by Karen Diem
Wyn fluffed her chestnut curls and smiled. She turned sideways to view herself from another angle. “If he hadn’t blown us off again, we wouldn’t have gotten to go dress shopping!”
“So, he’s the one to blame for why we’re dress-shopping instead of buying hiking boots like we had planned?” Zita blurted out the first response that came to mind and resolved to feel less guilty about crashing at his place. Situating the bags again on her lap, she flexed her back; flying in bird form to New York against strong winds had been a fun challenge, but her shoulders still bore the faint burn of a serious workout. It didn’t help that Andy had played video games half the night—and forgotten she was there, twice tossing something on top of her snoozing form and shouting incoherently about owning things. Even though he had worn headphones, she slept lightly enough that the flashing lights and murmurs when he forgot himself had woken her several times.
Wyn shook her head, laughing. “We’ll look at boots after this. Have you made any progress getting him to emerge from his basement?”
Blinking sleep from her eyes, Zita exhaled. “No, but I got him eating the meals his parents froze for him, plus rice and beans from my Crock-Pots. That’s far healthier than the crap he was eating before, plus I got him to shower a few times.”
With an assessing side glance into the mirror, Wyn frowned. “I’m worried that his recent hermit-like behavior might become a habit, so keep at it. I’ve tried talking to him, but he makes excuses and escapes. Strangely enough, I suspect you’ll have more luck with him. Do you think this dress or the red one?”
Zita had learned to hate that dress question. Really, really hate it. She took a deep breath; she had promised to try harder to be a friend. Who knew being a good friend meant spending so long shopping? New York’s made for rooftop parkour and urban climbing, but here I am instead. She tried for a neutral answer. “I like them both. The red is bright, but this one is like a disco ball, only sunnier.”
The velvet curtain separating the fitting room from the rest of the shop whipped shut so fast that the whirling fabric almost slapped Zita. Wyn’s voice came from inside. “Not that one, then. Let’s see the red one again.” When she emerged, she had poured herself back into the other one. She examined herself in the mirror, rising onto her toes and turning sideways. Smoothing her hands down her sides, she eyed herself. “Does it make me seem fat?”
With a long-suffering sigh, Zita eyed the dress and faked enthusiasm as if it weren’t the third time her friend had tried on the dress. Perhaps if I mention the best things about it, she’ll buy it, and we can stop shopping? Por favor, Dios, let the shopping end. “Not fat. It’s a nice color, and it makes your butt seem big and round. Dudes or Rani will love it. Can we go now?”
With a distressed squeak, Wyn slammed the curtain shut. The red dress dropped unceremoniously outside the stall. “Neither one then. Ah, we’ll have to keep shopping. At least there are plenty of boutiques along this row.”
Zita buried her face in her arms and fought against moaning audibly. Ay, I’m doomed. Getting to her feet and shuffling Wyn’s previous purchases under one arm, she picked up the discarded dress and hung it up. “I should probably get back to Andy’s and make sure he’s out of bed.” Her stomach gurgled. Loudly. So loudly that the women in the front of the store turned to stare at Zita. She waved at them, then at the security cameras. “Plus, lunch.”
Wyn flounced out of the stall and glanced at her phone. “Time to feed you, I suppose? Have we really been here two hours? Don’t forget it’s my treat since I chose the place.”
Has it really only been that long in this shop? It seemed like forever, or at least Purgatory since they’d throw us out eventually when they close up for the night. Or if I touch anything, based on how that manager was watching me. She sniffed. As if I’d want anything from a place that doesn’t even sell usable exercise gear. If Wyn hadn’t insisted on shopping while she’s here on her conference, we could’ve picked out some boots and gotten in the warmup to a good workout by now. Zita mourned the lost time. She muttered something noncommittal though. A high percentage of the supportive friend schtick seemed to require her to agreeably say nothing when they were doing one of Wyn’s preferred activities. Wyn had told her so, and it seemed to keep her friend happy.
Leaving a disappointed saleswoman behind with both overpriced dresses, they exited the shop and headed down the street. Since it was Saturday, the office buildings that normally produced hordes of workers were quiet and still above their more commercial brethren. The wide sidewalks held mostly shoppers, both local and tourist, hitting the trendy shops and eateries that lined the pavement. Somehow, it smelled different from DC, though both shared the core scents of eateries, exhaust, and busy sidewalks. Wyn paused to point and gaze into several of the windows as they passed, but Zita herded her friend along, guided by her stomach and a new, bone-deep fear of dress boutiques.
Wyn yawned, covering her mouth with a dainty hand. “Sorry, I haven’t had much sleep up until the conference, and I’m still tired.”
Because you’ve been wasting time shopping? Zita squashed the thought guiltily and asked, “Why not?”
“One of the librarians has a kid who spotted a cat living on the roof, so she’s been feeding it to lure him down where we can catch him. They were going to have an exterminator come to get the animal off the library roof, but I couldn’t let them do that. He’s a sweet, healthy boy, so either he was keeping the local squirrel population in check—”
Zita had to laugh. “I’ve been to your campus, Wyn. Those squirrels are not in check, not even remotely. That Squirrel King guy who attacked it at the start of the semester probably picked it because of the millions of fat tree rats. So, you got three cats now?”
Wyn sighed and shook her head. “No, my cats refuse to accept him and have been acting out, though he doesn’t seem to mind them. Poor baby. I have to keep him shut in my bathroom. I tried to get someone in my coven to take him, but nobody was interested.” She watched Zita through her long lashes. “You know, you’d be a great pet owner with your superior understanding of animals.”
Zita made a face. “Bad idea. Not only do I tend to be gone for months at a time, but that psycho Sobek likes to leave me animals and people he’s tortured to death. Last time, it was a neighbor’s dogs. If I actually had a pet, he’d probably enjoy his sick game even more.”
Wyn’s face fell. “No, that would be a horrible fate for the poor creature. It’s a pity. He’s really very sweet and lovable right up until you try to confine him in a cat carrier. I had to try.”
She nodded. “Sí, but no worries. You’ll find him a home.”
Wyn studied Zita, her face thoughtful. “Are you going to keep living on Andy’s couch or are you moving in with me until Sobek’s caught?” As she let her hair down and then bound it back up into another casual bun, anchored by a little, painted stick, she gave Zita a sidelong glance.
“Is that your subtext face, where you say one thing and mean another? If it is, I’m not getting the secret message,” Zita said. “He’s not real thrilled to have me there, but his family’s out of town, and you’re safer if I’m not at your place.”
Biting her lip, Wyn said, “I’m worried about Andy. When I’ve touched his mind—and no, I haven’t been digging into it—his emotions have been very dark.”
Zita nodded, wrinkling her nose. “Part of that could be the stench. I don’t know how anyone could be in a good mood when they got that much stank. But yeah, he’s down.” She had a sneaking suspicion she was still missing something.
A small furrow appeared in Wyn’s brow. “I’m really worried he’s depressed or he might hurt himself,” she said.
“How? I mean, that’s probably part of his problem. He’s put off accepting who he is now and his power, so he hasn’t been bathing, cleaning his place, working out, hanging with awesome people like us, or bathing…” Zita waved her arms for emphasis.
A passer-by flipped her off when one of
her bags nearly slapped them in the chest.
Wyn pursed her lips. “You said bathing twice.”
“Words cannot describe the level of stink he was at when I showed up the other day. I got things cleaned up a bit, though.” Zita made a face, sticking out her tongue.
Two more people raised their middle fingers in unison as they passed.
Wyn ignored the New Yorkers, perhaps accustomed to what Zita suspected was a rude competitive sidewalk sport. “I don’t know, but his emotions are all so negative. I’ve tried talking to him, and he shuts down or leaves.”
Suspicious of Wyn’s line of comments, Zita jiggled the bags. “Pues, I tried talking to him, and it didn’t work out.”
Wyn considered her. “Did you talk to him like you or did you actually talk to him as if you were a real person?”
“Ow, burn. Aren’t you supposed to be the nice one? I talked to him, told him to pull himself together. You know, dude talk.” She shrugged.
Wyn winced. “Perhaps you should make another attempt and endeavor to use some form of tact? We have been working on improving your diplomacy skills, and his emotional state worries me. Perhaps he needs someone to care for or something.”
Zita paced a few steps before realizing that Wyn had slowed, then held still to let her friend catch up. “Fine. I’ll stay with him for now, so you don’t need to worry that he’s going to figure out how to—I don’t even know what would hurt him—walk into an open nuclear reactor or something. His parents come back at the end of the month, and I have to go then to keep them safe from Sobek.”
Relief shone on Wyn’s face, though she wore a thoughtful expression. “Thanks, Zita.”
“It’s Andy. He’s my mano. Not going to let him waste his life sulking,” Zita reminded her.
They had barely gone another block before Wyn paused and dug out the buzzing phone from her coat pocket. Glancing at the screen, she said, “I need to get this. It’s my boss, and I can’t afford to alienate her. Hopefully, she won’t want me to spend the rest of my free afternoon working—the conference picks up tomorrow with a very busy schedule. Why don’t you go on without me and save us a table? Order some dreadful calorie-laden appetizer, my treat. I think the place is on the right past that park there.”
Zita tipped a couple fingers to her in salute. “Órale, see you there.” She hastened toward the restaurant, enjoying the ability to walk at her usual speed. Despite legs like a giraffe, Wyn always seemed to move in tiny steps like a mouse with arthritis.
Right before the large, open-air park that took up most of a city block, Zita stopped and leaned against a cement pillar, one of a pair that bookended the entrance to an office building. She scanned the area, idly cataloging it as she searched for the restaurant Wyn had wanted to try. In the park, ornate benches were scattered along pathways that converged on a fountain, still running despite the late season. Thin stripes and triangles of grass squeezed in between the walking paths wherever possible.
Right now, most of the people present ignored the benches in favor of striding by, except for a lanky teenager. His face shadowed by a cap, the skinny kid seemed absorbed in slumping on a bench and staring at a remote-control car he piloted in mindless circles near his feet. The only serious athlete she could see was a broad-shouldered blond man smoking by the other entrance to the park, whose attention seemed to be on his cigarette and watching the quiet park or a nearby office building. A ball cap, matching the one on the teen, shadowed his face so she couldn’t make out his features. Maybe he’s the kid’s dad? Something about him is off.
The building the man studied was representative of the area, with offices on the upper stories and shops and restaurants lining the sidewalk level. Farther down, a garage entrance undoubtedly led to underground parking, though the lot had a keycard reader and wooden arms barring entry. Glancing inside the entrance to the offices, she saw a couple of sofas, a young man in uniform behind a security desk, and a strange pile of objects.
The weird collection of items stole her attention, as Zita tried to determine if the tangle of tennis balls, plastic water bottles, and crumpled shopping bags over a metal snowman was meant to be modern art or simply a pile of recycling waiting for pick up. As a result, she almost missed the blond man’s subtle nod at someone. Turning her head, she glimpsed a slim woman with spiky hair wearing all black, save for a red poncho, slipping out of an alley and into one of the side doors to the office building with the sculpture. Oddly, she held the door open for a whole minute before entering, a bored expression on her face.
Her balance is really good, perhaps she does acrobatics or ballet? It’s not the right walk for those, but it’s not quite martial arts, either, Zita mused as the stranger stalked toward the reception counter.
The man at the desk rose to his feet, smiling and gesturing toward the street.
Her mind still puzzling out the stranger’s workout regimen, Zita gasped when the woman suddenly Tased the guard at the reception desk.
When the man dropped, black, triangular cat ears rose on the odd woman’s head, and she hurried behind the desk, her glance darting around.
Zita turned her back before the cat-woman could see her. From the corner of her eye, she noticed the blond man turn her direction and froze at the familiar face. She could feel the blood draining from her face. Pretorius! Here? As casually as she could, Zita scanned the area for the spot with the least camera coverage. An alley with a dumpster was likely her best bet, and she strode there quickly, ducking behind the rank trash receptacle and a stunted pine. She peeked out.
Pretorius continued to lean against a wall, but he appeared to be watching the front of the office building, not her.
Dios, I hope she’s not killing that poor guard while I do this. After grabbing a balaclava from her coat pocket, she turned that inside out and shoved it over her face. Stripping off her coat and sweatshirt, Zita stuffed her things into Wyn’s bags, then hid them behind the dumpster, wrinkling her nose at the reek. Sports bra and jeans… less distinctive than my awesome bejeweled T-Rex sweatshirt by far. After a quick shift to Arca, she sprinted back across to the building and burst through the pedestrian door. “Hey! You leave him alone!”
Inside, the cat-woman stood holding an interior door to the offices open and staring into space, a keycard in her hand. Above the door, a tiny light glowed green. At Zita’s entrance, the woman kicked the doorstop into place to prop the door open and dropped the keycard on the floor.
The cat-woman whirled, and a long, fuzzy tail snaked from beneath her poncho. She sniffed the air and curled her lip. Sharp tips edged each finger as she flexed her claws. “You again? Didn’t I teach you enough of a lesson when you stole that notebook? You won’t stop me this time, and I will never forgive you!”
At first confused, Zita dodged another wild blow, sliding over the surface of the reception desk to land on her feet. The guard had been stuffed under the furniture. Wait, all that acrobatic coordination, but no actual fighting skill or stamina? I recognize her now. This is the same cat-woman from way back when we first got our powers and wanted to steal the notebook with our medical details so the government couldn’t figure out who we were. I guess when she’s not robbing houses, she breaks into offices. “Oh, hey, Kitty. How you doing? Did you leave your friend at home this time? You know, crime doesn’t pay and all,” Zita said, ducking another stab.
Wanting to get the fight away from the (hopefully) unconscious man underfoot, she ran her hand along the underside of the desk until she found a button. She pressed it and was gratified by the sounds of alarms and slamming doors from the depths of the building.
“Stupid woman! Do you know what you taking that notebook cost me? I’m done trying to make amends for that.” Kitty growled as she kicked at Zita. Her breath was ragged, and her blows were starting to slow.
“We didn’t get the book. We thought you did,” Zita said, though she had no time to ponder the mystery. Ducking under the high kick, she vaulted over the top of the
desk and flipped to her feet in the center of the reception area. Wiggling her fingers at the cat-woman, she backed toward the massive windows and the weird sculpture.
Kitty sneered and stalked out from behind the desk. “I should have known you and your friends were too incompetent.”
Zita shrugged. “We were good enough to beat your asses.” In the light, it was easy enough to evade the other woman’s advance, a whirling flip that seemed to involve a lot of flailing with all her limbs.
The cat-woman landed on her feet despite the impractical move. “I chose to leave last time. I’ll show you!” With that, she leapt up into the air and began calling out words in another language.
Zita rubbed her hands over her face as each word seemed to thud into her brain like physical punches. Vaguely, she felt pain as her knees contacted the hard stone floor. A corner of her mind shrieked a warning, and she rolled blindly.
A clawed strike ripped her sleeve, though it failed to penetrate skin.
Blinking away the shredding remains of the sudden headache, Zita kept moving.
“Star Freedom Cat Ginkgo Final Strike!” A corona of light appeared around Kitty, and she lifted off the ground, floating five feet up and revolving in midair. Spotlights from nowhere covered and uncovered her, changing her ordinary clothes into ribbon-like strips of fabric that slowly wound around her, almost revealing her entire body.
Even if she didn’t know what the peep show and special effects were supposed to accomplish, Zita was not going to stand there and stare. She glanced around and ran up to the weird statue, ripping a pair of tennis balls from it. Zita aimed and threw the first one at the flying, revolving woman, aiming for her center mass, followed by with the second ball.
