however his power works broadcasts again and they get snared also? More hostages.” She navigated her way through the living statues, but once she was within three meters of the door, the zombies lurched forward.
Jet halted, her arms out, ready to call up a graymatter shield. But there was no need; as soon as she stopped heading toward the entrance, the normals stood still, their arms loose at their sides, their eyes white.
“Creepy,” said Frostbite. “A living motion detector.”
“Better than trip wires.”
“Not really. I can make an ice bridge over trip wires.”
“So make an ice bridge onto the roof,” a man’s voice called out from above. “See if they secretly have ice picks up their sleeves.”
Jet looked up to frown at Taser, seated on his hover. Steele rode behind him, her arms loosely draped around his waist.
“About time,” Jet said.
“Hey, I’m impressed you actually waited, honey. Usually it’s the guy who shoots off too fast, but you superdames are more cocksure than a locker room full of wrestlers. By the way, I love the new look. It’s sexy.”
And damn it all to Darkness if Jet didn’t feel her cheeks heat.
“Are you going to banter all day,” Steele said sharply, “or are you going to park this thing so we can help?”
“Oh look, a spot.” Taser gunned the engine before he parked the hover directly across the street from Hypnotic’s lair.
Frostbite shook his head as Steele and Taser walked over to him and Jet. “You worried the meter maid’s gonna ticket you?”
“I don’t fancy zombies scratching my paint job.”
Jet tuned them out as she tapped Ops on her earpiece and let Meteorite know that the four of them were gathered and would be entering the building. “I’ll keep the channel open so you can hear what’s happening. From what I’ve seen, his power is based on both sight and proximity. You’ll be safe.”
“Good luck,” Meteorite replied, her voice stripped of her usual snark.
“Thanks.” She turned to face the others. “Frostbite, you can clear us a path to the door. Once we’re inside, keep your eyes covered. He likes to use light to capture your attention. We’ll go in, get Iridium and the others, and get out.”
“We have to take him out,” Steele said gruffly, staring past the bespelled citizens, her gaze boring a hole through the door.
“We don’t want a repeat of the Manhattan Siege,” Frostbite said. “I’m with Jet. In and out. Rescue our own, regroup.”
Steele tightened her jaw. “He can’t be allowed to stay free. He’s too dangerous.”
“He let us go last time,” Taser said. “Doubt we’ll be so fortunate the second time.”
The large woman stared at the mercenary, her eyes glittering. Then she went metal, her flesh transforming into living steel. “Fine,” she grunted, turning back to the door. “Let’s do this.”
Jet and Frostbite exchanged a look. He mouthed: I’ve got her back. Jet nodded once.
“Okay,” Frostbite said. “One ice tunnel coming up.”
He squatted down, placing one hand on the sidewalk. Ice spread from his fingers, stretching its way toward the front door, sliding under the humans. Once it touched the door, it slowly expanded outward, gently pushing people out of its way as it formed a covered path. None of the zombies reacted. Jet assumed they’d been programmed to block the door to prevent only uninvited guests from entering.
Jet noticed the sweat beading on Frostbite’s brow, saw the small tremor in his fingers. He’d been out of the field too long; before this week, the most he’d used his power in six years was to make homemade Slushies. The ice path gleamed in the morning light, beautiful and fragile as a rose in winter.
Come on, Derek the Dork. You can do it. Get us in there to save Callie.
Frostbite was sweating freely now, his brow furrowed in concentration. The walls of the covered path thickened, and thickened again. More zombies were nudged aside.
“Just a little more,” Jet said.
He grunted, perhaps agreeing with her or telling her to fuck off.
“Jet.”
She glanced over at Steele. “Yes?”
“Where’s Firebug?”
Jet considered lying, something small and harmless, like she’d overdone the croissants and was doubled over on the can. But Jet was a horrible liar; Iridium had always been the one who could smoothly talk her way out of anything.
Almost anything, Jet thought, sliding a glance at the nearest zombie. Was Callie like that, standing like a child’s doll, waiting to be used? Jet’s lips pressed together tightly as she imagined Iri reduced to a mindless puppet. Was she unconscious? Hurt?
Worse?
The sound of