by Karen Diem
“I wasn’t going to!” Zita huffed, tearing her eyes away from the Promised Land. A closed door hid a well-stocked pantry. At the hum and beep of a computer starting up, she abandoned her explorations to enter the study. This room held the faint smell of antiseptic, brass, and dust. Andy sat at a hefty desk, his gloved hands pecking at the keyboard. A stone fireplace, cold and bare of ashes, was behind him. A smaller chair and table sat to the side. Perhaps where Nurse Mouse had worked? An open book sat in an ornate holder in front of the lone window. A portrait loomed over the desk; had they not been in his house, she would not have recognized the smiling young man who stood with a woman in wedding finery between two older people poised parentally. Every other wall was pregnant with books.
Shaking her head, she walked over to the bookcase that held the most books and began searching. The man was serious about his books. He had a bazillion.
Did you know he had the second edition of Farnswaggle’s Physics? His work’s hardcore. Fascination laced the last two sentences. Andy stood at another bookcase, mumbling and reaching toward one book. In revenge for his comment earlier, she sent a command. No physics! Don’t get distracted, she sent fondly. Let’s get this done and get out.
He caught her looking. “Laptop’s booting,” he said.
What, is it time to taunt the librarian with books she can’t see? The notebook was bound in coffee-colored leather with gold Copperplate lettering if that helps. It had a red and blue silk bookmark. Wyn contributed.
Zita shook her head. After finishing the row of books, she considered the painted image of the smiling family. The spotless room has only one picture, and it is crooked. Her hands gentle, she lifted a corner of the portrait and peeked behind it. The gold goes to Zita Garcia! After a fist pump, she whispered, “Think Singh would store the notebook in a safe? Help me with this sucker.”
The painting had just touched the ground when a brush of sound came from the kitchen. She stopped and looked that direction. Keeping her voice low, she asked, “Oye, did you hear that?”
“What?”
Her pulse was racing. Zita padded toward the French doors as Andy lifted down the portrait. “I thought something moved?” she whispered. The muscles in her shoulders tensed.
No sound came from the other room.
Andy shrugged. “I don’t hear anything.” She returned in time to see his hands fisted on his hips. “I could force it, but that goes against the idea of sneaky.”
Zita snorted as she examined it. “I got this. I’d need a drill for anything better. Since I don’t have the right tools, it will take a few.” We found a safe. If I can’t get it open, Andy can pry it open.
Teeth showed in Andy’s grin. “You do doors, alarms, and safes. You’re either going to jail or going to make some criminal very happy someday, you know that, right?”
She elbowed him. “Go do your computer crap. Dick.”
“Tyrant!” he muttered, settling into the chair again.
Digging through the limited tools she had brought with her, she almost missed the slight scrape from the kitchen. Armed with a sharp pick, she dropped everything else and ran in, her headlamp light jumping over the empty room. Nothing stirred, except the curtain over the sliding door, disturbed by her rapid entrance. Since the door was ajar, she closed it. She frowned. It’s possible it was the wind, but I could have sworn something moved.
I sense no one else in the house. Paranoia is a sign of mental illness, Wyn suggested.
“Paranoia is the name the less prepared use for good planning,” Zita grumped. After returning to the study, her actions to unlock the safe were slow to avoid leaving marks.
Andy swore. “The laptop’s password protected. I can’t tell if this is the right one or not. After I shut this down, I’ll check the rest of the house for another. If you see anything that looks like a password in that safe, grab it. We may have to take the stupid thing.” After a moment, he transmitted that to Wyn.
Zita mumbled agreement, her attention on the safe.
I suppose it was too much to ask that it be simple, Wyn sent.
Andy chuckled, and his footsteps receded as he left. It is our first felony.
As part of a team, Zita agreed.
***
A loud bang and then the house alarm shattered her concentration several minutes later. “Seriously? I almost had it!” she muttered. Setting down her things, she hurried to silence it from the kitchen panel. A yowl like an enraged feline with a sore throat, a squeal, and a series of thumps echoed from the foyer, interrupting her actions. The squeal belonged to a familiar voice. Apprehension made her fists clench, and she sprinted there.
She burst in, the room illuminated only by the streetlight outside. Her headlamp and the ambient light picked out a dark form leaning over Andy on the floor. The front door gaped open, splintered wood hanging on the doorframe.
“Are you dead? Things are more difficult for me if you’re dead, even if it’s your fault for dodging me wrong. You should have watched where you were falling,” a woman’s voice said, petulance dripping from the tones.
Andy grumbled and started to push himself up.
The woman looked as if she were about to kick him in the head.
Without planning it, Zita threw herself into a cartwheel and kicked the other woman in the chest, reversing the move to avoid landing on her friend.
With a surprised mew, the other woman flew backward, but did not lose her feet. She hissed and attacked. Using his head as a vault, she leapt over Andy and swung wildly at Zita. The intruder missed.
Wyn’s mental voice was puzzled. What’s going on?
Zita spared a second to broadcast. Burglar smack down, talk later. The two women circled each other, Zita falling into a capoeira ginga out of habit. The alarm continued blaring, but she doubted the other woman would consent to pausing combat so Zita could silence it.
Andy scrambled out of the way and against a wall.
In a flurry of movement, the other woman attacked with a series of punches and kicks. Zita eluded or blocked the blows, which showed more speed than skill by her opponent. “Two others in here! I got it though,” the other called out in a loud snarl.
Countering with a few strikes of her own, Zita evaluated her opponent. When she threw in a quick takedown move, the other escaped by virtue of preternatural flexibility.
The lighting made assessment difficult, but the other woman had a few inches and pounds on her. When her opponent flipped unnecessarily to try to deliver a boot to Zita’s head, she revealed a lithe acrobatic form, a lengthy tail, and the fact that she was already panting. I’ll call her Kitty.
Pride flared at the ease with which she suppressed the urge to shift. Zita did a sweeping kick to knock down the other woman, but Kitty bounced off a wall and landed on her feet.
Something freed inside Zita as her opponent unloaded another torrent of kicks and punches. She laughed, fierce exhilaration sweeping through her as she evaded again and returned with a combination kick and cartwheel that punted the other onto the stairs.
At her obvious enjoyment, the other woman hissed again, even as she twisted impossibly in the air to land on her feet. Fabric tore. “Are you laughing at me?” Her tail cut the air, and furry pointed ears perked, and then flattened to lie smooth against her head.
”You’re too close together, and she’s got powers,” Andy called out, apology in his tones as he retrieved his flashlight and pressed against a wall.
“You think?” Zita replied sarcastically. Watch for backup. She’s tiring fast.
Will do, Andy promised.
The catlike girl tried to pounce on her, leaping further than she ought to be able from the stairs. Although Zita evaded the brunt of the attack, sudden pain shooting through her leg and a ripping sound exposed what Kitty had been holding back.
“Kitty has claws. Real ones.” Some of her enjoyment fled. As the other darted around her, Zita feinted, and then seized the trailing tail. It felt like a cat tail, bone
and cartilage beneath fur, and her grip gentled. With it as leverage, she hauled Kitty closer and kicked her ribs.
The resulting screech lured in Kitty’s helper. A light flared in the doorway, blinding Zita for a precious second. The tail slipped away.
With a final slash that caught on and tore Zita’s shirt, the other girl bolted to Andy. She dove between his legs and then spun to kick him in the back. He crashed into Zita. They collapsed onto the hard tile floor in a jumble.
“Distraction now! I’m bored,” Kitty hissed, darting left out of the door.
Andy was a dead weight on top of her. “Move!” Zita complained, shoving him off.
“Sorry. Get the alarm?” he answered, rising and running outside.
Moving fast, Zita peeled open the alarm panel. “Remind me why we’re chasing a burglar instead of getting what we came for?” she asked no one.
Andy’s voice exclaimed in surprise at the same instant that a bass voice growled.
The deep voice rumbled again outside, and an enormous crash thundered in the dining room. Dread gripped her, and she turned back, steeling herself to look. An uninjured Andy rose from a shining pile of glass shards and plastic atop the former dining room table. He shook off the glass, glowering and batting at his head as he bumped it on the chandelier that had hung low over the table. Small shreds of cloth fluttered to the ground from his body. “You could have killed me! You can’t just throw people through windows!” he shouted out the hole where a bay window had been, and ran past, glass trickling from him as he sprinted. Right, he’s tough. I think the flinching makes me forget.
The debacle that this had turned into seemed a valid reason to swear, so she did so in multiple languages as she shut off the obnoxious alarm. A small bang sounded from the study, not quite like a gunshot. When she went to investigate, Zita reached the kitchen before a particularly meaty thump and Andy’s yelp came from outside. With a last glance toward the study, she seized the Crock Pot and ran out the front door to see Andy assaulting a fifteen-foot-tall black man. Lights flooded the windows of all the nearby houses that had been dark and silent before. Andy ranted about windows, both verbally and mentally; Wyn mused about whether it was truly defenestration if one was thrown into a building rather than out. Zita zoned both of them out.
The giant had the muscles of a physical laborer, and a domino mask. His pants were too long for his legs, an odd sight considering, but the rest of his sensible black clothing fit well. The one time his blows connected, he snapped a sapling when he kicked Andy into it; most of his strikes missed the slighter man. Despite that, he fought relying on his unnatural strength, instead of skill. Andy was holding back, but the giant winced when one of Andy’s strikes landed. One corner of her mind noted that this was excellent practice for Andy. Kitty was nowhere in sight.
Watching the combat, she watched for an opening. She sent to Andy. I’ll distract him if you do a takedown. The alarm’s off, but we don’t have much time. We have to get the safe open before the cops show! In a neighborhood like this, that’s five minutes, tops.
Go for it, Andy answered. He loosened his shoulders and emerged from the collapsed tree.
As she was preparing to join in, a whisper of movement and the whiff of sweets warned her. She dodged low, and Kitty’s pounce passed so close that Zita could smell spicy perfume and candy. One claw caught in Zita’s ski mask as she passed over, yanking it up and almost off.
The world dark around her, Zita grabbed the mask before it could come completely off. It ripped. Her headlamp clattered to the ground. Frantic to avoid another attack, she backed up to where she remembered the wall to be. She crouched and struggled with the mask, her back to the house siding.
Grunts, smacking sounds, and the occasional crunch came from where the men fought. Kitty must have been close because her sniggering comment was audible. “… Quit playing and let’s blow!”
Just as Zita restored her vision, something came at her head fast. As she ducked, she swept one leg out, keeping low, hoping the feline girl had thrown herself off balance with the amateurish move. The kick connected.
Falling sideways when Zita’s kick caught her, Kitty twisted to land on her hands and feet. She narrowed her eyes and stared at Zita for a moment, tail lashing. With a forced laugh, the cat girl ran off into the darkness, tail streaming behind her. “Time to go!”
Andy wielded the downed sapling like a bat and swung at the colossal man, eliciting a pained grunt when he hit.
Zita picked up the Crock Pot. The lid had shattered on the ground, but most of the food still steamed within.
The giant snatched the tree. She took the opportunity.
“Now!” she shouted. Zita ran toward them, swinging up and onto the tree around the middle. While the tree was suspended, she moved with all the speed her tightrope training had given her, and kicked the giant in the nose. It was oddly spongy underfoot, and she doubted she did any damage. The surprised served to make the giant release the tree. His mouth opened. She threw the Crock Pot and contents in his face.
She flipped off the log and rolled to a landing. “All yours!”
The giant sneezed and pawed at his face, beans dripping down him in a fragrant cascade.
Andy dodged to the side and did a hard punch to the back of the giant’s knee.
The behemoth, already off balance from her attack, fell and hit his head on the pavement. His eyes closed, and his form shivered, losing inches until the same man, only four feet tall, lay unconscious in the street amid the remains of the Crock Pot. Andy checked his pulse, then scooped him up and moved him to the grass.
“Alive,” he said.
As if on cue, sirens rang out. The former giant in the grass moaned. Lights strobed at the end of the block. They raced into the house and back to the study.
Andy stopped into the doorway, and she almost plowed into him, having paused to retrieve her headlamp. “Shit,” he said.
She could only concur. The computer had vanished, and the safe hung open. Acrid smoke hung in the air. Seizing her tools, she stuffed them back in her bag. “Vámonos. I don’t think we want to explain.”
Andy nodded. She grabbed his arm and teleported home.
Chapter 11
The travesty of a quarantine lasted another two weeks. Once Wyn finished squealing and hopping around like the girliest of girls, she and Andy packed their belongings in record speed. They departed within the hour though not without reunion promises and hugging. Once they left, Zita filled up the rest of the next two days with necessary errands and hoped-for workouts. Her workouts would be simpler than she liked; her trapeze partner had gotten a job in Las Vegas so she had to delay trapeze work until she found another catcher. On the other hand, Miguel remained in town, still chasing that serial killer, and her brothers were taking her out to lunch tomorrow to celebrate her emancipated status.
By the time she steered her motorcycle into her complex, it was eight-thirty. Perhaps to reduce lawsuits by the inhabitants, most of whom had left fifty behind decades ago, the sidewalks by resident parking were well lit. To make up the shortfall and discourage late-night guests, visitor parking had only a few far-spaced lamps and the brightness of passing cars on the nearby road to light it. The lights on a visitor-parking vehicle were the only sign of life in her corner of the parking lot. Zita pulled into her assigned parking spot under the resident carport. As she shut down the engine, she took off her pink dinosaur helmet, letting the night roll over her senses. Warm asphalt, green trees, and dinner scents mingled in the humid air. The rumble of a vehicle in the lot neared, and a car door opening broke the usual evening sounds of overloud televisions, traffic, and insects. About to set down her helmet and open the pannier holding her work clothes, she paused.
Rapid footsteps raised paranoia. Her peripheral vision showed a burly man reaching for her. The open door of an SUV spilled darkness behind him, with no interior lights to give away any secrets.
Reflexively, Zita smashed him in the face with he
r helmet, throwing her weight behind it. Screw that!
Something snapped under the impact, and he covered his nose with his hands.
Her helmet was slippery with blood in her hands, but she was moving away, forward, until another large man stepped into her path.
With a mental curse, Zita threw her slimy helmet at him, hard. When he caught it, she kneed him in the crotch. Wheezing, he bent over. She struck him again, under the chin in an upward strike with as much of her legs in it as possible. For the second time that evening, something fractured under her blow.
He gave a choking wail as he doubled over.
With their height advantage, they’re probably faster, but if I can get enough of a lead, I can outlast them. She darted past him, sliding across the long hood of a neighbor’s Oldsmobile. The metal was warm from the day’s heat beneath her butt.
The first man and a torrent of curses chased her.
Her feet moving on automatic, she vaulted up from the Oldsmobile, catching the edge of the carport roof. As she flipped up, belated recognition struck. Was that Brains from the zoo? A glance below as she ran showed her that a dark SUV shadowed her, and cursing warned her that one of the men followed close while the other lagged behind. Can’t teleport. Someone might be waiting in my apartment. Oblivious to her dilemma, cars passed on the road by the complex, and the church across the street glowed in innocence. Wait, is it Tuesday? Hallelujah! I know where I’m going.
At the end of the roof, she leapt onto the top of the SUV pacing her. Slapping her hands down to keep her balance, Zita rolled down onto the hood. With a jaunty wave at the wide-eyed thug behind the wheel, she hopped down onto the ground on the opposite side of the SUV from her pursuers. She dashed through the parked cars in the lot, somersaulting off hoods and making it as hard to follow or shoot her as possible. They didn’t fire, though she caught glimpses of both men and the SUV trying to catch her. When she reached the street, she sprinted across full tilt between passing cars. Horns blared at her, but she made it. Her feet smacked the pavement hard as she raced up the path to the gathering hall of the church. A glance over her shoulder showed her one man at the edge of the road, leaping back from a car speeding by.
