A/N: Chap 7 review responses are in my forums as normal. And now, for a literally breathing space.
Chapter Eight: Full Body Contact
Are you ready, Child?
Taylor woke up shivering so hard it hurt. It took physical effort to still the jarring chatter of her teeth. After that, it took a few moments to realize she was in the back seat of a stolen car under a thin blanket she'd found in the trunk. Shivering and hurting, she forced herself to sit up and look out the frosted glass.
Her stomach growled, and then cramped into a knot. She'd never been so hungry before, not even when she stole that meatloaf from the Schaefer's. Sitting up took effort and hurt more than she wanted, but even so she could tell that her power had worked on her shoulder as she slept. She could already move her arm better.
The sounds of distant traffic and closing doors made her roll down the window enough to peek over the frost. After the nightmare of the previous night, she'd driven south as fast as she could, which given the fact she'd never had any driving lessons took every ounce of her concentration.
She'd finally pulled over in the parking lot of a motel when she couldn't keep her eyes open. She crawled into the back seat and passed out. Now, though, she was kicking herself for just not breaking into a hotel room.
Through the crack in the window she saw a family leaving a pair of rooms. A mother and father, a son almost his father's height, and a daughter who looked eight if a day. They all donned heavy coats as they left their hotel room and began walking across the parking lot toward a nearby restaurant.
Taylor didn't hesitate. She left the car and made her away up the stairs to the exterior door the family just left. She barely even had to think about it before she unlocked the door from the inside and stepped into a blessedly warm room.
The king-sized bed was rumpled from the parent's sleep. Taylor looked until she found the lavender suitcase, deciding it was the mother's. From a distance the mother looked taller than she was, but of similar build. The woman's' bras were, of course, far too big. The sweaters and jeans, though, looked like they could fit with a belt. Though she hated stealing another woman's underwear, Taylor considered it a necessity.
As much as she wanted a shower, she didn't feel she could risk it. Instead she quickly stripped out of her filthy, blood-soaked sweats from the Bratva boat and pulled on the woman's still slightly over-sized underwear and her jeans.
Removing her hoodie, though, proved a problem. Her shoulder felt better, but only relative to when she was first shot. It still hurt like hell. She found herself struggling to pull the sweater off. Finally, squeezing her eyes shut against the pain, she cheated and pulled the torn, blood-soaked garment off with the Force.
Only then did she realized that, while she struggled and concentrated on getting her hoodie off, the family had returned. The family of four stood just inside the door, staring at her with gaping jaws.
The teenaged son was staring pointedly at her chest. Taylor stood topless in the family's hotel room.
"What the hell are you doing?" the father asked angrily.
She should have been embarrassed and horrified. But after yesterday, all she could do was sit on the bed and laugh. She looked down and saw that her shoulder was almost black from bruising from the bullet, and dried blood had crusted all over her shoulder and left breast.
Fortunately, the family hadn't come closer, though the boy had a phone out. That made her laughter stop as she telekinetically ripped the phone from his hands against the wall behind her. It embedded itself in the dry wall and sparked before going dark.
"Next phone I see is going down your throat," she said.
"What…?" The father stared at the shattered phone in alarm.
"I'm stealing a set of clothes," Taylor said. "Sorry."
Her cheeks flushed almost painfully hot as she used her power and painfully pulled on one of the woman's thick sweaters.
"Are you a cape?" the boy asked.
"What gave it away? The eyes? The telekinesis? Did my boobs just shout at you, 'Cape tits!'?"
"You broke into here, young lady," the husband said. He didn't sound quite as confident as before. She noticed with a stab of regret how he subtly placed himself between her and his kids, even the horny son who wanted to take a picture of her topless. "Take what you want and go. We won't try to stop you."
Like he could.
"Do you have food in here? I haven't eaten since the Russians kidnapped me. Fuck, I don't even know how long it's been. What day is it?"
"It's…it's Saturday," the mother said. "And…we have some left-over pizza in the fridge."
Taylor glanced at the little mini-fridge under the microwave. She opened it telekinetically and was pleased to see a large baggie filled with pizza slices. She pulled it to her good hand, removed a piece, and took a bite. One of the sodas in the door flew to her hand a second later.
"Might as well sit," Taylor said. "I can't let you go yet. Not until I'm done."
"But…you'll let us go?" the mother asked. She somehow managed to make it sound like she was begging.
"Yeah. Just need food and a chance to get warm and…" She was talking around a mouthful of food. She stopped, put the piece of pizza down on the bed regardless of the crumbs, and wiped away tears with the heel of her hand. "Been a shit couple of days. Just need a chance to breathe and get warm."
"You're bleeding," the mother noted.
Taylor looked down at the growing stain on the hoody. "Fuck, I thought… Got shot last night saving a bunch of kids from Russian sex-slavers. Must have torn something when I pulled my old shirt off."
The mother looked from Taylor's shoulder to the ruined, blood-soaked shirt on the floor. "I have a first aid kit."
"Louise…" the husband warned.
The mother plowed on. "Let me bandage you up. Donnie has a hoodie you can wear over the sweater for the cold. Then…then you need to let us go."
"I wasn't going to hurt you guys. I've hurt enough people. I just needed a chance to catch my breath and get warm. It's so cold."
As if reaching a turning point, Louise stepped out from behind her husband and moved to the bed Taylor sat on. Without hesitation she pulled her suitcase closer until she fished out a large first aid kit. Taylor took a bite of the cold pizza and watched in silence as the woman walked to her wounded side.
"Donnie, Kenneth, turn around please. Susan, can you get me a clean washcloth from the bath room and wet one side of it for me?"
The little girl ran quickly to the bathroom while her brother and dad obligingly turned to face the door. Louise gripped the edge of the sleeve. "Pull your arm out if you can."
It hurt to do so, but not nearly as much as taking off the first shirt. Taylor covered her embarrassed blush as the mother lifted the sweater up to expose the bullet wound. Susan returned with the wash cloth.
"It looks like it's several days old," she noticed.
"How would…" Taylor paused when the Force gave her an answer. "Oh, you're a nurse."
The woman looked surprised, but just nodded as she gently cleaned away the new blood with the wet side of the washcloth, then spot dried it with the other side. The first aid kit held a large square pad that she placed on the wound, followed by gauze. She then carefully taped it down.
"I can't imagine the trouble you must be facing," Louise said. She spoke softly, like a parent to a child at bed time. "You're Taylor Hebert, aren't you? You've been on the news a lot."
"Yeah." She bit viciously into the pizza, finishing the slice.
Louise gently guided her arm back into the sleeve. "Donnie, please go get your UW hoodie."
"But…"
"You said you preferred Oregon State anyway," the dad pointed out.
Which meant Donnie was almost college age. She watched as he left the room through a side door into the next. In her mind, she could feel him walk straight to the phone.
"Please tell him not to touch that phone," Taylor told the boy's mom.
"Donnie, get the sweater. Leave the phone alone."
"What? I'm not…"
"I'm telepathic, Donnie," Taylor said loud enough for him to hear. "I can read your mind."
The chastened Donnie returned a second later with a patently oversized hooded sweater. Taylor let Louise help her pull it on over the nicer knit sweater, covering the blood and providing extra heat.
And that was it. Taylor realized with a lurching feeling in her chest that she had no reason to stay. She had new clothes, food and drink. She'd even had her bullet wound bandaged. She had no reason to stay, and yet she wanted too so badly her eyes stung.
"I'm so sorry, Taylor," Louise said softly, as if somehow she was the telepath and was reading Taylor's mind.
"So was Dragon. Didn't stop her, did it?" She grabbed the baggie with the rest of the pizza slices and the bottle of soda. She had an idea. "Hopefully they'll give up once I reach Mexico. Please go into the bathroom and lock the door. Then I'll leave and you won't see me again."
This time, no one protested. The husband, Kenneth, gripped his daughter's shoulders as he led her into the small bathroom. As small as it was, it still fit all four easily. When they were all inside, Taylor telekinetically snapped the rod that would have allowed them to easily open the door. It would only buy a minute or too, but that might prevent them from seeing what she was driving.
On her way out, she saw a pair of black sunglasses on a small bistro table near the door. She grabbed them, stepped out, and locked the door before returning to her stolen car. Rather than drive south, she turned and headed north, back into Seattle.
~~Quintessence~~
~~Quintessence~~
With new clothes, a car and sunglasses, Taylor drove north again until she found a Buy n' Large. She went in concentrating on projecting an obfuscation field while she shopped for toiletries and clothing. She had more than enough cash. She also purchased a round pair of tinted glasses without a prescription—they were ostensibly sunglasses, but the red tint was light enough she could see easily through them while they obscured her black eyes.
Her next stop was a cheap, rundown motel on the border of the Seattle city limits that looked similar to the one she just left, only twenty years older with much worse management. The sign advertised cable and hourly rates and straddled a liquor store on one side, and a smoke shop on the other. Across the street from the hotel, Taylor felt her cheeks burning as she saw a strip club.
It was early afternoon, so fortunately the club didn't have much in the way of business. She noticed a few homeless men sitting on the curb near the open-air motel. Only a few cars were parked there.
Grimacing, Taylor pulled into the lot. She needed a shower and someplace to sleep. She could feel her wounds still weakening her, and knew healing would only come with sleep. More importantly, she needed to bleach her hair.
The woman behind the counter looked up with a frown when Taylor walked in. She stood, revealing a girth twice that of Taylor, without an ounce of fat. Rather, she looked like a walking slab of beef with breasts.
"What can I do for you, girlie?" the woman asked. She didn't leer, per se. But she didn't look happy either.
"Room for the night," Taylor said.
"For the night, huh? Fifty deposit, half is refundable in the morning. I need your ID and…"
Taylor put two hundred cash on the counter. "You don't need my ID."
She was hoping the money would work so she wouldn't have to use the Force. She'd never tried bribing anyone before, but this seemed like a reasonable time and place. Nor was she wrong, at least not about everything.
The woman stared at her for a while before she counted out five of the ten twenties. "Hundred flat for the night with no ID."
She reached behind and grabbed a key. "Room 245. It's at the end of the wing to your right, second floor. Make sure to lock all your deadbolts. We've had break-ins before." She put the key on the remaining five twenty-dollar bills.
"Thanks."
The room when she reached it smelled musty. The crown molding on the ceiling hung loose in several places and she could see stains on the carpet. The bed looked older than her old bed in Brockton Bay which, given it was her father's before her, was saying something.
However, the door behind her had three deadbolt locks and the window had black-out shades and bars on the outside. She went straight to the bathroom and pulled out the toothpaste and her new brush with an almost visceral feeling of anticipation.
The shower had a timer on it. When the timer ran out, so did the hot water. Fortunately, she was clean enough and climbed out. Wrapped in the towel, she stood in front of the dingy mirror and stared at her now bleached-blonde hair. With her dark brows and black eyes, the blonde hair just made her looked washed out and even more tired.
Even though it was still light outside and not yet even dinner, Taylor pulled on her newly purchased sleepshirt, climbed into the musty, stiff bed, and fell into a deep sleep.
~~Quintessence~~
~~Quintessence~~
Taylor smiled when she felt her mom gently cup her cheek. "Time to wake up, my sleepy little owl."
"Too tired," she mumbled sleepily. "Five more minutes."
"Sorry, darling, but the Protectorate will be here in ten. Five minutes of sleep might get you life in the Birdcage."
Taylor snapped her eyes open in horror and realized that the hand cupping her cheek was real. A strange woman in a domino mask with Latina features sat on the edge of her bed, smirking down at her. Taylor could not sense her at all.
"Who are you?"
"Darling, we're on a clock here. You can call me Entourage. I'm a friend—possibly the only friend you have in the world right now. Unless you want to go to the Birdcage, I need you to get up, get dressed, and go to your car."
"I don't understand…"
"The Protectorate has a post-cog who can follow you anywhere," Entourage said. "He's coming right now with three van loads of PRT agents and an entire team of capes out of Los Angeles. Not Alexandria, but her second in command and a dozen more. You're good, darling, but injured as you are, you're not that good. Come on, we need to get moving."
The woman remained completely absent in the Force, but what Taylor could sense was a steadily increasing feeling of danger. She jumped out of bed and dressed as quickly as she could. Throwing everything she had into the duffel with her stolen money, she turned to find Entourage at the door.
"Come on, Darling. Time's a' wasting."
Taylor followed her out of the motel room, only to blink at the utter darkness and cold. What time was it? At Entourage's motion, she brushed off the confusion and ran to her car. Thankfully no one had broken into it. She climbed in and said nothing as the other cape did the same on the passenger side.
"No keys?" the strange cape asked.
"Don't need them." Taylor held her hand over the ignition, and with now-practiced ease turned it over internally. "Hang on, I never learned how to drive. Which way?"
"North."
Taylor followed the Entourage's instructions to the letter, merging onto a highway heading north back into Seattle. Before she reached the areas of the city destroyed by Leviathan eight years ago, Entourage directed her to leave the highway and drive west across South Seattle. Finally, Taylor followed the strange cape's directions into the parking lot of an all-night café that already had a small group of tired-looking construction workers.
"Come on, Darling," Entourage said.
She led the way into the café. Now that she wasn't waking up, driving at night or terrified out of her wits, Taylor had a better chance to examine her mysterious benefactor. What she saw was a young, fit woman who didn't wear a costume, but instead a pinstripe charcoal-gray business skirt and jacket over a cream blouse. Her pumps glistened red in the lights from the café as she walked in, as if wearing a mask into a café was perfectly normal.
They walked through the café into the kitchens without anyone even looking up, until they arrived in a back office. Inside, Taylor paused when she saw a creature inside that reminded her of something she'd thought of once, though she couldn't remember exactly what.
The creature looked humanoid, with arms, legs and a head. The face had eyes, ears, a nose and a mouth. It also had sand-colored scales instead of smooth skin. It wore a cheap jogging suit and stood up as they entered.
"Took you long enough." The creature's voice sounded human, but androgynous. "Take off the clothes."
"What?" Taylor looked in horror from the creature to Entourage.
"Taylor, this is Chameleon. Chameleon is a Stranger and a Trump. Not only can she make herself look just like you, but for half an hour she can borrow your powers. Which means that the post-cog who has your scent will see only her echo, not yours. But she needs full body contact."
"Kid, you ain't got nothing I ain't seen, had, or fucked myself. Come on, don't have all day."
Taylor's cheeks burned, but she couldn't sense Entourage at all in the Force, and Chameleon just felt like a blank space. The only thing her power could sense was the still approaching threat from the PRT.
"Fine."
She quickly stripped out of her brand-new cloths.
"Underwear too," Chameleon smirked.
Taylor's hands shook as she complied. "I've been naked too fucking much," she muttered.
"Okay, babe," Chameleon said. "Full body contact. Don't worry, don't got the plumbing to do anything too interesting. Not yet, anyway."
The creature stripped down, revealing an utterly androgynous, reptilian body. She stepped forward and then, to Taylor's shock, hugged her tight. The creature's arms snaked under hers as she pressed her smooth, warm scales against Taylor's entire body. She felt a sudden drain, as if she'd taken one of her dad's sleeping pills, and abruptly it wasn't scales pressed against her chest, but a pair of small breasts smashed up painfully against her own.
Taylor would have fallen when Chameleon let go if Entourage hadn't been there to catch her. She found herself staring at…herself. The only difference was her hair, which for some reason the creature had copied from it's original long, curly appearance before her capture. Otherwise, everything was the same. Her non-existent hips, her barely-there chest and thin arms and legs.
"Huh, stage dancing is definitely not a career choice for you, babe," the creature said.
She sounded exactly like Taylor. Only, with a West-coast accent. Chameleon quickly pulled on Taylor's clothes, and then left the room.
"Pull on the track suit," Entourage said gently.
"I don't understand what's going on," Taylor said tiredly. She pulled on the track suit.
"I know, Darling. I'm sorry. We need to buy time before we can really talk. Chameleon can do that for us. Now, come on."
They left the café just in time to see Taylor's stolen car drive away with her double behind the wheel. Entourage, however, led them to another sedan in the parking lot. She motioned for Taylor to get into the passenger side, while she herself climbed into the driver's side.
As much as Taylor wanted to grill the woman, she found herself fighting off a deep lethargy. She still had the Force, but it felt dull and distant. The most immediate thing she felt was exhaustion.
"The drain will last for half an hour, after which time Chameleon will revert to his normal state and your full power will return."
"His? I thought you said it was a her!"
"He's whatever he wants to be," Entourage said, grinning. "Chameleon is the highest priced prostitute in the West Coast. He can be anyone, as long as he can touch them."
"Touch? Like what he did to me?"
"No, he had to have full body contact because he was also taking your power. For just appearance, he could have just touched your cheek. That wouldn't have fooled Nutcracker, though. We've dealt with the man before—he can be stubborn."
"The one from the hospital?"
"The same."
Taylor blinked back a yawn. "How did you find me?"
"We can talk about that when we reach your home."
"My what?"
Entourage smiled at her, but didn't say anything else. Taylor tried to summon the energy to demand to know what was going on, but the lethargy just grew stronger and stronger until she couldn't keep her eyes open any more.
~~Quintessence~~
~~Quintessence~~
Taylor woke with a rush. The Force swept back into her body like a wave of the ocean, bringing with it adrenaline and consciousness. She sat up from what felt like a cot and found herself in front of a stained-glass window that dominated the entire wall to her left. The stained glass depicted a blonde, Germanic Jesus standing on a mount, teaching his equally Aryan disciples.
To her left, she found herself looking down from an elevated platform onto the muddy, destroyed floor of a church sanctuary. Morning sunlight shone through more stained-glass windows on the east side of the abandoned church, while the west side's windows were boarded up.
And facing her on an old, cracked church pew sat Entourage, looking as perfect as before. "Hello, sleepyhead."
Taylor sat up and quickly took a better look at her surroundings. A large propane heater sat nearby, bathing their area in waves of heat that just barely kept the bitter cold of a Seattle January at bay. Beyond it she was confused to see a small tent on poles set over what looked like the base of a shower stall in the middle of the floor.
Beside it was a small chemical toilet. Next to that? A propane stove and large cooler. "What is this place?"
"Abandoned church, in case Jesus there didn't give it away." Entourage smiled impishly as she spoke. She used the Spanish pronunciation of Hey-soos. "We're a few blocks north of the FEMA exclusion zone, just a little south of the old North Admiral neighborhood in West Seattle. A few more blocks, the city just ends. Nothing but old mud flats and unstable forest that grew up after Leviathan. For now, this is your new home. Hungry?"
"Um, sure…what the hell?"
Another Entourage appeared on what Taylor now realized was the loft of the church, dressed identically to the first. She carried a bag of fast foot which she walked over and handed to Taylor with a wink, before popping like a balloon.
"That's your power? Duplication?"
"Yep. It got me from high school to a Ph.D in just four years too, so don't knock it." The woman smiled, and then very casually removed her mask to reveal that she was just as beautiful without as with. "My name is Gabriella Vargas. I'm the owner and chief executive officer of Esterella Corporation. We're a newly formed Parahuman Services company out of San Diego. We're opening up an office here in Seattle as a way-point for our ultimate expansion into Alaska. And we'd like to offer you a place in our ranks."
It took Taylor a long moment to grasp that. "Esterella…Corporation. What, you mean like a 9-5 job or something?"
"Or something. We don't have a set methodology. Rather, we're a collection of capes who use our powers not to play cops and robbers, but simply to make money. If it helps clarify, Esterella is part of the Elite."
Elite. Taylor knew about the Elite from her forays onto Para Humans Online, the largest forum about capes in the world. According to PHO, the Elite was technically a villain organization. Except, they were a villain organization that seemed to get along oddly well with the PRT.
Gabriella motioned toward the bag. Doing so reminded Taylor that the pizza she stole was hours ago. She pulled it open and removed a large breakfast taco next to a bottle of water. She ate, but watched Vargas as she did so.
"Did you know that doctors pay hundreds of dollars every year to be a part of the American Medical Association? That's our model. We're an association of capes that you'll pay an annual fee to. I'll admit it's thousands instead of hundreds. But in return, we set you up with a cape identity and a means to make money that doesn't involve stealing or violence. In your case, my contact at Bayview West said you healed a girl's gunshot wounds. Was that true?"
Taylor nodded as she ate.
"Then we'd set you up as a parahuman healer. We'd get you licensed under the Stansfield Parahuman Commerce Act so that you'd be legal and legit, and as long as you stay in your cape persona the PRT won't be able to touch you. And if any other gangs give you a hard time, you call me and we'll back you up."
"In return?"
"In return, if we have need of you, you help. For instance, if we have need of your healing services in San Diego, you agree to come and heal. If there is an Endbringer Attack on the West Coast, you agree to serve as a healer for that purpose. If an itinerant member of the Elite needs shelter, you provide it. Doing so not only aids the Elite, it would cement your position as a healer to the PRT and ensure preferential treatment if you are ever unmasked. That Birdcage sentence? If you act as a healer at an Endbringer event, I promise they would drop it in a heartbeat. Healers are too rare and valuable to toss away like that."
Taylor discovered the breakfast taco was gone. She didn't even remember finishing it. She did finish the entire bottle of water in a few desperate gulps as she thought of everything the beautiful cape said. All that she could come up with in response was: "It sounds too good to be true."
Vargas nodded. "I'm not going to lie to you, Taylor. We're not all nice people. Some laws were passed that made our lives difficult, and we've had to be more aggressive than we like to survive. Sometimes, some of our branches have even had to resort to violence. There may be a time when we ask you to engage in violence as well, though that would be a last resort. Our main goal with you as a healer in Seattle is a reference. When we recruit other capes, we can say, 'See this cape? This wonderful healer? She's one of ours. Wouldn't you like to be as well?' It works more than you might think."
She leaned forward, elbows propped on her knees. "More importantly, Taylor, you need help. You need back up and support. This area is dominated by race-based gangs. The only gang you could really join would be the Sons of the Republic, and they're a sexist bunch of racist pricks. Tekiya would try to enslave you, La Familia would do the same. I have no idea what Ovambo would do to you, but they wouldn't recruit you, that much I know. And you can't go to the PRT or Protectorate for obvious reasons. Your only choice is to try and go rogue and hope for the best, or join a team. Our team would let you use your powers for good."
Taylor had no idea why she was hesitating—she didn't have many options. "Okay. Yeah, that sounds good."
Gabriella's smile was near blinding.
"You won't regret your decision, Taylor. As a signing bonus, the car we arrived in is yours. It's down stairs in the back. You'll find a laptop and a mobile hotspot for internet service. You'll also find a business card and an address for a place to get a costume. You'll need to figure out a cape name."
"What if I need you?"
Gabriella reached into her pin-striped jack and removed a sleek, expensive-looking phone. "My contact information is in there. It also has the Speaker of the House and Upperhand's contact information—they're my HR and Financial people. We'll talk annual dues once you actually have some positive money flow. And this place?"
Gabriella leaned back and motioned around her head. "It's yours. Property beyond the Exclusion Zone is off grid. There's a generator down stairs. We've confirmed it's structurally sound and would make a very good clinic. Once you have enough money, I'd recommend you hire some local help to renovate it. But it's yours, all of it, because you made the right choice. Any questions?"
"How….what do I do next?"
"Go get a costume, Darling," Gabriella said with an impish laugh. "I left Masquerade's business card in the car. Once you have a costume, why…shoot me a text and we'll handle advertising and licensing for you. It's that simple."
"I…thank you. For everything."
"Oh Darling, don't thank me," Gabriella said. "Elite has been hoping for a healer for years. But for my division to get it? No, thank you. Now, go get a costume, come up with a super cape name for yourself, and go make us all a bunch of money!"
With that, Gabriella disappeared with a slight pop of displaced air, just like the other clone.
"Guess that explains why I couldn't sense her in the Force," Taylor muttered.
She stood from what she realized was a nice-sized cot layered in sleeping bags. The bags and cot looked brand new. She even saw price-tags on the bags. Taking inventory, she saw the tent was a camping shower with a large bladder of water hanging from the cross bars at the top. The bag actually ran through a propane heater before reaching the nozzle. The excess water drained through the little shower base through exposed PVC pipe somewhere to the ground floor.
She made use of the camping toilet, grateful that Entourage had thought to include toilet paper. She then took inventory. The heater was propane, like the shower. The camping oven/stove was also propane powered, with four burners over a small oven area for baking. The cooler was the most amazing thing. The walls of the cooler were two inches thick, and the seal strong enough she had to work to open it.
Inside, she saw layers of food—hamburger patties, hot dogs, cheese and milk, condiments and other food essentials set on trays to maximize the space. On either side were large blue plates labeled Forever Ice.
Taylor stared at the tinker-made ice plates. They sold for a hundred bucks a piece, but could remain cold for over a year. "Wow."
She closed the cooler and saw a wooden rolling island that came up to her waist. The shelves underneath were filled with canned and bottled foods, spices, and even a loaf of bread.
"Wow, she went all out. How'd she get all this so quick?"
As soon as she asked herself the question, though, Taylor remembered the second clone. Then she considered the name—Entourage. If she had no limit to the number of clones she could project, then there was no telling how much Gabrielle Vargas could get done quickly.
Suddenly, it hit her. Taylor staggered a little before she returned to her cot. He breath came in ragged gasps as the true import of what just happened hit her.
Hope. With shaking hands, she rubbed her face against the cold that just hovered on the edge of the heater's range, and considered what had happened. For the first time since the nightmare began, she had hope.
The church wasn't that large, once she started looking through it. The sanctuary might have held maybe a hundred people—the buttressed ceiling rose at least three or even four stories high, but the space itself was only a hundred feet wide, and twice that long. Passed the sanctuary she found a series of offices and a hall that led to a south-facing entrance. There were a few small classrooms for Sunday school, and a larger communal room that had a non-functioning kitchen area.
If she was going to be healing, the south-facing entrance would be where she received… patients? Clients? The thought of actually having a job left her trembling with excitement. She got even more excited when she reached a partially collapsed garage at the very bag where she found the brand-new sedan Entourage drove her in the previous night.
"This is fucking awesome," Taylor whispered. She rushed to the driver's side and climbed in. In the floor of the front seat she found a lap-top satchel and a box containing the mobile hot-spot. She also found a business card slid neatly in the face of the car radio.
Masquerade Costume Sales
Live Your Own Fantasy
"Time to get a costume, Darling," Taylor said with a grin. It felt odd for a moment, as if the muscles of her face had forgotten what the expression felt like.