Part 3

Someone slid from behind him, smoothing the blanket again. Leonardo heard the soft clink of plates, the electric tones of a video game. He took a deep breath and drifted back to sleep, sensing through the haze that someone was beside him again, coaxing him to eat, sitting somewhere close.

When he woke, he was alone. He sat up, wiping sleep from his eyes, banishing dreams that were distorted memories of the last few weeks. His bag lay by his side, no doubt placed there by Donatello. Leonardo checked that his scarf was still inside, then stuffed the bag under his pillow. As he stood, he gathered his swords up and carried them in one hand.

"Mornin'," Michelangelo called from his game.

"Is it really?" Leonardo said as he headed straight to the bathroom.

"It's nine," Donatello said from the table, glancing at him from behind a technical manual. "P.M."

Leonardo waved him off as he went to take a long shower, washing away all the aches and pains of the long trip. The color of the water turned black as it flowed down the drain, miles of asphalt and steel and dust, with splashes of red here and there. He didn't bother cleaning off his mask, tossing it into the trash as he toweled off.

"Ah, the half naked and wet look," Donatello said as he came back, lowering his voice to a whisper. "You should wear it more often."

"I'll keep that in mind," Leonardo replied with a wry smile. "Did I miss anything while I was out?"

"Not much," Donatello said. "Got word from April that she got paid for the ball, and that is apparently that."

"Good." Leonardo put his arm out across the table and lay his head down. "So what was the big deal about that thing anyway?"

"It is an Olmec court ball," Donatello said, turning the page. "They used it to play a ritualized game of getting the ball through a stone hoop. Depending on who you ask, either the losers or the winners were sacrificed afterward."

"So...it's an ancient toy." Leonardo sighed. "Glad this was all for something cool and not lame or anything."

Donatello gave a small smile. "Well, there was a skull inside of this one."

Leonardo glanced up. "Really?"

"Yup. That's why it's so valuable. Very rare." Donatello shrugged, not mentioning that he'd told this to his brother, albeit when he was half asleep on his feet. "I didn't get to look at it before all of this, so who knows if there was anything else about it, but anyway. It's gone. Are you hungry?"

"...no." Leonardo sat straight. "I think I ate earlier?"

"Yup!" Michelangelo called from the living room. "Ramen noodles, mushroom flavor. Food of the gods!"

"Thanks," Leonardo called back. "I must've been dead. I barely remember it."

He sighed and stared at the ceiling. "Although I'm gonna have to do a few extra practices to work that off."

"It won't kill you to have more than .5 body fat," Donatello said, giving him a pointed look. "And I'm sure you didn't eat regularly on the road?"

Leonardo half shrugged. "I survived."

"Not the point."

"I know, I know. I get it." He turned in his seat, scanning what he could see of the lair. "Where's Raph?"

"Left before you woke up," Donatello said. "Guess he wanted to avoid the lecture."

"I've been gone for four months," Leonardo said. "I'm sure he went out more often than that."

"Mm, it's not the going out part he was worried about," Donatello said.

He didn't elaborate. Even Michelangelo kept mum, whistling innocently.

Leonardo opened his mouth to ask, then thought better of it. If they weren't going to tell him, there was no point trying to ask. He'd find out eventually. It was no accident that Raphael had left after Splinter had gone to sleep. Their master noticed less as he aged, but if it wasn't bad enough for Donatello and Michelangelo to worry, then Leonardo would try not to, either. He had enough to worry about for now.

"Then I think I'll steal something out of the fridge and head back to sleep," Leonardo said. "Wake me if Raph comes home beat up more than usual."

"See you in the morning," Donatello said, not looking up from his reading.

The refrigerator was a wasteland of junk food and leftovers. Starkly reminded that he hadn't been home for four months, Leonardo moved soda and beer from side to side, hoping to reveal bottled water, boxed fruits, vegetables...anything not wrapped in plastic. Huffing, he grabbed a zero calorie soda and leftover pizza slices. On a whim, he opened the freezer and found a nightmare of microwave mini-pizzas.

"I am so getting groceries tomorrow," he muttered.

"We need coffee," Donatello called out.

"And more Pizza Pouches!" Michelangelo said.

Shuddering, Leonardo escaped back to his room, flopping down on his futon and pulling his bag out. He pushed aside the wallets he'd collected and found the small satchel he'd come to prefer, putting it over his shoulder. Then he brought out the long scarf he'd kept stuffed at the very bottom.

Unfurling it, he swept it over his shoulders and pulled the makeshift hood low. The cloth hung off his left side, leaving his right arm nearly free as the long end fell over his right shoulder without any clasp. Perfect in case it was grabbed in a fight, it also fell to his knees, as long as a cloak and masking the line of his body. Out of sight, no one would even know he was there.

He heard Donatello leave his cup in the sink and disappear back into his lab. Leonardo listened closely, catching the sound of his little brother still playing his game, but the sound was stuck on a loop. When he crept to the doorway, he spotted Michelangelo asleep on the floor, the "game over" screen showing an angel falling into darkness.

Leonardo slipped out of the lair, using the sound of his brother's game to mask the sound of their door. Then he was racing through the underground tunnels, emerging from the nearest culvert. His breaths came quick to his own ears, and he made himself stop and calm down before leaving the concrete tunnel.

Away from the big streets and crowded venues, New York at night was a city of burnished gold. Streetlamps glowed a pale yellow that dotted the streets, burnt out stars that flickered unsteadily as lone cars quietly hummed by. Painted marks on the pavement became little more than strange lines following the edge of the sidewalk, as if the entire ground had rippled and then frozen. And pushing up out of the sidewalks, tall buildings that drew his eye toward the drifting clouds, boxing him in between walls that pressed like a prison.

The window sills gave him a ladder up to the rooftops, out of the cage of stone and steel, running along the top so that he could see all the roads and paths beneath him, stretching out in straight lines that ran into the darkness, out to the ocean beyond. The air stifled below, vented hot from the underground, but the higher he went, the cooler the breeze and the stronger the scent of salt water. Finally he stood high enough that he could see the bridges dotting the river, a black current that occasionally reflected back golden ribbons of light.

He breathed out, leaning one foot up on the roof ledge.

"168 Grand Street," he whispered to himself. "Sixth floor, river view."

Up here, the night air became electric. Surrounded by nothing and everything all at once, he felt the air like crackling static, the breeze like sharp shocks that lifted his cloak as he raced over the rooftops. He crossed gaping drops between buildings eight and nine stories deep without pause or hesitation. At intersections, he skirted along the side of the fire escapes or rain pipes, ran across the traffic lights like balance beams and then darted back up the handholds of weather-worn bricks and masonry.

New York was a playground, all in gold and dark shadow, and he made his way almost effortlessly to his target.

He came to rest across the street from the loft apartment above gray condos that he never would have guessed was home to very wealthy art collectors.

The apartment's rough layout was still in his memory, easily found with a real estate search online. He watched the people inside move about, going through the motions of putting away their day to day things and going to bed. The kitchen, the master bedroom, the long hall...he oriented the apartment's layout and the way he was facing.

"If I had something really valuable," he murmured to himself, "I wouldn't want anyone to see it from the street. But I wouldn't hide it away, either..."

The master bedroom. And if it wasn't, he could spare a few minutes to search. No one would see him. No one would ever know he'd been there. He tapped his fingertips on the ledge, willing the people inside to hurry up and get to bed.

Finally the apartment went dark. He forced himself to wait another fifteen minutes, then leaped across the intersection, climbing up the wall and holding himself on the thin ledge wrapping around the whole building. The ledge was so thin that he could only rest on one knee, his other leg dangling as he hung onto the bricks with one hand. He cupped his free hand against the window and peered inside.

Nothing. No lights, not even the glow of a television or phone.

He looked up along the edge of the glass. No wires, but that didn't mean there was no security system. And even if there wasn't...he leaned to one side and spotted the locks on either side of the frame, holding the window in place. He would have to cut his way through.

With his free hand, he drew his sword and set the edge against the glass. His jaw set in focus. This would have been a lot easier if he didn't have to hang off the side in the first place.

Luck was with him. Down the street, a cab with worn brakes came closer, screeching the whole way as it came up behind another, slower car. It masked the sound of slicing through glass. Making four quick cuts, Leonardo had to swiftly sheathe his blade and reach in to catch the glass square, all in one motion, before it could fall and shatter. Drawing it out carefully, he set it on the ledge and crawled in.

The apartment, all alien to him, barely resembled the floor plan. He scanned everything around him, trying to make sense of the shapes hidden in murky grays and dark black spots, and then began crawling low across the floor. If someone had to get up for any reason, he could dart behind the kitchen island or what looked like a long couch.

But no one woke up. No one seemed to have heard him. He quietly moved down the hall, passing the bathroom, a small room with a doll braced against the door like a guard. The door to the master bedroom was only half shut, and he paused a second before heading in.

Thin moonlight fell from the skylight, filtered through dust, and through the sheer curtains on the window, falling on the two sleeping people in the bed.

One shifted, sighing. Leonardo froze. As they settled again, he looked around the room. Now where—?

There. On the far wall, a row of glass cases filled a long shelf, each one sheltering a single book. With his goal in sight, he took one last glance around the room to make sure they were asleep, that he was alone, that his hood was drawn down and the cloak securely around his shoulders.

One by one, he read the titles.

Birds of America, Audobon.

Second Folio, Shakespeare.

Geographia Cosmographia, Ptolemy—

Was the glass case wired? No. Locked? Yes, but with a small, antique looking thing, there solely for looks and the satisfaction of using an old brass key to turn the lock. Easily picked, it made no sound as it clicked open. He lifted the case, took the book from the stand—

Ah. So it was the stand that was wired.

As the high pitched alarm suddenly blared, the people in the bed jumbled together, too startled to react. Someone screamed "un fantasma! Fantasma!" as Leonardo turned, bringing the book with him in one hand as he leaped.

In a spray of glass, the skylight shattered, spilling shards off his cloak as he rolled onto the roof. Behind him, a steel shutter sprang over the skylight, slicing off a piece of his scarf. He grimaced. He would have been trapped if he'd hesitated even a second.

He was already leaping to the next building, then the next, ducking behind a large air conditioner unit. Even though he hated to spend precious seconds that he could have been running, he forced himself to pause and carefully wrap the book in cloth and tuck it into his satchel. He tied his satchel shut, adjusted it against his hip.

The police lights caught his attention, red and blue flashing down the street as they wailed. Lights came on across the neighborhood. He watched people come to their windows and out on the sidewalk, heard the same voice jabbering "la ventana! El fantasma saltó por la ventana!" and "mi libro, mi libro!"

He breathed out a deep sigh.

"Tell ya what," came a familiar voice. "Drop whatever it is you took and I won't smash your teeth out."

His eyes opened wide. Whipping around, he crouched and raised his left arm, hiding himself with his cloak. His hood fell just enough that the armored figure in front of him wouldn't see his shadowed face.

So this was what Raphael had been doing. No wonder no one wanted to tell him. As imposing as a tank, the armor gleamed in the moonlight, all silver edges and matte black finish. The helmet came to a wide angle with a broad visor, giving his brother good range of vision without sacrificing defense. Two obvious buckles over his plastron kept the heavier pieces, the pauldrons and side guards, in place. The gauntlets—

Leonardo winced. Those knuckles would break bone if they connected.

"What, going for the mysterious silent guy shtick?"

Beneath the armor, Raphael turned slightly, shifting his weight to his back leg. Leonardo hissed in a breath. He knew his brother's moves—

He dodged the first punch and rolled under the second, sprinting across the roof. He could not afford a fight. He could not afford to be seen. If Raphael saw him—if he even recognized Leonardo's style...

At the edge of the roof, he leaped into the open air before he even knew what he would land on. Behind him, Raphael cursed but he didn't try to follow as Leonardo landed in a tree, scraped himself dropping through the branches to the sidewalk. Leonardo kept sprinting across the street, using precious time to race up a painted fire escape and get back on a roof top. Heedless that he was running on the ledges, inches from falling off, he moved faster than he thought he could have, driven by fear.

A rumbling engine made his heart sink. Over his shoulder, he spotted Raphael a block away straddling his motorcycle, kicking back the stand and charging after him.

"Okay, that's not fair," Leonardo grumbled, leaping another gap.

Where to go, where to go? He hadn't thought about an escape route before. He wouldn't make that mistake again, but now he needed to come up with a plan on the fly. He had Raphael chasing below, and if he tried to head left or right, his brother would no doubt spot him—

An idea struck.

Raphael would go wherever Leonardo led him.

Reaching Chinatown was not an easy run, but up high as he was, he covered ground more easily than Raphael, who had to thread his way through traffic and pedestrians. Even the leaps across streets came more readily as Leonardo angled his run, choosing where to jump. Soon he was pulling away, three blocks ahead of Raphael, and he finally landed where the lights were crimson and orange and the roads were too narrow for Raphael to charge through.

Here the rooftops were close together and filled with walls and access doors and clotheslines. Leonardo picked his way across, moving in and out of deep shadow and slowing so that he could catch his breath. Now he just had to wait. Raphael would look for him, give up and—

"There you are!"

Leonardo stumbled left as Raphael vaulted a low wall, nearly putting his fist through Leonardo's chest.

"Dammit—quit running, you little coward!"

Cleaving to the darkness, Leonardo winced as his brother's punch cracked the wall far too close to his head. Even if this had been a real fight, he wouldn't have faced Raphael, not in that armor. Better to dodge, breeze by and hide behind his cloak.

The chase went on another two rooftops before Leonardo realized that Raphael hadn't hit him. Come close, sure, but actually landing anything? His brother was just too slow, all strength and heavy steel. Leonardo turned, lightly stepping backward, twisting left around a punch, then right, flowing as if he were a bit of paper blown by the wind. Raphael grunted, swinging with all his might, and every punch swished by harmlessly.

Leonardo couldn't laugh, forced himself not to laugh, but something of his delight must have shown in his movements, in his breathing.

"Are you laughing at me, you little punk!"

Raphael charged, arms out, and Leonardo jumped and stepped over him, sending Raphael crashing into a clothesline even as Leonardo climbed into the air.

Like flying, Leonardo thought. Flying over the city.

When Raphael untangled himself and stood up, he looked across the expanse of apartments, searching for any shadow that moved, any blur of motion that didn't fit in.

Stone crumbled underfoot. Raphael looked up and spotted the dark swirl of a cape in the night wind, the hint of eyes glaring out from under the hood. Like a ghost, somehow his target had gone up the side of a nearly sheer wall, clinging to the underside of a glowing red sign.

"You lousy...son of a...Get down here and fight!"

Fighting for each breath, Raphael slammed his fist into the wall in frustration, knocking off another bit of brick. He'd chased that ghost so far across town, only to have him waiting around like Raphael was a toy to be played with.

The shadow watched him for another moment, then let go of the sign and vanished over the side.

Raphael sighed and sat down hard, yanking off his helmet as he growled to himself.

Nightwatcher, it seemed, had a rival.