Nova switched the pressure on her gloves, letting the suction cups recede into the fabric, and pulled her hood over her face again. She slung the gun off her back as she walked past the building’s utility elevator, coming to stand at the edge as her pulse thrummed through her veins. Though she couldn’t see the Council’s float, she could tell from the increased excitement in the crowd that it was close.
Ignoring the throbbing pain where her stomach had hit the wall, she knelt onto one knee and propped the barrel of the gun on the rooftop ledge. She checked the loaded dart. “Ready.”
“Well done, Nightmare,” said Detonator.
“She hasn’t done anything yet,” said Phobia.
“I know, but isn’t it nice to have a shooter on the team again?”
“She hasn’t shot anything yet, either.”
“Would you both zip it?” Nova growled, peeling off the gloves and shoving them back through the hoop on her belt.
Below, the Council’s parade float rolled into view. It was an enormous tiered structure with five pedestals rising from a dark storm cloud. A literal thunder-and-lightning-filled storm cloud, like they thought they were gods or something.
Strike that. They definitely thought they were gods.
Thunderbird—the inimitable Tamaya Rae—stood on the first pedestal, her enormous black wings spanning the full width of the parade float and the wind catching in her long, dark hair, making her look like the proud mascot on the mast of a ship. She occasionally sent bolts of lightning to further ignite the cloud at her feet.
Not to be overshadowed, Blacklight was on the second tier shooting fireworks and flashing strobe lights into the air as the crowd gasped and squealed. With his red beard and tightly curled mustache, Nova had always thought Evander Wade looked more like a six-foot-tall leprechaun than a superhero, but supposedly he had a dedicated fan following, and the giddy shrieks from the crowd seemed to support the theory.
Above him, Kasumi Hasegawa might not have been aware she was in the middle of a parade at all. That’s how Tsunami always looked though—caught up in her own world, a cool, secretive smile on her lips. While she stood barely moving with her arms extended, the stream of fish-filled water she was manipulating moved around her like a ribbon in a mesmerizing dance. A jet of foam and spray and angelfish spinning, twirling, spiraling in all directions.
The fourth pedestal appeared, at first glance, to be empty, which meant that’s where Simon Westwood was standing. And sure enough, as Nova watched, the Dread Warden flickered into view, posing like the Thinking Man. A second later, he vanished again, only to reappear posed in a handstand, which then turned into a one-handed handstand. A second later, he went invisible again. The crowd roared in laughter when he reappeared, not on his own pedestal, but on the fifth and tallest platform on the float, using his fingers to give bunny ears to Captain Chromium.
Beside each other, they were like night and day. Simon Westwood had olive-toned skin, a close-trimmed beard, and dark, wavy hair, while Hugh Everhart, the city’s beloved Captain, was the picture of boyish charm, complete with golden hair and dimples.
Captain Chromium rolled his eyes and glanced at the Dread Warden over his shoulder. They shared a look that was disgustingly endearing.
Nova had been too young to notice if there was any shock or scandal when two of the original Renegades announced they were in love, or if there had been any announcement at all. Maybe they just were, from the start. Either way, she suspected the world had been dealing with too much devastation to really care back then, and these days Captain Chromium and the Dread Warden were practically the world’s favorite sweethearts. The tabloids were forever going on about whether or not they were planning to adopt another child, or if they were going to retire from the Council and move to the tropics, or if a dark, hidden secret from the past was threatening to tear them apart.
From their smiles, though, Nova highly doubted there was much substance to those rumors, and it made her teeth grind.
Why should they have such happiness?
She eased herself into position, calculating the distance and angle as the gun warmed in her hand.
The Dread Warden disappeared again and returned to his own pedestal, leaving the Captain alone, a king before his doting subjects. He was as familiar to Nova as her own reflection. Yellow-blond hair curling against his forehead. Blue shoulder pads jutting out from a broad, muscled chest. A winning smile with teeth so white they gleamed in the sun.
Then, as the crowd’s cheers reached a deafening crescendo, he reached for the display stand at his side. His hand wrapped around a tall metal pike, and he lifted it overhead. One of Blacklight’s fireworks burst then, lighting them all in a hue of coppery gold.
Nova’s stomach dropped.
“Is that…?”
“Don’t dwell on it,” said Phobia.
“Dwell on what?” asked Ingrid.
Nova swallowed around the lump in her throat, unable to respond.
Captain Chromium, beloved superhero and adored Renegade, had Ace Anarchy’s helmet skewered at the top of his pike. It had been driven through the skull, fracturing the bronze-tinted material that had once been dragged from the air by her own father’s fingertips, years before Nova was born.
The Detonator’s voice came through the headset again, an understanding “Oh…” as the parade float entered her view. Nova barely heard her.
She was six years old again. Afraid. Devastated. Staring up into the eyes behind that helmet, throwing herself into his arms.
The Renegades had not come, but he had. Maybe not soon enough to save her family, but still, he had come. He had saved her.
“You’re dwelling,” said Phobia, his voice almost a taunt.
Nova squared her shoulders. “Am not.”
Phobia didn’t respond, but she could feel a haughty response in his silence.
“It’s all right, Nightmare,” said Detonator. “We’re doing this for Ace, aren’t we? Use that anger. Use it to avenge him.”
Nova didn’t respond. The world became still. Serene. Black and white.
She looked through the scope, lining up the sights.
It had to be in the eye. Anywhere else on his body and the tip of the dart would snap on the layer of chrome beneath his skin, and the poison would never make its way into his system.
Her aim had to be perfect.