ripped the helmet off again and watched as the vision faded away.
Disappointment clawed at her. Shouldn’t she have felt different somehow? Stronger? More powerful? Invincible? That’s how Ace had always seemed to her when she was young. After the helmet had been seized, he had practically crumpled from its loss. Shouldn’t the helmet’s effect on her have been, somehow, more?
Nova never slept. Shouldn’t the helmet have amplified her boundless, inexhaustible energy?
She could put people to sleep through touch. Shouldn’t the helmet have … She didn’t know. Make it so she could put them to sleep from farther distances? Or … even, perhaps, kill them with her touch?
She was surprised at the shudder that overtook her at the thought. That would be an incredible power and certainly could help her break into the prison, but the idea of it repelled more than tempted.
With a huff, she thrust the helmet back into the closet and slammed the door.
A figure stood in the hallway, a welding mask over their face.
Nova yelped and lurched back. Her hand instinctively went for a weapon, but she wasn’t wearing her belt.
No matter. She wasn’t reliant on weaponry. She was a weapon.
She prepared for a fight, but the figure took a step back and held a palm toward her.
“I’ve taken out an insurance policy on my safety,” came a female voice.
Nova hesitated. The voice sounded faintly familiar.
“I have an ally who is expecting my return. If I am not back, unharmed, within the next twenty minutes, they will alert Captain Chromium and the rest of the Renegades of your identity and the location of your secret lair.”
Nova’s eyes narrowed as she inspected the mask’s blank shade. It was reminiscent of the Sentinel’s armor, which annoyed her more than it should have. “Secret lair? What is this, a comic book?”
“This isn’t a game,” the girl said. “I want Ace’s helmet, and I want it now!”
“I already gave it to you.”
“You gave me a fake, and you’re lucky I didn’t go straight to the Renegades when I found out. This is your last chance, Nova Artino.”
“I’m not a delivery service, and I don’t respond well to threats.” Nova leaped forward and thrust her elbow against the girl’s throat, pinning her to the wall. With her other hand, she tore off the welding mask, throwing it to the ground.
She gasped. “Narcissa?”
She was thinner than before, with dark blemishes beneath her eyes. Narcissa Cronin, granddaughter of Gene Cronin, the Librarian, who had been killed during the fight at the Cloven Cross Library. Ingrid had shot him in order to protect Nova’s identity.
This information clicked into place in Nova’s thoughts and so many things began to make sense. Narcissa could travel between mirrors. That’s how she had gotten into the bedroom upstairs and Honey’s room in the tunnels, both times without being seen, without leaving a trace. That’s how she knew Nova’s identity.
Narcissa shoved against her, and Nova, weakened by surprise, took a step back. “Narcissa,” she said again, still not fully comprehending that this girl, who had always seemed so quiet, so meek, so … unvillainous, could be the one who had blackmailed her.
“How did you even find me?” said Nova.
A touch of arrogance swept over Narcissa’s face. “I knew you were masquerading as a Renegade, so I waited outside their headquarters and followed you home.”
Nova shook her head. “I would have noticed if I was being followed.”
“Are you sure?” said Narcissa, almost tauntingly. “Did you check every reflection you passed? There are a lot of mirrors between Renegade HQ and Wallowridge. Once I knew what street you were on, I moved from house to house, vanity to vanity, until I found you. And now that I’m here, you are going to give me that helmet!” Face twisting with anger, Narcissa grabbed a pistol that had been tucked into her waistband.
Instinct and training buckled Nova’s knees. She dropped into a crouch, then swung one leg at Narcissa’s ankles. The girl cried out and fell backward, landing on her side with a yelp of pain. She tried to clamber back to her feet, but then her spine uncurled and she let out a shrill scream. She dropped the gun and clapped a hand onto her shoulder, barely missing the yellow-spotted wasp as it darted away from her fingertips. It landed on her black sneaker and had just begun to wriggle beneath the cuff of her jeans when Nova barked, “Honey, no! Let her be!”
The wasp paused, its wings beating against the girl’s shoelaces.
Nova