by Karen Diem
He said nothing aloud. I really need to think of a good name. We need to get out of here.
Sure, if you use your bird form, they won’t see where we go, since you always like to detour past Arizona. Zita nodded at the approaching police. “Incoming cops. Vámonos, amigos. Anyone who needs a lift, come with us.”
Folding his arms across his chest, Andy said, “I’m not shifting. If you want me to carry you when I jump, let me know.” His voice was unexpectedly lower and raspier than normal.
Did you suddenly come down with a head cold? Zita wondered.
The tips of Andy’s ears burned red. It’s a standard way to disguise your voice. Classic superhero move.
Zita tried to keep the dubious tone out of her mental voice, but some leaked through. If you say so.
Jerome laughed, sprinted south across the highway to the sound barrier wall, and did an impressive leap, even if it wasn’t as high or far as the ones Andy could do. He caught the top of the wall and pulled himself up with one arm. Once there, Jerome raised his hands, folded them into finger guns, and pretended to shoot them at Andy, Wyn, and Zita. Despite the distance, his grin was visible before he dropped on the other side.
The incoming police sped up.
Wyn pursed her lips. “I could use a ride.”
Andy gave a brusque nod. “I’ll assume you’re good, Arca. Hang on, uh, Muse.” He grabbed Wyn around the waist, bent his legs, and leapt away to the south, though at a different angle from where Jerome had gone.
The remaining cops barreled toward Zita.
Shaking her head, she stared at her retreating friends. “Sure, leave the shapeshifter behind.” She switched to a golden eagle and jumped up as far as possible, flapping hard to gain altitude.
Irate shouting from the ground followed her as she circled higher and surveyed below, not all of the voices directed at her. The older cop had plenty to say, his body language screaming annoyance, to the two young policemen who had let Wyn and Jerome talk to the reporter uninterrupted.
New vehicles arrived every second, releasing angry, focused crews of cops, forensic technicians, and medical personnel. The cops swarmed everywhere like an agitated hive of bees, guns in ready positions, with what Zita assumed were technicians following more meekly behind and wielding weapons of science. Uniforms directed the traffic with tidy and brutal efficiency. The men that Zeus had abandoned were all being loaded into police vans or ambulances, save for those who had the creepy boneless sprawl of the truly dead.
She tried not to scrutinize those closely as her stomach lurched.
With an unhappy expression on her face, the young reporter spoke to a policeman. When Zita spotted the cameraman—sans his equipment—being questioned to the side, she knew why the newswoman was upset. EMTs scurried from one victim to another, barking out commands, though she suspected her friends had already healed the worst injuries of the survivors. The man with his dogs and Wyn’s electrician admirer must have been hustled into a vehicle and taken elsewhere.
A mile away, Zita spotted Andy’s form leap over the highway, heading north and toward Wyn’s car. I’ll give them a few minutes to walk there. It’s warmer as a bird than as a human, so I’ll just keep an eye on things up here. The cops don’t appear to be able to follow him fast enough.
Another few loops over the area revealed little else. The police continued bringing everything into order, only to have it descend into chaos again when a fleet of unmarked American cars and vans arrived and disgorged men in suits, doubtless waving a mess of acronyms and badges. Two electric company trucks sidled past the fried one and parked by a standing pole, well out of reach of the snapping, snarling electricity by the live wires.
Zita? Are you coming? We’re hiding in the children’s jungle gym in that little park. Wyn’s mental voice broke into her thoughts.
She blinked. Isn’t your car right there?
Andy sent, Just hurry.
Are you both okay? Zita angled her wings to approach obliquely, hoping she was not being tracked.
Wyn’s mental voice held soothing tones. We’re fine. A police cruiser passed by and we hid. Would you mind scouting to ensure the authorities have left the immediate area? And to ensure we do not have witnesses for our run to the car? Visibility is limited in here.
So is the space. Andy seemed grim.
If her current form had possessed eyebrows, Zita would have raised them. No hay bronca, I’ll check.
The constant snap and crackle of the sparking electrical lines below suddenly stopped, and after a second of stunned silence, a small cheer sounded from those assembled.
Gliding up into the clouds, Zita shifted to a grackle. Once she’d circled around to the right block, she zoomed at top speed through it from a lower elevation. If some part of her gloried in the flight while she checked for surveillance, she did her best not to let it leak into the shared telepathic link. Who would be watching? It’s the middle of the day. Stay-at-home moms will be feeding their kids, and retired folks should be watching their telenovelas, so maybe just people working from home or hired to be outside?
She landed in a trio of shrubs to return to her own form. As she emerged, she brushed twigs and drops of water off her exercise wear. The fight seemed so much longer. “Clear,” she said. “No cops, dog walkers, or landscapers that I could see.”
Andy shot out from the children’s fort as if fired from a cannon. Wyn unfolded herself more gracefully. “Not the best hiding place I’ve ever used,” she mused.
Zita scanned them both and saw no obvious injuries. Her shoulders loosened as tension dissipated. “Better than nothing.”
After a few steps, Andy paused and blinked at Zita. “Wow. I didn’t see that under your hood earlier. You dyed your hair but didn’t get it cut at the same time?”
Wyn rolled her eyes. “It’s Zita.”
Zita frowned at them. “Why pay to get it cut when I’ve got perfectly good scissors at home?” She ran her fingers through her short hair. It no longer felt like hamster fur but was too short to tangle much and rarely required more than a finger combing. She brightened as she continued. “It doesn’t need cutting since it’s not in my eyes yet, and I didn’t dye it. I’m using it to practice shifting just one part of my body since changing my fingerprints is boring, though I got that one down. It’s fun, isn’t it? I can also give myself temporary tattoos, but I still have to use a mirror for those.”
Andy grimaced. “I don’t know why I asked. Really, I should know better by now. It’s… ah… bright, and I like how you put all the colors in correct rainbow order.”
“That was the goal,” Zita said.
Wyn shrugged and repeated herself. “It’s Zita.”
As he reclaimed his poncho and slipped it on over his shoulders, Andy nodded to Wyn. The transparent plastic did not hide the tattered remains of his shirt or the smooth expanse of skin and lean muscles beneath. “Definitely.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Zita said, rolling her eyes.
Andy studied the ground, his face closing, and his hands diving into his pockets. “It’s very you, Z. I need to get going…”
Zita took a deep breath. She’d seen that expression on Quentin’s face right before he said something stupid. Wyn’s been pushing me to speak to Andy. What did she say I should do? Subtly encourage him to talk to us and remind him that we care. Words tumbled out of her mouth, and she had a sinking feeling, even before she finished speaking, that they were the wrong ones. “Come on, Andy, put on your big boy panties and cheer up. Have lunch with us. We’re all worried about you. Pues, if you had any other friends, they’d be worried too.”
“I have plenty of friends! Lots of friends! I’m like the social butterfly of physics!” His hands sailed from his pockets and settled on his hips.
Wyn buried her face in her hands. “And here I thought you were doing so well at learning diplomacy, Zita.”
“If you had any other real friends, they’d be here trying to cheer you up
too. Or get Wyn’s phone number. When we hang out, a lot of guys approach me to try to do that. I don’t mind too much. At least it weeds them out early on because anyone who’s interested in her won’t be happy with me,” Zita said.
Andy winced. “Harsh, Z.”
Rubbing the top of her head, Zita tried to fix the damage. “Oye, did I hurt your feelings? I didn’t mean to be sensitive.”
He stared at her, tilting his head. “Clearly not.”
Wyn’s mouth gaped open.
Zita realized what she said. “Insensitive, not sensitive. Sorry. Wyn said you were having a rough time, and I should be helpful and uplifting and supportive and all. Is it working?”
With a sidelong glance at the woman in question, Andy replied, “Wyn talks too much.”
“Exactly. Not like me. I’m silent. Except when I have something to say. Like when there’s free food or you should feel better. Seriously, mano, didn’t mean to hurt your tender man-feelings.” Zita gestured to underscore her words as if that would stop her from making a greater mess than she already had.
Andy sighed. “Fine. Lame apology accepted. Please help me less.”
Wyn closed her eyes and shook her head. “Zita, you need to hush up now. I am a terrible teacher. Sorry, Andy.”
He shook his head. “It probably has a lot to do with your student, Wyn.” Switching his attention back to Zita, Andy touched her shoulder. “Can you get her to her car from here?”
She gestured toward the little blue hybrid vehicle parked at the curb. “Yes, it’s right there, but—”
Before she could finish speaking, Andy crouched and jumped away, his prodigious strength carrying him well over the rooftops of the nearest homes.
Gesturing after him, Zita glared in the direction he had gone. “Did he just ditch us again? That’s totally cheating.” From somewhere in the distance, she heard a thunderclap, resembling a sudden storm or a certain giant bird’s wings.
Wyn pursed her lips. “Yes, yes, he did.”
“He’s a cheating cheater.” As the remaining dregs of Zita’s adrenaline faded, weariness set in, and she became suddenly conscious of wearing a tank top and exercise shorts in the cold. At least the rain’s stopped. She shivered. “Fine, you were right. It’s time to intervene, and we can do it your way.”
With a triumphant smile, Wyn pressed the key to unlock her car and the blessed warmth within.
Chapter Five
Teleporting home after a subdued lunch at Wyn’s house, Zita turned on her phone and tossed it on her bed with her clothes. It began a mad cacophony of buzzing and vibrating. She stared at the usually silent device. When she flipped it open and checked the missed list, she noted all the calls (and texts and voicemails) were from the same three people: her mother and her two brothers. Her stomach clenched. Which one of them is hurt?
As she picked it up to dial her mother, it rang again. Miguel. “¿Qué pedo?” she said.
“Zita! Where have you been? Why haven’t you been answering your phone? You should have it with you at all times!” Her oldest brother almost shouted.
Ordinarily, I have to do more than answer the phone to get him upset. After kicking off her shoes, she sat. “I see your point. Why would I ever delay you yelling at me when I learn so much from these talks? Not that it’s any of your business, but I was at lunch with friends. Why is everyone lighting up my phone? Is someone hurt?”
Miguel inhaled, and when he spoke again, his voice was tight and controlled. “Everyone’s fine. We got some very interesting news we really need to talk to you about.”
A lump formed in her throat, and she stared at her sneakers. Do they know? Did they guess I’m Arca despite my precautions? Should I grab my go bag and disappear? Will that be enough to keep them safe? My powers are awesome, but I can’t protect my family all the time, so if my secret’s out… Janus’ miserable face swam to the forefront of her mind, and she shuddered. Trying to keep her tone light, she said, “Oh? What’s that? My brothers are gonna stop setting me up on blind dates so I can run my own love life?” Belatedly, she realized she had slipped into the Spanglish of their childhood.
Miguel switched over to the same language without comment. “Don’t be ridiculous. In fact, I had someone lined up for you, but I’ll put that on hold. No, this is serious.”
Zita swore internally and reached for her shoes. They know. “So, you going to keep me in suspense or what? Did they nominate Mamá for sainthood despite her still being alive?”
“They should, if only for all those years dealing with you.” Miguel’s tone was dry.
“I know, right?” After a second, she caught the insult. “Wait, you mean all those years handling Quentin. That man is trouble. I am an angel, an angel of awesomeness.” Papers rustled wherever Miguel was. Probably at work. I swear he loves his job the way I love exercise.
He switched to English as if the formality would make her take him more seriously. “Our brother makes terrible life choices, but he has nothing on you. Listen, don’t be frightened, but Tracy Jones, or Sobek as he calls himself, has escaped. You need to get to safety. I want you to lock all your doors and windows, get that Taser I gave you last year for your birthday, and wait for Quentin to get there.”
Her body relaxed, and she flexed her shoulders as relief ran riot through her. She let her shoe drop to the floor. “Oh, is that all?”
“A serial killer with a vendetta against our family escapes and you’re all no hay bronca… I need a minute.” Over the line, she heard Miguel’s breath evening out, falling into a regular pattern.
She waited, wondering if he still counted backward in English to calm himself.
The phone clicked when he picked it back up. “I’ve almost finished up work for the day. Quentin will stay with you until I can get there. After that, we’ll move you to Mamá’s so you can be safe. Expect me in about four or five hours.”
She switched to English as well. “Oye, no way. Are you forgetting who got away last time?” And escaped from your men when you tried to pen me up in your office?
The tone of his voice brooked no argument, not that that had ever stopped her before. “You were very lucky, Zita. You know what Mamá says. Luck runs out, so you always have to be prepared.” Paper rustled louder as if he could not stop himself from shaking his files at the phone.
“Sí, and she also didn’t raise no shrinking violins. At least, I’m not one. Jury’s still out on you and Quentin, though. There’s got to be a reason neither of you have given her those grandkids she’s been wanting yet.” Zita sometimes had the sacrilegious thought that she’d be able to bring him back from death someday simply by saying something wrong in the vicinity of his dead body. Knowing her brother had never been able to resist correcting her, she grinned and waited.
He huffed and fell for it. “Violets, not violins. Be serious for once in your life. Just let us hide you. It’s not like you have anything else planned.”
Zita made a rude noise. “If I had plans, I certainly wouldn’t tell you now. Is Quentin going to hide?”
Miguel cleared his throat. “He said he can’t, yet. Apparently, two of his men are expectant fathers, and he doesn’t want to leave them in the lurch.”
Given the way Quentin’s been neglecting his bookkeeping the past few months, that excuse will hold him forever. Then again, I’ve been going in weekly to keep his books up-to-date, so maybe not that long. She fluffed a pillow and squared the corner of the bedspread. “Really? I’ll find out which two and when they’re due. I can freeze them some enfrijoladas, and maybe find the babies some sneakers at the thrift shop, too.” It’s never too early for athletic shoes, right?
“That sounds good. You think a red sauce or…” His voice hardened. “Enough. The babies won’t be around for a while yet, and we have to keep you safe. Jones may be on the run, but I suspect he has accounts we—the government, that is—never found from his various criminal enterprises. Between that and his contacts, he’ll have resources. We should move
you to Mamá’s for safety. If you won’t go there, don’t you have some menial job in Brazil or South America where you could hide and squander your talents for a while?”
Neither one of them had to say what would happen if someone attacked her while she was with their mother. Nothing fazed Mamá, and nobody threatened her babies. Nobody. In fact, Zita suspected she had survived cancer due to the sacred trinity of her mother’s prayers, her mother’s enchiladas, and sheer combined Garcia willpower. “I like how you slipped in that criticism of my lifestyle there. Totally smooth and supportive, mano. Look, I have things I have to get done, like getting a paycheck before I lose my home. You already floated me a month or two on rent, but you still need the mortgage paid on this place. Being stuck in quarantine for all those months did a number on my bank account. I didn’t even get any cool powers like others that got the sleeping sickness. Did they ever figure out what was up with that?” Her throat burned with acid at the lie, but it was for his own good. What he doesn’t know can’t hurt his career or our relationship.
“I’m an investigator, not a scientist, so how would I know? Life is much easier for all of us that you don’t have any powers,” Miguel said. “Don’t try to distract me. You need to get somewhere more secure.”
Quentin’s staying here. He’s much safer if I’m around. Zita paced back and forth in the small space of her bedroom. “Tell you what, if we see any signs of him sniffing around, I’ll go underground like I did before. I got a job offer in Brazil I could take, but I was planning to stay up here this winter and earn better money. You hurry and catch him.”
“I’m off his case, remember?”
She padded down the hall to her exercise room and contemplated the equipment, mentally working out what routine she’d follow after this call. Wrinkling her nose at her own smell, she corrected that to after the call and a shower to sluice off the worst of the battle debris. During lunch, Wyn had made her sit on towels like a toddler with spotty toilet training. “Like you’ll keep your nose out of it. You know you ask about the progress every time you walk by whoever’s got the case.”