by A A Woods
“Pan works for Hans. All he has to do is tell her to stay low for a while.” Tasha’s smile was vicious and bitter. “Besides, he controls the media. He can spin it however he wants.” She let out a snort. “Probably doesn’t even need these anymore.”
Joe blinked, the pieces sliding into place. “And how did you get all this?”
Again, Tasha didn’t answer. Instead, she reached down and rolled up the loose sleeve of her coat. Changing again so that her skin was a pale milk color, she held out the inside of her forearm.
Right below the elbow was an intricate design of raised flesh. A brand.
Of a circus tent.
“Like I said, I was raised in a lab.” She let her sleeve fall back down. “His lab.”
“You were one of his bodyguards?”
“No, he never trusted me that much. But I helped run things on his estate. It’s a big place with lots of moving parts. Everyone there takes on certain responsibilities.” She sighed. “It was just luck, really, that put me in a position to make copies of all these. And then escape with them.”
Watching her, it occurred to Joe that he was missing something huge and obvious and heart-wrenchingly sad. “How did you escape?” he asked softly.
Her eyes lifted to his and they were so intense that he fought the urge to look away. He could see the fire in her, the insistence that she wasn’t a victim. She wasn’t someone to be pitied. Oh, how Joe knew that look. He’d seen it every day on Eliza’s face when the teachers would go easy on her for being a pain in the butt, because of her sister. When they’d let her off the hook for a missed assignment, because of her sister. When they’d offer too-kind condolences, because of her sister.
Here was another person who didn’t want to be defined by her past, no matter how grotesque.
So Joe didn’t offer sympathy. He only waited for her to answer.
“Someone helped me. And I helped her. We got out together.”
Joe nodded, recognizing that was all he was going to get. “So this Circus, it’s like the X-Men?”
Tasha released a small, surprised laugh and Joe felt the tension drain out of her, just a little bit. “Yeah, except if all the X-Men were basically slaves used to manipulate the flow of information to bring insane amounts of power to one man.”
“Sounds about right,” Joe said with a grin. “At least, that’s what they’d be like in the real world.”
“What?”
“You know what I mean. Everyone understands that powers wouldn’t be like they are in the movies. Superman would totally be a homicidal sociopath.”
Now Tasha laughed in earnest, her whole demeanor brightening so much that Joe wondered if her skin could glow. “Come on, no way!”
“He totally would! A guy who can fly, shoot lasers from his eyes, see through walls, and is almost completely invincible except with the help of some alien weapon? We would be like ants to him.”
“Well, you’ve got the invincible part right,” Tasha said, shutting the laptop. “Pan is kind of a bitch.”
Joe nodded sagely. “That’s what happens when you aren’t afraid of death.”
Tasha smiled, popping up to sit on the nearest desk, right on top of a pile of manila folders. “You seem to be taking all this pretty well.”
“Oh, I’m totally freaked out. Absolutely having a meltdown. But you forget,” Joe said, lifting one finger. “I’ve done this already, and last time I was getting shot at.”
“It’s only midday.”
Joe grimaced, folding his arm. “True.” He sighed, shaking his head. “So I guess the free press really doesn’t exist then?”
“Not in the mainstream. There are still places on the internet where the truth isn’t stomped out. But Hans is working hard to eliminate those.”
“Like your blog?” Joe said, looking up at her through his eyelashes.
Tasha raised her eyebrows. “You were stalking me.”
“You’re interesting.”
“So are you, Joe Fagan.”
The way she said his name warmed him in a way that set off alarm bells in his head.
This was dangerous.
She was exactly the wrong crowd that his parents used to warn him about, and he knew he was getting in over his head. But Tasha, despite her strength and brazenness, needed help. She was here alone, fighting a monumental dragon with plastic swords.
The least he could do was think about helping.
Although…
“I still don’t want to kill the guy,” Joe said, looking right at her. “Just so we’re clear.”
Tasha smiled. “We can discuss the details later.”
Joe snorted. “That doesn’t seem ominous or anything.”
Before he’d finished speaking, Tasha was jumping down from the table, graceful and lithe. She moved like a gymnast, perfectly even and measured. She picked up a piece of paper on a desk close to the door, looking at it as she addressed Joe. “I didn’t plan to give you this. Really, it’s not my business, and I have bigger things to worry about.” She looked up. “But I think he’s your friend, and if so, he’s in trouble.”
She handed him the paper, upon which was written an address in sharp, black ink.
“What’s this?”
“It’s where the rogue one is staying. Moose? The brother who came to the city to be a hero?”
Joe’s mouth fell open for the second time since he’d walked through the door. “How did you get this?”
She lifted one eyebrow.
“Nevermind, dumb question. Does Moose know you tracked him?”
“No, and if I did then others can too.”
“But why would they? He’s just an idiot with ideas of grandeur.”
“Ideas that have led him into Hans’s line of fire, Joe. Moose stole from Hans’s personal hotel room. He’s in the middle of this now, just as much as I am.”
“Shit,” Joe muttered, ruffling his hair. “I need to tell Aquila.”
Tasha shrugged, as if to say that what he did was no concern of hers. “Just be careful. There’s a target on his back now, and I don’t…” She swallowed, clearing her throat. “Be careful.”
Joe watched her, wondering if it was concern he heard in her voice… or something more. The silence between them stretched and strained and felt oddly full and empty at the same time, like open space or starlight.
“Thank you,” Joe said at last, wishing he was a more sophisticated person who might be able to read whatever Tasha wasn’t saying and act on it. He held up the piece of paper. “For… well, for ruining my life, I guess.”
She laughed. “Oh, I’ve got more where that came from.”
Somehow, that didn’t sound nearly as bad as it should have.
Chapter Thirty: Fake Out
Eliza had spent the whole day praying, hoping, wishing she was wrong. She’d known it was strange when Aquila hadn’t wanted to go out looking for Moose, instead insisting that they both stayed in and looked for leads online with Tero’s help. She’d been a good sport, trawling Reddit and Twitter while Aquila texted with his brother back home. She’d accepted his logic, that they were only going to cause more trouble by going out. That just wandering the city was stupid. That they needed a plan.
He was right, of course, but she knew him. She knew it wasn’t the only reason he wanted them to stay inside.
And then he’d been so excited when she’d said she was going to take a nap….
Bursting out of her bedroom five minutes after going inside, Eliza didn’t say “ha!” or point or gasp. She just stood there, gaze drilling into Aquila in the act of opening the balcony doors.
“Eliza,” he said, pulling his wings back in. “I was just letting some air in.”
“It’s February.”
“The Fagans keep this place hot,” he said, unable to stop his hand from rubbing the back of his neck.
Eliza shut her eyes. She didn’t want to do this, especially not with him. But she knew that look so well. She knew it because she’
d worn it, all those times she’d snuck out to get drunk with her Atlanta friends, blowing off the pent-up steam from hours and hours of therapy after Katie died. She knew the half-guilty, half-defensive look of someone keeping secrets, someone about to do something they shouldn’t with no intention of stopping.
Opening her eyes, she tried not to let his awkwardness and discomfort sway her. “Please don’t do this,” she said, fighting to keep her voice level. “Not to me.”
She half expected him to keep denying it, to say something like I’m not doing anything or why are you being so suspicious.
But, to her relief, he straightened. “I need to go out. Alone. And I need you to stay here.”
Now we’re getting somewhere, Eliza thought, clenching her fists. “Why? Whatever you’re up to, I can help.”
“No.”
“Why not?’
“I can’t explain it.”
“Well that’s bullshit.”
“Look, it’s just a thing I have to do. It’s no big deal, I’ll be back in no time.”
“Then take me with you.”
He winced. “No.”
Eliza’s fists tightened painfully. “Aquila, I’m not useless—”
“I never said you were.”
“—and just because I don’t have powers—”
“I don’t care about that.”
“—doesn’t mean you should shut me out—”
“I’m not shutting you out, Eliza, dammit I’m keeping you safe.”
Eliza froze, watching in shocked silence as Aquila’s wings snapped out and his shoulders balled up with the compressed tension and rage that he’d been hiding from her since he’d left the police station. Suddenly, she saw him the way the world did; huge, strong, terrifying.
Beautiful.
“Listen to me, I need to do something, and I can’t deal with this right now!” he growled. “And don’t get all high and mighty on me about telling the truth because I see how you flinch at loud noises and back away from fights, Eliza. I know what you’re hiding. So maybe we should start with you telling me why you wake up screaming, or why you couldn’t deal with that Irish jerk in the bar. Shall we? Do you want to start there?”
Eliza’s jaw was so tight that she couldn’t have answered if she wanted to.
Aquila sighed, ruffling his hair. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… I need to go. And just… stay here, ok? For once?”
Eliza glared at him, every muscle in her body so tight she wondered if she might sprain something. It was hard in that moment to remember that she loved him, hard to remind herself that he was more than the walking reminder of everything she’d come to hate about herself.
His strength made her look weak.
His courage made her look small.
And him telling her to stay back and stay safe was a sharp jab in the molten core of her inadequacy.
Tucking in his wings, Aquila strode over to her. He was so tall that he had to crane his neck to look down at her. “I care about you, Eliza. So much. I hope you know that.”
And suddenly Eliza was a kid again, being told that everything was for her own good. That what the adults did and said was only because they cared about her. She wanted to spit out that those excuses were crap, that you couldn’t hide behind a shield of love and do whatever you wanted. You had to talk to your kid, to your girlfriend. You had to work to solve things, not just brush off the issues with an I love you, sweetie.
But Aquila was kissing her forehead and stepping back. “I’ll be back soon. I promise.”
Before she could jerk herself into motion, Aquila stepped onto the massive balcony, snapped his iridescent wings open, and leapt into the setting sun.
I’ll show you, she thought, her whole body pounding with impotent rage. I’m going to figure out what’s going on and I’ll show you that I’m no girl you leave behind as you fly off to be a hero.
Thinking of the address she’d memorized, Eliza snatched her coat off the nearest chair and began to hunt for her shoes.
I’m no damsel.
Chapter Thirty-One: Grandeur
The experience of being on the receiving end of attempted murder had left Moose feeling oddly upbeat.
It had been weird, sure, but by the time he’d returned to Delilah’s apartment, Moose had decided it was a good sign. He was onto something, making the bad guys nervous enough for them to act. It was the mark of a good hero, right, to be chased and targeted? To be in the thick of things?
Now, as he buttoned up the nicest shirt he’d brought with him (which, to be fair, wasn’t nearly fancy enough), Moose allowed himself to feel excited. Not only was he going to a party, and a classy one at that, but he was going undercover. He was like a secret agent, sneaking in the back door to make sure the clandestine mission went smoothly. He wished he had a suit and bowtie. But even without one, he still felt like James Bond or that guy from Mission Impossible.
Badass, powerful, and in-charge.
Looking at himself in the mirror, Moose reached up and removed his goggles, positioning them on top of his chaotic hair. He straightened, pulled his shirt even, and tried to hold onto his confidence.
It was harder than he thought.
All his life, he’d struggled with this; run away from the simplicity of his own unadorned reflection. In a classic stroke of insightful kindness, Ian had bought him the goggles when he was twelve years old. He’d worn them ever since. But recently, he found himself wishing he could learn to live without them. Be as bold as Aquila, striding through the world without hiding who and what he was. Of course, Aquila didn’t really have a choice, but still. Maybe it was cowardly to hide this way. Maybe true heroes didn’t pretend to be something they were not.
Fighting to hold still, Moose examined the huge, lidless, multifaceted orbs that filled his eye sockets. Like something out of a horror show, Otto had said once in one of his meaner moods. And Moose couldn’t really deny it. The enormous eyes made him look like a skeleton, like an insect masquerading as a human boy.
Well, that’s not wrong, Moose thought rebelliously, tilting his chin so that the eyes glittered. His eyes.
Sighing, he reached up and snapped the goggles back on. All that self-acceptance yoga crap could wait until after he was famous. It would be easy to love himself when everyone else did, when kids drew fan art and teenagers dressed in cosplay and movies got made. Then he’d be able to get rid of those goggles and be as bold as his damn brother.
Nodding to himself and checking to make sure his eyes were fully covered, Moose went into the sitting room.
“Heading out!” he called.
“Ok,” Delilah called from the kitchen, sounding frazzled.
Moose veered off his course to the door, sticking his head in the kitchen. “How goes the massive order?”
Delilah had one hand in the oven and the other stirring a fresh batch of dough. “I’m gonna make it, I swear I am. Barely, but I’m gonna make it.” She paused, wiping sweat off her brow with a forearm. “I just hope I can deliver them on time.”
Moose flinched. He wanted to tell her he was heading to the very place all her delicacies were going, that he could take the first round over in a taxi. But then he would have to explain that he knew Victor Smith of Victory News and that he was actually attending the high-flying event the channel was hosting. Delilah had chatted all afternoon with him about how honored she was to be serving this clientele again, and how she was already hoping they’d contract her services for the massive award show that Friday, also hosted by Victory News.
She’d be shocked to know that Moose had more connections in that world than he was letting on.
But he couldn’t, so instead he leaned against the wall. “Deep breaths. You’ll figure it out.” He grinned. “Although maybe after this media week slows down you should take a vacation.”
She laughed. “Vacation? What’s that?”
“It’s this thing normal people do after they’ve worked really hard for a long time.”
“Sounds like a waste of time.”
Moose shook his head. “What drug did they give you as a kid? My dad would have killed for it.”
“It’s that working class upbringing,” Delilah panted, putting another batch of whoopee pie tops in the oven. “My parents worked for everything they had, and worked hard. Pass me the flour?”
Moose did, fighting a surge of guilt. It wasn’t his fault that he’d been raised in a mansion with pretty much everything he wanted. Except freedom, of course. At least Delilah had never had to hide in a basement, pretending the outside world didn’t exist.
“Besides,” Delilah continued, oblivious to Moose’s discomfort. “I can rest when I retire.”
“In like forty years!”
“Try fifty,” she said with a wink. “I like my job too much to quit.”
“Unless it kills you before you get there.”
She scoffed. “Come on, baking isn’t going to kill me.”
“You do work with a lot of hot things,” Moose said, tilting his head. “And knives.”
“Ah well, it’ll be a glorious end.” She began to scoop buttercream frosting into a giant icing bag. “So tell me, what’s the gig tonight?”
“Oh, nothing much,” Moose said dismissively, pushing off the kitchen entrance. “Just some fancy thing. A retirement party I think?”
Delilah shot him a quick, skeptical look. “Retirement party?”
Nice one, idiot, Moose thought, kicking himself for being so distracted by the flush in her cheeks that he’d said that.
“You know how old people are, always wanting to be cool like the kids.” Moose made a clumsy hand-gesture that was half gang-sign and half awkward-man-dance. “They’ll probably want me to play hits from the 90’s and call it ‘modern.’”
She delighted him with a round, full laugh, making the flour in the air spin and dance. “I hope you like Brittany Spears.”
“I was more of a Christina Aguilera fan myself,” Moose said, backing away, needing to get out of there before he caved to the temptation to blow off the party and just hang out with her all evening. It would probably be more fun.