Power: Arca Book 3

by Karen Diem

  She sidled away from him automatically. Oye, I don’t know you that well, and I don’t like annoying strangers touching me. Carajo. I’m supposed to be trying to give him a chance. With a sigh, she decided to try talking to him again. “So, do you work out? What’s your favorite? Mine is aerial acrobatics and—”

  The thrashing in the corn drew closer, and her date finally noticed.

  “Did you hear that?” Isaac said, interrupting her attempt at conversation. One corner of his mouth twitched as if it wanted to smile and the other half disagreed.

  She cocked her head to the side and listened. “Whoever’s busy falling through the corn? Sure. They’ve been roaming around for a while, and this is the closest they’ve gotten. Did you want to see if they’re lost? If they are, we could at least point them to the barn or take them back ourselves if you’re tired of the maze.”

  Isaac seemed disappointed, though he hid it after a second. “No, I’m good. It’s a beautiful night, and the stars are coming out. Look there…” He pointed upward.

  Zita obediently tilted her head up. Still the same stars as earlier. Her phone pinged, and she glanced down at it, flipping it open to read it. “Could be work,” she lied as she took a few steps away, “so I’ll just check it real quick.”

  Wyn’s text was simple: Jerome says emergency, we need to meet him at Rock Creek Park ASAP.

  As she prepared to text back, a blur of motion nearby drew her attention.

  A man wearing a stupid white mask with black holes for the eyes and mouth lumbered out between the corn stalks. Metal gleamed in his right hand, and he slashed upward.

  Zita was already in motion, shoving Isaac to one side and hurling herself in the other direction. She cartwheeled to her feet and came up into a defensive position.

  The knife must have clipped Isaac because her date made a choking sound and dropped his flashlight. His hands grasping at his stomach, he fell to his knees and collapsed.

  “¡Ni madre!” she shouted, hurling her phone at the attacker’s head.

  He jolted forward when it hit.

  With a weird laugh, the attacker turned to lunge at Zita in an absurdly telegraphed overhand strike.

  No skill, he’s holding it badly, and he doesn’t move as if he has any fighting ability. Not big enough to be Sobek, but still tall and moves like a laborer. Something was wrong, but her body reacted before her mind caught up. Her low back kick hit his ankle and swept him off his feet.

  Arms flailing, the knife still dangerously clutched in one hand, the attacker fell with an incoherent shout.

  Before he could do anything else, she spun again and jumped on his wrist with both feet.

  He screamed and released the weapon, curling into a ball around his injured hand.

  Zita kicked the knife away and fell into a defensive stance, prepared to knock him down if he tried to rise. “Stay down,” she said, her heart pounding.

  “Stop! What are you doing?” Isaac cried, standing.

  She kept her eyes on the attacker. “Don’t move too much, Isaac, you don’t want to make the injury worse. We can call for…”

  Isaac grabbed her shoulder and shoved her away from the downed man. “Jacob, are you okay?” He knelt over the attacker, tearing off the mask and touching the other man’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  “Dude…” Her brain caught up with everything. “You know this loser?”

  Her date snarled at her. “You’re no prize yourself. Jacob’s my twin brother. This was just a prank.”

  After a moment to process that, Zita took a deep breath, struggling to keep her temper under control. “Seriously? Did Miguel not mention the whole serial killer on the loose issue? The real one who favors a knife and wants to use it on my family?”

  Isaac lifted his head and scowled at her. “He said something, but I figured he was joking. He hasn’t been in the Department of Metahuman Services long enough for me to really know him.”

  Anger hit. I could’ve killed him if I had followed through on that move the way my tía taught me… “And you thought this would be funny?” She let them know what she thought of their joke, first in Spanish, and then in English.

  Turning away from her, he assisted his brother to his feet. “I should’ve listened when Dr. Smith mentioned you were a head case.”

  “Justin Smith? Save a man once, and he bears a grudge forever,” Zita grumbled as she picked up his flashlight and used it to search the ground. She stepped over the knife, obviously a prop with painted-on blood in the better light and knelt to pick up her phone. It was in two pieces, and she turned it over in her hands, biting her lip. Ni madre. Just what I needed, another expense. His words sunk in. “Wait, DMS? Miguel’s FBI.”

  Isaac panted with effort, his brother’s arm around his shoulders as they moved toward the barn. “Not anymore. He’s been with DMS for the past couple of weeks and moved to the New York branch. Good riddance, if he’s as nuts as you. By the way, my family owns this farm.”

  His brother spoke, “Consider yourself banned for life.”

  Why didn’t Miguel mention he’d been transferred to DMS? Zita shrugged and handed him the flashlight. “No big loss. Your animals are all overweight, and I don’t know why anyone would pay to pick fruits and vegetables, anyway. I certainly wouldn’t. Sorry about the hand.” She turned away and marched through the stalks ahead of them. At least now I don’t have to make an excuse for a quick exit.

  Chapter Twelve

  An hour later, Zita, Andy, and Wyn, in their respective disguises, strolled up a park pathway in DC. Stretched out on a bench under a light, Jerome wore beige clothing so new that the creases still showed the original folds. Sunglasses hid the top half of his face, despite it being nighttime. A wide-brimmed hat sat next to a massive, overstuffed backpack, which sported the logo of a high-end travel store.

  Skipping a greeting, Zita said, “So, what’s the emergency?” She scanned the area—the flyover she had insisted on earlier hadn’t revealed any lurking police, but her mother had ingrained caution in her. Does he have a cooler hanging off the end? That backpack needs to be repacked and balanced right. Must be nice to be extra strong, but then again, you don’t get the kick of working out to build strength.

  Jerome waved. “Hi to you too. Why don’t you check your phone more often, Arca? I texted you yesterday. Your friends hadn’t given me their numbers, at least not until Muse contacted me today.”

  “I only turn it on a few times a week when I’m somewhere outside of my daily routine. A friend told me that phones have trackers inside that only work when you have the battery connected, so I just leave it disconnected most of the time. So, what’s the problem?” Zita said.

  The big man sighed and nodded. “Makes sense.”

  “If you’re paranoid,” Wyn murmured.

  “Or running around playing vigilante in masks,” Zita shot back in an undertone. “So, the problem?”

  Jerome continued. “I’ve been monitoring keywords relevant to your questions all week. The professor who applied for the grant to find the Heart has been kidnapped. They grabbed her in front of the university security cameras two days ago, so I can verify the blond dick who shoots lasers was there. He smirked at the camera right before he shoved her through a portal.”

  “Plasma. Pretorius shoots plasma,” Andy corrected in his fake raspy voice. “Lasers are different… never mind. That poor woman.”

  Wyn inhaled and rubbed her arms. “We’ve got to help her.”

  Trying to loosen the tense muscles in her shoulders, Zita squashed down her pity for the professor and focused on the oddity. “Any chance she could’ve staged it? It’s a little too convenient that so much of the abduction was on cameras. Pretorius didn’t seem that stupid. Evil, yes, but not stupid.”

  Jerome grimaced. “When I spoke to her, the department head’s secretary said the professor would never have left in the middle of tenure negotiations. Does that make any sense?”

  “It does, actually. No way i
t’s staged, Arca,” Andy muttered, seeming interested despite himself.

  Closing her eyes for a moment, Wyn blanched. Her voice was somber. “If the negotiations were going well, no professor would walk out on a guaranteed job.”

  That, Zita understood. “Bad omen, then. So, she was definitely kidnapped or murdered.”

  Nodding at her, Jerome said, “Her travel bags are missing from her home, so they must’ve stopped there at some point.”

  “They must be going without Tiffany because she still had second and third-degree burns since Muse didn’t get a chance to finish the healing spell. No way she’s recovered yet,” Zita said.

  Andy shrugged. “Or they have their own healer who treated her.”

  Zita and Wyn both blinked at him.

  He spread his hands apart. “What? Being practical, here. I saw how messed up she was when Pretorius carried her through the portal. If Tiffany’s still alive, she’d have to be magically healed or be a patient in a burn ward for the next few years.”

  “Makes sense,” Jerome said. “I’ve been periodically checking the best US burn centers and one in England for someone with her name or general age range and haven’t found a match. From what I dug up on her country club lifestyle before she got her powers, she wouldn’t accept anything less than the best.”

  Zita swore. “I thought we had more time.”

  Her mouth in a thin, tight line, Wyn massaged her forehead. “We leave tomorrow. If we are to save the professor, we lack the time to wait for me to be fully vaccinated or to have everything settled.”

  Jerome hefted his bag. “My stuff is ready now.”

  Over their mental connection, Wyn fretted. My aunt. I can’t get in to treat her Alzheimer’s before visiting hours tomorrow, so we need to wait at least until then. I don’t know how long this will take us, but she was due for another round of spells next weekend. And I need to set things up at work, with the lawyer, and for the cats. Aloud, all she said was, “Great, but I need to arrange a couple things before I go and none of us are ready yet.”

  I wanted to leave and get this over with days ago. Andy stared at his feet and tried to covertly brush white cat fur off his pants. We probably won’t be able to shake Jerome now, and now I’ll have to get someone to take care of your cat.

  “I’m packed,” Zita said. Cupcake’s been sleeping in your lap since he got to your place, mano. Pretty certain he’s not Wyn’s cat. If necessary, I can sneak you in to see your aunt, Wyn.

  “We weren’t supposed to leave for—” Wyn cut herself off. “I forgot who I was talking to. Very well. It’s already near midnight. Shall we meet tomorrow afternoon then and go? I did research the gem this past week.”

  Jerome nodded. “Tomorrow afternoon’s fine, so let’s get the quick version of the Heart’s history and go home for the night. And don’t try to leave me out of this or I’ll use my considerable skills and free time to find and harass you.”

  Wyn sighed. “Can we accomplish this without acrimony? The Heart of Canaiwari is an emerald, a huge, uncut trapiche emerald. It was found on a sacred mountain, Paremiyan, in Brazil or Venezuela. Conquistadors heard about the giant gem and promptly confiscated it, taking it back to Spain due to its size—hundreds of carats—and pattern. Apparently, they slaughtered a large portion of the tribe they stole it from while doing so.”

  Did gems come in patterns? Why did no one tell me? I just assumed any gem with a pattern was fake. Maybe I should pay more attention to jewelry, Zita thought. “Pattern? Like leopard print? That’s a cool ass gem.”

  “A trapiche emerald has a carbon impurity running through it forming a six-spoke pattern on it like…” Wyn paused. “Like a shadowy daisy imprisoned in the stone. The Heart has the additional distinction of being shaped like a heart.”

  “Dramatic,” Andy murmured, still brushing at his lap.

  With a shrug, Wyn said, “I could talk about the radial spokes and the origin of the word trapiche, but I figured Arca would fall asleep somewhere around the second sentence.”

  Her friend knew her far too well, but Zita made a token protest anyway. “Oye, am I supposed to just stand here while you insult me? So, it’s a big green shiny with a black flower pattern. Why would they care beyond the monetary value?”

  Wyn sighed. “I’m uncertain. It’s not an obvious weapon like the Key of Hades dagger. I see two possibilities. The first is the more dangerous as it supposedly grants dominion over the great monsters. It could summon something other than the walking piles of putrefaction that Tiffany already uses or grant her power over anything deemed monstrous enough. If that includes control over, say, other witches or shapeshifters or anything even remotely close, that could be a real problem for us.”

  Andy finally lifted his gaze from the study of his shoes, his face grim. “That includes all three of us.”

  “I’m good,” Jerome said, folding his arms over his chest. “All man, all the time.” He grinned, flashing his dentist-perfect teeth.

  Zita made a rude noise at him and shook her head. “We’re not monsters, but Tiffany don’t need that rock.”

  “Without evidentiary information otherwise, the gem might treat us as such. The other alternative is that it radiates some form of death magic.”

  “Death magic? Is that magic magic or radiation?” Andy asked.

  “No way to know until I see it,” Wyn replied. “According to the legends, the Heart is cursed. Every owner met with a gruesome death until the last one returned it to the remnants of the original tribe and built a new temple to contain it. Supposedly, a powerful local shaman put safeguards on it afterward, and that’s why nobody knows exactly where it’s at. Periodically, people search for it, but it has never surfaced again. Most of the expeditions don’t come back. The last recorded attempt was in 1978, but nothing official since then until the grant proposal that Tiffany’s foundation denied.”

  “I don’t know whether to hope for radiation or not,” Andy mumbled. “I suppose I should go pack a duffel bag.”

  Zita exhaled. “If you want to carry stuff, use a good backpack like Jerome’s—”

  “Chevalier’s,” Jerome corrected.

  “But weight it so it balances evenly and leaves your arms free. I’d loan you one of mine, but it would drive you nuts since it wouldn’t sit right.” Zita surveyed Andy. “Your torso is way longer than mine and shaped different, but I might have a friend I could borrow one from… but we’d need to make sure he got it back in one piece.”

  He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Thanks for offering. But given that we’re chasing after Tiffany or whatever thugs she’s farmed the job out to this time, we couldn’t promise to return the pack undamaged.”

  She nodded. “Good point. It’s a shame you and Muse are both so freakishly tall that I can’t lend you more gear.” A thought struck her. “It’s spring in Brazil right now, so make sure you pack long-sleeved, light-colored, gauzy breathable shirts and long pants for heat. Both of you will want a coat or layers too, in case we have to climb a mountain. If we go high enough, the temperature will drop, hopefully no more than twenty degrees, but still. Hard to say with what little Chevalier has given us.”

  As he folded his arms behind his head, Jerome didn’t seem repentant. “I like to hedge my bets.”

  “Long sleeves in the heat?” Wyn asked. “Also, my height lends me elegance and class, unlike you, whose squat form can be squashed under my dainty feet.”

  “Mosquitoes. Those chingado things love them some sweet tourist blood, and we don’t have time to get you guys—well, Muse, since a needle won’t make it through Wingspan’s skin—shots. Some plants can be sharp or irritating, too, and don’t forget about all the ants. I’m up-to-date since I’ve been there before. You still certain you want to come?”

  Jerome made a rude noise. “Your lack of concern has been noted. They can still bite me.”

  “With your ability? Walk it off, hombre.” Zita grinned at him, though her eyes turned toward Wyn, the
one she was really concerned about.

  Nibbling her lower lip, Wyn played with her hair before responding. “With that tempting description of a journey of a million mosquito bites, how could I resist accompanying you? I forgot about the insects. You’ll need me to point out the gem and deal with Tiffany if necessary.”

  Jerome cleared his throat. “Speaking of dealing with people, no updates on Sobek. He’s fallen off the radar. I found the kid though. He didn’t have a record, but I ran facial recognition and got hits off social media. I’ve got an address for his family. What do you want to do with the information? I’m not thrilled about handing it over to just anyone.”

  Zita froze. Miguel’s DMS now.

  Dismay filled Wyn’s mental voice. Oh, no. Now you really can’t ever tell him about your abilities.

  I know, right? He’s the only government person I’d trust to do the best for the kid, but I don’t want to tie him to us nor do I want to have to talk to him more than necessary as Arca. Zita rubbed her hand over her hair and moistened her lips.

  Let’s go with Miguel. At least that way we might be able to find Janus later. Andy spoke up. “We’ve clashed with a DMS agent… he’s a pain but honest. Arca, do you have his number in your phone? If you want to skip giving us the information, Chevalier, tip off the DMS guy on the kid’s family. The government should be pretty interested in getting them to safety in order to cut off the portals.”

  Jerome grunted. “I’ll check into whoever you recommend.”

  “Yeah, it’s Garza or something. Give me paper and let me check my phone for his number,” Zita lied, trying to keep the unhappiness off her face.

  Once Wyn handed over her things, Zita walked a short distance from the others and snapped the battery back into the disposable phone. The blue smiley face sticker tickled the palm of her hand as she turned it on. To her surprise, she saw a message from a vaguely familiar area code, in addition to five missed calls and a text from Jerome.