Supernova, page 8
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. But people still don’t know about the tattoos so I sort of have to sneak in.”
Max inspected the mac and cheese, noting bits of lint from the floor stuck to the yellowish noodles. His nose curled in disgust. He reached for the brownie instead, picked off a mysterious bit of white fuzz, and crammed half of it into his mouth.
It was a testament to his recovery that he could be more interested in eating than giving Adrian the hug he was sure he deserved.
“I’m so happy you’re awake,” said Adrian, sitting in the chair beside Max’s bed. “I thought…” He hesitated and changed his statement to: “You really had us scared.”
Max used a white cloth napkin that came with the meal to wipe chocolate from the side of his mouth, though there was still some stuck in his front teeth when he grinned at Adrian. “Yeah, the doctor said it was pretty bad there for a while. They say I’m lucky.”
“You are. We all are.”
Max’s expression turned sly. “Naw. The Sentinel rescued me, right? So I guess I have him to thank. You know, if I ever meet the guy in person.”
Adrian chuckled. There had been weeks when Max was the only person who knew his secret identity. Since the fight at the catacombs, he’d been forced to tell Ruby and Oscar, too, and he suspected Danna knew as well—though he wouldn’t know her feelings on it until they could figure out how to help her transform back into her human shape.
He knew he would have to tell Nova eventually. Oscar and Ruby weren’t the most discreet Renegades on the task force, and he wanted to make sure she heard it from him.
“Yeah, well, rumor has it the Sentinel might be a little fond of you, kid.” He reached forward and ruffled Max’s hair. Having only known what it was like to do that in recent weeks, he was still surprised at how fluffy his hair was. “The team’s going to be elated when I tell them the news, and I might have a surprise next time I come to visit.”
Max gave him a look that was far more suspicious than excited.
“Okay, I’ll just tell you. Guess what we found crawling through the wreckage back at headquarters? I’ll give you a hint. It’s about this tall”—he pinched his fingers an inch away from each other—“went extinct millions of years ago, and rhymes with…” Adrian paused. “Um … Burbo.”
Max was shaking his head, even as his smile returned. “Those were the worst hints in history. You could have said something like its feet are used both for running and disemboweling prey, but only if the prey is smaller than a mouse. Or, it’s likely the only one of its kind to have scales rather than feathers. Or maybe, its babies would be born from eggs, though it never was.”
Adrian’s eyebrow ticked upward. “Did you just come up with those?”
Shrugging, Max took another bite of the brownie.
“No, seriously, that’s really good. Maybe coming up with riddles is another superpower you haven’t discovered yet. Except … what do you mean by feathers?”
“Dey ad feaders,” Max said through his full mouth.
“Velociraptors?”
Max nodded and swallowed. “Don’t you know that’s where birds come from?”
“Well, yeah, but…” Adrian frowned, picturing a miniature velociraptor that was more a cross between a T. rex and a chicken. “Feathers would make him a lot less intimidating, you know? Although, Danna is afraid of birds, so I guess it’s all subjective. Still. Feathers. Who knew?”
Max finished off the brownie and inspected his plate, trying to deem what else might be safe to consume. Adrian considered telling him about Danna, that she’d been stuck in swarm mode since the night of the attack and they weren’t entirely sure why, but he thought the kid should probably stay focused on his own recovery for now.
“Anyway,” he said, “I’ll bring Turbo to see you next time I come. I’ve been taking good care of him. Discovered he really likes turkey jerky.”
“I’m not sure he’s all that discerning,” said Max. “I once saw him try to eat a pencil.”
Adrian laughed. “Seriously, I’m so glad you’re okay. When I got to headquarters and saw Nightmare crouching over you…” He stopped himself. He’d wanted to keep the mood light, but it was impossible not to think of how pale and weak Max had been. And there had been so much blood …
Max wiped his fingers on the napkin. “Yeah. It was weird, right? I know I’m lucky to be alive, but I also know that I shouldn’t be. Alive, I mean. She should have killed me. It doesn’t make sense that she didn’t.”
“Not for lack of trying,” Adrian muttered. “She ran as soon as she saw me. I would have chased after her, except … well, you were more important. Obviously.”
Max’s brow furrowed.
“But I am going to find her,” Adrian said, leaning his elbows on his knees. “I swear it. The team and I are already working on a new investigation and we have some really promising leads. I’m going to find Nightmare, and I’ll make her pay for this. She’ll never be able to hurt you again.”
Max’s face only became more confused. He blinked at Adrian a few times, then slowly pushed back the tray of food. Leaping to his feet, Adrian took it from him and set it down on the small table beside the bed. “You want some water or something?”
“Adrian…”
The tone of Max’s voice gave Adrian pause. He looked back down, but Max’s focus was on the white cotton blanket over his legs. His fingers dug into the fabric.
“Yeah?” said Adrian, sinking back into the chair. “What’s wrong?”
Max licked his lips and for the first time Adrian noticed how dry they were. He would have to mention it to the nursing staff. Maybe get some of that all-natural lip balm they sold at the higher-end drugstores.
“Nightmare didn’t try to kill me.”
Adrian stared at Max. He was still so pale. Bruises peppered the insides of his arms from where he’d had blood transfers and IV drips. The pale blue hospital gown drooped on his skinny shoulders.
“Max,” he said slowly, “she stabbed you in the stomach with a giant chromium spear. The only reason she didn’t kill you was because I showed up in time to stop her.”
Max shook his head. “Frostbite stabbed me, not Nightmare.”
The world seemed to quiet as Adrian tried to make sense of these words. “Frostbite?”
Max still wouldn’t meet his eyes, and Adrian watched his pupils dance around. He was replaying that night in his mind, seeing the battle, not the blanket. “She had Dad’s spear and was charging for Nightmare, but Nightmare ducked. I was standing behind her—I’d gone invisible—and Frostbite hit me, drove it right through me. Nightmare didn’t do it.”
Adrian’s mouth opened, then shut again. His knowledge of what had happened in the headquarters lobby that night began to reshuffle into a new order of events. A new reality.
“But, still. Nightmare didn’t exactly—”
“She tried to help me,” Max interrupted. His fingers curled into the blanket. “I asked her to take out the spear, and she didn’t want to at first because it’s not good to remove a weapon, right? But I begged her to, and she did, and when she realized the ice was helping it, she … she forced Frostbite to give her power to me. She dragged her closer so I could absorb all of it. She was trying to save me.”
Adrian’s jaw unhinged as he tried to picture it, but all he could see was Nightmare bent over Max’s body. The broken glass, her bloodied hands.
“That … doesn’t make sense.”
“I know.” Finally Max dared to look up. His eyes were shimmering.
“Are you sure? You lost a lot of blood. You could have been delirious. Maybe you’re confusing what happened—”
“I’m sure. Ask Frostbite.”
“Frostbite already…” Adrian paused. Frostbite had given an official statement, and she’d declared that Nightmare had been the one to stab the Bandit, as everyone had already assumed. Admitting that she’d actually hit Max by mistake wouldn’t have been in her best interest.
And Genissa Clark never did anything that wasn’t in her best interest.
Adrian leaned back in his chair, wanting to believe Max, but not fully comprehending what he was telling him. Nightmare was an Anarchist. She had every reason to want to kill Max—the source for Agent N and the catalyst for Ace Anarchy’s defeat during the Battle for Gatlon.
What reason could she have had for trying to help him?
Was there perhaps some sinister reason that the Anarchists could have for wanting to keep the Bandit alive? Was it possible they would try to use him for their own benefit?
It wasn’t entirely unbelievable, but such a plan was almost too devious for Adrian to wrap his mind around.
“What really doesn’t make sense,” Max said slowly, “is why she wasn’t weakened by me. I saw her put Frostbite to sleep, and that was right after she’d been trying to help me stop the bleeding. She should have been weak, if not entirely neutralized, but she seemed fine. So how…?”
“I don’t know this for sure,” said Adrian, “but I think she might have the Vitality Charm.”
Max’s eyes widened in surprise, but the look quickly turned to a frown. “Shame. Her power is one I wouldn’t mind having.”
Adrian cocked his head. “Really? When would you want to put people to sleep?”
“I just think it could come in handy. You know, like when those scientists come to take more blood samples. It’d be nice to be able to knock them out for a while when I don’t feel like cooperating.”
Adrian smirked. “You know, you have more rebellion in you than anyone wants to give you credit for.”
“Yeah…” Max’s mouth twitched, barely revealing the dimple in his right cheek. “I get it from my big brother.”
CHAPTER NINE
NOVA EXAMINED THE old blueprint of Cragmoor Penitentiary, her hands fisted on her hips, a headache pounding at her temples. Honey and Leroy had wandered off hours ago to get some sleep, and she hadn’t seen Phobia all night. She was determined to have this puzzle solved before she saw the others again in the morning.
There was a way to save Ace. There had to be.
And they had the one weapon that just might give them one hell of an advantage, even if it seemed almost wrong to use it.
They had Ace Anarchy’s helmet.
Nova’s father had created the helmet using the threads of energy he could mold from the air. He had made a weapon that could amplify his brother’s abilities. As far as Nova knew, Ace was the only person who had ever worn the helmet.
But Nova had suspicions that the helmet wasn’t only for her uncle. There was a possibility it could amplify any power—which would explain why the Renegades had been determined to keep it locked away for eternity.
She stretched her spine, wondering how long she’d been standing there without moving. Her attention landed on the coat closet that stood in the narrow hall between the living room and the kitchen. There was something ironic about what might have been the most feared and respected prodigy artifact of all time, now relegated to a mere coat closet in a run-down house on Wallowridge. It deserved so much better.
But their options were limited.
Nova hadn’t touched the helmet since she’d stashed it in the closet the night of the break-in. Every day when she got home, she’d open the door, just to check that it was still there, and then promptly close it again.
The sight of it caused an ache in her chest.
But now she forced herself to open the door. The blue-tinged light from the kitchen fell on the helmet, but it couldn’t diminish its natural golden glow. It seemed to be watching her through its empty eyeholes. Waiting.
Before she could change her mind, Nova reached for the helmet, cradling it in both hands. The star on her wrist jumped and glowed a little brighter, the bracelet tugging toward the helmet like the two were magnetically drawn to each other.
Exhaling all the air from her lungs, Nova turned the helmet around, shut her eyes, and placed it on her head.
It was too big for her. She could tell that if she were to move even the slightest bit, it would wobble like a broken doll’s head. But she didn’t move. She just waited. Smelling the slightly metallic scent on the inside. Feeling her own breath against the surface, not unlike when she wore Nightmare’s metal face mask.
Nothing happened.
She opened her eyes and gasped, stumbling back against the wall. The helmet lurched on her head, but she quickly reached up to right it.
The room beyond the helmet was shimmering. Waves of coppery light danced before her, like a golden aurora borealis filling up the dingy living room. It felt as though they were swirling outward—from the helmet, from her.
Her eyes began to water. She snatched the helmet from her head.
The lights faded away—not all at once, like a lamp being switched off, but a slow disintegration, as if she were forgetting how to see.
She blinked to clear the remnants from her vision.
Those lights, those beams of energy … could they be the same glowing bands she had watched her father conjure from the air so many years ago? As a child, she had assumed he was creating them from nothing, but these were so familiar. Was it possible they were always there, invisible in the ether, waiting for someone with a power like her father’s to pull them into reality? To create something brilliant with them?
Stranger still, she knew she had seen those beams of light before, when she had taken the star from the painted room in Adrian’s basement. And she hadn’t had the helmet then.
She set the helmet back onto her head again. The lights reappeared, as constant and breathtaking as before. Squinting against their brightness, Nova reached out her hand. The star in her bracelet pulsed. Wondering if she might be able to touch the strings of energy, even manipulate them as her father had done, she stretched one finger toward a beam that danced only a couple of feet in front of her.
Her hand passed right through it. The light shimmered, undisturbed. As ephemeral as a shadow.
She tried again and again. But however these shreds of energy might have responded to her father’s command, they seemed to be ignoring her completely.
Scowling, she ripped the helmet off again and watched as the vision faded away.
Disappointment clawed at her. Shouldn’t she have felt different somehow? Stronger? More powerful? Invincible? That’s how Ace had always seemed to her when she was young. After the helmet had been seized, he had practically crumpled from its loss. Shouldn’t the helmet’s effect on her have been, somehow, more?
Nova never slept. Shouldn’t the helmet have amplified her boundless, inexhaustible energy?
She could put people to sleep through touch. Shouldn’t the helmet have … She didn’t know. Make it so she could put them to sleep from farther distances? Or … even, perhaps, kill them with her touch?
She was surprised at the shudder that overtook her at the thought. That would be an incredible power and certainly could help her break into the prison, but the idea of it repelled more than tempted.
With a huff, she thrust the helmet back into the closet and slammed the door.
A figure stood in the hallway, a welding mask over their face.
Nova yelped and lurched back. Her hand instinctively went for a weapon, but she wasn’t wearing her belt.
No matter. She wasn’t reliant on weaponry. She was a weapon.
She prepared for a fight, but the figure took a step back and held a palm toward her.
“I’ve taken out an insurance policy on my safety,” came a female voice.
Nova hesitated. The voice sounded faintly familiar.
“I have an ally who is expecting my return. If I am not back, unharmed, within the next twenty minutes, they will alert Captain Chromium and the rest of the Renegades of your identity and the location of your secret lair.”
Nova’s eyes narrowed as she inspected the mask’s blank shade. It was reminiscent of the Sentinel’s armor, which annoyed her more than it should have. “Secret lair? What is this, a comic book?”
“This isn’t a game,” the girl said. “I want Ace’s helmet, and I want it now!”
“I already gave it to you.”
“You gave me a fake, and you’re lucky I didn’t go straight to the Renegades when I found out. This is your last chance, Nova Artino.”
“I’m not a delivery service, and I don’t respond well to threats.” Nova leaped forward and thrust her elbow against the girl’s throat, pinning her to the wall. With her other hand, she tore off the welding mask, throwing it to the ground.
She gasped. “Narcissa?”
She was thinner than before, with dark blemishes beneath her eyes. Narcissa Cronin, granddaughter of Gene Cronin, the Librarian, who had been killed during the fight at the Cloven Cross Library. Ingrid had shot him in order to protect Nova’s identity.
This information clicked into place in Nova’s thoughts and so many things began to make sense. Narcissa could travel between mirrors. That’s how she had gotten into the bedroom upstairs and Honey’s room in the tunnels, both times without being seen, without leaving a trace. That’s how she knew Nova’s identity.
Narcissa shoved against her, and Nova, weakened by surprise, took a step back. “Narcissa,” she said again, still not fully comprehending that this girl, who had always seemed so quiet, so meek, so … unvillainous, could be the one who had blackmailed her.
“How did you even find me?” said Nova.
A touch of arrogance swept over Narcissa’s face. “I knew you were masquerading as a Renegade, so I waited outside their headquarters and followed you home.”
Nova shook her head. “I would have noticed if I was being followed.”
“Are you sure?” said Narcissa, almost tauntingly. “Did you check every reflection you passed? There are a lot of mirrors between Renegade HQ and Wallowridge. Once I knew what street you were on, I moved from house to house, vanity to vanity, until I found you. And now that I’m here, you are going to give me that helmet!” Face twisting with anger, Narcissa grabbed a pistol that had been tucked into her waistband.
