Archenemies

by Marissa Meyer

  He turned over the vial and watched as a single air bubble rose through the elixir. “This is for me to keep?”

  “For now. Like Ace said, we need to see if we can weaponize it against the Renegades, before they use it against us. Or if we can even replicate it. I might be able to steal more in the coming weeks, but not enough to use against the whole organization.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Also, there was talk of it being effective in gas form. I wonder if that might be a possibility. A gas could be used against more than one Renegade at a time, at least.”

  “It will be easy enough to figure out its properties and what sort of combustion would be required for vaporization,” said Leroy. “We’ll also need to determine its reduction in potency as the molecules are diffused, so that we can predict its range of effectiveness. I can get started on all that, but unless you’re also going to obtain some deconstructed hand grenades for the substance, there won’t be much we can do with the knowledge.”

  “You figure out how to turn it into a gas, and I’ll start working on a dispersal device,” said Nova. “I have my eye on some explosives I saw in the Renegades’ collection that I think could be altered for something like this. Plus, they’d be easy to steal.”

  “Shame that our only reliable contact for explosives is no longer among us.”

  Nova ground her teeth. “I’m not sure I would call Ingrid reliable.”

  Leroy lifted an eyebrow at her—or what would have been an eyebrow, if the hair hadn’t long ago been singed off. “I was referring to the Librarian.”

  Nova curled her nose, almost embarrassed. “There’s been some debate around headquarters about whether or not Captain Chromium would be affected by Agent N. He couldn’t be injected, given that no needle could puncture his skin, but it’s unclear whether or not the liquid would harm him if he swallowed it, or the gas if he breathed it in. If you come up with any theories one way or the other, I’d love to hear them.”

  He tapped a finger against his chin. “I’ll see what I can find, though I’m not sure how much I can accomplish with such a small test sample. And without access to the Renegade labs, their tests, their supplies … and, of course, the boy.”

  A shiver traipsed down her spine. Max had been brought up several times in their conversations lately, ever since she’d told them about Agent N. Nova couldn’t help feeling like telling the Anarchists about him had left Max vulnerable somehow, and she hated it.

  “Do your best for now,” she said, turning away. “I’ll try to bring you more samples after my next training session.”

  She plodded up the stairway to the bedroom she shared with Honey. It was a relief to peel the Renegade uniform off her skin and change into her own clothes. She had just finished pulling a T-shirt over her head when Honey threw open the door and sauntered into the room, her hair in a towel and a silk bathrobe tied at her waist. The smell of oat-and-honey soap wafted after her into the room, mingling with the cloying scents of Honey’s perfumes, body creams, and cosmetics.

  “Oh, sweetheart!” Honey cooed. She pulled the towel from her hair and began squeezing water from her curls. “You’re back early today. Isn’t there enough murder and mayhem happening on the streets to keep the Renegades busy?” Dropping the towel onto the floor, she stretched one pale arm toward the mattress in the corner of the room. A handful of black wasps that had been crawling over her bed linens zipped toward her, alighting on her shoulder and knuckles. Nova watched one disappear into the opening of Honey’s sleeve.

  “Our schedules were adjusted for Agent N training.”

  “Oh? Does that mean you saw that darling Everhart boy today?”

  Nova’s gut clenched. “I pretty much see him all the time.”

  “Good.” Honey sat in front of her vanity mirror and began picking a wide-toothed comb through her damp hair. “I went to see Ace this morning. He wanted to be sure you’re staying close to him like he asked, and keeping your ears open for anything that might be useful regarding the Council.”

  Nova’s skin prickled. It made her uncomfortable to think of the other Anarchists, Ace especially, talking about her when she wasn’t there. “You can tell Ace that I see him plenty,” she said, pacing to the window. She pried open two of the cheap plastic blinds and peered into the alley. A plump bumblebee was wandering over the glass, trying to figure out how to get inside.

  “And? How are things going?”

  Nova’s mouth dried as she tracked the bee’s movements.

  How were things with Adrian?

  “Fine,” she spat.

  It was true. They were fine. Always fine. He was as friendly toward her as he had ever been. Always welcoming. Always ready with an encouraging smile and a kind word. Always so damned nice.

  “That doesn’t sound fine,” Honey mused.

  Nova thrust open the window and waited for the bee to zip inside. She turned away, enjoying the cool air on the back of her neck. She expected Honey to be watching her, but no. Honey Harper was fully involved with her vanity mirror, tracing thick black eyeliner along her lower lash line. It was a daily ritual for her, and one that Nova found as baffling now as she had in the tunnels.

  It wasn’t like Honey could leave the house, and Nova doubted she cared much about getting dolled up for Leroy or Phobia.

  “How was Ace when you saw him?” she asked.

  Honey dipped her lashes suspiciously. “You’re dodging.”

  “I’ve been thinking,” Nova went on, ignoring the accusation, “maybe we can start taking him out for walks. No one ever goes to the cathedral ruins. If he could get out in the sunshine, get some fresh air—even just for a few minutes a day—it could help him, right?”

  Honey stiffened. “Take him for walks? He’s not a dog.”

  “I’m serious.” Nova gestured at Honey. “Being out of the tunnels has been so good for you, for all of us. Maybe if we could get him out of those catacombs, let him breathe again—”

  Honey rose from her chair. “He is Ace Anarchy. Have you forgotten? If anyone were to see him—”

  “We’ll be careful.”

  “He would be murdered on sight or locked away in that horrible prison.”

  “He’s already in prison!”

  “Absolutely not. It isn’t worth the risk.”

  Nova huffed and peered out the window again. It was a beautiful day—crisp and breezy, with flashes of sun streaming through the clouds. Sometimes she worried that Ace’s weakness was as much in his mind as his body. To be locked away from the very society he had tried to help …

  He never complained. He had Nova and the others, he would say. He had his books and his teapot and that was all he needed.

  But Nova knew it wasn’t enough. He was dying. Soon he would be just one more forgotten skeleton beneath those hallowed ruins.

  “I understand,” Honey said, her voice gentler now. “I truly do. Ace is like a father to me, too, you know. I hate seeing him this way. But you know how to help him, and it isn’t with a little bit of fresh air.”

  Nova pursed her lips. The helmet. “I know,” she whispered. Then a thought occurred to her and she glanced back at Honey. “Aren’t you older than Ace?”

  Honey gasped in dismay. She snatched a jar from the vanity and tossed it at Nova’s head. Nova ducked and the jar crashed against the wall, exploding in a cloud of talcum powder.

  “Never let me hear those words from your mouth again, do you hear me?”

  Nova laughed. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Clearly I was mistaken.” She stooped and picked up the near-empty jar and returned it to the vanity. Her mouth dried as she scanned the array of cosmetics and perfumes, most of them crawling with curious wasps. “Actually, Honey? I … I could maybe use your help with something.”

  Honey crossed her arms, still irate.

  “It’s about Adrian.”

  Her expression quickly turned to intrigue. “Oh?”

  “I’m not sure if he’s … interested in
me anymore. At least not like … like that.” At Honey’s skeptical look, Nova attempted to gather what dignity she could in the stiffening of her shoulders. “So, maybe you could help me figure out … how to get him interested. Again.”

  An eagerness brightened Honey’s face. “Oh, my sweet girl,” she said, placing her fingers against her chest. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask.”

  * * *

  WE ALREADY KNOW one of the Council’s greatest weaknesses … and when the time is right, we will use him to great advantage indeed.

  That’s what Ace had said, and he was right. If Captain Chromium and the Dread Warden had a weakness, it was their adopted sons—Adrian and Max. Nova could use Adrian’s trust to her advantage, especially if that trust also came with his affection.

  But why did earning his affection have to seem so horrifically awkward?

  “I can’t do that,” said Nova, arms folded tight over her chest.

  “You can, and you will. Here, like this.” Honey crossed one long leg over her knee and scooted a hair closer to Nova on the mattress. Her bare toes nudged Nova’s shin, so tenderly she would have thought she was imagining it, except Honey had just outlined this exact flirtation technique in painful detail. “Then you angle your shoulders, like this.” Honey flipped her hair to one side and shifted her body closer. “Give him your undivided attention. Like there is nothing else in the room half as interesting to you as this conversation. He needs to believe you are mesmerized by everything he’s saying.” Honey settled an elbow on her knee and her chin on her knuckles. Her smoky eyes locked on to Nova’s. The look was so intense, Nova found herself starting to blush.

  “Now, this is the clincher,” said Honey. “Whatever he says next, you laugh. Not too robustly, but just enough to let him know you think he’s charming, and you could listen to him speak all day. Ready?”

  “What if he doesn’t say anything funny?”

  Honey giggled and tapped Nova on the knee. It was a sweet chirp of a laugh that sent a tingle of pride through Nova’s chest, until she realized that Honey wasn’t laughing because she was amused, but was only trying to demonstrate what she was talking about.

  Nova flushed. It was uncanny, the way Honey could pull someone into her orbit. Make them feel so important, so witty, so worthy, all with a few well-timed laughs and the faintest of touches.

  She shook her head and stood up, kicking some of Honey’s discarded shoes to the side of the room.

  “This is never going to work,” she said. “He’ll see right through me.”

  “You worry too much,” said Honey, settling back on her palms. “If he can tell you’re trying to flirt with him, even if you’re terrible at it, he’ll be charmed by your attempts, and flattered all the same. Just like that, the flame will be rekindled and you’ll be back to your angst-riddled un-relationship before you can bat those pretty lashes at him.”

  Nova scowled. “I think you’re underestimating his intelligence.”

  “And I think you’re overestimating the egos of teenage boys everywhere. Trust me, little Nightmare. You can handle this. It isn’t chemical gastronomy or … whatever it is Leroy does.”

  Nova scoffed. “I’d rather take my chances with the chemicals.” She rubbed her palms down the sides of her pants. They had started to sweat as she mulled over the possibility of looking at Adrian like Honey had looked at her. Touching him. Suggesting with every gesture, every glance, that she wanted him to try to kiss her again.

  Her heart thumped as a bewildering thought occurred to her.

  Sweet rot. What if it actually worked?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  ADRIAN WAS BOTH nervous and exhausted as he reached the mezzanine floor over the main lobby of headquarters. He knew he should be catching up on sleep, as he had stayed awake painting the last few nights. The mural was starting to take shape, even if only in underlayers of shadows and light, general outlines and suggestions of the work still to come. The details still needed to be filled in, all those little highlights that would bring it to life.

  He’d finally put the paintbrush down when his alarm reminded him that there was something else he wanted to do today, something far more important than his new art project. Even more important than his hunt for Nightmare or the Anarchists. An idea that had been growing in the back of his head since he’d left the artifacts warehouse, filled with equal parts intrigue and hope.

  He crossed the sky bridge and paced around the glass wall of the quarantine. He could feel the weight of the Vitality Charm pressing against his chest, warm even through the fabric of his uniform.

  He had spent hours reading about the medallion in the database and doing what research he could do on his own, though the charm’s history was not as well documented as some artifacts in the Renegades’ collection. It had been forged by a prodigy blacksmith during the Middle Ages. The blacksmith’s abilities were questionable, but he was evidently a healer of some sort, and the charm soon earned a reputation for being able to ward off the plague. That plague. Naturally, such a coveted object was eventually stolen and the blacksmith was hanged for crimes of witchcraft not long after, and so a duplicate was never made, so far as anyone knew.

  The charm disappeared from the history books for a few centuries after that, eventually resurfacing during late 1700s, where it was purchased at auction by a superstitious and perhaps paranoid prince who would claim for the rest of his life that the charm protected him from the enemies who were always trying to poison him. That prince eventually died of (apparently) natural causes in old age, and the charm was passed down through generations of duchesses and barons until it was sold off to pay for a large amount of debt many years later. It disappeared from the public eye again, until eventually it was donated to a small prodigy-themed museum, the entire collection of which was given to the Renegades after the Day of Triumph.

  Given to or confiscated … the details on how the Renegades had obtained many of the artifacts in the vault were rather vague.

  It was believed that the charm could protect a person from poisoning, illness, and “any threats that would sap the physical strength or otherwise weaken the prodigious abilities of the wearer,” according to its description in the database. It was unclear how much this theory had been tested, but it gave Adrian an idea that he couldn’t shake.

  Any threats.

  That’s what the description said.

  And what, or who, was more of a threat than Max?

  Adrian wasn’t a fool. He knew that whoever had worn the Vitality Charm over the years had likely never encountered a threat quite like Max. He suspected his theory was untested, and it would be putting his powers at great risk to be the first.

  Immunity from the Bandit wasn’t impossible. Captain Chromium was proof of that. And with every step Adrian took toward the quarantine, a voice whispered louder in the back of his head: What if it worked?

  What if this small, unassuming medallion could actually protect him from Max’s power? What if it could allow him to get close to his little brother, maybe even give him an actual hug, for the first time in his life?

  Though it was late, the massive lobby of HQ was still faintly lit by the flickering blue television screens stationed throughout the space, illuminating Max’s miniature glass city. It had mostly been put right since Max’s telekinetic attack—when he’d been practicing levitation and lost his concentration, putting a glass spire through his palm. His wound was healing, though prodigy healers were unable to work on him due to the nature of his powers. A civilian doctor had had to replace a tendon in Max’s finger with one taken from his forearm—a procedure that struck them all as vaguely antiquated. But it went well, and the doctor had promised that the only permanent side effect would be a gnarly scar.

  Since recovering from the incident, Max had kept busy fitting the broken glass buildings back into place, using his own power of matter fusing for most of the repairs.

  The glass city always looked so different at night. Usually t
he daylight that streamed in from the surplus of windows set the city aglow, reflecting off the glass spires in shades of orange and yellow. But now it appeared that twilight was falling over the structures, as if even this model city were preparing for a peaceful night’s sleep.

  Not that the real Gatlon City was ever peaceful. In a lot of ways, Adrian sometimes thought he preferred this small glass city, closed off from the world. There was no crime, no destruction, no pain. No villains and no heroes.

  Other than Max himself. The only prodigy in his small universe.

  Except, as Adrian stopped beside the curved glass wall, he saw that Max wasn’t alone.

  “Well, speak of a villain,” he said.

  Inside the quarantine, Hugh peered up from a hand of cards. His face lit up. “Who are you calling a villain?”

  “Just a phrase, Dad.”

  Hugh tipped his head. “Nice to see you, Adrian.”

  Adrian waved, trying to disguise his disappointment. It wasn’t unusual for Hugh to visit Max, and he knew it was good for the kid to have some human interaction that didn’t involve syringes and hazmat suits.

  Still. The medallion was heavy around his neck and he was eager to test his theory.

  “Hold on,” said Max, lifting a finger in Adrian’s direction. “I’m about to kick his ass.”

  Hugh looked back at him, aghast. “Don’t say ass.”

  “Fine. I’m about to kick your donkey.” Max laid down one card, then shook out his shaggy hair. They were sitting cross-legged in the middle of City Park, and Max, who was already small for his age, looked downright infinitesimal next to the Captain, whose effortless muscles had long served as inspiration for superhero comic artists everywhere.

  Hugh laid down two cards. “You know, you’re not supposed to let your opponent know that you have a good hand.”

  “Maybe I’m bluffing,” said Max.

  Hugh eyed him. “That’s not really how bluffing works.”

  “Are you sure?” said Max, taking the new card he was dealt.

  Hugh met Max’s bet, throwing a couple pieces of candy into a pile that sat between them. They showed their cards—Max won with two pairs. Hugh had nothing at all.