***EVAN***

Behind the stage, we stop and make sure everyone's here, accounted for, and not hurt. Jay takes it upon himself to run around and do the actual head count, while I call Mom and Dad. "Come on," I whisper, agonizing as the phone keeps ringing so many infinite times. "Come on...please...pick up!"

Click. "Hello?"

"Dad! Thank God!" I look around and see Jay continuing to run around until he gets back to Jeremy. Like me, he's trembling with fear and adrenaline. "Where are you? Did you hear that? Did you hear...oh God. Oh my God..." I stop and take a deep breath. Okay, that doesn't help. Another one. And another. And...shit, now I'm hyperventilating. I can barely even stand anymore, because I'm feeling light-headed.

Adele snakes her way through the crowd of our friends and hugs me, copying the way Jeremy buries his head in Jay's chest. This helps me stay a little more calm, because it gives me something to focus on. And someone to be strong for.

"Evan, where are you?" Dad sounds shrill, and I don't think it's the phone. "Are you guys all safe?"

"B-Behind the stage," I say. "Should we stay there?"

"Definitely."

"I'll see you later, then," I say.

"Be right there."

I hang up, then pull Adele off my chest so I can walk over to the Cross brothers. Still holding her hand, I use my other one to reach out to Jay and touch his cheek. "You good?" I ask.

"I'm okay," he says. "Don't think I can say the same for Jeremy, though."

Jeremy leans back, his shoulders shaking in Jay's hands. I see tear streaks shining all over the front of Jay's shirt as well. "I-It's one thing to see this in a m-m-movie," Jeremy says, his voice breaking as he continues to cry freely. "But...but...but I thought I was gonna die! I thought Jay wouldn't be able to..." Overcome by another wave of emotion, he hides his face again.

"We're all afraid, man." Harris comes up and pats Jeremy on the head. "But we're all here for each other, got it?"

"What he said," says Morgan. Michelle and Kevin nod along with him.

"Yeah," Sam chimes in. "We're all safe, kid. That's what matters. Now, we just gotta stay put, and we'll be fine, okay?"

I let go of Adele, then I peel Jeremy away from Jay so I can hug him instead. "We're not gonna have another Rachel, either," I say. "Next time someone dies, they'll just...what was it Cap said in the movie the other day?"

Jeremy looks up at me with wet eyes and a sad smile. "'Walk it off?'"

"Exactly." I let him go, then cross over to Jay so I can give him the hug I've been dying - absolutely zero pun intended - to give him for the last couple of minutes or so. He returns it gratefully, and also kisses my cheek.

"'We're not gonna have another Rachel?'" he repeats in a whisper so low, only I can hear it. "Please don't tempt fate."

"Don't be stupid," I murmur back to him. "God's on our side, even if you don't believe He is."

My hand touches the back of Jay's head, and I run my fingers through his thick hair for a second. But then I look beyond him, over the stage, and I see something that really catches my eye. The crowds are running away from where the shots came from...but there's one single, lone figure running in the exact opposite direction. A fish going upstream. For what? To spawn? And what kind of spawn would it be? Not harmless little eggs just waiting to be harvested into caviar, I'm thinking.

I could bring this to Jay's attention, but that would be a waste of precious milliseconds. So I jump onto the stage and run across it. Behind me, everyone yells at me to come back, but I don't even turn around. I know, deep inside, that it's up to me to handle this.

I think I leave a trail of electricity sparking behind me as I zero in on the target. He's a guy who's clearly designed to blend in - bland features, a soft tan, light clothes. But I see him in that Constantine trenchcoat of his, and he's going to be all too aware of my presence any second now. Right when I...nail...his...worthless...ass...

ZAP.

He turns at exactly the right moment for me to throw a metric ton of Light into his face. Howling, he falls to the ground, covering his eyes as I continue to bear down on him. "Nice gun," I say, nudging the fearsomely long assault rifle he's hiding under his trenchcoat. "Don't you know only grown-ups are supposed to play with guns?" The shooter looks up at me - and to my surprise, he really has a very childlike face. "Oops," I say in a phony demure voice. "Did I accidentally channel all your favorite schoolyard bullies?"

"Hey," the shooter says in a high voice. "Just 'cause I've got a condition...hey, my parents disowned me when they found out I couldn't give 'em grandkids!"

I feel bad that I can actually overpower this skinny guy, but then I remember what he's done, and any thoughts of mercy vanish from my mind. I draw the gun out from under his coat and kick it away, then hold his hand while covering them both with Ice. It won't affect me, not for a long time, but he could find himself experiencing frostbite pretty soon.

"Are you trying to justify yourself to me?" I ask, making my voice as low as I can, the opposite of his. "You shot into a crowd of innocent people-"

"And protesters!" the shooter cries. He bucks and thrashes, struggling to break free.

"Who cares who they were?" I'm not sure how I'm keeping myself from yelling at him. "You shot them. As far as I'm concerned...you're a monster. And you know what we do to monsters?"

The shooter bites back a scream as I raise my hand, ready to do something I've only ever seen in graphically violent movies - and then someone grabs my wrist, holding me back. I look up and see Jay staring down at this scene with a horrorstruck look on his face.

"Jay, you realize who this is, right?" I ask.

"Yeah, but you don't get to kill him." He grabs my other wrist and pulls me to my feet. "That's not you. That's not any of us."

"Please-"

Jay continues to hold me back. "Evan, you can't. You don't wanna see me heartbroken." He blinks a couple of times behind his glasses, then adds with a soft laugh, "You won't like me when I'm heartbroken."

His joke makes me relax, but then I see the shooter crawl away out of the corner of my eye. "No!" I tear out of Jay's grasp and take the shooter down again. "You're not going anywhere!"

"Don't do it!" Jay yells at me.

"Yeah, what he said!" The shooter's voice is muffled because I've got his cheek pressed hard against the sidewalk, but his words are still somewhat intelligible.

"Do what?" I ask. "Shove a bolt of Light through your eye? Freeze your balls off?" I catch Jay's eye in time to see him wince and instinctively reach for his own crotch. My bad - I should've remembered that castration is many a guy's number-one fear. Or, at least, his number-one trigger. "I'm not gonna do any of those things, though," I say. "Instead, I'll turn you over to people who probably can, 'cause they have more authority than I do."

The shooter looks up and spits a bit of gravel onto the concrete. "The police?" he asks hopefully.

"Give the guy a cookie," I say. "But only if it's one of those disgusting vegan ones with the trail mix they sell at Trader Joe's."

"Hey!" Jay glares at me. "I like those cookies!"

"Oh, sorry," I say, lowering my face while I bring the shooter to his feet. "I didn't know!"

"That's okay," Jay says. "Nobody does, except Jeremy."

I spot a couple of uniformed cops coming our way, so I wave them over. "Boys in blue here!" I yell. "Yo, I got him!"

Even Jay can't help but laugh when he realizes I'm quoting one of our favorite movies.

The cops come up to us, and one of them asks, "Who's this?"

"Your shooter," I tell her. "You're welcome."

"Uh...thanks?" the other cop says.

"You're lucky you found us first," laughs the lady cop. "Most of our colleagues here today drew short straws."

"Really?" Jay asks. He's not laughing as much as I would expect.

The guy cop handcuffs the shooter and says, "Yeah, most of the other officers are feeling pretty anti-warlock these days, I'm afraid." He snaps his fingers, allowing a small spark of Dark energy to burst out, and the shooter flinches away from him. "One too many Sicilian love letters to warlock homes, I guess." He takes the shooter away, reading him his Miranda rights off a note card. I think I read that somewhere once, that cops aren't supposed to just memorize the Miranda rights. They have to read them word for word every time, so there'll be no room for error.

"What's a Sicilian love letter?" I ask, suddenly feeling stupid.

"It's when you write a death threat to someone, tie it to a brick, and throw it through their window," says the lady cop.

Jay's lip curls. "Not cool. But it could be worse. Could be a power dump."

"That's a new one on me."

"You don't wanna know," Jay says. "So juvenile. It'll make you laugh for hours, though." He takes my hand and we walk away together. "Seriously," he says as we pass the stage again, "why would you do that?"

"Do what?" I ask.

"Don't try to sound innocent," he says. "Snowflake, I know you wanna prove you're a tough girl, but I already know that."

"You do," I agree, "but that shooter didn't."

We're within eyesight of our friends - and my parents, who have rejoined them - when Jay stops and holds me at arm's length so he can look me in the eye. "You don't need to prove anything, even to bad guys," I say. "You're like Black Widow - while all the boys try and grab Thor's hammer, you can just sit back and be secure in the knowledge that regardless, you're a badass."

I peel his hands off my shoulders so I can hold them in the negative space between us. "But I'm not a badass," I say.

Jay smiles on one side of his mouth. "Could've fooled me."

"Evan!" Mom runs up to me and scoops me up in a hug. "Oh my God, Evan, what were you thinking?"

I bite my lip for a moment, then look up at Dad as he stands behind Mom, stone-faced. "I'm so sorry," I say. "But...but I got the shooter, so..."

"Still," Dad says, "you're not trained for that. Even if you were, I'd be scared for you."

I let go of Mom so I can hug Dad instead. "I'm sorry," I repeat. "Can we just...can we go home? I've had enough adrenaline for one day."

Dad turns around to see Jay's parents show up, followed by Morgan's. "Did they take your name and number?" he asks me.

"Who, the cops?" I ask. "No, no, they didn't."

"They looked like rookies anyway," Jay says. "And...and they said something about drawing the short straw?"

Marten overhears him and sighs in response. "I've been afraid of this," he says. "So much anti-warlock sentiment lately...it's almost as if they don't care that they're being turned against their fellow man." He cringes as Elise clears her throat. "Or woman," he adds hastily.

"Well," Dad says, "hopefully that means we won't expect them to want you to come downtown and give a statement."

"But won't that also mean they won't be able to hold the guy?" I ask.

"I don't think they will anyway," says Mr. Cross. "I got a glimpse of him as they were carrying him away. That man is Elena's son."

"Elena's son?" Jay repeats. "I thought he was dead."

"That was Victor," says Dad. "This would've been...what was the younger son's name again? Javier?"

"That's right," says Mr. Cross.

I shake my head. "He didn't look much like a Javier. He looked like a half-starved white guy."

"But Elena's..." Morgan pipes up, only for his voice to trail off. "Huh. It's really hard to say what ethnicity she is."

"I'm reasonably certain Javier was adopted anyway," says Marten.

And on that note, we all part ways and go back home. Jay promises to call me later tonight, but I tell him not to. "I think I'll probably be grounded for life anyway," I say with a weak laugh.

My parents, however, don't have grounding in mind. They've never really been the type of parents to do that, unlike Jay's, who've done it so often that he no longer takes it seriously. They've always been more into lecturing, and today's no exception. I'll spare you the details - you don't want to suffer an hour of me having my actions dissected, and verbal hot pokers driven into my soul. Or something. My poetic imagination fails me right now.

When they're done, they leave me alone with my thoughts for "however long you need," in their words. In my words? "The rest of the night." Not that I don't think they'll allow me to rejoin them and Adele for dinner or anything, but I don't feel like showing my face right now.

I spend an hour or two sleeping, because I need the rest. Then I spend another hour pacing the floor, trying to distract myself by picking up increasingly imaginary flecks of paper and dust from the carpet. Then, when I've tired myself out all over again, I crash onto my bed, hugging my big teddy bear while I put on the news.

"After today's shooting at the Four Powers Rally," the newscaster says, "San Jose Police arrested a man in connection with the crime, but let him go an hour later after the one piece of evidence implicating this man, the assault rifle he had on his person, was confirmed to not be the weapon."

"WTF?" I mouth at the screen. I struggle not to scream as I say out loud, "That's bullshit!"

"Ahem." The newscaster shuffles his notes - he has notes? Like, paper notes? I thought they all had laptops and/or tablets now. Or maybe the crew just inserted the sound effect to appease the old Luddites who may be watching the news too. "In response, singer Sara Bareilles, whose concert was rudely interrupted by the shootout, released the following statement via Twitter...could we bring that up, please?" He leans to one side while a screencap of Sara's tweet fills the other side of the screen. Because my TV's a small one, I have to lie forward, my nose about two feet from the screen, in order to see what it says.

"There was no call for doing what this man did," the tweet reads. "My thoughts and prayers go out to the #FourPowersVictims."

"Many members of Congress, as well as the President and Vice President, have sent similar messages across social media," the newscaster continues. "However, many have come under fire from pro-warlock groups for incendiary words that attempt to blame warlocks for this crime. Such as this tweet from the office of Utah Senator Mallon Bosch: 'Why would #JavierMontoya shoot at the protesters, not the warlocks? Is he so mentally distrubed that he can't tell who's on his side?'" The newscaster stops to shake his head. "And in addition to his spelling mistake, Bosch does nothing to make his party, which is already saddled with a reputation for being loaded with bigots and misanthropes, attractive to the rest of us."

I sit bolt upright, stunned by what I'm hearing. When did this real-life newscaster turn into a pissed-off Michael Che? I smell the next top video on YouTube's home page, and for once, I'm able to watch this potential piece of internet history make itself, live and in real time.

"And one more thing," says the newscaster, who's now looking directly at the camera and ignoring the harsh hisses of "Stop! Stop!" from his partner at the anchor desk. "Because I'm almost certainly gonna be fired anyway for not toeing the party line, I should warn you, viewers, that ever since our recent change of ownership, our network's been pushing an agenda of anti-warlock propaganda. As a proud member of the warlock community, this Light" - he jabs his thumb into his chest - "cannot continue to support such a system. So, in the words of another bravely politicized reporter from Alaska..." He smiles and takes off his glasses. "Not that I have any other choice, but...fuck it, I quit."

They don't even have time to censor him. He just stands up, unclips his mike from his lapel, and drops it on the desk before walking calmly off the set. In the background, I hear a female voice cheering, "Whoo! Go, Nino!" Several people also clap their hands, while the one remaining anchor stares at the camera in absolute shock.

"Okaaay..." she drawls after a second or five of open-mouthed silence. "We'll...uh, we'll just...we'll forget that happened. Coming up...uh, what's coming up?" She snaps her fingers as she tries to remember, while the image cuts to a shot of some actor at a red-carpet movie premiere down in Hollywood or someplace.

I lie back on my bed and click off the TV, staring at the ceiling as more thoughts conspire to keep me awake even longer. On the one hand, it sucks that this newscast all but confirmed what I've been suspecting for a while - that warlocks are losing respect in the world. But on the other hand, we've still got supporters, and some of those supporters have no qualms about stepping up and making bold statements.

For now, I'll take this mixed bag. But what I really want to see is a happier, sweeter, more positive mix in the immediate future.