Renegades

by Marissa Meyer

  Winston’s brow drew together. He started to shake his head, dazed. “They wouldn’t leave…” He looked again at Nova.

  She tried to remain expressionless, while also maintaining the mantra in her head—silence, secrecy—as if she might suddenly develop telepathy.

  “One thing they found in the tunnels, of particular interest,” said Adrian, “was a recently inhabited train car. We have reason to believe this car belonged to the villain who calls herself Nightmare. We now know that Nightmare is an Anarchist.”

  Lips parted. Jaw slack. Winston shifted his confused eyes back to Adrian.

  “That’s who we want to talk about today.” Adrian set one hand on the table, leaning forward, and Nova might have thought his attempts at being intimidating were borderline adorable if she hadn’t been trembling with dread.

  Her memory was replaying those moments in Winston’s hot-air balloon as they drifted over the remains of the parade. Realizing they wouldn’t clear the top of the next building. Choosing to sacrifice Winston to their enemies.

  He had every reason to despise her now. He had every reason to betray her.

  She swallowed.

  “I’m sorry,” Winston squeaked, gaping at Adrian. “But … come again?”

  “Nightmare,” said Adrian. “I’ll begin with something simple. What is her real name?”

  A deep crease seemed permanently etched between Winston’s brows, and the way his mouth refused to close made it seem as though the mechanism attaching his marionette jaw to his marionette skull had broken. “Nightmare?” he croaked.

  “Nightmare,” Adrian confirmed. “You might remember her as the one that pushed you out of your own hot-air balloon. I want to know what her real name is.”

  Nova bit the inside of her cheek.

  “No…?” Winston started, but hesitated, letting the word drift off until his lips were puckered around that long, uncertain o. Nova’s lungs squeezed, expelling any useful air.

  “Excuse me?” said Adrian.

  “No … no. Uh…” Winston glanced once, briefly, at Nova, then back at Adrian. “No … reen.” He coughed. “Her name is Noreen.”

  Nova inhaled, long and deep. Everyone else, though, became motionless.

  She knew that no one was fooled. But she didn’t care. Winston had been given a choice to betray her, and he hadn’t. A slim spark of hope flickered in her thoughts.

  “Noreen,” said Adrian, his voice thick with skepticism.

  “Noreen,” said Winston, with a determined, proud nod.

  “Noreen what?”

  “Hm?”

  “Does she have a last name?”

  “Oh, uh…” Winston glanced around, as if searching for inspiration, but then shrugged. “Nope. No last name. Just Noreen.”

  Adrian and Oscar exchanged a look, before Adrian cleared his throat. “We know that Nightmare obtained at least one of her weapons from the black-market dealer known as the Librarian. But we’ve witnessed her using a number of weapons and tools that don’t resemble other things in the marketplace. Where does she get her supplies?”

  Winston held his gaze. Blinked. Licked his lips. Opened his mouth. Hesitated. Swallowed. Coughed. Finally responded, “The hardware store?”

  “The hardware store?”

  “Yes.” Winston’s head bobbed. “That’s where she gets her stuff.”

  “Is that code for something?”

  “No? Just the hardware store.”

  Nova cringed inwardly, even though it was mostly true. She did get a lot of the items she used for her inventions from a local hardware store.

  “Any specific hardware store?” asked Adrian.

  “Hmmm.” Winston seemed to consider this. Then, “Nope. She likes them all.”

  “Maybe,” said Oscar, leaning forward on his elbow, “you could mention just one by name. Just to get us started.”

  Winston’s lips stretched thin and he shrugged. “I don’t know. Ask her.”

  Thankfully, his eyes did not shift back to Nova when he said this, though she could only imagine the restraint he was using to stay focused on his inquisitors.

  “How about the names of any connections she might have had in the city,” said Adrian. “Can you think of anyone she might have made contact with once the Anarchists abandoned the subway tunnels? Anywhere she might have gone?”

  Winston looked down at the table, and he seemed to be giving actual consideration to this question. Finally, truthfully, he started to shake his head. “I don’t know where they would have gone.”

  Adrian massaged his temple. “What about any other locations Nightmare likes to frequent? Any favorite … restaurants? Stores?”

  Winston could not prevent his eyes from darting to Nova this time, though he quickly shifted them over to Ruby, then back to Adrian, as if to make up for the slip. “Rooftops?” he suggested.

  Adrian’s shoulders sagged. “Any particular rooftops?”

  “I … I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t.” Winston leaned forward, and his baffled face took on an edge of desperation. “I don’t know where she is. Truthfully. I have no idea.”

  Adrian briefly closed his eyes. “It’s all right, Winston. We’re just trying—”

  “No, it’s not all right,” said Oscar, slamming his fist on the table. “It’s obvious you know something, and we’re not leaving this room until you tell us what it is!”

  Winston frowned. “They said we only had fifteen minutes.”

  “That—” started Oscar, holding up a finger. Then he deflated, clearing his throat. “—was actually true. But still, you can tell us what you know now, or we can come back and do this again tomorrow. And the next day. And the next! We’re not giving up until you tell us what we need to know, so start talking, Mr. Pratt, or else … or else I will make sure that you don’t get any tacos! Or, um, whatever it is they serve prisoners around here.”

  Adrian dragged his hand down the side of his face. “Okay,” he said, “listen. She betrayed you. She literally threw you out of your own hot-air balloon and left you to be captured by your enemies. Right? You have no reason to protect her. Whereas, if you help us…” He hesitated, and Nova could see him struggling to find something he could offer to Winston, something that wouldn’t break any of the Renegade codes. “I’ll see about … I’ll see if we can get you some books or something.”

  Nova pursed her lips, knowing that this bribe wouldn’t get him far, and Winston’s expression looked more confused by the offer than anything else. “Books?”

  “Or … I don’t know. Magazines? A deck of cards? Something to keep you entertained. It’s got to be boring in that cell, right?”

  Winston’s eyes seemed to brighten. “Can you bring me a painting set? And a new marionette doll?”

  Nova’s shoulders tightened. No. No. He couldn’t be swayed by them now.

  “Uh … I’ll have to get that approved by my supervisors,” said Adrian. “But … I could ask?”

  The hunger in Winston’s eyes was inescapable, and for the first time Nova felt bad for how she had given so little thought to Winston since his arrest. He must not only have been bored, but lonely. Not that she could have done anything to help him, but … she could at least have spared him a thought.

  “What was the question again?” said Winston.

  “We want to know if there are any places Nightmare frequents,” said Adrian. “Anywhere she might have gone.”

  Winston looked away, his thoughts warring across his face. The temptation Adrian had offered him fighting against whatever loyalty he still had for Nightmare and the Anarchists.

  “She, um … she likes to go to … the … park?”

  Disappointment fell across Adrian’s face. “The park,” he repeated dryly.

  In contrast, Winston was all joviality for what he must have thought was a quick-witted, completely believable lie. “Yes. She really loves going to the park.”

  “City Park?”

  “Oh no, no,” said Winston enthusia
stically, “Cosmopolis Park.”

  Nova coughed, covering her mouth to try to hide her amusement.

  Adrian glanced back.

  “Sorry,” said Nova.

  He sighed, returning his focus to Winston. “You’re telling us that Nightmare likes to spend time at an amusement park.”

  “Oh yes. She goes there all the time. Particularly enjoys the, uh, the fun house.” He giggled madly and shrugged, as if to suggest, Those crazy kids, who knows what they’ll be into next!

  “Can I ask a question?” said Ruby.

  “Please do,” said Adrian, stepping back from the table and gesturing for her to proceed. It was clear from the frustration in his eyes that this interrogation was not going how he’d hoped.

  Ruby took a step forward, idly swinging her bloodstone back and forth like a pendulum. Winston followed it with his eyes, leaning slightly back as if afraid she was about to stab him with the thing. And quite possibly she was. “The Anarchists have been, let’s say, fairly inactive for nine years, right? But Nightmare appears to be pretty young. Definitely younger than the rest of your gang. So what I want to know is how she came to join you all in the first place. Are you recruiting new members?”

  “Oh,” said Winston, apparently gleeful to be able to answer this question without having to strain himself too much to come up with a sensible lie. “Nope, no recruitment. Actually, Ace brought her.”

  “Ace?” said Oscar, with a disbelieving laugh. “Ace Anarchy?”

  “Please,” said Adrian, “she would have been a kid back then.”

  “Yes!” Winston said, his head bobbing in agreement. “She was just a kid.”

  They stared, speechless, for a long time. Finally, Adrian said simply, “Explain.”

  But by this time Winston seemed to have withdrawn back into his thoughts and was doubting his eager explanation. He looked again at Nova, and she shrugged at him, not really knowing how much trouble the truth would cause her at this point.

  Winston, though, opted not to tell the truth, and again his face took on that fearful, uncertain look. “Ace found her…,” he started. After a long inhale, he continued, “At Cosmopolis Park!”

  “Of course he did,” said Oscar. “Where else?”

  “No, no, it’s the truth,” Winston insisted. “I used to do business there, you know, before your Council made it so”—he grimaced—“wholesome. And one day, there was this kid. This girl. Wandering around after dark. The park had been closed for hours and, well, Ace found her and came to understand that her parents had left her there. Just … abandoned her. So he gave her some cotton candy, and … well, that was it. We had ourselves a little Nightmare.” He started to smile—a real smile that stretched the dark lines on his chin. “She and I used to play together. When she was scared at night sometimes, I would entertain her with puppet shows. She especially liked shadow puppets, which are something of a specialty of mine. Remember that, N—” He hiccupped. Coughed. “Uh, I remember that Nightmare well. Little Nightmare. We were buds…” His brow creased, a sadness overshadowing the sudden burst of joy. “Back then, at least.”

  Nova felt like her heart was being torn apart. For the past number of years she’d thought of Winston as little more than a nuisance, but he was right. They had been friends when she was young. How had they lost that? How had she become such a … such an Anarchist?

  She kept her eyes on him, wishing he would look up at her, wishing she could convey that she was sorry, and that she did remember those times, all those sleepless nights when he had made her laugh, and how much that had meant to her.

  But this time, Winston kept his head down.

  Behind him, the door clunked, and the guards returned.

  The interrogation was over.

  Walking back into the hallway outside the interrogation room, Nova felt as though a hundred Gargoyles were perched on her shoulders. She would have thought that to be leaving that room with her secret still intact would have left her buoyant and overjoyed, but she felt only guilt.

  Not just guilt over Winston, but guilt over them all. The Anarchists were counting on her, and so far, what had she accomplished? Since she’d come here, they had been forced out of their home. Ingrid was exiled. The Librarian was dead. They were certainly no closer to destroying the Renegades.

  “So,” Ruby drawled, twirling her bloodstone like a pinwheel around her finger. “Do we think a single word out of his mouth was true?”

  “I don’t know,” said Adrian. “Not most of it, that’s for sure.”

  Oscar nodded. “I agree, but I think he was drawing on truth sometimes, do you know what I mean? Like … there might have been kernels of truth in it.”

  “Yeah, but which parts?” said Ruby.

  Adrian paused and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. “He mentioned Cosmopolis Park a few times, and we do know that he used to deal drugs there during the Age of Anarchy, right? Maybe there’s something there.”

  “Wait,” said Ruby, with a mild laugh. “Just think about that for a second. Can you really picture Ace Anarchy finding some lost kid at a theme park, feeding her cotton candy, and deciding to bring her home and … raise her? Come on.”

  Nova bristled, glowering at her, but then Adrian started to laugh too. “I know,” he said, massaging his brow. “You’re right. It’s just … what else do we have to go on? Anything?”

  “Nova,” said Oscar, glancing at her, “you used to work at Cosmopolis Park.”

  It sounded like such an accusation that Nova stood straighter, ready to defend herself. “So?”

  “If there is a connection between Nightmare and the park … I don’t know. Did you ever see anything suspicious?”

  Immediately her defensiveness started to retract. She exhaled. “You mean, did I ever see some girl walking around in a metal face mask? Um, no, can’t say that I did.”

  “Not surprising,” said Adrian. “If she does frequent the theme park, which I’m still really doubtful of, but if she did, she wouldn’t be going there in full disguise, would she?”

  “Still,” said Ruby, “maybe Nova can talk to her old boss or something? Encourage people to be on the lookout?”

  Nova forced a smile, trying to remember the name of her so-called boss and hoping no one bothered to ask. “Yeah. Sure. That wouldn’t be a problem at all.”

  “Okay,” said Adrian, scratching his jaw. “I’ll get a transcript of the interrogation sent to each of you this afternoon. Let’s all take the night to think on it, and discuss more tomorrow.” He sighed. “He was obviously hiding something, but … I don’t know. Something tells me he gave up more than we realize.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  NONE OF THEM had come up with anything new or concrete the next day, or the next.

  By the third night after the Puppeteer interrogation, Nova was beginning to relax. This might largely have been because she felt like she was making progress, learning things that might actually hold value, thanks to the cataloging job.

  She found that she liked headquarters best at night. It was so quiet, after most everyone had gone home. Not entirely empty—there was always security staff monitoring the building, and late-night patrol units coming and going in between jobs, but the difference when compared with daytime was striking. The tranquillity was refreshing.

  Nova had long had mixed emotions when it came to those most still hours of the night. The suspension of time in which all the world became lonely and shadowed. There had been periods in her childhood when she would frequent twenty-four-hour diners for no other purpose than to feel a sense of connection to whatever other sad souls were sleepless that night, where she would eat her stacks of blueberry pancakes and concoct life stories for the delivery man slurping black coffee at the bar, or the waitress who made up for her tired eyes with effusive perkiness. Eventually, though, someone always asked where Nova’s parents were, and once their gazes turned to pitiful assumptions, she would have to leave.

  There were other nights,
though, when she craved that solitude. Nights when she would spend hours staring at the moon and imagining she was the last person alive on this planet. Imagining there was no one left to cause war or strife. No one struggling to claim power. No one left to fear or hate prodigies. No prodigies left to hate.

  Being inside headquarters at three o’clock in the morning felt like a wholesome mix of both. The tranquillity that came with being alone, but also the knowledge that she wasn’t, not really. Even if she was surrounded by her enemies, there was a strange sort of comfort in that thought.

  She had been set up with her own little cubicle on the third floor, with a window that looked down onto the vast open lobby and a desk that she was told she could decorate with personal items, but so far all she’d thought to bring was a poster of the constellations that she picked up at a cheap print shop a few miles away, and then only because she worried they would think it was weird if she didn’t bring in anything at all.

  The assignment she’d been given wasn’t exactly thrilling. She had spent three straight nights reviewing photographs that their forensics department had taken of all the destroyed artillery in the library, cataloging model numbers when they were available or otherwise scanning for identifying characteristics and comparing them with known weaponry in a global database. It wasn’t exciting work, but it did give her an excellent opportunity to alter the metadata when she came across scans of a series of gas bombs that she recognized from Cyanide’s laboratory, but which would now forever live in the Renegades’ files as amateur-crafted explosives from an unknown source.

  The assignment also gave her ample opportunity to delve further into the Renegades’ system. Over the past nights, she had mapped out the locations of all security cameras and alarms within the headquarters building. Downloaded a full list of the weaponry and prodigy artifacts kept in their storerooms. Discovered the complete directory of current Renegades, with aliases, abilities, and even home addresses (including her own). And she had even, to her delight, found a folder titled “Concerns—For Future Consideration,” which turned out to be full of public complaints lodged at the Council’s ongoing failures and disappointments.