Archenemies

by Marissa Meyer

  Inside the case were three rows of vials, each filled with a dark green liquid.

  “This,” said Joanna Hogan, “is Agent N. It is a neutralizing agent … hence the name. Here we have the substance in liquid form, which has a number of viable uses, but we have conducted successful experimentation with the agent in capsule form as well.” She pulled one vial from the case and held it up. “This vial, containing just ten milliliters of the agent, has the ability to swiftly and permanently remove the powers from any prodigy on this planet.”

  A murmur of surprise swept through the audience, and a few of the Renegades seated closest to the stage scooted their chairs away.

  Nova tried to disguise the shudder that worked its way through her shoulders. She felt Danna’s scrutiny on her but didn’t meet her gaze.

  “Don’t be alarmed,” said Joanna. “In liquid form, the solution must be imbibed orally or intravenously in order to be effective. You’re all quite safe.” She lowered her hand, cradling the vial in her clasped palms. “We see Agent N as a humanitarian consequence for those who defy regulations put forth by our Council. After you have been trained on proper usage of Agent N, we will begin to equip all patrol units with release devices. Once this is in your hands, anyone with extraordinary abilities who chooses to conduct themselves in an unlawful manner will no longer be tolerated. They will forfeit the privilege of being a prodigy.”

  The audience’s faces contorted in curiosity and subtle appreciation.

  Nova felt queasy, remembering how horrified she had felt after going into Max’s quarantine, when Adrian told her that Max could absorb the powers of others merely by being in their presence. When, for a moment, she thought she might no longer be a prodigy at all.

  To have your power taken away, against your will … wasn’t this a violation of prodigy rights, as much as any abuse they’d suffered before the Age of Anarchy? Ace had fought so hard to give all prodigies the freedom to reveal their powers without fear of persecution, but now the Renegades, the very people who should have been fighting on behalf of other prodigies, were determined to eradicate those who didn’t follow their code. Even though none of their new laws had ever been put to a vote or officially accepted by the people. Even though the Renegades had made themselves judge and jury, lawmakers and enforcers.

  Nova scanned the room, sure that she couldn’t be the only one who saw the hypocrisy here. To change a prodigy on such a fundamental level, to alter the essence of who they were, merely because they broke a rule that they had never agreed to in the first place? What about fair trials? What about due process?

  But all she saw around her were intrigued expressions.

  Until her gaze landed on Adrian. He, at least, seemed troubled. At some point he’d taken out his marker and started bouncing it nervously against his fingers.

  “Additionally,” Joanna continued, “we are enthusiastic about the opportunity to use Agent N as an alternate sentence for some of the inmates incarcerated at Cragmoor Penitentiary. To date, seven inmates have been neutralized as part of our testing process, and we will be assigning a committee to look at all Cragmoor residents on a case-by-case basis. Their criminal behavior has never been tolerated by the Renegades, and now we will ensure that it can never happen again.”

  A murmur of approval swept through the audience, but her words left Nova cold. This was the first anyone was hearing about Agent N, and yet, seven inmates had already been neutralized? By whose order? Under whose approval? Had there been trials set up? Were the inmates given any choice in the matter?

  Or had those seven victims been treated as nothing more than lab rats as the researchers perfected this new weapon? Had there been more inmates who had not been successfully neutralized and, if so, what had become of them?

  It had to be a violation of human rights, but … who cared about the rights of villains?

  Beside her, Adrian muttered something about Cragmoor beneath his breath. Nova cast him a curious look.

  Leaning toward her, he whispered, “I saw a transport truck outside earlier. I think they brought one of the prisoners here.”

  Nova had only vague memories of Anarchists who had been captured and put in Cragmoor before the Battle for Gatlon, and she assumed they were still there. The other Anarchists never talked about their lost allies and she had paid them little thought over the years.

  “I will now be giving a demonstration of Agent N. I think you’ll be pleased to see how simple and efficient it is. Please bring the subject to the stage.” Dr. Hogan gestured at the door the Captain had gone through. Blacklight stepped forward and pulled it open. Those in the front row craned their heads to see who would come through.

  “Our subject has been convicted and found guilty of numerous attacks on our citizens. He has used his abilities to brainwash innocent children, which has resulted in injuries sustained by countless individuals over the years.”

  Nova inhaled a sharp breath.

  She’d been wrong before. She did know someone who was being held at Cragmoor Penitentiary, after all.

  “He is a criminal who once served beside Ace Anarchy himself,” said Dr. Hogan, as Captain Chromium returned, hauling a prisoner at his side. “I introduce Winston Pratt … the Puppeteer.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  NOVA SLID LOWER into her seat as Winston was led onto the stage. He wore a black-and-white-striped prison jumper instead of his usual purple velvet suit, and there were chromium chains binding his ankles and wrists, but he was not fighting against his captor. His orange hair was matted and unbrushed, but his makeup remained—thick black liner around his eyes, rosy circles on the apples of his cheeks, and sharp lines drawn from the corners of his mouth down the sides of his jaw, reminiscent of a wooden marionette. It confirmed that, despite what Nova had assumed for all the years she’d known him, Winston did not wear makeup at all, but rather, his power had transformed his face into that of a puppet.

  Or, a puppet master.

  Nova tried to position herself so she would be hidden behind the Renegade in the next row while still being able to peer over his shoulder. The last thing she needed was for Winston to spot her in the crowd. She thought she could trust him, but she couldn’t be sure, and she hadn’t seen him since his interrogation months ago. He had not given her away then and had kept her secret since. Still, he might decide this was the perfect opportunity to give up her identity, perhaps in exchange for a pardon.

  It would be no worse than what she had done to him. At the parade, Nova had tossed him out of his own hot-air balloon, landing him in the hands of their enemies. She wouldn’t blame him if he decided to incriminate her now in order to save his own skin.

  Her knee started to bounce with mounting energy. Adrenaline surged through her system, preparing her to run at the first sign of Winston’s betrayal.

  But Winston did not look vengeful. He seemed delighted to be the center of attention in a room full of Renegades, with everyone gawking at him like curious attendees at a superhero convention.

  “What’s wrong?” Danna whispered.

  Nova started. “What?”

  Danna slid down in her chair until she and Nova were shoulder to shoulder. Danna was so much taller than her that the effect was comical. “Are we hiding from something?”

  Lips pursing, Nova scooted up again. “No,” she said—too defensively, she knew. “My uncle is always saying I need to work on my posture.”

  On the stage, Simon Westwood had removed the briefcase of Agent N and brought the stool front and center. Hugh Everhart clapped a hand on Winston’s shoulder and nudged him down onto the seat. Winston ignored them both, along with Dr. Hogan, who had recoiled when he passed by her. He was busy taking in the room with twinkling, merry eyes.

  “Oh, my Captain,” he said, in his squeaky, gleeful voice, “is this a party? For me?” He jingled his chains. “Is it my birthday?”

  Casting the prisoner a withering look, the Captain didn’t respond.

  Nova swallowed.
>
  To the side of the stage, Thunderbird whispered something into Blacklight’s ear, and the hint of a smile lifted one corner of his mouth. Something about that look made Nova’s blood run cold.

  Did they even see Winston as a human being? Or had he become nothing more than a science experiment to them? Just like Max, and how many others?

  Despite his easy prattle, Nova knew Winston well enough to tell that he was frightened. He was hiding it as well as he could, but buried deep behind his eyes was a bewildered, silent plea. For mercy. For rescue. For a way out of here.

  He must have known it was useless. Surrounded by Renegades, trapped in their headquarters, without a single ally …

  Nova shuddered.

  She was his ally.

  She was supposed to be his ally.

  But Winston was a fool who had ruined their mission at the parade and gotten himself caught. He was a bully who preyed on children, which had always struck her as too despicable even for an Anarchist.

  And yet, for all his faults, he had been loyal to Ace. He was on her team.

  She should do something.

  What could she do?

  What would Ace want her to do?

  Nothing, her mind whispered, and it sounded like Ace’s steady wisdom burbling to the surface of her scattered thoughts. He is not worth revealing your secret. Stay the course. Focus on your mission.

  Joanna Hogan took a syringe from the briefcase.

  Winston was not paying her any attention. “I can’t remember how old I am,” he said, tilting his head to one side. The chromium chains rattled as he brought his hands to his chest and drew an imaginary heart.

  Dr. Hogan clicked a vial of Agent N into the syringe.

  Nova gripped the seat beneath her thighs.

  “By golly,” said Winston, swinging his feet, “I am old, I think. And look at all of you Renegades, so sprightly and dewy-eyed. Why, you’re practically children! In fact…” He tilted forward, peering at someone in the front row. His grin turned mischievous. “Methinks you are a child, you wee little defender of justice.”

  Winston launched himself from the stool. One outstretched finger released a sparkling golden thread. The puppet string wrapped around the throat of a young Renegade and the boy cried out. Winston’s finger twitched and the boy charged for the stage.

  Nova jumped to her feet, but so did the rest of the audience, disrupting her view. With a growl, she stepped up onto her seat to see over their heads. Captain Chromium charged toward the boy, whose screams of fury could barely be heard over the sudden din.

  But onstage, Joanna Hogan was serene as she reached out and took hold of Winston’s arm. He glowered at her. His fingers curled and the Renegade boy who was under his control ran at Dr. Hogan, teeth bared and fingers curled like claws—a wild animal, ready to tear her into bite-size pieces and devour each one. He released a banshee scream and threw himself at the doctor, but Captain Chromium caught him seconds before he struck her. He pinned the child’s arms to his side, securing him tight.

  Winston Pratt smiled.

  Nova’s mouth ran dry.

  She spotted his second puppet before anyone else did—they were all so focused on the boy thrashing in the Captain’s arms.

  No one else noticed Magpie, the prodigy pickpocket. No one else saw her lift her palm. Two rows away from her, Stalagmight didn’t notice his iron hatchet being wriggled free from its sheath and flying into Magpie’s waiting hand. She raised the hatchet and charged at Tsunami. A Council member. Tsunami’s back was to her. No one would notice until it was too late.

  Nova stood frozen, unable to decide if she should try to stop Magpie or not. This was her objective too. Eliminate the Council. Destroy the Renegades. One less Council member would be a good thing—

  “No!”

  The scream was so close to Nova’s ear that for a moment she thought maybe it had come from her own mouth, but then Danna dissolved into a swarm of butterflies and soared over the audience.

  On the stage, surrounded by chaos, the doctor drove the needle into Winston’s arm and pressed in the plunger.

  Danna reformed just in time to grab Magpie’s wrist and haul her away from the Councilwoman. Magpie screamed as Danna bent her arm back so far she was forced to drop the hatchet. Tsunami spun around, eyes wide.

  Nova exhaled, but if it was relief she felt, it was short-lived. Danna, her arms locked around a flailing Magpie, was staring straight at her. Confused. And maybe, betrayed.

  Shivering, Nova looked away, her cheeks flushing hot. Had Danna been watching her? Did she know that Nova had seen the whole thing and done nothing to stop it?

  The uproar in the room suddenly changed as the screeching from Winston’s first puppet fell silent. From her vantage point on the chair, Nova saw the thin golden strings that were connecting the two young Renegades to Winston’s fingers snap and disintegrate.

  Winston studied his hands, flexing his fingers in surprise. Small wrinkles formed in the dark paint around his eyes. His breath became erratic. His jaw began to tremble. A low, distressed wail crawled out from between his lips.

  “N-no,” he stammered, his voice coated in terror. “What is this? What have you done?”

  The dark eyeliner began to bleed.

  Nova clapped a hand to her mouth. It was makeup, or at least it appeared so now, its inky blackness dripping down his face in thick, gloppy tears. It mingled with the rosy splotches on his cheeks and soon all his features were melting black and red. Even his porcelain-pale whiteness began to fade, oozing down the sides of his face and onto the collar of his striped jumpsuit.

  Winston let out another wail. Those who were onstage took a collective step back. Dr. Hogan seemed enthralled as she watched Winston’s transformation. Everyone else seemed wary, even afraid.

  Winston regarded his curled fingers, shivering. Nova wondered what he was seeing, or not seeing. Feeling, or not feeling.

  He started to sob. Huge tears dripped down through the mess on his cheeks. He turned his head and rubbed his nose on his shoulder. The striped fabric came away stained with black and red smudges. When his head lifted again, Nova could see that the lines on his chin were gone. His skin was sallow and tinted faintly blue. He continued to cry, inspecting his hands in disbelief, and he must have known—whatever he felt, whatever he could sense occurring within his body—he must have known the truth.

  He was no longer a prodigy. No longer a villain. No longer the Puppeteer.

  And despite having never much liked Winston Pratt, Nova could not ignore the twinge of pity that ran through her.

  What would become of him now?

  As her thoughts roiled, someone in the audience began to clap. Then another joined in. And soon the room was applauding while Winston Pratt sobbed on the stage.

  The experiment had been a success, and they were all beginning to realize what that meant. For the Renegades. For the world.

  And for the Anarchists.

  With a substance like this at the Renegades’ disposal, how long before the Anarchists were annihilated? The Renegades wouldn’t even have to compromise their own morals. They wouldn’t be killing anyone, only taking away their powers.

  The room began to right itself. With the villain neutralized, the Renegades returned to their seats. The two kids who had been taken over by the Puppeteer were led away from the room by one of the healers.

  Nova started to step down from the chair, but then her gaze landed on Winston again and she froze.

  He was staring at her—apparently more distressed than surprised to see her.

  One knee buckled. She stumbled forward, but Adrian caught her by the elbow.

  “Are you all right?”

  She blinked. In all the commotion, she’d forgotten he was beside her. Yanking her arm away, she dropped into her seat, trying to hide herself from Winston’s view.

  “Just dandy,” she muttered.

  Winston was hauled from the stage by two security guards. Though he had been walk
ing on his own feet when the Captain had brought him in before, now his entire body was limp, like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

  Nova did not sit up again until the door shut between them. How would he be able to cope with such a change? They had stripped him not just of his power, but his identity. If he could no longer be the Puppeteer, who was he? What was he?

  And those same questions would be forced upon everyone who became a victim of Agent N.

  Did the Council truly believe they had the right to decide who should be allowed to be a prodigy, and who shouldn’t?

  Once the crowd had settled, Tamaya Rae stepped up to the microphone. “Thank you for that powerful demonstration, Joanna. Beginning next week, all active patrol units will be required to receive a minimum of thirty hours of dedicated Agent N training, where you will learn the most effective means of administering the substance, as well as how to protect yourself and your teammates from becoming victim to its effects yourselves. We are preparing a press release to inform the media about Agent N and how it will be used to further protect the people of this city and ensure justice. At that time, all units who have completed the necessary training will be equipped with an emergency supply of Agent N, to be used as a defensive measure against any prodigy who demonstrates an act of violence against a Renegade or civilian, or who demonstrates willful defiance of the code.”

  “Without a trial?” Nova whispered. “They’re giving us the power to just … use this stuff, against anyone we feel like, no evidence of a crime required?” She shook her head. “How can that be within their code?”

  Adrian was watching her. She dared to meet his gaze, unable to hide her disgust. Adrian said nothing, but she thought she saw her worries mirrored in his face.

  “Additionally,” Tamaya continued, “any prodigy who is currently wanted for recent transgressions is to be neutralized on sight, including all known members of the Anarchist villain group, and, as we have not yet found a body confirming his death, this includes the vigilante known as the Sentinel as well.”