by TJ Klune
“Yeah! Gonna get changed so we can go. Gibby said to remind you that I’m not allowed near the grill because she likes my eyebrows as they are.”
Dad appeared at the top of the stairs. “Noted. But if Seth hasn’t already burned them off when you two were grinding on each other, I think you’ll be all right.”
“Dad!”
Dad rolled his eyes. “What? It’s not my fault you two were on the couch like that when I got home.”
Nick scowled at him. “You didn’t have to put plastic on the couch. That was overkill.”
“Boy stains,” Dad reminded him.
Nick threw up his hands. “Whatever. Keep on making my life miserable, why don’t you.”
“I’m funny,” Dad said.
“That is a flat-out lie. There’s nothing funny about you!”
Dad crossed his arms. “I made you, didn’t I?”
Nick was startled into laughter, though he tried to cover it up. It didn’t go well. It sounded like he was trying to hack up a lung. Dad looked too smug for his own good.
“Mail for you,” he said, turning back around, heading toward his room. “Left it on the kitchen table. Package was delivered earlier. I swear to god, if it’s a sex toy, you better not have used my credit card. I’m all for expressing yourself, but I don’t need to know if you bought something to be inserted into someone else.”
Nick screeched in outrage. How dare his father suggest something so … so … huh. Sex toys. Nick had never thought of that before. Did Seth want a sex toy? Maybe they could—
He blushed furiously. One thing at a time. They needed to have sex first before considering silicone assistance.
And mail? Who was sending him mail? Curious, he set his backpack on the bottom stair and headed toward the kitchen. He paused at the entryway. Sitting on the table was a white rectangular box with a blue ribbon wrapped around it. It was heavier than he expected it to be when he lifted it to shake it. He set it back on the table, untying the ribbon and lifting the lid.
Inside was tissue paper. On top was an envelope with his name written on the front in a stylish flourish. He lifted the envelope, opened it, and pulled out the paper. He unfolded it and glanced down at the signature at the bottom.
Miss Conduct
He paused. He hadn’t seen the Extraordinary since the attack at prom. Seth had a couple of times and they’d all exchanged messages through the app, but Mateo was lying low, worried about the same things the rest of them were. No one had seen or heard from TK, however. Dad had seemed weirdly frustrated when he’d grilled them about the other telekinetic hero, especially when they hadn’t been able to give him much information.
Nick went back to the top of the page and read:
Nicholas—
I’ve thought about this for a long time—whether giving something like this to you was the right thing to do. In the end, I figured it’s better for you to have it, just in case. Before you decide, please read this note in its entirety.
A hero is called upon when they’re needed most, not when they’re most prepared. I know it may not seem like it, but I learned a lot from you and our fiery friend, and not only from the disaster that was your prom night.
If you’re anything like me, you’re worried about the future. Everything we’re hearing about Extraordinaries is scary. People are angry with us. Those in power are trying to track us. That asshole Burke thinks we need to be cured. We don’t. There is nothing wrong with us. We are as we’re supposed to be. I’ll always believe that. Giving ourselves permission to be human is hard, but that’s what we are. We just have something a little … extra.
It’s not about the costume, but the person who wears it. I know about your mother. I know she was once the hero the city needed. A guardian. The Guardian. I hope you don’t mind, but I put together a little something for you, with help from Seth and Gibby and Jazz. I tried to find as many pictures of Guardian as possible so I could honor her memory. Girl was elusive; mad props to her. I know she’d be proud of you.
If you decide to become the hero this city needs, I hope you’ll wear this with pride. I hope you’ll live with pride, because pride is a riot. We fight because we can. We love because we can. We become a lighthouse to guide others home. We become guardians to stop evil in its tracks.
Guardian, Nick.
A perfect name for a new hero, don’t you think?
Love,
Miss Conduct
The letter fluttered to the table. Hands trembling, Nick reached for the box and pulled out the tissue paper.
And there, sitting inside, was a cerulean-blue costume.
It was like the one his mother had worn, though with noticeable differences. The material was stronger, lined with white stripes that crisscrossed along the chest and legs. The boots were stiff and shiny.
And the helmet.
Nick lifted the blue helmet from the box. It was heavier than he expected it to be. The lenses were white and appeared to be made of some sort of thick plastic. He turned it over in his hands and thought he saw something blinking inside. He frowned, squinting at the tiny light. It called to him like a lighthouse in the distance, leading him home.
Without a second thought, he slid the helmet over his head.
He breathed and breathed and breathed—
White light exploded. He stumbled and bumped against a chair, whirling around as numbers, shapes, and words flitted in front of his eyes, running faster and faster. Lines of code flew as a deep chime sounded around him. Then it was gone, Nick’s vision clearing—except everything was sharper, more in focus. He could see the grain in the table and chairs, the chips in the cabinets, the crack in the wood of the windowsill. Before he could react, a voice spoke in his ear.
“Guardian,” it said. “This is Lighthouse. Do you copy?”
Nick gasped, dumbfounded “Seth?”
“Gibby here!”
“And Jazz!”
Seth’s voice was warm when he said, “Guardian, you’re coming through loud and clear.”
“What is this?” Nick whispered, a tear trickling down his cheek.
“The future,” Seth said. “For you. For me. For all of us. You’re a hero, Nicky. An Extraordinary. It’s about time you had a costume to show that.”
“Oh my god,” Nick breathed. “Do you realize what this means?”
“What?” Gibby asked, her voice crystal clear.
“We have a ship name!” Nick cried. “Holy shit, we’re PyroGuard! Wait, no. That sounds like medicine for a foot rash. GuardStorm! StormGuard? GuardPyro!”
“Nicky, no,” they all groaned.
“Nicky, yes!”
“Nicky, yes,” another voice said, and Nick startled. He removed the helmet and smiled at Dad, who was standing in the entryway to the kitchen. His eyes were wet, but he was smiling. Nick set the helmet on the table before flinging himself at his father. Dad caught him. He always did.
“Guardian,” Dad whispered into his hair. “My guardian.”
CREDITS
When I released The House in the Cerulean Sea and The Extraordinaries in 2020, they were my first books with my new publishers, Tor and Tor Teen. Acknowledgments are written well in advance of publication, so while an author knows who the people working on their books are, when it comes to the first book(s), you don’t quite know just how hard people work on your behalf until the books come out.
This is just a long-winded way of saying that without the following people working their butts off on my behalf, my stories wouldn’t have reached even a fraction of the audience they have. I am the writer, yes; but these lovely people are the ones working behind the scenes to get my books to you. They deserve all the praise.
First is Deidre Knight, my agent, without whom none of this would be possible. She worked tirelessly to find my books the best possible home, and I have never felt as lucky with a publisher as I do with Tor and Tor Teen. Thanks to Deidre and the team at the Knight Agency, including Elaine Spencer, who handles all the
foreign rights to my books. If one of my titles is getting translated into a different language, you can bet that’s because Elaine is working behind the scenes to make that happen.
Next, Ali Fisher, who is—without question—the best editor I’ve had the pleasure of working with. Not only does she get me (my sense of humor can be a little … out there, as you probably know if you’ve made it this far), but she also believes in the stories I want to tell. Without her guidance, I’d be a floundering mess and using, commas, after, every, word. Also, OxfordComma4Life.
Also on the editing side is assistant editor Kristin Temple. Kristin keeps me sane, which isn’t an easy task. Any time I get an email from her, I know I’m going to get to see something ridiculously awesome, and she is a true cheerleader for my books. Thanks, Kristin.
To the sensitivity readers, Margeaux and Jon Reyes—who read the book and provided wonderful feedback—thank you. Your insights were not only welcome but necessary and invaluable. You both made this story better, and I am profoundly grateful for it.
Saraciea Fennell and Anneliese Merz are the best publicists, full stop. I am responsible for at least sixteen thousand emails in their in-boxes on a monthly basis, and they never reply with TJ, KNOCK IT OFF, YOU DON’T HAVE TO EMAIL US TO ASK IF IT’S OKAY TO TWEET WHAT YOU HAD FOR DINNER. Instead, they hold my hand and tell me everything will be all right. Also, every public appearance I make—every panel I participate in or book tour stop I make—is because of their planning. I don’t know how they do it. They’re the real Extraordinaries.
The higher-ups—though the exact opposite of Extremely Upper Management—are Tor Teen Publisher Devi Pillai; President of Tom Doherty Associates Fritz Foy; Vice President, Director of Marketing Eileen Lawrence; Executive Director of Publicity Sarah Reidy; Vice President of Marketing and Publicity Lucille Rettino; and Chairman/Founder of TDA Tom Doherty. My books exist with Tor and Tor Teen because they exist. Thank you for letting me tell queer stories the way I want to. These people are some of my biggest cheerleaders, and I adore them.
Anthony Parisi is the marketing lead, and it’s because of him that you see my face and book covers a lot (perhaps more than you’d like to, but that’s okay; my covers are great, and I do like my face). Anthony is a delight, and he comes up with the best ideas. Thank you, Anthony.
Isa Caban works with Anthony as the marketing manager, and she is a rad person doing rad things. I wish I could be as rad as her.
An additional marketing lead is Becky Yeager. Though she mostly works on my adult books, I want to thank her here too because she rocks and deserves to be mentioned. Hi, Becky!
Sarah Pannenberg—the digital marketing coordinator—runs Tor Teen’s social media accounts, so if you ever see me snarking at them, you know Sarah is on the other side, rolling their eyes as they play along with me. Thank you, Sarah!
On the production side of things, you have production editor Melanie Sanders, production manager Steven Bucsok, interior designer Heather Saunders, and jacket designer Lesley Worrell. See how pretty this book looks? That’s because of them. Thank you.
Also, thank you to Lynn Schmidt and Mia Gardiner for beta reading. They’re the first to read my books, and they are excellent at what they do while also telling me I might be pretty good at this whole writing thing. Thanks, ladies.
I would also like to thank Shawn O’Neal and Jennifer Ho, professors at the University of Colorado Boulder. Though we’ve never met, I am in their debt. They taught the online course I took called Anti-Racism—it was humbling and illuminating, and it should be a requirement for all white people.
And to you, dear reader. Thank you for coming along on this journey with me, Nick, Seth, Jazz, and Gibby. They’ll be back for one last ride before you know it, and I can’t wait for you to see how it all ends.
TJ Klune
March 25, 2021
(Oh, and one more thing: turn the page, won’t you? Because Flash Fire isn’t quite over yet. Someone’s been keeping secrets…)
STUNG
Aaron Bell stood on a windswept roof, the collar of his coat up around his neck to keep the rain away. The moon was hidden behind storm clouds, the lights of the city stretching out below him. He’d come here night after night since the attack on the prom, hoping against hope.
Foolish, he knew. He was chasing a ghost.
He sighed, hands brushing against a piece of paper in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked down, anger flooding through him. It’d come the day after Nick had received his costume. Remembering all the hate mail the Grays had received, he’d decided to open it himself, just to be sure. If it was nothing, he’d hand it over to Nick. Better to be safe than sorry.
He was glad he did.
He’d waited until Nick was out with his friends before tearing the envelope open. There was only one piece of paper inside, and on it were three words above a black scribble that had been scratched into the paper. At first, Aaron thought it was smoke—perhaps a threat from someone associated with Christina and Christian Lewis. But then he looked closer at the black scribble and saw that underneath, someone had drawn a familiar sigil.
A star symbol. But why had they covered it in—
No. Not smoke.
Shadow. The star was covered in shadow.
The three words?
SEE YOU SOON!
He crumpled the paper and shoved it back in his pocket. He’d had Officer Rookie test it, his man on the inside. Chris had been nervous but determined. It’d taken longer than Aaron had hoped, but Chris had put himself at great risk, pushing this through. If anyone knew he was loyal to Cap and Aaron, he’d be canned quicker than he could blink, so Aaron took what he could get. Especially since the Rook continued to feed them information about what was happening with the NCPD.
The results, while disappointing, hadn’t surprised Aaron. No trace evidence. No fingerprints. No DNA. Nothing.
But he knew who it was from: Owen Burke.
He looked out at the city once more, chiding himself for keeping this from his kid. They’d promised each other no more secrets, but what Nick didn’t know was that being a parent meant doing anything to keep their kid safe, no matter what. If he could find Owen before he tried something, they’d all be better off for it. Simon Burke claimed to not know the whereabouts of his son, but Aaron didn’t believe a damn word that came from his mouth. He didn’t talk to Burke. Not anymore. Not after all he’d done.
Officer Rookie was the only other person who knew about the letter. He’d promised to keep it to himself with the caveat that Aaron would eventually need to tell Nick and his friends. “We can’t keep this from him,” Rook said. “Owen is planning something.”
Good kid, Officer Rookie. Aaron didn’t know where he’d be without him. He hoped Chris would never get a reason to regret helping them.
He glanced down at his watch. Half past eight. He’d texted Nick a little while ago, letting him know he’d be home soon. Nick—always and forever Nick—had responded in all caps and exclamation points. He was halfway convinced Aaron had been seeing someone, going out on dates, especially since he was coming home late a couple of nights a week. Aaron had been stunned when Nick told him this. It had never even crossed his mind.
“It’s okay if you are,” Nick said. “I—I know that you have to move on sometime. I hope whoever it is, they make you happy.”
He’d assured Nick that wasn’t the case at all. He wasn’t seeing anyone. He’d managed to hold it together until Nick went upstairs before he broke, face in his hands as he rocked back and forth. Grief was never far away, even three years later.
Which was why he was here.
They were in the After. But they’d once been in the Before, and not the Before Nick knew. Before even him.
This was where he’d come, waiting for Jenny to finish her rounds at night, moving through the city, watching over it, doing what she could to help people. This was where she’d find him, laughing as she landed on the roof, always managing to startle
him. She’d tear off her helmet and kiss him deeply, smelling of clean sweat, her face flushed, her hair billowing. Oh, how alive she was, how beautiful. She’d scared him. She’d scared him so much, but he’d never loved a woman like he’d loved her. Like he still loved her.
Which was why he was here.
He’d seen the Extraordinary known as TK standing with his son against Smoke and Ice. He’d seen the way TK had moved with Nick, like they were two sides of the same coin. They moved together like they’d done it for years. And when Nick told him that he didn’t know who TK was, only that he was a man, Aaron had believed him. Jenny was gone.
She’d died instantly in the bank, a gunshot to the face. Cap hadn’t let him see her after. She’d been identified by her fingerprints. Her body was cremated. They’d spread her ashes at the lighthouse.
So why was he here?
“Stupid,” he muttered to himself. “So stupid.” He turned to head home. Nick was waiting for him. Nick was still here, still alive. He needed his father at home, not standing on a roof chasing ghosts.
He stopped. A figure stood between him and the roof access door.
Dressed in all black, helmet on his head, opaque as ever. TK.
Aaron took a step back as TK cocked his head. Even though he couldn’t see TK’s eyes, he knew he was being watched. Studied.
“Who are you?” Aaron demanded roughly.
TK didn’t speak.
“Why did you help my son?”
Nothing.
“Where did you come from? Did you know my wife? I—” His chest hitched as his voice broke. “You helped Nicky. I saw it. You’re telekinetic. Like him. Like she was. How did you—”
“Aaron,” TK said, voice heavily modulated.
And just like that, Aaron knew.
He knew.
He sank to his knees there on the roof as TK bowed his head. TK’s hands went to his helmet, and he lifted it off slowly.
Not he.
She.
Oh my god, a voice whispered in his head, a meteoric rise of memory. I’m so sorry! I was trying to reach a book on the top shelf, and I slipped off the ladder. Are you hurt?