As tempting as it sometimes was to interfere in the world's human dramas, agents of Light worldwide had fought to preserve the gift of choice for too many centuries to blithely disregard it. The Shadows, conversely, specialized in that, which gave them a distinct advantage over the mortal realm; it was far easier to cause heartache and mayhem than clean up the resulting mess.
Zoe's life work, before she threw it away, had been to neutralize this advantage. She'd grown up idolizing the elder agents, devouring the manuals that depicted the fight between good and evil. From the moment she'd undergone metamorphosis at the age of twenty-five, coming into her full powers, she'd dedicated her life to infiltrating the Shadow organization. She was patient, wickedly sharp, and determined to use whatever resources she had to fell her enemies: her strength, her craftiness, and eventually her body. She'd spent more years than she cared to remember using that last tool… but an effective weapon it'd turned out to be.
So Warren had no right to complain about the means by which she garnered her information or stalked her prey. Hadn't she always reminded him that no matter whose bed she woke in, her heart remained solely with him? "It's what I was born to do," she told him, years ago when they were both still young and arrogant enough to think philosophically about the whole thing. "It's what I'm good at."
And Warren knew it. Maybe, Zoe thought now, that was the problem.
"The child is how premature?" asked the troop's physician, Micah, over the car phone's speakers. They'd called him on the way to the real McCormicks' residence, hoping he'd be able to better deduce where the Shadows would have taken the child. "Well, the nurse—though an imposter—was right. Children can be saved at twenty-four weeks, though it'd help if she were an initiate. One born to the Zodiac is naturally more resilient than a mortal infant."
Zoe knew that, which was why she wasn't as concerned about the child's health as much as her continued health.
"So they're hiding her, incubating her, keeping her safe from discovery—"
"Not exactly news to us," Warren snapped, hands tight on the steering wheel. The dueling sides of the Zodiac were constantly shifting their appearances, their occupations, and haunts. Settle in one place too long and you were just begging for a paranormal ambush. As Zoe had discovered.
"Geez," came Micah's voice from over the speakers. "Someone woke up on the wrong side of reality today."
Gregor and Phaedre snickered in the back seat, but Zoe kept staring out the window, careful to keep her expression neutral.
Micah continued before Warren could reply. "We have a couple of locations scouted out. Nothing confirmed yet," he added quickly, and there was a shuffling of paperwork as he searched for the addresses, then read them aloud. Two were located on Charleston, a street where the single-family homes of the seventies had given way to medical and legal offices along both sides of the streets. The third was downtown.
They thanked Micah and hung up as they pulled to a stop in front of a modest two-story in an enclave of middle-class homes. Zoe stepped out onto the walkway, stretching in the morning light, thinking the neighborhood was a good fit for the couple she'd seen grieving the night before. Comfortable, yet without ostentation; orderly, but still welcoming.
Zoe grabbed the briefcase she'd retrieved from her car on the way over, and started up the walk. She halted halfway, causing Warren to plow into and then steady her, though he released her as soon as he'd done so. That fueled her indignance, adding a sting to her words. "Where do you think you're going?"
"You're not going in there without me," he replied, just as coolly, his light brown eyes hardening on hers as Phaedre and Gregor joined them on the walk. Zoe made a point of looking him up and down, taking in his ratty trench coat, tattered hems, and mussed hair. All that was missing was the cardboard sign around his neck.
"Why? You want to scare the poor people to death?" She smiled when he scowled, adding, "Besides, you smell."
His mouth worked wordlessly at that, and a furious blush stained his chapped cheeks. Zoe would've laughed… if she weren't so pissed. She'd brought this case to them, and now he was acting like she couldn't be trusted to convincingly play her part.
Gregor, sensing an argument brewing, quickly threw in his two cents. "She's right, Hog. You're as ripe as a maggoty brisket."
Fuming, Warren looked from Zoe to Gregor, then over at Phaedre.
"You stink," she confirmed, and the three of them headed up the sidewalk without him. Even with her mortal hearing Zoe could hear Warren cursing as he returned to the car. Gregor shot her a smile as she rang the doorbell, and she grinned back. It felt good, knowing they were behind her, flanking her, trusting her. It wasn't until that moment did she realize how lonely she'd been.