Archenemies (Renegades #2)(73)

His dads traded another look, and Adrian bristled on the inside. What was with all the silent looks these days? Didn’t they know he could see them?

Then they both sighed, practically in unison.

“Yes,” said Hugh. “That was all.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

NOVA WAS NEARLY finished cleaning up the disaster when a chime echoed through the vault. She cocked her head, frowning. It sounded like the alert from the reception desk, but … it was far too early for someone to be there, wasn’t it?

She waited until she heard the chime a second time, then sighed and headed to the front of the warehouse.

A girl was standing at the checkout desk, drumming her fingers on the counter.

Nova’s feet stalled.

Genissa Clark’s ice-blue eyes met Nova’s, then swept down the length of the mop. Her lips curled, just a tiny bit. “First you go from patrols to administration duty, and now they’ve demoted you all the way down to janitorial? Your family must be so proud.”

Nova’s teeth ground—more at Genissa’s flippant mention of her family than the pretentious attempt at an insult.

During her time masquerading as a Renegade, Nova had been forced to admit that many Renegades had good intentions, even if they were part of a harmful social hierarchy. But she had also become even more aware that many Renegades craved authority over those they deemed inferior, and Frostbite was among the worst. Back when the Anarchists had lived in the subway tunnels, Frostbite’s team paid frequent visits—mocking the Anarchists, destroying their property, wasting their resources … all in the name of “keeping the peace.” Nova despised her and her team more than she despised most Renegades.

“There are no unimportant jobs,” said Nova, leaning the mop against Snapshot’s desk, “only pretentious, small-minded individuals who seek to inflate their own importance by demoralizing everyone else.” Plastering on a brilliant smile, she rounded the desk and booted up the computer. “Can I help you with something?”

Genissa picked up the clipboard with the checkout information on it and tossed it at Nova. “I need Turmoil’s Deadener.”

Nova scanned the top sheet on the clipboard and saw that Genissa had already begun to fill out the information for her request.

“Turmoil’s Deadener?” she said skeptically. “What’s that?”

Genissa stared at her, silently, for a long moment.

Nova stared back. Having cultivated a lifetime’s supply of patience, she was quite good at staring contests.

Finally, Genissa sighed with mild exasperation. “His Sound Deadener? I thought the people in this department were supposed to be useful.”

The Sound Deadener was familiar, now that Nova thought of it—a metronome that, as the pendulum swung back and forth, would create a soundproof perimeter beyond the area where the ticking could be heard.

“What do you need that for?” said Nova, setting down the clipboard.

Genissa grunted. “I’m sorry. Are you supposed to ask questions, or bring me what I ask for?”

Nova’s saccharine smile returned. “Actually, I’m supposed to defend the innocent and uphold justice. So, again. What do you need it for?”

Small ice crystals were forming around Genissa’s fingertips, crackling against the sleeves of her uniform, and Nova could tell she thought this conversation was the biggest waste of her time. It sort of made Nova enjoy it.

“My unit has a busy night ahead,” Genissa said, her voice flat and annoyed. “And unlike some patrol units, we actually make an effort to keep from disturbing the peace.” Leaning forward, she pressed a finger down on the checkout sheet, sending a ripple of ice crackling against the paper. “Oh, wait—I’m sorry, how very inconsiderate of me. I should have realized how our assignment would be upsetting to you. But I’m sure your team was passed up with good reason.”

Nova narrowed her eyes. “Excuse me?”

“We’ve been assigned to the Hawthorn case,” Genissa gloated. “And we finally have a lead. We should have her in custody within the next forty-eight hours. But don’t worry.” She leaned over the counter. “We’ll be sure to tell everyone what a difficult opponent she was, just to save you further embarrassment. Now, are you going to get that thing for me, or do I need to go find someone who actually knows how to do their job?”

Nova’s blood curdled, to think that Hawthorn might be found and captured, and Frostbite of all people would get the credit for it.

But she gripped her smile like a weapon. “Have you already signed the rental agreement?”

“Of course.”

“Well, then.” Nova shoved away from the desk. “I guess I’ll be right back with your … Deadener.”

It wasn’t hard to find Turmoil’s Sound Deadener, stocked in the power-imbued tools section between a pewter-surfaced mirror and a collection of small red spheres. Nova snatched the wooden metronome from the shelf and turned away, her jaw still clenched.

She froze, then slowly turned back to the spheres.

There were six of them, all nestled into a tray not much bigger than a shoe box. Nova picked one up and inspected it. The device reminded her of a pomegranate—shiny and smooth, with a plugged crown on one side.

“Hello, mist-missiles,” she whispered, reading the label beneath the box. These were some of the explosive devices she had mentioned to Leroy that she thought could be altered to work with a gaseous form of Agent N, but she hadn’t been able to inspect them yet. The infamous mist-missiles were an invention from Fatalia, who could release an acidic vapor through her breath that would pulverize the lungs of any opponent who breathed it in. Her power was only effective at close range, though, which her enemies eventually caught on to. And so she created her missiles, similar to a hand grenade, that she could breathe her acid into. Upon impact, the acid would be released into the air. Nova could see a thin line around the device’s circumference where it would have split open to emit the noxious vapor.