The Betrayal of Renegade X (Renegade X, Book 3) (31 page)

“Good. Then you’ll keep your mouth shut until morning.”

Her eyes are wet. Her jaw trembles. “I hate you.”

“Yeah, I know.” I put my arms around her. She resists hugging me back, but only for a second, and then she squeezes me really hard. “Bye, Amelia.”

She pulls away, not saying anything.

I put my hood on and readjust my backpack, stalling for time. As soon as I open the door, a gust of cold air hits me. It’s freezing outside, and I don’t want to go.

“If you leave, I’ll never forgive you,” Amelia says from behind me.

I wince. But I can’t let them get hurt because of me.

So I don’t look back. I just leave.

I
wait until I’m a couple blocks away, to make sure no one’s coming after me. Then I slip my phone out of my pocket and call Grandpa. It’s late, almost midnight, and I don’t know if he’ll be up. And I haven’t talked to him since his party, because he was screening my calls.

“Damien?”

He sounds awake, and not like he was asleep. “Sorry, Grandpa. I know it’s a weird time to call.”

“Don’t be sorry. You can call me anytime—you know that.”

“I just wanted to know if your offer still stands.”

“Which offer was that?”

“You said you would have taken me in, after Mom kicked me out. I thought maybe I could stay with you guys for a while.  I mean, unless it’s a problem or something. Because I don’t want to bother you, and I could always just—”

“Where are you? I’ll come get you. Gladys!” he shouts, away from the phone. “Get your coat on—we have to go pick up the boy!”

“I can get to your house, Grandpa. It’s no problem.” The buses are still running.

“Nonsense. No grandson of mine is going to trek all over town in the middle of the night when it’s freezing cold out. Send me your coordinates. I have GPS on this thing.”

“Okay. And... thanks.”

“No need to thank us. We’re happy to have you here.”

“You’re sure it’s all right if I stay?”

“It’s insulting that you’d even ask me that. You can stay with us as long as you like, and I don’t want to hear another word about it. Now you sit tight and text me those coordinates. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

I
WAKE UP PRETTY late the next day. There’s a moment of panic when I look at the alarm clock and see that school started over two hours ago. And then I remember that it doesn’t matter. I’m at Grandma and Grandpa’s house, and I’m sure as hell not going to school. Or doing any stupid worksheets. And I don’t have to look out for letterist douchebags in the halls, or deal with equally letterist teachers who think I shouldn’t be there, either.

Which is kind of a huge relief.

I turned my phone off last night. It’s sitting on the nightstand, dark and silent, and I wonder how many messages and missed calls I have. Gordon must know I’m gone by now. He must have tried to call me a million times.

A ball of guilt forms in my stomach. It feels like I swallowed a rock.

A good son would turn on his phone and at least listen to the messages. He’d face the fact that he ran out in the night and left his father devastated—or pissed off, or whatever Gordon’s feeling right now—even if he knew there was nothing he could do about it. Maybe this hypothetical good son would even call his father
back
, just to say he was okay. It would mean hearing his dad’s upset voice and telling him in real time that he wasn’t coming home, and it would be hard, but he’d do it anyway.

I am not a good son.

The thought of turning on my phone and even seeing that I have missed calls fills me with dread. I know I’ll have to look eventually, but it doesn’t have to be right now. Or even today.

I get dressed and go out into the living room. Grandpa’s sitting at the table, reading the newspaper. He tells me to eat up, because we have work to do today, whatever that means. There’s lunch meat in the fridge, and I end up scarfing down two sandwiches and a glass of milk.

After breakfast—which is really more like lunch—we go out into the backyard.

“We’ll start with something basic,” Grandpa says. “To see where you’re at. Watch carefully.” He holds his hands out in front of him, palms together. Lightning sparks between them as he pulls them apart. He turns his wrists so the lightning arcs in a rainbow shape, like when he was showing off at Mom’s wedding. Then he moves his hands father out, widening the arc, then brings them back in again before letting his lightning disappear. “All right, kid. Your turn. Show me what you got.”

“Wait, this is the work we’re doing?”

“Yep. I saw those videos of you last fall. I know you’ve got a lot of oomph. But I can’t assess your skills unless I see them in person.”

“I know how to use my lightning. We don’t have to do this.”

He folds his arms and gives me this look of pure disbelief. “Afraid you’ll embarrass yourself in front of your old grandfather? Or that I won’t be as easily impressed as all those heroes you know?”

I roll my eyes at him. “You mean Zach? Because he’s pretty much the
only
one who’s impressed.” Well, other than the people who pay twenty bucks to get their picture taken with me while my hands are all electric. But that doesn’t count. “Everybody else is...”

“Afraid?”

“I was going to say disgusted, but that, too.”

“And now you’re too ashamed of your power to even show me.”

“It’s not like that. I—”

“Like hell it’s not. They’re the ones who should be ashamed. There’s nothing wrong with having lightning. You’re a villain. But they make you feel like it’s something to hide from. To pretend you don’t have. I saw some of the garbage they spouted off about it on the news when you took down that superhero. You’d think you’d murdered him in cold blood, the way they went on about it. Bet that father of yours wasn’t too happy, either.”

I shove my hands in my pockets and stare down at my shoes. “He’s trying, okay? It’s not easy for him.”

“Not easy for
him
? You’re sixteen years old.”

“I’m almost seventeen.”

“Living with heroes. That’s hard enough. And he has to go and make you feel ashamed of who you are. Like you’re not good enough.”

I swallow. “He doesn’t. Not on purpose.”

“And you’re making excuses for him. Some father he is. But you’re living with me now. And you’re sure as hell good enough for me.”

He doesn’t put a hand on my shoulder, like Gordon would, or even make a point of looking me in the eyes, to show how serious he is. He just says it, and means it, and that’s enough. I kind of hate to admit it, but it feels really good to hear. “Thanks, Grandpa.”

“I’m just stating a fact. No need to thank me for that. But you’re welcome anyway. Now, you can show me your lightning, or we can stand here all day, but you can’t ignore it forever. It’s in your blood. It’s who you are.”

“I’m not ignoring it.” Especially compared to the way I’m ignoring my flying power.

“Then show me. And don’t hold back.”

“Okay. Fine.” I hold my hands out in front of me. Lightning zaps between my palms, and I move them outward, the line of electricity stretching between them. I’ve never tried to make an arc before, but it can’t be that hard. Even if Grandpa’s been doing this for over forty years and I’ve only been doing it for five months. It takes me a second of concentrating, but then I make the same rainbow shape he did. No problem.

I look to Grandpa for confirmation that he severely underestimated me and should have started out with a harder challenge, but he’s shaking his head. “I told you not to hold back.”

“Uh, I wasn’t. Maybe you weren’t watching.”

“I was watching. Do it again, and put more power into it this time.”

Whatever. I do what he says, focusing more energy into the arc. It gets all bright and crackly. “Happy?”

“I suppose it’ll do. For now. Just hold it like that as long as you can.”

Okay, so much for him not underestimating me. “What’s the point of this?”

“The point is you’ve got a lot of power. But it’s no good if you don’t know how to use it. And keep going—don’t let up on that arc.”

“I’m
not
.” Except maybe I was, just a little. I refocus my energy so the power level stays steady. It takes more effort to maintain than I thought, and sweat already prickles along my back. “And you say they overreacted in the news about me, but now you’re acting like I can’t control my lightning, either. But I didn’t hurt that guy, even though I wanted to—I knew what I was doing.”

“And if you’d needed to hurt him?”

“I blew a hole in the gym. I think I can stop a bad guy if things get out of hand.”

“You could obliterate him, you mean. Those are your options right now—barely touching someone or completely annihilating them. One won’t always be enough, the other might be too much.”

Might be? My arc falters again, and I push more energy into it. Sweat beads on my forehead, and it’s taking so much concentration that I can hardly talk. “I’m not... I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“That’s not the point. You should be able to control your ability at any output. And you should be able to defend yourself without worrying about taking out the whole block.”

Not having to worry about killing somebody every time some crazy hero points a gun at me? It sounds almost too good to be true, and the thought breaks my concentration. My lightning suddenly fizzles and the arc falls apart.

“Not as easy as it looks, is it?” he says, with that really annoying look adults get when they think they know more than you.

“You caught me off guard.” Though I’m not sure how much longer I could have kept it up, because, yeah, he’s right. It’s a lot harder than it looks.

“Not bad for your first try. But I know you were still holding back.”

“So, if I practice like this, I won’t be dangerous anymore?”

He sighs. “It’s not that simple. You’ll always be dangerous. It comes with the territory.”

“But you can teach me how to, like, keep my lightning in check?”

He gives me a suspicious look. “Suppressing it isn’t the answer. If you want to control your power, you have to embrace it.”

The back door opens, and Grandma pokes her head out. “You’ve got a phone call,” she says. For a second, I think she’s talking to me, and I don’t know if I’m disappointed or relieved when she addresses Grandpa instead. “There’s been an attack. Three of our people have been injured and taken in. You’d better come quick.”

I
go with Grandma and Grandpa to the League’s interrogation site—the secret one where they take villains for questioning. Because it’s not like they could do that at headquarters, where they pretend that they’re above that kind of thing. I mean, some of the League members
are
above it—people like Gordon who didn’t know it was going on—but still.

We meet up with three other Truth members behind a beige, nondescript office building that no one would ever suspect was used by the League to torture villains. Grandpa keeps his voice low, but still commanding, as he lays out the plan. “We’re going in two teams. Pain Wave, you’re with me and Gladys. Cheshire Spider, you take the Reflector and Damien. Go through the back entrance and find our guys. You know where to look. We’ll go around the front and distract them. I want a lot of firepower for that, in case things get ugly. But you’ll have Damien to take out the security cameras.”

Everyone looks at me. I’m definitely the youngest of the group, and probably the least experienced. And also the most famous for going to hero school and generally being an all-around screwup, just in case anyone’s keeping track. So it’s not too surprising that the Reflector curls her lip in skepticism or that the Cheshire Spider makes eye contact with Grandpa, silently asking if he’s serious about this.

“I can do it,” I assure them, even though I’m not exactly sure what I’m supposed to do.

“You get our people out of there and bring them to the van,” Grandpa says, addressing the Cheshire Spider. “If we’re not back yet, you go anyway—get them help. It’s likely they’ll need immediate medical treatment.”

“You want us to leave you behind?” the Cheshire Spider asks.

I was wondering the same thing.