Archenemies (Renegades #2)(50)

She set down the label maker and took the puppet from him. She brought her cat-eye glasses down from her head and inspected the doll from every angle. After a long, quiet moment, she handed Hettie back to Adrian. “Just a puppet,” she confirmed. “Nothing extraordinary about it. You have my permission to take it from the warehouse. Callum, maybe you can make a note in the database?”

“Great, thanks,” said Adrian. He went to return the medallion to Callum, but hesitated. He looked closer at the design, his brow creasing.

Nova inched closer, trying to see what had caught his interest, but it was just a big, ugly pendant so far as she could tell. Albeit one that could protect from disease. She wondered to what extent. The common cold? The plague? Everything in between? And why wasn’t it at the hospital, rather than gathering dust in here?

“Actually, is this available to be checked out too?” asked Adrian.

“Sure,” said Callum. “But once you bring it back”—he cut a sharp look at Snapshot—“I’m putting it in defense.”

She shooed them away. “Just make sure you fill out the form, Mr. Everhart,” she said. “Nova can help you with that.”

Nova smiled tightly. “Right this way.”





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

WINSTON PRATT HELD the puppet in both hands, peering into its sad face with apparent indifference. Adrian had not known what to expect when he brought the doll to him. The counselor had insisted on being there, pointing out that objects that were significant and sentimental to a patient could result in strong outbursts of emotion—positive and negative. So Adrian had been prepared for delighted squeals, or wretched sobs. But had not been prepared for total apathy.

Even confusion, as Winston tilted his head from side to side. He seemed to be inspecting the doll’s face, but for what, Adrian couldn’t begin to guess.

“Well?” Adrian said finally, his patience reaching its end. The counselor shot him a disgruntled look, which he ignored. “That is Hettie, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Winston Pratt. “This is Hettie.” He rubbed the pad of his thumb across the black teardrop on the puppet’s cheek, as if trying to scrub the paint away. It didn’t work. Holding the doll in both hands, he lifted it to eye level and whispered, “You did this to me.”

Adrian cast a glance at the counselor. She looked worried, like she was ready to step in and divert Winston’s attention to more cheerful subjects at the first sign of trouble. Clearing her throat, she took a subtle step forward. “What did Hettie do to you, Mr. Pratt?”

Winston looked up, startled, as if he’d forgotten they were there. Then his lip curled in annoyance. “Hettie is a puppet,” he said, shaking the doll so that the wooden head bobbed back and forth. “It can’t do anything it isn’t made to do.”

The counselor blinked. “Yes,” she said slowly, “but you said—”

“It’s what he symbolizes,” Winston said. His indifference vanished, and suddenly, his face was carved with emotion. His brow creased, his eyes burned. His breaths turned ragged. “It’s what he did!” With a scream, he pulled back his arm and threw the puppet. It clacked hollowly against the wall and fell to the floor, its limbs splayed at odd angles.

Adrian watched, frozen, and wondered distantly if he should come back in an hour or two.

But then Winston took in a long breath and giggled, almost sheepish. “I didn’t mean to do that.” He looked at Adrian. “Could you hand him back to me, pretty please?”

When the counselor didn’t object, Adrian scooped the doll from the floor. Winston snatched it from his hand and spent another moment trying to scratch off the teardrop with his thumbnail, before huffing with irritation and tucking Hettie against his side.

He met Adrian’s eyes again and shrugged, a little sadly. “I shouldn’t have taken my anger out on poor Hettie,” he said, petting the doll’s fluffy orange hair. “It really isn’t his fault.”

Adrian forced a smile, not sure how else to respond. He waited a full ten seconds before lifting his eyebrows. “So?”

“So?” said Winston.

His fist started to tighten and Adrian shoved it into his pocket in an attempt to make it less obvious. “We had a deal. The puppet, in exchange for information. You promised to tell me who killed my mother.”

Winston clicked his tongue. “No, no. I promised to tell you something you would want to know.”

Adrian’s hand squeezed tighter, until he could feel his nails digging into his palm. He’d known better than to trust an Anarchist. He’d known.

He was seconds away from leaping forward and snatching the puppet away from the villain when Winston started to smile. Teasing and sly.

“And I will tell you something you want to know. More than you realize.”

Adrian held his breath.

“You told me that you watched the Detonator kill Nightmare,” said Winston. “That you were there. But … I’m afraid, young Master Everhart, you were mistaken.” His eyes twinkled. “Our precious little Nightmare is very much alive.”

*

HE WENT TO THE Council’s offices first, but only Blacklight was available. Adrian supposed he could have told him, as he was as high-ranking as any of the others. But no—he needed to talk to his dads first. They knew the whole story of his search for Nightmare. They knew why it was so important to him.