Heat Wave, page 2
Senior year, he thought distantly as Seth’s lips worked over his. The end of one life, and the beginning of another one entirely. On his best days, Nick wasn’t a fan of change. His ADHD—while mostly under control with the new meds he was on—required routine in his life, order to keep things from spinning out of control. Sure, chaos often reared its head and laid waste to his plans, but Nick was trying, something he’d decided he had to do in order to live a double life of a mild-mannered student who moonlighted as an Extraordinary.
Sort of. In the month since he’d been gifted the costume and become Guardian, he hadn’t done much with it. Dad said he wasn’t ready to save the day on his own. No matter how much Nick begged to go out as Guardian, Dad stood firm, telling him he had to ease into it, to take things slowly. “Besides,” Dad said, “you’re still the leader of Lighthouse. That’s just as important.”
Being a hero was vastly more complicated than he’d expected it to be. Not only did he have to worry about saving-the-day shit, he also had to focus on being Nick Bell, too. He didn’t understand how the comics made it look so easy. He was supposed to wear a skintight costume while also worrying about getting into college? He needed to fret over the fact that Seth might not get to go back to Centennial High (home of the Fighting Wombats!) because he revealed himself as Pyro Storm while at the same time figuring out how the hell he was supposed to take AP History and survive? Gibby was going to NCU in the fall, so they were already down one person. Was it just supposed to be him and Jazz at school for months on end, all while rumors swirled around them about what had happened the night of the prom?
He didn’t know how he was going to do it. Everything felt too big. While grateful it was June, he knew that eventually he’d have to face the very real fact that things were changing, splintering, and there wasn’t much he could do to stop it.
“You’re thinking too hard,” Seth murmured against his lips.
Nick sighed as he pulled back. “Yeah, I know. Sorry. You know how it is. I have thoughts and then those thoughts have thoughts.”
Seth smiled. “I know, Nicky. Anything you want to talk about?”
“Just the same crap as always. Everything and nothing all at once.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Seth said, reaching out and squeezing Nick’s gloved hands. “But we can talk more about it later. Tonight, we focus, all right?”
Nick nodded as he relaxed. “Right. Focus. I’m with you.” He had something to prove tonight, to show that he was capable.
Seth stepped around him, going to the ledge and looking down at the alley below. “Good. Now, tell me what you think we should do.”
Nick turned and stood next to Seth, hands resting on top of his helmet. He followed Seth’s gaze down to the alley. Across the alley was another building, a little shorter than the one they stood on. An old air conditioner rattled and groaned next to a metal roof-access door.
“Could go through the roof door,” he said. “Avoid any windows that could give us away.”
“Door’s bolted and locked,” Seth said. “How do you get in if you want to avoid as much property damage as possible?”
He paused, looking at the air-conditioning unit. His gaze traveled along the length of the roof, toward the side of the building closest to them. Sitting near the top was a vent covered in a metal grate. “There,” he said, pointing. “Could go through the vent.”
Seth nodded. “Think you can fit?”
“Rude.”
Seth rolled his eyes. “You know that’s not what I meant.” He bumped his shoulder against Nick’s. “You don’t want to try something like that, only to get stuck. Think, Nick. What should you do when you have to enter a building you’ve never been to before?”
“Powers,” Nick said automatically. “Make my own door.” Images flooded his brain of him standing before a brick wall and waving his hand, causing the bricks to shift and break apart, making a door.
But Seth nipped that right in the bud, shaking his head and saying, “Without powers. You can’t always count on them. There may come a time when powers could work against you.” He paused, considering. “Or, when you don’t quite have control over them.”
Nick scowled at him. “I totally have control of my powers. Watch.” He looked around, trying to find something he could use. Near the far corner, a plastic bucket sat as if forgotten, the handle rusted, the side cracked. Taking a deep breath, Nick raised his hand, and in his head, a light sparked, warm and sweet. He held on to it as tightly as he could and pushed, a shiver of not-quite-pain rippling through him.
The bucket wiggled from side to side before rising slowly off the roof, floating five feet in the air. “See?” Nick said, a trickle of sweat sliding down his forehead. “Easy. I got this. I’m so good at—”
The spark pulsed in his head, and the bucket shot through the air, arcing high before it landed three roofs away with a faint clatter.
Nick sighed, dropping his hand. “Okay, so there might be a few kinks to work out, but still! What’s the point of being an Extraordinary if I don’t get to be extraordinary?”
“There’s more to it than that,” Seth said, and it wasn’t the first time he’d told Nick this, or the tenth. “While having powers is all well and good, you can’t always rely on just your powers. You have to think, too, Nicky. And since no one thinks like you do, you’ve got this. Come on. Can’t go in through the front or the roof access. Doors locked. How do you proceed?”
Nick brightened. “Lighthouse.”
“Exactly.” Seth nodded toward his helmet. “Get to it.”
Nick lifted his helmet from the ledge and put it on. The moment the helmet settled on his head, bright lights exploded inside as his vision sharpened. Lines of code ran like cascading water before they disappeared, replaced by two words, blinking in cerulean blue.
WELCOME, GUARDIAN.
He grinned despite himself. That would never not be the coolest shit he’d ever seen. Gibby was a goddamn genius when it came to all things tech, and she’d outdone herself.
“Lighthouse,” Guardian said, voice once again modulated. “Do you copy?”
Nothing.
Guardian frowned, tapping the side of his helmet. “Lighthouse, this is Guardian. Do you read me?”
Silence.
“What the hell,” he muttered. “They’re supposed to be—”
“Lighthouse here,” Jasmine Kensington said in his ears, voice crackling. “We read you loud and clear. Sorry about that. Gibby was punching the bag Seth has hanging in the basement, and then she started sweating and you know what that does to me.”
“They’re having sex in the secret lair,” Guardian told Seth.
Seth threw up his hands.
“We are not,” Gibby snapped. “It was just foreplay. Trust me, Jazz would sound more out of breath if it was sex, because I can do this thing with my fingers that—”
“What in the good goddamn shit, Gibby,” Guardian growled. “Stop fornicating when we’re supposed to be stopping a jewel heist! I need the schematics of the building.”
“On it,” Jazz said, ever the professional. “What’s the—Gibby, you’re going to get us in trouble. Oh. Oh. That’s … wow. Do that again!”
“Schematics!” Guardian bellowed.
Seth sighed. “So much for the element of surprise.”
“Schematics,” Gibby said, and Nick could hear the eat-shit grin in her voice. “We’ll get them for you. What’s the address?”
Guardian looked at Seth, who shrugged and said, “What is it? You need to pay attention to these things, every single little detail. You’ll never know when you need to call for backup, and you shouldn’t always rely on the tracker in your suit. What if something disrupts it? An Extraordinary who could cause a blackout and knock out your locator as well as the comms? What do you do then?”
“Right,” Guardian muttered. He moved to the ledge to his right, looking down at the street below. People walked along the sidewalks, unaware that an Extraordinary watched them from above. Cars lined the road, traffic backed up, horns honking obnoxiously. There wasn’t any place like it in the world, and though Nova City had bitch-slapped him more than a few times, he’d always do what he could to keep her safe. “We’re at the corner of Tenth and Marketplace.” He glanced at the numbers on the buildings across the street. All even. Numbers going up to the left, down to the right. He thought back to their arrival. He’d seen the street number of the building, hadn’t he? He’d glanced at it. What was it? Think, think, think—ah! He grinned. “1757 Marketplace. No, wait, that’s the building we’re on. 1759 Marketplace.”
Seth squeezed his shoulder. “Good. Nice one, Guardian.”
“1759 Marketplace,” Jazz chirped in his ear. Through the speakers in his helmet, he could hear her fingers flying over the keyboard in the basement of the Gray brownstone. “And here … we … go.”
Guardian blinked against the brightness of the screen in his helmet. The light faded slightly, and when he could see clearly again, a three-dimensional schematic of the building they needed to infiltrate appeared before him, spinning slowly. “Any way in that doesn’t involve doors?” Guardian asked. “And would avoid alarms?”
“Gibby, you got anything?” Jazz asked.
“There,” she said. “You see a vent near the top of the building?”
“Yeah,” Guardian said, heart thumping in excitement. “Big enough for us to get through?”
“Should be,” Jazz said, and the schematic zoomed in to focus on the venting system. “Might be a tight squeeze, but both of you should be able to get through it. Hold on. Gibby, do that line thing.”
“That line thing,” Gibby said with a snort. “I love you so much. Yes, I can do the line thing.” A moment later, a red dot appeared at the start of the vent before extending in a line through the ductwork. It took a right, a left, two more rights, before it stopped in the middle of the building. “There, that should lead you to a grate in the ceiling. Gives you the drop on anyone inside.”
“Security system?” Guardian asked, staring at the vent access.
“Old,” Jazz said. “Looks like a simple system that only registers the front door opening after hours. Hasn’t been updated since 2004.”
Guardian nodded. “Good. The city calls for me. I hear her cries and will do whatever I can to save her.”
Silence.
Guardian tapped the side of his helmet again. “Did you get that?”
“We did,” Jazz said. “We didn’t know if there was going to be more like there normally is. Don’t you usually say something about diseased hearts and the writhing morass of—”
“No time!” Guardian cried. “It’s time to take out the—no, I can’t use that one, because I already used the word time. Dammit. Okay, hold on. I’ve … almost … got … it. Just … one … more … second and—ah!” He squared his shoulders. “You want to try and take jewels that don’t belong to you? See how well you do when I kick you in the jewels!”
He waited for thunderous applause.
None came.
Guardian deflated slightly. “Oh, come on, really? That was awesome.”
“Is that what we’re considering awesome now?” Gibby asked. “My bad. Gay gasp! You’re so good at this superhero thing. I’ve never seen such a—”
“I hate everyone,” Guardian mumbled.
Seth slid on his own helmet, the lenses flashing an ominous red as he too came online. “Lighthouse, this is Pyro Storm. We’re going in. Be ready. It’s time to burn.”
“What the—I wrote that catchphrase. Why does it sound so much cooler than mine? I demand you come back and give me compliments about kicking thieves in the jewels!”
* * *
Apparently, some vents weren’t built big enough for people to fit inside easily. After they saved the day again, Guardian decided the next bit of Extraordinary business would be to propose a citywide mandate that all vents be made larger so certain situations (such as the one Guardian was currently in) could be avoided in the future.
“Shove my ass harder,” he said, the pressure against his shoulders and chest from the surrounding vent causing him to wheeze. His legs dangled out into nothing, kicking empty air. He’d wanted to fly up to the vent on his own, but aside from the one time he’d floated after jumping off a building (long story), he hadn’t quite got the hang of flying. Or floating. Or even jumping really high.
Guardian sucked in his stomach, wishing he didn’t have ribs. Pyro Storm pushed him again, and just when Guardian thought he’d be stuck forever, he shot forward, the top of the vent rising slightly to give him more room. He was able to pull his legs inside, and rose to his hands and knees, back bumping against the metal above him.
“I’m in,” he panted. “Lighthouse, would you—Oh, crap, sorry. Sorry.”
“What happened?” Jazz asked.
Pyro Storm groaned. “He kicked me in the face.”
Guardian squirmed a little farther into the ductwork to give Pyro Storm room to climb in after him. “It was an accident. It’s not my fault I’ve got long legs like a dancer.”
“Yeah, no,” Jazz said. “I’ve seen you dance. For a queer man, you dance like your joints are fused together.”
“That’s bullshit,” Guardian snapped, sweat trickling down the side of his head to his ear. “How dare you perpetuate harmful stereotypes about queer people and their ability or lack thereof to shake their asses in a way that suggests sexiness. What’s next, you’re going to comment on how well I dress?”
“Have you seen your clothes?” Gibby said.
“Gibby!”
“Yeah, yeah. You need to turn right … there.”
The ductwork opened up off to his right, and Guardian crawled through it, Pyro Storm close at his heels. Guardian paused, panting, wishing he could use his powers to make the vents wider. Just a little push, and he could walk in a crouch instead of on his hands and knees. But that would make too much noise and give away their position. He couldn’t take the chance. Not with the villains somewhere below them.
“Left,” Gibby said in his ear when he came to another opening.
“On it,” he said, turning left and crawling as quietly as he could. Which, of course, meant that his knees hitting the metal sounded as if a herd of cows was running through a swap meet that sold nothing but highly breakable glass figurines.
As they continued on, Pyro Storm spoke behind him, whispering, though his voice came through clearly from the speakers in Guardian’s helmet. “We counted four of them. Armed. What should you do to avoid getting shot?”
“Don’t engage them face-to-face,” Guardian whispered back. “If we can come from above, or behind, it’ll give us a chance to take them out without a shot being fired.”
“Correct. Even if it takes a little longer, it’s always worth it to avoid any potential injuries or loss of life. What if there are innocent bystanders? Say, a security guard they’ve taken hostage. What do you do then?”
“Protect them at all costs,” Guardian replied, his excitement building once more. “They’re the first priority. The jewels are most likely insured, and it’s better to save people than rocks that some weirdos put value on because they’re shiny.”
“Right. People first, property second, though we need to remember that if there is any kind of damage done, someone has to clean that up, and we don’t want to make more work for others if we can avoid it.”
Guardian winced as he banged his funny bone against the wall of the duct. “Being altruistic is so hard. It’d be easier if we didn’t have to care about everyone and everything.”
Pyro Storm chuckled. “That’s what being a hero means.”
“I know. But what if—”
The metal underneath him creaked dangerously. Guardian looked down slowly in horror as the duct began to sway side to side. “Um,” he said. “Should it be doing that, or…?”
Guardian—meaning Nick—was exceptional at falling. Off a bridge. Off a roof. Hell, out of bed. So it shouldn’t have been surprising when the ductwork underneath him collapsed with a loud shriek of metal, causing him to plummet face-first toward the ground ten feet below him. “Oh, crap, oh, crap, oh, crap!”
He raised his hands as the cement floor hurtled toward him, and in his head, that spark like a star exploded. He closed his eyes, hoping he’d be intact enough for an open-casket funeral where everyone would sob and wail that he’d been taken far too soon, that he was the best of them, how can we go on without Nicholas Bell?
For a moment everything faded around him. The building, the metal falling with him, the fact that he had wanted to prove himself tonight, all of it. The only things in existence were Nick and this exploding light, this light that never quite did what he wanted it to do. He reached for it.
Please, he said, either out loud or in his head, he didn’t know. He brought the light to his chest, curling around it, holding it close. Please.
When he didn’t end up as a pile of bones and exposed brain matter, he opened his eyes and found himself floating a few feet above the cracked cement floor, pieces of metal from the duct swirling around him. He stared in wonder, reaching out and pushing his finger against a piece of metal, watching it slowly spin away. He heard voices in his head, his friends demanding to know if he was dead. “I’m doing it,” he whispered in awe. “Hell yes! Suck on that, you stupid—”
Guardian fell the remaining distance to the ground, landing hard, metal clanging against the cement and bouncing away. “Ow,” he groaned against the floor. “Oh my freaking god, it hurts. Everything hurts. Lighthouse, Guardian is down. I repeat, Guardian is down and is grievously injured. Send a medic and potentially a priest to perform last rites!”
He rolled over onto his back, grimacing at the aches in his chest and knees. Above him, Pyro Storm appeared at the edge of the collapsed duct. Guardian waved at him weakly.
