Archenemies

by Marissa Meyer

  “I’ll need a getaway driver,” said Nova. “Someone to take me to and from headquarters.”

  “Naturally,” said Leroy.

  “And someone will have to take my wristband back to the house after I leave the gala, so if they track it later I’ll have an alibi.”

  Honey sneered with disinterest, but then rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

  “Thanks,” Nova deadpanned. “Couldn’t do it without you. Phobia, at first I was thinking you could act as emergency backup for me, in case something goes wrong, but now…” She considered the wall of skulls dividing them from Ace. “Maybe it’s best if someone stays here?”

  “I could be your emergency backup,” said Honey.

  Nova cringed. “Well … thanks, but … I’m sort of going for stealth and subtlety?”

  Honey stared at her, and for a moment Nova expected her to be insulted, but then she said, “You’re right, that won’t work for me.”

  “But,” said Nova, swallowing, “there is one other thing I could use your help with. I … I’m going to need a dress.”

  Finally, Honey brightened.

  “Something practical,” Nova added quickly.

  “Oh, sweetheart. I’m a supervillain. I am nothing if not practical.” She winked.

  “Yeah, I’ve noticed that,” Nova muttered.

  “We’ll pick out something when we get back to the house,” said Honey, bobbing her toes. “I have a sexy little sequined number that might work—”

  “Not sexy,” said Nova.

  Honey scoffed. “Not sexy is not an option.”

  Her nose curled. “Well … not … not too sexy, then.”

  “We’ll see,” said Honey, lifting one shoulder in a half shrug. “You know, I used to be invited to galas and parties every week. Oh, the cocktails, and the dancing…” She sighed longingly. “The Harbingers, you know. They always threw the best parties. Anyone who was anyone would be there.”

  Nova peered at Phobia, who was as still as one of the creepy saint statues in the corner. “Let me guess—Honey has an acute fear of missing out?”

  Leroy chuckled and even Phobia made a hissing sound that might have been a laugh.

  “Among other devastating insecurities,” Phobia said.

  “What?” Honey barked. “I am not insecure!” She grabbed a stray skull and threw it at Phobia, who blocked it with a swipe of his scythe. The skull clunked against the floor and Nova flinched, unable to ignore that it had once belonged to a real person.

  Phobia upturned his scythe and stuck the tip of the blade through one of the skull’s eye sockets, lifting it from the floor. He took hold of the cranium with his own bony fingers and set it neatly, almost tenderly, back on one of the stone shelves that lined the catacombs.

  “You just wait,” said Honey, drawing Nova’s attention back to her. “You’re going to enjoy yourself tonight. Undermining those arrogant tyrants. Risking everything to achieve your goals. Taking back what’s rightfully ours. Trust me, darling. It will be fun.” She nudged Leroy with the toe of her pointed shoe. “Don’t you agree?”

  “All this planning does bring back memories,” said Leroy, though the look he shot Nova was more mocking of Honey than agreeing with her.

  Nova didn’t respond to either of them. She wasn’t excited for tonight. Eager to have it over and done with, perhaps. Determined not to fail. But there was also dread churning in her gut, and she couldn’t quite pinpoint what was causing it.

  Though she was sure it had a lot to do with Adrian.

  “I’ll be glad when the gala is over,” she said. “I’ll only be there for an hour—two at the most. And then—”

  Honey grinned wickedly. “And then.”

  Nova’s eye caught a flutter of movement over Honey’s shoulder, and she frowned. At first she thought it was one of the wasps, but …

  She stepped closer. Honey glanced around.

  A butterfly, its wings splattered in orange and black, shot out from one of the skulls. It sped straight for the stairwell at the end of the catacombs.

  Nova gasped. “No! Catch it!”

  Phobia vanished in a drift of black smoke and reappeared, blocking the doorway. The butterfly turned, narrowly avoiding his chest, and dived toward the crate that hid the entrance to the subway tunnels. Honey jumped, having removed one of her shoes, and swung it at the creature.

  Nova and Leroy launched forward at the same time, both slamming into the crate and shoving it against the wall. The butterfly smacked into its side, then soared frantically upward. Leroy jumped onto the crate, swiping at the creature with his palm.

  “Don’t hurt it!” Nova cried, her pulse thundering.

  “Why ever not?” said Honey.

  The butterfly darted around the ceiling, searching for another escape. But there was nowhere else for it to go.

  It alighted on a marble tomb, and Nova could picture Danna trying to catch her breath. Its wings stilled, folding together to reveal their intricate pattern, like a golden stained-glass window.

  “Just trust me,” said Nova. “We need to catch it in something.”

  Nova had learned enough about her allies, and their weaknesses, to know how Danna operated. If they captured the butterfly, then Danna would be stuck in swarm mode. But if it got away …

  Danna would know everything.

  Spotting a wineglass on the floor, Nova leaped for it, at the same moment the butterfly took off again. No longer fluttering aimlessly, the creature shot forward, heading straight for—

  Nova’s heart stopped.

  The candles.

  It was going to burn itself up. Sacrifice itself rather than be trapped down here. Sacrifice itself so the rest of the swarm could converge.

  “No!” Forgetting the wineglass, Nova ran, then dropped to the ground and slid, her leg outstretched, preparing to kick the base of the candelabra.

  But just before the butterfly reached one of the orange flames, a white pillowcase fell from the air and scooped the creature from its path.

  Nova, however, kept sliding. Her heel struck the base of the stand and the candelabra toppled to the ground. A few of the candles extinguished in the fall, while the others rolled, still burning, across the stone floor.

  Panting, Nova watched as the corners of the pillowcase tied themselves together, then the whole thing drifted to the ground. The fabric drooped until she could barely make out the twitching insect inside.

  “All this racket,” came Ace’s exhausted voice, “over a butterfly?”

  “M-Monarch,” said Nova, panting, though as much from the terror of Danna discovering Ace’s hideout and going back to tell the others as from her exertion.

  “A Renegade,” added Honey, her voice dripping disdain.

  Ace strode out from where the curtain of bones had parted and let them clatter shut behind him. He stood over the pillowcase. He was still pale, but the bit of excitement had brought a rare gleam to his eye. “Not a particularly menacing shape for a superhero.”

  “It isn’t just one,” said Nova, standing on her shaky legs. “She transforms into a whole swarm of them.” She stood up the candelabra and returned each of the candles to its holder, but as she was about to set in the last candle, it was lifted from her hands. Still burning, it drifted in the air toward Ace.

  “Where are the others?” said Leroy.

  Nova surveyed the catacombs and the black stairwell, but could see no sign of more. “She must have only sent one to spy on us.” Or me, she thought.

  Nova shivered, spooked by what a close call it was. She wondered how Danna had found them here, but her mind immediately supplied the answer.

  Danna had been following her. For how long? What else had she seen?

  “Well,” said Ace, “it seems easy enough to kill.”

  He lifted one hand, and the pillowcase floated into the air, nearing the candle flame.

  “No, wait!”

  Ace peered at her.

  Killing one butterfly wouldn’t have much of
an effect on Danna. The Sentinel had obliterated dozens of them at the parade, and she’d emerged with horrendous burn marks on one side of her body. But to kill just one would be no more devastating to her than a paper cut.

  But—to trap one was a different story. It was her greatest weakness. To return to her human form, Danna needed all of her living lepidopterans to unite. If even one was kept separate, she would be trapped in swarm mode until it could merge with the others.

  Nova could only guess how many of her secrets the Renegade had discovered by now. Her true identity would be revealed. Ace would be found. They would be ruined.

  She could not allow Danna to reform.

  “We need to keep it alive,” she said, and did her best to explain Danna’s power, her weaknesses, and the risks.

  Ace held Nova’s gaze for a long moment, then acquiesced. “As you say.” The candle returned to its stand and the pillowcase, with the butterfly trapped inside, dropped into Leroy’s hands. The butterfly seemed to have gone still inside.

  “How many more are in her swarm?” said Leroy.

  “Hundreds,” said Nova. “Maybe a thousand. And she can be sneaky with them.” She peered around again, feeling watched. The creatures were so small. They could fit into such tiny nooks, and so long as they held still, it would be nearly impossible in this darkness to spot them. “But as long as that one doesn’t get away, she shouldn’t be a threat.”

  “Oh, good,” said Honey, wiggling her fingers. “A pretty new pet.”

  Nova smiled, but her heart wasn’t in it. She couldn’t find the strength to believe her own words.

  Danna was a Renegade, and a good one.

  She was definitely still a threat.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  THE GALA WAS BEING HELD in an old, stately building that had once been a train depot, all brick and domed glass ceilings and high windows, though for years the station had sat abandoned. Once the Renegades had claimed power over Gatlon City, they had made the building one of their first “community projects.” Blacklight, in particular, had insisted that if they were going to get involved in the world of international politics, they would need a place to entertain visiting dignitaries, and Renegade Headquarters wasn’t going to suffice.

  Besides, he’d argued, it was one piece of the city’s history that could be brought back to life with relative ease. The Renegades hoped to restore the city to what it had been before the days of Ace Anarchy—no, they wanted to make it grander than it ever had been before—and this was as good a place to start as any.

  Adrian had arrived early, along with his dads, to do what he could to help set up. Mostly he had spent the afternoon drawing lavish flower bouquets for the table centerpieces, and he was just beginning to feel like he would be happy to never draw another calla lily again when Tsunami told him to go get changed. He was grateful for the work, though. It had kept his mind preoccupied, at least in part, when he couldn’t stop thinking about the night before.

  His skin warmed every time he remembered the feeling of Nova’s lips against his and her hand on the back of his neck and the weight of her body in his arms. And then … and then …

  Nothing.

  Because he’d fallen asleep.

  During the kiss? Or after? It was all a blur. He’d been electrified, overcome with sensation. Then he’d been blinking himself awake while movie credits scrolled and Nova smiled at him as if nothing unusual had happened at all.

  She’d been so cool about it, like it was no big deal, like it happened all the time, and he appreciated how gracious she was. But still. Still.

  He must have the timeline wrong. He couldn’t have fallen asleep during the kiss. They must have gone back to watching the movie at some point, and then—and only then—did he drift off.

  That, at least, was a little less mortifying.

  If only a little.

  But his memory was unreliable. Nova—kissing—and … credits.

  He must have been more tired than he’d realized after the fight with Frostbite’s team, on top of so many late nights spent working on the mural.

  At least she was still going to be his date to the gala. He hadn’t ruined it—whatever it was. This new terrifying, wonderful thing.

  Standing before a mirror in the restroom, his dress shirt left unbuttoned, Adrian peeled the bandaging from his chest to check on the newest tattoo. It was still weeping spots of blood and there was mottled bruising staggered across the left side of his chest. He was becoming used to the healing process and knew that it would get worse before it got better. Soon, the tattoo would enter the scabby peeling stage, complete with a relentless itch that would make him want to attack it with sandpaper. That was always the worst part. At least the tattooing itself—the constant pricks of the needle into his skin—only lasted about an hour. The itching went on for days.

  He started to bend over the sink to wash away the spots of blood, but the movement sent a jolt of pain through his side. He flinched and pressed his hand to the place beneath his ribs where he’d been punctured by one of Genissa’s ice spears. The wound wasn’t deep—his armor had taken the brunt of it—but without the aid of the Renegade healers he knew it would be sore for a while. He had done the best he could to dress the wound, drawing in his own stitches and regularly applying ointment to fend off infection.

  He sighed, pressing his fingers lightly against the bandage. The hardest part, as he had discovered since becoming the Sentinel, was simply hiding the fact that he was hurt. Not grimacing when someone nudged him in the side. Disguising his stiff movements when climbing out of a car or moving up a set of stairs. Smiling through the pain when all he wanted to do was take a couple of painkillers and spend the afternoon reclined on a sofa watching television.

  Or kissing Nova again. That had certainly taken his mind off his injury.

  He finished cleaning the tattoo and patted it dry with a paper towel from the dispenser, then fumbled with the buttons on his white shirt.

  He hoped Oscar knew how to knot a bow tie so he wouldn’t have to ask one of his dads—or worse, Blacklight.

  Adrian wasn’t used to feeling this anxious. Sure, he got nervous sometimes. Had, in fact, felt nervous a lot more often since the day Nova McLain had strolled into his life. But he wasn’t used to this twitchy, edgy, stomach-twistingly anxious feeling and he was ready for it to go away.

  It was going to go away. Wasn’t it?

  He pulled on his tuxedo jacket at the same moment the door swung open. “What’s taking so long in here?” said Oscar, his cane clicking against the floor, which was laid with so many black-and-white octagonal tiles it made Adrian dizzy to look at. “Are you drawing your tuxedo on or something?”

  Adrian glanced at Oscar’s reflection and smiled. “Actually, that’s a great idea.” He dug through the pile of clothes he had been wearing before and found his marker.

  “I was joking,” Oscar said hastily. “Please don’t strip down and start drawing on new clothes.”

  Ignoring him, Adrian doodled onto the fabric of his shirt. When he was finished, a crisp, white bow tie rested against the base of his throat.

  Oscar huffed. “Cheater.”

  “We can’t all be as naturally dapper as Oscar Silva.”

  Oscar did, in fact, look extra dapper in a light gray dress shirt cuffed to show off his muscled forearms and a slim red vest. Plus, he was already wearing a perfectly knotted matching red bow tie.

  “Is that a clip-on?”

  Oscar snorted. “Please. Only villains wear clip-ons.”

  When they emerged from the bathroom, Adrian was surprised to see that the gala was already filling with guests—lots of Renegades, along with their family members and spouses. He scanned the room but didn’t see Nova in the crowd.

  A new bout of nervousness struck him.

  The space looked great. Massive columns held up the expansive ceiling, and the stained-glass dome at its center had miraculously survived the Age of Anarchy, though the large clock against
the wall had to be reconstructed from old pictures.

  There were no ticket booths, no boards updating the train schedules, no luggage carts or periodical stands. In their place now stood circular tables draped with crimson tablecloths and glittering glassware. There were lights that bobbed overhead like buoys on an invisible ocean, each cycling through a variety of rich jewel tones and splattering the room in shades of emerald and turquoise. There were levitating trays carrying champagne flutes and tiny hors d’oeuvre, and a stage where a string quartet was playing in front of an empty dance floor.

  A high whistle drew his attention toward the coat check, where Ruby was handing over her jacket. “You clean up nice, Sketch,” she said, taking her claim ticket and putting it in a small jeweled bag. She was wearing an unembellished red cocktail dress, but its simplicity was offset by the gem she always wore on her wrist, and now a necklace of red rubies too. Her own creation, no doubt. Her hair, a mix of bleach white and dyed black, was pulled into a messy up-do that reminded Adrian of a white tiger. Cuddly, yet fierce.

  “He drew on his bow tie,” said Oscar. “I’m not sure it counts.”

  Ruby gave him a sideways look. “You clean up nice too.”

  Oscar preened. “Ready to show off my moves.” He tucked one ankle behind the other and gave a quick turn. “Tell me you can dance in those.” He jutted the end of his cane at Ruby’s heeled shoes.

  “Nice thought,” said Ruby, “but we all know there will be no separating you from the free food once they bring it out.” Her expression turned serious. “Have either of you talked to Danna tonight?”

  Adrian and Oscar shook their heads.

  Ruby frowned. “We were supposed to come together, but she messaged me earlier and said something had come up and she’d meet me here. I asked her what something was, but she never responded.”

  “Strange,” said Oscar. “But I’m sure she’ll be here soon.” He started to reach for Ruby’s hand, but then froze and settled his palm on top of his cane instead. Clearing his throat, he turned to Adrian. “Nova’s coming tonight, isn’t she?”