Mona Lisa Eclipsing

by Sunny

  Hannah nodded.

  “Okay, don’t forget,” I reminded everyone. “When everyone’s done shopping, each group will get a separate table outside at the restaurant. Amber will guard our table while Quentin and I talk to reporters. Likewise, Dante will keep an eye out, freeing Kelly and Jarvis to answer questions, and Nolan will stand guard while Hannah and Dontaine talk to the media.”

  “Milady, you wish us to talk to reporters?” Jarvis asked with discomfort.

  “Yes, six of us answering questions will be better than just me talking.”

  “What are we allowed to say?” he asked.

  “Easier to tell you what to avoid. Don’t mention Prince Halcyon, the Queen Mother, the specific names of any Monère Queens or the territories they rule, or any details about what hurts or weakens us. Talking about Hell or NetherHell or my brother is also a big no-no. Do you and Kelly know about me and Dante? Our past history together?”

  “No, milady,” Jarvis said.

  “Good, so you won’t have any problem there, but that’s something you shouldn’t talk about either. And no mentioning curses or reincarnation or anything like that.” The list of things-not-to-mention was longer than I had thought.

  “But everything else is fair game,” I told him. “Don’t worry about it too much, Jarvis. Just answer whatever you feel comfortable answering. If they ask you a question you don’t want to answer, you just say something like, ‘I’m sorry, I’d rather not answer that,’ and refer them to me. Okay?”

  He nodded glumly.

  “Same goes for everyone else. Any questions you don’t want to answer, feel free to refer my way, or change the subject to something you don’t mind talking about. Oh, and no mention of New Orleans for now—that was where we came from,” I explained to Kelly and Jarvis. “They may eventually find out but we’ll wait for them to dig it out.”

  There was some more haggling about where we should park the van.

  “Not here in the mall parking lot,” Dante said. “It’s too easy to block the mall exits.”

  We ended up deciding to park on a small road across from the back entrance of the mall. We drove back to the mall, dropped everyone off near one of the smaller entrances, then Quentin, Amber, and I parked the van. When traffic thinned, we zipped our way quickly back, going into Best Buy.

  “Go on in ahead of us,” I told Quentin. “It’ll probably be better if Amber and I stay a little apart from you.”

  Good-looking boy that he was, Quentin would draw eyes, but not like Amber would through his sheer size.

  Sure enough, as soon as we walked in, the young employee standing by the door immediately looked at Amber, and then of course me, standing next to him. Recognition dawned and his mouth dropped open.

  I gave him a smile as we walked by then steered us toward the back part of the store. We ended up in an aisle across from the big-screen TV section, keeping a distant eye on Quentin who had gotten a very eager employee to help him choose a laptop. The few people we passed stopped to look at us but no one had approached us yet. A small crowd, however, was starting to gather, taking pictures and video with their cell phones. Good thing we’d separated from Quentin; no one seemed to recognize him. All the attention, so far, was focused just on us.

  Someone changed all the televisions to a news channel, so that suddenly all the screens were featuring a close-up shot of yours truly. They were rerunning my announcement in front of the hospital. The angle widened to show the rest of my group standing behind me, including the very large and distinctive-looking Amber.

  “Hey, that’s you two, isn’t it?” asked a brave, pimply faced employee who looked like he was still in high school.

  I nodded confirmation.

  “Cool,” he said, coming over to talk to us, and that broke the ice. More people converged around us, ringing us in a loose semicircle that had Amber tensing next to me.

  “We’re fine, Amber,” I said, squeezing his arm. “They’re just curious.”

  I answered questions and even signed autographs. The crowd was very well behaved, probably out of respect for Amber and his intimidating size, but that could just be the cynical part of me talking. A few brave people even asked Amber for an autograph, which he gravely gave, after I explained that they just wanted him to sign his name for them. Pretty soon, almost everyone in the store had drifted over to us, except for a few shoppers and salespeople who craned their necks curiously our way but still went about their business.

  It wasn’t long before the manager of the store, an older man with thinning hair and glasses, pushed his way through the thick crowd, saying, “Everyone, please continue your shopping. You cannot gather here. Everyone, please continue your shopping . . .”

  Two mall security personnel followed behind him, a thin man and a short woman.

  “Ms. Hamilton,” the manager said with a strained smile. “How can we help you in our store?”

  “My friend is buying something. We’re almost done.” I was happy to see Quentin at the register paying for his purchase. He made his way over to us, and the crowd parted for him as if sliced open by his beaming smile and outrageously good looks.

  “I thought you were just buying a laptop,” I said, eyeing the two large boxes and blue shopping bag he was loaded down with.

  “There was a very nice combo sale on a laptop, printer, and carry bag. I also got a ream of paper, ink cartridges, and a memory key. You gotta admit that was a pretty quick purchase.” To buy all that in under ten minutes, it really was. It just hadn’t felt that way. It had felt like forever.

  “Any change left?” I asked.

  “Fifty-five dollars and change.”

  I sighed. Another thousand dollars spent.

  I took the shopping bag and passed one of the boxes to Amber to free up a hand for Quentin to sign autographs with, which he did with an easy, charming smile that accelerated quite a few hearts. Our boy was definitely not shy.

  “Sorry about that,” I said to the hovering manager. “All done now. Do you want us to leave the fast way or would you rather we walked out at normal speed?”

  He blinked nervously. “Uh . . . we will walk you out, at normal speed,” he said.

  “The parking lot exit then,” I said, nodding toward where we had entered. Much better than going through the mall with this crowd.

  The security guards made a path for us through the crowd. Cell phones went up on either side of us, with numerous clicks and flashes as we passed by. One last photo opportunity when the young employee near the exit checked our purchased items against the receipt, and then we were out the store. People spilled out the doors, following us.

  “Amber, Quentin. Ready to run? Last one there is a rotten egg,” I said, taking off.

  We left the crowd behind in a burst of speed, running until we came around to the main entrance.

  “Last one there is a rotten egg?” Quentin repeated as we entered the restaurant. “I cannot believe you said that. It’s probably being posted on the Internet right now.”

  “What does that mean?” Amber asked.

  “It’s just a childish taunt,” I explained, smiling. “A way of saying let’s race and I’m going to beat your ass.”

  People began noticing us almost immediately. A college-aged girl with her hair pulled back in a long brown ponytail watched with a shocked expression as we approached her hostess stand. Her mouth wasn’t exactly hanging open, but it was close as she gazed from Quentin up to Amber. Me, she barely glanced at.

  “I’d like three tables outside,” I told her. “The ones closest to the velvet ropes, please.”

  “Um . . . ah . . . how many people?” she asked, clearly flustered.

  “Three at each table. Six others will be joining us soon, so if you could seat us and reserve two other tables next to the velvet ropes, I’d appreciate it.”

  Something about sitting down to eat kept people away who would otherwise have approached anywhere else. An equally flustered waitress came over, stumbled th
rough the specials, and asked if we wanted anything to drink.

  “We’re ready to order now,” I said. I ordered a virgin piña colada, one of my favorite drinks, and a fruit and cheese platter appetizer dish. Quentin ordered two bottles of Coke, unopened, for both himself and Amber.

  “I do not wish to drink anything,” Amber said after the waitress left.

  “It’s just polite custom,” I explained. “If you’re going to take a table at a restaurant, you have to order something, even if it’s just a drink, to pay for taking a seat another paying customer could have occupied instead.”

  Nolan, Hannah, and Dontaine arrived at the same time our drinks were brought out. The rest came ten minutes later, loaded down with shopping bags.

  “What took you guys so long?” I asked, having eaten all the fruit and half of the cheese on my platter.

  “Sorry,” Dante said. “We were recognized.”

  “We weren’t.” Dontaine grinned.

  “Yeah, but none of you guys were wearing surgical scrubs,” Dante countered.

  Kelly and Jarvis were wearing newly purchased shirts and pants, I was pleased to see.

  Soon after, McManus made his way through the gathering crowd, which had quickly thickened into a substantial size as shoppers entering and exiting the mall all stopped to stare at us.

  “Congratulations,” I said to McManus, handing him the bundle of cash Dontaine had counted out, “you made it before any reporters did.”

  The bristly-browed attorney counted the money and passed me a large yellow envelope. “Your receipt is in there, along with all your messages and emails. You’re expecting reporters?”

  “We’ve been sitting here for fifteen minutes. What do you think?”

  “You planning on talking to them?” McManus asked.

  “You betcha.”

  “Do you want me to stick around?” he asked.

  “At four hundred dollars an hour? No thanks, although you’re more than welcome to stay on your own time. I have your cell phone number. If we need your services again, we’ll call you, but likely as not, we won’t. If the police try and take us into custody, we’ll just go.”

  His brows slanted down. “You mean do that speed-away thing?”

  “Yeah, and you won’t ever hear from us again.”

  “Just me or the whole world?” he asked.

  “Both.”

  “Moment of truth, huh?”

  My heart gave a little thump. I hadn’t realized it until he put it so clearly, but yeah, that’s what this would be. “My terms were pretty clear. The government’s had a whole day to decide what they’re going to do.”

  “Cops are going to be coming here soon.”

  “I know.”

  “Then I hope, for everyone’s sake, no one overreacts.”

  “Me, too.”

  The first reporters sped into the parking lot, with more news vans following right behind them. Mall security had flocked out, and local police screeched in with the FBI right on their heels—one big ’ole party. All new faces, I noted. Last but not least, a couple of carloads of men and women wearing Homeland Security Windbreakers poured out and quickly organized the milling law enforcement personnel to have them push the crowd back farther away from us. So far none of the officers or agents had made a move on us or drawn their weapons. McManus, I saw, had decided to stay and was talking to a couple of reporters himself.

  Quentin and I sat across from each other, close to the velvet ropes, which so far none of the reporters interviewing us had attempted to cross. More media flocked in front of the other two tables. Most were from local stations, but there were several national networks represented: CNN and MSNBC, even BBC World News, broadcasting live, it seemed.

  “Mona Lisa!” a male reporter called out. The use of my Monère name caught my attention, had me turning to him. “Why do your people call you Mona Lisa?”

  I explained, as I had done earlier to Kelly, that Mona was a title added before the first name of a Queen. “The word Mona means of moonlight. Why Monère sometimes refer to Queens as Ladies of Light.”

  “What other gifts do your people have besides shape-shifting?” asked another reporter.

  “We’re much stronger than the average person.”

  “How much stronger? Able to lift a car?” someone asked.

  “I’ve never tried it,” I said, “but probably yes.”

  “Can you demonstrate your strength for us?” the same voice asked.

  “I’ll be happy to, if you have something you don’t mind being destroyed, like a rock.”

  Someone quickly ran off to search for a rock. Another resourceful cameraman handed me a small metal flashlight, the size of my palm. “How about this?” he asked.

  “Do you mind if I crush it?”

  “Sure, go ahead, if you can.”

  I took him at his word, closing my fingers around the handle. When I released it, the metal under my hand had been mangled and squeezed down, showing the crushed batteries inside. The cameraman took back his flashlight with an astonished expression. My demonstration grabbed the attention of not just the reporters around my table but also garnered the intense interest of some of the watching law enforcement standing several yards away.

  Someone ran back with a big rock about twice the size of my palm. “Is this okay?” the man asked, obviously one of the news crew.

  “Sure,” I said. “You can help me demonstrate, if you don’t mind.”

  He nodded eagerly.

  “Go ahead and squeeze the rock. Try to break it with both hands.”

  He clutched and strained, squeezing the rock. It didn’t break. He passed it to me under the bright lights of the filming cameras. Taking it in my left hand, I closed my fingers and squeezed with gentle pressure. Dust and small bits of rock crumbled out from where I held it. “I could have crushed it completely, but I wanted to leave something behind, so that you could see that the rock is real and as hard as it looks.” I gave the rock back, with the impression of my fingers nicely grooved a good inch down into the stone.

  “Are you a lefty or a righty?” a reporter asked.

  “I’m right-handed.” And I had used my left hand.

  “What other gifts or abilities do you have?” asked a female reporter.

  Another moment of truth. “I am also able to compel people with my gaze.”

  “Compel? What do you mean by that?”

  I was suddenly very conscious of all the filming cameras. All the people possibly watching right now around the world, and how frightening this next thing might seem to them. How easily it could all blow up in our faces. But it had to be disclosed now, before we met with any policy makers.

  Course decided, I took a breath. “Compelling someone means that I am able to control someone’s actions for several minutes, take over their will.”

  A second of profound silence. Then the female reporter asked, “Can you show us?”

  “If you have any volunteers, I can demonstrate. We can also test at what range and limit of distance my ability works.”

  “I’m willing to be your guinea pig,” she offered, “as long as I hear first what you’re going to make me do.” Brave lady. Because after this, she was certain to be grilled and examined by the FBI and Homeland Security, and who knows what other agencies.

  “How about if I tell you to squawk like a chicken, flap your arms, and hop on your left leg?”

  “Okay,” she said, laughing nervously. “I don’t mind doing that.”

  “Let’s start at a distance of about three feet away,” I suggested.

  Handing her mike to another reporter, she backed up about a yard. “What do I need to do?”

  “Just look at me and try not to do what I tell you to do.”

  I captured her gaze with a small thrum of power that drew the attention of the other Monère around me. Their eyes all turned to me, as did all the reporters talking to them.

  “What is your name?” I asked.

  “Maria Cam
ille Ortega, from NBC4 Washington.”

  “Maria,” I said, raising my voice so everyone could hear me clearly. “I want you to squawk like a chicken, flap your arms, and hop up and down on your left leg.”

  She started squawking, flapping her arms, and hopping.

  “Stop,” I told her.

  Maria froze, hands under her armpits, standing on one foot like a flamingo.

  I released her from the compulsion. Watched her come back into awareness.

  “Did she just make me squawk like a chicken?” she asked her cameraman.

  He nodded.

  “Oh my God, I really did?” She didn’t look like she believed him.

  “Did my eyes change?” I asked loudly.

  “Yes,” said one of the reporters who had had an up-close viewing of everything. “They lightened in color and grew kind of sparkly.”

  A policeman stepped forward, a black middle-aged man with a tough, no-nonsense face. “I want you to try that on me.”

  “Have you ever yodeled, Officer?” I asked.

  “Never.”

  “Good, then we will see if I can make you yodel. But first I ask that you hand your gun to one of your fellow officers, so they won’t get too nervous.”

  “Why?” he asked. “You think you could make me shoot someone?”

  “If I wished to, yes. But that is not my wish. I don’t want anyone to feel threatened enough to draw a gun on us, because the moment they do, my mission here is over. All of us here will disappear, and I don’t want that. I want everyone to be aware of both our powers and their limitations, so no one can claim later that I tricked or bespelled anyone.”

  Another policeman walked over, probably his senior officer, and held out his hand. The first policeman reluctantly handed over his piece and walked over to me, stopping a few feet back from where the female reporter had stood. All the cameras shifted around so they had a good shot of us both.

  “Is this far enough away?” he asked.

  “How far would you estimate the distance between us?” I asked.

  “I’d say about five feet.”

  “Are you ready?”