She set Jarvis on a search, judging that the AI would have more time, more capacity and more patience to seek out the information she wanted. Given his connections and parameters, Pepper expected it would be a matter of minutes for Jarvis to pull up Diablo’s history.

It took two days, and by the time the final report was compiled and offered up to Pepper, she blinked at the length of it, scrolling through the pages on her laptop with a growing sense of amazement. “How many owners has this car had, Jarvis?”

“By the strict definition of persons in legal possession of the vehicle title, six, Miss Potts. However, in terms of physical possession, no fewer than thirteen persons have been linked to this particular Plymouth.”

“That’s not a lucky number,” she murmured facetiously, “why so many?”

“I cannot quantify a specific reason; however, there are some commonalities among them that seem to indicate an inability to control the vehicle.”

“They couldn’t drive it?” Pepper mused, leaning back on the sofa.

“The reasons listed are myriad, and include that along with difficulties in ignition, steering, de-ignition, temperature control and . . . radio,” Jarvis continued quietly. “In many instances, the persons involved were competent drivers and mechanics who failed to pinpoint any obvious problems or defects within the engine or body of the car.”

“So you’re implying its got a mind of its own?” came the facetious question.

There was a thoughtful pause, and Pepper looked up to the ceiling. “Jarvis?”

“Your phrasing, while tongue in cheek, may very well be accurate, Miss Potts,” the AI admitted. “I have proposed a theory to Mr. Stark that the vehicle may in fact have semi-organic components that are factors in the performance or lack thereof.”

“Semi-organic?” Pepper tried unsuccessfully to laugh. “We’re getting into science fiction here, Jarvis. I accept that you have exceptional intelligence, and that Tony is a genius when it comes to many aspects of technology, but nobody’s managed to fuse organic and inorganic material just yet.”

“I respectfully disagree, Miss Potts. Modern medicine is full of such achievements. Mr. Stark’s arc is a prime example.”

“Okay, you have me there,” she admitted, her gaze returning to the computer screen. “So Danny De La Cruz was the previous owner—who was the first?”

“The first owner of record was David Hamilton, of Michigan, who had the vehicle for less than a year. Then Ian Kolfax owned it, as you can see, then Andrew Coznowski, Bernard Weinman, Lawrence Matufosky and Oscar LaPrete. The first letters of their first names spell out---”

“--Diablo,” Pepper mused, a little disconcerted. “Coincidence.”

“In any other context I would agree, Miss Potts; however, it bears noting when combined with the other odd issues surrounding this vehicle.”

“I never thought of you as superstitious, Jarvis.”

“I am not. I am, however, programmed to find patterns,” the AI pointed out serenely. “And recurring patterns within a single anomaly factor out coincidence on an inversely proportionate scale.”

“Hmm,” Pepper murmured noncommittally as the rumble of thunder in the distance forewarned of another incoming storm. She looked over the record again. “No accidents, no engine trouble? That’s got to be unusual for a car this old.”

“Another anomaly. Although many of the drivers have complained about the vehicle, none have listed any actual mishaps. The most common complaint is an inability to . . . control the Plymouth.”

Pepper looked at the last listed owners on the list. “Danny, then his widow Ilene . . That’s a D and an I . . . and Tony’s name is actually Anthony . . . are we seeing a repeat of the name?”

“The odds of that being a coincidence are approximately eighty-four thousand three hundred and seventeen to one, Miss Potts.”

Pepper pursed her lips and set the laptop down. “Okay, I’m a little . . . spooked. Did you find any footage of a rosary?”

“Regrettably, the cameras were not angled to provide any information on said rosary,” Jarvis admitted.

Pepper drew in a breath. “Maybe it would be better if we just got rid of the car.”

Even as she said it aloud, Pepper knew she couldn’t do it. Tony was caught up in the challenge of Diablo now, and even she herself hated to see all the time and money invested in it go to waste. Already the new windshield glass was on order, and the door locks were installed.

Outside, a flash of lightning lit the sky for a moment and faded.

Despite all the odd happenings around the car, Pepper didn’t feel particularly . . . threatened. Wary, yes, and a little spooked, but not in danger.

Before Jarvis could make any reply to her suggestion, Pepper heard her name called on the house intercom. “Pepper, do you know how to do the Heimlich on a cat!?”

“What?” she rose and moved towards the stairs for the workshop.

“Heimlich. Queenie’s choking!” Tony called, his voice sharp. “She won’t let me catch her---”

Pepper sped up, clattering down the stairs, staring through the glass wall. Tony was still in his linen Blanco Torrido power suit with the Hugo Boss tie and she winced at the sight of him on his hands and knees, peering under Diablo.

She hurried in and heard a hurking sound; high-pitched, but familiar to her. Stopping, Pepper dropped her hands to her hips. “Tony, get up!”

“She’s choking! What the hell is she choking on? Kibble?” he growled, sweeping one arm under the car.

“Queenie’s not choking, she’s coughing up a hairball, Mr. Stark. It’s a common occurrence with cats. You’re ruining the knees of your trousers.”

Tony looked up over his shoulder, his suspicion evident. “A hairball?”

A wet splatting noise sounded from under the car, and Queenie skittered out, looking annoyed. Tony moved to chase her, then peered back under the car. “Oh damn, that’s nasty!”

“Looks like a wet, dead mouse?” Pepper smirked, not bothering to check.

Tony nodded. “All sort of urk-colored, too. This is worse than the litter box.”

“*You* don’t clean the litter box; Butterfingers does,” Pepper protested.

“I had to supervise the first few times,” Tony protested hotly, “not that their mini-Almond Roca is all that fascinating.”

“Almond . . . oh that’s nasty,” Pepper sighed, fighting a grin. Tony had a way of phrasing things that was hard to ignore sometimes. “Let me get a broom and we can sweep it out.”

Another flash of lightning flared, followed by a distant, low ‘boom” and the lights of the workshop dimmed for three seconds before coming back on more brightly. Tony rose up and glanced at the ceiling. “Jarvis?” he questioned.

“A lightning strike has hit a transformer three point two miles away and incapacitated part of the Malibu power grid; compensating with backup generators now.”

“Okay, keep me informed if there’s any—”

Tony didn’t get to finish. A second strike flared through the limited window space of the garage glass, blindingly white, followed by the heavy sizzle of ozone, burnt wire and ash. Pepper didn’t scream; she yelped, and dropped the metal handled broom , letting it clatter against Diablo’s door just as a hissing ball of fuzzy red light streaked down the metal frame of the wall and flew to hit the car with a crackling *SNAP* that rocked the room.

Tony threw himself over Pepper; it was instinctive and quick, and he pinned her to the floor in a slam of knees and forearms, his back braced to take . . . whatever.

There was a sudden silence, and then the defiant hiss of three arching kittens filled the room. In a quick glance Tony spotted Queenie and Ace up along the top of the kitchenette cabinets, and Jack huddled in a nest of shop towels, his chubby form all the fluffier through static and terror.

“Oh my God, what was that?” came Pepper’s muffled question as she tried to shift under him and brush the hair out of her face. Tony wasn’t sure he wanted to get up just yet.

Fear had nothing to do with his reluctance.

“Ball lightning,” he and Jarvis chimed together.

“What?”

Tony let Jarvis do the explaining while he himself rolled off Pepper—reluctantly, he acknowledged—and helped her up. As the AI rattled through a complex description of the phenomenon, Tony brushed himself off and then brushed Pepper off, lingering a bit on the parts he liked best.

She caught his hand and shot him a look. “Yes, Jarvis, but why did it pop up here?” Pepper was already moving to reach for Queenie and Ace, who were reluctant to come down from their lofty perches.

“Given the number of attractors within the immediate area—”Jarvis began, but Tony cut him off quickly.

“Later. Right now I want to see if the car’s okay.” He cautiously approached Diablo and reached out a hand to the door panel on the driver’s side, touching the spot where the ball lightning had hit.

The metal door tingled slightly under his fingers, and was warm to the touch as well. Tony laid his palm on it, looking at the into the car’s interior and absently admiring how the restored white leather seats looked when it dawned on him that the panel had moved ever so slightly.

He shifted his gaze to the panel and hesitated. Pepper came over, cuddling Queenie, who was living up to her name as she settled in and tried to look aloof. Under Pepper’s gentle petting it was difficult to hold out though, as the tiny motorboat purr sounded out.

“Is it damaged?” Pepper asked quietly, her tone concerned.

“I don’t think so . . .” Tony murmured. He slid his hand along Diablo’s side, moving towards the back of the car in a long stroke.

Immediately, the long low rumble of the hemi filled the garage for a moment, dropping in volume to a faint, mechanical purr that vibrated off the garage floor.

Both Tony and Pepper jumped back, colliding for a second and making Queenie squeak indignantly as they jostled her. Pepper had clapped her free hand over her mouth in astonishment; Tony stared at Diablo. “What. The. Hell?”

“Oh Tony—did the lightning . . . turn it on? The engine I mean, just ignition it up like that, oh don’t touch it!” Pepper babbled, tightening her grip on Queenie.

Tony barely heard her. He shifted around to the front of Diablo and stared at the grille for a long moment, his attention laser sharp on the car. Cautiously he let his hand touch the chrome, and even before his fingers made contact, Tony felt the heated air lightly cross his hand.

It was . . . an exhalation.

He tried to fathom that.

A breath.

More than one, in fact as a second soft sigh hit his palm. Before he could think about it, Tony touched the grille very gently, and the hot air increased, becoming deeper. He heard the draw, and his skin crawled as Tony realized that Diablo

Was

Sniffing

him.

He stood still, the surrealism washing over him in one wave of shifted reality. Tony knew where he was, what he was and how he was—those were constants. What existed beyond those three fixed points was now breathing against his hand. His slightly trembling hand.

Tony cleared his throat. “Nice car. Niiiiice car--”

Pepper stepped over to him, her gaze locked on his face. “Tony?” came her slightly panicked whisper.

He flashed her a quick smile, keeping his eyes firmly on Diablo. “So, Miss Potts—ever see Frankenstein?”

“Tony, what are you talking about? Movies? What’s going on?” Pepper shot back.

He reached out and carefully herded Pepper behind him, sweeping his free hand to guide her away from Diablo’s grille. “Oh nothing . . . just a sort of um, critical scene in that particular story that involved lightning and organic components and juuuuust a little bit of reanimation.”

“Re--?” Pepper questioned, trying to peer around Tony’s shoulder, “—animation?”

“Re-animate: To restore to life or resuscitate, Miss Potts. To give fresh vigor, spirit or courage to,” Jarvis helpfully interjected.

“Restore to . . . no, it’s a car!” Pepper protested. “It’s not . . . alive!”

“Jarvis, scan the car, focusing on those unexplained components please,” Tony ordered tersely. The chuffing against his hand was getting heavier, and Tony felt a sense of . . . dampness to it as well.

“Sir, I am getting readings that indicate that said components are . . . functioning. Two are in correlation with the air intake, and the other--”

“—Is circulating fluids,” Tony interrupted. “Lungs and heart. Holy shit. We did just jumpstarted Diablo to life.”

“We?” Pepper hissed, eyebrows going so high that the disappeared into her bangs. “There’s no we here Tony! You saw! The lighting, and the storm . . .”

“ . . . and the hairball,” Tony laughed humorlessly. “Think I should change my name to Victor?”

“What?” Lost, Pepper stared at him, and clutched Queenie more tightly. “Tony, what are you talking about?”

“Frankenstein—the doctor. That was his name. Didn’t you ever see the movie?”

“No,” Pepper replied, and would have said something more, but at that moment, another low, quick rumble came from the vehicle in front of them, and the gust blew bits of carbon through the grille all over her skirt and Tony’s pants.

“Gesundheit,” she automatically blurted, and Tony began laughing, his snorts more hysterical than humorous.

“Potts . . . he . . . and then you . . . . Gesundheit . . .” he cackled in a slightly panicked tone.

“Tony—”

And then Queenie leaped from her arms onto the car’s hood, making a little ‘thump’ as she landed.

Diablo purred.