Glomgold will find us. And with Gizmoduck out of commission, I don’t have any way of fighting them off,” Fenton argued.

            Charity wracked her brain for any other solution, but if there was one, it didn’t come to mind. “Okay. Tell me what to do.”

            Fenton cut two lengths of cable from Gizmoduck long enough to connect from the power source to the battery. After making Charity put the gloves back on, he showed her where on the power source to touch the bare wires.

            “Do not move your hands from this position,” he warned Charity. “Only touch the wire coverings.”

            “Okay.”

            Fenton took the job of holding the wires to the battery. He didn’t tell the lovebird that if anything wrong happened, more than likely the car battery could explode. While the curse made it complicated, he was convinced it would be better if he was in the greater danger than Charity.

            Together, they held the wires still against Gizmoduck’s power source and the car battery.

            “I’m going to turn Gizmoduck’s power on now. But only at ten percent output,” Fenton said, still worried that that would be too much energy. “If anything happens, remove the wires immediately.”

            Charity nodded.

            Then, like revving a car to charge one battery from another, Fenton used vocal commands for the suit to expel energy into the cables. On his side, there was snapping and sparks, but he held still. Just as soon as it started, it ended.

            “Sorry. I let go,” Charity said after screaming at the sound of the sparks. “I didn’t know that would happen.”

            “I should have warned you,” Fenton said, his nerves feeling like pinpricks.

            “I’m ready. I can do it again,” Charity said, although her voice was a bit shaky.

            “Give me a minute,” Fenton said, holding his device against the battery, checking for a charge. “No need. It’s holding a charge.”

            “Really?” Charity asked, amazed. “That’s it?” She looked relieved.

            “It didn’t need much. Now I just need to connect it to the communications box, and we’ve got a mobile device,” Fenton said with a grin. With his trusty wire cutters and electrical tape, he quickly attached the two together.

            They left the shelter of the gas station, Fenton leading the way and holding out the device like it was a dowsing rod looking for water. Charity kept nearby, holding the car battery.          “Anything?” Charity asked as they circled the building.

            “No. There’s definitely something disrupting the signal, so we’ll need to move farther away.”

            “Down the road or into the field?” Charity asked, hoping it wasn’t the latter. She gave the field behind the gas station an uncertain look, especially at the cows that were languidly watching them while chewing their cud.

            “Neither,” Fenton said. “We need to go up.”

            “Up?”

            Using a dozen empty cartons, Fenton and Charity clamored over a precarious tower to get to the gas station’s roof, the heat of the sun doubling due to the black shingles. Charity winced, feeling the heat for both of them on her feet but didn’t say anything as Fenton made his way to the peak.

            “Almost,” he said as he stretched his arms up high, seeing another bar blink on and off. “We need to get higher.” He glanced around as if hoping someone had left a chair nearby to use. His eyes fell on Charity. “Get on my back.”

            “You sure?” she asked. When his only reply was to turn around and kneel down, she did as she was told. She tentatively swung her legs over his shoulders, her hands on the top of his head for balance.

            Fenton stifled a grunt as he tried not to make a big show at how hard it was for him to stand up, wobbling a little as he got used to Charity’s weight. His mother was always harping on him to exercise.

            When he was upright, he teetered a bit as he passed up the communications device while holding the battery since the wires weren’t that long. Once they were balanced, he found he could hold the stance well-enough, but not forever.

            “Anything?” Fenton asked.

            “I have three bars!” Charity exclaimed.

            “Good. Now call someone,” Fenton said.

            “Uh…how? There’s only two buttons,” Charity wondered.

            “It uses binary code,” Fenton said, forgetting about that small detail. He had anticipated he would be the one punching in the phone number. Binary was as easy for him as walking. “Okay, give me the number you’re calling, and I’ll translate it.” A slow burn crawled up his calves as his muscles complained.

            Charity related Launchpad’s cell number, which Fenton interpreted into binary, explaining that the top button represented zero, the bottom button was one. It took a lot longer than just typing in the number, but eventually it went through. The sound of the signal dialing came through the tiny speakers.

            “Hello?” Launchpad’s voice came through tinny.

            “Launchpad, can you hear me?” Charity asked. Launchpad’s voice sounded so good. She wished he was there. She wanted a hug from him. It was her personal opinion that Launchpad gave the best hugs.

            “Charity? Are you okay? DW told me that some robot burst into the lab and took you,” Launchpad shouted, his voice being disrupted by static.

            “I’m fine, but Fenton and I need a ride. Can you come get us?” Charity asked. She tried to keep her voice calm.

            “Yeah, no problem. Where are you?”

            Charity was about to answer, but realized she didn’t know. “Uh…Fenton. Where are we?”

            Fenton was starting to feel the effects of the hot sun while holding more weight than he was used to. For a moment, his brain backfired before he realized he had no idea what the answer was.

            “Uh…I don’t know.”

            Silence.

            “Charity, are you still there?”

            “Launchpad, we’re lost,” Charity said, her calm being eaten away by uncertainty. She swallowed, her throat hard as the tears spilled down her cheeks.

            “You’re lost? What—what can I do? How do I find you?” Launchpad said, his voice growing even more concerned. “I’ll be there in a heartbeat, but I need to know where you are.”

            “I don’t know,” Charity said, her chest threatening to start sobbing. “We’re not in Ducksburg, and there aren’t any signs or anything.”

            Over the speaker, a second voice was talking in the background, arguing with Launchpad.

            “Where is she? Did that tin-brained Gizmoduck find her? Is she alright?”

            “Just a minute, DW. I’m talking to her.”

            “Where is she?”

            “They don’t know. They’re lost.”

            “Ho ho, that’s rich. All those fancy gizmos and doo-dads, and he gets lost.” The derisive voice could only be Darkwing. “Let me talk to her. I’ll find them.”

            There was a lot of static that sounded as if they were wrestling for the phone. Charity, her tears slowing down, rolled her eyes. Boys…

            “Charity. Charity. Are you there?”

            “I’m here, Darkwing. And I’m fine. Gizmoduck saved me.” She was fine crying while talking to Launchpad, but she was not going to let it show in her voice while Darkwing could hear.

            From below, Fenton cleared his throat. “Not to rush you, but could you talk a little faster? Please?”

            Charity remembered where she was, having forgotten their dire circumstances when she heard Launchpad’s voice. “Right. Darkwing, we’re lost. Gizmoduck’s suit was badly damaged and it’s not working.”

            “This wouldn’t have happened if that mad scientist hadn’t drugged me,” Darkwing shouted through the speaker. “He’s got a lot to answer for, especially withholding that he’s Gizmoduck. But for now, look around. Describe anything around you. What can you see?”

            “Well, I can’t see Ducksburg, that’s for sure,” Charity observed. “But there’s not much else.”

            “What does the landscape look like? Desert? Forest?”

            “Farmlands as far as the eye can see. There’s a dilapidated barn over there. Some black and white cows,” Charity said dully.

            “Faster please,” Fenton said through gritted teeth. His knees were starting to wobble.

            “Darkwing, we might lose the signal. I don’t know what else to say,” Charity said, sounding urgent.

            “Launchpad says you’re at an abandoned gas station. What company?”

            “Uh…the one with the green dinosaur, I think?” Charity answered, recalling the faded logo in the front window.

            “We’re also approximately forty miles outside of Ducksburg according to my GPS, but I didn’t memorize the coordinates.”

            “Fenton says we’re at least forty miles out,” Charity repeated. She could feel Fenton start to give out from under her. “That’s all we have, Darkwing. I don’t know what else…Oh, I remember something.” She closed her eyes, trying to remember the conversation with the two idiotic villains that had captured her. “We’re around ten miles from the ocean.”

            “That’s something to go by. Hang tight, Charity. We’ll come for you. Oh, for that over-sized bucket, too.”

            Fenton practically collapse as the call ended. Charity climbed off his shoulders and helped him to his feet.

            “Are you okay?” Charity asked, touching Fenton’s shoulder as he wiped his forehead and caught his breath. She could feel his fatigue and the ache in his back and shoulders from their bond. While he wasn’t in pain, he could still tell that his body had strained to hold her up.

            “I’m fine,” Fenton said, straightening up. “I’m more worried about you.” He reached out and touched her cheek, his finger coming back with a drop of moisture.

            She was still crying. First she was the damsel in distress, now she was crying. Was she going to touch every bad cliché today?

            Before she knew it, Fenton encircled her with his arms, holding her—not tight—but in a comforting way. It wasn’t a Launchpad hug, but it’ll do.

            “We should get inside,” Charity said when she finally pulled away. “It’s too hot.”

            Together they climbed off the roof and went back inside, which wasn’t much cooler than outside. As they sat on the floor, Charity handed the water bottle to Fenton, which only had a few swallows left.

            “No, you drink it,” Fenton said, shaking his head.

            “I drank most of it. You take it,” Charity refused.

            Fenton took in Charity’s appearance. She wore jeans and a sweater. Not exactly the best outfit to remain cool. She was in the same predicament as he was, but Fenton knew when a woman was going to be stubborn. He learned that from his mama.

            He took the bottle and drank the last of the water.

            Silence reigned in the gas station, neither one knowing what else to say. Charity was fine with the silence, her thoughts too full to notice that Fenton seemed uncomfortable. The male duck, stuck with a woman who he knew was in love with him, felt pressured to start a conversation.

            “I guess you were surprised that it was me inside the Gizmoduck suit?” he breached.

            Charity turned her head to him, pushing her inner thoughts away. “I guess,” she said with a shrug. “I never guessed you could be Gizmoduck.”

            I bet she was disappointed, Fenton thought. He wasn’t exactly the poster boy of what a super hero should look like.

            “I was a little disappointed,” Charity said.

            A shock ran through Fenton system as she echoed his thoughts, cementing his self-image.

            “When we met back in the restaurant a few days ago, I sort of…felt something,” Charity explained, her eyes soft on him. “And when we met again this morning, I thought there was something more to us meeting. My family’s curse is usually the deciding factor in who we marry. My mom married my dad because she bonded with him through the curse. The same with my grandfather. Rarely does someone in my family fall in love without the influence of the curse. So, I thought that…my feelings toward you could have been real.”

            She looked away, pink tinging her cheeks at her boldness.

            Fenton’s heart skipped a beat. What if they were? What if her feelings were real at that time?

            His earlier tests had concluded that the curse recognized him as Gizmoduck even if she didn’t make that connection, therefore she acted as if she were in love with Fenton without knowing his secret identity. But what if that wasn’t the case? He hadn’t taken in account that something may have happened between them in that short, chance encounter at the restaurant. If it did, then his earlier tests were inconclusive. And because of that, whether or not Charity’s feelings for Fenton were the same as how she felt about Gizmoduck was a mystery.

            “I’m glad it’s you that’s Gizmoduck,” Charity continued with a smile. “I kind of had this vision of what kind of man Gizmoduck would be. I kept imagining a muscle-bound, pretty-boy who was all smiles and no brains.”

            Fenton raised an eyebrow. “That’s how you thought of Gizmoduck?”

            “I only met him once,” Charity defended with a laugh. “He caught a chunk of a building, tossed it out of his way, and told me to get to safety in this deep, manly voice.” She looked at Fenton and bowed her head. “Sorry, I’m talking about you as if you were another person.”

            “I kind of think of Gizmoduck in that way as well,” Fenton said. “I know I’m Gizmoduck, but I don’t act like me when in my role. At least, not most of the time. When I’m in the suit, it’s like I’m someone else.”

            Charity smiled and scooted over so they were side-by-side. “Well, Fenton is much easier to talk to than Gizmoduck,” she said.

            Fenton had a sudden desire to put his arm around her. But would that be too forward? She had moved closer to him. Was it because she wanted him to touch her? What was appropriate in this kind of situation? What if she pulled away? He had hugged her before, but that was instinct. Whenever his mama had a bad day, he always gave her an embrace. But that didn’t necessarily mean that they were close enough to anything more intimate.

            Fenton remained where he was, inwardly sighing. He wished he had better social graces than this when it came to girls. Not even his date with Gandra—which only turned out to be espionage in disguise—had been a disaster.

            “What’s it like to be Gizmoduck?” Charity asked. They were so close, when she turned her head, her beak was only inches away from his.

            “Uh…well…it’s kind of like being on a roller coaster, but one you can drive,” Fenton described poorly. “I don’t know how to put this. It’s more than just having a metal armor and all these super gadgets surrounding me. It’s like I’m wrapped up in courage and confidence. It’s really hard not to think and act like Gizmoduck once I’m in the suit.”

            “I kind of wish I had a Gizmoduck suit, too,” Charity said with a laugh. “I could use some of that confidence.”

            “You seem pretty confident to me. And how you got away from Beaks and Glomgold, that took a lot of courage,” Fenton said. “You don’t need a suit. You’re amazing as is.” His face flushed as he realized what he had said.

            Charity leaned forward and kissed his cheek, soft and sweet. Eyes wide, she jerked away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—“ She buried her face in her arms. “Oh, this stupid curse. I…I reacted without thinking.”

            “No. No. It’s fine. I don’t mind.” When he saw her face peeking out, he was certain his face was just as red.

            “I’m sorry. I don’t want to make things awkward,” Charity said, her face still half-covered by her arms.

            “If this is you without confidence, with a suit, you could take on the world,” Fenton blurted out. He had intended to say something funny to diffuse the situation, but he worried he may have made it worst.

            “I don’t need to take on the world, just my life until I can get this curse broken,” Charity said, finally straightening up. “Or maybe just around Darkwing.”

            “Darkwing?”

            “Oh, it’s not really anything, but have you ever met your idol?”

            Most of the people Fenton admired were scientists, philosophers, and inventors, all of whom were dead. The closest he could compare it to was Gyro, who had had a grand reputation for science majors all over the world. It had been amazing to be chosen as Gyro’s intern, and given that Gyro’s manners weren’t exactly exquisite, genius more than made up for politeness.

            He shook his head.

            “I’ve been crazy about Darkwing Duck for most of my life. You know how Launchpad is?”

            Fenton did. He nodded.

            “Well, I may not be as big of a nerd as he is, but I have been in love with the idea of a masked, super hero since I was ten. So, meeting Darkwing was a huge deal, but not what I expected.”

            “How so?” Fenton asked, inviting her to continue.

            “He’s so…intimidating,” Charity said, and her face grew even redder than before. “I never know how to react to him sometimes. And I can’t trust my feelings or my instincts, so I don’t know what’s real anymore.”

            Fenton knew how she felt. Between the incident with Beaks tricking him into working for him and Gandra stealing the voice commands for Gizmoduck, he had felt so foolish for trusting people that he shouldn’t. But Charity, her situation was different. She couldn’t even trust herself. Her feelings were constantly tricking her into believing she was in love.

            He felt ashamed at his own desires to act on her feelings. For all he knew, her infatuation was only a product of the curse. She didn’t love him, only thought she did. A part of him wished it wasn’t that way. After all, Charity was a pretty girl, and she was easy to talk to. If circumstances were different, he would…

            No, he couldn’t think about that. There was no “what if’s” right now. Not until the curse was broken.

            However, from what Charity was saying, it sounded as if Darkwing Duck hadn’t realized this as well. Something stirred in Fenton, a small, dark spot in his mind that resembled resentment toward the masked duck. Fenton always thought the best of people, accepting their bad points along with the good. Heavens know he wasn’t perfect, and he shouldn’t expect anyone else to be. And even as he silently judged the caped super hero for what Charity said, he pushed his negative feelings away, giving Darkwing the benefit of the doubt. After all, there were two sides to a coin, not one.

            And because the thought of talking more about Darkwing didn’t appeal to him, he changed the subject.

            “So, what was Launchpad like growing up?” Fenton asked, smiling. “He must have been a handful.”

            Charity rolled her eyes in good humor. “Oh boy, was he. I think he gave gray hairs to his parents, his teachers, his neighbors and my mom.” She laughed. “There was this one time he somehow acquired illegal fireworks…”

***

            Scrooge hated technology. Oh, some of it was kind of useful, but sometimes enough was enough.

            “How do you hang up this blasted thing?” Scrooge grumbled, glaring at the cell phone. Could he just lie it down on the table? Or was it voice activated?

            Mrs. Beakley gently took the cell away from her employer and pressed the red button on the screen before handing it back. “What’s the news? When are they coming back?”

            “According to that purple weirdo, there was a little hiccup at the lab,” Scrooge said. He raised an eyebrow. Very few details had been relayed through the phone, which made Scrooge suspect it was more than a hiccup.

            Even though Darkwing Duck hadn’t said anything, Scrooge did know that the building had been broken into, but the bin remained untouched, the sensors surrounding his money as peaceful as ever. He wasn’t worried with Gizmoduck there. The lad may be a little eccentric, but after everything that had happened in the past year, Fenton could handle anything.

            “They’ll be back soon,” Scrooge said.

            “I have lunch almost ready. I’ll gather everyone around the table. When the others return, Huey and Webbigail can tell everyone what they found,” Mrs. Beakley summarized.

            “Very good, 22,” Scrooge said. “And what of our guest in the basement? Is he behaving himself?”

            “I’ve already checked on him several times. He hasn’t eaten or drunken anything,” Mrs. Beakley said with an edge of concern. “He is very disturbed. I have a bad feeling about him.”

            “You worry too much,” Scrooge shrugged off her warning. “What about Donald? Has he woken up?”

            “Yes, and none-too-pleased by being knocked out and carted all over,” Mrs. Beakley said with some humor. “He’s back on his boat, most likely grumbling about the way his latest fight ended.”

            “Oh, I know how he feels,” Scrooge said, recalling a certain blond woman. “There’s nothing more frustrating than going head-to-head with an opponent you can’t hit.”

            Mrs. Beakley raised an eyebrow, knowing who he was talking about.

            “Where are the kids?”

            “Most likely rotting their brains with television,” Mrs. Beakley answered, gesturing in the direction of the rec room.

            Once again, Scrooge considered if technology was all that it was cracked up to be. When he was a duckling, they didn’t even have a radio. He entertained himself with sticks, rocks and his own imagination.

            Then again, if left to their own devices, the triplets often found trouble enough for a lifetime. TV wasn’t so bad.

            When he stepped into the room, Scrooge didn’t see what was wrong with the picture before him. All he could see was the head of one child over the couch in the low lights and thought the others were elsewhere. But then he saw that the TV was off, and that caught his attention. He narrowed his eyes at the large, blank screen. He moved around to the front of the couch, wondering what was going on.

            “Bless me bagpipes!” he exclaimed, tensing when he found Louie tied up and gagged, eyes widening at the sight of his uncle. He reached out and tore away the cloth that prevented the green-clad duckling from speaking.           

            “He’s out. That guy in the basement. Negaduck got out,” Louie shouted, fear spiking his voice.

            Mrs. Beakley was immediately at Scrooge’s back, in a perfect Jujutsu stance that was most useful when expecting an unexpected attack.

            “Where is he? Where are the others?” Scrooge asked, turning in a circle, feeling Mrs. Beakley moving with him. His eyes roamed the room. It was large, but there weren’t any places for a person to hide.

            “He left a few minutes ago,” Louie said, his voice softer. “He…he took the others. He had a gun and a knife.” He looked almost ashamed. “I didn’t fight him. I let him tie me up.”

            As he explained, Mrs. Beakley untied him as Scrooge watched the door. “That’s alright,” she soothed him. “You did the right thing. There’s no shame in surrendering when it’s the smart thing to do.”

            “Where did he get a gun?” Scrooge wondered, scratching his chin.

            Mrs. Beakley groaned. “Did it look like one from the Darkwing Duck show?” she asked Louie.

            “Yeah, it did.”

            “Before I locked him up, I searched him. He had an…impressive arsenal of weapons, most likely taken from Darkwing’s lair. I put them in the room next to him, but I didn’t lock them up.”

            Scrooge swore in Gaelic. “Alright. Let’s get Louie to the panic room. Does anyone know where Della and Donald are?” he asked.

            “Mom was in the garage,” Louie answered. “She was looking for her old motorcycle. And Uncle Donald is on his boat.”

            “They may still be safe. We’ll find them, and the four of us can take care of Starling,” Scrooge said. “He should be glad he’s under that curse, or else I would—“

            And that was when the lights went out.

            Louie whimpered. He grabbed Scrooge’s arm.

            “He went for the electrical box,” Mrs. Beakley said.

            “Little good it’ll do him. It’s daytime,” Scrooge said, although in this room it, the tactic was more than adequate. There weren’t any windows in the rec room. “Let’s move.” Grabbing ahold of Louie’s arm, he led them out into the hallway.

            Light from the windows streamed in; no electrical lights were needed. Why would he turn off the electricity? It wouldn’t help.

            They chose speed over stealth as they headed for the stairs in the foyer. However, they stopped in their tracks when they noticed the color red where red shouldn’t be. A long, dark smear made a snake-like trail from one end of the foyer to the other, disappearing behind a door.

            Mrs. Beakley knelt down and touched it. “Blood,” she confirmed. “But whose?”

            “It’s from dragging a body,” Scrooge noticed, his brain working it through. “He could carry the kids easier than dragging them, so this is from either Della or Donald.” He gritted his teeth at the thought of any of his kids in that predicament. “I’m sorry, 22. I should have listened to you.”

            “No, it’s not entirely you’re fault,” Mrs. Beakley said, keeping her back to the stairs. “I didn’t think he could escape either. If I suspected he could break out, I would have insisted he not stay in the house.”

            They raced upstairs, not stopping for anything. They went into Scrooge’s study where the elderly duck found the book Crime and Punishment and pulled on it. That caused the entire bookcase to open up to reveal a metal door. He typed in a number which caused the door to open with a whoosh.

            Inside it looked like a bunker complete with rations, water, blankets, and a few other necessities. A light shone strong and bright since it was on a generator separate from the rest of the house.

            “In you go, lad. He can’t get you here,” Scrooge said.

            “You’re going to leave me alone?” Louie asked, although he knew that would always be the case. Mrs. Beakley and Scrooge McDuck would never hide in safety as long as their family was in danger.

            “We’ll take care of things,” Scrooge said, patting his head. “If we don’t come back in a couple of hours, there’s a phone in there. Call for help.”

            “Let’s call for help now!” Louie insisted. “That guy is crazy. Too much crazy for one person.”

            “If we contact the police, they’ll come with guns. Someone could get hurt.” Mrs. Beakley said with a tight grimace.

            “Let’s hope it won’t come to that. However, Darkwing and Gizmoduck are on their way. They’ll be better backup than the police.”

            After giving Louie a few more reassuring words, they closed the door and moved the bookcase into place. Whatever may happen, at least he was safe.

            Before they ventured back downstairs, Scrooge replaced his iconic cane with a rapier that hung on the wall, testing its sharpness with his finger. Mrs. Beakley didn’t go for something so delicate. She took the only thing she felt would be useful in a gunfight: an iron shield large enough to cover up her vitals. In a pinch, a shield also could be used as an offensive weapon.

            Slower than before, the two covered each other’s back as they descended to the ground floor. Starling could be anywhere.

            Communicating with nods and gestures, they both agreed to follow the blood which crossed the foyer and into the east wing of the mansion. It didn’t take long for them to realize where it led.

            “The basement,” Scrooge growled. “That’s why he turned off the electricity.” There were only a few windows in the basement, most of them small, gritty and completely useless. Without lights, it would be darker than a bottomless pit.

            “Flashlights,” Mrs. Beakley suggested, and they backed away from the basement door.

            Stealthily, they made their way to the kitchen where a pair of flashlights could be found. Forgetting about comfort or style, they used duct tape to secure the flashlights—one to Scrooge’s top hat, the other to Mrs. Beakley’s shoulder—to keep their hands free to fight. They returned to the basement door, opening it as slowly as possible. The door squeaked open, shrill and rusty.      As Scrooge went down, Mrs. Beakley followed sideways, occasionally glancing behind them in case Starling had been on the ground floor all along. The stairs ended and a hallway began, the blood trail fainter. They hoped it was because the wound had started to clot and not because the heart belonging to the body no longer worked.

            Doors lined the hallway all the way to the end, the blood trail leading past all into the murky darkness ahead. S.H.U.S.H. training had taught them in a situation like this that they should check every door. One-by-one, they tested each doorknob, most of them locked. The few that were unlocked had scratches around the locks, telling the story that someone had forced the mechanism to open with something sharp. These doors Scrooge and Mrs. Beakley did a quick check and always left disconcerted. The rooms in the basement were filled with antiquities, artifacts, furniture, boxes, and sometimes just junk from the many decades of the elderly duck’s adventures. They couldn’t very well check every nook and corner and often left the room with the uneasy feeling that Starling could still be hiding in one of them.

            After the third door, they stopped checking. If Starling was hiding in a room, they would just have to handle the situation as best they could.

            At the end of the wall, the blood trail turned, disappearing through a door that was open just a crack.

            “The jail cell,” Mrs. Beakley whispered.

            From within came a moan.

            “Della.” Scrooge recognized the voice.

            “Wait,” Mrs. Beakley said, stopping her employer from bursting in. “It could be a trap. Or he could be waiting inside the door for us.”

            “I’ll risk it,” Scrooge said. “You stay outside. If something happens to me, you get out of here and wait for Gizmoduck and that other guy.”

            “And leave Webbigail and the boys. Not on your life,” Mrs. Beakley said, raising her shield. She jiggled her flashlight around, looking closely at the door and frame. “I don’t see any traps. Go in but slowly.”

            Scrooge eased the door open, moving his head slowly so that the light could pick up every detail. He tensed his muscles, waiting for something to happen or Starling to pop out. Nothing. After checking every inch of floor, wall and ceiling, he stepped inside, his light falling on the bars of the cell and beyond.

            “Della. Boys. Webby,” he called out, seeing all of them inside the jail cell, some on the floor, some on the cot. None of them moved. He could see a wet redness on the side of Della’s head.

            “Are they alright?” Mrs. Beakley asked.

            “I don’t know,” Scrooge replied, deeply disturbed. He wanted to run to them, but the jail cell door was closed, and he knew that haste made waste. Running his flashlight all around the cell, he couldn’t find any booby traps. The less he found, the more suspicious he was of the situation.

            Della moaned again. At least she was alive.

            “I’m going in,” he told Mrs. Beakley, reaching for the cell door. It then occurred to him that it might be locked, but a quick pulled proved that wasn’t the case.

            What had Starling intended to do with his captives? If he wanted to use them as bait, he wasn’t doing a good job of it. There were no traps, nothing to stop Scrooge and Mrs. Beakley. He hadn’t locked them up. Was he counting on them not waking until he could find a permanent solution?

            What was Starling up to?

            He didn’t have time to mull over the mind of a madman. Della was hurt and needed medical attention and maybe the kids would as well.

            Scrooge rushed to his niece’s side, looking at the wound on her head. It had stopped bleeding but looked pretty nasty. When Della looked up at Scrooge, one of her pupils was bigger than the other, a sign of a concussion.

            “We need to get her out of here,” Scrooge said, patting Della’s hand. “Don’t worry, darling. Just hang on a few moments.” He then checked on Huey, Dewey and Webbigail, checking their pulses. They were alive but unconscious.

            “Gas gun,” Mrs. Beakley said, recalling the weapon she took from Starling.

            “I just may spare Starling since he didn’t hurt the kids,” Scrooge growled, taking in all the bodies. “I’m not leaving anyone behind. I can carry Huey and Dewey, if you can take Della and Webby.”

            Mrs. Beakley looked around again, her flashlight running along the same lines as Scrooge’s, not seeing anything. She, too, was just as uneasy as the male duck, but could not see any reason to be suspicious. “Okay, let’s be quick.” She moved into the cell, hoping she wouldn’t have to abandon the shield to carry the two females.

            Just as she bent down to pick up Della from the floor, many things happened almost simultaneously. First the lights turned on suddenly. Second there was a flash and a loud bang. Finally, the door to the jail cell slammed shut.

            “What the—“ Scrooge shouted, straightening up from where he was picking up Huey. “Starling, is he here?” He turned the rapier to the door of the room, but the entry remained empty.

            “I don’t think so.”

            “It was a trap. How did we miss it?” Scrooge asked, putting down his nephew and approached the bars.

            “I don’t know,” Mrs. Beakley said. Just as Scrooge was about to grab the bars of the door, she heard a familiar hum. She jumped out and grabbed her friend just before he could touch the iron. “It’s been electrified,” she warned him. To prove her guess, she threw Scrooge’s rapier at the bars and pops and sparks emitted from the contact.

            “How?”

            Mrs. Beakley shook her head, mentally berating herself for missing something. “We didn’t check behind the door.” Now with the lights on, she could see what she had missed before.

            An electrical outlet cover had been removed, the naked wires stripped. A longer wire was attached and ran along the floor, connecting to the iron bars. And not just wrapped around the bars but it looked as if it had been melted to the iron.

            “What about the door? How did he do that?”

            Mrs. Beakley sniffed the air. “Gun powder. There must have been some in the gas gun containers. Look, scorch marks. And another, thinner wire.” She caught sight of the ingenious trap. “When he turned the lights back on, the electricity ignited the gun powder, and the blast closed the door.”

            “Smart. But not smart enough to keep Scrooge McDuck a prisoner,” the elderly duck growled. “He probably thought he could electrocute us so we couldn’t escape. But since he didn’t, all we have to do is open the door and we can step out.”

            “And how do we do that without getting shocked?” Mrs. Beakley asked.

            Careful of his niece’s injury, Scrooge took off Della’s flight jacket. “Pure leather. It won’t conduct electricity.”

            Mrs. Beakley smiled. “Smartest of the smarties,” she said. “Just be careful you aren’t touching the metal zipper or buttons.

            Finding a grip that didn’t have any metal, Scrooge tensed his body as he tentatively touched the bars. Nothing happened, which both relieved and aggravated the billionaire. “Move. Move!” he shouted at the door. He pushed harder. “I don’t understand. He couldn’t lock it without a key.”

            Mrs. Beakley’s eyes widened. “Magnetized. Iron, when an electric current runs through it, can be magnetized.” She released a tense breath, realizing that they were properly trapped.

            “No! It can’t be possible,” Scrooge shouted. “He couldn’t have trapped us this easily. The electrical box is in the garage. He couldn’t have known the exact moment we were both in the jail to turn the electricity back on.”

            As if on cue, a deep, throaty laugh permeated the room, sounding distant but strong. The two ducks were confused at where it was coming from, following their ears to a cell phone propped in the corner outside of the bars. They hadn’t noticed it before because the screen had been darkened, but it was on a call.

            “Enjoy your stay in the guest quarters,” Starling’s voice cackled through the speakers. “I’ll come visit you shortly. After I’m done with Darkwing Duck.”

***

            It had to be the right gas station. From his internet search, Darkwing had found an abandoned gas station that fit Charity’s description: in farm country, ten miles away from the sea, middle of nowhere, belonged to the company with the green dinosaur. It had to be.

            Even before Launchpad screeched to a halt, Darkwing had the door of the limousine thrown open and raced inside. The first indication that he was right was the glass door lying broken and twisted in the parking lot which could only have happened from someone strong. Someone like Gizmoduck.

            “Charity,” he called out, stepping into the building. He spotted the colossal mass of metal first, then found Fenton and Charity on the floor, backs to the glass doors of the refrigerator section. Both were asleep with Charity’s head on the scientist’s shoulder, Fenton’s head on the lovebird’s.

            It was a sight that both relieved him and infuriated him, the former because Charity was safe and whole, less worse for wear than last he saw her. But seeing her with…him…with Gizmoduck, he felt something inside him start to boil.

            “Awww, that’s so cute,” Launchpad said, walking up beside him. “I gotta get a picture.” His phone flashed a few times.

            Swallowing down a growl, Darkwing swooped down and scooped Charity into his arms, not caring that Fenton was jerked awake as he fell to the floor.

            “Wha—Oh, Launchpad. You’re here,” Fenton said, sleepy and confused. “Where is Charity?”

            “I got her,” Darkwing said from the entrance. “Get your piece of junk in the car.” Then he marched out.

            From the jostling and talking, Charity slowly woke, murmuring inaudibly from whatever dream she was having. “Darkwing?” she asked, her eyes falling onto him. “You found us.”

            “Yeah, I did,” Darkwing said. He gently set her down in the front seat of the limousine. He knelt down in the dust “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
            Charity shook her head. “This was one adventure I walked away unscathed except for a few mental traumas.” She quirked her mouth up jokingly.

            Darkwing sighed, his muscles that hadn’t stopped tensing since she was captured finally loosening. He took her hand. “Thank goodness. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. That scientist, if he didn’t—”

            “Fenton!” Charity shouted, not letting Darkwing finish his sentence. “Where’s Fenton?”
            “Oh, him,” Darkwing grunted, his mood darkening as Charity’s attention shifted. “He’s back there with Launchpad.”

            Charity peered over Darkwing’s shoulder, seeing the two dragging the broken shell of Gizmoduck through the doorway. With Launchpad’s strength, they were able to move it more effectively than Charity and Fenton could have. She sat back down, looking relieved to have seen him.

            Darkwing cleared his throat, bringing the lovebird’s attention back to him. “As I was saying, I wanted to come save you. But that drug that Gizmoduck gave me, it didn’t wear off quickly.”

            Thinking back to only a few hours ago, Darkwing hadn’t had full control of his muscles as he watched Fenton don the Gizmoduck suit and blast off after Charity and the robot. After that, he had to be carried around by Manny all through the bin, shouting for Launchpad and earning several strange looks from Scrooge McDuck’s employees who seemed more perturbed by Darkwing’s predicament than concerned.

            “His name is Fenton,” Charity said. “He’s not Gizmoduck unless he’s in the suit.”

            “Whatever. It’s Fenton’s fault that this happened. That guy who built the robot, he has it out for Gizmoduck, which is why you were in danger,” Darkwing blamed.

            “No, it’s not,” Charity defended. “They were after me. They wanted to use me for my curse so they wouldn’t feel pain anymore.” She looked disgusted at the thought.

            This threw Darkwing through a loop. He hadn’t expected this twist, which had completely shredded his next words which he had practiced over and over in his head to feed his anger. But Charity’s words threw water on the coals, and his ire sizzled out.

            Before Darkwing could say anything else, Charity scooted out of the limousine and rushed to Fenton and Launchpad, grabbing Gizmoduck’s arm and pulling.

            “Charity, you should sit down,” Darkwing said with concern.

            “I will once we get Gizmoduck inside,” Charity insisted, straining at the armor with all her strength.

            With the four of them working together, they somehow managed to fit the massive robotic armor in the back seat, the rear wheels sitting low on its axles. The hardest part was getting the shoulders through the door, which they had to keep rotating Gizmoduck to fit it exactly in with Fenton on the inside pulling.

            “Whew, thanks guys,” Fenton said, wiping his brow. He was smooshed against the Gizmoduck suit in the back with barely room to move.

            “Yeah, yeah,” Darkwing said, shutting the door quickly. “Let’s get back. You look exhausted, Charity.” He guided her with his hand on the small of her back to the front seat, letting her in before him.

            With Launchpad driving, the front seat was just as packed as the back. As the limousine started up and rolled away, there were a few groans and disconcerting noises from the vehicle.

            “I hope we don’t break something before we get back to the lab,” Fenton said, sticking his head through the window divider.

            Darkwing argued, “We’re going to McDuck’s mansion. Launchpad can drop us off before taking you and your dented can back.”

            Charity rolled her shoulder, feeling a bit stifled. She had reason to believe Darkwing was making this decision for her own good without consulting her first. But instead of arguing, she said, “Okay. We’ll drop of Darkwing at the mansion then go to the lab. Is that okay, Launchpad?”

            “Sounds good,” Launchpad said, ready for anything.

            “What?” Darkwing shook his head. “No. You need to rest, Charity.”

            “I’m fine,” Charity said. “I want to see Fenton fix Gizmoduck. Is that alright, Fenton?”

            “Uh…” Fenton had an uncanny feeling he was in the middle of something but wasn’t quite sure what was going on. “Yeah, that’s fine. Although I just need to get him plugged in and put him back into the restore chamber. The computer does most of the mundane fixing. I won’t need to fine tune anything until tomorrow.”

            “Great.” Charity smiled and refused to look Darkwing in the face even though she badly wanted to.

            “After everything you’ve been through on top of being captured, you’re not fine. You need rest,” Darkwing insisted.

            “All of my injuries are minor,” Charity said, feeling her anger surface. “I’m not dying.”

            Darkwing was about to argue back, but Fenton broke in.

            “After being in the heat, it might be a good idea to get some water,” Fenton suggested lightly. “But besides that, I agree that her injuries are minor except for that burn. And I treated that wound myself.”

            “Which feels so much better, thank you Fenton,” Charity said, feeling smug that the scientist was on her side.

            At that point, Darkwing reached over both Charity and Launchpad to the buttons on the driver’s door, rolling the dividing window up. Fenton was barely able to retract his head before his beak was clamped shut by the window.

            Charity glared at Darkwing and opened her mouth to protest his childish behavior. Before she could, Darkwing spoke.

            “Please, Charity, just take it easy for a day. In the past twenty-four hours, you have been captured twice. I held you as you suffered a burn so intense that you passed out. And then that machine took you away,” Darkwing explained, looking more imploring than demanding. “I didn’t know if I would ever see you again.”

            Charity immediately softened at this plea, seeing the situation through Darkwing’s eyes. “I guess I am a little tired,” she admitted. “And Mr. McDuck did want to tell us what he found out about my curse, so I guess we should take a short break at the mansion.”

            Darkwing smiled.

            “Let’s ask Fenton if he can wait a while before taking Gizmoduck back to his lab,” Charity added, reaching over Launchpad and lowering the window again.

            Darkwing Duck folded his arms and slumped in his seat as Charity asked the question and Fenton amiably replied that he could as long as he contacted Gyro first.

            With the destination set, Launchpad made his way back to the mansion and only hit one mailbox. Just as they rolled into the driveway, there was the familiar sound of a phone vibrating.

            “It’s Dewey. He’s sent a text,” Launchpad said, taking his eyes off the road for a minute and running into the fountain in front of the mansion. It was a good thing they were only going ten MPH.

            After checking for whiplash, Darkwing and Charity exited the vehicle, the latter opening the rear door and helping Fenton squish his way past the Gizmoduck suit, the former standing idly by with his arms folded.

            “Perhaps Mr. McDuck has found a way to break the curse,” Fenton said optimistically. “He does seem to be an expert at this magic stuff.”

            Charity smiled, but not because she believed it. She had come to Mr. McDuck with low expectations. Even if she were to go home tomorrow just as she was, she would be happy. Already she was satisfied with the results of going to Scrooge for help. With Gizmoduck on one side of her and Darkwing on the other, this already surpassed her hopes.

            “Wait up, guys,” Launchpad shouted, stopping the trio before they got too far. “I think you need to hear this.” He had a worried expression on his face that was unlike him. He raised his cell phone and read, “Can Darkwing come over and play? Olly olly oxen free.”

            “Launchpad, we don’t have time for the kid’s jokes,” Darkwing said irritated. “Let’s go.”

            But the taller duck didn’t listen but kept reading. “Ring around the ivy. Things were kind of lively. Ashes. Ashes. The Duck family falls down.”

            Fear wrapped around several hearts as the childish words turned dark.

            Launchpad’s phone vibrated again. “Don’t worry, they’re safe. For now. They’re not who I want.”
            Darkwing quickly made the connection. “Starling. He got out.”

            “Wait. Who is Starling?” Fenton asked, looking at each of their faces.

            “Jim,” Charity whispered.

            Another text alert sounded. “Enter or she’ll be sorry.” Launchpad frowned at that, then looked at his friends. “What does that mean?”

            With a gasp, Charity fell to one knee. A dark red stain spread over her lower pant leg.

            Another text sounded. Launchpad didn’t react to it since he had rushed to Charity’s side, rolling up her jeans to show a small gash.

            Darkwing snatched away the phone and looked at the text. “The next one will mar that pretty face,” he read before he smashed the phone against the ground.

            “Oh, yeah. This is so much more restful than the lab,” Charity added with grim humor.

Chapter Text

Twisted Strings of Fate

Chapter 14

            My mother’s birth was the easiest for my grandmother. This is unusual since my grandmother was over forty years of age, a time when childbirth was extremely dangerous and painful. But she didn’t have to do it alone.

            In that time period, men weren’t allowed in the birthing room. As my mother was born, my grandfather knew the exact moment she was pushed out of the womb because he was writhing on the floor of the hospital, experiencing the pain for my grandmother.

            But not all of it. After all, he didn’t have certain parts to feel the pain. The contractions involving the stomach muscles, the strain of pushing a baby out into the world, those he felt. My grandmother took on the rest of the pain, the first and last pain she felt since meeting my grandfather.

            It was a joke of his that he gave birth to his daughter. My grandmother said that it was a joint effort, that they did it together. It made my mother special.

            It was a lesson of love that I cherished all my life.

            But it also taught me another valuable lesson.

***

            With all inside the McDuck mansion incapacitated or captured, Negaduck prepared for the coming of Darkwing.

            It was like the mansion was his personal playground, designed just for him to redecorate with surprises and traps. Whoever this McDuck was, he was a master at collecting the most intriguing items. Medieval torture instruments, weapons from all over the world, modern appliances and conveniences that could be torn apart and put back together in so many different ways.

            It was a wonderland.

            Working fast, Negaduck prepared the lay of the land to his advantage. He closed shades and shutters and blinds where there were some, and the windows that couldn’t be blocked, well, there were old cans of paint that he splattered against glass to block out the light.

            Dark and gloomy, the stage was set. Now for the props. Duct tape, mouse traps, springs, strings and wire were his bread and butter as he attached them to knives, scissors, spikes, anything sharp he could find.

            He was tempted to break off more outlet covers and stripe wires for more traps involving electricity, but he couldn’t risk it. Electricity was unpredictable. In the dark, the trap could go off for the wrong person. Or worse, kill someone before he was ready to kill them.

            Once he had raided the kitchen and several other rooms, he returned to the garage. When he was turning on and off the electricity before, he hadn’t had time to rummage around the crowded space. But now, he was able to take in the riches it had to offer.

            Swords, spears, axes, maces, and an assortment of melee weapons were at his disposal. Oh yes, this Scrooge McDuck was a man after his own heart. Too bad the old fart had an aversion to modern warfare. Negaduck could use a good revolver or two in his schemes.

            After one trip to remove an armful of iron and steel, he returned, crashing to the ground as his feet fumbled over something large and heavy. Anger surged through him at having been interrupted in his plans, but when he saw what he tripped over, he felt something akin to a purr in his throat.

            His hands cradled the square case that contained the engine, gripping the handle and swinging the long, toothed blade in an arc.

            He smiled down at the chainsaw. Oh, yes. This was more like it. This was just what he needed.

            At that moment, he heard a noise beyond the thin wall of the garage. It sounded like a vehicle pulling up to the mansion.

            “Time to play,” Negaduck cackled, taking his new toy with him into the dark mansion.

***

            Darkwing marched forward, determined.

            “Where are you going?” Charity shouted, grabbing his hand.

            “It’s me that Starling wants,” Darkwing said, whirling around. “And that’s who he’s going to get.”

            “No!” Charity pulled him away. “You can’t go.”

            Clenching his teeth, Darkwing turned his head away. “Everyone, including you, is in danger.”

            As if to prove his point, a line of red appeared on Charity’s cheek like an artist ran a brush of watery paint over her feathers. She flinched and moved her head so that it was covered by her hair.

            “Stop it!” Darkwing shouted, turning to glare at the mansion. “I’m coming. Just leave her alone.”

            “No, you’re not,” Charity ordered.

            “I have to,” Darkwing argued. “This is my fault. Starling is this way because of me. Everything he has done, it’s my fault.” It was still a sore spot for him, causing his childhood hero to become a villain.

            “That’s not true. You’re not responsible for his actions,” Charity shouted, her face a mixture of anger and fear. “Besides, if you walk in there, you’re not saving anyone, especially not me. Your pain is mine.”

            “He doesn’t plan on hurting me,” Darkwing said, a bitterness in his voice. “Because he won’t risk hurting you.”

            Charity shook her head, not understanding. “Then what does he want…” Then her eyes widened. “No. You don’t mean he’ll kill you.” But she knew it to be true. “No! I’d rather he cut me over and over than for you to go in there.”

            “Charity, you can’t—“ But he wasn’t able to finish his sentence as Charity threw her arms around his neck, holding him tight. “Charity,” he said in a softer voice.

            “If you go, then you’ll have to take me, too.” She tightened her grip. “I’m not letting you go in there alone.”

            Darkwing was about to challenge her claim, but he stopped. If he was going to walk to his doom, he might as well take one last advantage of the situation. He wrapped his arms around Charity’ waist, holding her tight. He buried his face into her long curls and, for a second, let himself believe that everything was fine.

            Then he slid his hands up her arms and put pressure on her wrists, forcing her to let him go.

            “No!” she shouted, feeling hysterical. Her feelings were starting to overwhelm her at the thought of losing Darkwing. She couldn’t lose him. She couldn’t lose any of them.

            “Launchpad, stop him,” she ordered frantically, pointing at the retreating backside of the hero.

            Her words weren’t necessary. The larger duck was already in a collision course, tackling Darkwing to the ground.

            Charity grunted as she felt both of their injuries.

            “Let me go, Launchpad,” Darkwing demanded, wrestling with his friend.

            “I’m not going to let you do this, DW,” Launchpad said. “You remember episode 31? You should know from Darkwing Duck that there’s always more than one option.”

            The two rolled around on the ground, shouting and grunting at each other, both trying very hard to overpower the other without hurting his opponent.

            “If you two are done, I think I have a more logical solution to the problem,” Fenton said, stepping in front of the others, his eyes scanning the mansion. In his arms, he had a collection of Gizmoduck parts and other odds and ends. While the others had been preoccupied with Darkwing’s death wish, he had been busy.

            At Fenton’s words, Launchpad and Darkwing exchanged glances before standing mutually.

            “Okay, I’ll hear you out. But if I’m not satisfied, I’m going in,” Darkwing said, dusting off his costume and adjusting his hat.

            “I’ve been scanning the mansion this whole time, and I can get an approximate location of Starling,” Fenton said. He raised his hand and pointed to the second floor. “He’s there, watching at that window.”

            Charity gasped, holding her arm just above the burn. “He didn’t like that,” she muttered.

            Darkwing frowned, his eyes narrowing. “So?”

            “There’s four of us and one of him. We out number him,” Fenton said. “Plus, if we can rescue his captives, there will be more of us.”

            “Can you locate everyone?” Darkwing asked, sounding as if he was ready to get down to business.

            “I see one on the second floor and the rest in the basement,” Fenton said, moving his head toward these areas. “However, I don’t know how well my contact lenses will work inside the mansion. I’ve been getting unusual feedback that has been disrupting my lenses.”

            “Mr. McDuck does have a lot of magical items,” Charity suggested, remembering Mrs. Beakley’s warning. “That might be the reason.”

            Fenton frowned at that, snorting at the notion of magic.

            “And how do we deal with Starling? We can’t exactly fight him,” Darkwing asked.

            “Don’t worry. I have gifts,” Fenton said. He went to Darkwing first, flung away his wide-brimmed hat and jammed the Gizmoduck helmet onto the mallard’s head.

            “Hey! I’m not wearing this piece of junk,” Darkwing growled, reaching up to take it off.

            “This piece of junk will give you night vision,” Fenton said, slapping his hands away. “If you haven’t noticed, Starling has blocked out all of the windows. He’s been in there unsupervised for who knows how long, so we could be walking into anything. As the best fighter we have, you need this advantage.”

            Darkwing paused, considering Fenton’s words.

            “I assume you still carry your arsenal of weapons that I designed. The gas gun? The grappling hook? The smoke grenades and flash bombs?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Everything is non-lethal and should work on Starling.”

            “Everything?”

            “Remember my experiments?” Fenton asked pointedly.

            Darkwing remembered them alright.

            “For you, Launchpad.” Fenton handed a length of rope he had taken out of Gizmoduck. On the end was a ball of duct tape that had something heavy inside it. “Don’t use it unless we find Starling.”

            That’s when he faced Charity and handed her an iron bar that was the limousine’s tire iron. “I know that using this will only result in you getting hurt, so be smart about it,” Fenton said. Then he gestured to his temple. “A blow here will knock him out. Same with the back of the head. Hit him here and his vision will be impaired.” He tapped between his brows. “Hitting his beak will stun him. He won’t feel pain, but it may give you enough time to get away.”

            “Wait. Charity isn’t coming with us,” Darkwing shouted, stepping between the girl and Fenton.

            “So we should just leave her here where Starling can grab her,” Fenton argued.

            “The car has locks.”

            “She would be safer with us.”

            “Or she can drive away.”

            “Guys, I’m right here,” Charity yelled, pushing the two away. “And I’m going.” She tightened her grip around the tire iron. She wasn’t sure if she had it in her to use it against Starling, but the fact that Fenton had given it to her made her confidence grow.

            “But—“ Darkwing started but couldn’t finish. His eyes had fallen onto Charity’s shoulder.

            The lovebird barely realized that she had another gash, blood soaking into her sweater. So much of her body was in pain, one more wound was only a drop in the bucket. “We can argue all day, Darkwing. He’ll only keep cutting,” Charity told the crime-fighter. “I’m coming.”

            “I agree with Charity and Fenton,” Launchpad stepped in. “I don’t think she should be left alone. I’d rather she be where I can protect her.”

            “Then the two of you should stay here. Fenton and I will go in and—“

            “I’m not leaving kids in there,” Launchpad argued, his voice impacting the others that there would be no more arguing.

            “At least let me bandage you up,” Darkwing said, giving in.

            “With what?” Charity asked. With no first aid kit, she assumed clothing would be the next option. Using her curved beak, she bit into the shoulder seam of her sweater and tore away her sleeve. And just to be symmetrical, she did the same with her other one.

            After ripping the sleeves into strips, Darkwing wrapped Charity’s newest wounds in the thick cloth and tied them tight.

            “What about you, Fenton?” Charity asked, holding out her hand for Darkwing to wrap up her wounds. “You should have something to defend yourself with?”

            Fenton smiled and tapped his head. “Ah, but I do. The greatest weapon known to man. My brain.”

            Darkwing rolled his eyes.

            “Oh, and this,” Fenton waved his arm which had a large chunk of metal that could only be Gizmoduck’s pilfered forearm. “It’s a bit damaged, but I think it has a few pies left in the chamber.”

            “Great. Pies,” Darkwing muttered. “If Starling has diabetes, then we’re set.”

            Charity smirked, for once finding humor in Darkwing’s mocking of Gizmoduck. “At least we won’t go hungry.”

            As he tied off the last bandage around her calf, he looked her in the eyes, deadly serious. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

            “As Launchpad said, there’re kids in there. I’m not backing down,” she replied.

            “Then I’ve got something for you.” He took her hand and gave her a handful of pellets. “Flashbangs and smoke bombs.”

            “Thanks,” Charity said, tucking them into her jeans pocket. “Now give me back my tire iron.”

            Darkwing Duck’s shoulders sagged, but he handed it over. “Without a weapon, he might not target you.”

            “I hope he targets me,” Charity said, snatching her weapon back. “He can hurt me, but he won’t kill me. Now let’s get going before he really loses his patience.” She took the lead toward the mansion.

            As they passed by the fountain, she took a glance at her reflection. With arms bare up to the shoulders, this was more skin showing than she was used to. It had been her default wardrobe to wear long pants and long sleeves. It prevented unwanted questions about bruises, scrapes and burns from teachers and neighbors.

            She couldn’t help but think she looked like a survivor from a combat movie. She had been through so much in the past few days, part of her had hardened. She was tougher, stronger, and braver. She had changed. At the beginning of this adventure, she may have balked at the idea of entering a building that had a madman inside that was not above cutting her to get what he wanted. But now, she was ready for this.

            And Darkwing only wanted her to have frickin’ smoke bombs.

            Cautiously, the group moved up the stone steps and opened the front door, which was ajar. A rectangle of light from the door left a clear line between safety and danger.

            As Charity’s feet breached the darkness, she couldn’t help but compare the situation to one of those haunted walkways that always pop up everywhere during Halloween. But this one came with higher stakes. She needed a way to diffuse her fear.

            “Hey, Launchpad,” she said, looking up at her friend with a smirk. “Are you ready for danger?”

            Launchpad, knowing what she was after, nudged her. “I’m so ready for danger. How about everyone else?”

            “Uh…not really,” Fenton said softly.

            Darkwing didn’t pay them any mind. “Fenton, is Starling still upstairs?”

            Fenton blinked rapidly. “I think so. Whatever is disrupting my lenses, it’s stronger inside the mansion.”

            By now, they were in the middle of the foyer, their eyes slowly adjusting to less and less light.

            “So, should we go upstairs where it’s more…dangerous?” Charity asked, the silliness of her words fighting against her desire to run away.

            “I don’t know. Sounds…dangerous,” Launchpad added, mimicking her tone.

            They both looked to Darkwing Duck.

            “Why do you two keep saying ‘dangerous’?” Fenton asked, his voice rising in pitch.

            “Because he hasn’t said it,” Charity said, nodding to Darkwing as she inched toward the stairs. “He always says it before a battle.”

            “What are you talking about?” Fenton asked.

            “Come on. Say it,” Launchpad said, his eyes roaming the room as if expecting the shadows to come to life—which in his defense had happened before.

            “This isn’t some TV show,” Darkwing growled. For the first time, he doubted his decision to take on this masked identity. He was no super-hero. He was an actor. He had no right to be leading this group into what could possibly be their death.

            “For crap’s sake. We’re freaking out right now,” Charity said, her voice mimicking Fenton’s. “Just say it.”

            “But what good will it—“

            “Say it,” Launchpad shouted, grabbing his collar and shaking him.

            And even if Drake Mallard was useless in this kind of situation, he knew that for Charity and Launchpad, he represented more than just a man in a costume. They needed to know that Darkwing Duck was at their side. This may not be a TV show, but if they acted like it was one, maybe they would also believe that it would end like one, with the bad guy in jail and the good guy triumphant again.

            “Okay,” Darkwing said, reaching up to grab his hat only to push down instead on the Gizmoduck helmet. “Let’s get dangerous.”

            “Is that an invitation?”

            The group of four turned to this new voice that reverberated through the foyer, looking toward the stairs. Only Fenton and Darkwing could see details of the figure with their night vision as he descended, his wide-brimmed hat and shredded cape cutting a familiar picture. Launchpad and Charity could only make out a silhouette although they could swear that his eyes glowed.

            “Jim!”

            Through the Gizmoduck visor, Darkwing saw Starling’s eyes fall on Charity, his face cold and passive before he cracked a wide grin. “This is going to be fun.”

            “Starling, give up now or I’ll…I’ll…” Threats died on Darkwing’s tongue. He had nothing.

            “Or you’ll what?” the shadowy figure scoffed. “Break that darling girl’s nose? Smash her bones? Cut her open and rend her flesh?”

            In the few months that he had donned the mask, Darkwing had dealt with thieves, gangsters, drug dealers, and even a few murderers. It was haunting to see what lengths people would go through to escape prison, to get away with it. But there was always a point where they accepted punishment over an alternative.

            And Starling wasn’t one of these people. He had no limits. Darkwing could see it in his eyes. He had the upper hand.

            “Well, aren’t you coming for me?” Starling asked, opening his arms. “Then I guess I’ll go to you.”

            “Get ready,” Fenton said, his voice taking on a different tone. He sounded like Gizmoduck. The weapon encompassing his arm hummed.

            Launchpad started whirling the weighted rope around his head, and Charity raised the tire iron like it was a bat.

            Then the air was pierced by a sound that cut away their resolve like a hot knife through butter as Starling pulled at something, an engine chugging as it struggled to life. He pulled again, and the engine sputtered before roaring to life, the machine vibrating as if it were a living thing. It was a sound they associated with cheesy horror movies, suspense music and screaming.

            Charity dropped her tire iron.

            As if they were of one mind, the ducks and lovebird broke into a run, fleeing the room.

            “Chainsaw! Chainsaw!” Launchpad screamed.

            “Yes, we know,” Darkwing screamed back.

            Fenton was shouting something in Spanish. He was either swearing or praying. Or both.

            “What the crap were we thinking?” Charity shouted as they sprinted out of the foyer and through the McDuck mansion. “Smoke bombs and pies against a chainsaw?”

            “Chainsaw!” Launchpad waved his arms over his head.

            “You could have stayed with the car,” Darkwing yelled at Charity.

            “Chainsaw!”

            “Quiet,” Darkwing ordered, taking charge of the situation even though he was still panicking on the inside. “We’re making enough noise that he could follow us even over the roar of that thing.”

            “Chainsaw!” Launchpad reminded the group.

            “What do we do?” Fenton asked, good to let the masked duck lead. Why did he think he could do the whole hero-thing without Gizmoduck? Oh, yeah, he was able to take on super-powered Mark Beaks, but at least he hadn’t had a chainsaw.

            “What we do is find a place to hide, preferably someplace we can defend easily,” Darkwing decided although he wasn’t certain. It had been easy to make decisions when he was a team of one, but now that other lives were at stake, he was second guessing himself. “We need time to think this through.”

            He picked a door at random and opened it. He felt something whoosh toward him, and something hard and heavy slammed into his head, knocking him back against the hall wall.

            “Darkwing!” Charity was at his side, her hands cupping his face. “Darkwing. Please be okay?”

            He wasn’t in pain, but the hit had rattled his brain. It took him a while to recover his senses.

            “Are you hurt?” he asked, the night vision visor highlighting her face.

            “No.” Charity blinked. “Why am I not hurt?” She looked behind her, gazing at a medieval mace that swung from the ceiling.

            “Gizmoduck’s helmet,” Darkwing said, shaking off the hit. “Lucky for both of us.”

            “Booby trapped,” Fenton said, looking at the mace. “It was released when you opened the door. Primitive but deadly.”

            “And there’s probably a lot more of them,” Darkwing said. “Which means my plan is useless. Anywhere we go, we could be running into a trap.”

            “Chainsaw!” Launchpad shouted, trembling.

            “Not helping!” Darkwing yelled, feeling the pressure of keeping the group safe. But that’s when he realized he could hear the sound of the chainsaw getting closer. “Move but quieter this time.”

            “Where? You said there could be booby traps everywhere,” Charity said.

            Darkwing sifted through his mind, looking for something to help them. He caught on a tiny ray of hope. “Fenton, you said that one of the Duck family was upstairs. On the second floor?”

            “Uh, yeah, I did.” Fenton tilted his head upward. “I can’t see him very well, but I think I can find him.”
            “Launchpad, is there another way to the second floor?” Darkwing asked, shaking his friend.

            “Chainsaw,” Launchpad replied then pointed down the hallway.

            “I hope that’s a ‘yes’,” Darkwing said, pushing the large duck forward. “Show us the way.”

            They followed Launchpad through the mansion, entering the dining room where they had breakfasted. Had that really been that morning? It seemed like years ago.

            The dining room had a second door, which led to a smaller hallway and then a set of stairs that went up and down. Darkwing guessed that in the old days, this had been the servant’s entrance, the downstairs leading to the kitchen, upstairs going to the servants’ quarters in the attic.

            “Chains—”

            Darkwing covered Launchpad’s mouth before he could finish yelling the word.

            “What is with him and that word?” Fenton asked, taking the rear as they went up the winding stairs to the second floor. “Does he have some unusual phobia?”

            “Uh…I think I know why,” Charity said, chuckling nervously. “I think it was seventh grade, but he and I stayed up all Halloween night watching horror movies. He became afraid of chainsaws, and I can’t stand clowns now.”

            They opened the door to the second floor, the path beyond dark. Charity and Launchpad could see a little, but they relied on Fenton and Darkwing to lead the way.

            Fenton whispered, blinking rapidly, “It appears that whoever it is, is behind a lot of metal.” He turned a corner and turned to a door. Just as he grabbed the knob, Darkwing pulled him back.

            “Look for traps,” Darkwing told Fenton.

            Together, they felt around the door frame. Not finding anything, they stood to the side as Darkwing kicked open the door. There was the sound like a spring being released and a volley of knives flew out, embedding on the opposite wall.

            “Everyone alright?” Darkwing asked.

            Charity gave him a thumbs up. “Nobody got hurt.”

            “Inside!”

            Darkwing waited until the others were in before backing after them, closing the door behind him and locking it. He didn’t like being cornered in this room, but he couldn’t chance Starling coming from behind. Plus, in a pinch, they could go out the window.

            Fenton was breathing hard, hand against his chest as if that was the only thing preventing his heart from jumping out of his chest. “What was that?”

            “A trap,” Darkwing said obviously, following the string from the door that led to what was left of the crude device.

            “I know, but how? You said this guy was an actor?” Fenton said, his voice strained. “These traps, the mechanisms made from household items, nobody could come up with this kind of stuff on the fly.”

            “Jim is more than just an actor,” Charity chimed in, her inner nerd coming out. “Not only did he play Darkwing Duck, but he also wrote a book series based on the TV show. To make the books as authentic as possible, he interviewed and even trained with tons of experts from martial arts teachers to people in Special Forces.”

            “Yeah, that’s right. He even got permission to talk to spies and learn some of the tricks of their trade,” Darkwing added. “Like in A Shadow on Dark Wings. He had to take apart a toaster oven and use parts to make a timer to set off one of his gas gun canisters.”

            “Oh, I love that one. That was a genius plot twist,” Charity added. “I own the complete set.”
            “I do, too. Autographed.”

            “I’m so jealous.”

            “Chainsaw!”

            “Stop complimenting the mad man who wants to kill us,” Fenton shouted at them, stopping the geek-fest.

            “Oh, right,” Darkwing said, clearing his throat. “You said one of the captives is in this room.”

            “Yes. But I don’t understand. There’s nobody here.” He gazed around. “Hmmm, the dimensions don’t add up.” He stared at a bookshelf, rubbing his chin. “There must be something behind this wall. I just have to find the switch.” He ran his fingers over the leather bound volumes, occasionally shaking his head as if that would fix his lenses.

            After a few seconds of jerking his head around and finally slapping the side of his face, he grinned. “Crime and Punishment.” He pulled on the book and the access slid open, revealing a metal door. “A panic room. McDuck thinks of everything.”

            “Can you open it?” Darkwing asked. His night vision was doing well, and besides only seeing in shades of green, he hadn’t noticed the difference of wearing Gizmoduck’s helmet. But then a wall of numbers appeared in front of his eyes, changing by the microsecond randomly. Or at least he thought. “What the—“

            “The helmet’s tech is more advanced than my lenses,” Fenton said, knowing what Darkwing was seeing. “You’ll have the passcode in a few seconds.”

            Soon, the rest of the numbers fell away, leaving behind a fifteen digit number. Darkwing typed it in. The door opened with a release of locks and a hiss of pressure. Light poured out.

            A small body ran out, grabbing Fenton’s shirt and shouting, “You have to go save them! They’re in the basement! He’s going after them.”

            “Chainsaw?” Launchpad asked, his tone no longer panicking.

            Louie gave him an odd look but turned back to Fenton. “That guy, Negaduck, he’s after everyone else. They’re trapped down there.”

            “Negaduck?” Fenton repeated.

            “It’s what he’s calling himself,” Louie said. “He’s crazy.”

            “How do you know where the others are?” Darkwing asked.

            Louie pointed into the panic room. “There are cameras all over the mansion. I found some equipment that lets me see what it going on. I saw him chase you, but he stopped after a while and went down into the basement.”

            Fenton and Darkwing rushed into the panic room, looking at the single computer screen showing a crowded jail cell with Scrooge, Mrs. Beakley, an unconscious Della, and the other three kids. The wide-brimmed hat of Starling moved in one corner of the camera.

            “Chainsaw. Chainsaw chainsaw chainsaw, chainsaw. Chainsaw?” Launchpad said as if forming a complete set of sentences.

            “What’s wrong with him?” Louie asked, sticking his thumb up at Launchpad.

            “Childhood trauma,” Charity replied, coming up from behind to look at the screen.

            Suddenly, smoke filled the basement room, sending Scrooge and Mrs. Beakley into a coughing fit. They sagged to the floor. Starling must have used a gas gun on them.

            He’s going to take a hostage, Charity guessed, because if she was writing a story like this, that would be what she would have the villain do. He wanted Darkwing Duck, and he would take advantage of the crime-fighter’s better nature. Give yourself up or the innocent gets it. And she could see Darkwing going along with it, selflessly sacrificing himself for another just as he was prepared to do from the beginning.

            I can’t let that happen, she thought. Darkwing may think that all this was his fault for his part in Jim Starling’s psychotic break, but Charity was just as responsible. It was her family’s curse that made him almost indestructible. It was her fault that they had to find alternative ways of fighting Starling. And when it came down to it, she didn’t want Jim to be hurt. She loved him.

            Everyone’s backs were to her, entranced as they watched Starling remove some wires from the prison bars, then opened the door. It was chilling to see him point to all his hostages as if playing “Eeney, meanie, miney, moe,” like a child before settling on the young girl.

            “He’s got Webby,” Louie cried out. “You have to go save her.”

            “We will. But we’re also getting you out. Fenton, you and I will head to the basement. Launchpad and Charity take Louie to the front door,” Darkwing ordered, lifting his head to gaze around at the group. Someone was missing. His eyes caught movement that the door to the panic room was closing.

            “No! Charity!” he shouting, sprinting forward. He made a quick decision, rather than pushing against the door, he slipped through, managing to get through the crack before the metal door slammed shut on the corner of his cape. The clothing accessory snapped him back, and he landed on his rump.

            “Charity, you can’t go after him by yourself,” he said, fiddling with the buttons on his suit to release his cape.

            “You were going to do it,” Charity told him. “It makes more sense for me to go to him. He won’t hurt me. Back in St. Canard, I talked to him. I may be able to reason with him.”

            “There’s no reasoning with a man like that,” Darkwing said, grabbing her arm. “He may not kill you, but there’s no telling what he may do to you.”

            “He didn’t hurt me back in the sewers. I know that he won’t hurt me now.”

            “Just like he didn’t hurt you before,” Darkwing shouted. “Just because you’re in love with him, doesn’t mean he cares anything for you.”

            Charity reeled back as if he had slapped her.

            From the Gizmoduck visor, Darkwing saw tears forming in her eyes. Had she really hoped that would be the case? Even after seeing what Starling was capable of?

            After a moment, Charity pulled roughly away from Darkwing, her face hardening. “You say you’re responsible for Jim’s actions, then so am I. He thinks he has super powers and that also contributed to his psychotic break.”
            “You couldn—”

            “Any argument against me can also be used against you,” Charity insisted. “We’re both in the same boat. You can’t stop me, and I can’t stop you. So, do we agree we go together? Nobody else gets hurt. We do what we need to do to stop him.”

            Darkwing turned his head, contemplating.

            “Drake… please,” Charity whispered. “I’m cursed, not fragile. There have been too many people in my life that have made that mistake. Don’t be one of them.”

            “Okay, but you follow my lead,” Darkwing relented. “He doesn’t know that we know he has a hostage. We go slow and look for traps, then we’ll sneak up on him and get the girl away. But once we do, you escape with her, and I’ll handle Starling. Agreed?”

            Charity nodded. “Let’s go before Fenton figures out how to open that door.”

            Together, they left the room, heading to the main staircase that led to the foyer.

            “Do you know the way to the basement?” Darkwing asked Charity.

            The lovebird shook her head. “But he may come this way with the girl. We could ambush him here,” she suggested.

            “Good idea.” Darkwing looked around. “There’s not much to hide behind. What’s through that door?”

            Charity’s eyesight went to a door just to the side of the staircase. She opened it, finding an assortment of coats, hats, and boots neatly organized.

            “Perfect,” Darkwing said, coming closer. “We can hide in here until Starling comes this way. Do you still have those flashbangs?”

            “Yeah,” Charity said, feeling her nerves tingling at the anticipation of what was to come.

            “Use all of them when we jump out. Don’t forget to close your eyes when you do. If you get the chance, grab the girl and run.”

            Charity nodded, taking a step into the closet. Before she could react, Darkwing pushed her from behind, slamming the door shut.

            “Darkwing! Darkwing, let me out.”

            “Sorry, Charity. Turnabout is fair play,” Darkwing said. He had retrieved the tire iron from where Charity dropped it earlier and jammed it underneath the door, preventing it from opening.

            To Darkwing’s ears, it sounded as if Charity was throwing herself at the door.

            “You said we would do this together!” she shouted, pounding against the sturdy wood.

            Darkwing pressed his forehead against the door. “I’m sorry.” He backed away from the coat closet, circling the foyer. “Starling!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. “You won!” His voice echoed against the dark walls of the foyer, sounding throughout the manor. At least, he hoped that his shouts projected that far.

            In less than a minute, the squeak of a door came from his right. Shifting to that direction, Darkwing watched through the Gizmoduck visor as Starling walked in with deliberate slowness, one hand still clenching the handle of the chainsaw—now silent—the other grasping the back collar of the little girl, her head hanging, unconscious.

            “Already?” Starling asked, raising an eyebrow. “I was hoping for a little more fun. I didn’t even get to use her as a bargaining chip.” He lifted Webby higher, dangling from his hand like an puppet.

            “No bargaining chips. No hostages. Just you and me,” Darkwing said. He raised his hands up into the air. “I’ll surrender as long as you leave right now.”

            “No! Darkwing! Jim, please don’t!” Charity shouted from within the closet.

            Starling glanced her way, but when it didn’t open, he ignored Charity’s pleas. “Leave? But this place has really grown on me,” Starling said with a grin. “So many fun toys.” He jiggled the chainsaw.

            “If you don’t leave, then no deal,” Darkwing said. “There’s a car out front. Let go of the girl, and I’ll go peacefully with you outside. You can drive me anywhere you like and do what you want with me.”

            “Really?” Starling looked skeptical. “Oh, but of course. You’re just like me. No pain, right? So you won’t feel a thing.” He looked disappointed.

            Darkwing narrowed his eyes, tensing. If torture had been Starling’s motivating factor, things may get ugly.

            “Hmmm, I guess I’ll just have to kill you quickly,” Starling decided with a crooked smile. He dropped Webby none-too-gently, reached into his coat, and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. He threw them at Darkwing’s feet. “Here. Put those on.”

            “No!” Charity was screaming now, pounding on the door.

            Slowly, Darkwing bent down and picked up the handcuffs. He slapped one on his left wrist and was about to do the same with the other when Starling stopped him.

            “No, not that way. Behind your back. And make sure they’re tight.”

            Clumsily, Darkwing shifted his arms behind him, clasping the other half of the handcuffs on. “Okay, they’re on. Let’s go. Now.”

            Starling approached, leaving the girl behind but still keeping the chainsaw with him. “You know, on second thought, I think I’ll just kill you now and keep my playhouse.” He dropped the chainsaw, flicking his wrist. Suddenly a knife was in his hand and aimed at Darkwing’s heart.

            All in self-preservation, Darkwing dropped to his back, kicking at Starling before the madman could fall upon him. He tried to get up, but was slow without the use of his arms. Starling came from behind, knocking him onto his stomach and pressed a knee into his back.

            “So long, imposter. You’ll haunt me no more,” Starling said with glee.

            Darkwing closed his eyes, hoping that Charity wouldn’t be in too much pain before he died.

            “If you kill him, you’ll be killing me, too!”

            As the words cut through the air, Starling froze, his knife poised high above his head. “What? You think that’s a threat?” Starling shouted at the coat closet, but his tone sounded uncertain.

            “If I’m dead, the curse is broken,” Charity yelled through the door. “No more super powers.”

            “I don’t need super powers anymore. I have this charlatan at my mercy. And when he is gone, I’ll be Darkwing Duck once more,” Starling returned, his voice heavy with madness.

            “So you won’t mind your knees creaking in the mornings. Or the back aches in the evening. You’re not young anymore, Jim. I know because I’ve been living with all your pains,” Charity said. “You haven’t felt any pain in fifteen years. Are you prepared to start after all this time?”

            It was such a mild threat, but it was enough to give Starling a moment of consideration. “You were trying to break the curse anyway. Nice try, girly,” Starling said, yanking off Gizmoduck’s helmet from Darkwing’s head, deciding he’d aim for the back of the neck. Sure, the vertebrae may get in the way of a clean cut, but there would be so much lovely blood.

            “What if I could give you something else? What if I could return Darkwing’s pain to him?”
            It was an offer that Starling wasn’t sure if he believed, but it made his mouth water. “It’s called a curse. You can’t do that,” he said, calling her bluff.

            “I can because he forced me to bond with him. He wanted to be part of the curse, and I didn’t have a choice.”

            “No, you’re lying,” Starling argued. “You’re with him. You’re helping him.”

            “Because I don’t want him to get hurt. His pain is mine,” Charity reasoned.

            Darkwing shifted underneath Starling, trying to wiggle free, but the grip was steel-like. What was Charity up to?
            “Don’t toy with me,” Starling yelled.

            “I’m not. I was tricked by him, just like you,” Charity said, her voice turning to more of a plea. “I thought he was the real Darkwing Duck. It wasn’t until later that I found out he was an imposter.”

            Starling tensed, pressing his knee harder into Darkwing’s back. There was no pain, but it made it harder to breath.

            “You can save me,” Charity said. “I couldn’t break the bond by myself, but now that you’re here, we can do it together. And then you can do as you wish to him without hurting me.”

            “Save you? I am not here to save anyone.”

            “But if you save me, that means I can be with you forever. I call this spell a curse because of that imposter. But once our bond is broken, I’ll be free to take your pain away forever.”

            The love in Charity’s voice sickened Darkwing. He had a good guess what Charity was planning on doing, but it wouldn’t work. She wanted him to release her from the coat closet, but what then? What could she do against Starling?

            “Why? Why would you want to feel my pain for me? Why go through such agony?” By his voice, he obviously didn’t understand or trust altruistic motives.

            “I thought you knew,” Charity said, her voice husky. “It’s because I love you, Jim. I’ve always been in love with you.”

            Darkwing grunted as he was unexpectedly yanked to his feet and frog-marched across the foyer. With a lurch, Starling picked him up enough to hang him against one of the suits of armor that stood against a wall. With his arms behind his back, the position should have been incredibly painful on his joints, but all he felt was the strain in his shoulders.

            He clenched his teeth, only able to imagine what kind of agony Charity would be in. However, without the pain, he could concentrate on escaping. Starling forgot Darkwing Duck 101: always keep a lock pick handy.

            When Jim opened the closet door, Charity was kneeling on the floor, her posture indicating her anguish. But she quickly hid it, smiling with relief. “Jim.”

            Starling seized Charity by her shoulders and dragged her to her feet, then pushed her against the wall. “I don’t know if I trust you.”

            “Look at me, Jim. Look at what he’s put me through,” Charity pleaded, raising her arms, showing all her bandages. “Look what he made you do to me. It’s all true.”

            “Love?” He sneered at the word. “Nice try, sweetheart. You almost had me.”

            Charity reached out to him, her hands trying to cup his face. The emotional hurt on her face wasn’t feigned. “Jim? But I do lo—“

            “Don’t call me that,” Starling growled, shaking her. “I’m not Jim Starling. Not anymore. And I’m not some buffoon called Darkwing Duck. That name sickens me. I’m Negaduck.”

            “No, Jim. Please, this isn’t you,” Charity pleaded, her face twisted in sorrow. “Don’t do this.”

            “Didn’t you listen to me? It looks as if you need to be taught a lesson.” He took his knife out from his belt, bringing it up to Charity’s face. “I’ll stop when the lesson sticks.”

            “Leave her alone, Starling,” Darkwing shouted, struggling against his bonds. He had gotten the key from his sleeve, but the lock wasn’t cooperating. “It’s me you want.”

            “Well, well. It looks as if I’ve found a way to hurt Darkwing Duck after all,” Starling said, cracking a smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you have a good view.”

            That was when Charity struggled with intent, ignoring her singing nerves as Starling pressed against raw flesh underneath her bandages. She pushed and pulled, trying to break free. She hated this. She hated her curse. She hated that even if she hadn’t loved Starling, fighting him would be as useful as a tennis racket to a slug.

            “Fight him, Charity. Fight him like you did before,” Darkwing called, urging her on.

            But how? The only thing that would be effective was to choke him or knock him out. And she couldn’t do either with him holding her wrists. She tried to knock him down, hoping that would loosen his grip, but he took her down with him, gaining a better advantage by straddling her between his thighs.

            “Give it up, sweetie. The more you struggle, the longer I’ll take with you,” Starling threatened with pleasure. “You’re helpless. You can’t hurt me.”

            And then a lesson from a long ago day, taught to her by her grandmother, burst through her other memories, shocking her like a bolt of electricity.

            “You’re wrong on both accounts,” Charity snarled. She wretched her knee upward as hard as she could right between Starling’s legs.

            Starling saw stars before his nerves registered that he was in pain. For the first time in fifteen years, he experienced pain, and this agony was worse because his body was unfamiliar with the sensation. His hands moved slowly to the offended area before he keeled over to the side.

            Breathing heavily, Charity scrambled away from Starling’s body, eyes wide.

            “Get on top of him,” Darkwing ordered Charity from where he dangled from the armor. “That won’t keep him down long. Restrain him. Throw that knife out of reach.”

            Awakened from her shock, she did as she was told, sitting on top of Starling and tossing all weapons she found as far as she could. She was surprised when Darkwing came up from behind and clamped handcuffs over Starling’s hands.

            “I didn’t know you could…” Darkwing trailed off, looking disturbed.

            “Neither did I,” Charity said. “Lucky for us, I don’t have the balls.”

            That earned her a deep, guttural laugh from the masked hero.

            And while Charity wanted to laugh too, she had a bone to pick with this man. “And if it wasn’t for this curse, I would punch you,” she yelled at him. “How dare you go off like a sheep for the slaughter! Don’t you know you can’t bargain with a madman?”

            “What about you!” Darkwing shouted back. “All those lies and trying to get on his good side. You didn’t think that could backfire?”

            “You locked me in a closet!”

            “You tried to lock me in a vault!”

            “Quit coddling me!”

            “Then stop making me want to protect you!”

            Charity was about to shout something back, but Darkwing’s words stoppered her anger like a cork in a bottle. She was suddenly aware of how close they were. Her thoughts ran to places and ideas that she had never hoped to happen. Was he coming closer? What was going to happen? Was he really going to…

            “You two better not be kissing,” a muffled growl came from the floor. “Oh, please don’t be kissing. Just…just kick me in the nuts again.”
            “Shut up,” Darkwing snapped, pushing Starling’s face to the floor.

            With the moment gone, Charity scrambled off of the would-be actor, feeling as shy as a deer. Had it all been her imagination? She loved Darkwing, and she knew her own feelings and desires. But could Darkwing reciprocate those feelings? Or had it just been the moment? If it had been any girl in the same situation, it would result in the same thing, right?

            “You’re right,” Darkwing said, still on the ground, keeping Starling restrained. “You’re not fragile.”

            Charity’s heart leaped again so soon after that other moment. Why won’t these boys give her heart a rest?

            “I’ll try not to treat you like you are,” Darkwing said. His eyes turned to her, and there was an intensity in them that was akin to an alpha wolf.

            “Damn straight you won’t,” Charity said with a wry smile.

***

            Mrs. Beakley glared at the state of the manor. Paint on the windows, knife holes in the wall paper, and booby traps willy-nilly. Never had she allowed so much chaos to reign in her territory. If she wasn’t so angry, she might have some respect for Jim Starling.

            With the lights back on and everyone huddled in the rec room with sustenance, blankets and the TV to comfort them after such a kerfuffle, Mrs. Beakley insisted nobody move as she searched the whole mansion top to bottom. Even Della, who refused to be taken to the emergency room for her concussion, hadn’t complained too much about being ushered away like a chick.

            “And where is that so-called butler,” Mrs. Beakley muttered under her breath as she disengaged yet another contraption that would have skewered the first person to walk down the hallway. “This would have been a whole lot easier to deal with if Ducksworth was doing his job.” But the ghost of Scrooge’s servant had been absent during Starling’s reign of terror, which wasn’t the first time he had been off duty during a state of emergency for the Duck family.

            As she lugged an armful of tangled string, duct tape and wire to the kitchen, she watched as Donald walked in through the back door in a bathrobe, go to the refrigerator, take out a carton of milk and drink directly from it as calmly as could be.

            “What in the world?” she asked.

            Donald jumped, having not seen her. “Whoops. Heh heh. I’ll get a glass.”

            “Where have you been all this time?” Mrs. Beakley asked, her jaw slack.

            “I’ve been in a bubble bath. I must have fallen asleep,” Donald said, looking completely relaxed. “Why? What did I miss?”

            Mrs. Beakley shook her head. She would leave the explanation to someone else.

            As she stepped out of the kitchen, she almost ran into Scrooge, who was the only one who insisted on helping his housekeeper take care of things, namely the incarceration of Starling.

            “Ach, that knockout gas packs quite a punch,” Scrooge said, massaging his head.

            Mrs. Beakley sympathized. This was the second time it had been used on her. “I’ve finished the ground floor. I’ve also called a cleaning service to come in tomorrow and clear away the paint and repair whatever damage that maniac left behind.”

            “Good, 22,” Scrooge said. “As for that maniac, he’s manacled to the wall, ball and chain on both feet, and there’s at least five supernatural entities patrolling the hallway.”

            “Or we could take him to a hospital to give him the care he needs,” Mrs. Beakley told him. “The criminally insane still deserve to be treated like people.”

            “And he will. Once Charity is rid of him and this curse.” He took off his glasses and wiped them with a handkerchief. “The lass has brought more trouble with her than a whole dungeon of treasure.”

            Mrs. Beakley raised an eyebrow.

            “But not too much trouble,” Scrooge added with a smile. “Not since Donald dropped off the boys.”

            “So, shall we see what kind of damage was done to the second floor?” Mrs. Beakley offered.

            “No. Let’s take a break. We can finally find out what Huey and Webby found out in their research.”

            They headed back to the rec room only to come across a sight that frustrated the elderly duck.

            “Oh, for the sake of the moor. How hard is it to get everyone together for one little meeting?” he grumbled, waving his hand at one of the couches.

            Leaning back along the sofa, Launchpad snored louder than the ending of Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture. His arms spread eagle over the three others as if protecting them. Charity leaned against him, her mouth hanging open and snoring with much less volume. Darkwing was next to the lovebird, using an arm as a pillow, his cape wrapped around him loosely. On the other side of Launchpad, Fenton had completely gone horizontal, head on Launchpad’s knee, his legs curled up in a fetal position.

            Slices of pizza, which Mrs. Beakley had ordered earlier, lay half-eaten on plates in their laps. More than likely, the four had fallen asleep before they could finish their meal.

            “Now we’re going to have to wait until tomorrow to learn anything,” Scrooge said, folding his arms.

            “Webby and Huey could explain things now, and we’ll tell the others tomorrow,” Mrs. Beakley suggested.

            “No, we’re doing this together,” Scrooge said, disgusted by the situation. “I’m going to bed. See you in the morning.”

            “Is it safe yet?” Webby asked, rushing to her grandmother.

            “Just the ground floor.”

            “Can I get some extra blankets for them?” she asked, always so helpful and considerate of others.

            “Yes, you know where they are.”

            Louie shook his head at the sleeping adults. “They’re like a pack of kids. They didn’t even make it to bedtime before conking out.”

            “They’ve had a rough day,” Mrs. Beakley said, her motherly instincts kicking in as she gently adjusted the four. She put Fenton’s legs up on the arm of the couch, and placed Launchpad’s feet on a foot rest to stop his snoring. She tilted Charity and Darkwing so that they could be more comfortable. She couldn’t do much as long as they resembled a pile of sleeping kittens.

            “It’s good they are sleeping now. Heaven help them, things may not get any easier.”

Chapter Text

Twisted Strings of Fate

Chapter 15

There are always two or more sides of the same story.

***

            The breakfast table was a mixture of emotions. Huey and Webby were at the height of excitement, for after many hours of researching, they would be the center of attention as they revealed their mysteries. Huey’s brothers were more reserved, especially since in the past two days, they had both experienced frightening adventures at the hands of Jim Starling. And while the triplets had learned to shake off danger like water off a…well…a duck, it didn’t sit well with them that the one calling himself Negaduck still remained in the mansion.

            Della and Donald sat with twin expressions of disapproval. They also didn’t like that Jim Starling was still nearby, albeit more secured than Fort Knox. They had had a heated argument with their uncle bright and early that morning about keeping maniacs inside the house while there were kids present. Their point would have carried weight if they hadn’t at one time or another been guilty of the same crime in their youth.

            Mrs. Beakley looked haggard, a far cry from her usual “neat as a button” appearance. She had stayed up all night, keeping an eye on Starling through the security cameras, just in case Scrooge McDuck’s contingency plans failed. For once, she was sitting at the table with everyone else, being served a breakfast she didn’t cook, a sight that only came around on Mother’s Day when Webby took on the chore.

            It was Charity, Launchpad, Fenton and Darkwing who took on the duties of Mrs. Beakley that morning, although the lovebird had to coerce the latter two to help. In the kitchen, she had whipped up pancakes from scratch, homemade syrup, and directed the boys into cooking up eggs and bacon.

            Launchpad, familiar with his friend’s command of a kitchen, had flipped pancakes like a happy robot, making sure each reached a golden brown.

            Darkwing had grumbled about how the bacon grease that was popping angrily at him would ruin his costume. However, he did volunteer to make the coffee, and somehow had made the bland beans that the Duck family used every day to smell and taste as if a Starbeaks was in the kitchen.

            Fenton, in charge of scrambling eggs, was up to the challenge even though he had never cooked a day in his life. Unfortunately, since he fell asleep with the Gizmoduck lenses still in his eyes, his vision was blurred and had ended up burning his first batch.

            The four, after serving everyone, sat and ate with the Duck family. Launchpad was his usual happy, animated self, but Charity was more reserved, conscientious that the danger the others had gone through lately was her fault. Fenton had a piece of Gizmoduck at the table and was more concerned with fixing it than eating.

            “If I blow something up, I’m sorry,” Fenton said as the piece of armor whined and coughed from the scientist’s attention.

            Darkwing, despite getting so much sleep last night, looked just as tired as Mrs. Beakley. Used to late, late nights and sleeping in, his body protested moving around at this time of day. The only thing keeping him upright was the mug of coffee in his hands, and he proactively kept the coffee pot close by.

            Scrooge took this all in as he glared down the table. “Finally, we have everyone here. No more interruptions. No more kidnapping, no trips out of town, no bad guys, no anything. This meeting is happening now.”

            “I’m sure we’re all in agreement that we want none of those things to happen again,” Louie said in his usual blasé way.

            “Right. Huey. Webby. Would you like to share what you have found?” Scrooge asked, waving an open palm at them.

            Webby turned to the red-clad triplet. “You go first.”

            “Thank you,” Huey said, nodding his head. He pulled out a thin folder that had all his notes and the articles he printed off of the internet. “My first line of thought went to the origin of the story of the two swan sisters. Webby had said that it sounded familiar, and there is a reason that Uncle Scrooge’s library had no information on it. It’s because it was turned into a children’s fairy tale.”

            He pulled out a picture of two ballet dancers, one dressed in white, the other in black, mirroring each other. “Swan Lake.”

            Dewey and Louie stuck out their tongues at the thought of dancing in tights.

            Huey ignored them as he told the most popular version of Swan Lake, about a princess who was transformed into a wild swan by an evil sorcerer. She would only transform back into herself at night and only near a lake that was made by the tears of the princess’s mother. One night, a prince, who was hunting in the forest, saw the princess transform and fell in love with her. To break the spell, he was going to announce at a party that he was going to marry the princess. But the sorcerer came to the party in disguise along with his daughter who looked like the princess. When the prince mistook the sorcerer’s daughter for the princess, his betrayal sealed the spell, forcing the princess to remain as a wild swan. Rather than live like an animal, the princess took her own life. The prince, seeing that his love was dead, also took his own life.

            Dewey and Louie had started to nod off since Huey had recited the story of the swan princess in great detail, adding his own commentary to the narration. However, at the end, Louie jerked out of his half-sleep and Dewey nearly choked on the bite of pancake he was chewing.

            “You mean they died?” Louie exclaimed. “What kind of kid’s story is that?”

            “Many of the fairy tales that are told to you as children have an older and darker version,” Mrs. Beakley explained. “They were created that way to be cautionary stories to teach children to behave and not break rules, much like Little Red Riding Hood.”

            “Don’t talk to strangers. Stay on the path,” Charity added. “So what does the story of the Swan Princess teach?”

            “Considering that the story’s origin is from your family history, it doesn’t necessarily need a moral. Some stories were dark because life back then was hard,” Huey said. “There were other versions of Swan Lake, but most of them ended in the death of the princess, the prince or the sorcerer or a combination of the three.”

            “That doesn’t bode well,” Fenton said. Even though his eyes hadn’t left the Gizmoduck armor he was tinkering with, he had been listening attentively. “But it does fit in with Charity’s family’s story.”

            “Wasn’t there a version where the curse was broken by a vow of love or a marriage proposal?” Charity asked with a shrug.

            “Exactly!” Webby exclaimed, sitting up straight with her eyes wide. “Which is why—“

            Huey quickly interrupted. “Webby, I’m not done. This was my research.” When the excited Webby closed her mouth, he continued. “Yes, but those are more modern versions for a more ‘family friendly’ audience. After doing all the research I could on Swan Lake, I tried looking for other fairy tales that had to do with sisters, swans and love spells. A lot of them had similar themes, mainly of sisters where one is good and one is bad. One black, the other white.”

            “But in Charity’s story, it was the black sister that was the good one,” Darkwing broke in. “And in Swan Lake, the two girls weren’t even sisters.”

            “Nice observation,” Huey said. “I read through a few articles about that. It appears that Swan Lake was translated from several languages. The princess and the sorcerer’s daughter were sometimes referred to as the light swan and the dark swan, meaning good and evil, not the color of their feathers. After so many years, the colors of the swans may even have been switched due to superstitious belief.”

            “The two swans and their feather colors match,” Charity noted. “But the stories aren’t even remotely similar. It has nothing to do with my family’s curse. Why do you believe Swan Lake originated from my family?”

            “I was about to get to that,” Huey said proudly, taking out a few more papers from his folder. “This is a map of the US, Europe and part of Asia. This red line represents all the countries that had their own version of Swan Lake, the farther east, the older the version. And here is the same map, showing Charity’s family line as they emigrated from one place to another. See a connection?”

            The two maps were almost identical.

            Charity sat up straighter. “I—I didn’t know that my family came from all those places.” She reached out a hand for Huey to pass the paper over. “Where did you get this information?”

            “I called your mom,” Huey said with a grimace.

            “How did that go?”

            “She hung up on me. Then I called your step-dad, who gave me your grandfather’s phone number, and he told me all of this.”

            “Oh, that makes sense,” Charity said, slumping. “He does have the ol’ family journals.”

            “The what?”

            “My family has kept a set of journals about our curse that gets passed down through the generations,” Charity explained. “When one starts to fade or falls apart, whoever is keeper of the journals transcribes them to another book.”

            “Why didn’t you mention this earlier?” Huey demanded. “That is a wealth of information. There might even be a clue about the curse.”

            Charity leaned back, unsure how she felt about being chewed out by a child. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t think they’d be relevant. I’ve read through them a few times already, and they’re just stories about how everyone in my family fell in love with heroes and complained about their aches and pains. There’s only, like, six of them. Nobody wrote more than a few entries during their life time.”

            Scrooge could see Huey was itching to get his hands on those journals. “Is there any way your grandfather would lend us the journals?” he asked calmly.

            “Yeah. I’ll call him and see if he’ll send them over,” Charity said. “Although, he lives in Florida, so he might have to send them through the mail. Maybe he can over-night them.”

            “Really?” Huey looked hungry for that knowledge. “Great. Now where was I?” He shifted through his folder.

            “Why Swan Lake is relevant?”

            Huey brightened. “Right! So, my theory is that Swan Lake may not only be an altered version of your family’s curse, but it may give us clues as to how to break your curse. There was one thing in the story that caught my attention that may be the key.”

            “True love!” Webby broke in, looking excited.

            “Uh…no,” Huey said, shaking his head. “The lake.”

            Charity’s eyes widened. “It was at the lake that the princess was cursed, and she would transform at the lake.” A chill ran down her body. “Could it really be that simple?”
            “Well…I don’t think so. After all, I think we’ll have to find the exact lake that was used in the spell. There are hundreds of lakes in that part of the world, and that’s if it still exists. Without a definite area and time period, it could take years to try each and every one.”

            Charity frowned at the map. It was still a daunting mission, but at least it was something. Huey had made so much progress in a few days. Had her family even tried to break the curse? Or were they too beaten down to believe that it was possible?

            “Okay, so, let’s say we did find the right lake. Then what?” Charity asked. “Do I just jump in? Recite a spell? Dance naked by the light of the moon? Animal sacrifice?”

            Dewey and Louie snickered at more than one of her suggestions. Darkwing raised an eyebrow and smiled at her.

            Huey shrugged. “I don’t know. In Swan Lake, it never officially states that the prince was trying to break the curse. It’s assumed that his proposing to the princess at a party would be what would break the curse, but considering your family’s history, I don’t think that would be the case.”

            “So, it’s a dead end,” Charity said, putting the map back on the table.

            Huey hated letting others down. “I’m sorry. It’s just the older something is, the harder it is to research it.”

            “No, no. You did a really good job. This is more than I expected,” Charity said, trying to build up the duckling’s mood. “Maybe we’ll find something in my family’s journals. After all, I wasn’t looking for a way to break the curse in them. And having someone else read them other than my family may be key.”

            That did make Huey feel better. “I’m afraid that is all I have. As I told Uncle Scrooge, we didn’t find much. At this point, my suggestion is that we go here…” Huey pointed at his map in an area where Russia, China and Mongolia met, “…and see if we can find anything. Perhaps they have books and stories that haven’t been recorded and posted on the Internet.”

            “That is some good work there, Huey,” Scrooge said proudly, patting his nephew on the back.

            “Thanks Uncle Scrooge,” Huey said, sitting down. He took his first bite of pancake and chewed mechanically.

            “Okay, Webby, you’re next,” Scrooge said, seeing that the duckling was ready to burst.

            She flipped onto the table. “Alright. While Huey was researching the history of the curse, I went delving into the ocean of magic spells to see if the magical community had a record of Charity’s curse and love spells in general.”

            “I did that already,” Huey interrupted, eating his food with more gusto. “There’s nothing on the Internet except stuff about herbs and using stones for different energies.”
            “That’s because the magic community doesn’t put stuff on the Internet,” Webby explained. “Lena says they like to keep it a secret. I mean, come on, can you imagine if they had a website on how to make a shadow army like Magica did? That would be an epic fail, am I right?”

            “Is it on the Internet?”

            All eyes turned to Fenton.

            He smiled. “Just curious. No harm in asking.”

            “Anyway, I talked to Lena for a while, but I couldn’t get a lot of information out of her,” Webby continued. “She’s camping with Violet’s family, so she only gave me the barest of information on love curses. She pretty much said that love curses are about the simplest of spells and can easily be broken.”

            “What?!” Charity exclaimed, slamming her hands onto the table. “Is that…really true?” Her face was a mixture of hope and disbelief.

            “That’s what she said,” Webby confirmed. “She told me she has a lot of Magica’s spell books, and there’s tons of love spells in them, and each spell has a simple solution to break it.”

            Charity shook her head. “It—it can’t be that easy.”

            Webby shrugged. “I can’t hurt trying every single one of them. Quite a few talk about making clothing, burning clothing or cleaning clothes. Some are potions that you drink or bathe in. A few just need you to burn a few herbs.”

            “Lena told you all of this?” Mrs. Beakley asked.

            “Well…no. I actually…broke into her house and borrowed her books,” Webby said with a sheepish smile.

            “Webbigail!”

            “With permission! With permission!” Webby insisted. “Lena said I could. And I made sure not to break anything and locked all the doors when I was done.”

            Charity looked at the other ducks at the table and found it disturbing that nobody else was concerned about Webby’s B and E. Was this the norm here?

            “Okay, let’s back this up,” Charity said, holding out her hands. “First, who is this Lena? And how does she know so much about magic?”

            “Oh, Lena is my friend that was the shadow of an evil sorceress named Magica de Spell, who tried to take over the world with shadow magic. She earned her freedom and her life when I was able to free her from the world of shadows and now she lives with my other friend, Violet, and her family.”
            Charity didn’t say anything for a while as she registered this. “Okay, then. Carry on.”

            “Well, after reading all the spells, there were a variety of ways to break them, but the most common is…” Here Webby took a deep breath. “…True love’s kiss.”

            “I think we can rule that out,” Charity said. “I’m pretty sure true love’s kiss had happened somewhere down the line or I wouldn’t exist.”

            “Maybe…Or maybe everyone in your family just married the wrong person,” Webby countered. “It may even have been part of the original spell that everyone in your family is fated to never kiss their one true love.”

            “That seems…unlikely…” It was obvious that Charity was uncomfortable with this.

            Webbigail was not discouraged by this comment. “We can’t rule it out entirely,” she said with a determined nod. “So, just in case, I think Charity should kiss all of them.”

            Darkwing was more awake than before, and it had nothing to do with the coffee.

            There was the sound of tools clattering to the table as Fenton dropped them.

            Oblivious that the conversation regarded him, Launchpad ate his pancakes loudly. He loved Charity’s cooking.

            “K-k-k-k-k—“ Fenton stuttered, unable to get past the first sound of the word.

            “As much as I would like to explore this line of thinking,” Darkwing said, “I don’t like the idea of Charity kissing Gizmod—I mean, Jim Starling. She’s been through enough.”

            “Slip of the tongue there, huh?” Mrs. Beakley noticed.

            “Honest mistake,” Darkwing waved off the housekeeper’s words. “Even if this theory is sound, there’s no way Starling is Charity’s true love.”

            “He was Charity’s first,” Webby said. “It’s not like Charity fell in love with him when he was crazy. And it doesn’t change the fact that she’s still in love with him.”

            Charity sank farther into her seat, feeling as if she was no longer part of the conversation but merely the subject.

            “She’s right,” Fenton said, recovering from his earlier embarrassment. “Scientifically, we can’t rule that out. In fact, if there’s anyone who’s least likely to be Charity’s ‘true love’, it would be you, Darkwing Duck, since she only bonded with you through association with Starling.”

            “What do you mean by that?” Darkwing growled, standing up.

            “Calm down,” Mrs. Beakley said sternly. “This isn’t some ego contest. We’re here to help Charity, not fight amongst ourselves. And if you want my opinion, this plan isn’t ideal, Webby.”

            “But—all the fairy tales, they end with a kiss,” Webby said almost sadly. “It just made sense.”

            “But in those fairy tales, there was only one prince,” Mrs. Beakley stated. “I don’t think the real world works that way.”

            “But it does. In fact, Charity’s situation is perfect,” Webby said, her excitement building. “She already has four of the major arch-types of romantic interests.” She started counting on her finger. “We have the bad-boy, the best-friend, brotherly type, the dark and brooding character, and the clumsy, dorky nerd.”

            “Hey!” Fenton exclaimed.

            Darkwing snorted, appreciating the little girl’s apt descriptions.

            “It’s like the perfect story,” Webby continued. “I’m not saying that Charity should go right out and kiss all of them, but if we get Starling on some meds and she dates them all to set the mood, it would work!”

            “Kill me now,” Charity moaned, having sunk almost completely out of sight. “Since when did my life turn into The Bachelorette?”

            “Webby, where did you get some of these idea?” Mrs. Beakley inquired, frowning with disapproval.

            “From the books you keep under your bed,” Webby answered honestly.

            “I…uh…” Stunned, Mrs. Beakley turned a vibrant shade of red before clearing her throat. “We’ll talk about that later. For now, we cannot treat Charity’s situation like it’s a story. In her case, I don’t know if the usual rules are going to apply.”

            Webby looked colossally disappointed. “Then I’m afraid that throws out most of everything else I have to say. I guess everything. It wasn’t that great of an idea anyway.”

            “Now, now, lass. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Not all ideas can be gold,” Scrooge said kindly. “Even the farfetched theories might help us to get a sense of where to go. It reminds me of the time when—“

            Louie made a groaning noise. “Not another ‘Reminds me of the time’ stories. You walked to school uphill, both ways, in snow storms. You didn’t have phones, Nintendo, electricity or fun when you were a kid. You’re old. We get it.”

            Scrooge glared at his nephew. “We also had something called respect back then, too.”

            “What Scrooge is trying to say, Webby, is that there are no bad ideas,” Mrs. Beakley interpreted. “We’re all stumped by this curse. Who knows, it might be the lead we were waiting for.”

            “Well, okay. I was just thinking that if Lena’s spell books don’t work, that we should consult an expert,” Webby suggested

            “In magic?” Scrooge asked. “I don’t know. Most of the magic-users I know are evil, Lena being the exception.”

            “No, not an expert in magic,” Webby said, her smile back. “An expert in love.”

            “A love expert?” Louie asked, his face twisted in disbelief. “That’s not a thing, right?”

            Dewey slicked back his hair. “As it so happens, that would be a-me.” He pointed both his thumbs at his chest.

            “The only love you’re an expert at is loving yourself,” Louie shot at his brother. “Who are we going to ask? A dating service?”

            “No, we’re going to ask the biggest name in the love industry,” Webby said, grabbing a book she had left next to her plate. “The one and only, Aphrodite.” She opened the book to a painting of a beautiful, naked woman walking out of the sea.

            As one, Della, Donald, and Scrooge gasped, their muscles tensed and eyes wide.

            Huey hid his eyes, Dewey stared as if he couldn’t look away, and Louie took a picture with his phone. Mrs. Beakley took the book away.

            Webby turned her head to the three adults. “Did I say something wrong?”

            Della and Donald looked away, fidgeting nervously.

            “Oh, not really. It’s just that talking to Aphrodite is impossible,” Scrooge said, frowning.

            Charity laughed. “Whew, thank goodness. For a minute there, I was feeling a little overwhelmed. I mean, all this talk about shadow magic and sorcerers, I don’t know if I could handle on top of that that the Greek gods are real, too.”

            The Duck family’s’ facial expression stopped her laughter.

            “Please tell me they’re not real.”

            “Oh, they’re real. A real pain,” Scrooge said. “And if we have to go back to Ithaquack, it’ll be too soon.”

            “They’re real?” Charity could feel a headache coming. It was just too much.

            “We’ve met Zeus, Selene, Storkules, Hermes, and a bunch of the lesser gods,” Huey named off. “Yeah, they’re real.”

            “Storkules is Uncle Donald’s best friend,” Louie added.

            Donald grumbled.

            Charity felt her lower eye-lid twitch before taking a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll go with it. I mean, it’s not as crazy as some of the stuff Darkwing Duck did.”

            “Hey!” Darkwing exclaimed.

            “Not you. In the TV show,” Charity defended. “Okay, so let’s go talk to Aphrodite. Heck, let’s talk to all the gods. They’re gods. They’re old. They must know something about my curse.”

            Scrooge cleared his throat. “It’s not as easy as that. As I said, nobody sees Aphrodite.”

            “Why? Does she have a full schedule? Too many dates?” Darkwing asked sarcastically.

            Scrooge began speaking, his tone changing to indicate he was narrating. “Unlike the other gods, who control lightning, the sea, the moon, the sun, she controls emotions and people. It is said that anyone who is in love falls under her domain, including gods. Even Zeus is afraid of her.”

            Charity inwardly shivered. If that was the case, she understood why

            Della picked it up from there. “It’s even worse than that. According to Selene, no mortal has ever seen the face of Aphrodite and lived. Any man who was to look upon her face would see the most beautiful woman in existence and would become enthralled. He would have no will of his own, and if removed from her presence, his heart would burst.”

            “Of a broken heart,” Charity finished.

            “No, it would literally explode,” Della corrected. “Aphrodite is a cold, heartless witch who has no regard for the lives of men. Her only concern is to twist the loves of her favorite mortals, meddling in their lives to create drama and intrigue for her own entertainment.”

            Charity gulped. Her life was complicated enough. She didn’t need a crazy, love goddess screwing around with it.

            “Hey, you don’t think…” Donald began, sitting up straighter. “She couldn’t be…doing that already? To Charity?”

            Everyone felt it at once. It was as if there was another presence in the room, a person who was there but not physically. The atmosphere was so heavy, no one—not even Fenton—could deny that someone else was watching them.

            “Well, that’s done it,” Scrooge growled. “It looks as if we’re going to Ithaquack.”

            “Wait, what about the whole looking-at-her-face-will-turn-you-into-a-love-zombie thing?” Louie asked. “I’m too young for that kind of thing.”

            “Don’t worry, because I have thought this through,” Webby said, striking a pose. “For you see, I am no man.”

            There was a pause as everyone drank in the drama.

            “She’s been waiting to say that for days,” Huey added, the only one not in awe of Webby’s line.

Chapter Text

Twisted Strings of Fate

Chapter 16

            I would kill for a love triangle. My life is more like a love pentagon.

***

            As the Duck family prepared for the trip, making lists and gathering supplies, Charity slunk away in the hustle and bustle, skittering to the guest room she had been using the past few days. It had been too much for her. Oh, she had been able to handle the pain from all her injuries with a smile and brush off one dangerous experience after another like a champ. But that meeting had been too much for her.

            She had taken for granted that her family had a curse on their heads through the generations, but even knowing that, the way the Duck family talked about magic and sorcerers and Greek gods had been daunting. It was too much for her. She needed to get away to sort through all this information that had been dumped on her.

            Especially after the young girl’s—Webby—presentation. All that talk about kissing and true love had set Charity’s heart spinning. And it didn’t help to have Darkwing on one side giving her flirtatious glances and wagging eyebrows, and on the other side Fenton stuttering and blushing as if he were thinking about it as much as she was.

            Oh, who was she kidding? Everyone in that room was seeing her kissing one or more of the guys.

            Not that she hadn’t thought of it herself, but that was different. Her thoughts were completely private, and when she imagined kissing someone, it would be in a romantic setting and not with a dozen eyes on her, waiting to see if a kiss would break the spell.

            Once in the safety of her room, she shut the door and dove under the covers of her bed, feeling relieved to have the comforter act as a barrier between her and the rest of the world. She relaxed and let her mind wander in and out of this and that thought, letting things settle like sediment in water.

            The darkness and being completely encompassed by the bedding calmed her. It was good to shut out everything else. It was her way of meditating.

            She wasn’t sure how long she had been under the covers when a knock came at the door. She scrunched up tight into a ball and stayed quiet.

            “Charity, are you in there?”

            It was Launchpad. At first, Charity was relieved. But then she remembered that he was at the meeting as well. He had been quiet for the most part. Nobody had mentioned anything about him, but could he have figured it out? Did he know that he was part of the curse, too?

            Did that matter anyway? She had been so used to keeping it from him that it was like a crutch, the only constant in her life in this time of chaos. Even now, it seemed almost silly to think that he would reject her or that their relationship would change if he knew, but the fear was still there. How could he not see her differently, knowing she had been in love with him this whole time?

            “Charity?”

            “Yeah,” she called out. Well, if he did figure it out, there really wasn’t anything she could do about it.

            “Are you being a caterpillar?”

            She frowned. How did he know?

            There was a click and the squeak of a door opening. She felt a body sit on the bed.

            “Is the little caterpillar going to come out?” Launchpad lifted the edge of the comforter.

            Charity poked her head out so only her face showed. “No,” she said with a pout.

            “Tough meeting, huh?”

            “Yeah.” Charity glanced up at Launchpad’s face. “What did you think of it?” She worried her beak.

            Launchpad shrugged. “I don’t know. I was so busy eating those pancakes. Oh, they were so good, especially with your homemade syrup. Mrs. Beakley is a great cook, but she can’t beat your pancakes.”

            Charity sighed. She should have known. Launchpad was still Launchpad.

            “But you know, even though the road ahead of you looks hard, you can do hard things,” Launchpad said, patting her head through the covers. “And I’ll be right next to you the whole way. I may not know what’s going on, but I’ll be there.”

            Smiling, Charity—still swathed up in the comforter—got to her knees and wrapped a hug around Launchpad. “Thanks. I really needed that. I was so overwhelmed by everything. I know you have told me a lot of Mr. McDuck’s adventures, but I guess I thought you were exaggerating. It just wasn’t real for me until now.”

            “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it,” Launchpad said, patting her back.

            “Launchpad,” a voice called from the hallway. Darkwing passed by the door, then returned. “Oh, there you are.”

            “Darkwing,” Charity said. Conscientious of how she looked wrapped up in the comforter, Charity attempted to detach herself from the bed in a hurry and ended up on the floor, legs twisted in the bedding. Oh yeah, this was better.

            “Are you okay?” Darkwing asked with a smile.

            “Yeah, fine. Just trying to…tidy up here,” Charity said, struggling to free herself.

            “Launchpad, Mr. McDuck wants you helping Della with the plane. Your little trip to St. Canard dinged it up a little,” Darkwing said, pointing a thumb behind him.

            “My work is never done,” Launchpad said, as if he weren’t the one constantly destroying the plane.

            Charity gave him a wide-eyed look that said, “Don’t leave me,” which he ignored. Once he was gone, she was alone with Darkwing.

            Darkwing knelt down and helped her out of the trap of her own making, then pulled her up to her feet. “How are you doing?” he asked, looking concerned.

            “Oh, you know. After being captured twice, dragged through a sewer, facing off with two megalomaniacs, and then chased around with a chainsaw, going to meet the Greek gods is nothing. Right?” She gave him an uncertain smile.

            “Oh, good. I thought for a minute that something about that meeting may have shaken you up,” Darkwing said with humor.

            “Please tell me I’m not the only one,” Charity said. “Launchpad and the others, they’re taking this all in stride. Even the kids are acting like this is a normal occurrence.”

            Darkwing raised both his hands. “Nope. This is a first for me, too. In my line of work, I don’t meet many gods.”

            Charity chuckled. “That actually makes me feel better. All that talk about Greek gods, sorcerers and fairy tales, it was like I had stepped into a book where all these genres collided into a hodge-podge storyline.”

            “You’ve certainly made my life more interesting,” Darkwing added. “It’s not every day a man is told to kiss a pretty girl by an eleven-year-old kid.”

            Eyes widening, Charity backed away, bumping into the door frame. “I-I-I’m gonna go see if someone needs help…with anything.” She left the room, walking as fast as she could without looking like she was running away.

            She had to get away from Darkwing. Even if it was harmless flirting, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to go in that direction. As much as she was willing to give in, she couldn’t. She was refusing to let her emotions control her fate. They could push and pull her heart around, but she was going to be making her decisions based on logic, not on impulse.

            “Wait.”

            Her throat clenched when a hand grabbed her wrist, stopping her from going too far down the hallway. She swallowed hard. She was not going to give into the curse.

            She turned, trying to be as calm as possible when she faced Darkwing. “Yes?” she asked, keeping her face neutral.

            “What if it was possible?” Darkwing asked seriously. “What if it could be that simple?”

            “Do you really think that a thousand-year-old curse could be broken with a simple kiss?” Charity asked, her tone bitter. “It doesn’t work that way.”

            “You don’t believe in true love?” Darkwing asked with a raised eyebrow.

            “In one true love? No,” Charity said. “I believe that there can be more than one true love for everyone. It would be ridiculous if everyone had to search through eight billion people just to find the one person they’re supposed to live their life with.”

            “Considering that you are in love with four guys, that makes sense,” Darkwing said.

            “Exactly,” Charity said, not realizing that Darkwing was approaching her. “For true love’s kiss to work, I would have to be in love with only one person.” She noticed how close Darkwing was and took a step back only to run into a wall. She could have turned to either side and walked away, but the way Darkwing was looking at her, she felt her knees weaken.

            I thought that was only a romance novel cliché, she thought.

            “Or maybe you’re over thinking things,” Darkwing said, so close that his shadow completely enclosed Charity. “It wouldn’t hurt to try.”

            Her mind kept saying “no,” but her heart was bursting to leap forward. As Darkwing slid a hand along her jawline, cupping her face, she could only stand absolutely still as her two sides warred within her.

            Darkwing’s face hovered near hers, almost within kissing distance but not moving a centimeter closer. He was waiting for her to say or do something, not going farther without consent.

            It couldn’t hurt to give it a try. In fact, she was sure it would feel really good to kiss him. Like a dream. Should she give in?

            “Charity?”

            She turned her head at her name, seeing Fenton on the other side of hall, stopping as he rounded the corner.

            Did he see? Did he think they were kissing? The excitement of being around Darkwing was replaced with dread, as if she had betrayed someone. Without even thinking, she stepped away from Darkwing, distancing herself. “Yeah, Fenton?” she asked, trying to sound natural.

            “Is everything okay?” His eyes lingered on Darkwing, looking uneasy.

            “Yeah. Totally fine.” She shifted in place nervously, worried about what the two guys were thinking about. She felt tense, caught in the middle. She had to get out of there. “Do you need something?”

            “Oh, I was just heading to the boys’ room. Huey said he had some robot parts that I could use for Gizmoduck.”

            “Great. I’ll help you,” Charity said, rushing to Fenton’s side. “Which way?”

            As Fenton showed her to the third floor, she cast a glance backward, seeing Darkwing where she left him. She couldn’t read anything from him by his expression or body language. What had she almost done? Or rather, what had Darkwing almost done? And what did it mean?

            In high school, she had met many guys who were the type to kiss and do much more with a girl they just met, no attachments, no commitments. She was never attracted to the type, nor was she one of those girls who liked to be toyed with.

            And in her head, Darkwing wasn’t supposed to be one of them. He was the hero, a straight-up, good guy. He wasn’t someone who took advantage of a girl with a curse, to steal a kiss because he could. But that’s what it felt like.

            Or was she reading the situation wrong? The only other option was that he had feelings for her. Could that really be the case?

            You deserve so much more than my name, but it is all I can give you.

            I didn’t know if I would ever see you again.

            Then stop making me want to protect you.

            Reviewing through the past few days, she took in the evidence. But no matter how she looked at it, her head was convinced that his words and actions were all due to his guilt at causing her pain and his concern as a hero for someone he considered under his protection. But her heart still argued against it.

            “Are you sure you’re okay?” Fenton asked as he opened a door to a bedroom with a triple bunk bed.

            She smiled, feeling tired. “As okay as anyone can be in my condition,” she said jokingly. “So, do me a favor? Let’s talk about anything but me, my curse or my feelings, okay?”

            Fenton nodded. “I think I can manage that. Do you want to pick a subject?”

            “Well, for starters,” Charity said, eyeing the bedroom and all the strange objects within, “what is a kid doing with advanced robotic parts?”

            “I think what you meant to say was, ‘What kind of kid doesn’t have advanced robotic parts?’” Fenton said with a smile. “When I was Huey’s age, I built my first robot.”

            “You battled with it, didn’t you?” Charity asked.

            Fenton blinked. “How did you know?”

            “You’re a guy. You have a robot, you battle with it.”

            Fenton rolled his eyes. “That is a seriously erroneous generalization against my sex, and I take offense,” he said with feigned affront.

            Charity put her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow. “Gizmoduck.”

            “Ah—“ Fenton was about to argue, but put his pointing finger down in defeat. “Fair point.”

***

            Darkwing watched them go, feeling as if Charity was running from him. He clenched his fists at the sight of her going with Fenton. Her face, the minute that scientist had shown up, she looked afraid.

            Was she afraid of him? Or being caught with him? It couldn’t be easy for her to be caught between two men that she loved. Yet she had chosen to go with Gizmoduck. It was a blow to his ego, but he couldn’t blame her. It was the curse. She loved them both, and when she found herself between them, she had to make a choice.

            Darkwing had thought there was something between them, a connection. When he had touched her face, he felt her relax under his fingertips. She gazed at him with absolute love and trust. They had looked at each other this way before, first when he carried her inside his house after rescuing her from the sewers, second after they had taken on Starling together, and then just now. And in all three instances, he had thought of kissing her. In fact, since that little girl gave that awkward presentation, he couldn’t get the idea of kissing her out of his head.

            She wasn’t like anyone he had met before. Maybe it was because he had never been through as much with any other woman. He had seen her embarrassed and shy, flirtatious and confident. He had seen her through pain and seen her laugh. He had seen her bold and scared, strong and weak, and everything in between. She had sung with him, saved him, and yelled at him. And for the past hour, he couldn’t stop thinking about taking her into his arms and kissing her senseless.

            It had taken all his will-power not to do just that. He may have closed the distance to the point where their beaks almost touched, but he gave her that inch of leeway, that small distance to meet him in the middle.

            Would she have taken the chance? He would have liked to think she would have, but they were interrupted by Gizmoduck. Or was that the only thing that stopped her? Was there something else?

            Blast this curse. If Charity could react and live without the influence of a magic spell, he could somewhat predict her true emotions for him.

            And what of his feelings for her? He felt strongly about her, but was it love. Or was he just living in the moment? He liked her, liked her more than he had ever liked a woman before. But that didn’t mean that he loved her. He had only met her four days ago; that wasn’t enough time to form that kind of attachment to someone. But he couldn’t deny his strong desire to protect her, to stay by her side, to hold her tight against him.

            His insides were a turmoil of mixed feelings, and at the forefront was the frustration that no resolution was in sight. As long as Charity was under that spell, her heart would always be divided, and any ties she made to Darkwing would be thin at best.

            Darkwing made his way back to the ground floor with the intention to help the others with the preparations for the journey, but a dark cloud loomed overhead as he couldn’t help but recall Fenton’s words at the meeting, how he was only bonded with Charity through association with Starling, that it was a mask, a costume and a name that was the only reason he was there.

            And it galled him that Gizmoduck was right, that his bond with Charity was stronger than Darkwing’s.

***

            After making sure Mrs. Beakley packed their favorite snacks, Huey and Webby readily carried the baskets of food that were enough to feed the group for several days. They weren’t planning on staying on Ithaquack that long, but Webby’s grandmother always went in prepared. Walking up the loading plank at the back of the plane, they passed Della and Launchpad, the former arguing with the latter on how to properly grease the landing gears, and went around Charity and Fenton, who were pushing the discombobulated Gizmoduck suit up the ramp with a gurney.

            Inside, they were storing the baskets where they couldn’t roll around during the rough ride when a hand reached out and pulled out a cold Pep from one basket.

            “Hey!” Huey exclaimed, snatching the can before the pop tab could be opened. “Louie, have you been laying around all this time? Everyone’s been working hard.”

            “I am helping,” Louie said, playing on his phone. “I’m taking inventory.” He grabbed another Pep. “For instance, I’m checking our supplies to see if they are fresh.” He popped the tab and took a drink. “Oh, yeah. That’s good.”

            Webby sat down next to him. “Okay, I know you’re not the most into our adventures…”

            “You got that right.”

            “But this isn’t just another treasure hunt,” Webby explained. “We’re part of a bigger story. It’s not just an adventure, it’s a mystery as well. And for once, we’re helping someone other than ourselves.”

            “And saving the Earth from the moon invasion didn’t count?” Louie asked.

            Dewey, carrying a couple of bags up the ramp, saw the three of them talking and joined them. “Hey, what’s everyone Dewey-ing?” he said with his usual finger guns.

            “Louie’s not helping us pack,” Huey said with hands on his hips.

            “He’s probably moping because he has more competition with his little-boy crush,” Dewey teased, squishing his cheeks.

            “It’s not a little-boy crush!” Louie shouted, getting to his feet.

            “You have a crush on Charity?” Webby asked.

            “No,” Louie denied, shoving his hands into his hoodie’s pocket.

            “Yes he does,” Dewey said with a grin. “He thinks Charity’s hot.”

            “That was an observation, not an opinion,” Louie defended. “Look, just because I know Launchpad has a pretty girlfriend, doesn’t mean I like her.”

            “Again, she’s not Launchpad’s girlfriend,” Huey explained in his lecturing tone. “She’s just—“

            “Yeah, especially since he doesn’t stand a chance against Darkwing Duck,” Dewey interrupted.

            “Are you kidding? That guy?” Louie asked. “Have you seen Charity and Launchpad together? They’re always hugging and holding hands? Once this curse is over, they’re totally getting together.”

            “No way. You didn’t see what I saw. Sparks were flying in St. Canard, and I’m not talking about fireworks,” Dewey said with a smooth gesture.

            “Guys, I don’t think we should be talking about this,” Huey said, stepping in. “We really need to load the plane.”

            “Yeah,” Webby added. “Besides, you’re both wrong. She’s obviously going to end up with Fenton. Look at them.”

            She waved her palm where Charity and Fenton were working together at positioning the large armor in place to be strapped down. Fenton was talking animatedly, pointing out parts of the mechanical armor. Charity was listening raptly, asking questions now and then.

            “He may be a dorky nerd, but that’s part of his charm,” Webby said confidently. “His clumsiness and passion for all things science will win the heart of a sophisticated woman like Charity.”

            “No way,” Louie said, blowing a raspberry.

            “In his dreams,” Dewey agreed.

            “Do you know how many movies are made where the best friend ends up with the girl?” Louie countered. “She and Launchpad have known each other forever. They’re a perfect couple.”

            “No way. Do you know how much of a Darkwing Duck fan she is? Darkity for the win,” Dewey said.

            “Darkity?” Louie and Webby said together.

            “It’s a couple’s name. Charity and Darkwing smooshed together. Darkity,” Dewey explained.

            “Awww, that’s adorable,” Webby said with a grin. “But not as adorable as…Fenity. Ha ha.”

            “Well, not as good as Launchity?…Charpad? Ugh, those are terrible names,” Louie said, sticking out his tongue.

            “Guys!” Huey shouted, clapping his hands over his brother’s beaks. “She’s right there. I don’t think it’s right to…to…to bet on Charity’s love life. The only thing worse would be if you were actually putting money on this.”

            “Good idea,” Louie said, opening the calculator. “Let’s talk odds. Now, you both made really good points on your guys, but everyone has their ups and downs. How about if we…”

            “Okay, I’m not going to be a part of this,” Huey said, marching away. “And if I hear anything more about it from you guys, I’m telling Mom.”

            “Oh, don’t be that way,” Louie said, running to his brother and stopping him with an arm around his shoulders. “Besides, we left one guy still in the running just for you.”

            Huey rolled his eyes. “Yeah. The psycho that tried to kill us all,” he grumbled. “Don’t you guys have any conscience? Not only is this amoral, but you’re trying to keep me quiet by giving me the least likely one of the bunch. Of course, there’s always a chance that Charity’s love for Jim Starling could get through to him, and while he’s getting the treatments and therapy he needs, Charity will be with him through every step and he’ll realize that he wants to get better just for her.”

            Louie smiled. “You’re invested, aren’t you?”

            “Fine,” Huey relented. “But no money. And this is purely observational. No influencing Charity at all.”

            “Oh, sure. That’s only fair,” Louie said patronizingly. He then whispered to Dewey and Webby, “We’re totally betting money.”

***

            Mrs. Beakley, lugging the last of the supplies which was the usual spare airplane parts they always carried due to Launchpad’s landing skills, turned to Scrooge. “Are you certain about leaving Jim Starling in the mansion?”

            “No,” Scrooge said. “Which is why I did just as you suggested. I called an institution early this morning. While you and everyone else was busy with the plane, they took him away.”

            She looked surprised as she set the large boxes down, grabbing a set of tie-downs to strap them in.

            “I didn’t say anything because I thought either the kids would get scared or Charity would insist on going with him,” he said gruffly. “Starling has troubled us enough. This accursed curse has been postponed enough.”

            “You’re just angry that you haven’t been able to hunt for treasure,” Mrs. Beakley said with a smile.

            “You bet your haggis I am,” Scrooge said. “Perhaps on the way home we could—“

            “No.”

            “But the Lost City of Babagoose is on the way.”

            “No,” Mrs. Beakley said sternly. “There’s not even a guarantee we’ll break the curse on Ithaquack. No treasure hunting until Charity is free. Agreed?”

            “Oh, all right,” Scrooge harrumphed.

***

            The large, red cargo plane had never had so many passengers. There weren’t enough seats for everyone, so Mrs. Beakley insisted on the youngest of the group to get the seat belts.

            With the suit still in disrepair, Fenton volunteered to remain in the cargo hold, constructing a sordid harness out of bungee cords since he had first-hand experience what Launchpad’s flying was capable of.

            “You know, Charity should get one of the seat belts, too,” Louie suggested, pulling on Mrs. Beakley’s apron. He had a smooth, cool smile that could only mean one thing. He was up to something.

            But Mrs. Beakley wasn’t sure what, especially since his words were so innocent. “I agree,” the housekeeper said, going along with it.

            “I know just the place,” Louie said. When Charity had climbed up the ladder from the cargo hold, he ran up to her. “You should sit in the co-pilot chair,” he said, grabbing her hand and leading her to the head of the plane. “Launchpad is an amazing pilot, and I’m sure you two have a lot to talk about being such good friends.”

            He caught glares from his two brothers and Webby. He smiled at them.

            “Okay,” Charity said, uncertain.

            “No, she’s not,” Della insisted, coming up the ladder with Donald right behind her. “If we want to make it to Ithaquack in one piece, I’m flying. Launchpad, you take co-pilot.”

            “But I’m the pilot. That’s my job.”

            “Yeah, and normally that’s fine. But the way you fly, there’s a twenty-five percent chance that Charity’s going to get hurt.”

            Charity sighed. “Is everyone going to treat me like a kid?” she grumbled.

            “Hey, don’t you have a concussion,” Launchpad said, eyeing Della.

            Della grimaced. “Yeah, but I’m feeling much better.”

            “Are you sure you should be flying?” Launchpad asked suspiciously.

            Della was about to argue, but Mrs. Beakley broke in. “I think, for once, that Launchpad should do all the flying for today, Della. Just in case.”

            Launchpad jumped into the pilot’s chair, throwing his hands into the air and whooping. “Ha ha. You won’t see me flying with a concussion.”

            Della threw a glare at Launchpad then turned it onto Charity.

            Surprised by the ire, Charity shrugged at the female duck before retreating. It’s not like it’s her fault Launchpad’s never had a concussion before. Oh wait, it is.

            “Charity, come sit by me,” Dewey called, waving his arm enthusiastically, raising his voice a little to sound younger. “Please.”

            “Uh…okay,” Charity said, surprised by the attention. She sat down, putting on her seat belt. Even before the metal clicked together, Dewey was calling out again.

            “Darkwing, over here. Sit by me, please.”

            The masked super hero, who had been leaning against the side of the plane with his arms crossed, looked up at his name. He looked to Dewey and then to Charity, hesitant. But he didn’t get a chance to say anything when the blue-clad duckling raced over, grabbed his cape and pulled him toward the seats.

            “But I thought there weren’t enough seat belts for everyone,” Darkwing said, looking uncertain by the child’s actions.

            “There’s one more available. Go ahead and take it,” Mrs. Beakley said, her stance strong and stable as if preparing for the takeoff where she was.

            “I guess if it’s okay,” Darkwing said, although he had his eyes on Charity, asking for permission.

            Charity smiled, tilting her head in the direction of the seat. If there was any tension between the two of them because of earlier, she didn’t show it.

            As the two adults situated themselves on either side of Dewey, he sent Louie a smug look as if to say, Take that.

            Louie, in turn, pointed two fingers at his own eyes then at Dewey, the universal sign of I’m watching you, before Mrs. Beakley ushered him to the other side of the plane with the three other seat belts where Webby and Huey sat.

            That left Donald, Mrs. Beakley and Scrooge without seats of their own. Donald stood next to Louie’s seat, leaning against the inner wall for support. Mrs. Beakley stood behind Launchpad’s chair, holding onto the seat and a leather strap that hung from the support beam. Scrooge stood behind Della, one hand on his cane, the other on her chair.

            Launchpad set the controls for the plane before turning the engine on and driving the plane down the runway and up into the air. Soon, Ducksburg disappeared in the distance, replaced by ocean for as far as the eye could see.

            Charity shifted in her seat, gazing at everyone within the plane. Both Darkwing and Dewey next to her were occupied by their phones, the latter playing a game that involved him stabbing a finger at the screen several times. On the other side, Louie was also involved in his phone, but Huey and Webby seemed to be discussing something that couldn’t be overheard over the drone of the plane’s engine. Donald was slumped to the ground, having fallen asleep soon after takeoff with his arms across his chest.

            Charity glanced down into the cargo hold, seeing Fenton hard at work with the Gizmoduck suit. At that moment, he was welding with a blow torch, sparks flying away from the hot, blue flame, an activity that could have damaging effects considering who was flying the plane. She smiled. Out of everyone, Fenton was the only one who didn’t treat her with kid gloves.

            She was tempted to get out of her seat to see if he needed something. After all, they were at cruising altitude. She was free to walk about the cabin, right?

            Just as she was reaching to undo her seat belt, she saw out of the corner of her eye Darkwing casting glances her way as if to catch her attention. She turned to him, glad that Dewey was sitting between them. The last thing she needed was for her heart to be swept up in another euphoric moment.

            “Hey, about earlier…” he began.

            Oh, great. He wants to talk about the “almost kiss,” Charity thought nervously. She made a subtle gesture toward Dewey.

            Darkwing smiled. “I just want to say sorry. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot,” he said.

            His words were comforting, but his eyes said that they wanted to put her on the spot again. Or was that her own desires projecting? Confound this curse.

            “No problem,” she said, feeling a blush slowly crawl across her cheeks. “I think we’re all a little wound tight after…everything.”

            “Are you guys having a serious discussion?” Dewey asked. He looked from one to the other.

            “Ah…” Charity had forgotten the duckling was there. “No, not really. We’re just…talking about…”

            “Feelings?” Dewey offered.

            Charity looked to Darkwing for help, but the hero was looking away. Coward.

            She sighed. “Yes, we’re talking about feelings,” she admitted. She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead.

            “We can switch seats if you want,” Dewey offered, taking off his seatbelt and getting up.

            “We don’t have to—Oh, okay.” Charity released her restraint and slid over. Her shoulder bumped into Darkwing’s and there it remained. She tried not to think about how close they were as she attempted to adjust the seatbelt to fit around her waist. For some reason, the buckle didn’t want to move farther down the strap. After pulling on it several times, she muttered, “Screw it,” and left it undone. A bold move considering Launchpad’s flying, but she wasn’t scared.

            Once again, she found herself sitting in silence, Darkwing returning to his phone. That was fine with her. She wasn’t in the mood to get into another embarrassing conversation with him which Dewey might overhear. Once again, she contemplated leaving her seat to find something to do, but glanced at Darkwing’s phone.

            The screen was covered in words. It must be an ebook.

            “What are you reading?” Charity asked, comfortable with starting this conversation. She loved to read, especially within the science fiction and romance genres. Perhaps they could make the plane ride go faster by discussing books.

            “Darkwing Duck fanfiction,” Darkwing responded. His voice was saturated with humor.

            Charity felt faint as the blood rushed from her head. No, he couldn’t have. There’s tons of stories on the net.

            “There’s some really good ones,” he continued. “Especially this one. By someone named CherishesDW.”

            Crap. Crap. Crappity crap. Flippin’ crap.

            She had controlled her facial features perfectly so that he wouldn’t expect her attack. She lunged for the phone, her fingers wrapping around the flat screen and yanking it. Darkwing jerked back, pulling her along with it across his lap.

            Not to be outdone, Charity pushed down on Darkwing’s hat, blinding him before wiggling the phone out of his grip. “Give it,” she growled, prying up his fingers.

            “No,” he said back. He wrapped an arm around her waist, drawing her away from his outstretched hand and the phone.

            As her fingers slipped away from the cell, she changed her tactics. If Darkwing was anything like Launchpad, she would gain the upper hand. Finding the perfect spot between the armpit and the lower ribs, she jammed her thumbs into Darkwing’s side.

            The reaction was immediate. Squirming and laughing, Darkwing folded over to protect his ticklish spot. When Charity grabbed for the phone, his grip had weakened. But instead of the lovebird taking possession of the device, it clattered across the floor, out of reach.

            Free of her seat belt, Charity was able to go after the target while Darkwing struggled with his restraint. Once her hand wrapped around the phone, she called out a happy, “Ah-ha,” before her triumph was stolen away from her by hands grabbing her ankles and yanking her away. Charity clawed at the metal floor, trying to get away from Darkwing’s grip by getting to her feet. But she wasn’t so lucky.

            Lifting the woman in the air, Darkwing held her in an upside-down position, reeling her higher so that the phone would be in grabbing distance.

            “Dewey, catch,” Charity said, doing the first thing that came to mind.

            The blue-clad triplet, who had been watching the whole exchange, barely reacted fast enough to catch it. Having grown up with two brothers, he was familiar with the game of keep-away.

            Darkwing loomed at him, still carrying Charity.

            “Run, Dewey,” Charity called out just as she had in the sewers. But this time, she had a wide grin on her face.

            Wiggling free of his seat belt, Dewey jumped out of his seat, skittering back and forth as Darkwing shadowed him. “Louie, go long,” Dewey said, throwing the cell phone in a neat spiral.

            His brother, who had been filming the entire thing, dropped his own phone to make the catch. He knew the routine, but this was different. Usually it was one of the triplets in the middle—Huey specifically—but when would he have the chance to play keep-away from Darkwing Duck?

            Which, it turned out, was much more intense than keep-away with just his brothers. Darkwing had transferred Charity into a fireman’s carry and raced at the green clad triplet.

            “Dewey, back at you,” Louie called out, throwing it with less grace than his brother.

            As Darkwing jumped, reaching out for the phone, his hand brushed it, forcing it onto a different trajectory, over the side of the rail toward the cargo hold.

            A blur of pink and white flipped through the air and in an instant, the phone was gone. Webby posed on the rail, holding the phone out like it was a trophy. “Hey, guys. Is this that fabled game of keep-away?” she asked happily.

            “Yeah,” Dewey answered.

            “Duh,” Louie said.

            “I’ve always wanted to play this game,” Webby said excitedly.

            “This isn’t exactly a fair game,” Darkwing told them, one hand on his hips, smirking at the kids. “Three against one?”

            “You’re Darkwing Duck,” Charity said, still struggling. “You should be used to such odds.”

            “Exactly,” Dewey said, getting into the game. “Webby, look out. He’s after you.”

            Webby leaped off the rail but not before Darkwing had her cornered. “What do I do?”

            “Get rid of it,” Dewey called out.

            Charity grabbed Darkwing’s legs, making it harder for the hero to move. “Hurry, Webby.”

            “Over here,” Huey shouted, standing on his seat.

            Webby tossed the phone underhand through the rails, aiming perfectly for Huey’s chest.

            “Ha ha,” Huey said, holding the phone in triumph. “Hey, Darkwing. Catch.” Then he threw it back to the masked crime-fighter.

            “What? Our brother? A double agent?” Louie cried out, squishing his cheeks.

            “No! Why Huey!” Dewey exclaimed with mock pain.

            Darkwing saluted the red-clad triplet. “Way to go, side kick.”

            Huey gasped with wide eyes. “He called me his side kick.”

            Webby looked to the boys with confusion. “Okay, my research about this game hasn’t mentioned double-crossing or what to do at this point.”

            “It’s simple, Webby,” Dewey said, determination etched all over his face. He pointed at Darkwing. “Get him!”

            As one, the two boys and Webby surged on Darkwing, grabbing his arms and legs, climbing to reach the cell phone. Darkwing spun in a circle, making exaggerated monster noises while Charity urged the children on. Not to be left out, Huey came to Darkwing’s rescue but ended up going for a ride just like the others. Soon, the phone was forgotten as the goal was to bring Darkwing to his knees, all of them wrestling and laughing in one pile.

            “Ah-hem.”

            All play stopped as Mrs. Beakley cleared her throat and tapped her boot against the metal floor.

            “What are you doing out of your seats?” she asked tersely.

            Darkwing pointed at Charity. “She started it.”

            Charity opened her mouth wide, stunned that he would turn on her. “We were fighting over the phone. You should confiscate it,” she said wickedly.

            The kids giggled.

            “Alright, back to your seats, kids. We’re almost to Ithaqua—“ Her words were interrupted as the plane abruptly tilted downward, causing the housekeeper to stumble.

            Those on the floor slid closer to the front before they braced themselves for the dive.

            “A little warning next time, please,” Mrs. Beakley said to Launchpad.

            “Oh, right,” Launchpad said, picking up the microphone. “Attention, passengers. Please put your trays and chairs in their upright positions. We will be landing shortly.”

            “Level out. We’re going down too quickly,” Della shouted, pulling at the wheel on the co-pilot’s side.

            That made the kids, Darkwing and Charity scramble back to their seats, helping each other as they adjusted to the plane leveling out and then diving again.

            “Careful,” Charity said as Dewey wobbled close to the railing. She put a hand on his shoulder.

            With a smile, Dewey pretended to be unsteady on his feet, falling into Charity and knocking her off her feet. It was a calculated risk but one that paid out.

            Darkwing saw the lovebird falling and caught her, one arm looped under hers, the other wrapped around her waist, holding her close.

            “Ah, thanks,” Charity said, blushing as she grounded her feet. She quickly turned away from him, looking for the duckling. “Dewey, are you okay?”

            Dewey was sitting in his seat, buckling his belt and looking innocent. “Yes, I am,” he said, giving his brothers and Webby a wave.

            They glared at him.

            As the plane rocked and swayed, either from turbulence or from Launchpad’s skills, Charity turned to Darkwing. “You know, you’re really great with kids.”

            “Really? I don’t have much experience with them.”

            “Didn’t you have any younger brothers and sisters?”

            “I’m an only child,” Darkwing replied.

            “Oh, me too,” Charity said.

            “You’re great with kids, too. And not a bad writer.”

            Charity grimaced and covered her head with her hands. “I can’t believe you were reading my writing. My fanfiction writing. It contains all my guilty pleasures in it.”

            “Guilty pleasures. Now I’m really intrigued.” Darkwing chuckled.

            Charity poked him in the beak. “That story is not about you. Got it? I wrote that about TV Darkwing, not you.”

            “Oh, I get it,” Darkwing said with a smirk. He tucked his phone away. “It’s good. I mean, it’s rough, but I’m enjoying the story.”

            “Please tell me you didn’t get to chapter fifteen.”

            “What’s in chapter fifteen?”

            Charity clamped her beak shut and shook her head.

            Dewey broke in, his curiosity getting the better of him. “Can I read your story, Charity?”

            Darkwing and Charity exchanged looks before answering in tandem. “No.”

***

            For an island of gods and magic, it looked surprisingly boring. Oh, it looked nice with its white, sandy beaches and tropical island get-away setting, but it wasn’t exactly teeming with science-defying power.

            But what did Fenton expect? That the minute they landed, a god would fly by and contradict physics by creating matter out of nothing just for his entertainment?

            In fact, the island was deserted as far as he could see. He wasn’t sure exactly how large the island was, so maybe all the gods were busy somewhere else.

            After the rough landing, the others had quickly abandoned the plane for solid ground, the kids running through the sand and the adults taking out blankets and the baskets of food to set up a picnic. Only Fenton remained on board, still working on Gizmoduck. If these god-like beings were as strong and unpredictable as the stories of old made them out to be, he wanted to be prepared for anything.

            Just as he was about to put the welding mask back on to fix another crack in the armor, he caught sight of Charity, sitting in the sand with Launchpad on one side and Darkwing on the other. He recalled the scene he stumbled upon back at the manor with Darkwing leaning over Charity in an intimate manner.

            He slammed the welding mask over his face, bumping his beak, and went to work.

            The way Charity had run to him back at the mansion, was she trying to escape from a bad situation? No, that didn’t make sense. Everything that he knew about Darkwing, he was a good guy. From the reports he’d downloaded on the Internet, the crime rate in St. Canard had gone down because of the masked hero. And Launchpad spoke well of him on a personal level.

            Not to mention, Charity was at ease and smiling around Darkwing, so whatever happened earlier, Fenton might have taken it out of context.

            But still, there was something he didn’t like about the situation. There was something about Darkwing that bothered him. Oh, yes, he had caught on with the rivalry that Darkwing had with Gizmoduck, that was transparent, but not a concern to Fenton. He was used to others taking slight at his own accomplishments all through school. He had learned long ago not to let petty feelings get in the way of what made him happy. Even if Darkwing didn’t like Gizmoduck, Fenton enjoyed being the mechanical hero and would not meet tit for tat against Darkwing’s ego. Not to mention, until the moment that Darkwing found out Fenton was Gizmoduck, he had thought of the masked duck as a comrade of sorts. Perhaps with time, they could become allies, friends of a nature.

            But what rubbed Fenton’s feathers wrong was how warm and friendly Darkwing was with Charity. He made talking to a girl seem so easy. And he was always touching her. A hand on her back, on her shoulder, on her face. He made it so natural to draw his face close to hers to speak to her.

            And then there was Fenton, with two degrees, an intern of Gyro Gearloose, a scientist in his own right, anything but an expert in the art of social interaction. If he were to pinpoint the exact emotion he was feeling, it would be envy. Envy that he wasn’t as smooth and cool as Darkwing when it came to women.

            Or was it when it came to a woman like Charity?

            Was he jealous of Darkwing’s skill or that he had grown close to the female lovebird?

            “Fenton.”

            Someone was shouting his name. He had been so involved in fixing Gizmoduck and brooding that he didn’t notice until the tap came on his shoulder.

            “Oh, hey Charity,” he said at the sight of the lovebird, his dark feelings melting away. “What can I do for you?”

            “Everyone’s eating on the beach,” Charity said, pointing a thumb behind her. “Are you going to join us?”

            Fenton glanced outside the plane at the group. Everyone seemed to be having a good time. Well, everyone but Darkwing, who was glaring in his direction. “I don’t know,” he said, tracing a seam along Gizmoduck. “I really should work on the suit. It’s only seventy-five percent complete.”

            “Okay,” Charity said, plopping down onto her knees next to him. “What can I do to help?”

            “Uh…well, do you have a degree in quantum mechanics?” Fenton asked skeptically.

            “No…but I do have one in learning.” She gave him a cheesy smile.

            Fenton shook his head. “No, you go eat. I’ll be done soon.”
            “That is the biggest lie every workaholic says,” Charity said knowingly. “Come on, let me help. Four hands are better than one or two. Just tell me what to do.”

            “You’re not going to leave me alone unless I let you help or I go eat, are you?” Fenton said, guessing her motives.

            “Either way, I’ll be happy,” Charity replied.

            Fenton took off the wielding shield and gloves. “Fine, you win.”

            They walked down the ramp, but the minute that Fenton’s webbed feet touched the sand, the wind picked up, moving across the group and heading inland.

            They’re here.

            “What was that?” Charity asked, turning to Fenton.

            “I didn’t say anything,” Fenton said with a shrug.

            Charity frowned. “I thought I heard someone say something. It must have been the wind.”

            The breeze was picking up. In fact, along the horizon, a storm looked to be heading their way.

            “Oh, great. I was hoping we could do this without catching his attention,” Scrooge muttered as he squinted at the approaching dark clouds.

            “When have we ever come to Ithaquack and not caught Zeus’ attention?” Mrs. Beakley said, daintily eating a cucumber sandwich. “Eat up everyone. Once the gods arrive, there won’t be any peace.”

            They obeyed, doing more chewing than talking. As they lunched, they could tell that the approaching storm clouds weren’t normal. They were as dark and dense as any they’ve seen before, with lightning flashing and thunder rumbling in the distance, but the clouds were small, concentrated in a single area.

            “That is not normal for weather patterns,” Fenton said, rubbing his chin.

            “It is around here,” Scrooge muttered as three figures descended from the clouds, slowly approaching.

            “That definitely isn’t normal,” Fenton whispered, dropping his sandwich and standing up.

            The three forms were glowing brightly, but the one in the middle seemed to be crackling with lightning.

            “Scrooge,” the middle figure—a large man with an impressive beard—growled at the elderly duck. “How dare you come here and—“

            “Della!” The figure to the right of the large man dropped down to the sand and ran to Della, throwing her arms around her. “It’s so good to see you again! It’s about time you came to visit when you’re not running from death.”

            “What can I say. I’m a fan of death,” Della said with a shrug. “He hasn’t gotten the best of me yet. Or at least, most of me.” She waggled her mechanical leg.

            “You need to come by more often. Ten years is way too long to see my best, mortal friend,” Selene said.

            “Maybe if someone had actually done their job, I wouldn’t have been stuck on the moon for a decade,” Della cried out, looking angry.

            Selene’s face also turned angry. “How was I supposed to know you crash landed on the moon?”

            “Oh, gee, maybe because you’re the moon goddess,” Della pointed out. “I mean, come on. You should have known.”

            Selene put her hands on her hips. “Della, it’s the moon! Do you know how big it is? I know it’s small compared to the Earth, but that’s still a lot of real estate to cover. I didn’t even know that there was a society of beings living there.”

            The two friends continued their “friendly argument” as the third god dropped down into the sand and hugged one of the Duck family. “Donald!”

            Donald groaned as his spine was nearly snapped in two by the embrace.

            “It’s so good to see you.”

            “I just saw you last week,” Donald said indignantly once he wiggled free. “I helped you move a couch into your apartment, remember?”

            “Ha ha. Oh, good ol’ Donald,” the muscle-bound bird laughed, slapping Donald on the back.

            Donald face-planted into the sand, either unconscious or contemplating feigning his death since he didn’t get back up.

            “Do either you know what’s going on?” Charity leaned over and whispered to the three guys.

            Both Darkwing and Fenton shook their heads, but Launchpad explained. “That’s Selene, the goddess of the moon. And that’s Storkules. We play poker with Donald on Friday nights. And that guy in the middle is Zeus. He’s a gamer.”

            The other three exchanged looks, dubious of the information.

            “Enough,” Zeus shouted with a clap of thunder to emphasize his voice. “I have allowed you mortals to trespass on Ithaquack enough, but today you go too far. How dare you think you can waltz onto this island and seek an audience with the beautiful and desirable Aphrodite?”

            “Pft, she’s not that great,” Selene grumbled.

            Zeus glared at his daughter. “I will not have it. I am the king of the gods. And if you know what is good for you, you will turn around and leave.”

            “We know the risks,” Scrooge said. “That no man can look at her without exploding. We can manage.”

            “You think too much of yourself, mortal,” Zeus growled. “What makes you think you can achieve what no mortal man, or for that matter, what most gods do not dare to do?”

            “She invited us,” Webby answered.

            Zeus blinked, his expression turned from anger to confusion. “What?”

            “She knows we’re coming. I think she wants to see us,” Webby said. “We kind of got an impression that she was watching us.”

            Zeus’s eyes shifted around. He wasn’t sure what to do when his authority was questioned by a little girl. “Ithaquack is under my rule. My word is law. If I say nobody sees Aphrodite, then nobody sees Aphrodite. Unless…”

            “Oh, here it comes kids,” Scrooge mumbled, looking dour. “He’s going to challenge us to some sort of game or task.”

            “Unless, you can beat my challenges,” Zeus finished, looking triumphant. The dark clouds began to disperse, like a crowd that no longer found a sight interesting.

            “Alright,” Webby said, looking excited. “How many challenges? What are they? Oh, this is so exciting.”

            Charity shook her head. “Why can’t anything be simple?”

            Zeus had his head tilted as if listening to someone speaking in his ear. “There shall be fo—no, five challenges that you must face.”

            “Five? Isn’t the traditional number three?” Scrooge cried out, not above bargaining with a god.

            “There will be no negotiation. Five to see her, five challenges to be mete,” Zeus said, smiling. “Are you in agreement with this bargain?”

            “Wait, five to see her? What do you mean? There’s a lot more of us than five,” Dewey said, counting their numbers. “Don’t tell me we’ll have to do… nine, ten, eleven…Eleven ch—“

            “You forgot to count yourself,” Huey reminded him.

            “Twelve challenges!” Dewey exclaimed.

            “’Tis nothing. Why, to gain my godhood, I had to…” Storkules started into a story, but nobody was listening to him.

            “Aphrodite was specific. Five,” Zeus said, smirking with his arms folded.

            A bright glow brought everyone’s attention to Charity, Darkwing, Fenton and Launchpad. A symbol glowed on their right hands.

            “Hey, why is the girl’s bathroom sign on my hand?” Launchpad asked, rubbing at the glowing symbol.

            “That’s the mirror of Aphrodite,” Huey explained. “It’s often used to represent the female gender.”

            Charity looked around. “But that’s still only four of us. Who else is going to see Aphrodite?”

            A groan close to the surf caused them all to turn around. A duck lay face down in the sand, his limbs splayed. A wave splashed him. He wore a familiar yellow jacket and red hat. The mortals on the beach all took a step away.

            “Jumpin’ jackdaws. What’s he doing here?” Scrooge exclaimed. “He should be locked up in an institution.”

            “Jim?” Charity called out, instinctually going to him but was stopped by Darkwing’s hand.

            “Get back,” Darkwing shouted, stepping between her and Starling. “I’ll restrain him before he wakes up.”

            “Wait,” Charity said. “Look at his hand. He’s the fifth. We need him.”

            “No, we don’t,” Darkwing said. “We’ll do the challenges without him. We can’t rely on him.”

            “If he doesn’t play, you all lose,” Zeus told them, looking smug. “Aphrodite insists upon it.”

            “Looks like we don’t have a choice,” Charity said, looking to Darkwing.

            “There’s always a choice,” Fenton said, coming onto her other side. “We just haven’t thought of it. If you want to look for another way, I’ll back you up.”
            “Yeah, me too,” Darkwing added. “You make the decision.”

            Charity gulped. “Aphrodite wants to see us, then that means she must know something.” She turned to Zeus. “If we win, we get to see Aphrodite?”
            “Yes,” the king of the gods confirmed.

            Charity looked down at the prone form of Jim Starling, then looked at Zeus with a set jaw. “Then we have a bargain.”

Chapter Text

Twisted Strings of Fate

Chapter 17

            One of the biggest secrets I’ve kept from my mother is just how often I would sneak out of the house with Launchpad and go out on our own little adventures. Given our “adventures” were mostly to the arcade, to the park, or a slew of other activities that she would never let me do. Even though there was little chance of me being hurt, my family had to keep up with appearances. Our friends and neighbors knew that I was “ill,” so there were many things that I was banned from doing.

            But Launchpad, despite thinking I was a sickly, frail girl, sensed that I needed something more to my life than what I had. He knew that I didn’t mind the chance of getting hurt. And I’m thankful for that.

***

            “We have a bargain,” Charity said, reaching out her hand and shaking it with Zeus. As she did, a wave of power shot across the island, the epicenter directly under her feet. She took a step back, looking nervous. “What was that?”

            “A lot of magic is used when someone makes a deal with a god,” Scrooge said, coming to her side. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

            “Did I just sell my soul or something crazy like that?” Charity asked, jumping to conclusions.

            “No, lass. The contract is simple. If you beat the challenges, you can see Aphrodite. If you don’t, you can’t see her,” Scrooge said. “The gods will honor the deal. No fine print.”

            Charity shook her head. “Then why does it feel like I just signed a death wish.”

            “Because with Zeus, that might be what you’ve done,” Scrooge said. “You can’t back out now. Be careful, lass. These challenges won’t be easy. And unfortunately, my family can’t help you.”

            Charity looked to Darkwing, Fenton, and Launchpad. “At least I have a great team in my corner.”

            “What about Negaduck?” Dewey asked.

            “Who?” more than one person asked.

            Dewey pointed to the prone Jim Starling.

            “Yeah, he kept insisting we call him that,” Huey said. “Why is that?”

            “It’s because that’s what I named him,” Dewey said with a smirk.

            “Wait, you’re proud that you gave a super villain his name,” Louie said, rubbing his chin. “I wonder if we can trademark that.”

            “He’s not a super villain,” Charity insisted. She went to the unconscious duck’s side and turned him over, hearing him groan.

            “Careful,” Darkwing said, preparing to leap in and pull them apart.

            His eyes opened a little, blood-shot and wild, before closing again.

            “What’s wrong with him?” Charity asked as Fenton knelt down to take a look.

            “By his symptoms, I’d say he’s been drugged,” Fenton said, checking Starling’s pulse.

            “The orderlies had to, to get him out of my mansion,” Scrooge said.

            Charity turned to him. “You had him committed?”

            “Yes. Earlier this morning. That is, until Aphrodite yanked him out,” Scrooge said, shaking his head.

            Charity clenched her jaw. “This is my fault. He could be getting the help he needs, but instead he’s here.” She tenderly took off the tattered red hat, softly running her hand down his head to flatten the ruffled feathers.

            “The first challenge will begin,” Zeus boomed.

            “Right now?” Charity asked. “But Jim—“

            “Our team isn’t ready,” Darkwing jumped in. “We need some time.”

            “Then you should have specified that before you made the bargain,” Zeus said with a grin. “Your challengers have not yet arrived. You have until then to have your team prepared.”

            “Challengers? What challengers?” Mrs. Beakley asked.

            “The ones who wish to take on the first challenge are my daughters, the Muses,” Zeus said, although he didn’t look happy about this. “They are…getting ready.”

            “Oh, of course. I’ve heard of the Muses. The goddesses of inspiration. Without them, we would be severely limited in science, literature and art,” Mrs. Beakley said, her voice turning conversational, as if talking to another parent about their children. As she asked Zeus a question, she gestured behind her back, indicating she was stalling for them.

            “Come on, Jim,” Charity said, tapping his cheek. “We need you to wake up.”

            Darkwing pushed her aside, shaking the man’s shoulders. “Wake up! Come on. You could perform your own stunts. Darkwing Duck wouldn’t let something like drugs keep him down.”

            Fenton broke in. “He’s heavily dosed. He’s not going to wake up, not for hours.”
            “But we need him for the challenges,” Darkwing said.

            “I think I can help,” Selene said, moving through the ducks. She knelt by Starling’s head.

            “I didn’t know you had the power of healing,” Della said from behind.

            “I don’t,” Selene said. “Normally. This is a special case.” She put both hands on either side of Starling’s head and closed her eyes. “He’s confused. His confusion is linked to his identity. Oh my. It appears that he has completely remade himself into a person he calls Negaduck.”

            “Trademark Dewey Duck,” the blue-clad triplet said.

            “I can remove all traces of the drug from his blood,” Selene said. “As for his mental health, there’s only so much I can do. He is attached to his new identity. I’ll do what I can to help.”

            “Of course,” Huey said, figuring something out. “He’s crazy, or also called a lunatic. Derived from the word ‘Luna,’ meaning moon. Selene has some power over those with mental illnesses.”

            Selene grimaced. “Yes, although my power in this area isn’t strong. If Hermes or Apollo was here, they are much better at healing than I am.” She removed her hands and stood up. “He should be able to wake up now.”

            Charity turned to face Starling, touching his cheek. “Jim? Jim, please wake up.”

            His blinked several times. Although his eyes were hard and cold, they were no longer wild, but had a clarity in them that hadn’t be there before.

            “What? Who are?” His eyes widened and he sat up, his head jerking one way then the other. “Get away from me,” he snarled, crab-walking on his hands and feet over the sand.

            The group did just that, already retreating at the conscious Starling. Darkwing crouched next to Charity protectively.

            “Give him some time,” Selene said. “Knowing your plight, I wasn’t as gentle as I should have been with his mind.”

            Charity held up her hands in a calming and disarming way. “Jim, do you remember me?”

            Negaduck put a hand on his head. It didn’t ache, but there was something different about his mind. He locked eyes with the lovebird, his eyes scrutinizing. “Yes…I think I know you. You…you…” His eyes widened, and he clutched his head. “What did you do to me?”

            Charity felt a burst of pain in her head, the worst migraine she had ever experienced. She fell to the sand, too much in agony to say anything.

            “What’s happening to her?” Darkwing shouted, putting a hand on her back.

            Selene looked horrified by what was going on. “I don’t know. I thought…There was just so much darkness inside him.” She rushed back to Starling, clapping her hands over his head. Immediately the duck relaxed although he stayed on his feet. “Darkness and confusion. It’s too much for me. I’ll try to give him clear thoughts and rational thinking, but there’s only so much I can do.” When she removed her hands, she gestured for everyone to back away. “I think it would be best if I talk to him for a while. There are…some here that can upset him.” Her eyes darted to Darkwing.

            The masked hero didn’t notice; his attention was all on Charity.

            “Are you okay?” he asked, helping the lovebird into a sitting position.

            “I…It was like I was in his mind,” Charity whispered, rubbing her temple. She looked up into Darkwing’s face, and for a second, revulsion cross her face and she flinched away from him. “He…hates you so much. I didn’t think anyone could hate that much.” She pulled her knees up as close as they could get and hid her face behind crossed arms.

            Darkwing felt the double mental blow, first from Charity’s reaction to him, and second from knowing what his hero, his idol, thought of him. Starling’s feelings toward him since that day at the movie set wasn’t anything new, but it was a blow regardless.

            “Starling is unwell. Don’t let him—“

            “Don’t call him that!” Charity shouted, a snarl on her face. “His name is Negaduck.”

            Darkwing jumped back, startled by the ferocity in her voice.

            “Oh, dear,” Selene said, leaving Starling’s side and touching Charity’s head. “It seems that more than just the pain made it through the bond,” she said. “This curse of yours…It’s something.”

            Charity turned scared eyes on Selene. “Can you tell us anything about my curse?”

            Selene shook her head. “Other than that it’s older than I am. And that’s saying something.”

            Negaduck walked over to where his hat lay on the sand, picking up and dusting it off before putting it on his head.

            Darkwing stepped in front of Charity, his body poised to defend.

            “No, it’s okay. He understands the situation and is willing to help you,” Selene said. “Negaduck has promised to cooperate, haven’t you?”

            As Negaduck pulled his hat down to shade his eyes, he grinned. “Yeah, but it seems a big waste. After all, you guys have it pretty good.” His eyes fell on Charity. “Not you, sweetheart. Sucks to be you right now, but if these idiots want to break your curse, sure, I’ll go along.”

            “Even if it means feeling pain again?” Darkwing asked, suspicious of the man’s motives.

            Negaduck shrugged. “That’s if you can break it. There’s no guarantee that will happen.” He frowned at Selene. “Besides, she said I wouldn’t leave this island if I didn’t.”

            “Well, since we have all that cleared up,” Charity said, dusting her pants off of sand, “let’s go check out this first challenge.” Leading the way, they climbed up the beach only to come across the strangest sight once they reached the rise.

            “What is that?” Fenton asked, tilting his head to the side.

            Charity’s mouth split into a grin. “It’s a roller derby arena.”

            Smooth concrete paved a long, oval ring surrounded by a rail. The curves were banked inward, giving it a three-dimensional effect.

            “Roller derby?” Darkwing repeated, confused. “Never heard of it.”

            “It’s so cool,” Charity said. “Launchpad dated a girl who was on a team. What was her name?”

            “Angela Nightingale,” Launchpad supplied. “Man, she was really good.”

            “Yeah. She was totally cool. She taught me a couple of moves,” Charity said.

            Darkwing eyed her. “I thought you said you led a sheltered life. You know, pretending to have brittle bones and all that.”

            Charity grinned. “Launchpad may or may not have sneaked me out a few times to catch a game and go roller skating on the streets late at night.”

            Launchpad laughed. “Remember that time your mom almost caught us.”
            “Yes. I told you that we shouldn’t climb down a tree with our skates on,” Charity chuckled.

            Fenton looked at the arena with skepticism. “What are the rules to this game?”

            “Okay, so each team can have up to fifteen people, but can only have five skaters in the arena per jam, four blockers and a jammer,” Launchpad explained.

            “I’m already lost,” Fenton said. “What is a jam?”

            “It’s a period of time within the game,” Charity jumped in. “The game is separated into two, thirty-minute long periods. Each jam can last up to two minutes. During each jam, the goal is for the jammer to overlap the blockers of the opposite team to earn points. The blockers help their team’s jammer to make points and to stop the other team’s jammer from overlapping them.”

            “So the blockers are both offense and defense,” Darkwing said. “All we have to do is skate in a circle as fast as we can. Sounds simple.”

            Both Launchpad and Charity grimaced.

            “Not exactly,” Launchpad said. “It’s a little more complicated than that.”

            “Oooooh, that’s a bad hit.”

            “Whoa, that must hurt.”

            Charity caught sight of the boys watching something on their phone. When she saw what it was, she snatched the cell out of Dewey’s hand.

            “Hey,” the duckling called out.

            “Here,” Charity said, plunking it into Darkwing’s hand. “Educate yourself. But hurry. It looks like our opponents are here.”

            Both Darkwing and Fenton were engrossed in the video footage with wide eyes and didn’t get to see the impressive entrance of the nine women skating through the air as if on an invisible pathway. They curved down toward the arena, setting down on concrete before making one lap and stopping in front of the mortals.

            The nine women were all of varying heights and builds, but the shape of their duck bills, their brown hair, and other features were similar. These were the muses, daughters of Zeus and sister patrons of the arts. They all wore black and green spandex pants and tops, each with their own style.

            The lead woman, the tallest of the bunch, had one long braid snaking down her back. “Sorry it took so long,” she said with a cool smile. She had a touch of a Southern accent, sweet and smooth as honey. “Era had to do her hair.”

            A slim, petite duck with shimmering, long hair frowned. “Some of us do want to look our best. It’s not every day that Daddy lets us mingle with mortals.” She cast a sultry look at the group.

            “Hey, no flirting with the enemy,” a tough-looking duck said, blowing a pink bubble before smacking her beak as she chewed. “At least, not until we pummel them.”

            The lead woman rolled to Charity and shook her hand. “The name’s Clio.”

            “Clio, the muse of history,” Fenton said, his eyes leaving the phone’s screen.

            “That’s right, baby,” Clio said with a smile. “At least one of ya’ll know your mythology. Is your team ready?”

            Before anyone could answer, Darkwing waved his phone at Charity. “This is what we’re doing?” he asked. “No, absolutely not. Charity, do you know how violent this sport can get?”

            “Uh, yeah. More than you,” Charity said with a shrug.

            “No, you can’t,” Darkwing said adamantly.

            Charity hissed, “I thought you weren’t going to treat me like I was fragile.”

            “But…” Darkwing tried to find an argument to bypass his earlier words.

            “Cool it, DW,” Clio said, rolling around the group in a slow circle, her sisters following suit. “Your girl’s tough. She can handle it. That is, if you can.”

            Before Darkwing could answer, Fenton stepped in. “We’ll need all the proper safety equipment. Helmets, elbow pads, and knee pads. Oh, and of course, roller skates,” he listed.

            Darkwing shot him a look.     

            “Uh, while this sport seems to have more contact than I’m comfortable with, most injuries can be prevented with the proper equipment,” Fenton told Darkwing with a guarded smile.

            “Right,” Clio said with a nod. She passed a hand over the group as if she were gathering them up into her palm.

            Immediately, Charity felt the difference in her height as roller skates magically appeared on her feet. There was a tightness around her elbows and knees where the pads appeared, and the heaviness of a helmet strapped around her chin. Clio had even tied her hair back comfortably into a ponytail. Her long sleeve shirt and jeans were replaced with spandex shorts and a t-shirt of dark purple and pink.

            “My hat!” Darkwing exclaimed, patting his head where a helmet had appeared. Unused to being on wheels, he slipped, falling down.

            “Cool gear,” Launchpad said, testing his skates. “But I prefer blades.”

            “Sorry big guy,” one muse with her hair in two tidy pony tales said. “Quads only.”

            Launchpad did a double take, looking at the muse closer. “Angela?”

            Charity rolled over to her friend. “Is that you’re ex-girlfriend?”

            The muse gave a sheepish grin. “Hey, Launchpad. Long time no see.”

            Charity shoved Launchpad lightly. “I told you not to break up with her.”

            “I told you. It was mutual,” Launchpad defended. “And then Angela moved away afterward.”

            “Actually, it’s Thalia,” the muse correct. “Thalia, the muse of comedy.”

            “No wonder you two got along,” Charity said, taking Thalia’s hand. “It’s so good to see you. So, does this mean you knew about my curse this whole time?”

            “Yep. Which is why I didn’t feel too guilty about teaching you those tricks,” Thalia said with a wide grin. “I’ll have to come to Ducksburg and teach you a few more.”

            Charity laughed.

            “Thalia, dear,” Clio said in a warning tone. “No fraternizing with the competition.”

            “I’ll fraternize with who I like,” Thalia yelled with sudden ire. “Big sisters. Psh. Sorry, Launchpad. I’ll talk to you after the match, okay?”

            “Yeah. Okay,” Launchpad agreed with a smile.

            “Is your team ready now, Charity?” Clio asked

            Charity looked to the boys. She knew Launchpad was good to go, but the others she had reservations. Fenton looked steady but cautious to move. Darkwing was getting up from yet another fall. Negaduck, who stood away from the others, also hadn’t moved.

            “Can we have a minute? To test out the rink?” Charity requested.

            “Well…Daddy is looking a little impatient, but I think we can give you a little more prep time. And teach your boys the rules. You don’t want to be penalized,” Clio said graciously, casting a glance at Negaduck. “Oh, and because I don’t want anyone calling foul when we win, I’ll even up the odds for you.” She grabbed Charity’s hands and the glow that surrounded all the gods crept from Clio to Charity.

            Bandages fell away, feathers grew back and flesh knit together.

            Holding out her arms, Charity laughed. “I can’t believe it,” she said, looking to Clio. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

            “Amazing,” Fenton said, rolling closer.

            “It’s only fair. Can’t be playing with an injured player, now can we honey?” Clio said with amusement.

            Charity could cry with relief. It felt so good to be without pain. The bullet wound, the burn, and everything else was gone. She couldn’t remember when the last time was that she didn’t have a major injury on her body.

            Giving a whoop, she sprinted onto the concrete, using the toe of her skate to push her forward before landing on wheels. She pushed, building up speed as she circled the muses and mortals. With a twist, she skated backwards with her hands behind her back. She faced forward again, winding around the ducks as if they were cones.

            “Come on, boys. Let’s see what ya go,” Charity called out. “Launchpad, I’ll race ya.” She made a sharp turn onto the rink, pumping her arms and legs to go faster.

            The large duck followed with a war cry, using the rail to give him a burst of speed to catch up.

            “Whoa. They’re good,” Fenton said. So far, he had kept his rolling to baby steps. After all, if he could balance on one tire, he could cope with eight wheels, right?

            Darkwing grunted, struggling to stand up once more, but his legs went in different directions and down he went again. When a hand offered to help him up, he grumblingly accepted.

            “Are you two going to stand there like a bunch of wusses?” Negaduck asked. He rolled past, steady and straight. “You’re the heroes here.” He laughed mockingly, rolling onto the arena.

            “At least he’s not bad,” Fenton said. “If we can trust him, he’ll be an asset.”

            “He’s more than not bad,” Darkwing said, taking a few unsteady steps forward, feeling like a baby. “Episode fourteen: Smile and Say Freeze. Isis Vanderchill froze all of St. Canard, and he had to ice skate to save the day. Jim Starling studied with figure skaters and hockey players for months for that role.”

            Fenton looked at Darkwing in amazement. “Do you know everything about that guy?”

            “Yes,” Darkwing said with a grimace. “Now let’s get rolling.” He slipped and fell again.

            Charity and Launchpad screeched to a halt in front of them.

            “Are you coming?” Charity asked, tilting her head.

            “Almost there,” Darkwing muttered.

            Fenton smiled sheepishly. “It’s been years since I skated. Let’s see if I can remember.” He took off, going at a moderate pace, but not bad.

            “It looks like you need a little help there, DW,” Charity said, squatting down.

            Darkwing sighed. “Yes.” A hand reached for him, and he took it. Images of him and Charity skating hand in hand came to his mind. It was a scene from dozens of romance movies. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad.

            The hand that jerked him up had more strength than he expected. Launchpad set him down, steadying him by holding his shoulders. “Bend your knees, use your arms for balance, and try to look ahead and not down at your feet.”

            Darkwing sighed and imitated Launchpad. He had never been on skates before. It never interested him. When he was young, he was too involved with the Darkwing Duck TV show and reading comics. Then when he decided to become an actor and follow in Jim Starling’s shoes, he was so busy with acting and vocal lessons as well as classes he thought would help him along his career path. Learning how to skate never crossed his mind.

            But the more he skated, the easier it became. He was already a master at balance and fighting; it was just a matter of relaxing and not over-thinking it.

            “Looking great, Darkwing,” Charity called as she rolled by backwards.

            Fenton and Negaduck rolled up on either side of him and Launchpad. As Charity skated backwards, she quickly explained a few more rules, strategies, and—most importantly—what could get a skater penalized. Major penalties resulted in the skater going to the penalty box for one minute.

            “We also have another disadvantage,” Charity told them. “There’s nine of them and only five of us. After each jam, they can switch out players, but we have to play the entire time. So save your strength.”

            Suddenly, there was a roar as the nine muses skated past them. Clio flung something at Charity. “Don’t forget your panties. Meet you at the starting line.”

            When Fenton flushed at the line, Launchpad and Charity laughed.

            “Its slang for the helmet covers,” Charity explained. She showed them the two pieces of cloth, one with a star and the other with a stripe. “The star represents the jammer, the stripe is the pivot.”

            “Wait, what’s the pivot?” Fenton asked.

            “It’s a blocker that can become the jammer if they’re in a better position,” Charity said. “But passing the panties might be too difficult for us at this point. Now, unless anyone objects, I’ll be the jammer.”

            Nobody did. As one of the best skaters on the team, it made sense she should be it.

            “Fenton, I think you should be the pivot. I don’t think it’ll be necessary, but you’ll be the best one for the job,” Charity said, handing over the cover.

            “Why not Launchpad?” Fenton asked. The larger duck was just as good as Charity on wheels.

            “He’s too big. And he’s not going to be aggressive enough,” Charity replied. “He couldn’t knock down a girl if his life depended on it.”

            Launchpad shrugged, nodding.

            “Then why not Starling?”

            Negaduck growled at him.

            “Er—I mean, Negaduck?”

            “Too aggressive. And we need him as a blocker,” Charity countered. “And before you ask, Darkwing is a sucky skater.”

            “Hey!”

            “It’s true,” Launchpad backed up his friend.

            “Just put the panties on,” Charity said sternly.

            Both Negaduck and Darkwing laughed, but when they saw that the other was laughing, stopped suddenly.

            By that time, they came to the line of muses who were waiting for them. Five stood on the rink while the other four were on the sidelines, watching with the other gods and the Duck family.

            “We’re ready.”

            “About time, honey,” Clio said. She had the pivot helmet cover on. “Let’s start.”

            Thalia grinned at them, wearing the star helmet cover.

            In the middle of the rink, on the other side of the rails, Selene skated beautifully, her dress flowing in the breeze. “Take your marks,” Selene said, her tone and body stance stated that she was officiating the game.

            As the jammers, Charity and Thalia took their places on the first line, the blockers behind them.

            “Hey, Charity,” Thalia said as Selene started the countdown. “I just want you to know, I’m rooting for you. But I still have to play hard.”

            “I guess it was too much to hope you’d be on our side,” Charity said. “It’s bad enough we’re against immortals.”

            “Wrong on that end,” Thalia said. “The minute we rolled onto the rink, we gave up our powers. Mortals against mortals right here. Which kind of gives you an advantage.” Thalia gave her a wink.

            Before Charity could wonder what that could mean, Selene shouted, “Go.”

            Thalia rocketed forward, slamming her shoulder into Charity and knocking the lovebird onto the concrete before sprinting away.

            “Charity!” As Launchpad rolled by, he pulled her to her feet, blocking her from any attacks the other team threw at them. He pushed her forward before blocking another muse from getting ahead of him.

            Recovering quickly, Charity charged across the concrete, seeing that Thalia was way ahead, skating for all she was worth to catch up.

            It didn’t take long for Thalia to complete a lap and come up to Charity’s blockers minus Negaduck. They stayed at Darkwing’s pace, which wasn’t that fast, and formed a wall. The muse slowed down a little bit, but soon wiggled her way around Fenton who was too timid to push her away. Ahead, Negaduck was alone and made an attempt to prevent Thalia from passing him. He slammed into her, but only upset her for a moment before she sped past him.

            Charity zoomed by her team, having gained some ground but not much. When she came to the muse blockers, she kept skating back and forth, always blocked and pushed aside whenever she attempted to find an opening. No matter what she did, their defense seemed impenetrable. If only her own blockers were with her.

            For the rest of the jam, Charity was stuck behind the muse blockers while Thalia overlapped her team again, earning her team nine points before the jam ended.

            Before they lined up for the next jam, Charity gathered her team in a huddle. “I really need you guys to work together. Negaduck, stay with the others. You can’t block very well by yourself.”

            Negaduck grumbled something insulting under his breath and looked away.

            “And I really need you to keep up with the muse blockers. I can’t get through their wall without help.”

            “We would but the big guy insisted on sticking with the purple weirdo,” Negaduck said with a sneer.

            Charity’s eyes went to each of the guys before she made a hard decision. “Then leave Darkwing behind. Stay with the other blockers. If I can’t make any points, then we’re going to lose big.” Then she locked eyes with Darkwing Duck. “As for you, learn to skate faster,” she said in a hard voice.

            Fenton laughed nervously. “You’re really competitive, aren’t you?”

            “It’s kind of my life on the line, Fenton,” she said seriously before grinning. “But, yeah. I’m a bit competitive. I don’t like to lose.”

            “You should see her play Karaoke Revolution,” Darkwing said, earning a wry smile from Charity.

            As they broke apart to go to the starting line for the next jam, Darkwing stayed at the back.

            As Selene began the jam, Charity was ready this time, moving away from Thalia in anticipation of another attack. Even so, Thalia easily became the lead jammer but no longer with a big lead. Charity stayed on her tail, waiting for a chance to slip ahead.

            As they rounded a banked turn, Darkwing came into view. Glancing behind him, he did his best to block Thalia, moving his body directly in front of her. However, she twisted from one side to another, passing him. In the confusion, he tripped over his own skates, landing right in front of Charity.

            Reflexes saved her from tripping over her team mate as she jumped in time. It took her only a second to recover before she was off again after Thalia. This time, her team was mixed up with the muse blockers, and they both were part of the scrimmage as they fought to make points and gain the lead. Thalia managed to get past the three other blockers, and was overlapping Darkwing again when the jam ended. Charity with the help of Fenton, Launchpad, and Negaduck gained two points.

            During the third jam, Negaduck was penalized for excessive force and was placed in the penalty box for one minute. They were still able to score, but Thalia earned more points.

            After a few more jams, Darkwing lay on the concrete, having heard the whistle signal the end of the most recent period. He had been behind the pack the whole time. Again. Not only that, but he had been laid out flat by the muse’s jammer easily. Not that he was upset that she was a girl. No, it’s because he was sure he could have taken her if they weren’t on wheels.

            What was he even doing there? He wasn’t any use to Charity. Even Negaduck was more use to her than he was.

            “Hey, are you going to get up?” Launchpad’s face came into view.

            “What’s the use?” Darkwing asked, pity over-coming him. “Maybe I’ll help the team better by lying here and being an obstacle.”

            Launchpad laughed. “Don’t be silly. If you do, you’ll be penalized.”

            “Even as a lump on the ground, I’ll hurt the team,” Darkwing said, full of self-pity.

            The sound of another skater came closer.

            “Now I know he’s not hurt. What’s wrong with him?”

            It was Charity, looking strong and determined, just as she did back at the mansion when they were fighting Negaduck. He had been able to match her boldness then, but not right now. If only he could disappear.

            “Just put in a rock as a substitute. I’m sure it’ll do a better job than I am doing,” Darkwing muttered.

            Charity sighed, then made a T with her arms. “Time out.” She leaned down. “Okay, this better be important. We only have three timeouts, and I just used one. We have one minute for this pep talk, so you better listen.”

            Darkwing sat up. “Charity, I don’t think—“

            “Listen,” Charity said, her voice as firm as when she was yelling at him. “This game is not about you, so whatever excuses you have ready on your tongue, swallow them.” 

            Darkwing’s eyes widened and he gulped as if literally swallowing his excuses.

            “I don’t expect you to be the best. What I expect is for you to get back up and do your best, even if it means you’re at the back for the whole game.” Charity pointed to her arm. A bruise was forming. “Do you see this? This is Fenton’s when he helped me get past Clio. And these,” she pointed to bruises around her knees, “Negaduck took a big hit from a pair of blockers. And I can’t show you, but Launchpad’s taken several knocks to the ribs that I’ll be feeling for days. What have you got to show me?”

            Darkwing shook his head.

            “Play hard because I’ll know if you don’t,” Charity said. She offered her hand.

            Darkwing took it, surprised at her strength when she pulled him onto his feet. He wobbled a little, still not used to being on wheels. “You really are competitive,” he said with a wry smile.

            “Yeah, and so is Darkwing, remember?” Charity said. “The episode where he gets trapped in a video game?”

            Darkwing smiled. “Yeah, I remember that.”

            “So the question is,” Charity said with an easy smile, “is Drake competitive?”
            Darkwing wasn’t sure. He had never been into sports, having different interests than the jocks in High School. “I’m not sure.”

            “I know you are,” Charity said. “I’m still going to beat you at Karaoke one of these days.”

            There was a whistle, the signal that their time-out was over and they needed to line up at the starting line.

            Charity turned to Darkwing. “You just haven’t found the right motivation,” she said, then gave him a flirtatious smile. “Catch me if you can.” She sprinted away to the jammer line with Thalia.

            As Darkwing joined the blockers, taking his usual spot at the end of the line, he looked through the tangle of bodies and limbs, catching glimpses of Charity’s unique hair, the curve of her beak and the outline of her body. He blocked out everything else and focused on her. He almost leaped forward at the sound of the jammer whistle before remembering that would be a minor penalty. When the blocker’s whistle sounded, he leaped forward, keeping up with the pack.

            He tried not to over-think it or congratulate himself on this progress, worried if he did he would mess up. And even when Charity disappeared out of view, he kept the idea of trying to catch her in mind as he skated. It wasn’t just the idea of catching up to her physically, but also in skill.

            “Darkwing, behind you.”

            He had been concentrating on this idea and hadn’t been listening for the muse jammer that would come from behind. But Launchpad’s shout warn him, and together, they created a wall, preventing Thalia from moving forward.

            Another skater zipped past him, a blur of blue and white. Charity pulled out in front, becoming the lead jammer for the first time all game. As Lauchpad and Darkwing blocked Thalia, Negaduck and Fenton helped her push through the muse blockers, making four points as lap before Thalia could make a single point.

            Charity slapped her hips, and Selene whistled the signal for the end of the jam.

            “What happened?” Darkwing asked. The jam didn’t even last one minute.

            “The lead jammer can end a jam early,” Launchpad explained. “By ending it early, she prevented the other team from making any points.”

            If Charity had explained that rule to him, he had forgotten it.

            As they made their way back to the starting line, Charity rolled by, skating backwards. “Looks like you’re motivated,” she said with a wink.

            Darkwing smiled at her. As he prepared for the next jam, he didn’t stay on the outskirts of the pack. He muscled his way right up front, in between to muses. They gave him unfriendly smiles.

            Now he felt like part of the team.

***

            Webby yelled out, “Block her. Come on, Fenton. Are you blind? She totally faked you out. Darn it, we’re getting creamed out there.”

            The four kids sat on the rail, as close to the action as one could be without being in the rink.

            “Webby is really into this Roller Derby,” Huey observed.

            “Have you ever known Webby not to get into something,” Louie said. He was currently filming the entire thing, uploading it directly into the cloud. Strangely, the reception on Ithaquack was outstanding.

            “Hey, you. The green one.”

            Louie froze. Whenever someone referred to him as “the green one,” it never turned out to be good. He turned, seeing the four remaining muses in derby gear looking to him.

            “We need to talk,” a muse with short hair and heavy, dark makeup said.

            Louie shook his hand. “I don’t know what you think I did, but I didn’t do it.”

            “What?” the muse said, shaking her head. “Look, you the one with the odds on whose gonna end up with Charity?”

            All four muses held up gold coins.

            “We want in.”

            Louie had never been so surprised before. And this time, it was a good surprise.

            He smiled. “Ladies.”

***

            By the end of the first half of the game, Charity’s team was down several dozen points, but at least they had made progress since their first jam. On one hand, they still had thirty minutes of jams to close that gap. There was still hope. On the other hand, they still had thirty minutes of jams to skate, block, and fight.

            When the halftime whistle sounded, the muses left the rink, still bright and energetic. They had taken the opportunity to switch players between jams several times, staying fresh while Charity’s team had powered through each jam.

            “You guys are doing great,” Webby said, rushing to them with bottles of water in her arms as they skated out of the arena. “Stretch out those muscles. Don’t sit down. Stay limber.”

            But her warnings were unnecessary for the most part. As the guys left the arena, they rolled in just about the same condition as they went in albeit a little more steady on their wheels. Charity wasn’t so lucky.

            The second she was out of the rink, she plopped down on her butt, moaning. She straightened her legs and pulled them to her chest, stretching her hamstrings. When Webby came near her, she took a bottle of water and guzzled it.

            “You look terrible,” Webby said without preamble.

            “Good. There might be something wrong with me if my outward appearance didn’t mirror how I felt on the inside,” Charity said sardonically. She was already bruised up and down her legs with several shades of road rash decorating her skin. “How long do we have until the second half begins? Do I have time for a nap?”

            “It starts in fifteen minutes,” Webby said.

            Charity cursed. “Sorry,” she said when she remembered there were children nearby. “Okay. I can do this. Just…just let me…” She lay down and closed her eyes.

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Launchpad said. “I feel fine.”

            “It’s the curse,” Fenton said. “She feels the exhaustion for all of us.”

            Darkwing stood over Charity. “Perhaps we should have someone else be the jammer.”

            “I told you. I’m the best one for the job,” Charity said although her words didn’t have much commitment to them.

            “We can switch the jammer between jams, right?” Darkwing asked. “Just keep back for a while, take a break. I’ll be the jammer.”

            Negaduck sneered. “You? You can barely keep up with the rest of us.” He held out a hand. “Give it to me. I’ll at least stop us from falling even more behind.”

            Charity breathed out heavily. She was so tired, she couldn’t think about making decisions at that moment.

            Before she could say anything, all nine muses rolled up, some of them giggling.

            “Hey. Some of the girls wanted to come over and say hi,” Clio said, although she didn’t look too happy. “They’re big fans of some of you fellas.”

            Darkwing puffed out his chest. “Oh, Darkwing Duck fans?”

            Several muses giggled.

            “It’s one of our favorite shows,” one said, batting her eye lashes.

            Some of them had photos. “Could we get autographs?”

            Darkwing smiled. “Well, I guess it would—“

            The muses pushed past him, flocking around Negaduck. A couple of them had their feathery tails wagging.

            “Make mine out to Callipso.”

            “Can I have a photo with you?”
            “Oh, I love the new look.”

            Negaduck shirked a little away from the crowd, his face darkening. After a while, he smiled, turning on a charm that seemed to be more of the old Jim Starling than his new non de plume.

            Darkwing’s shoulders slumped, his ego bruised.

            Only one muse had remained behind, a small, thin duck with thick glasses, her hair braided messily. She seemed to be breathing heavily through her mouth.

            “Go ahead,” Darkwing said, stepping aside. “Get your autograph?”

            “Oh, it’s not him that I wanted to see,” the muse said, adjusting her glasses.

            Darkwing perked up.

            The muse rolled past Darkwing to Fenton. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve read all your student papers and all your theories. You have one of the brightest minds of your generation.”

            Darkwing slapped himself in the face.

            Fenton looked surprised. “Thank you? You do realize I’m only an intern.”

            “Oh, yes. I’m aware of that,” the muse said. “But you are also the intern to Gyro Gearloose, the genius. He chose you for a reason, I’m sure, and as I’ve watched the two of you, I’m certain he did not make a mistake. I sense great things to come from both of you. Mmm-hmm, great things.”

            “I’m guessing you’re Urania, the Muse of Astronomy,” Fenton said.

            Urania giggled and snorted. “Oh, he knows my name.” She blushed.

            Clio cleared her throat. “Okay, girls. Half-time is almost over. We must give them some time to strategize. They’re going to need all the time they can get.”

            The only one besides Clio who didn’t fawn over Negaduck or Fenton was Thalia, who had stayed behind her sister. At that point, she stepped forward, smirking. “Maybe you should quit now. Even when we have lowered ourselves to your level, you still can’t beat us.” Her eyes were on Charity, staring at her meaningfully.

            The muses skated away.

            Charity sat up, her eyes glazed as her mind worked on a problem.

            “What?” Launchpad asked, recognizing her facial expression. “Did you just get another good idea for a fanfic?”

            “Thalia mentioned something earlier,” Charity said, her eyes darting around. “She said that the muses aren’t immortal, at least for this game. They don’t have their powers. She also said that that could be to our advantage.”

            “What does that mean?” Launchpad asked rubbing his chin. “Could it mean that we’ve gained god-like powers?”

            “No,” Darkwing said. “But it does sound like a hint.”

            “But how could it be to our advantage?” Fenton asked. “If they’re to our level, then we’re evenly matched. We wouldn’t have an advantage.”

            “No, we have two,” Charity said, her eyes brightening. “First, they’re not used to being mortal. They may look as fresh as a daisies because there’s more of them, but they won’t have the endurance we have. Which means we need to make them work harder.”

            “How?” Darkwing asked.

            “We skate hard,” Charity said. “It’s not the blocker’s goal to skate as fast as they can because they’re more interested in taking out the opponent’s jammer and helping their own. So if we can make the blockers skate faster, they’ll wear out more.”

            “And so will you,” Darkwing added.

            “And that’s our second advantage,” Charity said with a gleam in her eyes. “Launchpad, you are totally right. We do have god-like power. My curse.”

            Darkwing looked worried. “I don’t know about this.”

            “But I do,” Charity said. She pulled the helmet cover off. “You’re right, though. I can’t be the jammer, at least, not all the time. I’ll block for a while. Until then, Negaduck, you’re up.”

Chapter Text

Twisted Strings of Fate

Chapter 18

            It was a thrill to see all four of them together. I never imagined that I would be lucky enough to have them with me, to spend time with them. I was like a teenager who finally got some attention from her crush. We were working together towards breaking my curse. Well…mostly together.

***

            As Negaduck put the jammer helmet cover on, Fenton timidly came forward. “I think I have something else that could help us.”

            Charity looked worriedly at the muses that were lining up for the next jam. “Make it quick.”

            “I’ve been noticing several weaknesses from each of the muses,” Fenton said. He tapped his temple, indicating the contact lenses.

            Charity’s eyebrows leapt up so quickly, they could have flown.

            “I didn’t mention it earlier because I wondered if it was cheating,” Fenton said. “But more than likely, I’m sure Darkwing would have seen it eventually.”

            “Huh? Oh, right. Yeah,” Darkwing said, grinning and looking away.

            “You’ve been holding out on us,” Charity said.

            There was a whistle from Selene.

            “No time for you to go through the run-down,” Charity determined. “Fenton, you lead the pack of blockers. Let us know where to hit. Let’s go, team.”

            The boys easily skated back onto the rink, but the lovebird was a bit slower getting to her feet. Her leg muscles were tight and achy as she forced them to move again. She could tell there would be blisters on her feet. But she could work through the pain. She always did.

            When the two whistles blew, she leapt forward, feeling one of those blisters tear. How much blood would there be when she finally took her skates off? As she flew across the rink at the back of the pack, her calves burning just to keep up, she was proud of her boys. Negaduck was lead jammer, having given the opposite team’s jammer a good but legal hit to take the spot. Darkwing, Fenton and Launchpad forced the muses to keep up with them at a faster pace. Even Darkwing was giving them a run for their money.

            Charity pushed her body harder, hearing the two jammers coming from behind. She kept her head turned so she could watch them, letting Negaduck pass but getting in the way of the muse. Intentionally slowing down, she created a large gap between them and the pack, forcing the muse jammer to slow down or get knocked down.

            She was glad to see the other blockers helping Negaduck get through the muses to gain points. If she could keep the muse jammer busy, it would be beneficial for them.

            However, the muse—Terpsichore she thought her name was—skated from one side of the rink to gain momentum, then slammed her shoulder into Charity. Knowing she was going down, Charity bent her legs, letting her knee pads take the brunt of the fall as she slid across the rink. As soon as she could, she was back on her skates, sprinting with all her energy.

            As she came to the straightway, her eyes caught a glimpse of red and yellow out of bounds.

            With arms crossed and frowning deeply, Negaduck sat in the penalty box.

            As Charity rolled passed him, she opened her arms, her mouth gaping open. “What the crap?” she shouted.

            His face twisted into a snarl.

            With their jammer out of the game for practically the rest of the jam, they were in a fix. When the whistle sounded, Charity skated to Negaduck as he exited the penalty box. “What were you thinking? We can’t afford for you to be out of the game even for a second.”

            “Don’t tell me what to do,” Negaduck shouted at her, his earlier wildness back. “You need me.”

            “I don’t need you that much,” Charity said in a softer tone. “Not as much as you need me.”

            Negaduck smiled wickedly. “But there’s nothing you can do about that, sweetheart. You’re stuck with me. And you love it.” Without warning, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pressed her against his body.

            A mixture of emotions flooded Charity. Surprise and fear were there, but also excitement that Jim Starling was being so bold with her. Her cheeks reddened at the same time she pushed away from him. Her reaction only deepened his devilish grin.

            “No, I don’t have a choice with that,” Charity said with fists clenched. “But I have other choices.” She snatched the helmet cover from Negaduck’s head and skated away.

            “You’re making a mistake,” he called out.

            She could live with that.

            With the thirty seconds between jams used up, she called another timeout, bringing Fenton, Darkwing, and Launchpad into a huddle. Negaduck stood just outside of it. Darkwing glowered at him, having seen the interaction between him and Charity but hadn’t heard what was said.

            “Change of plans,” Charity said. “Darkwing’s going to be the jammer for a while.” She handed over the helmet cover.

            “Great idea. Let Darkwing Slug over there take the responsibility,” Negaduck scoffed.

            A defeated expression crossed Darkwing’s face. “He’s right. I’m not going to be a good jammer. It should be Fenton.”

            “Fenton’s got eyes where I need him,” Charity said, referring to the unique contact lenses. “Don’t worry. We’re going to up our game with some advanced techniques. Launchpad, are ya up for some whips?”

            “I’ve got enough to cream them,” Launchpad joked.

            “Wait, what are whips?” Fenton asked.

            “I don’t have time to explain,” Charity said. “Here’s how we’re playing it for a while. Launchpad and I are going to shadow Darkwing and whip him. Fenton, you and Negaduck hang back and block their jammer. If we’re lucky, the muses will divide as well. And as before, skate for all you’re worth.”

            That was the end of their timeout.

            Darkwing took his place at the front of the line. The tough-looking muse that chewed gum and gave him dirty looks stayed close to his side. He was nervous, feeling the burden of the responsibility on him.

            At the sound of the whistle, the muse jammer tried to barge into him, but his quick reflexes helped him to dodge. She skated away even before he could take a single step. The pack of blockers swarmed around him, catching up to him easily.

            “Whip him,” he heard Charity say at his side.

            Before he could wonder what that meant, Charity and Launchpad grabbed his arms, flinging him forward at a speed he wasn’t quite comfortable with at his skill level. Assuaging his fears, he concentrated on maintaining speed and staying upright. Taking the outside, he passed the other jammer easily, her face full of shock, most likely believing that he couldn’t catch up to her.

            As they rounded a corner, he and the muse competed for lead jammer until they ran into half of the blockers. As Charity guessed, the muses split into two groups when Fenton and Negaduck fell behind. Clio and Thalia were lined up to let their jammer through and block him.

            In a flash, Negaduck slammed into the muse jammer, sending both of them falling to the ground in an aggressive but completely legal move.

            With only one blocker to get passed the muses, Darkwing was at a disadvantage until Fenton called out to him. “Thalia’s left side is her weakness.” Then the scientist barreled into the said muse on her left side, the female duck goddess flinching away from the hit and leaving an opening for Darkwing to move forward.

            As he came back to Charity and Launchpad guarding the other two muses, he found himself once more being “whipped” as the term was used, this time Charity weaseling her way between the blockers, then grabbing Darkwing’s hands and pulling him with her before the blockers could stop them.

            “Slap your hips. End the jam,” Charity ordered him.

            He obeyed and the skaters stopped. They had earned four points, while the muses only gained one after their jammer passed Negaduck.

            “That wasn’t so bad,” Charity said to Darkwing as she rolled by.

            “No, I guess no,” Darkwing replied, although he felt that his role as the jammer was more like that of a ball than an actual skater with how much he was pushed around.

            “But these tricks won’t work again. We have to keep pushing them and trying new things,” Charity said, looking worried.

            Fenton stopped next to her. “I might have some ideas.”

***

            Jam after jam, Charity’s team skated their fastest, keeping the muses divided. Darkwing played well as the jammer, being pushed and whipped by Charity and Launchpad, and sometimes by Negaduck and Fenton as they learned the different tricks. And when the muses started getting wise to their strategy, Charity switched back to the jammer. With her speed as well as her team’s new knowledge of whips, she was a force to be reckoned with. They didn’t do well on every jam, but they slowly closed the gap on the scoreboard.

            Fenton’s suggestions were just as useful. Not only did he keep everyone in the know-how of which of the muses were tiring or injured, but he also devised some moves that—while technically not illegal—weren’t normal strategies in the game.

            With the help of Darkwing and Launchpad, Fenton invented a whole new whip, that basically constituted throwing Charity in the air over the heads of the muses. The first time they tried it, Charity cleared all four muses and ended the jam early to the gaping mouths of the opposing team. The move was only possible with the three of them, no other combination was strong enough to lift a body that high.

            But they didn’t have entirely good luck during the second half. One time, Darkwing—completely out of habit—used a smoke bomb in the arena. Selene sent him to the penalty box for that.

            And when Charity was trapped behind three of the muse blockers, Negaduck came from behind.

            “Let me help you out there,” he called out, his voice dark. His hands encompassed Charity’s butt as he shoved her forward roughly and through the wall of blockers.

            Charity wasn’t sure if he purposely chose where to put his hands, but it didn’t seem to matter to Fenton. The scientist saw the move and tackled his own team mate to the ground. They rolled and scuffled for a few seconds before Selene blew the whistle and sent them both to the penalty box. Luckily, Charity was lead jammer and their absence was only a minor set-back.

            “I’m sorry, Charity,” Fenton said between jams. “I normally prefer to find the non-violent solution to a problem, but something happened. I couldn’t control myself.”

            “It’s okay,” Charity said with a smile. Even if she was angry, she wasn’t sure if she could talk sternly to him as she had with Negaduck or even Darkwing. He had such a hang-dog look that it would be like beating a dead horse. “But next time, you should know that pushing the jammer’s butt is quite common.”

            The muses did it to their jammers all the time. Charity just never pointed it out or suggested it for obvious reasons. Not that that stopped Negaduck.

            Fenton blushed.

            “Not that you should be copying them,” Charity said, feeling her own face go flush. “Just…don’t let Jim get under your feathers. We don’t have many jams left to go.”

            In fact, there was less than six minutes on the clock, meaning three or four more to go. Looking at the scoreboard, they were only five points behind.

            “We could really use another trick or two,” Charity said, giving Fenton a questioning look.

            The scientist shook his head. “I’m running out of ideas. But if it helps, the muses are looking a bit tired.”
            They did. When they first arrived with their godly glow, they looked perfect. But without their powers and after almost an hour of playing, they didn’t look like the muses from legend with sweat stains and damp hair. Several had road rash on arms or legs and feathers floated on the breeze that had been plucked during skirmishes.

            They weren’t anywhere close to how Charity felt, but at least the boys still had their energy.

            “Then we keep running them hard,” Charity said. She had been the jammer for the past three jams and she was about to topple over. “Darkwing, you’re turn.” She wasn’t sure if she could take over for the rest of the game.

            The next jam ended with each team scoring the same amount to the frustration of Charity’s team. The next one, Darkwing managed to be lead jammer after Fenton and Negaduck blocked Thalia from moving forward, swooping in a zig-zag pattern that confused the muse blockers and passing two of them before Charity and Launchpad whipped him forward, passing the other two. Normally, he would have ended the jam early before the muses could score again, but he could see Negaduck and Fenton struggling with two of the muse blockers, all four of them skating slowly. There was still time for him get two more points.

            Putting on a burst of speed, he came up behind Negaduck and Fenton, the two of them in position to perform a whip. The muses knew it was coming, and were forming a barrier while keeping an eye on him.

            Inspiration hit. Just before Fenton and Negaduck whipped him, he let go of their hands, feigning for the inside before circling them and taking the outside. Just as he was passing Terpsichore, she slammed her elbow into his face. Darkwing was knocked off course, slamming into the outside rail. A whistle sounded: a penalty for the muses. Not long after that, the jam ended. The mortals got six points while the muses only gained three.

            “Great job, Darkwing,” Charity said as she rolled by. “We’re only two behind.” She held one of her arms close to her body. Sweat poured down her face, and it wasn’t just because of the exertion.

            “You’re hurt,” Darkwing noticed.

            “It’s nothing,” Charity said, although her voice said otherwise. “I can take it.”

            Fenton gently took the lovebird’s arm—which Darkwing moodily disliked, his jaw tightening—and gazed at it in a way that said he was using his lenses. “Your wrist is broken,” he announced, eyebrows down. “You can’t play with your arm like that.”

            “I don’t have a choice,” Charity said. “If I don’t play, we forfeit. We have to have five players.”

            “We have one more timeout, right?” Darkwing asked. When he got the confirmation, he raised the T-signal to Selene. “Fenton, you have one minute to wrap up her arm.”

            “If she plays with a broken wrist, it could get worst. It’s only a hairline fracture, but it could compound. If that happens, I can’t help her. She would need a hospital,” Fenton explained.

            “I know,” Darkwing hissed, his anger more toward himself than Fenton. After all, he didn’t have to ask how she broke her wrist. He remembered how he landed when the muse slammed him up against the rail, how his arm had been pushed against the metal bar. “Just do it.”

            They moved off the rink. They didn’t have time for someone to go back to the plane to fetch the first aid kit. Instead, they used Darkwing’s cloak, which had been discarded when the muses changed their gear. The material was sturdy and thick since it was designed to act as a parachute, although he hadn’t been able to get it to work yet. As their time ran out, her arm was encased in dark purple material as tight as Fenton dared wrap it.

            They lined up for the jam. According to the clock, they had a few seconds shy of a full jam and then the game was over. They needed three points to win, or two to tie, which would result in an extra jam. Darkwing narrowed his eyes as he prepared for the whistle, Thalia to the side of him. He had to do this.

            At the whistle, he jumped forward, taking the lead. When he skated a full revolution, he was surprised to see that all the blockers hadn’t moved far from the starting line. In fact, the muses had turned completely around and formed a complete wall, taking him head on. He looked to the others for help, but they had done the same thing to Thalia, having no choice but to change their tactics.

            Trying to use brute force, Darkwing charged again and again at the wall of muses. He was bigger than any of them, but as a group, he couldn’t get passed.

            “Pass the star to Fenton,” Charity shouted at him.

            No, he had to be the one to make the winning score. After being the one to break Charity’s arm, he had to make it up to her.

            “Darkwing!” Fenton cried out, waving his arm over the crowd of muses.

            Glancing to the side, he could see Thalia trying to pass her helmet cover to their pivot, copying their strategy. It galled him that he couldn’t do this on his own, and he had to rely on Gizmoduck.

            Snatching the star off his head, he rammed into the wall of muses, pushing them a few inches to reach Fenton. The scientist’s fingertips barely caught the edge, and he was gone, zipping down the straightway while putting the cover on his own helmet. Once it was on, he slapped his hips, indicating the end the jam.

            Charity whooped, throwing one fist into the air. “We’re ahead,” she cried out. They had two points above the muses. And less than sixty seconds on the timer. They were going to make it. “Way to go, Fenton.” She flung her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

            Darkwing was more reserved about their predicament. He wanted to be the one to make those points, then it would be him getting a hug from Charity.

            “Alright, we have one more jam, a short one. Our main goal is to prevent their jammer from scoring. That’s it,” Charity told them as they skated to the starting line. “Launchpad, now’s your time to shine. They’re going to try to stonewall us.” She snatched the helmet cover off of Fenton’s head and gave it to the large duck. “So we’ll bowl them over.”

            Launchpad grinned, understanding.

            As the jammer whistle sounded, the larger duck and Thalia raced around the rink, the smaller, lithe duck in the lead. Just as Charity predicted, the muse blockers created a wall to prevent them from moving farther, giving their jammer the opportunity to score before time ran out.

            When Thalia came racing toward them, they created their own wall, preventing the jammer from passing them. However, as Launchpad came barreling behind her, Charity called out, “Out of the way.” She, Fenton, Darkwing and Negaduck backed down, even allowing Thalia a way through.

            Crouching, Launchpad became a proverbial cannon ball, bowling into the wall of muses. Skaters flew everywhere, down on the ground and hanging onto the rail. Only one tenacious muse had tried to take the large jammer down, only to find herself hanging onto his shoulders as he skated past them.

            Charity and the rest of her team skated through the carnage. Although Thalia already scored on them, Launchpad had equaled her points, keeping them in the lead.

            Not long after that, Selene blew the whistle. The game was over. They had won.

            Charity collapsed, sliding onto her knees to a stop, allowing the weight of carrying the injuries and fatigue of all five of them overcome her. She laid down, not caring about where she was or that skaters were rolling around her. Only when someone pulled off one of her skates did she react, crying out. After an hour of ignoring her aching feet, she thought she was numb, but this reawakened her pain.

            “Her socks are soaked in blood,” Fenton said. “I can’t believe she was skating with her feet in this condition.”

            Her other skate came off with another wave of pain, this time she bit back any noise. A hand touched her face.

            “She has heat exhaustion, too. She needs some water.”

            Someone lifted her head up and pressing plastic to her beak. Water sloshed into her mouth, and she drank greedily, not knowing how thirsty she was until then.

            “Stand back, honey. Give me some room.” This new voice was stern and commanding.

            A refreshing coolness spread throughout her body, and the pain and fatigue ebbed away. Charity sat up, seeing Clio squatting down and holding her hand. “I should hang around you more often,” Charity said with a grin.

            “I’m afraid this is the last time you’ll benefit from my healing, honey,” Clio said. “It’s not exactly my realm of power, but for today, the gods made an exception.”

            The nine muses were encircling Charity with Darkwing, Fenton and Launchpad kneeing at her side. The sisters were back to their former glory, brilliant and beautiful. Any sign that they played a sweaty, dangerous contact sport was gone.

            And all of them were smiling.

            “Good game, girl,” Thalia said, offering a hand up to Charity. “When you’re done with your little quest, look up my old team back in Ducksburg. They could use someone as tough as you.”

            Charity took the offered hand.

            “Congratulations. You have beaten the first challenge,” Clio said, looking pleased. “And you played well. We are satisfied with your victory.” She turned her head to look at her father, who seemed to be fuming at that fact. “As the winners of our game, you may ask one boon of us that is within our power.”

            Looking at her companions, Charity shook her head. “I don’t even know what to ask for. Thalia already said she couldn’t give me any information on my curse. And I’m not certain what we need in the future. I’m just grateful that you healed me twice.”

            Clio smiled. “Then let me give you this gift.” She pulled out a bronze tube which looked like a container of lipstick, but on closer inspection, was a whistle. “You may use this to summon one of us. Only one. Call out the name of the muse and blow the whistle.”

            “Like a dog,” Negaduck laughed.

            “Boy, you better learn a little respect,” Clio turned on Negaduck. “You may be a favorite of some of my sisters, but I don’t like you. I’d slap you if I could.”

            Negaduck sneered at her.

            Clio turned her back on the villain. “That man gives me the creeps. You be careful around him. He may have been under the light of the muses at one point, but he’s quickly going north toward the faces of Janus.”

            “Once an actor, always an actor,” the muse whom Charity had heard called Melpomene said. “He’s just in a whole different play, one where he’s the hero of his own story. If he isn’t careful, he’ll come to a bad end.”

            “The muse of tragedy,” Fenton whispered nearby.

            “Yeah, about that. I’m an actor, too,” Darkwing said, still offended that he didn’t get any recognition.

            “Baby, you were an actor, although not a well-known one. You used to be our concern, but once you put on that mask and cape, you became some other god’s problem,” Clio said, shaking a finger at him. “Although, I’m sure you’ll become more interesting to me when you’re dead.”

            Darkwing’s eyes widened before he remembered she was the muse of history. Hopefully he wouldn’t be interesting for a long time.

            “Time to go, girls,” Clio said, skating away. “Say your good-byes.”

            Thalia threw her arms around Launchpad, giving him a lingering kiss on the lips that made everyone stare. “It’s good to see you again, LP. I’ll call ya if I get any more time in the mortal realm.”

            “Sounds good,” Launchpad said, sounding cooler than he probably intended.

            Before she skated away, she offered a fist bump to Charity.

            The last of the muses to leave were Calliope and Erato, both of which had dual grins on their beaks. They went to Charity, eyes bright.

            “We just want you to know how much we’re enjoying your story,” Calliope said, squealing. “Update soon, please.”

            “Say what?” Charity asked with wide eyes.

            “I especially loved chapter fifteen.” Erato’s smile was cat-like. Her eyes turned onto Darkwing, roaming over him like she was starving and he was Thanksgiving dinner. “I’m sure you’ll be inspired by your quest to write more.”

            Charity was both flattered and shamed at the same time.

            “I have got to read chapter fifteen,” Darkwing said as the girls skated away up into the sky.

            “The next challenge will begin,” Zeus boomed, sounding impatient with his daughters’ lingering goodbyes. “The five heroes will come forward.”

            “Couldn’t we get a break first?” Charity groaned, leading the way. Okay, so she was healed by the muses, but there was no guarantee that she would be so lucky with the next challenge.

            “You’re challenger has been waiting,” Zeus said with a fierce expression. Lightning flashed behind him and thunder cracked.

            The five rushed forward, their gait awkward as the skating arena as well as their skating equipment faded. The boys’ clothing returned to what they wore before, hat and capes included, but Charity found herself clad in shorts and a tank top, not her usual attire. She highly suspected this was the work of certain muses.

            The Duck family had already gathered around the king of the gods and his two children, Storkules and Selene on one side. On Zeus’s other side stood a squat, compact duck with hunched shoulders and a misshapen face. He wore a blacksmith’s apron and gloves, and in one hand, he held a large hammer. His muscles bulged even more impressively than Storkules. His dark beard and long hair was scruffy and seared in areas.

            “Meet my son, Hephaestus,” Zeus introduced with a gloating smile. “He’ll be your next challenger.”

            “Wait, how many children do you have?” Louie asked, waving his hands toward the gods. “Nine muses, plus these three. Your poor wife.”

            “Technically, Zeus has had many children through many different women, both goddesses and mortals,” Huey explained.

            “Ewwww,” Louie and Dewey said together.

            “Don’t get hung up on their family tree,” Scrooge told the boys. “It gets a whole lot worse than that.”

            “Do I even want to know?” Dewey asked.

            Huey put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Trust me. You don’t.”

            “We’re ready,” Darkwing said, stepping forward. “What’s the challenge?”

            Behind him, Fenton whispered, “That’s Hephaestus. He’s the god of fire, and metal working, among other things. He’s the one who forges lightning for Zeus.”

            “No wonder he’s buff,” Charity whispered back.

            Hephaestus stepped forward. “I cannot believe my wife summoned me from my important work to participate in this impractical and asinine spectacle,” the god grumbled, his voice like boulders grinding against each other. “As if she doesn’t bring shame to me enough, she sends me to do her dirty work.”

            “He is also Aphrodite’s husband,” Fenton told the group. “They do not get along.”

            “Great. Nothing like dealing with family matters to make things fun,” Charity grumbled.

            “For my challenge, only one may participate,” Hephaestus said, his eyes glowering at the five. Then he raised a beefy, gloved finger. “You.”

            He was pointing at Fenton.

            “What?” The scientist felt as if he were shrinking as the god’s attention zeroed in on him.

            “Great,” Darkwing muttered.

            “You. Come forward, Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera,” Hephaestus boomed, crooking a finger.

            Fenton gulped. Why did it suddenly seem like Hephaestus was growing bigger? He was shorter than anyone on the beach, yet he could have been a mountain.

            “My challenge to you is…” Hephaestus reached into his blacksmith apron and pulled out a roll of blue papers. “What do you think of these blueprints?”     

            Fenton flinched as the papers snapped open, expecting something to pummel him. However, when he opened his eyes and took in the white marks against the blue background, he studied it with intrigue. “Hmmm. This design should work. Oh, but it looks like you’re counter balance is a little off.”

            “That’s what I thought, but every time I go through the math, it’s correct,” Hephaestus said, his voice still rocky but much more amiable than before.

            “What materials do you plan on using?”

            “Steel, of course.”

            “Hmmm. But if you use a tungsten alloy, it’ll be lighter and tougher, which would even out your counter balance.”

            Hephaestus grumbled. “That’s not exactly something we can import onto Ithaquack.”

            “Really? But you’re gods,” Fenton pointed out.

            “Yes, but someone insists we keep things traditional around here,” Hephaestus shouted pointedly at Zeus without looking his father’s way.

            “I told you, you can’t have a cell phone,” Zeus shouted back. “No mortal technology is allowed.”

            Hephaestus threw back his head and rolled his eyes. “Do you want to be stuck in the dark ages, be my guest, but don’t make us all into ancient artifacts. Get with the times.”

            “I like Hephaestus,” Louie said. “Something about him speaks to me.”

            “So, back to the challenge,” Hephaestus said to Fenton. “Steel is the best I can do. What can I do about the counter balance?”

            “Is this…a drawing of Apollo?” Fenton asked, pointing to a figure on the paper.

            “Yeah, he’s my power source. Solar is the best I can do here,” Hephaestus said.

            “Oh, then that’s why your calculations are off. You didn’t take into account Apollo’s mass,” Fenton said.

            Hephaestus slapped himself in the face. “Right? Now I got to track down that chariot-riding yahoo. I can’t believe I didn’t see that. Thanks buddy. Hey, do you think you could look at a couple of my other projects? My forge is just inside the volcano. I would really appreciate the feedback, especially from someone who is working under Gyro Gearloose.”

            “Oh, I wouldn’t mind it at all, at least, once I’m done here,” Fenton said with a smile.

            “Right. Right. The challenges,” Hephaestus said, looking around as if the others had suddenly appeared. “I guess we’re finished up here. I declare Fenton the winner!”

            “What?! That’s it?” Zeus yelled, his face turning red. “That was the worst challenge I have ever seen since I let the nymphs take over the Olympics.”

            Selene chuckled and leaned over to Della. “All the competitions involved flower arranging. Imagine dozens of naked men skipping through meadows with bouquets.”

            “I don’t want to imagine that,” Della said with a frown.

            “Too bad,” Hephaestus said. “It was wife’s idea, and if she thinks she can bully me around to strut and perform like some sort of hammer-wielding monkey, she has another thing coming.” He shook his fist into the air. “That’s right, honey. Take that.” Then he turned to Fenton. “I don’t suppose you brought the Gizmoduck suit?” His rough, disfigured face took on a child-like appearance.

            “It’s in the plane.”

            “Do you mind if I take a look?”

            “Go ahead.”

            “Whoo-hoo.” Hephaestus took off across the beach, skipping merrily.

***

            Mrs. Beakley had a sense that the second challenge wouldn’t be as exciting as the first. When Hephaestus started conversing with Fenton as if they were colleagues, she smiled. While some of the gods were inbreed, blowhards, others were quite charming and amiable in their own way.

            “That’s just great,” Darkwing muttered. “Wrack up another point for Gizmoduck.” He folded his arms in the classic pout.

            Mrs. Beakley raised her eyebrow. She had heard of rivalries, but this was getting to be ridiculous, especially in this situation.

            “May I talk to you for a minute?” Mrs. Beakley requested, leaning closer to the masked hero. “Alone.”

            Darkwing followed her away from the others, looking out of place in his dark gear against the tropical, white beach. “Okay, what do we need to talk about?”

            “It’s regarding Charity. I think you need to take better care when around her,” Mrs. Beakley said bluntly.

            “Don’t you think I am?” Darkwing said, fists clenched. “Don’t you think I’m beating myself up every time she gets hurt? I keep thinking, what if I step on something sharp? Or I bump into something? I won’t know if it hurts me, and she doesn’t let the pain show.”

            Mrs. Beakley could see just how much the curse was affecting the hero, which made getting the next words out harder. “That’s not what I meant,” Mrs. Beakley said. “I’m talking about your actions regarding Charity’s feelings. I’ve seen how you are around the girl. I don’t think that’s a good idea, especially when there’s no certainty that her feelings aren’t real.”

            “Don’t worry, Mrs. Beakley, I’m a big boy. If anyone is going to have hurt feelings after the curse is broken, it’s going to be me, right?” Darkwing said, his expression darkening. “At least in that, Charity wouldn’t be feeling it for me.”

            “I beg to differ,” Mrs. Beakley said. “And it’s not just that I’m concerned about, but also how you are treating Fenton.”

            If Darkwing was frustrated before, now it looked as if he wanted to punch something. But he didn’t say anything.

            “You need to accept the fact that Charity is just as much in love with Gizmoduck as she is with you. Whatever you have against Gizmoduck, you need to put that aside. This rivalry stops right now.”

            “What? What do you mean?” Darkwing said, still angry but feigning ignorance.

            “Don’t pretend. I know arrogance when I see it,” Mrs. Beakley said, glaring down at him. “I didn’t become one of S.H.U.S.H.’s top agents by not understanding the subtle intricacies of the male ego. I’ve dealt with my share of them, and I’m too old to put up with another posturing drama, especially with Charity in the middle.”

            Cowed by the woman’s speech, Darkwing didn’t say anything but his body language said he was pouting.

            Mrs. Beakley continued, “I understand that you have protective feelings toward her, but make sure it doesn’t go too far. That girl needs the support of friends, not be caught in the middle of two males vying for her attention.”

            Darkwing’s pout deepened until her words sunk in. Two males vying for her attention. Wait, did that mean Gizmoduck also…

            “We are all working together as a team,” Mrs. Beakley said, poking Darkwing in the beak. “So check your pride at the door. Am I clear?”

            Darkwing was tempted to use a smoke bomb just to escape this woman’s lecture. He had met murderers that had less presence than she did. He didn’t know what kind of missions Mrs. Beakley had gone on in her youth, but heaven helped anyone who crossed her.

            “Am I clear?” Mrs. Beakley repeated.

            “Like glass,” Darkwing accepted, brushing off his bruised ego.

            “Good.” Mrs. Beakley left to join the others.

***

            “Well, that was a colossal waste of time,” Zeus grumbled. “On to the next challenge.” Here he looked positively delighted. “This time, you won’t get off with an easy one.”

            “Nothing is ever easy with me.” Out of the vegetation that formed the border between the beach and the rest of the island, a petite, female hawk stepped out. She held a bow in one hand, and over her shoulder was a quiver of arrows. A large, white wolf padded at her side. “Selene,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

            “Artemis,” Selene said in the same arched tone.

            “Moon rivalry,” Fenton told the others in a hushed voice. “Selene is the personification of the moon, but Artemis is associated with it and more well-known.”

            “You may have gotten away with skating with pretty girls, but I assure you, I’m much tougher than the nine muses put together,” Artemis said with a predator grin.

            “What’s your challenge?” Charity asked, stepping forward. “We’ll take it on.”

            “There’s a saying from your mortal world, ‘You’re only as strong as you’re weakest link’,” Artemis said. “So, I’m going to be testing your weak link. A trial against my hunting skills. If your weakest link can survive for one hour, you will have passed my challenge.”

            Four pairs of eyes all turned onto Charity. The lovebird gulped, her eyes widened.

            “No, you morons. Don’t look to her,” Artemis yelled at them in disgust. “She’s been carrying you burdens around for years.” She shot a finger out. “You two. You are the weakest link.”

            Darkwing and Fenton’s eyes widened, confused. They both protested.

            “How can I be the weakest? I’m Darkwing Duck.”

            “I’ll admit that I’m not the strongest person in the group, but I’d beg to differ. I have a lot to offer the group. I have a degree in…”

            Artemis smiled knowingly. “Save your breath. I’m the goddess of the hunt. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s spotting easy prey. You have one hour. If any of my arrows pierce one of you, you both loose. You may use any weapons or traps or anything against me. Or you can just run. Your choice.” She shrugged nonchalantly.

            Darkwing checked his supplies. He still carried all his gear. He just hoped that Fenton could keep up with him.

            “Oh, and two things. No relying on a woman to protect you. I may not know much about this curse of yours, but I can at least negate the effects for an hour.”

            Charity stepped forward. “No,” she called out, looking afraid. “Please.”

            Artemis gave her a disgusted look. “Do not worry, child. Your men can do without you for my little game. It’ll do them good to get a little scuffed and bruised. I will not shoot to kill.

            “And the last thing,” Artemis said, looking excited. “A little gift from me.” She waved her hand.

            A heaviness weighed down Darkwing’s left hand. A silver manacle encased his wrist with a chain attaching to a similar restraint on Fenton’s right hand.

            “Wouldn’t want you two to lose each other,” Artemis said with a laugh.

            “Wait a minute,” Darkwing called out, pulling on the manacle. “This sounds more like a game of cat and mouse. You call this a challenge.”

            “Quit complaining,” Artemis said. “I’m giving you a ten minute head start.”

            Darkwing opened his mouth to protest again.

            “Counting now,” Artemis said, drawing an arrow through her bow.

            Yanking on Fenton, Darkwing raced into the jungle undergrowth.

Chapter Text

Twisted Strings of Fate

Chapter 19

            I’m not possessive, but I consider them mine. I take away their pain, so they belong to me, and I to them. I don’t know if they think of it the same way, but the bond is more real than most relationships I’ve had in my life.

            When that bond is severed, will I feel freedom or loneliness?

***

            The second that Artemis started counting down the ten minute head-start for Fenton and Darkwing was the second that Charity felt something in the magical bond with the pair. She could still tell they were connected, but it was like a wall had been put between them, their bond dammed up.

            It made Charity anxious. She bit her bottom beak. She wanted to race into the jungle and find Darkwing and Fenton. It didn’t make sense to her. After all, she wasn’t capable of helping them in this situation. They were two super heroes. Her interference would only be a hindrance and—more likely—get them disqualified from this challenge.

            Nervous energy flowed through her. She wanted to run. She wanted to throw up. She wanted to go hide. She wasn’t sure what she could do, but sit and wait wasn’t an option her body was willing to take.

            “I apologize, maiden. I did not think my magic would unsettle you,” Artemis said, stepping toward her. “I did not intend to hurt you. I wanted to protect you.” The hawk looked sad.

            “I don’t feel…whole,” Charity tried to explain, the word fitting. She was incomplete with that invisible barrier keeping her bond from Darkwing and Fenton.

            The hawk gritted her teeth. “This curse is a plague on your family. Maidens should never be burdened with the pains of men,” she spat. “I do not envy you, child. Love should make a person free, but this magic that forces you to love these men, it is a stone around your neck.”

            “You are Artemis. What do you know about love?” Charity asked bitterly. “Aren’t you the goddess of chastity or something?”

             “You still have some sting, little bee,” Artemis said with a smile which quickly disappeared. “Yes, but that does not mean I don’t know how to love. There was one…I know how wonderful love can be but also how deep it can cut. I do not pity you for loving but that you have been forced into it.”

            “You make it sound like love is as bad as the pain,” Charity said.

            “Women are built to take on immense pain. We are strong. You have proven your mettle for taking all their pain with a smile. You should be proud of that,” Artemis said.

            “So, I should be proud of the pain but ashamed for loving four men?” Charity asked defensively. “It’s my love for them that keeps me going.”

            “Or it keeps you trapped,” Artemis said. “Not only does your love keep you complacent and forgiving, but it may keep you from progressing. Beware, sister maiden, that your love doesn’t stop you from breaking the curse.”

            Charity started breathing hard, the hawk’s words hitting closer to home than she would have liked.

            “You have distracted me,” Artemis said with a crooked smile. “I’ve given them a longer head-start than I intended. The hunt will begin.”

            Her wolf, who had lain down at her feet, stood up, bristling with eager energy.

            Artemis raced into the jungle the same place that Darkwing and Fenton disappeared not long ago.

            Charity’s body tightened as the hawk went away, her eyes locked on the jungle as if she could see through the trees and undergrowth to her heroes.

            “Come on, dear,” Mrs. Beakley said, taking her shoulders. “It does no good to worry. You should take this opportunity to rest.” She pushed a bottle of water into Charity’s hand. “They’ll be alright.”

            But Mrs. Beakley’s voice lacked conviction, and Charity could hear it clear as day.

***

            Darkwing tugged on the magical tether once more as Fenton lagged behind. He was right. Gizmoduck was slowing him down.

            “Wait a minute. Maybe we should stop and strategize,” Fenton suggested, his voice heavy with breath.

            “Keep moving. That’s our strategy,” Darkwing said, pushing a branch out of the way. He listened as the branch swung back and hit Fenton in the face. He shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help but smile.

            “That’s not much of a strategy,” Fenton said, sounding as if he were rubbing his beak. “Shouldn’t we be setting traps or making weapons?”

            “I have weapons,” Darkwing said, pulling out his gas gun. “If you want one, I’ll wait while you…I don’t know. Sharpen a stick or something.”

            “Sharpen a stick?” Fenton repeated, his voice rising in volume.

            “You’re a scientist. Figure something out,” Darkwing shrugged, picking up the pace.

            Fenton let out a frustrated sign, then yanked on his end of the manacles. “Okay, if we’re running away, then let’s be logical about it. Let’s go up.” He pointed toward the mountain. “We’ll have the advantage if we have the high ground.”

            “Fenton. Fenton,” Darkwing said, shaking his head. “Which goddess is after us?”

            “Artemis. Goddess of the hunt,” Fenton answered. He opened his mouth to tell more about Artemis, but Darkwing stopped him.

            “So, she’s a hunter,” Darkwing said. “Which means, she’s going to be really, really good at tracking us. Therefore, we should try to cover as much ground as possible. Going up the mountain will slow us down.”

            “I understand she’s a hunter,” Fenton argued. “Which means acting like prey is the last thing we should do. She’s not a fighter. If we make a stand against her, we may have a chance.”

            “She’s a goddess,” Darkwing hissed. “She isn’t like the muses, although they were tough enough. She’s more than a super hero. More than two super heroes. We keep moving.”

            Fenton didn’t get another word in before he was yanked back into running. The metal of the manacle bit into his flesh, reminding him that the curse no longer applied to him, at least for the moment. It was a small relief that he wasn’t causing Charity any pain.

            After a few more minutes of running, Darkwing slowed down as the terrain became rocky. Despite it slowing them down, the masked duck plowed on.

            “This doesn’t look like the best route,” Fenton said. “There’s less foliage for us to hide in. We’ll be exposed if we’re out in the open.”

            “It’ll slow Artemis down,” Darkwing rationalized. “And it’ll be harder to track us.”

            “It’s slowing us down. Going up the mountain is a better idea,” Fenton said, pulling Darkwing away from a boulder he attempted to climb. “We may even find a cave we could hide in.”

            “You want to hide? Sounds like typical Gizmoduck tactics,” Darkwing said, waving his hand.

            Fenton set his bill. “Are you not wanting to go up the mountain because you disagree with me or is it because you disagree with Gizmoduck?”
            “Huh? What are you talking about?” Darkwing said, pulling Fenton toward the rocks, only to be yanked back. “You are Gizmoduck.”

            “But you aren’t treating me the same before you knew I was Gizmoduck,” Fenton said. “I didn’t want to cause any trouble before, but this stops now. What do you have against me?”

            “We don’t have time for this,” Darkwing insisted. “Now move your feet. Or have you forgotten how to run because you ride around on your unicycle?”

            “That’s it,” Fenton said, done being the nice guy. “What do you know about being a hero? You’re just an actor. I’ve been Gizmoduck for a year. I have more experience, so I should decide which direction we’ll go.”

            Darkwing dug in his heels as Fenton tugged him toward the mountain. “Excuse me! At least I don’t rely on a high-tech suit to do all my work. I have to keep my body in perfect condition and my mind sharp when I go after the bad guys. Not everyone can do what I do.”

            “Gizmoduck isn’t just the suit,” Fenton said. “It’s my mind that directs the programs. I control the suit.”

            “Do you?” Darkwing asked. “Couldn’t you put that rusted scrap-heap on autopilot, and it do just as good of a job?”
            Fenton took a step back, obviously shaken by Darkwing’s words. But then he remembered everything he went through. “Sure, the suit is amazing. But I’m more than Gizmoduck,” Fenton said. “And I don’t need my other identity to remind me that I’m a hero. I’m Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera. It’s me that makes Gizmoduck great, not the other way around.”

            Darkwing clapped his beak shut. And even though Fenton’s words weren’t an attack, he couldn’t help but think that they were. Did he feel the same way without the mask? Was it Drake Mallard that made Darkwing Duck great, or was it the other way around?

            Darkwing heard a buzzing noise, dropping to the ground right as an arrow pierced his hat and pinning it to a tree. “Run!” he shouted. He threw a few flash-bangs as he pushed Fenton into a sprint. It wasn’t until they were scrambling up an incline that he realized they were going up the mountain.

            Glancing over his shoulder, Darkwing caught the sight of the goddess running toward them, notching another arrow.

            “Serpentine maneuver,” Darkwing ordered Fenton.

            “What?”

            “Run in a zig-zag!”

            Darkwing’s suggestion nearly undid them. When Fenton zigged, Darkwing zagged, and they bumped and bungled into each other until Darkwing dragged the scientist in the right direction.

            The terrain had become steep, so much that the two stopped running in a zig-zag pattern and just went straight forward.

            Several minutes into the chase, Darkwing heard a deep, familiar sound echoing through the jungle. His eyes widened, and he veered in the direction with Fenton scrambling to keep up. “Is it? Is it?” he kept repeating, hopeful. If he was right, they would be able to put a lot of distance between them and Artemis.

            The moisture in the air doubled, and Darkwing stopped at the edge of a precipice, grasping Fenton’s collar before the scientist fell prematurely over the waterfall.

            “We need to turn around,” Fenton said, spinning on his toes.

            “No need,” Darkwing said, flipping his companion toward the cliff. “I got this.” He gathered his cape. “Hold onto me.”

            “What?” Fenton gave Darkwing a “Are you crazy?” look before looking at the waterfall, then back at the masked hero. “You are crazy!”

            Darkwing prepared himself to leap into the misty air. Okay, so he had never successfully done this, but there was always a first time.

            “Wait! This isn’t going to work,” Fenton said. “You can’t possible carry both our weight.”

            “Relax. This cape is made of the strongest material. It could carry a lot more than the two of us together,” Darkwing said with a grin and a glint in his eye. He could tell. This time, he was going to perform Darkwing Duck’s signature move. They’ll float down the hundred foot cliff as smoothly as a butterfly.

            “I’m a scientist, and I don’t even need to calculate anything to know this is a baaaaaaa—“

            Darkwing didn’t wait for Fenton to finish his sentence. He grabbed the other duck and jumped, trusting Fenton would hold on while he controlled his cape like a parachute.

            And for a few seconds, they hoovered in the air, looking over a beautiful, tropical valley with snow-white beaches bordering an aqua ocean. And then they dropped like a rock, the two of them screaming as they plunged toward the river below.

***

            Artemis gazed down into the mist formed by the falling water. She worried for a minute that her word would have to be broken, not by her own hand, but by the stupidity of man. She had promised Charity that her prey wouldn’t be killed, and it would be a shame if they brought about their own destruction.

            But then again, it might solve one of Charity’s problems.

            Then Artemis’ hawk eyes picked up something moving among the swirling rapids of the river that flowed out of the volcano. They were both alive. Lucky them. And lucky her because she didn’t want this hunt to end yet. It had been centuries since she had had this much fun.

***

            Half-drowned, Fenton dragged Darkwing onto the rocks lining the river. It was a wonder that they both hadn’t drowned. Darkwing’s cape may have been made of sturdy material, but it retained water like a camel and acted like an anchor. If Fenton hadn’t managed to get it off the masked hero, they would have become permanent  residents of the river.

            “That…was…the…most…stupidest thing I have…ever seen,” Fenton shouted, panting and coughing.

            “Why didn’t it work? It should have worked,” Darkwing muttered, clenching his fists. He coughed up a pint of water

            “It didn’t work because we don’t live in a TV show!” Fenton yelled. “Physics doesn’t work like that. You could have killed us.” Fenton began rambling about everything that could have gone wrong and why.

            Ignoring his companion, Darkwing stood up unsteadily, shaking out his feathers. “We have to keep going,” he said in a raspy voice.

            “No. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not jumping off any more cliffs. We’re going to come up with a plan,” Fenton shouted.

            “Keep it down,” Darkwing growled, grabbing the scientist’s beak. “You’re going to lead Artemis right to us.”

            “We could have died,” Fenton hissed, quieter. “You’re going to lose this challenge for us with your reckless behavior.”

            “You’re going to lose it for us by sitting around and over-thinking things,” Darkwing shot back. “I’m the one that’s been keeping us from being skewered on an arrow.”

            “By dropping us off a cliff,” Fenton growled. “I am not going another step until we have a concrete plan.” Fenton crossed his arms. His determination fell apart when Darkwing dragged him over the rocks, giving him a nice collection of bruises. “Why aren’t you listening to me?”

            “Because we can’t just sit around,” Darkwing shouted. “Artemis will be on our tails in no time. We need to move.”

            “She’s faster than us. Running isn’t going to keep us safe,” Fenton harped. “We should use the river, hide our trail. If we swim with the current, we can move faster and she won’t find us.”

            Darkwing shuddered. Falling into the river had been enough. “If we stay in the river, we’re limiting our options. The water will make us sluggish, and if we have to get out, we’ll be exposed.”

            “Hmmm. Good point,” Fenton said, keeping stride. “If only I had my Gizmoduck suit, we could travel a whole lot faster.”

            Darkwing rolled his eyes. That was the last thing they needed. He would rather get dunked into the water again.

            “Wait! I do have Gizmoduck,” Fenton said. “Artemis said we were free to use any weapons.” He smiled.

            “But isn’t your suit damaged?” Darkwing asked, feeling dread.

            “Yes, but I did manage to get it back up to seventy-five percent working capacity. Not all the systems are ready, but it’ll be enough,” Fenton said. He forced them to a stop. “Blathering Blatherskite!”

            Darkwing huffed. Could they have thought of a dumber password? What does that even mean?

            Ten seconds passed by. Then thirty.

            Fenton, who had his arms held out as he waited for the suit to appear, shifted uneasily.

            Darkwing tapped his foot. “So…should we just wait here for Artemis to finish us off or…”

            Fenton glared at him. Then he hit himself in the head. “Of course. I was so busy developing the lenses, I forgot to include a Bluetooth microphone. I thought I had invented it, but that must have been a dream.”

            Darkwing growled. They wasted valuable time for this?

            “Come on,” Darkwing hissed, setting a ground-eating pace through the jungle.

            Fenton, while keeping up with the masked hero, looked at the mountain. “Hmmm, if I remember the geography of the island, we might be in shouting distance of the plane. Good thing I amped up Gizmoduck’s receiver to pick up my voice.” He cupped his hands over his beak. “Blathering Blatherskite!”

            Darkwing clamped his hand over Fenton’s mouth. “Nothing is going to give away our position more than you doing that.”

            “But once I have the Gizmoduck suit, keeping away from Artemis will be easy,” Fenton argued. “If we could make our way more to the west, I’m sure the suit will hear me.”

            “And what if it doesn’t? Or maybe it doesn’t work as well as you think it will?” Darkwing said. “Then we’ll be at a disadvantage for nothing. No, it’s best if we use our own muscle to win this challenge.”
            Fenton’s frown deepened. Although Darkwing’s words made sense, his plan did, too. And since Darkwing wasn’t going to give him a chance, he may as well do it on his own. “Blathering Blatherskite!” he shouted again.

            “I told you to keep quiet,” Darkwing growled.

            “I don’t know what you have against Gizmoduck, but we need him,” Fenton shouted. “Blathering Blatherskite.”

            “No we don’t. A real hero shouldn’t need all those…those…gizmos to get the job done,” Darkwing said.

            “You have your gas gun and other weapons,” Fenton argued. He saw some large palms, getting an idea. Ripping away the foliage, he created a funnel.

            “That’s different,” Darkwing reasoned. “Those are tools. I’ve had to work hard to learn how to fight, to track down criminals, to do what I do. But you just climb into that hunk of metal and suddenly you’re a hero.”

            “It shouldn’t matter how I fight crime. I do it because it’s the right thing to do,” Fenton shouted. With his makeshift megaphone, he screamed out the nonsense password.

            Darkwing gritted his teeth, feeling the words bite into his ego. “Fine! But if I take an arrow, I’m blaming you,” he growled at Fenton, turning toward the beach.

            They scrambled through the jungle, over and under obstacles with Fenton shouting at the top of his lungs. Darkwing kept an eye out for Artemis. She couldn’t be that far behind them. He wholly expected an arrowhead to zing out of nowhere.

            “Blathering Blatherskite.”

            After several minutes of the scientist shouting, there was a small boom, like a rocket going off. What little of the blue sky they could see, a contrail formed in an arch, heading right for them.

            “Ha ha. It worked,” Fenton cried out. He could already feel the energy forming around him as the pieces of the suit dismantled to come together around his body.

            It was when the chest piece and the lower sections formed around Fenton that Darkwing saw a downside to this plan. He looked at Fenton’s left arm, and then to his own right arm.

            “Uh-oh,” Darkwing said. “Fenton, stop! Cancel your Gizmoduck.”

            “Huh? Why?” Fenton asked as the right arm of his armor attached to the torso. He saw the left arm coming and his eyes widened.

            Darkwing tried to get out of the way, but the rocket powered left arm rammed right into his face, knocking him out.

***

            “That’s new.” Artemis watched the metal monstrosity take off from the beach, split into different parts and dive into the jungle. At the time, she was in a tree, getting a lay of the land and any sign of her prey.

            They really were making this too easy.

            She smiled. Just like wolves and lions, she had found the weakest link of the group. She could smell the dissidence between the two males a mile away. They would be their own undoing. That is, unless they could work together. But in her experience, most heroes were solo acts. The idea of working with anyone else—let alone a rival—just wasn’t within their makeup.

            They would be easy pickings, even with their technology and modern weapons.

***

            When Darkwing came to, he was looking into the stupid face of Gizmoduck, being carried in one oversized arm.

            “Oh, good. You’re awake.” It was Fenton’s voice, but deeper and more confident.

            Darkwing groaned and tried to rub his head, but his left hand was restrained. Oh, right. He was still chained to Gizmoduck.

            “Put me down,” Darkwing ordered, scrambling to get out of the embarrassing situation.

            Gizmoduck screeched to a halt, dirt and pebbles flying.

            “I’m sorry about that,” Gizmoduck said. “I didn’t think about how the suit would react with us chained together.”

            “At least it didn’t take off my arm,” Darkwing said, getting a good look at the armor-suited duck.

            Gizmoduck looked as large and impressive as ever except for his missing right arm. From the shoulder joint, Fenton’s skinny forearm stuck out, looking out of place and ridiculous.

            “How long was I out?” Darkwing asked, rubbing his aching temple. Thank goodness Charity wasn’t feeling this one. How embarrassing would that be to explain he was knocked out by Gizmoduck’s transformation?

            “Just a few minutes,” Gizmoduck answered. “By my calculations, we’ve been running from Artemis for about thirty-five minutes. We’re more than halfway through with the challenge.”

            “But with still twenty-five minutes to go,” Darkwing grumbled, not wanting to celebrate just yet. “And we’ve left a pretty good trail for her to follow.” He gestured to the tire tracks and broken foliage.

            Gizmoduck shrugged. “But with my suit, we can go a lot faster.”

            “How fast?”

            Gizmoduck didn’t answer right away. “Well…because of the rough terrain, not too much faster. But still, she won’t be able to hit me with my suit.”

            “Except your arm,” Darkwing said, shaking his side of the manacle, jiggling Fenton’s arm. “Okay, let’s keep moving.”

            Gizmoduck held out his one large arm as if to carry Darkwing again.

            “Oh, no. Not like that.” Taking a leap, Darkwing landed on Gizmoduck’s right shoulder, the manacle stretched to its limit. He patted Gizmoduck’s helmet non-too-gently. “Let’s go.”

            They didn’t get too far when an arrow whipped past Darkwing, embedding a half an inch into Gizmoduck’s armor right next to the masked-duck’s hand.

            “Ahhhh. She’s found us. Put on the gas,” Darkwing shouted, hitting the helmet as if that would make Gizmoduck go faster.

            Kicking up earth, Gizmoduck picked up the pace but not by much. Needing to dodge rocks and trees slowed him down too much.

            “You have to go faster,” Darkwing ordered. He kept glancing behind, seeing flashes of the female hawk racing at them. He pulled out his gas gun, jamming a canister into the chamber. Let’s see if Greek gods could handle some sleep gas.

            Artemis notched an arrow on her bow and let it fly. It knocked the gas gun out of Darkwing’s hands, taking out his only offensive weapon. Almost in the same breath, she pulled out another arrow, aiming lower this time.

            The arrow pierced Gizmoduck’s tire, and the armored-duck lurched forward, his balance thrown for a loop. Darkwing flew from his perch, finding himself jerked back by the manacle in mid-air before crashing half into Gizmoduck, half into the ground.

            Darkwing was quick to recover, adrenaline feeding his thought-process. “Get up, Fenton,” he shouted, pulling on the un-armored arm. “You need to get back up.”

            “My tire is flat,” Gizmoduck said, using his one arm to sit up.

            Another arrow shot at them, barely missing Darkwing’s shoulder.

            “You can still roll, can’t you?” Darkwing demanded.

            “Not on a flat tire,” Gizmoduck said. “I’ve been meaning to upgrade to a more durable—”

            “You mean we’re sitting ducks,” Darkwing shouted, hiding behind Gizmoduck’s shoulder as an arrow stuck into the armor. What were those arrows made out of? “Don’t you have anything else in this tin-can? Can’t you fly or something?”

            “My boosters don’t have a lot of power left,” Gizmoduck explained. “And my systems are showing me a warning sign. If I turn on the jets, something could go wrong.”

            “Something has gone wrong. Turn them on!” Darkwing shouted.

            “But it could—“

            “Just do it!”

            Gizmoduck’s beak set in a firm line as if concentrating. “Hold on.”

            The warning almost came too late as the suit rocketed forward. Keeping his left arm as a shield, Gizmoduck deflected the trees, branches and other obstacles away from Darkwing as they took off.

            Darkwing cheered as they broke through the jungle canopy, which was followed by several bangs like a car backfiring. Then Gizmoduck’s fire went out.

            The two yelled as they careened back to the ground, creating an ugly scar in the green as they impacted the jungle. When the dust cleared, Gizmoduck lay in a five-foot crater in pieces. Fenton and Darkwing were lucky that they weren’t in the same state.

            “This…this is going to take a lot of time to fix,” Fenton said, staring at the wreck. “Oh, Gyro is going to kill me.”

            “This is great. Just great,” Darkwing said, kicking away a scrap of metal. “No Gizmoduck. No gas gun. And I lost my hat and cape. We’re pretty much defenseless.”

            “Not quite,” Fenton said, digging through the debris. “Most of Gizmoduck is here. If we—“

            “No. We’re running,” Darkwing interrupted, yanking Fenton. “We have—what? Twenty more minutes. Maybe less. We can keep away from her for that long.”

            “I’m exhausted and injured,” Fenton said. His hand gestured down, showing a swollen knee. He was bleeding in several places. “I’m guessing you are as well. You couldn’t have walked away from that without a scratch.”

            Darkwing had tried to ignore it, but he was sure he had sprained his ankle. He was scratched and bruised all over. But he wasn’t going to let that stop him. “We keep moving. I’ll not let Charity down.”

            “We can’t keep going,” Fenton said. “Our best chance is to go on the offensive and make a stand here. I have a plan. If we—“

            “I’m not going to risk Charity’s chance of breaking this curse on your plans,” Darkwing said. “I won’t let her down.”

            Fenton approached Darkwing, brows down. “You aren’t the only one who is trying to help her,” he shouted. “You’re not allowed to have the corner market in guilt on this.”

            Darkwing’s jaw set stubbornly.

            “We’re chained together. Artemis targeted us because we’re the weakest in the group,” Fenton said. “I don’t know what your problem is with me, but if you can’t set it aside just this one time, then we won’t be helping Charity.”

            Darkwing clenched his fists. “It’s more than just guilt,” he confided. “You’re just Gizmoduck. You won’t understand.”

            “Look, I get that I haven’t been part of this curse that long. I may not have known Charity all that long, but I care about her, too,” Fenton said. He swallowed as if he was nervous about his words.

            “I haven’t either,” Darkwing said, his voice rising. “But I can’t let her down. Not as Darkwing Duck.”

            Fenton’s brows furrowed even more, but remained silent, his face asking for an explanation.

            “You won’t get it because she’s only been in love with Gizmoduck for a short time, but because of Starling, she’s loved Darkwing Duck for years,” Darkwing said. “I can’t…I can’t let her down. I can’t fail her and destroy her image of Darkwing Duck.”

            Fenton nodded. He was certain this wasn’t the entirety of Darkwing’s issues with him, but it was a start. “And you won’t,” he said. “But you can’t do it on your own. We have to work together.”

            Darkwing took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. “Okay. Let’s try it your way.”

***

            Artemis stepped over a broken trunk, taking in the sight. These two were more chaotic than Chaos. First they jump off the cliff, then they fly through the air, and like Icarus when he got too close to the sun, plummeted to the ground. For a game that should be completely non-lethal, they acted like they had a death wish.

            With an arrow halfway notched on her bow, she sidestepped through the debris, her sharp eyes darting back and forth. The metal creation that they used to take flight was broken and strewn about. It was beyond her reasoning that anyone but a god could walk away from such destruction, but she couldn’t see any bodies.

            They must be long gone, Artemis thought. That had been their pattern so far, fleeing from her like a couple of mice before a cat. It was only a matter of finding their tracks. They had been lucky so far, their antics prolonging this hunt much longer than she thought would be possible of two mortals. She had to give them that much; they had surprised her more than once.

            She looked up at the sun. Her brother was still working but he was as good as a clock for her. By the position of his chariot, there was only ten minutes left in this hunt. She would have to move fast.

            Coming up to the epicenter of the crash, she studied the webbed foot prints. Tracks were very useful to her as a huntress. Not only would they reveal which direction her prey went but their emotions as well. She smiled, reading the marks in the dust that the males seemed to have an altercation. Just as she thought: those two couldn’t get along. It would be their downfall.

            Tracing the footprints, Artemis skidded to a halt as the tell-tale marks ended abruptly. What trick were they using this time? Had they climbed a tree? Or did they have another flying device? Or were they hiding?

            Distracted, she didn’t feel the vine until her leg pulled on it. With eyes widening, she turned in time to see something fly at her face. She raised her arm to deflect the projectile, surprised when something soft and fluffy hit her appendage and splattered against her face.

            “What is this?” she growled as she tasted some of the splatter that ended up in her mouth. It was sweet and creamy. “Do you take me for a fool?”

            Another pastry assaulted her, this one she took out with a kick although the backsplash decorated up her leg. A third came from behind, and this time she dodged it entirely.

            Did they think they could win by throwing food at her?

            Movement to her left caught her attention, and she saw the purple of that ridiculous costume the masked one wore. Drawing her bow, she aimed at him, so clear against the green foliage. He didn’t even bother to find some camouflage.

            Her arrow flew straight and true, piercing through the purple coloring. Exclaiming with triumph, she raced through the jungle to find her quarry. However, she stopped in her tracks as she saw petals floating to the ground. Several dozen purple blossoms were tied in a bunch and attached to a vine that had swung through the jungle, causing the distraction.

            So where were they?
            Her feet crunched against something that didn’t sound organic. Loud bangs erupted under her claws, some causing bright flashes, others spewing out great clouds of smoke. Coughing and stumbling, Artemis reached out for a tree to brace against. With her eyesight hindered, she relied on her other senses, knowing that her enemies would take this moment of weakness to attack.

            She heard them approach from behind. She spun around, ready to fight, but was surprised when a chain caught her around her middle, pushing her back and against a tree, pinning her arms to her side.

            “Hold her tight,” the masked one ordered from her right.

            That meant the skinny one was to her left, the weaker of the two. She twisted and jerked her leg out in a sweeping motion, feeling the satisfaction of hearing a body fall to the ground. The chain fell away.

            Blinking through the smoke, she made out their silhouettes, charging at the one still on his feet. She threw a punch, surprised that he dodged it. She grappled with him for a while, taking advantage of the fact that his left arm was attached to the skinny male who was still on the ground. She took a few punches, but in the end, laid him flat along with his partner.

            “It was a good try,” Artemis said, wiping away a trickle of blood from her beak. “But I always catch my prey.”

            Reaching into his belt, the masked duck pulled out a rock and a cylinder of metal. Before Artemis could grab her bow from the ground, he pointed the cylinder at Artemis and slammed the rock into it. There was a loud bang and a net sprang from the cylinder, wrapping around her tightly.

            She growled and struggled against the restraints, but they would not budge. She was not the strongest of gods. Oh, how she wished for Storkules’ strength.

            “Well, that should keep her,” the masked one said, helping the other off the ground. “Our challenge should be ending soon.”

            “It is not over yet,” Artemis said. She puckered her beak and whistled.

            Out of the foliage, her white wolf sprang, snarling and growling. Snapping, it chased the two males up a tree. He circled around the trunk a few times before returning to his mistress.

            While the net was strong enough to restrain a goddess, it was no match for her wolf’s teeth. A few bites, and she was free.

            “Only a minute left,” she said, looking up at the sky. “You two were a lot more trouble than you’re worth. But at least I’ve proven how unworthy you are of that maiden. This ends now.”

            “It would,” the skinny one called out from the tree, “except you are missing something.” He waved an object.

            Artemis’ eyes widened and she reached behind her, finding her quiver gone. And so were her arrows. Throwing her head back, she let out a primordial scream.

***

            As Mrs. Beakley’s watch counted the hour down to the last second, three forms materialized in front of them. To the relief of most on the beach, nobody had an arrow poking out of them. Zeus glared at his daughter, who met his gaze, refusing to look away.

            Charity’s relief was like a drink of fresh, cool water. They were back. They were okay. It didn’t matter to her if they won or not. She raced to them, throwing an arm around each.

            “Both are whole and hale. Mostly. As I promised,” Artemis said after winning the staring contest with Zeus. “Your heroes have proven to be a pair of champions to have beaten me in my own game.”

            “I couldn’t have asked for better champions,” Charity said.

            “If you please step aside, sister maiden, I will release them from their chains,” Artemis said, lifting her hand.

            The manacle that tied Fenton and Darkwing together disappeared, both rubbing at the soreness of their wrists.

            “Sister maiden?” Darkwing asked with a raised eyebrow. “Did you rise to the title of godhood while I was gone?”

            “Artemis has many titles, one being a goddess of chastity,” Fenton explained. “By calling Charity a sister maiden, she is probably referring to that Charity is a vir—“ He stopped abruptly, his eye popping as if the fact hadn’t hit him until that very moment. His face turned red, and he looked away.

            Not everyone in the Duck family caught on to what he was about to say, but many of them looked away politely until the awkward scene ended. Only Darkwing’s reaction was different, his eyebrows rising and his eyes sliding to Charity, who was about as pink as a flamingo.

            “Tch. As if that should be something to be ashamed about,” Artemis growled. “This modern world, it’s so backward. In the old days, girls were praised for keeping their virtue intact. It was honorable and noble.”

            “Can we please stop talking about this?” Charity asked, her voice high.

            Artemis rolled her eyes before saying, “Since you have won the challenge, I shall return your possessions to you.”

            With a snap of her fingers, the unassembled Gizmoduck appeared at Fenton’s feet, the sound of metal falling in a heap crashing through their ears. Darkwing’s cape, hat, and gas gun also spontaneously emerged.

            “Thanks. I think,” Darkwing said, pulling out the arrow from his hat and testing the holes with a finger before putting it on his head. The cape was sopping wet, he wrung out before buttoning it on.

            “Huey, I don’t suppose you and the boys could get this back on the ship?” Fenton requested, pointing to the discombobulated Gizmoduck. “If I leave even one screw behind, Gyro will throw a fit.”

            “Oh, it’s not that bad,” Dewey said, picking up Gizmoduck’s helmet. The visor cracked and crumbled under his grip.

            “Yeah, I don’t even think Gyro will notice the difference,” Louie added sarcastically.

            Huey gave Fenton a concerned look. “Maybe I can fit a few of these pieces together. I mean, it’s like a huge puzzle, isn’t it?”

            Louie shook his head at his brother’s optimism.

            “I can help.” Hephaestus’s large frame had somehow sneaked up from behind. “If I could borrow the schematics, I can at least get it back in one piece.”

            Fenton smiled, glad for the help. He handed his phone over to Huey. “It’s in the cloud. You know how to access it.”

            In a flash, the junk heap that was Gizmoduck, and Hephaestus and Huey were gone.

            “I guess that’s normal, letting your kid go off with some random Greek god,” Charity whispered. She was glad that only Darkwing seemed to have heard her.

            “Now that that’s settled, brace yourself, sister maiden,” Artemis told Charity. “I have blocked the curse for this long, but my power is not infinite. Once I free the bond, it will go into effect immediately. I’m sorry for the pain you will be in.”

            Charity squared her shoulders and nodded. For a moment, she almost looked eager.

            “Wait, aren’t you going to heal us?” Darkwing asked.

            Artemis scowled. “It is not within my power to heal. If my brother were here, that would be a different matter. But I have no skill in medicine.”

            “But that means…Charity is going to take our injuries all at once,” Fenton said. “That’s not fair.”

            “It is not up to me to decide what is fair,” Artemis said. “My goal was not to harm Charity but to test you two. For my challenge to work, you had to feel pain. And now, it will be given to Charity. Again, I’m sorry.” Artemis waved her hand.

             Charity gasped, looking as if she might fall. Both Fenton and Darkwing went to her side, bracing her. All over her body, scratches and bruises appeared as theirs vanished. Her stance changed as she favored one leg. “I’m fine. It’s not as bad as I thought it would be,” Charity said, forcing a smile. “This is nothing compared to before.”

            “Do not loose heart, sister maiden,” Artemis said, clapping a hand on Charity’s shoulder. “You have the strength of a huntress. I hope that you do not fail in your endeavor, or at the very least, you bear your pain with honor.”

            “Thank you,” Charity said. More than anything, she was relieved that the bond with Darkwing and Fenton was back. She could not describe how excruciating that hour had been when she didn’t feel right. But now, even with this new pain, she was glad because she knew Darkwing and Fenton were fine.

            “Skinny one. Masked one,” Artemis said, giving each a nod. “If you would humor me, please return to Ithaquack that I may have another chance at winning the game. I am not pleased about losing, but I am satisfied with your skills as well as your deserving of Charity’s affection.”

            Darkwing and Fenton smiled as one, both taking pride to be complimented by a goddess.

            Artemis leaned forward, her words so low, only they could hear. “I have called Charity my sister, and as long as she is a maiden, my sister she remains. I may approve of her loving the two of you, but for as long as this curse inflicts her, she better still be my sister or I’m coming after the two of you.”

            As Artemis sauntered away back into the jungle with her wolf at her heels, Darkwing and Fenton remained petrified until the last of the hawk was out of sight.

            “What did she say to you?” Charity asked, noticing their strange behavior.

            “Nothing,” Darkwing answered first, not looking her in the eye.

            Charity wiggled her beak, suspicious.

            “First, a game on wheels, then Hephaestus’s bungling challenge, and now this,” Zeus grumbling, a dark cloud sizzling with lightning forming over his head. “You mortals are getting it easy. If it weren’t for Aphrodite, I would—“

            “Enough of your belly-aching,” Negaduck groused.  Throughout the challenge with Artemis, he had kept to himself. But now, he came up from behind, standing just to the side of Charity. “Bring on the next challenge, if that’s what you can call them.”

            “What did you say?” Zeus growled, his cloud growing bigger until it overshadowed the whole group.

            “You call yourselves gods? So far, you’ve had a bunch of girls doing your dirty work,” Negaduck sneered. “Why don’t you come into the ring and make things interesting? Or is it that you prefer to be a spectator?”

            “Learn some respect, mortal,” Zeus boomed, hovering in the air as his eyes glowed. “You are merely a speck on the wall of time. You mean nothing to me.”

            Negaduck replied to this with the crudest gesture he could think of. “Go to hell!” he shouted.

            Zeus looked as if he were about to call upon a lightning storm, but then he smiled, his cloud dispersing. “That sounds like an excellent idea.” He snapped his fingers.

            The ground opened up from beneath Negaduck’s feet, spreading quickly to catch the four ducks and the lovebird. Charity managed to catch a view of Fenton reaching out to her, Darkwing trying to use his cape like a parachute, Launchpad clinging to the edge of the crevice before they all tumbled into darkness.

Chapter Text

Twisted Strings of Fate

Chapter 20

            There had always been an easy way out of the curse. My grandfather almost went that route. He wouldn’t take his own life but was willing to waste away to nothing just to still his heart. But love stopped him; love for a woman who needed him. And he never looked back.

            But I am not needed. I am nothing. And I’m the last in my family’s line.

            I know I would leave a hole that couldn’t be replaced. Not only would I cause my mother and step-father sorrow, but four men who knew nothing about me would feel pain again.

            I contemplated ending my life. I did not fear death or the pain of death. Obviously I’m still here, but I vowed that I would rather end my life than to pass on the curse to the next generation.

            I wonder how many of my ancestors made the same promise. Because when you are faced with love, death is the farthest thing from one’s mind.

***

            As the five fell through the darkness, for a time, they experienced almost complete sensory depredation. There was no light, no sense of what was up or down, nothing to feel but their own clothing and bodies. Even after the first screams died away, none of them said anything, silence reigning.

            It was almost a shock to their senses when a brilliant, glowing being appeared before them, saying, “Hey there. Usually it’s not my job to take the living, but for Aphrodite, I’m making an exception.”

            Like the other gods, he was dressed in a toga. He wasn’t big, although he was toned and athletic, like a runner, and he seemed to hover in the air due to a pair of shoes with wings on them. He also held a bronze staff with two snakes entwined. He appeared to be a pigeon, although he looked fancier than the pigeons from back home, his feathers pristine white and curled in a fancy way on his head.

            “You’re Hermes,” Fenton said, his arms spread out. “Messenger of the gods.”

            “Hey, I know you,” Launchpad said. “Dewey stole your shoes.”

            Hermes gave a big, childish grin. “That little guy is really sneaky. You tell that little dude no hard feelings, okay.” He gave Launchpad a buddy-punch to the arm.

            “It’s nice to meet you, and I’d like to talk more, but I don’t suppose you can stop us from falling to our deaths?” Darkwing asked. He had been trying to use his cape like a parachute again, but it just wasn’t cooperating.

            “Don’t worry, guys. You still have a few more minutes of falling before you land in the Underworld,” Hermes said, reclining in the air. “Until then, just relax.”

            “I’m assuming you’ll be telling us about our next challenge,” Fenton said, getting right to business.

            “Yeah, I will. This next challenge is going to be like a scavenger hunt,” Hermes said. “Fun right?”

            “Whoooopeeee,” Negaduck said sarcastically. “What are we looking for?”

            “You’ll be looking for four pieces of a whole,” Hermes said mysteriously. “All four pieces can be found in the Underworld. To win the challenge, you must find them and put them together.”
            “How will we find these pieces?” Darkwing asked. “There’s got to be more to the challenge than that. Do we get any hints?”

            “Of course. It would be pretty silly letting four mortals scramble around the Underworld without giving them hints,” Hermes said with a laugh. “I don’t think Hades would like that. Oh, and that reminds me. Don’t let the big guy know. If he knew that Zeus sent you here on Aphrodite’s orders, he’d go ballistic.”

            “But I thought that all the gods were afraid of Aphrodite,” Negaduck said with a smirk. “She certainly has Zeus by the short hairs.”

            Hermes laughed at that. “Yeah, you’re right there. Aphrodite is a force to be reckoned with, but not everyone caves into her influence. Of the few gods and goddess that aren’t willing to do what Aphrodite asks, Hades is at the forefront.”

            “Because love can conquer all, even death,” Fenton said.

            “I couldn’t have said it better, my friend,” Hermes said with a wink. “Everyone thinks that life and death are opposites, but they’re just two sides of the same cycle. Love and death have always been at war with each other. Nothing stops love faster than death, and nothing can overcome death except love.”

            “If that’s the case, wouldn’t Hades help us? We’re not exactly on friendly terms with Aphrodite,” Darkwing wondered.

            “I wouldn’t bet on that. Aphrodite isn’t your opponent with these challenges. You’re her entertainment,” Hermes explained. “She’s allowing Zeus to oversee these challenges, but they’re really tests to prove if you’re worthy. If Hades knew she and Zeus had sent you here, he will do everything he could to prevent you from leaving.”

            The group fell silence for a few beats as that sunk in. Death was now in the mix.

            Before anyone could say more, a pin-prick of blue light appeared below them, getting bigger and bigger.

            “Looks like we’re making our approach to the Underworld,” Hermes said. “You might want to ask any questions now. Once we land, you’ll have only two hours to finish the challenge.”

            “You mentioned some hints,” Darkwing said, getting right to the point. “What are they? How are we supposed to find the four pieces of a whole? And what is this whole that you are talking about?”

            “Last question first,” Hermes said, pointing his staff at Darkwing. “But first, have you noticed that something isn’t quite right?”
            “Well, we’re falling. That doesn’t seem quite right,” Launchpad said. “Although, if we were in a plane, it would be more familiar to me.”

            “I mean with your group,” Hermes hinted. “Someone has been exceptionally quiet.”

            Darkwing furrowed his brows but Fenton’s thought process was quicker.

            “Charity!”

            Everyone looked to the female, who hadn’t spoken a word since they began falling. She appeared fine, almost peaceful. Her eyes were open, but other than her hair and feathers ruffling in the breeze, she wasn’t moving.

            Fenton, the closest, reached out and grabbed her hand, pulling her close. “Charity? Charity, can you hear me?” He felt her wrist for a pulse before looking for any other signs of life. “She’s alive but non-responsive.”

            “Is she okay?” Launchpad asked, making swimming motions to get closer.

            “I don’t know. I don’t know what’s wrong with her,” Fenton said, patting her cheek. “She—she was fine not long ago.”

            “What did you do to her?” Darkwing demanded of Hermes.

            “It’s nothing that I’ve done,” Hermes said with a smug smile. “It’s what the four of you have done. Her heart has been split four ways, making it weak. Aphrodite has hidden each piece somewhere in the Underworld, and it’s up to you to find them all and put them back together.”

            “What do you mean what we’ve done?” Fenton asked.

            Hermes laughed jovially. “What I meant to say is what the curse has done to her. Meeting and spending time with the four of you has increased the cracks in her heart until it was easy to quarter it. You couldn’t have known how much your charms would affect the young lady.”

            Both Fenton and Darkwing frowned.

            “Well, it looks as if I better slow you down or you’ll go splat,” Hermes said with a smile. His godly glow extended to the group, surrounding and slowing them down.

            The blue glow from below was now bright enough to show they were in a rocky cavern. The air was chilly and damp, enough so that they all wished they had warmer clothing. As the cavern opened up more, they found that the blue glow was emanating from an underground river of ethereal beauty.

            They felt much better once there was ground under their feet. Fenton had his arms around Charity, bearing her full weight, but Launchpad was quick to swoop her up in his arms, his face full of concern.

            “Welcome to Hades. The place, not the god. I know, it’s confusing. You have two hours. Oh, and before I forget…” Hermes dug into a pocket in his toga. “You’ll need these.”
            Darkwing took the offered gifts from Hermes: five gold coins, and a map of the Underworld that looked to be designed by an amusement park.

            “Good luck. I’ll wait here to take you back home. If you’re not back in two hours…” Hermes shrugged with a crooked smile. “There are other ways out of the Hades, but they’re not pretty.”

            “Let’s go,” Darkwing said, adjusting his hat. “Launchpad, do you want me to carry her?”

            “No, I’ll do it,” Launchpad insisted, looking uncharacteristically serious. “You guys should keep your hands free…just in case.”

            Darkwing scanned his friend with a discerning eye before nodding.

            Launchpad hefted Charity into a fireman’s carry, her head swaying limply. The large duck took the extra weight with no problems, the lovebird’s body looking almost childish in comparison. Most ducks looked childish compared to Launchpad.

            “Fenton, you know about Greek mythology, right?” Darkwing asked, remembering the tidbits of information he fed the group during the challenges.

            “Mostly, although I’m not so familiar with the Underworld. There’s not a lot of detail about it,” Fenton said.

            Darkwing handed the map over. “You know more than the rest of us. You take this.”

            Fenton accepted. He had an inkling how hard it was for Darkwing to delegate duties like this, especially to him. The masked hero had learned from their last challenge.

            “So, where to first?” Darkwing asked.

            Fenton unfolded the map, taking in the bright colors, the friendly letters naming each area and feature, and the cartoonish drawings of monsters and gods they may meet on their visit. Down in the left-hand bottom corner, there was a yellow circle with the words, “You are here.” Nearby, it had a cartoon of a cloaked figure in a boat with a schedule of departure times.

            Fenton looked at his phone. “Crap, we have to move,” he shouted, moving down what appeared to be carved stairs in the rock.

            “Why? What’s going on?” Darkwing asked on his heels, Launchpad and Negaduck taking the rear.

            “Charon’s boat is going to leave in three minutes. We have to be onboard,” Fenton explained, picking up the pace.

            As they rounded a corner, a dock came into view with a single boat at the end. The dock was crowded with bodies that were transparent and colorless. Fenton skidded to a halt at the edge of the crowd.

            “Excuse me. Please let us through,” he requested politely.

            But the people didn’t heed him. In fact, it was as if they made a more solidified wall despite being incorporeal.

            Fenton tried to push his way through, but only made it a few people deep before he found himself stuck. “A little help, please,” he called out, squashed.

            Launchpad, towering above most, waded in easily.

            “Thanks Launchpad. Where are the others?” Fenton asked, keeping close to the pilot.

            Launchpad looked for the brightly colored hats of his companions, the red one bobbing in the crowd, the purple one several feet away from the crowd.

            “Come on, DW. Let’s go,” Launchpad called out.

            “T-T-Those are…They’re…” Darkwing Duck stuttered, his eyes as large as they could get.

            “This is where the dead wait for the Ferryman to take them to Hades,” Fenton explained.

            “They’re ghosts!” Darkwing exclaimed.

            Fenton nodded. “Yes, they’re ghosts. What did you think we’d find in the Underworld?”

            Launchpad wondered, “Are you scared of ghosts, DW?”

            “No!” Darkwing immediately replied.

            “Then get over here. The boat is going to leave soon,” Fenton said.

            Darkwing made a false start before shirking back farther than before.

            “We don’t have time for this,” Fenton muttered. “Launchpad, go get Darkwing.”

            Launchpad obeyed, running to Darkwing, picking him up and setting him on his other shoulder. Even between Darkwing and Charity’s weight, he wasn’t overworked.

            As Launchpad waded back into the crowd, Darkwing pulled his feet up and wrapped his cape around himself.

            “If only Charity could see you now,” Fenton muttered to himself. “Okay, let’s go.” Again, he tried to lead the group through the crowd, but found moving through the ghosts to be difficult.

            “This is going to take forever,” Negaduck said. “Make way!” He pushed his way to the front, shoving and kicking anyone who didn’t move. “Quit being a couple of push-overs,” he said, creating a path for the group.

            “Have some respect,” Fenton said as he watched Negaduck shoulder a couple of women aside roughly. “These people are dead. They deserve some consideration.”

            Negaduck tilted his head in thought. “I considered it. Now get out of my way.” He kicked a few butts, knocking down a row of people and scattering some children. “Besides, they’re dead. They can’t feel any of this.” He laughed as he picked up a couple of ducks and tossed them as if he were a bouncer in a bar.

            “At least we’re making headway,” Darkwing muttered, although he didn’t like Negaduck’s tactics any more than Fenton.

            The three stayed in Negaduck’s wake as he led the group over the dock. Negaduck found personal satisfaction in knocking anyone into the blue river, although after the first few splashes, the ghosts receded away from the living.

            “That’s better,” Negaduck said with a smile.

            With the ghosts backing away, Darkwing jumped off Launchpad’s shoulder, although he kept a wary eye on the spirits.

            The boat looked to be similar to the gondolas that the flooded streets of Venice used as their primary modes of transportation. Long and shallow, there looked to be enough room for a dozen people although the boat was empty save for a man in a dark robe.

            “We wish to go across, Charon,” Fenton said to the robed figure.

            “Can you pay?” a smooth, deep voice asked.

            Fenton looked to Darkwing who had the coins Hermes gave him.

            “One coin per soul,” Charon said, holding out his hand.

            Unexpectedly, he had flesh. Fenton had always imagined him to be nothing but bones like the Grim Reaper.

            Darkwing handed over the five coins, each one clinking as they landed.

            Charon pocketed four of them and held one up. “You have overpaid,” he said.

            “But there are five of us,” Darkwing said.

            “Four souls. Four coins,” Charon said, giving the coin back to Darkwing.

            Fenton and Darkwing gave the limp body of Charity a worrying glance before they climbed into the boat, helping Launchpad so he wouldn’t fall in. Negaduck jumped in last, made his way to the front of the boat where he sat against the bow, tilted his hat over his eyes and appeared to take a nap.

            Launchpad looked to the large crowd of ghosts that were gathered around the dock, now encroaching to the edge since Negaduck wasn’t around. “What about them? There’s enough room for a few others.”

            Darkwing looked sick but didn’t say anything.

            “They cannot pay,” Charon said as he picked up his pole.

            “We still have one,” Launchpad said. “We could pay for one to come with us.” His eyes locked onto a couple of children.

            Fenton put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, Launchpad. Charon isn’t as cold as he appears. The Ferryman takes souls across to Hades even without pay, although sometimes he makes them wait a hundred years.”

            “Besides, we may need this coin,” Darkwing said. “Hermes gave us five for a reason. Although it isn’t enough to pay for our way back over the Styx.”

            Charon pushed the boat away from the dock, the lazy, blue river’s current carrying them at a crawl.

            “Actually, that’s a common misperception. This isn’t the Styx,” Fenton said. “This is the Acheron, the river of pain. It leads to the gates of the Underworld.”

            “River of pain. How apt,” Negaduck said with dark humor.

            “It’s good to hear someone who knows about our world,” Charon said as he pushed them through the water. “Most who come down here have not heard the old legends and weren’t given coins on their eyes at their funeral to pay the fee to cross the river.”

            “Well, this isn’t exactly a tourist attraction, is it?” Darkwing joked, looking better now that they were away from the ghosts. “I always wondered, what do you do with all that money? You must be richer than Scrooge McDuck.”

            “Shhhhh, don’t let him know that,” Fenton said, smiling. “He might get jealous.”

            Launchpad and Charon laughed together at the joke.

            “Oh, I’m a little different than Scrooge McDuck, although I look forward to the day when he gets into my ferry. He’s been putting off seeing me for a long time.” Charon’s voice was filled with humor. “As for my riches, I put them to good use. Going back and forth on the Acheron can become a little mundane, so I redecorate the tunnel regularly. I think you’ll enjoy this year’s attraction.”

            The large, open cavern was quickly diminishing to a tunnel, and the four mortals felt a sense of dread as the boat floated inside. A tinny, childish tune began, the rhythm light and cheery with a creepy overtone.

            Turning a corner, their eyes fell upon electrical lights shining on wooden, mechanical puppets that danced jerkily. Their little mouths opened up and sang:

It’s a world of despair

And a world of pain

It’s a world of death

And a world of shame

It’s okay to be scared

As long as you’re aware

You’re in the Underworld after all

It’s the Underworld after all.

It’s the Underworld after all.

It’s the Underworld after all.

It’s a small, Underworld

There’s no more moon

And no more sun

And your smile isn’t

Fooling anyone

Don’t be bereaved

‘Cause you never can leave

It’s the Underworld after all.

It’s the Underworld after all.

It’s the Underworld after all.

It’s the Underworld after all.

Don’t pet the dog.

            The puppets paused for a few beats before closing their mouths, the song stopping. Darkwing and Fenton gave a collective sigh of relief. Launchpad hummed the song a little.

            Then the music began again, the puppets moved along, this time singing the song in Spanish.

            Fenton paled.

            Darkwing stood up, getting ready to climb out of the boat.

            “Get down,” Fenton cried out, grabbing Darkwing’s cape. “That’s the river of pain.”

            “Anything to stop that music,” Darkwing insisted, struggling with Fenton before he was yanked to the floor.

            “Charity may not have a soul in her body, but she may still feel pain,” Fenton said.

            That placated the masked-duck but he covered his ears, looking at the puppets with a disturbed expression.

            The song was repeated in five other languages before they floated out of the tunnel and away from the dancing puppets, coming into a wider cavern. The river Acheron fed into a large lake edged with gray, desolate beaches. Not far beyond the beach spanned a grand gate of iron.

            As they arrived at the dock, Launchpad continued to hum the song they had left behind. “That was fun,” he said, exiting the boat with Charity still over one shoulder. “I’ll look forward to seeing it again when we go across.”

            Fenton and Darkwing groaned.

            Negaduck, disturbed by the boat knocking against the dock, stretched and yawned. “Are we there yet?” he asked, looking around blearily. He scratched his backside as he slowly exited the boat. His lazy actions quickly disappeared when he saw Charon pushing away from the dock. “Hey, get back here.”

            But Charon didn’t heed the duck.

            “It’s okay,” Fenton said, calming Negaduck. “He’ll be back. We just have to be back here in one hour and twenty minutes to get back in time.”
            “Then we don’t have any time to lose,” Darkwing said as he walked down the dock. “So, Fenton, do you have any idea where we need to go from here?”

            Fenton shook his head as he pulled the map out again. “Honestly, there’s not much to the Underworld. What I know of Greek myths, nothing stands out to me. The pieces of Charity’s heart could be anywhere.”

            “What’s your best guess?” Darkwing asked.

            “Well, first we should get through the gate. From what I remember, there are some monsters at the entrance. And, of course, Cerberus.”

            “And don’t pet the dog,” Launchpad sang, his timing perfect.

            Tromping over the beach to the gate, they could see several figures moving around on a set of stairs leading to the iron bars. Darkwing hesitated for a moment, but seeing that they weren’t ghosts, he continued.

            “Who are they?” Darkwing asked Fenton.

            “I’m not sure,” Fenton said, rubbing his head.

            There were eleven of them and were various in their appearance. Some were tall, some fat, all different species. When the group ascended the stairs, they clamored around them.

            “Would you like a souvenir?”

            “No, look at these little trinkets. The best in Hades.”

            “Check these out.”

            “Don’t look at that trash. This is what you need.”

            “These are to die for.”

            The ducks didn’t know what to think of the mob that accosted them by shoving cheap merchandise in their faces and barring their way.

            “No, thank you,” Fenton said, worming his way between a pair of pushy salesmen. “We’re in a hurry.”

            Negaduck pushed a robin away, growling as he stomped up the stairs. Launchpad followed, ogling the wares but was pushed forward by Darkwing so he couldn’t look too closely.

            “Too bad. I’m sure that we had something that you would cherish.”

            Darkwing suddenly had a feeling that they were leaving something behind. There was a pull inside him that told him to go back. “What did you say?” he asked, the words sticking in his mind. He turned to the mob, looking at each of them. “Who said that?”

            “Who said what?” a pig asked, holding out a box of jewelry.

            None of the faces gave anything away.

            “Hold up, guys,” Darkwing called to the others. “I…I think a piece of Charity’s heart is here.”

            “Among this trash?” Negaduck asked skeptically, gesturing to the cheap souvenirs.

            Fenton and Launchpad came up from either side of Darkwing as he scrutinized the group. “Who are all of you?”

            “We represent everything that souls leave behind when they enter the Underworld,” a tall, thin black stork said. “My name is Thanatos.”

            “Death,” Fenton said with a nod. “Because you can only die once.”

            “And you?” Darkwing asked the pig. “Who are you?”

            “My name is Limos.”

            Fenton tapped his head before saying, “Starvation?” He sounded uncertain.

            “And you?” Darkwing asked, pointing to another.

            “I am called Phobos,” a sparrow said.

            “Fear,” Darkwing was able to guess. He turned to Fenton. “What do you make of this?”

            Fenton shook his head. “I don’t know. Do you think a piece of Charity’s heart is here? How do you know?”

            “I just know,” Darkwing said. “I felt something.”

            “Then you must be the one who knows where it is,” Fenton said. “Can you…sense it?”

            Darkwing sighed. “I just know it’s here. I think one of them has it.”

            “And I don’t think they’re going to tell us,” Fenton said. “That would be too easy. This must be a puzzle of some sort. We have to guess who has it.”

            They questioned the rest of the group, finding out that Penthos, Nosoi, Geras, Aporia, Algea, and Hypnos represented Grief, Diseases, Old Age, Need, Agony, and Sleep. The last two, Curae and Gaudia, Fenton wasn’t certain who they were.

            “My Greek is a little rusty,” he said dryly. “And I don’t know how they relate to Charity’s heart.”

            “Maybe it has to do with the curse,” Darkwing wondered. “There’s agony, diseases, grief, and starvation that go with the bond.”

            “And sleep,” Fenton said. “She feels our fatigue.”

            Darkwing nodded, mentally separating those into a group.

            “Old age,” Negaduck said from where he leaned against the iron gates. This was the first he had participated in this conversation. “You can add that to your list.”

            “Right,” Darkwing said, giving Negaduck a nod. “That leaves Need, Fear, and the two we don’t know.”

            “Did fear also go through the bond?” Fenton asked.

            “I don’t think so. We were all pretty scared yesterday when…” Darkwing trailed off, glancing back at Negaduck.

            “Then does Fear have the piece of heart?”

            “You forgot Death,” Launchpad said, his voice serious. “Death doesn’t go through the bond either.”

            Launchpad was right. They had completely forgotten about Death in their list. Darkwing watched his friend, noticing that he seemed thoughtful.

            “If that’s true, then this line of questioning won’t work,” Fenton said. “Which one isn’t like the others?”

            “Are you doing okay there, buddy?” Darkwing asked Launchpad.

            “Huh?” Launchpad jerked his head up as if in thought. “Yeah. It’s just…this adventure is a little confusing. And I don’t like what it’s doing to Charity.”

            Darkwing remembered that Launchpad was still in the dark about being part of the curse. It always amazed him how loyal and trusting the pilot was with his friends. He disliked that Charity wanted to keep this secret from her friend, but that was her decision.

            “You’re a good friend, LP,” Darkwing said, patting his arm. “You keep Charity safe. I don’t know what we’re going to run into, but I know I can trust her to you.”

            Launchpad’s spine straightened, and he smiled. “You can count on me, DW.”

            “I got it,” Fenton said. “I just remembered. They’re all from Dante’s Inferno.”

            Darkwing and Launchpad moved closer for an explanation.

            “I don’t remember much. I only skimmed it, but Curae is Anxiety. And Gaudia is…Happy Sins?”

            “Happy Sins? What does that mean?” Darkwing asked.

            “I don’t know. I read it in its original Italian since it’s close enough to Spanish, so I may be translating wrong. And it’s been a while.”

            “So, who is it? What’s the connection?”

            “I don’t know,” Fenton cried out in frustration. “I don’t even know if Charity’s heart piece is even here. You felt it, not me, so you should be the one figuring this out.”

            But Darkwing was just in the dark about it. And they were wasting time. “Death, Starvation, Agony, Sleep, Anxiety, Happy Sins, Old Age, Ne—“ He stopped listing the names, his brain latching onto something. “Happy Sins? Could that also be Guilty Pleasures?”

            “I don’t think so. That sounds too modern of a translation,” Fenton criticized.

            “But it means the same thing, right?” Darkwing said. He recalled what Charity had said on the plane coming to Ithaquack. It couldn’t have been a coincidence. This heart piece had been made for him. He was the only one who knew.

            He turned to Gaudia and held out his hand. “I think you have a souvenir for me.”

            The magpie, who was Gaudia, smiled and handed over a rectangle keychain that held a picture within the resin. “Something to help you remember your visit.” It was the same voice that made him turn around.

            He looked at the keychain, noting that the picture inside was the cover that was featured on Charity’s fanfic. It had been her guilty pleasure.

            “We found one piece,” Darkwing told the others, smiling.

            “Good. That means we a little over an hour to find the others,” Fenton said, checking his phone. “Let’s get going.” This time, the scientist took the lead. As he walked up to the iron gates to Hades, they squeaked open.

            Darkwing glanced at the keychain, smirking at the memory of him and Charity bantering, how they had wrestled for his phone. When he glanced up, he saw Charity looking straight at him, her eyes no longer blank, staring at him with a mischievous twinkle. After a few seconds, her body became limp again, her eyes containing no intelligence.

            “Charity? Charity?” Darkwing called, shaking her shoulder.

            “Is she okay?” Launchpad asked, stopping.

            “She…she moved,” Darkwing told him. “It must because we have one of the pieces of her heart.”

            “Then she’s going to be okay? We’re going to find all of them, and she’ll be back to normal?” Launchpad said, sounding worried despite his reassuring words. It was as if he wasn’t certain they would make it.

            “We will,” Darkwing said.

            Fenton also looked worried, but he was holding out the map. “Keep your eyes peeled. The map shows that there are monsters ahead.”

Chapter Text

Twisted Strings of Fate

Chapter 21

            Death is the only place the curse cannot follow me. Pain does not exist there. And I wonder if I’m better off with Death.

***

            “Keep your eyes peeled. The map shows that there are monsters ahead.” Fenton tucked the map away as they crossed the threshold into the Underworld.

            The gate opened up into a large tunnel. A mist flowed languidly in the cool air, damping the light that was emitted by flames dancing in several shallow, wide dishes that made a line into the tunnel. The farther inside they moved, the more shadows darted and dashed beyond the mist.

            “Did the map show exactly which monsters we should encounter?” Darkwing asked, remembering the cartoon drawings he had seen.

            “There will be some gorgons, centaurs, Cerberus and the Chimera at least,” Fenton replied.

            “That…doesn’t sound good,” Launchpad said, tightening his grip on Charity in case they needed to run.

            “Gorgons? Like Medusa?” Darkwing said, remembering a bit of Greek mythology.

            “Like Medusa. Try not to look in their eyes,” Fenton said.

            Negaduck swore under his breath.

            A growl emanated from the mist, a set of eyes glowing red. A second pair appeared on the right, then another on the left. As the shadow grew bigger, they could pick out the shape of a giant lion’s muzzle, the horns of a goat, and a long, serpent’s head with flickering tongue.

            “The Chimera,” Fenton whispered, taking a step back.

            Darkwing Duck pulled out his gas gun, aiming it at the monster, not certain if it would do any good.

            From underneath the Chimera, a pair of headlights blinked on, shining in their eyes. Honking, a strange vehicle burst out of the mists and skidded to a halt in a U-turn. The vehicle looked like a long golf cart with several rows of benches and no doors. In the front seat at the wheel was a female dog with sharp pointed ears and a wolfish grin on her face.

            “Come with me if you want to live,” she said in a false, deep voice.

            The group looked at the Chimera then at the stranger and decided on the safer choice. They climbed in, Fenton taking the front next to the driver, Darkwing and Launchpad right behind them, and Negaduck in the back.

            “Go! Go!” Darkwing shouted, his eyes locked on the Chimera as the lion’s head bowed down with jaws wide open.

            Just before fangs latched onto the vehicle, the tires dug into the rocky terrain and peeled out, zig-zagging in and around the four large paws and dodging the snake-head tail that pursued them. But as they escaped that monster, several more appeared. Their driver swerved this way and that, hitting a female duck with snakes in her hair and disturbing a flock of harpies.

            “Get out of the way, ya old nags!” their driver shouted, honking and shaking her fist as three centaurs galloped alongside them, spears in hand.

            The group dodged the pointed weapons as the centaurs tried to skewer them, but soon the vehicle left the hooved creatures in its dust, the seats worse for wear with several tears in the plastic and stuffing bursting out.

            “Well, that’s the worst of them,” their driver said with a laugh. “You’re safe now.”

            Fenton shook his head. “What about Cerberus?”
            The driver ignored the question, relaxing in her seat and driving with only one hand. “Yep, it’s a good thing I came when I did or you would have been Chimera chow. Now, where can I take ya?”

            “Who are you?” Darkwing asked suspiciously.

            “Just think of me as your friendly Underworld tour guide,” was all she said. “I’m here to take you where you desire.”

            “Why do you want to help us?” Negaduck asked just as suspiciously.

            “Let’s just say that you and I have a mutual friend,” the driver said. “She’s very interested in seeing you succeed in this challenge.”

            Fenton glanced back at Darkwing who mouthed the name, “Aphrodite?” But Fenton shook his head. That didn’t make sense. Just as he was turning around, the mist cleared and revealed three very big, black noses.

            “Ahhhh!” he shouted, pointing.

            The driver slammed on the breaks. Everyone lurched forward. Even Charity slipped out of Launchpad’s grip, landing in the front seat in a crumpled heap.

            “Sorry about that,” the driver said with a laugh.

            “Cerberus!” Fenton shouted.

            “Don’t pet the dog!” Launchpad yelled along with him.

            “Oh, him. Don’t worry,” the driver said, getting out of the vehicle.

            Cerberus gave three long, high whines.

            “I have a way with dogs,” the driver said, petting all three muzzles in turn. “Away with you, silly doggo.”

            Cerberus bounded away, causing a mini-earthquake that rocked the vehicle disconcertingly.

            “Cerberus won’t bother you, at least until you try to leave. He’s trained to keep people in, not out. Now, have you decided where it is you want to go?” the driver said with a smile, climbing back into the vehicle.

            “You’re Hecate,” Fenton said, realizing who the goddess was.

            “Bingo,” Hecate said with a wink. “The Goddess of Crossroads, at your service. I’ll take you where you want to go, but I can’t make the decision for you.”

            Fenton pulled out the map. The “You Are Here” sign had moved to the cartoon drawing of Cerberus in the middle of the map.

            “How about if we go see that castle?” Launchpad asked, pointing beyond where Cerberus was frolicking with a bone that must have belonged to a dinosaur. “Can we go see that? Charity loves castles.”

            Hecate sucked in a breath through her teeth. “I don’t think you want to go there. That’s where Hades lives.”
            Darkwing shook his head. “Yeah, I think we should avoid the castle.”

            But Fenton gazed at the castle, feeling an inclination that that was exactly where they should go. “One of the heart pieces is there.”

            “What? No, you have to be mistaken,” Hecate said. “Why would she…send you there?” She looked deep in thought. “But then again… Okay, if you that’s where you want to go, who am I to question your choices.” She put the vehicle in gear and drove off, going down a twisted path that led to the castle.

            “Are you sure?” Darkwing asked Fenton, leaning forward.

            “I think so,” Fenton said. That was when he realized that Charity’s body still lay draped in the front seat, looking none-too-comfortable. “I think you forgot something, Launchpad.” He pointed at the body.

            “Whoops,” Launchpad said, his eyebrows leaped up to his hairline. “I completely forgot about her.”

            All three of them exchanged sheepish glances that Cerberus had scared them so much they had neglected their duties. Negaduck snickered.

            The castle that loomed before them was all towers and sharp points, jagged lines and crooked roofs. It was made of a darker, gloomier gray than the rest of the Underworld. They were almost to the front door when Hecate stopped short just before crashing into a line of ghosts.

            Darkwing ducked to the ground.

            “You’ll have to hoof it from here,” Hecate said. “It looks like Hades is taking requests, so he may be too busy to notice you sneaking around.”

            “Taking requests?” Launchpad repeated, exiting the vehicle with Charity over his shoulder.

            “Yeah. He doesn’t exactly have the best rep, you know, due to popular culture,” Hecate said, whispering as if Hades was nearby. “So he listens to some of the suggestions the dead have to improve the Underworld. You wouldn’t believe how many complaints Charon has had against him.”

            “I can believe it,” Darkwing muttered.

            “Well, good luck to you,” Hecate said with a salute. “Although if you want, you can leave your chick with me. I’ll keep her safe.”

            Launchpad looked uncertain about the suggestion, but when Fenton and Darkwing gave him nods, he set Charity down in a seat carefully.

            Hecate had already pulled out her phone and was playing a game as they walked toward the crowd.

            “Maybe we should leave the scaredy-cat behind as well,” Negaduck laughed, hitting Darkwing’s head as he passed the hero.

            Darkwing ground his teeth together, screwing up his face with determination. He took a few steps into the crowd before springing away. “You know, maybe I should stay with Charity. Just in case.”

            “Really?” Negaduck shook his head. “Imagine, my legacy being passed down to that pussy.”

            Darkwing’s face turned red at the insult, but it wasn’t enough for him to get over his fear.

            “We can’t waste any more time,” Fenton said. “Darkwing, if you can’t come with us, then you stay behind. It might be a good idea not to leave Charity alone. You’re the only one with a piece of her heart. We can’t risk losing it either.”

            “Yeah, good idea,” Darkwing said. “I’ll keep Charity’s heart safe.”

            Fenton rolled his eyes and pushed his way through the crowd. However, he didn’t get far before the ghosts shoved him back. This was vaguely familiar. In fact, it seemed to be the story of his life, an endless struggle.

            “I think I may have preferred the scaredy-cat. Quit being such a push-over,” Negaduck said, coming up next to him.

            “Why do I either have to be pushy or a push-over?” Fenton said to himself, envying Negaduck—who made a lot of headway as the ghosts realized he wasn’t someone to mess with—and Launchpad—who was big enough that everyone stepped aside for him. “Why can’t everyone just be polite?”

            He struggled and wiggled through the crowd, saying, “Pardon me” and “Excuse me.” Several ghosts gave him dirty looks and whispered impolite things.

            “No cutting in line,” one growled at him, a bear that rivaled even Launchpad’s height.

            “I’m not. I don’t even want to see Hades,” Fenton said with a sigh. “I just need to follow my fri—“ He stopped mid-sentence as the crowd pushed, slamming him against a waist-high wall, squishing his lower half.

            His eyes widened as the scene seemed to change for a few seconds into a restaurant with people sitting at tables, but then disappeared. He got a sense of déjà vu. “This is…Hey, Launchpad!” he called out.

            The large duck turned around and backtracked, Negaduck following.

            “I think we’re supposed to go this way,” Fenton said, hopping the wall. Beyond it was a dark hallway.

            “Where does it go?” Launchpad asked.

            “I don’t know. Somewhere else in the castle,” Fenton speculated. “I just know that Charity’s heart piece is this way.”

            Just as he said that, a rectangle of paper floated by, heading down the hallway. It was the size of a business card. Fenton reached out to grab it, but it always kept out of reach.

            “Come on,” Fenton called, his eyes only on the business card.

            They followed the hallway, noticing that while there was no light source the hallway was always lit. In regards to decoration, the walls and floor were bare, showing only carved stone. They turned several corners before coming to a set of doors. The business card slipped underneath.

            Fenton knew for certainty that Charity’s heart piece was on the other side of those doors. He opened them.

            On the other side was the very definition of a cozy, warm and modern family room. A crackling fire danced in a hearth with a wooden mantle above it. Knick-knacks, framed photos and ceramic statues adorned it with a large painting of a duck couple hanging on the wall. There was a TV, a couch, rugs, end tables, lamps, and a coffee table. It was what anyone would want from a home.

            Sitting in an armchair that matched the couches was a petite, short green duck with wispy white hair cascading almost to the floor. She was the female duck from the painting. She smiled at her guests.

            “Welcome,” she said. She obviously had been expecting them.

            “Persephone, Queen of the Underworld, I presume,” Fenton said, feeling at ease with such a setting. It was startling after the dark and gloomy castle.

            “Fenton, Launchpad, Jim, please make yourself at home,” Persephone said, gesturing to the couch. She smiled warmly.

            They obeyed, sitting on the long couch with Fenton in the middle. The coffee table sat between them and Persephone. On the oak wood was some food: a bowl of chips, a plate of cookies, a bowl of fruit and a pitcher of lemonade with four glasses next to it.

            Launchpad reached out to partake of the snacks, recoiling when Fenton slapped his hand.

            “Eating anything in the Underworld has dire consequences,” Fenton explained quickly. “Sorry.”

            Launchpad gazed down at the snacks sorrowfully.

            Persephone smiled. “Excuse the trick, but I always have to try. I get a little lonely sometimes, and it would be nice to have someone living around.”

            “Your husband might not like it if we stayed,” Fenton said, trying to figure out Persephone’s intention and where Charity’s heart piece was.

            “Hades has dominion over the dead. He has no power over the living,” Persephone said. “That’s more my area.”

            “I’m sorry that you are lonely, but you must know that our quest won’t allow us to linger long,” Fenton said. “We don’t have much time, so I’ll be blunt. Do you know where Charity’s heart piece is?”

            Persephone held out her hand. Between two fingers was the business card. “She still had it in her pocket, did you know? After all you’ve been through, it wouldn’t have been necessary. But she kept it anyway.”

            Instantly, Fenton knew the business card must contain Charity’s heart piece. “I don’t suppose if I asked nicely, you would hand it over?”

            With a flick of her fingers, the card disappeared. “I wish it could be that easy, but then you wouldn’t learn anything.”

            “What is it that I’m supposed to learn?”

            Persephone reached over to the bowl of fruit and picked up the blood-red pomegranate that sat on top. “You know the story of how I became the Queen of the Underworld?” Her fingernails bit into the fruit’s skin and she tore it apart. Juice sprayed in a gentle mist.

            “I’ll skip over the details, but basically Hades fell in love with you and abducted you,” Fenton said, his eyes on the fruit as Persephone carefully picked out individual jewels. “Your mother, Demeter, was so distraught that she neglected her duty and let all the plants on Earth die. Zeus then told Hades to return you back to her mother. But before he did, Hades tricked you into eating some food from the Underworld so you had to return.”

            “A somewhat bias account,” Persephone said, putting another jewel on the coffee table. “It was specifically six seeds of a pomegranate so that I would remain with Hades for six months of the year and six months with my mother.” She added another to the row of pomegranate jewels, making a total of six. “We have a lot in common, Fenton. We both have dominant, overbearing mothers, we live in two different worlds, and we all-too-often let things happen to us.”

            Fenton looked at the round pieces of fruit, knowing each one contained a seed within the flesh. “If I’m reading the situation right, you’re asking me to give up six months of my life each year in exchange for Charity’s heart piece.”

            Persephone nodded. “Six months with me during the fall and winter, six months in the mortal realm in the spring and summer.”

            “You’re not asking for something simple,” Fenton said with a sigh, leaning forward and putting his elbows on his knees. He clasped his hands. “You’re asking me to give up being Gizmoduck, being a scientist and be away from my friends and family for six months.”

            “I know,” Persephone said. “Six months away from your life. I’m not asking you to sacrifice anything that I haven’t already given up.”

            “And if I don’t accept, I’m sacrificing my morality. I’m sacrificing Charity’s soul and any chance for her to break her curse,” Fenton said. “I wouldn’t be a hero if I did that.” In one swift sweep of his hand, he scooped up the pomegranate jewels and popped them in his mouth, swallowing without chewing or tasting them.

            Persephone’s eyes widened. “Nobody has ever made the decision that quickly,” she whispered. Then she smiled. “You truly are a hero.”

            “I’m sorry, Mamá,” Fenton whispered. He hoped that she would understand why he had done it.

            “I’m satisfied. I knew I picked the right one,” Persephone said, taking Fenton’s hands and sliding the business card into them. “And for the record, Hades didn’t trick me into eating the pomegranate seeds. I chose to eat them.”

            Fenton looked down at the card, a warmth spreading through him. It felt as if he were holding a heartbeat between his fingers.

            “Are you regretting the price?” Persephone asked.

            Fenton shook his head, enclosing his hand over the card. “No.”

            “And I never have either. Charity is a lucky girl to have you in her life. If only I could say the same thing,” Persephone said, a mischievous smile on her beak.

            “But you do. I’ll—”

            Persephone laughed, interrupting Fenton. “Another trick, I’m afraid. Do you think that I keep Underworld food to eat? I’d never be able to leave.”

            Fenton blinked.

            “This pomegranate is from my mother’s garden. She knows they are my favorites,” Persephone said, putting a few jewels in her mouth. “My husband would never have forced me to remain in the Underworld, just as I would never force anyone to stay and be my friend. Life and Death are fair but never cruel.”

            “Then…”

            “You’re free to go. Although I hope that you will come and visit. And don’t wait until you’re dead to do it.” Persephone grinned.

            “About time,” Negaduck said, slapping his knees and standing up. “I didn’t think I could stand listening to this dribble a second longer. Let’s go.”

            Launchpad stood up, his mouth and hands filled with the snacks from the coffee table. “What?” he asked when Fenton stared at him. “She said they weren’t from the Underworld. It’s safe.”

            Persephone giggled, inviting him to take a few more cookies. “Oh, and before you go,” she said, snagging Fenton shoulder. “It was not a lie when I said we are much alike. I regret not following my heart long ago when I first fell in love with Hades. I waited centuries before he finally courted me and took me away from my mother’s iron-clad wing. Don’t let the same thing happen to you.”

            “But my mamá—”

            “I’m not talking about your mother,” Persephone jumped in. “I’m talking about everyone in your life that you allow to dictate your life’s direction. Do yourself a favor: find out what you want and don’t let anything get in your way. Don’t let people with big personalities stop you from perusing the heart of any matter.”

            Fenton looked down at the business card, his brows furrowing. “I can’t. Not only am I uncertain of my feelings, but I can’t be certain of hers. If I try to win her heart, it’s just going to be too confusing for us before and after the curse is broken.”

            “I’m not telling you to win her heart,” Persephone said gently. “But you can at least explore if this is something you want. And when you do know, you need to make sure she knows about your feelings. If you keep things bottled inside, how is she supposed to know how you feel once the curse is broken?”

            “I just don’t want to hurt her,” Fenton said.

            “She’s already hurting,” Persephone said. “Unrequited love breaks more hearts than betrayal does.”

            Fenton cupped the business card fondly before his expression changed to that of realization. He looked at Persephone.
            “Hurry. You don’t have much time,” the goddess said, making a shooing gesture.

            Fenton broke into a jog, pulling Launchpad and Negaduck with him. He was so concerned by the idea that Persephone put in his head that he barely noticed how he easily pushed through the crowd of ghosts on the way back.

            Darkwing crouched on top of the vehicle’s roof, looking like a gargoyle on a gothic cathedral with his cape draped around him like bat wings. The second he spotted the three exiting the crowd of ghosts, he jumped off.

            “Get in,” Fenton shouted.

            “Is everything okay?” Darkwing asked, looking concerned as he jumped into the front seat next to Hecate. “Did you find the heart piece?”

            “Everything is fine. I’ve got it,” Fenton said. “Get us out of here, Hacate.”

            “What’s the hurry?” the goddess asked. “Did Hades spot you?”

            “No. I just know where we’re going next,” Fenton said.

            Hecate performed a three-point turn on the crooked path, the wheels getting dangerously close to falling off the cliff into the dark abyss below. “Where to?”

            “The Mourning Fields on the double,” Fenton said, glancing at Charity. “We have less than thirty minutes before we need to be back at the docks.”

            “Why the Mourning Fields?” Darkwing asked, hooking an arm over his seat to talk to Fenton.

            “It’s one of the resting places for the dead,” Fenton explained, his tone turning to lecture-mode. “Elysium is where those who curry favor with the gods and heroes go to rest, Tartarus is where the really, really bad people go, and the Asphodel Meadows is where a majority of the souls are sent. As for the Mourning Fields, it’s a place where souls go who have wasted their lives away with unrequited love. I think Persephone gave me a hint that we’re to go there next.”

            “Ah, so that’s who had the heart piece,” Hecate said with a nod. “Our mutual friend.”

            Fenton looked down at the card he kept tight in his hand. Mutual friend indeed. He had a feeling that Persephone sent Hecate just so that she could meet him.

            There was pressure against his other hand. He looked over, seeing the limp body of Charity leaning against Launchpad, staring off into space. Her hand was squeezing his.

            He squeezed right back.

            Hecate drove like a maniac. They didn’t run into any monsters but there were crowds of ghosts wandering all over, which distressed Darkwing. He kept shouting at Hecate to avoid them, to which the goddess aimed for the spirits. The ghosts only vanished in a puff of mist when the vehicle ran through them, rematerializing and shaking a fist behind them.

            “Quit passenger-seat driving,” Hecate told Darkwing with a grin. “I’m not gonna kill ya.”

            “That’s comforting,” Negaduck snickered from the back.

            Once away from the castle, the road became straight, heading toward the far side of the large cavern where four tunnel mouths lined against the wall. Before the path split, there was a tollbooth.

            Hecate screeched to a stop before crashing into the tollbooth gate.

            Three men, a bull, an owl and a duck poked their heads out of three separate windows.

            “Hecate! What brings you to our neck of the woods?” the bull asked, tipping his hat.

            “I’m just showing a couple of Persephone’s guests around,” Hecate said conversationally.

            The owl adjusted his glasses while scrutinizing her passengers. “They’re looking a little livelier than the usual crowd. It’s going to be a little harder to judge their souls.”

            “They’re not staying,” Hecate said.

            “You know the rules,” the duck said. “Souls check in but they don’t check out.”

            “Then don’t check them in,” Hecate said sternly.

            “Hades won’t like that,” the bull said. He spat on the ground. “He’s still steaming about Orpheus.”

            “Like I said, these are guests of Persephone,” Hecate said. “If you don’t tell Hades, he doesn’t have to know.”

            “Alright, Hecate. But you owe me one,” the bull said, waving her through as the gate opened. “And there better not be any extra passengers when you come back.”

            “Thanks,” Hecate said, saluting the three tollbooth attendants.

            “Who are they?” Launchpad asked.

            “Minos, Rhadamanthus, and Aeacus. They judge the souls that enter the Underworld to determine where they should go,” Hacate explained.

            The vehicle moved toward the four-way split, signs pointing down each path. Hecate turned toward the one that read “Fields of Mourning.” She stopped at the mouth of the tunnel.

            “This is as far as I go,” Hecate said. “Good luck.”

            Darkwing, Fenton and Negaduck exited the vehicle. Realizing they were one short, Darkwing turned back to look at Launchpad who remained at Charity’s side.

            “Are you coming?” the masked duck asked.

            “Naw. I’ll wait with Charity on this one,” Launchpad said with a smile, waving at them.

            “Are you sure? You don’t feel as if Charity’s heart piece is here?” Fenton asked.

            Launchpad shook his head.

            Darkwing and Fenton turned to Negaduck.

            “What?” the villain snorted. “Oh, you mean it’s my turn to have a mushy moment. Blah.” He stomped into the tunnel, grumbling.

            Darkwing and Fenton looked back at Launchpad before following.

            The tunnel was short, only about twenty feet before it opened up into a misty field. The damp, cave-like feel of the Underworld disappeared to be replaced by grass and flowers growing on small, rolling hills. Trees and rocks dotted the landscape. It would have been a cheerful place except there was no sun and everything was in gray, muted colors.

            A low, haunting wail drifted on the air, rising in pitch before falling silent. Following that, there was the sound of a woman sobbing. All around them, they could hear one person’s sorrows after another. Both Fenton and Darkwing felt an ach in their hearts as empathy overwhelmed them.

            “Charity is here?” Darkwing asked, looking worried.

            “A part of her is,” Fenton said. He turned to Negaduck. “Which way do we go?”

            “How should I know?” Negaduck growled, crossing his arms.

            “Both Darkwing and I felt a piece of Charity’s heart,” Fenton said. “I doubt she suffers from unrequited love from Launchpad, so this one is on you.”

            “I never asked for this,” Negaduck shouted.

            “Neither did she,” Fenton defended. “I know you feel something. Which way?”
            Negaduck pouted for a few seconds before picking a direction. He led the way reluctantly, but after a minute, he changed directions, his steps with more purpose. After going over and around several hills, he stopped.

            In a small valley knelt a familiar figure, her long, curly hair cascading down her back. Her hands were braced against the ground, her figure hunched.

            “Charity!”

            Darkwing and Fenton raced over to her, although the former shirked back when he realized she looked like the ghosts they encountered. He bravely came forward, putting a hand on her shoulder. His hand went right through her.

            “It’s only part of her soul,” Fenton said, looking into Charity’s face.

            The lovebird’s eyes were wide-open, her face twisted in sorrow. Her eyes steadily dripped tears like a leaky faucet, creating a puddle on the ground.

            “Charity!” Darkwing called, his eyes darting around. “How do we get her heart piece? What are we supposed to do?”

            “We’re not supposed to do anything?” Fenton said, his head turning to Negaduck, who hadn’t come any more forward. “He’s the one that has to get it.”

            Negaduck huffed, his teeth bared. “How?” he growled. He felt his past and his present selves warring within him. It had been a long time since he felt the pull of Jim Starling at his mind.

            “I don’t know,” Fenton said. “What do you feel? Do you have any connection to Charity?”

            “No!” Negaduck yelled immediately. “She means nothing to me.”

            “What about Launchpad?” Darkwing asked, his back to Negaduck. “Does he mean nothing to you? Or your other fans?”
            Negaduck sneered. “I don’t care about anyone.”

            “That’s not true,” Darkwing said, turning around. “You pushed Launchpad out of the way before the ceiling caved in. Remember?”

            Negaduck looked away.

            “You do care about your fans. That’s why you kept going to all those appearances,” Darkwing said. “I was there. Even as the crowds dwindled year after year, you kept coming even though you weren’t making that much money. You kept writing Darkwing Duck books, even using your own funds to publish them. You can’t tell me you didn’t do that for your fans.”

            Negaduck lowered the brim of his hat, covering his expression.

            Darkwing grabbed Negaduck’s coat. “I’ve seen how she looks at you. As much as I hate to admit it, she loves you. She’s been a fan of Darkwing Duck since she was a kid, and not once has Darkwing Duck let her down.”

            “You’re Darkwi—“

            “No, I’m not. Darkwing Duck connects us to her. He’s more than the two of us,” Darkwing said. “And as much as I want to be the Darkwing Duck that saves her, that’s not my call. It’s you that needs to get that heart piece. And if you don’t, you’re going to let down one of your biggest fans.”

            Negaduck looked back at Charity’s broken soul crying on the ground. He bared his teeth before giving out a short yell. Grabbing Darkwing, Negaduck pulled his counterpart to a large, oak tree, pushing him against the trunk.

            “Take off your clothes,” he shouted as if he were mugging Darkwing.

            “What?” Darkwing cried out, confused and horrified.

            “I can’t be Darkwing looking like this,” Negaduck sneered. “And your…whatever that is…is the best we’ve got.” He looked disapprovingly at the skin-tight costume that Darkwing wore.

            Quickly, they exchanged costumes, Drake wearing the red and yellow tattered costume since there wasn’t an alternative, although he refused to put the mask and hat on. As for the cape, his old one lay in a heap. He was about to give it to Negaduck, but when he turned around, Starling was gone.

***

            The oak tree was perfect. Although it had been years since he had done such a stunt, everything came back to him like riding a bike.

            He hated how the spandex felt against his feathers. He missed his old costume. A jacket and turtleneck was much more comfortable. At least he didn’t take the cape. The black and red didn’t go well with the rest of the costume, but he needed his old cape.

            Finding a branch with the right height, he settled in a crouch, taking his time to keep his balance. Oh yeah, it’s definitely been too long since he’d done something like this. And a part of him missed it.

            Shaking away that thought, he reached into the belt and pulled out some smoke pellets. That imposter had even gotten the belt right with the same compartment and latches that were used in the TV show.

            Throwing the smoke pellets against the tree, Negaduck…no, that wasn’t his name for the moment…Darkwing Duck stood up, spreading his cape.

            “I am the terror that flaps in the night,” he said, the words flowing smoothly off his tongue. “I am the telemarketer that calls you at dinner time. I am Darkwing Duck.” The smoke cleared with perfect timing, revealing him to the audience.

            He almost forgot that his audience was only the imposter and the skinny smart guy. But then he saw the shining eyes of the girl—her soul—looking at him, finally moving from her place of grieving.

            Snapping his cape and engaging the strong wires build into the fabric, Darkwing Duck jumped off the tree, floating to the ground in a perfect, controlled glide right in front of Charity.

            “He did it!” the imposter exclaimed, looking dumbfounded. “How did he do it?”

            Darkwing Duck couldn’t help but smile. Even at his age, he knew how to make an entrance.

            The girl was on her feet, her face full of awe for him.

            He posed just as he did on stage for hundreds of conventions and autograph sessions. “Let’s get dangerous,” he said. Even after all this time, that phrase never got old.

            “Darkwing Duck,” Charity breathed, looking up at him in adoration.

            His memories before waking up on Ithaquack were fuzzy. His hatred and anger lingered with clarity for the imposter, but he recalled moments when the face before him had been filled with terror and worry. It was odd to think that she could still love him after all he had done.

            There was a sliver of remorse for what he had done because he hadn’t meant for Charity to be involved in his revenge. He had let wrath blind him to everything but his ultimate goal, the ends justifying the means. But now…did he want to be the kind of person who used a girl to hurt his enemy?

            He glanced at the imposter, the bare face of the actor who stole his role. He had only eyes for the girl. It was obvious that he cared for her.

            Darkwing Duck turned his attention back to the girl. Yes, he would use the girl to hurt his enemy, but there had to be boundaries. He was a monster, but even he had to have principles.

            Casting a sneaky smile over his shoulder just to make sure his audience was watching, Darkwing Duck swooped to Charity, wrapping her in his arms and dipping her over his knee. He heard her squeak in surprise before he covered her beak with his own.

            As he felt the lovebird respond to his kiss, he almost shut out the entire world, almost missed hearing the two watching the altercation protest his actions. Being Darkwing Duck wasn’t the only thing he hadn’t forgotten how to do. How long had it been since he had kissed a woman? Held someone in his arms? Had someone hold him back? The last few years were a blur, obsession and depression tilting his grasp on reality back and forth.

            Who was he really? Who did he want to be? Jim Starling or Negaduck? In that moment, he was neither. He was Darkwing Duck.

            He broke the embrace, his thoughts tumultuous. Kissing Charity for revenge wasn’t something that Darkwing Duck would do. Nor would Jim Starling. But Negaduck would.

            His mood darkened once more as he grasped on his chosen name.

            And Charity vanished in his arms, leaving behind a photograph on the ground. He picked it up. It was of a younger Jim Starling standing next to a teenage Charity, both smiling. By the background, they had been at a convention.

            He had met her before, but he couldn’t remember that day. Yet she probably cherished this photo with him all this time.

            Negaduck ripped off the purple mask and hat, disgusted with himself, but for what? For kissing her? Or for posing as Darkwing Duck to do it? Stomping toward the imposter, he threw the mask and hat to the ground and shoved the photo in his chest. “Here!” he shouted before racing away. He had to get out of there. He couldn’t stand the wailings and sobbings of the other residents of the fields.

***

            Launchpad paced around the vehicle after the others left, every once in a while glancing at Charity.

            Hecate watched him, one arm resting on her seat, the other on the steering wheel. “If you keep that up, you’ll wear a hole to China,” she joked.

            Launchpad rubbed the back of his head. “Sorry. I guess I’m a little nervous,” he said with a half-smile.

            “It’s okay. The living shouldn’t feel comfortable among the dead,” Hecate said.

            Launchpad faced Hecate. “It’s not that. I just…I’m not sure about a lot of things,” Launchpad said. “There’s a lot going on in my head, and it’s not letting me rest.”

            Hecate nodded. “You know, it’s best to unload on a stranger when you have a full head. I can be your sympathetic ear.”

            Launchpad smiled and sat in the seat next to Charity’s limp body. “It’s this challenge. I guess I should be really excited about being with Darkwing Duck and Gizmoduck—even though he’s not in his suit—and with Jim Starling—even though he tried to kill me yesterday, but I forgive him—and with my best friend Charity. I just wish that I could talk to her right now.”

            “What would you say to her if you could?” Hecate asked.

            “I don’t know.”

            “Yes, you do.”

            Launchpad sighed. “It’s just…I don’t understand some things about this curse. It’s confusing me. I’m glad that I can help and that I get to be with her, but…”

            “You think she’s hiding something from you,” Hecate finished for him.

            “We’ve never kept secrets before, but then I found out she’s been lying to me this whole time,” Launchpad said, scratching his neck. “I didn’t like how that felt.”

            “Betrayed.”

            “No. She had her reasons. But I wish she could have been honest with me from the start. And now, things feel different.”
            “She’s been spending time with Darkwing and Fenton,” Hecate said. “She’s making new friends. She’s having her own adventures. She’s seeing the world. Does that bother you?”

            Launchpad frowned. “It shouldn’t. But she’s changing.”

            “She’s growing,” Hecate corrected gently. “And so are you.”

            “I don’t like it,” Launchpad said, sounding a little angry. “It feels like we’re growing apart.”

            “Is that really fair?” Hecate asked. “After all, you’re the one who left her behind first. You learned how to fly. You found a job. You made new friends. You traveled all around the world. When you were having hundreds of adventures, where was she?”

            “She was at home,” Launchpad said sadly.

            “Don’t you think she felt this same way, as if you left her behind?” Hecate asked.

            “She never said anything,” Launchpad said, taking Charity’s hand. “She was always so happy whenever I would come to visit. She never complained.”

            “But you saw the signs,” Hecate said. “Did you really think she was happy?”

            A chill ran through Launchpad and he squeezed his eyes shut. He opened them again when he heard a noise that didn’t belong in the Underworld. He looked down to see a pill bottle rolling across the seat toward him. He picked it up.

            “No,” he said through clenched teeth. “Not that.” He covered his face with his hands.

            “Tell me about that day,” Hecate prompted.

            “She was taken to the hospital,” Launchpad said. He no longer hid his face but rested his chin in his hands. “They had to pump her stomach.”

            “Go on,” Hecate pushed when Launchpad didn’t say more.

            There was a lump in his throat that made it hard to swallow. “When I walked into the room, she smiled. It was so like her. And then…then she said…”

            “I love you, Launchpad,” Charity whispered.

            Launchpad turned to her prone form, but she remained as lifeless as before. “I couldn’t believe she would do that. Whenever I visited, she was always laughing and smiling. I thought she was happy.”

            “But she was also lonely and in pain,” Hecate said.

            “But she had her parents…” Launchpad’s argument died.

            “And you had your job, your boss, your family both old and new,” Hecate listed. “You have so many people in your corner. Who did she have?”

            Launchpad dug his fingers in his hair. “Why didn’t she tell me? Why did she keep her feelings a secret? She didn’t have to take all those pills. I would have done anything for her. I’m supposed to be her big brother, and I couldn’t even protect her against herself.”

            “It’s not your fault,” Charity said.

            “You are protecting her,” Hecate said. “You made a promise that night. What was it?”

            Launchpad laughed at the memory, and he realized his cheeks were wet. “I promised I would stop flying if she promised never to do that again. Her mom hated that I was a pilot. But then she yelled at me and told me that she wouldn’t do it again as long as I kept flying.”

            “Do you trust her to keep her promise?” Hecate asked.

            “Yes.”

            “Even if she’s keeping something from you, do you trust her?”

            “Yes.”

            “Does she trust you?”

            “I don’t know,” Launchpad admitted. “She hasn’t trusted me with the truth.”

            “She’s trusted you with part of her heart,” Hecate said.

            “The heart piece I’m supposed to find?” Launchpad looked around the bleak Underworld. “Ever since we got here, I haven’t felt anything like the others. Maybe Hermes was wrong about that. I’m not meant to find one of her heart pieces.”

            “Or maybe it’s because you’ve had it all along,” Hecate said with a smile. She pointed down to the bottle in his hands.

            Unscrewing the lid, Launchpad poured out the contents. It was a cheap, plastic necklace with half a broken heart as the pendant. “I thought I lost this.”

            He remembered the day they got the matching necklaces. It was the day before he had left for flight school. They had spent the day together at one of those fairs that moved around during the summer. They played games, rode rides, and ate too much fried food. Charity had won the necklace at a ring toss.

            She told him that as long as they had the necklaces, they would be best friends forever.

            He wasn’t sure when he lost it. It could have been that one time he was in Australia or perhaps when he went pearl diving with Mr. McD. He had been so busy that he hadn’t realized it was gone.

            “Charity still has her half,” Hecate said. “She wears it even now.”

            Launchpad reached around Charity’s neck, feeling a silver chain necklace that replaced the plastic one, her half of the necklace worn and faded. He hadn’t noticed that she wore it since she always wore high-necked shirts. He brushed the hair out of her face before kissing her forehead.

            “I love you, too, Charity.”

            “Like a sister?” Her eyes looked up into his.

            “Like a sister,” he repeated, the words familiar since he had said them to her dozens of times. “Charity, I miss you.”

            But her eyes had already gone blank again, whatever lucidity she experienced was gone.

            “Trust her, Launchpad,” Hecate said. “Trust her like she trusts you with her heart.”

            He enfolded his fingers over the necklace as if it would fly away if he didn’t.

            The two sat in silence for a while before Darkwing Duck marched out of the tunnel mouth. No, that wasn’t Darkwing Duck. Launchpad recognized the face of Jim Starling, no mask covering his features. Why was he wearing Darkwing Duck’s costume?

            Starling went to the back of the vehicle, gripped the side as if to climb in and stopped. Then he began kicking one of the tires, muttering curses under his breath.

            “Hey! This is a rental,” Hecate shouted at him. “Don’t make me take my deposit out of your hide.”

            Negaduck glared at her before folding his arms and leaning against the vehicle.

            Drake and Fenton exited the tunnel, the former dressed in Negaduck’s coat and his arms loaded with hats, capes and masks.

            “We have to move. We only have ten minutes to find the last heart piece and get to Charon’s ferry,” Fenton said, jumping into the vehicle.

            “Let me get dressed first,” Negaduck growled, grabbing his mask and hat. “I can’t stand being in this thing another second.”

            “We’ll change on the way,” Drake said, pushing Negaduck into the back seat. “Do we know where we’re going next?”

            “Good news, fellas,” Hecate said as she turned on the vehicle and revved the gas. “Launchpad found the final heart piece while you were in the Fields. You’re good to go. That is, if you can figure out how to put the pieces back?”

            Darkwing unbuttoned the yellow jacket, keeping out of sight of the goddess. “Put them back? Like inside Charity?”

            “That’s kind of where a heart belongs,” Hecate said. “Since you guys seem to be in the dark, lucky for you, the judges of the Underworld have that unique skill.”

            “The tollbooth guys?” Launchpad asked with one raise eyebrow.

            “Oh, they’re more than they seem,” Hecate said. “They’ll fix your girl up lickity-split.”

            Darkwing fastened his cape and straightened his hat, now fully dressed. “If they can give Charity back her heart, then let’s go for it.”

            Hecate raised one hand, her thumb and finger spanning less than an inch. “There’s a teeny, tiny catch. They’ll want to judge her heart first. They’re funny that way.”

            “That’s not a problem,” Fenton said, chuckling nervously. “Not only is Charity still alive, but I doubt she’s done anything that would condemn her to Tartarus.”

            Hecate grimaced. “Well, that’s not all they judge. If they find something within Charity’s heart still wanting or if they can’t get the heart pieces to conjoin together again, they may just decide that Charity might as well be dead and send her soul to her eternal rest.” Hecate frowned, looking as if she expected an answer from the four.

            The passengers were quiet as that sank in.

            “You mean she could die?” Darkwing asked.

            “With eight minutes left, I don’t know if we have much of a choice,” Fenton said slowly. He turned around, looking to Darkwing and Launchpad for confirmation.

            It was Launchpad who made the decision. “We need to trust her,” he said, looking down at his closed fist. “She trusts us with her heart, so we need to trust her.”

            Hecate smiled and urged the vehicles to go faster.

            As they came up to where the tollbooth had been, they were surprised to see that the building didn’t look the way it had been. Instead, three courtroom benches sat in a row with a bowl on a marble pillar. The three tollbooth attendants sat at the benches, their uniforms exchanged for robes.

            Hecate stopped right in front of the bowl.

            “Bring the heart forward,” the bull said.

            The four men exited the vehicle, Launchpad holding Charity in his arms. Darkwing was the first to step forward and put the keychain in the bowl. It disappeared, turning into a sphere of light.

            “Hmmmm. This part of the heart contains a lot of worldly pleasures. Gaudia’s influence is prevalent. But they are harmless and don’t overshadow the heart’s goodness,” the bull said as he watched the scales.

            “Next,” the owl said, gesturing to Fenton.

            Fenton put the business card in, which joined with the ball of light, making it bigger.

            “Ah, I see our queen’s influence here,” the owl said with a smile. “If she has judged this part of the heart herself, then we cannot presume to know better than Persephone.”

            Fenton smiled.

            As Darkwing stepped forward again to put the photograph into the bowl, the last judge held up a hand. “That is not yours to present,” the duck said. He pointed to Negaduck. “You must put it in the bowl.”

            Hecate made a little gasp. “I didn’t think they would do this,” she whispered.

            “Do what?” Darkwing whispered back.

            “It’s not just Charity’s heart that is being judged.”

            Darkwing’s brow furrowed in worry. “Maybe we should stop. We can find a different way to put Charity’s heart together.”

            “It’s too late. Once the judges start, they must finish,” Hecate said.

            Negaduck, having heard the whole conversation, didn’t hesitate to take the photo and put it in the bowl.

            The duck judge watched as the photo dissolved into a ball of light, remaining separate from the larger orb.

            “Hmmm, it appears this part of the heart is tarnished,” he said with a frown. “It came from the Fields of Mourning, which makes sense. A heart that is given to someone who won’t care for it cannot be mended easily.”

            Negaduck growled before slapping the pedestal that the bowl sat on. “That’s not on me. And it’s not that girl’s fault either. And if any of you goons try anything, you’ll have me to deal with,” Negaduck shouted at them, baring his teeth.

            The duck judge didn’t look intimidated. However, he did raise an eyebrow as the larger sphere absorbed the smaller one, making it bigger. “Hmmmm, it seems that despite your flaws, the heart has forgiven you.”
            Negaduck took a step back, looking surprised. He shook that off quickly, shrugging.

            “Let the last piece come forward,” the bull said.

            Launchpad, with Charity still in his arms, walked to the bowl and dropped the necklace inside with a metallic clank. When it turned into a ball of light, it moved away from the larger orb.

            All three judges frowned.

            “Very troubling,” the owl said.

            “Tis a shame. She had such a good soul so far,” the bull said.

            “It’s too bad that the heart will remain broken,” the duck said.

            Launchpad shook his head. “Please, there’s got to be something you can do,” he pleaded. “She doesn’t deserve to remain here.”
            “Isn’t that what she wanted?” the bull asked. “Agony was left at the gate. There is no pain here. No hunger. No fatigue. She can be at rest.”

            “But…but I don’t want her to go,” Launchpad said, holding her tight. “And I don’t believe she wants to leave either.”

            “Her heart was weak. She let it split apart. She allowed it to be broken. And she cannot accept this part of herself,” the owl said. “It is not up to us.”

            “She’s not weak,” Launchpad yelled at the judges. “It’s because she had to be strong for too long. If anyone should be punished, it’s me for realizing that she wasn’t strong enough. I should have seen that she was lonely and unhappy. It was me who broke her heart first.”

            As if they were two magnets, the smaller orb zipped right to the larger, joining together into one about as big as ping pong ball. It floated off the bowl and zoomed right for Charity, absorbing into her chest.

            Her eyes that had been staring into space blinked several times, light returning to them.

            “Launchpad?” she asked, looking up into her friend’s face. “You’re crying?”

            The large duck crushed the lovebird to his chest, burying his face into her hair.

            “Launchpad, you’re going to break my ribs,” Charity said with a muffled chuckle.

            “Don’t ever, ever leave like that again,” Launchpad said. “You promised you wouldn’t. Don’t make me stop flying.”

            Charity returned the embrace. “A promise is a promise. I’m not going anywhere.”

            “Uh…I’m sorry to interrupt,” Fenton said politely. “But we have less than five minutes.”

            Launchpad withdrew his hug but still held Charity in his arms. “I love you, Charity.”

            Charity smiled. “I love you, too, Launchpad. Like a brother.”

            Launchpad grinned before rushing them to the vehicle, jumping in the middle seat with Darkwing, Fenton in front and Negaduck in the back.

            Hecate slammed on the gas, giving all her passengers whiplash.

            “Where are we? What’s going on?” Charity asked, looking around the gray, cave-like landscape. “The last thing I remember is falling into a hole and then…nothing.” She frowned, talking again before anyone could answer. “Are we in the Underworld? Did you guys kill us?”

            Negaduck laughed loudly in the back.

            “Long story later,” Fenton said, trying to stay seated throughout Hecate’s crazy driving. “Short story: Yes, we’re in the Underworld. Your heart was split into four pieces which we had to find. We succeeded but we only have about thirty minutes to get out of the Underworld before we lose the challenge and are trapped here.”

            Charity’s eyes widened. “I have…so many…I have all the questions. All of them,” she said.

            But she didn’t get to vocalize any of them as Hecate raced into the misty tunnel where all the monsters lived, turning the wheel this way and that to avoid claws and jaws that reached out for them. “Hang on,” she shouted, spinning the vehicle in a one-eighty, quickly switching into reverse, and driving the rest of the way backwards. When she finally slammed on the breaks, they were going down the steps outside the gates of the Underworld.

            “Well, guys, it’s been fun,” Hecate said with a grin. “Bonus: I didn’t get you killed. Good luck. Oh, and tell the duckling in green that I want five gold coins on the favorite to win.”

            The five mortals were too stunned by the wild ride to understand her words. Not to mention, Charon was about to pull away from the docks.

            “Wait! Wait!” Fenton shouted, waving at the ferryman. “We’re here. Don’t leave yet.”

            Charon waited patiently for all five to make it to the end of the dock before holding out his hand. “Can you pay?”

            Darkwing looked at Fenton and Launchpad before pulling out their last coin. He looked pleadingly at Charon.

            “One coin, one soul,” Charon said. “Who is coming with me?”

            “Charity,” Fenton, Launchpad and Darkwing said together. Negaduck calmly stayed silent.

            “But—“ She was pushed into the boat.

            “Don’t argue,” Darkwing told her.

            “But arguing’s my best subject,” she said. She turned to Charon. “You have to take them, too.”

            “Why?” Charon asked.

            “Because…I’m not whole,” Charity said, touching her chest. “My heart isn’t whole. They each have of a piece of me with them. How can you take my coin and leave part of me behind?”

            Charon straightened as if surprised. And he wasn’t surprised often. From within the hood, he grinned. “You’re right, miss. I cannot be a true Ferryman if I take payment and leave part of a soul behind. I will take all of you across.”

            Charity beamed.

Chapter Text

Twisted Strings of Fate

Chapter 22

            A broken heart can be mended, but it will never be the same. It will never be as strong as before, and wary to love again. But a heart that has been divided and shared, while not whole, is the strongest thing on Earth.

***

            Charon pushed away from the dock with all his passengers onboard, straining as he directed the boat against the current. He whistled a tune in anticipation for the upcoming show through the tunnel.

            Darkwing and Fenton tensed at the memory.

            Suddenly, the air was pierced by triple howls, the eerie noise more than just chilling; it was as if it were calling for their souls. Each of the mortals felt a vibration within their bodies as if the Underworld was summoning them back.

            “Cerberus doesn’t sound happy,” Charon said with a chuckle. “I don’t know how you snuck passed him, but he’ll track your scent.”

            “Will he follow us through the water?” Fenton asked. As much as he dreaded the song and puppet show, he urged the Ferryman to get them into the tunnel.

            “Maybe,” Charon said with a shrug. “He’s never done it before. Usually he stops them before they get through the gates.”

            “Can’t we go any faster?” Darkwing demanded, turning his head. He could already see the giant, triple-headed dog wiggling out of the gates of the Underworld.

            “We’re heading upstream. It’s a little slower,” Charon said. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry. The Ferryman’s actions were slow and steady, his rhythm and pace constant from centuries of work.

            Darkwing looked around the boat for anything to help and found a second pole. He jabbed it into the water, pushing against the bottom of the river to make them go faster.

            Launchpad found another, helping Darkwing keep the boat in the right direction.

            Charon, surprised at their innovation, slacked off. It was good to be given a break for once in over three thousand years. He even didn’t mind it when Fenton yanked the pole out of his hands. Instead of complaining, he took a seat in the boat and relaxed.

            Bounding to the water’s edge, Cerberus howled and whined and sniffed at the river before jumping in. His large mass diving into the river formed tidal waves in all directions.

            “Hang on!” Fenton shouted. “Darkwing, Launchpad, we need to ride the wave into the tunnel. If we miss, we’ll be smashed against the cave wall.”

            The three worked in tandem, keeping the bow of the boat pointed at the tunnel mouth as the tidal wave loomed over them. In addition to the danger of the wave smashing them to pieces, it also increased their speed, which was both a blessing and a curse. They were making good time, but it was harder to steer.

            Through teamwork and luck, the nose of the boat entered the tunnel when the wave crashed down on them, pushing them forward and soaking them at the same time.

            Charity screamed, writhing on the bench where she sat.

            “Charity! What’s wrong?” Launchpad asked, dropping his pole and cradling the lovebird in his arms.

            “Acheron, the river of pain,” Fenton said. “The water must actually cause pain, which means…”

            “She’s feeling it for all of us at once,” Darkwing finished, looking darkly at the water that sloshed at the bottom of the both. “Hey, Ferryman. Don’t you have something to bail with?”

            Charon, still lounging on the bench, replied. “What a pain, pun intended. I’ll take care of this.” With a wave of his hand, the water receded from the bottom of the boat. Even their soaked clothing and feathers dried off.

            Charity relaxed in Launchpad’s arms, curling up like a child. “I thought you couldn’t feel pain in the land of the dead,” she rasped.

            “Agony is left at the gates of the Underworld,” Charon said. “Even the dead feel pain if they touch the Acheron.”

            “And speaking of agony,” Darkwing muttered, the tinny, musicbox-like song catching his ears, the first of the dancing puppets coming into sight.

            “Oh, good. Cerberus’s wave didn’t damage anything,” Charon said, sounding excited. “And with your coins, I was able to add an extra verse to the song.”

            Fenton and Darkwing didn’t like the sound of that.

So you’re leaving now

Going back upstairs

You’ve passed the test

And fair is fair.

You think you’re secure

That you’re lives are assured

You’re going to die after all.

You’re going to die after all.

You’re going to die after all.

You’re going to die after all.

You’re going to die after all.

            Even Negaduck and Launchpad’s eyes were as wide as saucers at the lyrics.

            “That’s…a lot darker than I thought it would be,” Darkwing said, trying to lighten the mood, but he only laughed nervously.

            Fenton echoed the laugh. “Well, the song’s not wrong. We’re mortals after all.” He gulped as his words mimicked the song’s rhythm. “I mean, we’ll die eventually. Right?”

            “Yes, but I intended a more immediate solution.” Charon rose from his seat, towering above them. “I wanted to convey the message in as friendly a way as possible.”

            “But…you took my money. You’re supposed to take us to the other shore safely,” Charity said, clinging to Launchpad who clung to her.

            “Your souls safely, yes,” Charon explained. “The Ferryman doesn’t make the same promise about worldly possessions such as wallets, keys, and bodies.” A scythe appeared in his hands with a puff of smoke. “Hades may not know you five snuck in and out of the Underworld, but when I tell him that I prevented you from escaping, he’ll give me a raise. Perhaps even upgrade my boat to a sleeker model with a motor.” He raised the scythe.

            Before the sharp blade could slice into the flesh of its first victim, a pole slammed into Charon’s stomach as if he were the 8-ball on a billiards table. At the other end of the proverbial cue stick—which was Launchpad’s discarded pole—was Negaduck, his face in a snarl.

            Darkwing, realizing that he had frozen at the sight of the scythe, leapt into action, disarming the Ferryman. The scythe plopped in the Acheon with a splash. Together, he and Negaduck poked and prodded Charon until he joined the weapon in the water.

            Negaduck leaped to the back of the boat, pushing with his pole as fast as he could. “Move it, you two. We can’t let him get back in,” he yelled at Darkwing and Fenton.

            “And we only have seven minutes to get back to Hermes,” Fenton said, checking his phone.

            Charity and Launchpad, who looked in vain for more poles, rowed with their arms in the water, the former biting back the pain from the river. They rowed out of the tunnel and back to the first cavern where crowds of ghosts waited.

            Once at the dock, Negaduck was the first to jump out, handing the pole to the first spirit. “Here. Row as many as you can across. Charon’s in the tunnel somewhere, so avoid him if you can.”

            Charity, Launchpad, and Fenton followed, the scientist handing his pole to another spirit.

            Only Darkwing remained onboard, looking pale at the thought of getting onto the dock with all the ghosts. He became even more afraid as the spirits began getting onto the boat.

            “Darkwing, come on,” Charity shouted from the other side of the crowd.

            Darkwing moved farther and farther to the bow until he was on top of the bowball, balancing precariously over the ghosts. “Launchpad?” he called out, trying hard not to sound desperate.

            “What’s wrong with him?” Charity asked, tilting her head as she watched Launchpad wade back for the masked duck.

            “He’s afraid of ghosts,” Fenton said blithely and Negaduck echoed derisively.

            “Really?” She snorted and tried to hide her smile as Launchpad returned, Darkwing riding his shoulder like an overgrown parrot.

            “What are you guys waiting for?” Darkwing said as he tried to look dignified jumping off of Launchpad. “We’re going to miss our ride.”

            They raced up the stairs, the glow of Hermes lighting their way.

            “Way to go,” Hermes said, his winged shoes hovering several inches from the ground. “You made it with seconds to spare.”

            “We didn’t want to linger,” Darkwing said. “It’s not exactly the happiest place on Earth. Or under it.”

            Hermes waved his caduceus and they all began their ascent. He twirled his staff for a while before his eyes fell upon Charity. “Now I see why these guys would brave the Underworld.” He floated closer to the lovebird, took her hand and kissed it. “You’re much lovelier with a soul attached.”

            “Thanks?” Charity said, taking back her hand. She wasn’t sure how to take that compliment.

            To the consternation of several of the male ducks, Hermes pulled Charity away from the others with his powers, lowering his voice for a more intimate conversation. “You know, a girl like you could benefit from having a god on your side. You do know I have a certain talent in healing. We could be wonderful together.” His tone hinted to a deeper meaning.

            Charity half-smiled, half-cringed. “Yeah…I don’t think so.”

            “It’s not every day a mortal gains the attention of a god,” Hermes cajoled. “You won’t have this chance again.”

            “I can live with that,” Charity said. “You’re not my type.”

            “What type are you looking for?”

            “Someone who values fidelity,” Charity said with a smirk.

            Hermes clutched at his heart. “Oh, that really hurts. But you do realize that’s not something you can count on for the future.”

            “I’ll take that risk.”

            “On one of those four?” Hermes asked, gesturing to the group of males that were glaring at him.

            “If it’s meant to be. Yeah,” Charity said, her face hopeful. “Depends on what happens after the curse is broken.”

            “You’re banking on something that isn’t a sure thing,” Hermes said. “You can forget about breaking the curse and be with me. At least you know what you’re getting into.”

            Charity put her hands on her hips. “They walked into Hell for me. Can you say the same thing?”

            “I walk into Hell every day,” Hermes said with a smirk. “But I can’t say that I would willingly do it as a mortal. Aphrodite was right about you. You’re going to make one interesting story.”

            Charity’s eyebrows knit together. “Wait, you’ve spoken to Aphrodite? What does she know about my curse?”

            “That you’ll have to wait and see. That is, if you and your group of heroes can beat the last challenge,” Hermes said. With a flick of his wrist, he pushed Charity away with his powers, returning her to the others.

            “What did he say to you?” Darkwing asked.

            “Oh, you know Greek gods,” Charity said dryly. “They only have one thing on their minds.”

            The only one who seemed to understand her insinuation was Fenton, who glared at Hermes.

            The god smiled and shrugged as if he couldn’t help being who he was. And perhaps he was right.

            Once they were back on the surface, the Duck family was waiting at the edge—sans Huey who was still with Hephaestus. Surprisingly, the younger generation ran up to the returning group and began speaking about what had occurred in the Underworld.

            “Wow, I can’t believe you got to meet Persephone. She’s amazing,” Webby said.

            “I can’t believe a grown man like you is afraid of ghosts,” Louie smirked.

            “That whole thing with the pomegranate, that was amazing,” Dewey spoke over the others. “And how you dumped that Death guy in the river. Pow pow.”

            “And Cerberus. Wasn’t he so cute?” Webby said. “I want a three-headed dog. Granny, can we get one?”

            “Not at the moment, dear,” Mrs. Beakley said.

            “And then he was all, ‘Oh no, you took my boat’,” Dewey continued to narrate, acting out the scene.

            “Wait,” Darkwing said, silencing the group. “You were watching?”

            Della pointed with her thumb to a ridiculously handsome god they hadn’t seen before. “Apollo came by with his crystal ball—“

            “It’s not a crystal ball,” Apollo shouted.

            “—And showed us,” Della finished. “So we saw everything. You were all so adorable.” She smiled at them, looking misty eyed despite her tough exterior.

            The guys all portrayed shyness in their own ways: Darkwing hiding behind his hat, Fenton looking away, red-cheeked, and Negaduck glowering. Even Launchpad lowered his head.

            “Okay, now I really need to know what happened down there,” Charity said, crossing her arms.

            “Don’t worry. I recorded everything on my phone,” Louie said.

            Charity eyed the green-clad duckling, remembering something that Hecate said. The lovebird squatted down to Louie’s level and asked in a suspicious tone. “Hecate said to put money on the favorite. Care to explain what that means?” she inquired.

            Louie, who had been tapping on his phone, froze. He looked to the adult side of his family, checking to see if they had heard before grabbing Charity’s hand and pulling her away. He made sure no one was listening before he cut to the chase. “Okay, so I may have started a little betting pool with my brothers and Webby, and from there, things just got out of hand. First it was the muses, then gods and demigods kept coming to me and offering me money. I couldn’t say no, especially when Zeus put down a hundred gold coins. How do I say no to that?”

            “So, everyone is betting on my love life?” Charity said, pinching between her eyes.

            “Please don’t tell Uncle Donald,” Louie pleaded.

            Charity looked over to the others, who didn’t seem to notice the two had stepped away, but her eyes lingered on the four ducks she was bonded to. “Okay, I won’t tell. And I won’t ask you to stop either.”

            “Yipee!” Louie said, looking more excited than Dewey at Funzo’s. “Thank you so much.”

            “But you have to donate most of the proceeds to charity.”

            Louie looked confused. “Wait. Do you mean to donate it to you or to an actually charity? Because I’m going to admit, I’m not comfortable with one of those options.”

            Charity scrutinized the green-clad duckling before saying, “I was going to ask what kind of child are you, but after the week I’ve had, I think that would answer that question. Just pick a charity, something that benefits underprivileged children, and give them seventy-five percent of the profit.”

            “Seventy-five percent?!” Louie exclaimed.

            “Or I can tell your uncle, and they’ll get one hundred percent,” Charity warned.

            “Oh, those poor underprivileged children,” Louie said, changing his tune.

            “And I expect to see your financial records and an invoice from the charity,” the lovebird said. She was about to turn around to join the others but she stopped. “By the way, who is the favorite to win?”

            Louie opened his mouth, but Charity spoke first.

            “Never mind. I don’t want to know. I kind of do, but I don’t.” And she walked away.

            Almost the second she joined the others, Launchpad grabbed her hand and pulled her away for his own little tête-à-tête.

            “Is there something wrong?” Charity asked, recognizing the uncertainty on his face.

            “I don’t know,” Launchpad said, scratching the back of his head. “Back in the Underworld, there was a bunch of stuff happening, and I don’t know how to…” He couldn’t put his thoughts into words.

            “I’m sorry, Launchpad. I don’t remember anything,” Charity said. “What happened?”

            Instead of replying, he swooped her up in a large hug.

            “That bad, huh?” Charity patted his back. She closed her eyes, delving into her mind as if to find the answers there. And to her surprise, she found them. “So, it had to do with that night in the hospital. I’m sorry you had to be reminded of that again.”

            “It’s not just that,” Launchpad said, releasing his friend. “Charity, is there something you’re not telling me?”

            Charity couldn’t meet his eyes. “Yes, there is,” she said truthfully.

            “What is it?” Launchpad asked.

            She bit her lower beak. Why couldn’t she just tell him? After all this, she had counted on him being oblivious, to be his adorable, naïve self, but she couldn’t leave him in the dark forever. It shouldn’t have surprised her that he would eventually guess there was something else going on. And even after all they had been through, she still held onto the thought that if he knew, things would change between them.

            “I’m afraid to say,” was as far as she could admit.

            “You’ve had too many secrets, little sister,” Launchpad said. “It’s a side of you that I don’t know.”

            Charity lowered her head, knowing how much she was hurting him.

            Before either one could say another word, Zeus boomed, “Enough chatter. It is time for the last challenge.” He looked eager. “I saved the best for last. It will be a one-on-one fight with my son.” He waved his hand to Storkules.

            “I won’t do it, Father,” Storkules said. “I won’t raise a hand against my friends.”

            “These mortals are making fools of us,” Zeus growled. “It is your duty to defend the honor of Ithaquack.”

            “Honor means nothing if it destroys trust,” Storkules said, a moment of wisdom that was uncharacteristic of him. But his words only enraged his father.

            “If you don’t, then I will call another of my children who will,” Zeus said. A dark smile crossed his beak. “In fact, that might be a better idea.”

            “You can’t be serious,” Selene said worriedly. “You can’t possibly be summoning him. Why not Athena?”

            “Like she’s going to come for something so paltry. Plus she’d rather kiss a man than to do Aphrodite’s bidding,” Zeus said. “No, my first son will be perfect for this.”

            “I am here, Father.”

            Zeus whipped around quickly.

            Nobody knew when he appeared or how he had done so without anyone noticing. He was a large harpy eagle covered in ancient Greek armor, standing almost a whole head taller than anyone there. While he couldn’t compete with Storkules in bulk, his muscles were obviously not for mere show. And despite his deadly appearance, he was more beautiful than an eagle should be.

            “My love knew I would be needed and sent me.”

            “Ares, my boy. It’s good that I can count on one of my sons to defend the honor of the gods,” Zeus said, the words obviously directed to Storkules.

            “I do not do this for your honor, nor for the whole of Ithaquack,” Ares said. “I fight for my lady and only for my lady.”

            “Even though she is married to Hephaestus, Aphrodite has been…involved with Ares,” Fenton explained.

            “Love and war,” Charity said.

            “Yeah, they’re a messed-up family,” Darkwing murmured. “However, I’m not looking forward to taking on that guy.”

            “Who would?” Fenton said.

            “Although I won’t gain much honor defeating one of them,” Ares said, nodding his head at the group of mortals. “They look to be hardly worth my time.” He summoned two broadswords and stabbed one into the sand.

            “You’re only going to take on one of us?” Negaduck scoffed. “What kind of god of war are you?”

            “If it is war you are after, then we’ll need years to play that game,” Ares scoffed right back. “It would take decades even for us to build our armies. Besides, I’m already in the middle of a few games elsewhere. Today, you will have to be satisfied with one-on-one combat.”

            “I don’t like this,” Charity whispered. “All the other challenges, they felt like tests. This is different.”

            “What choice do we have?” Darkwing asked, his voice just as low.

            “We can back out,” Charity said. “That’s always been a choice.”
            “We just have one more challenge. We can do this,” Darkwing said.

            Charity gave him a small smile. “Hey, I thought I was the competitive one.”

            Darkwing smiled back. He stepped forward, reaching out to take the sword. “I accept your challenge.”

            “Not yet, little duck,” Ares said.

            “Little?”

            “The choice of who fights me will be determined by this.” Ares held out a six-sided die. Instead of black pips to decide a number, there were rough drawings of the faces of the group. “Whoever lands face up will fight. There’s even a blank space. If it lands on that one, you can choose.”

            Now Darkwing understood Charity’s reticence. Maybe this was a bad idea. “Charity shouldn’t be on that die.”

            “She is part of the group,” Ares said.

            “Does the god of War find it fun to fight women?” Darkwing goaded.

            “Duck, I have fought men and women in the heat of battle. Some of the best fighters I know are women. Some of them are my sisters. All five of you will be on the die.”

            “Wait a min—”

            Before Darkwing could finish his sentence, Ares tossed the die. It should have sunk into the sand, but it rolled just as if someone had cast it across a table. It slowed down and rocked before settling.

            “No,” Charity whispered. She turned, grabbing her friend’s jacket. “Launchpad, you don’t have to fight. We can stop right now.”

            Launchpad gave her an easy smile, rubbing her fluffy head. “It’s okay. I have to at least try. We can’t quit now.” He pulled the sword out of the sand.

            “Listen to Charity,” Darkwing said, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You don’t have to go through this.”

            “You don’t even know how to fight with a sword,” Charity argued, shaking her head.

            To everyone’s surprise, Launchpad swung the sword deftly a few times, the blade singing as it sliced through the air. He smiled at Charity. “I guess I had some of my own secrets.”

            “Clear the arena,” Ares said, his voice causing a wave of wind to move the sand back, revealing a compact, dirt circle where both contestants could fight without being held back by the shifting sand. Those still standing within the arena moved away.

            “I don’t like this,” Charity repeated. She turned to Darkwing. “This feels like it’s been fixed.”
            “Why?” Darkwing asked.

            “I don’t know,” Charity said. “But something is telling me that Aphrodite wanted things to turn out this way. Maybe to see our reaction? Or something else?”

            “But why Launchpad?” Fenton asked. “Why is she so interested in him?”

            “I don’t know,” Charity said. But deep inside, she had an idea. “He’s going to be okay. He’s going to be okay.” Her only comfort was that the curse would protect him.

            “Let us begin, mortal,” Ares said, changing his stance. “And to make things fair, I stand before you on equal footing. My blood will stain this beach if you cut me.”

            Launchpad circled the god, his sword raised. When Ares lunged at him, he was able to meet the eagle blow for blow. They danced in the arena, the clanging of metal on metal ringing through the air.

            “Get him, Launchpad!” Dewey shouted from the sidelines. His brother and Webby cheered along with him, although the adults were a lot more somber.

            “He can’t get hurt. He can’t get hurt,” Charity repeated, her eyes locked on the fight.

            “You should have told him.”

            Charity looked up at Darkwing.

            “He deserved to know everything about the curse,” Darkwing said.

            “But it’s better that he didn’t know,” Charity said. “Because he’d be worried about me during this fight.” Is that why Aphrodite wanted Launchpad to fight Ares? Charity felt sick. Something wasn’t right. She was supposed to do something, but what? What did Aphrodite want?

            There was a gasp from the crowd. Charity’s head jerked up, afraid of what she would see. There was blood, but it wasn’t from Launchpad.

            “Very good, mortal,” Ares said with a smile, a line of red on his arm. “First blood goes to you.” Then he lifted his arm and licked his wound. When he attacked again, it was as if the eagle had gone a little crazy, attacking Launchpad with more speed and a wild ferocity.

            It wasn’t long for Launchpad to be wounded next, Ares’s sword battering the large duck’s shoulder. He didn’t notice that the sword had touched him, feeling no pain or spilling a single drop of blood.

            Charity gasped, trying hard not to cry out as searing heat sliced through her shoulder, blood dripping down her arm. She was vaguely aware of Fenton putting pressure on it, determined to not take her eyes off of Launchpad.

            During one of the short lulls in the action as both contenders took a step back, Ares glanced over his shoulder at her. He licked his beak as if he were hungry, but Charity instinctually knew that he didn’t want the same thing from her as Hermes. His desires were far more primordial than lust.

            “Keep fighting, Launchpad,” Charity called out through the pain. “You can do it.” She winced as her friend took another hit, this one shallower, almost a scratch.

            What do you want me to learn? What kind of test is this? Charity thought. Dang it, why doesn’t she just show herself and tell me? Why this dog and pony show?

            And just as she was going back through the other tasks, trying to find some clue, Ares knocked Launchpad’s sword out of his hand and sliced across the pilot’s chest.

            The pain was so intense that shock took over before Charity could react, falling to the ground while still watching Launchpad. She kept her eyes him as Darkwing and Fenton knelt around her, trying to stop the bleeding. She saw as Launchpad looked down at his chest, his bomber jacket and shirt torn but the flesh underneath unharmed. Then he looked up and met her eyes, his face filled with astonishment as he figured it out.

            This was it, Charity thought, tears clouding her sight. This was what Aphrodite wanted. She wanted that exact moment when Launchpad realized just how much she had lied to him, just how deeply she loved him.

            “Charity!” Launchpad shouted, taking a step toward her but was blocked by Ares’s sword.

            “We’re not done yet, mortal,” Ares growled.

            “She’s losing a lot of blood,” Darkwing said.

            “Stand aside,” Mrs. Beakley said, pushing the masked duck away. “I’ve treated worse in the field.” She tore away Charity’s shirt, revealing the long gash.

            Launchpad tried again to go to her, but Ares battered him with the flat of his blade.

            “Fight!”

            “Stop the fight,” Charity whispered. “Please, stop the fight.”
            Darkwing heard her, and he strode into the arena, hands bloody. “We give up,” he said. “Stop the fight.”

            “The fight will continue,” Ares said, his face showing a twisted pleasure. “You’re not allowed to give up. This is a fight to the death.”

            “To the death? We didn’t agree to that,” Darkwing said.

            “Back off,” Ares said, raising his palm at the hero, pushing him out of the arena with his powers. “This is a one-on-one battle.”

            Finally taking his eyes off of Charity, Launchpad retrieved his sword, raising it to strike out at the god.

            “No. Launchpad,” Charity cried. She raised her hand, reaching out for him. “I’m sorry, Launchpad.” She tried to get up.

            “Charity, you need to hold still,” Mrs. Beakley cried out, pushing her back down. “You’re seriously wounded.”

            But she didn’t care. Launchpad was in pain. She needed to go to him and give him a hug, because he was all she had for years, the only one she was bonded to that had been there for her. She hadn’t wanted anything to change, but it was going to, and she was scared and he was scared. She needed to be with him right at that moment.

            But she was so weak and in so much pain that she had no control over her body as Mrs. Beakley wrapped her chest tightly with bandages.

            “We need more bandages,” Mrs. Beakley called out. “Charity, can you hear me? Look at me!”

            There were people yelling at her, but she couldn’t respond. Her eyes were only on Launchpad, who was fighting for his life. The curse wouldn’t save him if that sword slipped between his ribs.

            And that was just what was going to happen, Ares aiming the tip of his blade at Launchpad’s heart, and right before steel sank into flesh, something hit Charity’s mind like a ton of bricks and she blacked out.

***

            Mrs. Beakley fought for Charity life, but for some reason the girl wasn’t helping. Something was wrong. Yes, there was a lot of blood, but nothing vital had been hit since the sword sliced instead of stabbed, the breast bone and ribs protecting the organs.

            “Charity! Damn it, don’t you die,” Mrs. Beakley cursed. She checked for a pulse. It was weak but still there.

            “Launchpad!” Dewey yelled, prevented from running into the arena by Della and Donald.

            Mrs. Beakley saw from the corner of her eye that Launchpad was on the ground, Ares moving in for the killing blow.

            “No!” Charity screamed, sitting up so suddenly that Mrs. Beakley was knocked onto her backside. With an inhuman speed, Charity raced into the arena and knocked Ares away from Launchpad. “I told you to not get carried away. They are mine.”

            It was only then that everyone realized that Charity was surrounded by a golden glow, her eyes filled with light like those of the gods.

            “Charity?” Launchpad called out, confused.

            “Not exactly,” Charity said, standing before him, her chest covered in bloody bandages.

            “Wh-what? What’s going on?” Fenton asked astounded.

            “I’ve never seen this before,” Scrooge said, “but I know what this is. Charity has been possessed. I believe that we are in the presence of Aphrodite.”

            Charity turned to the group and gave them a coy smile. “Hello, boys.”

Chapter Text

Twisted Strings of Fate

Chapter 23

            The Strings of Fate bind us all together; mothers to daughters, fathers to sons, friends, lovers, and even enemies and rivals, their strings are taut and straight. The Strings have wrapped so tightly around the men I am bound to that they cannot move an inch without cutting into my flesh.

***

            Charity sauntered toward the group of ducks; the way she swished her hips, how the corners of her mouth quirked up, and the look on her face, they were not characteristic of Charity. It was Charity’s face and body, but it was not her. Even Launchpad caught on, looking worried but at the same time cautious.

            Casting a glance back at Zeus and the remaining gods, Charity said, “You can go now. You’ve served your purpose.”

            Zeus’s face turned purple, obviously infuriated at being dismissed like a servant, but he seemed unwilling to say anything. Instead of releasing the stress that was building inside of him, he turned around and stormed off—literally—yelling, “I’ve decided to allow Scrooge McDuck and his family to stay on Ithaquack for the time. However, all mortals better be gone by sunset or woe be unto them.”

            Charity smiled. No, not Charity. Aphrodite.

            It was a hard concept for most to grasp. The one who seemed to be taking it in stride was Scrooge, who stepped forward, not cowed as the gods were by Aphrodite’s presence.

            “If you’ve had enough of yanking around the lass and lads, I think it’s about time you tell us what you know,” Scrooge said with a frown. “You’ve had your fun with the challenges. You owe it to them.”

            “I owe it to them?” Aphrodite repeated, looking surprise. “My dear Scroogie, I owe them nothing. You came here on a hunch. I made no promises except that if they passed, they would get to see me. And last time I checked, they didn’t win the last challenge.”

            “We both know those challenges weren’t about winning,” Scrooge growled. “You were playing with them.”

            “I’d prefer the word ‘testing’,” Aphrodite purred. “Mortals who come to Ithaquack, they’re always looking for this god or that god, trying to save the world, save some loved one, or go on an adventure. Little ol’ me gets awfully lonesome with nobody to come visit. Even you have come to this island for several reasons, but not once did you seek me out.” She ran a finger along the bottom of his chin. “I could have helped you so much, especially regarding a certain blonde.”

            Scrooge battered Aphrodite’s hand away from his face, which surprised everyone including the goddess.

            Aphrodite’s seductive, sultry pose and tone disappeared. “You’re no fun.”

            “I’ve heard that before,” Scrooge said rather proudly. “Well, I suppose you don’t have any information for us. We’ll be going now. Come on, kids. Now, where did Huey go with that big guy…”

            Aphrodite harrumphed with her hands on her hips before succumbing to Scrooge’s bluff. “Not that I believe you would leave this girl’s body with me, but if you insist, I shall talk. But only to them.” She turned to Fenton, Darkwing, Launchpad and Negaduck. “You four are coming with me. We need a heart-to-heart.”

            A pink fog appeared and enclosed them that smelled of rose petals and lavender. When it cleared, they were in what appeared to be a modern living room that had an obvious air for romance. Pink and red were the dominant colors. Everything was plush and soft with lacy pillows, animal-print rugs and rose petals. A fire crackled in the hearth, which was the only light. There was a table set with champagne, flute glasses, strawberries and a chocolate fountain.

            And there were no doors.

            The two masked ducks seemed wary, especially Negaduck who felt trapped without anywhere to escape. Launchpad examined the chocolate fountain since it had been a long time since his snack with Persephone. Fenton, meanwhile, was wondering why there were mirrors on the ceiling.

            “Ugh, I’m totally not dressed for the occasion,” Aphrodite said, touching the bloody bandages that covered her chest.

            Raising her arms, her body glowed so brightly, the men had to look away. When the glow died down, Aphrodite had dressed Charity’s body in a purple cocktail dress with a plunging neckline, low back, and lots of exposed leg. She stretched, her tail feathers fanning out behind her. The white and blue curls that Charity always kept well-groomed were now stunning in a graceful, shiny wave that cascaded down her back. Charity had always been pretty, but something Aphrodite did to the lovebird’s appearance made her gorgeous, like a model that had stepped out of a magazine.

            “This is so much better. Don’t you think so, boys?” She posed, expecting compliments.

            “I think you should leave that body,” Darkwing said frowning. So far, he had been complacent because Aphrodite had the information they needed. But he wasn’t going to play her game, especially with Charity in the middle.

            Aphrodite stuck out Charity’s bottom lip into a perfect pout. “Don’t be like that. You like this body better this way, don’t you?” She moved closer to Darkwing, placing a hand on his chest. “Don’t deny it. Embrace your feelings.”

            For an instance, Darkwing felt something deep inside him flare. His feelings for Charity, those desires he had before, to take her in his arms, to kiss her, to never let her go, they grew more passionate. It filled him so much, he almost couldn’t bear just standing there.

            Afraid of what he might do, Darkwing sprang away. Immediately, the desires died down. “What did you do to me?” Darkwing demanded, feeling goosebumps rise on his arms.

            Aphrodite laughed. Although she made Charity more beautiful with her power, she made Charity’s laugh sound ugly. “Oh, I only increased what you felt in your heart. Did you feel the burn? Did it make you feel more alive?”

            It did. And Darkwing was afraid since he wanted her to touch him again.

            Aphrodite went to Fenton, played with his necktie and rubbed his chest.

            Fenton grabbed Aphrodite’s hand, holding it tight against his body. After a while, as if he were struggling with something, he took the hand away from his chest and released it as if it caused him pain. “Interesting,” Fenton said. He frowned, looking uncertain.

            “Oh, they’re real, my little duckling,” Aphrodite said, dancing away from him toward Launchpad. “I can’t make someone love another. I can only intensify their feelings and give them a little push.” She put one hands one Launchpad’s shoulder and another softly on his cheek. Her expression changed to that of tenderness. “I don’t just work with romantic love. Love in all its forms is my domain. Do not worry, sweetie. She is sleeping. I have healed her wounds. She is not in any pain.”

            Launchpad sighed, releasing a large, tense breath.

            Then Aphrodite’s eyes fell on Negaduck.

            The black-masked duck looked like a cornered animal, prepared to run or fight if she approached him.

            Aphrodite shrugged and turned her attention to the other three. “It is so good to have real men on the island. And I’m flattered that such handsome ones sought me out.” She eyed each of the three as if she were hungry.

            Fenton cleared his tight throat. The way Aphrodite moved in Charity’s body, it was sending his mind reeling in so many directions. He didn’t like that it was Aphrodite in her body, but if it was Charity in there…

            Mama would slap me with her chancla if she knew I was thinking such things, Fenton berated himself and concentrated on the task at hand. “You wanted us to come here. I think, even though you’ve toyed with us, that you want us to know something. Otherwise you wouldn’t have invited us here. Since we have entertained you, we deserve to know what you know.”

            Aphrodite gave a lungful sigh, her sleeve slipping off her shoulder. “It seems I cannot persuade you boys to linger with me. Such a shame.” She turned to Fenton, pointing at him. “I think I will talk to you first, man of science.” She flicked her finger upward, and the air was filled with magic.

            It took Fenton a while to realize that the others weren’t moving, as if frozen in time.

            “It’s just you and me,” Aphrodite said with Charity’s voice. “You, out of all of them, aren’t afraid of me.”

            “Things that people are afraid of usually are just misunderstood,” Fenton said. And although Aphrodite played with his tie, he kept his breathing normal. His heart, that was another matter. He didn’t have control over the thumping in his chest.

            It’s not Charity, he told himself, standing his ground.

            “So, I’m misunderstood?” Aphrodite asked, looking at him in a way that made his stomach flip.

            It’s not Charity, he thought strongly.

            “Yes, I believe you are,” Fenton said. “And I think you like it that way.”

            Aphrodite laughed again in that way that was completely not Charity. “I think we understand each other well enough.” She sat down in a plush chair, crossing her legs seductively, her dress riding up. “Your talk with Persephone was quite interesting. She’s right, you know. If you don’t make it clear what you want, she’s going to be stolen away by Darkwing.”

            “He can’t steal what isn’t his,” Fenton said, his voice growling at the end. He couldn’t believe he was allowing his feelings to show this much. “If Charity chooses him, I won’t get in their way.”

            Aphrodite smile. “But what if I could give you an edge? It wouldn’t be hard. I could whisper little hints into this girl’s ear, nudge her in the right direction.”

            Fenton shook his head. “We’re not toys for you to play with. Just like Darkwing said, I think it’s about time you returned that body to its rightful owner.”

            Aphrodite frowned. “I don’t take orders from mortals.”

            “I’m sure you don’t take orders from anyone,” Fenton said. “Which is why I didn’t phrase it as a command, but merely as an opinion. You’re invested in Charity’s love life. It’s not going to progress much if you remain in there.”

            Aphrodite was smiling again, her ire dissolved. “Well done, scientist. I never intended to remain inside this girl for long. I have my own body, but it’s just nice to feel…so young and new again.” She looked off in the distance as if reminiscing over something.

            “You wanted to talk to me? You wanted to say something to just me. I’m assuming it’s more than feeding the rivalry between me and Darkwing,” Fenton wondered.

            Quirking an eyebrow, Aphrodite stood up. “You don’t miss a thing. I’m going to have to be careful around you.” She circled him, trailing a finger across his shoulders. “I just would like you to know that she will never betray you.”

            For the first time, Fenton felt uneasy.

            “She doesn’t have an agenda. She will love you no matter what happens,” Aphrodite continued. “You could call it quits, and she’ll still love you. You could fail her, and she’ll still love you. You could even hate her, and she’ll still love you.”

            Fenton couldn’t keep his emotions on the inside anymore. He turned his head away, not able to look at Charity’s body.

            “Yes, you do deserve to be loved that much,” Aphrodite said, reaching out and putting her hands on his cheeks. “You deserve someone to love you that much, because that’s how you love. You deserve someone who is devoted to you, who you can trust, who will always be there for you. Because you’re the devoted type.” She pulled him closer.

            Fenton grabbed her hands, rage in his face. “Get out of my head and get out of her body,” he growled. “Stop messing wi—“

            Aphrodite slipped out of his grip as she froze him, tilting her head as she looked at Fenton’s expression. Oh, it was priceless. The passion on his face. It was a work of art. Well, her work was done here. Now, who’s next?

            She tapped her finger to her beak before pointing to Launchpad, who instantly unfroze.

            He looked around uncertainly, sure that Aphrodite had been standing right in front of him only seconds ago. He examined her warily. “Charity?”

            “Not yet, big guy,” Aphrodite said, her whole demeanor changing from when she was with Fenton. Her eyes lost their “come hither” look and turned warm and inviting, as if coaxing a wild animal. “I’ll give her back soon. I just want to talk.” She sat down on the plush sofa and patted it, indicating she wanted Launchpad to join her.

            Launchpad did, innocently clasping his hands between his knees.

            “That was quite the plot twist, wasn’t it?” Aphrodite asked, giving Launchpad a sympathetic look. “You understand why she was hurt during the fight with Ares?”

            “It’s because…I’m part of the curse, too,” Launchpad said. His emotions were guarded.

            “And everything that comes with it,” Aphrodite hinted, a small smile curving Charity’s beak. “I know it’s a lot to process. I can’t imagine what you’re going through.” She took Launchpad’s hand and patted it.

            “I—I’ve been so blind,” Launchpad said. “I don’t even…How long has she…”

            “Been in love with you?” Aphrodite finished.

            Launchpad stared off into space and nodded.

            “You poor thing,” Aphrodite said, massaging his hand. “You’re oldest and dearest friend has deceived you for so long. You must feel so betrayed.”

            Launchpad didn’t say anything, didn’t react. It was as if he were delving into the past, trying to make sense of everything.

            Aphrodite put her hand on Launchpad’s head, stroking his hair. From that simple touch, she saw into his thoughts as he ran through old memories, finding the subtle hints of Charity’s feelings and signs of the curse. The way she gazed at him, her loving touch, how she easily took his hand as they walked side-by-side everywhere. He had always interpreted her actions as sisterly-love, but with his newfound knowledge, he read the deeper meaning.

            His mind went to all the accidents he had been in, all those skate-boarding, driving, flying, and every other dare-devil scheme he had attempted. Why had he not once noticed he had walked away without a scratch? Was he really that dense and carefree that he thought that he was more skilled than he actually was? Why hadn’t he noticed that Charity always had injuries in the same places he should have been hurt?

            “So trusting,” Aphrodite said. “She should have trusted you.” And as Launchpad reacted to her words, she froze him. “So heart-breaking,” she said to no one, running a hand down Launchpad’s face.

            With two out of four done, she went to Darkwing, standing intimately close to him. She traced his jaw with a finger before shaking her head. “I think I’ll leave you for last,” she cooed, dancing away to the dark figure crouching far from the others. She unfroze him, but even so, she wondered if it had worked. But a small flap of his cape told her that he was aware of her.

            Negaduck remained perfectly still, finding comfort in acting as if he were invisible. There was something about this goddess he didn’t like. The others, while powerful, didn’t intimidate him. They were either all good or all bluster. But this chick, he wasn’t sure what to make of her. Not to mention, her power kind of scared him.

            When she approached with swaying hips, he took a step back. It wasn’t that she was Aphrodite, but the fact that she was inside the girl that made him the most afraid.

            “Stay back,” he growled.

            “Then you come to me,” Aphrodite said, crooking a finger.

            Negaduck’s stomach churned, and he braced for some sort of magic to force him to do her will. But when nothing happened, he glared.

            “Afraid of little ol’ me?” Aphrodite cajoled.

            That was enough for Negaduck to come forward. Possession may scare him but call him a wimp, and he would prove them wrong.

            “You have been the wrench in the cog that I’ve been looking for,” Aphrodite said. “The perfect little plot twist that has made this story much more interesting.”

            Negaduck bared his teeth at the goddess. “Yeah, well, you can play all you want with these saps.” He waved a condescending hand at the males still frozen. “But once I’m off this island, babe, I’m gone.”

            “And you’re revenge?”

            Negaduck glared at Darkwing. He still felt hate when he looked at the purple costume—his costume—on that guy. But once gods came into the mix, Negaduck wanted anything else but to be around this group. He could always hunker down somewhere, wait until this whole curse business was over with—because he’d know if they would break the curse—and then get his revenge. Seeing how the Darkwing Duck knockoff made googly eyes at the lovebird, he’d go to the ends of the Earth to help her.

            And if Aphrodite was watching them every second on this quest, Negaduck had every intention to run in the opposite direction.

            “Oh, will you now?” Aphrodite asked.

            Negaduck’s eyes widened as he realized she was responding to his own thoughts.

            Before he could back away, she grabbed his beak, her grip deceptively strong.

            “You’re not going anywhere,” she purred. “What a good story really needs is conflict, and you bring in one of the best I’ve seen. Unpredictable, scary, but also sympathetic. That little show you performed in the Fields of Mourning, you could even be redeemable.”

            Negaduck swallowed, trying to keep his breathing even. He fed his rage to keep his fear at bay.

            “Now, how am I going to keep you from leaving my story?” Aphrodite asked, pouting. “I don’t suppose if I ask you nicely, you’ll stay.”

            Negaduck gave her a death glare.

            “Then I’m going to have to use coercion,” Aphrodite said with a shrug. “You’re not really giving me much of a choice. This is all on you.”

            Something wiggled its way into Negaduck. It wasn’t as if something physical went inside him, but he could feel it all the same. He shuddered.

            Aphrodite let go of him, ignoring how he fell onto his knees.

            “What did you do to me?” Negaduck demanded, clutching his chest. The sensation had disappeared but he could tell that whatever was inside him was still there. “Take it out, now!”

            “You’re fine,” Aphrodite said carelessly. “It’s not going to hurt you. Remember? You can’t feel pain. There’s not really anything I can do about that, but there are other things I can make you feel. For instance, if you decide to run away, this is what you’ll experience.”

            It was as if a hand wrapped around Negaduck’s heart, but this one was made of ice and anxiety and despair. At first, it was uncomfortable and disturbing, but the longer he felt it, the more intense it became. Soon he was breathing hard, his heart beating faster, and sweat oozing out of his pores.

            “Stop,” he pleaded, hating that he gave in so easily.

            Aphrodite waited a few seconds before releasing her magic, looking satisfied. “I think you have an idea of what is in store for you if you run. For every mile you move away from this body, the sensation will intensify. I gave you a powerful dose, but I’ll guess that it’ll be tolerable for five or ten miles. You might be able to live with fifteen, but I doubt you’ll enjoy getting farther than that.”

            Negaduck continued to pant for a while, gathering his cape around him for whatever protection it could give him. He muttered something incredibly impolite to Aphrodite.

            “Hate me all you like,” Aphrodite said. “Just make sure I get a good story out of it.” And she froze him, capturing the exact second when Negaduck realized he was trapped in her net, that there was no way out.

            Aphrodite wasn’t kidding when she said that Negaduck was unpredictable. Even the gods couldn’t know what he would do next. She was looking forward to the next chapter in the story.

            “And it’s down to one,” she said, sauntering to Darkwing. With a mischievous smile, she wrapped her arms around the masked duck before unfreezing him. “Darkwing,” she said, trying her best to match Charity’s tone with her voice. Aphrodite may be using her body, but even then, her mimicry wasn’t perfect.

            The different expressions that crossed his face were all priceless. She wished she could freeze every one and put them on her shelf. He was surprised, then his face softened before he realized it was Aphrodite and not Charity. His face became grim as he pushed her away from him gently.

            He looked around, seeing the slumped form of Launchpad on the couch, Negaduck crouched in the corner, and Fenton in mid-yell. He had been aware of his senses blackening out for a time, but—to him—it could have been a few seconds or hours. He guessed it was closer to a few minutes.

            “What is it you want from us?” Darkwing asked. He folded his arms defensively.

            “What any girl wants,” Aphrodite replied. “To have fun.”

            “I don’t think toying with a person’s emotions is fun,” Darkwing said with a set jaw.

            “Oh, you don’t? Isn’t that what you’re doing to this girl?” Aphrodite asked, touching Charity’s chest lightly. “Isn’t that what flirting is?”

            “That’s different. I-I wasn’t…” he stuttered.

            “Doing anything wrong? Or the fact that you didn’t know just how much of an effect you had on Charity?” Aphrodite asked. “If only you knew.” She reached out and grabbed Darkwing’s hand. “Even with me in control, her body reacts to your touch. If only you could feel her heart pounding right now. Or did you already know? How could you not with how she blushes under your attention?”

            “It’s still different,” Darkwing defended. “What you’re doing is manipulation?”

            “All courtship is manipulation,” Aphrodite justified with a wave of her hand. “You’re just mad that you’re the one whose heartstrings are being tugged for once.” Aphrodite smirked, seeing the disbelief on Darkwing’s countenance. “You can’t tell me that Charity isn’t the first girl you’ve made blush, not with that face. I know how much of a heart throb you can be when you set your mind to it.”

            “You may be right about that, but you have to stop pushing my emotions,” Darkwing said. “I need to know…I have to know that everything I feel is real. These desires, I won’t act on them unless I know they are natural.”

            “As I told Fenton, I can’t create emotions, just intensify them,” Aphrodite said, irate that she had to repeat herself. “I can’t make you fall in love, just help things bloom. Your feelings for her are real. I’ve just been pushing you a little into acting on them.”

            “You’ve been doing it this whole time?” Darkwing growled, remembering how he had cornered Charity that morning and almost kissed her. He had been over-bearing, almost demanding. What about before that? Had Aphrodite been pushing him from the beginning?

            “So what’s the problem?” Aphrodite asked with a shrug. “You want her. She wants you. You could make each other so happy.” She reached out to Darkwing, her face full of longing.         

            “Don’t!” Darkwing ordered, raising a finger in warning. “Don’t touch me.”

            “Are you sure? I know how much you’ve wanted to kiss her. We could experiment right now?”

            Darkwing gulped. He knew it wasn’t Charity, but it was so hard to tell his heart that. As Aphrodite approached him, he felt his old desires flaring up. The burning in his chest grew in intensity. She didn’t need to touch him to twist his emotions.

            “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of me,” Aphrodite said. She rubbed Charity’s hips seductively. “Or is it this body that you’re afraid of?”

            Was it his imagination or did the neckline of Aphrodite’s dress lower?

            It’s not Charity. It’s some other girl. Just pretend she’s someone else.

            The desires to embrace Charity, to enfold her in his cape and protect her from her curse, to kiss and lie with her took up his every thought. Aphrodite was right; he wanted her. And he could make her happy.

            But this wasn’t right.

            “You’re not Charity,” he said.

            Aphrodite was just a hair’s breadth from him, her breath against his beak. “I could be,” she whispered.

            Darkwing stepped back and, with all his might, slapped his own cheek.

            Aphrodite’s jerked back, raising a hand to her cheek. Her eyes widened in rage. “How dare you?” she hissed, twisting Charity’s features. “You dare to touch—“

            “I didn’t touch you,” Darkwing spat. “And that wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t taken what doesn’t belong to you.”

            Aphrodite sneered. “You would hurt this poor girl just to get to me. You’re not as noble as you pretend to be.”

            “Charity will understand. She’s not as fragile as you think she is,” Darkwing said.

            After giving Darkwing a once-over with her eyes, she grumbled, “You were a lot more fun before.”

            “I can be a lot less fun,” Darkwing threatened. “Stop pulling at my emotions.”

            “Fine. I promise not to influence you anymore.” Aphrodite said with a bored shrug.

            Darkwing waited, then cocked an eyebrow. “How about starting right now?”

            Aphrodite blew out a breath of air, stirring some of Charity’s hair. “You’re no fun.” She waved her hand. “I wasn’t even pushing you that hard. However, whatever you feel right now, that’s the real thing. Whether or not that it’s true love or just physical attraction, that you’re going to have to figure out on your own.”

            “I can live with that,” Darkwing said.

            “I guess I’ll just have to be satisfied with that one kiss with Fenton.”

            Darkwing clenched his fists, an automatic response to a surprising twist. He turned to look back at Fenton, still frozen.

            “He wasn’t that good, but an innocent little thing like him probably hasn’t had much practice,” Aphrodite said with a giggle. “But I bet you’re experienced. Why don’t you show me?”

            Darkwing released the tension in his body, using a few breathing techniques he learned while studying martial arts. He must stay in control. He studied Fenton, recalling their time in the jungle. “I may not like Crackshell-Cabrera, but I trust him a whole lot more than I do you. You’re lying,” Darkwing said. He folded his arms, calmness personified. “I’ve figured out your game. You’re yanking us around like you’re some sort of—“ He stopped suddenly.

            “Like a god?” Aphrodite helped.

            “That doesn’t give you the right to do what you’re doing,” Darkwing said. He looked at Launchpad and his sorrowful expression. What had she said to him to make him feel like that?

            “I have every right,” Aphrodite said. “This body, I could keep it if I wanted to. And if I truly desired it, I could keep all of you here to do with as I liked. I have the power, and that makes me right.”

            Darkwing crouched, his reaction instinctual once he heard the threat.

            “But I won’t,” Aphrodite said. She moved away, playing with a vase of red roses on a table. “I have no desire to be that kind of goddess. I am the Goddess of Love, and it’s not in my best interest to get into a power struggle with you five.”

            “No, you’re best interest seems to be to cause a rivalry between me and Fenton,” Darkwing said. “That’s what the challenges were all about. They were to make me more competitive against him when he should be an ally. It backfired. I have…some respect for him.”

            “Maybe that was my intention all along,” Aphrodite said with a coy smile.

            “Maybe,” Darkwing admitted. “Or you don’t care much about the result. You just want to screw around with our heads.” Darkwing rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the stress of trying to figure out this goddess’s twisted intentions. “So, to repeat myself, what do you want from us? Because if you really wanted to help us, you’d tell us what we needed to know and let us go on our way, but you’re not.”

            For the first time, sadness touched Charity’s face while Aphrodite wore it. “I just wanted to feel once more,” she said, turning her back away from Darkwing. “I am quite powerful, but it came at a cost. I feed off of emotions, but I can’t feel them without help. It’s been so long since I’ve felt love. Or being loved.” She turned large eyes onto Darkwing, catching him off guard.

            And she froze him, leaving him a statue with the perfect expression of sympathy. She tilted her head back and soaked it in. Fenton’s indignation, Launchpad’s sorrow, Negaduck’s despair, and Darkwing’s sympathy. Oh, she could have basked in those emotions all day. But even frozen as they were, the feelings would fade eventually.

            Not to mention, Zeus was probably getting anxious to kick the mortals off his beach. Unless she wanted to deal with a cranky lightning god, she best get on with the plot.

            “Time to get changed,” she announced to no one, sashaying to the nearest wall. With a flick of her finger, a door appeared and opened to a small space no bigger than a broom closet. On the other side was a body draped in a white, silk robe. The figure had long, luxurious blond hair, but her facial features were covered by a veil.

            Taking the hands of her real body, Aphrodite concentrated on moving her soul. However, it didn’t take much energy. It felt as if something was pushing her out.

            The switching of bodies was jarring, and Aphrodite gasped, her breath stirring the white veil covering her face. It was like jumping into a pool of cold water, returning to her body. Before she could adjust to the change, the girl pushed her physically. Unbalanced, Aphrodite braced herself against the closet walls. It was a good thing it was a small closet.

            Charity scrambled away, weak in the legs and frightened. “Don’t you ever do that to me again,” she cried out, horrified.

            “I healed you girl. And if it meant borrowing your body for a while, I don’t think that’s too much of a sacrifice,” Aphrodite said, her voice sweet and melodious. While it was fun to “body surf,” there was no substitute for perfection.

            “I don’t care. What you did with my body was disgusting,” Charity accused. “The things you said to them. Playing with Darkwing… How could you? And what you did to Jim!”

            Aphrodite’s eyes widened. “You heard all that? You were aware?”

            Charity couldn’t stop her sight from blurring, and it was hard to push back the tears. “Everything,” she confirmed. “I couldn’t move. Do you know what it’s like to be a prisoner in your own body?”

            If Aphrodite reacted to that, the veil hid everything. “You weren’t supposed to. You should have been asleep while I took over.” Her tone held no kind of apology.

            Charity stood up and rushed over to Launchpad and touched his face. But he remained in place, stuck in the same position that Aphrodite left him. Her heart ached as she recalled how Aphrodite played on his emotions. “Let them go. Unfreeze them or whatever you do.”

            “I thought we could talk first,” Aphrodite said, leaving the closet.

            “I think you’ve done enough talking,” Charity spat. She stood between Aphrodite and the males as if to protect them.

            “But don’t you want to know about your curse?” Aphrodite asked.

            Charity paused, considering. “If you’re going to tease us some more, then I’d rather leave. But they,” here, Charity gestured to the four ducks, “already paid a hefty fee for the information. I don’t want their sacrifice go to waste, but I won’t let you manipulate them anymore.”

            Charity wished that Aphrodite didn’t wear her veil; she wanted a read on the goddess. But the whole “makes men’s heads explode” thing might be a bad idea. At least Charity wasn’t a man. When she knocked Aphrodite down, the veil did waft up a bit, and she caught a glimpse of a gorgeous face with a soft, delicate beak, but the view was so fleeting that Charity couldn’t rely on her memory to imagine Aphrodite without the veil.

            “You can’t keep all four, you know that, right?” Aphrodite asked, her voice filled with humor. “You may claim them now, but if you break the curse, things may not go as you thought. You may still love all four or none of them. Hearts will be hurt regardless. Can you—“

            “Stop it!” Charity shouted. “Let us go! I don’t care anymore. Even if you have the cure, I don’t want your help.”

            Aphrodite folded her arms, resting her weight on one leg. “Oh, stop your temper tantrum, child. You’re acting like a toddler who had her toys taken away. Although, perhaps that’s exactly what happened.” Aphrodite raised her hand. “Here’s your toys back.”

            Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the others stirring. She turned in time to see their different reactions when they saw her. Negaduck fearful, Darkwing bewildered, and Fenton still angry as he finished shouting the sentence he began several minutes ago. The worst was when Launchpad turned his face away.

            They still think I’m Aphrodite.

            Charity was filled with ire for the goddess. She demanded, “Now show us the exit. We’re leaving.”

            “Charity? Is that you?” Fenton asked, his expression quickly changing.

            The lovebird nodded before turning a glare to the goddess.

            “But you still haven’t gotten what you came here for,” Aphrodite tantalized. “Your visit to Ithaquack would be fruitless.”

            “Then tell us. Otherwise we’re not going to listen to another word you say,” Charity demanded. She felt the four men move closer to her, creating a wall around her.

            With a heavy sigh, Aphrodite sat in a comfortable lounge chair, crossing her long legs. “Play time is over,” she said wistfully. “Have any of you heard of the Strings of Fate?”

             Charity glanced to either side of her, checking with the others. They all shook their heads. Her gaze lingered on Launchpad, wishing that she could have time to talk to him. The air between them felt heavy.

            “No,” Charity spoke for them all. “What does that have to do with my curse?”

            “Nothing,” Aphrodite said with a shrug. “But it is the path you must take to learn everything you need to know about the curse.”

            “What do you mean by that?” Charity asked, feeling uneasy.

            “It’s easier if I show you while I explain,” Aphrodite said, waving her hand.

            In a blink of an eye, Charity felt something tight on her pinky finger. Looking down at her right hand, she saw four satin, red ribbons tied to her pinky. She followed one, seeing that the end tied to Launchpad’s finger. Darkwing and Fenton had one as well. She felt a tug in the opposite direction, and turned to see Negaduck pulling on the ribbon attached to his pinky. These ribbons sparkled and shimmered with a bright, white light.

            Both Fenton and Negaduck had a second ribbon on their fingers, the former’s looked dull and faded, the latter’s was frayed and broken on the other end. These two ribbons didn’t sparkle with light.

            “I have dominion over the Red Strings of Fate, which represent romantic connections,” Aphrodite explained. “Oh, it looks like one of your bachelor’s has another crush. A little competition for you, my little lovebird.”

            “What does this have to do with my curse?” Charity asked.

            “It’s easy for me to show you the Red Strings, but the others, I can give you a glimpse. Here’s yellow.”

            The five mortals gazed in amazement as yellow, rope-like strings appeared around their wrists. Fenton, Charity, Launchpad, and Darkwing were all connected to each other while many other strings led away out of the room, disappearing through the walls. Negaduck had a few of his own, but none that went to the others. After several seconds, the yellow strings disappeared

            “The Yellow Strings represent friendship connections,” Aphrodite said. “And the Blue Strings are family connections.”

            Again, several Blue Strings appeared, tied to their biceps. All of these led outside the walls, most likely to their family members so far away.

            “Green represent admiration or envy, depending on your view,” Aphrodite said, a chuckle in her words.

            Darkwing frowned as he felt the Green Strings appear over his forearm, one going directly to Fenton. Admiration, huh? Or was it envy? However, one did run from him to Negaduck. The same with Charity and Launchpad. However, Launchpad and Darkwing’s Green Strings of admiration for Jim Starling looked to be fraying close to Negaduck’s forearm.

            “There are others,” Aphrodite said, sounding breathless as if she were exerting herself. “But let’s cut to the chase, shall we. There are Black and White Strings of Fate, which indicate bonds made through magic. The White represents good or neutral magics, which you could see within the Red Strings of Fate. The Black Strings of Fate, which represent dark magic, are what we are after.” Aphrodite snapped her fingers.

            Suddenly Charity couldn’t breathe. Something sharp and thin was clamping tightly over her throat. Gagging, Charity dropped to her knees, her fingers scrambling at her neck.

            “Charity!” several voices shouted.

            Wrapped several times around her throat was a black, wire-like string, digging into her flesh. And just as suddenly as it appeared, it disappeared.

            Coughing and gasping, Charity massaged her throat, her eyes wide.

            “Let me see,” Fenton said, kneeling in front of her. He gently pushed aside her feathers and gazed at her throat with that look that said he was using his Gizmoduck lenses. “I don’t see anything. No bruises or damage. It’s like there was nothing there.”

            “They’re merely symbols,” Aphrodite explained. “Symbols can’t hurt us but we can still feel their effects.”

            “But what does it mean?” Darkwing asked. “The Black String is connected to another person, right? But the curse happened so long ago.”

            “Your guess is as good as mine,” Aphrodite said with a shrug. “But you are correct that the Black String is connected to two people. You’ll find answers when you find the other end of the String.”

            “Unless you plan on joining our little questing party, how are we supposed to do that?” Charity rasped, her throat hurting when she spoke.

            “I doubt you’d enjoy that, child,” Aphrodite said with a chuckle. “You’ll need an item, the Orb of Yue Xia Lao.”

            Charity sighed. “And where do we find that?”

            “Do I look like a treasure map?” Aphrodite asked snarkily. “The Orb’s origin is China, but the last I heard, it no longer was in the country. If I were you, I’d find an expert treasure hunter to help you. And last I heard, you keep company with the best.”

            The group exchanged looks, each thinking the same thing. Scrooge McDuck.

            “And now that you have your information, I’m sure you are eager to leave my company,” Aphrodite said. “But you are welcome to stay if you please.”

            Nobody was entertained by her teasing.

            Aphrodite waved her hand, and a door appeared. “You are free.” She sounded sardonic.

            The group didn’t hide their desire to put as much distance between them and Aphrodite as they moved toward the exit, the door opening directly onto the beach where the Duck family waited. The minute their feet were on the sand, the five felt a heavy weight lift from their hearts. Although the lead was small, the fact that this leg of their quest was over relieved them.

            “What happened? Did you lift the curse?” Webby shouted, running toward them.

            “Five challenges that almost get us killed, and we come back with another wild goose chase,” Negaduck muttered, ignoring the little girl edging around him nervously.

            “Another wild goose chase? What is he talking about?” Webby asked, keeping her distance from the dark-masked duck.

            Exhaustion hit Charity like a sledge hammer, and the thought of explaining everything, of asking Scrooge McDuck for even more help, drained her. That morning, she had high hopes that the cure was in sight, and now she was as far away as ever.

            “We’ll tell you in the plane,” Fenton said, taking the lead. “It’s time for us to leave.”

            Mrs. Beakley and Scrooge McDuck nodded.

            “Come on, kids. Let’s load up,” Mrs. Beakley announced, her arms spread as if to gather them up.

            With the sun setting on Ithaquack, everyone was ready to get onto the plane and go home, even those who seemed to have never-ending energy.

            “Launchpad, get the plane started. Let’s get off this spit of land before the natives decide to fry us,” Scrooge ordered, waving his cane in the air.

            Zeus looked ready to do just that.

            “Um…could you have Della do it?” Launchpad asked, rubbing the back of his head. “I’m not feeling so good.”

            “Ha!” Della shouted, looking triumphant. “Finally. He has relinquished his throne.”

            “What about your concussion?” Dewey reminded his mom.

            “Concussion, fooey. I’ll show ya boys how a real pilot flies,” Della yelled, running to the plane.

            Only Charity seemed to have caught on that Launchpad had misled the group. She knew that this was coming and lingered behind with him. What was she to say? “Sorry” wasn’t enough. This was all her fault. She should have told him right from the beginning. She should have ignored her mother telling her to keep the curse a secret. And now she had years of lying to own up to.

            “Okay, Launchpad. I’m listening,” Charity said, giving him her whole attention. “You say what’s on your mind.”

            “When did it happen? How long ago?” Launchpad asked softly.

            Charity folded her arms. “That day that you saved me from Linda Tyler and her gang of mean girls. Back in the seventh grade.”

            Launchpad’s face grew more wrinkles.

            Charity swallowed. “It’s been twelve years.”

            Launchpad was silent.

            “Launchpad, please talk to me,” Charity requested softly. “Say anything. Be mad at me. Yell at me. I lied to you. You should be mad at me. But don’t be sad.” The tears came suddenly. “Please don’t hate me.”

            “All this time, I saw you as my little sister,” Launchpad said. “And I was your big brother. I was supposed to protect you. But it turns out that all this time, you’ve been protecting me.”

            Charity’s eyes widened as Launchpad dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around her legs. He buried his face into her stomach.

            “Thank you for protecting me,” he said.

            Her tears rained down on his red hair as she returned the hug.

            “I love you, Launchpad,” she whispered.

            “I love you, too, Charity.”

            “Like a sister?”

            Launchpad didn’t reply.

            “Launchpad?”

            “You don’t love me like a brother,” he said, his voice muffled against her stomach.

            Charity dropped to her own knees. “Don’t! Don’t think about that. Please. I don’t care how this stupid curse makes me feel. I love you like you’re my brother. You’ll always be my big brother, Launchpad. That will never change.”

            Charity was engulfed into Launchpad’s arms, and despite her fatigue and the feelings of hopelessness that the day’s efforts were for naught, she felt warm and comfort from his embrace.

            “You always give the best hugs,” Charity said. “I’m so glad I met you, Launchpad. I’m so glad I fell in love with you. I wouldn’t take it back, not one single scratch or bruise. It was all worth it to know and love you.”

Chapter Text

Twisted Strings of Fate

Chapter 24

            We may have left the island, but her influence followed us on our journey. She had been watching since the beginning and would be there at the end.

***

            Negaduck glared at the finger that dangled a pair of handcuffs with the familiar design from the TV show he had starred in.

            “You either put these on or you’re not getting on this plane,” the broad-shouldered, gray-haired woman said, as unmovable as a mountain.

            Negaduck grimaced. He was only on this stinking island through the grace of gods, but it seemed he wasn’t getting off the same way. More than likely, if he stepped on the plane, he would only be handed over to doctors and orderlies when they disembarked. His memories of the hospital he was sent to earlier that day were fuzzy and chaotic, but they were far from happy. He was determined he wouldn’t go back.

            But what other option did he have?

            Turning around, he offered his hands to be restrained placidly. He felt defeated, but not because of the handcuffs. He could feel the weight on his chest that Aphrodite placed there, an iron chain that connected him to the lovebird that was heavier than the curse.

            He was cornered, boxed in, caged. He couldn’t run. And if he stayed, he would be placed in an even darker, more confining prison than this one. If he wanted the chance to be free, to walk without bars restricting him, he had to make a decision.

            Negaduck had to disappear.

***

            Walking hand in hand, Charity and Launchpad approached the others gathered around the red plane. Huey, back with Hephaestus, was loading up the newly assembled Gizmoduck suit with the help of Fenton and Darkwing.

            “We took out several pounds of burnt taffy,” Huey said

            “Delicious,” Hephaestus said, rubbing his tummy and licking his lips. “More burnt offerings like that, and I think even Zeus could get used to you mortals.”

            His father glowered at that comment.

            Selene cleared her throat and crossed her arms. “Don’t you want to tell them something?” she hinted.

            Zeus’s expression darkened even more. A small thunderstorm gathered around his head.

            “Father!”

            “Oh, alright,” Zeus relented. “Apparently it is tradition to give mortals a gift for fulfilling certain challenges.”

            “This is the first I’ve heard of this,” Scrooge grumbled. “I think we’re due for some gift-giving back-pay.”

            Donald nudged his uncle. “Don’t poke the bear.” He smiled at the gods, hoping this would go quickly so they could all leave.

            “Only one gift,” Zeus growled. He waved his hand and three waist-high pillars appeared, each holding a treasure box, one made of gold, one of silver, one of wood.

            “Ugh, another test,” Scrooge muttered. He should have guessed Zeus would try one more trick, but the king of the gods could at least do something original. This was an old riddle.

            “You, girl. Come choose,” Zeus said, pointing to Charity. “And choose wisely.”

            “Uh, okay,” Charity said with a shrug.

            Scrooge was certain that Charity would be able to pass this test. She seemed like a smart girl. However, his eyes widened and he gave out a yelp as she grabbed the golden chest. “No!”

            “Huh?” Charity wondered, turning around, confused.

            Zeus grinned. “Ha! I did it! I won!” However, when Charity turned to look at him with that same bewildered face, his expression drooped. “Why aren’t you turning to stone?”
            “Father! Did you offer them a cursed gift?” Selene shouted. “I’m so ashamed of you.”

            “Cursed?” Charity asked, looking down at the treasure chest. “Am I missing something?”

            “It’s an old trick to stop greedy treasure hunters from gaining a valuable item,” Scrooge said, just as confused. “Those that pick the gold or silver chests often end up dead or worse. You’re supposed to pick the humblest and least valuable-looking of the options to show you have a good heart.”

            “Why didn’t it work?” Zeus demanded, grabbing his head.

            “Well…I didn’t want it for myself,” Charity admitted. “I don’t need any treasure, so I thought, since Mr. McDuck has been so generous to help me that this might repay him for everything.” She opened up the chest, her face drooping. “But it’s empty.”

            Selene smiled, seeing how the girl unintentionally undermined her father’s scheme. “The chest is made of gold.”

            Charity perked up at that. She placed the heavy chest into Scrooge’s arms. “I hope this pays for everything. I’m sorry to be such a burden.”

            Scrooge grinned. “Lass, I’m adopting you.”

            “Hey!” his blood relatives shouted.

            Selene laughed, glad that things worked out for the best. She turned to her father. “Perhaps this will teach you not to trick someone with a good heart.”

            Zeus heaved a breath before finally smiling. “It seems the mortals surprised me once more.”

            Selene and Storkules bid one last farewell to their friends, the latter leaving Donald gasping for air and certain that he had a few broken ribs.

            Everyone boarded the plane as Della revved the engine. The last to get on was Charity, looking back at the enchanted island of myths and legends. It was hard to believe all she had seen and done in one day. Muses and Roller Derby and going to Hell and back. For a moment, she thought she saw Thalia and Clio and their sisters waving at her on the beach with Artemis standing in a power pose with her wolf at her side. She sensed there were other gods and powerful beings watching her.

            She shuddered, thinking that Aphrodite would follow her every move from now on.

            Getting on the plane, she watched as Mrs. Beakley secured Negaduck in the cargo hold, threading the handcuffs through a metal catch to the wall before clapping them back on his wrist. He sat down heavily, his arms hanging from his restraints.

            Mrs. Beakley turned. “It’ll be alright, dear. This will hold him.”

            But she misinterpreted Charity’s expression. The lovebird was more concerned about Jim Starling’s comfort rather than him hurting anyone. Despite his crude manners, he had helped her with the challenges. Part of her had forgotten the terror of when he chased them through McDuck Manor with a chainsaw. He looked so defeated and forlorn at that moment, and Charity was the only one who knew why. What Aphrodite did to him was unforgiveable, and she couldn’t help but feel responsible for it.

            It had been her hand that the goddess used to harm Jim, to put that spell upon him. She had watched through her own eyes, seen her body move on its own volition, to break his spirit. When they had shared the same body, Aphrodite could flare and read the guys’s emotions, but the goddess’s thoughts remained her own. But Charity didn’t need to read her mind to know that the five of them were only toys to the goddess. It was clear that if they didn’t go along with “the story” as Aphrodite put it, she would make them.

            “Charity, are you coming?” Fenton waited for her at the ladder. He glanced at Negaduck and back again.

            Charity met Negaduck’s eye for a second, then he looked away. “Yeah,” Charity said, joining them at the ladder. When she grabbed one of the rungs, Fenton touched her arm.

            “Are you okay?”

            Charity smiled softly at his concern. “It’s been a long day. I think we all need some rest.” She glanced back at Negaduck, wishing that everything could be fixed with just a good night’s sleep.

            She was about to climb up the ladder when she felt the dress slide up her leg. It was at that point she realized how little she was wearing. She pulled the hem down, realizing that by doing that plus bending, she gave everyone a full view of her already exposed cleavage. Her face turned hot as she tried covering her chest at the same time as pulling the hem down.

            Fenton sputtered at her indecency, turning his back quickly, his spine rigid.

            How did I not notice all this time? Charity thought, recalling how quickly things were moving for her. I guess with everything else going on, my modesty wasn’t my main priority.

            To her great relief, a large jacket was wrapped around her shoulders, the familiar scent of leather and Launchpad filled her nostrils. And even though it was damaged in the fight with Ares, it covered her entire frame down to her knees. “Thanks,” she said to her friend, zipping it up to the place where the sword cut through leather and metal. “You can look now, Fenton.”

            The male duck turned, face red and unable to look her in the eyes until she laid her hand on his cheek.

            They climbed the ladder, feeling the vibrations of the engines as the plane started to move. At the top, Darkwing gave Charity a hand up, although his eyes lingered more on Negaduck, who was the only one left in the cargo hold.

            Della eased the plane out of the bay, picking up speed for liftoff. Dewey sat in the co-pilot’s seat, asking questions and sounding excited as his mother gave him his first flying lesson. The other three kids were in their seats on one side of the plane with Uncle Donald sitting on the floor next to them.

            “Take your seats,” Mrs. Beakley said, standing in her usual spot behind Dewey’s seat.

            However, unlike their trip to the island, Fenton wasn’t in the cargo hold. Even with Scrooge McDuck standing behind Della’s seat in the cockpit, which left three seats for four butts. And because Charity had had enough of people catering for her, she took charge.

            “You guys can have the seats,” Charity said, gesturing.

            Fenton and Darkwing protested at the same time, but Launchpad plopped down in the middle seat. Soon after, Charity sat in Launchpad’s lap, smiled and patted the seats on either side of her.

            The two ducks had mirror crooked smiles at the sight of Charity in Launchpad’s jacket sitting on his lap. Fenton was the next to sit, but Darkwing stayed standing for a while.

            “You know, it might be more comfortable sharing a seat with me,” Darkwing said. “I’m sure we both can squeeze in.”

            Charity narrowed her eyes at him, suspecting that his offer was more self-serving than it sounded. However, before she could reply, Launchpad wrapped his arms around her.

            “Mine,” he said, sounding protective.

            Despite her resolve to love him as a brother, her face burned intensely. Trying to dispel her surprise, she said, “No, thanks. I like the seat I have.”

            Darkwing smiled as he sat down.

            Snuggling down into the jacket, Charity still felt the bitterness of Ithaquack lingering inside her. While Launchpad’s embrace was comforting, she found she needed more contact than that to settle her down. Reaching out, she took Darkwing’s hand in her right and Fenton’s in her left. They both squeezed.

            The only thing that would make this perfect was if Jim could be here, the real Jim, whole, sane and healthy. But what could she do to help? Was there really anything that could be done? Or was Negaduck there to stay?

            With this thought marring the moment, she let sleep take over her mind.

***

            “How does she do it?”

            “What?” Webby leaned over to look at Louie’s phone. He was filming the four adults on the other side of the plane, the telephoto lens zoomed in as much as it could.

            “These touching moments. They’re absolute gold,” Louie explained, closing his camera. He opened up one of his social media apps to downloading the newest movie. “Just today, I’ve gotten more viewers than ever. I’m actually making money because of my hit count.”

            “Oooo, how much?” Huey asked.

            “A couple of dollars, just from the advertisements viewers have before watching my movies,” Louie explained. “But still, this girl is the answer to my dreams.”

            “I told you he has a little boy crush,” Huey said.

            “I don’t have a little boy crush!” Louie shouted. He breathed in and out to calm down. “I’m just saying that her life is so much more interesting than the other crap I put online.”

            “You mean how you complain about me and Dewey all the time?” Huey asked.

            “Have you posted anything about me?” Webby asked.

            “Yeah. Just google ‘parkour ninja girl.’ You’re in there,” Louie replied. “And while complaining about brothers and posting videos of Webby doing the physically impossible is fine, the Internet is starving for a storyline. I wonder if I can get them to reenact some of the earlier scenes. It’s going to be hard to get Negaduck to jump on-board, so I might have to hire an actor. Heh, hire an actor to play and actor.”

            “Wait, reenact? Won’t your audience notice the difference with your videos out of order?” Webby asked.

            “Oh, they think I’m making a movie,” Louie said. He showed her his phone. “See, look at these comments. This guy says that Zeus is a lousy actor. And this one said that my Darkwing Duck looks nothing like the real thing. This one’s my favorite. ‘Who are you kidding with your lame special effects?’” Louie smirked.

            “It’s official. You’ve turned to the dark side,” Huey said. “You’re capitalizing on Charity’s life. Not only are you invading their privacy, but you’re making money off of unethical decisions. I’m telling Mom.”

            “Mom approves,” Louie said quickly. “She just put twenty bucks on Charity going solo once the curse is broken.”

            “What?” Huey shouted, looking at her mother in the pilot’s chair. “But—No, a responsible—Okay, never mind. Then I’m telling Charity.”

            “Charity approves, too,” Louie said with a smirk. “As long as I donate seventy-five percent of my profits to charity.”

            “Wait,” Webby said, holding out her hands. “Are you giving the money to a charity, like a non-profit one, or to Charity? I’m confused.”

            “I’ve already picked one, too,” Louie said, finding the information online. “’Best Buddies Homes’. It’s a place where orphans bond with homeless pets, and then people can come and adopt both a child and a cat or dog.”

            “That’s the coolest organization I’ve ever heard of,” Webby said.

            “And the best thing is since I’ve advertised I’m donating to charity, I’ve gotten more traffic on my websites,” Louie said. “Who knew that if people think you have a heart of gold, they’ll like you more.”

            “That’s kind of a given,” Huey said, shaking his head.

            “I’m surprised you haven’t brought Dewey in on this scheme. Social media is kind of his thing,” Webby said.

            “Oh, he’s on the payroll,” Louie said. “He’s already designing my official webpage, and he’ll be editing these videos with even better special effects and music. Look at this logo he’s already helped me create.”

            “So profession,” Webby complimented.

            Huey nodded. His brothers were quite impressive at times. “You do know this is going to bite you in the butt eventually.”

            “Yeah, but I’m living it up while it lasts,” Louie said.

***

            The nap did Charity a lot of good. Physically, she was feeling the best she had in a long time after being healed by multiple gods. Given, she had to go through several painful injuries to be healed, but it was a relief to move without any bruises or wounds. In fact, despite the daunting task of finding the mystical item they needed, Charity felt ready to take on the world.

            When the plane landed outside Scrooge’s manor, she stood up and stretched, her tail feathers fanning out behind her. Joints cracked and muscles strained in a pleasing manner.

            The three men in her company did the same thing. The kids were already sliding down the ladder and racing through the cargo doors that were opening. Mrs. Beakley and Scrooge followed at a slower pace.

            “Everyone, let’s get inside and figure out where we’re going next,” Scrooge said, waving his cane at Della, who was trying to wake her brother up from his deep sleep.

            “Yay,” Charity said with sarcastic enthusiasm. “Can’t wait to find out how much more difficult my life is going to be.”

            “Yeah, me too,” Launchpad said, no sarcasm whatsoever. “This has been super fun.”

            “Maybe the next place we go will be Hawaii,” Fenton joked. “I’ve always wanted to go.”

            Even Darkwing laughed at that.

            After they climbed down the ladder, Charity glanced at Negaduck still in the same position as when they all boarded, his face covered by the brim of his hat. What was going to happen to him?

            Her question was answered as she overheard Mr. McDuck talking to Mrs. Beakley.

            “The hospital is completely flabbergasted that he disappeared. They think he escaped somehow with all those drugs in his system, but I can’t really tell them that a Greek goddess summoned him,” Scrooge said with a shake of his head. “Anyway, they’re on the way here to pick him up.”

            Charity felt a chill go down her spine. Aphrodite’s words repeated in her mind.

            I’ll guess that it’ll be tolerable for five or ten miles. You might be able to live with fifteen, but I doubt you’ll enjoy getting farther than that.

            How far away was the hospital? A mile or two? Maybe five? But Duckburg was a large city, and McDuck Manor was on the outskirts of the city limits for privacy. Could the hospital be farther than that?

            She recalled how out of it he was when he washed up on the shore of Ithaquack. That was because of the drugs in his system. If he was taken to the hospital, they would do that all over again. He had helped her with the challenges. Sure, he was rude and belligerent, but not as insane as he once was thanks to Selene healing him a little. Could Charity let him be taken away and locked away, not to mention, suffer because what Aphrodite did to him?

            “Wait,” Charity called, moving between Mrs. Beakley and Negaduck. “We can’t let him go to the hospital. Can’t he stay here?”

            “After what he did the other day?” Scrooge asked. “As much as I’d like to think I’m good enough to keep him in check, I won’t let my hubris hurt my family again.”

            Mrs. Beakley looked approvingly at Scrooge’s words.

            “But he’s different,” Charity said. “Please, don’t take him away.”

            “Charity, I know this curse isn’t…convenient, but it’s for the best,” Mrs. Beakley said gently. “He needs help.”

            “Then get him help, but here,” Charity insisted. “If you can’t do that, I’m going with him.”

            She saw Negaduck stir, bewilderment mixed with despair and fear. The handcuffs jangled against the wall of the plane as he shifted.

            “I don’t think that’s a good idea. The kind of hospital he’s going to, they don’t allow visitors,” Mrs. Beakley explained.

            “Then…we’re leaving,” Charity said, making a hasty decision. “I’ll make sure he won’t hurt anyone.”

            “Charity, you can’t mean that,” Darkwing said, standing between Scrooge and Mrs. Beakley. “You know what he’s capable of.”

            Darkwing’s words from several days before repeated in her head. Just because you’re in love with him, doesn’t mean he cares anything for you.

            Yes, he may not care for her, but she couldn’t let someone she loved go just like that.

            “Yes, I do. Both the good and the bad, as do you,” Charity said. “There are…some things you don’t know about. Something that happened on Ithaquack with Aphrodite. She put a spell on him to stop him from running away. He…we can’t be separated. We need to be together or…something terrible happens to him.”

            Charity suddenly felt as if everyone was against her. What did they think of her, standing up and defending a monster?

            “And where will you go?” Scrooge asked. He didn’t like where things were going. Although Charity was an adult and could make her own decisions, he was starting to feel responsible for her. The lass had made that strong of an impression on him the last couple of days.

            “I don’t know,” Charity admitted. “I didn’t think this through.”

            “They can stay with me,” Launchpad said, jumping in. “I’ve got space at home.”

            Charity perked up at that. “There. We’ll stay with Launchpad.”

            Mrs. Beakley shook her head. “I don’t think you’re thinking rationally, Charity. He’s—“

            “Just because I’m under a curse, doesn’t mean I’m irrational,” Charity protested, realizing that by raising her voice, she may have undermined her argument. “I know what I’m doing.” But did she really? Perhaps she was being irrational.

            “He’s dangerous,” Scrooge said. “I’m afraid I’ve already called the authorities. They’ll be here to pick him up. Once he’s been committed, legally, he needs to be in the hospital until they discharge him.”

            “There’s got to be another way,” Charity said adamantly.

            “I’ll do whatever you want.”

            All eyes turned to Negaduck, who had stood up.

            “Lock me up in your jail cell, tie me to the bed or chain with everything you got,” Negaduck said. “I won’t try to escape. I’ll do anything you want.”

            “We can’t trust you,” Scrooge said, stabbing the floor with his cane.

            “Then call a doctor,” Negaduck shouted, straining at the handcuffs. “Call whoever you want. I’ll take whatever pills they give me. I’ll do it. Just don’t send me away.” The desperation in his voice is palpable. His eyes locked onto Charity.

            I’m not going to leave you, Charity thought to him, hoping he understood. She turned to Scrooge, her eyes asking.

            Scrooge was still immovable until another voice broke in.

            “I’ll watch him.”

            They turned to look at Fenton, who was stepping forward to volunteer.

            “The Gizmoduck suit is back to working order thanks to Hephaestus. I’ll guard him all night if I have to.”

            “I’ll take a watch, too,” Darkwing jumped in.

            “And me,” Launchpad added.

            Charity silently thanked them.

            Scrooge rubbed his forehead. “If I said no, I don’t think I could stop you. Alright. I’ll call the hospital and tell them I’m mistaken. But I want every security measure taken to guard him twenty-four seven.”

            “Thank you,” Charity said, giving him a grateful smile.

            “Just don’t make me regret the decision,” Scrooge said, turning around and marching back to the mansion, letting the others deal with Negaduck.

            “Be grateful. Not many have been able to change his mind,” Mrs. Beakley said. And she, too, washed her hands of Negaduck by handing the key over to Darkwing.

            “I hope you know what you’re doing,” Darkwing said to Charity.

            Feeling as if she had disappointed both Mrs. Beakley and Scrooge, Charity said, “He may be calling himself Negaduck, but he’s still Jim Starling. And if you knew what I knew, you would have fought for him, too.”

            “I trust you more than I trust him,” Darkwing said as he eyed Negaduck. “Fenton, perhaps you should suit up while we…uh…escort Negaduck to his room.”

            “Good idea,” Fenton said.

            Charity watched, feeling helpless in the process, as Darkwing, Gizmoduck and Launchpad surrounded Negaduck and followed him to McDuck Manor. As they moved through the house, she lingered on the expressions of the four ducklings that stood at the top of the stairs and watched as Negaduck disappeared into the basement with wide eyes. It tore at her heart at the thought that these kids would have to sleep in the same house once more with someone who tormented their family. Perhaps she should have insisted on going to Launchpad’s house after all.

            But if Negaduck was true to his word and willing to see and obey a psychiatrist, then he would be getting the help he needed. She knew that deep down, past his mask and his alternate name, Jim Starling was still in there, the heroic actor she had fallen in love with so long ago. She tried to ignore the fact that despite being in love with him these fifteen years, she didn’t know him other than what she had read in magazines, newspapers, and the Internet. Was she really going to stake everything on the chance that he might be a good guy once striped of his hatred and delusions?

            Once in the basement, Darkwing took off the handcuffs and put Negaduck in the manacles that had been used last time. The key to the cell was on a nail on the wall, and he used that to lock the door.

            “So, now what?” Launchpad asked. His stomach gave out a loud growl. “Thanks for reminding me, tummy. We should go eat.”

            “Someone needs to stay and watch Negaduck,” Gizmoduck said. He was about to say it should be him, but someone beat him to it.

            “I’ll do it,” Charity said. Just as she guessed, there were protests. “Look, I know I can’t really do anything against Negaduck if he gets out, but that’s not going to happen. I know you don’t have any reason to trust him, but please, I want to be alone with him. Just until you guys eat and take a break.”

            She received a trio of uncertainty.

            “Look, I’ll borrow Launchpad’s phone. If anything hinky starts to go down, I’ll call Fenton or Darkwing,” Charity said. Once again, she felt like she was losing points with everyone, taking the path that was not only less traveled, but also had weeds, thorns, and large bushes blocking her way.

            But they eventually relented.

            “Do you want me to bring down some food for you?” Launchpad asked.

            Charity shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”

            There was a reluctance to their steps as they exited the basement. All this time, Negaduck continued his hangdog routine, keeping his face hidden behind his hat until they were alone.

            “Don’t expect a thank you in return,” Negaduck said, his voice gruffer than normal.

            “I wasn’t expecting one,” Charity said, leaning against the bars. “I’m sorry for what has happened to you.”

            “Are you?”

            “Of course I am.” She couldn’t hide the fatigue from her voice. “The last thing I want is for you—for any of you—to get hurt. And while you won’t feel pain, I can imagine the grief it will cause you.”

            “You can’t honestly be this noble,” Negaduck snorted. “If I were you, I’d feel vindicated. After fifteen years of giving you pain, I’m getting a little back. On top of that, I need to be near you. That must absolutely thrill you. You already had those three suckers at your beck and call, and now you have me.”

            “That’s not what I want,” Charity said. “All I want is to be free from this curse. I thought that you would sympathize with me.”

            “So now you want sympathy?” Negaduck sneered. “Oh, the poor little girl has had a hard life. Who hasn’t? You want sympathy? Go cozy up to your robo-freak or your pilot friend. Or that fraud. But leave me out of it.”

            Charity gripped the bars. When she wanted to talk to Negaduck, this wasn’t how she imagined this conversation going. She had hoped to reach an understanding, or at least let him know that if she could, she would never have involved him in the first place.

            “I wish things could have been different,” Charity said. She felt cold inside. She blamed it on the basement and the fact that she was still wearing the revealing dress. Launchpad’s jacket was warm but it didn’t cover her legs entirely. “I didn’t want my love for others to cause so much trouble. Especially for you. I don’t think you realize how much you mean to me.” That part of her life was one of the darkest. There had been so much fear. It was just her and her mother, clinging to each other for strength, and Jim Starling’s role was a pinprick of light that helped them through the hard times.

            “I think I do. My life has been ruined because of you,” Negaduck said. “I wish you had never fallen in love with me.”

            Charity realized there was no getting through to him. She didn’t expect him to love her back, but she had hoped to help the real Jim Starling to return to his senses, and perhaps, connect in some way to her. But apparently that was pipe dream. She turned around and left the room. While she wanted to run away, she couldn’t, not as long as Scrooge believed that Negaduck would be watched every second he resided in McDuck Manor.

            Out of sight of the prisoner, Charity sank to the ground. She didn’t think anything Negaduck did or said could have affected her after all that he had already done, but those last words looped through her head until she was sobbing and crying, her throat tense and throbbing as she strained to not make a sound.

***

            As Launchpad helped Mrs. Beakley prepare dinner for everyone, Fenton found an empty room. He had the idea of contacting Gyro for help searching for the right doctor for Negaduck. While he didn’t know much about Jim Starling, he wanted to find the best solution to the problem. Being a famous scientist, Gyro had connections all over the world in many different scientific circles. If anyone knew a good psychiatrist, it would be Gyro Gearloose. Fenton was even willing to risk Gyro’s ire for taking the Gizmoduck suit away from the lab for several days at a time.

            However, when Fenton checked his phone, he was surprised that he had almost thirty voicemail messages to listen to. The first one gave him a clear indication whom they were all from.

            “Fenton, where are you?! You didn’t come home last night. Call me back.”

            “Fenton, call me.”

            “I’m getting a little concerned. If I don’t hear from you soon, I’m calling your boss, even though you told me never to speak to him.”

            “Fenton! What is going on? Your boss told me you blasted off in the Gizmoduck suit yesterday and haven’t been seen since. Please tell me you’re still alive.”

            The rest of them went along those lines, each one becoming more and more panicked, although they were occasionally interrupted by a message from Gyro asking where the Gizmoduck suit was or a machine trying to scam him.

            He deleted them all, taking a deep breath before speed-dialing his mother.

            She picked up on the first ring. “Fenton! Oh, thank goodness you’re alright. Don’t you dare worry me like that again. Where have you been?”

            Where to begin? No, it would be best just to keep it as simple as possible. “Sorry, Mama. I’ve been helping a friend on a difficult…project. I might not be home for a while.”

            “What? But you promised to come to your abuela’s tomorrow, remember? Tio Angelo is turning fifty.”

            Fenton rubbed his face. He had forgotten about that. “Mama, I don’t know. This…thing, it’s really, really complicated.”

            “What kind of project are you working on? Is it for Gyro?”

            “No, Mama. You haven’t met her. She’s in a lot of trouble now and—“

            “A girl?! Is it that same one you dated a few months ago?”

            “No. And we didn’t date. I just showed her around my lab.” Fenton did not want to get into this.

            “So, you’ve met another girl.” Maria Crackshell-Cabrera sounded impress. “In that case, bring her along.”

            “What? No, I can’t. I told you, we’re in the middle of a big project.”

            “How long will it take?”

            “I don’t know. As I said, it’s complicated.”

            “And you can’t possibly take a break for a few hours and stop to see Tio Angelo and the rest of your family? Or even stop by and tell your Mama where you’ve gone? You know Abeula doesn’t have many years left in her. She would love to see you, patito.”

            His mother should have earned a gold medal in the Olympics for guilt tripping.

            “Well, I guess I could—“

            “Great. See you there. And don’t forget to bring your girlfriend,” his mother said.

            “She not my girl—“ But his mother had hung up by that time. “Friend,” he finished to no one. How did he get into messes like this? More importantly, how was he going to get out of it?

***

            After dinner, Scrooge had another “meeting,” which was him explaining the history of this Orb they had to find. The speech was long and boring, involving several Chinese emperors and sorcerers before it disappeared from history until about a hundred years ago when some historians rediscovered it in a temple and taken it to a museum in British where it disappeared. Darkwing took notes since Charity was missing. He could debrief her later.

            It was decided that more research would be needed to find the Orb’s current location; however, much to Huey’s disappointment, this was research that only Scrooge McDuck could do. He had contacts and friends in dark places that would know the information they were after. The rest of the group had the night to themselves.

            After that, Darkwing planned on taking the next watch, but Launchpad beat him to volunteering, even taking a plate of food down for Charity even though the lovebird claimed she wasn’t hungry. He had to admire his friend. Although he was a big goof and sometimes could be completely oblivious to what was going on around him, Launchpad had a big heart and cared a lot for Charity. She was lucky to have him growing up.

            He should have been tired after the day he had, but more than likely, Charity was feeling the day’s fatigue for all of them. Hopefully the nap on the plane had helped. Feeling antsy, he wandered the mansion until deciding on a snack. He took a quick look in the freezer and was happy to see that his hosts were a big believer in ice-cream and multiple flavors. He found the biggest bowl and filled it with a large scoop of each. Although he tried to eat healthy—being an actor, his body was his biggest seller—but as Darkwing Duck, he burned a lot of calories. He didn’t worry that eating that much sugar would affect him.

            Heading to the dining room, he spotted Charity leaving the basement. He called out to her before he realized her body language suggested she was sneaking around. She jumped, spotting him and giving him a smile that looked forced.

            “Hey.”

            “Hey,” Darkwing said back. He very much wanted to talk to her but the way she was acting, he figured she must want to be alone. He decided to give her a way out. “You heading to bed?”

            “Yeah,” she said, her smile relaxing. Her eyes went down to the bowl in his hands. “Are you going to eat all of that?”

            Darkwing nodded. “Unless you want to help me?”

            Charity moved her lower beak as if considering it. She held Launchpad jacket closer. “Okay,” she relented, going back to the kitchen for another spoon.

            They went into the dining room, which was empty. Darkwing was glad. What he wanted to say to Charity, he wanted to tell her alone without any interruptions.

            Digging her spoon into a scoop of chocolate, Charity directed the conversation. “I don’t suppose Mr. McDuck held his latest meeting without me and saved me a whole lot of embarrassment.”

            Darkwing’s smile broadened, recalling their last meeting. “You’re off the hook. Everyone discussed this orb thingy while you were downstairs. There wasn’t much to talk about,” he explained, going over his mental notes. “To sum things up, the Orb is from China about eleventh century give or take a few hundred years. It was last seen in a British museum in the early 1900s when it was stolen. About twenty or thirty years ago, someone reported it being in an auction that wasn’t exactly legal, and the buyer was anonymous. Legal action should have been made against the auction house, but since the Orb isn’t considered that valuable, the British museum didn’t take any measure to retrieve the Orb. There was a rumor that they accepted a check from the auction house.”

            “Wow,” Charity said between bites. “So, who has it now?”

            “Nobody really knows. Scrooge is trying to get the auction house to show him their records, but it might take some time,” Darkwing explained, taking a spoonful of a fruity sorbet.

            “I’d bet money that they’ll cave soon,” Charity said. “That old man is a force to be reckoned with.”

            “I’ll say. He actually persuaded me to switch clothes with him to act as a diversion during the moonlander invasion,” Darkwing said. He winced, remembering that it wasn’t a good bargain on his end.

            Charity laughed then choked on the food that was in her mouth.

            He was glad to hear Charity laugh. When they had left her in the basement a few hours ago, she looked muted and suppressed as if under a lot of pressure. He wanted to hear her laugh again.

            “And speaking of bets,” Darkwing said with a waggle of his eyebrows, “is it just me or are there a lot of bets going on around here? And that kid, Louie, he’s in the thick of it.”

            Charity’s eyes widened but she continued to eat, not volunteering any information.

            “Do you know what’s going on?” Darkwing asked. “Hecate said something about ‘the favorite to win.’ Are they…betting who—“

            At that same time, Charity spoke over him. “How about we change the subject?”

            “—is going to kiss you first?” Darkwing finished. “Webby seemed keen on the idea this morning.”

            Charity winced. “I wished that was all they were betting, because I could easily put that to rest.” She looked him in the eye.

            Darkwing’s heart picked up speed. Was she insinuating that she would like to kiss him? His thoughts went to what her beak would feel like against his, his fingers in her hair. His heart flipped as if he were on a roller coaster.

            “Launchpad was my first kiss.”

            Darkwing’s thoughts quickly burst, replaced with Launchpad kissing Charity. “What? When?”

            Charity chortled. “Junior prom.” She had a small smile on her beak. “I was thrilled when he asked me, but I’m sure he only did it because I complained that I was the only girl not going. I read too much into the gesture, and when he dropped me off at my door, I planted one on his beak. He didn’t kiss me back. And when it was over, all he said to me was, ‘See ya on Monday.’ There wasn’t even an awkward moment between us, like he thought I was kissing him in a sisterly way. I always hoped that he harbored feelings for me, but that was my bad. I should have known that if Launchpad ever liked me in that way, he would have let me know.”

            Darkwing was quiet during the story. He couldn’t imagine how that would feel, to be rejected in such an off-hand way. Launchpad probably didn’t even realize he had hurt her. When he looked over to the lovebird, she was thoughtfully eating a spoonful of ice-cream slowly, staring off into nothing.

            It reminded him of what he wanted to talk about. But how to breech the subject? He had worried that things between them would be awkward after he had cornered her that morning and talked about breaking the curse with a kiss. And then with everything that happened on Ithaquack, what happened in the Underworld, what Aphrodite said and Charity defending Negaduck, there felt like too much between them for him to talk about his feelings.

            He wanted to apologize for making her uncomfortable, to explain that it was the Goddess of Love twisting and manipulating him that morning. He wanted to tell her that these past days, while they had been frightening and difficult, he was glad to have gone through everything because he had met her. He wanted her to know that after all this, no matter what, he wanted to be there for her whether it was a friend like Launchpad or more than that.

            But most of all, he wanted her to know just how right things felt inside him. After Aphrodite had promised not to manipulate his emotions again, how she confirmed that what he was feeling was real, he wanted to let her know. Was what he was feeling true love? It was too soon to tell. He wasn’t the kind who believed in love at first sight. He was a strong believer that love was something that grew through time, getting to know one another and exploring each other both emotionally and physically.

            But most of all, he wanted Charity to know about these emotions and if she was open to starting a relationship. Of course not right away. Asking her to jump into something like a relationship while dealing with the curse and everything would be silly, but what if that’s what she wanted? He didn’t care that she was in love with Launchpad and Jim. Alright, he didn’t mind Fenton either. His issues with the scientist ran more along the line of professional rivalries rather than romantic.

            Well, maybe he was a little jealous about Charity spending time with Fenton. And perhaps he felt some envy for the way she easily hugged Launchpad and held his hand, how close the two could be as if they were made to be together, as if they were a set. And he had hoped that if he were in the same situation, that Charity would have found just as hard for him as she did for Negaduck.

            Okay, he’ll admit it. He was jealous of all of them. If she looked into the darkest part of his heart, she would find a secret desire to have her all to himself.

            But he wasn’t going to focus on that. He wasn’t even going to ask her for an answer. He just wanted her to know what was in his heart, that when the curse was over, he wanted to explore the possibility that they could be together.

            But was this really the time? She seemed melancholy as if ready to throw in the towel for the day.

            “You were right,” he said, deciding on a safer subject. “About Negaduck. I don’t know everything that happened with Aphrodite, but I don’t want to be the one to lock Jim Starling up.”

            Charity broke away from her trance, and tears glistened in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said, quickly wiping them away. “It’s been a long day.”

            “Are you okay?” Darkwing asked.

            “Yes…No. I feel like I can’t do anything right,” Charity said, continuously clearing away her eyes. “I’ve disrupted everyone’s lives and put them in danger. And today, we accomplished nothing except find yet another near-impossible challenge which is inconveniencing everyone all over again. And after this thing with Jim, I almost feel like I should never have gotten anyone involved in the first place. I should have just stayed home and dealt with the curse, then nobody would have gotten hurt because of me.”

            Darkwing grabbed Charity’s chair and turned it toward him. “Listen to me,” he said sternly. “First, you didn’t force anyone to do anything they wouldn’t have done in the first place. Everyone here wants to help you. Well, except for Negaduck, but forget about him. Second, you can’t help being under a curse. You’re the victim here, and that’s not right. And I don’t have to ask Fenton or Launchpad, but I’m sure they feel the same. If it was someone else, someone we didn’t know, we would still fight to save them. That’s what we do. And third…” Darkwing paused, taking Charity’s hands in his. “…You are absolutely worth it. Don’t ever forget that you’re worth it.”

***

            Darkwing pulled her closer to him and wrapped her in an embrace. Charity eagerly went to him, burying her face into his shoulder. Between the strong arms around her and Launchpad’s jacket, she felt warm and safe. It was an awkward embrace, both sitting in their respective seats and leaning in to meet in the middle, but it was what she needed. Her tears subsided as Darkwing’s hand soothingly ran through her hair and down her back.

            Soon the tender caresses brushed against her cheek. She turned her head, looking into Darkwing’s eyes. She was aware just how close his beak was to hers, her chin almost touching the tip of the upward curve.

            His words were perfect. The hug had been perfect. This was a perfect moment. And all she wanted was to succumb to her feelings, to pull him into a kiss and stay there with him for eternity.

            But then Fenton’s face flashed in her mind. If it had been him here, if he said just as perfect words, had held her and made her feel warm and safe, she would want to kiss him just as much. In fact, the moment she thought it, she began wishing it was Fenton in front of her. But at the same time, she wanted it to be Darkwing. But it could have been Launchpad or Jim there, too, and she would have felt the same.

            “No, I can’t” she whispered, still under whatever spell was compelling her to remain where she was. She was suddenly aware that her hands were on his chest, and she could feel the hard muscles underneath the costume and the fast beating of his heart.

            And she remembered when Aphrodite put her hand on Darkwing’s chest, flaring his emotions. At that moment, as Charity was trapped in her own mind, she had taken a peek at what was in Darkwing’s heart. She had felt his desire to protect her and take care of her, but there was something deeper. There was respect and awe as well as a bud of love. She had felt his desire to hold her and kiss her, and knew how much of it was real and how much of it was Aphrodite’s pulling.

            She had suspected that Darkwing was forming feelings for her, but she never thought that they could be more than a fleeting crush, but that wasn’t the case.

            “Charity,” Darkwing whispered, his beak only seconds from touching hers. His fingers played with the feathers along her jawline. “I think I’m—“

            Charity pushed him away before he could finish that sentence. “No!” she said. How she longed to know what he was going to say, but she couldn’t. Not while she was thinking of Fenton and Launchpad and Jim. “Stop it. I need you to stop it.”

            The hurt on Darkwing’s face almost made her start crying again.

            She stood up, needing more distance between them. She hated that she was hurting him, but she was angry because she was also being hurt. “You need to stop being so charming and sexy. You need to stop doing things that make me want to kiss you. Do you realize what kind of effect you have on me? Do you know how much influence you can have on me? If you push me anymore, I will kiss you. And push me more, and I will do more. I would do anything you want me to, because I’m finding it harder and harder to say no. You’re Darkwing Duck, dark and mysterious and have been in my dreams more times than I count.”

            Why was she telling him all this? Did she want him to push her? Did she want him to know just how much control he could have over her? Yes to both, but mostly because she trusted him. She was putting all her trust in him to do the right thing.

            “You said you want to protect me?” Charity asked, breathing hard. “Then I need you to protect me from myself. Between the four of you tugging at my heart, I’m getting worn down, and the next time we get that close, I won’t fight it. I can’t.”

            And she wouldn’t let Darkwing say anything. She couldn’t deal with it. She was going to have the last word because she was ready to break down for the third time that night, and this time, she didn’t want to do it in front of Darkwing.

            Racing out of the dining room and upstairs, she grabbed the door handle to her room and pulled, ready to leap into the safety of solitude. But it wouldn’t open. She pulled and pulled, rattling the door more and more until she felt like screaming at it.

            “Charity, are you okay?” Fenton was peeking out his own room, his eyes full of concern.

            No. After Jim and Darkwing, I can’t deal with another one, Charity thought, forcing herself to calm down.

            “Yeah, I’m good. I think I locked myself out of my room,” Charity said, trying to sound nonchalant.

            “Actually, I don’t think that’s your room,” Fenton said. He pointed farther down the hall. “Your room is over there.”

            In her haste to get away, Charity had miscounted the doors to her room. “Right. Thanks,” she called back, hiding her face behind her hair. There was an advantage to having super curly hair.

            However, whether it was that Fenton said or heard something that he didn’t like, he followed her to her bedroom door. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Fenton asked. “You don’t look okay.” His tone turned flustered. “I mean, you look okay. You look better than okay. You look great. Beautiful. What I mean is—“

            Charity laughed softly. “Fenton, I’m fine.” She caught a glimpse of his face and quickly looked away.

            “You’ve been crying.”

            Charity swiped at her eyes. “It’s nothing.”

            “Do you…want talk?”

            Strangely, she found that she did want to talk. “Yeah, but not about…this.” She drew a circle around her face. “Talking about something—anything else would be nice.” She opened her door and walked in, seeing the familiar—if lavished—décor. Remembering what she was wearing underneath Launchpad’s jacket, she asked, “Do you mind if I change?”

            “Uh…sure,” Fenton said, still at the threshold of her room.

            Grabbing a set of clothes, she rushed into the attached bathroom and slipped out of the slinky, silky dress. Once in her own clothes, she exited the bathroom only to find Fenton still standing in the doorway.

            “You can come in,” Charity invited.

            “Are you sure you don’t mind? Having a man in your bedroom, that is?” Fenton asked.

            He was adorable.

            Charity grabbed his arm, pulled him in and shut the door. Even after what she said to Darkwing, she didn’t find anything wrong being alone with Fenton in her room. If anything, she was safer with him. While she loved Fenton just as much as Darkwing, she knew he wouldn’t try anything with her. He was the kind that didn’t push the boundaries. In fact, he seemed the type who wouldn’t make the first moves on a girl.

            Fenton pulled out the chair that belonged to a writing desk, and Charity climbed onto her bed.

            For a while, they exchanged questions awkwardly, like a couple on a blind date testing the waters. But the more they talked, the more they opened up and found they had things in common. They both liked reading science fiction, although Fenton’s tastes leaned more toward space travel stories while Charity preferred those of the super hero genre. They talked about movies, although Fenton wasn’t as caught up with the latest shows, and Charity made him promise to watch a few movies with him.

            Fenton blushed at that, wondering if she intended it as a date or as friends. Well, he would wait to ask when the time came. He had more pressing matters at hand, specifically what to do about tomorrow.

            “Uh…Charity? I have sort of a favor to ask you.” Fenton twiddled his fingers as he became nervous about what he was going to say.

            “What is it?” Charity asked.

            “Well, it’s kind of complicated. But my family is getting together for my tio—my uncle’s birthday. And my family has the impression that I’m bringing my girlfriend,” Fenton explained poorly.

            “I didn’t know you had a girlfriend,” Charity said. She was frowning. Was she jealous?

            “I don’t,” Fenton quickly said. He didn’t want to make her jealous. She couldn’t help her feelings right now. “But my Mama got the impression that I have one.”

            Charity smiled. “How did that happen?”
            “Well, when she became concerned when I didn’t come home last night, I told her it was because I was helping a friend. And when she found out my friend is female,” he nodded his head at Charity, “she just assumed you’re my girlfriend.”

            “Of course,” Charity said with a laugh. “What mother wouldn’t leap to those conclusions? And I’m assuming you want me to come with you and pretend to be your girlfriend.”

            Fenton smiled, glad the lovebird was taking this in stride. “Well…maybe explain to them that we’re just friends. Mama is expecting me to bring someone.”

            Charity shrugged. “It would be nice to go do something as low-key as a family get-together. I’d love to go.”

            Fenton beamed. “Thank you so much. But I have to warn you, my family can be a bit much. We can leave after an hour if you want. And my family doesn’t get offended easily, so if you speak your mind and tell them to leave you alone, there won’t be any hard feelings. Oh, and my cousins—“

            “Fenton, it’ll be fine,” Charity said with a laugh. “I’m sure they’re all wonderful. I’m looking forward to going.”

            Fenton smiled. “Again, thank you.”
            “It’s the least I can do. I’m glad that you didn’t have to miss out because of my curse,” Charity said. Suddenly, a yawn seized her.

            It spread, and Fenton yawned as well even if he didn’t feel tired. He knew that yawns spread mentally whether a person was tired or not. And he remembered the only reason he wasn’t feeling tired after the day he had had was because of the curse.

            “Maybe we should get some sleep,” Charity suggested, although she wished she could spend more time with Fenton. He was so calm and congenial; she felt so relaxed around him.

            “Good idea,” Fenton said. “I have to relieve Launchpad in a few hours, so I should try to get some winks in.” He headed for the door. Before exiting, he turned and said, “Oh, one more thing. I talked to my boss…You met him.”

            “The guy who tried to fry my brain or something?” Charity suggested jokingly.

            “That’s him,” Fenton said with a sheepish grin. “I called Dr. Gearloose tonight and asked if he could help us out with our ‘friend’ downstairs. Not only does he know the best psychiatrist in the US, but he also went to school with a chemist at a big pharmaceutical company that’s developing a new fast-acting, anti-psychotic drug. The drug has just passed its experimental phase and is getting ready to be available on the market. If the psychiatrist says that Negaduck may be a good candidate for the drug, we can get him on it.”

            Charity rushed to him and threw her arms around his neck. “That’s so great. Thank you, Fenton.” She held him tight around his neck. And to her surprise, he wrapped his arms around her, his grip strong. When she breathed in, she could smell the remnants of soap and shampoo, a sign he must have showered recently.

            Her heart raced as she longed to stay in his arms all night. Perhaps Fenton wasn’t as safe as she thought. And her memories turned to what she felt when Aphrodite touched his chest. His heart felt different than Darkwing’s. His emotions weren’t as intense, but there had been a spark of interest. His feelings for her were new and innocent and fragile as if he were constantly breaking them down and building them up.

            And surprisingly, Charity wasn’t the only one within Fenton’s heart. There was another girl sharing the space, a girl that she sensed that Fenton had harbored a crush on and even though there was betrayal between them, he still cared about her.

            She hadn’t felt jealous of this other girl. How could she when her emotions weren’t one-hundred percent authentic? But she had seen in Fenton’s heart that he had been lonely for a long time, feeling as if there was a chance of remaining single his entire life, that he opened his heart to any girl who showed an interest in him. She could see that while his feelings for her were genuine, there was also part of him that couldn’t believe a pretty girl like Charity could like him for real, that he didn’t deserve her attention.

            She broke the embrace reluctantly, wishing she could chase away those doubts Fenton had about himself and let him know that any girl would be lucky to be with him, her included. But the curse would always leave a bitterness to her words. How could she reassure him when she was chained down by her emotions.

            “Thank you again,” she said, brushing back her hair. “For Jim and for the talk.”

            “Yeah,” Fenton said, looking shy. He ran his fingers through his long hair as he backed out of the room.

            Charity imagined doing the same, wondering what it would feel like to be so close. But if she was close enough to touch his hair, they would be close enough to kiss. Wow, I’m just as bad as Darkwing, she berated herself. “What time is your family’s party?”

            “Huh?” Fenton asked as if he had forgotten. “Oh. It’s at noon. I’ll call us a cab, okay?”

            “Okay,” Charity said, slowly closing the door, watching Fenton turn and walk back to his room. Just before she shut the door, she saw him glance back. She smiled, biting her bottom beak. She shouldn’t take it this way, but it almost felt like he had asked her on a date.  But they were just going meet his family…which was what you did with a girlfriend, wasn’t it?

            Charity knew it wasn’t like that, but her heart was still dancing to its own song.

***

            Scrooge slammed the phone down.

            “It didn’t go well?” Mrs. Beakley asked. She had been rearranging Scrooge’s at-home desk, listening in on one side of the conversation.

            “Dead end,” Scrooge growled at the old-fashioned rotary phone. “After I practically gave them a rather generous donation, they finally gave me the name of the person who bought the Orb of Yue Xia Lao. Turns out, whoever made the bid used a false name. We’re back to square one.”

            Mrs. Beakley took out a rag and started polishing a statue that had too much dust on it. “So, where do we go from here?”

            “I don’t know. I’ve never tried tracking down an ancient treasure that had already been discovered,” Scrooge said, taking off his glasses to massage between his eyes. “If it was in some temple or dungeon, that would have been easy. For all I know, it could have passed through a hundred different hands, been in dozens of collections, or even destroyed. It’s impossible.”

            “That’s not something I’ve heard from you before,” Mrs. Beakley said worriedly. “You must have some plan.”

            “The only thing I can think of is to hire an art broker, but that could take years,” Scrooge said. “And throw my name in the mix, and I’ll be paying top dollar.”

            “Is money really an issue?” Mrs. Beakley reprimanded.

            “It’s always an issue with me,” Scrooge said grumpily. “No, I’ll do what it takes to get that Orb for the lass, but I would have to have the Devil’s own luck to find it.”

            As one, Mrs. Beakley and Scrooge’s eyes popped open.

            “You thinking what I’m thinking?” Mrs. Beakley asked, matching the elderly duck’s gaze.

            Scrooge growled, “I can’t believe we’re going to rely on him,” and reached for the phone.

Chapter Text

Twisted Strings of Fate

Chapter 25

            I always wondered what it would be like to be part of a big family. I wished I had brothers and sisters growing up, but perhaps it was best that my mom only had me. Yet it would have been nice to have someone to talk to about the curse. My mom was pretty tight-lipped about it, and Grandpa lived too far away for me to see him often.

            I envied those who had loud, noisy family reunions like they show on TV. However, perhaps by being in such a small family, I dodged a bullet.

***

            “That’s creepy.”

            Fenton cleared the Gizmoduck lens so he could look at Negaduck.

            “Are you going to watch me all night?” Negaduck growled.

            It was four AM, and Fenton had relieved Launchpad of duty only an hour ago. Since then, he had been running diagnostics on the suit to make sure that everything was wired properly after Hephaestus put it back together. For an ancient god, Hephaestus had some skills when it came to technology.

            “I’m not looking at you,” Fenton said from inside the armor. “Well, I guess I am, but through a camera. And I’m not watching it every second. I’m doing other things. Checking the suits systems.”

            “Can’t you turn around or something? You’re weirding me out,” Negaduck snapped.

            “If I turn my back, I can’t guard you, now can I?” Fenton asked.

            “What? Don’t you have a camera back there?”
            Fenton ignored the comment, but did rotate Gizmoduck forty-five degrees, which did allow his camera to stay on Negaduck.

            Not long after this exchange, Fenton’s sensors picked up a couple of warm bodies coming down the stairs into the basement. Strangely enough, he also picked up a cold spot leading them.

            A knock came at the open door. Fenton cleared his lens again to see the ghost of a stuffy dog in an old-fashioned butler’s uniform, floating outside the room.

            “A Mr. Gearloose and Dr. Hoggins to see you, sir,” the ghost said in a dry tone. The ghost floated away.

            Fenton had heard rumors that McDuck Manor was haunted, but this was the first he had seen such evidence. He might have been surprised—maybe even excited at the prospect of studying the paranormal firsthand—if he hadn’t been in Hades less than twenty-four hours ago.

            Gyro entered, coffee in one hand and a briefcase in another. He was followed by a female pig dressed in a black suit.

            “I didn’t expect you’d come this late, Dr. Gearloose,” Fenton said.

            “Well, considering that you’ve kept the suit for over two days, it’s a wonder I didn’t charge over here the second I knew where you were,” Gyro said, his tone more than a bit miffed. “I was up anyway. How is the battery holding up?”

            “About twenty percent. I was going to bring it by in the morning,” Fenton said.

            “At least it’s in one piece,” Gyro harrumphed. “Despite Mr. McDuck approving of the use of the Gizmoduck armor this time, I have to insist that it not be kept away from its recharging chamber this long.”

            “I understand, but if you knew—“

            The pig cleared her throat.

            The two ducks turned to look at her.

            “I’m sorry. This is my colleague, Dr. Hoggins. She’s the expert psychiatrist that I told you about,” Gyro introduced. “Dr. Hoggins, this is my intern, Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera.”

            “Also known as Gizmoduck, I presume,” Dr. Hoggins said with a smile.

            “Dr. Gearloose, you weren’t supposed to reveal my secret identity,” Fenton protested.

            Gyro rolled his eyes. “Please. As if you haven’t slipped up before.”

            Fenton was glad that the Gizmoduck helmet covered his cheeks so they couldn’t see him blush.

            “No worries. I am a psychiatrist, and we know how to keep a secret,” the doctor said congenially. “I’ll just charge this as your first session.” She snorted in laughter. She sobered quickly when her eyes scrutinized the iron bars that split the room in half. “This is the patient, I presume.”

            Negaduck shifted, his manacles jangling.

            “He’s very dangerous, thus the chains,” Fenton explained, hoping she didn’t think they were mishandling Negaduck.

            She must have heard the apology in his voice because she said, “Oh, I’m acquainted with Mr. McDuck and his family. Knowing Scrooge, I was kind of expecting something a little more medieval.” She went to the bars and said, “Hello, Jim. My name is Dr. Hoggins. I’m here to help you.”

            “Help me into another cage, right?” Negaduck growled. “Throw me in a padded cell? More humane than this, right?”

            “Oh, I think we can do better than that, Jim. First, I’d like to talk to you and then maybe we can make you a little more comfortable. How does that sound?” When Negaduck didn’t say anything, she turned to Fenton and Gyro. “You two will need to leave. Patient/doctor confidentiality.” She smiled disarmingly.

            “Are you sure?” Fenton asked. “You do know he captured Mr. McDuck’s family and chased several people around with a chainsaw, me included.”

            Dr. Hoggins waved a hand. “Oh, I’ve been regaled in all the gory details. To be quite frank, that’s what got me interested in this case. Nothing like dealing with a violent sociopath to get one’s blood pumping again.” She laughed and snorted. “Now off you go, boys. If you’re so concerned about my welfare, you can stay outside the door. If you hear squealing, then you can come to my rescue.”

            Fenton rolled out the door followed by Gyro.

            For the next hour, Fenton and Gyro looked over the Gizmoduck suit. The senior scientist wasn’t too happy about a Greek god toying with his creation, but after looking at the seam work, he was impressed. They worked in comfortable silence, needing no more than to exchange a few words to go about their labors.

            When the door squeaked open, Dr. Hoggins stepped out, looking grim but satisfied. “Oh, boy. You weren’t joking about this one, Gyro,” she said. “I’m glad you called. Even the high class mental institution that Duckburg has would have trouble with him.”

            “And the diagnosis?” Gyro asked.

            “Well, what I can tell you is that Jim Starling does meet the qualification for this new drug. At first, I worried that he might be schizophrenic with two personalities, but the Negaduck persona is merely a cover for Jim, not a completely different personality. If that had been the case, he would be disqualified,” Dr. Hoggins explained.

            “That’s good, right?” Fenton said. “So, now what?”

            “Now we give him his first dose,” Dr. Hoggins said. “Gyro, do you still have my briefcase?”

            The scientist handed over the black case, and Dr. Hoggins popped it open, revealing a large, white bottle and a gray box. She picked up the bottle that made a rattling noise, indicating it was filled with pills.

            “These pills were designed for emergency cases much like Jim’s,” Dr. Hoggins explained. “The treatment is fast acting, helping the brain and the body’s chemicals to react in a mentally healthy way. For the next forty-eight hours, he’ll need to take two pills every five hours. After that, he’ll only need to take one pill night and morning every day.”

            “And he’s cured?” Fenton asked, amazed. “This drug is revolutionary.”

            “It is and it isn’t,” Dr. Hoggins said with a sigh. “Unfortunately, its effects are only temporary. The body quickly gets used to the drug, and they become ineffective within a few weeks, a month at most. But by then, a doctor can get the patient on a more long-term drug.”

            “Fascinating,” Fenton said, wishing he could analyze the chemical compounds in the drug and the effects they have on the brain. But that would have to wait for another day.

            “Gentlemen, I want you to prepare yourselves, because it’s going to be rough on the patient,” Dr. Hoggins said. “The beginning side effects are nasty, similar to when a drug addict goes through withdrawal. He’ll have anxiety, sweating, sometimes even vomiting and seizures.”

            “Sounds like the cure is almost as bad as the sickness,” Gyro said.

            “Will he be in pain?” Fenton asked.

            “Oh, most of the symptoms are psychosomatic,” Dr. Hoggins said. “Even though he’ll express them physically, it’s all in his mind. His mind will think he’s sick or that something’s attacking his body, and his immune system will react normally, but he’ll be alright.”

            Fenton wondered if the curse would be able to tell the difference.

            “The worst only lasts twenty-four hours,” Dr. Hoggins said. “And I’ll be here to monitor him and help with the side effects. I’ll need a few bottles of water, some ibuprofen, and a chair.”

            “You’re staying here?” Gyro asked.

            “I have to. As I said, this drug is intense,” Dr. Hoggins replied. “A doctor needs to keep an eye on the patient for two days before they can be released. Not only to make sure the drug is working correctly, but to keep an eye on the side effects and look for allergic reactions.”

            “He’s dangerous. I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Fenton said.

            “Don’t worry about me. I’m more prepared than you think.” Dr. Hoggins opened the gray box, showing a small gun. She picked it up and loaded a little red and white striped dart into the chamber. “I’m a dead shot with this thing. I once took out an escapee serial killer at two-hundred yards.” She grinned and this time, it wasn’t friendly.

            “My bad at underestimating you,” Fenton said with a wry smile.

            “Now, let’s go make my patient a bit more comfortable,” Dr. Hoggins said. “If you could unlock his manacles, please?”

            Cautiously, Fenton unlocked the door and approached Negaduck. For some reason, when they were on the island, he had felt comfortable with Negaduck as they worked on the challenges together. But now, with an animalistic desperation surrounding him, Negaduck felt threatening. He quickly unlocked the manacles, then back away through the door, bolting it behind him.

            “Do you understand what you’re getting into taking these pills?” Dr. Hoggins asked Negaduck as he rubbed the feeling back into his wrists. “This isn’t going to be a walk in the park.”

            Negaduck nodded.

            “Would you like some water?” Dr. Hoggins said, calmly holding out two round, white pills.

            Negaduck took the pills. He stared at them for a while before throwing his head back and dry swallowing.

            “I suggest you sleep while you can,” Dr. Hoggins said, her voice laced with sympathy. “We’ve got a long day ahead of us.” She then turned to Gyro and Fenton, giving them a low-brow frown. “Didn’t I ask you to get me some things? Water, ibuprofen, and a chair. I can’t be expected to stand around all day.”

            Gyro sent Fenton to run the errand as he packed the Gizmoduck suit in its compact form for transportation. He said his goodbyes to the doctor and his intern before heading back to his lab.

            When he returned with everything Dr. Hoggins requested, Fenton had also grabbed a chair for himself.

            “Well, if you insist on keeping me company,” the pig said, settling down. She pulled out her phone with a pair of earbuds. “Although I’m in the middle of a good murder mystery, so I’m afraid I won’t be the best conversationalist.”

            Fenton sat in his chair, looking from the doctor to Negaduck, who had lain down on the cot in the cell. He was glad that Dr. Hoggins was with him. He missed the protection of the Gizmoduck suit, but was certain that the psychiatrist’s skill with the tranquilizer gun was more reliable than pies.

            Taking out his own phone, he prepared to spend the rest of his watch scrolling through science articles he’d been meaning to read. However, he couldn’t concentrate on them, and it wasn’t just because of the late hour. Instead, he bought and downloaded one of the books Charity had said was her favorite, remembering how animated she was when talking about it. After every few pages, he would glance up and check on Negaduck.

            At eight AM exactly, Darkwing Duck shambled in with rumpled costume and feathers, and a large coffee cup in one hand.

            “Oh, that smells delicious. Would someone be a dear and get one for me?” Dr. Hoggins said, pulling out her earbuds.

            Fenton quickly made introductions and gave Darkwing a quick explanation as to her presence. The masked-hero looked to have approved of Fenton’s initiative in getting the doctor here so quickly and took Fenton’s chair.

            After fetching the psychiatrist a cup of coffee, he poured himself a double portion of the java and gulped it down. Not that he needed it regardless of getting only four hours of sleep. He was used to late hours and little rest.

            Not only that, but he felt wide awake in anticipation of taking Charity to his family’s party. True, it wasn’t exactly a date, but why did it feel like one?

            With less than four hours until his uncle’s birthday party, he didn’t feel like catching up on sleep but it did give him enough time to go home, shower and find something nicer to wear.

***

            “Gladstone, pick up. You better not be ignoring my calls. Phone me back immediately,” Scrooge shouted into the receiver. This was his fifth voicemail message he left his nephew.

            “Perhaps you should save your blood pressure and not call for a while,” Mrs. Beakley suggested.

            “Curse that boy’s luck. More than likely, he does not want to be found,” Scrooge said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “If that’s the case, we might be waiting for a while.”

            “Perhaps I will use one of my vacation days and take Webby on a day on the town,” Mrs. Beakley said. “She’s going through a growth spurt and needs some new clothes.”

            “That’s fine,” Scrooge said, waving his hand. “Maybe me and the boys could pop over to the Andes and—“

            “You promised no treasure hunting until we have this curse broken,” Mrs. Beakley warned.

            Scrooge pouted.

***

            When she awoke, Charity found the McDuck Manor an entirely different place than the previous mornings. Before, the residents were properly organized and working towards one specific goal. But today, everyone seemed to be doing their own thing. Mrs. Beakley and Webby were on their way out the door for a shopping trip. Launchpad was still sleeping, considering he had been guarding Jim since three that morning. Della announced she was going to look for a motorcycle in Mr. McDuck’s garage, and Donald wanted his nephews to help him clean up his boat house, but the three boys said they were working on a project.

            It was almost as if they had either forgotten about Charity or were so familiar with her that they didn’t mind her doing whatever she wanted. However, that left her with an empty space in her schedule until Fenton’s family’s party. She couldn’t find Fenton anywhere in the manor, and Darkwing was on guard duty. She could have gone down to talk to the masked duck, but after what she said to him last night, she wasn’t sure she could face him. Her words had come out in the heat of the moment and had been too harsh, but a part of her was too proud to face Darkwing and apologize. At least, not yet. She would after the party.

            After eating a breakfast of cold cereal, she went back to her room to wait until noon. In the meantime, she organized her things and contemplated if she should go looking for a washing machine for her clothes. She had been warned that snooping could have dangerous repercussions, so she decided to wait until Mrs. Beakley returned.

            Instead, she took a luxurious bath and spent more time than usual fixing up her hair and feathers. With curly hair, it was sometimes a hit or miss when it came to a good day. If the humidity in the air was too much, she might as well dress up as a swamp monster rather than try to tame her hair. But today wasn’t all that bad. She would never have hair like how Aphrodite prepared it, but she attempted to straighten it enough to get some attractive ringlets.

            After rummaging through the bags her step-dad had sent her, she was surprised to find one of her skirts and a short-sleeved blouse that went with it. She hardly ever wore skirts, but she was in the right mood to show off her legs, especially with no bruises to mar them.

            As she looked at herself in the mirror, she almost changed her mind. Dressed as she was, how could she persuade Fenton’s family that she wasn’t his girlfriend? Had she overdone it? Or was it that she wanted to look really pretty for Fenton?

            She looked at the clock. It was 11:30. She still had time to change, but decided against it. Who cares if she spent a little more time on her appearance? It wasn’t everyday she went to meet people. In fact, if her mother didn’t treat her like Rapunzel locked in a tower her whole life, this might be how she would look and dress all the time. It’s not like she was wearing more expensive make-up or perfume or anything really special.

            Before she could change her mind, she left her room.

            She purposefully left some time before she needed to meet Fenton so she could make her way down to the basement. Yes, Darkwing Duck was there, but it wasn’t him she needed to talk to.

            Surprisingly, Darkwing wasn’t the only one guarding Negaduck.

            “Oh, hello. Are you here to take our lunch requests?” the female pig asked, putting down her phone.

            “Uh…sorry. I’m just here to talk to Jim,” Charity said, her tone half-apologetic, half-confused. “And who are you?”

            “I’m Dr. Hoggins, a psychiatrist,” the pig said, standing up and holding out her hand.

            “I’m Charity Loveatte,” Charity said brightly, shaking. “You must be the doctor Fenton said would be coming. Thank you so much for helping us.”

            “My pleasure,” Dr. Hoggins said. “Although it’s not so pleasant for my patient.” She turned a worried glance toward the cell.

            On the cot, Negaduck huddled in a ball. He seemed to be asleep but was breathing hard. Although his brow glistened with sweat, he was shivering.

            “What’s wrong with him?” Charity asked, rushing to the bars. Her heart felt crushed seeing him like this.

            “It’s the side-effects of the medicine. I’m afraid that they’re going to be severe for a while. But don’t you worry, dear. I’m here to take care of him.” The doctor patted Charity’s hand.

            “Thank you. Should I bring down some blankets for him? Maybe a cup of tea?” Charity wondered.

            “That would be nice. And if it’s not too much of a trouble, maybe a sandwich or two for me. Mustard, not mayo, though,” Dr. Hoggins said with a grateful smile.

            “Sure,” Charity said, turning to look at Negaduck for a few moments more. She wished she could go to him and hold his head on her lap. She knew that always made her feel better when she was sick, recalling the comfort of her mother’s hand on her head or the sound of Launchpad’s voice, whoever was keeping her company at that time.

            “And anything for you tall, dark and mysterious?” Dr. Hoggins asked, leaning to look around Charity.

            She had forgotten the third person in the room. Her stomach flip-flopped as she turned to Darkwing.

            “Yeah, I’ll have one, too. But I’m a mayo guy,” he said in his usual tone, nothing revealing how he felt about their exchange the night before.

            Charity gave him a smile before rushing upstairs. She fixed a plateful of sandwiches, making sure to use mayo on half and mustard on the others, and a cup of Mrs. Beakley’s tea. She found a pair of sodas and some apples to add to the meal. She then snooped around—despite what Mrs. Beakley said—and found a room with some blankets without getting cursed. Bonus!

            With her arms full, she returned to the basement.

            “Can I put the blanket on him?” Charity requested, pointing at the locked door.

            Darkwing’s beak stiffened, but Dr. Hoggins nodded.

            “Go right ahead, darling,” the pig said between bites.

            Darkwing went to the door and opened it, keeping on one side of the bars as Charity went in.

            Kneeling down, Charity put the cup of tea on the floor and carefully settled the blanket around Negaduck, tucking it around him. She used a corner to wipe away the sweat that hadn’t soaked into his mask. She wondered if she should remove it to make him more comfortable.

            As the cloth rubbed his temple, Negaduck’s eyes half opened. They were bloodshot but awake.

            “I just wanted to warn you. I’m leaving,” Charity whispered.

            “No,” Negaduck rasped, weakly grabbing her wrist. “Don’t go. Please.”

            “Shhhh,” Charity hushed gently. “I’m not going far. It’s only about six miles away, just for a few hours. I promise.”

            She offered him some of the tea, and he sipped it slowly. She ran her hand over his head soothingly. She expected him to push her away, but instead he closed his eyes again, going back to sleep. She caressed his cheek, allowing her love for him to pretend that perhaps this drug would change their relationship. Maybe it only took him getting sick to let her get close to him.

            Charity furrowed her eyebrows. “He’s sick,” she said, confused.

            “As a dog,” Dr. Hoggins said, not understanding Charity’s point. “But give him a day or two, and we’ll see how he feels.”

            But he shouldn’t be sick. I’m the one who should be in bed, Charity pondered. As she left the cell, mulling over this quandary, Darkwing locked the door behind her.

            “Are you off to some place, dear?”

            Charity’s thoughts were interrupted by Dr. Hoggins. “Huh?”

            “It’s just you look like you’re ready for a date or something,” the pig said with a smile.

            Remembering that Fenton might be waiting for her, she said, “Oh, yes. What time is it?” There was a clock on the wall, and it read ten to noon. “I’ve got to run.” She jogged out of the room and toward the stairs, but at the sound of her name, she halted. She knew it was Darkwing before turning around. “Yes?” she asked, hoping that he wasn’t going to get into something messy with this conversation.

            “I—What I—Can I ask where are you going?” Darkwing sputtered, acting as flustered as she felt.

            Charity wondered if it would be better to lie. She didn’t want to feed the fire that was the rivalry between Darkwing and Fenton, but she hated lying. In the end, she said truthfully, “Fenton asked me to go with him to his uncle’s birthday party.” She waited for any sign of jealousy on the masked hero’s face.

            “Oh,” Darkwing said, surprised. “That’s…that’s great.” He didn’t sound like he meant it. He looked away, his expression unreadable.

            “Is there something you need?” Charity asked. She was trying to give Darkwing whatever time he needed to talk, but she felt anxious that Fenton might be waiting for her.

            “Uh…I just wanted to tell you…You look nice,” he said, a friendly smile forming on his beak. “Have a good time at the party. You deserve a break.”

            Charity smiled back, sincere and happy before saying goodbye and racing up the stairs. She was certain that Darkwing had more to say and was grateful that he left it for another time. The last thing she wanted was to bring any brooding feelings with her when she would meet Fenton’s family.

            Back on the main floor, she was surrounded by the triplets in the foyer.

            “Hey, Charity. A package came for you,” Dewey said, holding out a large box.

            “Is it what I think it is?” Huey asked, his eyes wide and his pupils dilating with excitement.

            “I don’t think I’ll be getting two packages,” Charity said with a smile. “But I expect those are my family’s journals.” She had called her grandfather the day before, and as promised, he had sent the package overnight.

            Huey gave a whoop of excitement, taking the package from his blue-clad brother. “You don’t mind if I open it and start on my research? Please?”

            Charity laughed. “Go right ahead. That’s what they’re here for.”

            Huey pulled out his official Jr. Woodchuck pocketknife out and carefully opened the box. He pulled out a booklet of printing paper that was about an inch thick. “It looks as if someone has transcribed the journals digitally. Oh, and there’s a note from your grandfather, Charity.”

            Huey handed both the booklet and the note to Charity.

            For the sake of the curious boys, Charity read this out-loud.

            “’Charity, knowing my wife, I’m sure she is behind this quest you have taken upon yourself. While I do not want your grandmother to suffer, it is about time someone dealt with the family’s curse. I’m just sorry that it had to be you. If I was of a stronger fiber in my youth, I might have broken it before you were even born. I have no regrets and wouldn’t change the past, especially being able to take away your grandmother’s pain. Please take care, my little one.

            “’I have not only enclosed the digital transcription of the journals, but the copies that my mother transcribed in her own hand. I’m afraid that some of my mother’s journals were damaged in a flood several decades ago, and I did my best to read them correctly.

            “’Also, I am including the original journals that have been passed down through our family since our ancestors first started writ—‘“

            “What!?” Huey exclaimed, digging into the box. He pulled out a leather-bound book, set it down and reached back in. Almost reverently, he took out clear, plastic case that contained several old books, then another case that had scroll parchments. “These…these are really, really old. They’re at least a thousand years old.”

            “I’ve never seen those before. I didn’t know my grandfather had them,” Charity admitted. She looked back at her note, skipping to the next sentence. “’They have been preserved time after time by experts at great expense, but if you can use them to stop you and your mom from being in unnecessary pain, then I don’t care if they are burned or torn apart. You do what you must to live a long and happy life.’”

            “This is amazing!” Huey exclaimed. “Do you know how many Woodchuck badges I can earn with these babies? I’m going to need acid free gloves and some other tools. Oh, I wonder if Gyro will let me borrow his clean room. We can’t let the air ruin these precious items.” He carefully repacked the shipping box and ran off, forgetting about everything else.

            Charity watched then yelled after him, “Your welcome.” She chuckled, knowing that her family’s history was in good hands.

            “You’re looking good, Charity.”

            The lovebird looked down at the green-clad triplet who was taking a picture of her.

            “Are you off on a date with Launchpad?” Louie asked with a raised eyebrow.

            “Or Darkwing?” Dewey asked hopefully.

            Charity frowned. “I didn’t give you permission to take my picture.” She was getting wise with Louie. His young duckling act wasn’t fooling her anymore. “And it’s not a date. Fenton needed someone to go with him to his uncle’s birthday party.”

            “Darn it. It looks like Webby’s going to win the bet,” Dewey said, scuffing the tile with his webbed foot.

            “Okay, I didn’t mind this whole betting thing at first, but if you’re not even going to pretend it’s a secret anymore, then I’m shutting it down,” Charity said, feeling her cheeks burn. “First, I’m doing this for Fenton because we’re friends. And second, my love life shouldn’t be anyone’s business. It shouldn’t even be my business as long as I’m under a curse.”

            “Whoa, don’t say something we’re all going to regret,” Louie assuaged. “If you shut me down, you’re going to disappoint a lot of orphans and homeless pets.”

            “What?”

            Louie held out his phone, showing her the website of his chosen charity. “Can you really say no to this face? Your contribution of hundreds of dollars will make sure she and her little kitten will find a loving home.”

            Charity melted, scrolling through one picture after another. She sighed. “You said hundreds? You’re not joking, right?”

            “Well, let’s say it’s closer to thousands,” Louie said with a shameless shrug. “The gods of Ithaquack really like to bet.”

            Charity almost rubbed her face before remembering she put on makeup. “Thousands? Really?” She worried her bottom beak. “Fine. Just…don’t talk about this around me, please? I don’t want to know.”

            “No problem,” Louie said, making a “zipping my beak” gesture.

            At that time, Fenton slipped into the manor, quickly catching her eye. He made a gesture for her to hurry up.

            “Thanks,” Charity said, giving the phone back. “Please, don’t make me regret this.”

            As she ran to the front door and Fenton, she thought she heard Dewey say to his brother, “You better hope she doesn’t find out about…” but didn’t catch any more of the sentence.

            Great, now I’ve got to find out what that other thing is, Charity thought. She should have expected something like this from one of Scrooge’s nephews.

            As she raced out the front door and closed it behind her, she was met with the staring eyes of Fenton.

            “What? Is something wrong?” Charity asked, looking down at her skirt. Did she get it dirty when she went to visit Jim?

            “No, nothing’s wrong. I just didn’t think you would dress up for my family,” Fenton said, looking embarrassed. He straightened the collar on his shirt. He wore a nicer one than what he usually wore into work, but maybe he should have worn his suit instead. He had contemplated it, but it reminded him too much of the incident with Gandra and Mark Beaks.

            “Is this too formal? Should I go change?” Charity wondered.

            “No, no. You look…really nice,” Fenton said with a smile. But the smile quickly fell. “And we’re running late. Come on.”

            Charity blushed, both from the compliment and Fenton grabbing her hand and pulling her down the stone steps to the idling cab in front of the fountain. Soon, they were whizzing out the gates of McDuck Manor to the city.

            6.2 miles, Charity thought, hoping that it didn’t cause Jim too much discomfort. Just a couple of hours. And that reminded of her of her earlier questions when she was in the basement.

            “I went to visit Jim,” Charity told Fenton.

            “So you met Dr. Hoggins?” Fenton asked.

            Charity nodded. “Thank you, again. But something was wrong with Jim. Dr. Hoggins said it was because of the medication he was on.”

            Fenton quickly gave Charity the run-down on the new medication, giving more detail from the research he had read online a few hours ago. “Dr. Hoggins reassured me that the side effects should abate within a day or two.”

            That was reassuring, but didn’t answer Charity’s biggest question. “He acted like he was sick, sweating and weak. Shouldn’t I be feeling that for him?” Charity asked.

            Fenton’s eyebrow rose. “You don’t feel anything? Nausea? Any body aches?” Fenton asked, going through some of the symptoms he remembered.

            Charity shook his head. “I feel great. How can that be?”

            “It might be because of one of three reasons,” Fenton said. “One, the symptoms Negaduck is feeling are all in his head. The drug’s active agents are to help those with mental illnesses and the side effects tend to be psychosomatic that sometimes manifest physically. He’s not really ill or in pain, he just thinks he is.”

            Charity frowned. She didn’t like the idea of Jim in that condition, but what was the alternative? The drugs were going to help him. And it wasn’t real pain, so she couldn’t take it away from him.

            “Reason two could be because it’s drug related,” Fenton said. “Do you remember when Manny gave Darkwing the paralyzing drug?”

            Charity immediately grinned, remembering the experiments. “Yeah?”

            “You weren’t paralyzed during that experiment. Paralysis can be a symptom of some illnesses. Perhaps the curse doesn’t apply to drug-related symptoms,” Fenton proposed. “Or reason number three is that the curse doesn’t deal with mental illnesses. After all, Jim Starling has been dealing with mental illness for years, seeing a psychiatrist to help him with his paranoia and depression. But that wasn’t transferred to you.”

            “Hmmm, that is interesting,” Charity said. “Perhaps you’ll have to do a lot more experiments to figure out if that was the case.” She laughed but stopped when Fenton didn’t join her.

            “As much as the idea intrigues me,” Fenton said, “I don’t know if I could go through with it. I wouldn’t want to do anything that could hurt you, even if there’s only a remote possibility of pain.”

            They both found interesting things to look at outside the window.

            Realizing that the awkward silence was his fault, Fenton wracked his brain for a different subject when he remembered he had brought Charity a present. “Oh, I have something for you.” Out of his pocket, he pulled out a phone. A really nice and expensive looking phone. “I noticed you didn’t have one of your own.”

            “I can’t accept that,” Charity said, although she wanted to. It was almost unheard of for someone not to own a cell phone in this day and age, but her mother had insisted that Charity not have one. She almost felt silly thinking this, being an adult, but she also never had a job to pay for one.

            “Don’t worry. It’s my backup,” Fenton explained. “That is, when I joined McDuck Enterprises, I was given a company phone and put on their plan. Even unpaid interns get some benefits. This was my old phone.”

            “Thank you,” Charity said, taking it. “Maybe I can call my step-dad and ask for some money to put some minutes on it.”

            “Well…” Fenton rubbed the back of his neck. “I already did that.”

            “Fenton,” Charity said, feeling slightly irritated that he spent money on her. “I promise to pay you back.”

            “It’s okay. I figure you should get something out of meeting my family,” Fenton said. “They’re a handful. Oh, that reminds me. I don’t suppose you know any Spanish.”

            “Uh…”

            “Because my abuela doesn’t speak a word of English, and a lot of my family prefers not to use any English around her. My cousins and the younger kids, they’ll speak in English,” Fenton explained.

            Charity smiled sheepishly. “Well…I did take two years of Spanish in High School, but…I barely passed only because I memorized lines from YouTube videos of the Spanish version of Darkwing Duck episodes.” Her grin widened.

            Fenton contemplated this for a few beats. “That’s…actually perfect. You’ll do great,” he said, handing over a small bead of plastic that looked like an earbud without the cord. “This is a Bluetooth translating device. It’s synced to your phone that has a great translator app that I downloaded. It’ll translate all spoken Spanish into English. If you’re having problems speaking, you can look up words with your phone.”

            Charity looked concerned. “Wait, aren’t you going to be with me the whole time?” she asked.

            Fenton laughed. “No, no. They’re going to try to separate us right at the door so that they can interrogate us individually, so let’s keep our stories straight,” he said seriously. “We’re not dating. We’re not boyfriend/girlfriend. We’re just friends.”

            “And that I’m head-over-heels in love with you because of an ancient curse,” Charity added with a grin.

            “Don’t ever mention that,” Fenton said. “If my family found that out, they might just marry us on the spot.”

            Charity laughed and blushed at the same time. “Maybe I should have changed my clothes and gone with a more casual look. But then again, at least I don’t have my Aphrodite make-over anymore. That might have blown their minds.”

            “I like you better this way,” Fenton said with a smile.

            Charity’s blush deepened. “Stop it,” she told the scientist, trying to be mad at him. “If you keep saying things like that, nobody is going to be convinced we’re not dating.”

            “You could have fooled me.”

            Fenton and Charity turned to the cab driver, who was looking at them through the rear-view mirror.

            “We’ve arrived,” the cabby said with a smile, tapping the meter to show how much the ride cost.

            As Fenton paid the fee, the driver winked at them. “Good luck you two.”

            Chuckling at the thought of the driver listening to their conversation, they approached a large, two-story home. It was in an older neighborhood where the houses looked more Victorian than modern, and most of the homes were in good repair with tended lawns.

            Fenton took a deep breath. “You ready?”

            “You look more scared than I do,” Charity observed with a smirk.

            Matching her smile, Fenton knocked on the door.

            Within five seconds, the door was flung open and a short, middle-aged duck cried out, speaking in rapid Spanish as she threw her arms around Fenton.

            It took Charity a while for her to realize a feminine voice was translating in her ear.

            “Little Fenton, I’m so glad you came. Your mamá has been waiting for you. How’s your job as a scientist? You look so skinny. Come in and eat something,” the voice in Charity’s ear said.

            The woman’s eyes fell on Charity, and the smile froze.

            “Tia Carmen, this is my friend, Charity,” Fenton introduced. “Charity, this is my Aunt Carmen. She’s married to my Uncle Angelo, who is turning fifty today.”

            “It’s so good to meet you,” Charity said nervously, holding out a hand. When they shook, she felt as if Fenton’s aunt was a little hesitant.

            “Fenton, ¿ya conoce tu mamá a tu novia?”

            Charity’s device translated, “Fenton, has your mamá met your girlfriend?”

            “Charity doesn’t speak Spanish, Tia,” Fenton said. “And she’s not my girlfriend.” He refrained from answering his aunt’s question.

            “Well, come in. Come in,” Carmen said in accented English, although her smile still looked tight-lip. “Your cousins have been looking forward to seeing you.”

            Fenton grimaced.

            As they walked into the house, wonderful smells of spicy, fragrant foods wafted around them like a blanket. There were people everywhere, both adults and children, most eating from paper plates while sitting on couches and chairs while a few ducklings knelt on the floor and used a coffee table to prop their plates. There was a large “Happy Birthday” sign hung on the ceiling and dozens of helium balloons bobbed in the air.

            Several people called out Fenton’s name along with a few sentences in Spanish. There were so many people talking that Charity’s translator didn’t work properly, only translating a word here and there.

            “And this is Fenton’s girlfriend, Charity,” Carmen introduced to the large group, putting a hand on the lovebird’s shoulder.

            “We’re not—“ Fenton started to protest when a taller duck with larger proportions of muscles raced up and grabbed Fenton around the neck, rubbing his hair with broad knuckles.

            “Puchis primo, trayendo una chica como ella a esa casa.  Tienes cajónes!”

            “Puchis, cousin, bringing a girl like her into this house. You have drawers,” the translator said, although Charity wasn’t certain if it was accurate.

            “Hello, Antonio,” Fenton said, struggling to free himself. In the end, he just hung limply.

            “Tia María, tengo tu patito aquí,” Antonio called out, walking away with Fenton still in a headlock.

            “Aunt María, I have your little duckling,” Charity heard in her ear.

            Charity tried to follow, but Carmen stopped her with an arm around her shoulders, leading her to the circle of people eating.

            “You must tell us how you met,” the older woman insisted. “You must have a wonderful story of how you started dating.”

            Charity felt she had no choice since all eyes in the living room were on her. Taking a seat that was vacated by a teenager after a few terse words in Spanish, she faced the crowd. “Well, first off, we’re not dating,” Charity said firmly, finding over a dozen disbelieving eyes staring back at her.

            Skipping the first time they met when Gizmoduck saved her during the invasion of the moonlanders, Charity tried to keep to the truth, telling how she met Fenton in the crowded restaurant and that later they met again at McDuck Enterprise’s lab.

            “You mean, Fenton experiments on people?” a young boy asked, looking both horrified and excited

            “Uh…it wasn’t anything terrible,” Charity said, finding a believable lie to fill in the blanks. “He was testing a new medicine for burns, and I so happen to have a second-degree on my wrist.” Charity realized at this time, there might be holes in her story that she wouldn’t know how to fill.

            “Que cielos, how did you do that?” a woman about Charity’s age asked.

            “Cooking,” Charity said, using her mother’s fallback to her own unexplained burns. “But as you can see, it’s healed really well.” Well, not because of Fenton’s medicine, but it did help, she thought to herself.

            “How long have you been dating?” another woman asked.

            “We’re not dating,” Charity said. Again she worried about being caught in a lie. If she told them they didn’t even know each other a week, they would wonder how her burn healed so quickly.

            “Have you kissed him yet?” a young girl asked unabashedly.

            Several adults berated the girl’s audacity in Spanish, but by the looks in their eyes, they wanted to know the answer as well.

            “We haven’t kissed,” Charity said. “Because I’m not his girlfriend.” She really needed to get off this subject. And her stomach offered the best suggestion. “I’m going to get something to eat. That food smells really good.”

            She practically jumped out of her seat and sprinted in the direction the smells were wafting from, finding a table spread out with a variety of foods found south of the border, and better yet, they were authentic instead of the restaurant knock-offs she was used to. She took a little of everything, her plate piled high with beans and rice dishes, scooping dollops of guacamole and sour cream in the middle and feeling sorrowful that she couldn’t eat everything.

            “Oh, I’m so glad someone has come with an appetite,” another woman about the same age as Carmen told Charity. “It’s so good to see Fenton with such a nice and pretty girl.”

            “Thanks,” Charity said with a smile. “But we’re not dating.”

            “Oooooh,” the woman said, putting a finger to the side of her nose and winking as if they shared a secret. “I don’t suppose you’ve met María, Fenton’s mamá, yet?”

            “No,” Charity said with a shake of her head. Since the woman was refusing to let her find someplace to sit down and eat, she filled her fork and began eating right there.

            “Hmmm,” the woman hummed, smiling in the same tight-lipped way as Carmen. “Well, I hope it goes well.” She patted Charity’s shoulder and walked away.

            What was that about? Charity wondered. Had Fenton forgotten to mention something about his mother? Did she have three eyes or webbed fingers or something? She wandered the house with its crowd, seeing if she could spot Fenton, but wherever Antonio had taken him, it wasn’t with the majority of the family.

            Finding the backdoor open to a big backyard with tables and chairs and even more people, Charity decided that she could at least enjoy the sunshine and eat her food at the same time. However, as she made her way to a table, she noticed how many eyes followed her, heads turning to whisper to neighbors.

            Her presence was certainly making waves. So much for convincing his family that she wasn’t dating Fenton.

            She was almost done with her food and contemplating going back for another plate of desserts when a cacophony of voices cheering broke through the normal chatter. Around the side of the house, a group of boys ranging from teen-aged to their early thirties ran into the yard, carrying Fenton above their heads. The children who were eating with their parents or playing games in the grass all jumped up to follow, starting a chant.

            It was a single word in Spanish, and Charity’s Bluetooth translated.

            “Fly. Fly. Fly.”

            At the children’s cheer, the group of boys started flinging Fenton into the air as high as they could. Fenton had a ruffled yet resigned look on his face as he was tossed time and time again. Eventually, the group released him before the crowd of children pleaded for their turn.

            Charity was laughing so hard that she couldn’t suppress it when Fenton sat down beside her.

            “What was that about?” she asked, still chuckling.

            “It’s an old family tradition,” Fenton said. “It started out as a game my uncles played to toss all the kids into the air and pretend that they could fly. But as everyone got older, my uncles set a requirement so they wouldn’t have to let the older kids have a turn and save their aching backs.” Fenton didn’t volunteer more information.

            “And what was that requirement?” Charity asked, smiling.

            Fenton sighed, trying to lay his hair back to where it was. “You couldn’t have a turn if you’ve had your first kiss.”

            Charity’s cheeks puffed out as she suppressed more laughter.

            Fenton hid his face in his folded arms on the table.

            “I’m—I’m so sorry,” Charity tried to say sincerely.

            “Yeah, well…my cousins have replaced my uncles in the tradition and keep it alive just for me,” Fenton said. “And to make sure I play along, they tell all the younger kids that the oldest has to go first, so nobody gets a turn unless I go.”

            “Oh, the worst kind of blackmail,” Charity said. “It’s sweet that you tolerate it for them.”

            “Like I have a choice. I’m not exactly Gizmoduck like this,” Fenton said, gesturing to his body. He looked downtrodden.

            Charity had noticed that the males of Fenton’s family tended to be on the larger side. Not exactly body-builders or behemoths, but she couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen so many defined biceps. Or for that matter, pecs. She suspected the single men were the ones that liked to wear open shirts.

            “I like you as you are,” Charity said, mimicking what he said to her back in the cab. She touched his arm.

            Fenton smiled.

            “Awww, they’re so cute,” a teenage girl said as she passed by.

            Fenton and Charity both jerked away from each other.

            “Dang it!” Charity hissed. “I thought I had almost convinced them.”

            At that, it was Fenton’s turn to laugh. “I think we have more than our work cut out for us.” That’s when his gaze went to behind Charity. “Oh, there’s Mamá. Mamá, over here.”

            “Fenton! I’m so glad you could make it,” a rich, accented voice said from behind Charity. “And who is this?”

            “Mamá, I’d like you to meet Charity, my friend. We’re not dating,” he said firmly. “Charity, meet my mamá. This is María Crackshell-Cabrera.”

            “How do you do?” Charity said as she turned around and offered the hand.

            If the smiles she received earlier were strained, María’s was so taut it might snap.

            “Nice to meet you,” María said, both her tone and handshake ill-fitting the greeting. “It’s good to know the face of the girl who’s kept my son away from home for two nights in a row.”

            Fenton looked at Charity then at his mother strangely. “As I told you, Charity needed help.”

            “She must have to make you forget to tell your own mother where you are,” María said, her tone tinted with frost.

            Both Charity and Fenton didn’t miss the intonation, the latter widening his eyes at his mother’s rudeness, the former trying hard not to react.

            “Excuse us,” Fenton said, and surprising even himself, took his mother’s elbow and led her away.

            Charity watched as Fenton spoke to his mother. Even though she couldn’t hear exactly what was said, she knew they switched from English to Spanish as the conversation grew heated, although kept in hushed tones.

            Realizing she was staring, Charity paid closer attention to her plate, scraping the last bites of tamales into her mouth and chewing slowly. That’s when she noticed that everyone in Fenton’s family was watching María and Fenton, their glances not at all discreet.

            After a few minutes, Fenton returned to the table, his mother going back into the house.

            Charity didn’t want to ask what the argument was about. It wasn’t her business, but she could tell it bothered Fenton. She couldn’t imagine a nice guy like him fighting with his mom that often.

            “So, how many cousins do you have?” Charity asked, tapping her fork against her empty plate.

            Fenton sighed. “Well, my abuela, she had seven kids. María, my mother, she’s the fifth in line. All of my aunts and uncles have married at least once. Let’s see…three, eight, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, twenty, twenty-two…I think. And about half of them are married and have kids of their own. Don’t ask me how many great-grand-children my abuela has. I can’t keep track of them.”

            “Big family,” Charity observed, nodding her head.

            “I’m sorry about Mamá,” Fenton apologized. “I’m not sure why she was so rude.”

            “It’s not my business,” Charity said, holding up her hands.

            “I don’t understand why she acted that way,” Fenton said, shaking his head. “I don’t suppose you’ve been arrested, have you?”

            Charity’s face twisted into wry humor, not understanding the joke. “No. Why?”

            “Oh. I guess you didn’t know my mom’s a detective with the police department,” Fenton said.

            “Nope,” Charity said, shaking her head. Then her eyebrows turned down. Her voice turned to a whisper. “Does she know you’re…” She didn’t dare finish her sentence so she wouldn’t give anything away in case somebody was listening. And how nosy this family was, it was a possibility.

            “Oh, there’s no hiding anything from my mamá,” Fenton said with a chuckle. “And she still thinks that I brought my girlfriend, just like everyone else.”

            “Perhaps we’re protesting too much,” Charity said. She shrugged. “Let them believe what they want. When you find yourself a girl you really like, things will be different. Then your family can embarrass someone else.”

            Fenton smiled. “Yeah…maybe..” His eyes remained on her.

            And for once, Charity didn’t look away. What did it hurt to let herself pretend that Fenton was more than a friend just in her mind? She was already pretending that this was kind-of, sort-of, maybe a date, even if he didn’t see it that way.

            “Charity, after the curse—“ His sentence was cut off by loud music. Fumbling for his pocket, he pulled out his phone that was blaring “Hero” by Nickleback. He grinned sheepishly before putting the cell to his ear. In a deep voice, he said, “Yeah?” He listened for a few moments before saying, “I’m on my way.”

            Charity frowned, getting a sinking feeling.

            “Uh…Charity?” Fenton’s voice was back to normal. “Listen…Don’t be mad.”

            “I’m already mad,” Charity said, suspecting what was going to happen. She had seen too many movies and read too many comics not to know.

            “I need to go. The Beagle Boys are trying to rob a bank again,” Fenton whispered, standing up.

            Charity grabbed his wrist. “Don’t you leave me alone,” she ordered him.

            “I’m sorry,” he said with an apologetic smile. He pulled away.

            “Don’t you leave me alone,” Charity hissed again, her eyes glaring at him.

            “Sorry,” he whispered, slinking away.

            And Charity found herself in the middle of a family reunion that wasn’t hers that could choose to speak a language she knew very badly, and no money to call a cab. She was stuck.

Chapter Text

Twisted Strings of Fate

Chapter 26

            Wouldn’t it be nice to have a musical interlude sometimes in life? In a play, it always happened after an intense, dramatic scene to indicate the halfway point of the story. Then the audience can get up, walk around, and stretch their legs. Once the audience is back, the orchestra plays a medley of songs, slowly bringing everyone’s minds back to the playwrite’s imagination, immersing the audience into a different world.

            Yeah, having a musical interlude would definitely have been nice to cushion me against one adventure after another.

***

            Charity looked around the backyard at the gossip leaping from one beak to another. And she rewound through the last few minutes, wondering what they thought of her. First, Fenton introduced her to his mother, María. Then he and María had an argument. When the argument was over, Fenton only stayed with Charity for a few minutes before racing off, leaving the lovebird to her own devices.

            Fenton’s family already thought that they were dating. Did they think this might be some sort of break up? Or were they gossiping that Fenton may have run away rather than deal with what was going on with his mother? And what was up with María? She had acted so cold toward Charity that something was going on. Whatever it was, the whole family knew it by the forced smiles and questioning glances.

            The situation would have already been an amazing dumpster fire, but to add oil in the mix, Fenton had gone to save the day as Gizmoduck, leaving her armed with only a Bluetooth translator that didn’t pick up social cues or slang. And with not even a cent to her name, she couldn’t call a cab. She could call Launchpad to pick her up, but what would Fenton think of her for deserting his family’s party?

            She may be mad at him, but that didn’t mean she was going to leave. Hoping that the time would go by quickly, she picked up her plate and went back into the house for dessert. Maybe if she ate slowly enough, everyone would avoid her until Fenton returned.

            No such luck. When she came back with several cookies, some pudding, and a few other samplers of sweets she didn’t recognize, her table was filled with Fenton’s male relatives who had tossed him into the air. They must have given all the little ones a turn and were now talking loudly and jovially to each other.

            Charity went looking for another table. Most of them were filled up, but she could take a corner unobtrusively.

            “Yo, chica. Come back. We didn’t mean to kick you out of your table,” the man she recognized as Antonio called. “Come sit with us.”

            It was then she saw that there was one chair open right next to Antonio, giving her only two options: accepting the chair and being surrounded by a cloud of testosterone or snubbing them and perhaps getting on the bad side of Fenton’s family. It didn’t seem like much of a choice.

            Blowing out a tense breath, Charity accepted the seat, finding herself shoulder to shoulder with Antonio and another of Fenton’s cousins. They all tended to wear the same style of clothing: button-up shirts that revealed too many chest feathers and pecs because one or two buttons were left open. Gold chains hung from several necks and every guy—even the thirteen-year-old—sported some sort of mustache. Eyebrows waggled and several slicked back their hair.

            Charity smiled politely and went on the offensive. “I know I won’t remember anyone’s names, but how about some introductions. I’m Charity Loveatte.”

            The boys were all eager to have some limelight, even extending past their name to their job or what grade in school or college they were, some even adding hobbies or what kind of car they drove. They leaned in, creating their own atmosphere around Charity that was stifling.

            “So, Charity, tell me,” Antonio started, putting an arm around her chair, “what is a beautiful chica like you doing with a patito like Fenton.”

            That earned a few chuckles from half of the cousins, the other half frowned at Antonio.

            “Well, first, we’re just friends,” Charity said. And because she didn’t like how Antonio spoke of Fenton, she added in a deeper tone, “Very very good friends. And second, he’s been helping me with a problem I’ve been having.”

            “Do you need any more help?” one of the teenagers asked. He flexed his muscles. “I’m really strong.”

            The man sitting next to the teen squeezed the bicep. “Ni tanto, chamaco.”

            “Not quite there yet, kid,” Charity’s ear piece said.

            “No, I’m good,” Charity said with a smile. “I have more than enough help.”

            “Are you sure?” Antonio pushed. “What is he helping you out with? If you need some added muscles, we’ll help la chica de mi primo. Any friend of Fenton’s is a friend of ours.”

            Charity didn’t need the Bluetooth to know that Antonio referred to her as “Fenton’s girl.” And it didn’t go over her head that she was practically being hit on by a dozen men at once with their wide smiles. They were preening worse than peacocks.

            “Thanks, but my problem is more of a philosophical and esoteric enigma. Fenton’s the right man for the job,” Charity said, still trying to keep things friendly.

            A few of the men frowned, maybe trying to figure out the big words, but others were grinning and nodding.           

            “Primo is a genius,” one said proudly. “He works for Mr. McDuck.”

            “Yeah…Got a fancy job in a lab,” another said. “Hey, do you think he could get Gizmoduck’s autograph for me?”

            “Didn’t Tia María say he helped make Gizmoduck?”

            “Que calimex!”

            “Que asombroso. Whoa, I knew he was a science nerd, but building robots like that. Amazing.”

            “¿Se recuerda cuando él contruyó el robót?”

            “Don’t you remember when he built the robot?” the translator said.

            “The one he blew up.” They kept switching back and forth from English to Spanish.

            “No, the one that he battled with. Órale! That thing was cool.”

            Charity nibbled on a cookie, happy just to listen to the conversation, glad for the translator. The way Fenton acted around his family, she wondered if he knew how much they admired him. Perhaps he only saw the teasing and missed the compliments.

            “Estudiaría la ciencia yo si me sacara una chica como ella,” one of the teens said.

            It took a lot of concentration not to react as the translator said, “I would study science if a girl like her took me out.”

            “No dejes que tu Tia María te oye decir eso. Ya está enojada como es,” a guy in his mid-thirties said

            Translation: “Don’t let your Aunt María hear you say that. She is already angry as is.”

            Charity wanted to ask about this, but she didn’t want to reveal quite yet that she could understand them. It was kind of fun pretending to be ignorant.

            “Los cerebros no ganan chicas como ella. ¿No le escuchaste? No son una pareja,” Antonio suddenly said, his voice raised, his tone derisive.

            “Brains don’t win girls like her. Didn’t you hear her? They are not a couple,” came the translation.

            “Dude, like anyone believes that,” someone said in English.

            Back to Spanish from Antonio. “Si fuesen una pareja, no nos habría dejado tirarlo en el aire. Todavía tiene un pico virgin.” He grinned.
            “If they were a couple, he wouldn’t have let us throw him in the air. He still has a virgin beak.”

            “Sin duda. Sí tuviera yo una chica tan caliente como ella, no le dejaría sola. Que sexi!”

            “Undoubtedly. If I had a girl as hot as her, I wouldn’t leave her alone. How sexy,” the Bluetooth said.

            “Fenton es un cerebrito. Todavía no ha besado a una chica y es un adulto,” one teenager said.

            “Fenton is a geek. He hasn’t kissed a girl and he’s an adult,” was the translation.

            “¿Se puede llamarlo un hombre sin haber besado una chica?” Antonio said after letting a few of his cousins talk.

            “Can you call him a man without having kissed a girl?” the translator said.
            Charity suffered through each comment that the mechanical voice spoke, feeling not only cheapened by them discussing her but also indignant on Fenton’s behalf. She noticed that it wasn’t all the guys at the table making these kinds of comments. More than half kept quiet, letting the more boisterous of the group talk.

            It was obvious that Antonio was the ring leader here. She wished that someone would speak up on their cousin’s behalf, but no one did. She didn’t blame them. She had known girls that were bullies in high school, and some girl had found a place in the clique by picking on others least they become the next target.

            “Por donde quiere que vaya, es óbvio que él no está lista por una chica real. Tal vez le muestra a ella como es un hombre real,” Antonio said.

            “Wherever he went, it’s obvious that he’s not ready for a real girl. Maybe I should show her what a real man is like.”

            That was when Charity had had enough. She may be an idiot when it came to high school Spanish exams, but she remembered enough to say one line. She spoke slowly but deliberately, hoping that she didn’t sound dumb compared to their rapid-fire Spanish.

            “Sí vez un hombre real, múestramelo.” She smiled in satisfaction as the group reacted to her words as the translation echoed in her ear. “If you see a real man, show me.”

            A few were gaping at her.

            “She understood us this entire time,” a teenager said, looking shameful.

            “Híjole.” That one her earpiece couldn’t translate.

            “Es brava esa chica.”

            “That girl is brave.”

            “Ten cuidad, Antonio. No sé sí puedas atrapala a esa chica.”

            “Take care, Antonio. I don’t know if you can catch that girl.”

            Laughter and jokes rose from the cousins except for Antonio who sat with a mixture of embarrassment and anger on his face.

            Charity picked up her plate and stood, this time speaking in English. “Oh, and just for the record, I have kissed Fenton. It just wasn’t on the lips,” she said in a sultry tone before making her exit.

            She could only imagine the expressions she left behind, hearing voices talking over each other in English and Spanish. Let them make what they would of her words. They were technically true. She had given Fenton a kiss on the cheek. Not exactly the steaming insinuation she led them to believe.

            And this also blew away any chance of convincing the family that she and Fenton weren’t dating. But she didn’t care. The way those guys were talking about their cousin, she would have made-out with the scientist in front of everyone just to show them.

            Retreating into the house, she dumped her disposable dishes into the garbage and looked for the most isolated area of the house she could find without infringing on the owner’s privacy. She found a room just off the kitchen that was entirely empty except for a couch, a TV, and a tiny, old woman in a recliner. Her eyes were closed, and she was as still as the dead except for the rising and fall of her chest.

            This must be Fenton’s abuela. As long as I don’t wake her, I can hide out here, Charity thought. And to make the time pass, she could tinker with the cell phone Fenton gave her. Having never owned one before, she had a lot to learn as well as program the few numbers she had memorized. She retrieved it from her bra, having no pockets or purse in which to hold it. It was a terrible place to keep it, but she really didn’t have much of a choice

            However, she didn’t paid too much attention to the couch before sitting. When she sat, there was a loud, rude noise from the plastic covers rubbing together that sounded like cartoon farts. With eyes wide open and muscles preparing to run, Charity watch as the little, old lady snorted and jerked a little before lapsing back into silence.

            After turning down the volume, Charity opened up the contacts to program Launchpad, her parents and her grandparents’ phone numbers. She also sent her best friend a text, letting him know about her cell. It would be great to finally chat with him via modern technology for once.

            Almost immediately, she received a text. However, it wasn’t from whom she thought. The number was unlisted and the message was cryptic.

            Your stepfather would never have thought to pack a skirt. Your welcome.

            As she read it, Charity felt a chill run down her spine. But the text was right. Her stepfather wouldn’t have searched the back of her closet for it. So how did the skirt end up in her pack? And who was texting her?

            Another text came in, almost as if reading her thoughts.

            I’m watching out for you. Make sure those four take very good care of you.

            Charity’s beak pressed tightly together. She had hoped that once they hadleft Ithaquack, things wouldn’t be so crazy, but it seemed that a bit of Ithaquack had followed them.

            “Ah .. me dormí. ¿Joaquin, me puedes? …oh…no eres Joaquin.”

            Charity looked up as her earpiece translated, “Oh, I must have dozed off. Joaquin, can you please get—Oh, you’re not Joaquin.”

            “Uh…I’m sorry,” Charity said with an apologetic smile. “I’m not Joaquin. Oh, right. She doesn’t understand English. Uh…Siento…No moleste.” Charity cringed because she was sure that wasn’t quite correct. She must sound like a Spanish cavebird. She stood up to leave.

            “No, por favor sentáte. Quédate.” Fenton’s abuela gestured for Charity to sit down again. “No te reconozco. ¿Quíen eres tu?” She pointed at Charity.

            “No, please stay. Sit. I don’t recognize you. Who are you?” was the translation, although it wasn’t necessary by the old woman gestures.

            “My name is Charity. Uh…mi nombre Charity. I’m Fenton’s amigo,” Charity said simply.

            “Ah, tu eres la chica que María mencionó. Eres muy bonita. Es muy triste que no me entiendes.”

            “Oh, you’re the girl that María was talking about. You’re so pretty. It’s too bad that you can’t understand me.”

            Fenton’s abuela started rocking in her chair, a rhythmic squeaking in the background. She rambled on in Spanish, and Charity listened closely to the translation.”

            “I wonder where my little Fenton is. He was such a good little boy, always gave me hugs and kisses whenever he came to visit. I never had to ask him. And he would listen to my stories, even when this old woman would become forgetful and repeat them over and over again.”

            Charity smiled. She wondered if she should tell the little, old lady that she could understand her. Perhaps learning that Fenton invented such a device might make his abuela even more proud of her grandson. But then again, it seemed like the grandmother didn’t want a conversation but an audience.

            “Fenton is a lucky boy to have found someone so pretty. Your hair is gorgeous. I used to have hair that long when I was a girl. My husband loved my hair. He would weave flowers into it when I wasn’t paying attention, and when I would brush it out at night, the petals would float around me.”

            Charity smiled at the beautiful image. She wished that she could understand Spanish so she could hear the story’s intonations instead of the robot voice in her ear.

            “Oh, how I miss my Matteo. He was such a handsome man even in his old age. He lived each day as if it were a gift. He was a handyman by trade, and he could do anything with his hands. And I do mean anything. I loved the way they felt when he held my hand, when he ran them through my hair and into my feathers.”

            Charity tried to be polite, but the words no longer sounded like they should come from a sweet, old lady. Get your mind out of the gutter. It’s probably a wrong translation or something, Charity thought.

            “My Matteo was filled with love, life and vigor. Oh, was he vigorous. Of course, a man like mine worked hard and he liked to play hard, too.”

            Nope, Charity thought, feeling her cheeks burn. There’s no mistranslating that.

            “There’s a reason I had seven children. It’s a wonder that we didn’t have more. He couldn’t keep those hands off of me. Oh, I do miss those hands.”

            “Uh…you know, maybe I should tell someone you’re awake,” Charity said. She shuffled through her inventory of Spanish words for help. “Uh…Yo voy…uh…hablo no siesta,” Charity stumbled through the incomplete sentence. How had she managed chewing out Fenton’s cousins yet couldn’t manage a simple phrase around his dirty grandma?

            Fenton’s abuela gently took Charity’s hand. “No, quédate conmigo. Tienes una cara bondadosa. Es bueno tener alguien aquí.”

            “No, please stay with me,” the translated said. “You have such a kind face. It’s nice to have someone sit with me.”

            I’m such a sucker,” Charity said, sitting back down.

            “Oh, my little Fenton is so lucky to have a girl like you,” the translator kept at its job. “When you take him into your bed, make sure that you preen the feathers at the back of the neck. Nothing gets a man in a mood better than that. And with that petite, curved beak, you will drive my grandson crazy. Of course, the family would prefer that you’re married, but I won’t tell if you decide to jump into things. That reminds me of the time Matteo had me pinned in the backseat of his—“

            Charity raised her hand with the pretense to play with her hair, but instead pulled out the Bluetooth, giving Fenton’s abuela a cheerful smile now that she couldn’t hear whatever smut she was rambling. It was only then she realized there was a reason the elderly duck had been left in this isolated corner of the house. The young and influential minds of the dozens of ducklings shouldn’t be subjected to such material.

            However, with no understanding of the Spanish language, she could easily give Fenton’s abuela what she needed: company.

***

            At two o’ clock, Darkwing entered Negaduck’s jail with a glass of water and two more pills. For the past three hours, the black-masked duck had been tossing and turning on the cot. He hadn’t uttered a sound, but by his stiff beak, he must be biting back groans. The blanket and cot were soaked in sweat, and the red cape and wide-brimmed hat were on the ground, cast off for comfort.

            “It’s time for your next dose,” Darkwing said, his voice soft.

            Negaduck’s eyes opened, and for a few seconds, his face was filled with unadulterated rage. But the muscles in his face relaxed, and his expression was a mixture of confusion and contempt.

            Helping the older duck sit up, Darkwing watched carefully as Negaduck put the pills in his mouth and gulped down all the water. He then waited for Negaduck to open his mouth to show that the pills were indeed gone.

            “Is there something else I can get you?” Darkwing asked.

            Huddled in his blanket, Negaduck rasped, “I-Is Charity back yet?”

            Darkwing frowned. This had been the third time he had asked that question, and it was just as strange to hear it from Negaduck as the first time. “I don’t think so.” It hadn’t been that long since she left.

            It was as if Negaduck had no more strength in him. His head dropped back onto the cot, closing his eyes. His breathing became slow and rhythmic as he fell into a restless sleep.

            “There’s more to this situation then you’re telling me,” Dr. Hoggins said, putting away her phone. She occasionally started a conversation with Darkwing, but it never went longer than a few minutes. This was the first time she set her phone aside, giving him her full attention.

            “There’s a lot we can’t tell you,” Darkwing said.

            “What about the girl, Charity? I’m guessing she’s in the thick of things,” Dr. Hoggins pondered. “What is her relationship with Jim?”

            “It’s complicated,” Darkwing said, finding he didn’t want to talk to a psychiatrist about Charity. Psychiatrists had a way of getting to the truth of things. If they started talking about Charity’s relationships, what would Dr. Hoggins decipher from just a few facts.

            “She really cares about him,” Dr. Hoggins said. “That point is clear. But I don’t understand how everyone got mixed up with Jim Starling.”

            “I guess you’ll have plenty of questions with your first session with him,” Darkwing said.

            Dr. Hoggin’s voice remained neutrally congenially. “I’m sorry if I’ve brought up a sore subject. It’s just that I was told that my patient has threatened violence towards everyone in this house, you and the girl included. Yet she cares for him. And so do you.”

            Darkwing nodded. “How much do you know about Jim?”

            “Well, I’ll admit I was in a hurry, but I have done some research,” Dr. Hoggins said. “His greatest and longest lasting role as an actor was during the TV show of Darkwing Duck some fifteen years ago. It lasted two seasons before it was canceled. After that, Jim rarely took on any acting roles, but he did write over a dozen Darkwing Duck novels and made many appearances at conventions and fan events celebrating Darkwing Duck. He’s obviously fixated on the role, especially after his psychotic episode at Mr. McDuck’s filming studio.”

            Darkwing nodded. She had the gist of Jim’s background.

            “And he’s not the only one fixated on Darkwing Duck,” she said pointedly.

            Darkwing lowered the brim of his hat. “I was a big fan as a kid. I guess it rubbed off on me permanently.”

            “To take on the persona, to risk your life fighting crime with that name, I would guess you’re more than just a fan. The show was more personal to you to make such a lasting impression,” Dr. Hoggins said.

            Like Darkwing thought, psychiatrists had a way of getting to the truth.

            “And Charity?”

            “She’s a fan as well,” Darkwing explained succinctly. “That’s it.”

            “I think that’s a lie,” Dr. Hoggins said. “She’s more than that. And you’re very protective of her.”

            “We’re not your patients,” Darkwing said, hoping he didn’t sound snappish. “Charity and I do care about Jim Starling and want him to get better. We’ll both do everything to make sure that happens. But our personal lives shouldn’t be a factor.”

            “I apologize,” Dr. Hoggins said, waving a hand. “Psychiatrists are snoopy by nature. Perhaps I should have been a detective. Of course, I don’t want to stick my snout where it doesn’t belong. I just want to know what kind of support Jim has in regards to friends and family. The fact that you both are victims of his violent episode yet are still here speaks volumes to your dedication to him. I hope that you’re willing to stay with him to the end.”

            “I can’t speak for Charity, but I…I’ll be around until I’m not needed anymore,” Darkwing said. “If it brings the old Jim back, I’ll do whatever is needed.”

            “That’s good. Those who battle mental illnesses need a good support system,” Dr. Hoggins said. “And I hope you mean what you said, because he’s going to struggle with this for the rest of his life.”

            Darkwing looked sad. “His entire life?”

            Dr. Hoggins nodded. “There is no cure, only a way to manage the symptoms. Most mental illnesses are like that. There will be good days and there will be bad days. Are you willing to stick with him for that long?”

            Darkwing had to wonder. If he was asked that months ago, back when he was working on the set of the Darkwing Duck movie, still drunk on the idea of living up to his hero’s name, hoping that Jim Starling would see his acting and they would meet and talk and perhaps become friends in a manner, then he could have told the actor how much he really meant to Drake Mallard, the young boy who missed his father and was looking for a role model to look up to. But that was before meeting Charity, seeing her handcuffed in a dilapidated subway station, before watching Negaduck carry an unconscious young girl with such carelessness, and wave a chainsaw with reckless abandon and murder in his eyes.

            But Jim wasn’t Negaduck. He wasn’t the villain that Darkwing had been imagining him these past few days. When he had been healed by Selene, there was clarity and rational thought in his actions and words, and the violent, homicidal Negaduck abated. Wasn’t that a clear indication that Jim could be redeemed? And if that was the case, as Darkwing Duck, a hero who was living up to a legendary name, wasn’t it his duty to make sure Negaduck never returned?

            “You’ve not seen the TV show, have you?” Darkwing said with a smile. “Then you’d know that Darkwing Duck never gives up, he always gets back up, and he won’t turn his back on someone who needs him.”

            He just hoped that Jim Starling didn’t still hate him once the treatment was in full effect.

            “Then it seems as if my patient is in good hands,” Dr. Hoggins said. “And it’s time that I have a break. I need to stretch out my legs.” She stood up. “I’ll be back.”

            Darkwing increased his alertness as the doctor left. He may have hopes that Jim Starling was getting better, but that didn’t mean he was going to relax his guard. Negaduck may be a shivering mess, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still dangerous.

            “Pathetic.”

            Darkwing looked up. Negaduck’s eyes were open, glaring with open hostility.

            “What’s pathetic?” Darkwing asked.

            “You are,” Negaduck growled, then started coughing. “All that talk of being my fan and trying to live up to the name of Darkwing Duck and supporting me through my illness. You’re even more of a fake than I thought.”

            “I wasn’t lying,” Darkwing said. He felt angry because of what Negaduck had done in the past, but he also felt pity because of how far Jim Starling had sunk. “I will do what it takes to help you. But I’m also going to protect everyone from you.”

            Negaduck laughed. “Anything to impress the girl.”

            “I’m not doing this for Charity.”

            “That’s a bunch of bull.”

            Darkwing crossed his arms and refused to say anything more. There was no use to talking to Negaduck. He only wanted to get a reaction with his words.

            “Fans,” Negaduck spat. “You’re a fan. She’s a fan. That tall guy’s a fan. I’ve got fans coming out of my ears. You should do yourselves a favor and find a different role model. I’m finished. You should throw me into a dark hole and leave me to rot.” Negaduck looked at his hands.

            Lifting his head, Darkwing thought there was a different tone to Negaduck’s voice. Could that be…remorse?

            “We’re not giving up on Jim Starling,” Darkwing said. “I’m not giving up on anyone that has the potential of doing some good.”

            Chuckling and coughing at the same time, Negaduck sat up, leaning against the wall. “With a cheesy line like that, you could have been a writer for the show. The audience loved sentiment like that. Back in those days, heroes were heroes. None of this darker side of people and all that moral gray areas. Black and white, that’s what Darkwing Duck was like.” There was a smile on his beak.

            A chill ran through Darkwing’s spine, the same chill when he finally met his hero. “That’s what I liked about Darkwing Duck, too. It was because he was good right to the core.”

            Negaduck was breathing hard. “It was rubbish. It was why the show was canceled. A waste of time.”

            “That’s not what you said before,” Darkwing countered. When Negaduck looked up at him, he continued. “In an interview, you said that working on the Darkwing Duck series was the best time of your life. Not only because you got to teach children what it was like to stand up for what you believed in, but because of the people you worked with on the set. You said that it was like being in a family.”

            “I said that?” Negaduck asked, tilting his head up. “I don’t remember. But some guys from the old days, they sometimes called up to check up on me and reminisce about the show.”

            “Do you remember Calvin Mallard?” Darkwing asked on a whim. A part of him wondered if it was a good idea, but he really wanted to know.

            “Calvin? Oh, Cal Mallard. It’s been such a long time since I heard that name,” Negaduck said. He rubbed away some sweat from his brow, leaving his mask crooked. “We could have been twins. The best stunt double I’ve ever worked with.”

            “You refused to work with anyone else,” Darkwing said.

            “Yeah. I couldn’t. Not after the accident,” Negaduck said, his gaze distant. “He’s the reason I started doing my own stunts. I couldn’t let something like that happen again.” He chuckled. “I wished he had been with me when I was Darkwing Duck. He would have liked those stunts.”

            “Yeah, he would have,” Darkwing said with his own smile.

            Negaduck’s eyes slid down, a concentrated beam narrowed onto Darkwing. “You look a lot like him.”

            “I had the right look for Darkwing Duck. It’s the reason I got the part in the movie.”

            “Cal spoke a lot of his son,” Negaduck said. “The only thing he loved more than performing was his family. I remember seeing them at the funeral.”

            “They were really grateful that you came. It meant a lot to them,” Darkwing said, using words to distance himself from his identity. Not that it mattered. If Jim Starling was sane, he could have figured out Darkwing Duck’s identity after the movie studio incident.

            It may have been stupid, but he wanted to trust Jim Starling with this secret. He had been wanting to tell the actor just how much his role as Darkwing Duck had meant to him and how it connected him to a past that was gone forever. He was giving Starling the means to destroy him if that was his wish.

            “Don’t tell me these things,” Negaduck growled. He shoved his fingers into the feathers on his head and pulled a few out. “Stop talking. Don’t tell me things that confuse me.”

            “Confuse you?” Darkwing repeated. “I’m not trying to confuse you.”

            “Yes, you are,” Negaduck accused, jumping to his feet. He grabbed the bars and started shaking them. “I hate you. I hate you. You stole my role. You stole what should have been mine.” And just as suddenly as the fit came upon him, Negaduck calmed down, backing away from the bars. “What have I become? What have I done? You should hate me. I deserve to be locked away forever. Chain me to the walls before I try to hurt anyone again.”

            “What is going on?” Dr. Hoggins returned, looking as if she had been running.

            “We—we were just talking,” Darkwing explained. “And then he went nuts.” He bit down on his words, not intending the pun.

            “Well, I expected violent outbursts eventually,” Dr. Hoggins said. “Jim, please calm down. Everything is going to be fine. Why don’t you rest?”

            “You can’t let me out. Not ever,” Negaduck told Dr. Hoggins. “I should be flung into a dark pit. Tartarus. I was so close to it. The Ferryman would know the way. Float me down the River Styx.”

            Dr. Hoggins shivered, her face growing worried. “Jim, listen to me. You weren’t responsible for your actions. You weren’t in control.”

            “I could lose control again.” Negaduck looked afraid, shivering where he stood beside the bars. “I can’t be trusted. That’s why she cursed me, but she wants chaos. I can’t be chaos. Charity? Is she back yet?” He looked almost desperate for the answer of that question.

            “No, she hasn’t returned,” Dr. Hoggins said. “But she will be soon. How about you go back to sleep? When you wake up, she’ll be back.”

            Negaduck nodded. He jerkily returned to his cot, wrapping up tightly in the blanket before falling asleep.

            “Was that because of the side effects?” Darkwing asked in a hushed tone.

            Dr. Hoggins sighed. “I’m not certain. On one hand, in less than one percent of those in the testing phase experienced delusions and depression, but this seems different to me. He’s showing remorse and guilt for his past actions, but all that talk about Tartarus and the River Styx was nonsense. I don’t suppose you know if he’s been reading Dante’s Inferno?”

            Darkwing’s smile was sad and knowing. “It’s kind of one of those things that only makes sense if you were there.”

            “So it will remain a mystery to me,” Dr. Hoggins said with a shake of her head. She glanced at her watch. “Almost three o’clock. About eleven hours into the treatment. Usually there’s some sign that the medicine is working, but that outburst may have been a bad sign.”

            “No, I think it’s working,” Darkwing said hopefully. “When you were gone, he said…some things. He didn’t sound like Negaduck.”

            “Well, let’s hope you’re right.”

***

            Fenton’s abuela rambled on and on. Charity smiled and nodded and occasionally put the Bluetooth back in to check if the old woman had changed subjects to something more appropriate. No luck, but that didn’t matter. She looked so happy just to have someone to talk to.

            “Abuela, no se debe contar esos cuentos a chicas tan jovenes.” In the doorway, stood a tall, male duck that looked to be a few years older than Charity. Unlike the other males in the family, he wore clothing that covered his chest and was clean shaven.

            “Joaquin, que gusto verte. Ven a sentar conmigo,” Fenton’s grandmother said.

            Charity quickly put her Bluetooth back in.

            “Abuela, no soy Joaquin. Soy Rafael. Recuerda, hijo de Carmen.”

            “Grandmother, I’m not Joaquin. I’m Rafael. Remember, Carmen’s son?”

            He entered and held out a hand. “¿Por qué no vienes a sentar con la familia. Ya hablaste con esa chica por un tiempo adequado.” He winked at Charity.

            “Why don’t you come and sit with the family? You’ve taken up enough of this young lady’s time.”

            “Ella es tan bonita. Muy exótica. Sí trajeras una chica como ella a la casa, tu padre habría sido furioso Joaquin.” She chuckled.

            “She’s so beautiful. So exotic. If you brought a girl like that home, your father would have been furious, Joaquin.”

            “Soy Rafael Abuela.”

            “I’m Rafael, Grandmother.”

            Charity followed as Rafael helped his grandmother to a chair in the living room, several ducks around the house calling out greetings to the elderly woman.

            “Ahora, guarda tu lengua abuelita. Recúerde, hay niños presents,” Rafael said as he shook a finger at his grandmother.

            “Now, behave little grandmother. Remember, there are children present.”

            The abuela cackled but immediately started calling to some of the smaller children to her.

            Rafael spotted Charity and walked over to her. “Charity, right? I’m Rafael. Fenton sent me a text to keep an eye on you until he could get back. He was pretty worried about you.”

            “I thought I was doing okay by myself,” Charity said.

            “I’m sure you were,” Rafael said with humor twinkling in his eye. “From what my mamá has told me, you can handle my family well enough. Antonio is still sulking.”

            “Good,” Charity said. “I haven’t had so much machismo thrown around since watching my high school’s football team.”

            Rafael laughed. He gestured toward a pair of chairs in the corner. “Do you want to sit down and talk? I can try to keep the vultures from circling again.”

            Charity gave him a half-smile. “Look, you’re a nice guy, and I know I’m not dating Fenton so you think I’m available, but I’m not really in a—“

            “Whoa, whoa, Senorita,” Rafael said with a laugh. “You didn’t look close enough. I’m taken.” He held up a hand, featuring a ring.

            Charity’s eyes widened and she covered her face. “I-I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” She grimaced, wishing she could disappear.

            “Hey, I’m flattered. I’m not such a bad looking guy,” Rafael said with a smile. “But look over at the dinner table. See that beautiful woman stuffing her mouth with chimichangas. That’s my wife.”

            Charity looked where he was pointing to a female duck with darker and redder feathers who was shoveling food into her mouth, her stomach sticking out enough that she could lay an egg any day now. Several women surrounded her and patted her belly.

            “Again, I’m sorry. It’s been a crazy day,” Charity said, taking the chair Rafael offered.

            “I get it,” Rafael said. “My family isn’t for the faint of heart. Although, you must be pretty special to Fenton for him to ask you to come with him.”

            “We’re not dating.”

            “I know. Can’t you be special to him and not be his girlfriend?” Rafael said, holding up his hands in defense. “I’m just glad that Fenton has someone. He doesn’t make friends easily.”

            “You sound like you two are close,” Charity observed.

            “Well, we’re a couple of dweebs according to our cousins,” Rafael said. “When we were kids, during family get-togethers like this, we’d find a corner somewhere and exchange comic books.”

            “I didn’t know Fenton read comics.”

            “He doesn’t like to talk about it. He gets teased a lot just because he’s small and smart, and he already feels set apart because he’s an only child and because of what happened with his dad.”

            “Why? What happened with his dad?” Charity asked. She guessed this might be a sore subject, but Rafael mentioned it first.

            “You don’t know?” Rafael asked, sitting up straight. He rubbed his head and said something untranslatable in Spanish. “It’s no wonder you’ve had a hard time. And Fenton didn’t explain it to you?”

            “Explain what?” Charity asked with a shrug.

            “That Fenton’s father ran off with a lovebird.”

            Charity felt something drop inside of her. Things clicked in place. The cold smiles, the sneaking glances, and María’s attitude toward her, it all had to do with her appearance.

            “I’m sorry about how they’ve treated you. It’s not right, just because of who you are, but it’s hard to displaced personal prejudices,” Rafael said. “Fenton should have warned you.”

            Charity closed her eyes. “I don’t think he knows. He even got in a fight with his mom.”

            Rafael’s face hardened. “Tia María promised she would tell him. He knows that his father left him, just not the details. But I guess it may have been for the best. If he knew that his father was shacking up with a lovebird well…he maybe would have missed out meeting you.”

            Charity smiled.

            “Anyway, it’s about time this family realizes that not all lovebirds are home-wrecking hussies.”

            “Who’s a home-wrecking hussy?” Rafael’s very pregnant wife asked, taking the seat next to her husband, still eating off her plate.

            Rafael leaned over and kissed his wife’s cheek then her neck. “I was just telling Charity all about my family’s dirty laundry.”

            “Oooo, gossip,” Rafael’s wife said, setting her plate on her stomach. “My favorite.”

            “Charity, this is Alana,” Rafael introduced.

            “And you’re Fenton’s ‘not-girlfriend’,” Alana said, using air quotes.

            Charity wasn’t sure if she was being sarcastic or just making a joke. “Yeah, that’s me. Although I’ve given up trying to convince anyone otherwise.”

            “Maybe you should just give in and become his girlfriend,” Alana suggested with a grin.

            “Alana,” Rafael said in a warning tone.

            “What? I’m just helping things along. Fenton’s an adorable marshmallow, soft and fluffy and squishy, and I’d like to know why he brought along a girl who refuses to date him,” Alana said, stuffing her fork in her mouth.

            “Aye-yai-yai, and I’m supposed to be his primo and look out for him,” Rafael said. “You don’t have to listen to Alana. All those hormones are making her loca. Ow!” He rubbed his arm where Alana had hit him.

            Charity gave the woman a smile. “I haven’t refused to date him,” she said.

            “So, he hasn’t asked you?” Rafael asked. “Maybe I should give him a pep talk. We’ll rectify that problem immediately.” He winked at Charity.

            “No. Don’t. It’s just at this time, I can’t date him. I can’t date anyone,” Charity said. “My life’s too messy and complicated that getting into a relationship will just make things worse. If Fenton wants to ask me out, he hasn’t out of concern for me.”

            Alana’s eyes filled with tears. “Awwww, he’s such a sweetheart.” She brushed at her eyes, hiccupped and continued eating. “Don’t look at me. It’s the hormones.”

            “Oh, so you can blame the hormones but I can’t?” Rafael asked.

            “Of course. They’re my hormones. I know exactly when I’m being influenced by them,” Alana rationalized.

            Charity chuckled at the couple. They were adorable. She could tell that they were madly in love. She longed for the day when her curse would be broken, and that she would have a chance to have that same kind of happiness.

            “Tio Rafael. Tio Rafael,” a small child cried out.

            A gaggle of girls raced into the room, most with faces filled with distress.

            “Teresa, what is going on? What’s with these tears?” Rafael asked.

            “You have to tell the boys that they have to let us play,” Teresa said. “They brought squirt guns and water balloons and they’re having a water fight, and they said we couldn’t join even though there’s enough for everyone. The boys just wanted to have two guns and said girls can’t shoot.”

            “Okay, calm down. Did you talk to your mamá and papa?” Rafael asked.

            “They’re too busy. Tio, make them let us play,” Teresa demanded.

            The other girls were nodding their heads and chirping their agreements.

            “Sorry, babe. I’ve got to go save the day,” Rafael said, kissing his wife.