Perfect and Dani looked down the alley. There was a large man there, silhouetted by a streetlight as he walked towards them. Dani, with her ring both screening the glare and moderating the shadow, could see him more clearly than Perfect could. She could see the soft bulge of his stomach, the neat little beard poking out beneath the black silk mask and the bald pate above it. Perfect had the impression of his great bulk from the way that he moved, even though all she really saw was a shape in a long coat.
“Who are you?” Dani asked.
“Who were you talking to?” Perfect asked, looking up and around.
He stopped in his tracks and glanced around.
“Nobody, apparently,” he said. “I’ve never understood why so many people think crimefighting requires rudeness.”
“Dock Shadow,” Perfect said. “You’re the man he was going to send to…”
“I am not a man who is sent by the likes of him. I am… well, I suppose you may as well call me Alcheman, since I certainly can’t reveal my true identity.” He sighed. “He convinced me of the importance of coming out here to help him deal with some so-called Poisoned Dragons, but my jet had no sooner touched down than I received word that he really wanted me to provide guidance to a group of young heroes blindly grappling with the occult.”
“I don’t think ‘blind’ is quite the right word,” Perfect said.
“Oh, well, then I suppose I’ll just be going then,” Alcheman said, starting to turn away.
“That’s not to say that we can’t use your advice!” Perfect said.
“My advice?” he said. “My advice would be for you to go home, take off that silly hat and mask combo, and let the world take care of itself.” He looked up at Dani. “You seem to have genuine power, if not much experience in wielding it… it could be argued that you’re a part of the ongoing conflict whether you want to be or not. But your young friend or sidekick here…”
“I’m not anybody’s sidekick,” Perfect said.
“She’s the leader,” Dani said. “She let me be on her team.”
Alcheman shook his head.
“Children playing games… he of all people should know better than this, after what happened…”
“‘My jet’,” Perfect said, drawing closer to him. “A person can say ‘my plane’ and mean ‘my flight’, ‘the plane I was on’, but you said your jet touched down.”
“Do you have a point?”
“You want to put a bet on how fast I can figure out your secret identity?” Perfect asked. “If you were some random guy with superpowers it would be a lot harder, but your career as Alcheman depends upon gadgets and expensive chemical concoctions, which argues for either extensive outside funding or a large personal fortune. Knowing the approximate time you came into town on a private jet tonight would be enough of a lead for me to track the plane down, which would probably lead me to proof of your identity or your backer, but I don’t have to go that far… in the time since you’ve been less active as a superhero, you’ve been more active in your public identity: magazine covers, television interviews. Maxim Prather, visionary founder of Hermes Pharmaceuticals.”
“That’s… er… that’s an interesting supposition,” he said.
“It fits,” Perfect said. “Groundbreaking chemist, noted philanthropist… those two descriptions work equally well for Mr. Prather and Alcheman. Not only is your voice noticeably similar when you don’t take the time to disguise it, but… well… let’s just say that Alcheman’s physical profile has altered in a way that’s consistent with the recent appearances of a certain prominent west coast businessman.”
“A lot of people put on a little weight when they reach a certain age,” Alcheman huffed.
“Of course,” Perfect said. “And both Alcheman and Prather are that age. Look, I’m not trying to out you… none of this is actually proof. I doubt most people would know the details of both of your careers the way I do. I spend a lot of time studying superheroes and… well… I watched the streaming video of your quarterly addresses to shareholders before I bought your stock. I never made the connection before, but seeing you up close in person as Alcheman after getting used to seeing you as Mr. Prather. The point is, I’m showing you what I can do: I can’t fly or conjure magic weapons or make potions that give me superstrength, but I can retain information and put it together.”
“Hmm, well, if I had taken my potion I’d be two inches taller, with more muscle tone, and a deeper voice,” Prather said. “I suppose if nothing else this has been an instructive lesson on the importance of using the concoction when operating even in a non-combat capacity.”
“So I was right?” Perfect asked.
“Yes, well, don’t get cocky about it… you still do have a lot to learn.”
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