“Where are the others?” said Leroy.
Nova surveyed the catacombs and the black stairwell, but could see no sign of more. “She must have only sent one to spy on us.” Or me, she thought.
Nova shivered, spooked by what a close call it was. She wondered how Danna had found them here, but her mind immediately supplied the answer.
Danna had been following her. For how long? What else had she seen?
“Well,” said Ace, “it seems easy enough to kill.”
He lifted one hand, and the pillowcase floated into the air, nearing the candle flame.
“No, wait!”
Ace peered at her.
Killing one butterfly wouldn’t have much of an effect on Danna. The Sentinel had obliterated dozens of them at the parade, and she’d emerged with horrendous burn marks on one side of her body. But to kill just one would be no more devastating to her than a paper cut.
But—to trap one was a different story. It was her greatest weakness. To return to her human form, Danna needed all of her living lepidopterans to unite. If even one was kept separate, she would be trapped in swarm mode until it could merge with the others.
Nova could only guess how many of her secrets the Renegade had discovered by now. Her true identity would be revealed. Ace would be found. They would be ruined.
She could not allow Danna to reform.
“We need to keep it alive,” she said, and did her best to explain Danna’s power, her weaknesses, and the risks.
Ace held Nova’s gaze for a long moment, then acquiesced. “As you say.” The candle returned to its stand and the pillowcase, with the butterfly trapped inside, dropped into Leroy’s hands. The butterfly seemed to have gone still inside.
“How many more are in her swarm?” said Leroy.
“Hundreds,” said Nova. “Maybe a thousand. And she can be sneaky with them.” She peered around again, feeling watched. The creatures were so small. They could fit into such tiny nooks, and so long as they held still, it would be nearly impossible in this darkness to spot them. “But as long as that one doesn’t get away, she shouldn’t be a threat.”
“Oh, good,” said Honey, wiggling her fingers. “A pretty new pet.”
Nova smiled, but her heart wasn’t in it. She couldn’t find the strength to believe her own words.
Danna was a Renegade, and a good one.
She was definitely still a threat.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
THE GALA WAS BEING HELD in an old, stately building that had once been a train depot, all brick and domed glass ceilings and high windows, though for years the station had sat abandoned. Once the Renegades had claimed power over Gatlon City, they had made the building one of their first “community projects.” Blacklight, in particular, had insisted that if they were going to get involved in the world of international politics, they would need a place to entertain visiting dignitaries, and Renegade Headquarters wasn’t going to suffice.
Besides, he’d argued, it was one piece of the city’s history that could be brought back to life with relative ease. The Renegades hoped to restore the city to what it had been before the days of Ace Anarchy—no, they wanted to make it grander than it ever had been before—and this was as good a place to start as any.
Adrian had arrived early, along with his dads, to do what he could to help set up. Mostly he had spent the afternoon drawing lavish flower bouquets for the table centerpieces, and he was just beginning to feel like he would be happy to never draw another calla lily again when Tsunami told him to go get changed. He was grateful for the work, though. It had kept his mind preoccupied, at least in part, when he couldn’t stop thinking about the night before.
His skin warmed every time he remembered the feeling of Nova’s lips against his and her hand on the back of his neck and the weight of her body in his arms. And then … and then …
Nothing.
Because he’d fallen asleep.
During the kiss? Or after? It was all a blur. He’d been electrified, overcome with sensation. Then he’d been blinking himself awake while movie credits scrolled and Nova smiled at him as if nothing unusual had happened at all.
She’d been so cool about it, like it was no big deal, like it happened all the time, and he appreciated how gracious she was. But still. Still.
He must have the timeline wrong. He couldn’t have fallen asleep during the kiss. They must have gone back to watching the movie at some point, and then—and only then—did he drift off.
That, at least, was a little less mortifying.
If only a little.
But his memory was unreliable. Nova—kissing—and … credits.
He must have been more tired than he’d realized after the fight with Frostbite’s team, on top of so many late nights spent working on the mural.
At least she was still going to be his date to the gala. He hadn’t ruined it—whatever it was. This new terrifying, wonderful thing.
Standing before a mirror in the restroom, his dress shirt left unbuttoned, Adrian peeled the bandaging from his chest to check on the newest tattoo. It was still weeping spots of blood and there was mottled bruising staggered across the left side of his chest. He was becoming used to the healing process and knew that it would get worse before it got better. Soon, the tattoo would enter the scabby peeling stage, complete with a relentless itch that would make him want to attack it with sandpaper. That was always the worst part. At least the tattooing itself—the constant pricks of the needle into his skin—only lasted about an hour. The itching went on for days.
He started to bend over the sink to wash away the spots of blood, but the movement sent a jolt of pain through his side. He flinched and pressed his hand to the place beneath his ribs where he’d been punctured by one of Genissa’s ice spears. The wound wasn’t deep—his armor had taken the brunt of it—but without the aid of the Renegade healers he knew it would be sore for a while. He had done the best he could to dress the wound, drawing in his own stitches and regularly applying ointment to fend off infection.
He sighed, pressing his fingers lightly against the bandage. The hardest part, as he had discovered since becoming the Sentinel, was simply hiding the fact that he was hurt. Not grimacing when someone nudged him in the side. Disguising his stiff movements when climbing out of a car or moving up a set of stairs. Smiling through the pain when all he wanted to do was take a couple of painkillers and spend the afternoon reclined on a sofa watching television.
Or kissing Nova again. That had certainly taken his mind off his injury.
He finished cleaning the tattoo and patted it dry with a paper towel from the dispenser, then fumbled with the buttons on his white shirt.
He hoped Oscar knew how to knot a bow tie so he wouldn’t have to ask one of his dads—or worse, Blacklight.
Adrian wasn’t used to feeling this anxious. Sure, he got nervous sometimes. Had, in fact, felt nervous a lot more often since the day Nova McLain had strolled into his life. But he wasn’t used to this twitchy, edgy, stomach-twistingly anxious feeling and he was ready for it to go away.
It was going to go away. Wasn’t it?
He pulled on his tuxedo jacket at the same moment the door swung open. “What’s taking so long in here?” said Oscar, his cane clicking against the floor, which was laid with so many black-and-white octagonal tiles it made Adrian dizzy to look at. “Are you drawing your tuxedo on or something?”