* * *
On day four, Dispatch stood us down for a half-day. The restored and expanded runways at LAX airport and the new ones at Whittier Base, just south of downtown LA, were landing megatons of food and supplies every hour. The reopened freeways brought in convoys of stuffed trucks sent by Deseret Industries, the Salvation Army, and other non-government organizations too far back in the airlift queue. Rescue work had slowed as the trapped had been dug out, and the camps were now well organized. So Seven called to invite us all to dinner. After three days of meal bars and canned food, we welcomed the invitation.
Restormel had weathered the quake easily, and with the mobile military hospitals now up and running it was no longer an emergency center. A tall, white, circular building faced with stone and suggesting a medieval keep, it stood watch over LA from a perch in the Hollywood Hills. With its own power generators, it shone like a beacon against the darkened neighborhoods surrounding it.
Landing on the crenellated roof, we found Seven waiting for us by the flag poles. Seeing his tie and dinner jacket made me glad I'd worn my skirted costume. He gave me a smile.
"Glad you guys could make it," he greeted us. "Right this way."
He led us through the roof gardens (kept by Ceres) and down the outside stairs to the lower penthouse deck. The Knights' meeting room filled half the penthouse level, huge windows giving a panoramic view of the city. Tall hedgerow dining chairs had replaced normal conference chairs around their huge Round Table, and goldware table settings gleamed under an amazing crystal chandelier. The whole team waited for us, uniforms spotless and pressed, as impressive as the room.
"Attention, Knights," Rook said as we entered. His team quieted, turning to face us, and he lifted his glass. "I give you the Sentinels, long may they stand ready." The others lifted glasses kept ready at hand, repeating the toast.
"That's hardly fair when we're not armed yet," Atlas said.
"You can fire a return volley later. Let's eat." He led the way to the table, where I saw that place cards had been set out for us.
They seated me between Seven and Maui as the servers—two guards in security uniforms—brought out the first dish: a flavorful cream of mushroom. An identically uniformed sommelier (who looked suspiciously like Willis) poured the wine. Sparkling grape juice for me. The formal welcome and setup put me in mind of an officer's mess, reminding me that Rook was former Army and that, like the Sentinels, the Hollywood Knights were state militia members. Atlas sat across from me, between Ceres and Fire Lily.
Seven formally introduced me to Maui, a dark skinned, hawk-featured man with short black hair and swirling tattoos covering the right side of his face. The patterns of his layered green and black spandex bodysuit echoed his tattoos, and he wore a hook-shaped bone carving at his throat under his open collar. Even in our colorful crowd he looked exotic.
Turning to talk to Artemis on his own left, Seven let Maui carry the soup-course conversation. I promptly asked him why he'd named himself after an island.
"The island is named for me," he corrected me. "Or rather for my patron. Many Maori believe that superhumans are awakened gods, wairua. Because I can shapeshift, can even take on and put off new powers as needed, back in New Zealand they called me Maui after one of the gods of our old creation myths. Me, I'm a Mormon, but I accept the name as an honor and a warning."
"A warning?"
He nodded.
"Maui wrestled with the sun to make the day longer. He made the north and south islands of New Zealand. He brought fire to man. And he died trying to bring us immortality. A good object lesson, don't you think?"
"Ouch."
He chuckled at my exaggerated wince and we shared smiles, having succeeded at being mutually charming.
"So, what kind of shapeshifter are you?" I asked.
"Any kind." He leaned in. "Want to see a trick?"
When I cautiously nodded the tattoos on his face flowed from right to left, then ran down his neck to disappear under his bodysuit collar. He winked at my surprised laugh. After that we talked about hometowns. I told him about Chicago and he told me about Auckland.
On social autopilot, I had time to think and look around, and I smiled to myself; all nine of the Hollywood Knights were what could only be called Beautiful People. All of them had the kinds of bodies only good genes and personal trainers could make, and faces cosmetic dermatologists (in some cases plastic surgeons) had lavished their skills on. With the GQ-dressing exception of Seven, their costumes were designed by the Andrews of the west coast. I felt flattered Rook had even hinted that I could fit in with this team, even if he'd done it to needle Atlas.
Who sat across the table, entertaining and being enthusiastically entertained by both his beautiful partners.
The servers replaced the soup with a macrobiotic salad dressed with a raisins, walnuts, and a wonderful honeyed dressing. They thoughtfully provided varieties of sorbets and flavored ices for Artemis. I switched conversation partners so Maui could talk to Chakra.
"How are you feeling?" Seven asked.
"Overwhelmed." I looked at my plate. "I know everything here is just really well prepared stock or came from your pantry, and nobody's starving yet, but it feels like we're eating dinner on the Titanic. Or fiddling while Rome burns."
Standing behind me, 'Willis' cleared his throat. "Wine, ma'am? It's Italian."
I choked. "Rat," I whispered while Seven snorted into his napkin.
"Union rules," he said once he could speak again. "Seriously. Even in emergency situations we can only work so many hours before being required to break."
"You're kidding."
"I wish. But we deal with more big disasters than you do. We're busy every fire season keeping half the state from going up in flames, and we're one of the first-response teams for any ocean-related disasters around the Pacific Rim. So unless the peril is mortal we're required to do downtime. I'll pass your compliments to our chef—he's used to working with anything in the field, so tonight is nothing."
I sighed, but our local coordinators had required us to take the evening off, too. Otherwise we 'd be scab labor, I supposed, so I couldn't argue. Still, it felt very wrong somehow.
"But what I meant," Seven clarified, "was how are you feeling after yesterday."
"Oh. Good as new, really." None of the other Knights had been here when we'd come in to be treated yesterday, but obviously Rook filled them in. I faked a smile, playing with my salad. "It's like a five-day old sunburn: only a memory. What's going to happen to Mr. Walters?"
He studied me.
"They've rated Mr. Walters a class-A energy projector. Since you can't disarm a superhuman, that means they'll keep him in the Box until they're confident he won't try and randomly fry anyone else or they can suppress or counter his power. His lawyer will probably try and plead temporary insanity at trial, but that doesn't fly well when you're permanently armed and dangerous. It might be true, but it's beside the point. The best he'll probably get is a guilty plea on attempted murder and seven to fifteen."
"Oh," I repeated. "Is there any way—I mean..."
"Astra, he tried to kill you."
I shrugged helplessly, sipping my grape juice to loosen my throat.
"He's not a supervillain."
"He wasn't two days ago," Seven gently disagreed. "Who knows what he is now?"
He kept studying me, and I looked away. This Seven had been invisible at the convention.
"I read your public file when I got back, and I've kept up," he said quietly. "Breakthrough in a bombing with fatalities, just last fall. You've been in four fights before yesterday's—if you call an ambush a fight. And this." He waived at the city outside the windows. "You've seen more serious action in three months than we saw all last year. Are you holding up?"
I looked down at my salad. "This dressing is amazing. Honestly? Sometimes it's horrible. And sometimes it's just too woogy for words. Like yesterday."
"How do you deal with it?"
; "I don't know." I gave him a smile. "I just do. Sometimes I don't. But I'm lucky; I've got family and friends behind me. It's... scary sometimes, but what else could I be doing with it? How about you?"
He shrugged. "We train for it, but the Hollywood Knights is less of a fighting team than the Sentinels—we're one of the best emergency response teams around, but we spend most of our time making movies and doing appearances."
"What? You don't fight a new master-villain every year? I suppose you've never been seduced by the slinky lady villain either? And turned her in a double-play?"
Now he laughed. "Witch. You just described half of our movies."
I kept the alternating conversations light through the main and dessert courses. Atlas did manage to get in a toast to our hosts. Watching Fire Lily in her red-flamed leather corset make a play for him, I realized something and got a glow that wasn't from the wine I hadn't drunk: I trusted him. Something loosened inside at the thought. I knew how I felt, and, as inexplicable as his attraction to me was—and from Christmas to New Year's I'd wondered, agonized over, how much of it was simple protectiveness—the careful way he’d treated me, then and now in LA, told me everything I needed to know. I knew what I wanted now.
Seven watched me watch Atlas, and I blushed when he raised an eyebrow and his glass in a silent toast of his own.
"Timing is everything," he said with a grin, making me blush hotter. "And I'm not always lucky."
We made an early night of it, returning to the hotel to get some rest before going back on the job. For the second night in a row I dreamed of burning and falling, woke up to find Atlas' arms around me, and went back to sleep.
PART EIGHT
Chapter Thirty Seven
Come to me in my dreams, and then
By day I shall be well again!
For then the night will more than pay
The hopeless longing of the day.
Matthew Arnold
* * *
Loaded trucks filled the cleared and reconnected roadways, but we kept busy flying power generators and atmospheric water generators to the camps, as well as food pallets and other heavy equipment that would seriously slow traffic if hauled on wheels. It would be weeks before most places regained full power and water.
On the afternoon of day seven they stood us down again. Not that there wasn't a lot left to do, but after a week on far too few hours of sleep, recovery coordinators ordered our whole team to take two full days. But we'd done it; between the efforts of superhuman responders from all the states—from around the world, even—and the material and labor poured into California by the federal and state governments and private institutions, we'd beat the disaster curve. The tragedy wouldn't escalate.
Blackstone and Chakra promptly disappeared together. Nimbus left to attend a performance of the Strasbourg Philharmonic Orchestra (yes, in Strasbourg). Quin said something about hitting Las Vegas with Rush, Artemis went to bed to rest up for a night out, and Ajax buried himself in his room to call family and work on a paper. I noticed that none of them asked Atlas or me what we were planning.
Left alone in the Motel 6 lobby, he pulled me into a hug, arms under my cape so I wouldn't just slide out. I sighed against him, floated up a bit so he didn't have to stoop, and planted a long kiss. He didn’t resist, and pulling back I put my hands against his chest and looked up at his sweet, tired face.
"John—" I squeaked. I swallowed and tried again. "John, how serious were you when you said I could have it all?"
He smiled.
"Well, it's rushing the gate to follow the first kiss with a marriage proposal, but where I come from if a man's sweet on a woman and she’s sweet on him they don't lollygag about."
"Lollygag?" I laughed, light headed. Yes!
"One of those words us old-timers use. I reckon even if I have to wait I'll get a few good years with you before general decrepitude sets in."
"Stop that." I slapped his leather-clad chest. "You're twenty seven, not two hundred." Winding my arms around his neck, I resumed kissing between words. "How do... you feel... about... a spring wedding?" His arms went tight, and he slid his hands up to grip my shoulders and pull me away, breaking the wonderful suction.
"Hope..."
"Don't," I said, keeping the smile on. "If you're sure, I'm sure. If we're sure, then soon. Very soon."
He studied me for a long minute.
"Fair enough." But he frowned. "I'm not mint condition. Tossed by my first, and since then—"
I put a hand to his mouth. "Stop. I know all about your fan club and I'll bet Chakra could tell me a story."
"And it's not a problem?"
"It is," I said honestly. "As you Texans say 'done is done,' but if you stray I'll cry and cry and break your legs."
"I love you too," he said, pulling me close again. "But we've got time. Your family—"
"Will try and talk me out of marrying an older, non-Catholic divorcee," I finished with a sigh. "Dad will try and kill you. Then Mom will want to plan the biggest wedding in Chicago history. I'll have to out myself for it, but for you I'll make the sacrifice."
I leaned back so I could see his eyes.
"And we don't have time," I said. "Not really. I almost died." He started to shake his head and I grabbed it in both hands, framing his face.
"You saved me. You'll always be there to save me. But if—if—then they'll bury Hope Chandler."
His changeable blue eyes looked back at me and I held my breath. Then he laughed, and kissed me so hard my toes curled in my boots.
"I accept your proposal, ma'am. And for now, what would you say to three nights at my cabin? Strictly hands-off."
I sighed, giddy with relief. "Not completely hands-off. But yes, please."
That beautiful smile widened. "Done, then. Can you saddle up and meet me back here in one hour?"
I pulled myself up for another quick kiss, then ran for it.
My kit had one last fresh skirted costume. I washed thoroughly but fast, almost too giddy to function, before throwing it on and packing necessities for both of us. Then I stopped. I had nothing to wear for this. I don't go crazy, but I like wearing nice things and all I had were my costumes. Atlas—John—certainly had a closet full of his own things at the cabin. I almost wept in frustration, then forced myself to think.
We were on Hollywood Boulevard. Sure it had been wrecked, but there hadn't been any looting. My family had played tourist in LA a couple of times, and I remembered a Forever 21 in the Hollywood and Highland shopping center attached to the Chinese Theater.
It took me two minutes to reach the center, amazingly still standing though not open for business, and I persuaded a security guard to let me into its glass-strewn hallways. In the store I found an insanely dedicated manager who probably wasn't supposed to be there, and promptly dumped my situation on her. A godsend, Kathy even got me into the Victoria Secret across the hall (run by her friend). Fifteen minutes of questions, suggestions, IOUs for her and VS, and an autograph later I headed back with filled bags. Getting back with a few minutes to spare, I finished packing and made it out front before Atlas returned. My hand in his, we took off, racing to beat the sunset.
* * *
Atlas' "cabin" lay tucked in the Bear River Mountains in Utah, and we reached it well before nightfall. More a log mansion than a cabin, it sat surrounded by pine and aspen and covered in snow. Landing us at the steps to the wrap-around porch, John took my bag from me and swung me up in his arms. I laughed as he carried me through the door.
He set me on my feet in the entryway. The inside was all polished wood and wood furniture, Indian rugs and western art, with lights on and a fire already burning in the living room. Apparently the resourceful man had the whole place computerized.
"I keep a good pantry and freezer for sudden visits," he said softly, not letting me go. "So I can whip us up some dinner in an hour. But first, say the words."
"What?"
"I've said it, but you haven't yet."
I stared up at him. The man was right, I hadn't. I said the words to my parents and sibs all the time, long distance if need be, but I'd never said them to the dear man patiently holding me. How had that happened?
I laughed, then tried to look serious.
"I love you." It was so easy.
"Say it again."
"I love you."
"One more time."
I wrapped my arms around his neck.
"I love you," I whispered.
And he kissed me.
It took awhile for him to get to the kitchen.
Wearing the Cape Page 24