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his absurd and needless tests to see just how much his immortal body can handle. Nate has been my father's protg for ten years now, a fresh-faced outsider shipped into the city still dusty with Oklahoma silt. His baby-smooth knuckles still sported blood stains when he first shook my hand.
    If I'm going to get a straight answer from anyone in this place, Nate's the one who'll deliver it to me wrapped up in ribbons and served with sweet wine.
    “Oh, I feel better now that I've seen your ugly mug,” I say, right before he sweeps me into a bone-crushing hug and spins me around. A few twirls and some embarrassingly high-pitched squeals later, Nate puts me down, and I catch my breath long enough to add, “I definitely look a hell of a lot prettier than you ever will.”
    “Yeah, well, I can't argue that.” He sports a jester's smile as he says it, then plucks the well-loved hat off his head and plops it down on my hair, tugging it down until my line of sight is blocked by the brim. “Stop staring at that damn body stocking, peaches. You'll get wrinkles.”
    “Some of us like wrinkles, thank you very much.”
    “Aw, wrinkles ain't that special.”
    I pull the hat off, smirking up at him before yanking the hat back down over his shaved head. “You still haven't grown any wrinkles of your own, have you?”
    “You're just lucky I like your pretty ass,” he grumbles, a rough good-natured growl.
    Even though I stalked out of this same building five years ago with my head held high and what was left of my costume burning to flaky ashes in the wreckage, Nate and I share a tight relaxed relationship that I've never managed to cultivate with anyone else in the superhuman world. He still calls on occasion, I still email when I have the time. It's a relationship devoid of stress or pressure, which is just the way we like it.
    He's certainly easier to talk to than my mother and Graham in at least one respect. Nate, summarily excluded from my father's private life no matter how close they might be as co-workers, isn't privy to enough information to start ranting at any given moment about Morris breaking up our family. I might have to pretend that my parents are still playing happy families when I speak with Nate, but at least it's a laidback sort of make-believe.
    He takes my hand and leads me to the cushy midnight blue seats arranged in a neat horseshoe at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for me to sit before taking the spot next to me. Nate sprawls like a sleepy spider monkey, and I roll my eyes before wriggling sideways to give him room.
    “There now. Don't that feel better on those dainty little feet of yours than standing around in goddamn heels on marble floors?”
    I have to give him that much, at least. “I suppose.”
    “Oh, you suppose?” He grins and swats at the air in front of my bangs, infectious laughter bubbling up from his chest when I cover them with one hand and rear away from him. “Well, ain't you still the proper little princess.”
    “So I hear,” I say.
    “You ain't back here looking for a part-time job, are you? Because if that's the case, I can think of a dozen fast-food places that might make you happier in the long run.”
    “Ha, ha, very funny.” I reach out and land a playful punch on his shoulder, knocking him off-balance. Nate slips to his elbows, slumping down against the velvety draperies at our backs, his smile bold and brilliant. “Actually, I was wondering if you've seen Dad around. I figured since I was in the city today I'd check in on him, but he doesn't appear to be at home,” I say. I neglect to add that I haven't even been there yet and know the only person I'll find at Dad's current place of residence will be an curiously unsettled Morris Kemp, the former Quiz Master. And it's not even worth it to pretend I might be here for Mom as well. Nate knows me too well.
    “Hell, Vera, he took tonight off. It's date night.”
    I've had a lot of practice since my father moved in with