“This will work,” she murmured, tightening her grip on the pike. “Please, let this work.”
She raised the pike overhead, braced herself, and slammed the point into the center of the box.
The contact reverberated through the metal and into her arms, clattering down to her bones. Nova stumbled back.
The chromium box had skidded a few feet away but was otherwise unharmed.
Not even a dent.
Snarling, Nova tried again, harder this time. The metals pinged loudly and again her arms shook from the impact. The box crashed into the nearest shelf, making the whole unit tremble from the blow.
Still, no sign that it was weakened.
Desperation welled inside of her. No, no, no. It could not all be for nothing.
This had to work.
She turned the pike over and tried again, this time swinging it like a battle ax. It thudded hard against the box. Her body jolted from the impact. She swung it again. Again. Again.
Reeling back, Nova stared at the pike in disgust. She was panting, though as much from outrage as exertion. This had to work. She needed that helmet and she didn’t have any other options.
She couldn’t fail. Not now.
She hefted the pike over her shoulder and screamed. The star at her wrist flashed, blindingly bright. An electric current shot through her arms and into her fingers as she threw the spear as hard as she could.
As it soared down the aisle, it glowed.
Not silver, but coppery gold.
It struck the box squarely in the side.
The cube shattered.
It might as well have been made of glass.
Nova jumped back as bits of broken chromium were flung at her ankles. The pike clattered to the floor and rolled a few feet away, grayish silver once again.
Her arms tingled from the jolt of energy that had passed through them. Her chest heaved. The wound in her leg was throbbing worse than before.
But all of that was soon forgotten.
A cry of disbelief tumbled from Nova’s lips.
The helmet was there, lying on its side amid the splintered box, exactly as she remembered it. The bronze-tinged material still gleamed faintly, reminding Nova of her father, and how the threads of energy would glow like tiny strips of sunlight as he worked. There was a raised band along the center of the skull, ending in a sharp point on the brow, and the opening in the front where Ace’s eyes had once peered.
The bits of chromium crunched beneath her boots as Nova stepped closer. She knelt and picked it up, cradling the helmet in both hands.
It did not look dangerous. It did not even look foreboding.
It looked merely as though it had been waiting for her.
CHAPTER FORTY
RUBY AND OSCAR were dancing again when Adrian left the gala. Nova had been gone for more than an hour, and he’d spent some time chatting with Kasumi and her husband and mingling with a few of the patrols he’d trained with years ago but rarely saw anymore, except in passing. He’d eaten his dessert—a sweet and creamy lemon custard—and had given Nova’s to Ruby’s brothers to share. He’d danced once with Ruby and once with Oscar’s mom.
But he’d been counting the minutes since Nova had left, biding his time before he could leave without the truth being completely obvious.
Without her there, he just wasn’t interested in dancing and small talk. All he wanted was to go home, lie down in the jungle he had made, and think of the next time he would see her.
The next time he would kiss her.
He couldn’t stop grinning as he left the gala and tucked his hands into the pockets of his tuxedo pants. His marker was there and he pulled it out and rolled it between his palms.
He should draw something for Nova, to give to her when they saw each other in the morning. Just a little something to remind her of the past couple of nights. The past couple of amazing nights. Something to let her know he was thinking about her. That he was serious about her.
He knew Nova was slow to trust. Slow to let go of her uncertainties. Slow to risk getting hurt. He thought he understood her better now that she’d told him the truth of her parents, and her sister. Great skies, her baby sister. Evie.
His smile faded thinking about it. His heart twisted to imagine Nova, small and frightened Nova, having to endure something so horrific …
And though he knew, logically, that there wasn’t a person on this planet who needed his protection less than Nova McLain did, he couldn’t help the overwhelming desire to protect her anyway. To keep her from ever having to suffer like that again.
He twirled the marker, contemplating what gift he could draw that would encompass all that. His dress shoes were clacking noisily on the pavement, a steady cadence that followed him down the familiar, dark streets toward home.
He had just discarded the most obvious, trivial ideas—jewelry, flowers, a new weaponry belt—when a small movement darted past his vision, nearly smacking into his glasses.
Adrian reeled back. At first he thought it was a bird, or one of those creepy giant moths that sometimes appeared out of nowhere in his basement.
But then he saw it. A black and gold butterfly, dancing around a lamppost a few feet away from him.
“Danna?” said Adrian, scanning the street for more stray insects. The butterfly seemed to be alone, and it crossed his mind that there was a chance it was nothing more than a common monarch butterfly.
One that just happened to be flittering about in the middle of the night.
Scratching his cheek with the capped marker, Adrian sauntered slowly past the lamppost.
The butterfly darted after him. It twirled once around his head, then alighted on top of a fire hydrant.
“Danna,” he said again, with more certainty this time.
The butterfly opened and closed its wings as if in response, though Danna had once told him that she couldn’t hear while in swarm mode—only see, and … sense things. It was hard to explain, she said.
Adrian peered around again, but the street was deserted. Parked cars and dark shop windows. There were mosquitoes and crane flies clicking against a neon sign, but no butterflies.
Where was the rest of her swarm?
Where had she been all night?
The butterfly fluttered toward Adrian. He held out his hand and it perched on his knuckle. Its antenna twitched and it seemed to be studying him, waiting.
“Okay,” he said, pocketing his marker. “You lead the way.”
Whether or not it could hear him, the butterfly left his hand, circled his body one more time, and took off.
Adrian followed.
Two miles later, he wished he had stopped by the house to put on different shoes.
The buildings changed from glass-and-steel office buildings to strip malls and warehouses to crammed-together apartments. Most of the trek was uphill and as the elevation rose, so too did the affluence of the neighborhood. It wasn’t quite the row of mansions that he lived on, but the streets held the memory of quiet suburbia. He could tell people still lived in some of the homes—some even had recently mowed lawns—though like most neighborhoods in the city, it showed signs of abandonment and neglect. Fences needing a fresh coat of paint. Broken windows hastily boarded up. Roofs covered in moss and pine needles from unkempt trees.
The butterfly never flew ahead so far that he couldn’t keep up, and it frequently had to pause and wait for him. He racked his brain to think of a reason why Danna wouldn’t transform back into her human form, and where the rest of her swarm could be. The only explanation was that the rest of her butterflies were trapped somewhere, preventing her from reforming. Maybe that’s what this was about. Was she leading him to her location so he could set her free? If so, maybe this wasn’t as ominous as he’d initially thought. Maybe one of her butterflies had gotten sucked into a vacuum bag, or had been captured by a kid and stuck in an empty juice carton for a well-intentioned science project.