Renegades

by Marissa Meyer

  “Captain Chromium,” Nova mused, trying to keep the scorn from her tone. Always with the invincible Captain. “And the suits they have to wear to get close to you?” she said, nodding toward the chamber outside the quarantine.

  “They were decontamination suits,” said Adrian, “but they’ve been retrofitted with chromium in the lining and around the edges. It allows people to get close for a little while, but his power will still affect them eventually.”

  Nova’s lip curled. It seemed that whatever Max could do wasn’t fatal, otherwise his parents couldn’t have transported him all the way to the bridge. But then, what was everyone so afraid of? “I really wish you could just tell me what it is you do.”

  “Someday,” said Adrian. “It’s not personal. Most people here don’t know. Not that we don’t think we can trust our own Renegades or anything, but the Council is afraid that if too many people knew, it could leak out, and … there are a lot of people who would want to kidnap Max.”

  “Or kill me,” Max added, calmly as giving a weather report.

  “Okay,” said Nova, “I won’t pry anymore.”

  She only sort of meant it. They had given her more information than they probably realized—at least enough to start formulating some theories, and she hoped that once she had access to the Renegade databases she would be able to learn a lot more. “So now I know what became of your parents…” She glanced at Adrian. “What about your mom? Did Lady Indomitable die in the battle?”

  He shook his head. “Before. They received a tip that one of the villains was planning a retaliation murder, because some guy had been selling out their secrets. Mom volunteered to go stop it. But the next day, she was found in an alley…” His jaw twitched. “She’d fallen from the rooftop. Or, maybe she was pushed. The thing is, falling off a building shouldn’t have killed her, because…”

  “She could fly,” said Nova, thinking of those photographs she’d seen of the original six. Lady Indomitable had been beautiful and strong, twists of black hair framing her face and that smile like a constant toothpaste advertisement. She and the Dread Warden were the only members of the vigilante group to wear capes, and in every picture of her she seemed to be levitating a few feet off the ground while the golden material flapped behind her.

  “No one saw it happen,” said Adrian, “and no one knows which villain was responsible for killing her, or how they did it. How they could have disabled her long enough to…” He trailed off, and he didn’t have to finish.

  How does a prodigy who can fly fall off a building?

  “What about your dad?” she said. “I mean, your biological dad. Don’t tell me he was a superhero too.”

  He chuckled. “I don’t think so. She told me he was some guy she rescued when a shoe factory collapsed. She flew him to safety, they were both pumped up on adrenaline, one thing led to another … honestly, at that point I told her to skip to the end of the story, ’cause I was five, and ew.” He shuddered and Nova couldn’t help but laugh. “Anyway, they tried going on a few dates after that but he couldn’t handle the pressure of dating a superhero, so it ended before she even realized she was pregnant.”

  Nova leaned her shoulder against the glass wall. Inside the quarantine, Max had seemingly grown bored of the conversation and was rearranging the buildings she’d pointed out to him earlier.

  “Do you think you’ll ever try to find him?”

  “Naw. If he couldn’t handle a superhero girlfriend, I doubt he could handle a superhero son. Besides, it was big news when my mom had me. I’m sure he would have heard about it, and later when the adoption happened. If he’d had any interest in being a parent, he had plenty of opportunities to introduce himself.” He was frowning sardonically as he said it, but the look was short-lived as he turned his attention back to her. “What did your uncle think when you got home last night?”

  The hair prickled on the back of her neck.

  “My uncle?” she squeaked.

  He nodded. “We get a lot of pushback from family members, especially during a recruit’s first few weeks in the field, once they start to realize what a dangerous job it is. And yesterday was even more dangerous than usual.” He seemed to be looking right into her and Nova felt all her old paranoia rearing back to the surface of her thoughts. “But we have a really great outreach team that’s always happy to get involved, if you need their help. Someone could give your uncle a call, or he’s welcome to come into headquarters and get a better sense of what we do. Sometimes that goes a long way in helping them feel more secure.”

  “An outreach team,” said Nova. “To talk to my uncle.”

  “Only if you want them to.” That little wrinkle formed over his nose again. “Did he say anything to you? Try to talk you out of coming back? We hear that a lot.”

  He seemed truly, legitimately concerned, and Nova felt a laugh burble up and catch in her throat. That hysterical, disbelieving guffaw soon turned to actual choking.

  Nova turned away, coughing and pressing a hand to her chest, squeezing her eyes shut as they started to water. She felt a hand on her back, placed gently between her shoulder blades, and she shivered so hard at the touch that Adrian pulled his hand away. Even as she cleared her throat and tried to bring her breaths back to normal, she felt the sting of disappointment that the touch, concerned and innocent as it might have been, hadn’t lasted just a little bit longer.

  Swallowing around her scratchy throat, she looked back at Adrian, still smiling with faint amusement.

  “Um, no,” she finally said. “My uncle really isn’t that worried about me. But again…” She gestured vaguely at herself. “I’ve been training for this my whole life, so I think he knows there’s no talking me out of it.”

  Adrian nodded in understanding. “Well, if he does start to have concerns, just let me know. We don’t ever want anyone to feel like they’re torn between the Renegades and their family.”

  Her lips stretched out again, and she knew he must think she was crazy, but she couldn’t disguise how hilarious she found this entire conversation. “No,” she said. “That would be awful.”

  “Hey, Sketch.”

  They turned and the sight of Magpie, the young thief from the parade, was fast to douse Nova’s grin. The girl was stomping across the sky bridge, a deep scowl on her face making her look far older than she probably was. Or at least like a kid who wanted people to think she was older, but couldn’t quite pull it off.

  “Magpie!” said Adrian, and Nova could tell he was intentionally effusing his voice with joy and brightness, perhaps in an effort to balance out the cloud of pessimism that hung over the girl. “Been making good choices lately?”

  She ignored the question, coming to a stop a few feet away and holding an official-looking manila folder out to him. “Council’s got me on messenger duty this week,” she said, sounding like this was an unspeakable punishment.

  “Oh, good,” said Adrian. “That’ll keep you out of trouble for a while.” He held up the envelope. “Excellent delivery. I’ll be sure to let them know you are surpassing all expectations. Keep up the good work.”

  She let out a dismayed groan, shot one bitter glance at Nova, then turned and stalked back toward the elevators. Nova couldn’t help checking the security of her bracelet as she walked away.

  “She’d make a decent villain,” she murmured.

  “Let’s not mention it,” said Adrian, ripping into the envelope. “Just in case it hasn’t occurred to her yet, I don’t want to be the one to put the idea in her head.”

  Nova watched his hands as he tugged out a single sheet of white paper. At the top was printed a large R in red foil. “Does the Council not believe in sending messages through the communicator bands like the normal folk?”

  Adrian shook his head, eyes scanning the letter. “Everything that goes over the system is subject to review and inspection. Evidently”—the corner of his mouth lifted as he met her gaze—“they don’t want the whole organization to know they’ve ap
proved our request to talk to the Puppeteer.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  “I DON’T THINK I SHOULD GO,” said Nova, trailing behind Adrian as he barreled through the tables in the cafeteria.

  “What are you talking about?” he said, without looking back at her. “Of course you should go.”

  “You don’t need me,” she insisted. “I don’t know anything about interrogating people. And … and I could get started on that cataloging job, right? Really, I’ll just be in the way.”

  Adrian stopped and spun toward her. Nova drew up short, shrinking beneath his concerned gaze.

  “Are you afraid of the Puppeteer?” he asked, astonished.

  Her face scrunched. “No,” she said, before she realized that saying yes would have gotten her closer to her goal of not being in that room with the one person in headquarters who knew exactly who she was … and who had no idea that she was impersonating a Renegade. “I mean, he is totally creepy. And I don’t like … puppets. Or marionettes. Even sock puppets freaked me out when I was a kid, so I guess, yeah. Yeah, I might be afraid of him after all. Can I sit this one out?”

  Adrian’s face took on that calm, understanding look that Nova was developing a love-hate relationship with. “They’ll have him restrained. We’ll be perfectly safe. Besides, his powers only work on kids.”

  “I don’t want to go. Please.”

  Adrian blinked and finally, she sensed his resolve crumbling. Hope surged through her veins.

  “Nova…,” he said finally, gently, “you were the only one on that rooftop with the Detonator and the Librarian. You might have insights into the Anarchists and their connections that would be lost on the rest of us. And let’s face it, you’re really observant. You might pick up on something that we would miss. So … I’m sorry, but I think we need you there.” He smiled hesitantly, as if to soften the denial of her request. “I promise, he isn’t a danger to us. Nothing is going to happen to you.”

  She swallowed, wishing she could believe that was true.

  He turned away, heading toward Ruby and Oscar, who were seated at a small table near the corner. Ruby’s plate was empty but for a few leftover shreds of lettuce, and Oscar was protecting his own plate from her as she attempted to stab one of his black olives with her fork.

  “They have an entire bin full of olives!” Oscar shouted. He lifted his plate off the table, holding it as far out of her reach as possible. “Go get your own!”

  “You don’t even like olives,” Ruby shot back, nearly falling into his lap as she leaned across him, fork jabbing at the air. “You only got them to taunt me!”

  “Okay, lovebirds,” said Adrian, dropping the envelope onto the table.

  Ruby immediately fell back into her chair, face reddening, whereas Oscar grinned, looking supremely pleased with the label.

  “Our request has been granted. We have thirty minutes to prepare our questions.”

  They both stared at him, confused.

  “Request for what?” said Oscar, at the same time Ruby asked, “What questions?”

  Adrian looked between them and sighed.

  * * *

  THIRTY MINUTES LATER, Nova found herself trapped inside a metal room, sandwiched between Ruby and Adrian as they listened to the door locks clunking behind them. A second door stood opposite them—through which they would bring in the prisoner. A single table was bolted to the center of the floor, along with two chairs, one on each side. On the far side of the table were shackles, the thick wrist cuffs attached to metal domes that would fully enclose the hands, crafted especially for prodigies who needed use of their hands and fingers to manifest their abilities.

  Had they suspected they would be facing the Detonator when they set up their surveillance on the library, Nova guessed the team would have been outfitted with similar handcuffs too, rather than the standard cuffs they’d been given.

  “So…,” said Oscar, nodding at the nearest chair, “are you going to take that?”

  Adrian shook his head. “Go for it.”

  “I don’t need it,” said Oscar, with a casual, one-shouldered shrug. “You’re the head honcho here. If you want it—”

  “Sit down, Oscar.”

  Oscar scowled, and Nova could feel him bristling at Adrian’s abruptness. It was unlike Adrian, and suggested that he, too, was more nervous than he was trying to let show.

  With a sigh, Adrian gestured at the chair. “I need you to play bad cop. The bad cop would take the chair, right?”

  Nova smothered a smile. He made it seem so easy, diffusing the tension. Respecting their weaknesses—in this case, they all knew that Oscar’s body was still recovering from the exertion of the day before, even if he would never admit to how much he was hurting. But with this simple compromise, Adrian was also valuing the many ways Oscar contributed to the team, even if that contribution was simply Oscar’s talent for the dramatic. There had been times when Nova wondered if Adrian became a team leader because of his family name, but she was becoming more and more certain that he’d earned it.

  Either way, his suggestion worked. With a proud tilt of his chin, Oscar settled himself into the chair, leaning the cane against the table. He crossed his arms stiffly over his chest. “Oh yeah,” he said, with a pleased nod. “Bad cop is ready.”

  “Which of us is good cop?” said Ruby, glancing at Adrian and Nova in turn.

  Nova couldn’t answer. Her mouth was so dry she was afraid trying to speak would only lead to the words gumming up on her tongue.

  “I’m good cop,” said Adrian. He glanced at Nova. “You’re the observer. If you have something to say or add, jump in, but otherwise, I want you focused on any signs he might be lying … or telling the truth.”

  “So who am I?” said Ruby.

  Adrian grinned. “You’re the muscle.”

  Ruby beamed, hopping excitedly from foot to foot as she loosened the wire on her wrist.

  “Hold on,” said Oscar, glancing over his shoulder. “Maybe I wanted to be the muscle.”

  Nova stared at Ruby’s bloodstone, glinting in the room’s dim lighting. “We’re not going to torture him, are we?”

  They turned to her as one, each of their faces equally appalled.

  “Great skies, Nova,” said Adrian. “We’re the good guys, remember?”

  She sank back, not sure if she should be embarrassed by the question or not. It hadn’t seemed ridiculous when she’d asked it.

  Across the room, they heard the clunking of more locking mechanisms. Nova’s body went rigid. She rubbed her damp palms down the sides of her uniform.

  The door opened and two guards entered, leading Winston Pratt by his elbows. He was dressed in the black-and-white stripes of a prison jumpsuit. His wrists and ankles were both bound with chains and his usually jaunty step was weighed down, his shoulders tight, his arms squeezed in beside his body as if he were attempting to avoid the guards’ grip.

  Nova was surprised to see that his makeup remained—or what she had always assumed was makeup, though she’d never seen him without it. The black paint around his eyes, the rosy circles on the apples of his cheeks, and the sharp lines drawn from the corners of his crimson mouth down his jaw, giving the effect of a wooden marionette. The lines were not even smudged.

  For the first time, in all the years she’d known him, she wondered whether it was makeup at all or if his power really had transformed his face into that of a puppet.

  Or a puppet master.

  His eyes darted around the room, skipping from the chairs to the walls, the lightbulb in the ceiling, to the shackles on the table, to Oscar, to Adrian, to Nova, to Ruby.

  Back to Nova.

  He blinked furiously, as if trying to clear away a pestering eyelash. His brow squeezed tight.

  Pressing her lips, Nova did her best to convey secrecy to him, subtly shaking her head and hoping that he caught the desperate intensity of her gaze.

  But Winston Pratt had never been adept at the art of subtlety.

/>   He continued to stare, his lips parted, his head cocking curiously to one side as he was pressed down into the chair. He put up no resistance as his chained hands were settled into the shackles and the domes clamped securely around them.

  “You have fifteen minutes,” one of the guards said to Adrian. “This interrogation is being recorded”—he gestured toward a small camera on the ceiling—“for future review at the Council’s discretion. If you want to end your session early, just knock on the door and we’ll be back.”

  They left.

  Winston was still gaping dumbly at Nova, and the others were starting to notice. Adrian and Ruby each glanced at her, to which she attempted an uncomfortable, confused shrug.

  “Okay, Mr. Pratt,” said Oscar, leaning forward and folding his hands on top of the table, “or should I call you … the Puppeteer?”

  This, at least, managed to pull Winston’s gaze away from Nova.

  “We’re going to ask you a few questions,” said Oscar, “and I strongly suggest you answer them.” He popped his knuckles, then leaned back again and curled a finger over his shoulder. “Go ahead, Sketch. He’s all yours.”

  Eyebrows rising in what might have been amusement, or embarrassment, Adrian moved forward to stand beside Oscar. “I understand you’ve already been questioned a number of times,” said Adrian, “but we have one specific topic we want to discuss with you.”

  Though Winston was looking at Adrian now, his jaw was still slack with befuddlement, and Nova felt like her insides were being wrung through a washing machine. She found herself imagining a situation in which her identity would be revealed—here, now—and wondering if she had any hope of getting out of there with two locked doors and three Renegades that she knew would turn on her the second they realized who she was.

  “First,” continued Adrian, “you should know that the Detonator attacked a library yesterday. She set off multiple bombs in public spaces. As a result, the Renegades went to the subway tunnels where you and your companions have been living in an attempt to arrest her. However, those Renegades were attacked and the Anarchists have since disappeared, abandoning the subway tunnels.”