by Karen Diem
Zita’s first attempt flew true and socked the cat-woman in the stomach. When she gasped and bent over her stomach, the second ball smashed into her face. The woman fell to the ground, once again dressed in her ordinary clothing. Rolling over, she got to her knees, hands over her nose and eyes streaming with tears. If she said something, it was lost behind her hands.
The back of Zita’s neck prickled, and she whirled, half-expecting to see someone else there, but the two women were alone, except for the security guard, who had pushed himself into a sitting position and now gaped at them. This close, he seemed only a couple years younger than herself, and she could see a short ponytail peeking out behind his head.
He stared. “Oh, ouch! Did you interrupt her transformation sequence? That seems rude. I mean, she deserved it and all…”
“What?” Zita scurried to him and freed his hands from the handcuffs, an easy enough task to do with the odds and ends on his desk.
Rubbing his wrists, the guard shook his head. “Never mind.” He lurched to his feet and staggered toward Kitty. As he passed the interior door, it flew open, knocking the man into the wall. No one emerged, and the door slammed shut.
With a glance to confirm Kitty was still occupied the injuries to her face, Zita scanned the room. She thought she heard the soft whisper of rubber soles on the tile floor but didn’t see anyone. A strong scent lingered: clean male, leather, and expensive cologne. Oye, how did I miss that stench earlier? Did someone come in to work on the weekend after dowsing themselves in an entire bottle? Moving quickly, she ran to Kitty and yanked the other woman’s arms behind her back. “Is someone else here? Don’t fight me.”
Blood streaming from her nose, Kitty spat a curse at her. “I will have my vengeance someday.”
Zita handcuffed the other woman’s hands behind her back and guided her to one of the sofas. “Whatever, drama cat.”
His eyes still groggy, the security man went to stand by the captive woman. He scowled down at Kitty. “Thanks, Miss. The cops should be here any second now.”
“If you’re good then…” Zita said. After a wave, she ran to the door and took a moment to survey the room again. Shaking her head at herself, she slipped back outside, scanning the area for cops. The street seemed largely undisturbed as if the spat in the building had gone almost unnoticed, though Pretorius’ gaze was on her. She marched that direction.
A car horn sounded off in the street behind her, a long, musical melody made discordant by approaching police sirens.
When she turned to glance at it, the office opened by itself.
Kitty tore outside, hitting the closing door open with a shoulder and an angry yowl. Her hands were still cuffed behind her. She flicked a glance over her shoulder, her gaze skipping past Zita and sticking on someone. Her nose dripped blood.
It was a quick call. Why are you not here stuffing your face? Wyn’s mental voice intruded.
Zita ran back to check that the guard had survived, throwing open the door. I’ll meet you there soon. A cat woman attacked someone, and she’s getting away. Calling inside, she said, “You okay?”
Resignation filtered through the telepathic link. Let me know if I should come heal someone or if you need me.
Inside the building, the guard got to his feet again. “Yeah, yeah, she surprised me.”
Relieved the man wasn’t badly injured, Zita turned her attention back to the escaping cat-woman and Pretorius. Will do, but stay inside and hidden for now. Pretorius is here, and the last thing we want is him getting his mitts on you.
Pretorius strode toward the bench with the teenager, making a small hand gesture.
With a wild laugh, Kitty raced toward the street and leapt into an older-model car headfirst.
Wyn’s mental voice was alarmed. What? Why would he want me in particular?
A cacophony of honking and obscenity erupted as the car cut off a taxi and merged into traffic, Kitty’s feet still hanging out the window.
Dismissing her as the lesser threat, Zita focused on Pretorius, who stood beside the bench. Why does that pendejo or those thugs he works with do anything? A couple weeks ago it was all about kicking puppies. Maybe kidnapping supers is the evil hot thing to do today, and Halja was in rough shape. You’re a healer.
The teen pocketed something from the top of the remote-control car, then picked it up and got to his feet. As he lifted his head, she recognized him.
Zita shot toward them, leaping over cars and dodging traffic. That’s Janus. I need to stop them before they—
Pretorius dragged the kid behind a large pillar.
Although he didn’t fight the older man, Janus seemed to turn his gaze to the alley where Zita had hidden her clothing.
She didn’t need to see the incandescent edges of the portal appear and disappear to know that she’d missed them. Zita slowed next to the pillar and swore, then trudged the last step to verify. Stop them before they do that. They got away too.
Wyn murmured sympathetically in her head.
Screeching tires, flashing lights, and earsplitting sirens announced the police had arrived even before they began shouting at her.
Zita sped away on foot and ran a block before she spotted a likely building. After ensuring the men chasing her had lost their line-of-sight on her, she scampered up a pile of crates, jumped a few feet to a fire escape, and climbed up the building. New York’s made for rooftop parkour, she thought happily.
Are you still coming to lunch? Wyn asked.
Lying down on the roof, Zita assessed the activity below. The alley where she’d left her bags still appeared empty, though the police standing guard by the office building would make it necessary for her to enter and exit cautiously.
A flicker of color caught her eye, brilliant and unseasonal green in all the grays and strident, unnatural shades of the city. Zita turned and watched a familiar, gangly form dart from a closing portal into her alley. His shoulders held tight as if expecting an attack, Janus scanned the area. He didn’t check the rooftops though; she had found few did. To her surprise, he actually wrung his hands before bringing one hand to his mouth to gnaw at a nail.
I didn’t think people actually did that hand-wringing thing. Remembering the unhappiness on his face the few times she had seen him, she made a decision. Be there soon. Janus came back, and I want to see what he’s up to. Maybe I can get him to stop helping those murderers.
The police are swarming on that block, so I’ll wait for you at the restaurant. Wyn sent back.
Janus cowered between the dumpster and a lopsided pine, with the craned neck out to search nearby. By some miracle, he hadn’t noticed the bags crammed behind the trash. He shivered in the shadows of the tree, rubbing his arms and shifting from foot to foot. Although his beige T-shirt and khaki pants fit this time, it resembled the bland, inoffensive uniform of warm-weather resort staff, assuming said clothing had been crumpled up and left in a locker too long. Reddish-brown smears on the pant legs showed where he had brushed against damp underbrush in the park. No coat shielded his gangling form from the chill of October. He was the only other being in the alley, discounting the bugs and pigeons perched high above.
After a quick teleport to the ground when Janus’ attention was elsewhere, Zita sniffed the air. Though the dumpster muddied scents, no guns or other people seemed to lurk nearby. Probably not a trap, then, she thought, unless he’s got an ability outside of the portals. The thick and choking scent of his fear made that unlikely, and she wrestled down her sympathy. Caution being what it was, she made certain to have a wall at her back when she spoke. “Waiting for someone?” she asked, her voice quiet, though her fake Mexican accent ran thick in her voice.
He jumped, smothering a shriek, skinny arms coming up to shield his face before he lowered them. “Yes, I needed your friend. Is the white witch here?”
“She’s busy. You lucked out and got me. What do you want?” she asked.
His face fell, but his shoulders relaxed as if he were both di
sappointed and relieved at Wyn’s absence. The tips of his ears burned red with color.
As Zita bit her tongue to let him speak without interruption, she pondered the mixed messages of his body language. Finally, she decided on the simplest explanation. Poor kid is a teenage boy, and Wyn’s sweet, sympathetic, and gorgeous in either form. His hormones must drive him nuts around her.
He shivered, continuing to check the area. “I’m called Janus. They… Zeus’ people… you have to stop them.”
Somehow, his continued jumpiness was soothing. He won’t even meet my eyes. Zita glanced toward the street and eased more into the shadows. Those on the sidewalk and across the street appeared not to have noticed—this being New York—not to care about the pair skulking in the alley. She relaxed. “They already got away. As I recall, you were a part of that.”
“Not by choice. They know about my mom and little sister, so I have to do what they say or else. I can’t risk being here long, or they’ll notice I’m gone. I’m supposed to rest in my quarters until they call for me, but I didn’t have to do a lot of portals today and wanted to warn you.”
Her stomach clenched. That’s exactly what I’ve been afraid of happening to me and mine. “Pues, so you want us to rescue your family?”
Janus rubbed his arms, covered in goose pimples. “Yes! I mean, that’d be great, but I came about the others. My family’ll be fine so long as I keep being a good lapdog.”
Too malnourished for a lapdog, she thought, more like an abused lab. This kid should be out flirting with girls and being told his pants are too low by his parents. “Are you sure your family is alive? What others?” Her stomach knotted, acid filling her mouth as a horrid suspicion flared.
Janus nodded. With a wary glance toward the road, he whispered to her, his tone bitter. “Once a month, I get to talk to them. Zeus has been recruiting supers, especially the obvious ones or monstrous ones he knows have a grudge. A few are paid, but most are willing, at least until they figure out reality.”
With a tilt of her head, Zita said, “The one where he’s a pendejo in love with himself?”
Again, his smile started, then died. “He divided us into tiers by power and usefulness, with him at the top. Well, him and Gaia, but she’s not all there since Zeus threw out her meds. Atlas plays keeper for her, so she’s not usually dangerous. Halja’s a rung down from Zeus, but she’s got a lot of ideas he likes to steal.”
“He’s an idiot, then. The only ideas Tiffany has are bad ones.” Zita wrinkled her nose.
Janus peered at her. “You know Halja hates it when you call her Tiffany, right?”
Zita grinned. “I had hoped as much.”
He returned to his original topic. “If you’re not as powerful or you don’t have a combat-ready skill, you end up a slave. I’m… I’m in the upper ranks of those. The problem is the people at the very bottom. Even with the recruiting, Zeus couldn’t fill all their needs with powered folk, so he took over a pair of villages in the middle of nowhere. Says they won’t be missed. Mercenaries are a last resort or for short-term stuff, except for Pretorius.”
“That’s terrible. Can you tell me where they are so the cops or someone can raid them?” Got to be some organization that does that. It sounds too big for just me and two of my friends. Zita’s lips pressed together.
Janus shook his head. “No. I’m not allowed outside the main building, but the compound’s in a jungle somewhere. It’s hot and rains every night. Lizards are everywhere, and monkeys are always screeching. Listen, I only have a few seconds more before I have to get back…. In her old life, Halja did something with archeology grants. Zeus rescued her because he wants to unlock a temple that’s supposed to grant godlike power. That Hades knife was going to get them into it. At first, it was Halja’s pet project, so she paid for it out of her own money until she brought the first piece of the knife back and proved it worked by… by… never mind.” Green tinged his face, and he swallowed.
Not a kind and gentle demonstration, then. Poor kid. “Deep breath,” she suggested, changing position slightly so if he vomited, she would not get splattered.
He nodded and inhaled and exhaled a few times before continuing. “So, Zeus is now obsessed with finding and gaining whatever the power is. Originally, they had me teleporting to a crumbled pile of rocks they think is the real Necro-Necromantis… Hades temple in Greece, not sure which, but it’s on the side of an active volcano. The inner section of the temple is sealed. Since the Hades knife didn’t work out, they’re now focusing on an old jungle ruin linked to a cursed gem. It’s like a jagged pyramid with an altar and a small building at the very top. Steps run all the way up, but they usually just have me take them right there.”
Zita blinked, remembering a summer spent translating on a cruise ship. Could be Mexico, though other places might have that kind of ruin too. “Could it be in South America?”
“Maybe? The villagers don’t speak English, but they’re not African. It feels close by, and it has the same disco monkeys that are everywhere in the compound. Zeus has slaves building a weird framework to try to force it open, but magic stuff is keeping them out. If they get inside, Zeus and Halja will sacrifice as many as necessary until they get the power, sparing only myself and one or two vital others. The closest village might get sacrificed too—those people have no powers, shoes, or even phones, so Zeus thinks they’re disposable. The gem will let them shortcut past all the trials inside or something. I don’t know much more than that.”
For once, Zita regretted not having Wyn’s encyclopedic knowledge of such things, but she suspected that even her friend would need more information. “That’s not a ton to go on. Can you give me anything else?” She ran her hand over her hair, forward and back once, and tried not to swear.
“Nothing other than the gem’s green and they’re going to kidnap some professor soon to help them find it. I can’t be missed. I have to go.”
The need to move overwhelmed Zita, and she paced a few steps. “What if I captured you? Surely your family would be safe then?”
He snorted, but winced, a sleeve riding up enough to show a burn on one scrawny bicep, shaped like a few fingers of a hand. “I’d have an hour or two to get loose before they attacked my family. They have these special plaques I memorize so I can come right back if I’m captured. Or else. I tried delaying them once when they were stealing explosives, and Zeus had someone total my mom’s car. He said if I ever run away, he’ll let this pyro guy burn my family to ashes. Please, don’t stop me.”
Zita kicked at the dirt. “I need more than that. Can you tell me anything else that might lead me to the compound?”
He shook his head, too-long hair swinging. “I’m a slave, not a confidant. If you can save those people or my family or both… please, you need to do it. If you can’t, you still need to stop Halja. If she succeeds, she and Zeus will just going to keep going after bigger targets until they have the world, or at least the parts with the nicest stuff.”
“What’s the power?” She dug a hand in her jeans pocket.
Janus shrugged. “I don’t know. The power of the gods is all they ever call it. Goodbye, and I never spoke to you.” He clawed at the air, and one of his portals opened. The other end revealed a plain room, with the long, tall, shuttered windows common in a tropical climate and a slate tile floor. A simple cot and a handful of books were the only decoration in the spare room. Janus stepped through the hole.
Zita flipped a protein bar to him, and he caught it, tore off the paper and dropped it on her side of the portal. When he withdrew his arm, the portal shut, though she could have sworn she heard him whisper an apology.
Alone in the alley, Zita snatched up the trash, folded it, and put it back into her pocket. “Well, guess I got a tip and some fingerprints to follow.” The only question is if I know anyone who could run fingerprints or who could get others to do it. I won’t ask Wyn to flirt or magic someone into getting results as that seems wrong. Jerome and that Hound guy are
both detectives. If TV is to be believed, they should have tons of cop contacts willing to run prints. I’ll try Jerome first since he’s answered questions for free before, and that’s the top of my budget as is. Hound probably gets paid by those mercenaries he works with or by whoever pays them.
Once she’d retrieved the bags, she pulled out her sweatshirt and put it on, shifting back to Zita. She crept quietly out the other side of the alley and stopped, sniffed, and groaned. Hopefully, Wyn won’t ask why her bags stink.
Wyn’s voice roused in her mind. What do my bags smell like?
Zita winced. Like bags? Listen, I had an idea about that cat…
Chapter Nine
Eight hours later, with a sense of déjà vu, Zita did a pop vault to get over the stone wall surrounding Jerome’s tiny, landscaped garden. On the other side, she rolled to a crouch behind an evergreen. Rustling and whispers announced Wyn and Andy on the other side, waiting for her to give the signal, and the only other sounds were the occasional purr of expensive cars on the street and the soft buzz of a pump in the rectangular koi pond. Moonlight flashed on a patch of white scales when a fish darted under a rock, and a black net broke up ripples in the water in even patches. The minuscule waterfall that had burbled so merrily in the summer was dry and silent. A breeze nipped at Zita with cold and brought a whiff of wood smoke, old barbecue, and exhaust. The overpowering scent was that of the leaves and autumn mold.
Since she had already scouted the exterior of the house as an owl fifteen minutes ago, Zita waited a few more seconds. When nothing happened, she whistled two notes.
Probably boosted by Andy, Wyn appeared, clinging to the top of the wall. The stone was wide enough to hold her body, but the wild flailing of her arms and legs overbalanced her as she scrabbled for a stable position. The tall woman tumbled off and to the ground with a soft exclamation. Motion detector lights sparked on, reflecting from the moon-pale hair and glittery dress of the illusion she favored as a disguise.
