Firefight (16 page)

I found my hand in my jacket pocket, gripping Megan’s handgun. Being in this press of bodies was even worse than being exposed. With so many people around, I couldn’t keep an eye on them all to watch for guns or knives.

Mizzy positioned me in front of the table, butting into a conversation among a group of older teenagers. “This,” she declared, raising her hands to the side to present me like a new washer and dryer, “is my friend David Charleston. He’s from out of town.”

“Really!” said one of the people at the table, a tall guy with blue hair. “I’d never have been able to tell that from his boring clothing and goofy face.”

I hated him immediately.

Mizzy punched the guy in the shoulder, grinning. “This is Calaka,” she said to me, then pointed at the other three at the table—girl, boy, girl—in turn. “Infinity, Marco, and Lulu.” She practically had to shout to make herself heard over the noise.

“So where
are
you from, new guy?” Calaka asked, taking
a drink of glowing fruit juice. That did
not
look safe. “Someplace small, I’d guess, considering your wide eyes and overwhelmed expression.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Small.”

“Your clothes
are
dull,” said one of the girls, Infinity. Blonde and perky, she grabbed a can of something from under the table and shook it. Spraypaint. “Here, we can fix that.”

I jumped back and threw my left hand out while firming my other hand’s grip on the gun in my pocket. Everyone else in this crazy city could go around glowing as much as they wanted, but I wasn’t
about
to make myself an easier target in the night.

The four flinched away from me, eyes widening. Mizzy took me by the arm. “It’s okay, David. They’re friends. Relax.”

There was that word again.
Relax
.

“I just don’t want any spraypaint on me,” I said, trying to settle myself.

“Your friend is weird, Mizzy,” Marco noted. He was a short guy with light brown hair so curly it looked like he’d stapled moss to his head. He leaned on the table in an easygoing posture, turning his cup with two fingers.

“I like him,” Lulu said, eyeing me. “Quiet type. Tall, deep, sultry.”

Deep?

Wait … sultry?

I focused on her. Curvaceous, dark skin, lustrous black hair that caught the light. Going to parties was partially about meeting girls, right? If I made a good impression, I might be able to ask her for information about Dawnslight or Regalia.

“Sooooo,” Mizzy said, slumping against the table and stealing Marco’s drink. “Anyone seen Steve around?”

“I don’t think he’s here,” Calaka said. “At least, I haven’t heard the sounds of anyone being slapped nearby.”

“I think he was there,” Infinity said, her tone becoming mellow. “The other day. Uptown.”

“Bad business, that,” Marco said.

The others nodded.

“Well,” Calaka said. “Suppose we’d better raise a cup for old Steve, then. Creep though he was, if the Epics finally got ’im, he deserves a proper sendoff.”

Marco reached to take his drink back, but Mizzy ducked to the side, clinking it against Calaka’s and then drinking. Infinity and Lulu raised their cups as well.

They bowed their heads while Marco grabbed some glowing grapes off a plate on the food table and wandered back. I bowed my head as well. I didn’t know this Steve guy, but he’d fallen to an Epic. That made him kindred, to an extent.

Marco began tossing the grapes to various members of the group. I caught one. Grapes, the nonglowing kind, had been a rare treat back in Newcago. We hadn’t starved at the Factory, but much of the food had been stuff that stored well. Fruit was for the rich.

I popped it in my mouth. It tasted
fantastic
.

“Good music tonight,” Marco noted, eating a grape.

“Edso’s been getting better,” Infinity agreed, grinning. “I think the heckling made a difference.”

“Wait,” I interrupted. “Aren’t you worried about Obliteration? After what he did to your friend? You’re just going to drink and move on?”

“What should we do?” Marco said. “Gotta keep living.”

“Epics might come,” Calaka agreed. “Could take you today, could take you tomorrow. But so might a heart attack. No reason not to party today, while you can.”

“There were some shots fired at that one last night,” Mizzy said, speaking carefully. “Some people fighting back.”

“Idiots,” Calaka said. “Making things worse.”

“Yeah,” Infinity said. “Half the dead would still be alive if we just let the Epics do what they want. They always get bored and move on eventually.”

The others nodded, Marco cursing under his breath about the “sparking Reckoners.”

I blinked. Was this some kind of bad joke? But no, there was no mirth here—though I did notice Mizzy relaxing visibly. It appeared that although we’d fought back, she hadn’t been recognized. I wasn’t surprised; in the chaos of Obliteration’s destruction, news of what exactly had happened—and who had been involved—hadn’t likely been reliable in the city.

The group moved on to a further discussion of the music, and I just stood there feeling awkward and depressed. No wonder the Epics were winning, with attitudes like this.

At least they’re enjoying themselves
, a piece of my mind noted.
Maybe there’s nothing they can do. Why judge them so harshly?

It just felt that with some of us trying so hard, everyone should at least acknowledge the work we were putting in. We fought for the freedom of people like these. We were their heroes.

Weren’t we?

As the conversation progressed, Lulu sidled up to me, a cup of glowing blue juice in her hand. “This is boring,” she said, stretching up and leaning in close to speak into my ear. “Let’s dance, handsome.”

Handsome?

I hadn’t even managed a reply before Lulu was giving her cup to Marco and towing me away from the table. Mizzy gave me a little wave, but otherwise completely abandoned me as I was pulled through the crowd. To the dancing.

I guess that’s what you’d call it. It looked like everyone
had insects in their shirts and were trying really hard to get them out. I’d seen dancing in movies, and it had seemed a lot more … coordinated than this.

Lulu dragged me into the center of it all, and I wasn’t about to admit I’d never danced before. So I started moving, trying my best to blend in by imitating what everyone else was doing. Though I felt like a cupcake on a steak plate, the other dancers were so absorbed in what they were doing, maybe they wouldn’t notice me.

“Hey!” Lulu shouted. “You’re good!”

I was?

She was better, always moving, seeming to anticipate the music and flowing with it. In the middle of a move, she threw herself my direction, wrapping her arms around me and pulling herself in close. It was unexpected, but not unpleasant.

Was I supposed to move with her, somehow? Having her that close was rather distracting. She barely knew me.
Is she an assassin, maybe?
a piece of me wondered.

No. She was just a normal person. And she seemed to like me, which was baffling. My only real experience with girls had been with Megan; how was I supposed to react to a girl who
didn’t
immediately seem like she wanted to shoot me?

A little part of me figured I should ask about Dawnslight and Regalia—but that would be too obvious, right? I decided it was best to act natural for now, then try to get her to open up to me later.

So I just danced. Lulu had called me the quiet type. I could manage that, right? We continued for a while—long enough for sweat to start dripping down my brow as I tried to figure out the right way to dance. There didn’t seem to be any form to it; Lulu alternated between gyrating around and pressing against me very close so we could move together. Several songs came and went, each different yet somehow the same.

Everyone else seemed to be having a great deal of fun. For me, it was stressful. I wanted to do it right and not give away that I’d never done this before. Lulu
was
attractive: warm face, great hair, curvaceous in all the right places. She wasn’t Megan, not by a long shot, but she was here. And close. Should I talk to her? Tell her she was pretty?

I opened my mouth to say something, but the comment died on my lips. I found, in that moment, that I
really
didn’t want to talk to another girl. It was stupid—Megan was an Epic. The entire time she’d been with the Reckoners, she’d probably been acting. Stringing us all along. I didn’t even really know her.

But there was still a chance she’d been genuine, right?

I doubted Lulu carried grenades in her bra, ample though it was. She wouldn’t know guns like Megan had. Lulu wasn’t tough enough to bring down Epics, and that smile of hers was way too inviting. Megan had been tough to crack, tough to make smile. That, in turn, made it all worthwhile when she
did
smile.

Stop it
, I thought at myself.
Prof is right. You need to get Megan out of your head. Enjoy what you have right now
.

A guy nearby suddenly grabbed Lulu by the arm and whipped her in his direction. She laughed as the crowd churned to the demanding music. Just like that, she was gone.

I stopped in place. Searching through the throng of half-glowing figures, I finally found Lulu again. She was dancing with someone else. Sparks. Did she expect me to follow? Was this a test of some sort? Or was it a rejection? Why didn’t school at the Factory involve important lessons, like how to deal with a party?

As I stood there, feeling stupid to be alone amid the dancing, I spotted something else. A face I thought I recognized. An Asian woman, punk clothing, like from the old days. And … 
It was Newton. Leader of the gangs of Babilar. Epic. She stood to the side of the dance floor, next to a table heaped with fruit that lit her face.

Oh, thank you
, I thought, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief. Dancing was stressful—but murderous demigods, those I could deal with.

Hand in my pocket on the gun, I moved through the crowd to get a better look.

20

I
quickly dredged from my memory everything I knew about Newton.
Force redirection
, I thought.
That’s her main power
. Slap Newton, and none of the energy would transfer to her—it would all reflect back at you. She could also move inhumanly fast. I’d had some things in my notes about her background and family, but I couldn’t remember them. I briefly considered calling Tia, but with the music blaring I wasn’t sure if she’d be able to hear me—or me her.

Newton began walking around the perimeter of the dancing area, moving with an unhurried gait. No super speed for the moment. I kept pace, pushing through the press of bodies and reaching a place where the crowd was less dense.

Newton walked like someone who knew she had the biggest gun in the room—confident, unconcerned. She didn’t
wear a single bit of spraypaint on her otherwise garish clothing: leather jacket, enormous cross-shaped earrings, piercings in her nose and lip. Short purple hair. She looked like she was about eighteen, but I thought I remembered something about her age being deceptive.

She could kill everyone at this party
, I thought with a chill.
No consequences. Nobody would even question her. She’s an Epic. It’s her right
.

What was she doing here? Why was she just walking and watching? Of course, I didn’t
mind
that she wasn’t engaging in wholesale slaughter—but she had to have some kind of agenda. I pulled out my new mobile, the one Mizzy had given me. I thought she’d said …

Yes, she’d loaded it with photos of all known members of Newton’s gang. A few of those were minor Epics, and I wanted to be prepared. I shuffled through the photos quickly while keeping one eye on Newton. Was any of the rest of her team here?

I didn’t spot any of them. Did that make her more or less likely to be up to something? I moved to get closer, but a hand caught me by the shoulder.

“David?” Mizzy asked. “Sparks, what are you doing?”

I lowered my mobile and turned, twisting Mizzy away in case Newton glanced in our direction. “Epic,” I said. “Just ahead.”

“Yeah, that’s Newton,” Mizzy said. “Why are you following her? Do you have a death wish?”

“Why’s she here?” I asked, leaning down to hear Mizzy.

“It’s a party.”

“I know it is. But why is
she
here?”

“Uhhhh. For the party.”

I paused. Epics went to
parties
?

I knew, logically, that sometimes Epics interacted with
their lessers. In Newcago, Steelheart’s favored had served, worked for, and even—in the case of the attractive ones—dated Epics. I just hadn’t expected someone like Newton to be … hanging out. Epics were monsters. Killing machines.

No
, I thought, watching Newton as she moved to the drink counter—where she was immediately served.
Creatures like Obliteration are killing machines. Other Epics are different
. Steelheart had wanted a city to rule, with subjects to worship him. Nightwielder had gone to meet with arms dealers, bringing assistants with him. Many Epics behaved like ordinary people, save for their absolute lack of morals.

Those types killed not because they enjoyed it, but because they got annoyed. Or, like Deathpoint—the Epic who had attacked the bank the day my father died—they killed because they figured it was just plain easier than the alternatives.

Newton got her drink, then leaned back against the bar, watching the crowd. Her gaze passed by Mizzy and me, not lingering. Either Regalia hadn’t described us to Newton, or she didn’t care that the Reckoners were at the party.

The Babilarans made way for her and averted their eyes when she looked in their direction. They didn’t bow or give any obvious signs of subservience, but they clearly knew who she was. This was a lion among the gazelles; the lion just wasn’t hungry right now.

“Come on,” Mizzy said, steering me back toward the dancing.