A/n: I heard a curse word in World of Winx. I was like, "whoa, hold the fuck up". I replayed that segment over and over. I knew in the Italian version of the original Winx Club, there might've been some dirty language, but in a new English double? Maybe because it's on Netflix? I don't even know. That's a first. (❛ε❛)
By the way, as a disclaimer, I do not own Annabelle or Louise. That's property of the guys who did World of Winx.
Man, fuck My Little Pony.
My little sister was really into it these days, so it was on the TV all day. Thus, the theme song haunted my thoughts, plagued my dreams. It played over and over again, never ceasing until I either woke up or my dream was interrupted by Santa Claus in a mankini (please, DON'T ask. My dreams were enigmas that not even I could understand).
So when I finally woke up, I was more relieved than that time deadbeat West had decided to actually do his laundry for once (man, bless. That day had been a miracle in itself). When I opened my eyes, all I saw was my white wall (one of the more sane things I'd woken up to).
"So where'd you go this morning?" my younger sister Bailey's voice broke the usual silence, making me flinch. I rolled over onto my other side, my eyes landing on Bailey's bed, which was right across from mine on the opposite wall (yes, bless my poor soul. I shared a bedroom with her). Overall, our room wasn't that big. Just big enough for our beds, our dresser, a rug, and a closet. There was a window, but our room was always dark because we rarely opened our curtain. See, the second you looked out of our window, all you could see was the inside of the tall parking garage next door. Thus, when we first moved in, we'd usually happen to look out the window to lock eyes with someone getting out of their car, so we nipped that all in a bud by putting curtains up, and they hadn't come down since.
"Leave me alone, Bails," I groaned, yanking the covers over my head. "That's none of your business." Honestly, I was surprised she was just catching on. Ever since I became an elite spy, sneaking out the apartment at random times of night had basically become a part of my daily routine. And none of my family members had ever caught me in the act (I'd be a suck-ass spy otherwise).
"I woke up this morning and you were gone! And it was 4am!" Bailey's voice was getting high with excitement. "Were you out with a boy?"
Ah, Bailey. Sweet, naïve Bailey. She was a typical fourteen-year-old. Ever since she graduated 8th grade, she'd been this way. All she ever thought and talked about was starting high school. She thought starting 9th grade made her a "big girl". Sigh. Poor kid. She had a lot to learn.
"No. And shut up," I grumbled. I accidentally rolled off my bed, landing on the floor with a big thump, entangled in my cover.
Bailey wasn't letting it go so easy. "Who is it? Does he live in the building? Is he rich? Do I know him?"
"I'm not seeing anyone," I deadpanned from the floor. "And for one, you don't know any boys. Not counting the ones in our family."
"But that'll all change in a few days," assured Bailey, sliding out of her own bed as I rose to my feet. "When high school starts, I'm sure I'll meet lots of guys."
I rolled my eyes (I was the queen of that) at her stupidity. "I'll give you a fair warning, Bails," I yawned, wiping the sleep out of my eyes. "High-school ain't what Disney makes it appear. In 'glorious high school', there's one thing most of the guys are after: sex. Especially the popular boys. That includes the whole basketball team. They're all man-whores and even if they weren't, you still don't need to be around them."
Bailey just dismissed my warning as if it was irrelevant. "You just don't give anyone a chance. You're too judgmental," she insisted, sliding her feet into her fuzzy bunny slippers. And with those words lingering in the air, she swung open our door and disappeared down the hall.
Good riddance. That kid was headache. I sat down on the edge of my bed, sighing. Though I'd gotten a few hours of sleep, I still had a headache from early this morning. Its occurrences kept playing over and over again in my head. Mikhailov was deader than Myspace. His weapon was gone. The Trix were most likely after it, but I had a feeling they wouldn't lay eyes on it. Ever. They wouldn't even come close. That mysterious third party that had compromised the weapon—they were good. In other words: a threat. I hoped they wouldn't involve themselves in our future work.
The lovely smell of Belgian waffles yanked me out of my thoughts. West was up this early?
Curious, I wandered down the hall and into the heart of the apartment. Ultimately, our place wasn't that big. As soon as you walked through the door, there was the family room on the left and our cozy kitchen along with a small dining room on the right. Apart from that, there were three bedrooms, one bathroom, and a lien closet that served as a laundry room-slash-storage space. The overall apartment wasn't that small but when you shared it with five of your six siblings, your mom, plus her boyfriend of the month, it was a miracle I had breathing space.
And this morning, my little five-year-old baby sister, Stephanie, was seated in front of the TV, watching…I shuddered as Stephanie sang along with the My Little Pony theme song. I had to admit, she looked kinda cute, especially in her Disney Princess pajamas. Her honey-blond hair was pulled up in a messy ponytail and her green eyes were brimming with amusement. And her chubby little cheeks seemed rosier than usual.
Unnaturally laid-back West was operating the Belgian-waffle maker, yawning and scratching his bushy blond beard. He was the second eldest of the six of us and was extremely lazy. Though he was 22, he hadn't even thought about getting a job and applying to a college was simply out of the question. But he was a killer cook, so we usually excused his lack of activity as long as he made us dinner and occasionally breakfast.
"Where's Mom?" I asked, grabbing a clean plate and heading for the tall stack of waffles on the counter.
West shrugged, yawning again as if to emphasize how he didn't give a damn. "Dunno. Disappeared with Diablo last night," was his short, half-hearted reply. "Probably stayed over his place."
I gritted my teeth. Diablo. Mom's newest boyfriend. He might've looked hot, but he wasn't worth two shits. I was glad Mom wasn't here, because she tended to stick to her boyfriends like glue. If she was home, they were here too.
Bailey, who was already seated at the table drenching his waffles in syrup, sighed loudly. "Maybe she'll actually stay with him this time. She says he's a lawyer, right? I think that was her way of saying he's a keeper."
See, Mom had a way of picking up deadbeats off the street. Usually, they only used her for a place to stay, and Mom never realized that until it was too late. So for her to actually have a boyfriend with a decent job, that had to mean something. But, as I mentioned, I didn't like Diablo. He was shady, inside and out. That's probably why he was a lawyer in the first place.
West just shrugged inattentively. "Who knows? Maybe he just has a big sausage."
Bailey choked on her own juice and I stole a glance over at the family room to make sure Stephanie hadn't heard. Sure enough, she was still absorbed in the My Little Pony episode airing.
"Okay, enough about them." Bailey's voice was taking on the same excited tone from earlier. "School starts in a few days! I'm so excited! I'll finally be able to go to parties with boys!" (She meant going to parties that had male guests, not bringing a boy to a party like a date. There's a difference).
"Not that you'll be going to any," I spoke up, opening up the refrigerator and taking out a can of extra-creamy Reddi-Wip.
Bailey's face fell immediately. "What? Why not?"
"Because. High school parties have alcohol and you're not drinking until you're thirty," I said matter-of-factly, topping my waffles with a big, fluffy mound of whipped cream.
"I know for a fact you started drinking when you were fourteen," countered Bailey stubbornly, frowning in her usual that's not fair! manner.
"And look how retarded she turned out," snorted West, pouring more batter into the waffle maker.
"Shut up." Bailey was right though—I had my first beer all the way back at the very start of ninth grade. Ever since then, my motto was "action, alcohol, and anime", or the 3 A's for short (sister to Stella's 3 L's of Life, "laugh, love, live". She loved anime even more than me, but that started with an A and would mess up the alliteration. Besides, her love for anime was kind of a secret since Stella didn't want everyone to see her as a "dork").
"Oh, c'mon! All the parties will have liquor," argued Bailey.
"That's why you'll only be going to the dry ones," I informed calmly, forking off the layered corners of my waffles.
Bailey pouted, sticking out her bottom lip. "That's not fair," she whined, stomping her foot under the table.
"Steph, time for breakfast," I called out to our baby sister, ending the conversation right then and there. And Bailey knew better than to argue with me, so she just snorted and silently sulked in her chair.
"Coming." Little Stephanie bounced into the dining room, her blond ponytail flying all around her head.
All six of my siblings shared Mom's blond hair and for a while, I had actually been envious of them. See, I was different. My dad was mixed between Caucasian and African-American, so my skin ended up being a warm tan color. And while my other siblings had piercing green eyes, mine were intense blue with hints of grey, touching but never blending. And contrary to the others' blond hair, mine was jet black. For the longest, Mom had always told me my hair went nicely went my skin tone, eyes, and naturally peachy-pink lips, but I would never listen because back then, I'd been just like Bailey—I wanted to look just like everyone else. But now, I really didn't give a damn. I learned to cherish individuality, because it was what us all unique.
After I cut up Stephanie's waffles and finished my own, I made a break for the bathroom (when everyone in the household shared the same bathroom, you had to be on the top of your game) so I could get ready for the day. When I got out of the shower, I checked my phone to see a text from Aisha.
Be there n 5.
I threw on a plain white tee, wiggled into a pair of black mesh basketball shorts, and slipped into a pair of Converse. Unlike my friends (especially Stella and excluding Aisha), I wasn't a fashionista. Like, just throw something on and go the fuck on with your life. It wasn't a big deal.
After collecting my wallet and keys, I made my way to the front door, where I met Stephanie, who had abandoned her food at the table. "Where are you going?" she asked curiously, looking up at me with those beautiful eyes.
"Somewhere with the girls, now go finish eating before your waffles get cold." I gave her a gentle push toward the table.
From the couch, Bailey scowled. "Oh, you can have a social life but I can't?"
"Shut up." I rolled my eyes. "And watch Stephanie for me. And if Mom comes back with Diablo, get West to take you two to the park or something."
West was letting out a long, tired groan as I slipped out of our apartment. I took the elevator from our floor, the tenth one, and took it down to the lobby. Our building was kind of plain, so the lobby wasn't exquisite like some others I'd been in (for crying out loud, the glass doors weren't even automatic!).
I stepped outside onto the busy sidewalk. Using my hand like a visor to shield my eyes, I glanced upward at the blue sky. I loved how the tops of the buildings and skyscrapers looked against the sky. It was like if you ever made it to the top of them, you could just hold up a hand and finger the delicate heavens. This is what I loved about Manhattan.
I loved the busy atmosphere here. The activity, the diversity, the accessibility, the creativity, the transportation. I loved all the aspects that made the city so great.
Simply put, I was a city girl through and through. I'd been relived when we moved back here from Georgia. I hated that state. It was so…so country and rural. Sure, there was always Atlanta, but it didn't feel as clean as Manhattan. It didn't really have that "city" feel. In Manhattan, the whole island was a perfect grid of symmetrical planning and architecture, while everything in Atlanta just felt…unnatural. Like it was only built just for the sake of being there. Compared to Manhattan, Atlanta felt…asleep. Slow.
Just then,a big black SUV suddenly pulled on the curb and the window on the passenger side rolled down. "Hop in," called Aisha from the driver's seat.
"This is new," I said, sliding into the passenger seat and slamming the door shut afterward. "What happened to the old one?" That fresh new car smell engulfed the interior of the car, strongly clinging to the perfect black leather seats. In the two rows of seats behind us, the Winx were already comfortably seated, dressing in their casual skirts, sweats, and tees (not even gonna acknowledging Stella, who was dressed for a freakin' runway shoot or something).
Aisha just shrugged as she steered back onto the street, merging with traffic. "Dad felt like the other one was too outdated," was her gruff, annoyed reply. Being the sole heiress to a multi-billion dollar company and daughter of one of the most successful businessmen in the Big Apple, Aisha lived in entirely different world than me, though she would prefer otherwise. She was rich like Stella, but didn't put on that whole glitter-and-glamour show and wasn't nearly as spoiled. That's what I liked about her.
Behind me, Tecna was typing on her laptop in her lap, the sounds of her fingers click-clanking against the keys filling the car. "It's all over the news sites," she confirmed as if answering a question. She and the others must've been engaged in a conversation before I got in, and nine times out of ten it was about the chaos that had gone down at the Comet Clan's hideout.
"When the authorities finally arrived, the entire building was on fire," repeated Tecna, reading from the screen. "Everyone inside had been killed by gunfire, including FBI-wanted Anatoly Mikhailov."
My mouth set in a grim line. "The Trix?"
I peered over my shoulder to see Bloom, who was nestled in between Musa and Flora in the third row of seat, shaking her head. "Why would they even bother coming back?" she pointed out, "we all know when it comes to these situations, the Trix don't waste time. The weapon was stolen from Mikhailov, so why would they return to his hideout? They hadn't left behind any evidence, so they had no reason to destroy the building."
"Then it had to be those other guys," insisted Aisha, stopping at a traffic light. "They actually had things to cover up, considering they were the ones who killed Mikhailov and his bodyguards and got away with his product. They obviously couldn't afford to leave behind any proof that they were behind the act."
"But that wouldn't really matter, would it? No one knows who they are anyway," argued Tecna, "I haven't found anything in Langley's, M16's, or the CIA's databanks."
"No one knows who they are yet," corrected Flora calmly, "because no one's claimed responsibility for the attack yet."
"Our Mysterious Man," slipped through my lips. I felt everyone focus their attention on me. "The guy in the yellow hoodie. He could've set the place on fire. He was nearby and running away from something. Maybe he was trying to get away from the crime scene before he was spotted."
There was silence as my theory soaked into everyone's brains. "That could be a possibility, but we can't jump to assumptions with such little information," reminded Bloom.
"I think Acadia's on to something," piped up Stella from her seat behind Aisha's, legs crossed as her thumbs flew across the screen of her touch screen. Apparently, she found texting more important than the conversation at hand. "That guy was suspicious. He could be the secret arsonist."
"Or just some punk kid running from the law," countered Aisha, keeping her eyes glued to the road.
"We won't worry about him for now," decided Bloom before a debate could erupt, "until he gives us a reason to prove otherwise, that guy in the hoodie is innocent. All of you know decisions can't be made off simple guesses alone."
Aisha and I murmured our agreements, and that was the end of that. From then on out, our conversation was relatively normal. We discussed the new school term, the latest Hollywood gossip. We debated on who'd end up with who on one of our favorite television shows. Stuff like that. Nothing ALFEA of Comet-Clan related came up again.
My favorite part of the drive was the part when we crossed Queensboro Bridge. I loved how we towered above the East River, giving us a magnificent view of Queens ahead as we left the even more impressive skyline of Manhattan in our dust.
The traffic in Long Island City was far lighter than that in Manhattan, so the cruise down Jackson Avenue was an easy one. Eventually, we turned onto Center Boulevard, which stretched right along the edge of Queens Island.
We steered into the parking lot of a retro restaurant with a lit marquee that read 54, the name of our favorite eatery in Queens.
We walked into 54, the bell ringing above the door as we entered. Although I'd been here several times before, I fell in love with it every time I walked through the door. The diner was just like the ones they showed in the movies with black-and-white checkerboard floors and vinyl booths. Matching stools were placed as the tiled counter and a jukebox even set against the wall in the back.
The seven of us slid into our usual booth by the floor-to-ceiling windows. When we first started coming here, the place had far more business so we always ended up sitting in the spot beside the window. Eventually, it just became…ours. Even when business slowed down and the usual crowds thinned out, we always took the same booth. It was kind of like our own little tradition.
And honestly, in my opinion, our booth was the best. The expansive window gave a marvelous outlook of the East River and the massive skyline of Manhattan that bordered it. It was so breathtaking—I could stare out at it for hours at a time and never get tired.
"I wondered when you all would show."
Annabelle Martin's voice brung me back to reality and I turned to see her walking over to our booth. Annabelle Martin was a girl of a tan completion with medium-length brown hair and intense brown eyes. She was in her usual waitress uniform, the only thing I'd ever seen her in.
"Annabelle! Hi! How are you?" Bloom smiled ear-to-ear and the rest of us gave our greetings. Annabelle was one of the waitresses we'd come to know over the years who we considered a close friend.
Annabelle gave a shrug, still smiling. "Nothing much. My older sister got married and my brother's applying to NYU."
Stella put on a sly smile. "What about you? Any new guys in your life?"
Annabelle gave a laugh. "Hardly. I have a lot on my plate right now. My mom's insisting to apply to NYU like my brother, but I've been thinking about Juilliard. I don't know yet. What about you girls? Aren't you starting your senior year this year?" Annabelle was a year older than us, already graduated from high school. She swore she'd quit her job as a waitress the second she was handed her diploma but she was still here, much to our relief.
"Juilliard? Isn't that a performing arts school?" asked Bloom.
A loud cough prevented Annabelle from answering. Our heads all turned to see Louise, the other waitress, walking out of the kitchen in back. She adjusted her red-framed glasses and frowned deeply.
"Right, right. Sorry!" Annabelle turned back to us. "The usual, right?" she asked, taking out her notepad.
We all echoed our agreement and began quietly talking among each other as Louise and Annabelle disappeared into the kitchen to fetch our order.
"This place is really going downhill," whispered Aisha with a deep frown. "Eventually, this place might…" She didn't even have to say it.
"We have to do something," said Bloom lowly, "though she won't directly say it, I know Annabelle has some attachment to this place, just like we do. And this place isn't as popular as it used to be…"
Stella took off her sunglasses, shaking her hair out. "Don't worry about it, girls. I got it all taken care of. I'll get my dad to promote this place and once everyone sees the company's sponsoring it, people will come flocking again. Trust me."
Bloom didn't look convinced. "I don't know, Stella. Not everything can be—"
"Wait! Everyone, shh!" went Musa suddenly. "Do you hear that?" The whole booth went silent and the melodic sound of humming filled the air. "Scooch," said Musa, nudging me. I slid out of the booth so she could get out. "It's coming from the kitchen," she said excitedly, starting for the counter.
"Musa, where are you going?" I hissed as she walked behind it.
"The humming's coming from back there," she said, pointing at the kitchen that led to the back kitchen. "C'mon." She pushed open the door just a crack and peered inside. The humming, which was way louder now, was coming from Annabelle, who was collecting our trays of food from the counter.
"Annabelle!" Musa burst into the kitchen, startling the brunette. "Your voice! It's amazing!"
Balancing our trays, Annabelle walked past us and set everything down in front of the other girls at our booth. "Singing's always been a hobby of mine," she said like it was no big deal.
"But Annabelle, it could be so much more than that," pointed out Musa, smiling widely. "You have a natural talent."
"Maybe. People have told me that several times before. When I was smaller, I used to dream about being a singer and—"
"Hold it right there! You totally have what it takes," assured Musa.
"You could become a star!" Stella's eyes were certainty starry. "In fact—" Something on her started to beep, interrupting her. She dug into her purse, taking out her Winx Watch. "Uh, Annabelle? We'll take our food to go. We have to go."
The rest of us got the message because we were all rising to our feet in seconds. Musa seemed disappointed. "I'm sorry, Annabelle, but we'll be back," she reassured the brunette, "that voice of yours is too beautiful to ignore."
Annabelle gave a shy smile. "Thanks. I guess I'll see you guys next time."
If there was a next time. But I didn't point this out so I wouldn't scare her. But one thing I learned in the spy business: life was far too unpredictable. One minute, things could be normal, the next minute your whole world could come crashing down on top of you.
Back in Manhattan, Aisha was steering the SUV down a street in Midtown. She turned the car toward a skyscraper, easing into its parking garage as silence fell among us. As the tires rolled across the concrete, the agents up in one of the communication rooms were being alerted of something triggering the motion sensors imbedded in the ground. As Aisha steered into a parking space, the computers in one of the underground levels were registering her license plate, checking her information. And as we climbed out of the SUV and started toward the elevator, the heat-sensitive cameras were detecting and recording our every move, prompting the biometric scanners to run a full-body analysis on us. All of this was happening at once, but you'd never know it. To the average eye, this was just a normal, private parking garage, not a high-tech, closely monitored facility equipped with hidden features that could blow you away in a second.
The air in the parking lot was stale and all was quiet save the sound of our shoes against the concrete. We stepped into the elevator and the second the steel doors kissed closed, Tecna started punching out a nine-digit code on the keypad. A barely visible compartment above the buttons opened and a tiny microphone revealed itself. Tecna bent down and spoke into it. "Tecna Zenith, Code 00975-8712, Group 123-7G5, Sublevel 1."
The mirrorphone reverted back into its compartment and a retinal scanner swept across our faces. After the system confirmed who we were, the elevator started to sink underground. See, the ALFEA headquarters wasn't located in the skyscraper, but under it.
The elevator opened, leading us into ALFEA's dark control room. Wide screens spanned all the walls from the floor to the ceiling and men and women were hard at work at their desks, operating two and three computers at a time.
"Ah, ladies. I've been expecting you." The director herself was approaching us, hands clasped behind back in a proper manner. Direct Faragonda was an elderly lady with thick white hair with kind eyes behind her glasses. She might've looked like the typical, friendly old lady but she was the biggest kick-ass I knew. "Seen the news lately?"
"Puh-leez. The news is far from reliable," said Stella distastefully.
"That might be true, but we don't know anything more. Palladium." Faragonda gestured toward the pale man with long light orange hair seated at the desk closest to us.
The professor nodded and the widescreen on the back wall pulled up black-and-white surveillance footage. It was of an aerial view of the Comet Clan's hideout. Well, used-to-be hideout. "This is from Satellite 5B," reported Palladium, playing the footage. Onscreen were me, Musa, and Bloom appearing in front of the door. "This was about zero-three-hundred." He sped up the recording as the camera switched to another angle of the building. We watched as two of Mikhailov's guys showed the Trix into a back door. "This was five minutes after."
The playback sped up even more, showing a bunch of guys in black suits swarming into the hideout. I held my breath, but stayed quiet. That was them. Not long after, one of them was rushing out with a briefcase in hand. The stolen weapon! We watched as the Trix showed up, managing to wrestle the guns out of the goons hands.
"At this point, the three of you were inside, recovering from the attack," informed Palladium as the recording played on, "watch this next part."The Trix managed to defeat the mysterious guys, grabbing the briefcase and fleeing to the rooftop.
We gasped. "So at one point, the Trix actually had the weapon in their grasp," frowned Bloom, "that's…unsettling."
Palladium nodded, speeding up through the fight between me, the Trix, and the mysterious guys. While we fought, a goon managed to snag the briefcase and run. Seconds later, the Winx and Trix were disappearing off-screen, both parties on their way to chase down the stolen weapon.
Palladium paused the surveillance tape. "This next part is most troubling. Watch."
He continued the recording and we all watched in anxious silence. And just then, for no apparent reason, the building just set itself ablaze. We all gasped.
"So the fire started from the inside," said Tecna, deep in thought as Palladium rewound the segment. We watched again as the place set on fire. And not a living soul was in the scene.
"A rigged explosion, maybe?" offered Musa.
"We'd have to think so," said Faragonda calmly, "it's just a good thing you girls got out before it occurred."
"But this doesn't make sense. If someone knew about Mikhailov and his weapon, if we were coming, they could've just blown us all into the next world," pointed out Flora gravely.
"Or maybe we weren't ever in the equation to begin with?" countered Stella, frowning deeply. "Maybe the place was only supposed to explode when the guys got away with the weapon. It could've been sheer luck you three managed to get out in time."
I scowled. I had really hoped Guy in the Yellow Hoodie would show up on the video, but he didn't. But I wasn't dismissing my theory about him just yet.
"There's no point in arguing about this further," spoke up Faragonda, "judgments cannot be based off assumptions. Who these people are, we have no idea. And until they decide to compromise another mission—if they do, we won't put much heart into this investigation."
"Yes, Ms. Faragonda," the seven of us chorused. Though we agreed with the director, the seven of us were still uneasy. We couldn't let it go. This case…there was something odd about it, and the rest of the girls knew it. We couldn't just simply ignore this mystery. Our instincts were telling us there was more to this than meets the eye. That something or someone far viler was at work here, patiently and quietly sitting in the shadows while things slowly unfolded.
And let me tell you: as a spy, always trust your gut. We all had this unexplainable sixth sense—an urge that guided us. And right now, that urge was telling us to get to the bottom of this.
And trust me, that was exactly what we were going to do.