The Subtle Art of Blending

Pistol, taser, dagger...

Tylane silently rolled down the list as she walked, lightly touching each weapon where it was concealed on her person. She didn’t expect to need them, but without their familiar, reassuring weight, she knew she’d never be able to go through with this. Without them, she couldn’t even walk through that door.

Still, she did another pass by the restaurant, avoided reaching for the handle, and kept her pace. Outside, under the silver sheet of light cast by the full moon, she was a captain, bred of an underground syndicate dedicated to protecting humans from a threat they could neither name nor understand. Once she cleared the doorway, she’d have to be what her dating profile said she was: normal.

“You’d think I’d be better at this by now,” she muttered to herself, as was her habit after five isolated years in hiding.

Five years…could it really have already been five years since she’d been sent out among civilians? It was never meant to last this long. Tylane swung left, slipping into a dark passage between buildings, and unholstered her pistol. Moving fluidly, she checked the magazine, reloaded, and then chambered a round. The practiced motion relaxed her. It brought her back to the days before she passed her trials, when initiates were drilled relentlessly with human weapons. Now, they were the only protection she had.

Good blending is good hiding, she thought as she emerged from shadow.

A lesson instilled by her commander. He’d reminded her to bear that wisdom close in mind when they’d sent her on assignment. Blending is everything. It’s why they’d surgically implanted her with a bio-bracelet that would suppress her true form—it’s also why she’d finally decided to go on a date.

Wyatt was pleasant enough on his profile; polite, smart, good conversationalist. Not that any of that was really important. He was normal, and having a normal relationship would help her blend; make her safer. After two years without a word from tower command, it had become clear that she was on her own, and she needed help—now more than ever. Recently, she’d been seeing shadows and found ill-fated markings scrawled onto her doorframe. Bio-bracelet or no, the enemy could feel her…smell her…and they were closing in.

All of a sudden, she was looking into Wyatt’s face. He’d been saying her name.

“Tylane?”

She shook herself. Soft music and the murmur of dining room conversation registered quickly.

“Yes,” she finally answered, “sorry. You must be Wyatt.”

“That’s what my mom writes on my lunches,” Wyatt said, smiling as he held out his hand.

Tylane laughed politely and shook it, subtly checking the exits visible from their table. The restaurant’s footprint was small, making it easy to install her security rig when she’d broken in last night. The vulnerability of civilian buildings was shocking. She slipped her hand into her pocket and felt around for the little panic remote that controlled her wiring.

One push of a button and the phones are jammed and the doors are locked. I’m ok.

“I took the liberty of ordering you a drink while I waited,” he said, pushing over a glass of red wine. “Hope that’s ok. I sort of pride myself on being able to pick out the right wine for someone.”

“Oh?” Tylane held the glass to her nose. Wine was a convenient choice. It was normal to examine the smell of a wine, so she didn’t need to find a discrete way to check it for drugs or poison. “And what kind of girl have you pegged me for?”

“The expensive Merlot kind,” he said, looking hopeful as she took a sip.

There was something earnest, almost sweet, about the light brown eyes and boyish face that watched her. He probably did this on every date, and Tylane wagered most women found it charming. It made her want to toy with him.

“It’s not what I normally drink,” she said. His face fell so suddenly, utterly dismayed, that she wished she hadn’t. She reached over and touched his hand, which was tense with concern, adding, “But it’s lovely.”

He exhaled and laughed. “Oh, good,” he said, drinking from his own glass. “You look so serious, I thought I’d screwed up really bad.”

“I’m sorry.” She meant it. “My dad used to say I have a face like a warden, even when I was a baby. I don’t mean to look so stern…I think it’s just my face.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t mean it like that. You have strong features. Dark eyebrows, light green eyes, and your jawline…” He trailed off and shook himself. “I like them though. You’re very intense in person, that’s all. I just want to figure out how to help you relax.”

They both laughed—Tylane because she was imagining teaching him how to use her pistol and the shock on his face. It might feel better to have someone else with a gun on her side, but nothing would truly relax her until she was back with her people again. Their absence was like a hole in her chest; always painful, always something missing.

Though in spite of her natural unease, she found Wyatt’s demeanor effortlessly calming. He spoke comfortably with her, as if to an old friend, and it made her wonder if she could go through with this. Was it cruel to involve him? To risk his life as a way of safeguarding her own? It was certainly irregular as far as civilian engagement protocol was concerned. Her commander wouldn’t approve.

But he’s not speaking to me, is he? she thought darkly.

“I don’t mean to be tense,” she said, reading the menu to distract her bitter thoughts. “Maybe it’s just the full moon.”

He studied her mockingly. “You’re not a werewolf, are you?”

“Werewolves aren’t real,” she said, taking another sip of her wine. He really had chosen well. Full and supple on the palate, it warmed her belly.

“Sounds suspicious…like something a werewolf would say.”

Tylane laughed a little too loud for the volume of the room. “Do you believe in things like that? In monsters?”

“I—”

Wyatt’s answer was cut off by shouting. They both realized then that the room had fallen quite silent, as patrons with a view of the host stand watched an unfriendly encounter between a member of the staff and a broad-shouldered man in black clothing.

“Probably just some asshole who got the wrong takeout order,” Wyatt commented, thinking he was comforting Tylane, who’d gone rigid again. “I used to work in restaurants and we’d—”

“Shh!” she hissed.

Right then, she didn’t care about his anecdote as a memory of the man took solid form. Here was the shadow; the one who’d been tailing her. She recognized his milky white eyes, scarred and blind. With precision and strength that betrayed disability, he raised the cane and struck the host unconscious.

“Shit!” Wyatt yelled, and a chorus of cries through the room echoed his own.

Tylane reached into her pocket and pushed the button.

“I know you’re here!” the blind man barked, walking deftly among the tables. Then, softly, “I know where you’ve been hiding…Captain.”

Whimpers turned into screams as he flipped the nearest table, sending glassware crashing onto the floor.

Tylane’s heart drummed in her chest. She handed Wyatt her wine and with all the commanding force of her title said, “Be silent. Do not move…and don’t spill this.”

He swallowed hard, then took careful hold of both their glasses and said, “Yes ma’am.”

Tylane allowed herself a moment to be impressed. He was more respectful than some of the initiates, and he didn’t even know her rank!

There will have to be more of that when I get back, she thought, eyeing the blind man warily. If I get back.

She wasted no more time. Moving silently under the cover of frightened voices, she made for the bar, opened the nearest bottle of vodka, and doused her wrist. With her dagger poised along the raised skin, she bared her teeth and cut deep, dripping blood onto the ground until she saw a blinking red light. The tiny button on her bio-bracelet was her emergency connection to tower command, to be used only upon discovery or near death.

One push and the bracelet released itself, cauterizing the wound upon exit, and latched onto her arm. From it, her old nanotech suit unfolded, crawling across her limbs, and the power that had been controlled until now ricocheted out of suppression. It left her reeling as it surged through her body.

The scent the blind man had been tracking was now like smoke in his nostrils. “There you are,” he growled, turning to attack.

If the patrons watching had been allowed to keep their memories of that night, they would’ve recounted how Tylane had moved like a feral beast, fleet-footed and savage, reveling in the assailant’s attempts to subdue her. It was only once she’d indulged her ferocity that she finally struck the man unconscious with his own cane and splintered it in two across her knee. She then leapt nimbly atop the bar where Wyatt drank in the sight of her: beautiful and terrible.

“You’ll notice that all phones have been jammed,” she said calmly as she calibrated her suit, voice dominating the slowly quieting room. “All entries and exits have been locked for your safety. Quickly and quietly, please line yourselves up against the back wall.”

Many sets of frozen eyes gazed up at her, unsure of whether or not to comply. Tylane sighed.

BANG!

Guests screamed and clamored over one another to do as she’d requested once her pistol had reinforced the order. She stepped aside as plaster rained down from the hole in the ceiling.

Ignoring their cries, she pressed the red button on her bracelet and said, “Come in, Tower, this is Captain Tylane reporting identity breach and an attack at site 111. Please respond.”

Please respond, she prayed.

Painful silence stretched on, punctuated by fearful, muttered conversation. Then, finally, a deep voice poured through the restaurant’s speakers.

“It’s good to hear from you, Captain. We’re sending your team and civilian control. Stand by.”

Elation was too frail a word to describe Tylane’s joy, her relief. She closed her eyes and waited, counting. For a moment, time seemed to slow. Then she felt the air shift and finally dared to look.

There they were, their sudden appearance sparking the tinder of more frightened cries from the patrons. Though they were fully suited, masks and all, Tylane could name each and every veiled face. These were her people; those she trusted above all others.

A man among them stepped forward, hand over his heart. “Captain, I—”

“’Scuse me…sorry…pardon.” Wyatt parted the assembled company, still carefully carrying two glasses of wine and seemingly oblivious to the gravity of the moment. “I hate to interrupt…” he gestured vaguely, “whatever this is, but could you tell me what the hell is going on?”

Tylane permitted a smile and accepted her wine from him. “Look, this isn’t strictly regulation, but I’ll give you a choice. Come with me and all will be explained. Then, you can either stay with us, or go home with your memory of this night gone.”

“Captain,” said the veiled man, reasserting himself past Wyatt and struggling to hide his irritation. “We have to leave now. More are coming.”

“Well?” she prompted.

Wyatt eyed her steadily. “Depends…is this still a date?”

Tylane laughed. “It can be…but it’s not turning out to be a very good one.”

He offered his hand and she grazed his chest on the way down off the bar. “I guess you’ll just have to find a way to make it up to me.”

“We’ll see about that,” she said, shooting a stern look toward the sound of snickering behind them. “Now stay close and keep up.”

Wyatt smiled wryly. “Yes ma’am.”