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17
The ground floor of Burke Tower was eerily vacant, the security desk empty, the screens on the wall lit up with the wordsWELCOME TO BURKE TOWER. The sounds of their footsteps against the stone floor echoed dully around them. Lights from the event outside cast the floors and walls in an ethereal glow, shadows shifting as if alive. The last time Nick had been here, it’d been with Owen and his promises of turning Nick into an Extraordinary. It was hard to believe that had been less than a year ago.
Burke slapped a small plastic card against the panel next to the automated gate. The panel lit up green and beeped, the gate swinging open.
Instead of leading him down the long hallway toward the office where Owen had once showed Nick a secret passage to a basement floor, Burke shoved Nick toward the bank of elevators, pushing the button next to one of the doors. An up arrow blinked in white.
“Going up?” Nick asked. “Why not just go to your office down here? You remember the one. It wasn’t decorated in the wayI’ddo it—too masculine for me—but you do you, boo.”
Burke chuckled. “You like to talk, don’t you?”
“I do,” Nick said. “It’s my gift. Or my curse. Jury’s still out.”
“Anthony,” Burke said as the elevator doors opened, “if he shoots his mouth off again, or if there’s even ahintof him trying to use his powers, put a bullet in his father’s kneecap. I’m sure that’ll get his attention.”
Nick whirled around and saw Anthony with a small blackpistol in his hand, the barrel digging into Dad’s side. “With pleasure,” Anthony said.
Nick’s mouth snapped closed.
“So youcanbe trained,” Burke said, lips quirking. “Good to know. Though, I suppose if I were you, I’d probably want to avoid losing yet another parent. You only have one of those left, as it turns out.”
“I do,” Nick said evenly, fighting against the wave of rage flooding through him. This wasn’t about revenge, but holy shit, it could be. “And he has me. Where’syourson, Burke? Talked to him lately?” He glanced back at Fake Nick, bringing up the rear with Rebecca Firestone, expression unreadable. “Hate to think you and your wife haven’t been able to make amends.”
“We’ll find him,” Burke said, pushing Nick into the elevator. “And either he’ll see the error of his ways, or he won’t. Frankly, it doesn’t matter to me either way. A guard dog is only good until it bites its owner. After that, they have the taste for blood, and the humane thing to do is to put them down.”
“Maybe consider therapy instead,” Nick said as the others crowded into the elevator.
Burke sighed as if disappointed. Then his brow furrowed. Nick tried not to flinch when Burke gripped his chin, turning his head to the side. “What’s this?” He plucked the mic from Nick’s ear. He studied it for a moment before dropping it to the floor and stepping on it. “Anthony, check the others.”
He made quick work of it as Burke pushed the button for the seventy-second floor. Once he’d taken all four ear mics from the others, Anthony crushed them in his hand, turning his palm over and letting the remains fall to the floor.
“Someone has to clean that up,” Nick said mildly. “You should probably be a little more considerate of the cleaning staff.”
The elevator doors slid shut, and the car began to rise, a cool, feminine voice counting off the floor numbers.
It was crowded inside the elevator. Burke. Nick. Dad. Miles, Trey, and Bob. Rebecca Firestone. Anthony. Three goons in suits. And Patricia Burke, still wearing Nick’s face, mouth stretchedwide. Fake Nick winked at Nick, and then his face began to bulge as if something had burrowed its way underneath. It happened so quickly, he had to blink to be sure what he was seeing.
Fake Nick was gone.
In his place, Jennifer Bell, still wearing the Guardian costume.
“Hey, kid,” she cooed. “It’s so nice to see you again. I’ve missed you. Have you missed me?” She reached for him as Rebecca Firestone looked away, her lips a thin, bloodless line, the Guardian helmet clutched against her chest. Nick didn’t move a muscle as Patricia/Jennifer stroked his cheek, her fingernails scraping against his skin. “Maybe when we’re done here, I can convince Simon to let you go. You won’t remember much of anything—your friends, your family, your name. Just an empty husk, mind forever scrambled.”
“Don’t touch him,” Dad snapped, but Anthony dug the gun into his side again before Dad could move.
She laughed, and it sounded nothing like Nick’s mother. “Jealous? Don’t worry, honey. I haven’t forgotten about you.” Dad stared resolutely forward, jaw tense as Patricia/Jennifer kissed his cheek with a loud smack.
“Cats,” Burke said.
“Cats,” Nick repeated. “Are we just… what. Saying things without context? I can do that. In fact, that’s my jam. Ready? What isupwith—”
“Cats,” Burke said again. “Curious creatures. Little teeth. Little claws. And still fearsome hunters when required. It’s instinct, you see. Something deep within them that wants to taste flesh and blood.”
“Yikes,” Nick said. “Didn’t know we were heading toward cannibalism, but hey, who am I to judge?” He tapped his chin. “Oh. Right. I’m me and you’re you, so there’s a lot of judgment. You psycho.”
Burke said, “Don’t you ever get tired of the sound of your own voice? You’re exhausting. No, I’m afraid cannibalism isn’t on the table today. Cats, Nicholas. They toy with their prey. Do you know why?”
“Must have missed that Wikipedia page,” Nick said with a shrug. “You know how it is. So many entries, so little time.”
