Page 86 of Supernova

Max shook his head. “If I’d been able to put people to sleep my whole life, I think I would have known about it.”

“Maybe not, though,” said Adrian. “You haven’t exactly had a lot of human contact.”

Max grunted. “I would have known.”

Adrian looked away. He didn’t want to doubt Max, but… he knew there had to be some explanation, some piece to the puzzle they didn’t have.

Because Nova wasn’t Nightmare. Nova was innocent.

“Anyway,” he said, studying the spot over the dresser where amirror had recently hung, its silhouette crisply outlined by the faded paint color around it. “I hope it wasn’t too much trouble to have all the mirrors taken down. I’m sure Nightmare still has the Vitality Charm, which makes you vulnerable until we can find her and get it back.”

“The Tuckers didn’t seem to mind about the mirrors. They’re pretty easygoing about stuff. Did I tell you that Turbo got into Mrs. Tucker’s desk and shredded apart a bunch of her old photos and postcards? She tried to pass it off as no big deal, but I felt horrible.”

Adrian grimaced. “Well, it’s not your fault. I’m the one who created him.”

“I know. Maybe next time you can make, like, a sloth. Or a platypus.”

Laughing, Adrian glanced around the bedroom, which was about 50 percent toys, 40 percent dirty clothes, and 10 percent bedding. He wondered how Max or the twins ever managed to find anything, but he figured he’d probably been just as messy at their age. No wonder his dads never dared venture into his basement unless they absolutely had to. “Where is Turbo, anyway?”

Pressing his lips, Max pointed to the top drawer of the dresser, which was pulled open a few inches. “Sleeping.”

Adrian stood and peered inside. The creature was curled up on top of a wad of T-shirts. Adrian slipped his hand inside and scooped Turbo into his palm, then slid down next to Max again. They both spent a moment watching the little dinosaur, who had not stirred at Adrian’s touch. That was unusual in itself. Plus, his coloring was off—more ash-gray than before—and his breaths so shallow Adrian almost couldn’t feel them against his skin.

“He doesn’t look so good,” Adrian murmured.

“I know,” said Max. “It’s been like that since yesterday. I tried to feed him last night and all he ate was two little bacon crumbles. He usually loves bacon.” He gently took Turbo out of Adrian’s hand. “I knew it would happen eventually. But… I’m gonna miss him.”

“I can draw you another one?”

Max shook his head. “Don’t do that. He’s irreplaceable.”

Adrian didn’t argue. He knew the feeling.

Cradling Turbo in one palm, Max returned his focus to the arranged battle scene, appraising the figures like a warlord preparing his strategy. But when he looked up at Adrian, there was stark worry in his face. “About Nightmare and the mirrors…”

“Yeah?”

“I’m putting the Tuckers in danger by being here, aren’t I?”

There was no point in denying it. Max’s presence would always come with heightened danger. Instead, Adrian said, “You would have been putting the hospital staff in danger, too.”

“But I could go back to headquarters.”

“You’re not going back to headquarters.”

“But… wouldn’t I be safer there, too? At least until you find Nightmare?”

Adrian drew his knees closer, draping his arms around them. “Do you want to go back?”

It took Max a long moment to answer. “I like living here, but… I don’t want to hurt anyone else.”

A sharp pain jabbed Adrian’s chest. He knew Max carried a lot of guilt over the superpowers he’d stolen in his short lifetime, and he knew no amount of justifying it would make the kid feel any better. It wasn’t his fault, he couldn’t have helped it, and besides—he’d stopped Ace Anarchy, which was worth a lot more than a few powers stolen from time to time.

As if reading his thoughts, Max added, “I’ve been having nightmares about Ace Anarchy.” He picked up one of the action figures, a muscled, gray-clad man in a cape and helmet that might have been loosely modeled after the infamous villain. “I keep dreaming that he comes after me, but this time, instead of him getting weaker when he gets close to me, it’s the opposite. I get weaker, while he gets stronger and stronger.”

“Just dreams,” said Adrian. Reaching forward, he plucked the doll from Max’s hand and held it up. “I met Ace Anarchy, remember? He doesn’t look anything like this. He’s not that scary anymore, just a frail, cranky old man. And, in a few days—”

“He’ll be dead,” Max murmured.

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