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The hood fell off his head.
It wasn’t Owen. It didn’t even look like him. The man was at least thirty years old, his skin pale white, brown eyes bright with fear. He pulled his hands from his pockets, and a camerafell out, bouncing on the ground. Pyro Storm let him go, and he fell back into a group of women who kept him upright.
“Oh no,” Guardian whispered.
“Handsup!” someone cried, and Guardian turned his head to see three cops standing at the front of the stage, guns drawn and pointed directly at Pyro Storm. “You, there! Stand downnow! Don’t move, you hear me?”
Guardian took a step back and bumped into someone. He glanced over his shoulder to see Gibby, Miss Conduct bringing up the rear, both of them looking worried.
“Where is he?” Gibby asked, a sheen of sweat on her forehead. “Did you get him?”
“It’s not him,” Pyro Storm snapped as people in the crowd began to film them instead of running which,what.Did no one have a sense of self-preservation anymore? “He’s not here.”
“Ah, shit,” Miss Conduct groaned. “Are you serious?”
Movement on the stage, cops yelling for Burke to get back, sir, getback.But Burke ignored them, approaching the podium once more, never once looking away from the Extraordinaries. Guardian felt a chill run down his spine at the look on Burke’s face. If he didn’t know any better, he’d have thought Burke seemed almost… pleased.
“And this isexactlywhat I’m talking about,” Burke said into the microphone, voice loud through the speakers, causing almost everyone to look at him. “Here we are, peacefully assembling, as is our right, only to once again have our lives interrupted byExtraordinaries.Don’t you see? They want you—us—to be scared. They want us to doubt ourselves. Our mission. Our way of life.”
The crowd nodded as one, and if looks could kill, then Guardian, Pyro Storm, and Miss Conduct would sure as shit be dead right then and there. Maybe even Gibby, too.
“They may think they’re gods, but we know better than that, don’t we?” Burke said, a nasty curl in his voice. “Pyro Storm, as you all well know, is nothing but a seventeen-year-oldboynamed Seth Gray.”
“You’re right,” Pyro Storm said. And then, without hesitating, he removed his helmet, causing the people around them to gasp dramatically, as if Seth hadn’t already done this once before. What a bunch of freaking drama queens. “IamSeth Gray. And I may only be seventeen, but I’ve still done more to help this city than youeverwill.”
Burke, for his part, didn’t seem fazed. His gaze crawled over Gibby and Miss Conduct dismissively before landing on Guardian. His smile widened. “And you there. I haven’t seenyoubefore.” He leaned forward, practically swallowing the mic. “Who are you supposed to be?”
“Guardian,” he spat, ignoring the loud whispers buzzing around him like a hive of angry bees. “And you know damn well that—”
“Guardian,” Burke said, the echo bouncing off the buildings.Guardian, Guardian, Guardian.“Is that right? The same Guardian who once haunted the streets of our fair city? No. Of course not. You picked up a discarded mantle and tried to make it your own, like you have any right.”
“Gibby,” Seth muttered under his breath without looking away from the stage. “Get back.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Guardian saw Gibby nod and melt back into the crowd, though she didn’t go far. He took a step toward the stage, the cops shouting at him to freeze, their guns all trained on him. He did, but continued to glare up at Burke. “I haveeveryright. Your son is—”
Burke scoffed. “My son isn’t here. We have done nothing wrong, and yet here you are, trying to stop the inevitable. Perhaps you’re working with the protestors. Is that it? Did they want you here to interrupt us?” He shook his head. He paused for a moment as Rebecca Firestone stepped forward, whispering in his ear. He nodded slowly at whatever she said.
The doors to the precinct burst open, more cops streaming out. Chris Morton was among them, shoving his way to the front and telling people to get out of his way. He barely glancedat Guardian and the others as he raised his hands, standing between Guardian and the stage. “Stand down!” he bellowed. “Put your guns away! Are you out of your damned minds?”
Guardian didn’t see who threw it. Movement off to his right, and then something flew toward Seth’s head. Guardian acted without thinking, sure it was a brick or something equally as heavy that’d crack Seth’s skull, spilling blood. The spark in his head burst brightly, and the air rippled around him as he raised his hand, fingers crooked like claws.
Not a brick. A water bottle, spinning end over end until it juststopped,a foot away from Seth’s head, hovering in the air, the shadow on the ground wavering as water sloshed back and forth.
Deafening silence, so thick Guardian could almost taste it. He dropped his hand, and the bottle fell toward the ground. It split as it bounced off the pavement, water splashing on Seth’s boots.
“He can domagic!” someone screamed in the crowd. “He’s a goddamnwitch. BURN HIM AT THE STAKE.”
Guardian whipped his head toward the sound of the voice. “Do you know whatcenturyit is? Also, that had nothing to do with witches andeverythingto do with religious misogyny that—”
An orange bounced off his chest, skin breaking, sticky juice splashing up on his lips before it fell to the ground with a wetplop.
Guardian raised his head slowly. “Did you bringfruitto a rally? Why the hell would you—”
He never got the chance to finish. More things were thrown at them, driving them back: water bottles, a half-empty soda can, a banana, an umbrella. Guardian yelped as a leather briefcase struck him on the shoulder, causing him to stumble. A woman who looked like a kindly grandmother began to smack Miss Conduct with her purse, bellowing, “Your hair isn’t evenreal! I would know because Ialso wear a wig!”
Miss Conduct snatched the purse away from her. “Lady, I will see you put in ahomeif you hit me with your cheap knockoff one more time. You don’t want to test me.” She shoved the purse back into her hands.
“He’s threatening an old woman!” someone cried.
