When enough ice had melted away, he pulled his arm back, extinguishing the flame. With a pained groan, Ingrid forced one knee to break through the thin layer that remained. A sheet of ice crashed onto the tracks and she fell forward, landing on her hands and knees, shivering. When she could sit back on her heels, she started to rub her hands together, trying to return warmth to her extremities.
The Sentinel said nothing, watching her, motionless. Nova had the distinct impression that he was debating about something, and every now and then she would see a halfhearted flame sputter between his clenched fingers, like he was contemplating lighting a fire to warm Ingrid.
But he never did.
Instead, when the chattering of her teeth had quieted enough that it seemed she would be able to speak, the Sentinel paced to the edge of the platform. “I’m here for Nightmare,” he said. “Where is she?”
Ingrid fixed him with a look of utter contempt. “Nightmare who?”
“Yea tall?” said the Sentinel, holding his hand at a level that was surely a mockery of her actual height. “Black hood? Tried to kill Captain Chromium today?”
Ingrid flexed her fingers, testing the blue sparks she could draw from the air, before forcing herself back to her feet. Nova could tell she was weak, though she was trying hard to hide it. “Oh, that Nightmare.” She shrugged. “Haven’t seen her.”
The Sentinel’s voice darkened. “Perhaps you know where I can find her.”
Behind the Sentinel, Leroy groaned and rolled onto his side. The Sentinel spun around, flames bursting from his palm, but he seemed to relax when he spotted Leroy struggling to sit up.
Leroy coughed into his elbow, then peered up into the Sentinel’s mask. “She isn’t one of us.” His words were as evenly paced as if he were giving directions to City Park. “We have no affiliation with the girl who calls herself Nightmare, therefore, we cannot possibly tell you where to find her.”
The Sentinel strode toward him, his steps measured and intimidating. “Then explain to me, Cyanide,” he said, crouching so he was almost eye level with Leroy, “how one of your signature poisons came to be in the projectile she used to try to assassinate the Captain.”
“One of my poisons?” said Leroy. “Truly? What a coincidence.”
The Sentinel grasped Leroy by his jaw, turning his face upward. Nova’s fingers curled, recognizing how the tactic was so similar to the way he’d tried to intimidate her atop the rooftop.
Top-secret, high-tech Renegade experiment or not, he was still nothing but a mindless bully. Just another brainwashed minion for the Council.
“You can’t expect me to believe you aren’t connected with her,” he growled.
“I don’t care what you may or may not believe,” countered Leroy. He had begun to sweat—his blackened skin glistening. “As for my poison being found in her projectile, well … I’ve been selling practical poisons in this city for decades.” He smiled, revealing chipped and missing teeth. There was an aura of pride in the look. He might have been bragging about being a world-renowned tulip grower. “From pharmaceuticals to ridding one’s home of vermin, there are a thousand reasons one might have had one of my poisons, and not all of those reasons are nefarious or illegal. Have you considered that perhaps this Nightmare, whoever she is, might have purchased that concoction from one of my distributors?”
This, Nova knew, was all true. The poisons that Leroy made were, by and large, legitimate and useful. His side business remained the primary source of income for the Anarchists. A boon when it was getting harder and harder to scavenge or steal even basic necessities in this post-Council world, which was something Frostbite and her goons had undoubtedly known when they decided to go after their food supply.
“This wasn’t a mere pesticide,” the Sentinel growled.
“And how am I to know that? All you said was that it was one of my signature poisons, which hardly narrows it down.”
“Okay, Cyanide, try one of your signature poisons intended to—” The Sentinel pulled up short, interrupted by a quiet hissing sound. He recoiled, pulling back the hand that had been gripping Leroy’s face.
Nova clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. Even without being able to see the Sentinel’s expression, his disbelief was written clearly into his body language. His arm fully extended, his head pulled back as if trying to escape from his own limb, where the fingers of his right gauntlet were coated with a sticky, dark substance that had just oozed from Leroy’s pores and was now eating away at the glove’s metal surface.
Climbing to his feet, Leroy tightened the belt of his robe and tucked his hands into his pockets. “You were saying?”
“He was saying,” said Honey, trying to shake off her lingering paralysis as she leaned against one of the fallen shelves, “that he has as much evidence of criminal activity as that irritating ice girl did. Which is to say, none at all.” She pulled one of the curlers from her hair and began rewrapping the blonde lock around it.
“You’re right,” said the Sentinel. “We don’t have any evidence … yet. But I know you were involved with the attack today. I know the Anarchists want to see the Renegades destroyed.”
“Of course we wish to see them destroyed,” came Phobia’s haunting voice, like a boom of thunder echoing from every corner of the tunnels. The Sentinel spun around, searching the darkened tunnels. “But wanting something is not a crime, not even under their laws.”
The shadows behind the Sentinel solidified and Phobia stepped out as if from nowhere, gripping the scythe in both hands. “We have tolerated this invasion of our home for long enough.”
“I concur,” said Leroy. “If the Council believes we are in violation of our agreement, let them make these accusations themselves. Until then, we demand to be given the privacy we were promised.”