Renegades (Renegades #1)(5)
Author: Marissa Meyer

 

Nova squinted at the boy. “She’s just going to rob someone else, you know.”

 

Ingrid’s voice buzzed in her ear. “Nightmare, who are you talking to? Who’s getting robbed?”

 

“—can hope it will make her rethink her options,” the boy was saying. His eyes met hers briefly, then dropped down to her closed fist. “Do you want help with that?”

 

Her fingers clenched tighter. “With what? The bracelet?”

 

He nodded and, before Nova realized what was happening, he had taken her hand and started peeling open her fingers. She was so stunned by the action that he had freed the bracelet from her grip before she thought to stop him. “When I was a kid,” he said, taking the copper-colored filigree into his fingers, “my mom used to always ask me to help with her brace—” He paused. “Oh. The clasp is broken.”

 

Nova, who had been scrutinizing his face with wary bewilderment, looked down at the bracelet. Her pulse skipped. “That little brat!”

 

“Nova?” crackled Ingrid’s voice. “Have you been compromised?”

 

Nova ignored her.

 

“It’s okay,” said the boy. “I can fix it.”

 

“Fix it?” She tried to snatch the bracelet away from him, but he pulled back. “You don’t understand. That bracelet, it isn’t … it’s…”

 

“No, trust me,” he said, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a fine-tip black marker. “This wrist, right?” He wrapped the bracelet around Nova’s wrist, and again, the sensation of such a rare, unexpected touch made her freeze.

 

Holding the bracelet with one hand, he uncapped the marker with his teeth and bent over her wrist. He began to draw onto her skin, in the space between the two ends of the broken bracelet. Nova stared at the drawing—two small links connecting the filigree and, between them, a delicate clasp, surprisingly ornate for a drawing made in marker, and perfectly matched to the style of the bracelet.

 

When he had finished, the boy capped the pen using his teeth again, then brought her wrist up closer to his face. He blew—a soft, barely there breath across the inside of her wrist that sent goose bumps racing up her arm.

 

The drawing came to life, rising up out of her skin and taking physical shape. The links merged with the ends of the bracelet, until Nova could not tell where the real bracelet ended and the forged clasp began.

 

No—that wasn’t entirely true. On closer inspection, she could see that the clasp he’d made was not quite the same coppery-gold color, but had a hint of rosiness to it, and even a faint line of blue where the drawing had crossed over one of the veins beneath her skin.

 

“What about the stone?” the boy said, turning her hand over and tapping his marker against the empty spot once intended for a precious gem.

 

“That was already missing,” stammered Nova.

 

“Want me to draw one anyway?”

 

“No,” she said, yanking her hand away. Her eyes lifted just in time to catch a flash of surprise, and she hastily added, “No, thank you.”

 

The boy looked about ready to insist, but then he stopped himself and smiled. “Okay,” he said, tucking his marker into his back pocket again.

 

Nova twisted her hand back and forth. The clasp held.

 

The boy’s smile took on a subtle edge of pride.

 

Obviously a prodigy. But was he also …

 

“Renegade?” she asked, making little effort to keep the suspicion from her tone.

 

“Renegade?” cried Ingrid. “Who are you talking to, Nova? Why aren’t you—”

 

The crowd burst into a new frenzy of hollers and applause, drowning out Ingrid’s voice. A series of fireworks shot upward from the parade float that had just emerged, exploding and shimmering to furious cheers from the people below.

 

“Looks like the headliners have arrived,” said the boy, somewhat disinterested as he glanced over his shoulder toward the float.

 

Phobia’s voice crackled. “West station, Nightmare. West station.”

 

Purpose jolted down Nova’s spine. “Roger.”

 

The boy turned back to her, a small wrinkle forming over the bridge of his glasses. “Adrian, actually.”

 

She took a step back. “I have to go.” She turned on her heel and pushed her way through a group of costumed Renegade supporters.

 

“Renegade trials, next week!” one of them said, shoving a piece of paper at her. “Open to the public! Come one, come all!”

 

Nova crumpled the flyer in her hand without looking at it and crammed it into her pocket. Behind her, she heard the boy yelling, “You’re welcome!”

 

She didn’t look back.

 

“Target now passing Altcorp,” said Phobia as Nova ducked into the shadows of an alleyway. “What’s your status, Nightmare?”

 

Nova checked that the alley was empty before lifting the lid of a dumpster and hauling herself up onto its edge. Her duffel bag greeted her, resting at the top of the heap.

 

“Just grabbing my things,” she said, snatching up the bag. She dropped back to the ground. The dumpster lid crashed shut. “I’ll be on the roof in two minutes.”

 

“Make it one,” said Phobia. “You have a superhero to kill.”

 

CHAPTER TWO

 

NOVA SLUNG THE BAG over her shoulder and reached for one of the weighted ropes she’d set up in the alley the night before. She wrapped her arm around the rope and untied the sailor’s knot from the weights holding it to the ground.

 

The weights attached to the opposite end dropped, dragging it through the pulley on the rooftop above. Nova jerked upward, holding tight as the rope whistled past the building’s concrete wall.

 

The second set of weights crashed into the ground below.

 

She stopped with a shudder, her hand only a few inches shy of the pulley, her body swinging six stories in the air. Nova threw her bag onto the rooftop, then grabbed the ledge and hauled herself over. She dropped down into a crouch and riffled through the bag, pulling out the uniform she had designed with Queen Bee’s help. She slung the weaponry belt across her hips, where it hung comfortably, outfitted with specially crafted pockets and hooks for all of her favorite inventions. Next, the snug black hooded jacket: waterproof and flame-retardant, yet lightweight enough to keep from inhibiting her movements. She zipped it up to her neck and tugged the sleeves past her knuckles before pulling up the hood, where a couple of small weights stitched into the hem held it in place over her brow.

 

The mask came last. A hard metallic shell perfectly molded to the bridge of her nose that disappeared into the high collar of the jacket, disguising the lower half of her face.

 

Transformation complete, she stooped and pulled the rifle and a single poisoned dart from the bag.

 

“Where are you, Nightmare?” Phobia rasped.

 

“I’m here. Almost in position.” She approached the edge of the building and looked down on the celebration below. It was quieter up here—the noise of the crowd dulled beneath the whistle of the wind and the hum of rooftop generators. The street was a mess of confetti and color, balloons and costumes, laughter and music and cheers.

 

Nova loaded the dart into the gun’s chamber.

 

Ingrid had concocted the plan, and it was beautiful in its simplicity. When she’d told the group, Winston had griped about not being included, but Phobia had sagely pointed out that Winston, who most people knew as the Puppeteer, wasn’t capable of keeping anything simple.

 

So it was only the three of them on the field today. They didn’t need the others. Nova had one dart handcrafted by Leroy Flinn, their own poisons master. She only needed one. If she missed, she wouldn’t get a second chance.

 

But she wouldn’t miss.

 

She would kill the Captain.

 

Once he was hit, Ingrid, the Detonator, would emerge from hiding and hit the Council’s parade float with as many of her signature bombs—made from a fusion of gasses in the air—as she could launch. Phobia would focus on Thunderbird, as she usually took to the air during a battle, giving her a frustratingly unfair advantage. They’d heard that Thunderbird was deathly afraid of snakes, which was one of his specialties. They were banking on the rumors to be true. Worst-case scenario: Phobia startled her long enough for Nova or Ingrid to take her down. Best-case: He gave her a midflight heart attack.

 

And that was it. The Council—the five original Renegades—all eradicated at once.

 

But it started with Nova getting past Captain Chromium’s supposed invincibility.

 

“Say … Nightmare?”

 

“I’m here, Detonator. Relax.”

 

“Yeah, I can see you up there. But I’m pretty sure Phobia wanted you at the west station?”