She cackles to herself. I’m supposed to be the black sheep here, yet no one notices the embodiment of pure evil living in their house, right under their noses. “That was before you killed Blue Bunnykins. If you hate flying so much, maybe you’ll just leave. It’s worth it.”
“I can’t leave—my mom made a deal. Tell him to call it off!”
She shrugs. “Can’t. He’s so excited about it. Plus, maybe you won’t come back in one piece.”
The blood drains out of my entire body. I don’t know where it goes, only that I feel cold and tingly all over. “What are your friends going to think when I show them your underwear at lunch on Monday? The ones that say I love Robert March on them?” I didn’t even have to write that on there—Amelia already did, complete with a big red heart on the butt. Robert March plays the tuba, badly, in the school band and has a lot of freckles. He spends all of lunch playing trading-card games with his geeky friends. The same way Amelia’s table has yet to have a boy other than me grace it with his presence, Robert’s table is equally lacking in the girl department, but that might be because they have a cloud of odeur de gym socks hovering over them.
Amelia goes completely pink. I’ve heard her tell her friends she likes the same blond football player they all spend every moment of every day gushing over. I know because she talks to them on the phone for about ten hours a night about it. I wonder what her friends would think if they knew her secret true love.
“You won’t.” Amelia pulls herself together and gives me a snotty know-it-all look that twists up her nose in such a way that I can see inside her nostrils. “You’ll be too busy sitting with your girlfriend.”
She means Sarah, who is not my girlfriend. Even if I kind of liked the way she hugged me the other day. I’m not over Kat, and that hug was given under false pretenses. If Sarah knew what a horrible person I really was, I don’t think she’d be so keen to beg for my help.
“Plus,” Amelia says, “I’m not going to let you have them.”
“Too late.” I sit back in my chair. “I’ve already hidden them somewhere in the house, and only I know where they are.” I spotted them in the clean laundry when Helen was folding them the other night. I thought I’d better keep my options open and seized the opportunity.
Amelia sticks her lower lip out in a sneer-pout, her cereal forgotten. “I hate you,” she says.
“Then tell Gordon to call it off.”
But she shuts her mouth and doesn’t say another word, not even when Gordon comes lumbering back in and claims this is going to be the best day of my life.
Kidnapped. I’ve been kidnapped by a madman in tights and a cape. We’re on the roof of the tallest building in Golden City. There’s us, the little room that houses the stairwell, and nothing but roof and a long drop in every direction. I cling to the stairwell house, the one we just came through. Too bad the door is now locked, thanks to Gordon, who didn’t think we’d need to go back that way.
I do not have words for what I want to do to Gordon, my loving father, right now. He’s dressed as the Crimson Flash, the world’s moralest superhero, and no one thought to stop him as he dragged a sixteen-year-old boy through the streets of Golden City, going, “It’s okay to be nervous. I was my first time, too. It’s hard to take the plunge, but before you know it, you’re going to be enjoying the ride.” Why couldn’t anybody have taken that out of context and saved me? I wonder what his precious League Treaty’s rules are on hauling people up to the top of Golden City Banking and Finances, the tallest building in town—known more for the number of people who commit suicide by flinging themselves off the top than it is for its banking skills—and throwing them to their doom?
I hate Amelia. Hate her so much.
“Come on, Damien.” The Crimson Flash’s cape whips around in the wind. He holds his hand out to me.
Screw him. You know what he can do with this whole flying thing? He can take it and shove it up his kitten-saving ass. Put that on TV. Hey, kids, you know what your hero really does? Tortures people. He thinks he’s so much better than supervillains, but at least my mom wouldn’t try to kill me. Accidentally nick me with her lasers once in a while—and maybe sometimes on purpose, sure—but not this.
Gordon grabs my arm. “This is the only way.”
“How can you be certain I have the ability?” I have to shout to be heard over the wind. “I could die. Mom’s not going to be happy about that. You think you don’t get along with her now? Wait until you have to tell her you’re the reason her only son’s never going to walk again. Wait until you have to ask her if I wanted to be cremated or not, because I probably should be, given the state of the body.”
He takes a deep breath. He acts like he’s trying to get a little kid to ride their bike without training wheels for the first time. “I won’t let you get hurt. You just have to trust me, Damien.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, am I putting you out for not trusting you when you’re about to throw me off a freaking building?”
He bends down so we’re at eye level. I’m not that much shorter than him, but the way I’m cringing and hugging the wall makes it hard to stand up straight. “Damien,” he says, “I’m certain you have the power.” His voice sounds like it’s on fire, he’s so damned sure and so noble about it, even though he has no real reason to think that. “My father had it before me, and his father before him. You come from a long line of fliers. I know you’re a little reluctant to …” He puts a hand on my shoulder. I jump at his touch, that’s how skittish I am. “I’m not stupid,” he says. “I know what this means for you. If you can fly, well, then that might mean you’ll grow up to be a superhero.”
“Villain all the way. Don’t try and talk me out of it.” I barely know what I’m saying, I just hope he’ll shut the hell up and let me go home. And not in a box, if you know what I mean. I could just tell Gordon about my fears about being up here, but he probably wouldn’t listen, he’s so set on me following in his tight-wearing footsteps. Plus, the last thing in the world I’m going to do is admit to Gordon I’m afraid of anything, let alone that I have a phobia about heights. It’s personal information. He’s only known me a little over a week—he hasn’t earned the right to know. I’ll just have to talk him out of it.
“Even if you don’t become a hero, villains aren’t going to take you seriously if you can fly. I hate to say this, but even Marianna—”
“You leave her out of this. Mom doesn’t care about my thumb or my abilities or any of that. That’s all you and your cape-fearing family.” Except that Mom would love it if I got a V. She’d probably cry her eyes out for days if I screwed up and somehow got an H.
Gordon chews his lip, his head bent. “There comes a time when you have to face the truth. You’re half hero, whether you like it or not.” He grabs me and drags me toward the edge.
I shut my eyes and dig my heels into the floor. I squint at him and the approaching ledge and feel my breakfast coming up. My insides are weak, like I’ve lived off of Jell-O my whole life. I want to be dead. I want my life to stop right here and fade into nothingness. I shout at Gordon, spouting off random, barely coherent nonsense. Mostly about how much I hate Amelia, peppered with such classics as “I’ll never forgive you!” and “You’re going to regret this!”
I’m dizzy and panicked and I think I might be foaming at the mouth. This is my worst nightmare. I must say something about that in my ramblings, because suddenly Gordon stops. He says, all serious and worried, “Why didn’t you tell me you had a fear of—”
And then it’s too late, because the ledge lurches out from under me. I’m hurtling through space and it isn’t exhilarating or wonderful or anything other than terrifying. Gordon makes to dive down after me, but his cape whips in front of his face and gets caught on his head.
I laugh. Ha ha. I’m going to die and maybe he’ll disown Amelia for her lying treachery, but probably not. Maybe my mom will murder Gordon, or maybe she’ll end up back in the sack with him. It’s not like they
were anything but enemies before—why should this be different? They’ll replace me, and maybe Helen will find out and divorce Gordon, and won’t he be sorry when he doesn’t get to push Amelia off a building in a couple months?
Rows and rows of windows rush past me. Everything’s a blur. I’m going to die—I’m going to freaking die. Gordon finally gets the cape off his head and dives after me. He speeds through the air, pulling his arms in close to his body. He’s gaining on me, but he’s not going to make it.
The look of horror on Gordon’s face tells me the ground is getting too close. His mouth twists in agony, his eyes squeeze shut, like he can’t stand to watch. He forces them open again, reaching his arm out to me. Even though there’s only about ten feet between us, and the gap is closing, he seems impossibly far away.
I hear cars and smell their exhaust and the hot dogs from the vendor on the corner. I hear screams and oohs and ahhs and this is it. And then …
I just stop. Suspended in the air. I feel like my heart stops, too, but then it’s pounding in my chest so hard it hurts. I can’t move. Then I drop the last couple of feet and land on the ground. I turn over and throw up, right in the middle of the street. Cars honk at me, and a taxi driver sticks his head out the window and yells at me to get out of the way. My mouth tastes bitter and sour and some of the puke goes up my nose and it burns like hell.
Gordon lands on the ground next to me. He puts his hand between my shoulder blades, but I push him off. “Don’t touch me!” Then I’m flailing my arms and screaming obscenities at him, not even sure what I’m saying or where it comes from. Mothers standing on the streets cover up their kids’ ears and hurry them along past us. The taxi driver shuts up and listens. He might be taking notes.
“Think you can push me off a ledge, you toad-licking, slime-swallowing, chicken-choking, gizzard-loving, orphan-tasting—”
“Damien!” The Crimson Flash looks around at all the bystanders, embarrassed, and tries to pull me out of the street.
I tear myself away from him, stumbling backward into traffic, which is conveniently still stopped, with everyone gaping at me.
“Damien, wait! I—I didn’t know! You didn’t tell me you were afraid of heights!”
“I’m not afraid of anything!” It’s obviously a lie, but it sounds good to me.
Gordon hurries after me. “Everything’s going to be okay,” he says in a soothing voice, trying to calm me down. “You flew. You actually flew!”
I mutter what he can go do to himself.
He makes a disgusted face but reaches out to me again. “Damien, I’m sorry. I didn’t know—how could I?”
Gee, I don’t know, maybe if he wasn’t so dead set on pushing people off buildings, he’d realize how crazy that is?!
Gordon shuts his eyes. He looks concerned, but I don’t know if he’s actually worried about me or all the people staring at us. “Let’s go home, son. We can talk about this.”
I want to scream at the crowd that the Crimson Flash, their hero, just tried to kill me. But then there’d be reporters and mobs of people asking questions, and I’m not in the mood for that today. “Let’s get one thing straight,” I tell Gordon, my voice low but burning with anger. “Your house? Not my home. Don’t ever call it that again if you know what’s good for you. And even if it was, last time I went somewhere with you, I almost wound up dead. So thanks, but no thanks.”
He starts to protest, but then I shout at the crowd that the Crimson Flash is practicing his stunt work for his upcoming movie, and that he’s answering questions and signing free movie posters. A mob of people rush him, even though he’s still standing in the middle of the street, and it isn’t hard for me to slip away.
The first thing I hear when I get to Mom’s house is the sound of kissing. I hope my grandparents are over, renewing their love for each other, but no. A champagne bottle pops, then fizzes, and Mom says from the living room, “To us.”
“To us,” Taylor’s voice repeats as their glasses clink together.
They can’t see me skulking in the hallway, and apparently they were too preoccupied to hear me come in. I peek past the corner, thinking I can’t get any more traumatized today than I already am. Mom is sitting on the couch with Taylor Lewis, the dean of Vilmore, the prestigious secondary school for villains in training. The one Kat and I are supposed to go to this fall, assuming one of us isn’t disqualified for not having a V.
Taylor has a scraggly beard and blond hair with dark roots. He puts his champagne glass to his lips but doesn’t drink. He sets it back on the table. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”
Mom downs her whole glass. “It was a long time ago. I was young and … no.”
“So, in other words, you’re not going to tell me what other villain swept you off your feet?”
“That’s not exactly how it happened. There was no sweeping—just one night while I was young and stupid.”
More like desperate. Taylor’s in for a big surprise if he ever finds out about Mom’s subway adventure.
She grins at him. “But while Damien’s at his … with his other family, we’ve got the whole house to ourselves.”
Uh-huh. What was all that stuff about living with Gordon being a big opportunity for me? More like an opportunity for her to have her boyfriend over without me getting in the way. I like Taylor okay and everything, but I don’t like having to listen to him and my mom call each other stupid names like “honeybuns” and “sugar lemon,” and I don’t want to know what they do behind closed doors. Or doors that are only mostly closed. But I can guess, and having him spend the night at our house kind of creeps me out. Now they’ve got six weeks of bliss while I’m stuck in a hellhole full of superheroes.
Mom sets her glass down on the coffee table. “Imagine what it’ll be like next year, when he’s off at school. The house will be so empty!”
“At my school, Marianna.” Taylor half groans, half laughs. “Causing all sorts of trouble, no doubt.”
Ha. That scamp. What a rascal that Damien must be.
“The admissions process is nearly over,” Taylor says. “The deadline is coming up. I ought to be making the final decisions within the next couple weeks. I’ll definitely have them done by the first of April. I was … ah, wondering if Damien might find time to talk to me. I don’t want to show special treatment, but I’d like to do an interview, if you don’t mind.”
What’s wrong with special treatment? I have absolutely no objections to him interviewing me to see how great I am. Maybe he wants to start me in the advanced classes.
“I’m sure we can arrange something,” Mom says. A timer dings in the kitchen and she gets up to check on it.
Taylor corks the champagne bottle and sets it on the other side of the table, away from Mom’s glass. She hurries back in, a giant metal pot steaming between her potholder-covered hands. She nearly drops it on the table. Slowly, she pulls back the lid and waves her hand over the pot to waft the smell toward her nose. “Ahhh. Another perfect batch. Now if only you could get Dr. Kink’s device working.”
Dr. Kink? As in Sarah’s father, who got kidnapped by supervillains? And are they talking about the same hypno device that I sort of, uh, broke? Nah. Probably all a coincidence.
Taylor rubs his temples. “Don’t remind me. I’m not planning on doing any more testing until we get more answers out of him. He swore to me he’d repaired the device last time, and you know how that turned out. I don’t want another Ruthersford incident. Your potion worked beautifully, of course, made the whole town susceptible to the effects of Dr. Kink’s device, but ultimately he must not have adjusted it right, because things didn’t go as planned. The trigger word turned the people of Ruthersford into a mindless, raging mob, instead of properly submitting to mind control. I almost didn’t get out of there. Luckily, I chose a trigger word not likely to be used too often so close to Vilmore. And even if someone does say it, you know how they feel about superheroes around there. No one will care.”
&n
bsp; “Don’t let it discourage you, honeybuns. It’s not your fault. If Damien had been more careful in my lab …” She takes a deep breath to calm herself and shakes her head. “The device is the last piece of the puzzle, and once we have it working, everything will go exactly as planned. We’ll be making big names for ourselves in no time.”
“If we can get it working.” Taylor sips his champagne. “Dr. Kink was in tears today, tinkering around with the device with a tiny screwdriver, but he couldn’t make it work. I honestly believe the man’s had some kind of breakdown since he published those articles and made the prototype. He’s not the same. Some days, he tells me he doesn’t know anything about the invention at all and begs me to let him go free. Still …” Taylor sets the glass down and drops his arms at his sides. “The students have been quite useful in getting him to talk. I told you I took on a couple of promising TAs from the Advanced Torture Techniques class? Henrietta Stone is still a little timid, but you should see Peter Heath.”
Ah, good old Pete.
“He’s extremely enthusiastic, and his methods are …” Taylor’s eye twitches. “I think he’ll find himself very at home in a torture chamber someday, if he chooses to go that route. If we need an assistant in the final stages of the plan, I think he’d do quite nicely. Lots of ambition, that boy.”
I have ambition, too. Just because I maybe broke their stupid hypno device, they’re going to pick Pete to help them with their evil plans? It’s one thing for them not to want me in the house while they make out, but choosing Pete over me? That hurts.
“But enough business,” Taylor says. He reaches into his pocket. “Marianna, we need to talk about something important, something I’ve been thinking about for quite some time now, but I didn’t want to bring it up with Damien around. It’s nothing against him, I just wasn’t sure how he’d react, and … I want this to be a happy occasion.” Taylor swallows and pulls a small, black velvet box out of his pocket. He flips it open to reveal a glittering diamond ring. “Marianna Locke, you’re the best partner in crime a villain could have. No matter how many hypno devices get broken, and even if all our schemes come to nothing, I want to spend the rest of my life with you. What I’m trying to say is, will you marry me?”
The Rise of Renegade X Page 10
