Today, though, she was all professionalism as she led Adrian and the others toward the elevator. Once they had piled inside, he looked around at his team. Ruby was biting her lower lip, looking almost fearful. Oscar was leaning against the wall, inspecting his fingernails. And Nova was doing what she always did—observing. Her blue eyes scouring every inch of the elevator, darting from the security camera in the ceiling to the emergency call button on the wall to the series of numbers over the door.
The elevator shot upward so fast Adrian’s stomach swooped. The back wall was made of glass and as they cleared the roof of the next building, the skyline presented itself, all the way to the Stockton Bridge. It was a clear day, and with the sun overhead the city looked almost iridescent, with golden light glinting off thousands of windows and wispy amethyst clouds gliding in from the south.
“You’ve been up here before, haven’t you, Adrian?” asked Prism, light and jovial.
“Nope,” he said.
“Really?” she said. “Not even just to visit?”
“I try not to bother them if it can be avoided.”
“Oh, sweetie, you’re never a bother.” She grinned. The sunlight off her teeth made the wall glitter with pink and yellow spots.
The doors dinged and Prism exited first, her bare feet clipping on the floor.
Adrian took two steps out of the elevator and his breath hitched.
He had heard that Council Hall was a marvel, and he knew there were people who made up all sorts of petitions just for a chance to come and see it, but he still hadn’t been fully prepared. A white-marble walkway stretched out before him, enclosed on either side by a wall of water that spanned from the floor to the high ceiling. The water was not solid like ice, nor was it moving like a waterfall, but rather seemed to just hang there, suspended in space, trembling from the air vibrations as Prism walked past. He wondered what would happen if he touched it. Would it be like bursting a bubble? Would the delicate equilibrium be broken and the wall come crashing down onto the floor? Or would his hand go right through, no different from submerging it in a pool?
He would have to ask one of his dads later.
And then there were the lights—tiny speckles of golden light drifting aimlessly over their heads, reminiscent of winking fireflies. Though not one was any larger than a speck of dust, together they gave the impression of something serene and alive, like glowing algae drifting on a wave. They filled the space with a warm hue, and the reflection off the water made rhythms of light dance along the walkway. The effect was hypnotic and tranquil and Adrian felt more like he had just entered a supernatural day spa than the hall of their official governing body.
At the end of the walkway stood five chromium thrones. He knew he shouldn’t think of them as thrones—the Council got defensive whenever anyone suggested they were trying to become royalty—but he didn’t know how else one could describe the massive seats that sat in a semicircle around a slender podium.
Blacklight and Tsunami sat in the first two chairs on Adrian’s left—no doubt they were responsible for the water and lighting effects in the hall, which only made him more curious. Did the water and floating lights stay when they weren’t around, or did they send them away at night, transforming the hall into … well, just a hall?
Then there was Captain Chromium in the center seat, followed by the Dread Warden, both wearing their superhero faces—kind but stern.
The fifth and final seat was occupied by Thunderbird, her posture stiff and craned slightly forward to leave space for her wings, which were opened and curling around the back of the seat.
Perhaps the most unnerving part of seeing them there was that his dads, like the others, were wearing their iconic superhero uniforms—not the gray bodysuits the current Renegades wore, but the vigilante costumes they had long ago become famous for. The Dread Warden in his black cape and domino mask. The Captain in muscle-defining Lycra and shoulder armor.
Adrian had known their identities since he could remember, since years before he’d even become an official member of their family. Just like he’d known that his mom was the amazing and ferocious Lady Indomitable. They never tried to keep it a secret. But despite knowing the facts of their alter egos, there had always been a disconnect in his mind. A gap between the superheroes the world idolized and the adoptive dads who wore sweatpants and stained T-shirts and who had a monthly tradition of eating an entire tray of cinnamon rolls for dinner while watching cheesy sci-fi movies.
“Announcing to the Council,” said Prism, “Mr. Adrian Everhart. Mr. Oscar Silva. Miss Ruby Tucker. And Miss Nova McLain.” She stepped aside, motioning for them to approach the podium.