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“I don’t feel like having some kind of emotional awakening right now, okay? We have a job to do.”
“Sorry.”
Nova’s hair has faded back to a dull blonde which gives her face a look that can only be described as angelic. Our shared facial features look much more frightening when framed by my dark locks. I wonder if that’s how everyone saw me before my hair darkened; a sweet fragile girl with soft features.
Every set of Super twins in the history of forever has had one good twin and one bad twin. And it isn’t like one person is just better or smarter than the other one--they’re actually good or evil. Scientists have this idea that Supers, who originally derived from homo sapiens, have genetics that simply can’t split into twins in the way that humans do. Super twins end up with one of them having a one hundred percent good moral compass while the other one has an equally evil one. I disagree with that.
And it’s not just because I’m genetically the bad one.
I was raised by the greatest dad and the most caring brother ever. They took care of me, they nurtured me and taught me the ways of being a Hero. I know I have evil genetics; I can feel them every second of every day. But I am not evil. I choose not to be.
“No, I’m sorry.” I nudge Nova in the shoulder as we walk. “I didn’t mean to be a jerk. I’m just nervous.”
“You’re a Hero. There’s nothing to be nervous about.”
I snort and look down at the severe lack of Hero clothing on my body. We’re dressed as regular humans tonight. Nova’s brilliant idea, not mine. I knew that trying to waltz up to the human fight clubs and ask for a vial of their drug as me, Hero Maci Might, wouldn’t go over well. And the other alternative is to bring the situation to Central and let them assign another Hero, one who isn’t probationary and therefore not allowed to deal with villain missions. So instead of charging head first into the situation and demanding that someone give me a vial of that drug, I’m going to try something different.
A crisp pair of dark wash jeans, cheap fake leather jacket, an old pair of Converse sneakers and no Hero eye mask makes me look just like one of the humans. Nova is dressed similarly with jeans and an oversized sweater. I’ve never felt so naked in my life.
We chose the populated streets of New York City to go on what will hopefully be a short scavenger hunt for the drug. I didn’t want to hit up New Orleans or Vegas because of the fear that one of the drug-induced fighters I’ve dealt with earlier might recognize me sans mask. That’s never happened before in the entire history of Heroes wearing eye masks, but until n
ow, humans were never as strong as us either. I’m not taking any chances.
My BEEPR rings from under the sleeve of my jacket. I slip it off the wrist strap and hold it up to my ear, cell phone style to fit in with the humans. “Please tell me you have something,” I tell Evan in lieu of a hello. Nova and I have been wandering aimlessly for far too long and haven’t seen a single clue as to where to get the drug. So far, marijuana has been the local drug peddler’s drug of choice.
“Delancey Street, Manhattan. The police scanner said something about a fight.”
“That’s all?”
“Yup.”
I turn around, pointing Nova toward our new destination. “We’ll check it out. Thanks.”
“Be careful.”
“Sure thing.”
The BEEPR snaps back onto my wrist. It’s a conscious effort to make myself walk slower than a comfortable pace so I can blend in with the humans. Nova does it effortlessly, trailing her fingers along the fabric of a local vendor’s imported wool scarves. We find the fight just as it’s wrapping up, one winner collecting cash from the betting onlookers and one poor pathetic guy sitting impishly on the curb, wiping blood away with the remains of his shirt.
“Next week,” the loser pants. “I’ll take you again.”
The winner, a large man with a stomach lopping over his belt so far he could probably use it as a table says, “Let’s go again right now.”
The other guy shakes his head, spitting out a mouth full of blood. “I ain’t got no more money. Next week. Double or nothin’.” He grabs his wallet and cell phone from a woman in the crowd and then slinks off into the night. The winner throws up his arms and asks who wants to be next.
I cup my hand over my mouth and whisper, “Think we could find a dealer in this crowd?” Only no one hears my question because Nova is gone. Chasing the subdued vibe of her power, I find her a few yards away and grab her elbow. “What the hell are you doing?”
She points in front of her. “Uh, duh.”
The loser of the fight hobbles ahead of us, turning left into a darkened alley. “He’s our man. It’ll be less suspicious to talk to someone away from a crowd.”
“This isn’t your mission,” I hiss, turning back with my fingers digging tightly into her forearm. “Do not leave me again.”
“I didn’t leave,” she snaps, trying to wrench her arm from my grasp. I don’t let go and she doesn’t try to break free again. “I thought you were following me.”
“Oh you did, huh?” We slip back into the crowd of humans. I lean closer. “Here’s another rule: stop thinking.”
Anger pours out of her but she doesn’t say another word. Her arms fold across her chest and she stares straight ahead, watching the next fight as if she has money bet on the outcome and she’s currently losing.
