Future Threat

23

In only minutes, my car is speeding above the residential streets of Beverly Hills, over rows of palm trees and massive houses with pools in their backyards. There are very few cars on the ground here, and many of the roofs have been modified to include parking for flying cars on top of them.

When my car pulls up in front of Zahra’s mother’s house, I can tell the place has seen better days. It’s bigger than any house I’ve lived in, but paint is peeling off the windowsills and the plants outside are overgrown. There’s no parking allowed on this street, so I tell my car to fly around the area until I call it back. I ring the doorbell, then bang on the door when there’s no response.

A woman with ginger hair finally opens the door. She’s wearing nurse’s scrubs and gives me a slow look up and down. “Yes?” she asks, her voice dripping with disdain.

“Hi. I was wondering if I can speak to Sayeh Ebabi?”

“Mrs. Ebabi does not accept visitors. Is there something I can help you with?”

“I’m a friend of Zahra’s, and I’m looking for her. I was hoping to ask Mrs. Ebabi if she’s seen or heard from her today. It will only take a minute.”

“Mrs. Ebabi is not well, and she hasn’t had any visitors today.”

She starts to shut the door, but I push my hand against it. “Are you sure? Is there a way I can get a message to Zahra?”

Her eyes narrow. “If you’re her friend, you should have her contact info, shouldn’t you?”

“We’ve been out of touch for a while…” But the words have barely left my mouth before the door is slammed in my face. Well, great.

I trudge back to the street and summon my car, trying to figure out what to do next. It estimates a two-minute arrival time. What was my car doing—going on a joyride?

I head down the street, mostly to stretch my legs and help me figure out where to go next. I’m out of good ideas, and the more time I spend on this street, the more out of place I feel among the luxurious homes and cars. I wonder if Future-Adam and I live in an area like this, although it’s hard for me to believe I’d ever feel comfortable here, no matter how much money I might have.

When I’m down by the corner, I notice the garage door opening back at Mrs. Ebabi’s house. A sleek, black luxury car glides out with a dark-haired woman inside it—Zahra.

My car arrives right as Zahra takes off into the sky. I leap inside and quickly order my car to follow her. It bursts into traffic at full speed, and soon I’m trailing behind her with a few cars between us. There’s no “tail someone without them noticing” mode on the car (kind of an oversight there really), and I can’t get it to slow down much if I want to stay in this lane. I just have to pray she doesn’t notice me behind her. With all the other cars and the fast speed we’re moving at, I can barely even see her car, so I think I’m safe.

We head northeast, over the mountains and into Glendale, and I’m amazed at how quickly we get there. It will be tough to go back to sitting through LA traffic in a normal car once I get back to the present.

Zahra’s car pulls onto a street lined with tiny shops and cafés, and stops in front of an Armenian market. I tell my car to stay a little way down the road. I don’t think she’s seen me, but I want to get an idea of what she’s doing before I go after her. Right now, she could speed off again and lose me if I’m not careful.

She gets out of the car, glances up and down the street, and then starts walking. I ditch my car and follow her on foot at a safe distance. I’m not sure where she’s going, and there was nothing in her profile that mentioned anything in Glendale. Not that it matters. As soon as she stops, I’ll corner her and drag her ass back to Aether with me, with or without the neutralizer. But I have to make sure she can’t bolt first. I can’t afford to lose her. If I do, I doubt I’ll ever find her again.

The street isn’t very crowded, although a few people eat on the patio of a French-Chinese fusion restaurant. As I pass by a clothing store, it sends pop-up ads into my flexi with news about sales and suggesting clothes in my size and favorite colors. I’m not sure how they even know all this stuff, and I mentally close it all as fast as I can. But the next shop—a*****e selling rugs—does the same thing, along with the cosmetics store beside it. Does everyone get these ads all the time? I can’t find a way to turn them off, and I’m tempted to peel off my flexi and throw it in the trash so I never have to see another of these ads in my head.

Zahra slips into a flower shop selling fall-themed bouquets with mini-pumpkins and yellow and orange flowers. The signs on the window are in English, Spanish, and Russian, and one of them says Closed. The store is dark inside, but the door must not have been locked because Zahra has already disappeared beyond it.

As I approach, the store reminds me with a pop-up notice that Halloween is coming up soon. I growl and push the door open. The shop is dark and smells of roses and other flowers, along with a damp, musty odor that clings to everything. I don’t see Zahra anywhere, nor anyone else for that matter. Bouquets and plants cover every surface and crowd into the aisles, their branches and flowers reaching out like they’re trying to grab me. I step carefully, ducking leaves and thorns, trying not to knock anything over. Something about this place feels wrong, but I can’t put my finger on what it is. Everything about it appears to be normal, yet my gut tells me to be careful.