by Julie Kenner
Zoë nodded, just slightly, and Deena whooped.
“I knew it,” Deena said. “So tell me everything.”
“You’ll get your explanation. I promise. But I’ve got Mom issues right now. I need a date for tomorrow.”
“Mom issues, huh? Well, that takes precedence over explaining how you managed to jump off a thirty-story building . . . and survive.”
Zoë frowned, in no mood for sarcasm, but Deena held up her hands.
“I’m serious,” she said. “Mom issues come first. It’s like a cardinal friendship rule. Right up there with ‘Thou shalt return all borrowed clothing’ and ‘Thou shalt not flirt with thy best friend’s boyfriend.’ There’s also ‘Thou shalt not keep secrets about jumping off tall buildings,’ but we’ve already been over that. Anyway, your explanation can wait.”
Zoë grinned, realizing she was truly glad she’d decided to let Deena in on her secret.
Her friend picked up the cloak and ran it through her fingers. “I’m not gonna wait long, though. And I gotta say, you’re making lousy progress on the date front. For one thing, Billy’s gay, so you’re fishing in the wrong pond.”
“I know he is,” Zoë said. “That’s why I asked him.” She needed someone temporary and attractive. No strings, no commitments, no attraction. Someone safe. As much as part of her wished Buster was her date, the rest of her knew that would be a bad thing.
“Sweetie,” Deena said, crossing to the coffeepot. “I don’t think you completely grasp my full meaning when I say you need sex.” She poured herself a cup, then turned around, leaning against the counter and eyeing Zoë.
“Sex is totally out of the question,” Zoë responded. Sad, but true. At least until she could manage better control.
Deena’s eyebrows raised. “You are an alien. And this is just a disguise. You’re really just a glowing mass of energy, and for you, sex is sort of like cell division.”
“What?” Zoë shook her head, blinking. “No. Ick. Where do you come up with this stuff?”
Deena shrugged. “Seems perfectly reasonable. I mean, why else would you avoid sex?”
Zoë felt her cheeks blush, and she stared at the ceiling.
“What?”
“My senses,” she said, mumbling. “I can only control them when I concentrate.”
“Your senses? I’m not following you.”
Zoë sighed and looked at Deena, feeling a little foolish. “My hearing, my vision. Remember? Well, all the rest of my senses are like that, too. Hearing, sight, smell, taste.” She caught Deena’s eye. “Chocolate pretty much sends me on a trip wilder than what I expect was going on at Woodstock.”
“Wow,” said Deena. “But what does that have to do with—” Zoë knew the moment realization struck. “Oh. Touch.”
Deena nibbled on her lower lip. All her life she’d known she was a magnet for odd things. She’d talked with fairies, made wishes on stars, and had a sister-in-law who had a truly amazing secret of her own—so Zoë’s little demonstration of superpowers hadn’t rocked her world. But Deena was dying to hear the details. The concept of supersex blew her away. Flying through the air was one thing, but superhero sex sounded pretty damn cool.
“But, Zo,” she said, “that’s great. I mean, everyone wants to feel the earth move during sex. You really can.”
Zoë frowned. “Trust me. This is not a good thing.”
Not a good thing? Deena would be willing to debate that point. She was no stranger to sex, and hyperaware sex sounded, well . . . super. “Are you sure you’ve thought this through?”
“Deena . . .” Zoë raised an eyebrow. “Think about it.”
Deena did . . . and came to exactly the same conclusion. “I wouldn’t mind borrowing those supersenses of yours for a night with Hoop. It sounds a lot more erotic than body paint or feather massages. And why not lose control if you’re with the right guy?”
Zoë shrugged and started inspecting her fingernails. “I haven’t found a Mr. Right, remember?”
The kid had a point. “And I guess the odds of finding him in time to solve your Mom problem are pretty slim.”
“Of finding him again, anyway,” Zoë mumbled.
“What?” Again? What was the girl talking about?
“Nothing.”
Deena couldn’t help but grin, and it was all she could do to keep from putting down her coffee and rubbing her palms together. “Okay. Come on. Give. Who is he?”
“No one. Really.”
“Zoë, I heard you. Tell me about the guy.”
Zoë’s face turned red, and Deena tried not to laugh. She’d read her share of comic books growing up, and never once had she pictured a blushing, Oreo-eating, library-tending superhero.
“I don’t know how to get in touch with him, so it doesn’t matter anyway.”
“For crying out loud, Zo, do I have to beg? Just tell me.”
“Okay, okay.” She leaned over the table, and Deena leaned closer as well. “He’s gorgeous. Dark hair and a light beard. And his eyes are brown—almost gold.”
“So he’s a hunk. That doesn’t really help a lot. How do you know him?
With a sigh, Zoë sat back. “That’s the problem. I don’t. He came to the school a few days ago. We actually flirted a little.” The blush deepened and Zoë looked down at the table. “But then he started asking about Emily and I kicked him out.”
Deena’s head was swimming. “Why would you kick him out? Were you jealous? You didn’t even know the guy.”
Zoë rolled her eyes. “No. He was some insurance investigator, and he thought Emily was sleeping around.” She shrugged. “He was poking around in her desk, so I kicked him out.”
“And you haven’t seen him since.” Deena sighed. “It’s so sad, but so romantic.”
Zoë started inspecting her fingernails again. “Actually, I saw him last night.”
“Oh, really?” Deena bit back a grin. “The plot thickens.”
“He came by to ask me out for a date.”
“Well? What did you say?”
“I said no, of course.”
“The man of your dreams asks you out and you say no? Are you insane?”
“I told you. The touch thing.”
“Maybe it won’t be as bad as you think.”
Zoë shook her head, her eyes wide. “He held my hand.”
“And?”
“And I pretty much felt like the power of the universe was ripping me apart from the inside.” She smiled, shrugging a little. “But in a good way.”
“Hoo-boy.” If this wasn’t one of the weirder situations Deena’d ever run across . . .
She regrouped, studying Zoë. “Was that the first time he’d touched you?”
“Like that, anyway. I shook his hand in the library, but it wasn’t like this.”
“Well, there you go,” Deena said, throwing her hands out to her sides and sloshing coffee on the floor.
“What?”
“You were a touch virgin.”
Zoë’s eyebrow shot up over her glasses. “Excuse me?”
“You know. Your first time and all. I bet the next time will be calmer, less intimidating.” She smiled wickedly. “But still fabulous.”
Zoë nibbled on her lower lip, obviously considering the possibility. “I’m not sure. You really think so?”
“Absolutely. It’s like the superhero, supersense equivalent of being sixteen and groping in the backseat of a Pontiac.”
Zoë grimaced. “I’m not sure about that, but I get your point.”
“Then go for it.”
“Even if I wanted to”—she held up a hand—“and I’m not saying I do, there’s still another problem.”
Deena quit bouncing and flopped back in her chair. “Hit me. I’m on a roll.” Hell, at the rate they were going, she’d have Zoë ruling the dating world by the time spring break ended.
“He’s a mortal.”
“Can’t do anything about that,” Deena admitted. “Why does it matter?”
>
“I can’t get involved with a mortal.”
“Oh. Why not?”
“My brother, the council, this whole big thing.” She waved a hand in the air and let out a breath. “Too complicated. Just trust me. Relationships. Me. Mortals. Won’t work.”
“Well, there you go,” Deena said, not sure what Zoë was talking about, or why she wasn’t picking up on the obvious answer to her little problem.
“What?”
“Relationships. Who said anything about relationships?”
“But . . . this guy . . . and his touch . . . it makes me all crazy.”
“Virgin touching, remember? Hell, this guy could be your Lenny Potts.”
“Who?”
“Lenny Potts.” She slid into a chair and propped her elbows up on the tiny kitchen table. “My first backseat fondle. Sweet guy. Went out for a whole year. When he kissed me, I thought he hung the moon. I mean, I saw fireworks.” True, it’d been the Fourth of July, and Deena had been only thirteen, but she didn’t see the point in mentioning that. “Now I wouldn’t go out with him if you paid me.”
“Oh.” Zoë’s forehead creased, a little vee appearing on the bridge of her nose above her glasses. “So you’re saying—”
“A fling. A date. I mean, it’s not like you have to marry the guy.”
For a moment Zoë looked doubtful. Then her face cleared. “Doesn’t matter anyway, because there’s still another problem.”
“Well, you’re just boiling over with good news, aren’t you?”
Zoë scowled, ignoring her. “I don’t know how to find him.”
“Did the guy tell you his name?”
“Deenie, it doesn’t matter. I’ve looked everywhere for him. Trust me. I’ve got resources. If I can’t find him, neither can you.”
“I just want to know his name, Zo. It’s not like I’m gonna hire Hoop to track him down.”
“He gave me his card at the school. His name’s Buster Taylor.”
“Taylor?” A wave of suspicion smacked Deena upside the head. Surely Hoop’s officemate wasn’t Zoë’s Mr. Right—was he? She frowned, taking inventory—an investigator with dark hair, a light beard, and brown eyes. It had to be. She barked out a laugh, then slapped her hand over her mouth. “S-sorry.” She swallowed, gathering control. “Silly name.”
Zoë’s brow furrowed. “Yeah. About as silly as Hoop.”
Deena shrugged. “True. I’m not dissing your man’s name. It just surprised me.”
“He’s not my man.”
“I know. And I can—”
“And even if I could find him, I wouldn’t.”
Deena closed her mouth with a snap. “What? Why?”
“I told you.” She held up a hand before Deena could get a word in. “And everything you said about Lenny Potts makes sense, but I’m just not sure. I just don’t think . . .” She trailed off, then shook her head. “I like him, but . . . no.”
She looked up at Deena with misty eyes. “Besides, I just can’t take the risk. I mean, he was, well, nice.”
Yes, he was. And Deena was more than willing to play match-maker between Hoop’s officemate and Zoë. But if the girl was relationship-shy, then Deena seriously doubted that Zoë would take the bait if Deena confessed to knowing good ol’ Buster. Which meant that she had to go the creative—otherwise known as devious—route.
“None of this matters right now, anyway,” Deena said. “We need to find you a date for tomorrow.”
Zoë deflated. “I know. Any ideas?”
“Basically, you want some incredibly attractive guy to be your escort for the night. No strings. No need for niceties. A purely business arrangement.”
“Right.”
“So you’d be willing to pay him.”
Zoë frowned. “Yeah . . . I guess.”
“So you’re looking for a good-looking guy so desperate he’ll drop everything when you offer to pay him to go out with you.” Deena nibbled on her lip. Taylor might not appreciate it, but he did need the money. And Zoë needed an escort.
“Never mind,” Zoë said. “I’ll just tell Mom—”
“Not so fast,” Deena said, unable to help the huge grin that spread across her face. “I know this guy named George Bailey.” She leaned back in her chair, thoroughly pleased with herself. “And I have a feeling he’s just what you’re looking for.”
Seven
Hale didn’t need this. He really, really didn’t need this.
With a groan, he leaned his forehead against the cool door of the refrigerator in Zoë’s kitchen. “What kind of an idiot agrees to chase down missing fashion accessories?”
Beside him, tiny toenails skittered toward him on the formica countertop. Your kind of idiot, that’s who.
True enough. Not that he’d had a choice. For one thing, Zoë might be in danger, and he wanted to keep an eye on her. For another, saying no to Zephron wasn’t a viable option.
In a perfect world, he’d be lying on a beach right about now without a worry in the world. No council duties. No photo shoots. No responsibilities whatsoever. Nothing to do except kick back and soak up a few Mediterranean rays. Maybe bounce up to council headquarters for an unbelievable meal or two. A little wine, a little ambrosia. Watch half-naked mortal women running around sun-bleached beaches in barely-there thong bikinis.
In other words, all the normal, typical, run-of-the-mill perks of being a young, virile, kick-ass superhero.
At least, that had been his plan. But did he get to do any of it? Any rays? Any thongs? Anything at all?
No, sir. No way. Nohow.
Instead he got stuck with helping his sister save the world.
A dirty job, but somebody had to do it.
Thank goodness for room service. At least there were some perks on this trip.
“I don’t even know where to begin looking for this stone, not to mention keeping an eye on Zoë.” He scowled at the empty apartment. She’d known he was going to drop by, where in Hades had she run off to?
Lucky you. Your sister’s a disaster waiting to happen.
Hale glared at Elmer, who managed a little ferret shrug.
Not that I don’t adore the girl . . .
Hale closed his eyes and thumped his head three times against the fridge. “This sucks.”
The food selection? Your klutzy sister? Or were you referring to a philosophical state of suckiness?
Hale scowled at Elmer, who scurried back until he could jump from the counter to the floor. He balanced on his two rear legs, looking up at Hale with a supercilious expression.
“Being a superhero is supposed to be about stopping out-of-control trains, rescuing beautiful maidens, seeking out evil and squashing it like a bug under my thumb. It is not supposed to be about tracking down oversize green pendants that look like rejects from the Home Shopping Network.”
Where’d you hear that? The superhero handbook?
“The Web page, actually.”
The ferret’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. Amazing. He’d actually stumped the furry little guy.
“I’m kidding,” he said. He ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m just worried about my sister.”
Annoyed about missing your vacation, more likely.
Hale couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his mouth. “Maybe. La-La Land doesn’t exactly compare to Greece.”
Speak for yourself. I, for one, prefer Hollywood. The whiskers twitched. Do you think I could get a commercial? Maybe a sitcom? His voice went wistful. I could be the lovable but rambunctious family pet.
Hale groaned, then stifled a sneeze. “No.” His sister was living with mortals and quite possibly held the fate of all of them in her back pocket, and his ferret friend had picked this opportunity to go mental. Not what he needed today. “Besides, we’re not going to be here long enough for you to strike up an acting career.”
You said indefinitely.
“Well, not that indefinitely. If this legend’s right, then everything will co
me to a head by next Tuesday at midnight.”
Wednesday.
“What?”
I knew you’d get confused. It’s the midnight between Tuesday and Wednesday, not Monday and Tuesday.
Hale rolled his eyes. “I think I can keep the days of the week straight.”
Elmer didn’t look convinced. Whatever. Either way, the point is the eclipse, right?
“Exactly.” A rather rare and mystical event.
And His Supreme Uppityness says that whatever dastardly deeds your uncle and Mordichai are up to will happen then.
“Zephron’ll make me put you in a petting zoo if he hears you call him that.”
Yet Elmer was right. The bottom line? For the time being, his vacation was MIA. Instead of being in Greece, he was hanging in his sister’s apartment. Instead of soaking up the sun, he was going to raid Zoë’s cabinets in search of more breakfast. He’d had Eggs Benedict at the hotel but that had been two hours ago and he was starving. Superheroes needed to eat to keep up their strength.
He flung open the cabinet over the coffeemaker. Tupperware. Tiny little Tupperware containers. And all of them empty.
Frustrated, he yanked open another cabinet and started plowing through the bottles and boxes. He found some really old crackers. A box of plain Quaker oatmeal. Four bags of rice cakes.
Clearly he should have had lunch at the hotel.
“How does she live on this stuff?” He shoved aside a box of Earl Grey tea and—yes, finally—found a bag of Oreos. “I’m amazed she hasn’t died of starvation.”
Perhaps she has a more discriminating palate.
“Perhaps she’s a wimp.”
You might have more sympathy if you shared her particular trait. It can’t be easy experiencing each sense so . . . vividly.
Hale frowned, ignoring Elmer, who probably considered his silence a victory. But Hale just wasn’t going to get into this with the little rat. He’d already done it too many times with Zoë herself.
With the bag in one hand and a diet soda tucked under his arm, Hale headed back to her living room, his nose twitching as he tried to stave off a massive allergy attack. He dumped Elmer into the recliner—
You could try to be a little gentler.
