Hugh Everhart extended a hand toward her, the other clutching a wooden spoon. “Nova, it was a nice surprise to hear you’d be joining us.”
She held her breath as she shook his hand, wondering first if her power would work against the invincible Captain Chromium.
Wondering second at what point Adrian had come up to inform his dads he had a guest. Was that before or after she had unofficially stayed the night?
Hugh gestured toward the bar, where Simon Westwood was chopping carrots into thin sticks.
“It’s just about done,” said Hugh, “but feel free to grab a snack while you wait.”
Simon nudged a plate in her direction, loaded with cherry tomatoes and strips of raw bell pepper. Nova’s attention, however, went to the massive chef’s knife in his hand. Then she took in his blue-checkered apron, which was so opposite of anything she’d ever imagined the Dread Warden would wear that for a moment she thought she might be dreaming. This was what dreams were like, right? Ridiculous and absurd and utterly implausible?
When she thought of these two superheroes, she always pictured them in the midst of a battle, usually one in which she was discovering some clever way to kill them both at once. Never had she pictured them at home, doing something as mundane as cooking dinner together.
“Adrian,” said Hugh, dumping the carrots onto the tray, “could you run down and grab another can of tomatoes from the pantry?”
“Sure,” said Adrian. Picking up a carrot stick, he crunched it in half as he pushed himself away from the bar. He shot Nova a quick, encouraging smile before he disappeared back through the door.
“The pantry is at the far end of the hall,” Simon said, arranging the vegetables on the plate. It took Nova a moment to realize he was talking to her. “Kind of a pain when you forget something halfway through a recipe. We keep meaning to clean out the broom closet”—he jutted his chin toward a narrow closed door—“and convert it into the new pantry, but somehow it always gets filled back up with superhero stuff.”
Nova’s thoughts were racing so fast she could barely understand him. Pantry? Canned tomatoes?
She tried to relax her shoulders. To even her breathing. To admit to herself that an attack was not imminent.
But she took a subtle side step to be closer to the block of knives, anyway. Just in case.
“I’m afraid this meal isn’t going to be up to our usual standards, at least for when we have a special guest,” said Hugh. He was standing over the stove, stirring a bubbling red sauce. “But it’s been a long day for us both, and we weren’t expecting to come home to company.” He looked sideways at Nova, his eyes twinkling almost mischievously.
“I wasn’t expecting to be served a homemade meal at all,” Nova said, her attention skipping from the tomato sauce to the colander of steaming spaghetti noodles in the sink to a skillet full of cooked ground beef.
“I hope you like Italian,” said Hugh. “You’re not vegetarian, are you?”
She shook her head and watched as he scraped the meat into the sauce.
“I love Italian food,” she said, trying to match their unprecedented normalcy. “My dad was Italian, and my mom used to cook pasta for us all the time because he liked it so much. It was never her specialty, though. Not as good as her lumpia.”
“Oh, I love lumpia,” said Hugh, more enthusiastically than the comment warranted.
Nova bit the inside of her cheek, almost willing him to read her thoughts. My dad, my mom—who aren’t here anymore. Who believed so strongly that you would come, that you would protect them. Who taught me to believe you would protect us.
But Hugh just went on stirring the pot, his expression serene.
“Where did McLain come from?” said Simon, startling her. “If your dad was Italian.”
Her heart hammered. She’d forgotten. She was not Nova Artino, not here. She was Nova Jean McLain. “Uh … my … grandfather,” she stammered. “Paternal grandfather. He was Scottish, but … lived in Italy. For a while.”
Simon made a noise of mild interest. A polite noise. A noise for trivial small talk.
Had she fooled them? Or were they trying to lure her off her guard?
Despite how cheerful they were both acting, she could see that Hugh had bruise-tinged shadows beneath his eyes and the start of stubble on his usually clean-shaven jaw. Simon, too, seemed less spirited than usual.
“Are you both okay?” she said.
Simon chuckled and he and Hugh shared a commiserating look. “Adrian told us you slept for a long time last night,” he said, sweeping the carrot tops into his palm and dumping them into the sink on the other side of the bar. “I suppose he didn’t tell you the news?”
“News?”
The door behind her swung open and Adrian emerged, holding a can of diced tomatoes like a trophy. “Mission accomplished.”
“Thanks, Adrian,” said Hugh, taking the can from Adrian. Instead of using a can opener, he dug his fingernails into the edge of the can and peeled back the aluminum top. He dumped the contents into the sauce. “Simon was just telling Nova about the Sentinel.”
She and Adrian both stilled.
“The Sentinel?” she asked.
“Yep,” Simon said darkly. “He’s alive.”
Adrian scowled. It surprised Nova. For all the times he’d heard her complain about the Sentinel, he’d never said anything negative about the vigilante himself. At least, not that she could recall. She’d had a sneaking suspicion that he sort of admired the guy.
“Right,” said Adrian. “I guess I should have mentioned something. It’s all over the news right now.”
Nova blinked at him. His tone was odd—evasive.
Simon slid off his stool and came around the bar, passing in front of Nova. She caught sight of the knife in his hand and every muscle tightened. She clawed her fingers, targeting the exact patch of skin she would use to knock him unconscious.
He grabbed a towel from the counter and started to wipe off the blade.
“Excuse me,” he said, turning back to her.
Nova started in surprise. “Right, sorry,” she said, easing away from him.
He dropped the knife into the block with the others.
She tried to disentangle the knot in her stomach, irritated with her own overreaction. “So … how do we know he’s alive?”
“He had a run-in with one of our patrol units. Do you know Frostbite and her team?” Simon caught himself and chuckled, but without much humor. “Of course you do. The trials. Anyway—they were sent after Hawthorn. We finally had some solid leads about where to find her, and … well. They found her.” A muscle twitched beneath his beard.
“And?” said Nova.
“They got there in time to see the Sentinel torturing her—crushing some of her limbs.”
Nova reeled back. “What?”
Beside her, Adrian picked up a carrot stick and jabbed it hard into a bowl of dip.
“When he realized the Renegades were there, he murdered Hawthorn, right before their eyes. Then he attacked them.”
Nova peered at Adrian, in part for confirmation, but he was glowering at the counter.
“Let me guess,” she said. “He got away. Again.”
“It’s one more reminder that he is not to be underestimated,” said Simon.
Nova exhaled. “But why would he attack Hawthorn like that? Why not tie her up and leave her for the Renegades, like all those criminals he’s caught before?”
“We think it might have been a revenge killing,” said Hugh. “Because she embarrassed him on that barge.”
“Are we sure we can take Frostbite’s word for all of this?” said Adrian, snapping another carrot between his fingers. “It seems a little far-fetched if you ask me.”
“We’ve recovered Hawthorn’s body,” said Simon. “We’ve seen the destruction from the battle with the Sentinel. The story checks out.”
Adrian opened his mouth to say something more, but hesitated. Still glaring, he chomped down
on the carrot.
Nova crossed her arms over her chest. The Sentinel being alive drummed up a whole parade of feelings she’d forgotten about since she’d watched him sink in the river. He had been determined to find Nightmare. More determined than anyone.
Hopefully he believed she was dead as much as the Renegades did.
They carried the food to a breakfast nook. Nova let Adrian sit down first before sliding in beside him, so she wouldn’t be trapped against the wall. But even that small bit of strategy made her feel just a little ridiculous and she was beginning to forget why she had been so concerned before.
She had slept under this roof for hours. Twenty-four hours. And nothing had happened to her. They did not know she was Nightmare. They did not know she was an Anarchist, or Ace’s niece. To them, she was a Renegade, through and through.
What was she doing here?
Ace was wasting away in his catacombs and she was having dinner with his enemies.
For a short time, she’d felt comfortable. Safe, even. She’d been swept away by a mural and a dream. She’d imagined what it might be like to touch Adrian again, maybe even to kiss him. She’d admired his glasses, for all that was trite and pathetic.
But none of that was why she was here.
She should probably congratulate herself. She had started this charade intending to spend a few weeks inside headquarters and learn what she could from her fellow drones, but instead, here she was. In the private home of her two biggest targets. They trusted her. Maybe even liked her.
She paused.
Did they like her?
She scowled at the tongs as Hugh lifted spaghetti onto her plate, forcing herself not to be curious, not to care. She could use this to her advantage. All of it. Their trust, their unguarded routine. This was her chance to needle information from them. She couldn’t waste it.
“So,” said Adrian, taking a sip of water, “did the big crime scene at the shipyard turn up new evidence about the Sentinel? Do we have any clues about his identity yet?”
“They’re still going over it,” said Hugh. “So far, I think the only solid clue we have is that he just might be the most overconfident prodigy this city has ever seen.”
Simon laughed. “The most overconfident? Surely no one can surpass you in that regard.”
Hugh grinned. To Nova’s surprise, he looked at her when he said, “They’re always giving me a tough time, but they don’t know how hard it is to be this charming. It takes real dedication.”
Not sure what to say, Nova smiled back and shoveled a forkful of pasta into her mouth.
Adrian broke into a loaf of bread, releasing a cloud of steam. His expression was distant as he said, “It seems to me like he’s been trying to help people. What about what you guys did, back in the Age of Anarchy?”
Hugh and Simon both tensed and Nova sensed this was not the first time they’d had this conversation.
“There were no rules to follow back then,” said Simon. “The code authority didn’t exist. We did what we had to do to stop the villains who were running the city. But imagine if we still operated that way. If every prodigy out there went around doing whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted, all in the name of justice. It wouldn’t take long for everything to fall apart. Society simply doesn’t function that way, and neither can we.”
Nova bit the inside of her cheek. She agreed on some level—society did need rules and consequences.
But who had elected the Council to make those rules?
Who got to decide what punishments should be doled out for breaking them?
“We know there’s been a lot of controversy over the Sentinel’s actions,” said Hugh. “Good or bad, helpful or harmful. But the fight at the shipyard shows that he’s not … entirely stable. He needs to be found and stopped.”
“Neutralized, you mean,” Adrian said, his jaw tight.
“If it comes to that,” said Hugh. “The rise of the Sentinel is a good example of how important it is to keep the prodigy population under control. We need to ensure that the villains of this world will never be able to rise to power again. I know there’s some … uncertainty about Agent N going around the ranks, but we can’t have prodigies wielding their power without any restrictions.”
“Speaking of, you know who that Sentinel guy reminds me of?” said Simon, and Nova had the distinct impression he was changing the subject to avoid an argument. He gestured toward Adrian with his fork and Adrian sucked in a quick breath. “That comic you wrote when you were a kid. What was it called? Rebel X? Rebel…”
“Rebel Z!” said Hugh, his expression brightening. “I’d forgotten all about that. You’re right, the Sentinel does sort of look like him, doesn’t it?”
Adrian’s fork hung a few inches from his mouth. “You know about that?”
“Of course we do. There was that one summer when you hardly worked on anything else.”
“Yeah, but … I didn’t think you’d actually seen it. I … I’m pretty sure I never showed anyone…”
Hugh and Simon had the decency to appear embarrassed. Hugh shrugged. “We may have peeked through them when you weren’t looking. We couldn’t help it! You were so focused and you wouldn’t tell us anything. We were dying to know what it was.”
“And they were great!” Simon said, as if his enthusiasm would soothe over the little issue of privacy invasion. “Did you ever finish them?”
Adrian lowered his fork and twirled it through the spaghetti again, his shoulders tight. “I got through three issues, then lost interest. It definitely wasn’t great. I’m surprised you even remember it.”
“I thought it was fantastic,” said Simon.
“I was eleven, and you’re my dad. You have to say that.”
“I always wondered if Rebel Z might have been partly inspired by yours truly,” Hugh said with a wink.
“He wasn’t,” Adrian deadpanned.
“Ah, well. Can’t blame your old man for hoping.”
“What are we talking about?” Nova interjected.
“Nothing,” said Adrian, at the same time Simon answered, “A comic book Adrian started years ago. About this superhero who had … some sort of biological tampering done, wasn’t it?”
Heaving a sigh, Adrian explained, without much zeal, “It was about a group of twenty-six kids who were abducted by an evil scientist and subjected to a bunch of tests trying to turn them into prodigies, but only the twenty-sixth kid survived the testing. He turned himself into a superhero and made it his mission to seek revenge against the scientist and all his cronies. And later there was going to be a big government conspiracy involved, but I never got that far.”
“Sounds good,” said Nova, only partly teasing, because it was clear how uncomfortable this conversation had made him. She wanted to sympathize, even if it didn’t seem like anything to be upset about. A comic book made years ago—who cared? But then, she’d always hated when Leroy wanted to see her inventions before they were ready to be shared, so maybe she understood after all. “Can I read it?”
“No,” he said. “I’m pretty sure it got thrown away.”
“I don’t think so,” said Hugh. “I think it’s in a box in the office somewhere, or maybe in storage.”
Adrian cast him a look even colder than Frostbite’s icicles.
“Well, if you ever stumble across it, I’d love to see,” she said.
Simon cleared his throat, and Nova could sense him about to change the subject again before Adrian decided to never bring another girl to dinner. “Nova,” he started, dabbing his mustache with a napkin, “how are things going in weapons and artifacts? Did you ever find … what you were looking for?”
Nova aimed for innocence as she said, “What do you mean?”
“I figured part of your motive for applying to the department had something to do with your interest in Ace Anarchy’s helmet.”
Though Nova’s heart felt like it would jump out of her skin, Simon seemed nothing but jovial as he turned to Hugh.
“You should have seen her with the replica. She took one look at it and knew it was a fake. I was impressed.” He grinned at her. “Have they shown you the real one yet?”
Pushing her food around, she said, “They showed me the box it’s in.”
Simon nodded. “I hope seeing it for yourself was a relief. You didn’t seem convinced when I said we had it well protected.”
Nova glanced at Adrian, and she knew they were both thinking of the conversation they’d had during the Sidekick Olympics. She kept her face neutral as she prompted, “Are you sure?”
Hugh guffawed.
“Now, don’t you go getting me into trouble,” Adrian muttered.
“What?” said Hugh. “What are you talking about?”
“Just that Adrian thinks he might be able to get into it, if he tried.”
“Ha! Adrian? No. Nice thought.” Hugh stuck a forkful of pasta into his mouth, as if the conversation were over.
“I obviously haven’t tried,” said Adrian. “But I think it’s possible.”
“How would you do it?” said Simon.
“Draw a door on it?”
“A door!” Hugh chuckled. “Please. That’s…” He hesitated, his brow creasing just slightly. “That would never work. Would it?”
They all exchanged uncertain looks.
Nova took a drink of water, avoiding eye contact so they wouldn’t see her budding urgency. “It doesn’t really matter. Adrian is never going to try to get that helmet. But it does bring up an interesting point. There are so many prodigies, with so many abilities. How do you know the box is infallible if you’ve never challenged anyone to get inside? It’s just a box.”
“Just a box.” Hugh huffed, and his momentary concern seemed to have passed. “It’s an interesting theory, but there’s no point in speculating. I know myself and I know how my powers work. There’s only one prodigy who can break into that thing, and it’s not Adrian”—he gave Adrian a pointed scowl—“or anyone else we need to worry about.”
“Really?” Nova’s spine tingled. “Who is it?”
Hugh tossed up a hand, exasperated. “Me!”
Nova lifted an eyebrow. “Because you could … manipulate the chromium some more?”
Archenemies Page 29
