Noel heard Hardhat’s bellow of “Son of a fucking bitch!”
Noel opened his eyes. A mic on its boom swung wildly for a moment, as if Hardhat’s curse words had weight. The sound man grimaced and reasserted control of the long metal handle with one hand, while with the other he mopped at his streaming eyes. Everyone else in the small vault was also knuckling or covering their eyes.
Wild Fox had vanished, using his illusion power to transform into someone else. The floor began to vibrate beneath Noel’s feet. He aimed carefully and shot Earth Witch in the left tit. She gave a yelp of pain.
Her cry drew Curveball’s attention. “Ana!”
Noel used Hardhat’s bulk and weight to spin the big ace and send him staggering into the gaggle of people, like a human cue ball. During the spin, Noel patted Hardhat down, located the cell phone in the ace’s pants pocket, and pulled it free. There were more cries of pain as Hardhat arrived. Noel thumbed the phone to camera and swept the lens across the milling crowd. A pretty girl was revealed as the Japanese-American ace. Quite a lot of gender bending going on here, Noel thought with a grim smile, as he tossed away the phone and threw a handful of smoke bombs, while simultaneously shooting Wild Fox.
Noel hit the floor in a sliding dive. His last glimpse of Curveball before the thick smoke filled the room had revealed a furious frown between her golden brows. Nerf balls were going to start flying. People above him yelped and cursed as the balls struck. Even though they were soft, Curveball’s power was formidable. The mixers are going to be busy bleeping out the profanities. People were tripping over him, and he took a pointed toe in the ribs. Time to get up and face Curveball.
Noel sprang to his feet and pulled a long piece of fur out of the waistband of his leg-hugging black jeans. The smoke had him as blinded as the aces and extras, but as he came up against people he brushed the soft fur across exposed skin. It seemed to take hours before he heard a girl’s voice say, “Fox?”
“Wrong,” Noel said and shot Curveball.
He stripped off the blond wig, walked out of the vault, gathered up the duffel bag of fake money from behind the tellers’ counter, and shrugged into his trademark black leather jacket with the diamond lapel pin in the shape of a comet. It nicely covered the skimpy tank top, and the tight jeans would pass for a male’s attire. He paused briefly to pluck a Kleenex out of a box on a manager’s desk. He wiped away the eye shadow and lipstick. Pulling another fedora out of the jacket pocket, he set it at a jaunty angle over his sweat-soaked brown hair and walked out the sagging front doors.
Heat shimmers hung like the hint of ghosts in the air over the baking sidewalk of the Warner Brothers backlot. Sweating, red-faced studio employees had gathered to watch the fun. Noel reached into the duffel bag and flung Monopoly money into the air. He then pulled his conductor’s baton from another pocket, waved it in a complex arc around him, and took an elaborate bow to the cheering crowd.
The limo carried Noel from the Beverly Hills Hotel back to the Warners lot. He had dreaded leaving the rush of icy air and the chilled champagne that had waited in the room, but that was the price of celebrity. He had to go to the wrap party at the conclusion of the Rogue Ace challenges.
The sign for Mulholland Drive crawled past, and the limo crested the last big hill. The San Fernando Valley shimmered in the heat haze, and the setting sun sent flashes of brilliant light off millions of windows and acres of steel and chrome. It was as if a mad signaler were sending code on a global scale. But the code was a cacophony that no one could read. Rather like Egypt right now, Noel thought, and then forced his thoughts away from his real life.
The driver dropped him as close to the studio restaurant as possible. It didn’t help; by the time he trod up the stairs to the etched glass doors his clothes felt damp. A PA from the show was waiting to open the door. Despite the heat, the kid still had that stunned, loopy smile that said, I’m in Hollywood. I’m working for a television show. I have five roommates, but it doesn’t matter. Noel gave him one of his patented blazing smiles, and stepped into the marble-floored, blue lobby. There was a roar of conversation from the restaurant proper, and the blood-pulsing rhythms of a salsa band.
Nephi Callendar, the government ace who went under the nom de guerre Straight Arrow, was deep in conversation with Rustbelt, the Minnesota hick who looked like an ugly redesign of the Tin Woodsman for a proletarian remake of The Wizard of Oz. Noel shouldn’t have been surprised. It was only natural that the American federals would try to recruit new aces for their Special Committee for Ace Resources and Endeavors from among the contestants.
Still, there were times when Noel’s government found itself in less than perfect agreement with their American cousins. Despite his victory over the Hearts, Noel did not relish a matchup with some of the more formidable aces of American Hero, and Rustbelt was one of those aces. Any country with weapons made of steel, or bridges over strategic rivers, was vulnerable to Rustbelt’s power.
“… and we have a great medical plan,” Straight Arrow was saying.
“Are you going to tell him about the Old Spies Retirement Home, too?” Noel drawled as he strolled over. “Where’s the romance, Nephi?” Noel lowered his eyelashes suggestively. The Mormon ace shifted uncomfortably at the sultry look. He knew what Noel was and he wasn’t comfortable with it. Oh my, no.
“He’s young and an ace with a very formidable power,” Noel continued. “The boy wants tuxedos, martinis shaken not stirred, and trysts with beautiful and dangerous women.” He gave Rustbelt a blazing smile. “You’d do much better joining the Order of the Silver Helix.”
“Oh. So, what’s that then?” Rustbelt asked.
“The British Secret Service.”
“Wally is an American,” Straight Arrow said shortly.
Rustbelt’s ponderous head, with its steam shovel jaws, swung between them.
“Ah, but we’re such good allies. You wouldn’t mind my poaching just a teensy bit?” Noel turned back to Rustbelt. “Think about it, old man. I could sign you up right now.”
“I thought you were a magician,” Rustbelt said in his absurd accent.
Noel laid a finger next to his nose. “Ah, that’s my cover, don’t you know. Travel to exotic locales, first-class accommodations. You’d love it.”
“Now that sounds like a heckuva deal.”
“He’s a joker,” Straight Arrow snapped.
With Rustbelt’s metal skin no blush was readable, but the hick shuffled his feet, setting up a tooth-grating shriek on the marble floor.
“Ace, Nephi, ace,” Noel reproved. “One might almost think you’re prejudiced.” Straight Arrow could blush. The blood washed into his face, turning his cheeks brick red. Just one more little twist, Noel thought. He laid a hand on Rustbelt’s shoulder. “No, Wally is an ace, and a very powerful one at that. You know, you’re far and away the most interesting ace in this mix. The others are all just flash and dazzle.”
“You should know,” Straight Arrow said, and the words had to fight to escape from between his clenched teeth.
Noel ignored the SCARE ace. “I think it’s a travesty that you were voted off so early, but jealousy, alas, is all too common. We should discuss this over a drink. They have a very nice bar at the Beverly Hills Hotel. We can get to know each other…better.”
“He’s not recruiting you,” Nephi warned Rustbelt. “He’s making fun of you, and you’re falling for it. Don’t be a rube.” The government ace drew in a sudden, audible breath, as if trying to suck back the words. But it was far too late. He might blame Noel, but it was Straight Arrow who had uttered the insult.
Rustbelt shifted from foot to foot and the big head drooped. “Oh, gosh—well, a guy should think about this. It’s all pretty confusing. It’s getting late, don’t you know, so I oughta head out. …” His voice trailed away and he bolted at a run for the doors to the restaurant. The marble cracked under his pounding feet.
The truth was that Straight Arrow had been trying to protect the young
man. Nobility was always so easy to manipulate.
Nephi stared at Noel. “You are the very devil,” he finally said. Noel smiled and took a little bow. A reluctant smile briefly touched the American’s lips. “Flint should have had you in Cairo. You’re more evil and cunning than the Ikhlas al-Din. You might have prevented that mess developing in Egypt.”
It was one of those compliments that held a slap. Noel smiled. “And how do you know we didn’t engineer it?” he countered, but it was hollow, and Straight Arrow knew it.
By tacit agreement they left the lobby, stepped down the dead-end hallway that led to the restrooms, and into the men’s room. “Then you’d be incompetent instead of asleep at the switch.” Straight Arrow glanced quickly beneath the doors to the stalls. For the moment, they were alone. “There are reports of rioting in the joker quarter of Alexandria, and whispers of wholesale murder of the followers of the Old Religion in Port Said and the necropolis of Cairo.” He blew out a breath, and ran a hand through his graying hair. “I don’t know why the imams and mullahs are reacting so violently. It’s a totally made-up religion.”
“Aren’t they all?” Noel asked, and watched Straight Arrow’s lips thin. “And it’s not totally about religion. The Twisted Fists killed the Nur. The street is angry.”
“We’ve got some intelligence that suggests the Fists weren’t behind the murder, but the new Caliph won’t believe anything we tell him.”
“I don’t expect Abdul will be in power for long. Prince Siraj and the other moderates will push him aside.”
“Will that stop the killing?”
Noel shrugged and leaned forward to study a blemish on his chin in the mirror over a sink. “Probably not, but at least we’ll have someone reasonable to deal with.” He decided that heat didn’t suit him. His normally crisp, wavy brown hair was limp, and his English rose complexion looked blotchy and red. Even his blue eyes were ringed with red from the Los Angeles pollution.
“God, you’re a calculating bastard.” Straight Arrow paused, then added, “You and the prince were at Cambridge together.”
Noel didn’t answer. It was clear the American knew that full well, and the more you talked the more you were likely to give up.
“Well, if you guys did engineer the assassination you might want to tell Siraj to get his fanny in gear. If things don’t calm down pretty quickly, we’re going to have to step in. We have our own interests to protect.”
Noel didn’t try to hide his derisive smile. “Oh, dear fellow, really, you shouldn’t. You Yanks are always so heavy-handed. Best you leave empire to those of us with real imperial experience. We’ll act, but after we have a little useless PR bleating from the UN secretary-general.”
“Jayewardene is going to the region?”
“Yes, Abdul the Idiot asked him to intervene.”
Straight Arrow shook his head. “He’s a very brave man.”
“No, he’s a predictable idiot.”
They heard footsteps approaching. Noel turned on a tap and washed his hands. Straight Arrow looked over at the urinals. “Well, as long as I’m here.”
“Yes, best you be busy or people might think we’re trysting.”
“Go away,” the American ace said in a muffled voice.
It was Michael Berman who entered. They danced a bit in the doorway. “Hey, nice work,” the producer said.
“Thank you. Did I ruin your ratings?” Noel asked.
“Nah. Nats secretly love to see aces getting their ass kicked. Especially when a nat does the kicking.”
Noel moved on.
“You’ve got my power, right?” Wild Fox asked. “You create illusions.”
Noel smiled enigmatically.
“You’re a short-range teleporter,” Curveball said. “Is that it?”
Noel took a sip from his crystal champagne flute. The bubbly puckered the edges of his tongue and danced in his sinuses. He was impressed. Given the age and class of most of the American Hero contestants, he’d expected Asti Spumante, or some other equally sweet crap.
“Nah, he’s a fucking shape-shifter,” Hardhat said. “It’s the only way he could look that fucking hot. I know broads, and he was a fucking broad.”
“No. No. And no. As to how I attracted you—I’m an inter-sexed individual,” Noel said, with a happy anticipation of Hardhat’s likely response.
“Huh? What the fuck is that?”
“A hermaphrodite.”
“Huh?”
“A person who has the sexual attributes of both a male and a female.”
“You gotta cock and a pussy?” Disgust and fascination—but definitely more fascination—laced Hardhat’s words. Hmm, thought Noel. I can still be surprised.
“Precisely.”
“Uh, I need a beer,” Wild Fox said. His eyes roamed desperately around the crowded room, and he sidled away.
“Whatever you are, you’re one cold pendejo,” Earth Witch said.
“And why would you say that?”
“You sacrificed all your henchmen.”
“They were expendable.”
“They were your men.”
“They were tools, and I wanted to win.”
“How did you win?” Wild Fox asked, drawn back despite his unease.
“Brains and cunning.”
“So you don’t have any powers?” Wild Fox challenged.
“You’re not listening.”
“He’s saying he beat us because we’re stupid.”
Noel just smiled again at Earth Witch’s bitter remark. Hardhat dropped a broad, heavy hand onto her shoulder and said, “Get the fuck over it, Ana. He knocked our dicks in the dirt fair and square.” Curveball gave him an ironic look. “Uh, boobs…uh?”
“You better quit while you’re ahead, T. T.,” the blonde said. She looked up and saw Drummer Boy bearing down on her determinedly. He had two of his four arms folded across his chest, and the fingers on his other two arms were snapping out a nervous rhythm. “Uh-oh.” It was meant to be under her breath, but Noel heard it. She darted away while Earth Witch tried to intercept the rock-and-roll star.
Noel drifted over to the buffet table, where he grazed and observed. Earth Witch had failed in her attempted block, so Curveball was sprinting around the perimeter of the Warner Brothers restaurant with Drummer Boy stalking after her, taking one step to every two of hers. While Noel languidly consumed an egg roll, they made three complete circuits of the room.
In another corner, sex—rather than determined virginity—was decidedly in the air. Berman leaned against the wall while Jade Blossom, Pop Tart, and Tiffani all preened and vamped. He looked like a man at a buffet, savoring his choices.
“Hey, magician.” The words were strongly accented with the distant echoes of Spain filtered through Mexico and the American barrio. Rosa Loteria stood hip shot in front of him. There was no flirt here; the blue eyes flashed a challenge at him. She clutched her antique deck of loteria cards in a hand.
“My dear.” Noel gave her a bow.
“You can cut the sophisticated European crap,” she said.
Noel found himself smiling. “All right, what can I do for you?”
She jerked a thumb over her shoulder toward the Candle. His multicolored flames waved languidly around his head like a psychedelic halo. “That pendejo motherfucker” (Noel reflected that there seemed to be a lot of pendejos present tonight) “has been giving me rafts of shit because I drew Los Platanos during the challenge.”
The back of Noel’s mind supplied the translation—the Bananas.
“Yes, I can see how that would be rather less than useful.” He reached out and took the deck from her. It was old, probably Napoleonic, and very beautiful. Noel began shuffling the cards. “And you want to learn how to do this—” and after each shuffle he flipped out La Muerta over and over again. The opulently dressed female skeleton looked coy, as if she knew a secret. Noel found his thoughts going back to his conversation with Straight Arrow, and the situation in Egypt.
“Yeah. That’s what I want,” Rosa agreed.
Noel gave her back the cards. “I expect I could teach you, and with practice you could probably become quite proficient, but I foresee some problems. It would be unwieldy to mark all the cards, and you would be tying yourself to the most lethal of your manifestations. Depending on the circumstance, you might want a different power. To pull Death all the time might be coming on a little too strong, don’t you know? Also, this is the crutch on which you hang your power.” Noel tapped the deck of cards with a manicured forefinger. “Would you actually be able to transform if you knew you were cheating? You are Rosa Loteria, the Lottery Rose. If you removed the element of chance …” Noel let his voice trail away and raised his eyebrows.
The girl’s brows snapped together in a ferocious frown. “I can’t risk losing my powers.”
“I would reach the same decision.”
“Well, crap!” She walked away, trailing Spanish like a kite tail of profanity.
Noel fixed on a vapid smile and went strolling. There was a lot of conversation about the concluded Rogue Ace Challenge, but another thread of conversation wove like a line of bright sparks throughout the party.
“… burned to the ground.” Said with breathless excitement by Diver.
“That idiot Bugsy will be behind it.” Said with Southern ice by Tiffani.
“… Peregrine’s fuuurious with Simoon.” Said by Pop Tart, with that tickle of enjoyment at getting to observe anger and not be on the receiving end.
“… didn’t find any bodies.” Said with a thread of disappointment by Jade Blossom.
“… insane with worry.” Said with compassion by the Amazing Bubbles.
“Of course, he’s her itty witty baby boy.” Said with just the right amount of disdain by Rosa Loteria.
Women are always so dependable when you need news. Noel lifted another glass of champagne off a passing tray. He glanced over at Peregrine, and indeed the famous joker’s smile kept jumping back into place as people walked up to talk to her. Otherwise, her eyes glittered with anger, and a strained frown ridged her forehead. Occasionally, she darted a cold glance at Simoon. Noel recalled the girl’s biography: daughter of one of the Egyptian jokers who had sought sanctuary at the Luxor hotel in Las Vegas, she had a second-rate power. Wind powers had always seemed faintly silly to Noel. Of more concern was her connection to Egypt—however tenuous. He decided to find out more.