2103:11:18:14:21:05

  The room was quiet in anticipation. The sun of noon, unobscured by clouds or rain for the first time in days, shed its light through the glass window and inside Jolie’s living room. The audience – that is, Saga, Jolie and Millie – stared at me in anticipation, looking forward to my first performance (and no, the piano in the Boardwalk music shop didn’t count).

  My fingers gently pressed down on brass buttons, just as I had been instructed. I envisioned the sound it was supposed to make: a deep bass meant to reverberate down to the bone. A simple enough tune, but musically prominent among jazz legends – according to Jolie, that is.

  Steeling my mind and wetting my lips, I put my mouth to the reed.

  “PfffiiiiiH,” the saxophone whined, high pitched and beyond off tune.

  Calling it a performance might’ve been a bit much.

  “Weeew,” Millie whistled through her fingers, other arm up in air. “Encore! Encore!”

  Saga and Jolie were too busy laughing themselves hoarse to join in with Millie, clutching their sides as they rolled around on the couch.

  I huffed and lowered the saxophone, bowing mockingly to my audience.

  Jolie stood up from the couch and walked towards me, arms outstretched and still shaking from suppressed laughter. I lifted the saxophone up and pulled the neck strap over my head, handing the instrument to her.

  “I don’t think the saxophone’s for me,” I said. With the piano, I could repeat the movements well enough to get something decent out of the instrument, but while pressing the right buttons on the saxophone was easy enough, Jolie couldn’t guide me through the lip movements necessary to make the right sound.

  “I’m sorry Sam,” she said, taking the saxophone. “I didn’t mean to laugh, but- oh God, you should’ve seen it! The light, the quiet, the look on your face – everything was so serious, and then that noise!” Again, she started laughing as she put the strap over her own head.

  “Damn, we should’ve filmed it,” Saga said between the hiccup-like aftershocks of her laugh. “Could’ve won an award with that performance.”

  I walked towards the couch and sat myself down on Jolie’s now vacated seat. Jolie began to play, quickly losing herself in the performance.

  As promised during the sleepover, Jolie had invited me – or well, all of us – to her house this Sunday to play and listen to some music, hoping I could find something I liked.

  So far, I hadn’t. Not in the way she and the others had meant me to, at least. Individual songs were fine, but I’d yet to find a genre or instrument or anything I could find myself latching onto.

  And it was not out of a lack of trying. Although Jolie’s focus lay on the saxophone, she had plenty of instruments at home. Drums, keyboard, piano, guitars – electric, acoustic and bass – flutes of all kinds, and even a harp.

  They didn’t all belong to Jolie. Her family was a very musically inclined one, with her mother an orchestral cellist and music instructor, and her father a Professor of Composition at the University of Washington’s School of Music. Jolie’s brother, although very young, was a prodigal pianist if she was to be believed.

  No wonder Jolie’s childhood experience of being bullied for her passion had hit her hard. And no wonder she’d become friends with Saga after the gruff girl defended her.

  And now she was sharing her passion with us. In that way, it was for the better that they’d accidently ‘gossiped’ about it during the sleepover.

  “Anything new with your brother?” Saga asked at a near whisper, not wanting to disturb her friend’s performance.

  I shook my head. “Not really. Guess he eats more often at home now, but…” I trailed off, letting Saga fill in the gaps herself.

  While me and Michael’s relationship had cleared up some, his attitude towards Mom had not. It wasn’t outright hostility and anger – he always managed to pull himself back before crossing that line – but there was still clear resentment, dismissiveness and a wall of do-not-disturb between her and him.

  Mom poked and prodded it to get Michael to lower it, but she never pushed, ultimately preferring avoidance over confrontation. It was kind of… while she wasn’t quite lowering herself to him, she almost acted like a kicked dog sometimes. Every time Michael makes some not-quite-mean-enough-to-be-called-mean comment to cut off the conversation, Mom would wince and stop trying for the day.

  Dinners were the worst now, to the point I wished I’d never brought it up with Michael. It would start with light and superficial talk, but inevitably one of them would step on some old wound, eliciting a retort from the other and cutting off any and all conversation between the two. Every other conversation would either be with me, directed at me, or filtered through me somehow.

  I was beginning to wonder if it had something to do with me. I mean, obviously it had something to do with me, or rather, other-Sam’s disappearance and its consequences. But it frustrated me to no end that they were never clear about the what exactly. They just refused to talk about it, even when I asked them directly without the other being in the room. Michael said I should ask Mom, and Mom would either say it ‘was complicated’ and that it involved Michael too, so she couldn’t say.

  Which was doubly annoying, because that meant the two would have to agree with each other, which meant they would have to talk to each other about it, which they didn’t want to do!

  Something must’ve shown on my face as I thought about it, as Millie suddenly leaned in and bumped me with her shoulder.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Millie said. “You said he’ll be here for a while, right? They’ll probably work it out sooner or later.”

  I shrugged. “I guess. I just wish they picked sooner rather than later.”

  “That’s family for you,” Saga said from my other side. “Glad I got rid of mine.”

  Millie and I snorted.

  “You’re lucky Jolie’s busy,” Millie said. “Otherwise, she’d smack you for that.”

  “That’s just how she shows affection,” Saga said, grinning. “And since she hits me the most, that means she loves me the most.”

  I poked her in the side, and she yelped.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “Shhh,” Millie shushed. “Be quiet. Your love is performing.”

  Saga snorted and we continued to listen to Jolie in silence.

  Jolie’s music guided us to ups and downs, swings and sways, mountains and valleys and a dozen other florid descriptions I remembered from reviews of Doom Drums that seemed appropriate to the moment. And when she was done, she bowed and we clapped.

  She approached us, but just when I opened my mouth to say something, my phone vibrated. A message?

  But then it vibrated again.

  Someone was calling me.

  I retrieved my phone and saw it was an unknown number. Worse, the call was routed through my work phone before arriving at my personal phone – something Crowsong taught me about, just in case me or Crowsong needed heroic help on a personal level.

  Either way, this shouldn’t be possible. All unknown numbers were blocked on my personal phone – age restrictions and such – and while they weren’t on my masked phone, they shouldn’t get patched through like this.

  “I’ve got to take this,” I said to my friends.

  They looked inquisitive, but nodded without question. I stood up and walked to Jolie’s bathroom, figuring it to be the best place to take the call.

  I pressed answer. “Hello?”

  “Jester,” a familiar voice said. “This is Nth-Sight. I’ve-”

  “How did you get this number?” I interrupted.

  “I’m an augur,” he said by way of explanation. “Please, this urgent. A ranking non-masked of Motorgang will be travelling later today. If they are not stopped, another bombing will take place.”

  Not an unusual request. On the 16th Crowsong and I had to stop a couple of Jannacht truck transporting contraband – fridges filled with some kind maker-variant of fiber-optic cable, of all things – mid-journey, although this time the stakes were more than a bit higher. “Alright. I’ll call Crow-”

  “Don’t-” he interrupted, “-call Crowsong. Do not even tell her about it. I need you to do it alone, and Crowsong must not find out about it.” He sounded panicked as he said it.

  I blinked. “Why?”

  “We both know Crowsong and her methods,” he said. “She will stop them. Then she will ask questions. She will go too far with her methods – you know the ones – and end up digging too deep. She’ll get obsessed and- look, I called you because I know you’ll do what’s best for the city, and only what’s best. Crowsong… she gets carried away sometimes, you know? Especially when it involves Motorgang.”

  I hesitated for a second. “I understand.”

  “Good,” Nth-Sight said, relieved. “Thank you. Some things require sacrifice. Sacrifice on a personal level, a level beyond the masks we wear. I knew you’d understand.” His voice grew serious again. “Capture him and give him to the heroes. Text me when you’re done. Good luck.” He hung up.

  I quickly debated the issue; should I call Crowsong or send her a text? For now, I guessed a text would do. When I get home – and as long as nobody else is home – I’ll try calling her and see if she responds.

  I returned to the living room, interrupting my friends’ talk. As one, they turned to me with inquisitive eyes.

  “It was my mom,” I said. “She wants me to come home.”

  It hurt me to lie to my friends, but this was important. People could die and, apparently, only I can prevent it. A struggle between personal and masked obligations, just like that time with Mauvist at the jewelry store… except this one was real, and a lot less fun.

  “What?” Jolie asked. “Why?”

  I shrugged. Rather than try and make a bad excuse, I said, “I don’t know.”

  “What bullshit,” Saga said. “What right does she-”

  “Let it go Saga,” Millie said. “You know how my parents get sometimes. Now imagine if I’d disappeared for six years.”

  Saga grumbled, but didn’t say anything further.

  “See you guys tomorrow,” I said, and after they said their goodbyes, I was off.

  X

  Crow-me swooped down and I shifted, opened the back door and went inside. I hadn’t thought to open the window before leaving, but I knew Mom was gone so it didn’t really matter. She’d been called in to support the aftermath of a confrontation between the Dusk Bandits Ilmagon and Perihellion against and Charmer, Trinitall and Ricochet of the Jannacht, with the latter being ambushed.

  It’d been ongoing when she’d been called in and only resolved after Peakstar intervened, thankfully forcing the two to flee before the battle turned deadly – thus preventing escalation for one more day. Still, there were a lot of exotic effects lingering on the site of battle that needed to be cleaned up. Which was dangerous work, and something USAR needed to stand-by for in case things went wrong.

  As for my brother… well, I doubted he was home. He rarely was during the day, preferring to spend time with friends or at work.

  And I was right. The kitchen, the living room, the second floor; all was empty.

  I retrieved my costume – including belt, pouches, tools, weapon and all – and masked phone from the space I’d created inside my mattress. While changing, I turned on the phone to let it load.

  As soon as I entered the passcode, alerts showing a missed call from Crowsong along with two messages popped up.

  I read the texts first. The first was from Crowsong, asking for more detail and a call back. The second was from Nth-Sight and included information surrounding the car – numberplate, color, form, etcetera – as well as the route and a picture of its occupant.

  After memorizing it, I called Crowsong.

  “Jester, what’s going on?”

  “Nth-Sight called with information and a request,” I said. “A non-powered member of Motorgang is somehow connected to a future bombing.”

  “And you weren’t supposed to tell me.”

  I didn’t respond, letting Crowsong decide the next step. She remained silent for a second.

  “Do what he asked,” she said eventually. “Send me the details. We’ll both trace his route from opposite ends – you from the start, me from his destination. Whoever finds him calls the other. Once we’re together, we’ll interrogate him and only then will we try and find out what game Nth-Sight is playing. Good?”

  I agreed and Crowsong hung up without another word.

  I pulled open the window, shifted into a cat and climbed out of it. After my usual checks, I transformed back into myself for a moment to lock the door and then flew off in crow form.

  The route Nth-Sight had shared started from some place in northeastern Northside, going south towards Aberdeen. Although I doubted the henchie was still at his starting location, for the sake of being thorough I started from there, just in case.

  When I arrived, he wasn’t there, leaving me in a bit of a conundrum. The intracity highway was close by and his route went along it, and none of my collection of birds had the flight speed necessary to catch up to the car by retracing it.

  In other words, I needed to go to someplace further away and hope to ambush him there. I checked my memcordings and compared it to the map of the city in my head, then went as quickly as I could towards the off-ramp of his route on the highway. Either I’d catch him there, or Crowsong would have to catch him later.

  Yet as I approached my new perch atop the stoplights, I saw the exact car I was looking for: a green-colored SUV with the exact Cascadian license plate I needed. Unfortunately, he’d already passed my preferred place of ambush and was out of reach for crow-me to swoop in and land on the roof.

  Option B it was.

  I swooped down and while in midflight, quick-shifted to base and into ostrich form. I landed on my feet, the momentum of the swoop carrying me into the full sprint.

  This stretch of road had a limit of 60 km/h, a speed my ostrich form could maintain, if not indefinitely. However, by quick-shifting in moments my feet were off the ground, momentum wasn’t lost and my ostrich’s stamina refreshed.

  Long legs and thick, didactyl feet pounded on the asphalt as my form raced past car after car, each swerving out of the way or braking as I did. My prey was growing ever closer until eventually, inevitably, I ended up running next him.

  It seemed he hadn’t been paying attention to his mirrors, since he turned his head lazily to where I was sprinting, then turned back on the road ahead. Then what he saw finally registered and his head snapped back to, this time eyes wide with surprise.

  I gestured with my head to urge him to pull over. He shook his head. I nodded and gestured again, more insistently.

  Instead of listening, he sped up.

  Naturally, I pursued.

  He wove between cars to try and lose me, the sound of honking claxons and screeching tires following in his wake. Ironically, his reckless driving cleared the way for my pursuit, and since he had to swerve from side to side, it meant that he wasn’t gaining any distance. In other words, if he’d just continued to drive normally, we’d be in the same situation.

  But no, he just had to make it difficult for himself.

  A stalemate followed, but while that meant I wouldn’t lose sight of him, it was dangerous for everyone else. Already there were a few near-collisions, only barely avoided due to the fact the road wasn’t packed full of cars.

  Still, this could not continue.

  I shifted my body into higher gear and went into an all-out sprint, my muscles tearing itself apart in the effort. My quick-shifts grew more frequent as I needed to refresh every dozen steps, but I grew closer to my target.

  And closer.

  And closer…

  Until I went past.

  I continued running for a while longer before skidding to a halt and putting myself in front of my target. I quick-shifted from ostrich to base to rhino.

  Rather than risk hitting me head on, my target hit the brakes and steered out of the way. He only barely managed to swerve around my bulk, coming to a halt a few meters away.

  Before it could speed off again, I ran up to the car and rammed the front of the car with my horn. It crumpled inward, but I wasn’t done yet. I lifted my front feet and stomped down on it again and again, breaking the car's axles, suspension and whatever else I could.

  When I was certain I totaled the car, I transformed back into base form and walked up to the driver’s door. My rampage had activated his air bags and the man was struggling flutily against it as it slowly deflated.

  Generous as I was, I decided to help him get out by ripping open his doors and grabbing him by the arm.

  “The Jannacht wi-ghh!” he coughed as I tried ripping him from his seat, only for it to be stopped by the seatbelt.

  Fine then. I pushed the airbag out of the way and crawled over, reached for his seatbelt – all the while, the man was pounding at me while coughing out his lungs – clicked it open, and then dragged him out of his car and onto the road.

  Naturally, I secured him quickly and after taking a seat on his cursing form, I called my mentor.

  “Caught him,” I said, feeling good about myself. This was my first solo mission, and a smashing success at that.

  “Good,” Crowsong said. “Where are you?”

  Good question. “Somewhere off Exit 16 on the Northside-Aberdeen highway. Don’t know where exactly.”

  I head Crowsong inhale deeply, then slowly exhale. A bad omen. “Don’t tell me you caught him in the middle of the road.”

  “Hm. Maybe?” I said carefully. I didn’t know where this was going, but it didn’t sound good.

  “Jester,” she began, voice so neutral it could only be cold anger. “Please, look around for me will you?”

  I did as asked. A multitude of spun out or outrighted crashed cars littered the roads. People were spread all around with their phones out and taking pictures, making calls...

  “Oh,” I said. Thankfully, nobody seemed hurt.

  “Yes. Oh.” Crowsong sighed. “Well, no time to interrogate him now. Just turn him over to the Guardians when- wait, was he actually doing something illegal when you stopped him?”

  Uh oh. “I… don’t know?”

  Again, a deep sigh came from the other side of the call.

  “Check his car. If you find something, fine, but if you don’t, get out of there immediately,” she ordered. “We’ll talk later tonight.” She hung up.

  Thankfully, it turned out he was in possession of some drugs I couldn’t identify – tubes of red and blue liquid – so the heroes believed I knew beforehand and didn’t bring me in for disrupting traffic and all the collateral damage I’d caused.

  Well… At least I prevented a future bombing. I hoped.