Nova swallowed, feeling the knot in her stomach loosen only once the villain float had passed.
My little nightmare …
He had called her that, too, all those years ago.
The floats were followed by a band of acrobats and a Thunderbird balloon gliding overhead. Nova spotted a banner being propped up on tall poles, advertising the upcoming Renegade trials.
BOLD. VALIANT. JUST. DO YOU HAVE WHAT IT TAKES TO BE A HERO?
She faked a loud gagging sound, and an elderly woman nearby gave her a sour look.
A body crashed into her and Nova stumbled backward, her hands instinctively landing on the kid’s shoulders and righting her before she fell onto the pavement.
“Watch it,” said Nova.
The girl looked up—a domino mask over her eyes making her look like a smaller, scrawnier, girlier version of the Dread Warden.
“What was that, Nightmare?” Ingrid said into her ear. Nova ignored her.
The girl pulled away with a muttered sorry, then turned and wove her way back into the teeming crowd.
Nova adjusted her shirt and was just about to turn back to the parade when she saw the kid crash into someone else. Only, rather than set her right as Nova had done, the stranger stooped low, grabbed the girl’s ankle, and turned her upside down in one swift motion.
Nova gaped as the stranger hauled the girl, screaming and swatting his chest, back in Nova’s direction. He was roughly her age, but much taller, with dark skin, close-cut hair, and thick-framed eyeglasses. The way he strolled through the crowd made it seem more like he was carrying one of those cheesy Captain Chromium plush dolls rather than a ferocious, flailing child.
He stopped in front of Nova, a patient smile on his face.
“Give it back,” he said.
“Put me down!” the girl yelled. “Let me go!”
Nova looked from the boy to the child, then took a quick scan of the nearby crowd. Far too many people were watching them. Watching her.
That wasn’t good.
“What are you doing?” she said, turning back to the boy. “Put her down.”
His smile became even more serene and Nova’s heart stammered. Not just because he had one of those easy smiles that made other girls swoon, but because there was something unsettlingly familiar about him, and Nova immediately began racking her brain to figure out where she knew him from, and whether or not he was a threat.
“All right, Mini-Magpie,” he said, somewhat patronizing, “you’ve got three seconds before I send in a request to put you on probation. Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure the janitorial crew has been needing some help lately…”
The girl huffed and stopped struggling. Her mask had begun to slip and was close to sliding off her brow. “I hate you,” she growled, then reached into a pocket. She pulled out her hand and held it toward Nova, who uncertainly extended her own.
A bracelet—her bracelet—dropped into her palm.
Nova looked at her wrist, where a faint tan line showed where the bracelet had been worn every day for years.
Ingrid’s voice rattled in her head. “What’s happening down there, Nightmare?”
Nova didn’t respond. Tightening her fist around the bracelet, she fixed a glare on the child, who only glared back.
The boy dropped her with little ceremony, but the girl rolled easily when she hit the pavement and had sprung back to her feet before Nova could blink.
“I’m not going to report this,” said the boy, “because I believe you are going to make better choices after this. Right, Magpie?”
The girl shot him a disgusted look. “You’re not my dad, Sketch,” she yelled, then turned and stomped off around the nearest corner.
Nova squinted at the boy. “She’s just going to rob someone else, you know.”
Ingrid’s voice buzzed in her ear. “Nightmare, who are you talking to? Who’s getting robbed?”
“—can hope it will make her rethink her options,” the boy was saying. His eyes met hers briefly, then dropped down to her closed fist. “Do you want help with that?”
Her fingers clenched tighter. “With what? The bracelet?”
He nodded and, before Nova realized what was happening, he had taken her hand and started peeling open her fingers. She was so stunned by the action that he had freed the bracelet from her grip before she thought to stop him. “When I was a kid,” he said, taking the copper-colored filigree into his fingers, “my mom used to always ask me to help with her brace—” He paused. “Oh. The clasp is broken.”