Mona Lisa Eclipsing

TWENTY-SEVEN

IT WAS SORT of anticlimactic to pull into the back parking lot of our hotel and exit the van without anyone gaping or pointing at us. For now, our anonymity was still intact, though I didn’t trust it to last for long.

“Jarvis.”

He turned to look at me.

“Dontaine, Amber, Dante, and I will be here,” I said, pointing to our door. “You and Kelly will be staying in the suite next door with the Morell family. Is that all right?”

“Yes, milady.”

“You both did well. Let’s get some rest while we still can, then we’ll grab something to eat. After that, we’ll get some clothes and supplies for you and Kelly. How does that sound?”

Jarvis seemed both bemused and discomfited on my seeking his opinion. “Of course, milady.”

“Don’t forget to put the Do Not Disturb sign on your door,” I told Nolan, and made sure to hang our own sign outside on the door handle.

“So what do you think?” I said as soon as we were inside. “Do you think it went badly? Did I totally blow it?”

“I thought it went well,” Dante offered. “You made our purpose and our good intent very clear. The next step is up to them.”

We talked for another half hour. The general consensus was that we had handled things pretty well—as best as the situation allowed, anyway.

“You guys must be feeling tired,” I said, noting the time. It was ten thirty in the morning, long past our normal bedtime. “So who gets what room?”

“Where would you like us to stay?” Dontaine asked, his face carefully bland.

“Oh, no you don’t,” I said, walking to the bedroom where Dontaine had unpacked all my stuff. “You guys work out the bedding arrangement. One person can stay with me, but no sex, just sleeping.”

I was already in bed when Amber came into the room with a suitcase.

“The other side,” Amber said, claiming the side closest to the window.

I obediently moved over and watched Amber undress. He was a beautiful beast, I thought, watching him strip down and walk into the bathroom with that lack of self-consciousness all Monère males seemed to possess. From the flashes I remembered of my first life, I hadn’t been shy about baring my body either, and yet now I was. How did that work? Was modesty natural or something learned?

Any further thoughts scattered when Amber returned and slid into bed with me.

One good thing about this hotel was that they didn’t skimp on the curtains. The ones in our room were heavy and thick, blocking out the morning sunlight almost completely; just a thin sliver of light on either side of the drawn curtains penetrated into the room.

“Who got the bedroom and who’s taking the pullout sofa?” I asked.

“Dante is taking first watch. Dontaine is sleeping in the bedroom.”

I turned on my side, and he pulled me in tight, spooning his big body around me. “They’ll switch in a couple of hours.”

“I’ll take the third shift,” I offered.

“That’s mine. You can stand watch after me.”

“Which probably means there won’t be any watch to take after you,” I grumbled. “I’m not a delicate flower that will wilt at the least little bit of work, you know.”

“Hush, we know that,” Amber murmured, his voice a pleasant rumble behind me. “Close your eyes.”

My lids obediently shut. I thought it would take a while to settle down, but I drifted easily into sleep moments later with Amber wrapped snugly around me.

When I blinked my eyes open, hours later, the slices of light coming into the bedroom were much dimmer, and I was alone. For a big man, Amber could move with surprising stealth. He had left the bed without waking me.

I got up and used the bathroom. The television was playing when I stepped out into the living room area where not just the people in our suite, but also everyone from next door, were gathered. They had turned on the volume when they heard me get up, so I had already heard part of the news reporting. But seeing it was an entirely different experience.

Every news channel was playing the announcement I had made in front of the hospital. I’d never been on TV before and had never seen myself this way. It was not the same as looking at your image reflected in a mirror or seeing it captured in a photo. It was more objective. Truly how others perceived you.

With my hair so fashionably styled, and the clothing and makeup bringing out the exotic lift of my dark eyes, I could honestly say that the woman on TV was attractive. Not gorgeous like the people behind me, but there was a grace and elegance and command that was indeed riveting, especially set against my obvious youth.

I had changed. And it wasn’t just the new highlights in my hair or the better haircut, although that did indeed help. It was my attitude, my confidence—my awareness of who and what I was.

The ugly duckling had transformed into a graceful swan Queen.

I had a moment to absorb this altered perception of myself before Quentin said to me, “We’re the biggest story out there. They’ve been playing this all day.”

He flipped to a channel showing Dr. Hubert in front of the hospital describing what he had seen in the burn unit. Another channel showed Jarvis pulling off his blue top, his bare arms morphing into gloriously feathered wings. Yet another station was playing the blurred streak of me running to the curb at full Monère speed, leaving the tall reporter looking as if he had been caught flat-footed at the starting point. They followed with an immediate replay at slow speed. Watching this, I was struck by a stunning realization. “Oh my God,” I said unsteadily.

“What is it?” Amber asked in a harsh rumble. All the men tensed and looked alertly around for a threat.

“We did it!” I laughed. “We really did it!” I felt shocked, amazed, and exhilarated as it sank in. “The whole world knows about us now.”

“Don’t mind her,” Quentin said in a loud aside to Kelly and Jarvis. “Our Queen’s a little slow when she first wakes up.”

“And how would you know, little bro?” Dante asked, swatting his brother up the backside of his impudent head.

“Hey, you’re just older than me by six lousy minutes, and I know by how she just reacted.” Quentin flashed me a grin. “Milady darling, the whole world has known for over eight hours now.”

“That’s milady darling Queen to you,” Dante growled.

“Boys, stop teasing,” Hannah chided her sons with offhanded casualness.

I laughed again. “That’s okay, I deserve it. It’s just that it really didn’t hit me until I saw us on TV. Has it really been eight hours?”

“It’s just past six in the evening,” Nolan said.

Jarvis’s stomach growled. His face reddened when everyone glanced at him.

Another laugh bubbled out from me. “Let’s go get something to eat.”

I ended up sandwiched between Amber and Dontaine in the middle row because my face was too recognizable now. Nolan, Hannah, Jarvis, and Kelly sat in the back row, with Quentin driving and Dante riding shotgun.

Doing a search on the GPS, Quentin drove us to the closest fast-food restaurant, a McDonald’s. We went through the drive-through and parked a short distance away to eat.

“The meat’s overcooked,” Dante grumbled, biting into his Big Mac, which he had ordered without cheese.

“Shut up and eat,” Quentin said cheerfully, biting into his Double Quarter Pounder, minus cheese also. “Not like all of us can march into a steak house and sit down and eat without being recognized.”

“Maybe we can order takeout at a restaurant next time,” I said. “A steak restaurant, if you want, though I don’t understand the preference you guys have for rare meat. This Filet-O-Fish is delicious.”

Dontaine shuddered beside me. “Mona Lisa, I love you with all my heart but your taste in food is atrocious.”

“Fish,” Amber mumbled, his grimace as heartfelt as Dontaine’s shudder.

“Monère men,” I said, turning to wink at Kelly, who had opted out of the beef everyone else was eating for a chicken sandwich. “Something’s got to be wrong with their taste buds, not ours.”

Sitting next to her, Jarvis wolfed down his second burger. I had doubled his order of two hamburgers. A good call, it seemed, as I watched him unwrap his third burger.

“Do you need any more food, Jarvis?” I asked.

“No, milady,” he said around the big bite he had just taken.

“You were injured. If you’re still hungry, let me know.”

“Yes, milady.”

“Were you able to get some sleep?” I asked Kelly.

“Some—about five hours,” she said, eyeing me warily. “All the men address you as my lady. Am I supposed to do the same?”

“Not if it makes you uncomfortable. You can call me Lisa or Mona Lisa, if you prefer.”

“What’s with that?” Kelly asked. “Mona Lisa?”

“Mona is a title for Monère Queens. Since my name is Lisa, I’m addressed as Mona Lisa. If I had been named Kelly like you, I would be addressed as Mona Kelly.”

“Huh. Mona Kelly. Doesn’t have quite the same ring to it as Mona Lisa does,” Kelly said with the first smile I had seen her give.

I chuckled. “No, I guess it doesn’t. But still, I wish I’d been named something else.”

“Where to next?” Quentin asked when everyone was done eating.

“Can the GPS tell us where the nearest mall is?” I asked.

“That it can.” His fingers flew quickly over the touch screen.

We were at the mall five minutes later. I turned on my cell phone as we pulled into the parking lot and found ten messages waiting for me. The first was from a Mr. Harry Wagner from the law firm specializing in public law and policy where I had been so nastily rebuffed by the receptionist. I put it on speakerphone so everyone could hear.

“I apologize for not returning your call sooner but I was not aware you had called until now. I would very much like to speak to you,” the voice said, giving a phone number.

“Does anyone have a pen and paper?” I asked.

“No need,” Quentin said, flipping open his cell phone. “I can jot his name and number on the notepad application.” The guy was an obviously experienced texter. “See? What would you people do without me?”

“Get along just fine without you,” Dante said, messing up his brother’s hair.

The next several messages were all from McManus, our attorney. The first one started out calm. “This is George McManus. Give me a call. My cell phone number is . . .”

The next one that followed: “I’m still here talking to reporters, police, and FBI on your behalf. Call me.”

The third call: “My office is getting flooded with phone calls. New York Times, Washington Post, USA Today, and a bunch of local reporters want to interview you. Call me back soon. I’m still on the clock. You’re racking up a huge bill, lady. Call me!”

McManus’s voice was even more agitated in the next message, informing us that he and his office staff were getting hammered with requests from the media. “For God’s sake, Barbara Walters called, along with every other news channel in this country. Even some from England, Australia, China, and India. I don’t know what to tell these people. Call me, dammit!”

The ninth message was from Harry Wagner again.

“Mona Lisa . . . Miss Hamilton. I want to apologize on behalf of my receptionist again and assure you that our law firm is the best in the country for your needs. We have the clout, reputation, and political connections to help you gain rights for your people. No other law firm can match our expertise, or the breadth of services we offer our clients. In addition to influential lobbyists, we have media relations specialists and any other outside experts you might need. Please call me so we can discuss this further. Our office has already closed for the day, but you can reach me anytime at my private number.” He rattled off a different phone number from what he had given previously, repeating it twice.

“Did you get that, Quentin?” I asked.

“Yup,” he said, his fingers busy typing on the keys. “Boy, does he seem eager for our business. Sounds like the receptionist got her lazy and sarcastic ass kicked.”

The final message was from McManus, called in less than half an hour ago.

“It’s six o’clock, Ms. Hamilton, and I’ve gotten over two hundred emails. Your bill is four thousand dollars now. Call me!”

Flipping the phone closed, I looked at everyone in silence. “Wow. I guess a lot of people want to talk to us.”

“Four thousand dollars!” Hannah said, harrumphing loudly. “I hope that’s not in addition to the retainer we gave him.”

“Nope, it’s not,” Dontaine said, doing a quick calculation. “Four hundred dollars an hour and ten hours of his time so far. Minus the one-thousand-dollar retainer, we owe him another three thousand dollars and counting, until you call him and tell him otherwise.”

“Call Wagner first,” Dante suggested. “If you like him, we can transfer everything to their media relations specialist to handle. Their services might be even more expensive,” he warned, “but it sounds like McManus is out of his depth.”

Wagner answered on the first ring.

We talked.

I liked what he had to say, up to the point when I asked him how much it would cost, and found out he couldn’t give me a figure until we sat down with him and a few other members of his firm, and discussed in exact detail what our goals were. That, he said, would take an hour, at the very minimum.

When I asked if he could meet in half an hour, Wagner politely said that was unfortunately not possible as it was very late in the evening, and offered to meet with us nine a.m., first thing in the morning. That resulted in an explanation from me that we usually slept during the day and awoke around six at night, the time when their office closed. There was some more discussion on whether we could meet earlier in the morning or in the early evening, with Wagner’s law firm extending their business hours to accommodate us. We both agreed the earlier the better, and we settled on seven a.m. the next morning.

My next call was to McManus. He picked up on the third ring. “McManus here,” he growled.

“It’s Lisa Hamilton, returning your call.”

“About time!” he roared. “Why the hell didn’t you call me back sooner?”

“We were sleeping and my phone was turned off. I just turned it back on and got your messages. Thanks for fielding all the calls for us.”

“Expensive damn answering service, at four hundred dollars an hour.”

“I agree. We’ll be happy to take over from here. How about we settle things tonight?” I offered, since there was no guarantee of a tomorrow if things went sour, and gave him the name of the mall we were at. We agreed to meet in half an hour—how long it would take him to drive here—at the outdoor restaurant I had glimpsed next to the mall entrance.

“Including the time it’ll take me to drive there, that will be a total of eleven billable hours,” McManus said.

“We’ll have three thousand four hundred dollars in cash waiting for you,” I assured him.

“Good. I’ll have a receipt ready and can hand you all of your messages. Who do I tell people to call when they contact my office looking for you?”

“It’ll most likely be one of the three law firms I mentioned to you. I should have a name and number for you early tomorrow morning.”

“Good luck,” he said. “They’re even more expensive than I am.”

I said good-bye and hung up. “Ouch,” I said, wincing. “Even more expensive . . . that’s hard to believe.”

“What do we do now?” Kelly asked. “Sit here for half an hour waiting for the lawyer?”

“Yeah. Sorry,” I said. “If we go in to buy stuff now, chances are some of us will be recognized and we have to make a quick exit. Best to wait until McManus is here.”

“Why?” asked Dante.

“Why what?”

“Why do we have to run?” Dante asked in a reasonable tone. “If our goal is publicity, here will do just as well as any other place. We don’t have to wait until tomorrow to call any of the reporters back. If we stay here, they’ll come to us, and the outdoor restaurant of the mall will be as good a spot as any other to talk to the media. We’re lucky the police haven’t tracked us down yet. They know our names now and my mother used her driver’s license to rent this vehicle.”

“This van is one of their most basic models. I doubt it has a tracking system installed,” Quentin noted. “But if they know the make, model, and license plate of our rental, Dante’s right. Cops will probably be on the lookout for it now.”

So it was only a matter of time before they found us. That put things in better perspective. Cops, bad. Media and publicity, good.

We took another few minutes to iron out our plans and yet more discussion to divide ourselves up into three groups. Amber, Quentin, and I were assigned to get a laptop—Quentin had insisted having a computer was essential. Dante would go with Jarvis and Kelly to buy stuff for them and to grab some hats and sunglasses. Dontaine, Hannah, and Nolan would hit Staples for basic office supplies, like pens, envelopes, and notebooks.

Kelly’s mouth dropped open when Dontaine opened the briefcase full of cash.

“That’s a lot of money,” she said, her eyes as round as saucers.

“I thought so, too, at first. But it’s going real fast,” I said mournfully watching as Dontaine counted out McManus’s fee, eliminating two of our stacks.

Dontaine reminded everyone to get receipts and started doling out money to the three groups.

“Just a sec,” Quentin said. “I used the guest computer in the lobby while you guys were sleeping. Per the U.S. Treasury web site, the Treasury stopped printing all the larger denomination bills after World War II. So all the five-hundred-, one-thousand-, five-thousand-, and ten-thousand-dollar bills are collector items.” That eliminated the entire bottom row of money. He rifled through the remaining stacks, removing some of the older dated fifties and one-hundreds. “Keep these separate, as well,” he said, handing them to Dontaine. “They also might be collectible.”

That left only a few pitiful stacks of money for our immediate use, I noted with a sigh. “Hannah, if you can hang on to the briefcase, that will free up Nolan’s and Dontaine’s hands.”

Hannah nodded.

“Okay, don’t forget,” I reminded everyone. “When everyone’s done shopping, each group will get a separate table outside at the restaurant. Amber will guard our table while Quentin and I talk to reporters. Likewise, Dante will keep an eye out, freeing Kelly and Jarvis to answer questions, and Nolan will stand guard while Hannah and Dontaine talk to the media.”

“Milady, you wish us to talk to reporters?” Jarvis asked with discomfort.

“Yes, six of us answering questions will be better than just me talking.”

“What are we allowed to say?” he asked.

“Easier to tell you what to avoid. Don’t mention Prince Halcyon, the Queen Mother, the specific names of any Monère Queens or the territories they rule, or any details about what hurts or weakens us. Talking about Hell or NetherHell or my brother is also a big no-no. Do you and Kelly know about me and Dante? Our past history together?”

“No, milady,” Jarvis said.

“Good, so you won’t have any problem there, but that’s something you shouldn’t talk about either. And no mentioning curses or reincarnation or anything like that.” The list of things-not-to-mention was longer than I had thought.

“But everything else is fair game,” I told him. “Don’t worry about it too much, Jarvis. Just answer whatever you feel comfortable answering. If they ask you a question you don’t want to answer, you just say something like, ‘I’m sorry, I’d rather not answer that,’ and refer them to me. Okay?”

He nodded glumly.

“Same goes for everyone else. Any questions you don’t want to answer, feel free to refer my way, or change the subject to something you don’t mind talking about. Oh, and no mention of New Orleans for now—that was where we came from,” I explained to Kelly and Jarvis. “They may eventually find out but we’ll wait for them to dig it out.”

There was some more haggling about where we should park the van.

“Not here in the mall parking lot,” Dante said. “It’s too easy to block the mall exits.”

We ended up deciding to park on a small road across from the back entrance of the mall. We drove back to the mall, dropped everyone off near one of the smaller entrances, then Quentin, Amber, and I parked the van. When traffic thinned, we zipped our way quickly back, going into Best Buy.

“Go on in ahead of us,” I told Quentin. “It’ll probably be better if Amber and I stay a little apart from you.”

Good-looking boy that he was, Quentin would draw eyes, but not like Amber would through his sheer size.

Sure enough, as soon as we walked in, the young employee standing by the door immediately looked at Amber, and then of course me, standing next to him. Recognition dawned and his mouth dropped open.

I gave him a smile as we walked by then steered us toward the back part of the store. We ended up in an aisle across from the big-screen TV section, keeping a distant eye on Quentin who had gotten a very eager employee to help him choose a laptop. The few people we passed stopped to look at us but no one had approached us yet. A small crowd, however, was starting to gather, taking pictures and video with their cell phones. Good thing we’d separated from Quentin; no one seemed to recognize him. All the attention, so far, was focused just on us.

Someone changed all the televisions to a news channel, so that suddenly all the screens were featuring a close-up shot of yours truly. They were rerunning my announcement in front of the hospital. The angle widened to show the rest of my group standing behind me, including the very large and distinctive-looking Amber.

“Hey, that’s you two, isn’t it?” asked a brave, pimply faced employee who looked like he was still in high school.

I nodded confirmation.

“Cool,” he said, coming over to talk to us, and that broke the ice. More people converged around us, ringing us in a loose semicircle that had Amber tensing next to me.

“We’re fine, Amber,” I said, squeezing his arm. “They’re just curious.”

I answered questions and even signed autographs. The crowd was very well behaved, probably out of respect for Amber and his intimidating size, but that could just be the cynical part of me talking. A few brave people even asked Amber for an autograph, which he gravely gave, after I explained that they just wanted him to sign his name for them. Pretty soon, almost everyone in the store had drifted over to us, except for a few shoppers and salespeople who craned their necks curiously our way but still went about their business.

It wasn’t long before the manager of the store, an older man with thinning hair and glasses, pushed his way through the thick crowd, saying, “Everyone, please continue your shopping. You cannot gather here. Everyone, please continue your shopping . . .”

Two mall security personnel followed behind him, a thin man and a short woman.

“Ms. Hamilton,” the manager said with a strained smile. “How can we help you in our store?”

“My friend is buying something. We’re almost done.” I was happy to see Quentin at the register paying for his purchase. He made his way over to us, and the crowd parted for him as if sliced open by his beaming smile and outrageously good looks.

“I thought you were just buying a laptop,” I said, eyeing the two large boxes and blue shopping bag he was loaded down with.

“There was a very nice combo sale on a laptop, printer, and carry bag. I also got a ream of paper, ink cartridges, and a memory key. You gotta admit that was a pretty quick purchase.” To buy all that in under ten minutes, it really was. It just hadn’t felt that way. It had felt like forever.

“Any change left?” I asked.

“Fifty-five dollars and change.”

I sighed. Another thousand dollars spent.

I took the shopping bag and passed one of the boxes to Amber to free up a hand for Quentin to sign autographs with, which he did with an easy, charming smile that accelerated quite a few hearts. Our boy was definitely not shy.

“Sorry about that,” I said to the hovering manager. “All done now. Do you want us to leave the fast way or would you rather we walked out at normal speed?”

He blinked nervously. “Uh . . . we will walk you out, at normal speed,” he said.

“The parking lot exit then,” I said, nodding toward where we had entered. Much better than going through the mall with this crowd.

The security guards made a path for us through the crowd. Cell phones went up on either side of us, with numerous clicks and flashes as we passed by. One last photo opportunity when the young employee near the exit checked our purchased items against the receipt, and then we were out the store. People spilled out the doors, following us.

“Amber, Quentin. Ready to run? Last one there is a rotten egg,” I said, taking off.

We left the crowd behind in a burst of speed, running until we came around to the main entrance.

“Last one there is a rotten egg?” Quentin repeated as we entered the restaurant. “I cannot believe you said that. It’s probably being posted on the Internet right now.”

“What does that mean?” Amber asked.

“It’s just a childish taunt,” I explained, smiling. “A way of saying let’s race and I’m going to beat your ass.”

People began noticing us almost immediately. A college-aged girl with her hair pulled back in a long brown ponytail watched with a shocked expression as we approached her hostess stand. Her mouth wasn’t exactly hanging open, but it was close as she gazed from Quentin up to Amber. Me, she barely glanced at.

“I’d like three tables outside,” I told her. “The ones closest to the velvet ropes, please.”

“Um . . . ah . . . how many people?” she asked, clearly flustered.

“Three at each table. Six others will be joining us soon, so if you could seat us and reserve two other tables next to the velvet ropes, I’d appreciate it.”

Something about sitting down to eat kept people away who would otherwise have approached anywhere else. An equally flustered waitress came over, stumbled through the specials, and asked if we wanted anything to drink.

“We’re ready to order now,” I said. I ordered a virgin piña colada, one of my favorite drinks, and a fruit and cheese platter appetizer dish. Quentin ordered two bottles of Coke, unopened, for both himself and Amber.

“I do not wish to drink anything,” Amber said after the waitress left.

“It’s just polite custom,” I explained. “If you’re going to take a table at a restaurant, you have to order something, even if it’s just a drink, to pay for taking a seat another paying customer could have occupied instead.”

Nolan, Hannah, and Dontaine arrived at the same time our drinks were brought out. The rest came ten minutes later, loaded down with shopping bags.

“What took you guys so long?” I asked, having eaten all the fruit and half of the cheese on my platter.

“Sorry,” Dante said. “We were recognized.”

“We weren’t.” Dontaine grinned.

“Yeah, but none of you guys were wearing surgical scrubs,” Dante countered.

Kelly and Jarvis were wearing newly purchased shirts and pants, I was pleased to see.

Soon after, McManus made his way through the gathering crowd, which had quickly thickened into a substantial size as shoppers entering and exiting the mall all stopped to stare at us.

“Congratulations,” I said to McManus, handing him the bundle of cash Dontaine had counted out, “you made it before any reporters did.”

The bristly-browed attorney counted the money and passed me a large yellow envelope. “Your receipt is in there, along with all your messages and emails. You’re expecting reporters?”

“We’ve been sitting here for fifteen minutes. What do you think?”

“You planning on talking to them?” McManus asked.

“You betcha.”

“Do you want me to stick around?” he asked.

“At four hundred dollars an hour? No thanks, although you’re more than welcome to stay on your own time. I have your cell phone number. If we need your services again, we’ll call you, but likely as not, we won’t. If the police try and take us into custody, we’ll just go.”

His brows slanted down. “You mean do that speed-away thing?”

“Yeah, and you won’t ever hear from us again.”

“Just me or the whole world?” he asked.

“Both.”

“Moment of truth, huh?”

My heart gave a little thump. I hadn’t realized it until he put it so clearly, but yeah, that’s what this would be. “My terms were pretty clear. The government’s had a whole day to decide what they’re going to do.”

“Cops are going to be coming here soon.”

“I know.”

“Then I hope, for everyone’s sake, no one overreacts.”

“Me, too.”

The first reporters sped into the parking lot, with more news vans following right behind them. Mall security had flocked out, and local police screeched in with the FBI right on their heels—one big ’ole party. All new faces, I noted. Last but not least, a couple of carloads of men and women wearing Homeland Security Windbreakers poured out and quickly organized the milling law enforcement personnel to have them push the crowd back farther away from us. So far none of the officers or agents had made a move on us or drawn their weapons. McManus, I saw, had decided to stay and was talking to a couple of reporters himself.

Quentin and I sat across from each other, close to the velvet ropes, which so far none of the reporters interviewing us had attempted to cross. More media flocked in front of the other two tables. Most were from local stations, but there were several national networks represented: CNN and MSNBC, even BBC World News, broadcasting live, it seemed.

“Mona Lisa!” a male reporter called out. The use of my Monère name caught my attention, had me turning to him. “Why do your people call you Mona Lisa?”

I explained, as I had done earlier to Kelly, that Mona was a title added before the first name of a Queen. “The word Mona means of moonlight. Why Monère sometimes refer to Queens as Ladies of Light.”

“What other gifts do your people have besides shape-shifting?” asked another reporter.

“We’re much stronger than the average person.”

“How much stronger? Able to lift a car?” someone asked.

“I’ve never tried it,” I said, “but probably yes.”

“Can you demonstrate your strength for us?” the same voice asked.

“I’ll be happy to, if you have something you don’t mind being destroyed, like a rock.”

Someone quickly ran off to search for a rock. Another resourceful cameraman handed me a small metal flashlight, the size of my palm. “How about this?” he asked.

“Do you mind if I crush it?”

“Sure, go ahead, if you can.”

I took him at his word, closing my fingers around the handle. When I released it, the metal under my hand had been mangled and squeezed down, showing the crushed batteries inside. The cameraman took back his flashlight with an astonished expression. My demonstration grabbed the attention of not just the reporters around my table but also garnered the intense interest of some of the watching law enforcement standing several yards away.

Someone ran back with a big rock about twice the size of my palm. “Is this okay?” the man asked, obviously one of the news crew.

“Sure,” I said. “You can help me demonstrate, if you don’t mind.”

He nodded eagerly.

“Go ahead and squeeze the rock. Try to break it with both hands.”

He clutched and strained, squeezing the rock. It didn’t break. He passed it to me under the bright lights of the filming cameras. Taking it in my left hand, I closed my fingers and squeezed with gentle pressure. Dust and small bits of rock crumbled out from where I held it. “I could have crushed it completely, but I wanted to leave something behind, so that you could see that the rock is real and as hard as it looks.” I gave the rock back, with the impression of my fingers nicely grooved a good inch down into the stone.

“Are you a lefty or a righty?” a reporter asked.

“I’m right-handed.” And I had used my left hand.

“What other gifts or abilities do you have?” asked a female reporter.

Another moment of truth. “I am also able to compel people with my gaze.”

“Compel? What do you mean by that?”

I was suddenly very conscious of all the filming cameras. All the people possibly watching right now around the world, and how frightening this next thing might seem to them. How easily it could all blow up in our faces. But it had to be disclosed now, before we met with any policy makers.

Course decided, I took a breath. “Compelling someone means that I am able to control someone’s actions for several minutes, take over their will.”

A second of profound silence. Then the female reporter asked, “Can you show us?”

“If you have any volunteers, I can demonstrate. We can also test at what range and limit of distance my ability works.”

“I’m willing to be your guinea pig,” she offered, “as long as I hear first what you’re going to make me do.” Brave lady. Because after this, she was certain to be grilled and examined by the FBI and Homeland Security, and who knows what other agencies.

“How about if I tell you to squawk like a chicken, flap your arms, and hop on your left leg?”

“Okay,” she said, laughing nervously. “I don’t mind doing that.”

“Let’s start at a distance of about three feet away,” I suggested.

Handing her mike to another reporter, she backed up about a yard. “What do I need to do?”

“Just look at me and try not to do what I tell you to do.”

I captured her gaze with a small thrum of power that drew the attention of the other Monère around me. Their eyes all turned to me, as did all the reporters talking to them.

“What is your name?” I asked.

“Maria Camille Ortega, from NBC4 Washington.”

“Maria,” I said, raising my voice so everyone could hear me clearly. “I want you to squawk like a chicken, flap your arms, and hop up and down on your left leg.”

She started squawking, flapping her arms, and hopping.

“Stop,” I told her.

Maria froze, hands under her armpits, standing on one foot like a flamingo.

I released her from the compulsion. Watched her come back into awareness.

“Did she just make me squawk like a chicken?” she asked her cameraman.

He nodded.

“Oh my God, I really did?” She didn’t look like she believed him.

“Did my eyes change?” I asked loudly.

“Yes,” said one of the reporters who had had an up-close viewing of everything. “They lightened in color and grew kind of sparkly.”

A policeman stepped forward, a black middle-aged man with a tough, no-nonsense face. “I want you to try that on me.”

“Have you ever yodeled, Officer?” I asked.

“Never.”

“Good, then we will see if I can make you yodel. But first I ask that you hand your gun to one of your fellow officers, so they won’t get too nervous.”

“Why?” he asked. “You think you could make me shoot someone?”

“If I wished to, yes. But that is not my wish. I don’t want anyone to feel threatened enough to draw a gun on us, because the moment they do, my mission here is over. All of us here will disappear, and I don’t want that. I want everyone to be aware of both our powers and their limitations, so no one can claim later that I tricked or bespelled anyone.”

Another policeman walked over, probably his senior officer, and held out his hand. The first policeman reluctantly handed over his piece and walked over to me, stopping a few feet back from where the female reporter had stood. All the cameras shifted around so they had a good shot of us both.

“Is this far enough away?” he asked.

“How far would you estimate the distance between us?” I asked.

“I’d say about five feet.”

“Are you ready?”

He nodded.

I brought forth my power. “Yodel for me.”

The cop snorted. “Ain’t working.”

“Please step one foot closer to about four feet away.”

He did so and I repeated my command. This time I felt my eyes capture him. He yodeled, loudly and clearly, almost professionally.

“Son of a bitch,” the other cop muttered, the one holding his gun.

I released my compulsion. Watched the blankness ease away from the other man’s expression. “See,” he said smugly. “It doesn’t work.” He turned to look back at his fellow officers. Their expressions made his shoulders tighten. “It didn’t work, right, guys?”

“You yodeled, man,” another policeman said.

“Come on back here, Jackson,” ordered the man holding his gun.

I waited for him to trot back to his other members before announcing to the reporters, “My range limitation for compulsion seems to be about four feet.”

“Can any of the others here do that?” called out a reporter near one of the other tables.

“As far as I know, just Dante and me,” I answered. “Anyone else here able to use compulsion?”

The others shook their heads.

“Which one of the men is Dante?” shouted another reporter.

“Dante is the man standing at the middle table. Quentin, do you mind switching places with your brother?”

“No problem,” Quentin grinned, going over to the other table to take Dante’s place. Dante took his brother’s vacated seat next to me.

“Dante, how far is your range?” someone asked.

“I do not know,” Dante said.

“Speak up louder,” another person shouted.

Dante repeated his words with more volume.

“Any volunteers to help him find the answer to that?” I asked the watching crowd.

A surprisingly large number of hands went up, including some from the restaurant staff. I chose a male waiter and beckoned him over to come stand in front of Dante.

“Why don’t we start at a distance of five feet,” I suggested.

“You think my range is greater than yours?” Dante said, smiling faintly.

“I’m pretty sure it is,” I said, smiling back, and suggested he have him sing “Happy Birthday.”

“Try to resist him,” I told the volunteer.

“Believe me, ma’am,” the waiter said, “I will. I don’t have any singing talent, at all.”

There were a lot of audible gasps as Dante’s pale eyes turned solid silver and began to glow. He gave his command.

The waiter started singing, loudly and robustly and as awfully as he had claimed.

He stopped when Dante told him to, and was released from the compulsion.

Following instructions, the waiter took one more step back. Standing six feet back, this time he was able to resist Dante’s efforts. “Jesus Christ,” he yelped when Dante’s eyes changed color. “Look at his eyes!”

“It seems like six feet for you, Dante, as your maximum range.” I thanked the waiter and quietly asked him to bring me the check for the three tables.

“Are we leaving?” Dante asked.

“No. They seemed to take that well, but I thought it best to pay before I forgot. Or in case we have to leave in a sudden hurry.”

I told the reporters we were done with the demonstration, but added that we would be happy to speak more with them on an individual basis, whereupon they flocked back around each table. We chatted with reporters for another thirty minutes, but unfortunately none of the watching crowd left. They stayed and more people joined them until a thick mass stood beyond the perimeter the police had established around us.

An FBI agent approached our table, stopping a carefully measured seven feet away. “Ma’am, you should probably end this now. We would be happy to let you continue if there weren’t so many people around, but the crowd is getting too large.”

“I was just noticing that myself,” I told him. Then asked, “Are you going to just let us leave?”

“Yes. We’ll even escort you out of here, if you allow us.” Cameras were rolling, recording our interaction, microphones held out to pick up our conversation.

“No orders to take us into custody?”

“Very specific orders not to unless you act aggressively and give us reason to.”

“We won’t. We’re here as peaceful envoys.”

“Then it might be best, for your own safety, if you can avoid any more of these, uh, open, public gatherings. Large crowds can all too easily get out of hand.”

“So what do you suggest?” I asked. “Private interviews with the media?”

The man nodded and said to my surprise, “Yes. Our department’s media liaison would be happy to make the arrangements for you.”

“Thank you but there’s no need,” I said, politely declining the offer. No way was I going to let the FBI arrange meetings for us in places where they could easily trap us. “I’ll try and do as you suggested, though. What is your name?”

“Jim Carmichael. I’m the FBI agent in charge.”

He was older than the other agents, fit and lean with dark, serious eyes. Responsibility seemed to rest easily on his shoulders. “I like you much better than Agent Stanton,” I told him.

“That’s good to hear, ma’am.”

His words caused a painful wince. “Please don’t ma’am me. I have to be at least ten years younger than you.”

“How old are you?” he asked in a direct and yet still polite manner.

“I’m twenty-one.” They had to have all my data by now.

“How would you like me to address you then?”

“Mona Lisa will do.”

“Mona Lisa, then. I’d appreciate it if you could wrap things up.”

“No problem.” Dante had taken care of the bill.

“Would you want us to escort you through the crowd?” Agent Carmichael asked.

“No, thanks,” I said, standing. “We’ll take the quick and easy way out of here.”

I called for everyone’s attention, thanked them for their time and interest, announced that we were leaving, and suggested that they do so as well. In a lower voice, I said, “Okay, everyone, grab your stuff. Jarvis, if you could get Kelly.”

The reporters fell back as we all stood and gathered our things. Two yards away from the loose perimeter, I gathered myself and leaped, sailing over everyone’s head, twenty feet, thirty feet . . . landing behind the watching crowd a short distance away in the parking lot. Amber thudded lightly down beside me, the others following closely behind.

With a last jaunty wave to the crowd, we sped away.