CHAPTER THREE
THE ARMORED STRANGER turned his head toward the laughter, just as the curve of a hot-air balloon rose into view over the parade. The balloon was decorated in black-and-white harlequin, with an enormous acid-green Anarchist symbol painted over it. Its wicker basket carried one occupant—a man with wild orange hair, painted red cheeks, and deep lines drawn from the corners of his mouth down his chin in mimicry of a marionette.
The Puppeteer stood on the rim of the basket in a checkered suit, gripping the upright bars as it bounced and swayed beneath him.
“Oh, Reeeeenegades,” he shouted in a singsong voice. “Doesn’t anyone want to play with me?”
The cheers below turned to screams of fright, and he cackled again, holding one hand out over the crowd, tilting so far forward it seemed he would topple from the basket. “Eeny, meeny, miny … mo!”
Eight shimmering gold strings cascaded from his fingertips into the crowd, and though Nova couldn’t see where they landed, she knew he would be seeking out children in the chaos below. Those who were touched by his strings would turn into puppets he could control. After all these years, she still wasn’t sure if his power only worked on children, or if he just preferred them because a mindless, rabid four-year-old was so damned creepy.
“Tag!” the Puppeteer bellowed. “You’re it!”
The screams grew louder.
“Friend of yours?”
Nova glanced sideways at the armored figure. “Not exactly.”
The Puppeteer laughed again, and the stranger’s fists tightened. Nova couldn’t fault him for his irritation. She wasn’t exactly Winston Pratt’s biggest fan, either, and she’d been technically on the same side as him since she was six.
In one movement, Nova pulled the duffel bag around to her front and reached inside for the netting gun she’d engineered from a toy bazooka when she was eleven. The figure turned toward her at the same moment she lifted the gun and pulled the trigger, sending a net of nylon ropes soaring toward him. Its eight points spread out like an octopus. The stranger stumbled back in surprise, lifting a hand to defend himself as the net descended.
He dropped to one knee. The net wrapped around him, tangling around his limbs. The helmet twisted from side to side as he struggled to pull the ropes away, but every movement only drew them tighter.
“It was nice to meet you,” said Nova, tossing the bazooka back into the bag. She jogged past him, scouting out the next rooftop before making the easy jump.
“We’re not done.”
She glanced back. The stranger’s shoulders were hunched. He wrapped his gloved fingers around the knotted ropes, and smoke started to wisp between his fingertips.
The ropes caught fire. Flames licked along the nylon, blackening the net until whole portions of it crumbled away into ash.
When enough of the netting had been burned off, he tore a hole in it and stepped out of the bindings, leaving the rest to smolder on the concrete roof.
He walked to the edge and peered down at Nova.
She smirked, unimpressed. “Another fire elemental. How quaint. Not exactly a rare breed, but it’s hard to criticize a classic.”
He bent his knees, lowering himself into a slight crouch, then sprang upward, lobbing his body clean over her head. Nova followed his trajectory through the air, a full arc that carried him onto the rooftop behind her. Though his landing was graceful, the weight of his armor made the floor shake beneath them.
Nova’s smile faded.
A fire elemental with a fancy anti-gravity suit … or a prodigy with superior speed and strength, who just happened to also be able to burn things … or, a superhero with both powers? She’d never heard of such a combination before.
“You can’t escape me, Nightmare,” he said. “I’m taking you into custody, and you will answer for your crimes.”
“Lovely as that sounds, I actually had other plans for this afternoon.”
A shadow passed over them—monarch butterflies slowly merging into a girl’s shape.
As Monarch took form, Nova looked between her and the stranger. She was trapped between them.
She didn’t like being trapped.
Monarch frowned at the armored man. A hasty bandage had been wrapped around the wound in her thigh, cut from gray cloth. “Who are you?”
The stranger didn’t speak for a moment, and Nova was sure his voice deepened when he responded, taking on an air of righteousness. “I am the Sentinel.”
Nova laughed. “Seriously?”
The Sentinel angled his head in her direction, and she couldn’t tell whether she imagined the way his chest expanded defensively.
“Friend of yours?” Monarch said, glancing at Nova.
She tightened her hands around the strap of the duffel bag. “I’m really not that friendly. Besides, he’s wearing your trademark.”
Monarch’s eyes narrowed as she took in the R on the Sentinel’s chest.
Losing interest in Monarch’s confusion, Nova heaved the bag at the Sentinel’s head, then reached behind her for the red dagger. She swung the blade toward Monarch’s abdomen but hit only air as she dispersed again into the swarm. Snarling in frustration, Nova swung again and again—finally slicing a single butterfly in half.
She let out a breath and glanced down at the faint brush of wing dust on the blade.
Two arms wrapped around her, securing her elbows at her sides. If Smokescreen had been strong, this guy was iron and steel.
Or perhaps it was the suit.
Nova clenched her jaw and pushed backward. He yelped but didn’t release her as his foot hit the low rail along the building’s ledge.
With one more shove, Nova sent them both plummeting over the side. For a moment they were airborne, his arms locked around her.