Holidays are Hell

The voice, sharp and businesslike, came from directly behind her, and Zoe jolted before regaining her composure and turning. The nurse was older than she was, mid-forties probably, and wore her chopped hair in the same red Zoe had favored before being forced to dye it black for this new identity. Her eyes skirted to the nurse's name tag. Nancy was big-boned, her powder-blue scrubs putting Zoe in mind of a giant canvass of sky, and she wore comfortable soft-soled shoes, which was why Zoe hadn't heard her sneak up. Something else, she thought wryly, that wouldn't have happened six months ago.

"I'm Traci Malone," Zoe said, holding out a hand, palm down so the woman wouldn't catch sight of the glass-smooth pads where her fingerprints should be. "Case worker for the Archer adoption."

The nurse's face cleared, understanding replacing her businesslike wariness. She held up her hands, a warding-off motion, before withdrawing them again. "You'll excuse me for not shaking. I just came from delivery, and haven't had a chance to wash up yet."

Zoe's eyes wandered to the couple, still oblivious to all but their personal sorrow. Nurse Nancy saw the look and reached around Zoe to pull the door shut before shooting her a small, bittersweet smile. "Dennis and Andie were another of our patients' adoptees. Their baby didn't survive the birth."

"How terrible."

Nurse Nancy nodded solemnly, then shook it off with a philosophical sigh, just another day on the job. "Well, you certainly got here fast. I just got back from calling your adoptive parents. They're coming right away."

"The family called me first," Zoe lied in a murmur. "They'd like the paperwork and documentation completed as quickly and discreetly as possible."

"Bet they do," scoffed the nurse, causing Zoe to stiffen. "A pregnant teen, some fancy family name to protect. Guess money can't buy you everything, can it?"

Zoe managed a nod. Relatively speaking? Money could buy very little.

"The infant's very early," Nancy went on, motioning for Zoe to follow her. "Just caught the twenty-four week mark, but she's intubated, and stable enough now that we've got her on the oscillator. Awfully small, though."

"Well, babies tend to come in their own time," Zoe said, following Nancy back to the front desk.

"Sure," Nancy said, but scoffed as she glanced at Zoe. "But an early delivery's more common when the mother has endured such trauma—raped, you know—" she said in an exaggerated whisper, before continuing in a normal voice. "So the child's obviously unwanted, another mitigating factor. Add in a flawed support system—the girl's mother ran off after the pregnancy was disclosed, the father wouldn't even come down for the birth—and you have a recipe for fetal trauma."

Nancy tsk-tsked as she rounded the counter, shaking her head in a way that made Zoe want to rip it off. Instead she pulled out her notepad, and with shaking hands pretended to scribble some thoughts. "What time was the child born?"

"Midnight sharp, actually," Nancy shook her head, flipping through paperwork. "What a novelty, huh?"

Not really Zoe wanted to say. The Zodiac's lineage was matriarchal. Everyone who was superhuman was born on their mother's birthday, exactly midnight, just as their mother before them. That's how Zoe knew her daughter would be here tonight, even if it was three months too early.

"And the girl… the mother? How is she?"

Nancy glanced up, brows furrowed. "You don't need to see her, do you?"

"Why? Is she all right?" Please, God, please…

"Sedated. The labor was complicated and a shock to a still-healing system, but she's resting easily enough now."

A sigh spiraled out of Zoe before she could stop it, causing Nancy to glance at her sharply. Zoe immediately checked herself—case workers didn't get involved with their clients—and shot the nurse a distracted smile. "No, of course I don't need to see her. She's already signed the release papers, and she should rest."

Nancy was still looking at her speculatively when a crisp bell chimed behind Zoe. The nurse's eyes slid over Zoe's shoulder and her face cleared.

"There are the McCormicks now." She waved them over, and Zoe turned warily, inspecting for the first time the people who would take possession of—no, take care of—her granddaughter.

The woman was diminutive; a fussy, fluttery thing who kept clutching at her own hands and holding so close to her husband she very nearly tripped him up. He seemed not to notice, though, chest puffed out peacock proud, a wide smile blanketing his ruddy face as he steered his wife with one large hand, and mauled a stuffed bunny with the other.

"Mr. and Mrs. McCormick, this is Traci…"

"Malone," Zoe provided, when Nancy faltered. "I'm with social services. I have your paperwork right here."

"Cutting right to the chase, are we?" Mr. McCormick's voice boomed unnaturally throughout the still hallways. "But I imagine this is old hat for you, huh? You're probably anxious to get home and to bed."