by Sue Perry
Rivers of red taillights inched past rivers of white headlights. In between, rows of arc lights brightened the asphalt, giving night-shift light to highway workers in neon orange vests as they jackhammered the fast lanes in both freeway directions. I was finally out of the canyon and maybe twenty miles from home. In these traffic conditions, twenty miles meant a two-hour drive.
Patience is a virtue, or so I've been told. I didn't need virtue that night, because on the far side of the jackhammers, the traffic dispersed. I caught myself sorry to be back to full speed. Apparently I didn't want to go home yet. I decided where I wanted to go and changed course, fully aware my new destination could make me feel far worse.
In the Los Angeles basin, thirty miles from the deep mountain canyons, it was nearly midnight but still tanktop weather. Perhaps that is why I wasn't alone when I got to the Watts Towers. A small crowd milled around, staring into what was now a construction site. Every once in a while, someone would groan or shout as a chunk of Miles would hit the ground with an explosion of powdered cement and shattered tile. The security guards wore hard hats.
Oh, Miles. He had lost maybe a fourth of his cement and decoration, and several key girders were snapped, twisted, or dangling. His basic structure still held and that had to be a good sign. New damage continued to materialize and that had to be a bad sign. However, the rate of destruction must have slowed or they wouldn't be attempting repairs. Right? I needed to believe that the good signs outweighed the bad.
Milling at the back of the modest crowd, I blinked for a while then let the tears flow. No one would notice and if they did, they did.
"There is much yet to do," a voice growled over my left shoulder.
"Anwyl," I breathed, as though his name carried oxygen. "Are you saying I can help?"
"If you still wish it."
"But they said you would go to prison if you had contact with me."
"Indeed, and that was no empty threat. Our contact here must be brief."
Anya's beloved voice softened the air on my right side. "Their directive was harsh, but contains what your language calls a loophole."
Anwyl mocked the loophole. "They forbid us to have contact with Nica of Los Angeles."
Anya had the punch line. "Would you be willing to relocate?"
"Just tell me where and when."
"Soon you will know."
"So what's our next step? Getting more evidence against the Cysts?" The Framekeeps had not shut down the case entirely. If we got sufficient evidence, they would reopen the inquiry. That's what they said.
"We have the evidence we sought."
"But -" Can it Nica, they can't stay long, let them talk.
"We needed to know which Keepers are under Maelstrom's control. We know their votes. We have that sorry answer."
"But you said the safeguards prevented that."
"We needed you to believe that." Anya sounded apologetic. She didn't like to lie.
"Oh!" I tried to keep my voice down. They had to trick me about their intentions in case the Cysts read my thoughts. "I hate my leaky brain. I want you to be able to confide in me!"
"Here now is the truth. We knew we could not win our petition. Maelstrom again controls Framekeeps. Our petition served its true purpose, to show us the allegiance of each Keeper. Now the time for deceptions is past. The enemy moves swiftly and soon Maelstrom will be free, lest we move swifter still."
I felt the chill this news delivered. "What do you need me to do?"
"First, we must overthrow the Framekeeps."
Wow. "How many of them voted against us?"
"That vote misleads. Confident that Warty Sebaceous Cysts would prevail, some voted with us to hide their allegiance with Maelstrom. We will overthrow all the Framekeeps then reinstate three."
Ho-kay. They wouldn't plan it if it wasn't possible. "And we need to bring Miles home."
"When our mission allows. As Maelstrom nears freedom, none will be safe. Our dangers grow each day. You risk all if you join us, Nica."
"'We're gonna need a bigger boat.'" I felt puzzlement from my left and my right. "That means I'm in. When do I leave Los Angeles?"
"Soon. You will know," Anya repeated.
"Hey what if they close the loophole and you can't see Nica of anywhere?"
"That may occur. First, they must detect us together in your new home. The Framekeeps will have little time to ponder loopholes."
"Soon even Framekeeps will acknowledge that Maelstrom threatens all."
"Monk spoke truly. When the darkness grows apparent, they will turn to us for aid."
My sides felt exposed. Anya and Anwyl had stepped away. I resisted the impulse to grab them and cling. "What do I do next?"
"You will know." And with that they were gone, strolling arm in arm like a couple enjoying the balmy evening.
For the first time since the Framekeeps dumped me at home, I felt good. Scared, sure - even Anwyl and Anya sounded a little frightened - but ready for the next steps, and relieved to be part of the struggle against Maelstrom. My knowledge of the struggle made it impossible to return to life as I'd formerly known it.
I've never been a poetry person, except during college when I had a thing for an assistant prof who recited great verse to me at all the right times. Thanks to him, I learned to speak some William Butler Yeats, although I'd forgotten it for years. Forgotten, until the last couple days, when I'd had a piece by Yeats looping in my head like it defined my predicament, now that Anya and Anwyl had entered my life.
... and if any gaze on our rushing band, we come between him and the deed of his hand, we come between him and the hope of his heart.
I shivered and felt the empty space around me. My rushing band had disappeared again, the temperature had dropped, the onlookers had dispersed. I was the last one standing at the fence. I blew Miles a kiss, fished the rental car keys from my pocket, and ran to catch up with the stragglers.
Among the stragglers were Anya and Anwyl. "William Butler was a great friend in his time," Anya said fondly. I had recited W. B. Yeats' verses inside my head.
"We must away," Anwyl said, and the two of them loped into the darkness that would hide their departure from this Frame.
The stop-and-go traffic on the return drive to downtown LA was a joy. Parking the car at the rental kiosk and slipping the key into the after-hours return slot was a joy. Walking home through gritty air and smelly streets was a joy. When a BMW ran a red light and swerved to just miss this pedestrian, I shouted with joy. I was hooked and I was ruined and I was back in the real game.
When I unlocked my office door, I awakened Dizzy, sprawled napping on my futon. "Where you been gal?" I greeted her. "How was Shastina?" She watched me cross the room like my steps spoke to her, and maybe they did. "Someday, we must find a Frame that lets us chat," I told her. She sat up urgently to groom her rear. I didn't take it personally. Or if I did, I didn't care.
I grabbed my laptop and joined Dizzy on the futon. Just for the hell of it, I pulled up a travel planner site. Hmmm. Great deals on tickets to Auckland, Seattle, Rio, Charleston, and Hong Kong. Mighty fine vacation destinations, but if this was a sign from the Frames, I couldn't read it. The destinations all sounded equally good to me. I searched for a world topographic map and said the name of each country in turn, hoping to feel eureka. Nope. I enrolled for special-deal emails from every travel site I could find.
It was when I was about to close my laptop that I noticed I had a message in my Google voicemail. It wasn't the sign either, but I was thrilled to hear it anyway.
"Hey, kid," said a throaty drawl that I missed so much and loved so dearly.
"It's Jenn," I told Dizzy. "We've been friends since third grade."
"Didn't use your cell in case you're busy with a hot case. The retreat is over and I feel good. Good. Call me, if being carless didn't kill you. I'm home. Call me, I'll let you talk. You can catch me up. Did I miss anything?"
That last one got me going. My laugh meter spiked from
chuckle to guffaw, from giddy to hysterical. Dizzy paused her grooming to watch as I collapsed to my knees. I couldn't stop laughing.
#####
THE END (OF BOOK ONE)
Where will Nica go next? Who and what will she meet there? Can Anya and Anwyl unite allies to fight Warty Sebaceous Cysts? Does Maelstrom get free? Is Miles alive? Might Dizzy become a Framekeep?
Find out all this and more in Book Two of the FRAMES quartet.
Book Two is in the works! If you want to...
+ Stay informed about its progress!
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+ Read an occasional guest post written by Nica or another FRAMES character!
+ Read other posts that have nothing to do with FRAMES whatsoever!
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Thanks for reading the first book in the Frames series. Please make the time to review Nica of Los Angeles - especially if you enjoyed it. You probably have no idea how important a reader's review can be, on Goodreads, LibraryThing, and - especially - with the retailer where you bought Nica.
Acknowledgments
Writing happens alone, but revision needs extra perspectives, and I've been lucky enough to benefit from early reads by Rhiannon Costello, David Ketelsen, Scott Peters, Julie Robitaille, Deborah Schneider, and Louise White. Thanks infinitely much for your insightful comments and savvy editing catches.
Bill Hickey provided valuable real world perspective.
Julie and Deborah - you've kept me writing during some dark times.
About The Author
Writing is the perfect occupation for me and the only job that has ever mattered. As a writer, I can do what I want, pursue any interest, try something new each time. That's important, because I crave variety and abhor routine. Consequently:
In school, I got degrees in wildly different fields (computer science, film production, geology, with minors in linguistics and Irish history).
I’ve had so many jobs. (Babysitter, duck caretaker. Switchboard operator, warehouse clerk, bank lackey, secretary, substitute teacher, bookkeeper, bureaucrat. Motion picture story analyst, low-budget TV producer. Scientific research internship director. Earthquake consultant. Professor. Disaster scientist.)
I always have many animals around (currently, 5 cats and a dog).
And - it figures that when I had kids, they would be boy-girl twins with only a birthdate in common.
Writing always reflects the author's interests, so - until now - I've never written the same kind of book twice. In chronological order, I've written: a character study in which rock fans follow a tour across country (Headliners), a psychological thriller involving split brain research and animal rights (Was It A Rat I Saw), a novella featuring a quirky group of scientists who solve crimes (C.R.I.M.E. Science), a multi-generational coming-of-age drama about a family frozen by secrets (Scar Jewelry), and a speculative fantasy with detective elements (Nica of Los Angeles).
I live in southern California, where I enjoy live music, reading, hiking, cities, beaches, mountains, and the internet. If I had all the money in the world I would have an abode in each of its great cities.
