Archenemies

by Marissa Meyer

  When he pulled his hand away, the ink was glowing orange, like melted gold inlaid on his skin. But it faded fast, leaving only the tattoo behind, no different than it had been when he first pulled off the bandage. Unlike his other drawings, the tattoos didn’t disappear after he willed them into reality. Maybe because they were intended to be permanent. Maybe because he wasn’t creating a physical manifestation of the drawing, but rather, using it to change himself.

  Adrian was as confident in his tattoos and his new abilities as he’d ever been about anything. As he put away his tattooing kit, he found himself wishing that he could have been even half as sure about Nova and the mixed signals she’d been sending lately.

  He was sure … well, pretty sure … a solid 83% sure that Nova had been flirting with him in the training hall. And at the park too. A dozen small moments kept flashing through his memory. A smile that was a bit too bright. Eyes lingering on his a second too long. The way she sat just a little closer to him than she had to. The way her fingers brushed against his back when she’d been teaching him how to shoot.

  That was flirting. Wasn’t it?

  And flirting meant interest. Didn’t it?

  But then he remembered the carnival, and how she had pulled away so hastily when he’d tried to kiss her, and how everything had been awkward between them since, and he figured he had to be imagining things.

  The biggest problem was that their time at the carnival had made Adrian painfully aware of how much he had started to like Nova.

  Really like her.

  He liked how brave she was—that dauntless courage she’d had when she faced off against Gargoyle at the trials. The lack of hesitation to chase after Hawthorn or take out the Detonator. The bravery that veered just a bit toward recklessness. Sometimes he wished he could be more like her, always so confident in her own motivations that she didn’t mind bending the rules from time to time. That’s how Adrian felt when he was the Sentinel. His conviction that he knew what was right gave him the courage to act, even when he would have hesitated as Adrian or Sketch. But Nova never hesitated. Her compass never seemed to falter.

  He liked that she defied the rules of their society—refusing to bend for the Council, when so many others would have been falling over themselves to impress them. Refusing to apologize for their decision to go after the Librarian, despite the protocols, because she believed wholeheartedly that they made the right choice with the options they’d been given.

  He liked that she’d destroyed him at every one of those carnival games. He liked that she hadn’t flinched when he brought a dinosaur to life in the palm of her hand. He liked that she’d raced into the quarantine to help Max, despite having no clue what she was going to do when she got there, only that she had to do something. He liked that she showed compassion for Max, sometimes even indignation for the way his ability was being used—but never pity. He even liked the way she feigned enthusiasm for things like the Sidekick Olympics, when it was clear she would have rather been doing just about anything else.

  But no matter how long the growing list of things that attracted him to Nova McLain had become, he still found her feelings toward him to be a mystery, with an annoying shortage of evidence to support the theory that maybe, just maybe, she sort of liked him too.

  A smile here.

  A blush there.

  It was an infuriatingly short list.

  He was probably reading into things.

  It didn’t matter, he told himself again and again. He couldn’t risk getting too close to anyone right now. If Nova found out about his tattoos or noticed how his disappearances coincided with the Sentinel’s actions, or if she ever stumbled onto one of his notepads detailing the Sentinel’s armor or abilities, she would figure it out. She was so observant. So quick. She would know in a heartbeat, and then how long would it be before she told the rest of the team, or his dads, or the entire organization? Nova had made her feelings for the Sentinel quite clear, and they were anything but tender.

  At least his life had taken on a quieter pace since he’d put the Sentinel’s armor aside. His supposed death had been accepted as fact, even though there had been no success in dredging up his body from the bottom of the river. Adrian knew it would be easier to go on this way. To let the Sentinel die with the public’s belief.

  He didn’t regret anything he had done while wearing the armored suit, and he couldn’t comprehend why the Council and the Renegades were so determined to stop him, even after all the criminals he’d captured, all the people he’d helped. They were so focused on their code, they couldn’t appreciate the good that could be accomplished when someone stepped outside of their rules.

  But regrets or not, the Sentinel was considered an enemy of the Renegades, and he couldn’t stomach the thought of having to explain his secret identity to his dads, or the rest of his team. Including Nova. Especially Nova. The best way to keep his secret was to keep distance between them.

  Even if she had been flirting.

  Which she most definitely had been.

  He knew, with a solid 87% certainty.

  His thoughts spiraled.

  With the tattoo finished, he needed another distraction.

  Stretching the kinks from his shoulders, he went into his art studio. What had started out as a flash of random inspiration had grown into something … well, kind of spectacular, if Adrian did say so himself. What before had been a dark, windowless room, with drab white walls and concrete floors, was now a sight that would have stolen anyone’s breath.

  The painting, inspired by the dream Nova had told him about from her childhood, had become a tropical paradise, spanning every wall from floor to ceiling. As the kapok trees had grown, their branches stretched outward into a tangle of leaves and vines, forming a jungle canopy that devoured every inch of the ceiling above. Down below, the floor had been overtaken with thick, tangled roots, stones and ferns, and patches of bright-colored flowers. There were also remnants of the abandoned ruins Nova had described, including a series of steps leading toward the corner where the statue could be seen, surrounded by a crumbling stone wall and encroaching plants. The statue itself was turned away, so that its hooded face and outstretched hands could not be seen, adding an air of mystery to the image. Spotted with moss and chipped with age, the statue was a lone, steadfast figure, the last remnant of a lost civilization.

  It was just paint, but Adrian couldn’t recall ever being so proud of any of his art. When he stepped into the room, he imagined he could smell the heady fragrance of wildflowers. He could hear the squawks of native birds and the thrum of a thousand insects. He could feel the humidity on his skin.

  He had just opened a can of paint, intending to finish some of the highlights on a cluster of ferns, when a brusque voice echoed through the house.

  “ADRIAN!”

  He froze.

  It had been a long, long time since he’d heard Hugh yell like that.

  Setting down his paintbrush, he made his way hesitantly up the stairs.

  He found his dads in their office on the second floor, huddled around a shared tablet on the large mahogany desk.

  “You called?”

  They both looked up at him, momentarily speechless.

  Hugh launched to his feet and jabbed a finger at the tablet. “What were you thinking?”

  Adrian took a step back. “Excuse me?”

  Simon held up the tablet for Adrian to see. “Would you care to explain this to us?”

  Adrian approached them hesitantly, watching the screen. It was security footage of Max’s quarantine, and—

  “I … was going to tell you about that.”

  “I should hope so,” said Hugh, still on the verge of yelling. He spread his arms wide, a gesture of frustration that Adrian hadn’t seen from him in a long time. “How could you just…? Why would you … What were you thinking?”

  “Adrian,” said Simon, with much more patience, “did you…” He trailed off. Squared his shoulders. Started aga
in. “Did you sacrifice your powers … so you could be closer to Max?”

  Adrian gaped at him. The way he said it, Adrian could tell that he thought the idea was both ludicrous and also enviable. Like maybe he’d considered doing exactly that more times than he would admit.

  “No,” Adrian said. “I didn’t sacrifice my powers.”

  “Then what is happening in this video?” said Hugh. “The poor security guard on duty nearly had a heart attack when he saw this.”

  Adrian rubbed a hand over his hair. “I’m sorry. I … I was going to talk to you about that—”

  “We’re talking about it now,” snapped Hugh.

  “Would you stop yelling?” Adrian said.

  Hugh glowered, but then deflated, at least a little. “Sorry.”

  Adrian sighed. “I … figured out a way to be immune to Max.”

  “No one is immune to Max,” said Hugh.

  Adrian frowned. “You’re immune to Max.”

  His voice rose again. “And I’m the only one. Now, try again. The truth this time.”

  “I found this thing in the vaults,” Adrian said, more forcefully now. “It’s called the Vitality Charm. It’s this old medallion that’s said to protect against pretty much anything that weakens a person, like poison or disease. And I thought … well, maybe it would work against Max’s powers too. And it did. It does.”

  Hugh and Simon exchanged doubtful looks.

  “It’s the truth.” He gestured at the tablet. “I’m wearing the charm in the video. You can see it.”

  “What do you mean you found it?” said Simon.

  “I was getting that puppet for Winston Pratt, and Snapshot was there, talking about it with that guy, um, Callum. I did some research and learned what it could do, and I just … I figured it would work.” He focused on Simon. “I have the charm downstairs. I was going to give it to you. You can wear it and you’ll be able to see Max, just like I did. You can get close to him and nothing will happen to you.”

  “Adrian, that’s … that’s impossible,” said Simon.

  “It’s in the video!” He gestured at the tablet. “I wouldn’t lie about this.”

  “But how did you know?” started Hugh.

  “It was a hunch I had. And it worked.”

  Hugh rocked back on his heels and a silence filled the office.

  “Immunity,” Simon finally murmured. “From Max?”

  Adrian hooked his thumbs on his pockets. “And … other things too.”

  “Poisons and diseases,” said Hugh, “and Max.”

  Adrian scratched behind his neck. “I don’t know this for sure, but … I think it might also protect from … something like … Agent N.”

  Their expressions mirrored each other. Disbelief, but also intrigue.

  “How did we not know about this?” said Hugh.

  Adrian shrugged. “I figured since we have so many prodigy healers, no one really worries that much about fending off poisons and diseases. The medallion had never been checked out by any Renegade, not since the database was created. It just must not have seemed important.”

  “Well, it will now,” said Hugh. “Something like this … I never thought…”

  For a moment, Simon looked almost proud. And … hopeful. “That was really brave, Adrian.”

  “Thanks,” Adrian muttered, even as his heart swelled.

  Hugh leaned against the windowsill. “We need to talk about this. About what it could mean, for Max and for Agent N. For now, don’t tell anyone else about this … Vitality Charm, okay?”

  “Yeah, sure, of course,” said Adrian. “Except I already told Nova.”

  Hugh rolled his eyes. “Of course you did. Well, tell her not to tell anyone else, all right?”

  Adrian nodded, even though there was a tinge of disappointment that came with the words. He’d been excited to tell Oscar and the others. He tucked his hands into his pockets and swayed impatiently. “So, was that all?”

  His dads traded another look, and Adrian bristled on the inside. What was with all the silent looks these days? Didn’t they know he could see them?

  Then they both sighed, practically in unison.

  “Yes,” said Hugh. “That was all.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  NOVA WAS NEARLY finished cleaning up the disaster when a chime echoed through the vault. She cocked her head, frowning. It sounded like the alert from the reception desk, but … it was far too early for someone to be there, wasn’t it?

  She waited until she heard the chime a second time, then sighed and headed to the front of the warehouse.

  A girl was standing at the checkout desk, drumming her fingers on the counter.

  Nova’s feet stalled.

  Genissa Clark’s ice-blue eyes met Nova’s, then swept down the length of the mop. Her lips curled, just a tiny bit. “First you go from patrols to administration duty, and now they’ve demoted you all the way down to janitorial? Your family must be so proud.”

  Nova’s teeth ground—more at Genissa’s flippant mention of her family than the pretentious attempt at an insult.

  During her time masquerading as a Renegade, Nova had been forced to admit that many Renegades had good intentions, even if they were part of a harmful social hierarchy. But she had also become even more aware that many Renegades craved authority over those they deemed inferior, and Frostbite was among the worst. Back when the Anarchists had lived in the subway tunnels, Frostbite’s team paid frequent visits—mocking the Anarchists, destroying their property, wasting their resources … all in the name of “keeping the peace.” Nova despised her and her team more than she despised most Renegades.

  “There are no unimportant jobs,” said Nova, leaning the mop against Snapshot’s desk, “only pretentious, small-minded individuals who seek to inflate their own importance by demoralizing everyone else.” Plastering on a brilliant smile, she rounded the desk and booted up the computer. “Can I help you with something?”

  Genissa picked up the clipboard with the checkout information on it and tossed it at Nova. “I need Turmoil’s Deadener.”

  Nova scanned the top sheet on the clipboard and saw that Genissa had already begun to fill out the information for her request.

  “Turmoil’s Deadener?” she said skeptically. “What’s that?”

  Genissa stared at her, silently, for a long moment.

  Nova stared back. Having cultivated a lifetime’s supply of patience, she was quite good at staring contests.

  Finally, Genissa sighed with mild exasperation. “His Sound Deadener? I thought the people in this department were supposed to be useful.”

  The Sound Deadener was familiar, now that Nova thought of it—a metronome that, as the pendulum swung back and forth, would create a soundproof perimeter beyond the area where the ticking could be heard.

  “What do you need that for?” said Nova, setting down the clipboard.

  Genissa grunted. “I’m sorry. Are you supposed to ask questions, or bring me what I ask for?”

  Nova’s saccharine smile returned. “Actually, I’m supposed to defend the innocent and uphold justice. So, again. What do you need it for?”

  Small ice crystals were forming around Genissa’s fingertips, crackling against the sleeves of her uniform, and Nova could tell she thought this conversation was the biggest waste of her time. It sort of made Nova enjoy it.

  “My unit has a busy night ahead,” Genissa said, her voice flat and annoyed. “And unlike some patrol units, we actually make an effort to keep from disturbing the peace.” Leaning forward, she pressed a finger down on the checkout sheet, sending a ripple of ice crackling against the paper. “Oh, wait—I’m sorry, how very inconsiderate of me. I should have realized how our assignment would be upsetting to you. But I’m sure your team was passed up with good reason.”

  Nova narrowed her eyes. “Excuse me?”

  “We’ve been assigned to the Hawthorn case,” Genissa gloated. “And we finally have a lead. We should have her in custody wit
hin the next forty-eight hours. But don’t worry.” She leaned over the counter. “We’ll be sure to tell everyone what a difficult opponent she was, just to save you further embarrassment. Now, are you going to get that thing for me, or do I need to go find someone who actually knows how to do their job?”

  Nova’s blood curdled, to think that Hawthorn might be found and captured, and Frostbite of all people would get the credit for it.

  But she gripped her smile like a weapon. “Have you already signed the rental agreement?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, then.” Nova shoved away from the desk. “I guess I’ll be right back with your … Deadener.”

  It wasn’t hard to find Turmoil’s Sound Deadener, stocked in the power-imbued tools section between a pewter-surfaced mirror and a collection of small red spheres. Nova snatched the wooden metronome from the shelf and turned away, her jaw still clenched.

  She froze, then slowly turned back to the spheres.

  There were six of them, all nestled into a tray not much bigger than a shoe box. Nova picked one up and inspected it. The device reminded her of a pomegranate—shiny and smooth, with a plugged crown on one side.

  “Hello, mist-missiles,” she whispered, reading the label beneath the box. These were some of the explosive devices she had mentioned to Leroy that she thought could be altered to work with a gaseous form of Agent N, but she hadn’t been able to inspect them yet. The infamous mist-missiles were an invention from Fatalia, who could release an acidic vapor through her breath that would pulverize the lungs of any opponent who breathed it in. Her power was only effective at close range, though, which her enemies eventually caught on to. And so she created her missiles, similar to a hand grenade, that she could breathe her acid into. Upon impact, the acid would be released into the air. Nova could see a thin line around the device’s circumference where it would have split open to emit the noxious vapor.