Power: Arca Book 3

by Karen Diem

He elbowed her back. “You too.” His tone was even quieter.

  She took a deep breath and tried for a neutral topic. “It’s a pity we can’t trust the stuff here enough to eat it. I’m certain I saw a giant pirarucu a second ago.”

  If anything, her comment made Andy withdraw further.

  From his post, Kodiak lifted his head and gazed at her. “A what?”

  “It’s a type of fish… Paiche, it’s called in some places,” Zita explained.

  The big man licked his lips and eyed the water. “I’ve had that once,” he rumbled. “It’s good eating.”

  She nodded in agreement and returned her gaze to the river for a moment. Warm saliva flooded her mouth. “It’s a nice big fish too, so it’s more than a few bites if you catch it. Good dried or fresh. Mix it up with some fried bananas and potatoes…” she trailed off. Pleasure trip to Brazil soon, she thought, I think I need pirarucu à casaca, pão de queijo, and maybe brigadeiros.

  Andy shot a glance at her. “Are you drooling?”

  “No judging. It’s been a very long day, even for me,” Zita said.

  “Fried bananas? Sounds good. Some good garlic and a light breading might work on it too,” Kodiak added, his voice dreamy and a bit lustful.

  Zita’s eyes met those of the big man, and they both smiled in understanding.

  Charging over, Trixie inserted her body between Zita and Kodiak. “What’s going on here?” she asked, her gaze narrow and accusing. Her posture was aggressive, and her muscles were braced as if for a blow.

  “They’re talking food and slobbering,” Andy said.

  Trixie’s mouth opened and closed. Tension left her shoulders. “I should’ve known. Well, they probably didn’t stop and eat a dinosaur on the way back like you did. Birdbrain took that thing down and didn’t even bring us a piece.”

  Andy turned away, but not before Zita saw the shame on his face.

  Pues, that’s what he was afraid of. Zita gestured toward the cave. “The professor might be waiting for us on the other side, so let’s pack up and get going. I’ll just go see if Muse can get us through the magic wall. If everything works out, we’ll have everyone home by tonight.” As she left, she saw Trixie relax and take Kodiak’s arm.

  As far away as she could be from Freelance without leaving the fire pit, Wyn had moved to perch on the edge of a log. Her face was wary as she watched him clean a partially disassembled handgun.

  “Muse, do you have the energy to let us back through to Brazil today? Professor Santos may still be there,” Zita asked.

  Wyn grimaced. “It’s been long enough that she might’ve already left to see if she could meet up with the doctor. I’d be willing to attempt it, but I’ll need rest afterward.”

  Frowning, Zita noticed Freelance’s leg still bore a bandage. “Do you also have enough mojo for healing? Freelance has a serious injury, and I’ve a couple scratches too. It’d be good if we could heal those before infection sets in. Lizards got nasty mouths, and I’m guessing dinosaurs have the same.”

  As she squared her shoulders, Wyn nodded. “I’ll cast the spell for you, both of you, once we’re in Brazil, but I might be too tired to heal it all. We can go anytime you’re ready.” His companions are okay if a bit weird. I gave Kodiak a set of the special sportswear since he shares your problem retaining clothing after shifting. Andy might be scarred for life from that view. I don’t think my spell will work on an android or cyborg or whatever Freelance is though.

  Zita glanced at Freelance, then at Wyn. He bleeds human blood, and his scent is all man, with nothing I’d associate with a robot in it other than the persistent gun oil part, which has an obvious reason.

  After he finished assembling his weapon with that graceful economy of movement he brought to everything, Freelance stood. “Healing only,” he warned. He hefted his backpack.

  Wyn blanched.

  Andy’s mournful mental voice wound its way into her brain. And here I’d hoped my nightmares about the T-1000 Terminator were a thing of the past. How is it that he didn’t look ridiculous riding a giant orange and green dinosaur? Did he have food on a stick in front of her nose to steer? Did I just send that to Wyn and Zita?

  Yes, yes, you did. I steered myself. Zita lowered her voice before she spoke again, Andy’s prehistoric snack on her mind. “And here I thought we bonded, Freelance. Did you have time to use that spell to find out if the dinosaurs are people or not, Muse?”

  For a moment, Wyn seemed confused by the new topic, but then she shot a glance at Andy. “Oh! So, you heard about Wingspan’s brontosaurus aperitif. Yes, I did. They’re just animals.”

  “Sweet. That takes a load off.” Relief poured through her. Zita gave a shout, “Let’s pack it up, people. We’re heading home.”

  Wyn rose and sloppily folded her blanket, avoiding anyone’s gaze. Freelance still creeps me out, and not just because he’s invisible when I check the area with telepathy.

  Andy wandered over to pick up his things, followed by the others.

  Unable to help herself, Zita strolled over and refolded the blanket, then worked on getting everything else ready to put away. “So, why’re professionals like you slumming with a bunch of sleazebags like Garm, Tiffany, and crew? You don’t seem the types to work for slavers,” Zita said. Not that I’ve ever met slavers before. Or professional mercenaries wearing a fake nose and mustache, but there’s always a first time for everything.

  While Freelance did not bother to respond to her question other than to tilt his chin in her direction, Trixie lifted her head. “Slavery? Nobody mentioned anything about that. As to why? They paid us.”

  Zita snorted. “Didn’t you know? They recruit metahumans—though I have no idea how they can make joining sound anything but stupid. Those in power only give you rank if you’ve got sufficient power to beat down others. Anyone who doesn’t make it high enough becomes a slave and doesn’t get to leave or pick their role. It’s one big, vicious, predatory pyramid scheme. At least a few of their recruits are blackmailed to force them to stay.”

  Kodiak, Trixie, and Freelance exchanged glances.

  “News to me,” said Kodiak. “Ours was a straight professional contract that passed all the usual vetting. That said, it wasn’t the most fun we’ve ever had on a job.”

  Trixie giggled. “I’d love to divulge what was the most fun, but then I’d have to kill you, and you’re all such cute little idealists. How would a bunch of squeaky-clean innocents like yourselves know their recruiting practices, anyway?”

  Careful not to divulge her vulnerable source, Zita shrugged. “What can I say? I have one of those faces, I guess. People tell me all kinds of things I don’t want to know.”

  Kodiak huffed, absently scratching his back against a wall before shouldering a large pack. “Glad I didn’t take them up on their job offer, then. Is it just metahumans they’re after? You’re in the clear then, boss.”

  Jerome said, “Why is that?” The big man snuck a glance at the silent gunman.

  “No powers.” Freelance must’ve been unconvinced by her near-monologue earlier in the day.

  Zita couldn’t help it. She laughed and shot a grin at Freelance. “You keep telling yourself that, but it won’t change anything.”

  Trixie pouted and fiddled with her fake glasses, making it even more crooked than it had been before. Her false mustache tilted crazily, limp and the worse for wear and humidity. “They tried to hire you away and not me? I’m insulted. Don’t they realize I’m the brains of this group?”

  Kodiak rumbled, deep, low, and brimming with amusement. “Only if they want brains that are cracked and fried. Besides, you spent most of the trip antagonizing Halja.”

  “Someone that humor deficient is a cry for help I can’t ignore. Why do you think I work with you guys? He’s an ongoing project,” Trixie said, pointing her thumb at Freelance. She withdrew another of her bubblegum cigars.

  Zita pressed the subject and did the bear shapeshifter (and herself) a favor. “How did you ge
t a job with them, anyway? Did you threaten to trap them in close quarters with that chemical grape smell? That’s just torture for anyone with a sensitive nose.”

  Trixie’s eyes slid to Kodiak, and she tucked away the cigar she had been about to put in her mouth.

  Kodiak shrugged, but his face held sleepy amusement. “People contact our secretary and make an appointment to discuss details. The boss decides what we take.” He shuffled to stand near the cave entrance.

  Andy fidgeted. Do we really want to leave the mercenaries running loose behind us? What if they figure out how to get back in?

  Wyn’s face wore a suspicious expression as she considered the silent Freelance. I concur, though your bird form is the only person here with magic other than me.

  Their paychecks have left, so I doubt they’d do that, but, sure, I’ll see what we can do. “As we’re all leaving, do you guys want a lift somewhere once we’re out of the caves? Where do you need to go? It’s a long hike from the tepui to anywhere else,” Zita said.

  “Manaus,” Freelance said.

  Kodiak added, “Set us down a mile outside, so the Brazilian Air Force doesn’t come after us. We don’t need to be associated with you, especially since we haven’t received the second half of our pay yet.”

  “Sounds good, though I can’t believe you beat us to the temple from there,” Zita said.

  The bear shrugged. “Our employers had that teenager open a portal from there to the village. Speaking of which, where’d the old man go?”

  “Escaped during the fight,” Freelance said.

  Trixie snickered and skipped over to the bear shapeshifter. “Funny how often that happens when our employers are on the bloodthirsty side.”

  Kodiak tried to smother a smile.

  See? They’re not so bad. Zita smiled. “That explains it. You three be careful once we set you down.”

  Trixie stretched, reaching her long arms up to the sky. “Where’s the fun in that?”

  Kodiak rumbled but didn’t bother with words.

  Freelance didn’t even do that.

  Chapter Twenty

  By the time they had dropped off the mercenaries, the Jeep, and the professor, they didn’t return to the Maryland airpark until late. Twenty minutes after Jerome left, the trio was back at Wyn’s house. Despite the full food bowls and sparkling water in their dishes, Siamese cats met Wyn, Zita, and Andy at the top of the basement steps, complaints about their abandonment clear in their disapproving expressions and whiny meowing.

  As they reached the living room, Wyn pursed her lips and continued the discussion that had begun at the airpark. “I’m telling you, I don’t have your disposable phone, Andy. You never handed it to me. My bag is enchanted to give me what I’m searching for when I reach in, and it’s not giving me your cell.” Tapping her amulet, her illusion disappeared. She emptied the purse of Zita’s belongings, piling up the butter containers on the living room table.

  Zita changed to her natural form and separated the food from the other supplies.

  “Great. It must’ve fallen out in the quicksand or something. At least it’s not my regular one, just the vigilante phone. Z, seriously, stop tapping your foot. You’re driving me crazy,” Andy said.

  Blinking, Zita glanced down, not having realized she had been jiggling her leg. “Can’t drive you to a place you’re already at,” she shot back in reflex, but she quit moving. Her pocket beeped. “Carajo, I forgot to turn off Arca’s phone, and someone’s texted.” She flipped it open and checked it. “Jerome? You’d think he’d have had enough of us by now.”

  “Congrats! You’ve gone viral! I love the video, especially the close-ups on Wingspan. It never hurts to have fan service for the ladies. LOL,” the text read before a line of characters she recognized as a web address. Since she hadn’t sprung for a data plan for the little, unregistered flip phone, she handed it to Wyn so the other woman could memorize the URL.

  Zita sorted the containers into piles based on which still had food in them and which were empty.

  “It’s a video of some sort,” Andy said, glancing at it. “That’s a popular video-sharing site. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

  Wyn sighed. “I’m sure it can’t be that horrendous… can it?”

  Nothing like the faith of your friends to reassure you. Rolling her eyes, Zita shrugged. “Not a clue. Shouldn’t be. I haven’t done anything in front of the camera that I’m ashamed of, so it’s probably just another news anchor with more all kinds of crazy guesses about our identities. Maybe now I’m a teenage gangbanger stripper with six kids who lives in Rock Creek Park. Wyn’s my baby daddy, and Andy’s my gang leader, no doubt.”

  Folding her hands in her lap, Wyn raised her eyebrows. “I believe I lack the equipment for that task.”

  Andy widened his eyes and slapped on an innocent expression. “I thought you lived at the zoo, only coming out at night to raid the trash cans and dance nude. If you have a paying job, we need to up your gang dues.”

  “Why you got to be a hater?” Zita said, ensuring the containers were in tidy columns. “Mano—”

  Wyn interrupted, “Let’s get my tablet so we can see what amused Jerome so much.”

  Zita snapped the flip phone closed and pulled out the battery, handing both to Wyn, who tucked the pieces into her purse.

  A few minutes later, the three friends squashed together on the velvety scarlet sofa. Sitting between Zita and Andy, Wyn held her small tablet, a sleek white and silver thing in her lap. She typed in the address.

  Her stomach rumbled at the sight of the apple on the back of the computer. I could eat before I crash, Zita thought, then forgot in her surprise at seeing Arca’s masked face on the still screen.

  “Well,” said Andy, “it was posted by a DJ and labeled ‘Vigilante Party,’ so it’s not a news report.”

  Then Wyn pressed play.

  “I’m here to fuck,” Arca’s voice declared, and music started. It boomed out of the tiny speakers, a strong bass beat trying to shake its way out of the depths of the machine. The video exploded into action shots of her running and jumping, interspersed with random images: Arca rolling her eyes, cuddling the dachshund puppy, and putting her hands on her hips. Clips of her speaking (mostly the same phrase that had begun the song), a woman moaning, and weirdly, the bellows of a wildebeest comprised the lyrics.

  Zita’s jaw dropped. “Caramba. Was that a cross-eyed platypus?”

  Andy and Wyn howled with laughter.

  “Excellent. You finally showed up, mano,” Arca’s voice said. The video switched to a shirtless Andy, turning his back on the camera. Editing made it seem as if he boogied across the screen, slapping his own rear, the camera zooming in and out on it. Zita could make out fragments of the New York museum in the background.

  Andy’s laughter stopped.

  “We’re here to fuck,” Arca said onscreen.

  Distorted by electronic manipulation, Andy’s voice sang, “How cool is that? Did I just do a superhero?”

  He hid his reddening face in his hands. “I was brushing dust off, not spanking myself. Shoot me now.”

  The screen split, and Andy bopped at the bottom of the screen. A wildebeest galloped across the top making lame yelping sounds. In the center of it all, Wyn’s illusory shape, Muse, floated with her arms spread and a beatific smile as the new chorus repeated.

  The video ended with Arca declaring, “I got places to be.”

  Zita blinked. “Well. That’s special. Catchy. Might make a good workout tune but not how I’d prefer to be remembered.”

  “That was awful!” Andy said.

  Zita shrugged. “It’s just some Internet video. I bet nobody saw it.”

  Scrolling down, Wyn cleared her throat and giggled again. “It has twenty million views and quite the comments section. Our physical assets have received significant admiration, though some are debating if Zita’s chest has been artificially augmented and if Andy is wearing some derriere enhancement. A few are callin
g for a version cut with a porn. Several people offered to party with us, and the DJ has promised an eventual follow-up. We may wish to consider our language on camera in the future.”

  “By we, she means you, Zita,” Andy said. “I knew I should’ve kept my jeans on.”

  Zita harrumphed. “Then all of your clothing would have been gone, Andy, after your walk through the electricity. Would you have preferred to be naked?”

  He grumbled.

  “Now, children,” Wyn said, tapping on her screen.

  Andy rose and picked up his pack. “Well, now we’ve headed off another weird magical threat and been publicly humiliated on the Internet, I need to go home. Some of us have HVAC in the morning.”

  Zita bounced to his side, touching his arm with her hand. “Oye, mano, your dad’s still out of town, so no, you don’t. We’ll get a pizza and just hang to unwind. Maybe a kitchen sink one where they throw a bunch of different stuff on it and don’t tell you what! Last time, the toppings were anchovies, broccoli, extra cheese, Canadian bacon, chicken, and pepperoni.”

  Pulling away from her, Andy grimaced. “No thanks.”

  “Fine then,” Zita said, “we’ll do a pepperoni for you and me, and a broccoli for Wyn and me. After that, we can all go home and crash. It’s late.”

  Even with that enticement, he shook his head. “I’d like to just go.”

  From the couch, Wyn made an unhappy sound. “Guys? I don’t think we did win. We need to postpone that celebration, as tempting as a ‘kitchen sink’ pizza undoubtedly sounds to someone.”

  “What?” Zita frowned at her friend. “We stopped them.”

  Wyn gnawed on her lower lip. “To keep an eye on what people are saying about us, I had a program collecting news on metahumans. I just checked it, and you’ll want to see this. I believe Zeus wanted us chasing Tiffany…” Her voice trembled, and she waved the tablet at them.

  His shoulders slumped as Andy sighed and walked back toward the sofa.

  Zita trailed after him and plopped down on Wyn’s other side. They scanned the article in silence.

  Andy rose and went to stare out the window.