by Karen Diem
He surfaced next to her and grabbed at her.
This time, she cackled as she changed. Didn’t you ever read up on crocodiles? They don’t mess with everything in the water. Her remaining clothing tightened and then tore away as her form curved and enlarged.
His hands slid off during the transformation. Realization chased the surprise from his face. Jones spun away. Throwing her pants at her face, he raced through the water toward the shore.
Zita felt… buoyant. Ignoring the cloth on her nose, she emptied her lungs with a fountain of water. As she slipped through the water, she gained speed until she was right behind him. His expression at seeing a couple thousand pounds of sleek, round flesh so close was priceless when he looked back to locate her. She charged the last few feet and rose from beneath him, capturing him on her wide snout. Keeping her mouth shut so as not to expose the tender flesh within or bite, she flung her head and tossed him onto the dock.
He hit and lay unmoving at the edge. Her sodden pants landed further up with a squelch on the pavement. His breathing had a hard, jagged edge, and he gave a pained groan as he pushed himself up. Jones turned his head, and their eyes met.
In case he had missed the object lesson, she exhaled, splattering him with water. Zita permitted her mouth to gap open in jollity as well.
Jones glared, but made no move to reenter the water. Instead, he pushed himself to his feet. One arm wrapped around his ribs as he lurched away.
Guess he’s not a fan of hippos, she thought. Wonder how he feels about other animals. Hey, no escaping on my watch again. Zita came up to the edge of the dock and switched to gorilla. Her preference would have been to grab the edge of the dock and flip up, but she suspected her injuries would disapprove. Although she hurried, he had looked hurt enough to be an easy catch.
When she made her way up the ladder, Jones stood froze, back rigid with tension, with Aideen between him and the warehouses. Her form was ablaze again, and twin balls of light glimmered in her hands. “You have rejoined us. Search him for weapons, Arca. Will Mano and the blond be here soon? I assume you let the criminal who struck me escape.”
Zita blinked at Aideen. Mano? She must have heard me call Andy that. Where is she getting Arca from? If she thinks someone else knocked her down, that’s fine with me. I don’t want to be a kebab. Mmm. Kebabs. As much as it galled her to obey, she searched the quiescent man, relieving him of his phone and a pair of knives. The screen on the phone was dark, and she risked a glance up. Once he’s secured, I can tell Freelance to leave the bomb, too. The container hung from the crane, with no smoke or sign of the freelancer. A relieved hoot escaped her, and she realized the other two were staring. Neither emanated friendship. Struggling to not shout, but ‘think loud,’ she sent to her friends. We caught Sobek. Need the police to come get Quentin and Jen down, and then I can go. Not to flirt, Wyn, but I need your healing touch again.
Jones hissed and lurched to the side with a yelp when his foot touched something. Looking at what had startled him, Zita saw steaming slag steamed where she had dropped the TASER. He began to bend his knees, and she grabbed his arm, giving a warning growl.
He looked rebellious.
Fire swirled in Aideen’s fists, and he subsided. The glare he gave both women promised vengeance, but at this point, Zita preferred that to his happier expressions.
She hauled him back to the warehouse. Aideen made a token protest, but did offered no alternatives, so Zita shoved him inside the remaining container. It had air holes already, after all. She was locking the door when words penetrated from the speakers.
“We’re moving! He’s coming for us again!” Jennifer screamed repeatedly. “First the water, and then the pain!”
Snatching up the bloody screwdriver from the floor, Zita was almost out the door when she remembered the two captive men. She paused, and then gestured at Aideen. Pointing to her own eyes with two fingers, she then pointed at the containers. She repeated the sequence again. She did not wait to see the result, instead running toward the dock. Please don’t let them blow up. I wanted them to see a human when they got out, but Wyn’s not here yet and my clothes are destroyed. Aideen would do more harm than not. Perhaps a talking parrot would be reassuring?
The crane whined as the cable lowered the container. The makeshift prison touched ground with a soft thud, and she stopped by the door. With a combination of the screwdriver and brute gorilla strength, Zita unlocked the container. She threw open the door, and then stepped sideways, to avoid panicking them. Her foot squelched in something cold. When she checked, she identified her pants. Shifting to a raven, she snatched them up and flew to the top of the crate.
The interior was hushed. Impatient, she sidled over to the opening, and peered in, upside down. Quentin stood in front of Jen, his arms spread, and his weight balanced. Joy exploded at the sight of him, even unshaven and filthy. He was alive and moving on his own. While strain showed in his beloved face, he had no more than minor bruises and nasty cuts, red and swollen, at his wrists and ankles. His companion shivered and panted as she peered around him at the open door. Crusted blood stood out in stark relief against the ashen skin of half her face and part of one breast. Jennifer wobbled from side to side, as if she could not bear to set both feet down flat.
Zita swallowed and bobbed right side up again. She shifted to her disguise form. Atop the crate, her hair cloaked her body as she crouched above the opening. Emotion thickened her throat, and she fought for a moment to speak. “You can come out if you want. Sobek’s tied up and the cops are on their way. If you want to wait in there for them, go ahead. If not, we’ll hang out to make sure you get to them safe. Don’t worry, we’ll stay back from you.” As a precaution, she thickened her accent. She shifted back to raven.
Quentin stepped out of the container. When he assessed the street, his eyes blinked and watered in even the dim light of dawn. A choked sound came from inside. He peered around. “No one’s here!”
Bare feet slapped on metal, a halting and inconstant rhythm, as Jennifer scuttled out of the container, and stood, naked, in the middle of the street. She rubbed her hands on her arms and stared. Her head turned as if listening to someone else. “No, they’re here, they’re here, they’re all going to get us.” The injured woman dropped to her hands and knees, and touched the cement. “But I can feel it sing again!”
Her brother exhaled. “Listen, Jen, it’s going to be okay. Hold it together a little more. Sit down, and get some weight off your feet,” he soothed. Despite his words, he checked behind the crate as if expecting someone to be there. He stopped next to the edge of the dock, and rubbed his sunken eyes. His shoulders set and he stood upright. Somewhat belatedly, Zita realized he was nude as well.
A police siren sounded, approaching fast.
Jennifer gave a humorless bark. “No, they’re coming with heavy treads and they’re going to lock us up again. I won’t do it. I won’t let them!” She rose to her full height and clenched her fists. Dirt and something darker covered her feet.
Something grumbled, and then the ground shuddered.
Zita took off as the container began to jitter under her, flapping hard to get herself airborne.
The street gave with a crack, and a streetlamp, already nonfunctional, toppled and smashed to the ground, narrowly avoiding an oncoming white vehicle. Oblivious, Jennifer continued shouting her defiance, and the tremors worsened. Car alarms shrieked. Windows broke all along the warehouses, and little pieces of the roof began to drop. Part of the dock crumbled into the water, and a parked car began to slide into a new crevasse that ran from under the warehouse to the water. Other fissures began to open in the ground, and the nasty box continued to move toward the water.
Her brother wove toward the distraught woman, trying to avoid the various cracks and falling objects. “Jen! Stop! The police are coming and we can go home!” He reached for her arm.
“How could you?” Jennifer shouted back at him. “This is your fault!”
; Stone fangs sprang out of the ground, snapping at Quentin.
He took one step back, and then two more as another spike rose near his legs. Within seconds, Quentin was dancing backward to try to avoid the rocks. “No, Jen, no!” he yelled.
Shivering and muttering, Jen rubbed her own arms. Distress covered her face, and she licked cracked lips. “I trusted you!” she screeched. Another sharp claw of stone rose near his feet.
Rising higher in the sky, Zita dove at Jennifer, cawing and rolling aside before impact.
Jennifer shrieked and ducked, throwing her hands up to protect her face.
As Zita swooped for another pass, the ground opened beneath her brother’s feet.
Quentin gave an inarticulate shout. The ground gulped him down, closing over him. The rock claw near him crumbled into grapefruit-sized rocks. One hand twitched from the pile of dirt and ruined asphalt; the rubble buried the rest of him.
Jen gave a surprised squeak and slapped at her shoulder. She whimpered, and collapsed. The tremors stopped.
Zita gave a harsh avian cry, dove, and landed. Quentin! Mano! From the corner of her eye, Zita saw something streak by, but her attention was on the mound of dirt where her brother had been. Shifting to an oversized badger, she assailed the pile, launching rocks and dirt several feet in every direction. His free hand served as a keystone, allowing her to guess where the rest of him was suffocating below. Already disturbed by the tremors and whatever Jennifer had done, the soil was loosely packed. Her panicked digging was rewarded when more of his arm appeared. She nosed him and then went back to her frantic excavation.
At the touch of her fur, his arm jerked, and waved.
He’s conscious! Hang on, Quentin! Oblivious to all else, Zita slowed only enough to ensure that her long, curved black claws did not tear into his flesh. When a chunk of black hair came out under her nails, she slowed, switching back to gorilla to scoop it out from around his face.
When she reached his face, his eyes and his mouth were shut. Fear raced through her, and the arm above the ground hung limp.
His mouth fell open with a pop and a half-vocalized gasp. He snorted, dirt and mucus blowing out and over her fur. Opening his eyes, Quentin stared. “A gorilla?” he coughed.
She rumbled, breathy with joy, and raised her hand to touch his hair. The sight of her simian fingers reminded her; he had no idea who she was. Her heart clenched, and she hid her exultation. Zita continued digging, scooping dirt away from his head and neck with her powerful hands.
Sirens howled nearby even as she freed his shoulders, cursing the red clay and cement. She risked a glance up. Jen was gone. Flaming bright, a form exited the warehouse windows and circled. It pointed at her, and soared into the clouds. She sent a quick message to her friends. Meet me at my place? The cops are almost here, Quentin’s safe.
Will do. Mind the volume, Wyn chastised.
Zita shifted to a raven. “Oye,” she cawed to her squirming brother. Under other circumstances, the combination of the accent with the strident raven voice would have been amusing. “Sobek and one of his minions are locked in two containers in the warehouse right there. The one is normal, but Sobek has extra strength and can jump a few stories high and pretty far too so they should be prepared. And he breathes underwater.”
Her brother peered at her. “Huh? Weren’t you a gorilla a moment ago? These dying hallucinations are loco. Aren’t I supposed to relive my life? Was looking forward to sections of it.” With a grunt of effort, he freed his other arm from the confining dirt. Muscles bulged as he began to try to lever himself out of the hole, panting and grunting.
“You’re not dead. You’re welcome and adiós,” she answered, hopping into the air, flapping hard, and landing with a pained thud as her shoulder refused to fly any more. Shifting to jaguar, she scooped up her sopping pants with as much dignity as she could muster, and limped off behind a jumble of crates. She teleported home as her brother’s voice called out behind her.
Chapter 19
“Oh, hey! I brought pizza and juice!” Zita announced as she invaded Wyn’s living room that night. “You want some?” The bag of juice bottles bounced against her leg as she set the two pizza boxes and bag down on the glass table with the Celtic design winding through it.
Wyn gave her head a shake as she reseated herself on her sofa, a plush, dramatic thing in deep scarlet. As she reclined on fussy white pillows, she exhaled. “Welcome back. So what did you tell them about what you did last night and this morning?” One of the little floral cups sat on a saucer in front of her on the low table. A plate of round chocolate balls and the miniscule cookies sat near the pizza, with a stack of glass plates and napkins waiting nearby.
Zita shrugged, and took a blissful, pain-free breath. The air smelled of cats, lilac, and real food. She threw an impish grin at her friends. “Miguel was the only one to ask. Since I showered and crashed before calling, it was all true when I told him I slept in a lumpy chair and got up early to spar. Thanks again for the healing though; injuries would have been harder to explain. Plus, being hurt sucks big hairy… no me importa.” She plopped herself in the white chair with red stripes, balancing on the edge; while otherwise comfortable enough, her legs dangled like a child’s if she perched anywhere else.
A laugh escaped Andy as he claimed a slice of cheese pizza, juice, and the other half of the sofa. “Weren’t you under the chair rather than in it?”
“The story has elements of veracity in it,” Wyn observed. “How is poor Quentin?”
Fruit juice burst on her tongue as she took a sip. Zita put the cap back on and set it on a coaster. She wondered if Wyn had cheated to have the coasters and plates ready for their arrival. “They’re keeping him overnight for observation because of his concussion, but the doctor said time, fluids, and antibiotics should fix everything else. When I left—”
“Was kicked out,” Andy supplied. The remote had found its way to his hand, and he cycled through television channels in masculine contentment. A cat sat behind him, on the arch of the chair, contemplating the glass bottle and plate he had set down on an ornate side table.
Zita continued. “When I left, he and one nurse were flirting. That’s pretty much how he handles stress. He’ll survive. Why you got to assume they threw me out? Is that how friends treat each other?” She cocked her head and made a face at Andy.
Andy snorted. “Because I gave you a lift here from the hospital, and you had a giant foam finger, a piñata, and a security escort. The piñata and finger are still in my car.”
A giggle escaped Wyn.
Pushing her snub nose up in the air, Zita sniffed. “Maybe the guard was checking me out. Some men like their women tiny and tight like me.” She grinned. “Thanks for the ride and all, though. I smacked the kidnappers with the helmet, not the bike, so you’d think the cops would at least release my ride. You’d think they’d be done with all that now.” Soft fur brushed one of her calves. That was sufficient warning to move the takeout boxes. With the cap on and the thick carpet underfoot, the juice bottle would be safe enough on the table. A tail slapped her leg as the cat meandered toward easier prey.
Wyn patted her arm. “You have excellent legs, what little exists of them,” she teased, her eyes sparkling. “I’m glad he’ll recover. Did Miguel have anything on the missing woman?” She sipped her tea, more of the flowery kind she favored. Selecting a sweet with the grave deliberation of a death penalty jury, she nibbled.
Zita wrinkled her nose at her friend, who giggled again. “Her dad flew her to some fancy private hospital somewhere, but hopefully the expensive doctors know how to gather evidence. He told Miguel that Jen wasn’t doing well mentally and the cops can’t talk to her yet. Her feet were real messed up.” She served herself a slice of the loaded pizza and then put the box back.
Andy frowned. “I thought you said she vanished.” The cats inched closer to his plate and bottle.
Still holding her plate in one hand, Zita lifted her hands in the air. “By t
he time I dug out Quentin even partway, they were gone. Ninja SWAT Man must have carried her off. Miguel said her dad showed up later with information about her.” She hopped out of her chair and paced.
Rubbing a charm on a silver bracelet, Wyn arched an eyebrow. “So you’re saying the ninja you met before disarmed the bomb, lowered the prisoners, and then absconded with Jennifer? You’re the only witness and the woman he fled with has magically reappeared?” She toyed with her hair, twining a glossy brown lock around her finger.
“How would you even know it’s the same man? I mean, ninja,” Andy asked.
Zita thought back. Her mouth curled into a smirk. “Has to be. What are the odds that two physically identical men dressed themselves similarly in SWAT ninja getups? They then both chose to interfere in the same things we did, with the same movement style, voice changer, and sweet grapple guns? They even smelled alike.” She’d remember that scent, too, all man, gun oil, and wilderness. Putting a finger to her mouth, she bit the tip. “He might be our mystery shooter from the Baltimore docks, too, even if the cops are giving the SWAT team all the credit.” Mystery solved, she raised a juice to herself.
Wyn’s tone was dry. “The one no one believes exists except you?”
Setting down her drink, Zita folded her arms over her chest and sat again. “I might be wrong on the clothes, but I am not mistaken about the rest. It would have been a sin against God not to notice the body, and I’m a very good girl. Plus, I really want that grapple gun.” She relaxed and took a bite.
Wyn snickered. “Is that what you’re calling it? I bet you do, Zita,” she said.
Andy shook his head. “Most people outgrow their imaginary friends by your age, though I suppose the ninja/SWAT combination was to be expected from you,” he said dolefully. He was unable to maintain the somber look and laughed. He made a face at her, but fun twinkled in his eyes. “You have more interesting imaginary friends than Wyn does.”
