Everyone else seemed to be having a great deal of fun. For me, it was stressful. I wanted to do it right and not give away that I’d never done this before. Lulu was attractive: warm face, great hair, curvaceous in all the right places. She wasn’t Megan, not by a long shot, but she was here. And close. Should I talk to her? Tell her she was pretty?
I opened my mouth to say something, but the comment died on my lips. I found, in that moment, that I really didn’t want to talk to another girl. It was stupid—Megan was an Epic. The entire time she’d been with the Reckoners, she’d probably been acting. Stringing us all along. I didn’t even really know her.
But there was still a chance she’d been genuine, right?
I doubted Lulu carried grenades in her bra, ample though it was. She wouldn’t know guns like Megan had. Lulu wasn’t tough enough to bring down Epics, and that smile of hers was way too inviting. Megan had been tough to crack, tough to make smile. That, in turn, made it all worthwhile when she did smile.
Stop it, I thought at myself. Prof is right. You need to get Megan out of your head. Enjoy what you have right now.
A guy nearby suddenly grabbed Lulu by the arm and whipped her in his direction. She laughed as the crowd churned to the demanding music. Just like that, she was gone.
I stopped in place. Searching through the throng of half-glowing figures, I finally found Lulu again. She was dancing with someone else. Sparks. Did she expect me to follow? Was this a test of some sort? Or was it a rejection? Why didn’t school at the Factory involve important lessons, like how to deal with a party?
As I stood there, feeling stupid to be alone amid the dancing, I spotted something else. A face I thought I recognized. An Asian woman, punk clothing, like from the old days. And … It was Newton. Leader of the gangs of Babilar. Epic. She stood to the side of the dance floor, next to a table heaped with fruit that lit her face.
Oh, thank you, I thought, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief. Dancing was stressful—but murderous demigods, those I could deal with.
Hand in my pocket on the gun, I moved through the crowd to get a better look.
20
I quickly dredged from my memory everything I knew about Newton. Force redirection, I thought. That’s her main power. Slap Newton, and none of the energy would transfer to her—it would all reflect back at you. She could also move inhumanly fast. I’d had some things in my notes about her background and family, but I couldn’t remember them. I briefly considered calling Tia, but with the music blaring I wasn’t sure if she’d be able to hear me—or me her.
Newton began walking around the perimeter of the dancing area, moving with an unhurried gait. No super speed for the moment. I kept pace, pushing through the press of bodies and reaching a place where the crowd was less dense.
Newton walked like someone who knew she had the biggest gun in the room—confident, unconcerned. She didn’t wear a single bit of spraypaint on her otherwise garish clothing: leather jacket, enormous cross-shaped earrings, piercings in her nose and lip. Short purple hair. She looked like she was about eighteen, but I thought I remembered something about her age being deceptive.
She could kill everyone at this party, I thought with a chill. No consequences. Nobody would even question her. She’s an Epic. It’s her right.
What was she doing here? Why was she just walking and watching? Of course, I didn’t mind that she wasn’t engaging in wholesale slaughter—but she had to have some kind of agenda. I pulled out my new mobile, the one Mizzy had given me. I thought she’d said …
Yes, she’d loaded it with photos of all known members of Newton’s gang. A few of those were minor Epics, and I wanted to be prepared. I shuffled through the photos quickly while keeping one eye on Newton. Was any of the rest of her team here?
I didn’t spot any of them. Did that make her more or less likely to be up to something? I moved to get closer, but a hand caught me by the shoulder.
“David?” Mizzy asked. “Sparks, what are you doing?”
I lowered my mobile and turned, twisting Mizzy away in case Newton glanced in our direction. “Epic,” I said. “Just ahead.”
“Yeah, that’s Newton,” Mizzy said. “Why are you following her? Do you have a death wish?”
“Why’s she here?” I asked, leaning down to hear Mizzy.
“It’s a party.”
“I know it is. But why is she here?”
“Uhhhh. For the party.”
I paused. Epics went to parties?
I knew, logically, that sometimes Epics interacted with their lessers. In Newcago, Steelheart’s favored had served, worked for, and even—in the case of the attractive ones—dated Epics. I just hadn’t expected someone like Newton to be … hanging out. Epics were monsters. Killing machines.
No, I thought, watching Newton as she moved to the drink counter—where she was immediately served. Creatures like Obliteration are killing machines. Other Epics are different. Steelheart had wanted a city to rule, with subjects to worship him. Nightwielder had gone to meet with arms dealers, bringing assistants with him. Many Epics behaved like ordinary people, save for their absolute lack of morals.
Those types killed not because they enjoyed it, but because they got annoyed. Or, like Deathpoint—the Epic who had attacked the bank the day my father died—they killed because they figured it was just plain easier than the alternatives.
Newton got her drink, then leaned back against the bar, watching the crowd. Her gaze passed by Mizzy and me, not lingering. Either Regalia hadn’t described us to Newton, or she didn’t care that the Reckoners were at the party.
The Babilarans made way for her and averted their eyes when she looked in their direction. They didn’t bow or give any obvious signs of subservience, but they clearly knew who she was. This was a lion among the gazelles; the lion just wasn’t hungry right now.
“Come on,” Mizzy said, steering me back toward the dancing.
“What do you know about her?” I asked. “Her background, I mean. Who she was before Calamity.” Fortunately, the current song was a little less overbearing than the previous ones, with a slower beat and not as much noise.
“Yunmi Park,” Mizzy said. “That’s her real name. Long ago, before all this happened, she was your run-of-the-mill black sheep. A juvenile delinquent born to successful parents who didn’t know what to do about her.”
“So she was evil even then?” I asked.
Mizzy started dancing—not as frantically or as, um, invitingly as Lulu had. Just some simple motions. The dancing was probably a good idea, as we didn’t want to stand out. I followed suit.
“Yeaaaah,” Mizzy said. “Definitely evil. She’d committed murder, so when Calamity arrived, she was already in juvie. Then bam. Super powers. Must have sucked to be the guards at that detention center that day, I tell you. But why does it matter what she was like?”
“I want to know what percentage of Epics were evil before they got their powers,” I said. “I’m also trying to tie their weaknesses to events in their past.”
“Hasn’t anyone tried that before?”
“A lot of people have,” I said. “But most of them didn’t have the level of research I’ve been able to gather, or the access to Epics that being in the Reckoners has given me. The connection, if there is one, isn’t obvious—but I think it’s there. I just have to find the right slant on it.…”
We danced for a few minutes. I could handle this dance. Less flailing was involved.
“What was it like?” Mizzy asked. “Killing Steelheart.”
“Well, we set up in Soldier Field,” I said. “We hadn’t quite figured out his weakness yet, but we had to try anyway. So we made a perimeter, and—”
“No,” Mizzy said. “What did it feel like to kill him? You know, inside of you. What was it like?”
“Is this pertinent to our current job somehow?” I asked, frowning.
Mizzy blushed and turned away. “Whoops. Personal information. Gotcha.”
I hadn’t intended to embarrass her; I’d just assumed I was missing something. I’d been too focused on the job at hand rather than on things like small talk and interpersonal interaction.
“It was awesome,” I said softly.
Mizzy glanced back at me.
“I’d always heard that revenge doesn’t pay off,” I continued. “That when you finally got what you’d been hunting, you’d find the experience unsatisfying and depressing. That’s a sparking load of stupidity. Killing that monster felt great, Mizzy. I avenged my father and liberated Newcago. I’ve never felt so good.”
Mizzy nodded.
Now, what I didn’t say was that killing Steelheart had left me wondering what to do next. The sudden and abrupt removal of my all-consuming goal … well, it was like I was a donut, and somebody had sucked all the jelly out of me. But I could stuff new jelly in there. It would just get my hands a little sticky in the process.
I’d moved on to killing other Epics, like Mitosis and Sourcefield. Which had its own problems. I’d interacted with Epics, even fallen for one. I couldn’t see them uniformly as monsters any longer.