Supernova, page 6
She did not placate.
And she certainly didn’t follow the orders of phantoms who broke into her bedroom and left annoying messages.
But every time her anger ran away with her, she gritted her teeth and reeled it back in. She didn’t need retribution right now. She needed time.
The elevator dinged and she squared her shoulders, dragging in a breath until it felt like her lungs would pop.
She was still holding it when the doors opened, revealing the small reception area outside the warehouse—Snapshot’s desk, as cluttered as ever, and the desk that was mostly Nova’s, as barren as ever.
Snapshot wasn’t there, and neither was Wonder Boy, as Nova had taken to calling Callum in her head.
She exhaled and moved toward the desk.
She wasn’t ready to see Callum, though she knew she would have to eventually. Not only because they worked together most days, but because she needed to pretend to pry him for information about Nightmare. It would require a careful dance. Letting him know about Adrian’s suspicions, leading him to believe that, yes, Nightmare might be a spy in their midst, one who may even have had access to the vault. All while keeping his suspicions away from her.
She wasn’t sure she could pull it off. She’d gotten good at lying, but she didn’t know if she was that good.
Maybe it wouldn’t matter today. Maybe she wouldn’t see him. Maybe she wouldn’t have to look him in the eye and force herself to smile, all the while remembering the moment when he had tried to stop her from taking the helmet and she had been forced to put him to sleep because of it.
She didn’t usually feel guilt when she used her power, especially on Renegades, but she did with Callum. He had used his power on her to make Nova see how maybe the world could be different. How maybe her life could be different, if she chose a different path. And the worst thing was knowing that it wasn’t Callum putting the thoughts into her mind; it was knowing that they’d been there all along.
And knowing that she wasn’t going to do anything about it.
When she had chosen to continue with her plan and take the helmet, it had felt like a betrayal of Callum and all his annoying goodness. It had also felt like a betrayal of some small part of herself. The part of herself that still sometimes dreamed of living a life without vengeance. A life where she and Adrian had a future. Maybe, even, a life of peace.
But that dream, she knew now as strongly as ever, would never be. The truth was closing in around her. Her lies couldn’t go on forever. Besides, peace and acceptance wouldn’t bring back the family she had lost.
No matter, she told herself, again and again. Taking the helmet was supposed to be the end of this charade. At the time, she was sure that she would never have to face Callum again—or Adrian, for that matter.
But nothing ever went according to plan, and now there were consequences. There were always consequences, and she couldn’t stop to think about it. She had to keep moving. Keep going through the motions. Lie. Steal. Betray.
Because that’s how she would free Ace.
That’s how she would destroy the Renegades.
That’s how she would end this ongoing battle in her thoughts. The war between Nightmare and Insomnia. Hero and villain. She had already made her choice.
Nova fell into the chair at her desk and woke up the computer. She opened a memorandum template and quickly typed up the note she’d already planned out in her head. She scanned the text when she was done and decided to add a small typo, because Tina, the director of the artifacts department, was always a little scatterbrained and it seemed more authentic that way.
After printing the page, Nova crossed to the second empty desk and grabbed a pen out of a coffee mug by the keyboard, one with purple ink and a giant purple daisy on its tip. She scrawled a signature across the bottom of the page.
Tina Lawrence
Snapshot
Director
Replacing the pen, she spent a moment riffling through the desk drawers, searching for the stamp Tina sometimes used for official documentation for the weapons and artifacts department.
She had gone through every drawer twice before she gave up with a growl, slamming the final drawer shut. Exhaling, she inspected the clutter on top of the desk more closely, but there was no stamp.
With the paper in one hand, she headed into the filing room. She hadn’t taken two steps inside before she spotted the stamp, left behind on a pile of empty manila folders.
“Honestly,” she muttered, marching over to the stack and slamming the stamp down on the memo beneath the forged signature. Setting it aside, she folded the sheet into crisp thirds.
“Hey, Nova.”
Heart launching into her throat, she cursed and spun around.
Callum started, too, surprised at her overreaction.
“Sweet rot, you scared me!”
“Sorry,” he said with a sheepish grin. “I didn’t know anyone was in here.”
“Right. It’s fine.” She cleared her throat. “I’m just not used to people sneaking up on me.”
It was a bit of an understatement. How had she not heard him come up behind her?
The answer came to her a second later. In the weeks she’d known Callum, she’d never not heard him. If he wasn’t pushing around a squeaky-wheeled cart laden with artifacts, then he was jabbering away in the incessant way he had, somehow managing to be both charming and obnoxious at the same time.
“I wasn’t sure you’d be in today.” Callum cocked his head, and she realized he was trying to see the folded letter in her hand.
“Why wouldn’t I have come in? I was on the schedule.”
He met her gaze and held it for a beat too long before his smile returned. “I must have forgot.”
Callum’s expression wasn’t judgmental, per se, but there was something amiss. Something suspicious.
Something very un-Callum-like.
Nova gripped her own smile like a weapon, already concocting a lie about the letter in her hand.
But he didn’t ask about it.
That was stranger than anything. The fact that he still wasn’t talking.
“Oh!” she said, feigning a gasp. “I heard about your run-in with Nightmare. Are you okay?”
One side of his mouth twitched. “Yeah, yeah. She did her sleep thing on me. You know, I’ve heard that a lot of people have killer headaches after she’s put them to sleep, but I was fine. Felt pretty well rested the next day, actually.”
“Oh … well, that’s good.” Nova hoped she sounded confused. “Maybe you’re just more resilient than the rest of us.”
Or maybe I was being nice.
“I seriously doubt that.” His brow furrowed, the grin fading for real this time. “Is it weird to think that maybe she was going easy on me?”
Nova guffawed. It was as fake as she feared it would be. “Nightmare, go easy on someone? That seems out of character.”
“Yeah, I know.” He squinted, inspecting Nova like he knew something. Her pulse thundered. “I know this sounds weird,” he added, “but she seemed familiar.”
Nova’s eyebrows worked their way toward her hairline. “Funny you should say that,” she said, lowering her voice in what she hoped would inspire conspiratorial confidence. “It might not be as weird as you think.”
He blinked, and for a moment he looked like a startled rabbit ready to bolt. She knew he suspected her. That he was well aware of why Nightmare would seem familiar.
But she had to convince him otherwise.
“My patrol unit had a meeting yesterday,” she said, crossing the room to him. His posture was a study of both curiosity and nerves. He should have been wary of being so close to her. If he really did believe she was Nightmare, then he knew how dangerous she could be. How easily she could put him to sleep again. Though maybe that’s what he was hoping she would do.
It would certainly prove his suspicions.
“Adrian has a theory,” she went on. “And at first it seemed a little far-fetched, but now I’m not so sure.”
Callum’s shoulders sank as it became clear that this was not about to become a confession. “What sort of theory?”
“About Nightmare. He’s been investigating her for months now, ever since the attack at the parade. He’s compiled a shocking amount of information and … well.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. Callum leaned in closer. “He thinks she might actually be a Renegade.”
He said nothing. After another strangely silent moment, she saw him become suspicious again. Trying to see right through her.
Finally, he said, simply, “Oh yeah?”
“I wasn’t sure at first, but when Adrian started listing all the coincidences … like that she knew about the helmet, and had access to Agent N … and oh! The mist-missiles? It kind of starts to make sense, right? What if she’s a spy?”
His head cocked to one side. “What if she’s a spy.”
“It would explain a lot.”
“Yeah. It would.”
“So … you think Adrian could be right?”
Callum opened his mouth, but hesitated. Where she had sensed certainty before, she could sense it faltering now. A fault of his own optimism. His belief in humanity.
She realized that Callum didn’t want her to be Nightmare. He was searching for a reason to doubt his own suspicions.
It was the crack she needed to find.
“Callum?” she said again. “Do you think she could be a spy?”
“I think it’s possible, yeah.”
She let herself appear worried. “Then it should be easy to figure out who it is, right?” She gestured toward the front reception area. “We can go through the rental history. Figure out who might have shown interest in those mist-missiles. We could go over some of the security tapes. Whoever she is, she must have left a path. Some clues we can follow. Ruby suggested she could be a recent recruit, but I think it’s more likely to be a civilian. Someone who’s pretending she doesn’t have superpowers at all.”
“She’s short,” said Callum.
Nova’s words, whatever rambling thing she was going to say next, evaporated on her tongue. “Excuse me?”
Callum was close to Adrian’s height himself, and Nova had never sensed how much he looked down on her, literally, until that moment. But that wasn’t unusual. Practically everyone was taller than her. “She’s short,” he repeated. “Like you.”
Her mouth opened. Closed. She tried again. “That’s … good information. That will help narrow it down. I’ll see if we can get more details out of Genissa Clark and her team, too. Compare notes. Um … was there anything else you noticed about Nightmare? Anything that could help us … pinpoint her…?”
He stared at her. Really stared.
And she could feel the words hanging between them. It’s you, it’s you, it has to be you.
But it was eclipsed with doubt, and then a self-conscious grin. “I don’t know. It was pretty dark and … it all happened really fast. Plus, you know, she has the mask.”
“Of course. But if you think of something…”
“I’ll let you know,” he said. “I’ll definitely let you know.”
“Okay. Great. And I’ll mention the height thing to Adrian. I think they keep pretty good health records on all the patrol units, and those might include measurements, so we can start there. Thanks, Callum. That’s helpful.”
She started to walk away, the sheet of paper crinkling between her fingers.
But just before slipping out the door, she paused and turned back. Her expression softened. “You know, I really am glad you’re okay.”
* * *
On the uppermost floor of Renegade Headquarters, standing beneath a massive blown-glass chandelier, beside an enormous painting that captured the falsified death of Ace Anarchy, Nova handed the memo to Prism, the personal receptionist to the Council. Rainbow-colored lights danced over the desk, reflected off Prism’s crystal fingers, as she unfolded the paper and read through the note.
She frowned. Not suspicious, but confused. “Snapshot wants you to take the forgery down to the artifacts department?”
“She’s worried that having it on public display right now will create unnecessary drama,” Nova explained. “Given the theft of the real helmet, people are going to become curious about the forgery. Some might feel that the Council’s been lying to them all this time, telling them the helmet was destroyed.” Because they had, Nova added silently to herself. “Snapshot feels it would be prudent to keep the forgery out of the public eye until the real helmet has been recovered … or until the Council has had time to decide the best course of action.”
Prism considered this for no more than three seconds before she shrugged. “All right, go ahead, then. The case is unlocked.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
NOVA WAS EAGER to put this charade behind her. As soon as she left headquarters with the fake helmet tucked into a plain tote bag, she marched straight for Blackmire Station, one of the defunct stations on the old Gatlon City subway line. She and the Anarchists had lived down there for years following the Day of Triumph, and Nova hadn’t realized quite how much she hated it inside the dank, stifling tunnels until after they’d been chased out by Renegades and forced to seek sanctuary inside the decrepit row house on Wallowridge instead.
Though they hadn’t left by choice, and they never would have left Ace by himself if they could have helped it, she couldn’t deny that the housing situation was an improvement. She wasn’t enthusiastic about going back down there now, but the blackmailer’s instructions could only mean one thing.
QB’S ROOM—BLACKMIRE
Queen Bee’s room, Blackmire station.
Honey, who was known as Queen Bee to most of society, had transformed an old maintenance closet off the main line into her private quarters. It wasn’t cozy—nothing in the tunnels could be described as cozy—but she had done it up as nice as she could, draping scarves on the walls and bringing in a vintage shaded lamp that cast a pleasant glow over the concrete walls. And there had been her hives. Everywhere, hives, and the constant thrum of the bees who had flown agitatedly up to the surface in search of nectar and pollen every day, only to dutifully, if crankily, return to their queen as the sun was setting.
Nova was on edge as she made her way through the tunnel, the path lit by the beam of her flashlight. Her Renegade-issued boots clopped against the train rails. Rats squeaked, their eyes flashing in the light before they scurried into their holes. Familiar aromas accosted her. The musty air. The rank odor of standing water. The faint scent of decades-old urine. It was met with new smells, too. Sulfur and smoke and the acidic tang of Cyanide’s poisons, lingering from the day the Renegades had attacked them.
Beyond the smell of war, and the fact that all their belongings had been confiscated by the Renegades, not much had changed.
Her nerves were tingling as she reached Honey’s room. The heavy iron door was parted, but only shadows spilled forth from it.
Nova reached for her shock-wave gun, half expecting a trap. It wouldn’t be a surprise if the blackmailer accosted her the moment she stepped into the room, because that’s just the sort of thing a nameless villain would do. Her finger slipped over the trigger as she kicked the door open and shone the flashlight into the room.
Empty.
Not only of the blackmailer, but also empty of Honey’s things.
Which was unsettling, if not unexpected. Nova knew that all of the belongings the Anarchists couldn’t take with them had been packed up and taken to Renegade Headquarters, and were at this moment sitting in a temporary storage room at the back of the artifacts department, waiting to be sorted through. She had seen Honey’s dresses there, boxes of jewelry, even the pretty vintage lamp.
The only thing the Renegades had left behind was an old dresser, on which sat a mirror with a chip in one corner and paint peeling off its trim work. The drawers were all missing and it was pulled a few feet away from the wall, no doubt so the Renegades could get behind it in their search for clues and evidence to be held against the Anarchists. They must have figured the dresser itself would be too much work to take back up all those steps. Nova wasn’t sure how Honey had managed to get it down here in the first place.
Holstering the gun, she took the fake helmet from the bag. In the dim lighting, the hole in its cranium was almost imperceptible, and no one would be able to tell the faint difference in color, which most people weren’t aware of. It was this helmet’s lack of luster that had first tipped off Nova to its fraudulence. A lot of prodigy artifacts, including everything her father had ever made, had a unique sheen to them. A luminescence that was hard to detect unless one was looking for it.
Lately, Nova had started looking.
“It’s all yours,” she muttered to the shadows, setting the helmet down on the vanity. Probably her blackmailer was lurking just around one of the tunnel bends, waiting for her to leave so they could sneak in and claim their prize.
Which was just fine by her. She couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
But the moment she stepped back through the door, a body slammed into her. A hand grasped the back of her neck, shoving her against the gritty wall.
“I knew you’d come back here!” roared her assailant. “I knew—” He cut off quick. “No—?”
She slammed her heel into the arch of his foot and he howled, lurching back from her. The stun gun now in hand, Nova spun around, her finger pressing against the trigger—
“No-va…”
She froze. Her arm fell limp at her side. “Adrian?”
“I’m sorry,” he groaned, sinking down to the ground and crossing his injured foot over his knee. He undid the laces of his tennis shoes. “I thought you were Nightmare.”
She gaped at him as he removed his shoe and rubbed his foot where she had stomped on him. “You’re not…” She glanced back into the room, where the helmet still sat innocently on top of the dresser. Was Adrian the blackmailer?
