Tempest: Chapter Twenty-One: Signature of a Thief
Amara may have pitched a silent fit about the lasers, but, in all reality, it wasn't that big of a deal. Amara had been flexible before her accident, she'd been flexible after, and it was something that Jade had helped her adapt into her style of fighting.
Getting through the lasers wouldn't nearly be as difficult for her as it would have been for someone with more height on them, but as it was, Amara hadn't had much of a growth spurt yet (though she still had a good few inches on Dick, let that be known).
And luckily for Amara, these were stationary lasers, so that took a bit of a load off, lasers that moved around the object they were protecting where much more difficult to manage.
Amara considered her options of how to approach the situation at hand…there were at least three obvious ways for her to make her way towards the center.
"Clock is ticking," blared Jade's voice in her ear and Amara couldn't help but roll her eyes.
"Yes, I had no idea," she drawled out thickly before drawing her hands towards the hem of the loose material fluttering around her legs, tying the fabric against her legs so that it wouldn't trip any alarms before resting her hands over the first laser, balancing her weight carefully on her hands as she kept her chest from colliding with the next laser.
Amara breathed in and out slowly as she drew her legs over the laser above her by executing a perfect split and then bringing her legs around the front until her feet made contact with the floor over the laser and Amara's body followed suit, drawing herself straight and almost making contact with the laser in front of her nose.
A sharp breath of relief was released from her lips, ducking in order to avoid the laser.
Amara should have gotten some kind of award for her ability to contort her body and perform a series of acrobatic moves without hitting any of the lasers, really, it wasn't exactly the most easy thing to do.
And it seemed like an age had passed before she reached the center of the room.
"All right," she said, "I'm here. Are zere any sensors on ze necklace?"
"Deactivated," came Jade's amused tone in her ear. "It took you that long?"
"Vould you like to be stealing zis?" Amara hissed in annoyance, lifting the glass case, retrieve the item and leave one of her own in its place before replacing the glass once more and clipping the diamond necklace delicately around her neck before making her way slowly but surely back through the web of lasers until she could perform a few flips, landing lightly on her feet in the safe zone, slipping back into the heels she had forgone for the theft.
"If you can do that with the heels on, I'll be more impressed," Jade said with a laugh, and Amara ignored her in favor of using the stolen ID card to make her way out of the room. It was a good thing that her gloves left no trace of fingerprints, or she might be in a bit of trouble (though, the only people who had her fingerprints on file were the Justice League, and they weren't likely to look for her as a virtually unknown thief).
She shut the door behind her, locking it and tossing the ID card onto the ground before gripping the golden coil and hoisting her back up the way she had come, untying her pants' hem as she pulled herself over the rail before wrapping the golden bangle tight around her wrist and making her way out into the empty hallway.
"Exit strategy?" she murmured.
"Take your first left, there should be a ventilation shaft that leads right up to the roof. You're welcome for the grappler."
Amara rolled her eyes, pulling the ventilation cover off the wall only to stare at the bag that was hanging suspended on the cord. She pulled the bag off the cord, ripping it open only to sigh.
"Really, Cheshire?" she muttered before pulling the crisscrossing straps over her shoulders, where her batons settled with the unregistered gun Jade had given her resting at her left side.
She heard the footsteps first, and then the sound of an arrow being notched on a bow; it was a familiar sound for Amara, being the partner to an archer for several years.
"I thought I saw that mask somewhere," came an all too familiar voice and Amara grimaced briefly, gritting her teeth together before putting on a smile as she turned to face him.
He looked well, she supposed, given he was unknowingly pointing an arrow at his partner. His eyes were hidden behind a mask, but that wasn't anything new to Amara, besides, hers obscured half her face.
"Did Robin like his little present?" she asked as lightly as she could manage.
"No," Roy said, and her smile widened just slightly. "Masq, the thief who never stole a thing…until now. What changed your mind?"
Amara gave a small shrug, giving off the appearance that she was unconcerned about the whole predicament. "Masquerade needs a little excitement in her life. Besides, stealing somezing that vas already stolen doesn't really count."
It was a weak excuse, even she knew that, but Amara didn't really care about the excuse, she cared that Roy was blocking her escape route.
And desperate times called for desperate measures. So, she dipped her hand into the pouch swaying at her waist and blew a cloud of powder at Roy, making him cough in an attempt to clear his mouth and nose, but the powder was easily absorbed and fast-acting, making his vision blur and the room sway; not enough to knock him out, but enough to knock him off his game.
She watched the powder take effect rather quickly, seeing how his stance loosened and how his grip on the bow slackened.
Her smile faded completely. Roy was good and she was going to find herself doing something she regretted, she just knew it.
She drew the gun and fired as he released his arrow.
Roy yelled as the bullet ripped through his dominant arm and Amara had to grit her teeth together to keep from crying out as the arrow lodged in her midsection, spreading a fiery sensation across her skin.
She threw herself into the ventilation shaft, gasping as the movement jarred her as she swung precariously from the grappler before pulling herself up bit by bit.
But nothing could stop the feeling of regret spilling out inside her.
"Went pretty well, I guess."
Amara glared at Jade from where she was sitting on the hotel toilet with Jade examining the arrow through her side. "Oh, yes, because it's not every day that I find myself shot by my partner or have to shoot my partner. Yeah, I guess it went pretty well."
She gave a sharp intake of breath as Jade broke off the arrow's shaft behind her.
"Here, take some of this."
Amara examined the flask in her hand, eyeing it suspiciously. "Is this alcohol?"
Jade's grin widened so that it looked to be better suited than the one on the mask she wore. "You know it."
A red eyebrow was arched in her direction. "You know I'm twelve, right, Jade?"
"It's a great time to live a little, Storm, trust me," Jade snorted as Amara took a swig from the flask only to splutter and cough at the burn that went down her throat.
"God! What is this?" she demanded, her words a little croaky from the liquor.
"Vodka, obviously," Jade said, arching an eyebrow in amusement. "You're probably going to want to take another swig; this is going to hurt."
Amara looked down at the arrow's end sticking through her abdomen. "All right," she said, reaching for the flask once more. "Give it here."
She took a large gulp and swallowed thickly, but it hardly dulled the pain, and it seared when Jade poured some of it over her wounded area.
Amara bit down on his lip, a pained cry strangled by her mouth, and then Jade yanked the arrow out in a swift movement. Then she gave a muffled cry of pain.
"The worst part's over."
Amara laughed for one second before forcing herself to stop when the movement jarred her wound. "You say that like I've never been stitched up before."
No ordinary twelve year old would have scars like she did, but, then again, no ordinary twelve year old would spend their nights chasing villains across the street and doling out vigilante justice as they saw fit.
Amara missed those days more than anything, but not as much as she missed being able to see her mother and her father, to see her friends and her cousin.
"Want another drink?" Jade asked, taking her own gulp from the flask before offering it to Amara and the red-haired girl took it as the elder of the two pulled the suture kit towards her, ripping the packaging open with her teeth.
Amara took another drink as Jade threaded the needle before stabbing it into Amara's skin, making Amara wince as she slowly sewed the gaping hole into a stitched line before having her turn around so she could do the same to the hole in her back.
"The hotel room is paid for until the day after tomorrow," Jade said, clearing her throat and Amara chewed on the inside of her cheek.
"Got some assassinations to get to?" Amara asked, staring flatly at the wall in front of her nose.
"Something like that."
Amara gave a short nod. She had been expecting it, after all, Jade was the one who had had her pack up her things before they'd left and Amara wasn't so foolish to believe that this partnership would be long term.
"I guess this will be the last time I see you, then? For awhile?" Amara asked, swallowing thickly. She hadn't realized how much she was going to miss the assassin until it smacked her in the face.
She wondered if it was that way for Artemis, back when her Jade had first left her alone with only Sportsmaster.
"Maybe," Jade said evasively. "But you'll see me again; you and me make a good team."
"Oracle and Cheshire, Storm Chaser and Cheshire, or Masquerade and Cheshire?" Amara couldn't help asking; it was just so hard to keep all of her aliases straight these days.
"Depends on the day, I've found," responded Jade, faintly amused by her response as she tied the stitching off before pasting a bandage over the threaded-together skin. "Masquerade's a bit more fun, if you ask me."
Amara snorted and then winced. "You're only saying that because she's a thief, not being on anyone's side."
Amara was toeing the grey line between dark and light, but she'd put in that situation by the geneticists that had cooked her up as the child of a villain raised by a hero.
"Maybe," Jade said, helping her stand and move to the bed. "But Masquerade's taste in antiques and clothes is pretty sweet, you can't deny that."
"Obnoxious and red, that'll be my legacy," Amara muttered, closing her eyes and sinking deeper into the mattress.
Jade might've said something further, but the alcohol had dulled Amara's senses, allowing her to slip into an easy slumber, blissful of anything further.
"She shot you? I can't believe she shot you!"
Roy was scowling at his two friends. Wally was the one that was positively goggling at his fellow red-head, while Dick was examining the x-ray of his arm with interest.
"What's a thief doing with a gun, anyways?" Dick muttered, replacing the x-ray on the viewing screen to see the discoloration better.
"Exactly!" Roy said, jabbing a finger towards Dick, a movement that jarred his arm slightly, which made him hiss in pain. He'd barely been out of surgery for a few hours when the two sidekicks had popped up to keep him company. "There was something off about her…she had that mask that your BlackNet friend left you," he added to Dick and Dick's sunglasses slipped down his nose so his eyes could meet Roy's.
"What? Masq's? That was her?" he asked, flummoxed.
"I don't see how it could have been anyone else," Roy said with a single-shoulder shrug. "I guess Masq is short for Masquerade, 'cause that's what she was going as."
"What was she even there to steal?" Wally asked curiously, leaning his elbows on the end of Roy's bed, accidentally making the bed rise and Wally gave a sheepish grimace when Roy glared at him.
"One million dollars via the Diamond Riviere," Dick said, examining the paper that Oliver had left for Roy while he was at work.
Wally gave a low whistle before throwing an incredulous glance towards him. "One million dollars? That's some serious dough."
"That's not the worst of it," Roy snorted.
"You mean apart from her shooting you when she made her getaway?" Dick arched an eyebrow.
Roy cleared his throat, making a clear effort to ignore everything that left Dick's mouth, but the youngest of the three was amused to notice a flush of pink creeping up his neck. "The necklace, apparently, was already stolen."
"You mean the museum got a stolen artifact and they didn't know it?" Wally had crossed his arms, an amused twist to his lips. "Dude, that's gotta suck."
"I'm pretty sure they knew," Dick retorted, rolling his eyes for good measure. "That's what the Black Market is for."
"Oh…"
The whole matter had made the front page of Star City's papers –all of them– and it documented the theft and the subsequent arrest of the director of the museum. Queen Mary's Diamond Riviere was a precious British artifact, and he got the feeling that the people that had hired Masquerade to steal the necklace back were the ones that had lost it in the first place.
"What did she look like?"
"Who?" Roy asked blankly, making Wally poke his good shoulder.
"You know, Masquerade," the speedster pressed, "the girl that got the drop on you."
Dick snorted as Roy gave Wally another glare before giving a mournful sigh. "She had red hair," he said finally, "she was short, I guess, she was Russian –her accent was really thick–, she used some kind of powder on me to slow me down…and she had batons like Amy, but she didn't use them." His eyes grew faintly distant at that. Amara always handed him on his ass when she used her batons against him.
Wally started. "She had batons?"
"Yeah," Roy said with a frown, "but it couldn't have been her."
"Why not?"
Roy narrowed his eyes at Dick. "My partner wouldn't have shot me."
"It was non-fatal and it'll heal in a few weeks," Dick pointed out, "she probably aimed at your dominant arm to put you out of commission for awhile."
"But Amy's not a thief," Wally said. "I'm with Roy; he's her best friend, there's no way she would've shot him."
Dick merely pursed his lips in thought, looking over the article, reading about what Masquerade had left behind, a golden masquerade mask with words on it: Better luck next time.
The sunlight awoke Amara the next day rather than Jade and Amara grimaced, trying not to roll around too much. She might heal fast, but she didn't heal that fast. But what she wouldn't give for Wally or Barry's healing factor.
Her eyes squinted tightly shut as she tried to will herself back to sleep, but it didn't work, so Amara merely settled for lying in the bed with her eyes closed, for as long as she could manage it. But then, after a very short amount of time, she peeled her eyes open and winced at the light before blinking her eyes a few times to get used to it.
The hotel room was empty, but Amara had been expecting that; Jade had told that she was leaving, so it didn't really come as any surprise to find that she'd left in the night.
She focused on the bright numbers on the electronic clock at her bedside which read: 10:37.
Amara nearly groaned. She couldn't remember a time since she'd left home when she'd slept so long, usually Jade had her up and training at the crack of dawn.
It took a bit of careful maneuvering in order for Amara to pull herself into a sitting position, but she managed it all the same, with a number of careful movements.
She expelled a sharp sigh and it echoed in the silence of the room before she turned her head towards the bedside table once more to frown at the items on the bedside table.
Her fingers plucked up the crisp envelope with a bit of interest, pulling out a check from within that bore the British royal family crest and was made out for five hundred thousand dollars. Given the pain Amara was currently in, she didn't much care about the obscene amount of money that Jade had left her with.
Instead she found herself focusing on a small pill bottle that what held what she was sure were pain pills, and Amara really needed some pain pills.
She popped the top off, shaking one off into her palm before dry swallowing it and lying back against the pillows, waiting for it to take effect.
(The ceiling was as boring as the wall)
Jade had left her the flask she had given her the night before and this time it was completely full and Amara couldn't help but sigh; Jade should not be providing a minor with alcohol. But the vodka wasn't so bad, strong, but not bad…but Amara didn't feel like becoming an alcoholic at the tender age of twelve.
Beside the flask were a set of keys with a card that had Jade's slanting script: Courtesy of the mysterious mother.
Amara's brow wrinkled in confusion.
You shot Speedy.
Dick had been a bit nonchalant about his friend's injuries when he and Wally had gone to see him (really, he should have been a bit more chalant), but he couldn't help but be annoyed –and angry– on his friend's behalf as he typed out harshly on Amara's laptop.
Masq responded quickly, clearly already being on the site: He got in my way.
There was a cold way in which those words were typed out, very matter of fact.
You didn't need to shoot him, Dick pointed out in irritation.
Anything less and he would've climbed up the ventilation shaft after me, Masq replied, now her words held a slight tone of amusement. I couldn't let him cut off my escape, a thief's got to prioritize.
What'd you do with the money? $1 mill is a lot of dough.
Only kept half, the thief responded, the partner got the other half.
Dick rolled his eyes. Still. $500K is a lot of money.
Maybe college, maybe I'll buy a cottage out in the middle of nowhere where I can go to hideout with the loot I don't want to give up ;)
Dick couldn't tell if she was flirting with him or not; Masq was a bit puzzling. A cottage?
Or maybe a condo…I'm changeable at the moment. See you around, Robin, I'm a girl with an insatiable appetite.
And then she logged off, leaving him to puzzle over her words.
The keys were to a motorcycle, Amara was pleased to note once she'd gotten around to making her way to the hotel parking lot.
Amara had never owned a motorcycle before. She'd driven Roy's before, of course, but she'd never owned one, probably because a twelve year old didn't have much of a need of a motorcycle.
And the motorcycle was beautiful and a dark blue with a pattern of a Chrysanthemum with branching lightning. It was perfect.
Who are you? came the question in Amara's mind, but there was no answer; even she didn't know.
Amara found herself making her way home almost subconsciously and the process was sped up by Amara riding aloft on the motorcycle on a cloud (not to be tried at home unless you actually had some skill in cloud-manipulation) and she couldn't quite bring herself to turn around.
She knew there were something wrong when she examined the stitches in a small bathroom stall at Big Belly Burger in Central City while the rain poured outside. The skin around the stitches was red and inflamed and Amara was sure that if she checked, she'd find that she had a fever.
Amara half-wanted to crawl home and ask for some help, she wanted to go back to Iris and Barry, but she couldn't. Her father could still have people watching them, and she wouldn't put them in danger because of her.
There had to be at least one person in Central City that she trusted but wasn't included in her friend or family circles…
Yet only one person came to mind, Pamela Quinley.
Amara bit her lip, but there was no denying that she trusted Pamela. Pamela was the one who had helped her when she had first started trying to walk again. Pamela listened patiently and she never judged, and it couldn't be denied that Amara needed help.
She pasted the bandage back over the stitches before making her way out of the fast food joint, pulling the helmet over her head and starting up the motorcycle's engine.
Pamela hummed softly to herself as she watered the many plants that her apartment held. She was planning to take a few days off to go over to Gotham City to surprise Harley, but she wasn't quite sure when that would be…maybe she'd do it next week in the middle of the week when her girlfriend would least expect it.
The soft hum that had left her lips stopped abruptly at a sudden knock at the door made her pause, setting her watering can down, making her way to the door, opening it slowly only to stare in surprise.
Outside stood Amara, leaning heavily against the door frame, cheeks flushed with something that Pamela was sure wasn't embarrassment, her hair red instead of her trademark black.
With the red hair she looked more like Pamela, but Pamela couldn't think about that.
"Amy?" she said, clearly startled by her daughter's appearance.
Amara's green eyes rolled back in her head as she fell forward, slumping against Pamela who caught her easily, lowering her to the ground carefully with a spike of fear.
What had happened to her little girl?
