by Karen Diem
Shifting to an owl—she hoped no ornithologist noticed a South American great horned owl in D.C., but it was the first one that came to mind—Zita took flight, circling up with a beat of her wings. Most of her flight practice had been as small birds in her apartment, save for the brief time as a golden eagle. Soaring on the sultry night winds free was almost joy enough to distract her from her mission. A discarded pen was her first prey, and she flew with it in an awkward clutch, searching for paper for her note. At this hour, a few people stirred here and there as zoo employees and security staff went about their business. If she stayed above the lights illuminating the paths of the zoo, evading their eyes was simple.
Spotting something white as she returned to the Think Tank area, Zita was stooping to get it when a scream sounded in her mind, throwing off her concentration. The female voice, an unknown, spoke a senseless garble that would have been unintelligible had the terror running through it not delivered the message. Falling out of the dive, she flapped sideways, trying to avoid gravity’s harsh call and return to the balance of instinct and intellect that allowed flight. From inside the building, a screeching cacophony erupted as if every ape, macaque, and other animal inside chose that moment to shriek. Zita flinched and fell. Pain bloomed as tree branches slowed her descent, and she landed with a jarring thud and a squelch in a trash can. A woman shrieked again; it took a moment for Zita to realize her ears had registered the noise rather than her mind. She marshaled her thoughts, trying not to contemplate what she had landed in that smelled so awful. A wrapper fell off as she struggled out of the can and shook her feathers into order, taking off to find the source of the sound. Her right shoulder, the one she seemed to injure every few years, throbbed with pain with every flap, and something… pungent… smeared her body. Little bits of trash adhered to her, a receipt fluttering to the ground as she circled.
The source of the noise became apparent. The skulking men from earlier had accosted two women, one of whom, a curvy redhead, lay unmoving in a fetal curl on the ground. All four were on the dim sidewalk, with little or no illumination reaching into the foliage framing the path. His knife wavering, the shaky man menaced a tall brunette in a lab coat. Jitters panted and shivered, the sounds warring for dominance with the involuntary half-sobs escaping the brunette clutching her purse to her chest. Brains snapped another cartridge into a boxy gun: a TASER, Zita surmised. Both men had balaclavas over their faces, and water drenched their lower halves from the sprinklers that tossed water in the air like confetti. In the distance, light bobbed down a path.
Landing nearby on a thick tree branch, she was grateful for the near-silence of owl flight. Zita swore in a few different languages mentally as Brains finished reloading his weapon and raised it at the brunette. “Cuff the freak for travel.” Jitters scrabbled at the tangle of plastic hanging off his belt, which she realized were zip tie cuffs after a moment.
No time to plan. She shifted back to herself, the area growing dimmer as her vision changed. Her shoulder throbbed; her other sore spots seem negligible in comparison. Crouching, she bent her legs, preparing to spring on the man with the TASER. The branch cracked under her increased weight, but did not break.
“What was that?” Jitters asked, his knife wavering as he turned her direction, then away, trying to locate her, the knife following his eyes.
Brains glanced around to identify the noise, but turned back to the woman in front of him.
Zita took advantage of their distraction to leap out and knock the TASER from Brains’ hand, sending it into the bushes as she continued onward. He swung, but she was well below his fist.
“Was that a naked chick?” Jitters gaped and gestured where she had been. Despite his carelessness with his knife, he did not to cut himself, but his actions diverted attention to her last location. Good thing I’m no longer there.
Moving fast, Zita spun to the knife-wielder, moving up into a low, fast cartwheel interrupted first by one kick to Jitter’s knee, and then by the other foot to kick the knife from his hand as he collapsed with a shriek. As she finished the Aú Batido move, her foot skidded in the muddy earth. She slid under a nearby bush, her abused shoulder hitting the ground and pinpoints of pain springing up as the branches raked her.
Brains pulled a gun. “What the?” His eyes narrowed as he scanned where she had been. He raised his gun toward her.
Zita shrank back, hoping the tree would hide her. If his vision equaled most people’s, he would discern the others on the path, but not her petite form, hidden in the decorative shrubs and small trees that lined the path.
Jitters sobbed and held his knee.
“Get up. Nobody move!” Brains ordered.
Jitters struggled to his feet again. He leaned on a sapling near the path.
She looked down at herself. Oh right, I don’t have any clothing or a mask! I’m right next to that tree he said the cameras stopped at. Zita shuddered as she crawled away from the camera zone and deeper into the underbrush, heedless of the scratches she was gathering or the detritus that was sticking to her. Mud squelched against her body, cooler than the air against her skin. I so need a shower. When I come back to practice animal things, I’m going to hide clothing so the naked thing isn’t a problem.
“What’s going on here? The zoo is closed. This is the National Zoological Park Police, and you need to raise your hands in the air,” another male voice barked. The black of a bulletproof vest, gaping open, presumably because of the heat, blended into the trademark green pants, and stood out against the light khaki of his uniform shirt.
Brains pointed his gun at the newcomer.
Zita sprang to stop him from hurting the zoo cop.
The cop clicked on a flashlight, blinding Zita and making her miss her target.
The brunette gasped and raised her hands to her chest. Her hands jerked out as Zita blinked to restore her night vision and find Brains. Hissing filled the air as the can in the other woman’s hand went off.
Fire burned along Zita’s eyes and face, and she choked, even as she collided with Brains, who was also swearing and staggering. They both fell. Moving blind, she crawled back into what she assumed were the bushes. Her nose and eyes held a contest to see which could run more as she curled in a ball. Her hand landed on a sprinkler, and she thrust her face into the water. The sounds of a scuffle ensued while she scrubbed bleary eyes. What she now recognized as pepper spray hissed again. Profanity and a woman sobbing grew louder. While she worked to focus on the moving figures, the darkness did not aid her attempt.
“All of you are under arrest!” someone said. Something buzzed, and then his voice continued. “Request backup, two or three armed assailants.”
The woman sobbed. “Help us!”
“Shit! My eyes!”
A car horn honked.
“Everyone shut up! I swear I’ll shoot the next person who complains or moves. This fucking hurts!” Jitters shouted.
Zita exhaled, controlling her breathing as she let the water wash her face clean. After a moment of thought, she shifted. Rising to all four paws, she prayed that men stupid enough to wear guns in their waistband were poor shots. She growled. The babble of threats, pleas, and warnings paused, but resumed. Her nose felt as if it were on fire. Her tail lashed, whipping against nearby tall grasses. While her eyes still smarted, the path and the blurry forms of those on it were visible. The white lab coat shouted the presence of the woman. The stench of Jitters identified him, but the other two men blurred together. She snarled again, and prowled through the underbrush to another location. One of her front legs pulsed with pain, making each step a torment. This time, the low, inhuman sound cut through the conversation, leaving silence.
“What was that?” Jitters asked. Panic and pain ran through his voice.
The lab coat inched toward the black and khaki blur, which stood frozen, light still pouring from one hand.
After a first failed attempt to pick up something off the ground, a bulky form picked up an object, a
nd then the now-twitching lady from the ground with a grunt. “You are all going to stay put, and we’re leaving. We won’t hesitate to shoot you, but we don’t have to if you behave. Come on, let’s go.”
Ignoring the instincts that told her to be silent, Zita roared. Apes inside the Think Tank exploded with noise. She stepped out onto the path, her tail flicking, and crouched low to pounce or jump. Her eyes finally cleared as she blinked her eyes rapidly.
“Tiger!” Jitters wailed. “TIGER!” The gun shook in his hand as he hobbled to aim at her. Fear permeated his scent. A feline part of her mind marked him as prey. His fetor marked him as inedible, while his stupidity in mistaking a jaguar for a tiger marked him as stupid.
Brains waved his weapon in her direction and moved away from Zita. The wavering point of his gun proved his vision had not completely returned either. His fear was salty on her tongue, but tempered. “Shut up. Don’t make it mad.” He inched toward the parking lot.
The National Zoological Park Police officer drew a revolver and shoved the brunette behind him. Zita salivated, scenting a chilidog spill on his shirt and in his breath. “Run!” he ordered. Brushing his radio with one hand, he added, “Jaguar loose! Bring the tranqs!”
Her voice shaky, the lab-coated woman said, “N-n-no. Back away slowly, try to look it in the eyes, and make noises. Look as big as you can. Feeding time wasn’t long ago, so if we don’t trigger its hunting instincts, we should be okay.” She suited actions to words, stepping backward toward the Think Tank, her eyes staring as she made a serious of unidentifiable noises. As she opened her lab coat and flapped it, her scent of fear, pepper spray, and hospital astringency spread.
The same horn beeped twice in the parking lot. Something in Jitters broke. “It’s a tiger, you fucking fucker! TIGER! I am not going to be eaten by a fucking tiger!” he shouted. He fired, his arms shooting upwards. Wrestling the gun back down, he fired again.
A bullet cracked, and a nearby tree sported a new hole. The second shot did not hit her and no one else had fallen, so she did not worry about where it had landed. Crouching low, Zita darted to a new spot nearby with another snarl and an internal sniff at the idea of consuming something so disgusting. Cheetah or leopard would be understandable, but tiger? How many brain cells had to die to make that mistake?
The woman in the lab coat froze in mid-flap. Her mouth opened and closed without sound.
The policeman aimed his revolver, shifting his aim between Zita and Jitters. “This is your last warning! Drop the weapon and back away.”
“Stop before you kill me, moron! Fucking aim first!” Brains shifted the now-wiggling redhead to his shoulder and tried to get a better grip on his own weapon. He took another step off the path.
Ay, I will regret this later, she thought, and she charged Jitters as he brought the gun down for a third shot. To evade any future shots, she zigzagged any way that would not put people between herself and the maddened man. As Zita barreled past him to stop Jitters before he could kill someone, the combination of 200 pounds of jaguar, the mud beneath his feet, and the woman moving in his arms knocked Brains off his feet again. He swore as he crashed into the mud, but managed to keep hold of his gun. The redhead dropped to the ground again, this time with a squeal.
Zita lowered her head like a bull and charged, mouth closed to keep her teeth covered. When the top of her skull met his form, she threw the rest of her body to the side so he would not get the full impact. Jitters screamed at the contact, a shrill sound that cut off with a crack when he hurtled into a tree despite her attempt to soften the blow.
She stopped, jaw falling open. Closing it again, she darted to his side to see if he breathed. Dios don’t let him be dead. I didn’t mean to kill him. Zita leaned close to sniff, opening her mouth to better scent him. The car horn sounded again, three times. Her tail and one ear flicked in annoyance.
“It’s eating him!” the cop shouted. “Run while it’s distracted, I’ll cover you!” Heels and a softer shoe pounded on the sidewalk, growing fainter.
Jitters moaned and curled into a ball. His one leg, the one she had kicked, refused to curl. The scent of blood saturated the air, overriding even the chemicals and filth that comprised his natural odor.
Horror laced the cop’s voice. “He’s alive! It’s eating him alive!”
Instinct shivered, the fur on her back standing on end, and she glanced back to see the cop aiming at her. She turned, stumbling through the darkness of the brush to evade any bullets. The brunette in the lab coat and Brains were both gone: the running sounds earlier, she reasoned.
The red-haired woman moaned and stirred as Zita slunk by. She froze. Feline eyes met human as the other woman gazed at the jaguar.
Risking a glance back, the cop had lowered his gun, but held it in a ready position. He advanced toward her—no, toward the redhead on the ground, they happened to be close together—scanning for enemies with a jerky motion that showed his tension.
The redhead spoke again in her mind, the words unintelligible, but a sense of calm and friendship came through. “Shhh, beauty, calm yourself. Let me help you,” the other woman crooned aloud. Had it not been for the fear pouring off her scent, Zita might have thought her unafraid.
Zita blinked. She looked behind herself and then back. She tried replying, “Thanks, but it’s him who needs to chill,” but it emerged as a grunt.
This close, she could see the confused wrinkle appear between the brows of the other woman. “Why can’t I hear you?” the redhead inquired.
The cop doubled his pace toward them. A door slammed in the parking lot.
Zita leapt away, landing with a stagger, and bounded through the trees toward the parking lot and the park beyond.
As Zita burst out of the trees and into the circles of light and dark of the lot, a dark SUV careened toward the exit. She sprinted after it, stopping at the entrance to the lot to shift to an owl when she realized the panic a jaguar would cause in the city.
When she leapt into the air to follow, she came down again immediately. Her abused shoulder gave way, unable to support the five-foot wingspan of a South American great horned owl. Managing to wobble up into the air, Zita tried again. At the entrance to the zoo, she struggled to ride the air currents higher while she searched for the fleeing car. The flare of headlights and shop signs showed multiple SUVs in both directions. Stymied, she swore in silence.
A pack of zoo cops and men with tranquilizer rifles exploded from the dark brush of the zoo. Gliding to spare her shoulder, she abandoned the chase and instead retreated to the trees of the neighboring park. Zita perched on a low branch and tried to smooth her feathers. Once darkness enshrouded her, she took a deep breath. She shivered, weariness settling across her. Her shoulder shouted with pain, her hip complained, and other small injuries called for attention. Adding insult to injury, her stomach growled. So much for a leisurely flight home, she thought. Hunching her shoulders and fluffing her feathers, she contemplated her options while staring at the grass.
When she caught herself visually stalking a rabbit below and inching down the branch to keep it in view, she knew she had to get home. Rabbit dinner is plan B. I’ll teletravel, no, teleport back. Zita pictured her apartment.
Andy fell off the couch when she appeared in the middle of the living room, dropping what looked like a brownie. Lasers zapped and things exploded on the television screen. “What happened to you? Did an otter beat you up?” he asked.
Her eyes narrowed, and Zita changed back to human. The promise of chocolate scented the air. He made a strangled sound, but she was already crossing the carpet toward the Promised Land. “You got brownies in here? You been holding out on me! Why didn’t you say so? I would’ve been back faster! Did you hook me up with the otter webcam to hide them from me?” A half-eaten pan of brownies was cooling on the stove, a used knife discarded in the empty half. Realizing the amount of grime on her hands, she stopped and washed her hands first. The handle of the knife was warm in her hands
as she cut herself a generous slice a moment later, placing it onto a napkin. Lord be praised, pain be damned, they were warm!
From the direction of the couch came the first complaint. “Can you at least put clothes on? We were going to save you a few. We just wanted to have a couple first.” Andy carped further, but his words were incomprehensible.
Zita took a bite, closing her eyes and letting the decadent chocolate flavor melt on her tongue. Some woman moaned; she realized it was her. “Dude, I’m so hungry. You could have told me.”
“And you could wear clothing.”
Another bite of warm brownie crumbled in her mouth. Zita purred around it. “I’ll get to it; don’t look if it bothers you.”
Andy folded his arms over his chest. “Would you at least stop moaning? You sound like you’re enjoying that brownie too much.”
Zita refused to dignify that with any response other than to push another large bite into her mouth.
“Oh hey, do my ears deceive me or are those the dulcet tones of our wandering friend? I made brownies—ah, I see you found them. Goddess, what happened? Did yesterday’s rain start a small mudslide?” Wyn smiled as she entered the room, her teeth white against a mysterious green sludge that garnished most of her face except for her mouth and eyes. It smelled like avocadoes and lemons. Worn purple cloth, plastered with golden happy faces all over, hung from one arm, and her hair was up in a towel. She put the cloth down by Zita.
Finishing the snack and licking her fingers, one at a time, Zita looked over at where Andy was steadfast in not looking. She sniffed. “See? At least she told me right off. Not exactly, Wyn. I’d be better if you’d use that handy healing spell on me. Wait… is the gook on your face contagious?” Her eyes on Wyn, she grabbed, unfolded, and pulled the bathrobe tight over herself.
“No, it’s a facial mask for better skin. You know, like putting on lotion. Even you use lotion occasionally, right?” Wyn walked over. Setting an elegant hand on Zita’s shoulder, she murmured an invocation under her breath, and the now-familiar shimmer of the healing spell appeared around her.
