The sounds of darts peppering the targets thumped in Adrian’s ears.
“Try to think outside the box. How can your abilities make more efficient use of Agent N?”
“I could dip my tail in the serum,” said a nasally voice. Raymond Stern, or Stingray—one of Genissa’s team members. “It would pierce an enemy as easily as a dart would.”
“Good, good,” said Thunderbird. “That’s an excellent point. Though I think it will be most prudent to stick with the darts for now as, of course, if you happened to have even a small cut on your tail it could become infected with the serum, and we wouldn’t want that.”
“Wouldn’t we?” Nova muttered.
Adrian shot her a knowing smile.
“Anyone else have any thoughts on using Agent N cohesively with your powers?”
“I could tip an ice spear with it,” said Frostbite. She pulled her gun’s trigger and sent a projectile into the face of the Rat—a long-dead Anarchist. “Or freeze an enemy’s feet to the floor, holding them immobile while we administer the shot.”
“Very good,” said Thunderbird.
Nova lowered her gun and spun away from the targets. “Except,” she said, practically yelling, “if you can freeze someone’s feet to the floor and render them immobile, then they’re no longer a threat and there’s no longer any need to administer Agent N. In that case, the prodigy should be arrested and put under trial.” She turned fiery eyes on the Councilwoman. “Right?”
Thunderbird nodded calmly, unfazed. “You are correct, Insomnia. But for the purposes of this exercise, I only want ideas for how one might use their powers with relation to this new tool. I would rather not edit our suggestions quite yet.”
“And how will your power be utilized?” said Frostbite, smirking at Nova. “Maybe you can invite your opponent over for a slumber party and wait for them to fall asleep before injecting them? It’s a bit time-consuming, but we all have to play to our strengths.”
Beside her, Trevor snickered. “Maybe her boyfriend can draw her a slingshot.”
“Good idea,” snapped Ruby. “That way we can all watch Nova slingshot one of the darts straight into your eye.”
“That’s enough,” said Thunderbird, her glare slicing through them. “I want each of you to spend the next few days considering the question, and we’ll discuss it further at the next session. In the meantime, let’s keep practicing with the targets.”
As the teams returned their attention to the shooting range, Adrian stared at Genissa’s group, puzzled. He knew they were just trying to get a reaction out of Nova, who had humiliated Trevor during the trials, but still. Everyone here knew that Nova was one of the best shots of all the patrol units. Her talent with weaponry was unmatched, and her inventions had helped them time and again. Hell, she’d been the one to take out the Detonator! Were they really still under the impression that Nova, of all people, wasn’t worthy of being a Renegade?
Shaking his head, he lifted his gun and again focused on the poster of Hawthorn. He tried to call on his angry feelings—how frustrated he had been when she got away with those drugs, how embarrassed he’d felt when she dumped him into the river, and right in front of Nova too.
Not that Nova knew it was him. But a small part of him still hoped that someday he would be able to tell her the truth.
He was imagining Hawthorn’s smug face and preparing to pull the trigger when a dart struck the board just above Hawthorn’s shoulder.
Ruby huffed. “So close.”
Adrian smiled. Clearly he wasn’t the only one holding a grudge.
“Hey, you guys know about that gala that’s coming up?” said Oscar. He was perched on the short wall that divided the range from the shooters, passing the handgun from palm to palm, apparently uninterested in actually shooting it.
“Of course,” said Ruby, without lowering her gun. She took another shot. “It’s like the whole organization is going.”
Oscar scratched his ear. “Yeah, I heard it’s turning out to be this real swanky affair. And now, with the fund-raiser auction, it’s like … for a good cause and stuff.” Oscar took out the magazine from his gun, flipped it over a few times, then clipped it back in. “I was thinking it might be fun if we all went together. I heard we can bring family, too, so I thought I’d mention it to my mom, and…” He glanced up, quickly, then back down. Ruby’s attention was glued to the targets, but Adrian caught the look. The fidgeting, the nerves. “I thought maybe you could bring your brothers too, Ruby.”
This, finally, brought Ruby’s head swiveling toward him. “My brothers?”
“Yeah,” said Oscar. “You’ve said how much they wish they were Renegades, right? They might think it’s cool to rub elbows with some of the patrols. Adrian could introduce them to his dads, they could listen to us all talk shop for a while.” He shrugged. “It could be fun for them.”
Ruby studied him for a long time before saying, carefully, “You’re talking about going to a swanky gala … and you think I should bring my brothers?”
Oscar blinked at her. “I like being inclusive?”
Ruby turned to the targets and went to take another shot, but her gun clicked, empty.
“And maybe Nova could invite her uncle?” suggested Oscar.
Nova let out a peal of laughter. “He’s not the gala type.”
“Oh. But … you’ll go?” asked Oscar.
Nova pulled back and Adrian could sense the emphatic no building on her tongue, but then she hesitated. Their eyes met and he saw indecision there. A question. A … hope?
“I’ll think about it,” said Nova.
“Okay,” said Oscar, checking his wristband. “Does anyone know when we get to break for lunch?”
“Maybe,” said Ruby, “after we’ve actually practiced.”
Oscar inspected the gun. He seemed about as enthusiastic about learning to use a new weapon as Adrian was.
“Come on,” said Adrian, raising his gun again. “I’ll buy you a pizza if you hit a bull’s-eye before I do.”
Ten seconds later, he owed Oscar a pizza.
Adrian groaned.
“Okay, I can’t take it,” said Nova, setting her gun down. “I’m teaching you how to do this.”
Adrian chuckled and shook his head at her. “Honestly, Nova, I’ve had some of the best Renegade trainers here try to teach me. It’s just not in my skill set.”
“Oh, please. It’s not that hard.” She came to stand beside him and took the gun from his hand. “You know what the sights are?”
He gave her an annoyed look.
“It’s a legitimate question, given that you apparently don’t use them,” she said. “We’re starting with the basics here.”
“Do you know how many times I’ve drawn a handgun?” he said. “I must have practiced it a thousand times when I first started on patrols. So, yes, I know what the sights are. And the hammer, the barrel, the cylinder … all of it. I understand how gunpowder works and the physics of propulsion. I know how guns work. I’m just not very good at getting the bullet to hit what I’m trying to hit.”
“Okay, smart guy.” Nova returned the gun to him, handle first. “Show me what you’re doing.”
He groaned. “You really don’t have to do this.”
“So you’re okay being mediocre?” She clicked her tongue, disappointed.
He scowled at her, but it was competing with a smile. “What am I aiming at, oh wise teacher?”
“That bull’s-eye,” she said. “The close one.”
“Oh, the close one,” he said. “You’re already setting your expectations low.”
“No, you already set my expectations low. Now stop talking and shoot.”
His lips twisted, but he conceded her point. He lifted the gun and fired.
He heard the dart hit something, but whatever it was, it surely wasn’t the bull’s-eye.
“Okay, for starters,” said Nova, “you need to relax. You tense up when you shoot.”
“Of course I
tense up. It’s loud and … loud.”
“You need to relax,” she repeated. “And hold the gun like this, straight up and down. You’re not a cowboy.” She folded her hands around his, locking the gun’s handle between them.
Adrian swallowed. Her hands were smaller than his, but there was a confidence in her touch that surprised him. She’d always seemed so unsure when it came to physical contact … but maybe that was one more thing he’d only imagined.
“Like this,” Nova said, lifting his arms so they were parallel to the floor. Her cheek was against his shoulder now. “And widen your stance. You want strong, stable legs.”
He planted his feet, though his legs didn’t feel strong and stable. If anything, the closer she was, the weaker his limbs became.
“Do you ever think about aiming?” she asked.
“Of course I aim.”
“Could have fooled me.”
His eyes skipped toward hers.
She was smiling, teasing him. Then her lashes fluttered in surprise and she backed away, putting a couple of inches between them.
“I think that’s your problem,” she said, turning toward the targets. “You like to take in the whole world. But you need to stop and focus. In the moment you squeeze the trigger, nothing should exist except you and your target. Here, try again. This time, ignore everything else. Just focus on that one target.”
As he lined up the target in his sights, Nova moved behind him, pressing one hand to his back while the other wrapped around his on the grip. “It’s an extension of your arm,” she said. “Like … like your marker.”
He chuckled. “It’s nothing like my marker.”
“Don’t argue with me.”
His smile broadened.
“Imagine your arms absorbing the kickback,” Nova continued, “and sending all that energy through your feet and into the ground. That will help keep your body loose so you don’t tense up every time you fire.”
But he couldn’t think of anything beyond the closeness of her. Her hand between his shoulder blades. Her arm grazing his. He found himself wanting to stall. Wanting to draw out this moment just a little longer. He inhaled and it carried a bit of a shiver with it.
He felt her go still.
“Whenever—” Her voice scratched and she cleared her throat. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“Am I supposed to be shooting something?” Adrian whispered, startling her.
“The target,” she said dryly. “Ignore everything else.”
He turned his head enough that he could meet her eyes again. “You want me to ignore everything else?”
She held his gaze, but her confidence was swept away. He watched as color bloomed across her cheeks. Great skies, she was beautiful.
Adrian gulped and looked away. He gripped the gun even tighter, found the target, and fired. But he forgot to set up his stance. Forgot to relax his shoulders. Forgot to focus.
The dart went wide.
He grinned sheepishly, stepping back until they were no longer touching. “Like I said, I’m hopeless.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
NOVA STOMPED DOWN the back alley behind the dilapidated row houses, hands clenched at her sides.
What was wrong with Adrian? She was doing her best to flirt with him, and making a complete fool of herself in the process. She couldn’t possibly be any more obvious. But either Adrian was the most oblivious boy this side of the Stockton Bridge, or—
Her teeth gritted.
She really hated that or, and she found herself growing more livid every time she thought of it.
Or … Adrian just wasn’t interested in her anymore. Maybe Nova had lost her chance when she’d run away from him at the carnival.
Ace had told her to stay close to Adrian Everhart, and she was doing her best. She understood the reasons behind it. She knew that Adrian’s trust could lead to a weakness in his fathers. Which was precisely why it was so infuriating every time he turned away from her, or avoided eye contact, or dodged her touch. Again and again.
It was making her mission more difficult. She hated that.
Her annoyance had nothing to do with the sting she felt in her chest every time Adrian proved that what he’d once felt for her was over.
And, apparently, her best efforts weren’t going to bring it back.
A flash of gold fluttered in the corner of her vision and Nova froze. A monarch butterfly was flitting around a patch of ironweed that had gone rampant in one of the neighbors’ neglected yards.
Nova’s pulse thrummed as she watched the insect dither over one purple bloom before moving to another, methodical in its hunt for nectar. Her feet, still sporting her Renegade-issued boots, were cemented to the alley’s cracked asphalt. She told herself that she wasn’t afraid—her, Nova Artino, afraid of a butterfly? But the gooseflesh on her arms suggested otherwise. What if Danna had been watching her today when Nova had taken the vial of Agent N? She’d been careful, but had she been careful enough?
The butterfly moved to the stand of plants on the other side of the garden. A swallow trilled from a power line overhead. Nova almost hoped the bird would soar down and snatch the butterfly into its beak, because then she wouldn’t have to worry about whether or not the creature was really one of Danna’s spies.
She wouldn’t have to spend the rest of the day wondering whether Danna was following her.
She wouldn’t be terrified that Danna had already discovered her secret.
She was beginning to contemplate the odds of the butterfly staying put long enough for her to run into the house and find something to capture it with when the creature finished its meal and took off, flittering up and over the row house and toward the next road.
At least it was flying away from headquarters.
It was probably just an ordinary butterfly, she told herself. Nothing to worry about.
Nova trudged the rest of the way toward her own weed-infested yard, ignoring the deafening buzz of Honey’s beehives as she stomped into the shadow of the crumbling row house. Her hands shook as she yanked open the sliding glass door and trudged into the dingy kitchen. They continued to tremble as she unclasped the buckle of her utility belt. She dropped it onto the counter beside a coffeepot half full of long-cold coffee and an assortment of vials and beakers, remnants of Leroy’s latest work.
She tore off the wristband next and tossed it onto the table where a plain gray vase sat forgotten. A bouquet of flowers that had once flourished at the tip of Adrian’s marker now stood shriveled, the dead, papery heads hanging forlornly from their stems.
Her heart jolted even now, but this time it wasn’t with sorrow, but resentment.
Damn Adrian Everhart.
It had been more than a month since he had come to this house and drawn her those flowers. When he asked her to go to the carnival with him, on a date that wasn’t a date. Weeks in which her heart had jolted a tiny bit every time she passed that bouquet, every day draining the color from their petals, until they formed one more sad, dejected still-life in this sad, dejected house.
Though, to be fair, the house had become a lot less dejected under Honey Harper’s ministrations. She had embraced their new home with singular devotion, giving Nova the impression that Honey was actually living out some fantasy of homemaking she’d held on to for years, but had kept deeply buried. It was always clear how much Honey hated living in the tunnels, away from flowers and sunshine and breezes. They had been trapped for years, unable to abandon Ace as his health failed him, or to risk making the Renegades suspicious of their activities by moving somewhere closer to civilization.
But since they were forced from their home—away from the tunnels and the cathedral and Ace—it had become clear that Honey, at least, was flourishing with the change. She had spent her weeks merrily toiling away at their new abode, often singing show tunes at the top of her lungs as she worked. Their furniture had been aired out, the floors had been scrubbed, and while the offensive paisley wallpaper still hung in the
living room, at least the cobwebs had been swept away. Nova had been surprised at the vigilance with which Honey had attacked the grime throughout the house, and how she hadn’t once heard her complain about a broken nail or calloused fingers. When she’d mentioned that to Honey, she received a knowing wink in return and the sage observation that “A true queen is made not in times of prosperity, but in times of hardship.”
Nova kicked off her boots into a corner of the front room. Leroy was reading a newspaper by the window, where he had hung a mustard-yellow blanket for privacy. Honey despised that blanket and had tried multiple times to replace it with lightweight sheers, but on this, Leroy was firm, insisting that they needed privacy more than beauty. The daylight that filtered through the blanket made the room feel sickly, as if the walls themselves were suffering from late-stage jaundice.
It was Honey’s least favorite room in the house.
A headline at the top of Leroy’s paper read PRODIGY DRUG-THIEF “HAWTHORN” STILL AT LARGE.
But when Leroy lowered the paper, Nova could see he’d been reading the comics pages.
“Rough day, Insomnia?” His reading glasses dropped to the end of his scarred nose, revealing the ring of discolored skin around one eye.
The other Anarchists had all taken to calling her this lately. Insomnia—her Renegade alias. At first it had irked her, but now she didn’t think they were using the name to be mocking. Rather, it was a reminder, always, of what she was doing with the Renegades. She was a spy. A detective. A weapon.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Reaching into her sleeve, Nova retrieved the vial of Agent N she had taken from the training hall and tossed it to Leroy. He made no effort to catch it, letting it bounce off his chest and land in his lap. He folded the paper and picked up the vial, inspecting the liquid. The solution sloshed thickly as he tipped the vial from side to side. “Terrifying stuff.”
“Most patrol units will have finished their training by the end of next week. They’ll start equipping us with it then. We’ll need to be extra careful.”
Archenemies Page 18
