How to Save the World (11 page)

I sat up. “Want backup?”

“Nah. I can handle this.”

“If they have the Demobilizer—­”

“Not a problem for me.” She snapped a gas mask onto the lower part of her mask. “Raptor's always prepared. Remember that.”

“Uh, sure,” I said. She took one of the motorcycles, roaring off into the night and leaving me on the cot with the blankets bunched around my socks. I sighed and lay back down. It made sense that the Raptor might take over any calls against supervillains. After all, Guy-­as-­War-­Hammer was Chicago's main hero, and he was currently under sedation and without his powers.

Eventually curiosity got the better of me. I rolled off the cot and crossed to the computers, hoping she had some kind of guest log-­in. To my surprise,
G._GODWIN
was listed on the possible log-­ins. Seeing no password prompt, I warily placed my palm on the scanner.

It let me right into the system.

“Weird,” I said, shaking my head. Maybe she'd done me a favor and had set up FreeCell or Solitaire or something in case I wouldn't be able to sleep. Instead, I found a full and robust lineup of programs available to me, most of which I didn't recognize. Shrugging, I tabbed over to the internet and browsed the Domino's site. I'd tried to look into the situation on my phone, but the Nest had, like, a light-­speed-­fast connection, so this was way better. In less than a minute, I had several dozen different sites up across the monitors.

I settled in to read, keeping an eye on the live feed from the Raptorcycle. There'd been a shortcut to it on the home screen, so I didn't feel like I was snooping inappropriately.

Besides, not many ­people got a chance to watch Raptor kick ass up close and personal. I had before, but I much preferred it this way, when the target wasn't me. She was much, much scarier on the other side of a fight.

U
nfortunately, there was only so much web browsing that my tired brain could withstand. After my thirty-­third article about Plain Jane, my eyes began to drift closed. I logged out, climbed back onto the cot, and almost slept through Jessie returning. She stumbled tiredly back to what I assumed was a much more appropriate room for sleeping than a cot out among the cars. She still wasn't awake when I woke, so I explored until I found a fridge and cooked myself a full breakfast. There was no way I was going back to Davenport Tower without Jessie—­not without Eddie throwing me in a cell—­so I forced myself to wait and texted Guy instead.

To my surprise, he texted back right away.
Where are you?

I hit the
CALL
button instead. It went to voice mail.

Can't talk. In a briefing. Should pay attention, but don't care
.

Why did they have him in a briefing? Shouldn't they be running extensive tests and seeing if there was some way to reverse the effects of the Demobilizer?

Are you ok???
I texted.
I'm in Chi-­Town, btw. You wouldn't believe me if I said exactly where.

I never have a hard time believing you when you say things like that.

He had a point. He texted a few more times, confirming that Vicki was with him and they were in the Nucleus. Angélica had apparently been looking for me, so I made sure to text her that I was staying with Jessie. But that wasn't what concerned me.

No, I was bothered by the fact that Guy seemed to be dodging my questions whenever I asked how he was. He demurred answering, usually turning the conversation around to me—­Was I eating enough? Was it true that I'd told Eddie to fuck off?—­and that set off alarms in my brain.

I needed to get to New York. I needed to see him.

“No,” Jessie said when she finally strolled in, wearing an oversized Columbia U hoodie and toweling her hair dry. “Not right now.”

“But—­”

“We go to Davenport and my brother's going to come up with some kind of suicide mission for you. I'd prefer to keep you out of sight for now.”

I blinked at that. “Why do you care?”

Jessie shrugged.

“No, seriously,” I said.

“My niece likes you and your little pack of troublemakers, so we'll go with that. Did you leave me any food or am I going to have to call in delivery?”

“It's on the stove,” I said, feeling grumpy. Why did she care so much, anyway? Yes, I was friends with Kiki, even though our relationship was a little strange—­murdering a man together kind of cements a bond whether or not you want it to—­but this was just bizarre.

“I don't understand anything that's happening,” I said. “Which, to be fair, is not that unusual. Whatever. I assume there's somewhere I can take a shower?”

“I left you some hot water and everything,” Jessie said, smirking.

After my shower, wearing borrowed clothing, I made my way to the main gym area of the Nest, where I took my frustration out on a punching bag and went for a long run on the treadmill. I didn't wear myself out, even though I wanted to.

“You're not good at being idle, huh?” Jessie asked, wandering by as she crunched into an apple.

“Not when I'm being kept in the dark.” I'd had years of forced idleness to suffer through, though I was usually chained and gagged during these periods. Really, some days I wondered if I should be concerned by how much supervillains had shaped my psyche. Right now I wanted to hit something substantial. No, scratch that: I wanted to see Guy. And Vicki, too. But mostly Guy. I stepped off the treadmill and took a few deep breaths. “I guess I just don't get why you won't sneak me in to see Guy or tell me what's going on with him.”

“Not much to get. My brother's an asshole, and I refuse to let you be his next casualty.”

“What's the deal with you two, anyway? Do you, like, hate each other?”

“Dad wanted him to follow in his footsteps. Eddie went to law school.” Jessie crossed her arms over her chest. “And I became the Raptor. Which Dad never wanted.”

“Why not?”

“Because that meant I had to fight Fearless.”

Okay, that was a tangled web. Fearless was Rita Detmer, the world's first supervillain. She also happened to be Jessie's mother. “But Eddie would've had to if he'd become Raptor,” I said.

“Welcome to the mind of Kurt Davenport.” Jessie finished off her apple and tossed the core into the trash without looking. “Eddie resents me for not letting Raptor die like the rest of the Feared Five, and I resent Eddie for being kind of a dick.”

So I wasn't the only one who felt that way. I patted at the side of my neck with a gym towel. Raptor and Fearless were famous for their grand, city-­block-­leveling fights. “What was it like?” I asked. “Having to fight your mom?”

“It sucks. I don't recommend it.”

I snorted. My own mother was still somewhere in Muncie, Indiana, probably. We hadn't spoken since I'd set out before my eighteenth birthday. Was that worse or better than her being a supervillain hell-­bent on killing me? I couldn't decide. At least the indifference hadn't ever been life-­threatening.

“But that's the problem. Whoever is Raptor automatically gets the honor of fighting Fearless. It's just the way things go. Whoever's in this suit next will discover that for themselves,” Jessie said.

“That's a lot of responsibility,” I said. For as fit and terrifying as she was, Jessie was also over fifty with two kids. One of them would probably be the next Raptor, which was quite a legacy. And a heavy burden to bear, really. So I gestured at her with my water bottle. “You take over and become Raptor, then you have to learn how to, what, save the world or something?”

“Let's hope you never have to.”

“Have to what?”

“Save the world,” Jessie said.

I raised my eyebrows. “Are you saying if it's my responsibility to save the world, we're all doomed?”

“No.” Surprisingly, she smiled. “I was talking about the cost. But that's a little heavy for right now. You might want to grab another shower.”

“What? Why?”

“I have a feeling you're going somewhere soon.”

 

CHAPTER 11

I
have an idea.
After Jessie's vague pronouncement, Guy's text didn't surprise me. Really, nothing about Jessie Davenport should have surprised me at this point. Maybe that was her superpower. Maybe she was just really good at precognition. It would explain so much. I rubbed my ear with a towel, trying to get rid of a troublesome bit of water stuck inside it. Another text from Guy arrived:
How do you feel about being Nancy Drew?

Does that make you a Hardy Boy?
I texted back.

Only if I can be Frank. Can you sneak away from wherever you are and meet me somewhere? Would pick you up, but . . .
He ended the text with a shrug emoji.

“Hey, Jessie,” I said, poking my head out of the bathroom. “What are my chances of sneaking out of here?”

“If you manage it, you'll be the first,” she called back. “But I'm willing to let you walk out the front door if you wear concealed armor.”

I can get away
, I texted back to Guy.
Where do you want to meet?

The address he texted back made me raise my eyebrows.
Seriously?
I texted at him.

You have supervillain friends, right? They like you?

I snorted. He really overestimated how personable ­people found me. But now that he mentioned it . . .

I sent off a text message before I could convince myself it was the worst idea ever.
I
'll meet you there
, I texted Guy, and I went to bug my weird jailer to see if I could borrow her car. Preferably the one with the flamethrowers, as where I planned it go, I might need them.

She only gave me a
you have got to be kidding me
look.

“Why not?” I asked.

“I've seen you drive, remember? I'll give you a ride.”

“Oh, fine.”

Guy had texted me the address to a bar in Wicker Park. The bar itself didn't seem all that impressive: nautical-­themed, with a little steering wheel for a boat over the door, the paint outside peeling and shabby. Just a typical Chicago bar, not really built to draw the eye. Unless you knew this bar's secret: that it was a gathering place for the evil-­inclined. I'd only been inside once, but I'd been less than impressed. That may or may not have had something to do with the fact that there was an entire wall dedicated to supervillains taking selfies with an unconscious me.

Jessie pulled up beside it. Overhead, the shingle sign read
MIND THE BOOM
in faded red lettering, and I wondered if supervillains ever really had any self-­respect, drinking at a bar with the most pun-­filled name I'd ever seen.

I climbed out of the passenger seat. “Do I have a curfew, Mom?” I asked.

Jessie rolled her eyes. “Do your best not to end up in an inordinate amount of trouble.”

“So a moderate amount is okay, then?”

“Let's go with
expected
rather than
okay
. Text me when you're done.”

God, what a weirdo. I crossed the street toward the bar—­Jessie had to know what it was; I doubted there was a single supervillain secret that she wasn't privy to—­and looked around. Luckily, Guy towered over everybody and was more redheaded than a tequila sunrise, so he was incredibly easy to pick out of a crowd. I would just have to be careful. He would probably be depressed and I would need to be supportive and . . .

“Gail!”

I turned and barely had time to brace myself before I was scooped up in a giant bear hug. Guy spun me around, hugging me tightly and crushing me against his chest. Or mostly crushing me. His hug had none of his usual strength, but that wasn't the weirdest part of it.

No, the weird thing was the way he absolutely beamed at me as he set me down.

“Um,” I said, since the wires between my brain and the rest of me seemed to have decayed. Guy's smile was positively infectious. I peered up at him and was tempted to poke his chest to make sure he was still flesh and bone. “Are you a robot?”

“Nope. Hi.” He kissed me a great deal more enthusiastically than usual. Guy wasn't by any means reserved with affection, but in public he tended to get a bit shy. “How are you? You look rested. Where even were you?”

“The Nest.”

A line appeared between his eyebrows. “What?”

“I think I've been adopted. Anyway, that's not important. Are you okay? Is this, um, is this happiness some really strange form of denial? Because I'm here for you, like, whatever you need.”

“That's really sweet, but I'm fine.”

I peered up at his face, not really convinced. This had to be some really strong denial. Like, crazily strong. Either that or Davenport had put him on some seriously heavy-­duty antidepressants. Physically, he looked healthy, and he didn't smell or feel any different. His hair was a little messy, like he'd been running his hands through it, but his eyes were bright and clear and green and almost twinkling.

“Gail,” he said, as my face must have shown all of the skepticism going through my brain, “I'm
fine
. Look, pinch me. You'll see that I'm not a robot and that I'm perfectly okay.”

“You're happy about this?”

“I feel great. You have no idea.”

“You're happy without your powers.”

“Ecstatic.”

“But . . .
why
?”

“Because I'm free.” Guy said it so simply that I nearly took a step back in shock. “For once in my life, I don't have to fly somewhere and save the day, because I can't. It's such an amazing feeling. No guilt. This is wonderful.”

“Wow,” I said. I hadn't quite thought of it that way, but: “Wait, does it really wear on you that much? How come you never said anything?”

His shoulders went up to his ears. “What would it have done?” he asked. “The powers and responsibilities are going to be there whether I wish they are or not. It never seemed worth it to waste my energy. Of course, maybe this is all temporary, but whatever, I'm going to enjoy it.” He grinned. “You look good.”

“Now I know you're lying. I barely got any sleep.”

“Should've gone with a sedative.” He played with the ends of my hair and swooped forward, stealing another kiss. “I tell you, it does wonders.”

“I'll take your word for it.”

A throat cleared behind us. “That's gross, just so you know,” a familiar voice said.

I turned, stepping out of Guy's arms—­we were in public and right in front of a supervillain bar, to boot—­and quickly adjusted my shirt. “Oh, good. You got my text. Hi.”

Raze gave me the most unimpressed look in her arsenal. She wore some kind of acid-­washed jean jacket and a sideways ponytail—­though she had her casual visor over her eyes, which were much larger than the average human's—­and seemed to believe it was still the 1980s. “This doesn't look like a battle,” she said.

“What's she doing here?” Guy asked, looking between us in confusion.

Raze scoffed at him. “What's
he
doing here?”

“Actually, I have no idea what the answer to either of those questions is. I assume Guy here has a plan. Raze, this is my boyfriend, Guy. Guy, this is Raze, my biggest enemy.”

They shook hands, eyeing each other warily. Belatedly, I realized that these were two ­people who probably should never have been introduced. But there wasn't much I could do about that now.

“We're looking into anybody who knows anything about the drug that's taking powers away,” Guy told Raze.

She made the sign of the cross backward. “I heard about that. Keep it away from me.”

“It's actually not that bad once you—­okay,” Guy said, shrinking a little under the weight of Raze's glare. I didn't blame him. The too-­large eyes made any glare automatically twice as ferocious. “The good news is we're trying to get our hands on the rest of it so it doesn't affect anybody else.”

“You didn't get hit, did you?” Raze said to me, looking accusingly at Guy.

“I'm fine,” I said, since it would've taken too long to explain that I technically had. And if Raze found out I was immune, there wasn't anything really stopping her from trying to draw my blood and reverse-­engineer a cure. Given that most of her experiments had the solitary goal of causing as much pain as possible, I didn't actually have a lot of faith in her inventions. “A friend of mine did get hit, though. And we need to find out either who's doing this or get to a cure.”

“Which is why we're here?” Raze glanced at the sign over the door of the bar next to us. “This place isn't really where the big movers and shakers go, you know? I mean, this is my watering hole.”

I knew that much. I'd once gone into Mind the Boom and had told the barkeep that I wanted to take over Raze's territory. Raze hadn't held it against me when she'd gotten out of prison, either. Instead, she'd been flattered that I'd thought of her. Some days, I wasn't sure Raze was looking for an enemy. But she also didn't seem to have the word
friend
in her vocabulary, so we made do with our strange little relationship. She twisted her fingers through her ponytail and tilted her head to the side, waiting for me to answer.

“It's a pretty long shot that anybody in there will know anything,” I said. “And are we sure about this? I mean, supervillain bar. We know my history with them.”

Guy squeezed my hand. “Mind the Boom's supposed to be neutral territory, or so I've heard.”

“Where did you hear that?” I asked, eyes wide.

He jerked a shoulder. “I may have met a ­couple villains for drinks here to negotiate terms of handing over hostages.”

Raze was now studying him, either like he was an idiot or like she was trying to figure out which mask he wore. Honestly, it was obvious: he was over six feet tall, green-­eyed, and hanging out with Hostage Girl. But then, nobody had seen Blaze for months, so maybe it wasn't as obvious as I thought.

“Wait a second,” I said, blinking several times. “Your plan is really to wait for bad guys to show? That's it?”

“Neutral territory,” Guy said.

“Yesterday villains wanted Br—­Chelsea back, so they tried to blow up Union Station. For a minor slight against them,” I said, giving him a look. “This is about a drug that takes out superpowers. Do you think neutral territory is really going to matter?”

Raze snorted as she shivered and pulled her jacket tighter around her frame. I really wished she would wear warmer clothing. It was November. “I hope the villains get the drug. Better than Davenport getting it.”

Guy and I gave her baffled looks.

She rolled her eyes. “Do-­gooders, ugh. I'm cold. I'm going inside.”

I followed close on her heels. “What do you mean by that?” I asked as we stepped inside.

“I mean you do good.” She flicked her fingers at me.

“No, not that. What do you mean you don't want Davenport to have it?”

“Oh, yes,” Raze said, “let's give the all-­encompassing evil eye corporation the ability to decide who does and doesn't get to keep their powers. That sounds
smart
.”

Come to think of it, she had a point. I rolled the idea over in my brain as I followed her into the bar. If the Demobilizer was as effective as it appeared to be, Davenport having ample access to it—­and possibly being able to replicate it—­was beyond game changing. Instead of sending ­people to Detmer, they could simply remove their powers and send them back into the world. They already wielded too much influence and domination over the superhero community. If they had the ability to nullify powers at will, what sort of offenses would they deem the Demobilizer appropriate for? I'd already stared down the barrel of their justice system and had been sent to prison for a crime I hadn't committed. If they'd had the Demobilizer then, would I even have powers now? The thought was a sobering one as I took a seat at the bar between Raze and Guy.

The nautical decorations—­fake fishermen's nets, some weathered buoys, cheesy plastic trout caught in the netting—­hadn't gotten any better in the months since I'd been there last. In addition, the bar seemed really empty for Sunday around lunchtime. It had been mostly empty the last time I'd visited, too, so maybe having supervillain clientele wasn't all that lucrative. They probably tried to pay by holding the bartender at death-­ray-­point. Or maybe there was an honor code among villains that they treated their watering hole with respect. After all, the bar had far fewer scorch marks than I would expect from an evildoer gathering place.

Guy shook his head at Raze, leaning around me to make his point. “Tamara Diesel and her lot would only use it to destroy heroes and then they would take over the world,” he said.

“So they shouldn't have it, either,” Raze said, looking bored as she pulled out a butterfly knife and began to flip it around. Guy reached for it and I grabbed his wrist in case he didn't remember he wasn't impervious to sharp blades anymore. “Maybe nobody should have it.”

“This is the very definition of a Pandora's box,” I said, my brow wrinkling.

“Probably,” Raze said. She flipped the blade over. I pretended that it coming within millimeters of my skin was an accident. She perked up. “Actually, I changed my mind.
I
should have it.”

“No,” Guy and I said.

Raze sighed like we were being unreasonable. “No, really, I should. My IQ is through the roof. I'd make all the best choices about who gets powers and who doesn't based on how much I like them. This is brilliant. It's a fair system unless I don't like you.”

“Not happening,” I said.

Raze shook her head regretfully. “I need a better nemesis. You're a depressing stick in the mud, Girl.”