Sidekick Returns (24 page)

Chapter 32

‘Run!'

I jumped to my feet and ran with the herd of people towards the back end of the museum, away from the groaning monstrosity falling from the sky.

Giant bones exploded against the marble floor with a deafening clatter, sending clouds of ancient bone dust into the air.

Oh, this was bad. My bad. I clutched my hair with one hand and cast a furtive glance at the man standing beside me. Maybe nobody had realised this was my fault. It was Cravat Man who stood beside me, his eyes protruding a tad, his nostrils flaring. ‘I donated the money to buy that brontosaurus, young lady!'

I swallowed hard. ‘I … I really like your cravat?'

He ripped the silky cloth from his throat, threw it on the floor, and stomped away from me.

I looked back to the ongoing chaos. Most of the screaming had subsided, but people were scurrying about in a thousand different directions. The brontosaurus skeleton had landed in front of the doors at the front of the building, making them pretty much unusable. But on the bright side, at least the auction was over, nobody had gotten hurt aside from Bronty, and we'd all get out of here sooner or later. Yup, everything would be f—

‘FIRE!'

My eyes snapped up. A mural that ran down from the ceiling to floor against a length of wall blazed with flames. My rocket must have done it.

Sprinklers had already gone off on the surrounding floors, but not in the main lobby. It was the dome. They couldn't attach sprinklers to the dome! The flames were bad, but it was the smoke that was the real danger. Soon we wouldn't be able to breathe, and people were fighting one another to get over the dinosaur bones. There were too many people. Too much debris. For those of us at the back … we were trapped.

‘Look!' a lady shouted. ‘What's that man doing?'

I followed her finger back up to the mural. Except now there was someone reaching for the burning mountain of cloth from the fourth floor ledge …

And that someone was Pierce!

What was he doing? That thing was huge! And he couldn't stop flames with his bare hands! But … if he did get it down, the flames might be smothered.

I watched Pierce stretch his arm across the wall towards the mural, Bart standing behind him, wringing his hands. It was a horrific situation, but, part of me realised, it wasn't completely dire. There was no way he could reach it. We all just needed to find another way to get out. Surely, Pierce would realise this any second, and just turn around and—

NO! I watched Pierce hop up onto the railing as Bart had done before—except there was no pterodactyl safety net from where he was standing.

Oh God. This was all my fault! All of it! Pierce stretched again, reaching his left hand towards the tapestry as his right hand gripped the fold of the wall to keep himself from falling. I had to do something. My eyes jumped around the room and fell on an antique-looking divan. I ran for it. It was the best I could do. If he fell, maybe it could break his fall just enough to save his life. I weaved my way through the crowd of coughing, weeping people, knocking them aside when I had to. I skidded to a stop at one end of the divan, planted my hands on the edge, and pushed.

The freaking thing didn't budge.

I pushed again, my boots skidding on the marble floor.

‘Come on!' I shot a glance up. Oh God, he was leaning even farther. He almost had a grip on the burning mural, but he'd fall for sure if he reached that last inch.

I pushed again with everything I had. The sofa screeched across the floor half a foot. ‘That's it,' I muttered through my teeth, ‘Come on, you jerk!' The sofa again inched toward the wall that led up to Pierce. He had the edge of the mural now. He hadn't fallen, but he was yanking so hard. I rammed the sofa again. It moved a few inches. ‘Move!' I only needed to get it a few more feet. I could do this. I looked up and—

‘Pierce! No!'

I watched in horror as Pierce's left hand yanked the fabric again. It gave, tumbling in a burning sheet towards the floor … taking Pierce's balance with it.

I was too late.

I watched helplessly as the man of my dreams toppled into nothingness.

Chapter 33

‘Pierce!'

Time slowed. Falling, burning fabric forced me to back up, but I still reached my arms in the air. This couldn't be happening.
Please. Please
, I begged all the powers of the universe,
Save him.

He twisted in the air, his frightened eyes latching on to mine. He reached a hand towards me … but I knew we would never touch. All I could do was not look away, and—

Suddenly a white blur shot through the smoke—a human bullet. Pierce was mere feet from the ground when the form collided with him, scooping him up towards the sky.

Jenny?
I closed my eyes.
Thank God.

Wait … my sister could freaking fly … while carrying men in her arms?

I watched as she gently set Pierce down back on the fourth floor beside Bart. She then jumped back into the cloud of smoke above the still-burning mural. I couldn't see anything for a moment through the smoke, but then it began to clear. Mainly because she had dragged the massive tumble of fabric under the sprinkler. Before I could scramble together another thought, Jenny shouted in a voice louder than, I don't know, God's, ‘MOVE FROM THE DOOR!' People scattered to the sides as Jenny started to run towards the largest pile of bones blocking the entrance. As she covered the ground, she picked up the speed to a pace no mere
unaltered
human could achieve, and smashed into the bones, shattering a hole into the pile, blazing a path directly to the door. People raced out behind her.

A moment later, I saw her suited form hovering above the crowd, one foot pointed toward the floor, the other resting on her calf muscles. She had both fists planted on her hips, while her hair and cape rippled out behind her.

A lump formed in my throat.

She was so very beautiful.

So very like … Ryder.

Then the smoke beneath Jenny's feet rippled, and she shot into the air, right through the hole in the cracked dome.

Gone.

The crowds of people rushed for the doors, and before I even realised what I was doing or where I was headed, I dragged my eyes from the scene and started walking after them. A few steps later, I bumped somebody's shoulder. ‘Sorry,' I mumbled.

‘That's quite alright,' a woman's voice said. ‘In fact, I owe you a thank you.'

I looked up at the woman raising a champagne glass at me despite the chaos. Wait. That was no woman. That was my neighbour …
Library Girl
?

A crowd of people rushed past me. I looked back to where the woman had been, but she was gone. It didn't matter. ‘Bremy!' I heard someone shout. I didn't turn. ‘Bremy!' I stopped when a hand landed on my shoulder, a hand with black fingernails. ‘Are you okay?'

I figured I must look pretty bad if Queenie was asking. But I still couldn't find enough in me to answer.

‘Where are you going?'

I mumbled something.

‘What?'

‘What time is it?' I asked.

Kevin answered this time. ‘Quarter to midnight.'

I nodded and started walking again. ‘Bremy, wait!'

‘Can't,' I mumbled again. ‘I've got someplace to be.'

‘Where are you going?'

‘Doesn't matter.'

‘Come back!'

I walked through the shattered front doors into the first breath of cool night air. ‘Besides,' I whispered to no one in particular, ‘I think I'm done here.'

Chapter 34

‘Little Bremy, that was very good fight.'

Mr Pushkin and I sat across from one another on benches in a small concrete change room at the arena slash theatre. I sighed. ‘Yeah, well, I had kind of a rough night.' I dropped my head, stretching out the muscles in my neck. ‘I needed to work a few things out.'

‘Yes, you work many things out with fists! And feet! And forehead butt.' I glanced up to see him smile with the memory. ‘Yes, that was very good.'

I rubbed a hand over my face, but that only served to hurt both my hand and my face. Everything that happened since the museum was a bit of a blur, but now that the adrenaline was draining, I was feeling a little more aware of my circumstances … and they sucked.

‘You don't seem happy, Little Bremy.'

I mustered up some effort and replied, ‘I … I don't know what I am.' Wow. Truer words had never been spoken, by me at least. I certainly wasn't a crime fighter. Definitely not a superhero. I wasn't even that much help as a regular citizen. Jenny had shown me what it was to be those things. And I was happy for her. At least, part of me was happy for her. Well, at least, I thought part of me was happy for her. I was confused. And tired. And very, very sad. I cleared my throat. ‘So what's the deal with you and Lana? I saw you both giving each other some pretty moony looks.' In between my flying fists of fury.

It was Mr Pushkin's turn to sigh. Of course, the force of his sigh caused a minor windstorm in the room. Alright, maybe not, but I was pretty sure I saw the corner of a towel flutter. ‘She does not like my career choice.'

I nodded. ‘Been there.'

We sat in silence a moment longer, then I asked, ‘So have you ever thought about going straight?'

He chuckled and shook his head. ‘Oh Bremy, I am six foot six foreigner in strange land. English is … difficult,' he said, looking to the ceiling. ‘Plus I have glass eyeball and six fingers on my right hand.'

I waited to see where he was going with this.

‘You think I should be nurse? Office worker? Perhaps child care professional?' I nodded, staring down at my feet. Yeah, I got that. Me and Mr Pushkin, well, we were a lot alike. Neither one of us could escape ourselves. The only difference was that he had the good sense not to try.

‘What about you, Little Bremy? You do good job tonight. You want to come back?' he asked, voice brightening. ‘You could make lots of money as Little Chicken the Terrible … or Horrible Little Chicken … or, well, you could make up name. I could be manager?'

‘I don't think so,' I said, with another long, low sigh. ‘I think I might be moving to Nepal.' I turned my hand over so I could take a look at the wound on my knuckles. ‘Besides, I have a cut on my hand in the shape of Lee Lee's tooth, and I'm feeling kind of weird about it.'

He nodded. ‘This makes me sad.' He paused a moment then pointed at me. ‘But you give notice if you move. Don't forget. Or I have to—' He suddenly cut off himself off and dropped his hand to his lap. ‘Ah, never mind.'

I half-smiled and nodded in return. Just then one of Mr Pushkin's men came in holding his phone saying something quickly in a language I didn't understand. He also looked at me pointedly several times during the conversation. Mr Pushkin took the phone and waved the man away.

‘What was that?'

‘Nothing,' he replied, not able to meet my eyes.

‘Oh no. It was something. Something about me.'

‘Ah, Little Bremy.'

‘Phone,' I demanded reaching my hand out.

‘It's nothing. It's—'

‘Now!'

Mr Pushkin jumped. ‘Alright, don't get pansies in a bunch.'

‘It's not pansies—never mind, phone.'

Mr Pushkin passed me the phone. On the screen was the homepage for Cassie Mack's tabloid … and a picture … a picture of me—Sidekick me—reaching for Bart in full Crime Mime gear, the headline,
What Ever Happened to Sweet Bremy St. James?
Then underneath,
Superhero or Superjoke?

Cassie Mack. Library Girl. Of course. It had all been a set-up. Our chance meeting. My saving her in the alley. All a set-up.

‘So you've been keeping tabs,' I said, passing back the phone. ‘How long have you known who I was?'

‘Little while.'

I exhaled roughly. ‘Why didn't you say anything?'

‘I respect the privacy,' he said before adding, ‘Your father. He is bad man. I thought maybe this is girl who needs the help.'

And there went my eyes again. I hated that prickly feeling. ‘Thanks,' I said, trying to keep the quaver from my voice.

Mr Pushkin stood. ‘Come.'

I rolled my eyes up to his.

‘Now, you look like girl who needs the ice-cream.'

I screwed my face up into a
Really?
expression.

‘You had good fight. You deserve treat.'

I heaved myself up and walked towards the door. ‘Where can we even get ice-cream this time of night?'

‘Ah, Little Bremy, when you are man like Mr Pushkin, everybody gives you ice-cream.'

***

Despite the gratuitous amounts of coconut ice-cream I had eaten the night before at the Thai restaurant Mr Pushkin had taken me to, I woke up miserable—in no small part because I felt broken all over. Sure, I had won the fight last night, but that was because I willing to sacrifice my body to do it. But, of course, it wasn't the physical pain that was bothering me. It was the big ball of doughy rotten goo in my head that was the memory of the museum. I was trying to ignore it, but it seemed to be growing in size. Soon it would crush the little me up in there, whistling with its hands in its pockets, pretending there wasn't a big goo memory threatening to flatten everything.

I threw my thin quilt over my face, but then threw it back when I realised how badly it needed to be washed, or maybe I needed to brush my teeth. It was hard to tell.

I let out a huff of frustration.

Fine, I would think about it. But I really hated to think about stuff.

Okay, here goes.

Bart and I humiliated ourselves in front of all the people I used to know.
Ow, okay, that hurt, but it was survivable.

The only thing I had succeeded at last night was convincing Pierce that I was a loser … a reckless, dangerous loser, who nearly got him killed. But maybe that doesn't matter so much anyway because he has been lying to me … about my sister.