Ace making the bells of the cathedral thunder and chime, just to bring a smile to Nova’s face.
The moment she had seen the Council’s parade float come into view, with the Captain showing off this helmet like a hunter proud of his conquest.
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she lifted her hand, letting it hover an inch off the helmet’s brow. She imagined faint vibrations coming off it, almost as though it could sense her presence. She felt sure some alarm would sound, but she couldn’t quite resist the slow inhale of breath as she settled her hand onto the cool metal.
There were no alarms.
And the helmet felt like … a helmet. No shock of energy was sent through her skin. No faint pulse could be felt against her flesh. Just cool metal.
Looking at her own hand placed reverentially against the golden surface, Nova’s eye landed on the slender bracelet dangling around her wrist.
Her brows drew together. Her head listed to one side. Reaching her other hand forward, she took hold of the delicate filigree and held it up to the light, wondering whether it was a trick of the shadows.
Her heart began to pound.
The bracelet and the helmet were not the same. There was a distinctive rosy tint to the bracelet, a beautiful but subtle vibrancy worked through the material that was missing from the helmet, which was itself a worn copper-gold.
Her frown deepened, as justifications worked their way to the surface. Surely the difference was because the helmet was ruined. Whatever power had once imbued the material was gone.
But then … her bracelet was broken too. The original clasp was missing entirely, and the prongs still hung empty, waiting for whatever jewel her father had intended for it. Should it not have also been relegated to this dull, muted tone?
Before she could doubt herself, Nova reached forward and plucked the helmet off its stand.
Still, not a single alarm blared. The corridor remained as quiet as ever as Nova pulled it closer, noting first how heavy it was, when she could remember her father’s creations seeming impossibly light.
Nova turned it from side to side. She inspected the rupture in the top. Felt the edges along the back. Flipped it over and peered inside.
An abrupt laugh burbled from her mouth. For there, printed on the inside of the cranium, were the words MADE WITH 100% RECYCLED MATERIALS.
“Miss McLain?”
Her laugh turned into a yelp and she spun around. At first, she was faced with only an empty corridor, but then a form shimmered in the air and solidified.
The Dread Warden. He was not wearing his usual black cloak and domino mask, but blue jeans and a dress shirt. Nova’s emotions were wound so tight, from her recent shocks, from the discovery of the helmet to the discovery of its being an impostor and now to the arrival of one of her archenemies dressed like a completely normal person, that they all combined into another frazzled, slightly delirious laugh pouring out of her again.
Simon Westwood frowned and Nova had to tuck the helmet against her side with one arm and clamp the other hand over her mouth to try to halt the giggling. “Sorry,” she gasped. Gulped. Cleared her throat. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t … I was just…” She looked down at the helmet and realized that perhaps an alarm had gone off after all, only not one she could hear. Perhaps any tampering with artifacts in these offices was announced to members of the Council in a more discreet manner. She’d just been caught in the act of taking Ace Anarchy’s helmet—as far as anyone would know, she’d been trying to steal it.
She shook her head. “I wasn’t trying to take it, I swear.”
Simon’s expression remained more curious than alarmed, and though he said nothing, she could sense him urging her to go on.
So she did, her thoughts scrambling to prove her innocence, until it occurred to her that … she was, in fact, innocent. She wasn’t going to steal the helmet. For once, as far as the Renegades were concerned, she hadn’t actually done anything wrong. Other than perhaps leaving fingerprints smudged on what she could only ascertain was a completely worthless relic.
A fake.
“I heard you had some neat artifacts up here, so I came to see them. I was told that was okay? That anyone could come and look?”
Simon nodded, just slightly.
“Um … and when I saw the helmet … I got curious. I mean, it’s…” She barely refrained from laughing again. “It’s Ace Anarchy’s helmet. But then I got closer and … and it seemed … off.”
“Off?” said Simon.
She swallowed. “It’s a fake. This isn’t Ace Anarchy’s helmet.”
Simon’s dark eyes seemed to soften, just barely. “How could you tell?”
Nova looked down at the helmet. She gripped it in both hands again, holding it out so she could stare into the empty face. How could she tell?
“Every description I’ve ever heard, or read,” she started, “said that the helmet had a sort of … an internal glow. But this is just … metal. Normal metal.”
“Copper-plated aluminum,” said Simon, drawing her gaze back up to him. He now wore a wan smile. “I’d heard you were observant, Miss McLain, but I must say, I’m impressed. I don’t know that there’s been anyone that helmet hasn’t fooled yet.”
“But why? Why is there a fake?”
Simon stepped forward and took the helmet out of her hands. He inspected it himself for a second, his lips tight, as if he might be reliving painful memories. “This is what we use when we want to put it on display. It’s a great icon, you know—the defeat of humanity’s worst villain. It’s a visible reminder of how far we’ve come since the Day of Triumph, and how much we have to lose if we ever let humanity slide back to the way it was.”
“But it’s not real.”
Shrugging, he set the helmet back on its stand, adjusting it so that it balanced just right. “It doesn’t need to be.”
“But—” Nova huffed, not sure how he could be so calm about this. She couldn’t keep herself from sounding insistent when she asked, “But where’s the real one?”