I am not sure exactly at what point I should have backed away and called in the Big Guns. It was definitely well before this whole scene, with a Power’s source-witch knocked out on the floor, a demigod doppleganger, a handful of college chicks and senior citizens ready to fight anything that came through the door, and me missing my dinner reservation at a nice restaurant. Maybe when I realized it was the Shadow King who had marked me – that would have been a great opportunity to regroup and maybe find some back-up and moved it over to the real power players and made them handle it.

I don’t think of Pride being one of my personal sins. I thought of myself as the type to too readily change my mind to really be caught up in questions of credit and blame and hubris. I would rather run away and live to scurry yet another day, if you know what I mean. This whole “Dragon-Killer” epithet was sitting very poorly on me, like a crown where mine was the uneasy head.

But, I also believe in responsibility. Great responsibility, if necessary. The Shadow King wears something very close to my face, and while no one with (I want to say, “taste,” here, but that’s vanity, which is a version of Pride) experience of me, shall we say, would confuse the two of us, he kind of made himself my problem. I did kick the -cubi out, and while Maggie should probably take some of the dubious credit there, too, it still falls in my lap. Metaphorically speaking, and, um, free from most of the innuendo. (The place was carpeted in wall-to-wall innuendo, after all. Well, carpeted isn’t quite right – it’s not wallpaper if it’s on the outside, so it’s just painted innuendo. Which probably went against the HOA guidelines, but I wasn’t going to worry about that.) 

I also owed a responsibility to the people here because, well, I’m human.  That’s what humans do for each other, and if you disagree, check to see if you’ve grown a lizard tail or something.  Too often I hear, “Well, I’m not a hero,” or, “I’m not going to get involved,” and you know what?  That’s just fine.  Don’t be a hero.  No matter what, never be a hero.  Ladies, don’t let your kids grow up to be heroes.  While you might manage to get some endorsements, you’d be better off with a real degree and experience. 

I was often caught between Spider-Man and Batman as a kid.  Both of them were supposed to be terribly smart, sometimes too smart for their own good.  I think I vascillated towards Spider-Man, though, because he was also a nice guy.  I think it was really telling what they did when they weren’t “on duty,” as it were.  Bruce Wayne worked hard when he decided to put in an appearance (although part of that usually seemed to be when he wanted something from the shop) but when he was busy being a playboy, he was driven.  He was an obsessed playboy, deep in his role of girls and glamour.  Spider-Man had to juggle a job, school, a girlfriend, ailing family, and an ethical standard, not even counting his superhero secrets.   They were both interesting perspectives on the American Dream, especially considered against the staid Superman.   (And I always felt sorry for Aquaman and his counterparts.  I came up with some ideas as a kid about extending his powers to the atmosphere kind of like the bit in Swamp Thing when he stood on trial in Gotham and explained about just what kind of plant life he was able to control, but, um, that’s a really geeky sidenote.)

I hadn’t thought to ask what kind of heroes Deloise had had.  Probably Flower from that Meerkat show she watched.  I wonder who the Dragons want to grow up to be.  Themselves?

So, was it Pride that motivated me and then discarded me once it was done getting me into this situation?   Did I subconsciously want to be a hero?  I don’t believe in that, “Not getting involved,” portion.  I do believe that if I can’t help to stay out of the way, but I think there’s a difference.  If I see someone having trouble, I want to see if I can help, because I know there are times I need help, and there have been times I would have cried for the relief of someone asking me if I could use a hand.

There is no charge for awesomeness.    That’s where the Shadow King was wrong.  Life isn’t a series of owing favors, at least, not if you’re human.  Sure, you can make deals.  You can get yourself on the wrong side of the ledger balance.  You can spend more than you should and pay the price.  I’ve heard it called a rule of magic, and dude, it’s a stupid rule.  You still do things for your friends and never count the cost.  And you still do things for an ex-girlfriend, some random college chicks and senior citizens, and, heck, even yourself.

“Back away from her,” I said to the Shadow King.

“Choosing sides already?” he asked me, with just a faint mocking lilt to the question.

“If it’s choosing to see your backside as you get out of here, sure.”  I said.

“I am the only thing that prevents a countless number of creatures from breaking in and stealing away your friends,” he said.

“Oh, good point,” I said.  Then I rolled my eyes.  “Except I was born a little before yesterday, even speaking in the way of a Power’s memories.  You see, you’re here to call challenge. You’re using these folks as bait for your witch war.  Ingredients for some sort of spell.  I don’t even want to know.  I need to speak to my potential girlfriend without godlings listening, and I want you to stop playing with toys to which you don’t have any claim.”

It was then, of course, that the cavalry arrived.