Nightingale (5 page)

“Thanks again for the rescue,” Talon said, looking off to the left instead of at me. “Tonight, you’re my hero.”

Talon started to press a button on the side of the grappling hook gun, but his finger slipped off the gadget. He tried again, with the same result. The third time, he dropped the gun entirely. The superhero teetered from side to side, his legs crumpled, and he pitched forward, face-first into the snow.

I stared at his unconscious form. Snow drifted down from the black winter sky, covering his cobalt-blue costume one white, crystal flake at a time.
 

I rubbed my aching head. I had a wounded, unconscious superhero who’d made me promise not to call the police and not take him to the hospital. Bandit and his thugs could come back any second, and the weather was going from bad to worse.

I was used to dealing with crises, but this was a doozy even for me.

What was I going to do now?

Chapter Four

Even though my headache throbbed toward full-blown migraine, I didn’t panic. I never did, not even when the cruise ship I’d rented out for a bar mitzvah capsized in the middle of Bigtime Bay with two hundred people on board. I hadn’t panicked then, with the threat of mass casualties and the end of my career as an event planner staring me in the face, and I wasn’t going to now.

Instead, I thought about things, the snow still falling around me. I looked at my phone. I could call the cops. I
should
call the cops. They could help the superhero, make sure he got the medical attention he needed. But Talon didn’t want me to. And he’d been right about something. If Bandit came after him while the superhero was in the hospital, he’d be dead—and other people would get caught in the crossfire.
 

Besides, I’d promised the superhero I wouldn’t. I always kept my promises—even when I had to plan the perfect party in less than a week’s time.

So, no calling the police.
 

I could hail a cab, but I doubted any were running at this hour, especially with the snow picking up speed. Even if I did find a cab, the driver would just take Talon to the hospital, and the police would get involved there.

So, no hailing a cab.

But I had to do
something
. I couldn’t leave the superhero in the alley in the cold. Talon would freeze to death—or Bandit would come back and finish him off. I massaged my temples, trying to think of some anonymous place where the superhero would be safe, warm, and hopefully stop bleeding.
 

The convention center. The public library. Quicke’s. Oodles o’ Stuff. Paradise Park. I ticked off the downtown locations in my head, discarding them all. Every place was either already closed, or there’d be too many people asking too many questions.

I glanced over my shoulder toward the deserted street. I should have just kept on walking instead of stopping to investigate some strange noise. Damn superhearing. It always got me in trouble. I could have been at home in bed in my loft right now, instead of out here, freezing my ass off—

Wait a minute. My loft. I could take Talon to my loft. It was safe and warm and free of ubervillains. Better yet, it was only a few blocks away.

It was the best plan I could come up with—the only plan. Now, all I had to do was figure out how to get him there. I didn’t think I could carry Talon. At least, not more than a few feet. I looked back toward the end of the alley, hoping Fiera, Wynter, or some other superstrong superhero would just happen along to help me move Talon—or better yet take him off my hands altogether.

But, of course, it didn’t happen. That was another reason I didn’t pay much attention to superheroes. They were never around when you
really
needed them. Like during my water-logged bar mitzvah. I’d expected, even hoped, for Cap’n Freebeard and his Saucy Wenches to show up and take everyone off the sinking ship, but the pirate and his psychedelic party barge had been nowhere in sight. We’d had to wait for the coast guard to rescue us.

So I was on my own—like always.

That’s why I wear a vest crammed full of emergency supplies. Saving a bleeding superhero from freezing to death wasn’t the sort of emergency I usually handled, but if I could strong-arm Bigtime’s wealthiest citizens into behaving, however badly, I could figure out some way to get Talon to my loft.

I unbuttoned my coat and patted the pockets on my vest, going through a mental inventory of everything stuffed inside. Nail polish. Tissues. Bobby pins. Hairspray. Breath mints. Garbage bag—

Garbage bag—that might work.

I unzipped the appropriate pocket and pulled out a large, black, plastic bag—one of several I carried around in case somebody at one of my events made an enormous mess. They also were good to give to folks like Peter Potter when they’d had a few too many.
 

I looked at Talon’s long torso. Good thing it was a heavy-duty, supersized bag, because he wasn’t a small man. I unrolled the bag on the snow next to him and tied two knots in the end. Then, I got down on my knees and pushed and strained and heaved, rolling him onto the bag, face-up.
 

During my shoving, a silver flash drive slipped out of a slot on Talon’s belt. I picked it up. The gizmo looked like your typical flash drive—except for the letter T embossed on the glossy surface. I wondered if the T stood for Talon or something else. No writing or labels were stuck on it to tell me what information it contained, but I slipped the drive into my coat pocket. I’d give it back to Talon later, when we were both warm and conscious. I also plucked his grappling hook gun out of the snow, unbuckled him and the gun from the zip line, and slid the weapon back into the holster on his leg.

The superhero’s shoulder wound had stopped bleeding, probably because he’d been lying in the cold snow for several minutes. Talon’s leather costume looked fairly thick and weatherproof. I hoped it would keep him warm enough until I got him to my loft.

Once I had Talon more or less arranged on the bag, I brought the edges up and tied it around him. By the time I finished knotting the plastic together, the superhero resembled a mummy swathed in one big, shiny, black bandage.
 

Talon didn’t move or stir during the ordeal. I was glad he couldn’t see me like this, grunting, sweating, and flailing in the snow. I wasn’t naturally graceful anyway, not like Piper, but I was being clumsier than usual. My normal awkward self and then some. Not that Talon could see me anyway with the gas Bandit had sprayed him with. Or that he’d ever noticed me before. Few people did.

Then again, I’d never really been up close and personal with a superhero either. It wasn’t like I was one of the folks in the
Slaves for Superhero Sex
group.
SSS
was one of the city’s more infamous organizations, filled with people who did extremely stupid things like handcuff themselves to railroad tracks in hopes of being saved by a hero or even a villain—and showing their gratitude with their bodies afterward. But I couldn’t scoff too much at the group. The members had been smart enough to hire me to plan their Valentine’s Day dance this year.

Once I had Talon wrapped up, I grabbed the two knots I’d tied at the end of the bag, using them as handles. I turned toward the front of the alley, my back to Talon, took a step forward—and almost yanked my arms off.

The bag didn’t come with me, didn’t budge an inch. I was lucky the plastic hadn’t ripped. But, this was the plan I’d come up with, so I tried again. Still, the bag didn’t move.
 

I tried again. Nothing.

Finally, I hunkered down, dug my boots into the snow, and surged forward with a fierce growl that would have drowned out Yeti Girl. This time, the bag moved—five whole inches. Well, it was five inches closer to my building.

      
“You’re heavy, you know that?” I groused.

Talon didn’t respond.

I wiped the freezing sweat off my forehead and tried to quit wheezing. It was times like these when I wished I’d gotten superstrength from my run-in with that overcharged amp. If you’re going to almost get electrocuted to death, you should get
something
good out of it. But no, I’d wound up with supersenses instead, which were completely useless in this situation.

But Abby Alexandra Appleby was nothing if not persistent. Somehow, I grunted, heaved, and dragged Talon out of the alley. The snow made it easier, once I got going. If the ground had been bare, I never would have managed it. The bag helped too, sliding along the icy terrain.

Three minutes later, I reached the end of the alley. I looked up and down the street. Swirls of snow gusted here and there, splattering a fresh coat of the white stuff on whatever was in the way. I cocked my head to one side, listening—
really
listening. Silence. More fat, fluffy flakes cascaded around me, whipped sideways by a blustery breeze, like I was trapped in a snow globe someone kept shaking.

Once I got my breath back, I cracked my neck, gripped the bag handles, and plowed down the street. I managed to build up a bit of speed, mainly by ignoring Talon’s body thumping up and down on the snow. I did stop when I lost my footing and banged the superhero into the side of a mailbox, but Talon didn’t wake up, so I figured it hadn’t hurt him too much. Besides, I was saving his life. What were a few bruises compared to that?

Normally, it would have taken me about five minutes to walk the remaining blocks to my building. Tonight, dragging an unconscious superhero behind me, it took closer to thirty.

By the time I reached my building, I was a sweaty mess. My toboggan had slid down into my eyes, along with my brown hair, and my scarf hung limp around my neck. My body ached from the strain of hauling Talon around, and my numb, stiff fingers wanted to stay permanently curled around the knots on the bag. Why couldn’t I have run into somebody lighter, like Aira? The thin, petite superhero, who was fond of singing opera while she fought ubervillains, didn’t weigh much more than a hundred pounds. Talon tipped the scales at almost twice that much.

My building didn’t have a doorman, something I was extremely grateful for tonight. If someone had been around, he would have asked a lot of awkward questions, like
Why do you have a black bag wrapped around a superhero? Why are you dragging him through the streets late at night? Aren’t you worried about his head flopping around like that?
 

I let go of the bag and opened the door with my key. Then, I stuck one foot inside so the door would stay open while I dragged Talon through it. I’d never been fond of brown linoleum, but it was relatively easy to pull the unconscious superhero across the lobby floor.

Management had renovated the elevator a couple of months ago, so I didn’t have to worry about how I was going to drag the superhero up five flights of stairs. I pulled Talon over to the gray metal doors, punched the
Up
button, and slumped against the wall, exhausted from my snowy workout.

The elevator’s doors opened, but no
ping!
announced its arrival. I’d disabled the box weeks ago. There were some noises I just couldn’t stand with my superhearing. Pinging elevators topped the list, along with roaring vacuum cleaners and chirping fax machines.

I hauled Talon inside and punched
5
for my floor. The elevator creaked and groaned, but slowly it started to rise. Gears churned and ground out ragged whispers, but I couldn’t detect any other noises. I’d moved into the building six months ago for several reasons—including the fact that it was as still as a tomb. Most of the other residents were senior citizens. Nice, quiet senior citizens who didn’t slam their doors or scream at each other and add to my migraines. Plus, the walls were very, very thick. I’d called up the building’s architect and grilled him about that before I signed the deed.

The elevator door slid back, fronting a short hallway with a door at the end. I tugged Talon out of the elevator, opened the door to my loft, pulled him inside, and flipped on the lights. Then, I closed the door behind me and slumped against it, taking a much-needed breather.
 

My loft took up the entire fifth floor, but the space was empty, almost barren, mainly because I wasn’t around enough to fix it up. Boxes full of clothes, books, and dishes lined one wall—the same spot they’d been in for months. The only thing I’d completely unpacked had been my collection of CDs and albums. Music was the one thing I couldn’t live without—and the only loud noise that didn’t automatically give me a headache.

Speaking of music, I needed some now. I shucked off my dripping boots and shrugged out of my coat. The coppery stench of Talon’s blood on the black fabric made my stomach roil, and I made a mental note to drop the garment off at the dry cleaners.
 

I padded over to my stereo system, which took up the better part of one wall. I hit a button on my iPod, and a playlist featuring The Killers blared on. Maybe the pulsing rock beats would get me energized enough to get Talon into the bathroom so I could clean him up.

The superhero still didn’t wake up, not even when I unwrapped the bag from around him. Talon was surprisingly dry, considering all of the snow I’d dragged him across and through, and he didn’t seem to be any worse for wear from the bumps he’d taken during the trip—except for the wound in his shoulder. A small trickle of blood ran out of it, and the edges had turned purple from the cold. That didn’t look good.