by A A Woods
“Let go of me!”
It was the raw, trapped-animal desperation in her voice, combined with his own self-loathing, that made Joe obey.
He opened his hands and jumped quickly out of range, arms spread so that he was still blocking the door. She skittered as far away from him as the balcony would allow, chest heaving. She glared at him through color-changing eyes.
Joe opened his hands wide, showing her his palms. “Ok, ok, calm down. I’m not trying to hurt you. You attacked me, remember?”
Her lip curled, showing teeth. “You were in the way.”
“Gladly. I don’t approve of killing innocents.”
She let out a high ha that echoed off the nearest building. “Innocents? Who are you kidding?”
“So you admit it then? You were here to kill people?”
“Only the ones who deserve it.”
“Who are you to decide that?”
Her lip curled. “You have no idea.”
Joe straightened, taking her in for the first time. It was the reporter from before, but if he hadn’t heard her speak, he wouldn’t have been sure. Where the woman out front had been blonde and well-dressed, this person was barely clothed and, almost more surprising than the swirling color of her skin, bald.
“I take it you’re not a journalist,” Joe said.
“Depends on your definition of journalist.”
“My definition doesn’t include knives.”
She relaxed slightly, straightening her knees. “You clearly haven’t been to the right press-releases.”
Joe’s lips twitched. “Let’s start over. I’m Joe.”
Her eyes flashed, as if his name was a challenge. He supposed it was, in a way. “You’re the heir to the HNN empire.”
Joe shrugged. “It’s not exactly an empire.”
“Tell that to your Abnormal friends.”
Joe frowned, remembering. “You accused my parents of being part of a conspiracy. What were you talking about? What does that have to do with the… my friends?”
She was fully upright now, standing with a dancer’s poise as she stared at Joe. Did he imagine the sympathy in her expression? The… pity?
“You really don’t know, do you? You don’t know what’s going on in there?”
“What are you talking about?” Joe asked, and he had that feeling again, the same one he’d had last fall when Eliza had pulled him to his car and dragged him into this mess. The world was changing around him, and he didn’t know the new rules yet.
The would-be assassin was shaking her head, eyes fixed on his. “Joe, you’re in terrible danger. You have no idea what you’re up against—”
“I’m not up against anything, I—”
“You need to—”
“Joe?”
It was his mother, calling from inside. Joe spun, arms thrown wide, as Natalie Fagan clicked out onto the marble balcony, her heels as loud as gunshots.
“Mom! I can explain, I—”
“Honey, you can’t just go wandering off like that,” his mother scolded, tapping Joe’s nose even as her other hand snaked through his elbow. “Your father and I were worried.”
“But…”
Joe looked over his shoulder, braced to explain. But he was shocked to find the balcony empty, the color-shifting assassin vanished without a trace. He bit his lip, fighting a swell of disappointment. He wished he’d had another moment with her, even if she was kind of terrifying. When she wasn’t trying to slice his throat open, she’d been pretty interesting.
And he had so many questions…
“Come on, the dinner’s about to begin,” his mother said. “You must be starving.”
“Not really,” Joe mumbled distractedly.
With a tug, his mother swung him around. Joe noticed that there was a slightly frantic edge to her expression, the kind of strain that he’d caused as a child when caught climbing trees or biking without a helmet. He’d always hated that look, had spent his childhood learning to avoid it.
So what had he done to earn it now?
“Well,” Natalie said, “no more wandering off, alright. You know how we worry.”
“Ok, Mom,” Joe said as she tugged him inside. “I promise.”
But even as he spoke, the young woman’s words bounced around his head, repeating over and over.
You’re in terrible danger.
But why?
Chapter Eleven: Coffee Talk
Eliza hadn’t slept well.
For one, the guest room in Joe’s family apartment was huge and luxurious and draped in enough finery to make her wonder if she was allowed to touch anything. Someone else might have marveled in the luscious silks and expensive art, but Eliza felt assaulted by it. After the day she and Aquila had endured, all she wanted was a shabby blanket and a pile of lumpy pillows.
Beyond that, Eliza was haunted by the moment she’d frozen in the pub. Sure, she’d had a gun pointed at her face. But still. She kept going over it again and again, rubbing the memory raw to try and figure out what happened. Why had she locked up like that? Why had she been unable to speak, unable to move?
Eliza had always been one to face down threats with steel and fire. She’d been a hellion, a rebel, a troublemaker. Even before Katie’s death, Eliza had never been intimidated by adults. And after, she’d been downright hostile to them.
So why, in a critical moment, had she been so goddamn useless?
I’m not a damsel, Eliza told herself for the umpteenth time, holding the freshly brewed coffee in both hands as she drifted to the window in one of several sitting rooms. I’m not a burden to Aquila. We’re a team, in this together. Just because I don’t have powers doesn’t make me any less valuable.
Right?
“Good morning.”
Eliza smiled as she turned to find a tousle-haired Joe ambling toward her in a T-shirt and sweatpants. She was suddenly struck by how familiar it was, her brooding over coffee, him barely awake and hunting for food. It was like their Saturday mornings at Meru or their nerdy movie nights, when he’d ‘educate’ her on all the movies she simply had to watch.
She swallowed a sigh, instead forcing herself to smile. “Morning.”
“You too, huh?”
Unable to help herself, Eliza laughed. “What?”
“Looks like your night wasn’t any better than mine.”
“Didn’t sleep?”
Joe yawned. “N-n-nope.” Stretching, he reached for a gilded mug hanging above the espresso machine. “Too much on the mind. Feels like a head full of bees sometimes.”
“I understand exactly what you mean.”
He snorted. “Yeah. You know, my parents think they’re helping by pretending everything last fall didn’t happen. But it kinda sucks, right? I keep wondering if I dreamed it all up.” He put the mug gingerly under the spigot. “Until I do something wild, like break a doorknob.”
“You didn’t dream it all up,” Eliza said, curling her hands tighter around her own coffee. “Or if you did, then I did too.”
“I mean, maybe we’re all in the Matrix and nothing’s real.”
Eliza shook her head. “You weirdo.”
Joe grinned. “It’s possible.”
“Only in your fantasies.”
“Oh no, not me. I’d much rather if we lived in Star Wars. Or Harry Potter. Definitely Harry Potter.”
Eliza rolled her eyes, but she was glad when Joe plopped himself in the armchair next to her, inhaling the steam rising from his coffee cup.
“Ok, I’m de-zombiefied now.”
“I’m glad.” Watching him take a sip, Eliza’s smile faded. Yesterday, she’d been too distracted and filled with the residual stress of the drive to notice the way he’d thinned out, the strain of his smile, how bleached his already-pale skin had become. He looked like he was trying very hard not to fall apart, like a boy holding on by his fingertips.
Eliza knew what that felt like.
“So,” she said cautiously. “How have you been?”
He lifted one eyebrow. “Eliza, we’ve been texting non-stop since I left Scottstown.”
She frowned. “Come on, tell me.”
Joe considered his coffee for a moment. Eliza knew he hadn’t been fully honest with her over the phone, but then again, who was? Texting was hardly a medium for uncomfortable truths and confessions. But she was sure he’d been hiding just as much as her in the daily updates that barely scratched the surface of what was really going on.
“Well,” Joe began, turning the mug to admire a different angle of the intricate inlay pattern. “To be honest, my parents have been… a lot. It’s like they suddenly realized that I’m human and might die on them.” He snorted out a weak laugh. “They’ve barely let me out of their sight, even at fancy parties like last night where there’s enough security to stop a SWAT team…” His voice faded and his eyes glazed over, as if he’d suddenly realized something.
Eliza waited a minute. Then, leaning forward, she tapped his chair. “Earth to Joe?”
He shook himself. “Sorry, sorry. Too early in the morning. What were we talking about?”
“Your new helicopter parents?”
“Oh yeah, weird right? I mean, they totally forget about me for like three years, and suddenly they want to make up for lost time.” He shrugged, glancing around. “Probably have cameras all over this place for ‘my own safety.’” He shuddered.
“Better than my folks.” Eliza winced. “I think they’ve given up.”
Joe’s eyes softened. “They love you. It’s just…”
Eliza knew where that sentence ended. You’re a lot. You’ve picked the unpopular side. You’re nationally notorious.
You’re too much.
She forced another smile, trying not to worry about how difficult it was to pretend to be happy. “It’s ok.”
“It’s not, but not much about this is.” Joe rolled his head to face her. “And you? How are you holding up?”
There was something about the question that arrowed straight into Eliza’s heart. Holding up. What a perfect way to put it. Eliza was holding up, braced against the crumbling bulwark of her anxiety and panic and terror and every minute was a colossal, herculean effort to hold it up.
“Fine,” she answered.
She could tell Joe didn’t believe her, but Joe also knew her well enough not to push. He’d seen her get stubborn when the teachers asked her kind questions about her family history, and he’d been witness to Eliza’s dubious coping mechanisms. She didn’t ask for help.
She didn’t need it.
So Joe rolled his shoulders. “Hey, I have a question. Do you think there are others? You know, with powers?”
Grateful for the distraction, she considered. “There must be, right? I mean, the technology exists. It’s out there.”
“Maybe that Oleander guy really was the first.”
“Maybe,” Eliza said. “Before, I would have said that we’d have heard about them. I mean, superheroes couldn’t stay hidden, right?” She scoffed. “But I’m less naïve now.”
“You know I have nothing to do with it, right?” Joe met her gaze, strangely earnest all of a sudden. “What my parents are doing? I don’t support that at all.”
“I know.”
“I think it’s pretty gross, the way HNN is treating the Vagabonds.”
“It’s not just HNN.”
“You know what I mean.”
Eliza nodded, sipping her coffee. At first, she’d been furious at Joe for not calling his parents out more or at least trying harder to undo the damage the coverage had done. But she’d come to understand that Joe had to live with his parents. He was stuck with them, whether he liked it or not.
And Eliza knew how much peace, however relative, was worth.
“Tero and Daisy send their best,” Eliza said at last, almost flinching at how inadequate that sounded. “Otto too, from his technological quarantine.”
“Poor guy.”
Eliza smiled. “He’d hate to hear you say that.” I should know.
“I’m sure he’ll figure it out. And besides, anyone can bully him into re-learning his powers, it’s Tori.”
“Hey, she’s actually kind of cool. Once you get to know her.”
“Hell truly has frozen over!” Joe said.
Eliza laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Aquila asked, ducking into the sitting room.
“Nothing,” Eliza said quickly, knowing that the last thing Aquila wanted to think about were the other troubled brothers in his family. They already had one to worry about. “Any news on Moose?”
“Tero thinks he found another sighting, although this one’s less promising. Just a suspicious camera flash.”
Eliza felt like her smile was made of cement, fixed on her face by sheer force of will. “Well, we should still check it out,” she made herself say, even though every single cell in her body strained against the idea of going back into the city. She wasn’t sure if she could handle another day of it.
But she would.
For him.
“I hope it’s something.” Aquila ruffled his hair, shaking his head as he gave Joe a sheepish smile. “We don’t want to impose on your hospitality too long.”
“Are you kidding? Have you seen how many rooms this place has?” Joe pushed to his feet. “Besides, my parents deserve a bit of discomfort.”
“I swear, when I get my hands on that kid…” Aquila muttered to himself.
Joe chuckled. “If you can catch him.” Then he winced. “Sorry. Never mind. It’s just…” That distant, dreamy look stole across Joe’s face again.
“Joe?”
He blinked. “I, er, should probably put some real clothes on. Need to do some research, get ready for another event tomorrow. Fun never stops. But good luck today, hope you find him!”
Eliza exchanged a look with Aquila as Joe ducked out of the room, leaving his coffee behind.
“That was weird,” she said when he was gone.
“I know he’s your friend and all,” Aquila said with a sideways smile. “But he’s always weird.”
“Hey now, you’re one to talk!”
“Never said I wasn’t,” he said, grinning.
Eliza shook her head, muttering uncomplimentary things about birdbrains. But secretly, she felt like she was missing something. Joe had been distracted, worried. There was more going on than she knew about, beyond his hovering parents.
She wondered what it meant that he didn’t seem to want to tell her.
“Ready for another day?” Aquila asked, gripping her shoulder and pulling her out of her thoughts.
Eliza nodded, putting her empty mug aside as she rose to face him. “Always.”
Whatever Joe was dealing with, it had nothing to do with the job they were here to do. If they were lucky, she told herself, they’d be done and heading home by dinnertime. No problem.
Yeah right.
Chapter Twelve: Job Offer
Standing at the back of the multi-story, three-block mansion in the middle of Brooklyn, Moose swallowed. He’d been careful. He was almost completely sure that no cameras had caught him on the way over. But there was no way to be sure, and he felt awfully exposed standing in full sunlight, hood pulled up to hide his goggles, listening to the honks and shouts of the busy street right around the corner. He tipped his head up, absorbing the well-kept brick and huge bay windows. A place like this probably had insane security, if the bar-free windows were anything to go by. Tero would know where all the cameras were placed, would probably be able to point them out even though he couldn’t see them.
But Moose couldn’t find any.
He checked his watch for the third time.
It was time.
This was when that weird guy in the alley had told him to be here. Or rather, written it on the card. Moose wondered if he should knock. The stranger had made it clear that he shouldn’t be seen, and he’d done his best, but he couldn’t vibrate his way out of existence.
H
e cocked his head.
Could he?
The door opened, revealing the stranger from the alley.
The man arched one eyebrow. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”
Moose puffed out his chest and shoved past him, into a marble-tiled hallway connected to an enormous kitchen, so huge that Moose could only see a small part of it.
Doing his best to channel arrogance and power, Moose said, “I’m here to meet your employer, not you.”
The man smiled. “Of course. Follow me.”
You’re a hero, Moose reminded himself as he was led through the mansion, fighting to keep his mouth closed. This is your due. You belong here.
But the place was impressive, even for someone who had grown up in the Eckelson Estate. Everything was made of shaped stone and tile, meticulously decorated, ostentatiously shiny. Every light fixture and side-table screamed money, more than anything Moose had ever seen.
But not more than he’d imagined.
Finally, the stranger led him into an office with enormous built-in bookshelves and a mahogany desk, behind which was, to Moose’s surprise, a familiar face.
“You’re on the news!” Moose blurted before he could stop himself.
Victor Smith smiled, revealing too-white teeth. Just like on TV, the owner and main star of Victory News was dark-haired and narrow-faced, with a sly, intelligent air about him that made Moose think of a spider pulling all the strings. Even on his show, Victor Smith always seemed like a man who knew more than he was letting on. He was one of the few anchors who challenged the dogmatic belief that the Vagabonds were nothing more than pranksters, even if he then went on to wonder aloud if they were terrorists.
Now Victor rose to greet him, hand held out in welcome. “Musca Eckelson. Pleasure to meet you.”
He didn’t accept the handshake, working to regain his cool and wipe the excitement off his face. “Call me Moose.”
“Of course.” Victor straightened, folding his hands behind his back. “It appears you know who I am. And you’ve met my assistant, Ricardo.”
Moose barely spared a glance. It was taking so much for him to remain calm and poised, to not vibrate with excitement. This felt too real, too good to be true. Victor was like a real-life Bruce Wayne, hiding secrets behind celebrity.