Face the Change (Menopausal Superheroes Book 3)

by Samantha Bryant

  Shaking her head to restore her human face, and hoping the tall grass would disguise her still-taloned feet, Patricia set out across the field at a leisurely pace, as if she were merely curious about what was going on out there. She smoothed her short red hair and readied a smile. She didn’t want to seem dangerous until it was too late for them to do anything to stop her.

  She was still a few yards away when the entire group turned around, becoming an outward facing group with their backs to the tree they surrounded. In a synchronized movement that would have made the Rockettes proud, they all turned, took a step backward to tighten the circle and interlocked their elbows. That was freaky enough, but then they all started to sing together. Kumbaya. Like they were at a youth group meeting.

  Patricia froze for a moment, then finished her approach. She decided to try the young woman she had seen from a distance. “Hi. What’s going on here? Are you doing a show or something?” The woman kept looking at the point she had been focused on, someplace in the middle distance behind Patricia. The look on her face was happy, but a tear ran down her cheek. “Miss? Are you all right?” No response, though the group’s singing got a little louder. It was starting to weird Patricia out. She waved a hand in front of the woman’s face, then tried the same trick with the boy and man to her two sides. None of them blinked.

  She looked down the line of people, but no one looked her direction. It was like they couldn’t see or hear her. Patricia stepped back and put her hands on her hips. “Well, that’s not very friendly.” She turned and counted to five as her scales and armor came into place, and her spikes erupted on her back and ripped open yet another running shirt. Generally, the criminals in the park had a very gratifying reaction to her transformation, cursing or shouting or trying to run away. Sometimes they even recognized her, thanks, she now knew, to the fan site someone had made where people could report sightings of the Lizard Woman. It was eerie when none of the people in front of her reacted at all to the appearance of a tall, muscular lizard woman with green scales and yellow spikes.

  She went to the side of the woman in the dress where her arm interlinked with the trench coat and sweatpants-sporting man. Laying a taloned hand on each of their shoulders, she pushed them apart. The two stumbled as they fell and Patricia stepped through the opening they had left in the circle of people. The singing didn’t even pause.

  A single person sat on the bench at the base of the tree, where the branches had been trimmed up to make a shady hideaway. Patricia couldn’t immediately tell much about the person, shadowed in the leafy cave. But when the figure turned her direction, eyes glowed white in the darkness. It was chilling.

  “I hoped you’d come. We’ve been watching your exploits for a while and thought we should meet.” The voice was middle range. It could have belonged to a man with a higher than average voice, or a woman with a lower tone. The words were a little mushy around the edges, soft and sibilant on the Ss and wet on the Ts and Ds.

  Patricia stepped forward. “Oh, are you part of my fan club?” She twitched a muscle, making the scales on her cheeks ripple menacingly. “You could have called. I’m in the yellow pages.”

  The person laughed then, a cackle that sounded like some kind of night bird. “Yellow pages? Careful, darling, you’ll date yourself.”

  Patricia gestured at the people surrounding them. The two she had knocked over had gotten back up and reconnected their arms, sealing the circle again, effectively blocking the view of the goings-on under the tree from anyone who might happen to take an interest. They had stopped singing and were again standing stock still, rigid-backed. “Care to let me in on what you’re up to here?” Patricia paced a few steps, examining the scene, but she didn’t see anyone else—no source for the screams that had drawn her here. Maybe it had been one of the people who was standing in the circle now.

  “I thought we should talk. Those nice boys the other night were simply trying to help me clear out the homeless from the park. You took them out handily. Very impressive. And a shame. They were… malleable. We simply can’t let you continue to interfere with our work.”

  “Your work?”

  “Oh yes. We have some big plans for Springfield. The people here are so—” a hand gestured at the stiff backs of the frighteningly motionless people standing guard—“hospitable.”

  “It’s their Southern charm, I suppose.”

  The person stood up, closing the distance in a few unhurried strides. Patricia could see that it was a woman, average height and build, maybe fifty or so years old. One of her cheeks sagged and the eye pulled into a permanent downward turn, a fact made more disturbing when she smiled with the other side of her face. This had to be Agatha Corman. “You could be a great help. We could use someone of your skill set, a bit of brawn to augment our brains. I’m sure you can be very persuasive when you want to be. We could clean up Springfield together.”

  Patricia resisted the urge to back up when the woman reached out a hand toward her. Instead, she flexed, hearing her running shirt rip again as her shoulders expanded yet further. “I don’t think we’re on the same side.”

  “Now, now. You don’t want to hurt me.”

  The woman’s voice had gone soft and buttery, and Patricia’s vision blurred for a moment. She felt tension slipping out of her stance. “What are you doing?”

  “Helping you make the right decision, dear.”

  It was the “dear” that did it. Nothing grated on Patricia’s nerves like a “honey” or “dear” from someone younger than her, especially when they weren’t even Southern. She snarled. The woman yelped and leaped behind the bench in surprise. “Now,” she yelled.

  Suddenly, all the people who had been standing so still turned and moved toward Patricia, their arms stretched out. Patricia ducked and rolled under the arms of the people nearest her, but ended up in the center of a group of five or six others who grasped at her arms. She didn’t want to hurt these people. They were being used. She pushed them off her one at a time, as gently as she could and still get herself free, retracting her claw-like nails so she wouldn’t accidentally cut anyone. Person after person fell on the grass until Patricia was surrounded by a group of stunned civilians sprawled on the ground, looking around and beginning to mutter.

  “What am I doing in the park?” someone said.

  “What happened?”

  “Are you the Lizard Woman?” The man reached for his cell phone, ready for his moment of YouTube fame. Patricia turned away, feeling surrounded.

  “What the hell?”

  “Why am I all dirty?”

  Patricia backed away as more and more people seemed to come back to themselves and take notice of her. She didn’t have any answers to offer these people. Scanning the field in all directions, she found no sign of the strange woman with the glowing eyes. She wanted desperately to give chase, but she knew it was fruitless—the woman was gone, and these people needed help. As the UCU agent on the scene, it fell to her to give it, no matter how much she would rather be somewhere else. This was what she’d gotten herself into.

  Patricia turned to the agitated and confused group of people and raised her claws into the air. “Ladies and Gentlemen, if you will be patient for a moment, help is on the way.” She turned away from the crowd and used a single nail to slice into the secret pocket in her specially designed yoga pants and release the cell phone inside. She transformed one hand back to an ordinary human flesh and put in the call.

  It took ten minutes for the team to arrive, but to Patricia, it felt like hours. When the van pulled up and other agents spilled out and tended to the civilians, she quickly extricated herself from the grasp of the woman explaining for the second time how she had been on her way to a date and how she hoped her boyfriend would understand she hadn’t really stood him up.

  Relieved at the chance to get away, Patricia practically sprinted over to Leonel. He was easy to spot in his red shirt and golden mask. The official announcement hadn’t happened yet, but it loo
ked like Fuerte was on duty all the same. Sure, he would rake her over the coals, but he wouldn’t tell her his life story and expect her to comfort him. She waved him down, and he stalked over to her. They both ignored the staff photographer snapping publicity shots.

  “So, you just happened to be here, in the park, after midnight?” Leonel crossed his arms over his massive chest and glared at her. The effect was undercut by the tapping of the toe of his right foot, a gesture that would look more natural if he were still the Latina grandmother he’d once been.

  Patricia was annoyed at how well this shtick still worked on her. Leonel had always been such a rule-follower, and that hadn’t changed when he’d gained super strength and become a man. In his heart, he was still the good girl he’d always been. He’d have called it in.

  Patricia bowed her head in mock apology. “Yes, Mother. I was restless. I went for a run. I do that sometimes.”

  “At midnight. Alone.”

  Already? That hadn’t taken long. This is the part Sally Ann had been talking about. About her not being a team player. Patricia understood that, but she had always been confrontational. It was hard to teach an old dog new tricks. Besides, she was bulletproof. She flexed an arm, rustling the green scales that covered her skin showily. “I can take care of myself.”

  “That’s not the point, and you know it.”

  Patricia sighed. She wasn’t going to win this one. “Can we talk about this later? I need to make my report about the woman I saw.”

  “Woman?” Sally Ann had her arms crossed over her chest, too.

  Patricia groaned. “Yes. I think I saw the one you’ve been looking for. Agatha Corman.” She described what she had seen. Sally Ann looked grim, and Leonel looked concerned. It was hard to know which was worse. Patricia started to wish she was somewhere else. Maybe she should have stayed home watching Netflix, too.

  Leonel started with, “She was looking for you, specifically?”

  At the same time, Sally Ann said, “You let her get away. Why didn’t you call it in sooner?”

  Patricia stepped back, holding her hand up. “I didn’t know it was anything important. I run here all the time. And when I run into trouble I deal with it. By the time I knew this was something different, it was too late.”

  “Fuerte.” Another agent called him over. Sally Ann and Patricia watched as he carefully lifted a heavy woman off the ground and placed her on the waiting stretcher. He knelt to hold her hand. The photographer caught that, too.

  “You’ve got a lot to learn, Patricia.” Despite being a foot shorter than Patricia, Sally Ann loomed large. “We have procedures for a reason. If you’d called this in, we’d have that woman in custody now. Instead, we have another group of confused civilians, and we’re no closer to catching her.”

  Patricia didn’t respond. What could she say? Sally Ann was right.

  “Did she say anything useful?”

  Patricia thought. “She wanted me to help her clean up Springfield. Said they’d been watching me.”

  “Clean up?”

  “That’s what she said. She was mad about a homeless guy I saved last week. Apparently, that was her work, those boys.” Patricia thought back. The boys had been strangely coordinated for a group of angry teens. At the time, she’d thought it meant they did this kind of thing a lot, but now she wondered if it meant they weren’t in control of their actions.

  “So, if they’ve been watching you, maybe we can use that to find them.” She pulled out her phone and sent a message. “Maybe that fan club of yours will be of some use to us yet.” Sally Ann hooked a thumb in the direction of the path in the woods. “In the meantime, get on home. You’ve got an early training tomorrow—on protocols for engagement.”

  Patricia turned and stalked across the field, then started to jog, already fuming at the thought of spending her morning in a training session. Definitely should have stayed home tonight.

  Mary Burns the Candle at Both Ends

  They went in the middle of the night. Mary, her mother, and Jorge all agreed that the fewer people around to see them and get curious in any way, the better. Sure, the security camera would record their comings and goings, but there was nothing illegal about accessing your own storage unit. Even though it wasn’t technically their storage unit, Helen knew the gate codes and the combination, so there was no reason to expect trouble.

  Still, they had taken the precaution of disguising themselves. Mary had cut her mother’s hair shorter and dyed it black with a grocery store kit. She looked terrible. The dark hair contrasted against her papery white flesh, somehow making her wrinkles and lines seem more prominent. They’d been hoping for Pat Benatar but ended up with something more like Ozzy Osbourne. Mary didn’t know if she should be relieved or worried that the bad makeover hadn’t upset her mother. Helen had always been so particular about her hair.

  Jorge had spiked his hair up on top and shaved off his sideburns, which left him looking like a high school version of himself—about five years younger and a lot less dangerous. They hadn’t been able to figure out what to do with Mary, since she didn’t want to give up her dreads, so they’d tied her hair back and had her wear a couple of layers of clothing to make her look chubbier. She kept the hood up on her jacket. Helen and Jorge agreed it was pretty effective, though Mary was sweating like a pig. The weather wasn’t yet cool enough to justify so much clothing.

  The place was deserted. They didn’t pass a single vehicle as they made their way through the alleyways winding among the storage buildings to unit M-19. The quiet didn’t stop Mary from looking over her shoulder every few seconds while her mother worked the lock. Despite Helen’s confidence that no one besides herself and Cindy knew about the existence of this stash, Mary worried the Department was somehow watching. She wasn’t looking forward to her next run-in with the Director. He was bound be a lot less friendly given the violence they’d inflicted as she and her mother escaped the Department facility where they’d been held.

  At last the lock popped open, and Jorge stepped forward to help Helen with the roll-up door. Mary would have to tease him later about sucking up to her mother. But she guessed he was that kind of man, the sort who stepped up to help when he saw someone in need—at least, that was the impression she had so far. She had to keep reminding herself how little time she’d actually known him. Sure, she was grateful for his help, but she couldn’t let gratitude cloud her judgement. In fact, she was finding Jorge entirely too charming. It would be very easy to fall into domesticity with him, and that thought left her feeling jittery—like she was off her game.

  The stiff door shrieked horribly when it finally budged. They all covered their ears and looked around, but no one came peeking around to investigate. Helen hurried inside, raising a flame in her hand to serve as a lantern, but Jorge caught Mary’s wrist and stopped her from following. “Are you sure about this?” he whispered. He searched her face; there was something calculating as well as caring in the look.

  Mary knew what he meant. He was giving her an out, letting her know he would help her slip away if she wanted to abandon ship now. Her mother was set on a serious and violent vengeance against Cindy Liu, and neither of them wanted to get mixed up in that. The car ride had been a tense one, between Mary’s worry they would be caught and recaptured and Helen’s muttering about making “them” pay.

  The vagueness of “them” had Mary’s hackles up. Did she mean the Department or people in general? As much as she needed the answer, she found she was afraid to ask. Jorge had tried to distract them with the latest news from Springfield. Apparently, there had been a string of thefts all around the city. In every case, people claimed to have been hypnotized or something, unable to act to stop the thieves. Mary wanted to hear more, but Helen kept interrupting to ask if the van could go any faster.

  At least Jorge saw that her mother wasn’t all sweetness and light—she wasn’t wrong to worry her mother might be crazy. “She’s my mom, Jorge. I have to help her. Until I can find
a way to stop her.”

  He let go. “I always heard you were a wild one, Miss Mary.”

  She tried to smile, though she knew it was weak and unconvincing. “It runs in the family.” She looked around one last time before walking inside the storage unit. Still no signs of trouble.

  Unit M-19 was larger than it had looked from the outside. The long rectangle could have held a lot more stuff than it actually did. Mary knew her mother and Dr. Liu had shuttled back and forth for an entire day last spring, moving over equipment and supplies. They would have brought more, but there hadn’t been much time between the police coming by and the fire fight that took down the house and caused the explosion in the lab.

  Mary turned and examined the space. The only light inside the unit was her mother’s flame, erratic and flickering, casting long shadows that made it hard to know exactly what one was looking at. She tried not to worry whether the chemicals and materials might be flammable. Since she didn’t know what they were looking for, Mary hung back, watching her mother bustle from box to box, rummaging through the contents and shoving boxes aside. Helen was still talking to herself, cursing Dr. Liu and Patricia and the Department. She seemed to have forgotten Mary and Jorge were even there.

  Once she’d gotten the fuller story out of her mother, Mary had learned that the Lizard Woman of Springfield was much more than an urban legend. She was another woman like her mother, transformed by Dr. Liu’s experiments. Helen didn’t know the woman’s full name, only “Patricia,” but she knew this Patricia was a very old friend of Cindy Liu’s. When she talked about it, Mary could hear the jealousy in her mother’s voice.

  Helen had never been very good at sharing or compromise. Her belief that loyalty meant absolutism, without hesitations or criticism, had driven her parents apart. She’d seen her mother back herself into uncomfortable social corners in the past by insisting friendship was exclusive. She was possessive and even obsessive at times.