He waved his wristband over a scanner, and Nova heard the locks clunking. Callum shoved the door open with his shoulder.
“And this,” he said, lifting both arms like a circus director revealing a grand spectacle, “is the vault.”
Nova stepped in beside him. The door slammed shut.
The vault was enormous, taking up the entire fourteenth floor of the building, and broken up only by structural support columns and row upon row of industrial shelving. It was cold concrete and steel and fluorescent overhead lights, one of which was flickering in the corner of Nova’s vision.
Yet her breath caught all the same.
“Is that … the Shield of Serenity?” she asked, pointing.
“Oh, you’re a fan!” Callum bounced toward the shelf and lifted the shield as tenderly as a priceless vase. “The one and only. Donated by Serenity herself. Almost pristine condition, except this dent back here.” He flipped it over to show Nova. “An intern dropped it a few years ago. Not me, I swear!” He lowered his voice into a conspiratorial whisper. “But if anyone ever asks, the damage was totally incurred in battle.”
Returning the shield to its spot, Callum began walking along the aisle. “The vault is organized by category. Did Tina show you the binder? It’s all in there. Within each category, every object is given a number and shelved in order. Except weapon types, those are alphabetical, then by object number. So all the swords, scimitars, and spears are grouped together in the weapons section, but over here in artifacts, a chalice might be in a completely different aisle from, say, a chain-mail suit. Unless they were input into the system together, in which case, they would have back-to-back object numbers. Seems confusing, but you’ll get the hang of it.”
“Is there really a chalice?” said Nova.
Callum spun to her but kept walking backward as his arms flailed. “Yes! The Widow’s Cup. Put a marriage band in it, and it automatically turns any wine into poison. Awesome, right? Don’t be fooled by the gender-specific title, it works on wives too.” He shook his head. “I would love to know how they figured some of this stuff out.”
He headed down a central aisle, with rows of shelves stretching away from them, going so deep into the building Nova couldn’t see where they ended. She followed in his footsteps, trying to ignore the mask digging into her spine.
Callum recited the various categories as they strolled. “Body armor here, and costumes on this side. You know, iconic capes, masks, color-coordinated belt-and-boots sets, stuff like that. Lots of nostalgia. When you have a chance, you should definitely check out Gamma Ray’s jumpsuit. It is a work of art.”
Nova spotted a mannequin wearing Boilerplate’s unmistakable armor and another donning Blue Ninja’s original costume, which was, Nova noted, actually more of a seafoam green.
Callum continued, “This way we have protective artifacts, most notably Magnetron’s Shield. Behind those ominous doors,” he said, pointing at a pair of fortified chromium doors in the far wall, “is the official armory. Sounds impressive, but it’s mostly basic weaponry. A sword that’s just a sword, a crossbow that’s just a crossbow. No extra powers, but still useful for a lot of Renegades. That’s also where we keep the heavier artillery, like guns and bombs, et cetera. And…” He swooped his arms up. “… what you’ve all been waiting for! Our supernatural, prodigy-specific, largely historic collection of fine artifacts. We’ve got power-bestowing earrings. Boxing gloves equipped with superstrength. A lightning-charged trident. And oh, so much more. It’s a treasure trove of awe and amazement. Including my personal favorite—Sultan’s Scimitar, said to be able to slice through absolutely any material on this planet, excepting only the invincible Captain Chromium.”
He shot Nova a grin and she couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not, so she smiled wryly back. “Has anyone tried?”
His smile fizzled into uncertainty, and Nova turned away before he could decide if she was joking or not. She saw a pile of bones on a nearby shelf—though she couldn’t tell the animal it came from—and a shallow bronze dish on another. Down one aisle she spotted a set of golden wrist cuffs. On the next, a stone wheel that was as tall as Nova.
Walking through the warehouse felt like walking through a comprehensive museum of prodigy history, and yet she couldn’t help being annoyed by Callum’s infatuation with the objects surrounding them. He wasn’t even trying to hide how enamored he was with it all, and he seemed just as impressed with the silver shovel that held the power to liquefy solid earth as he was with a brush that painted secrets into portraits, and had gotten one unlucky artist burned at the stake in the seventeenth century.
She assumed, as they made their way through the vault, that Callum wasn’t a prodigy. Only civilians were this excited by superpowers or supernatural objects. Plus, he wasn’t wearing a uniform. She wondered if perhaps it had seemed safer to give the job of maintaining such powerful objects to someone who wouldn’t be able to wield most of them, even if he tried.
“So, what do you do here?” asked Nova, once Callum had finished telling her about the fifteenth-century prodigy who had single-handedly defended an entire village from raiding conquerors using nothing but his powers of flora manipulation and a branch taken from a willow tree. (The branch could be found two aisles over.) “Prodigy historian?”
“Might as well be,” he said, chuckling. “But no. I mostly do cataloging, cleaning, researching, sorting, filing … whatever Snapshot needs done.”
“I’d like to help with all of that,” Nova said, working up her enthusiasm. “I’m really fascinated by this stuff and I want to learn as much as I can. Snapshot said I’d start working the checkout counter, but eventually I’d like to do more back here. Cataloging, cleaning … I can do it all.”
“That sounds great,” said Callum, clapping his hands together. “Manning the checkout counter can get tedious. Except, sometimes, a Renegade might not know exactly what they’re looking for, or what weapons are going to suit their specific abilities, and then we get to help them figure out the best options, and that can be really cool, too. You learn a lot about the superheroes we have here.” His eyes shone as he gestured at Nova. “I’m glad you like artifacts, too, because it could seem a little slow down here after being on patrols, and ambushing the Librarian, and fighting the Detonator, and everything you’ve done. This is going to be a much more laid-back experience, though also really fulfilling.”
“That sounds perfect.”
“Cool.” Callum lifted his thumb back toward the reception area. “Let’s get you settled in, and maybe see what sort of stuff Magpie brought us.”
“Wait,” said Nova, scanning the back wall of the vault. “What’s down there?”
“Ah, that’s the restricted collection.”
Nova’s nerves hummed. “Restricted, how?”
“As in, not available to be checked out.” Callum tucked his hands into his pockets. “Want to see?”
Nova spun back to him. “That’s allowed?”
“Oh yeah. We can’t loan this stuff out, but we still have to come back and dust it from time to time. Come on.” He led her into the last aisle.
The shelves were sparser than the rest of the vault. Heart drumming, Nova scanned the objects as Callum started rambling on about the destructive qualities of Fury Fire, and how Dark Matter’s ring could theoretically blow up the moon if put in the wrong hands, and how a prophetic pair of goggles had already caused more trouble than they were worth.
“This is … amazing,” said Nova, and she meant it. “But why isn’t all this under more security? So far I’ve just seen you, and Snapshot, and two locked doors, and”—she gestured at a camera on the ceiling—“a handful of security cameras. Where are the laser barricades? The motion triggers? The armed guards?”
“Please. We’re in Renegade Headquarters.” He spread his arms wide. “Who would try to break in here?”
She gawked at him. “Really? That’s…”
Arrogant, she wanted to say. Asinine. Completely, unrealistically overconfident.
But she reeled in her thoughts just in time. “Uh … right,” she stammered. “That’s right. Renegade HQ.” She laughed awkwardly. “Who would ever try to break in here?”
“And given that the vast majority of objects are available for rent—” Callum shrugged. “There’s no need for the added protection. The folks up in the security center keep a close enough eye on us down here.” He saluted the camera.
“I’m sure they do,” said Nova, meandering away from him. She ran her fingers over the shelves that, frankly, didn’t seem to have been dusted in recent history.
But there was no sign of Ace’s helmet.
Her shoulders drooped.
“Is the restricted section not meeting expectations?”
She spun around. Callum was watching her, holding a pair of antique aviator goggles in one hand. “Prophetic goggles,” he said emphatically. “Come on. How can that be disappointing?”
“Sorry,” said Nova. “I was just…” Inhaling a sharp breath, she confessed, “I heard a rumor that Ace Anarchy’s helmet was in here. I thought it would be cool to see it in person. And not, you know, on the Captain’s pike half a block away.”
“Oh,” said Callum, setting down the goggles. “That’s a replica, actually. The one he carries around at the parade? Total fake. The real one’s down here, but if you weren’t impressed by the goggles, you are going to be really disappointed by the helmet.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll show you.” He breezed past her.
Nova’s eyes widened. It could not be that easy.
Halfway down the aisle, Callum paused in front of a metal cube sitting on a shelf. “Ta-da,” he said, thumping its top. The cube was roughly the size of a small microwave. “I give you Ace Anarchy’s helmet.”