Young Sentinels (Wearing the Cape) Page 31

  Magic is just weird, and on any other day just thinking about using glasses as a disguise would have had me in a fit of giggles. Shelly would have found it totally mock-worthy. She wasn’t mocking anything right now.

  The leaves had started to turn, tints of yellow and orange hinting at Oak Park’s extravagant explosion of color to come. I parked down the street, just in case watchers might know the make and model of my car. I’d kissed Seven and driven away less than a week ago, but it felt like forever. Dad waited for me at the door, and he knew exactly what I needed.

  “Where’s Shell?” I whispered, finally pulling out of the hug.

  “Your room, where else? Come see me and your mother when you’re finished.”

  * * *

  Sunlight turned the wood floor into warm gold and sparked off school trophies and pictures. I found Shelly on my bed with Graymalkin stretched out on her lap, his tail flipping gently. For Gray, any lap was cat-heaven. Shell looked up when the door creaked. Her eyes and nose were red, and it took me a moment to look down and see what she’d spread out on the bedspread.

  The Christmas tin. Our notes, pictures, plastic jewelry, and her funeral memorial program, black and silver-gray. “In Loving Memory.”

  She’d never asked to see it.

  “Hey,” I said. “Mrs. H. says you guys are leaving tomorrow.”

  She nodded. Blackstone had pulled strings, gotten her a legal new identity: Shelly Hardt, and the only lie about it was her age — it bumped her birthdate up to match her sixteen real years — and her hair color (and she was going to change that).

  “Nervous about meeting your new dad?”

  Mr. Hardt sounded like a keeper; apparently he’d called Shell as soon as Mrs. H. dropped the news on him, refused to stop talking until she believed a surprise teenage daughter was what he’d always wanted. I was prepared to love him unconditionally for that.

  Shell ran her fingers over the stiff parchment program.

  I swallowed, pushed a drift of pictures aside, and carefully perched on the bed.

  “Can you still taste your own spit?” That got a chopped laugh out of her, but she didn’t look up again.

  I’m sorry. I couldn’t say it — I wasn’t, really, I couldn’t be. Not ever. But I couldn’t say nothing.

  “I talked to Vulcan. He says he’s been working with Virtual Shell and once you’ve got the neural receiver grown he can tie you in through her so you can tele-operate a Galatea like you did the first time, before you moved yourself in permanently. Virtual Shell’s not going to do that again. She said she’s decided that living inside a titanium head where someone can shoot at you isn’t the smartest thing to do after all and she’s going to stay where the Anarchist hid her — ”

  “Shut up.”

  “So you can patrol with me all the way from Springfield, and you’ll be back here and on the team as soon as you graduate — ”

  She flipped around so fast her hair whipped her face.

  “Shut up. Dummy.”

  I wouldn’t cry. I wouldn’t. “Shell, please...”

  “Dummy.” She sniffed, pulled a sleeve over her wrist to wipe her nose. “I messed up. I did. I left you and Mom and... For three years! We couldn’t last a weekend without each other, had to do summer camp together.”

  “Springfield isn’t far, I can fly — ”

  “Like you’ll have time ever. That’s not — I mean — I broke us up. Shelly and Hope. Power Chick and Awesome Girl.” She held up the program, shook it. “I missed everything, I wasn’t there — ”

  “Shell — ”

  “Shut up!” Tears dripped off her chin. “I didn’t know, it wasn’t three years for me! I was gone and then I was back and I said ‘Sorry!’ and you said ‘Okay!’ but it wasn’t, I was gone and you were...you had to...”

  I scooted over, feeling lighter than I had in days, and pulled her head down to my shoulder. She pushed back, punched at my arms until she didn’t have room.

  “Shell — ”

  “I’m sorryyyyy.” Her wail trailed off into wet hiccups against my neck.

  “You’re the dummy.” I laughed, light-headed, happy enough to sing. “I forgave you before the funeral. It took a while, but I learned how to last the weekend. You’re just figuring this out now?”

  “It’ll be three years!”

  I couldn’t help the giggles. “It won’t be the same. There’s calling and texting and — again — you’re going to be back piloting a Galatea, though Mrs. H will probably limit your hours during the week... She never let you play videogames that much!”

  Finally she laughed, a real laugh this time even if it was a bit soggy. Gray protested, pulling himself out of her lap to stalk off with the offended air only cats can manage. I shook her gently.

  “So, sleepover? You’re not leaving till tomorrow, and you are not going back to the Dome tonight — Virtual You can’t keep her mouth shut and both of you together would make heads explode. I’ll bet we can get Mom to make funnel cake...”

  “Deal. Game night?”

  “Sure. And it’s Shelly and Hope always, so no more tall buildings, right? Ever.”

  “Deal.”

  “Best friends forever.”

  Epilogue

  Of course it never ends. You just sweep up and move on.

  Toby got out of the hospital and came home to get better (I think Chakra had something to do with how fast he went from Critical Condition to healthy enough to release). Having him back home wasn’t fun but — shock — he didn’t blame me for what had happened. Which didn’t mean we were going to bond over it.

  Jacky stayed around and took Acacia “hunting,” and three nights after the Green Man attack, the five goons who beat Toby half to death turned themselves in. According to Fisher, they gave full confessions and even provided enough physical evidence to make it an open and shut case. He said it had been a beating-of-opportunity; one of them had been at a bar popular with college students out slumming, heard Toby fight with his drinking buddies over the coolness that is me, and called up some friends when he stupidly decided to blow off his buddies and walk back to the dorms alone. The idiot.

  The goons never said why they suddenly decided prison was safer than the streets, and I was never, ever, going to ask Jacky about it.

  With the Green Man dealt with and the Wreckers out of our jurisdiction, we shifted to crime-fighter mode with the Guardian teams to get a lid on the goon and supervillain violence. It kept me busy, but Blackstone hadn’t been kidding about moving me up — team leader meant more than a token hat, and orienteering and training was another full-time job.

  We managed to dodge the bullet with Grendel. The DSA had no interest in complicating things for us, and since the details of the Detroit Supermax Breakout were sealed — and almost completely unrecorded due to Phreak’s blackout — we were able to suppress his part in the fight completely. Of course it wouldn’t stick, but it would at least get us to Brian’s eighteenth birthday.

  And of course Shankman started making noises again as soon as he was strong enough to get in front of a microphone, calling for new laws restricting power use (like supervillains would pay attention to that). Humanity First endorsed his campaign, but at least Mal’s dad was out of that. Mr. Scott had joined the local Families with Breakthroughs organization along with Mom and Dad. Now that I was public, Mom could make the FWB a new favorite cause (she would probably make me show up at a meeting and talk).

  And Sunday I went to St. Chris’ memorial mass. It took everything I had not to hide behind the Anonymity Specs, but I sat with Mom and Dad and the Bees and remembered the names and prayed for their families as we all held candles. Sure I got a few stares (and I was going to be dealing with some almost hysterically excited kids after the mass), but I could feel the people who’d known me all my life closing ranks around me. Family. And as Father Nolan led the Prayer of the Faithful even Virtual Shelly joined in, a blythe and solemn spirit at the altar. Only I heard her echoing “Lord, hea
r our prayer.”

  Amen.