Power: Arca Book 3

by Karen Diem

  Andy sailed down and landed with a loud thump nearby, knees bent. He straightened and turned to face them.

  Zita winced. Not exactly subtle. “Are you okay?” She scurried over to Wyn, avoiding the lit areas.

  Wyn hissed through her teeth, and tears glittered in her eyes. “No, I injured my wrist. I need to heal it if I can, but I’ve never cast one-handed…”

  Taking most of the taller woman’s weight on herself, Zita hauled her out of the spotlight and into the deeper shadows of a large potted plant nearby. A tiny glint winked at her from the foliage. I swear he’s added cameras in the topiary animals over there since the last time I was here in August. “You’ll broaden your magicky experience then. Here. Hide behind this pig bush with the tuning fork on its head and try.”

  “I think that’s supposed to be Lockjaw. He’s a mutant-ish dog,” Andy whispered.

  Zita glanced at the shrub in question and shrugged. If you want to name a pig bush and claim it’s a dog, whatever.

  Andy darted across the lawn and behind another plant, as the topiaries anchored in substantial stone pots provided the only real cover available. The three huddled in the meager shadows, waiting for the lights to go off and Wyn to finish healing. While Zita’s small size and dark clothing allowed her to hide fairly well, Andy was a miserable hunched mass.

  Wyn curled up on the ground, trying to shield the gentle green glow of her healing spell as she repaired the damage to her arm. Her silvery hair reflected the light, and her dress sparkled. When she finished, she rose and stared at the house. The lights stayed on.

  “I still can’t believe you didn’t want to change up your illusion,” Zita whispered. “It’s fortunate your part of the plan doesn’t call for hiding. Shouldn’t you be wafting up his steps and turning on the charm instead of giving away our location?”

  Wyn’s pensive expression was replaced with amusement. Her friend chuckled, the sound like bells ringing rather than her natural warm tones. Silver-blond hair shifted as her head tilted, and her impractical dress fluttered, seeming as if it was one breath away from floating off in the breeze. Her body was the same as usual, but her face was a perfect, symmetrical work of art, highlighted by deep purple eyes and a matching stone in the coronet. She glanced at the house and back again. The chiming voice that accompanied the rest of the illusion said, “The spell is anchored in my necklace and can’t be altered without substantial effort. I can’t believe you two dressed like that.”

  Andy exchanged puzzled glances with Zita. He wore black sweatpants and a dark, inside-out T-shirt. A domino mask hid half his face, stark white against his warm skin even in the poor light.

  In addition to a matching mask, Zita sported a cranberry, orange, and lime-green plaid flannel shirt and her favorite dark purple sweatpants over the special exercise gear. “Like what?”

  “I look fine. All creepy trespassers are wearing this style, and you know there’s no help for her wardrobe,” Andy murmured, tilting his head toward Zita.

  Wyn waved a hand. “I don’t expect her to understand, but I thought better of you.”

  “Why are we standing around?” Zita hissed. We’re in his yard, and we’ll be late if you insist on continuing to talk clothes.

  Wyn put a hand on Zita’s arm. “Relax.”

  Zita tried to moderate her tone, but impatience and concern made her words tumble out like clowns from a circus car. “All you have to do is talk to him and get the info. Jerome’s cool, so you have nothing to be afraid of. We have places to go and things to do. Let’s get it over with, and you can alert us via party line if anything comes up.”

  Wyn nodded. “I suppose.” Her eyes dipped down, and she turned toward the house.

  The outline of a burly man stood behind the sliding glass doors, gazing into the darkness. As he unlocked and opened it, silver glinted in his hand. “Oh, look who it is! And you want a favor?” Jerome said, his voice jovial. “Why, it’s the people who couldn’t be bothered to bring me in on the action in New York.”

  Zita twitched. “We didn’t know you wanted in,” she called back.

  “Well, you need to rethink things. Come on inside.” Jerome tapped a saber on paving stones. “Most use the front door, especially when they’ve been invited to visit. I’m curious to hear what you think you’re going to accomplish skulking around in my flowerbeds and making my gardener cry by stomping his favorites. Mind you don’t step in the pond or unplug the cord.”

  Zita stepped out from behind the topiary and shrugged, lowering her voice. “You’re the one who told us to be discreet when I called.”

  He stopped, put his hands on his hips, and stared at her. “Breaking in is not discreet.”

  “We didn’t break in. We used the back way,” she countered.

  “My place doesn’t have a back way.”

  As she strolled toward the patio, she shot him an impish grin. “Sure, it does. We just used it.”

  Wyn drifted behind her.

  Andy stood still, indecision in the lines of his form.

  “All three of you,” Jerome ordered. He flicked a switch, and the entire backyard lit up so brilliantly that tears came to Zita’s eyes.

  A corner of her mind made a note of the shadowy spots for future use. They trooped inside.

  Jerome shepherded them through a spotless kitchen that smelled of bleach and artificial citrus and pizza, then into an office stuffed with furniture, takeout bags, and gigantic computer monitors. He seated himself in front of a keyboard, the oversized leather chair creaking with his movements. His saber gleamed on the desk, within grabbing distance. One screen showed camera feeds around his property split into zones. The others held text, except for the one where a pixilated green woman with the face of a pig, muscles of a serious weightlifter, and the costume of a stripper revolved above a circle. Various toys promenaded in places of honor on modern glass shelves while discarded computer parts and accessories mingled on the ground with food bags. He propped his feet up on his desk. “Right, then. Why did you have to sneak into my yard instead of using the door like normal people? Under other circumstances, I’d be concerned about you three lurking in my garden, but Arca’s visited me before. I’m guessing she likes using back doors.” White teeth gleamed in a dark face as he grinned.

  After a second, Andy gave a choked laugh over the party line.

  I told you there were cameras, perv. Zita sent. She nodded at the split screen.

  Wyn giggled.

  “I am smarter than the average human, let alone bear, plus I paid for a security system, cameras, and sound, and enhanced it. Did you hear that song about busting up an ex-boyfriend’s car? An extra-crazy ex got inspired by it, and here we are, one fancy security system and a restraining order later…” Jerome clicked a button, shutting down most of the outside lights.

  Do I need to know that song? Zita sent.

  No, Wyn answered. It’s about a woman who revenges herself on a former lover by committing illegal vandalism against his belongings.

  Is there legal vandalism? Andy wondered.

  Wyn glared at Andy.

  Just asking. Andy seemed fascinated by the ceiling and stuffed both hands in his pockets.

  Zita smothered a laugh.

  Ever the people person, Wyn smiled as if they had come for a casual visit. “May I say you have a lovely home and garden, Jerome? It’s a pleasure to be here.” Be polite.

  Spotting a tiny figure in a yellow gi with a large head, Zita tapped the Jim Kelly bobblehead.

  “Yeah, right.” Despite his words, Jerome’s face showed his pleasure at Wyn’s praise.

  Andy stared into space.

  Zita made a stab at the gracious guest thing. “I still like the koi pond. It’s all thinky and peaceful, even if it’s shut down for the winter.” Is it Andy’s turn to compliment his place now?

  Jerome smirked. “So you’ve said before. Remember the bobblehead’s delicate, Arca. It’s custom.”

  She withdrew her finger and watched the plast
ic head bob. “Jim Kelly got robbed enough. I won’t break him.”

  Jerome smiled. “Damn straight, you won’t. Thanks for the compliments. Now, what do you want other than to admire my home, toys, and handsome face? You probably can’t afford my usual rates, but I’ll admit I’m bored.” He propped his chin on a meaty fist.

  Might as well be direct and just tell him so we can leave faster, Zita thought.

  Andy nodded. Guess so. By the way, Zita, you’ve missed almost every reference we’ve ever made, but you recognize a bobblehead?

  It’s from a classic Bruce Lee flick. Jerome and I talked about it last time I was here. I’ve got the movie in a couple different languages if you want to borrow it.

  Wyn made what might have been a suppressed shudder. “That doesn’t negate the need for basic courtesy, and your domicile is worthy of admiration. We assumed that as a private detective, you might be able to find an application for an archeological dig submitted to a particular foundation in a specific time frame. While we don’t have the names of the archeologists, we do have some information about it,” Wyn said. She lowered her eyelashes, then glanced up through them.

  Her friend’s expression was winsome, yet beseeching, and Zita had no idea how the other woman had managed it. Maybe Wyn has girly magic, perhaps imparted by imbibing pastel alcoholic drinks or not sleeping during chick-flicks. You want that movie or not, Andy? I’ve got a version with English subtitles for the weak.

  Oh, all that and the joy of subtitles? Pass. His mental voice was dry.

  Wyn interrupted before Zita could reply. Focus, children.

  Jerome nodded and stroked a hand over his goatee. “Simple enough. Why would an archeological expedition be of interest? Thinking of branching out from vigilantism to theft?”

  Zita snorted. “No.”

  Her eyes narrow, Wyn shot Zita a warning look. Who was it that wanted me to be the speaker again? She returned her gaze to Jerome. “You mentioned the incident in New York earlier, the one where a group of superpowered criminals held a museum full of people hostage.”

  He nodded. “What about it? I watched the videos and checked them for alteration. Little had been changed, other than when they bleeped out part of what Arca said.”

  Wyn continued. “The woman responsible for that attack was in jail, until her organization attacked the corrections transport vehicles and took her back.”

  “You might recall the tall, beautiful black man there? The one the cameras loved? When she arranged this meeting, Arca slipped up on the phone and asked me which name I wanted to use, so I know you know I was there.” Jerome signaled for her to continue, the gestures sharp and impatient.

  Wyn explained their plan. “We suspect she’s going after another artifact, and we’re trying to locate it first to avoid anything like their attempted mass murder in New York.”

  “Hiding it elsewhere in the same building didn’t work with them before. If we find it, we’ll take it and hide it for a year or two, then put it back when they’re gone. They should lose interest by then. We’re not thieves,” Zita added.

  Other than a raised eyebrow at Zita’s interruption, Wyn continued. “If the gem isn’t there, we’ll leave. If they want to waste their efforts searching for it someplace we’ve already determined it’s not, that’s more time they’re not out there terrorizing anyone.”

  Jerome drummed his fingers on his desk. “Could be interesting. What’s she after this time?”

  With a dainty cough, Wyn said, “That’s what we need you for. We know her real name and the foundation where she worked, but not which grant or coordinates. The application process is confidential.” She fluttered her lashes at him and fingered the strap of her purse.

  Tapping his desk, Jerome said, “Fine, but why do we care?”

  Wyn’s face sobered, losing some of the flirty charm. “We got a tip that whatever they’re planning requires a massive human sacrifice at some point. Preventing them from getting the object averts that massacre.”

  Jerome stroked his keyboard. “Good cause. Why don’t you just tip off the police?”

  Zita butted in again, “They’re fine against most people, but metahumans make up Tiffany’s group. Calling cops in to handle the lightning guy—or Pretorius—”

  “Who?” Jerome asked.

  “Pretorius was the one who tossed you against the truck and shot you in the chest with the laser beam,” Wyn said.

  “Plasma bolt,” Andy corrected. He had lowered his voice and roughened it again.

  Zita winced. I must’ve missed that. Sounds painful. That fake head cold voice Andy’s using sounds uncomfortable too.

  Making a face, Jerome nodded and rubbed his chest. “Right. Him. I don’t like him.”

  “I don’t think anyone does,” Zita said.

  Wyn nodded. “Also, without more details, we don’t know which agency has jurisdiction.”

  “Fine,” Jerome said, “I’m in. All the way in. Since that’s the case, it’s only fair that we exchange code names and get an idea of each other’s powers.” His eyes glinted with amusement. “We can do more exact plans later once that’s all settled.”

  Zita felt stupid but had to ask. “Code names?”

  “Unless you want to use your real names like Caroline Gyllen?”

  Zita involuntarily made a face. That woman is a government tool. “We’re not fans of using our real names, no.”

  “I do have some ideas as to what those would be,” Jerome said, eying the three of them.

  Before he could say any more, Wyn spoke hastily. “It’s probably better if you don’t guess at our identities so you have plausible deniability.”

  Jerome harrumphed. “You have a point. Since I have to call you something, should I use the names the press calls you? Arca, Muse, and Wingspan? Really, if you’ve ever watched anime or a superhero show, you should understand how the name game’s played for masked people.”

  Andy started to protest, then closed his mouth. “You have a point, but good luck getting the girls into the scanty outfits the women wear in those.” Or to stay clothed at all, he sent.

  Jerome eyed Wyn and Zita. “Muse is almost undressed enough to be in a comic book. Arca, though, did you mug a bum? If you don’t like those names, we could use Witchy McWitchface for Muse, Fluffy McFluffernutter for Arca, and…” He trailed off, thinking. “We’ll come up with something for you. The Internet will love the girls’ names.”

  Zita wrinkled her nose at Andy’s thought, even though the others couldn’t see it beneath her mask. She considered her shirt and pants. They were clean, lacked holes, and covered everything. Why do you people keep ragging on my clothes? Wait, Fluffy Mcwhat? “Uh, no.”

  You look like you borrowed your psychopathic lumberjack daddy’s clothes, and you have a big lump in one pocket. Wyn flicked a lock of hair over her shoulder. “Perhaps we should skip the offensive epithets. Muse suffices.”

  It’s just the one lump. While it could be a miniature giant space hamster, it’s probably food. Andy flashed a sour smirk.

  Zita squinted at Andy. A what? It’s a bag of trail mix and a multi-tool.

  Unaware of the mental conversation, Jerome chuckled. “Hope not. How about McGruff for Arca? The silent wonder here can be Matches Malone.”

  Andy shook his head vehemently. “Nobody would get the reference but DC Comics’ lawyers, and I’d end up sounding like a kid trying to be cool if they did.”

  “He speaks, and lo, his words are filled with Bat-wisdom.” Jerome grinned.

  Wyn murmured, “We’re skipping obnoxious sobriquets, remember?”

  Zita flexed her biceps. Under the loose plaid flannel of her shirt and in comparison to the abundant muscle the man had, the gesture lacked something, but she thought the group could stand to lighten up. “Don’t make me come over there and beat you up until you cry like a little girl. Arca’s good for me.”

  He snickered, not taking her seriously for a second, as usual. “Sure, if you say so.”


  “Right then, you know Arca,” Wyn interceded. Her voice faded as she swung toward Andy, and all eyes turned to examine him.

  He squirmed. Uh, Doctor, um, no, taken. Uh.

  Jerome hooted. “So just go with the names they’re using on television? I guess that makes him Wingspan or Mano then. Glad we got that settled. Me, I’ll be Chevalier.” He grinned and tapped his saber.

  Andy gave Zita an accusing look.

  She threw her hands up in the air. “What? I didn’t know they’d take it for your name.”

  “Whatever.” Andy stuffed his hands into his pockets.

  Although he watched them all, Jerome didn’t comment on the byplay, instead leaning back and folding his arms behind his head. “Now, what about powers? If we’re working together, it’d be good to be able to plan.”

  Wyn gazed at Andy and Zita. I shall not press you, but he has a point. He doesn’t need all the information, but he deserves something.

  Zita sighed. “You’re already aware I’m a shapeshifter.”

  As the government would be far more alarmed by a telepath than a witch, I’d rather not admit to that or to our party line. Wyn folded her hands in her lap. “I’m a witch. This is an illusion spell, rather than a true transformation, therianthropic or otherwise. I generally heal others as you witnessed on the freeway.”

  Zita cocked her head at Wyn. I don’t think you’re misanthropic.

  The answer held amusement. Therianthropic. My magic makes me appear this way, but I have not shapeshifted. You’re the therianthrope. I’m an illusionist.

  Unaware of the telepathic conversation, Jerome’s attention was on Andy. “So, you could just be tagging along, but I doubt it since I’m pretty certain I saw you absorb lightning.”

  Andy’s voice was quiet and bitter, even beneath the fake rasp. “I’m strong and tough, and electricity doesn’t bother me, apparently.”

  Jerome snorted and cracked his knuckles. “So’m I, plus I heal fast. What do you bench press?” He flexed one of his impressive biceps.

  Even if Zita knew she and Jerome would never work as a couple given their personalities, she took a moment to appreciate the results of his dedication to lifting. If we need anyone to enter a heavyweight boxing competition, he’s in shape for it.