That evening, 90 minutes from the school for paranormal children and the murder about to take place there, the city of Washington, DC lay under a haze of humidity.  The sun had been down for an hour, and the temperature still read 96 degrees.  

 

Ugh, thought the woman in the black mask.  She wished her Talent could control the weather.  

 

To anyone looking, she would have appeared to be a shadow against a building.  A hot, listless breeze wafted from the west, from over the Potomac tidal basin.  She took a deep breath of it, then wrinkled her nose in regret.  Rather than refreshing, it carried a raft of unpleasant scents.  Rotted vegetation.  Hot garbage?  On nights like this it was easy to believe tales about America’s capital having been built on reclaimed swampland.  A handful of tourists could be seen in the distance, and a masochistic jogger was about to pass her, drenched in his own sweat.  With its museums long closed, the usually bustling National Mall felt deserted.  Even so, habit and caution kept the figure in black silent and hidden.  She checked her watch.  Where was John?  He was rarely late.  

 

The pandemics of the early 2020s had altered global economies and norms, but one or two good things had come from them.  Wearing face masks became common during that period, and for some it never went away.  The woman in black was one of these.  She’d taken to wearing a combined domino/breathable mask that covered most of her face.  Just her eyes were visible.  She loved the anonymity of it.  Truly, she was a creature of the shadows.  Few people called her by name anymore.  She was just the woman in black.  

 

Despite this lovely assurance of invisibility, the need to scout an escape was so ingrained that she began eyeing one of the enormous wastewater drains that lined the pavement along Constitution Avenue.  She idly calculated how long it might take her to lift one of the metal grates, estimating its weight.  As she tried to figure out where she would end up (in the River?) if she needed to disappear by that route, she noticed with some amusement that even the city’s enormous cockroaches were affected by the heat.  Instead of scurrying busily to the drain in a straight line, the one passing at her feet was lethargic, weaving left to right as if drunk. She directed a tiny tendril of energy toward it, and it leapt as if it had been shocked, hastening to the safety of the huge drain.  

 

Beneath her mask, she grinned.  She hadn’t lost her touch.  Even insects didn’t notice her unless she wished them to.  

 

Glancing up, she noticed that the sky was quite dark.  Well of course it was—the whole point of doing this tonight was that there would be a new moon.  There was Saturn, pulsing angrily at her, unusually prominent in the night sky.  Is it true, what people are saying about unusual signs in the alignment of the planets?  She grimaced, and wished that she’d paid better attention during Prophetic Astronomy.  

 

Then her earpiece beeped.  John was here.  Finally.  She sensed him and turned to see a lean, auburn-haired form moving purposefully toward her hiding place.  He wasn’t that much taller than she was, but he was strong.  Remembering his whipcord strength caused her to shiver in spite of herself.  No!  She had long since decided she wouldn’t be bullied by this man.  Stepping from the shadows, the woman in black put her hands on her hips authoritatively.  

 

“You’re late.”  Her voice was flat.  Disapproving.  

 

“Awww.  Did you miss me?”  His eyes glinted with humor.  Or malice?  A black mask, like her own, covered his face except for eyes and chin.  She couldn’t see his expression, but she was sure she heard tension in his voice, a tension he was attempting to conceal with his teasing. Something was up.  Not for the first time, she wished she could read his thoughts.  She cursed the universe for the fact that their powers were so complementary.  “Perfectly in sync!” everyone said.  How she hated hearing that.  

 

“Not funny, John,” she replied, glancing at her watch.  “If you intended to keep me waiting, you might have given me a heads up.”  She fought to keep a bored tone in her voice.  She was grateful, once again, that he could not read her thoughts.  The advantages he had were terrible enough.  She continued briskly.  “Time is money.” 

 

“And money is drugs, hmm, darling?”  His voice was soft.  

 

The woman in black didn’t respond.  Her eyes glittered dangerously.  

 

“This job pays well—you’ll be fine.”  John checked his watch.  He was doing an adequate job of sounding casual, but he was distracted and definitely hiding something.  It made her uneasy. Despite the heat, she shivered again.  

 

He tugged at the collar of his black long-sleeved shirt, continuing.  “Did we have to do this in bloody August?  I’m dying in this costume.” She ignored the comment.  DC was empty in August. Congress was out of session and everyone who could afford to had fled to the Eastern shores, escaping the heat.  It was a perfect time for a job like this, and he knew it.  

 

“Are you ready?” She asked.  He nodded.  “Okay. I’ve had a chance to assess things, and I think this will be easy.  We’re going in right through the main doors on the south side.  There are trees there to break the visual field of the security cameras.”  She pointed up.  “The cameras are multidirectional, and we have to assume we’re in a direct line of sight.  Even so, I think from this angle, with enough shadow, I can obscure us so we won’t be visible.”  

 

“Or I could disable the blasted things,” he muttered.  

 

“Negative.”  She dismissed the idea. “Unless your range has expanded significantly, you wouldn’t reach all of them.  And the whole point of us doing this job together,” she emphasized the word, “is that your skills alone don’t cut it.”  Her voice hardened. “Nor do mine.  Anyway, one thing sure to bring attention quickly would be a disabled camera.”

 

“So what do you have in mind then?”  He grumbled.  

 

“First,” she said, “from this distance, can you lower the incandescence of the lights illuminating the entrance? That streetlight overhead,” she pointed up, “and this row of spotlights.” She indicated the lights directed at the building.  “If you can lower the lights without destroying them,” her skepticism was evident, “the trees will take care of everything else.” 

 

He only grunted.  Within seconds, the harsh glare of the spotlights had lowered considerably.  It was a smooth, gradual change too, as though someone had used a dimmer switch.  Anyone nearby would notice only a mild change in the ambient light level, as sometimes happens randomly with streetlights.  In spite of herself, she was impressed.  Other paranormals who possessed kinetic Talent, if they could do this kind of thing at all, would need to physically touch each mechanism to affect it.  She could tell he was concentrating, but he’d just simultaneously manipulated a half dozen objects from meters away.  A dangerous enemy indeed, she thought. He was better at this than he used to be.  

 

“What’s next?” he asked. She suspected it required effort for him to sound casual after that exertion, but he pulled it off.  She was impressed again.  

 

“This,” she said, frowning.  She muttered something and as she did, the edges of her form grew blurry, until she all but faded from view into the shadows around her.  John had seen this particular trick many times, and it never failed to startle him.  How could his eyes go from seeing her one second, to convincing him he’d just imagined her the next?  He looked down at his own body and registered shock.  Only his nerve endings told him he was still standing there. He couldn’t distinctly see his own arms, only blurred shadows.  He’d never seen her obscure herself so quickly before, and to do it to another person, too.  He couldn’t imagine how much practice it took to master this.  Shit, he thought.  Her power has grown.  She’d always been good. Now she was scary.  

 

“Okay,” she said, keeping her voice light.  “This method isn’t foolproof when video surveillance is involved.  But if we move slowly, we should be fine.”  

 

The rest was simple. Entering through now-unlocked doors, with alarms and laser sensors disabled in each room they passed, the two figures moved through the museum, silent and invisible.  The cameras would register only a blur when the footage was reviewed.  Their only hiccup was the need to disable a guard who wandered too close.  Unfortunately for the guard, somatic work wasn’t a natural skill for either thief.  Their methods were rough.  Between them, they managed to incapacitate the poor Normal without (hopefully) doing too much damage.

 

Twenty minutes later, they emerged onto Pennsylvania Avenue with two prizes.  The man carried an insignificant looking piece of a rough, silvery meteorite, the size of a baby’s fist.  The woman carried a beautiful yellow beryl jewel, cut square, the size of a watch face.  If they hadn’t understood the purpose of tonight’s mission before, each knew it now.  

 

“My god,” John whispered reverently.  “Can you feel it?  Do you know what we’re holding?”  

 

She knew.  Oh, yes.  The surge of power she’d felt the instant she’d picked up the jewel had been unmistakable.  With this in her hands, she could probably compel someone to harm himself from blocks away.  Recalling her earlier relief that her companion couldn’t read her thoughts, she tentatively directed energy toward his mind.  The attempt was haphazard, as this wasn’t one of a cryptic’s natural skills; she’d only once successfully linked with someone else’s thoughts, and that person had been a willing participant.  But like all trained PSIs, she understood the basic principles.  Linking worked this time.  She sensed his wonder at what he held in his hands, his astonishment, and his deep distrust of the woman standing beside him.  In the background there was a glimmer of the thing that had worried him earlier, the trouble that had made him late.  Curiosity made her incautious, and her attention drifted toward that worry.  

 

Lack of experience tripped her up.  He sensed her in his thoughts, and gave a retaliatory mental shove so hard she experienced it as pain and stumbled.  Pure instinct prompted her to raise defenses as his consciousness came slashing toward her, intent on wresting control.  She only just held him out of her own thoughts.  Ugh, she thought.  This is why everyone hates telepaths.  Constant vigilance was required.  

 

On a quiet, heat-soaked DC sidewalk, two figures in black stood staring at each other, panting from the effort of their silent battle of wills, each determined to best a bitter rival.  The struggle was taxing them both.  

 

The man’s skills were blunt, but effective.  She could feel their effect in her numb arms.  This jewel she was holding was suddenly . . . so. . . heavy.  It would be such a sweet relief, if she could set it down.  She fought with all her will against a sudden, agonizing weariness in her hands and arms. It’s not real!  She kept repeating.  

 

Her skill was illusion, and she had particular expertise with attraction forces.  The better one understood one’s target, the more effective compulsion became.  She’d had a great deal of practice on this particular target.  Channeling the jewel in her hands she focused all her power on his solar plexus, attempting to redirect his intentions.  You don’t want to fight me, John!  Remember how it felt, to love me?  Drop the stone!  She saw the trembling of his hands, the sheen of sweat on his brow, and was glad.  She could imagine what it cost him to resist her.  It angered her that he could do it.  She hoped his suffering was acute.  

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“Well,” he whispered quietly. “Perhaps we’ve learned another reason why two of us were sent on this mission.  If they’d just sent one of us, what guarantee would our employers have that these special objects would wind up where they are supposed to?”  

 

She hit him with a last, useless surge of compulsion.  Holding the stone, he was too strong, deflecting it with ease.  Through gritted teeth, she said “I hate you.”  

 

“Hmm,” he replied softly.  “I know.  And they know it, too.  It’s their guarantee. The two of us would never willingly cooperate.” He raised a hand involuntarily.  For an agonizing second she thought he might caress her face.  

 

The noise of an engine caused her to turn then, as a dark sedan entered the otherwise deserted street.  The woman in black offered a silent prayer of thanks to the universe.  She used a tiny thread of conscious will (all she had left), directing the driver to pull up to the curb.  A well-dressed Normal young man leaned over to open the passenger door for her.  “Hello?” he said in surprise.  As indeed, he probably was surprised by his sudden decision to stop and offer a lift to a stranger.  

 

“In the nick of time” she said sweetly, lowering her mask and offering the stranger a dazzling smile.  She couldn’t disguise the relief in her voice.  Turning back to her erstwhile companion, she said, “Do me a favor, John.  Please drop dead before I see you again?”  As the car pulled away, she set her jaw firmly and covered her eyes with one hand.  I will not cry!   

* * *

John muttered softly to himself as the car holding the woman in black pulled away.  “It’s not over, Kasa,” he whispered.  Seconds later, John’s earpiece clicked and a voice spoke.  “Do you have the item?”  

 

“Yes, I have it.”  

 

“And the woman?”  

 

“She secured hers as well.”  

 

“Any trouble?”  

 

Only us trying to kill each other.  “No, none at all.  Went off without a hitch.  The whole thing took half an hour.”  

 

“That’s good.  But there’s been a change of plans.  I need you in DC for another week, at least.”

 

I have things of my own I need to do!  Swallowing his frustration, he replied evenly,  “Of course.  I was scheduled to lead the team in the Hague.  I guess I’m off that assignment?”  

 

“Correct.  You should plan to remain in the DC area for most of the fall.  We’re hearing about unusual goings-on at your old school, and signs point to something big, right around the Winter solstice.”  

 

“I can’t wait.”  He hoped his voice didn’t sound as grim as he felt. 

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