Power: Arca Book 3

by Karen Diem

  Oh, lucky us, Andy sent. How many people do you think they’re planning to murder today?

  The mass murder stuff was Tiffany, and she’s in jail somewhere. Zita eyed the transports and the lumpy bag the wolf shapeshifter carried, suspicion whispering a nasty possibility. I hope.

  Zita sailed down and landed on the ground by her friends. Once she changed to her disguise form, that of the woman known as Arca, she said, “So. It’s totally a bad idea, but I’m going to interfere anyway. You guys in?” She shivered a little. Even though the rain was abating, the thigh-length hair that came with this shape was becoming a heavy, wet, and very cold weight. Her sportswear kept her clothed but offered no protection for her exposed limbs. Since she’d switch back to a bird again soon, she made no move to retrieve her other garments, even if it would have been warmer, especially for her bare feet.

  Wyn groaned and opened her purse.

  Though the witch had never said exactly what the limits were on the items she could store in the enchanted handbag, Zita suspected it was limited more by Wyn’s willingness to carry an item than anything else. Why else would she have room for everything but that leftover kimchi I wanted to bring as a snack? Rubbing her arms to reduce the goosebumps, she turned her face—Arca’s face, one of the few differences between this body and her natural one—toward her friends.

  His long face dolorous, Andy sighed. “Yeah.”

  “People need us,” Wyn admitted. She dug through the magic bag and removed a pair of masks, embroidered gloves, and a set of plum-colored sportswear. After slipping on the gloves, she offered Andy the clothing and a mask.

  Accepting the items, he retreated to the bushes. Mournfulness filled Andy’s voice. “I’m going as fast as I can, but I’m pretty certain I’m getting dressed while standing in a patch of poison ivy.”

  A flash of olive-bronze skin from his direction had Zita averting her eyes, well aware of Andy’s issues with nudity. Prude. A body’s just a body, but if he’s that uncomfortable, I’ll ensure he knows I’m not peeking, though I have to ask… “Does poison ivy still give you rashes? I mean, you’re pretty much immune to everything.”

  “With my luck, it probably still does,” he replied.

  Grabbing the remaining mask from Wyn’s hands and slipping it on over Arca’s pointy ears, Zita said, “Do you have any of those enchanted zip ties, Wyn?”

  “No, we used those all up in New York. By the way, I collected your clothing and put it in my bag.” Wyn tapped an amethyst pentagram pendant hanging from her neck. At the touch, her favored illusion appeared in her stead… a slim, blond woman with the icy, forbidding perfection of a carved goddess, the glittery silver and green dress of a clubgoer, and the amethyst circlet of a princess. She blinked large, purple eyes and slung her purse diagonally across her body. The oversized brown handbag now appeared as a tiny, glittering one, the sort that held an ID, a lipstick, and nothing else of any real use. With a sigh, she tucked her umbrella inside too.

  Rubbing her hands together, Zita thought out loud, rocking on her feet. “So, here’s what we need to do. The cops are holding off the guys with guns pretty well, but they’re losing ground to the metahumans. Andy, you jump over the wall carrying Wyn and set her down somewhere safe. Then you protect her—if you need to, step in to stop Pretorius or Garm from slaughtering anyone or bringing down more electrical lines. They’ve got a guy hanging out in the electrical zone, the one from the video in New York—”

  Her perfect memory no doubt supplying the information, Wyn interrupted. “His name is Zeus.”

  “Sí, that guy. We can’t do much while he’s there, but you throw a tree at him if he acts up, Andy. Wyn, you hang back and take out the shooters by the trucks with that handy sleep spell. Once they’re not outnumbered, the cops can handle dudes with guns better than us and clean up the rest. I’ve got the best chance of sneaking around unnoticed, so I’ll see if I can get the people in the crashed van… and any other civilians stuck in that mess to safety. Once the shooters in the trucks are out or under control, Wyn, use your shield, and I’ll bring whoever I’m rescuing to you so you can heal them. The cops will shoot everything without a badge that moves, so let’s try not to attract attention or approach the prison vans if we can help it. You done yet, Andy?” While she hated every millisecond of delay, Andy’s regular clothes always got shredded when he fought, and he had no way to disguise himself without a mask. Allowing him time to change was a necessity.

  Wyn’s hands fluttered, and a furrow appeared in her brow. “Actually, the shield only works against magic and magical creatures.” The illusion pitched her warm tones higher, changing it to a silvery voice like a chorus of tiny bells.

  That stopped Zita. “What? You mean in New York, you went up against all those people with guns knowing they could…”

  Pale, Wyn nodded. “I had hoped to never repeat the experience.”

  Zita shook her head. “And I’m the one with a death wish?”

  Andy growled from the bushes. “This’d be so much faster if I didn’t have to handle my clothes like cobwebs to avoid tearing them. Super strength was much cooler when I didn’t have it.”

  Another crunch sounded from the other side of the wall, and when Zita glanced that way, a flash of brilliant light caught her eye. “Momentito, what’s that?” She teleported to the top of the wall and crouched there.

  Sirens wailing, two more police cars squeezed up the shoulder from the east, one showing a damaged headlight where it must have clipped another vehicle on the way there.

  A figure emerged from the morass of panicked cars and ran toward the mess. His speed belied by his muscular frame, a man with dark skin and the peculiar grace of a boxer sprinted toward the trucks. Large, wraparound aviator shades and a ball cap hid the upper part of his face, but she recognized his body and the way he moved. Another old friend from quarantine and the cancer ward. We need to get down there. “Jerome’s here.”

  Still struggling in the shrubbery with his clothes, Andy gasped. “Oh, no, he’s going to get killed!”

  Wyn shook her head. “No, his body heals at a remarkable rate. It has to be useful as a private detective.” Unlike Zita, the only indication of her impatience was in the frequent worried glances she gave the concrete structure separating them from the highway.

  With a frown, Zita eyed Wyn. “His power wasn’t our secret to hand out. He must have the same idea we do about helping that we do.” With an impatient grumble, she shoved the long, black strands of Arca’s hair away from her face.

  Her pretty face flushing a rosy color, Wyn winced. “Sorry. I don’t usually keep secrets from you two, and I forgot Andy didn’t know. Why don’t you come down and let me fix your hair for you? Andy’s was braided for work so he won’t need any help.”

  Zita shook her head. “Never mind my hair. Work on getting those shooters to sleep. The faster the bad guys go down, the sooner we can get out of here. Andy, can you stop Pretorius before he kills someone? Ideally, we can keep everyone here alive.”

  Andy’s answer sounded as if it came through gritted teeth. “Doing my best to finish up.”

  From above, a fiery, androgynous figure flew from the direction of DC and hovered in the sky. “Who dares?”

  The shape and belligerent tone were both familiar. Aideen. It must be quarantine reunion week. “This just got way more complicated,” Zita said with a groan.

  Chapter Two

  Zita took a deep breath and considered Wyn, keeping her eyes averted from Andy, even if she was dying to know if he was dressed yet. She hung down from the sound barrier, then dropped the rest of the way, slapping the ground to absorb some of the force as she landed. After springing to her feet, she hurried to Wyn. “If we’re lucky, Jerome and Aideen will tie up Pretorius, Garm, and Sparkypants enough so the cops can take over with just a little nudge from us. Let’s stick to the plan. Andy, concentrate on protecting Wyn. I’ll sneak around and help the crash victims, and we can figure out what to do after that.�
�� She felt someone—probably Wyn—grab her hair and consciously stopped herself from hitting them. “Hey!”

  “Zeus, not Sparkypants. No one will take us seriously if you insist on such atrocious monikers,” Wyn corrected, giving Zita’s hair one last tug. “I put your hair in a ponytail.”

  When Zita opened her mouth to comment on playing hairdresser while people needed their help, a glance at her friend’s drawn face, even illusory, revealed the gentle woman’s distress. Right. She needs reassurance. Messing with my hair is better than tromping through my mind. Well, if it soothes her, I can deal since we’re still waiting on Andy. I promised I’d include them and ask for help when I needed it, and I can’t handle that mess on my own. She tried to moderate the words spilling from her mouth but suspected she sounded unenthused rather than cranky. “Thanks. It’ll come out when I shift, though. If Freelance, Trixie, and the bear guy show up, see if you can get them to help too. Freelance can disarm bombs.”

  “Who?” Andy asked. “While a doctor like Trixie would be handy to have at something like this, why would she come? Then again, why are Jerome and Aideen here?”

  “SWAT Ninja Man is Freelance,” Wyn said. “She renamed the mercenary that only she has seen and swears he shows up at all our biggest fights. Her theory is that he’s on a team with Trixie and a bear shapeshifter.”

  Zita bit her tongue and leashed her annoyance, knowing her friends were equally frustrated to move so slowly toward the fight. I made a promise not to jump in by myself if there was an option, she reminded herself.

  Andy harrumphed. Sarcasm dripped from his tone when he spoke again. “Oh, right. I remember now. The gunshots definitely couldn’t have been the police and SWAT teams doing their jobs. Can we skip pretend time and just get this done?”

  “He’s not imaginary, and they have a way of popping up and interfering with our…” Zita paused, unsure what to call their previous forays into crime-fighting.

  “With our crazed suicidal schemes?” Andy said. He stepped out of his impromptu changing room. An inside-out gray T-shirt hung down over the pseudo-Spandex pants. He handed a pile of clothes and his shoes to Wyn. His mask was already in place.

  Almost simultaneously, Wyn offered, “With our self-destructive and borderline inept antics?” She grabbed the rest of his things and stuffed them into her purse.

  Zita sniffed, then became a gavião-real again and launched herself into the air. Her powerful wings beat hard to bring her above the wall and into stronger air currents. I prefer to think of them as missions. We achieved all our goals except for having Garm and Pretorius arrested.

  Wyn grudgingly agreed. Eventually, yes, but I’m fairly certain most of that was luck.

  What she said, with a plentiful helping of fail along the way, Andy sent. His sullen silence had disappeared, and now he frowned, rubbing his hands on the side of the tight exercise pants. The cold did not seem to bother him, but the highway situation definitely had.

  Hating haters, both of you. Why don’t we focus on getting the party started? Zita checked below as she glided well above the battle.

  As they floated in midair, Aideen and Pretorius traded blasts of orange fire and white light, many of which came perilously close to the cops attempting to direct traffic away. Jerome appeared to be trying to take out some of the men shooting at the cops. The man floating above the live wires, Zeus, continued posturing and shouting into his bullhorn but did nothing directly. Whoever was in the crashed van still had not emerged.

  As Zita drew closer, she could see the lettering on the door of the vehicle. Dial-A-Ride. So probably at least two people inside. Dios, please don’t let us be risking our lives to help corpses. You guys coming?

  Wind brushed her feathers as Andy jumped over the wall and past her, carrying Wyn curled in his arms. After setting her down behind the news van, he sprinted toward Pretorius and Aideen. “Hey! Watch where you’re aiming! You’re going to hurt someone!” he bellowed.

  Zita scowled at his departing back as much as her beak allowed and glanced below. You going to be okay without protection, Wyn? The shiny tinfoil dress makes you hard to miss.

  Wyn peeked around the rear corner of the vehicle, her face lifted toward Zita’s bird form circling overhead. I’ll be fine. They’re moving around a lot, which makes it difficult to target them with sleep spells, but I’ll get as many as I can. Also, if I see a chance to help any of the injured cops, I’m going to take it. Fortunately, so much is going on that I doubt anyone will notice me behind here. Go on, help the accident victims.

  Biting back her protest that Andy should be protecting Wyn, Zita flew to the crash, hoping that whoever was inside still lived. She landed next to it, on the side that shielded her from the battle, and changed to Arca. The ponytail had disappeared with her shift to a bird, and her hair hung like a dark cape behind her. She slid on the mask that had been bouncing around her neck. Even if my natural face resembles someone’s cute mestizo babysitter and Arca’s is more warrior princess, nobody needs any clues to my real identity.

  Inside the old vehicle with a number of dents likely predating this crash, a middle-aged man with a receding hairline stared blearily ahead in the driver’s seat, blood running down one side of his face. Dogs barked their complaints from the depths of the van.

  Poor puppies, Zita thought, setting to work.

  It took a few minutes to retrieve the injured driver, the muscular wheelchair-bound passenger, and his two dogs from the vehicle. The larger dog, a bushy mess resembling seventy pounds of pit bull crossed with a demented wad of moldy cotton candy, turned out to be easier to handle than the dachshund puppy howling in a dented cat carrier.

  As her small group scurried along the road, Zita checked on the others. Wyn, be ready. I’ve got a semi-conscious guy, so I’m guessing he’s real bad.

  Pretorius and Aideen circled each other by the prison transports. The cops and gunmen were in a standoff. Two men slumped by the wheels of the cement truck, though Zita could not tell if they were dead or asleep. Garm, Andy, and Jerome were not visible from her vantage point. Wyn still hid behind the news van, but the glimmer of her friend’s pale hair was visible behind a corner.

  Rancor absent from her tone, Wyn sent a mental impression of being frazzled. Just once I’d like to investigate a loud noise and discover a raucous book club discussion rather than mass combat and bleeding people. I skimmed the minds of the men behind the trucks, and they’re under orders to avoid shooting at or near the news van.

  Perfect place for you and these guys then. Now in gorilla form, Zita carried the injured driver and loped after the passenger and his dogs. With a comfortable ease that suggested long habit, the larger dog jogged alongside his master. The wheelchair-bound man rolled at a steady and impressive speed, despite the need to maneuver around chunks of debris.

  Fire blasted into the pavement between them, so close Zita could feel the heat as it passed.

  It must have upset the animals further because the dachshund launched into another high-pitched round of protests and the big dog raced around its owner in circles, wrapping the leash around the chair. The wheelchair-bound man tried to bring the chair to a stop and managed to keep it from toppling, but the carrier bounced out of his lap and spilled open.

  Only one swear word escaped Zita’s mouth in the form of a hoot before a tiny form bolted from the crate.

  The dachshund puppy looked around, delicate ears and tail lifting, shaking with excitement. He went still as his focus passed over Zita and fixated on something beyond her. His bark grew even shriller as he charged across the highway, eyes plastered on his goal.

  The massive, three-hundred-pound wolf.

  No mames. Zita gaped.

  “Pancho, no!” the man said. He turned his imploring gaze to Zita. “You can’t let the wolf eat him! Here, put that guy in my lap and I’ll move him.” The big dog hid behind him, his ratty tail tucked between his fluffy legs.

  Zita wanted to protest that the paraplegic wouldn’
t be able to make it to the van with the injured man but reconsidered. His upper body development is really awesome. I bet his pecs can dance even if his legs don’t anymore. Changing back to Arca, she pulled the mask over her face and arranged the still-unconscious driver in the guy’s lap. Without having to think about it, she slipped into a fake Mexican accent, a habit that was both comfort and camouflage. “Make for the news van. Don’t lose the other dog.” She raced after the puppy.

  Somehow hearing the demented barking despite all the shooting, crunching, crackling, and screaming, Garm turned his huge, shaggy head toward the attacking puppy. His tongue fell from his mouth, and he snickered.

  About twenty feet from the wolf, the dachshund skidded to a stop and stared, a growl reverberating through him, making his small form quake.

  The laughter stopped. Garm’s eyes narrowed, and he glared back.

  In her best Cesar Millan voice, Zita said, “Pancho, come!”

  Instead, the puppy did a remarkable imitation of an animal with rabies, all without letting his eyes stray from Garm or making any indication he had heard her.

  “¿Neta? He’s getting into a pissing match with a baby wiener dog? Once again, I have to ask what is wrong with you people?” Zita complained as she ran, keeping an eye on the ground to avoid injuring her bare feet. Years of climbing and aerial acrobatics had toughened them… but still. The hair on the back of her neck lifted, and her instincts wailed. She hurled herself to the side, rolling.

  A massive crash sounded, and the air sizzled. Scorch marks marred the pavement where she had stood.

  Zita tasted ozone and searched for the source. The lightning guy drifted in the air, his attention on her and the dog. Andy, Zeus hates dogs and awesomely fun people. Can you get him off my back so I can rescue the stupid puppy?

  Seriously, Z, Superman and Batman never have to chase down dachshunds. How could it outrun you with those stumpy little legs, anyway? His tone was distracted.