work so he could step around in front of her. He was sweating, and his heart was racing, but he tried not to let it show on his face. You didn’t show fear in the face of a predator, especially when said predator had a knife.
Scratch that. Two knives, because Mustache Man also pulled out a knife similar to the one Male Pattern Baldness had. And because Nick wasn’t always in control of his thoughts, he wondered if they were dating, and had picked out his-and-his matching switchblades. He cursed himself for being a romantic even when he was about to be stabbed.
He leaned his forehead against the back of Gibby’s neck, struggling to breathe, his bag pressed between them, trying to gather the tattered remains of his courage. In his head, he could picture it: He’d shove Gibby behind him, his shoulders squared, and he’d tell their muggers to go to hell. His dad had been a cop for longer than Nick was alive and had instilled in him a sense of duty. Of honor. You protected those who needed it. And not that Gibby needed it, exactly, but the principle was the same.
It was something Shadow Star would have done. He was a hero, and he wouldn’t take crap from anyone.
He could do this. He could do this.
“Okay,” Nick said slowly as he raised his head. “No one needs to get hurt.” He stepped around Gibby, meaning to stand in front of her, but she grabbed his wrist, holding it tight. They were shoulder to shoulder. He heard Dad’s voice in his head, whispering that it was easier to stand together than it was to struggle apart. He slid his hand up until Gibby’s fingers latched onto his own. He squeezed her tightly.
“Then hand everything over,” Mustache Man said, jabbing the knife toward them. “And maybe we won’t consider seeing what your blood looks like on the pavement.”
All in all, it was a very believable threat. Nick absolutely didn’t want to see what his blood looked like on the pavement. Even if he was brave (ish), it was outweighed completely by the fear of being stabbed. Nick did not want to be stabbed. He did not want Gibby to be stabbed.
“Okay,” he said, hating how his voice wobbled. Gibby heard it too, inhaling sharply, her grip hard enough to cause Nick’s bones to grind together. “Please. Don’t hurt us. We’ll give you whatever you want.”
“That’s better, kid,” Male Pattern Baldness said, mouth twisting in a sneer. “Maybe next time, learn to keep your gob shut.”
“There won’t be a next time,” a deep voice growled from somewhere above them.
Nicholas Bell froze because he knew that voice.
That voice had starred in many a fantasy, alongside those in which Nick had saved himself. Sometimes, that voice would whisper in his ear as its owner held his hand, telling him he thought Nick was cute, and they should go on a picnic or to the boardwalk and make fun of all the tourists paying fifteen dollars for cotton candy. That voice had also been his muse in the writing of his magnum opus, the ever-growing tale of love and sacrifice, of hot superheroes and supervillains in skintight costumes, starring a young, handsome man named Nathaniel Belen, mild-mannered and innocent until he fell for the protector of a city and thus put himself in the crosshairs of the war between good and evil.
That voice belonged to someone Extraordinary.
Nick took a step out from under the umbrella. He turned his face toward the sky. Rain fell onto his cheeks.
And there, perched on the side of a rent-controlled apartment building, was Shadow Star.
His black costume was slick with water. It glittered in the low light that filtered out from one of the windows of the building. The star symbol was stretched across his muscular chest. The lenses over his eyes flashed, and his mouth was open, teeth bared as he snarled down at Mustache Man and Male Pattern Baldness.
Nick’s mouth dropped open, but no sound came out. He’d had dreams that had started like this, and in those dreams, he’d say something witty and hilarious, causing Shadow Star to laugh (something Nick didn’t think he actually did, given that he needed to spend his time brooding about darkness and the diseased heart of the city). But for the life of him, Nick couldn’t say a word, his brain misfiring at the sight of the Extraordinary he idolized to what was most certainly an unhealthy degree.