I steadied the punching bag with my gloved hands and shot him a sidelong look. It was the “nearly” part that bothered me. “Invincible,” I repeated, jabbing with my right. “Like Butch? That kind of invincible? Or do you mean like Ajax? If I recall correctly, his weapon wasn’t so invincible.”

“Don’t get cocky.”

Micah chuckled. “She’s got a point.”

“Olivia doesn’t box,” Warren said, ignoring Micah. “She doesn’t fight.”

I stepped back from the bag and wiped my face with my forearm. Then I smiled wickedly, petulant at best on this angelic face. “She does now.”

“No,” Warren said, stepping forward. “You have to appear to the world just like the Olivia of old. There can be nothing of Jo in your words or your actions. Your life, and all of our lives, depend on that.”

I’d been alternating jabs and cross punches while he spoke, a rapid staccato of beats overlaying his words, but now I stopped, breathing heavily, and smiled. He didn’t smile back, which I couldn’t hold against him. Even I could smell my defiance. “Warren. What kind of person could watch her sister get thrown through a plate-glass window and not be changed in some way? People aren’t static, everyone grows. I’ve given a lot of thought about what Olivia would do, and I think she’d start studying Krav Maga.”

“Another good point,” said Micah.

“You’re just projecting what you’d want her to do.”

“I think I know her better than you.” Knew her, I corrected mentally, and started punching again, uppercuts this time.

“You’d better hope so,” he said. “Because it’s time to go.”

That stilled me. I lifted my chin, sniffed. “Where?”

“Back into the mortal world. Back into your life.”

Olivia’s life, I thought, and looked away. “I’m not ready.”

“Sweetie,” Micah said, the arbitrator, “if Olivia doesn’t return soon, the Shadow agents are going to get suspicious.”

“Won’t they be suspicious anyway?”

Warren shook his head. “Ajax saw you alive, but he didn’t see Olivia die. He didn’t even know she was there that night because by the time we showed up her scent had been—”

“Murdered,” I said dully, and combined my punches. Jab, cross. Jab, cross, hook.

“Anyway, we always disengage,” Warren said quickly. “Change our identities so even our closest friends and family won’t recognize us. That way the temptation to return to the old life is eliminated. Ajax knows this, so there’s no reason for him to look for you there.”

“Besides,” Micah added, “Olivia is Xavier Archer’s daughter, and anything with the Archer insignia on it is off limits. They wouldn’t dare touch her now.”

I raised a brow. Hadn’t my name been Joanna Archer? Hadn’t I been under the protection of that insignia when Ajax first attacked me? Warren shook his head, reading my thoughts. “Who do you think wrote that note to Xavier?”

Micah nodded. “It was more of a bullet than a letter. He should have just put a bull’s-eye on your forehead.”

I ripped my gloves off and reached for some water. “But won’t they be able to tell it’s me and not really Olivia? Smell me or something?”

He shook his head. “It’s different now that you’ve metamorphosized. You’re harder to track. We’ve also given you an injection for extra coverage. The only time your real pheromones might be clearly recognized is when you’re either injured or overly emotional. So practice the meditation exercises we’ve taught you every day,” he added helpfully.

Warren said, “And no fighting.”

No losing, I thought, but kept silent.

“Look, all you have to do for the next few days is hang around Olivia’s apartment,” Warren said. “If she kept a diary, read it. If she had a hobby, study it. Pillage her wardrobe, examine her photo albums, and create a past for yourself. Do everything possible to become your sister. When you’re ready, we’ll take you to the sanctuary.”

“Where you’ll meet the other star signs,” Micah added. “So you can learn how to be the Archer.”

“But first you need to learn to be Olivia. Only when you can fool even those who knew her best can we introduce you to the others.”

“Why only then?”

“Because if you’re not convincing, if you’re not Olivia,” he said soberly, “there’s only one other person you could be.”

“He’s right, Jo,” Micah said, noting my reaction. “Nobody can know who you really are, do you understand?”

I leaned my head against the nylon bag, suddenly weary. Then I tilted and looked up at the sky. It was an unending sprawl of baby blue above me, without a cloud to hide behind. “Is there no safe place?” I finally asked.

Nobody answered me. It occurred to me then that nobody could.

12

I called Cher to pick me up the next morning, which she sounded completely, frighteningly, thrilled to do, and promised me she’d be there within the hour. I’d argued about this with Warren and Micah, but in the end reluctantly agreed it was exactly what Olivia would have done. I replaced the receiver, shaking my head. “I can’t stand that woman.”

“She’s Olivia’s best friend.”

“She’s as plastic as a Visa.”

“So are you,” Warren pointed out. I glared at him in reply.

Cher showed up at noon sharp in a candy-apple-red convertible and a matching cat suit. I actually looked for the stripper’s pole in the backseat. As it turned out, Cher had a matching cat suit for me in the nylon Prada bag slung over her shoulder. I shot Micah a look of pure desperation as she pressed me into the bathroom. He smiled and waved me away.

“Fucking doctors,” I mumbled under my breath, and knew he’d heard when he cleared his throat loudly in the next room.

“Sorry?” Cher said, turning cornflower blue eyes upon me like question marks.

“Nothing,” I said. It was obviously not the answer I should have given. Her face dropped, but an overly bright expression popped up almost immediately. I looked away, which I was sure was a relief to us both. “What is this thing, anyway?”

“It’s your traveling suit, darlin’,” Cher said cheerily as I fingered the shiny cloth. “Just like Evel Knievel. Or Thelma and Louise. If you’re gonna go, you gotta go in style.”

Note to self, I thought later, catching a startling glimpse of the two of us in the lobby windows. Get. New. Best. Friend.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Livvy-girl?” Cher said as we sped across town in the low ’vette, breaking at least three major traffic laws that I counted. Cher drove the same way she walked and breathed and lived—like there was no one else who would dare take up her sprawling southern space. “You know you can always stay with me.”

“Yes,” I said, thinking No as she took a turn at thirty-five miles an hour. No, to doing any of this. No to an apartment that reminded me of the last time I’d seen my sister’s beautiful, stricken face; no to being a superhero; and—as I ate glass on the next curve—definitely no to Cher!

Maybe I could move north to Carson City. Or really north. Like Alaska. Yeah, I thought, that sounded good. What were the chances of running into evil igloo dwellers? I made a note to ask Micah about it later. Ice fishing sounded attractive right now.

We arrived at the high-rise and ascended to the ninth floor in silence. Exiting into a deserted hallway, the only sound was the jingle of the keys as Cher fumbled at the lock. I took a deep breath as the door opened. She shot me a worried look, I tried on a reassuring smile, and Cher immediately pulled the door shut again. Shit. I’d probably grimaced.

“Olivia, darlin’,” she said, her drawl even more pronounced with troubled sincerity. “Come on home with me. You know you’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like.”

“I know.” I didn’t meet her eye.

She tried again. “We can brunch every day, and get manicures and spray-on tans, and have that big guy you like, Trevor the Tank, rub très essential oils all over our bodies!”