“I DON’T THINK I SHOULD GO,” said Nova, trailing behind Adrian as he barreled through the tables in the cafeteria.
“What are you talking about?” he said, without looking back at her. “Of course you should go.”
“You don’t need me,” she insisted. “I don’t know anything about interrogating people. And … and I could get started on that cataloging job, right? Really, I’ll just be in the way.”
Adrian stopped and spun toward her. Nova drew up short, shrinking beneath his concerned gaze.
“Are you afraid of the Puppeteer?” he asked, astonished.
Her face scrunched. “No,” she said, before she realized that saying yes would have gotten her closer to her goal of not being in that room with the one person in headquarters who knew exactly who she was … and who had no idea that she was impersonating a Renegade. “I mean, he is totally creepy. And I don’t like … puppets. Or marionettes. Even sock puppets freaked me out when I was a kid, so I guess, yeah. Yeah, I might be afraid of him after all. Can I sit this one out?”
Adrian’s face took on that calm, understanding look that Nova was developing a love-hate relationship with. “They’ll have him restrained. We’ll be perfectly safe. Besides, his powers only work on kids.”
“I don’t want to go. Please.”
Adrian blinked and finally, she sensed his resolve crumbling. Hope surged through her veins.
“Nova…,” he said finally, gently, “you were the only one on that rooftop with the Detonator and the Librarian. You might have insights into the Anarchists and their connections that would be lost on the rest of us. And let’s face it, you’re really observant. You might pick up on something that we would miss. So … I’m sorry, but I think we need you there.” He smiled hesitantly, as if to soften the denial of her request. “I promise, he isn’t a danger to us. Nothing is going to happen to you.”
She swallowed, wishing she could believe that was true.
He turned away, heading toward Ruby and Oscar, who were seated at a small table near the corner. Ruby’s plate was empty but for a few leftover shreds of lettuce, and Oscar was protecting his own plate from her as she attempted to stab one of his black olives with her fork.
“They have an entire bin full of olives!” Oscar shouted. He lifted his plate off the table, holding it as far out of her reach as possible. “Go get your own!”
“You don’t even like olives,” Ruby shot back, nearly falling into his lap as she leaned across him, fork jabbing at the air. “You only got them to taunt me!”
“Okay, lovebirds,” said Adrian, dropping the envelope onto the table.
Ruby immediately fell back into her chair, face reddening, whereas Oscar grinned, looking supremely pleased with the label.
“Our request has been granted. We have thirty minutes to prepare our questions.”
They both stared at him, confused.
“Request for what?” said Oscar, at the same time Ruby asked, “What questions?”
Adrian looked between them and sighed.
* * *
THIRTY MINUTES LATER, Nova found herself trapped inside a metal room, sandwiched between Ruby and Adrian as they listened to the door locks clunking behind them. A second door stood opposite them—through which they would bring in the prisoner. A single table was bolted to the center of the floor, along with two chairs, one on each side. On the far side of the table were shackles, the thick wrist cuffs attached to metal domes that would fully enclose the hands, crafted especially for prodigies who needed use of their hands and fingers to manifest their abilities.
Had they suspected they would be facing the Detonator when they set up their surveillance on the library, Nova guessed the team would have been outfitted with similar handcuffs too, rather than the standard cuffs they’d been given.
“So…,” said Oscar, nodding at the nearest chair, “are you going to take that?”
Adrian shook his head. “Go for it.”
“I don’t need it,” said Oscar, with a casual, one-shouldered shrug. “You’re the head honcho here. If you want it—”
“Sit down, Oscar.”
Oscar scowled, and Nova could feel him bristling at Adrian’s abruptness. It was unlike Adrian, and suggested that he, too, was more nervous than he was trying to let show.
With a sigh, Adrian gestured at the chair. “I need you to play bad cop. The bad cop would take the chair, right?”
Nova smothered a smile. He made it seem so easy, diffusing the tension. Respecting their weaknesses—in this case, they all knew that Oscar’s body was still recovering from the exertion of the day before, even if he would never admit to how much he was hurting. But with this simple compromise, Adrian was also valuing the many ways Oscar contributed to the team, even if that contribution was simply Oscar’s talent for the dramatic. There had been times when Nova wondered if Adrian became a team leader because of his family name, but she was becoming more and more certain that he’d earned it.
Either way, his suggestion worked. With a proud tilt of his chin, Oscar settled himself into the chair, leaning the cane against the table. He crossed his arms stiffly over his chest. “Oh yeah,” he said, with a pleased nod. “Bad cop is ready.”
“Which of us is good cop?” said Ruby, glancing at Adrian and Nova in turn.
Nova couldn’t answer. Her mouth was so dry she was afraid trying to speak would only lead to the words gumming up on her tongue.
“I’m good cop,” said Adrian. He glanced at Nova. “You’re the observer. If you have something to say or add, jump in, but otherwise, I want you focused on any signs he might be lying … or telling the truth.”
“So who am I?” said Ruby.
Adrian grinned. “You’re the muscle.”
Ruby beamed, hopping excitedly from foot to foot as she loosened the wire on her wrist.
“Hold on,” said Oscar, glancing over his shoulder. “Maybe I wanted to be the muscle.”
Nova stared at Ruby’s bloodstone, glinting in the room’s dim lighting. “We’re not going to torture him, are we?”
They turned to her as one, each of their faces equally appalled.
“Great skies, Nova,” said Adrian. “We’re the good guys, remember?”
She sank back, not sure if she should be embarrassed by the question or not. It hadn’t seemed ridiculous when she’d asked it.
Across the room, they heard the clunking of more locking mechanisms. Nova’s body went rigid. She rubbed her damp palms down the sides of her uniform.
The door opened and two guards entered, leading Winston Pratt by his elbows. He was dressed in the black-and-white stripes of a prison jumpsuit. His wrists and ankles were both bound with chains and his usually jaunty step was weighed down, his shoulders tight, his arms squeezed in beside his body as if he were attempting to avoid the guards’ grip.
Nova was surprised to see that his makeup remained—or what she had always assumed was makeup, though she’d never seen him without it. The black paint around his eyes, the rosy circles on the apples of his cheeks, and the sharp lines drawn from the corners of his crimson mouth down his jaw, giving the effect of a wooden marionette. The lines were not even smudged.
For the first time, in all the years she’d known him, she wondered whether it was makeup at all or if his power really had transformed his face into that of a puppet.
Or a puppet master.
His eyes darted around the room, skipping from the chairs to the walls, the lightbulb in the ceiling, to the shackles on the table, to Oscar, to Adrian, to Nova, to Ruby.
Back to Nova.
He blinked furiously, as if trying to clear away a pestering eyelash. His brow squeezed tight.
Pressing her lips, Nova did her best to convey secrecy to him, subtly shaking her head and hoping that he caught the desperate intensity of her gaze.
But Winston Pratt had never been adept at the art of subtlety.
He continued to stare, his lips parted, his head cocking curiously to one side as he was pressed down into the chair. He put up no resistance as his chained hands were settled into the shackles and the domes clamped securely around them.
“You have fifteen minutes,” one of the guards said to Adrian. “This interrogation is being recorded”—he gestured toward a small camera on the ceiling—“for future review at the Council’s discretion. If you want to end your session early, just knock on the door and we’ll be back.”
They left.
Winston was still gaping dumbly at Nova, and the others were starting to notice. Adrian and Ruby each glanced at her, to which she attempted an uncomfortable, confused shrug.
“Okay, Mr. Pratt,” said Oscar, leaning forward and folding his hands on top of the table, “or should I call you … the Puppeteer?”
This, at least, managed to pull Winston’s gaze away from Nova.
“We’re going to ask you a few questions,” said Oscar, “and I strongly suggest you answer them.” He popped his knuckles, then leaned back again and curled a finger over his shoulder. “Go ahead, Sketch. He’s all yours.”
Eyebrows rising in what might have been amusement, or embarrassment, Adrian moved forward to stand beside Oscar. “I understand you’ve already been questioned a number of times,” said Adrian, “but we have one specific topic we want to discuss with you.”
Though Winston was looking at Adrian now, his jaw was still slack with befuddlement, and Nova felt like her insides were being wrung through a washing machine. She found herself imagining a situation in which her identity would be revealed—here, now—and wondering if she had any hope of getting out of there with two locked doors and three Renegades that she knew would turn on her the second they realized who she was.
“First,” continued Adrian, “you should know that the Detonator attacked a library yesterday. She set off multiple bombs in public spaces. As a result, the Renegades went to the subway tunnels where you and your companions have been living in an attempt to arrest her. However, those Renegades were attacked and the Anarchists have since disappeared, abandoning the subway tunnels.”
Winston’s brow drew together. He started to shake his head, dazed. “They wouldn’t leave…” He looked again at Nova.
She tried to remain expressionless, while also maintaining the mantra in her head—silence, secrecy—as if she might suddenly develop telepathy.
“One thing they found in the tunnels, of particular interest,” said Adrian, “was a recently inhabited train car. We have reason to believe this car belonged to the villain who calls herself Nightmare. We now know that Nightmare is an Anarchist.”
Lips parted. Jaw slack. Winston shifted his confused eyes back to Adrian.
“That’s who we want to talk about today.” Adrian set one hand on the table, leaning forward, and Nova might have thought his attempts at being intimidating were borderline adorable if she hadn’t been trembling with dread.
Her memory was replaying those moments in Winston’s hot-air balloon as they drifted over the remains of the parade. Realizing they wouldn’t clear the top of the next building. Choosing to sacrifice Winston to their enemies.
He had every reason to despise her now. He had every reason to betray her.
She swallowed.
“I’m sorry,” Winston squeaked, gaping at Adrian. “But … come again?”
“Nightmare,” said Adrian. “I’ll begin with something simple. What is her real name?”
A deep crease seemed permanently etched between Winston’s brows, and the way his mouth refused to close made it seem as though the mechanism attaching his marionette jaw to his marionette skull had broken. “Nightmare?” he croaked.
“Nightmare,” Adrian confirmed. “You might remember her as the one that pushed you out of your own hot-air balloon. I want to know what her real name is.”
Nova bit the inside of her cheek.
“No…?” Winston started, but hesitated, letting the word drift off until his lips were puckered around that long, uncertain o. Nova’s lungs squeezed, expelling any useful air.
“Excuse me?” said Adrian.
“No … no. Uh…” Winston glanced once, briefly, at Nova, then back at Adrian. “No … reen.” He coughed. “Her name is Noreen.”
Nova inhaled, long and deep. Everyone else, though, became motionless.
She knew that no one was fooled. But she didn’t care. Winston had been given a choice to betray her, and he hadn’t. A slim spark of hope flickered in her thoughts.
“Noreen,” said Adrian, his voice thick with skepticism.
“Noreen,” said Winston, with a determined, proud nod.
“Noreen what?”
“Hm?”
“Does she have a last name?”
“Oh, uh…” Winston glanced around, as if searching for inspiration, but then shrugged. “Nope. No last name. Just Noreen.”
Adrian and Oscar exchanged a look, before Adrian cleared his throat. “We know that Nightmare obtained at least one of her weapons from the black-market dealer known as the Librarian. But we’ve witnessed her using a number of weapons and tools that don’t resemble other things in the marketplace. Where does she get her supplies?”
Winston held his gaze. Blinked. Licked his lips. Opened his mouth. Hesitated. Swallowed. Coughed. Finally responded, “The hardware store?”
“The hardware store?”
“Yes.” Winston’s head bobbed. “That’s where she gets her stuff.”
“Is that code for something?”
“No? Just the hardware store.”
Nova cringed inwardly, even though it was mostly true. She did get a lot of the items she used for her inventions from a local hardware store.
“Any specific hardware store?” asked Adrian.
“Hmmm.” Winston seemed to consider this. Then, “Nope. She likes them all.”
“Maybe,” said Oscar, leaning forward on his elbow, “you could mention just one by name. Just to get us started.”
Winston’s lips stretched thin and he shrugged. “I don’t know. Ask her.”
Thankfully, his eyes did not shift back to Nova when he said this, though she could only imagine the restraint he was using to stay focused on his inquisitors.
“How about the names of any connections she might have had in the city,” said Adrian. “Can you think of anyone she might have made contact with once the Anarchists abandoned the subway tunnels? Anywhere she might have gone?”
Winston looked down at the table, and he seemed to be giving actual consideration to this question. Finally, truthfully, he started to shake his head. “I don’t know where they would have gone.”
Adrian massaged his temple. “What about any other locations Nightmare likes to frequent? Any favorite … restaurants? Stores?”
Winston could not prevent his eyes from darting to Nova this time, though he quickly shifted them over to Ruby, then back to Adrian, as if to make up for the slip. “Rooftops?” he suggested.
Adrian’s shoulders sagged. “Any particular rooftops?”
“I … I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t.” Winston leaned forward, and his baffled face took on an edge of desperation. “I don’t know where she is. Truthfully. I have no idea.”
Adrian briefly closed his eyes. “It’s all right, Winston. We’re just trying—”
“No, it’s not all right,” said Oscar, slamming his fist on the table. “It’s obvious you know something, and we’re not leaving this room until you tell us what it is!”
Winston frowned. “They said we only had fifteen minutes.”
“That—” started Oscar, holding up a finger. Then he deflated, clearing his throat. “—was actually true. But still, you can tell us what you know now, or we can come back and do this again tomorrow. And the next day. And the next! We’re not giving up until you tell us what we need to know, so start talking, Mr. Pratt, or else … or else I will make sure that you don’t get any tacos! Or, um, whatever it is they serve prisoners around here.”
Adrian dragged his hand down the side of his face. “Okay,” he said, “listen. She betrayed you. She literally threw you out of your own hot-air balloon and left you to be captured by your enemies. Right? You have no reason to protect her. Whereas, if you help us…” He hesitated, and Nova could see him struggling to find something he could offer to Winston, something that wouldn’t break any of the Renegade codes. “I’ll see about … I’ll see if we can get you some books or something.”
Nova pursed her lips, knowing that this bribe wouldn’t get him far, and Winston’s expression looked more confused by the offer than anything else. “Books?”
“Or … I don’t know. Magazines? A deck of cards? Something to keep you entertained. It’s got to be boring in that cell, right?”
Winston’s eyes seemed to brighten. “Can you bring me a painting set? And a new marionette doll?”
Nova’s shoulders tightened. No. No. He couldn’t be swayed by them now.
“Uh … I’ll have to get that approved by my supervisors,” said Adrian. “But … I could ask?”
The hunger in Winston’s eyes was inescapable, and for the first time Nova felt bad for how she had given so little thought to Winston since his arrest. He must not only have been bored, but lonely. Not that she could have done anything to help him, but … she could at least have spared him a thought.
“What was the question again?” said Winston.
“We want to know if there are any places Nightmare frequents,” said Adrian. “Anywhere she might have gone.”
Winston looked away, his thoughts warring across his face. The temptation Adrian had offered him fighting against whatever loyalty he still had for Nightmare and the Anarchists.
“She, um … she likes to go to … the … park?”
Disappointment fell across Adrian’s face. “The park,” he repeated dryly.
In contrast, Winston was all joviality for what he must have thought was a quick-witted, completely believable lie. “Yes. She really loves going to the park.”
“City Park?”
“Oh no, no,” said Winston enthusiastically, “Cosmopolis Park.”
Nova coughed, covering her mouth to try to hide her amusement.
Adrian glanced back.
“Sorry,” said Nova.
He sighed, returning his focus to Winston. “You’re telling us that Nightmare likes to spend time at an amusement park.”
“Oh yes. She goes there all the time. Particularly enjoys the, uh, the fun house.” He giggled madly and shrugged, as if to suggest, Those crazy kids, who knows what they’ll be into next!
“Can I ask a question?” said Ruby.
“Please do,” said Adrian, stepping back from the table and gesturing for her to proceed. It was clear from the frustration in his eyes that this interrogation was not going how he’d hoped.
Ruby took a step forward, idly swinging her bloodstone back and forth like a pendulum. Winston followed it with his eyes, leaning slightly back as if afraid she was about to stab him with the thing. And quite possibly she was. “The Anarchists have been, let’s say, fairly inactive for nine years, right? But Nightmare appears to be pretty young. Definitely younger than the rest of your gang. So what I want to know is how she came to join you all in the first place. Are you recruiting new members?”
“Oh,” said Winston, apparently gleeful to be able to answer this question without having to strain himself too much to come up with a sensible lie. “Nope, no recruitment. Actually, Ace brought her.”
“Ace?” said Oscar, with a disbelieving laugh. “Ace Anarchy?”
“Please,” said Adrian, “she would have been a kid back then.”
“Yes!” Winston said, his head bobbing in agreement. “She was just a kid.”
They stared, speechless, for a long time. Finally, Adrian said simply, “Explain.”
But by this time Winston seemed to have withdrawn back into his thoughts and was doubting his eager explanation. He looked again at Nova, and she shrugged at him, not really knowing how much trouble the truth would cause her at this point.
Winston, though, opted not to tell the truth, and again his face took on that fearful, uncertain look. “Ace found her…,” he started. After a long inhale, he continued, “At Cosmopolis Park!”
“Of course he did,” said Oscar. “Where else?”
“No, no, it’s the truth,” Winston insisted. “I used to do business there, you know, before your Council made it so”—he grimaced—“wholesome. And one day, there was this kid. This girl. Wandering around after dark. The park had been closed for hours and, well, Ace found her and came to understand that her parents had left her there. Just … abandoned her. So he gave her some cotton candy, and … well, that was it. We had ourselves a little Nightmare.” He started to smile—a real smile that stretched the dark lines on his chin. “She and I used to play together. When she was scared at night sometimes, I would entertain her with puppet shows. She especially liked shadow puppets, which are something of a specialty of mine. Remember that, N—” He hiccupped. Coughed. “Uh, I remember that Nightmare well. Little Nightmare. We were buds…” His brow creased, a sadness overshadowing the sudden burst of joy. “Back then, at least.”
Nova felt like her heart was being torn apart. For the past number of years she’d thought of Winston as little more than a nuisance, but he was right. They had been friends when she was young. How had they lost that? How had she become such a … such an Anarchist?
She kept her eyes on him, wishing he would look up at her, wishing she could convey that she was sorry, and that she did remember those times, all those sleepless nights when he had made her laugh, and how much that had meant to her.
But this time, Winston kept his head down.
Behind him, the door clunked, and the guards returned.
The interrogation was over.
Walking back into the hallway outside the interrogation room, Nova felt as though a hundred Gargoyles were perched on her shoulders. She would have thought that to be leaving that room with her secret still intact would have left her buoyant and overjoyed, but she felt only guilt.
Not just guilt over Winston, but guilt over them all. The Anarchists were counting on her, and so far, what had she accomplished? Since she’d come here, they had been forced out of their home. Ingrid was exiled. The Librarian was dead. They were certainly no closer to destroying the Renegades.
“So,” Ruby drawled, twirling her bloodstone like a pinwheel around her finger. “Do we think a single word out of his mouth was true?”
“I don’t know,” said Adrian. “Not most of it, that’s for sure.”
Oscar nodded. “I agree, but I think he was drawing on truth sometimes, do you know what I mean? Like … there might have been kernels of truth in it.”
“Yeah, but which parts?” said Ruby.
Adrian paused and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. “He mentioned Cosmopolis Park a few times, and we do know that he used to deal drugs there during the Age of Anarchy, right? Maybe there’s something there.”
“Wait,” said Ruby, with a mild laugh. “Just think about that for a second. Can you really picture Ace Anarchy finding some lost kid at a theme park, feeding her cotton candy, and deciding to bring her home and … raise her? Come on.”
Nova bristled, glowering at her, but then Adrian started to laugh too. “I know,” he said, massaging his brow. “You’re right. It’s just … what else do we have to go on? Anything?”
“Nova,” said Oscar, glancing at her, “you used to work at Cosmopolis Park.”
It sounded like such an accusation that Nova stood straighter, ready to defend herself. “So?”
“If there is a connection between Nightmare and the park … I don’t know. Did you ever see anything suspicious?”
Immediately her defensiveness started to retract. She exhaled. “You mean, did I ever see some girl walking around in a metal face mask? Um, no, can’t say that I did.”
“Not surprising,” said Adrian. “If she does frequent the theme park, which I’m still really doubtful of, but if she did, she wouldn’t be going there in full disguise, would she?”
“Still,” said Ruby, “maybe Nova can talk to her old boss or something? Encourage people to be on the lookout?”
Nova forced a smile, trying to remember the name of her so-called boss and hoping no one bothered to ask. “Yeah. Sure. That wouldn’t be a problem at all.”
“Okay,” said Adrian, scratching his jaw. “I’ll get a transcript of the interrogation sent to each of you this afternoon. Let’s all take the night to think on it, and discuss more tomorrow.” He sighed. “He was obviously hiding something, but … I don’t know. Something tells me he gave up more than we realize.”