by A A Woods
“She did have quite the voice,” Delilah said as Moose kicked himself for being lazy. Heroes do what’s necessary, not what’s fun.
“Still does,” he said absently, grabbing his coat. This one was a dark suede, not fancy but at least not the bright windbreaker he’d recently taken to wearing. “Isn’t she like hosting the Voice now or something?”
“You think I have time for shows?”
“You would if you took a vacation,” Moose said, zipping up.
“No thanks, I’ve got a party to prepare for.”
“Well, good luck,” Moose said, half-laughing.
“You too!” she called as he headed for the door.
Confused by how much he’d rather stay back and mess around in the kitchen with Delilah—not that she’d let him—Moose was so lost in his thoughts as he shut the door behind him that he almost didn’t notice the tall, gangly figure leaning against the wall next to it.
When he did, he jerked.
“Joe?”
“I heard you talking,” Joe said, almost apologetically. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”
“Who cares about that, why are you here? How did you find me?” Moose’s head whipped back and forth, as if the evidence was somewhere in the hall. He didn’t care about himself so much, but what if he’d left a trail back to Delilah’s apartment? What if he’d put her in danger?
“Don’t worry, I didn’t tell anyone,” Joe said, straightening so that he and Moose were eye-to-eye. “And I won’t, at least not yet. Trust me, I understand having issues with family.”
He winced, but Moose didn’t have the space in his brain to wonder what Joe meant. He was glaring, his mind wheeling through everything he’d done in the past twenty-four hours and how it might have allowed Joe to find him.
Joe went on, “Listen, we need to talk. I think you’re getting involved in some things. Some dangerous things.”
Moose’s thoughts shifted tracks so fast it almost hurt. “How do you know about that?”
“I don’t know the details. All I know is that you’re in danger. That you’re pushing someone you shouldn’t be.”
Moose frowned. “So what if I am? I’m doing what’s right, Joe. I’m using my powers for good.”
“Are you sure?” Joe asked, leaning in. “Moose, how do you know you’re not working for the bad guys?”
Moose opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Joe’s question bounced around in his head like a ping pong ball, knocking down the secure confidence he’d felt just moments before.
How did he know?
Victor had said all the right things, made all the right promises, but Moose didn’t really know what he was up to. And even more telling, Victor had asked him to steal. To lie. To sneak in the back.
Maybe Moose wasn’t James Bond at all.
Maybe he was just another henchman.
Moose pulled back. “I gotta go.”
Joe looked sad and strained, like he’d seen too much recently. Moose could sympathize. “I understand how you feel, Moose. Really, I do. Sometimes I wonder what the point of our powers are too, especially when we don’t use them. But just because we’re different doesn’t mean we have everything figured out. It’s dangerous to think that way, Moose. People get hurt.”
“Who are you to talk?” Moose said. “You never do anything.”
Joe flinched. “You’re right. And I’m trying to fix that. But don’t dive in without looking to see what’s below you, ok?”
“Yeah, whatever. I gotta go.” Moose waved a hand, turning away from Joe and fleeing down the hallway. He had to get away. He had to think.
“Be careful!” Joe called, and it was the very worst thing he could have said.
Chapter Thirty-Two: Party Time
It felt ostentatious to the point of grotesque to be touching down in front of the mansion, backwinging gently to land in the blazing light of the paparazzi. Aquila couldn’t have been more on display if he’d tried. Straightening and fighting the urge to scowl at everyone and everything, he took in the hired security eying him, the photographers pressed eagerly to the red felt barrier, and the celebrities, movie stars, and socialites gaping at him as if he’d just arrived from Mars and not six blocks away.
Aquila swallowed, forcing himself to at least attempt a smile.
He approached the man at the end of the red carpet, holding out his hands in a universal I’m unarmed gesture. “I think I’m on the list. Aquila Eckelson?”
It took the guy an uncomfortably long period of time to jolt out of his complete jaw-on-the-floor shock. Aquila waited patiently, reminding himself that this was normal, that most people thought his existence was some big hoax. It was a lot for them to suddenly process one of the ‘pranksters’ landing on the steps of a big-city manor with wings that were supposedly made of paper mâché and spit.
Stay calm, Aquila told himself as the man finally rallied to check the tablet in his hand. Stay calm, it’s not their fault. They’re not the ones trying to keep us secret.
But Hans is…
Holding his mission like a talisman to his chest, Aquila curled his mouth up as the man confirmed he was on the guest list and thanked him when he stepped aside.
It was a painfully sweet relief to hurry up the stairs and enter the mansion. Sure, it was teeming with servers, reporters, and well-dressed rich people, but at least he didn’t feel like he was under a microscope. The high ceilings, gilded walls, and thick hanging tapestries provided some semblance of familiarity. And at least there was no camera flash in here.
Pausing to examine the room, Aquila grabbed something off the nearest passing tray, desperate to have something, anything, in his hand.
He sniffed the tumbler.
Gin and tonic.
Staring into the drink, he almost laughed. Here he was, breaking every family rule by being out in public and every societal rule by flouting the world’s insistence that he didn’t exist, and he was worried about underage drinking?
Otto would have called him a wuss.
Maybe he deserved it.
Sipping the cocktail, Aquila scanned the crowd. Hans was already there, flanked by the two Abnormals posing as eccentric young bodyguards. Aquila avoided looking their way, knowing that he was supposed to be an unclaimed agent, ready to be approached.
But that didn’t mean he could just stand in the corner and glare at people all evening.
Taking another generous swallow to quiet his nerves, Aquila took a deep breath and plunged into the hissing, whispering crowd. It put his temper even more on edge when people parted before him like water for Moses, lively conversations trailing off at the sight of his wings, judgmental eyes tracking his face.
I hate this, I hate this, I hate this, Aquila chanted in his head, doing his best to keep an outwardly positive demeanor.
A man caught his eye, gesturing loudly with a beverage of his own.
Victor Smith, owner of the mansion and host of the party.
Glad he’d done his research, Aquila drifted over to listen to what the man was saying, not really caring but needing to feel like he had control of the situation. That he was choosing his own way.
“But you know what they said to me?” Victor was joking, continuing some story Aquila had missed the beginning of. “I was too famous. Can you believe that? Too famous for some piss-poor little company to advertise with me?” He laughed and the knot of people around him followed suit, all of them strangely programmed and fake. It took great effort for Aquila to follow suit, chuckling weakly at the joke he hadn’t heard. “Well, I told them if you pay peanuts, you get monkeys, right?”
Aquila yanked a laugh from somewhere deep inside of him, hating every rumbling chuckle he released.
How would Eliza react if she could see me now? he thought, imagining her expression.
Would she laugh at him for being so fake? Or be disgusted by his inability to puzzle another way out of this situation, another way to deal with Hans and Moose and whatever-the-fuck was going
on?
His frustration was broken by Victor’s eyes swerving to him, drifting up to the joints of his iridescent wings, down to the toes of his heavy winter boots. A slow, crooked smile spread over Victor’s face. “But you’d know about being too famous, wouldn’t you?”
Aquila straightened. “As far as I’m concerned, any amount of fame is too much for me.”
“Is that so?” Victor swirled his drink, settling back on his heels to look at Aquila. “Then why do it? Why expose yourselves to the world?”
Aquila had to remind himself to be polite. This is the host of the party. You don’t want to be kicked out. “Afraid we didn’t have much of a choice.”
“There are always choices, my strange friend. I wonder if you’re aware of the ones you’ve made. Or haven’t.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Victor’s smile widened and Aquila found himself feeling suddenly like prey, like something that had been taken out from beneath a rock and put under a bright spotlight. “No, I imagine you don’t. How are your brothers?”
Aquila narrowed his eyes. He wished Tero or Eliza were here. They were better at verbal games and mental tricks. Aquila wasn’t subtle. He wasn’t witty or clever. And he didn’t need to be a part of it to know he was too honest for this world of flashing cameras and fancy dresses.
“Fine,” he answered at last. “Recovering from their ordeal last October.”
“At the government base,” Victor said, not in question but Aquila still answered.
“Yes.”
Someone came up behind Victor, a shorter, tanner man with an oddly reptilian cast to his features. He whispered something in Victor’s ear.
After an uncomfortable beat of silence, Victor nodded, beaming around the circle and letting his smile settle on Aquila. “Well, let me say it’s been quite the experience. Please, enjoy the food.”
Spreading his arms in magnanimous welcome that didn’t quite reach his eyes, Victor bowed out of the circle, which immediately dissolved.
Once again, Aquila stood by himself in a crowded room, surrounded by knots of people who were doing their damndest to make him feel unwelcome. He could feel their attention on him like so many needles, prickling and awful. He wanted to curse at them, shout that he hadn’t asked to be made a national laughingstock. He hadn’t wanted to be called a prankster and a hoax. If they were uncomfortable that he was there, that was their problem after making him out to be some kind of attention-starved maniac.
They should feel embarrassed, not him.
Aquila sighed, tossing back the rest of his drink.
Sadly, the alcohol didn’t have as much of an effect as he was hoping for. Probably due to his size. And, of course, he couldn’t taste it anyway, so it was little better than drinking carbonated water.
Another fantastic perk to being me, Aquila thought bitterly, shrugging through a cluster of gossiping men and making his way to the table, determined to at least get a free meal out of this mess.
Chapter Thirty-Three: Old Habits Die Hard
Even from across the street, behind the mess of paparazzi and photographers, Eliza could see the shape of him. The slope of his wings, the surprise of his height, the way he hunched to pass through the crowd, as if he could disappear with a fold of his shoulders.
A part of her ached for him.
Oh, she was still furious for the way he’d lied to her, not to mention leaving her behind. But she knew him too well to fully hold onto her anger. He’d done it to protect her. He’d decided that it was his responsibility to save her from herself. She understood that.
She just had to prove him wrong.
Pulling the black hoodie she’d stolen from Joe’s closet over the wild mass of her hair, Eliza studied the building and the chaos in front of it. The mansion was huge, taking up the whole block and filling the space between two massive skyscrapers. It couldn’t have been more than six stories but seemed to loom as tall as the hotel on one side and the office building on the other. Empty trellises decorated the façade, probably built for the ivy that would cover the building in the summer, but empty now. Eliza squinted at them, wishing there weren’t so many damn people out front. That would have been an easy way inside, if not for the publicity.
Scanning her eyes over the upper-story windows, Eliza considered her options. She’d deliberated stealing a fancy dress from Joe’s mom and posing as a celebrity, but unfortunately, she was already famous for the wrong reasons. It would have been especially dangerous to sneak into this crowd of media personalities, many of whom had spent excruciating hours breaking down what had happened last October and how Elizabeth Mason had been involved. And really, Eliza wasn’t sure she could go in there without punching someone after they’d splashed her family secrets and less-than-stellar school records on national TV.
No, she needed another way inside.
Under the guise of trying to elbow past the reporters, Eliza squished herself into the crowd. A few of the paparazzi threw her nasty looks, but she met them with equally aggressive scowls of her own. Despite whatever had overtaken her since last October, Eliza was still a city girl. She knew how to get people to look away, to ignore her, to let her through. Even though the noise and flashing crackle around her made every cell in her body vibrate with the tension of trying not to freeze and curl up and never move again, she was strong. She was brave. Antagonism and stubbornness were etched in her bones. Eliza could do this. She could get through…
Bursting through the edge of the crowd, Eliza swung around the corner and sagged against the wall. She pressed the heels of her hands against her temples, swallowing the urge to scream.
Come on, hold it together. Don’t prove Aquila right…
Closing her eyes, Eliza carefully and meticulously emptied her mind. She didn’t let herself think about what she was doing, just breathed in and out and waited for the shakes to subside.
Imagine how you’re going to get inside, she thought, going over the building in her head. How will you infiltrate the building?
Building…
It was a long shot, but it could work.
At least, she had to try.
Opening her eyes, Eliza forced herself to move. She wasn’t recovered, but then she wouldn’t ever be. Maybe that was the secret; she just had to get used to this new normal. She had to adjust her expectations—and her temper—to it, like a challenge. Either way, she had to not think about it right now. Just keep moving. Don’t get stuck in her own head. Don’t dwell on the reasons Aquila didn’t want to involve her and the very real possibility he might be right…
Ducking around the corner at the end of the block, Eliza hurried into an alley that ran directly behind the mansion. It was clean and paved and, unfortunately, bare. No fire escape. No emergency exit. Eliza paused, staring at the dip in the road that clearly led to the below-ground garage that likely made up half the basement of the mansion. Maybe more. Rich people loved their cars about as much as they loved their privacy.
Which only made her job more difficult.
Eliza looked up, scanning the stone walls and windows high up them. Too featureless to climb. Too high to jump up and grab a ledge. Nothing. She drifted further down the alley, mentally preparing herself to go back and deal with the cluster of bodies out front and try to find a way through the main entrance.
And then her gaze caught on something.
Small, innocuous, barely even enough to register if she hadn’t been actively looking for an imperfection.
A thick Internet cable, stapled into the wall.
Eliza stared at it, discomforted by the feeling that it was staring back at her.
Challenging.
A dare in unspoken form.
Because six months ago, Eliza wouldn’t have hesitated. She’d have grabbed that terrifyingly thin, slick cable and shimmied up to the nearest open window. Her brain wouldn’t have been full of disgusting imagery of her body broken on the concrete, her brain splattered on the sidewa
lk, her dead arms marked with electrical burns. She wouldn’t have been obsessively thinking about the mansion’s security and how there might be a guard patrolling those upper stories, ready to lean out and train a gun on her. Or sick dogs on her. Or throw her off the wall, Lion King style.
She stared at the wire snaking so conveniently up the wall.
One step at a time, she thought. Literally.
Doing her best to push the unhelpful thoughts out of her brain, Eliza reached out and wrapped one hand around the cable. She was able to slot her fingers between the staples, giving her a fairly solid hold. She leaned back, testing her weight.
It held.
She looked up.
The staples were evenly spaced, just enough to give her an access route up. Assuming they held—she pointedly ignored the hysterical voice in her brain that screamed big assumption—she’d have a straight shot to the second-story window that looked open, although it was hard to tell from directly beneath it. There wouldn’t be anywhere to put her feet, but Eliza had done the rope climb in gymnastics more times than she cared to count. She used to be good at this kind of thing, especially when it related to breaking the rules.
She shook out her arms, eyes tracing up the wire.
It’ll hold, she chanted. It’ll hold, it’ll hold, it’ll hold.
It had to. There would be no Aquila to save her, no wings to catch her. Eliza had grown used to having the Vagabonds around, even when she wasn’t risking her life. It was easy to feel secure and safe surrounded by them. Maybe that had made her soft. Maybe she’d become too accustomed to playing second-fiddle around a bunch of real-world superheroes.
Gritting her teeth, Eliza glared at the unforgiving stone wall.
Fuck that.
Reaching up, Eliza grabbed the next rung on the makeshift, incredibly unsafe ladder. She tested it again, this time hauling herself up. Waiting for a moment to see if it would fail, she took a deep breath, gathered her courage.