Hopefuls (Book 1): The Private Life of Jane Maxwell

by Jenn Gott

  The earpiece just kept transmitting, wave after wave of signal as it kept in touch with the others.

  Maybe that was the key, then.

  After all, UltraViolet couldn’t overhear something, if she couldn’t hear it.

  Jane took a steadying breath. It’s okay, she told herself. You’re in charge this time. She let her powers fill her up, until she was nearly drowning in them. Focus, focus. Her own earpiece was throwing out waves around her, too, and it was these that Jane concentrated on, nudging them just a little bit this way and that.

  A squeal tore out of the earpieces. Allison cringed, doubling over as she grabbed at her head. “What the—?”

  “Sorry,” Jane said, or at least a voice—Jane’s words, distorted as they were carried out in the wireless waves. The sounds were tumbling back into her own earpiece, too, and so she heard just how terrible she sounded, all eighties-speak-and-spell. “Sorry, I’m not . . . this is really hard, okay?”

  Allison turned, her eyes widening as they settled on Jane.

  Meanwhile, Granite Girl’s voice came fast in Jane’s ear. “Jane? Jane, is that you?”

  “Hope so,” Jane “said.” “Is everyone okay out there?”

  “We’re fine,” Granite Girl said, “though Cal got away. Where are you?”

  “With UltraViolet. Listen, we don’t have much time: the room is littered with infrared trip lasers. I need Pixie Beats to sneak in here and disable them.”

  “Problem,” Pixie Beats said. “I don’t know shit about disarming explosives.”

  “I do,” Granite Girl said. “Bring me. Jane, what are we working with, here? How many bombs?”

  Jane winced. Pain flared through her head from focusing so hard. “Too many. Hooked to a laptop. Please hurry. Lasers aren’t to the floor, should be enough space to walk beneath.”

  “How much space are we talking?”

  Jane glanced at the emitters just above the baseboards, and saw Allison do the same.

  “Maybe two inches?” Jane said. She looked to Allison, who gave a subtle nod.

  In the earpiece, nothing but silence.

  Panic fluttered at the edges of Jane’s mind.

  “Guys?”

  “It’s fine,” Granite Girl said pointedly. “Don’t worry about it. We’re on our way. Keep UltraViolet busy in the meantime. The last thing we need is for her to realize what’s happening.”

  “On it.”

  Jane and Allison exchanged a look.

  Allison cleared her throat.

  “You don’t have to do this, Jane.”

  Jane frowned, confused—until she realized that Allison wasn’t talking to her, but rather to UltraViolet.

  UltraViolet glanced up. She was working on something just beside her laptop, a box made of crude sheet metal, wires sticking up like pins splaying open a dissected frog.

  “Of course I don’t,” UltraViolet said. “But I’m still going to.”

  “Janie, please. Listen to me, okay? This isn’t you.”

  UltraViolet laughed. “Actually, sister dear, I think if you stop to think about it, you’ll realize this is exactly me. Come on. You can’t tell me you never saw something like this coming.”

  “My sister becoming a supervillain?” Allison said, a fractured laugh tinting her voice. “Yeah, no—I admit, we’ve had our differences, and I can’t say you’ve ever been my favorite person. But no. I never saw this coming. Do you even realize how many people are going to die, when you set that thing off?”

  UltraViolet looked up, eyes alight with amusement. “Oh good lord, you still think this is about what blew up Woolfolk Tower? Sister dear, we are way past that old plan.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Allison said. “There’s no way you’ve found something worse than that.”

  A flicker of irritation crossed UltraViolet’s face. “The fact that you can’t picture it just means that you have a poor imagination, but that’s hardly my problem. You, on the other hand . . .”

  UltraViolet turned to Jane.

  “I admit that I underestimated your imagination. Here I thought you were just a useless scribbler, but you worked out the connection between Amy and Clair. I suppose I should thank you. I was just going to content myself with stealing your powers—but why steal just one Jane Maxwell’s powers, when the whole multiverse can be my oyster?” She motioned at her laptop, a triumphant grin already spreading from cheek to cheek. “All I need to do is push this button, and your precious Amy will act as a compass, leading me to any universe I want—there should be no limit to the number of Janes I can capture. Think about it: the power I could achieve!” UltraViolet’s face went soft. “I’m going to be like a god.”

  “You’re delusional,” Jane said.

  UltraViolet rolled her eyes. “Says the woman still pining after her dead wife. Face it, Jane, she’s gone. This?” UltraViolet stepped over and grabbed a chunk of Amy’s hair—she jerked Amy’s head back so that the whites of her eyes flashed. “Is not her. It will never be her.”

  Amy whimpered.

  “Stop it!” Jane shouted.

  UltraViolet pouted down at Amy, ignoring Jane. “Aw. What’s wrong, sweetie? I thought you liked having your hair pulled.” UltraViolet snorted. She released her hold, throwing Amy’s head forward again. Turned back to Jane. “So you see, there really is no reason for you to risk your life to save her. Not that your efforts will do any good. You’ll never stop me, you and your ‘friends.’ You know that I was the only thing holding that team together, right? Without me . . . what good are they, really?”

  Jane stole a subtle glance. Several feet away, a tiny flutter of color was making its way across the surface of the floor.

  “They’re Heroes,” Jane said, and now, finally, she understood what that meant. Watching Pixie Beats and Granite Girl, running on hope across what would be a vast wasteland from their tiny perspective, charging into unknown danger, so frail and small in the face of something so terrifying. They had not even questioned Jane, when she told them her plan.

  “Oh, yes, how foolish of me,” UltraViolet said. She crossed her arms, and sneered. “Heroes. Let me tell you something about being a hero, Jane: it’s not worth it. Oh, you can hold evil at bay for a day, a year, a decade—it doesn’t matter. You’ll suffer through battle after battle, you’ll watch good people die, you’ll tell yourself that it’s worth it, but in the end . . . someone like me will always come along. You can’t stop us all. It just takes one victory, and then all of your hard work will be for nothing. Why fight it? Evil will triumph, sooner or later. It’s a mathematical inevitability.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.”

  “Trust me, I’m not. I’ve been in this gig a hell of a lot longer than you; I know what I’m talking about.”

  “You may have played the part of a hero,” Jane said, “but you clearly never understood it. A real hero knows that it’s not about a tally of victories and losses. It’s not even about ‘holding evil at bay,’ not really. At the end of the day, there’s only one thing that truly counts for anything, and it’s not something that can ever be defeated. And you don’t even know what it is, do you?”

  UltraViolet gave an exaggerated sigh. “Let me guess: love?”

  “Love is great,” Jane said. “But no. What love does, is help us remember what’s important. It doesn’t define what’s important.”

  “Okay, seriously, can we just skip to the end?”

  “What matters is doing the right thing.”

  UltraViolet raised an eyebrow. “That’s it?”

  “That’s everything,” Jane said. “And that’s why evil will never triumph—not forever, anyway. Because no matter how bad things get, no matter how bleak the future looks, there will always be people who will do the right thing. In the face of all odds. Even if no one will ever know they’ve done it, even if there is no hope of recognition for their actions—someone will make the right call.”

  “Will they, now?” UltraViolet smiled. “We’ll
see about that.”

  UltraViolet put her foot on top of a wireframe box, something that had been sitting in the jumble of equipment. She dragged it out with the toe of her shoe and then, keeping a steady eye on Jane the entire time, kicked it to the side.

  The box scraped across the floor. Jane’s heart leaped to her throat—if it hit the laser beams . . .

  But it didn’t. UltraViolet had shoved it with just enough force, her timing perfect. The box slid to a halt: right before the beams . . . and directly over where Pixie Beats and Granite Girl had just crossed into the open space surrounding UltraViolet and Amy.

  UltraViolet stomped on a switch on the floor. A thin cord connected it to the box, and Jane watched in horror as a net of laser beams snapped to life around Pixie Beats and Granite Girl. Only this time, a series of LED lights sprang up alongside them, leaving no room for anyone to mistake what had happened.

  “No!”

  UltraViolet rolled her eyes. “Jane, Jane . . . You think I wouldn’t have thought of that? You think I wasn’t listening in to the wifi, while you schemed over the earpieces? Face it: you have no idea what you’re up against. I know this team. I know what they’re capable of—and what they’re not. Speaking of . . .” UltraViolet walked over to the laser cage that she’d constructed. She crouched over Pixie Beats and Granite Girl, grinning down at them like they were animals in a pet shop. “Oh my, Keisha. That does look uncomfortably small, even for you. How long do you think you can keep that up, exactly? Especially while holding Marie the same size.”

  A faint whisper breezed through the gallery.

  UltraViolet cupped her hand around her ear. “What’s that? I’m sorry, your voice is a little small.” She laughed.

  Pixie Beats’s voice came through Jane’s earpiece next. “I said, ‘As long as it takes, you bitch.’ ”

  “Keisha!” UltraViolet gasped. She sat back, her hand at her chest in feigned shock. “Such language.”

  “Let them go!” Jane said.

  “Or what?” UltraViolet stood and spun around, glowering at Jane. “Tell me, Captain Lumen, what exactly are you going to do to stop me? Hmm? Because I don’t see a lot of options for you right now! Do you?”

  Jane swallowed. No, she didn’t, though she wasn’t inclined to admit that.

  A bing! broke the silence, cheerful as an egg timer. UltraViolet looked over at her laptop, a grin spreading across her face. “Ah! And we’re ready. Ladies,” she said, “as fun as this has been, I’m afraid my hour is at hand.”

  UltraViolet took an exaggerated bow, twirling her hand out beside her with a flourish.

  She walked over to the laptop, now filled with green ready lights. A single button hovered in the middle, the cursor already positioned over it.

  Amy screamed through her gag. She jerked at the bonds of her chair, desperate to get away.

  “No, don’t!” Jane shouted. “Just stop! UltraViolet—Jane! Think about what you’re doing.”

  UltraViolet clutched her heart. “Oh! Is this where you finally convince me that I’m a good person, underneath it all? Remind me of my humanity? Get me to see the error of my wicked ways? I know! Maybe I should adopt a puppy! That would make everything all better, wouldn’t it?”

  “No,” Jane said. “I know you’re too far gone for that.”

  UltraViolet blinked. “Well that’s surprisingly sensible of you.”

  “All I’m saying, is that there has to be another way for you to achieve your goals—without using Amy. Okay? Please. I know that you don’t really want to hurt her.”

  “Do you?” UltraViolet sneered. “And how do you know this? Because you looked into my heart, and knew that I’ve been in love with her all this time? Grow up, woman. This isn’t a fairy tale.”

  Jane shook her head. “I didn’t look into your heart. You looked into my face.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “In the factory. You said you knew I was in love with her, because you recognized that look. But how could you? Unless you’ve seen it before. You’ve spent your whole life burying it, Jane, but you can’t deny it anymore. Not to me. You’re Jane Maxwell,” Jane said, but it wasn’t her double that she was looking at anymore. Instinctively, Jane’s eyes had drawn toward the chair, seeking out Clair’s face. God, it was just the same. Jane’s expression softened. “She’s Amy Sinclair. And if there’s one constant in all this vast stretch of parallel worlds, it’s that we will always love her. No matter what.”

  Amy’s eyes welled up, alongside Jane’s heart.

  UltraViolet cleared her throat. “That’s really touching, Jane. Truly. I had no idea I was capable of such poetry.” She threw her arms wide. “Very well! I repent!”

  Jane ripped her attention away, a puzzled frown scrunching her eyebrows. “Really?”

  UltraViolet’s face convulsed as she fell into a messy snort of laughter. She pointed at Jane, then shook her head. “No. Nice try, though.” Her hand hovered over the laptop, finger poised. “But it’s too late for that.”

  She struck the key and the lights flickered off and on, searing the vivid white of UltraViolet’s Cheshire-cat grin across Jane’s eyes.

  “Let the Spectral Wars begin.”

  Reality split itself, dividing into neat little squares, moments frozen in time. Jane, trying to lunge forward despite the net of laser beams, only Allison’s desperate grip holding her back; Jane’s face is contorted in a thousand shades of pain, heavy shadows lending depth and detail to her features. UltraViolet, head thrown back in riotous, triumphant laughter. The contrast in her panel is so sharp that she appears nearly in black-and-white, lending her a creepy, inhuman vibe. There’s a tight shot, low to the floor, the explosion of color in Pixie Beats’s uniform played against the dull gray of Granite Girl’s stony skin. Their hands are gripped together, and Pixie Beats’s face is lined with sweat, the effort of holding both of them so small finally beginning to show.

  All of these are smaller pieces, scattered at angles like fallen photographs around the larger horror. A distance shot of the gallery, the details obscured by shadow. The light spilling over Amy draws the eye toward the center.

  Her powers are not light-based, so her flare does not blind those who look upon her. Reality split itself, people’s truths revealed and mirrored back to them. For Jane, it was her comics: a full spread of her failure, laid out in perfect detail. Look at what she had done. Look at what she had allowed to happen.

  Then the moment passed, the initial shockwave of Amy’s flare bursting past Jane, expanding out through the rest of the museum. The world sprang back to life. The scream that was already tearing itself from Jane’s throat, and Allison shouting at her to stay back; UltraViolet’s cackles as they rose to the ceiling and crashed back down on Jane. Amy had her eyes squeezed shut, her jaw clamped tightly behind the duct tape across her mouth, her whole body tensed as if trying to hold herself together just a little while longer.

  UltraViolet hopped eagerly from foot to foot as she watched readings pour into the laptop. Her fingers danced together, tapping excitedly in front of her lips.

  Jane sagged back against Allison, defeated. They had failed. After everything—all the near misses, all the hurt and heartbreak, all the strength that it had taken to keep fighting . . . Okay, so there were plenty of times Jane had felt she was going to die; she had never considered, though, that it might not work. The Heroes didn’t fail, not when it really mattered. Yet here they were.

  “No,” Jane mumbled. She pushed herself back to her feet. No, that wasn’t how this worked. They were Jane’s stories. There was always another way out. There was always something. If only these damned lasers weren’t in the way, if only . . .

  The image of Clair’s note rushed back to her, two lines scrawled in haste: Lasers are just light. I believe in you.

  Lasers are just light.

  Jane looked over. The whole world seemed to slow, the chaos of the gallery retreating to the background. The explosives blinked on the walls, perfectly s
ynced with each other. Their beams cut a thick network back and forth between Jane and Amy, invisible to everyone else, but just another light to Jane.

  Lasers are just light.

  UltraViolet was turning now, gathering up one of the wrist cuffs. A pale glow washed over her hand as she set it on the table, and she strung a cord to plug it into the laptop.

  Lasers are just light.

  Pixie Beats fell to her knees. Granite Girl shrieked, barely keeping hold. The light of their cage clashed with the vibrant colors of Pixie Beats’s uniform. Their size slipped, just for a moment, just a hair’s breadth, before Pixie Beats was able to catch it.

  Lasers are just light.

  Beside her, Allison had raised her gun again. She shouted at UltraViolet, her words lost in the haze of Jane’s perceptions. UltraViolet turned, quirked up an eyebrow, Would you really shoot your sister? It was a question mirrored in Allison’s own face, uncertain even as her fingers gripped against the trigger.

  UltraViolet raised her hand. A beam cut through the network of lasers, high enough in frequency that even Jane couldn’t see it. She only saw the result, like everyone else: the barrel of Allison’s gun melting, useless as putty.

  Jane’s breath escaped her. Her mouth hung open, the last puff hovering at her lips.

  Lasers are just light.

  Time caught up with Jane. Allison threw her gun to the floor, swearing loudly.

  Jane gripped Allison’s sleeve. “I’m going in there.”

  Allison snorted. “Yeah, that would be nice.” She stomped down on the gun, just for some way to express her frustration. UltraViolet had already turned away, eagerly tapping commands into her laptop.

  “No, Allison . . . I’m serious. I can do it. If I redirect the light in just the right way, I can trick the sensors into thinking that the beams are unbroken. I’ll pass right through them.”

  “Are you crazy? That will never work!”

  “Lasers are just light,” Jane said. She turned, looking Allison straight in the face. “I control light.”

  Allison shook her head. “It’s too risky. If you’re off by even a fraction of—”