Chapter 4

((There! Open window! I knew Wetherbee would leave at least one open!))

Five birds of prey suddenly turned all at once, already looking somewhat suspicious as they circled the huge white-walled mansion that overlooked the city, an eyesore that rested below a backdrop of glorious mountains and a bright blue sky. Marco had flown behind the building to find the open window on the third floor, and we watched as his osprey morph swooped down towards it.

((Got it unlatched!)) he called as we all made our way around. ((Let's get inside before people start noticing.))

How many people would notice five different bird species flying in through a single mansion window, the first of which flicking up the latch to allow a wider opening? An osprey, a Peregrine Falcon, a Red-Tailed Hawk, a Golden Eagle, and a Zone-Tailed Hawk. Hey, at least most of them were native to California.

Marco's mansion lived a short distance away from the rest of the city, stuck within a bubble of its acres of driveway and lawn. But the land was mostly bare, save a couple of water fountains, trees, and some plant rows. It wouldn't give away a war hero, but just another everyday millionaire.

As I flew through the hallway window, I quickly discovered that it wasn't so much different inside. I dropped down on top of a desk holding nothing more than a fancy clock. The hallway was familiar to me, but I remembered that there was much of the place I hadn't yet explored. Sometimes, I doubted that even Marco had seen it all.

There was nothing distinctly Marco in it. None of his teenage shows was depicted, nor were there any signs of video game memorabilia. Nothing to remind him of who he had been. Maybe I shouldn't have expected much in a mere corridor, but it was the same throughout the place.

Tobias was the last to float in as the rest of us began to demorph. Our first morph-demorph experience for a while had done nothing to make the sickening process any easier. I looked down at myself halfway through, seeing a naked falcon body with great big Human feet. I instantly looked to the ceiling again and sighed with an emerging Human mouth as the morph delivered its final touches.

"Jeanne. Tobias. Sarge," Marco said. I lowered my eyes to focus on a fully-demorphed group, with the usual exception of Tobias. "Welcome to my humble abode!"

"Very humble, Monkey Man," Santorelli said, staring at a painting illuminated on the mahogany wall.

"The place is empty?" Jeanne asked.

"Wetherbee is probably here somewhere," Marco responded, waving an arm to guide us down through the corridor. "But he's usually taking care of the billiard room at this time of day. I just hope Menderash doesn't bump into him."

Of course, Menderash couldn't merely fly up three floors and through an open window. The nothlit had to sneak in. Before entering the building, Marco had opened the main gate by skillfully using his beak to type a code into the main gate's interface. Menderash took the long walk up to the front door, which Marco had insisted would be unlocked. The place clearly had excellent security.

Since Santorelli and Jeanne hadn't gotten to know Marco in an informal environment, he was eager to show them around and make them feel comfortable. He led us into a room that I had entered on a few previous occasions that could only be described as the Marco Room. It was the only one that showed any hints of Marco's real character. There was an enormous television with the best sound system. Every game console imaginable was housed beneath, which would usually cause an utter mess but had since all been tidied away.

He offered them drinks from a personal fridge. Santorelli was eager for a beer, so he was gifted with the best. Jeanne asked for orange juice, so Marco took a venture behind his personal bar lined with expensive spirits. Only now was he legally allowed to purchase them, though that hadn't stopped him before.

"Ice?" he asked, trying to look professional. He spun a small glass in one hand and began to prepare her beverage. When she said yes, he performed some more trickery before stumbling and finding the icebox empty. He eventually delivered her drink as Santorelli and I sat down on the barstools on either side of her. Tobias remained nearby, perched atop the giant television screen. We assumed he was speaking to Menderash via thought-speak, trying to guide him up to us, even though he had no idea of the mansion's layout.

"Jake?" Marco prodded. He was waiting for my order.

"Beam," I responded.

Marco didn't look surprised. He turned, grabbed a tumbler glass, and searched for a bottle of Jim Beam.

They got to know each other a bit better, which seemed so much simpler with drinks in hand. It had been fourteen months since they had all been introduced, yet it was amazing how little they knew of each other. Marco and Santorelli found some television shows to laugh about, as I discussed with Jeanne about her previous work.

Yeah, fourteen months. That's how long we'd been "missing."

We all looked a lot neater. Upon leaving the desert, the truck driver had taken us to a small town where we immediately began to alter our appearances. We bought new clothes, sunglasses, and hair dyes with some money we managed to scrounge together (by means that we would tend to avoid. A bit of petty theft seemed like our only option in the circumstance. We would remember to correct our misdeeds in due time). We even bought contact lenses meant to change eye color. Then we all got our hair cut to something a little different than before, hoping that the people doing the job wouldn't recognize us. The guy doing my hair was very suspicious, but I was able to throw him off the scent.

I kept my beard but had it neatened and left my head hair medium-length. Marco had settled for a Van Dyke style but decided to keep his hair long.

Santorelli changed very little, perhaps so used to his military lifestyle. He had removed all signs of facial hair and shortened what remained on top. And then there was Jeanne, who decided that she would simply start dying her hair to be darker.

We all looked and felt a lot cleaner. Now, back in Santa Barbara, we needed to be, just to avoid standing out in a crowd.

Then again, we didn't plan to stay very long. Our conversations were informal until the curly-black-haired Menderash finally poked his head through the big fancy door.

I don't know how Andalites did it. Even as nothlits. Everything became very serious and formal. He refused a beer but joined us at the bar nonetheless. Tobias came down to stand beside him, and, united, we started to piece together an impossible puzzle.