Powerless Page 3

“Do you ever listen?” he demands.

  “Only if a person actually has something useful to say.”

  Draven shakes his head but doesn’t reply as he crouches next to Nitro. I get my first good look at his back and I wince. Whatever Nitro fired at him must have burned like hell. His skin is a mess.

  I’m still stunned that he intercepted the fireball that was meant for me. No one’s ever done anything like that for me before. I’m grateful, even if it’s just part of some weird villain plot to get me to trust him. As if that’s even a possibility.

  Draven wipes the potassium bicarbonate off Nitro’s face, then slaps at his cheeks. Nitro’s out cold; Draven’s distracted; and Dante’s laughing too hard to put up much of a fight. I make a beeline for the phone. One call, and every hero in the vicinity will descend on the lab in a flash.

  For once, I can save the day.

  Dante plants himself in my path. “Don’t get any ideas.”

  I pretend not to know what he’s talking about as I change course and circle the table to stand next to Draven, as if that was my intention all along.

  “You need a doctor,” I say, crouching to get a better look at Draven’s back. Not that I would normally care about a villain one way or another, but he did save my life tonight. Twice.

  “Do you have a death wish?” Draven demands, his intense gaze seeming to look right through me. “When he wakes up, he’s not going to be in control.”

  I blink, breaking the connection between us. Gorgeous or not, protector or not, I have to remember that those bright, arctic blue eyes belong to a villain.

  “Like he was before?” I ask with a snort.

  “She’s got you there,” Dante says, but he isn’t paying much attention to us. Instead, he’s examining the watch in his hand. If I didn’t know better, I’d think the sheen in his eyes was from tears, not the strobe lights of the lab’s alarm system. I close my eyes, shake my head. Who are these guys? They seem more helpless than heartless, more Three Stooges than criminal masterminds.

  But villains killed my dad.

  Villains hurt me.

  They aren’t supposed to protect ordinaries. They aren’t supposed to care about me. They aren’t supposed to care about anything but themselves. Where are the bad-to-the-bone, hell-bent-on-destruction anarchists the League is always talking about?

  Nitro finally stirs and groans, but before anyone can say anything, the alarm cuts off abruptly. A loud, digital voice blasts through the intercom above us. “This is the Superhero Police Department. An alarm is going off in your laboratory and we have been unable to reach security. Is there a problem?”

  For a second, all of us freeze. Then Draven turns to me with wide, warning eyes. “Don’t you dare—”

  I don’t give myself a chance to think. These guys are villains, and I can’t—I won’t—have any sympathy for them.

  “Yes!” I scream. “Send help! There are villains in the lab!”

  “Damn it!” Dante lunges for me. “Shut up.”

  But it’s too late. The computerized voice says, “The police have been dispatched. Help is on its way.”

  “Damn it!” Dante yells again. He bends down and pulls a still-groggy Nitro to his feet. “We have to go.”

  “Get him out of here!” Draven tells him. “I’ll deal with her.”

  “We should take her with us. Use her as leverage to get Deacon back.”

  A shiver of terror runs down my spine. Heroes don’t negotiate with villains. I can’t let them kidnap me, can’t let them—

  “No.” Draven’s voice, clear and calm and cold, cuts through my panic. “That would make us no better than them. We don’t do that.”

  “Maybe we should start. The heroes—”

  “We don’t have time for this,” Draven says. “Take Nitro and get the hell out of here. I’ll make sure she can’t say anything about us.”

  Dante looks like he wants to argue, but time is ticking away and he knows it. With one last angry scowl at me, one I return with more than a little fury of my own, he throws Nitro over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and makes a run for the exit.

  The door bangs shut behind him, and I brace myself for the worst. This is it. This is the moment when Draven proves he’s a true villain.

  But all he does is look straight into my eyes and say, “I’m sorry.”

  At first I think he’s talking about the break-in, the mess, Nitro’s attempted murder of me. All things he should apologize for. But his eyes have gone as cold and empty as the shards of glass that litter the floor. And I know.

  He’s about to wipe every trace of him and his friends from my memory.

  Well, he can try.

  I don’t fight him. Instead, I ask the question that’s been burning inside me. “You’re a villain. Why stop Nitro from hurting me? Why not let Dante kidnap me?”

  Long seconds tick away as silence stretches between us, taut as a circus high wire. But I want to know the answers. I want to know what would make a villain risk himself to save me. I can’t remember anyone outside of family ever putting me first. I can’t believe it was a villain who did.

  I’ve decided he’s not going to reply when he finally whispers, “Can’t a bad guy do a good thing?”

  I pause for a moment. “I’ve never seen it happen.”

  “Yeah.” He looks away and swallows. “Me neither.”

  When he turns back to me, his eyes glow laser bright and I know this is it, the moment when he’s going to try to make me forget everything that’s happened. Nitro. Dante. The lab explosion. Him.

  For a moment, just a moment, I think about asking him not to. But I know how futile that would be, and how stupid. “Villain” and “criminal” are pretty much synonymous. He can’t leave a witness who can identify him and his buddies. And I can’t reveal my greatest secret, not when it’s the only protection I have. So I keep my eyes open and let him do his thing.

  He takes both of my hands in one of his, and I let him. Force myself to do nothing as he pulls out a bandana—black, of course—and wraps it around my clasped hands before winding it around the faucet on the nearest lab table. He does this twice, pulling it as tightly as he can before tying it off.

  “I’m sorry,” he says again. “Someone will find you soon.”

  I manage a blank stare.

  “You went to the vending machine to get your chocolate. You heard an explosion. When you came back, a masked burglar was in the lab. He tied you up, then ran.”

  He steps back, places my long-forgotten chocolate bar on the table, and then walks out without a backward glance as the alarm, sirens and all, starts back up again. He’s got every confidence that I won’t remember a thing about tonight. About him and his friends and what they were looking for.

  But that’s not how it works. Not with me. As I watch him turn the corner, it’s not remembering him that I’m worried about.

  It’s forgetting him.

  Chapter 3

  “Kenna, my God,” Mom says, rushing into the lab and wrapping me in a hug. “Are you okay?”

  I sink into her, taking the comfort while I can get it. It will only be a few minutes before she notices the state of her lab, and my bruised wrists and even more bruised ego will be forgotten. “I’m o—”

  “My lab,” she interrupts with a gasp.

  Or a few seconds…that’s my mom for you.

  She pulls away and looks around her, jaw dropped and eyes wide. I have to admit, it’s pretty bad. A lot of the damage is superficial, though. Broken glass and spilled chemicals. All things that can be easily replaced.

  I rub at my wrists. Draven clearly overestimated SHPD’s response. Maybe they assumed I was a hero who would be able to take on the intruders. Even after the computer response system knew there were villains in the lab, it took a solid twenty-five minutes before a human showed up
. That’s twenty-five minutes I spent tied to a lab table with sirens blaring and emergency lights flashing. It would test anyone’s endurance.

  By minute ten I was regretting my decision to help Draven when Nitro set him on fire.

  By fifteen I was wishing Nitro’s blast had hit Draven harder.

  By twenty I regretted not beaning him with the extinguisher too.

  Now…now I just hope I never see any of them again.

  “What happened here?” Mom asks.

  “Nitro happened,” I answer.

  “Nitro?” she echoes. “We’re lucky there’s anything left. He has a reputation for being ruthless.”

  Normally I’d agree with her. But while the guy I met was a total jerk, he wasn’t ruthless. He wasn’t…evil.

  “Did he touch any of the research?” she asks.

  I shrug. “No, he just blew the vault.”

  “Thank God you didn’t get hurt!” She pauses but is awfully calm, considering. Then again, if any of her important research had been ruined—if my transcriptions weren’t automatically backed up to the server—she’d be in a way bigger panic.

  She walks through the mess, studies the destruction. Then turns to me, frowning. “Was he alone?”

  This is the part where I have to decide how much to say. Do I tell her about the villain who protected me? Do I tell her that he tried to wipe my mind? Draven’s not on the superhero radar yet or I would have heard of him. If I tell Mom, she’ll tell the League, and he’ll be on the most-wanted list by morning. Memory wipe is a big deal on both sides of the superpower fence.

  But in the end, I decide I owe them no loyalty. Just because these three villains didn’t hurt or kill me doesn’t mean I need to protect them, protect him. God only knows how many people they’ve hurt in the past, or will hurt in the future if the heroes don’t catch them.

  “No, there were three of them,” I say.

  Mom gasps again. “They could have killed you.”

  Way to have faith, Mom.

  “Yeah, well, it’s not like their powers actually work on me. There wasn’t much they could do.”

  I might be powerless, but I do have one secret weapon. Mom does anyway.

  After the way my dad died—and what happened to me—my mom dedicated her research to developing a serum that makes whoever takes it immune to superpowers. Impervious. She perfected the serum when I was eight and has been giving it to me once a week ever since. I’m her long-term test subject. Her guinea pig.

  So far it seems to be working. I haven’t grown a second head or anything, and superpowers don’t affect me anymore. But she isn’t ready to share the serum with the heroes yet. They might be the good guys, but they’re very fond of their abilities. And since her serum makes me immune to all superpowers—hero or villain—she figures they aren’t going to take the news very well. At least not until she can refine the formula to only work against villain powers.

  Until then, this research is our little secret. One that could get her in major trouble, since it’s a totally unsanctioned experiment.

  And it’s a secret that makes Mom feel a little better since I’m slightly less likely to get maimed or killed because I can’t defend myself.

  “Ssssh.” My mom glances around to make sure no one is listening. “You know you’re not supposed to talk about that. Besides, just because Nitro’s blast couldn’t hurt you doesn’t mean he couldn’t slit your throat or break your neck.”

  The image makes me shudder. “Nice, Mom. Thanks for the visual.”

  “I’m just saying.” She lowers her voice. “You act like that serum makes you invincible, but it doesn’t. You could have died in the explosion or from fire or from falling debris. He could have killed you in a million different ways that didn’t actually involve his powers.”

  It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes. I know this is her way of saying she cares about me, but all she’s doing is pointing out how weak she thinks I am.

  It’s an old fight, so I don’t bother trying to explain that I’m powerless, not helpless. Or stupid. She can’t seem to comprehend that I might actually be able to defend myself. Which is totally hypocritical, considering that if you take away that big brain of hers, she’s just as vulnerable as I am.

  It’s a fight I can’t win though, so I change the subject. “One of them tried to wipe my mind to make me forget I saw them.”

  Mom’s eyes widen. “You didn’t tell him?”

  Does she even have to ask? “Of course not. I pretended it worked.”

  “Good,” she says, sagging with relief. “That’s good.”

  “What am I supposed to tell the SHPD?” I ask.

  I managed to avoid talking to the officers when they arrived on the scene, insisting that I had to speak with my mom first. They gave in because I might have hinted that there was top secret intel at stake. And in a way, there is. Even if I never cross paths with the villain trio again, if it gets out that I spilled information that Draven supposedly erased, my secret immunity will be blown. Mom would totally flip.

  “I don’t want you talking to the SHPD at all, if we can avoid it,” she says. “But I need you to tell me everything that happened so I know what Rex Malone needs to hear.”

  Mom worries constantly that I’ll slip up, though I assure her I won’t. I’ve spent more than half my life keeping this secret.

  I give her the rundown, everything from when I ran into Draven at the vending machine to when he tied me to the faucet and walked out the door. Well, almost everything. I don’t tell her what they said about a hidden level in the lab. That’s too crazy to repeat if I want her to take me seriously.

  Mom nods. “Okay, good. Follow my lead, and don’t offer anything more than—”

  “I don’t care if he is in Tokyo,” a male voice booms before Mr. Malone—my best friend’s dad and president of the League—steps into the lab. “You tell him to get his ass back to Boulder before I send Dash to bring him back.”

  He ends the call abruptly and snaps the phone back into the holster on his belt. Even if he weren’t a superhero, Mr. Malone would still command attention. He’s big and tall, with short, dark, perfectly-in-place hair and piercing blue eyes. Almost like a real-life Superman. Rebel doesn’t think so, but then she’s his daughter. It’s kind of her job to give him grief.

  Tonight—or I should say this morning—he looks a little less-than-perfect in a wrinkled shirt and faded jeans.

  Half a step behind him, as always, is Rebel’s brother, Riley. He’s only two years older than her, but blond hair and blue eyes are pretty much the only things the siblings have in common. Riley is tall, like their dad, and impeccably groomed. Plus he has the stiffest, straightest posture of anyone I’ve ever met. I can’t imagine anyone more likely to remind the teacher when she forgets to assign homework. Or, as Rebel says, to act like a bigger douche nozzle.

  She would disown him if she could.

  Riley trails Mr. Malone with his smartphone in hand, flash-typing everything his father says. No surprise there. The boy eats, sleeps, and breathes to be a superhero, and today he’s wearing a coat that, honestly, looks a little bit like a cape. I’m sure, in his opinion, it’s just truth in advertising.

  Mom confronts Mr. Malone at the blown-out door.

  “What the hell happened?” she demands. “This facility is supposed to be secure, Rex. How did villains get in and tie up my daughter?”

  He turns his attention to me. “Kenna, sweetheart, are you okay?”

  “Yes, Mr. Malone,” I answer obediently. “I’m fine.”

  Riley pauses typing for a split second to look up at me. I can’t tell if that’s his way of saying hello or if he’s evaluating me for his report. I swear, if he tries to take a picture of me for the files, I’ll go Rebel on him with her signature karate chop. I’ve taken enough crap from the male of the species today
. I’m so totally over all of them.

  “Can you tell me what happened?” Mr. Malone asks, like I’m a child.

  I got used to his patronizing tone a long time ago. As an ordinary and a teenager, I get a double dose of let-the-grown-up-superheroes-take-care-of-everything. I stopped letting it make me gag when I was twelve, but it’s still frustrating.

  “I’ll tell you what happened,” Mom says before I can answer. “She went to get a candy bar, and next thing she knows, she’s tied to a lab table with the sirens blaring. It took the SHPD almost an hour to get here.”

  “Unacceptable.” Mr. Malone nods to Riley, who—if possible—types even faster. “Can you describe them?”

  “I—”

  “She doesn’t remember.” Mom steps closer to my side. “Has no memory of anything after the vending machine.”

  “Damn it!” Mr. Malone rests his fists on his hips in a perfect superhero stance. “One of them must have had a psy power. I hate those mental freaks.”

  “Freaks,” Riley agrees.

  “And one of them must have been Nitro,” Mom suggests.

  Mr. Malone surveys the room. “You’re right. No one else has this kind of explosive power.”

  I’m doing my best to keep my mouth shut. Mom’s rules. Never answer when I don’t have to. It reduces the odds that I’ll say something that would betray my immunity.

  Wouldn’t want that.

  I start mentally sketching the chemical structure of my latest test formula. Saves me from paying attention and wanting to answer when I shouldn’t.

  “We have to move the lab.” Mom spins around and storms toward the back of the room. “This facility isn’t secure.”

  I sigh.

  This is how Mom always reacts to danger. She overreacts.

  Don’t speak.

  Take immunity serum.

  Move the lab.

  For a woman who chooses to work in the world of heroes and villains—and who was married to one of the greatest superheroes of his generation—she doesn’t deal well with violence and conflict. At all. Then again, having your husband wiped off the face of the earth by villains will do that to a woman.