Supernova, page 25
“I can restock. I don’t really feel like sitting behind a desk right now. I did plenty of sitting around at Cragmoor.”
“Aw, man, I bet that was awful,” said Callum, his expression going distant. The moment of solemnity was short-lived, and then he was grinning again. “But that place has some wicked history. Kind of cool that you got to see it up and close and personal, right? If those walls could talk.” He shook his head. “I’d love to visit it someday. Fascinating.”
Chuckling, Nova took the clipboard from him. “No, you really wouldn’t.”
She started to head toward the vault, but paused. “Hey, Callum? You wouldn’t happen to know where I could find Magpie, would you?”
“That troublemaker?” He pondered the question. “Well. I guess I’d check to see if the cleanup crews have been called out for anything today. Barring that … maybe the lounges?”
Nova nodded. “Thanks, I’ll give that a shot.”
She passed through the filing room, half expecting to see Tina—or Snapshot, the official keeper of the vault—but the room was empty. Stepping into the enormous warehouse, full of row upon row of towering shelving units, each stocked with famous, and some not-so-famous, prodigy-related artifacts, Nova exhaled a long, slow breath.
Squaring her shoulders, she grabbed the cart containing a handful of recently cleaned objects, set the clipboard on top of it, and started pushing it down the main aisle. She returned the first two objects to their places among the collection—the Wandering Map and Tarot’s fortune-making deck of cards—but as she made her way to the back armory for the next two items, she took a detour through the section of prodigy-made tools and weaponry.
She spotted Turmoil’s Sound Deadener sitting on its shelf and recalled renting it out to Genissa Clark what felt like ages ago, though she’d never found out what Frostbite wanted it for.
Not far from the Deadener was the spot where Fatalia’s mist-missiles had been. The label remained on the shelf, but the missiles themselves were gone. Nova had taken them when she and Leroy were converting the stolen samples of Agent N into a chemical weapon, and with some minor tweaking, the missiles had provided the exact casing they’d needed. Nova had used two in her fight against Genissa Clark and her team. The remaining four had been stowed away with Leroy’s stuff at the house, and were now stored safely beneath Dave’s Pawnshop.
On the other side of the Sound Deadener was the object Nova had come for. She felt some of the tension leave her body at the sight of it. After Adrian had told her that all mirrors were being systematically removed from headquarters to prevent any more break-ins from the mirror walker, she’d worried that this, too, would have been moved to a more secure location.
It seemed the Renegades had neglected to inventory their warehouse of powerful artifacts. Though to be fair, the object almost didn’t even resemble a mirror. Nova picked it off the shelf—a large oval surface, as long as her arm, was framed in simple pewter, making the whole thing unexpectedly heavy for its size. Tilting it up, Nova peered into her reflection. The surface was dark and distorted, so that her face appeared like a phantom of herself.
The Hollow Glass, reported to reflect the shape of one’s soul when peered into under the light of an equinox moon.
Whatever that meant.
Nova had a much more mundane use in mind for it.
It wasn’t as big as a dressing room mirror, or the large mirror she had once seen Narcissa walk through at the library, but Narcissa had a small frame and lithe limbs (though she was at least three inches taller than Nova herself, which would surprise Callum if he ever crossed paths with her impostor).
She thought it would be big enough.
It would have to be big enough.
Wondering if this could be her last act of subterfuge while wearing the guise of a Renegade, Nova slipped the mirror onto the bottom shelf of the cart and wheeled it back toward the front.
* * *
Less than an hour later, Nova tracked Magpie down at a nearby construction site. She’d learned, talking to a few folks in the HQ call center, that on days when there were no crime scenes to investigate, the cleanup crews were often sent to local community rebuilding projects. Though Gatlon City had changed significantly in the past ten years, it still maintained scars from the Age of Anarchy, with plenty of neighborhoods suffering from run-down buildings that were as unsafe as they were unattractive, half-demolished structures, city parks left overgrown and untended, and on and on. Today’s project was an abandoned school that the Renegades had hopes of renovating into a community recreation center.
Nova couldn’t help wondering, as she approached the building with its pile of discarded rubble outside and broken windows and missing roof tiles, why such a job had fallen into the hands of the Renegades. Weren’t there civilian tradesmen who could use the work? Carpenters who could frame walls and install windows just as well as a prodigy could?
Ducking past the line of orange safety cones, Nova stepped into the overhang of the building. Seeing her gray-and-red uniform, most of the workers ignored her, going about their business.
It only took a few minutes to find Magpie in a back room. She was sifting through a pile of debris, using her limited telekinetic powers to separate anything that could be deemed reusable, from an intact light fixture to a tangle of copper wiring.
She looked immensely bored.
Until she glanced up and spotted Nova. She started and the copper wiring tumbled back into the rubble.
Then she was sneering, which was exactly what Nova had expected.
Callum, always cheerful. Magpie, always cantankerous.
“You have something that belongs to me,” said Nova, crossing the room. She held out her hand. “I’d like it back.”
Magpie stepped away, and made the subtlest of movements—one hand briefly pressing against the side cargo pocket of her pants. She covered it up quickly, though, by fisting her hands on her hips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Nova raised an eyebrow and considered putting the girl to sleep and moving on with her day. She really didn’t have time for this. But that, she knew, could come with all sorts of negative consequences.
Instead, she exhaled through her nostrils and said, “My bracelet. Now.”
“I don’t have your junky bracelet,” said Magpie, which was about the most incriminating thing she could have said, given that she’d tried to steal the bracelet once already, and had practically drooled over the star when she’d seen it at the gala. They both knew Magpie didn’t think it was junky.
“I know Adrian gave it to you,” said Nova. “You were supposed to hand it over to Artifacts, but I just checked, and it’s not there.”
Magpie shrugged and changed positions, tightly crossing her arms. “Maybe Callum forgot to record it.”
Nova ground her teeth until her jaw started to ache.
Magpie held her glare, unflinching.
“Fine,” Nova finally said. “I guess I’ll check again.”
“You do that.” Magpie relaxed, just a bit, which is when Nova lunged for her.
She grabbed Magpie’s arm and spun her around, twisting the arm up behind her back. Magpie cried out—more in surprise than pain, though Nova wasn’t trying to be particularly gentle. “Let me go!”
Ignoring her struggles, Nova plunged her hand into the pocket Magpie had indicated earlier. Her fist closed around a couple of loose objects. She shoved Magpie away and opened her palm.
She could have danced with elation to see her bracelet again, undamaged, the star as bright as ever.
The second object in her palm was a little more unconventional. She would expect the little crook to carry around coins or swiped jewelry or even something useful, like lockpicking tools, but not …
“Is this a bullet?” said Nova, holding it up between pinched fingers. It was heavy for its size, its once-silver sheen dulled from time.
“Give it back!” Magpie yelled, her face flushed. She jumped for the bullet, but Nova easily swung it out of her reach.
“Why on earth do you have—”
Magpie spread her fingers. The bullet was torn from Nova’s grip and sent soaring into her palm. She wrapped it in a tight fist, clutching it to her chest. “None of your business!” she spat, face full of venom.
Nova snorted. “And you tried to call my bracelet junky? When you carry around a—”
“It’s not junk!” Magpie screeched. She was really worked up now, her face flushed red, her small hands clenched and shaking. “This bullet gave me my powers! Without it, I … I wouldn’t…” She released a frustrated growl, before repeating, “It’s none of your business!”
Nova cocked her head to the side. “A bullet gave you your powers?”
Before Magpie could respond, someone knocked at the door that had been left open. They both jumped to see the cleanup supervisor watching them with concern. “Everything okay in here?”
Nova glared at Magpie. Neither of them spoke for a long moment.
Finally, Nova huffed and began securing her bracelet to her wrist, using the same latch that Adrian had once drawn for her. “Yep,” she said, breezing past Magpie, who flinched away so their shoulders wouldn’t touch. “Everything is just as it’s supposed to be.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“SO … NIGHTMARE SNEAKED into the house and stole some comic books?” said Max, his expression more than a little skeptical.
“My Rebel Z comics,” Adrian clarified. “I drew them when I was about your age.”
“I don’t remember you drawing any comics.”
“I never showed them to you. Don’t worry, you didn’t miss much. And I only made three issues.”
Since Max hadn’t been able to venture out into the world, Adrian had made it a priority as the kid’s big brother to bring the world to him as much as possible. That responsibility included supplying Max with plenty of popular movies, books, and video games, along with Adrian’s personal favorite, comics. Max had pretty much learned to read on Adrian’s comics collection, but Adrian had never felt that Rebel Z was good enough to be shared with anyone.
“Why did you stop drawing them?”
Adrian picked up a stray soccer ball that had rolled against Ruby’s dresser. “I don’t know. I got to the part where the main character transformed himself into the badass superhero and … just started to lose interest. I hadn’t really thought past that in terms of the storyline, and it started to feel like actual work.” He chucked the ball against the wall, where it bounced back and landed squarely in a clothes hamper.
He and Max were both sitting on the floor of the small bedroom, and it felt weird to be there, knowing this was supposed to be Ruby’s space—and it was Ruby’s space, at least on this side of the room, where there were Super Scouts graphic novels on the shelf beneath the window, a hand-painted dartboard behind the door, and a poster of sarcastic emoticons beside the bed. The opposite side of the room, with the bunk beds and bins full of action figures, obviously belonged to the twins.
The room was supposed to be Max’s now, too, but he hadn’t brought any belongings with him—no favorite books, no witty artwork, nothing to suggest he was the new resident in the space that smelled of popcorn and Ruby’s strawberry-scented shampoo. He wondered how long it would take for Max to establish a home here and hoped he wouldn’t ever find out. He wanted a permanent home for Max, and as grateful as he was to the Tucker family for welcoming the kid with open arms, he knew that this wasn’t where he really belonged.
“The thing is,” said Adrian, leaning his head against the bed’s quilt, “those comics were the inspiration for the Sentinel. The character pretty much becomes the Sentinel by that third issue, and I modeled my armor off what I drew back then.”
“And you think that’s why Nightmare wanted them? To blackmail you or something?”
“Maybe. Or just to have the evidence to tell the world who I am.”
Max frowned, apparently unconvinced. “But how did she know about them in the first place? How many people did you show that comic to?”
“Not many. I mean, Dad and Pops have seen them, but it’s been so long, I don’t think they remember them all that well. And…” He trailed off, considering. He had no memory of showing the comics to anyone else. “I think that’s it.”
“What about Ruby or the rest of the team?”
“No, I never showed it to them. I hadn’t looked at those comics in years. I have no idea how Nightmare knew about them.”
“You never showed them to Nova?” said Max, lining up a collection of small figurines on the carpet.
“No. I would definitely remember showing them to Nova.”
Max hummed, but Adrian couldn’t interpret the sound.
“What?”
“I don’t know,” said Max, adjusting one of the toys to stand straighter. “You never mentioned them to her?”
Adrian opened his mouth, but hesitated. In fact, his dads had said something about Rebel Z that time Nova had joined them for dinner, but … it had been just a random comment, nothing that would lead someone to be interested in the comics, much less suspect they held the identity of the Sentinel within their pages.
Besides …
“Nova’s not Nightmare.”
“I know,” said Max, but his tone said otherwise.
“Max, she’s not. She was in prison when—”
“The Librarian’s granddaughter showed up in the department store, and she had the helmet, yeah, yeah, yeah.” Max flicked one of the figures in the head, sending it toppling onto the carpet, before meeting Adrian’s eye. “But it doesn’t really make sense.”
“It makes perfect sense,” Adrian insisted. “I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about it, and with all the mirrors and her access to—”
“Not that. It doesn’t make sense why she would help me.” Max swiped his hand across the toys, knocking them over in one fell swoop, so that he could start all over again. This time arranging them as opposing army lines preparing to face off in battle. Heroes on one side, villains on the other. “I’ve never met the Librarian’s granddaughter. Why would she risk herself to help me like she did?”
Adrian pondered this, watching as the figures were slowly pitted against one another. “Maybe she had a connection to the Roaches. Maybe she knew your biological parents or something.”
Max scoffed. “The parents who tried to kill me? In that case, you’d think she’d be more than willing to finish the job. And also, it doesn’t explain how I ended up with her power. If she really did steal the Vitality Charm, then she was protected from me—fine. But then how did I put that nurse to sleep?”
“Well … again, maybe you had some interaction with her when you were a baby. Her grandfather probably sold arms to the Roaches, so you could have come in contact with her.”
Max shook his head. “If I’d been able to put people to sleep my whole life, I think I would have known about it.”
“Maybe not, though,” said Adrian. “You haven’t exactly had a lot of human contact.”
Max grunted. “I would have known.”
Adrian looked away. He didn’t want to doubt Max, but … he knew there had to be some explanation, some piece to the puzzle they didn’t have.
Because Nova wasn’t Nightmare. Nova was innocent.
“Anyway,” he said, studying the spot over the dresser where a mirror had recently hung, its silhouette crisply outlined by the faded paint color around it. “I hope it wasn’t too much trouble to have all the mirrors taken down. I’m sure Nightmare still has the Vitality Charm, which makes you vulnerable until we can find her and get it back.”
“The Tuckers didn’t seem to mind about the mirrors. They’re pretty easygoing about stuff. Did I tell you that Turbo got into Mrs. Tucker’s desk and shredded apart a bunch of her old photos and postcards? She tried to pass it off as no big deal, but I felt horrible.”
Adrian grimaced. “Well, it’s not your fault. I’m the one who created him.”
“I know. Maybe next time you can make, like, a sloth. Or a platypus.”
Laughing, Adrian glanced around the bedroom, which was about 50 percent toys, 40 percent dirty clothes, and 10 percent bedding. He wondered how Max or the twins ever managed to find anything, but he figured he’d probably been just as messy at their age. No wonder his dads never dared venture into his basement unless they absolutely had to. “Where is Turbo, anyway?”
Pressing his lips, Max pointed to the top drawer of the dresser, which was pulled open a few inches. “Sleeping.”
Adrian stood and peered inside. The creature was curled up on top of a wad of T-shirts. Adrian slipped his hand inside and scooped Turbo into his palm, then slid down next to Max again. They both spent a moment watching the little dinosaur, who had not stirred at Adrian’s touch. That was unusual in itself. Plus, his coloring was off—more ash-gray than before—and his breaths so shallow Adrian almost couldn’t feel them against his skin.
“He doesn’t look so good,” Adrian murmured.
“I know,” said Max. “It’s been like that since yesterday. I tried to feed him last night and all he ate was two little bacon crumbles. He usually loves bacon.” He gently took Turbo out of Adrian’s hand. “I knew it would happen eventually. But … I’m gonna miss him.”
“I can draw you another one?”
Max shook his head. “Don’t do that. He’s irreplaceable.”
Adrian didn’t argue. He knew the feeling.
Cradling Turbo in one palm, Max returned his focus to the arranged battle scene, appraising the figures like a warlord preparing his strategy. But when he looked up at Adrian, there was stark worry in his face. “About Nightmare and the mirrors…”
“Yeah?”
“I’m putting the Tuckers in danger by being here, aren’t I?”
