by Karen Diem
Andy’s voice interrupted from the doorway. His brown eyes lit up as he considered them. “Really? It’ll be great to do something other than move, stack, and balance ice cubes. It feels like I’m stuck in an Eighties adventure game because I missed combining a cracker crumb with a sardine tin lid or boot. What’s the next medium? Weights? Lemurs? Can I use my laptop more? I’ve been stealing cautious computer time, but never enough to get comfortable.” While his tone was light, his face wore the same sorrowful lines it had held for the past few days, and his body was tight, tensed for a fight.
Zita shook her head and shifted back to her own form. Andy’s attention switched to her when she spoke. “Water-filled balloons. Some will be lubricated.”
While holding the yoga pose and the illusion of Zita, Wyn turned her head. “Lubricated balloons? Sounds prophylactic.” She and Andy shared a snicker.
Zita shrugged. “Most of them will be. I have more novelty condoms than balloons around here, so someone might as well use them. Quentin is always giving me boxes, so it’ll be a relief to reduce the stockpile. Did you know they expire? You can start with the expired ones.” Picking a pose, she bent, and twisted, and breathed until she was upside down in a more complex pose.
Nonplussed, Andy blinked. “Umm, you’re kidding me, right?” He turned red.
Zita beamed. “You know, we get to spar again after you’ve practiced with the condoms.”
“Thank you for not wearing my form to say that!” Wyn lost the battle to control her laughter. As her glee rang out, she lost the yoga pose and crumpled into a graceful heap. Dancing brown eyes gleamed as she added, “Oh, and I’m not trying that pose.” She flicked her neck with a hand; it took a second for Zita to realize she was moving hair hidden by the illusion and not swatting at an insect.
Moving to a pose that required more strength, Zita shook her head. “Nope, got to make use of what we’ve got at hand. Besides, do you really want to explain to Quentin why we want balloons and lube? He’ll come up with a perverted explanation and we’d never hear the end of it. Wyn, I don’t expect you to. You need more upper body strength to do this one.” Even I can’t fix wimpy arms in one month. When Wyn didn’t react, Zita all but rubbed her hands together in glee. Excellent. Her migraines have been disappearing as her control improves. Does she realize that?
“I’m not sure I want to progress then,” Andy muttered, making a face. As the color faded, the hangdog expression returned to his face. He shifted from foot to foot, and then added, “Oh, I had something to show you, Zita. Something to help with your shapes practice.”
Zita perked up and flipped to her feet. A new exercise? Sweet! “Really?” Practice had given them all better control of their new abilities, but the confined space restricted their activities. She had been unable to practice any large forms or explore their capabilities. Andy had not turned into a giant bird since the hospital, and instead spent most of his waking time on the balcony, practicing handling things without breaking them. After a spell to encourage plant growth had left the tiny balcony more like a jungle than not, Wyn was judicious about what spells she attempted. Mostly, she had been practicing healing the numerous small injuries they (mostly Zita) incurred, and controlling her telepathy. In defense of their friendships, Andy and Zita had both learned how to close their minds to keep from ‘leaking’ every thought. While they had made progress, the more emotionally laden ones slipped through when the party line was up.
Letting her illusion drop, Wyn’s lips curved in a conspiratorial smirk. “It’s done, then?”
Her friend’s question gave her pause. Zita considered the pair with suspicion, remembering how they helped her “practice her teleportation” last time they had a surprise for her. “Look, I’m all about delicious food, but if this is a ploy to get me to teleport to the Eiffel Tower for more pastries, you’re out of luck. The Pisa trip used the rest of our cash, though, and I’m not teleporting in front of anyone else unless I have no choice. Plus, we’re pretending to be quarantined.”
The taller woman shook her head. “No deception, though I could go for fresh croissants for tomorrow’s breakfast. Ooh, or éclairs!”
Her friends smiled. Andy said, “Yes, it’s ready. Follow me. I think you’ll like this, even if no food is involved.” With Wyn following behind, he led her into the bedroom. “So you’re thinking you have shifting under control, right?” he asked.
Zita nodded, running her hand back and forth over her head, the short, uneven strands soft against her fingers. “Yes, I can write chicken on the grocery list without tempting Colonel Sanders to use his herbs and spices.” Having seen similar gloating on her brothers before, Zita narrowed her eyes and looked back and forth at the other two. “Should I be worried?”
The cheap laptop that had replaced her computer sat open and humming on her desk. Andy paused by the stool in front of the desk, the chair gone after one of his failed attempts to control his strength. “No, you’ll like this, I swear. You’ve been so good about devising tort—tests for us that we have the ultimate test for you. Sit down, and watch these feeds,” he said in a soothing tone that did nothing to alleviate her qualms.
Confused, Zita sat, twisting to watch them. “Wait, now you’re saying there’s food? Where’s the food?” she said, looking around. Her stomach rumbled at the idea of a snack. The other two snickered. “What? Dinner was a while ago,” she said defensively.
Wyn giggled. “The dinner we ate early because you were hungry? When Andy said feeds, he meant the cameras. Try to pay attention to the computer, Zita.” Her eyes twinkled, and then she confirmed with Andy, “You did set it to the small ones, right?”
Andy nodded, a smile on his lips, though it did not extend to his eyes. Catching Zita’s gaze on him, he jerked his chin and mouth toward the computer, his version of pointing.
She shrugged and turned her attention to the screen. Zita concentrated. “Otter cam at the National Zoo?” she asked, leaning forward to get a better perspective. Choosing to allow the transformation, the now-familiar change in viewpoint was no surprise.
Andy stepped forward and glanced at the screen. “You don’t look quite like the ones on the cam. We figured you could use the cams to check out various animals and practice.”
In one flowing motion, Zita exited her clothing, and leapt up onto the desk. I don’t? Bringing her pointy little nose close to the monitor, she squinted. The only otter visible was at the edge of the screen, next to the water. Ay, I guess not. These are different from my mental image. The claws are shorter and it is smaller than I am. She barely noticed the adjustment to her form, so absorbed in her comparisons of herself and the real otter. The fur is a little different too, change it like so. This would be easier to see if I were there. What is he—instinct told her it was a male—staring at? Is something among the rocks?
Warm water enveloped her, and Zita sputtered and flailed. With the hard-won practice of the past month, she released control to her instincts. Her movements smoothed as she righted herself and paddled to solid ground. I need to practice the teleportation more; I thought I could only go to landmarks or home. Looks like the zoo cam was my ticket for a trip to see the animals! She darted onto the land and took a moment to evaluate her new surroundings. The hum of the motors and chemically clean water branded the creek as artificial. A tall Plexiglas wall hemmed the creek in on one side while a tumble of stones bounded the other side. The other otter watched her curiously, rising to his hind legs, a rock in one paw. An older female otter, followed by a bevy of others, charged up.
Zita backpedaled. She sat on her haunches and tried to seem respectful and repentant. Experience had taught her to recognize an old tía about to ream her for something that had made sense at the time.
The older female stopped a few feet away, tilted her head, and made a chirruping sound. The otters around her bobbed up and down.
Clueless, Zita bobbed her head and sank down to all fours. If necessary, she would shift and flee as a bird; it wa
s preferable to harming zoo animals or being maimed. It must have been the right thing to do as she found herself surrounded by myriad furry forms as they tumbled around her. Her nose was overwhelmed, and she counted, trying to keep them all straight. The otters numbered ten, possibly eleven total. After a few minutes of tumbling around her, one of the younger ones pounced on another otter and the group splashed in the water.
Zita shook herself to get off the splattered water. Standing and settling onto her haunches, she scanned the enclosure. The original male otter dove into the water and swam nearby, popping out of the water to sniff her. Then he was back in the water again, chattering at her, before he dove under again.
Looks like I have one more thing to practice if I can go somewhere other than landmarks and my apartment. Ay, I will save a bundle on airfare if I can use webcams! It’s so fast that I’ll get to do more fun things and less sitting around for hours, breathing stale air, and hoping nobody farts. Her whole body quivered with joy. The real otter did convoluted loops in the water, and after a second, Zita leapt in to duplicate it. While I’m here, I may as well enjoy practicing.
The otters seemed rhapsodic to have a new playmate, and they enjoyed a few rounds of acrobatics before Wyn’s voice sounded in her mind. Zita? Where are you? Andy’s presence was a warm glow in the background.
Otter pen at the zoo, Zita replied. It’s fun, to tell the truth, though I’ll get out of here soon before the zookeepers count and realize they have an extra. I never realized I could use a webcam to go places!
Andy’s mental voice was matter-of-fact. Told you she was goofing off in there.
Wyn sounded relieved. Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you’re okay. Are you coming back?
Floating on her back in the water, Zita scratched her furry belly. Sure. While I’m here, I may as well study the animals. Ooh, I’ve always wanted to try the O line, so I’ll do that once witnesses are gone. After I do that, then I’ll fly or teleport back after dark.
The what? The others chorused.
Zita blinked, slipped beneath the water for a moment, and then resurfaced. Her otter friend had already wandered away. The O line is an elevated line the orangutans use to travel between two buildings. I’ve always wanted to view it from closer… and maybe to try it.
Andy’s amusement beat Wyn’s by a few seconds. Typical, Wyn sent. Here I was hoping for something more prurient, like a strip club near the Zoo.
By the way, Wyn, excellent job getting the party line going over the distance, Zita sent. The male otter returned and showed her a rock. “Yeah, dude, nice rock,” she said. It came out as a series of chattering noises. It pleased the animal so much he ran off and returned with another otter and pebble.
Wyn said primly. You’re welcome. Don’t scare me again like that.
Andy sent a brief farewell. Fine. We’ll let you get back to playing with substrate and whatever.
Hasta, she sent, flipping a paw at the camera. No reply returned. Zita snorted, or made a growly sound anyway, as she surfed down a small waterfall to a lower area, following the other otters. She flipped out of the pool. A bunch of otters crowded around, showing each other stones. Oh, more rocks. It’s rock exhibition time. Oye, here’s granite-y piece, friend. She proffered one to an otter, but he did not take it from her. “Right, show and tell only,” she vocalized, aware that it sounded like a series of chirping noises. A pair of otters sniffed around her and then dashed into the water. “Geez, even the otters are critics. My rock is way more interesting than your dumbass rocks!” she grumbled. She hunted around the enclosure, assessing the camera emplacements for handy gaps.
When she thought she was unobserved, she shifted to a crow and scoped out the zoo. Spotting orangutans crossing between buildings, she flew close enough to study how they traveled, and how they held their hands.
***
Practicing animal forms rocked. Zita could get closer to all the animals than she could as a visitor, and better observe the nuances, like their specific grips when climbing a rope. Her mental list of things to try as assorted animals grew exponentially. While it was well after closing by the time she used the elevated line, she enjoyed every moment. After taking the line across, she practiced new grips as a chimpanzee in a tree near the zoology education building—a bronze plaque proclaimed it the Think Tank. Idly, she deliberated if she wanted to return to the confinement of her apartment or practice nocturnal forms. Even though full dark enfolded the zoo, nighttime lighting and animal eyesight allowed her to function. A muffled foul exclamation broke into her internal debate. She tracked the sound to three men attempting to skulk nearby.
Automated sprinklers gaily spewed water on two men lurking in the bushes bordering the sidewalk between the Think Tank and the parking lot. One looked morose, the other angry, and both were getting soaked. Both sides of the path had water sprinklers going, with only the center of the sidewalk left dry. The third man stood in shadow on the walkway, on the periphery of the water, though a black splotch on one leg suggested he had moved. The nearest light was out.
“This is idiotic. Why do we have to do it this way and here? This is too public,” one man muttered angrily. He had the scrawny, too-skinny build and jittering energy that suggested his vices came in pill or needle form. The scent of sweat and sickness rose from the dark sweatshirt and sagging jeans that hung off him. The jeans, growing sodden from the water, showed a small gun in his waistband. His constant motion left the bamboo reeds rustling and swaying in the small stand, throwing shadows over a skull dissipated to a sullen leanness and shaved close. A tangle of dark plastic yarn hung from his waist. Zita squinted and stopped to eavesdrop. Why is he wearing a sweatshirt in this heat?
A second man, a darker man with a heavy unibrow and a thick frame, shook his head. Light caught on the gray at his temples. “Shut up and do the job.” He shifted, leaning against the tree he had chosen for cover. His clothes, though also dark, fit well enough for her to see way the fabric stretched over his chest and arms. Strong pectorals and biceps, overdeveloped compared to the legs… weight lifting for strength and looks then, rather than what develops naturally from a physical job. The muggy air carried less of his sweat than the first man’s did, and his clothing only bore stains under his arms and where the water hit. Unlike the first man, he wore gloves, and moved with an economy of motion. His eyes checked the surroundings in the habitual scan of a cop or the criminals they chased.
With the annoyed tones of a person repeating himself, the last man, the smallest of the group, whispered. “Stick to the plan and get the package. I’ll wait in the car so we can exit quickly and pick up a paycheck tonight.” It took Zita a moment to parse his words, as his thick accent veered oddly between American, bad German, and even worse Russian. She craned her neck. Alone of the group, he avoided the sprinklers on the sidewalk, his shoes reflecting shards of light as he moved. His self-conscious swagger shouted more of image than threat. He tossed his head, forcing uneven bangs to swing away from his eyes. Foul smoke curled up from the cigarette hanging from his lip. “You lack vision. This is why I’m management and you’re not. Follow my commands.” Fuzz ran from his lower lip to his chin in a jagged stripe that stood out against a soft face richer in indulgence than years. Jamming a ball cap on his head, he turned on his heel and strode into the parking lot. The man never left the pavement, though he veered from one darkened area to the next. Despite his precautions, the lamps still showed the creases in the dark slacks, the glint of gold at his waist and wrists, and the silky mesh of his shirt. He paused by a black SUV, lit another cigarette, and slid into the car. Ah, charming, drug dealing at the National Zoo. If a pen and paper are lying around, I can leave a note for security. I can’t walk up and tell them in this form. If I returned to my usual form, they’d get all weird and distracted by my nudity. People are strange.
A growl came from the first one, who swore. “Damn Boris and his attitude. You know he’s going to sit in the AC while we do all the work. Let’s do i
t our way. I don’t see why we have to follow the orders of some…” Sweat ran down his face and neck, onto his clothing. One of his hands dipped into his pocket and then emerged empty. He shifted in place again, unable to keep still. Jitters, Zita decided. I’ll call him Jitters. The thick shirt probably hides track marks and helps him deal with withdrawal chills. He’ll be real cold by the time that water cuts off, though.
The calmer man cut him off. “The kid’s a mouthpiece. Do as he says. If we can’t do the pickup within the hour, we go again another night. I have to get back to handle deliveries at Danz Mizer soon, or Boris will screw it up trying to manage things. This isn’t the first package, and it won’t be the last. Kid let it slip that the boss is looking to get his hands on a whole file of packages soon from that doctor, with leads on another list. The way he messes up, the kid won’t stay a favorite, and the boss was hard on people even before he got freak powers. Do you want the boss’ attention? If Sobek gets mad, he can take it out on Boris, his right-hand fucking man, instead of me. I’ll take the cash and keep my skin in one piece.”
A reluctant nod accompanied the reply. “You got a point.”
“Of course I do. Remember the boundary line for the cameras is that tree over there. If you get on video, I don’t know you. You don’t know the boss, and you say nothing or you know what he’ll do.” When he turned to gesture at a tree, his shirt pulled tight against a bulge at his lower back. I had better mention they’re armed in my note. This one doesn’t seem like an idiot. I guess he can be Brains.
Jitters picked at a nasty sore on his face and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah. I got it.” Bamboo whispered with each tremor shivering through his form. A rivulet of sweat ran down his neck, joining the dark river of perspiration down his shirt.
Cruelty touched the second man’s lips as they curved upward, and he leaned into the shadows of his tree. “Yeah. Now shut up and do the job before I forget you’re related and smack you.”
