Angela stared at the newspaper.

Local Surfer Saves Congresswoman Elaine Elliott's Son From Drowning

The photo clearly showed Angela bending over a boy as paramedics were lifting him onto a stretcher. There was a caption underneath. Local Woman's Surfing Champion, Angela "Angel" Darwin, saves the life of Kevin Elliott, only son of Congresswomen Elaine Elliott.

"I guess you didn't notice the photographer, Sarah suggested."

"I guess I didn't, Angela agreed."

Sarah pointed something out in the photo by tapping on it. Angela could see that a dim circular band seemed to ride above her head in the photo. Even more remarkable was what looked like a double exposure, where faint wings could be seen partly extended behind Angela. Angela let out a sigh. She glanced over at the crowds attending the nearby Farmers' Market, wishing she could disappear into them.

"Don't worry", Sarah told her, lighting a clove cigarette. "I got the feature killed. It took some doing. Now I owe some monkey, named Jane Bishop, a big favor. And I hate it when I have to owe a monkey a favor." Then she pointed her cigarette at Angela. "But you have to be more careful. I can't always go saving your butt. If Daria were to find out..."

A number of patrons at the coffee shop shot the smoker some nasty looks. Santa Cruz had a no spoking ordinance for public places.

"What are you monkeys looking at?"

The people who had been glaring looked away hurriedly, perhaps not even wondering why they were suddenly afraid.

"Stupid monkeys", the woman muttered. "Why did they have to restrict a perfectly reasonable vice, like smoking?"

"You probably shouldn't call them monkeys to their faces", Angela observed.

Angela looked around to make sure no one other than humans had heard Sarah's disparaging comments. Angela regretted Sarah's lack of subtlety. Sarah had only been earthside, "Monkeyland" as she called it, for 200 years. In that time, she had failed to even come close to appreciating the nuances of human culture.

"Oh, before I forget, a memo." Sarah reached into her purse.

"A memo?"

"Yes, I thought it might be helpful to the new recruits. You don't mind giving it a listen, do you." Sarah didn't phrase this a question.

"Sure," Angela said in a resigned voice.

She took Sarah's proffered hand. A pool of radiance slipped from one to the other. Some of the more attuned people nearby heard the transference as a clear note sounding from somewhere far off, and paused a while to reflect. Angela took a moment to listen to the silent music playing inside her.

Her answer was to cock an eyebrow in Sarah's direction.

"What?" Sarah asked.

"Well, you're hardly one to lecture on 'blending in." Angela pointed out. "I mean..." Her hand, palm up, unfolded in Sarah's direction.

Sarah, who's incarnation was a svelte manicured brunette that would have been more at home on the cover of Vogue than at a paint-peeled white cafe table at the Cafe Pergolesi, responded innocently, "What?"

Sarah raised her arms, dainty hands, wrists folded backwards, touching her own shoulders. "What, this? Oh you can't begrudge me what little beauty as monkey skin might allow. After all, what's so special about this incarnation?"

"You're wearing a Chanel suit," Angela pointed out.

"Chanel, Yves St. Laurent, Givenchy, what's the difference? They're just monkey rags after all."

"You're a high-profile prosecutor. You're mentioned in the newspapers quite a bit."

"Ah..." Sarah wagged a finger at Angela. "At least I have sense to make sure I keep my picture out of the paper, unlike some."

"The point is, you might as well just blurt out to the Enemy, 'Here I am. Come get me.'"

"We've trounced the Enemy so many times, they don't dare show their faces. It's getting to be that I rather miss a good fight. I don't think you need to worry about that. "

"Still..."

"No, what we have to watch out for dominions, like your film-obsessed friend, Marcus Crisco, drawing attention to us and creating discord. I mean, what kind of name is that?"

"But, didn't Daria say we had to start choosing more original names?"

"Original is one thing. Ridiculous though was not the intention of that directive. And whose idea was it to create an incarnation that looks like that monkey scientist? And the colour! What was he thinking?"

Angela winced. Marcus had been so enamoured of Albert Einstein since he's seen that news reel. He thought it be a break since he was almost exclusively into movie stars. "Yes," she agreed. Angela remembered that Marcus had been in such a rush to present his new vessel that he'd made it a bit too literal, being that he had copied it from a black and white source.

Sarah nodded smugly. "Well, I'll leave you to talk to him about it then. Tell him I like that he's moving away from film stars. But if he has to be so unoriginal about his monkey skins, tell him to choose someone who's been dead longer, like Pythagoras, or maybe Francis Bacon. Oh, and don't get me started on that angel, Benefice. He's another mess altogether. The two of them are a plague."

"Sarah picked up her lambskin gloves. Though it was too hot for gloves, Sarah just loved the way they looked on her hands."

"Try to stay out of the papers, won't you dear?" Sarah pretended to give Angela a peck on the cheek, and then walked down the steps, heading for her chariot, which had been made to appear like a car, in fact a brand new Jaguar, parked across the street.

Angela saw the old Lincoln as it sped down the street. Behind the wheel of the grey and rusted unpainted chassis were two long-haired thugs. Angela saw at once that they were infernals, but she didn't recognize their stench. It was too late to warn Sarah. The Lincoln plowed into her, tossing her in the air. Then, just for spite, it reversed and ran over her, back and forth, a few more times. Dozens of people sitting outside screamed as the car sped off, leaving Sarah flat on the ground, tire tracks clearly marked over her shredded Chanel. Angela ran down the steps. She saw Sarah move.

"Don't get up!" Angela hummed, hoping to reach Sarah before she moved. But it was too late.

Sarah, forgetting where she was, sat up, rubbing her head, and seemingly more concerned over the state of her torn Vuitton purse then she was over her body, which was absolutely filthy, but undamaged. Sarah's vessel was tough, but in the circumstance, this wasn't a blessing. To make matters worse, she got to her feet, in order to better examine the wreckage of her dress.

"It's a miracle!" someone shouted. This same sentiment was being echoed by a score more voices. There was no way Angela was going to be able to inflict that kind of damage control to silence every voice in the growing crowd.

"What?" Sarah started to realize what was going on. She looked around and saw numerous cameras clicking away. She angrily tossed away a hand held out to help her, as a huge throng had begun to gather around.

Before Angela could think of how it could be worse, the local KSSC news van pulled up and the crew jumped out. Led by a woman reporter, three of them pushed their way through the crowd.

"Hi, this is Alexis Vandervoort, KSSC news with a Live report. We're interrupting our coverage of the Santa Cruz Farmer's Market to report that Assistant District Attorney, Sarah Fynn, has just been savagely run over by a hit and run driver. But what is amazing, what onlookers here are calling a miracle, is that Ms. Fynn has not only survived what would have killed most, but is apparently untouched." The news reporter shoved her mike into Sarah's shocked tire-tread-marked face. "Ms. Fynn, would you care to comment on the motive for this terrible attack. And can you give us some insight into how you managed to survive?"

Angela winced again, this time from the cacophonous discord ringing in her ears, a discord emanating from Sarah. Still, seeing at the shock on Sarah's face, Angela had to hide her mouth behind her hand. She was laughing.

story by Solanio