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The biggest problem with her plan was the part where she had to talk to people.
After the first few conversations ended poorly, Zita finally lurked on the edge of one group, following it out onto the balcony. When they’d gone back inside, she’d stayed outside.
After the overheated interior of the building, the cool outdoors and the heavy, humid tang of the sea below were a welcome change, despite the distant sirens cutting through the rhythmic exhalation of the water. Unlike the rest of the hotel, the lights were out, so it was dim on the balcony. A wall threw a darker stripe of shadows across metal furniture and enormous stone pots rioting with flowers. Weaving a path around the ornate chairs, she tucked herself behind a planter where she could see below and think. If that position meant that she could see inside, but anyone in the room would be unable to spy on her, that was a bonus. A lack of buffet tables and exercise equipment was the only thing that kept it from perfection.
She had a brief fantasy of leaping over the railing and diving into the depths of the colorful sea, the deep blue painted with sunset colors and darkening rapidly. It’s on the edge of doable as far as height, but without checking the water depth, I won’t risk it, especially with those rocks. The important part of my plan is that I didn’t hang with my friends to give away their non-vigilante identities, so I can stay out here until I can go. Though I will miss another pass at the dessert table. Maybe on my way out.
The doors opened and closed, and she peeked around the pot to see if Freelance had followed her out. She didn’t know if she hoped so or not.
It wasn’t her sort-of boyfriend, partygoers who wanted to admire the view, or even staff members stealing a chance to smoke. Instead, a pair of large men stepped onto the balcony and stood by the carved marble balustrade closer to the door. Despite the server’s garb they wore, their weathered faces, hard eyes, and muscular builds suggested they held much more physical professions. They also moved like they had weapons concealed under their jackets.
One pressed his fingers against his ear. When he spoke, it was with a thick British accent. “Understood. The show’s about to start at the Arc. Once we handle this, we’re to meet the others at the ballroom. Cameras are down.”
His companion nodded.
While she’d previously thought all the covertly armed people at the party were security, now she suspected some thugs had slipped in, too. Zita pressed against the planter, hiding on the far side of it. Had she been a larger person, it wouldn’t have worked, but for once, being smaller was to her advantage. Of all the times for Wyn to be respectful of my privacy... hope she doesn’t waltz out here to check on me. Their conversation sounds like trouble, but my friends keep telling me I’m paranoid. It won’t hurt anything if I eavesdrop until they prove themselves one way or another.
The door opened again, followed by footsteps. Another man, this one with a different British accent, called out to the other men. “Hello? Did you know there’s an out-of-order sign on this door?”
“Yes, we put it up there so we wouldn’t be disturbed. Where’s the General? Didn’t she come too?” the British thug said.
The footsteps slowed and came to a stop. “Hmph. Figured. She was occupied, so it is only me, and I haven’t long. Let’s crack on with it, then. What’s the threat to the Atlanteans you’ve overheard? And who gave you my number?”
Zita peeked around the pot.
The newcomer wore a tuxedo over a strong, wiry frame, with a quiver on his back and an unstrung bow at his side. His stride was balanced and easy, telling her more about the muscles under the fancy clothing than was obvious, especially since his torso was oddly stiff beneath his jacket. For all his relaxed posture and smile, Arrow Guy’s eyes were wary, and he’d left the door open a sliver.
She approved. Openly carrying a bow and arrows at this party? Maybe he’s that Sir Robin dude from the Euro meta team.
The British thug leaned forward. “There’s this American with a grudge against the Atlanteans. He’s planning something tonight...”
Arrow Guy leaned in. “Who? When?”
“Zeus. And he doesn’t need an archer messing with his plans,” the British thug replied. Silver glinted in his hand as he sank a blow into Arrow Guy’s stomach. The blade skittered along his vest.
The archer pulled an arrow from his quiver and stabbed the British thug in the neck.
His attacker collapsed in a bloody puddle, but the silent thug swung a sap at Arrow Guy’s head.
It connected, and the archer staggered forward, nearly collapsing.
The silent thug grabbed Arrow Guy and gave him a hard shove, sending him over the balustrade.
Zita stepped out of her shoes and ran toward him.
A grunt came from the other side of the railing and fingers gripped the edge of the balcony.
Lifting his foot, the silent thug stomped on one hand.
She picked up the closest chair and bashed the silent thug over the head with it.
He went down, the sap dropping from his hands as he crumpled.
After tossing aside the heavy chair, she raced to where Arrow Guy was clinging with one hand. She braced her legs against the stone spindles and grabbed that hand with both of hers. The chilly marble cut into her chest and upper thighs as she tried to stabilize him, knowing better than to try to drag him over as she was. Her arms already ached with strain. If she had to, she’d risk a shift, despite the potential witnesses. “Someone help! I’m not big enough!”
The man she was trying to hold up grabbed for the balcony with his free hand and missed.
“We got to lift you up to get your hand to reach,” she muttered. If he weren’t so tall, he wouldn’t have gone over the railing when pushed. While she ordinarily appreciated someone so fit and muscular, he was far too heavy for her to lift without cheating.
The door creaked, and she sensed movement behind her. A conversation stopped abruptly and someone made a choking sound.
“Help me pull him up!” she ordered.
Movement and warmth pooled at her side. Long, tuxedo-clad arms reached down and grabbed the flailing hand of the man.
Even before she smelled him, man and forest and spicy gun oil, she knew who it was. Pushing aside her relief at the aid and the part of herself that responded to him, she focused on the Arrow Guy. “On three,” she gritted out between her teeth. “We’ll pull and you try to grab the balcony.”
“One, two... three!” She pulled, groaning with effort. The back seam gave way on her dress, tearing from her neck down to the middle of her back. It wrung a few swear words from her but she kept pulling.
With their combined strength, Zita and Freelance hauled Arrow Guy back up and over the balustrade.
Others had filtered into the balcony at this point and had clustered near the door exclaiming. The thug she’d hit with a chair must’ve recovered and slipped out while they were occupied, though he’d left his sap and a splash of blood behind. His companion was still down.
Arrow Guy ran his hand over his forehead and hair. He addressed the handful of people loitering near the door with cameras. “Someone get security here at once and keep people out. The rest of you lot, please step out so the police can do their jobs.”
Murmuring, the crowd left. Zita kept her face averted so the ones with cameras wouldn’t get any more shots of her face. Freelance, she assumed, had kept his back to them the whole time.
Once the crowd had retreated, Arrow Guy turned back to them. “I must warn my team and the Atlanteans, but I hope you’ll allow to buy you both a round later. Leave your cell numbers for Mr. Locksley at the front desk and I’ll ping you so I can thank you properly.”
Freelance tilted his head, one eyebrow drifting upward.
Arrow Guy shrugged. “I know, it’s cheesy, but I can’t use my name or the paps will be endless.”
Zita frowned, not certain what he meant. She might’ve missed something, given that she’d been avoiding looking at the dead guy in the pool of blood with an arrow sticking out of his neck and ignoring the stomach-churning scent of death. “We’re cool. I don’t need a drink. What’s going on? They said something about stuff going on at the Arc de Triomf, too?”
“It’d be a good time for you and your boyfriend to leave the hotel and avoid that area. The General herself said something bad is going down,” Arrow Guy said.
The words shot out of her mouth before she could think. “He’s not my boyfriend. Someone I’m dating would actually talk to me.”
Freelance said nothing, but it was her turn to be scrutinized.
For a second, she thought he was focused on her chest, but then she realized he was eyeing her saint medallion. She put her hand over it.
His eyebrows raising, Arrow Guy glanced between them and nodded. “Right... Anyway, thank you! Leave me your numbers. Bye!” He ran off, a hand on his ear and already talking to someone else.
Freelance glided up to her, his face blank as he stepped around the unconscious form of one man. Even without his voice changer, his voice was a husky whisper that did distracting things to her body. “Trouble?”
Zita ran her fingers through her hair, back and forth, undoubtedly making it all stick up. “Zeus is back. Something’s going on at the Arc, and there’s a group about to attack the ballrooms here as well. If you want to help, get your girlfriend and other people out of here.”
Freelance inclined his head.
She turned to go, but he touched her arm.
“Shoes.”
Zita glanced down, sighed, and jogged over to the pot to retrieve them. By the time she’d replaced them on her feet and turned around, he was gone. She muttered to herself as she passed through the doors and sidestepped the security team headed toward the balcony. “Because of course he couldn’t stick around and talk.”
Warmth unfurled in her mind, with Wyn’s concerned words arriving a second later. What happened? Some bleeding guy just ran through the ballroom, then a bunch of people, including Sir Robin, ran out, and now security is headed out there? What did you do?
Zita pretended to stroll through the door as if nothing had happened. So, I was right and Arrow Guy was Sir Robin? Better loop in Andy. Zeus is back with friends.
***
Nobody had ever told her that stripping would be the hardest thing to do as a vigilante without getting caught.
Police sirens howled in the distance, and the crowded streets held a strange mix of vehicles and people on foot, some confused, some fleeing the hotel, and a few oblivious souls who were trying to find a party still.
“I can’t believe you wore that under your dress,” Wyn panted as the two women hurried down the street, arm in arm to avoid breaking the illusion that Zita still wore her dress and original form. They’d originally thought to teleport a few stretches of it to go faster, but the crowd made it too risky, so instead they were walking the shortest route through the streets.
Zita grinned, happy to be moving. She’d had her friend layer an illusion of Zita over her Arca form after ducking into a bathroom stall to get out of her ruined dress and pull up the vigilante costume she’d hidden underneath it. Her father’s saint medallion and the remains of her party outfit had been dropped in her friend’s bottomless purse for safekeeping. With luck, Quentin would be able to mend the dress. She had no desire to be out the money she’d spent on it or to have to go dress shopping again in the next few years. “We’ve been at this almost two years now. How do most events we go to end up? I don’t think Dmitri’s joking when he said he might meet us somewhere other than his club to save on repairs.”
“That is a disturbing thought. And yes, he is serious. The club got broken into again, and his assumption is they were searching for his daytime hiding spot,” her friend said with a shiver.
Zita nudged her friend and switched to party line. Look at you, getting all chummy with the vampire. That explains why Dmitri was asking if I knew anyone who could upgrade his house security so his parents would be safe. He think it’s those protestors who’ve been picketing the club and trying to get him arrested for eating people?
Perhaps. They are his favorite suspects, although it could be someone who objects to his laws for the DC undead about consent and not killing anyone as well, her friend replied.
Andy broke in. Speaking of murder, can you believe Zeus is back?
It has been almost a year since we last saw them in Greece. Since none of them were thrown into Olympus with us when we disrupted Halja’s spell, I had assumed that Zeus, Jennifer Stone, Halja, and their minions all either died in the explosion or were transported to alternate realms they couldn’t escape. Given his very crude refusal of our last offer to transport him back to our world, at least we know Garm will not join him this time.
Zita snorted. I wouldn't be certain about that. It's possible he peed on enough trees that the nymphs joined forces and booted him back to our world.
Who could blame them? I just got to your room per Zita’s plan. The General said something is happening, so Caroline dropped me off ‘to keep me safe if there’s fighting.’ She gave me an earpiece so Wingspan can be in contact with the other teams, since the city’s too dense to let me take my bird form, anyway. I should’ve worn my costume under my tuxedo, Andy sent.
Despite coolness of the evening air on the skin exposed by her costume, Zita smirked.
Gloating is unbecoming, Wyn sent. She sniffed, but her eyes twinkled.
Doesn’t change the fact that I was right and my planning is covering our culos. Zita was unrepentant.
Andy broke in before Wyn could reply. I see you from the window. Z, can you scout for trouble, starting with the closest government buildings? I’m going to close the curtains and get into my costume.
I’ll knock before entering. Zita, let me adjust my illusion first. Wyn held her hand in the air, paused, and then lowered it. Proceed.
Changing form now to get there faster. Zita claimed the form of a dark-feathered pigeon and stepped behind a potted plant.
Wyn continued walking toward their cheap hotel with an illusory Zita in a party dress beside her.
Andy filled them in on what was going on. The General is requesting the help of all meta teams in the area, or who can get here quickly. Something’s going wrong in every district in Barcelona tonight, plus there’s an ongoing battle in the VIP ballroom. A meta is setting fires in this district, including the parliament building in the Parc de la Ciutadella near us. He seems to be focus on government buildings and landmarks, so your hotel should be safe.
One must have some gratitude for the local equivalent of cheap, no-name motels! It seems Dino’s frugality has saved our belongings, Wyn sent.
Please, you mean my belongings. We all know a lot of your stuff is in your magic purse anyway, and you take that everywhere. It’s not like we haven’t slept worse places before, either. At least this one is free and relatively clean. Zita hopped out and took flight in a flurry of wings.
Andy continued, Local emergency services are overwhelmed trying to keep up, and the Euro meta team can only be so many places at once. The General said that with Caroline present, and Atlantean armor being immune to small-arms fire, the hotel attack should be under control. However, something else is coming, though she doesn’t know where yet. Probably close by, though, as the worst of the disruptions seems focused around here.
Zita headed toward the Parc de la Ciutadella. You know we’re fine with helping out, mano. One of the guys who tried to pitch Sir Robin over the edge tonight mentioned the Arc, so I’ll hit there, too.
If that’s what you heard, check it. The General’s pretty certain that the level of chaos means a lot of the outlying emergencies are either fake or distractions. The Ciutat Vella district is the main target, as the fires are definitely real. What it’s all for, she hasn’t figured out yet, he sent.
Of course. The district we’re in would have to be the actual target. It is disquieting that Europe’s most renowned strategist doesn’t know what’s going on yet, Wyn opined.
Traffic was a snarled mess, with far too many people meandering all over, despite the sirens still screaming in the distance and the encroaching darkness. To travel faster, Zita rose higher to avoid being seen. She cheated, teleporting to speed up the journey. This city has a crap ton of people in it.
The number of emergencies makes it hard to determine the true target, I guess, Andy sent.
Wyn sighed over their connection. I miss the days when the worst danger of a fancy party was a hangover from expensive alcohol or an ill-advised romantic entanglement.
As she reached the Parc de la Ciutadella, Zita circled a few times to better assess the action. Various law enforcement agencies were closing down the extensive park, escorting out visitors—mostly tourists, based on their dress. Workers scurried to put up barricades while more law enforcement gathered around the Palau del Parlament de Catalunya. The fire was already out, with only the stinging scent of burnt greenery and the shimmer of ice on darkened stone to show where it had been. Firemen hosed down two minor fires elsewhere. While upset calls from the animals filled the air, the zoo section seemed unharmed, to her relief.
She gave her friends a summary. I’m at the Parc. A bunch of police or soldiers or whatevers with government logos are swarming the Parlament building, complete with robots, maybe bomb sniffers? No obvious baddies, though one section appears to be encased in ice?
Andy’s dressed and we’re heading your direction from our hotel. If an arsonist is on a spree, Skadi from the Euro team is the logical choice to handle the fires. Her ice powers should extinguish anything burning expeditiously, Wyn reasoned.
Bet she’d piss off Aideen... I mean, the Living Flame, even more than I do. Zita snickered mentally.
Andy was quick with a rejoinder. Is that possible?
At a loud crack and flash of light, she sobered, flapping faster as she caught sight of something else ahead. Something’s going on at the Arc de Triomf.
