A guy nearby suddenly grabbed Lulu by the arm and whipped her in his direction. She laughed as the crowd churned to the demanding music. Just like that, she was gone.
I stopped in place. Searching through the throng of half-glowing figures, I finally found Lulu again. She was dancing with someone else. Sparks. Did she expect me to follow? Was this a test of some sort? Or was it a rejection? Why didn’t school at the Factory involve important lessons, like how to deal with a party?
As I stood there, feeling stupid to be alone amid the dancing, I spotted something else. A face I thought I recognized. An Asian woman, punk clothing, like from the old days. And … It was Newton. Leader of the gangs of Babilar. Epic. She stood to the side of the dance floor, next to a table heaped with fruit that lit her face.
Oh, thank you, I thought, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief. Dancing was stressful—but murderous demigods, those I could deal with.
Hand in my pocket on the gun, I moved through the crowd to get a better look.
20
I quickly dredged from my memory everything I knew about Newton. Force redirection, I thought. That’s her main power. Slap Newton, and none of the energy would transfer to her—it would all reflect back at you. She could also move inhumanly fast. I’d had some things in my notes about her background and family, but I couldn’t remember them. I briefly considered calling Tia, but with the music blaring I wasn’t sure if she’d be able to hear me—or me her.
Newton began walking around the perimeter of the dancing area, moving with an unhurried gait. No super speed for the moment. I kept pace, pushing through the press of bodies and reaching a place where the crowd was less dense.
Newton walked like someone who knew she had the biggest gun in the room—confident, unconcerned. She didn’t wear a single bit of spraypaint on her otherwise garish clothing: leather jacket, enormous cross-shaped earrings, piercings in her nose and lip. Short purple hair. She looked like she was about eighteen, but I thought I remembered something about her age being deceptive.
She could kill everyone at this party, I thought with a chill. No consequences. Nobody would even question her. She’s an Epic. It’s her right.
What was she doing here? Why was she just walking and watching? Of course, I didn’t mind that she wasn’t engaging in wholesale slaughter—but she had to have some kind of agenda. I pulled out my new mobile, the one Mizzy had given me. I thought she’d said …
Yes, she’d loaded it with photos of all known members of Newton’s gang. A few of those were minor Epics, and I wanted to be prepared. I shuffled through the photos quickly while keeping one eye on Newton. Was any of the rest of her team here?
I didn’t spot any of them. Did that make her more or less likely to be up to something? I moved to get closer, but a hand caught me by the shoulder.
“David?” Mizzy asked. “Sparks, what are you doing?”
I lowered my mobile and turned, twisting Mizzy away in case Newton glanced in our direction. “Epic,” I said. “Just ahead.”
“Yeah, that’s Newton,” Mizzy said. “Why are you following her? Do you have a death wish?”
“Why’s she here?” I asked, leaning down to hear Mizzy.
“It’s a party.”
“I know it is. But why is she here?”
“Uhhhh. For the party.”
I paused. Epics went to parties?
I knew, logically, that sometimes Epics interacted with their lessers. In Newcago, Steelheart’s favored had served, worked for, and even—in the case of the attractive ones—dated Epics. I just hadn’t expected someone like Newton to be … hanging out. Epics were monsters. Killing machines.
No, I thought, watching Newton as she moved to the drink counter—where she was immediately served. Creatures like Obliteration are killing machines. Other Epics are different. Steelheart had wanted a city to rule, with subjects to worship him. Nightwielder had gone to meet with arms dealers, bringing assistants with him. Many Epics behaved like ordinary people, save for their absolute lack of morals.
Those types killed not because they enjoyed it, but because they got annoyed. Or, like Deathpoint—the Epic who had attacked the bank the day my father died—they killed because they figured it was just plain easier than the alternatives.
Newton got her drink, then leaned back against the bar, watching the crowd. Her gaze passed by Mizzy and me, not lingering. Either Regalia hadn’t described us to Newton, or she didn’t care that the Reckoners were at the party.
The Babilarans made way for her and averted their eyes when she looked in their direction. They didn’t bow or give any obvious signs of subservience, but they clearly knew who she was. This was a lion among the gazelles; the lion just wasn’t hungry right now.
“Come on,” Mizzy said, steering me back toward the dancing.