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.
“What do you know about her?” I asked. “Her background, I mean. Who she was before Calamity.” Fortunately, the current song was a little less overbearing than the previous ones, with a slower beat and not as much noise.
“Yunmi Park,” Mizzy said. “That’s her real name. Long ago, before all this happened, she was your run-of-the-mill black sheep. A juvenile delinquent born to successful parents who didn’t know what to do about her.”
“So she was evil even then?” I asked.
Mizzy started dancing—not as frantically or as, um, invitingly as Lulu had. Just some simple motions. The dancing was probably a good idea, as we didn’t want to stand out. I followed suit.
“Yeaaaah,” Mizzy said. “Definitely evil. She’d committed murder, so when Calamity arrived, she was already in juvie. Then bam. Super powers. Must have sucked to be the guards at that detention center that day, I tell you. But why does it matter what she was like?”
“I want to know what percentage of Epics were evil before they got their powers,” I said. “I’m also trying to tie their weaknesses to events in their past.”
“Hasn’t anyone tried that before?”
“A lot of people have,” I said. “But most of them didn’t have the level of research I’ve been able to gather, or the access to Epics that being in the Reckoners has given me. The connection, if there is one, isn’t obvious—but I think it’s there. I just have to find the right slant on it.…”
We danced for a few minutes. I could handle this dance. Less flailing was involved.
“What was it like?” Mizzy asked. “Killing Steelheart.”
“Well, we set up in Soldier Field,” I said. “We hadn’t quite figured out his weakness yet, but we had to try anyway. So we made a perimeter, and—”
“No,” Mizzy said. “What did it feel like to kill him? You know, inside of you. What was it like?”
“Is this pertinent to our current job somehow?” I asked, frowning.
Mizzy blushed and turned away. “Whoops. Personal information. Gotcha.”
I hadn’t intended to embarrass her; I’d just assumed I was missing something. I’d been too focused on the job at hand rather than on things like small talk and interpersonal interaction.
“It was awesome,” I said softly.
Mizzy glanced back at me.
“I’d always heard that revenge doesn’t pay off,” I continued. “That when you finally got what you’d been hunting, you’d find the experience unsatisfying and depressing. That’s a sparking load of stupidity. Killing that monster felt great, Mizzy. I avenged