Gift of Light_A Powered Destinies stand-alone novel Page 20

  The first raindrops fell as Wisp reached the venerable, double-winged white stone building that had once belonged to the University of Arts. From there, the Technical University appeared as a squat, many-windowed monstrosity already cast in shadows and fading pale-orange light. The city surrounding the campus was shrouded in Smog except the park and university’s main entrance were left untouched by the deadly haze. No guards in sight. It looked as if Constantine’s entourage had withdrawn into the headquarters and other nearby buildings.

  The absence of Smog left the impression that Smoker was already back here and had been for some time. Convinced that he was most likely not watching her this very moment, Wisp pulled the small camera bundle from her pocket and unwrapped it, revealing the cubical gadget Max had prepared for her. It looked smaller without the cloth wrapping. Slightly shorter than her little finger and about as wide, with a thumbnail-sized, dark-tinted camera lens at the front and a simple yellow button on top. The right size to sit comfortably in her hand and be concealed by her clothing.

  Finding the right angle for a picture without getting caught was going to be the hard part.

  CHAPTER 9

  “I don’t think so, Gentleman. You have a history of killing anyone who gets in your way. That’s my definition of a murderer.”

  -Radiant, to Gentleman

  Having tucked the drone part into her pocket, Wisp said a silent thank you to Max for his tireless work before turning back to the university building. She could have waltzed through the main entrance and didn’t think anyone would have stopped her, but now that she had left her friends at home, the windows looked far more inviting. Less predictable and a smaller chance of encountering a trap that way. Hannah’s warning still echoed in her head.

  She remembered the location of Constantine’s reception room well enough to pinpoint one of the second-floor windows that had to be close to it. After another short leap to a nearby auxiliary building, she sent her smallest sphere through the window and, after a glance at her other lights to make certain their color hadn’t changed, swapped places to relocate herself into the building.

  Her vision refocused and narrowed to the long, dusty corridor she had walked the night before, lined by identical classroom doors. The one closest to her was open. No guards loitered outside and no voices came from the room beyond. The triangle of light spheres surrounding her still glowed golden amber.

  Wisp stared at the all too inviting door for a moment, trying and failing to conjure up her other self and get herself fired up for another confrontation with Big C. She just wasn’t angry enough for the mask to slip into place. He had fulfilled his end of the agreement by returning Hannah, after all, and no one else had gotten hurt since. So she squeezed the rucksack he’d given her, felt the tightly packed wads of bank notes inside, and stepped through the door. No masks, no pretense. Just the conclusion of an uncomfortable deal.

  Constantine’s reception room looked different. Lavishly decorated and filled with classy furniture, but instead of flickering candles, pale daylight illuminated it through the windows. A tablet computer sat on the tablecloth in front of the Shadow’s gang leader. Its screen was dark and facing upward.

  The big boss sat alone. He occupied the same chair at the center of the table, facing the open door and Wisp with the large classroom windows at his back. As large and imposing as ever, he still wore the same high-collared red trench coat and thick silver rings from an hour before. His pale eyes shifted to her and she stopped, struggling to deflect the potency of his gaze and not let it congeal what remained of her courage. She didn’t flinch, but she really missed her mask.

  This was it. The next part of her plan that wasn’t really a plan, the last chance to take her destiny into her own hands against all odds.

  Or to get tossed into the ditch alongside all the other dead bodies.

  “Hey boss,” she said in a faked cheerful voice. “I’m back, and I brought the money. I’d really like to keep it. Had to fend off some over-motivated heroes to get it.” She shuffled closer to the table and set her bounty on the scarlet tablecloth, stealing a glance at the computer. Nothing about it revealed why it was there.

  Constantine glanced down at it and then back up at her, eyebrows rising slowly. “Heroes,” he echoed in a tone that was equal parts unsurprised and unperturbed.

  “That’s right,” she said. “I got them off my tail. So … can I join the gang now? I mean, I pulled off the job the way you asked. You can’t not let me join.” She punctuated her pretend enthusiasm with a smile.

  He leaned back in his chair, his expression unmoving. “Tell me again. Why, exactly, do you want to join?” He didn’t look inside the rucksack.

  Of course it wasn’t going to be this easy. Wisp took a mental stock of the situation and her available options. Constantine wasn’t stupid, and he wasn’t going to buy her motivation if she hammed it up too much. Moving this stubborn mountain of a man meant to play to the expectations he had of her and of Evolved in general.

  “Well,” she said in a considerate tone, “I got powers, but yesterday I realized something; that I never really did anything with them. Our gang was fun and all, but most of what we’ve been doing is child’s play. Not something you could compare to robbing a bank. Or working alongside another Evolved like Smoker.” Her own saccharine smile made her want to puke.

  “You worked with Smoker?” Constantine’s eyebrows raised a fraction.

  “Kind of! I mean, he really helped me out when those heroes were after me. I don’t think I would have gotten away without the smoke cover he conjured up.”

  The man at the table kept staring at her, his jaw working in silent contemplation. Wisp sealed her emotions behind an arduously maintained smile. Her fingers felt cold and a deluge of sweat dampened her back. Seconds stretched out into what seemed like minutes.

  After an indeterminable amount of time, Constantine cut through the silence with a commanding sweep of a hand, switching from German to English. “Smoker. Show yourself.”

  The air stirred and color drained away from one corner of the room, slowly coalescing into a slender, black-haired shape that stood near Constantine’s chair. Smoker’s distinctive features manifested gradually, blurry sections filling out as the Evolved diverted substance and solidity from the air around him. He clasped his hands behind his back and bowed his head toward the villain leader, doing a decent job at feigned subservience.

  Wisp didn’t buy it. She had realized something. No petty gang lord would ever admit or acknowledge that regardless of their status and resources, the Evolved would always look down on them. The bad guys in particular had superiority complexes of their own.

  “You asked for me,” Smoker said in English.

  “I have a question for you,” Constantine replied without sparing him a glance. “Or rather, I need your honest opinion. Is the flat-chested kid playing us for suckers? Because I believe she is, and you know me, I like to take out the trash before it stinks.”

  Wisp felt her smile crumble along with her school English as she grasped for the words. “Come on, I could have sold you out to the heroes, but I didn’t as much as talk to them.” Then she switched back to German, addressing Constantine. “I brought you the money, which means I’m a criminal now. What more do you want from me?”

  “She didn’t talk to them.” Smoker lifted his impassive gaze to her face. “Didn’t fight them, but maybe that would’ve been too much to ask. The greenhorns are always cowards. They grow up or they get killed trying to prove themselves.”

  Does that include you? Wisp kept her mouth shut. As the Conglomerate’s liaison, Smoker’s opinion of her weighed more than Constantine’s, and the villain group obviously had an interest in her. As of right now, that interest was her life insurance.

  Her danger beacons still glowed amber. For now.

  “Do you want to prove yourself?” Constantine asked in German.

  “I thought I already did. I know the Conglomerate’s interested i
n me. Why don’t you let me talk to them and let their leader decide?”

  Her suggestion was an attempt to get a reaction out of Constantine more than anything else, but surprisingly wasn’t shot down. Smoker crossed his arms with a dismissive snort. Constantine continued to stare at her for another moment before picking up the computer from the table.

  “You can,” he said with a gravity that seemed deliberate, “but it isn’t going to do you any favors. He has an even lower bullshit tolerance than I do.” His meaty, ring-adorned hand reached across the table, offering the device to her.

  Was he already planning for this? That I was going to ask for a chat with a supervillain? She extended her hand but hesitated, unsure what to make of the inexplicably generous offer, sensing a trap but unable to see it clearly. Her spheres showed no reaction, however. Their color stayed the same.

  The temptation was too strong to resist. Wisp accepted the tablet and glanced down at it, finding a dim reflection of herself in the smooth black screen. The mirror-like glass made her appear more shadowy somehow, a darker reflection or perhaps an evil twin of herself. She held the device away from her face.

  “So how do I talk to him?” she asked.

  “Swipe the screen,” Constantine said.

  “Don’t waste his time,” Smoker added in English. “He doesn’t appreciate it.”

  “Okay.” Wisp rubbed her knuckles against her forehead. “Can I talk to him alone? And, uh, can I keep the money? My folks back at the tower could use food and–”

  “Yes and yes.” Constantine cut her off with an impatient gesture. “Head into the next room and close the door behind you.”

  She almost said thank you like the well-behaved girl Grandma Rosie had tried to turn her into. The two men in this room had played a part in Hannah’s kidnapping and pitted her against a team of heroes, accepting the possibility of her death if things went wrong. Besides, this all seemed too easy somehow. The Conglomerate leader must have expressed an interest in talking to her before she’d asked. Which couldn’t mean anything good, so she was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  Wisp glanced at Smoker. “Hey, Smoker. I was hoping we could have a chat too, just you and me after I’m done with this.”

  He tipped his head to the side, a strand of long, black hair falling over his cheek. “Why?”

  “Because we’re the only two Evolved in this city,” she said. “I know almost nothing about you and if we’re going to keep working together, maybe we should do something about that.”

  There was a subtle change in his expression like ripples running across a calm watery surface. Wisp knew that look. It was the look of someone who desperately wanted to connect with others who were like him, people who understood the challenges and realities of being one of only four hundred in the world. Of being different. The rookie supervillain had no reason to trust her, but if he was anything like her, chances were that somewhere deep inside, he wanted to. At least a little. Wisp suspected that up on that rooftop with Rune and Checkmate, she had worn the exact same expression he did now.

  “Maybe,” he replied. “I’m busy, as you know.”

  She clutched the rucksack to her chest but held the tablet at arm’s length. “So, uh, I’m going. Until later, maybe.”

  She marched out the door, wondering with each step what she was going to do if Smoker actually agreed to hang out with her. The first time you kill someone, it changes you forever, Dad had told her when she was a preteen who’d shown a little too much interest in his job. She hadn’t truly understood what he meant and if she was being honest with herself. She was afraid of finding out. So she abandoned the train of thought in favor of a more pressing concern: trying to survive a casual conversation with the world-renowned leader of an Evolved crime ring.

  With clammy hands, she opened the door leading to the next room, making sure to pull it closed behind her. This classroom was large, airy, and dimly lit by fading cloud-scattered sunlight. Heavy drops of rain splashed against the large windows with the ferocity of gunfire. Wisp shuffled to the nearest seat and dropped onto it, placing the tablet on the desk. The mirror-like black screen stared back at her and the drone camera made a rather noticeable bulge in her pocket.

  If this is an actual video chat, it’s going to work both ways. He isn’t just going to let me take a picture of him on-screen.

  “So much for that,” she muttered, swiping the screen.

  It came to life with the usual manufacturer’s logo and jingle, but by the time the desktop screen had initialized, there was nothing usual about it at all. Because there was nothing on it. No icons for apps or folders, not even a web browser. Just a blank surface set against a background of complex, interlocking symbols that meant nothing to Wisp. She picked out one that looked like a mirrored C letter. The Conglomerate logo, perhaps?

  While she was still staring at the screen and trying to make sense of it, something too fast to track or identify popped up from the mass of background symbols and extended itself to an image that filled up the entirety of the screen. The instant the appearance of the person displayed came together in Wisp’s mind, she jerked in her seat and nearly dropped the tablet, one hand flying to her mouth. Because the man on the screen wasn’t a supervillain.

  He was her father.

  The visual details snapped together with startling clarity, chilling her from the inside. The shape of his jaw. The outline of his lips and the chestnut hue of his buzz-cut hair. Everything about him felt so familiar it hurt. When his eyes turned to her and he opened his mouth to speak, the classroom around her faded away to nothing.

  “Hello there, little brat,” Dad said with a slight smile in flawless German, using a voice that sounded so much like him that she choked up for a second. “Did you miss me?”

  Then he smiled wider, and something about it felt wrong. She adjusted the angle of the tablet to see more clearly, but the sense of wrongness persisted. Her dad had pulled his lips all the way back and was flashing his teeth in what looked like a snarl. It put her on edge instead of making her feel at home.

  “Is that really you, Dad?” she asked in a tiny voice.

  The man on the screen raised his short, bushy brows. “Who else would I be?”

  My dad never looked at me like that. Not even when I was being stubborn and stupid.

  Now that the doubts set in, she detected other spots where the illusion was wearing thin. The front of his gray officer’s uniform showed the wrong number of buttons. He clasped his strong hands over his knees, a mannerism so unlike him it felt unreal. And the way he was looking at her now … taxing and curious, his usually warm eyes devoid of affection. Like a mischievous crow searching a way through the kitchen window to steal Grandma’s hot apple fritters.

  Wisp wiped at her tears again, and her growing anger made them dry up in an instant. “I don’t know who you are, but you aren’t my dad.” She forced the words through her teeth.

  Not-Dad clacked his tongue and shifted to an American English as flawless as his German had been. “Impressive, especially for one as young as you are. I expected the little orphan to cling to her daddy for another minute.”

  She had to stop herself from throwing the tablet at the nearest wall to shut up the almost childlike mischief in the villain’s voice. A voice that should have been gentle and reassuring because it belonged to her father. Chances were he anticipated a kneejerk reaction, though, and was provoking her on purpose. Whatever his intention, she wasn’t going to do him the favor.

  Wisp shaped her anger into a shield and a mask. “What do you actually want from me?” she asked the man with the borrowed face.

  He gave her a level stare. “Straight to the point. How very boring.” To her surprise, his frowning lips curled upward almost immediately, assuming the shape of a playful grin. “How very much like her. Ah, forgive my manners. I suppose it would be considerate of me to introduce myself.”

  After a moment of tense silence, her father’s image dissolved and change
d, his solid, stocky physique transforming into a taller and far more slender build. The ripple of transformation ran across the entirety of his body, reshaping and recoloring everything from his previously short-cropped hair to the fabric and cut of his outfit. The military uniform became a navy suit with a crisp dress shirt and a gray tie. His face now appeared slender and angular, though the upper half of it was hidden behind a silver-hued Victorian masquerade mask, mischievous hazel eyes laughing at her from behind vine-embellished eyeholes. Straight, long brown hair tied into a ponytail brushed against his left shoulder. The masked man steepled fingers in front of a beardless chin, somehow managing to give off an air of complacent benevolence she assumed to be as false as everything else about him.

  This isn’t Data. It actually made sense, because Data – the Conglomerate’s last known leader – was an exceptionally skilled Technician without shapeshifting or illusion-based powers. This guy didn’t look like the kind of Evolved who tinkered with machinery and electronics. In fact, she couldn’t place him at all.

  Then again, most of the supervillains who had stuck in anyone’s memory were dead.

  “Who are you?” she asked once the transformation was complete.

  He bobbed his head in a mock bow and offered a flourish of a suit sleeve. “The general public, which is regrettably forgetful, once knew me as Gentleman. I must assume that the news of my prosperity and freedom has not trickled down to your little corner of the world.”

  Now that he had changed appearances, his voice no longer sounded like her dad’s. It had the cadence of a younger, gallant, and refined man, and she wanted to smack herself for not guessing his identity sooner. According to the rumors, the man projected deceptively real illusions and imitated the voices of people he had studied. It was how he had managed to vanish off the face of Earth and evade capture many months ago.

  Regardless, the man remained a puzzle she had to solve.

  What’s up with his weird way of speaking? Wisp blinked at the screen in confusion. And why the buddy act? If he put on a show to mess with her and challenge her expectations, it was working. She couldn’t find the right English words to throw back at him. Even her anger was beginning to evaporate, perhaps seeping through the cracks that the villain’s shift in tone and mood had left in her defenses.