Archenemies (Renegades, #2)(50)

She bit back a groan. “Brilliant.”

*

AFTER ADRIAN RETRIEVED the doll, they made their way back through the warehouse and found Snapshot talking to Callum in the section devoted to artifacts with healing properties.

“It should clearly go in defense,” Callum was saying, holding up a thick black pendant attached to a slender chain.

“I disagree,” said Snapshot, punching something into a handheld label maker. “It belongs here, with the other healing objects.”

“It doesn’t heal,” Callum said.

“It protects from disease,” said Snapshot.

“Yeah, it protects you from getting sick, but it won’t do anything if you’re already sick. It’s preventative. It’s a defensive measure. Defense.”

“Excuse me?” said Adrian, drawing their attention.

Callum opened his arms wide. “Nova, tell her! Vitality Charm, healing or defense?” He held up the necklace. The large round pendant swung from the chain. It appeared old—ancient even—with a rudimentary symbol impressed into what might have been iron, showing an open palm with a serpent curled up inside it.

Nova shook her head. “Sorry, Callum. Never heard of it.”

His shoulders sank. “Okay, well … mostly it’s used to protect against poison and disease, but there was also one account of it fending off a strength-draining attack from a prodigy.”

“Cool,” said Adrian. “Can I see?”

Callum handed the pendant to him. “They’ve had it in healing for years, but that doesn’t make sense.”

“Fine, Callum, fine,” said Snapshot, pressing a label onto the edge of a shelf. “Shelve it wherever you want. Hello, Adrian—I heard you were going through the Anarchist room. Did you find what you were looking for?”

“As a matter of fact…” Adrian held up the puppet. “Can I get it cleared to be taken out?”

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.