“Do you—we—have…ah, there it is.” Aurora reached for the vanilla extract on the top shelf of one of the kitchen cabinets. “It’s dusty.”
“If you’d finished the question, I would have said no.”
Aurora laughed, and measured out an eighth of a teaspoon to add to the French toast batter she was making. Six thick slices of brioche bread sat out on the counter, slightly drying. She glanced at the recipe on the iPad again. While she didn’t grumble about not being able to just access it by plugging her mind right into the Internet, she didn’t have to. It had been constantly shadowed in her eyes for the few days they’d been back in his apartment.
At the moment, his life felt like a strange vacation with a tinge of delirium to it. The threat of jail had been lifted; he wasn’t going into the office; the endlessly curious, endlessly energetic girlfriend he had a deep crush on had moved in with him. But he wasn’t going into the office because he’d lost his job, and he’d be unlikely to be able to get a new one until his record was expunged—if then, given that his name had started appearing in news stories about the Dynamice. And while those stories weren’t hostile to Aurora, they weren’t always sympathetic, either—making it even more difficult for the pair to leave his apartment than the fact of her being a seven-foot-tall mouse woman already made it.
Stan Hackett had said his foundation—or maybe Hackett himself, personally; the details got a little fuzzy—would get him a “stipend” while he wasn’t working. That’d be a life-saver, or at least a retirement-savings-saver, if it came through: Ted had socked away four months’ worth of expenses in a savings account, which had seemed like a stupendous amount not that long ago but now seemed uncomfortably small. Especially since now he’d be funding living expenses for two people.
One of whom really, really wanted to be able to get out and see the world.
The mouse had finished dipping the bread into the batter she’d made, arranging the pieces with engineer precision on the griddle. “Does this look right?”
“Uh, sure, but keep in mind you’re already a better cook than I am.”
“This is only the third thing I’ve ever cooked, and the first thing was just boiling pasta and heating up sauce from a jar.”
“Yeah, and that’s about as complicated a recipe as I can follow.”
“Don’t sell yourself short.”
“Says the giant woman.”
She laughed again and winked. “You love giant women.”
“Well.” He hugged her from behind. “I don’t know if I’d love all giant women, but one in particular, yeah.”
Granted, it was difficult to really screw up French toast unless you either burned it or undercooked it, but three of the six pieces were perfect, and the other three were still good. The jambalaya that Aurora had insisted on making the other night once she’d read about it on his computer had been, to his tastebuds, restaurant-quality, if maybe just a little too spicy. (For him, although clearly not for her.)
“Do you think we could go to Sonoma?” Aurora asked when they were clearing the plates.
“Uh.” He blinked. “Like, wine tasting?”
“Mmm hmm.” She raised a hand. “I know, it’s not keeping a low profile. But from what I read, it’s out of tourist season there, and if we go during what would be a workweek…”
“It could be quiet. We’d still be spotted quickly, you know.”
“I know. I’m just feeling…” She shook her head. “After having a little taste of freedom, staying cooped up hurts that much more.”
“The trick is getting past the reporters.”
She sighed. “I so wish I had my nanotech working.”
“No eating the media.”
Aurora snorted. “I know that, silly. I can hear Ms. Hammer in my head talking about they need to think I’m less scary, not more. No, I meant to do sneakier things. I would try to find ways to disable their cameras, or assign them other stories, or to convince them we’ve already left.” She put away a few dishes as he finished drying them. “I’m fantasizing about eating them, though.”
“You are scary.”
She kissed his forehead. “I am so scary.”
Hmm. Was there a way they could sneak out past the reporters? They weren’t literally at the front door, since the apartment building had interior hallways more like a hotel’s. He’d always found that a little annoying—it made the place seem more like a luxury barracks than a rental home—but now, it was a bit of a saving grace. The reporters were positioned in a spot to watch the garage, but they had to stay off the apartment complex’s property; the management company wasn’t on Ted’s side as much as sensitive to the complaints of other residents. If this kept up, that could bite Ted in the ass—they might well invoke some kind of obscure clause in his lease to evict him—but today, it might work to their advantage.
“I have an idea. Let’s pack.”
About a half-hour later, give or take, they threw a suitcase into the back of Ted’s Accord and got in the front seat. Aurora had put her wide-brimmed hat on; it wouldn’t stop anyone who got more than a passing glance from noticing she was a Dynamouse, but on the road most people would only be giving them passing glances. Once they got on the road.
Ted started the car, but didn’t pull out. After about a half a minute, Aurora looked at him quizzically.
“We’re going to follow someone else out,” he said.
She looked blank. “And this will do what for us?”
“With any luck, it’ll distract them enough that they won’t be looking at the second car out closely enough for any of them to hop in their vehicles and follow us until it’s too late.”
“Do you really think they would follow us?”
He eyed another car approaching up the ramp from the lower level, and got ready. “Maybe. I wouldn’t rule it out.”
Aurora glowered, crossing her arms. “I am now fantasizing about dipping them in hot sauce that makes them squeal before I start eating them.”
“You need to get out of the habit of eating humans.”
“I haven’t been able to form a habit yet! It’s aspirational.”
He eyed her. She tried to keep a straight face, but ruined it with a giggle.
“Okay.” He pulled out behind the BMW, following it just another few yards until they reached the garage gate, then tailgated it out into the driveway. As he expected, the BMW put on its right-hand turn signal: nearly all the cars leaving the apartment turned right, not left, to head toward the main road rather than deeper into the suburban neighborhood the complex sat on the edge of.
Aurora sank down in the seat so she didn’t look quite so tall, turning to face Ted so her hat faced the main road—and the two news vans, plus a beat-up economy sedan, camped out on that corner, just to the side of the apartment building’s property line. Someone, probably a newspaper reporter, leaned against the side of the sedan, speaking with somebody in a blue polo shirt, likely someone from one of the TV stations.
Ted immediately turned left, without signaling, and checked the rearview mirror. Neither of the two had glanced over.
“Did it work?” Aurora said.
“I think so.”
She straightened up and took off the hat, shaking out her metallic hair, and grinned. “Okay, I guess that was a good idea. What now?”
“Now, we head to 280 north to San Francisco, and go over the Golden Gate Bridge.”
Aurora tilted her head. “Is that interesting?”
“You’re going to be plastered to the window.”
She pouted at him, but he was right—although she’d been watching, thrilled, most of the time up I-280. (There were prettier roads, to be sure—most of the roads through the Sierras they’d been on qualified, as would some of the highways they’d be on just a little later in Sonoma County—but not many prettier stretches of interstate highway.)
As they reached the north side of the Bridge and the Marin Headlands came into view, Aurora let out a long, happy sigh. “The world is so beautiful.”
Ted reached across the center console and squeezed her furry hand a moment.
While hopping off 101 onto California 37 would be more direct, Ted headed on to Petaluma, taking 116 toward Sonoma instead—he dimly remembered that it was a prettier drive, going through a mountain pass rather than skirting around them in the flatlands. It was.
“Okay. Hmm. I know Sonoma Square’s one of the big attractions, but I remember coming up here with Lucy and finding a great place for lunch a few blocks south. Well, I thought it was great. Lucy thought it was too pubby.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.” He shook his head a little. “Looking back, there are plenty of ways we didn’t really mesh, but it took us a few years too long to admit it to each other.”
Once they reached the edge of town, it took a few more minutes of driving before Ted spotted the Hopmonk Tavern. “Okay, it’s still here. Great.” He turned in.
Aurora picked up her hat as she got out of the car, paused, looked behind her at her tail, then set the hat back down on the seat. “They’re just going to have to deal with me being a mouse, I think.”
“Yep.”
Ted did his best to stay nonchalant, but in reality, this was the most exposed they’d been since—well, ever. Other than the night at the hotel bar, they’d avoided crowds. While the tavern wasn’t packed, they were doing a brisk business. Aurora attracted attention even before they reached the door, customers glancing her way and murmuring. No reporters, at least yet, but it felt qualitatively different in a way he couldn’t put his finger on. He could tell from Aurora’s body language, the way she carried herself, that she felt it, too.
The host, to his credit (and to Ted’s surprise), didn’t bat an eye at Aurora, acting as if he didn’t even notice her appearance. More customers stared as they entered, though, looking up from their tables, over from the bar. Some pulled out their phones, no doubt looking up the recent news story about her.
The food definitely was “pubby,” but in a distinctly Wine Country way, and it was just as good as he remembered. They both got Kellerbiers, the “house” unfiltered pilsner; he ordered a burger, while Aurora ordered fish and chips.
Their dishes had just arrived when a diner at the closest table leaned toward them. “Uh, excuse me, but you’re…” He pointed at Aurora with a quizzical half-smile. “From the news? Cybermouse?”
“Dynamouse.”
“Oh god, you really talk.” He looked shocked and delighted. “What are you doing here? Just in a restaurant in Sonoma?”
She gestured toward her plate. “Having fish and chips.”
A woman at the table cleared her throat. “Jonathan, leave them alone.”
He turned her. “I was just wondering if this guy was worried the mouse would turn on him.”
Aurora had just started to take a bite of food, but lowered her fork. “What?”
“That’s buzz on social media. That mice like her have been attacking customers.” He looked at Ted rather than Aurora. “I mean, it might be rumors. I haven’t seen any real news stories about it yet. I don’t think. But, uh.” He lowered his voice, as if Aurora wouldn’t hear. “She might be a girl, but she might be able to do you serious damage, you know? She’s way bigger than I thought!”
“She’s not going to attack me, or anyone else at this restaurant,” Ted said, shooting Aurora a glance he desperately hoped communicated no jokes about how you’re not that big, please. The mouse just flashed a demure smile.
“Jonathan,” the woman hissed.
As the man turned away, Ted pulled out his phone, scrolling through Apple News. “I’m not seeing anything,” he murmured to Aurora. “Do you think the other Dynamice would, uh…” He waved a hand in a circular motion. “You know…”
“Decide that they’d taken enough abuse from humans, and fight rather than ask for help like I did?” she murmured back. “I think it is very possible.”
“That would be bad for them.”
She nodded, and picked up one of the thick-cut chips. “And it might be worse for you.” She bit the chip in half.