by A A Woods
Moose didn’t want to wait until darkness. He wanted to zoom over to Victor’s estate, spoils in hand, and see the man’s expression. Would Victor and his assistant be surprised that Moose had pulled ahead, worked faster than their schedule?
Would they be impressed?
Staring at the little blue vials on his desk, Moose puffed out his ribs and stood straight, imagining the cameras on him. They shouldn’t be surprised. After all, what kind of idiot couldn’t see that he was the real deal, the hero who gets things done. Victor had begun their professional relationship with kid gloves on, but Moose was ready for the big leagues now.
He was ready for more.
Pacing the well-worn route between the door and his desk, he wondered what his next mission would be. Would he be sent to steal more knickknacks? Or spy? Or sabotage?
He paused.
What if Victor asked him to kill someone?
He shook his head. No, Victor wouldn’t do that. Heroes didn’t kill people. Even Batman, who was almost an antihero, did his best to minimize death and destruction. No, Moose wouldn’t be working for them if they were bad. He had better sense than that.
Didn’t he?
A crash from the kitchen made him jump. He leapt to the door, popping out into the main room.
“What is it, what happened, what’s wrong?”
Delilah stood next to the kitchen island, batter slopped down the front of her apron, a mixing bowl shattered on the tile floor. Shocked tears were beading in her tired eyes and her mouth was open in a surprised O.
Never one to take things slow, Moose hurried into the kitchen. “It’s ok, it’s ok, we’ll get this cleaned up. Don’t worry.”
“I have two hundred whoopee pie cupcakes to bake by tomorrow,” Delilah said in a dazed voice that bordered uncomfortably close to sobs. “I’m never going to make it…”
“Nonsense, that’s plenty of time,” Moose said, coaxing the apron off over her head and bundling it up carefully so that no more of the sticky batter dripped on the floor.
“But the mess…”
“I’ll get it,” he said, offering her another number from her collection of aprons, this one with a cheerful pattern of foxes.
Delilah blinked at him and Moose wondered if she’d planned to stay up all night baking again. He’d never met anyone who worked so hard or so cheerfully. Even now, exhausted, dirty, and behind on her work, she wasn’t angry. She didn’t shout or scream. She just accepted the fresh apron with a wan smile.
“You know, Delilah,” Moose said, doing his best to hurry to the cleaning closet without actually moving his normal speed. “Sleep is good. Humans need sleep.”
“You don’t sleep much,” she said, a bit of spark back in her voice.
“That’s because I’m special.”
“What if I’m special too?”
Moose began to wipe up the mess, carefully placing bits of cracked ceramic in the trash can. “You do make pretty special desserts.”
“Sometimes I wish I didn’t,” she said, chuckling and pulling another mixing bowl out of the cupboard. “Wouldn’t it be lovely to have some normal job? Like a secretary or an engineer? Somewhere you get to just show up and work for eight hours a day?”
Moose gaped at her in horror. “No,” he said, as if her words were bugs crawling on his skin.
Delilah laughed. “I know, you’re an artistic type. Made for the spotlight, right? But not me. I don’t really like the attention.” She shrugged, pulling out ingredients. “I just like to make things people enjoy.”
“But that’s just it, right?” Moose said, wiping down the counter. “Doing things people enjoy is the same as wanting fame or glory. We all want to be praised and told we did a good job.”
Delilah cocked her head, her dumbfounded shock gone, and Moose found himself giddily happy that he was able to distract her. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s all just about the validation. But I think I’d still bake, even if no one ever knew it was my baking. I’d want to see their expressions, sure. And enjoy knowing I’d been a part of it.” She shrugged delicately. “I just don’t think I need them to know it was me.”
Moose frowned, rubbing at a stubborn bit of muck. He didn’t mind being anonymous, did he? That was the whole point of what he was doing. Vigilante work, making the world a better place, being an invisible but powerful force for good. Moose understood what she was saying.
But somehow it still made him itchy.
“Although,” Delilah continued as she began to scoop flour and sugar into a bowl. “I wouldn’t say no to one of those cake-off baking shows.”
“You wouldn’t?”
“Can you imagine the publicity bump? I’d be able to hire staff, maybe even afford a shop.” Her eyes became distant, almost dreamy. “Imagine, my very own bakery.”
Moose thought about Victor, about the man’s enormous mansion. Surely someone that rich could afford a small favor…
“Well, thanks for helping with all this. I know you must have a ton of stuff to do.”
Moose shrugged, tossing the last of the mess in the trash. “I mean, I sort of live here, low-key, so I’m cleaning up my own space too.”
She made a face. “Sorry your landlord is such a slob.”
“That’s ok, I get all the baked goods I want.”
With a sound of outrage, she flicked flour at him.
“Hey! I just cleaned up in here!” Moose said, backing away a little too quickly.
“You sure did,” she said, beginning to stir. “Did you hear, by the way? They let that guy out.”
“What guy?” Moose said, feigning ignorance.
Delilah’s eyes were soft, almost knowing. Moose tried not to think about the way they lingered on his goggles and his windblown shock of hair. “The one with wings. The cops released him. Turns out there are no laws for flying around the city.”
“Duh,” Moose said, unable to come up with something wittier as guilt squirmed in his belly. It was impossible not to think about how Aquila was in New York for him, there to find him, and had gotten arrested in the process.
Well that’s his fault for being such a big dumb oaf that he thinks he can wander about in the daytime without any consequences, Moose thought sourly, brushing off the flour Delilah had left on his windbreaker. He was always so naïve.
That naysaying inner voice that sounded an awful lot like his brother quipped, are you any better?
After a second of uncomfortable silence, Moose shrugged. “Well, that’s good for him, I guess. Now he can swoop around all he wants.”
“Apparently not. They’re pushing a new law through tomorrow morning. Apparently, it was already written because of all those drones people are buying. No unregistered vehicle or person is allowed to occupy any airspace above the city.”
“Probably for the best,” Moose said, trying to hide the guilt and shame and worry for his brother. He and Aquila had spent their whole lives butting heads, but that didn’t mean Moose wanted his brother to suffer. And Aquila would suffer without the ability to fly, tethered to the ground. Aquila needed air under his wings the same way Moose needed wind on his face.
Releasing a gust of a sigh, he straightened. “Well, it’s getting dark out. I need to get ready. You ok?”
“I’ll be fine, thanks to you,” Delilah said with a smile. “I would never have been able to clean all that up in time.”
Moose saluted. “Only the best for the best. Happy baking.”
Delilah watched him go back to his room, smiling to herself as she returned to the long, laborious evening ahead of her, knowing that at the very least she’d have lots to think about.
Chapter Twenty-Four: Compounding Problems
Eliza was in the shower and it was the perfect opportunity. But still, Aquila hesitated. He wasn’t the kind of guy who snuck out on people, who crept onto balconies and waited until he heard the hissing steam of hot water to leap out into the night. Every fiber of his being wanted to tell Eliza all of it, spill out
what Hans had said like cards on the table that they could go over together, pick apart together. He could have Eliza’s fire and Tero’s brains and Ian’s life experience helping him, frowning along with him. Or even just Eliza, whose sharp, city-trained eyes saw things Aquila didn’t, caught details he would have missed. Aquila wasn’t deluded. He knew his limitations, just as he knew Eliza balanced them.
But if she got hurt because of who—what—he was, he’d never forgive himself.
I’ll be back right away. This won’t take long. I’ll just tell her I was flying around, getting some air.
Yeah right.
Knowing that every second he stood there was another second to talk himself out of this, Aquila spread his wings and leapt off the balcony.
Usually, he found tremendous peace in flight. Growing up, it had been his go-to way to blow off steam. When Otto and Moose’s endless bickering became too much, or when Daisy would become too withdrawn, or when Tero would get snippy and irritable at them for disrupting his reading, Aquila would seek relief in soaring over the green hills and roadways, staying high enough that the casual observer would dismiss him as a large eagle, maybe a distant airplane. Or he’d go at night, when the act of riding the updrafts was accompanied by a horror-movie thrill, a breathless fear of the thick unknown around him. Unlike Tero, Aquila didn’t have the ability to make his way in the dark. He couldn’t echolocate like his brother or see with Moose’s level of detail, although his eyes were much sharper than an average human’s. Even now, pushing higher so that he could sweep around Manhattan unseen, Aquila was at once cushioned and unnerved by the intense darkness above him, dulled by the brilliant city that never slept.
But there was no peace to be had tonight.
Hans’s words kept going through his head, over and over and over.
You never know who might get hurt.
Of course Aquila had known there was a whole world of trouble out there that his family was mercifully ignorant of. He’d had a taste of it last fall. But this seemed so much larger and more ominous, a true underworld, like something out of a bad mob movie. It was especially hard not to be angry at Moose for dragging them all into it. If only his wayward, idiot brother had been able to control his ridiculous fantasies of fame and glory. If only he’d been able to stay put for five minutes, then maybe they could have remained protected and ensconced in their small-town bubble. They could have grown up a bit, gotten used to the strange anti-limelight they’d been subjected to.
But then again, Aquila understood.
All Moose had ever wanted was praise, attention, glory. If Aquila was being honest with himself, so did he. And what the media was doing, what they’d become to the American imagination, was hard on all of them.
Except Otto, Aquila thought bitterly, sweeping toward the Marriott. He just went off in the woods.
A pang of guilt followed the thought and Aquila shook his head. No, Otto was recovering. He was in pain. It wasn’t fair to envy him the isolation when Otto hadn’t had a choice.
Wondering if there were families out there that weren’t so damn messy, Aquila counted down balconies from the top. He’d Googled the hotel and thank goodness he had, or else he’d have landed on the communal balcony and not on the penthouse floor. With the lights flashing out from the uppermost story, he guessed that some kind of party was going on.
Careful to avoid the lights, Aquila came in from below, flapped his giant, feathered wings twice, and landed lightly on his target’s railing.
The curvy young woman was waiting for him, flipping a butterfly knife.
“You made it,” she said, her eerie grin reminding Aquila of a cat. He wondered what her power was.
“I did,” he said, stepping onto the landing and straightening to his full height, at least a foot taller than her. “Now, where’s Hans?”
Her smile widened, as if impressed by Aquila’s brass. She pushed off the wall, giving him the distinct and unnerving impression that he was not in control of this meeting. Far from it. “This way.”
Heart in his throat and wondering if he could dig himself out of the hole he’d fallen into, Aquila followed.
The man, Hans Schneider, was waiting for him. He was settled back on a wide, plushy couch, tumbler of whiskey in one hand. Aquila was half surprised he didn’t have a cigar in the other. The suite was enormous and opulent, with heavy draperies and sprawling furniture and a massive, wall-to-ceiling TV. The slender one with super-strength was in the kitchen—almost as big as the one in Ian’s mansion—eating ice cream right out of the carton.
Aquila ignored everything but Hans.
“Would you like something to drink?” Hans asked, swirling the whiskey or bourbon or whatever it was.
“I’m seventeen.”
The woman behind him snorted, but both Hans and Aquila ignored her.
“A soda then?”
“No thanks.” Aquila strode forward and sat down without invitation, meeting the older man’s hard, blue eyes. “So? Why am I here?”
“Not one for pleasantries, are you?”
“Not when someone threatens my girlfriend.”
Hans sighed. “I told you, I wasn’t threatening anyone. I was only informing you of the danger she’s in, being… close to you.”
“If she’s in danger, it’s your fault.”
“That’s a rather ignorant way of looking at things.”
“Then enlighten me,” Aquila said, folding his arms.
Hans put his drink aside, wiping his fingers meticulously with a racehorse-pattern handkerchief. “Actually, it’s not your precious girlfriend that I’d like to talk about. Pan, if you would be so kind?”
Aquila watched from the corner of his eye as the young woman came around and turned on the TV. Keeping his attention on Hans for a moment longer, Aquila finally tore his gaze away to look at what she’d brought up on the screen.
When he saw what was there, it took everything he had not to sag in his seat.
It was Moose.
Blurry, barely in focus, but unmistakably Moose. Aquila gaped as his brother in a bright windbreaker, grinning as he zoomed down the hallway. Aquila recognized that expression. He knew exactly what Moose looked like when he was convinced he was getting away with something.
Apparently, he’d been wrong.
“This was taken outside my door,” Hans said, making Aquila whip around. “You see, I don’t trust hotel security. It’s so often behind the times in terms of what professional hackers and thieves have at their disposal. So I install military-grade equipment wherever I go. Stealth cameras, recording devices, heat-detectors. I don’t change the lock, since that would tip them off. No, it’s much better to let them think they succeeded and then correct that mistake later, in private, on my own terms.”
Aquila swallowed before answering. “What did he do?’
Hans rose, drifting to the enormous dining table that could easily seat fifteen, with wings, and retrieved a suit jacket. “He took something very valuable to me. Something private. And he ruined a perfectly good piece of clothing in the process.” Hans turned the jacket inside-out, showing the frayed seam. “This was French design, handmade by my own personal tailor. It wouldn’t have ripped in a thousand wears. And yet…” Hans pushed his large hand into the pocket and shoved his finger through the hole, wiggling it on the other side.
“I’m sorry sir, I can pay for the damage—”
“I doubt it, but that’s not what I care about.” Hans tossed the jacket back over the chair, cleaning his hands again. “I want to know who your brother is working for.”
“Why do you say that? Maybe he was just causing trouble,” Aquila said, depressed by how easy it was to believe that Moose would do this just because.
Hans leveled a hard stare at Aquila. “Then how did he get the key to my room? How did he know what to steal? Why didn’t he take more? And, most importantly, how did he know about me in the first place?”
“You’re hardly subtle,” Aquila said.
“More than you, son. And more than a great many people. No, your brother is working for someone, has been recruited by someone, and I want to know who.”
Aquila held his hands out, half in supplication and half with his own hard rage. “If you’ve been watching me at all, then you know I’m not in touch with my brother. I don’t know where he is or what he’s up to. If I did, I wouldn’t be here.”
“Yes, I am aware of that. However, there’s another way you can help me.” Hans grabbed something else off the table. It was a piece of heavy paper with thick, dark ink splashed across it. “One of the businesses I sponsor is throwing a party in my honor tomorrow night. Victory News, I’m sure you’ve heard of it. Anyone with power or influence will be there.” Hans looked at Aquila. “I want you to go.”
“What? Why?” Aquila said, shoving to his feet to meet Hans on equal grounding.
“If someone is plotting against me, and using Abnormals to do so, you will act as a lightning rod for their attention. The leader of the so-called Vagabonds? What a prize.”
“So what, you want me to talk to everyone there? See if they’re trying to steal from you?”
Hans shook his head, expression at once exasperated and cunning. “No, I want to see if anyone approaches you. Whoever this is will hardly be shouting their intentions from the rooftops, as you seem apt to do. They’ll be subtle, careful. But they won’t miss such an opportunity.”
“To talk to me?” Aquila asked skeptically.
“To win, or coerce, your services.”
“I thought you said we were nothing but troublesome distractions.”
“To me. But not to everyone. You see, my misguided friend, there is no true power in this world without the threat of someone trying to take it from you. No great leader exists in a vacuum.” He shook his head. “I don’t think many people realize how exhausting it can be, constantly watching for the inevitable attacks.”
Aquila frowned. “Poor you.”
Hans shrugged, spreading his fingers. “You don’t like me. I don’t blame you. But someone must be there to make the hard choices and make sure things go… smoothly.”
