Young Sentinels (Wearing the Cape) (Volume 3) (10 page)

Grendel

I closed my door and dropped on the bed.

Latisha hadn’t been understanding. She’d never had a problem with Ozma; as beautiful as the princess was, she was also a 100–year-old virgin and therefore not competition, and Latisha had initiated our relationship in the first place — a wicked-smart, smoking hot D Class, she’d made up for her lack of serious power by accessorizing herself with one of Hillwood’s current alpha-supers, me. But she’d assumed somewhere that it would last until graduation.

My telling her that I was leaving because the princess had crooked her finger told her everything she’d needed to know about where she ranked. She was cool and fun, and we’d been good with each other, but she’d never asked for more, I’d never offered, and I’d leave with Ozma because two years ago she’d promised me justice. Latisha knew that now; she just didn’t care.

“Brian?” Nix called softly from the vent.

“Come in, Nix.” She fluttered up to perch on my lamp. Ozma had humored the little doll’s wish to be a fairy by making her a pair of attachable butterfly wings that, against all laws of nature,
worked
. She adjusted her gauzy lace skirts.

“Are you ready to go?”

I gave her the kind of toothy grin that reminded most people of my willingness to rip arms off. She sighed, not exactly the reaction I’d been aiming at.

“My aunt and uncle have signed off on it,” I said, wondering what she was looking for.

That had been an intense conversation but they were just glad I knew what I wanted to do, and it was normal enough even if it was all happening pretty fast. CAI teams creating spots for Academy seniors with valuable power sets was pretty routine, and we’d finish our classes by computer correspondence and return for graduation.

She tucked her legs up, rested her chin on her ball-joint knees, and her next sigh turned into a sniff. I put down the six-pack I’d pulled out of my closet for the common hall party downstairs. Since we weren’t sure when we were leaving, Gilmore House was throwing us a farewell party tonight. Carlton House was probably doing the same for Reese.

“What’s the matter, Nix?”

“I don’t — I don’t...” She put her head down. “I don’t want us to go.”

Dammit
. Ozma was serenely confident that her yellow-brick road home was opening at last, even if it took years to walk it. Nox was ready to wade in the blood of his princess’ enemies, or at least make them hurt a lot. But Nix — Nix’s home had always been Ozma’s room and the lab, and the fairy garden she’d made of boxes and soil and the flowers and tea-plant vines she’d collected and raised.

Dammit
. I could find a shipping pallet behind the groundskeeper’s sheds, rig something, but moving the boxes would tear the vines ... It wouldn’t work. I patted my shoulder and Nix fluttered over to tuck herself in by my ear. She loved the spicy smell of my dreads.

“We’ll find you space for another garden.” It was lame, but I wasn’t about to give her a line like
It’ll be all right
. I felt her nod, but she heaved a sob. Dammit, I wasn’t equipped to help a heartbroken doll. And she wasn’t going to have another real home until it was the Emerald Palace.

I was going to have to talk to Latisha again.
Great
.

Superheroing is rescue and aid work, and sometimes police-assist and fighting. But mostly it’s studying and training and trying to have a life outside of the job. Most of the time, that’s not too hard; there are enough of us that we all have downtime, and months can go by between serious action.

But then, there are the other days.

Astra
, Notes From a Life.

“Shelly says he’s good at swallowing the mad,” I said.

Chakra smiled at me over her tea and toast. “Is that her professional assessment?” It was easy to forget she held a doctorate in behavioral science; she dressed like a gypsy, practiced pranayama and kundalini manipulation, and talked like a sex therapist (which made our conversations all
sorts
of fun). Her breakthrough-powered tantric magic was just
bonus
.

Last night, Blackstone had insisted Chakra and I watch the tape of Mal’s meeting with Quin, Seven, Legal Eagle, and his parents from the day of the Green Man’s attack. I’d felt like a complete voyeur. Mal had got
intense
, his dad got cold, his mom wouldn’t stop the quiet hysteria. Nobody fought, but at least twice I’d thought he was going to redecorate the whole Assembly Room.

Sitting beside Mal, Seven hadn’t so much as twitched.

And this morning over breakfast, Shelly had fessed up about where she’d gone that first night and how it had ended. Shelly shouldn’t happen to unsuspecting people and it had been
so
Shelly — I couldn’t believe she’d managed to drag him to lunch after that, and now she was scoring 0 for 2 with the boy. Chakra had listened to the story, too, and had looked quietly thoughtful after Shelly left. Then she’d started the questions.

“So, you think he’s safe?” she prodded. I squirmed.

“Not
safe
, just...on top of it?”

“I agree,” she surprised me, thoughtfully nibbling on her jammed toast. “Our Mr. Scott has a great deal of experience with ‘swallowing the mad.’ Have you given much thought to what shapes breakthroughs? His experience would seem to parallel yours, wouldn’t it? Little direct physical trauma, a disproportionate response to the danger...”

“Well, we were both afraid — ”

“Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

She laughed. “Did I stutter? I remember the report, and you didn’t break through when the overpass pinned your car. You weren’t badly injured, and several minutes went by before you changed. Did you get
more
afraid? Panic?”

I tried to remember my state of mind back when it happened. “I wanted to...” What?

“May I offer a working hypothesis?” She sat back. “You’d seen lots of disaster-scene news footage where Atlas flew in for the rescue. You
needed
a rescue, but couldn’t wait for it because others were in danger too. So, you did what you’d seen him do.”

“You think I was a copycat obsessing on him?”

“No, but you did idealize him. Understandable — there was a lot to idealize. My point is that your breakthrough was triggered by the need to
help
, so it gave you a very helpful and familiar power set. Our boy’s breakthrough the other day was triggered by pain and perfectly natural fear. It gave him the means to strike back hard at the cause, even using something he was familiar with — did you see his school records? Ace chemistry student until last year, did a science fair project on high-energy reactions and lift; he’s a rocket scientist in the making. But the bottom line is his trigger was fear, and fear and anger have similar physiological responses.”

“So, you’re saying Mal can already control his power.”

She frowned thoughtfully, tapping her cup. “Suppress, maybe. When you grow up in an emotionally stressful environment, you learn to keep things in early, and his family obviously has issues. But let’s get back to you and your impulsive promise to help.” I could swear her eyes twinkled. “I know a technique...”

Seven laughed.

“It’s not
funny
!” My ears were burning again. I’d fled the breakfast table and Seven found me in the gym ringing the gong, the massive strike-plate I used for a punching bag. All I’d had to say was “Chakra talked to me” for him to go off, which didn’t help. Shelly’s “Seven days to move on Seven” ultimatum wasn’t helping me, either.

“I swear — ”
bong
“she does it to — ”
bong
“traumatize me!”
bong
. Kinetic-to-thermal energy transfer was actually starting to heat the plate. “She makes me want to wave my Saint Agnes medal like a cross for vampires!” Seven just laughed harder, and my worked-up gasping turned into giggles. “Not — ”
bong
“funny!”

I gave up and leaned against the plate, slid to the floor.

“It’s a little funny,” Seven admitted. He sat down and took the spot beside me.

“What does he
want
?” I asked, trying to ignore the way our shoulders touched. Since we were off the top of the response queue, I wore spandex spanky pants and an athletic shirt I’d thrown on this morning to sweat in, and I could feel the brush of his Egyptian cotton suit when my bare arm twitched.

Of course, he didn’t notice. “Who?”

“Blackstone. He’s up to something.” I understood Blackstone’s rationale — if we were going to start a new team,
someone
had to be its familiar face. But putting me in
charge
? Letting me pick my team? He’d given in on my picks way too easy and was pushing to make it work. Not that I wasn’t grateful, but...

“So, what’s going on?”

He whistled when I told him, then just sat there thinking. Finally he skimmed his hat, took it off, put it back with a little hat-flip and gave me a guileless smile. “Thinking five steps ahead is his job, and I’m pretty sure he’s always up to something. Mind like a snake.”

“You say that like it’s a
good
thing.”

“Since he’s on the side of the angels, yep.” He climbed to his feet and pulled me up. The stomach-butterflies were back and I sternly ignored them. I didn’t have
time
for it, and right there, I realized what I had to do about it.

Letting go, he gave me his patented grin. “So, I’m spotting Rush at a neighborhood safety conference this morning. What are you doing?”

“We’re still on alert, so I’m not going to classes, and I’m pretty sure Watchman is going to take advantage. Not like
that
,” I laughed at his playful look. “But Dr. Beth will probably be checking me out by the time you get back.”

His smile-dimple appeared. “Maybe I shouldn’t
leave
.”

“That’s sweet. And cheating. Go. I’ll live.” He left, whistling, and I gave myself a moment after the doors closed before going back to the gong.

Megaton

I had no idea what they wanted from me, which sucked because I was finally starting to care.

My second morning started with a text from
Tiffany
. Just an RUOK?, with a link attached. The link led to a Chicago News story on yesterday’s café shooting. I texted back that it was no big deal, but it was cool that she cared — nobody, and I mean
nobody
, had bothered until now, and some of the posted responses to the story suggested it would have been better if the shooter hadn’t missed.

Police were still “questioning” the shooter and “pursuing inquiries.”

After breakfast, The Harlequin took me upstairs and introduced me to my case worker, a guy named Allen Nenbauer who gave me his card. He came armed with a briefcase and an agenda that began with a monster questionnaire, and he thought smiling like he’d snorted nitrous oxide was part of the process. It was like watching a grinning ventriloquist’s dummy, but after hours of inane or insane questions and warnings, he let me go with instructions to call him any time “should issues develop.”

All part of being a minor the state wanted to “protect.”

After he finished, The Harlequin returned and took me back down to the living levels to drop me at a door across from the infirmary. When it opened, she gave me a wink and a push before turning and leaving me there. Okay...

The doors closed behind me, making me jump; I still wasn’t used to the way all the doors came from the USS
Enterprise
.

“You made it.” Across the big room, Watchman broke away from Variforce to step my way. They’d been working out against each other in the center of a red-painted circle on the bare floor.

He shook my hand. “So, are you ready?” He was actually breathing hard. Behind him, Variforce let his origami aura of gold force fields fade and drift until they blended with his black-and-gold spandex bodysuit.

“For
what
?”

“For us to see what you do.”

My skin tingled and my throat went dry, but I nodded.

“Good.” He slapped my shoulder, waved Variforce over. The other guy, built like a dancer, practically steamed. Breathing deep but not hard, he combed fingers through his short and kinky hair and flipped sweat away.

“Relax, kid,” he said. “We’re not going to blow anything up. Check this.” He held up his arms and waves of gold flowed off him, building layer by layer into a long translucent column stretching away from us along the floor. Spreading his hands widened the column, thickening its rim without hollowing it out.

“Right here.” He pointed to a spot beside him for me to stand. A pushing motion indented the end in front of us until it was deeply concave. Watchman joined us on my other side, and Variforce pulled a few layers of glowing field around himself.

“Okay.” He studied his creation and nodded. “This is just like a shooting-chamber for firing rounds for ballistic tests. The fields aren’t hardened — they’ll absorb the blast through their combined volume, and the room’s sensors are going to measure field density and deformation; that’ll give us an idea of your power’s energy density. Got it? Just point and fire.”

“Got it.” I wiped my hands on my jeans, looked at Watchman, and lifted my arms. Just thinking about it, I felt the heat coming, the pressure building. I braced, leaned in.