Nightingale & Peregrine

Mandie wasn’t familiar with most medication that wasn’t painkillers. The advantage of being a sensitive was that she quickly dealt with any viruses, and the disadvantage was that medicine seemed to taste worse for her than for anyone else.

Pandora, despite a greater sense of hearing, lacked those advantages and hopefully disadvantages. According to the GP, it was only allergies, and there were less options for those under twelve, a schedule they tried to stay even stricter to with superhumans.

After a minute of trying to discern quality, Mandie dropped every kids’ allergy chew in the basket.

“We’re gonna figure out which one’s tolerable over the next few days,” she called over her shoulder at the same time she heard a thump.

She turned around to find Pandora fallen on top of a man around Mandie’s age.

“You okay, kid?” he asked before glancing at Mandie, “Is she yours?”

Mandie gently pulled Pandora up by the arm.

“Sorry, she figured out movement makes her feel less stuffed up, and didn’t check her surroundings.”

“Happens to me all the time,” he waved it away before standing up with little difficulty, “I’m just sorry for being in the way.”

The man was a few inches shorter than Mandie, with recently dyed black hair, and something familiar in his expression. His eyes flicked from her to Pandora, probably because Mandie was white with freckles and slightly waved red hair, while Pandora was brown with clear skin and incredibly straight brown hair.

Mandie turned her gaze from him to Pandora, who was looking at her hands.

How do I say sorry again?

Mandie put her hand in “A” and made two circles on her chest. Pandora followed the movement.

“I forgive you,” the man signed back while also saying it aloud.

“You speak ASL?” Mandie asked.

“I took a lot of language classes in college.”

Pandora’s eyes moved from one to the other, trying to focus on their hands.

“We may be going a bit fast for her,” Mandie admitted, slowing down her pace, “She’s not fluent yet.”

The man’s eyes widened.

“How old are you?”

Pandora held up nine fingers.

He looked more confused in Mandie’s direction.

“She recently lost her voice, and her family never taught her.”

Close enough to the truth for a stranger to know.

He nodded.

“Glad you can learn now.” He looked at the basket, “Hope the allergies improve.”

“Thank you,” Pandora carefully signed.

The man walked away, and Mandie watched as he deftly swiped a bag of chips before taking it to the counter. She kept watching as he walked out of the store, turning to wave at her through the door.

Thanks for the compliment.

Mandie flinched.

Pandora didn’t like the taste of cherry medicine. Mandie wasn’t all that fond of the smell either.

She offered Pandora a glass of water.

“I know it’s gross,” she continued to speak aloud while signing her sentences, “But it’ll help you sleep.”

“I don’t want to sleep,” a mix of sounds collected by Pandora’s hand said.

“You need to.”

Pandora gave an incredibly sullen expression that Mandie struggled not to laugh at.

“The man at the store was nice,” the sounds said.

“He was.”

“Do you know him?”

“I do not.”

He didn’t seem to recognize her either, but his expression kept tugging at her memories. His telepathic comment made the matter all the more concerning. She’d have to ask around, see if anyone knew him.

“Maybe we—”

Pandora was asleep on the table.

You haven’t brushed your teeth yet.

Pandora startled awake, glared at Mandie, but still got up, trudging toward the bathroom.

It’ll wash the taste out of your mouth, Mandie noted.

Pandora moved faster.

Mandie kept a psychic monitor on her, moving up the stairs to maintain its potency.

It felt odd to have stairs now. Since Mandie agreed to take in Pandora, Catherine insisted on her getting a full-sized house, though Mandie was sure the two of them would be fine in a two-bedroom apartment.

She wasn’t completely ungrateful to have a dedicated sewing room, even if she usually took the projects to the living room to have some background noise.

Things felt less empty when her life could fill a whole apartment. Now she had to worry about a guest room.

Done, Pandora signaled. She’d acclimated to psychic communication much faster than ASL, not that it was surprising. Mandie had learned when she was younger than Pandora, so it felt natural, even if she knew it was an acquired skill.

Mandie checked in on Pandora’s room, seeing her already changed and tucked into bed.

“You are either very tired, or planning something. Which is it?”

Tired.

“That’s exactly what you’d say if you were up to something.”

Pandora giggled.

Mandie tucked her in a little further, and placed a book on the nightstand along with a glass of water.

“If you get thirsty or bored, those should satisfy you.”

Pandora nodded dutifully.

Mandie waited in another room, breathing quietly until she was sure Pandora was asleep.

She could do it tonight, finally. Pandora had implied that she wanted to join Nightingale’s excursions, but Mandie drew the line at taking a nine-year-old along. If Pandora was asleep though, then she had opportunity.

That was one point for the cherry medicine.

She focused on the material of her dress. Anyone who’d felt it before would notice it was surprisingly thick for a sundress, because she had to reweave it to cover her entire body, plus a skirt. Petticoats could only add so much material. Her hair was braided in the same process as the uniform.

She put on a pair of comfortable boots, added the mask, and Nightingale was ready to patrol the night.

Nightingale had missed the feeling of air around her as she ran across rooftops, barely making some of the jumps.

In an odd way, the alarm of the local gallery was music to her ears after so long cooped inside.

The art gallery was one of the best funded places in Precedent. Most of the art was local, but there was still some sizable collection of outside art by superhumans, even an early piece by Victoria Loch, donated by Mandie Piec.

All this made it even more likely to be a target, which meant Nightingale had a key to the front door.

However, the key was unnecessary because someone had shattered the glass paneling.

She kept her arms close to her as she walked through before proceeding in defensive stance.

She moved to the security desk, which featured an unconscious Dan. She didn’t always like Dan—he felt uncomfortable at the prospect a woman able to kick his ass—but she didn’t have any satisfaction from seeing him hurt.

Sorry for the intrusion, she told him, But I should know what I’m dealing with here.

Dan offered a memory of a shrouded man shattering the door with the slightest touch. The man crept slowly toward Dan, reaching his hand out, and Dan went unconscious.

“Shit.” Nightingale muttered. Whoever this was, they had more power than she did.

In the worst case—well in the worst case she died or was seriously injured. In the other worst case, she could call in some friends.

She let her eyes adjust to the darkness. There was movement in the college wing.

She put on an air of inattention, so they would be less likely to notice her in all-white.

“I heard you walk in, Songbird.”

That didn’t make any sense, though maybe it actually made perfect sense.

Spade of the Four Suits. No one had seen him in awhile, and Nightingale arguably wasn’t seeing him now, not with this lighting.

“Where’s the rest of your crew, Stranger?”

“Running solo this time,” Spade admitted.

“You’ve admitted you aren’t the brains of the operation,” she kept moving closer, waiting for him to stop her, “But I assumed you’d know the art student section isn’t going to be worth much.”

“Who said I was in this for the money? You can learn a lot about someone from their art.”

“What are you trying to learn?”

Motion near his head, probably shaking it.

“Can’t be your snitch this time, Songbird. Just gotta do my job.”

The glass around the item shattered, and Nightingale barely had time to stop the shards from cutting her face, she tossed the ones her telekinesis got a hold of back at Spade, taking advantage of his distraction to rush him.

She didn’t want to break the art, but the plans for it seemed potentially more devastating to the student than a broken installation.

It was already out of Spade's hands by time she got there, and to make matters worse, he used the glass to cut her arm.

“You’re not winning this fight,” he insisted, stepping back.

“Our record says otherwise.”

She brushed her hand on the plaque to discover the item was a pendant of metal and enamel before she went for his jacket to pull it out of the pocket.

She stopped, frozen.

“I didn’t have to win those fights,” he said.

She focused her telekinesis around her body, pushing back against his control. Of all the times to get nothing from his mind, it was worse when she couldn’t see his face. Did he know, or should she stay still until he got close enough?

“I am sorry about this,” he insisted, “Maybe next time.”

“Same next time you told me about before?” she asked.

His hold loosened. She took the opportunity to reach in his pocket before he pushed her to the ground.

He was going for the skylight.

She ran outside, toward the next building’s fire escape, jumping between levels instead of bothering with a ladder.

She landed in front of him, stars finally granting a better look at him.

He looked irritated. He wore a brown jacket instead of the usual black one, and his pants looked like normal blue jeans now.

She laughed. He kicked her ass looking like a man full of fishing stories. All he needed was a dumb cap to finish the look.

“What’s so funny?”

“Did you lose your fashion sense along with your crew?”

“Just wanted something new.”

He jumped away, holding himself in the air. She grabbed his foot. He kicked her off.

“No one likes a sore loser.”

“Do you know what your client’s going to do with the information from that necklace?” she asked, “You ready to ruin someone’s life, Stranger?”

“Bye, Songbird, sorry I couldn’t stop to chat.”

He flew away.

She should have known better than to trust a mercenary. He lied to her before, why should she be surprised he’d been holding back until now.

But why stop holding back for a cheap piece by a complete unknown? Whose art even was it?

She’d have to stop by in the morning.

In the meantime, she kept a vigil on the gallery until police arrived.

Technically, she was a witness, and she could identify the perpetrator, but if she left it to the cops, Spade would be out of town the moment he knew. Better not to be noticed and handle Spade herself. After all, this was personal.

“Should have taken my offer when you had the chance, Stranger.”

Like most telepaths, Mandie was a lucid dreamer, and dreams were the easiest place to sift through memories, even if they were slightly warped.

Her memories looked a bit like the road up to Diana Hunter’s old house. Mandie had only lived there for a few months until it became the burning building she walked up to, but it had left an impression.

Spade wasn’t generally traumatizing, so she wouldn’t have to go in the building. Instead she had to go in the creepy woods that held Diana’s “friends”.

She took a deep breath, summoning the representation of her subconscious, a nightingale that landed gently on her finger.

She considered focusing on Pharmacy Stranger, but she didn’t want to sift through every man in her life, if he’d even been a man when they’d met before.

She focused on Spade, seeking a hint at the power-level he’d displayed at the gallery. If he’d just been holding back, she could figure something out, but if he’d become more powerful, that was a completely different can of worms.

The mind wasn’t safe from mutation, it changed along with the rest of the body. If Spade had somehow mutated again, then she couldn’t trust that he was the same person as before.

The nightingale flew from its perch, and she ran to follow, leaning against the tree where it landed, before falling backwards into it.

She was upside down. She saw Diamond, whose hair was bleached at the time, but looked its usual red in the memory, and Spade, whose hair wasn’t dyed yet, so it was a mousy blond. His hand was raised since he was the one holding her up.

She pushed back in the memory. Spade’s hair turned black, and now that she was right side up, his and Diamond’s faces were indiscernible. Had Mandie forgotten, or had Diamond altered her memories?

She was running toward them, attacking Spade since she recognized him as telekinetic. Her body froze despite ignoring Diamond’s command to stop.

She breathed a sigh of relief. He’d managed this before. he had been holding back for her benefit.

“You little…” she muttered.

The question remained: Why now? What changed to make him stop her over some student’s necklace?

She had to find that student, but it was too late to check the gallery herself. She needed an excuse to be near a crime scene.

She knew just the friend to call tomorrow morning.