“Emptying this out back. It’ll only take a minute,” she said through gritted teeth. Her arms were on the skinny side of muscly.

With wobbling steps, Emily carried the soapy water past the kitchen staff, who all carefully stepped out of her way, and toward the back door. She had to place the bucket down to open up the door, but that was simple enough.

The back alley was a bit like the kitchens. Old and dilapidated, but still fairly clean. The smell coming from the two dumpsters off to one side was a bit strong, but she figured that was the old vegetables and meats flung into it, nothing really bad, just a bit on the stinky side.

Emily had barely spotted the drain she was probably meant to use—a good thing because going back for more detailed instructions would have been mortifying—when some screaming from the far end of the alley had her turning around.

A man, one she suspected would stick out from any crowd, was running toward her. He had an outfit like some sort of renaissance actor, a long burgundy coat that flared out behind him, strange calf-length pants that showed off his white stockings and a dark green bandanna-like mask under a bicorne hat.

Above him, floating like a warning to all who would care to look, was a name.

Alea Iacta

Rascal, Level 1

Emily gasped, stumbling back as the man, the Villain, sprinted toward her.

He wasn’t the one screaming though. That was the two people coming around the corner at a dead run after him.

Silver Fox

Do-Gooder, Level 3

Glamazon

Defender, Level 1

Emily felt her breath hitching as she stared at not one, but two Heroes coming down the alley toward her. The first was even one she recognized. Silver Fox was an older Hero, one who had changed his name over time to match his aging body.

He was supposed to have superstrength of some sort, able to throw cars and dodge shots from guns and such while keeping his mop of black-gray hair perfectly quaffed. His foxlike silver mask was on every bottle of men’s shampoo in her parents’ bathroom.

The other Hero . . . was a young woman in a denim jacket, a glittering mask over her face the only costume she had. Emily put two and two together. “Jezebelle?” she muttered.

And then the Villain was on her.

Emily squeaked and ducked forward, eyes squeezing shut as she expected a blow that never came.

Instead, Alea Iacta tore the bucket from her hand and laughed aloud as he spun by. “Thank you, milady!” he said as he ducked between the dumpsters at the far end.

A couple of gallons of soapy water crashed to the ground and splattered the front of her skirts, turning them lukewarm and wet while suds spread out before her.

The Heroes, like something out of a poorly plotted comedy, stepped into the water and, as one, lost their footing.