by Liana Brooks
“I do not!” Angela shouted. She stood up with her hands on her hips, looking exactly like Tabitha in a fighting mood. “Delila knows everybody’s secrets! Not me!”
“What do you do?” Evan asked Angela.
She shrugged a thin shoulder. “Sometimes I know when people are sad. Sometimes I make them happy.”
His inner evil genius squeed like a manga fangirl at her first Comic-Con. “You influence people’s feelings?”
“Only a little,” Angela said. “It makes my head hurt, and my tummy gets all wavy.”
“Queasy you mean?”
She nodded.
“So one telekinetic, one pyrokinetic, one mind controller, and one locksmith.” Evan frowned. Three high-level mutations and one limited focus telekinetic. Why didn’t that sound right? “One of these things is not like the other. Delila?”
“Daddy?” She looked up at him, the picture of innocence.
“Do you do anything besides click?”
“No, Daddy.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, Daddy. I don’t do nothing but listen. Sometimes people tell me funny things.”
“Like?”
“Like everything, Daddy. Mommy told me what she bought me for my birthday, and the man at the store told me how to get his money from the machine.”
Probably a form of mind control. Uncontrolled mind control. The tiny part of his brain responsible for self-preservation and putting the brakes on really bad ideas curled into a corner, gibbering in terror.
“She does puzzles quick too,” Angela offered. “Real quick.”
“Puzzles is easy,” Delila confirmed. “They’re just like locks. They want to be in order.”
They weren’t even in school yet! Maybe he could talk Tabitha into sending them to a private boarding school. In the Swiss Alps. With nuns. And absolutely no boys.
He patted Delila’s head. “This is something Mommy doesn’t need to know about. She’s stressed. She’s had a long day at work. Let’s keep all of this to ourselves until the time is right.”
“When is the time right?” Maria asked.
Ten weeks after never. “When she’s calm. I’ll get her a trip to the spa, some flowers—” lots of champagne “— and tell her then. For right now...” He mimed locking his lips and throwing away the key.
The girls mimicked him.
“Good. I want you four to stay upstairs while I clean the glass up. Stay right here. Do not open the front door. Do not color on the walls. Do not move things, start fires, or hit each other. I am not explaining black eyes or ER visits to your mother tonight.” Or any other night while the absence of the Morality Machine kept her stuck in the rigid black and white world that super heroes loved so much.
Chapter Seven
Super heroes make the average person jealous. The super hero mutation is the full package of charisma and power. Stunning good looks are standard, and exceptional strength and stamina are often included. Everyone wants to be special; it’s ingrained in the human psyche. But there’s a dirty little secret that everyone leaves out of the pep talks: for you to be special, everyone else needs to be average.
Special is just another way of saying freak.
I have no super power of my own. I don’t fly. My bones break as easily as the next person’s. But I do have a highly evolved brain, a certain touch of arrogance, and a naturally persuasive nature even when I’m not augmented by machines.
I’ve never needed anything else.
***
Evan sent Hert and two other minions upstairs to watch the girls while he worked on the broken Morality Machine. Whatever Blessing had done, she’d done it well. The crystal focus lay shattered into a few billion pieces, the tubing hung in shreds, and the magnet that did most of the work had cracked down the center. He’d spent weeks hunting down the right size magnet to trigger serotonin and vasopressin production in the female brain.
Fine-tuning the thing for Tabitha had taken the whole three-week honeymoon. Death by sex only sounded like a good idea. In practice, there was too much of a good thing. Especially if you were out of practice because the only woman in the world you were interested in was the one who walked away.
“Hert!” he bellowed.
There was a flap of webbed feet on concrete and his chief minion stood at quavering attention by his side. “Yes, Master?”
“Do we still have the plans for the original Morality Machine? I need a list of supplies.”
“We can have most the supplies by the end of the week, Master. I’ll need to check the specifications for a few things, and the crystal will take at least two weeks.”
“We don’t have two weeks, Hert. We may not have two hours.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. An almighty migraine was coming on. “Who owes us favors?”
“Sir?”
“Is there anyone we could have pick a fight with Zephyr Girl today? Challenge her to hot dog eating contest or something?”
Hert’s eyes bulged in shock.
“Scratch that. Get some minions upstairs. The house needs to be spotless. Everything she’s been asking for in the past month, find it and get it. New dresses in the closet, new shoes, go steal a new car if you have to.”
The minion cleared his throat. “Don’t you think, perhaps, that stealing might make her angrier?”
Evan sighed. “Right. Super hero morals. Wrong, right, black or white, no happy medium ever. I hate super heroes. Tabby excepted,” he said before Hert could cut in. “I can do this. I can do this. Tabby doesn’t know I’m still working as Doctor Charm. Maybe she won’t notice.” He looked at the shattered image of him holding his wife. “Let’s pray she doesn’t notice.”
Four hours later, he was sitting in the corner of his lab, desperate for a long cool drink of something strong. He wanted Tabitha home, wanted her in his arms and kissing him, but he was terrified of what would happen when she did. He’d already packed a bag with the essentials, in case she gave him his marching orders.
“Daddy!” Blessing screamed from upstairs. “Mommy’s in a fight!”
Evan whipped around. “Hert?”
“We didn’t schedule anything, Master.”
He took the steps three at a time. “What’s going on?”
“Mommy’s in a fight,” Maria repeated calmly.
Picking up Maria so he could claim a spot on the couch, Evan watched as Zephyr Girl whipped around a giant lizard thing, the unholy offspring of Barney the dinosaur and Godzilla. Zephyr Girl darted in, pulling a trip wire past the reptilian legs and dodging a heavy fist.
His heart skipped a beat. Right after Election Day, he was finishing the body armor he’d planned for her. It hadn’t seemed necessary when she was a stay-at-home-mom, just kinky in a fun way.
A heavy green claw swiped downward, and Zephyr Girl didn’t move fast enough. She bounced off a building, her neck snapping back.
“Mom!” Delila rushed to the TV screen. Tiny fingers fanned over the live image of Zephyr Girl plummeting toward the ground.
“Move back!” Angela ordered, pulling on her sister’s shirt. “Let me see Mommy.”
“Move, Tabby. Move, baby,” Evan whispered. He hugged Maria tighter. The TV needed to be off. Now. The girls shouldn’t watch their mom die. He shouldn’t watch his wife die. Anger burned through the fear. Whoever created that abomination was going to pay.
Zephyr Girl somersaulted. A burst of auroras buffered her feet from the hard cement and she shot back up. Vivid blue lights burned the sky.
“Yay!” Maria clapped as she bounced on his leg.
Zephyr Girl did a barrel roll to dodge another wide-armed punch. In a flare of light, she twisted, swung around, and punched the monster at supersonic speed. The creature staggered like an ancient redwood. Buildings shook with its fall and Evan laughed in relief. How would U.S. Geological Survey classify that kind of earthquake?
The girls clapped as Zephyr Girl waved for the cameras. “Nothing to worry about,” she said with a radiant s
mile.
Voices overwhelmed the TV and the news crews all tried to ask questions at once.
“Mommy punched a lizard!” Delila giggled.
“Zephyr Girl!” The Rainbow Dane ran up to the scene in a sparkling pink cape. “You’re injured!” He posed dramatically.
Evan rolled his eyes. “Okay, girls. Enough TV. Let’s go get dinner ready. Mommy will be home soon.”
“Is Mommy hurt?” Blessing asked, trying to peek around his arm to see the TV as he moved to shut it off.
He glanced at the screen where The Rainbow Dane was wiping blood off Zephyr Girl’s arm. Right next to the scar he’d left on her. That armor was getting built tonight. She’d never be hurt again.
“Mommy’s fine,” he promised, flicking the TV off. “The Rainbow Dane is helping her out. He’ll wipe out the scratch, put a smiley face Band-Aid on, and send her straight home. He’s a good guy, that’s what he does.”
“Who is The Rainbow Dane?” Delila asked.
“Someone who is never coming to dinner,” Evan muttered.
He stalked off to the kitchen planning to reheat the spaghetti sauce from the freezer. On an afterthought, he went to check the Band-Aid supply. It was not a manly, hero-ish supply. But bravery was certainly involved. Any adult who could walk out the door with a Pinky the Silly Goose Band-Aid on them without dying of shame was braver than he.
A quick search of the depths of the bathroom cabinet gave him three plain bandages of the no-name, store-brand variety. Much better. Not that anyone would see the bandage because by tomorrow Zephyr Girl was going out to fight evil in full body armor. Possibly with flying minions behind her to mop up the leftovers and deal with tabloid reporters trying to get a shot of her panties.
He bit his lip. Armor. Morality Machine. Election rigging.
What he really needed right now was a way to freeze time. Or a twenty-eight-hour day. Or three of him. As the spaghetti burned, he doodled out a cloning idea. Three Evans, no, better make it four. Someone needed to take care of the house. He sniffed. What was—oh. “Girls? Does anyone want pizza?”
Chapter Eight
Crime really doesn’t pay. At least, not in a regular weekly paycheck fashion. When I married Tabitha, I convinced her that I had reformed. She believed me. The Morality Machine helped matters along, but I made sure I didn’t give her any reason to be suspicious. That meant finding a job. Or, since it was simpler, creating a shell company that laundered the money from my various persuasion schemes and sent me paychecks out of the accrued interest until that well ran dry.
I freelanced, scaling back my plans and running a scheme only when our funds dipped into the danger zone. Little cons that never came up on the radar.
The bank run in China? Not my fault. And I will deny to my dying day any involvement with that one bribery scandal in DC. Although it was a clever job, wasn’t it?
***
Tabitha arrived home as Evan dished out the delivery pizza. He smiled anxiously, not sure what reception he would get. “Hey, Tabby, how are you?”
She ran her fingers through wind-tangled hair, jerking it nervously. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?”
“Because you took a tumble today?” He reached to help her with her cape.
Tabitha jerked away scowling. “Don’t touch me. Why is everyone trying to touch me today?”
Evan stepped back with his arms raised. “Sorry. Do you want me to get you some food?”
“No. I want a shower, and some quiet, and...space. I just need some space.” She stalked into the bedroom. The door locked behind her with an ominous click.
He ate dinner with the girls in silence. Tabitha stayed behind the locked door, coming out in jeans and a tight T-shirt with a college logo only after he’d sent the girls to get in pajamas. The T-shirt wasn’t one he recalled seeing in her wardrobe.
“Here’s your dinner.” He set the plate down in front of her, leaning in for a kiss.
She turned away, still close enough for him to feel the heat off her skin, but obviously uninterested.
Evan slid into the seat beside her, resting his elbows on the table and surreptitiously checking her for bruises. “Are you wearing a different perfume?” Whatever she had on wasn’t her usual blend of floral notes.
“Does it matter?” she asked grumpily. She took a bite of pizza and regarded the slice with disgust. “What is this? It tastes awful.”
“It’s the pizza we usually get.” Evan picked up her discarded piece and nibbled. “It tastes fine to me.”
“Why are we eating pizza? I can’t live on junk food.”
“I burnt the spaghetti,” Evan said. “Pizza was easier than trying to make a new batch tonight.”
She dropped her fists to her lap with a glare. “You burnt spaghetti? How? What kind of idiot burns spaghetti sauce?”
He leaned back in his chair. “Tabitha?” Name-calling was new. Even before the Morality Machine, she hadn’t lashed out like that when she was angry.
The look of disgust transferred to him. “Tabitha what? What excuse are you going to make this time? I’m sure it’s perfect. Choreographed and rehearsed. Everyone always has excuses, and you know what that means? More work me. Why are you doing this to me?” She slammed her chair back, rocking the table as she stood up. “Every time I turn around there’s another lie. Tell me, was anything you said true? Ever?”
“I love you.”
Tabitha stood up, tears in her eyes. “No. You don’t.” She fled into the bedroom, locking the door behind her again.
Angela peeked around the corner, a stuffed cat clutched in her arms. “Daddy?”
Pulling his emotions under tight control, Evan turned to his daughter. “Hmmm?”
“Why is Mommy yelling?”
“She’s just tired,” Evan said with a sigh. “She’ll feel better after a good night’s sleep.”
“Are you going to ground her for yelling? You ground me,” Angela reminded him helpfully.
“Mommy’s a little too big for grounding. I’m going to...” He looked around. “Do the dishes. Mop the floor. General cleaning type of things. Are you girls ready for bedtime stories?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
He put the girls to bed, cleaned, and after he was certain the children were fast asleep, he knocked gently on the bedroom door.
Tabitha answered it wrapped tight in her bathrobe, the bright overhead light they rarely used making the room seem cold and unwelcoming. “What do you want?”
“Can I come in? Can we talk? Please?”
She held the door open. “I don’t see what we could possibly have to talk about.”
Evan took a deep breath as he stepped into the bedroom. This was the tricky part. She hadn’t actually accused him of anything outright, and he didn’t know how much she knew. “I thought I could explain.” He closed the door gently behind him.
“Explain?” Tabitha snarled. “I put my life on the line and all the thanks I get is cold pizza and burnt spaghetti? That’s how you take care of me? Like I’m some stray you let in from the cold?”
“What? You like pizza. I’ve seen you nibble a frozen one!” Granted, she’d been seven months pregnant, and it had probably been the cravings talking, but still.
“I hate pizza,” she said coldly, crossing her arms.
“Since when?”
“Since now.” She swaggered up to him, arms wide. “You got a problem with that? You want to fight with me about this? Maybe tell me what I like to eat a little more? Do you read my mind or something?”
“No, I...” He fumbled for the right thing to say. Groveling looked like the only option. “I was mistaken. I apologize. Do you want me to make something else for you? A sandwich or some soup?”
“Wow,” she said in a flat voice. “You really know how to show a girl a good time.”
Evan fell back on the tried-and-true. He gave her a sexy smile. “I never said I was a cook, baby. But I always give you a good time when you want one.”
&nbs
p; She went rigid, shoulders back, eyes narrowed, just as he had feared she would. “Don’t touch me. I don’t want anyone to touch me.”
“I won’t,” he said, holding his hands up in defeat. “Not without an invitation.” He gave her a smoldering glance that worked eleven times out of ten. Nothing. “Look, Tabby-cat, I want to—”
“Don’t call me that. That’s not my name.” She turned away, rubbing her temples.
“Tabitha, is your head hurting?” Was sudden aggression a sign of a concussion? He couldn’t remember.
Her hands dropped to her side, fisting as she pivoted. “There is nothing wrong with me!”
He sucked in a deep breath, pushed his temper back down, and tried again. “I know I made a mistake.”
“You bet your butt you did.”
“But we have something I don’t want to lose. We’ve had good times together. We’re happy together.” He smiled at her. “Think of all the good times.”
The bed creaked as she sat down. “I don’t remember any of that. All I remember is lies.” She pulled her knees to her chest and looked at the floor, tears welling in her eyes.
Evan froze, torn between rushing to her and respecting her request not to be touched. Cowardice won out. “I’ll go get my, uh, watch. I left my watch in the living room. I assume I can still sleep in the bed? The couch is a little short.”
Her lips curled in a sneer. “I couldn’t get paid to care what you do.”
Ouch. “Be right back.” He closed the door gently behind him and ran for the lab.
“Hert!” He looked around the disaster zone. Minions were carefully labeling and sorting the remnants of the Morality Machine, but his minion-and-chief was absent. “Hert?”
“Master?” Hert’s bulbous head appeared from behind the bulk of the machine’s base.
“Do you have everything for the Morality Machine sorted out? Can we fix it yet?”
“Not yet, Master, but the continuing tests on the election machine are going very well. I have some promising data.” Hert scuttled across the lab to grab his clipboard.
“Not right now. Is the Agree-With-Me Ray running?”