Super

by Karen Diem

  Pink tinged her friend’s face. Wyn walked toward the mouth of the alley again. “Never you mind. How would your death help Quentin? Shouldn’t we inform the authorities? What happened to just reporting our results?” The illusion her friend wore stood by the entrance to a closed business under a light, pale and shining and alone as she waited. Her eyes were dark and bottomless.

  Zita gritted her teeth. “Have a seat. I’m going to call the missing persons cop to tell them that Boris knows something about the kidnap victims. Would you hand it to me?”

  The other woman nodded, and dug in her purse. After a moment, Wyn pulled out a disposable phone, this one labeled with a blue smiley face sticker. She proffered it to Zita. Her elegant nose wrinkled as she eyed the confines of the alley. “I will stand watch. After that, shall we Metro home?”

  “That’s the plan. We’ll hit my place for clothing. After that, I’ll go scout the victim drop-off point to see if we can call in a tip on that too.” Pressing the number Wyn had looked up earlier, Zita waited for a dispatcher.

  Mild-mannered Wyn swore.

  Chapter 14

  “Why do I let you talk me into these things? I could be home in bed with a book and hot cocoa,” Wyn huffed. She panted and tried to keep pace as they walked on the uneven sidewalk. As they reached the commons and left the circles of light to cross the darkened grass, she drew closer. Thunder rumbled. Without her illusion, her pretty face looked fretful as they entered another spot where the streetlights did not reach. A flowy shirt and matching capris in a deep rich blue hugged her slim form. At least the floral shoes had personality, even if regular running shoes would have been more practical than the odd heeled sneakers she wore.

  Zita blinked. Because I need to act. “Because Quentin needs help, and you don’t want me to destroy more of your clothes when I scout out that building? Plus, nobody will expect me to go home at midnight. I took off from Miguel’s office before lunch. If I were on the run, I’d hit my place before they noticed I was missing, and then not come back.” A fat drop of rain hit her nose. Her friend slowed even more as she picked her way across the grass, and reluctantly, Zita changed pace to match. You’d think a person with legs up to her chin could walk faster.

  Her friend shook her head, tendrils of hair springing free from a bun with the movement. “Please, in the books, they go back like imbeciles and that’s when the psychotic killers spring their trap. I would have preferred to at least park closer so we could do a fast getaway.”

  “What? We only parked on the other end of the complex from my place. I would have preferred to park at the Metro; it’s only a couple miles away and nobody will notice your car there. You’ll see. We’ll be in, and out, and nobody will notice a…” She let the words die, seeing the multitude of coruscating red and blue lights through the breezeway at the base of her stairs. She stopped, her fingers crinkling the bag with the gun. “Caramba.” Her shoulders drew tight.

  Wyn looked at the lights and then back at Zita. “You were saying? This is like a novel. If you insist on going there, we should teleport in. You can teleport us out afterward, and save us the walk in the rain.” She stopped, putting her hands on her hips. Rain dotted her shirt like teardrops as it began to sprinkle.

  Police swarmed around the covered parking area. At the edge of the building, a crowd buzzed and shifted, unusual for her complex this late at night. Strobes flashed, the colors interrupting the steady illumination of the security lights. Uniformed officers stood around in a sloppy semicircle, keeping people away. One or two officers even stood on the first floor breezeway, perhaps to stop people approaching from the commons, as Zita and Wyn were. All the apartments, except for her own, had lit windows. The second floor had hauled out lawn chairs to their breezeway and sat, conversing and watching the drama. With envy, she noticed the second floor had snacks. Her stomach grumbled, echoed by another growl of thunder.

  “If anyone is in my apartment, they’d catch us and I don’t care to be killed or spend the rest of my life in a research facility. If anyone knew about the teleporting, they’d probably just kill me,” Zita answered, stepping forward for more details. Within the cordon, two nondescript SUVs shifted position, allowing in a coroner’s van. A painful lump formed in her throat, and she swallowed, once, twice, convulsively. Her hand stroked over the dampness of the uneven hair on her head, back and forth, and then dropped, to vibrate at her side. “I need to know what’s going on.”

  A firm grip seized her arm. Without thinking, Zita struck a pressure point on the other person’s arm and was following through on an attack when she recognized the fabric.

  Wyn let out a yelp and yanked her hand away. She rubbed at her arm. “Goddess! We need to go, not stay here. We can find out tomorrow.” She looked up when another peal of thunder sounded.

  Crossing her arms, Zita planted her feet. “Not if it’s Quentin,” she forced out. “Sorry, I didn’t realize it was you at first.”

  Even the poor light of the commons could not hide Wyn’s change in expression from annoyed to understanding. “You’re right. I’ll be fine. Let’s go talk to the officer on the breezeway, and I’ll see what I can find out. Try not to seem so… well, like you want to punch someone.” She smoothed her hair and sailed toward the officer.

  In her wake, Zita forced one foot in front of another, and struggled to make her face more neutral and the bag more innocuous. She made it up to the breezeway in time to hear Wyn questioning the stocky cop. Zita would have wagered the stocky cop could walk all night in those polished shoes with the worn soles and scuffmarks, but that running would not be a strength. He stood under the overhang, so the rain missed him. Wyn had angled herself to have protection from the water. Zita stopped several feet away, doing her best to ignore the water soaking her clothing.

  “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say, miss,” the uniform replied. “The parking lot is a crime scene, so you need to go around.” Middle-aged, the cop had the set face of a pit bull, capable of either menace or loopy grins. Right now, he favored them with an expression between the two.

  “Oh, we were taking a shortcut. My friend’s had a bit much to drink so we’re going to crash at a friend’s place.” Long eyelashes lowered over hazel eyes, then stopped, and widened. “Do we need to be afraid to walk the rest of the way?” Wyn bit her lip.

  Zita tried to appear drunk.

  Even experienced pit bulls fell for puppy eyes. The uniformed officer shuffled his feet, glanced toward the lights, and lowered his voice. “You should be fine, miss. Nobody will try anything with all these people around, but you should hurry to your friend’s apartment and stay inside. Your friend does look shaky. Do you need help? I can call someone.”

  Wyn simpered. “Oh, no, he’s a building or two further up. We can manage.” She stopped, and her hand flew up to her mouth. “Is that a coroner’s van? Oh, what if it’s John? Please, can you tell me? Please, don’t let it be him! He’s about our age, brown hair and blue eyes?” She touched the officer’s sleeve, the picture of alarm.

  Zita stared as tears welled in Wyn’s eyes, uncertain if she was frightened or impressed by her friend’s acting. “That would be bad,” she agreed. She ran her hand over her head again and let her concern for Quentin show on her face. Her foot began vibrating on the pavement. “Can you tell us anything?”

  The cop shook his head. “I’m sorry; I can’t say anything about the victims. You ladies need to move on.” He stared at Wyn’s face as though hypnotized. His eyes followed one glistening tear, and he glanced toward the parking lot, and then back. His voice low, he said, “I don’t think it’s him.”

  Biting her lip again, Wyn nodded. “Thanks, officer.” It’s not Quentin or Jennifer. Both corpses are too old.

  Tension eased in her shoulders, and her foot stopped the insistent tapping. Sensing the conversation was over, Zita nodded at the cop too. She took the taller woman’s arm and turned as if to go toward one of the other buildings when Andy came running around the corne
r. His eyes were dark and wild, and his clothing rumpled. The way he cocked his head to the side looked more avian than human. Something sparked in his eyes. Zita’s stomach churned.

  “John!” Wyn shrieked. Freeing herself, she ran forward and threw herself in his arms. “Let’s go to your place!”

  Zita snuck a glance at the cop. He looked relieved. She hurried up to the others and hugged Andy. He gave them both a hug that started out painful and then became tentative. She whispered, “Yes, John, we should go to your place before he realizes you don’t match the description she gave.” The eyes that looked back at her changed from one blink to the next from black to the familiar chocolate of her friend. He gave a slight nod.

  His arms around their waists, Andy whipped around to present his back to the cop. They proceeded down a couple buildings and ducked into a breezeway. He put his back against a wall and exhaled. “I thought you were dead!” he whispered. “Oh God, I’m probably going to get so many tickets. They announced on the radio that two people were found dead in your complex, and given all the messages you left today…” He swallowed.

  Wyn shook her head. “We’ve been in plenty of trouble today, but we’re both alive for now. Zita has a plan to change that later.”

  “I’m glad—wait, what?” Andy said. He looked between them. “Does this have to do with why you were on TV earlier?”

  Zita sniffed. “Let’s not talk about this here.” She glanced around.

  Wyn wheeled and stared at her. “You were on television and didn’t tell me? I think we should go to your place. Maybe you can sniff any intruders out as an animal before they see us.”

  “What was that part about dying later? Some guy was offering a reward, and she was in the background. You couldn’t even see her cranky little face most of the time. Miguel looked pissed when he finished speaking and saw she was gone, though.” Andy asked. A second later, he mumbled. “Do you know your pants have an enormous rip?”

  Wyn giggled. “Sorry, my bad. I forgot I should have been covering that.”

  “Yes. Thanks.” Zita raised her hands in the air in surrender. “Fine. Break me out of that research facility if they catch us.” She scrabbled at her clothing to get it off.

  Andy’s mouth tilted up as he turned to face the faded brick wall. “I figure you’d get upset at the gym facilities and break us out.” Her other friend nodded in agreement.

  Zita grinned. “Verdad. You can count on me. Stay put until I let you know it’s safe to move.” She shifted, choosing a German Shepherd Dog. The explosion of scents that greeted her nose and the sounds that teased her ears made up for what her vision lost in color. When she finished, she nosed Andy’s hand.

  He scratched behind her ears after he turned around. Wyn had already picked up the clothing and bag. When both had their hands in the black ruff of the form she’d chosen, Zita pictured her equipment closet. Other than her gear, the closet was empty, though a lingering scent revealed an intruder had been by the door earlier. Her instincts guessed today, but she could not have said why. Her apartment smelled empty and silent. Open the door for me, quiet and slow.

  Someone—Andy, she noted, as moonlight crept inside to verify what her nose was telling her—eased the door open, and she slipped through. Since her snout was giving her more information than anything else, she let it guide her around the apartment. After two circuits, she growled. Safe now, she sent, but someone checked the place out earlier, including all the closets. I was right to be cautious. Leave the lights off just in case. Shifting to herself, Zita dressed in the darkest clothing she could find, using the heavy Maglite she normally stashed under the head of her bed next to a knife. With the aid of the flashlight, she dug through a box. She raised her fist in the air in triumph when she located the only mask she owned. When she returned to the equipment closet, the clothing and bag were in a heap on the floor of the empty closet. Since she could hear her friends talking in another room, she shrugged and hid the gun inside one of the fake plants in the exercise room. A thought sent her scurrying to grab a camping lantern, and then she joined the others. The soft murmur of Wyn’s voice led her to them.

  Familiar with her habits, Andy and Wyn waited at the table in the kitchen. Lighting the lantern, she set it on the table with the flashlight, and went to the fridge for snack ingredients. Zita let Wyn take the brunt of the storytelling, though she interrupted to add details.

  Musing aloud, Andy commented, “He sounds like Snake Eyes. Did he talk?”

  “Very little,” Zita answered. She turned and set the sandwich fixings on the table, padding to a drawer to get plates and knives.

  “Oh, can’t be him then,” Andy answered. After foraging through her supplies, he picked up the peanut butter and bread. His mouth kept twitching upwards.

  Curiosity piqued, Zita asked, “You knew a ninja who went by Snake Eyes?” Wyn coughed, so she whacked her friend on the back before hurling herself into a chair. With a hummus base, she began building a real sandwich.

  Mirth danced in his eyes, visible even by lantern light. “Uh, when I was young” he said. He and Wyn exchanged a look over her head, and burst into laughter.

  “You have more interesting friends than I thought,” Zita said. Is Snake Eyes single, you think? She narrowed her eyes. What is the hilarity for?

  He snickered again. “So then what happened?”

  Choosing to focus on her sandwich, Zita let Wyn continue the narration. When she finished construction, she sliced it in half and picked it up, only then realizing how silent the room had become. She looked up and met two pairs of eyes. “What?”

  “Will that even fit in your mouth, my hobbit friend?” he asked.

  Zita eyed it. Saliva warmed in her mouth. “Hobbit? Never mind. I’ve had bigger, but this will do the job for now.” She began eating.

  Both of the others snickered.

  She blinked and swallowed. Poor word choice in front of the perverts. “Why are you my friends again? So did you get to whose bodies are in my parking spot?”

  As she wiped a tear of laughter from her eyes, Wyn answered, “I was reaching that when we noticed the gastronomic monstrosity you built.” She swiped a carrot stick in a dab of hummus, and nibbled.

  Zita rolled her eyes. Her tone held no animosity. “Listen up, I ran, fought, and shifted tonight, one of those forms being a bird. Do you know how many calories flying burns? Me neither, but based on how hungry I am and general zoological principles, it was a heap. So the corpse wasn’t my brother?” Her fingers tightened on the sandwich. Hummus seeped out the other end.

  Andy looked from one woman to the other. In a typical move, he elected to eat his sandwich rather than get involved.

  The other woman declined to answer her less important questions. “The first corpse was a deceased male with graying hair, a heavy build, and multiple tattoos. My policeman friend out there identified a couple prison tattoos mixed with regular ones on both him and the second corpse, a heavyset middle-aged female. Does that sound like your brother or his date? It doesn’t match the pictures you have.”

  Reassured, Zita nodded, and took a bite of her sandwich. After she chewed, she answered. “The pictures are recent. Quentin’s two tattoos are both from his service; he said any future tattoos would have to beat the Marines, and nobody does that. Jennifer is in her thirties and thin.”

  Wyn nodded, her face sobering. “The policeman focused more on the state of the corpses than a description of the people they used to be. Someone murdered and mutilated those poor people; the policeman was uncertain of the order in which those events occurred. He did not want two inebriated girls contaminating the crime scene or being scarred by it.” She sent another carrot stick through the puddle of hummus on her plate, and finished it, pushing the plate away. “Here’s what the dead man’s head looked like.” She held out her hand, and a small illusion appeared of a man’s head and shoulders.

  Squelching her squeamishness, Zita forced herself to examine the image. Recognition to
ok a moment given the condition of the face. “It’s Brains! He was at the zoo and then he came after me here!” Her food turned sour in her mouth, and she set it down.

  “Someone did a number on his face,” Wyn murmured, “but the rest of his body was worse.” The image disappeared. She repeated with a woman’s face, banishing it when Zita shook her head.

  Zita flexed her fingers. Guilt flooded through her. “His jaw was me. The missing ears and other injuries were someone else.” She rubbed her hair.

  “So what’s the next step?” Andy asked.

  “I’ll verify illegal activity at the address Wyn got from Boris’ mind. Then, we call the cops and report the address and our suspicions about kidnap victims. Pues, I should call Miguel too about seeing my complex on the news and a dead body. It’s possible he can tell us more.” The odds were against him telling a civilian, even his sister, but she had to hear his voice. She didn’t know if Wyn was listening or not, but both of the others stared at their mismatched plates. She retrieved her cell phone from Wyn’s bag, sliding the battery back into the phone. Zita ran a finger over her sandwich, her stomach protesting the cessation of food. I will be back for you, my delicious. After a tap on the keys, she held the phone to her ear. Say the words!

  Despite the late hour, her brother answered on the second ring. “Garcia. Talk to me.”

  Zita exhaled, tension loosing in her chest that she had not even realized she held. “Miguel, what’s going on? The news says dead bodies are at my apartment complex.”

  “I can’t tell you much, but it’s not Quentin or Miss Stone. Are you safe?” Concern laced Miguel’s voice.

  Zita nodded, forgetting he could not see her. “Yes, I’m secure enough. What’s going on?”

  “They found bodies in your parking spot. They have yet to release a cause of death or anything, but it sounds like murder.” He exhaled.

  She sniffed. “At least my bike doesn’t have dead guy all over it, since it’s in impound. I don’t suppose Quentin’s turned up? Maybe he and Jen wandered into a hospital suffering from sexcapade-induced amnesia?”