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.
Instinct and training buckled Nova’s knees. She dropped into a crouch, then swung one leg at Narcissa’s ankles. The girl cried out and fell backward, landing on her side with a yelp of pain. She tried to clamber back to her feet, but then her spine uncurled and she let out a shrill scream. She dropped the gun and clapped a hand onto her shoulder, barely missing the yellow-spotted wasp as it darted away from her fingertips. It landed on her black sneaker and had just begun to wriggle beneath the cuff of her jeans when Nova barked, “Honey, no! Let her be!”