Nightingale

by Jennifer Estep

  Chloe stared at me as I pulled on my hat, coat, scarf, and gloves. She handed Rascal to me, and I stuck him into the pocket on my vest. The puppy wiggled around until he got comfortable, then licked my chin with his wet, rough tongue.

  “You ready to go home, dog?” I asked.

  Rascal barked. To my surprise, he’d actually been good today, sleeping and amusing himself and not making too much noise. I scratched his ears. His tail thumped against my heart through the fabric of my vest.

  I also grabbed the bag from the pet store containing the supplies Chloe had bought before turning off the office lights and heading to the antechamber. Chloe stood by the elevator, her finger on the hold button. She let go when I stepped inside, and the doors closed.

  “You’re really going home.” From the awe in her voice, you’d think I’d just done some incredible feat, like climbing to the top of the Skyline Bridge and diving off into the waters of Bigtime Bay.

  “Yes, I’m really going home.”

  We reached the ground floor, and the doors slid open. Chloe gave Rascal a final pat, and we said our goodbyes. She crossed the street, her black hair swinging as she walked toward the subway. I turned the opposite direction and headed toward my building.

  More of the snow had either been cleared or melted away, thanks to the plows and the superstrong salt the city workers used to coat the streets. Now, the wet stuff only reached up past my ankles. The winter sun painted the sky in dusky purples and twilight grays as it dipped behind the towering skyscrapers. The soft, pretty colors reminded me of a lovely painting I’d seen of a sunset at Cypress Mountain. The wind caressed my cheeks—cold, but not unbearably so. More people scurried on the streets, and cars rumbled through downtown, zipping by faster than they had this morning. Everyone was getting back to their usual snow-free routine.

  Including Bigtime’s superheroes and ubervillains.

  A mob of people clustered at the end of the block next to a black van. I spotted a flash of silver, and smoke filled the air. That van, that silver color, that smell. It could only mean one thing—that the Fearless Five were here. More specifically, Karma Girl and Fiera.

  I caught sight of the two superheroes. Fiera stood in the middle of the crowd, as eye-catching as ever in her skin-hugging, orange-red cat suit. She bench-pressed a fanboy over her head with one hand, while his buddy took pictures. With her free hand, Fiera shot sparks up into the air, her trademark salute. Karma Girl leaned against the F5 van, signing an occasional autograph, but mostly just watching Fiera show off.

  I slowed down, threading my way through the milling mob. Unlike Piper and the other fangirls in Bigtime, I had little interest in superheroes, unless I needed them to do an appearance at an event.

  A spark of blue caught my attention, and I turned my head. Karma Girl stared at me, her eyes glowing as bright as sapphires, almost like she could hear my thoughts. I waved at her. I knew Karma Girl better than some of the other heroes, and a few weeks ago she’d helped guard some toys for an annual Christmas charity drive that had been on display inside Oodles o’ Stuff. Of course, a couple of ubervillains had stolen the toys and were going to sell them on the Internet before Karma Girl managed to stop them. It had been a close call—too close for my liking—but the toy giveaway had gone off as planned, thanks to Karma Girl and the rest of the city’s heroes.

  I looked at Fiera, then back at Karma Girl. She grinned and shrugged, as if to say What can you do? I shrugged back and walked on.

  I’d gone about two blocks when I felt a series of vibrations under my feet that had nothing to do with the rush-hour traffic. I stopped, concentrating. The vibrations grew closer and stronger, as if something very large was headed my way. The vibrations traveled up through the street and into the surrounding buildings, until even the traffic lights swung back and forth from the force of them.

  I looked over my shoulder. Through the gathering dark, something charged my way. Something big. Something blue. Something brawny.

  I flattened myself up against the nearest building. A seven-foot-tall woman lumbered past. Blue fur covered her body, while her eyes glowed a milky white. She wore what looked like a blue toga and sandals, and her feet were big and bare with toes as long as my fingers. Yeti Girl. Another one of Bigtime’s ubervillains. Sort of. Yeti Girl was a superstrong being who liked to smash things because the noise amused her. Every once in a while, she tore through town, flattening cars and leveling buildings before the cops and the nearest superhero managed to shoot her full of tranquilizer darts.

  I’d just stepped back onto the street when I felt another series of vibrations—this time quick and smooth and churning. I sighed and put my back against the wall once more.

  Swifte zoomed down the street after Yeti Girl, speeding by so fast he didn’t even whip up any snow. A moment later, an SNN news van careened after him. The van took a turn on two wheels as the driver tried to keep up with the superfast superhero on the icy street. The squeal of tires screeched into my brain, and my temples throbbed with the beginnings of a migraine. Rascal barked, excited by the sudden action and wanting to follow the news van. No doubt the pint-sized puppy thought he could help corral Yeti Girl, even though she was twenty times his size.

  “Sorry, dog,” I said. “We’re going home. I’ve still got work to do.”

  After making sure nothing else was coming out of the dark to squish me, I crossed over to the next block. It was quieter here, so quiet I didn’t even see the figure dressed in black until I was about five feet from her. She wore black leather from head to toe as so many of the heroes and villains did, but what set her apart were the snakes—live snakes covered her arms like turquoise and coral bangle bracelets. A few more curled around her neck and shoulders, while still more dangled from the elaborate headdress she wore. Black Samba leaned against a bus stop sign, doing a little shimmy, her arms crossed over her chest to ward off the cold.

  Rascal stuck his head out of my coat a little more, intrigued by this new person. I looked down at Rascal, then back at the superhero. She had snakes. Those were animals, albeit cold-blooded ones. Maybe she’d want another. It was worth a shot.

  I marched over to the superhero, plastered a smile on my face, and tapped her on the shoulder in a spot that wasn’t covered by a sleeping snake.

  “Yes?” the superhero asked, turning around.

  “Hi, Black Samba. Sorry to bother you. I’m Abby Appleby. I met you at the petting zoo last year at Paradise Park.”

  She nodded, the snakes in her headdress bobbing up and down. “I remember. You were the one who got the mice to feed to my babies.”

  Contributing to the genocide of small mammals hadn’t been one of my finer moments, but it had kept the superhero and her snakes happy. “Yeah, that was me. Anyway, I was wondering how you feel about dogs.”

  “Dogs?”

  I pointed at Rascal. “Yeah, dogs. I’m trying to find him a good home.”

  A bus screeched to a halt in front of the stop. Black Samba stared at Rascal, who let his tongue hang out, showing off his happy, goofy, puppy face.

  “He’s cute, but the snakes don’t do so well with other animals,” she said. “Sorry.”

  “You’re not the only one,” I muttered.

  Black Samba leapt up onto the hood of the bus. She waved at the driver, then climbed onto the roof of the vehicle. The superhero tapped her foot on the metal, signaling the driver that she was ready to go. She started dancing again as the bus pulled back into traffic.

  Rascal barked, and Black Samba waved goodbye to us.

  “I just can’t give you away, can I, dog?” I said.

  Rascal barked again.

  #

  I made it back to my loft without running into any more heroes or villains. I put Rascal down and shrugged out of my coat, while checking my messages. There was only one from Piper, asking how Rascal was doing. I put some food and water out for the puppy, slipped a Green Day CD into the player, plopped on the couch, and called her back. I t
old Piper that Rascal was doing just fine. Then I revealed exactly who had come into my office this afternoon—and his alter ego.

  “You’re kidding me!” Piper squealed. “Wesley Weston is really Talon?!”

  I held the phone out until Piper got control of herself—and her voice. “I’m positive it’s him. His hands felt the same. He smelled the same. His voice was the same. It has to be him.”

  “How exciting!” she said. “So what are you going to do now?”

  “What do you mean what am I going to do now? I’m going to plan his event.”

  “And?” Piper prompted.

  “And what? I’m not going to tell him who I really am, if that’s what you’re thinking.” The thought made my stomach churn with fear.

  “Abby—”

  “No, Piper,” I cut her off. “I’m not going to tell him. There’s no point in it. It would just make things weird. Well, weirder. It was a one-night stand, and now, it’s over.”

  “It’s not over,” she said in a firm voice. “It’s just getting started. This is destiny, Abby. Destiny with a capital D. She’s tapping on your shoulder and saying Hey, this great guy is for you. Do you really want to ignore her?”

  I rolled my eyes. In addition to being a total fangirl, Piper was a hopeless romantic. She believed in destiny, true love, and karma, despite her breakup with Kyle.

  “You said the same thing when I got fried by that amp at The Blues. That me getting struck dumb with supersenses was destiny. That I was going to do great things with my new powers. All I’ve done is see the world in high-def and hear it in surround sound. Frankly, I’ve had enough of destiny and the migraines that go with it.”

  Because I wasn’t answering destiny’s call, Piper tried another avenue. “The sex, Abby. Think of the sex. Wouldn’t you like to have more of that?”

  As badly as an ubervillain wanted world domination. But I wasn’t going to admit that. It would only make her more determined.

  Piper argued some more, but I didn’t budge. She might be a romantic, but I was a realist—and more stubborn. She finally agreed to let me handle Wesley my own way, even though she told me I was making a terrible mistake. She also made me promise to give her hourly updates, if the situation warranted. Like if I somehow tripped and found myself naked in Talon’s arms again. I only wished I could be that clumsy.

  I ignored the mistake talk, but I gave in to the updates demand. After all, what are best friends for if not to dish about dreamy guys? Especially the ones you’ll never have?

  We talked for a few more minutes about Talon and Wesley. I also asked Piper about Oomph and Glo-Glo, the two competing cosmetics companies.

  “Meet me at Oodles o’ Stuff at nine tomorrow morning,” she said. “There’s someone down there who should be able to give you all the details.”

  “See you there.”

  After we hung up, I grabbed a bottled water and a chocolate granola bar. Then I went over to my desk, tugged a legal pad out of a drawer, and plopped down in my chair. Rascal curled up in the basket Chloe had bought and slept while I worked on themes for the Weston event.

  Wesley wanted something hip and young and fresh and cool. Something memorable. Something that would blow Octavia and Oomph away. I tapped my pen against my chin, trying to come up with something I hadn’t done a thousand times before. It was tough. I planned more than a hundred events a year, from birthdays to weddings to business conferences. I’d done just about every imaginable theme as well.

  As I thought, I sang along with Green Day, and the perfect idea came to me—rock ’n’ roll.

  Nothing was cooler than that. Rock ’n’ roll was the very essence of being hip. Plus, Talon—or rather Wesley—liked it. And I found myself wanting to please him, even if he would only think I was doing my job.

  So, I started to plan.

  I’d booked the convention center this morning. With the right decorations and lights, I could transform the space into an upscale rock concert complete with disco balls and neon strobe lights. Maybe even a couple of ice sculptures shaped like guitars.

  I’d forgo the usual orchestra and get Melody Masters to do the music. In addition to owning The Blues karaoke bar, Melody fronted Miked, a popular indie rock band. They could play some of their own tunes, mixed in with covers. Classic rock with a contemporary twist—tailored for the rich set. I couldn’t go too wild or I’d scare off the society matrons, but it would definitely be hip and cool.

  An hour later, I had ten pages of notes and people I needed to call to get the ball rolling. Music, decorations, food, table and chair rentals, all of the usual things to nail down. I looked at the clock. After nine. Tomorrow was going to be another long day. I should crash now and get as much sleep as I could.

  I took a quick shower, and put on my pajamas, determined to go to bed, but Rascal had other ideas. The puppy waited for me outside the bathroom. He barked once, then bounced over to the front door. He stared at it expectantly, as if he could open it by the sheer force of his mind. When it didn’t oblige him, Rascal looked over his shoulder at me—and whined.

  I sighed. “Let me guess. You want me take you for a walk, don’t you? So you can go do your business?”

  I might have imagined it, but I thought Rascal nodded. So, I threw on my jacket and gloves on over my jammies. Unfortunately, Chloe hadn’t thought to buy a leash or collar at the pet store, so I had to scoop up Rascal, and carry him into the elevator and then outside onto the street. I placed the puppy on the sidewalk next to a snow-covered fire hydrant and stepped back.

  “All right, dog,” I muttered. “Let’s make this quick.”

  Rascal wandered around, trying to find the perfect spot. He sniffed the hydrant. The car parked next to it. The mailbox. The car parked next to that. Finally, just when I was tempted to leave him out in the cold, Rascal did his thing.

  When he finished, I reached down to pick him up, but Rascal squirmed out of my gloved grasp. Damn, he was quick. Or maybe I was just getting old and slow. I was twenty-nine now. Unlike Olivia O’Hara, I was saving my mental breakdown and freak-out for next year, when I turned thirty.

  “Rascal! Come here!”

  The puppy might have been tiny, but he leapt over the snowdrifts like he was a deer. What had been in that food Chloe had bought? Some radioactive drug like euphoridon? Because Rascal acted like he was on something good.

  The puppy bounded across the street, ears pointed sky-high, and I started to panic. I darted after him, my boots skidding on a patch of ice. Piper would never forgive me if I let him get run over by a car. Rascal kept right on going and started climbing up the steps of the brownstone that took up the opposite block—Jasper’s brownstone.

  Not good.

  Rascal made it to the top of the steps, looked up at the door, and wagged his tail. Not a second later, the front door opened, and a woman stepped outside. That in and of itself was strange enough because Jasper didn’t have many visitors, but I would have recognized that tall, skinny figure anywhere—Joanne James.

  Joanne wore a long, lavender coat with matching gloves and boots, and her black hair spilled down her shoulders. Maybe it was the soft glow from the streetlight, but Joanne looked younger than her forty-something years, her face smooth in the dark night.

  Joanne James was the richest woman in the city, having married and divorced several men over the years, getting millions in alimony every time. She had inherited billions more last year when ubervillains murdered her husband, Berkley Brighton.

  Rascal barked, and Joanne caught sight of him. She arched an eyebrow, and amusement flashed across her face. She stood there, one hand holding the door open, and stared at the puppy. Rascal, of course, took this as an invitation to gallop inside. It was bad enough he’d dashed across the street. Now he’d invaded someone else’s home. That dog was going to be the death of me.

  I plodded up the stairs, muttering vague curses at Piper under my breath and wrapping my coat tighter around my body in hopes that Joanne wouldn�
�t notice my blue snowflake jammies peeking out the bottom. Her head whipped around at the sound of my footsteps scuffling in the snow.

  “Hi, Joanne. What are you doing here?”

  Her violet eyes narrowed. “Just visiting. What are you doing here, Abby?”

  I pointed to my building. “I live across the street. My dog just ran inside Jasper’s brownstone.”

  “That puppy is yours?” she asked. “I didn’t know you had a dog.”

  There was that tone again. The one intimating it was the shock of a lifetime to learn I had an animal in my care.

  “He’s not mine. I’m just babysitting until I can find him a good home …” My voice trailed off suggestively.

  Joanne cut me off with a laugh. “Oh honey, don’t even ask me to take him off your hands. I don’t do well with animals unless they’re grilled and on my dinner plate.”

  Joanne was Bigtime’s equivalent of a black widow spider. She survived on men, money, and the occasional glass of champagne. I doubted food ever passed through her lips.

  We stood there in the cold, staring at each other. Because she was here, I might as well give her the latest information on her event. It would save me a phone call tomorrow.

  “Everything’s set for the library dedication. I tried to call you earlier today, but Berkley’s secretary said you weren’t in.”

  “I was busy,” Joanne said in a stiff voice. She batted her eyes, as if blinking back tears.

  “Of course.”

  Seconds ticked by in silence.

  “Well, if you need anything or want to know more about the dedication, just call me. You have my number,” I said, my voice a little kinder.

  Joanne might be a brittle society queen, but she had just lost her husband. I knew she was grieving. I’d planned Berkley’s funeral. I’d seen how she’d cried over his grave when she thought everyone else had gone.

  Joanne looked at me. “You’re such a marshmallow, just like Bella.”

  “Excuse me? I’m a marshmallow?” Surely I didn’t look that fat in this coat.