He held up a finger and cocked his head for a moment, obviously listening to something neither of the other two could. “Change of plans,” he said. “The team at the house has it under control. We’re being re-routed to downtown.”
“What’s going on?” Mary asked again.
“They’re going after the mayor.”
That couldn’t be good. Mary wasn’t necessarily a fan of the mayor, but it never worked out well when bad guys were targeting politicians. A lot of other people usually got hurt in the process. Fuerte was listening to his headset again. He tapped his ear. “Roger that.” He clapped his hands together and leaned forward. “Okay. The team tracking the last two have lost sight of Matheson. Corman is still there, though, so he is probably still nearby. No one is sure what they’re after, but it can’t be good.”
Mary nodded. “Just get me in the line of sight.”
Another quick turn made all three of them grab for purchase. “Jorge, you should wait in the van.”
Jorge started to protest, but Fuerte silenced him with a wave of his hand. “No arguments. You’ve done your part getting Mary here. You would just be another target we’d have to protect.”
Jorge slumped down. “What about Mary?”
“She’s with me,” he said, then reached into a storage bin under his seat. He pulled out a black vest and checked the tag. “Here,” he said, handing the vest to Mary, “put this on.”
Mary struggled to obey as the van bumped down an alley, jostling them all about again. She got the thing pulled down over her shoulders, but it got stuck before she could pull it the rest of the way down.
“Here, let me.” Fuerte yanked open a Velcro panel Mary hadn’t noticed, yanked the vest into place and sealed the Velcro all in a single fluid motion.
“Wow,” Mary said.
Fuerte smiled. “They make us practice. You should see how fast I can get into all of this,” he said, gesturing from his head to his feet.
Mary blushed and ducked her head so her dreads would fall across her face and disguise her embarrassment. Fuerte was handsome, but he had to be at least forty. She turned to look at Jorge. He misread her intentions and ran a hand down her arm, his thumb tracing her tribal tattoo. “You’ll be fine, Mary. These guys know what they’re doing.”
She nodded, hoping Jorge was right.
The van dropped them at a corner of the park. Fuerte took off at a loping run and Mary scrambled to catch up with him. He was sheltering behind a large red maple tree with a thick trunk when she found him. Unsure if the thumping she heard was her heart pounding in her ears or someone running up behind her, she stopped behind him, bending and resting her hands on her knees as she wheezed.
Breath caught, she stood and glared at Fuerte. He hadn’t warned her there would be running. He missed her glare entirely, peering through the lower branches at the building diagonally across the street. Mary moved up closer. “Where?” she whispered.
Fuerte bent down. “On the bench, at the foot of the stairs.”
Mary looked. A woman sat there next to a line of holly bushes trimmed to look like lollipops with round green balls and red berries on a slender stick of bark. She looked harmless enough. Maybe fifty-five years old, dressed in the loose, shapeless knits that so many middle-aged women seemed to prefer. “Agatha, right? The one with coercion?”
Fuerte nodded. “The other one is Archie.” He passed Mary a phone with a displayed image of an African-American man with a long, bony face and slightly protruding front teeth. “I can’t see him,” Fuerte admitted. “Can you?”
Mary looked again at the plaza, focusing harder. She examined the entire area, turning her head and letting her gaze take it all in. “Nope,” she finally said. “Maybe he’s gone inside.”
Fuerte tapped his earpiece and reported their position and Mary’s observations. Mary let her gaze wander the area again, not so much examining the space as just looking around while she waited for instructions. There was a statue in the far left corner of the plaza. Mary wasn’t sure who it depicted, but he looked inordinately pleased with himself.
He had one of those crazy mustache-and-muttonchops combos, so popular in fat historical dudes, and held out one meaty arm with a torch in his hand. On a class trip in junior high, she and Billy Schneider had found out there was a shadowy area under the guy’s coat where you could get away with smooching for a while before the chaperones noticed.
Someone stood there now. They must have been playing with a book of matches or something because little sparks appeared and went out, one right after another. She almost looked away.
Then, one of the sparks lit brighter, and Mary could see all too well. She gripped Fuerte’s arm, or would have if she could have gotten her fingers around it. Unable to speak, she pointed. Her mother stood right there.
“Madre de Dios,” Fuerte said.
Mary nodded. The timing couldn’t be worse.
“Stay here.” Fuerte started forward.
“No.” Mary grabbed his arm again. “Let me talk to her first. She’ll listen to me.” Fuerte looked doubtful, his full lips pursed beneath the golden mask as if he smelled something bad. Mary didn’t give him time to object. She stepped into the street.
“Mom,” she called. Helen sank back into the shadows. “Mom, I saw you. Don’t do this. We’ve got to talk.”
Helen came out. “We’re past the time for talking, Mary. Cindy’s on her way.” Helen lit one hand and held it aloft. Other people stopped and stared. Helen didn’t even glance at them. “Get out of here. I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”
Fuerte came running up the pavement, waving his arms and yelling at the crowd to get back. “Clear the area. This is official UCU business.”
“You again.” Helen hurled the flame she had raised in her hand at Fuerte, who whirled and rolled out of the way just in time. The crowd that had begun to gather dispersed in a blink.
Fuerte stood, holding his arms out to his sides. “Helen, you don’t want to hurt anyone.”
“Oh, but I do,” she said. “Starting with you.”
“Mom, no.” Mary ran to stand between the two of them. “He’s one of the good guys. They’re going to help us.”
“Did you come here with him?” Helen grew a larger ball of fire, rolling it between her palms. “Do you know who that is? He’s with them—with Patricia and the flying girl. He’s the one who threw me against a wall.”
Fuerte pulled Mary behind him, dragging her with him toward the stairs of the city building. She stumbled into the decorative holly bushes, the Velcro in her bulletproof vest snagging on the thorny branches. Mary struggled to free herself but seemed to only be tangling herself up worse and scratching up her arms and hands in the process.
The square went silent. Peering out between a couple of branches, Mary saw Agatha Corman get up from her position on the bench and walk to the center of the square, stopping directly between Fuerte and Mary’s mother—both of them frozen in place. “That’s quite enough of that,” she said, clapping her hands like a strict governess. “Let’s have some order around here.”
Mary watched as all the people who had been screaming and running, or filming the interchange stopped what they were doing, ducked their heads, and moved into a single file line that marched around the edge of the plaza and then broke into two lines, one down each side of the stairwell, like some kind of reception line. “Lovely,” Agatha said. “Now salute. Archie won’t know what to think when he comes out.”
Mary sensed a pull at her own mind—a suggestion that she get in line—but it was soft, like a toddler tugging on a skirt hem. She fought it off easily. Tugging her vest free, Mary let herself drop to the ground, where the branches of the holly bushes had been trimmed up to expose the thin trunks. Kneeling on the ground, she tried to think of what to do.
Fuerte had told her this woman had a coercive power that could work on large groups of people. But seeing it was another matter altogether. It was terrifying. And knowing about it hadn
’t protected Fuerte. Having powers hadn’t protected her mother. They were both immobile as the statue of the politician looming over the scene, still holding the awkward postures of people moving toward a fight.
Mary crept out of her hiding place and moved down the line of people on her side, hoping to use them as a visual block. If she could make it to Fuerte, maybe she could use his communication system to call in some help. She stopped in her tracks when Agatha shouted again, “You.”
Mary turned her head, peeking between the shoulders of two of the enforced honor guard. Sucking in a breath, she tried to prepare for a mental attack. But none came. Agatha wasn’t talking to her, but to her mother. She stood in front of Helen Braeburn now, waggling her finger under Mary’s mother’s nose. “Now, you are interesting. Why haven’t I seen you before? A woman of your talents could be useful in our crusade. Fire can be a very cleansing thing. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Helen’s face shook with rage, and she moved with a jerkiness that suggested she was trying to fight the woman’s coercion, but it was losing that fight. She held her hands out in front of her and a fireball formed, swirling around and growing as it did.
Mary continued her stealthy journey down the line of people, trying to keep one eye on her mother as she did. Then she got to the end of the line. There was a long gap between the last civilian in line and Fuerte, at least six people wide. She couldn’t cross it without being seen.
Whether she meant to or not, Helen did her daughter a huge favor just then, turning her body toward the statue. Agatha turned, too, either because that was how her control worked, or maybe because she wanted to watch. “Now,” she said. And Helen threw the fireball at the statue. At the same time, Mary launched herself at Fuerte, throwing her arms around his midsection to stop herself from falling. As soon as she touched him, she heard him take in a great gulping gasp of air.
“Fuerte? Can you move?”
He nodded. She turned to lead him away. He followed one step then stopped again. Mary ran back and took his hand. At her touch, he was mobile again. She tugged him down the row a few people and then down to the ground. Squatting, she held his hand. It was awkward, but obviously, he was only free of Agatha’s influence when they were in direct contact. Peeking past the knees of a woman wearing a navy-blue business skirt, she saw Agatha still occupied with her mother. “I don’t know how much time we’ve got. What should we do?”
Fuerte reached into a hidden pocket inside his shirt and pulled out a small rectangular device. He held it up between his fingers. “We need to affix this to the back of her neck. It should weaken her abilities.”
“Should?”
“No one has done this before, Mary. I can’t promise it will work. But we have to try something.”
“Show me how it works.”
He frowned.
“Fuerte. I’d love it if you could do this, but if I let go of your hand, you’ll become catatonic man again. I’m the only one who has a shot at this.” Clearly, the man didn’t like the idea, but he didn’t argue anymore. It was a simple enough device that would self-adhere through the small needles on the back side. Mary looked at it one more time before shoving it into her pocket. “Wish me luck,” she said.
“Buena suerte.”
Mary made sure Fuerte was positioned where he could see, then let go of his hand. Instantly, he froze in place again. That was some powerful mojo the woman put out. Mary was surprised the woman could put out that freeze command at such an insistent level and play fire games with her mother at the same time.
She hurried to the end of the line of people again, this time adding herself to the end and faking immobility while she looked for an opening. Agatha was laughing now, and Mary’s mother dripped sweat. Standing at the center of a scorched patch of ground, she spun up another fireball.
Mary yelled as she ran up to the woman.
Agatha spun, obviously surprised to hear another voice. Helen fell to her knees panting. Mary ran the last few steps with the device already in her hand and swung her arm at the woman’s head. Agatha ducked. “Now girl, you don’t want to hurt me,” she said.
Mary felt the push as a physical thing, like someone had grabbed her by the throat, from the inside. But she pushed back. “Actually, I really think I do,” she said, twisting the device in her hand until she had it lined up right again. Moving was difficult, like walking in wet jeans in the mud, but Mary kept moving anyway. “That’s my mother you’re messing with, bitch.” Grabbing Agatha’s arm, Mary pulled it up and backward, forcing the older woman into a bowing position, as she’d practiced hundreds of times in self-defense classes as a girl. The position left the woman’s neck exposed and Mary slapped the patch into place.
Almost instantly, all the people in the square stumbled or fell. A few fell hard. Mary was sure there would be more than one concussion among the crowd. But she ignored them all and ran for her mother.
“Mom? Are you all right?”
Helen’s voice was low and angry when she answered. Without raising her gaze to meet Mary’s, she lifted a hand and a wall of fire formed between them. “You traitor.”
“Mom?” Mary looked around for help. The plaza was filling with people. In the chaos, it was hard to tell the bystanders from UCU agents or police officers. Where was a fireman when you needed one? “What do you mean, Mom? I saved you from that woman.”
“What for? So you could hand me over to the Department again?”
“I’m just trying to help, Mom.” Mary came as close as she could with the fire between them. “Can’t you see you need help?”
“My help is on the way,” she said. “I won’t be needing any from you.” Helen raised the wall of fire higher, forcing Mary to back away or risk being burnt.
“Mom,” she yelled once more, then crouched, coughing from the smoke. No one answered.
Cindy’s Gold in Stupidity
Cindy wondered if there was an Olympic contest for stupidity. If so, she was about to win the gold medal. Walking into the city center with nothing more to protect her than an untested fireproofing formula and two men who were only kind of on her side. Not her most shining moment. Her father wouldn’t be much help with anything physical. He’d be more interested in understanding how Helen’s powers worked than in making sure his daughter remained un-singed.
Mekai didn’t want her dead, but he wasn’t her bodyguard. He’d already gone above and beyond the call by saving her bacon back at the Qmart. She wouldn’t blame him if he let her fry now when she was willingly meeting with a pyromancer out for revenge in exchange for some pretty rocks.
Even now, standing at the corner of Run Away and Grow a Pair, also known as Broad and Front Streets, Cindy couldn’t entirely reconcile what the hell she was doing there. Sure, the emeralds would make her research more productive, but it was a terrible risk. If her fireproofing formula failed, she could end up dead. And, even if it didn’t, she could end up arrested and imprisoned.
She looked back over her shoulder. Mekai leaned against the front of the car, seemingly reading a newspaper. He paused, cracking his neck with his hands and looked in her direction meaningfully. Cindy started walking. The plaza in front of the city building was four blocks away: one block down and three blocks over. It had taken her nearly an hour to get here. Helen would be waiting, and it wasn’t wise to make her wait any longer than she had to.
An ambulance whirring its sirens sped by, stirring up a cyclone of leaves, some of which got stuck to Cindy’s clothing. A little kid in a stroller he had mostly outgrown wrinkled up his nose at her as she pulled a couple of leaves out of her greasy hair and dropped them on the ground. She stuck out her tongue at him. A firetruck went by next, followed by three police cars, and Cindy slowed her walk. Where were all these emergency vehicles going? Stepping out into a parking place, she tried to peer ahead. All the vehicles were stopped about two and a half blocks ahead, making the area in front of the city buildings into an epilepsy-inducing light show. Shit.
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Cindy wanted to turn back. But she could hear Dr. Ayres voice in her head, asking her what kind of woman she was going to be this time, telling her to clean up her own mess. More than she liked to admit, she wanted Dr. Ayres to think well of her. It had been a long time since she wanted someone’s approval so badly.
It wasn’t only that, though. She felt guilty about the chaos her work had wrought in the world. If she’d been more cautious, done more tests before releasing products, maybe all this could have been avoided. If she’d been willing to listen, Patricia might have still been in her corner instead of fighting against her. This was all her own damn fault. She was reaping what she had sown, and she had a second chance to do it right if she was brave enough to take it.
Cindy crossed the street, darting between cars that were all coming to a halt as the emergency vehicles blocked off the street. She wanted to get closer and see what was going on before she decided what to do.
A television news crew had already pulled up into the front garden bed in the park across the street from the city building. Cindy stopped to listen to the reporter on the scene.
“In only the first week of its existence, the new Unusual Cases Unit has taken down a terrorist group bent on taking over the city building. Fuerte and Flygirl were among those at the scene.” The reporter gestured to the cameraman to follow her and Cindy fell into step behind them. “Flygirl, can you make a statement?”
Flygirl looked up from her conversation with a large man dressed like something between a pirate and a cover-boy for a space-cowboy adventure novel and smiled. “Of course. Give me a moment.” Cindy gasped, recognizing the woman instantly as Jessica Roark, which meant the man had to be the same one that had busted up her lab and gotten shot back in Indiana. The costuming might fool other people, with the red wig, but Cindy had known Jessica since she was a child. Her tea was the reason Flygirl could fly.
Cindy dodged behind a tree, wanting to stay close enough to listen, but hoping not to be seen herself. One great thing about being a child again is that no one thought anything of it if they saw her lurking about or hiding. She was a sneaky teenager as far as most people knew.
Face the Change (Menopausal Superheroes Book 3) Page 23