“Should we call it a night?”
“Yeah, but let’s do a last pass through a few of the alleys on our way,” I say.
“Yes.” She says, her eyes glinting in the streetlights. She tosses her spoon and dish in a trashcan and rubs her hands on her jeans, “Ready when you are.” I toss my dish out as well and we start jogging towards Chelsea. It feels good. Running was always a time when I was alone, and there’s nothing wrong with that, I guess, but it’s nice not to have to be alone. It’s nice to know that Bryce gets me and I get her, and that we’re linked by something unique and powerful. Despite missing Clark, I feel content. Maybe not always happy like I was, but content. And maybe that’s all a person has a right to hope for.
•
I buy a short, dark wig and a ridiculous pink jacket in a tacky store on the way to LACMA. I put both on after parking my bike on a side street about a mile from the museum. I shoot into the air and hover for a moment, making a mental note of the location before taking off for the museum. A few blocks away I set down and adjust the wind-blown wig. After just a few steps I feel a tug. Like a fish on a line.
I follow the feeling straight to the museum, the pull getting stronger with every step. There’s a small line just inside the door. I wait in it and even pay the suggested fee. I figure if I’m going incognito, I better go all the way. Once inside, I don’t have to check the drawing in my pocket because I literally feel the stone calling to me. And suddenly I’m standing in front of it. It looks just like the faded photo, except, in person it looks like it’s glowing, but only for me. To anyone else it’s probably just a hunk of unremarkable rock from some other country. I’m not sure what the carving means. It’s definitely a crow, or something, but given my dream about being a crow that feels right. There’s a small plaque to the side that says ON LOAN FROM THE LAPD. I snicker quietly to myself, “Ah, Liz, I love that big, beautiful brain of yours.” The article in my pocket is also in the display case with my stone. MINE. It feels like mine already.
I feel more strongly than ever before that it belongs to me. It wants to be in my hand almost as much as my hand is itching to possess it. I look around and see two cameras, one at either end of the hallway. I wait for a group of kids and a tour guide to turn the corner and slam my fist through the reinforced glass. The alarms sound instantly, but I’m already halfway to the exit, my wig and jacket ditched in a trashcan. I’m just a blonde blur stealing through the front doors before they can lock it all down. I’m going so fast as I tear into the street that I take flight by accident, breaking into the sky at unbelievable speed, “Holy crap,” I say looking down at the city, sonic booms echoing in my wake. I look at my stone, “Hello Gorgeous, welcome home.” I clutch the newfound power tightly and turn towards Malibu, forgetting all about my bike.
Back at the house, Liz is glaring at me behind her gag. I pull it off her mouth and unlock one of her hands, “What?”
“Was it really necessary to gag me?” she asks, indignant and massaging her jaw.
“Probably,” I say, shrugging.
“Did you get it?” Liz asks.
“Yup,” I say proudly, holding it out to her so she can bask in its glory. “I did it, just like you said actually.” I pause and then add, “Good work.”
“So, what is it?” she asks reaching out her hand for it. I ignore her.
“Um, I don’t know, but it’s mine. Like, deep down I know it belongs to me.”
“Can I see it?” she asks, exasperated.
“Alright,” I say, eyeing her skeptically. Liz palms it, turns it over, then hands it back to me, unimpressed.
“Just looks like an old piece of carved stone to me,” she says, shrugging.
“Yeah, well, shows what you know. It suped up my powers something fierce,” I say, feeling the ridges of the stone. Liz sighs, disinterested and looks around the room.
“Can I go home now?” she asks.
I try not to laugh in her face, but it escapes anyway. “Um, no.”
“What do you mean? I thought you wanted that thing. Now you’ve got it. What do you need me for?”
“You’re the brains of the operation, Liz, I can’t make it all work without you.”
“What operation, Lola? It’s just you and me.”
“For now,” I say, pleased with the beginnings of my plans for world domination.
“Lola. I want to go home. You must let me go,” Liz says very seriously.
“Sorry, Liz. I need you. I’ve already explained this to you, I’m not that smart, and I’m pretty sure you need to be smart to do crime, I mean to do real crime, you know? Crime that makes a difference, and now I’ve got you, so you’ll be like, my right-hand man.”