The Frame-Up (The Golden Arrow #1)(28)

I’m getting whiplash. First I think he’s going to ask me out; then he asks me to pretend to date him. Then an almost-kiss, but now he’s studying this picture frame like it’s a clue to the damn mystery. It’s a picture of Ryan, Trog, and me at Halloween. Looking at it through his eyes, I realize how cozy we look. Like I fancy my roommate, even though to me he’s family. Aren’t you allowed to have pictures of your family next to your bed?

I swear the muscle in his jaw tightens ever so slightly.

“It’s my favorite picture of Trog,” I say by way of explanation. It’s probably best to get back to business. “Anyway, this first issue of the new reboot is the only issue that addresses the old story line with the smugglers and the double agent—”

“Is Trogdor in a box?”

I blink. “Yes.”

“Is that another one of the jokes I don’t get? Like a Japanese cartoon thing? Or an online meme?” He says “meh-muh,” and I stifle a laugh.

“It’s anime, and a meme,” I say, correcting his pronunciation. “And no. That was his costume. He was a box.”

“A box of . . .”

I shrug. “Just a box. This year he’s going to be the demo-corgan from Stranger Things . . .”

Matteo throws his head back and laughs, interrupting me. Trog gives an indignant snort and sneeze, wiggles on his back, then slides off the bed and trots out the door. Fuzz-butt traitor. “So you’re saying that you’re a comic book writer, have purple hair and a million inside jokes from movies and books I’ve never seen or read, and that your dog was a plain ol’ box for Halloween?”

“I thought it was funny.” I’m defensive now, and not a little put out.

“It is funny. You just keep surprising me is all.” His face is warm, open, and inarguably magnetic right now.

“Oh.” I refuse to return his grin. We’re dangerously off the rails here.

I open the comic and scan the pages. Instead of the beautiful yellows and greens the originals were drawn with, these are an in-your-face, gratuitous riot. I love me some colors—just look at my hair—but after years of having rainbow-hued locks, I’ve learned an important lesson: judicious use of color is key. “Here,” I say, pointing at a page. “This is where they return to the warehouse and fight with his partner. And here”—I open the first of the new issues—“here’s where it moves away from the old story line. It’s also where they find the secret portal to the alien planet, and . . . Are you listening to me?”

Matteo replaces the picture on the table and leafs through the stack of drawings. “Did you draw these? And yes, of course I’m listening. They find the lair, tie up the double agent. And I have a question about that. But I also want to know if you drew these.”

I reach out, snag them, and stuff the drawings for L’s new costume into my desk drawer. I’d rather have him rifling through my underwear. My drawings are private. “Yes, I drew them. And why don’t you go ahead and ask your question about the comic book and leave off snooping.”

He wears an innocent look that I’m not buying. “Fine. Touchy. I thought you said the other day that we didn’t know what happened to the double agent.” The words “double agent” send a tingle up my spine. A dirty cop. Brewing drug wars. White Rabbit. There are too many odd coincidences these days between The Hooded Falcon and real life.

I wiggle forward so my feet dangle off the edge of my bed, trying to extricate myself from the force of gravity that Matteo’s larger person exerts on my smaller frame. I fail miserably and seem to only draw attention to the fact that we’re pressed together in the middle of the bed for no reason now that Trogdor is gone.

“That’s what I’m getting at. The story line was basically dropped in the new series. In the old ones, it’s set up as a big reveal. They find the drugs. Falcon is going to unmask him. They’re going to expose him to the public. Then the new ones”—I flop my hand around, searching for a word—“tie it up in a matter of pages. They simply go to a warehouse owned by the double agent, find the stash of drugs, and capture him for the police. They never reveal in the comic who the superhero was to Space City, even though we’re told he was a double agent. We know he was someone important to the book. This cliffhanger has always bothered true followers of the Falcon. And now we know why. Casey Senior died before his final comics could be run.” I pause, still feeling guilty about revealing L’s secret to Matteo. “Lawrence’s journal proves that Casey Senior planned to unmask the double agent, end the comic, and retire the Falcon.”

“But the new one didn’t.”

“No.”

I’m starting to recognize the super intense gaze as Matteo’s thinking face. “Why change the new one so drastically?”

“I suspect because either Edward Casey Junior didn’t know what his father had planned or more than likely didn’t care. I told you that it was in this episode that they launched the new cycle. New villains, new weapons. Even the costumes changed drastically. Being a Robin Hood character isn’t cool anymore; kids aren’t interested in social justice. If you don’t have aliens and stun guns, you aren’t selling, I guess. Really the only thing he kept was Swoosh, the sidekick, and the fact that the Hooded Falcon uses a bow and arrow.”