“Alas, I am a mere mortal, and I am quite content with my tea.”
Honey made a suit-yourself noise in her throat and sank onto the edge of a marble casket. She clicked off the flashlight, letting the warmth from the candelabras engulf them.
Nova never spoke outright about the state of Ace’s health. Honey had embraced the role of both his doting nurse and apparent beautician, and though Ace often complained about being fussed over, they had both fallen comfortably into the routine. Honey would comment on his appearance, his health, how worried she was for him. Ace would rebuke all concerns. Everyone would move on.
Nova did not think she could get away with pointing out Ace’s growing weakness like Honey did, but it didn’t stop her from worrying. Ten years in the catacombs had made him as pale as his skeletal companions, and almost as gaunt. He seemed to move slower every time she visited, each movement matched with crackling joints and flinches of pain, which he couldn’t always hide. And that was when he moved at all. Half the time he sat almost comatose in his chair, letting his mind fetch him his books and his food when his body refused to cooperate.
Nova did not want to think of it, but the truth couldn’t be denied.
Ace was dying.
The most brilliant visionary of their time. The most powerful prodigy in history. The man who had carried her all the way to the cathedral after her family had been murdered. A growing six-year-old girl, and he had carried her for miles as if it were nothing.
The poetry book closed with a snap and returned itself to a stack of tomes in the corner. “It is a rare treat to be visited by all my brethren at once,” said Ace. “Has something happened?”
Nova could feel the weight of everyone’s focus attach to her. She hadn’t told Leroy and Honey anything yet, only that something big had happened that day and she needed to call an emergency meeting—with Ace, too.
She squared her shoulders. “There was an organization-wide presentation today and … well, I have good news and bad news.”
“Good first,” said Leroy. Nova glanced at him and he shrugged. “Life is short.”
Nova licked her lips. “All right. I received a public commendation for … um. For killing the Detonator.”
A short silence was filled by Honey’s guffaw. “Oh, sweetheart. We need to work on your delivery. You make the praise sound like a death sentence.”
“Well, it wasn’t exactly my proudest moment, was it?”
“And why not?” said Ace, and though he spoke quietly, he immediately had everyone’s attention. Even Phobia’s cloak seemed to flutter as he tilted his head toward their leader. “Ingrid might have been a great ally for many years, but she had grown impatient and selfish. She betrayed you, and in doing so, she betrayed us all.” He smiled, the change stretching deep wrinkles across his cheeks. “I see her death as the worthiest sacrifice she could have made, particularly as it has earned you a great deal of respect from our enemies. That alone is worth a thousand of Ingrid’s explosives.”
The knot in Nova’s chest loosened. “Thank you, Uncle.”
“And your bad news?” said Leroy, rocking back on his heels.
The knot tightened right back up. “The main reason for the presentation today…” Nova took in a long breath and told them everything she had learned about Agent N. How long the Renegades had been developing it. What it could do. How all patrol units would be equipped after they finished their training.
Lastly, she told them about the Puppeteer.
“Well, if it had to be any of us,” said Honey, tapping her nails against the coffin’s lid, “I’m glad it was him.”
Nova started, dismayed.
“Oh, come,” said Leroy, noticing her reaction. “You always hated it when Winston used his powers.”
Nova glared at him, her cheeks flaming. It felt like an accusation, and one that she didn’t like being put forth right in front of Ace. Even if it was true. There was a part of her—and not a small part, either—that had not been sad to know that the Puppeteer was gone. That no children would ever be forced to suffer the mind control he could exact with his creepy glowing strings.
Did that make her as bad as the Renegades who were enthusiastic about Agent N and its possibilities? Did that make her a traitor to the Anarchists, her family?
“The Renegades don’t get to decide who gets superpowers and who doesn’t,” she said, jaw tense.
“And who should we entrust with such a decision?” rasped Phobia. “Fate? The whims of chance? The Puppeteer was a fool and now he is suffering the consequences.”
Nova was surprised to see that no one seemed particularly upset. Winston had been with them for so long. Could it be that, for all these years, they had only barely tolerated him?
For some reason, the thought made her sad.
“So we have lost the Detonator and the Puppeteer,” said Ace. “Our numbers are dwindling.”
“And we’ll all be in trouble once this neutralizing agent is approved for use,” said Nova.
“How could they have created such a poison?” said Leroy, rubbing his jaw. “It must be a marvel of chemical engineering.”
“I suspect they are using the child,” said Ace.
Nova spun back to him. She had avoided telling the Anarchists about Max, worried that one of them might try to target him specifically. But of course Ace knew of his existence. Max had been the one to drain away some of his powers during the Battle for Gatlon.
“What child?” said Honey.
“One whose mere presence can suck the power from our souls.” Ace’s eyelids fluttered shut and he leaned against the back of his chair. “I have no doubt that he has served a role in the development of this … this Agent N.”
“Y-yes,” Nova said. “They call him the Bandit.” Saying it felt like a betrayal, but she tried to ignore it. Her loyalties were here, not in a quarantine at Renegade Headquarters.
But then Ace opened his eyes again and they were burning. “He is an abomination.”
Nova took a step back, surprised by his vehemence and the unfairness of such a statement. She wanted to be sympathetic to Ace and the grudge he must have held against Max all these years. The baby who had weakened him, who had cost him everything.
But still … Ace had always fought for prodigy rights. For freedom and equality. To call Max an abomination for a power he couldn’t control went against everything Ace had taught her.
She wanted to say as much, to defend the kid, but the words wouldn’t form.
“We need to know more,” said Leroy. “How the substance works, how they plan to administer it, what might be its limitations.”
Nova nodded. “We start training with it next week. I’ll find out more then. Do you think … if I could steal a sample or two, do you think you might be able to replicate it?”
He frowned, doubtful. “Unlikely, without the … source material.”
Meaning the Bandit, she assumed.
“But I would still like to study it and see what can be learned.”
“If you make me a decoy sample, I might be able to swap it out,” said Nova.
“Our efforts must go beyond learning the properties of this substance,” said Phobia, stepping into the halo of candlelight. “We must consider how it can be weaponized against our enemies.”
“I agree,” Ace murmured. “Our Nightmare presented this news to us as a problem to be overcome, and yet … I think you might have just told us of our salvation.”
“Salvation?” barked Honey. “Those tyrants want to strip us of our powers!”
“Indeed,” said Ace, “and their quest for power has led them to create what might be their own undoing. As Nova has said, they are as vulnerable to this weapon as we are. If we can find a way to weaponize it, as Phobia suggests, we can turn it against them.”
“Hold on,” said Nova. “Finding a way to protect ourselves is one thing, but even if we could get ahold of Agent N and find a way to use it against the Renegades … how is that any differ
ent from what they want to do to us?” She stared at Ace. “You started your revolution because you wanted autonomy and security for all prodigies, but this is just another form of persecution.”
“What do you propose, little Nightmare?” said Ace. “We cannot defeat the Renegades in a battle of skill. There are so many of them, and so few of us. They must be weakened if they are to be overthrown.”
“But if we neutralize the powers of all the prodigies who believe differently than we do…” She groaned, frustrated. “This can’t be what you had in mind. This can’t be what we’ve been fighting for. It would make us just like them.”
“No, it would not.” Ace’s voice cut through the catacombs. “This is a means to an end. We end the Renegades, and we rebuild our world upon their ashes. Fairness. Justice. Peace. These are ideals worth sacrificing for.”
“But you’re talking about sacrificing them. Their powers, their livelihoods…”
“They are the enemy. They have made their choices—just as Ingrid and Winston. We all must take responsibility for our decisions. We all must suffer the consequences. That is the only way for true justice to prevail.” Ace started to stand, bolstered by the strength of his beliefs, but he just as quickly slumped back into his chair. A fit of coughing overtook him and he buried his mouth into his sleeve.
Nova and Honey both started to move toward him, but Ace lifted a palm, signaling for them to stay back.
Nova wrung her hands, hating the sound of those wracking coughs. Her eyes began to tear at the sight of his fingers clawing the arm of the chair, fending off what pain she could only imagine.
He needed a doctor. He needed a hospital. He needed one of the Renegades’ healers.
But of course, that wasn’t an option.
“Perhaps you should lie down,” murmured Honey, once the fit had passed.
“Soon, soon,” said Ace, his voice rough. “Nova. Have you found anything more on my helmet?”
Nova stood straighter. This, at least, she had finally made progress on.
“Not yet, but my request to work in the artifact warehouse was approved. I start tomorrow. If the helmet is there, like the Dread Warden said, I’ll find it.”
And it had to be there. No artifact was more powerful than Ace’s helmet, which he had used to amplify his telekinetic abilities. Without the helmet, he could raise a book and a teacup easily enough, but he would struggle with lifting anything much heavier than a sofa.
With the helmet, however … he would be unstoppable. He could destroy the Renegades and everything they had built, almost single-handedly. The Renegades had gotten lucky when they defeated him last time using Max and his power absorption. The Anarchists wouldn’t fall prey to such a trick again.
“Good, good.” Ace exhaled. “Learn what you can about this Agent N, but do not lose sight of your main objective. Use the boy if you must.”
Nova blinked. “The Bandit?”
Ace wheezed. The coughing fit had left his face splotchy and red, and though his breaths were still rattling, he looked almost energized. “Does he have my helmet?”
“Um … I don’t think…” She trailed off.
Oh.
He meant the other boy.
“Your companionship with the Everhart boy remains one of the greatest assets you’ve acquired so far,” he said. “His name and family alliances come with their own sort of power, one we may need to exploit.”
“Yes, power,” said Honey, her eyes laughing in the candlelight. “I told you it was attractive.”
Nova glowered at her. “I’m not sure how much I’ll be able to … exploit Adrian. He’s the leader of my patrol unit, but we haven’t really … spoken a whole lot lately.”
It was a simple truth, but one that made her breath hitch.
Things had not been the same ever since the carnival, and Nova knew it was her fault. Adrian had tried to kiss her. For a moment, she had even thought that she might want him to kiss her. That she might like it.
But she’d blown it. She ran away. Literally ran. She couldn’t even remember what excuse she gave at the time, but she could clearly recall the rejection that flashed across his features.
He hadn’t made any attempts to kiss her since. He hadn’t asked her on any more semi-dates. He hadn’t tried to get her alone or bring her sandwiches in the middle of the night or stop by her house to see if she was okay. All those things that had seemed like such a nuisance before, but now …
Much as she hated to admit it, even to herself, she missed him. She missed the way he used to look at her. No one had ever looked at her quite the way that Adrian Everhart did.
“You are afraid…,” Phobia rasped. “Afraid to feel too deeply, afraid that the truth will—”
“Okay,” Nova interrupted, almost shouting. “Don’t need the evaluation right now, thank you.”
“Is there a problem?” asked Leroy. “You’re not fighting with your team, are you?”
She shook her head. “No, everything’s fine. We’ve just been busy with patrols, and I … I’m so focused on finding the helmet, and uncovering the Council’s weaknesses, and … lots of other really important reconnaissance-type things.”
“Ah, but, child,” said Ace, “we already know one of the Council’s greatest weaknesses.” He chuckled, and the sound made Nova squirm. “You have befriended the son of our enemies. Do not squander this gift. Earn his trust. Earn his respect.” He paused, before adding, “Earn his affection. And when the time is right, we will use him to considerable advantage indeed.”
Nova’s skin prickled at the thought of earning Adrian’s affection, but she forced herself to nod. “Of course. I’ll do my best.”
Her best. To find the helmet. To learn more about Agent N. To get close to Adrian Everhart. Her chest squeezed under the weight of their growing expectations.
She was doing her best, but at the moment, she was doing her best not to let her escalating panic show.
She could do this. She would not fail.
“I know, little Nightmare,” said Ace. “I have faith in you. And when you succeed, we will rise again. We will all rise again.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
NOVA STEPPED OFF the elevator onto the fourteenth floor of headquarters. She had expected a space as modern and chic as the main lobby downstairs, or the Council’s offices on the top floor, or the training halls in the sublevels. She’d expected glossy white furniture and industrial fixtures. She’d expected an elaborate request-and-retrieve system, automated with computers and machinery. She’d expected a bustling laboratory, where weapons were inspected and relics were preserved. Having worked in the weapons-cataloging system, she knew how expansive the collection was, and she’d imagined the actual storage facility would be as elaborate and heavily monitored as the research and development division, or the virtual-reality training rooms.
And so, from the moment she stepped onto the floor housing the weapons and artifacts storerooms, she found her lip curling with surprise—and disappointment.
The small reception area was unassuming in every way. Two mismatched wooden desks greeted her, though there was no one behind either desk. One held nothing but a computer, a jar of pens, and a clipboard. The second desk, on the other hand, was cluttered with snow globes and elephant figurines and an unhappy ivy plant in a garishly painted ceramic pot. A day-by-day paper calendar was almost a week behind schedule. A Blacklight-branded coffee mug held an array of scissors, hole punchers, and candy sticks, along with a variety of pens that sprouted fake flowers from their ends.
A small plaque read:
TINA LAWRENCE
“SNAPSHOT”
DIRECTOR, WEAPONS AND ARTIFACTS
Someone had drawn a smiley face next to Tina Lawrence’s name in glittery ink.
The two desks were hemmed in by walls on all sides, though a large door stood cracked open to Nova’s right, from which Nova heard upbeat whistling. She approached the door and nudged it open farther. The room beyond was filled with fil
ing cabinets. A woman who must have been close to seventy was bent over a drawer, riffling through the files. She had a fringe of stark-white hair and spectacles with purple cat-eye frames. She paused at a file and dropped a small plastic baggie full of tiny stones into the folder, then slammed the drawer shut. She grabbed a clipboard from the top of the cabinet, checked something off, and turned.
Spotting Nova, she cried out in surprise and nearly toppled over, clutching the clipboard to her chest.
“Sorry,” said Nova. “I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you. I’m—”
“Nova McLain, yes, yes, of course,” said the woman, sheepishly taking off her reading glasses and setting them on top of her head. “Is it ten o’clock already?”
“Not quite. I’m early.” Nova glanced at the bin of plastic bags the woman had been sorting, but couldn’t see what was inside them. “Should I come back?”
“Oh no, you’re fine.” The woman strode toward her and offered a hand. “I’m Tina.”
Nova accepted the handshake. Though the offer of skin-to-skin contact had struck her as remarkably trusting when she first joined the Renegades, she’d gotten used to it. It was a small reminder that no one knew who she really was.
“Snapshot, right?” she said, withdrawing her hand. “I was curious about the alias.”
Tina tapped a finger against her temple. “I can tell by inspecting an object whether or not it’s been imbued with extraordinary powers. When my eyes land on a prodigious object, it is as though a shutter on a camera closes on my vision, forever storing that object in my memory. It’s handy in my line of work here, but not much else.”
Nova searched her tone for resentment, but couldn’t find any.
Tina brushed past her into the small reception area. “Let’s get you set up. You can start familiarizing yourself with the system. Callum will be in soon and he can show you around.” She dropped her clipboard on the cluttered desk and walked behind the desk that was mostly empty. “He’s in charge of stocking and maintenance. Once you’re familiar with the system, we are going to need a lot of help back in the vault.”
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