Page 24 of Supernova

Was there perhaps some sinister reason that the Anarchists could have for wanting to keep the Bandit alive? Was it possible they would try to use him for their own benefit?

It wasn’t entirely unbelievable, but such a plan was almost too devious for Adrian to wrap his mind around.

“What really doesn’t make sense,” Max said slowly, “is why she wasn’t weakened by me. I saw her put Frostbite to sleep, and that was right after she’d been trying to help me stop the bleeding. She should have been weak, if not entirely neutralized, but she seemed fine. So how…?”

“I don’t know this for sure,” said Adrian, “but I think she might have the Vitality Charm.”

Max’s eyes widened in surprise, but the look quickly turned to a frown. “Shame. Her power is one I wouldn’t mind having.”

Adrian cocked his head. “Really? When would you want to put people to sleep?”

“I just think it could come in handy. You know, like when those scientists come to take more blood samples. It’d be nice to be able to knock them out for a while when I don’t feel like cooperating.”

Adrian smirked. “You know, you have more rebellion in you than anyone wants to give you credit for.”

“Yeah…” Max’s mouth twitched, barely revealing the dimple in his right cheek. “I get it from my big brother.”

CHAPTER NINE

NOVA EXAMINED THEold blueprint of Cragmoor Penitentiary, her hands fisted on her hips, a headache pounding at her temples. Honey and Leroy had wandered off hours ago to get some sleep, and she hadn’t seen Phobia all night. She was determined to have this puzzle solved before she saw the others again in the morning.

There was a way to save Ace. There had to be.

And they had the one weapon that just might give them one hell of an advantage, even if it seemed almost wrong to use it.

They had Ace Anarchy’s helmet.

Nova’s father had created the helmet using the threads of energy he could mold from the air. He had made a weapon that could amplify his brother’s abilities. As far as Nova knew, Ace was the only person who had ever worn the helmet.

But Nova had suspicions that the helmet wasn’t only for her uncle. There was a possibility it could amplifyanypower—which would explain why the Renegades had been determined to keep it locked away for eternity.

She stretched her spine, wondering how long she’d been standing there without moving. Her attention landed on the coat closet that stood in the narrow hall between the living room and the kitchen. There was something ironic about what might have been the most feared and respected prodigy artifact of all time, now relegated to a mere coat closet in a run-down house on Wallowridge. It deserved so much better.

But their options were limited.

Nova hadn’t touched the helmet since she’d stashed it in the closet the night of the break-in. Every day when she got home, she’d open the door, just to check that it was still there, and then promptly close it again.

The sight of it caused an ache in her chest.

But now she forced herself to open the door. The blue-tinged light from the kitchen fell on the helmet, but it couldn’t diminish its natural golden glow. It seemed to be watching her through its empty eyeholes. Waiting.

Before she could change her mind, Nova reached for the helmet, cradling it in both hands. The star on her wrist jumped and glowed a little brighter, the bracelet tugging toward the helmet like the two were magnetically drawn to each other.

Exhaling all the air from her lungs, Nova turned the helmet around, shut her eyes, and placed it on her head.

It was too big for her. She could tell that if she were to move even the slightest bit, it would wobble like a broken doll’s head. But she didn’t move. She just waited. Smelling the slightly metallic scent on the inside. Feeling her own breath against the surface, not unlike when she wore Nightmare’s metal face mask.

Nothing happened.

She opened her eyes and gasped, stumbling back against the wall.The helmet lurched on her head, but she quickly reached up to right it.

The room beyond the helmet was shimmering. Waves of coppery light danced before her, like a golden aurora borealis filling up the dingy living room. It felt as though they were swirling outward—from the helmet, fromher.

Her eyes began to water. She snatched the helmet from her head.

The lights faded away—not all at once, like a lamp being switched off, but a slow disintegration, as if she were forgetting how to see.

She blinked to clear the remnants from her vision.

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