How to Save the World Read online

  “I miss the beds there, too,” I said.

  Unexpectedly, she sighed. “It’s like sleeping on a damn cloud.”

  “I dream about the thread count on those sheets,” I said. “Some days I’m tempted to become a supervillain just to go back.”

  “You’d be terrible at it. For somebody so small, you’re just brimming with really stupid feelings.”

  I looked at the cloth twisting in her hands and felt a stab of pity. Brook had agreed to help us find Mobius, and unlike the last time she’d faced Guy or his brother, she hadn’t lunged straight for his throat. She’d hurt my friends—­repeatedly—­but she’d also spent years in a cage while scientists experimented on her. It was hard not to feel some kind of empathy, even though I really didn’t want to.

  “Are you working with the kidnapper?” I asked.

  Brook snorted. “Nope.”

  Her heartbeat never changed, though that wasn’t the most accurate lie detector. She could hear mine, too, which was downright inconvenient. If she said something that got under my skin, there’d be no way to hide that.

  “Did you contact somebody to work with the kidnapper on your behalf?” I asked.

  Her heartbeat sped up a little. Interesting. Brook remained facing forward, expression never changing. “For what it’s worth, intentionally? I didn’t contact anybody. It’s not my fault Davenport sucks.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Sending me out there in my Chelsea gear? Who are they trying to kid?”

  “What,” I said again, “are you talking about?”

  Thanks to the reflexes, I caught the mask when she flung it at my face. The follow-­up attack I braced for never came, though. Brook had gone back to her staring contest with the wall.

  “What the hell was that for?” I asked.

  “I thought Mobium was supposed to make you smarter. Look it over, dumbass.”

  I muttered a few choice insults under my breath and turned the cowl over in my hand, feeling the rigid fabric that made up the hawkish mask. After thirty seconds of probing, I found the anomaly: a bump under the cloth, where the mask was rigid. I scratched at it with a fingernail until a little tracker was revealed to the light.

  “What the hell? Who’s tracking you?”

  “Three guesses and the first two aren’t the supervillains who showed up out of the blue today,” Brook said, rolling her eyes.

  “Tamara Diesel is tracking you? What? Why?”

  Brook bounced her head back into the wall a ­couple of times, looking to the ceiling as though she were praying for patience. “Because I owe her.”

  “For what?” I asked. Vicki’d had a point when she’d said that Brook was in the supervillain minor leagues. Tamara Diesel was top tier. She fought heroes like Raptor.

  “You really think I escaped from years of being Lodi’s little lab-­rat freak and immediately gained my own minions and buddied up to a bunch of supervillains? I was in a cage. I barely knew what year it was, let alone how to gather allies.” Brook gave me a sour look. “Tamara’s ­people found me. I had something they wanted.”

  “What was that?”

  “I can fly and I can hit things really hard,” Brook said, her voice now dripping sarcasm. “What do you think they wanted? God, keep up. Tamara Diesel wants you to do something, you do it. In return, she helps you out. That’s just the way it works.”

  That . . . made a horrifying amount of sense, actually. Supervillains either seemed far too organized or not organized at all. Knowing there was some kind of supervillain mafia don—­and that it was Tamara Diesel herself—­put everything into perspective. It also made me wonder, not for the first time, if the Villain Handbook was a real thing or not. I decided I didn’t want to know.

  “So how come Davenport didn’t find the tracker?” I asked.

  “It’s only active when I’m wearing the mask.”

  “And you didn’t think to mention that hey, just maybe, if you put the mask on, supervillains might happen to show up wherever you are and blow shit up?”

  Brook scowled. “I had my reasons.”

  “Helpful. Why not go with her today? It would have been easy to turn on us.”

  “Not as easy as you think. Showing up somewhere with Plain Jane and War Hammer is a pretty big sign I’ve switched teams. Not willingly, but who ever cares what I want to do, anyway? Tamara Diesel? Not exactly the forgiving type.”

  I listened to her heartbeat speed up. “I’m sure Tamara could be talked around. You can fly and all.”

  “Jealous?”

  I was, and she could probably tell, but I only continued to stare at her, waiting. There was something else, something big that I was missing about Brook’s motivations, and it bothered me that I didn’t know how to begin pinpointing what it was. So I settled for the blatant stare that Angélica had always used on me.

  Apparently I’d learned well, because Brook sighed.

  “My chances of finding her are better if I stick with Davenport,” she said.

  “Finding . . . oh. Petra.”

  “So I’m going to stay here,” Brook said. “I’ll help them fight their stupid do-­gooder battles. The sooner I get this over with, the sooner little Bookman can help me find Petra.”

  Little Bookman was such a weird nickname for Guy, but Brook had known him in high school, so I didn’t say anything. It was also kinder not to share my current hypothesis about Petra’s fate. “Oh,” I said.

  “Judge all you want, I don’t care.”

  “Actually, I think that’s weirdly noble.” I’d never had a best friend until Angélica, and when she’d died temporarily, I’d wanted to avenge her. Granted, that was where things got complicated because the person I’d thought had killed her happened to be the same one in the room with me now. I studied her and tried not to think about all of the similarities between us. “Thanks for telling me.”

  “Just because I’m helping you out now doesn’t mean I won’t change my mind if a better offer comes along.”

  “I guess I appreciate the honesty. Though, really, if you want allies in your search for Petra Bookman . . . warning them that bad guys are going to attack? That’s a prudent thing to do.”

  Brook’s shoulder jerked in an approximation of a shrug. “I didn’t think any of them were actually a match for Plain Jane, but apparently I was wrong, so whoops.”

  “That wasn’t Tamara’s group.” I pushed myself to my feet and brushed off my sweatpants. I kept the tracker clenched between my thumb and my palm. I’d give it to Jessie, since she and Audra adored weird little gadgets. “That was whoever has Mobius. Of course, nobody around here has any idea who it actually is, still.”

  “You know I don’t actually care, don’t you?”

  “Charming. Let me know if you need anything. I’m kind of persona non grata here, but . . .”

  “Whatever.” Brook dismissed me with a flick of her fingers.

  “As always, a pleasure talking to you,” I said. Just as I held Kiki’s badge to the door, the door opened to reveal the badge’s owner. Immediately I straightened up.

  “You need to come with me,” she said. She looked past me, to Brook. “Both of you.”

  CHAPTER 8

  During my very brief stint living in the Davenport Complex, I’d heard about the Nucleus, but I’d never seen it. The central hub of Davenport, where all of the mission operators—­if heroes needed them; most preferred to go solo—­worked. Every gathered piece of data for hero and villain alike was filtered through the Nucleus. All I knew about it was that it was supposed to be impressive. And that it had once housed a chart listing my odds of surviving the next supervillain encounter, until Guy had found out about it and had destroyed it in a fit of rage. He didn’t lose his temper often, but when he did, it was a sight to behold.

  I hadn’t realized that the Nucl
eus was essentially NASA’s mission control, but with more colorful outfits around the water cooler.

  Flanked by guards, we followed Kiki down several hallways I’d never traversed before. I could sense Brook’s wariness matching my own. Kiki pressed her hand to a scanner and a door slid open, leading us even farther underground. The lighting switched abruptly from the high-­key blinding whiteness of most Davenport hallways to a moody, atmospheric glow. A muted purple carpet took the place of the linoleum. Runway lights led the way downward until the room opened into a gigantic and cavernous chamber, the center of which was taken over by neat rows of desks and computers. The walls—­which for some reason were bare rock—­were covered with monitors that listed the city and time underneath. At the desks, ­people in short-­sleeved button-­up shirts either typed away frantically or napped into their coffee. Several chairs along the outer walls contained a mixture of Davenport personnel and, if I had to guess from the gaudily bright costumes, superheroes currently on call.

  I spotted a blond man across the room, and stopped walking abruptly.

  “It’s fine.” Jessie Davenport appeared at my elbow and I almost looked around for the puff of smoke that usually preceded magic tricks. “Eddie’s got other things to worry about. He won’t bother you.”

  “Good,” I said. Eddie Davenport was handsome in a too-­perfect way, his suit stylishly cut, his hair professionally coiffed. He stood among a group of other executives near the front of the room. The last time I’d faced him, it had been really hard not to punch him in the nose.

  “And before you ask, I cleared you both.” Jessie looked at Brook, who was eyeing her suspiciously. “But stick close to Kiki, anyway.” She nodded and did that vanishing trick again in the split second I looked over at Kiki. I jumped.

  “Spooky,” Brook said in a dry voice. “What’s going on, Red?”

  “It’s Kiki,” Kiki said. “And you’ll see.”

  There was definitely an undercurrent of tension running through the techs working the computers from the way their eyes darted to the very obvious manner in which they weren’t looking toward Eddie Davenport and the other executives. I glanced around, spotted a clock that read DOOMSDAY, and was relieved to see there wasn’t anything displayed on it.

  Guy and Angélica joined us a minute later. “Where’s Vicki?” I asked.

  “I gave her a sedative,” Kiki said.

  It took a bit to wrap my mind about that. There was no way a sedative could ever take Plain Jane down.

  Eddie Davenport broke off from the group of executives and stepped to the podium. “There’s a situation,” he said, which I supposed was probably a common opening to briefings in the Nucleus. He clicked something in his hand and helmet-­cam footage began to play on the screen over his head. I recognized the area outside of Union Station before it got too blurry and shaky to comprehend. Even though I knew it was coming, the exploding fireball in front of the pillars made me jump for a second time. The screen filled with Tamara Diesel and her cohorts. Smaller monitors below showed individual mug shots belonging to Tamara, Scorch, Toadicus, and Stretchy McGee.

  “Earlier today, four known assailants launched a full-­scale assault on an ongoing operation,” Eddie said. “As far as we can determine, they were present to retrieve an asset of Davenport’s, and may not have known about our operation at all.”

  I looked at Brook, whose face remained impassive.

  He clicked the pointer again. This time an old photo of Dr. Mobius filled the screen. Brook flinched. I scowled.

  “For those of you not up to speed on this morning’s mission—­we were attempting to ransom Dr. Christoph Mobius. Until we were contacted with a valid ransom demand, we believed Dr. Mobius to be deceased. Unfortunately, we encountered a wrinkle. This is a transmission received half an hour ago. We believe it’s from the person who kidnapped Mobius.”

  Another click. Another video began to play.

  A nondescript form in a gray hooded jacket that I recognized from the train station sat down in front of the camera. A mesh mask covered his or her face, blocking all features.

  When he—­I assumed he was male, anyway—­began speaking, his voice was modulated. “Greetings, potential buyer,” he said. “Today I’m offering a deal on a very unique product. Allow me to provide a demonstration.”

  A star-­shaped transition wiped across the screen and changed the shot from his mask to another, far more familiar mask. My heart stopped for precisely three beats. The Plain Jane mask was distorted by the nearness of the camera, but I could still pick up details behind it: the darkened roof of the overhang from the train yard behind her, an out-­of-­focus shot of me far behind, the top of the train.

  Blue exploded everywhere on the screen. I realized that the camera must have been on the kidnapper’s cuff, next to the dispenser. Thanks to high-­definition, I could see that it wasn’t a gas, but a fine blue powder that dissolved almost immediately in the air. My stomach roiled as, once again, I watched Vicki suffer and struggle. Another star wipe changed the shot from the jerky and bouncy kidnapper’s camera to an overhead camera that showed everything happening below in crystal clear detail. Including, I realized hazily, my face without a mask. I’d tossed it away when Toadicus’s putrid goo had started to burn my skin.

  I hadn’t noticed a camera at the time, but reality shoved its way into my brain like a spike now: the kidnapper had set this up.

  It had been a trap.

  Angélica sucked in a breath as she obviously came to the same conclusion. Around the room, I could hear techs and other costumed heroes shifting uncomfortably as they watched. The second time Vicki hit the ground, Eddie hit the PAUSE button and silence blanketed the room.

  “Plain Jane is on-­site and we’re hard at work analyzing what happened to her,” he said, and I found his face only marginally more pleasant than watching a still image of my good friend getting hurt. “The rest of the video goes on to offer this new product to the highest bidder, due to Davenport having reneged on a previous deal with him.”

  Technically, they had. The ransom note had said to come alone.

  “We believe that this message has been sent to several key players,” Eddie went on. “And thanks to an error on the part of a colleague—­” his eyes found mine across the room and my hands closed into fists “—­knowledge of Plain Jane’s predicament is no doubt widespread among the villain and hero community by now.”

  Angélica muttered a very unflattering word under her breath in Portuguese. Guy’s hand closed around my shoulder. I glared harder at Eddie. He couldn’t resist the opportunity to be a dick, could he?

  “Given Plain Jane’s influence on the local and international superpowered communities,” Eddie said, “expect there to be a rise in villain activity. A special team will be organized to track down information and hopefully subdue this scientist before he or she can release this compound into the world.”

  I swallowed, hard. This sounded like a nightmare. And judging from the unease and the way everybody in the room couldn’t sit still, I wasn’t the only one seeing the dangers.

  “As of this moment,” Eddie said, “everybody is on call. Remain vigilant. We don’t know how permanent the effects of this compound are, but we’re not willing to risk it.”

  He clicked again and mercifully the image of Vicki lying on the ground vanished. “One note before I begin handing out assignments,” Eddie said. “We’re still on the lookout for Dr. Mobius. We have reason to suspect his kidnapper might have been somebody close to him. Anybody who has any personal information about Dr. Mobius should speak with me or their superiors about it. Dismissed.”

  The room lights came up again and I immediately turned toward Kiki. “What isn’t he telling us?” I asked. There had to be a reason Eddie hadn’t played the entire video. If anybody would know, Kiki would.

  “There was another ransom demand.” Kiki took
a deep breath. “Whoever has him, they’re trying to sell Mobius to the highest bidder. He invented it.”

  “What?”

  “This blue powder that’s causing all the trouble? My grandfather created it.”

  Angélica put a hand on her shoulder. “Sins of the father,” she said in a quiet voice. “Remember they’re not yours.”

  Kiki looked down and nodded, but I could see her chin trembling and I could feel the guilt rolling off of her in waves. “Either way,” she said, swiping her hand surreptitiously across her cheeks, “we all need to be careful. That ransom demand was sent to all of the interested parties. Anybody who knows anything about my grandfather will now have a target on their back.”

  “Oh, good,” I said. “I was worried that we didn’t have enough trouble in our lives.”

  As if it could read my thoughts, my phone buzzed. I pulled it out of my pocket and sighed when I saw a scrambled number that could only be Raze. Speak of the devil.

  you’ll fight TAMARA DIESEL BUT NOT ME????? What gives?!?

  Raze also included way more emojis than I would expect from a self-­respecting villain.

  “Trouble?” Guy asked.

  “After a fashion. It’s Raze,” I said. “She’s mad that I fought other villains.”

  Brook raised her eyebrows. Thankfully, any sarcastic comments about our time in Detmer were apparently buried under the gravity of the situation.

  It wasn’t planned! I texted back. And wait, how did you know??

  please like davenport has that many heroes that short.

  “Eddie wants to keep us all on-­site,” Kiki said.

  Brook rolled her eyes. “Damn, and here I was looking forward to some beach time.”

  “Gail, you and Angélica, too.”

  Don’t be a jerk, I texted back to Raze. I looked at Kiki. “Knowing Eddie, he probably thinks I’m in league with Mobius.”

  “Probably.”

  My phone buzzed again. I wasn’t sure how Raze was able to convey rage through the vibration of a phone, but I wouldn’t have put it beyond her. how else can I convince you to FIGHT ME??? she texted.