Power: Arca Book 3

by Karen Diem

  Zita growled, but neither canine spared her a glance. Hello, I’m trying not to be hit by lightning. Weren’t you supposed to handle this guy?

  Exasperation sang over the party line as Andy replied. I’m on my way. A double-length, completely full car carrier hit a cement barrier and blocked the turnaround everyone stuck in traffic was using. I had to lift it and the divider out of the way and set it down without hurting the driver or the stupid Mercedes that tried to squeeze by while I was doing so.

  “You have a job, Garm. Go do it,” Zeus commanded, drifting back toward the live wires and lifting a hand snapping with lightning.

  From the corner of her eyes, Zita saw the police still by the prison vans preparing to run toward the tree line, probably for the cover it offered as the only alternative was filled with electricity. They need a distraction, and I can’t let him kill that dog. “Stop!” Zita yelled, bounding up and waving her arms. “Don’t shoot the puppy. You can keep trying to kill me, but the animal’s not involved. He’s just… idiotic.”

  Garm snarled at the dachshund and lunged and snapped at it.

  With a yelp, the young animal ran back to the other side of the highway.

  The oversized wolf smirked.

  Words popped out despite Zita’s best intentions. “Ooh, you’re big dogs now. You scared the puppy. What’s next, stealing candy from babies?” She prepared to move, sensing she would pay for her comments soon. Andy?

  Although he remained near the edge of the fallen wires, Zeus floated close enough to scowl at Zita. “Does she always talk this much?”

  “Unfortunately,” Garm said, his mouth curling into a snarl.

  “Oye, I still kicked your behind at the museum, Garm,” Zita shot back.

  Andy’s mental voice was stressed. Can you hold them one more minute, Zita? Keep yourself safe, but Aideen’s down, hurt, and Pretorius is gunning for the guards by the transport vans.

  Zeus snickered.

  His ruff rising, Garm growled and took a step closer.

  Zita waved a hand in dismissal, forcing her body to remain in a casual pose. “What? I’m just keeping it real. You had to be saved by your portal boy, Janus.” Yeah, I got this. Somehow.

  Light shot from the electrical zone and gathered in Zeus’ hand. “Well, then, I’ll have to put an end to this, won’t I? This mouthy weakling isn’t worth the time you’re wasting on her, Garm. Shoo. Go do your job.”

  Zita backed up a few steps and prepared to shift. “And me without my lightning rod.” With relief, she saw the police staging themselves behind trees at angles that would better let them fire on the attackers.

  Garm growled. “Let me get farther away so you don’t hit me too.” Bottles clinked on his back. “Or Halja’s things.”

  At that, Zeus glanced at the massive wolf and nodded. He might have drifted a few feet upward with the gesture.

  While Zeus was distracted, Zita changed to a golden eagle and rocketed upward.

  A crack sounded, and a purple and gray-clad form hurtled by, crashing into the overpass, then dropping right into the electrical field of the broken poles.

  Andy! Zita shouted mentally, her heart stuttering with fear.

  Descending to drift a few inches above the asphalt, Zeus smirked. “One down.”

  “Actually,” Garm said and jerked his nose toward the sparking lines. “Look.”

  Andy had rolled to a stop and stood, tripping over one of the live wires. Chunks of cement tumbled from the overpass and bounced off his head. Electricity traced his form and hissed and fizzled around him. He stomped back the direction he had come, each step bringing with it another cavalcade of crackling sparks. His shirt hung in tatters. Mentally, he complained, though he remained silent out loud. I really don’t like that Pretorius. He cheats.

  Mano, I’m just glad you’re okay. And yes, he’s a real piece of work, Zita sent, winging higher.

  Thank the Goddess you’re uninjured, Wyn added.

  Andy plucked a rock from his hair and dropped it. Weirdly, the electricity feels kinda like a light massage. Kind of pleasant, except for the noise.

  Let’s save massages for personal time and commence with the butt-kicking. Though you’ll be happy to know your mask and pants survived this one, even if your shirt didn’t. Zita circled, keeping a wary eye on Zeus and Garm below.

  His expression unhappy, Andy patted his chest and tried to brush dust off the seat of his pants. I liked that shirt.

  During the distraction, the dachshund had regained his courage and now charged Zeus, barking madly.

  Zita dropped down, becoming a greyhound and hitting the ground at a run. After seizing the little dog by the scruff of his neck, she altered direction to aim herself at the news van.

  The puppy yipped.

  Zita had gotten up to speed within three strides and blasted by Garm, there and gone before he could even bite at her. She had crossed between the cement barriers when a flash of light and a prickling snap announced Zeus’ failed attempt to strike her.

  Despite the zig-zagging course necessary to avoid crossing the intermittent gunfire between the cops and the men behind the truck, she arrived at the news van unscathed. Zita checked over her shoulder for Garm as she spat out the wiener dog and shapeshifted to Arca. Before the puppy could run off again, she grabbed him and scanned the area for a safe place to corral him. His owner cheered from his chair. The other dog barked, and the driver squinted at her from where he sat next to Wyn.

  “Somebody grab this,” Zita said, holding out the squirming dog. She held it out toward the open window where a camera stared back. “Preventing them from killing the puppy is more important than filming us so put the microphone down and help.”

  Inside the news van, a pretty reporter squeezed into the front seat. “What are you doing? Why are you here?”

  “Can’t you just hold this chingado dog? Why am I here? We’re here to fucking help. Duh.” Zita shoved the puppy through the open window in the gap between the inquisitive nose of the camera and the reporter.

  Chapter Three

  Dogs and human civilians finally safe, Zita changed form to a golden eagle and flew up high enough to get a good vantage point. Andy and Zeus fought each other near the downed electrical poles, lightning crackling harmlessly over her friend as he jumped up, trying to punch the flying man. Still blazing, Aideen staggered, her arm across her ribs, and limped toward Jerome, who stood guard over the news van with a pair of gunmen at his feet. Wyn and the rescued men were not visible from her position though shrill barking issued from where she’d left them.

  In front of the prison transports, Garm paced. Pretorius slowly descended as if riding an invisible elevator. As he approached the driver’s door of one, he held out a hand, and the light of his laser—plasma, Andy had said it was plasma—filled it. He yanked the door open, glowing hand raised as if to shoot.

  A body tumbled out, part of the head missing, covered in blood with globs of flesh that Zita’s mind declined to examine any closer. Nausea swept through her, and she suppressed it. No time for that.

  Pretorius kicked it aside and leaned in. Normally, Zita appreciated a fit man being active and bending over when she had a good view, but the mangled corpse and the knowledge that the big South African mercenary had been involved in her brother’s kidnapping and torture ruined it.

  Garm followed to stand at his back, scanning the area. His black ruff rose, and his nose lifted to where she circled above. Tilting his head at the van, he growled something.

  When Pretorius emerged, a large key ring dangled from his fingers. He aimed a dongle hanging from it at the vehicle and pressed a button.

  The prison van beeped, and the headlights flashed.

  I guess that’s one way to break into an armored transport, Zita thought, swooping closer.

  Pretorius approached the rear of the prison vehicle and tugged at the doors.

  Garm loped behind, his ears perked forward, tail up, and panting.

  The van doors r
emained shut. Almost idly, Pretorius waved his glowing hand at a cluster of officers, sending a ball of light at them. Turning away, he began trying keys in the lock.

  Zita couldn’t tell if the blast had hit anyone or not, but it took down at least one tree, answering how they had managed to fell the electrical poles. Too many and too well armed for me to fly down and fight directly, but they still outnumber the cops, so I have to do something. Hope cop reinforcements make it through that traffic soon.

  A key must have worked because Pretorius threw open both the outer and inner doors and stepped aside.

  Someone fired from inside.

  Garm bared his teeth, his ears flat against his head and his tail drawn down to stand straight out. He moved to attack whoever was in the van.

  Zita dove, shifting to a giant armadillo in midair and curling into a tight ball.

  Caught in mid-leap, Garm stumbled to the side when all eighty pounds of Zita hit him at speed.

  She ricocheted off and rolled to her feet, protected by the armor-like scutes of her armadillo body. After swiping at the wolf with her huge, sickle-shaped front claws, she charged Pretorius’ legs. I don’t have the power to take Garm and Pretorius in close quarters, especially at the same time, but I can at least give the guards inside a chance if I distract the bad guys.

  Pretorius danced aside and shot at her.

  She rolled out of the way.

  Garm yelped and skidded to a halt to avoid being hit. “Watch it,” he growled, leaving his satchel on the ground behind a wheel.

  Someone cried out from inside the transport, and a moment later, a handful of men straggled out, all big, burly, and wearing heavy-duty shackles. They grinned evilly as they greeted Pretorius.

  “Anyone who wants employment, come with me. Otherwise, get lost,” Pretorius said. “Bonus for the person who kills the shapeshifter.”

  The escapees started scouring the ground for weapons, hampered by their manacles.

  Praying none of them had found guns yet, Zita became a hippo and lunged at the whole group, bellowing.

  They scattered, except for Garm.

  “Get the other van open!” The wolf charged her, snarling and showing his teeth.

  Zita closed her mouth and took a couple steps toward him. When Garm reached her, she lowered her head and used it to throw him aside. As she turned around to give a warning snuffle to an escapee going after a gun, two more men emerged from the transport.

  The first man reeled out as if he was on a multi-day drunken bender. His head hung low, his face hidden by disordered bushy brown hair. He only made it as far as the highway shoulder where he slumped down as if his strings had been cut. Oblivious to the surrounding chaos or his proximity to the firefight, he methodically removed his shoes and socks, discarding them next to him. His apparent apathy ended when a stray shot winged his arm. With a squeak, he raised his head and bared his teeth, chattering them rapidly.

  Caramba. The last thing this fight needs is the Squirrel King ordering a million fat suburban squirrels to rip people to shreds. Zita was distracted from that discovery by the even more unpleasant recognition of the final man to exit, one she’d hoped to never see free again after his kidnapping and torture of her brother. All this for that psychopath? She indulged in a deluge of mental swearing. Externally, she made a series of lame snorting sounds.

  A standard-issue jumpsuit stretched to cover Sobek’s long, bulky torso, then fell, baggy and loose, making his stubby legs seem shorter, despite the fact that he stood almost as tall as his former employee, Pretorius. Dark hair shadowed his once-shaved head like a fallen and blackened halo. The stocky man had lost none of the homicidal swagger he’d exhibited when holding Quentin captive and gloating over his tortured victims. He held out both manacled hands, expectantly.

  The big blond mercenary shrugged, murmured something, and headed toward the other transport.

  His tone distracted, Andy asked, Is there a reason for the flood of profanity, Zita? I’m trying to keep Zeus from throwing lightning at cops and traffic here.

  Zita reined herself in. Sorry, didn’t mean to leak that. They’re releasing supers we caught previously. Sobek and Squirrel King are out, plus a bunch of other dudes.

  When Pretorius turned away, surprise flashed on Sobek’s reptilian face. “Don’t ignore me,” he shrieked. “It’s not my fault!” When he caught sight of Zita, he went white, then red. His fists clenched.

  Zita flashed him a hippo smile even if she felt more like stomping on him. Her instincts screamed. Having learned the hard way not to ignore that warning, she shifted to a gavião-real again to take advantage of the eagle’s maneuverability and spun away in time to avoid a bullet.

  An escapee ran after her, shooting wildly.

  Pretorius called over his shoulder as he withdrew a key ring. “Prove your worth, and maybe they’ll reconsider, no matter how Gaia feels about you. Bring either a great deal of money or something valuable to them. I’d suggest both.”

  As she wove in and out of the area of the transports, Zita kept an eye out for a good spot to sneak up on her attacker from behind and disable him. The rest of her attention went to keeping up with other action in the area; she didn’t need to escape one assailant only to be shot by another.

  Most of the escapees, Sobek among them, had regrouped in the tight space between the two transport vans, peering around the edges to take potshots at the police with a variety of found weapons.

  Garm’s injuries had already healed, and he waited at the door of the second van, snapping at Zita once when she flew too close. He pawed at the closed vehicle. “Pretorius.”

  “One moment, Garm,” Pretorius said. He continued trying keys in the lock.

  Zita landed beside an abandoned police escort, changed to a feral pig, and waited.

  Her stalker came around the corner of the car.

  She charged him, sending the man skidding in one direction and his gun in another. Grunting, she shoved his weapon under the car with her nose.

  After dropping to the ground, he fished under the vehicle for the firearm.

  With an internal wince, she stepped on his arm and put weight on it until it gave way beneath her.

  The guy curled up, screaming.

  While she’d been distracted, Pretorius had opened the doors of the second van.

  Trying not to think about the arm she’d just broken, Zita charged Garm and Pretorius, running over the wolf and sending the man flying into the side of the other transport.

  Three women in prisoner’s garb ran from the transport, blinking in the sunlight, seeming to all choose different directions.

  “Bloody pest.” Pretorius got back up, a light growing in his hand.

  Garm lunged at Zita, but she darted to the side, shifting to a dachshund and skittering under the transport.

  The scent of burnt fur filled the air as Garm tried to twist out of the way of the plasma and mostly succeeded, except for his tail. He yipped. “Mind the potions!”

  Pretorius snarled. “Why is the shapeshifter still alive? Kill her.”

  A piercing shriek came from the edge of the road. “I come, my people!” The Squirrel King bent at the knees and gave a prodigious, wobbly jump away from the cops. Since he remained shackled, he stumbled when he landed but leapt again and again until he was lost from sight.

  Breaking from the crowd behind the one transport, Sobek followed suit, using his own strength to propel him quickly down the gravel shoulder in the opposite direction.

  Zita started to follow Sobek, the need to protect her family howling within her.

  Before she could act, Tiffany careened out of the transport. Her jumpsuit overwhelmed her skeletal frame, though she more than had the height for it. Dark roots showed at the base of her bleached hair. Rubbing a hand over her face, she squinted, taking in the chaotic battle going on around them with dull eyes. The evil sorceress began to fall.

  Garm limped over and inserted himself between Tiffany and the ground, so she collap
sed onto his midnight fur instead.

  Drugged, maybe? Zita thought. I guess they can’t keep her blindfolded, tied, and gagged constantly. She’s a bigger threat than any of the others and probably why they’re doing this. I can’t let her get away too. Still, I don’t want Sobek anywhere near my brother again.

  Garm half-carried Tiffany to a spot by the tires, using the bulk of the armored vehicle to protect her from the exchange of gunfire between the escaped prisoners and the police. He nuzzled her, leaving red smears on her clothing.

  Tiffany stroked Garm’s fur. “My love,” she croaked.

  “You. Guard her,” Garm ordered an escapee, one with a shotgun. The wolf shapeshifter retrieved the leather satchel he’d dumped off earlier, dropped it beside Tiffany, and gave her hand a lick. He then tore off across the road toward Jerome, who was headed their direction cracking his knuckles.

  Tiffany, wearing a dopey expression, snuggled her bag.

  Light glowing in one hand, Pretorius bent down to check under the van.

  A shrill shriek echoed over the highway, and a fireball exploded nearby, so close that heat washed over Zita’s fur and the stench of blistering rubber filled the air. Although Pretorius dodged, his clothing got scorched. Backing up, he abandoned Zita to lob his next attack at Aideen. The big man pointed to the escapee guarding Tiffany and said, “Shoot the pest before she goes down another rathole.”

  If her bag has that magic napalm she used before, I can’t let her start throwing it around. This place has no way to smother that awful stuff. Dios, keep my brother safe. Please let Sobek have forgotten his grudge against my family; I can’t go after him right now. Zita growled.

  Tiffany’s guard bent down to aim his shotgun under the van at her.

  Since he was by the front passenger side, Zita scurried out the rear and hid behind the tire.

  He swore and moved to follow her.

  Tracking his feet under the van, she ran back under the vehicle as soon as he got close. She snuck up behind him and bit his ankle.

  Her opponent, surprisingly smart enough not to shoot himself trying to get her, shouted and lifted a foot to stomp on her dachshund form.