Daring sat on the bus stop bench, adjusting the fake reading glasses as she peered at her target over the top of her newspaper.
A brief stop at the police station had allowed Daring to look over the receipts that she’d found on Bright Spark’s cot, and she’d quickly found what she was looking for: purchases for baby food from a small store in the Industrial District. Your Foal And You sat across the street from Daring, its cheery blue and pink sign one of many amidst the long shopping mall that wound around the sparse parking lot.
Daring pondered her strategy. The receipts had noted an extra price for delivery but hadn’t said where they were delivered to. She could present herself as being with the police, but that might just put them on the defensive. And if they asked for a subpoena, that would just set her back.
“Okay, then,” Daring muttered, brushing the dress of her disguise and ensuring it covered the pillows that she’d wrapped around her tummy, enlarging her build to make her appear pregnant. “You get more flies with honey than vinegar.”
Tucking the paper under her foreleg and tilting her sunhat back, Daring got up and trotted across the street to the store, feigning a slow, waddling gait appropriate for the weight she was pretending to carry. She paused at the door to settle her twisting, squirming nerves, then opened the glass door and proceeded inside, her entrance heralded by the jingling of bells over her head.
Her eyes were assaulted by bright colors, mostly vivid shades of pink and blue, and posters displaying happy foals enjoying some of the items that were on sale. Every aisle of the store was loaded up with baby supplies, from diapers and onesies and toys to changing tables and cribs. She wandered up to the aisle labeled food and scanned the shelves.
It was impossible to miss the Smilin’ Day baby food. The stacks of jars took up a large portion of the shelf, the bright yellow-green contents stretching for several feet. She trotted up to the shelf and took one of the jars, pretending to closely examine the label.
Within seconds, she heard the hoofsteps of an approaching employee. A middle-aged jenny, her chocolate mane streaked with silver, greeted Daring with a glowing smile. She was wearing a baby blue vest; the nametag clipped to the front read “Madeline.”
Daring felt her heart speed up: Madeline was the name on the receipts. Jackpot.
“Can I help you with anything, ma’am?” she asked.
“Hi,” Daring replied with a smile. “I came in here looking for some stuff for the little one.” She patted her false belly and shifted a bit to adjust for the faux weight.
“I see they’re taking up a lot of your time, hon,” Madeline said with an understanding smile. “You look like I did when I had my first.”
“I know a friend who recommended this stuff: she gets it delivered from here,” Daring nodded to the Smilin’ Day.
“Oh, your friend made a great choice!” Madeline beamed. “Smilin’ Day is one of our most popular brands for a good reason…”
Daring forced herself to listen patiently, a smile fixed to her face, as Madeline launched into what was most definitely a well-rehearsed speech about the benefits of the brand, occasionally interjecting with a simple question or comment. When she sensed that Madeline was finally winding her lecture down, she thrust with her main question.
“So, my friend mentioned that she gets her stuff delivered from you,” she asked. “Is that something that you can do for me?”
“Our delivery service is a recent addition,” Madeline explained. “We can only deliver to houses that are within a couple of miles of here, but we’re hoping to be expanding our services soon.”
“She mentioned that you’d been delivering for her,” Daring said. “She spoke very highly of you.”
Madeline practically glowed at the compliment. “Oh, well, thank her for me,” she chirped.
“Actually, that reminds me,” Daring said, feigning an embarrassed grin. “See, I just got back from a trip down south, and my friend moved recently. And I, er…” She chuckled sheepishly and rubbed the back of her mane. “I kinda lost their address…”
“Oh, no worries, hun,” Madeline smiled. “Who’s your friend?”
“I call her Sparks,” Daring said. “Tall unicorn mare, reddish coat, green hair, cutie mark of three stars.”
“Oh, yes, I remember her,” Madeline nodded. “She’s had her stuff delivered to a blue one-story house on Oil Slick Boulevard, number forty-three.” She paused for a bit. “You said she recently moved? She’s been having me drop stuff off there since spring. You know, I thought that house was empty for years, that’s why I remembered her so easily.”
“Thank you,” Daring nodded and glanced at her watch. “Oh, heck, look at the time! I’m sorry, I really gotta get going.”
“I understand! I hope you come back soon. And good luck with the little one!” Madeline waved Daring out as she waddled out the door, departing with a wave and a jingle of bells.
Daring trotted out of the store and around the building to the back, maintaining her false heavy gait until she reached the alleyway where the dumpsters sat amidst the litter and graffiti. She stripped off the costume, undid the belts holding the pillows in place, and stuffed them all into the enchanted bag, retrieving her pith helmet and placing it on her head. The necklace of Awely-Awely swung out of her shirt, bouncing against her chest with every movement.
“I’m coming for you, Sparks,” she declared as she took to the air and headed west.
The heat hung heavy in the air; Daring could feel the increased humidity pushing down on her flapping wings like soaked blankets. She tasted static in the air and glanced up to see gray clouds forming overhead.
Odd. The forecast hadn’t called for rain.
Whatever. She circled over Oil Slick Boulevard, a wide circle of small houses around a teardrop-shaped vein of asphalt with a small circle of greenery in the center. The vivid green leaves of the small oak tree in the little patch danced quietly in the southern wind that smelled of river water.
Number forty-three, at first glance, looked just like all of the other houses in the boulevard, sharing the same shades of white and sky blue paint. However, upon closer examination, there were signs that the house was not being lived in. The lawn was unkempt, the grass sticking far above the debris-strewn walkway, and the mailbox had been nailed shut.
There were few ponies out and about, most of them seemingly sheltering from the oppressive heat, and the few ponies that she saw were paying no attention to any stray pegasi. Daring circled a few more times, watching for any sign of activity. Seeing none, she dropped down and landed in a grand maple tree in the backyard of her target house.
No lights or motion through the windows could be seen. She stole up closer and perched next to a window. Plucking out her mirror, she held it up with a hoof to peer inside.
She was looking into what appeared to be a living room, though it was sparsely decorated, featuring only a coffee table, one sofa, and two floor cushions. What Daring’s eye was drawn to, however, was the large mirror in the corner. It stood over a head taller than most ponies and set in its gilded frame were several brightly-colored gems: blue, green, and red.
Daring grinned. “Gotcha,” she declared and took back off into the air.
Daring spotted a telephone booth at the mouth of the Boulevard and landed before it. Snatching up the hoofset, she punched in the number for the police operator. The line rang once, then clicked as it picked up.
“Ponyville Police,” a male voice reported.
“This is Daring Do. Put me through to Cold Case,” Daring reported.
There were a couple of clicks, then the line picked up again. “Cold, I—”
But then an orange aura yanked the hoofset from Daring’s grasp and slammed it down onto the cradle. Whirling around, Daring found herself facing a dark red mare wearing a light summer jacket and carrying a shopping bag. A floppy hat covered her emerald mane, but her eyes still glowed venomously as she glowered at Daring.
“There’s a gun in my bag,” she hissed, adjusting the bag in her magic. “If you so much as twitch, I will empty the magazine into you.”
Daring froze, her mind whirling furiously as she considered her options. Upon closer examination, she realized that Bright Sparks looked terrible: her eyes were heavily shadowed, her dirty coat stuck up everywhere, and she was breathing heavily. Her right hoof shuffled against the ground, and she occasionally let out a soft wince as the brand burned her.
She could go for the disarm...no. Sparks was careful to stand far enough away that it’d take a second for her to reach her. More than enough time for her to react, even in her fatigued state.
Sparks, in the meantime, had apparently frozen, unsure what to do with her. “Why are you doing this, sis?” Daring asked quietly.
“I am not your sister,” Sparks snapped. “Walk to the house. Slowly.”
Daring obeyed, slowly walking towards forty-three. The taste of water in the air became heavier upon her tongue as she walked up the boulevard, with Sparks walking close behind her.
“You told me once you were trying to protect this city,” Daring said coldly, her words sliding off her tongue with the flavor of vinegar. “That you were in a war. A war for what, big sis?”
“A war between the mobsters and us, for control of this city,” Sparks snapped. “Keep walking.”
Her tone grated on Daring’s ears: she sounded like a machine, repeating back the words in a hollow, dead tone. It sounded to Daring like Sparks was talking to herself more than her.
“And yet Scarlet and your crew have you dealing with those same mobsters,” Daring pointed out, slowing her trot. The queen of the wandjina settled over her pounding heart.
“Shut up,” Sparks hissed, stumbling slightly on her right foreleg.
“Shooting kids,” Daring continued, her heart hammering harder against her ribs; she could almost feel the vibrations traveling up the string around her neck. “Trying to murder the mayor. Kidnapping professors. Dealing with dark artifacts. Resurrecting zombies, for Faust’s sake!”
“Shut up!” Sparks snapped, a feeble spark of pain flickering in her eyes.
“And you’re telling yourself that it’s all for our safety,” Daring stopped and glared over her shoulder. “Tell me, sis: how many of us do you have to kill to keep us safe?”
Sparks froze, her eyes widening as she hissed in a breath of pain, shuffling her branded hoof against the ground. The bag holding the gun wavered in her grasp.
“Sparks, you know this is wrong,” Daring said quietly, taking a careful step towards her. “This is just like what Mojo did to us.” She held up her own brand, the crude image of a set of keys marked forever into her flesh. “We should have been a family, and they both twisted that. Twisted us. It has to stop, Sparks, you know it does.”
Sparks hesitated, her eyes fixed on Daring’s brand. Tears welled in those emerald irides, and the foreleg slowly dropped down; Daring heard the gun rattling inside, clacking against whatever groceries she had packed in the bag.
And then they all heard the sharp click of a Filly M1912’s hammer sliding back. Sparks froze and turned her eyes sideways to catch sight of a white unicorn mare in a black trench coat, panting slightly and aiming her pistol at her head.
“Drop the bag,” Cold Case commanded, moving to get Daring out of her line of fire.
Defeat settled into Sparks’ posture, what little light was left in her eyes fading away as the tears began to fall in earnest. Sparks slowly allowed the bag to slide to the ground, where it fell onto its side; cans of baby food, a few groceries, and a small pistol with a plastic bottle and steel wool silencer tumbled out onto the ground.
“How’d you get here?” Daring asked.
“We traced your call, and Twilight isn’t the only pony capable of teleporting,” Cold explained, ignoring a few droplets of sweat running down her mane as she held her weapon steady. “You. Where are the others?”
“The mirror inside the house,” Sparks replied, looking up at her captor. “I can open it for you.”
“Cold, let her help,” Daring urged.
“She’s a criminal just like the others,” Cold replied icily. “She deserves to go to prison.”
“Maybe,” Daring admitted, feeling a shock of pain through her gut as if her words were a knife that she’d just stabbed herself with. “But she can also help us. No more ponies need to die.”
“I just want this over with,” Sparks said, turning her exhausted, penitent gaze on Cold. “I’m tired, chief. I’m so damn tired. Let me end this. Please. Let me help.”
Cold looked back and forth between Sparks and Daring, face impassive as always even though her weapon never wavered. “Do you trust her?” she finally asked Daring.
Daring looked at Bright Sparks. Her sister looked back at her; there was no pleading in her shadowed, watery eyes, only a tired resolution.
“Yes,” Daring nodded.
Cold took in a breath through her nostrils, then closed her eyes. “Damn you, Daring,” she muttered and holstered her gun. “What’s the plan, then?”