Renegades

by Marissa Meyer

  No one would think twice about where she lived or who she lived with or whether or not her old teacher was lying when she called Nova a delight.

  The Renegades cared about finding the best prodigies to make their organization stronger, smarter, better. If she got in, all she would have to do was persuade them that she was worth keeping, and no one would care about her past or her connections.

  They wouldn’t think to dig any deeper until it was too late.

  “I trust it’s all to your satisfaction?” said Millie, looking not at Nova, but Leroy.

  He nodded and pulled a roll of cash from an inside pocket. Millie took it and undid the rubber band, counting it out before rolling it back up. Nova watched it disappear in her fist with a new weight settling on her shoulders. She had not considered payment, or where that money would come from, but of course Millie would want something for her services. Seeing the transaction made this whole scheme seem suddenly very real. That was money Leroy had worked for—whether by selling legal substances for killing off vermin and pests, or less legal drugs and poisons distributed into the underground markets. Either way, it was his toil and hardship, and she felt a twinge of responsibility to see how very little all that money had gotten them.

  One false identity. A name, an address, a past.

  A single chance for Nova to enter the Renegade trials and become their spy.

  “Don’t forget to sign the application,” said Millie.

  Turning to the last page, Nova pressed the application against the top of the copy machine and clicked the ballpoint pen.

  “McLain,” Millie reminded her.

  Inhaling deeply, she scrawled a signature across the bottom line. Nova Jean McLain.

  She held the pen back to her, but instead of taking it, Millie grasped Nova’s forearm and yanked her closer. Nova’s body tensed, readying for a fight, but the woman merely bent over her wrist, inspecting the bracelet.

  “David Artino’s work?” she murmured, her voice tinged with awe. She traced one finger along the chain of the bracelet. Her lashes fluttered, her brow knitting as if in deep concentration. “He was indeed a master.” She flipped Nova’s arm over and shot her a sly look, tapping her pinkie nail against the bracelet’s clasp. “And he certainly was a handsome young man, wasn’t he?”

  “Excuse me?” Nova stammered.

  Leroy turned a mildly interested look toward Nova. “What handsome young man?”

  “I don’t…” Nova hesitated, picturing a relaxed smile and warm fingers wrapped softly around her wrist. She scowled and ripped her arm away from Millie. “No one. He was no one. Just some guy.”

  Tittering, Millie took the pen from her. “That’s all, then. Good luck, Insomnia.”

  Still frowning, Nova snapped the folder closed. “Yeah, thanks.”

  She turned, winding her way back through the cabin. Leroy shuffled after her, moving slow as not to knock over any of the teetering piles.

  “Out of curiosity,” said Millie, when they were nearly to the door, “what will you do about the fingerprints?”

  Nova glanced back. “Fingerprints?”

  “We’ll take care of it,” said Leroy. Reaching past Nova, he shoved open the door, letting in a surge of salted air.

  “They need fingerprints?” said Nova, stepping back onto the dock. The boathouse door slammed shut behind them, and a second later, she heard the click of a lock.

  Leroy scuttled past her, his head ducked against the spray coming off the water. “They will run a fingerprint scan at the trials, yes.”

  Nova followed after him. “But … the gun. They have the gun I used at the parade. They must have tested it for prints and entered them into their database by now. If they scan me at the trials, they’ll know.”

  “If the prints match.”

  “Of course they’ll match!” She paused. “Wait. Why wouldn’t they match?”

  Leroy’s footsteps quickened as he made his way up the dock, back to the shore and the road, eager to get out of the blustering wind. Nova kept pace, waiting, but he still had said nothing by the time they reached the car and slipped inside.

  “Leroy,” said Nova, shutting her door. “Why wouldn’t the prints match?”

  He did not look at her as he said, “Because we are going to alter yours.”

  Her fingertips tingled with subtle apprehension. “How?”

  Leroy turned to her with a hesitant look, like he knew he should have brought this up before. But before he could respond, Nova figured out precisely how he meant to alter her fingerprints.

  Her gaze dropped down to the hand he had settled compulsively on the car’s stick shift. “Oh.”

  “The pain will be tolerable,” he said, in what was perhaps meant to be comforting.

  But it wasn’t the pain that worried her. “Won’t it be suspicious? To go in there with mutilated fingerprints?”

  “Not as suspicious as a perfect match to the prints on that gun would be.”

  She gave him a wry look.

  Leroy sighed. “We will make sure you have a plausible explanation,” he said. “But … if you don’t want to do it…”

  “Of course I’ll do it,” she said, more angrily than she’d intended. “It will hardly be the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  Leroy gave her a look that bordered on pity, then he lifted his hand, like he intended to give her a high five. The dome light inside the car hadn’t clicked off yet, and under its sickly yellow glow, Nova could see the poison start to leach out of his skin. First beading up in tiny pinpricks, then oozing together until his fingertips were coated in a blackish film. Nova didn’t know if it was some sort of poison or acid that his body discharged, or some chemical entirely unique to his own physiology.

  It didn’t much matter.

  She inhaled, bracing herself. Then she lifted her own hand and pressed her fingers into his.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE ARENA WAS ALREADY THUNDERING with chants and stomping feet, and the trials hadn’t even started yet. Adrian stood leaning against the wall just inside the opening that led out onto the field, looking around as the bleachers filled with people. The crowd was full of bright red signs handed out at the entrance, one side printed with HERO, the other—ZERO.

  That was part of the fun, he supposed, for the non-prodigies who came to watch the trials. Though the decision of who was accepted into the Renegades was ultimately up to the teams themselves, the crowd could pretend to have a say by holding up their signs when each contestant went onto the field.

  He had never liked trial days. This was the fourth annual and it still gave him a sense of unease in his stomach. There was just something so ridiculous about it all—that the future of a prodigy could be decided based on a few questions and a thirty-second demonstration of their power. Could that really be all it took to decide whether or not someone was fit to be a hero? Capable of fighting for justice, defending the weak, protecting the city? He seriously doubted it, and what’s more, he suspected that if he’d been forced to enter through the trials, he might not have made it.

  Adrian had become a Renegade practically by default. He was the son of Lady Indomitable, and since her death he’d been raised by Captain Chromium and the Dread Warden. No one would have dared object to him being given a uniform, and because of that, he was given plenty of opportunities to prove himself and his abilities. Bringing his artwork to life had turned out to be damned useful time and again.

  But useful wasn’t always what mattered at the trials. Not to the spectators, at least. They wanted to be dazzled and bewildered and maybe even a little frightened. They wanted explosions and earthquakes, and Adrian’s power would have left the crowd unsatisfied.

  Unless he’d drawn a hand grenade.

  Actually, a hand grenade would have been kind of awesome.

  Nevertheless, he hadn’t been made to compete for a place in the Renegades, so he would never know whether he would have been chosen or not.

  These da
ys, it didn’t really matter what anyone thought of his powers, not since he’d altered his own ability by giving himself the tattoos. He was no longer just Sketch, a Renegade and an artist.

  He was the Sentinel, with more powers than had ever resided in one being before, at least as far as he knew. He was like no prodigy anyone had ever encountered. He had been transformed.

  It felt strange to be wearing his Renegade uniform again after being in the Sentinel’s armored suit—the form-fitting fabric suddenly made him feel vulnerable. He kept sliding his finger between the shirt collar and his throat, trying to give himself more space to breathe.

  “Happy trial day, woo-woo!”

  Adrian turned to see Oscar ambling down the cinder-block corridor. He punched his cane a few times in the air before propping it against the floor again. “Bring on the newbies, for I am ready to pass judgment.”

  Ruby wasn’t far behind him, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “How’s it looking out there?” she asked, coming to stand beside Adrian. Her eyes widened. “Great skies, that’s a lot of people.” Her bloodstone dangled from her wrist, resting against her thigh as she surveyed the jam-packed arena. Then her attention moved down to the tables stationed around the field. There were close to forty of them, each draped with a red cloth. All patrol units were expected to attend the trials—at least, those who weren’t on active duty that night—where they would sit at the tables and watch hopeful prodigies try to impress them and ultimately decide their fate. “Are there really that many patrol teams these days?” Ruby added. “There weren’t half this many when I tried out. It doesn’t feel this crowded when we’re at headquarters.”

  “Not often they get us all in one room together,” said Adrian. “I’m not sure how many are actively looking for new members, though.” His eyes traveled up to the platform that hung over the far end of the field. The Council members, including his dads, were already seated, chatting amicably and occasionally pausing to smile for a camera. Even Thunderbird was there. The healers had given her permission to come, so long as she didn’t do anything stupid, like try to fly. “I know the Council is hoping to bring on some new talent today, too, so we’ll see how many they pick out.”

  Ruby shook her head, looking a little dazed by all the commotion. “Can you imagine trying out under these conditions? It’s so much pressure.”

  “You both got picked from trials,” said Adrian. “It wasn’t a lot of pressure then?”

  “Oh, it was,” said Ruby, with a nervous laugh. “I was terrified.”

  “Not me.” Oscar grinned. “But I knew I’d get picked up. Who wouldn’t want this on their team?” He lifted a palm and a puff of bluish smoke morphed into a vicious dragon. It flew off into the bleachers to a bout of squeals from the audience. “Seriously? There are endless practical uses for that trick.”

  “Seriously,” said Ruby, with a sage nod. “Endless.”

  “That’s funny,” said Adrian. “I seem to recall you being challenged by … what? Nine different teams, all at once?”

  “Yes!” said Oscar, beaming with the memory. “And did they come to regret that or what? That was a shining moment for me. Come to think of it, I may actually have peaked on that day. I think my life has been downhill ever since.”

  Ruby laughed. “Do you remember the look on Mia Hagner’s face when you defeated Steamroller? That was the best.”

  Oscar leaned his head against Ruby’s shoulder, his eyes sparkling. “Please go on. Tell me everything you remember, in complete, excruciating detail.”

  Ruby rested her head against his. “I would, except you covered the whole field with fog so none of us actually got to see anything.”

  Oscar’s squinted one eye. “Oh yeah. But trust me—it was a sound whupping.”

  Adrian shook his head, watching as the stands filled with onlookers, some of whom had started doing the wave. He clearly remembered the trials of all three of his teammates, though he hadn’t been a team leader at the time. Danna had been accepted without question during her trial—being able to disperse into a swarm of butterflies made her quick, conveniently camouflaged, and a star when it came to hiding and sneaking into places where others couldn’t easily get to.

  But Oscar and Ruby had both been challenged, which meant that while one team had seen their potential, other teams had questioned if they deserved a place among the Renegades. They’d each had to prove themselves in one-on-one combat against a member of a challenging team.

  Oscar could have wowed the audience with an entire flock of smoke dragons and an army of vapor knights to destroy them, and someone still would have questioned if a kid with a bone disease that kept him tethered to a cane could possibly become a hero in Gatlon City. But he had surprised everyone by taking out Steamroller, a prodigy known for mowing down anyone and anything in his path. Oscar had cast a thick fog over the field, blinding Steamroller, then tricked him into chasing after him until he was only a couple of feet inside the ring. Finally, he had barraged him with a series of darts made of thick black smoke. Steamroller had choked and gagged and stumbled out of the ring—and Smokescreen joined the Renegades.

  Ruby, too, had been underestimated. Though she’d been practicing martial arts for years before then, her actual ability—that when she bled, her blood crystallized into ruby-like gems—was seen as belonging more on the black market than in a life of law enforcement. She’d faced off against Guillotine, who thought she’d been handed an easy victory when she slashed open Ruby’s forearm during her first attack. Less than a minute later, though, Ruby responded in force, her arm and hand suddenly covered in red stalagmites as sharp as daggers. Guillotine suffered more than a few wounds of her own before conceding the battle.

  “I’m going up for some food,” said Oscar. “What do you guys want? Pretzels? Hot dog?”

  “Cotton candy,” said Ruby. “The one with both the blue and the pink mixed together.”

  “On it. Sketch?”

  “I’m good,” said Adrian.

  “I’ll bring you some popcorn. Don’t let anything exciting happen without me.” He winked and retreated into the corridor.

  “No promises,” Ruby sang after him. Then her eyes brightened as she pointed up to the stands. “Oh, look! Someone made you a sign!”

  Startled, Adrian followed her gesture and spotted a woman holding up a handmade sign that read EVERHART = MY HERO 4-EVER!

  “I’m pretty sure that’s referring to my dad.”

  Ruby deflated. “You don’t know that.” She cocked her head to the side, as if seeing the sign from a different angle might change it. “Yeah, you’re probably right. But we can pretend someone made you a sign?”

  “I’m really okay with it,” said Adrian, frowning at the crowd. He couldn’t wait for this to be over. He wasn’t nervous, exactly. More … embarrassed, in a way. To be participating in a tradition he wasn’t sure he approved of.

  They were supposed to encourage every prodigy … no, every human to be as heroic as possible. How was publicly rejecting anyone going to further that goal?

  Besides, it wasn’t just the contestants who were being judged today, it was the Renegades too. The public wanted to see the prodigy crusaders who were charged with protecting their city, with protecting them. They wanted to know they were in good hands.

  And, okay, they also wanted an afternoon of free entertainment.

  It all felt like an absurd way to handle their recruitment. Didn’t anyone have better things to be doing?

  “How’s Danna?” Adrian asked, his eyes catching on another homemade sign in the bleachers that read, YOU LIGHT ME UP, BLACKLIGHT!!!

  “Sad she can’t be here,” said Ruby. “She hates being cooped up.”

  “So would I,” said Adrian.

  Ruby suddenly tensed beside him. Adrian followed her glower. Genissa Clark, aka Frostbite, was making her way down the tunnel, surrounded by the rest of her team. They didn’t cast Adrian or Ruby a single glance as they headed onto the field, even though
the teams were supposed to wait to be announced before heading to their tables.

  “I hope our table is far away from hers,” Ruby muttered, crossing her arms.

  Adrian’s lip twitched, remembering now that Genissa was the one who had challenged Ruby’s acceptance into the Renegades two years ago. He could understand her resentment.

  Not that he cared much for Genissa or any of her teammates. He hadn’t before, and seeing how they behaved toward the Anarchists hadn’t sparked any great affection, either. Not that he held much sympathy for the Anarchists, but for Frostbite and the others to act like such power-drunk bullies was unacceptable under the code that Renegades were sworn to live by. Plus, seeing those destroyed beehives, even if they did belong to an enemy, had made Adrian’s nose curl in disgust.

  The villains’ poor life choices weren’t exactly the bees’ fault, after all.

  Even though he hadn’t learned anything about Nightmare or found any evidence he could use to incriminate the rest of the Anarchists, he was glad he’d decided to go into the tunnels that night. Word had quickly spread throughout headquarters that the Sentinel had made a reappearance, claiming to have been sent by the Council themselves. When the Council adamantly refused the claim, and it became clear that the Sentinel had been lying, the humiliation heaped on Genissa and her team was almost palpable.

  Adrian had tricked them into abandoning their mission. He had made them look like fools, and he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of smugness every time he thought of it.

  The downside, however, was that the mystery of the Sentinel was growing daily. Who was he? Where did he come from? Could he actually be a secret project undertaken by research and development, or was he somehow involved with Nightmare or the Anarchists—an enemy meant to confuse them all?

  What had started out as an investigation into Nightmare was quickly becoming an investigation into him, and that made him uneasy.