Super

by Karen Diem

  When tiny script decorated the leaf, Wyn set down the pen. “Right, improvise,” she mumbled. “Please don’t interrupt me while I’m casting.” She tapped a finger against her lips, absently winding her hair up into a bun and anchoring it with the pen. After arranging her small stack of supplies, she seated herself at the white table, and lit the candle. By folding her legs, she perched in a lotus position on the chair, her breath slowing and deepening. Her gaze locked on the candle. One hand lifted into the air.

  Bizarre. I don’t know how I feel about this casting spells stuff, especially since it’s wasting one of my emergency candles. If she finishes soon, we can plan how to get them to safety and start being useful. Zita thought, closing the pantry door, a bag of mixed beans in her good hand as she watched. Andy stood beside her, also staring at the other woman, his body tensed as if to run.

  “No negativity during my casting, please,” Wyn said, without turning her head.

  “Then stop listening!” they replied in unison.

  “Jinx!” Andy crowed.

  “What?” Zita asked.

  “Goddess! Please, I need to concentrate here! Just try to be quiet.” Wyn exclaimed, twisting around to glare at them. Her hand dropped. With a flounce, she turned back to her candle. Straightening her shoulders, she restarted her deep breathing. The hand rose again.

  Two pairs of brown eyes met behind her head. Zita rolled her eyes, and Andy grinned. She ran the beans through her fingers like rosary beads as they watched. They fell to the ground with a thud when a silvery green radiance ignited around Wyn’s upraised hand. She moved closer to see, Andy beside her.

  Wyn’s eyes focused on the candle, and she slowly touched the glowing hand to the bandage covering her wound. A trail of incandescent glitter floated behind the hand. The shimmering glow spread to the injured arm, and the telltale line of pain between her eyebrows smoothed.

  Oh, a light show. On any other day, that would be bizarre, but today it barely merits unusual, considering I was a… The world went dark, and Zita fought her way out of her bathrobe with a series of irritated clucks. Tilting her head one way, and then the other, she eyed the bag of beans she had dropped earlier. This close, the amount of detail was both arresting and hunger-inducing. She pictured herself human again. When she blinked and registered the change in vision, she folded her arms across her chest. I have to get that under control.

  Next to her, Andy turned away.

  As she put her robe back on, her mind wandered again. Is magic glitter better or worse than normal glitter? Will it be like the normal kind and stick in my carpet forever? I should have had her sit in the chair I use when decorating my more boring thrift shop finds; the glitter is already permanent there. Will the spellcasting end soon?

  “Hey, we should see what the TV says about the hospital so we can figure out if we have to run. You have one, right? Where’s the clicker?” Andy asked the refrigerator in a soft voice.

  After tying the belt on her bathrobe, Zita set the beans on the beige counter with a rattle. To fortify her throat since the party line seemed to be down again, she drank more water before replying. “I’m dressed. I have two televisions. I sprang for a big 32-inch flat screen in the exercise room! The other television is over there, but I haven’t bothered to get a remote for it.” She gestured to where her smaller television hid in a hefty white armoire, across from a white stool masquerading as a coffee table.

  He turned around and headed to the living room. Andy scrutinized the blue and yellow birds painted on the armoire and shook his head. “How can you not? Oh, never mind. Let’s go see the other one so we don’t break her concentration.”

  Without moving her gaze from the candle or stopping the glow, Wyn said, “Thank you. Go.” She waved them away.

  Something seemed odd. Her mind finished processing. “Your arm!” Zita hurried over to check the injury. She stopped and swayed as vertigo, pain, and nausea assailed her with the rapid movement.

  Andy inhaled sharply and put an arm around Zita.

  She shook him off. “Thanks. I’m better,” she said, her voice gruff.

  The glitter show stopped. “It’s as though the ricochet never happened,” Wyn replied, exultation running through her voice. She showed off the arm, slim and unmarred. “It looks like my magic got a real boost in addition to the telepathy! Most of the time, the spell aids the natural process, but doesn’t rush it like this.” She admired her own handiwork, wiggling her fingers and giggling.

  Zita poked at the arm with a finger. The flesh beneath her finger was warm and real. It could use muscle tone, but it matched the other arm. Talk about a project. “Sweet! Now you don’t have to stop for more than a few minutes if you get hurt while exercising! If you can do it for other people, you could help so many others! You should keep it on the down-low though, so you don’t get hauled off to be someone’s personal medic or a government research subject.” She took another pull of cold water to soothe her throat after the speech. The back part of her brain calculated the weights her friend could handle.

  Wyn shot her a look. “I suppose. You can stop measuring me for weights,” she murmured.

  “Not responsible for what you overhear that way,” Zita returned in a whisper.

  Andy rubbed his eyes and his forehead, started to speak, and then closed his mouth with a snap. After a pause, he offered, “Guess that explains the green glow.”

  Zita nodded.

  “You saw it? My hand always does that, well, in my mind. It’s a visualization exercise to aid concentration in sending healing energy to the wound,” Wyn said. She touched a finger to her lips and tilted her head as she thought. “I’m sorry, I must have been broadcasting what I was picturing when I worked the spell. Zita! Hold still and let me do you!”

  Zita grimaced. “You’re not my type. Totally about the whole penis thing.”

  “Ridiculous woman. I assure you, my heterosexuality is not in question,” Wyn answered, seizing Zita’s arm and dragging her to the table. “Now keep still and let me see if you can avoid the doctor.” The witch closed her eyes, and chanted, one hand on Zita’s arm.

  Andy started to make a hand gesture, rubbed his eyes, and moved away toward the exercise room. His face was troubled.

  Hope warred with hesitation, and Zita took a deep breath, losing the air in a barrage of coughs as her abused throat protested. Is it any weirder than turning into animals? She stole a glance at the other woman and the serenity stealing over Wyn’s face. It’s important to my friend. If nothing else, it will help her feel better about leaving me behind. How can I refuse that? As she decided, a cool sensation and light the color of new leaves backlit by sun emanated from Wyn’s hands and twined over Zita’s body, blooming over her chest and spreading. Zita inhaled again, this time releasing the air in an extended, pain-free exhale. Her headache receded, and her stomach calmed. Flexing her wrist and wiggling her fingers, joy spread over her face. “Thanks! Now we can all go on the run together if necessary!”

  Wyn opened her eyes, satisfaction on her face. “You’re welcome. I still hope running is avoidable. Where’s Andy?”

  “This way,” Zita answered, trooping to the exercise room. She waved a hand at her bedroom and a bathroom as they passed. “My bedroom. This is the main bathroom. This is my exercise room! Applause is unnecessary; I know it’s awesome.”

  After marching into the exercise room, she stepped aside so Wyn could appreciate the place that made Zita’s blood sing with the need for movement. Mirrors plastered one wall and reflected most of the room, each one almost matching its neighbor. Silk plants in vibrant greens tumbled down from a shelf running the width of the wall. Her weights and exercise equipment stood in formation the length of the longest wall. The sizable window had white vertical blinds tilted to let in light, but keep out the rest of the world. The rest of the room was empty to allow for floor exercises. Their faces reflected at her, Wyn’s face curious, Andy’s guarded, and her own beaming.

  Wyn spoke first
. “Goodness gracious! Now I see why you were so cranky about the lack of equipment at the hospital,” she said, blinking. Her friend stood in the niche where the larger television captained regimented racks of martial arts movies and exercise DVDs, guarded by a basket storing chalk, wraps, and hand care items. The brunette gave a perfunctory scan of the room, and patted her hair in the mirror with first one hand, then another. She took the remote from the basket and tossed it from hand to hand.

  Andy drifted around her sanctuary. Zita approved. It was what she would have done, but with happy noises and touching. He made no sound at all, really, other than the shuffle of his feet on the soft, thick mats that covered the floor. One worn piece of equipment, almost hidden in a corner, stopped his slow revolution around the room. His hand reached out and then returned to his side.

  Wyn moved to him. “You have a cat? I didn’t see one. That’s an enormous scratching post,” she asked, an expectant smile flirting with her mouth.

  Zita answered, “Animals are wonderful and all, but it would be cruel to have a pet given how much I’m gone.” She flexed her healed wrist again and rubbed a hand over her hair.

  “Is this a martial arts dummy? I’ve always wanted one of those,” Andy asked. He eyed the jaunty pirate hat that sat atop it and then looked at her. The feather in the hat drooped, more bedraggled than dashing, but at least the color was a pink so bright it almost vibrated.

  She nodded. Zita gave the dummy a fond pat and straightened the feather. Live the present. No guarantees on tomorrows. It is a cool dummy. She grinned, and he favored her with a pleased smile. “Yes! A friend made it from scavenged wood to pay back a favor. Isn’t it sweet? Oh, and look, Wyn healed me!”

  Andy glanced at her from the sides of his eyes and nodded. His shoulder twitched.

  Wyn looked between them, and animation left her face. “You’re uncomfortable with the witchcraft. I’m sorry, I should have asked...” She pretended interest in the weights, a shout of mismatched colors ordered from smallest to largest, in a rack that sagged under their weight. A pair of medicine balls snuggled against the legs of the rack.

  His body still poised to flee, Andy shuffled his feet and looked up. “It’s not personal, and I’ll deal. My people are okay with it, but I lived among the Diné for years, and they’re not fans of witches.”

  Wyn gazed into a mirror for a moment, and Zita could almost see her paging through her scary perfect memory. She could also see when her witchy friend reached the pertinent information the Navajo or Diné as Andy called them. Her eyes went wide. “Oh! I’m so sorry,” she began again.

  “No big,” Zita said, waving her hand dismissively. “Don’t go changing us into flying monkeys or any creepy sh—stuff and we’ll be fine. Takes an adjustment, is all.” Cocking her head to the side, she watched her friends.

  Andy nodded, his posture relaxing. “What are a few lights between friends? It’s better than the party line of perpetual oversharing, and Zita, we’re both so proud of you for making a movie reference, even it was a little wrong,” he added.

  Zita smiled and bounced as the tension between her friends ended.

  Andy’s shoulders straightened, and he gave her a nod. The smile died as he looked away and at the ceiling and walls again. He coughed and spoke aloud. “Zita? Since you’re home and all, could you put on clothes? Your robe has a, uh, gap in the front. If you have men’s clothes, can I borrow some? This is drafty.” He made a gesture at the hospital gown tied around his waist. Please let there be clothing. This is like a nightmarish flashback to my sisters barging into the bathroom. His earnest plea made it obvious party line functioned again.

  She looked down at herself again. “Right, I forgot.”

  With an apologetic expression, Wyn made an offer. “Words are inadequate to explicate your lack of cleanliness, too. Clothes would be good after a bath. Additionally, I propose we eschew any mention of fauna before Andy develops vertigo from his repeated revolutions.”

  Zita nodded. “There’s that common sense again, but hidden under the big words. Make yourselves comfortable. I’ll give you the full tour when I get out… with clothes on, so you can look at me again, Andy. Quentin probably left something here you can borrow.” Squaring her shoulders, she ran through a list of things to secure. In her equipment closet, she checked the contents of her emergency go bag, pulling out steel scissors. Andy needs clothing or he’ll attract attention in his skirt. We will probably need to crash after all that excitement, as soon as we stop moving.

  Kilt, Andy corrected. He hesitated, and then added, Not that I wouldn’t prefer pants and a shirt. Perhaps even a complete outfit with shoes and socks and underwear.

  She grinned. So you’re dying to get into another man’s underwear?

  Zita! You know better than that, Andy sent back, exasperation leaking into his tone.

  I’m just hoping we can all go home and nobody’s after us, Wyn offered. No offense meant, Zita, you have a lovely home. It’s just not my place, and I miss my life. My poor cats have probably wasted away and gone feral! Poor babies. Her mental voice exuded yearning.

  Four paws were easy to adapt to once the clothing was out of the way, Zita discovered. She swished a fluffy black plume in irritation and then wrapped her tail around herself.

  Andy snorted mentally. It’s been all of a month.

  Watching her tail was interesting. Zita could flick her own nose with it and checked to see if she could reach her ears. The dangling laces on one of her pairs of hiking boots were fascinating. She punched down that instinct and concentrated on her human form. Just as she changed, Wyn spoke again.

  Wyn’s rejoinder held coolness. They’re cats!

  It was childish, really. Her tail lashed the air in frustration. I know they are, but what am I? Zita thought, trying to shift again.

  Oops, sorry, Wyn sent.

  Straightening the hiking boots that had gotten crooked somehow, Zita dressed again with speed and seized the scissors. After closing the closet, she headed to where her miniscule laundry machines hid in a hall closet. Wyn, we all want our lives back. If we’re lucky, we’ll make a phone call, you can go home, and we can plan a celebratory dinner later. I’d love a pizza almost as much as a decent workout. Her thoughts wandered. Ay, and if that workout was with a hot dude, and he and I could have pizza between rounds... During would be fine too. I’m not picky.

  Andy groaned loudly from the exercise room while Wyn’s giggle trickled out.

  Opening the double doors to the alcove, Zita delved into the bulky white dryer. “Score! You’re in luck, Andy,” she called out loud, “That cheapskate Quentin left most of a load here. I’ll grab clothes and you can put it on in the bathroom.” She took a selection to him.

  Andy met her at the door. “You folded it for the three steps between here and the dryer?” he asked, mirth in his voice.

  She shrugged and surrendered the tidy pile.

  His movement to take it was ginger, tentative motions that were painful to see. He stared at the door.

  Stepping out of the room, she left the door ajar enough for him to open it without using the handle, and headed into her bedroom. I’ll help you get your mojo back, buddy.

  A mental grunt was his only reply.

  Opening her chest of drawers, she grabbed the first clothing she touched. Oh, hey, I can put on a bra that fits right again! Hallelujah, I’m so tired of the chafing, especially—

  Oh, God, why do I have to hear that? If you go to the toilet, please don’t think about that too, Andy complained.

  Hombre, you’re the one who’s listening in, she retorted.

  Zita was uncertain how Wyn could clear her throat over a mental link, but the witch did it.

  Andy returned to the exercise room. His hands found his pockets. Quentin’s clothing hung on his slighter frame, the shorts coming to his knees. “So, ah, if this is the uh, larger, TV, why don’t we turn it on and see what’s going on at the quarantine zone. You think they’ve identified whoever att
acked yet?” He cast a covetous look at the remote in Wyn’s hand. Within a few clicks, Wyn found a channel playing news.

  Zita headed toward the master bathroom and closed the door behind her. Stepping into the stall, she snapped the vibrant rainforest curtain shut. She closed her eyes and savored the relative solitude, turning on the hot water. When the bathroom filled with the scent of the vanilla soap Quentin had given her, rather than the stink of fire and pain, she opened her eyes again. Rivulets of water, at first black, and then clear, ran down the tan stone tiles. The rock soothed her and promised hope of the wilder places she loved. Of course, if she left for too long, her brother would be insolvent from bartering for luxury shower tiles instead of insisting on cash. Reminded of mundane practicalities, she ended the shower, dried, and dressed. The soft, familiar fabrics in cheerful orange and lime green pleased her.

  Zita stopped in front of the sink. She stared at herself, then picked up her scissors and began snipping. When she set down the scissors again, she cleaned up the mess and leveled the towels. A glance in the mirror verified her dreadlocks were gone. Her head felt lighter, but odd, given that she had cultivated the hair since… That’s the past. This is the present, she reminded herself. All the different lengths of hair are almost punk, she thought, and it will be easier to clean or hide under a wig. It’s less recognizable too, which works better on the run.

  The what? Wait, on the run? Wyn asked in her head.

  Andy’s mental voice was resigned. She did something to her hair. If you talk about boys next, I’m leaving. If you talk feminine supplies, I’m shooting myself.

  Curiosity compelled Zita to ask. Wouldn’t the bullets just bounce? If we talk boys, Andy, I might be the one who leaves. Short hair clinging wet to her head, she stepped out of the bathroom.

  The other two stood in silence, watching television in her exercise room. Wyn shivered, as newscasters blathered, and smoke oozed out of the building that had housed them for a month. When the first newscast segued to the fiery obliteration of an Icelandic mental hospital, Wyn searched until they found another station covering the quarantine.