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9
The sky had darkened considerably. Flurries fell, catching the light from the streetlamps. It was freezing, but Nick barely felt it as his feet pounded pavement, pushing through the people on the sidewalk.
He didn’t know how long he ran for, only that by the time he stopped, he had a painful stitch in his side. He was hot. He was cold. He couldn’t focus, couldn’t latch onto a single clear thought that would help pull him through the storm in his head. He couldn’t pull enough air into his lungs.
He lifted his head, his neck stiff and sore. In an alley. He was in an alley a few feet off the sidewalk, hidden in the encroaching dark. Nick pressed his forehead against the side of a building, the brick cold against his skin. Before he could stop himself, he punched the brick. The pain was fierce and immediate, the knuckles of his skin splitting, blood welling. It was enough to clear his head a little, and he sucked in a breath that burned his throat.
“Think,” he muttered, shaking his hand, blood falling to the ground. “Think. You can do this. Focus. Next step.”
He couldn’t call Dad. He didn’t know where Jazz had gone. Last he heard, Gibby was still at the Grays’ house, working on—
Seth.
Seth, Seth, Seth.
He would know what to do.
Nick pulled his phone from his pocket, wincing when his injured hand rubbed against rough denim. He ignored it, grunting as his fingers flew over the screen.
The phone rang once. Twice. Three times.
“You’ve reached Seth’s voicemail. I’m probably busy. And nobody calls anyone anymore unless it’s an emergency. Send a text. Unless it’s an emergency.”
“Itisan emergency,” Nick hissed into the phone after it beeped. “Pick up your damn phone! I can move things with mymind.”
He tried again.
Voicemail.
Like last year, when he thought Seth had been ignoring his calls, because if his phone was off, it would have rung once before going to voicemail. If he hadn’t heard, it’d ring at least six times.
Three times meant Seth silenced the call.
Seth—for whatever reason—couldn’t talk right then. Before he could get pissed off, he remembered vaguely that earlier, Gibby had said that Seth suited up, meaning something had happened.
Just busy. That’s all it was. Seth was saving the day.
Again.
But then, why hadn’t Dad known? Unless he’d been distracted by his call with Simon Burke, Dad should’ve been where Seth was, or at least monitoring the situation remotely.
Nick swallowed thickly, unable to comprehend that level of betrayal. Simon Burke was the enemy. And Dad was helping him.
Nick was alone. No one to call. No one to help him. No one he could trust.
“Oh, come on,” he mumbled to himself. “You’re notthatmuch of a drama queen. Call Gibby. Call Jazz. Call Martha or Bob. Be smart about this. Figure it out. My superpower is my brain, sothink, goddammit!”
Before he could get anywhere, his phone beeped.
A text from Seth, as if he knew Nick needed him.Saw u called. Long day, heading home. Talk tomorrow? xx
Kiss kiss. It should have made Nick flush to the roots of his hair.
Except his phone beeped again, this time from the Team Pyro Storm app, the alert with an 8-bit cartoon of Pyro Storm’s face with a word bubble proclaimingPYRO STORM IS NEARBY! He clicked on Pyro Storm’s face, which opened a map of Nova Cityon his screen. Gibby had integrated Google Maps to show every street, complete with the names of buildings, parks, and neighborhoods. A green dot blinked on the screen as it moved. The dot showed Seth about twenty minutes away from where he now stood. The green blip moved toward what Nick thought was an alley behind a row of restaurants and a bodega with a particularly mean cat the size of a small horse.
The opposite way of his house.
Nick frowned as he went back to the text thread. Hesitating a moment, he tapped a reply.
