Dull Boy (31 page)

“Leilani, I’m sorry,” I say as the rest of the group joins us. “No one wanted this. But she didn’t leave me a choice.”

Leilani’s smacking fat tears off her cheeks as soon as they fall. “You forced her hand. You treated her like a criminal, like some creature to be gunned down, and
she
didn’t have a choice. Can’t you see that?”

She turns on Jacques. “And you—you should be ashamed. Your own mother! Do you know how lucky you are? And you just go and throw it away like that, like she’s nothing to you!”

“I won’t discuss this with you,” Jacques says. “You don’t know anything about her.” He’s still staring at the place where Cherchette was last standing, like he expects her to appear again.

“This is hard on all of us,” Sophie says. “Yelling at each other isn’t going to make it easier.”

“Oh, shut up! You pathetic parasite! As if you’re not thrilled to be a part of something so big. You never should have survived Stage One, let alone—”

A plate of ice clamps her lips together before she can finish. “That’s enough,” Jacques says. He’s trembling. Sophie buries her head in his chest and hugs him. Stage One? It’s all Greek to her. She and Darla still don’t know the truth. Right now is about comforting Jacques, because . . . maybe Cherchette was messed up, but she was his
mom
. His only family, as far as we know.

And it’s my fault that he lost her.

This is the one thing I’ve done that can’t be fixed. That won’t heal or improve with the passage of time. I cost Jacques his mother; Leilani lost her mentor, the person she loved more than anyone; and I forced Nicholas to do the one thing he didn’t ever want to do—destroy a human life.

Can that ever be justified? Could I have done anything else?

Catherine digs a claw into my sleeve and drags me away from the others.

“Stop it,” she says.

“What?”

“Stop tearing yourself up over this. We did what we had to do; you’re not the only one who thought it was a good idea, okay? This woman killed people.
Babies
—kids who could’ve lived normal, healthy lives if she hadn’t decided to play mad scientist. She could have easily killed all six of us tonight.

“If you think someone needs to be blamed for what happened to her, you’re gonna have to put that on both of us. I’m the one who opened Nicholas’s coat, not you. Do you think I’m a horrible person?”

“No, but—”

“Then stop it—or I’ll claw your face off. I still haven’t forgiven you for strapping me to that hospital bed, you know.”

“No fair killing me now—I’m still recovering.”

“About that . . . how do you feel? Are you any better?”

I sigh. “I’m not sure. I’m tired. And when I . . .” My throat clenches up. My eyes burn and Catherine’s face blurs as two tears roll down, too quick for me to catch. “When I tried to fly, I couldn’t get off the ground. Not even a few inches. I did everything I normally do, but my body . . . my body won’t listen anymore.”

“It’s temporary,” Catherine says. “It’s . . .” She swallows, avoiding my eyes, and then I know she’s as worried as I am. “You’ll be stronger. After.”

“What if I lose everything?” Damn it. My throat feels like there’s a sharp stone wedged inside, like I’ll choke if I don’t let it out. I’m trying to hide it and Catherine’s pretending it’s working. “Here.” She tugs the waist of her T-shirt away from her body and slices a section off with her claws. Hands it to me. “You’re leaking antifreeze again.”

“Yeah, thanks,” I mumble, wiping my face before anyone else comes to check on me.

“Seriously, I’m not doing this again—so I hope this is a good time for it.” Catherine takes a quick breath, then pounces forward and throws her arms around me and hugs me hard, the way you hug someone when you’re afraid they’ll disappear. “It’ll be okay. Whatever happens, Avery. I’ll be here, and . . . your friends will be here—”

“They’re your friends, too,” I murmur.

“And no matter how this Stage Two crap changes things, you’ll still be Avery. Even if we have to buy you a jetpack, you’ll fly again. You’re not going back to the way you were before.”

“I can’t.”

“I know. I know, and we won’t let that happen to you. You’re so past normal it’s sick. And if you end up with a heart defect, or whatever Jacques has, Darla can build you a robotic bodysuit with a built-in pacemaker, Iron Man- style. She’d probably love that.”

“Oh God, no,” I groan.

“Buck up,” she whispers. “I only get this supportive once or twice a year. So . . . I hope you enjoyed it. After tonight you’re on your own.”

“Storing it away in my memory,” I say.

She pulls away and I don’t feel as heavy anymore. Still tired, but . . . I’m still here. And I’ve got more than just myself to lean on.

Leilani’s gone—who knows where to. Nicholas is sitting with his feet propped on the wobbly ice rink, sipping Gatorade with Darla while Sophie sticky-scrambles up the side of the robot and into the cockpit, on a mission to salvage the most essential of Darla’s gadgets. Jacques stands below, playing spotter in case she slips.

I approach kind of hesitantly, not sure who’s gonna be pissed at me. “Is everyone okay?”

Darla points at Nicholas. “Rehydrating. And totally exhausted. But other than that, good.”

Sophie models the welts on her legs. “I feel like I got cornered by a very angry pitching machine. I want some hot chocolate. And I think I have five more adrenaline-fueled minutes before I pass out.”

“Enough,” Jacques says, motioning for her to climb down.

I take a few deep breaths then, working myself up to this. “Nicholas?”

The last time we spoke to each other, we were arguing about how I shouldn’t have taken his place in Cherchette’s Stage Two experiment. All he wanted was for his power to
stop
. To not be out of his control, violent, unpredictable, and dangerous.

And now, after what I did . . .

He downs the rest of his Gatorade, leans his head back, and closes his eyes. “I’m not going to say what you think I’m going to say, Avery. I’m not mad. You know what my brother says about battle? He says it’s not about the enemy—it’s about the person next to you. Your friend, your teammate. You’re fighting to protect them, and they’re doing the same thing for you. I never wanted it to end like that. I feel like it’s my fault that it happened, in a way, because I came here in the first place. None of this would have happened if not for that. But I didn’t know what to expect. I never thought you guys would be in danger. And I guess, when it comes down to it . . . I’m grateful I was here to help when you needed me.”

Darla flashes me a thumbs-up and a not-so-discreet wink through her cracked aviator goggles. She looks like she just ran a four-day marathon through the Sahara with only a juice box and some scorpion sweat for hydration—she should be passed out on the ground right now. But nothing gets this girl down. No matter what happens, she bounces right back. That’s got to be a superpower in itself.

Sophie covers her mouth with both hands as she yawns. “Ready to go home, team?”

We all nod with zero energy, giving in to the crash after so much fury: the calm
after
the storm.

Jacques catches Darla with a stern glance as she gets to her feet. “Is Benedict Arnold part of the team?”

Darla looks taken aback; she blinks so hard the cracked lens in her goggles wobbles. Then Jacques manages a small smile and she realizes he’s joking. Darla grins back big, a mix between embarrassment and giddy glee.

“No, but Jacques Morozov is on the team.”

“Told yooooou!” Sophie sings. She waves the two-fingered victory
V
in the air and yawns again, falls against Darla’s shoulder, green mascara’d eyelashes fluttering with exhaustion. “Good call, Mr. Wayne.”

“I guess you had
one
good idea,” Darla says. “But I was the one who first thought Jacques had potential. If you recall the time I . . .”

Nicholas rolls his not-glowing, back-to-normal eyes at me. Catherine groans and bumps my shoulder. “Why doesn’t she just write a
poem
about him? How did I end up with you people?” She growls when I throw my arm around her—half hug, half headlock, all awesome.

I look around at them—all my friends, people I didn’t even know a few months ago—and I’m just blown away. I can’t imagine being who I am without them in my life. They’ve become as much a part of me as my powers. Flight, superstrength, invulnerability. Darla, Nicholas, Sophie, Jacques. Catherine.

They’re freaking extraordinary.

 

RUNNING AWAY DIDN’T WIN ME ANY POINTS
with my parents. My chores have increased, like, tenfold, and I have to do the really crappy jobs, like laundry—which is full of untold secrets I did
not
need to know. My dad’s underwear is so much bigger than his actual butt it’s frightening.

Night flights and the daily neighborhood patrol?—they’ve kind of come to an end. I can’t stay on my feet for hours, and flying . . . isn’t a reality right now. Fingers crossed that it’s only temporary. I’m trying not to think about it. I borrowed a few books from Catherine to distract myself. But it’s hard to ignore all the weird stuff going on with my body.

Occasionally I’m overwhelmed by extreme nausea and delirium. For a split second I even imagined I could see through my bedroom wall.

Crazy, right?

I wake with night sweats. Bad dreams that I never remember—only the unsettled feeling remains. And sometimes this intense pain racks my body, like my muscles are being torn apart. I wake up and have to bite down on my pillow to keep from crying out. The other night I bit
through
it.

I haven’t told anyone about that.

D
o you like it?” Jacques asks Charlie, showing off his shiny silver Jaguar. Charlie nods shyly from under his oversize baseball cap, tail tucked into a pair of baggy sweatpants, XL Incredible Hulk shirt making him look like any other kid.

Charlie’s prepped for an extended sleepover. Catherine has reluctantly agreed to let her brother move in with Jacques, now that Cherchette’s gone from the mansion. No more garage living. No more abuse. Just country life and open air—Charlie will be free to be himself. But that doesn’t mean this change is easy for her.

“You ready?” I ask Catherine.

Catherine shifts Charlie’s overnight bag to her other shoulder. “I don’t know . . .”

“Give it a chance,” I say. “Charlie wants to go, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah, but . . . he’s never been away from me before.”

“He’ll be fine. If anything, he’ll just end up spoiled and refuse to leave the house without his diamond cuff links.” I block before Catherine can gouge me with her claws. “Hey! Still recovering here! No cheap shots.”

Charlie says something to Jacques, his voice so raspywhispery we can barely hear him. “What’s that?” Jacques leans closer.

“Is there really a trampoline?”

“Ah . . .” Jacques smiles. “I think it may be in the shop. But we can buy one.”

“Cool.” Charlie ducks his head again, tugging the hat tighter over his ears.

“Be good,” Catherine says, smothering him in a feral-sister hug. “I have a phone now. Call me anytime you miss me. And eat all of your cereal, not just the marshmallows.”

“I will take good care of him,” Jacques assures her. “I promise. Whenever you want to see him, just call and I will come get you.”

“We can jump on the trampoline,” Charlie says. “And do backflips.”

Catherine manages a reluctant smile and helps Charlie load his stuff into the car, still full of instructions. “Don’t fight with the fish girl. And if Leilani plays any tricks on you, tell her I’ll rip her face off.”

“So we’ll see you next weekend?” I ask Jacques.

“Team meeting,” he says. “Of course I’ll be there.”

“Good.” I slap him on the shoulder. “We’re training Nicholas next week, so come ready to play football.”

After some last-minute adjustments they’re finally ready to go. Charlie waves good-bye as the Jaguar pulls away, and we wave back wildly, with big, enthusiastic grins to match his smile. But Catherine deflates a little once he’s out of sight.

She takes out her new phone, starts to dial Jacques’s number, but stops. “He’ll be fine, right? I’m doing the right thing?”

“Definitely.” I know this is hard for her—she wants her brother to be safe, and happy, and she doesn’t trust anyone else to protect him. She’s taking a huge chance. But I think this will actually work out.

She exhales, long and loud, and her shoulders loosen as the tension leaves her. “Okay. I’m going to try to believe that.”