by Karen Diem
Wyn walked over, and picked up the phone. “Hang on, Miguel, Zita’s traumatized by the lack of sufficient nourishment in quarantine, and is having a nibble.” She stepped delicately over Zita, holding the phone away from her head at the verbal explosion that caused.
Zita glared.
When you are human again, I’ll give you the phone and fetch clothing so poor Andy doesn’t have to stare out that door forever. When Wyn spoke again, her voice held suppressed mirth. “I agree, she can be foolhardy, but we share her concerns about our safety, both individually and collectively, in quarantine. Oh, this is Ellenwyn Diamond, but you can call me Wyn. The other person here is Andy Cristovano.” She turned her back on Zita as she listened to the phone.
The more details you give him about who is here, the more easily they can track us! Zita scowled at Wyn, though it translated as an ear wiggle and sniffing in her hare form. Now how do I change back? That stupid Caroline doesn’t have to deal with this sort of thing. She can fly and blind people through the cameras with her bleached teeth while life bounces off her and her perfect hair shines in the fucking breeze. Her form shimmered again, and she relaxed for a moment, finding herself human again. When she brushed a hair from her face, and realized what the light color and light skin meant, she let out a yelp of involuntary protest. Gagging, she fought not to reject her meal.
Andy and Wyn spun to look at her. The man’s mouth dropped open, and then his face was scarlet. He presented his back to her again. Oh, God, his mental voice prayed.
Her female friend’s eyes were wide, but she brought a hand up to her mouth. “Oh, it’s nothing, Miguel. Zita bit herself, that’s all,” Wyn giggled into the phone.
Shoving a strand of blond hair out of her face again with a perfect peaches-and-cream hand, Zita glared at Wyn as she rose to unfamiliar feet. Not a word if you value your life. Doesn’t the girl ever work out? You’d think a gold medalist would do better. Her arms are almost as bad as Wyn’s! When her friend pouted, Zita’s spirits rose at catching her. All you have to do is not listen, Wyn, like everyone else. Except maybe priests and the NSA.
Easy for you to say, Wyn answered mentally.
As Zita moved toward the hall, swaying to adjust for the change in balance, she mentally spat. She crossed her arms over her chest and stalked into her bedroom to shove on intact clothing, a job made more difficult with a taller, less curved frame. My body is way better. I’m fitter and my boobs are real, she thought, glaring at her sock drawer. When she felt herself change again, her balance told her what she needed to know, even before she looked down. “Yes, yes, yes!” she shouted, punching the air in triumph.
Lalala, Andy sent, so not listening.
As she padded back into the living room in another outfit, Wyn’s voice was quizzical, though she smirked at Zita’s questioning look. “None of us were participating in Dr. Singh’s study, so it doesn’t matter what he thinks. Zita had us all document our refusals to participate. Did you know she was leading the opposition to his study? Plenty of people can act as witnesses to that.” She laughed at a comment, and then grinned at Zita. “Ah, so true! Here’s your sister back.”
“So what,” she began, but her brother cut her off with a rapid spate of Spanish.
“Zita! Are you certain you’re safe with these people?”
She let her head droop. This again. Someday, my brother will realize I’m a grown woman. As there was no point to using Spanish, she switched back to English. “Pretty certain. Wyn’s a librarian and Andy’s a physics graduate student. We were friends before I went to Brazil.”
Suspicion flavored his voice, but he followed her lead and used English. “Which time?”
“The first one. So what’s the deal? If you didn’t have an agreement, Mamá wouldn’t have had me call you.” With a wink at Wyn, she stage-whispered, “Plus I think I can take both of them in a fight.” She heard a masculine snort from the direction of the patio doors. Her other friend nodded from where she had enthroned herself with colorful pillows on the futon, her attention on the sparkling lights between her hands.
Unaware of her companions’ responses, her brother harrumphed. “Given who you and Quentin associate with normally, is it any surprise that I have concerns?” Miguel complained, and in her mind’s eye, she saw him rubbing his forehead. “They sound acceptable,” he grudgingly admitted. “Here’s the deal. Other patients also complained about conditions, and there’s pressure higher up to resolve this. Anyone not required to have medical supervision will quarantine in place. Where are you three?”
Zita perked up, bouncing on her heels. ¡Gracias a Dios! Her shoulders relaxed, losing tension she had been unaware of until then. “That shouldn’t be a problem. We’re at my place. I’ll drop the others off at their homes, and we’ll all play at house arrest like well-behaved children.”
Wyn beamed and hugged herself as she rose to her feet.
Andy turned, a smile trembling on his lips, his thick eyebrows arching with a question. His mental voice was eager. Thank God! I can go home, get on my computer, and talk to my girlfriend in privacy!
Miguel shattered her illusions. “Actually, Zita, you can’t drive them home.”
Her eyes narrowed before she came up with a solution. “What? Fine, they can send a sealed van and take them home then without spreading germs,” she replied, waving a hand in the air. Wyn and Andy hovered nearby, the joy flickering on their faces. It’s the government mucking things up, no worries, she reassured them, or maybe herself.
The phone was ominously silent for a few seconds. “I’m sorry, Zita, but you all have to stay in your apartment. Shelter in place is exactly that. I’ll verify, but you should plan on houseguests until this is resolved. You can’t leave or interact with anyone else; though you can open your door to get deliveries and such if the deliveryman has already left.”
“Seriously? Whose crazy ass idea is that?” she snarled. The need to run, spar, or move rose. Glimpsing the others—Wyn fluttering shiny lashes rapidly and Andy turning away again to the patio door—Zita tried a different tack. “How much harm can it do to let them go home? It’s not as if the government hasn’t had to move everyone else around. Heck, if the government is more paranoid than usual, they can drop off a sealed van. My friends can jog on down in the middle of the night and drive themselves home. The government can bug bomb or fumigate or whatever when they take the fucking van back.” Her arm flew out in an arc, and she paced back and forth across her small living room.
Wyn turned her face toward the red futon cushion, and Andy opened the patio door, pulling it off the tracks. His shoulders slumped as he stepped through to the balcony, brushing by the grabbiest of her plants to stare over the parking lot into the trees beyond. Her screen door tilted crazily behind him.
Zita itched to do something, or better yet, punch something shaped like the government.
Her brother spoke in that annoying tone she hated, the one that sounded reasonable and invariably made a well-thought-out argument meant to destroy her opposition. “The alternative is a central quarantine location that has all quarantined people who do not live alone. Many of the survivors from your building are in one. Senator Gyllen has been pushing for quarantining at home since his daughter… fell ill. It looks like the powers that be are listening now.” A touch of acid dripped in his voice, as he continued, “Apparently, the fine men and women of our armed forces are inadequate to protect her. So, she will be quarantined off-site with whatever private security her father feels is acceptable.”
Crossing the living room in a few short strides, she growled into the phone. “Like I care about that piece of—”she stopped, and took a deep breath. “Give me a second.” Zita yanked the screen door off and put it back on again with more force than necessary. The moment of respite gave her an idea. In all likelihood, it would not work, but it would annoy her brother. That counted as at least a partial win. “Oh, Miguel, so sorry, Wyn and Andy already left. I can’t stop them without breaking quara
ntine. You can report on your paperwork that they’ll be in their homes.” She made little motorcycle noises like one revving, and driving off. Her friends both looked at her.
“Zita! ¡Basta! That’s enough!”
She paused. “Vroom rumble rumble vroom?”
A grunt preceded Miguel’s quiet answer. “Zita, just, no. I can’t do that. I won’t do it. Please don’t put me in that position, and please stop making that, that, sound! They only told me that much as a professional courtesy. The best I can do is tell them where you are, and that you don’t require retrieval. You didn’t interact with anyone outside quarantine, did you?”
This is why I didn’t want to give him any information; he has too much integrity to falsify a report. Zita exhaled. “No, we saw no one except for the ones who busted into our respective rooms.”
Regret tinged Wyn’s mental voice, as she whispered, I didn’t know. I’m sorry.
Her response was immediate. No te preocupes. You didn’t know. If I have to share my place with anyone other than a beefcake who is into me and working out, at least it’s you two. I mostly like you.
Andy’s only mental comment was a gruff Thanks. Ditto and stuff.
I’m glad it’s you too, though I call dibs on Zita’s bed, Wyn sent.
Zita grunted. That’s enough mushiness. We’ll deal with the practicalities once I’m off the phone.
Miguel’s next words were all business, but relief and warmth sounded in his tone. “That works. While I’m certain it’s an interesting story, don’t talk about it with anyone until you have permission. That includes your friends, who should also not talk about it. Someone will want witness statements about today, but nobody knows when, as an alphabet soup of agencies has to finish fighting jurisdictional wars first. My clearance won’t get me anything more. As it is, my agency is displeased with me for interfering with this when I’ve got a killer strewing dead bodies across state borders.”
Zita paced and made a derisive sound. “See no one, talk to no one, and starve quietly while they make us bankrupt. Got it.”
“Zita… Half the world delivers, and Quentin will run you supplies.”
She controlled her breathing and the urge to whine. “I understand, mano, nothing you can do. It’s better than another institution. Go catch the murderer. Expect a call in a few days. Love you.”
“Love you too. Try not to get into trouble.” His voice cheered up. “You could use this as an opportunity to hunt for a full-time job or apply to schools!”
Snorting, Zita answered. “No. I’m going to fritter away my house arrest working out and perhaps planning a new hobby to drive you nuts. Bye.” With a click of the button, she ended the call and eyed her new roommates.
Wyn spoke first. “Well, this is unfortunate, but I’m certain we can make it work amicably.”
“It sucks big hairy—” Zita cut herself off before she could finish. She took a deep breath. “We should make the best of things. Wyn, why don’t you call a friend to bring things over? Andy, you want to use my computer and email your girl? I can’t promise privacy with the party line bopping in and out of our brains, but it’s the best I can offer. You can use the phone when Wyn’s done. When you’ve finished, we’ll make a grocery list and figure it all out.”
A smile crept onto Andy’s face. “Really? You don’t mind?” he said. “I haven’t logged on since before the coma and it’s been really hard to get my girlfriend during my phone time. She’s been so preoccupied with a breakthrough for her dissertation.”
“Fine with me,” Zita said. “It’s in my bedroom. “ She led the way into the room, this one a vibrant green. Crossing the room in a few steps, she pulled back the jungle print blackout curtains. Light danced inside through the sheer curtains with the little green and blue birds embroidered on them. She scanned the rest of the room with a critical eye to see if Quentin had meddled with it. Her queen-sized bed was as she had left it: a pair of fluffy pillows nestled together, purple tie-dyed sheets straight, and a deep green blanket folded at the end. It took up most of the space in the room. Sometime when the others were occupied, she would need to verify that her emergency knives and the box of self-defense gifts from Miguel were in their hiding places. A diminutive brown wicker nightstand sat crammed next to the side of the bed she slept on. An alarm clock blinked the wrong time against a tiny yellow lamp on her side. On the other side of the bed, a second, almost-matching nightstand brushed the closet. The second nightstand held another lamp, this one shaped like a turtle. White closet doors hid her dresser and her small assortment of dresses, suits, and coats. The window took up most of the far wall while a photograph of the view from her room in her aunt’s Brazilian home pretended to be a window opposite the bed. When Andy stepped in, she waved her hand at the wooden desk next to the faux window.
Andy stopped, and Wyn ran into him with a slight exhalation of air. He gaped at the dusty beige tower that leaned drunkenly against the old desk and the chunky little monitor. “How old is that thing? Does it even have a Web browser? You aren’t on a modem that uses dial-up, are you?”
Zita looked at him. “What? It worked fine last time I used it a few months ago. The monitor’s only five years old. I don’t know how old the other part is. Did you change your mind?” Zita marched over, unfolded a black folding chair, and dropped it in front of the desk with a metallic clatter, softened by the cheap beige carpet. A pile of maps slid toward the edge of the desk, jolted into losing the war with the monitor, a clip-on light, and a cup of pens for desk real estate. Grabbing the maps, she dropped them into the correct desk drawer. All the fun jobs will be taken by the time quarantine ends; it looks like I won’t be leaving the States this year.
He sat down in front of the computer, hovering over the seat for a moment before dropping into it. “No, no, it’s fine. I’m sure it’ll be fine. I just… umm, won’t be playing any games on it. Do you keep a fire extinguisher nearby for it?”
“Seriously?” Zita cocked her head and gave him a dirty look. Her brows lowered as she considered. Should I have an extinguisher in here for the computer? Was that was a legitimate question?
“I have a telephone call to make.” Wyn retreated after looking between them.
Andy flushed. “I feel foolish for pointing out your machine’s obsolescence.” Turning toward the computer, pleasure grew on his face. His eyes danced. “I can’t wait to talk to her again!” Leaning down, he punched the power button with a finger. Something cracked deep inside and little plastic bits tumbled out as he removed his finger. “Aww, man!”
Chapter 8
“I hate you,” Wyn groaned a month later. “If you’re going to torment me, at least wear your own countenance when doing it.” She lowered her arms and propped her hands on her slender hips as she stood.
Blinking hazel eyes at her, Zita unfolded from the yoga position. She mirrored the other woman’s position, placing her own hands on her hips. A glance in the mirror showed identical Wyns, save for the clothing. She far preferred her sensible white sports bra and stretchy orange pants as opposed to the librarian’s leotard and filmy skirt. The skirt particularly puzzled her; neither concealing nor protective, the useless accessory got in the way every time Wyn’s attention wandered, such as when speaking. “What? You said you were physically incapable of taking that position. That’s what you said about the weights, and you’ve moved up on those from a month ago! If I can do it wearing your form and off balance because our bodies are different, you can do it. So, put on big girl panties or something!” Zita squirmed; the nine-inch height difference made her underwear uncomfortable. “It’s only a little more complex than the yoga poses you do every other day. Do you want me to show you how to take the pose again?”
Her friend scowled at her, eyes narrowing. “No.”
“Pues, someday you’ll be thanking me when you’re all bendy and flexible. Your future boyfriends will be so impressed that they will shower both of us with flowers and chocolate. Oh, once you get in the po
sition, you should do one of your magic tricks so you can practice two things at once.” Just in case, Zita moved into the yoga pose, careful to move at a pace the other woman could copy. Through practice, she had learned that she could stay in another form until she wanted another. She slept as a cat every night, thanks to having to share a bed with her friend. Wyn had a fondness for cats that extended to imitating one while she slept; she would sprawl out so her slim form claimed possession of most of the bed. Sharing the bed required Zita to ignore flopping limbs and pretend to be part of the mattress, or to be a cat herself, in which case Wyn unconsciously ceded territory and allowed peaceful coexistence. What Zita had spent most of the past month doing was practicing the hard part—stopping a shift when she thought of an animal. People’s forms were complex enough that she had to concentrate to take a human form other than her own; she only had to stop herself from shifting when she got emotional about a person. The others would shout out random animals at all hours of the day and night; as annoying as it could be, she had asked them to do so for the practice. In comparison, controlling her teleportation had been simplicity itself.
Wyn cast her eyes upward dramatically. “They’re not tricks. They’re spells and illusions and… Fine, I’ll do it just to shut you up. At least, I haven’t had to do eight million crazy exercises like poor Andy.” She bent and eased into position. Once she achieved the pose, a wicked grin crossed her lips. A pale shimmer passed over her, and when disappeared, the woman posing looked like Zita, uneven hair, baggy outfit and all. Her illusory shirt even included a stain on the front where sauce had dripped at dinner.
Stung, Zita frowned at her. “Your left hand goes more straight than that. Those drills are helping! He’s doing worlds better. I haven’t had to replace any doorknobs this week at all, and he’s almost ready to move to a new medium. In fact, if he’s careful, he can even use his laptop.”
