by Lexie Dunne
Naomi snagged a flute from the champagne tray, and I politely declined. She tilted her head. “I thought you were allowed alcohol now that all of that—” she waved vaguely at all of me and the Mobium, I assumed “—settled out.”
“Technically I’m on duty. There’ll be a minor villain attack, it’ll be rebuffed, the party will go on. Then I can drink.”
“Won’t that be fun,” Naomi said, eyeing the crowd. I didn’t like the media—they’d coined “Hostage Girl” after all—but I made an exception for Naomi, even though seeing her tended to precede disaster. The first time we’d met, I’d been kidnapped directly afterward, and my captor had cursed me with superpowers. In our second meeting, I’d quasi-saved Naomi during a bank holdup. The third time? A mall had been utterly demolished—with us still inside.
She was kind of like my anti–rabbit’s foot, come to think of it.
“So what trouble are you in this week?” I asked, leaning against the balcony railing as we watched the glittery folk below. “Do I need to schedule any upcoming rescues?”
“And ruin the spontaneity? I think not. Anyway, it’s nothing that needs Raptorial interference. I’m actually helping your better half at the moment. Speaking of: where is he?”
“Guy had to work. Again.” I wrinkled my nose. “What’re you helping him with?”
“He hasn’t told you?” Naomi asked.
“It has something to do with his job, doesn’t it?” I asked. “That’s why he’s been acting weird about work. Is it dangerous?”
“Nah,” Naomi said. “But if you want to know more, ask him, not me. A journalist always protects her sources.”
“I don’t think that’s how it works,” I said.
A flash of blue caught my eye. I turned and eyed the alcove, ready to trigger an alert. Instead, Jeremy stepped out of the alcove, hastily adjusting his tuxedo jacket. I narrowed my eyes as he spotted us, waved, and walked over. “Ladies,” he said, buttoning his jacket.
“Hey, Jer,” Naomi said. “How’d you score an invite?”
“I know people,” Jeremy said, a touch too defensively.
Naomi narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re not really here, are you?”
“Nope, he isn’t,” I said, and put my hand through Jeremy’s arm, careful to avoid the security camera angles. I pulled my hand free, flexing my fingers to get rid of the tingly feeling from touching Jeremy’s digital projection.
Naomi poked him, her finger going an inch into his sternum. “This is always so strange.”
“Where’s your real body?” I asked.
“What is a body without a mind? Nothing but an empty vessel,” Jeremy said.
“In your room in the Complex, then? Gotcha.” The Martinez Center was blocks away from Davenport Tower. It wasn’t the farthest I’d seen Jeremy project himself, but it remained impressive. He’d come a long way since he’d electrocuted himself to save me. After exploding out of a coma (and destroying my phone in the process), he’d harnessed the ability to travel through electrical currents and project his form at will. For short periods of time, he could even become corporeal.
These days, it was rarer to see his body than it was to see him.
“Leaving your body lying around like that cannot be healthy,” Naomi said, finishing her champagne. “Does it feel weird?”
Jeremy shrugged. “Not particularly. I don’t—oh, hell, this was a bad idea after all. Bye!” He scooted back toward the alcove and blinked out of existence.
I turned and spotted the reason for his hasty exit: the woman in a poppy-red dress ascending the stairs. “Jeremy had pressing business elsewhere, but was terribly sorry to have missed you,” I said, saluting Angélica with my water as she reached us.
“I’m sure. The speeches are about to start. Jessie wants us in the back, but with a clear line to Kiki and the kids in case something goes wrong.”
“Right. Protect the heirs.” Jessie kept her two children, Harry and Lydia, out of the public eye, but they’d been allowed to come to the gala to support their cousin. I could see them mingling with the other Davenport elite near the front of the room.
“That’s my cue to find actual superheroes I can interview,” Naomi said, putting her empty glass down. “You two have fun worrying about every little thing. Catch up with you later.”
“Get out of here if something goes wrong,” I said, wasting my breath. If supervillains attacked, Naomi wouldn’t leave until she got her scoop, which was why I’d already decided to keep an eye on her whereabouts.
We found a spot with a good sight line to the stage and settled in with small plates of canapés. I tried to look casual as I studied the ceiling, which was covered in frescoes and murals. If any superheroes wanted to burst in that way, they’d destroy some seriously fancy art.
“How’s Kiki?” I asked.
Angélica wiggled a hand in a so-so motion. “Obviously, she’d be happier staying in Medical and diagnosing new powers, but she suspected this might happen.”
“It sucks that nobody trusts her, given everything she’s done for this company,” I said.
Angélica gave me a dark look of agreement and turned her attention to the stage, where a few of the dignitaries had gathered alongside the Davenports. Jessie tilted her head at me and glanced toward the doors, as though to say I wasn’t being vigilant enough, so I returned to studying the room. A supervillain who truly knew about the Davenports would be an idiot to attack, which meant we’d either get a particularly dumb opportunist, or somebody that didn’t give a single flying fart that they were about to get their ass kicked.
Or maybe nothing would happen at all. I’d prefer that.
The quartet finished their song, and a man stepped up to the microphone. “Is this thing on? Oh, darn, looks like it is. I guess you don’t have a choice but to listen to me.”
Great. A comedian. I gave the exits a forlorn look.
“I’m Wilbur Scott, and I serve on the board at Davenport Industries,” the man continued. “We’d like to thank all of you for coming out, and the Martinez Center for hosting us.”
Rodrigo Calles stepped up next to me. “Hostage Girl,” he said in a low murmur.
“My name is Gail,” I said. I tried to keep the annoyance in my voice to a minimum. Raptorlet disliked Shark-man, but Gail Godwin was supposed to have no idea who he was. “And you are?”
“Rodrigo Calles.” He offered me a handshake and a smile. “I didn’t realize you traveled in these circles. How do you know the Davenports?”
“I don’t,” I said. “My boyfriend does. You might know him—Guy Bookman? He’ll be here any minute.” A complete lie, but Rodrigo didn’t need to know that. The two weren’t friends. In my Hostage Girl days, Guy had punched Rodrigo in the face for posting a chart with my survival odds.
Which was probably why Rodrigo took a cautious step back now.
“And that’s why,” Wilbur Scott said into the microphone, “it’s my pleasure to introduce the CEO of Davenport Industries and the host of this little shindig, Edward Davenport. Eddie, she’s all yours.” He handed over the mic to a good amount of applause as Eddie stepped forward.
Behind him, Jessie raised her eyebrow at me and then at Rodrigo. Angélica finally turned to look at us. “Is there a particular reason you’re bothering my friend?” she asked.
“Okay, okay, I know when I’m not wanted,” Rodrigo said, stepping away from us.
Eddie raised the microphone. I detested him, but I couldn’t deny that he was a phenomenal public speaker. He made eye contact with people in the audience as he complimented the Martinez Center staff, tossing a few lighthearted jokes about Davenport employees that had the crowd tittering.
“It’s my pleasure to gather the esteemed members of the board, investors, friends, and especially family here today to bring you exciting news,” Eddie said. “Davenport is all about family, and always has been. My grandfather founded this company in Chicago, when he was fresh off the boat from the Netherlands over fifty
years ago. You all know how he started as a humble one-room operation selling radio parts. My father, Kurt, was the one to bring the business into the future. Dad worked side by side with my grandfather until the day Grandpa retired. They taught me the value of good business, of treating your staff right, of sticking to your word.”
I snorted under my breath. Angélica nudged me.
“When Jessie and I came of age, nothing made my father happier than passing the family business onto a third generation,” Eddie said. He paused and smiled. “It had grown a little, of course.”
Laughter and applause broke out across the room.
“But no matter how far the company expands, it is first and foremost a family affair. Even our brother, Marcus, took an interest in the company before he was pulled from our lives. It’s been twenty-six years now and not a day goes by that I don’t think about my little brother.”
I glanced over at where Kiki stood beside Jessie, her face carefully composed. What must it be like, listening to somebody wax poetic about the man who’d killed her mother?
“But my brother, Marcus, lives on, in both the good work Davenport does, and in his daughter. And that is the reason we’re here today, to celebrate my niece and to welcome her to the company.” Eddie put a hand on Kiki’s shoulder. “My niece Kristiana will carry on the Davenport legacy, as she’s agreed to follow in my footsteps and lead Davenport Industries into another new era.”
Applause rang out. Rodrigo took another sip of his gin and tonic. “We’re doomed.”
Angélica shifted. Rodrigo flinched, freeing his foot from underneath her heel, but Angélica only gave him a deadpan look. “Whoops. Clumsy me.”
Rodrigo tossed back the rest of his drink with a sneer. “She might be a Davenport,” he whispered, “but she’s just as much a Detmer. Remember that when she turns on us all.”
I exchanged an eye roll with Angélica.
“Now, don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere,” Eddie said, and Wilbur Scott mimed wiping his brow, to the amusement of the audience. “This will be a gradual transition as we show my niece the ropes. We’re very excited to have her join the team and we think you’ll like her as much as we do.”
“How precious,” said a voice from the audience, and I froze.
I recognized the voice. So did most of the people in the room. We’d heard it often enough on the evening news or booming through speakers at whichever tourist location she’d decided to attack that week. The temperature in the room plummeted. Every important party inevitably had a minor interruption from an enterprising supervillain, usually somebody with more bravado than brains.
Not the closest thing the supervillains had to a queen, at least with Rita Detmer in prison.
Tamara Diesel stepped forward and raised her champagne glass over her head. At least she’d dressed up for the occasion: instead of her usual denim vest, she wore a blood-spattered tux with absurdly long tails. Silver beads threaded through the braids on the unshaved side of her head, and her teeth glinted when she smiled. She didn’t appear to have weapons on her, but she also didn’t need any. Her telekinesis could send us all flying toward the wall.
“It seems,” Tamara Diesel went on, like the room wasn’t collectively holding its breath, “as though the benevolent empire has found its princess, at long last. It’s so wonderful, is it not?”
On stage, Jessie stepped forward and calmly pushed her children behind her. Kiki, frozen as she reached for the microphone, only continued to stare.
A tic worked in Eddie’s jaw. “I don’t remember sending you a ticket,” he said.
“Did you not? I figured I should offer my well-wishes in person.” Tamara looked directly at Kiki and swept into an elegant half bow. “Heaven forbid I be rude, not to our glorious new leader. I look forward to seeing where Davenport Industries will guide us all in the future.”
Rodrigo snarled in vindication. “See?” he whispered to us. “I told them, she’s in on it, the villains are already showing to bend the knee.”
Angélica muttered a few choice words. Rodrigo would probably be wise to avoid dark alleys for the foreseeable future.
“I must ask you to leave,” Eddie said to Tamara. “This event is for invited guests only.”
“Oh,” Tamara said. “I didn’t plan to stay. I merely wanted to drop off a present to celebrate the occasion.”
On a scale of one to ten in ominous supervillain announcements, that ranked at eleven.
Which was why I wasn’t at all surprised when gas started to pour from the vents.
Chapter 5
Green-gray smoke choked the air, throwing everything into chaos. A stampede started for the door, screams erupting. Mercifully, the gas didn’t smell like apricots, which meant it wasn’t one of the worst I’d faced. Unfortunately, that left a wealth of possibilities.
I covered my mouth with my arm and ran for the stage, kicking off my heels. In the confusion, I couldn’t phase without hitting somebody, but I could run pretty fast. Angélica sprinted ahead of me, dodging and weaving her way to the Davenports. Tamara Diesel’s laughter soared over the panic. Terror overtook the crowd as they scattered.
“Is she alone?” Angélica shouted back to me as we fought against the current of people trying to escape. “Do you see anybody else?”
I didn’t, but that could be blamed on my height deficit. The gas made it hard to see, making people trip over each other and tumble to the ground, where they began to cough and convulse into spasms. The air smelled like burning tar, which sucked, but the gas didn’t even irritate my throat.
On stage, which seemed impossibly far away through the crowd, Jessie, the kids, Eddie, and the board members were all clutching their throats and stumbling to their knees. Kiki knelt over Eddie, frantically trying to yank his bowtie loose.
But she wasn’t even coughing.
Hold up.
Angélica wasn’t coughing either. And Rodrigo, eyes flashing an eerie gray, ran on unhindered. But we were the only ones who weren’t coughing, and it was becoming increasingly more apparent by the second.
Oh, hell. On instinct I tripped Rodrigo and tackled Angélica. We crashed to the ground; before she could fight me off, I hissed, “Fake a seizure!”
“What—”
“Just do it! You, too, Rodrigo!”
Angélica needed only a split second to notice the same thing I had. She flopped back and did a pretty accurate impression of a seizure. I tried to do the same, but midmovement I realized I’d forgotten somebody.
I poked Kiki over our mental link. Get down! The gas is only affecting people without powers!
Kiki jerked, glancing up to gawk at the room around us. Tamara, one of the few left standing, smirked. The smirk, however, fell away when Kiki’s eyes rolled back into her head. She hit the stage hard enough that I heard her body thump on the wooden floor.
Angélica flinched.
It must have looked so strange from above, a roomful of people in formalwear convulsing on the floor. But why wasn’t it affecting the four of us? Our powers weren’t similar. We had a psychic, two synthetic superheroes, and an idiot that could transform into some kind of shark abomination.
Gail. Kiki’s voice pushed into my head. You have to get the Raptor armor.
I’m not allowed in that armor yet! I thought back at her. I’m only an apprentice.
Jessie can’t do it. And Diesel won’t back down for just anybody. You need the armor.
She had a point. The world didn’t know I had powers, so I did need armor. But getting to said armor? Nearly impossible. I was in the middle of a large ballroom, surrounded by fallen rich people while a supervillain stood over us all.
You can phase, right? Kiki thought at me.
Not from a lying down position, and not quickly enough to do whatever Kiki wanted me to do. I don’t think I’ll get out in time, I told Kiki.
I’ll distract her.
“Well, well, well,” Tamara said, stepping on somebody’s arm as she climbed
onstage. I curled up, covering my face. Luckily, she didn’t seem to notice me among the twitching masses. “I thought for sure there’d be more superpowered people. A fancy party like this? They normally can’t stay away.”
As everybody in the room was either seizing or moaning in pain, nobody answered her.
“How’s everybody doing?” Tamara went on, idly kicking a board member. “Having a good time? Enjoying the gas? In truth, I wasn’t entirely sure what it would do, as my inventor was on a tight deadline. I half expected it to melt everybody’s faces off.”
Angélica began to slide across the floor. I held my breath and did the same, in the opposite direction.
“What did you do to us?” Eddie said in a hoarse voice. He’d lifted his head to glare at Tamara in defiance, but he broke off into a coughing fit, clearly in a great deal of agony.
“Consider it my new calling card,” Tamara said. She held up a remote and twisted it about, admiring it in the light. Dread pooled in my stomach. “Allow me a demonstration, if you will.”
Tamara pressed the button. Instantly, Eddie fell backward, screaming like his entire body was on fire. Jessie flinched, staying where she was, one hand on either child behind her.
I slithered closer to the kitchen door.
“The nice thing is that once you’re exposed, you’ll forever be vulnerable,” Tamara said as Eddie lay there, panting. “And it’s so effective. A simple press of a button and pain like you’ve never known. Look at your new Davenport princess, it’s knocked her clean out.”
She wound up to kick Kiki in the ribs—and Kiki rolled over and drove a taser right into her ankle.
Tamara screamed.
I shoved off the ground, took two running steps, and phased toward the kitchen door. I overshot, my shoulder slamming into the metal, and fell through. Behind me, a cry of pain echoed.
The sound of a single gunshot chased me into the kitchen.
Kiki! I nearly scrambled back, but my momentum carried me forward. I had to get the armor. My feet slipped as hardwood turned to linoleum. I raced through the kitchen, automatically noting the tied-up kitchen staff and the dark figure standing over them. Without pausing, I snatched a heavy pan from the sink and walloped said figure as I phased past.
