Villain (Gone 8)

She shook her head pityingly. “That’s not a supervillain name. Lex Luthor is a supervillain name. Or Ultron or something.”

“I’m a supervillain?” He was a bit taken aback by that thought. But he had done some villainous things already; he had to admit that.

“Of course you’re a supervillain. Mind control isn’t really a hero thing, it’s a villain thing.” She was nodding now, nodding and looking at him from different angles, considering. “The Dominator? Mastermind?”

“Seriously?” He laughed, getting into it. “Am I going to need a special outfit?”

“‘No capes, dahling,’” Saffron said, using a movie line that warmed Dillon’s heart. “Definitely no spandex. No, I see you in something”—she waved her hands over him as if trying to conjure an outfit out of the air—“something kind of classy. You’re too gorgeous to want your face covered by a mask.”

Again she had used that word, “gorgeous,” and it sent Dillon into a hazy, happy sort of fugue state. No one—not even his adoring mother—had ever called him gorgeous. He felt the unseen audience growing impatient and almost said, Give me a break, I’m working on it!

“Gorgeous, huh?” he said, hoping to get her to repeat it. He doubted he’d ever get tired of hearing it.

“You’re what my grandmother would call a real charmer,” Saffron said. She snapped her fingers. “That’s it! That’s your name! The Charmer!”

“The Charmer.” He tried it out and liked it. And as soon as he had absorbed the name, he realized Saffron was right: something kind of classy was called for. “You want to come shopping for an outfit? We can take anything we want, and there’s a mall downstairs.”

“I don’t like shopping, usually,” Saffron said. “But in this case?” She plucked the collar of her Venetian robe. “I need something to wear, too.”

Dillon had to restrain the urge to dance with pure joy. He had his first henchman, and she was amazing. She’d caught on right away, she had a sense of humor, and she was obviously attracted to him. They could walk through any mall—the Fashion Show Mall, the Bellagio, the one right here in the casino—and take literally anything. And he could do it all with Saffron on his arm, like one of those big shots who came to Vegas with a beautiful underwear model on each arm, spending money like water.

Amazing!

“Yeah, let’s go shopping,” he said. “Then we can . . . well . . .”

Saffron’s voice was pitying. “You don’t know what to do with it, do you? The power, I mean.” She laid a hand on his chest, sending waves of pleasure through him.

“Maybe we could figure it out together?”

“Dude,” she said, still pitying. “There’s only one thing for a supervillain to do. Take over the world.”

That rocked him back on his heels. “Take over the world? What?”

“Take over the world,” she said, dreamy now, her vivid imagination overflowing with incredible scenarios.

“Look, I can make people do things, but—”

“Dillon,” Saffron said, “it’s not just about what you can get people to do. It’s what you can get people to believe. You can maybe mess with people’s minds. You can make them believe things that are not true, whatever you want to put in their heads. Like they were computers and you were writing the software. You could easily be president. If you got on CNN, I mean, if it’s true that people have no choice but to obey you? You could literally be king of the world.”

Dillon stood stunned. He’d called Saffron because she was hot, and because she was smart and imaginative. And because it was not much fun doing everything alone. But she had ramped things up much further and much faster than he’d expected.

Take over the world?

Sure. Maybe. But why?

“I believe there’s a reason for everything that happens, you know? Which means you were given this power for a reason.” Saffron looked intently into his eyes. “Things like this don’t just happen. This is part of some larger plan. You were meant to have this power, which means you were meant to use it.”

Dillon nodded along, not quite convinced, and still half thinking he would just tell Saffron to strip off her robe and her bikini and . . . But his thoughts were not alone in his head; the Dark Watchers, his audience, were listening. And they were liking what they were hearing. He could sense their pleasure, their anticipation.

“Well . . . okay,” Dillon said with a shrug. “How do we start?”

Saffron smiled. “Let’s start with school and work outward.”

Dillon winced. “You want me to be a superpowered Dylan Klebold? I’m not into killing people, I’m just trying to have a few laughs.”

“Don’t be silly, Dillon. You don’t need dead bodies, you need living slaves. And of course one other thing.”

“What?”