by Karen Diem
Zita released a deep breath as pain eased, releasing tension from her shoulders. “Things got weird,” she admitted.
The healing took more time than it had to heal the minor scrapes of practicing, but she elected not to complain. When the healing finished, the glow disappeared and her friend lowered her hand. Then she jabbed Zita’s shoulder. “Stop getting hurt. Weird how? I’m relieved you’re back. The news broke into my show, you know, the vampire one you all refuse to watch. They announced an escaped jaguar at the zoo and an attempted kidnapping! Did you see it happen? I came out to let Andy know and was about to contact you. She’s dressed, Andy.” The witchy brunette took a second to rinse off the creepy gook on her skin.
“Finally,” he muttered.
With a wistful glance at the fridge that housed the leftovers from dinner, Zita headed over to the TV armoire. She changed stations until she found news. “Exit the otter, enter the jaguar,” she joked. Both of her friends gave her blank looks. “Seriously? You say I have no culture? How could you not know one of the best Bruceploitation films of all time? You’re lucky to be somewhere with it on the play list.” She detoured to grab another hunk of brownie and returned to stand next to the futon; her bathrobe was more washable than the cushion.
Wyn seated herself next to Andy, face gleaming with dampness, and avocado still lingering in her scent. “Don’t worry. You were here all night with us, Zita, no matter what they caught. You worked out and complained about our viewing preferences,” the other woman said.
Andy nodded. “And you ate most of the brownies,” he added. Zita narrowed her eyes at him, and continued to munch.
The commentators on-screen concluded their discussion of a panic in Detroit and then discussed the National Zoo incident. Other than the oddity of a naked woman and a jaguar, they had little information. Zita wiped sweat off her forehead.
Andy got up and switched the channel to whatever he had been watching, just as a massive round thing exploded on the screen. “Crap! I missed the best part. Looks like the police haven’t announced if they got you on tape, Zita.” He collapsed back onto the futon and folded his arms over his chest. He glared at a youth in a spacecraft.
With a sympathetic glance at Andy, Wyn rose, and patted Zita’s shoulder. “It does seem as if they don’t know what’s going on. Give us the full story in the morning, and we can make plans from there. I’m heading off to bed. Night, you two.”
“Night.”
“Sleep tight. I’ll be in after a snack and a shower,” Zita said.
With a final glance at Andy, Wyn disappeared into the bedroom, leaving them alone in the living room.
Staring at the man on the sofa, Zita shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.
Andy stared sullenly at his show. “What?” he barked.
Zita twitched. “You’re bitchy and you’ve been watching space shows for days straight. Is there a problem, or what? Do you just want another brownie? I left some. We can slither out and go punch rocks or whatever. Quentin can leave beer for you, if you want.”
“Why don’t you ask Wyn? She saw it in my head and couldn’t come up with anything helpful or a magic spell,” he said, his tone sour.
A pit began to form in her stomach. “If that’s what you want. You know she’s working to control that,” she said.
His hand slashed at the air. “No, I don’t want. I know she is. It’s not about her or even the creepy witchy stuff. She’s lucky. I don’t need a beer. I don’t want to talk about it. I especially don’t want to chat about my feelings.”
Panic rose in Zita at the last sentence. She sucked at the kinds of conversation heralded by those words. She held out a hand to pause the torrent of his words. “Oye, mano, I didn’t ask —”
Once unleashed, Andy seemed unable to stop talking. “I don’t want to be trapped here, inside all the time. I don’t want to have to think about every little move I make. And I don’t want to break up with my girlfriend and never have another one, but I don’t have a choice about any of that, do I?” he exploded, his voice rising with each sentence. He stared ahead, his eyes on the wall rather than on the small screen.
“Uh.” Her stomach twisted.
“Yeah.” He glared.
Zita took a deep breath and calmed herself. All of the things he had mentioned were fixable. She would solve his problems, he would be happy again, and they return to not talking. A twitch escaped her. “We aren’t trapped. We’ve been choosing to comply with the stupid quarantine. I’m totally in if you want to skip out, even if it’s to go sit on the roof. If we can figure out a safe place, we can teleport. You know I’m going to practice that webcam thing. Why don’t you find some deserted spot and go with me? No talkies.” Ever.
His eyes strayed to the television, where a woman in white was handing out medals to a bunch of men and a giant hairball, but he nodded and closed his mouth.
Zita considered his next point. “You’re already working on the thinking-about-every-move thing. The point of the practice is to make it a habit so you won’t have to think about it. Come on, dude, you were a backup for the Olympic Judo team. You know how practice works, and I’m an awesome coach. Not only have you improved since we left the hospital, but you haven’t had problems with the mindless actions. For example, you have yet to break the handle on my toilet or my toilet seat. Maybe you just think about it too much? As much as I hate to bring her up, that tool Caroline moved that ambulance without breaking it. You both got super strong, but you told me you’d break my treadmill if you moved it.”
“Pat your own back much?” he replied, but his shoulders loosened more. “I hadn’t thought about the toilet or Caroline like that. Technically, the ambulance should have broken, unless you accept Farnswaggle’s Thirteenth Theorem, which nobody does.”
“My rep is deserved. Anyway, stop overthinking it.” Giddy with her success, she made one last attempt to avoid his last problem. “As far as dating, you’ve never done that anyway. No need to worry. Want a brownie?”
His mouth firmed. “Bite me.”
Sighing internally, Zita continued on to the last point, even though it made her feel as if she were dying a million lame, girly deaths. Externally, she may have twitched… multiple times. “So, for real on the dating thing, your girl has a problem with you? Are you certain she is a real girl? You’re not bad, I guess; plenty of girls might go for you. Quentin could hook you up. You want brownies?”
His lips twisted unhappily, and his shoulders tensed again. “No, things have been going well when she’s not immersed in her project. I can’t… We can’t even play World of Warcraft together with things as they are. What’s the point of a romantic relationship, or any other, if it’ll never progress beyond online chatting and an occasional phone call? I don’t want to imagine what an accident of strength would do to a girl if we held hands or were… close.” Andy blinked rapidly, and stared at the credits scrolling up the screen.
Pues, I should have quit while I was ahead. At least he doesn’t want to bang Wyn or me. That would up the gross factor by a million bazillion. “Uh, listen, I already covered that. You will keep practicing and get the habit going. You will get laid again, though it’ll wait. You two could stick to cowgirl at first too. It’s all theoretical now anyway, so unless she has been suggesting the two of you get together and sex things up, you should be fine.” Don’t make me say it. I have been avoiding that quite well and on purpose. Zita ran her hand back and forth over her head.
He glared at her. “Easy for you to say. You don’t have the same problem.”
She punched his shoulder. “Buey! Have you missed everything that’s happened? It’d be fatal if I turned into a hippo on top of a dude. Almost worse, if he wanted me to shift to an animal while banging, I’d have to dump his ass because that’s disgusting! We both got to stick to our practice schedules. I love practicing as much as the next girl -”
“Way more. Way, way more,” he interrupted, but his shoulders relaxed. “So, you think I
can stay with my girl? I never considered your shifting like that.”
She snorted. “I sure as Hell have. Yes, if you like her that much, hang onto her. Are we cool now?”
Andy studied her and gave a nod. “Yeah, we’re cool. Fetch me a brownie, will you?”
Sensing the danger had passed, she exhaled and said a silent prayer of gratitude. Zita punched his arm. “Sure thing, mano.” For this, I get another brownie on my way to the shower.
Chapter 9
Two days later, the news had little else to add, other than speculation and wild rumor.
Wyn laughed the fifth time she checked the broadcast. “Ah, the famous accuracy of eye witness testimony! You’re a tattooed runaway teenage nudist gang member, Zita. How does it feel to have such accurate media coverage?” She relaxed in a pile of pillows on the futon, waving a hand at the television.
Zita rolled her eyes. “I resent the implication that a girl can’t be a medium-to-dark-skinned teenage nudist with tattoos without being in a gang. Maybe a girl likes body art. Even I’ve thought about getting a little cross tattoo, but the pull to commit hasn’t been there. I mean, Wyn, you have ink. That’s not a gang sign.” She bit down on a carrot stick and went back to putting together a sandwich.
Wyn blushed. “No, it was just a… thing.”
Zita snickered and waved a bread knife. “Other than that, I don’t mind, since it means I’m not a suspect.”
In a better mood since their talk, Andy waved from his chair. They had climbed up on the roof the day previous, and he had been his usual content self, a real relief. One heartfelt feelings discussion a year was more than enough. “Shouldn’t even a nudist gang give a girl a scarf to wear to show colors? Hey, is that Remus?” He jerked his chin at the television, where the female news anchor interviewed the handsome Puerto Rican via video conference. A ticker at the bottom of the screen noted Remus as the man known for running to California in seconds.
Remus leaned into the camera, his face alight, as he announced the creation of a group supporting small businesses run by people with special abilities. His future business would be delivery of documents, available for cross-country delivery within an hour of receipt.
The news anchor nodded, toying with a strand of her hair. “Your new organization already has a list of people and business signed up for this organization, including one Dr. Linnea Bagley. Are you familiar with Dr. Bagley? Have you spoken to her about her attempted kidnapping at the National Zoo?” She leaned toward Remus’ monitor again, her eyes intent.
“The motivation behind the free publicity they’re giving his organization reveals itself,” Wyn murmured. Andy grunted.
Zita assented around a mouthful of sandwich. “Plus he’s total eye candy. It’s a shame they can’t get his whole body on-screen. Shirtless! Female viewership would be crazy good. Do you think he can wear pants when he runs? I can’t when I shift and if he’s going that fast, his clothes might rip off.” She gave a shiver of delight that was not entirely to incite laughs. Ay, now there’s a happy thought.
Andy groaned. Wyn looked thoughtful.
Zita grinned wider and raised a hand. “Just keeping it real.” She took another bite as Wyn giggled.
On the television, Remus’ eyebrows drew together. “We’ve spoken a few times via email, but not beyond that, sorry.” He was silent for a few seconds, and then continued, “I hope she’s recovering well. It sounds like it was a terrifying experience for Dr. Bagley and the others involved.”
The news anchor nodded. “Yes, we hope for the best for everyone involved in the incident. While your website does not list her, do you know if Caroline Gyllen will be a part of your organization? For our viewers who may be unfamiliar with Caroline, she is the daughter of Senator Theopold Gyllen. A former gold medalist in gymnastics, Caroline was a familiar sight on the social circuit prior to the quarantine. During the terrorist attack on the D.C. quarantine buildings, she heroically defended first responders.” The television switched to familiar footage from the hospital attack starring Caroline.
“Tool.” Zita grumbled into her sandwich.
“Yes, we hates her,” Andy and Wyn chorused. They exchanged a glance.
Zita narrowed her eyes at them.
The phone rang. Wyn answered.
Now an inset image in the larger video, Remus shrugged. “No, though anyone looking to open a legitimate business that utilizes a special ability is welcome.”
“Random check-in time,” Wyn announced. “Oh! They want to interview us about the hospital incident and quarantine!” She blinked multiple times and hung up. “They will be here for the debriefing in ten minutes.” One hand smoothed her hair in a gesture that seemed automatic.
Zita almost choked on her sandwich. “Ten minutes? They invite themselves into my home and fail to give me time to hide my questionable possessions? How rude!” Finishing her mouthful, she looked around to figure out what she wanted to hide most. Besides herself.
“Nobody expects the Homeland Security inquisition!” Andy intoned.
Wyn snickered.
Zita gave him a puzzled look, which made the others laugh harder.
Wiping her eyes with a hand, Wyn got herself under control. “What’s problematic with your place? The only thing I’ve found hidden around here is a Best of Cesar Millan DVD that was behind a bunch of other ones. I was meaning to ask. Why do you have one of those, anyway?”
Andy suggested, “Did you have a dog?”
“Uh. No dog.” While Zita considered non-incriminating answers, Wyn turned pink and gasped.
“What?” Andy said.
Zita sat up straight and attempted a dignified pose. “I enjoy watching a calm, self-confident man who is knowledgeable in his chosen field.” Stop eavesdropping on my thoughts.
Wyn snickered. “You certainly do.” Shouldn’t that be eavesdropping on your libido? Sorry, I guess my curiosity led me astray. Don’t worry; I didn’t dig into the thought about things you wouldn’t want them to see.
She sniffed at the taller woman, flicking her fingers. “You should try watching him. I make no apologies. He is a sexy beast even without a serious exercise program.” Zita took a serious bite of her sandwich and savored the flavors as she prioritized objects to hide. It is an interview, not an inspection, so just the obvious objects needs to be out of sight.
“Oh, God, things I really didn’t need to know!” Andy cringed.
Are they still thinking about that? “Stop busting my ass about my healthy interest in an attractive guy and help me hide these books. My brothers’ books on forensics and bombs would raise bad questions, so they need to be concealed,” Zita said, going over and pulling books from the shelves. “Wyn, can you shut all the doors, except the bathroom?”
Wyn sobered. “Yes, let’s not give them a motive to prolong our incarceration. Zita, you should refrain from speaking to them.” She cleaned the plates and the table, leaving the food on the counter as she hurried to shut the doors.
When Zita’s arms were full, she looked around for a place to hide the books. After she dumped them on top of the washer, Andy followed with the rest. By the time a knock came, the empty section of the white bookshelves was camouflaged by pictures and interesting souvenirs.
Party line to keep our stories straight? Wyn asked mentally as she answered the door. Her voice held a sweet lilt as she greeted whoever was there.
Posed at the counter with the remnants of their lunches and Wyn’s discarded plate, Zita and Andy exchanged looks. Sounds like a plan to me, Zita sent. “Make sure you check their badges!” she called.
Andy grunted. Fine, don’t keep them waiting or they’ll suspect we’re talking about something. Well, not talking, but you know. He and Zita bumped fists.
With a smile plastered on her beautiful face, Wyn stepped aside to allow three men entry. The first was tall and beefy; he had the confidence and movement of someone who knew how to start or end a fight, and he bulleted into the room as if he expected one. Both
of his hands showed scrapes and bruises, and the baggy sport coat he wore revealed glimpses of a shoulder holster as he moved. After a pause and a thoughtful assessment of the three of them, he exhaled, and his body untensed. His eyes stayed flat and unfriendly. “Clear,” he said. He moved to a wall and stood at parade rest while the others entered. Military, or I’ll eat my hat, Zita thought.
If you eat one of your hats, could it be the rainbow glitter monstrosity? Wyn asked. “Please, why don’t you have a seat? Can I get you a Coke?” her friend purred, waving a hand toward the dinette set.
The bulk and speed of the first man had hidden the other two. As the second man entered, he scrutinized them; the sturdy middle-aged man had the steady stride and eyes of a cop, but his stride had a hitch like his ribs hurt. He lacked the fit menace of the first, but he had the cynical distrust of a survivor, despite the injuries. His battered briefcase had a piece of paper pinched in the seam.
Justin was the third man. The young analyst had a massive black eye and an arm in a sling. This time, no gun bounced at his belt, although his suit was the same or identical to the one he had worn before. All his attention was on Wyn, though he fussed with a clipboard in his uninjured hand.
The words blurted out before Zita realized it. “Justin? What happened this time? Did you lose your gun again? Weren’t you FBI, not Homeland Security?”
The other two men looked at Justin, even as his attention moved from her friend to her. He went pink, then white, and then flushed pink again after catching the smirk the oversized military man gave him. He looked at his clipboard, and then at Zita again and groaned. “Right. Z. Garcia. I’m attached to DMS now.”
A mugger attacked him and the older gentleman. In addition to their wallets, the muggers took the original list of quarantined off-site individuals, so these three have to redo days of interviews. How do you know him? Wyn asked mentally.
“DMS?” Zita sent a quick reply mentally. Bad blind date.
